The immaculate row of suspended brick apartments stand confidently, symmetrically and beautifully constant amidst the fog and condominiums. They serve as a harrowing visualthroughline in Terence Davies introspective "Of Time and the City" wherein he dissects his beloved home town of Liverpool (and himself). Closer to a documentary than any other genre, the blend of archive footage, poetry, classical music and sardonic baritone narration is more mosaic than film. Mr. Davies chronicles theMerseyside Borough through much of the 20th century heaping on a healthy serving of personal exhibition and social commentary.
While driven by non-linear collages of sight and sound the narrative structure is actually very straightforward, beginning with the Liverpool as Mr. Davies experienced it in his childhood. Exuding a nostalgia both through the musings of the narration and the grains of the celluloid, this Liverpool is lovingly represented as a simpler time by a series of iconic images. Overflowing boats cozy up to the ports and lumbering trains snake about their railways as they pour souls into the city. Hard-working men and women (heavy labor and laundry respectively), and blissfully carefree children make up the model blue collar family (for which Mr. Davies clearly has sympathies for). Gatherings of fellow Liverpudlians, a football stadium packed with frenzied, white towel waving devotees and the stunningly photographed Grand National (an equestrian-like steeplechase) with leaps that both terrify and amaze, portray Liverpool as a scrappy tight-knit community.
This is interspersed with personal recollections some fond, others painful. The long carefree days at the beach with "sand in the egg salad" give way to Davies tenuous relationship with Catholicism. Clearly suspicious of religion from the outset it wasn't until homosexuality surfaced during adolescence that faith posed a direct contradiction. This discovery is outlined in a deeply personal segment featuring underground wrestling matches like the ones he secretly attended with guilty fascination.
But it's not all reminiscence and reflection, nor is it without humor. As the city matures so too does our host, and with adulthood comes cynicism. Withholding no disdain for Liverpool's best known export he openly mocks the Beatles professing his preference for classical music. He also skewers the royal family in entertaining fashion. Over footage (color now) of the Queens gaudy coronation Davies quips "The troublewith being poor is that is takes up all of your time. The trouble with being rich is that it take up everyone elses." As the condominiums begin to sprout, the city, like the increasingly pixelated footage, becomes less personal for both Davies and the viewer. And as we venture into the unemployment crisis of the 70s and 80s what was once a tribute feels more like a cautionary tale.
But Davies does not intend to brand his film with any sort of thesis or message. Both a love letter and a condemnation it never delves into the indulgent moralizing that can befall passion projects such as these. "Of Time and The City" is more of an examination of a relationship, that all of us an recognize, with place and time. And, as it is for everyone, when places change and time passes the connection is more with a memory, concurrently distorting and enriching, than with any tangible object. Most will categorize this film is as a lyrical poem, and I would have to agree. Though as times teetering on the edge of self-seriousness, finally, Mr. Davies film is one of deliberate whimsy. As he recites T.S. Elliot with intense conviction during the opening. You think, "Is this guy for real?" The answer, suitably, is yes and no.