All three of my daughters have grown up adoring Coraline and The Nightmare Before Christmas, watching them countless times over the years. The latter is known as a Tim Burton film, but in fact both were directed by Henry Selick. Selick’s weird and wonderful stop-motion animation married perfectly with the fertile imaginations of Burton and Coraline creator Neil Gaiman.
Amazingly, Wendell & Wild is Selick’s first film since Coraline, a gap of thirteen years. Based on an original story written by him, it tells the tale of two Demon brothers, the eponymous Wendell and Wild, who manage to trick Kit, a troubled teenager, into summoning them back to the Land of the Living.
The story itself is the film’s biggest weakness. It’s ridiculously convoluted – including, among other things, a subplot about scheming property developers building a privatised prison. You just have to go with it and, in fairness, the bulk of the plot does make sense by the end.
The visuals, though, don’t disappoint. Wendell & Wild is a stunning visual treat that demands to be seen on a big screen. The craftsmanship, time and creativity that’s gone into the stop-motion animation is jaw-dropping.
One memorable scene features a group of skeletons brought back to life from their coffins and procuring suitable clothes and accoutrements to ‘blend in’ again as the living. All of the models and puppets, throughout the movie, are absolute works of art.
The film’s central protagonist, Kit, is a strong heroine with a tragic backstory. Sassy and full of attitude, without tipping into annoying teenager territory, her journey through the film is one of conquering her own personal demons as much as the challenges presented by Wendell and Wild.
The titular pair themselves are pure ‘Disney comedy sidekick’ and provide the bulk of the film’s humour. I couldn’t quite put my finger on which Disney characters they reminded me of, the gargoyles from the Hunchback of Notre Dame perhaps? Ironically for a film over-filled with plot threads, the pair lack the rounded backstory provided for Kit.
Despite its flaws, Wendell & Wild deserves to be discovered by a wide audience. While the story itself isn’t up to Selick’s more famous works, it’s just as much a thing of beauty.
Journey's End
Journey’s End started life in 1928 as an anti-war play by English playwright RC Sherriff. I watched the latest film adaptation of it at The Barn in Dartington, a cinema with a historical link to the original play.
In 1927 Dartington’s co-founders, Dorothy and Leonard Elmhirst, befriended the actor and producer Maurice Browne. Together, they founded Maurice Browne Ltd, a West End theatrical company which put on a variety of plays between 1929 and 1935.
Their biggest success was Journey's End and part of its proceeds were said to have been used at Dartington to convert its medieval barn into the Barn Theatre. The Dartington Hall Trust Archive still possesses a plaster model of the original set design for the play.
The 2018 film version, directed by Saul Dibb, doesn’t especially offer any new perspectives or insight into the agonies of life in the trenches during the Great War that haven’t already been covered before. However, the uniformly superb cast deliver the harrowing emotion of Sherriff’s play to devastating effect.
The story follows naïve new recruit Raleigh (Asa Butterfield), who’s pulled strings to join his childhood hero Captain Stanhope (Sam Claflin) on the frontline in France. However, on arrival Raleigh is dismayed to discover that Stanhope, deeply traumatised by his experiences, is far from pleased to see him.
The kindly figure of Lieutenant Osborne (Paul Bettany) offers Raleigh some respite from the bullying Stanhope, but it doesn’t take Raleigh long to discover for himself how a man could become so changed. Indeed, there is a memorable scene in which you witness the ‘penny drop’ on Raleigh’s face that this definitely isn’t the romantic situation he thought he’d signed up for.
The claustrophobia and misery of living in the trenches is vividly brought to life. Everyday tasks take place as ‘normally’ as they can in the circumstances, but across every single face there is an unspoken resignation that near-certain death is just around the corner.
The film addresses the ludicrousness of the class system on the frontline (again, a theme covered elsewhere - not least of all in the bittersweet TV comedy Blackadder Goes Forth). Raleigh is clearly out of his depth on arrival, but his public school status means he immediately ranks above most of his comrades. As with Blackadder, the most senior officers, Majors and the like, ensure they are well away from the frontline while commanding effective suicide missions.
Journey’s End brilliantly captures the utter hell of it all, even when the bombs and bullets aren’t flying. In fact very little happens in the way of action until quite a way into the film, and it’s all the better for it - the tension slowly builds, alongside your empathy for the characters. When the action does arrive, it’s not in the same league as Saving Private Ryan or Dunkirk. However, it’s expertly handled and never feels low-budget either. The battle scenes are confusing and chaotic, just as you imagine they must have been in reality.
Released in the centenary year of the Armistice, Journey’s End is a timely reminder of the horrors men on all sides experienced - those who lost their lives and also those who returned home to live the rest of their days burdened by the devastating emotional cost of what they’d been through.
Simon Rose
The Shape of Water
The Shape of Water won best film at the Academy Awards last night, prompting me to write a brief review. Was its Oscar glory deserved?
Given that it’s directed and by co-written Guillermo del Toro, it’s no surprise The Shape of Water (TSOW) is an unusual concoction quite unlike anything you’ve seen before - quite in that, at times, it also feels strangely familiar. My studio-exec elevator pitch would be Amelie meets The Creature from the Black Lagoon.
Sally Hawkins, fresh from her adventures with Paddington Bear, plays Elisa - a mute woman who lives alone and works as a cleaner at a top secret government laboratory during the Cold War. Her only friends are neighbour Giles (Richard Jenkins), a struggling illustrator, and fellow cleaner Zelda (Octavia Spencer).
Elisa’s mundane and repetitive existence is turned upside down when the laboratory takes delivery of a strange amphibious humanoid (Doug Jones) that’s been captured in a South American River. The sinister Colonel Strickland (Michael Shannon, always excellent as the bad guy) has the creature chained inside a watertank and is hellbent on finding a way to exploit it as a weapon against the Soviets. Elisa starts to visit the creature in secret and the pair develop an unlikely relationship.
TSOW looks utterly stunning. The beautifully designed sets evoke memories of old movies like 20,000 leagues under the sea (The Nautilus is a clear inspiration) and the underwater scenes are sumptuously shot. It’s set in 60s USA, but the feel of the movie is otherworldly.
The creature, paying more than a slight nod to The Creature from the Black Lagoon, is also a work of art. Indeed, the film is very much a loving homage to 50s monster B movies. What del Toro does, though, is take the idea of a monster and beautiful woman forming a bond and then run with it all the way.
Elisa’s muteness means she has to communicate with the creature via sign language, a genius plot device that makes their highly unlikely relationship somehow plausible. This is a full-blown, physical relationship and that it doesn’t seem creepy or wrong is a commendable achievement pulled off by both Hawkins and del Toro. You just have to go with it.
There are definitely shades of Amelie in Elisa and, indeed, the overall quirky tone of the film is reminiscent of the work of Jean-Pierre Jeunet. The story of an alien creature being mistreated by scientists and wanting to escape home, oddly enough for a much more adult film, also evokes memories of ET.
For all its many virtues, TSOW surprisingly felt a little predictable at times, particularly its denouement. Much as I really liked it, I wanted to love it. For me, of those nominated, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri should have taken home the top prize.
Simon Rose
Paddington 2
A very belated and brief review of Paddington 2…
Sequels are nearly always rubbish aren’t they? Generally there to cash in on their predecessor’s success, even on the occasions you can tell the film-makers have tried their hardest, they very rarely recapture the original magic.
For children’s films, the Holy Grail, the great exception to the rule, is the Toy Story trilogy - each subsequent film achieving the seemingly impossible feat of bettering the previous one. So, then, is the sequel to the much-loved and critically adored Paddington fail or Grail?
Amazingly, Paddington 2 is even better than the first film - it’s a fast-paced rollercoaster ride, brimming with charm and packed with genuine laugh-out-loud moments.
Paddington 2 sees the loveable bear framed for a crime he didn’t commit by the dastardly Phoenix Buchanan (Hugh Grant), a narcissistic faded actor with a grand plan to reverse his fortunes - and with only Paddington standing in his way to stop him.
Grant, channelling his full inner Roger Moore and not remotely afraid to poke fun at his own expense either, absolutely steals the show. He clearly had a whale of a time playing the pantomime villain and it shows every second he is on screen (a word of warning, don’t leave the before the end credits have finished rolling or you’ll missed an absolute treat).
Grant aside, the original cast are all back once more. Ben Whishaw’s voicework for the naive and innocent Paddington is still perfect. It’s a mark of how good the film is that you quickly forget you’re watching a CGI bear - you’d have to be a real cynic not to be swept up in its spell. What’s more, the final chase scene is as exhilarating as anything you’ll see in an Indiana Jones or Bond movie.
When I saw Toy Story 3, the audience spontaneously erupted into applause at the end - something l’ve never witnessed before or since. For a split second, at the end of Paddington 2, I was sure the audience was about to do the same. However, the brief ripple of half-claps quickly subsided and failed to take over the room. It was, though, somehow appropriate. Like Mr Brown, the audience was being properly British and we just don’t do that sort of thing here.
Simon Rose
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
I had the privilege of seeing Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (TBOEM) knowing only that it was Oscar-nominated and nothing at all about its plot. I’ll write as spoiler-free as possible, because lack of foreknowledge hugely added to my enjoyment of a stunningly good film.
It’s no spoiler to say the film opens with a beautiful image of the three advertising billboards in question, gradually coming into view at the side of a largely deserted Missouri road. The long-abandoned fading ads, set amongst their rural backdrop, immediately evoke the Midwest paintings of Grant Wood and set the scene for what turns out to be a far from sleepy backwater.
The smalltown story that unfolds centres around Mildred Hayes (played by the always brilliant, but arguably never more so than here, Frances McDormand) - a mother consumed with grief, rage and guilt over the death of her teenage daughter seven months prior.
Hayes is on a one-woman personal crusade to force the Ebbing police department to do more to investigate her daughter’s death. The focus of her ire is Sheriff Bill Willoughby (Woody Harrelson, similarly at the top of his game), who is having to deal with his own personal tragedy.
The biggest surprise about the film is that it’s genuinely laugh-out-loud funny throughout its two hours or so running time. This is down to the pitch-perfect script as much as the superb comic timing and delivery of its cast. It will be a travesty if writer-director Martin McDonagh doesn’t win Best Original Screenplay at this year’s Academy Awards (not that I’ve seen all of the other nominees, or that it matters what the Academy thinks, but I’ll say it anyway - because it’s brilliant).
As with all the very best screenplays, the dialogue and interplay is so enjoyable and effortless, you’re already looking forward to watching it again, and hearing bits you may have missed the first time, even before the film has finished. Any film that interrupts a tense scene with a hilarious conversation about the likelihood of whether or not another character would really say a word like ‘begets’ is clearly a cut above .
While you’re still chuckling away at something, TBOEM will suddenly leave your heart in pieces on the floor. Profoundly moving at times, I’ve never before seen a film that jumps between the two extremes of emotion so frequently, plausibly and effortlessly.
McDormand and Harrelson aside, the supporting cast are also excellent, notably Caleb Landry Jones, Peter Dinklage (The Station Agent, the legendary Miles Finch in Elf and, of course, Tyrion Lannister in Game of Thrones) and, especially, Sam Rockwell as racist police officer Dixon.
The only slightly bum note in the entire film (and l’m really picking hairs here) is Abbie Cornish as Annie, Sheriff Willoughby’s wife - whose accent in one key scene in particular flits alarmingly between Missouri, Merchant Ivory English and Crocodile Dundee Aussie.
The undoubted star of the show, though, is McDormand. Has she ever made a bad film? Her portrayal of Mildred is reminiscent of her performance as Olive Kitteridge, the central character in the acclaimed HBO miniseries of the same name about a misanthropic but well-meaning housewife.
Mildred is a turbo-charged version of Olive. She is someone who doesn’t take prisoners and there are no lengths she won’t go to get what she wants. Her profane, direct way of talking is both gripping and, more often than not, insanely funny.
Mildred’s behaviour is at times quite appalling. The beauty of the script, and McDormand’s performance, is that - however far she may seemingly have crossed the line - there is always sympathy and empathy for her decision-making.
TBOEM’s beautifully judged ending wraps everything up nicely, but not too perfectly. Despite all of the tragedy you’ve just witnessed there is still hope, and darkness. Unmissable.
Simon Rose
A ridiculously belated Happy 2018
One month into the New Year, my one-month-late resolution going forward is to update the website far more regularly.
I’m still kicking myself for not writing reviews of Manchester by the Sea or The Florida Project last year. They would both be in my 2017 Top 5, so it’s criminal I never found the time to write about them.
Kicking off 2018, as well as adding a new review of Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri I also hope to add late reviews of Paddington 2 and Star Wars: The Last Jedi - Paddington 2 because I 90 per cent finished a review back in November and The Last Jedi because I don’t like to let a new Star Wars film pass by without comment.
It
I’ve never read the Stephen King novel It or watched the 1990 miniseries starring Tim Curry, so the 2017 film adaptation (directed by Andy Muschietti) has nothing to live up to for me, good or bad. I was, though, a 1980s teenager and this version very much pays loving homage to that era.
Set in the fictional town of Derry, Maine, It follows a motley crew of bullied kids in the summer of 1989 after they band together to take on a terrifying shapeshifting demon who they’ve come to realise is behind the unexplained disappearances of children in the town. The demon exploits the fears and phobias of its victims to disguise itself while hunting them down, usually appearing in the form of Pennywise the clown (Bill Skarsgard).
The tone of It is a somewhat bizarre mix of high jinks adventures for kids interspersed with outbursts of all-out horror. The Hollywood-exec elevator pitch would be “Imagine Goonies meets Nightmare on Elm Street, but we’ll replace Freddy Krueger with a horrific clown.”
Even stranger than the premise, though, is the fact it’s a formula that works surprisingly effectively. For grown men like myself it’s an opportunity to bask in 80s nostalgia, evoking memories of memorising a fake date of birth - in case I was asked at the ticket counter - and sneaking into the cinema to watch the likes of Elm Street or Poltergeist. For the current generation it’s perhaps their first opportunity to experience a ‘proper’ horror film - all wrapped up within the current mode for all things 80s being the height of cool (80s-set TV hit Stranger Things is a clear inspiration).
Another reference point in many respects is Stand by Me (a Stephen King adaption made in the 80s but set in the 50s, which King has described as his favourite adaptation of his work). As with that film, a key reason It works so well is down to the performances of its young cast. Loudmouth Richie (Finn Wolfhard, who also stars in Stranger Things) is a throwback to Corey Feldman’s Teddy Duchamp while the troubled, sensitive and stuttering Bill (Jaeden Lieberher), who has lost his younger brother to It, recalls Wil Wheaton’s Gordie Lachance. In addition to It, the group are pursued by a gang of bullies not entirely dissimilar to that led by Ace (Kiefer Sutherland) in Stand by Me.
Sophia Lillis puts is a notable performance as Bev, the only girl of the group who, as well as being pursued by It, is also being sexually abused by her father. At one point in the film she’s jokingly referred to as Molly Ringwald and it’s a valid comparison.
The kids-adventure style of the film has led to criticism in some quarters that it isn’t scary enough. I find that mystifying. I attended with my daughter and her fifteen-year-old friends and can vouch for the fact they were all genuinely shaken when they left the screening. Indeed, my daughter insisted on sleeping with her light on that night. It left me wondering if I’d done the right thing by letting her attend although, on reflection, I should probably be more concerned if she hadn’t been affected in some way by what she’d seen.
The sexual abuse suffered by Bev, not seen in any graphic detail but strongly alluded to, is upsetting and unsettling; Pennywise is a genuinely terrifying monster; and there are several scenes which wouldn’t look out of place in a more conventional hardcore horror movie - one blood-soaked scene involving Bev trapped inside a bathroom especially springs to mind.
The British Board of Film Classification’s description of the film includes the lines ‘There are intense sequences in which children are chased and murdered’ and ‘There is strong language, including uses of f**k and motherf**ker’. They granted the film a 15 certificate. Now don’t get me wrong - I’m liberal, open-minded and not easily offended - but it genuinely does make me wonder quite what does need to be included within a film for it to be granted an 18 certificate.
It is pacey, well directed and atmospheric, with strong performances from its cast. Despite what you may hear elsewhere, it’s also properly scary. You wouldn’t want a horror film not to be scary of course but, if you are more Stranger Things than Friday the 13th, don’t be fooled by the 15 certificate.
Simon Rose
Blade Runner 2049
I haven’t watched the original Blade Runner for many years and I was surprised at just how little I could remember of its actual plot. What I definitely hadn’t forgotten, though, are its beautiful neon-lit visuals and the wonderfully atmospheric Vangelis soundtrack - which I bought on CD at a time when, ironically given the grim dystopian vision of the future depicted in the film, CDs were seen as glamorously futuristic (oh how I wish I’d stuck with vinyl). I listened to it in darkened rooms with my eyes closed and lost myself in it.
I’m delighted and relieved to report that Blade Runner 2049 is as visually beautiful as my memories of the first film. It’s a stunning, jaw-dropping feast for the eyes from the second it starts through to its conclusion. The world it depicts is an awe-inspiring juxtaposition of ultra-futuristic technology and landscapes intertwined with gloomy interiors that wouldn’t look out of place in 1950s Soviet Union. It feels rooted in reality; utterly beautiful one moment, grey and bleak the next.
Moreover, its visuals are matched by its soundtrack; this time composed by Hans Zimmer and Benjamin Wallfisch. To say it builds tension and gives you goosebumps in all the right places would be an understatement - it’s a perfect fusion of sound and vision.
The film isn’t all beauty without substance though. For all its many good points, Star Wars: The Force Awakens was essentially a reboot of the original film; Blade Runner 2049 is a proper sequel in every sense of the word, continuing the original story in a meaningful way.
Set thirty years after the original, K (Ryan Gosling) is a blade runner - a police officer authorised to hunt down and destroy older-model rogue androids known as replicants. K is, himself, an android and lives with a holographic girlfriend called Joi (Ana de Armas). K’s domestic life with Joi takes the idea of Her, in which Joaquin Phoenix falls for a Siri-style computer program voiced by Scarlett Johansson, to its logical next level.
K’s entire belief system is blown apart following a ‘Rosebud’ style revelation that sets him off on a new mission while hotly pursued by Luv (the excellent Sylvia Hoeks) - a kickass enforcer employed by Niander Wallace (Jared Leto), the Head of the sinister Wallace Corporation which manufactures the new breed of compliant replicants.
It's no plot-spoiler (as he's featured so prominently on the film's poster) to reveal that K eventually crosses paths with the original blade runner, Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford on top form and still looking in ridiculously fine fettle at 75 years of age).
Gosling’s performance as K shouldn’t be underestimated. Only truly great actors can convey emotions or inner thoughts when they’re not speaking in a way that doesn’t ‘look like acting’. It’s a skill essential for the role of K and, thankfully, Gosling is a really great actor. His eyes are windows to K’s soul (but then, of course, androids can’t have a soul can they)?
Blade Runner 2049 leaves you to ponder such philosophical questions long after the final credits have rolled. It gets under your skin and inside your brain for days afterwards - demanding you debate big issues, from imagining where artificial intelligence may really take mankind in the future through to the very meaning of life itself. How many Hollywood blockbusters can you say that about?
Far from being weighed down by the legacy of its predecessor, 35 years later director Denis Villeneuve has created a near-faultless modern masterpiece every bit its equal. It’s an instant classic that demands to be seen on the big screen; waiting for the DVD would be sacrilege.
Simon Rose
God's Own Country
God’s Own Country (written and directed by Francis Lee) tells the story of Johnny (Josh O’Connor), a young man living and working with his infirm father (Ian Hart) and grandmother (Gemma Jones) at their family’s remote Yorkshire farm.
His father’s stroke has left him physically incapable of running the farm, leaving Johnny with the responsibility of keeping it going. It’s a classic tale of someone trapped by a sense of duty while peers escape to the wider world.
Johnny’s only releases from his burden are drinking himself senseless every night and snatched sex with men whenever a suitable opportunity comes his way. His life changes when Gheorghe (Alec Secareanu), a migrant worker from Romania, arrives to help with the lambing season. At first Johnny is hostile towards to the far more affable Gheorge but, gradually, the pair develop a relationship.
The film has been described in some quarters as the Yorkshire Brokeback Mountain, which seems a lazy and obvious comparison, but actually there are scenes instantly reminiscent of that movie. The big difference between the films, however, is that Johnny and Gheorge are entirely at ease with their sexuality. There is never any guilt or angst about what has just happened, which is completely refreshing. The focus, instead, is on the two men’s different approaches to sex and intimacy (or lack of it in the case of Johnny).
All of this is set against the stunning beauty of the Yorkshire countryside and the cinematography is exquisite throughout, underpinned by a pervading and eerie sense of remoteness and isolation. It also captures and bottles an atmosphere that is unmistakeably British. We have all found ourselves in a village pub like that, with characters like that, at some point. It is somehow instantly familiar.
All involved act superbly but top plaudits go to O’Connor, largely known up until now, certainly within my family anyway, for his portrayal of Larry in ITV’s The Durrells. Johnny is not a likeable character initially, but from the get-go O’Connor subtly conveys a feeling that deep beneath the angry exterior and abrupt manner lies a heart. He does care when things go wrong, he’s just too chaotic and lost to have done something to prevent it happening in the first place. Johnny’s emotional journey though the film feels believable and utterly real.
A classic tale it may be, but God’s Own Country is faultless in its execution. This is the first full feature from Francis Lee, who is surely someone to look out for in the future.
Simon Rose
England Is Mine
I can genuinely remember the very first time I heard Morrissey’s voice. The year was 1985 and I was sitting on a coach en route to school straining to listen to the Radio 1 Breakfast Show, which the driver piped through the coach’s speakers at frustratingly low volume every morning.
It was love at first listen. Up to then I’d been fed a steady diet of Howard Jones, Duran Duran and Nik Kershaw. What was this beautiful noise, breaking into a yodel at one point and like nothing I’d ever heard before? It took a week or two of listening out for it to be played again before I discovered who was making this wonderful sound - the song was The Boy with the Thorn in His Side and the band was The Smiths. I’ve loved them ever since.
Writer-director Mark Gill’s film England Is Mine (a line taken from The Smiths’ song Still Ill - “England is mine and it owes me a living”) about a pre-fame Steven Patrick Morrissey (played by Jack Lowden) is, therefore in my case, very much preaching to the converted.
The first thing to be said is that Lowden, recently seen as a fighter-pilot in Dunkirk, puts in a highly commendable and skilful performance in a role laden with potential pitfalls. His mannerisms and voice are exactly how you’d imagine a young Morrissey to be, but it never feels like he’s about to step into an episode of Stars in Their Eyes. It could have been truly awful, and it’s to his great credit that it isn’t.
The second thing to be said is that the film perfectly captures the look and feel of Manchester in the late 70s and early 80s, described by Morrissey in the opening lines of his autobiography as ‘…streets upon streets upon streets. Streets to define you and streets to confine you…where everything lies wherever it was left one hundred years ago.’
Those, then, are the film’s strong points, but does it justify an hour and a half of your time in a cinema? The answer, sadly, unless you’re a Smiths fan, is no it doesn’t.
A key problem is that not a great deal happens to Morrissey before The Smiths. He types angry letters to The NME in his bedroom, he scribbles lyrics in a notebook, he see The Sex Pistols at Manchester Free Trade Hall, he works a mind-numbingly dull job in a tax office, he has a brief moment of early local success as singer for punk outfit The Nosebleeds - all formative experiences, no doubt, but none of it gets the pulse racing in the way Gill portrays it on screen.
For Smiths devotees there are subtle references only they’d understand, the removal of Shelagh Delaney’s A Taste of Honey from a library bookshelf an obvious one that springs to mind, but the very best biographical films expand out to grip viewers who previously had no particular interest or appreciation of the subject. I can’t imagine England Is Mine achieving that.
Another issue is that, while the film captures the atmosphere of the time, it doesn’t feel remotely cinematic. It would be fine as a BBC2 drama, but it visually fails to deliver as a film in the purest sense of the word.
Ultimately, England is Mine is really about being one of life’s outsiders faced with the realisation that it’s all or nothing - achieve your highly unlikely artistic goal or face a lifetime of spirit-crushing misery, because nothing else can ever satisfy you. It’s a commendable effort at capturing the early life and influences of one of undoubtedly (whatever your opinion of him) modern music’s most original and influential artists. Tantalisingly, though, it’s not quite as good as you want it to be - which is something that could very rarely be said of a Smiths song.
Simon Rose
The Red Turtle
We are a family of two adults and three children – all girls - aged 13 going on 14, 10 and 5. Finding anything we collectively and equally love is always a wondrous thing. Beaches and most things involving food are the best bet, but anything designed to entertain can prove trickier.
It was with some excitement, then, that I booked tickets for the latest offering from the renowned Japanese animation Studio Ghibli, The Red Turtle. Our two eldest love all things ‘Ghibli’, as do their Mum and Dad. Some of their output is way above the head of a five-year-old, but they have produced some universal delights for all ages. My Neighbour Totoro and Kiki’s Delivery Service, to name two that immediately spring to mind, definitely tick that box.
Another reason to be excited was that it was to be our first excursion to the superb new independent cinema in Lewes, The Depot. What a fantastic building in the heart of town, with an eclectic programme lovingly put together by its Creative Director Carmen Slijpen. Carmen has tirelessly worked to make The Depot a reality for many years and to see it come to fruition is an amazing achievement. It felt special, and right, to visit for the first time as a family.
For many years I’ve hugely enjoyed the BBC Radio 5 Kermode and Mayo film review podcasts. For those in the know, that makes me a fully paid-up member of ‘The Church’. Mark Kermode wrote a wonderful, beautifully written review of The Red Turtle for The Guardian, so I’m going to do a massive cheat and recommend you read what he has to say about the film here. I agree with his every word and bow to him on this occasion.
One note of caution I will add is that, while our five-year-old was fine, there are a couple of scenes that, while not graphic, are upsetting and unnerving (and I won’t say what they are as it will be obvious when you see them and would reveal some of the plot). It’s not a film for particularly sensitive young ones.
The Red Turtle is one of those rare and special films that lingers in your mind long after you finish watching it. Visually stunning, it’s also a deep and powerful story that will bring a tear to your eye and make you ponder your very existence.
Simon Rose
Silence
Three years after The Wolf of Wall Street, the latest film from directing legend Martin Scorsese couldn’t be more different. While that movie positively revelled in the misdemeanours of a central character entirely lacking a single moral fibre in his body, Silence tells the story of individuals who will face any danger in order to live what they see as a holy and righteous existence.
Set in the seventeenth century, and based on the 1966 novel by Shusaku Endo, Silence follows two Portuguese Jesuit priests Father Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Father Garrpe (Adam Driver) as they travel to Japan in search of their missing mentor Father Ferreira (Liam Neeson). Christianity has been strictly outlawed in the country and Christians, priests and practicing natives alike, are ruthlessly being hunted down and then tortured by the Japanese Inquisition until they agree to commit apostasy (renouncing their religion).
Such is the grave danger and likelihood of capture (the rewards on offer for exposing Christians are immense), the pair are forced to spend the daylight hours in silent hiding - only daring to spend time with the covert Christians who are aiding and abetting them after nightfall. Capture means almost certain death and the tension created by living this existence is palpable.
Unsurprisingly, Scorsese doesn’t hold back from portraying the numerous hideously cruel ways in which the inquisition tortures and murders its victims. Grisly ends include people being burnt alive, drowned at sea and hung upside down in pits.
It’s a tough watch, but the violence on screen does serve a purpose. The central premise of the film asks the question ‘If you have religious faith, what lengths would you go to in order to stay true to it - in the face of unfathomable pain and mental torture, and when the God you believe in and refuse to denounce has seemingly deserted you?'
Rodrigues and Garrpe eventually become separated, at which point Rodrigues’ journey, literally and spiritually, becomes the film’s main focus. It would be easy to over-act such weighty material but, to his great credit, Garfield does it justice and makes you believe in the physical and mental torment Rodrigues is going through.
The real star of Silence, though, is Rodrigo Prieto, its Director of Photography. The Japanese scenery looks stunning and the whole thing is beautifully shot from start to finish. It’s a feast for the eyes, as are the sumptuous period costumes (incidentally the film hasn’t received an Oscar nomination for Best Costume Design, which looks like an oversight).
The ‘Scorsese-esque’ running time of just under three hour is a little challenging at times and, as with The Wolf of Wall Street, it could easily lose half an hour. It’s a film that lingers on its portrayal of the suffering endured by Christians who display superhuman strengths of will and conviction in the face of unrelenting pressure.
On that note, I have no idea whether or not Scorsese is a Christian himself but, either way, it’s not surprising to hear the film has been widely praised within the Christian community. However, whether you view Silence from the perspective of committed atheist or ardent believer of any faith, the film’s message should be viewed more broadly.
In an age when the issue of intolerance and persecution towards religions throughout the world is as relevant as it’s ever been, Silence is a powerful reminder of the madness and utter futility of attacking and bullying a group of people just because they believe in something different to you.
Simon Rose
Ethel & Ernest
There’s a universally loved and admired sequence in the Pixar animation Up in which the key moments from a couple’s life are shown from their wedding day until ‘death do us part’ across a heart-breaking montage. Incredibly moving and powerful, it’s arguably Pixar’s finest hour (or four minutes, 21 seconds to be precise).
Ethel & Ernest portrays exactly the same theme writ large, albeit in a distinctly British – but no less successful – fashion. Directed by Roger Mainwood from the graphic novel by Raymond Briggs, it tells the story of Briggs’ parents - from milkman Ernest’s initial wooing of lady’s maid Ethel in 1928 through to their deaths in 1971.
On the surface they are good, decent, but unremarkable, people living life much like everyone else. The genius of Briggs’ book is that it shows how supposedly ordinary people still require the fortitude to negotiate all of life’s trials and tribulations, both personally and in terms of everything history throws at them – in Ethel’s and Ernest’s case living in a Blitz-torn London during World War Two.
Mainwood worked on previous Briggs film adaptations, including When the Wind Blows and perennial Christmas classic The Snowman, and his experience shows. The beautifully rendered animation perfectly captures Briggs’ unique drawing style. It’s a visual feast that will deserve as many repeat viewings as The Snowman (although a word of warning on that front, Ethel & Ernest is definitely not for younger viewers and rated PG for good reason).
Mainwood’s direction is equally deft. The film is full of subtle, clever touches and the pacing is spot on. There are scenes of great intimacy, but they never once outstay their welcome.
The voicework is also exemplary, with the two leads – Brenda Blethyn (Ethel) and Jim Broadbent (Ernest) – adding further depth to their characters. The film is packed with humorous moments, often involving the verbal interplay between Ethel and Ernest.
It would be easy for such subject matter to become overly sentimental. However, Briggs’ work has often contained darker, sadder underlying themes. People remember the ‘Walking in the air’ flying sequence, but it’s easy to forget that The Snowman ends with the excited boy rushing to his back garden in the morning only to discover his friend has melted away to nothing.
And so it is with Ethel & Ernest. You are a more resolute person than me if you can watch the film without a tear welling up at some point. At least one scene, if not many, will be a poignant reminder of a particular person or moment in your own life.
Having very recently spent a day with my brother and father sorting through belongings my mother had acquired throughout her life, a scene towards the end of the film in which Raymond sighs “I suppose I’d better get The Salvation Army to take it all away” felt deeply personal to me. Things we’d reluctantly yet ruthlessly thrown into a bin bag had meant something to my Mum when she’d bought or kept them.
Ethel & Ernest captures moments in life such as these, happy and sad. A beautiful film.
Simon Rose
Footnote:
I watched Ethel & Ernest at a special screening at Komedia in Brighton, which included a question and answer session with Roger Mainwood and Raymond Briggs after the film. It was a moving experience - having just seen him portrayed as a baby, boy and young man – to see the now 82-year-old Raymond, visibly emotional, emerge from the audience and take to the stage.
Afterwards I somewhat shamelessly made a beeline for him and asked if he’d kindly sign a copy of The Snowman I’d brought with me. He found a table and happily did so. We had a brief chat and I told him my Grandad, like his Dad Ernest, had been a fireman in London during the blitz. It was a privilege to meet him.
The Wedding Song
I watched The Wedding Song in the rather unusual setting of the old Turkish Baths in Lewes, which were built in 1862 and operated for around twenty years before the opening of more popular baths in Brighton led to dwindling demand and their eventual closure.
The pop-up screening was the first of Lewes Depot Cinema’s ‘Re-imagined Buildings’ Project. Each of its four one-off cinema nights will show a film whose subject matter relates in some way to the building in which it’s being shown. In this instance, the French-Tunisian film The Wedding Song (Le Chant Des Mariées, 2008) contains several scenes in which women congregate in a Hammam, a steam room similar to a Turkish bath.
Before the screening Lewes History Group gave a talk about the history of the building, through its various uses and ownership over the years. It seems this was the first time it had ever been used as a cinema though.
The film itself is set in Tunis, Tunisia, in 1942. The Nazis have started an occupation of the capital and are intent on turning Muslim communities against the Jewish ‘enemy’. It’s a fascinating chapter in history I knew absolutely nothing about.
Prior to the Nazi propaganda and intervention, the Jewish and Muslim communities had lived side by side in relative harmony - despite native Tunisians not sharing the same rights as French citizens. This wasn’t just tolerance, they were often close friends and neighbours. This is illustrated in an early scene between a large group of women at a Hammam as they chat and gossip with great intimacy. However, there is an early hint of things to come when a woman who offers to pay on her next visit is verbally abused by the owner for being Jewish.
The rapidly accelerating racial divide between the two communities is played out in the film through the friendship between two teenage girls on the cusp of womanhood – Nour (Olympe Borval), a Muslim, and Myriam (Lizzie Brocheré), a Jew. Theirs is a story of profound love and companionship borne from growing up in the same tenement block from early childhood. They are seemingly inseparable but, as the Nazi occupation escalates, they are gradually and reluctantly forced to take sides.
The horrors of the Nazi regime and its persecution of Jews has, of course, been well documented through numerous films over the years. Superbly acted and directed, this excellent film is an important addition because it shines a spotlight on a Nazi atrocity few outside the region have probably ever heard about. It’s essential none of them go undocumented.
One especially powerful scene, owing as much to the sound editing as anything, involves Myriam lying terrified in bed at night as she hears the menacing sound made by the boots of a group Nazi soldiers become increasingly louder as they march towards her home.
Much to Myriam’s, and the viewer’s, relief they march straight past. This sense of relief is similar to the emotions evoked by the infamous shower scene in Schindler’s List. It’s almost impossible to imagine living with the constant terror that someone could burst through your door at any moment and drag you away from your home, or worse.
Aside from the political upheaval, the other key theme of the film is the impending, but very different, weddings of Nour and Myriam. Nour is engaged to one of her cousins, who her father will not let her marry until he finds work, and, at the behest of her mother, Myriam reluctantly becomes engaged to a much older wealthy Jewish man, Raoul (Simon Abkarian).
Writer-director Karin Abou chose to set the film around the girls’ weddings as an allegory of the transition from childhood to adulthood, both sexually and, in the horrifying circumstances in which they find themselves, politically.
A scene in which Myriam is brutally prepared for her wedding night is another that sticks in the memory. Indeed, The Wedding Song is often an uncomfortable and tough watch, but never less than compelling. This isn’t just the subject matter, it’s because it's heart-breaking to witness characters you grow to care about suffer as the world they once knew falls apart around them. That’s no mean feat to achieve in a running time of 1 hour 40 minutes.
Moreover, the film doesn’t fall into the trap of cliché and predictability. Characters are nuanced and don’t always behave in the way you expect them to, and often for the better.
There are also moments of redemption, kindness and hope – not least of all in its final reel. Deeply moving, The Wedding Song is hugely relevant right now given the amount of racial tension and divisive propaganda that’s appearing throughout the world and, closer to home, right on our doorstep. If you’ve never seen it, seek it out on DVD.
Simon Rose
For details of other upcoming ‘Re-imagined Buildings’ screenings visit the Lewes Depot website.
The Clan
Produced by Pedro Almodovar and directed by Pablo Trapero, The Clan is an Argentinian/Spanish production that tells the true story of a spate of violent kidnappings in Buenos Aires in the early 80s.
The man behind the kidnappings is Arquimedes Puccio, a married father of five who decides to not so much climb as pole vault the economic ladder by kidnapping wealthy people for ransom. Arquimedes’ family soon become embroiled in his actions, either directly or by turning a blind eye to what’s going on around them.
Arquimedes is played by Guillermo Francella with chilling efficiency. Francella is one of those actors whose face can say a great deal purely through expression and his performance is reminiscent of Christopher Walken on top form – he conveys pure, heartless evil.
The central story of The Clan, though, is the plight of Alejandro (Peter Lanzani), Arquimedes’ eldest son and a star rugby player seemingly with the world at his feet. The domineering Arquimedes involves a reluctant Alejandro at an early stage and it’s not long before their actions turn murderous – dragging Alejandro to increasingly darker places as he is forced to lead a double life.
You feel pity, sadness and a sense of foreboding for Alejandro’s situation, but the film is also ambiguous and smart enough to have you debating a number of moral questions throughout. Was Alejandro as reluctant as he seemed? Could he have ever said no and was there ever a way out for him? Were the family members who did nothing but kept quiet just as guilty in their own way or were they victims?
Taking place over a three-year period in the aftermath of the Falklands Conflict, The Clan also works as a convincing period piece and offers an interesting insight into life in Argentina following the end of the war and the final years of it military dictatorship. British history during that period was dominated by Thatcher, The Falklands and Charles and Diana and it’s fascinating to see a window into life in Argentina at the same time.
The methods employed by Arquimedes and his accomplices were surprisingly amateur – they were not sophisticated (or especially careful) criminals. This almost casual ineptitude adds to the tension. It feels like it can go horribly wrong anytime, either for the kidnappers or their victims.
Bar a repeating flash-forward scene which adds to the sense that this will not end well, The Clan is a very linear biopic. It succeeds because it’s nicely shot, well acted and invests time in its characters. Despite them being complicit in some horrific crimes, you somehow find yourself feeling for the family’s situation when it all starts to unravel – not least when the film reaches its sudden and shocking climax.
The Clan doesn’t achieve classic status – it’s no Goodfellas or City of God –but it’s a damn fine film all the same.
Simon Rose
Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children
I had several reasons for looking forward to seeing Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, the latest film from director Tim Burton. Two of my daughters had read the best-selling book by Ransom Riggs from which it’s adapted and loved it. Intrigued, and seeing it going spare while I was looking for something to read on our summer holiday, I followed suit and found it a real page-turner.
I also always feel compelled to check out a new Tim Burton film. I have a soft spot for his trademark kooky, gothic take on the world. There are definitely Burton movies I didn’t especially care for (his ‘reimagining’ of Planet of the Apes starring Mark ‘Marky Mark’ Wahlberg being by far the worst culprit) but the good ones roll off the tongue – Beetle Juice, Ed Wood, Edward Scissorhands and (a particular favourite within my family) The Nightmare before Christmas. Moreover, even the relatively disappointing efforts are always, at the very least, a visual treat.
The original book is perfect material for Burton. Interspersed with mysterious, creepy and downright bizarre old black and white photos, it tells the story of lonely teenager Jacob Portman’s quest to discover whether or not the tall tales his seemingly crazy grandfather told him of children with special powers with whom he’d shared an orphanage as a child are really true. This quest leads Jacob from Florida to a remote island off the coast of Wales, where he gradually discovers his grandfather was perhaps not so mad after all.
The first half of Burton’s film sticks faithfully to the book. What’s majorly lacking, though, is its air of mystery and suspense. It all feels strangely rushed, swiftly hopping from one scene to the next with barely a pause for breath in order to get Jake to the orphanage as quickly as possible. In the novel Jacob doubts the sanity of both his grandfather and himself at times, taking on the role of detective in order to discover whether or not there really can be any truth to the photos. In Burton’s film, all of the information is laid on a plate for Jacob (Asa Butterfield) and, however unlikely everything he discovers may initially seem, he immediately accepts everything without any real sense of wonder.
It would be wrong to give too much away, but the rather convoluted and complicated plot (which somehow makes perfect sense when you read the book) involves time travel and the peculiar children of the title being hunted by monsters called hollowgasts and shapeshifting creatures known as wights.
Burton recreates the children’s world beautifully and there’s much enjoyment to be had watching them show off their various special powers within the grounds of the home. The numerous orphans include a boy who breathes bees, a girl who can start fires with her hands and Jacob’s love interest, Emma (played by the impressive Ella Purnell), who floats away unless she is wearing special lead-filled boots.
Presiding over the children is their pipe-smoking headmistress Miss Peregrine (Eva Green), who can transform herself into a peregrine falcon and protects the children (both from aging and those that are hunting them) by creating a time loop in which they repeatedly relive exactly the same day in 1940.
Despite the film’s title this is very much Jacob’s story but, when she does appear on screen, Green’s Miss Peregrine hits just the right note of quirky – a sort of cross between Nanny McPhee and Gene Wilder’s Willy Wonka.
Also on top form in his role as the main villain is Samuel L Jackson, who appears as the leader of the wights, Mr Barron, a wisecracking, menacing figure with white eyes and razor-sharp teeth. On that, a note of caution - both Jackson’s character and the hollowgast monsters are definitely not for more sensitive or faint-hearted children. The film is a 12A for good reason.
The final third deviates wildly from the book, but does tie everything up nicely without leaving you on a cliffhanger or feeling shortchanged that it’s merely setting up a sequel. It also includes the film’s best, and most ‘Burtonesque’, action sequence – featuring marauding stop-motion skeletons wreaking havoc at a funfair. However, this is all but ruined by the sudden appearance of a thumping soundtrack that feels like it’s been added in by mistake from the latest Transformers movie. A real misfire.
All in all, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children won’t go down in history as one of Burton’s best and, while far from terrible, feels like a bit of a missed opportunity. Like pretty much all his films, though, it’s a feast for the eyes and there’s more than enough in there to make it worth the journey.
Simon Rose
A War
For a country with a population of under six million, Denmark consistently produces a high volume of amazing drama. In recent years it’s gained its reputation via its TV shows. Series like The Killing, The Bridge and The Legacy, to name a few, regularly outperform their pedestrian-by-comparison British TV counterparts in terms of their sheer originality and quality of film-making.
Of course, Denmark has long possessed a proud feature film history too, perhaps most famously in recent memory through the Dogma 95 Collective dominated by Lars Von Trier in the 1990s.
While it boasts some impressively shot (and, at times, harrowing), battle sequences, A War (Krigen in Danish) is a film the Dogma 95 Collective would be proud of in terms of its tight script, sharply-defined storytelling and reliance on faultless performances from its actors.
Written and directed by Tobias Lindholm, and nominated for Best Foreign Language Film at the 2016 Academy Awards, A War looks at the conflict in Afghanistan through the eyes of Commander Claus Pedersen (the superb Pilou Asbaek) and his wife Maria (Tuva Novotny).
Claus and his Company are stationed in Helmand Province, fighting the Taliban while trying to protect and win over the local civilians. Back home in Denmark Maria is struggling with the daily grind of raising their three young children on her own, whilst having to simultaneously deal with the constant anxiety caused by her loved one being in a dangerous war zone thousands of miles away. A War captures this reality of the military wife beautifully, due in no small part to the excellent Novotny.
While it’s not the first to do so by any means, A War also does a superb job of capturing the numerous tensions of war – of cautiously patrolling an area filled with hidden landlines, the terror of walking into an unknown settlement without knowing who’s there, the fact you can never be certain if someone is friend or foe. The first half of the film is tense, edge-of-your-seat stuff - not necessarily enjoyable viewing, but never anything less than gripping.
About halfway through, the film suddenly totally changes tone after the actions of the Company are implicated in the deaths of innocent civilians. The second half essentially becomes a courtroom drama to determine whether or not a war crime has been committed.
As with all the best films, you are never certain of the final outcome – meaning the second half remains tense in an altogether different way. The highly intelligent script challenges the viewer to act as jury, leading you to question how you would judge someone within the context of a hellish world of blurred boundaries. It also explores the concept of how split-second decisions, even those made with the best intentions, can sometimes create devastating consequences that last a lifetime.
A War is a sobering, thought-provoking film that underlines the fact that even those lucky enough to return home from war zones alive and able-bodied are mentally wounded for life. Again, this isn’t a new or original message, but A War gets it across in a powerful way. Highly recommended.
Simon Rose
Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon
Fun evening last night at the John Harvey Tavern for the first ever Lewes Depot Cinema Quiz. Despite loads of fiendishly difficult questions the team I was in managed to finish in a pretty respectable 4th place.
The Tom Hiddleston ‘Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon’ round was scrapped. For the record here’s my effort – despite needing all six moves I was secretly quite proud of it!
Tom Hiddleston to Scarlett Johansson (The Avengers), SJ to Bill Murray (Lost in Translation), BM to Dan Ackroyd (Ghostbusters), DA to River Phoenix (Sneakers), RP to Kiefer Sutherland (Stand by Me), KS to Kevin Bacon (Flatliners).
I have, though, a confession to make. I incorrectly remembered Sneakers as Sleepers, so it’s probably just as well the question was abandoned!
Ma Ma
In the Spanish language ‘Mama’ has two different meanings – it’s the word for ‘breast’ but is also a common colloquial term for mother.
The mother in question in Ma Ma is Magda (Penelope Cruz), who has just lost a teaching job she loves and whose marriage to her philandering husband is also reaching its end at the start of the film. Things then take a turn for the even bleaker when a hospital check-up reveals she has Stage 3 breast cancer.
Magda dotes on her football protégé son, Dani, and her life changes when she meets Arturo (the excellent Luis Tosar), a Real Madrid football scout who has come to watch Dani at a match, just before Arturo has to deal with a life-changing personal tragedy of his own. The pair immediately form an unspoken bond as they negotiate their way through life.
Especially in its first half, Ma Ma is an unrelentingly hard watch, particularly for anyone who has personal experience of a loved one being treated for cancer. Misery is piled upon misery and, for a long time, it’s the very opposite of a feelgood movie – just when you think the bad news can’t get any worse, it inevitably does.
Ma Ma is undoubtedly aiming to be a tearjerker in the mould of Love Story. At times, though, it’s like watching a TV movie of the week. The football scenes featuring young Dani (Teo Planell) with Cruz cheering on from the sidelines, for example, are pure queso.
But, at some point in the film I can’t quite put my finger on, something happens – Ma Ma starts to win you over. This is in no small part down to Cruz who is a fine actor and, despite the movie’s faults, Magda is an alluring and likeable character. You can’t help but fall for her or, ultimately, the film’s central theme that the power of kindness, love and positive thought can lift you above even the most extreme adversities life can throw at you.
Ma Ma also explores the idea that, for some people, if they know they have little time left it can at times actually give them a sense of elation – the thrill of embracing every last precious moment of life. While this most certainly isn’t the case for everyone, it does happen. I’m reminded of a recent radio interview I heard with singer and guitarist Wilko Johnson who, in 2013, was diagnosed with incurable pancreatic cancer and given ten months to live.
Johnson’s tumour was successfully removed after a nine-hour operation and he became one of the three per cent of people who survive pancreatic cancer. While grateful, to his surprise Johnson found himself strangely deflated at his unexpected reprieve and missing the sense of freedom and living life to the full he’d experienced while he thought he was terminally ill.
Magda’s journey in Ma Ma is a reminder to enjoy life, do the things you love and be with the people who make you happy – because the day eventually comes to everyone when you’re no longer able to whether you want to or not. It’s a clichéd message, but also one that perhaps we all need reminding of from time to time.
Despite its weaknesses, you’d have to be pretty hard-hearted not to be wiping the odd tear from your eye at least once while watching Ma Ma. Sometimes you just have to go with it and leave your cynicism at the door.
Simon Rose
I Wish
I was astonished to discover I Wish was made five years ago. How have I never come across it or seen it before? It’s a thing of beauty.
Directed by Hirokazu Kore-Eda, the film is a Japanese tale of two young brothers who are forced to live apart in separate towns when their parents’ relationship crumbles, the eldest going to live with his mother and grandparents and the youngest with his father. When one of the boys is told of the wish-granting power created at the exact moment two high speed bullet trains pass one another, he resolves to get his family back together again.
The first thing to be said about I Wish is that it boasts that rarest of things, child actors that really can act and make you forget you’re watching a film or performance. Most child actors, however good they are on most levels, find it impossible to fully shake off their stage school tendencies (think the early Harry Potter films in particular). The young actors playing the two lead roles in I Wish (real life brothers Koki and Ohshiro Maeda) are completely believable and natural.
I haven’t felt this way about a film with children in the lead roles since Stand by Me. That film works so well because the young cast, River Phoenix especially, all give the performances of their lives.
While a totally different story set in a different era and culture, I Wish also evokes a similar atmosphere to Stand by Me. There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling of nostalgia for being 12 years old again and running around with your friends, tempered with the realisation – as an outsider looking in - that it won’t be too long before more grown-up responsibilities take over. The last days of innocence.
This is not to say that I Wish is overly sentimental or sickly. Far from it, the entire film is judged to perfection. Indeed, the entire cast, young and old, is equally fantastic. There’s not a dud performance in sight. Other storylines and subplots involving family and friends unfold throughout the film but complement rather than distract from the main storyline – which never feels predictable and keeps you guessing to the end.
The film is a PG but I’m not sure why. Anyone from the age of 9 or 10 will love it. Time to explore Kore-Eda’s back catalogue.
Simon Rose