Classic Film Review #8: Sorry to Bother You

Available on: BBC iPlayer

The acerbic breakthrough feature of writer-director Boots Riley offers a comedic and surrealist commentary on the societal effects of consumerism, seen through the lens of the African American experience.

Sorry to Bother You tells the story of Cash (Lakeith Stanfield), a down-on-his-luck telemarketer who experiences an unexpected and rapid rise through the ranks of his dubious employer. Crucially, the cause of Cash’s newfound success is due to his ability to put on a ‘white voice’ when speaking to clients.

Despite the material benefits that come from his promotion, Cash soon finds himself at loggerheads with his artist/activist girlfriend (Tessa Thompson) and the colleagues he has left behind. The conundrum of choosing between solidarity or material gain might be the driving force of this film from a narrative standpoint, but its handling of oscillating racial experiences is its true point of difference.

Riley’s film is, on face value at least, an eccentric slice of indie comedy – and an enjoyable one at that. But scratch the surface and you will see that Sorry to Bother You is resplendent with plenty of disquieting insights into our capitalist society and the racial divide that continues to run through it.

The film is also a visual delight and unafraid to play with the boundaries of form, making for a unique and at times unsettling viewing experience. This is never more apparent than during its brilliantly bonkers crescendo, when Cash finds out the true motivations of his nefarious paymasters.  

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever

The long-awaited sequel to 2018’s excellent Black Panther is beset by the unenviable challenge of dealing with the absence of its star, the late Chadwick Boseman.

In a cinematic universe in which multiverses exist and mortality is therefore only a mild concern, it would surely have been tempting for Marvel to retcon the absence of King T’Challa through some sort of cosmos-bending gimmick.   

And perhaps that would have been the case were the film not in the hands of the dependably excellent Ryan Coogler. Instead, what we get is an unexpectedly poignant Marvel film that explores the grieving process and, in doing so, delivers a new, multi-faceted successor to the Black Panther moniker.

Admittedly, it does so by way of a war between Wakanda and an invading tribe of fish-people, but the emotional core of this sequel remains both raw and pathos-inducing throughout.

Much of that is down to the stellar work of Angela Basset and Letitia Wright, whose characters are left to grapple with the conflicting interests of their country and grief for T’Challa. Basset is especially brilliant and brings an almost regal stamp of quality to every scene she is in, while the arc of Wright’s character Shuri promises much for future franchise instalments.

While the film suffers from a forgettable villain and a gratuitous run-time, it ultimately achieves the delicate balancing act of honouring Boseman and progressing the Black Panther story.

Black Adam

In cinemas now

Dwayne Johnson’s meteoric rise from eyebrow-raising wrestler to Hollywood megastar has been one of the most intriguing cinematic success stories of recent times. Successfully making the transition from the soap opera world of professional wrestling to the big screen is no easy feat, but there’s no denying that it’s one the man universally known as ‘The Rock’ has managed seamlessly.

It’s a shame, then, that his first foray into the ubiquitous superhero genre is as formulaic as Black Adam. Like much of the content served up by the DCEU to date, this is a risk-adverse, overly familiar slice of content with little to no distinguishing features.

Even the leading man himself appears to be going through the motions. Black Adam has been cited by Johnson as being a long-standing passion project and, while there’s no reason to dispute that, it doesn’t translate to the final product. The titular character is bereft of charm and does little more than smash a litany of CGI nemeses throughout the film’s two-hour runtime, making for a forgettable viewing experience.

There’s a supporting cast too – alas, they don’t offer much for debate. Pierce Brosnan seems to be having fun as Doctor Fate, but others (such as Marwan Kenzari’s antagonist) are almost completely forgettable. And while the mid-credits scene offers some titillation with regards to Black Adam’s future, one cannot help but hope that a second outing for the character is a darn sight more original than this.

Classic Film Review #7: Black KkKlansman

BlackKkKlansman

Available on: 4OD

BlackKkKlansman is Spike Lee’s recounting of Ron Stallworth’s improbable penetration of the Ku Klux Klan. If you’re wondering why his feat was scarcely believable, it’s because Stallworth was the first black officer on the Colorado Springs police force.

Aiding him in the ingenious duping was Flip Zimmerman, a white Jewish-American police officer who physically attended Klan meetings in Stallworth’s name. His counterpart, meanwhile, would engage with Klan members – including head honcho David Duke – via telephone under the guise of a typical white-collar accent.

If this escapade sounds slightly comical, then it’s because it is. Lee has never been afraid to use satire as a means of making an altogether deeper point, and BlackKkKlansman might be his most impressive film in this regard. It invites its audience to join Stallworth (John David Washington) and Zimmerman (Adam Driver) in laughing at the Klan behind its back, acknowledging its racist members for the unabashed fools they are.

Crucially, the film acknowledges the danger that these Neanderthals pose, despite their stupidity. This is reflected by the way in which BlackKkKlansman’s tone steadily darkens, with its at-times broad comedic brushstrokes steadily replaced by an impending sense of danger and, more importantly, correlation between past events and the modern-day.

The latter point is the one in which the power of Lee’s film resides, with its interspersions of scenes from controversial films such as Birth of the Nation and Gone with the Wind grimly dovetailing with footage from the fatal 2017 Charlottesville march and Donald Trump’s incendiary defence of its culprits.

Ultimately, BlackKkKlansman offers a sad reminder that racism continues to pervade American society and that its figureheads, be they perma-tanned or altogether more presentable, hold more political power than the oppressed. In that sense, it is a crucial slice of contemporary cinema that packs a bigger punch than one might first expect.

Classic Film Review #6: Black Panther (2018)

Available on: Disney+

Black Panther may not demonstrate a willingness on the MCU’s part to deviate away from its tried and tested narrative conventions, but can rightfully be viewed as a game changer in the representation of black characters in mainstream cinema.

Kevin Feige’s typically savvy directorial choice sees Ryan Coogler - acclaimed for his work on both Fruitvale Station and the Creed franchise - take the creative reins of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby’s 1966 creation who, prior to a cameo in Captain America: Civil War, was relatively alien to the casual Marvel fan.

This is a challenge that Coogler and co-writer Joe Robert Cole seem to relish, with the fictional country of Wakanda and its governmental traditions used as a metaphor for the complex history of Africa and its descendants - both living and deceased - and the effect this has had on the black experience. Black Panther asks challenging questions about the value of tradition in the modern world and whether pacifism is an effective philosophy for a contemporary ruler to govern by, all while celebrating the vibrancy of ancestral rituals by way of several set pieces made all the more effective by Rachel Morrison’s stark cinematography.

The late Chadwick Boseman and Eric B. Jordan are effective in the lead role of rightful kings with opposing ideologies but are pleasingly outshone by a series of strong female performances, giving Coogler’s film another distinguishing characteristic from which it can be identified as something ‘other’ in the context of the 21st century box office. Of those performances, it is those of Lupita Nyong’o, Danai Gurira, and Letitia Wright that are most rewarding and leave you eager to see more developed female characters in the MCU over its next ‘phase’ of films.

Indeed, the success of Black Panther and (to a lesser extent) Doctor Strange can now be viewed as critical to facilitating the more culturally diverse superhero ensemble that is now taking shape through Marvel’s seemingly endless big and small screen releases. One can only hope that filmmakers of Coogler’s intuitiveness continue to be granted a platform from which they shape a more inclusive and holistic popular culture.

Classic Film Review #5: Portrait of a Lady on Fire

Available on: Netflix

Céline Sciamma’s tale of forbidden love is fascinating for many reasons. Chiefly, it is a visually arresting film that is innately attuned to the artistic talents of one of its two protagonists, a lonely painter (Noémie Merlant) who is sent to a remote island to paint the wedding portrait of a reluctant young muse (Adèle Haenel).

Much of that is down to the way Sciamma and cinematographer Claire Mathon frame proceedings, with many scenes almost acting as a portrait in their own right. There are so many moments in Portrait of a Lady on Fire where you’d be forgiven for pausing your television and admiring its aesthetic, such is the craft with which the aforementioned pair deliver each scene.

The film is also intriguingly sparse in terms of both events and casts. The taboo romance takes an almost agonising amount of time to develop, though this seems befitting of real-life and Sciamma’s (assumed) commitment to delivering a story that is emotionally resonant. Credit must go to both Merlant and Haenel for the conviction of their respective performances – each lovelorn glance is completely believable, and every word their characters utter feels as if it has come straight from the heart.

With virtually all of the film’s cast being female, it is easy to see why Portrait of a Lady on Fire is held up as a great example of feminist filmmaking. But lying beyond this is its most impressive quality, that being the way it so brazenly reclaims cinematic gaze from a masculine beholder and lends it to a feminine perspective. Sciamma’s film is a beautiful celebration of the uniqueness of the female experience – its beauty, its sorrow, and everything in between.

Few films manage to lend its characters’ eyes as effectively to its audience as this, which makes for a truly distinctive visual experience. This is a deeply powerful and honest musing on the nature of desire and womanhood which singles Sciamma out as one of the foremost names in contemporary cinema.

Classic Film Review #4: The Farewell (2019)

Available on: Netflix

At first glance, The Farewell is a film about the impossibly difficult, intensely personal experience of saying goodbye to those we love. And in many senses, that’s exactly what it is. Lulu Wang’s screenplay is focused on a family that is brought back together after many years of separation by the sad news that its matriarch has been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

But therein lies this film’s point of difference. Unfamiliar viewers such as I soon learn that it is customary in Chinese culture not to tell someone when they are dying, as it is widely believed that the fear of death is more likely to kill someone than their actual ailment. And so we find ourselves watching the aforementioned family staging an impromptu wedding so that they can collectively say farewell to their beloved Nai Nai (played by the outstanding Zhao Shu-zhen).

Proceedings are told through the eyes of Billi (an also excellent Awkwafina), who emigrated to America with her parents many years ago. Consequently, she is perplexed by her family’s deceit and struggles to keep a lid on her emotions. This makes for a fascinating cross cultural examination of the differences between the East and the West, with Wang mastering a delicate tonal balancing act throughout The Farewell’s modest runtime.

The absurdity of the protagonists’ lie is laid bare for all to see, but in a manner that never feels judgemental. Instead, we are encouraged to appreciate how different cultures process seismic life events such as sickness and grief. This makes for thought provoking, emotional cinema of the highest order, with Anna Franquesa Solano’s striking cinematography adding further gravitas to proceedings.

Having lost my own Nan a few years ago, I found this a soul-stirring viewing experience that really made me reflect on – and appreciate – the beautiful agony of letting go of someone you treasure. Sadly, it is one of life’s few guarantees but can be a cathartic, affirming journey if you accept that you can only navigate it in your own way. The Farewell does an excellent job of conveying that message and is an absolute must-see for anyone attempting to make sense of - or simply accept - their own grieving process.

Blonde

Available on: Netflix

Andrew Dominik’s biopic has drawn the ire of many critics for its allegedly exploitative take on the life of Marilyn Monroe, and it’s difficult to argue against many of the most prominent accusations levelled against the film.

Its difficult to know whether Dominik, whose films have always carried an air of smug satisfaction, intentionally sought out to make a picture that is so preoccupied with Monroe the pop culture icon – as opposed to Norma Jeane Mortenson, the woman beneath the veil – but, in doing so, he delivers an uncomfortably dehumanised take on his topic.

Blonde is often unquestionably cruel and unflinching in its violence, even going as far to deliver a scene in which Monroe is forced to perform oral sex on late President John F. Kennedy. Of course, you cannot dispute that abuse was a reality of her life – she was sadly mistreated by many of her spouses, and even more so by her business partners. But there was certainly light to go with the shade, with Monroe remaining an important cultural figurehead for many women around the world. It’s a shame then that this is what is ultimately missing from Blonde.

Ana de Armas is genuinely fantastic in the lead role, but the Monroe she is asked to portray is little more than an abused ingenue with daddy issues. I cannot profess to be an expert on feminism, but this film feels like the most shallow form of it you could hope to find. In presenting the grim truths of Monroe’s life in the spotlight, Dominik is assumedly attempting to bring justice to his topic. The reality, however, is that he is just exhuming her in order to subject her to the same sort of lurid titillation that marred much of her life.

This is a shame because there are aspects of Blonde that are certainly praiseworthy. Dominik and cinematographer Chayse Irvin frame the film in a way unbefitting of the traditional biopic, with their monochrome stylings delivering a rich aesthetic. This visual style is complemented well by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis’ haunting, synth-laden score, which gradually builds in intensity as the film progresses. And, as said, de Armas makes for a convincing Monroe.

Sadly, Blonde’s misplaced sense of self-gratification – which is underpinned by its gratuitous (and completely unnecessary) runtime – makes for an uneasy viewing experience, ensuring this will go down as a Monroe epitaph as befitting as the quotes that are so often mistakenly attributed to her.

Classic Film Review #3: Joker (2019)

Available on: Netflix

Todd Phillips' reimagining of one of the most fervently debated comic book origin stories certainly stirred up more controversy than most films could hope to prior to release. Winner of the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival and landing Joaquin Phoenix an Academy Award for his eponymous lead performance, Joker was also accused of sympathising with incel culture and painting male rage in a sympathetic light.

Is Joker as problematic as those critics suggested? In today's uber sensitive world, maybe. But it is also a fascinating character study that features one of the most harrowing performances of Phoenix's career. One that presents a 'superhero' film devoid of any CGI or garish special effects, instead focusing on good old-fashioned storytelling.

It is not devoid of flaws, but the performance of the aforementioned lead is worth the price of entry alone. It’s well-known that any actor that takes this role typically give it everything they've got, and Phoenix does that and then some. His physical transformation is clear to see, but the strongest elements of his performance are in the finer touches. The relentless buckling of the knee, the nervous and maniacal bouts of laughter, even the way he smokes a cigarette...everything is foreshadowing a darker turn of events.

Whether it can be considered the definitive version of the character is immaterial. Plenty of actors have done great work as the Joker and it is an exercise in folly to try and crown one as the one true Clown Prince of Crime. But Phoenix's version definitely stands up to anything we've seen before. He is simply mesmeric from beginning to last.

To me, Joker doesn't ask you to sympathise with its antagonist. It asks you to consider the circumstances that could make him. Just like so many of the halcyon 1970s film it is so clearly indebted to (Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy being foremost among them), the film shines a light on the underbelly of society and chronicles how a bad turn of events can lead a marginalised person to take drastic action against his perceived tormentors.

Perhaps that assessment means I'm out-of-touch. Either way, I'd take this over the majority of comic-book films I've watched over the last decade.

Classic Film Review #2: Parasite (2019)

Available on: Amazon Prime

The award-winning, critically adored Parasite remains an appropriate parable for modern times, such is the panache with which it shines a light on our societal divisions.

Like much of director Bong Joon-ho's work, it does so in an acerbic way and is often laugh-out-loud funny. But that doesn't dim the impassioned plea of its message, which is that today's wealth divide is both absurd and grossly unfair.

Along with its sweeping changes in tone, what I love most about Parasite is that it encourages you (whether intentionally or otherwise) to root for the parasite that is the downtrodden Kim family, rather than deride their duplicitous infestation of an affluent family's life and home. In fact, there is no clear villain in Parasite - just a series of people existing within the trappings of their (arguably preordained) social sphere.

The juxtaposition between the Kim’s basement dwelling in the slums of Seoul and the sunlit, architect-designed mansion occupied by the affluent Park family serves as the perfect visual metaphor for Joon-ho’s tale. Equally masterful is the way the auteur builds toward the film's glorious crescendo, a most entertaining Tarantino-esque slice of absurdism involving basement escapes, a stoning, and death by kebab skewer.

Altogether, Parasite is both entertaining and masterful storytelling made all the better by the rich aesthetics of Joon-ho's distinctive directorial style.

Don’t Worry Darling

Few films have garnered as much attention prior to release as Olivia Wilde’s second directorial feature. The aptly named Don’t Worry Darling has been filling column inches for some time on account of the titillating tales of its many off-set challenges, including frequent clashes between Wilde and leading lady Florence Pugh.

Sadly, the media storm is far more engaging than anything that happens on screen. Wilde’s film is an uneven smorgasbord of cultural references, with Inception, The Matrix and The Truman Show all cited by the director as influences. However, the picture that I was most reminded of was Frank Oz’s equally disappointing 2004 reboot of The Stepford Wives.

Just as Nicole Kidman carried proceedings on that film, Pugh is left to do all the heavy lifting here. Those of a hyper-critical persuasion might suggest that her performance is somewhat of an inferior rethread of her stellar turn in Ari Aster’s Midsommar, but it’s undeniable that she is the only performer who keeps you invested in Katie Silberman’s uneven screenplay.

The same certainly can not be said about poor Harry Styles, who struggles to hold his own in his first major role. The range of accents his character goes through is mightily impressive though, almost accounting for an oral A-Z of major UK cities. The pop mega-star is unlikely to be perturbed by any such criticism though, given that his involvement in proceedings (and romance with Wilde) is one of the major reasons for the film’s initial commercial success.

Also, disappointing – though admittedly in a more surprising way – is Chris Pine’s sinewy villain, who Wilde has admitted is modelled on the controversial right-wing commentator Jordan Peterson. Any good scoundrel needs plenty of screentime to emit the audience’s antagonism, but Pine and counterpart Gemma Chan are overshadowed by Pugh and Style’s mostly dull suburban melodrama throughout.

Silberman’s big twist also falls flat in a manner not dissimilar to the one that befell Steven Knight’s Serenity, another dud that this affair brought back memories of. Like Don’t Worry Darling itself, it feels like a cack-handed attempt at feminism that succeeds only in painting the opposite sex in a dull, stereotypical way that neglects the many nuances of any debate concerning the gender divide.

All in all, this is a common case of a film thinking that it’s far smarter than it is and an ample reminder that it’s much harder to say something original about complex, era-spanning topics than the average screenwriter and/or director seems to think it is.

Classic Film Review #1: Little Women (2019)

Available on - Netflix

Greta Gerwig’s seemingly faithful adaptation of Louisa May Alcott's treasured novel initially seemed like an unusual way to follow the much lauded and uber modern Lady Bird. But look past its 19th century setting and you’ll see that Little Women is the perfect bedfellow for much of Gerwig’s preceding work, as it is primarily occupied with the societal expectations and pressures that are faced by women, irrespective of their social standing.

The film is sublimely cast, with the role of the March sisters being played by Eliza Scanlen, Emma Watson, Florence Pugh and the ever-excellent Saoirse Ronan. You could argue that it is the latter whose character is of most interest, but Gerwig gives ample time to each and, in doing so, garners genuine empathy from her audience. For me, a repeat viewing really shone a light on Pugh’s work, who here is tasked with the tricky role of Amy, the at-first-glance most brattish of the four siblings whose hidden depths are gradually revealed as Alcott’s story unfolds.

Each character in Little Women is a fully rounded and beautifully drawn individual whose respective arcs each grapple with different aspects of the gender divide, without the screenplay ever being heavy-handed in its innate socio-politicism. It is remarkable how well Alcott's stories, originally published in 1868 and 1869, resonate with modern audiences, though perhaps not all that surprising given the societal talking points which have dominated recent years.

Huge credit is deserving of Gerwig, who continues to blaze a trail for herself as one of contemporary cinema's most eminent voices. And Ronan, for all the talents of her co-stars, really does shine above all else, once again proving herself to be a truly exceptional generational talent.

Little Women is truly a treasure and a film which will strike a chord with its viewers in many ways.

Moonage Daydream

Documenting the life of a talent as chameleonic as David Bowie was always going to be a tall order, so it's perhaps unsurprising to see director Brett Morgen adopt a relatively non-linear approach to doing so.

Much like the song from which this film borrows its title, this is a transcendent piece that is firmly attuned to the mythology that made Bowie such a countercultural figurehead. In fact, Moonage Daydream is perhaps best viewed as a celebration of its subject's mythos.

Morgen does not dive especially deep into any specific period of Bowie's career, instead opting to present his lifework exactly as it was - a smorgasbord of influences, styles and, most of all, brilliant tunes. In doing so, he does justice to a career that was like no other.

An artist as transcendent as Bowie means so much to so many different people, which almost renders an act of tribute such as this an exercise in folly. However, Morgen - who worked closely with Bowie's estate on this project - shows a profound understanding for one of life's unwritten rules - that (in most circumstances) a life passed ought to be celebrated, rather than profusely reflected upon.

This sentiment is expressed by Bowie himself throughout the film, with the Thin White Duke himself lending his musings on life throughout the duration of the documentary. Consequently, Moonage Daydream feels like a deeply personal (and almost paranormal) affair, which of course is more than befitting of its once-in-a-lifetime topic.

Bowie may be gone, but his star continues to burn bright.

Nope

Jordan Peele, we've missed you.

Perhaps I've not been looking hard enough, but genuinely smart cinema has been hard to come by this year. So, regardless of whether there's any merit in that comment, the return of Peele is most welcome.

Nope is arguably his most ambitious film to date, in the sense that it is so unpalatably anti-blockbuster. Daniel Kaluuya may be back, but the mass appeal of Get Out certainly isn't. This is a feature that wrestles with many thematical concepts, most of them underlying, in a way that isn't immediately easy to comprehend.

One of the key narrative features that I picked up on was Nope's interest in spectacle, and how we as a society have become conditioned to not only be beholden to it, but also feverishly document it using our camera phones. On the way into the cinema, I griped to my girlfriend about the amount of people we'd seen in Birmingham filming inane shit (including one chap who filmed the outside of a Nando's) and, while I was no doubt just being cantankerous, it was fitting that the film we saw would also be pre-occupied with this odd modern phenomenon.

Interestingly, the spectacle at the heart of Peele's film draws from sci-fi but, in an ode to old school Hollywood, is fused with aspects of the Western. In doing so, the filmmaker continues his neat trick of playfully infusing his work with important socio-political messages, in this case the unheralded contributions of African Americans to the early days of cinema. Such directorial slights of hand ensure that, even when Nope is at its most playful, it retains an edge that keeps it from slipping into all-out farce.

As always, proceedings are aided by an excellent cast. Kaluuya is typically great as intense protagonist OJ, while Keke Palmer arguably steals the show as his wild sibling Emerald. But, as with any great horror, the real star is often what lies in the shadows (or in the case of this film, the clouds), meaning that much of the film's best moments are when you're not exactly sure what's going on. Peele has already proven himself to be a master of suspense, and Nope is no different to its predecessors in that regard.

Whether this matches up to the groundbreaking Get Out or the criminally underrated Us is another question entirely. As said, it doesn't hold the broad appeal of the former and is not as visually delectable as the latter. But it is an intriguing hybrid of genres that definitely challenges its audience in a way unbecoming of many modern-day horrors.

With three distinctly different features under his belt, Peele has certainly forged himself out as one of the foremost filmmakers of his time. I'm fascinated to see what he delivers next.

Thor: Love & Thunder

Marvel's latest attempt to get the divisive fourth phase of their cinematic universe off the ground sees the studio return to the formula that made 2017's Thor: Ragnarok an undisputed success. The name of that formula, as all nerds will know, is Taika Waititi.

The New Zealand filmmaker has firmly established himself as the king of mainstream quirk, due in no small part to his ability to fuse big issue topics with zany comedy. In many respects, he's the perfect auteur to front Disney's crown jewel.

But what happens when even a talented auteur begins to go through the motions? The answer can mostly be found in Thor: Love and Thunder, which is essentially a wobbly retread of its aforementioned predecessor, predictably combining end-of-the-world stakes (in name only) with kooky side-characters and zany one-liners.

Granted, it's mostly entertaining stuff. But from a character development point of view, this is pretty feeble given that its Thor's fourth solo outing. By the end of the film, he's pretty much the same insecure beefcake - just with a different sidekick.

The extent to which this annoys you will depend on how invested you are in the Marvel product by this stage. If, like me, you enjoy it mostly as a form of crash, bang, wallop escapism then you'll largely be unaffected. But I suspect hardcore fans might be growing tired of the repetitive output by this stage.

Still, there's some plus points to be found here. Christian Bale's Gorr the God Butcher is a fun villain, one whose backstory is a little more fleshed out than the MCU usually permits. And Love and Thunder at least succeeds in redeeming the character of Jane Foster (Natalie Portman), who had criminally been relegated to the role of eye candy in previous films.

However, this is ultimately more of the same from a studio that is beginning to look as if it has more content than ideas.

Lightyear

There’s two ways at looking at a film like Lightyear.

In one sense, this is undoubtedly a cynical cash grab and another attempt to get blood from the ever-profitable stone that is the Toy Story franchise.

On the other hand, it’s a decent kids movie that my two cousins really enjoyed.

At this stage, is there any point in debating which of the two holds greater value?

Films like this are always going to be churned out by big studios – if they make a shed load of cash, they’ll be greenlit for a sequel. If they don’t, everybody will forget about them by the time the summer is done.

One aspect that I did really like about Lightyear is how it tied in with the original Toy Story film. It’s cool to imagine yourself as a young Andy experiencing this iconic character on the big screen for the first time. My youngest cousin asked for a Buzz Lightyear doll as soon as the credits started rolling, so I guess this flick had the desired effect on its target audience.

Aside from that, there isn’t an awful lot that’s new about this. It’s rare to see Pixar go through the motions but every now and then they do, and this is definitely a case in point. There’s no real jeopardy to speak of, there’s a cute talking cat that will inevitably rake in a load of merchandise sales, and there’s a handful of heart-warming moments along the way.

It’s a solid formula and one that will inevitably always go down well with the majority of audience members. Is there much creative value to it? Not really, no. Does it put a smile on kid’s faces? Yes, and I guess – at least in the mind of this soppy writer – that holds greater weight than any artistic pomp ever could.

Elvis

It’s odd that it’s taken this long for there to be a definitive film about the life of Elvis Presley. After all, this is a man who redefined popular music and has remained emblazoned within pop culture consciousness long after his untimely passing.

Better late than never I suppose, and nobody can doubt the sincerity of director Baz Luhrmann’s efforts to make a definitive Elvis film. In many senses, his at-times gaudy style is the perfect tonic for the King of Rock and Roll. This is an at-once showy film that may or may not give you an occasional headache, depending on your aesthetic preferences.

Nonetheless, Elvis is a gripping ride throughout. That is due in no small part to the performance of Austin Butler, who seamlessly imbues the spirit of the great man himself and provides an uber physical performance (there’s a lot of pelvic thrusting) that is sure to place him in awards contention.

Opposite him is Tom Hanks, playing against type as the villain of the piece. As much of Elvis’ screenplay is focused on the relationship between the titular protagonist and his long-time manager, Colonel Tom Parker, Hanks’ role is a big one. And, though this is definitely one of his more bombastic performances, he does the trick as the piece’s resident pantomime villain.

The extent to which Parker abused his relationship with Presley is undoubtedly the most arresting aspect of Luhrmann’s film and shines a light on the treachery that continues to be commonplace within the music industry. Whether the film builds to its crescendo – in which an overweight, drug addicted Elvis is essentially the resident performing monkey at a Las Vegas casino – well enough is a question that has plagued me since my first viewing; to me, it felt a little rushed and the ending a tad sudden.

Still, there is more than enough beforehand to mark this out as a truly excellent biopic and a fitting tribute to one of music’s all-time heroes. Long live the King indeed.

Men

Alex Garland has quietly established himself as one of the most innovative directors around since 2014's supreme Ex Machina, but may have taken his first misstep with this well-intentioned but poorly executed thriller.

Men tells the story of Harper (Jessie Buckley), a woman seeking solace in the English countryside after enduring a personal tragedy that is gradually revealed over the course of the film's events. Were he not such a serious fellow, Garland might have called his screenplay 'The Airbnb from Hell' because that is essentially the crux of what happens from the moment his protagonist checks into her rural retreat.

In a bizarre turn of events, our heroine is stalked by a series of men that are quaintly all played by Rory Kinnear, including - and I kid you not - a pre-pubescent child and a naked man with shrubbery growing out of his head. Those familiar with Garland's previous work - particularly the more recent Annihilation - won't be surprised by this, though the film's crescendo might shock even the most seasoned of fans.

I guess the film is attempting to weigh in on the gender politics that have been so prevalent within mainstream media since the #MeToo scandal, and that's all good and well I suppose. But what makes Men a jarring experience is that it has very little to say about such matters (that we didn't already know) and does so in such a frankly ridiculous way that it's a chore to take it seriously. Perhaps this is Garland's first attempt at comedy, in which case bravo.

Alas, I suspect this is not the case and so have to assume that Men is a rather half-baked attempt to weigh in on a matter that is far too complex and important to entertain such tokenism. Still, this is certainly watchable due in no small part to the efforts of Buckley and Kinnear, who bring their usual understated excellence to proceedings. It's just a shame that the film as a whole isn't more befitting of their work.

Top Gun: Maverick

Multiverses may be all the rage in the cinema of today, but they're unlikely to ever enjoy the lasting appeal of nostalgia. No matter how improbable or needless it might seem, Hollywood will never turn its nose up to rebooting a decades-old franchise. And audiences will almost always lap it up. For that reason, we've got ourselves a Top Gun sequel 36 years after the original was first released.

I have to admit, my expectations for this were pretty low. As a child of the 1990s, the 80s cheese that defined the original Top Gun were somewhat lost on me. Though you'll never hear me dispute that 'Take My Breath Away' is an absolute banger.

However, Top Gun: Maverick is a decidedly different film to its predecessor. I'm not sure if 'gritty' is the correct term to describe it, but it's definitely a more strait-laced affair. Tom Cruise is back as the titular protagonist whose renegade approach to flying makes him the scorn of his superiors but the envy of his colleagues. It’s arguably the perfect role for Cruise, who has mastered the ability to switch from a stiff upper lip to the foppish charm that made him a household name.

The film is mostly focused on the relationship between its hero and Rooster (Miles Teller), a prodigious but inexperienced pilot who just so happens to be the son of Goose, Maverick’s deceased best friend. It is a fairly typical dynamic but one that anchors the narrative and ensures that the film retains an emotional core, even as its high octane action sequences begin to kick in.

This is arguably the perfect vehicle for Cruise who really has monopolised this genre and consistently made it his own over an improbably long period of time. Though he is arguably a flawed individual, it’s inarguable that nobody does this type of shtick better than him. And, with yet another Mission Impossible film around the corner, it’s likely that he will continue to do so until the wheels come off.

It’s questionable whether the world needed another Top Gun film, but props to all involved for making it a far more engaging affair than your typical reboot.

Everything Everywhere All at Once

This feted slice of absurdist indie cinema contains far more 'madness' than Marvel's most recent foray into multiversal storytelling, but isn't necessarily any more intelligent. Penned and directed by the innovative duo known as the Daniels, Everything Everywhere All at Once is undoubtedly one of the most stylistically bold movies of the year. Put simply, it is a smorgasbord of cultural and socio-political references and perhaps one of the most visually arresting films this writer has ever seen.

However, it is essentially an overwrought allegory of patriarchal anguish that doesn't say enough to warrant a runtime in excess of two hours. While it may most obviously bear similarities to sci-fi innovations such as The Matrix, it doesn't quite manage to ascend to the mantel of being a definitive pop culture touchstone.

None of that means, of course, that it isn't a hell of a lot of fun. Because it really is. If you never thought you'd live to see what Jamie Lee Curtis looks like with hot dogs for fingers, think again. That - and a whole host of other weirdness - can be found here. And Michelle Yeoh's performance as a repressed, dimension-hopping matriarch is worth the price of entry alone.

While this didn't quite live up to the lofty expectations I'd set it, it's a deeply impressive and highly immersive piece of filmmaking which is a darn sight more original than most of the other flicks that'll be screening this summer.