Film Reviews by griggs

Elaine May’s A New Leaf is a frustrating example of studio interference diluting a filmmaker’s vision. While it has moments of charm, the final cut is a compromised version of what could have been a much sharper, darker satire. Walter Matthau’s Henry undergoes a clear arc, developing skills and a begrudging work ethic. Yet, Elaine May’s Henrietta remains stagnant—sweet, naive, and ultimately passive. It’s disappointing that the female lead is denied meaningful growth in a film directed by a woman during the New Hollywood era. The humour still lands, but May’s full version likely would have been more daring and rewarding.

Quiet, intimate, and profoundly moving, The Rider hits hard in the softest way. Brady Jandreau barely needs words—his face says it all. Chloé Zhao lets the story breathe, capturing loss, resilience, and hope in stunning, unforced moments. It’s slow at times but beautifully raw and deeply human.

A strange, dreamy film, floating between innocence and something darker. Framed by two suicides, it feels like a hazy, sun-drenched nightmare—beautiful but unsettling. The outback is both a paradise and a trap, and the characters drift through it like ghosts. Hypnotic and bizarre, but emotionally distant.

Watching One of Them Days alone in an empty cinema didn’t help its cause. A better atmosphere might have made the jokes land better, but as it was, I only laughed three or four times, and the rest felt like trudging through treacle. The film didn’t have the energy or spark to keep things moving, and much of the humour fell flat. That said, Keke Palmer and SZA were a superb double act—they had great chemistry and were easily the highlight. It’s a shame the rest of the film couldn’t match their charm. Just a bit of a slog, really.

This is a really enjoyable documentary about the one and only Twiggy, charting her rise from suburban teen to global icon. She tells her story, backed by a great mix of talking heads and well-chosen archive footage. It also dives into parts of her life I knew nothing about, though it leaves many questions unanswered. But Twiggy herself is such a joy—funny, warm, and effortlessly cool—that it’s hard not to get swept up in it all. It's not groundbreaking, but it's definitely entertaining.

A fascinating film—deeply subversive, almost horrific at times, and undeniably a feminist statement—but I couldn’t help but feel that its messaging could be overlooked. On the surface, it plays like a dreamy, sun-drenched tale of idyllic family life, complete with gorgeous bursts of colour. But beneath that, there’s something unsettling, even sinister, about the way it presents happiness as so fragile and easily replaceable. The way the story unfolds could almost be read as reinforcing that very French stereotype of affairs being an accepted part of life—just a natural thing that happens and isn’t questioned. It’s a film very much of its time, and while I appreciated its artistry, I didn’t love it as much as I’d hoped. Maybe I need to sit with it longer.

Night Moves is a solid neo-noir, but it never quite hits the heights it’s reaching for. Gene Hackman, though, is absolutely on fire—his performance as a washed-up PI is so good he pretty much carries the whole thing. The mystery is nicely tangled, full of dodgy characters and dead ends, but the payoff doesn’t hit as hard as it should. That said, the 1970s cynicism is laid on thick, and there’s a great, uneasy atmosphere throughout. It’s a good watch, but it's not quite the classic it feels like it’s building up to.

The final scene lets everything go—90 minutes of tension, then a burst of feeling like an unspoken scream.

Man Push Cart starts off intense—gritty, quiet, and real, so much so that you’d be hard-pressed to tell it apart from a documentary for the first ten minutes. It’s a film that draws clear inspiration from the neo-realist classic Bicycle Thieves, following Ahmad, a Pakistani immigrant hustling in Manhattan, just trying to get by. No big speeches, no over-explaining—just survival. Ahmad Razvi feels completely natural, and the lonely, early-morning city vibes hit hard. But then, it drifts into melodrama, losing the raw simplicity that made it work. It had so much potential to stay subtle but instead goes for predictable tragedy. Still, like Bicycle Thieves, its best moments capture struggle with heartbreaking honesty. Flawed but a solid slice of neo-realism.

Honestly, I think this film could be improved by adding some samurai. A fan of the original, I was hop ok Ng thus reimagining might add some depth, but it falls well short. 

This is a weirdly gripping yet clunky psychological drama with a horror-ish vibe. There’s not a single bad performance—Hepburn, Taylor, and Clift are all on top form—but the film gives you so much time to figure things out that, 25 minutes in, you’ve basically cracked it and are just waiting for the big reveal. There’s a nice bit of sexual ambiguity, and when it works, it really works, but in between, it just lumbers along, getting more ridiculous as it goes. Still, it’s entertaining in its own odd way, even if it takes its sweet time getting there.

Opus is absolutely ridiculous – and that’s probably the point. It’s one of those films that thinks it’s way smarter than it actually is, throwing in Midsommar-style cult weirdness and Blink Twice-esque discomfort but not doing either particularly well. John Malkovich is, of course, perfect for something this absurd. Still, even he can’t save it from feeling like a messy parody of better films. The only truly good thing here is Ayo Edebiri, who somehow makes every line work despite the nonsense around her. If it weren’t for her, this would be completely unbearable.

Despite being an ’80s film, Cutter’s Way radiates the spirit of ’70s New Hollywood—messy, cynical, and paranoid. Its neo-noir influences are unmistakable, with Jeff Bridges meandering through life. At the same time, John Heard’s unhinged, battle-scarred companion drags him into a conspiracy. And it’s not just Bridges’ appearance that makes it feel like a prototype for The Big Lebowski—his drifter is once again reluctantly pulled into intrigue by an intense veteran friend who makes Walter Sobchak look well-adjusted, just with more bitterness and less bowling. The plot takes a backseat to the mood; haunting, atmospheric, and deeply underrated, this slow-burn gem deserves far more recognition.

It’s incredible just how assured Ratcatcher is for a debut, you can see the beginnings of the world-class filmmaker she’d become. Ramsey’s eye for detail and atmosphere is stunning, turning 1970s Glasgow into something both grim and poetic. The film is tough but tender, full of quiet heartbreak and striking imagery. A haunting, beautifully shot coming-of-age story.

My Favourite Cake is a beautifully made, deeply moving film that captures the joys and heartbreaks of life in Iran and immerses the audience in the characters' experiences. It's warm and funny at times but ultimately leaves a lasting sadness. The film paints a vivid picture of everyday life, allowing the audience to explore loneliness, longing, and the quiet strength of its characters. At its core, Faramarz is more than just a man—he is a symbol of Iran's past. In Persian mythology, Faramarz is a heroic figure, representing courage, honour, and Iran's proud heritage. In the film, he feels like an analogy for the country itself, embodying a fading era where freedom, community, and dignity once flourished. His fate is a heartbreaking reflection of Iran's decline, the erosion of civil society, and the increasing indifference of the state towards its people. The film's exploration of love, loss, and resilience takes on a new urgency in light of the real-world consequences faced by its filmmakers. Directors Maryam Moghaddam and Behtash Sanaeeha have been imprisoned by Iranian authorities. Their passports were confiscated when they tried to travel for post-production, and they were interrogated for depicting scenes where the characters drank wine and danced, which were deemed unacceptable by the regime. My Favourite Cake is a brave, tender, and profoundly affecting film that carries weight far beyond the screen.