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The Long Day Closes (1992)

A review by Damian Cannon.
Copyright © Movie Reviews UK 1997
In a love note to Cinema, the glories of Hollywood are admired by a film which ignores modern-day conventions. The nominal story follows the childhood of Bud (Leigh McCormack), a young boy growing up in the Liverpool backstreets of post-war Britain. Around him swirl the adult figures of his mother (Marjorie Yates) and elder siblings, while contact with children his own age seems limited to school. However, whenever the chance of a visit to the flicks occurs, Bud's eyes light up with anticipation. It seems that the towering figures flickering on the big screen are the reality for him while everything else is just a pale shadow.

Very much an autobiographical film for director Terence Davies, this is less an ode to cinema and more a decomposition of the medium's essential elements. Windows play an important role, both as transmitters of light and as frames for particular scenes (in the style of the screen). The flicker of moving pictures which embraces Bud's face finds numerous echoes, such as the modulation of sunlight as it passes through rain on glass or the dancing illumination from flames in a bonfire (once again Bud seems separate as he watches from indoors while his family frolic with the fireworks). Beyond the simple contrasts of light and shadow, which are amply dwelled upon, there is scope for the rhythms, patterns and flow which provide the bare bones of any movie.

Returning to the moments which signify turning points in young Bud's existence, such as the time he starts secondary school or when he becomes sidelined by his brothers courting, it's clear that cinema is more than just a distraction. Although we never see the movies that he avidly seeks out, the redemptive qualities of these experiences give Bud the will to continue (much more so than family, school or religion) as his differing sexuality becomes apparent. Education is portrayed as an especially brutal regime, involving sadistic masters and bullies, which perhaps leads to the film's title - the long day of Bud's difficult adolescence finally ends.

There is much to love in this movie, but such appreciation is dependent on approaching the material in a certain way. With long, static images there is a requirement for concentration and a willingness to contemplate, which leads to a deeper understanding of Davies intentions. The period atmosphere is perfectly recreated with muted colours and a judicious intermixing of tunes, which characters are apt to sing out loud. Scenes that particularly stand out are the attention paid to Bud's carpet as the light waxes and wanes, throwing shadows and highlights across its richly textured surface (as seen from Bud's viewpoint) and the gorgeous fade between brickwork patterns, an ordered congregation, cinema audience and school children. Even the twinkling of smoke in the projector's beam takes on an emotional quality when viewed with the adoration which seeps from this film. In some ways The Long Day Closes feels very similar to a silent movie, partly due to the sparse dialogue and partly because rapid-cutting (a modern feature) is largely absent. However, if you feel the same passion as Davies for sitting in darkened halls (and don't mind the lack of plot) then this will be a memorable experience.

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