Mike Leigh has consistently worked to chronicle ordinary British life in his films, always with a sense of love, curiosity, and sensitivity. Another Year is no exception and stands out to me as perhaps his most poignant work. In this quiet but profound meditation on the passage of time, aging, and human connections, Leigh crafts a film that doesn’t feel centred on a plot – but on people. Leigh employs his signature naturalism and sharp observational detail to present the habits, regrets, comforts, and isolation of British life in deeply resonating accuracy. As with most of Leigh’s work, Another Year is simultaneously warm and yet profoundly melancholic. A deeply humane portrait of life as it is lived, painted in a medley of uneven joys and sorrows.
To me, the division of the film into four sections (mirroring the four seasons in a year) carries a simple and beautiful poetic weight. Spring, summer, autumn, and winter serve not only as signifiers as to the passing of time, but as emotional landscapes. Each season subtly mirrors the feelings of the characters; spring offers tentative hope, summer provides fleeting warmth, autumn employs a creeping sense of loss, and winter weeps in unspoken finality. The cyclical nature of the seasons suggests both continuity and change: while some people grow and change, others remain the same, unable to move forward for better or for worse. Frequent collaborator of Mike Leigh, Dick Pope, creates for different looks for each season in his role as D.O.P., adding emphasis to the lives on screen through subtle use of colours.
For me, there is a sense of brilliance in Another Year in its quiet contrasts. Tom and Gerri’s world is not without sorrow, and they are aware of the suffering around them, but they have found a way to combat life’s disappointments together. Meanwhile, Mary, Ken, and Ronnie serve as haunting reminders of being elusive to happiness, of being isolated and exhausted of life in different, yet common, ways. Even in its lighter moments, the film never fully masks an underlying sense of sadness. Tom and Gerri’s home is warm and inviting, but the people who visit seem to be seeking solace rather than simply enjoying company. Tom and Gerri’s kindness seems to be real – but not infinite. The final shot of Mary, silent and alone, portrays a myriad of meanings to interpret. Personally I believe it represents how her inescapable sadness and isolation have crept into every corner of her life, even in the places she once found comfort and friendship in.
With Another Year, Mike Leigh crafts one of his most profound and heart-breaking films, quiet in its excellence and capturing deep sadness and joy in life with an unparalleled sensitivity. It is a film that does not shout – but whispers, allowing truth to settle in, leaving an impact in my mind that lasted far beyond the end of the runtime.
Thank you for reading.
MORTFILMS 