Film Poster for ‘I, Daniel Blake’

Remembering Daniel Blake

Isabel
Isabel
Aug 31, 2018 · 3 min read

Two years on and this tale of tragedy in working-class Britain is still as searingly relevant as ever.


‘I, Daniel Blake’ is the kind of film that you remember watching for the first time. For me, it was a tiny underground film club in China. We met each Saturday night in someone’s apartment and watched everything from black-and-white Samurai classics to dreamy Wong Kar-Wai romances to the latest cheesy Mainland blockbusters. The week that we watched I, Daniel Blake, I was one of only two foreigners — and the sole Brit — to show up. I’d heard that the film had won the Palme d’Or at Cannes, but I hadn’t read any reviews — as such, I went into the room with no idea what to expect. That was probably a mistake, but I maintain that nothing could have prepared me for the rush of shame, pride and homesickness I felt as I watched Ken Loach’s masterpiece of a film.

‘I, Daniel Blake’ is powerful partly because of its painstakingly crafted artlessness. Loach doesn’t pitch Daniel to us. He doesn’t woo us into caring about this old man’s bureaucratic plight. He simply lays out the facts and gives us no choice. The script feels profound without departing from the patterns and forms of everyday speech; the cinematography seems artless until you find yourself leaning closer to the screen with every scene that passes, drawn into the painfully realistic nightmare.

I Daniel Blake also features an exceptionally talented cast. Hayley Squires does a star turn as Daniel’s female counterpart, an impoverished single mother. There are no redundant roles; each supporting character has their moment of cold villainy or quiet heroism. If I had one area in which I would have liked to see the film developed, I would have loved to have delved deeper into a few of these characters’ backstories — the drunkard who takes a selfie with Blake, for example, or the team of carpenters who help him to use the internet. That said, much of the film’s strength comes from its intimate focus on the central cast, so perhaps any more development of the supporting characters would have weakened the story’s overall drive, its steady progress towards is inevitable, tragic conclusion.

After the film ended, we all sat in silence, for a while, and then, one by one, my Beijing friends began to discuss the film, in hushed voices. I continued to sit, quietly, and listen. I didn’t know what to say. Someone switched the lights on, and my quiet feeling of homesick pride was eclipsed by self-consciousness and shame. Oh god, what did they think? Of the state of my nation — of me?
But then, someone said, ‘I am amazed that this film was allowed to be made.’ And suddenly, the pride came rushing back.

I, Daniel Blake is a slap in the face to those who would demonise the underprivileged or dismiss their everyday suffering. Instead, the film glories in their creativity, of compassion, of bravery. And, thank goodness, it wasn’t swept under the rug for doing so — instead, it was rightly celebrated.
If you haven’t seen I, Daniel Blake yet — see it. Be proud that here in the UK our creatives have the freedom to make a film like this. An angry film that shouts its message out of the screen without irony or affectation: ‘This, here. This is happening. What are we going to do about it?’

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