E-Mail This Article to a Friend VERA DRAKE

Whether you think Mike Leigh’s Vera Drake is the dour kitchen sink realist’s latest masterpiece (it won the Golden Lion at Venice) or a case of self-parody depends on your take on a scene near the end. It’s holiday time in the dank London of 1950, and Vera (jack-o’-lantern-faced Imelda Staunton), out on bail after her arrest for performing illegal abortions, faces a chilly reception at the family dinner table. After all the acid silences, averted eyes, and not-so-veiled accusations, son-in-law Reg (Eddie Marsan), newcomer to the clan, takes a chocolate and says that this is the best Christmas he’s ever had.

And who’s to argue? Leigh’s post-war, pre-boom period setting exudes injustice, pathos, and helplessness, and the victimized look on with either slack-jawed, non-comprehending despair or grinning, non-comprehending benevolence. The latter expression belongs to Vera, the saintly matriarch of a sturdy working-class family who has been "helping girls in trouble" with her syringe and cheese grater. Her service has continued for years free of charge and no one’s the wiser until one client almost dies, whereupon Vera spends the rest of the movie crying. That’s feminism Mike Leigh style, and his manipulative tract is more condescending than compassionate. (125 minutes)