Produced by Andrew Macdonald, Peter Rice, Bernie Bellew, Danny Boyle, Alex Garland, etc.
Main cast: Ralph Fiennes, Jack O’Connell, Alfie Williams, Erin Kellyman, Chi Lewis-Parry, etc.
Cinematography by Sean Bobbitt
28 Years Later: Bone Temple (2025) is not a film that eases you in. It grabs you by the throat and refuses to let go, piling atrocity upon atrocity until meaning begins to seep through the blood. This is apocalyptic cinema as ritual punishment, and under Nia DaCosta’s direction, it becomes something ferociously alive.
At the calm, moral centre of the chaos standsRalph Fiennes, delivering a performance of astonishing gravitas and unexpected tenderness as Dr. Ian Kelson. In a world rotted by infection and cruelty, Kelson represents something almost radical: goodness without irony. Fiennes plays him not as a saint, but as a weary human being who still believes care, cure and compassion matter, even when the world insists otherwise. His presence anchors the film, giving its excess a conscience.
Opposing him is Jack O’Connell’s Jimmy Crystal, a vicious cult leader whose charisma curdles into something genuinely frightening. Crystal preaches violent “charity” in the name of Satan, offering salvation through brutality, and O’Connell leans hard into the performance’s ugliness. Leading his young, droogy, Savile-esque followers, he wages war not just on human survivors, but on the infected as well, collapsing any moral distinction between mercy and massacre. It’s a performance that feels designed to make your skin crawl—and it succeeds. Alas, Spike (Alfie Williams) gets caught up in Jimmy’s insanity and the sense of fear for him reigns throughout.
DaCosta directs with visceral energy, staging sequences that are frequently jaw-dropping in their gore and sadism. This is not a film particularly interested in an actual plot, clean narrative arcs or deep psychological excavation. Instead, Bone Temple unfolds as a succession of brutal set-pieces, each more punishing than the last. Some viewers will undoubtedly find it too much—too loud, too violent, too relentless.
But that relentlessness is also the point. What makes 28 Years Later: Bone Templeso compelling is how it mashes thematic power with B-movie exploitation ultra-violence. Beneath the spray of blood and bone is a furious meditation on false charity, moral absolutism, and the terrifying ease with which cruelty dresses itself up as righteousness. It’s ugly, abrasive, and often overwhelming—but it’s never empty. Indeed, if there is a more stylish and powerful scene in cinema all year than the ‘Number of the Beast’- Iron Maiden-soundtracked-fiery-ritual-sequence then I can’t wait to see it.
Ultimately, this is apocalypse horror as endurance test and sermon, and while it won’t be for everyone, I found it exhilarating. In its refusal to soften its blows, 28 Years Later: Bone Temple (2025)earns its place as one the most savage entries in the franchise, so far.
Netflix’s auteur-driven cinema push has seen the platform hand enormous creative freedom—and budgets—to filmmakers like Noah Baumbach, Rian Johnson, Kathryn Bigelow, Edward Berger, and Guillermo del Toro, pairing them with world-class casts and top-tier crews to produce works of unmistakably cinematic ambition.
The paradox is that many of these films—designed with theatrical scale, craft, and seriousness—ultimately premiere to mass audiences via Netflix’s online platform rather than traditional movie theatres, reflecting a fundamental shift in how prestige cinema is financed, distributed, and culturally consumed in the streaming era.
What can you do? Well, pay the Netflix subscription and watch them from the comfort of one’s living room. Here are my reviews with usual marks out of eleven. Happy 2026!
A House of Dynamite (2025)
Kathryn Bigelow’s A House of Dynamite (2025) is an expertly directed and intriguingly structured disaster movie, unfolding across three interlocking chapters that chart a nuclear attack on the United States by an unknown enemy. Each section reframes the same escalating crisis through a different lens—the White House intelligence apparatus, the military response, and the political sphere—culminating in the perspective of the President, played with sensitivity and gravitas by Idris Elba.
As events overlap and repeat, the script cleverly ratchets up tension, revealing new information through subtle shifts in context, while Bigelow’s command of pacing and scale, combined with sterling filmmaking and a who’s-who ensemble cast, keeps the film gripping on a moment-to-moment level. Yet for all its craft, the film ultimately plays like a fear-mongering piece of propaganda and an implicit recruitment advert for the U.S. government and military. Its refusal to name a perpetrator suggest the U.S. has many enemies thus justifying huge spending on defence and weapons. The abrupt ending could be interpreted as brave storytelling, but for me it undercut the suspense, leaving the experience feeling oddly hollow and non-plussed rather than provocatively unresolved.
Mark: 6 out of 11
Ballad of a Small Player (2025)
The Ballad of a Small Player (2025) follows Lord Doyle, played by a magnetic Colin Farrell, as he lies low in Macau, numbing himself on casino floors with deep debt, bad bets, and the stubborn hope that the next hand will fix everything. Farrell is phenomenal here, turning compulsive gambling into a form of slow self-harm, his performance layered with exhaustion, bravado, and quiet panic. When he’s offered a fragile lifeline by the enigmatic Dao Ming, played with poised restraint by Fala Chen, the film hints at redemption.
Director Edward Berger and his production team deliver a ravishingly beautiful film, capturing Macau’s neon glow and claustrophobic interiors as both seduction and trap. At its best, the film is a melancholy character study about addiction for a protagonist who is often deeply annoying and morally bankrupt. However, the final act falters, introducing fuzzy, unearned twists that soften the film’s harder truths and dilute its emotional impact. While the journey is engrossing and Farrell’s performance alone makes the film worth seeing, the conclusion ultimately cheats the audience out of a powerful Uncut Gems (2019)-style denouement.
Mark: 7 out of 11
Frankenstein (2025)
Is Guillermo Del Toro’s big budget adaptation of Mary Shelley’s classic gothic novel really necessary? There are much better versions out there, yet, Netflix and Del Toro certainly thought so. Oscar Isaac is a great actor but miscast or misdirected here for me. Then again, even in Shelley’s seminal novel Dr Frankenstein is a colossal whinger! Thankfully, Jacob Elordi gives a hearty and emotional rendition of the tragic creature, who again is the most interesting character. Safe to say the majestic production values provide a visual and aural feast, but, aside from a scintillating opening in the North Pole, Del Toro’s slog of a script ultimately fails to bring Shelley’s story to life in a sustained enjoyable fashion. Don’t get me wrong, the production and design is of the highest order but I just didn’t connect emotionally or philosophically or even as a horror fan.
Mark: 6 out of 11
Jay Kelly (2025)
Jay Kelly (2025) is a mild, reflective comedy drama that sees George Clooney doing what he’s long perfected: playing a famous film star grappling with past and present relationships while barely appearing to break a sweat. As Kelly travels to Tuscany to collect a lifetime achievement award, the film drifts between memories, regrets, and professional compromises, offering Clooney ample opportunity to deploy his trademark charm—stretching his range (not), but doing so with effortless ease. The more grounded emotional texture comes from Adam Sandler, who is quietly excellent as Kelly’s long-suffering manager, bringing a lived-in, humane quality that feels more emotionally honest.
Director Noah Baumbach has delivered far sharper and more incisive work and Jay Kelly (2025) never quite pushes its Hollywood satire of spoiled first-world creatives as far as it could. Still, there’s an undeniable pleasure in Baumbach’s dialogue and structure, with clear echoes of Wild Strawberries (1957) and 8½ (1963) filtering through in its introspective, memory-haunted moments. The film ultimately has its cake and eats it—content to indulge its characters rather than interrogate them—but it remains a very pleasant cake all the same: soft, well-made, and easy to enjoy.
Mark: 7 out of 11
Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery (2025)
Wake Up Dead Man (2025) stands as the clear high point of Netflix’s auteur-driven releases from November and December 2025, confirming Rian Johnson as a post-modern master of the classical whodunnit. Once again drawing from the elegant clockwork of Agatha Christie’s works, Johnson constructs a devilishly complicated mystery centred on the murder of the tyrannical Monsignor Wicks, played with thunderous menace by Josh Brolin. The suspect list is gloriously stacked—church staff and parishioners portrayed by Glenn Close, Jeremy Renner, Kerry Washington, Andrew Scott, Cailee Spaeny, Daryl McCormack, Thomas Haden Church, and a young visiting priest, Jud Duplenticy (Josh O’Connor)—each performance feeding into a puzzle that’s as playful as it is precise.
What elevates the film beyond genre excellence is its sharply observed character work, particularly in the portrayal of Wicks as a Trump-like authoritarian figure ruling his congregation through fear and humiliation. Johnson smartly frames the mystery as a moral clash between Old Testament wrath and New Testament compassion, allowing the film to interrogate power, faith, and hypocrisy without ever losing its entertainment value. The script crackles with brilliant one-liners and sly, witty exchanges, especially when Daniel Craig’s Poirot-style detective peels back layers of deceit with theatrical relish. Among the ensemble, Josh O’Connor delivers a superbly nuanced performance, injecting emotional specificity and intelligence that rise above what could have been more generic material. Clever, funny, thematically sharp, and immaculately engineered, Wake Up Dead Man isn’t just Netflix’s best auteur offering of the season—it’s one of Johnson’s most satisfying achievements to date.
Main Cast: Joaquin Phoenix, Pedro Pascal, Luke Grimes, Deirdre O’Connell, Micheal Ward, Austin Butler and Emma Stone. Cinematography by Darius Khondji
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Ari Aster’s first two horror films, Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019) were rightly critically acclaimed and delivered at the box office too. His third film Beau is Afraid (2023) was a flop when compared and in my view not surprising. The film was arguably, depending on your view, a hilarious, risk-taking arthouse tragi-comedy or a self-indulgent act of egregious career self-sabotage. Safe to say I did not enjoy it, so approached the latest A24-produced film of Aster’s,Eddington (2025), with emotional caution.
Thankfully Aster’s screenplay, characters and all-round production of Eddington (2025), are far more accessible and focused than his third feature. Pedro Pascal and Joaquin Phoenix anchor Eddington (2025) superbly, as Aster delivers a blistering small-town allegory that uses a public health crisis as the spark for something far larger. What begins with Mayor Ted Garcia (Pascal) dutifully following the Governor’s lockdown orders quickly escalates when Sheriff Joe Cross (Phoenix) refuses to comply and runs for Mayor himself. This casts the town and people into a conflict that mirrors America’s own political division.
Phoenix brings his trademark intensity to Sheriff Cross, whose defiance feels equal parts principled and unhinged, while Pascal’s Mayor, revealed to be a corporate puppet, balances him as a leader losing grip on his authority. Thus, Eddington (2025) is a powerful film whose strength lies in the performances and a brave, intelligent screenplay which asks many questions. The main issues I had were under-developed character arcs for Emma Stone’s and Austin Butler’s characters. Further, as in previous films Aster relies heavily on left-field plot turns, which go more for shock, rather than understandable character development. Indeed, the final act Western-style shootout, while incredibly exciting, seems out-of-sync with the thoughtful build-up and drama established in the first hour.
Ultimately, Director Ari Aster resists turning Eddington (2025) into just a COVID-era-morality tale; instead, the film confidently threads together a powerful mix of left and right-wing US politics, toxic masculinity, historical sexual abuse, conspiracy and alternative theories, cultish religious fervour, white saviour virtue-signalling, homegrown terrorism, algorithmic influence of social media, and the creeping threat of corporate greed. Each theme and subplot fold back into the central question: who really controls the narrative in modern America or is it a nation spiraling out of control toward inevitable civil war? The result is a tense, unsettling portrait of a town—and a country—at war with itself.
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 of28 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 Laterplunges 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 Laterstays true to the DNA of the series: raw, immediate, and grimy. But it’s also evolved. The digital grunge of 28 Days Lateris 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 Laterdoesn’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!
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!
Produced by Tessa Ross, Juliette Howell, Michael Jackman, Alice Dawson and Robert Harris
Main cast: Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow, Sergio Castellitto, Isabella Rossellini, Lucian Msamati, Carlos Diehz, etc. Cinematography by Stéphane Fontaine
Music by Hauschka
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
When you think about organized crime families, images of the Sopranos or Godfather-esque figures probably come to mind. But, if we’re playing with definitions one might allege the Catholic Church—an ancient institution with global influence—is one of the biggest crime organisations ever historically and in the present. I mean, organized crime families are notorious for their code of silence. The Church has had its fair share of. . . shall we say, discretion? From the Vatican’s secret archives to a several public scandals they’d rather we not dwell on, there’s certainly a flair for keeping things in the family.
The Pope, aka the Holy Father, wears white, sits on a throne, and apparently has a direct line to the big “man” upstairs. Replace “Vatican” with “Sicily,” and suddenly, the resemblance to the Mafia is uncanny. Moreover, crime families thrive on wealth accumulation. The Vatican’s art collection, gold reserves, and prime real estate make even the most successful mobster green with envy. Not to forget, from Rome to Rio, the Catholic Church has an unparalleled network. Mobsters may have their territories, but the Church claims everywhere. With over a billion followers worldwide, even Don Corleone would bow to that reach. Thus, power struggles ensue within many organisations with coups and betrayals and internal competitions occur, including who is going to be the new boss. Welcome to the cinematic adaptation of Robert Harris’ novel, Conclave (2024); a beautifully constructed, serious and ultimately quite silly story.
Ralph Fiennes is majestic as Cardinal-Dean Thomas Lawrence, the individual tasked with finding a successor after the Pope dies of a heart attack. Fiennes anchors this serious faith-based drama with an intellectual depth as a series of potential candidates throw their zuchettos into the ring including:
Aldo Bellini (Stanley Tucci) of the United States, a liberal spirit echoing the compassionate legacy of the late pontiff.
Joseph Tremblay (John Lithgow) of Canada, a voice of moderation, bridging the Church’s timeless values and modern sensibilities.
Joshua Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati) of Nigeria, a steadfast advocate of social conservatism, grounded in enduring traditions.
Goffredo Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto) of Italy, an unwavering traditionalist, fiercely loyal to the ancient rites of faith.
With a narrative based on a book by Robert Harris, it is certain that the powerful developments and twists will grip the audience. Furthermore, Edward Berger’s direction is undeniably captivating, as is Stéphane Fontaine’s cinematography, which paints each scene with a reverence befitting the Vatican’s grandeur. Their collaboration crafts a visually stunning vision, pulling viewers into the cloistered rituals of electing a new Pope. Yet, for all its technical brilliance, the process itself feels devoid of emotional resonance.
Why should we, the audience, care about who becomes the next Pope? Unless one is deeply invested in the Catholic Church or its doctrine, the stakes remain distant. The election of a spiritual leader for over a billion followers is, of course, significant—but the film offers little to make this significance tangible for those outside that fold. Harris’ story spices things up with a provocative, irreverent twist in its final act. Yet, this narrative grenade lands with a thud rather than an explosion. Yes, it’s shocking, even subversive, but it doesn’t pack enough weight to unsettle an institution as colossal and entrenched as the Catholic Church.
Ultimately, Conclave (2024) is a masterclass in craft but a missed opportunity in damning the status quo of this alleged criminal organisation. Berger, Fontaine, Fiennes, plus the production design, score and sound-mixing artistry elevate the film, making it an incredibly effective cinematic version of the proverbial page-turner. But the story’s failure to connect on a deeper, emotional level found me losing my religion; what little I have left.
Produced by Stacey Sher, Scott Beck, Bryan Woods, Julia Glausi and Jeanette Volturno
Main cast: Hugh Grant, Sophie Thatcher, Chloe East and Topher Grace.
Cinematography by Chung Chung-hoon
Hugh Grant has been leaning into edgier, more complex roles in recent years, breaking away from the charming, rom-com archetype that first made him famous in films like Notting Hill (1999) and Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994). His performance as the scheming Fletcher in The Gentlemen (2019) showcased his versatility and willingness to play morally ambiguous, darker characters, a notable shift from his earlier, more likeable characters. Additionally, his involvement in projects like Heretic(2024) demonstrates a continued exploration of grittier, layered personas, signaling a reinvention of his career as he embraces unconventional, often villainous roles that display a new level of depth and unpredictability.
In the theologically-driven horror thriller, Heretic(2024), he portrays a certain Mr Reed, who is door-stepped by two Mormon missionary’s, Sister Barnes (Sophie Thatcher) and Sister Paxton (Chloe East). After the opening scenes which establish empathy for the Mormons, despite some slightly risque dialogue, they knock on the door of Mr Reed and soon the tension begins to rise as he clearly has ulterior motives. But what could they be?
The excellent script by Scott Beck and Bryan Woods truly comes alive in the second act, diving into a sharp, intelligent critique on the nature of religion and faith. The narrative shifts into thought-provoking territory, dissecting the contradictions and complexities of belief systems with nuance and wit. Hugh Grant, delivers these lines with palpable relish, embodying a character that’s both captivating and unsettling. His performance amplifies the script’s incisive commentary, bringing a darkly charismatic edge to the film’s anti-treatise that leaves a lasting impression on the viewer. There’s some great humour in there too, even name-checking South Park and The Book of Mormon during a thrilling game of verbal cat-and-mouse as Mr Reed challenges the sweet missionaries’ whole doctrine. Which, let’s face it, as invented by Joseph Smith, is arguably founded on many ridiculous ideas.
Heretic loses some of its originality toward the end as it leans into familiar horror and “final girl” tropes, diluting the impact of its earlier, more mazy, twisted and thought-provoking narrative. After building a layered critique on religion and faith, the climax reverts to predictable genre conventions, somewhat undermining the complexity established in the second act. This shift might feel like a missed opportunity, as the nuanced themes give way to traditional horror cliches that prioritize shocks over substance. While still entertaining, the reliance on these tropes makes the conclusion feel less daring compared to the film’s more intellectually ambitious setup. Still, Hugh Grant’s devilish Mr Reed and a fantastic soundtrack, make it well worth the admission fee. Meanwhile Woods and Beck again prove themselves as genre filmmakers worth keeping faith with.
Last year I wrote and produced seven monologues inspired by the deadly sins. With careful planning, myself and a quality cast and crew shot them all in one day at Raindance Film School. I’m now releasing them online via YouTube. They are in essence a proof of concept project with an aim for myself to develop them into a feature film screenplay. Below are episodes 1 to 3, with episodes 4 to 7 to come soon.
PITCH
“Let those without sin cast the first stone.”
An anthology of 7 monologues based around the seven deadly sins. Moments, drama, humour, character studies and themes exploring the darker side of human nature. Influenced by: Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads, Inside No. 9, Tales of the Unexpected and Amicus/Hammer horror film anthologies.
SLOTH starring Paul Laight
Sloth, features Kevin, a Spurs fan, recounting how he took revenge on one of the laziest people he has ever met.
GREED starring Sydney Curtis
This moving monologue features, Gary, at an AA meeting, sharing how he believes greed has contributed to a close friend’s death.
GLUTTONY starring Antigone Duchesne
Kate Briggs serves up a monologue, via a video will, enacting a grudge-driven, but sweet revenge against her gluttonous pig of a brother.
CREDITS
Writer and Producer: Paul Laight Camera and Post-Production: Gary O’Brien Sound: Ali Kivanc Camera Assistant: Maka Natsvlishvili Music by: Epic Violin Music NO Copyright royalty free music Special thanks: Raindance Film School and Universal Video
Written by: Wim Wenders, Peter Handke, Richard Reitinger
Produced by: Wim Wenders, Anatole Dauman
Cast: Bruno Ganz, Solveig Dommartin, Otto Sander, Curt Bois, Peter Falk, Nick Cave, etc.
Cinematography: Henri Alekan
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
I hadn’t seen Wim Wenders cinematic masterpiece,Wings of Desire (1987), for many years. Probably thirty-three years. I’m glad I waited so long because I think I am mature enough now to appreciate the poetry of the filmmaking style and the soulful gravity of the characters and themes on display.
I am of the belief that cinema is a collaborative craft in general. Yet, on fleeting occasions a film will be released that transcends the craft of the medium and become art. Wings of Desire (1987) is such a film. Moreover, while I am not a religious person watching Wings of Desire (1987) is as close to experiencing a spiritual filmic happening as I could have. It truly is a thing of transcendent beauty concerned as it is with the afterlife, the soul, humanity, angels, life, love, death and rebirth.
Angels walk amongst the living in a Berlin separated by the wall. Voices reveal their inner most thoughts as said Angels listen, watch, witness and gather human experience, thoughts and emotions. The Angels led by Damiel (Bruno Ganz) and Cassiel (Otto Sander) inhabit Berlin aiming to assemble, preserve and testify reality. In a stunningly beautiful opening sequence the gliding camerawork, chiming harps, poetic voiceovers and sublime photography introduces both a majestic world and compelling characterisations. The monochrome film sets a moody glow illuminating and beautifying the urban locales. If you didn’t know, the black & white sequences were shot through a filter made from a stocking that belonged to cinematographer Henri Alekan’s grandmother.
Wim Wenders directs Wings of Desire (1987) with an assured confidence throughout. Every stylistic and formal choice is driven by the characters’ hearts and an imaginative vision of both reality and the afterlife. It is incredible that Wenders and his production team did not have a traditional script when filming began. Thus, the poetic feel of the film derives from a series of experimental concepts and improvisatory creative choices. Having said that, there is a strong narrative spine amidst the seemingly loose narrative and episodic bones. The anchor amidst these hypnotic vignettes is Damiel’s journey of falling in love, ceasing to be immortal and becoming human.
As Damiel experiences the pain of existing outside human life, Bruno Ganz’s performance is heartbreakingly moving. Damiel also finds love too for Solveig Dammartin’s circus artist. His romantic longing and empathy for her and humanity overall is unforgettable. I mean this celestial and immortal being desires the opportunity to feel, taste and love. There is also humour amidst the pathos too, with a supporting story that follows the actor, Peter Falk, working on a film in Berlin. His brilliant scenes provide a quirky counterpoint to Damiel’s celestial crisis and fledgling romance. Indeed, Peter Falk called his role in Wings of Desire (1987) “the craziest thing I was ever offered”. When Wenders told him his part had not been developed yet, Falk responded, “I’ve worked that way with John Cassavetes. I prefer working without a script.”
Wings of Desire (1987) is deservedly acclaimed as one of the best films ever made. I couldn’t agree more, such is its cinematic power and beauty. It combines both visual, aural and literary styles almost to perfection. Thematically it is just as impressive. While it is a universal story about life, death, love and sacrifice, the fact it is set in Berlin adds an incredible gravitas. The politics and separation caused by the Cold War course through the veins of the film like ice. Nevertheless, Wim Wenders and his creative team wholly reject the gloom of oppression, choosing hope, life and love over said deathly wall.*
Mark: 10 out of 11
(*Note: Interestingly, filming the actual Berlin Wall was prohibited, so a replica of the wall twice had to be built close to the original. The first fake wall warped in the rain because the contractor cheated the producers and built it from wood.)
INCENDIES (2010) is the probably the best film you haven’t seen. If you have seen it then tell more people to see it. Spread the word on this incredible film. I watched Incendies (2010) for the first time a few years ago and it has stayed with me ever since. Given the lack of recent cinema releases, I felt compelled to watch it again and once more was blown away by the power of the characters and their stories. Not quite old enough to review as a classic movie, and as it stands as at No. 111 on the IMDB 250, it doesn’t qualify as an under-rated classic, I have therefore filed this contemporary classic under films that got away.
Based on a play by Wajdi Mouawad, Incendies (2010) was developed by Denis Villeneuve, who took five years developing and writing the screenplay. Villeneuve was attracted to the play because it was a modern story with Greek tragedy at its heart. It is set in both Canada and in an unnamed Middle Eastern country, with events in the narrative traversing between the these countries and different time periods. While the country where most of the action takes place is unnamed, given Mouawad is Lebanese, it is safe to say that this complex tale unfolds during the Lebanese Civil War. However, it is a masterstroke not to be specific about setting, as this ensures it is not place and politics one focusses on, but the thought-provoking human drama. And what drama it is!
Incendies tells the brutal but riveting story of Nawal (Lubna Azabal), a woman who lived through her country’s civil war.
After starting with a haunting scene from the past showing bedraggled children herded into an orphanage, the story quickly moves to the present. Twins, (Jeanne Mélissa Désormeaux-Poulin) and Simon Marwan (Maxim Gaudette) meet Jean (Remy Girard), a notary handling their deceased mother’s will. Their mother, Nawal Marwan (Lubna Azabal), has left two letters – one for the twin’s brother, and another for their father. If they can locate them and give them the letters, Nawal will allow her children to bury her with a casket and headstone. Jeanne, the calmer of the two siblings, agrees to the request. However, Simon is angry that secrets were kept and is against taking it any further.
Incendies (2010) then becomes two powerful narratives intertwined to structural perfection by Villeneuve and Valérie Beaugrand-Champagne’s exceptional screenplay. Firstly, we follow Jeanne as she travels to Daresh, in the Middle East, attempting to follow in Nawal’s footsteps. Here the film becomes a compelling detective story as Jeanne (and later in the film, Simon) slowly discovers her mother’s tragic life history before she moved to Canada. Running parallel to this the narrative flashes back to show Nawal’s life as she escapes village life to go to University, only for religious civil war to tear the fabric of the country apart. Villeneuve, who has subsequently directed many visually stunning big budget films, makes the most of the sun-scorched and battle-scarred landscapes. Moreover, he also delivers a stunning and suspenseful sequence when Nawal finds herself trapped on a bus surrounded by soldiers.
I genuinely do not want to say anymore about the plot of Incendies (2010), for fear of spoiling what is such a complex and well designed story. It drives me mad when I watch films or television shows and they gratuitously use flashbacks or fractured temporal structures to create mystery. Because what many ultimately do is confuse the audience and create emotional distance from the characters. Villeneuve directs in an intelligent way, retaining empathy and emotion for both protagonists and antagonists devoured by war. Nawal Marwan’s story is especially heart-breaking and she is given a moving portrayal by Lubna Azabal. Nawal’s story is one of astounding power as the character experiences the hell of loss, war, torture and death. Her final attempt at redemption from beyond the grave gives us a searing human drama. One which will shake you to the core for days and weeks and maybe even years!
The Cinema Fix presents 