Film Reviews by griggs

Honestly, I think this film could be improved by adding some samurai. A fan of the original, I was hop ok Ng thus reimagining might add some depth, but it falls well short. 

This is a weirdly gripping yet clunky psychological drama with a horror-ish vibe. There’s not a single bad performance—Hepburn, Taylor, and Clift are all on top form—but the film gives you so much time to figure things out that, 25 minutes in, you’ve basically cracked it and are just waiting for the big reveal. There’s a nice bit of sexual ambiguity, and when it works, it really works, but in between, it just lumbers along, getting more ridiculous as it goes. Still, it’s entertaining in its own odd way, even if it takes its sweet time getting there.

Opus is absolutely ridiculous – and that’s probably the point. It’s one of those films that thinks it’s way smarter than it actually is, throwing in Midsommar-style cult weirdness and Blink Twice-esque discomfort but not doing either particularly well. John Malkovich is, of course, perfect for something this absurd. Still, even he can’t save it from feeling like a messy parody of better films. The only truly good thing here is Ayo Edebiri, who somehow makes every line work despite the nonsense around her. If it weren’t for her, this would be completely unbearable.

Despite being an ’80s film, Cutter’s Way radiates the spirit of ’70s New Hollywood—messy, cynical, and paranoid. Its neo-noir influences are unmistakable, with Jeff Bridges meandering through life. At the same time, John Heard’s unhinged, battle-scarred companion drags him into a conspiracy. And it’s not just Bridges’ appearance that makes it feel like a prototype for The Big Lebowski—his drifter is once again reluctantly pulled into intrigue by an intense veteran friend who makes Walter Sobchak look well-adjusted, just with more bitterness and less bowling. The plot takes a backseat to the mood; haunting, atmospheric, and deeply underrated, this slow-burn gem deserves far more recognition.

It’s incredible just how assured Ratcatcher is for a debut, you can see the beginnings of the world-class filmmaker she’d become. Ramsey’s eye for detail and atmosphere is stunning, turning 1970s Glasgow into something both grim and poetic. The film is tough but tender, full of quiet heartbreak and striking imagery. A haunting, beautifully shot coming-of-age story.

My Favourite Cake is a beautifully made, deeply moving film that captures the joys and heartbreaks of life in Iran and immerses the audience in the characters' experiences. It's warm and funny at times but ultimately leaves a lasting sadness. The film paints a vivid picture of everyday life, allowing the audience to explore loneliness, longing, and the quiet strength of its characters. At its core, Faramarz is more than just a man—he is a symbol of Iran's past. In Persian mythology, Faramarz is a heroic figure, representing courage, honour, and Iran's proud heritage. In the film, he feels like an analogy for the country itself, embodying a fading era where freedom, community, and dignity once flourished. His fate is a heartbreaking reflection of Iran's decline, the erosion of civil society, and the increasing indifference of the state towards its people. The film's exploration of love, loss, and resilience takes on a new urgency in light of the real-world consequences faced by its filmmakers. Directors Maryam Moghaddam and Behtash Sanaeeha have been imprisoned by Iranian authorities. Their passports were confiscated when they tried to travel for post-production, and they were interrogated for depicting scenes where the characters drank wine and danced, which were deemed unacceptable by the regime. My Favourite Cake is a brave, tender, and profoundly affecting film that carries weight far beyond the screen.

The Jerk creeps up on you. At first, it’s just a load of gags—some hit, some miss—but the longer you stick with it, the funnier it gets. Steve Martin goes all in, and while some jokes still land, others feel a bit dated. But hey, that’s time for you. It’s completely daft, never takes itself seriously, and when it works, it’s properly funny. Not every scene’s a winner, but if you’re up for something silly, you could do much worse.

Capernaum is undeniably powerful, but its determination to break you feels almost relentless. Nadine Labaki crafts a stark, angry piece of social realism, anchored by an extraordinary performance from Zain Al Rafeea, whose raw intensity carries the film. Even the baby gives a heartbreakingly convincing turn.

 The film’s premise—a child suing his parents for bringing him into a life of suffering—is audacious. Labaki successfully illustrates the impossible conditions forced upon Beirut’s most vulnerable. Yet, for all its authenticity, Capernaum burdens itself with such unrelenting misery that it begins to feel calculated. Every moment is designed to elicit tears, every hardship piled atop the last until the sheer weight of suffering risks overshadowing the human story at its core.

 While Labaki’s empathy for her characters is evident, the film occasionally buckles under its own melodrama. The result is a harrowing but exhausting experience—so determined to devastate that it sometimes undercuts its own impact. It is a well-acted and urgent film, but one that tries too hard to crush you.

Enter the Void is certainly a journey—one that dazzles the senses but tests the patience. Gaspar Noé crafts a hypnotic, neon-soaked plunge into the afterlife with stunning visuals and a unique first-person perspective. But at nearly three hours, it drags; I’m sure at least 30 minutes could have been shaved off without losing much. At times, it veers into the outright ludicrous, lost in its own self-indulgence, yet somehow it still tells an interesting story. It’s a film that’s more about experience than narrative, and while it’s impressive, it’s also exhausting. Stunning to look at, less fun to watch and even less fun to comprehend.

Given Geoffrey Rush and John Lithgow’s billing, I was surprised—and frankly disappointed—that The Rule of Jenny Penn received such a limited release. Most audiences will only catch it on a streamer, which feels like a disservice to a thriller this gripping. At times genuinely scary but always entertaining, it’s elevated by two powerhouse performances that deserve better than being buried in the internet’s darkest corners. My only gripe? The editing could have been tighter—sharpening the pacing and making the attempted jump scares more memorable and nerve racking. Still, a thoroughly enjoyable watch.

Black Bag is classic Soderbergh—slick, weird, and hard to pin down. It’s not quite a thriller, not quite a comedy, but more of a chaotic spy procedural where nothing really adds up. It’s fun to watch it all unfold. The script is razor-sharp and full of quick, clever and funny dialogue.

Michael Fassbender is back in his The Killer automaton mode—cold, efficient, and slightly terrifying—while Cate Blanchett chews up every scene ably supported by the superb Tom Burke, Naomie Harris while Pierce Brosnan reminds us he still oozes charisma even if it is with a sinister edge. It’s a film bursting with talent but never hits as hard as it should. Still, you could do much worse if you’re up for a stylish, oddball romp with a great cast.

Since Gene Hackman’s death, I’ve been exploring some of his lesser-known films, seeking out the deep cuts where he plays a true slimeball villain—not the camp or comedic kind (The Royal Tenenbaums, Superman, The Birdcage), nor the morally grey antihero (The French Connection, Night Moves), but the real nasty pieces of work. Prime Cut fits the bill perfectly.

 This is a grimy, mean-spirited little crime thriller, violent in ways that still feel shocking. The opening scene alone sets the tone—human meat ground up like sausages—and it only gets more grotesque from there. Hackman plays Mary Ann, a Kansas cattle baron and pimp who treats women like livestock and revels in his depravity. Opposite him is Lee Marvin, effortlessly cool as a mob enforcer sent to collect a debt. The two are absolute powerhouses, and their clash is electric—Hackman is so gleefully slimy I wish I’d seen this sooner.

 Director Michael Ritchie borrows plenty from Hitchcock, most obviously in a North by Northwest-style cornfield chase, but his approach is rougher, more brutal. The film is taut, lean, and stylish, but the script at times is woeful—clunky dialogue and thin character work occasionally undercut the tension. It’s not perfect, but as a cult pulpy, violent thriller, it’s got more than enough to recommend it.

The Meetings of Anna is one of those films that really pays off if you’re willing to sit with it. Nothing moves quickly—every scene lingers, and every silence feels loaded. Akerman frames each shot so beautifully that even the dullest hotel room feels deliberate. It’s such a smart piece of character work, letting us feel Anna’s loneliness without ever spelling it out. Conversations come and go, connections slip away, and you just absorb it all. It’s quiet, careful, and completely absorbing. If you’re in the right mood, it pulls you in and doesn’t let go.

Pi is a sweaty, paranoid trip into obsession, where maths, madness, and mysticism collide in grainy black-and-white. Darren Aronofsky keeps it raw and relentless, throwing us into the intense, spiralling breakdown of Sean Gullette's twitchy genius. The editing is frantic, the sound design pulses like a migraine, and the whole thing feels like a fever dream cooked up in a basement. It doesn't always add up—sometimes more pretentious than profound—but it's never dull. A wild, jittery little puzzle of a film that grips even as it scrambles its own equations. It's not quite a perfect formula, but it's an intriguing calculation nonetheless.

Stop whatever you’re doing and go see Sister Midnight right now. It’s an absolute wild ride—part razor-sharp deadpan comedy, part twisted nightmare, part body horror, and totally unhinged in the best way. The writing is wickedly smart, weird, and packed with surprises. I gasped, I laughed, I cringed. And I’ve walked away with a new feminist hero. Just ridiculously good.