As pointed out by Jonathan Romney reviewing Secrets & Lies1, Mike Leigh’s ability in ‘pinning down all the nuances of behaviour and decor that immediately locate a character socially and emotionally’ is a device ‘that can easily lead to caricature,’ or rather—I’d dare rephrasing—to the misinterpretation of the author’s intentions. Career Girls is a good example. I am completely sure that such types exist—in fact, I might be one—but I can’t help receiving all the performances in the film as a little over the top. Do I find this as ‘irritating’ as many legitimately might? Maybe not, and yet that does create some distance between me and the characters. Had I watched this on stage, where physical space is an element of theatre, I wouldn’t have been bothered as much. But in a film, where the lens put me in a far more intimate, if not intrusive, position, I couldn’t avoid constantly acknowledging the craft.
What I still enjoyed of the film is its pace, its not rushing for an obvious payoff. Locating in the same area of Naked, the lack of a perceived plot stands as proof of trust towards the characters, the actors, and ultimately the audience. Talking to Amy Raphael about it, Mike Leigh appropriately speaks of a certain inventive freedom, which I think it’s palpable. ‘I don’t really want to use the word ethereal, but that would kind of explain what the film’s about. It’s something to do with what Hannah and Annie are experiencing.’2
Its improbable series of coincidences contributes to the metaphorical—‘maybe spiritual,’ in Leigh’s words again—dimension of the film. Career Girls is about the long journey from our twenties to our thirties, and therefore adultness. Our perspective changes more in that decade than any other in our life. We might look at Ricky as a funny lovable guy in uni years, but no doubt we see his tragedy when we meet him again in the narrative present days, as do Hannah and Annie. But the film also seems to remind us that where we are is always a lot closer to where we came than to where we are headed. I am not sure if I like the notion, but while I write it I begrudgingly admit it is fascinatingly as true as Leigh’s dramatic depiction of our unconscious need for roots.
1.Secrets and Lies, Jonathan Romney (The Guardian, 23 May 1996). 2. From Mike Leigh on Mike Leigh, Edited by Amy Raphael (Faber, 2021).
