Tuesday, Film4, 1:00am
Mike Leigh’s Another Year (2010) is a cinematic ode to the quiet tragedy of ordinary lives, peppered with his signature realism and razor-sharp character studies. The story revolves around Tom and Gerri (yes, that’s their actual names—feel free to chuckle), a warm and contented middle-aged couple whose lives serve as an oasis for their more troubled friends and relatives. Chief among these is Mary, a chronically lonely woman whose desperate optimism is both heart-wrenching and darkly comedic. Leigh paints an intimate portrait of human connection and the ticking clock of time, all with a subtle brush that avoids melodrama but never spares the truth.
The soundtrack, composed by Gary Yershon, is sparse yet poignant, much like the film itself. Yershon’s work leans heavily on delicate piano and strings, creating a minimalist atmosphere that underlines the emotional fragility of the characters. It’s not the sort of score you’d hum in the shower, but it weaves into the narrative so seamlessly you’d be hard-pressed to imagine the film without it. The melancholic motifs echo Mary’s yearning, while the understated arrangements mirror the film’s understated drama. For those keeping score (pun fully intended), Yershon’s work on Another Year would go on to earn him an Academy Award nomination later in his career for Leigh’s Mr. Turner. Clearly, the man knows how to match a mood.
For soundtrack collectors, the Another Year score is sadly elusive; it’s not available as a standalone release. This feels almost thematic—its scarcity mirrors the film’s exploration of life’s fleeting, bittersweet moments. However, Leigh fans might delight in the fact that Yershon’s other collaborations with the director are easier to find. In sum, the film and its music form a quietly powerful pairing, reminding us that while not every year may be joyous, every moment is worth reflecting upon. It’s not a blockbuster, but it’s a gem—like an understated vintage record hiding in the back of a charity shop, waiting to be rediscovered.
- Paul Allen