Television
An old story behind every door
Published 28 February 2008
Sue Bourne's documentary turns her neighbours into tired stereotypes
My Street
Channel 4
Was there ever a time when people in cities knew all their neighbours? I'm in my late thirties now, and if I think back to when I was tiny and visiting my grandparents, who lived and died where they were born, I can't remember them cheerily greeting crowds of people every time we walked down the street. If my granny needed a cup of sugar, she went to Fine Fare. Obviously the golden age, when back doors were always open, and fences always gossiped over, was before I was born.
But then I think of the novels I've read and the films that I've seen, and I wonder. You don't exactly get a sense of urban cosiness in Dickens. As for the kitchen-sink dramas of the 1950s, they are to loneliness and alienation what chick lit is to handbags. When people (politicians, usually) harp on about what we've lost in terms of social networks, I want to stick them in front of The -Shaped Room, or A Taste of Honey. Cities are, and always have been, hard: they make you or they break you, and with the rumble of the traffic no one will ever hear your screams.
Perhaps this was why I struggled to get on with Sue Bourne's Cutting Edge film My Street (21 February, 9pm), which was, I felt, implicitly built around this myth. Bourne's idea was simple. She had lived in the same London street for many years, and yet knew few of her neighbours. It occurred to her that if she looked, "there would be a story behind every door", so off she went, asking them to let her in. Not everyone did, of course, but a surprisingly large number said yes and, happily for Channel 4, they were a diverse lot.
At one end of the scale were the families with giant kitchens and piano-playing children; at the other were immigrants, the mentally ill and those on benefits. Bourne referred to the latter group as "the hidden people", and made it her business to lead them out, like so many moles, into the light. Their stories were terribly moving, from Alek, the 91-year-old Polish man who saw only one other human being a week, to 25-year-old Adam, whose Tourette's syndrome was so severe, he could barely order a takeaway pizza.
It was uncomfortable, the way these tales of people with so very little were pushed up against those with so very much, and I'm certainly prepared to accept the possibility that my mounting irritation with Bourne's voice-over was partly the product of my own guilt (I run like hell when I see certain neighbours of mine). But I did feel unexpectedly angry by the end. Whether by accident or design, My Street made clichés of people: it didn't overturn preconceptions so much as confirm them. All those who lived in rented rooms were sad and struggling, and all those who had five bedrooms were doing fine, thanks - even when, as in the case of Ali and Keith, a pair of writers, or Peter, an interior designer, illness and death had come calling (Keith had cancer; Peter's wife had died from it). The security of middle-class life meant they were able to battle on, when the same problems would have felled the more financially vulnerable.
The pinnacle of this weird stereotyping was the house of transient New Zealanders - or "feckless Kiwis", as one neighbour put it - who got pissed every night, and who liked to indulge in hog roasts in their garden (I refer here to the practice of barbecuing a whole pig, not some arcane sexual practice). If this had been fiction, and these Kiwis a bunch of actors, the ambassador would have been in touch to complain. And then there was Caroline, who made her living from doing voice-overs and pretending to be Margaret Thatcher. I don't know whether she'd been edited to seem more eccentric than she actually was, but I'm afraid that she ticked every box men carry in their misogynistic little heads when they encounter single women of a certain age. Bourne certainly did find a story behind every door, but they were rather old stories, and I would be very interested indeed to know how her neighbours feel about her now.
Pick of the week
Love Soup
1 March, 9pm, BBC1
Hooray. David Renwick’s much-loved comedy returns.
Mad Men
2 March, 10pm, BBC4
From the creator of The Sopranos, ace drama set in Sixties ad agency.
Rock Rivals
5 March, 9pm, ITV1
The ITV schedule just gets weirder. Drama about a couple who are both judges on an X-Factor-style show.
Post this article to
We want to encourage people to comment on our content and to exchange views with other readers and hope this will be done on a courteous basis. However, if you encounter posts which are offensive please let us know by emailing comments@newstatesman.co.uk and we will take swift action where necessary.
