The Lady in the Van initially caught my attention for one reason: Maggie Smith. It’s here, I feel the underlying urge to write how I’ve been a fan of hers long before Harry Potter—lest I be ridiculed by any snobs as a pseudo fan—that, however, would be a straight up lie. A child of the 90s to early 2000s, I first learned of Smith from her performance as Professor McGonagall (Heaven forbid a nine-year old not have seen Smith’s 1969, Oscar winning performance in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie!). Since then, I’ve expanded my Maggie Smith filmography to more than the Harry Potter films, and have grown a great deal of respect for her acting capabilities. 2015’s The Lady in the Van is the third story variant Smith has acted in (the first two being a theatrical production in 1999, and a radio adaptation in 2009), and, expectedly, delivers a wonderful performance. The Lady in the Van, however, is more than just a good Maggie Smith performance: it’s a delightfully witty comedy, well-balanced with elements of drama and character development.
The Lady in the Van tells the mostly true story (more on that later) of Mary Shepherd (Maggie Smith), a bizarre, homeless woman who ends up parking her van for fifteen years (1970-1989) in the driveway of play writer Alan Bennett (Alan Jennings). Shepherd is a rude, blunt, and socially inept woman. She shrieks at local children whenever they play music, smells identical to dead fish, and no matter how nice a deed, never expresses gratitude; “I never say sorry, sorry is for God.” She’s overzealously religious, though more often than not when it’s convenient for her: using it as justification for her bizarre acts, in addition to why she’s homeless; “I didn’t choose [to be homeless], I was chosen.” When a social worker brings her several coats for warmth, Shepherd complains how she only wanted one—angrily inquiring where she could possibly hang them all—before tossing one onto the road, claiming she doesn’t like its color.
Shepherd is a hilarious character, though the film makes clear (right from the very first scene) there’s more to her than a crazy homeless woman—with many of Shepherd’s comedic elements playing important roles to her more tragic features. Maggie Smith does a great job with both the comedy and drama, being able to naturally switch between them on a dime. Alan Jennings, likewise, does a great job portraying Bennett’s love-hate relationship with Shepherd, delivering alongside Smith the film’s funniest and most touching scenes. Amusingly enough, Bennett reminds me of Squidward from SpongeBob SquarePants: being a cynical reclusive, artistically egotistical, and having to deal with a very frustrating neighbor, who he, despite never admitting it (even to himself), truly cares for. Unlike Squidward in the…new SpongeBob episodes (shutters in horror), Bennett receives character development as he grows from his fifteen-year experience with the lady in the van.
The film’s most remarkable, and unexpected, element is the way it’s told. Bennett, the film’s narrator, is portrayed to the audience from two perspectives: the “writer” and the “doer”. The doer is the Bennett within the plot, interacting with the characters and performing the usual story actions. The writer Bennett is the one writing the story, and, for the most part, resides inside his house observing the situations—all the while giving narrative to his and various characters’s inner thoughts. The two Bennett’s often talk with each other—“Writing is talking to oneself” writer Bennett defends—arguing about how to handle conflicting situations (similar to the yin and yang of Bennett’s mind). Writer Bennett is the more assertive of the two (though it’s because he doesn’t personally handle situations), in addition to being more inventive —creating new scenes to better connect the true story events, which doer Bennett openly calls him out for.
Doer Bennett: “She didn’t say this.”
Writer Bennett: “Yes, but we wish she did.”
The latter idea helps freshen the quickly staling “mostly true” introduction films have been more frequently using lately, and is similar to The Big Short’s self-referential humor, only feeling more natural here with its early established, duel self-perspective. Such unique perspective is an incredibly refreshing addition to The Lady in the Van’s good, yet familiar plot: enhancing the comedy, drama, and character development, as well as softening to completely eliminating the typical clichés found in similarly told stories. The film’s ending is a prime example of such improvement: taking what looks to be a predictably sad conclusion and flipping it 180 with a heartwarming and surprisingly hilarious finale—bringing the film full circle in a satisfying way. The Lady in the Van is a well-balanced comedy-drama, containing solid performances from Maggie Smith and Alan Jennings, along with enough innovative storytelling techniques to distinguish its plot from the mass of typical British comedy-dramas.
