Critic | Film and series reviews that get to the point

War

War opens with a divorce designed to be seen. Tech billionaire Morgan Henderson and film star Carla Duval are heading for a split, and two rival London law firms are ready to turn their marriage into a contest. Before the first episode is over, you can see how quickly a private grievance becomes a public weapon. George Kay, who created Lupin and Hijack, gives the story a brisk, scheming rhythm. Lead director Ben Taylor oversees a cast led by Dominic West and Sienna Miller, with Archie Renaux as Johnny Warren, an ambitious young lawyer trying to break into this expensive world. West makes Morgan’s confidence feel like entitlement with a very good solicitor. Miller gives Carla a cooler, harder edge; even when others discuss her as a client or a threat, she feels capable of upsetting their plans. The lawyers are the real attraction. Phoebe Fox and James McArdle make partnership look like its own delicate negotiation, while the rival firm brings another set of egos to the table. Johnny offers a useful way in, though the episode spends a little too long arranging his place in the story. There’s a glossy pleasure in watching these people size one another up. Kay’s dialogue is sharp, and the opening keeps the manoeuvring clear while establishing a world driven by money, reputation and winning. There are plenty of names and loyalties to absorb, but it finds its momentum. As a first episode, War does its job remarkably well: it makes you want to see who lands the next blow. Sky Atlantic and NOW.

Cellar Door

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Cellar Door has a tempting hook: a dream house, offered free, with one condition. You must never open the cellar door. Given the housing market, you can understand the hesitation before asking any follow-up questions. Jordana Brewster and Scott Speedman play Sera and John, a couple seeking a fresh start after a miscarriage. Laurence Fishburne is the wealthy stranger offering them an apparently impossible escape. Director Vaughn Stein sets up a thriller about curiosity, temptation and the things couples would rather keep hidden. Fishburne is the strongest asset. His reassuring authority gives the offer an unsettling edge, making generosity feel suspicious without much effort. Brewster brings conviction to Sera’s vulnerability, while Speedman supplies the unease. But their relationship never becomes compelling enough to carry the film when the central mystery slips into the background. Stein gives the house an appropriately ominous presence. The polished interiors and shadowy spaces suggest that comfort comes with a catch, while the score keeps nudging you towards apprehension. The problem is that atmosphere does too much of the work. You’re waiting for tension to develop, rather than simply being reminded that something is wrong. The writing starts with a clean, intriguing bargain, then complicates it with relationship drama and contrivances that weaken its grip. Grief and trust could give this story emotional weight, but too often they feel like machinery for moving the plot. There’s enough here to keep you curious, particularly if you enjoy domestic thrillers. But curiosity isn’t quite suspense, and a locked door can only sustain so much interest. Netflix.

Weapons

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At 2.17 in the morning, seventeen children leave their homes and disappear. They are all in the same class. One child remains, while suspicion falls on their teacher. It is a terrific opening for Weapons, and the less you know about where it goes, the better. Zach Cregger, who directed Barbarian, understands how to make an ordinary place feel unsafe. Julia Garner plays the teacher with a convincing mix of concern and disbelief, while Josh Brolin gives one of the parents a grief that can tip into something frightening. You can understand why both need answers, even when you dread what they might do to get them. Cregger tells the story from different perspectives, letting each new piece change what you thought you knew. The suburban streets look almost too familiar, and the sound gives you plenty of time to anticipate something awful. Then, occasionally, the film catches you looking in entirely the wrong direction. The shifting structure is clever, though it slows the momentum in places, and the final stretch trades some of that carefully built dread for a much louder kind of horror. It works, but I found the mystery more unsettling than its answer. Still, Weapons has memorable performances, real nerve and an opening that will stay with you. If you like horror that gives you something to piece together as well as something to fear, this is an easy recommendation. HBO Max.

Eye in the Sky

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Eye in the Sky turns modern warfare into a pressure cooker where almost everyone is sitting safely behind a screen, yet nobody can escape the consequences. Helen Mirren plays Colonel Katherine Powell, a British officer overseeing a mission to capture extremists in Nairobi. When surveillance reveals an imminent suicide attack, the operation shifts from capture to kill. Then a young girl enters the potential blast zone, and what looked like a tactical decision becomes a moral, legal and political nightmare. Gavin Hood directs with remarkable restraint. Rather than turning the material into a conventional action thriller, he keeps passing responsibility from soldiers to lawyers to politicians, tightening the tension every time someone asks for another opinion. Mirren is superbly controlled, making Powell determined without reducing her to a cold military stereotype. Aaron Paul brings genuine anguish as drone pilot Steve Watts, while Barkhad Abdi gives the film vital ground-level urgency. Alan Rickman, in one of his final screen roles, is wonderfully dry and weary as Lieutenant General Frank Benson. Guy Hibbert’s screenplay is the real weapon. The dialogue sounds procedural, but every calculation carries a human cost. Hood’s direction and Haris Zambarloukos’s clean, clinical photography reinforce that distance, contrasting air-conditioned control rooms with the streets where the consequences will actually land. What makes Eye in the Sky so effective is that it refuses to offer an easy moral escape hatch. You’ll probably understand several sides of the argument at once, which is precisely why the final stretch becomes so uncomfortable. It is tense without being flashy, intelligent without becoming a lecture, and emotionally devastating without forcing the point. Netflix.

The End of Oak Street

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The End of Oak Street takes pristine 1980s suburbia and drops it somewhere considerably less welcoming. After a mysterious cosmic event tears Oak Street from the modern world, the Platt family find themselves stranded in the prehistoric era, with dinosaurs roaming beyond the garden fence. Greg and Denise are already struggling at home, and their children Audrey and Brian can feel the cracks forming. Then survival becomes a rather more immediate family problem. David Robert Mitchell, the filmmaker behind It Follows and Under the Silver Lake, writes and directs, drawing on influences closer to The Twilight Zone, Poltergeist and Signs than a simple Jurassic Park retread. Anne Hathaway gives Denise a restless intensity, while Ewan McGregor makes Greg vulnerable and slightly overwhelmed rather than conventionally heroic. Maisy Stella and Christian Convery complete a family dynamic that feels strained before anything with teeth arrives. Mitchell handles the escalation brilliantly. Michael Gioulakis shoots the neighbourhood with carefully controlled compositions that make everyday suburbia increasingly strange, while Michael Giacchino’s score knows when to push the spectacle and when to let the suspense breathe. The dinosaurs are impressive, but the film understands that seeing them against garages, lawns and ordinary houses is what gives the concept its personality. The writing occasionally sacrifices logic for momentum, and some emotional beats announce themselves early. But you can feel Mitchell trying to merge character, horror, humour and blockbuster spectacle rather than simply feeding people to dinosaurs for ninety-nine minutes. At its best, this is inventive, tense and unusually eccentric summer entertainment, with enough family drama underneath the prehistoric chaos to give the running and screaming some weight. In Cinemas.

The Odyssey

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Christopher Nolan takes one of the oldest adventure stories ever told and gives it the weight of a modern blockbuster without losing sight of the man at its centre. The Odyssey begins after the Trojan War, with Odysseus attempting to return home to Ithaca. What follows is a dangerous voyage through monsters, temptation and divine interference, but the real hook is simpler: how much of himself can he preserve before he gets there? Nolan’s obsession with time, endurance and human fixation makes him a natural fit for Homer’s tale. Matt Damon plays Odysseus with a weathered, tightly controlled determination, making every victory feel costly. Tom Holland and Anne Hathaway strengthen the emotional side of the story, particularly through the separate pressures placed on Telemachus and Penelope. Their performances give the film warmth even when its scale threatens to swallow the characters whole. Visually, it is formidable. The landscapes feel vast, hostile and physical, while the action has enough texture to avoid becoming weightless spectacle. The cinematography moves between sun-blasted grandeur and darker, more claustrophobic spaces, and the score keeps the tension simmering without flattening the quieter moments. You can feel Nolan trying to make myth tangible rather than merely impressive. The writing is strongest when it focuses on home, identity and the cost of survival. A few stretches drag under the weight of the film’s ambition, and some supporting figures feel more symbolic than fully realised, but the emotional pull remains clear. It is serious, muscular filmmaking, occasionally a little solemn for its own good, but never lacking conviction. In Cinemas.

Silo

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Season three of *Silo* wastes no time changing the rules. Juliette Nichols returns from her impossible journey beyond the silo, but instead of bringing answers home, she begins the season unable to remember what happened outside, or even her own past. It's an intriguing twist that turns the show's greatest truth-seeker into its most unreliable witness, while opening the door to a much bigger mystery. Graham Yost continues to steer the adaptation of Hugh Howey's novels, with Rebecca Ferguson once again leading an outstanding ensemble alongside Common, Jessica Henwick and Ashley Zukerman. Rebecca Ferguson remains the emotional heartbeat of the series. Even with Juliette stripped of her memories, she never loses the quiet determination that makes the character so compelling. Ferguson finds the balance between confusion and resilience, keeping you invested while the mystery slowly unfolds. Jessica Henwick and Ashley Zukerman also make a strong impression as the story expands beyond the familiar confines of the silo, bringing fresh perspectives that make the world feel much larger without losing its focus. Visually, *Silo* continues to be one of the most accomplished science fiction dramas on television. The industrial gloom of the underground world remains beautifully realised, while the expanded settings give the series a broader cinematic scale. The cinematography leans into stark contrasts between light and shadow, and the understated score quietly reinforces the constant feeling that something isn't quite right. The writing asks a lot of its audience. Multiple timelines, new characters and an amnesia storyline could easily have become an overcomplicated mess. Instead, they largely serve the central mystery, rewarding patience rather than testing it. The pacing occasionally slows under the weight of the expanding mythology, but the revelations feel meaningful instead of being held back simply for the sake of another cliffhanger. If you've been invested from the beginning, this feels like the point where *Silo* truly opens up. It broadens the mythology without sacrificing the intimate character drama that made the series work in the first place, and leaves you eager to see how all the pieces finally come together. Apple TV+.

House of the Dragon

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Ryan Condal wastes no time throwing Westeros back into open war. Season three opens with *Salt and Sea, Fire and Blood*, picking up immediately after the events of season two as Rhaenyra positions herself to take King's Landing while the Triarchy sails towards the Gullet. The Dance of the Dragons has entered its most dangerous phase, and from the opening moments every decision feels like it could reshape the fate of the realm. Emma D'Arcy continues to deliver one of television's strongest lead performances. Rhaenyra has evolved into a ruler hardened by loss, yet D'Arcy never loses sight of the humanity beneath the crown. Matt Smith remains magnetic as Daemon, bringing an unpredictable edge to every appearance, while Olivia Cooke gives Alicent remarkable emotional depth as she faces impossible choices. Their performances anchor a story that could easily disappear beneath its own spectacle. Loni Peristere directs the premiere with confidence, while Ryan Condal's script balances intimate political drama with large-scale warfare without sacrificing either. The tension builds naturally, and every scene feels like another move in an increasingly dangerous game. Even when the action pauses, the political manoeuvring is compelling enough to keep you completely invested. Visually, this is arguably the series at its finest. The cinematography captures Westeros with breathtaking scale, from smoke-filled battlefields to the imposing halls of King's Landing, while the dragons have never looked more intimidating. Ramin Djawadi's score once again elevates every major moment, blending familiar themes with new compositions that underline the growing tragedy. The writing is sharp, giving every conversation real purpose as loyalties shift and alliances begin to fracture. Betrayals feel earned rather than manufactured, and the episode never loses sight of the characters beneath the spectacle. You may need a moment to remember every Targaryen relationship, but that's always been part of the experience. If the opening episode is any indication, House of the Dragon has found another gear. It's bigger, darker, more emotionally engaging, and confidently embraces everything that makes this world so compelling. It sets the stage for what could be the series' most ambitious season yet. HBO Max / NOW.

I Will Find You

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Harlan Coben's *I Will Find You* wastes no time throwing you into its central mystery. In the opening episode, David Burroughs, played by Sam Worthington, is serving a prison sentence for the murder of his young son. Then a single piece of evidence suggests the impossible. His son may still be alive. What follows is a desperate escape and a relentless search for the truth, with David forced to outrun both the law and a conspiracy that keeps expanding the deeper he digs. Created by Robert Hull, the series embraces the familiar Harlan Coben formula of relentless twists, cliffhangers and hidden identities. If you've seen previous adaptations, you'll recognise the rhythm almost immediately. Sam Worthington anchors the story with a performance full of quiet desperation rather than action hero bravado, while Britt Lower brings warmth and intelligence as Rachel, giving the emotional side of the mystery genuine weight. Together they keep the drama grounded, even when the plot takes some increasingly bold turns. The direction keeps everything moving at a brisk pace, rarely allowing the tension to settle for long. Visually, the series leans into cold colour palettes and tight framing, creating an atmosphere where nobody feels entirely trustworthy. The score is subtle but effective, quietly increasing the pressure without announcing itself. It's polished throughout, even if it occasionally feels a little too familiar. The biggest strength is the pacing. Every episode leaves you wanting one more, and the central mystery is compelling enough to overlook the occasional leap in logic. The writing isn't always as clever as it thinks it is, with some twists relying more on surprise than emotional payoff, but the performances do enough heavy lifting to keep you invested. If you're looking for a tightly paced thriller that's easy to binge and delivers plenty of suspense without reinventing the genre, *I Will Find You* is an enjoyable watch. It doesn't quite reach the top tier of Harlan Coben adaptations, but it knows exactly what its audience wants. Netflix.

The Deal

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Elle Kennedy’s The Deal drops you straight into the familiar but highly effective territory of the college romance. Early on, we meet Hannah Wells, a smart and ambitious student who has one very specific problem. She knows exactly who she wants, but getting his attention feels impossible. Enter Garrett Graham, Briar University’s hockey star, whose slipping grades threaten his future. A tutoring arrangement quickly turns into a fake-dating scheme, and from there the story finds its groove. Kennedy has built a reputation as one of the biggest names in sports romance, and you can see why. The chemistry between Hannah and Garrett is immediate, but more importantly, it develops. Garrett could easily have been written as a generic campus heart-throb, yet Kennedy gives him enough charm, vulnerability, and self-awareness to make him feel surprisingly grounded. Hannah is equally engaging, carrying emotional baggage that adds genuine weight to the relationship. What really works is the dialogue. It is quick, funny, and rarely sounds forced. The banter lands, the romantic tension builds naturally, and the emotional moments are given enough room to breathe. You can feel the novel balancing humour and sincerity without tipping too far into melodrama. That is harder than it looks. There are moments where the story leans heavily on familiar genre conventions, and experienced romance readers will spot most of the major beats long before they arrive. Still, predictability is not necessarily a flaw when the journey is this enjoyable. The hockey backdrop adds personality without overwhelming the romance, and the emotional stakes remain front and centre. As the first book in the Off-Campus series, The Deal succeeds because it understands exactly what readers are looking for. Strong chemistry, engaging characters, and a romance that feels earned rather than manufactured. If you're into character-driven romances with plenty of heart and a generous amount of swoon, this is an easy recommendation. Amazon.

The Rest is Entertainment

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The latest episode of The Rest Is Entertainment podcast uses Steven Bartlett as a lens through which to explore optimisation culture, wellness influencers, and the growing power of podcast personalities. Richard Osman provides a measured account of Bartlett's rise from Social Chain entrepreneur to podcasting giant, while Marina Hyde takes a far more sceptical view of the self-improvement industry that now surrounds him. The discussion begins with Bartlett's viral claim that a few glasses of wine negatively affected his sleep, diet and productivity, but quickly broadens into a debate about wearables, self-tracking, personal branding and the business of self-optimisation. Hyde's criticism is often sharp and funny, while Osman adds context and balance, making the conversation feel more analytical than simply argumentative. The middle section shifts to a lighter examination of celebrity destination weddings, using Dua Lipa and Callum Turner's recent marriage as a case study. It's packed with Hyde's trademark observations about celebrity culture and the increasingly elaborate playbook surrounding high-profile weddings. The strongest material outside the Bartlett discussion comes from the podcast's examination of the crisis surrounding 60 Minutes and CBS News. Here the show tackles questions of editorial independence, corporate ownership, political influence and the future of traditional broadcast journalism, resulting in the episode's most substantial and thought-provoking segment. As always, the chemistry between Osman and Hyde carries the show. One provides structure, the other wit, and together they make complex media stories entertaining without losing sight of the bigger picture. YouTube.

Obsession

2013

Curry Barker’s *Obsession* wastes little time setting up a deceptively simple premise. In the opening act, a hopeless romantic stumbles across the mysterious "One Wish Willow" and uses it in the hope of winning over the girl he cannot stop thinking about. It appears to work, but the film quickly hints that every shortcut comes with a price, steering the story towards psychological horror rather than a straightforward romance. Barker directs and writes with clear confidence, leaning into awkward youthful longing before slowly twisting it into something far darker. Michael Johnston gives the lead a believable vulnerability that makes his decisions understandable even when they become reckless. Inde Navarrette brings warmth and uncertainty to the relationship, while Cooper Tomlinson adds another layer of tension whenever the story threatens to settle into familiar territory. The direction is strongest when it trusts atmosphere over explanation. Dim interiors, muted colours and carefully framed shots create an unsettling mood that lingers long after individual scares have passed. The score quietly amplifies the dread without overwhelming the scenes, and you can feel the pressure building with each new consequence. Thankfully, it resists the temptation to shout when a whisper will do. Even horror films know that overacting is scarier to casting directors than audiences. The writing balances supernatural ideas with emotional insecurity, making obsession feel as much like a personal flaw as a paranormal curse. The pacing occasionally slows in the middle, and a few supporting characters could have used greater depth, but the central concept remains compelling throughout. If you're into psychological horror that mixes romance with creeping unease instead of endless jump scares, this is an easy recommendation. In Cinemas.

Dutton Ranch

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Taylor Sheridan’s Dutton Ranch plants itself firmly in Yellowstone territory, but this spin-off narrows the focus in a way that actually works. The setup is straightforward. Beth Dutton and Rip Wheeler are trying to hold together a battered ranch while raising Carter into something resembling a capable man. That sounds almost gentle by Yellowstone standards, but the first episode quickly reminds you this world still runs on intimidation, buried grief, and the occasional threat delivered like a weather forecast. Sheridan knows this landscape better than most television writers alive, and you can feel his fingerprints all over the pacing and dialogue. Kelly Reilly slips back into Beth with frightening ease, still weaponising every sentence like she’s in a permanent knife fight. Cole Hauser’s Rip remains the emotional anchor, quieter this time, but more reflective. Their chemistry continues to carry the franchise because beneath all the snarling and cigarette smoke, there is genuine tenderness there. Finn Little also gets more room to breathe as Carter, and the show is at its strongest when it focuses on him learning what this world expects from him. Visually, it’s gorgeous. Wide Montana horizons, burnt-gold sunsets, battered interiors. The cinematography leans heavily into mythmaking, but it earns it. Even the score has that dusty Americana ache Sheridan loves. There are moments where the writing drifts too close to self-parody, especially when every conversation sounds like it belongs on a ranch-themed motivational poster. Still, the emotional core lands more often than not. If you’re already invested in Yellowstone, this feels essential. If you’re new, it’s probably the deep end of the cowboy pool. And yes, there are still enough simmering standoffs to make human resources implode instantly. Paramount+.

Slow Horses

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Slow Horses takes the familiar spy thriller and deliberately drags it through the mud. In the opening stretch, a failed MI5 operation lands River Cartwright, played by Jack Lowden, in Slough House, a dumping ground for disgraced agents overseen by the gloriously unpleasant Jackson Lamb. Gary Oldman plays him like a man who’s weaponised bad hygiene. Beneath the insults, the flatulence, and the endless disdain, though, is someone frighteningly sharp. As a kidnapping case starts spiralling into something much larger, this group of cast-offs are forced back into the field whether MI5 likes it or not. What makes the series work so well is how casually confident it feels. Creator Will Smith and director James Hawes understand the appeal of spy fiction, but they strip away the glamour. London looks cold, cramped, and permanently exhausted. Even the action scenes feel messy in a good way, like nobody here has done cardio in years. You can feel the influence of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, but with more sarcasm and far less self-importance. Oldman is the centre of gravity. He’s hilarious, quietly menacing, and oddly human underneath all the grime. Lowden gives River just enough arrogance to make his failures believable, while Kristin Scott Thomas turns every MI5 briefing into a masterclass in controlled contempt. The ensemble chemistry is excellent because nobody in this world fully trusts anybody else. The writing is tight, funny, and surprisingly emotional once it settles into the lives of these washed-up operatives. Occasionally the pacing dips between major reveals, but the tension always snaps back quickly. If you’re into espionage dramas that value character over spectacle, this is one of the sharpest on television right now. Apple TV+.

Legends

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Legends opens with a deceptively simple hook. British customs agents are embedded deep inside violent drug networks, constructing fake identities convincing enough to ruin their real lives. The first episode drops you straight into the paranoia of undercover work, where one wrong glance can end an operation or a career. Because the series is rooted in real accounts and extensive research, every interaction carries this grim sense that somebody is always seconds away from being exposed. Neil Forsyth, following the success of The Gold, brings the same fascination with institutional pressure and criminal ecosystems, but Legends feels colder and more intimate. The direction from Brady Hood and Julian Holmes keeps everything grounded, resisting the temptation to glamorise gangland Britain. Instead, the series focuses on exhaustion, moral compromise, and the psychological toll of pretending to be somebody else for too long. Tom Burke is excellent, playing his operative with twitchy restraint and permanent unease, but this is very much Steve Coogan’s show. As Don, the former undercover officer orchestrating these operations, Coogan delivers one of the strongest dramatic performances of his career. He brings authority, intelligence, and this quiet sense of damage underneath the professionalism. You completely buy him as somebody who has spent years living in morally grey territory. Hayley Squires adds emotional texture without slowing the momentum, and the ensemble overall feels properly lived-in. Visually, it’s superb. Muted colours, cramped interiors, and lingering close-ups give the whole series a drained, anxious texture. The score wisely stays understated because the tension already does enough heavy lifting on its own. If you’re expecting huge twists every episode, Legends may feel too patient. But if you want a crime drama that values atmosphere, character, and authenticity over empty shocks, this is one of the year’s strongest British series. Netflix.

Michael

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Antoine Fuqua’s Michael opens by pulling you into the machinery behind the myth. Before the headlines, before the tabloid caricature, this is a story about a gifted kid being shaped, managed, and eventually consumed by the idea of global fame. The first act traces Michael Jackson’s rise from child performer to cultural phenomenon, with Jaafar Jackson stepping into the role carrying an almost eerie resemblance to his uncle. And yes, you’ll spend the first twenty minutes slightly distracted by how uncannily accurate some of the movements are. Fuqua, coming off years of muscular crime dramas like Training Day and The Equalizer, brings surprisingly restrained direction here. He avoids turning the film into a pure greatest-hits montage, although the temptation is clearly there. Instead, the pacing leans into the isolation surrounding celebrity, and John Logan’s script tries to separate the performer from the industry built around him. Jaafar Jackson is genuinely compelling. He doesn’t impersonate Michael so much as channel the fragility and hyper-focus that made him magnetic in the first place. Nia Long and Colman Domingo bring warmth and tension to the family dynamic, grounding scenes that could easily have drifted into glossy awards-bait territory. Visually, it’s polished without feeling sterile. The concert recreations are staged with scale and precision, but the quieter backstage moments are where the cinematography really works, all dim corridors and lonely close-ups. The score and sound design do a lot of heavy lifting too, especially when the film shifts from triumph into something more melancholic. The issue is that the script occasionally flinches from deeper interrogation. You can feel the film trying to honour the icon while sidestepping some of the messier contradictions. That balance does not always hold. Still, as a character study and performance piece, it’s far more absorbing than the standard music biopic formula. In Cinemas.

Lord of the Flies

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Marc Munden’s Lord of the Flies takes William Golding’s brutal survival story and strips it down into something colder, leaner, and more intimate. The setup is familiar. A group of British schoolboys end up stranded on an isolated tropical island after a disaster at sea, and what begins as an attempt to build order slowly curdles into tribalism, fear, and outright savagery. It is still one of the sharpest allegories about civilisation ever written, but Jack Thorne’s adaptation is more interested in psychological collapse than spectacle. Munden keeps the tension simmering from the start, leaning hard into paranoia and social breakdown rather than survival-thriller spectacle. Winston Sawyers gives Ralph a convincing sense of reluctant leadership, constantly looking like he’s one bad decision away from losing control completely. Lox Pratt’s Jack is the standout though, less cartoon tyrant and more dangerously persuasive schoolyard alpha. You can see why the others follow him, which makes the descent feel nastier. David McKenna’s Piggy carries much of the emotional weight, and the quieter scenes land better than the louder confrontations. Visually, it avoids glossy survival-drama clichés. The island feels humid, cramped, and increasingly hostile. The cinematography trades postcard beauty for unease, while the score hums away underneath like a warning signal you cannot switch off. There are moments where the pacing drifts, especially in the middle stretch, and some of the dialogue feels a touch too polished for boys supposedly slipping into chaos. Still, the atmosphere rarely lets go. The themes remain depressingly timeless. Power, fear, mob mentality. You can feel the story pushing at the idea that civilisation is not a stable thing at all, just a thin layer people agree to maintain until panic takes over. If you’re into bleak, character-driven adaptations that trust mood over action, this absolutely works, even when it occasionally mistakes restraint for depth. BBC iPlayer.

Thrash

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Thrash drops you straight into the chaos. Right from the start, you’re in a coastal town staring down a Category 5 hurricane, and just when you think it’s your standard disaster setup, the floodwaters bring sharks with them. Yes, actual sharks swimming through streets. It’s a fun hook, and honestly, for a bit, you’re on board. Tommy Wirkola directs with that familiar mix of sincerity and pulp. If you’ve seen his earlier stuff, you’ll recognise the tone, though here it doesn’t always land consistently. Phoebe Dynevor does a solid job keeping things grounded, reacting in a way that feels believable even when everything around her isn’t. Whitney Peak adds a bit more bite, and Djimon Hounsou brings presence, though he’s not given loads to do, which feels like a waste. The problem is, it never quite builds properly. You’ll get a tense moment, then it drifts. The shark scenes should be the main event, but the effects are hit and miss, and you can feel it when the illusion breaks. There’s one sequence in a flooded house that really should have been the standout, and instead it kind of fizzles. The script doesn’t help much either. Characters make decisions that feel more convenient than convincing, and you might catch yourself questioning things you probably shouldn’t need to. If you’re in the mood for something daft and easy, there’s some fun here. It just never goes as far as it should. Could have been wild. Plays it safe. Netflix.

The Hunt for Gollum

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With The Lord of the Rings: The Hunt for Gollum set to arrive in late 2027, directed by Andy Serkis and centred on Aragorn’s pursuit of Gollum in the run-up to The Fellowship of the Ring, there’s a renewed reason to revisit this first chapter. Not just as the beginning of a trilogy, but as the film that quietly sets that pursuit in motion. Before Gollum fully emerges, his presence is already shaping events, felt more than seen. Peter Jackson opens on a deceptively simple premise. Frodo, a young Hobbit, inherits a ring, and in the first act that small, almost quaint moment spirals into a journey that feels far too large for him to carry. As the Fellowship forms, you can sense multiple paths converging, even if the characters cannot yet see it. Jackson directs with remarkable control, balancing intimacy and spectacle without losing either. Elijah Wood gives Frodo a vulnerability that keeps the story grounded, while Ian McKellen’s Gandalf blends warmth and authority with ease. Viggo Mortensen’s Aragorn is all restraint and quiet tension, a performance that reveals more the longer you watch. The film still looks extraordinary. The cinematography turns landscapes into living mythology, and Howard Shore’s score underlines emotion with precision rather than excess. You’ll notice how often the music signals danger before it arrives. The writing carries a heavy load of lore, and while exposition does creep in, it rarely stalls momentum. Instead, it builds a world that feels coherent and inhabited. Seen now, it’s fascinating how deliberately it plants the idea of Gollum as a figure already in motion, making the upcoming film feel less like an add-on and more like a missing piece. It’s long, but it earns every minute. If you’re into fantasy, it’s essential. If you’re not, this is still the one that might win you over. HBO Max in the UK.

The Drama

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Kristoffer Borgli’s The Drama wastes no time dropping you into a picture-perfect engagement and quietly pulling at the seams. In act one, Zendaya and Robert Pattinson play a couple gliding towards their wedding week, all charm and shared rhythm, until a sudden, destabilising revelation sends that carefully built life tilting off balance. What follows is less about what happens and more about how quickly certainty unravels when reality stops behaving as expected. Borgli, who has a knack for discomfort laced with irony, leans into that tonal tightrope again here. Zendaya is sharp and emotionally precise, letting flickers of doubt creep in without ever overplaying it. Pattinson meets her with a twitchy, restless energy that keeps you guessing, and Alana Haim adds a grounded counterweight that subtly shifts the dynamic whenever she’s on screen. The chemistry feels lived-in, which makes the fractures land harder. Visually, it’s controlled and slightly sterile in a way that feels deliberate. Clean frames, soft light, and a score that hums rather than swells, all reinforcing the sense that something is just off. You can feel the tension in the negative space. The writing is where it really bites, favouring awkward pauses and loaded exchanges over big declarations. It trusts you to sit in the discomfort, which mostly pays off, even if it occasionally lingers a beat too long. It sits somewhere between romantic drama and quiet psychological unpicking, closer to modern relationship studies than sweeping love stories. If you’re into films that dissect rather than reassure, you’ll find plenty to chew on here. Not always easy, but consistently engaging, and just a little unsettling in a way that sticks. In Cinemas.

Hoppers

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Pixar’s Hoppers opens with a playful but quietly intriguing hook. Mabel, an enquiring student, signs up for an experimental programme that lets humans “hop” their consciousness into robotic animals. What starts as a novelty quickly turns into something more complicated when she finds herself living among real wildlife, navigating their world from the inside, and uncovering a growing threat to their habitat. Directed by Daniel Chong, best known for We Bare Bears, the film carries his signature mix of offbeat humour and sincere emotional grounding. Piper Curda brings Mabel to life with an energetic, slightly impulsive charm that feels authentic rather than exaggerated. Jon Hamm, this time on the human side as a smooth but self-serving mayor, adds a layer of grounded opposition that keeps the stakes rooted in something recognisable. The contrast works, even if it occasionally leans into familiar territory. Visually, it’s Pixar doing what Pixar does best, but with a clever twist. The animal perspective isn’t just a gimmick. Low camera angles, heightened sound, and quick, tactile movement make the forest feel immediate and unpredictable. You can feel the difference between observing nature and actually being in it, which is where the film finds its edge. The writing leans into themes of empathy and environmental responsibility without becoming overly preachy. It’s not breaking new ground, and you’ll likely spot the trajectory early on, but it earns its emotional beats through character rather than spectacle. You’ll come for the concept, but it’s the perspective shift that lingers. In Cinemas.

Harry Potter & the Philosophers Stone

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This Christmas, thousands of lifelong fans will step back into a story that shaped their childhood, while a new generation discovers it for the first time. The new Harry Potter isn’t revisiting the past. It’s rebuilding it. The opening clip provides an overload of detail. Privet Drive, stripped of warmth. Petunia, played by Bel Powley, cuts Harry down with brutal certainty, stating 'there is nothing special about you'. We see Harry being bullied at school. Then the turn. Dominic McLaughlin’s Harry meets Nick Frost’s Hagrid, charges through Platform 9¾, and boards the Hogwarts Express. The essentials are all here, but the tone is tighter, more grounded. This is a cast built fresh from the ground up. McLaughlin leads, with Arabella Stanton as Hermione and Alastair Stout as Ron. Around them, heavyweight support. John Lithgow as Dumbledore, Janet McTeer as McGonagall, and Paapa Essiedu stepping into Snape. It’s a confident mix of new faces and proven presence. Visually, it’s deliberate. Cooler lighting, controlled framing, less instant spectacle. The magic isn’t thrown at you. It builds. You get glimpses. A wand, a train, a snowball fight, Quidditch in motion. Just enough to promise scale without giving it away. Creative control sits with Francesca Gardiner and Mark Mylod, with J. K. Rowling backing the series and calling it “incredible.” That confidence shows. This is focused, intentional storytelling. The headline is simple. A faithful adaptation of *Philosopher’s Stone*, expanded for television, premiering December 25th. A new cast. A longer format. A chance to live in this world again, properly. We can't wait for Christmas Day! Max in the UK.

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