The suffering we see is the suffering we know, or so the saying goes. Whilst modern life has become increasingly socially stratified, films can offer us a glimpse into the lives of others. Since the emergence of the industry, cinema has always fed into our curiosities, whether it be for history, superheroes, or alternative realities. However, film’s most powerful tool lies in its depiction of what is right in front of us and yet rarely seen.
An especially pertinent theme is poverty. Whilst the most privileged among us have arguably become numb to stories of high inflation and the cost-of-living crisis, films can be an extremely powerful tool in displaying the true extent of poverty. This could be seen through the 2016 release of I, Daniel Blake, which shed light on the inadequacies of the British benefits system.
The film follows Daniel, a carpenter from Newcastle who is denied Employment and Support Allowance following a heart attack, despite being prohibited from working by his doctor. As he appeals this decision, he meets Katie, a single mother of two who has been moved to Newcastle from a homeless shelter in London due to a lack of affordable accommodation in the capital. After Katie is caught shoplifting sanitary products, she accepts an offer for sex work. Daniel pleads with her to give up the job, but she tearfully protests that she has no other means of feeding her children. Still waiting for his appeal date, Daniel is told that he needs to work harder to find a job, despite being medically unfit to work. This leads him to spray-paints on the side of the job centre’s wall: “I, Daniel Blake, demand my appeal date before I starve.’” On the eventual day of his appeal, a welfare adviser assures Daniel that his case looks promising. However, after excusing himself to go to the bathroom, Daniel suffers another heart attack and dies. In the final scene, Katie reads a eulogy at his funeral, including the speech Daniel intended to read at his appeal. The speech declares that the welfare system failed him, with Daniel, through Katie, saying, “I am not a blip on a computer screen or a national insurance number, I am a man.”
I, Daniel Blake sparked extensive political action in the UK. Activists projected the final speech onto the Houses of Parliament, and the 2016 opposition leader Jeremy Corbyn advised the then-Prime Minister Theresa May to watch the film during Prime Minister’s Questions.
I, Daniel Blake did exactly what a film about poverty should. It displayed life as it is and it horrified the viewer.
The aftermath of I, Daniel Blake highlights the significance of depictions of poverty on our screens. Films have the power to put a spotlight on untold stories and to shape our perceptions. That’s what makes depictions of poverty so significant. Whilst I, Daniel Blake gave a chillingly accurate depiction of the British benefits system, other depictions of poverty have fed into dangerous and untrue stereotypes about benefits recipients, and thus hampered public opposition to the welfare state. Think of shows such as Benefit Cheats and Proud and Undercover Benefits Cheats.
However, even if TV shows and films aren’t feeding into negative stereotypes per se, uninformed depictions can have equally negative consequences. Films such as I, Daniel Blake, Parasite, and The Florida Project address poverty head-on. They are the products of thorough research and give full attention to the many dimensions of economic disadvantage. However, the same cannot be said of all films. For some producers, poverty is a mere backdrop to greater action, and its complexities are often completely disregarded.
A textbook example is Nicola Peltz-Beckham’s new film Lola, which she starred in, wrote and directed. Lola follows 19-year-old Lola James, played by Peltz-Beckham, who works in a pharmacy and strip club in an impoverished region of Middle America. Her home life is rocked by her religious and alcoholic mother who disapproves of her genderqueer younger brother, Arlo. Lola escapes to a friend’s house but as she returns to get the family dog, she is raped by her mother’s boyfriend, who leaves her impregnated. Eager to send Arlo to an art camp, Lola is motivated to earn more money and starts to work in the backroom of the strip club. However, he is later killed in a car accident, leading Lola to start abusing drugs, which she buys from her ex-boyfriend, Malachi. The film ends with Lola keeping her baby and raising the child with Malachi. She gets clean through attending Narcotics Anonymous and confronts her mother about her role in Arlo’s death. In a final monologue, Lola declares that this has been a story about generational trauma.
Whilst the plot of Lola isn’t necessarily bad, critics have highlighted the film’s failure to address any of the main topics — such as sex work, drug abuse and the loss of a sibling — in sufficient depth. Instead, such complex themes are underdeveloped and lack a fully accurate depiction.
Furthermore, although Peltz-Beckham has embarked on a promotion campaign for the film, giving interviews to magazines such as Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar, she fails to address the role of poverty in Lola. Instead, she focuses on her experiences as a director and her relationship with her co-stars. Whilst these are by all means important for a director to discuss, Peltz-Beckham’s lack of engagement with the film’s backdrop just proves its lack of significance in production.
This lack of consideration of the realities of poverty can be seen through the inconsistencies between the film’s set, costume design, and makeup with the character’s situations. For example, Peltz-Beckham’s clear skin, perfect makeup, and pristine clothes simply don’t fit with Lola’s drug abuse and underprivileged economic position. This contrasts the efforts made by films such as ‘I, Daniel Blake’ to show how poverty affects all domains of life. For example, in one scene, Katie’s daughter is shown to be taping her shoes back together as they are unable to afford a new pair.
This leads to another critique of Lola: It is simply too visually satisfying for its subject matter. Peltz-Beckham explained that she wanted light colours on set, and that the resulting early-2000s pastel theme was “heaven.” Whilst she later clarified that she wanted the light cinematography to reflect Arlo’s soft view of the world, this meaning doesn’t shine through particularly well, mainly due to the fact that the film follows Lola, rather than Arlo. This childhood aesthetic is also used in The Florida Project, which explores child poverty in a motel close to Disneyland Florida. Here the use of bright colours aims to display the world through the eyes of the main character, six-year-old Moonee, whilst also invoking the luxury theme park only down the road but a world away. The aesthetics of Lola also greatly contrasts the bleakness emphasised by other, more accurate depictions of poverty, which are hardly “heaven.” Just think of the Kim family’s basement apartment getting flooded in Parasite.
Considering the extensive economic resources available to Peltz-Beckham – she is the daughter of billionaire Nelson Peltz – her lack of research into poverty could imply a disinterest on her part. This raises the question of why Peltz-Beckham chose to write and direct a film about a theme she doesn’t seem to care much about. Instead, a lot of the film’s shots seem to focus on her, leading the film to be referred to as a ‘vanity project.’
Whilst Peltz-Beckham probably hoped that addressing such serious topics would give her greater recognition as a director, accusations of ‘poverty porn’ have been the main reason behind the film’s recent publicity. ‘Poverty porn’ refers to the exploitation of poverty in the media for the producer’s benefit. In this case, a film about such heavy subject matters would be more likely to gain the critic’s attention, giving Peltz-Beckham the artistic recognition she desires.
Lola offers an insincere depiction of poverty. Accuracy is sacrificed for aesthetics, and the film’s publicity prioritises Peltz-Beckham’s ambitions in the film industry far above the human suffering that is the basis for her film.
The hypocrisy is startling. Whilst welfare campaigners attended the London premiere for I, Daniel Blake, Peltz-Beckham posed with her co-star and brother Will, her father Nelson Peltz and billionaire CEO Elon Musk at the Lola premiere. The four of them together have an estimated net worth of almost $200 billion. Musk even joked that he was there “with friends thinking about companies to acquire.” In other words, the film was well and truly just a means for the rich to get richer.
Whilst it wouldn’t be fair to prevent anyone from talking about poverty on account of their background, a billionaire’s daughter giving an inaccurate and glamorised depiction of poverty for the sake of artistic recognition is simply dishonourable.
Peltz-Beckham’s position of privilege and influence means that she could make a genuine difference if she only dedicated the necessary time and resources. There’s nothing stopping her from creating a film as impactful as I, Daniel Blake or Parasite. However, it doesn’t seem that Lola had the same objective as either of these films, despite the similar backdrop.
The prevalence of poverty in the modern world, with all its technological and economic advancement, is nothing short of disgraceful. Whilst it is alarmingly easy for the haves to forget about the have-nots, films are a powerful means to display the severity of economic disadvantage. This is especially vital in the context of the current cost of living crisis. However, those who choose to depict scenes of poverty also have a big responsibility. Such scenes can be fundamental in shaping people’s understanding of society. Films about poverty should be the product of extensive research and a desire to spread awareness about inequality. Lola is neither. Instead, this film just reminds me of a lyric from Pulp’s song “Common People”: “Laugh along even though they’re really laughing at you/ And the stupid things that you do/ Because you think that poor is cool”
