Article: Thank You Richie Adamson – Rewatching TwentyFourSeven

By Leslie Byron Pitt

The man who introduced me to Shane Meadows, Richie, is no longer with us. Around the time I started to consider writing this piece, Tyson Fury had recently stopped Dillon Whyte to retain his heavyweight boxing titles. I found myself with a profound desire to rewatch Shane Meadows' 90s tragicomedy TwentyFourSeven. Of all the films on boxing that one can seek in the hundred-plus years of cinema, this little indie that could wormed its way back into my consciousness. In turn, I found my thoughts centring on my old friend from Somerset. A man whose passion for media influenced me more than I even dare to think. We had first met in my hometown of High Wycombe. We were both working at the local cinema and bonded over the sitcom Spaced and our love of Hip-Hop. I started this piece before taking a long break from it. As the 4th anniversary of Ritchie’s death loomed overhead, I found myself back at my computer.

At college, while writing film reviews, I cribbed quotes from his rants and received high marks. He introduced me to pulp movies like The Way of the Gun (2000) and Brotherhood of the Wolf (2001). I would argue about the virtues of Paul Thomas Anderson. Richie despised what he considered the pretensions of filmmakers like Anderson. He was more into the cult comedy stylings of films like Men at Work (1990) and The Adventures of Ford Fairlane (1990). Of those two titles, I preferred the latter over the former. But our friendship lay in other shared passions. Watching and yapping about the likes of Shane Meadows, Takeshi Kitano, and (early) Kevin Smith. This became our middle ground.

Photo by Charlie Pitt

Richie passed away in October 2021. He left us not even a week after my wife and I lost our second child, Ava. Two weeks before he passed, I was sitting on a patio with him, cackling over Warner Bros leaving one of the Nun characters from Ken Russell’s The Devils in the background of Space Jam 2’s medley of studio stars. Richie had moved back to Somerset but periodically returned to visit the few friends he still knew back in Buckinghamshire. At this time, we hadn’t seen each other since my wedding in 2018. He wasn’t one for social media. So, I spent some time informing him of what he missed. He was gutted at the news that my wife and I had lost our first child, Samuel, in 2020. But he was pleased to hear about Ava. Little did we know that tragedy would strike again. The one-two punch of these losses has made October a difficult month to process. A moment of compounded grief.

A bachelor for as long as I knew him, he always seemed pleased when his friends got into relationships. He would bombard my wife with GTA text updates.  She called him a true gent. A few people did. Maybe it was his Army training. He was good at hiding his cynicism. When I heard the news, I looked back at our group wedding photos. I couldn’t see him. He may have hidden in the crowd. He wasn’t too fond of pictures. I sense, Dear Reader, you are seeing a pattern.

While he was not one for stroking his ego on social media, Richie was a (not-so-quiet) influencer in getting others interested in stuff. Opinionated to the point of annoyance, Richie was best when he found something you liked, wandered down his memory palace, and found something similar he could recommend. He was a hype man for recreation. Shane Meadows was a big one for him. We headed to the cinema for the enjoyable Kitchen Sink Western, Once Upon a Time in the Midlands (2002), but Richie was big on Meadows' early features. “Oh, Dude,” he’d exclaim in his West Country accent, “you’ve got to check out A Room for Romeo Brass!” I picked up the Shane Meadows DVD box set at a time when doing so would cost most of your weekly cinema income. He wasn’t wrong, though. It’s a fine box set. One I still own. And it includes TwentyFourSeven.

Set in an unnamed Nottinghamshire town, TwentyFourSeven centres on Alan Darcy (a monumental Bob Hopkins). A hardworking and passionate man who has fallen on hard times after the reign of Thatcher. Fed up with the rival juvenile gangs who loiter around the area with little to do other than eat chips and fight each other, Darcy decides to unite the youths of the town by building a boxing club. Darcy holds an unwavering opinion that opening the club will bring crime down and give those who join something to believe in. Animosity slowly shifts to respect, and all signs point to Darcy’s idea being a source of good. However, tension builds when Darcy’s plan to hold a tournament between his crew and another club, and exterior conflicts build around the group.

Meadows is an outstanding economic filmmaker. With the ability to mine profound richness from seemingly very little. A quality like that of Terrance Davis. While Hopkins is the film’s lead performer, TwentyFourSeven has a considerable and varied cast who all play their part in the film’s 90 minutes. All of whom are given enough character to fill out their plot strands. There are familiar faces here as well. Yes, that is Les Battersby from Coronation Street. That certainly is a young James Corden. Every character gives something to the story. Even if they have limited screen time. The film touches on themes of coming of age, drug abuse, domestic violence, homosexuality, generational disconnect, and socioeconomical politics, but does so with an incredibly deft touch. Moments carry weight but never feel heavy-handed. Depth is found in simple, delicate moments. Handprints left on glass tables. A mentor lying at the bedside of a friend who’s had a momentary relapse. A glass being held by a hand shaking with anxious realisation. When the context is removed, these descriptions might sound odd or mundane. But watch how they fit into this narrative. They become moving. This quality has never left Meadows as a director. Even as he moved to larger “small” films such as Dead Man’s Shoes (2004) and This is England (2006). 

TwentyFourSeven’s depth is cleverly wrapped up in a stylish and cine-literate package. The film happily name-checks Rocky (1976), with some of the subplots and themes appearing to be wry nods to the Hollywood crowd-pleaser. The textured monochromatic cinematography owes more than a passing acknowledgement to Raging Bull (1980). Again, TwentyFourSeven liberally borrows and twists themes from Scorsese’s savage biopic. Alan Darcy, much like Jake La Motta, is a passionate lover of the sport of boxing but also a man who is unable to quell the rage that swells inside him. Much like On the Waterfront (1954), quipping La Motta, Darcy could have been a contender; however, having surrendered himself to his aggressive actions, he becomes a bum. The film opens with the unfortunate road where Darcy’s rage takes him.

Part of my love for this film is the counselling aspect that I had also often found in Richie. He didn’t have a volatile nature. There was no aggressive streak that inhabits the mentor figures in Shane Meadows' movies. But the geeky passion Richie had for so much media felt like many of the characters witnessed in the films we watched together. Richie was a guide during my college and university years in a similar way Darcy became to his boxing group. It would be easy to get annoyed at his all-or-nothing opinion on things, but never in his desire to get you invested in the things that also entertained him. Watching TwentyFourSeven again, the key aspect in Darcy is that his enthusiasm was infectious. As was Richie’s. At one point, Richie and I would meet up once a month to watch wrestling pay-per-views and eat wings (or Ribs). Said meet-ups grew rapidly in numbers. Soon, becoming all-night events fuelled by chicken and caffeine. All situated within a rather moderately sized living room. Richie, with his broad grin, would inform everyone which wrestlers we should want to win. He was in his element. 

What’s enjoyable, and ultimately heartbreaking, is Darcy doing what he can to bring back a sense of community to a midland town that feels forgotten by everyone else. Believing wholeheartedly in the nobility of his cause, the wish to be a force for good to groups of boys who are struggling with abandonment, absenteeism, and despair is endearing. Watching the film almost 30 years on, this type of idealism feels so distant, yet still required.  Indeed, watching TwentyFourSeven in the social media era feels strange now. More towns look even more like the film’s unnamed, midland town. While the people these days who inspire young boys now are obnoxious, bigoted loudmouths who seem to exist in our phones like digital ether. Intangible but potent. I was no delinquent, but watching a film where one man tries to rouse a sense of belief in young men, all the while being similarly inspired by a person seemingly doing the same thing, is quite an experience. A melding of fact and fiction. Life and art. Both Richie and Darcy were beacons of motivation. To take what you can from them and use it to bring people together. 

Roger Ebert was dismissive of TwentyFourSeven, with the critic openly admitting from the start of his review that he didn’t understand why Boxing is recommended to young boys in depressed areas. His opening statement puts a distance between himself and the film. While the broad view that boxing gives boys an inner belief is vague as a gesture, TwentyFourSeven highlights that inspiration and community can be gained from unlikely spots. Ebert, who famously claimed that movies are vehicles of empathy, seems to neglect the compassion that TwentyFourSeven has in abundance. Much like the film’s patriarch antagonist, played by former Coronation Street mainstay Bruce Jones, Ebert was unconvinced by Darcy’s plight. It’s a shame not to be convinced by Darcy’s unconventional yet positive intentions. Much of the persuasion lies in the bullish yet sensitive performance from Bob Hoskins. There’s an anxiety that can be seen on his face when he pleads his case. His conviction is the key to the film. And it’s conviction that I still believe with every viewing. This is a man who wishes to give something back. He is devastated when things go awry.

Richie died of heart failure brought on by catching Covid-19. He detailed that he didn’t wish to have a funeral. His parents stated that all he asked for was for his friends to remember him and the time shared together. My memories of Richie were watching cult movies, wrestling events, playing video games, and eating wings. Nothing too out of the ordinary. But there was another layer. To share each other’s passions. No matter how trivial. To find common ground and connection, despite it being unconventional. I’ve never been too sure on how to do this right. To honour such a particular kind of friend. Pictures weren’t forthcoming. But the passion of his opinions was strongly remembered. For me, his recommendations certainly were. There are more than a few films that remind me of Richie. Possibly too many. I thought maybe writing about one would be the right thing. There’s a strong chance he would disagree. But I’d still write it. Pass on the passion. Like Richie did with me. I feel it’s best to leave this piece with two lines in the journal in which Darcy records his thoughts throughout the film.

“To give is the most splendid feeling. Letting go of your own for the pleasure of another.”

Thank You, Richard Adamson.

Review: Moonlight

Year: 2016 (U.K Theatrical Release 2017)
Director: Barry Jenkins
Screenplay: Barry Jenkins
Starring: Trevante Rhodes, André Holland, Janelle Monáe, Ashton Sanders, Naomie Harris, Mahershala Ali.

Synopsis is here:

It’s been almost a week since I came out of a mid-afternoon screening of Barry Jenkins second feature length film Moonlight. Despite the rave reviews and its surprise Oscar win, I knew little about the film itself. As a massive fan of Jenkins quietly touching debut feature Medicine for Melancholy (2008), I kept myself away from anything that delved too much into the actual film. Now, a few hours since my viewing of the film, I can honestly say I was astonished. In the same way that many wouldn’t believe they would see a Black U.S president in their lifetime, I never would have believed that an unapologetically black art film would win Best Picture. But here we are.

Of course, we can talk about the embarrassing Oscar mix up that occurred. In which Oscar favourite; La La Land (2016) was announced as the winner of the award before notification of the mix-up was discovered. The fallout from the error once again highlighted some of the many problems that many find with the Academy. However, this doesn’t take away from what this film as achieved. When something as elliptical as Moonlight wins Best Picture, it can chip away at our expectations about the Oscars. While you can say that the film’s theme of homosexuality seems to fit into the so-called “worthy” agenda of the awards, almost everything else does not. From its near abstract structure, down to the small production company who made the film. What the win did for cynics such as myself, is suggest the alterations of academy voting members may not just change who may win what at the Oscars, it may affect artistic taste. The beauty of Moonlight is in the respect it gives its audience. It is not heavy on dialogue and its plot is streamlined, yet the execution of its story, which seems to owe more to the mood driven world cinema of the likes of Wong Kar Wai, along with the films cultural relevancy is what makes the film stand out.

In some ways, Moonlight is similar to Jenkins debut feature. As with Medicine for Melancholy, Moonlight navigates ideas of black identity and relationships and the need for connection in a world in which many elements seek to isolate. In Medicine, the conflict lies within the class struggle, gentrification and interracial dating. It debates that there is still a struggle between race and class when it comes to love and despite our wish to ignore such arguments, a division is still created from outside judgement and long-standing resentment. In Moonlight the conflict at first appears more insular. It details the interior identity crisis of a young black man at three pivotal moments of his life. Sexuality is explored, along with the complex emotions that come through with the character’s age and the fraught relationships of youth. Moonlight also factors a socio-political element which, if isolated, would seem well worn on the surface, but due to its setting and characters, brings forth a fresh angle towards its subject. A young man’s search for his sexual identity is often used subject matter in cinema and in that sense Moonlight is no different. However, the film’s predominant setting of Liberty City, Miami speaks volumes. This is a lower-class area with African-Americans making up 95% of the demographic. The waspish comments that have emitted from white commentators such as Camilla Long only help illustrate that complex queer cinema has long been a Caucasian exercise. The complicated affections that take place in the likes of Carol (2015) and Brokeback Mountain (2005) appeared to be accepted far more readily. Here with Moonlight, questions of universal appeal quickly rose their heads. Whether subconsciously or not, this does not come as a big surprise. However, much like Medicine for Melancholy, Jenkins’ main weapon in his armoury is his capability to infuse his characters with earnestness and vulnerability. There is a tenderness between these characters here that is not often seen within films that deal with Black masculinity, if at all. Apologies for being glib here, but it’s not a shock that the film's emotions may be lost on certain writers and viewers. Black masculinity has so narrowly defined for so long in cinema, you can almost forgive people for black characters for not acting in the way that they expect. For some black audience members for which this film’s warm, emotive response will connect to, we now expect this so much in our real lives, we should merely roll our eyes and move on.

The characters and dynamics at play in Moonlight defy so much of what is often suggested in other areas of black culture. In particular Rap and Hip Hop music, which has been long dominated with allegations and allegories of homophobia and toxic masculinity for nearly thirty years. The film does slightly lean towards the ghetto escapism that defined the Afro-American cinema of the 90’s, but it also toys with our expectations. For instance, Mahershala Ali portrayal of the drug dealer with the heart of gold is shifted into a new perspective when in conversation with a young 9-year-old boy about the word “faggot”. A near unrecognisable Naomi Harris takes on a role of a drug-addicted mother, delicately balancing the performance between despicableness and heart-wrenching empathy. It could have been easy to shoehorn this portrayal with previously seen roles such as Mo'nique’s villainess display in Precious (2009). But Jenkins understands that humans aren’t that straightforward. What we see throughout with every character is the knottiness that comes with their decisions and the tumultuous results which stem from their history.

Like Boyhood (2012), Moonlight notes upon the small details rather than the larger ones. We are given intimate moments which help define the young protagonist; Chiron, but the film decides against highlighting certain outcomes. Characters fade into the distance, but they’ve made their mark. This is a film of looks, not dialogue. Lines are read on the character’s faces. This is where the depth of the film is found. On the surface, we think we know the story, yet this is a tale differs from what we think we know. The moments Moonlight declines to show us, an off-screen demise, for example, doesn’t need to be shown. The audience has seen in many guises before.

The likes of Camilla Long will state that the film as a whole has been told on countless backdrops. But no. Take away the likes of Campbell X’s Stud Life (2012), the work of Charles Burnett, or at a push, Six Degrees of Seperation (1993) and the canvas is nearly always white. Often of a social class higher than seen here. It’s one imitate love scene holds a tenderness that has not been held on a mainstream screen by two Afro-American black men. It displays a tenderness with a poignancy that even Todd Haynes Carol (2015) doesn’t reach. It’s a moment which truly suggests that we now comfortable with queer sex which is not out to titillate or to shock. It is one thing to dislike a film for an honest reason but is slightly troubling to dismiss film in the way the likes of Long does, asking a mood piece to have more plot. To rebuff the film as something that doesn’t break any new ground as if films like this are a dime a dozen. How often do we see films as personal as this? With African Americans framed with such tenderness? Long’s banal comments are a smart way to try and take away a marginalised voice, but while Moonlight may not be a universal and easy expression for more conservative ears it’s certainly one that needed to be told.

It’s difficult to produce a coming of age film which is so nakedly honest. It’s harder to do so with three different actors inhabiting the same role. Even Boyhood kept hold of its child actors for all of its 12 years of production. The performances that come from the three lead roles are not only uniformly consistent but they also all highlight the fragility that can lie within black male masculinity. It’s difficult to pick out the strongest dramatic moment. It could be the subtle and heart-breaking exchange that occurs between Alex Hibbert’s 9-year-old Chiron and Mahershala Ali’s Juan. It could the soft romantic moment on the beach between a teenage Chiron (Ashton Sanders) and his childhood friend Kevin (Jharrel Jerome). One part of me believes that films final scenes between and adult Chiron (Trevante Rhodes) and Kevin (André Holland) are the most deserving, yet to say that seems unfair on everything that we’ve seen before it. What I can honestly say is each display is deeply compelling.

The three performances, when combined, create a complex and wrenching portrait of longing and regret I can honestly say that I have not seen in an American movie lead by people of colour before. Such a statement is hyperbolic, but one I say with a similar earnestness that this deeply expressive piece of art provides. It will not surprise me if the film’s Oscar win will disarm those who will now try and see what the fuss is about. Moonlight is a film which is not interested in easy answers and comforting closure. It’s a film which requires meditation. This is a film which is not only unapologetically black but also a film that is not universal with its emotions. Nor is it ever trying to be. It’s a film which belongs in the same realms as George Washington (2000), This is England (2006) and Ratcatcher (1999). Coming of age films from the skewed side of the tracks which still maintain the ability to sense the sweet within the sour. In a film world, which appears to be falling into the trap of homogeneity, Moonlight’s beautifully abstract and visually poetic rhythms are a timely reminder of just how bewitching the seventh art can be. I await Barry Jenkins next feature with baited breath. His Oscar win suggests I may not have to wait almost a decade for it this time.