Our latest movie reviews

The odd Twisters apart, Hollywood isn’t exactly filling our cinemas with cataclysmic visions of natural and man-made disasters these days – presumably because the TV news has got that covered. So Paul Greengrass’ (Captain Phillips, The Bourne Ultimatum) tale of humble heroism in the face of the apocalyptic 2018 Californian wildfires has a satisfyingly old-fashioned feel to go with its rousing storytelling. A callback to the days of ’70s ‘master of disaster’ Irwin Allen, it’s full of people putting themselves in harm’s way with minimum fuss, cool-headed professionals circling things on maps, and a visceral sense of rising panic. With the British action maestro behind the camera, there’s a dispassionate, procedural quality that eschews all the flag-waving that can blight the genre. The flags here are mostly on fire.  At its heart are two monumental forces: a hellish inferno that burns like the fires of Mordor across vast West Coast valleys towards the in-aptly named town of Paradise, and a sweaty Matthew McConaughey. The Interstellar man plays school-bus driver Kevin McKay, a luckless divorced dad failing to fix his painful relationship with his son, deal with his ex or figure out how to look after his ailing mum. There’s an almost sadistic level of overkill when Greengrass and Mare of Easttown creator Brad Ingelsby’s screenplay demands that he takes his dying dog to be put down, too. Then a rogue power line, bone-dry drought conditions and high winds conspire to set the...

Pity the casual moviegoer who just wanted to see a Marlon Wayans football flick, or a Jordan Peele-produced horror joint. Because Him is, instead, a mind-scrambling primal scream in the spirit of anti-capitalist provocations by the likes of Robert Downey Sr (Putney Swope), Boots Riley (Sorry to Bother You), and Coralie Fargeat (The Substance). It does start generically enough; in flashback, we find a football-mad family cheering their beloved San Antonio Saviors. Dad is particularly obsessed, and he sees future glory in his young son. Ten years later, he's been proved right: Cam (Atlanta’s Tyriq Withers) is a rising star quarterback tapped to replace the Saviors’ retiring hero, Isaiah White (Wayans). First, though, he has to prove himself at White’s private boot camp. Cam is still recovering from a mysterious attack that left him concussed, but his father – who’s since died – always insisted that a real man pushes through any pain. So he shows up at White's isolated bunker of a home, where it soon becomes clear this isn’t ordinary training: White plans to break him down to build him back up. Before long, Cam is put through a surreal gauntlet that involves body horror, hallucinations, and maybe, though he's in no shape to be certain, murder. Director Justin Tipping and his co-writers, Zack Akers and Skip Bronkie, have a lot on their minds. Him addresses the cult of football, but it's also about – among other things – fame, family, religion, race, and class. In its feverish...

A fast, cold open at the US-Mexico border where a gang of revolutionaries named the French 75 prepare to free hundreds of detained immigrants set the burning wheels in motion. It’s the early noughts and righteous firebrand Perfidia Beverly Hills (an indelible Teyana Taylor) doesn’t so much step into the fray as bulldoze her way through it, assisted by her vehement but bumbling lover Pat (Leonardo DiCaprio, having tremendous fun). Before they leave the detainment camp, Perfidia forces Colonel Steven Lockjaw (Sean Penn, award-worthy) into noticeable arousal at gunpoint and all the elements of writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson’s tenth film are in play. From start to finish, One Battle After Another is a mighty 162 minutes of danger, comedy, excitement, love, sex and confusion. The first hour flies by as our rebel pairing shoot guns, rob banks and blow up power lines. Perfidia gives birth to daughter Willa but can’t commit to motherhood and the revolution, leaving Pat holding the baby in both senses. After a bank robbery goes awry and Perfidia gets caught, the gang scatter before Pat changes his name to Bob Ferguson and hides out in an insurrection-sympathetic town called Baktan Cross. Some 15 years later, Lockjaw is offered an opportunity to join a secret mason-ish racist order called The Christmas Adventurers if he can find Bob and his daughter (now played with great poise by Chase Infiniti in her debut film role). This is a mighty 162 minutes of danger, comedy,...

Early in A Big Bold Beautiful Journey, we are told that ‘sometimes we have to perform to get to the truth’. It’s a line that director Kogonada (Columbus, After Yang) loads with such significance, he makes sure we hear it again a little later, just in case we missed it. Because that’s what this magic-realist road movie romance is all about, for its lead characters at least: accepting hard truths by reenacting the key moments in their lives that made them them.  It starts whimsically enough. Lonely traveller David (Colin Farrell) hires a car from a quirky rental company run by Phoebe Waller-Bridge (with a German accent) and Kevin Kline, who insist he take their apparently sentient GPS. After forcing him together with Sarah (Margot Robbie) – another lonely traveller David’s just met at a mutual friend’s wedding – this kooky route-finder directs them to a series of magic doorways, which the imperfect strangers unquestioningly walk through to experience significant memories, from a high-school musical to the death of a parent.  To some degree, the film operates like A Christmas Carol-style time-travel movie. So it’s less about changing history than reviving it for the sake of therapy, as if David and Sarah are in relationship counselling before they’ve even started a relationship. And that, of course, is their presumed final destination: love. Proper warts-and-all, for-better-or-for-worse love.  It brings a bit of silver-lining energy to our overcast world Kogonada’s previous...

Cheesier than a wheel of Stilton and about as edgy, Downton Abbey bows out with a cosy but loveable final instalment that will leave few dry eyes among long-time fans of Julian Fellowes’ British TV thoroughbred.  It’s a third big-screen instalment that’s one long ending: to the characters, to the house, to the certainties of Edwardian England. No movie has had this many goodbyes since The Return of the King.  It’s mostly soirées and teas and trips to the theatre, though there is a vague gesture at a plot. A handsome American (Alessandro Nivola) with Wall Street airs arrives in Blighty to stir things up; a prospective visit from Noël Coward gets everyone in a flap; and a prize or two needs giving out at the county fair – a task newcomer Simon Russell Beale’s harrumphing country type isn’t making any easier. The headline news is that Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) is now divorced from her feckless husband, which gets her rudely booted out of polite society. Things have changed in 1930s England, but they’re still basically nightmarish if you don’t have a moustache.  Money is in short supply at the grand old pile, too, thanks to dopey Uncle Harold’s (Paul Giamatti) bad investments and the post-Depression squeeze, and there’s no Violet Crawley to provide snarky reassurances (the formidable old dame gazes down from a portrait, like Vigo the Carpathian). Maggie Smith’s presence always brought a sharp note to Fellowes’ melodious rhythms and it’s missing here. No movie has had this...

Spare a thought for whoever has to give this wildly obscenity-strewn biopic a rating. Not since Ken Loach’s cheery whisky heist caper The Angel’s Share got hit with a 15 certificate for dropping one too many ‘aggressive “c*nts”’ has there been such a disparity between intent and delivery in a screenplay. Here, writer-director Kirk Jones presides over a Tourette’s Syndrome (TS) story with a potty mouth but not a mean-spirited bone in its body. It’s a ‘PG’ yarn with an ‘18’ gob.Unlike, say, Rain Man, which sidelined and misrepresented the neurodiversity at its centre, the ’90s-set I Swear ushers you right into the tormented headspace of young Scotsman John Davidson as he copes with a neurological condition that leaves him with uncontrollable tics and sees him ostracised from an uncomprehending society, and even his own family. Played as a bubbly 13-year-old in ’90s Galashiels by newcomer Scott Ellis Watson and a more circumspect twentysomething by The Rings of Power’s Robert Aramayo – both delivering terrific, likeable performances – I Swear charts the onset of Davidson’s condition to an adulthood in a kind of self-imposed isolation. But it opens with him collecting an MBE from the Queen for his pioneering educational work on TS, an upbeat framing device to hold onto as the story flashes back to a life with some heartbreaking lows. It’s a ‘PG’ yarn with an ‘18’ gob Whether getting expelled from school for dropping a c-bomb on his headmaster, being shunned by his family,...

In his genius 1985 documentary Sherman’s March, director Ross McElwee follows in the footsteps of a Civil War general’s infamous advance through the Confederacy. Haunted by a recent break-up, the doleful young filmmaker ends up far more preoccupied with finding a girlfriend. The film’s Ken Burns-meets-The Inbetweeners awkwardness and charm gave him a Sundance hit and made it a cult classic (if not especially helpful in understanding the Civil War). Forty years on, the stunning Remake lays bare McElwee’s own battles, the least of which is a mooted Hollywood remake of his breakthrough doc. A tear-stained, deeply personal and utterly singular documentary, it tells the story of the young son he lost to a Fentanyl overdose, captured via home video footage taken across three decades. ‘It’s been seven years since you died,’ he says in the voiceover, ‘and I still miss you every day’. Throat meet lump.  After Sherman’s March McElwee did find his person – wife Marilyn. They have two kids: bubbly, bright-witted son Adrian and a sunbeam of a daughter in Mariah, who the couple adopts in Paraguay. Those experiences become McElwee’s 2008 documentary In Paraguay. But every experience they share gets captured. He rarely stops filming.  Inevitably, this becomes grating for Marilyn and Mariah, who start to feel like characters in a movie he never calls ‘cut’ on. There’s divorce and then a lonely relocation. Adrian, though, has caught the bug. He grows up wanting to follow in his dad’s...

In February 1977, a disgruntled Indianapolis man walked into a city centre tower for a meeting with a mysterious box under his arm. He then took a mortgage company executive who he felt had cheated him out of a real estate investment hostage, jerryrigging a shotgun to his head with wire and demanding an apology and millions of dollars in compensation. One false move from the cops and the man was toast.   This absolutely terrible plan and all the absurdities that ensued over 63 hours and under the full flare of first local, then national news coverage, are captured with terrific gusto in Gus Van Sant’s tragicomic thriller. It’s another perceptive state-of-the-nation movie from the veteran indie auteur to add to To Die For (1995), Elephant (2003) and Milk (2008), sharing their preoccupation with guns as a manifestation of American ambition and dysfunction. Beyond the guilty laughs, authentically beige ’70s period detail and news reportage aesthetic, there’s an offbeat anti-capitalist folk tale here that will strike a chord in the current moment.   It’s scary clown Bill Skarsgård doesn’t leave all the clownishness behind as the jittery, volatile Tony Kiritsis. He’s an aspiring entrepreneur whose efforts to develop a shopping mall were left in ruins when loans company boss ML Hall (Al Pacino) called in his investment. But the plan almost falls at the first hurdle because Hall, he learns, is in Florida. Without missing a beat, he takes his son Richard (Dacre Montgomery) hostage...

The 1960s had Dr Strangelove and Fail Safe, the ’70s had Twilight’s Last Gleaming, the ’80s had WarGames, and the ’90s had Crimson Tide. If you’ve recovered from those Cold War classics, Kathryn Bigelow’s unbelievably stressful nuclear disaster movie is sending you straight back to the basement.  The screenplay by TV news veteran Noah Oppenheim, who also co-wrote Netflix’s White House cyberattack thriller Zero Day and must surely have a bunker in his garden by this point, gives three overlapping perspectives on an unfolding nightmare. Each start at the exact same point: a regular morning in the White House Situation Room and US Strategic Command is disrupted by a spec on the radar. A single nuke has been launched over the Pacific. Is it another North Korean test? A rogue submarine commander? Nothing to worry about or the first shot of armageddon? A faint worry becomes palpable fear for Admiral Mark Miller (Jason Clarke), Captain Olivia Walker (Rebecca Ferguson) and the team in the Situation Room when the nuke goes ‘suborbital’, its trajectory putting it on course to hit the Midwest in 17 minutes time. At Alaska’s missile defence base, Major Daniel Gonzalez (Anthony Ramos) goes from wrestling with homesickness to trying to prevent ten million fatalities in a trice. But, as someone points out, America’s $60 billion defence missiles are like trying to ‘hit a bullet with a bullet’.  Over the world’s most high-powered Zoom call, the President (Idris Elba) and his advisors...

One of Hollywood’s biggest stars in a true-life sports movie with big-time awards hopes. It’s going to be a Rocky-like story of comeback glory wrenched from the jaws of defeat, right? Except that’s not at all what Dwayne Johnson and director Benny Safdie have got cooking with this tender but tumultuous addiction and relationship drama set in the gladiatorial world of mixed martial arts (MMA). Because beyond the regular crunch of fist on bone, The Smashing Machine is an unexpectedly gentle, soulful character study that has Johnson undercutting his crowd-pleasing ‘The Rock’ persona with vulnerability and boyish uncertainty. The early Oscar buzz is certainly warranted: opposite an equally affecting, glammed-up Emily Blunt, it’s far more than just a popcorn-guy-goes-prestige novelty turn. This is his The Wrestler moment. Covering his shaved dome with a crop of black hair and with subtle facial prosthetics lending him an off-kilter look, an extra beefed-up Johnson plays real-life fighter Mark Kerr over three physically and emotionally bruising years in the late ’90s. We meet striding into the ring, basically a wardrobe on legs, and crushing opponents in short order. A journalist asks him what it would feel like to lose and he’s genuinely stumped. He can’t conceive of defeat partly because he doesn’t want to, a bubble of control he expects girlfriend Dawn Staples (Blunt) to help him maintain.   Except that the world of MMA is evolving at speed, with new rules that limit Kerr’s...