Tommy Peters

James Ashcroft's Jenny Pen is powerlessness and madness rolled into one, buoyed by an unhinged John Lithgow and a haughty Geoffrey Rush inspired by Owen Marshall's sick novel written long form in a basement with an unwashed bulldog. Judge Stefan (Rush) has a stroke. He is confined to an assisted-living facility where he is pitted against a psycho resident, Dave (Lithgow), wielding Jenny Pen, a dementia doll, as a tool of terror. While Dave rules, Howie (Ian Mune) emerges with some cockney wit, engaging the audience with a layer of gruff authenticity to the film. Howie to Stefan: "Pour the pension into the porkies, did you? What are you doing in a shithole like this?" and Stefan's response, "The four most dangerous words in the investment world: This time, it's different." This nuance is Marshall's world-weary cynicism with class commentary and existential dread beneath the surface. His "Porkies" line is ripe for mocking corporate hubris and personal folly in one go. His grim punchline is Howie's cigarette-lit immolation, which Stefan watches helplessly due to his own immobility, which underscores the film's nihilistic edge and the hopelessness and futility mirroring the characters' struggles. Meanwhile, Dave goes about with his Jenny Pen, oscillating between ludicrous and chilling. Yet the script's refusal to explore his motives leaves his performance untethered, but Stefan's explanation of a broken judge provides the necessary balance. Cinematographer Matt Henley amplifies the claustrophobia with hellish reds, while Marshall's long-awaited English tutorial is a poetic flair barely passing the granny test of our little monsters, but still, in contrast to Hollywood's expletive-ridden DEI disasters. Ultimately, Jenny Pen offers Lithgow's lunacy versus Rush's quiet despair, Henley's visuals versus the script's numbing aura, and the takeaway: Don't pour your pension into the porkies unless you want to end up in a shithole like this, brilliant!

Gal Gadot plays the Evil Queen, but beyond her performance, her off-screen savvy sets her apart. At the 2025 ADL Leadership Awards, she said, "I'd never really wanted to talk about politics. No one wants to hear celebrities going on and on about political issues, right?" It was a female echo of Ricky Gervais's roast at the 2020 Golden Globes: "You know nothing about the real world. Most of you spent less time in school than Greta Thunberg. So if you win, come up, accept your little award, thank your agent, and your God, and f... off." Gervais and Gadot deliver the same message: actors, please stick to acting to preserve your brand for the fans who fuel your income, name, and stature. Gervais is like a Cessna touching down, raw and unfiltered, on a jungle strip. Gadot, by contrast, is like an Airbus, exuding poise, feminine energy, and grace. Both are saying that actors owe their success to their audience and should focus on their craft to keep that loyalty intact. There is a reason why Gadot is loved while Rachel Zegler catches flak. Zegler's vocal anti-Trump stance, pro-Palestinian views, and Israeli critique have split her fanbase. By contrast, at the ADL, Gadot declared with an infectious energy that unites rather than divides, "I'm Jewish and proud to be one." It was a masterclass in staying above the fray while building a fan base that adores her authenticity. Gadot as the Evil Queen is the ultimate villain, and villains don't usually save movies. But her star power transcends the role. She'd be the magnet that packs theatres, drawing the audience she deserves. Fans will show up for her, stay for the magic, and leave raving about her captivating, nuanced performance. She'll elevate the film from good to unforgettable, keeping the buzz about the story, not politics. Gadot is why Snow White will shine! Peace! Tommy Peters

Lively Deserves a Second Look: Despite Her MeToo Nonsense. Norton and Hopkins kept their opinions and personal lives private, leaving Primal Fear and Hannibal untarnished and watchable. Conversely, De Niro's embarrassing TDS meltdowns have left fans avoiding Raging Bull and Goodfellas reruns. Similarly, Tyson's infamous encounter with Pitt and Givens, which the boxer recounted on Indisputable, left Pitt white-faced like a frightened boy, shattering his tough-guy image and tainting classics like Troy and Snatch. Notwithstanding Lively's MeToo nonsense against Baldoni, The Rhythm Section remains an underrated gem, a revenge thriller that delivers raw emotion and unrelenting action. Director Morano unpacks Stephanie Patrick (Lively), a woman grieving after losing her family in a plane crash she learns was no accident. Lively sheds her glamorous persona to play a broken, bare-faced woman who is messy, raw, and unapologetically human, contrasting her polished roles in Gossip Girl and A Simple Favour. The fight scenes are brutal, nasty, and believable. As a morally ambiguous MI6 mentor, Iain Boyd (Law) adds depth to the story, and you feel every punch, misstep, and desperation. The pacing is relentless, and Stephanie's transformation from a self-destructive, drugged-out recluse to a reluctant assassin feels earned. Her grief lingers in every move, making her journey heart-breaking and compelling. Yet, The Rhythm Section never got the attention it deserved because Lively's off-screen persona as a "bully" overshadowed her craft, which is a shame because this film is her magnum opus. Credit Morano for focusing on female fragility, presenting Stephanie not as a kick-ass femme fatale but as a flawed, scared woman who improvises through her killing spree. She's messy, relatable, and authentic, a refreshing departure from Hollywood's usual airbrushed perfection. Before Lively sullies her craft with her silly Baldoni story, The Rhythm Section deserves a second look because it proves that our "Gossip Girl" can anchor a gritty, compelling story. Peace! Tommy Peters

It is a gut-wrenching Persian must-watch for any secular nation transitioning to an Islamic state. Director and co-producer Mohammad Rasoulouf made this powerful tale of conscience and conflict while evading Iran's oppressive regime. You get the sense Iran is blinking her eyes to the free world in Morse code. In the preamble, Rasoulouf describes the "Ficus Religiosa (Sacred Fig) as a tree with an unusual life cycle. Its seeds, contained in bird droppings, fall on other trees. Aerial roots spring up and grow down to the floor. Then, the branches wrap around the host tree and strangle it. Finally, the Sacred Fig stands on its own." To digress from the crux of the story, the preamble itself is a beautiful allegory of Iran's evolution from a monarchy to an Islamic Republic. 1. The seeds in bird droppings represent how revolutionary Islamic ideas were initially carried and spread among the population, taking root in existing social structures and institutions during the Shah's regime. 2. The aerial roots growing downward parallel how the revolutionary movement established grassroots connections across Iranian society through mosques, bazaars, universities, and community networks. 3. The gradual wrapping and strangling of the host tree mirrors how the Islamic revolutionary forces systematically encircled and dismantled the existing Pahlavi monarchy's power structures by (a) taking control of key institutions, (b) replacing secular laws with Islamic jurisprudence, (c) transforming social and cultural norms, and (d) gradually constricting opposing political movements. 4. The final stage, where the Sacred Fig stands alone, represents how the Islamic Republic emerged as the dominant power structure after eliminating or absorbing its former "host", the monarchical system and its associated secular institutions. Mohammad Rasoulouf uses the metaphor in the preamble to capture the revolutionary process's organic yet ultimately parasitic nature, how one system grew within another before completely supplanting it. It also suggests the patience and inevitability of the transformation, which is as natural as a tree's growth but fundamentally destructive of what came before. Peace! Tommy Peters

Without a racial lens, 6888 is a story of 855 women sorting mail during the war, an essential but unspectacular logistical task. While at it, they were obviously protected by men on the front lines. So, what's the fuss? Let's face it! Racial identity is undeniably tied to 6888. Stories of marginalised groups, especially Black women, are amplified by DEI-centric writers and directors by addressing perceived "historical underrepresentation." During WWII, women of all backgrounds made significant contributions as nurses, factory workers, and military personnel. However, 6888 stands out today because of its intersectional identity: being both women and Black in a segregated army. The fuss is as much about their task as it is about the societal barriers they face. Women faced adversity across the board, though in different ways. Stories like those of Churchill's three female Special Operations Executives (SOE) depicted in A Call to Spy show extraordinary courage under life-threatening circumstances but lack the intersectional lens that resonates with modern storytelling trends. Note that the sacrifices of the SOE women are not framed as a "reclamation of history" because their racial identity does not intersect with systemic racism in the way it did for the women of 6888. That said, framing 6888 almost exclusively through a racial lens comes across as patronising and condescending. It's as if the story gains significance only because it fits neatly into DEI narratives, further reinforced by the Academy's revised standards for Best Picture, which require submissions to tick specific DEI boxes. Down the pike, despite the awards the film is likely to garner, the real challenge will be telling these stories without the burden of cultural metrics. The point is, regardless of race, women who served deserve equal acknowledgement for their sacrifices and contributions, and that the only condition of their courage, such as those of the SOE women, was simply being human. Peace, Tommy Peters

In 2020, the Academy Awards revised its standards for Best Picture, requiring submissions to meet at least two out of four Diversity, Equity, Inclusiveness (DEI) categories: (a) Women, (b) People of colour, (c) LGBTQ+ individuals, and (d) People with disabilities. Gladiator II checks two boxes, but not without raising questions. Director Ridley Scott throws in two flamboyant emperors, Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger), who are bisexual and androgynous in appearance. While their inclusion might reflect the flavour of today, it is out of sync with the historical context. Scott's choice of Denzel Washington as Macrinus furthers the debate. Washington is undeniably charismatic, but age has taken a toll on his once imposing size. Besides, casting a Black leader of influence defies the realities of ancient Rome, making the portrayal feel more like a current DEI checkbox than a historically plausible character. Paul Mescal's revenge-driven Lucius is a pale shadow of Russell Crowe's Maximus, and his line to Djimon Hounsou's character, "It's always a woman," seems like a subtle nod to the DEI agenda. The writers’ room couldn't resist putting Roman women on pedestals as prizes when they were not. The film's departure from the gritty realism of the original is evident in the CGI monkeys and sharks running about in the Colosseum, resulting in a parody, undermining the gravitas that made the first film unforgettable. Down the pike, the sequel prioritises spectacle over substance, delivering superficial entertainment at the cost of historical plausibility. It’s a reminder that storytelling should not be compromised over DEI. As an aside, with his commanding size and presence, Laurence Fishburne would have been a more fitting choice for Macrinus, bringing authenticity to the role while avoiding the distraction of forced diversity. DEI's broad brush risks reducing talented actors like Fishburne, Washington, or Halle Berry to mere symbols rather than celebrating their full potential. Peace! Tommy Peters @richarddreyfussofficial @rottentomatoes @rogerebertofficial

I told a friend that I was on the way to watch Amaran. He said take tissues. I replied apes don't cry. They look at camera angles, the props, the red paint and the script. They point out movie mistakes and laugh. I needed a tissue. When he first got injured, Mukund said to Indhu that a soldier's wife does not cry in public and made her promise. She kept her promise, staying stoic at his wake, cremation, and the awards. Technically, it is a biographical film, but at its heart, it is an endearing documentary. It does not succumb to the jingoistic fervour of a military drama; it is a personal narrative, Indhu's. Director Rajkumar eschews conventional military drama tropes in favour of love, sacrifice, and duty. Kamal Hassan is driving this ship.

Co-writer and director Pat Boonnitipat isn't afraid to get his hands dirty in this cluster. Sure, the quest for Amah's (Usha Seamkhum) "millions" provides the initial spark. However, the true fireworks erupt in the face of M's (Putthipong Assaratanakul) hilariously misguided attempts to win Amah's favour when we witness a masterclass in passive-aggressive family dynamics morph into desperate pleas for affection. But beneath this dramedy is a poignant exploration of mortality. Amah's illness casts a long shadow that affects her materialistic eldest brother, who disowns her, and the machinations of Amah's two sons are apparent toward Amah's wealth. M's initial greed is comparable to his uncles but is tempered by his mum, Amah's only daughter (played by Sarinrat Thomas, a captivating actress reminiscent of Michelle Yeoh). The turning point is the meeting between Amah and her eldest brother when M's greed gradually melts away as he grapples with the impermanence of life. The film does not shy away from raw emotions, weaving tear-jerker scenes with laugh-out-loud moments. The ending is a gut punch. Finally understanding Amah's true desires, M throws his get-rich schemes out the window. The scene where he fulfils her wish for a ceremonial plot is beautifully understated. The occasional knock on the wooden coffin during the ride to the plot is egged on and understood only by his mum and becomes a quiet act of love that speaks volumes. This is a must-watch if you are looking for a funny and thought-provoking film that explores themes of family, mortality, and self-discovery. But be prepared for a rollercoaster of emotions, and bring some tissues for the touching moments, not because of M, although this heartthrob's comedic mishaps may cause some tears of laughter. To whoever is biting the chilli, raise a glass to Pat Boonnitipat: Two glasses! Peace! Tommy & Jan Peters

Linklater’s Hit Man stands apart from Tyler Perry's DEI efforts, offering diversity based on merit that could challenge Dreyfuss’s critique of Hollywood’s cringy affirmative action seeping into the Academy Awards. This film is reminiscent of Bernie and marks a return to the glory days of feel-good cinema. Sometimes, you only need to watch a coterie of attractive people enjoy each other’s company, captured by a director who knows how to let them shine. It is an original, quirky, and magical film that feels both fresh and nostalgic. It is a cosy hangout movie, another delightful entry in Linklater’s impressive body of work.

Director Michelle Danner has stirred both admiration and discomfort in the unflinching portrayal of Trish Weir's (Abigail Breslin) 1963 rape by Ernesto Miranda (Sebastian Quinn) and the ensuing legal battle that fleshed out an important legal precedent, the Miranda Rights. Danner unveils a fascinating hidden history, providing context to a legal concept often taken for granted. It is a powerful and essential story that sheds light on the harrowing experiences of sexual assault survivors. Through the lens of Weir, an 18-year-old survivor who becomes a symbol of resilience, Danner unfolds with unpretentious authenticity the harsh realities victims faced in the flawed justice system and the social pressures they navigated. Although J. Craig Stiles' screenplay sacrifices nuance for a more blunt approach, the narrative does not outright criticise the practice of informing criminal defendants of their (Miranda) rights. Instead, it pivots the spotlight onto Weir, delving into the profound trauma she endured. Miranda's Victim adds another layer to the exploration of justice, making it a film that sparks discussion and reflection, navigating the complexities of sexual violence and the legal system. Breslin's performance reminds us of Weir's beacon of strength and resilience and her unapologetic portrayal of a crucial societal issue.