markgorman

If M. C. Escher had written a whydunnit he might have called it Ripley.

I say this because the recent Netflix masterpiece starring Andrew Scott and written & directed by Steve Zallion (he of Schindler's List fame - more on that later) is an Escherian nightmare of wrong turns, about turns, smart turns and climbs that lead to nowhere.

The plot (Patricia Highsmith's genius cannot be overstated here) is one of the most elaborate and thrilling I have ever encountered. The world's greatest crime writers thrown in a room together could not have conjured up anything more magical even if Jesse Armstrong had been put in charge of them. It's not that it's full of cliffhangers, as such, it's the sheer chicanery that Tom Ripley demonstrates as he shape-shifts his way through the lives (and deaths) of himself and his unwitting benefactor Dickie (Deekee) Greenleaf that make this story so compelling.

But let's start after Highsmith and look at what Steve Zallion brings to the party. Well, for a start, the script is terrific. I don't know the novel so I don't know if it's laugh out loud funny - but this sure is. One might grumble at his mild mocking of Inspector Pietro Ravini's occasional flaws with the English language, especially his pronunciation of Freddie Miles' (Meeles) name, but Vittorio Viviani bring a wonderful blend of Inspector Clouseau and Poirot to the part that is delicious. His mild OCD is amusing and that is one of the themes that run through the movie.

Zallion can never have had as much fun making a film as here. He plays tricks with the audience from start to finish and his elaborate use of repetition (posting the mail, riffling through notebooks, application of pen to paper, placing of items on bureaux, zooming in on concierges, framing of the post office, police cars, the cat, stairwells, paintings, drinking (or not) wine, ashtray purchasing, mimicking of Caravaggio and Ripley) is bonkers and dazzling.

The central motif of climbing stairs is extremely interesting. I have two theories on this. 1) it represents class climbing - Ripley is a wannabe, a charlatan and a grifter. He aspires to greater riches and stature and is deeply uncomfortable in society situations such as at Peggy Guggenheim's party in Venice where he is in real danger of being found out for not being one of 'us'. He's always climbing to attain his goal. 2) it represents the futility of the whole police hunt, the whole story, as Ripley outwits every character (even the reasonably savvy Marge) by shifting the sands, rearranging the staircases so that we reach that 'going nowhere' outcome that Escher so brilliantly portrays in his paintings.

And lastly there's his choice of monochrome to create a film noire, but also a work of art. Art is a central metaphor of the series. Caravaggio's work, his homosexuality and his murderous past are all reflections on Ripley's own story. Ripley loves Caravaggio with a passion because he admires not just his work but his lifestyle. The fact that Greenleaf's wannabe painterly skills are appallingly lacking is just a bonus.

The cinematography has to be seen to be believed. Mostly spot on (it's occasionally a touch overexposed) by Robert Elswit (He's PT Anderson's go to guy and won an Oscar for There Will Be Blood - bosh!). It drives the mood and the beauty, aided by a strong soundtrack, and has its moment in the sun when he stunningly, and frankly hilariously, references Schindler's List with a single step of blood red cat paw prints. One second of red in eight hours of monochrome. You know the scene I'm talking about in both productions, right? Episode 5 if you missed it.

And then theres the acting. Johnny Flynn I could take or leave, Dakota Fanning played her irritating role to perfection (entitled little Sylvia Plathesque romanticist that she is). I've talked about the marvellous Vittorio Viviani, but the stars of the piece are the deliciously camp and truly dislikable Eliot Sumer who gets his just desserts as Freddie Meeles and, of course, the joy of Andrew Scott.

What can I say about Andrew Scott that hasn't already been said? In the last five years he has risen from nowhere to challenge Steven Graham as Britains top actor. I think he has more range than Graham but both are a delight every time they hit our screens.

In this Scott OWNS the screen. His arch, sometimes befuddled playing of the unintended villain that is Tom Ripley is extraordinary. He falls into his murders rather than premeditates them so that makes him OK, right? And we are desperate for him not to be caught, because Scott has intoxicated us with his charm, his humour and his intelligence, all hidden behind a relatively blank canvas of a face. In moments of stress you can see the brain ticking, by micro-movements of Scott's demeanour. This is acting of the highest calibre and Ripley, not the victims, is our hero.

We love Andrew Scott, therefore we love Tom Ripley.

You might have guessed by now that I loved this. A straight 10/10.

Baby Reindeer has been receiving some great reviews, and I am going to add to that body of opinion.

It was written by, and stars, Richard Gadd but with a supreme supporting performance by Jessica Gunning as Gadd's stalker Martha. In the stage shows, which provided the inspiration for this 7 part Netflix series, Gadd makes it crystal clear that it is an autobiographical story, in the TV adaptation this is less apparent. But it is all true

We saw the Edinburgh Festival Fringe productions of Monkey See Monkey Do in 2017, at Summerhall, and Baby Reindeer in 2019, also at Summerhall but in the Roundabout.

My wife is not always the most likely to join a standing ovation at a theatre show but at Monkey See Monkey do she was the first on their feet. I gave both productions five stars and this nearly gets the same, apart from the fact that Gadd as a stage performer, telling his life story, is arguably better than Gadd as an actor playing a character, based on him, but actually is him, Donny Dunn. This subtle change takes some of the edge off his performance and requires him to act rather than perform. They are different things. I'm niggling though.

A big difference is that the stage shows were both one man monologues, albeit with AV back up, whereas he is graced with a supporting cast here, not least the miraculous performance by his stalker Martha who inhabits this sweet-as-sugar character with a dangerous she-devil interior that only raises its head when she's not getting her way, and her way would be to own and ravish Gadd.

Gadd's second nemesis is the theatre impresario Darrien played impeccably by Tom Goodman-Hill who subjects Gadd to massive trauma and was the main antagonist in Monkey See Monkey Do.

The combination of Darrien and Martha, and their collective trauma, create a stultifying inability for Gadd to do anything about his situation. His pathetic attempts at stand up comedy make any positive interest, from anyone, yes anyone, appealing at a subconscious level to Gadd and that may be why he rolls with the punches for so long against enemies that seem, to the viewer, so obviously easy to unlock himself from - but this is the way poor mental health and low self esteem can manifest themselves.

Whilst most of us could easily disassociate ourselves with these two monsters Gadd simply cannot and finds himself descending into blacker and blacker territory.

His only escape is through the fourth key character, the Mexican trans-actress Nava Mau, who plays Gadd's sort of girlfriend, although it's not easy. Gadd's sexuality is so confused that he simply doesn't know what he's looking for and it makes for a pretty challenging relationship.

It's billed as a black comedy and there are comedic moments, and yes, Gadd, is a professional comedian. But don't come to this looking for laughs. It's a profound, original and true exploration of the stultifying impacts of poor mental health and it's performed with sensitivity and great skill.

Surely the year will end up with this on all the top ten lists, in much the same way that "I May Destroy You" did.

It's quite simply brilliant.

We were late to this as we didn't have Disney +, except we had, thanks Natasha. Anyway, I'd read all the hype and last night we set out to watch it, and this afternoon we finished it.

I had to go back and rewatch Episode 1 because on first viewing I was a bit trailing in its wake because the loud music bed, deep Chicagoan patois and rapid fire (some sotto voce) dialogue meant I wasn't really picking up on its nuance. If I'm honest it was probably not till Episode 5 that I was fully invested but then, 7 and 8. Wow.

Christopher Storrer has written and directed a big bad beast. I love the way its title "The Bear" encompasses mental illness, Chicago ( key component of its magic) and the main character's name (Carmy Berzatto).

I love its love affair with food and that battle between good and evil (pretentious or wholesome can both be great, and this series manages to marry the two effortlessly). It's kind of like Pygmalion in reverse, or maybe The Great Gatsby, also reversed, where knowledge and superiority, and wealth, are levelled by the reality of Carmy's situation - a dead brother and an inherited Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares restaurant.

Jeremy Allen White, him of the great Calvin Klein blow up, is majestic in the lead role but he'd be nothing were it not for his fellow restaurant employees. An ensemble cast that's magnificent from the get go, none more so than his fangirl Sydney played with conviction by Ayo Edibiri. There's a really touching moment in Episode 8 where she entertains Marcus in her home that really hit the spot for me, and her relationship with the feisty Tina is a thing of wonder - a thing that could have been truly hamfisted in the wrong hands.

The music score is beast and the comedy (while only evident in short bursts) is laugh out loud funny.

All in all, a complex bundle of fun and pathos in equal measure. From an uncertain start (for me) it rapidly transmogrified into a production that does indeed merit the plaudits that have showered it. Very much looking forward to Season 2.

UPDATE SEASON 2 REVIEW

It's funny how a programme can be so different from season to season and yet hold up its quality threshold and dramatic intensity.

Unlike the UK's Boiling Point which is a one-paced act of unremitting rage (but great all the same) The Bear has many gears in its armoury and in Season Two, more so than one, it finds time to test drive them and show us serenity, rage, humour, regret and hope.

As it develops it has a zen like quality that introduces us to the characters of Season One that were just parachuted onto our screens in the midst of a war zone and left to get on with it. Whereas Season One was tricky to decode Season Two does all of the heavy lifting for you and week by week properly defines its characters.

Carmy (who we knew all about from S1) is given space to breathe as he plans how to position his new restaurant in Chicago and to experiment with the wonderful Sydney as she revels in her education as a fine dining (star) chef. Although how she survives her food orgy of Episode 3 is anyone's guess.

Richie reinvents himself as a front of house magician and cultivated and cultured gastrophile. Marcus has an amazing sojourn in Copenhagen with an odd Noma-like guru chef. It's as zen as the series gets, before the series centrepiece Fishes (that gets the full 60+ minute treatment) blows us all away.

Then Richie has his starring moment in Forks.

Along the way both Nat and Matty are filled out, character-wise, and without spoiling its conclusion for you we are ultimately teed up for another entirely unpredictable Season 3.

The writing, direction and performances (not to mention the music) in this production are magnificent. It's not quite on the highest ever plateau of Succession, but I tell you what, it's not far off. Wonderful TV that resonates as true to me and its many, many fans.

Four movies into his very slowly expanding movie CV (Sexy Beast, Birth and Under The Skin) Jonathan Glazer once again lands a punch that no-one could see coming. I mean, how could they?

It's been ten years since the sublime and shocking Under The Skin (from a source novel by one of my favourite authors, Michel Faber) now he's done it again with a novelistic source from Martin Amis. Having read a little about this it would seem that the movie and the book are barely related. Same theme and location, yes, but story-wise very different.

For a start it would be a push to say the movie's narrative led. There is a slight thread holding it together but this is really an exercise in stylistic horror like you've never seen before.

The psychology of the holocaust has long fascinated me. How could an entire country apparently sign up to a dictator's whims when his charisma, to me, seems so indecipherable. But worse, how could so many of his followers carry out such atrocities seemingly without question?

But this movie goes a step further still. How could the families of these monsters knowingly reap the benefits of this accursed man's activities?

Sandra Hüller (who might win best actress at the Oscars for the incredible Anatomy of a Fall) stars as that very woman (Hedwig Höss). Living a life of privilege in an unattractive house with a cultivated, but not exactly stunning, garden in the lee of Auschwitz. Her husband, the camp Kommandant, played by Christian Friedel, is a snidely little creep who sleeps in a separate bed (his work done having sired five children to his despicable wife). At night he takes his pleasure with the Jewish housemaid, who's always one dropped crumb away from the gas chambers that brood ominously just across the garden wall. Höss's more than happy to remind her of that.

Höss takes her pick of fur coats, new blouses, diamonds concealed in toothpaste tubes as the apparent spoils of genocide filter regularly into their home. They party, they feed sumptuously, they swim in the river, they cough up the ashes of dead Jews - only a small blot on an idyllic lifestyle

Höss's mother arrives, but soon leaves in disgust at this heinous way of living.

A young girl sneaks out at night to hide apples for the Jewish labourers - a death defying act that is momentously captured on night vision film. This stunning technique turns her into a lurid white spectre against what looks like a nuclear background, to the sound of an outrageous soundtrack by Mica Levy. Underscoring the score the Kommandant reads Hansel & Gretel to his younger children (it's no coincidence that the evil witch is burned in the oven - although the story "cooks" her to soften the blow). Who this mysterious figure is is not revealed, but perhaps it's the Kommandant's oldest daughter. The one with a conscience. The only one. The Kindly one.

It's truly remarkable moviemaking.

The star of this colossal piece of work though is Johnny Burn, the sound designer, who brings Auschwitz to life without ever really seeing it. Other than its rooftops.

On a side note. I've been to Auschwitz (which is actually three death camps not one) and the one that features in the movie, Auschwitz III is now a museum. These days it's impeccably manicured and the buildings are entirely surprising, two or three story high red brick constructions that could be schoolhouses if we didn't know better. It's very disarming. The muddy, filthy wooden huts we all remember from the movies and the newsreels are in Auschwitz I, a short drive away. So this clean, Teutonic death factory is disarming and Glazer captures that strange orderliness of the setting as we often see the well-kept rooflines of the houses beyond. (Albeit with smoking chimneys and glowing fires)

What Burn does though is pull the rug away. The air of semi-respectability that we are seeing is subsumed by endless industrial groans suggesting boilers (certainly machinery we don't want to think about too much) working at full blast. Gunshots echo out, but subtly in the distance, muffled shrieks, distant dogs barking, at one point a cold blooded murder. The steam train arriving with fresh cargo.

It all adds up to make Auschwitz a looming threat, playing out a murderous background soundscape, like a satanic orchestra, whilst in the foreground we see a sort of Utopia at play.

The movie is shot as a series of beautiful tableaux, often reminiscent of classical paintings, but interspersed with empty screens, red or black, and the mind-boggling night vision work. (it's searingly black and white, not green, as you've come to expect). This creates a sense of tranquillity and opulence, and yet it's backgrounded by the worst atrocities ever committed in Europe.

Jonathan Glazer has created his masterpiece. Few would imagine he could top his first three movies and yet this comes from a place that only he can truly understand. It's not clear why he's made this movie. It's not actually telling us anything new and yet it feels like the most original take on a familiar tale we will ever come across.

I so wish I liked this movie more. It's gorgeous and thoughtful and wonderfully acted, by Andrew Scott in particular. It's a touching subject about grief, loneliness, the act of coming out, death and suicide.

But I'm afraid it's just really boring. It's way too darkly shot - the cinema projector simply couldn't cope with how black it is and consequently you could actually see the projector's bulb fighting to get on top of the opaqueness of the subject matter. Clare Foy looked out of place and Paul Mescal must dream for a role that doesn't require endless shagging.

I nodded off several times as Andrew Scott struggled with his endless, tiresome grief over the death of his parents (like 20 years ago FFS) who are actually still alive, or are they ghosts, or is it a dream?

Actually...who cares in the end. My wife pt a bit. I did not. And I'm a sap.

And the soundtrack is dull as ditchwater.

I've now seen all three of Mia Goth's extraordinary A24 movies this year. In each one she has singlehandedly carried the movie to ridiculous heights of greatness.

All three are billed as horror (X as a slasher, Infinity Pool as an unhinged psychopath study and Pearl as another psychopath gestational study).

All three deepen A24's reputation as the distributor of the year/decade, the greatest signifier of quality in moviemaking right now.

All three mark out Goth as the leading horror female actor in history if not, increasingly, one of the great female actors of her generation full stop.

It's Pearl that that confirms this most potently as her performance is jaw dropping throughout.

It's the origin piece for X, but the two movies could hardly be less similar, even though the central character is the same person (60 years apart) and shot on the same farm location in Kansas.

This tells the tale of young married Pearl with her husband labouring in the European trenches of WWII, her father a wheelchair stricken quadriplegic - a victim of the Spanish Flu which is a clever reference as it was written by Goth and Director Ti West during lockdown - and her raging mother, a German immigrant trapped by her crippled husband in rural America and resentful to the back teeth because of it.

Goth (Pearl) wants to escape this and become a dancer but is thwarted at auditions for not being blonde enough. This triggers her inner psychopath and whilst we don't get a rampage on the scale of X we do see her nascent evil emerge.

It's Goth's startling performance and Ti West's dazzling direction that marks this out as a horror of sheer class, although in truth it's not really a horror at all: not a single jump scare and very little in the way of butchery.

Two scenes stand out, both featuring Goth, a long monologue to her friend and the closing credits which are reminiscent of Sinead Connor's classic pop video.

This is movie making at its finest and a must see in my opinion.

Well, this is by a distance the best movie I've watched this year. It actually feels more than a movie experience as it's so writerly, almost so theatrical that it becomes much more than the sum of its parts by the time you emerge from two and a half hours of spellbinding storytelling.

It's a French courtroom procedural at its heart.

But it's a marriage breakdown story at its heart

But its a tragedy at its heart, as the son of our main protagonist loses his sight as a result of his father's momentary lack of attention (in this respect it reminded me of The Child in Time by Ian McEwan in which a simple lapse of concentration leads to a lifetime of anguish).

This is to prove pivotal at the climax of a densely multilayered script that keeps you guessing from start to finish. Not that it's a whodunnit.

Basic story is this. Mum, famous writer being interviewed by a sexy young French literature student whom she maybe fancies because she is bisexual has to abort interview because Dad (failed writer and home carer for the son he blinded) starts to drown out the interview by playing P. I. M. P at full volume on the stereo. Mum seems unconcerned; semi-sighted son takes beloved dog for a walk in the snow. When he returns dad is dead having either jumped or been pushed by his wife from the top floor of the chalet.

We now embark on a slow (reminded me of Michael Haneke direction) unravelling of a pre-trial build up with Mum's old friend (flame?) before the trial itself shift shapes endlessly as the story unfolds.

It's set in the French alps where French husband Samuel has forced his German wife Sandra to relocate. She speaks perfectly good French but insists they converse in English.

At the trial the court insists on French (but she drops often into English) and this ambiguity and fluidity of language is a powerful metaphor for the rules of marriage, how relationships are brokered, where the power lies.

At its core sits the simply incredible, often inscrutable, Sandra Hüller who's barely off screen. She has a script to die for, written by the director Justin Triet and Arthur Harari . In many ways it's the star of the show because it's so clever, moving and labyrinthine.

Then there's a mesmerising performance by 11 year old Milo Machado Graner, the semi sighted son who is the key to the whole story, but keeps his cards well hidden until the breathtaking denouement.

Frankly, the beautiful blue eyed pet dog deserves a mention too. You'll need to watch it to see why.

All in all it's a remarkable movie. The Haneke reference is deserved. The performances outstanding. Perhaps too slow in the first act, but by the end you'll be wanting more.

Don't go for popcorn entertainment. Go for philosophical human insight and intrigue. You'll thank me - if that floats your boat.

This is the 18th Martin Scorsese movie I've seen. And it settles firmly into the upper quartile of this remarkable director's work.

His range is immense and this sits closer to some of his American History documentaries than it does to, say, Gangs of New York or Wolf of Wall Street.

But it actually has its roots in Casino/Goodfellas territory, because it's a kind of mafia film too in that it explores a very one sided gang attitude to clansmanship (and in a small part Klansmanship).

It's actually a story of genocide/ethnic cleansing, as Robert Di Niro's (rarely better certainly not in the last 40 years) rich, ranch-owning, Oklahoman one-man dynasty sets out to wrestle away the oilfield rights of the Osage tribe of Native Americans by hook or by crook - mainly by crook.

The Osage are mightily rich because oil has been found slap bang in the middle of their land and Di Niro's William Hale is jealous and determined to get his greedy mitts on the money.

He does this in a pincer movement. Firstly by marrying his returning WWI war hero, a dim-witted nephew Ernest Burkhart (phenomenal played by Leonardo DiCaprio) into the Osage. His willing wife Mollie (a star turn by Lily Gladstone) is unaware of Hale and Burkhart's long term ambitions and simply falls in love with him. Truth is, it's mutual.

Hale's second strategy in this pincer is the straightforward murders of Mollie's family and many more Osage besides. There are numerous cold blooded killings that pepper the movie and yet it never feels gratuitous (cold blooded and shocking, yes, but not especially repellent - like it might have been in Tarantino's hands.)

It's a study in racism and of greed but that doesn't mean Di Niro, DiCaprio and Gladstone don't win you over with their overwhelmingly great performances - expect all three to feature at next year's Oscars (I expect Di Niro to pick up his 9th nomination, DiCaprio his 8th and Gladstone her first - maybe a first ever Oscar for a woman of Native American descent?)

Gladstone is a silent but steely presence. Much of the film documents her suffering at the hands of Hale and Burkhart, and it's truly shocking how DiCaprio treats her, despite his undoubted love for her.

It's widely documented that the film is extraordinarily long (3h26mins without a break is a bladder challenging sit through) but although it is features murders galore it's no action picture. Do not go looking for any Marvel escapades in this one folks. But it's manageable, riveting and entirely justified in its length.

One other thing to point out. The soundtrack is an almost imperceptible blues bass thrum by Robbie Robertson that builds tension at an almost inaudible level but is like a heartbeat throughout. Sinister and compelling it quietly drives the story along. Bravo Robbie.

The movie is a savage insight into a part of American history that was not familiar to me and it deserves to be seen by a wide audience. Judging from the low availability of seats in Edinburgh's cinemas this weekend that ambition at least appears to be coming to fruition.

Go see.

No show, apart from Succession, has so many Laugh out Loud moments in the true sense of the meaning. Martin Freeman, Daisy Haggard, Alun Armstrong are comic heroes and the innapropraite swearing is wondrous. Right from minute 1 of episode one in series 1 (a highlight).

The way the tensions build and fade. The outrageous interventions from deadpan Armstrong makes it a pure delight and the daft comments from Delightful mother in law Joanna Bacon make this a line up of strikers that would win any world cup.

This truly captures family life more perfectly than any other show (and I include Motherland). Simply superb.

In which Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach recycle their failed 30 minute Black Mirror idea and pad it out to a full two hour shaggy dog tale, of little or no consequence, whilst breaking the hearts of nine year old girls worldwide who flock in their millions to a movie that flies straight over their heads.

To be fair the first three minutes are awesome when they pastiche 2001 A Space Odyssey (but we'd already seen it in the trailer). And Margot Robbie is breathtakingly beautiful from start to finish.

Ryan Gosling's faye Ken is, by contrast, just a bit annoying, (and to be fair, so is Robbie) but neither are as gratingly garbage as Will Ferrell and his bunch of Mattel men.

Other highlights include Billie Eillish's stunningly gorgeous closing music which gets all existential on us.

The design is, to a point, quite fun but not consistently so and the morale of the story, or the political polemic about equal rights for women, does not fail to land, although it does so in a Groundhog sort of manner.

This is not a good movie. Gerwig, Baumback, Robbie and Gosling have all done significantly superior work. This is quite simply a bunch of talented people having a laugh and getting away with it.

Hats of to Mattel for allowing a lot of self deprecation on their part and to the profits it will have raised for their mighty corpioration.

But is this good cinema? No, it is not.

When the Oscars come round I don't think it will be Cillian Murphy that gets his shoulder tapped I think it could be Emily Blunt and Robert Downie Jr who plays Oppenheimer's would be nemesis, Lewis Strauss. Don't get me wrong, Murphy is good, just not truly great.

And that about sums up this overlong movie, good just not truly great.

The plot wriggles and writhes through timelines in such a way as to satisfy Nolan's trademark need for complexity and I have to confess to being confused for much of its three hours.

Also, if I was watching this as a Japanese viewer I'd be gritting my teeth at the overall celebration of the outcome of Oppenheimer's technical success. It treads a fine line between glorification and condemnation of the A Bomb that was dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima killing over 200,000 Japanese civilians.

And while Nolan coaxes a degree of remorse out of his central character I wasn't 100% convinced that he really did regret his actions. Sure he denounces them, to an extent, but he didn't go into this in wide eyed innocence, Oppenheimer absolutely knew his objective. The ethics are pretty muddled, like a lot of the plot in my view.

Ach, it's a hard one to deconstruct. I'm a little surprised at the ratings this movie is attracting because it's a long hard slog with a LOT of dialogue and not a great deal of action.

Perhaps the best scenes are the test sequences in the desert, the senatorial election drama at the end and the creepy but well handled rabble rousing reception Oppenheimer receives from his team on the news that Hiroshima has been obliterated. At least in this scene Nolan convinces us that it's not a celebration of the bombing, but an indictment.

Oppenheimer's vilification as a possible Communist is a central theme of the movie and is key to Strauss's objections and the 1954 kangaroo court FBI security clearance meeting which anchors the plot. There seems little evidence that he was a Commie, but the McCarthy regime at that time seemed to put little store in hard evidence and he clearly fared badly in this terrible stitch up.

Perhaps my favourite moment in the movie is the look of schadenfreude on the face of Strauss's advisor towards the end of the movie.

It's a delicious moment in a banquet that sadly has more plain fare than delicacies.

You probably know Michael J Fox is Canadian, made Back to the Future and has Parkinson's disease.

What you might not know is how resilient, brave, funny and charming he is.

What you probably don't know is he falls over a lot and walks like Billy Connolly doing the Glaswegian drunk man impersonation.

In this documentary that is brilliantly directed by Davis Guggenheim there are two stars.

Michael J Fox who narrates the movie, to camera, with his mangled voice often quite difficult to comprehend and Michael Harte, the editor.

It's a piece of magical illusion because somehow the directing/editing team have managed to piece together snippets of Fox's work to sit alongside Fox himself in 'telling the story'. It has echoes of my all time favourite documentary, 102 minutes that Changed America, in that it's essentially 'found footage that's used to tell the story. It's remarkable.

But at its core is the sad (not sad) sight of Michael J Fox, that lovable little scamp, at 61 looking like a wreck, but still, somehow defying the hideous encroachment of Parkinsons with dignity and humour.

It's very moving and it's very great.

I've been to see all four of the proper Evil Dead movies and also loved Raimi's Drag Me To Hell, but, of course franchises have a habit of going pear shaped so I approached this with caution.

It starts, as all the others do, in a cabin in the woods but quickly transfers to a creaking 13 story townhouse block in LA, approaching demolition, in which a single mum and her three kids are joined by her pregnant sister.

The 14 year old son discovers the dreaded "Book of the Dead" in an old vault in the basement after an earthquake strikes.

Of course that's the invitation for all hell to break loose.

The plot, from now on is kind of irrelevant, because we all know it's simply a battle for survival.

What the movie does with great pleasure is takes the Mum out first and turns her into the manifestation of evil which allows the splendid direction, SFX and script teams licence to play with family values as it becomes mum v the kids.

It's magnificently and outrageously cleverly gruesome with a few decent jump scares, but Evil Dead is really about veiled humour and this does not let us down.

One final point to make is the volume of fake blood needed to make this movie must have broken all production records. It truly is a blood bath and all the better for it.

Fantastic fun. And definitely not pear shaped.

There is so much to like about this movie.

(But only if you have an open mind.)

For a start there's the fact that Brandon Cronenberg is falling in his illustrious father's footsteps as a body horror director of considerable note.

Then there's the fact that it stars Mia Goth. I've only recently discovered her but I want to see her back catalogue. She was incredible in X and she is a stunning screen presence in this.

As horror's leading lady she is approaching modern day Karlofian proportions. If you don't know her and you have an appetite for non-mainstream interesting performers, she's the one for you.

Alexander Skarsgard is fantastic too, as the put upon, abused, confused writer who's one terrible novel is the hook by which Goth's character reels him into a cauldron of horror that becomes more and more Kafkaesque as each reel unwinds.

The movie's a druggy, hippy blast. A sort of R rated The White Lotus. Although even the White Lotus doesn't pull its punches.

In Infinity Pool consider no punches pulled. It's full on and brave. Really brave.

It's also folk horror so sits alongside Midsommer and The Wicker Man. Like them? You'll love this.

A bit long, I'll admit.

My other reference point in this, and a good one I think, is Austrian Director, Michael Haneke's, Funny Games. An unsettling horror that oozes class.

That's what this is and I highly recommend it.

Ignore the 1/10ers who don't know what they are talking about.

This snuck under the radar and has not been given the credit it deserves.

I'm amazed it wasn't firstly a stage play before it's movie theatre incarnation, and should be now because it will thrill in a theatre.

Of course, in a theatre it won't have Nancy, played by Emma Thomson, or Leo, played by Daryl McCormack, and that might be its outdoing because this movie relies on them absolutely and the viewer is rewarded with an acting masterclass.

It's electric from the opening moments and these two characters are critical as they have 98% of the movie's screen time.

It's billed as a romcom and it does indeed have some funny moments and arguably some romance. But it would be far better described as a psychological thriller (not in the slasher vein, but in the real sense in that it's about the psychology of sex and relationships, and it's thrilling).

It's thrilling because Emma Thomson is gobsmackingly great in the title role of a bereaved late 50's woman who married as a virgin and entered a martial sexual relationship that was as erotic as preparing a shopping list (indeed I imagine that's what she did during her conjugals).

Anyway, the husband is now dead and Nancy has embarked on a journey to discover what thrilling sex with a handsome, cool as hell, young, black Irishman might be like.

Well, she finds out, slowly but surely, as Leo and Nancy's professional relationship unfolds (professional because Leo is a sex worker, albeit a nuanced, subtle, listening type with a great line in fear reduction).

The tension is palpable throughout the movie as Nancy and Leo gradually deepen their relationship and talk about the untalkable in a script laced with pathos, dignity and a rare quality of writing.

It's very emotional. It's very compelling and it's very, very good.

Strongly recommended.

This beautiful documentary is nominated for the documentary Oscar, and I can see why.

It's a unique study of urban wildlife in one of the world's most densely populated, troubled and polluted cities, yet it teems with wildlife.

We see rats, wild pigs, cattle, camels, frogs, snails and owls, as well as the movie's avian heroes, Black Kites.

These revered birds are finding life tough in modern day Delhi, and as they fall, ill broken, from the sky in increasing numbers two brothers, in a makeshift domestic avian hospital, nurse them back to health and freedom in increasing numbers.

It's a slow reveal that some may find tedious.

Others, like me, will revel in its delicious unfolding of life, in abject squalor, in a Delhi slum. (And yet, I kept getting the feeling that this was a middle class neighbourhood we were witnessing/exploring).

The brothers, and their extended family, live in such a hovel that it's difficult to comprehend the work they do, or how they do it on such limited resources, on top of a day job, and the value this brings.

It's a wonderful exploration of nature as you have never seen it before, and deserves all the credit it is getting.

Damian Chazelle doesn't make bad movies (whiplash, La La Land, First Man) but much of what I'd heard about Babylon in advance of seeing (no experiencing) it for myself was less than complimentary.

Turgid, overlong, rambling, too strident and lacking a narrative.

Well, in my view, all of those criticisms are both unfounded and unfair, because Babylon is magnificent.

It's an epic story spanning thirty years, beginning in the silent era when Hollywood was in its most outrageous Klondike era.

The talkies would pivot the narrative when Al Jolson's Jazz Singer arrived, but for now anything went and that's where the movie begins in a lavish set piece piece that starts with a scatalogical Elephant episode and culminates, some 25 minutes late, in a drug fuelled frenzy at the end of all parties.

Then up comes the title credit, fully 25 minutes in.

It's jaw dropping and hilarious.

We then see the, also hilarious, growth of silent cinema where anyone with a mind, and a budget to do it, can do it. This is where Brad Pitt (a matinee idol in his final years) and Margot Robbie (a wannabe with talent and gumption) dominate proceedings with Robbie putting in a career high performance.

In the third act the story slows down considerably and assumes a narrative direction before all hell breaks loose in the penultimate chapter (it turns into a horror film, with a stand out cameo from Toby MaGuire, that morphs into a psychedelic episode that Kubrick would have loved, before reaching its Jazzy musical finale.

It's three hours of endless ideas, superb styling, sets and costume design.

In using Singing In the Rain as a central plot device, and theme for the movie's funniest sequence on an early sound stage, Chazelle treats us to his first real exploration of humour.

It's an homage, as the whole movie is, to the greatest days of hollywood. It's a comedy, a romance, a horror and a musical all rolled into one.

And the music. On my, fans of La La Land will enjoy the musical themes that run throughout and are a direct follow up to his first masterpiece.

I applauded the movie as the final curtain came down. It contains more ideas, more vitality, more chutzpah than anything I've seen for ages and I for one hope to see it rewarded at the Hollywood gongs night in the spring.

Bravo.

This promised to be a winning combination. Jessie Buckley written and directed by Alex Garland with music by Geoff Barrow (Portishead).

It is.

It's full on bonkers horror movie, folk horror I'd say where Wicker Man meets Friday the 13th, meets The Thing.

Bonkers really is the word.

Harper (Jessie Buckley) has retreated to a country manor to regroup after a nasty break up with her husband, very nasty it turns out, and meets the Fast Show-esque posho, red-trouser wearing owner of the manor, Geoffrey (Rory Kinnear), for a tour of the building before he departs. Played for laughs by Kinnear we start to relax until Harper's exploration of the local area throw up the shades of Wicker Man local population (all played by Kinnear) that indeed would not be out of place in The Fast Show but maybe more at home in one of the more eccentric Inside Number 9's.

Anyway, things escalate, Friday the 13th Kicks in for 15 minutes or so before the extraordinary finale in which men beget men.

Maybe Garland is saying that all men are the same (a strongly feminist outlook from a man) and he's not referring to their better qualities by the way.

Either way, Buckley again shows her acting chops off well in what is ultimately a throwaway chapter in her wonderful, multifaceted career. She's great and so is Kinnear.

As I said at the start it's bonkers, but gloriously so.

Men eh? You can't live with 'em, you can't live with 'em.

Despite the movie's understated style it has ended the year in a huge great ball of hype. A ball that might have rendered it disappointing in the flesh.

It's anything but disappointing.

It's not plot driven, far from it.

Really it's a mood piece that captures the innocence of childhood (the 11 year old Sophie's early moments of an impending puberty) and parental guilt (her divorced Dad, Callum, played beautifully by Paul Mescal).

Together this father and daughter team create a simply breathtaking and utterly believable rendering of how an unlikely couple would spend a week on a cut price package holiday from Edinburgh to Turkey in the 1990's.

As a Dad myself, it's incredibly evocative (OK, I don't carry the baggage of divorce with me) it also effortlessly captures the mood of early 1990's culture, including the rave scene, that I was too old for but totally 'get' its significance.

Although much of the relationship between the two is positive and really quite intimate there's an underscore of dread and jeopardy.

Something's gonna go wrong, right?

The movie has an unsettling mood, right from the off and, at times, this threatens to break the surface. Water is a constant theme in the movie, pools and sea that suggest drowning.

Drowning under the pressure of raising your daughter right, drowning under the pent up anger that presents itself again and again, subtly but scarily, like when Callum spits his mouthwash onto the bathroom mirror in the hotel. In the way he arrives with a broken wrist and then clumsily tries to remove it in a bucket of (again) water with a pair of nail scissors.

Is suicide imminent?

Sophie is charm personified, a bubbly (but not precocious) 11 year old played by 9 year old street find Frankie Corio.

What a performance. You know the kind. Never acted before and looks set to win awards. Effortless and completely believable and compelling.

Her adult self looks back on the holiday 20 years later looking for clues as to why what later happened might have happened. It's a forlorn search.

First time Scottish director Charlotte Wells has created a piece that reminded me somewhat of Lynne Ramsay's masterful Allan Warner adaptation, Morvern Callar.

But this is no me too. It has its own rich quality and introduces us to someone of Ramsay's greatness, straight out of the blocks.

Nothing short of magnificent.

What a performance. You know the kind. Never acted before and looks set to win awards. Effortless and completely believable and compelling.

First time Scottish director Charlotte Wells has created a piece that reminded me somewhat of Lynne Ramsay's masterful Allan Warner adaptation, Morvern Callar.

But this is no me too. It has its own rich quality and introduces us to someone of Ramsay's greatness, straight out of the blocks.

Nothing short of magnificent.

Jumpin' Jehoshaphat!

I'll start with a disclaimer. If you don't like musicals walk away now 'cos you ain't gonna like this.

If you DO like musicals you are in for one helluva treat when you tune into this baby.

Jeana and I devoured this last night in one big juicy helping. Howling with laughter and wide mouthed in astonishment at the quality of this brand new musical by Cinco Paul (writer of The Lorax and Despicable me).

It's a full on demolition of (but really adulation of) the musical theatre genre, specifically the 40's and 50's (Oklahoma, Kiss Me Kate, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, The Music Man) and the sixties (Godspell and Sound of Music).

The quality of the music throughout is outstanding, as is the choreography, but what makes the difference is to drop in a musical theatre hating character in one of the two central roles.

Built around the construct of Brigadoon (get the name? Nice Jewish take on it) a musical in which two American tourists stumble upon a mysterious Scottish village that appears for only one day every 100 years.

In this take on it the tourists are Josh and Mellissa two doctors who are falling out of love and are on an outdoors course to reconnect.

They get lost in a forest and, sure enough, in the mist is a bridge to what turns out to be Schmigadoon. Once over the bridge they cannot return to the real world until they have found true love. Will it be with each other or each with an inhabitant of Schmigadoon.

The opening song is a pure rip on Oklahoma's title song and a basket auction later in the series is a direct take on the key scene in the same. It's hilarious.

Every principle in this is outrageously funny, the script is camp and there's no shying away from the gayness of the genre and its leading men (not all male MT singers are gay, I should point out as a further disclaimer, but the odd one is known to be, including Alan Cumming who revels in his role as the coming out mayor).

Barry Sonnenfeld, director, looks like he's died and gone to heaven with this lavish production.

Everything, but everything in this pastiche is crafted with love. Even though it's an absolute pisstake at its core it's still reverential to the genre and, boy, if this made it to the stage it would sell out.

An absolute BANGER from start to finish.

Next up...Schmicago.

X is a superior horror movie. Clearly borrowing from the territory of Texas Chainsaw Massacre it manages to, nevertheless, be refreshingly original.

The premise is this. A (relatively) young young bunch of hipsters head out into the Texas countryside in 1979 having booked a cabin on a ranch in which to stay.

Their mission? To create a porno (or adult film as it was called in those days).

Upon arrival (and becoming apparent from a stopover at a petrol station that they are in Bible Belt and that sort of thing is not approved of) they are confronted by the owner of their accommodation. He's very, very old and has an itchy trigger finger on his shotgun and appears to have forgotten the transaction (it was pre airbnb days).

His (hidden) wife is even older, but it transpires she seems to have a taste for a bit of jiggy jiggy and soon enters the fray in a quite unexpected way.

Much carnage (and a fair bit of nudity) follow but it's funny in a way and it's nice to see 90 + year old serial killers getting their moment in cinema.

It's shot really well and Mia Goth is terrific in the lead.

Netflix. Recommended.

This is a quiet little understated number. A gem.

Set in rural Ireland in the 1860's and written by Emma Donoghue who penned the magnificent Room, it stars Florence Pugh (frankly, as far as I'm concerned she can do no wrong) and a young Kíla Lord Cassidy (13 -14 maybe) who has not eaten for four months as part of some sort of religious experience, feeding instead of miraculous "Mannah from Heaven".

It's a tight knit, despicable, Catholic-besotted community that are peasants in their beliefs and their behaviour.

The local council (including a splendid Toby Jones) bring in a nurse (Pugh) and a Nun to take 8 hour rotating shifts for two weeks to work out if this truly is a miracle or some sort of hoax.

The film centres on the young girl's fanciful fast and Pugh's wonderful caring nature as she tries to work out what's really going on.

The music's a problem but, that aside, it makes for a gripping drama and a genuinely unpredictable storyline.

I loved it.

Ingmar Bergman's 'The Seventh Seal' looms large throughout this ultra-black comedy set on a fictitious Island in the Irish Sea in 1923.

The futile Irish Civil War rages away on the mainland - not affecting our Island community, a community, and indeed movie, that my pal James McLaughlin and I both agree is a metaphor for Brexit Britain - an act of self harm like no other in modern nationhood's history.

We cut our national nose to spite our stupid face and that's what The Banshees is about.

The title itself is an antonym of the story.

This isn't a movie about screaming banshees, it's about silence.

It's also about depression and it works as a kind of virtual reality in that respect because the experience of viewing this magnificent beast is depressing in itself.

It ain't no In Bruges baby.

You won't be holding your sides gasping for air to breathe.

You might, however, as I was, be holding your breath still unable to breathe.

It's a stifling, magnificent ode to the importance of friendship, to male love (or in Christian terms Agape - the highest form of love, for God) because this film is all about the shattering of a deep, deep platonic love - in an instant - of two men who were as one for many years, perhaps all their lives, for no apparent reason.

Just like Brexit.

You know who those men are. And they do not let us down.

The biggest surprise is the Ursula Von Der Leven-like presence-of-mind and common-sense of the sister, Siobhan, played with grace and skill by Kerry Condon.

It's not that funny. It's not trying to be. But it's a fabulous insight into the futility of breaking up with those that were so close to you and the proximity of total disaster that might be the outcome.

It's great. (And it looks beautiful too by the way, oh and the music by Carer Burwell is pretty cool too.)

Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe Put your ray gun to my head Press your space face close to mine, love Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah!

This lengthy tribute to Bowie, approved by the family, is a masterclass in editing.

It features five main components; archival interviews, mixed quality live footage, clips from his movies, an exploration of his extremely great art and superb animation by Stefan Nadelman that glues the whole piece together.

Opening and almost closing with Hallo Spaceboy from the 1995 album Outside, it may seem a strange choice of song to anchor the documentary but it's a classic from Bowie's underrated later years and it thematically pulls together many of his space inspired tunes (Space Oddity, Major Tom and Blackstar) which also presents itself ambiguously, at first in the form of a CGI planet that recurs throughout the film.

The editing is surely Oscar nominatable and indeed the whole film is essentially an exercise in world class editing by its director, producer and editor Brett Morgen (who's work I am not familiar with).

It's an immersive experience with a largely chronological timeline, but no narration and is designed to please Bowie fans rather than the uninitiated.

It rocks. It's great. But if you ain't a Bowie fan this ain't for you.

"What am I meat? Room service?" says Marilyn as she's manhandled by the cIA down a hotel corridor to provide 'relief' for a President Kennedy deeply embroiled in the Cuban Missile Crisis in his fetching cream corset. As he discusses manoeuvres with an uncredited opponent on the phone he encourages Marilyn to get down to business. Romantic it is not.

Commodification of sexual desire, even with the most beautiful woman in the world, it most certainly is.

This film deals with the packaging of Marilyn Monroe as every man's greatest fantasy. As a studio asset and, yes, a piece of meat to be fed to the baying hounds as often as possible.

And Andrew Dominick portrays these hounds in several slo-mo ultra grainy, high contrast scenes where Marilyn is hustled through crowds of admirers, although they seem more like hunters, of middle aged men with big bloated mouths, sweating, grimacing, howling. It's horror incarnate. It's Eraserhead on steroids. It's frankly magnificent.

This is what's making people hate this magisterial movie. It ain't pretty, bubbly Marlyn Monroe singing Happy Birthday to the President all coy and boo boop de doo. It's the REAL Marilyn - actually, it's the real Norma Jean, drug addled, abused, raped, stripped naked (literally and metaphorically again and again), denied the child she so cherishes. Bullied by dominant, possessive, trophy hunting husbands (apart from the beautiful Arthur Millar played, like a ray of sunshine in the midst of Marilyn's tempest, by Adrien Brody). Although, the trauma starts not at the hands of men but through her mother's psychotic behaviour in Norma Jeane's childhood.

Her early relationship, in a menage a trios with Cass Chaplin and Eddie Robinson Jr (the sons of their famous fathers), is important as Cass takes a key role is the movie develops. It's sexy but dangerous, happy but formidable and it sets the pace for the objectification of Marilyn (Norma).

The haters hate this because, like Spencer last year, the gauze has been removed from the camera, denying the soft focus of Norman Jeane's tortured life and revealing the reality and it makes them uncomfortable.

I, on the other hand, think this is a masterpiece of film making, all that Andrew Dominik has hinted at in the past, brought together in a searingly great pot pourri of styles (with substance) and storytelling of the highest order. It's surreal in places, it shape shifts constantly from black and white to colour from full frame to square frame. It's graciously wrapped in the in and out beauty of Cave and Ellis at their most mesmerising.

It may be fictionalised, a reimagining of Monroe's life that was initially novelised by Joyce Carol Oates, but we all know it's really true.

And, to cap everything, it's got Anna De Armas at its core. No, not at its core. At its heart.

I'm not a big fan of impersonation movies, but I'll make an exception here.

De Armas looks nothing like Marilyn but, in a way, this is inherent in its magic because Marilyn looked nothing like Marilyn. Marilyn was a disguise, the real person beneath, Norma Jeane was no blonde bombshell, no sex siren.

De Armas is nothing short of breathtaking in this role, all whispery seduction one moment, raging diva the next, she reveals Monroe's hidden depths in a wonderful dialogue with Arthur Miller in which she unearths his first love in the script of a new play and using Chekov's Natasha as a reference point. Miller is smitten. We all are.

She effortlessly moves through every shade of Marilyn's personality triumphing at her most beautiful, but equally stunning us at her lowest points (and there are many).

This movie is a tough watch. It's not chocolate box in any way whatsoever. But it's a celebration of cinematic skill, especially Chayce Irvin's mesmerising photography (he's shot Beyonce before) of metaphor, of surrealism, of art, of beauty, of passion and I absolutely loved every second of its bulky hrs 46 minutes.

Bravo Andrew Dominik, Bravo Ana De Armas, Bravo Netflix.