As in most Mike Leigh films, patience is rewarded.

Vera Drake is a film about abortion. Mike Leigh had trouble finding development and production funding, let alone a distributor. The fact that the abortion issue is seen through the far off prism of 1950s London didn't seem to matter. Having the backroom abortionist as the heroine probably cemented the tough sell. Obviously, this is still an issue that's very present in modern and third world countries.

Leigh has the reputation for pointing his actors in the right direction and letting them go. He's captured some wonderful performances on film that don't strictly follow the script; or if they do, he's provided acres of room for the actors to range about in. One only has to think about Naked or Secrets and Lies to make this point.

But perhaps that has changed. Vera Drake is so tightly scripted and shot, it's hard to conceive that Leigh didn't block out every movement and scene. Perhaps because Leigh was on such a fierce budget, he couldn't afford any set bigger than ten feet square. Every camera angle is either a tight medium or 1- or 2-shot. It lends a wonderfully claustrophobic feel that's appropriate to the time and subject matter. (There's only one long shot in the film—the penultimate one—which ironically is shot in a prison.) Even the dark green, floral wallpaper in the Drake parlour squeezes in on you making it seem smaller.

Tactfully, the film steers (mostly) clear of polemic. If anything, it's more classic documentarian in its approach: here's London just after the war; here are the working class families scraping by, still on rations; here's a selfless woman, kind to all and maddeningly cheery whether she's polishing the privileged classes' hearths or pouring tea for the infirm—a true saint who just happens to ‘help girls out' when they get into a spot of trouble. It would never occur to her to take money for her good deeds. (After you know what Vera's like, if you don't feel generally guilty for just living there's something wrong with you.)

Vera—played to perfection by Imelda Staunton—of course lives in a world where no good deed goes unpunished. Particularly to the underclasses. She comes a cropper to the Law when one of her ‘girls' reacts violently to the mild carbolic water Vera has pumped into her and needs an operation to save her. Watching Vera's world fall in upon her head is a most painful thing to do. And to Leigh's credit and creative vision, he doesn't let us off the hook.

The pivotal scene is like watching a train wreck happen. (You're close enough to shout out, but agonizingly you know you'll go unheard.) The Drake family is gathered together for a particularly joyous occasion. Two grand announcements are to be made and the scent of life affirmation is in the air. Vera's shy neighbour has asked Vera's hopelessly mousy daughter to marry him; and her sister-in-law has conceived. During the toasting, a knock comes at the door. The police, of course. Vera's questioned and taken away leaving a family—none of who knew about her activities—in crisis.

All of a sudden we're asking ourselves questions. Everyone, it seems, has something to lose and nothing to gain. We instinctively know Vera's going to jail. But will the neighbour stick with the daughter or retract his offer of marriage? How will Vera's son react, ever sensitive to the social stigma? Ditto her newly pregnant and upwardly mobile straight-laced sister-in-law? Will she demand a break with the family and cause a rift between Vera's devoted husband and his loving brother. Does her husband give into despair or support Vera as best he can? Every story is played out. Every character is given his or her due.

(In a side story, a girl from a well-to-do family needs an abortion, and because of contacts and money, is able to procure a ‘legal' abortion. Leigh, in his only nod to class politics, is making the point that there's two sets of rules: one for the rich and one for the rest of us. It's hardly revelatory, but effective nonetheless.)

Leigh has assembled a wonderful cast. Staunton somehow uses her Yorkshire pudding face to accurately convey every delight and sorrow; Phil Davis, as Vera's husband Stan, exemplifies the sensitive side of the staunch British upper lip; Adrian Scarborough, as Stan's younger and more affluent brother Frank, is found to be cut from the same cloth, as is Eddie Marsan, the shy neighbour Reg. Mousy daughter Ethel (Alex Kelly), at first comes off as a bit of a cow, but we are endeared to her by the end. (In fact, on reflection, Vera is not the only one with saintly qualities. Despite their difficulties, the Drake clan is going to do well, thank you very much.) The one true heavy is black-marketer Lily (Ruth Sheen), who procures Vera's ‘girls' and takes money for her efforts that Vera never knows about. Heather Craney (Frank's wife, who wants more than poverty in her future), Daniel Mays (Vera's happy-go-lucky son Sid), and Peter Wight (as the honest but stalwart cop with a job to do) are all notable, as well. Jim Broadbent, sober for once, has a cameo as a judge.