Mark Stibbe

Polished performances from Sheen and Wilson in the star roles don’t quite rescue this three-part series from us asking why it was made in the first place when a far more gripping and disciplined version is already out in the public domain, with Gillian Anderson starring as Emily M. The focus in this series is very much on journalistic self-congratulation rather than on any empathy for the victims of Epstein, and there’s perhaps a little too much effort invested in trying to elicit sympathy for Prince Andrew. I did love Alex Jennings (brilliant in ITV’s subpostmaster’s drama) as the Queen’s private secretary, but his role steered us perilously close to the Barnaby Rudge syndrome where a secondary character becomes more compelling and likeable than the primary ones. I also preferred the more serious tone of the first Scoop/Netflix version in contrast to the note of dark comedy in this one. Is abuse a suitable topic for satire?

Watchable but ultimately very very silly. The police procedures are so absurd and the methods of interrogation so embarrassingly inept that in the end this descends into farce when there’s been no hint of that tone or genre for 90% of the series. Only Nicole Kidman elevates the story above the mediocre, but even she can’t save the plot from its deliberate obfuscations and delayed revelations (eg the trust fund and its legal stipulations). This degenerates at the end into something more akin to Police Academy than Gone Girl. Tonally it is all over the place, and then there are the irritating 21st century tropes - eg men are completely useless and redundant, women alone get things done. Haven’t we done that theme to death now? Netflix, you can do better than this. Let’s have more original and edgy material from now on.

This is a mess. There’s no discernible thematic coherence at all. Ideas of control and consumption surface from time to time like bumps in an uneven road, but for a triptych this lacks unity. The director wheels out some of the usuals suspects acting wise, but even their talents cannot rescue this. It’s yet another exercise in self-indulgence. The whole thing seems to me to be an attempt to make almost a religion out of meaninglessness - a suspicion that is further reinforced by the pseudo-sacred cacophony that passes for a music score. I have disliked this director’s work for some time, not least because of his predilection for portraying scenes of abuse, often without any obvious moral compass. I’m not going to change my views of him after this. Three hours I can’t get back. Depressing and deeply disturbing.

Riveting and harrowing TV series based on the crimes committed by an unquestionable psychopath and narcissist. Auntie (BBC) at her very best. Five star casting, acting, writing. The only question mark is over the criminal’s backstory. Coleridge famously criticised Shakespeare for the ‘motiveless malignity’ of Iago. This series could be critiqued for the same lack of insight into the potential why behind these crimes (besides the obvious). There’s a lot on the what, where, when, and how. I would have liked more airtime devoted to the why. The reason I haven’t penalised the series by withdrawing a star is because my own brief research has suggested this is nigh-on impossible to answer given the lack of data we have in the public domain. My only other concern is an ethical one - to what extent does a series like this feed the fragile ego of the perpetrator? I think the Beeb gets away with it by eliciting disgust for the abuser and a profound compassion for the abused. But it’s a tightrope walk. Be warned!

Sally Hawkins is superlative in a film that’s low in budget but high in ideas. There are some fascinating contrasts - the amateur versus the academic; the cerebral versus the mystical; detachment versus feelings - all these and more as they relate to finding what lies beneath the surface (or the concrete). Somehow in Philippa these opposites are overcome in her instinctively holistic quest for truth. In this she represents integrity in the richest sense of the word, in stark contrast to the university figures in the film’s story. It’s because of the latter that I’m slightly reluctant to give the film five stars. The real-life Leicester academics and archaeologists have protested that the filmmakers have taken huge liberties in the portrayal of their role, a complaint which if proven true would point to another contrast - a paradox even. It would be at best playful and at worst unethical if it could be proven that a film exposing the way people have taken liberties in their portrayal of Richard III itself took liberties in its portrayal of those who interacted with Philippa, the hero of the film. That would make it a dig within a dig. But that aside, this is a thoughtful and moving story that’s been sensitively retold.

Superb. Echoes of Misery. More psychologically nuanced than King’s masterpiece but arguably less jumpy (this is more psychological thriller than psychological horror), although the pace and the domestic terror do ratchet up considerably after the midpoint in Act 2. Paulson is worthy of a special mention. As an actor more associated with zany comedy, she turns up the manic aspect of her normal craft and gives a stellar turn as a truly scary antagonist. Just the right length too for a film. Highly recommended.

If you enjoyed ‘ln Bruges,’ you’ll almost certainly love Gleeson and Farrell (once again) in The Banshees of Inisherin. This time we’re on a fictional Irish island in 1923, with civil war in the background and, as it turns out, in the foreground too. Gleeson’s character (Colm) decides he no longer wants anything to do with Padraic (Farrell’s character). The reasons turn out to be less about personality and more about philosophy. Colm is fearful of wasting what time is left to him. He sees Padraic as ‘a limited man’ - the kind of friend who would spend two hours telling him what he had found in his little donkey’s excrement the previous day. Colm, deeply aware of his mortality, has become weary of this and wants to compose tunes on his fiddle and leave a legacy of creativity. In the end, this is a tragic tale about time and how we redeem it. If time matters to you, you’ll be captivated by the stunning landscapes, haunting music, hilarious dialogue, and above all by the film’s exploration of what really lasts in life - our music, our poetry, our paintings (Colm), or the simple fact that we were nice to people and animals (Padraic). Some will no doubt make quick comparisons between Colm and Padraic on the one (maimed) hand, and Father Ted and Father Dougal on the other. But this is much harsher. It’s comedy with a kick as shocking as potcheen and humour as bruising as a donkey’s heels. Although I will say this: I thank the good Lord that the Border Collie survived all the chaos!

I’ve no time for Amazon anymore. I wrote a review of Rings of Power (on Amazon) in which I made this remark: ‘for a show that’s been heralded as a tribute to racial diversity it seems to me to be a grotesque misstep to have the rustic Harfoots speaking in Irish accents (none of which sound authentic). That’s perilously close to cultural appropriation and racial stereotyping.’ Their response? They sent me an email saying they weren’t prepared to publish my review because I had supposedly infringed their review guidelines by making these remarks. Absolute poppycock. Amazon are clearly massaging the review scores and comments. I’m a professional movie and theatre reviewer, so I know what I’m talking about here. Btw, The Irish Times published a review not long after mine SAYING EXACTLY THE SAME THING! The response of the LOTR producers? A grovelling and utterly incoherent (politically speaking) apology. My father, who was a star pupil of CS Lewis and a student under JRRT at Merton, Oxford, would be turning in his grave. I really hope this whole fiasco teaches Amazon a lasting lesson re fidelity to sources and integrity with regard to criticism. Dr Mark Stibbe

I have been expecting a comeback (Travolta-esque) for Nic Cage - one offering us a less shouty, more soulful iteration, befitting his advancing years. This marvellous little film is for me the gateway into this. Pig is a masterpiece. The relationship between Cage and his truffle-hunting pig (a ginger beauty) is set up even as the opening credits role. The fairy-tale innocence and intimacy of this enchanting interaction evokes an almost Edenic feel until, that is, the inevitable serpent intrudes. From that moment on, Cage’s character eschews the expected course (the revenge movie) and opts for something more redolent of Ratatouille. In other words, Cage’s character - a former chef celebre - fulfils his quest using cooking rather than karate. It’s a muted, mellow, restrained, melancholic, and meditative journey - one that uses music sparingly and suggestively. The Anton Ego moment (those in the know will know) is stunningly moving; its consequences agonisingly visceral. The whole piece - like a fine meal - will leave you wanting to come back for more. This is what I believe cinema should be giving us in 2022ff - not mindless Marvell movies where you don’t give a dam about any of the characters, but thoughtful redemptions that come at a cost and none too quickly. Long May Nic Cage continue to give us such performances - ones that remind us of the greatness of Raising Arizona and Leaving Las Vegas.