Something a bit different, a bit out-of-the-way. And mere differentness, though a separate matter entirely, can go a good ways to offset deficiencies in strictly artistic areas. To be given entrée into the Pakistani community of South London -- to observe firsthand the readjustment of the foreigner and the resentment of the native -- is not something most Americans, at any rate, can yawn at as old-hat. And no other sort of yawn can be excused in advance. Being an outsider will naturally throw certain obstacles in the way of enjoyment, notably in matters of accents and idioms and whatnot. (The peculiar deadness of the recorded sound, the eerie quietness of the backgrounds, and the stiffness of some of the players, most particularly the grimly smiling ventriloquist's dummy in the lead role, are no help there, and even detract somewhat from the authenticity of the ambience.) But it is quite all right in these sorts of circumstances to miss, or misunderstand, bits and pieces of dialogue. This can be chalked up as part of being a stranger in a strange land. There is the occasional sense, however, over and above the allowable level of incomprehension, that the storytelling is a bit dotted, with lots of missed beats, missed chances, and missed nail-heads. The homosexual relationship that develops between two former childhood chums -- one a Paki, the other a Brit -- is an unexpected bonus: and doubly unexpected in avoiding, despite often flirting with, the expected public revelation and reaction. The nicest thing about this turn of events -- if a term usually used as a negative can be used instead as a positive -- is its gratuitousness. It adds nothing to the analysis of British-Pakistani relations on the whole, and it helps to deflect the sledgehammer irony of a feckless Brit going to work for a go-getter Paki. With Gordon Warnecke and Daniel Day Lewis; directed by Stephen Frears. (1985) — Duncan Shepherd
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