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Cinema Review: The End of Oak Street (2026) – a fun and exciting Twilight Zone meets Jurassic Park movie mash-up!

Cinema Review: The End of Oak Street (2026)

Directed by David Robert Mitchell

Written by David Robert Mitchell

Produced by: J. J. Abrams, Hannah Minghella, Jon Cohen, David Robert Mitchell, Matt Jackson, Tommy Harper, etc.

Main cast: Anne Hathaway, Ewan McGregor, Maisy Stella
Christian Convery, etc.


Cinematography by Michael Gioulakis

** CONTAINS SPOILERS **



David Robert Mitchell announced himself as a filmmaker to watch with the amazing It Follows (2014), one of the most original and unnerving American horror films of the last decade. Its relentless, shape-shifting entity, dreamlike suburban landscapes and wonderfully simple central conceit turned teenage sexuality and anxiety into something genuinely nightmarish. Four years later came the altogether stranger Under the Silver Lake (2018), a bizarre, labyrinthine Hollywood conspiracy thriller that seemed determined to disappear down every rabbit hole it could find. Now, after an eight-year absence from directing, Mitchell lands somewhere between those two extremes with The End of Oak Street (2026)— a wacky movie mash-up, certainly, but one pitched on considerably safer and more commercial ground: dinosaurs destroying the neighbourhood.

The premise is gloriously fun. It is the early 1980s and the Platt family — Denise (Anne Hathaway), Greg (Ewan McGregor) and their children Audrey (Maisy Stella) and Brian (Christian Convery) — are already experiencing their own domestic extinction event when a mysterious cosmic phenomenon transports their suburban neighbourhood millions of years into the past. Suddenly the comfortable American cul-de-sac is surrounded by prehistoric vegetation and populated by creatures considerably less friendly than the people next door.

It is difficult not to think of Spielberg. Jurassic Park (1993) is the obvious reference, but there are also echoes of E.T. (1982), Poltergeist (1982) and the Amblin school of ordinary suburban families confronted by extraordinary events. Mitchell effectively reverses the Jurassic Park formula: instead of humans visiting the dinosaurs, the suburbs are dropped into their world. The result is part science fiction, part creature feature, part dysfunctional-family drama and part disaster movie — a cinematic pick-and-mix that rarely stops moving long enough for us to question how absurd the whole thing is.

And when the dinosaurs arrive, Mitchell has fun with them. These aren’t simply majestic CGI museum exhibits waiting for somebody to stare upwards in wonder. They are animals, predators and occasionally wrecking balls, turning driveways, kitchens, gardens and picket fences into prehistoric feeding grounds. There is something inherently amusing about seeing the reassuring iconography of American suburbia invaded by creatures that existed millions of years before the mortgage, the station wagon and the neighbourhood barbecue.



Michael Gioulakis’ cinematography gives Mitchell’s suburban apocalypse considerably more visual personality than the average effects-driven blockbuster, while Michael Giacchino’s score understands exactly when to embrace the grandeur and when to undercut it. Mitchell even deploys split-diopter compositions during comparatively mundane family conversations — an indication that, beneath the expensive dinosaur spectacle, the director of It Follows hasn’t entirely disappeared.

Hathaway and McGregor also prevent the human story from being completely trampled beneath giant reptilian feet. Denise and Greg’s marriage is already in trouble before prehistoric nature intervenes, giving the film a neat central joke: sometimes it takes being transported millions of years into the past and nearly eaten by dinosaurs to put your domestic problems into perspective. Hathaway is particularly good at giving Denise the necessary toughness without turning her into a generic action heroine, while McGregor brings warmth and vulnerability to Greg.

There are some surprisingly brutal moments too. Mitchell hasn’t forgotten his horror roots, and when the film wants its dinosaurs to be frightening rather than spectacular, they genuinely are. The neighbourhood becomes a hunting ground where screams, gunshots and sudden silences remind us that families in the surrounding houses are experiencing their own unseen horror stories. One major mid-film development is especially effective because Mitchell briefly allows us to believe that this apparently family-friendly adventure might be prepared to become something much nastier. Plus, I have to say that gigantic prehistoric snake is a seriously terrifying predator, especially when wrapped within the rooms and doorways of the house.

The later time-warp mechanics allow Mitchell to play with paradoxes, alternative outcomes and some intriguingly strange ideas, but they also provide the screenplay with convenient escape routes. The film constructs a wonderfully impossible situation and then becomes noticeably more generous toward its characters as it approaches the finishing line. That choice makes for an audience-friendly conclusion, but there is a tantalisingly darker version of this movie buried somewhere underneath — one in which Mitchell follows his premise to a more apocalyptic and cruel destination.

Still, the neat, wrapped up conclusion totally makes sense and Bad Robot’s J.J. Abrams crowd-pleasing, commercial sensibility has clearly reined in Mitchell’s more risky storytelling approach. Overall, The End of Oak Street (2026) knows exactly what kind of Saturday-night movie it wants to be. It has movie stars, monsters, scares, humour, family melodrama, science-fiction, time travel and enormous prehistoric creatures smashing their way through suburbia. Sometimes cinema doesn’t need to reinvent the dinosaur, even though some conspiracy theorists believe dinosaurs never existed. But, that’s another film altogether.

Mark: 8 out of 11


My Cinematic Romance #26 – Robert Shaw

My Cinematic Romance #26 – Robert Shaw

I often plan my reviews and retrospective pieces around thematically linked film subjects and on other occasions it can become a random or serendipitous process. Of late, the cultural gods have nudged me towards watching and rewatching works by Harold Pinter, including the Joseph Losey directed films, The Servant (1963) and Accident (1967). I then recalled that several of Pinter’s plays had been adapted for film and were readily available on YouTube to watch for “free.”

Moreover, as I have also been on a mild William Friedkin retrospective rewatch, I saw his adaptation of The Birthday Party (1968) which led me to an earlier Pinter adaptation called The Caretaker (1963) directed by Clive Donner. Both are oblique, ambiguous renditions of human nature with dark existential absurdity and an almost impenetrable subtext. Pinter’s works are highly acclaimed, attracting a litany of incredibly talented actors and directors. One such is Robert Shaw. His haunting and magnetic performances in Pinter’s work reminded of what an incredible talent he was.



Sadly passing away aged fifty-two of a heart attack, Shaw had a tremendously varied career on stage and screen. If you were not aware he was also a successful author and playwright. Indeed, his 1968 play, The Man in the Glass Booth ran in London and Broadway to critical acclaim, later being adapted for a film in 1975. It’s reported that Pinter assisted with the adaptation of Shaw’s novel for the stage, although Shaw retains the writing credit. Therefore their collaborative connection remained resolute.

This piece highlights five of Robert Shaw’s best performances. Shaw was famously known to favour the stage and his writing over the commercial grind of Hollywood. While big-budget films brought him money, international fame and financial security, he openly disliked celebrity culture and many of his co-stars. In interviews he is often stated he viewed genre movie paydays as a way to provide for his family and fund his true passion: writing novels and plays. So, apologies to Robert Shaw’s legacy for choosing some of those Hollywood roles he’s known for. Safe to say though he is a true artist who passed away way too soon.



The Birthday Party (1968)

I was going to choose Shaw’s memorable tough guy gangster performance in The Sting (1973), but it’s too easy. Instead, I have selected his intensely complex role as Stanley in The Birthday Party. His character is one of the most tortured souls out there, full of sweat, guilt, regret and paranoia. We do not know what he may or may not of done, but I drew parallels with characters such as Josef K from The Trial and No. 6 from The Prisoner. Arguably, these works are more accessible than Pinter’s “comedy of menace,” but Shaw’s Stanley is painfully mesmerising. The two men who come for him possibly represent death. At the same time his bizarre exchanges with Dandy Nichols’ landlady, Meg, add sex to the mix, making the whole thing a painfully uncomfortable watch.



The Caretaker (1963)

A quietly strange and devastating film adaptation containing three fantastic performances from Alan Bates, Donald Pleasance and Robert Shaw. It’s mostly a character study of mental illness, loneliness, bullying and hiearchal-driven power dynamics. Pleasance is a vagrant, Mac, taken in by Shaw’s quiet soul, Aston, as an act of apparent kindness. However, Alan Bates mischievous and verbose brother, Mick, enters the fray and spies and torments. Mac. The quietly spoken, Aston, seems unaware of his brothers’ negative behaviour. Like much of Pinter’s work, a lot is left unexplained, yet the monologue Shaw delivers describing his treatment in a mental institution is one of the most subtle and powerful speeches I have witnessed on the screen.



From Russia with Love (1963)

While Shaw was known for his intelligent mind, his appearance as the nemesis, Red Grant in the second Bond film, requires him to demonstrate his considerable muscle too. From Russia with Love (1963) is one of my favourite Bond films as it retains that gritty Cold War spy style and Sean Connery is in prime form too. One could argue the villains are often more interesting than Bond, and Shaw’s steely assassin certainly matches Bond for physicality and charisma. Indeed, they are effectively mirrored characters on opposing teams. The fight-to-the-death on the train remains one of the most iconic battles in all of the Bond franchise.



Jaws (1975)

One of the greatest characters in one of the greatest films of all time. Not only that, Quint, has one of the greatest character introductions and greatest monologues in film ever too. How Shaw wasn’t nominated for best supporting actor at the Academy Awards I will never know. It’s a big performance and you could say, over-the-top, but to me it is so authentic in physical and verbal delivery, even Shaw’s sweat could have been given an award on its own.

The monologue itself comes as Quint and Hooper share “war stories” from their past experiences at sea. The men share a laugh before Brody asks Quint about a particularly nasty scar. Then the mood darkens and the old sea dog recounts a story about the U.S.S Indianapolis on which he was aboard when it sank in 1945. The chilling tale of a sinking ship and over one thousand men at the mercy of the sea, hunger, dehydration and shark attacks, is eerily recounted by Quint; loss and bitterness in his eyes. Shaw is incredible during this classic monologue as he not only establishes why Quint hates sharks, but also builds palpable suspense prior to the frenzied final shark attack on the doomed Orca.



The Taking of Pelham 123 (1974)

Another 1970s classic and again, Shaw, plays another memorable antagonist. His ‘Mr Blue’ is military, battle-hardened with a disciplined plan of action. His fierce precision and icy delivery finds a perfect counterpart in Walter Matthau’s more congenial and witty transit cop, Zachary Garber. Their exchanges are tense but laced with hard-boiled, sardonic humour, which add a hint of colour to the grim and grey New York underground sequences. While the well-constructed plot and rapid action raises the pulse, the film’s quality is critically raised by Matthau’s and Shaw’s committed performances.



Cinema review: Tuner (2026) – a cracking romantic thriller which hits all the high notes!

Cinema review: Tuner (2026)

Directed by Daniel Roher

Written by Daniel Roher & Robert Ramsey

Produced by JoAnne Sellar, Lila Yacoub, Teddy Schwarzman, Michael Heimler

Main cast: Leo Woodall, Havana Rose Liu, Lior Raz, Tovah Feldshuh
Jean Reno, Dustin Hoffman, etc.


Cinematography by Lowell A. Meyer

*** May Contain Spoilers ***



Tuner (2026) is an immensely satisfying crowd-pleaser that effortlessly blends character drama, romance, crime and edge-of-your-seat suspense into one of the year’s most enjoyable genre films. Beginning with a wonderfully original premise, the story follows Niki White, a gifted piano tuner whose extreme sensitivity to sound has robbed him of the musical career he once dreamed of. Yet what first appears to be a cruel twist of fate gradually becomes an extraordinary gift, as his heightened hearing opens the door to an unexpected talent for cracking safes.

Leon Woodall delivers a superb leading performance, combining effortless charisma with genuine vulnerability. Niki is a hero you instinctively want to see succeed, and Woodall carries his emotional journey through every setback, triumph and moral dilemma with remarkable warmth. His path is packed with tension, surprises and emotional highs and lows, making him an endlessly engaging protagonist.

Moreover, Dustin Hoffman brings warmth and gravitas as Harry Horowitz, Niki’s boss, mentor and surrogate father. Havana Rose Liu is equally delightful as Ruthie, providing a romantic spark that never feels forced and adds another layer of emotional investment. The film is further elevated by a beautifully judged score that moves seamlessly between jazz and classical music, perfectly complementing both the intimate character moments and the escalating suspense.



One of the film’s smartest ideas is the way it connects the worlds of piano tuning and safe-cracking. Through inventive sound design and razor-sharp editing, both crafts become almost indistinguishable, transforming listening itself into an act of suspense. Niki’s hyperacusis is continually redefined throughout the story—at times a devastating burden, then an astonishing advantage, before once again revealing its painful cost. It’s an elegant and imaginative use of disability within the narrative.

Director and co-writer Daniel Roher skilfully juggles multiple genres without ever losing sight of the characters. Family relationships, romance, crime caper thrills and deeply personal drama are woven together with confidence, building towards a genuinely rewarding conclusion that feels both earned and emotionally satisfying. Ultimately, Tuner (2026) is exactly the kind of tightly constructed, “Save the Cat”-style genre movie I love: a compelling central character, ingenious storytelling, emotional stakes, thrilling set pieces and a hugely satisfying payoff. It’s intelligent, entertaining and immensely rewarding from beginning to end.

Mark: 9 out of 11


Cinema review: Backrooms (2026) – an eerily impressive adaptation of the YouTube viral sensation!

Cinema review: Backrooms (2026)

Directed by Kane Parsons

Written by Will Soodik

Based on Backrooms by Kane Parsons

Produced by James Wan, Michael Clear, Roberto Patino, Shawn Levy, Dan Cohen, Dan Levine, Osgood Perkins, Chris Ferguson, Peter Chernin, Jenno Topping, Kori Adelson, etc.


Main cast: Chiwetel Ejiofor, Renate Reinsve, Mark Duplass, Finn Bennett, Lukita Maxwell, etc.

Cinematography by Jeremy Cox

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***



Following hot-on-the-heels of Curry Barker’s recent low-budget horror film hit, Obsession (2025), comes another YouTube filmmaking sensation, the even younger, Kane Parsons. His found footage, YouTube series, Backrooms, films can be viewed here. It’s heavy on atmosphere, mystery, point-of-view terror suspense, themes relating to technology gone wrong, interdimensional space and time, mental breakdown, plus incredible eye-for-detail in terms of architecture and sound design. While there is a narrative thrust, each episode stands alone, drip feeding into the other as a scientific experiment gone awry, has somehow created a never-ending liminal space for bodies and minds to get lost in.

While I am not a fan of the found footage subgenre, Parsons is clearly an ultra-talented creative with an intriguing and imaginative vision. Using a mix of online 3D software, Blender, library sounds, live actor’s performance and voices, the Backrooms YouTube series is an enthralling visual, aural and psychological experience. I especially enjoyed piecing together the short episodes to create my own understanding of what is unfolding. I could also see influences from videogames such as Portal and Shane Carruth’s bamboozling time-travel cult film classic, Primer (2004). But what of A24’s big screen adaptation of Backrooms (2026)? Does it retain the power of the no-budget viral sensation essentially built by a teenager on his bedroom laptop?

Directed by Kane Parsons himself, and supported by many more experienced filmmaker as producers, Backrooms (2026), stars Chiwetel Ejiofor, Renate Reinsve, and Lukita Maxwell. The film follows Clark (Ejiofor), a flailing furniture shop owner, recovering from a recent bitter divorce. After finding a spatial fissure in the shop he begins slipping between reality and a vast labyrinth of impossible rooms. After some time passes, Clark, has vanished to the rooms and his therapist, Mary (Reinsve) tries to find him in the ‘Backrooms.’ Here distorted memories, unresolved trauma, and an unknowable force lurk beyond every fluorescent-lit corridor. As the boundaries between the physical and psychological collapse, these characters must navigate an ever-shifting maze that seems determined to consume their identities.



Parsons demonstrates remarkable visual ambition, translating his found-footage origins into a striking cinematic experience. The film’s warped architecture, unsettling spatial logic, eerie soundscape, and dreamlike production design create an atmosphere unlike anything else in contemporary studio horror. Oversized furniture, impossible room dimensions, and bizarre wall angles transform mundane office spaces into haunting liminal nightmares, showcasing a filmmaker with a singular visual imagination.

One of the film’s most interesting choices is its decision to graft a more traditional psychological-journey narrative onto the inherently abstract mythology. By focusing on character development and emotional trauma, the film adds a welcome layer of human depth that many adaptations of internet horror would lack. The performances, particularly from Renate Reinsve, ground the increasingly surreal proceedings with genuine emotional weight. Yet this approach comes with a paradoxical cost. The original Backrooms concept derives its terror from uncertainty, emptiness, and the sense that nothing can ever truly be understood. By providing emotional context and narrative explanations, the film inevitably diminishes some of that primal fear. What is gained in characterisation is, to some extent, lost in dread.

The issue becomes more apparent in the final act, where the film leans heavily into conventional monster horror. While technically accomplished, these sequences feel at odds with the uncanny atmosphere that makes the earlier sections so effective. The introduction of more explicit threats undercuts the terrifying ambiguity of the environment itself. Quite frankly, the creature-focused climax trips up what is otherwise an extraordinary visual achievement. Overall, the screenplay by Will Soodik has many strengths, yet Parsons’ vision remains the film’s greatest strength. Backrooms (2026) succeeds most when it trusts those images to do the frightening. It’s a fascinating, visually breath taking horror film that occasionally explains too much of what was once terrifying precisely because it could never be explained.

Mark: 8 out of 11 (Feature film) / 9 out of 11 (YouTube series)

Films that Got Away #18 – Star 80 (1983)

Films that Got Away #18 – Star 80 (1983)

Directed by Bob Fosse

Written by Bob Fosse – Based on Village Voice article, “Death of a Playmate” by Teresa Carpenter

Produced by Wolfgang Glattes & Kenneth Utt

Main cast: Mariel Hemingway, Eric Roberts, Cliff Robertson, Carroll Baker, Roger Rees, David Clennon, etc.

Cinematography by Sven Nykvist

*** CONTAINS SPOILERS ***



Bob Fosse remains one of the most singular figures in American entertainment — a director and choreographer whose style fused seduction, cynicism, theatrical precision, and emotional exhaustion into something instantly recognizable. Emerging from Broadway before conquering Hollywood, Fosse developed a visual language built around angular movements, tilted hats, snapping fingers, smoky jazz-club sensuality, and a relentless awareness of performance as both liberation and self-destruction.

Films like Cabaret (1972), Lenny (1974), and especially All That Jazz (1979) transformed the movie musical into something darker and psychologically raw, stripping away optimism in favour of obsession, ego, mortality, and the corrosive cost of show business. His influence can still be felt across modern cinema, music videos, and stage choreography, from contemporary Broadway revivals to filmmakers drawn to stylized performance and fractured antiheroes.

His final film, Star 80 (1983), stands as perhaps the bleakest expression of that worldview. Based on the true-crime murder of Playboy model Dorothy Stratten by her estranged husband Paul Snider, the film abandons glamour almost entirely in favour of a grim examination of exploitation, fame, misogyny, and possessive violence. Despite strong performances and critical admiration over the years, Star 80 remains comparatively difficult to encounter on television or major streaming platforms, partly because of the film’s emotionally punishing tone and its frank, lascivious depiction of the exploitation surrounding Stratten’s rise and death.

Unlike nostalgic Hollywood biographies that soften tragedy into inspiration, Fosse offers no comforting catharsis. The film ends not with redemption, but with the crushing inevitability of a young woman destroyed by the appetites of the men around her. That uncompromising darkness has contributed to the film’s lingering reputation as both a major work and an uncomfortable one — admired more often than it is revisited. So, thanks to the Nickel Cinema in London for screening this dark 1970’s based cult classic.



In Star 80 (1983), Mariel Hemingway gives an emotionally vulnerable performance of as Dorothy Stratten. Hemingway captures Stratten not as a caricature of Playboy fantasy, but as a genuinely sweet, almost painfully open young woman whose natural beauty and modest charm made her seem like the quintessential girl-next-door suddenly thrust into the machinery of adult celebrity. There is an innocence in Hemingway’s performance that never feels naïve or artificial; she understands Dorothy as someone eager to please, hungry for affection, and slowly awakening to her own independence just as the forces around her become more dangerous. Fosse frames her as both radiant and tragically exposed — a woman transformed into an object of desire by an industry that sees glamour as currency and vulnerability as weakness.

Opposite her, Eric Roberts delivers a frighteningly intense performance as Paul Snider, one that avoids simple imitation in favour of total embodiment. Roberts plays Snider as a man consumed by insecurity, narcissism, and desperate possessiveness, turning toxic masculinity into something sweaty, twitching, and deeply pathetic. He is not charismatic in the conventional movie sense; instead, Roberts makes him volatile and emotionally ravenous, a man whose entire identity depends on controlling the woman he helped “discover.” The performance becomes increasingly difficult to watch because of how recognizable the psychology feels — jealousy mutating into resentment, then humiliation, then violence.

Fosse refuses to sensationalize that descent in Star 80 (1983). The naked glamour of the Playboy world, the pornographic undercurrent of the entertainment industry, and the seductive surfaces of Los Angeles all become drenched in sordid, emotional decay. There is nudity and a sense of exploitative lingering on the feminine form, but there is understandable context. Cliff Robertson’s appearance as Hugh Hefner is not simply a caricature, but rather a caring, avuncular figure, despite building an empire out of, arguably, the exploitation of women. Further, Aram Nicholas (a thinly veiled, Peter Bogdanovich ) is a film director who tries to make Dorothy Stratten a movie star, but begins an affair too, sending Snider over the edge. Thus Stratten’s body and soul pinballs between these dominating men.

Overall, Star 80 (1983) lingers long after it ends. Fosse, Hemingway, Roberts and Sven Nykist’s cinematography contribute memorable work. Beneath its glossy imagery lies an overwhelming feeling of bleakness — the sense that every flashbulb, every photo shoot, and every promise of fame is shadowed by exploitation, stolen innocence, and inevitable tragedy.


The psychology of revenge cinema: incorporating Six of the Best #38 Revenge Films!

Six of the Best #38 Revenge Films

Revenge is one of the oldest narrative engines in storytelling. Long before cinema, it powered myths and literature—from the blood-soaked cycles of Greek tragedy to the meticulous retribution of The Count of Monte Cristo. These stories hinge on a simple but potent question: what happens when justice fails, and an individual takes it upon themselves to restore balance? Cinema inherited this question and, over time, fractured it into multiple forms—some cathartic, others corrosive, and many deeply ambiguous.



A Brief History of Revenge on Screen

Early revenge narratives in cinema often mirrored their literary roots: structured, morally legible, and driven by transformation. A Woman Branded (1931) is sometimes cited as an early precursor of a woman seeking revenge. Films like Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949) or adaptations of The Count of Monte Cristo framed revenge as an almost intellectual exercise—precise, controlled, and, in the case of the Ealing classic, even darkly humorous.

While revenge is a foundational narrative theme dating back to early cinema, Ingmar Bergman’s The Virgin Spring (1960) is widely considered the earliest major film establishing the “rape-revenge” subgenre. It follows a father seeking brutal vengeance for his daughter’s murder, influenced by a 13th-century Swedish ballad and Japanese cinema.



During the late 1960s and 1970s, something shifted. Disillusionment seeped into cinema, and revenge stories grew harsher, more grounded. Neo-noir works like Point Blank (1967), Get Carter (1971), and the classic Western, Once Upon a Time in the West (1968), reframed revenge as something mythic yet emotionally compelling. Sergio Leone’s film in particular bridges classical and modern revenge—turning personal vengeance into operatic inevitability while still rooted in grief and loss. Further, the 1960 / 1970s “Spaghetti” and Clint Eastwood westerns were also heavily driven by vengeful characters, as well as brutal bounty hunters and mercenaries. Overall, the 1970s marked a surge in mainstream vigilante revenge films, with Last House on the Left (1972) and Death Wish (1974), to name a couple, are widely seen as cementing the genre’s popularity.



At the same time, exploitation cinema erupted with raw, confrontational narratives—I Spit on Your Grave (1978), Coffy (1973), Ms. 45 (1981), and Thriller: A Cruel Picture (1973)—often centring female vengeance in ways that were both provocative and controversial. Japanese cinema contributed key films like Lady Snowblood (1973), which would later echo through global cinema. Asian cinema embraced the brutality of the subgenre with revenge films like Vengeance is Mine (1979), Park Chan Wook’s The Vengeance Trilogy and the visceral I Saw the Devil (2010) which interrogated obsession and extreme violence in equal measures.

Thus, there are many faces to the revenge including: stage plays, classic literature, gangster, Western, arthouse, war, horror and even comedic ones such as 9 to 5 (1980). Each mode reflects a different cultural anxiety. Some seek catharsis; others deny it entirely. Some empower; others dismantle the very idea of empowerment. What remains is that revenge is a primal drive and offers clear motivation as to a characters’ wants. Above all else a good vengeance narrative offers high stakes satisfaction and entertainment when done right. Here are six filmic examples of this.



Six of the Best Revenge films

What unites the six chosen films is not just quality, but how distinctly each approaches revenge. The six films selected here demonstrate the breadth of what revenge can mean on screen: spectacle, despair, inevitability, and even self-annihilation.

I really wanted to include Revenge (2017), a film which revisits the roots of exploitation film but reclaims them with precision. Coralie Fargeat transforms the genre’s historically exploitative gaze into something confrontational, self-aware and sexual. Violence is stylised and glamorous, but never empty—it becomes a language through which the protagonist reasserts control over her own narrative. Alas, it does not make the list.


*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***



Dead Man’s Shoes (2004)

I’ve written about Dead Man’s Shoes (2004) before but for me it is one of the best British films ever. Shane Meadows classic low-budget revenger evolves a brother’s vengeance into something more intimate and tragic. Meadows reframes revenge as grief and guilt, culminating in a devastating reversal that questions whether vengeance can ever truly be directed outward. It is revenge turned inward, a psychological reckoning masquerading as retribution. Paddy Considine delivers one of the rawest and most angry performances ever put on screen.


Get Carter (1971)

Get Carter (1971) is cold, methodical, and stripped of glamour, like a Northern neo-noir. Michael Caine’s Jack Carter moves through a decaying Newcastle like an agent of inevitability. There is no triumph here—only the suggestion that violence begets nothing but itself. Caine’s performance delivers the dialogue with razor-sharp timing and dark wit. A violent gangster but relentless detective hunting down the thugs who killed his brother. The clever screenplay (based on a novel) ensures those Carter is after are even worse than him as ultimately Northern decay meets moral collapse.


Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair (2025)

As revenge epics and Asian cinema homages go, Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair (2025) is a staggering piece of synthesis from Quentin Tarantino. Beatrice Kiddo’s (Uma Thurman) quest isn’t just a trail of vengeance—it’s ritualised, almost sacred, each confrontation unfolding like a chapter in a blood-soaked myth. Tarantino fuses global influences—from Anime, samurai cinema like Lady Snowblood (1973) to grindhouse exploitation—into something heightened and unmistakably his own: a world of colour, blood, incredible choreography, and cutting precision. Violence here isn’t merely destructive; it becomes a form of expression, even purification. In this universe, revenge is not corrosive or self-defeating but clarifying, elevating Beatrice’s journey from victim to legend.


Mermaid Legend (1984)

Mermaid Legend (1984) stands as a startlingly powerful vengeance film, elevated by Mari Shirato’s ethereal, magnetic performance as Migiwa—at once woman, avenging angel, and elemental force. Her transformation drives the film into increasingly confrontational territory, where extreme violence and explicit sexuality feel less gratuitous than weaponised, forcing the viewer into a state of unease. What makes the revenge so compelling is its inevitability: this is not a quest but a metamorphosis, as Migiwa becomes something beyond human, guided as much by the sea and spirit as by rage. The film’s brilliance lies in how it fuses beauty and brutality into a singular vision. Lyrical underwater imagery and sacred, mournful music elevate the violence into something ritualistic, culminating in a final pier rampage that feels less like action than ceremony—hypnotic, relentless, and mythic. By the end, revenge is no longer just an act but a form of transcendence, pushing the film beyond exploitation into legend.


Old Boy (2003)

Oldboy (2003) is a film I can watch over and over and it still shocks me. The narrative feels like a perverse inversion of The Count of Monte Cristo. But, where Dumas offers revenge as a calculated, almost righteous act, Park Chan-wook and the source material it is based on presents it as something recursive and inescapable. The brilliance of Oldboy (2003) lies in its dual revenge structure: what begins as Oh Dae-su’s pursuit of answers gradually reveals itself to be the final movement in someone else’s long-orchestrated vengeance. Both protagonist and antagonist are locked into mirrored roles, each defined—and ultimately destroyed—by the same impulse. The film’s infamous twists don’t just shock; they reframe the entire narrative as a closed system of suffering, where revenge ceases to be cathartic and instead becomes a mechanism of obscene chaos. The antagonist’s revenge is meticulous, psychological, and total, while Dae-su’s reactive violence only tightens the trap. Both men are ultimately consumed, their identities hollowed out by the nihilistic revenge that defines them.


Once Upon a Time in the West (1968)

Once Upon a Time in the West (1968) is a great revenge film and classic Western. It precisely because it strips vengeance down to something elemental, patient, and almost mythic. Charles Bronson’s ‘Harmonica’ is not a conventional protagonist but a force moving through the landscape with quiet, relentless purpose. He speaks little, explains nothing, and yet every gesture feels loaded with intent. His pursuit of Henry Fonda’s Frank—a brutal mercenary introduced through shocking, child-murdering violence—is not driven by impulse but by memory, by something buried so deep it can only be expressed through action. What elevates the film is its methodical pacing and Leone’s operatic control. Violence is withheld, stretched out across long silences, close-ups, and Ennio Morricone’s mournful score, turning each encounter into ritual. When ‘Harmonica’ finally unleashes havoc, it is not chaotic but precise—measured, almost ceremonial. The eventual revelation of his motive reframes everything: this is not just revenge, but the completion of a trauma that has defined his entire existence.


Conclusion

To distil revenge cinema into six films is, inevitably, an incomplete task. The genre is too vast, too varied spanning everything from canonical works to obscure, difficult films that remain unseen or underexplored. There are countless other entries, including many lesser-known or unseen works, that could reshape or challenge this selection.

And yet, that is precisely why revenge endures. It is a universal impulse, endlessly adaptable to tone, culture, and form. Whether stylised, brutal, philosophical, or deeply personal, revenge remains one of cinema’s most powerful motivations—for characters and filmmakers alike.


The Suicide Shift screens at Bedford Independent & London Independent Film Festivals!

Thanks to the Bedford Independent & London Independent Film Festivals!

The last two weekends I have been fortunate enough to screen my short film The Suicide Shift (2026) at the brilliant Bedford Independent Film Festival and amazing London Independent Film Festival!


BEDFORD INDEPENDENT FILM FESTIVAL

The Bedford Independent Film Festival is a well run event based in Bedford (really) and screens over three days and nights showing the best indie shorts and features films from around the world. The festival culminates in an awards ceremony, of which I am pleased to say The Suicide Shift (2026) won an award for best short drama. Thanks to everyone involved in the film and the festival organisers.



LONDON INDEPENDENT FILM FESTIVAL

The London Independent Film Festival ran from 10th April 2026 to 19th April 2026 and The Suicide Shift (2026) screened on Saturday 18th April 2026. It was a fantastic night at the Genesis Cinema in Whitechapel and there were so many great films screened there. I attended with many of the cast and crew from the film and it was amazing to see the film on the big screen.



Cinema Review: Project Hail Mary (2026) – the end of the world has rarely been so much fun and bromantic!

Cinema Review: Project Hail Mary (2026)

Directed by Phil Lord & Christopher Miller

Screenplay by Drew Goddard

Based on Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

Produced by Amy Pascal, Ryan Gosling, Phil Lord, Christopher Miller, Aditya Sood, Rachel O’Connor, Andy Weir, etc.

Main Cast: Ryan Gosling, Sandra Hüller, James Ortiz, Lionel Boyce, Ken Leung, Malachi Kirby, etc.

Cinematography by Greig Fraser

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***



There’s a version of Project Hail Mary (2026) that could have been cold, clinical, and overly procedural—a hard sci-fi puzzle box drifting in the vacuum of its own cleverness. Instead, what Christopher Miller and Phil Lord deliver is something far more disarming: a big-hearted, funny, surprisingly emotional crowd-pleaser that turns the apocalypse into an oddly uplifting experience.

Adapted by Drew Goddard from Andy Weir’s novel, the film follows Ryland Grace (a perfectly cast Ryan Gosling), who awakens alone aboard a spacecraft with no memory of who he is or why he’s there. The early stretches lean into disorientation—Gosling playing confusion with a twitchy, almost comic anxiety—but as Grace pieces together his past, the film cleverly shifts into a dual-track narrative: one part interstellar survival story, one part Earthbound scientific scramble to stop a cosmic catastrophe.

Gosling is the film’s main weapon. He plays Grace not as a conventional hero, but as a reluctant participant—anxious, self-deprecating, and often hilariously out of his depth. His charm keeps the exposition buoyant, especially as the film dives into dense scientific concepts. Where the story could feel heavy, Gosling makes it breezy and Project Hail Mary (2026) is certainly more emotionally stimulating than the dreadful action thriller The Gray Man (2022) and the weak remake, The Fall Guy (2024).



But the film’s most unexpected triumph is its central relationship: a deeply entertaining and genuinely moving “bromance” between Grace and an alien Xeonite – christened Rocky – he encounters in deep space. What begins as cautious interaction evolves into one of the most delightful interspecies friendships in recent sci-fi. Their communication—built from math, sound, and trial-and-error—becomes a source of both comedy and emotional resonance. It’s rare to see a blockbuster hinge so successfully on companionship rather than conflict, and the film is all the better for it.

Visually, Project Hail Mary (2026) is spectacular without being overwhelming. Lord and Miller balance scale with clarity; the vastness of space never drowns the intimacy of the story. The alien design is inventive, the astrophysical phenomena are rendered with awe-inspiring detail, and yet the film always remains grounded in character. It’s science-forward filmmaking that never forgets to entertain. Back on Earth, Sandra Hüller provides the film’s emotional anchor. Her performance carries a quiet intensity, grounding the global stakes in something human and immediate. Where the space sequences soar, her scenes remind us what’s at risk—and why it matters.

Goddard’s script is sharp, witty, and structurally satisfactory. It juggles timelines, scientific jargon, and character development with impressive ease, finding humour in the bleakest situations without undercutting the stakes. There’s a rhythmic confidence to the storytelling that keeps the film propulsive even as it pauses for introspection. What ultimately makes Project Hail Mary (2026) stand out, though, is its tone. This is, unmistakably, a feel-good end-of-the-world movie. It finds optimism not in denying catastrophe, but in confronting it with curiosity, cooperation, and friendship. By the time the credits roll, what lingers isn’t just the spectacle or the science—it’s the warmth. A book and film about extinction becomes, improbably, a story about connection.

Mark: 8.5 out of 11

Cinema Review: The Secret Agent (2025) – a powerful political thriller with flashes of surrealist caprice.

Cinema Review: The Secret Agent (2025)

Directed by Kleber Mendonça Filho

Written by Kleber Mendonça Filho

Produced by Emilie Lesclaux

Main cast: Wagner Moura, Carlos Francisco, Tânia Maria, Robério Diógenes, Alice Carvalho, Gabriel Leone, Maria Fernanda Cândido,
& Udo Kier, etc.

Cinematography by Evgenia Alexandrova

** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS **



I watch a lot of films and am often bemused by the critically acclaimed films and award winners which have my head scratching. I watch them thinking the critics or judges must be on another planet, drunk or high in regards to their brain waves and word farts. I am aware many reviews decisions are made based on taste, subjectivity, politics, nepotism, cronyism and also commercial reasons, such as getting pay-offs from studios, allegedly.

Of course I have my own thought patterns and we cannot all agree, but there are genuinely some films that are horrible to watch but somehow get critics purring and win loads of awards. The most recent high profile examples of this are The Souvenir (2019), Titane (2021), Anora (2024) and Kleber Mendonça Filho’s virtually unwatchable surreal Western, Bacurau (2019). Thus, I was reluctant to believe the praise heaped on his next film The Secret Agent (2025); a period thriller set in the corrupt and deadly political landscape of 1970s Brazil.



Wagner Moura portrays an enigmatic Armando (Wagner Moura) travelling across his native land keen to keep a low profile from gangsters, government officials and police. Although given the rabid criminality on show there it is difficult to tell the difference between such characters. Once he reaches his destination in Northern Brazil, the idea is to reconcile with his in-laws and young son, find out more about his mother’s past and also stay one step ahead from the criminals pursuing him.

The Secret Agent (2025) unfolds at a deliberately unhurried pace, the kind that might test impatient viewers but ultimately proves hypnotic in its control and precision. Kleber Mendonça Filho directs with a quiet confidence, allowing tension to simmer beneath the surface rather than erupt in obvious bursts. Every frame feels meticulously composed, contributing to an atmosphere that is as absorbing as it is suffocating. That said, there is one notably capricious sequence that momentarily veers off course—its tonal shift is jarring, almost indulgent—but it carries an unexpected sting that lingers, suggesting it may be more intentional than it first appears.

What truly elevates the film, however, is its astonishing attention to period detail and a towering central performance from Wagner Moura. The production design and costuming are nothing short of immaculate, immersing the audience in a world that feels textured, lived-in, and entirely authentic. Moura anchors it all with a performance of remarkable subtlety and depth, conveying inner turmoil through the smallest gestures and glances. It’s the kind of nuanced, deeply felt work that lingers long after the credits roll—and in any fair awards landscape, it would have been more than worthy of an Academy Award for Best Actor. Here’s a film I actually agree with the critics and award panellists about.

Mark: 8.5 out of 11


Cinema Review: The Bride (2026) – impressive visuals and Jessie Buckley’s stunning performance cannot resuscitate a patchy and holey screenplay!

Cinema Review: The Bride (2026)

Directed by Maggie Gyllenhaal

Written by Maggie Gyllenhaal

Based on Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus
by Mary Shelley


Produced by: Maggie Gyllenhaal, Emma Tillinger Koskoff, Talia Kleinhendler, Osnat Handelsman-Keren, etc.

Main cast: Jessie Buckley, Christian Bale, Peter Sarsgaard,
Annette Bening, Penelope Cruz, Jake Gyllenhaal, etc.


Cinematography by Lawrence Sher

** May Contain Spoilers **



Maggie Gyllenhaal’s THE BRIDE! (2026) is a film bursting with ideas—sometimes thrillingly so, sometimes to its own detriment. Drawing inspiration from Bride of Frankenstein (1935) and ultimately Mary Shelley’s seminal novel, Frankenstein, Gyllenhaal transplants the myth into a Gothic vision of 1930s Depression-era America, filtered through the anarchic spirit of outlaw cinema like Bonnie and Clyde (1967) and Natural Born Killers (1994). The result is frequently intoxicating. The film opens with an inspired flourish—Mary Shelley herself narrating from beyond the grave—immediately signalling the director’s playful ambition. Visually, the film is extraordinary: lavish period design, smoky Gothic textures, and a lurid romanticism that feels both classic Hollywood and defiantly post-modern.

At the centre of the mayhem is Jessie Buckley, delivering yet another unforgettable performance. Her ‘Bride’ is feral, seductive, and volatile—an electrifying feminist creature of impulses and contradictions. Buckley plays her with a kind of joyous unpredictability, veering between danger, sexuality, and sudden jolts of manic dialogue that feel almost Tourette-like in their intensity. Opposite her, Christian Bale lends gravitas as her monstrous partner, and together they rampage across a mythicised America in a lovers-on-the-run narrative that often feels gleefully unhinged.



Yet for all its invention, THE BRIDE! (2026) often collapses under the sheer weight of its ambitions. Gyllenhaal’s screenplay seems determined to juggle too many ideas at once—meta-narration, Gothic tragedy, outlaw romance, and genre pastiche—without giving any one of them the structural discipline they require. The direction follows suit, veering between tones so abruptly that the film begins to feel atonal rather than daring. Key twists arrive with little groundwork, leaving major emotional beats feeling strangely hollow.

By the final act, the film’s wild energy begins to resemble narrative confusion. Plot holes emerge, character motivations blur, and revelations arrive as pure payoff without the careful setup that might have made them land. It leaves an odd lingering question: was this an $80 million piece of audacious cinematic art, or an extravagant misfire? Perhaps it is a little of both—a fascinating, chaotic vision whose brilliance flashes intermittently through the fog of its own excess.

Mark: 6 out of 11