Film Reviews by griggs

Watched Poison at 3am when I couldn’t sleep—probably not the wisest choice. It’s bold, brash, and all a bit much when your brain’s half-mush. Some fascinating ideas and striking moments, though. I didn’t love it, but I’m curious enough to give it another go when I’m properly awake

I was quite excited about Apartment Zero, but it didn’t quite hit the mark for me. It felt like it was trying a bit too hard to seem deep—throwing in political twists that were very heavily foreshadowed, that ending up as a distraction from the juicy psychological drama I wanted more of. The slow pace had me checking my watch a few times; instead of being intriguing, it tipped into melodrama. Still, Colin Firth was fantastic as Adrian, perfectly twitchy and awkward, and Hart Bochner brought just enough charm and creepiness to keep things lively. Plus Dora Bryan and Liz Smith popped up adding some fun and eccentricity. Not amazing, but their performances made it worthwhile.

Solid little noir with a great sense of place—sweaty gyms, grimy streets, and a ticking clock that adds real tension. The boxing scenes pack a punch and the mood’s properly bleak. It’s not top-tier stuff, but at just over an hour, it doesn’t waste your time. Worth a watch.

Enemy is one of those films that’s more interesting than fun to watch. Gyllenhaal’s on great form (twice over), and Villeneuve’s direction is slick and moody as ever. I was into the whole theme of self-sabotage—how bad decisions come back to bite—but it’s definitely more of a thinker than a thriller. The final scene is meant to rattle you, but it didn’t do much for me, mainly because that kind of thing doesn’t freak me out. I know loads of people who’d hate it, though. It's not a bad watch; it's just not one I’d be in a hurry to revisit.

Hmmm… I’ve never quite got Bogdanovich. I’m still not convinced. Targets is a good idea—old-school horror legend (Karloff, doing his best with what he’s given) crosses paths with a modern-day, real-world killer—but it never quite lands. Karloff’s great, obviously, and there’s something poignant about him playing a man who knows he’s past it. But the rest? Bit of a slog, honestly. The sniper stuff should be tense, but it’s weirdly flat. And the script is dreadful—people talking like they’ve just learned how conversations work. It feels like Bogdanovich had something to say about violence and movies but got distracted by showing off how clever he is. It's not a total write-off, but I wouldn’t rush to watch it again.

Mauvais Sang made me feel cooler just for watching it—like I’d chain-smoked a Gauloises in a neon-lit alley while reciting poetry to nobody in particular. It’s moody, stylish, and occasionally baffling, but there’s real heart pulsing beneath all that noir-drenched angst. I loved Juliette Binoche smouldering on screen, and Julie Delpy has that effortlessly aloof charm that just works. And Dennis Lavant—my god, the man dances. That scene? Electric. I honestly think it should be a law: Lavant must dance in every film. Not just the ones he’s in—every film. The plot wobbles here and there, but the vibes? Impeccable.

Beyond the Black Rainbow postures as a reverent tribute to 1970s cult sci-fi, but quickly reveals itself as an exercise in imitation rather than inspiration. Instead of channelling the essence of THX 1138, Dark Star, Silent Running, or Solaris, it appears to lift entire stylistic elements wholesale, without understanding what made those films resonate. Though drenched in an icy 1980s aesthetic—with CRT fuzz, sterile corridors, and a heavy synth score—the film offers little more than visual mimicry. An early sequence cuts from Ronald Reagan archival footage to a suit carrier marked “Noriega,” a clumsy nod to the CIA-backed Panamanian dictator famously driven out by the sonic assault of Van Halen. Had this film’s soundtrack been used instead, he’d have surrendered within a day—not out of defeat, but sheer boredom.

Every scene fades to black before the next begins, as if grasping for meaning that never materialises. Characters barely exist, speaking in cryptic, stilted lines that suggest depth but carry none. The dialogue is not just bad—it’s empty. There is no plot to follow, no emotional core, and no real point beyond the surface-level visuals. What’s left is an art installation masquerading as cinema: flat, meaningless, pretentious.

I went into Chhaava knowing nothing about the history behind it, but I was pleasantly surprised—it’s a gripping, visually spectacular film. Clearly aiming for the same rousing energy as RRR, it doesn’t quite reach those heights. However, Vicky Kaushal delivers a commanding performance that wouldn’t feel out of place in an S.S. Rajamouli epic.

That said, the film has its issues. The pacing jumps forward in time with little warning, and if you miss the tiny on-screen text (easy when reading subtitles), you might get lost. A.R. Rahman’s score is grand but occasionally overwhelms the dialogue. And while the film insists it’s about freedom, not religion, there’s a clear nationalist undercurrent that feels in step with Modi-era politics.

One thing that truly shocked me was the sheer level of graphic violence. The battle scenes are unrelenting—swords slice through torsos, spears impale soldiers with sickening crunches, and arrows puncture throats in gruesome detail. Blood spurts in great arcs, and bodies pile up in the mud, some hacked apart or trampled underfoot. A ruthless execution scene lingers on the agony of a man being tortured—his tongue severed, his fingernail ripped off, and his back shredded with deep, bleeding wounds. The BBFC rating this a 15 feels surprisingly lenient, given how unflinching the film depicts carnage.

Despite these flaws, Chhaava is a thrilling watch—packed with action, drama, and spectacle. It may not be perfect, but it’s certainly unforgettable.

Helter Skelter is a visually striking, chaotic descent into the pressures of fame, beauty, and self-destruction. It follows Liliko, Japan’s top model, whose surgically enhanced perfection is her greatest weapon and inevitable downfall. Aware that time is running out and that younger models are waiting to take her place, she’ll do anything to stay at the top. But beneath her glamorous façade, she is deeply miserable, trapped in a system that exploits and abuses her. Her agency controls every aspect of her life, forcing her to undergo extensive plastic surgeries while keeping the procedures secret. She’s manipulated, gaslit, and pushed to exhaustion, with no real autonomy over her body or career. The film’s feverish energy, surreal imagery, and dazzling colours create a nightmarish, almost fairy-tale atmosphere, immersing the viewer in Liliko’s fragile, crumbling world.

It reminded me of The Substance in how it explores the impossible pressures placed on women to maintain youth, beauty, and relevance. Both films delve into body horror, but Helter Skelter is more theatrical and melodramatic. In contrast, The Substance is brutal and direct, blending psychological horror with dark satire. It doesn’t fully develop all its ideas, and its chaotic structure can be overwhelming. Still, Erika Sawajiri’s intense performance holds it together. Her portrayal of Liliko’s increasing desperation and volatility makes her both tragic and terrifying. Flawed but fascinating, Helter Skelter is an unsettling, visually stunning exploration of the cost of beauty and the inevitable downfall of those who chase perfection at any cost.

Watching Quo Vadis, Aida? feels like being trapped in a nightmare—one where the ending is already written, but you still cling to hope. The film follows Aida, a Bosnian UN translator, as she fights to save her family when Serbian forces seize Srebrenica. The tension is suffocating; every scene carries the weight of impending horror. For those who recall the harrowing images of Srebrenica, this film adds a devastating personal dimension.

Jasna Ðuricic is extraordinary, delivering a raw mix of fear, desperation, and determination. She’s constantly moving, pleading, searching for a way out while the UN soldiers stand by, powerless. The film doesn’t rely on graphic violence—it doesn’t need to. The dread is in the glances, the whispers, the gut-wrenching realisation that no help is coming. It’s a chilling reminder of how easily history repeats itself, with the world standing by until it’s too late.

Quo Vadis, Aida? sits alongside films like Come and See and Hotel Rwanda in its ability to make historical atrocities feel immediate and deeply personal. Like Come and See, it avoids large-scale battle scenes, instead keeping the focus on one individual’s increasingly desperate perspective, making the horror all the more suffocating. Unlike Hotel Rwanda, which finds moments of hope, Quo Vadis, Aida? offers no relief—only the crushing inevitability of betrayal and loss.

Honestly, A Face in the Crowd is a solid but slightly overlong drama that feels uncannily timely. Andy Griffith is shockingly intense here, delivering an unhinged, anxiety-inducing performance that genuinely put me on edge. In fact, his portrayal is so powerful that the film isn’t actually that enjoyable—it’s more stressful than entertaining. What hooked me was how eerily relevant this film is to today’s politics. Lonesome Rhodes is basically a 1950s version of Donald Trump—it’s almost spooky how similar they are. Both men build a “man of the people” image despite being wealthy and well-connected. They manipulate the media (radio/TV then, TV/social media now) to captivate audiences, even mocking their own followers behind closed doors. Their massive egos crave constant attention and only grow more erratic as their influence expands. Worth watching, but not quite the masterpiece, some claim.

Cottontail is a nice enough film–gentle, emotional, and clearly a tearjerker, judging by the number of hankies being used in the cinema. It’s a heartfelt story about grief, family, and reconciliation, with moments that definitely hit home. Lily Franky is easily the standout, delivering such a strong performance that it almost overshadows the rest of the cast. Even Ciarán Hinds can’t match Franky’s presence. The biggest problem is the editing. The flashbacks, while well-intentioned, go on for too long, slowing the film down and making it feel sluggish. Just when the story seems to build momentum, another extended memory sequence pulls it back, affecting the overall pacing. A linear storyline would have been much more fitting, allowing the emotional beats to land more naturally without the constant interruptions. The film has emotional weight, and there are touching moments, but the uneven execution keeps it from being truly memorable. A decent watch, but not one that will stay with me for long.

I found Contempt stylish but cold, more like an exercise in form than an engaging story. The visuals, particularly the use of colour, are stunning, but the endless ruminations left me detached. It’s interesting in theory, but I found it more tedious than thought-provoking in practice.

Mustang is a visually striking and emotionally rich film about five orphaned sisters in rural Turkey, trapped in a society that strips them of choice. If anything, it’s about the slow, suffocating erosion of women’s autonomy. The sisterhood, quiet rebellion, and creeping tragedy feel a lot like The Virgin Suicides, but Mustang stands on its own as a haunting, deeply affecting watch. Beautiful yet harrowing, with stunning cinematography and powerful storytelling, this one really sticks with you.

Just Another Girl on the IRT has a scrappy, energetic charm that makes it hard not to root for. Ariyan Johnson is magnetic as Chantel, a motor-mouthed Brooklyn teen with big dreams and zero filter, owning every scene with breezy confidence. Her cheeky fourth-wall asides land effortlessly; however, when things take a sharper turn, and her world is thrown off-kilter, the rawness of the performances suddenly feels more fragile. Still, there’s a gutsy honesty throughout—a fierce, funny, and quietly radical take on Black girlhood and ambition, balancing humour and rawness to keep you entertained and emotionally connected.