Mother’s Pride review – flat-cap populism and weak beer in Martin Clunes post-Brexit pub comedy
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<p>The team behind Fisherman’s Friends swap sea shanties for real ale, but this tale of rival West Country boozers serves up clunky exposition and sentiment on tap</p><p>The <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/film/2019/mar/13/fishermans-friends-review-seaswept-britcom-reels-in-the-laughs">Fisherman’s Friends</a> team have found a modestly profitable post-Brexit niche: tales of culturally endangered Anglo-Saxon endeavours, nudged towards gentle uplift via a few son
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Review Mother’s Pride review – flat-cap populism and weak beer in Martin Clunes post-Brexit pub comedy The team behind Fisherman’s Friends swap sea shanties for real ale, but this tale of rival West Country boozers serves up clunky exposition and sentiment on tap T he Fisherman’s Friends team have found a modestly profitable post-Brexit niche: tales of culturally endangered Anglo-Saxon endeavours, nudged towards gentle uplift via a few songs and laughs, dollops of sentiment and some rabble-rousing populism. First it was half-forgotten sea shanties; now it’s the dwindling pub trade, represented here by rival West Country establishments. On one streetcorner, spit-and-sawdust local the DroversArms, overseen by salt-of-the-earth (read: emotionally repressed) widower Martin Clunes, who is slowly being strangled by his grasping brewery’s supply chain. On the other, that same brewery’s la-di-da gastropub, owned and somewhat implausibly operated by posho Pritchard (Luke Treadaway). The scene may have shifted indoors – gone, alas, is the Cornish scenery of Fisherman’s Friends – but the formula remains much the same: clunky exposition, upper-case “Issues”, variably groansome dad gags. Tension emerges between Clunes and prodigal son Jonno Davies, until the latter proposes a radical idea to save the business: homebrewing. Davies has an awkward reunion with old flame Gabriella Wilde, who is now shacked up with Treadaway and doubtless eating swan for breakfast. But the resolutions really are arbitrary: it takes barely 10 minutes for the villager who sabotages the microbrewery to crowdfund its replacement. Co-writer and director Nick Moorcroft must be praying that audience sympathy for rickety, no-frills structures like the Drovers will extend to the film itself. The cast nurdle matters along to the climactic real ale awards, which becomes the scene of current cinema’s least surprising surprise result. Clunes at least troubles himself to cobble a character together out of whatever...
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