Releases from 2023

2.3.24 Full Time isn’t a scathing critique of capitalist life in Paris, nor is it overtly critical of the strikes, but it’s still an impressive drama with an Uncut Gems-esque energy which illuminates the lives of women experiencing ‘the triple shift’. As Julie, Laure Calamy has a youthful vibrancy and delivers great bursts of energy portraying a divorced yet academically proficient mom of two. Life has got her down in terms of the combination of work, kids, financial precariousness, and not having enough hours in the day to get things done. But she hangs in there, just barely. It’s such an authentic and relatable to anyone balancing a demanding career and with their true callings that I was genuinely surprised to learn it wasn’t directed by a woman. Laure Calamy’s performance fully immerses us in Julie’s interior world with each weary sigh and slump of the shoulders, conveying her sense of being stretched too thin. Yet Julie remains indomitable, as we see when she assembles a trampoline late into the night before her son’s birthday. Rather than manufacturing some melodramatic crisis, Eric Gravel’s controlled script wisely recognises that the everyday grind is ample material from dramatic storytelling without having to resort to conflict or violence. Full Time avoids pretences, instead achieving a potent realism by unflinchingly depicting Julie’s taxing reality. Calamy’s remarkably unvarnished performance grounds Gravel’s understated approach, the absence of overwrought dramatics allowing the film’s impact to resonate with squirm-inducing familiarity – yet we can’t help but root for Julie to emerge victorious from each 24-hour gauntlet. It’s a modest film that echoes the untold struggles and weariness of countless modern mothers.

14.3.24 The nostalgia of youth; the crippling awkwardness of growing up. Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret captures it all in a heartwarming and relatable way which impressed me greatly. It’s a coming-of-age tale that stands out amongst recent similar releases, thanks to its honest and non-condescending portrayal of the trials and tribulations of being a preteen. One of the strengths of the film is how it treats its young characters with the same respect as the adults. It acknowledges that growing up involves navigating the complexities of all stages of life, and the film does an excellent job of showing these transitions. The talented young actors, led by Abby Ryder Fortson as Margaret (whom I still remember as the gap-toothed daughter of Scott Lang in Ant-Man and The Wasp), bring an authentic vulnerability and innocence to their roles, making their performances all the more endearing. Rachel McAdams, Benny Safdie, and Kathy Bates deliver equally impressive performances as Margaret’s parents and Jewish grandmother, adding heft to the family dynamics that shape Margaret’s realistic journey. The film also tackles taboo subjects head-on, refusing to shy away from the realities of puberty and the confusion that comes with it. By addressing these issues openly, Are You There God helps to normalise and destigmatise the experiences that every young person goes through. The family discussions regarding atheism and the ills of organised religion are some of the most meaningful explorations of these topics that I’ve seen on the big screen in years. It’s also refreshing to see a film that doesn’t sexualise or jade its young characters, instead allowing them to be the goofy, awkward kids they are. While the film is undoubtedly aimed at a younger, female audience, there’s a broader quality to its themes that resonates with viewers of all ages. As adults, watching Margaret’s journey can transport us back to our awkward preteen years, reminding us of the challenges we faced and the lessons we learnt. For women, especially those who have gone through menopause, the film may strike an even deeper chord, as it echoes the sense of uncertainty and change that comes with each new stage of life. Overall, Are You There God celebrates the messiness and magic of growing up whilst warming the hearts of audiences regardless of their religion or gender, speaking personally of course. Hopefully something I can rewatch one day with a daughter of my own.

23.2.23 Subtle yet powerful, but far from melodramatic, Women Talking bottles feminist outrage into a wooden cabin, and then allows the voices within it to be wholeheartedly expressed. It’s dialogue-driven, contemplative and timely. I admit I wasn’t fully entertained by it, but it is certainly a film to be admired. I think the main star of the film is the unique sense of time and place that it puts us in. Although Women Talking is set in the modern day, the isolated patriarchal community we see reflects a culture where women are firmly second-class citizens (not unlike Gilead in The Handmaid’s Tale). What I once believed to be a radical feminist notion (absolute separatism from men) now seems perfectly reasonable in the context of what they experience.  There’s absolutely no fault in any of the performances, and the scripting is excellent due to so many of the questions asked by characters being explored by the audience too. It feels like a very ‘fly on the wall’ observation of how rebellion is actually quite a reasonable proposition for people who repeatedly get fucked over and ignored.  Not a film that I will be rushing back to see, but an important one nonetheless. If this is what women talking sounds like, then men should have absolutely no problem listening.

6.7.23 A shapeshifting multicoloured blast of nostalgia, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem may have one of the most annoyingly long titles of any film I can think of, but in a year of fantastic animation features, it still manages to stand out due to its meticulous style remixed with vibrant doodles, entertaining voice-cast, and fantastic soundtrack.  It’s also got a lot of heart, which reflects the enduring playfulness of the core characters that have kept the franchise so popular. Yet again, the familiar band of upright testudines, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello and leader Leonardo, long for a normal human life above the depths of the sewers. On this outing, a new enemy, Superfly (Ice Cube), aims to overtake the world in the ‘mutants versus humans’ style we’ve seen before in other comic book universes. Other familiar characters such as Splinter, April and a duo of popular Warthog and Rhino-humanoid comic baddies also show up to great delight. This is a Ninja Turtles tailored for the YouTube generation, with the turtles fanboying over viral videos and dropping on-demand references. But for the 30+ fans like myself, there’s also the vast array of Trent Reznor-helmed soundscapes, contrasted brilliantly with old-school East Coast hip-hop cuts from M.O.P, Gang Starr and Gravediggaz. The voice cast crushes it, especially Ice Cube and Jackie Chan getting the chance to flex some emotional range, which suits their characters perfectly. Soundwise, it’s one of the best movies I’ve seen, as all the features listed are just right up my street and reflect my personal tastes so well. And with so many winks and nods, Mutant Mayhem rides the wave of animated flicks steeped in pop culture sentimentality in its own self-referential way, whilst still feeling like a valid reflection of life for struggling New Yorkers. The film clicks when the turtles hype each other up, trading jokes and busting moves, channelling the enduring appeal of the franchise. So jam-packed with pop culture callbacks, it’s a film that undoubtedly fits right in with the new school of animated movies revelling in emojis, gifs, and other artefacts of our ever-increasingly interconnected internet age. My problem with the film is that the stakes feel low, and It feels weak compared to Spiderverse and Puss in Boots, but they are both very high bars, reminding us what a fantastic year it continues to be for franchise films and animated features.

25.8.23 A reminder that injustices should never be forgotten, Till retrospects a dark day in American history with painful honesty, in an attempt to provoke blood-boiling fury. Most memorably, it features an impressively stoic and emphatic performance from Danielle Deadwyler as Mamie Till, the mother of the desperately tragic Emmett Till. Snubbed at the Oscars in favour of established Hollywood stars? Possibly. Deadwyler embodies intense grief and unconditional love towards her son and later becomes a huge force in the face of a frankly racist and disconnected American legal system. You feel every bit of her pain, yet also her dignity and resolve. Short of showing his death on screen, Till emotively depicts the brutal and disgusting murder of young Emmett, forcing us to contemplate the horrific violence and trauma he no doubt suffered. While some may find the scenes of his bloated and mutilated corpse too graphic, I believe it’s important we don’t shy away from this dark chapter of Western history that doesn’t feel that long ago. Understanding the full impact of racist violence is vital; powerful too is the decision to show Emmett’s disfigured body after being dredged from the river, a stark visual reminder of the inhumanity inflicted upon him. Whilst some critics have marred Till for not exploring the broader civil rights movement enough, or being too informational in parts, I believe that misses the core strength and focus here – an intimate mother-son story. At its heart, this is Mamie’s tale, highlighting her relentless pursuit of justice and refusal to let Emmett be forgotten. The subtly smart direction reinforces this; the mostly white defence lawyers, judges and crowds barely come into focus. This is deliberate, keeping our eyes locked on Mamie right up until the heartbreaking but solemnly sweet ending. Till had me crying seething, furious tears in moments and left me motivated to do my bit (discussing with my sociology students upon their return to school this week) about the importance of fighting inequality and racism today. For sparking such a visceral emotional response and highlighting a key, overlooked chapter in the civil rights movement, I have to commend Till for achieving its aims and hope that Deadwyler gets the recognition she deserves more in the future.

27.12.23 Theatre Camp is a comedy that celebrates the passion and talent of drama enthusiasts and performers, both familiar actors and an impressively energetic young cast. Reminiscent of Christopher Guest mockumentaries like Best in Show and Waiting for Guffman, it follows a summer theatre camp and all the drama, shenanigans, and humiliating moments that come with ambitious stage talent in close quarters. Molly Gordon and Nick Lieberman shine as the leads, playing off each other well and anchoring the diverse ensemble. As someone who worked at American summer camps, I found the film incredibly relatable and cringe-inducing in the best way. The mortifying flashbacks it triggered made it more hilarious for me, with many scenes delighting me in laughter thanks to the sharp improv skills of the cast. Many of them shine, with my personal favourite of the lot being Ayo Edeberi, playing a role very similar to her one in the TV show The Bear, as a novice who just shows up and becomes more confident in her skillset as the story develops. However, like watching stand-up on screen, some of that in-the-moment comedy magic fades after viewing. While undoubtedly funny, many of the best moments aren’t necessarily quotable out of context. The humour springs more from knowing the characters and their dynamics than snappy, shareable one-liners. I’m not sure if people who haven’t experienced this way of life in some way will get much out of it. But it’s still a solid comedy that celebrates the often absurd but earnest passion of the stage-struck. It likely won’t become an enduring classic, but it’s an entertaining experience in the moment, especially for those with personal camp experiences. The performances carry it through the somewhat forgettable story. A unique, frantic comedy worth watching even if it doesn’t leave a permanent impression.

28.9.23 A chocolate box highlight reel of Wes Anderson’s most famed works, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar is a brisk 40-minute tale told in his signature style. Though compact, its imaginative premise satisfies as a bitesize adventure, although I do admit to daydreaming during the film that it would be better as a West End show split into two parts. Nonetheless, Anderson gathers an all-British leading cast of stars he hasn’t worked with before (with one surprise cameo), but their energy and comedy timing fit so well you would have thought they’d been working with Wes for decades. Benedict Cumberbatch is loveably pompous as the eccentric title character, while Ben Kingsley brings physical comedy as the mysterious mentor figure Imdan Khan. Though the story itself is featherweight, Anderson’s visual invention shines through in the elaborate library and vibrant jungle sets. However, without obvious depth or impact, Henry Sugar feels like a trifling effort compared to the likes of The Grand Budapest Hotel and Moonrise Kingdom. Despite that, it still offers a dose of Anderson’s trademark whimsy which may have utility on Netflix; serving as a gateway for newcomers to discover his aesthetically pleasing storytelling.

11.3.23 The Whale isn’t as controversial as the noise surrounding it suggests. It boils down to being an effective but stagey family drama, with Brendan Fraser’s powerhouse performance taking centre stage. Despite there being more to admire in the film than simply Fraser’s portrayal of an obese and reclusive English teacher, such as the performances of the female cast, The Whale isn’t great and there are many better films within this subgenre.  Getting straight to the point, although Fraser’s performance is compelling and heartfelt, his character as a part of the narrative feels like a spectacle rather than a humanised character. I am sure it wasn’t the intention of Aronofsky to have the character come across this way, but I felt it near impossible to see the character of Charlie as anything but a contrived plot device; something to behold rather than someone to empathise with. The performance isn’t artificial, but the character of Charlie is an artifice, or a construction that I find so hard to look past. I was massively obese as a young person myself, so I don’t find it rude to say that. I just don’t think dramas where someone’s weight is a part of the plot, are very interesting. On a different note, many of the film’s motifs such as Zoom lessons, webcams and Facebook comments all seem quickly outdated and out of the zeitgeist in 2023. And although the roles of all female actors are fantastic particularly Samantha Morton, they have to wrestle for screen time in lieu of the focus on Charlie. Perhaps The Whale is at its best when learning about Charlie’s tragic history through the interactions of the supporting cast, but those moments are not as developed as they could have been and I am curious to think if flashbacks with a frankly thinner Charlie and his family would have been worthwhile. As an audience, we know Brendan Fraser’s backstory, so when watching The Whale I felt more interested in rooting for him and his Hollywood banishment rather than Charlie’s attempt at salvation. Paradoxically, this is the biggest strength as well as the biggest weakness of the film. So to echo what many others have said; the Fraser comeback is on. It’s just a shame it had to start like this.

26.2.23 I fucking loved The Father, mainly due to Anthony Hopkins’ phenomenal performance, as well as the sublime manipulation of the film’s interior set, which left me second-guessing reality for most of the duration. In comparison, The Son is an enjoyable follow-up (or quasi-prequel), and although it lacks any comparably exciting plot devices, it has some really great performances in it as well as some heart-wrenching but predictable moments. Hugh Jackman’s character is very familiar (a high-status New York lawyer who appears to have it all), but his commitment to the role is both intense and measured, depending on the scene. I am not a father myself but I felt like this portrayal of a man with a troubled son is indeed genuine, although I do understand some of the criticism for the film’s heavy-handedness, as well as the actor playing his son (who I have honestly never heard of before). The dramatic tensions in the family become more splintered as the film develops, as you would expect when you invite a depressed teenager into your young second wife’s apartment whilst caring for a newborn, but unlike in The Father where the mystery keeps unfolding, things seem to become a bit too adversarial in The Son, and my wife and I totally saw the ending coming. It’s definitely worth watching, especially for the excellent Hopkins scene, but also to flesh out this small universe of dark family life that Florian Zeller has created. Bring on The Mother or, The Holy Spirit, or whatever he calls film number three.

18.2.24 I can proudly say that Ken Loach was one of those directors alongside David Fincher, Terence Davies and Stanley Kubrick that turned me from a casual moviegoer to a rabid cinema lover. His best works strike the perfect balance between capturing the character and humour of English culture against a usual gritty background, saturated in social realism. Sadly though, some of his works in the last 20 years, such as Jimmy’s Hall and Route Irish, feel stale, unoriginal and lacking urgency. His latest effort The Old Oak is alongside those and feels like a faded photocopy of his past triumphs. While the elements are there – disenfranchised characters, political commentary, a hopeful eulogy at the end – the narrative just doesn’t quite come together convincingly. We follow Syrian refugee Yara and unemployed ex-miner TJ as they bond over their economic hardships in County Durham, in the deprived north of The UK. Loach means to draw parallels to the Miners’ Strikes of the 80s, suggesting migrants are convenient scapegoats for the Tories’ failures. It’s a noble idea clumsily executed, with shallow characters and some truly wooden performances from the leads. We invest in TJ’s plight, but Yara feels more like a plot device; an unlikely character in the setting revealing candid yet forced lamentations. Unlike the authentic turns of Dave Johns and Hayley Squires in I, Daniel Blake, the subpar acting makes emotional investment difficult. There are glimmers where Loach’s instincts shine, nailing the anger and hunger faced by communities abandoned by uncaring politicians. He rarely misses when capturing working-class voices with humour and heart – but here his touch feels tired and predictable. His once-fresh style has become stale, compromised by repetition, not innovation. The film is at its best when it directs a parallel between the economic hardship small towns face at the hands of the Conservative party and union workers, explored through great, naturalistic dialogue in the film’s titular old pub. As a Tory-hating Brit, you have to admire Loach’s refusal to abandon his social realist vision. But The Old Oak confirms that even the most distinctive directorial identities risk creative stagnation. Yes, the film reflects his signature stripped-down style. But there’s a difference between maintaining a style and derivative recycling of old ideas. Sadly, The Old Oak clings to a worn-out formula rather than breaking new ground.