Main Cast: Christopher Abbott, Julia Garner, Matilda Firth and Sam Jaeger
Cinematography by Stefan Duscio
Leigh Whannell’s Wolf Man (2025) brings a fresh twist to the classic tale, grounding the werewolf transformation in a visceral metaphor for illness. The concept has undeniable merit, with the protagonist’s physical deterioration mirroring deeper themes of paternal guilt and the crushing weight of family responsibilities. Whannell’s knack for melding genre thrills with human drama is evident, as he did so effectively in Upgrade (2018) and The Invisible Man (2020). In fact, along with Predestination (2014), and the recently released, The Substance (2024), Upgrade (2018) is a low-budget masterpiece which SHOULD appear in many best-of-the-millennium-film lists, as opposed to over-rated, art-house garbage like Joanna Hogg’s, The Souvenir (2019).
Anyway, back to the Wolf Man (2025). The film’s decision to confine its narrative mostly, apart from a suspenseful flashback prologue sequence, to a single night, significantly undermines its potential. Once the parental unit portrayed by nervy and ticky, Christopher Abbott and woefully underwritten, Julia Garner is established, the rushed structure sacrifices emotional depth and character development, leaving its poignant ideas about illness, fatherhood and family obligations feeling under explored. The claustrophobic time frame allows for tense, kinetic set pieces and decent gore, but it stifles the broader emotional resonance that Whannell has demonstrated in his previous work.
For fans of Upgrade (2018) and The Invisible Man(2020), Wolf Manmay feel like a missed opportunity. Those films balanced high-concept storytelling with sharp social commentary, whereas this latest effort feels more like a half-formed howl in the night. Indeed, there seemed to be a whole bite taken out of the second act with the film hurtling toward the underwhelming denouement with little tension and suspense. Further, if you have ever watched Ozark, then Julia Garner’s electric energy and acting power is truly under utilized. Plus, the film was SO dark. I know it’s a horror film, but it would be great to actually SEE what was going on as the characters go into the woods. Oh, and I did not like the monster design at all to be honest. Bring back Rick Baker I say. Overall, while there’s brilliance in the premise, the execution lacks the quality needed to fully transform it into something truly memorably metamorphic.
The Cinema Fix presents: 12 Favourite Films of 2024!
Good day and I hope you are well. I am slightly late to the party with these but happy new year nonetheless.
Here are my favourite films of 2024 that I watched at the cinema and on streaming platforms. The majority would have been released last year, however there were quite a few that crossed the last eighteen months or so. I cheated slightly with The Quiet Girl, but I watched in 2024, so there you go.
If I have missed any films then please let me know in the comments. I have either NOT seen them or did not enjoy them as much as you. Remember these are my FAVOURITE films seen in 2024 of new(ish) releases. So all purely subjective and am happy if you agree or disagree. Have a wonderful 2025!
Oh, for control and interest, I include my favourite films of 2023!
ANATOMY OF A FALL (2023) ASTEROID CITY (2023) BROKER (2022) MAY DECEMBER (2023) OPPENHEIMER (2023) PAST LIVES (2023) SALTBURN (2023) TAR (2022) TOTALLY KILLER (2023) THE WONDER (2022)
Based on Nosferatu by Henrik Galeen and Dracula by Bram Stoker
Produced by Jeff Robinov, John Graham, Chris Columbus, Eleanor Columbus, Robert Eggers, etc.
Main Cast: Bill Skarsgård, Nicholas Hoult, Lily-Rose Depp, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Emma Corrin, Willem Dafoe, Simon McBurney, etc.
Cinematography by Jarin Blaschke
Music by Robin Carolan
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Firstly, Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror, the 1922 silent German Expressionist vampire film directed by F. W. Murnau remains one of the greatest and most iconic horror films of all time. It is arguably the greatest adaptation of Bram Stoker’s, seminal gothic classic, Dracula, too. Of which there have been many. So, who would be brave enough to attempt to master another version of this often-told monstrous tale. Step forward the acclaimed and relatively young American auteur, Robert Eggers.
Robert Eggers has built a reputation for crafting films that blend mythical and fantastical elements with folk horror and psychological thriller sensibilities. His works often transport audiences to meticulously recreated period settings, which serve as the foundation for his exploration of human fears, desires, and the supernatural. His debut feature film. The Witch (2015) exemplified folk horror rooted in Puritanical fears of the supernatural. Set in 1630s New England, it drew heavily from folklore, historical accounts, and period-authentic dialogue. The film explored themes of isolation, religious paranoia, and the breakdown of a family due to their belief in the presence of witches.
Similarly, The Lighthouse (2019), a psychological thriller merged maritime folklore with hallucinatory horror. Set in the late 19th century, the film delved into isolation-induced madness as two lighthouse keepers grappled with mythological themes such as mermaids, sea gods, and Promethean punishment. Moreover, as with his short films Hansel and Gretel (2007) and The Tell-Tale Heart (2008) he is drawn towards established texts, with the bruising, battering ram of The Northman (2022) covering the original myth on which Hamlet was based. Eggers vision immersed the viewer in violence, Viking culture, shamanic ritual and mysticism. Unsurprising therefore, he has now delivered the German Expressionist classic, Nosferatu (2024) with his signature period aesthetic and focus on the macabre.
With a stellar cast, production design and incredibly stylish vision, Eggers has produced a praiseworthy example of fantastical cinema. As usual there appears to be meticulous historical research, including accurate costumes, set design, and period-specific dialogue. This attention to detail in Nosferatu (2024) grounds the supernatural elements in a believable world, enhancing their impact. Furthermore, Eggers creates a sense of dread through his use of sound design, stark cinematography, and claustrophobic settings. His restrained pacing allows for the gradual unraveling of characters’ psyches, making the supernatural elements more impactful.
Yet, while steeped in folklore, Nosferatu (2024) centres on human struggles—family disintegration, fate, guilt, madness, lust and sex. Indeed, Nicholas Hoult’s Thomas Hutter (née Harker) does not stand a chance. From the opening scene his sensual wife, Ellen, is inextricably linked via a lustful fever dream to a mysterious figure, who, if you couldn’t guess, is Count Orlok (an unrecognizable Bill Skarsgård). It is Ellen’s orgasmic connection across oceans of time which drives Orlok to lure Thomas away and commit blood-draining murder as he creeps cross-country and sails the seas from Transylvania to Germany. Ellen’s surreal and orgiastic desire unfortunately brings the plague and causes the death of extraneous supporting characters portrayed by the likes Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Emma Corrin. A note to say Willem Dafoe is as usual a joy as the ‘Van Helsing’ substitute.
Nosferatu (2024) is undeniably a sumptuous adaptation, brimming with signature attention to period detail, atmospheric dread, and a striking visual palette. However, for those seeking a viscerally terrifying Dracula film, the movie might fall short, leaning heavily into the realm of erotic horror and psychological tension rather than outright scares. While the stunning cinematography, the film’s shadow-drenched landscapes, intricate set design, and haunting score evoke the satanic allure of the original silent film this focus, however, shifts the film away from raw horror and toward a more introspective exploration of vulnerability and eroticism. Ultimately, the film’s reinterpretation of Count Orlok and its restrained approach to gore might alienate viewers expecting a more terrifying vampire film. This left me impressed but more disturbed by the overlong runtime than by the nightmarish allure of the bloodthirsty undead.
Produced by Tessa Ross, Juliette Howell, Michael Jackman, Alice Dawson and Robert Harris
Main cast: Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow, Sergio Castellitto, Isabella Rossellini, Lucian Msamati, Carlos Diehz, etc. Cinematography by Stéphane Fontaine
Music by Hauschka
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
When you think about organized crime families, images of the Sopranos or Godfather-esque figures probably come to mind. But, if we’re playing with definitions one might allege the Catholic Church—an ancient institution with global influence—is one of the biggest crime organisations ever historically and in the present. I mean, organized crime families are notorious for their code of silence. The Church has had its fair share of. . . shall we say, discretion? From the Vatican’s secret archives to a several public scandals they’d rather we not dwell on, there’s certainly a flair for keeping things in the family.
The Pope, aka the Holy Father, wears white, sits on a throne, and apparently has a direct line to the big “man” upstairs. Replace “Vatican” with “Sicily,” and suddenly, the resemblance to the Mafia is uncanny. Moreover, crime families thrive on wealth accumulation. The Vatican’s art collection, gold reserves, and prime real estate make even the most successful mobster green with envy. Not to forget, from Rome to Rio, the Catholic Church has an unparalleled network. Mobsters may have their territories, but the Church claims everywhere. With over a billion followers worldwide, even Don Corleone would bow to that reach. Thus, power struggles ensue within many organisations with coups and betrayals and internal competitions occur, including who is going to be the new boss. Welcome to the cinematic adaptation of Robert Harris’ novel, Conclave (2024); a beautifully constructed, serious and ultimately quite silly story.
Ralph Fiennes is majestic as Cardinal-Dean Thomas Lawrence, the individual tasked with finding a successor after the Pope dies of a heart attack. Fiennes anchors this serious faith-based drama with an intellectual depth as a series of potential candidates throw their zuchettos into the ring including:
Aldo Bellini (Stanley Tucci) of the United States, a liberal spirit echoing the compassionate legacy of the late pontiff.
Joseph Tremblay (John Lithgow) of Canada, a voice of moderation, bridging the Church’s timeless values and modern sensibilities.
Joshua Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati) of Nigeria, a steadfast advocate of social conservatism, grounded in enduring traditions.
Goffredo Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto) of Italy, an unwavering traditionalist, fiercely loyal to the ancient rites of faith.
With a narrative based on a book by Robert Harris, it is certain that the powerful developments and twists will grip the audience. Furthermore, Edward Berger’s direction is undeniably captivating, as is Stéphane Fontaine’s cinematography, which paints each scene with a reverence befitting the Vatican’s grandeur. Their collaboration crafts a visually stunning vision, pulling viewers into the cloistered rituals of electing a new Pope. Yet, for all its technical brilliance, the process itself feels devoid of emotional resonance.
Why should we, the audience, care about who becomes the next Pope? Unless one is deeply invested in the Catholic Church or its doctrine, the stakes remain distant. The election of a spiritual leader for over a billion followers is, of course, significant—but the film offers little to make this significance tangible for those outside that fold. Harris’ story spices things up with a provocative, irreverent twist in its final act. Yet, this narrative grenade lands with a thud rather than an explosion. Yes, it’s shocking, even subversive, but it doesn’t pack enough weight to unsettle an institution as colossal and entrenched as the Catholic Church.
Ultimately, Conclave (2024) is a masterclass in craft but a missed opportunity in damning the status quo of this alleged criminal organisation. Berger, Fontaine, Fiennes, plus the production design, score and sound-mixing artistry elevate the film, making it an incredibly effective cinematic version of the proverbial page-turner. But the story’s failure to connect on a deeper, emotional level found me losing my religion; what little I have left.
Produced by: Hirokazu Kore-eda, Minami Ichikawa, Kenji Yamada, Megumi Banse, Taichi Itō and Hijiri Taguchi
Main cast: Sakura Andō, Eita Nagayama, Sōya Kurokawa, Hinata Hiiragi and Yūko Tanaka
Cinematography by Ryuto Kondo
Music by Ryuichi Sakamoto
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Monster (2023) exemplifies his continued mastery of humanist storytelling, a hallmark of his career. As with prior works such as the classic Afterlife (1998), critically acclaimed Shoplifters (2018), and the recent, arguably more commercial comedy-drama, Broker (2022), Kore-eda demonstrates a keen ability to explore the quiet complexities of human relationships, here through themes of bullying, young love, and the tender, taboo nature of queer affection. Monster (2023) delves deeply into the fragility of human connections, revealing the pain and misunderstandings that arise when societal expectations collide with individual identities.
The story focuses on shifting narrative perspectives of two young boys, Minato (Sōya Kurokawa) and Yori (Hinata Hiragi), Mugino’s mother, Saori (Sakura Andō) and the boy’s teacher, Michitoshi Hori (Eita Nagayama). Initially, Minato begins displaying slightly disturbing behavious such as cutting his own hair and throwing tantrums in class. His mother then believes the teacher is bullying him and begins to campaign for Mr Hori’s punishment. What then unfolds is something altogether more complex and powerfully ambiguous.
With Monster (2023), crafted via a Rashomon-style structure by screenwriter Yuji Sakamoto, the narrative approach provides a formidable layer to the film’s emotional resonance. It allow the audience to revisit pivotal events from multiple perspectives. By shifting viewpoints the script highlights how perception shapes reality, illustrating the subjectivity of truth in deeply personal and often painful ways. The multifaceted storytelling reveals how moments of cruelty, compassion, and misunderstanding ripple across different lives, underscoring Kore-eda’s central humanist message: no person is simply a villain or a hero, but a complex amalgam of motives and vulnerabilities.
The script’s structural ingenuity enhances the film’s exploration of societal issues, such as the alienation of queer youth and the lasting scars of bullying. Each retelling reframes the characters’ actions, fostering empathy for even the most seemingly antagonistic figures. This interplay of perspectives elevates Monster (2023) beyond a straightforward tale of adolescent struggle, transforming it into a profound meditation on the intersection of memory, identity, and the pursuit of love and acceptance.
By marrying Kore-eda’s subtle directorial touch with Sakamoto’s intricate script, Monster (2023) achieves a rare cinematic feat: a story that is as intellectually engaging as it is emotionally devastating. Moreover, it reaffirms Kore-eda’s place as a preeminent chronicler of the human condition. Safe to say that it is beautifully filmed, cast and acted. To elicit such incredible performances from these boys is wondrous direction. It also features a fragmented but beautifully poetic final film score of the recently departed Ryuichi Sakamoto. Overall, it’s cinema that breathes pathos and humanity into each and every character, and provides no easy solutions. Monster (2023) is a film that burns, like the fiery tower block featured throughout, long in the heart and memory.
Produced by Tim Bevan, Eric Fellner, Steve McQueen, Anita Overland, Adam Somner, Arnon Milchan, Yariv Milchan, Michael Schaefer
Main Cast: Saoirse Ronan, Elliott Heffernan, Harris Dickinson, Benjamin Clementine, Kathy Burke, Paul Weller, Stephen Graham etc.
Cinematography by Yorick Le Saux
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Officially classed as acclaimed filmmaker Steve McQueen’s first feature since the release of Widows (2018),Blitz (2024) is a WW2 drama of extremely high quality. But before I get into the review, lest we forget the series of films Steve McQueen delivered to the BBC a few years. The ‘Small Axe’ anthology should and shall be revisited as one of the most important documents of British history, such is its searing power, dramatic drive and the stunning rich tapestry of characterful moments. So, I urge you to watch, if you haven’t, what I consider to be Steve McQueen’s masterworks. I have reviewed the first one Mangrove (2020)here and the remaining of the collection here:
Blitz (2024) is a bigger budgeted production when compared to the ‘Small Axe’ anthology. But, similarly, it is a period piece, focusing on the working class and Black experience, this time set during the brutal bombing of London in 1940. McQueen shoots very much from the perspective of George (Elliot Heffernan), his mother, Rita (Saoirse Ronan) and grandfather, Gerald (Paul Weller). George, like many war children, is packed on a train to the relative safety of the countryside, while parents live in the hope of surviving the incessant German bombs.
After establishing the close family bond between the Hanways, and the wrenching emotion of sending her son away, Rita continues working in a munitions factory and sings beautifully on a national radio show. At the same time, George, finds trouble with a gang of child bullies on the train, before fighting back and jumping off. A tough and resourceful boy, George, makes the perilous choice to return to battered and burning London to reunite with his mother. The city, scarred by the relentless ‘Blitzkrieg’, is a treacherous labyrinth of collapsing buildings and choking smoke, but George’s determination burns brighter than the fires raging across the skyline.
Like a modern Oliver Twist, Blitz (2024) George’s journey through the devastated capital is both a physical and moral odyssey, with each encounter shaping his understanding of loyalty, survival, and the fragile threads that bind people together in times of crisis. George becomes trapped by his own choices, the bombs, bricks, buildings and characters he meets on the way. Some are friendly, but others exploit George preventing his return home. McQueen’s script also finds time to flashback to show Rita meeting George’s father, providing significant context to his mixed race background. Indeed, through George, McQueen explores themes relating to race and his emotional journey to find his place in the world as a person of colour.
Blitz (2024) is a superbly shot and designed film, with Yorick Le Saux’s cinematography rendering war torn London with an almost mythical beauty. However, Hans Zimmer’s overblown soundtrack is too much for me. Further, Steve McQueen’s hagiographic and episodic approach does somewhat diminish the raw drama and bloody horror of war. Notably, the under-use of Kathy Burke and Stephen Graham’s gutter snipe thieves. Plus a thrilling action set-piece during a flooded tube station that cuts away from George’s almost-demise, denying us suspense and dramatic catharsis. Thus, at times, the film sacrifices potential complexity during George’s journey, making his survival seem almost predestined rather than hard-fought. Still, Steve McQueen remains one of the country’s most important cinematic artists and Blitz (2024) is yet another fine testament to the strength and resilience of the human spirit.
Based on the musical, Wicked by Stephen Schwartz & Winnie Holzman and novel by Gregory Maguire.
Produced by Marc Platt and David Stone
Main Cast: Cynthia Erivo, Ariana Grande-Buter, Jonathan Bailey, Ethan Slater, Bowen Yang, Marissa Bode, Peter Dinklage, Michelle Yeoh and Jeff Goldblum etc.
Cinematography by Alice Brooks
Edited by Myron Kerstein
Music by John Powell (score) and Stephen Schwartz (score and songs)
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
I truly believe my love of cinema began when I was aged five. Or was it six? Picture the scene. Christmas Day circa 1976 and the living room of a Battersea tower block. A television emits a classic musical fantasy called The Wizard of Oz (1939). Shades of grey with a flickering light and shadow, drew me into its spell. I sat wide-eyed, cradled by the screen’s soft glow, unaware that something wondrous lay just beyond the monochrome.
And then it happened—like a magician’s flourish, the black and white world I had known melted away. Dorothy opened that door, and the screen burst into life, a kaleidoscope of impossible hues. Emerald greens, ruby reds, a yellow road that glowed with the promise of adventure. My eyes widened. Hang on! It was black and white and NOW the images are in colour! This was magic. This was film. This was Oz!
Forty-eight years later and back to the present. In 2024, I am sat in the cinema intrigued to watch the musical prequel, Wicked (2024). Based on a successful novel, then a spectacularly successful stage musical and now a big-budget Christmas cinema extravaganza indulgently split into a two-parter, does Wicked (2024) capture the cinematic sorcery I experienced in my youth? Of course it possibly cannot live up to my warm and fuzzy childhood memories, but it is a well-crafted, superbly choreographed and energetically performed Hollywood product with Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande on majestic form.
The film, based on Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire, is a brilliant twist on the “what if” storytelling lens—a speculative reimagining that turns a villain into a deeply human, complex protagonist. The novel takes the flat archetype of the Wicked Witch and asks: What if we misunderstood her? What if the “wickedness” she’s condemned for is not inherent, but the result of a life shaped by prejudice, politics, and pain? Indeed, the journey of Elphaba Thropp (Cynthia Erivo) powerfully drives the story, and in some fashion Wicked(2024) works brilliantly as a Breaking Bad-meets-Mean Girls-type-rites-of-passage musical.
Unfortunately, such strong narrative bones with weighty themes of identity, morality, and the price of power are adorned in a dazzling, over-the-top spectacle. While its core narrative explores profound questions about destiny and the nature of “wickedness,” these ideas often get buried under an excessive parade of well-designed production numbers that stretch the running time and tested one’s patience. The powerful emotional arcs of Elphaba and Glinda, rich with potential, are interrupted by TOO MANY songs that (Dancing Through Life is one such culprit), while entertaining in isolation, often feel like detours from the story’s heart.
By the final curtain, the spectacular musical embellishments, though undeniably crowd-pleasing, can leave the story feeling bloated. I am probably the wrong demographic for the production, given the cinema was full of children and parents. So, while there is much to enjoy in comparison with the original film’s genius, notably the invention of the flying monkeys, Wicked(2024), for all its glitter and showmanship, finds the greedy desire for a two-parter ultimately draining Oz of pace and magic.
Based on Characters by David Franzoni Produced by Ridley Scott, Michael Pruss, Douglas Wick, Lucy Fisher, Walter F. Parkes, Laurie MacDonald and David Franzoni.
Main cast: Paul Mescal, Pedro Pascal, Joseph Quinn, Fred Hechinger, Lior Raz, Derek Jacobi, Connie Nielsen and Denzel Washington.
Cinematography by John Mathieson
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Ridley Scott’sGladiator (2000) stands as a modern genre classic, redefining the historical epic with its visceral storytelling, evocative visual style, and emotional depth. The film not only revitalized interest in the sword-and-sandal genre but also solidified Russell Crowe as a major star, earning him an Academy Award for Best Actor. Crowe’s portrayal of Maximus Decimus Meridius—a betrayed Roman general seeking justice—exudes both raw power and profound vulnerability, making him an enduring figure in cinematic history.
Gladiator’ssuperb screenplay intricately followed the structure of Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey, charting Maximus’ transformation from a celebrated general to a fallen slave, and ultimately to a venerated martyr. Also invoking the archetype of one of Christopher Booker’s seven basic plots, ‘Overcoming the Monster’. Indeed, Maximus’ journey aligns with the ‘Overcoming the Monster’ archetype, where the hero confronts a seemingly insurmountable evil. Commodus and the Roman Empire embodies the “monster,” wielding unchecked power, moral corruption, and cruelty. Maximus battles not only physical opponents in the gladiatorial arena but also the corrupt system that Commodus represents. His ultimate triumph over Commodus is both personal vengeance and symbolic justice, restoring balance to a fractured world.
Finding Ridley Scott at arguably the height of his directorial power, Gladiator’s success rested on its ability to blend archetypal storytelling with deeply human emotions. It revitalized the historical epic for modern audiences by prioritizing character-driven drama over spectacle, though its battle sequences remain iconic. With its sweeping Hans Zimmer score and Russell Crowe’s unforgettable performance, the film transcended its genre, made a lot of money and become a modern myth that continues to resonate with audiences worldwide. So, the burning question is why did it take so to make a sequel?
I’d say the answer to this question is that because the original was so iconic and powerful it didn’t need a sequel. Still, when has that ever stopped the money-making behemoth of the Hollywood machine from not following up. The surprise is that it took twenty-four years to bring to the screen. Which is a similar length of time after the first one that Gladiator II (2024) is set, namely 211AD. Similarities do not cease there.
So, I will just say I had so much fun watchingGladiator II. It is an exhilarating return to the grandeur of the Roman Empire, delivering breathtaking visuals, high-stakes action, and a muscular lead performance from Paul Mescal as Hanno, a fighter with a mysterious history. However, despite its ambitious scale and technical brilliance, the sequel draws heavy parallels to the original, feeling more like a reimagining than a bold continuation. Hanno’s journey echoes Maximus’ so closely that it lacks the freshness that made the 2000 film a groundbreaking modern epic.
Indeed, Hanno’s arc is essentially a mirror image of Maximus’ but while Gladiator IIadheres to the same Hero’s Journey structure that defined the first film, the beats feel overly familiar. Hanno’s transformation, while compelling, doesn’t quite reach the mythic resonance of Maximus’ odyssey. Where Maximus was a reluctant hero drawn into a larger-than-life struggle, Hanno’s motivations and journey feel more cloudy and contrived, lacking the gravitas of the original’s moral and emotional complexity. Script and character inconsistencies do not help, with Hanno too quickly switching emotions where Connie Nielsen’s Lucilla is concerned.
That said, the sequel contains many strengths. The world-building is as immersive as ever, with Ridley Scott’s regal direction ensuring that every frame pulsates with life and detail. The sheer energy and brutality of the Colosseum set-pieces are worth the admission alone. The flooding of the arena battle and introduction of a number of fantastic and vicious beasts are especially memorable. The action is bloody and gripping, the score soars, and the themes of resilience and justice remain timeless. Moreover, Mescal delivers a commanding performance, injecting moments of raw intensity and vulnerability into the role.
Having said that, it is Denzel Washington’s Macrinus who pulls narrative focus and power throughout. Washington brings his trademark gravitas and charisma to the role, crafting a character arc that is both morally complex and emotionally resonant. Macrinus’ journey of manipulation, becomes the film’s most compelling thread, overshadowing Hanno’s more conventional hero’s path. Washington imbues Macrinus with subtlety, allowing audiences to see flashes of vulnerability and moral conflict beneath his stoic exterior. He oscillates effortlessly between commanding authority and quiet introspection, making every line delivery impact. Washington’s natural charisma ensures that Macrinus commands attention in every scene. His dialogue crackles with intensity, and his moments of silence speak volumes, often eclipsing Hanno’s more straightforward emotional beats.
Gladiator II undeniably thrills as a cinematic experience, but its adherence to the original’s blueprint leaves it struggling to step out of Maximus’ shadow. While it showcases the enduring power of its core narrative themes, it ultimately feels more like a polished homage than a groundbreaking sequel, relying on echoes of past triumphs rather than forging an entirely new path. For fans of the original, this familiarity is a strength and weakness, yet nonetheless Scott’s epic facsimile remains a powerful and bone-crunching adrenaline rush.
The Scala Cinema, nestled in the heart of London, was more than just a film theatre; it was a refuge, a haven for anyone with a passion for films that didn’t fit into the mainstream mold. I can still feel the sticky floors, the cats in the dark, hear the muffled sounds of the trains passing overhead, and see the hazy red glow that filled the theater. In the 1980s and 1990s, going to the Scala wasn’t just about watching a film; it was about being part of a community that celebrated the bizarre, the boundary-pushing, and the boldly artistic.
During those years, the Scala felt like my second home. It was where I could disappear into films that I couldn’t find anywhere else – obscure horror flicks, campy B-movies, gonzo-pornos, arthouse selections, and controversial classics from around the globe. It was my church. Films by David Lynch, John Waters, Yuen Woo-ping, Derek Jarman, Werner Herzog, Sam Raimi, Lucio Fulci, Russ Meyer, Kathryn Bigelow, Alex Cox, John Woo, Stanley Kubrick, Jane Campion, Orson Welles, Dario Argento, Alejandro Jodorowsky and many more – each screening felt like a small rebellion, a discovery that I’d carry with me. The Scala didn’t just show movies; it curated experiences. All-night marathons, double bills, and surprise screenings became a staple of my weekends, filling my mind with scenes that blurred the line between reality and the outrageous.
When I watched the Scala documentary on BFI Player, a flood of memories came rushing back. It was as though I’d been given a ticket back to those wild, late nights. I remembered how Scala regulars would shout lines at the screen or break into laughter at inopportune moments, making each viewing unique and unpredictable. The documentary captured not only the films but the spirit of the place – the staff who loved cinema as much as the patrons did, the strange but welcoming crowd, and the sense that Scala wasn’t just a venue but a movement. Watching it felt like reconnecting with a part of myself, an era when cinema was raw, thrilling, and unpolished.
The Scala in King’s Cross is a legend, and for those of us who were lucky enough to experience it, it’s a chapter we’ll always cherish. I was even there when they showed A Clockwork Orange (illegally), which led to the ill-fated court case which forced it to close. This documentary is both a valuable historical document and a joyous sharing of stories from those who worked there and attended the films shown, including: Mark Moore, Mary Harron, Isaac Julien, John Waters, Ben Wheatley; Barry Adamson, Matt Johnson, Adam Buxton, James O’Brien, Stewart Lee, Lisa Power and Graham Humphreys. Overall, the Scala Cinema wasn’t just about the films we watched; it was about finding a place where film became more than entertainment – they were a way of life.
Written by Scott Silver and Todd Phillips (Based on Characters by DC Comics) Produced byTodd Phillips, Emma Tillinger Koskoff & Joseph Garner
Main cast: Joaquin Phoenix, Lady Gaga, Brendan Gleeson, Catherine Keener and Zazie Beetz etc.
Cinematography by Lawrence Sher
Music by Hildur Guðnadóttir
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
In 2019, Todd Phillips and Joaquin Phoenix, as director and lead actor, unleashed Joker (2019) on the cinema public. It became an enormous critical and commercial hit, with Phoenix winning the ‘Best Actor’ award at the Academy Awards. Unsurprisingly, a sequel now reaches us. While the original 1980’s set period drama worked superbly, echoing the structure and themes of Scorsese’s King of Comedy (1982) and Taxi Driver (1976), the follow-up Joker: Folie à Deux (2024) is altogether different. In fact, given it experiments with musical, romance, crime, court-room and psychological horror genres, it is an altogether riskier film, which while compelling and fascinating, doesn’t always connect to a satisfactory whole. But perhaps that is the point. It is intended to reflect an inconsistent mind and unreliable narrator, a fractured soul in Arthur Fleck.
For me, in Joker: Folie à Deux (2024), Todd Phillips masterfully employs cinematic techniques of fragmentation and ambiguity to deepen the exploration of mental illness, echoing the disorienting and fractured experience of his protagonists. The film, much like its predecessor, blurs the lines between reality and delusion, but this time the ambiguity is intensified through musical elements, dreamlike sequences, and multiple perspectives. Phillips’ use of disjointed timelines and unreliable narratives immerses the audience in the chaos of Arthur Fleck’s (Phoenix) and Harley Quinn’s (Lady Gaga) unraveling psyches.
The musical numbers, set against stark, gritty environments, feel both fantastical and unnerving, reinforcing the characters’ distorted perceptions of the world. Moments of quiet introspection are suddenly broken by violent outbursts or surreal interludes, mimicking the unpredictability of their mental states. The film’s visual style shifts between stark realism and surreal imagery, reflecting the internal fragmentation of Arthur and Harley’s minds, keeping viewers on edge and questioning what is real.
Phillips’ direction ensures that the story remains rooted in ambiguity—much like the first film—inviting viewers to interpret the characters’ mental states without offering clear answers. This cracked narrative style doesn’t just illustrate their mental illness; it pulls the audience into it, makingJoker: Folie à Deuxa bold and unsettling exploration of madness through form as much as story. As such there isn’t much plot to speak of as Arthur’s journey essentially follows him from Arkham Asylum to court, with episodic splashes of song and dance in between, before we get to the climactic court room scenes.
As aforementioned, in Joker (2019), Todd Phillips drew heavily from Martin Scorsese’s The King of Comedy (1982), particularly in its portrayal of a lonely, unstable man seeking fame and validation in a world that cruelly rejects him. Arthur Fleck’s obsession with talk show host Murray Franklin mirrors Rupert Pupkin’s fixation on becoming a comedy star, and both films explore the dangerous consequences of societal alienation and delusional aspirations. The gritty, urban backdrop and character-driven narrative made Joker a powerful homage to Scorsese’s psychological explorations of fame and madness.
With Joker: Folie à Deux (2024), Phillips shifts toward a different Scorsese film for inspiration: New York, New York (1977). Much like Scorsese’s semi-musical about a turbulent romance between two performers, Folie à Deux integrates musical elements and centres on the chaotic relationship between Arthur and Harley Quinn (Lady Gaga). The film’s blending of harsh realism with the stylized, dreamlike sequences of musical numbers echoes New York, New York’s mix of glitzy performance and dark personal struggle. Thematically, both films explore how dreams of stardom can clash with mental instability, but Folie à Deuxtakes it a step further by embedding this conflict within its characters’ delusions, making the musical sequences feel like an escape from—or reflection of—their psychotic minds. This potential homage to New York, New Yorkallows Phillips to expand Joker‘s cinematic language, fusing psychological drama with surreal musical spectacle.
Joker: Folie à Deux (2024), at time of writing, has polarized critics and cinema-goers. As someone who watches a lot of “art-house” and European cinema, I can see why this film is dividing opinion. This is what happens if Jacques Demy, by way of Bergman, were given $200 million to make a DC comic-book film. Todd Phillips takes many risks in form and structure, most notably denying the audience catharsis at the bleak finale. It is truly downbeat and it felt like Phillips and Phoenix were finally done with this clownish killer and anti-hero.
As a cinematic experience the musical score is striking. Moreover, the production is grey and oppressive and claustrophobic, set in enclosed cells and shadowed court rooms. There is little light in this film nor even a shadow at the end of the tunnel for Arthur and Harley. Phoenix is fantastic again, while Gaga’s romantic partner-in-crime is under-cooked as a character. Nonetheless, Gaga still sparkles amidst this gloomy, musical, existential journey into the mouth and down the throat of madness.
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