The Old Oak

Decades ago, the mining industry provided life-giving juice to all of northern England, and Durham was a thriving center of hard work. The closure of coal mines by Margaret Thatcher's government not only hit the economy, but also disrupted the region's orderly life. Even the majestic cathedral, which has been towering above the neighborhood since the Norman era, was completely empty as soon as hope for the best faded through its massive gates.

Only the local Old Oak pub is occasionally teeming with life, collecting the latest rumors and lazy old people who like to grumble over a pint or two. Once upon a time, a loud strike by miners began in its great hall, which was joined by the whole city so that not a single unemployed person would starve to death. Now, the memorial room, decorated with dust and rust, is locked forever.

The pub owner, nicknamed TJ, keeps the memory of the protests of 30 years ago and serves sullen regulars to preserve the last island of public life. For many, a pint of ale has replaced a trip to an empty church, but along with the irrevocably aging public, a barely visible source of socialization is also smoldering.

TJ himself, who first lost his parents and then his wife and son, is no less alone than the Tokyo toilet cleaner from “Perfect Days” (read our text). An aged man spends his evenings in stunning solitude, which is brightened up only by the restless dog who comes into his life at the saddest moment. The main character is waiting for his end to match the rest of the city.

However, suddenly a deafening swearing swears through the streets of Durham, arriving at the bus stop with an intercity bus. A group of Syrian refugees fleeing war and a brutal regime enter empty homes, drawing the righteous ire of former miners who have worked for decades to find their own homes. And the idlers here finally have their long-awaited scapegoat.

Director Ken Loach, who comes from the heart of working Britain, addresses the social problems of “one of the richest countries in the world” in every film. And in the picture “The Old Oak” he is engaged in dialogue with little people on the outskirts of civilization whose problems have overshadowed big tragedies for years.

As long as wars are destroying entire countries, the personal problems of low-profile workers can hardly attract public attention. The film, on the other hand, pits these worlds against each other, showing that global catastrophes are essentially the same misfortunes of individuals, but merged into a common cry.

On the other side of the barricades, Syrian refugees find themselves on the other side of the barricades; they become acquainted with xenophobia as soon as they see the bus stop. Accusations of the deaths of soldiers in Iraq and demands to return home are being thrown under the feet of people who have lost their homes, carrying destitute belongings and frightened children. Only now their home is in the public apartments of inhospitable Durham.

However, hatred for visitors fades when Britons, who are unaccustomed to empathy, find their problems strikingly similar to their own. Poor people — no crumbs in the fridge, with exhausted children, whose childhood is spent in complete isolation from disgruntled adults — reciprocate the fugitives who have entered the impregnable north of England against their will.

Together with friends, TJ frees the closed hall of the Old Oak from rubbish, at the same time brushing away centuries of dust from photographs from the strike. To spite the remaining couple of irreconcilable racists who hate immigrants, a cobweb-clad pub is once again becoming the heart of social life. And at the same time, the gratuitous kindness in which both Syrian children and local teenagers are immediately drowning.

While some see extremely irreconcilable differences between the two segments of the population, others find joy in cultural exchange. Old people who have never left their native land are discovering Eastern hospitality, and the young Muslim woman Yara, despite religious differences, cries at the beauty of the Christian choir.

The world that the heroes are trying to build around a common problem and forced neighbourhood is growing on the basis of mutual understanding. So fragile that a trivial conflict can upset the balance and bring animal grin back to people's faces. This is what individuals like former the Old Oak regulars take advantage of, whose grouchy gatherings are hampered by community dinners.

Ken Loach has embodied in Yarf and TJ, different ways of coming to terms with internal and external problems. A lively girl does not tolerate dislike and demands justice, while the old man quietly endures the blows of fate, trying to make life better with invisible little things. But simple kindness to one's neighbor brings them together, and differences create a truly united community.