Vera Drake will surely remind most British people of someone they knew, a friend or relative. She reminds me of my grandmother. Her cheeks rosy from the London frost, her sweet Cockney accent bouncing with her step, her willingness to go out of her way for people. In post-war London, Vera (Imelda Staunton) and her loving husband Stan (Philip Davis) "have a lot to be grateful for," in their tiny N1 flat which houses four, including their grown children Sid (Daniel Mays) and Ethel (Alex Kelly). In the Drake household, every day is a celebration, whether of an engagement, a pregnancy, or just having each other. They are a beautifully close-knit family, whose door is always open. The Drakes are simple, but very happy people. They each go out to work, come home with smiles on their faces and enjoy each other's company. Their minute dining table seats four on a regular night, and seven at Christmas, and they somehow always have the room for a good meal, and all the good people to eat it.
Everybody loves Vera, including us. Imelda Staunton gives the performance of a lifetime as the wonderfully kind heroine of the story, demonstrating the most stunning range of ability. Having previously watched her in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix as the detestable Dolores Umbridge, I was blown away by Staunton's craft in creating such a lovable woman. Vera cleans rich folks' houses, constantly humming merry little tunes, and attends her disabled mother and neighbour, who feel just as blessed as everybody else for her presence. "She's got a heart of gold." Leigh's technique of dropping the audience into the scene, making us welcome voyeurs, and Staunton's pure perfection allow us to love Vera, so when the time comes for those loyal to her to be known, there is only one way those with emotions will sway.
You see, Vera doesn't just help the old and sick, she "helps young girls when they're in trouble." The girls range in circumstance- they're rape victims, they're too young, they already have too many mouths to feed- but either way, these girls are all pregnant, and none can go through with it. However, they live in 1950, and abortion is still very much illegal, carrying heavy penalties for offenders. It also pays a hefty wage on the 'black market,' motivating the bitter old Lily (Ruth Sheen) to find clients for Vera every Friday. But Vera would never dream of accepting money for her services, she just wants to help young girls who have no one else to turn to. She is unaware that Lily has been collecting payment for Vera's work, as well as making illegal money elsewhere.
Having performed procedures successfully for some twenty years, Vera thinks nothing of young Pamela, whose mother sits by her side, and recognises Vera from an old job. But soon after she leaves, the girl falls very ill, and the doctors inform the Police, recognising that this is not a miscarriage, as the mother claims.
Meanwhile, in her perfect life, Vera and the family are celebrating the engagement of their reclusive daughter, and the sequence in which the coppers approach and finally arrive is played out in painful realism. The knowledge that any second now, this happiness will be interrupted by that sharp tap at the door is too much to bear as we witness the Drakes' joyful life come crashing down. It is from this point on that the audience's sympathies are directed by what we've already seen. The Prosecution is correct - Vera Rose Drake has committed a serious crime with serious consequences - and she never denies this. How do you plead? Guilty. Did you perform this procedure? Yes, dear. Have you performed these procedures before? Yes, dear.
Some characters sympathise with Vera, and take on what is now a widely held view on abortion: "It's all very well having six kids if you're rich, but if you can't feed them, you can't love them." Stan is committed to his wife with every inch of his being, and is as shocked as the rest of the family when Vera's secret occupation is finally revealed. We know her life, her character, and her unceasingly good intentions, and we cannot regard her as a criminal.
But some can. It is, after all, the 1950s, and abortion is illegal to be performed by medical professionals, let alone working-class housewives in grimy bedrooms. Some of her loved ones turn on her, insisting her procedures are evil. Her yuppie sister-in-law insists she won't be in the same room as "that woman," and treats Vera with shameful contempt. The law is equally unmerciful, and although one police officer is noticeably considerate, Leigh dresses up his story with no clichés of sudden and unprofessional mercy, or victory against the odds.
There is no happy ending, and no moral of the story. The point of the movie isn't really the legal outcome, nor whether or not abortion is wrong, but about the foundations of Vera's life. Leigh paints such a marvellous portrait of family life at its best, and captures it entirely with his improvised method. The subtle ways in which dialogue overlaps and stutters, adds perfect realism to the situation. There are no great speeches, or predictable utterances, and there are plenty of instances of characters answering rhetorical statements with "have ya?", as is common in Leigh's Cockney creations.
Vera Drake is a triumph of movie-making in every aspect, as such it is so shocking that it won none of its three Academy Award nominations, being beaten out by Million Dollar Baby on two. It is a certain British Great, Modern Great and by far the most watchable of Mike Leigh's films in my experience. This compelling drama is a fine product of invaluable British talent.
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