The Syrian refugees and the semi-derelict pub

Daniel Nelson

The Old Oak is a film about what happens when Syrian refugees move into a run-down, dead-on-its-feet north-east English town.

The Syrians are a focus for the grievances and disappointments that ought to be directed at the Government: poverty, malnutrition, poor and inadequate housing, unemployment, a total lack of facilities such as libraries and banks. A former coal-mining town with tight community bonds, its people now feel abandoned, hopeless, dumped on.

It’s an unpromising start for the Syrian newcomers, despite the kindness of local volunteers and of the sad, tired landlord of the semi-derelict pub that gives the film its title.

The story centres on the friendship between landlord TJ Ballantyne and refugee Yara, whose English has been honed by helping foreign medical staff  in a refugee camp.

Drama is driven by a small group of discontented xenophobes - the last regular remnants of a once-thriving pub - who sabotage a briefly successful project to promote harmony through community meals (“When you eat together, you stick together”). Will their destructive action be the final straw for integration and self-help - and for TJ, who, after being sparked out of his lethargy and into positive community action, becomes a shattered shell of a man.

Veteran leftie filmmaker Ken Loach uses what probably will be his last film (he is 78) to paint a desolately grim picture of a left-behind community whose spirit has been crushed by years of economic pressure (the sort of community who might well have voted Brexit in a vague, desperate hope of ushering in change, though Loach steers clear of the B-word).

And although the film sometimes lurches towards cliche (“I’m not a racist but…” declares a woman in the pub), Loach is far too good a director to cross the line. His characters - some played by non-professional actors - are real and complex, and there are many touching and dramatic moments, including a nerve-jangling opening tussle as a Syrian family disembark from a van at their new home under the puzzled eyes of suspicious neighbours. There’s space for more contemplative thoughts too, as when Yara contrasts the beauty and survival of Durham cathedral with the pitiless destruction of her own country’s heritage.

Despite the misery and defeatism, Loach consistently sees hope in working-class solidarity, whether it’s miners looking after each in the pits or those with a little food sharing with hungry kids; solidarity that overcomes boundaries and religions; a sense of humanity. What separates the locals from the refugees is that the former look back and see no future, while the latter look to build a future however hostile the circumstances.

In the end, it seems fitting that it’s a death that unites the old stagers and the new arrivals.