It remains thought-provoking in raising the fact that, although not representative of the town, many across the UK are living this existence every day. Andrea had the guts to speak candidly about the struggles of her family and community — she just happened to be a northerner. The Arbor unravels two central themes, one within the story, one outside. The struggles of Buttershaw characterises the estate, and give the impression of an everywoman in Lorraine Dunbar. But the central focus lies in its questioning of documentary itself.
The elements of interview, audio recordings, actors, the play within the film, and the lip-synching, all around real life material create an artifice out of reality. She did, however, have scars on her face from when she fell or was pushed through a glass door, strawberry blonde hair, worried eyes and a stubborn jaw. In any case, the tagline stuck, and understandably so. Dunbar had never even set foot in a theatre when she wrote her first play; her raw talent came as a surprise to her as much as everybody else.
During her lifetime, she was known for writing about her own experiences, which included teenage pregnancy, poverty, domestic abuse and alcoholism. Her honesty made her reputation, but it also made her life even harder. Framed this way, sexual licentiousness is subtly — probably unintentionally — connected to being young, female and working class. My view, not their view. Though well meaning, there was undoubtedly a kind of othering going on here.
The other being the northern, the poor, the young, the female. Over the years, it has acquired the status of a cult classic, not least because of the way it bucked the trend for cinema featuring working class characters. This, in part, accounts for the peculiar, bawdy tone of the film.
But this humour is of a different, quieter sort than that found in the film itself. The difference is perceptible in a notorious scene that features in both the original version of Rita, Sue and Bob Too and the film: Bob George Costigan drives the girls home, taking a detour over the Yorkshire Moors to have sex with them in his car, one after the other.
In this scene, the dialogue in the film is lifted directly from the play. Bob: Are you both a virgin? Sue: What do you want to know for? Well are you? Curious yes. I often wonder what young lasses get up to nowadays. Are you or not? She seemed to have become disillusioned by writing, too. Nearly 30 years on, though, Dunbar remains an inspiration. Learn to be a bricklayer, work in a shop You make money, but then you spend it.
A novelty. You see, they think they want to hear the true voice of the north. Because the truth hurts. The truth does hurt, but thank goodness Dunbar chose to tell it.
She was wrong about that. As well as giving a clear-eyed vision of the dismal life of many people on Buttershaw, she caught a mood by consigning the cheery, pipe-sucking world of flat-capped northerners to the dustbin. Dunbar was equally celebrated for not having her head turned and refusing to leave Buttershaw, but her lifestyle led to serious ill-health and eventually a fatal brain haemorrhage. She made no bones about believing that most of her neighbours were forced to put their own interests first in the struggle to get by.
Passing sentence, the recorder, Judge Stephen Gullick, told Rafiq: "Your doubtless overwhelming desire to satisfy your own needs meant you totally failed to carry out your duty as a parent to protect your son from harm. Richard Bates, head of children's services for Bradford council, said: "An independent review undertaken by the local safeguarding children board will be identifying any lessons that can be learned from this tragic case.
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