As reliable as sunrise in the morning, Ken Loach’s prolific output ensures that his fans know they can depend on him for a surefire treat every couple of years. Loach’s unapologetic Marxism, combined with his insistence on expressing same in each movie – often in unsubtle broadside fashion – unnerves and irritates many rank-and-file critics, with the result that he’s generally dismissed as a sort of old crank who has to be grudgingly respected. Others, Moviehouse included, hail him as (at the very least) Britain’s finest director.
Set in the Scots port of Greenock, which has seen much better days, Sweet Sixteen marks a return to home turf for Loach after the Stateside excursion of Bread & Roses. It shares the same tragicomic, pitch-black approach as 1998’s My Name is Joe, with the general air of misery and hopelessness pleasantly subverted by rich, caustic humour and unbreakable belief in a better day to come.
Teenage scamp and Morton FC player Martin Compston is hugely impressive as Liam, a misfortunate sixteen-year-old whose decrepit smack-addicted mother festers away in jail, while her scumbag boyfriend forces little Liam to smuggle little bags of treats into the prison during visits. Determined to break this cycle, he and his mate Pinball (Ruane) embark on a cunning entrepreneurial plan to raise the cash for a place of their own: they liberate a large stash of smack from the mother’s boyfriend, before flogging it to many hungry Greenock mouths. This being a Loach film, extreme trouble is never far around the corner...
Despite Loach’s justified reputation for startling realism, it’s undeniable that many of his films are as melodramatic as it’s humanly possible to get, and Sweet Sixteen is certainly no exception. Some audiences might find the drab scenery and heavy accents a shade off-putting, but I haven’t seen a better film this year.