markharnden

Some movies slip through the grinding gears of the industry. If you are lucky, you will stumble across this timeless, near-perfect glimpse of childhood innocence and its power to improve the world of adults.

Against the harsh backdrop of subsistence opal mining in the arid Aussie desert, a life dominated by the dreams of greedy men and their incessant paranoias and rivalries, a little girl nurtures the friendship of two imaginary beings, Pobby and Dingan. When Pobby and Dingan go missing on Boxing Day evening, the whole community is drawn into an imaginative, lilting drama.

How this film didn't win Oscars for it's two childhood stars is a reassuring confirmation that artistic independence and merit still exist, despite the egocentric shenanigans of the star-system and high-end production companies.

I was expecting footnotes about the broader case of the Fred and Rose West but what emerged was a valid and resourced series of documentaries that explores the deeper reasons for the behaviour of the couple over time, and how and why it worsened. Anyone interested in this sorry tale will be intrigued and worried by some of the 'origin story' details. Rather than just a mildly interesting companion to the other materials created about Fred and Rose, this seems like seminal viewing regarding the whole shooting match. The interviews with previously obscure contacts of the West's victims were especially powerful, down to earth and incredibly concerning. Yet again, we are drawn to these multiple murderers but now with some real historical context. Well made, factually credible, highly original and believe it or not, still genuinely shocking.

I couldn't agree more with all those other reviewers who advise that this series only really gets going having stuck through the first two or three episodes. I was unsure at first but I stayed with it and can happily report that the all-star cast and the fantastic subject matter of early-18th century piracy are not let down as the back stories start to pad out the plot. The comedy starts to build, almost multi-faceted, as the characters become recognisable and liked. Rhys Darby, as Stede Bonnet, is made of funny bones and leads the ensemble effortlessly. And whoever you are, you are bound to enjoy the depiction of the Blackbeard on show here. Me hearties.

I've seen this movie twice. Once in a Tyneside cinema in 1994, and just now on BBC iPlayer in early 2023. The most loved film in history, top of all the charts, Stephen King fiction married to Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman at their dramatic peak. During my first viewing I was a depressed alcoholic undergraduate student. Today I am a grizzled veteran of the mental health system with an honours degree and a master's in philosophy. No longer depressed, I am still a heavy drinker. Since its release in 1994, I have changed (admittedly only a little) more than The Shawshank Redemption.

I remembered some of the violent bits but had totally forgotten details of the plot, except for memory snippets of an oak tree and a man-hug on a Mexican beach. The work makes words like dignity and hope and justice ping through viewers minds. Notions of mens noble characters being revealed through the prism of suffering flit around the collective grey cells of the hypnotized liberal masses.

In the cold light of a January day nearly thirty years since that foray into the Geordie multiplex, I was drawn to a few blemishes. Nods (like head-butts) to The Great Escape and Escape From Alcatraz. The lack of believability in the warden's competence at diddling the books and getting away with it for so long. The juxtaposition of one old inmate being allowed to nurture and care for a massive raven whilst a new boy is murdered on his first night for being scared and homesick, by the brutal yet controlled psychopathy of the said warden's Head Boy. The lack of exaggerated universal harshness of conditions for inmates, shot in beautiful soft light as they go about their chores and converse freely at table. As if the producers and director were playing a game of prison movie top trumps but without their hearts set on victory.

More recent artistic examinations of incarceration in the USA, set against the backdrop, basically, of the ridiculous 'war on drugs', assert that prison is incessantly about racial tensions, inked flesh, massive upper body muscles, and much much more generally vicious behaviour between inmates and staff and inmates. The game of top trumps continues, cartels adding to the scores of our new trophy-hungry realists.

Modern films create special effects that appear as literal. The graphics have improved. Shawshank was one of those movies shot just enough in the past to have maintained a more traditional approach to portraying violence and the physical consequences of it.

Depicting the three decades immediately following WW2, there was a sense that the director stayed true to the socio-cultural norms of the decades passing, but shifts of time in a timeless institution could only be communicated by changing movie star posters in Andy's cell. The only societal progress evident in prison is Rita Hayworth being replaced by Marilyn and her being superceded by Raquel Welsh.

I'm just wittering now. I've been writing futile, unread user reviews for IMDB for over a year and not really knowing why. I thought I'd take a stab at Shawshank for some reason and maybe find a new angle but it's all been said. It's a good movie but having just finished my second viewing, I'm not sure it is the greatest ever made. I watched a movie last year called 'Alpha', about the inadvertent domestication of dogs by an ancient tribe of hunter-gatherers. Big weepy.

Above all, and as a final comment, I would like to reflect on what I think 'Shank is truly about. It's not about hope, dignity, depravity, humanity, fear, corruption, prison conditions or even redemption. It's very simple. It's about innocence. In this regard, it remains a towering rendition. And maybe that's why it does so well.

Andy was innocent all along, in every conceivable way, and yet he was punished more than anyone else, in every dark way imaginable. He could have caved, he could have cracked. He didn't bother banging on about being innocent, forever maintaining or protesting his whinging innocence. Throughout his Odyssean tour of physical, emotional, sexual and spiritual agony he achieved something far more beautiful with his innocence. He retained it. And proved it for the world to see, in a triumph of wit, planning, and school-boy belligerence.

An advert for this show popped up on my home screen today so as usual I instinctively downloaded all of series 1 and binge-watched it. I wouldn't have done this had I not been entertained along the way (I have downloaded entire new series before and deleted the lot before the end of episode 1, see 'Romantic Getaway'), especially when the fog of nostalgia cleared to leave behind a tightly written, interestingly cast and contemporary sit-com that remained true to that original show from all those years ago. The tone is down-beat, working class, and adult. Early episodes featured Juliette Lewis and Matthew Broderick, so great for show-biz nerds like me. Even the bloke from 'The Big Bang Theory' deigns to appear. Darlene, Becky and DJ have been loyally depicted as grown-ups, well observed arcs. Lots of new people too, and a resurgent John Goodman. Easy to dismiss for Roseanne pedants but I found it funny and stimulating.

The funniest series in years, I laughed from start to finish and was so impressed with the talent on show. 12 episodes that will become all-time classics. The theatrical equivalent of Les Dawson playing the piano, we are introduced to a company of enthusiasts who embody the best and worst of amateur dramatics. Cast rivalries, prop fails, missed cues, hammy leads, frail egos and over-ambitious set designs combine to create neo-farce that demonstrate the skills of the writers in firstly, conceiving each episode and b), delivering perfectly blocked and executed scenes. The timing is exquisite. Respect.

Way too easy for the partially dyslexic like me to confuse this show with a US pop goddess but I'm glad I tuned in to the first episode, regardless of initial motivations.

As a university student in the mid '90s, the opening of this show sparked immediate nostalgia. Gareth Southgate misses his penalty at Euro 96 on the television of a pub in St Andrew's. The rough regulars roar their raucous approval and the action cuts to a table in the corner where three posh students begin plotting the rest of their evening. A party elsewhere is mentioned then one of the three surreptitiously invites a barmaid to the event; he has to be careful as her violently protective brothers are the other side of the bar.

The quality of this opening scene, it's intensity and vibrancy, it's contemporaneous accuracy and credible cultural setting, immediately hook you. Especially since Podric is one of the brothers.

A big fan of Paddy Considine's East Midlands hard-man schtick, I was gutted to see him playing the King in this show without the distinctive regional accent that we all love him for. Sean Bean shone (briefly) with his Yorkshire brogue in the original series. The only reason I can guess for Paddy not speaking in his legendary Nottingham-ese here, is that American producers feared that fans in the US would struggle to understand it. That mistake has led to an inauthenticity at the heart of this show for which it will be forever punished. The other reason this show fails is the lack of humour. It's just not funny. Boo.

This Country fans will pile into Daisy May Cooper's most recent offering to meet darker versions of her narcissistic character creations. Credit to co-writer/star Selin Hizli for contributing to this unpredictable and original glance at infidelity, obsession, entitlement and self-delusion. Tinkering with the point of view midway through the series enhances audience understanding and sucks the viewer into enjoying a broader perspective, which works. There are a few 'gross-out' moments that could have been omitted on the basis that they aren't funny or necessary, but overall, a successful exploration of taboos. And booze.

Magnificent moody monologues with poetic scripts and charismatic performers. The nature of being skint is expressed across diverse regional UK settings and in varied dialects. What emerges from these superb snippets is the idea that social standing and prosperity are not inevitable correlates of intelligence and hard work. The characters are all good, bright, industrious and self-aware. Material success and comfort are not the rewards of virtue and poverty is not the reward of idleness; being skint is available to everyone regardless of the correctness or incorrectness of life choices. A brilliant examination of poverty in our times and the sheer impossibility for most to escape it.

This is feel-good programming at its best. Droll, immersive, engaging, timeless, and perfectly located. This bee-whisperer and his hive of human and insect acolytes have made the very best wild televisual honey. Unique and brilliant.

I promised to never review a bad film so naughty me.

A couple of years ago, I was struck by the smallness of the world. I had just finished reading David Copperfield, having returned to it 30 years after an initial attempt failed somewhere mid-tome.

That second reading was a blissful, laughter filled moment, and cemented Dickens in my mind as a great. Then, the same day that I finished the book, I saw on television an advert for Armando Iannucci's latest movie release.

Anyone who has read David Copperfield will testify to it's comic genius and unforgettable characters, wrapped up in a bipolar Dickensian plot.

To a person who hasn't read the book, you could argue that they have been introduced to the wonders of it in a modern format, and can enjoy the process of naming all the trendy stars (gorging in the trough).

But it stinks. Against all the odds, with the most credible celebrities in charge and onboard, this film tanks. I'm not bothered about the ethnically creative cast or the plethora of regional accents. It is entirely possible that Little Emily is more mancunian than the Hacienda.

None of the cast believe in their lines. They don't know why they are doing what they are doing. It's like watching a flotilla of swans paddling across a pond but, somehow, with panic in their eyes.

Maybe the film will be more like the book than I currently allow. Maybe in 30 years I will try watching it again, and be charmed, impressed, made to laugh loudly. Maybe.

Mark Ruffalo provides his finest performance in this investigation into mental illness, brotherly love, fate, and identity.

The plot is the lives of twins, who, via flashbacks and flashforwards, we see as children, college students, and middle-aged men weathered by decades of one of them experiencing schizophrenia and requiring residential care.

Mental illness is often understood these days as something to disclose, to share, to recover from and move on from. Ruffalo portrays the side of mental illness that few talk about, the chronic, the severe, the profoundly disturbed forms of suffering that remain taboo. The success of this television series is that it humanises those extremes.

This humanity is visible in other characters, a social worker who can be trusted, a psychologist who cares and understands, and psychiatrists who we see as good. Such unpredictability suffuses this series.

The twins are from Italian stock. In Episode 1, the saner one is provided with a manuscript from his dying mother, written in Italian by the immigrant grandfather he never met. Getting this manuscript translated might help explain why the family is so troubled.

What secrets are hid?

Viewers of Oliver Stone's 1991 polemical blockbuster all those years ago were left, like me, with a sense of something being a bit off but with no facts to get our teeth into. This miniseries blows the whole conspiracy theory wide open, for even the most conspiracy-jaded folk.

JFK- Destiny Betrayed: elegantly argued, historically contextualised, clinically put together. No other director is as persuasive as Oliver Stone and this docu-series sees him at the top of his game. Miss it at your very real peril. Freedom and democracy are at stake......

Director Will Sharpe steals the limelight in this magical rendering of a grubby kitchen sink melodrama. Visually ambitious, solidly acted and scripted, complex yet easy, and possessed of a deep attention to detail; this is filmic TV that surprises and challenges and creates a space for ambiguous sympathies and a real investigation into the nature of heroism and love.