'My Way Home' is the last of three autobiographical films written and directed by Bill Douglas, recounting his childhood, adolescence and early manhood. Although I never met Douglas, I was present for a couple of hours during a location shoot (near Cerne Abbas, Dorset) for his best and most elaborate film 'Comrades', the story of the Tolpuddle Martyrs. I stood just outside the sight-lines, watching Douglas direct the camera and hearing him motivate the actors. He was a unique and distinctive artist; I regret that he died so soon and that he didn't make more films.
In all three instalments of Bill Douglas's autobiographical trilogy, the protagonist -- ostensibly Douglas's alter ego -- is cried Jamie. The name change warns us that some fictionalisation is in the works, but we're never told precisely at which points in the story, nor how extensively. The most famous case of this sort of substitution would be the example of Francois Truffaut and his cinematic alter ego Antoine Doinel. I suspect that Jamie conforms more closely to Bill Douglas's life than Doinel to Truffaut's.
SPOILERS AHEAD. As the third film begins, Jame's mother and grandmother (who raised him) are dead. Jamie was the product of a tryst with a local man; we never learn if it was a one-off or an ongoing relationship. At all events, Jamie's biological father (well-played by Paul Kermack in all three instalments) did very little for him in his formative years (as we saw in the first two films). Now, belatedly, he actually makes some attempt to take Jamie into his home ... to the consternation of his wife and their son, who is older than Jamie.
Some of the early sequences here take place in an orphanage. I was deeply impressed by the performance of Gerald James as Bridge, the governor of the orphanage. He expertly conveys genuine compassion for each of the children in his charge. It's Christmas Day in the orphanage, and Bridge plays Father Christmas by leaving a wee prezzy in every bairn's stocking. But he mustn't favour any child over any other, so he gives each boy and girl the same present: a harmonica! The image (and sound) of several dozen children all simultaneously blaring into harmonicas is astonishing. In front of each child is a clootie dumpling: I never saw so many interchangeable dumplings in identical clooties.
I found myself speculating about what Dennis Potter would have done with this material: the orphans become a chorus line of harmonica virtuosi (led by Larry Adler), accompanied by tap-dancing clooties.
In the first two instalments of this trilogy, Douglas mostly avoids arty-farty compositions. Here, we encounter a shot of a dozing alderman that seems a bit too self-conscious. I rumbled he's an alderman from his chain of office.
In Jamie's adolescence -- purportedly Bill Douglas's own adolescence -- he feels artistic urges. Jamie says that he wants to be a painter, which of course everyone interprets to mean a house-painter. When his semi-foster family twig that he wants to paint poncy portraits, we get the usual kitchen-sink dialogue about the need to 'get some dirt on yer hands' and such like.
Jamie ends up in a three-shilling doss house run by the Salvation Army, which is a step up from his previous experiences.
Now there comes a sudden lurch to a desert landscape, which turns out to be Egypt. Annoyingly, we hear Jamie's voice-over while the camera moves BACKWARD through this sterile land. It turns out that Jamie has joined the Army, but there's no real explanation. Was he conscripted? Is this his National Service? Most likely, he simply enlisted because he had no better prospects ... but I was irritated that Douglas didn't see fit to explain this crucial transition more clearly.
Apparently, the late Bill Douglas had some of his own most formative experiences as a young man in the British Army, stationed in Egypt. I'm told that the single most important personal relationship of Douglas's life transpired with one of his squaddies in Egypt; after they were demobbed, they came back to England together and set up housekeeping. None of that is conveyed here. This third instalment of Douglas's trilogy shows signs of laziness: he bungs various events into this movie because they were part of his life, and are therefore important to him personally ... but he fails to give them the dramatic weight or the narrative significance to make the audience care about them. I found 'My Way Home' very much less compelling than the two previous instalments of this trilogy, and I'll rate it only 4 out of 10.
In all three instalments of Bill Douglas's autobiographical trilogy, the protagonist -- ostensibly Douglas's alter ego -- is cried Jamie. The name change warns us that some fictionalisation is in the works, but we're never told precisely at which points in the story, nor how extensively. The most famous case of this sort of substitution would be the example of Francois Truffaut and his cinematic alter ego Antoine Doinel. I suspect that Jamie conforms more closely to Bill Douglas's life than Doinel to Truffaut's.
SPOILERS AHEAD. As the third film begins, Jame's mother and grandmother (who raised him) are dead. Jamie was the product of a tryst with a local man; we never learn if it was a one-off or an ongoing relationship. At all events, Jamie's biological father (well-played by Paul Kermack in all three instalments) did very little for him in his formative years (as we saw in the first two films). Now, belatedly, he actually makes some attempt to take Jamie into his home ... to the consternation of his wife and their son, who is older than Jamie.
Some of the early sequences here take place in an orphanage. I was deeply impressed by the performance of Gerald James as Bridge, the governor of the orphanage. He expertly conveys genuine compassion for each of the children in his charge. It's Christmas Day in the orphanage, and Bridge plays Father Christmas by leaving a wee prezzy in every bairn's stocking. But he mustn't favour any child over any other, so he gives each boy and girl the same present: a harmonica! The image (and sound) of several dozen children all simultaneously blaring into harmonicas is astonishing. In front of each child is a clootie dumpling: I never saw so many interchangeable dumplings in identical clooties.
I found myself speculating about what Dennis Potter would have done with this material: the orphans become a chorus line of harmonica virtuosi (led by Larry Adler), accompanied by tap-dancing clooties.
In the first two instalments of this trilogy, Douglas mostly avoids arty-farty compositions. Here, we encounter a shot of a dozing alderman that seems a bit too self-conscious. I rumbled he's an alderman from his chain of office.
In Jamie's adolescence -- purportedly Bill Douglas's own adolescence -- he feels artistic urges. Jamie says that he wants to be a painter, which of course everyone interprets to mean a house-painter. When his semi-foster family twig that he wants to paint poncy portraits, we get the usual kitchen-sink dialogue about the need to 'get some dirt on yer hands' and such like.
Jamie ends up in a three-shilling doss house run by the Salvation Army, which is a step up from his previous experiences.
Now there comes a sudden lurch to a desert landscape, which turns out to be Egypt. Annoyingly, we hear Jamie's voice-over while the camera moves BACKWARD through this sterile land. It turns out that Jamie has joined the Army, but there's no real explanation. Was he conscripted? Is this his National Service? Most likely, he simply enlisted because he had no better prospects ... but I was irritated that Douglas didn't see fit to explain this crucial transition more clearly.
Apparently, the late Bill Douglas had some of his own most formative experiences as a young man in the British Army, stationed in Egypt. I'm told that the single most important personal relationship of Douglas's life transpired with one of his squaddies in Egypt; after they were demobbed, they came back to England together and set up housekeeping. None of that is conveyed here. This third instalment of Douglas's trilogy shows signs of laziness: he bungs various events into this movie because they were part of his life, and are therefore important to him personally ... but he fails to give them the dramatic weight or the narrative significance to make the audience care about them. I found 'My Way Home' very much less compelling than the two previous instalments of this trilogy, and I'll rate it only 4 out of 10.