Film Reviews by Steve

This account of the assassination of SS official Reinhard Heydrich in Prague, 1942, stays close the historical facts, but never quite achieves the level of realism which is implied by the use of authentic locations, muted colours and understated performances...

And it takes a while to adjust to the actors speaking English with Czech accents. The assassins are played by a couple of Irish lads and while Cillian Murphy (Jozef Gabcík) may imply the darker side of zealotry, Jamie Doran (Jan Kubiš) is too lightweight.

It is respectful to the bravery of those involved in the mission, while also reflecting on the awful cost which followed as the Nazis took a bloody revenge on the people. So it works as a warning from history of the insanity of despots, and sometimes, nations.

There's a thoughtful script and it's well directed; the impression of fear and guilt is palpable. And who wouldn't be awestruck at the audacity of what the two soldiers did, whether or not it was ultimately pragmatic. But maybe this story is better told by the Czechs.

Michael Winterbottom has spent a lifetime directing films that look like something I really want to see but ultimately disappoint. Well this celebration of boomer nostalgia is the exception. It's a biopic of Tony Wilson, the impresario of Factory record and the Hacienda club in Manchester and for sixty minutes it's a riot of salacious gossip and crucial bands.

On the hour, Steve Coogan as the studio boss confides to camera that while F. Scott Fitzgerald may have observed that there are no second acts in American lives, there certainly was in his story. So rather than a soundtrack dominated by punk/new wave and Joy Division in particular... we get Happy Mondays. If only Wilson had signed The Smiths.

So the focus moves onto Wilson's quixotic incompetence as a business executive... and most of those anecdotes are legend, at least to anyone who bought the NME. And Happy Mondays are such unscrupulous wasters that they are harder to root for than a once in a lifetime über-talent like Ian Curtis, or the others who went on to form New Order.

If all that means anything to you, then this is a film to see. If it feels like pretentious student ******** then look elsewhere. Coogan is obvious casting in the lead, and is perfectly adequate. Personally, I wanted to see more of Paddy Considine as Joy Division manager Rob Gretton, but all the support roles are paper thin. Still, the music is mostly phenomenal.

Whimsical gangster/black comedy hybrid which generates Jim Jarmusch's usual surge of irony and eccentricity. Forest Whitaker stars as a quixotic mafia hitman who takes his doctrine from a 17th century samurai, which gives him the discipline and self-respect missing from the mob and his ghetto brothers.

But this is merely a first impression. Gradually the etiquette which appears to set him apart from the moral and urban decay is revealed to be an insane obsession. The code cannot raise him above the street sickness. Whitaker does well to make the ruthless, violent assassin even halfway appealing.

There is an overload of popular culture with the cartoons watched by the idiot mob goons, plus Ghost Dog's reading list, including the Rashomon story which offers some commentary on the action. And Jarmusch references screen gangster classics, most obviously Jean-Pierre Melville's Le Samouraï (1967).

There's the urban sadness of neo-noir, augmented by a funk/hiphop soundtrack from RZA. The mafia loves rap. And there's some reflection on modern tribal subcultures. It comes towards the close of the director's period as an arthouse superstar and it's not quite his best; but still a unique genre mashup.

* Includes racist language.

Deeply felt domestic drama about a marriage already in trouble, which cannot survive the stress of a parent's Altzheimer's disease and then is blown apart by the consequences of an accusation of assault. This is sensitive, intelligent, detailed, and eventually, explosive.

Asghar Farhadi also gives us a fascinating insight into another- Iranian- way of life, and of its women in particular. Scenes where citizens telephone the faith police for religious guidance on everyday occurrences will be deeply alien to most western viewers.

He organises the complex ethical situations with insight and technique, so they are rolled out with clarity, but also suspense. Increasingly we see the scenario through the eyes of a young daughter as she wakes up to the influence of hypocrisy on moral dogma.

This proves unexpectedly relatable, with a well chosen cast; and it won best foreign language film at the Oscars. But maybe it's a surprise the Iranian regime allowed its release, because this is an intense exposure of a society divided by sex, class, and yes, religion.

Set in 1964, this is a heartbreaking exposé of the real life abuse suffered by mostly very young women in the custody of the Catholic church in Ireland, who were deemed to have transgressed often in ill defined ways, and then disappeared into convent workhouses run as money making laundries.

The story focuses on the teenagers who are victims of rape, or had babies outside marriage. In one case a young woman who is sexually assaulted by a priest is kept silent by her incarceration in a mental asylum... where she soon died. The only possible response is to be utterly horrified.

So this cannot be evaluated as entertainment; director Peter Mullan made it because none of the survivors ever received any official acknowledgement. And some never left the laundries alive. It's social realism with fine ensemble performances. Geraldine McEwan is terrifying as the mother superior.

These institutions were not closed due to moral outrage, but because they ceased to be profitable. This is a reminder of the exploitation often visited on the poor and the vulnerable, even by those responsible for their care. If there was a hell, I expect these sisters of mercy would be welcome there.

In the background of Get Carter (1971) the northeast is looking for a new beginning in ersatz US culture and stateside business connections. And that is still the ignominious context of this Newcastle set neo-noir; only now the Conservatives have closed down heavy industry and the situation is even more desperate.

So a semi-legit New York investor (Tommy Lee Jones) arrives to spread a layer of corruption over the quayside, including the club run by a punchy local jazz enthusiast (Sting). Though this is more about the blue notes of a melancholy romance between Sean Bean as an Irish drifter and Melanie Griffith as the femme fatale.

It's not obvious why she's in town, but it's her narcotic sexiness which gives us the star charisma. This is the debut of writer/director/composer Mike Figgis, and he's best at the '80s noir atmos. It's this which most dates the film now but that won't matter for genre fans. The plot is sketchy and the characters insubstantial.

It's kept alive by the locations, and the thematic content which contends there is no future in the UK submitting to US exploitation; and there is more dignity in a symbiotic relationship with the new Europe- as implied by an off-radar visit by the Krakow jazz ensemble! Many years later, this remains as unresolved as ever...

This is one of the more successful in a wave of releases over the '90s-00s with fragmentary narratives which demonstrate the interconnectedness of things. So there are three stories linked by a gunshot in North Africa which has repercussions for an ad hoc network of individuals across the globe.

Cate Blanchett plays a wealthy US tourist in Morocco who stops the bullet and is bleeding in the desert while her husband (Brad Pitt) learns whether shouty entitlement will rouse medical aid from the embassy. Meanwhile back home their Mexican help (Adriana Barraza) is in strife with immigration.

And in Tokyo a deaf/mute teenager (Rinko Kikuchi) is compelled by her sense of profound isolation into delinquency. It was her rich daddy who gave the rifle to a Saharan hunter in the first place, so the connection is rather tenuous. But the point is... our actions may have unintended consequences...

More pitifully, Alejandro G. Iñárritu and writer Guillermo Arriaga show us a world in which everyone is desperate to be heard, but few are listening... where some languages may dominate the bandwidth. Ryuichi Sakamoto's instrumental coda says it best; no words, just a wall of spiralling aural sadness.

Ultra-stylish mood piece from arthouse writer-director Alan Rudolph's brief period of critical acclaim. It's an ensemble crime story which is much stronger on atmosphere and eccentricity than suspense. It should really have built up a cult following among noir aficionados, but hasn't happened yet...

Kris Kristofferson plays an ex-cop released from a stretch inside for murder, who goes back to Rain Town, which is Seattle made more noir by neon and drizzle and broken dreamers. He takes up the case of a beautiful young mother (Lori Singer) whose scuzzy partner (Keith Carradine) can't get a break.

So dad drifts into violent crime which transforms him into a decadent, narcissistic freak. Geneviève Bujold owns a diner where much of this ambient pessimism occurs and her customers exchange poetic aphorisms while served all day breakfast and coffee. Meanwhile, the army patrols the streets...

Which is curiously like the US now! The nucleus of all this fatalistic atmos. is the heartbreak torch ballads sung by Marianne Faithfull and scored by Mark Isham, including the title song, a blues standard from the 1920s. I love this stuff- and looking into Lori Singer's grey eyes- but it never found an audience.

Irresistible comic fantasy about the stages of bereavement which features a tour de force performance by Juliet Stevenson as a 20-something professional struggling to carry on after the sudden death of her longterm partner (Alan Rickman). So he comes back from the other side with a few of his ghost pals to help her get through the denial phase.

There is humour as the mob of deceased males moves into her flat to watch b&w films on the VCR... But it's also an absolutely sincere exploration of what loss feels like, conveyed by Stevenson in what amounts to a showcase. The scene in which she has an emotional meltdown in a session with her impassive therapist has stayed with me for years...

Not everything works. I cant really believe in the magician/psychologist (Michael Maloney) she hesitantly dates, which is strange in a story about a haunting. And as the yuppie couple, Stevenson and Rickman together are perhaps a little smug; though this is compatible with her growing acceptance that the loved one may not have been flawless.

Maybe not everyone will identify with their lifestyle, but surely most of those who have experienced grief will recognise the heartbreak. Amazing this was made for television- though it later went on general release- so the budget is clearly limited and it's in the old academy ratio. But no matter, this isn't merely an entertainment... it's a film which is loved.

Frothy-but-fun New York comedy-drama which, like Noah Baumbach films generally, makes some engaging observations on contemporary urban bourgeois lifestyle without actually being hilarious or profound. As usual, he owes a massive debt to Woody Allen, this time mainly Crimes and Misdemeanours (1989)...

Yet not quite in the same class. There are decent ensemble performances with Ben Stiller and Naomi Watts as married documentary film makers shaken out of their midlife rut by a younger couple in a hurry to succeed in the same field. Well, Adam Driver is; his kooky wife- Amanda Seyfried- makes ice cream.

Which may hint at a weakness. The script seems overextended for such a slender premise, and yet the female roles are underwritten. Plus Baumbach loses his self-assurance in the more dramatic material, which means he squanders a potentially clever final twist... Though the last shot in the airport is a doozy!

Maybe it's not reasonable to expect more when what we get is still okay. There are witty insights on millennials and social media. There's some acute commentary on what we lose as we get older and how that might not be a bad thing... Anyway, millennials are middle aged now; and this film is already a period piece.

Incredibly audacious and ambitious project filmed over 12 years, with its actors getting older in real life just as their characters do in the film. So in a very special way it may be the most authentic coming-of age picture ever made.

And it was a commercial and critical breakthrough for writer-director Richard Linklater. Ellar Coltrane grows up on the screen from age 7-18; infant school to university. And in what must have been a risk, he holds the focus of the story.

The whole cast is outstanding. Ethan Hawke brings the charm as an irresponsible slacker dad, but the emotional centre is Patricia Arquette as the heroically steadfast mother. You might take her for granted too... until she makes you cry....

No gimmick this, it's a unique, detailed and poignant portrayal of childhood; its joys and its threats. And also... as much about being a parent. The later duologues are classic Linklater. My only minus- his standard score of US radio rock.

This sequel to Guy Ritchie's action-adventure Sherlock Holmes (2009), is marginally the pick of the two. The Holmes-Watson combo has always been a resilient formula and here they adapt pretty well to the Hollywood blockbuster. There is a lavish production with elaborate period detail and A list stars.

Robert Downey is debonair and just a little camp as Holmes, with Jude Law maybe the most competent Dr. Watson, ever. Crucially they share an abundance of screen chemistry. The consulting detective isn't exactly made-over into a superhero whose special skill is logical analysis. Though there's some of that...

But there is more brawling than deduction. Arthur Conan Doyle's Baker Street immortals must be spending considerable time in the gym. The plot is humdrum, with little of the outré whimsy of the stories. Though the scriptwriters clearly know their way around the canon and even include some authentic dialogue.

Jared Harris stands out in the support cast as an excellent Professor Moriarty But- as ever- it's the eternal alliance between the great detective and his ever loyal-sidekick which makes this most worth seeing. Whatever situation or period they are called into, they survive; the most durable bromance in fiction.

Ultra-chic lifestyle romance which is the Kong Kong version of what the French were calling the cinéma du look about a decade earlier. There are a couple of loosely linked stories about two jilted street cops who eat at an express noodle shop in the heart of the sad/lonely/cool metropolis...

But it's mostly the photography we're watching: the smears and blurs of Chris Doyle's hyper-mobile expressionist camerawork which captures the nonstop hustle of the neon lit central business area; a zone of speeded up commerce, which spills over into the black market trade in cocaine.

There isn't much else going on in the first story in which Takeshi Kaneshiro assuages the departure of his steady live-in girlfriend by collecting tinned pineapple about to expire. The second is better with Tony Leung losing the love of a sexy flight attendant but gaining a kooky fast food server.

The quirky Hong Kong humour doesn't really crossover, but the soundtrack is mostly western- including some actual Jamaican reggae! There's an impression of urban isolation, as well as the bittersweet atmosphere of being young and photogenically alone in the chaos of the human jungle.

Gloomy melodrama adapted from a bestseller by Stephen King, which eventually delivers a frisson of real-life horror. It stars Kathy Bates who won an Oscar in 1990 for Misery, based on another of the author's novels. This is technically really well made, so there was clearly some money on board, with the editing a main standout.

When a tough, gnarly housekeeper (Bates) is caught about to stave in her dead employer's skull with a rolling pin, she is charged with homicide and her estranged daughter (Jennifer Jason Leigh) drives back from New York to a fishing town in Maine to see what's up. The film is made up of flashbacks into their long ago conflicts.

The case is investigated by the cop (Christopher Plummer) who years earlier accused the mother of murdering her drunken, violent husband (David Strathairn). The revelation of the extent of the father's abuse is pretty harrowing and gives the film a big payoff. And we are reminded of the eternal burden and sorrow of the female sex...

The complex timeline is well organised, and director Taylor Hackford gives the sombre melodrama some welcome polish. The main weaknesses are a folksy script and the idiotic inquest scene. In the studio era it's the sort of picture which might have starred Bette Davis or Joan Crawford, but obviously this is so much more explicit.

If the popular Amicus anthologies of the '60s and '70s were imitations of the horrors made at Hammer studios, then this is a complete ripoff of those copies. It's an independent production, which employs all of the trademarks of the Amicus films, and also their go-to director, Freddie Francis

Consequently, the four extraordinary tales- plus frame story- are competently shot. The problem is the quality of the plots, which were written by longtime UK support actor Jennifer Jayne on her screenwriting debut. Only the gruesome final instalment about a virgin sacrifice is really worthwhile.

The cast is game despite the poor script, and there's even an ex-Hollywood star in Kim Novak, as the mother of the murdered teen. There is some hokey fun in the link story with Donald Pleasence as a mad shrink who relates all these crazy scenarios to Jack Hawkins, in his final screen appearance.

The episodes about a child's pretend tiger, and a time machine bicycle might easily have been thrown out, but the horror omnibus approach means they barely exhaust their novelty value. But note- Amicus had already made something similar but much better a year earlier, with Asylum.