Challengers: The Eroticism of Tennis

How often can one use that title? Sport, in its most basic of terms, is not exactly the blood-flowing, libido-exhibiting act that one would typically associate with such sexuality. But much like anything that requires a certain amount of careful movement and intimate ownership, sports can be perceived in a similar way. And very few sports exhibit the same sensual movements and passionate exertions more than tennis.

Many casual moviegoers hummed and winced at the idea of a sex-crazed movie that pushes young characters to the forefront, putting them on display for audiences to gawk at. But fans of the more artistic side of the medium saw the name of Luca Guadagnino, director of the contemporarily relevant Call Me by Your Name, and thrilled at what he could do with this type of setting. Guadagnino, after all, has perfected a style for exploring the sexual lives of young adults. But to blend that into something seemingly unrelated provides a new context for deconstruction. After all, what is romance and sex if not an intense game of back-and-forth and becoming one with your opponent.

A tale of love and despair up against the backdrop of fame and success, this is Luca Guadagnino’s Challengers.

Set in the not-so-distant past,2019, we see the lives of a married couple as they navigate fame in the wake of a tennis championship. Art Donaldson (Mike Faist) is a famed tennis player, managed by his wife and former female tennis champ Tashi (Zendaya), and living life hotel to hotel as they raise their daughter. Art’s career is starting to suffer as he nears forty, and he begins to doubt his longevity, but Tashi won’t accept this, believing their relationship is held together by their mutual interest. Their lives are thrown through a true hurdle when Patrick Zweig (Josh O’Connor) returns.

Jumping back in time, we see the lives of the young Art and Patrick; once great friends that played in doubles, and both swayed by the young Tashi. Art wishes to find someone he can truly love, while Patrick moves woman to woman. The two agree to compete for the same girl, and begin flirting with the tennis champ. Inviting her to their hotel room, they eagerly await which one she’ll choose. Tashi decides to have a try of both of them and promises herself to whomever wins the tournament. Surprisingly, it’s Patrick she ends up with. But this only serves to fuel the flame of their rivalry even further. These once deeply bonded friends begin tearing apart.

Back in 2019, we learn that Patrick is washed out and living life on the road without a sure bed to sleep in. Competing in the same tournament as his former friend, we see old wounds reopen and revelations come to light. We see how it came to be that Art ended up in Patrick’s place. And in the centre of all of this is Tashi, who can’t help but find herself racketing back and forth between the two men.

It’s very entertaining to see so many label this film before it even had a release. People will object to the idea of exploring eroticism in a film so much that they’ll brand it with a negative view. This isn’t a film that gets off to the idea of a girl being tossed around by two guys; what it is, is a cautionary tale of how such a relationship can damage others’.

What’s bound to stand out to audiences is how noticeably toxic and controlling all three characters can be. Art and Patrick simply view Tashi as a trophy for them to fawn over, with one being more objectifying than the other. Tashi, on a similar string, manipulates both guys for her own enjoyment, wanting to mould them into obedient lovers. Before you even realise it, there’s a tactical game being played within the subtext of the film. All three have a strategy and a goal for fame. It takes what we know about the sports movie genre and contextualises it against this erotic love story.

That’s not to say that the tennis allegory distracts from the film’s genuine eroticism. Taking social taboos like three-way relationships and homoerotic tension, it makes these themes synonymous with the tennis culture. There’s no graphic sex or heavy-handed imagery, but it does find a way to keep the tension high. The already infamous hotel room scene is a perfect example of Guadagnino plays with the audience’s emotions, giving enough foreplay before it subverts into something else. You don’t quite realise what has happened until it’s over. Even the scenes between Art and Patrick have a certain chemistry that hints at the idea of a hidden romance, making you question just who’s jealous of who.

This sort of drama may be uncomfortable to some. It’s not always clear who you should be rooting for, but I think that’s the point. These characters grow and shift their careers, but they don’t fully mature till the end. When it comes to romance and lover’s jealousy, we never truly grow out of that. It’s ironically fun to see these three play mind games with each other, but you also find a sense of comfort in those small moments of genuine chemistry. The clearly waning love in Art and Tashi’s marriage is uniquely sad, and the latter’s dialogue can be shockingly brutal.

But who exactly is the manipulator in this situation? You might be quick to label Tashi, but I think it’s more complicated than that. In this continuous allegory of romance meets tennis, it’s more the need for fame and success that dominates their lives. There’s an admiration and care that Guadagnino has put into exploring the finer logistics of tennis and why it’s so appealing.

For those avid tennis fans, there is a lot to enjoy. It explores the intensity of the sport and even the pains and trials that come with it. People don’t just get up and shake off their losses, they get angry and beat themselves up about it. Much like the unconventional dynamic between the three main characters, there’s a complexity you’d hardly see just looking at the game from afar. This is done with such masterful camera work and editing. The tennis goes from being fast and intense to slow and tactful. All the while, the narrative always rears its head to remind audiences of what lies beneath.

The way the film jumps between different moments in time often leads to some creative choices. You begin to see how each choice of the past has orchestrated the lives of these characters in the (relative) present. Suddenly things begin to have a darker and more depressing tone to them because of what we learn. It’s a beautiful part of the storytelling experience that helps to understand the more complicated nuances of these characters. It’s not as black and white as simply disliking or liking them; it’s about realising why they are the way they are. Ultimately, it shows how destructive such a one-sided pathology can be.

Challengers was something I had anticipated since I saw Luca Guadagnino’s name attached. Even aside from the trailer, there was something so exciting about seeing more of his work. And, I’m thrilled to say, it really delivered.

This film is filled to the brim with countless acclaims, from its superb tennis playing to the creative shot choices to the editing and especially the distinct and pumping music that feels nothing short of synonymous with the sport. It blends so much of what I want in to this type of film, making characters more complex and human than simply being these cynical villains and finding a way to make that fit the old reliable dreamer storyline. While its start had a few rocky moments, like a couple of strange and misplaced jokes, I honestly think this is my favourite movie of the year so far.

Get those rackets out and keep what you got in your pants tight, this is the perfect display of two passions colliding into one another.

Written review by Conor Johnson.

Back to Black: The Tiredness of Exploitation

It’s become an eternally tired sentiment that musician biopics like this are beyond exhausting. There was a moment in time when this cinematic reimagining of legendary musician’s lives was rather novel; the ability to see a more artistic interpretation of said artist’s life that could be both constructive and informative. Then Bohemian Rhapsody came along and cemented a mould that was already forming.

It wasn’t long ago that we had the Bob Marley biopic Bob Marley: One Love. And as we speak, Michael Jackson is due an upcoming film, as are the Beatles, who are getting four simultaneous biopics. At this point, it’s hard to listen to what is essentially the same story of a wide-eyed musician growing into a phenomenon and then falling apart due to addiction or domestic abuse. So it’s only natural that I groaned at the idea of an Amy Winehouse film, which was sure to double down on exactly that. After all, what is Amy Winehouse without her long history of substance abuse and relationship spats?

Back to Black did have some slither of hope with its director. Sam Taylor-Johnson had previously impressed with the rather distinct and transformative Nowhere Boy, based on the early years of John Lennon. With how cared for the history of Lennon was in that film, I could perhaps rely on Taylor-Johnson to do the same for Winehouse. And while it’s the furthest thing from being a terrible movie, it does manage to fall into the same generic tale of destructive fame. Underwhelming to say, this is yet another standard entry in the musician biopic universe. This is Sam Taylor-Johnson’s Back to Black.

As would be expected, Back to Black recounts the turbulent rise to fame of British pop star Amy Winehouse (Marisa Abela). Starting off as a young and aspiring musician living in the slums of Camden Town, hanging out in local pubs and sleeping with as many men as she pleases, Amy finally gets her shot when a bigtime music publisher signs her on. But, much to the chagrin of Amy, they want to turn her into a poppy, colourful artist, betraying her tough-as-nails image and raw love of the artform. Managed by her father Mitch (Eddie Marsan) and with the emotional support of her nan Cynthia (Lesley Manville), she’s left struggling between business and personal woes.

But the music is only a part of Amy’s story. Back to Black is more a delve into Amy’s personal life and her turbulent history with ex-boyfriend Blake Fielder-Civil (Jack O’Connell). After a particular uproar with her producers, Amy goes to a bar where she meets the jack-the-lad, flirting and charming his way into her heart. This romantic, if destructive, tale inspires Amy to keep writing music, crafting songs around both her admiration and frustrations with her beloved.

The party-heavy lifestyle continues to take hold. What was once a life of constant drinking and mild drug use turns into rampant alcoholism and class A abuse. A cautionary tale of whatthe price fame can have on a salt-of-the-earth person.

It’s impossible to look at this film objectively without the bevy of music biopics that have come out in the last two years alone. For what good the entertainment of the Queen biopic did, it created this unoriginal slew of replaceable and indistinct jukebox musicals with the same general journey. Back to Black may sidestep one side of Winehouse for the sake of expanding the other, but it’s still just as generic.

Some criticism has been given to the film for focusing more on Winehouse’s struggles with substance abuse over her more creative side. To defend it for one second, it’s impossible not to make this a centre point. Even in comparison to other artists, Winehouse struggled more with this side than anyone else. The film displays a symbiotic relationship parallel to her adoration for Blake. No particular blame is placed on anybody, making more of a point that the two were just as bad for each other as they were for themselves. Wading through the torrent of discomfort and drug-addled haze, there is a genuine love story that elevates the film ever so slightly.

The relationships Amy share with people in general is what holds the film steady. Abela’s performance isn’t great, being a little too exaggerated and downright stiff at times, but she nails the grounded likability of Winehouse well. It makes her relationship with Blake feel natural and her adoration so totally obvious. Amy was never one to adhere to the standards of the music industry, and that’s what made her so endearing to so many. You see this in the way she talks to her father, often telling him off for pushing her into an image she doesn’t want, but also relying on him to help and comfort her. If the film has anything going for it, it’s how strong this affectionate side of her is.

The grounded nature of Amy’s life and personality is something that many overlooked while she was alive. Many were quick to villainise either Blake or Mitch-the former for hooking her on harder drugs and the latter for enabling her behaviour-but Taylor-Johnson was sure to dispel these ideas. You’ll find yourself especially drawn to Mitch and Amy’s nan. These two really solidify the more earthly side of the artist, presenting their own complexities and skewed morals.

Stepping away from the familial strengths of the film, we do run into all too common issues these types of movies suffer from. Most apparent is the cliché struggling artist finds the confidence to make it in the industry but falls under negative influences formula.

The film runs through the same exact course but in a more shrouded way. Before the film even reaches its second act, you’ve already figured out how it’s going to play out. The final act is particularly egregious, invoking an almost predatory imitation of other films. We have to sit through the same miraculous creations of songs. We watch and listen as Amy brings her iconic songs out of thin air, pausing to let the audience sit in awesome wonderment. But it’s all so inauthentic and disingenuous. None of it feels realistic and is impacted by Abela’s shaky singing. Mannerisms are pushed too far to the point of feeling more like a caricature and the transition to Winehouse’s actual voice is unnatural and jarring.

I still think the choice to focus on Winehouse’s personal life over the music is admirable, but one can’t ignore how it shoddily steps around her musical talents. The songs, while varied and even a little obscure at times-which was a good decision-feel more like they were put there for the sake of simply being there. This is a problem that plagues so many of these types of films: songs have no real rhyme or reason for being put there narratively and only serve to gives audiences what they expect. Hearing songs like Fuck Me Pumps and Rehab are all well and good, but they need a narrative excuse to be present. The only ones that fit into this are the ones established as being based around her relationship with Blake.

I think that’s another point worth bringing up. While the film is titled after the album-and song-of the same name, it never feels as though the album is given much attention. Going back to the core of the film, Amy’s relationship with Blake was so consequential to her music that it brought about the entire album. In the film, it’s more framed as a little side-note in them getting back together. Really, the film needed to make the music the third piece of this symbiotic relationship, not just an addendum to please audiences.

The small bits of praise I’ve given to this film are overcast by the generic state of yet another piece in the music biopic zeitgeist. For fans of Winehouse, the music isn’t given the focus it needs and an idea is formed that her drug and relationship problems are all there was to Winehouse’s life. To those who are tired of the obvious checklist structure of such films and are-like myself-merely outside spectators of the artist, you’ll roll your eyes and count down the seconds till the next cliché intervenes.

Amy Winehouse was more than talented, creating songs that betrayed the system and gave us a lens into her private life. In some aspects, the film delivers on just that. But in others, it imitates what worked for other films, reminding us of how samey the lives of these artists can feel. Quite frankly, I’m tired of these serviceable and indicative movies that offer little in the way of a unique voice, bordering on disrespect. For those unaware, there is a documentary simply titled Amy that delves further into the life of the troubled and heart-breaking life of the artist. This film is one I’m more than happy to say goodbye to in words alone.

Written review by Conor Johnson.

Marital Arts Madness: A Buried Genre Unearthed

Turn your minds back to the 1970s for one second. The film zeitgeist has evolved into something so perpendicular to everything that had come before it. Studios were taking a more cost-effective approach, leading to the rise of indie film makers and foreign ventures gaining a more worldwide attention. And one part of the world that benefitted from such a societal shift was that of East Asia.

It’s humorous to think of now, what with Japanese and South Korean media having become quite normalised in Western society. But it was the films of China, Hong Kong and Taiwan that had taken the world by storm back then, back when the film output of said countries were so overlooked. The genre that exploded onto the scene was that of the martial arts and kung fu niche. Bruce Lee heralded this era with his tendency to mix real-life fighting with acting, ingraining East Asia’s pride into the arts as it had been for decades before, now told to those so oblivious.

My own knowledge of the genre has been rather miniscule. I was inspired to write an article on my recent experience with these once-normalised films after watching the kung fu comedy Half a Loaf of Kung Fu. The film isn’t exactly a shining example of the genre, but it it did leave me lamenting how films like this appear to have faded away into obscurity as they once were. Even Quentin Tarantino’s homage Kill Bill is more than twenty years old, being the last seamless replication of the era.

So, with this article I wanted to highlight just a handful of films that were spurred by this casual, sudden thought. This is less a guide to the world of kung fu films, and more a chronicle of one man’s journey through his hardly-treaded regions. I wanted to go with more obscure choices, so no Enter the Dragon or Police Story. These aren’t all winners: some are, in this humble writer’s opinion, quintessential viewing, some are pretty awful, and some are a little more…we’ll say, adventurous. Enjoy my little ka-powwow.

The Good

Before the kung fu craze of the seventies had hit, the Shaw brothers had crafted a film company dedicated to making some of the greatest martial arts outputs. It was the sixties where they truly came to explode onto the scene, and one of their most prominent works was 1966’s Come Drink with Me. A film that broke tradition and dared to place a strong female into the role typically reserved for men.

Saying this, Pei-Pei Cheng’s Chang Hsuan-yen is not exactly the main character. It starts out with an immediate kidnapping, that of Hsuan-yen’s brother. The lone female warrior poses as a man, fending off any attempt on her life. She eventually runs into the drunkard Fan Ta-p’i (Hua Yueh), whom has his own quarrels with the criminal organisation that kidnapped Hsuan-yen’s brother. Though seemingly led by Ting Chung-yu (Hung-Lieh Chen), this shadowy organisation has a much stronger master behind it who shares a past with our drunken warrior.

Far from being my first foray into the genre, Come Drink with Me did manage to garner some perspective on what the genre entails. What you have here are actors who are not only dedicating themselves to the artform of performance, but also those of whom are blending their naturally-learnt kung fu skills into something symbiotic. This film, and all others going forward, is at its best when the action takes over and the performers become one with the combat. Brutality intervenes with bloody repercussions that aren’t gratuitous and rather serve to highlight just how intense the action is.

What struck me as most exciting was how director King Hu pushed a woman to the forefront. Many, many years before Hollywood clamoured for representation, King had found a way to make such a thing feel natural and empowering. Couple that with the time-honoured tradition of a drunken fool revealed to be a secret master of the fist, and you get this unique blend of deconstructed stereotypes. This, put up against memorable villains and even more memorable stunt work, and you have a film that need not be enjoyed only by those who love the genre, but by everyone.

Come Drink with Me is simple in so many ways, as are all the films that make up this article. But there’s a memorability here that is cast in a blanket of cathartic action that very few films today could replicate. One could speak of how Bruce Lee truly inspired the genre, but that would be better saved for another day, another article.

To continue on this path, the Shaw brothers gave us a slew of iconic kung fu films. I, being that one person that thinks it better to find the more obscure choices, went for Chen Chang’s 1980 film The Flag of Iron. Brothers is more than an apt word to use for this film, as the director explores the meaning of brotherhood, even that of unrelated kinship.

We are introduced to a clan that watches over the village they live in. Dealing with a plague of gambling and prostitution, two of the ‘brothers’, Tsao Feng (Feng Lu) and Yun Liang (Sheng Chiang) put a stop to the debauchery. But this upsets rival clans, causing their master to be assassinated. The eldest ‘brother’ Lo Hsin (Phillip Chung-Fung Wok) takes the throne, while Tsao Feng feels responsible for not stopping the assassination and exiles himself. Time moves on, but Tsao Feng finds that he isn’t able to live a life of isolation for long, having to deal with assassins. Yun Liang informs him that their eldest brother has brought back the illegal businesses, and a white clad assassin offers aid in usurping their former brother.

Familial vengeance is a running theme in these types of films, even when the characters aren’t truly related. China has always believed in this idea of respect and upholding tradition. Damaging as the effects have been in modern society, there is something admirable about that dedication. This is what makes the journey of our lead so endearing. Mix that in with these feelings of regret and low self-esteem, and you suddenly have this shockingly investigative tale of honour and pride.

As was said with the previous film, you’re mainly here for the action. All of this emotional weight is well and good, but we need to see people being brutally killed in intense and satisfying ways. Chang wastes no time on this front, practically throwing assassins onto the screen and letting them die in creatively obtuse ways-ever expect an abacus to be used as a weapon? It’s given a more realistic flourish by how all of the actors seen here came from a troupe of performers, ones that utilised both kung fu and acrobatics in their routines. There’s no movie magic here, the flips and leaping are all naturally honed.

Without spoiling the ending, you’ll find the journey satisfyingly wrapped up. Something that bares mentioning is how these types of films are typically packed with exciting and intense climaxes. It also serves as an opportunity for more creative clashes. I promise you that you’ll be more than satisfied. Never more has a flag carried so much power.

Both film I’ve mentioned so far have been prime examples of how the genre can be done right. But this Asian equivalent to the big action movies of the Western world also come with more than their fair share of duds…

The Bad

At the start I mentioned one particular film that inspired me to write such an article. See, I’m not too privy to the earlier works of Jackie Chan. His output for my-Millennial-generation comes from the Western kung fu comedies like Rush Hour and the obscure cartoon show Jackie Chan Adventures. Chi-Hwa Chen’s Half a Loaf of Kung Fu from 1978, was chosen purely at random. I had guessed that this would be more comical compared to Chan’s other works; I wasn’t expecting it to be as bad as it was.

Chan plays a buffoon of a man whose kung fu skills are subpar, to say the least. This ‘Jiang’ as he is named just so happens to come upon a fierce battle where a man known as the ‘Whip King’ is able to kill a criminal, only to be subdued himself. Jiang decides to take the whip for himself and is incorrectly labelled as the true Whip King-not that he protests. He eventually finds himself in the company of a genuine kung fu master who offers to train him in the way of useful skills, but most of Jiang’s victories are by pure coincidence. Jiang now faces the various clans that once went for the real Whip King, and must protect the household that has taken him in.

Calling this bad may not be entirely true. It certainly suffers from cringe-inducing humour and the easy fall-back of making silly faces, but there is much to enjoy. Even when purposely holding back for the sake of the character’s abilities, Jackie Chan still brings his all, carefully telegraphing each punch and kick so that it only hits went the script demands it. To be a talented and competent fighter is a huge accomplishment, but it takes true skill to hold yourself back to the point of mild skill. And when we do see Chan unleash his natural abilities, it’s as satisfying to watch as you might expect.

But all this balletic choreography is overshadowed by a weak sense of humour and a plot that forgets to set itself up properly. Before you even realise what’s going on, Jiang is suddenly on this path towards fighting a great evil and his various henchman, all with their own gimmick. The first half is entirely nonsensical, with events happening with little to no reason. The second half is overstuffed with characters and attempts at jokes, some crude, some that only a small child will find amusing. All this with a wacky soundtrack and even wackier sound effects. I really can’t fathom what this movie wants to be.

This isn’t something I’m going to recommend, even from a more comedic point of view. I sometimes wonder if this is simply down to cultural differences and our own penchant for what constitutes comedy, or perhaps it’s the change in time. Whatever the case, it’s not my basis for future Chan-ventures. But enough bashing one legendary actor: time for another.

I don’t think it’s too bold to say that Jet Li is somewhat of a poor man’s Jackie Chan. Of course, he has managed to craft an identity of his own, but much of his success came from the explosion of Jackie Chan’s Western popularity. Apparently Tsui Hark, who had more than a great share of successes, decided to capitalise off this phenomenon with the 1992 film The Master. A name that certainly sounds generic-especially next to the other titles I’ve mentioned-but has a fair weight to it.

Jet Li plays…Jet, a Chinese student who travelled to the States to find his master Tak (Wah Yuen). Problem is that Tak’s herbal shop, which he runs after having retired as a martial artist, is attacked by an American practitioner of the same kung fu. Johnny (Jerry Trimble) is intent on ending Tak’s life, but the former master has found refuge in the home of a young martial arts student Anna (Anne Rickets). The Chinese tourist looks for his master, is almost robbed by a group of Latinos, who want to be trained by him, and tries to stop his master’s store from being closed. All the while, he must take down the villainous Johnny.

The plot synopsis screams B-movie shlock. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so; that’s exactly what it is. Given the predatory nature of this film’s inception, the way it shamelessly reaps away elements of Jackie Chan’s more successful films throws this into knockoff territory. There isn’t much to it that other B-movie kung fu flicks of the time didn’t already have. But there is a shockingly layered subtext to this that is only made so by how ‘cheap’ a lot of this feels.

Tsui Hark had a great reputation at this point in his career with films like Peking Opera Blues and Once Upon a Time in China. So there is a certain auteur aspect to him that gives him credit above other directors I’ve mentioned. This film perpetuates a point about how foreigners feel in America, and not just the Asian community. Frequently throughout the film, Asian characters acknowledge the struggle of fitting into the American mould. There’s criticisms of how America has commercialised East Asian martial arts. We even get some not-so-subtle imagery of how Latino people struggle to co-exist. This is not to say that the subtext is particularly good, but the effort is commendable.

The story is by and far the weakest aspect the film has to it. The action is what maintains the film. Li’s punches and kicks are encouraged by a some of the most satisfying sound effects. Barely any wirework was used, allowing the natural agility of the actors to speak for itself. Unlike other films that I’ve mentioned, it’s very much a one-man show. There are plenty of characters and tons of action to go around. But it’s Jet Li that takes over completely. It distracts from the paper-thin plot and uncomfortable stereotypes that contradict so much of the message.

This one comes under pretty forgettable territory. There’s not a lot that The Master does that couldn’t be done elsewhere. If you want a cheesy, serviceable kung fu movie then I’m sure there are worse choices. It feels wrong to harken on Li when I know he can do so much more. That nicely leads me to…

The Weird

I sat in deep concentration over what constituted weird. The kung fu genre has been laden with fantastical and mystical entries that go far above the standard, choregraphed fights mixed with the overbearing presence of gangs and sects. The films that go above this add a weightlessness-quite literally-to the action; films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and even John Carpenter’s homage Big Trouble in Little China. But one is too obvious and the other is merely inspired. That’s where Zhang Yimou’s 2002 film Hero comes in.

Hero is not too dissimilar from Akira Kurosawa’s classic Rashomon. We meet a nameless warrior (Jet Li), who recounts his story of how he brought an end to the three warriors that make up the regions of Ancient China. The story is not so straightforward, as the hero speaks of the event from three different perspectives. Each carry the same characters, with the hero meeting Broken Sword (Tony Leung Chiu-wai), a warrior that chooses to end his battles through affection, and Flying Snow (Maggie Cheung), his star-crossed lover that cares more for vengeance and bloodshed. Moon (Ziyi Zhang), has fallen for Broken Sword, doomed to live a tragic third-wheel existence. Then there is Sky (Donnie Yen), whom marks the end of our hero’s journey.

If the names of the characters aren’t enough to clue you in on the film’s more fantastical approach, the mythology-soaked subtext will. Each story, all from the perspective of different characters, provides a different outlook on how important war really is. Given that China was founded off the backs of fallen soldiers, Yimou’s perspective has been bred through his own teachings. Amidst the flashy kung fu moves and literal flying manoeuvres, there’s quite a nuanced view of the world’s need for conflict.

That non-linear structure is what gives the film its identity. The three stories become progressively more subdued, but the characters remain the same. We see a deadly war full of betrayal and bloodshed, a singular tale of revenge vs benevolence, and a battle of love overcoming anger. Each retelling has the same heartache. There’s something so beautiful about a film that offers all sides of the argument without skewing from the idea of affection.

Again, it was difficult to call this weird. But with its unusual structure and tendency for characters to take flight and run on water, the word is quite appropriate. The action is still exhilarating, but there’s a subtlety to it you won’t see in the other films I’ve mentioned. As much as Li is the main character, it’s Leung and Cheung that elevate the film into being something truly masterful. It’s probably the only film on this list that will make you step back and look at your own morals and ponder the opposite side of things.

This is all well and good, but you’re really here for a truly weird film, right? Do I have the film for you.

In 1987, Masahiko Takajo created a manga by the name of Riki-Oh. Like most Japanese manga, this comic was known for its graphic nature and ridiculous premise. Apparently, an independent film company in Hong Kong was bold enough to try their hand at a live action adaptation. In 1991, we received Ricky-Oh: The Story of Ricky, directed by Ngai Choi Lam. If you were expecting a more grounded take, given how difficult it can be to directly adapt such wild material into live action, you’d be sorely mistaken. Ricky-Oh is everything you could want it to be.

The titular Ricky (Siu-Wong Fan) is sent to prison for killing the men responsible for the death of his girlfriend. It doesn’t take long for Ricky to cause some havoc, as the abusive prison guards try to attack Ricky, only to find he has a near-indestructability. While there, Ricky finds that all the prison guards, as well as the warden (Ka-Kui Ho) are completely corrupt, killing prisoners and allowing the more violent ones to run amok. Ricky no longer stands for this, and takes it upon himself to put an end to these violent sycophants.

Ricky-Oh is a treat like no other. For those avid readers, you may be disappointed to see the film make use of a more liminal space than the more open-world nature of the manga. Somewhat like the manga, however, there is a near-post-apocalyptic setting. The budgetary constraint of having this set in a single location honestly aids it. We get a playground of bloody, gory fun that is sure to satisfy the masochists out there.

I make no exaggeration when I say this film is gory. Pulling in the most degraded of violence from the manga, we get pools and pools of death, some seeming like they were ripped out of a Saw film, just with a far more comical feel. The main character is this superhero-like figure that can take more than his fair share of stabs to the stomach, and it’s all loosely explained away by a single flashback of him being trained. But you need to throw logic out the window, because it hardly matters. You’re here for the insanity, and to expect anything more is foolish.

The story is something you shouldn’t spend too much time worrying about. The more dramatic and emotional moments often reach an underwhelming thud, often strewn with misplaced sentiment. The reason for why Ricky is there hardly matters and anything else that happens is all in service to the chaos that is the fight sequences. Paper mache heads and rubber body parts are aplenty, given the charm that can only be achieved by a low budget.

And that was my shortened, abridged journey through the world of kung fu films. In time, I’m going to watch many more-possibly returning to make a second part-as I feel there’s untapped potential for more interesting writings. But for now, I walk away with a more insightful idea of what made this genre so once beloved.

It is a shame that this genre doesn’t quite have the grab it once did on Western culture. Films like John Wick and The Raid certainly have their audience, but these are splayed across various years instead of the barrage that once dominated the seventies and eighties. I have plans to further explore one particular martial artist, a certain dragon with a fiery fist of fury. But that is a story for another day.

Written by Conor Johnson.

Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire: A Franchise Worth Burying

Dany Aykroyd and Harold Ramis once had an outlandish idea for a new ghostly comedy caper. The idea was so outlandish that studios didn’t have much confidence in getting it made. Both comedians had made names for themselves on the comedy circuit, and they promised early stars like John Belushi and Eddie Murphy as headliners. But the film was drastically altered over time. It’s a miracle that the film turned out as well as it did, being strengthened by its cast and their naturalistic improving skills.

What was ultimately a miraculous accomplishment was regurgitated into a franchise of less-than-stellar sequels and spinoffs. But when 2021’s Ghostbusters: Afterlife, which reimagined the dynamic as something of a smaller, family-led affair about the grandchildren of Raimis’s Egon Spengler, was released, many found it to be a nice breath of fresh air. Connecting itself to the original two films, ignoring the 2016 reboot, fans applauded it for being more unique…until the final act, wherein the movie completely replicated the finale the original film. A big part of the success was director Jason Reitman, son of Ivan Reitman, who directed the first two films.

Now we have the follow up; a sequel that brings us back to the roots of the Ghostbusters’ inception. With a new director at the helm, it was difficult to know how well this could turn out. Would Egon’s family from the first film be able to hold this one together? Or would we see the original ‘busters hijack the film for the sake of that oh-so-easy nostalgia-pandering? Whatever the case, this is Gil Kenan’s Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire.

The Ghostbusters are back in New York! Well, not the original team exactly. Following the family of the deceased Egon again, the once rural family have set up base in the original city the team started. Egon’s daughter Callie (Carrie Coon) is now in full gear alongside her kids, Phoebe (Mckenna Grace) and Trevor (Finn Wolfhard), as well as her new partner Gary (Paul Rudd). The family is bursting through New York, catching spirits and taking residence in the old firehouse. But after an incident that endangers the city, the teenage Phoebe is pushed into taking a backseat- appropriate considering she’s underage.

While the gang continues to catch spectres, original Ghostbuster Ray Stantz (Dan Aykroyd) is given a mysterious sphere by a man named Nadeem (Kumail Nanjiani), whom claims to have inherited it from his grandmother. Though Nadeem only wants to pawn it off, Ray realises that there is a ghostly force inside of it that may contain a powerful spirit. That of a frozen force that could freeze over the entire Earth. Ray decides to help out Phoebe and the returning ‘Podcast’ (Logan Kim), in discovering the origins of this ghostly villain.

While all this is going on, Phoebe finds a newfound and strange romance in Melody (Emily Alyn Lind), a ghost girl who is desperate to reunite with her deceased family. Her budding relationship with Phoebe seems to have some sort of sinister intent behind it, but the hormone-driven Phoebe seems too infatuated to notice. Meanwhile, Winston Zeddemore (Ernie Hudson) has created a research lab to further explore malignant spirts, with the help of Lucky (Celeste O’Connor), returning from the previous adventure, and Lars (James Acaster). Researching the spirt, they begin to realise just how powerful it may be.

It would be foolish to pretend that the entire film isn’t riddled with too many subplots and characters. In a bizarre and stark contrast to the previous film, Frozen Empire opts to up the ante by shoving in as much as they can as to capture the ludicrous nature of the original film-I didn’t even mention the little subplot about Gary trying to be a father figure to the kids or Trevor’s little dynamic with the returning Slimer or even Nadeem’s journey of self-discovery. You would think with such a convoluted mess of events that I would simply hate everything about this, but…it’s surprisingly fun.

Afterlife left me feeling this sense of hollowness. While ambitious in its approach, focusing on a smaller-stakes story in the countryside, it just didn’t feel like a Ghostbusters film-until the end, where it felt too much like the original film. This one finds a fairer balance, reminding us of what appealed to us in the first place. Yes, it’s messy and goes in too many directions, but there’s fun to be found within all of those subplots.

It is surprising to see Paul Rudd pushed to the forefront in this one-literally being top-billed. As he usually is, he’s one of the most enjoyable parts of the film. I did enjoy his little arc of trying to connect with the kids, especially Phoebe. It doesn’t go down too many cliché routes of having the kids absolutely despise him, and keeps him relatively jovial. Most of the best content in the film is just Rudd reacting to iconic Ghostbusters items and events. Even Carrie Coon, whose character I disliked in the previous film, is very enjoyable in this one, having the right amount of sass as to not be too unlikeable.

There are other characters that I feel are pushed aside too much, or even to the point where you question why they’re there. Kumail Nanjiani was the most enjoyable part of the film, and he gets this arc about being this ‘chosen one’ of sorts. The biggest laughs often came from him, and you can tell he’s invoking that more naturalistic atmosphere of the original. The problem is that he’s not utilised fully until the final act. He would’ve been a welcome Ghostbuster, bouncing off the likes of Rudd incredibly well. But I suppose they have to keep the family dynamic from the previous film.

Mckenna Grace still brings much of the strength to the film. Her role as Phoebe is still as indicative of that Egon-meets-angsty-teenager approach, and her frustration at being side-lined is perfectly understandable. She feels like a genuine teenager, but never pushed to the point where she’s aggravatingly obnoxious. The romance she shares with the ghostly Melody is genuinely sweet as well, even with how ridiculous the concept can seem. But what is Ghostbusters without pure ridiculousness?

What felt most surprising to me is how little the issues the film certainly has bothered me. There’s this little gag-reliant side plot about how Trevor is trying to trap Slimer, who is taking up residence in the firehouse’s attic, and it serves as just a reason to give Wolfhard something to do. It also suffers with that constant issue of nostalgia-pandering that many modern sequels tend to do. But that said, it was quite a lot of fun and felt like something you’d see in one of the original films.

Aykroyd was given a shocking amount to do. While they hardly have him running around wearing the proton pack, he does have this side plot where he helps out Phoebe and Podcast. There is a level of self-awareness there, with Winston encouraging his friend to give up this lifestyle. I usually groan at the idea of these old actors being dragged into doing the same thing they did forty years ago-it tends to be pathetic and a little hard to watch-but they use Ray, and all the returning actors like Bill Murray and Annie Potts, quite effectively…until the final act.

The film is ripe with obvious dialogue simply explaining everything on screen. Acaster and O’Connor are essentially just there to be massive dialogue boxes with nothing of worth to add. Having a stand-up comedian there and not giving him many jokes seems rather strange and pointless. Once you start picking apart the finer points of the story, many, many cracks begin to show.

Much like the last film, the final act is where the film really falls apart. The villain that they spend time building up is effective, sporting a cool design and worrying power, but it does come with an obnoxious scene of heavy exposition. The film is also rampant in nostalgia-bait moments; again, this is an issue many legacy sequels tend to suffer from. There are lines directly quoting iconic ones from the first, we get William Atherton returning as Walter Peck for no other reason than reminding us of his character, the Stay Puft creatures are back in full swing and we get the original characters having their moment to shine, doing very little.

By the end of the film, you will question just how much of it felt comprehensible. While the original film is full of sillier moments, you understand the story and can follow each character, even the side-characters, pretty proficiently. This film doesn’t quite know what to do with everything on its plate and tries to shove in as many characters and side-plots as it can. It takes a Marvel approach, trying to build a team of distinct and recognisable characters, whereas it should’ve just been a further exploration of the family we had in Afterlife.

The hate that this film has received has been quite overblown. Yes, it’s another shameless cash-grab and another cog in the regurgitating machine we call Hollywood. But that’s not to say films like this can’t be fun.

The film does make use of modern advancements. The CGI is impressive to look at and we do get some fun ghosts. I wish there were more dynamic designs, but the demonic looking ghost and the bizarre little light that can possess people and objects were amazing additions. Even the revisited ghosts have nice and appropriate redesigns.

When you place this film up against the other sequels, you end up appreciating it for how closely it captures the spirit of the original. Ghostbusters II, while remembered fondly today, was at once considered a shameless cash-in of the first film’s success. The 2016 reboot was a failed attempt at trying to bring the franchise back to life. And Afterlife, in my personal opinion, suffered with a severe identity crisis where it felt too different and too unconfident in itself to have a proper finale. This one is fun. That’s something that has been lacking from all of these other sequels.

But ultimately, I think this franchise needs to be retired. You can’t replicate the miracle that was the original film. Those who have tried always miss the point, and while this comes close, it still can’t bring to life the magic that consumed the minds of kids around the world. This might make me feel good, but bustin’ has never felt as good as it did in ’84.

Written review by Conor Johnson.

Dune: Part Two: Worth the Wait, Twice the Spice

It’s an easy thing to brand something so overpopulated by big budget extremities as a meaningless, mindless product. For all the good a superhero film can do in getting people into theatres, it’s always met with similar criticisms to its indulgent predecessors. Major franchises are now usually met with disparaging thoughts before it even has chance to stand on its legs. But then we get these reminders that there was once a time when a huge blockbuster sequel could be the most exciting thing.

When Denis Villeneuve’s adaptation of Frank Herbert’s Dune novel was released in 2021, audiences were ecstatic, praising it above all else. There was no guarantee of a sequel, just the hope of a talented director. The fact that this film managed to do as well as it did in a post-Covid world really said a lot about the quality of the film. The sequel was hotly anticipated, even with audiences losing faith in the idea of visiting a cinema.

I reviewed the first Dune back when it came out. I went as far as to call it my favourite film of the year. And with Villeneuve’s track record, my only hope was that the sequel could come as close to being in that pantheon of superb films. Given that the reaction to this film has been extremely positive-many are calling it a modern day masterpiece-it should be of no shock that I’m adding to the boatload of praise. Continuing in the dense and populated pages of Herbert’s novel, this is a sequel that the author would be more than proud of. This is Denis Villeneuve’s Dune: Part Two.

Picking up almost immediately where the first film left off, Paul Atreides (Timothee Chalamet) and his pregnant mother, Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), have escaped the attempted assassination on their lives by the Harkonnens. Taking residence on the desert planet of Arrakis, the wealthy mother and son join the water-tank-fuelled Fremen that make up the planet. Their most prominent member, Stilgar (Javier Bardem), believes that Paul is the chosen one, destined to bring an end to the reigning Harkonnens.

With Paul bent on revenge for the death of his father, he plans to lead the Fremen to war, they believing he is a Christ-like figure known as the Lisan Al-Gaib. One Fremen by the name of Chani (Zendaya) falls in love with Paul, and the two blossom a powerful relationship. Meanwhile, Jessica becomes the Fremen’s new mother-figure, spreading this myth about her son and communicating with her unborn child.

While the Fremen are building a strong defence, Baron Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgard) has appointed his nephew Feyd-Rutha (Austin Butler) as his greatest warrior, the one to bring an end to the Fremen. Will Paul continue to fend off these premonitions of becoming a holy figure, or will the power go to his head? Whatever the case, Paul plans to lead the Fremen to victory.

Even with all the knowledge of the previous film, a plot synopsis does not do the comprehension of this film justice. On paper, a lot of what I just wrote sounds like complete, ludicrous nonsense in that same way most intense sci-fi films are. But even with the three-year gap and dense lore in mind, seeing the film makes all the difference.

A common point of discussion many fans of the book will bring up is just how detailed and thorough the world is. If anything, Villeneuve manages to simplify much of it, while also rewarding those who have dedicated themselves to investing in this universe. Much of the film still makes sense, even when relying on made-up space-babble. You understand the goal, understand the villain’s motivation and never question the reasoning for why characters do what they do. Unnecessary of mentioning, it may seem, but many detractors have brought up how nonsensical much of the story is, forcing them into a state of giving up before the film has really kicked in.

What feels most satisfying about the film is not even the sci-fi aspects. Paul’s journey is simple at face value; him being on a moral quest of fighting oppression. But it’s that shift in personality that is most inviting. You see this natural shift from vengeful warrior to borderline prophet happen so progressively. There’s this internal fight happening underneath a shroud of headstrong actions and constant appraisal as Paul cannot decide what to be. And yet, you never lose that attachment, especially when the film explores Paul’s relationship to Chani.

The romance in this film is powerfully realistic. Both Chalamet and Zendaya generate a strong chemistry, acting as perfect contrasts to what they want in life. There’s no forceful shoehorning of chemistry, and it allows the dialogue from the book and the natural closeness the two actors have do all the heavy-lifting. With Chani haven dealt with the harshness of the desert and the Baron’s cruelty in far more taxing ways, she helps to bring the more privileged Paul down to earth.

This type of character building is prevalent throughout the film, fully expanding and delivering what was promised in the first film. Characters like Stilgar and Dave Bautista’s Beast Rabban are given more time to flourish and add their own pieces of commentary to the overall subtext that Herbert had always intended.

To those quick to revile the movie for its political imagery, know that Frank Herbert had always intended the story to parallel that of America’s greed and mistreatment of natives. The use of a desert planet, with dark-skinned people, makes the analogy that much more clear.

The Harkonnens are truly one of the greatest aspects of the film. Skarsgard and Bautista return with threatening aplomb, but then Butler is thrown into the mix with his devilishly terrifying run as Feyd Rutha. Warriors and powerful men who can use mere words to bring an end to someone’s life carries such a weight. Every second we’re made to spend with these characters allows us to reflect on just how earth-shattering each one is. Sure, we don’t get Sting wearing a codpiece in this one, but Butler’s insane behaviour is more than a fitting replacement.

Villeneuve’s vision for the film is only heightened by the current state of the world and how much worse the situation for South Americans has become. The Harkonnens being these bleach-white figures with all the power, laying waste on any unsuspecting world they want; it’s all so bleak. In that bleakness lies intelligent truths that many “anti-woke” crusaders are too stubborn to see. A way that Villeneuve cleverly visualises this conversation piece is through the battle sequence, bathed in the world’s natural black-and-white look.

If anything is gained from this-say the story just doesn’t resonate with you-the visuals and soundtrack are truly inspired. Much of this is consistent with the first film, being an exemplary piece of art that shows us the potential of what big-budget movie making can be in this day and age. That aforementioned fight scene is certainly the biggest highlight, but there’s much more, sticking firm in your mind like a scrapbook of photographs. The language of cinema is so much more than simple dialogue or basic motivations. And it’s superb to see a major studio understand this.

What’s interesting about the praise that Dune: Part Two has gotten is that it speaks of the film as an exceptional blockbuster high above everything else we’ve gotten. People speak of the complications of the plot, but what many ignore is that it’s quite simple once you pick apart certain aspects. That is not at all to say I disliked the film; on the contrary: I loved it.

This is a prime example of how to do a sequel right. The three-year gap has done nothing to seperate the film’s accomplishments. It really feels as though Villeneuve was able to replicate his headspace exactly, and if I was told these were filmed back to back, I truly would’ve believed it. Faithful to the original novel, only trimming down certain aspects, this movie really feels like a monumental art piece for the modern day. If cinemas are going to go through this back-and-forth struggle of uncertainty when it comes to successes, let’s just hope that they can remain as enjoyable, entertaining and even introspective as this. Believe the hype, it is as written.

Written review by Conor Johnson.

My All-Time (20) Favourite Movies: 200th Special

It’s here! After almost five years (ignoring my failed attempt at starting a film blog in 2015) of writing articles, film reviews and other little ventures that didn’t quite pan out, I’ve reached my two-hundredth written article-just as long as we only include the articles situated on this particular blog.

Typically, whenever I’ve reached a fiftieth article milestone, I like to revisit a Tim Burton film, following in the vein of my first 2019 review, Ed Wood. I had a very different approach to revisiting older films when I started this, trying to find a balance of obscurities and beloved classics. But I’ve evolved quite a bit since then, preferring the hidden gems that lie beneath the crust of the casual moviegoer. But I still wanted to do something special for this landmark article; everybody enjoys a list.

Listed here are the twenty movies I consider to be my favourite films of all time. These are the films that managed to either strike a particular chord with me or are so closely linked to a personal experience or mentality that I can’t compare it to any other. Some of these I simply enjoy for just how thoroughly entertaining and rewatchable they are. My personal picks can change from time to time, but this is about as concrete as I can get. From lowest to highest, this is my top twenty films of all time.

20. Taste of Cherry (1997)

We’re starting off on a very grim tone here with Abbas Kiarostami’s Iranian gem. My experience with South Asian cinema is very minimal, but the allure of Taste of Cherry is something that breaks barriers.

With the film being centred around a man (Homayoun Ershadi) ready to commit suicide, you can expect the film to have a sombre atmosphere all throughout. But what’s most interesting about this is that the tone is mostly very flat. This man meets a revolving door of different people who he asks to help bury him alive, three of them with different outlooks and of different generations. Each conversation, bountiful in length, offers us varying views of mortality and mental health. In a country where suicide is such a reviled thing, condemned through religious belief, it asks the question of how justified one’s emotions can be in the face of everything you’ve been taught.

What appeals to me most about this film is how earnestly it tackles the debate. We’ve all experienced our own bouts of depression, even getting to that point of weighing up your options, ready to bite the bullet. Unless you’ve experienced those feelings, it’s difficult to describe just how empty you feel. It’s usually not a torrent of tears or a deep pleading for someone to help you: you’ve made your mind up. We know very little of why Badiei wants to kill himself; we’re witnessing a man at the end of his rope, trying to place responsibility on others as a subtle cry for help.

The beauty of this film is how it doesn’t necessarily put blame on to one particular figure. Even the first two people Badiei meets-a younger man who wants nothing to do with this and a middle-aged man who couldn’t care less-are not evil for not trying to help him. There is a criticism of religious teachings, acknowledging the problems with certain parts of them, but it’s also offering a helping hand to those in need. So much of that emotion, heavily veiled as it is, is something that permeated onto me. It doesn’t lay the message on thick, treating the viewer as a friend in need more than anything.

I’ve adored this film since the first watch. It’s hard to find films that so perfectly encapsulate many of my own anxieties this way. I haven’t ranked it any higher because I don’t think enough time has passed for me to fully fall in love with it. That said, it’s a film that tackles a regurgitated idea with a nicely sombre and still approach that will have you hooked to every word, encouraging your own feelings on such a sensitive subject. The taste of cherry is a sweet sensation, but there’s always a rock-like core at the bottom.

19. Before Sunrise (1995)

Subtle existentialism may be a running theme, considering the unmatchable exploration of life itself in Richard Linklater’s distinct trilogy starter, Before Sunrise. I spoke of the entire trilogy in a seperate analysis, being, what I consider, to be up there as the near enough the greatest film trilogy of all time. And it’s that first film that I’ve revisited so many times.

This film isn’t adorned in action set-pieces or any particular excitement: it’s an exploration of two ocean-splayed lovers that spend a single day together. Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) meet on a train bound for Vienna. Jesse is doing a European trip and Celine is simply trying to get home. This single meeting on a train leads to an emotional journey that invites us into the confines of an intimate relationship being birthed. From train to tram to simply walking about the streets of Vienna, the little musings on life and our ultimate reasoning for existence leaves you contemplating the same things.

I typically don’t gel with tired romance stories, but Before Sunrise is something else. It sticks quite closely to what you might expect from the genre, but it also allows us to deconstruct the essence of what a relationship is: what significance does it have in the grand scheme of things and why is it so beautiful? Hearing these two enigmatic figures speak about their aspirations, their failed relationships, even the state of the world, political or otherwise, is painstakingly explored. And it’s all done in a very naturalistic way. Boredom never sets in; you feel like a participant in one of the most salient, continuous conversations.

While not immediately accessible to those who look for a bit more action in their films, Before Sunrise and its almost equally superb sequels deserve the fullest of attention. Whether it’s through Hawke and Delpy’s playfulness or the little pitstops they make, you see the relationship grow organically. Walk through the streets of these European cities, experience the day-to-day life of those we rarely see, and simply exist as a spectator in the budding formation of two perfect lovers.

18. Fargo (1996)

Who doesn’t like to dabble in the macabre arts? No more prominent are directors in this style of storytelling than Ethan and Joel Coen. The brothers have given us many thriller-comedies over the years, sometimes leaning more on one side than the other, but one of the most significant for me is their chipper dark comedy, Fargo. The show that spun off from this years later may have overshadowed it, but there is something special about that classic Minnesotan kidnapper story that gets the toes a-burning.

The heart of the movie is Frances McDormand’s ever-optimistic, and heavily pregnant, Marge, sent out to investigate a mysterious murder and uncover an elaborate scheme to kidnap someone. McDormand’s peppy kindness makes even the most grisly of murders feel like a slight inconvenience, and we learn just as much about her as the plot instigator, Jerry (William H. Macy). Rarely ever trying to explore emotional themes or deconstructing specific quirks, the film is a rather straightforward contrast of Minnesota kindness meeting grim reality.

There’s not much weight to this one, especially when you stack it up against my previous two picks. What makes it stick out is just how thoroughly entertaining it manages to remain. The criminals that botch this attempted kidnapping are some of the most incompetent figures, powered by Steve Buscemi in one of his greatest roles. Even in spite of their incompetence, a wild card of uncertainty manages to take over.

Fargo is one of those films I think back to whenever I want something a little lighter. Sure, the whole kidnapping scheme, fully orchestrated by Jerry, certainly ventures down some darker avenues, but the juxtaposition is what you sink your teeth into. A situation of hilarity that builds and builds and builds until you reach a climax you never thought they’d go as far as to portray, it’s one of the most important films the Coen brothers have ever made. It’ll leave you chuckling in your boots, y’betcha.

17. Hot Fuzz (2007)

Believe it or not, there are films outside of the nineties that have managed to tickle the ivories. Case in point: the most quintessential British film out there. I could probably comprise an entire list of films directed by Edgar Wright, but the one that sticks out to me-undoubtedly everyone else as well-is the middle of Wright’s famed Cornetto trilogy. Quoted to nauseum, packed full of clever call-backs and foreshadowing, and presenting an editing style that should be studied in every film class, it’s certainly one my more obvious picks.

The adventures of Nicolas Angel (Simon Pegg) are fondly retold by anybody who has seen this film. His journey to a small village as a police officer sees him butting heads with more simple and passive people. Not the least of which is his police partner Danny (Nick Frost), a buffoon who only got the job because his dad is the sergeant. All of you know where this goes from here: murders start arising in this quaint town. A masterclass in action satire, Wright and Pegg specifically set out to make the most action-cliched film they possibly could. And yet, it still manages to keep its heart close to the screen.

It’s undeniable that Hot Fuzz has had such an impact on British culture, but many look towards the simpler presentation of the film. Deep down, there’s so much ingenuity that Wright has poured into the world and the atmosphere. Characters appear as simple caricatures, but it’s always done with a sly intent that audiences will overlook. There are call-backs to iconic action films, reaffirming that this is more of a tribute than a blatant parody. Each character is as memorable as the last, with Timothy Dalton hamming it up as a wonderfully sketchy character that the film telegraphs us to believe is the true villain behind it all. The twist is so much more shocking.

In the early days of my film-loving experiences, I aspired to be a film maker. This was far too ambitious for my abilities, but I knew that if I ever did become one, Edgar Wright would be the template. Now that my mind is more geared towards writing, I can still see myself utilising his ingenious structure. Hot Fuzz may be one of the most iconic films on this list, but any overbearing praise doesn’t ruin the subjective want of my mind. Anybody who has stepped behind a piece editing software could only strive to emulate the cut-throat pace of Wright’s vision. If you’re looking for any of Wright’s other films on this list, I’m afraid it’s just the one, actually.

16. Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

Can you believe that a film buff, such as myself, would place a Wes Anderson movie on a list like this? While not exactly surprising, many Anderson fans may be shocked to see this take precedence over films like Fantastic Mr. Fox or The Grand Budapest Hotel. Both are undeniable gems, but they, and Wes’ other films, have never reached the same personal allure that Moonrise Kingdom has. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of symmetry to go around.

In the wrong hands, a story of two children falling in love and running away together could fall apart due to the shoddy acting of its leads. Sam (Jared Gilman) and Suzy (Kara Haywood) never feel misrepresented. Anderson has a knack for switching up age dynamics in his characters, and it’s evident here with how Sam and Suzy, behaving like adults that already have their lives figured out, manage to outshine their adult counterparts. A boy-scout falls in love with a dancer; they run into the wilderness and simply enjoy each others’ company. The adults that chase them down simply don’t understand how children can so easily believe in love.

It is shocking how much this film managed to reach me on a personal level. As we grow into adults, we forget how good the feeling of a childhood crush can be. Even if these two characters never end up with each other in the future, it hardly matters. Yes, they behave more maturely than their adult chasers, but they still lack the foresight of what’s to come. It’s quite amazing how Wes has managed to recapture that innocence, giving us a contrasting side story with the adults, like with how Bruce Willis and Frances McDormand try to maintain an affair, or how Edward Norton’s camp leader wants to put a stop to all of this childish romance.

Wes Anderson’s films tend to have this uniformity to them that not everyone is going to vibe with. I have criticised films in the past for being too samey, but Anderson always manages to get around this problem. His style is comfortable and warm. Moonrise Kingdom isn’t all that distinct from his other works, but where it chooses to place the focus is what makes it stand apart. You still have all that wonderful cinematography and quirky dialogue and classic rock-tunes, so Anderson fans will get what they want. But the core of the film will always be the relationship the two leads share and the continuous development of said relationship. Childhood memories have never felt this visceral.

15. Logan (2017)

I’ve never been shy to show my distaste with the overexposure of superhero movies. Despite this, I’ll always have a soft spot for them. But just as anyone might, I tend to judge superhero flicks in a different realm from how I judge other films. The genre is so malnourished; so regurgitative that you have to look at them in the scope of how they compare to others of their kind. Then there’s James Mangold’s Logan. Say what you want about Fox’s superhero affair, they can sometimes dish out some creative and risky outliers in the genre. So much so that this film exceeds past that invisible box I have created.

Hugh Jackman delivers what was supposed to be his final bow as famed X-Men character Wolverine (aka Logan) in this dark, violent ode to what many, including myself, admire about the character. We see Logan on his last legs, in an age where mutants have reached near-extinction, only being accompanied by Patrick Stewart’s Professor Xavier and now a clone daughter in Laura (Dafne Keen). Taking inspiration from similar near-apocalyptic stories like Mad Max, the film is a grittier, more western-geared take on the colourfully vicious mutant hero.

The X-Men characters, comics and movies have always been very close to my heart, so it meant a lot to see the ideal vision of a standalone Wolverine movie come to life. After the first two botched attempts, to see Mangold tap into the core of Logan’s character-the bloodthirsty meeting the emotionally distraught tragedy-was more than pleasing. It’s contained in this beautiful tale of emotional breakage, powered by a brilliant trio of characters. When a superhero movie can do more than provide a thoroughly entertaining experience, you begin to stack it up against those films that have reached your favourites.

Though not incredibly deep and will probably mean more to the long-dedicated fans of the franchise than anyone else, there’s so much love and care put into crafting, at the time, the perfect swansong to a beloved character. But it also manages to be a fascinating character study that doesn’t shy away from the brutality. It’s the perfect example of what superhero films could be if studios were willing to take more risks. Excelling in extremity, excitingly entertaining; it’s an exceptional piece.

14. Raising Arizona (1987)

I never made any sort of vow to avoid double-dipping into the same directors’ works, and while I debated that decision for quite some time, to not have the Coen brothers’ Raising Arizona-or the aforementioned Fargo-would be a cardinal sin. One of the most comedy-centric films the brothers ever touched, that macabre sense of humour lends itself to what may be the greatest, or one of the greatest, direct comedies ever made.

Nicolas Cage, an actor I have not stopped defending and was long supportive of his renaissance, plays the lead role opposite Holly Hunter’s Ed as they kidnap a baby from a wealthy couple. Seeing as Ed can’t have children, they believe this is the only way. Cage plays a former criminal, Hunter being a former cop. The hijinks that ensue recapture the Coens’ knack for erratically climbing comedy in the most superb ways. This baby, of the wealthy Arizona family mentioned in the title, becomes this unstoppable force of love and care. Even criminals coo at the child’s existence.

Even less so than Fargo, many would not place this film above other, more iconic Coen films. Objectively, it’s not their best. But with how heartily and gut-crushingly I laughed, it’s difficult not to give this more credit. Cage and Hunter provide powerhouse performances, with Cage being his typical eccentric and Hunter elevating the already great material by playing certain scenes as straight as ever. The brief plot summary is not enough to explain why these characters are still likeable and sympathetic; you do get some genuinely depressing moments that make the characters’ journey feel more warranted. Add a couple of memorable villains-John Goodman being a particular highlight, and an ambiguous bounty hunter-and we get one of the most creatively bizarre films the brothers have made.

Bizarre is certainly the word to describe it. Raising Arizona may appear quite grounded, but the way characters enter and exit the movie is similar to a rotating door of misfits. Characters lose all sense of motivation when they meet the young infant and will try to adopt him into their routines. Much like Fargo, there isn’t any deep of intrinsic reason for why I love this film: it’s simply fun. If nothing else, you have to enjoy Cage’s commitment to being just as much of a lunatic as the characters on screen.

13. Grave of the Fireflies (1988)

I’ve never really resonated with anime the same way some of my friends did. It’s quite enlightening to see the genre become so normalised within the younger generations, considering you were almost bully fodder when I entered high school. That said, I have managed to expose myself to more anime over the last few years, and it all started with Studio Ghibli. The Japanese animation studio has dominated the market since their first true film, Nausicaa. And while Spirited Away sat comfortably on my list for some time, I couldn’t deny the film that impacted me more.

A depressing story set during World War II, Isao Takahata centres the narrative on a teenage boy and his younger sister as they set out into the world after the death of their parents. We are left to watch as these two children try to survive in a village that is consistently carpet bombed and where dead bodies keep turning up. Worst of all, the sister becomes sick. Takahata denied to the day he died that this film was specifically anti-war. While I certainly see what he means, being a story that centres on the loss of innocence, the stark imagery is undeniable, invoking the very real fear that Japanese people had during these times.

This film deals with heavy themes. While the studio’s other outputs haven’t been shy on exploring more adult themes, never has it felt more heart-breaking. The two siblings are such enigmatic figures. Trying to understand their pain and trauma, a concept that even they don’t quite understand, is almost impossible to do. The film can be so wrapped up in beautiful observations of the environment and the older brother teaching his sister about how to deal with such sadness, only to take a sudden shift into horrifying revelations. It doesn’t matter that these characters hide behind the shroud of animation. The horror and emotions are visceral.

I have a deep admiration for animation, even if there aren’t too many on this list, so it’s only natural to praise the visuals. Takahata takes advantage of the medium, using it to illustrate the intensity of the bombings and showing the gradual degradation of the kids as they try to survive. But it’s not the animation that pushes this into being in my personal list. It’s hard-hitting, never holding back and doing all it can within the limits of being family-friendly. The fact that this was released the same day as the studio’s more infamous My Neighbour Totoro is jarring. This isn’t a film you want to put on for your kids as an introduction to the studio, but it is something that needs to be viewed. Culturally important and ceaselessly tear-jerking, it makes you appreciate every bit of light left in the world.

12. The Blues Brothers (1980)

People who know me well won’t even bat an eye at something as ridiculous and, frankly, simplistic as John Landis’s jukebox musical/comedy. For those completely unaware of my usual film tastes, you may question why such a film lives amongst the echelon of movies like Moonrise Kingdom and Before Sunrise. The answer is as simple as the appeal of the film: it’s endlessly entertaining.

We all have that one film we can’t help but run to whenever we’re suffering a bad day or need a lighter film to break up the tension of a string of heavy-hitters. Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi lead a comedy caper that sees the two brothers looking to put their old band together to raise money for the orphanage they grew up in, only to cause havoc, get chased by the cops and suffer the near-death experiences at the hand of a bizarrely bloodthirsty Carrie Fisher. The fact that this was spun off from an SNL sketch explains the surprising sense of surrealism, and with Landis at the helm, the dry wit elevates it.

I’ve found myself loving this film with every watch. The style of comedy is perfectly levelled as to not take away from the central conflict, and the gags build and build to the point that you care little about logistics. Belushi and Aykroyd are consistently funny, making the most out of their straight reactions and delivering one-liners with a perfectly disinterested cadence. Rocket launcher-toting psychos, a vengeful group of country singers and even Nazis chase the brothers down, and it all just makes sense. Mix in some colourful and soul-popping cameos from famous musicians and you get a joyride you never want to leave.

This film is inextricably linked to my identity as a film critic. I first “attempted” to start this blog back in 2015 with a review of this film, but it largely failed and lacked the voice I have today. Even still, I always keep it there to remind me of how far I’ve come. I think about this film regularly; it’s burrowed into my mind. But I wouldn’t feel comfortable placing it any higher. This is one blues ballad that’ll leave you happier than ever.

11. Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

Horror movies are supposed to invoke fear. What a statement, right? I feel this is a necessary point to emphasise as very few horror films today manage to leave me with that same anxiety-ridden state of being that many older films have. The sixties are particularly unique for the genre, as many of them rely more on environmental terror and using the power of implication. Both are so very true of Roman Polanski’s beloved Rosemary’s Baby. It utilises those two key elements while also relying on the old faithful: religious guilt.

Mia Farrow delivers am inspired performance as the titular Rosemary, having moved into a new apartment with her boyfriend, Guy (John Cassavetes). It’s not long before their elderly neighbours start becoming friendly. But then, Rosemary has a devilish dream and soon becomes pregnant. But the pregnancy seems to be moving at a rather inconsistent rate. Rosemary starts to believe that her neighbours, and her boyfriend, may be part of some satanic cult. Why should she jump to that conclusion? They seem to know something of Rosemary’s supposed dream, and her boyfriend is overly keen in their involvement.

Rosemary’s Baby is a film that immediately has you grasping the edges of your sofa. Even just a simple scene of the couple walking around their new apartment carries with it an air of sinister intent. The use of empty space and shadowy corners have subconsciously morphed each scene into something unknowingly dangerous. Once the film kicks in to its main plot, you’re left questioning the reality that Rosemary faces. Nothing is clear; we don’t know how much is truly happening or if it’s simply the hallucinations of a pregnant woman. Themes of motherly anxiety, guilt over having a child out of wedlock and that need to protect yourself are so prevalent.

This is one of those horror flicks that many will acknowledge for its ability to stand out from it contemporaries but isn’t quite considered a comparable classic. It came out in the late sixties, when films were evolving into more experimental pieces, and that meant so much for the horror genre. Never has a film consistently left me grasping for shreds of light, always on edge and begging for the safety of the main character. Mia Farrow dominates every second of screen time she has, cementing the classic horror heroine long before the slasher genre became commonplace.

There are very few horror films that would come as close to everything else on my list, but Rosemary’s Baby is too important not to let in. Just how willing are you to possibly harness the Antichrist?

10. Ed Wood (1994)

Taking another trip down memory lane, Tim Burton’s ode to legendary ‘so-bad-it’s-good’ director Ed Wood-director of Plan 9 from Outer Space fame-this fascinating biopic was the first film I reviewed back in 2019, the year I began doing these reviews regularly. I had only just seen the film at the time, instantly falling for it. And time and constant re-watches have solidified it as one of my favourite films ever made. With Tim Burton no longer having the same powerhouse capabilities as a director that he once had, it’s a little bittersweet to speak such high appraisal for a film that defines his unique voice.

For those unaware, Ed Wood had gained a cult status for his terrible films. The reason you see such a niche community of the so-bad-it’s-good genre of film is because of him. He had a cheap and cost-effective approach to film making, lacking the funds and learned storytelling, but filled with ambition. Johnny Depp plays the eponymous director as the film recounts Wood’s journey from B-movie director to…slightly more known B-movie director. Most importantly, it delves into the relationship Wood formed with classic movie actor, Bela Lugosi (Martin Landau). The Dracula star saw a new life in Wood’s foolhardy films, but also struggled with feelings of insecurity and drug addiction. Their friendship is the heart of the film.

This is a film for the aspiring film maker; the outcasts that try all they can to get a foot in the door. Despite Burton’s presence, the film is so unique from anything else he’s done. A large part of this is because it lacks the usual gothic, abstract designs we identify Burton with. You can tell it’s labour of love. It’s a film that Burton sees so much of himself in, turning a social outcast into the perfect analogy for his own insecurities. Film is, above all, a transformative media that speak to the people behind their creation. Anyone who has experience making a film can relate to the struggles Wood goes through.

This film offers so much. The core friendship between Wood and Lugosi is powerful, and you really get the sense that they’re helping each other not because they think it will further their careers, but because they genuinely care about each other. Even Lugosi is given the same admiration; appropriate, considering that he is far more infamous than the obscure director. But there’s also much love in the way Wood makes his films and all the charming little mistakes he makes. We see movies today like The Room and Fateful Findings and you underestimate how much of that came from Wood. Burton doesn’t want us to forget about it.

Ed Wood will always remain a film I so closely attach to myself. The wide-eyed optimism of Wood is something I can’t help but admire. And while I don’t quite have the ambition to direct movies, that drive to keep making something, even if only a few people appreciate it, is continuously inspiring. The Blues Brothers may have been my first attempt, but it’s Ed Wood that got me to the point I’m at today…It just doesn’t quite beat out the films further in the list.

9. Banshees of Inisherin (2022)

It’s a tremendous for a film of the last few years to make it to my personal list. That’s not to say that there hasn’t been more than a heft of phenomenal films in those years, but none have quite scratched that personal itch quite like Martin McDonagh’s exploratory piece on leaving a mark on the world and whether that should be at the expense of alienating those closest to you. As someone who has lost friends, missed friends and wanted the best of both worlds, I’ve hardly found a film that resonates with me this powerfully.

The film centres around two friends living in the rural area of Inisherin, Ireland-a place that doesn’t actually exist-in the early twentieth century. Padraic (Colin Farrell) finds that his closest friend Colm (Brendan Gleeson) has stopped talking to him, seemingly out of nowhere. He soon finds out that Colm has reached a level of existentialism, worrying that he’s never going to make it as successful fiddle player if he keeps hanging around his layabout friend. Padraic doesn’t see it that way, holding on to the pintless conversations and enjoying the simplicity of life. Colm tells Padraic that if he keeps hounding him, he’ll start taking drastic measures.

We’ve all been in that state of questioning; deep questioning of what’s there at the end of our lives. Some find purpose in religion or their family, others look towards their work efforts. Many others, like myself, depend on their creative voice. Colm is very relatable, wanting to leave some sort of impact on the world before he eventually dies, but his method in doing so is destructive. That’s where the relatability of Padraic comes in. Like Padraic, I treasure the needless bits of conversation. Though they may be aimless and lack introspection, small talk and long conversation feels so powerful and enriching. As someone who pertains simple habits, I latch on to those moments of mindless chatter.

Whether you side with Padraic or Colm is unimportant. It’s about seeing both sides of the story and seeing the bad as well as the good. Other characters that come in and out of their lives, whether it’s Padraic’s sister Siobhan (Kerry Condon) or the village idiot Dominic (Barry Keoghan), their outlooks on life add an extra layer of conversation to the debate. Ultimately, your value is just as much as you perceive it. Kindness and good will towards others is something I carry with me as much as I can, but I also aspire to develop my writing into something more impactful. With the film being able to pick out every bit of me, I couldn’t help but fall in love with it (it also helps that the film is set in Ireland).

I think about this film constantly. There’s emotional moments that left me in tears and comical scenes that found me in a darkly jovial mood. You’ll find yourself screaming at both characters to see the other side of things, and what you get out of it and how you interpret it is totally up to you. I hold much of what the film says close to my heart, caring for both characters. Allow yourself to be open with others, don’t let that dream go.

8. Requiem for a Dream (2000)

Let’s get the obvious opinion out of the way: no, I do not believe Darren Aronofsky directly ripped off Perfect Blue. Did he take inspiration, despite pretending he never saw the film? Almost definitely. But I feel this cautionary drug tale has a voice of its own.

I have never experienced any sort of recreational drug, so I cannot speak for how accurately Requiem for a Dream captures the eventual downfall of such hard substances. But even so, there’s little reason not to appreciate Aronofsky’s warped and defamatory view of such a constant problem. Anyone who has seen the director’s other works knows that he brings a brutality to every single film he makes that leaves you reaching for the proverbial trigger. And in this early success, we may have his most sadistic commentary.

Exploring the damaging effects that drugs like heroin can have on a person, it mainly keeps the focus on three central characters, Harry (Jared Leto), his girlfriend Marion (Jennifer Connelly) and their friend, Tyrone (Marlon Wayans). Dealing with the culture, they slowly divulge into individual problems, from the decaying of an arm to being used as a whore to being total failures in the memories of those who raised them. Them there’s Harry’s mum (Ellen Burstyn), who starting taking these weight loss drugs so she can appear on her favourite reality TV show. She too, begins a downward spiral.

Some will toss their heads back at a film that loudly shouts its message, but sometimes we need something like that. While much of the drug crisis has been exaggerated by politicians and PSAs, you can’t deny the very real life-damaging effects they’ve had. Making the central characters young adults whom will do anything to get their fix makes the story that much more gut-wrenching. Though a lot of the decisions were wholly made by them, Aronofsky understands that the source of their problem comes from how society treats them. Even the elderly Sara-Harry’s mum-is influenced by weight standards.

The film is a continuous nightmare; never ceasing and getting worse and worse as the film goes on. This isn’t the type of story you can so easily sit down and enjoy in a more horror-centric way. Though heavily exaggerated, it works grisly wonders at making you squirm and reaffirms this idea that drugs simply aren’t worth the torture. Never have I felt so desperately pained for a cast of characters than this source of inherent nightmares. I will never forget the story of how a friend of mine watched this with his girlfriend, not knowing what the film entailed, and how utterly traumatised they both were. This is one for those with a strong stomach and can bare to have the words “ass to ass” give you the most uncomfortable feeling you’ll ever endure.

7. Mulholland Drive (2001)

On the subject of unnerving film makers, David Lynch isn’t exactly short of manic displays of his subconscious. That said, Mulholland Drive is one of his most comprehensible pieces. Tackling a subject I hold near and dear to my heart-the disillusionment of Hollywood-This biting commentary can get lost in the typical Lynchian absurdity. And while the director is known for never letting on the true purpose and subtext of his films, one doesn’t have to look to far to understand what’s being said.

While the film does start in a peculiar and surprising way, with what appears to be an actress left on the run with no memory of who she is, the film gives us a pretty solid story of an aspiring actress, named Betty (Naomi Watts), taking up residence in the Hollywood hills. There, she meets the amnesiac Rita (Laura Harring), and tries to uncover the mystery of who she once was. The two form a bond, with the wide-eyed Betty still hopeful towards her future career in the industry. But this industry is always relentless, and she’s pushed into doing uncomfortable things she naively accepts. And despite Betty’s recent arrival, she seems to share a lot more in common with Rita than either would’ve expected.

For fans of mystery novels and amnesia storylines, Mulholland Drive does fit perfectly into that mould. We all enjoy a good head-scratcher, so to have one of the vaguest and most nonsensical directors to hit the industry make such a film feels like a perfect pairing. There’s enough there for you to make your own assessment, putting the pieces together through interactions and small hints of Rita’s past. But then the typical Lynch-wildness comes in, and everything you thought you knew veers off into a bizarre realm that feels dreamlike. So much of it doesn’t make any sense, but you don’t care because you know that there’s a hidden story underneath it all that becomes apparent the more you analyse.

I’m a man of subtext. A great film is often defined by the intent, and while Lynch is purposely vague about this, the film does appear to criticise Hollywood and its damaging effects on actresses. Movies like Sunset Boulevard and All About Eve are paid tribute to, invoking the same sentiment that those two films championed. Women in the industry are quickly thrown to the side once they’ve served their purpose or have aged out of the roles they get. The next young, pretty face takes over. Lynch uses his name recognition to make, what I consider, to be the greatest critique of the system, providing a supporting voice for those who can’t speak up.

While Lynch’s library is full of more joyously ridiculous films than this, Mulholland Drive manages to hit every note I could want from a film of this ilk. The more bizarre stuff is never overindulgent and the characters are easy to like and root for. Part disturbing, part erotic, entirely transformative. It’s a film that’s perfectly Lynch.

6. The Shining (1980)

My journey with horror films has always been an odd one. I’ve already spoken an eternity’s worth of praise for Rosemary’s Baby. But when it comes to this genre that I once had a skittishness towards, only to find myself indulging in as many iconic films as possible, no film has done it better than Stanley Kubrick’s iconic classic. This adaptation of Stephen King’s novel may annoy hardcore fans, and King himself, but it’s undeniably one of Kubrick’s greatest achievements. And in the mind of this writer, it’s his best.

You all know the story; it’s ingrained in the public consciousness, even if you’ve never seen the film. Writer Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) takes his wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall) and son Danny (Danny Lloyd) to a remote hotel known as the Overlook. Taking a job as caretaker, strange things begin to happen in the hotel, and we learn that it has a history of murder and dismay. The groundskeeper (Scatman Crothers) seems to have a strange psychic connection to Danny known as the shining. This hotel has a power, and Jack finds himself becoming victim to it as he grows more and more unhinged.

The Shining has been picked apart and analysed to death in the forty-plus years since its release, so in a lot of ways, it almost feels too cliché to add it to a ‘top’ list of any kind. But its undeniable accomplishments are simply that special that I can’t help but feel entranced by it all. You feel as though you’re there with the family, experiencing and embracing every shocking oddity that comes through those walls or out of that lift. Nicholson and Duvall both deliver memorably tense performances, showing the effect insanity can have on both the recipient and those around them. Everything is unsure, everything tense and tinged with a subtle hint of implication. It’s immaculate.

Kubrick was know for his meticulous eye when it came to crafting his films. This one is the shining example. Not a single second is wasted, bathed in a frequent sense of mastery and intimate care. The hotel comes alive more and more, and as such, Jack becomes a slowly-building threat. We value family as our comfort zone or our safety nets, so to have them lose their sanity and gain a certain manic nature is such a terrifying concept. There are ghostly images and phenomena that make up the film’s grisly atmosphere. But what really solidifies this as a horror classic is just how realistic that human terror feels. Shelley Duvall has received more than her fair share of flack over the years, but I absolutely love this performance, similarly with Danny Lloyd’s overachieving ability to make the ghostly threats that much more malevolent.

It’s been said again and again, and I doubt I could add anything more to the conversation, but The Shining simply is a masterpiece. Everything else I’ve spoken about before this has had its shortcomings-small as they may be-but it’s hard to find fault in this. This is one of the first horror films I truly fell for and I still think about it frequently and have my own interpretations of the deeper meaning behind it all. 2001 and A Clockwork Orange are certainly up there, but nothing shines quite as overwhelmingly as this instant classic.

5. Paris, Texas (1984)

We humans are fallible. Not exactly a controversial statement, but it’s always important to remember that we can make mistakes, some worse than others. Wim Wenders has directed many films that explore the nature of human imperfections, but none quite as succinctly and emotionally as Paris, Texas. The title appears quite odd-there is an actual place in Texas called Paris-and that oddity takes form in a rather slow rise of realism from the brink of abnormality. It’s rare to find a film that taps into such a personal mentality of mine that it leaves me in a state of tearful reflection.

Harry Dean Stanton, a man who crafted his career playing minor to supporting roles, finally finds his footing as a lead man as the rather ambiguous Travis Henderson. Found roaming the desert, dirty and haggard, by his brother Walt (Dean Stockwell), Travis is brought to Walt’s home. We find out that four years prior, Travis and his younger wife, Jane (Natassja Kinski) had suddenly disappeared, leaving their infant son in the care of his brother and his wife. Travis, not knowing where his wife went, and not letting the audience in on why they’re left, tries to reconnect with his son, but he hardly recognises him and doesn’t want that connection. As the film progresses, we slowly learn of Travis’s history, and our perception begins to shift.

The exact points that entail the story of the film is not what I relate to, but there is an idea of facing your past mistakes and vowing to improve that I find myself projecting onto very instinctively. Without telling you of what exactly happens through the course of the film, that altered perception I alluded to is what really solidified my love for the film. Stanton already plays the role in a very innocently naïve way, and his efforts to reconnect with his son is never short of charm and sentiment. We know so little of Travis’s history, but what we do know is that he’s deserved of some sort of resolution. There’s an endearing quality to Travis that makes the coldness his son has so heart-breaking, but you never question why or despise the kid for doing so.

Without going into too much detail of my own life, there was a lot I could connect to in regards to Travis’s son. Having my own personal history of not knowing my own father, suddenly having him become part of my life, that sense of unsure feeling is so powerful. Even though my story didn’t find its conclusion till I was an adult, there’s a universal, ageless trepidation that never washes away. Getting to how that affects the father helps to contextualise it from a different perspective.

While there is much to admire about the film throughout its entire course, the final act is what confirmed to me just how much I admire it. The where and why of Jane’s disappearance is delivered to us in one of the most insanely human ways possible. In one of the longest and most intimate monologues put to film, we aren’t left with much else to do but sit down and come to terms with everything we’ve known about Travis being thrown in the opposite direction. A man pouring his soul out and admitting he’s made awful, terrible mistakes; it has you reflecting on your own humanity and maturity. I always strive to improve on my inadequacies, so it’s hard not to tear up. The ending only brought the tears back.

Paris, Texas isn’t going to be for everyone, but it sure as hell managed to tap into my subconscious. With the themes of self-improvement and feelings of abandonment, there were two major nerves within me that were pricked. With a brutal honesty that never wavers, there’s so much to adore about this film. If you aren’t a blubbering mess by the end, you probably need a lesson in self-awareness.

4. Anomalisa (2015)

If we’re going to sit on the subject of existentialism and questioning our own states of existence, then no creative has done that better than Charlie Kaufman. The writer/director had already flexed his writing hand with films like Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. His work has been something of an inspiration for me when writing about films. That openness that I displayed in those last couple of paragraphs is something I carry with me in my day-to-day life. Kaufman’s sentiments reached quite the apex in this co-directing gig with Duke Johnson in a stop-motion film like no other.

Anomalisa is as much of an anomaly as the title implies. We so often strive to stand out in society, looking for inklings of individuality. So much so that it can lead to a destructive path. Here, we meet Michael Stone (David Thewlis), an executive in the world of retail who’s attending a conference to talk about his blasé job and his book on how to succeed. Problem is, Michael seems to hate his existence, seeing the people around him as identically-faced figures with the same monotonous voice. Then Lisa (Jennifer Jason Leigh) appears, sporting a birth mark on her face and with a frumpy body. Michael falls in love with her because of how she stands out from the rest. The two begin an intimate relationship, but even Lisa begins to take on the same form he so despises.

Like any other film Kaufman has written, what you interpret from the film can be unique to you. That said, I think there is a specific vision that Kaufman had in mind. As I said, we often strive for individuality. Monotonous work can often lead to a decayed view of the world, and we begin to hate our own existences for making those choices. Michael is relatable to a point, bathed in his own frustration. But his actions and history of using people for his own benefit is where that connection severs. The exploration of Michael and Lisa’s relationship is where you really feel like you’re living in the world Kaufman and Johnson have-quite literally-created.

The stop-motion animation touts a realistic look to it which feels foreign to the medium. Characters are given detailed designs, but are also prominent with imperfections. The seams you see in the faces of the characters are more than simple mistakes: they serve a noticeable purpose during a later scene. That realism only strengthens the two leads, making them feel so organic. For a moment in time, we become part of this world, intoxicated in the fantasy Michael has finally realised. Then, when the film takes a sudden heel turn, you begin questioning everything.

I so admire the film’s entire point. The reason for why it climbed so high in my list comes down to my own feelings of inadequacy. As I write this, I am making a concerned effort in improving my aspirations, questioning how much time I’ll have to really get my foot off the ground. When a film like this explores that extreme anxiety so closely, the mind will latch onto it without letting go. There’s much to appreciate about the technical aspects, especially with how mesmerising the animation and muted art-style is. But above all, it’s the organic nature of the characters that allures me. Before you fall to pieces, glue your mind to a bit of introspection.

3. American Psycho (2000)

Don’t worry, I’m not the type to take Patrick Bateman and make it my entire personality. But I do feel as if the film has received quite the tarnished legacy. Before the incels began using this film as a basis for their entire lifestyle choices, Mary Harron’s adaptation of American Psycho was viewed as an instant classic and a clever deconstruction of everything wrong with upper-class America. The ingenuity of such a film is laden within a cookpot of various different ingredients, made up with the vaguest of hints towards what is real and what is the delusion of a psychologically damaged man.

This is another one of those films where you probably understand the basic plot through frequent talk. Christian Bale gives us a psychotic turn as wealthy businessman Patrick Bateman. He lives a luxurious life: nice apartment, expensive clothes and a slew of women at his beckon call. But deep within the recesses of his mind lies that of a killer; a man that will happily murder somebody he deems unworthy, killing hoboes and hookers. Life for Patrick takes a turn when he kills fellow businessman Paul Allen (Jared Leto), and he starts using his apartment for all his future killings.

On the surface, this appears to be nothing more than a sadistic fantasy for some repressed writer, but as I mentioned before, it’s a clever criticism of everything wrong with capitalist America. Bateman is the shining example of the one-percent. Always living life without care and knowing he can get away with even the most heinous crimes. His divulgence into the darkest depths of this life takes such sudden and horrifying turns. Bale’s performance is memorably sadistic, and it’s hard not to be entranced by his continuous glee over what he does-not to say what he does is at all understandable.

There’s a satirical and surreal edge to this film that has always stuck with me. Even minor things like characters never noticing Patrick’s sudden outrageous comments or how no-one can seem to realise that Paul Allen is dead give this film a humorous direction. The film brilliantly blends together horror with comedy and thriller, every element working seamlessly. You’re horrified and mesmerised all the same, and then you find yourself laughing at even the grislier moments. There really isn’t anything that feels comparable.

I really enjoy a good deconstruction of upper-class society. Though I rarely spread my political reviews, I have shown dismay for those of whom stand above us, while we working-class struggle so much. Like the best of films that wear this message proudly on their sleeve, American Psycho is able to pick apart this problem in intricate and entertaining ways. But other films don’t attach scenes of someone getting bludgeoned by an axe while Huey Lewis and the News plays or Christian Bale running through an apartment complex naked holding a chainsaw. And yet, we still don’t understand how much of this is true.

A tribute to the slashers that came before it, but making an identity for itself, this film will leave you scratching your head and afraid to use a cash machine. Don’t pick that cat up.

2. Birdman: or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) (2014)

Thinking about my favourite film, I realise how little it changes. Coming up with the nineteen others has always proven more difficult. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I could think of ten. But since 2019, Birdman had sat in the number one spot…until around three years ago. And while it may no longer claim my top spot, Alejandro G. Inarritu’s ode to the career of Michael Keaton has always stuck very closely to me. Providing a double dose of specific niches that weigh on my mind, Birdman deserves to be at the top of everyone’s list.

Michael Keaton is more than the star of the film: it’s almost entirely about him. Not exactly true, Keaton plays Riggan Thomas, a once successful actor famed for his role as a superhero Birdman-the parallels are already blatant. Now much older, he wants to be taken seriously as an artist, and puts on a play. Problem is that many theatre critics see him as an imposter of sorts, not fit to enter the world of theatre. We also see Riggan’s life working with his co-stars. He finds a relationship with the younger Laura (Andrea Riseborough), despite the waning of his ex-wife. Lesley (Naomi Watts) is cautious of Riggan’s behaviour, but grows furious with him after the hiring of a former lover and method actor, Mike (Edward Norton, also playing an allegorical version of himself). Then there’s Riggan’s daughter Sam (Emma Stone), who works on the play but can’t stand her father’s negligence. Riggan is now left to balance his aspirations with his personal life.

Birdman is more than a simple allegory for Keaton’s career. The whole film is indicative of what many actors suffer from: typecasting. Keaton, at this point in his career, had gone through quite the quiet period. In so many ways, Keaton was the perfect surrogate for this type of story. Having Riggan known for playing a superhero-the obvious connection of Keaton’s stint as Batman-really excels that point. There are a fair few jabs at the state of superhero movies and how they overshadow smaller works like this. Even in 2014, the market had become saturated, but very few were confident enough to call studios out on it. Keaton’s animosity and desire to be taken seriously as an actor is so poignant. Riggan also has these powers that may or may not be real. We see a progressive insanity as Riggan tries to impress those who have already dismissed him.

The exploration of the character is also just as fascinating. Riggan isn’t lauded as this perfect being that has been shot down by the industry. He has let the fame he once had dictate his entire life, with the people around him only working with him because of their admiration. Even this new girlfriend of his is more in love with the mythology of the man than his actual kindness. It’s also seen in Stone’s character, showing a deep disappointment in her father. It would’ve been so easy for the film to play victim, but it makes sure that the blame isn’t always on the industry. Even actors like Norton, being the overly involved method actor, are slammed in a bizarrely respectable way.

The film is also rich in technical quirks. Another film that tries the whole ‘made to look like one shot’ approach, this may be one of the greatest examples of it. Even if there are clever little editing tricks, the fact that so much of it was meticulously choreographed and planned out to a pinpoint perfection is still admirable. The soundtrack being all drums is something you may not immediately notice, but the drummer is literally there, reminding you of how minimalist the soundtrack is.

With every aspect in mind, blended together in a whirlwind of distinctions, you find yourself latching on from start to finish. It remains a powerful commentary on the state of film making as well as how uncaring a cruel the world can be to veteran actors, while also a deep exploration of turning yourself around and making the right choices. How far must one go to impress the crowd?

1. Adaptation (2003)

There are certain forms of media that you look at, read or play and you feel this immediate click. You don’t initially know why, but you enjoy that click, hold onto it. And as that thing you’re engaging in progresses, suddenly everything makes sense, and your life changes. You realise that what you have may be the closest a form of media has gotten to recapturing aspects of your life. I’ve spoken about how certain films in this list have managed to convey specific emotions or thoughts that are close to me, but none have done it exactly.

The mind of Charlie Kaufman rears its head, here being partnered with Spike Jonze, the two having worked on Being John Malkovich prior. Though Kaufman is only writing this one, the film is entirely him-quite literally. To those who have no idea of this film but know me well, my further explanation should tell you everything as to why I consider this to be my all-time favourite.

What started out as a literal adaptation of non-fiction book written by Susan Orlean called The Orchid Thie,. Kaufman suffered with severe writer’s block when adapting it. But from that came a new idea: to make the film about Kaufman adapting the book. Nicolas Cage plays Charlie Kaufman in this film, but also a completely original twin brother by the name of Donald. With Charlie not knowing how to adapt the book, he becomes frustrated and begins continuously putting it off. Meanwhile, Donald is finding success making mindless Hollywood drivel. Charlie continues to beat himself up, complaining about the lack of imagination the studios have, and wanting to make artful explorations. Charlie’s love-life isn’t going so great either, and he begins to worry about his future, worried that he’ll die alone.

On the side of this, we get a look into the backstory of Susan Orlean (played here by Merly Streep). Living a cushy lifestyle, she finds interest in writing about a bizarre man who finds plants from other countries and keeps them in his swamp. John Laroche (Chris Cooper) is our orchid thief, and despite his drastically different lifestyle, Susan begins falling in love with him-an aspect that is totally fictitious.

It’s rare that writers will be as blunt about their own perception within the films they write. Kaufman has a habit of putting himself in the films he writes, but simply in fragments. With him literally inserting himself into the story, we see everything thrown on the table. Kaufman comes across as slightly neurotic, highlighting his inadequacies and using the fictional Donald as a way to represent everything he hates about the system. The years have affected me in a way that has seen me stepping further and further from those big-budget fests in such a similar manner. Though I’m no professional writer, my choice to focus on smaller films within my film lookback section comes from my frustration with the current landscape. But it’s not just the writer aspects that appeal to me most.

Kaufman’s constant sense of self-criticism and worry for the future is something I wholeheartedly understand. It’s hard not to judge every step you make in life, analysing the worst-case scenarios. Though obviously very damaging, we all fall victim to that hard-to-escape trap. Allowing the writing aspect to interject, there’ve been so many instances where I find myself losing confidence in a review I wanted to write, or how I let go of ideas for books. Writer’s block can hit you so hard you feel depressed and start questioning your abilities. Then there’s Kaufman’s love-life. The fact that he is so open about his loneliness is such an admirable thing. So many struggle to make those moves and overthink the eventuality. Without going too much into that side of me, it is something that weighs on my own mind, even when I explore previous relationships, with that questioning always being a factor.

Even the side story surrounding the book’s author and her subject provides a fitting allegory for Kaufman’s need to make something more personal; more artistic. In a quite a bold move, Kaufman crafts his own narrative as to why Susan Orlean may have written her book. This sordid love affair, with its contrasting walks of life, is just as intoxicating for us as it is for Streep’s Susan. We prefer the obscene and unusual. And how that story connects with Kaufman’s own journey is powerfully satisfying.

I could speak of the mastery that is Adaptation for hours and hours, but I have spoken in depth of it in the past. Rarely do I come across a film that speaks so accurately to my own character, and even rarer does it manage to provide me with the most unique experience any film has. The more I revisit it, lament on it and pick apart each second, the more it reaffirms to me that no other film will come close to being my favourite film of all time. The gap between Birdman and Adaptation is a wide one. I implore anyone whom has never heard of this film to explore it, love it, adapt to it.

Written by Conor Johnson.

Wicked Little Letters: British Vulgarity At its Finest

It’s quite a hilarious thought that many other countries like to generalise Brits as being overly nice and proper. Spend a day in the company of a working-class Englishman or woman and you’ll find that that’s quite an inaccuracy. The more entertaining reality is that we Brits are quite colourful when it comes to reworking our language into the most obscene profanity this side of a pub after midnight. As it turns out, even a modest little town in the 1920s had its spell of profane controversy.

Little is known of the mild shake of Littlehampton’s curse-riddled letter conundrum. But what is known is that it led to a genuine imprisonment-or two. During those post-war days, the country saw an influx of immigrants and people looking for work. This town would see ominous, and anonymous, letters posted around the town, calling each person out in the most swear-filled way. Irish immigrant, Rose Gooding was blamed for this, given her penchant for obscene behaviour. But there was more to this story than anyone would’ve guessed.

With such a unique real-life tale sounding like something out of a comedic book or show, it stands to reason that someone was going to come along and make something out of it. We had to wait over one-hundred years, but it’s finally here. Is it worth the time spent making a movie on such a local controversy that has mostly faded into obscurity? Someone thought so. This is Thea Sharrock’s Wicked Little Letters.

As mentioned, this film recaptures the events that happened in Littlehampton during the 1920s. These powerfully vile letters start appearing through the letterboxes of the locals, but one family is particularly harassed. Edith Swan (Olivia Colman) is a middle-aged woman still living with her deeply religious and domineering parents. Made to serve her father (Timothy Spall) in a way that most women were treated those days, she finds issue with the freer spirit of her Irish neighbour, Rose (Jessie Buckley).

After having lost her husband to the war, Rose is living alone with her daughter, accompanied by her boyfriend Bill (Malachi Kirby). Rose enjoys the nightlife, runs around on her own free will and is proudly sexually active. Even still, she loves her daughter and would do anything to protect her. Often speaking her mind, you would think she’d be quite the contrast to Edith. Despite this, they become good friends. But after an incident that sees Rose insulted by Edith’s father, the two becomes enemies. Then the letters start turning up.

It seems obvious that Rose is the one doing this, but certain other townsfolk start to think there’s something fishier going on. It especially attracts the attention of police officer Gladys Moss (Anjana Vasan), the only female officer, whom is frequently undermined by her superiors and lives in the shadow of her deceased police father. Being the only one to truly explore Rose’s possible innocence, she tries to cooperate with her when she’s jailed, but Rose is far too proud to accept the help. The race is on, and stereotypes will be challenged.

We all love a good dose of bizarre circumstance. The draw of this film for many, including me, was the fact that such an entertaining piece of drama managed to shock this little town. Delving further into the film’s presentation of such an event, Sharrock clearly had a lot of fun playing around with the facts.

There is this moral conundrum that most real-life stories face when receiving adaptations: how much should you change in the process of entertaining audiences? While most of the general facts are kept true, we see Swan and Gooding expanded on. Swan, being this traditionalist religious devotee that turns her head at any sort of vulgarity, is followed by the tightening grip of her zealot father. Gooding is given far more depth than simply being a rather standoffish figure.

It’s a true testament to both Colman and Buckley that they elevate the material. Both have proven superbly diverse in the roles they’ve picked, and their clashing styles only solidify the individuals they champion. Neither character is particularly detestable, even Edith is more than just a nagging crone. The biggest delights come from how the two will switch mentalities from time to time, never being able to put up with it for more than a day. The greatest moments come from their tendency to butt heads.

Heightening the script is, of course, the letters. These swear-filled notes always manage to deliver some of the heartiest laughs. It’s like hearing your primary school teacher let out a curse: you can’t help but giggle and sit a little slack-jawed. The most authentic dialogue comes from these letters, reminding us of how quick-witted and creative we Brits can be. Some of these letters were passionately re-read from the original ones posted. It helps create a more natural and frankly direct atmosphere that no amount of seasoned writing abilities could ever hope to accomplish.

The exploration of these characters and the mystery behind who is sending these letters is what holds the film together. Colman’s restrained and severely demeaning existence is a lot more sympathetic than you would expect. Her constant quoting of the bible and belief that Rose can be redeemed if she gives herself to God is clearly a cushion for her depressed lifestyle. Contrasting that is the enigmatically free Rose, whom always finds a way to stand up for herself in an age when women are treated as inferior.

The feminist message is so important. More immature people may grumble at the need to “politicise” films these days, but for a film that tackles stereotypes and gender roles, there’s no more an appropriate direction. There are certainly times when this feels very ham-fisted. Vasan’s Gladys is frequently put down for her gender, with constant jokes surrounding the idiocy of the male officers. The more comedic overtone certainly helps these moments simply feel part of the universe, but I can’t help but roll my eyes in how thickly this is laid on. The fact that no one resorts to mocking her race, or Rose’s boyfriend’s race for that matter, is more ridiculous.

When the film diverts away from the curse-riddled dialogue and neighbourly rivalry, you do see the cracks start to show. The reveal of who has been writing these letters comes far sooner than would’ve been expected. And while it does lead to a darkly funny turn, it takes much of the wind out of the current of mystery. It does lead to some great moments of courtroom drama and sprinklings of emotional depth, but that second half does feel ultimately pointless. An enticing mystery can only remain engrossing when it’s keeping the audience in the dark as much as the main character.

This film mostly remains rather unexciting. The script is simple, which works well enough, and there’s nice moments of twists and turns that will catch you back a little, but the entire film keeps an identity of modest stakes. The plot is very thin, and the dialogue offers little outside of the fun bits of humour and cheeky language. Considering the talent of both Colman and Buckley, the entire film is riding on their backs.

This minimalist approach may be something you’re looking for. If you want a sillier, smaller mystery film, then you could do much worse. I do feel that there are too many ideas and other concepts that aren’t fleshed out enough-Rose being judged for her Irish background is only a footnote, for example-but it does get its point across clearly. It’s ultimately very British, and sometimes that’s all our less picky minds can want.

Never exceeding past a few fun jokes and some excellent performances, Wicked Little Letters is a decently enjoyable time that you could take your elderly relative to watch. But if you were looking for something more substantial, you may want to hold out for something a little more entertaining. Not exactly wicked, but a little bit of fun.

Written review by Conor Johnson.

Madame Web: A Web of Lies

Marvel’s reputation is in peril! I mean, this isn’t exactly a unique statement; people have been saying so for a few years now. And many will be quick to add this latest Spider-Man-adjacent movie to the list of failures. Except, Madame Web is not part of that much-polarised cinematic universe. The general public-the average joe-typically doesn’t understand that movies like Venom and Morbius do not exist in this universe, and are in fact separated by the cold and desperate hand of Sony. I have to bring this up because many general movie-goers and even the stars of the films themselves can’t seem to understand the difference.

So far, this universe has managed to churn out nothing short of the most uninspired and derivative pieces of interchangeable superhero action. While the Venom movies have done well, financially, the quality of these film is detestable. But at least Venom is a recognisable character. Morbius and Madame Web are only very well-known to comic aficionados like myself. We understand that these characters simply cannot exist on their own, and their wall-crawling foil deserves a crack at a showdown with them.

Expectations were not high for this baffling product. Promoting a character that has none of the appeal of the original comic counterpart, an overstuffed roster of Spider-people, and some of the stiffest lines of dialogue to hit a superhero movie-quite the feat. It felt as though everything was working against it. I’m here to tell you that…everything you may have expected is so much worse than that. Somehow, this film manages not only to be the worst in Sony’s attempted cinematic universe, but also one of the most inept and laziest superhero movies you could think of. This is S.J. Clarkson’s (and Sony) Madame Web.

Initially starting in the Peruvian jungle during the seventies, a heavily pregnant woman is there researching a specific type of spider before she is betrayed by her research partner, Ezekiel Sims (Tahar Rahim), who shoots her upon the discovery of said spider. Said to give a human unbelievable powers, we discover that there is a tribe of spider-powered people who manage to save the pregnant woman in enough time to deliver her baby, allowing it to be bitten by the same kind of spider, though she dies right after.

Fast-forward to the year of 2003-for some reason-the young Cassandra Webb (Dakota Johnson) is now a paramedic, working alongside her good friend Ben Parker (Adam Scott). After a near-death experience, Cassandra begins seeing visions of the future. She realises that her fate seems to be tied to three girls. These three girls also seem to be the future killers of Sims, who is still very much alive, looking to extract the power of the spider. He sees visions of his demise, and is now intent on stopping the three girls before they can gain their powers.

The three girls in question are teenagers: Julia (Sydney Sweeney) is a shy, nerdy girl; Anya (Isabela Merced) lives her life in solitude after her father is deported; and Mattie (Celeste O’Connor) is a rebellious punk that runs from her family. As much as Cassandra doesn’t wish to take care of any of them, annoyed by the idea of protecting them (despite being a paramedic), she takes the girls away from the pursuit of the now-costumed Sims. Using her powers of seeing into the future, Cassandra must discover the origins of her powers so that she can better stop their spidery pursuer.

It’s difficult to write about a plot that is so abhorrently terrible and nonsensical without chuckling or trying to bash it along the way. Madame Web is a movie that cares little about the natural progression of events, nor for the logic of said events, and worries more about being just another entry in this deformed universe they’ve created.

The setup is so painfully derived from so many other super-powered stories, encapsulated by clunky dialog that would not go unmissed in a cheesy eighties sci-fi show. Rather than allowing the origins of these spider powers exist within the simplicity of a genetically engineered spider, like other Spider-Man stories, the film makers felt it best to add a mystical, almost magical, element to the mythology. The film makers simply couldn’t accept this idea that the avatars of these powers were given their gifts by happenstance; no, they’re connected to this tribe of spider-people.

That bit of extra context is only a titbit of the film’s problems. Comic fans will roll their eyes at the idea of Madame Web leading her own film. General audiences will have no idea who the character is. And while Marvel Studios can get away with this with how much goodwill they’ve obtained, Sony simply doesn’t understand that you need to push your more well-known characters to the forefront before you try taking risks. The problem is that even if you are willing to give this character a chance, you need to make the story and the supporting characters interesting enough as well. Neither is remotely enjoyable.

Dakota Johnson is a talented actor, garnering a reputation that betrays her simple famous upbringing. Here, she’s as stiff as a terrified spider. Delivering pale lines of sheer stupidity, there’s never a sense that she’s truly trying. She speaks in a monotonous tone throughout the entire film. It’s not Johnson’s fault, especially when the character has little to offer her. Cassandra is plainly unlikeable. Despite her profession, she seems to hold genuine contempt for most people. It’s not a far cry from her comic book origins, but considering how different the rest of her is in this universe, and the fact that she’s been forced into a protagonist role, there needs to be some sort of connection that we, the audience, can latch on to.

Not helping this is her barebones backstory. We know of her birth and find out that she’s been placed in foster care over the years, but it’s only much later that we learn she holds a grudge against her mother for being so reckless. Somehow, she knows everything about her mother, being gifted her entire research-somehow. We don’t understand why her powers have only just kicked in outside of this near-death experience. But considering she was bitten by a spider from the moment she was born, surely she would’ve had some sign of the proceeding power.

The exact reason for why she only has the ability to see into the future is never stressed further than just ’cause. We do get an admittedly funny moment of Cassandra trying to climb a wall, then slumping down into the corner of the room, but it’s vaguely explained why she can’t do these other things we’ve become accustomed to with other Spider-Man stories.

There had to be something appealing in this crock of manure, right? The small shred of hopefulness that lay in my mind had hoped that we could at least get some fun moments of these four spider-people swinging about and knocking out some criminals. Though this may be a light spoiler, I think it’s important to advertise to you the harsh reality that what we see of the other three actresses in the spider-costumes was only a brief feature of the film.

Once again underutilising more talented actors, this film really drives Sweeney, O’Connor and Merced into the ground. We know Sydney Sweeney has it in her to deliver truly inspired performances, and you can see little inklings of the other two supporting actresses’ abilities. But much like Johnson, they’re all forced into hammy writing and bored-sounding performances. All three are supposed to be playing regular teenagers, clearly looking older. They’re also, as I alluded to, kept almost entirely in their regular clothing.

Their choice to follow Webb doesn’t make much sense outside of the fact that they’re being chased down by what boils down to an evil Spider-Man. They initially accuse Cassandra of trying to kidnap them, then flip their minds on a dime. There’s a lot of that going on through the movie. Cassandra’s apprehension about protecting these girls does a one-eighty in just a few seconds, not because of some interfering factor, but because she simply does change her mind. It’s like watching somebody with severe ADHD letting it affect their decisions.

What really doesn’t help the film is how lazily cliché the three other girls are. Sweeney unconvincingly plays the shy, unapproachable nerd, O’Connor being the sassy teen and Merced being the feisty badass. There’s not much depth to their characters, only given small bouts of exposition in an effort to make the audience feel something for these girls. We never see them get their powers, so it just feels like we’re watching a really underwhelming on-the-run thriller without the thrill. There’s no substance to any of them, we just get a rather bland and unlikeable protagonist telling these teens not to do anything stupid…then they do something stupid.

Enter the villain: Ezekiel Sims. I mean no disrespect to Rahim as much as I have meant none to the other actors mentioned, but this may be one of the worst villains to ever grace a superhero story. Despite how much more powerful he is than all four of these characters, even Webb, he always seems to get knocked down in the most ridiculous ways. He’s electrocuted, hit by a truck, hit by a flying ball of flame that just happened to hit him. Even with Cassandra’s ability to see into the future, there shouldn’t be any way for her to overcome some of what Sims can do. He leaves himself open on several occasions. Even when the film is tricking us with future visions, there’s never any real urgency to his actions.

It boggles the mind how asinine this film manages to be at every waking turn. Cassandra not realising that her mum held onto a picture of Sims in that little tin of research until after meeting him for the first time is particularly stupid. Cassandra thinking that the only way to fully discover her powers is to go back to Peru, only to discover that she…has powers she’s already using. Her sudden hatred for her mother that’s never brought up until that journey, marking the final act, is poorly explored and resolved in a second. The exact thing Sims has been doing all this time is incredibly vague. So much of this is so poorly written that I was able to fix certain problems as I was watching this mess unfold.

There’s other narrative decisions that wouldn’t stop irking me. Why the three teens thought it would be a good idea to wander off after Cassandra told them to stay put, knowing that there was a super-powered maniac hunting them, is beyond me. Why the three girls don’t simply explain to the police that Cassandra isn’t kidnapping them-something that could be cleared up in seconds-really nags at my mind. Then there’s all the forced nudging at the greater Spider-Man mythology. The words of Uncle Ben-with great power comes great responsibility-are frequently rephrased and pointed out. Having Peter Parker’s mother there, heavily pregnant, just alluded to the idea that Sony so desperately wanted this to have some connection to the greater Spider-Man universe, but Marvel Studios would never have wanted that. It’s the only logical reason I can think of for why the film is set in 2003, as it would connect closer to Tom Holland’s Spidey. But it’s already been reshuffled from a film set in Andrew Garfield’s Amazing universe to simply being standalone.

This film really fumbles just about everything. Sometimes when I sit through a terrible movie, I’ll come out thinking about how to improve certain aspects or just abandon the film altogether. As someone of whom has grown up with countless Spider-Man material, including a fair knowledge of the original Madame Web character, there’s much more that could’ve been done in the grander Spider-Man story. Had the character come at the end of the next MCU Spider-Man trilogy, perhaps it would’ve connected that multiverse from No Way Home a bit further. Had the film actually utilised the three other Spider-Women and their powers, it could’ve at least been a mindlessly fun superhero flick. Sony continues to drive this property so far into the ground that the core of the Earth is about to erupt.

It’s as soulless and uninspired as their other films in this universe and a staunch reminder that these characters should probably be in the hands of Marvel. Some have called this joyously bad, existing in that ever-enticing ‘so-bad-it’s-good’ area of film culture. And while I had a few unintentional laughs, I mostly found this to be incredibly taxing to watch. Sony is singlehandedly making Marvel’s already waning reputation plummet further, and it’s worth no self-respecting person’s time. We’ve Morbed far too hard with this one.

Written review by Conor Johnson.

The Filmmaker’s House: Hospitality Has Never Felt So Natural

A country divided we may be, but the hope that we can unite in the face of financial and economical crisis is still a permeating hope in this optimistic writer’s head. We’ve escaped many a crisis. In 2020, the year this film came out, we weren’t sure there was any chance of normalisation off the back of Covid and Brexit. We’re paying the price now for the questionable decisions of the past, and we can either admit defeat and let ourselves crumble under the weight of this fragility Britain is suffering from, or we can keep pushing against that stubborn blockade that holds us down.

There’s probably many of you whom have no idea of what this film is, nor how everything I’ve said in that first paragraph even relates. The Filmmaker’s House is an anomaly of a film. Marc Isaacs, a documentary film maker who struggled to get his last film off the ground because of a lack of interest from investors, decided that the very idea of trying to make such a film was a good basis for a film plot in of itself. This film is a strange hybrid of fiction and documentary; a movie that posits real-life people into a fictional environment and plays around with expectations. It’s a clash of cultures that speaks to the diversity of our country, but it also feels a tad disingenuous.

This decision to make a film that blends together the two storytelling formats will certainly anger some, annoy others, and can at least be appreciated by a smaller group. Quite frankly, I’m not sure where I fit into. It’s a film that deserves some focus, regardless of the choices made. This is Marc Isaacs’s The Filmmaker’s House.

As I said, the film opts to take a more documentarian approach to a fictional story. Marc Isaacs wants to create a simplistic documentary about people as they are, but the financiers are more interested in something that is shocking and violent at the same time. Marc decides to go ahead with his original plan anyway, filming his day as it goes on, in the hopes that the footage will convince his bosses. What we get is a revolving door of different people that enter Marc’s house on a single day.

Luckily for Marc, the people that surround him provide an excellent display of the multiculturalism that makes up Britain. Initially presenting us with a homeless Slovakian man by the name of Mikel, propped up in a hospital bed, the film flashes back to when Marc is having work done on his garden fence. The lead builder, Keith, is a deeply patriotic person and avid supporter of the Arsenal football team. He doesn’t care much for Marc’s Muslim neighbour Zara, but she soon finds a way to make her own way in to the house, providing a well-cooked meal. We, of course, meet Mikel properly: a homeless man who practically barges his way into the house for the hope of a good sleep and some proper care.

As much as this fly-on-the-wall approach is the most prominent identity of the film, there is a story that unfolds. Marc’s reason for never wanting to make films on terrible life events is due to an uncomfortable past. He opens up about this to his maid, Nery, who has recently lost her mother and is anxious about going to her funeral. This house of unlikely comrades soon evolves into a strange sense of unity, with each character getting a moment to shine.

Isaacs has made no effort to pretend this was anything other than a fictional story. The word documentary being attached will create a certain expectation in the viewer’s head. I was certainly fooled into thinking that the more fictional elements would be only minor. This film may feature very real people, even telling real stories of their troubled pasts, but they are more caricatures of who they really are.

There is quite a varied and bountiful cast of characters. Marc himself is merely the puppet-master in this story, but his ability to gather these different walks of life is still something to be commended. Zara was actually Marc’s neighbour, Nery being both his maid and nanny for his children. Even Mikel is a genuine homeless man. False as much of the extra character deconstruction may be, there’s an authenticity that many conventional films of this ilk could never hope to replicate. Isaacs was sure to have a vague idea of the plot, never telling the actors what he wanted from them as to find beautiful moments of spontaneity and improvisation.

None of the “actors” in the film had any sort of history in front of a camera. They simply had faith in Marc’s abilities. Sometimes the stiffness of the performances can get in the way, often met with jarring cuts that clearly try to hide their little imperfections, but this direction gives it a more organic atmosphere. Isaacs understands that trying to get these non-actors to memorise lines will only cause them to stumble over themselves. Sometimes little comments are fed through the performers’ mouths, like when Keith makes a comment about Marc’s neighbours being Muslims, but it’s mostly filmed in a way that allows these people to react as humanly as possible. Mikel is the most notable example of how naturally one can adjust themselves to a camera.

I’ve mentioned that there are little sub-stories within this film that give these characters some more depth. People will take issue with the fact that these stories are exaggerated or shifted about time-wise. Most notable is Nery’s reluctance to attend her mother’s funeral. In reality, Nery’s mother had passed away years prior. This was simply brought forward as to give her character a certain arc that helps further the point of the film.

That point being made should be as obvious as anything: Britain should not be divided. Brexit showed that our country could be cruel to foreigners, that they weren’t wanted. Even if that’s not necessarily the reason you may have voted for it, it certainly pertains this image of total ignorance. We see the good immigration has done, with Zara being so dedicated to her religion, yet also providing food as a gesture of good will. The fact that the real Zara was so wrought with personal responsibilities-cooking, cleaning, learning, working, etc.-and still wanted to take part in the film speaks volumes to how invaluable someone from another country can be. Nery always comes to mind as well, with her never-ending kindness and her little connection to Marc’s own dilemma of letting go of the past.

But by far the biggest heart that screams out of the screen is Mikel. Isaacs has stated that Mikel was a well-known member of the homeless community, known for his kindness and tendency to help others. While the film does slightly alter this perception by having him turn up uninvited to crash on Marc’s sofa and pushing himself into other people’s business, he remains largely respectful and charming. Mikel says little of his past life, only that he has a mother back home he never sees, worried that she will be disappointed with his life. Seeing him enjoy the lavishness of a bath or enjoying a hot meal becomes so powerful. It leads you to wonder where he, above everyone else, is at this very moment.

Isaacs was very smart in picking the people he wanted to spotlight. I haven’t spoken much of Keith, but his pure-bred Englishness is something that is worth the attention. While being the only person (besides Marc) to not be of a particular foreign ethnicity, his character goes through the most growth. Played up as a typical working-class builder-very true to the real Keith-his uncomfortableness with foreigners is indicative of how our society can be. If this were a documentary this would be far more uncomfortable, but Isaacs manages to make his progression and overall kindness feel more natural. It is, after all, Keith that lifts that fence that separates Marc from Zara: no more a fitting and foreshadowing bit of imagery.

This isn’t an amazing film by any standards. The choice to turn this into something fictional while also keeping up a documentary style will certainly turn a lot of people away. The choices made do cause a sense of annoyance, as if you simply cannot trust anything that is presented. Certain pieces of emotional backstory are altered or happen too quickly to work coherently, even with that reaffirmation that the story is still fictional.

What keeps my mind turning back, however, is how indicative it is of the societal shift. This was made before lockdown, so the idea of all these people meeting in a single house could have baffled some at the time. But it does allow us to reflect on how united we were in this universal pandemic. It was almost as if the universe was punishing us for the abhorrently racist divide in different societies. It’s but a distant memory now, but I am reminded, largely in part to this film, just how much I appreciated the company of others.

Being stuck in another minor isolation after a comical accident, it was a film that circled back to the front of my mind. Suffering with plot issues and ethical dilemmas of using past grief to illustrate the story, the film still manages to tell something we may have seen elsewhere in a unique way. It’s true that the media is too focused on the sadness and grimness of the world, so why not provide a bit of hopeful comfort? Never quite exceeding past the middle of the quality meter, it does work as this little nugget of experimentation.

Written review by Conor Johnson.

Orion and the Dark: Giving Children Existentialism

Existentialism in children-targeted films isn’t a new concept. Why, Pixar managed to craft their entire identity around exploring themes deemed too difficult or deep for most pre-adolescent minds. But this latest film is not from Pixar. The company’s inconsistent competitor, Dreamworks, has decided to have a crack at the ol’ therapy approach with this latest adaptation of Emma Yarlett’s slyly coveted self-help book for small children.

Don’t let the primary target audience sway you away; this film still manages to pack plenty of introspection for even the most cynical of adults. A large part of this is due to the writing prowess of Charlie Kaufman, a writer who has made a niche for himself for bringing to life allegorical tales of his own woes through films like Adaptation and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. An odd pairing, for sure, but one that works quite well. It’s a film that teaches kids the importance of not being so fearful and challenges those fears upfront-an existential problem that some adults can even face.

Though many seem to be overlooking this Netflix-original gem, I’m here to give it the attention is so rightly deserves…even if it’s not entirely amazing. This is Sean Charmatz’s Orion and the Dark.

This fantastical tale focuses on the titular Orion (Jacob Tremblay), a young kid who is seemingly afraid of everything. Whether he’s suffering from the persistent taunting of bullies or dealing with germs and other irrational fears at home, Orion can’t seem to shake this anxiety-ridden existence. But the thing that scares him most is the dark, and said entity has a problem with that.

As it turns out, Dark (Paul Walter Hauser), is a sentient being that only shows himself when he wants to teach a kid a lesson. Complaining of how everyone seems to hate him, and his bitter rivalry with Light, he wants to give Orion the chance of seeing what good a bit of darkness can do. Taking this paranoid hypochondriac on a journey across the world, we’re introduced to a host of other spirits that make up the night life. There’s Sweet Dreams (Angela Bassett), Sleep (Natasia Demetriou), Insomnia (Nat Faxon), Unexplained Noises (Golda Rosheuvel) and Quiet (Aparna Nancherla), all of whom are angered at Dark’s choice to show Orion this unseen world.

As the journey goes on, with the story being told from the perspective of an adult Orion to his daughter, the spirits grow fond of Orion. But for every bit of good he may do, and every fear he may overcome, Dark can never seem to convince him that he’s just as important.

A big part of why this film has been so overlooked appears to be how nonchalantly it’s been pushed to Netflix with very little fanfare. For Dreamworks, this is shockingly small in scale. The subject matter and imagery is certainly fantastical, but the internal conflicts are far more grounded, lacking in conventional villains or a high-stakes goal. The film tells you occasionally that this is merely a story that Orion is telling his daughter to stop her own fear of the dark. This is such a risky choice that I think it does damage the film’s credibility.

But if we put cynicism aside for a moment, you’ll find that there is something special and rather whimsical about the whole thing. As the movie is adapted from a very young children’s book, it’s only natural that the framing device would be so outright. On a very simple level, this film is helping kids overcome their fear of the dark, so a comprehensible framing device can help to reach kids on a more personal level. That said, it doesn’t take away from the story. Other films have used the story book structure as a way to engage children: it allows them to enter this world the film makers have created.

The film is surprisingly deep. Almost the entire reason for why I wanted to watch this was Charlie Kaufman. With every film he’s written and directed being high up in the ranks of my favourite films of all time-Adaptation being my literal favourite-I was thrilled to see how he would adjust to a more family-friendly setting. His usual projection is very much here. Kaufman often conveys himself into the films he’s writing, so it’s not hard to imagine that Orion is simply another allegory for the openly self-aware writer. With a constant sense of overreaction and dismissive behaviour, a fan like myself will turn their minds back to his previous works.

That panicky mind is what elevates this film from being a simple exploration of emotions, like Pixar’s Inside Out, into a more existential piece. Orion is an exaggerated case of childhood anxiety, but it’s never to the point of losing relatability. Orion panics over nearly everything, overthinking to the extreme. As somebody who suffered as a kid-as an adult as well-with constant overthinking and social anxiety, there’s a lot to admire. Kids often can’t fathom their own emotions and won’t look too deep in themselves. Both Kaufman and Charmatz understand this, elevating the source material into being something with a heap of maturity.

When the film reaches its middle point, it begins to shift into something more comfortable. When we’re introduced to Dark, he’s this jovial, misunderstood guy that wouldn’t feel out of place in a more conventional animated flick. Obviously, the entire film wasn’t going to be this introspective character study that remains as grounded as possible, but one can’t help but latch on to that content more so.

This isn’t to say that the more fantastical side of the film isn’t plenty of fun. Dark is a memorable and enigmatic character, providing an excellent parental connection to Orion. As much as Orion is an avatar for the kids out there, we adults can attach ourselves to Dark, wanting to teach Orion that there’s nothing to fear. But even Dark is treated with the same sense of insecurity. The only reason he takes Orion on this trip, really, is to boost his own morale. Darkness is always seen as this imposing alternative to the much more popular Light, and it’s conveyed well with how the personalities of both reflect that. It definitely hits those predictable beats, but there’s a host of wisdom there for anybody to soak up.

The other spirits that inhabit the night are all very memorable as well. If you think too hard about why they only exist at night when all could easily apply to the day, then you might find yourself a little aggravated. Putting nit-picks aside, each one is nicely defined and creatively utilised. Obviously the personalities of each one reflects their abilities, sometimes leading to rather repetitive gags, but they all provide some fun scenarios. The dream sequences that Sweet Dreams creates are particularly fun and tout some of the most visually striking pieces of imagery.

That’s certainly something to celebrate: the animation. While clearly on a lower budget than what Dreamworks is used to, the art-style is very distinct and picture-bookesque. It differs from the original book, but it uses a style that invokes the simplicity of those types of media. Everything is well-drawn, with slight exaggerations in the environments and moments for the characters to explode in frames of elasticity. Dark is a particularly shining example of how eye-pleasing the animation can be. His expressions make up such a canvas of emotions, with two-dimensional faces illuminating the more standard CGI look.

While certainly not the most amazing thing to grace the studio’s library, Orion and the Dark still manages to be a thoroughly entertaining and introspective family film that could help quell a few fears. It speaks to the kids that never quite found a place to fit in or let their fears get the better of them. There’s even a few lessons the adults can learn.

It isn’t always a tight film, suffering with rather predictable plot beats and a final act that, while sensical in the context of the story, can feel very lazy and wears a shield of excuses. But for its problems, it always comes with a reminder of what really matters: exploring your fears. The idea that you should go out and chase those things you dread so much is a difficult lesson to learn no matter the age. With Kaufman airing his anxieties in every film he writes, there’s an immediate feeling of unity that many other writers wouldn’t be able to achieve.

Though possibly Kaufman’s weakest film, it’s a solid, underrated gem that deserves a little spotlight now and then.

Written review by Conor Johnson.