Film Reviews by griggs

Earnest, beautifully shot and heartfelt, Into the Wild captures the allure of escape but sometimes feels too self-serious for its own good, leaning on self-mythologising. Emile Hirsch gives it his all, but Penn’s direction sometimes drifts into ponderous territory, allowing the film to meander more than it inspires. Still, it undeniably affecting places.

A quietly devastating drama that starts strong but loses its way in the middle. The second act really drags—like wading through grief with lead boots—and I began to check out. The third act brings some much-needed energy, but it’s such a sharp left turn it borders on unbelievable. It feels like a different film after all that raw, grounded emotion. That said, Sissy Spacek is quietly ferocious, and the much-missed Tom Wilkinson is magnetic—even if his accent does wander. Their performances are the anchor here, pulling you into their pain. Flawed, but there’s something in it that stays with you.

Birth is eerie, elegant, and just a bit bonkers. Glazer directs with icy precision—long takes, hushed dialogue, and a camera that drifts like a ghost. Mood takes precedence over plot, wrapping you in grief and dread until reality starts to blur. Kidman is quietly mesmerising, and the whole thing feels like a dream you only half-remember but can’t shake. It doesn’t always land, but when it does, it’s properly haunting.

Bleak and beautiful, Black Dog lingers in the dust of a soul-starved desert town. The harsh, unforgiving landscape mirrors its loner protagonist—both worn down, both shut off. But as walls crack, so does the terrain. What starts as stark isolation slowly softens into something unexpectedly tender. Quietly mesmerising.

Total Recall is a gloriously over-the-top sci-fi that thrives on its gritty, tactile world. The practical effects are next-level—chunky sets, wild prosthetics, and costumes that feel worn rather than designed. It makes today’s CGI-heavy blockbusters look sterile by comparison. There’s a real argument this could be the peak of effects-driven filmmaking. Arnie does what Arnie does: brilliant when blasting baddies, less convincing when trying to deliver a heartfelt line. Still, it’s endlessly watchable.

Le Doulos had me from frame one—hooked, locked in, and loving every shady second. This is French New Wave so effortlessly cool; it makes classic Hollywood noir feel like it’s trying too hard. Melville doesn’t just tell a story; he builds a labyrinth where every character is a cypher, and every conversation is a potential double-cross. It demands total attention. Blink, and you’re lost. But that focus means the film’s visual style sneaks up on you—gorgeous, shadow-drenched, and razor-sharp–with no time to comprehend what you have seen until the movie ends.

Belmondo oozes charisma, but the whole cast crackles. Reservoir Dogs, The Usual Suspects, and Heat pull from this cold-blooded template. And that ending? Pure noir poetry. It flips everything on its head and dares you to watch it again.

Melville’s masterpiece feels like noir’s evolution—less jazz hands, more psychological warfare. It’s slick, stylish, and devastating. If you’re serious about crime cinema, this one’s non-negotiable.

Scarface is a cracking slice of Prohibition-era chaos—surprisingly brutal, even by today’s standards. For a film that barely shows a drop of blood, it still manages to leave you reeling with implied violence and ruthless energy. Paul Muni’s a livewire, chewing up the screen as a gangster on the rise, and Hawks directs like he’s got dynamite in his back pocket. The action zips along, and the body count stacks up without having to spell it out. But those moralising interludes—weird, preachy fourth wall breaks that suck the life out of the film—are an early symptom of the Hays Code, which demanded changes tacked on to condemn gangsterism and forced a different ending. A shame, really, as those changes convinced me to hang up my Tommy gun and go straight—now I just do white-collar crime like everyone else. 

Two-Lane Blacktop is a cult classic that plays like a slow, meditative drift through a fading America, a cinematic time capsule—lonely, stripped down, and oddly beautiful. Dialogue is sparse, almost awkward, and the soundtrack is essentially absent. Instead, the roar of the engines carries the mood, pulsing through every frame like a heartbeat. It’s often grouped with Easy Rider, Vanishing Point, and Electra Glide in Blue, but this one’s quieter, colder, and more distant. A film that doesn’t explain itself—and doesn’t care if you get it or not.

The Fly is part sci-fi, part horror, with Vincent Price raising a perfectly arched eyebrow throughout. It's classic 1950s atomic-age paranoia—where science promises paradise, then immediately creates a monstrosity. Think Godzilla meets Quatermass but with teleportation pods and a bloke in a giant papier-mâché fly's head. The middle is a bit of a slog, and Cronenberg's remake upped the goo and budget. But that ending? Mental. "Help meeee!" is still one of the creepiest payoffs in horror. Flawed, yes—but iconic. Pure late-night movie gold.

The Dresser is a bit of an odd one – very theatrical (obviously), but that's part of the charm. Finney's great as the cranky old actor coming apart at the seams, and Courtenay, as his long-suffering sidekick, quietly brings the heart. Some bits drag, and it leans into melodrama, but the stagey vibe keeps things oddly compelling. It's not without its flaws, but it will keep you captivated and absorbed.

Tombstone certainly looks the part; dusty saloons, thunderous shootouts, and all the trappings of a tremendous Western—but it's a bit of a muddle. There's a great film buried beneath too many characters and some choppy editing. However, Val Kilmer's performance is the clear standout, stealing scenes with a sly grin and death in his eyes. Watching it in the wake of his sad passing, his portrayal of Doc Holliday is a must-see. The story never quite finds its centre, but Kilmer's performance nearly makes it worth the ride. Watchable, sure—but it never quite lives up to its potential.

Scala!!! is a joyous, bittersweet love letter to one of London’s most iconic cinemas, a haven for misfits, cinephiles, and rule-breakers. The documentary bursts with energy, much like the venue itself must have in its heyday, capturing the wild, chaotic spirit of a place where censorship laws were gleefully bent, double bills reigned supreme, and the audience was as much a part of the show as the films on screen. Regret hangs heavy for me, though – I was too young to experience the Scala. My first encounter with it was seeing the building abandoned and forlorn, its magic long gone, awaiting transformation into its latest guise. This film lovingly rekindles that magic, unearthing incredible archive footage and heartfelt anecdotes from those lucky to have lived it. It’s not just a celebration of a cinema but a poignant reminder of the cultural spaces we’ve lost – and a powerful call to action to protect those that remain.

Dev Patel's Monkey Man is a remarkable film, a testament to his multifaceted talent. As a feature-length directorial debut, it stands out for its captivating narrative and the assured direction that Patel brings both in front of and behind the camera. The film is a tale of two halves, each distinct yet seamlessly intertwined, making for a dynamic and engaging experience.

The first half immerses the audience in a richly textured world, setting up an intriguing story with depth and complexity. The second half ramps up the tension, delivering gripping action and emotional payoffs that leave a lasting impression. Patel’s performance is equally compelling, showcasing his versatility and command over the craft.

A special mention must go to Jordan Peele, whose involvement in the project was pivotal. After the film had been dropped by other studios, Peele's decision to pick it up was a masterstroke, ensuring that this unique story reached the audience it deserved. His faith in Patel's vision has paid off, resulting in an entertaining and thought-provoking film.

Monkey Man is a must-watch, signalling the arrival of Dev Patel as a formidable director and reaffirming Jordan Peele's eye for exceptional cinema. This collaboration has produced a film that will resonate with audiences and critics alike.

Challengers is a steamy mix of tennis and tangled love lives. Zendaya plays a coach who, in a bid to boost her husband’s career, tosses him into a tournament—only for her ex-boyfriend to stir the pot. The film shifts between past and present, adding layers of drama and desire. It’s not the spicy rom-com the trailers suggest, but it’s still a satisfying serve of lust, love, and a killer soundtrack. Who knew tennis could be this seductive?

Unfrosted makes a valiant attempt to tell the not so factual origin story of Pop-Tarts. Hugh Grant tries his best to class up the proceedings with his effortless charm and well-placed winks at history and pop culture. Still, Jerry Seinfeld's signature smugness derails the humour at every turn. It's as if he's too busy patting himself on the back to land the punchlines. Grant, meanwhile, glides through the film like he's in on a better joke that no one else gets, making his performance the one saving grace in this half-baked venture.