Film Reviews by griggs

What Hidden City lacks in terms of excitement, it more than makes up for it with its unique humour and flair. It's worth a watch alone to see hidden parts of London that are normally off-limits.

James Cagney, the actor who best embodied the vitality of big-city life, finds a surprising yet perfect role as the brash Irish-American composer and dancer George M. Cohan, laureate of the American Dream.

However, the outdated propagandist patriotism and the use of blackface create discomfort that demands critical reflection. These problematic aspects overshadow the film's entertainment value, making it a difficult watch today.

A masterpiece of sheer subtlety and restraint, the Coen brothers' debut film is a refreshing original take on a seemingly simple story. They have managed to turn a tale of a sleazy bar owner, a cheating wife, and a bumbling private detective into a complex web of unnecessary complications, showcasing their unique ability to add unexpected depth to a plot.

Robot Dreams is a gorgeously animated film that brings the colourful chaos of 1980s New York to life. The city’s bold, vibrant tones make a fantastic setting and serve as a backdrop that enhances the emotional depth of this profoundly heartfelt story.

The storytelling flows effortlessly, tackling complex emotions with grace. You’ll easily connect with the characters, such as the lovable robot protagonist and his human companion, on their journeys of self-discovery and friendship. You'll share their ups and downs, from heartwarming moments to tear-jerking scenes, a testament to the strength of great storytelling.

Robot Dreams is a film that stays with you, offering a contemplative look at the relationships that mould us. It’s a beautiful testament to the emotional impact of animation. This film is a must-see for its emotional depth, breathtaking visuals, and the nostalgic charm of its 1980s New York setting. However, it's a bit of a stretch to imagine NYC ever being that pristine.

The Petrified Forest sets the stage for high drama—Humphrey Bogart's brandishing guns, after all—but curiously, no one seems bothered. What starts as a hostage situation quickly turns into something far more talkative. Leslie Howard effortlessly steals the limelight, even with Bette Davis and Bogie in the room. The film drifts into philosophical musings and flirtations. It really shouldn't work—but it does, seductively so. A touch more peril might've helped, but it's oddly delightful.

The Amateur feels more like a gripping 1970s thriller than the usual bang-bang spy fare we get today. Even the big moments unfold steadily, which I quite liked. Much of it feels familiar—not just from the 1981 original but countless spy flicks and telly dramas. Shifty bosses, confused agents, and the odd twist. It's fun in the moment, but it fades fast.

Deep Blue Sea is what happens when a B-movie pretends to be a science lesson. It’s half disaster flick, half creature feature, and entirely bonkers. The plot is ludicrous, the dialogue ropey, and the effects haven’t aged well—but it’s hard not to enjoy the chaos.

A proper time capsule of late-’60s counterculture noodling—early De Palma, early De Niro, and not much else unless you enjoy curios with more ambition than coherence.

The Train might sound like another overblown ‘60s WWII caper—Nazis, loot, explosions—but it’s far more grounded than its setup suggests. Frankenheimer steers this one with a grim realism that cuts against the genre’s usual heroics. There are derring-dos, but they’re undercut by a raw, almost documentary tone. The direction is extraordinary; the way people just wander into the frame from all angles, the sharp blocking, and the sheer physicality of the train all feel real. So much so you can smell the steam, grease and cordite.

It’s also a proper resistance story, not just in the plot but in how it resists the clichés around it. Frankenheimer, coming off The Manchurian Candidate and Seven Days in May, was deeply in his paranoia era—authority is dodgy, survival is messy, and nobody gets out clean. The Train shares that DNA but replaces political gamesmanship with soot and sabotage. It’s got brains, brawn, and just the right amount of bleakness.

Holy Cow is a uniquely French coming-of-age film that juggles death, grief, adolescence, and cheese with surprising charm. It’s quirky, heartfelt, and sometimes a bit odd, but good, entertaining fun.

I really wanted to like this more. It’s handsomely shot, and Quinn hurls himself into Zorba like he’s auditioning to play chaos itself. But beneath the plate-smashing and raki-soaked “wisdom,” it all feels a bit smug.

Quinn as a Greek icon? Classic Hollywood logic: “ethnic is ethnic.” Greek, Arab, Mongol—the Mexican is your guy. It’s a passionate performance, sure, but also a relic of a time when bravado beat authenticity—just like the dancing, choreographed solely for the film.

Then the story takes a turn—into sexual violence and cruelty—and Zorba’s charm curdles fast. He claims to stand above the villagers’ backward ways, but he’s not so different. The film doesn’t seem bothered. That’s the most telling part.

It wants to be profound, but I found it life-affirming as a “Live, Laugh, Love” decoration with a hangover.

I expected a blunt “racist cop vs Black gang” Blaxploitation story, but this hit harder and deeper—messier, more human, and far more interesting. It’s less about crime than about survival in a system designed to chew people up. Harlem’s being torn apart by mob control on one side and a mostly white police force on the other, with Black lives caught in the middle of a war that’s never really about them.

No one’s clean. Mattelli’s a crooked cop, but you can feel the wear and regret in him. Pope plays it straight, but his hands are tied by a system that doesn’t reward integrity. Harris is terrifying and tragic all at once—a man shaped by brutality. The film doesn’t judge, and neither does the city—it just lays out the human wreckage.

And Harlem itself? A central character to the film itself. Collapsing, one brick at a time. Sirens, sweat, Womack’s funk—it all seeps in. A brutal and honest film.

There’s flair to burn here—a textbook case of style over substance—and the debt to The Warriors, The 10th Victim, and a stack of cult classics is paraded with smug pride. The Hall of Mirrors shootout shamelessly lifts from Welles’ The Lady from Shanghai, but at least it does it with some flair.

But the geography? Utter nonsense. One minute, we’re at Lincoln Centre; the next, we’re apparently teleporting to the Oculus, probably via Narnia. Then the PATH moonlights as the A train without any effort put into trying to disguise it? In a city that is this iconic, that’s not just lazy—it’s insulting. It’s like when a London bus to Hackney is filmed on a suburban street in Catford, hoping no one notices.

I went into Sinners knowing very little—on purpose. Just that Michael B. Jordan pulls double duty (which seems to be the trend this year—De Niro and Pattinson are at it, too), so I was surprised to find, put simply, that it’s a vampire film. But, of course, it’s not that simple. Instead, it’s a chaotic blend of crime, horror, and thrills, drenched in sweat, superstition, and the ghost of Robert Johnson’s meeting the devil at the crossroads.

The music drives everything—rhythmic, pulsing, and escalating like a heartbeat on the run. The first act is sluggish and generic, but it builds—gets wilder, faster, and much more fun. Once the action kicks off, it barely pauses for breath, making the entire first half feel irrelevant—as if we have been spoonfed a bum steer for an hour about the nature of the film.

However, as the story unfolded, I wished it tapped more into African vampire mythology, like Ganja & Hess, but it sticks pretty faithfully to the Euro-gothic rulebook.

It’s not perfect, but if you like your horror loud, loose, and a little unhinged, it’s worth a go.

A pretty perfect film, this. Gritty, grimy, and soaked in that ‘70s NYC grime—you can smell the sweat, smoke, and subway stench, and none of it’s pleasant. The plot might be a stretch, but the film’s so grounded you start believing every second of it. The dialogue crackles, the pace never lets up, and the cast is spot-on. You feel wedged right there in the carriage. Absolutely brilliant.