Une longue journée qui s'achève

This film highlights the cultural gap between the US and the UK - an astonishing, demanding and intelligent film that will only appeal to those with European knowledge or sensitivity to a specific time and location. It's actually the third part of a trilogy, the first two being 'Distant Voices' and 'Still Lives'. Together they make up one of the most unique documents about growing up in the North of England. The pace is measured and takes some time getting used to, but these award-winning films keep their power no matter how many times you watch them. Shot on a shoestring over several years, this last part is about the power of cinema, family, friends and memories.

I remember that in 1992 I went into the cinema to see a film. The hall was full and I had to choose another film to see. I entered a hall to see "The long day closes" with no information what it was about nor about its director. Soon at the first image of the opening titles I was amazed at the quietness, the beauty and the profound emotion of what it was going to come. But what came was even better than what I was expecting. I still remember the scene in which the boy rests his head into his mother's breast as she sings an old song. It is one of the most moving images I've seen in cinema. I've always remembered that film and kept it very profoundly into my heart. It touches you...or you simply ignore it. It is for human beings not for cinema experts. Thanks for listening to me.

A stunning exercise in pure cinema. This is the third and final part of his autobiographical Childhood Trilogy. He uses very a very stylized presentation of snippets of memory (Proust-like) overlaid with snips of movie soundtracks and songs to evoke the emotional content of coming to terms with himself in a loving family (at last). If you have seen Visions of Light, this is what it was all about. There is not a wasted frame in this film. Beautifully conceived jump shots, sound over lays and an overhead tracking jump shot that is simply amazing. If you a looking for a plot line or "story telling" you will not find it here. If you are looking for amazingly true and honest cinema that is like moving frames of Vermeer, this is for you.

In 1950s Liverpool, Leigh McCormack lives in a Catholic world where school nurses disapprovingly search you head for nits, teachers send you to the headmaster for disobeying rules that you don't know, and other boys at the parochial school beat you up for no clear reason. His only refuge is his mother, Marjorie Yates, and the movie theater.

It's beautifully shot and lovingly produced, but like many movies of its type, it follows young McCormack, a passive fellow who accepts the world for what it is, and takes comfort only in beauty; there is no kindness. I can see why it received a 10-minute standing ovation at Cannes, and then went home without an award. McCormack is not a performer in his world, just an observer. Nonetheless, it is beautifully put together.

A sad and lonely boy, Bud (Leigh McCormack) struggles through his days. With cinema as his main source of solace, he haunts the local movie-house. All the while, his family looms large in our peripheral vision as do the menacing bullies of his school, but Bud is the center of attention both from the camera's angle and from his doting family.

This is a love letter to film, with plenty of classic film references and an endless soundtrack of classic music. The story itself is not important, other than for us to realize that movies offer us an escape no matter how dreary our lives may be.

Most of us, thankfully, do not live as sad an existence as Bud. But most of us love movies to a greater or lesser degree and have a favorite that we can dive into when times are bad.