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Articles, Cinema, Cult Cinema, Reviews

Cult Film Review: Possession (1981)

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CULT FILM REVIEW: POSSESSION (1981)

Directed by Andrzej Żuławski

Screenplay by Andrzej Żuławski

Adaptation and dialogue by Andrzej Żuławski & Frederic Tute

Produced by Marie-Laure Reyre

Main cast: Isabelle Adjani, Sam Neill & Heinz Bennent

Cinematography by Bruno Nuytten

Edited by Marie-Sophi Dubus & Suzanne Lang-Willar

Music by Andrzej Korzyński

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

Andrzej Żuławski’s Possession (1981) is a film that doesn’t just defy genre—it annihilates the very idea of categorization. Part spy thriller, part domestic psychodrama, part Lovecraftian horror, and part apocalyptic hallucination, the film barrels forward with such manic intensity that it becomes less a movie and more an exorcism of the soul. It resists structural and emotional compartmentalizing at every turn, choosing instead to implode in a flurry of shrieks, flailing bodies, and gooey, pulsing monstrosities.

Set in a divided Berlin, the film ostensibly begins as a break-up story: Mark (Sam Neill), a shell-shocked spy, returns home to discover that his wife Anna (Isabelle Adjani, in a performance of pure, unrelenting hysteria) wants a divorce. But from there, the film spirals rapidly out of the realm of conventional melodrama and into something far more surreal and terrifying. Mark’s confusion curdles into obsession, Anna’s descent becomes biblical, and reality itself begins to warp and splinter.

Is it a Cold War spy film? Yes, but only in fragments, and those are quickly consumed by the escalating emotional chaos. Is it a break-up film? Certainly—but filtered through an expressionist nightmare where the grief and rage of separation erupt as literal body horror. Horror film? Undoubtedly, though the fear is less about monsters and more about the abyss that opens when love dies. And as the narrative crumbles into bloody symbolism and metaphysical dread, Possession (1981) begins to feel like an apocalyptic drama—one where the apocalypse is internal, intimate, and unstoppable.

Żuławski directs like a man possessed, matching his characters’ unhinged energy with a restless camera and wild tonal shifts. The result is a fever dream of shrieking confrontations, doppelgängers, collapsing identities, and one of the most infamous subway scenes in cinema history. Possession (1981) is not an easy film—it’s messy, abrasive, and frequently overwhelming—but it’s precisely in its refusal to conform that its power lies. Indeed, much of the dialogue is obtuse non-sequitur in delivery as the actors deliver prose-like philosophical statements that have clearly influenced the writing of Yorgos Lanthimos and Efthymis Filippou.

To watch Possession (1981) is to witness cinema used as a weapon against coherence, comfort, and calm. I almost had a panic attack watching it. Neill, usually a calm on-screen presence looks as though he is lost in a nightmare he cannot escape. Heinz Bennent, as the lover, fully embraces Zulawski’s insane vision, while Adjani literally has a mental breakdown on screen. It is an unbelievably fearless embodiment of psychotic sexuality, arguably only matched in a commercial release by Eva Green’s Vanessa Ives from the majestic gothic TV series, Penny Dreadful (2014-2016). Ultimately, Possession (1981), is as much about the disintegration of self as it is about the end of a marriage, the failure of ideology, or the horror of being alive. One doesn’t simply watch Possession (1981)—one survives it.

horror, New Releases, Reviews

Cinema Review: 28 Years Later (2025) – an epic horror sequel; one for the (r)ages!

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Cinema Review: 28 Years Later (2025)

Directed by Danny Boyle

Written by Alex Garland

Produced by Danny Boyle, Alex Garland, Andrew Macdonald, Peter Rice & Bernie Bellew

Main Cast: Jodie Comer, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Jack O’Connell, Alfie Williams, Edvin Ryding and Ralph Fiennes

Cinematography by Anthony Dod Mantle

Edited by Jon Harris

** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS **

We’re foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin’ over Africa
Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin’ over Africa —
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up and down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war! — Rudyard Kipling

The opening sequences of 28 Days Later (2002), directed by Danny Boyle and written by Alex Garland, are some of the most haunting and iconic introductions in cinema—transcending the horror genre to deliver something mythic, mournful, and terrifyingly real. They are masterclasses in mood-building, world-setting, and emotional manipulation, and redefined what the modern apocalypse could feel like on screen. From the terrifying raging simian attacks to the stunning silence of hollow streets and buildings of London as Jim (Cillian Murphy) awakes to an incredibly changed and empty planet. Here Boyle used guerrilla filmmaking as an artistic weapon with digital video blending with silence and dread, beauty and decay, loneliness and rage creating a grimy realism that no big budget blockbuster could replicate.

The opening sequence of the sequel, 28 Weeks Later (2007), was damned good as well, although what followed was not as formidable as the original. If we’re honest it was more of a high-quality straight-to-video effort, especially when compared to the incredible first film. But what of 28 Years Later (2025), which finds Boyle and Garland re-teaming with a stellar cast including: Jodie Comer, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Ralph Fiennes and newcomer, Alfie Williams. It opens with yet another impressive opening sequence in 2002, as a family of kids are attacked in their Scottish home. Escaping on frantic foot is young Jimmy who finds his father, the local minister, in his church proclaiming the ‘end of days!’ Move forward twenty-eight years to 2031 and the film joins, interestingly enough, not Jimmy, but a survivor community living in Lindisfarne, a tidal island connected by a fortified causeway.

Focusing on the family unit of twelve-year-old son, Spike (Alfie Williams), and parents, Isla (Jodie Comer) plus father, Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), 28 Years Later (2025) marks a ferocious and exhilarating return to the infected-ravaged world. It is not simply a continuation, but a full-fledged reimagining that deepens, widens, and accelerates the mythology, style, and thematic power of the series. It is not just a sequel—it’s an evolution, one that pulses with the blood of Romero’s bleak social horror and the serialized depth of The Walking Dead, while forging its own cinematic identity: brutal, urgent, and conceptually masterful.

From its opening moments, 28 Years Later plunges viewers into a world far beyond what we’ve seen before. Civilization hasn’t recovered—it has, like the zombies, mutated. The virus is no longer an outbreak or an aftermath; it is an ecosystem. What began as a confined crisis in 28 Days Later, and widened into militarized guilt and familial betrayal in 28 Weeks Later, now becomes a reckoning. Thematically, the film touches on generational trauma, hybrid immunity, rites of passage, euthanasia and the evolution of the rage undead. Jamie trains his son in the art zombie-hunting, before the middle act finds Spike attempting to save his unwell mum. At this time he both matures and overcomes several battles with mutated inhumans.

The visual grammar of 28 Years Later stays true to the DNA of the series: raw, immediate, and grimy. But it’s also evolved. The digital grunge of 28 Days Later is elevated with modern tools, while still embracing a handheld, documentary-style urgency. Towns and buildings aren’t just abandoned—they’re fossilized in trauma. New scenes are suffused with ash, dust, decay, blood, plasma and rusted iconography, painting a world that’s both rotting and fighting to be reborn. This is a horror film that smells like blood and diesel. It feels dirty. Every camera move, whip pan and smash cut drags you to hell and makes you feel like your life is in danger.

28 Years Later doesn’t just revive a franchise—it transforms it into a towering trilogy of infection, collapse, and spiritual trauma. It draws from Romero’s cynicism, The Walking Dead‘s moral complexity, and its own raw, kinetic legacy to deliver something uniquely powerful: a horror film that is both visceral and cerebral, intimate and operatic. While there are some script and pacing issues toward the end of the second act, Boyle directs superbly. Plus, the film benefits from some memorable performances, notably Comer, Fiennes and young Alfie Williams. Lastly, it has one of the most startling endings to a film I have seen in a long time. It is frankly nuts. Yet, it ensures 28 Years Later (2025) is a modern horror classic, pulsing with urgency, style, and an almost unbearable truth: that the most terrifying viruses don’t infect the body—they infect the soul. Bring on the sequel!

Mark: 9.5 out of 11

Cinema, Reviews

Cinema review: The Phoenician Scheme (2025) – plus Wes Anderson’s Top 11 films ranked in order of favourite!

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Cinema review: The Phoenician Scheme (2025)

Directed by Wes Anderson

Screenplay by Wes Anderson

Story by Wes Anderson and Roman Coppola

Produced by Wes Anderson, Steven Rales, Jeremy Dawson, John Peet

Cinematography by Bruno Delbonnel

Main cast: Benicio del Toro, Mia Threapleton, Michael Cera, Riz Ahmed, Tom Hanks, Bryan Cranston, Mathieu Amalric, Richard Ayoade, Jeffrey Wright, Scarlett Johansson, Benedict Cumberbatch, Rupert Friend, Hope Davis, etc.

Reviewing films for me is a form of study—a way to sharpen one’s eye, expand one’s perspective, and gain insight into the craft of filmmaking. It’s a dialogue between the film and the viewer, where curiosity, analysis, and empathy fuel a deeper appreciation for the storytelling process. Yet, Wes Anderson’s films often feel unreviewable in the traditional sense because they exist entirely within their own meticulously crafted universe—one governed by its own visual grammar, emotional tone, and narrative rhythm. His work defies conventional cinematic benchmarks not because it fails to meet them, but because it invents new ones.

His films are stylized to the point of abstraction: symmetrical compositions, pastel palettes, theatrical performances, deadpan dialogue, and storybook framing devices. These are not aesthetic flourishes added to conventional storytelling—they are the storytelling. Every element is calibrated to serve a singular artistic vision that prioritizes mood, irony, and emotional restraint in a way that often bypasses mainstream emotional cues. As a result, trying to evaluate Anderson’s films on the basis of relatability or realism can feel like trying to critique a painting for not being a photograph. You either enter his world and accept its rules, or you don’t.

The Phoenician Scheme (2025) is a whimsically convoluted tale of betrayal, bureaucracy, and buried emotion, anchored by a surprisingly tender pairing: Benicio Del Toro and Mia Threapleton as an estranged father and daughter navigating a pastel-hued world of espionage, assassination attempts and eccentricity. Del Toro brings his signature quiet intensity—filtered through Anderson’s signature deadpan—as Anatole “Zsa-Zsa” Korda, a controversial businessman seeking backing from an array of peculiar business types. Threapleton, in a breakout performance, plays Sister Liesl, a guarded young nun.

As always, Anderson’s aesthetic is immaculately controlled—every frame a still life, every line delivered with just-so detachment. But where the plot sometimes meanders through its own labyrinth of quirk, the film’s emotional core remains grounded in Del Toro and Threapleton’s quiet push-and-pull: a relationship built on misread intentions, half-kept promises, and a strange kind of inherited stoicism. Michael Cera is on splendid form too as Bjørn Lund, a Norwegian entomologist, tutor, and Korda’s administrative assistant.

Overall, The Phoenician Scheme (2025) is best enjoyed as a moving art installation and while thematically strong in terms of the father-daughter-reconciliation theme, doesn’t reach the narrative heights of Anderson’s best work. It’s a visually charming and emotionally sincere entry—proof that even in a world of plane crashes, quirky business deals, weird relatives, religious fervour, eccentric guerrillas, the arc of connection between a father and daughter can still feel radical.

Mark: 7.5 out of 11

Wes Anderson’s Top 11 films ranked in order of MY favourites!

1. Rushmore (1998)

2. The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

3. The Royal Tenenbaums (2001)

4. Bottle Rocket (1996)

5. Asteroid City (2023)

6. Isle of Dogs (2018)

7. Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

8. The Darjeeling Limited (2007)

9. The Phoenician Scheme (2025)

10. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004)

11. The French Dispatch (2021)










Netflix, Reviews

Netflix Film Review: The Piano Lesson (2024) – ghosts of the past and present haunt the screen with resounding power!

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Netflix Film Review: The Piano Lesson (2024)

Directed by Malcolm Washington

Screenplay by Virgil Williams & Malcolm Washington

Based on The Piano Lesson by August Wilson

Produced by Denzel Washington & Todd Black

Main cast: John David Washington, Danielle Deadwyler, Samuel L. Jackson, Ray Fisher, Michael Potts, Erykah Badu, Skylar Aleece Smith,
Corey Hawkins, and more.

Cinematography by Mike Gioulakis

Malcolm Washington’s directorial debut, The Piano Lesson (2024), is a poignant and evocative adaptation of August Wilson’s 1987 play, set in 1936 Pittsburgh. Through a compelling narrative and an exceptional cast, Washington explores themes of heritage, familial conflict, and the enduring impact of racial oppression.

Washington, alongside co-writer Virgil Williams, expands the original stage play’s confines by incorporating flashbacks and supernatural elements, enriching the narrative’s depth and scope. The film centers on the Charles family, particularly siblings Boy Willie (John David Washington) and Berniece (Danielle Deadwyler), who are at odds over the fate of a family heirloom piano. Boy Willie wishes to sell the piano to purchase land that once belonged to their ancestors, while Berniece views the instrument as a sacred connection to their past.

The piano, intricately carved with images of the Charles family’s ancestors, serves as a powerful symbol of their history and resilience. For Boy Willie, it represents a means to break free from the shackles of the past and build a future of self-sufficiency. Conversely, Berniece sees it as a testament to their survival and a link to the sacrifices made by their forebears. This dichotomy underscores the central conflict: the tension between honoring tradition and pursuing progress

The film delves into the complexities of familial bonds and the differing perceptions of heritage. Boy Willie’s desire to sell the piano reflects a yearning to move beyond the constraints of history, while Berniece’s attachment signifies a commitment to preserving their lineage. At the same time she mourns the loss of her husband and combats romantic offers from local suitors. Her struggles truly power the piece and the familial clashes further embody the broader struggle within African American communities: reconciling the weight of history with the aspirations for advancement. The supernatural elements, particularly the haunting presence of the plantation owner, Sutter’s ghost, are delivered effectively. They also amplify the narrative’s exploration of unresolved trauma and the need for reconciliation.

The ensemble cast delivers standout performances, with John David Washington portraying Boy Willie’s fiery ambition and Danielle Deadwyler capturing Berniece’s steadfast resolve. How Deadwyler did not even get an Oscar nomination for Best Actress in a Supporting Role is beyond me. Moreover, Samuel L. Jackson offers a subtle, unselfish and grounded portrayal of Doaker, the family patriarch. Washington’s direction ensures a respectful adaptation, balancing the play’s rich and passionate dialogue with cinematic elements that enhance its emotional resonance.

Overall, Malcolm Washington’s The Piano Lesson is a resounding adaptation that honours August Wilson’s legacy while providing a fresh perspective on timeless themes. Through its rich symbolism, compelling performances, and thoughtful direction, the film invites audiences to reflect on the complexities of heritage, the burdens of history, and the paths toward healing and progress.

Mark: 8.5 out of 11

Amazon Prime, Cinema, Reviews

Amazon Prime Film Review: Sing Sing (2023) – displays the redemptive power of art and performance!

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Amazon Prime Film Review: Sing Sing (2023)

Directed by Greg Kwedar

Screenplay by Clint Bentley & Greg Kwedar

Story by Clint Bentley, Greg Kwedar, Clarence Maclin & John “Divine G” Whitfield

Based on “The Sing Sing Follies” by John H. Richardson and Breakin’ the Mummy’s Code by Brent Buell

Produced by Clint Bentley, Greg Kwedar & Monique Walton

Main cast: Colman Domingo, Clarence Maclin, Sean San José,
Paul Raci, Sharon Washington, Jon-Adrian “JJ” Velazquez, Patrick “Preme” Griffin, Sean “Dino” Johnson, Miguel Valentin and more.

Cinematography by Pat Scola

Sing Sing (2023) is a powerful prison drama directed by Greg Kwedar, based on the real-life Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA) program at New York’s Sing Sing Correctional Facility. The film follows John “Divine G” Whitfield (portrayed by Colman Domingo), a wrongfully convicted man who finds purpose and transformation through participation in a prison theatre group. As the group prepares to stage an original comedy, tensions arise, particularly between Divine G and a new, skeptical member, Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin (played by himself).

The reported $2 million budget for the prison-based theatrical drama Sing Sing (2023) underscores a powerful truth in filmmaking: emotional impact and narrative power are not dictated by the size of a production’s budget. In an industry often dominated by multi-million dollar spectacles and high-concept visual effects, Sing Sing (2023) stands out as a reminder that authenticity, performance, and purposeful storytelling can achieve more than sheer spending ever could. In this way, the film charts a path forward for filmmakers: it shows that profound emotional connection comes not from lavish resources but from the courage to tell deeply human stories with clarity, care, and conviction.

By investing modestly but wisely—prioritizing casting choices, intimate direction, and a grounded script—the filmmakers harness the emotional gravity of the story itself. Featuring real formerly incarcerated individuals alongside professional actors, the film creates a resonance that can’t be manufactured with money alone. The restraint in budget mirrors the thematic focus of the film: confinement, transformation, and human dignity. There’s a raw, stripped-down sincerity in Sing Sing (2023) that aligns with its financial humility, allowing viewers to focus not on spectacle but on spirit.

At the heart of the film is Colman Domingo majestic performance. Without question he is one of the most enthralling actors working today. With a presence that radiates both gravitas and vulnerability, he has the rare ability to inhabit characters so fully that they feel less like performances and more like revelations. In Sing Sing, his work is restrained, generous, and deeply moving—serving not just as a lead, but as a quiet conduit for the emotional power of those around him. It’s the kind of performance that reminds you what acting is for.

There’s a grounded nobility to Domingo’s recent choices—films that matter, that uplift overlooked voices, and that seek to transform rather than simply entertain. In an era where so many talented actors get absorbed into the ever-expanding Disneyverse or other IP-driven machines, one can only hope that Domingo continues on this path. His gifts are too profound, too precise, to be flattened into quips and CGI battles. He belongs in films like Sing Sing (2023) where the stakes are human and the impact is lasting.

Directed with subtle power by Greg Kwedar he delivers a drama of transcendent creative expression as the inmates forge deep bonds, confront personal demons and change societal perceptions. Featuring performances by both professional actors and real-life formerly incarcerated individuals, Sing Sing (2023) offers an authentic and moving exploration of redemption, resilience, and the transformative power of art. Of course not all of them are innocent and are guilty. The film does not apologise for their crimes or glamourise them, but allows these men to find light amidst the darkness; a spiritual and cultural escape from the walls and bars which surround them.

Mark: 9 out of 11

Apple TV, Reviews

Apple TV+ Film Reviews – Part Two

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Apple TV+ Film Reviews – Part Two

As is standard procedure when one creates a part one of a series, the logical and linear progression is to have a part two. So, having watched the majority of the AppleTV+ films currently streaming I now move onto part two. The first set of reviews can be found here:

AppleTV+ Film Reviews – Part One

Coda (2021)

For some unknown alphabetical amnesia I forgot to include this Oscar -winning film in the first set of reviews, so I rectify that omission now. Arguably one of the best films on the platform, it is simultaneously a feelgood, tearjerker and a Save-the-Cat-screenplay-template-box-ticker hitting wholly familiar beats and a well-trodden genre path. Nonetheless, it is a terrifically entertaining, moving, funny and heart-warming story which, on reflection kind of surprisingly won the Academy Award for best film. I personally think another remake West Side Story (2021) was a far more scintillating work of cinema, but hey what do I know? My original review of Coda (2021) can be found below. Mark: 9 out of 11.

APPLE TV FILM REVIEW: CODA (2021)

Ghosted (2023)

Of late Chris Evans has been choosing roles, as with Red One (2024), that go against the Alpha-heroic persona of Captain America. Unfortunately, Knives Out (2019) aside, the results are average at best. Aside from a series of amusing cameos in the middle act, not even the alluring Ana De Armas can save this clunky AI-written-spy-romance. With better scripting and direction this attractive action fluff could’ve been almost bearable. I remember when Dexter Fletcher made really good low-budget indie films like Wild Bill (2011). Mark: 5 out of 11.

The Gorge (2025)

I really enjoyed this big-budget-romantic-monster shoot-em up. I need to watch it again sober before deciding if it is going to make my top films of the year list or did I love it because I was drunk. Miles Teller and Anya Taylor-Joy revel in fine on-screen chemistry as the physical and symbolic divide provides no barrier to their lustful wants. My full review can be found below. Mark: 8.5 out of 11.

Apple TV+ Film Review: The Gorge (2025) – an exciting sci-fi shoot-em-up with a nuclear-powered romance!

The Greatest Beer Run Ever (2022)

Likeable every-guy, Chickie Donohue (Zac Efron), has the crazy notion of hand delivering beer to his buddies fighting in Vietnam. But his naïve morale-boosting trip soon becomes an eye-opening and perspective changing nightmare. There’s a really good dramatic character arc in this historical 1968-set “road” movie but the comedic tone dilutes the overall catharsis of the journey. Efron is full of energy while the formidable presence of Russell Crowe is memorable if woefully under-used. Mark: 7 out of 11.

Greyhound (2020)

A fast-paced and technically impressive WW2 film with Tom Hanks portraying the Commander of a destroyer battling to survive an enemy onslaught amidst a part of the sea called ‘the Black Pit’. It’s been a while since I watched this but recall it being a solid suspense thriller with great production design and effects, although a little light on meaty character development. Mark: 7 out of 11.

The Instigators (2024)

Matt Damon and Casey Affleck team up once again for this underdog heist film which tries to be funny and dramatic, but misses the nuanced tone a director like Steven Soderbergh can deliver. I kind of enjoyed this because I like Damon, Affleck and Hong Chau, but many scenes suffer from the sense the actors are “improvising” and rewriting the script as they go along. Also, why can’t we have some proper 1970’s hard-boiled crime films like Sam Peckinpah and David Mamet used to deliver. Not all robbery films have to have one-liners throughout. Mark: 6 out of 11.

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)

My critical feelings of Martin Scorsese’s most recent epic did not shift on the second watch. This profile of the horrors that befall the Osage people after they have struck oil remains compelling. Indeed the film contains powerful themes relating to the greed, power and psychopathy of the white man, but focusing the main thrust of the narrative from their perspective creates a skewed and oddly unimpactful viewing experience. Of course, Scorsese’s filmmaking expertise shines through and the performances are terrific. Mark: 8 out of 11. My full review is here:

CINEMA REVIEW: KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON (2023)

Luck (2022)

I felt more than a tad unlucky after watching this animated misfire which didn’t work on any level. I know hundreds of crafts-people worked hard creating this, but why not spend a bit more time on the script. Or film another script altogether. The fact that the budget for this film is reported to be $140 million and there are people starving in the world is a travesty against humanity. Mark: 3 out off 11.

Napoleon (2023)

I haven’t had the spiritual gumption to re-watch this messy biopic from Joaquin Phoenix and Ridley Scott. There’s a four-hour directorial version to contemplate watching too. Oh, if only Stanley Kubrick had made his version. My original review is below. Mark: 7 out of 11

CINEMA REVIEW: NAPOLEON (2023)

Palmer (2021)

Justin Timberlake again proves himself an adept leading man, having successfully graduated from the Disney-groomed production line he started out on. Palmer (2021) is overall a well-acted and directed redemptive crime drama, which also tackles themes relating to gender nonconformity to differentiate the well worn “parolee-trying-to-go-straight” narrative. Mark: 7 out of 11.


Sharper (2023)

Sharper (2023), directed by Benjamin Caron, skillfully uses classic con artist film tropes to craft a layered and compelling drama. By blending familiar elements of the genre with sleek cinematography and a nonlinear narrative, the film elevates itself above typical heist fare and leans into character-driven storytelling. The terrific cast, notably Julianne Moore, have fun with a genre script containing emotional depth, deliberate pacing, and decent characterisation. Mark: 7.5 out of 11.

Tetris (2023)

Tetris (2023), directed by Jon S. Baird, turns the unlikely origin story of a video game into a surprisingly engaging Cold War-era techno-thriller—at least for a while. Rooted in real historical tensions, the film smartly weaves espionage, corporate greed, and political paranoia into the story of how a simple puzzle game became a global phenomenon. However, its descent into exaggerated action sequences, particularly the climactic chase, turns it into something closer to parody than period drama. It’s a film that ultimately undercuts the suspense by choosing spectacle over substance. Mark: 7 out of 11

Cinema, Comedy, Reviews

Cinema Review: Mickey 17 (2025) – a multi-faceted sci-fi adaptation that leaves one drunk, but somehow still thirsty!

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Directed by Bong Joon Ho

Screenplay by Bong Joon Ho – Based on Mickey 7 by Edward Ashton

Produced by Dede Gardner, Jeremy Kleiner, Bong Joon Ho and Dooho Choi

Main Cast: Robert Pattinson, Naomi Ackie, Steven Yeun, Toni Collette, Mark Ruffalo, Patsy Ferran, Cameron Britton, Daniel Henshall, Anamaria Vartolomei, etc.

Cinematography by Darius Khondji

Bong Joon Ho’s adaptation of Mickey 7, the 2022 sci-fi novel by Edward Ashton, showcases a compelling convergence of the director’s distinctive thematic interests with the novel’s narrative. Known for his ability to blend genre elements with incisive social commentary, Bong’s version of Mickey 7, now titled Mickey 17 (2025) is a comedic, at-times-crazy and imaginative sci-fi film exploring human resilience, class struggles, scientific malpractice, environmental abuse, genocidal terra-forming, plus the existential impact of technology within the workplace.

Robert Pattinson is the eponymous Mickey, a “disposable” worker sent on perilous missions to terra-form a distant planet, with his life repeatedly put in danger only for him to be replaced if he dies. This directly ties into Bong’s recurring exploration of human resilience in the face of dehumanizing systems, something seen in his earlier films, such as Snowpiercer (2013) and Okja (2017). Bong’s protagonists are often ordinary people facing systems designed to strip away their individuality, and Mickey’s repeated resurrections emphasize the fragility of life within these systems.

Another prominent theme in Bong’s films is the exploration of class and social inequality. In Parasite (2019), he delved into the gap between the wealthy Park family and the impoverished Kim family, using the home as a microcosm of societal hierarchies. In Mickey 17 (2025), the corporate-driven space mission echoes the exploitation seen in these films. Mickey’s status as an expendable worker mirrors the broader economic systems that exploit individuals for labour without regard for their well-being. The fact that Mickey is repeatedly discarded without consequence is an unsettling reflection of how capitalist structures often devalue human life for the sake of profit.

Bong has always critiqued the alienation of labour, especially how working-class individuals are treated as replaceable cogs in the machine. In Mickey 17 (2025), this theme is amplified as Mickey’s life is literally expendable, offering a stark commentary on the commodification of labour within the context of futuristic colonization. The struggle for survival and dignity, against an uncaring corporate entity, will likely resonate with themes Bong has previously explored. Likewise, in Memories of Murder (2003), the search for truth is tied to the characters’ understanding of themselves and their roles in society. Such societal and existential crises fit perfectly with Bong’s broader thematic preoccupation with the fragility of the human experience in the face of overwhelming, often oppressive, external forces. The question remains: is Mickey 17 (2025) any good?

Robert Pattinson, who plays various versions of the titular character Mickey, brings his signature range of brooding intensity and offbeat charisma to the role. His performance is a key part of what makes the film such an intriguing watch. Pattinson excels in portraying Mickey’s emotional journey—a man repeatedly resurrected after dying in increasingly perilous circumstances, struggling with his own identity, and questioning the morality of the system that disposes of him so easily. However, Pattinson’s performance also contributes to the film’s unevenness. While his portrayal is captivating, the character’s arc and motivations can occasionally feel too vague or inconsistent, leading to moments where it’s unclear whether Mickey is supposed to be a tragic figure, a comic relief, or something in between.

The visual effects in Mickey 17 (2025) are nothing short of stunning. Bong Joon Ho, along with his team, creates a visually immersive universe, blending futuristic technology, the planet landscapes of Niflheim, quirky alien creatures and mind-bending visuals to evoke a sense of awe. The digital photo-copying resurrection process that Mickey undergoes is a feat of visual storytelling, with the film using cutting-edge effects to show Mickey’s multiple deaths and resurrections in creative and striking ways. The film’s alien planet, with its strange, luminous terrain and exotic creatures, also adds a surreal and fantastical quality to the narrative. Indeed, the theme of environmental and indigenous protection is vital, but does eventually clash with that of the existential worker.

Where Mickey 17 (2025) truly shines—and stumbles—is in its wacky, unpredictable storytelling. Bong Joon Ho has always been a director unafraid to blend genres and tones, and here he creates a narrative that swings wildly between dark comedy, sci-fi absurdity, and existential dread. One moment, you’re laughing at Mickey’s off-kilter interactions with his fellow colonists, and the next, the film veers into dark, serious territory as Mickey grapples with his own mortality and the ethical dilemmas of his existence. Moreover, the film’s narrative structure itself is erratic. There are moments where the plot careers off course, lost in the chaos of its high-concept premise.

As Robert Pattinson’s charismatic, multi-faceted performance anchors the film, the performances of Mark Ruffalo and Toni Collette—as the grotesque antagonists—topple the tone too far into bad theatre. Finally, Bong Joon Ho’s trademark brilliance is evident throughout, but Mickey 17 (2025) ultimately suffers from the very risk-taking that makes it unique. It’s a thrilling, uneven ride that fascinates, frustrates, makes one laugh and leaves you with a lot to think about—once the space dust has settled. Perhaps I should have had what Bong Joon Ho and his production team were drinking before I watched it. If so, I should certainly of made it a double!

Mark 7.5 out of 11

Cinema, New Releases

Cinema Review: September 5th (2024) – an inside-out snapshot of tragedy at the 1972 Munich Olympics!

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Directed by Tim Fehlbaum

Written by Moritz Binder, Tim Fehlbaum and Alex David

Produced by Philipp Trauer, Thomas Wöbke, Tim Fehlbaum, Sean Penn, John Ira Palmer and John Wildermuth

Main cast: Peter Sarsgaard, John Magaro, Ben Chaplin, Leonie Benesch, Jim Mckay (archival footage), Zinedine Soualem, etc.

Cinematography by Markus Förderer

Edited by Hansjörg Weißbrich

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

The events of September 5th, 1972, during the Munich Olympics are deeply connected to the tragic and harrowing story of the attack by the Palestinian group ‘Black September’, which targeted the Israeli Olympic team. This day is crucial in understanding the impact of the attack, as it marks the beginning of what became known as the ‘Munich Massacre’. The documentary One Day in September (2000) directed by Kevin Macdonald, offered a detailed account of the events providing chilling footage, interviews with survivors, and insights from those who witnessed the attack and as a moment that deeply altered the course of history, influencing global politics, the perception of terrorism, and the nature of security at international events.

Steven Spielberg’s fictionalised film Munich (2005) dramatized the aftermath of the ‘Munich Massacre’, focusing on Israel’s covert response to the attack. The film based on the book Vengeance by George Jonas, told the story of a team of Israeli agents tasked with assassinating those involved in the planning of the massacre. The plot of Munich (2005) unfolds as these agents track down and kill individuals connected to ‘Black September’. The film, criticized for a series of inaccuracies, portrayed the moral complexities and psychological toll of vengeance, showing the personal conflict faced by the agents as they carry out their mission. Now, covering the same event, we have September 5th (2024), a drama-documentary that snapshots the conflict from the perspective of the ABC Sports crew and their coverage of the events.

Director, Tim Fehlbaum, and his talented production team effectively utilize constraints in geography, time, space, and structure to craft a highly claustrophobic thriller, drawing viewers into the escalating crisis as it unfolds. From the moment the athletes are taken hostage the ABC media team headed by Peter Sarsgaard as Roone Arledge, the president of ABC Sports, John Magaro as Geoffrey Mason, the head of the control room in Munich and Ben Chaplin as Marvin Bader, the head of operation at ABC Sports are on red alert striving to capture the story and prevent it being taken from them by the ABC News team. Fehlbaum makes use of limited settings, “real-time” structure, and confined spaces expertly as the audience find out information of the hostages plight and subsequent runway killings at precisely the same time as the crew do.

The films’ use of psychological space, close-ups, shadows and screens, creates a claustrophobic atmosphere, starving the audience of air and making them feel the increasing emotional pressure on each character. Like the world’s population today witnessing the brutal events unfold between Israel and Palestine on the news, they ultimately have little power over the situation as news of tragedy bleeds through to them. Further, the cast are uniformly compelling with Peter Sarsgaard, John Magaro and Leonie Benesch, as a translator for the ABC crew, stand out amongst an impressive ensemble. Lastly, special mention for the editing team led by Hansjörg Weißbrich, who skilfully weaved in actual footage from the ABC archive, creating a seamless and powerful cinematic experience.

Mark: 8 out of 11

Cinema, Reviews

Cinema Review: Hard Truths (2024) – an unflinching look at a family struggling with depression.

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CINEMA REVIEW: HARD TRUTHS (2024)

Directed by Mike Leigh

Written by Mike Leigh

Produced by Georgina Lowe

Main Cast: Marianne Jean-Baptiste, Michele Austin, David Webber, Tuwaine Barrett, Ani Nelson, Sophia Brown, Jonathan Livingstone, etc.

Cinematography by Dick Pope

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

Mike Leigh’s career has been defined by an unflinching exploration of everyday existence, shaped by a commitment to realism and a deep understanding of human behaviour. His films, whether contemporary or period pieces, dissect the nuances of ordinary lives, often capturing the struggles, aspirations, and quiet triumphs of working- and middle-class individuals. His signature improvisational approach—where actors develop their characters through extensive rehearsal—allows for an organic authenticity that makes his work resonate with honesty and emotional depth.

Leigh’s early films, such as Bleak Moments (1971) and Nuts in May (1976), established his interest in the mundanities and disappointments of daily life. His later films, such as High Hopes (1988) and Life is Sweet (1990), continued this trend, portraying ordinary people navigating personal and societal challenges with humour and pathos. Secrets & Lies (1996), one of his most acclaimed works, epitomizes his fascination with human vulnerability, as it dissects family relationships, race, and identity in a way that feels raw yet tender.

Leigh’s career trajectory has also included excursions into period dramas, notably the heart-wrenching, Vera Drake (2004) and arguably his most political film, Peterloo (2018). But rather than abandoning his focus on the intricacies of human experience, he applies the same observational precision to historical subjects. Topsy-Turvy (1999), about the creation of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado, examines the creative process with the same detail he grants his modern-day working-class protagonists. Mr. Turner (2014), a biopic of the painter J.M.W. Turner, similarly explores the artist’s struggles, eccentricities, and societal context without falling into the clichés of the genre. These films reveal that, for Leigh, the past is not a grand spectacle but an extension of the same human complexities that define his contemporary work.

His latest film, Hard Truths (2024), follows in this tradition, delving into the stark realities of its characters with the same empathy and directness. Set in London in the present day, it focuses on the Deacon family unit and extended relations, notably two personality-divergent sisters, Pansy Deacon (Marianne Jean-Baptiste) and sibling, Chantelle (Michele Austin). Pansy is a middle-aged London housewife whose relentless irritability and sharp tongue mask a deep-seated inner turmoil. Her acerbic interactions—whether berating her husband Curtley, chastising her son Moses, or lashing out at unsuspecting strangers—serve as both a source of dark humour and a window into her dissatisfaction with life. Indeed, some of her rants are absolutely laugh-out-loud hilarious.

Leigh’s nuanced direction ensures that while Pansy’s outbursts may elicit laughter, they simultaneously reveal the tragic underpinnings of her character. Her vitriolic remarks, often delivered with biting wit, are symptomatic of her internal struggles, painting a portrait of a woman grappling with unarticulated pain. This duality is evident in scenes where Pansy’s caustic rants thinly veils her profound sense of isolation and despair. The film delves deeper into Pansy’s psyche during interactions with the more upbeat, Chantelle. A pivotal moment occurs during a Mother’s Day visit to their mother’s grave, where Chantelle confronts Pansy about her pervasive anger. Pansy’s anguished admission, “I don’t know!” encapsulates the bewildering nature of her depression, highlighting how her defensive humour serves as a barrier against this insidious mental illness.

Marianne Jean-Baptiste’s absorbing portrayal brings emotional depth to Pansy’s character, capturing the delicate interplay between her abrasive exterior and the fragility it conceals. Similarly, Michele Austin brings light and optimism to the screen, along with her effervescent daughters, somehow striving to combat the all-pervasive cloud of depression. Some of my favourite scenes of the film were with Chantelle in conversation with customers in her hair salon. Thus, in essence, Hard Truths (2024) presents a compelling character study that intertwines humour with the sombre realities of depression. Through Pansy Deacon, Leigh illustrates there are no easy answers to the pain of an affliction that remains silent and invisible but is ever-present within everyone’s lives.

Mark: 8 out of 11

Cinema, Oscar Bingo, Reviews

Cinema Review: The Brutalist (2024) – There will be Concrete!

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CINEMA REVIEW: THE BRUTALIST (2024)

Directed by Brady Corbet

Written by: Brady Corbet & Mona Fastvold

Produced by Trevor Matthews, Nick Gordon, Brian Young, Andrew Morrison, Andrew Lauren, D.J. Gugenheim and Brady Corbet.

Cast: Adrien Brody, Felicity Jones, Guy Pearce, Joe Alwyn, Raffey Cassidy, Stacy Martin, Emma Laird, Isaach de Bankolé and Alessandro Nivola.

Cinematography Lol Crawley

Edited by Dávid Jancsó

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

A new wave of American filmmakers—directors like Todd Field, Robert Eggers, and Brady Corbet—have emerged as some of the most technically proficient and ambitious voices in contemporary cinema. Their work is marked by rigorous formal control, deep thematic ambition, and an almost obsessive dedication to craft. These filmmakers, arguably influenced by auteurs like Sofia Coppola and Paul Thomas Anderson, demonstrate an understanding of film language that is both deeply referential and boldly experimental. Whether it’s Eggers’ meticulous historical recreations, Field’s austere and cerebral storytelling, or Corbet’s overtly intellectualized narratives, they all exhibit an undeniable mastery of their medium. Their films, often dense with literary and philosophical allusions, cater to cinephiles who relish formal precision and narrative audacity.

Yet, for all their brilliance, there’s an argument to be made that their work veers into self-indulgence, if not outright pretension. Their films sometimes feel like exercises in artistic superiority, catering to an audience that appreciates the challenge but perhaps not the emotional accessibility that cinema can offer at its best. Whether it’s the cold remove of TÁR (2022), the self-serious mythologizing of The Lighthouse (2019), or the arch, affect-laden approach of Vox Lux (2018), these works often feel encased in a layer of knowing detachment. There’s a fine line between intellectual rigor and a kind of smug, insular artistry, and some critics argue that these filmmakers, however talented, sometimes tip too far in the latter direction—prioritizing aesthetic and conceptual ambition over genuine human connection. I mean, I love a lot of these filmmakers’ work, but I was raised on the American films of Coppola, Scorsese, DePalma, Spielberg, Lucas and Friedkin; auteurs who knew their art, but also how to entertain the audience too.

In Corbet’s, and film partner’s Mona Fastvold’s, phenomenally designed and constructed film, The Brutalist (2024), Adrien Brody portrays fictional László Tóth, a Hungarian-Jewish architect and Holocaust survivor. Brody’s is an incredibly memorable piece of work, acting as a spiritual performance sequel to his Oscar-winning role in The Pianist (2002). But rather than focus on an individual attempting to escape the Nazis during the war, the narrative concentrates on Tóth, who arrives in post-war America with nothing but his talent and ambition, only to find himself trapped in a system that celebrates his work while rejecting him as a person. In America, racism is delivered with a smile, and generosity is a means of control. High society rewards Tóth but also suffocates him with subtle condescension, as he is paraded around as an artistic trophy but never fully embraced as an equal.

As an epic character study of the life of an immigrant and exploitation of the financially stricken Jew in America, The Brutalist (2024), is a powerful work. Such themes compel us to think of today and the fact that America continues to struggle with the integration of people travelling there, even though it was built with the hands of migrant families. Here the screenplay exerts true power in critiquing the United States’ treatment of those travelling to America with hope. As the narrative unfolds across the decades, Corbet, Fastfold and Brody illustrate the slow erosion of Laslo’s dreams in an America that welcomes his work but not his humanity. As the key antagonist, Harrison Lee Van Buren, Guy Pearce delivers another chilling and precise character study. Van Buren is a spoilt, rich and brattish man whose charm and refinement mask a deeply exploitative nature.

Photographically, The Brutalist (2024) is indeed a work of art. Lol Crawley and the production team immerse viewers in a stark, architectural visual language—monolithic structures, rigid compositions, and a muted, desaturated color palette mirroring the emotional and physical isolation Tóth experiences. Yet, for for all its incredible craftsmanship and bold cinematic ambition, the film is a test of endurance—an unrelenting, patience-draining experience that stretches well beyond three hours. Even the inclusion of chapters, and a self-consciously “prestigious” intermission only serve to amplify the film’s pretensions, prolonging the agony of watching layer upon layer of misery unfold like a slow-moving roller-coaster that induces motion sickness with no escape. It’s a brilliant film that demands submission rather than engagement, wielding its bleakness like a weapon against the audience’s stamina. It will probably win the Academy Award for Best Film. That or Wicked (2024).

Mark: 8 out of 11