The first part of the film depicts the titular party of a class of high schoolers, 20 years on from finishing their GCSEs. The jovial atmosphere quickly takes a darker turn with the arrival of Anna (playing herself) who stands up and delivers a frank, no holds barred account of the bullying she was subjected to throughout her childhood by a number of people present. Disbelief, dismissal, denial, anger and confrontation ensues before Anna is forcibly thrown out of the party.
In the second part we learn that the party scene was a fictional re-enactment of how Anna would've liked the reunion to have played out. In real life Anna wasn't invited to her reunion and in response decides to make a fictional film and document her former class 'mates' reaction to watching it. Some agree to take part, some decline outright, and some find a convenient excuse for cancelling. The general theme of the people she did get to speak to is unaccountability. Responsibilities are exonerated on the basis of fading memories, of being young and silly, of others being the main culprit. Few people acknowledge the bullying took place and fewer still make any gesture towards atonement.
Watching the film prompted me to revisit my conscience of yesteryear. To my knowledge I was never bullied, nor a bully. I was fortunate enough to have a group of mates who I grew up with, we went to school and A-levels together, played in the same football team from boys to juniors and beyond, hung out together and so on and so forth. I was nowhere near the popular clique nor a social outcast, a classic 'inbetweener', despite having massive glasses and a permed mullet.
Something my conscience couldn't be quite so decisive about though was whether I was completely free of guilt. 'The Reunion' shines a rather bright spotlight on the by-standers. Whilst not being the instigators of bullying they still allow it to happen, through ignorance, self preservation or insecurity. Can I be so certain that I wasn't part of the collective ostracising of X? Was I never concerned about what people would think of me if I was seen with Y? Can I categorically rule out that my actions, explicitly or implicitly, had a negative impact on Z? No, no and no.
Still it's easy to assume that everyone experienced the school years much in the same way as you did. You were all there in the same place at the same time after all, and you had a great time so why would others not have? You had your mates around you, all living nearby to each other. Surely everyone had at least a few friends? You were always invited to stuff. Everyone were no? You were just kids and didn't know any better. We're all alright now though right? Right? When some people would gladly recall 'the fantastic 9 years we spent together', others would recoil in horror at the mere mention of school or childhood, convenient shortcuts to self doubt and emotional regression.
Perhaps it's my muddled conscience, or simply an innate dose of schadenfreude, but few things give me more pleasure than finding out that the guy who everyone at my school branded thicko has entrepreneured himself to considerable personal wealth whilst the girl who everyone fancied is now looking haggered and unrecognisable. Who wants to trade places now eh?
As for me, I have happily remained an inbetweener. Although I've ditched the perm and the mullet for an altogether more dapper appearance. Age does have some benefits. In 1995 I would've jumped on the bus to Karlbergsgymnasiet, Åmål in a black Automatic For The People t shirt on top of a black turtle neck long sleeve. In 2015 I stroll up and down the two hills that separate home from work looking like this:
A pair of 'tobacco flannel' trousers from Montague Burton. £9 they were. Bar-gain. As a wee 12 year old I wouldn't have been comfortable wearing a pink cashmere jumper (£9.99) or a pink paisley shirt (£15.99), and the mere suggestion would've been met with a dark as tar stare. The merry 37 year old version is more than obliging though. Throw in a turquoise gingham shirt (£15.99) for a trio of winners from Zara. Just need to lose a bit of the weight gained in the intervening 25 years.
You'd think the loneliness would be the hardest part, but it's when you notice me that I get really scared.
Explain please so I can understand, why you go quiet when I'm there and giggle when I leave.
Tell me why it has be me with my back pressed up against the wall, no defence against the cruel words, who has to fight, scratch and bite because of simply existing.
There's no reward and I make no demands, other than never having to suffer in silence.
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