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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Entertainment
Michael Hann

Sleaford Mods: Invisible Britain review – an awkward ode to austerity Britain

Jason Williamson and Andrew Fearn, aka Sleaford Mods.
Jason Williamson and Andrew Fearn, aka Sleaford Mods. Photograph: David Sillitoe for the Guardian

One of the more surprising musical success stories of the past couple of years has been Sleaford Mods, the Nottingham duo whose modus operandi might best be described as one middle-aged man shouting at the audience while another presses play on his MacBook, to absolutely thrilling effect. Their rise has been based on capturing a uniquely British rage – against politicians, breakfast cereals, hipsters, the smug rich, unpleasant toilets, annoying people on buses; anything, really – and directors Nathan Hannawin and Paul Sng shape their documentary around the group’s UK tour earlier this year, positing them as the authentic political response of the underclass to “austerity Britain”.

They’re not helped by singer/lyricist Jason Williamson’s insistence (repeated here, very soon after a heavy-handed opening, which could have been shot in the mid-80s, about The State of Tory Britain) that Sleaford Mods are not a political group. Though the vast majority of their talking heads are, refreshingly, ordinary people rather than the usual array of rock critics, Hannawin and Sng aren’t helped by them almost all being – like the Mods’ audience – white, middle-aged men, making identical points about them being the most exciting band since the Pistols/the Specials, and how they need to be heard, and so on.

But Invisible Britain’s biggest problem is that its directors can’t decide what film they’re making – one about the group, or one about the people and communities who have suffered the most in the past five years. Sleaford Mods, though, are nobody’s spokesmen, so these other stories are interpolated awkwardly and randomly, without any evident link to the main thrust of the documentary, other than a general sense of Look How Bad Things Are. There’s even a segment devoted to the work of the Unite trade union, with Unite logos visible in every shot, which just baffles. It’s refreshing to see a rock documentary that so deliberately avoids the usual cliches; it’s a shame the execution is so clunky.

For details of screenings go to www.invisiblebritain.com/news/

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