Kiri

A few years ago I wrote about the comedy writer Stefan Golaszewski, the word processor behind the superlative Him and Her and, soon to be returning, Mum. I wanted to highlight his contribution to television because so often writers get a bum deal when it comes to acclaim. Too often it's actors who gain the plaudits, whilst the people behind their movies are forgotten. We all know Gary Oldman is favourite to win Best Actor at the Oscars, but do we know the frontrunner for Best Screenplay? I think we have a tendency to put actors on a pedestal, assuming them with mythic status, where they appear divine creators, solely responsible for their work. The truth is actors just learn a lot of things and regurgitate them. In that regards, actors are nothing more than Michael Gove's wet dream.

In all honesty, the writers wouldn’t have it any other way. By their very nature they are quiet sorts: happier at home than in front of cameras. Theirs is an ideal form of celebrity where people within the industry appreciate their talent, but people from outside wouldn't recognise them from Adam. Fortunately, this blog is a cult concern, so I don’t think they will mind me shining a spotlight on them.

The writer I want to talk about is Jack Thorne. I first heard about Thorne when he collaborated with Shane Meadows on the continuation of This Is England. Set post-Falklands, the 2006 film said so much about the experience of being white-working class in the 80's. Main character Shaun has lost his father to the conflict, leaving him isolated and directionless. It isn’t long before he's caught in two rival gangs emotional tug-of-war: on one side, banter and camaraderie; on the other, nationalism and rage. Enjoying box-office success, Meadows wrote a series of television follow-ups, employing Thorne to co-write.

This is England. Pic. courtesy of Kodiapps.

A few years ago I was up in Edinburgh for the Fringe: aware of Thorne’s TV credit, I booked us into see his play The Solid Life of Sugar Water. On the stage was a bed, positioned vertically for the performers to stand/lie in. Featuring disabled performers, the story was about a couple struggling to find intimacy following their child's death. Here, Thorne did not look to Zeus for inspiration, but Hades. Pulling to the surface those underworld emotions of pain and resentment, the play was pin-drop mesmerising, tackling a difficult subject with brain and bile.

From there, Thorne has continue to write his own plays, centring on issues of fertility (he and his wife went through years of IVF) and illness (he has been diagnosed with cholinergic urticaria, a heat intolerance that leaves the sufferer with itchy red hives). What he’s perhaps known for though are his adaptations: J.K. Rowling collaborated with him on West-End smash Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, and he recently co-wrote the screenplay to cash-register juggernaut Wonder. The works I know him for though are his Channel 4 work on This is England, National Treasure and now, Kiri.

Jack Thorne. Pic. courtesy of Variety.

Kiri is the story of the titular, whose death creates a media storm. She is a young black girl put into the foster care of a middle-class white family. Her social worker Miriam recognises the importance of the child’s cultural heritage. A firm advocate of this, she brokers a visitation agreement between white parents and black grandparents. Kiri’s grandparents are upstanding people; the issue always has been with the father, a drug addict that puts her at risk. During the visit, the father turns up and takes Kiri out for a walk. The next time we see her she’s dead. It seems an open and shut case. The black man is the murderer. The social worker has messed up. We’ve read these two separate narratives in the press before; conflating the two just seems to confirm the stereotype. Thorne though is a knotty writer, skeptical of Daily Mail truth-bending, indebted instead to broadsheet fact-checking, observing the story from every angle.

 With the story taking unexpected turns, the viewer is being taught to consider prejudice: to understand that all people’s lives are messy, regardless of their income or home. Having mixed-race writer Rachel De-Lahay on board must have helped Thorne because the representation of black and white is nuanced with both sides displaying vice and virtue. Good drama should get beyond the headlines, be investigative, probe motive, question character – this does that. Typically race and social services are piñatas for the press, issues to beat, yielding readers – here, it’s a game of Taboo, denying quick answers in favour of measured thinking. The fact I was on tenterhooks for the final episode means it's thoroughly engrossing too.

Kiri is available on 4OD.