Friday, 25 July 2025

For what it's worth...




UK box office Top Ten (for the weekend of July 18-20, 2025):

1 (1) Superman (12A)
2 (2) Jurassic World: Rebirth (12A)
3 (3F1 (12A) ***
4 (new) Smurfs (U)
5 (new) I Know What You Did Last Summer (15)
6 (4) How to Train Your Dragon (PG)
7 (528 Years Later (15) ****
8 (6) Elio (PG) ***
9 (7Lilo & Stitch (U)
10 (new) Saiyaara (12A)

(source: BFI)

My top five:
1. Amadeus [above]
2. Ran
4. Moon
5. F1

  
DVD/Blu-Ray/Download top ten: 

1 (1) A Minecraft Movie (PG)
2 (6) The Amateur (12)
3 (new) Karate Kid: Legends (PG)
4 (10) Sinners (15) ****
5 (2) Wicked: Part One (PG) **
6 (3) Thunderbolts* (12)
8 (5Jurassic World: Dominion (12)
9 (8) Jurassic Park (12) ****
10 (11) The Penguin Lessons (12)


My top five: 
1. Misericordia


Top five films on terrestrial TV this week:
1. Pan's Labyrinth (Saturday, BBC Two, 1.10am)
2. Back to the Future (Saturday, BBC One, 4.10pm)
3. All the President's Men (Tuesday, BBC Two, 12midnight)
4. Spellbound (Saturday, BBC Two, 2.25pm)
5. What's Up, Doc? (Sunday, BBC Two, 1.05pm)

Wednesday, 23 July 2025

In memoriam: Frances Doel (Telegraph 22/07/25)


Frances Doel
, who has died aged 83, was a British screenwriter and production executive who earned her spurs in America as the right-hand woman of legendary independent producer Roger Corman; in her later studio roles, she was crucial to the development of James Cameron’s The Terminator (1984) and a producer on Paul Verhoeven’s Starship Troopers (1997).

Born Frances Margaret Doel in London on April 15, 1942, to Francis Doel, a sergeant in the Royal Armoured Corps and his wife Iris, she landed her big break after responding to a job ad Corman had placed on the jobs board at her alma mater St. Hilda’s College, Oxford. Decamping to Los Angeles and initially staying at the Hollywood YMCA, she gained her first credit as an associate producer on the LSD-infused The Trip (1967), written by Jack Nicholson and directed by Corman himself.

The sandy-haired Doel rapidly ingratiated herself with a gift for grabby storytelling that synched with her employer’s need to turn out fast, cheap, eyecatching product. The producer Jon Davison, a colleague at Corman’s New World Pictures, has claimed Doel “wrote just about every first draft of every picture” the company released in the 1970s.

Billed as script supervisor on The Young Nurses (1973) and Cockfighter (1974), Doel earned her first official writing credit on Big Bad Mama (1974), a drive-in favourite starring Angie Dickinson as a single mother-turned-outlaw; written over a single weekend, shot in twenty days and produced for $750,000, it wound up making $4m at the box office. Doel, however, was paid a mere $100 for her contribution.

Few of these films found their way into the pantheon. Crazy Mama (1975), with Cloris Leachman in the lead and future Oscar winner Jonathan Demme behind the camera, was shot in just fifteen days, and still somehow lost money; critics and audiences alike sniffed at the futuristic biker opus Deathsport (1978) and the flailing disaster movie Avalanche (1978).

Yet part of Doel’s remit, as head of New World’s script department, was to nurture new writing talent, such as John Sayles, the Esquire contributor she hired to pen the witty Jaws knock-off Piranha (1978), a surprise success: “Once these writers get screen credit with us,” Doel said in a 1982 interview, “they are able to get more money from another studio.”

No less upwardly mobile herself, Doel left New World to take a creative executive gig at Orion Pictures, where The Terminator landed on her desk. Ironically, its Canadian writer-director Cameron was then known only for Piranha II: The Spawning (1982), an ill-fated sequel Corman had wisely passed on, and was seeking friends in high places to help get his convoluted time-travel script greenlit.

Doel turned out to be just such an ally: “I defended it as a very good story and a very good script, which I definitely thought would have an audience… It did not seem to be the kind of movie Orion was likely to be interested in. But I was interested in having a female character who was active, not simply somebody’s girlfriend.”

Shot for $6m, the film made $78.3m on its first run, launching one of modern Hollywood’s most profitable franchises (and directorial careers). Doel oversaw several other successes at Orion – including Desperately Seeking Susan (1985) and RoboCop (1987) – before joining Disney as a development executive, working on Honey, I Shrunk the Kids and Dead Poets Society (both 1989).

After reuniting with Davison to produce Starship Troopers, Doel returned to Corman’s orbit, writing a run of direct-to-DVD creature features that started with Raptor (2001) and proceeded through Supergator (2007) to Dinoshark (2010). She was now paid $5000 per title, though she told friends Corman still grumbled if she turned out fewer than ten pages a day. Her final writing credit was on the horror flick Palace of the Damned (2013), a Corman-produced attempt to crack the growing Chinese market.

Sometime protégé Sayles – now a revered writer-director, responsible for such enduring indie dramas as Matewan (1987) and Lone Star (1996) – was among those who recalled Doel as a shrewd, kindly, cultured presence: “I always thought of Frances as the opposite of the kid who’s supposed to be reading Chaucer, but inside the book he’s got a comic book. She had the comic book on the outside and was actually reading The Atlantic.”

Her marriage to the American actor Clint Kimbrough, who starred in The Young Nurses and Crazy Mama, ended in divorce; she is survived by her longtime partner Harrison Reiner.

Frances Doel, born April 15, 1942, died May 26, 2025.

Tuesday, 22 July 2025

Regimes: "Moon"


Not the Sam Rockwell space vehicle directed by David Bowie's son, but the latest Austrian thriller - produced, somewhat ominously, by Ulrich Seidl - in which we find a domestic space isn't quite what it first appears. With her 
Moon, the Iraqi-born writer-director Kurdwin Ayub has however arrived at what feels like a fresh story, or at least a new variation on a familiar-sounding arthouse theme. Her heroine Sarah (Florentina Holzinger) is a former MMA fighter who's carved out a new career as an instructor, finding herself much in demand. Early scenes suggest modern life is characterised by degrees of conflict: Sarah's younger students, who take to the gym largely as a means of generating Instagram content, complain that she's punching into their safe space, while her bourgeois sister doesn't understand her career choices and wishes she'd put a coaster under her coffee cup. She lands an even bigger fight after being hired by a worryingly slick Jordanian businessman (Omar AlMajali) to come out to the kingdom and coach his teenage sisters. What we subsequently observe is female empowerment within the tightest strictures. Sarah thinks nothing of signing an NDA upon arriving at the family's palatial residence, but she's given cause to wonder why she has to be chaperoned at every stage of the working day, why some areas of the house are deemed off-limits, and why one of the sisters, Nour (Andria Tayeh), is so keen to borrow her phone after every session. As instruction becomes secondary to investigation, Moon - presumably so named because its moneyed backdrop seems like another planet - shapes up into something like Rebecca with WiFi and homemade Botox.

As a film, it's fairly athletic in its own right, offering a workout for the mind, body and central nervous system. The structure is taut enough: beyond the mystery of this household, Ayub sets out her heroine's initially regimented, increasingly unravelling routine, pausing only to observe the prayer times in this part of the world. Yet she keeps individual scenes loose and limber, the better to describe the push-me-pull-you between the protagonist and the men she's outnumbered by out this way, then the improvised-seeming back-and-forths, often conducted in a hesitant second tongue, between Sarah and the girls. These sequences are Moon's most intriguing, because they permit the stern-seeming Holzinger to let both her hair and her guard down, and allow Ayub to contrast radically different ideas of the feminine. In one corner, a gymbunny who displays no interest whatsoever in traditional femininity; in the others, three mallrats confined to a deeply conservative milieu governed by rules and restrictions that go back centuries, if not millennia. The wrinkle Ayub introduces is to suggest the girls aren't entirely damsels in distress, rather willing participants in their own oppression; furthermore, that Sarah might be abetting their oppressors by taking the money and keeping schtum. (It's more than faintly ironic that the film is being platformed by MUBI, whose own financial arrangements have come under heightened scrutiny in recent weeks.) One late excursion to a hellish nightclub struck me as rather sluggish, Gaspar Noé-influenced footwork, but Ayub rallies for a tense final reel, and an uneasy coda that brings everything under discussion back home. Are things really much better in the West? This filmmaker could well be a contender yet.

Moon is now streaming via MUBI.

Stranger things: "Friendship"


These are heady days for fans of the "men are such idiots" subgenre. Possibly the success of 2022's
The Banshees of Inisherin opened some chequebooks up, but it's also not as if there's been any shortage of inspiration and material doing the rounds. Last year gave us the choice Malayalam comedy Guruvayoor Ambalanadayil, and now we have Friendship, an American indie that serves as the first big-screen vehicle for Tim Robinson, the creative prime mover and principal agent of chaos behind Netflix's I Think You Should Leave. Anyone who feared Robinson might have to dial down his trademark manic energy to crossover can rest easy; the film, written and directed by fellow TV alumnus Andrew DeYoung, is funny-strange from the off, before multiple plot turns render it stranger still. Robinson's Craig is a married corporate drone, living in a nondescript suburbia with his wife Tami (Kate Mara) and son Steven (Jack Dylan Grazer), who presents to us as something of a big kid. When he's not burbling on enthusiastically about Marvel movies, he parrots office speak uncritically (his job involves getting people addicted to phone apps); he suffers from sudden nosebleeds framed as a kind of premature ejaculation brought on by too much excitement; his beigecore wardrobe is restaurant merch. He believes he's made a cool new friend in next-door neighbour Austin (Paul Rudd), but even Austin exerts a very odd idea of cool: a local TV weatherman accessorised with a Seventies moustache and a Stone Age hand axe, he claims not to own a phone (but does) and to know stuff about the mushrooms these boys encounter in the woods. Austin is cosplaying self-sufficiency, and the movie presents normal American life as mostly a matter of putting on a front: ordering the Seal Team Six meal deal at Craig's fave eaterie, taking out the Hero mobile phone plan. You could drive yourself mad trying to keep up such ruggedly masculine appearances, a point proven when Craig subsequently does exactly that.

In making that point, Friendship takes a step or two beyond those Judd Apatow-produced or inspired comedies with which the American cinema saw in this century. While maintaining a comparably high laugh rate, DeYoung has no intention of being as charming or reassuring as his predecessors, who may have felt there was nothing especially wrong with grown men acting like crotch-grabbing, chest-beating college juniors; where the characters in 2009's Rudd-starring I Love You, Man were - bless 'em - trying to make things right, Craig only ever succeeds in making things substantially worse. Robinson is very good at describing a particular (and not exclusively American) type: the agitated beta male who's settled down as society insists and now resents, on some viscerally felt subconscious level, the grown-up stuff everybody's forcing him to do; the type of malcontent prone to haphazardly (and here, straight-up disastrously) pursuing any opportunity he glimpses to recapture his doubtless misremembered glory days. This isn't an easy role to play: unsympathetic to the point of pitiful, obliging the performer to leave any vanity behind in the locker room so as to sink helplessly into a bog. Here is an actor making himself look bad even before Craig swallows a mouthful of poisonous mushroom and is then obliged to empty his guts into a Big Gulp receptacle. (At the very least, it's a useful counterpoint to all Brad Pitt's star-polishing in F1.) Robinson is hardly helped by DeYoung and Sophie Corra's editing strategy, which strives to cut Craig down at every turn, and insists on following his grandest claims ("we'll tear it up on Friday night!") with, say, the sight of five men shivering in a garage, making awkward stabs at conversation. (Matters don't improve any after Craig treats the boys to an impromptu drum solo.)

Rather than defanging or otherwise childproofing Robinson, DeYoung seems to have taken heed from his lead, and been encouraged to push Friendship far beyond the shuffling mumblecoreisms the premise might have generated: this is not a film that holds back in any way. To Chekhov's gun, DeYoung adds Chekhov's book about ayahuasca; his emboldened plotting becomes more surreal with every scene. The hibernal mists of the early scenes thicken into an abstract haze, pulling us deeper inside this guy's head and nightmare; both the writing and playing drift further and further away from naturalism. Craig is so negligent to the essentials that he literally loses his wife, is hypnotised by a flower arrangement, launches his own one-man marching parade, wanders into the single weirdest instance of product placement I think I've ever seen. (Though even this latter deviation connects back to character: Craig is so unimaginative that even his bad trip can only transport him as far as a branch of Subway.) The approach yields at least one surprising reveal, and a genuine sense of instability: the film, you feel, could go anywhere, and end anyhow. (It could even go dark: this waywardness is why restraining orders get served, and why men die alone.) I suppose you could argue the film does nothing more than put the essence of that show you like on a bigger screen, sustaining its puckish spirit for 100 minutes rather than the twenty of the average episode - but even that's an achievement, harder than one might think to pull off. And DeYoung goes further than I Think You Should Leave in introducing nods and references that tie this story to wider American misadventures initiated by men. Psychologists might well find something in the film's thesis that an entire generation of men aren't learning from their mistakes because they're too busy trying to style them out or cover them up. Here again, DeYoung goes a step beyond: Friendship is the first comedy I've seen for a while that operates at a diagnostic level, almost as a case study. In a better, saner, less belligerent world, men might just leave convinced they've witnessed an unusually funny cautionary tale.

Friendship is now playing in selected cinemas.

Friday, 18 July 2025

For what it's worth...




UK box office Top Ten (for the weekend of July 11-13, 2025):

1 (new) Superman (12A)
2 (1) Jurassic World: Rebirth (12A)
3 (2) F1 (12A) ***
4 (3) How to Train Your Dragon (PG)
5 (428 Years Later (15) ****
6 (5) Elio (PG) ***
7 (6Lilo & Stitch (U)
8 (9) Sardaar Ji 3 (12A)
10 (10) The Ballad of Wallis Island (12A) ***

(source: BFI)

My top five:
4. Moon

  
DVD/Blu-Ray/Download top ten: 

1 (1) A Minecraft Movie (PG)
2 (3) Wicked: Part One (PG) **
3 (2) Thunderbolts* (12)
5 (4) Jurassic World: Dominion (12)
6 (15) The Amateur (12)
8 (14) Jurassic Park (12) ****
9 (19) Jurassic World (12) **
10 (12) Sinners (15) ****


My top five: 
1. Sinners


Top five films on terrestrial TV this week:
1. The Searchers (Saturday, BBC Two, 1pm)
2. The Commitments [above] (Saturday, BBC Two, 10pm)
3. Mrs. Doubtfire (Sunday, ITV1, 12.45pm)
4. Gosford Park (Saturday, BBC One, 10.30pm)
5. The Night of the 12th (Tuesday, Channel 4, 1.55am)

Split: "The Other Way Around"


On the surface, Jonás Trueba's The Other Way Around would appear perfect summer counterprogramming: a romantic Spanish diversion premised on the reversal of two lovers breaking up. After fourteen years together, actor Álex (Vito Sanz) and filmmaker Alejandra (Itsaso Arana) have decided to go out with a bang, throwing a so-called "separation party": like a wedding, but the other way around, as she puts it. Obstacles, however, stand in the pair's way. For starters, their poky one-bedroom flat in Madrid's bohemian quarter isn't big enough to host a multitude of visitors; the couple's friends, who generally find the notion of a separation party somewhere between deeply odd and actively distasteful, don't know whether they're being entirely serious. The party becomes one more thing to have to organise, along with finding new digs and dividing up their combined belongings. And - most ominously of all - party planning is the kind of long-term project that demands lots of back-and-forth communication and tends to bond people together, not tear them conclusively apart. Around the halfway mark, you may begin to wonder if ghosting isn't a more efficient approach for everybody involved. 
By then, two obvious criticisms of Trueba's film have also become apparent: as a movie, The Other Way Around is perilously talky and drawn-out. Trueba's rebuttal would be that this talk is what bonds his lovers together, and that they draw matters out precisely because they're developing cold feet on splitting. They can't bear to move on, because who else would they talk to?

There are short-term gains from this approach. The windiness lets some air in on this plot: it's not some frantic romcom contrivance that needs rushing through lest we stop to think how nonsensical it all is, but two people working through some feelings with their mouths and all their windows open. (Trueba's idea of a big setpiece is to set Álex and Ale to talking while they wait for the kitchen sink to unblock.) A kind of amused and bemused life shambles into shot. It's striking that Trueba's leads aren't the ripe young things typically offered up for our delectation in a route-one romcom, but individuals old enough to have spent fourteen years together. Sanz is a dead ringer for Alex Karpovsky, the talismanic Ray of TV's Girls, and part of the gag here is that these folks should be seasoned enough to know better, to not be fooled by love. Instead, Ale turns out to be working on a film called - yup - The Other Way Around, a development that might suggest Trueba has taken a diversion right up his own fundament were it not also indicative of a character struggling to get her story straight in her own head. The movie that lands among us lapses frequently into repetition - old habits - but knows it full well; as one of the participants in a focus group for Ale's film puts it, "it's the same thing over and over". It helps the couple to tell every last one of their friends they're breaking up, because it allows them to spark the conversation that allows them to drag their feet: a stop-off at the home of Ale's father (Fernando Trueba, the storied Spanish filmmaker and Jonás's father) leaves everyone on screen chewing over whether cinema makes us better people, and leaves you and I newly impatient for something to be resolved either way. As infuriating as it is endearing - as trying as certain real-life couples among our acquaintance - The Other Way Around is destined to be an acquired taste, yet there's a mild charm in its shruggy shagginess; unhurried, resolutely human, taking cues from a Bergman-themed tarot pack, it's another world away from the summer's insistently linear, entirely mechanised blockbuster fare.

The Other Way Around is now showing in selected cinemas.

Thursday, 17 July 2025

Love and death: "The Shrouds"


David Cronenberg's second completed feature since the death in 2017 of Carolyn Zeifman, his wife of 38 years,
The Shrouds is steered by a brace of questions asked early on by its upright, white-haired, naggingly familiar protagonist: "What do I do about the grief thing?" and "How dark are you willing to go?" In response to the first of these, Cronenberg has decided to make a film about grief. In response to the second, the filmmaker's answer is: pretty dark, though not nearly as dark as you may now be expecting. Vincent Cassel, dressed from top-to-toe in Saint Laurent black and piloting a self-driving Tesla that gradually assumes the air of a top-of-the-line coffin-on-wheels, plays Karsh Relikh, the recently widowed owner of a chichi restaurant overlooking a graveyard that becomes contested territory. The graveyard is significant to Karsh, because it contains the mortal remains of his late wife Becca (Diane Kruger); like the other graves, hers is watched over by a hi-tech headstone, accessed by an app, which allows the especially devoted mourner to observe a loved one's body decay in real-time 4K. "Of course, everything's encrypted," Karsh puns to the morbidly interested party with whom he's been set up on a blind date, not the last indication of how even at its most funny-peculiar, The Shrouds is oddly, potently funny-haha. At its blackest, some comedy; among the dead, a light scattering of dad gags.

The narrative that develops sees Cronenberg setting out his own stages of grief. There is mourning, of course: Cassel, at his craggiest, can't ever fully shake an air of ruefulness and regret at what's been lost. But there is also dawning obsession and paranoia - sending that blind date running for the hills - and a lapse into conspiratorial thinking after unknown parties trash the graveyard one night. (Here, Karsh's Judaism comes into play - and this feels like the first time the generally forensic Cronenberg has been compelled to dramatise his spiritual side.) For a while, the character resembles a more stylish analogue to The Conversation's Harry Caul, dwelling on and mulling over a videofeed that would seem to indicate someone wanted his wife in the ground, and possibly him, too. A diverse array of suspects is set before us: ecoterrorists who'd rather we cremated our bodies than connect them to the WiFi; a stragglehaired Hungarian CEO (Vieslav Krystyan) seen Photoshopped into pics with Bill Clinton; the Russians and Chinese, keen to exploit this technology for wider surveillance purposes; and the errant doctor who took Becca's virginity in her youth and wound up providing her end-of-life care. Yet everybody's mourning garb keeps being thrown off, in such a way you begin to wonder whether seize-the-day horniness is being prescribed as grief's ultimate expression. Karsh develops a growing intimacy with the CEO's wife (Sandrine Holt), a blind femme fatale who lets her hands do the talking, then with Becca's dog-grooming twin sister Terry (Kruger again), and then with his own Alexa-style digital assistant (voiced by Kruger). Grief assumes many forms, some more pleasurable than others; as a movie, The Shrouds gives the viewer a lot to work through.

Even by the ears-along-the-backbone standards of recent Cronenberg, the new film is very odd, perhaps even singularly so: it would be almost impossible to envision anybody else in world cinema coming up with this story, getting it greenlit, and then filming it in quite this way. Even as we walk in the shadow of the valley of the creative death predicted by artificial intelligence, here is proof of idiosyncratic imaginative life - and the kind of skilfully modulated weirdness Yorgos Lanthimos could only dream of. That weirdness permeates a flashback sex scene between Karsh and a mutilated Becca that is a) the latest mutation of the kink present in Videodrome and Crash, b) spared from terminal tawdriness by the depth of feeling directed into it (it's about the way we express ourselves physically even as our bodies start to fail us; weirdness upon weirdness, it's oddly moving) and c) possessed of what will almost certainly be the year's most sickening Foley effect. Elsewhere, however, Cronenberg's staging retains a crisp serenity: autumnal exteriors, illuminated by lots of magic-hour sunshine, interspersed with Japanese-styled interiors that connect the film to the elegant ideas about grief proposed in 1998's After Life and 2008's Departures while indicating Karsh has found ways of turning the space Becca left behind to his advantage. (It's grief as fusui, a simple matter of reorganisation.) It's never depressing; it's visibly a film made by someone who's made his peace with what's come to pass in his own life. It's still very talky, a plot that feels a constant need to explain itself, and its weakness as a thriller is that it's clangingly obvious who the weak link in the hero's entourage is going to be. (You could lay a winning bet as early as the opening credits.) Yet The Shrouds really is an example of a movie that is more than just the sum total of its plotting; its piquancy lies in the prevailing mood, several jolting images, and the intense hit of minimalist late-period style. One of the many matters you will come away thinking about: how David Cronenberg himself wants to be buried.

The Shrouds is now showing in selected cinemas.

Loving the alien: "Elio"


Should we be sad that the films of Pixar are no longer cutting through as once they did, or is that exactly the kind of sentimental attachment our new tech-bro overlords rely on? The studio has at least had a good, profitable thirty-year run, from the first
Toy Story back in 1995 to last year's Inside Out 2. It's just a little bittersweet that they should now be ceding the multiplex space to live-action remakes of animated favourites: the processor chips that generated three decades' worth of original entertainment have been surpassed in their pull and power by something more algorithmic. Elio, presently doing steady business after a perilously slow launch in a marketplace dominated by the Lilo & Stitch and How to Train Your Dragon redos, could reportedly have been more original yet. Initially conceived and pitched as a coming-out story of sorts, it was toned down even before last November's election result over concerns about the America the film would be releasing into. (The pivot led to the departure of original director Adrian Molina, and some scattered "directed by" credits in the release cut: Madeline Sharafian and Domee Shi upfront, Molina tucked away in the closing scroll.) Something of that initial premise persists, intriguingly enough, but the version we get hinges on a sullen pre-teen outcast (voiced by Yonas Kibreab), being raised by an aunt after the death of his parents, who experiences a close encounter of the third kind. (Hey, if our animated features are having their data scraped by live-action producers, why not the other way around?) A space nut, young Elio spends his days and nights alone on a beach adjacent to his aunt's asteroid-tracking military base, hoping that aliens will abduct him; the S.O.Ses he scrawls in the sand read like deviance from a tight-lipped militaristic norm that denies or doesn't know how to handle any feelings. Packed off to summer camp in the hope it'll straighten him out, Elio is subsequently rescued from bullies by extraterrestrial means. The film, in other words, can itself claim to have been straightened out, yet its narrative arc - solitary refusenik negotiates their place in the world, finding solidarity and relief among a community other than the one they've been born into, becoming more comfortable in their own skin - is unalterably queer: swap the tractor beams and constellations for a nightclub's mirrorball, and we could almost be rewatching the BBC's recent adaptation of Paris Lees' memoir What It Feels Like for a Girl.

Compared to the bulk of the digimations following in Buzz Lightyear's moonbooted footsteps, Elio is at the very least well made, more WALL-E than Planet 51, and identifiably Pixarian in its fealty to a multilayered, well-tempered screenplay. The wide-eyed wonder inspired by the details of NASA's Voyager probe (seized upon here as a means of connecting Elio to his new hosts) is one launchpad; if the pastel spacescapes strike the eye as slightly rote, paling in comparison with the vivid phosphorescence of Disney's semi-forgotten post-Covid flop Strange Planet, the character design is always sharp (the aliens include giant bugs who talk out of their butts and strap themselves into flesh-piercing armour to persuade as warriors) and there are fun asides, like the list of items Elio packs for his intergalactic mission ("nice, peaceful spoooons!"). A clever subplot involving an Elio clone ("what's my motivation?") sent back to Earth while our hero is on his space adventure is plainly Pixar attempting to reassure those accompanying adults in the audience who'd go spare if any of their own charges went missing, but it also results in a story strand that yields several laughs, a properly emotional reunion on a beach at dusk, and an image that wouldn't entirely look out of place in a David Cronenberg movie (the clone melting away with a thumbs-up and a friendly wink once he's been deemed surplus to requirements). We can probably say that Pixar's Golden Age - roughly 1995 to 2015, an era when the company treated digimation as sport, routinely besting their rivals in a run of must-see films that pushed the artform forwards - is behind us. Yet this new, mellower era has freed these animators to pursue other textures and tones, to throw off their hard corporate exoskeleton and embrace their inner softies (as with those alien bugs), feeding any behind-the-scenes insecurities back into their plots. (They were surely there in the Inside Out films' button-pushing, as it is in Elio's mini-identity crisis.) Even in this compromised state, Elio makes for a pleasing summer getaway, but in a moment when the NASA budget has been slashed by a Government suspicious of the alien and marginal, it also presents as a poignant pop-cultural wormhole connecting our world to an alternative reality: a glimpse of a better, kinder galaxy where higher powers look out for the troubled, using technology only for good.

Elio is now playing in cinemas nationwide.

Wednesday, 16 July 2025

On DVD: "Quatermass 2"


Hammer's reissue program continues with a sequel that changes the rules of its game somewhat. In 1955's
The Quatermass Xperiment, the eponymous scientist (Brian Donlevy) was an at best ambiguous figure, a pushy American on Brit soil running headlong into Jack Warner's jovial Inspector Lomax in his frantic mission to retrieve his crashlanded technology and the data it had recorded. Perhaps mindful of the audience for these films in the US - where the sequel was released as Enemy from Space - 1957's Quatermass 2 reframes its protagonist as rather closer to a crusading hero, first trying to pin down the source and consequences of the meteorites raining down on his neck of the woods, which leave the locals - and poor old Bryan Forbes, as one of Quatermass's underlings - with nasty contact burns; then investigating what's really going on at a top-secret, heavily fortified Government facility that claims to be producing synthetic foodstuffs. Reinvesting the original's profits resulted in a notably bigger picture, though there have been losses: the transatlantic back-and-forth between Quatermass and Lomax, for one. (With Warner newly locked into his career-defining role as TV's Dixon of Dock Green, the character of Lomax is reduced to a helpful cameo, played by lookalike John Longden; there's at least one familiar face, however, in a pre-Carry On Sid James, cast as the sottish journo enlisted to bring Quatermass's findings to wider attention.) Yet returning director Val Guest's eye for an evocative sci-fi location has, if anything, only improved. The sequel gets a lot of atmospheric mileage out of a few days' shooting around the recently redesigned new town of Hemel Hempstead; a Shell refinery in Essex stands in for the Government slop factory, and yields at least one still-horrifying image, seemingly inspired by the photos of Hiroshima victims. In a further sign of how rapidly Hammer was becoming part of the national fabric, there's even a brief panorama of Parliament Square as it was in the late 1950s, though Nigel Kneale's script remains suspicious about those in positions of power and sceptical indeed about the capacity of the general public to act in their own best interests. It gets into wobblier B-movie territory upon unleashing a monster that's part Godzilla-like kaiju, part The Blob, and it ends inconclusively with a shameless plea for further sequels ("what worries me is how final this can be"), but for the most part Q2 holds up as thoughtful, involving homegrown SF - and much of what's on its mind is more pertinent to 2025 than most of this year's big summer sequels.

Quatermass 2 is now available in a limited edition 4K Collector's Boxset through Hammer Films, and is available to stream via Prime Video.

Saturday, 12 July 2025

For what it's worth...




UK box office Top Ten (for the weekend of July 4-6, 2025):

1 (new) Jurassic World: Rebirth (12A)
2 (1) F1 (12A) ***
3 (3) How to Train Your Dragon (PG)
4 (2) 28 Years Later (15) ****
5 (4) Elio (PG) ***
6 (5Lilo & Stitch (U)
7 (6) M3GAN 2.0 (15) **
9 (8) Sardaar Ji 3 (12A)
10 (12) The Ballad of Wallis Island (12A) ***

(source: BFI)

My top five:
2. Nine Queens [above]
5. F1

  
DVD/Blu-Ray/Download top ten: 

1 (1) A Minecraft Movie (PG)
2 (new) Thunderbolts* (12)
3 (13) Wicked: Part One (PG) **
4 (6) Jurassic World: Dominion (12)
6 (re) Disney's Snow White (PG)
8 (re) Flow (U) ***
9 (328 Days Later... (15) ****
10 (new) James Bond: Sean Connery 6-Film Collection (12) ****


My top five: 
1.
 Black Bag
4. Flow


Top five films on terrestrial TV this week:
1. Deliverance (Friday, BBC Two, 11pm)
2. Manhunter (Tuesday, BBC Two, 11pm)
3. Passport to Pimlico (Sunday, BBC Two, 1.50pm)
4. Little Women (Saturday, Channel 4, 3pm)
5. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (Sunday, BBC Two, 3.10pm)

In memoriam: Ken Colley (Telegraph 09/07/25)


Ken Colley
, who has died aged 87, was a familiar British character player launched into the fan-convention stratosphere via his role as Admiral Piett, commander of Darth Vader’s Executor craft in the Star Wars sequels The Empire Strikes Back (1980) and Return of the Jedi (1983); ever-versatile, he counts among the few performers to have appeared on screen as both Jesus Christ and Adolf Hitler.

Such extremes were however light years removed from the daily bread-and-butter of Colley the jobbing actor. After an uncredited screen debut as a corpse in the BBC’s A for Andromeda (1961), he settled into steady TV employment, appearing on The Avengers in 1963 and as a steelworker in one 1964 episode of Coronation Street; he played two roles on Emergency-Ward 10 (1957-67) and three on Z Cars (1962-78).

Colley made his film debut as a porter in the Children’s Film Foundation title Seventy Deadly Pills (1964), followed by supporting roles in more prominent titles: squaddies in How I Won the War (1967) and Oh! What a Lovely War (1969), underworld fixer Tony Farrell in Performance (1970). By then, his sad-eyed, lugubrious mien was being noticed by creatives drawn to the cultish and marginal.

Colley became a favourite of Ken Russell, who cast him as Hitler in his scandal-inducing TV film Dance of the Seven Veils (1970). (It was the second time Colley had played the dictator, after “These Men Are Dangerous”, a 1969 episode of the BBC’s Thirty-Minute Theatre.) He was Tchaikovsky’s younger brother in The Music Lovers and Legrand in The Devils (both 1971); later he appeared as Krenek in Mahler (1974) and Chopin in Lisztomania (1975).

He also bonded with the Pythons, playing “1st Fanatic” in Terry Gilliam’s Jabberwocky and Michael Palin’s bungling bank robber accomplice in “The Testing of Eric Olthwaite”, the second episode of Ripping Yarns (both 1977). With reported first choice George Lazenby unavailable, Colley was recruited to play Jesus in Monty Python’s Life of Brian (1979): “There was as much fun between takes as on takes,” the actor recalled. 

The significance of his role as Lord Vader’s pilot snuck up on him: “I was out shopping in Notting Hill Gate with my wife Mary, and we walked past an old-fashioned Odeon… The queues were four-deep around the block and I said ‘Look, my Star Wars film is on. We ought to go and see it.’ There were two seats left on the front row and when the film began, with those words disappearing into infinity, you could have heard a human hair drop. I looked around at the people in the audience and I said to Mary ‘this is wonderful!’”

Born Kenneth Colley in Manchester on December 7, 1937, he began acting while working as a gopher in rep theatre (“They threw you on stage in small parts so they didn't have to pay an actor”). Debuting in Leicester in 1961, he later appeared alongside John Hurt and Rodney Bewes in the Garrick’s recut of David Helliwell’s Little Malcolm and His Struggle Against the Eunuchs in 1966, and opposite Albert Finney in the Royal Court premiere of David Storey’s Cromwell in 1973.

His Star Wars adventures unlocked more prominent parts, often in international miniseries or TV movies: the naval hero of ITV’s BAFTA-winning I Remember Nelson (1982), for which he strapped his right arm behind his back; Eichmann in the Emmy-winning Wallenberg: A Hero’s Story (1985); Ben Gunn (opposite Brian Blessed’s Long John Silver) in Return to Treasure Island (1986).

Russell remained loyal, casting Colley as Mr. Brunt in The Rainbow (1989), Alfred Dreyfus in Prisoner of Honor (1991) and the composer John Ireland in The Secret Life of Arnold Bax (1992). Colley now had overseas admirers – he was the titular hitman in droll Finnish auteur Aki Kaurismäki’s I Hired A Contract Killer (1990) – though typically he saw the decade out with episodes of Peak Practice (in 1997) and The Bill (between 1995-99).

After revoicing Admiral Piett for the Lego Star Wars animation The Empire Strikes Out (2012), he played Estragon in the Cockpit Theatre’s 2014 revival of Waiting for Godot and Mob boss Vicente Changretta in 2016’s third series of Peaky Blinders. He briefly turned to directing, shooting the Ouija-board horror Greetings (2007) in his own Hythe home; his final role was in the Kent-shot indie thriller Dan Hawk Psychic Detective (2024).

There was, he insisted, no formula for success: “You only realise what you’ve got when it’s put together. Some of the best scripts you’ve ever read come out like dreck and you can’t understand why, while some scripts you had no respect for become wonderful movies… You cannot predict what will be a hit, otherwise we’d all be millionaires.”

He is survived by his wife Mary Dunne, who he married in 1962.

Ken Colley, born December 7, 1937, died June 30, 2025.

Battlegrounds: "Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse"


The death of Eleanor Coppola and the release of her husband Francis Ford Coppola's Megalopolis last year have collectively triggered a reissue for 1991's Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse. Originally assembled by Fax Bahr and George Hickenlooper for US cable network Showtime yet subsequently shown in cinemas to critical acclaim, this was the making-of documentary that notarised the legend of an earlier Coppola opus - 1979's famously troubled Conrad adaptation Apocalypse Now - while also perhaps contextualising the safe path the director would tread over the following decade. (The unhappy Godfather threequel would be followed by John Grisham adaptations and PG-rated Robin Williams vehicles.) The bulk of the doc was drawn from footage Eleanor shot during Apocalypse's attenuated eight-month shoot in the Philippines, initially to provide the foundation of a United Artists press kit. Yet Bahr and Hickenlooper open with footage of Coppola at the movie's Cannes premiere, insisting the film wasn't about Vietnam, it was Vietnam; over the doc's brisk 95 minutes, the inherent madness of this project seems to redouble with every passing frame. Much of it has long been a matter of public record. The shoot had barely begun when Francis elected to replace leading man Harvey Keitel with Martin Sheen, only for a spiritually unmoored Sheen to suffer his own on-camera breakdown; Eleanor films the 14-year-old Laurence Fishburne, cast as young gunner Mr. Clean after lying about his age, speaking about an associate who claimed he found his time in Vietnam "fun and groovy"; a passing typhoon lays waste to the sets and schedule. Coppola found himself obliged to pump in more and more of his own money and rewrite John Milius's script as he went, and while Bahr and Hickenlooper work in a parallel with Orson Welles, who'd attempted his own Heart of Darkness adaptation in the late 1930s, the figure the director most closely resembles may actually be Gromit in the climactic setpiece of The Wrong Trousers, having to put down track as he goes along so as to prevent some terrible derailment. This Coppola presents as heroic in many ways, committed to his task, refusing to abandon his post and continually fighting for his film's forward progress; yet Eleanor's access-all-areas documentation keeps alighting upon images that could have equally served as evidence in a strong case for prosecution, sectioning or simply more draconian health-and-safety legislation.

The cinephiles in Bahr and Hickenlooper exercise their own judgement, and Hearts of Darkness includes enough of what Coppola did get filmed for the pair to make their own case for Apocalypse Now. No madness, no craziness, no shoulder-dislocating big swings, and you don't get the Ride of the Valkyries sequence, you don't get Robert Duvall as Kilgore, and you don't get whatever the hell Brando and Dennis Hopper were doing in the movie's final reel. George Lucas, who was briefly attached to direct Milius's script at an early stage, notes the insanity of the initial plan to film in Vietnam while the war was ongoing, but no madness, and you get more George Lucas films than you do John Milius films; you end up with a war movie like Revenge of the Sith, shot against green screens on entirely sterile sets, detached from gravity and reality alike. I'd forgotten how much fun the documentary is: this shoot yielded great, one-of-a-kind war stories (retold here by born storytellers), and it's amusing to see how sober Coppola, Sheen and Duvall appear in contemporary interviews shot long after the dust had settled and their ears had stopped ringing. The now-adult Fishburne, presumably doorstopped at the moment between School Daze and Boyz N The Hood, reflects that he was cast to represent all those draftees who didn't know what they were getting into; Sam Bottoms, the film's surf-dude gunner, reveals he matched his on-set drug consumption to the mood of individual scenes. The Hollywood these chastened and battle-scarred warriors came home to was one of childproofed franchises and PG-13 ratings; the old grindhouses and drive-ins were being pulled down and replaced with gleaming multiplexes. Everything now had to make commercial sense. Yet Hearts of Darkness sent viewers back to its source, even if just to goggle at it, and revisiting the plantation sequence in Bahr and Hickenlooper's company seemed to remind Coppola to finish what he started. No Hearts of Darkness, no Apocalypse Now Redux, nor Apocalypse Now: The Final Cut - and you could argue those rejigs were central to Coppola restarting on Megalopolis. By all accounts, Mike Figgis has been tasked with overseeing the making-of that grand folly: heaven knows what will come out of that.

Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse is now showing in selected cinemas; a new Blu-Ray edition will be available through StudioCanal from July 28.

Friday, 11 July 2025

Child's play: "Sitaare Zameen Par"


Aamir Khan's recent choices are as prominent an illustration as any of the Hindi mainstream's increasing dependency on pre-tested material. 2017's musical
Secret Superstar was constructed from familiar storybeats, but elevated by the strength and sincerity of its performances; yet 2022's Laal Singh Chaddha emerged as hamstrung by its fealty to its source material, Robert Zemeckis's ever-contentious Forrest Gump. Now Khan gives us Sitaare Zameen Par, a "spiritual" (i.e. more or less completely unconnected) sequel to his 2007 success Taare Zameen Par. The new film starts from a far less illustrious blueprint, being a remake of 2018's Campeones, the Spanish comedy-drama that's already been remade by Hollywood as 2023's Farrelly-directed Woody Harrelson vehicle Champions. Khan's Gulshan, an assistant coach for a Delhi basketball team, walks into shot playing the asshole, turning up late and unshaven for a key game and parking where he shouldn't, even before he thumps a superior and drunk-drives into a police patrol car. Community service and an attitude adjustment beckon: at his hearing, Gulshan is assigned to manage a squad of young ballers with special educational needs, the "superstars on earth" of the title. You will sense what's going to happen long before these plot points line up in exactly the order you'd expect; if R.S. Prasanna's film makes for a smoother, slicker, better-drilled adaptation than the staccato Laal Singh Chaddha, it's doubtless because this story has literally been told twice before, and spiritually revisited many more times besides.

On the plus side, SZP confirms its producer-star's nose for non-toxic material, for characterisations that are appreciably human rather than the superhuman figures namesake Salman Khan has been struggling to convince as, and for projects offering the prospect of chuckles. Chuckles there are here, on the subject of terminology (while shrugging off their own labels, the lads decide upon "businesswoman" as a synonym for sex worker), and at the sight of the pint-sized Khan being dwarfed by the absolute hulks among his charges. The star, passing into middle age with a lived-in, Jude Law-ish handsomeness, remains game for a laugh; a recent divorcee, he even works in some metatextual business involving Gulshan's gradual renegotiation of his relationship with ex-wife Sunita (Genelia Deshmukh, sparkier than a lot of recent Hindi heroines). The movie is aggressively unobjectionable: it's become the box-office hit it was always intended to be, and which Khan perhaps needed after a rocky Covid era. Yet it's only been ten years since P.K., a major Khan hit that took creative and satirical risks, where SZP goes genially through the motions. Unwilling to train his neurodivergent performers to dunk like Shaquille, Prasanna is never particularly interested in basketball as a sport, which means any in-game drama has had to be conveyed by cutaways to the sidelines. You could also duck out of the cinema for a meal during the entire central stretch, which doesn't trade in scenes so much as gentle lessons on the theme of "everybody has their own normal", put across in the same tone as an elementary teacher and in the same colours used to sell multivitamins to pre-teens. (The Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy songs play like nursery rhymes and lullabies.) In those stretches that aren't blandly entertaining, you spy the predicament of a megastar in an industry that's been set on a war footing even before India went to war. (Gulshan's community service comes to seem like a form of conscientious objection.) Rather than bang a nationalist drum, Khan has retreated to a gym that resembles a crèche to coach a sport that suggests war without the casualties. It's the very definition of a safe space, for star and audience alike, but there's not much more to the film than that - and set against the memory of Khan's epic and stirring Lagaan, a sports movie from a bolder, more confident era of Hindi filmmaking, it can't help but seem like kids' stuff.

Sitaare Zameen Par is now playing in selected cinemas.

Wednesday, 9 July 2025

My Top 100 Films of the Century So Far


Amid what's so far been a so-so moviegoing summer (and year), it's been educative to look back on the artistic highpoints of the past quarter-century; they do still sometimes make 'em like they used to, and - even better - sporadically make 'em like they've never been made before. Figures in brackets indicate their position on a similar list I compiled back in 2017 (which included films made in 2000, where this doesn't).


1 (1) Mulholland Dr. (David Lynch, 2001) [above]
2 (2) Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 2010)
3 (16) Once Upon a Time in Anatolia (Nuri Bilge Ceylan, 2011)
4 (7) In the City of Sylvia (José Luis Guerín, 2007)
5 (71) Mad Max: Fury Road (George Miller, 2015)
6 (3) The Corporation (Mark Achbar and Jennifer Abbott, 2003)
7 (new) Decision to Leave (Park Chan-wook, 2022)
8 (5) Father of My Children (Mia Hansen-Løve, 2009)
9 (4) Zodiac (David Fincher, 2007)
10 (10) There Will Be Blood (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2007)
11 (6) The Class (Laurent Cantet, 2008)
12 (new) Memoria (Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 2021)
13 (23) Toni Erdmann (Maren Ade, 2016)
14 (new) Saint Omer (Alice Diop, 2022)
15 (8) Take Shelter (Jeff Nichols, 2011)
16 (9) The Social Network (David Fincher, 2010)
17 (25) Memories of Murder (Bong Joon Ho, 2003)
18 (new) Roma (Alfonso Cuarón, 2018)
19 (new) Our Body (Claire Simon, 2023)
20 (new) No Bears (Jafar Panahi, 2022)
21 (new) Parasite (Bong Joon Ho, 2019)
22 (new) Godland (Hlynur Pálmason, 2022)
23 (new) Killers of the Flower Moon (Martin Scorsese, 2023)
24 (33) Our Little Sister (Hirokazu Kore-eda, 2015)
25 (21) The Last of the Unjust (Claude Lanzmann, 2013)
26 (new) For Sama (Waad Al-Kateab and Edward Watts, 2019)
27 (27) London: The Modern Babylon (Julien Temple, 2012)
28 (new) The Irishman (Martin Scorsese, 2019)
29 (new) Blitz (Steve McQueen, 2024)
30 (new) Heal the Living (Katell Quillévéré, 2016)
31 (new) The Worst Person in the World (Joachim Trier, 2021)
32 (new) Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets (Bill and Turner Ross, 2020)
33 (49) A Town Called Panic (Stéphane Aubier and Vincent Patar, 2009)
34 (new) Summer of Soul (or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised) (Questlove and Hal Tuchin, 2021)
35 (36) We Steal Secrets: The Story of Wikileaks (Alex Gibney, 2013)
36 (new) Kokomo City (D. Smith, 2023)
37 (new) Profit Motive and the Whispering Wind (John Gianvito, 2007)
38 (12) Être et avoir (Nicolas Philibert, 2002)
39 (34) Brokeback Mountain (Ang Lee, 2005)
40 (40) Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room (Alex Gibney, 2005)
41 (32) Crimson Gold (Jafar Panahi, 2003)
42 (63) It's Such a Beautiful Day (Don Hertzfeldt, 2012)
43 (15) Pan's Labyrinth (Guillermo del Toro, 2006)
44 (new) Annette (Leos Carax, 2021)
45 (new) The World to Come (Mona Fastvold, 2020)
46 (new) The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer, 2023)
47 (19) The Magdalene Sisters (Peter Mullan, 2002)
48 (new) The Lost City of Z (James Gray, 2016)
49 (17) Before the Devil Knows You're Dead (Sidney Lumet, 2007)
50 (new) Leave No Trace (Debra Granik, 2018)
51 (18) NO (Pablo Larraín, 2012)
52 (37) The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada (Tommy Lee Jones, 2005)
53 (new) R.I.P./ee.ma.yau (Lijo Jose Pellissery, 2018)
54 (83) Far From Heaven (Todd Haynes, 2002)
55 (new) Ponniyin Selvan: Parts 1 & 2 (Mani Ratnam, 2022-23)
56 (new) The Death of Stalin (Armando Iannucci, 2017)
57 (13) The Piano Teacher (Michael Haneke, 2001)
58 (20) Talk to Her (Pedro Almodovar, 2002)
59 (31) 24 Hour Party People (Michael Winterbottom, 2002)
60 (new) And Your Mother Too/Y tu mamá también (Alfonso Cuaron, 2001)
61 (new) Possessor (Brandon Cronenberg, 2020)
62 (41) Lady Chatterley (Pascale Ferran, 2006)
63 (new) Driveways (Andrew Ahn, 2019)
64 (new) A Hidden Life (Terrence Malick, 2019)
65 (70) Train to Busan (Yeon Sang-ho, 2016)
66 (30) WALL-E (Andrew Stanton, 2008)
67 (89) Amélie (Jean-Pierre Jeunet, 2001)
68 (28) Before Midnight (Richard Linklater, 2013)
69 (new) The Son's Room (Nanni Moretti, 2001)
70 (48) Bridge of Spies (Steven Spielberg, 2015)
71 (new) Labyrinth of Cinema (Nobuhiko Obayashi, 2019)
72 (new) First Reformed (Paul Schrader, 2017)
73 (new) 25th Hour (Spike Lee, 2002)
74 (new) Eden (Mia Hansen-Løve, 2014)
75 (new) Hale County This Morning, This Evening (RaMell Ross, 2018)
76 (new) The Florida Project (Sean Baker, 2017)
77 (new) Manchester by the Sea (Kenneth Lonergan, 2016)
78 (58) The Tree of Life (Terrence Malick, 2011)
79 (new) John McEnroe: In the Realm of Perfection (Julien Faraut, 2018)
80 (61) The Court/Bamako (Abderrahmane Sissako, 2006)
81 (60) Om Shanti Om (Farah Khan, 2007)
82 (39) Punch-Drunk Love (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2002)
83 (55) Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki, 2001)
84 (new) Goodbye, Dragon Inn (Tsai Ming-liang, 2003)
85 (new) I Am Not Your Negro (Raoul Peck, 2016)
86 (new) A Thousand and One (A.V. Rockwell, 2023)
87 (84) Lootera (Vikramaditya Motwane, 2013)
88 (new) Foxcatcher (Bennett Miller, 2014)
89 (new) Gangubai Kathiawadi (Sanjay Leela Bhansali, 2022)
90 (new) Mr. Turner (Mike Leigh, 2014)
91 (86) Inside Llewyn Davis (Joel and Ethan Coen, 2013)
92 (68) Under the Skin (Jonathan Glazer, 2013)
93 (new) Lost in Translation (Sofia Coppola, 2003)
94 (new) Moneyball (Bennett Miller, 2011)
95 (new) Rocky aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani (Karan Johar, 2023)
96 (new) Of Time and the City (Terence Davies, 2008)
97 (new) The Image Book (Jean-Luc Godard, 2018)
98 (new) Joyland (Saim Sadiq, 2022)
99 (new) 120BPM (Robin Campillo, 2017)
100 (new) Gagarine (Fanny Liatard and Jérémy Trouilh, 2020)