Film Reviews by griggs

Watching "The Scent of a Woman" without any prior knowledge of its story was a wonderful surprise. Al Pacino's performance as the blind Lieutenant Colonel Frank Slade showcases his incredible versatility, earning him an Oscar and leaving a lasting impression with his iconic "Hoo-ahh!" exclamation, which I now feel compelled to incorporate into my everyday vocabulary. The film's exploration of friendship and redemption, alongside Chris O'Donnell's role as the young student Charlie Simms, creates a poignant and transformative narrative. The direction and cinematography further enhance this emotionally resonant story, making "The Scent of a Woman" a must-watch.

Béla Tarr's Werckmeister Harmonies is a haunting exploration of societal chaos and human despair that feels disturbingly relevant in light of the current right-wing demonstrations and riots targeting ethnic minorities and asylum seekers in England.

The film, set in a bleak Hungarian town, depicts the unravelling of social order as fear and violence take hold, mirroring the divisive and inflammatory rhetoric prevalent today. The stark black-and-white cinematography and slow pacing create an atmosphere of oppressive inevitability, heightening the film's impact as it reflects the fragility of our societal structures.

Watching Werckmeister Harmonies now, against the backdrop of the riots, makes the film's depiction of mob mentality and xenophobia even more chilling. The protagonist, János Valuska, symbolizes a desperate attempt to restore harmony, resonating deeply as a poignant reminder of the consequences of division and hatred. Tarr's masterpiece not only challenges us to confront the darkness within our societies but also underscores the urgent need to seek out harmonies to save us from ourselves.

I Saw the TV Glow is a film that left me teetering on the edge of indecision. As the credits rolled, I grappled with a simple yet profound question: Was this the best or worst film of the year? Ultimately, I realised that the film’s impact was more complex than a binary judgment could capture. Some films aren’t universally accessible—not due to their themes, but because of the unique methods they use to explore those themes. This film, with its unique methods, is a prime example.

I watched I Saw the TV Glow as the London Trans Pride March passed by the cinema. The energy and sense of community from the march stood in stark contrast to the isolated, introspective experience of the film. This juxtaposition heightened my appreciation for the film’s profound exploration of identity and perception, engaging me even more in the film’s unconventional narrative device.

The concept of a programme within the film that we as an audience aren't privy to was a bold narrative choice. While I enjoyed this exploration, I needed help to stay engaged. The layers of storytelling, while intellectually stimulating, often felt like a barrier rather than a bridge to understanding the characters and their journeys.

Despite this, there’s a particular brilliance in the film’s willingness to challenge its audience. I Saw the TV Glow dares to push boundaries and provoke thought, even if it alienates some viewers. Its daring narrative choices and thought-provoking themes make it a cinematic revelation for those who can embrace its idiosyncrasies. For others, like myself, it’s easier to admire from a distance than to fully embrace.

I Saw the TV Glow may not be a film for everyone, and that’s precisely its strength and weakness. It defies easy categorisation, demanding both attention and patience. Whether it’s the best or worst film of the year is a question I’m still pondering, but perhaps that’s the point. It’s a film meant to linger in the mind and be debated and dissected long after the screen darkens.

Bo Burnham's Eighth Grade packs a punch, much like a condensed version of Richard Linklater's Boyhood. While Boyhood focuses on 12 years of life, Burnham's film zooms in on a one-week, anxiety-filled window into the life of a highly relatable teenager played by Elsie Fisher. The depiction of adolescence, from the constant popularity contests that are teenage life to the stress of social media and awkward parties, the film is so raw that it's impossible not to be moved. Elsie Fisher's performance is outstanding, making you wince, laugh, and even shed a tear while simultaneously cheering for her throughout. Eighth Grade is a sharp, funny, and heartfelt snapshot of teenage life.

Godzilla vs. King Kong (1963) is the kaiju showdown that stomps its way into the history books and our hearts. Yes, the King Kong suit is as laughably awkward as you’ve heard. It looks like a sleep-deprived apprentice with a grudge stitched it together, but that’s precisely why it’s so endearing. These two giant monsters aren’t just brawling—they’re giving us the most hilariously epic therapy session ever, with a side of city-smashing. The final battle? It’s not just chaos; it’s a pure, unfiltered cinematic absurdity that makes you wonder what the filmmakers were drinking. If you’re into monster movies or just appreciate a film that’s so delightfully over-the-top it practically winks at you, this one’s a must-watch. It’s like watching Cyril the Swan and Zampa the Lion, go at it again, but after a few too many drinks—utterly ridiculous and absolutely glorious.

The film follows Monty (Edward Norton) as he spends his last 24 hours before surrendering himself to enter prison, bidding farewell to friends and family.

Despite Edward Norton's strong performance, the film features an overblown sequence in which Monty delivers a non-PC rant against various ethnic groups in New York, which could have been a landmark performance if it wasn’t undercut by a less impactful, sentimental, and fantasised ending in which these same groups support him.

The result was a self-satisfied film that I found largely disappointing.

As someone who admittedly struggles with sci-fi, I was surprised by how much I appreciated the film's exploration of the philosophical tensions between science and theology. The central debate, which pits empirical evidence against faith, is thought-provoking and adds depth to a visually impressive spectacle. However, the film is undeniably overlong. They say that if you can cut 10% of a film, you should cut 20%, and Contact would undoubtedly benefit from some serious trimming. The pacing sometimes drags, with scenes that contribute little to the overall narrative.

The timescales depicted in the movie also strain credibility, adding another layer of unbelievability to a story that already requires a significant suspension of disbelief. This detracts from the film's impact, making it harder to fully immerse oneself in the story.

As for Jodie Foster, while she is undoubtedly a great actress, this performance feels weaker than her other roles. Her portrayal of Dr Ellie Arroway lacks the nuance and emotional depth that might have elevated the character beyond the somewhat formulaic role the script offers.

This is a film with interesting ideas and spectacular moments. Still, it ultimately falters due to its bloated runtime, unrealistic timelines, and a performance from Foster that, while competent, doesn't reach her usual standards.

This Korean horror film presents some truly intriguing concepts, exploring whether the phenomenon at its core is sleepwalking or possession. While the first two acts may feel somewhat slow and repetitive, with the tension primarily arising from occasional jump scares in what initially seems like a medical procedural, the third act is exceptional. However, this film is more than just a suspense thriller or a ghost story. It weaves in a deeper narrative, lamenting the erosion of the traditional culture in Korea, which adds a sombre yet exhilarating dimension to the overall experience.

The first time I watched the film (on a copy from Cinema Paradiso), its storytelling completely mesmerized me. However, the poor quality of the recording at times made it difficult to follow the storyline. Fortunately, I found a restored version funded by MoMA that completely transformed my viewing experience. The improved clarity and sharpness of the images made it feel like I was discovering the film anew and enhanced the scenes' emotional impact. It truly is an extraordinary piece of cinema.

Crossing, directed by the brilliant Levan Akin, is a mesmeric film that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll. Akin's masterful direction makes the film entirely character-driven, focusing intently on its protagonists' intricate lives and relationships. Instead of relying on the stunning backdrop of Istanbul to carry the narrative, Akin uses intimate close shots to draw the audience deeply into the characters' personal journeys.

This approach creates an unparalleled sense of immersion. The camera's unwavering attention to the subtleties of expression and interaction makes you feel as though you are not merely watching a film but intruding on genuine moments of connection and conflict. The effect is a visceral experience of human emotion, rendered with a rare authenticity.

The acting is nothing short of incredible. Each actor delivers a convincing performance that blurs the line between fiction and reality, making you feel like an interloper in the scene rather than a mere spectator. Their portrayal of complex emotions and relationships is nuanced and powerful, contributing to the film's profound impact, leaving you deeply moved and affected.

Crossing is a testament to Akin's visionary direction and the exceptional talent of its cast. It is a beautiful film that captivates the heart and mind, offering a profoundly human story that resonates on multiple levels, making you feel deeply connected and understood.

Watching My Neighbor Totoro in its subtitled version on the big screen was a thoroughly wonderful experience, allowing me to appreciate the film as it was originally intended. The enchanting story of two young sisters befriending mystical forest spirits, especially the gentle giant Totoro, is brought to life with beautiful animation and a heartwarming narrative. Studio Ghibli's masterful artistry and storytelling are evident in every frame, creating a magical, immersive world that captivates both children and adults alike. Seeing it in its original language added an authentic touch, enhancing the charm and emotional depth of this beloved classic.

Show Me Love captures teenage angst and awkwardness with charming authenticity. The wooden performances and predictably cliché plot offer a nostalgic trip down memory lane. Suppose you want to relive the cringe-worthy moments of adolescence. In that case, this film delivers it all with a touch of endearing clumsiness.

Oh, MaXXXine, what have you done? The film, which promised to be the grand finale of the X series, instead delivers a masterclass in mediocrity. With a plot so thin you could see through it, characters more lifeless than mannequins, and dialogue that could put an insomniac to sleep, MaXXXine truly redefines the term "disappointment." It's almost impressive how a series that began with such promise and rose to acclaim with Pearl could nosedive so spectacularly. What a sad end to a trilogy that had the potential to be so much more, leaving us with this sad, sorry excuse for a finale.

Chariots of Fire is a film that is just good enough to keep you awake, offering a moderately paced exploration of early 20th-century British runners. While the iconic Vangelis score might have you feeling like you’ve stumbled upon a vintage synthesizer convention, the story itself plods along like a leisurely jog rather than a sprint. Harold Abrahams’ plotline of overcoming antisemitic prejudice simply because he can run fast is a subtle reminder of how bigotry can be defeated by wealth. The characters are charming in a stiff-upper-lip sort of way, and the period costumes, so authentically drab, will transport you back to the early 20th century. It’s a solid choice if you’re in the mood for some light historical drama that won’t leave you breathless.

Ah, The Blair Witch Project, what a masterpiece of shaky camera work and incoherent mumbling! Who wouldn't want to spend 81 minutes watching a group of 'actors' stumble through the woods, pretending to be scared of stick figures and piles of rocks? The innovative decision to never show the witch was a stroke of genius, leaving audiences with the thrill of using their imagination to conjure something scarier than the film itself. And let's not forget the nausea-inducing cinematography, perfect for those who enjoy feeling seasick in a cinema. Indeed, it is a groundbreaking piece of cinema that redefined the limits of patience.