Ken Loach’s new drama is set in County Leitrim in the Twenties and Thirties but is relevant to any state where a nationalist struggle has been hijacked by religious dogma. Based on real events, this is the story of a fun-loving socialist, Jimmy Gralton (played by charismatic newcomer Barry Ward), who comes under attack not once but twice when he tries to make changes in his home town. The film’s great strength is that its central baddie, the parish priest (Jim Norton, superb), is so three-dimensional. Loach’s regular scriptwriter, Paul Laverty, sometimes makes conflicts appear black and white. Father Sheridan is hauntingly grey.
Jimmy’s Hall is full to bursting with wonderful music and movement (of the traditional Irish variety but also American; Gralton was, apparently, a big fan of jazz). Its focus, though, is on words, the sophisticated, witty, sometimes heartbreaking rhetoric used by ordinary people to change hearts and minds. “Don’t patronise me!” our hero yells at Father Sheridan and, fittingly, not a single character — not the bumbling cops, nor Gralton’s old mother — is made to sound dumb.
This is not vintage Loach. Some of the acting is awkward, while a romance between Jimmy and an ex-flame veers towards the soggy. Still, the overall effect is energising and rumours that this is the director’s swansong are — fingers crossed — false. Jimmy’s Hall doesn’t feel like a lofty summing up. It’s more an anguished howl of hope, delivered in honour of individuals who never quit while they’re ahead.
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