Australian travellers can't seem to get enough of Japan. And it's not hard to see why — whether it's for the incredible theme parks, spectacular winter experiences, or the fact that you can still have a truly great time without blowing your budget, there are a multitude of ways for any type of traveller to experience the Land of the Rising Sun. And whether you know the streets of Shibuya like the back of your hand or you're thinking about making your first trip to the region, if Japan is on your must-visit list in 2023 you'd be wise to check out the upcoming Japan Travel Fair. Taking place at Luna Park's Grand Ballroom from February 4–5 — and organised by Japan National Tourism Organization — the fair will host around 20 leading tourism exhibitors who'll help you plan your perfect Japan trip. You'll also get a taste of what's to come when you do touch down, with the free event also featuring a range of traditional Japanese performances and cultural workshops. Plus, you'll also have the chance to score return flights for two to Japan thanks to Japan Airlines and All Nippon Airways — all you need to do is complete a simple survey and you'll go into the draw. You can also try your chances in the Lucky Prize Draw and win a special prize from an exhibitor, one of 200 other prizes. Japan Travel Fair takes place at Luna Park's Grand Ballroom on Saturday, February 4 (10am–5pm) and Sunday, February 5 (10am–4pm). For more information, head to the website.
If you're looking to escape the heat this summer, you'll find plenty of relief waiting down a hidden staircase beneath boutique CBD hotel QT Sydney. On offer: compelling flicks, bespoke Four Pillars cocktails and sweet, sweet air-con, all at the new QT Cinema Club. Officially launching today, Tuesday, December 1, the site's subterranean 30s-era theatrette and accompanying speakeasy bar has been transformed into one of the coolest movie-watching destinations in town. And it's available for private bookings, hosting up to 28 people per session. Film-wise, QT Cinema Club will screen a broad-ranging program of classics, action films, romance flicks and horror, curated by Four Pillars own avid film buff and co-founder Matt Jones. There's a big retro vibe to the catalogue — and you can pick between enjoyable throwbacks such as Dirty Dancing and Lost in Translation, romance flicks like Before Sunrise and Strictly Ballroom, and the sci-fi joys of Blade Runner and Back to the Future. Among the 50-movie lineup, there's also action fare such as Mad Max and Reservoir Dogs, and horror films like The Shining and The Cabin in the Woods. To enjoy alongside your chosen flick, you'll find a lineup of specially crafted cocktails made with different varieties of Four Pillars gin, with each carefully matched to a specific movie genre. There are sips like The Last Action Cocktail, which is designed to celebrate the high-energy adventure flicks; Couple Seating, as inspired by romance; and Planet of the Grapes, as made with the distillery's famed Bloody Shiraz Gin. Of course, you can rest assured that these are some very high-end movie beverages, given that last month Four Pillars took out the title of World's Best Gin Producer for the second year running. QT Cinema Club guests have a choice of two plush cinematic packages, starting with the $79 per person 'Debut' option, which includes bottomless gin-salted popcorn, one Four Pillars cocktail, a movie screening and $25 QT Sydney room credit. More drinks and snacks are available to purchase once you're there, too. Alternatively, you can opt for the $149 per person 'Blockbuster' package, which will get you the same set-up — but with all five different Four Pillars cocktails — in addition to curated snacks from the hotel's Parlour Cucina and a Parlour Lane choc top. Find QT Cinema Club beneath QT Sydney, at 49 Market Street, Sydney. To book, visit the hotel's website.
It takes a truly talented band to reach the heights of international stardom without a drummer, but New Zealand eight-piece Fat Freddy’s Drop make it look a synch. They’ve been touring for well over 15 years now, their inimitable horn-based sound, bringing together a soul, dub, reggae fusion that sends audiences loco. Now, they’re bringing their brass, bass and organic melody and lyricism to Australia for a nationwide tour. Testament to Fat Freddy’s Drop success is their ability to remain independent and reassured that the crazy little thing they’ve got going on is worth it. They were first band to hit number one in New Zealand with an independently produced record, and said album, Based on a True Story, is still the highest selling album by a national artist in the country’s history. They’ve released three studio albums, two live albums and several singles, and even built a studio. As for their live performances, they’re infamous for their energy. From the music to the atmosphere, the reggae sounds hit hard, and the techno spin Fat Freddy’s Drop has taken lately keeps the rhythm dynamic.
It's been quite a year of events for the MCA, what with their involvement with Vivid, their Future Classic summer Sunday sessions and yoga on the roof. But for the year's last instalment of MCA ARTBAR driven by Audi, the MCA is going all out with indigenous artist Adam Hill (a.k.a. Blak Douglas) curating the 2015 finale. In what have been some of our favourite nights this year, the MCA's monthly parties are an always-excellent after-dark extravaganza of art, music, food and booze. A perfect combination, really. November's Blak Douglas-directed event — aptly named Blakout — will include performances by Ursula Yovich, Leah Flanagan, MC Boomali and the Rising Sun Trio, interactive artworks by Aroha Groves and Adam Gezcy, and a slam poetry workshop taken by Luka Lesson. If you want to partake in some discussion, there'll be a special BlakChat roundtable, along with a few film screenings for those who want to simply wine and watch. We even hear that some pole dancing will be going down. Of course, a ticket gets you entry into the MCA so you can see their current exhibitions — it'll be your last chance to see Primavera 2015 and Matthys Gerber, both closing December 6 — in a different light, after the sun goes down. But the best place to be is the rooftop bar, where DJ Black President (a.k.a. Leo Tanoi) will be shooting vibes until 11pm.
You've probably started to notice all the bunny-shaped chocolates, decadent edible eggs and cute baskets popping up at your local supermarket. Yep, Easter is just around the corner. If you're a super fan of the choc-fuelled annual event, then gear up for a fun day out at the Sydney Family Show, which is taking over the entertainment Quarter for two whole weeks. Whether you're wanting to channel your inner kidult or you're looking for a way to entertain your actual kids, this fair has you covered. Running from Thursday, April 1 till Sunday, April 18, the Sydney Family Show will have everything from carnival games and showbags to thrilling rides, such as dodgem cars, spinning teacups and a giant slide. You'll also get to partake in the epic Easter Basket Scramble and dive into a huge ball pit. Then, check out the live entertainment shows, hang out with adorable animals at the on-site nursery, or, if you prefer scaly reptiles, hold a snake at the daily reptile show. There are also some one-day events happening such as bunny hopping competitions on Good Friday; the Variety Easter Family Fun Day on April 8 in partnership with the namesake children's charity; and a dog talent show on the fair's closing day. It's an affordable day of fun, too, with tickets priced at $7 for kids, $15 for adults and a reasonable $40 for a four-person family. Of course, there's a global pandemic to be mindful of, so pre-booking tickets is encouraged. You can also expect social distancing measures to be in place, plus numerous hand washing facilities and sanitising stations around the fair. Sydney Family Show is taking over the Entertainment Quarter from Thursday, April 1–Sunday, April 18. Opening times are 10am–5pm daily, except over the Easter long weekend (April 2–5) when it'll be open till 6pm. Pre-book your tickets here.
20,000 Days on Earth is a documentary that's fiction. Though it's by no means the only documentary to question the form and take things meta, it is one of the most boldly experimental ones out there. It's a work that's highly constructed from start to finish — and since it's constructed with and about Nick Cave, there's plenty of fun to be had. The film imagines the 20,000th day on earth of the Australian-born, UK-based singer and raconteur. It's a day that includes him talking to his shrink, recording an album, helping archivists make sense of his historical record, lunching with his pals, driving Kylie Minogue around Brighton, and playing at the Sydney Opera House. A pretty great day, really, particularly for its impossibilities. Running throughout is, naturally, Cave's own music, rumbling out of the studio and guiding his path through the world. Instead of clarity and chronology, what you get in 20,000 Days on Earth is a fragmented sense of biography that is sometimes deeply insightful, sometimes electrifying and sometimes frustrating. Major characters in the life of Nick Cave, such as collaborator Warren Ellis and The Proposition star Ray Winstone, appear without context or label, meaning that to really follow this winding ride, you have to be au fait with the life of Cave. If you're not, just let it go; there are plenty of moments here that are plain entertaining regardless, while a live performance montage set to a frenzied, ever building version of 'Jubilee Street' is near rapturous to witness. The conversation between Cave and Minogue feels painfully intimate and revealing, despite all the scripting that frames it. Artists-turned-directors Iain Forsyth and Jane Pollard have basically conjured a new format here, one that's wondrously poetic and imaginative. There's a sense that it could be applied to tell nearly anybody's fragmented, personal tale, though having the flair and flamboyance of Cave certainly helps. Eavesdropping on a conversation with Cave is right up there with the high points of cultural consumption. 20,000 Days on Earth gets points for pure brio. It's not like anyone would want every documentary to be made this way, but it sure is an interesting divergence. https://youtube.com/watch?v=Ap0_y5EGttk
Insta-worthy eats and drinks are one thing, but a world-class food scene isn't built on the edible stuff alone. There's also a stack of gorgeous design work behind the most memorable hospitality venues and it's this very aspect that's celebrated at the annual Eat Drink Design Awards. As Australia and New Zealand's only hospitality design awards program, the Eat Drink Design Awards recognise hospo design gems across both countries, from restaurants, bars, and cafes, through to temporary spaces. While the 2017 award winners won't be chosen by the jury until November, the shortlist was revealed today and, as expected, it's packed full of all those cafes, bars, and restaurants your inner style nerd has been drooling over this past year or so. Local nominees for Best Bar Design include ACME&Co's Merivale project Charlie Parker's, George Livissianis' work on The Dolphin Hotel and SJB + TRD for The Buena. The CBD's Edition Roasters is among the projects shortlisted for Best Cafe Design, while the likes of Fred's, 12-Micron, Cairo Takeaway, Mode at the Four Seasons, Jade Temple and Long Chim are being considered for the Best Restaurant Design gong. Other categories being selected include Best Installation Design, Best Identity Design, and Best Retail Design. The winners will be announced on Tuesday, November 14 in Melbourne. For the full list of nominees, visit their website. Jump over to The Eat Drink Design Awards website to see the full lineup of nominees.
Boasting an outrageously talented cast of young actors, including River Phoenix, Jerry O’Connell, Wil Wheaton, Corey Feldman, Kiefer Sutherland and John Cusack, few films have captured the magic or intransigence of youth better than Rob Reiner’s nostalgic coming-of-age drama Stand By Me. Adapted from Stephen King’s autobiographical novella The Body, Stand By Me takes place in the summer of 1959 in a small, out of the way town in Oregon. With a full weekend at their disposal, four young boys embark on an adventure through the back roads of their community in search of a dead body rumoured to be hidden in the nearby swamp. It’s a sort of ‘road movie on foot’, complete with significant rites of passage, ridiculous childhood hijinks and, occasionally, some deeply tender moments. Richard Dreyfuss features as the film’s narrator, reminiscing from the perspective of one of the boys now in his middle age. “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12,” he observes at one point. “Jesus, does anyone?” – and therein lies the heart of Stand By Me. Each of the four boys carries with him the shame of some social stigma, be it abusive parents, physical deformity or simple obesity, yet as a group they’re confident and unassailable, loved unconditionally by each other in a way not found back home or by the township. Filmed almost thirty years ago, Stand By Me remains a poignant, moving and uplifting testimony to the capacity for friendship and the joy of childhood adventure. The team behind the much-anticipated event Downtown Drive-In has announced Carriageworks in Sydney’s Eveleigh, just three kilometres from the Sydney CBD, as the location for its three-night season, which will run from November 29 to December 1, 2012. A seldom-used section of the 120-year-old heritage listed building will form the perfect backdrop for the Back Roads USA season of films. The films to be screened include On The Road, Planes, Trains and Automobiles, Raising Arizona, Stand By Me and Vanishing Point. Downtown Drive-In will also feature a custom menu with individual items designed by The Dip, Sydney’s favourite American-style diner, playfully paying tribute to the films and shared Americana settings and atmosphere. Major sponsor Audi will supply a range of luxury cars for the ultimate drive-in experience. The cars will also feature razor-sharp sound from audio partner Bang & Olufsen. Entry into Downtown Drive-In will cost $50 for vehicles of up to four people. Walk-in deck chair seating is also available near the screen, at $25 per person. For more information on the film schedule, drive-in experience and participating partners, visit www.downtowndrive.in
If you're a fan of true-crime stories, then you'll know a disturbing truth: that there's no shortage of real-life tragedies that films and series in the genre can draw upon. White House Farm's inspiration comes from the notorious killings known as the White House Farm murders, which took place outside an Essex village and saw five members of the Bamber-Caffell family lose their lives, and continued to garner headlines intermittently in the decades since as appeals were lodged and reviews took place. Across six episodes, the show not only heads back to August 6, 1985, but also follows the investigation into the case. Feeling tense is part of the package, even if you're already familiar with the details. Cast-wise, Snatch's Stephen Graham and Game of Thrones' Mark Addy play the detectives trying to get to the bottom of the traumatic and complex situation — and fellow GoT alum Alfie Allen also pops up.
From January 20, the 4A Centre for Contemporary Asian Art will present an exhibition of the work of influential and pioneering Korean conceptual artist, Lee Kun-Yong. Curated by Michael Do and Mikala Tai, Equal Area presents photographic documentation of performances that span Lee's nearly six-decade career. Lee's work, which has shaped the nature of global contemporary performance art, explores the connection between logic and action through performance and re-performance. Equal Area will open with a performance of one of Lee's most critically acclaimed works, Snail's Gallop, followed by live interventions and a series of performances by contemporary Australian artists Huseyin Sami, Daniel Von Sturmer and Emily Parsons-Lord. Over the five-week exhibition, the performances will develop as will the collaboration with these three Australian artists. The exhibition opens on Saturday, January 20 with a Korean barbecue, which guests can attend (with Lee) for $30. As part of the Lunar New Year Celebrations, the 4A team will also be hosting a congee breakfast tour of Chinatown and a private viewing of the Equal Area exhibition on February 17 for just $20. Image: Lee Kun-Yong, Snail's Gallop, performed at the 7th ST Exhibition in 1980. Courtesy of the artist and Gallery Hyundai, Seoul.
The most expansive exhibition of pop art Australia has ever seen, Pop to Popism is the latest offering in the Sydney International Art Series' wonderful lineup of shows. It's a true blockbuster exhibition. One of the largest shows ever staged by the Art Gallery of NSW, and requiring two years of planning, it takes up an entire floor. Pop art tends to be quite polarising. Kicking off in the '60s, pop artists sought to make art inspired by popular culture and the exploding post-war consumerism of the time. Pop art borrowed slick media techniques to create bright, glamorous, often celebrity-obsessed works. However, not everyone agreed that galleries were appropriate places for Campbell's soup cans and Marilyn Monroe. It was an incredibly radical idea, bringing everyday objects and popular culture into the domain of high art, and pop art forever changed traditional conceptions of high and low culture. Love it or hate it, it was one of the defining art movements of last century. Wayne Tunnicliffe, the exhibition's senior curator, has nabbed a bunch of superstar works for the show, many of which made their way down under accompanied by armed guards. Warhol's Marilyn is there in all her hypercolour glory, Lichtenstein's first ever cartoon work is on show behind glass, and Keith Haring's energetic figures are almost jumping off the walls. Pop to Popism brings together over 200 works by more than 70 of the world’s greatest pop artists. Richard Prince, Robert Indiana, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Claes Oldenburg, David Hockney, Gilbert & George, Jeff Koons, James Rosenquist, Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg are all there, too. Everyone has come to the party. The exhibition is curated from a decidedly Australian point of view and includes works by Peter Powditch, Martin Sharp, Brett Whiteley, Howard Arkley, Imants Tillers and Jenny Watson. It's the most in-depth exploration of the development and influence of Australian pop art ever staged. Pop to Popism does a wonderful job of placing Australian art in the context of what was an internationally significant art movement. Previously left out of most scholarly investigations of the movement, the contribution female artists have made to the trajectory of pop art is put into focus. Several of Cindy Sherman's photographs are on show, along with works by Rosalyn Drexler, Marisol and Bridgid McLean. Perhaps one of the best works of the entire exhibition is Masterpieces (Warhol) by Maria Kozic, which depicts a shattered Campbell’s Soup can rendered in the style of Andy Warhol. Kozic was a member of the younger generation of pop artists working in the late '70s and '80s who reappropriated pop art's vocabulary to suit the ever-evolving consumer culture. Pop to Popism is slick and glossy and a tremendous amount of fun. Just like pop art should be. Image credit: Roy Lichtenstein, In the car 1963, oil and manga on canvas. Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, © Estate of Roy Lichtenstein.
Brisbane rock five-piece Waax have been steadily gaining a following over the past few years. This month, they're set to cross the border for a gig in Byron as part of NSW Government initiative Great Southern Nights. They'll be playing at The Northern, situated right in the centre of Byron Bay and just a few minutes' walk from its famous Main Beach. Not that you'll be thinking of the surf when Waax lets rip with their take on alternative post-punk. Likened in the past to acts such as Siouxsie and the Banshees and Yeah Yeah Yeahs, their debut album, Big Grief — incidentally recorded in Byron Bay — just fell short of a place in the Top 10 last year. You can catch them at the coastal pub on Saturday, November 7 at 6pm or 9.30pm. For the latest info on NSW border restrictions, head here. If travelling from Queensland or Victoria, check out Queensland Health and DHHS websites, respectively.
Maggie Gyllenhaal and Hugh Dancy head up a stellar cast in Tanya Wexler's offbeat comedy Hysteria, based on the true story of Dr. Mortimer Granville — the man who created the world's first vibrator, back in 1880. In a search to cure the baffling female medical condition of the day, 'hysteria', the young doctor (played by Dancy) and his new boss Dr. Dalrymple (Jonathon Pryce) create the 'feather duster', offering women intimate manual relief from their condition – and, by chance, generating a surprising increase in business. The film is a joyful and light-hearted take on the birth of the sex toy, likely to put a knowing smile on a few faces in the audience. Concrete Playground has ten double passes to give away. To be in the running to win a pair of tickets to Hysteria, make sure you're subscribed to Concrete Playground then email your name and postal address to hello@concreteplayground.com.au
If you're not in a position to invite vertical garden expert Patrick Blanc to turn your apartment into a World Record-breaking botanic wonder, why not try doing-it-yourself? Not quite sure where you might start? Over the next four months, Sydneysiders will have the chance to learn more about creating 'blooms with a view', 'supercharging' their soil and transforming their patio into a mini pesto factory. A series of community workshops, focused on maximising the organic and agricultural potential of matchbox-sized living spaces, are being run in various venues in Redfern, Glebe and Green Square. Forming part of the City of Sydney's Green Villages program, and supported by Environmental Grants, the workshops are entirely free of charge. The only catch is that numbers are limited, so online registration is essential.
Just when you thought you were all Harvest sideshow-ed out, along comes Beck and announces his only Australian gig outside of his frenetically anticipated headline one. The exceptionally talented and artistically scrupulous musician will play the Sydney State Theatre on Wednesday, 14 November. It will be the closest thing you will get to a sonic run-down of his almost 20-year career, and even though cramming two decades of musical innovation into one show is almost as unrealistic as attempting to write about it, it will be worth every cent of however much tickets end up being when they're released next Friday. Since releasing catchy, off-kilter anthem "Loser" back in 1994 Beck has proved his mastery of music via eight studio albums and many more boundary-pushing collaborative projects. His latest release is so good it's actually inaudible to human ears. What you probably can hear, however, is the sound of your bank account groaning under a heavy but very good-sounding weight. That you should ignore. https://youtube.com/watch?v=VkCg-3nxT8E
Vivid, Semi-Permanent, Head On. May is not the calendar's shrinking violet. On the contrary, May insists you get out and enjoy its insightful lens work, inspiring design and flashing, play-with-me light shows poste haste. Here are five ways to start.
In the world of stand-up, getting a gag off the ground and inspiring some true belly-aching laughter doesn't come easy. Even those at the top have to start somewhere. For those with the gift of the gab (both locally and abroad), Giant Dwarf is putting on Comedy(ish), a night for comedians to test the waters with some of their latest and (hopefully) greatest lines. Tom Ballard plays host the January 21 event, which features Scott Dooley, Michael Workman and Becky Lucas, among many others. It all goes down at Redfern's Giant Dwarf. Established by the boys from The Chaser, this space is no stranger to some pretty talented creative folk. Bringing never-before-seen material to eager ears, Comedy(ish) guarantees nothing but promises everything. Or, at the very least, a decent chuckle.
It's that time again: to wish that you're in Germany for the next month, or to do your best to pretend you are even while you're right here at home. That's the kind of response that Oktoberfest inspires, because we can't all always head over to Europe just for the annual brew-fuelled celebration. Sydneysiders can hit up The Bavarian's various locations around town between Friday, September 16–Sunday, October 9 instead, though. On the menu: parties, German-style beers, schnapps, giant pretzels, pork-heavy menus, Sunday sausage sizzles and, at some venues (York, Manly, Tuggerah, Wetherill, Macarthur, Castle Hill and Green Hills), Oompah bands providing a soundtrack. So, everything you could want and need to mark the occasion. The venues will sport all the Oktoberfest trimmings — greenery, ribbons and bright tables cloths included — and staff will be decked out in dirndls and lederhosen. Yes, you're encouraged to dress up as well. If you're most excited about the drinks, there'll be eight types of beers, plus tasting paddles to sample them all. Also, the final week of the fun — so, from Monday, October 3 onwards — has been dubbed Big Beer Week to ramp up the brews. Fancy living your best Oktoberfest life all year round afterwards? You can purchase one of The Bavarian's one-litre steins to take home with you and— for $40, which includes a beer that you'll drink onsite first. Food-wise, options start with the OktoberBoss set menu, which serves up a feast of pork knuckle, pork belly, sausages, schnitzels and sides (plus a schnapps on arrival) for groups of four-plus for $49 per person. If it's just you and one mate / your date, there's the Oktoberfest Mate set menu is for two-plus diners for the same price, spanning pretzels, pork belly, sausages, schnitzels and sides. Brews can be added to each menu for an extra $45 per person — and you can cap things off with an apple strudel for $7 a pop. Love pretzels? A special lineup of giant versions is on offer for the first few days of The Bavarian's Oktoberfest shenanigans, from Saturday, September 17–Friday, September 23 — including ones topped with bacon, filled with cheese and covered in sprinkles (no, not all at once). Or, there's a black forest doughnut pretzel. The word for that is yum. Snag fans can make a date with those sausage sizzles, which are available at Manly, Penrith and World Square on Sundays in October. There'll be six types of traditional bangers, served solo in a roll (from $10) or via a sausage wheel on a stick.
Before Batman squared off against Superman and the Avengers started fighting amongst themselves, another group of not-so-average folks brought their battles to the big screen. Since 2000, the X-Men franchise has charted the many clashes and intermittent truces of Professor Charles Xavier, his friend-turned-nemesis Magneto, and their respective groups of disagreeing mutants. Sixteen years later, they've graced nine films, including the original trilogy, two Wolverine spin-offs, two other excursions into the characters' backstories and this year's smash hit Deadpool. With such a sizeable history, of course their latest conflict seems familiar. But it also feels every inch its own. Indeed, there has always been a specific vibe to the X-Men movies: outcast-oriented dramas mixed with bombastic action, while always retaining a distinctive emotional core. Director Bryan Singer is at the helm of his fourth instalment, while writer Simon Kinberg is back for script number three. It should therefore come as no surprise that the '80s-set X-Men: Apocalypse once again charts outsiders looking to find their place in a makeshift mutant family. Ten years after the main events of X-Men: Days of Future Past, Professor X (James McAvoy) yet again locks horns with Magneto (Michael Fassbender), with the recently unearthed Apocalypse (Oscar Isaac) — an ancient, god-like being considered the first-ever mutant — the cause of their latest conflict. The former is intent on stopping the new threat, re-teaming with CIA agent Moira Mactaggert (Rose Byrne) and later shape-shifting mutant Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence). The latter, in the wake of his own personal tragedy, once again embraces his destructive streak and sides with the fresh force of global devastation. With teenage incarnations of Nightcrawler (Kodi Smit-McPhee), Jean Grey (Sophie Turner) and Cyclops (Tye Sheridan) also featured, X-Men: Apocalypse doesn't lack in subplots, characters or attempts to set up future sequels. Nor does it miss any opportunity to thrust a CGI-heavy fray to the fore, or to sprinkle in a few much-needed doses of humour – particularly when returning favourite Quicksilver (Evan Peters) is involved. Instead, the one thing absent is the added element the film so obviously strives for: a heightened sense of grandeur. Conveying the personal stakes motivating the main players may not be an easy feat in such a busy effort, yet it's something the movie achieves in a touching manner. Dialling up the gravity of the entire situation proves far less simple or successful. Sadly, the titular villain is the main culprit weighing the feature down. If X-Men: Apocalypse shines whenever the usual suspects share screen time, it lags when the newfound enemy starts making big speeches. In stark contrast to the actor's typical output, poor Oscar Isaac is barely allowed to make a mark, with his makeup and digitally altered voice sapping his natural charisma. Thankfully McAvoy and Fassbender continue their stellar form across their trio of prequel films, while Peters once again threatens to steal the show. When you're watching them, you're in vintage X-Men territory, even if the movie desperately wants to be something more.
According to this year's star-studded chick flicks, real women want easy-to-use beauty products. They also want films where women state this obvious fact, apparently. First I Feel Pretty made that claim, and now Second Act does the same, because these things typically come in pairs. The similarities don't end there, with both movies championing the idea that it's what's inside that counts. Sadly, neither picture knows how to properly live up to that notion — and while Second Act has more heart than its near-insufferable predecessor, it also sports a vast gap between its good intentions and its muddled reality. Jennifer Lopez plays everywoman Maya, a Queens native with 15 years experience at a Costco-like discount department store, but lacking in professional confidence. She lacks a college degree as well, which precludes her from the big promotion she's been working towards. Maya's support network helps commiserate — and celebrate her birthday — but it's the teenage son (Dalton Harrod) of her best friend and co-worker Joan (Leah Remini) that makes a difference. Thanks to his computer wizardry, Maya suddenly has a fake online life complete with the credentials, backstory and social media profile to get a high-flying Manhattan job. And when she's swiftly headhunted by a prestigious cosmetics company, she goes along with it. Armed with street smarts and real-world experience, this fish-out-of-water is soon tasked with making an organic skincare line for her new employer — while pitted against cut-throat colleague Zoe (Vanessa Hudgens), who also happens to be the boss' (Treat Williams) daughter. Cue a quest to prove that Maya has what it takes, although she only has the chance to do so because she lied to conform. No amount of comic competition, well-meaning sentiment or lightly insightful commentary about class can lessen that divide, as the movie tells viewers to be themselves, but only after they've pretended to be someone else to get their foot in the door. Given that the organic skincare subplot involves calling out substandard products that falsely claim to fit the label, surely director Peter Segal (Grudge Match) and writers Justin Zackham (One Chance) and Elaine Goldsmith-Thomas (also one of Second Act's producers) should've noticed that their film suffers from the very same flaw. Perhaps the filmmakers were just distracted by (or trying to distract viewers with) Second Act's various moving parts. Splitting its time between Maya's professional and personal struggles, the movie explores why she gets frosty whenever her boyfriend (Milo Ventimiglia) mentions having children — and while to say more is to spoil Second Act's, well, second act, motherhood remains a prominent theme, as does Maya's attempts to balance her new and old lives. Set at the end of the year for no apparent reason, this is also a Christmas film. Thanks to the hijinks of Maya's devoted employees (Charlyne Yi and Alan Aisenberg), it's a broad workplace comedy as well. But, more than anything else, it's a case of throwing together every formulaic element possible and simply hoping that the combination works. What does work is Lopez, firmly in Maid in Manhattan mode and showing why she's often a warm presence even in lukewarm (at best) films. Most of Second Act feels contrived, misguided, forced and superficial, but that doesn't apply to the movie's star, or to Hudgens when she's given a bit more to do. Still, neither actor can completely overcome the material. Second Act's jumbled core never fades, which only reinforces its central message in an unintended fashion. What's inside this flick is bland, routine, and happy offering up feel-good statements in a slight and easy way. And as the movie keeps telling viewers, it's what's inside that truly matters. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJKoJXIcdv0
Only one female filmmaker has ever been nominated for the Best Director Oscar twice. That woman: Jane Campion. The New Zealand talent won the coveted prize in 2022, for the phenomenal The Power of the Dog — and, while her exquisite revisionist western was the absolute best movie of 2021, it's not the only highlight on her resume. Campion's filmography is packed with must-sees, and see them you must — on the big screen at the Art Gallery of NSW at the 2023 Sydney Film Festival. The fest's retrospective for this year is Jane Campion: Her Way, a lineup that will step through the New Zealand director and screenwriter's career, and also feature Campion in-conversation with David Stratton. [caption id="attachment_847709" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Kirsty Griffin/Netflix[/caption] On the bill: The Power of the Dog, because watching it via streaming is nowhere near the best way to revel in its wonders; The Piano, the 1993 Oscar-winner that nabbed Campion her first Best Director nomination; In the Cut, a tremendous erotic thriller starring Meg Ryan; and Holy Smoke, with Kate Winslet starring opposite Harvey Keitel. There's also everything from 1986's Two Friends, 1989's Sweetie and 1990's An Angel at My Table through to 1996's Nicole Kidman-starring The Portrait of a Lady, 2009's Bright Star about poet John Keats and his romance with Fanny Brawne, and Campion's short films Peel, A Girl's Own Story, Passionless Moments, After Hours and The Water Diary. SFF runs from Wednesday, June 7–Sunday, June 18, with Campion chatting with Stratton on Saturday, June 10 following a showing of the new documentary Jane Campion, The Cinema Woman. Top image: Kirsty Griffin/Netflix.
"Black..." growls Will Arnett's gruff hero from deep within the movie's opening darkness. "All important movies start with a black screen. And music. Edgy, scary music that would make a parent or studio executive nervous. And logos. Really long and dramatic logos". On and on he goes, making cracks at a production house whose contribution to the film escapes him, having a dig at both Superman and DC comics, quoting Michael Jackson and bragging about his huge pecs and impressive "ninth ab". All, mind you, before the first frame of the movie has even been seen. This is The Lego Batman Movie, aka Captain Meta, where the self-referential humour comes thick and fast from the opening minute to the last. It's a film that gleefully acknowledges the nine Batman flicks that preceded it, including "that weird one in 1966" (notes the hero: "I have aged phenomenally"). And yet, for all the in-jokes and winks to camera, The Lego Batman Movie is, at least thematically, somehow more of a Batman movie than Joel Schumacher's Batman and Robin or Zack Snyder's Batman vs Superman, in that it faithfully explores its protagonist's single-most defining characteristic: his crippling isolation. Batman is a loner; a recluse; a vigilante misanthrope whose only joy (and, indeed, purpose) comes from battling criminals. So what would happen, then, if all the criminals were locked away and all of Gotham City were crime-free? Such was the premise at the opening of Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight Rises, and here, too, it forms the basis of the entire story. It's hence rather a one-note narrative, but thankfully the (many) writers manage to extract enough out of it to fill an enjoyable hour and a half of screen time. Led by a terrific Will Arnett reprising his role from 2014's The Lego Movie, the cast of voice actors here is at once enormous and impressive. Alongside Arnett we find Zach Galifianakis as The Joker, Ralph Fiennes as Alfred, Michael Cera as Robin and Rosario Dawson as Barbara Gordon, the new Police Commissioner of Gotham City. There's also an extensive cameo list featuring the likes of Channing Tatum as Superman, Conan O'Brien as The Riddler, Zoe Kravitz as Cat Woman, Eddie Izzard as Voldemort and even Siri as Batman's computer. Of course, there's no getting around the fact that this film represents crass commercialism taken to an extraordinary extreme. How many studios would ever deign to include their corporate sponsor in the actual title of their movie (Daniel Craig stars in…Aston-Martin Bond)? As with its predecessor, The Lego Batman Movie is designed to, and succeeds in, showcasing Lego's extensive catalogue of movie and TV-based products, ranging from Harry Potter and Doctor Who through to Godzilla, King Kong and The Wizard of Oz. On the other hand, the film is a funny, clever and engaging piece of cinema that holds almost as much interest for adults as it will the film's target younger audience. Not as finessed or layered as The Lego Movie, this superhero spinoff is nonetheless an entertaining and refreshing take on the big screen's most brooding hero, and proves well worth the price of admission. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGQUKzSDhrg
UPDATE, April 16, 2021: Crawl is available to stream via Netflix, Foxtel Now, Google Play, YouTube Movies, iTunes and Amazon Video. Part creature feature and part disaster movie, Crawl is a gleeful ripper of a thriller. Not only unleashing a ferocious hurricane upon its father-daughter duo, but a congregation of snapping alligators as well, its premise is simple — what the film lacks in narrative surprises, however, it makes up for in suspense and tension. That's the holy grail of fear-inducing flicks. Regardless of the concept, if a movie can make the audience feel as if they're in the same space as the characters they're watching, enduring every bump and jump, and sharing their life-or-death terror, then it has done its job. By playing it straight, serious and scary, Crawl manages to exceed its Sharknado rip-off status to craft a highly effective battle between humans, animals and the elements. The film introduces aspiring swimming star Haley Keller (Kaya Scodelario) on a wet and windy day, although she initially misses the wild weather warnings while she's doing laps at training. A panicked call from her sister (Moryfydd Clark) doesn't rattle the no-nonsense young woman, and nor does the news that her divorced father Dave (Barry Pepper) isn't answering his phone. Still, thanks to a few unresolved daddy-daughter issues nagging at her conscience, Haley is quickly driving down the blustery highway, flagrantly ignoring police instructions and heading to their old family home. It's no spoiler to say that she discovers more than she bargained for down in their basement, with Haley soon trying to save the injured Dave, stay alive herself, fend off ravenous gators and stay ahead of rising flood waters. In telling this tale, writers Michael and Shawn Rasmussen (The Ward) haven't met a cliche they didn't love, an emotional beat they didn't want to hit, or a convenient twist of the narrative screws that they didn't want to turn. It can't be overstated just how much of Crawl, in a story sense, plays out exactly as expected. Plot developments and character decisions all stick to the usual formula, as does animal behaviour and storm surges (if you're a screenwriter, it's possible to control the very forces that your protagonists can't). But it's worth thanking the cinema gods that Alexandre Aja is sitting in the director's chair — and that he knows a thing or two about creature features and horror movies. While the French filmmaker has both hits and misses to his name (including Haute Tension, remakes of The Hills Have Eyes and Piranha, and the devilish Daniel Radcliffe flick Horns), here he masters the art of conveying an alligator's menace. Of course, it could be argued that much of Crawl's work is easy. Along with sharks, gators already rank among the most frightening beasts on the planet. Courtesy of their teeth, speed, size and power, just thinking about them gives plenty of people the shivers — so, on paper, all that an unsettling film need do is place the scaly critters front and centre. And yet, as too many Jaws wannabes have shown since Steven Spielberg's massive hit created the concept of the blockbuster as we know it, it's not enough just to throw a bunch of attacking animals at some clueless folks. As more comic takes have demonstrated in Sharknado, Snakes on a Plane and the Birdemic movies, it's not enough to write off the whole scenario as simple silliness either. There's an existential basis to the genre's underlying idea, unpacking how humanity truly copes when it's made to face nature. As a species, much of our sense of collective worth stems from our ability to shape and control our world, and yet we can't stop weather systems from morphing into destructive hurricanes, or hungry reptiles from doing what they're designed to do. Mainly lurking in the Kellers' dank, dark, rat-infested crawlspace, Crawl leans into the primal side of pitting people against the environment. Aja takes every chance to emphasise the scampering threats eager to gobble up Haley and Dave. With assistance from his regular cinematographer Maxime Alexandre, he ramps up the unease, deploying tried and tested filmmaking techniques such as low shots, quick cuts, point-of-view perspectives, dim lighting, and ample movement and shadow. A couple of gory kill sequences add to the mood, as does the movie's approach to its swirling winds and rushing water. Indeed, amid the rampant CGI, there's a sense of awe for the havoc that alligators and hurricanes can each wreak, which only heightens the stressful atmosphere. Unsurprisingly, fear and tension radiates through the film as a result — and through its key duo, too. Although Scodelario and Pepper are given about as much room for character development as their cold-blooded foes, they still bring a naturalistic air to their performances, portraying anxious everyday folks just fighting to survive by doing whatever it takes. No matter what's thrown at us, or how, or where, that's what making humanity grapple with our surroundings boils down to, after all. In fact, given the state of the planet, Crawl's central theme not only proves frightening and fuels an effective thriller, but also feels unnervingly prescient. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4WuVXo_XAM
An authentic Greek cafe and dessert bar is opening in Ramsgate, bringing filoxenia, the warmth of Greek hospitality, to the residents of Sydney's south. The Good Filo will channel Thessaloniki and the ancient city's millennia-old baking traditions in their handmade delicacies. Visitors will be able to purchase lunches, desserts and Greek pastries, from moussaka to tsoureki. A strong, black coffee is recommended on the side to wash it all down. Launching on Rocky Point Road on January 3, the store will be captained by Aki Daikos and head baker Kiriakos Metaxotos. The former might be familiar from Tella Balls, while the latter will produce all the cafe's delights by hand, following recipes that have caused generations of mouths to water. Expect paninis, pastries, moussaka, baklava, bougatsa (made from your choice of semolina custard, cheese or a minced meat filling between layers of filo pastry) and galaktoboureko (semolina custard wrapped in a sheet of golden filo). Other delicacies include peynerli, a type of thick-based, Greek pizza first enjoyed by Greeks who lived on the Black Sea, and the tsoureki, a stringy-textured pastry with a semi-soft crust which fills the store with intense, spiced aromas when baked. Other highlights stem from inventive food hybrids, such as the croissantaboureko, which combines croissants with galaktoboureko as its name suggests; and the tsourektabouriko, which is a tsoureki with a galaktoboureko centre, all in the shape of a doughnut. https://www.instagram.com/p/BdWJQ6FDkW_/?taken-by=thegoodfilo There's also daily-made fresh bread, and it pretty much goes without saying that you shouldn't leave without trying a Greek frappe. And keep an eye out for other experimental specials, such as the Greek monsieur. "There really isn't a place like it in Sydney, and it's always been my dream to bring my motherland to Sydney," says Daikos. The Good Filo will open on January 3 at 336-342 Rocky Point Road, Ramsgate. For more information, head to the cafe's website.
The history of cinema is haunted by oh-so-many movies about oh-so-many ghost-riddled abodes, and the often-troubled and bereaved folks dwelling within them. The first clever move The Night House makes is recognising it's floating into busy spectral waters, then ensuring its tension stems from its living, breathing protagonist as much as the frights and fears she's forced to face. The film's second stellar step: casting Rebecca Hall (Godzilla vs Kong) as that central figure. An always-welcome addition to anything she's in — see also: Professor Marston and the Wonder Women, Christine and Tales From the Loop in just the past few years — she plays her tormented part here with brooding sorrow, reluctant vulnerability and a sharp, smart edge. She knows that grappling with loss involves being jolted in many different directions, and being subjected to bumps and jumps of the emotional kind, and that it's never easy to surrender to. Indeed, many of The Night House's surprises come from Hall as Beth, a schoolteacher whose life has been turned upside down by her husband Owen's (Evan Jonigkeit, The Empty Man) unexpected suicide. Clearly normally a no-nonsense type whether she's guiding pupils, dealing with their parents or navigating her personal life, she probes and questions everything that comes her way. As a result, her reactions — including just to herself — are constantly complex, thorny and compelling. Since Owen's passing — using a gun she didn't know he had, and tainting a rowboat usually tethered to the lake house he built for them himself — Beth has cycled through the familiar stages of mourning. When she returns to work to her colleagues' astonishment, including her close friend Claire's (Sarah Goldberg, Barry), she's blunt with the oblivious mother of one of her students. At drinks, she also shocks her co-workers by discussing Owen's suicide note, admitting her home now seems different and obsessing over how much she really knew her husband. That last written missive ties back into one of Beth's past traumas, and her own dealings with the end that awaits us all. When she's alone at night, she's not sure that she can trust what she sees and hears, or tell whether she's awake or dreaming. Filling her time by sorting through Owen's things, she's also unsure what to make of the eerie sketches and books about the occult that sit among his possessions. And, she's thrown even further askew when she finds photos of brunette women that could be her doppelgängers; plans for a home just like hers, but mirrored; and a cascade of tidbits that cast her memories of her marriage into disarray. Also among The Night House's savvy moves: understanding that grief really does change everything. Not only has Beth's life lost one of its brightest lights, but everything Owen once illuminated now keeps being cloaked in shadows he's not there to extinguish. She can't ask him about what she's uncovering, or feeling, or what it's digging up inside. She can't rely upon him, either, or keep trusting what she thought she'd already learned about him during their marriage. And, as being touched by death tends to evoke, she's spiralling down an a well of existential malaise. All ghost and haunted house movies are about confronting mortality, as are a long list of horror staples — zombies, vampires, serial killers, monsters and the like — and The Night House has a strong sense of terror about the the fact that life doesn't extended forever. Director David Bruckner (The Ritual) and screenwriting duo Ben Collins and Luke Piotrowski (Super Dark Times) infuse their film with foreboding, with Beth's demons, and also with a heightened state of anxiety. Cultivating an unsettling atmosphere via creepy sights, just as unnerving sounds and music cues, and Hall's showcase performance, they fill 108 minutes with the unease that lingers in us all, but that we spend the majority of our days burying deep inside. That horror craftsmanship — the bristling, needling score by Ben Lovett (The Wolf of Snow Hollow); the exactingly timed sonic assaults that litter the sound design; the sinuous and disorienting cinematography by Elisha Christian (Max Richter's Sleep) — is expertly calibrated. The Night House is a movie made with horror style as well as smarts, and it's meticulously engineered to coax the desired response out of its audience. Looking for what's not there, and also what loiters when in spaces defined by their emptiness, is one of the movie's visual charms. Bruckner enjoys teasing, too, knowing that viewers will always want more time studying Hall's face and winding through Beth's labyrinthine home, and yet never falling too in love with one or the other. And, while there's never any guessing who the camera and the film adore, he populates The Night House with well-weighted portrayals all over. There are no cartoonish bit-parts and supporting performances, with Vondie Curtis-Hall (Harriet) bringing concern and sincerity as Beth's neighbour, Stacy Martin (Vox Lux) giving a source of mystery flesh and blood, and Goldberg as nuanced as Barry fans will recognise. So many of his choices are nicely judged; however, when it comes to The Night House's plot twists, Bruckner is less careful about becoming prey to indulgence. Even though they're grounded in relatable, palpable sentiments, stirrings and musings, some of the movie's developments feel muddled, and also threaten to undercut the fine-tuned work going on elsewhere. Some of the repeated nightmarish symbols get splashed across the screen one or two too many times as well, although a love of all things hellishness is next leading Bruckner, Collins and Piotrowski to remaking Hellraiser. Here, when The Night House ruminates over psychological, existential and atmospheric horrors, it's as gripping as Hall always is. When it's less focused on being haunted by absence, and by death, it's a sillier, less shrewd and involving movie. While set in a house by a lake, it never stoops to Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock sending each other love letters, thankfully — but it also steps back from being as bleak at the last minute as it needed to be.
When Bong Joon-ho's Parasite won Cannes Film Festival's Palme d'Or in 2019, it became the second movie in as many years to nab the coveted prize for exploring class and wealth inequality through a tale of family. The year prior, when Hirokazu Kore-eda's Shoplifters scored the same gong, it too examined the ties that bind, plus the societal circumstances that conspire against and complicate such bonds. Indeed, that's the Japanese filmmaker's favourite subject. In a career spanning over three decades, he keeps being drawn to people who are drawn together, sometimes by biology and sometimes because that's simply the hand that fate has played in shaping a makeshift brood. It's fitting, then, that Kore-eda's latest Broker — his second feature since that big win — stays true to his go-to topic while also starring Parasite's Song Kang-ho. This is Kore-eda's first South Korean film, following 2019's French and English The Truth, which was his first non-Japanese picture. This is vintage Kore-eda, in fact, and it's warm, wise, wonderful, canny and complex. No matter how his on-screen families come to be, if there's any actual blood between them, whether they're grifting in some way or where in the world they're located, the Japanese writer/director's work has become so beloved — so magnificent, too — due to his care and sincerity. A Kore-eda film is a film of immense empathy and, like Like Father, Like Son, Our Little Sister, After the Storm and The Third Murder also in the prolific talent's past decade, Broker is no different. The setup here is one of the filmmaker's murkiest, with the feature's name referring to the baby trade. But showing compassion and humanity isn't up for debate in Kore-eda's approach. He judges the reality of modern-day life that leads his characters to their actions, but doesn't judge his central figures. In the process, he makes poignant melodramas that are also deep and thoughtful character studies, and that get to the heart of the globe's ills like the most cutting slices of social realism. It isn't just to make a buck that debt-ridden laundromat owner Sang-hyun (Song, Emergency Declaration) and orphanage-raised Dong-soo (Gang Dong-won, Peninsula) take infants abandoned to the Busan Family Church's 'baby box' — a chute that's exactly what it sounds like, available to mothers who know they can't embrace that part for whatever reason — then find good families to sell them to. There's a cash component, of course, but they're convinced that their gambit is better than letting children languish in the state system. In Kore-eda's usual kindhearted manner, Broker sees them with sensitivity. Even if blue hues didn't wash through the film's frames, nothing is ever black and white in the director's movies. The same understanding and tenderness flows towards mothers like So-young (Lee Ji-eun, Hotel Del Luna, aka K-Pop star IU), whose decision to leave Woo-sung (debutant Park Ji-yong) isn't easily made but puts Broker on its course. It's on a rainy night that So-young farewells Woo-sung, placing him gently in the hatch packed with blankets and soundtracked by lullabies, and leaving a note to say that she'll be back to claim him. She's nervous and tentative, peering around to see if anyone is watching — astutely so, because two groups are waiting on her significant choice. The traffickers have their plan to enact, while detectives Su-jin (Doona Bae, The Silent Sea) and Lee (Lee Joo-young, Rose Mansion) are keen to catch them. Muddying matters for both: unlike what usually happens in this situation, So-young does genuinely return for her baby. So sparks a road trip with Sang-hyun, Dong-soo and football-loving seven-year-old Hae-jin (first-timer Seung-soo Im), a runaway orphan, to meet Woo-sung's prospective adoptive parents, all with the cops on their trail as part of a six-month investigation. Broker's plot is never straightforward, nor are the questions it incites — questions about what family truly means, what governments say it's supposed to and why a ragtag group of outsiders can find a greater sense of belonging together on the run than anywhere else. Without offering any simple justifications, answers or solutions, Kore-eda ensures that the factors that lead So-young to the baby box, and Sang-hyun and Dong-soo to the illicit adoption market, constantly demand the audience's attention. "This car is filled with liars," Dong-soo says mid-trip, but it's the why behind that statement that sits at Broker's core. Like in Shoplifters before it, Kore-eda queries the forces that've made his characters who they are, brought them to this juncture and meant that the choices they're making feel like the only ones they can. Here, that includes pondering expectations placed upon women whether or not they're mums, the baggage attached to motherhood, the alternatives to baby boxes, and the stark truth that bringing life into the world and having a family aren't the same things. If he'd decided that literature rather than cinema was his medium of choice, there's no doubting that Kore-eda would've made an excellent novelist. His plots are that layered, perceptive, generous, emotional and involving. Also, in his TV adaptation The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House, one of 2023's streaming delights, he showed that he's equally as skilled at bringing tales from the page to the screen. But filmmaking is clearly Kore-eda's calling — and he's such a masterful visual storyteller, not to mention an affectionate movie craftsman, that it's forever plain to see why. Enlisting the great South Korean cinematographer Hong Kyung-pyo, a veteran not just of the aforementioned Parasite but also Bong's Snowpiercer and Mother, Na Hong-jin's 2016 standout The Wailing and Lee Chang-dong's sublime Burning from 2018, he gives Broker an earthy, lived-in, clear-eyed and yet eternally hopeful look. Falling rain, cramped rooms, cosy car rides, sprawling countryside, everyday phone calls: this film, and Kore-eda and Hong, make each one stun and say, well, everything. Broker's score by Jung Jae-il (another Parasite alum, and also Squid Game's composer) — plus the movie's spectacular use of Amy Mann's 'Wise Up' on its soundtrack, nods to Paul Thomas Anderson's Magnolia and all — are just as impressively and attentively fashioned. Nothing quite makes a Kore-eda feature what it is like his way with casting, though, pairing his empathetic stories with actors who gracefully live and breathe the same trait under his gaze. Accordingly, Kore-eda and the always-exceptional Song are a match made in cinematic heaven; it's no wonder that the latter deservedly earned Cannes' 2022 Best Actor prize for his latest phenomenal performance as a complex patriarch-type. Kore-eda and Bae is just as sterling a duo, too, especially when it comes to conveying yearning within this already bittersweet tale. Every heartfelt portrayal in Broker gets its audience feeling, however, including the scene-stealing Lee as a woman facing impossible choices, and pivotal baby Park.
When your nine-to-five plays out like a well-oiled machine, it can sometimes feel like each week is a little same-same. But Sydney is brimming with a fine bounty of things to experience and explore each and every day. So aside from casual laziness and a little lack of inspiration, there's really nothing stopping you from squeezing some adventure and spontaneity into your schedule. We've teamed up with Mazda3 to help you celebrate the little things that bring a sense of adventure to life. Shake things up, as we give you seven different detours to take each week in Sydney. From Monday to Sunday, enrich your everyday with one completely achievable activity that inspires you to take the scenic route as you go about your daily routine. This week, play backgammon to a soundtrack of jazz, spook yourself on Halloween and channel your inner Beyoncé. Plus, we've got your future detours sorted for the next few weeks here. All require no more effort than a tiny break from the norm — what's your excuse for not trying them all?
If there's a great Mighty Morphin Power Rangers movie aching to be made, it's the one that Elizabeth Banks thinks she's in. Playing the villainous Rita Repulsa in the latest big-screen instalment of the franchise, she can barely contain her glee as she struts around the small Californian town of Angel Grove caressing faces, ripping out teeth, croaking lines about her love of gold and even devouring the shiny substance. If only the rest of the film enjoyed the same sense of fun. The '90s series didn't take much seriously – and how could it, when it featured overdubbed action footage from Japan's Super Sentai? Alas, the bulk of this reboot seems to have forgotten that. Admittedly, given that one of this new movie's first scenes involves a teenager chatting about pleasuring a bull, it initially seems that director Dean Israelite (Project Almanac) and screenwriter John Gatins (Kong: Skull Island) haven't ditched the goofiness entirely. Appearances can be deceiving, though. Just as a group of diverse high schoolers can turn out to be colour-coded superheroes, so too can a film that features a wise-cracking robot (voiced by Bill Hader), Krispy Kreme as the source of life on earth, and monsters fighting robot dinosaurs prove a bland addition to an all-too-familiar genre. Gritty origin stories — we've been there and done that over and over again. Adolescent angst, outcasts bonding in detention and kids learning that everything's better when they're part of a team — yep, we've seen that before too. That's what happens when troubled but charismatic quarterback Jason (Dacre Montgomery), "on the spectrum" nerd Billy (RJ Cyler), ostracised cheerleader Kimberly (Naomi Scott), show-off Zack (Ludi Lin) and perennial new girl Trini (Becky G.) cross paths at an abandoned mine, find glowing coins and acquire new superpowers. Thankfully, the former Ranger turned talking wall that is Zordon (Bryan Cranston) is on hand to fill them in on their mission to save the world from Rita, who has just been fished out of the ocean after 65 million years. Most of the movie is happy to watch the diverse new quintet hang out, talk about their problems, test out their skills and bond — because, if there's one thing that Hollywood loves more that zero to hero stories, it's setting the scene for future flicks. Even if it hadn't just been revealed that the producers have a six-film story arc ready and raring to go go, those intentions are evident from the outset. One day, making sure each movie is engaging on its own, rather than acting as filler for more to come, might become a priority again. Unfortunately, that's not the case here. Indeed, by the time the fighting rolls around, you could be forgiven for feeling like it's too little, too late. The final battle against Rita and her giant metallic minion Goldar offers a welcome albeit messily-shot burst of energy, as well as a glimpse of the type of tone the powers-that-be might want to adopt if five more flicks do come down the production line. It's just a shame you have to watch Power Rangers morph from The Breakfast Club to Chronicle to Fantastic Four to Transformers in order to get there. Still, at least it's better than 1995's Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Movie, which is only worth revisiting if you want to see the Rangers roam through Sydney.
Some actors possess voices that could narrate almost anything, and Willem Dafoe is one of them. Move over Morgan Freeman: when Dafoe speaks, his dulcet vocals echoing atop gorgeous imagery of the world's waterways as happens in River, being entranced by the sound is the only natural response. He's tasked with uttering quite the elegiac prose in this striking documentary, and he gives all that musing about tributaries and creeks — the planet's arteries, he calls them at one point — a particularly resonant and enthralling tone. Australian filmmaker Jennifer Peedom (Sherpa) knew he would, of course. She enlisted his talents on her last documentary, Mountain, as well. Both films pick one of the earth's crucial natural features, lens them in all their glory at multiple spots around the globe, and wax lyrical about their importance. Both make for quite the beguiling viewing experience. Thanks to writer Robert Macfarlane, Dafoe has been given much to opine in River — and what he's asked to say is obviously even more crucial than the fact that it's the Spider-Man: No Way Home, The Card Counter, The French Dispatch and Nightmare Alley star expressing it. The subject is right there in the title, but the film's aims are as big and broad as an ocean, covering the history of these snaking streams from the planet's creation up until today. "Humans have long loved rivers," Dafoe announces, which seems like a self-evident statement; however, not one to trade in generalisations without evidence, River then unpacks exactly what that means. It also uses that idea as a foundation, but paired with another, which Dafoe also gives voice to — this time as a question: "as we have learned to harness their power, have we also forgotten to revere them?". The answer is blatant, lapping away at the souls of everyone who lives in a river city and passes their central watercourse daily without giving it a second thought. Indeed, that plain-as-day response ripples with even more force to anyone who has been struck by the waterways' power when natural disasters strike, a fact that hits close to home after Australia's disastrously flooded summer across Queensland and New South Wales — timing that the movie isn't overtly trying to capitalise upon, given it first started doing the rounds of film festivals in 2021, and has had its March 2022 date with Aussie cinemas booked in for months. A documentary doesn't have to tell viewers something wholly new to evoke wonder, though. Conveying well-known truths in unforgettable and affecting ways has always been one of cinema's key skills, whether working in fact or fiction. River's sentiments won't come as a surprise, but it still feels like a fresh splash of water upon a parched face. Dafoe's narration and the film in general hone in on the importance of rivers to human civilisation since its very beginnings, starting with the unshakeable reality that rivers have made much in our evolution possible. Also just as pivotal: the devastation we've wrought in response since we learned to harness all that water for our own purposes, irrigate the land far and wide, and take an abundance of H2O for granted, which River doesn't ebb away from. The prose is flowery, but never overdone; its eager quest for potent poetry, or to be mentioned in the same breath as Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life, always feels attuned to the awe it holds for its eponymous streams. It's also on par with Dafoe, Peedom and Macfarlane's work back in 2017 on Mountain, which was similarly hypnotic — and became the highest-grossing non-IMAX Australian documentary ever made, a claim to fame it still holds today. This time joined by co-director/co-scribe and feature debutant Joseph Nizeti, River's veteran trio don't simply paddle into familiar waters like they've easily charted this course — or climbed this peak — before, however. They repeat much of what they did last time, including pairing dazzling sights with a score by the Australian Chamber Orchestra, but it's fitting that there's a keen flow to this film that makes it an especially majestic and moving watch. It's there in the pace of the cinematography, as lensed by a five-strong team that includes Sherpa and Mountain's Renan Ozturk. It's evident in the rhythms of the feature's editing, too, with The Babadook, Spear, Martha: A Picture Story and The Nightingale's Simon Njoo doing the honours. As fast as a cascading waterfall at times, and as patient as a barely babbling brook at others, River couldn't take the job of honouring its subject in as many ways as it can more seriously. Thanks to those arresting visuals — spectacular footage that demands to be seen on the biggest screen possible — and the accompanying score, River was always going to earn flowery terms slung its own way. The vision is that remarkable as it soars high and wide across 39 countries, and peers down with the utmost appreciation. The swirling orchestral music, which includes everything from Bach to Radiohead, adds amply to the journey as well (even if it does occasionally leave viewers yearning for sounds as natural the movie's sights). Here, a picture truly is worth a thousand of those Dafoe-uttered words, but the combination of both is something exceptionally special. It's interesting, then, that River is the achievement it is thanks to all of its moving parts coming together so fluidly, but its imagery is also always second to none. While the combination mesmerises, only the film's visuals could tell the same tale alone — and what a story they tell. There's a cohort of documentaries that have attempted the same observational feat without any sense of spoken narrative, an approach seen at its best in the Qatsi trilogy of Koyaanisqatsi, Powaqqatsi and Naqoyqatsi, also in Baraka and Samsara, and even in recent Oscar-nominee Ascension; River reaches the same immersive and insightful levels. What a joy it is to be the film that doesn't need Willem Dafoe's narration, but is all the better for it. Even better: what a joy it is to watch that movie. And, in just-as-fantastic news, Peedom sees River as the second part of a trilogy. Top image: Pete McBride.
Since popping up over the last decade, the term 'elevated horror' has always been unnecessary. Used to describe The Babadook, It Follows, The Witch, Get Out, Hereditary, Us, Midsommar and more, it pointlessly claims that such unsettling flicks have risen above their genre. Each of these movies is excellent. They all boast weight and depth, trade in metaphors with smarts and savvy, and have style to go with their creeps and thrills. But thinking that's new in horror — that pairing unease with topical woes or societal fears is as well — is as misguided as dubbing Michael Myers a hero. With a name that makes its #MeToo-era point plain, Men has been badged 'elevated', too, yet it also does what horror has at its best and worst cases for decades. That the world can be a nightmare for women at the hands of men isn't a fresh observation, and it's long been a scary movie go-to. Still, Men stresses that fact in an inescapably blunt but also unforgettable manner. The film's setting is an English manor, where Harper Marlowe (Jessie Buckley, The Lost Daughter) hopes for a solo stint of rest, relaxation and recuperation. Processing a tragedy, shattering memories of which haunt the movie as much as its protagonist, she's seeking an escape and a way to start anew. The initial hint that she won't find bliss comes swiftly and obviously, and with a sledgehammer's subtlety. Arriving at an idyllic-looking British countryside estate, Harper is greeted by an apple tree. She plucks one from the abundant branches, then takes a bite. Soon, she's told by her host Geoffrey (Rory Kinnear, Our Flag Means Death) that it's forbidden fruit. He also says he's joking — but in this garden, a woman will again shoulder a society's blame and burdens. As overt and blatant as this early exchange is, there's an intensely unnerving look and feel to Men from the outset. Returning to the big screen after excellent sci-fi TV series Devs, writer/director Alex Garland isn't a stranger to visually stunning, deeply disquieting films that ponder big ideas; see: the complex, eerie and sublime Ex Machina, plus the similarly intricate and intriguing Annihilation. Oscar Isaac doesn't turn up this time, let alone dance. Buckley and Kinnear do turn in mesmerising and magnificent powerhouse performances amid the perturbing mood and spectacular imagery. Gender expectations also get probed and challenged, as do genres. And, things get strange and insidious after Harper tries to lap up her bucolic surroundings. Those blood-red walls sported by Harper's atmospheric centuries-old home-away-from-home? That's another glaring warning. Also discomforting: the jump-scare glitch when she video chats with her best friend Riley (Gayle Rankin, GLOW), after being told by Geoffrey — who is polite but never direct, perfectly satirising both stiff-upper-lip Britishness and the fine line between being courteous and patronising — that reception isn't the best. And, when Harper ventures out of the house, she discovers scenic treasures alongside hardly hospitable locals. She's a woman plagued by troubles that don't begin as her own, and she's forced to devote everything she has to moving past them and surviving. That Harper is played with such instinctive and physical feeling with Buckley, who just keeps going from strength to strength thanks to Beast, Wild Rose, Chernobyl, I'm Thinking of Ending Things, Fargo and her Oscar-nominated efforts in The Lost Daughter, is one of Men's biggest assets. First, there's the naked man who follows Harper through the wilderness, after she wanders through a cavernous tunnel with ethereal acoustics that's a delight one moment and boarded up the next. Then, more and more townsfolk spark alarm. There's the cop who barely believes Harper's stalker story, dismissively so. There's the teen who asks curious questions, demands attention and gets abusive when he isn't indulged. Also, there's the vicar who enquires about Harper's woes, then apportions responsibility her way for her struggles with husband James (Paapa Essiedu, I May Destroy You), while also putting his hand on her knee. The town pub's patrons are wary of her encroachment on their turf, while Geoffrey keeps making his presence known in his civil but passive-aggressive fashion. And, these men — yes, they're all men — share something beyond an unpleasant, off-putting and entitled attitude. Kinnear is also fantastic in Men because he's all men (including in scenes that make it clear that Garland saw his exceptional efforts as Frankenstein's monster in Penny Dreadful). Toxic masculinity deserves to be torn down repeatedly, and nuance needn't be part of that dismantling. The misogyny women can face openly and daily, and the way that simply existing can bring threats in the most ordinary spaces, also demands calling out loudly and strongly. Men does this. It ponders its key idea in different ways, too, including within religion and marriage. It shows how views can fester from adolescence, and within social and supposedly comforting confines. It demonstrates that just being can be fraught with distress for women, taking that reality to surreal, violent and fleshy extremes that'd equally do David Lynch and David Cronenberg proud. Also, it toys with how women are victimised in horror cinema. Garland's take on the topic is vivid and chilling — and as evocative as his past releases, plus his stellar screenplays for 28 Days Later and Sunshine — but Men also dives about as deep as noting that its namesake can be the worst, everyone knows it, and movies and life prey upon it. Still, as a piece of immersive cinema, Men is entrancing. It might be too kind to think its thematic bludgeoning is completely on purpose, but feeling like you're trapped in the same hell as Harper — in the film's present day, and in her orange-hued, positively apocalyptic, just-as-disturbing memories — is by design. Garland's work is that meticulous and sensory, and adept at conjuring up gut- and heart-wrenching reactions. It has been since he started out as the author behind The Beach, in fact. Here, he's aided by the intricate splendour, leafy and shadowy alike, lensed by his now usual cinematographer Rob Hardy (Mission: Impossible — Fallout), as well as the ominousness echoing in the choral-heavy score by fellow regular collaborators Geoff Barrow and Ben Salisbury (Archive 81). That all elevates the movie, although not because it's a higher form of horror, which it isn't. Men is as glaringly direct, primal and surface-level as a bar pickup line, and says nothing new, but its visceral and unshakeable menace still digs in hard, fast, tight and piercingly.
The year is 2028, and Detroit crime is out of control. At least, that's what we're told. The city, frankly, has never looked better. But trust us: lots of crime. Omnipresent corporation OmniCorp is trying to get its new robot cops approved for use in the US, but Washington won't allow machines to have control over life and death. Enter noted human Alex Murphy, An Honest Detroit Cop who, thanks to a pesky explosion, is now in desperate need of a robotic suit that will keep him alive and also help fight crime. The two were meant to be together! If you haven't seen the original 1987 RoboCop, then fix that right now. It combines the two best things about 1980s cinema: a dystopian science fiction setting and a cop taking out drug dealers and other corrupt cops. But it's remembered as a classic, however, because of how sharply it satirises American culture. It may look like a dumb action film, but it's clever as hell. This 2014 remake is, at least, clever enough to aim for the same target. It opens with a right-wing talk show pundit and a futuristic — but all too familiar — Middle East war on terror. Rather than simply imitating classic scenes from the original, this new film sets out to do its own thing, to update the references, and that attempt is admirable. The problem is that this satire — which we'll come back to — is hung upon a fairly piecemeal story. There's little that propels it forward, and we're never left wondering how things could possibly turn out for our heroes. The mysteries are barely concealed; the nefarious plots, basic; the villains, flagged in the opening scenes. Minutes after the film is over, you'll be left with a few key images, but no idea what actually happened. Joel Kinnaman plays Murphy/RoboCop, and does a decent job with it. Murphy's hardly the most compelling character, but the struggle to maintain his humanity is handled with more care than most films of this ilk would bother with. The rest of the cast is more recognisable, filling out supporting roles with the likes of Samuel L Jackson, Gary Oldman, Michael Keaton, Abbie Cornish, Jackie Earle Haley, Michael K Williams, Jennifer Ehle and Jay Baruchel. The satire, though welcome, ultimately fails. Samuel L Jackson's talk show host gives the feeling that they reverse-engineered a conservative pundit based on Stephen Colbert's famous parody, and his appearances consistently bring the film to a screeching halt. Not only could these scenes be lifted out without any noticeable change to the story, but the film would actually flow better without this particular social commentary. And maybe that's the most trenchant point of all. https://youtube.com/watch?v=xPLSpmAtc1Q
"What are you up to?". It's a familiar question and, when asked by a friend, it's a considerate and good-natured query that shows their genuine interest. But when it's posed by the wrong person, it comes loaded with expectations and inherent judgement — like the type you might find at a gathering of family members and life-long family pals who've turned their gaze in your direction because you're at the age where interrogating every inch of your existence has become their preferred form of sport. In Shiva Baby, this question comes in multiple ways and is asked multiple times. Attending a shiva, the wake-like mourning ritual observed in the Jewish faith, college senior Danielle (Rachel Sennott, Call Your Mother) is on the receiving end of this barrage. Stuck in a house full of enquiring minds, she feels every needling probe thrust her way by relatives and friends of relatives, all asking about her life, future, job, studies and romantic status, and even her weight. She's trapped in an everyday, immensely relatable situation, of course, but one that's never anything other than awkward — and first-time filmmaker Emma Seligman ensures that her audience feels every second of Danielle's discomfort. Danielle doesn't quite know how to answer the onslaught, partly because she doesn't want to and feels as if she shouldn't have to. She's right, obviously. Hours earlier — with the film's blackly comic dramas occurring over a single day — she was happily astride the older, richer Max (Danny Deferrari, Private Life) in a lavish Manhattan apartment. That's how Shiva Baby opens, and he gifts her an expensive bangle afterwards, as well as cash as payment. To her parents and relatives, she refers to her job as "babysitting". The film never intimates that Danielle is ashamed of doing sex work, and refreshingly so, but it gives the impression that she'd prefer not to have a conversation about it with all the busybodies already poking their noses in her direction. Accordingly, she doesn't explain that she missed the funeral because she was having sex. When she arrives at the shiva with her parents Debbie (Polly Draper, Billions) and Joel (Fred Melamed, WandaVision), she has to ask which distant relative died more than once. A recent NYU graduate in her mid-20s, Seligman writes and stages this whole scenario with the specificity of someone who knows the claustrophobia, tension, horrors and social distress these gatherings can inspire, and the cringing that happens deep inside every time. She also knows that there's never just one complication, or even just a couple. As Danielle navigates all that quizzing, she's also confronted with two people she'd prefer not to see: Max, who has his wife Kim (Dianna Agron, Glee) and their baby daughter in tow; and Maya (Molly Gordon, The Broken Hearts Gallery), her ex-girlfriend from high school who's now bound for law school. According to the Greek chorus-esque throng of voices always nattering throughout the event, Maya has done better for herself out of the two. Again, that's the level of gossiping and judgement that surrounds both women. Seligman is careful not to buff down Danielle's edges or flaws, though. This isn't a tale about a preposterously perfect millennial forced to deal with grating but societally sanctioned scrutiny, but rather a movie about someone complex, full of contradictions, sometimes smart and savvy, sometimes immature and reckless, and always just as easy to empathise with as wince at. It charts how she struggles through everyday woes that we all have, but in a microcosm of a situation. Shiva Baby is an exceptionally written film, and an astutely penned one, as proves evident in every word Danielle utters and every sentence directed her way. That's also apparent in the reality that everything around Danielle just keeps escalating in an instantly recognisable fashion. We've all been there, and more than once, even though most of us haven't stood in these exact shoes. Seligman isn't the first filmmaker to spin a cinematic tale that's exactingly, intimately specific, and also proves universal again and again. She taps into that juxtaposition masterfully, however — just as that very combination made Greta Gerwig's Lady Bird the heartfelt and honest movie it was, and this year's Oscar contender Minari by writer/director Lee Isaac Chung, too. Shiva Baby feels authentic and lived-in, which is what nudges everyone watching to feel as if they've lived it as well, and to see clear parallels with their own experiences. The roving and floating camerawork, bobbing in and around the assembled crowd all cramped within one ordinary house, helps considerably. It aims to get viewers seeing the chaos from Danielle's perspective, and achieves that goal with every shot. The fact that the score ramps up the unease, its strings rattling nerves just as effectively as every incident and altercation at the shiva, is one of Seligman's other immersive and well-executed flourishes. From the way that she radiates both stress and aimlessness in her posture, to her deadpan facial expressions, Sennott's layered performance is unsurprisingly crucial, too. Danielle is such a ball of jostling traits that even the slightest tilt in a direction other than the multitudes seen here could've upset Shiva Baby's entire mood and impact. Also outstanding is Gordon, who has stolen scenes in Booksmart and Good Boys in the past, and makes this much more of a two-hander than it might've played otherwise. Shiva Baby is a comedy, and plenty of that humour comes from how Sennott and Gordon weather a mundane but also gut-wrenchingly painful social situation with the full knowledge that their characters can only hope to simply get through it. This is a movie that lives and breathes the idea that sometimes laughter is the only option, in fact. It's anxious and nerve-wracking, and also witty and entertaining — and it leaves no doubt that Seligman, Sennott and Gordon all have big futures. They'd still all likely cringe if you asked them "what are you up to?", though.
Go on, reward yourself with something fancy. Round up some friends and drop into The Paddington for their $58 banquet. The world-class pub and cocktail bar was earlier this year awarded one chef hat. It's known for offering a no-fuss menu with showcases a perfectly roasted chook, and includes not one but three desserts, including the generously heaped chocolate mousse with salted caramel and chocolate crunchy bits.
UPDATE, February 10, 2021: News of the World is currently screening in Australian cinemas, and is also available to stream via Netflix from Wednesday, February 10. The first time that Tom Hanks was nominated for an Oscar, it was for munching on baby corn spears like they were full-sized cobs. His nod for Big stemmed from more than just that scene, but the way he handled the tiny vegetables perfectly illustrates how, at his best, he can make anything look and feel convincing. He didn't win for the 1989 comedy, and he hasn't taken home an Academy Award since he went two for two with 1994's Philadelphia and 1995's Forrest Gump; however that skill has remained a vital reason for his prolonged success. And, it applies equally to the silliest roles on his resume — early movies Splash, Turner & Hooch and The 'Burbs, for instance — and to the far more serious and subtle parts. Last year's Oscar-nominated performance in A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood typifies the latter, and featured Hanks in such exceptional form that it couldn't have been easier to see him as children's presenter Mr Rogers. His latest great film, western News of the World, also belongs in the same category. This time around, Hanks plays a Civil War veteran-turned-travelling newsman who becomes saddled with escorting a child back to her family, and he's as gripping and compelling to watch as he's ever been. Hanks' character, Captain Jefferson Kyle Kidd, is a travelling newsman in the very literal and era-appropriate sense. He journeys from town to town to read newspapers to amassed crowds for ten cents a person, all so folks across America can discover what's going on — not just locally, but around the country and the world. Then, on one otherwise routine trip in 1870, he passes an overturned wagon. Only a blonde-haired ten-year-old girl, Johanna (Helena Zengel, System Crasher), remains alive. Kidd soon discovers that she had been abducted by the Kiowa people years earlier during a raid that saw her entire family slaughtered, and was then raised as one of their own, but she has now been left homeless after more violence. The wagon was transporting Johanna to her last remaining relatives and, in the absence of any officials willing to take over — or ensure her safety until they get around to setting off — Kidd reluctantly agrees to the task. Reading the news is still part of their trek, but so is avoiding the many dangers that plague their ride across Texas' golden-hued landscape. If the sight of a wearied Hanks donning a wide-brimmed hat, sitting atop a trusty horse and galloping across scrubby plains feels unfamiliar, that's because it hasn't happened before — with News of the World marking his first-ever western more than four decades after he made his acting debut. (No, his time voicing cowboy plaything Woody in the Toy Story movies doesn't count.) Hanks is a natural fit, unsurprisingly. The grounded presence he has brought to everything from Apollo 13 to The Post couldn't pair better with a genre that trots so openly across the earth, and ties its characters' fortunes so tightly to the desolate and wild conditions that surround them, after all. As a result, the fact that News of the World eagerly recalls previous western standouts such as The Searchers and True Grit doesn't ever become a drawback. Instead, this adaptation of Paulette Jiles' 2016 novel makes a purposeful effort to put its star in the same company as the many on-screen talents who've shone in — and strutted and scowled through — the genre. Hanks takes to the saddle like he's been perched upon one his entire career, of course, and takes to Kidd's lone-rider status with the same naturalistic air as well. Indeed, Hanks plays Kidd as an everyman, another key trait that's served him excellently for years — but the ex-soldier is also a wanderer for a reason. A handful of poignant scenes help shade in the character's painful past, and make it plain why his eventual connection with Johanna is perhaps a bigger deal for him than it is for her. They're an ideal match, actually, even if it doesn't instantly seem like it. He's quiet and stoic, she's unafraid to voice her displeasure, and a father-daughter rapport slowly springs. But Hanks isn't the only actor who ensures that this pairing works so disarmingly well, with his young co-star just as phenomenal. For anyone who saw Zengel's performance in 2019's System Crasher, which won the pre-teen the German Film Prize for Best Actress, that won't come as even the slightest surprise. Also pivotal to News of the World is filmmaker Paul Greengrass, who directs Hanks for the second time following Captain Phillips. Working with a script co-written with Australian screenwriter Luke Davies (Lion, Beautiful Boy, Angel of Mine), the United 93, 22 July and three-time Bourne franchise helmer opts for a more polished visual approach than he's known for — less frenetic and jittery, and noticeably so, but with imagery that still pulsates with emotion. When Kidd and Johanna find trouble along their trek, including from a shady trio with despicable intentions, Greengrass expertly ramps up the pace without ever letting the film's classic feel subside. With stellar assistance from cinematographer Dariusz Wolski (Sicario: Day of the Soldado) and editor William Goldenberg (an Oscar-winner for Argo), he ensures that the wagon chase and cliffside shootout that ensue are as tense and thrilling as they are exacting and meticulous. And, when his central duo arrive in a town where the local heavy (Thomas Francis Murphy, The Secrets We Keep) isn't keen on any news he doesn't approve of, he never overemphases the contemporary parallels with today's political cries against the media. Greengrass also fills News of the World with a top-notch supporting lineup, including Deadwood's Ray McKinnon, True Grit's Elizabeth Marvel, Hanks' Turner & Hooch love interest Mare Winningham and The Queen's Gambit's Bill Camp — a touch indicative of the film's finesse on every level. In fact, as perfectly cast and reliably great as Hanks is here, in the latest role that's likely to see awards nominations come his way, the empathetic and absorbing movie he's in meets him at every turn. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SG_EVA58P-g Image: Bruce W Talamon/Universal Pictures/Netflix.
In a brief, early sequence, Dead Men Tell No Tales appears to achieve something quite remarkable. Immersing Captain Jack (Johnny Depp) in a bank heist, it feels like the filmmakers have cottoned onto something that helmers of previous Pirates sequels never managed to grasp: a little bit of Sparrow goes an awfully long way. Yes, even here, the rum-swilling pirate remains as ridiculous as ever. But as his crew drags a safe through the streets while he tries to evade capture, you at least get the feeling that his latest adventure will be about more than just him. Sadly, it doesn't last. The truth is, time has not been kind to Depp since the first Pirates of the Caribbean hit back in 2003 and earned him an Oscar nomination. Or, to be more accurate, Depp has not been kind to Depp. Audiences have been accosted by his Sparrow shenanigans not only in Dead Man's Chest, At World's End and On Stranger Tides, but in almost everything else he's made in between. From Alice in Wonderland to The Lone Ranger to the nigh unwatchable Mortdecai, Depp's penchant for outlandish overacting has kept him firmly in the same mode. If it was beginning to grate a decade ago, it's positively painful now. Point is, make sure to enjoy this movie's early moments while they last. While the fifth film in the franchise ostensibly endeavours to switch its gaze to the next generation, the fact remains that an overabundance of Sparrow threatens to sink the whole ship. The wobbling seafarer finds himself in demand, with young upstart Henry Turner (Brenton Thwaites) and mysterious astronomer Carina Smyth (Kaya Scodelario) both requiring his help in their hunt for Poseidon's trident. Meanwhile, ghostly pirate hunter Salazar (Javier Bardem) is also on Sparrow's trail, hungry for revenge. Captain Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) pops up, as do a few family ties, although the plot isn't really the main focus of this dip back into choppy waters. Just as amusement park attractions are more about thrills and theme than narrative, so too is Dead Men Tell No Tales. Taking the helm after impressing with the ocean-faring Kon-Tiki, directors Joachim Rønning and Espen Sandberg soon lose control of their vessel, serving up bland nautical action alongside their predictably unbearable protagonist. Given that this franchise has been surfing a downwards trajectory from the outset, we shouldn't really be surprised by the failure of this latest outing. An initial burst of energy, a couple of new faces and Bardem reliably playing the villain are all promising signs, but they're not enough to turn sea trash into treasure. Hold onto your hats though, me hearties, as it seems the franchise won't be walking the plank just yet. Like plenty of other big-budget sequels of late, Dead Men Tell No Tales appears as though it's just treading water for another installment. Next time, maybe follow Sparrow's lead and load up on rum. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dhAxBe3uqk
Saying that a particular actor could read the phone book and make it sound great has long been deemed high praise. It's now a cliche, but like many over-used expressions, it still remains accurate. Ask Emma Thompson to utter any words on screen, for example, and it'd likely prove enthralling. Playing a family court judge in The Children Act, she reads legal judgements in a complicated case, keeping her emotions in check when few others can. Her character gives firm, sober answers both in her professional and her personal lives — and when the justice lets her guard down on one rare occasion, Thompson literally sings. Indeed, regardless of what the two-time Academy Award winner is doing or saying, she's utterly riveting. Thompson's Fiona Maye spends her days adjudicating difficult cases involving the welfare of minors, with the 1989 U.K. law known as the Children Act her guiding light. It's a job that she approaches with the utmost care, and often under significant scrutiny. Fresh from decreeing the fate of conjoined infants in an affair that's been splashed across the newspapers, another thorny matter comes before her court. 17-year-old Jehovah's Witness Adam Henry (Fionn Whitehead) is dying from leukaemia, and refuses to have a blood transfusion because it's forbidden by his faith. His devout parents (Ben Chaplin and Eileen Walsh) support his choice, but his doctors are seeking legal intervention to administer the life-saving treatment. The decision facing Fiona might rank among the most complex of her career, weighing someone's right to life against their right to their beliefs. Crucially, she's charged with deciding whether a boy who's almost a man can make a choice between the two for himself. Thompson is a powerhouse when Fiona is quietly considering all of the details, often with a pensive yet penetrating look adorning her face. She's just as mesmerising when she's exercising the character's wit, too. But when The Children Act truly cracks Fiona's facade — in fights with her unhappy husband (Stanley Tucci) about their childless marriage, in tender moments when she flouts protocol to visit Adam on his sickbed, and when she just can't hide the stress of the situation — she's nothing short of astonishing. When Adam feels as if he's being drawn to Fiona, his reaction to her presence is easy to understand. Thompson turns in a soulful performance in a film that also earns the same description, which is hardly surprising given the movie's pedigree. The Children Act isn't just the second novel by Ian McEwan to reach the big screen this year, after On Chesil Beach. It's also the second that he has written the screenplay for himself — something that he hadn't done for nearly 25 years beforehand. On the page and in the cinema, the result is another of the writer's mature and thoughtful works, with the picture sensitively handled by director Richard Eyre. The filmmaker is no stranger to complicated matters himself, as previously seen in book-to-film adaptation Notes on a Scandal, but there's a blend of deep emotion and calm subtlety to The Children Act that borders on devastating. Credit is also due to Whitehead, best known until now for his work in Dunkirk, who ensures that Adam is as multifaceted and fascinating as Fiona. It's a portrayal that makes viewers wish for another life for his character, and certainly keeps the audience invested in Adam's fate. As an acting showcase for both the young talent and for Thompson, The Children Act couldn't be better, however the patiently shot drama also succeeds as a probing and empathetic look at a difficult topic. Like this year's festival favourite Apostasy, it ponders faith and medicine among Jehovah's Witnesses to stunning effect — and with heart-wrenching delicacy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWOfsnxcD3s
Stephen Hawking is an extraordinary individual. The problem with that — with all extraordinary individuals — is that over time they come to be viewed not as people but as the sum of their accomplishments. The greater the endeavour, the less we tend to know about the beating heart and restless mind behind it. Often it's not until they're visited by tragedy or professional disgrace that we're reminded of their humanity, and yet, in Hawking's case, not even the onset of motor neurone disease or an extramarital affair could detract from his almost super-human status. The Theory of Everything, then, serves as a fitting reminder that beyond the maths lies a man, brilliant — yes — but still just a man: mortal, flawed and confounded by love. Adapted from the book Travelling to Infinity: My Life With Stephen, The Theory of Everything offers us a portrait of Hawking from the perspective of his first wife, Jane (Felicity Jones), and it is, in effect, a love story. Two love stories, rather: the conventional tale between a pair of enamoured Cambridge students, and the stranger yet better known one of Stephen’s infatuation with the universe. Both are heartwarming, exhilarating and profoundly complicated. In the role of Hawking’s wife, Jones is sublime. Her performance is an accomplished blend of fierce determination to see her husband survive, and private frustration at the professional sacrifices that selflessness wrought. As for Redmayne, perhaps the most fitting compliment is that it is now impossible to look at him and not see the professor. It is an extraordinary example of transformation, both physical and performative. Redmayne, like the man he portrays, is robbed of that which most actors find essential: movement, first, then sound. Yes, there is the iconic digital voice to accompany the performance, but voiceover is no more useful to an actor at the time of recording than a ping pong ball affixed to a green screen to denote what will eventually come to be. With the disarming smile of Redford and the ‘everyman-ness’ of Hanks, Redmayne is the acting equivalent of an unputdownable book, almost daring you to try to look away. For a film entitled The Theory of Everything, the story is, in the end, almost infinitesimal. Ours is a galaxy of some 400 billion stars in a universe roughly 13.8 billion years old. On such a scale, humanity is scarcely perceptible, an insignificant evanescent blip of history in which a single, unsettled romance between two people is as close to nothing as science will permit. And yet it is also everything, because it contains within it some of the finest qualities that define the human existence — that showcase the unconquerable spirit and boundless possibilities of the mind. Hawking’s accomplishments almost defy belief, even if they’d been achieved without disability, and while they’re acknowledged in this film, the focus is not on the ‘what’, but the ‘who’ and the ‘how’. Moving, astounding and, perhaps most of all, enlightening, The Theory of Everything is a sensitive yet unsentimental engagement with genius and the actualities of love.
When something shows you its true colours, believe it. The Kingsman franchise certainly did when it debuted in 2014, as viewers have been witnessing ever since. That initial entry, Kingsman: The Secret Service, gave the espionage genre an irreverent and energetic spin, and landed partway between update and parody. But, while making Taron Egerton a star and proving engaging-enough, it didn't know when to call it quits, serving up one of the most ill-judged closing moments that spy flicks have ever seen. Since then, all things Kingsman haven't known when to end either, which is why subpar sequel Kingsman: The Golden Circle arrived in 2017, and now unnecessary prequel The King's Man. Another year, another dull origin story. Another year, another stretched Bond knockoff, too. Stepping from 007's latest instalments, including No Time to Die, to this pale imitation, Ralph Fiennes takes over leading man duties in this mostly World War I-centric affair. He looks as if he'd rather be bossing Bond around again, though, sporting the discomfort of someone who finds himself in a movie that doesn't shake out the way it was meant to, or should've, and mirroring the expression likely to sit on viewers' faces while watching. Simply by existing, The King's Man shows that this series just keeps pushing on when that's hardly the best option. It overextends its running time and narrative as well. But as it unfurls the beginnings of the intelligence agency hidden within a Saville Row tailor shop, it ditches everything else that made its predecessors work — when they did work, that is. Most fatally, it jettisons its class clashes and genre satire, and is instead content with being an outlandish period movie about the rich and powerful creating their own secret club. Adapted from Dave Gibbons and Mark Millar's 2012 comics, the Kingsman series hasn't cut too deeply in its past two movies, but it did make the most of its central fish-out-of-water idea. It asked: what if a kid from the supposed wrong side of the tracks entered the espionage realm that's so firmly been established as suave and well-heeled by 007? Finding out why there's even a covert spy organisation staffed by the wealthy and impeccably dressed for that young man to join is a far less intriguing idea, but returning filmmaker Matthew Vaughn — who has now helmed all three Kingsman films — and co-screenwriter Karl Gajdusek (The Last Days of American Crime) don't seem to care. Vaughn has mostly ditched the coarse sex gags this time, too, and for the better, but hasn't found much in the way of personality to replace them. It's in a prologue in 1902 that Fiennes makes his first appearance as Orlando Oxford, a duke travelling to South Africa during the Boer War — and soon made a widower, because The King's Man starts with the tiresome dead wife trope. Twelve years later, Oxford is staunchly a pacifist, so much so that he forbids his now-teenage son Conrad (Harris Dickinson, Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) from enlisting when WWI breaks out. But the duke hasn't completely given away serving his country himself, overseeing an off-the-books intelligence network with the help of his servants Shola (Djimon Hounsou, A Quiet Place Part II) and Polly (Gemma Arterton, Summerland). That comes in handy when a nefarious Scottish figure known only as The Shepherd interferes in world affairs, with King George V of England, Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany and Tsar Nicholas II of Russia (all cousins, and all played by Bohemian Rhapsody's Tom Hollander) his targets. Using real-life history as a backdrop, The King's Man weaves in Rasputin (Rhys Ifans, Spider-Man: No Way Home), too. If only it possessed the sense of humour to include Boney M's 70s dance-floor filler of the same name, or even a vodka-filled shot glass of its vibe. Rasputin, the character, is actually the best thing about the film, and solely because he's the most entertaining. Ifans plays the part like he's in on a joke that no one else in the production has gotten, amping up a goth mystic, busting out dance-inspired fighting moves and proving the liveliest thing in a feature that's frequently ridiculous yet rarely fun. Making a screwy but banal First World War spy-fuelled action flick surely wasn't on the franchise's agenda, but The King's Man can barely be considered a comedy. Vaughn does stuff his overladen plot with lip-service sentiments fired in a few directions, however, tearing into war and colonialism — but that, like everything that The King's Man purports to do, comes across as half-hearted. In showing the horrors of combat, it doesn't help that 1917 is so fresh in cinematic memories (and it's definitely unfortunate that Dickinson could easily play the brother of 1917's star George MacKay). It's also hardly handy that Vaughn and Gajdusek's script manages to both rally against imperial rule and eagerly celebrate monarchies and the British Empire. That's the kind of thematic muddle the film wades through, making it clear that no one has thought too deeply about any of these concepts. The same applies to Oxford's pacifism, given that The King's Man heartily splashes around OTT violence. Here, an idea or position is only convenient when it's needed to further the story, and it's thoroughly disposable seconds later. Manners may maketh man, as the series' eponymous society has intoned in three pictures now, but throwing together whatever disparate parts happen to be at hand doesn't make a good movie. If the same approach was taken to tailoring, the resulting suits wouldn't pass the central secret service's sartorial standards. Poking fun at the past, name-dropping historical figures, giving Hounsou and Arterton so little to do: none of that turns out well, either. Plus, while zippily staged, all of the film's action scenes that don't involve Ifans get repetitive fast. But The King's Man still commits to its franchise duty, pointlessly setting up a sequel that no one wants in its dying moments. A follow-up to The Golden Circle, called Kingsman: The Blue Blood, is also in the works, as well as a TV show about its American Statesman offshoot. Keeping on needlessly keeping on: that's still this spy series' main trait, as it always has been.
UPDATE, April 12, 2021: Knives Out is available to stream via Amazon Prime Video, Binge, Foxtel Now, Google Play, YouTube Movies and iTunes. Sharp, shiny and unafraid to leave a mark, Knives Out sticks a blade into the murder-mystery genre, gives it a good twist and has plenty of fun. The first post-Star Wars: Episode VIII — The Last Jedi flick from writer/director Rian Johnson, who returns to the pulpier terrain of Brick and Looper, this movie knows how to slice through the familiar, toy with trusty tropes, and create a gloriously smart, subversive and entertaining whodunit. The setup: a death in a wealthy family. The deceased: a crime author who wrote books about this kind of scenario. Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer) expires after his 85th birthday party, when all of his relatives happen to be in his remote mansion. And yes, as a cop (Lakeith Stanfield), trooper (Noah Segan) and private detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) discover, everyone has a motive — even if the old man's passing looks like a suicide. Initially framed via interviews with the Thrombeys, Knives Out interrogates the possible culprits. Daughter Linda (Jamie Lee Curtis) became a real estate mogul without her dad's help, keeps her Trump-sympathising husband Richard (Don Johnson) in check and has an arrogant son, Ransom (Chris Evans), who's the picture of privilege and entitlement. Her brother Walt (Michael Shannon) is Harlan's publisher and has his own right-wing problem child (Jaeden Martell), while sister-in-law Joni (Toni Collette) is a lifestyle guru with a college-aged kid (Katherine Langford) hanging on grandpa's purse strings. As his closest confidante, Harlan's nurse Marta (Ana de Armas) also fields the detectives' enquiries. She tries not to vomit, too — a reflex whenever she tells a lie. As he makes clear in his slow southern drawl, Blanc is very intrigued by that physical reaction. It's a narrative that Agatha Christie could've penned a century ago, when she started writing Hercule Poirot stories. And yet, unlike the current revivals of the author's work — 2017's Murder on the Orient Express and next year's Death on the Nile — Johnson isn't peering backwards. Knives Out is steeped in America's present socio-political climate, and directs its most cutting commentary at folks filled with bluster but possessing little in the way of good ol'-fashioned human decency. It's not by accident that Marta, a Latin immigrant from a South American country that none of the Thrombeys bothers to remember, sits at the centre of this expertly executed film. Or, that she's the only one who isn't frothing over Harlan's money. Sometimes Johnson's scathing statements fall on the obvious side, but hey, a blunt knife can still cause considerable damage. Mostly, Knives Out is sleek, slinky and fascinated with its many secrets, which have been pieced together with precision. For viewers eager to sleuth themselves, it isn't overly difficult to start sniffing in the right direction — but the joys of seeing the plot spill open go far beyond simply discovering who did what among the rogue's gallery of shifty suspects. And anyway, another game is afoot, as Blanc keeps telling his offsiders (in a nod to Sherlock Holmes, of course). The private eye doesn't know who hired him, or why, and he's as obsessed with that question as he is with the Thrombey clan's petty yet incessant sniping. Oh, the sniping. One of the keys to Knives Out's genre is how quickly it always strips its players down to their base instincts and motives, which this nifty picture does extremely well. Not every character gains quite enough flesh over the top, but the entire cast is gleefully happy going along for the ride. That Craig, de Armas and Evans fare best is really just a matter of screen time, although all three earn the added attention. As loose as he often is whenever he ditches Bond's grim seriousness (as seen in heist caper Logan Lucky), Craig is having a ball — while de Armas proves sensitive but savvy, and Evans leaves Captain America's wholesomeness far, far behind. Johnson hasn't overlooked two other crucial elements of ace whodunits, thankfully. All those double-crosses, puzzles and arguments are great, but truly excellent murder-mysteries also engage the eyes and serve up a rollicking good time. With his now five-time cinematographer Steve Yedlin, the filmmaker easily takes care of the first aspect while his movie roves around Harlan's labyrinthine home (kudos to the production design team, too). As for the second part of the equation, that stems from the director's light but biting handling of his own material — and his knack for a hearty laugh. Some murder-mysteries try but fail, as Netflix's weak Adam Sandler vehicle Murder Mystery demonstrated earlier this year. Some find their nutty niche and prosper, as 80s cult classic Clue has over the years. It's a testament to Knives Out that it achieves everything it should, hits every target and firmly feels like its own highly enjoyable film. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tw6L1mu-Nss
An antihero in a spiral of self-destruction? Here we go again. In The Gambler, Jim Bennett (Mark Wahlberg) descends into a dangerous gambling addiction from privileged heights, risking more than most people dream of. He comes from a rich family and has a plum associate professor job teaching literature. He also has two big debts to the type of people you don’t want to owe money to, is thinking about taking on a third and walks around scowling beneath his sunglasses. A good guy with good vibrations Jim is not, as his put-upon mother (Jessica Lange) would confirm. He isn’t anything special either, as he admits in rants on genius to his students — including star pupil Amy (Brie Larson) — about his failed novelist career. His story has been seen before, quite literally given that the film remakes the 1974 movie of the same name. And yet, there’s something fascinating about Jim, The Gambler, the drifting and grifting, and the overall mood of just not giving a damn. Perhaps it is seeing Wahlberg as a different type of character, relying on looks and glances rather than muscle and weapons. He’s more than a step away from the well-intentioned heroes he usually plays. He is also paired well with The Wire’s Michael Kenneth Williams and John Goodman, both standouts as two of the formidable loan sharks trying to collect their cash. It isn’t a coincidence that Marky Mark does his best work with conflicted protagonists caught in dubious situations; think Boogie Nights and the more recent Pain & Gain. He may not show the depths of compulsion others have managed, but he convinces as someone given every advantage and opportunity to make the right choice, yet constantly, selfishly and damagingly, opting otherwise. Also effective is Rupert Wyatt’s direction, a clear change of pace from making Rise of the Planet of the Apes. The script, by The Departed’s William Monahan, relies on the gimmick of time, giving Jim seven days to settle up or get killed, but Wyatt’s ‘70s-influenced look and feel — favouring patient pacing, wide spaces and lingering moments — helps patch over a story that’s often more than a bit too convenient. The Gambler isn’t without its troubles, almost unforgivingly furnishing Larson and Lange with little to do, their talents wasted on their slight roles. The film also hits the audience over the head with its blunt themes and a few silly twists, not to mention heavy-handed music cues. Pulp’s Common People as Larson’s supposedly normal Amy walks along campus? A choral rendition of Radiohead’s Creep as Wahlberg’s Jim ponders his actions? We get it. There’s a reason that antihero stories just keep on coming, feeding viewer interest in complicated folks in tricky situations. The Gambler may not sell everything about its scenario, but it embraces its grating character and its familiar circumstances with style and assurance. Like Jim, the film goes all in, never playing it safe or hedging its bets. There are worse things to take a punt on.
Another Paul Schrader film, another lonely man thrust under a magnifying glass as he wrestles with the world, his place in it and his sense of morality. The acclaimed filmmaker has filled the screen with such characters and stories for more than half a century — intense tales of men who would not take it anymore — as evidenced in his screenplays for Martin Scorsese's brilliant Taxi Driver and Bringing Out the Dead, and also in his own directorial efforts such as Light Sleeper and First Reformed. You can't accuse Schrader of always making the same movie, however, as much as his work repeatedly bets on the same ideas. Instead, his films feel like cards from the same deck. Each time he deals one out, it becomes part of its own hand, as gambling drama The Card Counter demonstrates with potency, smarts and a gripping search for salvation. The film's title refers to William 'Tell' Tillich (Oscar Isaac, Dune), who didn't ever plan to spend his days in casinos and his nights in motels. But during an eight-year stint in military prison, he taught himself a new skill that he's been capitalising upon after his release. His gambit: winning modest scores from small-scale casinos. If he doesn't take the house, the house won't discipline his card-counting prowess. The money keeps him moving, but each gambling den could be the same for all that Tell cares. His motel-room routine, which involves removing all artwork from the walls, making the bed with his own linen, and covering every other surface and item with carefully tied cloth — making each space as identical as it can be, and resemble incarceration — lingers between fierce self-discipline and a stifled cry for help. Assistance arrives in two forms, not that Tell is looking or particularly receptive to having other people in his life. The regimented status quo he's carved out so meticulously is first punctured by fellow gambler-turned-agent La Linda (Tiffany Haddish, Like a Boss), who backs other punters and believes they should team up to profit big on the poker circuit. That'd bring Tell more visibility than he'd like, but it'd also increase his pay days, which would come in handy for his second new acquaintance. In Atlantic City, he meets the college-aged Cirk (Tye Sheridan, Voyagers), who has proposes a quest for revenge. Tell shares a grim past with Cirk's dad, and the twentysomething wants to punish the retired major-turned-security expert (William Dafoe, The Lighthouse) that he holds responsible — which Tell is eager to discourage. Isaac doesn't ask his reflection if it's looking in his direction. And, given that The Card Counter joins a filmography overflowing with exceptional performances — including Scenes From a Marriage already this year — it won't define his career as Taxi Driver did for a young Robert De Niro. Still, it's the highest compliment to mention the two in the same breath. At every moment, this blistering film is anchored by Isaac's phenomenal portrayal, which is quiet, slippery and weighty all at once. As conveyed with a calculating glare that's as slick as his brushed-back hair, here is a man who dons a calm facade to mask the storm brewing inside, revels in routine to avoid facing change, and anaesthetises his pain and past deeds with the repetition he's made his daily existence. Here is a man desperate to paper over his inner rot with time spent amid meaningless gloss, preferring to feel empty than to feel anything else, until he has an innocent to try to save and a clear-cut way to rally against the soulless world. In Isaac's case, here is a man surrounded by other impressive actors, too. Haddish is in career-best form, regardless of her comedy successes, and cleverly builds that confident, sharp-talking experience into La Linda's persuasive attitude. Sheridan is tasked with the most blatantly written character of the film's core trio, although that doesn't make Cirk any less riveting or pivotal. Across six decades now, Schrader has probed how America holds up, or doesn't, by using his protagonists as one-man case studies; however, due to Sheridan's single-minded, gun-ho and determined part, The Card Counter sports two examples of how the nation's decay is currently manifesting and spreading — and across two generations as well. Perhaps its plainest to see Schrader's commitment to the same themes — masculinity that's expected to brood stoically, a society that values ease over substance, a world with an ends-justify-the-means mentality, and the trauma, guilt and pursuit of redemption that all three inspire — as a filmmaker taking snapshots of the passing years. The notions he's so profoundly fascinated with are timeless, sadly, so each of his features steeps them within the US as it then exists. In The Card Counter, that also involves scrutinising American military might, the country's self-proclaimed status as the globe's leader and the horrific atrocities undertaken in its name. Indeed, the movie's most potent sequences take Tell back to his time as a guard in the Abu Ghraib prison complex following the 2003 invasion of Iraq. History has established why that's such a haunting choice, and why so much torment lingers deep in Isaac's eyes. When Schrader's now three-time cinematographer Alexander Dynan (Dog Eat Dog, First Reformed) isn't shooting those flashbacks like several layers of feverish nightmares — captured with an ultra-wide lens, warped like a carnival mirror and staged like a relentless onslaught, they're a masterclass in hellishness — The Card Counter takes ample time to peer patiently and intently. It surveys its leading man, eating up his hypnotic fastidiousness. It stalks through the faux casino glitz and lets it tarnish its own veneer, as one of the best gambling films ever made, 1974's California Split, also did. It sees not just lonely men, but sparse spaces, hollow dreams and vacuous ideals. In one short slip into a softer mode, it lets Isaac and Haddish's chemistry — and the sensuous joy of vibrant colours and lights — pose an alternative, too. Going all in on the power and passion of Schrader's lifelong cinematic obsessions and convictions, The Card Counter is another of the writer/director's aces — hands down.
If the way that cinema depicts cancer was plotted out on a scale, Babyteeth and Me and Earl and the Dying Girl could easily demonstrate its extremes. One sees its protagonist as a person first and a patient last; the other uses terminal illness as a catalyst for other people's sorrows and struggles (the "dying girl" part of its moniker, right there at the end, is oh-so-telling about how it regards someone with cancer as little but an afterthought). Nowhere Special thankfully sits at the Babyteeth end of the spectrum. That said, its premise screams weepie, and being moved by its story happens easily. But there's an enormous difference between earning that response through an intimate and delicate story about a person's plight — and, here, their quest to provide for the person dearest to them after they're gone — and merely treating their life-and-death tussle as easy grist for the tear-jerking mill. Nowhere Special follows a 35-year-old single father in Belfast, John (James Norton, Little Women), who needs to find an adoptive family for his four-year-old boy (first-timer Daniel Lamont). His cancer has progressed, and now the doting dad and window cleaner's days are numbered, so he's determined to save his son Michael from more sorrow than his absence will naturally bring — in a situation that's pure emotion-courting fodder, but never manipulatively treated as such. Indeed, writer/director Uberto Pasolini opts for understatement and realism, including over overtly endeavouring to incite the kind of non-stop waterworks that most movies with this premise would eagerly turn on. The filmmaker's last feature, 2013's Still Life, was also just as beautifully measured and tender without mawkishness. Although the gap between his two latest pictures is sizeable time-wise, Pasolini hasn't lost his touch for making sensitive and affecting cinema. Suffering an illness that's turned fatal, and possessing little energy to get through everything that comes with being a single father, John's own fate isn't his primary concern. Nowhere Special takes time to dwell in the routine that marks its protagonist's remaining days — washing panes of glass, making the most of the time he has left with Michael, trying to secure his son new parents, feeling exhausted by all of it but still soldiering on while he can — which seems both mundane and extraordinary in tandem. The always-unspoken fact that life goes on even when it doesn't lingers throughout the film, as stark as a freshly cleaned, newly gleaming window, and contributes to the prevailing bittersweet mood. That's Nowhere Special's baseline. As it charts John's efforts to get Michael the best future he possibly can without himself in it, it soaks in the ups and downs of the pair's life together, recognising that it's both ordinary and remarkable — because all lives are. The search at hand is a difficult one, even when pursued with the best of intentions — by John and with the help of social worker Shona (Eileen O'Higgins, Misbehaviour). Unsurprisingly, finding the right people, or person, to entrust your child to forever is a heartbreaking job, and the weight of what John grapples with never fades from the film's emotional landscape. Features that treat ailing characters so considerately may be uncommon, and they are; however, pictures that willingly face the complicated questions, worries and fears that come with knowing your existence is about to end are rarer still. It might come as little surprise that Pasolini found his tale in reality, reportedly after reading a newspaper article about a man in the same circumstances as John, but how gracefully, attentively and still unflinchingly Nowhere Special fleshes out its story never fails to astonish. Both visually and in his storytelling, Pasolini's approach is to dwell on small moments, as well as times shared in passing that might be forgotten by many but mean the world to John. See: the type of mirrored behaviour that a young son adopts from his dad, the sight of them walking around in matching baseball caps, and the joy that Michael gets from washing his toy truck — doing what his dad does in a way that he can, and showing how he idolises his father without needing to voice it. There's an unfussy, unsentimental but always empathetic feel to the Northern Ireland-set movie, and every shot, including in John's mission to relish every second that remains, and with his interviews with prospective new parents both doting and disastrous. While a lesser movie would've used the latter for comedic purposes, that's never part of Nowhere Special's remit. With windows such a key focus — being cleaned and peering into homes that might become Michael's — it's also little wonder that viewing Nowhere Special resembles gazing into a slice of life that isn't just poignant but cherished. Perhaps better known for his television work to-date courtesy of Black Mirror, McMafia, Grantchester and Happy Valley, Norton offers a glimpse into John's soul via his exceptional performance, which conveys a world of devotion and sorrow even when he isn't saying anything. In fact, Pasolini uses dialogue sparingly between his two main characters, knowing that this father-son duo don't always require words to express what they mean, and also recognising that finding the right thing to utter is arduous on both sides. With the also-magnificent Lamont, Norton inhabits scenes of comfortable and treasured silence. Also made plain as a result: that Michael's young mind will only keep the haziest of memories from these times, so it's the loving mood that truly matters above all else. Nowhere Special is easy to sum up: in contrast to its name, it's something outstanding. Its potency also springs from the lens it turns on the kind of character that's infrequently given such thoughtful attention, with or without terminal cancer. Every dollar counts for John, but it's clear that he spends what he has on Michael — as seen in the kid's new clothes and bedding — rather than himself. He's had his own experiences in the social-services system, which beats at the heart of his quest to lock in his son's future. He's been robbed of most of life's opportunities, and he's devoted to ensuring the same doesn't happen for his boy. He's also still wounded by Michael's mother leaving without providing any contact details in her absence, and he's as doting a dad that anyone could ask for. Thanks to both Pasolini and Norton, John is a fleshed-out portrait of someone on the margins, even before his illness factors in. Feeling for his plight isn't just a case of heartstring-tugging; here, it comes as naturally as breathing.
As both a comedian and a dramatic actor, Bob Odenkirk has earned a lifetime's worth of well-deserved praise. Writing for Saturday Night Live and starring in Mr Show with Bob and David each sit on his resume, as does his pivotal part in Breaking Bad and lead role in the exceptional Better Call Saul. But in Nobody, Odenkirk highlights a facet of his work that's easy to overlook. Jumping into a new genre, he makes viewers realise a truth that cuts to the heart of his talents. Every actor wants to be the person that can't be replaced, and to turn in the type of performances that no one can emulate; however, only the very best, including Odenkirk, manage exactly that. A movie so forged from the John Wick mould that it's penned by the same screenwriter — and boasts the first film's co-director David Leitch (Atomic Blonde) as a producer, too — Nobody could've featured any existing action go-to. It could've been an easy knockoff of well-known hit, joining the swathe of direct-to-video and -streaming titles that use that very template. It could've given Bruce Willis his next role to sleepwalk through, added yet another Taken-style thriller to Liam Neeson's resume or proven one of Nicolas Cage's more straightforward vehicles of late. Thankfully, though, Nobody is all about the ever-watchable Odenkirk and his peerless and compelling ability to play slippery characters. When Nobody begins, Hutch Mansell's (Odenkirk) life has become such a routine that his weeks all unfurl in the same fashion. Plodding through a sexless marriage to real estate agent Becca (Connie Nielsen, Wonder Woman 1984), and barely paid any notice by his teenage son Blake (Gage Munroe, Guest of Honour) and younger daughter Abby (debutant Paisley Cadorath), he catches public transport to his manufacturing company job every weekday, always puts the bins out too late for the garbage truck on Tuesday mornings, and usually earns little more than polite smiles from his family while he's cooking them breakfast that they fail to eat. Then, the Mansells' suburban home is randomly burgled. Hutch confronts the thieves in the act, has a chance to swing a golf club their way, yet holds back. But when Abby notices that her beloved cat bracelet is missing in the aftermath, he decides to take action — a choice that leads him to an unrelated bus filled with obnoxious guys hassling a female passenger, and eventually sees unhinged Russian mobster Yulian Kuznetsov (Aleksey Serebryakov, Leviathan) threatening everything that Hutch holds dear. Derek Kolstad's script — his first feature screenplay beyond the John Wick franchise — teases that there's more to its protagonist's story right from the outset. He communicates with his in-hiding brother (RZA, The Dead Don't Die) via radio, for starters, and his elderly father (Christopher Lloyd, I Am Not a Serial Killer) has a gun and multiple forms of ID stowed away in the closet at his retirement home. But Nobody isn't a twist-filled thriller that snakes, weaves and tries to keep its audience guessing. Lean and economical across its swiftly flowing 92-minute running time, it instead pairs frenetic action scenes with a character study. Yes, the stellar John Wick movies do the same, but don't underestimate the difference that Odenkirk makes. Cartoonishness can come with the territory when a film unleashes punch after punch, and Nobody is rarely subtle, except where its star is involved. On the small screen, he's currently part of the best tragedy there is, with viewers watching as the enterprising Jimmy McGill becomes Breaking Bad's shady Saul Goodman. Here, he gives the same amount of flesh to a seeming mild-mannered everyman with a complicated background, simple dreams and a formidable battle to reconcile the former with the latter. Also helpful: Odenkirk's ability to deliver the line "give me the kitty-cat bracelet" without it ever sounding like a joke. With dialogue like that, Nobody could've quickly slid into parody, but that's never Kolstad and director Ilya Naishuller's (Hardcore Henry) vibe. While there's a knowing undercurrent to the film as it keeps thrusting its various frays to the fore, that mood — like so much in this cinematic cavalcade of violence — is intricately tied to Odenkirk. Indeed, Nobody constantly has fun with its casting, riffing on its star's unlikely addition to its genre in multiple ways. Some are visual and blatant. Odenkirk doesn't resemble Hollywood's typical action hero, after all. Nobody isn't a particularly contemplative movie, but it also emphasises how dismissively Hutch is treated by everyone in his orbit, despite secretly possessing skills that his detractors can only fantasise about. Of course, fans already acquainted with Odenkirk's knack for complex characters will instantly spy the texture to Hutch, who thankfully never joins the ranks of toxically pent-up men stereotypically pushed to their supposed breaking points. Hutch is barely interested in being a vigilante, in fact. He doesn't snap in a frenzy. Rather, he just wants to return to the one thing that he's always been good at, especially after spending a couple of decades in a rut. Again and again, Odenkirk is both essential and crucial to Nobody — but its fight choreography was always going to stand out. In line with its central character, all of the movie's attacks prove resourceful instead of slick. They're exceptionally, elaborately and engagingly executed, including by its star, who does most of his own stunts; however, they're also somehow both scrappy and dynamic. Naishuller doesn't skimp on bloodshed or style, though. He wants every over-the-top showdown to strike a chord, and he gets his wish. But it's the first big confrontation, on that bus, that Nobody will forever be remembered for. As well as being kinetically yet tightly shot and staged, it manages what Odenkirk does so well, and repeatedly: anchoring this gleefully OTT symphony of brutality in the everyday and commonplace. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngy7grwzFTw
It's a decades-old inner-west tradition: watching the Newtown Jets' home footy game from up on the hill at Henson Park, that is. But things have been dialed up a few notches over the years with the introduction of The Beer, Footy & Food Festival. After a two-year pandemic-related hiatus — and then multiple weather-related postponements — the beloved festival returned in April of this year, but after so long out of the game, the team behind the festivities has decided to return for a second 2022 edition. A good time for footy lovers, foodies and everyone in between, the event is set to dish up a huge afternoon of family-friendly fun. As well as the match-up between the Inner West's two most beloved footy sides — the Jets and the South Sydney Rabbitohs — you can expect a celebration of another Inner West triumph: craft beer. Keep that thirst in check with drops from 33 different brewers, including Grifter, Wayward, Batch, Yulli's Brews, Young Henrys, Hawke's, Willie The Boatman, Glebe Brewing Co, Brickworks and a heap more. Doom Juice will also be onsite pouring glasses of natural, minimal-intervention wines to enjoy while you watch the game. And, organisers have roped in a good number of food vendors, too. Get ready to enjoy snacks from the likes of Bush, Happy as Larry, Brooklyn Boys Bagels, Good Ways Deli, and Sparky's Jerk BBQ among others. And make sure you pack your footy so you can take part in the post-match kick-around on the hallowed turf of Henson Park.
If Pitch Perfect 2 taught us anything, it's that bigger isn't always better. The so-so 2015 sequel didn't exactly make the original look like a one-hit wonder, but in trying to repeat the same beats (only louder), it couldn't find quite the same catchy refrain. Still, it's a toe-tapping triumph compared to the third instalment in the a cappella-focused franchise. Like mid 2000s-era Britney Spears, whose 'Toxic' the film trots out more than once, Pitch Perfect 3 is desperately trying to recapture some old magic with very little success. Britney's track is actually the best thing about the movie, which is why it keeps popping up. As the Barden Bellas sing, dance and channel their inner pop star, they're doing what they love — and it shows. Sadly, director Trish Sie (Step Up 5), returning screenwriter Kay Cannon and franchise newbie/co-writer Mike White (Brad's Status) insist on overcomplicating matters again and again. And so it is that our heroes find themselves belting out the tune on a boat that's suddenly besieged with action and explosions. If you're thinking that the franchise has completely run out of ideas, then you're right. The singing silliness starts when record producer Beca (Anna Kendrick), pals Chloe (Brittany Snow) and Aubrey (Anna Camp), outspoken Australian Fat Amy (Rebel Wilson) and the rest of the gang wrangle their way into a gig entertaining American troops — which then turns out to be a competition to support DJ Khaled at the finale of the tour. Unhappy in their adult lives now that college is but a distant memory, the experience sees the group back in their aca-element, hopping across Europe and riffing off against bands with actual instruments. Commentators John (John Michael Higgins) and Gail (Elizabeth Banks) tag along to make a documentary, while Fat Amy also has to deal with her estranged Aussie father (John Lithgow). While Britney gives Pitch Perfect 3 its high point, it heads in the opposite direction every time Lithgow opens his mouth. Like Quentin Tarantino in Django Unchained, it's another case of an American actor completely missing the mark when trying out an Australian accent — not that he seems to be trying that hard. The fact that it'll stick in your mind says just as much about the film around it, however, with the movie brightly shot and zippily paced but unable to rise above a bland screenplay. It doesn't help that the main cast seem barely interested, as they trot through the expected motions, jokes and character tics. At least they give the various jukebox-like musical numbers the requisite energy. Everything else in the film feels like exactly what it is: filler. The end product is a movie that, much like its characters, is happy just to relive past glories. Ironically, the film's message — about moving on and letting go of the past — is one that it seems incapable of taking on board. As a result, while Pitch Perfect 3 is packaged as the Bellas' last hurrah, no one will be surprised if we end up with a fourth instalment. If it forces the group onto a reality TV singing show — and, really, where else can they go? — then it really will be scraping the bottom of the barrel. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rv_aNPMRv0
Hordes of imitators have spilled ones and zeros claiming otherwise, but the greatest move The Matrix franchise ever made wasn't actually bullet time. Even 22 years after Lana and Lilly Wachowski brought the saga's instant-classic first film to cinemas, its slow-motion action still wows, and yet they made another choice that's vastly more powerful. It wasn't the great pill divide — blue versus red, as dubiously co-opted by right-wing conspiracies since — or the other binaries at its core (good versus evil, freedom versus enslavement, analogue versus digital, humanity versus machines). It wasn't end-of-the-millennia philosophising about living lives online, the green-tinged cyberpunk aesthetic, or one of the era's best soundtracks, either. They're all glorious, as is knowing kung fu and exclaiming "whoa!", but The Matrix's unwavering belief in Keanu Reeves and Carrie-Anne Moss is far more spectacular. It was a bold decision those two-and-a-bit decades ago, with Reeves a few years past sublime early-90s action hits Point Break and Speed, and Moss then known for TV bit parts (including, in a coincidence that feels like the product of computer simulation, a 1993 series called Matrix). But, as well as giving cinema their much-emulated gunfire-avoidance technique and all those other aforementioned highlights, the Wachowskis bet big on viewers caring about their central pair — and hooking into their chemistry — as leather-clad heroes saving humanity. Amid the life-is-a-lie horrors, the subjugation of flesh to mechanical overlords and the battle for autonomy, the first three Matrix films always weaved Neo and Trinity's love story through their sci-fi action. Indeed, the duo's connection remained the saga's beating heart. Like any robust computer program executed over and over, The Matrix Resurrections repeats the feat — with plenty of love for what's come before, but even more for its enduring love story. Lana goes solo on The Matrix Resurrections — helming her first-ever project without her sister in their entire career — but she still goes all in on Reeves and Moss. The fourth live-action film in the saga, and fifth overall counting The Animatrix, this new instalment doesn't initially give its key figures their familiar character names, however. Rather, it casts them as famous video game designer Thomas Anderson and motorcycle-loving mother-of-two Tiffany. One of those monikers is familiar, thanks to a surname drawled by Agent Smith back in 1999, and again in 2003 sequels The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions. But this version of Thomas Anderson only knows the agent from his own hit gaming trilogy (called The Matrix, naturally). And he doesn't really know Tiffany at all, instead admiring her from afar at Simulatte, their local coffee shop. Before Reeves and Moss share a frame, and before Anderson and Tiffany's awkward meet-cute, The Matrix Resurrections begins with blue-haired hacker Bugs (Jessica Henwick, On the Rocks). She sports a white rabbit tattoo, observes a scene straight out of the first flick and helps set the movie's self-referential tone. As a result, The Matrix Resurrections starts with winking, nodding and déjà vu — and, yes, with a glitch, with Lana and co-screenwriters David Mitchell (author of Cloud Atlas) and Aleksandar Hemon (Sense8) penning a playful script that adores the established Matrix lore, enjoys toying with it and openly unpacks everything that's sprung up around it. Long exposition dumps, some of the feature's worst habits, explain the details, but waking up Anderson from his machine-induced dream — again — is Bugs' number-one aim. The Matrix Resurrections' main task: reteaming Neo and Trinity, and getting them to realise that they even are Neo and Trinity. Once more, Wachowski knows where the saga's heart resides, that its existential dramas are about people, and that the bonds that bind us are our lifeblood. But now that Neo and Trinity inhabit a realm where a game series with the exact same plot as the first three Matrix movies is Anderson's livelihood, the path to simulation-dismantling love is unsurprisingly paved with difficulties. Here are three: the demands by Anderson's business partner (Jonathan Groff, Hamilton) for a sequel to the games, the blue pills prescribed by Anderson's analyst (Neil Patrick Harris, It's a Sin), and Tiffany's husband Chad (played by the John Wick franchise's director Chad Stahelski, who was also Reeves' stunt double in the first Matrix flick) and all he represents. Reviving a romance last seen on-screen 18 years ago, raising its main players from the dead, bringing back other characters in altered guises, liberally weaving in clips from past films — stitched together as it is from oh-so-many familiar parts, you could call The Matrix Resurrections a Frankenstein's monster of a movie. Wachowski has found a rare way to make that a positive more often than not, however, because deprogramming the notion that anything is just one thing alone couldn't be more crucial here. That truth pulsates through the film's action, too, which can't live up to the original and doesn't particularly seem to try. Enough of the movie's fights and chases and sci-fi trickery still look stunning, but The Matrix Resurrections wants audiences to go "whoa!' over its ideas, emotions and meta-philosophising above all else. Even the warmer colour scheme — sorry, fans of futuristic green — casts this new tumble down the rabbit hole in multiple lights. A film can be daring, evolve its franchise while mining nostalgia with care and savvy, and make the utmost of its biggest strengths — Reeves and Moss, clearly, who could melt faces with their chemistry. It can be both fun and funny, and also skewer the company resuscitating it (that'd be Warner Bros, with The Matrix Resurrections doing a superior job of making the joke than the studio's horrible Space Jam: A New Legacy). It can offer a sincere ode to love, human connection and perseverance, too, and transform old parts to make them feel different in the process. Still, while so much about The Matrix Resurrections dazzles — Yahya Abdul-Mateen II (Candyman) joining the fold and rocking magnificent suits among them — sometimes it's just clunkily new and clumsily self-referential rather than fresh. Believing in Reeves and Moss remains its biggest superpower, though. If the energy from their timeless on-screen romance can help the world forget how underwhelming The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions both proved, it can fuel this mostly thrilling, almost-always-entertaining look back in the sci-fi mirror.
UPDATE, October 29, 2020: Halloween is available to stream via Netflix, Google Play, YouTube Movies, iTunes and Amazon Video. The boogeyman is back, and his warped face mask, stolen mechanic's overalls and gleaming kitchen knife too. But Michael Myers' return isn't the entire point of the latest (and second greatest) Halloween. While the creepy convicted killer stalks the streets of Haddonfield, Illinois as if he's never left, Jamie Lee Curtis' resourceful and determined Laurie Strode is back as well — and in the current version of events, she's spent four decades preparing for this very moment. Once a 17-year-old babysitter targeted by an escaped criminal asylum patient on October 31, Laurie is now a silver-haired, gun-toting grandmother. Living in a compound-like property in her hometown, she's so intent on facing her attacker that she has dedicated years to this very purpose. Laurie's now-adult daughter Karen (Judy Greer) resents her for the impact that it had on her childhood, while teenage granddaughter Allyson (Andi Matichak) is caring but concerned. Regardless, Laurie knows that Michael will come for her — and when he again breaks free en route to a new psychiatric facility, she's proven accurate. Carnage ensues, just as it did in John Carpenter's original slasher classic. As Haddonfield trick-or-treats like it's any other Halloween in any other place, Michael adds more notches to his body count, Laurie lies in wait and Allyson follows in her grandmother's footsteps like it's 40 years earlier. Directed by David Gordon Green (Stronger) and co-written with frequent collaborator Danny McBride, 2018's Halloween knows how to incite bumps, jumps and screams, many of which will be gloriously familiar to seasoned Halloween buffs. But, with Carpenter's blessing and a new musical score from the horror maestro and composer, this take on the franchise also knows how to carve its own path. Now reaching its 11th instalment, Halloween unleashes the series' fourth different timeline, ignoring everything else except the initial 1978 flick. Black Mirror just announced that it's making a choose-your-own-adventure episode, but this franchise has been doing it for decades. Viewers can pick the cultish thread that eventually connects the first five sequels (including the Michael-free Halloween III: Season of the Witch), Laurie's first big return in Halloween: H20 and its terrible follow-up Halloween: Resurrection, or Rob Zombie's two remakes, however the series' next chapter is the most thrilling, perceptive and satisfying. Green and McBride are clearly fond of Carpenter's seminal work, stripping the saga's underlying suburban nightmare back to its terrifying basics, while contemplating the consequences of terrible trauma. Their film recognises the scariest fact of life: that truly awful things happen for absolutely no reason, and that they cast a dark shadow. That makes 2018's Halloween a powerful account of the ways that horrific acts shape the lives of survivors, as well as a celebration of women rallying to reclaim their own story. Nothing robs inexplicable terror of its potency quite like its intended victims refusing to be defined by fear. Thankfully, this Halloween isn't just thoughtful — it's thoroughly entertaining, even when it's hitting recognisable notes. Balancing the old and the new is a game that this sequel plays as well as Michael plays cat-and-mouse, from subverting genre tropes initially established by the series, to lovingly nodding to its many predecessors. When the true crime podcasters (played by Jefferson Hall and Rhian Rees) who kickstart the film's narrative visit Haddonfield's cemetery, and when Laurie calls new doctor Sartain (Haluk Bilginer) the "new Loomis", franchise devotees will want to cheer. When the movie turns Laurie into Michael's boogeyman, rather than vice versa, everyone will want to applaud. Of course, as plenty of horror shockers have demonstrated over the last 40 years — including a few Halloween follow-ups — it's not enough to simply work through the Halloween checklist. While 2018's Halloween does that with finesse and fondness that goes beyond mere fan service,it also feels the part thanks to its unsettling atmosphere and ample blood splatter. There's lingering menace in Michael Simmonds' (Nerve) cinematography, both when it's mirroring old shots from the original and bringing its own flourishes. Collaborating with his son Cody and godson Daniel Davies, Carpenter's score reworks the iconic synth and piano-heavy music that has served the series so well, but with a suitably bleaker tone. They both contribute to the sequel that Carpenter's seminal picture has deserved for all of these years. That said, 2018's Halloween does present a conundrum. It's the perfect culmination to the long-running franchise but, more than any other chapter, it leaves the audience pumped for more. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cL_I2vNwkXQ
It's a rare treat to see classical favourites performed by world-class musicians in a beautiful setting. And it's even rarer for that experience to be completely free — but that's exactly what you get at Sydney Symphony Under the Stars. Each year the renowned orchestra brings its rapturous performances to Parramatta Park, with the park's rolling green hills acting as a backdrop to a fantastic free program. Appearing free of charge and unticketed as part of Sydney Festival, the Sydney Symphony will perform a sparkling new program of tunes ranging from beloved movie themes to original works from the great composer, multi-instrumentalist and didgeridoo virtuoso, William Barton. Victor Frankowski Barton himself will be in attendance performing on the didgeridoo, joined by Anoushka Shankar on the sitar, as well as Aunty Delmae Barton, Véronique Serret and Iva Davies AM among the standout cast of musicians. Expect a cut from John Williams' score to E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial, James Horner's main title from Apollo 13, an arrangement of Icehouse's 'Great Southern Land' and Strauss' 'Blue Danube'. Pack a picnic basket and your favourite rug before heading down early to nab a spot in front of the huge stage located at Parramatta Park's The Crescent. Then sit back, relax and be treated to a world-class performance from the Sydney Symphony Orchestra conducted by Benjamin Northey, building to the grand finale of a thunderous firework display lighting up the night's sky. Starting at 8pm on Saturday, January 20, the event is family-friendly — and spots are first-come-first-serve with no online registrations. Top images: Jamie Williams
Russia’s nomination to the 2014 Foreign Language Oscar race is every bit as slow and imposing as its title would suggest. Ostensibly named for the enormous blue whales whose bones scatter the shoreline of the small coastal town of Pribrezhny, the name Leviathan more readily refers to the unfeeling, unyielding behemoth of the Russian bureaucracy that devours everything in its path. Acclaimed director Andrey Zvyagintsev does a masterful job capturing the misery of life under such a corrupt and broken system. Of course, whether that’s something you actually want to watch is a different question entirely. Don’t get us wrong: there’s plenty to appreciate about Zvyagintsev’s latest feature. Chief among them would be the raw, brutish performance of Aleksey Serebryakov. A mainstay of the Russian screen industry, Serebryakov plays Kolya, a quick-tempered auto mechanic who runs afoul of Pribrezhny’s mayor (played by Roman Madyanov), who wants to seize the valuable headland currently occupied by Kolya’s house. In order to fight back, Kolya calls on Dimitriy (Vladimir Vdovichenkov), a friend from his days in the army and now a high-powered lawyer in Moscow. Through Kolya’s struggle, Zvyagintsev presents viewers with a scathing critique of contemporary Russian society — a grim, vodka-soaked landscape of dodgy politicians with little concern for the citizens who put them in office. It’s compelling for a time, in a depressing sort of way, watching the poor, emasculated Kolya gain inches only to be set back miles. Those hoping that the prevalence of religious imagery might signal a David and Goliath ending are likely to leave the cinema disappointed. The hopelessness of Kolya's situation is reflected in the work of cinematographer Mikhail Krichman, who favours wide lenses, static camera work and a colour palette overpowered by greys. Unfortunately, as Leviathan plods past the two hour mark, you too may begin to feel overpowered. For all his insight, Zvyagintsev isn’t trading in a particularly nuanced brand of bleakness, his message driven home with all the dull, repetitive pounding of a sledgehammer, or waves crashing endlessly on the shore. Leviathan is arduous by design. But that’s little conciliation when you’re struggling to sit through it.
