(3 & a half) Sharp, sarcastic, mordant, vicious; and yet heartfelt and personal, not unlike an old man tearfully re-telling the low-points of a 50 year marriage to keep himself from being torn apart by longing and sorrow now that his spouse has died. Terence Davies asks "asleep or dead?"--I don't know, but certainly not forgotten.
Davies y todo lo que ya había pronunciado en su primer cine, sobre la melancolía del pasado, el mundo de los suburbios, los fantasmas de la homosexualidad y cómo el conservadurismo católico mello en su integridad. Todo esto, en clave filosófica. El director sigue recordando, pero reflexiona a su paso. Un documental sobre la decadencia, pero también sobre la fundación, sobre la vida y la muerte, una época cíclica.
Change is difficult, particularly bearing witness to its stormy shifts over the years. Of Time and the City offers memoir and commentary about post-war Liverpool, Terence Davies' boyhood home. Growing up Catholic under the faded pomp of British monarchy, he's bitter and nostalgic about this dirty old town that's far from elysian with brutish social housing. A search for the port city's soul ebbs towards a lost past.
A languid, lugubrious lope down memory lane, Of Time and the City is neither particularly probing about Liverpool's post-war history nor notably revealing about Davies' own overlapping story as it played out there. The voice-over, moreover, can wax ponderously florid. But as a hazy dream of a tone poem, it works. The tenor of tender bafflement and gentle regret in the face of inexorable change holds true to the end.
Terence Davies' documentary portrait of his native Liverpool manages a strange hypnotic quality through its blending of archival footage, personal anecdote, and overly-poetic narration. It's not without its overwrought moments, but it manages to stay compelling throughout and has a number of inspired images.