Philomena is based on the true story of an Irish woman searching for the son stolen from her by the Catholic Church 50 years earlier, and although, as a cinematic experience, it could so easily have felt as if you were being repeatedly slapped round the head by a copy of Woman’s Own, it is, thankfully, quite a few notches up from that. Indeed, as directed by Stephen Frears, it is quiet, restrained, unfussy, and has, at its heart, an injustice so grave it will make your blood boil. You will also cry. Seven minutes in, and I was already crying. Not proud, but it is a fact.
Dame Judi Dench stars as Philomena, which is, of course, beyond wonderful, as any film starring Dame Judi Dench will be highly watchable, whatever. She could make a film about the best way to zap warts, and I’d still be all over it. Also, she’s in every scene, more or less, and it’s just so fantastic to see an older woman’s face take centre stage, and a proper older woman’s face at that. (I saw Cher on Graham Norton’s show the other night and it’s as if she’s been clingfilmed.)She stars with Steve Coogan, who also co-wrote the script. Probably, I wouldn’t be all over any film Coogan made about warts, but he is rather suited to playing Martin Sixsmith, the journalist and spin doctor who wrote the book on which this is based, and who helped Philomena with her search.
The film’s immediate opening is comic in tone. We see Martin undergoing a medical. ‘Your stool is outstanding,’ says the doctor. ‘Really?’ says Sixsmith, looking all pleased. ‘You haven’t provided a sample yet,’ the doctor explains. Martin isn’t, in fact, in such great shape.
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