Dune: Part Two

In cinemas now

There was a time when Denis Villeneuve appeared to be the unexpected liberator of the blockbuster, a disruptor who, by way of uber-conceptual sci-fi films such as Arrival and Blade Runner 2049, had come to shake audiences out of their Disney-induced stupor. However, if the critical and commercial success of the first instalment of his adaptation of Frank Herbet’s notoriously epic novel was arguably the apotheosis of his career to date, its sequel might be the moment it flatlines.

Dune: Part Two commences where its predecessor ended, with Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) and his pregnant mother Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) immersing themself in the rituals of the Fremen people, with whom they intend to liberate Arrakis from the rule of House Harkonnen. As was the case in Dune, the moral epicentre of this film stems from the burgeoning messianic cult that surrounds Paul and how he chooses to resolve this burden.

Chalamet seamlessly carries the weight of his meaty role and noticeably grows in stature as Paul makes the difficult transition from paragon to anti-hero, while Ferguson is efficiently unsettling as Lady Jessica, whose arc also evolves drastically over the course of the film. Nonetheless, both are overshadowed by Zendaya, who continues to stake her claim for being the most compelling leading lady working in Hollywood today with her fierce performance as Chani, the Fremen warrior who seeks to dissuade Paul from assuming the mantle of Lisan al Gaib.

Of the franchise’s new cast members, Austin Butler is likely to garner the most attention for his turn as the psychotic Feyd-Rautha, the latest to come off of the Harkonnen conveyor belt of nasties. It’s a typically committed performance from the man whose method acting antics in Elvis are now the stuff of legend, but his character is part of the issue that is at the crux of Dune: Part Two.

This is because, while he is presented as a figure of substance (thanks in no small part to Villeneuve and Greig Fraser’s cool use of black and white infrared cameras) there is little else to suggest that he is anything other than the sort of disposable antagonist that you would expect to see in other big-budget fare.

It’s this sense of familiarity (albeit one that undeniably remains a visual and auditory spectacle to behold) that inhibits Dune: Part Two and ultimately makes it less satisfying than its forebear. While an increase in action is to be expected, particularly given the leisurely pace of what came before, it comes at the expense of the quasi-spiritual thematic that made the first film so daring. Here, the Near Eastern philosophies that inspired Herbet’s original work are a mere proxy for an intergalactic conflict that is at times barely distinguishable from genre bedfellows such as Mad Max: Fury Road and Star Wars.

Although I’ll still take Villeneuve’s brand of box office over anything else that’s currently on offer, it feels like the auteur has settled on being yet another franchise filmmaker, as evidenced by the fact that a third instalment is already in the works. I’ll be there for it, but my expectations will be lowered.

Evil Does Not Exist

In selected cinemas

The latest feature from Ryusuke Hamaguchi, the acclaimed writer and director of Drive My Car could be mistaken for an art exhibition at times, such is the assuredness and frequency with which it chooses to dwell in its moments of quiet contemplation. Similarly, despite its intriguing title, Evil Does Not Exist does not feel obligated to give its audience an obvious explanation of its meaning, instead leaving us to draw our own conclusions from its ambiguous narrative.

Set in the rural Japanese village of Harasawa, the film is centred on Hitoshi Omika’s stoic single parent, who resides in the forest with his young daughter and spends his days serving the local community by chopping wood and hauling well water. This idyllic way of life is soon threatened by the imminent construction of a glamping site that poses an ecological threat to the area, causing its residents to group together and voice their concerns.

Hamaguchi’s leisurely approach to storytelling is likely to delight and frustrate viewers in equal measure, but the absorbing visuals he creates alongside Yoshio Kitagawa ensure that this picture remains oddly compelling throughout its modest runtime. Meanwhile, Eiko Ishibashi’s score has the impressive effect of immersing you in the serene surroundings of Harasawa in a manner that is not technically dissimilar to Jonathan Glazer’s The Zone of Interest, even if the subsequent feeling is far less unsettling.

In terms of messaging, Evil Does Not Exist is clearly preoccupied with the existential threat that unregulated capitalism poses to our environment, albeit in a way that is more meditative than overly moralistic. Although undoubtedly testing, it is a rewarding and sensory experience that will prompt you to think about the cyclical nature of how we impact the world around us, while shining a light on the beautiful traditions of rural Japanese communities.

Wicked Little Letters

In selected cinemas from February 23rd

Wicked Little Letters is a curious film. Although it is set in 1920s England, any of its viewers that have spent a modicum of time on Twitter/X will find its story relatable.

Based on real events, Jonny Sweet’s screenplay recounts a minor scandal in which the residents of Littlehampton, a quaint seaside town, begin receiving obscene letters from an anonymous sender. The local police force soon charge Rose (Jessie Buckley), a raucous Irish immigrant who has long been in the crosshairs of her judgemental neighbour Edward (Timothy Spall), whose daughter Edith (Olivia Colman) has been a regular recipient of said letters. However, in true whodunnit fashion, we soon learn that the accused is not guilty, leaving a determined female officer (Anjana Vasan) and a ragtag group of civilians needing to prove her innocence.

Sweet, an acclaimed comedian, understands the connection between this odd tale and the social media landscape, in the sense that the perpetrator of the letters, even when their identity is eventually revealed, has no obvious motive for their actions beyond an irrepressible need to vent bile at the world. You can witness such senseless antagonism any time you go online, and this frivolous link means that Wicked Little Letters is a far more contemporary affair than it otherwise would be, with director Thea Sharrock (whose background is in theatre) ensuring that the aesthetic of her picture is contrastingly very much of its setting.

Indeed, the film has more than a whiff of an old-fashioned stage play about it, with Buckley, Colman, and an impressive ensemble cast clearly having a blast with Sweet’s often laugh-out-loud material. Although the culmination of the mystery at the heart of Wicked Little Letters offers little in the way of surprises, this is a fun flick that reminds us just how funny unfiltered profanity can be when used in a comedic context.

Bob Marley: One Love

In cinemas now

A few years ago, I had the pleasure of seeing Lee Hall’s excellent Get Up, Stand Up! The Bob Marley Musical in London’s West End. It offers a thorough examination of its subject’s life, exploring not only his cultural, political, and social impact on the world, but also his ambiguous home life and renown infidelity, thus giving a comprehensive and unbiased assessment of his character. Watching this cautious biopic from Reinaldo Marcus Green, I couldn’t help but pine for Hall’s altogether braver interpretation.

In defence of Green, who showed himself to be a solid director with 2021’s King Richard, both he and lead writers Frank E. Flowers and Terence Winter are somewhat hamstrung by the fact that One Love is produced by Rita and Ziggy Marley, both of whom are presumably and, of course, understandably keen to focus the film on the musical legacy of their late husband and father. When you’re regaling the work of a songwriter as proficient as the Wailers frontman, that isn’t an entirely bad creative direction to take, and this biopic definitely captures the soulful essence of Marley’s work, thanks in no small part to Kingsley Ben-Adir’s committed lead performance.

Also of interest is the film’s admirable willingness to explore the Rastafari religion, a critical aspect of Marley’s identity that is so often othered by uninformed Western audiences. In that sense, One Love is indebted to Lashana Lynch’s turn as Rita, whose role perfectly articulates how the commercial success of the Wailers jarred with the spiritual leanings of its members.

Still, there is a frustrating hollowness to Green’s film that means it never truly gets under the skin of its subject in a way that any meaningful biopic should, leaving us with a jukebox retrospective that isn’t befitting of the cultural giant it seeks to celebrate.

The Promised Land

In selected cinemas from 16th February

The latest feature from Nikolaj Arcel, which reunites him with his A Royal Affair collaborator Mads Mikkelsen, is difficult to assess on account of its tonal polarity. Despite its frequent bloodshed (which goes as far as to see one character have his manhood violently removed), The Promised Land is essentially a tale of two bloody-minded men that find themselves entrenched in a land dispute.

Its screenplay, written by Arcel and Anders Thomas Jensen and adapted from a novel by Ida Jessen, uses that seemingly mundane premise to weave an allegory of class warfare, male ego, and finding one’s purpose. Mikkelsen is typically excellent in the lead role of Captain Ludvig Kahlen, a retired army officer who is determined to cultivate a notorious moorland so that he may be bestowed with a noble title and escape his lowly social status. Standing in his way is Simon Bennebjerg’s repugnant landowner, who insists that, despite evidence to the contrary, the land Kahlen seeks to renovate is his own. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a cinematic villain as wicked as this one, with Bennebjerg in dastardly form throughout.

As is often the case with these sorts of conflicts, both men wind up losing more than they gain, with the film’s moral compass unsurprisingly coming from two of its female characters. Amanda Collin is effectively intense as an escaped serf who finds solace on Kahlen’s settlement alongside the fledgling Melina Hagberg’s Romani traveller. While their male counterparts continue on their senseless game of tit for tat, these women gradually grow in agency and become the characters the audience is implored to root for, despite the stark realism of The Promised Land meaning a happy ending is unlikely for either.

Indeed, Arcel never seems inclined to conclude his story in a way that will satisfy viewers, instead electing for a decidedly more bleak, but sadly plausible, approach which complements the contemporary political landscape, despite its historical setting. One might even argue that, above all else, The Promised Land is a celebration of nature (as evidenced by Rasmus Videbæk’s stunning landscapes) and its continued perseverance, despite our best efforts to taint it by moulding it into our own image.

The Iron Claw

In cinemas now

Viewers that are unfamiliar with the tragic life and times of the Von Erich family will get more than they bargained for from Sean Durkin’s weighty The Iron Claw, which uses the excessively virile world of professional wrestling as a proxy through which to examine the repercussions of unregulated toxic masculinity.

The film is centred on the aforementioned dynasty of brawlers, which was ruled malignantly by its patriarch Fritz (Holt McCallany), who grooms his children for combat in the hope that they will bring home the championship title that evaded him throughout his career. Of that offspring, Kevin (Zac Efron) seems primed for the spotlight, but is soon overlooked in favour of his more self-assured siblings David (Harris Dickinson) and Kerry (Jeremy Allen White). While navigating their quest for in-ring glory, the brothers must contend with their naysaying father’s constant talk of the family ‘curse’, which he uses as a means of explaining away his own shortcomings as a performer and parent.

However, the improbably sad events of The Iron Claw soon has you wondering whether that jinx might be real, as catastrophe constantly befalls the Von Erich’s in a manner that is almost too sad to comprehend. In that sense, the crowning achievement of Durkin’s film might be the way in which it carries that heft within the confines of a family that are almost emotionally repressed beyond repair. Of the film’s stellar cast, it is a career-best Efron that best conveys this inhibition, with his gargantuan frame serving as a mere smokescreen for the deep-seated trauma he is forced to carry.

In addition to being a supremely acted affair, The Iron Claw is also impressive from a visual perspective, thanks to the cinematography of Mátyás Erdély (Son of Saul) and its convincing wrestling sequences, which were coordinated by a former professional, Chavo Guerrero, and saw the cast perform full-length matches in front of a live audience. While not quite hitting the heights of Darren Aronofsky’s sublime The Wrestler, those fight sequences certainly rank highly in the admittedly shallow annals of wrestling pictures.

Above all else though, and despite its niche setting, this is a universal reminder of the potentially fatal pitfalls of neglecting one’s emotions and the importance of breaking free of the burdens of others expectations, despite how difficult that might be.

Anyone But You

In cinemas now

The commercial success of Anyone But You is perhaps more a testament to the enduring appeal of the romcom than the quality of Will Gluck’s contemporary Much Ado About Nothing adaptation. Nonetheless, a box office gross of more than $151 million (from a $25 million budget) is not to be sniffed at.

Despite its conventionally uncomplicated narrative, there is an engaging lightness to Anyone But You that is befitting of the heavyweights of its genre stablemates. Gluck’s Friends with Benefits has long been a guilty pleasure of mine and this has the same effervescence about it, the sort that makes you forget (albeit briefly) how problematic the attitudes of its characters are.

On that note, there isn’t a lot to like about Glen Powell or Sydney Sweeney’s romantic leads, but their sexual chemistry is convincing enough to allow you to look past that, with the film keen to showcase both actor’s physical assets rather than their dramatic prowess.

Above all else though, Anyone But You is deserving of a thumbs-up for reintegrating Natasha Bedingfield’s forgotten classic ‘Unwritten’ into public consciousness. With Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ still enjoying its Saltburn-inspired revival, one can only wonder what Noughties hit will be resurrected next.

Mean Girls

In cinemas now

It’s hard to approach this latest iteration of Mean Girls without cynicism. After all, Mark Waters’ 2004 original is still arguably the quintessential teen movie, due to its near-perfect depiction of the innate cattiness that pervades secondary schools the world over. Nonetheless, Samantha Jayne and Arturo Perez Jr’s reboot is an adaptation of the successful Broadway musical version of the film, meaning direct comparisons to its cinematic predecessor are not entirely fair.

However, this simply means that the biggest issue with the Mean Girls of 2024 is not its inherent inferiority complex, but the fact that almost all of its songs are completely forgettable. While fans of the stage show have suggested that this is because much of composer Jeff Richmond and lyricist Neil Benjamin’s original ditties have been retooled for cinematic purposes, the inescapable truth is that this picture fails the primary mandate of its genre.

Its most pressing issue aside, Mean Girls is a mostly watchable retread of its source material. Angourie Rice and Reneé Rapp struggle with the unenviable task of filling Lindsay Lohan and Rachel McAdams’ stilettos, but Auliʻi Cravalho and Jaquel Spivey steal the show as Janis and Damian, providing the film with most of its seldom laugh-out-loud moments. Also, although I personally didn’t care all that much for it, Tina Fey’s incessant incorporation of social media into her screenplay does at least refresh her original tale for Gen Z audiences, with a smidgen of gratuitous cameos also sure to keep viewers happy.

While Mean Girls does little to dispel the notion that it is just another of Hollywood’s soulless cash grabs, there’s enough teen treachery on show to hold the attention of easily-pleased cineastes.

American Fiction

In selected cinemas

Adapted from Percival Everett’s novel Erasure, the directorial debut of writer-director Cord Jefferson is centred on Thelonious ‘Monk’ Ellison (Jeffrey Wright), a frustrated college professor and author whose professional frustrations reach boiling point when he becomes aware of the success of a fellow novelist (Issa Rae) and her bestseller, which panders to black stereotypes. However, following an unexpected family crisis, Monk finds himself penning his own send-up under the pseudonym ‘Stagg R. Leigh’ and subjected to the sort of commercial and critical acclaim that has evaded him for much of his life.

One of the greatest qualities of American Fiction is that it provides a showcase for the talents of Wright, who has long been one of the most underrated actors working in Hollywood today. Here, he demonstrates that he has comedic chops to match his long established dramatic prowess, with Monk’s vitriolic analysis of contemporary cultural consumption providing much of the film’s laughs.

What is most compelling about Jefferson’s screenplay though is that it does not necessarily endorse the worldview of its protagonist, but instead compares it with the contrasting viewpoints of the film’s other key players. This is perhaps evidenced by a late exchange Monk has with Rae’s character which, depending on which side of the fence you sit on, makes his anger look misplaced.

Rae is one of many stellar supporting cast members, with Sterling K. Brown also excelling as Monk’s estranged brother. However, the undoubted star of the show is Jefferson, whose razor-sharp writing channels the early work of Spike Lee and more recent auteurs such as Boots Riley and Jordan Peele. This is a hyper-intelligent opener that is often laugh-out-loud funny, proving that there is more than one way to tackle complicated societal issues.

The Holdovers

In selected cinemas

It’s fitting that I bumped into one of my old primary school teachers on the same day I was due to watch Alexander Payne’s The Holdovers. That teacher, knowingly or otherwise, played a big part in helping me conquer the crippling shyness that held me back during much of my formative years, and this sweet picture does an excellent job of depicting those sort of incidental yet transformational relationships.

Written by David Hemingson, the film is focused on Paul Giamatti’s cantankerous teacher and the Christmas he spends with his school’s ‘holdovers’, a term for students with nowhere to go during the holiday season. Over the course of his babysitting duties, a bond is forged with Angus (Dominic Sessa), a bright but disruptive pupil whose propensity for troublemaking masks a deeper hurting, and Mary (Da'Vine Joy Randolph), the school’s head chef who is quietly mourning the recent loss of her only child.

Payne has always had a knack for eliciting great performances from his casts and The Holdovers proves to be no exception to that rule, with his Sideways collaborator Giamatti in fine fettle throughout. Newcomer Sessa also shows promise in a role that balances wisecracks with moments of real vulnerability, although Randolph arguably outshines both with a turn that is both quietly affecting and utterly devastating. On this evidence, she’s a strong contender come Oscars season.

This film is also distinctive for its loving adoption of the aesthetic and sound that characterised much of 1970s independent cinema, with Eigil Bryld’s cinematography, Mark Orton’s score, and the soundtrack perfectly encapsulating the period. While it’s a stylistic choice that could be interpreted as an act of counterfeit or homage, for this viewer it worked well as an accompaniment to the hopeful tone of Hemingson’s story.

After the odd misfire that was Downsizing, this is a welcome return to form for Payne and a timely reminder of our ability to make a lasting impact on the lives of others through simple acts of compassion.

All of Us Strangers

In selected cinemas

It’s difficult to know where to begin assessing Andrew Haigh’s adaptation of Taichi Yamada’s acclaimed 1987 novel Strangers. Its vibrant pre-release marketing - complete with the Pet Shop Boys’ pulsating cover of ‘Always on My Mind’ and the promise of a love affair between perennial internet thirst traps Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal - alluded to an altogether different film to the one we get, with All of Us Strangers being a far more melancholy affair than one would rightly or wrongly expect it to be.

The film is best categorised as a ghost story, it being centred on Adam (Scott), a lonely screenwriter who resides in a near-empty tower block in London and is disconsolate with grief for his parents, who died in a car crash when he was merely 12-years old. However, a chance encounter with Harry (Mescal) seemingly breaks Adam out of his stupor and encourages him to wrestle with the phantoms of his past.

There are aspects of Haigh’s film which work better than others. Scott is compelling in a lead role which draws upon the writer-director’s own experience as a gay man growing up in 1980s Britain, an undertaking which contrasts subtly but, in some instances, very specifically with the formative years of the younger, but no less troubled, Harry. Jamie D. Ramsay’s cinematography is also visually arresting, particularly during the film’s nightclub scenes, and Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch’s score remains suitably haunting throughout.

However, the tendency of Haigh’s screenplay to straddle the line between fantasy and reality has a frustrating tendency to lessen the film’s emotional stakes, especially as Andrew’s narrative arc never burrows any deeper than his grief, nor does it adequately explore the everyday consequences of it. While I concede that mourning is a deeply subjective experience, this depiction felt unconvincing for the most part and lost almost all resonance by the time of the final encounter between Andrew and his parents (played effectively by Claire Foy and Jamie Bell), which I found to be an overly simplistic, and thus unrealistic, portrayal of closure. Mescal, through no fault of his own, is also overshadowed in a role that tends to rely more on his physical qualities than his undoubted dramatic abilities, a misfortune that makes the film’s twist ending less impactful than it otherwise might have been.

Still, the more powerful elements of All of Us Strangers generally combine to overpower its shortcomings, and the personal nature of its tone will doubtlessly ensure it strikes a chord with many viewers.

The Zone of Interest

In selected cinemas

It is dishearteningly fitting that the UK release of Jonathan Glazer’s acclaimed fourth feature film should coincide with the escalation of conflicts occurring across the Middle East. By way of its own consciously muted style, The Zone of Interest reinforces the true horror of wartime atrocities not through reenactment, but by forensically documenting the mundanity of the lifestyles and preoccupations of those who inflict such crimes.

Loosely adapted from Martin Amis’ novel of the same name, the film is centred on the Nazi commandant Rudolf Höss and his wife Hedwig, who reside with their children in spitting distance of Auschwitz, which Höss presides over. Glazer and cinematographer Łukasz Żal’s novel approach to recreating the domesticity of the Höss’ lives saw them embed up to 10 cameras in and around the household, which provides The Zone of Interest with a discomforting lived-in characteristic that is difficult to shake off.

Christian Friedel is fittingly unemotional as Höss, whose warped sense of duty renders him anaesthetised to the senseless suffering he administers, but it is arguably Hüller’s dependably excellent portrayal of his spouse that underlines the true horrors of this tale. In almost direct contrast to her Academy Award-nominated turn in Anatomy of a Fall, here we see Hüller depict an entirely unsympathetic character who revels in being known as the ‘Queen of Auschwitz’ and places more stock in the wellness of her garden than human life.

As frighteningly dispassionate is the work of sound designer Johnnie Burn, who fatefully reanimates the soundscape of Auschwitz with enough authenticity to leave you feeling as though you are within the boundaries of the camp. Mica Levi, who contributed so considerably to Glazer’s exquisite Under the Skin, also provides an encircling score that adds to the appropriate sense of unease that pervades the film.

While Glazer’s distinctly stylised approach may not resonate with every viewer, The Zone of Interest is an unarguably original approach to examining the legacy of Auschwitz and the lessons it continues to provide us with, perhaps now more than ever.

The Kitchen

Available on Netflix

It’s long been known that Daniel Kaluuya is one of the finest actors around, but The Kitchen posits the question of whether he has the makings of a great director. The answer, as is so often the case with directorial debuts, is unclear. Co-directed by Kibwe Tavares, this picture is socially conscious sci-fi that uses the relationship between a father (Kane Robinson) and his estranged son (Jedaiah Bannerman) to examine the ongoing gentrification of London.

The natural chemistry between Robinson and Bannerman ensures that The Kitchen always holds your attention, but its underdeveloped screenplay is filled with too many unanswered questions for the film to ever be more than the sum of its parts. Likewise, its futuristic setting - which is clearly indebted to reference points such as Black Mirror and Blade Runner - is more of a distraction than anything else, with the central narrative not emboldened by it in any obvious way.

Nonetheless, there is lived experience and sincerity at the heart of The Kitchen, which suggests that both Kaluuya and Tavares have the makings of fine filmmakers, while Bannerman’s performance points him out as a rising star.

Priscilla

In selected cinemas now

It’s hard to critique Sofia Coppola’s adaptation of Priscilla Presley’s memoir Elvis and Me without comparing it to Baz Luhrmann’s more showy 2022 biopic Elvis, which delivered a mostly sympathetic retrospective on the life and times of the self-proclaimed ‘King of Rock n’ Roll’. Priscilla paints a far more troubling picture, in which Elvis (played by man of the moment Jacob Elordi) essentially grooms a teenage Priscilla (Cailee Spaeny) and ensnares her within the confines of his Graceland home, where she is expected to indulge his every whim.

Like all of Coppola’s films, this is a highly stylised affair which perfectly depicts the hollow trappings that come when material wealth takes precedence over emotional fulfilment. Priscilla finds herself living out her teenage dream but, with time, finds it to be more akin to a nightmare, one which essentially robs her of her formative years. Spaeny is a minor revelation in the lead role, embodying - both emotionally and physically - the afflictions that are encountered on the journey to womanhood. Hers is a cleverly understated performance, one devoid of histrionics, that dovetails perfectly with Elordi’s turn as Elvis which, while more toned down than Austin Butler’s acclaimed interpretation, naturally chews up much of Priscilla’s scenery.

Indeed, this is arguably Coppola’s strongest film since Lost in Translation. Indeed, in a similar vein to that classic, Priscilla is preoccupied with illuminating female perspective, something which is so often overshadowed by the worldview of men, especially ones with Elvis’ profile and following. In that respect, it is the perfect counterbalance to Elvis and underlines the innate sadness that lay at the core of the Presley family.

Godzilla Minus One

In selected cinemas now

Godzilla has had a rough ride in recent years. Although Takashi Yamazaki’s film stands as the 37th instalment in the franchise and coincides with the character’s 70th anniversary, recent Hollywood adaptations have left much to be desired. Indeed, Western interpretation of the iconic Kaiju has left many to wonder (including this writer) whether he is best left in the care of his country of origin, and the enjoyable Godzilla Minus One does little to dispel that notion.

Directed, written, and with visual effects by Yamazaki, the film is cleverly set in a Japan that is navigating the emotional and physical damage caused by its involvement in World War II, and is centred on a disgraced kamikaze pilot (played by Ryunosuke Kamiki) that returns to a hollowed-out Tokyo after a frightening encounter with the titular monster.

Sure enough, it’s not long before Godzilla reemerges and begins attacking the city, leading a ragtag group of volunteers to rally together in an attempt to thwart him. Yamazaki cleverly leans into politics throughout the course of Godzilla Minus One and arguably depicts his antagonist as a physical embodiment of the nuclear holocaust which is so synonymous with his country’s post-war trauma, while unashamedly riffing on genre bedfellows such as Jaws to ensure the film’s appeal remains satisfactorily broad.

Nonetheless, despite its thematic quality, Godzilla Minus One is essentially just another monster movie. Although the low benchmark associated with that genre does undoubtedly work in its favour, the film is typically devoid of stakes and reliant on its special effects to heighten tension, a dependency which grows tiresome before too long.

All the same, with the film grossing over $96 million worldwide (against a budget of under $15 million), it cannot be viewed as anything other than a huge commercial success, an achievement which reiterates that some franchises are best kept out of Tinsel town.

Poor Things

In cinemas now

Yorgos Lanthimos has been steadily cultivating a reputation as one of the most provocative filmmakers working in contemporary cinema and his latest, a surrealist adaptation of Alasdair Gray’s titular 1992 novel, does nothing to dispel that notion. Written by his The Favourite collaborator Tony McNamara, Lanthimos’ Poor Things is a daring exploration of sexual agency and patriarchy that is once again indebted to an outstanding lead performance from Emma Stone, who here plays Bella Baxter, a woman who commits suicide only to be resurrected by Willem Dafoe’s Frankenstein-esque scientist and implanted with the brain of her unborn baby.

As that premise would suggest, Poor Things is a most unusual film which uses Bella’s burgeoning understanding of the Victorian era world she inhabits to ridicule societal norms, in particular the innate desire for control that is displayed by the men in her life. The film’s ensemble cast does a stellar job of depicting the varying extents of that inclination, with Dafoe’s disfigured ‘man of science’ serving as a misguided father figure and his meek, but no less complicit, assistant (played by Ramy Youssef) a slave to romantic infatuation. Both are arguably outshone, however, by Mark Ruffalo’s riotously voracious lawyer, who mistakenly views Bella as little more than an object through which he can fulfil his most debauched desires.

In many ways, Poor Things acts as a subversion of the male gaze which has long dominated cinema; while Bella is undoubtedly objectified by the camera, this tale is very much her own and her would-be subjugators are never presented as anything other than ridiculous. Indeed, the repeated failed attempts of Ruffalo’s character to control Bella only succeed in driving him insane, much to audiences’ amusement. Other viewers will, of course, have an entirely different interpretation (the critical reception has not been without some criticism), but I think Lanthimos’ preoccupation with the aforementioned topic of agency is, for the most part, well-intentioned.

Thematics aside, this is a supremely acted affair which cements Stone as one of the most fearless leading ladies around, with this performance dovetailing effortlessly between comedic and dramatic impact. Long-time Lanthimos collaborator Robbie Ryan also contributes to the film’s engrossing aesthetic, which is characterised by a broad visual palette and an array of unusual camera angles. Costume designer Holly Waddington is also deserving of praise for her work, which coincides brilliantly with Bella’s own character development, as is Jerskin Fendrix’s curious score.

Not all viewers will be enthralled by Poor Things, but I found it to be a wild and thought-provoking ride.

The Beekeeper

In cinemas now

The only reason I had the misfortune of watching Jason Statham’s latest ‘thriller’ is because it was selected for a mystery screening at my local cinema. Nonetheless, The Beekeeper did lead me to muse on the mysterious box-office phenomenon that is Statham’s career.

With an estimated net worth of $90 million, the British actor is unquestionably one of Hollywood’s most bankable action stars. And yet, the vast majority of his films are virtually indistinguishable from each other, with the general formula involving Statham playing an invulnerable badass that is capable of felling multiple people at a time and the cast including at least one functioning alcoholic (in the case of The Beekeeper, that honour goes to Emmy Raver-Lampman’s dispensable FBI detective).

Oddly, this premise has sustained the interest of audiences for well over 20 years, as was evidenced by the fact that there wasn’t a single walkout at last night’s mystery screening (there was during the last one, Anatomy of a Fall, although that says more about the taste of Walsall’s cineastes than it does anything else). Clearly, there’s still a market for this retrograde homage to the sort of flicks that made Schwarzenegger and Stallone household names in the 1980s.

As for The Beekeeper, it is as preposterous as its title suggests and includes kill scenes involving a jar of honey, which is just about the only thing I can remember about it less than 24-hours after watching it. For director David Ayer, whose previous credits include Training Day (screenwriter) and the underrated End of Watch, it is the latest in an increasingly long line of flops, although the enduring allure of his leading man might result in a healthy box office return.

One Life

In cinemas now

James Hawes’ biopic of Nicholas Winton, the British humanitarian who helped rescue over 600 Jewish children from German-occupied Czechoslovakia prior to the outbreak of WWII, is certainly a timely watch, given the current U.K. government’s cold and unfeeling treatment of migrants. Indeed, in an age where politicians would rather send those in need to Rwanda rather than offer them refuge, there is much we could learn from Winton’s philanthropism.

Nonetheless, there is a knowing restraint about One Life that renders it moving in a more conventional than organic sense, with both Hawes and co-screenwriters Lucinda Coxon and Nick Drake drawing from an arsenal of oft-used genre tropes to elicit an emotional reaction from their audience. Although that’s not to detract from the film’s source material, which is a truly extraordinary act of humanitarianism, nor the performance of its cast, with Anthony Hopkins, Johnny Flynn, and Helena Bonham Carter all in fine form.

Rather, One Life just doesn’t feel quite as remarkable as Winton or the colleagues who helped him achieve such a marvellously selfless feat. Nonetheless, its well-timed morality tale, performances, and Volker Bertelmann’s sumptuous score make this well worth any viewers time.

Ferrari

In cinemas now

There is more than a whiff of House of Gucci about Michael Mann’s implausibly dull Enzo Ferrari biopic, with the chief comparison being its odd decision to cast American actors to portray Italian characters, irrespective of whether they can do the accent or not. As was the case with Ridley Scott’s aforementioned flop, Adam Driver takes centre stage in what serves as the latest instalment of his unpredictable post-Star Wars career, delivering a Ferrari that is doubtlessly complicated but far too monotonous to ever warrant this film’s two-hour plus runtime.

Written by the late Troy Kennedy Martin, Ferrari is focused on a specific moment of its subject’s life (the summer of 1957) when both his business and marriage found themselves at crisis point. Unfortunately, neither of these burgeoning dilemmas are ever more interesting than the racing of Ferrari’s iconic cars, a high velocity act which lends this film its scant moments of intrigue and shock.

Penélope Cruz and Shailene Woodley prop Driver up as his competing love interests, with the former mostly under-utilised and definitely the best thing about the picture. Woodley, on the other hand, is unfortunately the chief culprit when it comes to struggling with the Italian accent, with her character coming across more like a perennial holidaymaker than an authentic housewife.

While Erik Messerschmidt’s cinematography and Daniel Pemberton’s score elevate proceedings slightly, it’s hard to shake the feeling that Ferrari would have been more effective had it spanned the entirety of Enzo’s life, rather than this specific chapter of both domestic and business peril.

Society of the Snow

Available on Netflix

It’s questionable whether J.A. Bayona’s unflinchingly pragmatic recreation of the 1972 Andes flight disaster is the blithest way to usher in a new year, but you cannot quibble with the technical proficiency of Society of the Snow, nor the inspiring parable at its core.

The film is adapted from a book by Pablo Vierci of the same name, which documents the experiences of the 16 individuals who, against all odds, survived 72 days in the elements, and respectfully seeks to tell both their stories and those of the deceased. It does so via a cast of Argentine and Uruguayan actors (many of which are newcomers), which succeeds in bringing an air of authenticity to proceedings.

Even more convincing is Bayona’s dexterous depiction of the more exact aspects of this ordeal, including the crash itself (which is presented in gruesomely forensic detail), its aftermath, and the extraordinary lengths the victims had to go to in order to survive. Indeed, one of the few issues I had with Society of the Snow is that these moments, despite their innate voyeurism, are few and far between, which means that much of the picture’s near two and a half-hour runtime is comprised of the musings and interactions of its character which, although often moving, do become a tad repetitious.

Nonetheless, Bayona undoubtedly succeeds in doing justice to one of the most extraordinary tales of human survival and fellowship ever told, making Society of the Snow well worth any viewer’s time.