By Daniel Greenwood
This review contains spoilers.
Eric Cantona was never so much a Leeds or Manchester United player, nor French international than he was an individual. His allegiance to different clubs or countries is as a composer to her string or brass sections. So it goes for the Frenchman’s emblazoning on billboards to promote Sky’s autumn sports programming, and Cantona’s famed flying-kick on a dark night in south London might be the perfect example: the man was more individualistic than he ever was concerned for others. The media, the fans, the people are the seagulls, he is the trawler. His goals were sardines, as are his appearances in Looking for Eric.
In Looking for Eric, Cantona claims that teammates are more important than individuality, in an attempt to cheer suicidal postman Eric Bishop (Steve Evets). Cantona appears to Eric as the Mancunian gets high on his wayward stepson’s (Ryan, played by Gerard Kearns) weed-stash. Ken Loach took steps to ensure that Cantona would be a surprise arrival on the set, so Eric’s astonishment is, to an extent, that of Steve Evets, also.
Eric lobbies Cantona for his favourite moment in his United career, and it happens to be a pass rather than any of the number of glorious goals he scored, many of which appear in the film in a highlights reel. Cantona’s most treasured memory is a chip over a line of baffled Coventry City defenders, which Dennis Irwin receives in his mutual clairvoyance, thrashing the ball into the roof of the net. But if Cantona was such a communist, why wasn’t his favourite moment one that had absolutely nothing to do with him, like Beckham’s halfway-line lob against Wimbledon at Selhurst Park, the arena for Cantona’s ninja attack. Beckham, of course, took Cantona’s number, and perhaps is the greater of the number 7’s.
The apparition of Cantona adds a philosophical depth to Eric’s ranting (“fookin’ ‘ell!”), albeit in the manner of mumbled proverbs in a medley of his first and second languages. Eric often loses his rag with the idol, not a million miles from the beleaguered Sean (Thomas Turgoose) of This is England ’86 (Shane Meadows, 2010). Eric’s plight is at first the lack of any relationship between himself and his first wife, Lily (Stephanie Bishop). Eric re-imagines their first meeting, a dance competition in 1979 – ‘zirty years ago’, whispers Cantona, staring into space – in which they were drawn and crowned together. ‘I love zis woman,’ the Frenchman enthuses.
Lily’s distance is a solvable issue for Eric, all it takes is a little courage, honesty and patience. Cantona meditates that the noblest are prone to forgiveness, and such is Lily’s gentility that she can only follow that path. The real problem for Eric is his troubled stepson Ryan. There’s no reference to his mother, other than when Eric accidentally calls Lily by a different name. ‘No, I’m your first wife,’ she retorts.
Ryan is rude and lazy, often sat in the front room boozing and watching TV. He’s fallen in with a thug who has him stealing cement mixers and pneumatic drills, but who also gives him a beating and forces a gun into his possession. The weapon is prime evidence in a shooting and Eric’s attempts to return the pistol to its owner leads to a humiliating episode for the postman. He is faced with a monster of a mutt and filmed by a happy-snapper in the process, tormented in the front seat of his own car and forced out onto his arse. The video is uploaded to the Internet and Eric’s humiliation is perpetuated.
If Eric or Ryan give the gun to the cops the gangsters will ‘get’ Jess (Stefan Gumbs), Eric’s second son, a black, presumably adopted teenager who spends most of his time in his room, or else dismayed by his father’s behaviour. Jess and some friends happen upon Eric’s imaginary encounter with Cantona, where the postman stands in the kitchen, pot in hand, shouting ‘non!’ over and over in an attempt to build self belief.
The issue of gang violence is given perhaps an unsatisfactory summing-up, and fans of David Simon’s The Wire might identify holes in the story. This feel-good film deals with the thuggish menace by staging a sort of Russian Revolution – the successful one, 1917. Cantona urges Eric to look to his teammates for salvation, ergo his postman mates including Meatballs, played by John Henshaw of actual Royal Mail fame. Meatballs tries to help Eric by reading Paul McKenna and a book called ‘Psychopaths’ for the gangster problem. ‘They don’t give a fook,’ he says.
Eric and co rally in the red of their United shirts and plan a ritual humiliation of the Kingpin. Three coaches-worth of United fans don Cantona masks and gain entry to the palace, spraying their foe and all he owns with red paint from supersoakers. They show him the gun and he finally ascents, in his pants, admitting that the gun is his own. The victorious proletariat board their buses, and so does Cantona, removing a mask of his own face and disappearing aboard.
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Eric Cantona was never so much a Leeds or Manchester United player, nor French international than he was an individual. His allegiance to different clubs or countries is as a composer to her string or brass sections. So it goes for the Frenchman’s emblazoning on billboards to promote Sky’s autumn sports programming, and Cantona’s famed flying-kick on a dark night in south London might be the perfect example: the man was more individualistic than he ever was concerned for others. The media, the fans, the people are the seagulls, he is the trawler. His goals were sardines, as are his appearances in Looking for Eric.
In Looking for Eric, Cantona claims that teammates are more important than individuality, in an attempt to cheer suicidal postman Eric Bishop (Steve Evets). Cantona appears to Eric as the Mancunian gets high on his wayward stepson’s (Ryan, played by Gerard Kearns) weed-stash. Ken Loach took steps to ensure that Cantona would be a surprise arrival on the set, so Eric’s astonishment is, to an extent, that of Steve Evets, also.
Eric lobbies Cantona for his favourite moment in his United career, and it happens to be a pass rather than any of the number of glorious goals he scored, many of which appear in the film in a highlights reel. Cantona’s most treasured memory is a chip over a line of baffled Coventry City defenders, which Dennis Irwin receives in his mutual clairvoyance, thrashing the ball into the roof of the net. But if Cantona was such a communist, why wasn’t his favourite moment one that had absolutely nothing to do with him, like Beckham’s halfway-line lob against Wimbledon at Selhurst Park, the arena for Cantona’s ninja attack. Beckham, of course, took Cantona’s number, and perhaps is the greater of the number 7s.
The apparition of Cantona adds a philosophical depth to Eric’s ranting (“fookin’ ‘ell!”), albeit in the manner of mumbled proverbs in a medley of his first and second languages. Eric often loses his rag with the idol, not a million miles from the beleaguered Sean (Thomas Turgoose) of This is England ’86 (Shane Meadows, 2010). Eric’s plight is at first the lack of any relationship between himself and his first wife, Lily (Stephanie Bishop). Eric re-imagines their first meeting, a dance competition in 1979 – ‘zirty years ago’, whispers Cantona, staring into space – in which they were drawn and crowned together. ‘I love zis woman,’ the Frenchman enthuses.
Lily’s distance is a solvable issue for Eric, all it takes is a little courage, honesty and patience. Cantona meditates that the noblest are prone to forgiveness, and such is Lily’s gentility that she can only follow such a path. The real problem for Eric is his troubled stepson Ryan. There’s no reference to his mother, other than when Eric accidentally calls Lily by a different name. ‘No, I’m your first wife,’ she retorts. Ryan is rude and lazy, often sat in the front room boozing and watching TV. He’s fallen in with a thug who has him stealing cement mixers and pneumatic drills, but who also gives him a beating and forces a gun into his possession. The weapon is prime evidence in a shooting and Eric’s attempts to return the pistol to its owner leads to a humiliating episode for the postman. He is faced with a monster of a mutt and filmed by a happy-snapper in the process, tormented in the front seat of his own car and forced out onto his arse. The video is uploaded to the Internet and Eric’s humiliation is perpetuated.
If Eric or Ryan give the gun to the cops the gangsters will ‘get’ Jess (Stefan Gumbs), Eric’s second son, a black, presumably adopted teenager who spends most of his time in his room, or else dismayed by his father’s behaviour. Jess and some friends happen upon Eric’s imaginary encounter with Cantona, where the postman stands in the kitchen, pot in hand, shouting ‘non!’ over and over in an attempt to build self belief.
The issue of gang violence is given perhaps an unsatisfactory summing-up, and fans of David Simon’s The Wire might identify holes in the story. This feel-good film deals with the thuggish menace by staging a sort of Russian Revolution – the successful one, 1917. Cantona urges Eric to look to his teammates for salvation, ergo his postman mates including Meatballs, played by John Henshaw of actual Royal Mail fame. Meatballs tries to help Eric by reading Paul McKenna and a book called ‘Psychopaths’ for the gangster problem. ‘They don’t give a fook,’ he says.
Eric and co rally in the red of their United shirts and plan a ritual humiliation of the Kingpin. Three coaches-worth of United fans don Cantona masks and gain entry to the palace, spraying their foe and all he owns with red paint from supersoakers. They show him the gun and he finally ascents, in his pants, admitting that the gun is his own.
The victorious proletariat board their buses, and so does Cantona, too, removing a mask of his own face and disappearing aboard.
Atlas Film 
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