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The New Movies You Can Watch at Australian Cinemas From February 17

Head to the flicks to see Joaquin Phoenix's latest awards-worthy performance, a long-awaited video game-to-big screen adaptation and a history-making animated documentary.
By Sarah Ward
February 17, 2022
By Sarah Ward
February 17, 2022

Something delightful has been happening in cinemas in some parts of the country. After numerous periods spent empty during the pandemic, with projectors silent, theatres bare and the smell of popcorn fading, picture palaces in many Australian regions are back in business — including both big chains and smaller independent sites in Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane.

During COVID-19 lockdowns, no one was short on things to watch, of course. In fact, you probably feel like you've streamed every movie ever made, including new releasesStudio Ghibli's animated fare and Nicolas Cage-starring flicks. But, even if you've spent all your time of late glued to your small screen, we're betting you just can't wait to sit in a darkened room and soak up the splendour of the bigger version. Thankfully, plenty of new films are hitting cinemas so that you can do just that — and we've rounded up, watched and reviewed everything on offer this week.



The last time that Joaquin Phoenix appeared in cinemas, he played an overlooked and unheard man. "You don't listen, do you?" Arthur Fleck asked his social worker, and the entirety of Joker — and of Phoenix's magnetic Oscar-winning performance as the Batman foe in the 2019 film, too — provided the obvious answer. Returning to the big screen in a feature that couldn't be more different to his last, Phoenix now plays a professional listener. A radio journalist and podcaster who'd slide in seamlessly alongside Ira Glass on America's NPR, Johnny's niche is chatting with children. Travelling around the country from his New York base, C'mon C'mon's protagonist seeks thoughts about life, hopes, dreams, the future and the world in general, but never in a Kids Say the Darndest Things-type fashion. As Phoenix's sensitive, pensive gaze conveys under the tender guidance of Beginners and 20th Century Women filmmaker Mike Mills, Johnny truly and gratefully hears what his young interviewees utter.

Phoenix is all gentle care, quiet understanding and rippling melancholy as Johnny. All naturalism and attentiveness as well, he's also firmly at his best, no matter what's inscribed on his Academy Award. Here, Phoenix is as phenomenal as he was in his career highlight to-date, aka the exceptional You Were Never Really Here, in a part that again has his character pushed out of his comfort zone by a child. C'mon C'mon's Johnny spends his days talking with kids, but that doesn't mean he's equipped to look after his nine-year-old nephew Jesse (Woody Norman, The War of the Worlds) in Los Angeles when his sister Viv (Gaby Hoffmann, Transparent) needs to assist her husband Paul (Scoot McNairy, A Quiet Place Part II) with his mental health. Johnny and Viv haven't spoken since their mother died a year earlier, and Johnny has previously overstepped when it comes to Paul — with the siblings' relationship so precarious that he barely knows Jesse — but volunteering to help is his immediate reflex.

As captured in soft, luxe, nostalgic shades of greyscale by always-remarkable cinematographer Robbie Ryan (see also: I, Daniel Blake, American Honey, The Favourite and Marriage Story), Johnny takes to his time with Jesse as any uncle suddenly thrust into a 24/7 caregiving role that doesn't exactly come naturally would. Jesse also reacts as expected, handling the situation as any bright and curious kid whose world swiftly changes, and who finds himself with a new and different role model, is going to. But C'mon C'mon is extraordinary not because its instantly familiar narrative sees Johnny and Jesse learn life lessons from each other, and their bond grow stronger the longer they spend in each other's company — but because this tremendously moving movie repeatedly surprises with its depth, insights, and lively sparks of both adult and childhood life.

It's styled to look like a memory, and appreciates how desperately parents and guardians want to create such happy recollections for kids, but C'mon C'mon feels unshakeably lived-in rather than wistful. It doesn't pine for times gone by; instead, the film recognises the moments that linger in the now. It spies how the collection of ordinary, everyday experiences that Johnny and Jesse cycle through all add up to something that's equally commonplace, universally relatable and special, too. Conveying that sentiment, but never by being sentimental, has long been one of Mills' great powers as a filmmaker. He makes pictures so alive with real emotion that they clearly belong to someone, and yet also resonate with everyone all at once. With C'mon C'mon, the writer/director draws upon his own time as a parent, after taking inspiration from his relationship with his father in Beginners, and from his connection to his mother and his own upbringing in 20th Century Women.

Read our full review.



When Flee won the World Cinema Documentary Grand Jury Prize at the 2021 Sundance Film Festival, it collected its first accolade. The wrenchingly affecting animated documentary hasn't stopped notching up deserving acclaim since. A spate of other gongs have come its way, in fact, including a history-making trifecta of nominations for Best International Feature, Best Documentary and Best Animated Feature at this year's Oscars, becoming the first picture to ever earn nods in all three categories at once. Mere minutes into watching, it's easy to glean why this moving and compassionate movie keeps garnering awards and attention. Pairing animation with factual storytelling is still rare enough that it stands out, but that blend alone isn't what makes Flee special. Writer/director Jonas Poher Rasmussen (What He Did) has created one of the best instances of the combination yet — a feature that could only have the impact it does by spilling its contents in such a way, like Ari Folman's Waltz with Bashir before it — however, it's the tale he shares and the care with which he tells it that makes this something unshakeably exceptional.

Rasmussen's subject is Amin Nawabi, an Afghan refugee using a pseudonym. As his story fills Flee's frames, it's also plain to see why it can only be told through animation. Indeed, the film doesn't cover an easy plight — or a unique one, sadly — but Rasmussen renders every detail not just with eye-catching imagery, but with visuals that flow with empathy at every moment. The filmmaker's protagonist is a friend of his and has been for decades, and yet no one, not even the director himself, had ever previously heard him step through the events that the movie chronicles. Amin is now in his 40s, but he was once a kid in war-torn Kabul, then a teenager seeking asylum in Copenhagen. His life to-date has cast him in other roles in other countries, too, on his journey to house-hunting with his boyfriend as he chats through the ups and downs for his pal.

That path — via Russia and Sweden — is one of struggle and acceptance. It's a chronicle of displacement, losing one's foundations and searching for a space to be free. It's also an account of identities fractured and formed anew, and of grasping hold of one's culture and sexuality as well. Flee explores how global events and battling ideologies have a very real and tangible impact on those caught in their midst, a truth that the feature's hand-drawn look underscores at every turn. And, it's about trying to work out who you are when the building blocks of your life are so tenuous, and when being cast adrift from your family and traditions is your status quo. It's also an intimate portrait of how a past that's so intertwined with international politics, and with the Afghan civil war between US-backed rebels and the nation's Soviet-armed government, keeps leaving ripples. Plus, Flee examines how someone in its complicated situation endures without having a firm sense of home, including when acknowledging he's gay after growing up in a place where that wasn't even an option.

Clearly, Flee is many vivid, touching, devastating things, and it finds an immense wealth of power in its expressive and humanistic approach. There's a hyperreality to the film's animation, honing in on precisely the specifics it needs to within each image and discarding anything superfluous. When a poster for Jean-Claude Van Damme's Bloodsport can be spied on Amin's 80s-era Kabul bedroom, for instance, Rasmussen draws viewers' eyes there with exacting purpose. There's impressionistic flair to Flee's adaptive style as well, with the movie firmly concerned with selecting the best way to visually represent how each remembered instance felt to Amin. A scene set to A-ha's 'Take on Me' presents a fantastic example, especially given that the Norwegian group's pop hit is famed for its animated music video — something that Rasmussen happily toys with.

Read our full review.



Films about war are films about wide-ranging terror and horror: battles that changed lives, deaths that reshaped nations, political fights that altered the course of history and the like. But they're also movies about people first, foremost and forever: folks whose everyday existence was perpetually shattered, including those lost and others left to endure when hostilities cease. Quo Vadis, Aida? is firmly a feature about both aspects of war. It homes in on one town, Srebrenica, in July 1995 during the 1992–95 Bosnian War, but it sees devastation and a human toll so intimate and vast in tandem that heartbreak is the only natural response. A survivor of the war herself, writer/director Jasmila Žbanić (Love Island, For Those Who Can Tell No Tales) knows that combat and conflict happens to ordinary men and women, that each casualty is a life cut short and that every grief-stricken relative who remains will never forget their magic ordeal — and she ensures that no one who watches Quo Vadis, Aida? can forget the Srebrenica massacre, or the fact that 8372 civilians were killed, either.

A teacher-turned-interpreter, the eponymous Aida Selmanagic (Jasna Đuričić, My Morning Laughter) is Žbanić's eyes and ears within the demilitarised safe zone established by Dutch UN peacekeepers. The film doesn't adopt her exact point of view aesthetically — we see Aida, and plenty; Quo Vadis, Aida? wouldn't be the same without the tenacity and insistence that radiates from her posture and gaze — but it lives, breathes, feels, roves and yearns as she does. What she translates and for who around the UN base varies but, as she roves, she's primarily a channel between innocents scared for their lives and the bureaucracy endeavouring to keep the Bosnian Serb Army away. She visibly feels the weight of that task, whether speaking for the injured, scared and hungry all crammed into the facility or passing on instructions from her superiors.

Aida has a mother's and wife's motivations, however: above all else, she wants her husband Nihad (Izudin Barjović, Father), a school principal, to be with her and to be safe — and the same for their sons Hamdija (Boris Ler, Full Moon) and Sejo (Dino Barjović, Sin), obviously. It's a mission to even get them in the base, with Colonel Karremans (Johan Heldenbergh, The Hummingbird Project) and his offsider Major Franken (Raymond Thiry, The Conductor) determined to not show any appearances of favouritism, especially with so many other refugees pleading to be allowed in outside. But Aida hustles, including getting Nihad sent to negotiations with Serbian General Ratko Mladić (Boris Isaković, Last Christmas) as a town representative. And as the General's brash, cocky, swaggering troops start escorting out the base's inhabitants and putting them onto buses depending upon their gender following those talks, Aida makes every desperate move she can to save her family.

Quo Vadis, Aida? equally chronicles and shares Aida's reaction to the chaos and trauma around her. With Nihad, Hamdija and Sejo's lives at stake, the peacekeepers that Aida is helping refusing to assist by expanding the protections she enjoys to her loved ones, and the UN making moves that bow to Mladić — refusing to act otherwise, more accurately — Žbanić's film was always going to bustle forward in lockstep with its protagonist's emotional rollercoaster ride. That said Quo Vadis, Aida? is also an exacting movie in laying bare the complexities bubbling within the base, and the broader scenario. Unflinchingly, it sees how ineffective the UN's actions are, as ordered from far away with no sense of the reality on the ground. It recognises how outnumbered the peace effort is in Srebrenica, too. It spies the ruthlessness of the General and his forces, as was destined to happen when given even the slightest leeway. And it also spots how determined Aida is to safeguard her family, all while hurrying around thousands of others in the same precarious circumstances but without the possibility of anyone even trying to pull strings in their favour.

Read our full review.



Some movies sport monikers so out of sync with their contents that someone really should've had a rethink before they reached screens. Uncharted is one of them, but it was never going to switch its name. The action-adventure flick comes to cinemas following a decade and a half of trying, after the first Uncharted video game reached consoles in 2007 and the journey to turning it into a movie began the year after. Accordingly, this Tom Holland (Spider-Man: No Way Home)- and Mark Wahlberg (Joe Bell)-starring film was fated to keep its franchise's title, which references its globe-trotting, treasure hunting, dark passageway-crawling, dusty map-coveting storyline. But unexplored, unfamiliar and undiscovered, this terrain definitely isn't — as four Indiana Jones films to-date, two National Treasure flicks, three Tomb Raider movies, 80s duo Romancing the Stone and The Jewel of the Nile, and theme park ride-to-screen adaptation Jungle Cruise have already demonstrated.

Uncharted mightn't live up to its label, but it is something perhaps unanticipated given its lengthy production history — a past that's seen six other filmmakers set to direct it before the Zombieland movies' Ruben Fleischer actually did the honours, plenty of screenwriters come and go, and Wahlberg once floated to play the saga's hero Nathan Drake rather than the mentor role of Victor Sullivan he has now. That surprise? Uncharted is fine enough, which might be the best likely possible outcome that anyone involved could've hoped for. It's almost ridiculously generic, and it sails in the Pirates of the Caribbean flicks' slipstream as well, while also cribbing from The Mummy, Jumanji and even the Ocean's films. Indeed, it borrows from other movies as liberally as most of its characters pilfer in their daily lives, even nodding towards all things Fast and Furious. It's no worse than the most generic of its predecessors, though — which isn't the same as striking big-screen gold, but is still passable.

The reasons that Uncharted just hits the barest of marks it needs to are simple and straightforward: it benefits from Holland's charms, its climax is a glorious action-film spectacle, and it doesn't ever attempt to be anything it's not (although reading a statement of intent into the latter would be being too generous). It also zips through its 116-minute running time, knowing that lingering too long in any one spot wouldn't serve it well — and it's as good as it was going to be given the evident lack of effort to be something more. While you can't make a great movie out of these very minor wins, they're all still noticeable pointers in an okay-enough direction. Getting audiences puzzling along with it, delivering narrative surprises even to viewers wholly unfamiliar with the games, asking Wahlberg to do anything more than his familiar tough-guy schtick, making the most of the bulk of its setpieces, providing the product of more than just-competent direction: alas, none of these turn out.

In a film that acts as a prequel to its button-mashing counterparts, Holland plays Drake as a 20-something with brother issues, a vast knowledge of cocktail histories that's handy for his bartending gig, an obsession with 16th-century Portuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan and the gold he might've hidden, and very light fingers. Nate's elder sibling dipped out of his life after the pair were caught trying to steal a Magellan map as orphanage-dwelling kids, in fact, which Sully uses to his advantage when he first crosses his path in a New York bar — and, after some convincing, Nate has soon signed up to finish the quest he's been dreaming about since childhood. Naturally, this newly formed duo aren't the only ones on the Magellan treasure's trail. The wealthy Santiago Moncada (Antonio Banderas, The Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard) is descended from the explorer's original financiers and boasts a hefty sense of entitlement, while knife-wielding mercenary Jo Braddock (Tati Gabrielle, You) and enterprising fortune-hunter Chloe Frazer (Sophia Ali, India Sweets and Spices) are each chasing a windfall.

Read our full review.



In a 1997 ballad that'll forever linked with the on-screen sinking of the world's most famous ship, Celine Dion told us that her heart would go on. Whether the Canadian singer's ticker will physically defy mortality is yet to be seen, but Aline, the fictionalised biography based on her rollercoaster ride of a life, certainly takes the idea to heart by overextending its running time. It's easy to see why the 'Because You Loved Me', 'The Power of Love' and 'Think Twice' crooner demands a lengthy feature. Also, compared to the big-budget superhero blockbuster standard, Aline's 128 minutes is positively concise. At every moment, however, this Valérie Lemercier (50 Is the New 30)-directed, -co-written and -starring film feels like it's going on and on and on. Near, far, wherever you are, it limps along despite packing plenty of ups and downs into its frames. A key reason: it primarily plays like the result of Lemercier simply opening up that door to Dion's Wikipedia page.

Dion's story has everything from childhood fame and enormous career achievements to relationship scandals and personal tragedies, and Lemercier and her co-scribe Brigitte Buc (who also co-penned the filmmaker's 2005 featured Palais royal!) don't overlook any of it. But Dion's immense success doesn't necessarily make her overly fascinating, and nor do the many twists and turns her path has taken since she was born into a large Quebec family — arriving as the youngest of 14 children — and then found fame as a teen. Or, in her defence, they don't make her particularly interesting in a movie that's content to tick through everything that life has thrown her way like it's marking off a checklist rather than fleshing her out as a person. Viewers glean all of the necessary biographical details from Aline, but little sense of its subject, especially buried under Lemercier's unconvincing blend of soapy comedy and loving affection.

The name Celine is mentioned in the film, as one of the script's gags — and Aline Dieu (Lemercier) is quick to correct the record. But before anyone is calling her anything much, she's a gifted singer crooning at her family's bar and proving in big demand locally, which sparks one of her brothers to record a demo. The tape's recipient, manager Guy-Claude Kamar (Sylvain Marcel, Les Honorables), can't quite believe that the slender girl in front of him comes with such a voice, and soon helps guide her career from strength to strength. Pitstops along the way include a pause so Aline can enjoy being a teenager, her mother Sylvette's (Danielle Fichaud, District 31) dismay when she falls for the much-older Guy-Claude, vocal troubles that require a three-month break from even speaking and the struggle to get pregnant. Among the highlights: winning a singing contest in Dublin, a big Hollywood awards ceremony, a lengthy US residency and all that chart-topping.

Eurovision isn't mentioned by name in Aline, and nor is Titanic or the Oscars, mirroring the change to Dion's moniker (and those of her loved ones and key figures in her life). But the film does weave in the star's own songs, which makes its altered details elsewhere feel uncanny, and like the movie is caught between a parody and a love letter. The montage-esque handling of big and small moments alike doesn't help, cramming in minutiae from Dion's real-life tale but never giving anything room to resonate. Neither does the perfunctory direction and by-the-numbers dialogue, which can't elevate the film beyond Behind the Music-style recreations. Lemercier's choices, including playing Aline at all ages — from childhood through to now — could've resulted in goofy inspiration. Perhaps that's what, every night in her dreams, she saw and felt. But while happily absurd, the movie that results is an over-packed jumble and drag, like getting 'My Heart Will Go On' stuck in your head for head for a quarter-century.



When A Stitch in Time begins, it's with weary veteran musician Duncan (real-life veteran musician Glen Shorrock) playing his weekly gig at a Sydney RSL. But the crowd is sparse, inspiring the venue's newly installed manager to proclaim that it's time for a change to draw in a bigger and younger audience. The silver-haired Liebe (Maggie Blinco, The Nightingale), Duncan's long-standing partner, is singled out as the type of patron that the bar wants to move past — an observation that's rightfully and instantly met with anger. But when they're alone, Duncan's demeanour towards the woman that's been by his side for decades through jousts at fame and a lifetime of dealing with unrealised dreams is hardly affectionate. He wants acclaim and praise, and still to make the record he's always fantasised about, all while Liebe simply keeps quiet and cooks bacon for breakfast.

A Stitch in Time tells Liebe's story as she finally finds the courage to step away from the toxic relationship that's defined her life, all thanks to a trip to a local market and the resulting encouragement from up-and-coming Chinese Australian designer Hamish (Hoa Xuande, Cowboy Bebop). A skilled dressmaker, she once had her own dreams of success, but let them slip aside to support Duncan. Now, his utter contempt for her renewed interest in rekindling her fashion prowess is the push she needs to seek a change after all these years. In first-time feature writer/director/producer/editor Sasha Hadden's hands, Liebe's path from there charts both an expected and a bleakly complex path — stitching together setbacks, roadblocks and miseries as part of a pattern for a brighter future and a predictably feel-good ending.

One part schmaltz, one part domestic grit: that's the combination at the heart of the nonetheless sunnily hot A Stitch in Time, with the film teetering between the two accordingly. It's an awkward mix, despite the movie's efforts to lay bare the reality facing Liebe in trying to start again after living the bulk of her life — attitudes faced, financial difficulties and internal struggles among them — and its mission to spin a heartwarming story about a character and demographic often relegated to the big-screen sidelines. Again and again, the feature's script layers heartstring-pulling complications on top of each other, such as Liebe's childhood escape from Nazi Germany and her health woes after moving into a sharehouse with Chinese university students. It similarly adores saccharine moments, and uses the gimmick of going viral not once but twice.

Thankfully, A Stitch in Time pays far more respect to its ageing protagonist than its recent equivalents (see: Queen Bees, Never Too Late, PomsDirty Grandpa and The War with Grandpa). That said, it still doesn't trust that viewers would feel for Liebe and her plight without either the laundry list of traumas thrust her way or the cheesy twists of fate that arrive to save her. The roster of talent that Hadden has amassed both on- and off-screen do their best to lift the material, however. That includes via spirited performances from not just Blinco but also Belinda Giblin (Home and Away) as Liebe's long-estranged pal Christine, plus the warm rapport between Blinco and Xuande — and also crisp lensing from legendary Australian cinematographer Don McAlpine (an Oscar nominee for Moulin Rouge!).



In films about humanity's undying yearning to conquer the planet's towering heights, what goes up doesn't always come down — to tragic results. But the quickly growing genre of documentaries that's sprung up around scaling mountains, or trying to, does traverse both the highs and the lows. It spans tales of life-altering success against the odds, chronicling all the hard work and near-fatal slips along the way, as seen in Oscar-winner Free Solo and the similarly uplifting The Dawn Wall. It also includes clear-eyed accounts of disaster, with the phenomenal Sherpa easily at the peak. And, it covers accounts of mountaineers who strived to climb lofty peaks and their own dreams, but ultimately saw their lives cut short doing what they love, such as The Alpinist. The Last Mountain falls into the latter camp and twice over, stepping into the stories of British mother-and-son duo Alison Hargreaves and Tom Ballard.

In 1995, 33-year-old Hargreaves aimed to scale the three highest mountains on the globe: Everest, K2 and Kangchenjunga, all without the help of bottled oxygen or Sherpas to transport her gear. She achieved the first in May, becoming the first woman to do so. Next, she attempted the second in August, but died on the descent. In the aftermath, to help process their grief, Hargreaves' husband Jim Ballard, seven-year-old son Tom and four-year-old daughter Kate made a pilgrimage to K2, a trip that unsurprisingly left an enormous imprint upon her children. Tom was in his mother's womb when she climbed the north face of the Eiger in Switzerland, so he was perhaps fated to love the pastime with the same passion. He became an acclaimed alpinist himself, until a February 2019 trip to Pakistan's Nanga Parbat, at the age of 30, to attempt the never-before-completed Mummery Spur.

Twenty-four years elapsed between Hargreaves and Ballard's final climbs, at mountains that sit less than 200 kilometres apart — and the symmetry in their lives, loves, passion for alpinism, untimely demises and final resting places is nothing short of haunting. That's how it feels to watch The Last Mountain, all the more so because the documentary devotes much of its running time to unpacking how haunted his sister Kate, also an avid rock-climber, feels after the deaths of both her mother and brother to doing what they adored. With filmmaker Christopher Terrill (Britain's Biggest Warship) along for the trip, she once again heads to Pakistan and Kashmir, this time to get as close as is safely possible to where Tom met his end. Symmetry abounds here as well, including in a tearful reunion with Big Ibrahim, the local guide who carried her on his back for the trek the first time around.

The Last Mountain doesn't simply rely upon its heartbreaking echoes, or the Hargreaves–Ballard family's personal plight, as bolstered with archival material and interviews both of Alison and Tom. (Given the passage of years and the change in technology since, there's more and better footage of Tom in action, and it's a spectacular sight to behold.) A lesser film would've been happy with all of the above and still proven gripping; however, Terrill also unpacks the intricacies around celebrating extreme alpine and rock-climbing feats, then looking for someone to blame when treks finish badly — even without examining how the media backlash that swelled around Alison for dying and leaving her kids behind more than a quarter-century ago. Indeed, the back and forth that steps through the events leading to Tom's death, after uncharacteristically taking on a climbing partner in Italian Mummery Spur fanatic Daniele Nardi, is as complicated as the emotions that visibly course through Kate every time that she's in front of the camera. The Last Mountain is a clear tribute, and another ode to humanity's pull to the mountains, but it's also willing to be as thematically complicated as the terrain that looms so large within its frames.


If you're wondering what else is currently screening in Australian cinemas — or has been lately — check out our rundown of new films released in Australia on October 7, October 14, October 21 and October 28; November 4, November 11, November 18 and November 25; December 2, December 9December 16 and December 26; January 1, January 6, January 13, January 20 and January 27; and February 3 and February 10.

You can also read our full reviews of a heap of recent movies, such as The Alpinist, A Fire Inside, Lamb, The Last Duel, Malignant, The Harder They Fall, Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain, Halloween Kills, Passing, Eternals, The Many Saints of Newark, Julia, No Time to Die, The Power of the Dog, Tick, Tick... Boom!, Zola, Last Night in Soho, Blue Bayou, The Rescue, Titane, Venom: Let There Be Carnage, Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn, Dune, Encanto, The Card Counter, The Lost Leonardo, The French Dispatch, Don't Look Up, Dear Evan Hansen, Spider-Man: No Way Home, The Lost Daughter, The Scary of Sixty-First, West Side Story, Licorice Pizza, The Matrix Resurrections, The Tragedy of Macbeth, The Worst Person in the World, Ghostbusters: Afterlife, House of Gucci, The King's Man, Red Rocket, Scream, The 355, Gold, King Richard, Limbo, Spencer, Nightmare Alley, Belle, Parallel Mothers, The Eyes of Tammy Faye, Belfast, Here Out West, Jackass Forever, Benedetta, Drive My Car and Death on the Nile.

Published on February 17, 2022 by Sarah Ward
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