There's something wonderful about people whose enthusiasm exceeds their competence. The Bradford Movie Group (founded 1932) are such people. Their sense of togetherness as they shoot truly awful versions of a scene from Oklahoma, or An Appointment in Samara, makes you warm to them. When you see that their loyalty to their dwindling and virtually bankrupt society (in its dilapidated premises) is matched by their loyalty to family (two members care for elderly and bed-ridden wives, one for a severely disabled brother) then your heat bleeds for them. You get the impression that this little club is the only real family most of them have.
But then.
This film covers a period of two or three years. About two thirds of the way through, Covid arrives. You wonder if this is the death-blow - until salvation arrives in the form of a form letter from HMG inviting businesses to claim financial support. Businesses, not clubs or societies. Nevertheless, they put in a claim and receive a grant. Ten thousand pounds. Of tax-payers' money.
I'm sorry. Lovable as they are, this is fraud. Instead of an uplifting film about survival against the odds, the viewer is left with a bad taste in their mouth.
But then.
This film covers a period of two or three years. About two thirds of the way through, Covid arrives. You wonder if this is the death-blow - until salvation arrives in the form of a form letter from HMG inviting businesses to claim financial support. Businesses, not clubs or societies. Nevertheless, they put in a claim and receive a grant. Ten thousand pounds. Of tax-payers' money.
I'm sorry. Lovable as they are, this is fraud. Instead of an uplifting film about survival against the odds, the viewer is left with a bad taste in their mouth.