Film Reviews by griggs

Yellow Submarine is a gloriously trippy oddity fuelled by breezy imagination and Beatles charm. It really shouldn’t work—the story’s paper-thin, the pacing’s baggy, and it often vanishes into pure self-indulgence—yet somehow, it pulls you along with a daft grin. The visuals are wild, and, of course, the songs are great. The whole thing feels like a cheerful fever dream. It's fun to experience once, for sure, but it's more a colourful relic than essential, life-altering cinema.?

Bong Joon Ho’s Mickey 17 is a thrilling sci-fi journey that effortlessly juggles humour, horror, and heart. It’s a rollercoaster of entertainment, not as weighty as Parasite, but an absolute joyride—brimming with energy and jaw-dropping production design that makes every frame pop. Robert Pattinson does his usual thing, blending charm with quiet torment, but the real stars here are Mark Ruffalo and Toni Collette.

Ruffalo is on another level, playing the villain with a perfect mix of tech-bro arrogance and full-blown cult leader madness—part Trump, part Musk, part David Miscavige, and just unhinged enough to feel all too real. In today’s world, people will be projecting their least favourite political figure onto him for years. Collette, who’s way too often underused, goes full scene-stealer here, bringing a wicked stepmother-meets-pantomime villain energy that cranks up the fun.

Bong, as always, directs with masterful ease, balancing big ideas with blockbuster spectacle. Beneath the dazzling visuals and creeping horror, there’s real emotional weight too. Mickey 17 might not be Bong’s deepest film, but it’s a slick, endlessly entertaining sci-fi romp that promises to be rewatched and dissected for years to come.

Shock Corridor is a brutal, fascinating dive into America's cracked soul, stitched together with Fuller's sweaty, claustrophobic energy. The mental hospital setting isn't just grim — it's a gnawing, ugly trap that feels like it might pull you into the madness yourself. Fuller rages against a country buckling under a mental health crisis, racism, PTSD, nuclear dread, and the hollow cheapening of human life for fame. Its relevance to current social issues is striking, making it a messy, blunt, and completely gripping film — the sort that shakes you up, leaves you slightly rattled, and demands you sit with its raw, angry truths.

Drop starts promisingly enough, but it quickly runs out of steam. The second act is a slog—just the same argument on repeat, like a broken record bumping into itself. No one on a date would actually stick around for this nonsense. The final ten minutes go full bananas (kind of fun, I’ll admit), but by then, the damage is done. Meghann Fahy is the one saving grace, grounding it all with a performance far better than the script deserves.

Spring Breakers has plenty of ambition, but it’s a messy ride. On the surface, it’s all bikinis, booze, and bad decisions, but dig a little deeper, and there’s something genuinely dangerous lurking. It clearly wants to point the finger at the debauched American Dream. Yet, it misses by a long mark, ending up glamorising misogyny, toxic masculinity, and violence. Franco is properly terrifying as Alien, but even the Pussy Riot-inspired costumes can’t save the film’s confused message.

Santa Sangre is a gloriously demented circus of trauma, control, and religious rot. Jodorowsky throws everything at the wall — blood, elephants, armless mothers — and somehow, most of it sticks. The film’s symbolism is a proper Gen-X fever dream: growing up broken, realising your idols are frauds, and trying (badly) to claw your way free. It’s Psycho on a punk acid trip.

The circus imagery nails the feeling of life being an endless, grotesque performance, and the whole mother-son dynamic is pure, undistilled nightmare fuel. It’s messy, no doubt, and occasionally too up itself to land a real punch, but when it works, it’s unforgettable. Despite all the surreal madness, this is probably Jodorowsky's most accessible—the emotional through-line (trauma, control, liberation) is surprisingly clear under the chaos.

It's not quite a masterpiece, but it's definitely a one-of-a-kind experience. It's worth it if you like your films strange, sad, and a little bit stabby.

It is a sumptuous and beautiful film, but I can't help but think that Uber Eats would have been easier. Who’s doing all the washing up?

A Scanner Darkly is an odd but intriguing one—digitally shot then animated, giving it a woozy, off-kilter feel that suits the drug-fuelled paranoia. Without the raw footage, it’s hard to say what rotoscoping adds, but it definitely gives things a surreal edge. The story grips in parts, though it does drift. But the real issue? Linklater casting that Alex Jones again, even before his notoriety. It’s a baffling choice that totally breaks the spell.

Paprika is an absolute visual feast — even if, at times, I hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on. It’s a beautiful, chaotic, mind-bending plunge into dreams and identity, bursting with imagination in every frame. The animation is incredible, full of surreal shifts and strange details that keep you hooked even when the plot slips out of reach. You can see how it’s shaped plenty of later live-action films — and I’m not just talking about Inception! A confusing but brilliant ride.

A strange, haunting watch. The plot’s simple enough, but it’s really the style that defines it—like flipping through a psychedelic Art Nouveau picture book set to jazz. Some of the slow pans are pretty striking, though they start to drag after a while. With so little dialogue or narrative drive, it becomes a bit of a slog—especially with subtitles competing for attention against the intense, surreal imagery. You’re always likely to miss something. Grotesque and more unsettling than sexy.

A delightfully strange bit of animation. The story’s straightforward enough, but it’s told with such surreal flair it feels like gatecrashing someone else’s cheese dream — the kind where everything creaks, groans, and moves just a bit too oddly. There’s barely any dialogue, but you hardly notice. The film speaks through sound, music, and the kind of visual detail that only comes from full-blown obsession. It’s eccentric, deadpan, and somehow weirdly moving.

The Plague Dogs, based on Richard Adams’ novel (yes, the Watership Down guy—cheers for the childhood trauma), is a relentless gut-punch of a film. Bleak doesn’t begin to cover it. The misery piles on, and just when you think it can’t get darker, it does. The animation, while beautiful, is rough and grimy, matching the tone perfectly. It’s powerful, sure, but exhausting. It's not something I’d watch again in a hurry. Three stars for bravery, not enjoyability.

Whenever I think I've found the Ghibli film—one of those big ones everyone raves about—I end up deflated. Princess Mononoke looks incredible, and its world is rich, but I just didn't connect with it. The themes and creatures are strong and stunning, but something about the pacing and characters kept me at arm's length. I wanted to love it, honestly. Other than My Neighbor Totoro, maybe I'm just not on Ghibli's wavelength.

Loving Vincent is a feast for the eyes—every frame is oil on canvas, lovingly and beautifully animated. It’s a shame the story doesn’t live up to the visuals. The characters feel flat, and the plot stumbles along like a cutscene from a computer game—gorgeous but emotionally vacant.

Whilst Ne Zha 2 has become the highest-grossing animated film of all time, this first instalment is a real mixed bag. It’s overlong, yet weirdly feels like big narrative chunks are missing. Some plot points are spoon-fed, others had me frantically googling Taoist mythology just to follow the action.

 The film tries to mimic a Hollywood-style animation—fast pace, high joke rate, emotional arcs on cue—but the humour doesn’t always translate, with some lines landing awkwardly or coming off a bit tone-deaf in English.

There’s clearly an effort to present a global calling card for Chinese animation. But in aiming to be everything for everyone, it blurs its cultural edges. Instead of confidently owning its roots, it feels like it’s pitching for global approval.