We are living in uncertain times, we can feel it in our viscera. The certainties of twenty, ten or even five years ago seem to be disappearing before our eyes. In uncertain times the reflex of the older generations is to conserve. Conserve the things and values that they grew up with, from institutions to the built landscape.
I saw a man, an elderly man, at a classic car show and I spoke to him about his car, a car he’d own
whilst in his pomp. And as he spoke about the welding he’d done to the subframe, the engine mounts he’d replaced and the twin Weber carburettors he’d fitted. I saw the light in his fag-ash eyes, he was back in a world that made sense to him. He told me of the hours, weeks and years he spent restoring and preserving the car and I thought to myself this has cost someone… I wanted to write a film about memory and regret, the time torn off unused. I wanted to write a film about the template of masculinity I was offered as a boy in Sheffield. How we spend more time looking back into fond memory rather than forward, into a seemingly dystopian future. But there is always hope and the hope is in learning. My protagonist finally sees that flowers grow on the side of the mountain and not at the top. And that our only chance of happiness lies in gratitude. There’s something about cars, the top trumpery of my childhood, the unimagined glamour of our red Cortina PWB7 17K that I’d convince my schoolmates had the same engine as Starsky and Hutch’s Ford Torino. Dads and lads sitting sat by side, moving forward. I’m also aware of the absurdity of our lived lives and all too painfully aware that if you spot a chance to spread a little joy, you must take it. So I am. I’ve wrapped up the story of their tumble dryer of a family in a glittering ensemble comedy featuring some of this country’s finest comedic talent.