Mike Leigh speaks to the NS

The Film Interview: why the director wants to make "epic" movies.

How did the idea for Another Year come about?
I have ongoing preoccupations of an emotional, social, personal -- and, if you like, political -- nature, which you can see in all of my films. And here we are looking again, I hope, in some way that digs a bit deeper than some of my films, at issues of family, of the relationship between work and the personal, responsibility, of isolation, of disappointment, of parents and children. So to talk about where the idea came from is not really appropriate. I felt I wanted to make a film that started from where we -- that is to say, we who are in our late sixties -- are.

You've said that you have reached a point in your career where you want to "paint on a bigger canvas".
Yes. If epic can be measured in terms of the emotional experience of the audience, then I hope this is an epic film, just as Naked is an epic film and, I would suggest, Vera Drake is an epic. In other words, my intention is to break through the apparent constraints of domestic life on to an epic or operatic scale emotionally. I think that's important.

Do you think that the "baby boomer" generation squandered the proceeds of economic growth from which it benefited?
That is a deeply suspect position. I'm slightly older than the baby boomers because I was born during the war. But the world they and I grew up in was one in which what had been fought for and won was a national health service, a very good state education system, on the whole free university education for people, and so on.

Of course, the sins that are implicit in what I've just listed - the abandoning of fundamental ideology - cannot be laid at the feet just of the coalition government. We go back to Thatcher, we go back to the fact that we had well over a decade of so-called socialist government that did nothing to correct any of the things I've just been talking about. So to bash the baby boomers just because they had it so good is obscene, because it can only be some kind of massive excuse for inequality.

Class seems to be back on the political agenda. What do you make of the way it is portrayed on screen in Britain today?
I don't know the answer to that. You absolutely cannot make a film about England or Britain that is not rooted in class -- in a way, you can't tell stories about anybody anywhere, because in the end class is an endemic part of the social human condition. But, despite everything, I have never consciously gone around thinking about class, as such.

I grew up in a very working-class part of Salford where my old man was a doctor. We lived over the surgery and I went to the local school. I therefore have a very, very clear sense of working class and middle class. But because that's my world and background, I take all this for granted.
The reason I can't get to the serious answer to your question is that there are very few British films that I think depict life accurately anyway, and I take it for granted that class is part of what's real.

Critics of your films say that they present caricatures of working-class life.
I take all this with a pinch of salt. If people start reacting to Another Year in that way, quite honestly they're so missing the wood for the trees that it's not really worth thinking about it. Life is complex. People are complex. That's what I do and what I've always done.

We normally ask this question at the end of the NS Interview, but it seems appropriate to ask it here, too: are we all doomed?
Well, let's put it like this: I find it very uncomfortable to think about the world in which my grandchildren and certainly my great-grandchildren will find themselves living.

You can read Ryan Gilbey's NS review of "Another Year" here

Daniel Trilling is the Editor of New Humanist magazine. He was formerly an Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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How did Don’t Tell the Bride lose its spark?

Falling out of the love with reality TV’s wedding planning hit.

Steph, 23, from Nottinghamshire, is standing in a drizzly field wearing a wedding dress. Her betrothed, Billy, is running around in a tweed flat cap trying to make some pigs walk in “a continuous parade”. A man from Guinness World Records is watching with a clipboard, shaking his head. Bridesmaids gaze sorrowfully into the middle distance, each in a damp pig onesie.

Thus ends the second wedding in E4’s new series of Don’t Tell the Bride – and the programme’s integrity with it.

When the classic programme, which follows grooms attempting to plan their wedding (punchline: human males doing some organising), began a decade ago on BBC Three, it had the raw spark of unpredictability. For eight years, the show did nothing fancy with the format, and stuck with pretty ordinary couples who had few eccentric aspirations for their wedding day.

This usually resulted in run-of-the-mill, mildly disappointing weddings where the worst thing that happened would be a reception at the nearest motorway pub, or an ill-fitting New Look low heel.

It sounds dull, but anyone who has religiously watched it knows that the more low-key weddings expose what is truly intriguing about this programme: the unconditional commitment – or doomed nature – of a relationship. As one of the show’s superfans told the Radio Times a couple of years ago:

“It’s perfect, and not in an ironic or post-ironic or snarky way. The format has the solemn weight of a ceremony . . . Don’t Tell the Bride is not about ruined weddings, it’s about hope. Every wedding is a demonstration of how our ambitions curve away from our abilities. It’s a show about striving to deserve love and how that’s rarely enough.”

It also meant that when there were bombshells, they were stand-out episodes. High drama like Series 4’s notorious Las Vegas wedding almost resulting in a no-show bride. Or heart-warming surprises like the geezer Luke in Series 3 playing Fifa and guzzling a tinny on his wedding morning, who incongruously pulls off a stonking wedding day (complete with special permission from the Catholic Church).

For its eight years on BBC Three, a few wildcard weddings were thrown into the mix of each series. Then the show had a brief affair with BBC One, a flirt with Sky, and is now on its tenth year, 13th series and in a brand new relationship – with the more outrageous E4.

During its journey from BBC Three, the show has been losing its way. Tedious relationship preamble has been used to beef up each episode. Some of the grooms are cruel rather than clueless, or seem more pathetic and vulnerable than naïve. And wackier weddings have become the norm.

The programme has now fully split from its understated roots. Since it kicked off at the end of July, every wedding has been a publicity stunt. The pig farm nuptials are sandwiched between a Costa del Sol-based parasail monstrosity and an Eighties Neighbours-themed ceremony, for example. All facilitated by producers clearly handing the groom and best men karaoke booth-style props (sombreros! Inflatable guitars! Wigs!) to soup up the living room planning process.

Such hamminess doesn’t give us the same fly-on-the-wall flavour of a relationship as the older episodes. But maybe this level of artifice is appropriate. As one groom revealed to enraged fans in The Sun this week, the ceremonies filmed are not actually legally binding. “It makes a bit of a mockery of the process that the bride and groom go through this huge ordeal for a ceremony which isn’t even legal,” he said. Perhaps we should’ve predicted it would all eventually end in divorce – from reality.

Don’t Tell the Bride is on E4 at 9pm

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.