So, I wanted something to wash all that Fast and Furious out of my mouth, and Lego Batman wasn't yet available. That was fine, I was prepared to be flexible, and I still had a bunch of stuff on my watch list, so I moved to the next title along.
I'm honestly not sure why I thought something by Ken Loach would be a good idea. Nothing against the man, not in the least - his politics is my politics, and I love him for continuing to do what he does. Now more than ever, I wish I could convert my intense anger into something more useful. What worries me about him, though, is a nagging suspicion that most of what he does consists of preaching to the converted, and that the people who most need to hear his message are the ones who'll never ever be persuaded to pay attention.
Like I say, I'm a Loach evangelist, but I don't tend to watch his movies, because my preference is for films that make me happy.
I, Daniel Blake was never, ever going to have a happy ending. It tells the story of one fiftysomething man's journey through the nightmare labyrinth of the UK benefits system, trying to gain the financial support he needs when his medical team insist a heart attack has left him too sick to work but the Department for Work and Pensions disagree.
It's been a while since I was last at the JobCentre Plus, but I recognised the staff I saw there - the sadists, yes, absolutely, who practically creamed their knickers at the chance to trip you up on irrelevant technicalities, but also the kinder souls who did their best to help in the face of a system that was fundamentally broken. I was invited to an assessment centre as the initial stage of an interview to work there, even - twice. Twice, I passed the initial literacy and numeracy tests. I was invited back twice. Twice, I made my excuses, because I was pretty sure the only thing that would destroy me faster than being a client there would be to be forced to treat people the way I was treated week after week after week.
As I expected, this one hit me hard. In some ways my prior experience made it easier, I suppose - I'm not sure how I'd have coped if it had been a surprise. As it was, I sobbed my heart out at the lives I saw slowly stultefying there and the crashing waste of human potential. This isn't something anybody deserves.
I was going to end on some flippant comment about still feeling better than directly after my Vin Diesel marathon earlier today, but I think there's something more important I need to take away and I want it written down in black and white as a reminder to myself.
I need to stay angry. We all need to stay fucking angry.
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