The Last of England

Jarmen manages to create a world stinging from Thatcherite policies, with viscious imagery burning on the screen. If you want an indictment of the eighties without irony loaded sentimentality or crass stereotypes, then experience The Last of England.

"On a green hill, mourners stand and weep for the last of England," intones Nigel Terry at the start of this arresting mission statement from art-house infant* terrible Jarman. The film is a barrage of striking imagery, mixing old Super 8 footage of a child playing in the back garden with shots of a teenage punk shooting up in a garage, and the middle-aged Jarman, apparently chronicling vanishing species of plant in some kind of futuristic warehouse. Then there's clips from news reports, audio of Hitler, some staged stuff about paramilitaries and - of course - a naked yuppie having sex with a soldier on a massive Union Jack. An air of paralysing despair permeates this one-of-a-kind movie, which takes on state-sponsored violence, the Thatcher government, misguided building projects, the trashing of the environment and American cultural imperialism - all in the opening half hour. Not all of it hits the target, and some of it may only make sense to Jarman, but for every piece of self-mythologising pretentiousness there's a pithily employed phrase (courtesy of T.S. Eliot or Allen Ginsberg) or thought-provoking juxtaposition. Like the sounds of a Nazi rally segueing into a vicious sideswipe at military discipline, then military pageantry. Or widow Tilda Swinton ripping her wedding dress to shreds - even as she wears it - on a nuclear beach. The Last of England plays like the forlorn, obscene illegitimate child of Humphrey Jennings' hymn to the nation - Listen to Britain. I liked it. Great soundtrack too, put together by Simon Fisher-Turner, and containing Elgar, Marianne Faithful and a spot-on pastiche of '30s musical numbers called Broadway Boy.

*Yeah, I know this should have an 'e'. IMDb isn't so sure.

The other day was Derek Jarman's birthday. I discovered him last year because I really like independent cinema, particularly from the fringes of society, and his name came up repeatedly. So on a whim, I bought "The Last of England". When BFI described him as a "queer pagan punk" for his birthday, I knew it was time to put that movie on and give it a whirl. It was a wholly unexpected, but mostly pleasurable, experience.

"The Last of England" is a highly personal bitch fest about the state of the country and even the world as it was in the mid 80s. Jarman was English and was reacting to life under the Thatcher rule, while I was an American living under Reagan rule. I think more than anytime before or since, the English and American experiences coincided culturally in the 1980s. Jarman's film was shot in 8mm, shaky cam and all, and is more or less and decoupage of raw emotions and experiences of growing up in the cold war, never knowing when the bombs will drop, and being led by leaders who seem to think such a state of constant anxiety is sane. Add to it, the newly emerging queer revolution and the punk scene, complete with drugs, and life at the time did seem quite precarious.

I loved the odd stream of consciousness, the nightmare visions, the lack of dialog or plot or even characters. Well, OK, I loved about 2/3 of it. The last 15 minutes which was where Tilda Swinton came in with her wedding gown made the least sense to me and could have been cut with no loss (which pains me to say as I admire her, but here she was like an extra at the last moment to add time and a name to the film, which was already quite intriguing). I enjoyed how he merged past with home family videos with present and future. I'm glad to have the film and I will certainly look for more by Jarman, though he is clearly not going to be everyone's cup of tea.

This is the sort of movie which is usually defended with a phrase such as 'Oh you clearly didn't understand' or 'It's narrative is too unorthodox'. The sad fact is the film's limited distribution is due to its own wretched pretensions rather than its intelligence. A barrage of depressing images (man shoots up, man humps portrait of woman and so on) and an endless meandering dialogue is not enough to make a film involving. Jarman's intention is clear, Thatcher's Britain was every bit as horrible as it is shown to be here but surely there were better ways to articulate that. His work remains infuriating rather than involving and for that reason alone this film must be judged a failure.

Derek Jarman has drawn his title and theme from the Ford Maddox-Brown pre-rafaelite masterpiece "The Last of England" painted in 1855.

The film is a blast of fury against Thatcherism and all its crypto moralistic tripe. Jarman is angry - REALLY angry about the state his country has been reduced to by the conservatives and all their works. This is an amplified echo of the painting, where the English couple and their baby set off on a ship and leave England for the last time. They are resigned to their fate. Jarman it seems, is resigned to his, but he isn't going quietly.

The Last of England is a mess. A disjointed ugly collection of impressions. A nasty kaleidoscope which is difficult to enjoy. However, when one moves away from searching for a narrative it gets easier.

The things we recognise are soon twisted and used against us and it's unsettling. This is all deliberately arranged to elicit a response in the viewer. Some will be appalled, but some won't get it. This encapsulates Jarman's view of England in 1987 and it's not pretty.

As the film closes out we see Jarman return the story to its source and we sense a final regret that there is no going back.