Gradual but excellent progress has been made on the post-production. Editing and the musical score have been completed so the film should be ready by the end of September 2025 for submission to festivals.
A trailer will be released soon. In the meantime, I commissioned some film and character posters. See above and the slideshow below.
Logline
Banished to the “suicide shift” for breaking spirit call centre regulations, CARMILLA FERRY, now deals with the most tortured of souls moving from this world to the next. After being blasted by her line manager on the phone, Russell, Carmilla is feeling even more isolated and demoralised than usual. After a series of heart-crushing calls, culminating in a particularly stressful shift, Carmilla is then faced with the most heart-wrenching call of all.
Cast: Billy Barratt, Sora Wong, Jonah Wren Phillips, Sally Hawkins, Sally-Anne Upton, etc.
Cinematography by Aaron McLisky
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
It’s become something of a cliché to lament the state of theatrical cinema: superhero fatigue, endless sequels, spin-offs and reboots, streaming overflow. Original stories—particularly in multiplexes—feel increasingly rare. Yet one genre has bucked the trend and, against all industry logic, placed original visions front and centre: horror. In an era of IP dominance, horror’s persistence as the great innovator is growing. It thrives on shadows, but in today’s cinema landscape, it’s also the brightest light.
Across the last few years, titles like Barbarian (2022), Pearl (2022), Skinamarink (2022), Nope (2022), Talk to Me (2023), Infinity Pool (2023), When Evil Lurks (2023), Late Night With the Devil (2023), Totally Killer (2023), Heretic (2024), Longlegs (2024), Sinners (2025), and the soon-to-be-reviewed, Weapons (2025) have proved again and again that audiences crave fresh nightmares. Even 28 Years Later (2025), though technically part of an ongoing series, represents a rare franchise event grounded less in brand synergy than in directorial reinvention and raw cultural appetite.
Unlike superhero spectacles or sci-fi epics, horror thrives on modest budgets and audacious ideas. A film like Skinamarink (2022), shot for a reported $15,000, can turn experimental textures into a viral theatrical moment. Personally, I found this film difficult to digest, however, the more commercial, Talk to Me (2023), made for $4.5 million, earned nearly twenty times that worldwide. These aren’t just hits; they’re validations of originality as a business model.
Horror is also a proving ground where young or unexpected filmmakers leap into the cultural spotlight. Zach Cregger (Barbarian (2022) twisted narrative structure into something memorable. The Philippou brothers Talk to Me(2023) translated YouTube viral adrenaline into terrifying cinematic language. But, what of their latest film, Bring Her Back (2025)? Well, for me they have surpassed their debut feature not only in genuinely sickening moments of dread, but also in terms of powerfully emotional horror scenes.
The narrative of Bring Her Back (2025) begins as it means to go on with a rapidly series of unsettling scenes. After discovering their father dead in the shower, 17-year-old Andy (Billy Barratt) and his partially sighted step-sister Piper (Sora Wong) are placed in the care of Laura (Sally Hawkins). Laura is an eccentric former counselor living on the outskirts of town and suffered the loss of her teenage daughter to drowning. In her home, the siblings encounter Oliver (Jonah Wren Phillips), a mute foster boy who seems terrified of the house’s locked outhouse. Andy eventually realizes Laura’s obsessive behaviour is far more threatening than he could imagine and they are all in danger.
Like Toni Collette in Hereditary (2018) and Lupita Nyong’o in Us (2019), Sally Hawkins delivers a powerfully intense performance that pushes horror into the realm of high drama. She carries the film with raw, nerve-shredding vulnerability, shifting from fragile grief to volcanic fury with startling precision. Every gesture—whether a whispered plea or a full-bodied breakdown—feels lived-in and emotionally scalding, grounding the supernatural terror in something painfully human. Also, Billy Barratt and newcomer Sora Wong offer excellent support as the in-peril ‘Hansel and Gretel’ siblings. Barratt is especially good carrying the audience’s fearful perspective.
The Philippou brothers draw on a potent brew of horror traditions—satanic ritual, grief, abduction, parental abandonment, and matriarchal hysteria—to craft Bring Her Back, a haunting and gut-wrenching descent into obsession. The film thrives on its willingness to plunge into emotional extremity, channeling raw pain into sequences of near-operatic dread. Several knife-in-the-teeth jolts of terror punctuate the story, as everyday necessities such as water, food and parental love are twisted into deathly hazards.
While the script occasionally wavers and certain narrative and backstory elements required sharpening, the thematic and emotional core remains undeniable. At its best, Bring Her Back (2025) isn’t just another exercise in occult horror—it’s a powerful study of grieving obsession, of the lengths people will go to fill a void that cannot be healed. The result is a film that lingers, not only for its shocks but for the raw ache that underpins them.
Produced by Zinzi Coogler, Sev Ohanian, Ryan Coogler
Main cast: Michael B. Jordan, Hailee Steinfeld, Miles Caton, Jack O’Connell, Wunmi Mosaku, Jayme Lawson, Omar Miller, Delroy Lindo, etc.
Cinematography by Autumn Durald Arkapaw
After the bleakly lustful vision of Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu (2024) — a film steeped in shadow, dread, and tragic sensuality — Ryan Coogler offers a wildly different, electrifying take on the vampire mythos: a bold, colourful, and deeply soulful experience that pulses with life even as it drinks from the dead. Where Eggers lingers in gothic majesty, with Sinners (2025), Coogler surges forward with kinetic energy, blending grind-house thrills and emotional depth with From Dusk Till Dawn-style narrative turns.
Coogler’s film is set in the richly textured American South of the 1930s, a world still nursing the scars of the Great War and on the cusp of social upheaval. Into this volatile landscape, he drops the muscular Michael B. Jordan as twin war veterans turned Chicago gangsters, Smoke and Stack — men who carry both physical and spiritual wounds from the trenches — now repurposed as businessman looking to set up a juke joint. These characters feel reminiscent of the working class anti-heroes of Peaky Blinders, their emotional trauma rendered in everything from flickering glances to bursts of brutal, operatic violence. The twins have ghosts of the past and present to battle including relationship issues with Stack’s ex-girlfriend, Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), as well as Smoke’s painful reunion with his wife, Annie (Wunmi Mosaku).
Sinners (2025) plot is muscular and sinewy, establishing the characters impressively before shifting the moody Southern gothic tale into an all-out genre-bender. The film contains a fine ensemble cast knitting a series of substantial supporting characters each with their own personalities, humour and wants. The most striking is Miles Caton as the twins’ cousin, Sammie “Preacher Boy” Moore, a young blues musician with an incredible ability, that proves to be a somewhat dangerous talent. Delroy Lindo also throws in another memorable performance as the ebullient pianist, Delta Slim. With the first night’s festivities in full swing three mysterious strangers appear from the near dark, desiring to be let in. Their leader is charismatic Remmick (Jack O’Connell) and he has more than partying in mind.
Visually, Coogler lets his imagination loose, notably in a memorable cross-generational musical montage that literally burns up the cinema screen. Gone is the shadow-heavy monochrome of Eggers; in its place is a palette of dusk reds, moonlit silvers, and deep bayou greens. The film pulses with colour, sex, motion, and sweat. Blood flows, but it never feels gratuitous — it feels earned, ritualistic, even sacramental. But what ultimately makes Coogler’s film so potent is its soul. Amid the genre thrills and gore, there’s a beating heart full of soul. These vampires are not romanticised, nor merely feared; they are hungry creatures. Coogler gives them back their humanity, and in doing so, reanimates the genre with urgency.
Music is where the film truly soars. Coogler and his production team, attuned to the cultural pulse, curate a soundtrack that fuses Delta blues, Appalachian folk, and early jazz into a feverish, ghostly soundscape. There are scenes where the music alone tells the story: a backwoods funeral scored by a bone-dry slide guitar; a juke joint confrontation where the rhythm of violence matches the stomp of the blues; a haunting lullaby sung by Remmick the migrant vampire that channels generations of sorrow. It is music as memory, as resistance, as raw emotional texture.
Sinners (2025) is not just a vampire film. It’s a blues opera. A folk horror elegy. A pulpy, poignant, and powerfully visceral story about the things that haunt us, and how we fight to keep our humanity intact. What begins as a slow-burning period drama smolders into a blood-soaked explosion of action and moral reckoning. Coogler even delivers a Klan-blasting and redemptive shoot-out final act set-piece. Lastly, in Coogler’s hands, the vampire becomes more than a monster; it’s a metaphor for trauma, addiction, religion, racism, and survival. Coogler reclaims the myth for a new generation, one shaped by history, crime, grief, music, and spiritual struggle, delivering a genre masterpiece that bites deep and lingers long after the lights come up.
Produced by: Graham Broadbent, Peter Czernin and Sarah Harvey
Main cast: Andrew Scott, Paul Mescal, Jamie Bell, Claire Foy etc.
Cinematography by Jamie D. Ramsay
Andrew Haigh is a director who has slowly built an impressive body of work over the last decade or so. I haven’t seen his first two low-budget features but have watched films 45 Years (2015), Lean on Pete (2017)and the recent brutal TV drama, The North Water (2021). Together they show Haigh to be a director capable of delivering drama of devastating power. His latest independent film,All of Us Strangers (2023) is arguably his best film to date deserving of all the awards coming its way.
Andrew Scott portrays Adam, a lonely screenwriter, who lives in a London newbuild block of flats where he seems to be the only occupant. Struggling with writer’s block he spends his days and nights remembering his parents, Mum (Claire Foy) and Dad (Jamie Bell.) Seeking inspiration for his work he revisits his childhood home in Sanderstead, Croydon during a fascinating trip down memory lane. Surprised one night by drunken neighbour, Harry (Paul Mescal), knocking at his door, Adam rebuffs Harry at first. However, the two latterly begin a love affair, with this relationship intertwined with Adam’s visits to his former home.
I won’t say anymore as I believe this is a film which benefits from knowing as little as possible, but it is safe to say that All of Us Strangers (2023) is one of the most emotionally cathartic films I have seen for some time. Even my frozen heart began to melt as I experienced Adam’s journey into the past and his attempts to find love and peace. Andrew Scott, under Haigh’s expert direction, gives an astonishing performance. Like his co-star Mescal was in Aftersun (2022), Scott just has that innate ability to convey sheer meaning from a look or the slightest of gestures. Obviously, the script and characterization provide an appreciable weight of feeling in Adam’s story, one that Haigh exerts real control over. Further, Mescal himself is excellent too, once again cementing his status as one of the best actors around.
On a low budget with just a handful of brilliant actors, Andrew Haigh demonstrates that less is indeed more. But while the locations and cast are minimal the emotional landscapes are painted on an expansive cinematic canvas. Grief, love, death, relationships and family are universal themes that are explored with fresh method by Haigh, as he delivers a film of mature power. With impactful performances, direction, cinematography, city locations and soundtrack, All of Us Strangers (2023) is a brilliant love story about loss. But, paradoxically, I didn’t feel empty or downbeat by the end, I actually felt full and lifted.
Cast: Sophie Wilde, Alexandra Jensen, Joe Bird, Otis Dhanji, Miranda Otto, Zoe Terakes, Chris Alosio, Marcus Johnson, Alexandria Steffensen, etc.
Cinematography: Aaron McLisky
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
A cold paw of death, stiff fingers, rotting black nails, gripped by a living hand and opening a portal, a link to the other side to make contact with lost spirits. What does the hand represent or symbolise in terms of contemporary subtext? Is it mobile phones? Or social media? Or is it just a creepy device with which to layer chills and suspense and scare teenagers on a Friday night at the cinema. Does a horror film have to have a deeper meaning as long as it scares us?
Saw (2004), Paranormal Activity (2007), The Blair Witch Project (1999), Night of the Living Dead (1968) and most recently, Get Out (2017), are low budget horror films which became breakout box office hits. Similarly, to Peele’s debut chiller, Talk To Me (2022), is at the higher echelon of “low” budget cinema costing circa $4 million to produce. Yet, it has given A24 its biggest hit to date thanks to a nifty premise, impressive young cast, and compelling direction from yet another filmmaking sibling duo in Danny and Michael Philippou.
The film takes the phrase “talk to the hand” literally as a bunch of dopey Aussie teens play party games for kicks by connecting with the afterlife through a disembodied hand. Before you can say, “Candyman, Candyman, Candyman!” the ghost has decided they don’t want to return home and chooses to remain with the living. I hate it when that happens! Cue all sorts of creepy and unsettling shenanigans.
The emotional core of this overfamiliar ghoulish tale is represented in the grieving teen angst of Sophie Wilde’s Mia. In attempting to overcome the recent passing of her mother, Mia leaves herself open to the torment of the nefarious spirits. So, once she has shook the dead hand at a party she is suddenly connected with her dead mother’s spirit. Or is she cursed by something altogether more evil. What do you think?
For all the over-used tropes within Talk to Me (2022) is a very suspenseful and scary film. While Wilde’s acting is slightly overwrought, her character is the least irritating of the dumb teenage protagonists not thinking through the consequence of their actions. Thematically it is quite strong as it explores the nature of grief and how it impact one’s mental health. My one main criticism of the production was Aaron McLisky’s cinematography was too dark, even for a horror film. Nonetheless, the hand itself is an iconic prop, and will no doubt lead to a slew of most likely inferior franchised sequels.
Written by: Charlotte Wells Produced by: Adele Romanski, Amy Jackson, Barry Jenkins & Mark Ceryak.
Main cast: Paul Mescal, Frankie Corio, Celia Rowlson-Hall, etc.
Cinematography: Gregory Oke
Edited by: Blair McClendon
Music by: Oliver Coates
***CONTAINS SPOILERS ***
The invisible mist that envelops many human beings and imperceptibly cannot be treated in conventional ways like that of a broken bone, headache or a skin rash. It can be experiential, dependent on one’s life situation or genetically sewn into the mind, blood and persona with often no evident cure. Sure, medicine can be used to push back the fog. However, it’s hit and hope treatment to a chastening fugue that is all encompassing and never ending. According to research, depression effects around 1 in 6 people in the UK each year alone.
Aftersun (2022) is an intimate character study on film written and directed by Charlotte Wells. After creating several critically acclaimed shorts, Aftersun (2022) is Wells debut feature film. It welcomes an intelligent, perceptive and brave new visionary in world cinema. Aftersun (2022) is a hypnotic, mournful and heartbreaking exploration of depression, love, loss and family which quietly pushes the viewer into a beautiful pain that makes it difficult to breathe at times.
This artful drama features Paul Mescal as Calum and Frankie Corio as his 11-year-old daughter, Sophie. It follows their holiday at a Turkish resort on the eve of his 31st birthday. Together, the actors performances and Wells’ subtle direction effortlessly builds emotional power in the father and daughter relationship on screen. Mescal especially is as magnetic as a modern-day Brando, with many soulful scenes of him trying to handle his invisible pain. Sophie is unaware of Calum’s clouding moods as he battles to keep it from her. Holidays are meant to be fun and the father does his best to ensure his daughter is protected from the existential despair. Wells hints at what may happen to Calum in the future, juxtaposing an adult Sophie recalling key moments from the holiday that play out like a raw home movie of haunting reminiscence.
Attempting to portray depression visually is a challenge for any filmmaker. Yet, Wells and their cinematographer, Gregory Oke, use a number of styles to propel the internal conflict of the characters. Sophie often sees her father through the eyes of a camcorder lens and mini-screen. Calum is also framed from behind and through the mirrored distance of a television screen. On occasions, Wells overdoes the artiness of such photographic choices. Mainly because Mescal’s portrayal of Calum is so good, I wanted even more direct focus on his character acting. Yet, one cannot argue with the creative power of Wells’ dialectic choices, notably in the contrast between the sunny Turkish landscapes and pulsating strobe-lit nightclub scenes linking older Sophie and Calum’s internal mindscapes.
Aftersun (2022) has rightfully received critical acclaim and accolades from BAFTA, BIFA and the Oscars. It is a slow burning film which takes patience to connect to. But once you get into the film’s rhythm there are an abundance of cerebral and emotional rewards. As an arthouse genre film Wells combines rites of passage with a deep analysis of grief. Sophie’s family holiday in Turkey is not without humour and joy as she finds real affection and love with her brave father. The tragedy is the not-knowing that this is the last time she will ever spend time with him. Sophie has her home movies and memories of Calum. But it is no substitute for her father being alive. If only he hadn’t stayed forever in life’s departure lounge.
Screenplay by: Edgar Wright and Krysty Wilson-Cairns
Produced by: Nira Park, Tim Bevan, Eric Fellner and Edgar Wright
Cast: Thomasin McKenzie, Anya Taylor-Joy, Matt Smith, Michael Ajao, Terence Stamp, Diana Rigg, Rita Tushingham, etc.
Cinematography: Chung-hoon Chung
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Edgar Wright is one of my favourite directors working today. His films possess an endless series of cinematic techniques such: long takes, quick cuts, swooping camera moves, canted frames, Steadicam, camera holds, frame switches, pans, scans, tilts, low-angles, metronomic editing, blurred dissolves, point-of-view and god’s-eye view shots. Moreover, Wright’s use of humour, music, colour, casting choices, and cross-genre collisions are spectacularly imaginative and entertaining. His latest film Last Night in Soho (2021) is no different. I was enthralled and excited throughout this ripping big-budget exploitation film, which juxtaposes influences such as Stephen King, Brian DePalma and Doctor Who, with a suggestion of Dario Argento and giallo cinema.
Last Night in Soho (2021) is both a love and hate letter to the Soho area of central London in the 1960’s and the now. If hate is too strong a word then at the very least the myriad of storylines collide to create a cautionary tale of one young person’s move from Cornwall to London to study fashion at the University of Arts. Major acting talent Thomasin Mackenzie is Ellie Turner, a passionate young woman who loves the sixties music and style, but also mourns the loss of her mother at an early age. Leaving her comfortable home she shares with her Grandmother (Rita Tushingham), Ellie experiences London and student life with initially mixed results. Finding it difficult to connect with her obnoxious room-mate, Jocasta, she moves into an antiquated bedsit, with imperious Diana Rigg as her landlady no less. All of a sudden her incredible journey into the glamorous and seedy past of Soho begins.
As with many of his films Wright establishes several storylines simultaneously. He brilliantly crosses rites-of-passage with period drama, romance, musical, detective and finally the horror genre. Ellie finds her feet at University, gets a job in a bar, receives praise for her initial designs and starts a budding romance with fellow student, John (Michael Ajao). At the same time her life becomes entwined in a surreal twist with that of Sandie (Anya Taylor-Joy), an engaging character desiring showbiz stardom who happens to live in Soho, but in the 1960’s. Ellie’s psychic link with Sandie brings her vivid dreams, but a striking empathic connection.
While Ellie is nervous and insecure within her London experiences, Sandie is the opposite. The theme of duality in their polar characters is both emotionally and visually breathtaking as their twin journey brings positive change and developing confidence in Ellie’s character. Yet, when Sandie’s career desires are exploited for nefarious gain by a local face called Jack (Matt Smith), both woman head for darker spaces in the shadows and smoke of the capital. Here the issue of mental health is intriguingly explored too. As Ellie is drawn further into Sandie’s nightmarish existence, she struggles to hold on to reality and the present.
Despite some minor wrinkles in the narrative and geographical London liberties taken, Edgar Wright has delivered one of the most thrilling and spectacularly energetic films of the year. The nostalgic and heavenly soundtrack is to die for, with so many songs I recall growing up listening to. Likewise, the cinematography and lighting design sparkle in hues of black, fluorescence, shadow and neon. Sure, Edgar Wright has his cake and eats it with mild virtue signalling relating to the “Me Too” movement. The male gaze eats up Anya Taylor Joy’s stunning charisma on screen, making us complicit in her downfall. Nonetheless, with issues relating to grief, mental health, sexual exploitation, identity, doppelgängers, urban breakdown and many more all enveloped into a craftily structured plot, you won’t find a more breathless cinematic experience all year.
Produced by: Sisse Graum Jørgensen, Kasper Dissing
Written by: Thomas Vinterberg, Tobias Lindholm
Cast: Mads Mikkelsen, Thomas Bo Larsen, Magnus Millang, Lars Ranthe
Music by: Janus Billeskov Jansen
Cinematography: Sturla Brandth Grøvlen
***MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS***
“First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.” – Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald
I love drinking alcohol. Perhaps TOO MUCH at certain periods of my life. Indeed, for many years I bordered on addictive reliance or at the very least some form of functioning alcoholism. I’ve binge drunk in my life, abstained for weeks and months on what one would call being “on the wagon”, and in a personal experiment I gave booze for almost twelve months in 2019. It was the longest year of my life. Thus, the old adage of doing everything in moderation certainly works for me where alcohol is concerned. It is all about balance.
In the Danish film, Druk (2020), four middle-aged Danish men attempt their own experiment with alcohol. Apparently, stuck in a rut and suffering inertia where work, family and relationships are concerned, they decide to follow a theory by psychiatrist Finn Skårderud, who has posited that having a blood alcohol content of 0.05 makes you more creative and relaxed. So, the rules are put in place as Martin (Mads Mikkelsen), Tommy (Thomas Bo Larsen), Peter (Lars Ranthe) and Nikolaj (Magnus Millang) — all teachers of variant levels at the same school — set about drinking a specific amount of booze to see if their lives improve over time. Fun and games are certainly had as they begin their “theorizing”, with Martin especially finding his teaching and home life improving. Have the four friends found the secret to happiness, or are these just false victories, with alcohol providing a screen to hidden existential pain?
The film is structured well in establishing the various, admittedly privileged, white males in crisis. Martin’s marriage is crumbling, and his students hate his teaching methods. Tommy lives alone, seemingly overcoming the loss of his partner. Peter appears the most together, but he suffers from a lack of love, while the more academic, Nikolaj, struggles with being an adequate father and husband. As their drinking increases the relative first world problems are not really solved, but become exacerbated as the alcohol exerts a tight grip on them. There are some hilarious scenes where the four get blind drunk and make fools of themselves. However, as they take drink after drink, the demon liquor begins to take them. As the film moves toward the final act, their previous drunken joy leads to both emotional and physical pain. In fact, tragedy is not far away for the friends.
It’s not surprising there are reports of a Hollywood remake because Druk (2020), has a perfect hook and set-up for a classic mid-life crisis comedy. However, with Thomas Vinterberg’s expert direction, evocative natural cinematography, and Mads Mikkelsen giving yet another acting masterclass, the humorous narrative soon leaves the laughs behind to become a bittersweet, yet still uplifting, work of Nordic cinema. I must admit I was slightly disappointed there wasn’t more debate and exploration of the alcoholic experimentation. Because ultimately the theory is used as more of a springboard for the examination of men, friendship and their issues. While Martin is a fine character to lead the journey, overall his story dominance meant the other three, especially Tommy’s arc, were mildly undercooked. Yet, I am nit-picking here, as overall I really enjoyed going a few rounds with my Danish peers and one probably won’t see a more joyous end to a film in many a year and many a beer!
R.I.P – HELEN MCCRORY (1968 – 2021) – SIX GREAT SCENES!
“I’m heartbroken to announce that after a heroic battle with cancer, the beautiful and mighty woman that is Helen McCrory has died peacefully at home, surrounded by a wave of love from friends and family. ‘She died as she lived. Fearlessly. God, we love her and know how lucky we are to have had her in our lives. ‘She blazed so brightly. Go now, Little One, into the air, and thank you.” — Damian Lewis
Sad news that one of my favourite actors, Helen McCrory, passed away on the 16th of April 2021 from cancer.
Helen McCrory had an amazing career on stage, television and in cinema. She began studying acting at the Drama Centre in King’s Cross, London. After which she rapidly gained fabulous onstage notices, appearing in theatrical productions at the Donmar Warehouse, National Theatre and Almeida Theatre. It didn’t take long before she was starring in prominent roles on television and cinema screens.
An actress of immense quality and charisma, McCrory would bring a sophistication and heart and magnificent class to every role she inhabited. Her characters were always strong, independent and a little bit dangerous. In tribute, I have chosen six scenes which showcase her incredible talents. No words can describe how big a loss Helen McCrory is to the world and my condolences go out to her family.
*** THE FOLLOWING SCENES CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
HESTER – THE DEEP BLUE SEA (2016 STAGE PRODUCTION)
I haven’t even seen this production, but this excerpt from the play immediately makes me feel so much for Helen McCrory’s character. She gives such a beautifully magnetic performance.
ROSANNA CALVIERRI – DOCTOR WHO (2010)
I personally would have loved to have seen Helen McCrory star as Doctor Who. But she made a wonderfully dark-hearted villain in this episode. This scene is so brilliant as it builds slowly with two fine actors bringing both humour and pathos and stirring drama to their characters.
NARCISSA MALFOY – HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE (2009)
Originally cast in the role of Bellatrix Lestrange, McCrory had to leave the role out due to pregnancy. Eventually cast as the wonderfully name, Narcissa Malfoy, Helen McCrory’s evocative voice and elegance perfectly enlivened the character.
TABITHA – INSIDE NO. 9 (2014)
Many of Helen McCrory’s earlier roles found her portraying strong young women, however, as she matured she grew even more powerful and was also cast in darker more gothic roles. Once such character was the enigmatic Tabitha in the awesome anthology series, Inside No.9 episode, The Harrowing.
POLLY GRAY – PEAKY BLINDERS (2013 – 2019)
The BBC’s flagship drama is a muscular-bleeding-tattooed-up-parade-of-masculinity, but it also presents a set of powerful female characters too who are just as deadly. Helen McCrory as tough-talking, Polly Gray, more than holds her own as a leader within Cillian Murphy’s gang.
MRS POOLE – PENNY DREADFUL (2014 – 2015)
One of my favourite television dramas of recent years had a some incredibly beautiful writing, a wondrous cast and the most elegant of bloody horror. Helen McCrory revelled in the role of Evelyn Poole/Madam Kali, stealing every scene with an over-the-top performance as the immortal uber-witch casting spells and wreaking havoc throughout.
Produced by: Kevin Turen, Ashley Levinson, Aaron Ryder
Screenplay by: Kata Wéber
Based on the play: Pieces of a Woman by Kornél Mundruczó and Kata Wéber
Cast: Vanessa Kirby, Shia LaBeouf, Ellen Burstyn, Molly Parker, Sarah Snook, Iliza Shlesinger, Benny Safdie, Jimmie Fails etc.
***THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS***
Every human being has been present at one birth at least – namely their own. Not that one can remember or recall the experience, however, it is something all of us have in common. Many more people, either as parents, or life partners, or medical staff, or relatives and friends have also witnessed a child being born into the world. Birth is both a magnificent and tumultuous wonder of nature. Moreover, it can, while delivering a miracle into the world, be extremely painful for the person giving birth. The incredible progress of medical science means that it has never been safer. However, as my partner experienced when our son was born, it can be traumatic if the procedure has issues. Thankfully, our son was fine after the birth, but almost eighteen-hours in labour on an under-staffed and chaotic maternity ward was stressful. Thus, I was able to identify very much with the characters in the searing grief drama, PIECES OF A WOMAN (2020).
When I say identify, I mean I felt like I was really with the couple, Martha (Vanessa Kirby) and Sean (Shia LaBeouf) as prospective parents. Martha is heavily pregnant and when Sean returns from work as an engineer she goes into labour. Sean works on building huge bridges. Yet, as events unfold within Pieces of a Woman (2020), bridges are the last thing built metaphorically and emotionally. The opening scene is a cinematic tour-de-force which portrays the couple’s home birth in one long moving and harrowing take. Brilliantly filmed and acted, by Kirby and LaBeouf, the one-take device is employed to devastating effect as it impacts emotional power rather being a filmic gimmick. When their first-choice midwife cannot attend, the replacement, Eva (Molly Parker) arrives. The birth is not without problems and the sequence is both intense and suspenseful. The filmmakers really put you in the heart of the trauma. Quickly concern for the new-born child becomes relief when it is born alive. Alas, Martha and Sean’s joy suddenly turns to misery when nature deals the couple a fateful blow.
After the relentless tension of the opening act, Pieces of a Woman (2020), along with Sean and Martha, enters a redoubtable period of grieving. Martha’s personality prior to the event seemed outgoing and confident. After the death of her child she, unsurprisingly, transitions into an insular and hollow shell. Sean, on the other hand, is more explosive. He openly cries and shouts and self-harms by relapsing back into drug and alcohol addiction. Sean, more than Martha, attempts to fix their broken relationship, but Martha’s pain is too great and the distance between them only increases. Martha’s mother, Elizabeth Weiss (Ellen Burstyn), attempts to get some control back by taking court action again the midwife, Eva. Further, she desperately attempts to thwart her daughter from allowing the child’s body to be donated to medical science. In such moments Ellen Burstyn’s performance is absolutely formidable. Indeed, the scenes she shares with Vanessa Kirby are some of the best in the film.
Based on the play of the same name, Pieces of a Woman (2020), is overall an utterly gruelling emotional experience. I must admit I found it difficult to reach Martha’s character as she was so isolated for much of the film. However, that is exactly what the writer, Kata Wéber, and director, Kornél Mundruczó want you to feel. The loss of a child is never going to be an easy experience and it is something an individual will never get over. As I followed Martha’s journey intensely the smallest incremental shift in her personality is felt massively. Personally, I would have preferred more focus on Molly Parker’s character during the second act and more outwardly emotional scenes. Because those within the film featuring LaBeouf, Kirby and Burstyn are so compelling. Vanessa Kirby, in particular, is stunning as a woman cut-off from the world by this devastating grief, making Pieces of a Woman (2020) a memorable human drama that makes you feel fortunate to be alive.
The Cinema Fix presents 