Our latest movie reviews

A lamp-lit street’s gleam, punctuating the inky blot of night in a remote Normandy village enveloped by forest, looks for all the world like the Milky Way brought low. It’s the first sign that Eden star Félix de Givry’s beguiling debut directorial feature, Goodbye Cruel World, will lend a mystical element to this story of a lost boy finding his way. That ‘boy’ is teenager Otto Vidal, played by Milo Machado-Graner, best known for his turn as the visually impaired kid, Daniel, in Justine Triet’s courtroom drama Anatomy of a Fall.  We hear Otto before we see him, racing through gloomy streets pursued by the bullies who’ve driven him to feel like life’s not worth living. A passing comment about the rigidity of his Catholic schooling and the nuns who stroll by his hiding spot, oblivious to his presence, illustrate his outsider status. A narrator (Françoise Lebrun) underlines his predicament with gentle grace, amplifying the almost fairy-tale nature of this melancholy story.  Otto posts an accusatory suicide note to all of his classmates, escusing only two kind girls and another boy (‘at a push’) from causing his death. He’s been pushed to his limit, as we witness him all alone on a high bridge over a roaring river that’s captured in gorgeously textured 16mm by cinematographer Tara-Jay Bangalter. Except that his desperate plunge isn’t as final as the husband’s in Anatomy of a Fall. A love song for the lonely that glows like starlight Surviving, bedraggled and ghostly, a bruised...

That high-altitude action sequence in Where Eagles Dare has sudden new competition for the most knuckle-whitening cable-car moment in cinema.  In August 2023, in the Pakistan province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, a group of teenagers, travelling to school by cable car across a valley in the Himalayan foothills, were left dangling 900 feet up when two of the three cables above them abruptly snapped. The obstacles facing would-be rescuers were formidable: swirling cross winds, desperate family members, choking crowds of locals on either side of the ravine. Oh, and the prospect that the third cable could give way at any moment. Directed by Pakistani filmmaker Mohammed Ali Naqvi, this terrifically tense documentary tells the story of that nightmare commute, using a wealth of media and cameraphone footage, plus interviews and reenactments with the people involved, to piece together the 12 or so hours of bedlam that followed.The cable car, hanging at a canted angle like a frame from a horror movie, is a heart-in-mouth sight that Naqvi never cuts away from for long. Alerted to the unfolding story, the Pakistani media and then international networks arrived to capture the rescue efforts. Drone footage zooms in on the calm-looking boys inside the gondola and you wonder how they seem so cool when their lives are hanging in the balance.  The ticking-clock tension will leave you breathless Naqvi assembles all the key figures, from the determined police chief and broadcast journalist who...

How you relate to It Ends will depend, in large part, on how you relate to It Ends. To make things even simpler: if circular logic alone is enough to irritate you, this definitely isn’t your movie. What this is, in fact, is a movie in which four friends literally drive around in circles… forever. Soon after Tyler (Mitchell Cole) picks up James (Phinehas Yoon), Day (Akira Jackson), and Fisher (Noah Toth) for a night out, they realise they’ve misread the GPS and missed their turn. Then they discover that there is no turn. And finally, it dawns on them that there is no exit at all. They’re just stuck on an unfamiliar two-lane country road, surrounded by forest on both sides, indefinitely.  This unusual development alone would, obviously, be concerning. But it gets worse when they stretch their legs, and are almost immediately beset upon by zombies. Or are they zombies? Maybe they’re just other people who eventually went crazy driving down the same road forever. Either way, things are not looking great. Being culture-savvy members of Gen-Z, though, they’re pretty good at figuring out what they can figure out. Each relies, ultimately, on their own strengths: ambitious James sets about defining the scenario (Purgatory? Hell? A communal nightmare?) so he can best conquer it. The thoughtful Day times the arrival of the zombies, and discovers that it’s always safe to leave the car for exactly 90 seconds. Anxious Fisher plans games, conversations, and other daily structures, so they...

Mud baths, seaweed scrubs and… strippers. The writers of The Hangover have thrown off their sunglasses and slipped on their dressing gowns for this new friendship comedy that laughs in the face of Goop, guided meditations and yoga classes.  Jane (Leslie Mann), Sophie (Anna Faris) and Coco (Michelle Buteau) have been best friends since childhood. Now firmly in middle age, all three of them are harried and worn down, each with their own cross to bear: single motherhood, a sick parent, a divorce, an overbearing man-baby boss. To celebrate Jane’s birthday, the trio decide to do something for themselves for a change, and book an indulgent spa weekend.  So far, so relaxing. The hotel is beautiful, they got an amazing discount, and there’s a particularly hot yoga instructor. But uh-oh, here comes the maniacal and preposterously idiotic Mel – played by Isla Fisher dressed like she’s an extra in Mamma Mia!, in a blaze of neon flares and oversized sunglasses – gyrating and yelling at her fellow ‘middle-aged sluts’ across the pool. Mel is the loose cannon of the group who wasn’t supposed to be invited. What could possibly go wrong?A lot, it transpires. The ensuing hijinks are a melange of pleasingly satirical takedowns of woo-woo wellness culture (goat yoga, anyone?), relatable friendship dynamics, and some downright ridiculous stuff that feels a bit forced (a Police Interceptors-style golf cart chase? I don’t think so).  Spa Weekend is as formulaic as a sauna followed by a cold...

First rule of film criticism is beware of movies bearing exclamation marks. Let alone those brandishing a triple threat. So I am flabbergasted to report that: You! Must! Watch! This! Produced by (and starring) RuPaul, this zany disaster-movie spoof is led by Drag Race favourites Ginger Minj and Jujubee. They play Tess and DeeDee, middle-aged stewardesses at budget loco Stank Rail. But when that company hits the skids, the besties blag two trolley dolly jobs aboard the uber-glossy Glamazonian Express, stitching their own uniforms to blend in. There they lock wigs with resident mean girls Amber (Brooke Lynn Hytes), Ali (Marty Lauter) and complicatedly spelt Ayshleiygh (Symone). But workplace bitchery and a carriageful of bonkers, oversexed passengers soon become the least of their worries when the brakes fail, the Captain (Chris Parnell as a latter-day Leslie Nielsen) is paralysed by a scorpion and the train hurtles towards a life-threatening ‘Stormaganza’. One of my favourite films growing up was The Big Bus, a 1976, pre-Airplane! disaster spoof my dad had taped off the telly. I suspect screenwriters Christina Friel and Connor Wright loved it too. And if Stop! That! Train! won’t win Miss Originality conceptually – aside from being one of the first major movies fronted by drag queens – it’s still an absolute hoot. I am flabbergasted to report that: You! Must! Watch! This! Hairspray director Adam Shankman just about keeps the silliness on the rails as the gags keep coming....

The story of a poet who is rediscovered in later life could be tragic, it could be comic, it could be a feel good watch. Late Fame toys with all of these modes but declines to commit, delivering an unsentimental story anchored by a lived-in performance from Willem Dafoe. He’s Edward Saxberger, a postal worker who leads a quiet life in contemporary New York. Shuffling home to his modest apartment, he is doorstepped by an ardent young admirer, Meyers (Edmund Donovan), who has stumbled upon a second-hand volume of Saxberger’s poetry, published decades earlier when he enjoyed modest success. Enchanted, Meyers has shared it with his poetry group, the Enthusiasm Society, who would love to meet the writer. Initially reluctant, Saxberger joins them for one of their meet-ups: it’s a far cry from the usual dive bar with his colleagues. As the society persuades him to prepare for a reading of his work, Saxberger’s head is turned by the prospect of late fame, but the reality may not live up to expectation.  Directed by Kent Jones (Diane), this is written by Samy Burch (May December), and based on a 19th century novella by Arthur Schnitzler, who also wrote the story on which Kubrick based Eyes Wide Shut. By transposing it to modern day New York, Burch gives his work a fresh spin, while retaining a suitably old-fashioned air: after all, this is about artists striving to recreate what they see as a more poetic era.  Willem Dafoe is an expert at playing this sort of enigmatic character An...

First, a primer. Shot, scored and test-screened, Coyote Vs Acme was set for release in 2023 – only for studio overlord David Zaslav to bury the film as a tax write-off. Exhumed by distributor Ketchup three years later (and Altitude in the UK), the assumption is the indie outfit have bought a total stinker. Not so. Not even close. Slamming the funny bone with the force of a plunging piano, this berserk comedy is like swallowing a sausage-string of TNT. In other words, it’s an absolute blast.  There’s a satisfying irony to this David vs Goliath backstory, because Coyote Vs Acme is about a literal underdog triumphing against a toxic megacorp. Inspired by Ian Frazier’s New Yorker article, the movie asks an irresistible ‘what-if?’: after a lifetime of being crushed, blown up and eviscerated in his pursuit of meal-on-wheels Road Runner, what would happen if Wile E Coyote sued Acme for its defective products?  Enter Will Forte’s personal injury lawyer Kevin Avery, hired by Coyote to take on Acme: a monolith of innovation selling magic tunnel paint, canned lions and dehydrated boulders like a psychopathic Temu. Convinced Coyote only wants Road Runner on the witness stand so he can BBQ him, and wary of taking on Acme’s blowhard lawyer (a very game John Cena), Avery uncovers a hideous cartoon vivisection conspiracy known as Project Sisyphus.  Forte is crucial here: his hangdog, faintly exhausted performance a counterbalance to the film’s dizzying vortex of lunacy. Forget...

Just when you thought there was nowhere new left for hungry dinosaurs to rampage, here come producer JJ Abrams and writer-director David Robert Mitchell (It Follows, Under the Silver Lake) with a fresh, fun spin on stompy saurian carnage. The wheeze here is that, thanks to a blissfully unexplained space-time hiccup, a sizeable chunk of 1982 middle-American suburbia is suddenly dumped in the distant prehistoric past, taking the residents on an overnight plummet several links down the food chain. Interestingly, despite the full-on B-movie concept and the John Williams-style Amblin-adventure ebullience of the score (courtesy of Abrams regular Michael Giacchino), this is not some wisecracking romp. As you might expect from Mitchell’s previous outings, there are dark seams to mine, even before the residents of Flowervale (not to be confused with Cloverfield) hear the shrieks and screams outside their pointlessly locked doors. This is harsh, brutal and, at times, traumatic stuff The focus here is on a single nuclear family, the Platts. Dad Greg (Ewan McGregor, on good form) is struggling to make ends meet and keep it all together; mom Denise (Anne Hathaway, relishing the material) yearns to be an author and, well, anywhere but Flowervale. Divorce may be on the cards, though Greg’s in denial. Of course, their relationship (and their poor kids, ably played by Maisy Stella and Christian Convery) gets stress-tested in an impossible way when they wake up in 200 million BC. And while...

After the release of Grey Gardens, the Maysles brothers’ 1975 documentary, the filmmakers were challenged. Their film followed an eccentric mother-daughter duo in their dilapidated East Hampton mansion, but some felt it was iffy to put two seemingly mentally unwell women on display. In 2014, Albert Maysles defended their motives and subjects, saying: ‘Their behaviour was just their way of asserting themselves. And what could be a better way to assert themselves than a film about them asserting themselves?’ That enthusiastic spirit has been channelled in Samuel Abrahams' feature debut Lady, an evocatively weird mockumentary with Fleabag's Siân Clifford throwing herself into the bonkers lead role. Yet, her Lady Isabella, a lonely, self-absorbed member of the English aristocracy, takes the reins. She employs up-and-coming director Sam (Laurie Kynaston) to film the aristocrat gallivanting around her far more pristine estate than Grey Gardens – you might recognise Somerleyton Hall from The Crown – in a delectably exuberant wardrobe styled by costume designer Terri Higgins.  Lady Isabella is a product of immense wealth, privilege and a narcissistic social media culture that believes their every move is worth documenting, so she dupes Sam into thinking Netflix is backing the project about her ‘journey of artistic discovery’. This mainly involves submitting herself into the manor's annual ‘Stately Stars’ talent contest; never mind that it's for children.  Fleabag's Siân Clifford...

There are numerous Green Day tribute acts – Green Daze, Green Haze, Green182, American Idiotz to name a few – but Nimrods represents the first tribute film. With the story based on and co-penned by the group, who also appear in bookending cameos, Lee Kirk’s amiable road movie uses Green Day’s spirit to fashion a formulaic but fun and scrappy love song to youthful dreamers, big aspirations, and the thrill of rocking out with your best friends.  Nimrods follows three teens – normie Tommy (Mason Thames), comedian (Kylr Coffman), nebbish Chad (Ryan Foust) – who have their own band, Analogue Dogs (often mispronounced ‘Anal Dogs’). After Green Day arrive in town for a signing and the boys slip them a demo tape, the friends are pranked by Tommy’s brother Wayne (Keen Ruffalo, son of Mark) who tells them their heroes have asked Analogue Dogs to open for them in California on New Year’s Eve. Somehow with no car, driving licences or money, a road trip begins.  It’s a familiar set-up that becomes a flimsy throughline to hang a series of escapades. So, the boys play in a rowdy biker bar (shades of The Blues Brothers), detour to a drug-fuelled party and spend a night in a scary motel. En route, there are fallings out, reconciliations, a thin but winning romance with a rock chick (McKenna Grace), all interspersed with grainy home video footage to amp up the punky, DIY vibes. It’s that kind of movie: obvious but sweet-natured and enjoyable It’s hokey (kids sneaking into gigs rarely rings...