Marianne Jean-Baptiste in Mike Leigh’s Play

In the pantheon of unpleasant screen heroines, Pansy Deacon stands alone. Played by the ferocious Marianne Jean-Baptiste, the eternally troubled and hostile protagonist of Mike Leigh’s film cruel truth She spews venom at everyone she meets – from family members to furniture store employees, and every unfortunate person in between.

Making us spend 97 minutes with such an extremely unlikable man seems like a cruel trick, and the film will test the patience of viewers who prefer a more likable protagonist. But fans of the British director will see in Lee’s latest work his trademark generosity and his willingness to show people at their cringe-worthy worst. In this sharp, poignant new film, the writer-director poses an intriguing challenge that pushes the boundaries of our empathy and asks us to look, really look, at a place we would surely avoid if we were unfortunate enough to encounter one of people on her path in real life.

Spending time with Pansy and experiencing her rage, pain, berating and bullying is by turns exhausting, bitterly funny, and shimmeringly enlightening. Whether her screams are worse than her bites is debatable, but part of the film’s provocative human resonance is its insistence that abjection is born of hurt and therefore deserves sympathy.

Congeniality issues aside, it’s nice to be back in the present day after the filmmakers. Mr Turner and Peterlootwo consecutive forays into 19th-century British history. cruel truth Not top-notch Mike Leigh – it’s neater, simpler and less expansive than his best work. But it’s still a vivid, acted and directed portrait of mental anguish and its attendant wreckage, filled with fine touches of humor and tenderness.

The film is also the latest in a long-running investigation into the concept of happiness – who achieves it and who doesn’t, how and why, the intersecting roles of structuring reality (class and status), personal choice, temperament and plain old luck. cruel truth It does feel like it’s in direct counterpoint with two of Lee’s classics: carefreeSally Hawkins’ Poppy (like Pansy, a flower name that begins with “P”) treats her happy mood and radical optimism as armor; and another yearwhich looks at a contented married couple and the lost souls that orbit them.

Here, race is an additional, largely subtextual factor—one that Pansy nods to rather than dwell on as a possible factor in his suffering. While some may be offended by a white director delving into the dysfunction of a British Jamaican family, the filmmaker avoids obvious pitfalls by playing it straight; cruel truth Without the zany edge of Lee’s earlier domestic comedies, e.g. life is sweetor the condescending undercurrent of pity for the poor wretch that haunts all or nothing. This is the work of an 81-year-old man who is still finding new ways to explore the world and its fascinating and frustrating people.

Jean-Baptiste’s last Lee film was secrets and liesAmong them, her Hortense is the poised, patient yin, while Brenda Blethyn is the alcoholic, sniveling yang. Pansy—with her mouth always furrowed and her eyes always darting around in search of new anger—is the opposite of Hortense’s character. For her, life is a series of slights and nuisances, the smallest of which triggers her rage: she lives with her troubled husband Curtley (David Webb) and their overweight, withdrawn 22-year-old boy. A banana peel was left on the kitchen counter of a row house. Pigeons were cooing in the yard; and, God forbid, anyone woke her from her nap. For every legitimate grievance—like “police harassing black boys”—there’s a long list of more trivial grievances (charity workers asking for donations, the way the neighbor’s baby is dressed, etc.)

When Pansy ventures out, she’s at war with the world. Conflicts in the supermarket with other customers, the couch saleswoman, the doctor and the dentist, as played by Lee and played by Jean-Baptiste, become mini-masterpieces of rage and vicious defensiveness. Pansy’s viciousness is comical, and her insults have a florid, almost literary quality: the aforementioned doctor is “a bespectacled rat squeaking at me”; a man who dares to stand up to Pansy The long-necked woman is an “ostrich” and, a moment later, “a rope.” But her tempers were also horrific, explosive manifestations of psychological (depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder) and physical (migraines, jaw pain, intestinal problems) pathologies.

Just when you thought you might not be able to stand any more of Pansy’s tirades or Curtis and Moses’ sulks – read: 15 minutes into the film – Leigh introduces another key character: Pansy’s sister Chantel (excellent (Michelle Austen), a hairdresser who is warm and kind, while Pansy is contemptuous and irritable. Chantel braids her hair while hosting a gossip salon about dates, meals, dreams and work shifts, which is a delicious antidote to Pansy’s tirades, tempering the story’s gloom with much-needed humor and levity.

While Kirtley and Moses tiptoe around Pansy’s dirty deeds, Chantelle gets in on the action — shrugging off her most ridiculous ad-libs, coaxing her out of her angriest moments, and gently reminding her that they The relationship is unconditional. The two women don’t inherently get along, but their testy interactions have a comfortable, long-rehearsed music to them. Lee and his cast bring this relationship shaped by childhood trauma, simmering resentment, and weary devotion to seamless, convincing life.

Leigh also introduces Chantel’s daily life as a single mother to two smart, lively adult daughters, Alessa (Sophia Brown) and Kayla (Anne Nielsen). The close-knit trio share a small apartment, where life is as sterile as Pansy’s spacious home. The joy and enthusiasm of their banter contrast more sharply—perhaps excessively—with the melancholy of the Pansy family.

The theme framework cruel truth As in many of Lee’s films, it’s clear. “Why can’t you enjoy life?” Chantelle asked Pansy once. “I don’t know!” the latter blasts back, and although Lee never claims to have a clear explanation, the cemetery scenes in the film’s second half reveal some revealing stories and insights into the background. echo secrets and liesthings come to a head over an ostensibly celebratory dinner – here, a Mother’s Day lunch at Chantel’s house, where the characters’ wounds are exposed, as well as their touching stubborn refusal to give up on each other.

Lee’s intensive improvisational process with his actors is legendary (along with countless characters), and his leading actors deliver fantastic performances. Jean-Baptiste is in full blast mode for most of the film, and her roars have a bone-shaking power. But through the most subtle changes in expression and tone, almost imperceptible moments of softening and relaxation, she shows us the frayed humanity behind Pansy’s antagonisms—the fragility, fear, and festering disappointment. although carefreePoppy is vivid and passionate, and she also embraces joy as a way of life, an act of joyful rebellion against a harsh world; for reasons both explicit and implicit, Pansy does not have—and never has—that privilege.

Pansy and Chantal are clearly Lee’s interests, and the film’s minor characters can’t help but feel thin in comparison. Kirtley, in particular, is unconvincing in his portrayal: he is the victim of Pansy’s rage but also the source of it, and this duality is not complicated so much as unclear. Meanwhile, the glimpses into Alessa and Kayla’s professional lives – each gets an obligatory workplace scene – are perfunctory at best. cruel truth At times it seems unsure whether it wants to be a closely focused character study or show the wider tapestry of life.

These shortcomings are hardly deal-breakers for a film that otherwise feels like a small but crucial piece in the larger mystery of its maker’s career. This sense of belonging is bolstered by brilliant contributions from Lee’s frequent collaborators, including DP Dick Pope’s incisive facial close-ups and Gary Yershon’s orchestral score, amid mournful strings and bittersweet Swinging between notes of mixed optimism.

If why did Pansy’s family put up with her? cruel truth Like an unsolved mystery, Leigh offers a glimmer of an answer near the end of the film: Pansy may be a nightmare, but in her howling, frustrated way, she’s also a life force. In Jean-Baptiste’s brilliant transformation, one discovers the possibility – remote yet palpable – that beneath this woman’s ferocity and rage lies a violent, violent love.