Watch full video analysis above

It’s one of the most exciting times of the year for cinephiles - that’s right - the Cannes Film Festival line-up announcement. Don’t underestimate the importance of the films that premiere at this festival. This is where the serious players of the year first present themselves. If there is a geographical location that could be considered the home of cinema, it would be Cannes - you feel it in the air, trust me.

The announcement is the moment of ultimate anticipation. You’re presented with little information - a synopsis, usually a single image, cast, but most importantly which auteur’s we’re getting new films from. There is a lot of auteur’s the year, mainly from East Asia and Europe. However, apart from discovering we’re getting a new Asghar Farhadi film, none of these other titles make me want to book a plane ticket and accomodation to immerse myself in the French Riviera. I don’t feel that rush of excitement in me like I do with the last few years’ In Competition strand. However, that’s not to say it’s going to be a bad year. Last year’s edition seemed to offer a lot of promise on paper but the quality of the films didn’t quite live up to the high expectations I developed. Perhaps this year may offer the reverse outcome.

I did a 45 minute video anyalsis of this year’s In Competition line-up, however, if you’re looking to digest this information quicker, I’ve done a written version below….

COMPETITION

1. “Minotaur,” Andrey Zvyagintsev

Zvyagintsev hasn’t released a film since 2017 with “Loveless”. His 2014 film “Leviathan” was apparently very good. I’m sure many will be welcoming the return of this director. Personally, I’m not too fussed, considering I haven’t seen any of his works.

2. “El Ser Querido” (“The Beloved”), Rodrigo Sorogoyen

Synopsis: Acclaimed director reunites with estranged daughter, an unsuccessful actress, to shoot a film together, confronting their strained relationship and unresolved past issues that neither wants to address directly.

Sounds a bit like Sentimental Value, which was released last year and won the Grand Prix at Cannes. But that doesn’t mean we can expect the same film. I haven’t seen Sorogoyen’s previous works, but his 2022 film “The Beasts” is meant to be very good. Based on the high praise, I’d probably be checking this one out.

3. “The Man I Love,” Ira Sachs

The only American film on the line-up stars Rami Malek in Ira Sachs new film set in 1980s NYC amid the AIDS crisis. Sachs brought us “Passages” in 2023, a very explicit gay romance starring Ben Winshaw & Franz Rogowski, perhaps his new entry won’t shy away from going down the same path. I’d welcome it if so, but hopefully it’s a bit more intriguing & engaging than Passages. I found myself turning it off after an hour. I’d give this one a shot.

4. “Fatherland,” Paweł Pawlikowski

Pawlikowski returns after nearly a decade's absence with his new film “Fatherland” starring Sandra Huller. This is the guy who brought us Cold War (2018) & Ida (2013), both of which are meant to be extremely good. Shamefully, I haven’t seen either of them in full. I recall watching no more than half an hour of both films before turning them off, but this was more down to mood than repulsion at watching bad art. Fatherland will no doubt be one of the most anticipated films in the line-up among cinephiles.

5. “Moulin,” László Nemes

This was a surprise. It was just last year that Nemes premiered a new film called “Orphan” at Venice Film Festival after nearly a decade-long break. Now it seems we’re getting another one very soon. Apparently, Orphan wasn’t very good. Nor did I think Sunset (2018) was. It seems to be a common consensus that Nemes has not been able to deliver the same standard or higher than his holocaust triumpth, Son of Saul (2015).

6. “Histoire de la nuit” (“The Birthday Party”), Léa Mysius

Synopsis: In a quiet rural area, Bergogne, his wife Nora, and daughter Ida live near artist Cristina. As they plan Nora's 40th birthday party, mysterious strangers begin appearing in the village.

Sounds interesting. Monica Bellucci is reported to be in it. Léa Mysius directed a film called The Five Devils (2022), which was meant to be okay. Her writing credits are impressive: Emilia Perez (2024), Paris 13th District (2021) & Oh Mercy! (2019). I’d be open to giving this one a go.

7. “Fjord,” Cristian Mungiu

This one is probably worth getting excited about. Mungiu has already won the Palme d’Or in 2007 with the superb illegal abortion drama 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days. Although I highly admire that film, I haven’t given any of his other films a chance. This isn’t due to avoidance - I’m very keen to discover what treasure lies in his other works. “Fjord” will be Mungiu’s first English-language film - could this be another attempt by a European arthouse director to break into Hollywood, similar to the journey of Yorgos Lanthimos? The two filmmakers aren’t comparable in style, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Mungiu was attempting to break out at this point. He’s been making films for years, has won a Palme d’Or, yet I doubt those who aren’t cinephiles would have even heard of him. Looks like this new film has already been picked up by Neon - a good indicator that it will be a strong contender for the Palme d’Or.

8. “Notre salut,” Emmanuel Marre

Synopsis: Swann Arlaud plays Henri Marre, inspired by the filmmaker’s own real-life great-grandfather, who arrives in Vichy with his political manuscript, which he intends to publish to make a name for himself in the new regime and help save France – and himself – from collapse. Belgian actress Sandrine Blancke also stars.

This is the new film by the guy who gave us “Zero fucks given” in 2021. I couldn’t give a fuck about this new entry.

9. “Gentle Monster,” Marie Kreutzer

Synopsis: Renowned pianist relocates with her family to the countryside, where she uncovers a life-shattering truth that forces her to confront the complexities of love, trust, and deception.

Could be interesting, although this director’s last film, Corsage (2022), was terrible. Because of that, I don’t think I’d be open to giving this a chance, even though it stars Léa Seydoux & Catherine Deneuve. Might need a bit more information about this one to win me round.

10. “Nagi Notes,” Koji Fukada

Synopsis: Set in rural Nagi, Okayama Prefecture, it follows sculptor Yoriko, carrying unhealed loss, whose quiet life is disrupted when friend Yuri, a Tokyo/Taiwan-based architect, arrives to model for her work.

Fukada’s Harmonium (2016) is meant to be good, but this new film immediately gives off tedious East Asian drama vibes just by its plot. I don’t have the patience to engage.

11. “Hope,” Na Hong-Jin

Synopsis: A mysterious discovery is made on the outskirts of the remote harbor town. The residents find themselves in a desperate fight for survival against something they have never encountered before.

This sounds very interesting. It’s the new film from the guy who brought us the 2016 horror film “The Wailing”. Perhaps more intriguing is that it stars Michael Fassbender & Alicia Vikander - the first film the married couple have starred in together. This will probably be one of the must-sees at the festival this year.

12. “Sheep in the Box,” Hirokazu Kore-eda

Synopsis: Set in the near future, Otone Komoto works as an architect. She is married to Kensuke Komoto, who runs a construction company. The married couple decide to welcome a humanoid robot into their home as their son.

Probably the most intriguing plot out of all the films in competition. I’ve never considered myself a fan of Kore-eda’s work. He’s somewhat of a cinematic giant at Cannes and among cinephiles - “Shoplifters” won the Palme d’Or back in 2018, his last feature Monster (2023) was extremely well received. There’s no doubt that this will be be one that festival attendee’s will be fighting to see. This would probably be on my priority list too. AI has become an important feature in my life as I find myself relying on Gemini more than I do friends & family. Why pay hundreds or thousands of pounds for a therapist when you can instruct AI to provide exactly what you need without time limits and breaking the bank? I doubt I’m the only one who has this relationship with AI. I’d happily give Kore-eda another change to see how this story explores the bond between an artifical son and its human parents.

13. “Garance” (“Another Day”), Jeanne Herry

Synopsis: Garance is a young actress but not a star. She manages things as best she can, finding fuel and comfort in alcohol. As she embarks for an eight-year journey of life changes, she drinks more and more. Until death seems to loom.

This one stars Adèle Exarchopoulos - great actress, but my guess is this will be your mediocre typical French festival film that offers very little.

14. “The Unknown,” Arthur Harari

Synopsis: Photographer David Zimmerman rarely leaves home until friends bring him to a wild party. He becomes fixated on a mysterious woman and follows her. By dawn, his life transforms-he awakens in her body.

This would be on my priority list. Mainly because one of my own screenplays is based on this exact concept, an arthouse Freaky Friday. But its unclear as to whether the woman wakes up in his body. Nevertheless, the plot is intriguing, it stars Léa Seydoux, and better yet, the guy behind the camera is the co-writer of “Anatomy of a Fall” that won the Palme d’Or in 2023. He also directed a pretty good film called “Onoda: 10,000 Nights in the Jungle” that premiered at Cannes in 2021. He’s demonstrated high competence with these existing works, leaving me intrigued to see how he handles such an interesting concept in this new work.

15. “All of a Sudden,” Ryusuke Hamaguchi

Synopsis: Two scholars exchange letters about chance and risk. As the philosopher falls ill, their academic correspondence evolves into intimate discussions about mortality and a deeper connection forms between them.

I wasn’t particularly fond of Drive My Car (2021) despite it’s popularity. However, when philosophy is the main centre of a film it doesn’t take much to seduce me to give Hamaguchi another go. It stars Virginie Efira - a pleasure on the eyes.

16. “Das Geträumte Abenteuer” (“The Dreamed Adventure”), Valeska Grisebach

Synopsis: In a border town in southeastern Bulgaria, a woman becomes involved in an illegal trade to help out a man with whom she shares a special bond. Embarking on a perilous adventure in his stead, she ends up confronting both her own desires and her past.

Quite vague. Not aware of this filmmaker’s previous works. This would probably have empty seats in the auditorium.

17. “Coward,” Lukas Dhont

Synopsis: Pierre, a young Belgian soldier wants to prove himself on the battlefield during the First World War. Behind the frontlines, he meets Francis, who is asked to find a way to boost morale.

This will probably be one that attendees are eager to see. Possibly a Grand Prix contender. Dhont gave us the adolescent film “Close” in 2022. Didn’t catch it myself but I heard it was heartbreaking. The cinematography looked gorgeous - and this striking image attached to his new work leaves no doubt that we’re going to get another visually stunning work.

18. “La Bola Negra” (“The Black Ball”), Javier Ambrossi and Javier Calvo

Synopsis: The Black Ball, inspired by an unfinished play by Federico García Lorca, will be a queer vindication about three men in three different moments of Spanish history: 1932, 1937, and 2017.

Apparently this will be Glenn Close’s Spanish debut. Can’t say I’m familiar with the filmmakers, nor am I particularly pulled in by the plot.

19. “A Woman’s Life,” Charline Bourgeois-Tacquet

Synopsis: Gabrielle, a fifty-year-old surgeon, is questioning herself about love, desire, aging, all against the backdrop of a hospital crisis, when a novelist arrives to watch her work for a book she’s writing.

Can’t say I’m the least bit interested in this. Pass.

21. “Parallel Tales,” Asghar Farhadi

This one I am very excited for. This would be number one of the priority list for me. Asghar Farhadi is one of the best directors working today and this will be his second feature length French language film, the first was The Past (2013). His works are largely Iranian, it would be fair to sayA Seperation (2011) is his masterpiece. I read somewhere that he has abandoned making films in Iran going forward.

The fact we’re getting a new Farhadi film alone is exciting enough but what makes this more intriguing is that it’s inspired by Krystof Kieślowski’s ‘Dekalog VI’. This was centered on a young man who becomes infatuated with an older woman, leading him into a dangerous obsession. An extended 86-minute feature version of this film was later released, titled “A Short Film About Love”. It was originally rumoured that this new film by Farhadi was meant to focus on the November 2015 Paris terror attacks, however, clearly that is not the case. I’m a bit disappointed as this could have been a very interesting film, but with a cast lined up including Isabelle Huppert, Virginie Efira, Vincent Cassel, and Catherine Deneuve, I have confidence that this will be another stellar work from this master of cinema, most likely a major Palme d’Or contender.

22. “Amarga Navidad” (“Bitter Christmas”), Pedro Almodóvar

Synopsis: A woman being abandoned by her partner during Christmas time.

I’ll admit - I’m sick of hearing that Almodovar is still churning out films. I thought Pain & Glory (2019) would have been his sign off, but he just won’t stop. That said, I did enjoy The Room Next Door (2024), a surprsingly charming film on assisted dying, however, not sure it was worthy of winning the Golden Lion at Venice, yet if Jim Jarmusch’s Father Mother Sister Brother (2025) can win the top prize too then anything goes really. I imagine this will be on many attendees priority list. I’ve seen enough Almodóvar films in my lifetime, but I have a feeling there are many more to come…

Share

Leave a comment

Over the past year there has been a tendency to rush to define films made with high competence as masterpieces. Sinners (2025) and One Battle After Another (2025) both had interesting concepts and demonstrated filmmaking that was impressive from a technical standpoint, but each lacked a powerful story strong enough to elevate it to masterpiece status. In an era whose focus has often drifted toward social engineering, audiences have been starved of films that pay deep attention to the craft of filmmaking. So when these films arrive, people mistake that starvation for greatness in a wave of over-excitement.

There is also an element of social contagion behind these reactions. On release, Marty Supreme (2025) was declared the best film of the year and widely predicted to have success at the Oscar’s. However, after some in the arts crowd developed distaste for comments made by Timothée Chalamet suggesting opera and ballet were dying art forms that few people care about anymore, that hype seemed to vanish overnight. Suddenly people didn’t appear quite as convinced that Marty Supreme was as fantastic as they remembered. A film’s success often depends on its relationship with the crowd, and that relationship can be crushed by a comment or controversy completely unrelated to the merit of the work. It illustrates a weakness in the relationship between art and its audience. Admiration for beauty is often conditional, tied to the shifting mood of tribes and cultural groups.

One film I doubt will stir up such controversy, and therefore may enjoy a longer wave of success, is Project Hail Mary. Early reviews are already declaring it a masterpiece, but this feels like another case of over-excitement. The film certainly has all the ingredients for broad audience appeal. You have the charming Ryan Gosling as the lead, an actor with a well-established positive reputation. You also have a WALL-E-style companion character accompanying him on an epic sci-fi journey in which humanity’s survival depends on the actions of one man in space. Add grand visuals and an emotive score, and the result is something that resembles a heartwarming, Interstellar-style epic. So what’s the issue?

My main problem with the film is its tone. We’re presented with a serious existential threat to humanity, yet most of the characters approach the possibility of extinction with surprising lightness. Their attitude seems designed primarily to entertain a family-friendly audience, turbo-charged by Gosling’s character, who is portrayed as a somewhat goofy, immature, happy-go-lucky figure tasked with saving the human race. None of it feels particularly authentic to how people might behave in the real world. Yet this tonal choice exists in many successful family-friendly films that deal with life-threatening situations, such as Jurassic Park (1993). Audiences are often willing to forgive a lack of realism when humour and optimism are injected into the equation.

To be fair to the filmmakers of Project Hail Mary, this tone may have been necessary to prevent audiences from becoming bored watching a single man alone in space for long stretches—at least until he encounters the cute, rock-textured alien creature with whom he eventually forms a friendship. And if a human is to bond with such a creature, perhaps a slightly immature chemistry between the two is needed to make the relationship work.

The relationship between Gosling’s character and the creature he calls Rocky ultimately becomes the central focus of the film, even more so than the mission itself. It provides a welcome distraction from trying to dissect the technical mechanics of the plot. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel some warmth toward Gosling’s character and the emotions building from his friendship with Rocky. The film is clearly designed to pull at your heartstrings. However, because the characters never quite feel authentically grounded in the world they inhabit, the emotional pull never fully lands. Gosling’s character doesn’t feel entirely real, which makes it difficult to fully surrender to the emotions being engineered.

Despite that resistance, emotion is the dominant element throughout the film, largely driven by its score, which is undoubtedly its strongest asset. Composer Daniel Pemberton delivers remarkable work here—so remarkable that the emotion embedded in the music often feels stronger than the emotion generated by the story itself. At times it even evokes the grandeur of the score from The Lord of the Rings film trilogy, though without the same perfect harmony between music and narrative.

What constitutes a masterpiece ultimately depends on individual perception and the standards one applies. For me, a masterpiece requires every element—story, performances, direction, technical craft, and everything beyond—to operate at a high level while working together in harmony. That harmony must feel authentic and logical to the world being presented, producing genuine awe and admiration within the spectator. While certain elements of Project Hail Mary reach that level, not all of them align in a satisfying way, preventing the film from achieving that sense of unity.

If you’re suffering from a famine of truly great cinema and haven’t yet consumed enough examples from film history to develop higher standards, it’s understandable that you might rush to declare Project Hail Mary, Sinners, or One Battle After Another masterpieces. If a film feels like a masterpiece to you, then naturally you’ll describe it that way. The danger lies in applying that label to any film that simply demonstrates competence in the craft of filmmaking. When that happens, the term itself begins to lose its meaning—and we may eventually find ourselves inventing new categories just to preserve the value the word once carried.

Out in UK cinemas from 20th March

Share

Leave a comment

For those of you who, like me, thought Scream 6 (2023) was the worst film in the franchise, the last thing you wanted was a follow-up. While Scream 5 (2022) was a welcome return after a decade-long break, the sixth film drained the fun from it all and delivered a third act that was nauseatingly over-the-top and far too theatrical. It also managed to highlight Jenna Ortega’s limited acting ability. In almost every scene, she seemed tasked with standing there wearing the same suspicious facial expression at whoever surrounded her. It became so irritating, along with her baffling inability to convincingly express pain after being stabbed multiple times, that I frankly didn’t want to see another film with her in it. And due to political fallout behind the scenes, my wish was granted.

Ortega exited Scream 7 following the firing of Melissa Barrera for expressing a political opinion on social media that the production company disagreed with. Christopher Landon, who had been attached to direct, quit a week later, claiming there was no movie anymore as the script revolved around her character. If we’re speaking purely in the interest of the art, that implosion may have been the best thing to happen to the franchise’s future. It resulted in a reported $500,000 rewrite, with Kevin Williamson, the original writer of Scream (1996), Scream 2 (1997) and Scream 4 (2011) (arguably the strongest entries), stepping in not only to rewrite but also to direct. Better yet, Neve Campbell returned as Sidney Prescott after sitting out the sixth instalment due to a pay dispute. The brutal reality behind the scenes gave birth to one of the most enjoyable films in the franchise.

Scream 7’s opening scene alone surpasses the entirety of Scream 6. Rather than delivering another mindless stab-athon, Williamson’s direction leans into tension and suspense — and it works a treat. There are moments that are genuinely unnerving, sending a mild shiver through you. It may well be the franchise’s scariest entry. Though primarily known as a screenwriter, Williamson shows real promise behind the camera, delivering a confident and competent contribution from the outset.

Despite turbocharging the horror elements, there’s a lightness running throughout the film, largely fuelled by the nostalgic pleasure of seeing Sidney again. Watching how she’s getting on in life feels comforting, as though catching up with an old friend. There’s tension with her young daughter, who views her mother as overprotective, but otherwise, Sidney appears to live a relatively content life with her husband in a pleasant home, working at a local café. Of course, whatever peace she manages to hold onto doesn’t last; otherwise, we wouldn’t have a Scream film on our hands.

A new Ghostface is in town — perhaps one, perhaps two, maybe even three. As always, bodies pile up in pursuit of the ultimate target: Sidney and her daughter. Some of the kills are arguably among the most violent and brutal in the franchise. There’s a satisfying creativity to the gore that will likely make you laugh if, like me, you possess a slightly sick sense of humour.

The plot isn’t overly complex; however, you may question the logic of certain developments, but it’s forgivable because what you’re watching is undeniably entertaining. The film doesn’t take itself too seriously; it knows it exists to entertain. It pokes fun at itself deliberately, even offering a nod to the behind-the-scenes drama. Yet there are more serious threads woven in, particularly an exploration of the damage a parent can inflict by shielding a child too heavily from the real world. There is emotional depth here, though admittedly in measured doses.

While you remain engaged and entertained for most of the runtime, the reveal of the killers lands with a slight wave of disappointment. Don’t expect anything groundbreaking. It may surprise you, but perhaps only because of how creatively underwhelming it feels. There’s an odd sensation near the end that something else must be coming — surely that can’t be it? But then the credits roll, and you accept what you’re given. Fortunately, the journey itself is enjoyable enough that the underwhelming reveal doesn’t derail the experience.

For those who argue the franchise should finally die, I once agreed, at least before attending this new entry on opening night. But sitting in an auditorium where the audience erupted into applause as our protagonists defeated Ghostface, cheering at the entrance of one beloved character, it became clear that this long-running franchise still provokes something increasingly rare. In an era where cinema attendance has dramatically declined, that kind of audience reaction matters. Should the franchise run itself completely dry? No. But perhaps we shouldn’t be too hasty in calling for its death just yet.

Share

Leave a comment

To watch my instant reac…

Read more

The best movie posters are not necessarily the most aesthetically pleasing, but those that provoke the imagination of the spectator, turning them into storytellers in their own minds as they begin to wonder about the cinematic potential contained within the artwork.

As a child browsing my local convenience store’s DVD shelves, I was always drawn to the cover of Jurassic Park (1993). Strangely, I didn’t actually watch the film until my early twenties. The only dinosaur film I remember seeing as a child was Dinosaur (2000), yet I somehow went through my entire childhood without watching what is arguably the definitive dinosaur film.

It wasn’t that I refused to watch it. Nor did I desperately ask my parents to buy it for me. So why was I captivated by the poster, yet uninterested in engaging with the film behind it? Perhaps, even then, I sensed that the film’s tone might not align with the one I had constructed in my imagination. But how could a poster consisting of little more than a logo provoke such a specific expectation? How could something so minimal generate a film in my head?

How it provokes the imagination

The most striking design element of the poster is its restraint. There are no characters, no scenery, just a logo and a tagline surrounded by blackness. What could be interpreted as minimalism instead becomes invitation. The surrounding blackness functions as a seductive void. It does not present a world; it demands that you create one. The absence of imagery compels the imagination to fill the space. The logo becomes the sole fragment of information from which an entire narrative must be constructed. This feels deliberate. Mystery encourages speculation, and speculation breeds desire.

The emblem tells us we are entering a park inhabited by dinosaurs. But what kind of park? A theme park? A scientific facility? A forbidden wilderness? The skeletal Tyrannosaurus rex immediately establishes seriousness. This is not a friendly, cartoonish dinosaur, it’s a skeleton of the most dangerous dinosaur. The use of a skeleton implies authenticity, something ancient and real.

The colour scheme reinforces this tone. The black silhouette against red evokes danger. The circular design resembles a warning or prohibition sign. The yellow border separating it from the surrounding darkness suggests caution. Nothing about this feels inviting. If anything, it feels hazardous. The T-Rex looms over what appears to be a forest, dwarfing its environment. Its scale suggests supremacy. Humans are conspicuously absent. Where do they fit into this world? Are they explorers? Victims? Architects of something reckless? The poster does not answer these questions. It provokes them.

Then comes the tagline:
“An adventure 65 million years in the making.”

The word adventure shifts the emotional register. Suddenly, the horror implied by the colours and skeletal imagery softens. Adventure suggests spectacle, excitement, and even triumph. It carries an upward momentum — the promise of discovery rather than pure dread. Yet adventure does not exclude danger. Many adventures begin with optimism and spiral into chaos. Perhaps that tension is precisely what the poster implies. The phrase “65 million years in the making” introduces another layer of intrigue. Have humans engineered this revival? Is this scientific ambition? Commercial? A miracle? A mistake? The poster offers no clarity, only possibility, and that possibility is expansive.

Subscribe now

So… Is the film as good as the poster?

When I finally watched Jurassic Park, the tone did not align with the darker, more unsettling film I had imagined. The threatening, almost ghoulish atmosphere I had constructed from the poster gave way to something more accessible, more heroic, more family-oriented.

When destruction happens, the reactions don’t feel as serious or as authentic as I had anticipated. Near-death experiences are followed by composed one-liners, as if the characters have stepped out of danger rather than narrowly survived being killed. Instead of lingering fear, there’s quick wit. I expected something colder and less light-hearted. But that’s my own personal taste.

For those whose desired tone aligns with what the film delivers, the question becomes whether it fulfils the imaginative expansion the poster creates. The world of Jurassic Park is certainly expansive. There are multiple dinosaur species, several high-stakes scenarios affecting a wide range of characters, and a sense of scale throughout. There is plenty to engage with and it’s reasonable to assume that many audiences were satisfied with what they discovered behind the artwork. It remains a beloved film, after all. The size of the adventure is impressive. But tone is a required taste, and the one presented here simply wasn’t mine.

Leave a comment

Share

Saltburn director Emerald Fennell is back with a new film, this time delivering yet another adaptation of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, as if we haven’t already had enough of them. But that news wasn’t met with immediate distaste. Fennell proved herself to be an interesting artist in this day and age when she gave us Saltburn, a provocative and outrageous tale about an outsider who infiltrates and shatters an aristocratic family through grotesque acts. The film’s spectacle, fun, and daring energy felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air in an age of mundane art constrained by the shackles of wokeism.

Her new adaptation of Wuthering Heights was teased as following a similar style. Marketing materials gave the impression that this would be highly erotic, an unusual approach to a story we’re not exactly familiar with in that way. Predictably, a barrage of early criticism followed, with audiences instantly disliking the project due to doubts about its faithfulness to Brontë’s source material. Early critic reactions suggested the adaptation would be like Marmite — you’ll either love it or hate it. But the truth is, it falls somewhere in between. Its delivery isn’t polarising enough to truly anger one side or leave the other proclaiming it the best film in a generation. It’s not as provocative or outrageous as you might expect (to my disappointment), nor does it go out of its way to antagonise the “must be an exact replica of the book” purists.

The film begins with a public hanging scene. Initially, this was reported to be far more explicit than what we ultimately see. World of Reel reported that test screening audiences described the scene as “descends into grotesque absurdity, as the condemned man ejaculates mid-execution, sending the onlooking crowd into a kind of orgiastic frenzy. A nun even fondles the corpse’s visible erection.”

I can confirm it’s not quite that explicit, even though part of me wishes it had been. If those early reports were accurate, it suggests the delivery was toned down slightly. Still, it’s a stark opening, something unfamiliar when engaging with this story.

From there, the pacing slows as we watch Heathcliff and Catherine as children. It feels like an introduction that must be endured, a necessary foundation to get out of the way. Thankfully, things pick up once we jump forward in time and the characters reach adulthood. There’s been minor controversy surrounding Jacob Elordi’s casting, with some condemning Fennell for choosing a white actor to play Heathcliff. Fennell explained, not that she should have to, that when she saw Elordi with sideburns on the set of Saltburn, he looked exactly like the illustration of Heathcliff in the first edition she read as a teenager, and that image captivated her. It’s a good thing she followed her instincts and cast Elordi alongside Margot Robbie. The two share genuine chemistry and, of course, are very attractive to watch. They form one of the most captivating cinematic couples to grace modern screens, a pairing many viewers will be grateful for after seeing this piece.

Once the eroticism begins, the film reaches its strongest point. You genuinely feel the sexual tension between them, and that authenticity works because you’ve already been seduced into caring about these characters on a deeply emotional level, again, thanks largely to the casting. Some may have expected soft-core porn, but it’s far from that. Instead, it’s an honest depiction of the sexual relationship the two might plausibly have had, and the lustful cues leading up to it. This isn’t sexual perversion; it’s romance uncensored.

There is one particularly powerful moment during their sexual awakening that makes you sit upright and truly pay attention to the chemistry and lust unfolding to the point where you feel it yourself, as though you’re stepping into someone else’s wet dream. The moment is intensified by an impressive score from Charli XCX that feels surprisingly natural in context. You begin to believe the film will continue deepening its intensity, but I regret to say this scene marks its peak.

When cruelty enters, and the relationship turns twisted, it remains engaging, but not with the same force as what preceded it. You’re left disappointed that the film can move you so effectively through eroticism yet fails to sustain that same emotional charge in its darker passages. When tragedy strikes, you want it to hit with devastating force, but there simply isn’t enough momentum behind it. That’s not to say you feel nothing for the characters; it’s just not quite painful enough. I wanted to leave the cinema broken, emotionally wounded, something previous adaptations have failed to achieve, and something I hoped this one might finally deliver. Some might call that sick or twisted. I’d argue it’s reasonable to want art to devastate you, to shake you from the mundanity of everyday life and make you feel something rare.

Wuthering Heights had the potential to create a lasting impact, and at moments it does — it just doesn’t sustain that power all the way through. The film isn’t perfect, but of all the adaptations I’ve seen, this is by far the most interesting and engaging, even if it didn’t become the provocative, erotic masterpiece I had envisioned.

If Wuthering Heights didn’t already exist as a beloved novel and this were presented as an original story, I doubt it would face the same level of backlash. There seems to be a default obsession among certain audiences to judge an adaptation purely on its faithfulness to the source material. I’d argue films aren’t obligated to replicate a novel with precision. An adaptation should bring something new; otherwise, you might as well direct audiences back to the book. These projects shouldn’t be translation exercises — though, for some, that framework offers an easy target for critique.

Fennell’s conceptual approach is, in itself, deeply interesting. She explained that she set out to create the version of the story she imagined when she first read the novel at fourteen, one that emphasised its sadomasochistic undertones. It was a remembered version that isn’t entirely real, shaped by adolescent imagination, including moments she wished had happened but never did. In that sense, she placed Wuthering Heights in quotation marks. I much prefer this imaginative approach over a strict translation. If there’s something cinema desperately needs, it’s bold, interesting storytelling. It’s just a shame this film doesn’t fully commit to the individuality it so confidently teased before release.

Share

Leave a comment

The best movie posters are not necessarily the most aesthetically pleasing, but those that provoke the imagination of the spectator, turning them into storytellers in their own minds as they begin to wonder about the cinematic potential contained within the artwork.

For those of us intrigued to see the continuation of Elizabeth Shaw and David’s journey as they searched for the Engineers’ homeland, what many of us hoped would be Prometheus 2, that version of the film never truly saw the light of day. Well, not exactly. Disappointment from sections of the fanbase over the absence of traditional xenomorphs in Prometheus (2012), coupled with Fox’s reluctance to finance another philosophically charged sequel focused primarily on the Engineers, led to a rewrite. What emerged was a film that retained fragments of that original direction but ultimately re-centred itself around the return of the creature that began it all.

And yet, it did not feel like a compromise. If anything, it generated even more excitement. Those who embraced Prometheus were, after all, originally Alien fans. So while it was suggested that the earlier philosophical ambitions had taken a step back to make room for the xenomorph’s return, the new direction appeared to promise the best of both worlds. That sense was reinforced in 2015, when a brief synopsis suggested that we might still visit the Engineers’ homeland:

"Bound for a remote planet on the far side of the galaxy, the crew of the colony ship Covenant discovers what they think is an uncharted paradise, but is actually a dark, dangerous world—whose sole inhabitant is the 'synthetic' David (Michael Fassbender), survivor of the doomed Prometheus expedition."

It was somewhat disappointing to see David referred to as the “sole inhabitant,” a phrasing that seemed to imply that Elizabeth Shaw, and possibly even the Engineers, would not be accompanying us on this next chapter. Yet the synopsis opened up a space for speculation that felt expansive. The notion that paradise conceals something far closer to hell is immediately intriguing. Hell, after all, is a concept open to interpretation. What form would it take here?

We knew the xenomorphs were returning but how would they fit into this setting? What had David been doing alone on this planet? The last time we saw him, he was nothing more than a severed head. If this truly was the Engineers’ homeland, how would a new crew respond to such a discovery? What would initially make it appear like an uncharted paradise, and at what point would it reveal itself as something far darker?

There was already more than enough to fuel the imagination. But then the official poster was unveiled, accelerating the speculation about what we might witness in this new chapter of the franchise, in arguably one of the most interesting pieces of artwork the series has produced.

How it provokes the imagination

Technically, a film poster is artwork in itself. However, the first thing that strikes you about this one is that it feels like classical artwork. Not just any artwork, but something influenced by European sculpture and painting. Picking up on that element is hardly rare. Many have noted the similarities to Auguste Rodin’s The Gates of Hell and Gustave Doré’s The Fall of the Rebellious Angels. But this resemblance is no coincidence. Doré, the nineteenth-century illustrator renowned for his engravings of John Milton’s Paradise Lost, material that heavily influenced Alien: Covenant, whose original title was Alien: Paradise Lost, is clearly echoed here.

This immediately signals that this is no simple slasher. Instead, it suggests a continuation of the philosophical undercurrents introduced in Prometheus, now merged with a narrative in which the xenomorphs appear to dominate. The connection to Milton invites speculation. How do the themes of Paradise Lost intersect with the presence of the “perfect organism”? We are confronted with imagery that implies intelligence and intention long before we are given narrative confirmation of either.

What we appear to see are Engineers being overpowered by the xenomorphs. They are no match for the creatures that engulf them, entangling them in what resembles a sculpted vision of hell. The implication is striking. In Prometheus, the Engineers were presented as superior, grander than humanity, perhaps even godlike. Yet here they seem powerless. What does this inversion suggest? Are we merely insignificant in a universe governed by forces beyond our comprehension? Humanity does not even feature in this composition. Is this a cold depiction of domination as a universal rule? If the xenomorphs triumph over the Engineers, is it the result of the Engineers’ own creation or something else entirely? And if they have fallen, does that extinguish our chance of ever understanding where we truly come from?

Perhaps this is simply a depiction of hell. The environment appears chaotic and claustrophobic, as though we are being dragged downward into darkness. There is something deeply unsettling about imagining ourselves within it. Yet light breaks through from above, illuminating the carnage below and most prominently, the ascending xenomorph at its centre. Is that illumination merely a visual device to signify dominance? Or could the light represent discovery? Might it even suggest that hope persists within the darkness, that this is not simply a vision of annihilation, but a struggle in which humanity may yet triumph? Is this what the crew of the Covenant encounter on their so-called “uncharted paradise”? If so, what are the consequences? How many, if any, will survive? And is this what David ultimately discovers? Could this even hint at the fate of Dr Elizabeth Shaw?

The poster’s design carries a mechanical, skeletal coldness reminiscent of H.R. Giger’s aesthetic, immediately recalling the original 1979 film and its director. There is also the return of the distinctive typography, the spaced lettering that signified isolation in the original Alien poster. In that sense, the artwork appears to satisfy both audiences: those who longed for the return of the xenomorph, and those captivated by the Engineers’ mythology. Whether the film’s combination of these elements was successful is open to debate. What is clear, however, is that the poster itself succeeded in provoking a fascinating range of possibilities within the spectator’s imagination.

Subscribe now

So… Is the film as good as the poster?

If audiences thought Prometheus was divisive, then the reaction to Alien: Covenant took that division even further. The negative reception often seemed to dominate, though some of us admired what the film was doing.

While the film sought to satisfy those longing for the return of the xenomorph, its method of reintroducing the creature left a bitter taste for some. Ridley Scott continued his philosophical exploration of creation, though this time the film provided more answers than mystery and those answers were not to everyone’s liking. The origin of the xenomorph was explained, and while that revelation was embedded within an ambitious narrative, the sense of wonder inevitably shifted. For some, it vanished altogether. I did not see that revelation as a fatal misstep. If you are invested in the themes the film explores, you may be willing to overlook elements that at times verge on the excessive, such as the newly born xenomorph mimicking the movements of its creator.

One significant thread, however, remains unresolved. We do not see how the derelict ship ultimately came to rest on LV-426, leading into the events of Alien. Although we were teased with a sequel in which David would travel with his cargo of eggs to another Engineer-inhabited world, it now appears unlikely that we will see that continuation realised. It is reasonable to assume that we may never receive definitive answers and that may not be entirely disappointing. As the explorers aboard Prometheus discovered, and as some long-time fans felt in response to the explanation of the creature’s origin, answers to grand mysteries can unsettle more deeply than ignorance ever could.

The film is not flawless, but what it presented felt remarkably close to the kind of bold narrative a spectator might construct when letting their mind roam. Some films position themselves as more controlled and self-assured than the speculative conversations that surround them. Covenant does not distance itself from the expansive thinking fans engage in; it operates within that same imaginative space. It is because of that strength that one is willing to forgive its imperfections. After all, the speculative mind is never perfect.

Leave a comment

Share

To watch my instant reac…

Read more

To watch my instant reac…

Read more

Watch video review above

Sam Raimi has a new film. This is the filmmaker who gave us The Evil Dead series, the original Spider-Man trilogy starring Tobey Maguire, and the 2009 horror film Drag Me to Hell, which had some genuinely strong elements. Since then, though, Raimi hasn’t done much directing. He’s produced a huge number of films, far more than he’s directed, but in terms of directing, his output has been fairly limited.

He returned in 2013 with Oz the Great and Powerful, and in 2022 he gave us Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness. This new film, Send Help, doesn’t deal with existing IP. Instead, this marks Raimi’s return to the big screen with an original story that appears, at least on paper, to move him back toward his horror roots. That alone sounds like a big deal. Sadly, it doesn’t quite play out that way when you actually watch the film.

Unfortunately, Send Help feels more like a job done for cash than a film Raimi was passionate about or desperate to bring to audiences. It’s very reminiscent of Mel Gibson’s Flight Risk (2025). Once again, there was excitement around a respected director returning to the director’s chair after a long absence. But Flight Risk turned out to be a very poor film, one that felt like minimal effort had gone into it. The only conclusion you can really draw from films like this is that they exist primarily as paychecks. Flight Risk was so bad it almost tipped into being comical, though I’m not convinced that was ever the intention. Thankfully, Send Help isn’t quite that bad.

The story centres on a character played by Rachel McAdams, an annoying, socially awkward assistant who works under a boss played by Dylan O’Brien. The two don’t get along at all; he sees her as a bit of a freak. They’re on a business flight that crashes, leaving them as the only two survivors. Stranded on a remote island, they’re forced to survive together, and it’s here that the power dynamics between them shift significantly.

Does this sound familiar? Kind of. It’s essentially a poor man’s version of Triangle of Sadness (2022). That film followed a group of wealthy people on a luxury yacht that sinks, leaving guests and crew stranded on a remote island where the class hierarchy is flipped. Triangle of Sadness focuses on class, while Send Help focuses more on power and workplace hierarchy, but the similarities are hard to ignore.

That said, Send Help strips away the intellectual edge of Triangle of Sadness and presents itself as something easy to digest. The main issue isn’t so much how much it borrows from that film, but whether it offers a satisfying return to Raimi’s signature horror style. Sadly, it doesn’t. The gore has an overwhelming CGI aesthetic, and if any practical effects were used, it certainly doesn’t feel like it. Again, the comparison to Flight Risk feels appropriate. This comes across as something handled with minimal effort. While the gore can be fun at times, it’s not enough to overcome the overwhelming sense of mediocrity.

The story does pick up slightly in the third act, with a few minor surprises that make it more engaging, and there are a handful of laughs. Still, none of this is enough to salvage the film as a whole. The ending has a tone that feels like it’s giving the audience a wink, which personally I don’t like. It feels cheap, much like everything that came before it.

It’s easy to get excited when a respected filmmaker returns to the director’s chair after a long absence. I’m guilty of this myself. I was very excited when I heard Kathryn Bigelow was returning with a new film, A House of Dynamite (2025). But when you watch it, you realise it’s nothing like her previous work. It doesn’t feel like it came from the same filmmaker who gave us Zero Dark Thirty (2012) or The Hurt Locker (2008). Instead, it feels like a disposable Saturday-night Netflix film, something the whole family might throw on after picking up the cheapest brand of popcorn at the local supermarket.

The reminder here is not to get too hasty in building high expectations around the return of these filmmakers. There’s probably a reason they’ve been away so long, and when they do come back, don’t expect them to be operating at the same level they were at their peak.

Share

Leave a comment

The best movie posters are not necessarily the most aesthetically pleasing, but those that provoke the imagination of the spectator, turning them into storytellers in their own minds as they begin to wonder about the cinematic potential contained within the artwork.

When it was announced in 2009 that Ridley Scott would return to the Alien franchise to direct a prequel, excitement spread quickly. Following Aliens (1986), the series had steadily declined, Alien³ (1992) was famously disowned by its own director, David Fincher, and Alien: Resurrection (1997) effectively brought the franchise to a halt (if we discount the Alien vs. Predator spin-offs). The return of the filmmaker who birthed this universe carried enormous promise.

That anticipation deepened when the film was revealed to be titled Prometheus, a name strikingly unfamiliar within the franchise. Scott and writer Damon Lindelof were careful to insist that the film existed within the Alien universe, yet was not a direct prequel to the 1979 original. Suspicion grew. But when the poster was finally unveiled, optimism surged. Familiarity remained with certain design choices, yet it was overshadowed by the presence of the unknown. There were no eggs, no xenomorphs, no Ripley. Instead, the artwork offered something recognisable yet alien, provoking a powerful new sense of wonder. What elements within its design sparked such intense speculation?

How it provokes the imagination

The title font immediately recalls what featured in the poster of Aliens: thin, tall, compressed, yet still spaced enough to evoke isolation with the tightness introducing a feeling of claustrophobia. But then our attention quickly switches from the familiar to the unfamiliar.

Dominating the poster is a colossal stone head, illuminated by an eerie glow. The light suggests that something lies concealed beyond the artwork, a discovery awaiting the lone human figure standing before it. But unlike the glowing crack in the egg from the Alien (1979) poster that creates the same observation, there is nothing to suggest that this discovery may be a potential biological threat. We are left with questions. Who built this monument? Is it the work of the “people” who resemble it, or something else entirely?

Above the image sits the tagline: “The search for our beginning could lead to our end.” Its wording suggets that this search implicates us directly: our end. Could whatever lies beyond this discovery threaten humanity itself? What does “our beginning” even mean? Are we searching for our creators? Our gods? And if so, would we welcome what we find? The monument resembles a human face, a nose, brow, eye sockets, ears, yet it is unmistakably lifeless. But are we certain this head is merely a monument? Could it be something more?

Near the human figure stands an ambiguous, oval-shaped object, solid and stone-like, tilted unnaturally. It does not resemble an egg. Is it part of the environment? A pod? A vessel? Is anything contained within it? The poster refuses to clarify.

What becomes clear is scale. The human presence is insignificant against the vastness of the head. Whatever this structure represents, it feels greater and far more powerful than us. The poster suggests not survival horror, but something deeper, a confrontation with origin, purpose, and insignificance. We’re no longer dealing with a regular Alien film.

Subscribe now

So… Is the film as good as the poster?

Upon release, Prometheus divided audiences, particularly those hoping for clear answers regarding the origins of the xenomorph and the Space Jockey from Alien (1979). The film did not explain how the derelict ship ended up on LV-426, nor did it provide a definitive account of the eggs it carried. Instead, it offered fragments: the Engineers, suggestions of genetic creation, and disturbing imagery carved into ancient stone walls.

For many, this felt unsatisfying. But this refusal to explain everything is precisely what allows the film to succeed. Rather than laying out a clear path toward the events of Alien, Prometheus leaves that connection open, encouraging speculation about how these discoveries eventually lead to the events of the 1979 film.

Like the poster, the film leaves us with ideas rather than conclusions. Why did the Engineers create us? Why did they later seek to destroy us? What did they find lacking in their creation? And what consequences might follow from discovering the truth about our origins? These questions linger long after the film ends, expanding the sense of wonder rather than closing it down.

What Prometheus offers is something far more philosophical than many expected from the franchise. It turns the attention toward creation, faith, and consequence. The fascination it leaves behind is not stronger than that of the earlier films, nor does it replace it, it’s just a different focus. Prometheus confronts us with the unsettling idea that understanding where we come from may be more disturbing than never knowing at all.

Share

Leave a comment

To watch my instant reac…

Read more

Watch the video review above

Richard Linklater’s Nouvelle Vague is a film about the making of Breathless (1960), and it left me more engaged than Breathless itself. By focusing not on the finished work but on the ideas and philosophy behind its creation, the film tells a story that feels richer than Jean-Luc Godard’s debut.

The film tells the story of Godard as he begins shooting his first feature at the dawn of the French New Wave. Breathless is commonly hailed as one of the most influential films ever made, thanks to its radical attitude in 1960 towards tearing apart conventional filmmaking. Godard ripped up the rulebook by introducing jump cuts, handheld camera work, and the use of natural light, a stark contrast to the polished, studio-bound French productions of the time.

For me, this philosophy and spirit behind Godard’s approach to Breathless is more compelling than the film itself. While I find Breathless satisfying to watch, it isn’t a film I adore, nor would I consider it one of my favourites or among my personal “best of” lists. I admittedly don’t have a great interest in the film, and I wouldn’t describe myself as a fan of Godard’s work overall. I found Alphaville (1965) to be one of the most tedious films I’ve ever watched, and while I admire certain elements of Weekend (1967), I struggle to appreciate any of his works as a complete whole. That being said, I haven’t seen every Godard film, so I may find myself backtracking in the future if I come across one that I genuinely think is brilliant.

Some of you who share similar feelings towards Godard or Breathless or who haven’t engaged with his work at all may understandably feel little appetite to give Nouvelle Vague a chance. However, I would argue that if you’re a cinephile with a deep interest in filmmaking and cinema, this is a film you should absolutely watch, regardless of your feelings towards Breathless itself. Why? Because Nouvelle Vague feels like a love letter to a pivotal moment in film history, when the French New Wave emerged onto the scene. That alone should be of interest to anyone with a passion for cinema.

The dramatisation of this period offers numerous moments that will bring a smile to your face if you’re familiar with the movement. The film features many key figures from the French New Wave, including François Truffaut, Claude Chabrol, Jean-Pierre Melville, and Agnès Varda. One particularly charming sequence occurs when Godard and his crew stumble across Robert Bresson in the middle of shooting Pickpocket (1959).

Beyond the charm of seeing these iconic filmmakers portrayed on screen, the film is most engaging in its conversations about art and the creative process. Godard’s discussions with his friends and colleagues are especially interesting when he reflects on the role fear and terror play in the relationship between an artist and the work they wish to create. If you consider yourself an artist, you’ll likely find these exchanges intellectually stimulating, even without a deep interest in the French New Wave or Godard himself.

Linklater and the wider creative team have executed a work that assures you that this dramatisation was handled with an extremely competent pair of hands. Shot in black and white with a 4:3 aspect ratio, the film’s visual style is deeply woven into the period it explores, reinforcing its sense of time and place. The casting across the board is extremely strong, with each actor convincingly inhabiting the historical figures they portray.

If there’s one criticism to be made, it’s that Nouvelle Vague doesn’t always command your full attention. You’re not completely immersed in every moment, but this is partly due to getting lost in the film’s nostalgia. The themes and ideas encourage reflection, provoking your mind to wander, particularly if you already hold a deep interest in cinema.

Who would have thought that a dramatisation about the making of Breathless could end up being more compelling than the film itself? It’s a reminder that sometimes the story behind the creation of a work can be more fascinating than the artwork the filmmaker ultimately presents.

It’s intriguing to consider how many stories exist behind the camera that we’ve never had the chance to witness. While films like Nouvelle Vague do exist, it wouldn’t be a bad thing if cinema rewarded us with more of these stories, if not purely to entertain, then certainly to inspire.

Share

Leave a comment

The best movie posters are not necessarily the most aesthetically pleasing, but those that provoke the imagination of the spectator, turning them into storytellers in their own minds as they begin to wonder about the cinematic potential contained within the artwork.

After watching Alien (1979) at a very young age, I remember my parents telling me about the sequel, Aliens (1986), in which Ripley would return to the planet LV-426 with a team of marines. What first caught my attention was the s added to the end of the original title. On the surface, it seems simple, yet its impact is deafening. A single xenomorph aboard the Nostromo was enough to ensure chaos and destruction; the idea of Ripley facing multiple creatures escalated the stakes to a point where survival felt almost unimaginable. The stronger the antagonists, the more compelling it becomes to witness how protagonists overcome them, as their triumph offers reassurance that we, too, might be capable of the same resilience and victory.

Another element that stood out to me was the introduction of a child into the equation. This became even more compelling when we learn that Newt was discovered as an orphan, her family having been killed by the xenomorph, and that she has been hiding from the creatures ever since. The presence of a being that represents innocence and a future within an environment ruled by extermination suggested a story more emotionally profound than that of the original film. Even without visuals, the concept of Aliens alone was enough to ignite my imagination, allowing me to envision the perfect film I wanted to see. But what role does the poster play in provoking that sense of wonder even further?

How it provokes the imagination

Our first visual reference to Newt reinforces her innocence, as she clings tightly to Ripley, her protector, who is armed with her signature flamethrower while they stare ahead at the threat they face. Although we may trust in Ripley’s strength to defeat the enemy, Newt’s fragility symbolises vulnerability, creating uncertainty over whether both will survive. This tension fuels our curiosity to witness their journey while also encouraging us to speculate on the scale of the threat.

That scale is immediately suggested by the glowing eggs surrounding them, poised to unleash a swarm of facehuggers capable of causing havoc far beyond what was seen in the first film. The magnitude of the danger is further reinforced by the tagline, “THIS TIME IT’S WAR.” While perhaps not as haunting as “In space no one can hear you scream,” it promises a larger, more confrontational conflict that invites the viewer to imagine heightened stakes.

The design of the film’s title also diverges from the bold, modest proportions of the original 1979 poster. The typography here is thinner, taller, and more compressed, creating an impression of claustrophobia. While space remains between each letter, suggesting isolation, this sensation is diminished by the presence of a heavily armed marine unit, reducing the sense of helplessness that defined the original film.

The increased height of the font further implies a greater threat. Although the multiplicity of xenomorphs already conveys this escalation, the bright light piercing through the letter i suggests something concealed behind the artwork. Could there be something else beyond the xenomorphs? The composition reinforces this idea: Ripley’s grounded stance, her weapon aimed outward, and the upward gaze shared by her and Newt imply a threat greater than the eggs surrounding them. Viewers familiar with the film know what this revelation entails, but for those encountering the poster without prior knowledge, it raises the question of whether this danger could have been imagined beforehand. If so, it speaks to the remarkable power of the poster’s design.

Subscribe now

So… Is the film as good as the poster?

Aliens can be considered a near-perfect sequel, following a natural progression from its predecessor. The antagonistic forces are amplified, and Ripley returns as the emotional centre of the narrative while facing new challenges as a maternal figure, following the revelation of her daughter’s death on Earth. The film distinguishes itself by shifting genre, moving from pure survival horror to action.

Personally, I felt that this shift weakened the sense of isolation and helplessness that made the original film so compelling. James Cameron’s embrace of the action genre introduced emotional tones that felt somewhat too family-friendly for my taste. Although this did not fully align with my personal taste, taking the sequel in a different direction was ultimately the right decision. By doing so, Cameron ensured that Aliens stands as an individual work, strong enough to exist independently of the original.

The poster mirrors this individuality, provoking an intense sense of wonder by promising a film markedly different from the one audiences had previously encountered. Aliens succeeds in fulfilling the potential suggested by its promotional artwork, delivering on the expectations formed through its graphic design. Considering the ideas sparked by this poster alone, it is difficult to imagine a more effective marriage of concept and execution. As we continue to experience a decline in cinematic storytelling, it raises the question of whether a work as remarkable as Aliens could ever emerge again anytime soon. My guess is not for a very long time.

Share

Leave a comment

Watch the video review above

No Other Choice didn’t receive any Oscar nominations this year, and I’m not that surprised. I wasn’t particularly eager to see the film. Over time, I’ve grown tired of East Asian genre cinema, especially horror and thrillers, which often include over-eccentric, over-the-top performance styles that feel unnatural to me. That said, this wasn’t always the case. There was a time when I had a genuine interest in these films. Directors like Takashi Miike and Sion Sono were once regular viewing; however, I’ve developed a clear distaste for something I was once fond of.

The last Park Chan-wook film I saw was Decision to Leave (2022). I don’t remember much from it beyond the fact that it involved a detective and a possible romantic connection with a suspect. What I do remember clearly are the impressive visuals, but that isn’t necessarily a positive when the imagery lingers more than the story itself. Because of that experience, I went into No Other Choice with fairly low expectations.

My interest was briefly renewed when I learned the film is based on the novel The Ax by Donald E. Westlake. Westlake also wrote the novel that inspired Point Blank (1967), starring Lee Marvin, which suggested that this adaptation might have more weight behind it than I initially expected.

The film follows a family man who has worked in paper manufacturing for decades. His job defines him. When he is laid off, he attempts to find work elsewhere in the same field but is rejected. Eventually, he decides that the only way to reclaim the career he loves is to eliminate the competition, killing other candidates who stand in his way. On paper, it’s a strong and intriguing premise: a man so devoted to his profession that he’s willing to go to extreme lengths to return to it.

Despite the strength of the premise, I suspect that in a few years I’ll forget most of what happens in No Other Choice, much like Decision to Leave. The issue lies in what feels like missing pieces within the narrative. While we’re repeatedly told that this character is deeply passionate about his craft, we’re never shown convincing evidence of that passion. We’re not given a clear sense of why this particular job means so much to him beyond his desire to get it back. As a result, the film lacks the emotional grounding needed to make his transformation compelling or memorable.

I watched the 2005 French adaptation of The Ax, directed by Costa-Gavras, and found that it suffers from similar issues. In that version, the protagonist turns into a murderer almost instantaneously, which feels abrupt and unconvincing. Although it does try and get around this problem by presenting him as a killer from the start of the film, then working its way back to the start of the narrative. No Other Choice attempts to improve on this by gradually building toward the character’s capacity for violence, showing hesitation early on. While this is an improvement, it still doesn’t fully resolve the core problem of motivation and emotional depth.

No Other Choice also contains the exaggerated performance style I mentioned earlier, particularly the shouting and heightened emotional delivery typical of this genre. The French version avoids this, though its minimal depth arguably creates an even bigger problem. In both cases, the lack of character development ultimately undermines the story.

Unlike Oldboy (2003) or The Handmaiden (2016), this film lacks truly disturbing or unforgettable moments. There is one haunting image involving the disposal of a body, but it isn’t enough to leave a lasting mark. Those earlier films embedded their shock and discomfort directly into the narrative, ensuring they stayed with the viewer long after the credits rolled.

Where No Other Choice undeniably excels is in its visuals. This may well be the best-looking Park Chan-wook film to date. His control over cinematography, editing, and visual composition remains exceptional, and I struggle to think of another director who presents images quite like this. On a technical level, the film is remarkable. However, this strength is also its biggest weakness. Style feels prioritised over story, and while the plot is engaging on paper, the characters leave little emotional impact.

My reaction may be influenced by my fatigue with the performance style common in East Asian genre cinema. However, since the French adaptation shares many of the same structural problems, I can’t help but wonder if the source material itself is partly to blame. While filmmakers aren’t obligated to remain entirely faithful to a novel, audience expectations often push adaptations in that direction.

There’s no denying Park Chan-wook’s technical mastery. Decision to Leave and No Other Choice both demonstrate immense confidence and craft. Yet they’ve left me with surprisingly little interest in where his work is heading. Films like Oldboy and The Handmaiden left a lasting mark because their disturbing, idiosyncratic elements were deeply woven into both their stories and visuals. By contrast, his recent films feel safer and more restrained, as though those riskier qualities have been deliberately softened.

Some people have expressed frustration that No Other Choice wasn’t included in the Oscars conversation this year. Personally, I don’t think the Oscars should be taken too seriously as a reliable marker of artistic prestige; that reputation faded long ago. Still, if a film wants to be part of that conversation, it needs to leave a mark. An element of the film must burn itself into the viewer’s memory. Technical proficiency alone no longer cuts it. The films that endure are the ones remembered for their storytelling, and that’s what I find myself craving most.

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Graphic design by: Steve Frankfurt and Philip Gips

The best movie posters are not necessarily the most aesthetically pleasing, but those that provoke the imagination of the spectator, turning them into storytellers in their own minds as they begin to wonder about the cinematic potential contained within the artwork.

The British Film Institute recently held a retrospective of Ridley Scott’s finest films across its London venues, celebrating the director’s mastery of world-building cinema. At BFI Southbank, an accompanying exhibition offers insight into how these worlds are constructed, featuring storyboards, clapperboards, costumes, and film posters from Scott’s personal collection.

Among the posters on display were The Duellists (1977), Alien (1979), Blade Runner (1982), Thelma & Louise (1991), American Gangster (2007), and The Last Duel (2021), all presented in elegant black frames. While each is visually striking, none possesses the same power of seduction as the poster for Alien. Decades later, even for those familiar with the film, its sense of mystery and dread remains undiminished. Often cited as one of the greatest film posters of all time, the question remains: what makes it so effective?

How it provokes the imagination

Interestingly, the poster contains very little imagery drawn directly from the film. There is an egg, but it does not open from the side, nor does it emit an eerie neon-green glow as depicted here. While this misrepresents what appears on screen, it never feels deceptive. Instead, the inconsistency is forgiven, even welcomed, because whilst being aesthetically pleasing, the glow seeping from the crack invites speculation. What lurks inside? It stirs the imagination, even for those of us who have seen the film, as we’re looking at a different egg and possibly a different force. By presenting something recognisable yet altered, the poster reinforces the feeling of the unknown. The shadow obscuring the egg suggests something that should not be uncovered, drawing us toward the forbidden.

Perhaps the poster’s most powerful element is the tagline placed just below the centre of the image: “In space no one can hear you scream.” Its modest size forces the viewer to stop and engage. This is not a poster designed for passing glances; it demands attention. It draws you into the depths of the poster, as you sink into the empty blackness that almost entirely consumes it. Once you digest the words and contemplate the horror and isolation of being trapped in space without the possibility of outside forces attending to your screams to save you from a creature that we can only presume is a serious threat to life, a deep sense of dread runs through you.

The unusually wide spacing of the title lettering further reinforces this isolation. Any help, if it exists at all, feels impossibly distant. What heightens the dread is the absence of a visible threat. We are told only that something exists, something capable of making us scream. Even the surface beneath the egg is ambiguous, its texture unclear, provoking further unease. Is it stable ground, or something more ominous? What lurks within the depths of darkness, and what quantity? This mystery invites us to imagine the worst of our fears and provokes enough curiosity to want to witness what the characters discover on the planet, LV-426, making it one of the most effective posters of all time.

Subscribe now

So… Is the film as good as the poster?

Although the poster features minimal elements, they combine to spark within you an intense curiosity. You want to see the film to answer the questions it raises, to bring clarity and resolution. But Alien offers no such comfort.

The creature revealed is unimaginable than anything the viewer might have suspected. The xenomorph’s design and biology were unlike anything seen in cinema before, and its lifecycle from facehugger to fully formed predator resists easy comprehension. The revelation still swarms with mysteries as you begin to wonder about the origins of the organism. Where did the derelict spacecraft come from? Who or what is the Space Jockey? Is the organism natural or engineered? And if engineered, then by whom? Are there more like it beyond LV-426? What other forces are there that exist that we do not know about?

These unanswered questions mirror the sense of wonder evoked by the poster. Where many films exhaust the mystery suggested by their marketing, Alien expands upon it. Instead of diminishing the imagination, it fuels it. This rare ability to sustain and even deepen uncertainty is what makes Alien as powerful as its poster, and perhaps even greater. The film doesn’t merely live up to the promise of its artwork; it transcends it.

Share

Leave a comment

Watch the video review above

28 Years Later: The Bone Temple is the sequel to 28 Years Later, a film that, while not flawless, stood out as an impressive contribution to British cinema. What made that film memorable was its boldness, particularly its visual style and experimental techniques rarely seen in large-scale British releases.

28 Years Later ended on a provocative note with the introduction of a gang dressed as Jimmy Savile, taking in the young boy, Spike. It was a striking and controversial image, and one I welcomed, even if it felt frustrating that audiences who often criticise artists for exploring difficult terrain seemed comfortable with this particular provocation. As ever, acceptable controversy appears to be selectively applied.

The Bone Temple picks up with Spike’s return and immediately makes its intentions clear. This is not a film primarily about the infected, but about the nature of evil, specifically, humanity’s capacity for it. The infected take a back seat here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if The Last of Us Part II influenced screenwriter Alex Garland with its similar focus on human behaviour rather than monsters.

During an interview, Alex Garland said this film explores the idea of a misremembered past, where society cherry-picks comforting nostalgia while ignoring its darker realities. Jimmy Savile becomes a powerful symbol of this, a figure whose crimes were unknown to the public before the Rage outbreak in 2002, allowing him to retain the image of a national treasure while concealing a horrific reality. Garland contrasts the sense of progress he remembers growing up with what he sees as a cultural regression today, where demagogues and cult leaders employ nostalgia to seduce and manipulate followers.

This is embodied in Jimmy Crystal (Jack O’Connell), the leader of the Savile-inspired gang. The film opens with a brutal scene in which Spike is forced to fight another gang member with a knife. It’s an early sequence I won’t spoil, but it efficiently establishes the group’s cruelty, and the violence only escalates as the film progresses.

The film’s brutality is reminiscent of the New French Extremity movement, unafraid to linger in deeply uncomfortable territory. The group’s indifference to their victims and the lack of empathy shown during their most harrowing acts is genuinely disturbing. Yet this is not violence for its own sake; it serves the film’s intelligent and focused examination of evil.

Running parallel to this storyline is the return of the lone doctor from the first film, played by Ralph Fiennes. He develops a fascination with an Alpha infected named Samson, supplying him with morphine as part of an experiment that evolves into a strangely humorous relationship. Though this subplot initially feels disconnected, it eventually intersects with the Jimmy’s narrative, reinforcing the film’s central concern with the nature of evil.

The Bone Temple establishes itself as an intellectual and philosophical film through its main subject matter, far more so than any previous entry in the series. It’s arguably the most interesting installment yet.

Despite its heavy themes, the film is also surprisingly fun. There’s humour woven throughout, and the overall tone feels closer to a spin-off than a direct sequel. It doesn’t feel like a plot that naturally follows the events of the first film, but rather a separate story that exists within the same world, despite the return of familiar characters. Where the first film felt bold because of its filmmaking, The Bone Temple feels bold because of its narrative direction.

British cinema feels exciting again here. And despite Garland’s critiques of nostalgia, there’s a satisfying throwback to the brutal horror of the 2000s, films like Hostel (2005) and Wolf Creek (2005), where violence was visceral and uncompromising.

Is the film political? To a degree, yes, particularly in its surprising ending, which is more on the nose. But for those wary of politics being shoehorned into modern cinema, this is not an extreme case, and it never distracts from the film’s considerable strengths.

Ultimately, 28 Years Later: Bone Temple is a challenging, provocative, and confident piece of filmmaking, and a great way to kick off 2026.

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Movie posters serve multiple functions. The most obvious is to market the film: to attract audiences and encourage them to invest time and money in a product that exists with the hope of making a financial return. The marketing tools at a designer’s disposal often include highlighting the actors, directors, producers, and the genre of the film. Naturally, the graphic design must also be aesthetically pleasing if it is to capture attention. Beauty, after all, is a powerful value that is often taken for granted in the modern era. However, there is another function that is arguably the most important and perhaps the most overlooked, which is the ability to provoke the imagination of the spectator.

When visiting the local convenience store in the village I grew up in as a child, I would browse the DVD rental collection they had, which felt like a miniature Blockbuster. It was rare that I picked up anything for rental, as my parents either didn’t have the money or I was attracted to titles that weren’t suitable for my age. Despite not being able to rent the films I was browsing or having to wait for my parents to make the purchase, I had already formed a picture in my mind of what I wanted those movies to be. Having such limited access to the films that interested me allowed my imagination to take hold, drawing inspiration from the DVD covers to create stories in my own head. There was a great joy in simply observing those titles in the store, imagining what existed behind the artwork.

Did the ideal film I concocted in my head match the reality of the work once I got around to watching it? Not exactly. However, some films did live up to that imagined standard, such as The Descent, Wolf Creek, Kill Bill, and The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Others, however, failed to meet the expectations set by their posters, leading to a profound sense of disappointment. It became clear to me that sometimes a movie poster can be better than the film itself, as the creativity of the spectator’s imagination can surpass the final vision executed by the artist.

Filmmakers do not always succeed in fully realising the vision they initially intended. This can be due to many factors, including budget constraints, the unavailability of certain actors or locations, and creative differences within the production team. However, one way of salvaging that vision and communicating what the film aspired to be is through the movie poster. In this sense, the poster becomes a final opportunity to present the audience with the essence of the idea, offering a glimpse of the film’s potential even if the finished work falls short.

It’s important to note, however, that not all film posters possess the power of provoking the imagination of spectators, transforming them into storytellers in their own minds. Some posters succeed primarily through aesthetic appeal alone. Saul Bass is widely regarded as one of the most influential graphic designers in the history of movie posters; however, his signature minimalist style often provides fewer ingredients for the viewer to construct a story. This does not diminish the quality of his work. His designs for Vertigo (1958) and Anatomy of a Murder (1959) are frequently cited among the greatest movie posters of all time.

When considering what makes a good movie poster, it is common to assume that aesthetics are the defining factor. However, for a young boy browsing DVDs in his local convenience store without the means to watch as many films as he wanted, the true value lay in the cinematic potential contained within the artwork.

A brand new newsletter

Every Thursday morning, subscribers to Aesthete Reviews will receive a new post in their inbox, focusing on a particular movie poster each week that possesses the power of inspiring the spectator to wonder.

The post will detail:

• How the featured poster grasps the imagination

• Whether the film matches the same quality as the artwork

Free subscribers get full access; however, please consider choosing a paid subscription to support my work, only if you can.

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Watch the video review above

Before I reveal my top 10 films of 2025, I should begin by stating that this year has been, without question, the worst I’ve ever experienced for cinema. Normally, when compiling a top 10 list, one selects films that are not just good but that make a meaningful contribution to the art form. This year, I have been forced into a rather sad position: I am picking films that are merely good, but by no means significant. Only one film genuinely blew me away. Only one. But before I get to that, an honourable mention is necessary for the most interesting film of the year.

Honourable mention: Eddington

Last year, I awarded my honourable mention to Joker: Folie à Deux (2024), but this year it goes to Ari Aster’s Eddington. This is the same director who gave us Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019). But this is no horror film. It is a dark satire that revisits 2020: the year of COVID & Black Lives Matter. It received a fair amount of criticism upon release, likely because some expected it to “take sides.” But if you pull yourself out from the culture war battlefield, you’ll find that it isn’t a film about picking sides or delivering a lecture, but rather it is a portrait of a country hurtling towards a dark future.

I suspect that in years to come, Eddington will be revisited as a historical snapshot, a warning about where we are heading. The film presents a bleak outlook on the future, but does so with intelligence. I wouldn’t underestimate the importance of this cinematic entry in history.

Subscribe now

10: Companion

Kicking off the top 10, we have Companion. This film was a pleasant surprise. Initially, one might dismiss it as a standard mainstream release, lacking franchise potential or blockbuster ambitions. Yet it deploys what I call “the plot switch”, a narrative technique seen in films like Barbarian (2022) or Strange Darling (2023). The first 15–20 minutes are unremarkable, but then the story pivots in a direction entirely unexpected, and in doing so, becomes far more compelling than the opening promised.

Unlike films that shift genre midway, such as From Dusk Til Dawn (1996), Companion maintains its original identity but just changes its trajectory. The less you know going in, the more effective this is; anything revealed in advance risks spoiling the surprise.

9: Dreams

Number nine is Dreams, written and directed by Michael Franco, and starring Jessica Chastain. She portrays a woman from a wealthy American family embroiled in a twisted relationship with a Mexican immigrant at a ballet academy funded by her family. I will avoid detailing the story’s darker developments, as they are best experienced unspoiled. What is deeply interesting is the film’s approach to storytelling. It refuses to allow ideology to dictate the narrative. Instead, the characters themselves drive the story.

Lionel Shriver, author of We Need to Talk About Kevin, said in a podcast a couple of years ago that stories are always rigged to prefer the immigrant as the “winning character”. Dreams resist this tendency. It does not present simplistic “good” and “bad” figures, nor does it chase politically correct conclusions, but instead allows characters to respond authentically to their individual situations. It shows every human’s capacity to become a monster. The most interesting films are those where the characters are in the driver’s seat of the story, rather than an activist writing the screenplay or standing behind the camera.

8: Weapons

Number eight is Weapons, the latest from Zach Cregger, director of Barbarian (2022). I approached this film with high expectations. It begins with a compelling mystery: children go missing at 2 a.m., and no one knows where they have gone. The premise sparks the imagination, and there are genuinely frightening moments; however, the revelation was disappointing.

In a podcast called Script Apart, Cregger discussed the influence of David Lynch’s approach to storytelling: allowing the subconscious to lead, embracing mystery, and trusting intuition rather than over-planning. This philosophy shapes Weapons, which takes us to interesting but sometimes bizarre places. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but some events didn’t feel logically justified. A story that leaves space for the audience's imagination best thrives when there is sufficient internal logic to the world presented to us, but that standard is only partially met here.

7: The Naked Gun

Number seven is The Naked Gun. When this was announced, I was excited because I love Liam Neeson. I foresaw his ability to thrive in a comedic role such as this in the Taken films. These films have the intention of being serious; however, there is some slight amusement in Neeson’s performance playing this badass old guy seeking revenge and succeeding against the odds. The Taken films were so successful, he ended up playing pretty much the same character in other films, such as Non-Stop (2014), The Commuter (2018), The Ice Road (2021), and Cold Pursuit (2019). It ended up being its own genre, what I call the “Liam Neeson action film”. And now here comes along a film he stars in, which is meant to be funny, where he really embraces the role.

I haven’t laughed like that at a film in a long time. However, some of the praise was exaggerated. If released a decade ago, it wouldn’t have caused much of a stir. But in today’s cultural climate, where comedy is often censored or restrained, it felt refreshing, like receiving a small joy after deprivation.

6: Lurker

Number six is Lurker, a film about a lonely guy who manages to insert himself into the circle of a popular singer. His desperation to get closer to the star results in him being pushed away, resorting to twisted measures to ensure he doesn’t return to his mundane life before entering the world of fame. This was a difficult film to watch because it exposes uncomfortable truths about fame, ambition, and desire. The process of witnessing this journey is one of great discomfort; however, its pacing hooks you in for the entire duration.

The soundtrack is highly competent, and the original songs for the character’s pop career are convincingly executed. It’s directed and written by Alex Russell, who was behind the TV series The Bear. I haven’t seen the series, but I’m curious to check it out and eager to see what this filmmaker delivers in the future.

5: 28 Years Later

Number five is 28 Years Later, a long-awaited sequel to 28 Days Later (2002). Danny Boyle returns as director, with Alex Garland writing the screenplay. I don’t think many people were asking for this sequel, but it successfully re-emerges the franchise. It provides nostalgia for the 2000s (the last decade when cinema was thriving) and showcases the potential of British cinema with examples of bold and experimental filmmaking.

The film embraces a strong sense of identity, another aspect that British cinema often lacks against the French and the Americans, as it deeply connects to the region in which the story takes place, that being the north east of England. We’re provided with a competent story; however, it doesn’t reward us with deep meaning or emotion. The conclusion sets up a sequel that appears to explore provocative territory, which we can only hope is as interesting as what’s been teased.

You can watch or read my review of 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple this coming Friday!

4: Sirat

Number four is Sirat, the most disturbing film of the year. Watching it feels like being trapped in hell, but that’s not a bad thing in this case. Some of the best cinematic experiences can be those that display the power to provoke huge discomfort through images and sound alone.

The film is about a father and his son who travel into the Moroccan desert and join a group of hippies searching for his missing daughter. Very bad events follow, which I won’t go into to preserve the element of surprise and the ability to be disturbed. Sirat is truly impressive filmmaking and a great example of uncomfortable cinema.

3: Bugonia

Number three is Bugonia, the new film from Yorgos Lanthimos, who seems to have reached the sweet spot of incorporating his signature arthouse style while satisfying mainstream audiences. It focuses on two men who kidnap a woman who is a well-known CEO because they are convinced she’s an alien. This film highlights the comedic talent of Emma Stone, who is hilarious in this role. I came away more convinced that comedy performance is truly embodied in her DNA.

It’s worth stressing that although this ranks so highly in the top 10, it’s by no means Lanthimos’ best film, nor is it an outstanding contribution to cinema despite being an enjoyable ride. During a year that hasn’t been this poor, I’d normally place a film of this quality between 8-10 in ranking; however, the releases in 2025 didn’t give us much to work with. Just don’t go away expecting an experience of high calibre with this one.

2: Black Bag

Number two is Black Bag, the latest from Steven Soderbergh, teaming up with screenwriter David Koepp, who worked with the director on the horror film Presence (2024). But this time, we’re presented with a smart British spy thriller with Michael Fassbender starring as a spy, seeking a traitor who is suspected to be his wife (Cate Blanchett). The film is intelligent, meticulous, and elegant in its execution. Every scene is purposeful; even mundane actions, like cooking a meal, are directed with precision. There is a moment where the plot gets a bit complex; however, this resolves naturally as the drama between the characters returns to the forefront.

While Black Bag is perfectly satisfying, it's by far a work that stands out as something to get excited about. Even if it is the second-best film of 2025, British cinema still has a long way to go to persuade audiences that it matches the same calibre as America and France, but Soderbergh and Koepp at least contribute a work that demonstrates a fine use of the resources available within the nation.

1: After The Hunt

At number one, and the best film of the year, is After the Hunt. Some may be surprised by its placement given the slaughter of criticism it received, but much of that backlash had little to do with the film’s artistic merit. Instead, it was aimed at the themes and conversations the film dares to explore subjects that have largely been avoided in cinema for the past decade. We’ve been living in a period where filmmaking has played it safe, shaped by a culture unwilling to engage with controversy. That’s why it was refreshing to see screenwriter Nora Garrett and director Luca Guadagnino take such a clear risk with this story.

The film follows a philosophy professor at Yale, played by Julia Roberts, who is confronted by a female student reporting that she has been sexually assaulted by another teacher, played by Andrew Garfield. Roberts’ character, however, is burdened by a dark secret that is gradually revealed. She must navigate the tension between being a supportive lecturer and remaining loyal to a colleague accused of a serious crime. The university setting is crucial, using debate and conversation to interrogate subjects that are often treated as morally settled within academic spaces. As the story unfolds, the tension between the characters builds toward an explosive and deeply interesting revelation about Roberts’ character.

After the Hunt excited me because it feels like a genuine step forward, away from a culture that drains the enjoyment from exploring difficult or controversial terrain. Too often, cinema has been bullied by activists into serving as a vehicle for “positive social values,” reducing art to a form of social engineering and political messaging. This politics-dominated approach has discouraged risk-taking and left much of the past decade creatively flaccid. While the film isn’t perfect, there are minor missteps, such as an odd decision involving a photograph hidden under a bathroom sink; these flaws don’t undermine its power. Guadagnino remains one of the best filmmakers currently working, and if this film is any indication, his future work, including his adaptation of American Psycho, will have the courage to embrace cinema that dares again.

Subscribe now

But where are Sinners, Marty Supreme, and One Battle After Another?

Now, some of you may be wondering why this list is missing the films that have been called the “best of a generation” this year. I didn’t like Sinners very much at all. While a cool concept was presented, the film struggled to create an engaging story around it. One Battle Another Another may have displayed the technical mastery of director Paul Thomas Anderson, but it failed to provide characters you could emotionally engage with, doing a disservice to an interesting plot. While Marty Supreme provided much more more interesting characters with good performances, the themes and subject matters presented weren’t of great interest to me.

I believe these films have been called generational masterpieces by many because we’ve been deprived of the heights of great cinema for the last ten years (at least). And when some works that are filmed with high technical competence come along, such as these titles, people get swept up in a social contagion where they convince themselves these are the films that will go down in history as “the greats” from this time in history. The truth is, none of these films will be spoken about past 2026. They aren’t bad films, just not generational masterpieces.

There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that the art form has suffered a blow and that we’re unfortunately living in a time where cinema isn’t as exciting as it used to be. Weak culture produces weak art. But we will move past this, and I believe we are currently witnessing the last years of it. As Oskar Schindler said in Schindler’s List (1993), “Some day, this is all going to end, you know”.

Leave a comment

Now, as we’re halfway through the 2020s, we’re still enduring the leakage of woke horror. Franchises from the decade of glory, such as Saw, have reemerged with new entries in the last few years to capitalise on the cry out for nostalgia from audiences familiar with the 2000s. However, while Saw X (2023) rewarded us with glimpses of this nostalgia, it wasn’t a strong enough dose to persuade us that horror would become ‘fun’ again. Final Destination Bloodlines leads to the same conclusion. However, its spectacular opening scene delivers as close as we can get to experiencing that feeling we got from the 2000s. And just solely because of that, it is worth a cinema trip.

A young couple take a trip to the brand new opening of a space needle-style restaurant in the sky, where the man gets down on one knee and proposes, and the woman announces she’s pregnant. The future looks so hopeful and bright for this couple, until it's not. The signature red flags from the franchise appear when the young woman, Iris, realises something is not quite right as she becomes hyper alert of the danger that might follow from being over 600 feet in the sky. It turns out the construction of the building was completed earlier than expected, and it doesn’t take much damage for the whole thing to fall apart, leading to the death of everyone involved. The catastrophe in the sky is possibly Final Destination's best extravaganza of death yet. Characters' deaths are highly sensational, the violence escalating into even more ridiculous territory than what came before it. The laughter you endure from this high-quality entertainment fills you with joy, as it feels you’ve been permitted to have fun again with the genre.

Despite the rewarding opening, it kicks us off on a journey in which the deaths that occur later down the line struggle to top or even match the spectacle we begin with. While we are presented with impressive creativity involving an MRI scanning machine and a garbage truck, it doesn’t quite match the shocking hilarity of the gymnast in Final Destination 5 (2011), who swung to her death, breaking her body in half. Such a strong opener sets up Bloodlines on a downward trajectory, failing to live up to the high standard it set at the start. Story and character fail to compensate, but you may be a fool to have high expectations in this area with a franchise that's built its reputation entertaining its audience with a parade of death.

To give us confidence, or at least comfort us with the expectation that this current wave of diluted horror is on its way out, Bloodlines would have needed to deliver an experience where the adrenaline was consistent throughout to make a big enough impact to influence a change in direction for the genre. While that change will inevitably come, Final Destination is not the saving grace of the times we find ourselves in. Rather than reverting to successful franchises to spawn new creations, what is needed is brand-new IP (intellectual property) that dares to return to the extremes of the genre, watering down on societal critique, and showing the ability to have fun again. These requirements, along with compelling storytelling, may kickstart a brighter future for horror.

Out in UK cinemas now

Leave a comment