Film Reviews by griggs

I Used to Be Funny is the indie release that deserved a wider audience, if only to witness Rachel Sennott's mesmerising, Oscar-worthy performance that somehow balances the film's uneven tone on her capable shoulders. Sennott delivers a masterclass in dark humour and raw emotion, leaving us wondering how a film this gripping could be so maddeningly frustrating at times. It's a curious case where Sennott's brilliance outshines its surroundings, raising the question: why didn't this film get a wider cinematic release instead of being buried in the depths of a streaming service?

Nil by Mouth is an extraordinary piece of cinema that resonates deeply with anyone familiar with the gritty realities of South East London. As someone who has grown up and still lives in this area, I feel that the film’s raw portrayal of life feels less like a kitchen sink drama and more like a fly-on-the-wall documentary.

The authenticity of the characters and their environment is both compelling and distressing. Ray Winstone, Laila Moran and Kathy Burke deliver performances that are nothing short of incredible, embodying their roles with a visceral intensity that makes the film hard to watch yet impossible to look away from. Their portrayals are so genuine that they blur the lines between acting and reality, capturing the essence of a world many would rather forget.

In his directorial debut, Gary Oldman crafts a brutally honest and deeply personal narrative. His depiction of the underbelly of South East London is uncompromising, showcasing the harshness of life that, for the best reasons, is slowly being eroded by gentrification. While the changing landscape might be welcomed, the film is a stark reminder of a past that is still a part of the area’s identity.

Nil by Mouth is South London’s equivalent to Taxi Driver, a cinematic exploration of a society’s darker aspects. It’s a powerful statement on the human condition, and while it’s not an easy watch, it’s essential. One can only hope that Oldman returns to filmmaking soon, as his voice and vision are as necessary now as they were when this was released in 1997.

Watching "The Scent of a Woman" without any prior knowledge of its story was a wonderful surprise. Al Pacino's performance as the blind Lieutenant Colonel Frank Slade showcases his incredible versatility, earning him an Oscar and leaving a lasting impression with his iconic "Hoo-ahh!" exclamation, which I now feel compelled to incorporate into my everyday vocabulary. The film's exploration of friendship and redemption, alongside Chris O'Donnell's role as the young student Charlie Simms, creates a poignant and transformative narrative. The direction and cinematography further enhance this emotionally resonant story, making "The Scent of a Woman" a must-watch.

Béla Tarr's Werckmeister Harmonies is a haunting exploration of societal chaos and human despair that feels disturbingly relevant in light of the current right-wing demonstrations and riots targeting ethnic minorities and asylum seekers in England.

The film, set in a bleak Hungarian town, depicts the unravelling of social order as fear and violence take hold, mirroring the divisive and inflammatory rhetoric prevalent today. The stark black-and-white cinematography and slow pacing create an atmosphere of oppressive inevitability, heightening the film's impact as it reflects the fragility of our societal structures.

Watching Werckmeister Harmonies now, against the backdrop of the riots, makes the film's depiction of mob mentality and xenophobia even more chilling. The protagonist, János Valuska, symbolizes a desperate attempt to restore harmony, resonating deeply as a poignant reminder of the consequences of division and hatred. Tarr's masterpiece not only challenges us to confront the darkness within our societies but also underscores the urgent need to seek out harmonies to save us from ourselves.

I Saw the TV Glow is a film that left me teetering on the edge of indecision. As the credits rolled, I grappled with a simple yet profound question: Was this the best or worst film of the year? Ultimately, I realised that the film’s impact was more complex than a binary judgment could capture. Some films aren’t universally accessible—not due to their themes, but because of the unique methods they use to explore those themes. This film, with its unique methods, is a prime example.

I watched I Saw the TV Glow as the London Trans Pride March passed by the cinema. The energy and sense of community from the march stood in stark contrast to the isolated, introspective experience of the film. This juxtaposition heightened my appreciation for the film’s profound exploration of identity and perception, engaging me even more in the film’s unconventional narrative device.

The concept of a programme within the film that we as an audience aren't privy to was a bold narrative choice. While I enjoyed this exploration, I needed help to stay engaged. The layers of storytelling, while intellectually stimulating, often felt like a barrier rather than a bridge to understanding the characters and their journeys.

Despite this, there’s a particular brilliance in the film’s willingness to challenge its audience. I Saw the TV Glow dares to push boundaries and provoke thought, even if it alienates some viewers. Its daring narrative choices and thought-provoking themes make it a cinematic revelation for those who can embrace its idiosyncrasies. For others, like myself, it’s easier to admire from a distance than to fully embrace.

I Saw the TV Glow may not be a film for everyone, and that’s precisely its strength and weakness. It defies easy categorisation, demanding both attention and patience. Whether it’s the best or worst film of the year is a question I’m still pondering, but perhaps that’s the point. It’s a film meant to linger in the mind and be debated and dissected long after the screen darkens.

Bo Burnham's Eighth Grade packs a punch, much like a condensed version of Richard Linklater's Boyhood. While Boyhood focuses on 12 years of life, Burnham's film zooms in on a one-week, anxiety-filled window into the life of a highly relatable teenager played by Elsie Fisher. The depiction of adolescence, from the constant popularity contests that are teenage life to the stress of social media and awkward parties, the film is so raw that it's impossible not to be moved. Elsie Fisher's performance is outstanding, making you wince, laugh, and even shed a tear while simultaneously cheering for her throughout. Eighth Grade is a sharp, funny, and heartfelt snapshot of teenage life.

Francis Ford Coppola's The Cotton Club Encore is a significantly improved version of the original 1984 film. It offers a better balance between dazzling dance sequences and gripping gangster action. The restoration highlights the vibrancy of the Cotton Club itself, making it a central character while maintaining the sharpness of the crime drama. However, despite these improvements, the film's initial failure still looms large, with its complex and interwoven storylines occasionally feeling overcrowded. While the Encore edition is more coherent and enjoyable, it also serves as a reminder of the film's troubled history and unmet expectations.

You will already know the plot outline if you've seen the trailers, so I won't mention it here. I did appreciate the Hitchcockian style of direction in the first act, where you find yourself rooting for Josh Hartnett's character to escape, even though he's a sadistic serial killer. That said, during the first 30 minutes, Hartnett's performance feels off—misguided and somewhat stiff, likely due to a questionable direction. Yet, in the final act, he truly shines, despite the film's last third abandoning the original premise.

Director M. Night Shyamalan, known for his plot twists, doesn't let you down here. The big one is that when the credits roll, you realise you've just watched a two-hour advert for Shyamalan's daughter, who plays a significant role in the movie, and little else.

Expecting a nail-biting experience? You won't find it here. The film lacks the suspense that keeps you on the edge of your seat. Instead, what you're left with is a sense of disappointment and regret for the missed opportunity to create a truly thrilling experience.

Godzilla vs. King Kong (1963) is the kaiju showdown that stomps its way into the history books and our hearts. Yes, the King Kong suit is as laughably awkward as you’ve heard. It looks like a sleep-deprived apprentice with a grudge stitched it together, but that’s precisely why it’s so endearing. These two giant monsters aren’t just brawling—they’re giving us the most hilariously epic therapy session ever, with a side of city-smashing. The final battle? It’s not just chaos; it’s a pure, unfiltered cinematic absurdity that makes you wonder what the filmmakers were drinking. If you’re into monster movies or just appreciate a film that’s so delightfully over-the-top it practically winks at you, this one’s a must-watch. It’s like watching Cyril the Swan and Zampa the Lion, go at it again, but after a few too many drinks—utterly ridiculous and absolutely glorious.

The film follows Monty (Edward Norton) as he spends his last 24 hours before surrendering himself to enter prison, bidding farewell to friends and family.

Despite Edward Norton's strong performance, the film features an overblown sequence in which Monty delivers a non-PC rant against various ethnic groups in New York, which could have been a landmark performance if it wasn’t undercut by a less impactful, sentimental, and fantasised ending in which these same groups support him.

The result was a self-satisfied film that I found largely disappointing.

As someone who admittedly struggles with sci-fi, I was surprised by how much I appreciated the film's exploration of the philosophical tensions between science and theology. The central debate, which pits empirical evidence against faith, is thought-provoking and adds depth to a visually impressive spectacle. However, the film is undeniably overlong. They say that if you can cut 10% of a film, you should cut 20%, and Contact would undoubtedly benefit from some serious trimming. The pacing sometimes drags, with scenes that contribute little to the overall narrative.

The timescales depicted in the movie also strain credibility, adding another layer of unbelievability to a story that already requires a significant suspension of disbelief. This detracts from the film's impact, making it harder to fully immerse oneself in the story.

As for Jodie Foster, while she is undoubtedly a great actress, this performance feels weaker than her other roles. Her portrayal of Dr Ellie Arroway lacks the nuance and emotional depth that might have elevated the character beyond the somewhat formulaic role the script offers.

This is a film with interesting ideas and spectacular moments. Still, it ultimately falters due to its bloated runtime, unrealistic timelines, and a performance from Foster that, while competent, doesn't reach her usual standards.

This Korean horror film presents some truly intriguing concepts, exploring whether the phenomenon at its core is sleepwalking or possession. While the first two acts may feel somewhat slow and repetitive, with the tension primarily arising from occasional jump scares in what initially seems like a medical procedural, the third act is exceptional. However, this film is more than just a suspense thriller or a ghost story. It weaves in a deeper narrative, lamenting the erosion of the traditional culture in Korea, which adds a sombre yet exhilarating dimension to the overall experience.

The first time I watched the film (on a copy from Cinema Paradiso), its storytelling completely mesmerized me. However, the poor quality of the recording at times made it difficult to follow the storyline. Fortunately, I found a restored version funded by MoMA that completely transformed my viewing experience. The improved clarity and sharpness of the images made it feel like I was discovering the film anew and enhanced the scenes' emotional impact. It truly is an extraordinary piece of cinema.

Crossing, directed by the brilliant Levan Akin, is a mesmeric film that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll. Akin's masterful direction makes the film entirely character-driven, focusing intently on its protagonists' intricate lives and relationships. Instead of relying on the stunning backdrop of Istanbul to carry the narrative, Akin uses intimate close shots to draw the audience deeply into the characters' personal journeys.

This approach creates an unparalleled sense of immersion. The camera's unwavering attention to the subtleties of expression and interaction makes you feel as though you are not merely watching a film but intruding on genuine moments of connection and conflict. The effect is a visceral experience of human emotion, rendered with a rare authenticity.

The acting is nothing short of incredible. Each actor delivers a convincing performance that blurs the line between fiction and reality, making you feel like an interloper in the scene rather than a mere spectator. Their portrayal of complex emotions and relationships is nuanced and powerful, contributing to the film's profound impact, leaving you deeply moved and affected.

Crossing is a testament to Akin's visionary direction and the exceptional talent of its cast. It is a beautiful film that captivates the heart and mind, offering a profoundly human story that resonates on multiple levels, making you feel deeply connected and understood.

Watching My Neighbor Totoro in its subtitled version on the big screen was a thoroughly wonderful experience, allowing me to appreciate the film as it was originally intended. The enchanting story of two young sisters befriending mystical forest spirits, especially the gentle giant Totoro, is brought to life with beautiful animation and a heartwarming narrative. Studio Ghibli's masterful artistry and storytelling are evident in every frame, creating a magical, immersive world that captivates both children and adults alike. Seeing it in its original language added an authentic touch, enhancing the charm and emotional depth of this beloved classic.