Tag: drama

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Film Festival film review

Restless (Dir. Jed Hunt, 2024)

There is nothing worse than losing sleep and there is a special place in hell for anybody who comes for it and your peace of mind. This is something that Nicky (Lyndsey Marshal) quickly learns after new neighbour “Deano” (Aston McAuley) arrives in writer-director Jed Hunt’s feature debut Restless.

In an unnamed coastal town, empty-nester Nicky works practically all week in an understaffed and underfunded social care facility. Her days are, admittedly, a little banal but she – like the rest of us – relies on the small joys when she can claim them: listening to the classical music her late father insisted upon at breakfast, cooking dinner, baking to Beethoven, reading a good book and settling in on the sofa unwinding to the televised dulcet tones of Ken Doherty on the snooker (the heart wants what it wants). She lives vicariously through her teen son Liam (Declan Adamson via telephone) who is away at university. She grimaces during their latest chat when he tells her he’s off out to see an original cut of The Exorcist. Little does she know, she’ll perform her own exorcism over the next seven days.

It starts out harmless enough, just a small group unpacking a car. A blur of tracksuits and a fierce looking dog. Then the music starts, the antithesis of Rachmaninov, Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky et al, pound-pound-pounding through the walls. At first, Nicky drives to the waters edge with a pillow and gets some shut-eye before a new day dawns, bumps into Keith (Barry Ward) who invites her out for a drink later in the week (presenting her with a violin because of her love of classical music but that’s another story). He’s as sweet as he is cringeworthy. When deafening dance music keeps her awake a second and third night, she knocks next door and politely asks that Deano turn it down and is met with faux-niceties and “I got yer.” By day five, all out war has been declared as vengeance is vehemently pursued.

The performances – led so ably by Marshal – save Restless from being just another bleak kitchen-sink style British drama, it is actually something else entirely disguised as such and manages to surprise and swerve expectation. Lazy writing could have had these characters teeter and plummet into stereotype territory but a decent script by Hunt manages to always remain believable. The subject matter will be heavy for some – there is plenty of sly commentary on the state of the care and class system in Post-Brexit Britain where the sense of community (unity especially lacking) is null and void in places – and plenty triggering if you have ever lived next door to antisocial idiots who have little respect for others.

There are some memorable moments, Kate Robbins is a particular standout as Jackie who loves a fight – we all know someone like her – the cinematic flourish of the dream sequence is brilliant and the soundscape is fascinating even if the visuals can be a little on the nose at times. Nicky’s loss of reality and descent into mania is relatable (especially for those of us who have had to share a wall with hellish next-door neighbours), tense, uncomfortable and humorous – when she bakes the “special” brownies for Dean, the level of self-satisfaction even smug expression she wears is hilarious.

That’s what makes this debut work the most, the humour, which is why one can forgive the ending. Not sure, the felineicide is really sufficiently punished (#JusticeForReg) but some levity is absolutely needed given how near the knuckle the “reality” at times feels. This is testament to Hunt’s taut script and direction, David Bird’s almost vérité-style camerawork, Anna Meller’s editing, Ines Adriana’s integral and superlative sound design, and as, previously mentioned, lead actor Marshal.

Her nuanced performance carries the film in its entirety and that isn’t to dismiss McAuley’s turn as Deano but often it’s waiting on Nicky’s reaction to him – or something inconsequential his late-night selfishness/shenanigans causes. They become two sides of the same stubbornly-headed coin and even start to dress in similar colours – which keeps the audience invested. Like when she leans against the kitchen sink hate-eating a crunchie™ or buying expensive headphones and trying meditation apps to lull herself to the land of nod. This brief look of resignation, fury or determination on her emotive face speaks volumes. The irony being that only through the enforced insomnia, is Nicky activated (so-to-speak) and finally fully awake.

Loathe thy neighbour indeed.

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film review

The Convert (Dir. Lee Tamahori, 2023)

“Our people once were warriors […] They were people with mana, pride… people with spirit.”

After his masterful directorial debut in 1994 – within which Rena Owen delivers the aforementioned line – Lee Tamahori found himself in Hollywood. Helming a multitude of thrillers and a Bond instalment before returning to his homeland, Aotearoa, and reuniting with Temuera Morrison for ’60s set period drama Mahana (2016), in which the Māori actor plays yet another terrifying patriarch. Morrison is the only thing missing from Tamahori’s latest project, The Convert.

In 1830, a decade before the Treaty of Waitangi (1843) was signed, lay minister Thomas Munro (Guy Pearce) is hoping for safe passage across the Tasman Sea to his new home of Epworth – a new colony taking shape on one of the islands. It’s a treacherous journey as a storm hits culminating in a fellow passenger being buried at sea, first-mate Kedgley (a fairly convincing ‘Northern’ Dean O’Gorman) isn’t worried. A quick stopover on a neighbouring island will enable them to restock supplies regroup before heading on their merry way.

Struck by its beauty, Munro wishes to camp there for the night – never considering it to be somebody’s home or what consequences his or the group’s presence will bring. It isn’t long before they find out. Having stumbled across a tribal war, Chief of the Ngāti Ruapu tribe, Te Akatarewa (Lawrence Makoare) pays his respects to King George before mercilessly killing Māori trespassers. Munro attempts to barter for the remaining lives, offering his horse as payment. Rangimai (Tioreore Ngatai-Melbourne) is saved but her husband perishes and she is forced to endure her grief aboard the settler’s ship until Epworth comes into view.

Things are not much better there. Self-appointed Mayor Beachamp (Mark Mitchinson) rents the land from the local chieftain, Maianui (Antoio Te Maioha) and has grand ambitions for the new homestead but only if his townspeople are white and English. Padgett (William Wallace) the Irish grocer and Scottish Hegarty (Jaqueline Mackenzie) – who happens to be the widow of a Māori warrior – are already shunned already and have no chance of integration. Sadly, it is no surprise how Rangimai’s presence brings the worst out of the locals who would rather let her die than supply medical aid. This, in spite of the fact they are visitors to her homeland and she also happens to be the landlord’s daughter.

Munro quickly finds his people – suffice to say it isn’t Beachamp and his cronies who deem anybody different from themselves ‘savages’ and yet murder with impunity while allegedly seeking justice. Who exactly is the savage, again? Munro, on the other hand, is an articulate and well-meaning man of God, happy to be guided by Hegarty who is able to speak te reo and teaches him about Māori culture, and never straying far from his notebook, within which he sketches portraits of all he meets and logs his identity, connections – his equivalent of tā moko.

Inspired by Hamish Clayton’s Wulf, Tamahori depicts the messy complexity of Māori history, juxtaposing the Pakeha/Māori relationship with the interchangeable savage and civilised dichotomy often depicted in NZ Cinema. The brutality of the period in which irreconcilable cultural differences are ever present. Shifting allegiances and unstable male identity is shot in tandem, and within, the beauty of the land. The natural landscape is used here to heighten the dramatic sequences, darker sands shot against ominous skies overcast with clouds. While the greens of the majestic terrain are muted and cold, greys, browns and blues are punctuated with the occasional burst of red, white and/or black connoting the Māori flag – just like in Once Were Warriors.

The Māori depicted in this film are divided, partly on tribal lines but also between those who embrace utu and those who believe in a peaceful resolution, interestingly personified in daughter (Rangimai) and father (Maianui). Munro is the ‘man alone’ – but not for long – as male identities conflict, allegiances shift in and outside of cultural difference through tribal (iwi) or sub-tribal (hapu) groupings. Munro seems to have greater issue with white Europeans over anyone else and this level of self-hatred is made all the more clear once his own violent history is revealed. It’s a surprisingly emotional performance from Pearce whose jaw historically has always clenched, on the rare occasion grinned yet rarely have we seen him racked in sobs. He is deftly supported by Mackenzie but the real powerhouse is Ngatai-Melbourne. Her Rangimai is mesmerising and by far the most interesting character with a compelling arc.

The Convert is a sweeping historical epic, intelligently made and authentic in its depictions and performances. DoP Gin Loane does a tremendous job weighting the action onscreen in verisimilitude which goes hand-in-hand with Liz McGregor’s costumes and Gabrielle Jones’ make-up, the intricate ta moko beautifully recreated and replicated amongst the cast. While deemed (mostly) fictional, it is easy to place in a historical context. Munro appears to be a stand-in for Henry Williams (1792-1867) a man who was responsible for influencing several thousand Māori to convert and spread the word of a Christian God through much of the North Island. He also played an integral part in the translation of the Treaty of Waitangi too.

Over Tamahori’s trifecta of Māori films, he depicts a very specific timeline albeit not in the order of making. The events of The Convert and subsequent history paves the way for Mahana, concluding with Once Were Warriors working ever closer to encourage the authentic portrayal of Māori onscreen. More please.

The Convert is available to stream now.

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Film Festival film review

The Extraordinary Miss Flower (Dir. Iain Forsyth & Jane Pollard, 2024)

“Letters are more than just words on a page…. they’re a time capsule.” Geraldine Flower (Caroline Catz)

In 2001, 267 tapes were found after composer Delia Derbyshire’s death – best know for her pioneering electronic music and the Doctor Who theme. The precious find eventually led to a documentary of sorts Delia Derbyshire: The Myths and the Legendary Tapes (2020). In it, director/writer/star Caroline Catz sought to inform and re-enact aspects of DD’s life and work aided by a soundtrack by Cosey Fanni Tutti. The Extraordinary Miss Flower similarly stars Catz as the titular “character” and also uses the medium of music to preserve memory and create a visual legacy, of sorts, beyond the written page.

When the subject of this film passed away, her daughter Zoe found a box of photos, telexes and letters; correspondence hidden away and saved from a life well-lived. These letters detail lust and obsession, unrequited loves and spurned lovers, heartbreak and humour, seemingly containing a blueprint of an adventurous and free-spirited rebel, Miss Geraldine Flower. Music producer Simon Byrt and musician Emiliana Torrini, of Icelandic electronic band GusGus, were so inspired by these, often, poetic fragments of affection that they bloomed into lyrics of a ten-track album. Though it took four years to complete Miss Flower – which recently won best record at the recent 2025 Icelandic Music Awards – was the genesis of what would eventually become a fascinating fever dream of a film which is impossible to categorise yet encompasses aspects of music, dance, and the written (and spoken) word.

It is a remarkable life depicted onscreen, one of travel, the occasional arrest for hash possession, even one of espionage (was she a spy? We will never really know) and of course as alluded to, a multitude of love affairs. Miss Flower reportedly had nine marriage proposals yet never married but oh what a life of charm, intrigue and joy and what a woman! Confident in her identity and the choices she made in the time she had.

TEMF opens with a close-up of Torrini’s striking face (her eyeliner on point), the black plissé funnel neck making her head bud-like. It pulls live action scenes, documentary-style inserts/images, multiple live studio band session, dance sequences performed by the Carpel (Kate Coyne), Sepal (Saeed Esmaeli), Stamen (Niall Murphy) and Petal (Viva Seifert) – in keeping with the floral theme choreographed by Coyne – visual effects and talking heads reading from said correspondence. Letter readers include Richard Ayoade, Siggi Balursson (The Sugarcubes), Nick Cave, Mark Monero and Angus Sampson while Alice Lowe provides a rundown of Geraldine’s early life and there is even some narration from Sophie Ellis Bextor.

It is a collaboration in every sense of the word as each and all, in their own ways, bring Geraldine Flower back to (extraordinary) life. She is played by Catz and engages in snatches of conversation with Torrini, sat in a studio set mocked-up as a café, papers strewn across the table dotted with glasses of red wine, cigarette smoke billowing. It is in these moments (and during each flower dance) that really make the most of Susie Coulthard beautiful costumes. ‘Geraldine’ may dress in black and pale grey but the outfits are a textural dream, frills, pleats and tactile fabrics made to be touched. Finished by a red lip (the album vinyl is the same colour). These scenes between Torrini and Flower are intimate – almost like a living séance – the meeting of minds, a chat between friends never not believable despite the obvious staging. It’s an image replicated on the album’s front cover. Two women divided by a generation.

The film – directed by Iain Forsyth & Jane Pollard (20,000 Days on Earth) – shot over two days is an experimental and exuberant watch, subverting every possible genre convention. It is an evocative piece of pure performance art, an experience which celebrates creative and physical freedom, adventure and empowerment while skirting around themes of gender, class and societal norms.

Above all, it is a synth love poem to the memory of beloved mum and muse. One that reminds us all to write that letter/e-mail/text, send the flowers, “surround [ourselves] with extraordinary people”, love with abandon, and keep dancing.

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Film Festival film review

Bob Trevino Likes it (Dir. Tracie Laymon, 2024)

Lily Trevino (Barbie Ferreira) is an emotionally raw young woman with a beautiful heart who spends her time suppressing her true feelings amid people pleasing and desperately trying to retain a relationship with her father Robert (French Stewart). It’s a hard slog especially given the type of irredeemable narcissistic shit of a patriarch she has been blessed with. When a date with yet another middle-age blonde goes horribly wrong, Robert blames the only person he claims has constantly ruined his life and severs ties with his only daughter, ghosts her – she is even threatened with arrest if she trespasses at his retirement village again.

Bereft at his rejection once again, Lily seeks therapy and a chance to move on. She throws herself into her work as a home-help for Daphne (Lauren ‘Lolo’ Spencer) and tries to forget the only parent she has. It works until she finds herself trawling Facebook and she runs a search on her father’s name and befriends another Bob Trevino (John Leguizamo) and a correspondence ensues. Actually, it’s more than that. It’s a beautiful friendship, a lifeline for both of them. Lily tells random people on the bus that “my new dad is so kind.” He is, although horrible at basketball and for Bob, Lily allows him to take her camping for the first time, open up about his deceased son who he shared with scrap-booker obsessive and champion Jeanie (Rachel Bay Jones), and impart wisdom – “We’re all broken. We all have things we need to heal from.”

For the cynical, this is a ridiculous premise for a film and in anybody else’s hands it may well have been but writer-director Laymon has first-hand experience of such an unlikely act of kindness. She and her Bob – despite never meeting IRL – had nine years of correspondence. Her choice of casting is also perfect. Ferreira and Leguizamo are equally as wonderful as the other, a perfect fit of chaos and calm, and earnest chemistry. Their supporting cast are great and are all provided with their own arcs within the overarching narrative. Stewart is pretty unrecognisable as the bio-dad and while his actions are incomprehensible, it is easy to render him sad too; hurt people hurt people.

Social media gets a bad rep and for all its trolls, toxicity and often ruinous effects on mental health – certainly more so since the M*sk administration of Twitter – however, there are pockets of the internet which are there for good. Think all those people who never fail to share the Tom Holland Lip Synch Challenge video or that woman who accidentally texted a complete stranger about Thanksgiving dinner… that guy is still an annual guest at her table. Tracie Laymon’s Bob Trevino Likes It is up there with putting a positive spin on the worldwide web and its multitude of apps – Natalie Morales’ Language Lessons (2021) also did something similar a few years back.

This film will warm the cockles of your heart and break it into a million pieces before sticking it back together again. There’s something incredibly powerful about a woman finally accessing her rage, asking for help when she needs it and ultimately saving herself albeit with a little help from a chosen family. Kindness costs nothing and this film hammers home the importance of this and the need for human connection, especially in a world which often leaves you disconnected and in the cold. Open your heart to it, it’s so surprisingly wonderful and lovely. Enjoy and proceed with tissues.

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Film Festival film review

Bring Them Down (Dir. Christopher Andrews, 2024)

Christopher Andrews’ directorial debut begins in the confines of a car as it races down a country lane at breakneck speed, a young woman Caroline (Grace Daly) is in the back and an older woman Peggy O’Shea (Susan Lynch) sits in the passenger seat. She’s had enough has Peggy, determined to leave the man who “terrifies” her, imploring ‘Mikey’ to “slow down”. This just ensures that the young driver, Michael, puts his foot down even more forcing the car out of his control.

Flash-forward twenty years as daylight gives way to darkness. Storm Noah is on its way, and Michael (Christopher Abbott) returns from tending his sheep to find his gate destroyed. His hands are crimson, fingers tinged blue from the cold weather as he and his dog Mac make their way inside. A phone call from the man they share a hill with, Gary Keeley (Paul Ready), causes Michael’s Ray (Colm Meaney) to fume and spew vitriol, as we are swiftly realise he is wan to do. Two of the O’Shea’s rams are dead on Keeley land and have to be destroyed. Rustlers are maiming sheep across the county, cutting the legs off livestock, destroying livelihoods and outsiders like “Poles or one of that shower…” are blamed for it. Little does Michael know the culprits are far closer to home and two rams is nothing compared with what is to come.

Andrews uses the farming crisis, boundary disputes and tourism-led gentrification in Ireland as a backdrop for his film (he also wrote the screenplay). Gary is in huge financial debt due to an investment of holiday homes, the building of which has stalled due to a large piece of farmland in the vicinity; the owners of which refuse to be displaced. Characters are at emotional and economic odds, the animosity historical. It goes way beyond land borders and boundaries for these two particular families – Caroline (Nora-Jane Noone) permanently scarred from the car accident seen in the prologue is now married to Gary and mother of Jack (Barry Keoghan) – with the two main protagonist sons in the middle of a tense situation neither asked for.

Filmed in Wicklow (the gorgeous pastoral landscapes do for Ireland what God’s Own Country did for Yorkshire), Bring Them Down unfolds like a neo-western but is steeped in Irish tragedy, as two sons reconcile family loyalty with the men that rule their respective roosts destroying the other at whatever cost. There are two very different patriarchs in Gary and Ray. One is a couple of decades older than the other and yet similarly unwise – probably bearing the brunt of their own fathers before them – breathtakingly noxious and incapable of breaking the cycle of bruising generational trauma and misguided vengeance. The film straddles the notion of tradition and modernity which is most impactful in how the two families communicate. The O’Sheas largely speak Gaelic to one another, the Keeleys English, which is turn signifies a larger territorial implication.

The film is split into two acts and the shifting of perspectives works brilliantly adding some nuance to a provocative and compelling drama which is relentlessly grim. Erratic camerawork that can be often out-of-focus only adds to the brutality onscreen, at times nausea-inducing, backed musically by a bass heavy soundtrack and the semi-persistent pound of a Gaelic drum. The performances are, for the most part, excellent. Meaney is as his name suggests and in the short amount of time he is on camera manages to convey the fear Ray instilled in his wife and child once upon a time. Noone provides fine support as one more underestimated, if somewhat reductive, woman looking to flee a marriage.

I am still not overly fond of Keoghan and his acting style, the twitching oddity and/or sociopathic man-child feels overdone at this point. For me, it is Abbott and Ready who carry this film. Their performances are as multi-layered as their Arran jumpers, padded gilets and waxed jackets. Brit Ready (hapless Kevin in Motherland) is a revelation as unpredictable Keeley who can blow a gasket just as easily as he’s wracked with sobs. Which leaves American Abbott – one of the best actors of his generation (see James White or any number of his supporting roles if you don’t believe me) – his accent is flawless, dipping in and out of Gaelic with an ease which belies his Connecticut upbringing. His complicated and stoic Michael internalises everything portraying a multitude with a silent stare, slump of the shoulders or sniff of the nose. This is a man constantly battling to do the right thing grappling to remain composed.

Bring Them Down is a suffocating and stressful watch depicting internal strife and the harsh, brutal and violent realities of a small rural community within which toxic masculinity breeds in all its contemptible shame.

The film is released in UK cinemas on Friday 7th February courtesy of MUBI.