Hope had two potent strands: the impulse to challenge reality with anger and the courage to confront it with action. He wrote about San Augustin over sixteen centuries ago, and although he might not relish being tied to those lines, they neatly echo the arc of his career. Ken Loach. Across six decades, the director has stood as a defining figure of British social realism, the cinematic counterpart to the social conscience of Dickens and Hardy in literature.
Your vocation should be read as a long, stubborn project—one that dedicates body and voice to it. It gives voice to the excluded, the exploited, and the dispossessed; to the unemployed, to those who have lost homes; to people facing the injustices baked into capitalism, bureaucracy, and the violence that hides in plain sight as systems endlessly renew themselves, along with racism and fascism. When capitalism finds new ways to press down on ordinary lives, Loach counters with relentless resolve.
A retired rebel
A few months ago Loach signaled that his 29th fictional feature, The Old Oak, might be the last film of his career. “Realistically, I have to admit that it would be difficult for me to shoot another one,” he said. “I am losing my physical abilities: my short-term memory is weakening and my eyesight is quite bad.” Though he has never been shy about retirement, he has repeatedly returned to the fray—whether critiquing religious power or challenging social norms—because the inequities of the world keep calling.
He has lingered in the memory of audiences not by nostalgia but by stubborn exposure. “The economic system is dragging us into the abyss,” he notes. “Big companies show no sign of willingness to reduce profits to curb climate change. The only thing that can avert catastrophe is collective action.”
North West England portrait painter
The latest film marks the third entry in a trilogy that began with I, Daniel Blake (2016) and continued with Sorry We Missed You (2019). Set against a northern English town that once thrived on mining and industry, the drama follows a closing of the last bar as Syrian immigrants seek a new home while xenophobia flares among locals. The narrative tests the strength of solidarity when policies from successive governments bite into everyday life.
“Refugees from the Middle East were in the most disadvantaged part of the country,” Loach recalls. “That backdrop inevitably created tension between two communities: one devastated by political decisions, the other scarred by war.” The film also revisits a familiar wound in Britain: the miners’ strike of 1984–85, which hardened social policy under Margaret Thatcher. “When the wells were closed, people were left to fend for themselves because Thatcherism was cutting social benefits. That was the beginning of the end.”
Pioneer of non-professional actors
The housing crises depicted in The Old Oak echo themes Loach explored in Cathy Come Home (1966), a landmark work from his early BBC days. The collection also revisits Three Open Sundays (1965) about the death penalty and At the Crossroads (1965) about abortion. His feature debut, Poor Cow (1967), told the story of an abused woman drawn into crime after her partner’s imprisonment. Two years later came Cut (1969), a film famous for its humane tracing of a young man, a hawk, and the faltering education system.
Since then, Loach has kept returning to the same core concerns, seeking fresh angles while often relying on non-professional actors who draw on their lived experiences. In Riff-Raff (1991) he explored the construction world, and in My Name Is Joe (1998) he followed a man fighting addiction. Lady Bird, Lady Bird (1994) examined a mother’s battle to shield her children from social services, while Happy Sixteen (2002) tackled youth crime and In a Free World (2007) examined the gray lanes of temporary labor. His method retained a stubborn edge, a willingness to push boundaries in pursuit of truth.
McDonald’s advertisement
Even now, Loach finds himself at odds with curators, financiers, and censors. Several documentaries from the 1980s were banned, and he faced accusations of anti-British sentiment and anti-Semitism. Though Hollywood never funded him directly, foreign money supported some projects when needed. In 1990 he even ran an advertisement for McDonald’s to cover the bills.
Since the mid-1990s Loach has collaborated with screenwriter Paul Laverty, who has written many of his recent works, including The Wind That Shakes the Barley (2007) and I, Daniel Blake. “I wouldn’t have been able to move forward without Paul,” the director has admitted. “We have always shared the same stories and asked what we can do to build a more just society.”
“Hope is a political thing”
In recent years Loach and Laverty’s films have grown more didactic, with characters sometimes delivering speeches rather than exchanging dialogue. Some critics label the approach as predictable or Manichaean, a charge that misses the point: the movies are crafted as a weapon in a broader struggle, a deliberate cinematic response to the arrogance with which political power is wielded. Yet even at their most schematic, these films carry a powerful emotional force.
Unlike the earlier pair of films in the trilogy, The Old Oak leans into generosity, the kind of emotional arc Augustine described as essential. “Hope is a political thing,” Loach remarks. “If you have hope, you can find a path forward and muster the energy to walk it. That hope grows through solidarity.” In a moment from the new film, a line underscores the core idea: when workers realize the power they hold together, they can reshape the world. The director’s most memorable scenes often show simple acts of kindness toward those in distress, moments that interrupt the domination of capital and hint at a better future.