'Dirty God' lays its cards on the table from the start. Director Sacha Polak treats us to an uncomfortable yet strangely sumptuous montage of her star’s facial burns, scored by a sanguinely poppy soundtrack. This is a film which places its focus squarely on the survivor of an horrific acid attack, never dignifying the assault itself or the perpetrator with undue screen time. It also pulls no punches in showing us the harsh realities of a young working-class woman living with trauma, whilst also allowing its lead to be a fully fleshed out, sensuous human being.

Newcomer Vicky Knight is resoundingly impressive as the steely yet fragile Jade, flung into an unfamiliar world where her one currency – conforming to classical beauty standards – is no longer available to her. Knight’s scars are her own, and she brings a wealth of lived experience to bear in this role, her quiet dignity and simmering anger infusing her audience to blood-boiling effect, and enabling her character to do some reckless, stupid and indeed utterly reprehensible things without ever losing our sympathy. By any standards it’s an impressive debut (for Polak too, her third feature but first in the English language), and Knight’s assured performance makes for an engrossing and affecting 100 minutes. She fares less well with her (admittedly very infrequent) soliloquies, occasionally struggling to make the words sound fully owned, but when bouncing off others she absolutely soars, and her physicality and world-weary expressiveness are mesmeric.

Similarly Polak’s use of dreamlike expressionistic sequences to pepper and break up her unflinching kitchen sink drama is deft and hypnotic, giving us a window into the hallucinatory realm of Jade’s mind post-trauma. In another director’s hands these might come across as incongruous, but here Polak’s keen eye and canny restraint ensures we are almost unaware of the tonal and stylistic shifts, suddenly finding ourselves immersed in a fantastical world removed from the grim reality of a few moments before, yet also inextricably linked to it.

Ultimately 'Dirty God' serves to remind us just how cruel the world can be to one to has already suffered unimaginable cruelty. Even those who are supposedly in Jade’s corner are constantly re-emphasising that her life is now effectively over because she’s lost her looks, and it could be said that the real villain of the piece is not her assailant but oppressive and ever-prevalent ideas of feminine beauty. Jade is presented as a fiercely sexual being, but any time she takes control of her own image, her destiny or her sexuality, she is roundly taken advantage of and punished for it. The real eye-opener is that the unthinking cruelty that is visited upon her again and again throughout the film could easily befall any female-presenting person who doesn’t conform to societal expectation, but her sudden newfound disfigurement allows her and us to examine this in sharp relief. Just when she’s most in need of love and validation, she has it cruelly snatched away by a society that is stupid and broken, far more than she is. “He destroyed you” her mother tells her ruefully. “No,” she responds defiantly, “He didn’t”.

Jade’s skin is innocent in all of this. We’re trained by our culture to see features such as hers as the problem, a taboo to be hidden or pitied. In fact the issue is within and without, her flesh merely a wall between two toxic wells of prejudice, one external, the other tragically internalised. Throughout the film she must find workarounds to enable her to partake in the things she enjoyed before her assault, even things as innocuous as walking down the street without being harassed. Then one remembers that as a teenage girl in South London she probably couldn’t do that anyway, and we are reminded that her facial scars really aren’t the problem here, and that the people who commit these crimes are only afforded their power to create long-lasting harm by a complicit populace who place a corrosive ideal of beauty over all else, including basic human compassion.

Review by Jenet Le Lacheur.

Olivia Wilde’s break into feature film directing showcases a hilarious Beanie Feldstein (Molly) partnered with equal comedic match, Kaitlyn Dever (Amy). The inseparable pair have used their time at high school to play it safe and get good grades with their eyes set on illustrious careers. This whole escapade topples down the day before graduation when Molly overhears a conversation in the school’s gender-neutral bathroom. She uncovers that her supposedly dim-witted classmates, who have seemingly spent their high school careers partying hard, will also be gracing the halls of the Ivy League. Fuelled with resentment, Molly coerces Amy into a night of frivolity to show her fellow students she, too, can work hard/play hard.

Female friendship is finally getting its cinematic due. Molly and Amy are two imperfect people who have found a genuine and sincere bond in a way that is reminiscent of Feldstein playing against Saoirse Ronan in Greta Gerwig’s 'Lady Bird'. The two lay in Amy’s childhood bunkbeds and cover a multitude of topics from masturbation to the girl Amy has a crush on and not once is the conversation superficial or toxic, it is simply two young women enjoying the company of one another. It may sound so simple; however, it is still too often that women are written talking down on other women, a theme Amy herself highlights. Watching them just get along and laugh and hype one another up with pep talks about how good the other’s outfit is is what makes this narrative so endearing.

Wilde did an immaculate job of dealing with her ensemble cast, aided by the words of all four women credited as writers; Susanna Fogel, Emily Halpern, Sarah Haskins and Katie Silberman. Every character that Molly and Amy met along the way felt fully realised and would be deserving of their own spin-offs, which is incredibly difficult to achieve. Supporting cast members are often victims to their stereotypes but the likes of Hope, Jared and Annabelle all possess subtle nuances which help to paint colourful and detailed personalities that still manage to serve the story of the two leading ladies.

Comedies can so often be laborious with their consistent notion of pushing for laughter which makes them one of the most dangerous genres to tackle. It is so easy to jump at the cheap laugh; a pratfall or two will often do the trick but the writing in 'Booksmart' commits to striking a balance between witticism and physical humour. Watching Feldstein and Dever tackle this challenge, bouncing off one another’s comedic energy for 102 minutes is the great excitement of this film.
Everything just works. The marriage of Wilde’s direction with the words of great women is a dream for two fantastic up and coming actresses who are making wonderful career moves as of late. It is one of the greatest female driven comedies since 'Bridesmaids' and I hope everybody involved continues to burst the door wide open for more pieces like this to be made.

Ron’s upset that his mum, Olga, has nicked his cheese. Irate, he bundles her into his car in her pyjamas with the intention of making her buy more, but crashes into an open shipping container bound for Morocco, and when the pair awake they find themselves miles from home with no apparent means of returning.

​Writer-director Alberto Sciamma attacks his piece with energetic abandon, ensuring that this high concept comedy whips past at a sprightly pace, never allowing us to get bored. The cinematography by Fabio Paolucci is also sterling and endlessly inventive, which again valiantly manages to maintain our interest despite the film’s not inconsiderable flaws.

Tommy French embraces his role of the put-upon Ron with gusto and impressive naturalism. Unfortunately the humour is too broad to put his performance to good use, and while technically impressive, he’s lumbered with a character so spectacularly unlikable that it is impossible, even in moments of pathos and vulnerability (of which, thanks to Sciamma’s swift plotting, there are frustratingly few) to invest one iota in his plight. The same goes double for his mother, realised with repellent relish by Kierston Wareing.

To say this undoes the film would be an understatement. Ron and Olga embody the very worst aspects of humanity; boorish, obnoxious, abrasive, arrogant, and impressively loud. Why we would want to spend ninety minutes in their company is a mystery which is not illuminated as the film progresses. There is no redemption, only one-note animosity. In the hands of a different writer or pair of actors there might be a nihilistic comic delight in these twin grotesques, but here they are merely exhausting. When the sometimes deafening score overwhelms their incessant arguing it is, frankly, a welcome respite.

If you can get past this and engage meaningfully with the central couple and the admittedly inventive plot, it might be possible to appreciate this film as an undemanding bit of quasi-comic diversion. But even here there are roadblocks, as inconsistencies in the dialogue loom large, and it slowly becomes horribly clear that pretty much every supporting character in this film is more interesting than the leads, and belongs to a more interesting film. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the cases of Aida Folch’s feline karaoke queen Paloma – her effortless screen presence and unforced honesty elevating every scene she’s in – and the French cast, who probably come off best out of everyone, an eight-year-old child and an elderly restaurant manager landing the film’s two laughs. There is also a particularly grating sequence featuring laudable work from Gabriel Andreu as a Spanish doctor. If I see a more justifiable violation of the Hippocratic Oath in a film this year, I shall be very surprised.

'I Love My Mum' is perhaps best enjoyed (like so much other material in this area, with a truly perverse pleasure) as an allegory for Britain’s current relationship with the EU. The Brits here are adrift and scared, frequently confrontational, aggressive or just plain impatient with the Europeans (who are for the most part entirely reasonable and genuinely trying to help them), and constantly scuppering themselves with their own blinkered infighting. With this reading, the film ascends to a bitingly perceptive satire, and the very last beat is absolutely perfect on about three distinct levels. I supremely hope this is what Sciamma had in mind, otherwise the journey on which he has taken us, like that of his lead characters, seems distressingly pointless.

A fairly predictable psychological thriller where a timid and nervous high school girl Maria (India Eisley) is bullied by her schoolmates and gradually exacts revenge by absorbing her sinister alter ego mirror image. Maria’s parents (Mira Sorvino and Jason Issacs) are no help: mother being a repressed, depressive housewife and father a philandering plastic surgeon, who totally fail to communicate with both her, or each other. 

It all starts after Maria discovers a hidden ultrasound of twins, and starts to take on the personality of the bolder ‘Airam’, who it seems is her twin that never survived. We are shown flashbacks from Mum Amy’s nightmares and realise that Dad, Dan, thought it was "for the best" that only the "perfect" twin survived. So Mum is ineffectual, and Dad is a cold perfectionist that offers his beautiful daughter plastic surgery for a birthday present when she was hoping for a car…

Dysfunction all around, as her only friend, Lily (Penelope Mitchell) is shallow and deceptive, not rescuing her when she is humiliated at the Prom, and Lily’s boyfriend Sean (Harrison Gilbertson), who seems to be the only one who has any genuine kindness in him - and naturally Maria harbours a secret crush.  But all does not end well for the people in Maria’s life, to say the least, and it’s easy to guess who’s going to be on the receiving end of her wrath. 

As she becomes more bold in her execution of retribution, her actions as the mirrored Airam become more violent, and there are some nasty results. We are initially willing her on to stand up for herself, but she certainly gets a bit carried away! The wealthy plastic surgeon’s house and the stylish lifestyles of the clearly privileged high-schoolers certainly don’t amount to much happiness. 

It’s a decently filmed yarn, about the vengeance of a privileged, intimidated and unhappy teen that you’ll definitely have seen before. But it lacks any real tension, and although the "missing twin" theme is a good one, most of the characters are superficially written. Some are pretty cliched, particularly the high-schoolers. Directed and written by Assaf Bernstein, with some style in the first instance and very little depth in the second; Sorvino and Issacs are somewhat wasted here. But what do you want from a teen tale of angst and revenge? I quite enjoyed it, but I don’t imagine it will make much of a mark.

Actor turned writer-director Cameron Nugent opens his debut feature with the strains of “Row Row Row Your Boat” reinterpreted as a buoyant yet haunting mariachi piece. It’s a sound which infuses a number of other folk and popular songs throughout, and beautifully sets up the sun-drenched, childlike world inhabited by our lead character: a boy, appositely enough, named Sailboat.

​So named because he was obsessed with – and able to draw – the eponymous vessel from a miraculously tender age (according to his parents, before he’d ever actually seen one). We find our hero in bleak circumstances. A house permanently listing to one side, held up by a single, much-vaunted stick (one of Nugent’s more delightfully on-the-nose visual metaphors, of which there are several), and a gravely ill grandmother, for whom he vows to write the greatest song ever using his new acquisition: a beat-up ukulele. It’s not exactly a spoiler to say he succeeds, but this film does nothing in the way you expect.

Faintly reminiscent of the sweet-yet-macabre surrealism of Quentin Dupieux’s similarly sparse 'Rubber', via the super-saturated symmetry of Wes Anderson, this is a cosily off-kilter curio, which even as it constantly wrongfoots, never causes discomfort. This is quite the achievement given the film’s unrelenting strangeness and occasional menace, but every character is possessed of a kind of earnest innocence, sweet but never saccharine, which creates a sense of the world being drawn by our diminutive hero. A barnstorming turn by newcomer Julian Atocani Sanchez, Sailboat is our eye and our narrator, and not since the likes of Lenny Abrahamson’s 'Room' have we been ushered into a child’s world with such uncanny accuracy, transporting us to a simpler place and allowing us to us to enjoy some blunt yet elegant truths from the place such things always seem to come: out the mouths of babes.

None is more acutely felt than Sailboat’s appraisal of people’s response to his grandmother’s song (religious in fervour, his audiences – quite rightly, one could argue – treating the composer of the greatest song ever as an almost messianic figure): he observes that before his opus, everyone was quiet around him, and now, they’re still quiet. But maybe there are different types of quiet. It’s not breaking any new ground for a piece of art to examine the process of making art, but some phrases capture the process of creation better than most. “Sometimes you do a thing for someone, and everyone thinks it’s for everyone, but it’s really for someone. Everyone just forgot.” From out the mouths of babes, indeed.

'A Boy Called Sailboat' eloquently enquires of us, why make art? What drives us to do it and who is it ultimately for? Given this fact it’s not surprising Nugent has ensnared so many fine artists to help him tell his determinedly odd tale. The ever reliable JK Simmons appears in a tiny yet pivotal capacity, and the supporting cast is a roster of standouts, from Jake Busey as Sailboat’s trenchantly ridiculous teacher, to Noel Gugliemi and Elizabeth De Razzo as his peculiarly adorable parents. The latter three share most of the film’s laughs, Gugliemi in particular doing sterling work with a bearded dragon as a novelty pest control device (though if he wants an effective predator of wood ants, he’d do well to go for a smaller lizard).

Overall, Nugent has crafted an unlikely gem, amusing, gently affecting, exquisitely scored and replete with eminently quotable lines. For a debut feature it has an incredibly strong sense of personality, and an intensely personable one at that.

‘Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile’ is not for those looking for the gory details of Ted Bundy’s murders. Nor is it an in-depth analysis of his life prior and the trial. Anyone with a vague interest in true crime will know the man and what he did, this film takes a different approach.

The film is based on the book ‘The Phantom Prince: My life with Ted Bundy’ by Elizabeth Kendall (formerly Kloepfer) and therefore primarily focuses on her relationship with Bundy. The story is heart breaking as it depicts the real life vulnerability of a woman just looking for some security. Lilly Collins powerfully portrays Elizabeth Kendall’s complex feelings towards Bundy and the life long struggle she went through. The authenticity of her emotions radiates through the screen making it impossible not to feel everything along with her.

Zac Efron as Ted Bundy is charismatic and subtly evil. He shows how Bundy was a master manipulator, charming everyone he met in to doing his bidding. His looks may seem to some like he is glamourising a murderer, but this was Bundy’s whole persona. The film does nothing more than depict what is already known as fact. Filmmaker Joe Berlinger concentrates on remaking memorable media moments from Bundy’s trial. These scenes run along side Elizabeth Kendall’s story creating a narrative that is informative and representative. Although, as the film is based on Kendall’s perspective, it felt like more could have been done to showcase this. There were moments that could have been explored more in more detail to fully establish her emotional journey.

The performances of the principle actors are what make this film powerful. As well as Efron and Collins, John Malkovich as Judge Edward Cowart and Jim Parsons as Larry Simpson carry the densely factual and harrowing narrative. With out these performances the film lacks a certain creativity which is commonly found in films based on real life events.

​Overall ‘Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile’ was very enjoyable. As someone who knows the ins and outs of Bundy’s story I found watching the story from another point of view incredibly interesting as it was devastating.

Based on Jennie Rooney’s 2013 novel, 'Red Joan' tells the tale of pensioner Joan, played with vulnerable venerability by Judi Dench, who is accused of having engaged in espionage during the Cold War on behalf of the Russians. The film follows her inquisition while skipping to flashbacks of her youth at Cambridge while becoming embroiled with dreamy Russian Marxist Leo and his alluring cousin Sonya. Inspired by the story of Melita Norwood, whose real life exploits are documented as having been rather less twee than the film would have us believe.

'Red Joan' nonetheless works as a solid book to film adaptation that captures the palpable fear of communism in Britain in a way few films in the genre have done before. Lindsay Shapero’s screenplay works female empowerment into the script with wily charm while still leaving plenty of intrigue and a spiralling plot that heaps betrayal upon betrayal. As the enigmatic Sonya, played by Tereza Srbova with drawling glamour, states "nobody would suspect us- we’re women" and certainly it is wildly exciting to have a woman front and centre of a spy story, even if the film’s conclusion rather disappointingly winds up reverting back to type with a half-hearted sub plot concerning Joan’s grown, disapproving son coming on side.

Sophie Cookson is full of bright brilliance as Joan’s younger counterpart, dashing wide-eyed around Cambridge and surreptitiously sneaking core intel through microscopic cameras with schoolgirl propriety. Equally stellar is Stephen Cambell Moore as Max, our heroine’s true ally and progressive professor who, at times, appears a heavily romanticised problematic fave but who nevertheless injects what would otherwise be a gratifyingly average teacher-student romance with sincerity rather than cynicism.

Jessie Buckley was always destined for greatness. First coming to prominence in televised talent contest I’d Do Anything, where her performances were clear standouts, she went on to tackle numerous heavyweight Shakespearean roles, and warble her way through the Menier’s acclaimed A Little Night Music, all of which stood her in good stead for taking on Rose-Lynn Harlan, the exuberant aspiring country (not western) singer at the heart of 'Wild Rose'.

Buckley’s is a virtuosic performance. The hard-bitten Glaswegian whom we first meet being discharged for the umpteenth time from prison is as far removed from the soft-spoken Kerry native as one is likely to get. About the only thing they have in common is their love of music and the lungs of steel with which they express it. But as integral as the songs are to this piece, infusing and pulsing through it as they do through our lead character, there is far, far more to this film than a simple rags-to-riches tale of a frustrated musical prodigy.

Nicole Taylor’s screenplay is a masterclass in economy, effortlessly eliciting tears and laughter and revealing swathes of information in a few choice words. She is helped of course by her stellar cast. Not only Buckley but the incomparable Julie Walters, an inspired choice for Rose-Lynn’s long-suffering mother Marion – too often lumbered with looking after her wayward daughter’s young children – who walks a knife edge between aching compassion and an almost terrifying steeliness. Even as she repeatedly and brazenly urges our hero to give up her dreams of stardom for the sake of her real-world responsibilities, we are never fully able to root against her. Taylor skilfully keeps our allegiances shifting, sympathetic to both the idealistic dreamer and her ruthlessly pragmatic would-be protector. Their long history is apparent in every scene, whether they are at loggerheads dredging up old scores, or sharing a moment of tender reconciliation. When Marion offers Rose-Lynn an olive branch, conceding that her grandson prefers his long-estranged mother’s mince to hers, her daughter tearfully responds: “I don’t have a mince. My mince is your mince.” Cue waterworks.

Elsewhere we are treated to fabulous work from Sophie Okonedo, the disgustingly affluent yet delightfully naïve wife of a conservatory mogul who employs Rose-Lynn as a cleaner. Initially wrong-footed by her new employee’s uncouth demeanour, her attempts to appear cool and worldly are played to comic perfection and the ever-shifting status dynamic of their relationship provides many of the film’s laughs. We are also privy to a cameo from BBC Radio 2’s “Whispering Bob Harris”, which while entertaining is perhaps the film’s only misstep, Harris evidently being better suited to presenting than acting.

At its heart, 'Wild Rose' is a meditation on finding your own voice, recognising that what you want and what you think you want may be radically different things, and ultimately turning what you might perceive as insurmountable obstacles into strengths. As one character cheerfully observes: “May all your heartbreaks be songs, and all your songs be hits.” In Rose-Lynn, Taylor and Buckley have created a heroine for the ages, constantly striving to do what’s right for her and her children, bereft of any meaningful guidance, and all too often failing both. We see ourselves at every turn. So eminently believable is she that at times it’s hard to accept we aren’t watching a musical biopic of an already established star. Much must be made of Tom Harper’s canny direction, of course, grounding his film so beautifully, but the detail and specificity from all departments is exemplary, and for all the deserved fanfare around its central star turn, this is a consummate ensemble piece.

Which brings us, at last, to the music. As soon as Buckley opens her mouth it’s plain to see why Rose-Lynn pursues her dream with such fervour. Her voice vibrates with passion, running the gamut from trembling fragility to thunderous, brassy power, and the material with which she is gifted is hauntingly, transportingly beautiful. A fitting heartbeat to a film that has heart to spare, and then some.

‘Little’ is nothing if not completely and embarrassingly predictable. As I sat waiting for the movie to start I couldn’t help but cringe at the poster displayed in front of me with the tag line: "Her Boss from Hell Woke Up Like This" with arrows pointing to relevant characters just in case the age, attire and cartoonish poses of the actors wasn’t hint enough for us. I knew I was safe in the land of cliches and tired old formulas. Mean boss who at heart is just a hurt child needing some TLC, the side kick with a heart of gold who needs to find her courage and a dash of unexplained magic in an otherwise normal world and we have lift off!

These story lines have been rehashed so many times that we can all guess the entire plot and the ending just by looking at the poster! I can almost hear the conversation in the board room: Lets do another body swap big/little movie again. Yeah but we’ve done all the different varieties already. Boy to man, man to boy, woman to girl, girl to woman, boy to girl, man to dog… maybe we should come up with new idea. HOW ABOUT AN ALL BLACK CAST!!!! No one ever thought of that before! actually yeah, they just did that with ‘What Men Want’! Nevermind, we can still make a ton of money!!!

But fear not. Not all is not lost with this movie. There are three reasons why you will still very much enjoy it and those reasons are Issa Rae as April, Regina Hall as Jordan Sanders and 14-year-old Marsai Martin as young Jordan. These women bring all their comedic timing, physical acting abilities and charm to the table and manage to turn a badly written script and a painfully mediocre production into a reasonably enjoyable movie.

The titular pun aptly sums up the diverting subject matter of this affectionate documentary. Filmmaker Lloyd Ross takes a look at the sociopolitical landscape of post-apartheid South Africa framed in the unconventional (and uniquely South African) context of contemporary Nando’s advertising. Known for their daring and singular voice, they became one of the country’s best-loved and most archetypal brands. Made with the co-operation of the restaurant chain and talking heads from representatives of the marketing companies they worked with over the years, Ross’s film celebrates the moral stance and distinctive character of the little chicken shop that could.

The film’s narrative hangs on the television advertising campaigns for the company in the 1980s and 90s; Virtually unknown outside of South Africa, and entirely emblematic of the era, they were risky, of the moment and always a talking point. It is a fascinating insight into a company that has largely played it safe elsewhere in the world. Although Nando’s has a reputation for being “cheeky”; only in South Africa is it seen as defiant, a voice for the people, a chain with a strong social conscience. The film effectively illustrates the significance of the Nando’s rise to popularity and captures a lot of the spirit and energy now fondly remembered by South Africans who came of age in the era.

Ross’s film is a loving and informative slice of life inside the early years of the New South Africa and paints a rosy picture of a company that didn’t always get it right but had heart and was willing to make a stand. Perhaps too easily uncritical of the choices made by the commercial arm of the chain, it is nonetheless a charming and edifying watch that gives voice to the ordinary people and striving business owners of a country beset by assumptions and stereotypes from Britain, especially.

Guaranteed to raise a smile, and a few eyebrows, though it could have stood to dig a little deeper and present more substance alongside the confection. 'Pluck' is a pleasing watch and a worthwhile potted history of a distinct time and place.

'Pond Life' is written by playwright Richard Cameron and directed by debuting feature film director Bill Buckhurst. a quick Google search for the film yields this little synopsis:
“Summertime, 1994. In a quiet mining village just outside Doncaster, a rumour stirs about the legend of a giant carp in the nearby decoy ponds. Trevor takes watch one night at the water's edge. The following night, he decides to lead a brigade of young friends and neighbours on a fishing expedition. In a world of broken families, cassette tapes and rumbling political fever, these friends, each with their own struggles to bear, share a moment of harmony that they will never forget.”

Firstly, let me be clear, I liked this movie as I was watching it and can honestly say it was an enjoyable 100 minutes. If I weren’t writing a review about it I probably would’ve left it at that. Would I tell other people they should watch it? Not sure. Maybe. Would I watch it again as soon as I got the chance? Highly doubtful. Would I forget most of the plot and possibly even the name within a year? Probably!

At first glance ‘Pond Life’ is reminiscent of those glorious 90s “British working class movies” such as ‘The Full Monty’ and ‘Brassed Off’. But whereas those movies had a lot of anger at their core and used humour and storytelling to bring attention to real issues of unemployment, poverty and oppression of the working class, ‘Pond Life’ only hints at those issues half heartedly and seems to exploit the image of the “delinquent youths” from the 90s with their dirt bikes and their bright coloured nylon tracksuits, sitting on discarded sofas on the grass, for a cool and retro aesthetics. That’s the only reason I can think of for it being set in the early 90s, as the plot does not demanded it in any way.

An iconic, instant classic that we watch in decades to come it might not be, but ‘Pond Life’ boasts beautiful cinematography, a reasonably interesting plot that unfolds in a timely manner and treats it’s subject matter with due sensitivity and most importantly brilliant acting from it’s main characters, the hapless, yet caring and sweet Trevor played by Tom Varey and Pogo, the young autistic protagonist of the story played beautifully by Esme Creed-Miles.

'Woman at War' is a beautifully filmed drama with a timely theme of eco-activism, laced with love, family and humanity. Halla, played sensitively and sympathetically by Halldóra Geirharðsdóttir, is the 40-something fearless eco-warrior, hacking down pylons and sabotaging electrical power in the plight to save her Icelandic landscapes from hated corporate energy companies.

The opening scene sets the tone for her secret eco-activism: both fraught with danger of electrocution - even death, and the potential for discovery by the authorities who will most certainly prosecute and imprison this ‘terrorist’. But quiet choir master Halla is not an obvious suspect, and suspicion is diverted by a random and odd tourist, who manages to be in the wrong place at the wrong time… phew. It’s often a close shave as she races across difficult terrain and hides under mossy banks to avoid helicopters. At these points it’s a thriller, and you are willing her to remain undiscovered. With the help of a local farmer friend Sveinbjörn (warmly and gruffly played by Jóhann Sigurðarson), she repeatedly escapes detection and capture, mostly by a hair’s breadth!

However, the incongruous and comic presence of a trio of musicians, that appear in situ in the landscape, provide an odd light relief, as well as some appealing Icelandic folk music. There they are, playing the score to the action, and are joined later by a trio of traditionally dressed beautiful Ukranian singers. Occasionally one or more of the tuba, trumpet, accordion, piano and/or drums also appear inside, sympathetically accompanying her thoughtful daily activities. It’s an odd, but likeable, distraction and gives the film an eccentric additional comment to make you smile, as well as some rather haunting music.

But I digress. Halla is herself distracted by a letter that is to change her life in a very different direction. Her long forgotten application to adopt a child has finally come to fruition, and a little girl is waiting in Ukraine. How does this sit with her guerrilla eco-activism? Will she reduce her campaign now she is to be a responsible and loving mother? Halla thinks of a solution to cease action, but maintain her presence. Not all goes to plan. Enter her identical twin Asa, a hippy yoga teacher (also played by Geirharðsdóttir). If ever there was a need for an identical twin, this is it. And as identical twin movies go, this is one of the best, by far. Geirharðsdóttir’s performances in both roles are beautifully drawn, but particularly as the compelling Halla, as she grabbles with her dream of motherhood and her fierce love of her planet.
​
Not to plot spoil, but the last scene shows Halla dealing with life’s extremes and adversities in the pursuit of what you love and believe in. Do see this movie, it is a rewarding experience, both cinematically and emotionally, and it will quietly stay with you.
Icelandic with English subtitles, directed by Icelandic actor-turned-director Benedikt Erlingsson.

'Madeline’s Madeline' is a deep dive into the mind of, yes you guessed it, Madeline (played with raw frenzy by Helena Howard). She is a biracial 16 year old struggling with an unnamed mental illness who derives solace from her experimental theatre troupe as she waits to hear if she has been accepted into Juilliard. Railing against her soft-spoken but overprotective mother (Molly Parker) and finding creative encouragement in acting teacher Regina (Miranda July), she is both unpredictable in her sudden bouts of suggested violence and endearing in her intense imaginings. One sequence sees her pretend to be a sea turtle in a class exercise, and suddenly the camera cuts to place us on the back of a real sea turtle shuffling along a beach to the ocean. Moments like these are surprising and highly immersive, elevating the film beyond what could have otherwise been a standard teen coming-of-age tale of first kisses and creative discovery.

Instead, the film goes on to explore the blurry lines between authorship and exploitation in art. As the theatre troupe prepare their show, Regina shifts the subject matter from a story about prisoners to a devised piece that draws from and reenacts Madeline’s own struggles and relationships. What at first feels like a potentially therapeutic catharsis for the teen quickly descends into queasy appropriation. The title frames Madeline as a sort of Russian doll, full of inner twists and turns that she can’t quite reckon with. As an audience, we’re constantly uncomfortably close to her due to the sounds of breathing and body gurgles, and the way camera veers off to focus on banal details in the same way that eyes do. Sounds of other events or oncoming scenes bleed into the present like memories, as though we’re experiencing the narrative from Madeline’s perspective looking back.

It’s a bold and uncomfortable look at a character and director Josephine Decker’s own creative process, which often hinges on improvisation and real-life details from her collaborators as the basis for her scripts. 'Madeline’s Madeline' may raise more questions than it definitively answers, but it remains an entertaining and experimental piece with strong performances and a wonderfully strange dance sequence as its triumphant climax.

Darkly delectable, 'Lords of Chaos' investigates the true and harrowing fates of the originators of Norwegian black metal group Mayhem, with unflinching unease and grotesque dedication. It charts the rise of the group from insurgent teens bent on rebelling for rebellions sake to creators of an entirely new subgenre. Paired with a soundtrack by Sigur Rós, the film launches itself far from the bonny delights of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' popularity and sets its sights instead on the creation of a part thriller, part coming of age that reeks of havoc and an uncanny ability to swerve between the cynically comic and sinisterly ominous. The film does an excellent job of navigating the spaces occupied by metalheads and those completely oblivious to the genre. As one bewildered onlooker notes to Mayhem’s lead ‘it’s gonna sound horrible’ to which they receive the reply ‘that’s the whole point’, 'Lords of Chaos' purposefully and succinctly explains the appeal of metal without bashing the audiences heads with ruptured bass chords about it.

Rory Culkin is enigmatic as the band’s leader and influencer, Euronymous, awkwardly peering out through stringy black strands of hair with bug eyes and an enigmatic ambition bent on exploiting even the most traumatic events of his young life for the group’s success. Though the film has already received much criticism for the depiction of both extremist anti-Christian views and of graphic violence, the representation of suicide, murder and church burnings is not only essential to the tale but candidly done by director Jonas Åkerlund. Strikingly sincere, the images of death serve as reminders of the true brutality that emerged from a stint that started as a smarting teenage rebellion against hierarchy and all forms of authority alone. Åkerlund’s film is unflinchingly self-aware as moping teens in leather and chains sulk through Norway’s picture perfect towns and streets, yelling to jovial parental voices that they will be back late and egging each other on to try new feats of violence or destruction while hesitantly cowering from engaging in any action.

​Varg Vikernes struggles to tell the reporters he has brought to his darkened candlelit lair how exactly Nazism, Paganism and Communism intersect and Euronymous brags unabashedly about violent acts he has no intention of committing before snuggling on a sofa with Ann-Marit played by the sparsely seen Sky Ferreira. There’s an acute understanding of the paroxysmal desire for authenticity and autonomy while having little idea about how to achieve it. This, combined with the toxic power struggle between Euronymous and Varg for ultimate dominance which ultimately leads in the destruction of both, elevate the film beyond the chaotic devilry of exploring teenage rebellion, to a place where at its core, we are given a brazen observation of the ways in which image, influence and power continue to intersect.

Set against the backdrop of Lima’s Japanese embassy hostage crisis of 1996-7, 'Bel Canto' is a confusing concoction. Based on the novel of the same name by Ann Pratchett, more than once it falls victim to the adage that one can make a good film out of a bad book, but not necessarily out of a good one.

It’s an intriguing enough premise, but this uneven adaptation takes a long time to work out what sort of film it’s trying to be, jack-knifing from searingly gritty to almost cloyingly saccharine, and relying on intrusive music to cover up any incongruity and inform us what we ought to be feeling at any given point. It might be possible to overlook this were it not for the fact that Julianne Moore, playing arguably the film’s central figure in operatic soprano Roxanne Coss, is clearly lip-syncing, and far too little has been done to convince us otherwise. One could dismiss this as a small gripe, but when the title of the film is an allusion to this character’s voice, when so much has been made of Moore’s preparation for embodying the role of the famous singer, and when director Paul Weitz insists on lingering on her (at times) blatantly unsynchronised performance for longer than it can bear the weight of our scrutiny, it is so bathetic as to undermine almost the entirety of the rest of the piece. More than once I wondered if this was a comedy in deep cover.

That’s not to say there isn’t fine work on display here. Once the film has waded through its unfocused first act and the stilted dialogue has given way to meatier fare, an engrossing story begins to emerge from the woodwork. There’s a roster of valiant supporting performances, particularly from Sebastian Koch as a hard-bitten and world-weary Red Cross worker and Tenoch Huerta as Comandante Benjamin, who as the crisis drags into days, and eventually weeks, plays the hopelessness of his situation with an air of quietly tragic resignation.

There are also achingly beautiful moments peppered throughout, presented without fanfare, that seem to brilliantly capture the strange interplay of light and dark that must characterise situations such as these. After being allowed outside for the first time in weeks, two silver-haired hostages run giddily about a sunlit garden. “They look like children,” remarks the Comandante. “What does that make you,” asks a fellow insurgent, “their mother?”

Against the odds, one leaves this undeniably patchy curio with a genuine lump in the throat. It hits its emotional beats so stealthily that when the inevitable conclusion plays out, you find yourself mourning characters in whom you weren’t even aware you were invested, and we are treated to a masterfully queasy sequence detailing the juxtaposition of how the world at large views the end of the hostage crisis, versus how the characters themselves feel having lived through it. A starker contrast you’d be hard-pushed to find.

Good things cannot last, however, and Weitz hubristically returns us to the unintentionally hilarious spectacle of Moore, ordinarily so pitch-perfect, failing to convince us of her operatic pipes. For an actor of Moore’s calibre, it’s nothing short of baffling. She also has the ignominy of dealing with much of the clunkier dialogue, which she does with very little of her usual flare, all of which leads to the frustrating conclusion that both the script and the musical sequences could have done with some fairly brutal cutting, as what had the potential to be an absolutely sterling piece of drama now feels more like an occasionally interesting dud. For all its faults, however, 'Bel Canto' offers us an engaging story, replete with memorable moments of deftness and humanity, and uncomfortable reminders that the tussles between good and evil presented to us in the news are wont to be misleading, and that much as we might wish otherwise, nothing is ever black and white.

‘What Men Want’ isn’t going to blow your mind. It’s neither original nor is it as defiantly feminist as many of us would wish it to be. It faithfully sticks to the Rom-Com formula and delivers all the clichés and tired jokes that you might expect.

Loosely based on the 2000 film ‘What Women Want’ it follows the adventures of Ali Davis, a sports agent who is constantly passed up for partnership and excluded by her white male colleagues. Never mind that she represents the likes of Serena Williams and many other talented and successful female athletes, Ali is not happy until she’s had the respect of a baby-star basketball player just starting out. And that is going to be her golden ticket into the exclusive boy’s club.

The plot is messy, the sub plots are under developed and most of the comedic talent in the film is wasted. I mean for heaven’s sake Max Greenfield AKA ‘Schmidt’ from ‘New Girl’ barely has two lines as the rival agent Kevin and Tracy Morgan as Joe “Dolla” pretty much spends the whole time telling fart jokes.

There is however one major silver lining and that is the fact that the makers of this movie had the good sense to cast Taraji P Henson as the leading lady. My God can this woman act! Her charm and charisma saves the most awkward moments and makes the whole experience thoroughly enjoyable. Her onscreen chemistry with Aldis Hodge who plays her love interest Will is explosive but she also shows vulnerability and a tenderness that offsets her brashness beautifully without compromising her strength and dominant position. There’s a delightful and actually quite hilarious cameo by Erykah Badu as the psychic who gives Ali the power to hear men’s thoughts. Overall quite an entertaining movie.

The 1969 murder of actress Sharon Tate and four of her friends is undoubtedly one of the, if not the, most brutal and horrifying tragedies in Hollywood history. This year, on the 50th anniversary of the Manson murders, four films depicting Tate and the Manson family are coming out, including one directed by Quentin Tarantino and starring Margot Robbie. 'The Haunting of Sharon Tate' is the first to be released to the general public - and it sets the bar low. Haunting, as predicted, is nothing more than a sensationalistic, exploitative, and artless slasher film taking advantage of the anniversary.

\t'The Haunting of Sharon Tate' opens three days before the murders, as Tate returns from Europe eight months pregnant without her husband Roman Polanski. The film centers around Tate (Hilary Duff), plagued by visions of her impending murder by “Charlie”, a mysterious man visiting the house regularly and leaving tapes of his music for Tate to listen to. As the film unfolds, we witness Tate becoming more and more convinced her house is being watched. She begins to see women (from the Manson family) outside her window, dead animals in her fridge, and hearing subliminal messaging in the tapes. Her paranoia builds and builds, including a step-for-step premonition of the murders two nights before they happen.

\tThe film is in shockingly poor taste. It uses the Tate and Manson names for recognition and gravity on the anniversary of the murders whilst unashamedly straying as far away from the truth as possible. Writer-director Daniel Farrands seems to take no issue with using a brutal real-life murder as the basis for a cheap supernatural schlock horror. And not only is the entire premise of the film incredibly vulgar, but the film also has the audacity to be one of the worst I have seen in recent years. Duff doesn’t bring the charisma needed for a titular role, and her portrayal of Tate is airheaded and irritating; the rest of the actors are unconvincing and forgettable; and the dialogue sounds scripted and unnatural, sounding awfully like Farrands has never participated in a real-life conversation. Throughout, the plot is reduced to cheap jump-scares set to a cheesy horror score.

Farrands has somehow managed to take a senselessly violent and unjust tragedy and strip his characters of any personality they had in real life, thereby getting rid of any sympathy or sadness the audience may have felt for Tate or her friends and their untimely deaths. Instead, you watch the film with a sense of complete removal and vague amusement as the film, without fail, ticks off cliche after cliche. In fact, if the film weren’t so crass and, frankly, offensive, I might have enjoyed it as an achievement in trashy comedy. However, as it stands, 'The Haunting of Sharon Tate' has very few redeeming qualities. However, it has set the bar nice and low - I am doubtful Tarantino’s upcoming film can be as tasteless as this, and definitely won’t be as artless. My suggestion? Wait a few months, and see that one instead.

A kindergarten teacher sees great artistic promise in one of her 5-year-old students and goes above and beyond to nurture his talent. The film written and directed by Sarah Colangelo stars Maggie Gyllenhaal as Lisa, Parker Sevak as Jimmy and Gael García Bernal as Simon. Colangelo delivers a surprising and shocking tale of nurture and obsession, an unsettling character study of the titular 'Kindergarten Teacher'. Maggie Gyllenhaal embodies Lisa to perfection, a kindergarten teacher brimming with creativity yet stuck in a boring life, a boring marriage, disappointed with her children, frustrated out of her mind. When she sees the chance for greatness in someone else, a little boy called Jimmy who is easily shaped and influenced, she cannot resist the opportunity. And this is where the film and her character really make you sit up, pay attention and start to question what you're seeing. It is a rather disturbing journey that the film takes you on, but that is exactly what makes it so outstanding. The unexpected dark turn grips you, Maggie Gyllenhaal's performance makes your skin crawl and you cannot help your gasps of shock and surprise of what you're seeing throughout the second half of the film.

One the one hand this is the ever present story of parents living through their children, wanting them to have the lives they couldn't have, achieve what they couldn't achieve. Lisa looks at her own children as failures because they don't seem to have creative talent or any interest in the arts, which is what matters most to Lisa. Her daughter gets straight As, her son wants to enlist, and yet it isn't enough. So she wants Jimmy to have the life she never had. She is under the impression she never got anywhere with her poetry because she wasn't getting the support she needed, but maybe deep down she knows she wasn't talented enough, that she wasn't an artist. She brings up Mozart, another child prodigy, who she thinks would never have been able to create what he did without the support and nurture he received. Lisa's yearning for a creative outlet in her rather mundane life is relatable at least in its escapism, but it really hits home when you discover she has all the passion but no real talent. And there is this little boy who is the embodiment of the exact inversion of her. He doesn't even try, it just pours out of him. The juxtaposition of these two really broke my heart and it sets a solid foundation for what's to come. On the other hand you have the boy's father, who is more concerned with his son not ending up like his brother the artist, who now proofreads other people's work for just 50k a year. Like most parents the father is more concerned with his son's financial security and future than any artistic endeavours. It's great he's got talent, but we gotta be realistic.

What 'The Kindergarten Teacher' boils down to for me is Lisa's yearning for connection with someone who appreciates the same things and shares her values. Neither her husband nor her children seem to take an interest in her passion let alone understand it. She goes as far as to sleep with her poetry teacher who she rebuffs at first, but the connection with a like-minded person is too strong to ignore. Lisa's loneliness is even more tragic when you consider she's alone in a crowd. The worst kind of loneliness. Gyllenhaal manages to depict Lisa's decision to connect with a 5-year-old as a last resort more relatable and believable than it may sound. We can relate, we emphasize, we understand. It is a haunting portrayal of loneliness, desire and obsession. Yet I couldn't help but wonder how this film and its plot would be received with a leading man instead of a leading lady. Too easily would we judge and assume the worst, and a lot earlier in the film than we would ever allow ourselves to even consider the possibility of anything like this happening with a woman going after a young boy. We see women as nurturing first and foremost and I think this is why 'The Kindergarten Teacher' works as brilliantly as it does, making us feel for both Jimmy and Lisa in its rather disturbing tale.

Without Gyllenhaal's captivating and nuanced performance the entire premise would fall apart. If we don't engage with Lisa and her situation we will not be able to allow and care for her journey and decisions later on in the film. The entire film sinks or swims with Gyllenhaal's performance and she turns out to be a strong swimmer. I don't have any children but still found the narrative deeply disturbing, so please consider yourself warned. There is no violence towards the child depicted in the film, but there is a kidnapping scenario amongst others so please be aware as this might trigger some people. The film is not easy to digest and lends itself to lengthy discussions afterwards. I would go as far and say you might want to watch this with a friend as I did as we both immediately had to talk about what we'd just seen. This is one of the film's aspects I thoroughly enjoyed and I congratulate Colangelo and Gyllenhaal on their daring approach. A tough to stomach yet must see of a film.

We open with a voiceover from newlywed Elizabeth (Abbey Lee) describing her dream of meeting a brilliant man to take her away from the ugliness of the world. The man of her dreams is husband Henry (Ciarán Hinds), a scientist who brings Elizabeth to live in his sheltered mansion and encourages her to enjoy everything the estate has to offer - so long as she never enters one particular room. So far, so fairytale. Of course, after exploring her new home, increasingly shadowed by house staff Claire (Carla Gugino) and the blind Oliver (Matthew Beard), she does enter the forbidden room. What she encounters brings into question her identity, Henry’s motivations and the nature of the house.

Unfortunately, what follows is a mystery as clunky and obvious as the title itself. Part of the problem is the confused pacing brought on by multiple flashbacks and dream sequences that interrupt the flow of the plot. It also doesn’t help that these scenes are saturated by block colours which jar with the otherwise coldly lit present-day scenes. These strange bouts of high stylisation, along with Abbey Lee’s affected performance, result in an inconsistent genre piece whose central mystery is too predictable to stay engaging. While the rest of the cast try gamely to work with the stained dialogue they are given - at one point Oliver says, “You were the prettiest, strangest creature I ever saw,” to which Elizabeth replies: “How would you know…if you’re blind?” - their efforts can’t quite maintain the tension needed to keep us invested. The conclusion, aided by a lengthy period of reading a diary laden with explanations, has all the subtlety of shotgun fired by a blind man (something that actually happens halfway through).

'Elizabeth Harvest' has a lot of good intentions, but any statement it is trying to make gets lost in an uneven visual style and limp plot. It seems aspire to be a 'Gone Girl' for the #MeToo era; a subverted fairytale about a young and beautiful woman reasserting her power over an older wealthy man. While this could've been a timely thriller about gender dynamics, it is instead a muddled mystery that’s too stylised for its own good.