Of Time and the City

I finally got round to seeing Terence Davies’ much-vaunted 2008 documentary, Of Time and the City last night and I was not disappointed. Such was the critical fuss surrounding its 2008 release that I wonder why it took me two years to getting round to watching it; when one considers that I have had a copy of it for the best part of a year and that it’s only an hour and twenty minutes long, it starts to look like laziness. But then you have to bear in mind that a largely black-and-white, docu-biography about the city of Liverpool, memory and nostalgia isn’t the easiest watch.

Composed largely of archive footage of the Liverpool of the 30s, 40s, 50s and beyond, it recounts Davies’ earliest memories of his family, the city and his interaction with both. Born into a working class Catholic household, the two pillars of church and class dominate much of his reminiscences, his homosexuality providing a counterpoint and much existential angst.

What might have seemed like run-of-the-mill images are lent an austere splendour and genuine poignancy by a brilliantly selected soundtrack consisting of Mahler, The Swinging Blue Jeans, Bach and more. The real star of the show, however, as Mark Kermode would surely tell you, is Terence Davies’ rich, baritone narration. His dense, lyrical musings reward serious thought, frequently citing as he does luminaries such as Eliot and Engels. It is exactly this serious quality that makes me want to watch it at least another time. Certainly one to catch on DVD.