The British have this "sad man comes to the end of sad life/career" genre nailed

 

For more than one reason, this lovely, yet melancholy drama staring the incomparable Bill Nighy reminded me of Goodbye, Mr. Chips. Mainly because the British seem to have cornered the market on films about (white) men coming toward the end of their days and wondering whether its all been worth it.

Maybe not cornered, as America's Mr. Holland's Opus, for which Richard Dreyfuss received a best actor nod, reminds one of Chips. And in both films -- not in Living -- the main character is reminded by those around him that his life hasn't been meaningless.

No such luck in Oliver Hermanus's spare, yet spiritual entry. Nighy plays Mr. Williams, the dry, somewhat distinguished head of a small department of a small local government who one day is seemingly not surprised to discover he has six months to live. I say not surprised because Williams appears to be living in a state of decay, like an old Oak that has stopped growing long ago. He receives the terminal verdict from his Doctor much like he might receive the news of a no confidence vote in the Prime Minister. I think the Brits call it a "stiff upper lip". I just call it sad.

The only question for Mr. Williams, besides whether he will even tell his mildly estranged Son that he is dying, is how he will live out the last few days of his washed out existence. Enter Government Department underling Margaret Harris, played beautifully by Aimee Lou Wood, who is just young and naïve enough to still have a joie de vivre that we wonder whether Williams ever had. A chance meeting with Harris outside of his office, along with a trip to one of the few British seaside towns that still hasn't decayed into irrelevance (Brighton?) and Williams decides, yes, his last few months will have meaning.

That's it, its that simple. Yet this seemingly small drama is writ in Mock-Heroic Epic scale, due to Nighy's Oscar-nominated performance and the sure-handed direction of Hermanus. Williams decides that he will accomplish one meaningful thing as he heads toward the last waiting room: build a playground in a dirt-poor section of London.

We learn in the first reel that that building this playground would be easier than winning World War II given the Kafka-esque bureaucracy in which Williams and his nearly anonymous group of co-workers labor. Yet Williams's determination to conquer this mendacity as an analog to giving his own seemingly sad life meaning is a battle hard won. How this plays out using a clever flash-back technique (yes, its not a spoiler to say that Williams dies half-way through the film) is quite something.

The music and cinematography contribute mightily to the tone of the film which is, as I have said, beautiful and melancholy. Or beautifully melancholy. Not sure which. Kind of like a Radiohead song.