Night and the City

My mother Mary and I had a relationship of highs and lows. I mean I like to think that but that assumes everyone is just living the life I meet when I see their family. I mention it because at 28 I was adamant I wanted to try and throw in my all at being a stand up. The high was she agreed to let me have two years, rent free, in the house with two main conditions ; not to borrow any money and not to sign on, ‘you have a roof in London and three squares if you eat with us, no need to take from anyone’. The low was she did not believe it was something I could do, distinctly unimpressed with tales of applause and comments like ‘you can’t eat laughter son’. But the crux was she knew I could never claim she stopped me, I tried, I failed, but I could never say the home inhibited me.

Harry however does not have the caveats with his wife Mary. And worse has no direction. He reminds me of my walks to gigs in Clapham to save tube fare, old town. Posh. Almost new Chelsea and a man saying, I know I am going to be big; I just do not have the form for it yet’ this was 2004. And he was like harry. Just keen to scheme. Pretty, white in a wine bar type Abbeville village.

But I was like harry soon after. While I kept to my promise mostly. Like Harry I became known. Not in comedy but in nightlife. Not much has changed since his way. The late bars. The corner doors to anther can of red strips and the vague sense of menace that made it more exciting. But harry is fascinating in this film for his sheer adlib guile and lack of compunction.

Its beautiful film of post war Britain, the seedy twilight world of night culture that all rubbed shoulder with each other. Wrestling, charm girls, dodgy cigs and all the cultures around it. I could watch this film without Harry’s plot and feel the world being built around me.

The crescendo towards the end adds poignance between gregarious and Krista. It is the wrestling is one of the hardest fight scenes I have watched I constantly squirted during the film. The son watching over his son dying conveyed everything with so little. That harry was selling an ideal he never achieved himself.

It is such a s low ending, inevitable from the run of harry anxiety to be somebody, to see every player get their own deserts, and only Mary left as an idealist; even. Is gripping.

And as for that man in Abbeville. I would like to tell him failure is a stage. My success was in the years to follow. And continue. In their own way, to this page.

I miss her.