Hallelujah Review

Alleluia, Richard Eyre’s mystifying new adaptation of Alan Bennett’s play about a risky Yorkshire suburb, opens with kind-hearted Dr. Valentine (Bally Gill) defending how he’s “always loved the old one.” At the end of the film, Dr. Valentine is masked in the midst of the pandemic, delivering a chilling monologue about the state of the NHS after the most WTF third-act twist we’ve seen since Jamie Dornan confessed sincere belief to him. in which she was a bee wild mountain thyme. Somewhere in between, something more accurately described as an unholy cross between an Age UK ad and the good nurse takes place

On paper, Alleluia it feels like, and has been heavily marketed as, a proud ‘Clap For Carers’ style anthem at the NHS, housed in a comedy-drama that will ultimately please the crowd. And for a good hour, that’s exactly how it is, with Call the midwife Creator Heidi Thomas is clearly relishing the chance to write in the Bennett vernacular as we get to know the staff and residents of The Beth, a fictional representation of the many community hospitals left behind by the current UK government.

There’s an interesting dynamic between the ward’s care managers, the initially idealistic Dr. Valentine de Gill, and Jennifer Saunders’ more cynical nurse, Sister Gilpin, while their patients are a delightfully eclectic bunch. Derek Jacobi is in fine form as a retired teacher who loves grammatical subtleties; Dame Judi Dench’s retired librarian and outdoor enthusiast, Mary, is an unseen yet charming presence; while David Bradley’s surly underage ex Joe, whose conservative gay son (Russell Tovey) turns out to be responsible for determining The Beth’s future, is a subtle study, Joe’s deep-seated homophobia develops in surprising ways over the course of the movie.

Even when things are relatively calm Alleluia however, it is not without its obstacles. The imposition of a camera crew brought in to show the day-to-day workings of The Beth leads to a lot of dark, fake-for-camera narrative elements that feel out of place and alienating. Furthermore, the film is constantly undermined by its attempts to puncture its decks of communal friendliness with controversial jabs. Filled with gags about the grips and scoldings of aging, Eyre’s film lacks the heartwarming sharpness of something like Jack Thorne’s biting COVID drama. Help, tiptoeing through the details of the current NHS crises until a powerful but totally misplaced pandemic establishes the conclusion. And to get to that conclusion, you have to go through the absolutely insane last twenty minutes of the movie.

As with the review of new releases whose storylines hinge on a big reveal, we can’t really talk about it AlleluiaHellacious Hail Marys for an ending here. Suffice it to say, however, that such is the earnestness of the brain-wracking, faith-destroying, self-sabotaging left-hand turn in this film, that when all is said and done, words are likely to fail you anyway. Even M. Night Shyamalan would balk at the shit that happens in the ending of this one.