Ray & Liz review: A fiery family tale of compassion (and the lack of it)

AFI Fest Review: Ray & Liz

Richard Billingham’s autobiographical debut is a grimy tale of social commentary and family dynamics with no easy character to love.

In the 1960s, Britain was dominated by “slice of life” films, features generally focused on lower-income British residents and how they navigated life and love in the wake of their dire financial situation. Many of these films were steeped in the remains of WWII, as the country continued to rebuild almost 20 years later. Watching Richard Billingham’s Ray & Liz is in a similar vein, going back to the past — the ’70s and ’80s in this case — to show that the slice of life wasn’t relegated just to the swingin’ ’60s. The photographer turned director crafts a searing narrative about families and the lack of compassion that derives from tough circumstances, leaving the audience with a rich world and tough questions.

Ray & Liz is Billingham’s own attempt to reconnoiter with his own past. He and his younger brother, Jason (played by Joshua Millard-Lloyd) live with their parents, Ray (Justin Salinger) and Liz (Ella Smith) in council housing in England. For Jason, growing up without parents leads to a series of situations that forces his parents, especially Ray, to question everything.

Billingham confronts his own past with an aggressive determination. Filming in the actual council housing where he grew up, parts of Ray & Liz feel so authentic the audience wonders if they should leave the room. Salinger and Smith’s young incarnations of Billingham’s parents are a lesson in contrasts. Liz is loud, brash, and literally commands her house with an iron fist compared to Salinger as quiet, easy-going Ray. It’s evident the two are so enmeshed in their circumstances — living among filth and squalor — that they wouldn’t know what to do without each other. This complacency is documented when the film shifts to older Ray (Patrick Romer), a man seeming to await death while drinking “home brew” out of the same grimy glass every day.

Ray’s life is shown in two phases, but this is Ella Smith’s breakout. As the garish Liz, Smith crafts a character on par with some of the worst mothers in cinematic history, and yet the actress produces small techniques that give you a brief glimpse, a crack in the door, to her psyche. Whether it be her brief look of adoration at their tenant/friend, William (Sam Gittins) or her complete disinterest in getting out of bed, Smith infuses an unlikable woman with some shred of empathy. If you couldn’t change your circumstances, why not be willing to be taken under by them?

There’s not an overarching plot so much as a series of recollections from specific points in Billingham’s childhood, much of which plays second-hand as we see him spend time at his uncle’s. The film instead focuses on Billingham’s younger brother, Jason. An early scene shows him as a toddler, being left alone with his simple-minded uncle who is easily seduced into drinking himself silly as part of a cruel prank by one of Ray and Liz’s friends. There’s a tinge of regret that permeates Jason’s story. Richard, who was able to spend time outside the house, creates a film that plays like an apology for failing to do more for his kid brother despite their circumstances.

Smith said during a Q&A after the film’s AFI debut that Billingham didn’t set out to sell a social commentary, but it’s easy to see a critique of the British welfare system during the ’80s. This is a story familiar to anyone who’s watched similar stories, but Billingham’s photographic eye gives Ray & Liz an on-the-ground feeling. The camera takes in the bugs on the floor to Jason’s look of fear as he sleeps in a shed. There isn’t a sense of exploitation or pity, but of simple recollection. This is how the characters remember it. They don’t remember it fondly or rosily, but as it was.

Ray & Liz isn’t an entertaining watch but the performances are dynamic enough to draw you in. Ella Smith guts you as do the child actors playing Jason.