Funny Cow Review

With such an abundance of film, music, television and reading material released weekly, it is almost impossible to keep up. Not even almost, it simply is impossible. Funny Cow is a feature that was bumped further and further out of that radar of interest, and then it turns out Richard Hawley did the soundtrack, and the magnet for good music kicked in, drawing it right back into the fold. With or without Hawley, Funny Cow is such an integral piece of the working-class values put to screen. It is infused with that charm and clarity Mike Leigh’s work provides, while also engaging with the political thematics Ken Loach almost always has lingered on the coattails of his characters.

Maxine Peake brings that quality to Funny Cow, a delightful piece that marries the misery and comedy so many cliché backstories do. It is that cliché that brings truth, though. Tough and inspired moments founded in a 1970s Northern town, but charting itself back to those childhood roots when it matters most of all. But much of it plays out without sense, with Alun Armstrong and Paddy Considine left with the worst of those moments. Their characters make sense, their trajectory the obvious tragedy to hang on to, but it is neither earned nor articulated well. Hebe Beardsall follows suit with a quick set of moments that provide the working-class structure. People fear uniqueness. That much is certain. Funny people are even scarier than that. Fear of what they do not understand is crucial to Funny Cow.  

What it provides is desperation matched by Trainspotting and Life Is Sweet, to pursue a dream or an avenue of hope. That crucial moment of falling in love with a career or a form is right there in Funny Cow. Adrian Shergold’s direction, that close-up of Funny Cow, gives it away with belief running through its framing. Setting their sights on something, truly heading through and making it a reality of a career, that much is showcased with great beauty and all to the score of Hawley’s wonderful soundtrack work. Kitchen sink brutality shoves the dreams and aspirations off, but everyone has a breaking point. Even then, Funny Cow shows off the harsh reality of performance. Sometimes it is harder to perform for one person than many, as the aspirations and the faltering of it show in those early, important scenes.

Funny Cow is an essential watch. It elevates that kitchen sink drama above the usual tones and stylings by being brutal. It does not cower away from its violent disposition, the darkness at its core. It throws that kitchen sink aesthetic right out the window. Funny Cow shows that desperation to be accepted, it isn’t weak to leave. As stunning as it is creative and boldly so, the elements that mark Funny Cow as a success are its placement, its colloquial charms and the structure Peake provides. Becoming the person you pretend to be is a far crueller fate than failing to find yourself but giving it a go. Funny Cow is keen to show that elements of the unique, those bright sparks, are worth pursuing even if the destination is a dead end. A bit hammy in parts, but it’s worth sticking around.