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.