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Cinema, Oscar Bingo, Reviews

Cinema Review: One Battle After Another (2025) – an exhilarating revolutionary romp that lacks the depth of those films it attempts to emulate!

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Cinema Review: One Battle After Another (2025)

Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

Written by Paul Thomas Anderson

Inspired by Vineland by Thomas Pynchon

Produced by Adam Somner, Sara Murphy, Paul Thomas Anderson

Main Cast: Leonardo DiCaprio, Sean Penn, Benicio del Toro, Regina Hall, Teyana Taylor, Chase Infiniti, Wood Harris, Tony Goldwyn, Kevin Tighe, Shayna McHayle, etc.

Cinematography by Michael Bauman

Music by Jonny Greenwood

*** CONTAINS SPOILERS ***

It’s a brave filmmaker that quotes one of the greatest revolutionary films of all time during it’s runtime, namely Battle of Algiers (1966). But Paul Thomas Anderson’s formidable cinematic career more than earns him the right to quote a film as towering as The Battle of Algiers (1966) in his latest release One Battle After Another (2025).

Across works like Boogie Nights (1997) and Magnolia (1999), he has demonstrated a mastery of ensemble storytelling and emotional crescendo; with Punch-Drunk Love (2002) he revealed a gift for intimate, offbeat romance; and in There Will Be Blood (2007) and Phantom Thread (2017) he proved himself one of the most rigorous visual stylists and psychological dramatists of his generation. Such a body of work grants him the authority to converse with cinema’s political masterpieces, even if his more recent Licorice Pizza (2021) felt comparatively diffuse and lacking in urgency. His filmography, at its strongest, stands as evidence of a filmmaker deeply attuned to the legacies and possibilities of the medium.

Having said that, Gillo Pontecorvo’s The Battle of Algiers (1966) wields revolutionary power through its raw immediacy, embedding viewers in the lived experience of anti-colonial struggle with a documentary-like realism that blurs the line between record and re-creation. By contrast, Anderson’s One Battle After Another (2025) approaches revolution less as lived history than as a cinematic genre to be emulated, drawing on the tropes and textures of upheaval without grounding itself in the direct urgency of political struggle. Where Pontecorvo conjures revolution as something happening before our eyes, Anderson refracts it through the prism of style, making revolution as much a matter of aesthetic construction as lived reality. It is during its lengthy running time extremely entertaining though.

The opening hour is fast-paced and crams in a lot of action and personality. It establishes a fine ensemble cast, strong characters, striking palette and compelling themes which bring to life Anderson’s sharply written and fantastically filmed screenplay. The narrative focuses on “Ghetto” Pat Calhoun (Leonardo DiCaprio) and Perfidia Beverly Hills (Teyana Taylor), lovers and leaders of the far-left French 75, who storm detention centres, bomb banks, and sabotage power grids, while their soon-to-become nemesis—Officer Steven Lockjaw (Sean Penn)—becomes erotically obsessed with Perfidia, sparing her life when he catches her planting a bomb in exchange for a sexually masochistic tryst. Thus, begins a warped love/hate triangle and rivalry which provides the backbone for the action.

The second hour pivots sharply after establishing Perfidia as a commanding revolutionary presence. The focus pulls to her daughter, Willa (Chase Infiniti), some sixteen years later, now living off the grid and avoiding all but the most basic technology out of fear of surveillance. ‘Pothead’ Pat, has withered into a paranoid and barely functioning stoner-alcoholic, leaving Willa to emerge as the steadier, more mentally resilient figure in their fractured household. The film undeniably suffers from the absence of Perfidia’s charisma and drive, yet it regains momentum when the now Colonel Lockjaw revives his obsessive pursuit, setting the stage for a tense reconfiguration of the story’s revolutionary stakes.

The acting in One Battle After Another (2025) crackles with intensity, led by standout turns from Taylor, Penn, and crafty scene-stealer, Benicio Del Toro. Further, Anderson’s casting team find some amazing supporting military personnel who deliver with uncanny authenticity. Sean Penn’s performance as a swaggering officer radiates brute masculinity—his very walk and gait dripping with testosterone and worthy of awards consideration on their own. Leonardo DiCaprio, meanwhile, folds another eccentric, messy, and deeply contradictory figure into his already remarkable CV, a creation that resonates with the layered complexity of his recent work in Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon (2023). He is actually far more hilarious here, as demonstrated in his desperate attempts to overcome the revolutionary helpline he calls for instructions.

Overall, One Battle After Another (2025) works best as a searing, darkly funny revolutionary black comedy, blending sexual, military, conspiracy, and social politics into a heady mix of action, crime, road movie, and romance tropes. The result is a wildly entertaining visual and musical feast, even if it stops short of delivering true socio-political depth. While the film’s closing stretch leans into deliberate plot ambiguities that complicate its resolution, Anderson ultimately serves up a combative cinematic blast—stylish, sharp, and exhilarating—if just shy of a bona fide classic.

Mark: 8.5 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.

Cinema, New Releases

Cinema Review: I’m Still Here (2024) – A searing portrait of resistance in the face of military tyranny!

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Cinema Review: I’m Still Here (2024)

Directed by Walter Salles

Screenplay by Murilo Hauser and Heitor Loreg

Based on I’m Still Here by Marcelo Rubens Paiva

Produced by Maria Carlota Bruno, Rodrigo Teixeira and Martine de Clermont-Tonnerre

Main cast: Fernanda Torres, Selton Mello, Fernanda Montenegro, Valentina Herszage, Luiza Kosovski, Barbara Luz, etc.

Cinematography by Adrian Teijido

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

On March 31, 1964, the Brazilian military, with support from the United States and segments of the civilian population, overthrew the government of President João Goulart in a coup d’état. Goulart, a left-wing president who had been in power since 1961, faced rising opposition due to his policies that included land reforms and more progressive labour laws. These policies alarmed conservative sectors of society, including the military, business elites, and parts of the middle class, who for many feared the spread of communism in the context of the Cold War. From reports I have read, the military’s move was framed as a necessity to prevent Brazil from descending into a left-wing revolution, but the coup marked the beginning of a brutal 21-year period of military dictatorship. Be careful what you wish for.

Under the military regime (1964–1985), Brazil saw widespread censorship, repression of political dissidents, the establishment of a climate of fear, and the use of torture against suspected leftist militants and activists. The military government justified its actions as necessary to combat communist insurgency, but its reign was characterised by systematic violations of human rights. The regime implemented institutional acts that curtailed democratic freedoms, silenced political opposition, and controlled the media, all while claiming to defend the country from Marxism. The dictatorship lasted until 1985, ending when the military handed power back to a civilian government, but the effects of this period are still deeply felt in Brazilian society, as many families continue to search for the truth about the victims of torture and forced disappearances during the dictatorship.

Yet, while the film may not explicitly focus on the 1964 coup or the military dictatorship. I’m Still Here (2024) addresses the aftermath and themes of identity, resistance, and survival in the face of oppressive systems. Director, Walter Salles, uses the personal as a lens through which broader social and political issues are explored. One could consider how the legacy of fear, control, and the impact of a regime still reverberates in contemporary Brazil.

In I’m Still Here (2024), the filmmakers take a distinctive approach to the thriller genre by moving away from the typical tropes associated with suspense-driven narratives. Instead of focusing primarily on action or a series of dramatic plot twists, the film shifts its attention toward a more intimate, personal, and familial story. There is suspense and tension, but it is more under-stated and subtle. This departure from overt political thriller conventions allows the film to delve into the emotional and psychological terrain of its characters, with a particular focus on the matriarch, Eunice Paiva, played by the powerhouse Fernanda Torres.

Rather than relying on external action or traditional thrills, I’m Still Here (2024), centres around Eunice’s emotional journey and the impact of her environment on her family when her husband, Rubens Paiva (Selton Mello) is taken away by what may-or-not-be the military. The film positions Eunice as the central figure whose personal evolution drives the narrative, illustrating the profound effects of her choices and relationships on her family. Salles skilfully weaves family celebrations, events, and home movie footage to create a swell of warmth amidst the fear and paranoia created when Rubens disappears.

Eunice Paiva’s character is given a powerful depth in I’m Still Here (2024), with Fernanda Torres delivering a standout performance. Rather than positioning Eunice as a victim or a purely heroic figure, the film complicates her character, showing her as a multifaceted individual. Eunice’s actions are driven not by external thrills or pressures, but by the emotional and psychological burdens she carries as a matriarch, dealing with familial responsibility and navigating the complexities of her relationships with her children, spouse, and extended family.

Torres’s portrayal emphasises Eunice’s inner conflict—her desire to protect her loved ones, while also grappling with personal loss, regret, and the external societal forces that shape her world. Constantly denied answers and closure by the authorities, Eunice refuses to give in and continues to fight for decades, even when the military rule is over. The emotional intensity of Eunice’s character arc is one of the most compelling aspects of the film, as Torres’s performance brings a deep authenticity to the role, grounding the story in real, human struggles rather than sensationalised action.

By moving away from traditional thriller tropes, I’m Still Here (2024) creates a more reflective and intimate cinematic experience. Rather than simply delivering suspense through external action, the film explores the internal tensions of its characters and their relationships, magnifying the quiet, profound impact that such personal struggles can have on a family. Having lived through such adversity the Paiva family would stand proud in the face of this evil regime, overcoming all that is thrown at it. I mean, there is so much evil in this world and throughout history, that Eunice Paiva and similar quiet heroes are to be cherished. In short: why can’t such admirable individuals run the often horrible world we live in.

Mark: 8.5 out of 11

Cinema, horror, New Releases, Reviews

Cinema Review: Nosferatu (2024) – At the Intersection of Horror and Eroticism!

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Cinema Review: Nosferatu (2024)

Directed by Robert Eggers

Screenplay by Robert Eggers

Based on Nosferatu by Henrik Galeen and Dracula by Bram Stoker

Produced by Jeff Robinov, John Graham, Chris Columbus, Eleanor Columbus, Robert Eggers, etc.

Main Cast: Bill Skarsgård, Nicholas Hoult, Lily-Rose Depp, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Emma Corrin, Willem Dafoe, Simon McBurney, etc.

Cinematography by Jarin Blaschke

Music by Robin Carolan

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

Firstly, Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror, the 1922 silent German Expressionist vampire film directed by F. W. Murnau remains one of the greatest and most iconic horror films of all time. It is arguably the greatest adaptation of Bram Stoker’s, seminal gothic classic, Dracula, too. Of which there have been many. So, who would be brave enough to attempt to master another version of this often-told monstrous tale. Step forward the acclaimed and relatively young American auteur, Robert Eggers.

Robert Eggers has built a reputation for crafting films that blend mythical and fantastical elements with folk horror and psychological thriller sensibilities. His works often transport audiences to meticulously recreated period settings, which serve as the foundation for his exploration of human fears, desires, and the supernatural. His debut feature film. The Witch (2015) exemplified folk horror rooted in Puritanical fears of the supernatural. Set in 1630s New England, it drew heavily from folklore, historical accounts, and period-authentic dialogue. The film explored themes of isolation, religious paranoia, and the breakdown of a family due to their belief in the presence of witches.

Similarly, The Lighthouse (2019), a psychological thriller merged maritime folklore with hallucinatory horror. Set in the late 19th century, the film delved into isolation-induced madness as two lighthouse keepers grappled with mythological themes such as mermaids, sea gods, and Promethean punishment. Moreover, as with his short films Hansel and Gretel (2007) and The Tell-Tale Heart (2008) he is drawn towards established texts, with the bruising, battering ram of The Northman (2022) covering the original myth on which Hamlet was based. Eggers vision immersed the viewer in violence, Viking culture, shamanic ritual and mysticism. Unsurprising therefore, he has now delivered the German Expressionist classic, Nosferatu (2024) with his signature period aesthetic and focus on the macabre.

With a stellar cast, production design and incredibly stylish vision, Eggers has produced a praiseworthy example of fantastical cinema. As usual there appears to be meticulous historical research, including accurate costumes, set design, and period-specific dialogue. This attention to detail in Nosferatu (2024) grounds the supernatural elements in a believable world, enhancing their impact. Furthermore, Eggers creates a sense of dread through his use of sound design, stark cinematography, and claustrophobic settings. His restrained pacing allows for the gradual unraveling of characters’ psyches, making the supernatural elements more impactful.

Yet, while steeped in folklore, Nosferatu (2024) centres on human struggles—family disintegration, fate, guilt, madness, lust and sex. Indeed, Nicholas Hoult’s Thomas Hutter (née Harker) does not stand a chance. From the opening scene his sensual wife, Ellen, is inextricably linked via a lustful fever dream to a mysterious figure, who, if you couldn’t guess, is Count Orlok (an unrecognizable Bill Skarsgård). It is Ellen’s orgasmic connection across oceans of time which drives Orlok to lure Thomas away and commit blood-draining murder as he creeps cross-country and sails the seas from Transylvania to Germany. Ellen’s surreal and orgiastic desire unfortunately brings the plague and causes the death of extraneous supporting characters portrayed by the likes Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Emma Corrin. A note to say Willem Dafoe is as usual a joy as the ‘Van Helsing’ substitute.

Nosferatu (2024) is undeniably a sumptuous adaptation, brimming with signature attention to period detail, atmospheric dread, and a striking visual palette. However, for those seeking a viscerally terrifying Dracula film, the movie might fall short, leaning heavily into the realm of erotic horror and psychological tension rather than outright scares. While the stunning cinematography, the film’s shadow-drenched landscapes, intricate set design, and haunting score evoke the satanic allure of the original silent film this focus, however, shifts the film away from raw horror and toward a more introspective exploration of vulnerability and eroticism. Ultimately, the film’s reinterpretation of Count Orlok and its restrained approach to gore might alienate viewers expecting a more terrifying vampire film. This left me impressed but more disturbed by the overlong runtime than by the nightmarish allure of the bloodthirsty undead.

Mark: 8 out of 11

Cinema, MUBI, Reviews

Mubi Film Review: Hirokazu Kore-eda’s exquisite tale of love, loss and rebirth – Monster (2023)

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MUBI FILM REVIEW: MONSTER (2023)

Directed and edited by Hirokazu Kore-eda

Written by Yuji Sakamoto

Produced by: Hirokazu Kore-eda, Minami Ichikawa, Kenji Yamada, Megumi Banse, Taichi Itō and Hijiri Taguchi

Main cast: Sakura Andō, Eita Nagayama, Sōya Kurokawa, Hinata Hiiragi and Yūko Tanaka

Cinematography by Ryuto Kondo

Music by Ryuichi Sakamoto

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Monster (2023) exemplifies his continued mastery of humanist storytelling, a hallmark of his career. As with prior works such as the classic Afterlife (1998), critically acclaimed Shoplifters (2018), and the recent, arguably more commercial comedy-drama, Broker (2022), Kore-eda demonstrates a keen ability to explore the quiet complexities of human relationships, here through themes of bullying, young love, and the tender, taboo nature of queer affection. Monster (2023) delves deeply into the fragility of human connections, revealing the pain and misunderstandings that arise when societal expectations collide with individual identities.

The story focuses on shifting narrative perspectives of two young boys, Minato (Sōya Kurokawa) and Yori (Hinata Hiragi), Mugino’s mother, Saori (Sakura Andō) and the boy’s teacher, Michitoshi Hori (Eita Nagayama). Initially, Minato begins displaying slightly disturbing behavious such as cutting his own hair and throwing tantrums in class. His mother then believes the teacher is bullying him and begins to campaign for Mr Hori’s punishment. What then unfolds is something altogether more complex and powerfully ambiguous.

With Monster (2023), crafted via a Rashomon-style structure by screenwriter Yuji Sakamoto, the narrative approach provides a formidable layer to the film’s emotional resonance. It allow the audience to revisit pivotal events from multiple perspectives. By shifting viewpoints the script highlights how perception shapes reality, illustrating the subjectivity of truth in deeply personal and often painful ways. The multifaceted storytelling reveals how moments of cruelty, compassion, and misunderstanding ripple across different lives, underscoring Kore-eda’s central humanist message: no person is simply a villain or a hero, but a complex amalgam of motives and vulnerabilities.

The script’s structural ingenuity enhances the film’s exploration of societal issues, such as the alienation of queer youth and the lasting scars of bullying. Each retelling reframes the characters’ actions, fostering empathy for even the most seemingly antagonistic figures. This interplay of perspectives elevates Monster (2023) beyond a straightforward tale of adolescent struggle, transforming it into a profound meditation on the intersection of memory, identity, and the pursuit of love and acceptance.

By marrying Kore-eda’s subtle directorial touch with Sakamoto’s intricate script, Monster (2023) achieves a rare cinematic feat: a story that is as intellectually engaging as it is emotionally devastating. Moreover, it reaffirms Kore-eda’s place as a preeminent chronicler of the human condition. Safe to say that it is beautifully filmed, cast and acted. To elicit such incredible performances from these boys is wondrous direction. It also features a fragmented but beautifully poetic final film score of the recently departed Ryuichi Sakamoto. Overall, it’s cinema that breathes pathos and humanity into each and every character, and provides no easy solutions. Monster (2023) is a film that burns, like the fiery tower block featured throughout, long in the heart and memory.

Mark: 9.5 out of 11

Cinema, New Releases, Reviews

CINEMA REVIEW: ALL OF US STRANGERS (2023)

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CINEMA REVIEW: ALL OF US STRANGERS (2023)

Directed by Andrew Haigh

Written by Andrew Haigh

Based on Strangers by Taichi Yamada

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. 

Mark: 9.5 out of 11

MUBI, Netflix, New Releases, Reviews

SKY CINEMA REVIEW: MAY DECEMBER (2023)

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SKY CINEMA REVIEW: MAY DECEMBER (2023)

Directed by Todd Haynes

Screenplay by Samy Burch (Story by Samy Burch and Alex Mechanik)

Produced by Natalie Portman, Sophie Mas, Christine Vachon, Pamela Koffler, Grant S. Johnson, Tyler W. Konney, Jessica Elbaum and Will Ferrell.

Main Cast: Natalie Portman, Julianne Moore, Charles Melton, Cory Michael Smith, Elizabeth Yu, etc.

Cinematography by Christopher Blauvelt

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

The story of May December (2023) is set in 2015 against the sunny backdrop of Savannah, Georgia. Loosely inspired by the real-life Mary Kay Letourneau scandal, Natalie Portman is Elizabeth Berry, an actress who desires to study the lives of Julianne Moore’s Gracie Atherton-Yoo and her partner Joe Yoo (Charles Melton). Elizabeth is set to play Gracie in an indie film, with latter being infamous for her twenty-three-year-long relationship with Joe, which started when he was thirteen. With a hook like that I was intrigued as to where the story would go with such a controversial subject matter dealing with a convicted sex offender and illicit romance. Here lies a major thematic thumbprint of the filmmakers.

What unfolds is a superbly acted and understated drama which really gets under the skin and into the mind. While watching the ever-shifting points-of-view and identification with the characters May December (2023) became so compelling to me. Gracie is a convicted sex-offender, but she married Joe for love and they had children together after she left jail. But should she have acted on her desires and rejected Joe as a thirteen year old? The simple answer is yes, but it is more complex than that as presented here. Because the couple felt so much emotion for each other that Gracie was prepared to go to jail. This is what attracts Berry and she homes in on Gracie and Joe like the proverbial moth to a flickering bulb.

Structured around Berry’s methodical probing into the past events and Gracie and Joe, she quizzes them, their children, family, friends, work colleagues and legal team. As Berry researches further it becomes apparent she is getting obsessive and almost predatory herself. There are several very awkward scenes involving Berry, notably when she visits the pet store where Gracie and Joe used to work together. As Berry revisits the past she begins to loosen the stitches of old wounds, as both Gracie, and Joe especially, reflect and question the moral validity of their relationship.

I am sure when Natalie Portman and Julianne Moore read the script for May December (2023) they must have been doing back flips with creative excitement. Because it is clearly is a layered screenplay of the highest intelligence, ambiguity, dark humour and intensity by Samy Burch. Along with Melton they deliver on the script with three tremendous performances too. Moreover, acclaimed director Todd Haynes directs this tonally awkward story with a deft touch drawing on the constant grey areas of drama so expertly. May December (2023) may not be for everyone because the film is a slow burn without much in the way of dramatic closure. Conversely, so much of the drama occurs in the acting and script’s subtext, yet it remains a fine example of ambiguous cinema. Finally, the re-orchestration and use of Michel Legrand’s music for The Go-Between (1971) is a masterstroke.

Mark: 9 out 11

Amazon Prime, Cinema, New Releases, Reviews

CINEMA REVIEW: SALTBURN (2023)

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CINEMA REVIEW: SALTBURN (2023)

Directed by Emerald Fennell

Written by Emerald Fennell

Produced by Emerald Fennell, Josey McNamara and Margot Robbie

Cast: Barry Keoghan, Jacob Elordi, Rosamund Pike, Richard E. Grant, Alison Oliver, Archie Madekwe, Carey Mulligan, Paul Rhys, etc.

Cinematography by Linus Sandgren

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

As the awards garnered upon Emerald Fennell’s brilliant Promising Young Woman (2020) will testify, she is clearly a major talent. Fennell has also acted in TV shows such as Call the Midwife and The Crown, as well as writing and producing the second series of Killing Eve. Not only is Fennell an excellent actress, writer, director and producer, but is also now an Oscar and BAFTA winner. Thus, Fennell’s “difficult second film” arrives in the guise of the pitch black comedy, Saltburn (2023). Although to describe this hilarious, bleak, sexy, and often twisted exploration of the British class system as such evidently tests the very definition of comedy.

Saltburn (2023) is set in 2006. Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan) attends Oxford University as a naive fresher with an inferiority complex and desire for company. While he is incredibly intelligent, coming from a lower class background places bookish Oliver as a very small fish in big water. Especially when compared to the so-called Oxford elite including handsome and wealthy, Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi) and his cousin, the handsome and not-as-wealthy, Farleigh Start (Archie Madekwe). While Farleigh is suspicious of Oliver, Jacob soon befriends him and takes the Northerner under his wing. The two connect and form an “odd couple” bromance, with Felix even going so far as to invite Oliver to his stately home, Saltburn, for the summer. There we meet the rest of Felix’s family including his flaky sister, Venetia (Alison Oliver), eccentric father, Sir James (Richard E. Grant) and effervescent mother, Lady Elspeth (Rosamund Pike).

After building Oliver and Felix’s characters carefully during their time at Oxford, Fennell’s savage and satirical screenplay gathers pace in the second act at Saltburn. Here Oliver tries to fit in and ingratiate himself into the Catton family, but it soon becomes clear that however friendly they may be, he will only ever be an outsider to them. Simultaneously, Farleigh sees Oliver as a rival for the Cattons’ emotional and financial affections and the two begin a retaliatory personal war amidst the balmy summer days, breakfasts, dinner parties and social gatherings. Oliver’s main journey is to connect as much with Felix as possible, so much so his passion veers toward obsession. But Felix is a roaming spirit and a hedonist and does not quite requite Oliver’s feelings. Yet, Felix does show compassion for Oliver, as illustrated when he drives him on a mercy mission to visit Oliver’s family. This is where the story takes an intriguing and ever deadly turn.

I cannot recommend Saltburn (2023) enough for its fantastically witty script, devastatingly brilliant cast and some quite disgustingly explicit, but contextually justifiable, character moments and scenes. Fennell takes the setting and structure of Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited and turns it upside down, spinning a devious tale of infatuation, love, privilege and social climbing. Through the character Oliver Quick, and I really don’t want to give anything away, there is a powerful and jaw-dropping character arc of upward mobility. Rosamund Pike’s and Keoghan’s performances are both amazing and award-worthy. While the final act twists certainly do shock and surprise they arguably are rushed when compared with the more effective pacing of the opening and middle acts. Moreover, I am also unsure why the exquisite cinematography and stunning locations were presented in the 4:3 (1:33:1) aspect ratio. Why squeeze in Linus Sandgren’s light and framing and not expand them to the widescreen format?

Ultimately, Emerald Fennell proves herself an important voice in British cinema. Unafraid to test the boundaries of taste, genre, and audience expectations, she has crafted one of the most consistently challenging films of the year with Saltburn (2023). One could easily describe the themes presented here as a critique of the upper classes and how the uber-rich are bad people to be brought down to their knees. However, Fennell’s script is not that simplistic. It cleverly careers between love/hate for the characters and irony-bombing the class system, before becoming a damning indictment on the darkest flaws of humanity. Lest one forget the indelible one-liners throughout and THAT final dance sequence, which are both to die for!

Mark: 9.5 out of 11

Cinema, New Releases, Reviews

CINEMA REVIEW: PAST LIVES (2023)

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CINEMA REVIEW: PAST LIVES (2023)

Directed by Celine Song

Written by Celine Song

Produced by: David Hinojosa, Christine Vachon and Pamela Koffler, etc.

Main cast: Greta Lee, Teo Yoo, John Magaro, Ji Hye Yoon, Choi Won-young, etc.

Cinematography: Shabier Kirchner

Edited by: Keith Fraas

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

“It’s an in-yeon if two strangers even walk past each other in the street and their clothes accidentally brush, because it means there must have been something between them in their past lives. If two people get married, they say it’s because there have been 8,000 layers of in-yeon over 8,000 lifetimes.” – Nora from Past Lives (2023)

Are we fated to connect with the ones we love through each life we lead? Is love a connecting force for good which enriches and links us to our forever soulmate? Or is it a complex chemical reaction driven by three chemicals in the brain such as noradrenaline that stimulates adrenaline production, dopamine, and phenylethylamine. Be it spiritual or chemical, love drives many of the highs of our lives, but it is also responsible for disappointing lows. Safe to say that love and romance are also a staple for many emotionally charged and beautiful works of cinema, of which Celine Song’s Past Lives (2023) is certainly one of them.

Past Lives (2023) is a love story which transports the audience across time and continents through the spiritual and spatial connection of characters, Na Young (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo). The opening act establishes the relationship of the two as schoolfriends in Seoul. Alas, any potential fledgling romance for the teenagers is blocked as Na Young’s family moves to Canada, leaving Hae Sung’s alone with his future unknown. The film then moves twelve years forward where Na Young, now known as Nora, lives in New York. Through a chance quirk of social media fate, she reconnects with Hae Sung. Is that adolescent spark still there?

In the second act, Song’s elegantly devised screenplay explores and Nora Hae Sung’s long distance relationship over several heartfelt online calls. But complex emotional circumstances dictate the two cannot reconcile the friendship further. The two drift apart and they take other partners as another twelve years pass. With Nora in a strong relationship with the sensitive and kindly, Arthur (John Magaro), it would appear Nora and Hae Sung’s friendship is at an end. Or is it? Because Song delivers one of the most powerfully moving third acts I have seen at the cinema in some years.

Without explosions, or car chases, or superheroes or fast-paced cutting or extraordinary heroes defeating powerful foes, Past Lives (2023), is one of the most impactful and stirring films of this year. Celine Song achieves this with a delicate hand in the writing and direction, plus a purposeful naturalistic cinematographic palette delivered by Shabier Kirchner. Above all else Song creates two honest characters who you root for from the start, as the one feels the romantic electricity build on the screen. Indeed, Greta Lee and Teo Yoo’s on-screen chemistry is an acting masterclass, with John Magaro further providing touching support within the triangle.

Now, I am not without sensitivity, but it’s virtually impossible to make me cry at the cinema. But Past Lives (2023) almost did. It made my heart swell and ache. It made me laugh as well, because Song’s script has lovely humour throughout. Above all else, whether it is karma or chemicals, it made me grateful to have known love.

Mark: 10 out of 11

Cinema, MUBI, Reviews

CINEMA REVIEW: DECISION TO LEAVE (2022)

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CINEMA REVIEW: DECISION TO LEAVE (2022)

Directed by: Park Chan-wook

Written by: Jeong Seo-kyeong, Park Chan-wook

Produced by: Park Chan-wook

Main cast: Tang Wei, Park Hae-il, Lee Jung-hyun, Go Kyung-pyo, etc.

Cinematography Kim Ji-yong

Edited by Kim Sang-bum

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

Park Chan-wook is a proper filmmaker. Like Quentin Tarantino and Martin Scorsese, he embraces the artifice of the visual and aural medium crafting intelligent, thematically surprising and stylistically dazzling works of cinema. While watching his work one can see the clockwork precision of his filmic mind devising every frame, sound, camera move, cut, character action, acting nuance, being thought out expertly. In short: Park Chan-wook’s films are always an event for me and demand attention.

Chan-wook’s only Hollywood directed film was an under-rated gem of a noir thriller called Stoker (2013), after which he returned home to direct erotically charged period thriller, The Handmaiden (2016). This was a bigger-budgeted and thematically richer affair, taking a complex con-artist-twisting-plot and interweaving an explicit feminist love story. Of course, lest we forget Chan-wook’s classic early work, notably the gonzo revenger, Old Boy (2003). I re-watched it recently at the Raindance Film Festival and the furiously inventive exploitation film retains its beautifully transgressive power.

Like The Handmaiden (2016), Decision to Leave (2022) is a romance story set within a complex genre plot. While the former was a period crime film, Decision to Leave (2022) is a contemporary set police procedural with a central premise highly reminiscent of Basic Instinct (1992). Tang Wei as Song Seo-rae is suspected of killing her husband and as investigating cop, Park Hae-il as Det. Jang Hae-jun, delves deeper he finds himself more and more attracted to her. Where The Handmaiden (2016) and Basic Instinct (1992) used nudity and sexual imagery liberally, Decision to Leave (2022) is far more subtle and cerebral. The compelling romance is built on two fine lead performances, the cunning twists in the crime plot and Chan-wook’s masterful visuals with mountain, coastal and city landscapes being employed to powerful impact.

Now I must admit after watching Decision to Leave (2022) I was left slightly underwhelmed at the end from an emotional perspective. The visuals and storytelling were phenomenal, with Chan-wook and his writing partner crafting a devious series of inventive cat-and-mouse set-pieces. The suspense and doubt instilled as to whether Song Seo-rae is a murderer, despite her cast-iron alibi, is palpable. Simultaneously, the arc of the married mid-life crisis-detective, drawn to the suspect, flirting with disaster through flawed choices, creates much tension also. However, I didn’t immediately warm to the detective’s persona and wasn’t sure if I really cared. But I suspect, due to the complexity of the passion on show, a further watch will cement Chan-wook’s specific and symbolic vision.

Beneath the melding of romance, crime, mystery and action genres, I also considered the potential subtext in the screenplay. I wondered if Decision to Leave (2022) sought to explore the socio-political relationship between the nations of South Korea and China via the characters? Song Seo-rae is a Chinese migrant who came to Korea and via marriage was able to remain. An enigmatic soul she uses her wiles to survive, serenely attracting a series of men. But death follows her as closely as the male. Detective Hae-jun is drawn to her both professionally and romantically, no doubt thrilled by the danger. Yet, Chan-wook denies displaying physical consummation, and this makes the film more erotic than endless sex scenes do.

Lastly, Decision to Leave’s (2022) examination of language, both bodily and verbal, is deftly presented as a theme within the romance. The central crime of murder creates suspicion between the Korean and Chinese characters, but there’s a mutual and irresistible pull that cannot be denied. Song Seo-rae’s use of her phone translation application during her exchanges with the Detective create both a barrier and paradoxical intimacy. It’s just one of the fascinating bits of business, as well as the chainmail gauntlet used by the Detective, which elevate an already impressive script. But did Decision to Leave (2022) need to be so evasively complex and full of radiant ambiguity? The ending especially is both poetically exquisite and frustratingly cryptic. With a Park Chan-wook film, would I have it any other way?

Mark: 8.5 out of 11