Judi Dench gives Philomena a warmth and intelligence that survive its heavy-handed opening jokes. Stephen Frears makes the search for a lost son moving without smoothing away the awkward questions about faith.
Stephen Frears makes Philomena into a warm, funny and often painful film about a mother looking for her son. We recommend it, with some patience for an opening that makes the differences between its travelling companions too obvious. Judi Dench plays Philomena; Steve Coogan is Martin Sixsmith, the journalist who initially has little appetite for her story. The search gives them a reason to keep talking, and those conversations gradually become more interesting than the simple contrast between faith and scepticism suggests.
Steve Coogan and Jeff Pope’s screenplay gets useful comedy from Martin’s impatience and Philomena’s willingness to take other people seriously. At first, though, it presses too hard: his cynicism and her innocence arrive as ready-made instructions about whom to like. The early laughter can have an uncomfortable edge, as though her lack of sophistication were something to be indulged. The writing improves when it lets her intelligence emerge through the conversation rather than arranging another lesson for him.
Judi Dench is the reason the film gets beyond those early jokes. She gives Philomena’s faith the weight of something she has lived with, without treating it as proof that she cannot understand what happened to her. We were moved by her continued belief in the Church, because the performance never suggests that she has forgotten the harm done to her. The hurt remains apparent even when she is being funny, and the restraint makes the search matter.
Steve Coogan helps by keeping Martin’s irritation recognisably human. He holds back while she talks, and makes the journalist’s occasional superiority look awkward rather than enviable. His impatience is funny without making him a man whose opinions can simply be dismissed. At their best, both actors remain worth watching while the other is talking, and the pauses are as enjoyable as the jokes.
Robbie Ryan’s cinematography keeps the emphasis on faces, an unobtrusive choice that suits a film whose strongest passages are conversations. Alan MacDonald’s production design similarly keeps the surroundings from competing with the people, although the journey could use a stronger sense of place. Valerio Bonelli’s editing is brisk enough to prevent the investigation from becoming a series of explanations. Alexandre Desplat’s score is less discreet, occasionally pressing for a response the actors have already earned. At 98 minutes, the film has room for pauses without seeming to linger over its own sensitivity.
A simpler version of this story would have Martin explain the Church to Philomena until she agreed with him. Stephen Frears has more respect for her than that. He allows her religious belief to matter in its own right, even when the film is angry about what has been done in religion’s name. The familiar odd-couple arrangement becomes useful here: their disagreements give both characters time to make sense to us, and humour does not settle the question. Watch it with someone whose views differ from your own, and leave some time to talk afterwards.
