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The Right Stuff (1983)   While it certainly more than fulfils the function of a NASA-propaganda picture – as in, it affirms the legitimacy of their activities – The Right Stuff escapes the designation of rote testament reserved for Ron Howard’s later Apollo 13. Partly because it has such a distinctive personality and attitude. Partly too because of the way it has found its through line. Which isn’t so much the “wow” of the Space Race and those picked to be a part of it, as it is the personification of that titular quality in someone who wasn’t even in the Mercury programme: Chuck Yaeger

Russian Doll Season 2   Russian Doll’s first season started off going great guns, before failing to stick the landing. This unnecessary – in as much as nothing about the original demanded more, beyond it proving something of a hit for Netflix, not least critically – second run doesn’t have that problem, mostly because it never even clears the runway. Nadia: Well, inexplicable things happening is my entire modus operandi. If in doubt, revert to a Quantum Leap/Back to the Future time-travel premise, by way of… er, that Nicholas Lyndhurst series (Goodnight, Sweetheart). This time, Nadia (Natasha Lyonne) and Alan (Charlie Barnett) find

The Matrix Resurrections (2021)   Warner Bros has been here before. Déjà vu? What happens when you let a filmmaker do whatever they want? And I don’t mean in the manner of Netflix. No, in the sequel sense. You get a Gremlins 2: The New Batch (a classic, obviously, but not one that financially furthered a franchise). And conversely, when you simply cash in on a brand, consequences be damned? Exorcist II: The Heretic speaks for itself. So in the case of The Matrix Resurrections – not far from as meta as The New Batch, but much less irreverent – when Thomas “Tom” Anderson, designer of globally

The Prestige (2006)   If you hadn’t heard, The Prestige’s ending is divisive. The very fact of this is something I find, frankly, bizarre. The idea that it’s somehow perceived as a cheat or cop out. The ending as it unfolds is everything to the movie. It’s intrinsic to it and makes explicit its thematic content in a powerful and resonant way. Without it, the film becomes an above-par Now You See Me (one with tricks that actually have some degree of coherence and less CGI). With it, it amounts to a classic. Whose fault is it when a movie (or any piece of art)

Wrath of Man (2021)   Guy Ritchie’s stripped-down remake of Le Convoyeur (or Cash Truck, also the working title for this movie) feels like an intentional acceleration in the opposite direction to 2019’s return-to-form The Gentleman, his best movie in years. Ritchie seems to want to prove he can make a straight thriller, devoid of his characteristic winks, nods, playfulness and outright broad (read: often extremely crude) sense of humour. Even King Arthur: Legend of the Sword has its fair share of laughs. Wrath of Man is determinedly grim, though, almost Jacobean in its doom-laden trajectory, and Ritchie casts his movie accordingly, opting for more restrained performers, less

The Doors (1991)   Oliver Stone’s mammoth, mythologising paean to Jim Morrison is as much about seeing himself in the self-styled, self-destructive rebel figurehead, and I suspect it’s this lack of distance that rather quickly leads to The Doors degenerating into a turgid bore. It’s strange – people are, you know, films equally so – but I’d hitherto considered the epic opus patchy but worthwhile, a take that disintegrated on this viewing. The picture’s populated with all the stars it could possibly wish for, tremendous visuals (courtesy of DP Robert Richardson) and its director operating at the height of his powers, but his

Cruella (2021)   Well, this is a surprise. The last thing I expected at this point in the course of Disney’s dogged determination to piss on its legacy was a decent live-action take on an animated classic and a decent origins story to boot. Perhaps it needs to be put down to the old exception that proves the rule, but Cruella hits a bullseye in several key respects: performance, direction and (derivative) premise. If the movie wanders during its final act, is grossly overlong and also inherently morally questionable, well that’s simply symptomatic of these times. And Disney all over. The Baroness: I’m intrigued, and

Duffy (1968)   It’s appropriate that James Coburn’s title character is repeatedly referred to as an old hipster in Robert Parrish’s movie, as that seemed to be precisely the niche Coburn was carving out for himself in the mid- to late-60s, no sooner had Our Man Flint made him a star. He could be found partaking in jaundiced commentary on sexual liberation in Candy, falling headlong into counter culture in The President’s Analyst, and leading it in Duffy. He might have been two decades older than its primary adherents, but he was, to repeat an oft-used phrase here, very groovy. If only Duffy were too. Stefane: Gonna

Lost Soul: The Doomed Journey of Richard Stanley’s Island of Dr. Moreau (2015)   I’m not one of those who thought the John Frankenheimer-inherited The Island of Dr. Moreau was one of the worst movies ever made. Indeed, I found it very patchy – so reflective of most of the director’s efforts by this point in his career – but actually quite entertaining, much of that down to the absurd performance from Marlon Brando, who if this documentary from David Gregory is anything to go by, really had it in for the film’s producer New Line. Although, that could speak for Brando’s attitude to

Doctor Who The Stones of Blood   A story of two distinctive parts (albeit, it’s a four-parter), and one with equally diametric views held over which is better, The Stones of Blood’s appeal, I would argue, is that both sections (or segments) support, inform and contrast with each other. It won the DWAS season survey back in 1978, although some would probably argue that’s about as significant as feting the most popular (least unpopular) entry in Season 24. The story returned the series to an increasingly rare (in the Williams era) Earth setting and indulged the “gothic horror” that had become

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone aka Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (2001)   If you want a functional, serviceable, unremarkable version of Harry Potter, look no further than Chris Columbus’ chocolate-box, Hollywood-anglophile vision. It’s studiously inoffensive and almost entirely lifeless. I should emphasise at the outset that I’m not a Harry Potter fan; I don’t have anything particularly against the series, but by and large it failed to captivate me on screen, so I’ve had little inclination to reach out for the novels. However, I was curious to revisit each film successively, having seen them exactly once. Columbus’ offerings are much

The Lost City of Z (2016)   It’s probably no coincidence that the two films I’ve enjoyed most in the last couple of months have adopted an expressly stately pace, slipping effortlessly into the style and narrative form of features of yesteryear. That might be interpreted as a symptom of getting older and failing to appreciate a frenzied assault on the senses the way I once might have, but I suspect it rather derives from surprise and appreciation that this kind of picture still has a place (if not necessarily a wide audience). And that, when it suits the material,

Penda’s Fen (1974)   Confession time: I wasn’t even aware Penda’s Fen existed before reading a recent Fortean Times piece on haunted childhoods of the ’70s: curious in itself, as Play for Today wasn’t exactly teatime, Basil Brush and Doctor Who, viewing (I guess they’re taking in inquisitive teenagers). But it’s very easy to see why the piece, directed by Alan Clarke from a teleplay by David Rudkin, had an impact on impressionable young minds. It’s just the sort of fare, with its open countryside and occult undertones, that proves indelible, in the manner of Children of the Stones or The Owl Service (or Alan Garner generally). That, and simply the way that

The Neon Demon (2016)   I found the first hour of The Neon Demon mesmerising, an elliptical, synth-driven fever dream and tonal cousin to Beyond the Black Rainbow, ostensibly charting the seductive and destructive path to success in the superficial world of modelling but possibly being about something very much more than that. By the end, however, it had diminished somewhat in my estimation, its cool, retro poise reframed by the most OTT, Grand Guignol, head-on charge. I was left with a shrug, rather than the rapt sense of having been fed through a wringer of revelation. And that’s even with Nicolas Winding

The Avengers 2.16: Warlock   A genuinely supernatural episode, one of the series’ big no-nos, for some fans. Accordingly, your appreciation for Warlock will likely rest entirely on whether you accept its premise. I regard it as one of the highlights of the second season, although the common verdict appears to be that it’s something of a disappointment. Peter Hammond was one of the series’ best directors, and he pulls out the stylistic stops to make the most of Doreen Montgomery’s teleplay. Montgomery had a long career as writer for the big screen from the late ’30s to the late ’50s; this

Citizenfour (2014)   I can only put the Best Documentary Feature Oscar victory of Citizenfour down to voting for the issue rather than the content. Which is okay, as far as that sort of thing goes. The Academy Awards has long history of rewarding touchstone issues or sentimental plights over actual quality, and the Edward Snowden “revelations” that we are all surveyed all the time by the NSA, GCHQ or whoever it maybe are as deserving of getting behind as any. It’s just a shame Laura Poitras’ film is so shallow and undemanding, bringing of nothing new to what we already knew

Nothing but the Night (1973)   A non-Hammer pairing of Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, Nothing but the Night’s neglected status is a fair reflection that it is, mostly, a quite dull affair. Peter Sasdy’s film has been compared to same year’s The Wicker Man, with its mysterious goings-on on a remote Scottish island and particularly for its shocking sacrificial climax, but really, it’s only that shocking (and wholly bizarre) climax that marks it out for attention at all (probably spoiled if you watched it under the alternative title The Resurrection Syndicate, but at least not confounding expectations the way The Caste of the Living

Twin Peaks 2.12: The Black Widow   This one, directed by Caleb Deschanel and written by Harley Peyton and Robert Engels, continue the largely antiseptic trend of the last couple. It will remain that way until Jean Renault (well played by Michael Parks, but not used well beyond his first couple of appearances) is despatched and Windom Earle takes centre stage. Dick Tremayne: Andy, I believe that little Nicky, incredible as it may seem, may in fact be the devil. The Black Widow is more of the less engaging/haven’t a clue what to do filler plotlines, basically. Even in these, there’s the

The Last Wave (1977)   Peter Weir’s perception- and reality-bending third feature may not hold quite the same level of foreboding or uncanny resonance as Picnic at Hanging Rock, but it is very much kindred. The Last Wave comes at a point when Weir’s cinematic explorations were neither bound nor fully-informed by the strictures of the traditional Hollywood narrative, at liberty to take his tales wherever he felt they needed to go. In terms of premise, you might be forgiven for regarding The Last Wave as one-part cautionary eco-parable and one-part white man’s guilt espoused over the treatment of Australian Aboriginals. Certainly, Pauline Kael tore the picture

Twin Peaks  2.2: Coma   Lynch’s pre-penultimate episode in the director’s chair, penned by Harley Peyton, continues with the high standard set by the opener, and you have to think that’s mostly down to the extra quirk instilled by the show’s co-creator. Albert: Your former partner flew the coop, Coop. He escaped. Vanished into thin air. Agent Cooper: That’s not good. On the other hand, there are significant advances in the show’s mythology to help the episode along. Top of the heap is the first mention of Windom Earle, who won’t be seen in the flesh for another nine episodes. But, with

Twin Peaks 1.4: Rest in Pain   Another damn fine episode, and one with neither Frost nor Lynch credited in writing or directing. Harley Peyton was a producer on Twin Peaks, and would script no less than fourteen episodes (including uncredited work on 1.3). He wrote screenplays for Less than Zero and Heaven’s Prisoners, and most recently was attached to the still born Jonathan Rhys Myers Dracula show. Tina Rathborne directed (and returned for season two) but has done nothing since. Sheriff Truman: Who killed Laura Palmer? It will be interesting to note which Season Two episodes Peyton penned, as here he takes to Lynch and Frost’s

Eureka (1983)   Nicolas Roeg’s fascinating, flawed follow-up to Bad Timing is much under-appreciated. It came after a run of critical darlings, but heralded output during the rest of the 1980s that would generally be regarded as mixed (while also representing his most prolific period). A tale of greed, obsession, and jealousy, Eureka finds the director applying his typically distinctive insights into time, subjective experience, the enduring external world, sex, and death to a screenplay that isn’t quite sure if it can take such weight. One could imagine a much more linear take on this (based on real events) story, which may be why

The Ballad of Tam Lin (1970)   Also known as Tam Lin, The Devil’s Widow and Games and Toys, Roddy McDowall’s, the great Roddy McDowall’s, sole outing as a director has a bumpy history, Its rocky road reaching cinema screens (as the various titles suggest) saw Roger Corman’s AIP cut it in the US against the director’s wishes, and it was consigned to an indifferent-at-best reception everywhere. It’s undoubtedly true that this is not an urgent affair, and those seeking to divine specific connections between the dregs-of-counterculture plot and the Scottish folktale that inspired it may find themselves wanting. And yet it’s a richly textured affair,

The Dunwich Horror (1970)   HP Lovecraft purists might understandably object to the liberties taken by this cheapie Roger Corman adaptation, and no one is going to reach the end credits utterly unnerved, but it isn’t a complete wash-out. As clumsy as the direction and storytelling often are, The Dunwich Horror is anchored by a smoothly creepy performance from one Dean Stockwell. Appropriately, he sports a diabolical perm to match his dark dealings. Stockwell is Wilbur Whateley, a “student of the occult” who wishes to “borrow” a rare copy of the Necronomicon belonging to Dr Armitage (Ed Begley, in his last film

Ace of Wands Season 3 (1972)   If Ace of Wands were half as good as its theme song it would be an enduring classic whose legend was alive and well today, rather than a half-forgotten ember in the annals of children’s television history. Only the final season of the series exists (transmitted the year I was born), so perhaps I’m doing it an injustice and the previous two were dynamite. After all, loveable cockney rogue Tony Selby appeared in those as a regular. Trevor Preston’s idea was to make a kids’ show that wasn’t obviously playing to kids (hence the leads

True Detective 1.7: After You’ve Gone   Even though we appeared to be up-to-date, Nic Pizzolatto can’t resist sprinkling a few flashbacks into the penultimate episode. After You’ve Gone is full of great moments, but perhaps a slight step down on the quality of the past couple of weeks. While it’s exciting to see present day Rust and Marty team up, there’s an occasional awkwardness to the character work (how many times do they have to ask what each has been doing for the past ten years?) and it has to be said straight up that the final scene is hopelessly Scooby Doo.

True Detective 1.6: Haunted House   The far-out theorising of the fifth episode (probably my favourite so far) is all but jettisoned as True Detective is brought back down to earth with a thud and a bump and a grind in Haunted House. It’s a definite and intentional pullback from the investigation side (barring a couple of scenes, and one especially memorable one), which tidies the hedgerows and brings the narrative fully up-to-date. And it serves to really cement that this is all about the decaying lives of the detectives at its centre; the solving of the crime needs to pay-off satisfyingly to

True Detective 1.2: Seeing Things   I should comment on T Bone Burnett’s fantastic music for the series. And, yet again, HBO has come up with a wonderfully evocative of opening title sequence. At the end of the previous episode the detectives happened across a totem of twigs (“devil nets”) in a child’s play house, like the one found near the body of Dora Lange. The unsettling signposts pointing towards an occult world are littered through the plot, be it the strange headaches of Mrs Kelly (Tess Harper) that border on the possessed or the “green-eared spaghetti monster” that reportedly

The Box of Delights (1984)   If you were at a formative age when it was first broadcast, a festive viewing of The Box of Delights may well have become an annual ritual. The BBC adaptation of John Masefield’s 1935 novel is perhaps the ultimate cosy yuletide treat. On a TV screen, at any rate. To an extent, this is exactly the kind of unashamedly middle class-orientated bread-and-butter period production the corporation now thinks twice about; ever so posh kids having jolly adventures in a nostalgic netherworld of Interwar Britannia. Fortunately, there’s more to it than that. There is something genuinely evocative

Children of the Stones 5: Charmed Circle   The fifth episode ups the ante further, as two central characters (Margaret and Sandra) fall under the spell of Hendrick. Indeed, the serial is building towards the climax from this point on. There’s no longer the need for subterfuge, even if outright discussion and accusation between the opposing parties is saved for the finale. Hendrick: Poor old Dai. Still, there’s no escaping one’s destiny is there? But Adam is rightly beginning to lose his cool with Hendrick, whose smooth superiority leaves him casting doubt on matters they both know he has answers to.

Children of the Stones (1977)   The reputation of Children of the Stones, as both “the scariest kids’ TV series ever” and “The Wicker Man for children” is almost entirely earned. It sits in the post-Nigel Kneale landscape where science and the ancient supernatural entwine, a captivating cocktail that flourished in the 1970s, post-von Daniken, fascination with ancient astronauts and hidden history. There is still a will to that kind of storytelling (look at Lost), but it is tempered compared to the post-hippy embrace of all things pagan. At the time Children of the Stones was made cynicism of Flower Power had taken hold,

The Owl Service Episode Five   While some have bemoaned the info-dump recaps, they repeatedly provide details that I’d either missed or Garner or Plummer (or both) intended to remain oblique. There’s something to be said for such an approach as the gist of the legend coming to life is repeatedly reinforced (and that’s the main thing). But, on occasions, Plummer’s choices prove distracting. The “Four days later” caption is designed to show that Alison was forced to snub Gwyn, but her subsequent panic over being at the time and place she agreed to meet him initially caught me off

A Field in England (2013)   Ben Wheatley seems to be the new darling of British cinema, with all the hazards that brings. A horror buff with art house pretensions, he provides instant sustenance to the cult crowd. The rave receptions of both Kill List and Sightseers, and his ability to hit all the right notes in adoring interviews, has established him as a man who can do no wrong. His latest has met with chin-stroking approval from the critics, but he’s probably none too surprised at the less united response from audiences. And the naysayers may have a point. Wheatley has bags

Doctor Who The Evil of the Daleks: Episode Two   It’s possible that the audio of Evil might be claimed to mask a crushing disappointment should the physical articles ever be happened upon. Except that we have a solitary physical article, and Episode Two ends up only supporting the case that this deserves its classic reputation. Derek Martinus is one of the series’ most underappreciated directors, and if anyone could make Galaxy 4 more vital than its pedestrian script would allow it’s him (so it will be interesting to see that recovered episode… one day). Episode One is revealed to have employed the old

Kill List (2011)   Ben Wheatley appears to have swiftly become the new poster boy for British horror, thus supplanting the undeservedly crowned regent Neil Marshall. Obviously, Wheatley has a far more suitable name so that’s something. And, at first glance, he appears to have artistic aspirations higher than the swathe of gore Marshall is content to cut a path through. But for every area where I admired Wheatley’s inventiveness and craft in Kill List, ultimately, he left me feeling dissatisfied with the result. It’s possible that I’m just not sufficiently on board with horror movie tropes. It’s never been my