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Cinema, Reviews

Sky Cinema review: Anora (2024) – Sean Baker’s exhilarating indie filmmaking skills deliver yet another ensemble of obnoxious characters!

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Sky Cinema review: ANORA (2024)

Directed by Sean Baker

Written by Sean Baker

Produced by: Alex Coco, Samantha Quan, Sean Baker

Main cast: Mikey Madison, Mark Eydelshteyn, Yura Borisov, Karren Karagulian, Vache Tovmasyan, Darya Ekamasova, Aleksei Serebryakov, etc.

Cinematography by: Drew Daniels

** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS **

The Sean Baker’s film I have seen — Tangerine (2015), The Florida Project (2017), Red Rocket (2021), and now Anora (2024) — form a cohesive body of work united by consistent stylistic and formal strategies. Across these films, Baker blends naturalistic storytelling with bold creative choices on low budgets, creating a cinema that is both socially conscious and viscerally alive. Moreover, Baker consistently foregrounds characters on the economic and social fringes of American life such as: Tangerine (2015) – Trans sex workers navigating Los Angeles on Christmas Eve; The Florida Project (2017) – a single mother and her daughter barely surviving in a motel near Disney World; Red Rocket (2021) – a disgraced ex-porn star returns to a struggling Texas town to rebuild his existence and Anora (2024) – featuring Mikey Maddison as a Brooklyn stripper who marries into a wealthy Russian oligarch family.

    Such films explore themes relating to sex work, informal economies, the American underclass, children as witnesses to or casualties of adult instability, doomed romances, infidelity, and moral ambiguity. Stylistically they often feature flawed protagonists, non-professional actors, episodic structures, bright color palettes, profane language, irreverent humour, pop culture references, real locations, improvised dialogue and a neo-realistic look delivered via a kinetic visual energy at the edges of that delusional idea, the American dream.

    So, I’ve long admired Sean Baker’s fiercely independent spirit and his commitment to telling stories Hollywood wouldn’t touch. Baker has carved out a singular path in American cinema — one rooted in realism, empathy, and a punk sense of creative autonomy. His work is purposeful, politically conscious, and technically impressive. He’s the kind of independent filmmaker I support. But watching Anora (2024), as with most of his earlier films, I find myself wrestling with an ongoing disconnect: I simply don’t always enjoy the experience.

    Baker’s protagonists — whether Sin-Dee in Tangerine (2015), Mikey Saber in Red Rocket (2021), or Anora herself — are often abrasive, chaotic, and maddeningly self-destructive. Red Rocket (2021) in fact was so objectionable as a character study it put me off wanting to watch Anora (2024), hence the delay seeing it. While I understand that these are underdog characters surviving in systems rigged against them, their relentless hysteria and lack of introspective growth make them hard to root for. I feel like Baker got it most right during the ugly-beauty of The Florida Project (2017), but Anora (2024) presents another narrative uphill struggle.

    The film is overlong despite a simple ‘Pretty Woman’ premise of the tart-with-the-heart meeting a Russian rich kid who threatens to rescue her only to be a – surprise-surprise – spoilt-drug-addicted-narcissist-controlled-by-his-stupidly-wealthy-parents. A large part of the second act is spent chasing this obnoxious c*nt after he does a runner. It’s not so much excellent writing or acting as a succession of screeching and swearing and car crash human behaviour. I’m not asking for likability, but some degree of emotional access. Yes, Anora (2024), is sexy and funny in places, but I felt pushed away by the obnoxious ensemble and the sense of anxiety experienced throughout.

    Overall, I recognize Baker’s talent. The filmmaking here is sharp, confident, and often electric. Mikey Madison is indeed amazing with an instinctively smart and energetic performance, and at a stretch, I could understand the acclaim — but Oscars? And over Demi Moore’s tour-de-force, career-resurrecting performance? No – that feels like a massive glitch in the matrix and every surrounding multiverse.

    Mark: 6 out of 11

    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

    BFI, Cinema, Classic Film Reviews

    Classic Film Review: Bleak Moments (1971) plus Mike Leigh Q & A (Prince Charles Cinema, London.)

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    Classic Film Review: Bleak Moments (1971)

    Directed by Mike Leigh

    Written by Mike Leigh – Based on 1970 stage play by Mike Leigh

    Produced by Leslie Blair

    Cast: Anne Raitt, Sarah Stephenson, Eric Allan, Joolia Cappleman, Mike Bradwell, Donald Sumpter etc.

    Cinematography by Bahram Manocheri

    Camera Assistant: Roger Pratt

    Edited by Leslie Blair

    One of the quiet yet profound joys of cultural life is finding a creative or sporting figure—or team—whose journey you follow from an early age, growing alongside their work as it evolves. Whether it’s the cinematic brilliance of the Coen Brothers or Mike Leigh, the ever-shifting energy of Primal Scream, or the lifelong, often agonising commitment to Tottenham Hotspur FC, these long-term relationships offer a deep sense of continuity. They become personal landmarks in our emotional and cultural landscapes, threading through decades of change and grounding us with shared history, joy, and—especially in Spurs’ case—a touch of heartache.

    I was born just a year before Mike Leigh’s Bleak Moments debuted in 1971, and it became a defining cultural touchstone for me. First encountering it in the early 1980’s, I was captivated by its raw honesty and quiet power—a film I returned to again and again on that solid-format VHS tape over the years. It marked the beginning of a lifelong relationship with Leigh’s work, a body of cinema that has shaped and shadowed my own personal and cultural journey. That connection endures to this day, most recently renewed with his 2025 release, Hard Truths—a testament to a career and vision that continue to evolve with undiminished integrity.

    Bleak Moments centres on Sylvia (Anne Raitt), a lonely, introspective young woman navigating the quiet desolation of her suburban life while caring for her mentally challenged sister, Hilda (Sarah Stephenson). Trapped between duty and desire, Sylvia reaches tentatively toward human connection—most notably with a shy schoolteacher—yet every encounter is marked by awkward silences and emotional hesitations. Mike Leigh crafts a delicate, unflinching portrait of isolation and unmet longing, where the most powerful moments are found in what remains unsaid. Indeed, I would say it would have a powerful influence on awkward cinema or television such as Gervais and Merchant’s, seminal show The Office.

    I hadn’t seen the film for twenty years and in a packed Prince Charles Cinema, what struck me was how Bleak Moments, while raw and unvarnished in style, unfolds with a beautifully episodic structure that gently accumulates emotional weight. Each scene offers a quiet vignette—moments of everyday awkwardness, tentative exchanges, and domestic stillness—that together create a deeply human portrait of loneliness and restraint. Despite its sombre tone, the film is laced with dry, observational humour and a deep sense of pathos, revealing the absurdity and ache of unspoken lives.

    Mike Bradwell’s Norman and his dryly hilarious songs, and the most awkward of “romantic” dinner scenes in the Chinese restaurant just stood out to me as deeply funny. Raitt’s performance too is a masterclass of comedic understatement. Overall, these qualities—emotional nuance, character-driven storytelling, and a commitment to realism—would become defining hallmarks of Mike Leigh’s oeuvre, already fully formed in this striking debut. Finally, it was great to see and hear from Leigh, now in his eighties, answering some great questions with sharp wit and batting away some stupid ones too with his usual intelligence and droll honesty. Leigh remains a hero in my life’s cultural journey.

    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

    Cinema, Reviews

    Cinema Review: Mission Impossible – The Final Reckoning (2025) plus my 1-8 ranking of the franchise.

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    CINEMA REVIEW: MISSION IMPOSSIBLE – THE FINAL RECKONING

    Directed by Christopher McQuarrie

    Written by Christopher McQuarrie & Erik Jendresen

    Based on Mission: Impossible by Bruce Geller

    Produced by Tom Cruise & Christopher McQuarrie

    Main Cast: Tom Cruise, Hayley Atwell, Ving Rhames, Simon Pegg, Henry Czerny, Angela Bassett, Pom Klementieff, Esai Morales, Holt McCallany, Janet McTeer, Mark Gatiss, Nick Offerman, Tramell Tillman, Shea Wigham, Rolf Saxon, etc.

    *** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

    Christopher McQuarrie returns to helm the final chapter of Mission: Impossible, delivering exactly what fans have come to expect—exquisite stunt work, globe-trotting chaos, MacGuffins galore, and Tom Cruise running like the fate of cinema depends on it. What stands out during Dead Reckoning (2025) is McQuarrie’s deft layering of callbacks from across the franchise: masks, betrayals, teamwork, sacrifice and even thematic echoes to Ethan Hunt’s original arc as a man constantly outpaced by the very institutions he serves. I mean bringing back Rolf Saxon as banished CIA analyst, William Donloe, from the first film is absolute genius.

    Further highlights include the icy St Matthew Island cabin shootout. Plus, the hauntingly atmospheric silent submarine sequence is an exercise in pure cinematic tension that, while a bit dark on the screen I saw it on, was incredibly designed and delivered. In the final thrilling act McQuarrie and his team flex their editing chops in a virtuoso ticking-clock sequence that cross-cuts a rapidly escalating nuclear threat with a spiraling physical stunt—clearly tipping its hat to Dr. Strangelove but with a modern blockbuster pulse. The bi-plane action that Cruise and the stunt team perform is just breathtaking. Lastly, there was also some emotional weight in certain scenes as Hunt shares touching moments throughout, especially with stalwart, Ving Rhames, Luther Stickell.

    But while the ambition is laudable, one can’t help but question whether it all needed to stretch across a bum-numbing three hours, weighed down by dense exposition about AI, allegiance, and global power games. The storytelling sometimes forgets to trust the audience, explaining what we already understand or could intuit. It’s thrilling, yes—but occasionally exhausting, especially as Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One (2023), had done a lot of the heavy work setting up the Entity and Esai Morales as the nemeses of the piece. Still, along with an impressive ensemble cast, expert production team and of course Tom Cruise doing what he does best, McQuarrie proves himself the rare modern action director who respects his audience’s intelligence and patience—even if he tests both.

    Mark: 8 out of 11

    MISSION IMPOSSIBLE – MY FAVOURITES 1 to 8

    1. Mission Impossible – Fallout (2018)
    2. Mission Impossible – Rogue Nation (2015)
    3. Mission Impossible – Ghost Protocol (2011)
    4. Mission Impossible (1996)
    5. Mission Impossible – Dead Reckoning (2023)
    6. Mission Impossible III (2006)
    7. Mission Impossible – The Final Reckoning (2025)
    8. Mission Impossible II (2000)
    Amazon Prime, music, Reviews

    Amazon Prime Film Review: Kneecap (2024) – Irish rap rebels substitute words-for-bombs in riotous youth-in-revolt triumph!

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    Amazon Prime Film Review: Kneecap (2024)

    Directed by Rich Peppiatt

    Screenplay by Rich Peppiatt

    Story by Rich Peppiatt, Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh, Naoise Ó Cairealláin, JJ Ó Dochartaigh

    Produced by Jack Tarling and Trevor Birney

    Main cast: Naoise Ó Cairealláin, Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh, JJ Ó Dochartaigh, Josie Walker, Fionnuala Flaherty, Jessica Reynolds, Adam Best, Simone Kirby, Michael Fassbender, etc.

    Cinematography by Ryan Kernaghan

    *** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

    The 2024 film Kneecap is a riotous, politically charged portrait of youth in revolt, channeling the raw energy of punk and hip-hop into a uniquely Irish-language rebellion. Starring the real-life Belfast rap trio—Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap, and DJ Próvaí—as fictionalized versions of themselves, the film blends anarchic humour, biting satire, rites of passage, and cultural defiance to tell the story of how a group of working-class misfits wove their frustrations into musical gold.

    Set in post-Troubles West Belfast, the film captures the lingering scars of British occupation and the generational trauma it left behind. Liam (Mo Chara) and Naoise (Móglaí Bap) are introduced as small-time drug dealers navigating poverty, police harassment, and fractured families. Their lives take a turn when JJ Ó Dochartaigh, a disillusioned Irish-language teacher, discovers their lyrical talents and joins them as DJ Próvaí. Together, they form the eponymous group, an Irish-language rap group that weaponizes music as a form of cultural resistance.

    The film is unapologetically rebellious, using the Irish language not just as a means of communication but as a symbol of defiance. Arlo (Michael Fassbender), Naoise’s father and a former republican paramilitary, encapsulates this sentiment when he declares, “Every word of Irish spoken is a bullet fired for Irish freedom” . This philosophy permeates the group’s music, which tackles issues like British colonialism, drug culture, and the complexities of identity in a divided society.

    Kneecap (2024), while a bold and electric celebration of youth rebellion arguably overstretches itself emotionally by attempting to cover too many themes at once. In its ambition to be both a political statement and a coming-of-age tale, a musical odyssey and a generational cry for recognition, the film occasionally dilutes its emotional impact. As the film juggles a multitude of weighty themes: the trauma of post-Troubles Northern Ireland, the fight for Irish-language preservation, the drug culture plaguing working-class communities, the fractured nature of family life, absent fathers and mothers, and the burden of political legacy. Add to this the rise of a rap group in an unexpected cultural context, and the film becomes a whirlwind of ideas competing for attention. The result is a film that sometimes feels like it’s racing to say everything at once, rather than letting its most resonant emotional threads breathe.

    Nonetheless, director and co-writer, Rich Peppiatt, displays strong visual flair evoking the urban vibrancy of Trainspotting (1996) and underdog musical joy of The Commitments (1991). It helps that the film is often fucking hilarious. Plus, I realise it’s a raw reflection of their life choices, I could take or leave the perpetual scenes of gratuitous drug-taking. At the same time, the film doesn’t shy away from the gritty realities of its setting. It portrays the trio’s clashes with radical republican groups, their run-ins with the police, and the family and romantic struggles that come with their newfound fame.

    Amidst the chaos, Kneecap (2024) maintains a sense of humour and humanity, offering a nuanced look at the power of art to challenge the status quo and inspire change. In essence, Kneecap is a ballsy and risk-taking celebration of rebellion, a testament to the enduring power of language and music as tools of resistance, and a vivid portrayal of youth challenging the remnants of a colonial past and a country attempting to find peace and identity after centuries of conflict.

    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