The movies have come to Downton Abbey and Violet Crawley, the acid-tongued Dowager Countess of Grantham so delightfully played by Maggie Smith (The Lady in the Van) since 2010, is none too fussed about it. "Hard same," all but the most devoted fans of the upstairs-downstairs TV drama may find themselves thinking as she expresses that sentiment — at least where Downton Abbey: A New Era, an exercise in extending the series/raking in more box-office cash, is concerned. Violet, as only she can, declares she'd "rather eat pebbles" than watch a film crew at work within the extravagant walls of her family's home. The rest of us mightn't be quite so venomous, but that's not the same as being entertained. The storyline involving said film crew is actually one of the most engaging parts of A New Era; however, the fact that much of it is clearly ripped off from cinematic classic Singin' in the Rain speaks volumes, and gratingly. When the first Downton Abbey flick brought its Yorkshire mansion-set shenanigans to cinemas back in 2019, it felt unnecessary, too, but also offered what appeared to be a last hurrah and a final chance to spend time with beloved characters. Now, the repeat effort feels like keeping calm and soldiering on because there's more pounds to be made. Don't believe the title: while A New Era proclaims that change is afoot, and some of its narrative dramas nod to the evolving world when the 1920s were coming to a close, the movie itself is happy doing what Downton Abbey always has — and in a weaker version. There's zero reason other than financial gain for this film to unspool its tale in theatres rather than as three TV episodes, which is what it may as well have tacked together. Well, perhaps there's one: having Lady Mary Talbot (Michelle Dockery, Anatomy of a Scandal) proclaim that "we have to be able to enter the 1930s with our heads held high" and set the expectation that more features will probably follow. A New Era begins with a wedding, picking up where its predecessor left off as former chauffeur Tom Branson (Allen Leech, Bohemian Rhapsody) marries Lucy Smith (Tuppence Middleton, Mank) with everyone expected — the well-to-do Crawleys and their relatives, plus their maids, butlers, cooks, footmen and other servants — in attendance. But the film really starts with two revelations that disrupt the Downton status quo. Firstly, Violet receives word that she's inherited a villa in the south of France from an ex-paramour, who has recently passed away. His surviving wife (Nathalie Baye, Call My Agent!) is displeased with the arrangement, threatening lawsuits, but his son (Jonathan Zaccaï, The White Crow) invites the Crawleys to visit to hash out the details. Secondly, a movie production wants to use Downton for a shoot, which the pragmatic Mary talks the family into because — paralleling the powers-that-be behind A New Era itself — the aristocratic brood would like the money. With Violet's health waning, she stays home while son Robert (Hugh Bonneville, Paddington 2) and his wife Cora (Elizabeth McGovern, The Commuter) journey to the Riviera — as part of a cohort that also includes retired butler Mr Carson (Jim Carter, Swimming with Men), who's determined to teach his French counterparts British standards. And, as the Dowager Countess remains in Yorkshire exclaiming she'd "rather earn a living down a mine" than make movies, potential family secrets are bubbling up abroad. That subplot takes a cue or two from Mamma Mia!; Downton Abbey creator and writer Julian Fellowes must've watched several musicals while scripting. Violet also notes that she "thought the best thing about films is that I couldn't hear them", because the production helmed by Jack Barber (Hugh Dancy, Late Night), and led by stars Guy Dexter (Dominic West, The Pursuit of Love) and Myrna Dalgleish (Laura Haddock, Transformers: The Last Knight), has hit a period-appropriate snag: talkies are the new hot thing, but their flick is silent. 2022 marks two decades since Fellowes won an Oscar for writing what remains his finest achievement yet: the fellow upstairs-downstairs affair Gosford Park. It doesn't do A New Era's viewers much good to dwell on that fact while watching his latest, which is directed by My Week with Marilyn, Woman in Gold and Goodbye Christopher Robin's Simon Curtis as if he simply had a job to get on with. Noticeably, despite the lavish setting and decor that's a fixed part of the franchise, as well as the handsome costuming, Curtis' vision of Downton looks flat and functional rather than gleaming — almost like being stuck with a TV with the always-abhorrent motion-smoothing settings left on. The French-set scenes appear lighter and brighter, purely due to the switch from old-world stateliness to coastal airiness, but hardly dazzle visually either. If a Downton Abbey movie doesn't make the most of its bigger canvas, serves up stories cobbled together from other films, gets soapier otherwise and doesn't have all that much of Maggie Smith in it — even if she makes the utmost of the time she does get on-screen — it's always going to prove a lesser jaunt. That can't be patched over by the winking knowingness of tasking Downton's residents with verbalising how inelegant it is to make a picture there, while also recognising how great the cash is; instead of tongue-in-cheek, that meta choice just lands awkwardly. And, although the returning cast do exactly what their parts call for, with so many players to shoehorn in this can never be a performance-driven piece. Unsurprisingly, some of the feature's best work comes from its newcomers, with Dancy and West both fine additions — and enjoying romantic threads that, while thin, don't just tick boxes as the majority of the screenplay does elsewhere. Also blatant: that the servants are firmly shortchanged, but butler Barrow (Rob James-Collier, Fate: The Winx Saga), kitchen maid Daisy (Sophie McShera, The Queen's Gambit) and Mary's maid Anna (Joanne Froggatt, Angela Black) fare best. Sometimes, A New Era imitates thumbing through a photo album — spotting adored faces fleetingly, recalling old times in the process and, well, that's it. For the most ardent of Downton Abbey devotees, getting another go-around with the show's figures may be enjoyable enough, but this film is all about that easy comfort, nostalgia and familiarity above all else. It's there when John Lunn's score kicks in early, lingers through the all-too-neat ups and downs, and remains when Dockery virtually announces that if this flick does big-enough box-office business, then more's likely to come. Top image: Ben Blackall / © 2021 Focus Features, LLC.
Despite being nominated for Best Actor for Being the Ricardos, Javier Bardem had zero chance of nabbing a shiny trophy at the 2022 Oscars. The movie he deserves his next nod for instead: savagely sharp workplace satire The Good Boss, which is home to a tour-de-force of a performance from the Spanish actor. Already an Academy Award-recipient for his powerhouse effort in No Country for Old Men — and a prior contender for Before Night Falls and Biutiful, too — Bardem does what he long has, playing a character who uses a set facade to mask his real self. Here, he's a seemingly kindly factory owner who makes a big fuss about treating his employees like family, but happily lets that ruse slip if they want more money, or have problems at home that disrupt their work, or happen to be an attractive intern. He still sports a smile though, naturally. In his latest Goya Award-winning part — his 12th to be nominated, too — Bardem becomes the outwardly friendly, inwardly slippery Básculas Blanco. Given the darkness that lingers in his self-serving, self-confident, self-satisfied true nature, the character's name is patently tongue-in-cheek. He presides over a company that makes professional-grade scales, which he inherited from his father, and tells his staff "don't treat me like a boss". But filmmakers who put the word 'good' in their movie's monikers rarely mean it literally, and writer/director Fernando León de Aranoa (who reteams with his lead after 2002's Mondays in the Sun and 2017's Loving Pablo) is one of them. As portrayed with quietly compelling magnetism by Bardem, The Good Boss' ostensibly respectable CEO finds his perfectly calibrated public persona cracking slowly, surely and devilishly, all thanks to the weight of his own ruthlessness. Awards aren't just coming Bardem's way off-screen for this exceptional turn; they're baked into the movie's plot as well. When The Good Boss begins, Blanco is determined to win a prestigious business prize — but he can't be called desperate, because appearing anything other than commanding, magnanimous and prosperous isn't in the grey-haired, sleekly attired manager's wheelhouse. Still, everyone around him knows how insistent he is about emerging victorious, including his clothing boutique-owning wife Adela (Sonia Almarcha, The Consequences). Their dutiful but hardly passionate marriage says plenty about Blanco, how he operates, and how careful he is about maintaining the illusion he wants the world to see. Indeed, when pretty young Liliana (Almudena Amor, The Grandmother) starts in his marketing department for a month-long stint, she instantly earns his attention, while he still outwardly flaunts committed family-man vibes. Liliana's arrival isn't without complications either professionally and personally. But in a film that skewers nine-to-five life and relationships alike, that's one of several troubles that upsets the company's balance. Just as Blanco's business is set to be inspected during the prize's judging process, his orderly world is pushed askew. There's the just-retrenched José (Óscar de la Fuente, The Cover), who won't accept his sacking, has set up outside the worksite's gate with a loudspeaker shouting out his woes and even has his school-aged children in tow. Then, there's underling and childhood friend Miralles (Manolo Solo, Official Competition), whose marital struggles are impacting day-to-day operations. And, trusted employee Fortuna (Celso Bugallo, The Paramedic) calls upon Blanco's sway for help with a domestic situation of his own. The Good Boss doesn't lack for subplots. It's filled with them — overstuffed, even. Putting so much chaos on Blanco's plate stretches the film out to two hours, and it feels it, but there's a method behind León de Aranoa's approach. The deceitful air that lurks around his protagonist, not to mention everything he weathers and gets away with, has its heart in paralleling Spanish history. The filmmaker is in as pointedly comedic territory as he was with 2015's A Perfect Day, his Benicio del Toro-starring English-language debut about aid workers — and while the analogy to his homeland's past here remains unspoken, it's as gleaming as Blanco's ashen tresses nonetheless. An employer, husband, friend and person like The Good Boss' central figure isn't unique to Spain, but it's easy to connect the dots between the morally reprehensible behaviour on display and what's come before at the highest level in the European nation. Also mutely blatant: the statement made about what Blanco and his ilk will justify to maintain their authority. With its shaggy running time, and the convenience that seethes through some of its plot points, The Good Boss isn't as fine-tuned as it could be. While bearing a completely different tone, it also somewhat sits in the shadow of Pedro Almodóvar's Parallel Mothers, which similarly nods to Spanish history. And, it is inescapably a movie of two clear halves — the patiently building setup, because there's much to establish; and the payoff, where what Blanco's corruption means for men like him in a place with such a past becomes apparent. Still, when León de Aranoa's script slices, it cuts deeply and with a blackly comic disdain for the excesses of power and privilege that's so palpable that feeling it is inescapable. Also a key component: layering in the change bubbling in modern Spain, especially with gender roles. Regardless of whether The Good Boss happens to be hitting all of its marks at any given moment, Bardem is always mesmerising. Exuding menace has never been hard for him, as his Academy Award illustrates, but he proves as skilled here at letting that unease linger behind a superficially affable exterior as he is at flat-out getting villainous (for the latter, see also: Skyfall). Perhaps what's most striking about that polished-but-ominous combination is how recognisable it is at every turn, as it's designed to be, and how genuinely unnerving it is as a result. Workplaces everywhere are filled with Blancos, of course, aka people who can't ever quite hide their entitled, opportunistic, bullying and winner-takes-all tendencies with pleasant posturing, and yet have made successful careers thanks to coming close enough. Bardem mirrors a world of folks like Blanco with his transfixing performance, but also ensures that The Good Boss' namesake won't be easily forgotten.
The World Press Photo Foundation is a global platform connecting professionals and audiences through raw visual journalism and storytelling. The organisation was founded in 1955 when a group of Dutch photographers organised a contest to expose their work to an international audience. Since then, the contest has grown into the world's most prestigious photography competition and global travelling exhibition. The 65th edition of the World Press Photo Exhibition will touch down in Melbourne this year and be on display at the Magnet Galleries at Docklands from Friday, June 10–Thursday, June 30. The winners from this year's contest were chosen by an independent jury that reviewed 64,823 photographs by 4066 photographers from 130 countries — and while the exhibition only showcases a selection, get ready to peer at the best of the best. Taking top honours for 2022: Amber Bracken's image for The New York Times, featuring red dresses hanging on crosses along the roadside to mark the children who died at the Kamloops Indian Residential School. It's a hauntingly striking photo. This will be on display alongside other finalists, plus eye-catching images in categories that span contemporary issues, the environment, general news, nature, portraits and sports. View this post on Instagram A post shared by World Press Photo Foundation (@worldpressphoto) Top image: 2022 Photo Contest, World Press Photo of the Year. Title: Kamloops Residential School. © Amber Bracken for The New York Times.
To write notable things, does someone need to live a notable life? No, but sometimes they do anyway. To truly capture the bone-chilling, soul-crushing, gut-wrenching atrocities of war, does someone need to experience it for themselves? In the case of Siegfried Sassoon, his anti-combat verse could've only sprung from someone who had been there, deep in the trenches of the Western Front during World War I, and witnessed its harrowing horrors. If you only know one thing about the Military Cross-winner and poet going into Benediction, you're likely already aware that he's famed for his biting work about his time in uniform. There's obviously more to his story and his life, though, as there is to the film that tells his tale. But British writer/director Terence Davies (Sunset Song) never forgets the traumatic ordeal, and the response to it, that frequently follows his subject's name as effortlessly as breathing. Indeed, being unable to ever banish it from one's memory, including Sassoon's own, is a crucial part of this precisely crafted, immensely affecting and deeply resonant movie. If you only know two things about Sassoon before seeing Benediction, you may have also heard of the war hero-turned-conscientious objector's connection to fellow poet Wilfred Owen. Author of Anthem for Damned Youth, he fought in the same fray but didn't make it back. That too earns Davies' attention, with Jack Lowden (Slow Horses) as Sassoon and Matthew Tennyson (Making Noise Quietly) as his fellow wordsmith, soldier and patient at Craiglockhart War Hospital — both for shell shock. Benediction doesn't solely devote its frames to this chapter in its central figure's existence, either, but the film also knows that it couldn't be more pivotal in explaining who Sassoon was, and why, and how war forever changed him. The two writers were friends, and also shared a mutual infatuation. They were particularly inspired during their times at Craiglockhart as well. In fact, Sassoon mentored the younger Owen, and championed his work after he was killed in 1918, exactly one week before before Armistice Day. Perhaps you know three things about Sassoon prior to Benediction. If so, you might be aware of Sassoon's passionate relationships with men, too. Plenty of the film bounces between his affairs with actor and singer Ivor Novello (Jeremy Irvine, Treadstone), socialite Stephen Tennant (Calam Lynch, Bridgerton) and theatre star Glen Byam Shaw (Tom Blyth, Billy the Kid), all at a time in Britain when homosexuality was outlawed. There's a fated air to each romantic coupling in Davies' retelling, whether or not you know to begin with that Sassoon eventually (and unhappily) married the younger Hester Gatty (Kate Phillips, Downton Abbey). His desperate yearning to hold onto someone, and something, echoes with post-war melancholy as well. That said, that sorrow isn't just a product of grappling with a life-changing ordeal, but also of a world where everything Sassoon wants and needs is a battle — even if there's a giddy air to illegal dalliances among London's well-to-do. Benediction caters for viewers who resemble Jon Snow going in, naturally, although Davies doesn't helm any ordinary biopic. No stranger to creating on-screen poetry with his lyrical films — or to biopics about poets, after tackling Emily Dickinson in his last feature A Quiet Passion — the filmmaker steps through Sassoon's tale like he's composing evocative lines himself. Davies has always been a deeply stirring talent; see: his 1988 debut Distant Voices, Still Lives, 2011's romance The Deep Blue Sea and 2016's Sunset Song, for instance. Here, he shows how it's possible to sift through the ins and outs of someone's story, compiling all the essential pieces in the process, yet never merely reducing it down to the utmost basics. Some biopics can resemble Wikipedia entries re-enacted for the screen, even if done so with flair, but Benediction is the polar opposite. It must be unthinkable to Davies that his audience could simply pick up standard details about Sassoon by watching a depiction of his existence, rather than become immersed in everything about him — especially how he felt. Benediction plays like the work of someone who wouldn't even dream of such an approach in their worst nightmares. That's true in Lowden's scenes, with the bulk of the movie focused on the younger Sassoon. It remains accurate when Peter Capaldi (The Suicide Squad) features as the older Sassoon, including opposite Gemma Jones (Ammonite) as the older Hester. When the latter graces the picture's immaculately shot frames (by Harlots, Gentleman Jack and upcoming The Handmaid's Tale season five cinematographer Nicola Daley), he's a portrait of man embittered, and he's utterly heartbreaking. Lowden and Capaldi's performances are as critical to Benediction as Sassoon himself, and Davies as well. They're that fine-tuned, that tapped into the whirlwind of emotions swirling through the man they're playing, and that awash with anger, determination, longing, loneliness, defiance, despair, resentment and tragedy. (Yes, that's a complicated and chaotic mix, and 100-percent steeped in everything that's thrown Sassoon's way). As overseen by Davies, Lowden and Capaldi are also two halves of a whole, not that either actor gives anything less than their all, let alone a fraction of a portrayal. It's devastating to see how and why Lowden's charisma eventually gives way to Capaldi's loathing, but that's the plight that both men are charged with surveying, relaying and helping echo from the screen — exceptionally so. For all of the feeling coursing through Benediction — including when using archival war footage to hark back to the combat that so altered his central figure, rather than taking the 1917 re-creation route — Davies remains a rigorous, fastidious and controlled filmmaker. The feature's 137-minute running time feels as lengthy as it is. While there's a rhythm to Alex Mackie's (Mary Shelley) editing, the movie is methodically paced. Every single image seen is meticulous in its composition, too. Watching Benediction is an active act, rather than a case of being swept away. That matches everything that the film conveys about Sassoon's experiences and the turmoil they caused him, of course. Still, the art of using restraint and precision to stir up big emotions, and to whip and whisk them around so that they're inescapable, is also on display here — and it's one that this exquisite picture's driving force dispenses with as much talent as his subject did with his poetry.
For four decades, Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami explored his homeland — and sometimes the world as well — through a deeply thoughtful, probing and humanist lens. His features don't simply peer on at people and the places they call home; the late, great director's films truly see both his characters and the spaces they inhabit. And when he passed away in 2016, he left cinema with an exquisite body of work. This year, the Australian Centre for the Moving Image is paying tribute to the inimitable auteur, in its latest collaboration with Sydney Film Festival. Postponed from 2021 due to the pandemic, the retrospective season is called The Films of Abbas Kiarostami, and will screen seven of Kiarostami's features and a selection of his shorts. In Melbourne, the program will play from Thursday, June 9–Monday, June 20 — and spans early works, award-winners and seminal Iranian features all-round. Among the highlights: Close-Up, which blends fiction and documentary; Ten, his snapshot of the lives of contemporary Iranian women; and Taste of Cherry, the first Iranian film to win the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival.
Is there anything more intimate than wandering around someone's home when they're not there, gently rifling through their things, and — literally or not, your choice — spending a few minutes standing in their shoes? Yes, but there's still an intoxicating sense of closeness that comes with the territory; moseying curiously in another's house without their company, after they've entrusted their most personal space to you alone, will understandably do that. In Mothering Sunday, Jane Fairchild (Odessa Young, The Staircase) finds herself in this very situation. She's naked, and as comfortable as she's ever been anywhere. After her lover Paul Sheringham (Josh O'Connor, Emma) leaves her in a state of postcoital bliss, she makes the most of his family's large abode in the English countryside, the paintings and books that fill its walls and shelves, and the pie and beer tempting her tastebuds in the kitchen. The result: some of this 1920s-set British drama's most evocative and remarkable moments. Jane is used to such lofty spaces, but rarely as a carefree resident. She's an aspiring writer, an orphan and the help; he's firmly from money. She works as a maid for the Sheringhams' neighbours, the also-wealthy Godfrey (Colin Firth, Operation Mincemeat) and Clarrie Niven (Olivia Colman, Heartstopper), and she's ventured next door while everyone except Paul is out. This rare day off is the occasion that gives the stately but still highly moving film its name as well — Mother's Day, but initially designed to honour mother churches, aka where one was baptised — and the well-to-do crowd are all lunching to celebrate Paul's impending nuptials to fiancée Emma Hobday (Emma D'Arcy, Misbehaviour). He made excuses to arrive late, though, in order to steal some time with Jane, as they've both been doing for years. Of course, he can't completely shirk his own party. Mothering Sunday does more than luxuriate in Jane's languid stroll around a sprawling manor, or the happiness that precedes it — much, much more — but these scenes stand out for a reason. They're a showcase for Australian actor Young, who has graduated from playing troubled daughters (see: 2015's The Daughter and the unrelated Looking for Grace) to searching young women cementing their place in the world (see also: 2020's Shirley). With her quietly potent and radiant help, they say oh-so-much about Jane that wouldn't have sported the same power if conveyed via dialogue. They're also exactly the kind of sequences that screenwriter Alice Birch (Lady Macbeth) knows well, although she isn't merely repeating herself. Helping pen the page-to-screen adaptations of Sally Rooney's Normal People and Conversations with Friends, she's inherently at home revealing everything she can about her characters just by observing what they do when no one's watching. The broader story in Mothering Sunday also springs from a book, this time from Graham Swift's 2016 novel, with French filmmaker Eva Husson (Girls of the Sun) making her English-language debut in the director's chair. Swift didn't choose an annual occasion at random, with the day cloaked in sadness in the Sheringham and Niven households — and across Britain — in the shadow of the First World War and all the young men lost to the conflict. Indeed, marking Paul's engagement is the best way to spend the date because his brothers, and the Nivens' boys too, will never have the same chance. The need to don a stiff upper lip, to keep calm and carry on, and to embody every other grin-and-bear-it cliche about English stoicism is deeply rooted in grief here, and more will come in this touching feature before the sunny March day that sits at its centre is over. In lesser hands than Swift's, Husson's and Birch's, Jane might've been a peripheral player — or one part in a straightforward upstairs-downstairs setup that could've stepped directly out of Downton Abbey. Thankfully, that isn't Mothering Sunday either as a book or a movie. While class clashes are inescapable within the film's frames, it's how the eponymous date shapes Jane, and how moments both big and small change anyone, that dwells at its core. The picture also flits forward to its protagonist as a writer, where she's drawn back to that past idyll and heartbreak while navigating a relationship with Oxford philosopher Donald (Ṣọpẹ Dìrísù, Gangs of London). And, it jumps further into the future still, where the even-older Jane (Glenda Jackson, making her first movie since 1990's King of the Wind) has spent decades reflecting on that one Mothering Sunday, plus the other joys and losses life has brought her way, in her head, heart and through her work. It's easy to think you know what to expect with Mothering Sunday. Within its 104-minute running time, its pace is as leisurely as British dramas come. Whether roving around the Sheringhams' mansion, the garden party or less lavish places, Jamie Ramsay's (Moffie) cinematography is the epitome of handsome. Also, reteaming The Crown's O'Connor and Colman signals its emphasis on performances (Young and Firth pair up again, too, but the film actually pre-dates their work on HBO miniseries The Staircase). And yet, Mothering Sunday is also never that formulaic, and it isn't merely the movie that could've been constructed simply by connecting the obvious dots. Husson's and Birch's touches give it a gloriously sensual feel, and not only in the lingering sex scenes, their thrusting bodies and even the stains that a tumble in the sheets can cause. Clearly, the two women who've turned Mothering Sunday into a yearning, sultry and textured splash of celluloid have taken the narrative's message to heart: that leaping in, lapping up whatever delights come your way, and also facing the pain if and when it comes, is always better than holding back to avoid the scantest trace of woe. There's nothing overtly forceful about Young and O'Connor's performances, but the same can be said of the wonderful duo, who could fuel several movies with their chemistry alone. That Firth and Colman don't have quite the same presence fits with their characters, though, who nonetheless prove an affecting portrait of post-war mourning. And while there's little that's left unsaid in Morgan Kibby's emotive score, her third for Husson — or in three-time Oscar-winner Sandy Powell's (The Young Victoria, The Aviator, Shakespeare in Love) eye-catching, period-appropriate costuming, either — that too couldn't be more apt, with the film revelling in what it can when it can.
They say the best part of a paella is the crispy, caramelised crust at the bottom of the pan. Well, thanks to Richmond restaurant Mr Joe, you can now get your fix of crispy bits — and all the rest — for half the usual price, every single week. The venue has kicked off a tempting new midweek offering, halving the price of its signature paella dishes every Thursday night. That means you can tuck into a hearty serving of the chicken and chorizo paella, or the vegetable and chickpea version, for just $8.50. Or, opt for the seafood paella, loaded with mixed shellfish and crayfish oil, for a very reasonable $11. But why stop there? If you're thirsty, you can match your feed with 90 minutes of free-flowing cocktails for $39 — think, margaritas, mojitos, espresso martinis and mimosas. Plus, Mr Joe's new tapas menu will have you kicking off your paella party in style, with bites like the smoky meatballs, stuffed peppers, potato tortilla and ras el hanout pork skewers. [caption id="attachment_854553" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Mr Joe, by Pete Dillon[/caption] Images: Pete Dillon
Some venues tell you exactly what they're about right there in their name, and Bridge Road Brewers' latest location, A Bar Made of Cardboard, is one of them. At this short-term spot at East Brunswick Village in Melbourne, the brewery has set up a completely zero-waste bar while working on its second brewery in the same location. Come December this year, it'll be home to a 350-person venue — but, while that's in the works, A Bar Made of Cardboard can welcome in 60 beer lovers inside and out. Cardboard features everywhere. It has been fashioned into tables, chairs shelves, signs and light fittings. In fact, the only things that aren't made of cardboard are the beer taps, fridges and dishwasher, for obvious (and soggy) reasons. Thanks to all that cardboard, the venue is entirely constructed from materials that are either recycled themselves — the cardboard is made up of at least 75-percent recycled material, in fact — or can be reused, recycled or composted. The pop-up is now open, operating from 4pm–late Wednesday–Friday and 12pm–late Saturday–Sunday. Bridge Road Brewers' full range of core and seasonal beers will rotate through the bar's six bar taps, and there's also a wine list that heroes small wine producers from throughout Victoria's High Country. And, an onsite bottle shop will be selling all of the above, plus Victorian spirits as well. Snacks-wise, Chappy's Chips and Mount Zero Olives feature on the menu, plus there'll be food trucks serving up meals on Friday and Saturday evenings.
Melbourne's hosted a swag of new must-see exhibitions of late — and there's an extra dose of after-hours fun to add to your cultural calendar this weekend, too. Coinciding with the launch of its newest exhibition Naadohbii: To Draw Water, Melbourne Museum is back with the next instalment of its monthly after-dark parties. On Saturday, September 24, this edition of Saturday Sessions will once again invite punters in to explore the precinct after it's normally closed; browsing its galleries, kicking back to DJ tunes and catching special curator chats. [caption id="attachment_864171" align="alignnone" width="1920"] 'Tyama', by Eugene Hyland[/caption] This time around, you'll enjoy after-hours access to the immersive projections and special effects of Tyama; the hands-on fun of Bricktionary: The Interactive Lego Brick Exhibition; and the world's most complete Triceratops, star of the Triceratops: Fate of the Dinosaurs exhibition. Plus, be among the first to scope out Naadohbii — a compelling exhibition of First Peoples art exploring the theme of water. Then, hit the dance floor to a gig by celebrated DJ Natalie Ex. There'll also be an immersive water-inspired film screening, plus pop-up bars stocked with bevs to lubricate your cultural wanderings. Saturday Sessions runs from 5pm–9pm. Entry to the event is $15 for adults, though you'll need to grab additional tickets for access to Tyama and Bricktionary at the time of booking. [caption id="attachment_868007" align="alignnone" width="1920"] 'Bricktionary', by Eugene Hyland[/caption]
Every year for the past 101 years, the Archibald Prize has recognised exceptional works of portraiture by Australian artists. In 2022, from a field of 52 finalists, the coveted award has gone to Moby Dickens by Blak Douglas. The painting depicts Wiradjuri artist Karla Dickens, who lives on Bundjalung Country in Lismore, and is designed as a metaphor for northern NSW town's floods earlier in 2022. Douglas — a Sydney-based artist with Dhungatti heritage, who was born Adam Hill – made history, too, as the first New South Wales First Nations artist to win with a painting of a New South Wales First Nations artist. Other winners include a portrait of the one and only Taika Waititi, Nicholas Harding's painting Eora, and Claire Healy and Sean Cordeiro's depiction of a battle between warrior and demon, titled Raiko and Shuten-dōji A huge 1908 entries were submitted for the the 2022 Archibald, Wynne and Sulman prizes, with the three winners unveiled at the Art Gallery of New South Wales in May. And now the finalists are hitting the road for the annual Archibald Prize regional tour. The first (and only Victorian) stop: Narre Warren's Bunjil Place Gallery, where the 52 finalist works will be on display between Saturday, September 3–Sunday, October 16. There'll also be a program of workshops, tours, after-hours parties, themed high teas and other art events to match. [caption id="attachment_853909" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Winner Wynne Prize 2022, Nicholas Harding. Eora, oil on linen, 196.5 x 374.8 cm © the artist, image © AGNSW, Mim Stirling.[/caption] For more information on The Archibald Prize 2022 at Bunjil Place Gallery, head to the website. Top image: Excerpt of winner Archibald Prize 2022, Blak Douglas. Moby Dickens, synthetic polymer paint on linen, 300 x 200 cm © the artist, image © AGNSW, Mim Stirling. Sitter: Karla Dickens.
Melbourne's surf park is sending out the chilly season with a crash, dishing up a high-voltage serve of surf breaks, snow sports and DJ tunes. On Saturday, August 27, Urbnsurf is set to play host to the Boost Mobile Winter Jam, celebrating surf and snow culture with one big day of action. You'll be able to catch some of the country's top surf talent hitting the waves for Season 3 of the Rivals competition series, while a bunch of Aussie snow pros show off their stuff in a lagoon-side snowboard rail jam. While you're watching all that high-level athleticism, you'll be sipping bevs courtesy of Young Henrys, Hard Fizz and Red Bull, and snacking on eats from the day's food truck lineup. And it all wraps up with a big openair dance floor session, with a sunset DJ set from Dena Amy followed by the electronic sounds of Sydney duo Set Mo. [caption id="attachment_865840" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Set Mo[/caption]
What happens outside an upstate New York strip club at 10am on an ordinary weekday? Nothing — nothing good, or that anyone pays attention to, at least — deduces the unhappy Val (Jerrod Carmichael, Rothaniel) in On the Count of Three. So, he's hatched a plan: with his lifelong best friend Kevin (Christopher Abbott, The Forgiven), they'll carry out a suicide pact, with that empty car park as their final earthly destination. Under the harsh morning light and against a drably grey sky, Carmichael's feature directorial debut initially meets its central duo standing in that exact spot, guns pointed at each other's heads and pulling the trigger mere moments away. Yes, they start counting. Yes, exhaustion and desperation beam from their eyes. No, this thorny yet soulful film isn't over and done with then and there. There are many ways to experience weariness, frustration, malaise and despair, and to convey them — and On the Count of Three surveys plenty, as an unflinchingly black comedy about two lifelong best friends deciding to end it all should. Those dispiriting feelings can weigh you down, making every second of every day an effort. They can fester, agitate, linger and percolate, simmering behind every word and deed before spewing out as fury. They can spark drastic actions, including the type that Val and Kevin have picked as their only option after the latter breaks the former out of a mental health hospital mere days after his last self-harming incident. Or, they can inspire a wholesale rejection of the milestones, such as the promotion that Val is offered hours earlier, that everyone is told they're supposed to covet, embrace and celebrate. On the Count of Three covers all of the above, not just with purpose but with confidence, as well as a much-needed willingness to get messy. It knows it's traversing tricky terrain, and is also well-aware of the obvious: that nothing about considering taking one's own life is simple or easy, let alone a laughing matter. Working with a script by Ramy co-creators Ari Katcher (also a co-creator of The Carmichael Show) and Ryan Welch, Carmichael doesn't make a movie that salutes, excuses or justifies Val and Kevin's exit plan. His film doesn't abhor the emotions and pain behind their choices either, though. Instead, this is a complicated portrait of coping, and not, with the necessities, vagaries and inevitabilities of life — and a raw and thoughtful piece of recognition that the biggest standoff we all have is with ourselves. Rocking a shock of dishevelled bleached-blonde hair, and looking like he hasn't even dreamed of changing his wardrobe since the early 00s, Abbott could've wandered out of Good Time as Kevin — he and Robert Pattinson could/should play brothers some day — including when he's staring down Val with a gun. First, On the Count of Three jumps from there to the events leading up to it, including an earlier attempt by landscaping supply store worker Val in the work bathrooms, his response to hearing about that aforementioned climb up the corporate ladder. In hospital, Kevin is angry; "if any of you knew how to help me by now, you would have fucking done it!" he shouts. But when the time to shoot comes, it's him who suggests a reprieve to take care of a few last items — revenge being his. Calling On the Count of Three a bucket-list movie isn't quite right, because there's a difference between checking off your wildest dreams and working through the essentials that gnaw at you. Accordingly, and in its nervy, restless, go-go-go energy, too, the film is in day-in-the-life territory — focusing on Kevin's score to settle with a child psychologist, Dr Brenner (Henry Winkler, Barry), from his past, and Val getting his issues with his slippery dad Lyndell (JB Smoove, Curb Your Enthusiasm) and Natasha, the woman he thought he was going to marry (Tiffany Haddish, The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent), off his chest. In-between, its main twosome relive minor past glories, whether it's breakfast at a favourite diner or returning to the dirt-bike park job they loved as teens. Those guns have to go off in one way or another, though; Chekov demands it. If On the Count of Three wasn't so deeply felt — so bitterly, unapologetically dark as well — and anchored by such compelling performances, it could've easily gone astray. Tragicomedy isn't straightforward, or simple to pull off. But Carmichael shows his skills as a director (he has TV documentary Sermon on the Mount and a Lil Rel Howery comedy special among his past helming credits otherwise) by skewing both intimate and wide. The film's one-on-one exchanges are candid and revelatory, while pivoting to tensely staged car chases and shootouts still feels natural. The crime-thriller sheen of Marshall Adams' cinematography helps, as does Owen Pallett's evocative score (especially during a climactic pursuit). And, that bickering, bantering, ride-or-die dynamic between the exceptional Abbott and the devastatingly understated Carmichael is captivating to watch. It's a great time for seeing two well-paired actors bouncing off of each other and wanting more — see also: Sam Rockwell and Saoirse Ronan in the vastly dissimilar See How They Run — but On the Count of Three's on-screen chemistry is hardly surprising. Abbott keeps going from strength to strength in complex parts, such as James White, Black Bear and Possessor, while Carmichael knows how to match vulnerability with truth, as his comedy special Rothaniel made plain. Such a key factor here is balance, the elusive concept that Val and Kevin are searching for even if they don't necessarily know it. It bubbles through in the movie's comic moments, too; when On the Count of Three chuckles, it directs is humour at Val cathartically screaming along to Papa Roach's 'Last Resort' in such on-the-nose circumstances, Papa Roach in general, the way that minutiae always gets in everyone's way — whether they're planning to see another day or not — and only starting to live when you want to die.
What's more terrifying: knowing that death is inevitable, because our fragile flesh will fail us all eventually and inescapably, or accepting that little we ever sense can truly be trusted given that everything in life changes and evolves? In horror movies, both notions stalk through the genre like whichever slasher/killer/malevolent force any filmmaker feels like conjuring up in any particular flick — and in You Won't Be Alone, the two ideas shudder through one helluva feature debut by Macedonian Australian writer/director Goran Stolevski. An expiration date isn't just a certainty within this film's frames. It's part of a non-stop cycle that sees transformation as just as much of a constant. You Won't Be Alone is a poetically shot, persistently potent picture about witches but, as the best unsettling movies are, it's also about so much that thrums through the existence we all know. Viewers mightn't be living two centuries back and dancing with a sorceress, but they should still feel the film's truths in their bones. First, however, a comparison. Sometimes a resemblance is so obvious that it simply has to be uttered and acknowledged, and that's the case here. Stolevski's film, the first of two by him in 2022 — MIFF's opening-night pick Of an Age is the other — boasts lyrical visuals, especially of nature, that instantly bring the famously rhapsodic aesthetics favoured by Terrence Malick (The Tree of Life, A Hidden Life) to mind. Its musings on the nature of life, and human nature as well, easily do the same. Set long ago, lingering in villages wracked by superstition and exploring a myth about a witch, You Won't Be Alone conjures up thoughts of Robert Eggers' The Witch, too. Indeed, if Malick had directed that recent favourite, the end product might've come close to this entrancing effort. Consider Stolevski's feature the result of dreams conjured up with those two touchstones in his head, though, rather than an imitator. The place: Macedonia. The time: the 19th century. The focus: a baby chosen by the Wolf-Eateress (Anamaria Marinca, The Old Guard) to be her offsider. Actually, that's not the real beginning of anyone's tale here in the broader scheme of things — and this is a movie that understands that all of life feeds into an ongoing bigger picture, as it always has and always will — but the infant's plight is as good an entry point as any. The child's distraught mother Yoana (Kamka Tocinovski, Angels Fallen) pleads for any other result than losing her newborn. You Won't Be Alone's feared figure has the ability to select one protege, then to bestow them with her otherworldly skills, and she's determined to secure her pick. That said, she does agree to a bargain. She'll let the little one reach the age of 16 first, but Old Maid Maria, as the Wolf-Eateress is also known, won't forget to claim her prize when the years pass. Nevena (Sara Klimoska, Black Sun) lives out that formative period in a cave, in her mum's attempt to stave off her fate — and with all that resides beyond her hiding spot's walls glimpsed only through a hole up high. Then the Wolf-Eateress comes calling, as she promised she would. From there, Nevena's initiation into the world — of humans, and of her physically and emotionally scarred mentor — is unsurprisingly jarring. Her transition from the care and protection of her "whisper-mama" to the kill-to-survive ruthlessness of her new "witch-mama" disappoints the latter, soon leaving the girl on her own. Still, the need to hunt, devour and mutate has already taken hold, even if Nevena is left fending for herself as she shapeshifts between animals and other humans, after extracting their innards and stuffing them into her own body first. With Noomi Rapace (Lamb), Alice Englert (The Power of the Dog) and Carloto Cotta (The Tsugua Diaries) also among the cast, You Won't Be Alone turns Nevena's curiosity-driven experiences of life, love, loss, identity, desire, pain, envy and power into an unforgettable, mesmerising and thoughtful gothic horror fable — charting switches and the stories that come with them with each metamorphosis. In her first new human guise, Nevena may as well be a newborn again; the families and communities she enters, assuming their members' forms, think her behaviour is strange to say the least even when she's been through the process a few times. But every incarnation teaches the young woman plenty, including that existence and its happinesses are oh-so fleeting, precarious, tenuous and precious. The more years that Nevena spends among the living, the more that the bitter Maria is dismayed, as she returns periodically to stress (and because completely leaving the child she took as her own isn't ever straightforward.) Stolevski doesn't let hurt and cruelty subside from You Won't Be Alone, especially as it ponders the way that women — be they mothers, daughters, spinsters desperate for children, ageing figures considered past their prime or anything in-between — are and have been so savagely treated in a patriarchal world. Suffering and fear dwell in the feature's intimate frames, which rove and roam, and also survey nature's horrors (as well as its splendours) as devotedly as they follow its central figure. Cinematographer Matthew Chuang adds the handheld camerawork here to his also immersive and expressive work in Blue Bayou, not only sweeping the audience on a witchy and whispery journey, but making them sense the film's emotions deeply. A repeated refrain, alongside that contrast between stark agonies and gorgeous sights, says everything about the movie, however: "it's a burning, breaking thing, this world; a biting, wretching thing. And yet... and yet...". Unnerving flicks, whether gruesomely carving up a body count like fellow 2022 release X or contemplating a plethora of weighty themes as Nope does, also pulsate with another truth: that life isn't something to lose or squander lightly. You Won't Be Alone emphasises that fact, and the yearning for connection that simmers within us all — recognising that being alive can mean blood, terror and tragedy, but also hope, beauty, affection, soul-changing bonds and even just delighting in the smallest of wonders. Cycling through its cast given the premise, the film's performances soar beyond the last category with their impressive and pivotal physicality, although it's You Won't Be Alone's ethereal mood, energy, understanding and reflection that hang powerfully and poignantly in the air. Take the title literally for many reasons, and because of one pivotal outcome: you won't be alone in being haunted by this meditation on what it means to live. To say that it is bewitching is obvious, too, but also accurate.
A scene-stealer in 2018's The Breaker Upperers, Ana Scotney now leads the show in Millie Lies Low. She's just as magnetic. The New Zealand actor comes to the part via Wellington Paranormal, Shortland Street, Educators and Cousins — and the film first debuted at festivals before her role in God's Favourite Idiot — but it's an exceptional calling card. It isn't easy playing someone so committed to making such utterly questionable choices, yet remaining so charmingly relatable; however, that's Scotney's remit and achievement in this canny, savvy and amusing comedy. It also isn't easy to pull off the timing needed to highlight the hilarious side of Millie's hijinks, while ensuring that her woes, hopes and everything that's led her to lie low but lie about living it up remain understandable; consider her entire portrayal a masterclass in just that. Scotney plays the film's eponymous Wellington university student, who panics aboard a plane bound for New York — where a prestigious architecture internship awaits — and has to disembark before her flight leaves. She says she isn't anxious. She also says it isn't an attack. And by the time she realises what she's done, she's alone in the airport, the aircraft has departed and her own face beams down at her from a digital billboard. Even getting that Big Apple opportunity had made her the toast of the town, and huge things were meant to await, hence the ads and publicity. Now, a new ticket costs $2000, which Millie doesn't have. Admitting that she hasn't gone at all — to her family, friends, teachers, school and the NZ capital at large — wouldn't cost her a thing, but it's a price she isn't willing to pay. First, Millie endeavours to rustle up the cash from her best friend and classmate (Jillian Nguyen, Hungry Ghosts), and then her mother (Rachel House, Heartbreak High). Next, she hits up a quick-loan business (run by Cohen Holloway, The Power of the Dog) but is still left empty-handed. Millie's only solution, other than admitting the situation and facing the fallout: faking it till she makes it. As she searches for other ways to stump up the funds, she hides out in her hometown, telling everyone that she's actually already in NYC. To support her ruse, she posts elaborate faux Instagram snaps MacGyvered out of whatever she can find (big sacks of flour standing in for snow, for instance) and scours for every possible spot, building feature and poster that can even slightly double for New York. There's a caper vibe to Millie's efforts skulking around Wellington while attempting to finance the ticket to her apparent dreams. Sometimes, she's holed up in a tent in her mum's backyard. Sometimes, she's putting on a disguise and showing up at parties in her old flat — eavesdropping on what her mates are saying in her absence, and spying on the boyfriend (Chris Alosio, Troppo) she's meant to be on a break from. While she's doing the latter, she's also reclaiming the car she sold pre-trip to use as loan collateral, because she's that determined to get to America and leave her nearest and dearest none the wiser. Making her feature debut, director and co-writer Michelle Savill has more than just a laugh and a lark in her sights, though, as entertaining as Millie Lies Low's namesake's antics are. There's a caper vibe to the picture of Millie's supposedly perfect existence that she's trying to push upon herself as much as her loved ones as well, like she's selling herself on an unwanted fantasy. Millie mightn't be sure whether the internship is truly her heart's desire, but she's sure that she doesn't deserve it or the fanfare that's come her way with it. Accordingly, Savill has imposter syndrome and the shame spiral it sparks in her gaze, too, and finds much to mine in both an insightful and darkly funny manner. As she follows her protagonist between episodic efforts to print the legend — or post it one Insta picture at a time — her keenly observed film also treads in the perennially great (and relevant) Frances Ha's footsteps. Both movies examine the self-destructive life choices of a twentysomething with a clear idea of what she wants everyone to think of her, but with far less of a grasp on who she really is herself and what she genuinely needs. Some framing and music choices make the connection between Noah Baumbach's Greta Gerwing-starring 2012 masterpiece and Millie Lies Low obvious, but this astute delight is never merely a Wellington-set copy of that fittingly NYC-set feature. Tapping into the reality that no one ever feels like a real adult, let alone a real person, is fuel enough for thousands of movies — and Savill's always has its own mood, thoughts and strengths, including in its interrogation of social media. It doesn't come as news that broadcasting a seemingly idyllic version of your life to everyone you know, and don't, creates pressure to maintain that facade. It isn't a revelation that that's what Facebook, Instagram and the like have inspired to begin with, either. Millie navigates a heightened version of a daily truth for many, and Millie Lies Low does what comedic exaggeration is meant to, acting like a mirror and a magnifying glass. Whether you're a Wellington local or not — or you've visited, or haven't — you can sense the city around Scotney as she flits around; Savill's direction, and Andrew Stroud's (The Changeover) cinematography along with it, has a lived-in look and atmosphere. It feels tangible, too, as do the many shrewd character details and bits of backstory layered through Savill and Eli Kent's (Coming Home in the Dark) script. Nothing about the film would work even half as well if Millie felt artificial, unsurprisingly. Scotney's magnificent performance is crucial, yes, but so is the fleshed-out material she's working with. Millie Lies Low also operates as a cringe comedy, and proves just as textured and relatable as viewers wince and squirm at its central figure's decisions. We cower and recoil — and chuckle — because we can spot the gap between the options that Millie takes and the better alternatives, and because there's nothing pretend about how accurate her fakery feels.
Is there a more fitting feed than a home-delivered feast courtesy of one of the country's most-awarded restaurants? Once again, Ben Shewry's Ripponlea fine diner Attica promises to bring some world-class culinary flair to your lockdown dinner, by way of a rotating at-home selection. The offering spans set menu feasts, family dishes and signature desserts which change up regularly throughout lockdown. But, if you've got the urge to splurge (and really, what else are you spending money on in lockdown?), opt for the likes of the $395 tasting menu. This one's a generous spread for two, featuring masterful dishes like a shiitake and black truffle broth, marron with roasted yeast butter, the famed spice-crusted lamb brick, croc fat caramel and more. There's a whole collection of matched beverages, too, ranging from batched cocktails to sake. How? Hit the website to see the current menu and place an order. Restaurant pick-up is available, as well as $15 delivery to select suburbs. [caption id="attachment_789134" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Chewy Carrots at Attica[/caption]
If anyone knows how to do movie night in style, it's the crew at acclaimed cocktail bar The Everleigh. This month, the Fitzroy drinking destination is gearing up to host the next edition of its popular cocktail-matched cinema event, featuring cult musical comedy flick The Blues Brothers. Taking over The Elk Room across two screenings (6.15pm and 8.45pm) on Thursday, October 24, this one sees The Everleigh teaming up with global spirits company Diageo to deliver a movie night for adults. Curl up in a Chesterfield and catch the famed 1980 film on the big screen, while singing along to 'Jailhouse Rock' and 'Shake Your Tail Feather' and sipping a range of Blues Brothers-inspired cocktails. And yes, you can expect an appearance from on-screen favourite, the Orange Whip – The Everleigh's version is done with crème de cacao, vanilla and orange cream. On top of that, there'll be complimentary popcorn, NY-style slices from Connie's Pizza and plenty of opportunity for post-movie kick-ons at the bar. Tickets are $60 a head, which includes your entry to the film, a welcome cocktail on arrival, popcorn, pizza and three movie-inspired mini cocktails. First image: Pete Dillon
The 90s were great. That shouldn't be a controversial opinion. Whether you lived through them or have spent the last couple of decades wishing you did — aka binging on 90s pop culture — this late-night shindig at Brunswick's Stay Gold will indulge your retro urges. Drinks, tunes, fashion — expect all of the above at the No Scrubs: 90s and Early 00s party from 11pm on Saturday, October 12. Of course, it's up to you to make sure the clothing side of thing is covered, and to get into the spirit of the party. If you want to use Mariah Carey as a style icon, it'd be fitting. Expect to unleash your inner Spice Girl and Backstreet Boy too. TLC, Destiny's Child, Savage Garden, Usher, Blink-182, No Doubt — we'd keep listing artists, but you all know what you're getting yourselves into. Tickets are $10 online, with the fun running through until 3am.
When a song speaks to you — and when it seems like it's speaking only to you — it's one of life's great pleasures. Everyone has a track, album or artist that achieves that feat, and British journalist Sarfraz Manzoor is no different. Born in Pakistan, immigrating to Britain when he was a child and constantly feeling out of place in the southeastern town of Luton, he found solace in one of the big music stars of the 80s. Bruce Springsteen's hit tunes might be so steeped in American life that they've virtually become synonymous with it, but they also captured exactly how Manzoor felt as an outcast teen in the UK. Introduced to The Boss by a school classmate who told him that "Bruce is a direct line to all that was true in this world", he's since seen his idol live more than 150 times, and turned his transformative connection to the singer into a memoir. With music-led movies echoing across cinemas everywhere of late, adapting this superfan story into a sweet coming-of-age film was inevitable. That said, with Manzoor helping to pen Blinded by the Light's screenplay, the resulting picture has a more personal and authentic air — than Beatles-centric flick Yesterday and its manufactured "what if?" hypothetical, than big biopics Bohemian Rhapsody and Rocketman, and than forthcoming George Michael-focused festive rom-com Last Christmas as well. But, these types of movies still love a formula. With a soundtrack of well-known songs to bop along to, there are obvious beats to hit. Films about adolescent outsiders struggling for acceptance are also known to favour a template, which leaves Blinded by the Light feeling familiar several times over. Before he discovers songs such as 'Hungry Heart', 'The River', 'Thunder Road' and 'Born to Run', Javed (Viveik Kalra) — Manzoor's on-screen surrogate — splits his time between trying to meet his dad's (Kulvinder Ghir) expectations and channelling his general angst into his writing. His fiercely traditional father wants him to study hard, get a good job and have a better future than his own, but penning poetry and lyrics for his best friend Matt's (Dean-Charles Chapman) New Wave band stokes Javed's creative fires. Then, fellow South Asian student Roops (Aaron Phagura) lends him cassettes of Born in the USA and Darkness on the Edge of Town. Instead of being tired and bored with himself, Javed is suddenly dancing not just in the dark, but through life. Finding parallels between Springsteen's songs about working-class troubles, his own family's experiences as rare people of colour in a white, unwelcoming and often openly racist neighbourhood, and his dad's factory-job woes in Thatcher's Britain, the 16-year-old feels as if everything has changed. Matt laughs (partly because his own father, played by scene-stealer Rob Brydon, also loves Bruce), and no one at home understands — but soon Javed is asking out the girl (Nell Williams) he likes, writing essays about Springsteen and making a pilgrimage to his idol's home town. If underseen 2016 charmer Sing Street had used The Boss's music, rather than original tunes, it might've turned out something like this. Or, if Bend It Like Beckham filmmaker Gurinder Chadha had swapped soccer for Springsteen… actually, in a broad fashion, that's basically what does happen here. Directing, as well as co-writing with her frequent collaborator Paul Mayeda Berges and, of course, Manzoor, Chadha lets Blinded by the Light play out like a classic rock ballad that audiences already know inside and out. Perhaps that's by design, and not just because it suits Manzoor's real-life story. After the tenth or so spin, favourite songs keep resonating because they've become such an easy source of comfort — a sensation that, by sticking to all the usual music-focused and coming-of-age conventions, this agreeable movie mimics. While viewers are tapping their toes to a jukebox full of Springsteen tracks, and watching Javed navigate a predictable but pleasant path, Blinded by the Light has a clear aim. Even if you're not obsessed with The Boss and his anthems, music speaks a universal language, or so the cliché goes — and, if you can remember when a song has transformed your life, day or mood, then you can get swept up in the film's warm-hearted embrace. Chadha's purposefully amateurish musical-style sequences help, visibly translating Javed's passion to the screen. As the teen and his pals run around town while Springsteen tunes play, their enthusiasm proves infectious. Blinded by the Light plasters that feeling across its frames, weaving it into a likeable, albeit highly recognisable tale about finding your voice after first finding someone else's. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ond9SLcHX4Q
Wake in Fright and Mad Max 2 have a lot to answer for. While one remains a flat-out Australian masterpiece after almost half a century and the other belongs to our best dystopian action franchise, they've spawned more than their fair share of imitators. Many Aussie films have aped their visions of broken, isolated, male-dominated worlds. Quite a few have also used their shooting location, Broken Hill. It's easy to understand why: examining toxic masculinity's extremes is a juicy subject, and the outback town on the far-western edge of New South Wales' dusty expanse cuts a striking sight on the big screen. When layered one over the other, the seemingly endless array of scrubby nothingness that encircles the remote spot appears to pulsate with oppressive desolation. The third film in four years from director Heath Davis (after 2016's Broke and 2018's Book Week), grimy crime thriller Locusts is happy to trot out the above template once again. There's another thoroughly recognisable element at play as well, one that also pops up in Wake in Fright and other Aussie flicks like The Cars That Ate Paris and Welcome to Woop Woop: the outsider wandering across this desert landscape and discovering its hostility for himself. Here, that task falls to slick technology bigwig. Ryan Black (Ben Geurens), who returns to the drought-stricken ex-mining town of Serenity Crossing after the death of his estranged dad. Complete with a far-from-cosy reunion with his brother (Nathaniel Dean) and the old girlfriend-turned-single mum and stripper (Jessica McNamee) he long left behind, everything about this scenario ticks a heap of familiar boxes. Thugs, drugs, broken dreams, family secrets — throw in Cold Chisel on the pub radio (they sang about Broken Hill, aka the Silver City, in 'Khe Sanh'), and Locusts always plays out as expected. When a group of inhospitable locals make it clear that Ryan isn't welcome, but still demands he settle his father's debts, it seems as if first-time screenwriter Angus Watts is stamping squares on a generic movie bingo card. The more twists and turns that pop up, the more that this feels true, with Locusts' various plot developments wavering between convenient and flimsy. Flashes of a man yelling at a kid with a gun earn the same description, although they're clearly designed to ramp up the tension. And as for a hefty late revelation that tries to keep things topical, it feels tacked-on rather than meaningful. Why do films continually wade through such well-worn terrain? It makes for easy, B-movie-style genre fare and, in Australia, we sure do have the backdrop for it. In Locusts and Heath Davis' case, the movie also taps into a theme that the director keeps pondering across his career. While they're set in vastly different circumstances and brandish incredibly different tones, Broke and Book Week also follow men thrown out of their depth by the vagaries of life, then scrambling to recover. Locusts is his least convincing example to-date, however. That said, Geurens' somewhat dull lead performance aside, the film does overflow with suitably scruffy, stern, grizzled men (including Peter Phelps, Broke's Steve Le Marquand, Book Week's Alan Dukes and late actor Damian Hill in one of his final screen performances) who look and feel as rough and tough as all the dirt and bush that's constantly in sight. Filling the movie with sun-dappled shades of earthy reds, murky browns and parched yellows, cinematographer Chris Bland (another Broke and Book Week alum) not only has Locusts' best job, but does Locusts' best job. While Broken Hill doesn't look anywhere near as captivating in real life as it frequently does on the screen, it's hard to point a camera at its rusty vistas without finding a fittingly moody shot. So, Bland does this often. Once again, this fits the picture's contemplation of struggling men laid bare in forbidding surroundings, but the heavy emphasis on the landscape does stand out. For the film's characters, the town's post-apocalyptic scenery is a barrier that stops them from moving on. For the film itself, it's yet another crutch used by an inescapably familiar feature that repeatedly leans on obvious elements. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FD_gvewa9JU&feature=youtu.be
UPDATE, August 19, 2020: Birds of Passage is available to stream via Stan, Google Play, YouTube Movies and iTunes. Thanks to Narcos, Blow and plenty of similar films and television shows, the term 'Colombian drug drama' conjures up a particular image. But that's not what viewers will find in Birds of Passage, a movie that falls into the same broad category while carving its own niche. Forget Pablo Escobar, piles of cocaine and cartels fighting against the US. Forget the genre's usual slick and shiny sheen, too. Instead, Ciro Guerra and Cristina Gallego (Embrace of the Serpent) immerse their feature within a highly insular indigenous tribe, watching as its way of life is forever changed after getting into the marijuana business. The result: a multigenerational crime saga that's as much a portrait of Colombia's Wayúu community as it is about dealing in illicit substances. If the above description didn't already distinguish Birds of Passage from other drug-fuelled gangland affairs, then its visuals achieve that feat. As they did with their last picture (which Guerra directed and Gallego produced and helped edit), the filmmaking duo take an ethnographic approach, as seen in each of the movie's vibrant images and scenes. Showcasing traditional locations, clothing and ceremonies, the pair don't just present these details — in every shot and sequence, they revel in them. With ample assistance from returning cinematographer David Gallego, Birds of Passage is filled with dusty plains far removed from the Colombian drug trade's stereotypical jungles, intensive rituals used to initiate courtships and striking jewellery that has more than a decorative impact. Indeed, to see the absorbing and engrossing film's frames flicker by is to walk through the Guajira region of in the country's north, bear witness to its first peoples and explore their intricacies. While it should go without saying, other dramas that do this aren't just rare — they're non-existent. It's this specificity that both marks and shapes Birds of Passage, especially as its story purposefully winds down a recognisable path. Guerra and Gallego want their audience to take in everything that makes the Wayúu who they are, but they also want to highlight that devastation can and will plight any culture, even this one, once it's steeped in a destructive cycle of power, wealth, death and bloodshed. When the feature opens in a desert village, such matters appear far from everyone's minds. Emblazoned in red from head to toe, local beauty Zaida (Natalia Reyes) is the centre of attention, with young men lined up to win her heart — and willing to dance until they drop to do so. Rapayet (José Acosta) doesn't falter; however, although Zaida is instantly smitten, her mother Ursula (Carmiña Martínez) is hardly convinced. The formidable matriarch sets a high dowry of 30 goats, 20 cows, five necklaces and two decorative mules, expecting that the determined suitor won't be able to pay. But after a chance meeting with weed-seeking American Peace Corps volunteers, Rapayet and his pal Moisés (Jhon Narváez) discover a way to make all the money they need (and all the goats, cows, necklaces and decorative mules as well). Set across a two-decade span from the late 1960s to the early 1980s, Birds of Passage charts the ups and downs that ripple throughout the entire Wayúu enclave, as seemingly simple choices have far-reaching consequences. It's not difficult to guess where Zaida and Rapayet's tale is headed across its five chapters, or that of their entire tribe — or to foresee that Ursula's fears about her possible future son-in-law will prove well-founded. That said, it's worth noting that she's also obsessed with dreams and omens, interpreting everything around her for signs about her family's future, a technique that Guerra and Gallego also deploy with their narrative. It isn't difficult to discern what'll happen at each turn, but that's the basis of this epic film's sweeping tragedy: audiences can glean what happens next, just as Ursula tries to, and yet everyone remains thoroughly powerless to stop it. The same idea bubbled through Gabriel García Márquez's landmark novel One Hundred Years of Solitude, and the same haunting feeling of inevitability, too. Tint the Colombian author's awarded and applauded 1967 tome with an extra layer of shattering bleakness, bring it to the screen with breathtakingly vivid images and set it in a unique gangster world, and that's Birds of Passage — almost. One of the wonders of this stunningly shot and performed movie is how it nods to literary greats, to on-screen crime sagas like The Godfather and The Sopranos, and even to Shakespeare's darkest accounts of misfortune, and yet remains a wholly distinctive work. In plunging viewers into a specific way of life, beholding its beauty and watching how something so fragile can crumble when plagued by corruption, Guerra and Gallego peer closely and systematically, while also seeing the bigger picture. That's what great ethnographers do — and great filmmakers. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhQsCz0X4Vw
Now that summer's finally made itself known, we can't think of a much better way to celebrate than with some free gelato. Especially if it's the extra fun, squiggly kind from Madame Spaghetti. Luckily, this Sunday, December 22, Melbourne's masters of spaghetti-shaped gelato (yes, it's a real thing) are getting right into the summer spirit with a big gelato giveaway at their new St Kilda pop-up store. Head in between noon and 2pm to score a frozen treat from Madame Spaghetti's current menu, for free. You can choose from signature flavours like salted honey, belgian chocolate and a vegan-friendly mango concoction, jazzed up with extras like cookie dough fudge, raspberry jam or even a sprinkling of golden peanuts. The weekend fun doesn't stop there, either. Alongside the free frozen treats, there'll also be a pop-up photobooth where you can capture some silly summer selfies. Madame Spaghetti's latest pop-up has taken over the Pizza E Birra terrace (now PB's Bar & Eatery), nabbing a prime openair location just metres from St Kilda beach. Free spaghetti gelato is available from 12–2pm.
They're red, they're sweet and they're small — and they're also the fruit that we all associate with the merriest time of year. Yes, it's cherry season. And if you're keen to not only eat them, but also to pick them, you can do just that at Cherryhill Orchards. From Friday, November 27, the Yarra Valley site is letting folks in to help pluck those rosy fruits from all of its cherry trees, as it does every year. And heading along and taking part comes with a very tasty bonus, because you can eat as many cherries as you like while you're picking them. Sessions are currently available until Sunday, January 10, starting at $19.50 per person. That's how much you'll pay to get in, and to pick. If you'd like to take some cherries home with you as well, they're charged by the kilogram when you head off. This year's cherry-picking shenanigans will be a little different from previous years, adapting to everything the past 12 months has thrown the world's way. The number of folks allowed onsite to pick at any one time will be limited, and you'll get two hours — plus half an hour for administration requirements before you start and once you've finished. When you're done, you can also head to the onsite cafe for a cherry ice cream, hit up some food trucks or tuck into your own BYO picnic.
In need of some new procrastination material? Well, you're in luck. Google image search 'Banff' and spend a few minutes (or half an hour) taking in the gorgeous pictures of snow-capped mountains, aqua water and towering pines. It's impossible to not daydream about holidaying somewhere far-flung and exciting while ogling these picture-perfect views, as we're sure you'll agree. Thankfully, this June, you'll have the opportunity to slip into this magical world without ever leaving Melbourne. A selection of venues are hosting Banff Mountain Film Festival's 2020 tour — the event's latest stopover, after beginning back in 1976. Its stunning cinematography attracts film buffs and adventurers alike, making the festival mighty popular across the world today. Every November, hundreds of films enter the competition with the cream of the crop chosen to entertain and amaze festival goers. Some of the featured flicks battled it out in categories including Best Film on Mountain Sport, Best Film on Mountain Environment, Best Film on Mountain Culture, Best Film on Exploration and Adventure, People's Choice Award and more. Check them out at Crown Melbourne between Monday, June 1–Tuesday, June 2 and at the Astor Theatre from Wednesday, June 3–Thursday, June 4.
It has been a couple of years since The Jungle Collective first started taking over Australian warehouses and slinging plenty of plants, all thanks to its huge sales in Melbourne, Brisbane and Sydney. These leafy excuses to fill your home with greenery always have a bit of a celebratory vibe, and they just keep coming, with the outfit's next Melbourne outing happening across the weekend of Saturday, January 18 and Sunday, January 19. Gorgeous green babies are the main attraction — and more than 170 varieties of them, too. You'll pick up everything from fiddle leafs and monsteras to giant birds of paradise and rubber trees, as well as oh-so-many ferns and hanging plants. You'll also be able to shop for designer pots and get expert advice from the horticulturalists onsite. Oh, and if you bring your dog with you in a bag — taking inspiration from New York's subway — you'll receive $5 off your purchase. It's all happening at 36 Stephenson Street, Richmond, with sessions held at 8am, 10am, 12pm and 2pm on Saturday, plus 10am and 12pm on Sunday. Entry is free, but you'll need to register for a ticket — which you can do from 12pm on Monday, January 13.
Some movies spin tales about ordinary folks struggling through difficult dramas. Others focus on love, laughs or superheroes. They're all well and good — and you can see them at the multiplex any day of the week. But films about unicorn-riding writers, a mutant zombie apocalypse and one of Germany's most horrific serial killers don't pop up anywhere near as often. Indeed, it's genre movies like these — and a plethora of other strange and surreal horror flicks — that makes Melbourne's new Fantastic Film Festival Australia stand out. It's not the first Aussie fest dedicated to unnerving, eerie, offbeat and subversive films, of course. It won't be the last, either. Still, it does boast a mighty fine inaugural lineup. Look out for opening night's Chained for Life, a horror-comedy that tackles representation and exploitation; Away, a wordless animated Latvian feature about a boy and a giant stuck on an island; Diner, an over-the-top Japanese affair that unleashes a horde of assassins on a fortress-like restaurant; and Horror Noire, a documentary that explores African American talent in Hollywood — and specifically in the horror genre. A true crime tale harking back to 70s Germany, The Golden Glove definitely isn't an easy watch, while apocalyptic Portuguese effort Mutant Blast is gleefully low-brow and trashy. Or, you can check out Saint Maud's unnerving account of a devout hospice nurse obsessed with saving her dying patient's soul, step into Zombi Child's Haitian voodoo thrills, and see Game of Thrones' Nikolaj Coster-Waldau get stuck in a secret hotel in Suicide Tourist. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXs2-TY9qok Fancy a local blast from the past? A 30-year anniversary screening of Aussie sci-fi metal musical Sons of Steel is also on the program. Catch all of the above — and show off your genre knowledge at a trivia night, too — when Fantastic Film Festival Australia hits up the Lido Cinemas Hawthorn from Thursday, February 20–Wednesday, March 4. Some sessions will even screen at the site's rooftop cinema.
UPDATE, March 25, 2021: Guns Akimbo is available to stream via Stan, Google Play, YouTube Movies, iTunes and Amazon Video. Sadly, they exist everywhere online: petty folks who troll, subtweet and spit insults from the safety of their keyboards, all while simultaneously playing the victim and claiming to be superior. As personified by gamer and computer programmer Miles (Daniel Radcliffe), that's the kind of attitude Guns Akimbo seemingly endeavours to skewer. Miles is initially one of those guys, to an extent. Especially forlorn after breaking up with his girlfriend Nova (Natasha Liu Bordizzo), he's happy to mouth off on social media without thinking, even though he definitely knows better. But when he picks a fight with someone willing to take their beef into the real world, he's suddenly immersed in a physical, tangible, life-or-death battle — with guns bolted to his hands, no less — instead of merely trading belittling remarks with an unseen enemy from his couch. Guns Akimbo isn't the first film or TV show to ponder where humanity's thoroughly 21st-century obsession with technology and always-connected lifestyles may be taking us as a society (as Black Mirror keeps telling us, it's nowhere good). Following in the footsteps of 2016's mostly effective Nerve, it's not the first to get slick and playful with its commentary in this space, either. Alas, although Deathgasm writer/director Jason Lei Howden makes a perceptive leap from online trolling to actual death matches, he isn't particularly interested in engaging with the idea. Sure, one of the movie's characters yells "have you learned nothing from video games?" — winking at and nudging the audience in the process — but rather than meaningfully satirising or making a statement about the internet age, the ease with which abuse has become normalised and the lack of empathy that goes with it, Guns Akimbo is happy to simply lean into its OTT spectacle. Heartbroken, constantly denigrated at work and just mopey all-round, Miles wades into trouble when — like everyone in this futuristic world, or so we're told — he starts spending too much time watching an illegal underground fight club channel called Skizm. The battles are real, brutal and fatal, and the people pulling the strings don't take kindly to Miles' snarky commentary. Next thing he knows, ringleader Riktor (Ned Dennehy) and his cronies are banging down his door, giving him the body modification from hell and forcing him to play. To stay alive, Miles will have to hunt down reigning champion Nix (Samara Weaving), all while drone cameras capture and stream his every move to the braying, dead-eyed masses. One of Riktor's henchmen goes by the name Fuckface (Set Sjöstrand). When Miles and the Harley Quinn-esque Nix cross paths, she dubs him 'Fuck Boy'. And, standing atop a car, straddling a gun and wearing heart-shaped sunglasses like she's stepped out of someone's wet dream, Nix is also fond of yelling far more colourful banter. That's the level that Guns Akimbo is operating on — one that splashes slow-motion visuals all over the screen as frequently as its characters fire bullets, and attempts to dress it all up with plenty of supposedly edgy dialogue, relentless chase scenes, and emojis and video game-like imagery. Just as Miles discovers when he wakes up with weaponry nailed to his appendages, however, it all gets old fast. Expertly choreographed action scenes are a wondrous art form, as the John Wick franchise just keeps demonstrating, and will hopefully keep continuing to do so until Keanu Reeves is an octogenarian. Guns Akimbo is clearly reaching for such heights — while also taking inspiration from Battle Royale, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World and the much less successful Keanu-starring and -directed Man of Tai Chi — but proves sorely lacking in the style and flair department. The trouble with largely forgoing any substantial plot or depth in favour of an overblown look and feel is that, if a movie misses its mark, it just comes off as empty rather than exhilarating. That's the case here, in a film that aims for wild but settles on obnoxious and grating. The one saving grace: Radcliffe, aka the likely reason that this flick even exists. On paper, watching Harry Potter fight for survival with guns bolted to his hands sounds like an entertaining prospect — and the former Boy Who Lived certainly gives his part more depth than the script or premise calls for. He's been doing that, of late. Finally free of his childhood altercations with Voldemort in one of the biggest movie series there is, Radcliffe has since gravitated towards out-there roles that he's been giving his all. See also: his turn as a farting corpse in Swiss Army Man, and his work as both a hapless angel and a floundering medieval prince in anthology TV series Miracle Workers. But he can't save Guns Akimbo from its worse impulses, and nor can Flight of the Conchords' Rhys Darby in a brief appearance as a homeless man. As for Weaving, who was such a standout in last year's Ready or Not, she's more on the movie's wavelength: cartoonish, ridiculous and in pure wish-fulfilment territory. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOFatKD0Vzo
Richmond's The National Hotel is giving you an excuse to change up your average Thursday night drinks with mates. The longstanding pub has once again invited The Plant Whisperer to host a tipsy terrarium workshop. Throughout the 90-minute class, the host will walk you through the creation of a mini plant world, providing tips on plant selection and design, as well as soil composition and layering techniques. All terrarium materials are included in the ticket price — expect an array of tropical plants to choose from, plus a glass bowl, stones, soil, moss and figurines. And all experience levels are welcome, whether you entered the class a pro or are a repeat offender black thumb. The bar will also be serving up all its usual bevvies throughout the workshop (to help provide some liquid creativity) — along with its Thursday night Korean fried chicken special. For $15, you get half a chook plus pickles, Kewpie mayo and bao. From 5–7pm, $7 pints of Mountain Goat, cider and house wine are also available. The 1.5 hour class will cost $80, with drinks and food at the bar purchased separately. Bookings are a must.
Keen to make your next night in a big one? Now that you can invite five mates round (with sensible social distancing in place, of course), you can make it a real party. So, if you're keen to cut some serious shapes this weekend, ring up five of your nearest and dearest and dust off that disco ball because a new one-off party with pumping tunes and bad fashion is taking over your living room on Saturday, May 23. Yep, Canadian Club's annual Bad Sweater Party is going virtual. Hang on, a Bad Sweater Party? The major point of difference for this party is that you've got a dress code. Don an ugly jumper — it's OK, you're partying at home. And, yes, you'll get pretty sweaty with all those killer moves you'll be busting. Hot Dub Time Machine will be bringing the dance-worthy tunes, which will have you pushing your furniture aside and starting a makeshift dance floor in no time. Expect everything from 50s rock 'n' roll tunes to disco hits like ABBA's 'Gimme Gimme Gimme' and Earth, Wind & Fire's 'September'. Once you hit the more recent decades, there's often glam rock, a bit of 90s grunge, Darude's epic 'Sandstorm' and 'Toxic' by Britney. As you dance your way through the decades, you'll be working up quite the sweat (you'll be in a sweater, remember), so you'll also want some cold ones nearby. Get into the spirit of things by mixing up some CC 'n' drys. Or save yourself the trouble and grab a case of the stuff. It'll all kick off at 7pm and you can tune in to the live set via Hot Dub's Twitch account.
We've all been spending more time inside than usual this year. In the process, we've all been looking at our furniture far more often than we usually would. So, if you've been rocked by the urge to redecorate, rearrange and reorganise, that's hardly surprising — those well-loved cushions, that old couch or your overflowing shelves could probably do with sprucing up. If IKEA is your furniture go-to, then its end-of-year sale is here to help, too — offering discounts of up to 50 percent off on some items. Whether you're in need of something big like a bed, chair or desk, or you're eager to fill your walls and surfaces with frames and vases, you'll find slashed prices on a heap of products. And if you still have some Christmas gifts to buy, you might be in luck as well. The sale runs until Thursday, January 7 — and, for Melburnians, you have multiple options if you're eager to start buying. Head into the Richmond or Springvale stores; browse online, then opt for click-and-collect; or do all your perusing and purchasing on the company's website, before waiting for delivery.
When it comes to dumplings, pork buns and other yum cha dishes, there's no such thing as too much. And if you and your partner or pals all have the same attitude to sparkling wine, too, then you'll definitely be keen on the Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve festivities at David's in Prahran. On both nights — for two sittings, at 6pm and 8pm — the restaurant is letting diners eat and drink their way through an unlimited spread. So, the Shanghai-style bites will keep coming, as will the Domain De La Grande Cote NV. And, it'll cost you $110 per person. Food-wise, there's plenty to tuck into, including rice crackers with a Shanghainese dip, pan-fried barbecue pork buns, prawn dumplings, and black truffle prawn and pork shu mai. Also on offer: DIY peking duck leg, pan-fried tooth fish in ginger soy glaze, Chinese broccoli, spring onion noodles, and mango pudding with mango popping pearls. Bookings are essential, unsurprisingly.
2020 hasn't been anyone's favourite year — so if you're looking forward to it coming to an end, that's understandable. Fancy a stint of big-screen escapism before you escape this hectic 12-month period? That's on offer every day of the week at the Classic, Lido and Cameo cinemas, of course, but between Thursday, December 17–Wednesday, December 23 it'll only cost you $5. That's a mighty cheap price for a trip to the movies, and it means that you can even treat your bestie, date or mum to a flick and pay just ten dollaroos for both of you. Merry early Christmas, indeed. Some of the films you'll be able to catch during the week include David Fincher's Mank, Aussie award-winner Babyteeth, top-notch concert film American Utopia, the excellent Riz Ahmed-led Sound of Metal and mind-bender Tenet — plus rom-com Happiest Season, the new remake of The Witches and the true tale that is Misbehaviour. The $5 tickets are available at all regular sessions across the seven days — other than previews, special events, retro films, and sessions at Classic Rooftop Cinema, Lido on the Roof and Cameo Outdoor Cinema. To book your $5 tickets, just head to the Classic, Lido and Cameo cinema websites. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97nnV0fNd30
Whether it's a dog in a superhero costume or a cat wearing, well, whatever you can manage to get a cat to wear, animals donning outfits ranks among the cutest sights your eyes can ever see. Puppers popping on Santa hats and baubles and posing for portraits might just raise the adorable stakes beyond previous levels, however — and it's not only on offer on Saturday, November 28 and Sunday, November 29 (and again on Saturday, December 5 and Sunday, December 6), but you can also take a souvenir home with you. If your pet pooch deserves to be the on the front of this year's Christmas card, march on down to Council Street Studio. Well, actually, make an appointment online first. Then Dog Photog can snap pics of your four-legged furball as part of its festive pop-up — and it's white Christmas-themed, too. Bookings are essential, and getting a gorgeous portrait of your cute canine will set you back $55 — or $85 if you have two dogs in the same household. You'll receive a 15-minute session, plus two jpegs per dog. And if you'd like to order a print to hang on your wall, you can do so on the day.
Sometimes they're shaved and sprinkled atop pasta, risotto or eggs. Sometimes they're used to flavour cheese. To the joy of libation lovers, they've also been worked into creative types of cocktails. The foodstuff in question: truffles. A king among culinary must-haves, they don't just tantalise tastebuds every time they're mentioned, but get snapped with such frequency that they fill up social media feeds the way they fill up stomachs. Northern Italy's woods are also abundant with them, especially the tuber magnatum — otherwise known as the white truffle. But before these highly sought-after morsels can make their way into kitchens, onto plates, and into many a willing and eager mouth, someone has to spend their time and expend their energy finding the edible fungus. The Truffle Hunters introduces viewers to multiple elderly men and their adorable dogs who all do just that, with their lives revolving around roving the forest and searching out the prized food. It might sound like a relaxed pursuit — as walking through trees with your pet pooch to fill your pockets with a delicacy is bound to — but it's a highly competitive endeavour, and one that the documentary's central figures are intensely passionate about. For Aurelio, the only thing he loves more than foraging for truffles is Birba, his partner in the hunt. Alas, he worries that when his days are over, there'll be no one to care for his adored canine companion. The cantankerous Angelo has no such concerns, but he does have a plethora of gripes. Now an ex-truffle hunter disillusioned with the way that the industry has evolved over time, he's happiest when he's attacking his typewriter with gusto, using it to chronicle his myriad woes and complaints. In earning the film's attention, these two very different men are joined by the committed Sergio, who enjoys his task with his dogs Pepe and Fiona by his side — and by Carlo, who takes his walks with his own four-legged companion Titina. The latter duo are the source of some of The Truffle Hunters' most memorable scenes, with Carlo's beloved pastime forbidden by his wife. Unperturbed, he routinely sneaks out at night to search with a torch in hand. Cycling between these men's stories, directors Michael Dweck (The Last Race) and Gregory Kershaw (cinematographer on The Last Race, and also on this) chart their individual efforts. The titular subjects try care for their canines, argue with others encroaching on their turf, type missives about how the world has changed and, in Carlo's case, keep absconding by moonlight. Their hounds remain a focus, including their efforts to avoid poison baits. Devoted to capturing the pooch perspective however they can, Dweck and Kershaw aren't above using puppy cam as well. Seeing truffle hunting from a dog's viewpoint may be an easy gimmick, but it's also both a joy and a thrill — and emblematic of the film's fondness for flavour and character above all else. Narration is absent, talking heads don't clog up the screen, and no one is on hand to describe the ins and outs of the business in the spotlight, with Dweck and Kershaw favouring immersion rather than explanation. It's a fitting approach, and a purposeful one, even if the documentary takes on a relaxed air from start to finish. The Truffle Hunters is a leisurely movie that's content to chronicle its subjects' easy-going lives, lean into their eccentricities and survey their lush surroundings — and, even clocking in at just 84 minutes, it's an unhurried gem of a documentary — however, it's also carefully compiled. Truffle aficionados will spot the symbolism, of course. When chefs whip up bites to eat using the fungi, they enhance the charms of a raw ingredient by weaving it into a painstakingly crafted dish — and The Truffle Hunters does the filmmaking equivalent. When working in the kitchen and making a movie alike, it takes skill and precision to bring out the best in something, while also simultaneously arranging it in an exacting fashion. If Dweck and Kershaw happen to be as adept at cooking as they are at directing, they'd make exceptional chefs indeed. The pair's efforts behind the camera are certainly enough to whet appetites; shots of truffles being grated over plates will do that. That said, The Truffle Hunters doesn't ever earn the culinary documentary genre's least-wanted term, because no one here is interested in making mere food porn. Instead, this sumptuously and patiently lensed affair is a record and a musing. It details a way of life, and the men behind it, that's likely to wane. To place that foreseeable change in context, it shows how everything surrounding truffles is becoming an ever-lucrative business. In the process, it also ponders the way that traditions fade — when the number of people keeping them alive continues to decline, and also when profit becomes a heftier source of motivation for those taking over. As these elements swirl through the documentary — which also boasts Call Me By Your Name filmmaker Luca Guadagnino as its executive producer — it serves up a rich and substantial cinematic meal. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eg7QTqm_i4o
Where would we be without movies over the past 18 months? Even when cinemas have been closed for hefty portions of 2020 and 2021 in different parts of the country, we've all still sought out the joy and escapism of watching a flick — because when you're in lockdown, quarantining or isolating at home, or just spending more time indoors in general, it's particularly cathartic. Still keen to queue up a big heap of movies, and a hefty dose of couch time? Enter Movie Frenzy, the returning week-long online film rental sale. From Friday, October 1–Thursday, October 7, it's serving up a sizeable lineup of popular flicks from the past year, all for under $3 per movie. On the lineup: page-to-screen Aussie drama The Dry, long-awaited horror sequel A Quiet Place Part II, Bob Odenkirk aping John Wick in Nobody, and Jason Statham and Guy Ritchie teaming up again with Wrath of Man. The monster melee that is Godzilla vs Kong, the Chris Rock-starring Spiral: From the Book of Saw and Denzel Washington-led thriller The Little Things are also on the list, as is everything from Monster Hunter, Penguin Bloom, June Again and War with Grandpa to Tom and Jerry, The Croods: A New Age and Peter Rabbit 2. And while some are more worth your attention than others, we'll let you do the choosing. You can nab the cheap flicks via your digital rental platform of choice, including Apple TV, Fetch, Google Play, the Microsoft Store, Amazon Prime Video, Telstra TV Box Office and YouTube Movies — although just what's available, and the price, will vary depending on the service. Also, you won't need a subscription, unless you decide to join in the fun via the Foxtel Store.
As the mind behind CBD restaurants Sunda and Aru, chef Khanh Nguyen is renowned for his innovative, modern Australian-meets-Southeast Asian fare. But while his two dining rooms remain closed, this weekend sees Nguyen shaking things up a little and embracing his passion for pastry with the Aru Bake Shop. Taking over the restaurant this Saturday, October 2, the pop-up is set to sling a special lineup of signature goodies of both the sweet and savoury variety. Expect solo-serve versions of the chef's famed duck rendang pie and the return of the duck sausage sanga, alongside familiar favourites like the wagyu cheeseburger roti, the oozy prawn toasts and Sunda's buttermilk roti matched with Vegemite curry. New creations include the likes of a curried cauliflower pie starring black cabbage, leek and pumpkin miso. Meanwhile, you'll find Aru Bar Manager Darren Leaney whipping up a range of batched cocktails to-go, including a strawberry margarita, a clarified espresso martini and a plum-infused negroni. Both eats and drinks will be available for takeaway from 10am until 2pm (or sold out), otherwise, you can pre-order a Fantastic Four pastry mixed pack for pick up or delivery. [caption id="attachment_827229" align="alignnone" width="1920"] The curried cauliflower pie.[/caption] Top Image: Sunda's Vegemite roti by Ryan Noreiks; the duck rendang pie.
Finding a great cocktail isn't hard in Melbourne, but between Monday, April 12–Sunday, April 18, it'll become a little easier. For seven booze-filled days, the returning Melbourne Cocktail Festival is taking over the city. If you're eager to mosey between venues, sip plenty of drinks and taste the best creative tipples that this town has to offer, then you'll want a ticket. The aforementioned roam around the city forms part of MCF's Bar Safari, which is a pay-as-you-drink event with free registration. You'll hand over cash for your cocktail at 22 different Melbourne venues, and you'll receive something special for $15 a pop, with each of the participating watering holes whipping up a unique concoction. You can rove at your own pace, and you'll also score a digital recipe book outlining the method behind every drink. Plus, if you're one of the first 1000 people to register on March 12, you'll also get shouted a drink during your wandering. Organised by hospitality-focused co-working space Worksmith, the fest will also span a range of events, including sneak peeks, gimlet-fuelled get-togethers and tropical shindigs. At the first, you'll head to Byrdi to hear about yet-to-open Sydney bar 'Re and its sustainable mission, with tickets costing $120. As for the second, that involves journeying through different types of gimlets for $45 at Gimlet at Cavendish House. And, at the third, you'll pay $20 to party in the attic at Black Pearl, which includes one wine-based cocktail by the venue's Felix Woods and Bar Liberty's Nick Tesar. More events are set to be added between now and the festival dates, with the lineup due to be updated weekly. There's also an at-home option this year, where you can get bottled cocktails delivered to your door. Yes, that's a very 2021 inclusion on the program.
Combining tequila, orange liqueur and lime juice, a classic margarita isn't all that complicated. But, this beloved cocktail can also be rather versatile. If you've grabbed a meal and a drink at El Camino Cantina, you've probably tasted one or several non-traditional varieties. And if you head by the lively Tex-Mex chain's Fitzroy venue before Friday, January 22, you'll be able to sip four new types that are certain to get you feeling nostalgic. When you were a kid and eating Iced VoVos at recess, we're guessing that you didn't ever imagine drinking an Iced VoVo-inspired margarita — but, that's now a reality. It's one of El Camino Cantina's 'retro ritas', alongside a Fruit Tingle-inspired version, one that takes its cues from Cottee's cordial and a guava flavour. All four are available cadillac-style, which means they come with a float of Grand Marnier. You'll pay $20 for a 15-ounce drink, $24 for a 24-ounce serve and $30 for a tasting paddle of any four (in 220-millilitre glasses). Images: Michael Gribbin.
Gemma Arterton's resume is filled with roles both forgettable and masterful, in small and blockbuster movies alike, and in intimate and overblown films, too. Her time as a Bond girl in Quantum of Solace sits alongside vampire feature Byzantium, underrated zombie flick The Girl with All the Gifts, romantic drama Vita & Virginia and the Adam Sandler-starring Murder Mystery, for instance. But when she's in a film that feels as if it has been built around her, either wholly or in part — see: The Disappearance of Alice Creed, Tamara Drewe and Their Finest — she rarely fails to impress. Summerland is the latest movie to boast one of her most memorable performances, and it's definitely better for it. Exploring an unexpected connection between a misanthropic writer and a young boy placed in her care, tackling multiple types of trauma, and espousing the enduring need for hope, this primarily World War II-set drama would've proven far more standard otherwise. It's still often a straightforward affair, but it also demonstrates that a feature can be neat, obvious, heartfelt and rivetingly acted all at once. In the mid-70s, Alice Lamb (Penelope Wilton, Downton Abbey) taps away at her typewriter and scares away the children who come knocking at her door. Rewind to the 40s, and the younger Alice (Arterton) does much the same. She's been labelled a witch by the kids in her seaside village, and she's hardly happy when the pre-teen Frank (Lucas Bond, The Alienist: Angel of Darkness) arrives on her doorstep as part of a government program to evacuate the next generation from London. In fact, Alice demands that he be rehoused instead of interrupting her work; however, she's told that'll take a week. Moving to the big screen after stage success as a playwright and theatre director (and making short film Leading Lady Parts, also starring Arterton), debut feature filmmaker Jessica Swale penned the original script, so Summerland isn't based on an existing text or property — but everyone watching knows Alice and Frank have ample time to overcome their initial animosity, and that that'll end up being the case. When it spins a story about a woman given a new lease on life via an unanticipated bond that's thrust upon her, Summerland rarely flirts with surprise, let alone delivers many. Alice specialises in investigating the myths and histories of mirage-like imagery, including visions of a castle in the sky not far from her own quaint cottage — and the curious Frank quickly embraces her field of expertise. It brightens up his own uncertain predicament, not just because Alice is so unwelcoming, but given that his father is a pilot in the thick of the action and his mother remains in the capital as it is under threat from bombing. Frank's interest also helps soften the cantankerous Alice's tough exterior, which is predictably the product of past woes. Again and again, Swale's screenplay makes obvious choices, and yet it also tells a resonant tale in the process. Other than Arterton's efforts, Summerland benefits from two specific aspects: the backstory behind Alice's demeanour, and the way it unpacks her outsider status. Inescapably, Summerland also includes an almost-cringeworthy, far-too-convenient twist — but when it leaps back to the 20s, to Alice's immediate attraction to and subsequent time with Vera (Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Misbehaviour) during her university studies, it doesn't just add a love story to the narrative. In its flashbacks and the shadow they leave on Alice's WWII-era life, the movie also invests depth and emotion that isn't as strong otherwise, unleashes unexpected elements that aren't evident elsewhere, and offers a quiet yet potent undercurrent of subversion as well. Swale needn't stress the point, so she doesn't, but she lingers on moments between Arterton and Mbatha-Raw because they stand out. Period scenes of queer romance will do that in genres and tales that aren't known for them, after all. Before flitting backwards, viewers have already seen that Alice lives alone prior to Frank coming along, so Summerland instantly delves into complex territory. The audience is well aware that Swale has reshaped and recontextualised a largely cookie-cutter narrative, and they're just as cognisant of the hurdles Alice and Vera faced in having any hope of enjoying a happy ending. Also apparent: why Alice has long chosen to cultivate a peppery reputation, and to close herself off to her fellow townsfolk. This is a warm movie with an array of hope, though. Summerland never lets Frank lose sight of it, or allows the embers of hope for a different future to die within Alice. Arterton is particularly compelling when Alice lays bare her heartbreak, even if that's clearly one of the character's much-needed steps on the path to moving forward — and, because it's paired with such a lived-in performance, Alice is able to navigate an easy-to-foresee emotional journey and still staunchly feel like her own person at the same time. There's no avoiding the air of familiarity that hovers over Summerland, of course. It's unshakeable in most of its storyline, its assortment of quirky bit players (including villagers portrayed by King of Thieves' Tom Courtenay and The Secret Garden's Dixie Egerickx) and its postcard-perfect imagery, especially. That said, Swale mostly manages to fly through much-recognised territory, find ways to dive deeper and occasionally transcend a template, and get viewers to share the heartache Alice wears on her sleeves and the desires she has buried inside — with Arterton so crucial to making that happen, it's hard to imagine the film without her. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4gSLP9Smlg
As its name makes plain, Huxtaburger serves up quite a few patty-and-bun combos. It also does a mean chicken sandwich, however. So, if you like tucking into fried chicken, ranch slaw and pickles on toasted sourdough, you're in the right spot, From Monday, February 15–Wednesday, February 17, you'll definitely want to make a date with the chain's Melbourne stores if you're feeling particularly peckish. That's when it's doing two-for-one chicken sangas, so you'll double your meal while only spending $12.50. The sangas come with your choice of mild chipotle barbecue sauce or Huxtaburger's own sauce, and they're available all day for those three times. You can grab the deal multiple times, too. And, you can choose between dining in, grabbing takeaway or ordering online and getting your sangas delivered. If you opt for the latter and spend $30 — by grabbing some chips or shakes as well, perhaps — you can also get it brought to your house without paying a delivery fee via Deliveroo.
This planet we all call home is constantly in flux. After the year everyone has just been through, that shouldn't be news. And, it isn't a new topic to Australia's annual Transitions Film Festival either. Based in Melbourne — and touring its program around the country on occasion over the past decade — it routinely programs films on the topic. In 2021, it's continuing that mission, too. There is something different about this year's Transitions Film Festival lineup, however. For the first time, the festival is jumping online. In collaboration with MPavilion, it is still hosting a physical screening of documentary Beyond the Burning in Melbourne on February 23 — but from February 26–March 15, it's streaming its selection of films digitally. Available on an on-demand basis (so you can view whatever you like whenever you like), the program includes plenty of factual flicks on topics as broad as walking barefoot across America (as seen in Barefoot), youth activism (the subject of NOW), a lawsuit against an animal rights advocate (The Walrus and The Whistleblower) and the benefits of adopting a universal basic income (Inherent Good). Or, you can dive into the sea with An Ocean Story, watch the fight against plastic pollution via Microplastic Madness, see the threats to Canada's Boreal forests in Borealis and tackle blazes in Megafires. Elsewhere, The Hidden Life of Trees takes its name from Peter Wohlleben's best-selling book, and continues its focus on forest. And, Invisible Hand dives into the battle between capitalism and nature — and it's produced by Mark Ruffalo. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzDFF0y-O9w Top image: The Hidden Life of Trees, 2019, Constantin Film Verleih GmbH, nautilusfilm.
For the second time in as many movies, Lady Gaga is caught in a bad romance in House of Gucci. Yes, she's already sung the song to match. The pop diva doesn't belt out ballads or croon upbeat tunes in this true-crime drama, unlike in her Oscar-nominated role in A Star Is Born, but she does shimmy into a tale about love and revenge, horror and design, and wanting someone's everything as long as it's free. Eschewing the earthy naturalism of her last film performance and tapping into her famed on-stage theatricality instead, she's perfect for the part of Patrizia Reggiani, aka Lady Gucci, aka the daughter of a trucking entrepreneur who wed into one of the world's most prestigious fashion families, helped unstitch its hold on its couture empire, then went to prison for murder. She's exceptional because she goes big and lavish, and because she knows that's the type of feature she's meant to be in: a soapy spectacle about money and power that uses its depiction of excess as an interrogation technique. Complimenting Gaga for nailing the brief — for acing it so dazzlingly that she's sauntering down her own catwalk as most of her co-stars virtually watch from the floor — gives House of Gucci a tad too much credit, though. Ridley Scott's second film in mere months following The Last Duel, and his third in a row to examine wealth and influence after 2017's All the Money in the World, this fashion-world saga skews large, lush and luxe with each choice, too, but doesn't land every sashay with quite the outsized lustre of its crown jewel. If House of Gucci's veteran director was picking an outfit instead, he would've chosen a killer gown, then wavered on the accessories. Some of his other decisions gleam, as seen in the movie's knowingly maximalist and melodramatic air. Others prove fine, like its jukebox-style soundtrack of 70s and 80s bangers. A few moves are so cartoonish — Jared Leto's ridiculousness, and the Super Mario-style accents sported by almost everyone on-screen — that they play like cheap knockoffs. The story itself is a standout, however, as adapted from Sara Gay Forden's 2001 book The House of Gucci: A Sensational Story of Murder, Madness, Glamour, and Greed. When Patrizia meets law student Maurizio Gucci (Adam Driver, Annette) at a 70s-era party, mistakes him for a bartender, then realises who he is, it sparks a rollercoaster of a relationship — starting with Maurizio being disinherited by his father Rodolfo (Jeremy Irons, Love, Weddings and Other Disasters) for their marriage. Still, the newest Gucci knows what she wants: a place in the family's dynasty. She isn't the lone cause of the Guccis' unfolding, thanks to Rodolfo's brother Aldo (Al Pacino, Hunters), his penchant for watering down the brand and tax evasion, and his wannabe-designer son Paolo (Leto, The Little Things), but she's the Lady Macbeth pushing Maurizio to seize the company by any means. And, because the reason that House of Gucci even exists was written in news headlines over a quarter-century ago, she's behind Maurizio's killing in 1995. "I don't consider myself a particularly ethical person, but I'm fair," Patrizia offers partway into the movie, a moral code that still sees her order his hit after their divorce — helped by a TV psychic-turned-pal (Salma Hayek, Eternals), because that's the kind of tale this is. Interviewed in 2016, Patrizia called herself "the most Gucci of them all", an idea that Scott and his screenwriters Becky Johnston (Arthur Newman) and Roberto Bentivegna (short El otro lado) don't ever give Italian-lilted voice to, but still use as their basic pattern. In the sartorial realm, Gucci might stand for high-end indulgence, but House of Gucci sees both the allure and the cost of the brand reflected in Patrizia's status-hungry actions. Lust — for power, popularity, money, standing and sex all included — might be the soapiest vice of them all. Blunt, pulsating and pumping through the hot-blooded Patrizia's veins, it's House of Gucci's signature emotion, although the other deadly sins also get a whirl. No exaggerated account of life, love and the one percent's lavishness lacks in greed, pride, wrath, envy, gluttony and sloth as well, including this one, but there's nothing like unfettered desire to keep a narrative bubbling. Scott's film is positively ravenous for more, as its protagonist is at every turn. Nothing is too much for Patrizia in her quest to inhabit a life she once only fantasised about, and there's little that House of Gucci won't do to convey and embody that appetite. But all that glitters isn't always gold, or diamond-sharp, or even entertainingly gaudy, including for the picture itself. With Scott's regular cinematographer Dariusz Wolski on lensing duties, House of Gucci looks like a glitzy dream that slowly loses its glamour, and by design. Its largely Milan-set staging and obviously Gucci-heavy costuming expresses the same feeling — whether or not Paolo is urinating on silk scarves and Aldo is peddling fakes. But those pasta-sauce ad accents just play cheap and easy from the outset, and everything about Leto's prosthetic-laden, safari suit-wearing, hammed-up performance does the same. Both quickly overstay their welcomes, not that either is ever welcomed at all. Calling them knowing gags, purposefully camp flourishes or pointed parodies would be far too generous, even given the feature's gleeful soap-opera tone, overt eat-the-rich sentiments and clear awareness that it's a piece of true-crime pageantry. Thank the pop-culture gods for Gaga, then, as legions of her Little Monsters have for more than a decade. Another movie from the past year, the unshakeably misguided Joe Bell, had a character liberally sing her praises — but, surpassing even A Star Is Born, House of Gucci is her silver-screen powerhouse. Donning wiggle dresses, voluminous hair and a slinkily savage attitude, she's both lively and alive to everything happening in Patrizia's story and Scott's film alike. Whether posed opposite Driver's restrained turn as Maurizio or Pacino's also-big effort as Aldo, her presence improves her co-stars' work in every scene they share, too. Hers is an investment performance, with Scott entrusting almost everything that hits the mark in House of Gucci to his leading lady's go-for-it glow — and treating audiences to a bona fide movie-star show that Gaga couldn't wear better if it was sewn on.
A smokejumper stationed to a Montana watchtower, plagued by past traumas and forced to help a teenage boy evade hired killers, Those Who Wish Me Dead's Hannah Faber actually first debuted on the page. Watching Angelina Jolie bring the whisky-swilling, no-nonsense, one of the boys-type figure to the screen, it's easy to assume otherwise. The part doesn't quite feel as if it was written specifically for the smouldering movie star, though. Rather, it seems like the kind of role that might've been penned with Liam Neeson or Denzel Washington in mind — see: this year's The Marksman for the former, and 2004's Man on Fire for the latter — then flipped, gender-wise, to gift Jolie a new star vehicle. On the one hand, let's be thankful that that's not how this character came about. Kudos to author Michael Koryta, who also co-writes the screenplay here based on his 2016 novel, for conjuring up Hannah to begin with. But on the other hand, it's never a great sign when a female protagonist plays like a grab bag of stock-standard macho hero traits, just dressed up in a shapelier guise. It has been six years since Jolie has stepped into a mere mortal's shoes — since 2015's By the Sea, which she wrote and directed — and she leaves no doubt that Hannah is flesh and blood. There's still an iciness to the firefighter, and she still has the actor's cheekbones and pout, but Maleficent, she isn't. She's bruised, internally, by a fire that got away and left a body count. After hanging out with her colleagues, parachuting out of cars and brooding in her tower, she's soon physically in harm's way as well. As Those Who Wish Me Dead's plot gets her to this juncture, it also cuts back and forth between forensic accountant Owen Casserly (Jake Weber, Midway) and his son Connor (Finn Little, Angel of Mine), plus assassins Patrick and Jack (The Great's Nicholas Hoult and Game of Thrones' Aiden Gillen). Thanks to a treasure trove of incriminating evidence against important people that no one was ever supposed to find, these two duos are on a collision course. When they do cross paths — while Owen is trying to take Connor to stay with Ethan (Jon Bernthal, The Peanut Butter Falcon), his brother-in-law, a sheriff's deputy and one of Hannah's colleagues — it also nudges the boy into the smokejumper's orbit. As he demonstrated with his scripts for Sicario, Hell or High Water and Wind River, actor-turned-writer/director Taylor Sheridan (12 Strong) favours a patient approach. His narratives frequently boast an entire forest's worth of moving parts, and he's never in much of a rush to piece them all together. Accordingly, he takes his time bringing Hannah and Connor into each other's lives, and unfurls their ordeal from there with the same unhurried air. Those Who Wish Me Dead isn't interested in fleshing out its characters any more than the plot demands, however. The audience spends ample time with the film's central duo, yet can't claim to really get to know them. They're both haunted by what they've seen and lost, and neither is keen to spill too many words talking it through — but, although both Jolie and her young Australian co-star Little do exactly what they're asked, and even impart as much soulfulness as they each can on top, these characters could've been shaken out of any western-leaning, action-infused crime-thriller. They could equally walk right out of this flick and into the next formulaic entry in the genre. Also just as familiar: the cat-and-mouse games that ensue as Hannah and Connor try to reach the authorities, Patrick and Jack attempt to track their every move, and Ethan and his pregnant wife Allison (Medina Senghore, Happy!) become entangled in the drama. Naturally, an encroaching blaze fuels a significant part of the narrative — which proves inevitable from the very first frame, but does at least give Sheridan and cinematographer Ben Richardson (Mare of Easttown) a smokier visual palette. As its score keeps stressing, this is meant to be a tense film. It isn't; ticking boxes so dutifully is rarely suspenseful, as the otherwise vastly dissimilar Spiral: From the Book of Saw has also demonstrated recently. Still, Those Who Wish Me Dead does possess its own distinctive look. While texture and urgency are largely absent from the story, all those leaves and flames do their best to approximate the same sensations. Your eyes will register the difference, but your blood pressure will remain undisturbed. Occasionally — not enough, but occasionally nonetheless — Sheridan, Koryta and co-writer Charles Leavitt (Warcraft: The Beginning) don't make the obvious choice. When the feature allows Hannah and Connor's melancholy moods to linger, or does the same with a shot that doesn't immediately thrust the plot forward, it toys with being a more interesting film. The same applies to the way that it lets Allison play the hero, albeit after first putting her through a violent ordeal while she's literally barefoot and pregnant. Patrick and Jack are also curious inclusions. They're so one-note, it's hard to see what actors of Hoult and Gillen's calibre saw in the parts, but they'd also likely make a great double act in an In Bruges-esque Martin McDonagh flick. Jolie is tasked with anchoring this melange of elements, which she does; however, this isn't a feature that star power can bolster. Instead, Those Who Wish Me Dead is a generic movie that flirts with more, led by an impressive lead who's capable of more. It wants to burn bright, but usually only flickers. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sV6VNNjBkcE
UPDATE Thursday, July 29: That's Amore's class program has recommenced following the latest lockdown, though keep in mind there are still restrictions in place. For more details on Victoria's current restrictions, see the Department of Health and Human Services website. Spending a little bit too much money on your cheese habit? Well, the experts at That's Amore are here to save you some coin and teach you how to make your very own dairy delights, with a brand-new winter program of cheese and pasta classes. If you're starting from scratch, there's the full-day beginners cheesemaking session ($180), offering an in-depth guide to the whole process. Learn the secrets behind transforming milk into Italian-style primo sale, mozzarella and ricotta, before sitting down to an Italian-inspired lunch and glass of wine. Or maybe mozzarella is your main passion? If so, there's a two-hour class dedicated to this much-loved pizza-topper ($110), which'll show you how to make and stretch curds to create mozzarella, and then shape the cheese into the final product. A guided tasting and a glass of wine is also included. Otherwise, learn to master pasta at a tortelloni and ravioli class led by Donnini's head pasta maker Gianna Donnini ($110). The three-hour session will see you rolling up your sleeves and scoring a hands-on education in creating fresh egg pasta, as you perfect varieties like tagliatelle, pumpkin ravioli, and spinach and ricotta tortelloni. There'll be plenty of cheese and wine while you learn, too.
UPDATE Tuesday, August 3: The MFWF's Winter Edition program has been postponed due to current COVID-19 restrictions and will now run from October 1–10. New dates for specific events will be revealed in the coming days — we'll keep you posted here. See the MFWF website for further information on the postponement. For more details on Victoria's current restrictions, see the Department of Health and Human Services website. There are few things in life as good as a heaping bowl of pasta. And for one weekend next month, that's exactly what you'll be dining on — pasta is the only thing on the menu at The Big Spaghetti. Taking over Queen Victoria Market for a full-blown pasta party on Saturday, August 28, and Sunday, August 29, the market will play host to a tasty mash-up of Italian street fair and bustling street food to celebrate all things pasta. You'll find stalls from some of Melbourne's favourite fork-twirling, pasta-slinging Italian restaurants, including Tipo 00, Pastore, Marameo, Lagotto, Massi and more. Browse the offering and sample up to 20 different smash-hit pasta dishes, kick back and listen to live tunes, catch cooking demos and sip Italian-leaning vino courtesy of Pizzini. Plus, don't forget the Italian-inspired cocktails from Bar Americano. Showbags are also up for grabs if you'd like to level up your at-home pasta game.
If there's one thing that cinephiles have learned after a quarter-century of Wes Anderson films, it's that the director's features look like nothing else on-screen. His love of symmetry is well-known. In fact, you can't miss it. But meticulous detail shines in every element of his movies — especially in the production and costume design. It's evident in the trailer for his latest movie, The French Dispatch. It made a whole heap of fans buy Team Zissou sneakers after The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. And, it's on display in Rushmore, The Darjeeling Limited, The Royal Tenenbaums and The Grand Budapest Hotel, too — the four films in the spotlight at The Wonderful World of Wes. For two nights, the Melbourne Fashion Festival and Cinema Nova are teaming up to fill the latter's big screen with precocious high schoolers, eccentric siblings (twice) and eager lobby boys — and the eye-catching outfits they all wear, of course. Catch Rushmore and The Darjeeling Limited on Tuesday, March 16, and The Grand Budapest Hotel and The Royal Tenenbaums on Wednesday, March 17. Showing at 6.30pm and 8.30pm both ninghts, each screening will be followed by a panel discussion on their costuming choices as well. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=caMgokYWboU
Pasta and parmesan are one of Italian cuisine's perfect pairings. Eat the former without the latter, and your tastebuds will know the difference. And while sprinkling your spaghetti with fine shavings of hard cheese is all well and good (and delicious), that's nothing compared to devouring a bowl of pasta that has been cooked in a parmesan wheel. If it sounds like all of your culinary dreams come true, that's because it is — and it's the dish in the spotlight at Cucinetta's returning Parmesan Wheel Week. After three successful previous events, the South Yarra restaurant is bringing it back in 2021, once again serving up the Italian traditional specialty pasta cacio e pepe straight out of a wheel of 18-month Grana Padano. And, despite the name, the $34.99 special is actually running for two weeks. Given that cacio e pepe is a pasta concoction made with parmesan and pepper — think fancier, tastier mac 'n' cheese — the results promise quite the cheesy meal. It will be available at Cucinetta for lunch from 12–3pm and dinner from 5–10pm between Monday, April 26–Saturday, May 8. We'd tell you to arrive hungry, but we're sure you already are just thinking about it.
Easter is around the corner, autumn is in full swing and it's time to part-tee — in more ways than one. Our favourite Pixar characters are popping up in Melbourne at a mini golf course inspired by some of our favourite Disney films. After hitting up the city in previous years, the kidult-friendly course is now returning to Federation Square from Thursday, April 1–Sunday, April 25. Designed to challenge both eight-year olds and adults alike, Pixar Putt features nine- and 18-hole courses that take you past childhood heroes like Buzz Lightyear, Sheriff Woody and Elastigirl. New this year: a piano key-style hole inspired by Soul, another featuring Onward's van and redesigned odes to Ratatouille and Coco. So, if you didn't beat your cousin at backyard cricket over the summer, challenge them to a rematch on the River Terrace in April. All you need is your hat and A-game (and no pressure if you remain defeated, there's always the nineteenth hole nearby). Pixar Putt is also open for after-dark sessions every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night — and they're only for adults. Running from 7–10pm, the post-work putt-putt hours are perfect for those date nights when you want to do more than just have dinner and see a movie. Pixar Putt is open between 10am–8pm, Sunday–Wednesday and 10am–10pm, Friday–Saturday. From 7–10pm on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, sessions are for adults only.
Asked why he broke into Oslo's Gallery Nobel in 2015 and stole two large oil paintings in broad daylight, Karl-Bertil Nordland gives perhaps the most honest answer anyone could: "because they were beautiful". He isn't responding to the police or providing an excuse during his court appearance, but speaking to Czech artist Barbora Kysilkova, who wanted answers about the theft of her work. Captured on camera, the pilfering of Kysilkova's Swan Song and Chloe & Emma initially appeared to be a professional job. As the two pieces were removed from their frames in such an exacting manner, it was presumed that experts were behind the crime. But Nordland and his accomplice didn't plan their brazen heist, or have a background in purloining art. Thanks to the effect of illicit substances, Nordland can't even remember much about it, let alone recall what happened to the stolen works that Kysilkova desperately wants back. That said, as the thief tells the painter when she first talks with him, he does know that he walked past Gallery Nobel often. He's aware that he saw her photorealistic pieces — the first of a dead swan lying in reeds, the second of two girls sat side by side on a couch — many times, too. And, he's candid about the fact that he marvelled at and was moved by the two canvases long before he absconded with them. As a result, he doesn't seem surprised that his life led him to that juncture, and to snatching Kysilkova's creations. A victim confronts a perpetrator: that's The Painter and the Thief's five-word summary, and it's 100-percent accurate. But such a brief description can't convey how fascinating, thoughtful, moving and astonishing this documentary is as it unfurls a tale so layered and wild that it can only be true — a story that stretches far beyond what anyone could feasibly anticipate of such an altercation and its aftermath, in fact. Nordland was arrested and charged for his crime, with Kysilkova initially making contact with him at his trial. From there, the skilled carpenter and heavily tattooed addict unexpectedly gained a friend in the woman whose works he took. Kysilkova first asked to paint Nordland as part of her attempts to understand him, and he then became her muse. As all relationships do, especially ones forged under such unusual circumstances, their connection evolved, adapted and changed from there. As Norwegian filmmaker Benjamin Ree (Magnus) pointed a camera in their direction for three years, the duo weathered their own ups, downs, twists and turns, as did their friendship. If Nordland's reply to Kysilkova feels disarmingly frank and unguarded, that's because it is. The same tone remains throughout The Painter and the Thief's entire duration. Absent the usual tropes and stylistic markers that true-crime documentaries are known for, the film eschews the standard mix of talking heads, re-enactments and explanatory narration in favour of truly observing and stepping inside its subjects' unique bond. Demonstrating an abundance of empathy that's as haunting as Kysilkova's striking pieces, Ree also gravitates to moments as equally sincere and direct as Nordland's initial admission. To see the latter's response to Kysilkova's first painting of him — physically cycling through shock, amazement, wonder and gratitude, and starting with his eyes wide in bewilderment before being overwhelmed with emotion to the point of sobbing — is to witness the most intimate and complicated of reactions. It's to no one's surprise that Ree lets his movie linger here, and lets his viewers soak in the full breadth and depth of Nordland's reckoning with who he is, how he has long felt about himself, what it means to him to be immortalised in an object of beauty and how it feels to be truly be seen by someone else. When it comes to its titular figures, The Painter and the Thief's focus doesn't just flow in one direction. Kysilkova helps piece together Nordland's story, including voicing a montage of photos and clips that takes a snapshot of his life from his childhood onwards; however, she's just as much of a subject of Ree's film as he is. Indeed, when it's time to expand upon her own tale, Nordland returns the favour by recounting what he knows about his friend in the same fashion. Both have experienced tumultuous histories. Neither's path from their first meeting is straightforward, either. Nordland is involved in an accident that leaves him hospitalised. Kysilkova struggles with her finances, and with her partner Øystein's worries about her new connection. Flitting back and forth between the two — but always leaving an extra impression whenever they're together — The Painter and the Thief offers a level of detail that also matches Kysilkova's paintings, all while charting the intersection of two unlikely kindred spirits. When this affecting and sensitive documentary premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in early 2020, it won a special jury award for creative storytelling — and the intuitive way in which Ree weaves together Kysilkova and Nordland's stories is worthy of the recognition. The gentle tone, the willingness to let things unravel as they will, the care and attention shown in all directions, the utter lack of sensationalism: they're all instrumental in shaping an extraordinary film. So too is the blend of raw yet gorgeously observed imagery by Ree and fellow cinematographer Kristoffer Kumar (Arctic Superstar), the delicate and patient editing by Robert Stengård (Rebels), and the engaging score from Uno Helmersson (Bobbi Jene). An intricate and unflinching insight into kindness and compassion in even the strangest of circumstances needs all of the above, as does a considerate and ruminative exploration of trauma, redemption, addiction, art, power and friendship. The Painter and the Thief is exactly that film. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yJ4r7ON974
As Fleabag knew, and also Sherlock as well, Andrew Scott has the type of empathetic face that makes people want to keep talking to him. Playing the hot priest in Phoebe Waller-Bridge's (Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny) acclaimed comedy, he was the ultimate listener. Even as the Moriarty to Benedict Cumberbatch's (The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar) Holmes, and with a game always afoot, conversation flowed. All of Us Strangers puts this innate air — this sensation that to be in Scott's company is to want to unburden yourself to his welcoming ears — at its tender and feverishly beating heart, this time with Paul Mescal (Foe) as one of his discussion partners. Dreamy and contemplative, haunting and heartfelt, and also delicate and devastating, the fifth film by Weekend and 45 Years writer/director Andrew Haigh, which is his first since 2017's Lean on Pete, is stunningly cast with Scott in seeing-is-feeling mode as its isolated screenwriter protagonist alone. That Scott is joined by Mescal, Claire Foy (Women Talking) and Jamie Bell (Shining Girls) gives All of Us Strangers one of the finest four-hander casts in recent memory. Awards bodies clearly agree, with nods going around for everyone (alongside wins for Best Film and Best Director, the British Independent Film Awards gave all four of the feature's core cast members nominations, with Mescal scoring the Best Supporting Performance trophy, for instance). Haigh isn't merely preternaturally talented at picking the exact right actors to play his on-screen figures, but it's one of his most-crucial skills, as every performance in his latest shattering picture demonstrates. It comes as no surprise that Scott, Mescal, Foy and Bell are all excellent. It's similarly hardly unexpected that Haigh has made another movie that cuts so emotionally deep that viewers will feel as if they've been within its frames. Combine these stars with this filmmaker, though, and a feature that was always likely to combine its exceptional parts into a perfect sum is somehow even more affecting and astonishing. That been-there vibe, like everyone watching has been Scott's Adam or Mescal's Harry — or Foy and Bell as the former's mum and dad — contributes to an ethereal atmosphere: anyone who has ever wondered where their memories and dreams end and reality commences, as we all do daily in an emotional sense, understands. So it is that Adam is caught between the past, the present and perhaps the future as he works on a new project, which gets him peering back at his childhood. Like sleepwalking, he's pulled to his 80s-era home where he discovers the parents that he lost just before he was 12 awaiting. They look the same as they did the last time that he saw them, but he's definitely an adult. What does a fortysomething queer man who grew up in the period, never had the chance to tell his mother and father who he was, and has a lifetime's worth of truths to share and grief to process, say and do when he gets a fantastical opportunity? That's one of All of Us Strangers' strands. Amid Adam's dancing with his nostalgia, this adaptation of Taichi Yamada's novel Strangers also flits from his family to his romantic relationships. He experiences almost everyone's biggest wish when Mescal's Harry comes knocking on his door with a bottle of whisky in hand in the apartment block that they both dwell in. They're the London building's only two residents, in fact. One lonely spirit recognises another and, after an initial rejection on Adam's side — he's that accustomed to being on his own — passion springs. In his flat and in ketamine-induced reveries at clubs, Adam and Harry see possibilities and find solace. They have deep-and-meaningful "this is why I am why I am" chats. They sink into their new idyll, as All of Us Strangers' audience does into the poignant flick. Despite what the movie's title proclaims about humanity even within its closest bonds, they try intensely and sincerely not to be outsiders to each other. With the Pet Shop Boys' version of 'Always on My Mind' and Frankie Goes to Hollywood's 'The Power of Love' on the soundtrack also aiding in setting a swooning mood, this is an intimate tale that innately and sensitively appreciates being consumed by the events, traumas and absences that've shaped you — and just as intuitively and compassionately recognises not just the perspective-altering delights but also the comforts of falling for someone. But Haigh doesn't stop there. Making a ghost story, a love story and a queer portrait in one, his film is characteristically layered. It also feels like the continuation of dialogues started in his past work, capturing what it means to be a gay man as per Weekend, to navigate life coloured by tragedy as in 45 Years and to yearn for a guiding hand as Lean on Pete did. Shooting scenes in the house that Haigh himself grew up in also helps build a movie that immaculately matches its aesthetics with its emotions. The decades-gone-by cosiness of Adam's time with his mum and dad is pivotal as All of Us Strangers conveys a certainty applicable to all parents and children: no matter how old the latter get, we all become kids again around the people who brought us into this world, frozen in time in our heads and hearts while weathering the passing years externally. As well as making ample and telling use of reflections and windows, Living cinematographer Jamie Ramsay heroes cooler tones whenever Adam is alone, but warmer hues when he has company. That touch ensures that embracing the fact that existing means co-existing with our histories like we're glimpsing reminders everywhere, as the feature does, observes the joys along with the sorrows and struggles. Penned in 1987 and translated into English in 2003, Yamada's Strangers has earned the cinematic treatment before courtesy of 1988 horror film The Discarnates by the late, great Nobuhiko Obayashi (who gave the world one of Japan's all-time entries in the genre with 1977's House). There's never any question that All of Us Strangers is Haigh's movie, however — or that his iteration is a wonder that reckons with heartbreak and hope in tandem. That's the power of the British filmmaker's output, including TV's Looking and The North Water. Whichever screen he's crafting stories for, the end results always linger on the mind. Scott's staggering — and subtle, and anchoring — portrayal is one of the latest pieces of proof. Mescal's unforgettably naturalistic supporting turn, plus the chemistry between the pair, provide others. No one leaves All of Us Strangers as an alien to its lived-in emotions, either — or, as Haigh so perceptively knows, goes into it that way to begin with.
More Marvels, less Marvel: that could've, would've, should've been the path to making The Marvels more marvellous as it teams up Carol Danvers aka Captain Marvel (Brie Larson, Fast X), Ms Marvel's Kamala Khan (Iman Vellani in her big-screen debut) and WandaVision's Monica Rambeau (Teyonah Parris, They Cloned Tyrone). Unsurprisingly for a Marvel Cinematic Universe movie that goes heavy on the first word in the ever-sprawling franchise's moniker, this 33rd cinematic instalment in the series has a glaring Marvel problem. Thankfully, as it proves fun enough, likeable enough and sweet, but also overly saddled with the routine and familiar, it never has any Captain Marvel, Ms Marvel or Monica Rambeau issues. When there's too much Marvel-ness — too much been-there-done-that formula, too hefty a focus on smashing pixels together over spending time with people and too strong a sense that this is merely another chapter in the saga's assembly line, and also dutifully setting up what's next — The Marvels struggles, even as the shortest MCU feature yet. When the main trio get the luxury of being together, just seeing them revel in and react to each other's company is a delight. When there's also singing, dancing, a hearty sense of humour and/or Flerkens involved, the film soars. Perhaps befitting a movie with three lead characters, this is a Goldilocks attempt at a picture that tries as overtly as a fairy-tale figure to get its balance just right. Filmmaker Nia DaCosta (Candyman) and her co-scribes Megan McDonnell (also WandaVision) and Elissa Karasik (Loki) can't quite find and keep their midpoint, however, due to all of the weight and demands that come after 15 years of the MCU, those 32 prior flicks, plus nine seasons of eight Disney+ TV shows since 2021 — and the many nods and references required in those directions. Marvel has cottoned on to how clunky this can be, and how exhausting to watch; the company is marketing streaming series Echo under the banner 'Marvel Spotlight' to signal that viewers can enjoy the story as a standalone experience without needing to have done copious amounts of MCU homework. If only The Marvels had been allowed to spin its tale the same way, even with Carol, Kamala and Monica's established histories across the franchise, and permitted to lean further into what makes it stand out from the rest of the Marvel crowd. One thing that audiences haven't seen elsewhere in the MCU: a wonderfully ridiculous sequence that riffs on herding cats, embraces those felines-with-tentacles that are Flerkens, makes an obvious-but-apt Andrew Lloyd Webber needle drop work and is up there among the most gloriously silly things that Marvel has ever put on-screen. Here's another: a planet where communicating via song, like life is one big Broadway musical, is the native language. And, the most crucial: a trio of female superheroes taking centre stage (2019's Captain Marvel, the 21st MCU flick, was the first to solely put a woman in the spotlight, while 2021's Black Widow is the only one since until now). The Marvels flits between two responses to the latter, though: not caring because it has the typical Marvel wheels to spin, then only caring about Carol, Kamala and Monica's camaraderie. Naturally, the second option is the entertaining and engaging winner. As anyone who has seen Ms Marvel will know going in and everyone else can glean swiftly (at 105 minutes, bloat doesn't blight The Marvels), Jersey City teen Kamala is the world's biggest Captain Marvel superfan. Having her own superhero powers hasn't curbed that Carol-worshipping enthusiasm. She's dreaming about joining forces with her idol when not just their respective light-based powers get entangled, but Monica's as well, causing the three women to switch places suddenly whenever they bust out their supernatural skills simultaneously. The reason for this body-swap comedy-esque occurrence: Kree warrior Dar-Benn (Zawe Ashton, The Handmaid's Tale), who is on a mission to save her home planet and seek revenge by destroying worlds. So, after awkward first meetings (Carol and Kamala) and reunions (Carol and Monica, the daughter of her 80s-era best friend Maria, as seen in Captain Marvel), The Marvels' three protagonists are a team on their own existence-in-peril space quest — with Nick Fury (Samuel L Jackson, Secret Invasion) running point, and Kamala's mother Muneeba (Zenobia Shroff, 7 Days), father Yusef (Mohan Kapur, School of Lies) and brother Aamir (Saagar Shaikh, Liza on Demand) worrying by his side. Regardless of whether Beastie Boys' 'Intergalactic' is on montage soundtrack duties just as the film's trailers teased, there's both spark and pace to Carol, Kamala and Monica's intermingled chaos — including when utter bedlam results, when they're training to work in sync and when they're fighting like a well-oiled machine. There's sincere chemistry, too, as bounces in comedic and dramatic moments equally. The Marvels screams to be a hangout movie, where seeing these characters spending time with each other, and getting everyone investing in their relationships, is more important than whatever the plot throws their way (especially when the storyline is so rote). That'd be Kamala's ultimate fantasy, and the infectiously charismatic Vellani plays it that way to excited perfection. That said, the MCU isn't in the business of making films about friendship, connection and kinship without facing villains and saving the universe. Long fond of layering different genres over its standard template — such as espionage with Black Widow, horror with Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, heist capers with the first two Ant-Man movies, coming-of-age with the Spider-Man entries and martial arts with Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, to name just a few examples — Marvel is currently happy to fashion its output in the mould of other sagas. Where fellow 2023 release Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania wanted to be Star Wars, keeping things in the Disney family, there's more than a sliver of Star Trek to The Marvels as it navigates its planet-hopping, civilisation-rescuing narrative. Accordingly, the generic air that regularly pulses through the movie isn't just limited to cycling through MCU staples. Unconvincing CGI doesn't help, nor does the rushed feeling that seeps into the editing to keep the film to its concise length. The first Black woman to direct a Marvel feature, DaCosta clearly has corporate-enforced boxes to tick. Luckily, she also knows The Marvels' biggest assets: Larson, Vellani and Parris; their on-screen alter egos simply sharing space and time (while sometimes toying with it); and joyous mayhem. It mightn't be present everywhere else, but there's balance in how the feature's leads complement each other — how intimately DaCosta dives into their evolving bonds as well, with help from Sean Bobbitt's (Judas and the Black Messiah) perspective-shifting cinematography — and in what Vellani's abundant eagerness, Parris' warmth and smarts, and Larson's gradual cracking of Carol's hard-forged emotional facade bring out in each other. There's heart, liveliness and something rare in the MCU here, as caught in jump-rope sessions, hugs and reaction shots, but then all of the usual MCU elements come crashing in. The Marvels needs its own place-swapping gadgets to jettison out the overused blueprint. Instead, it makes the most of what it can, but leaves viewers pondering one of Marvel's favourite questions: what if?
