The Magic Faraway Tree

02/04/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

If you didn’t read The Magic Faraway Tree as a child, then you really did miss out. Mention the title to anyone who encountered it in their early years, and you’ll unleash a torrent of strange words, none of which will make much sense if you’re not au fait with the fantasy series. “Moonface!” they’ll exclaim. “Silky! The Slippery-slip! Pop-biscuits! Dame Slap!”

This adaptation (written by Simon Farnaby and directed by Ben Gregor) veers wildly from the original but still retains the heart of Enid Blyton’s beloved books. In this version, Beth, Joe and Franny (formerly Bessie, Jo and Fanny) are firmly Generation Alpha, unable to imagine a world without Wi-Fi, ear pods or mobile phones. So when their mum (Claire Foy) loses her well-paid city job and their dad (Andrew Garfield) suggests moving to the middle of nowhere to set up a pasta sauce business, they’re not exactly thrilled.

Teenager Beth (Delilah Bennett-Cardy) is especially put out. Seriously? She’s expected to live here? There’s nothing but fields and trees. What’s she supposed to do? Middle child Joe (Phoenix Laroche) agrees with her: he’s reduced to pretending a plank of wood is a games console. Meanwhile Franny (Billie Gadsdon), a thoughtful child with selective mutism – no, that’s not in the original – is slowly starting to blossom. What’s behind her newfound confidence?

The clue is in the title. Despite warnings from a neighbouring farmer (Farnaby), Franny has ventured into the Enchanted Wood, where she’s encountered the folk of the Faraway Tree. Its trunk and branches house a multitude of wonderful characters – including Moonface (Nonso Anozie), Silky (Nicola Coughlan) and the Saucepan Man (Dustin Demri-Burns). Even better, there’s a ladder at the top, which stretches up through the clouds into a host of magical lands. No wonder Franny’s motivated to speak when she’s bursting with news of elves and pixies and the Land of Goodies. And of course, eventually, her skeptical siblings join her there…

Farnaby and Gregor have captured the essence of Blyton’s stories, the whimsical appeal of fairies, wishes and aeroplanes that get sleepy – but attempting to fit in every idea from the book makes the end result feel a little over-stuffed and it doesn’t help that there are also a lot of ideas that weren’t there in the first place. A sub-plot involving Jennifer Saunders as the children’s avaricious granny (who, for no discernible reason, boasts a dodgy German accent) feels somewhat superfluous. On the other hand, not enough is made of Rebecca Ferguson’s Dame Snap (formerly Slap) and her prison-like school. Ferguson gives this her best shot, but we’re barely in her presence for ten minutes before the adventure careers onwards.

But this is nonetheless a delightful children’s film, which littl’uns are sure to enjoy for its own sake, while their elders take the opportunity to drink a cup of acornade and revel in nostalgia.

3.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Miss Lockwood Isn’t Well

01/04/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s April Fool’s Day and the final offering in this season’s A Play A Pie and a Pint seems an apt choice for the occasion. Miss Lockwood Isn’t Well focuses on the trials and tribulations of primary school teacher Alice Lockwood (Karen Young), who has been suspended from work after experiencing a series of visions. Each encounter features a saint, who arrives in her classroom bearing helpful advice. Mind you, the insights she’s granted aren’t (at least, initially) in Joan of Arc territory.

That earring she lost? It’s under the fridge. Apparently.

Dr Freer (Jane McQuarry) has been given the tricky task of determining whether or not Alice is fit to return to work. For the assessment, Alice has requested that her parish priest, Father Mackin (Mark Cox), should also be in attendance, presumably to offer some moral support – though his snarky, mocking attitude probably isn’t what she was hoping for. Dr Freer asks Alice to explain, in her own words, the bizarre encounters that have brought her to her current situation and her ensuing account makes up the substance of James Reilly’s acerbic and occasionally hilarious play.

Young manages to keep her character grounded throughout, wide-eyed with dismay that anybody would think her a potential danger, but occasionally slipping into a kind of altered state – whereupon some of her revelations really do seem to verge on the miraculous. It’s an intriguing twist. Cox is given the lion’s share of the one-liners, which he handles with perfect timing, coaxing big laughs from the audience – and McQuarry makes an excellent job of the play’s trickiest role, refereeing the constant sparring of her two companions, yet still managing to create a convincing and utterly professional character.

This is an undeniably intriguing piece. The revelation that there are actually thousands of patron saints recognised by the Catholic church – and that many of them have pretty inane responsibilities – adds to the general air of amusement. Did you know, for instance, that there’s actually a patron saint of dysentery? St Polycarp. Thanks for asking.

Catriona McLeod handles the direction with her usual skill and Heather Grace Currie’s neon-splashed set revels in the innate tackiness of Catholicism (sorry, lapsed Catholic speaking). If the play’s conclusion doesn’t quite smack home with a killer punch, this is a thoroughly entertaining way to spend a Wednesday lunchtime.

Come to think of it, there’s probably a patron saint for those too. Saint Pie-us? I’ll get my coat.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

The Light House

28/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Alys Williams’ one-woman show raises some important issues about caring for someone who is struggling with their mental health. The play opens with a boat on a stormy sea – and the terrifying realisation that someone has fallen in. “Man overboard!” yells Williams. “Man overboard!” echo the audience members she has previously primed. “Call the bridge!” Williams says. “Blow the whistle! Throw the lifebuoy! Point!”

The final instruction is the hardest to follow, because she has to keep pointing without looking away until someone else comes to take over.

No matter how long that takes.

The metaphor soon becomes clear. The protagonist’s boyfriend experiences suicidal ideation. When he’s found on a Dublin bridge, contemplating throwing himself into the Liffey, she tries her best to rise to the occasion. She sounds the alarm: “Man overboard!” She doesn’t let him out of her sight. But no one comes to her assistance, and her own wellness begins to suffer.

It’s interesting to see this story from the caregiver’s point of view. However, although this is very much Alys’s tale, I think the piece would benefit from a deeper exploration of Nathan’s experience, offering us more insight into his illness than the superficial assertion that he’s ‘depressed’. Without this, it’s hard to appreciate the extent to which Alys’s care is needed.

From a dramatic point of view, there’s not a lot of jeopardy. Williams assures us at the beginning that everything turns out okay, and it does – with nary a bump on the road. Aside from the initial incident – where Nathan thinks about killing himself and then decides not to – everything progresses relatively smoothly. Sure, there are the long waiting lists for psychiatric care, his parents’ worries about their medical insurance and Alys’s spiralling anxiety. But none of these potentially serious complications ever amounts to anything, which makes the play feel strangely anticlimactic.

Nonetheless, Williams is a very engaging performer. Directed by Andrea Heaton, her gentle, inclusive demeanour makes the audience participation work well. I also like her use of puppetry and clowning; in fact, I think Williams could make more of these to amplify the emotional impact. The set (by Emma Williams) is effective, conjuring both boat and bedsit, its many ladders and hiding places allowing for dynamic movement.

A nicely-told drama about a vital subject, The Light House is on tour until the 24th May.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

The Good Boy

26/03/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

The title of Stephen Graham’s new film has caused some confusion. The Good Boy is known as in some quarters as Heel, mostly to avoid being confused with another recent release, Good Boy, which is about a haunted dog – though in both films one of the ‘lead’ characters gets to wear a collar. Confused? Don’t be. Suffice to say this is a fascinating watch, whatever it’s called, featuring one of the darkest, most twisted storylines I’ve seen in a very long time.

Tommy (Anson Boon) is a toxic nineteen-year-old, who revels in drugs, violence and rampant sex, delighting in filming his exploits and posting them up on social media, where he’s attracting quite a following. Unluckily for him, his excesses have come to the attention of Chris (Stephen Graham) and, all too soon, Tommy wakes up on a mattress in the cellar of Chris’s remote detached house, chained in position and wearing the aforementioned collar. In his new home, he is compelled to obey his master’s every command. Should he misbehave, Chris is more than ready to dole out savage punishment – and he makes it clear from the get-go that he intends to show Tommy how a good boy behaves.

So, who is going to come to Tommy’s help? Certainly not Chris’s pale and wan wife, Kathryn (Andrea Riseborough), who appears to be broken by something terrible in her recent past. And certainly not Chris’s young son, Jonathan (Kit Rakusen), who looks and talks like a kid from an Enid Blyton novel and is very careful not to misbehave. What about the house’s most recent addition, hired cleaning woman, Rina (Monika Frajczyk)? Could she become Tommy’s ally? Or is she too caught up with family problems of her own? Besides, surely somebody has reported Tommy’s disappearance… won’t the police be looking for him?

The beauty of this film, written by Bartek Bartosik and Naqqash Khalid, is that I’m never entirely sure where the storyline is headed, right up to its final scene. Every time I think I’m close to working things out, it swings in an entirely different direction, which only serves to make it all the more intriguing. The three leads all play their roles compellingly, particularly Riseborough, who is obliged to remain mute for many of her early appearances, yet skilfully contrives to exude a palpable air of utter misery. Director Jan Komasa keeps everything on such a tight leash (we’re back to dogs again!) that the film has me in suspense from start to finish.

But what’s it about, I hear you ask? Is it just an unpleasant tale of sadism? No. It’s much more than that. The Good Boy challenges our preconceptions about right and wrong. It is about the power of the family unit – the ways in which it can exert both good and bad influences on those who are held within its tenacious grip. So many people attribute importance to their respective families and are often prepared to go to extreme lengths to ensure that the dynamic continues to function. Chris has clearly taken this approach far further than anyone ever should, but is there something at the heart of his methods that might actually… work?

Whatever your thoughts on the matter, The Good Boy is a powerful and highly original slice of contemporary cinema. See it if you can and draw your own conclusions. I guarantee, you won’t be bored.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Ready or Not 2: Here I Come

25/03/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

2019’s Ready or Not was one of those plucky little films that made a big impression. It introduced Samara Weaving as Grace, a young woman who unwittingly marries a Satanist (it happens) and then spends the rest of the film playing a bizarre game of Hide and Seek with her new husband and his family, all of whom are doing their level best to murder her with an array of vintage weapons. It was a deceptively simple concept, played through with great flair and absolute precision – and it worked like a charm.

Rumours of a sequel started soon after its release and now here it finally is, bigger, louder and (inevitably) bloodier than its predecessor. It picks up right where the last film finished off with a wounded and dishevelled Grace stumbling from a blazing building and being rushed to hospital. She’s had a close call but it’s all over now. Except, of course, it isn’t (that incredibly redundant 2 in the title is the clue).

She is soon informed that, because she’s managed to despatch an entire family in the Satanist hierarchy, she must now play the same game all over again, this time pitted against the heads of several different households. Whoever manages to kill Grace will be the new Satanic leader, taking over from Chester Danforth, played by esteemed horror director David Cronenberg. He’s glimpsed only briefly before he’s erased – as the rules dictate – by his two children, Titus (Shawn Hatosy) and Ursula (Sarah Michelle Gellar). And naturally, Chester’s twin kids both feel that they should be the one to inherit the kingdom.

To further complicate matters, Grace is now accompanied by her estranged younger sister, Faith (Kathyryn Newton), who has turned up at the hospital because she’s still listed as Grace’s next of kin. Now the two of them, handcuffed together, must take on seemingly insurmountable odds…

The old rule of sequels is as reductive as ever. Directors Guy Busick and R Christopher Murphy give it their best shot, working from a screenplay by Radio Silence (Marc Bettenelli-Olpin and Tyler Gilett), but they’re in a game of diminishing returns, no matter how much gusto they employ. Most of the running time features that kind of Sam Raimi-esque slapstick horror, where the impulse is to laugh out loud as people quite literally explode. The problem with that is that the reasons for Satanists exploding are quite convoluted and I’m still unclear about a couple of examples – but maybe that’s just me.

Both Weaving and Newton are strong in their roles and their habitual bickering as they flail from one disaster to the next is often more entertaining than the carnage. Elijah Wood gives the film one of its strongest cards as ‘The Lawyer,’ managing to stay straight-faced and erudite as the bodies pile up around him. The film itself runs out of steam long before its ridiculously protracted conclusion and the old adage about ‘less is more’ has rarely felt more apt.

This isn’t terrible, but neither is it a patch on it’s leaner, meaner progenitor. There’s already talk about a third instalment, but I sincerely hope that everyone has the good sense to leave it here. There are only so many exploding Satanists a fellow can take.

3 stars

Philip Caveney

One-Man Poe: The Black Cat & The Raven

22/03/26

The Swallow Theatre, Ravenstone

We’re enjoying a short campervan trip to Dumfries and Galloway. Tomorrow, a 10k hike is planned on the Isle of Whithorn where we’ll explore the setting of the final scenes of the iconic 1973 film, The Wicker Man. But how should we pass a quiet Sunday evening? Well, obviously we’re not going to a theatre show, that really would be a busman’s holiday… but then a friend tells us about The Swallow Theatre, which proudly proclaims itself to be ‘the smallest theatre in Scotland.’ Originally set up by Jill and David Sumner in 1990, it now has new owners, and is currently celebrating its 30th year!

And what’s more, tonight’s show looks very interesting…

Almost before we know what’s happening, our seats are booked and we’re dodging pot holes as we drive along a remote country road, until we see welcoming lights ahead of us. Someone is waiting by the parking area to guide cars into their spaces and, once inside, we take seats in the convivial bar, where drinks and snacks are being dispensed. The new owners have been running the theatre since 2016 and seem to be able to turn their hands to just about everything. As curtain up draws near, we’re led out to the converted cow byre behind the cottage, where performer Stephen Smith is already seated at a desk, awaiting our arrival. Blankets are dispensed (it’s Scotland; it’s cold!), the lights dim and One-Man Poe begins.

In the opening monologue, Smith relates the author’s classic short story, The Black Cat, the tale of a disturbed man who cannot stop himself from indulging in random acts of cruelty, most of them directed at his titular pet. Smith is a confident and assured performer and he embodies the narrator with great skill, seizing upon the man’s every gesture, every sidelong glance: the way he suddenly pauses to stare intently at a member of the audience. There are nicely-judged moments of dread, subtly accentuated by sound and lighting effects.

If the first half is impressive, the second is even more so as, in full view of the audience, Smith transforms himself into an entirely different character, the old man who relates Poe’s best-known poem, The Raven. This is stage craft of the highest order. We’ve seen Smith changing his clothes and applying his makeup, so why should we believe that he’s an elderly man approaching the end of his life? And yet, we absolutely do. It’s a mesmerising performance, during which the audience watches in spellbound silence as the familiar lines unfold.

Already a regular performer at the Edinburgh Fringe, Smith announces afterwards that he’s planning to return this August with two new pieces by Edgar Allen Poe. Something to check out at a later date, I think, but for now we return to our van, marvelling at what we’ve just watched and trying not to be aware of the countless pairs of glinting eyes watching us from the hedgerow…

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Saint Joan

21/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Stewart Laing’s stripped-back adaptation of George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan is based not on the 1923 original, but on a screenplay Shaw wrote later (presumably with an eye on Hollywood), a script which eventually made it into print in the1960s but never transitioned to the big screen. It’s a shorter, tauter version of the story, which focuses on Joan’s origins – and on her subsequent trial.

The piece is initially narrated by Chorus (Martin O Connor) as a series of action lines, inviting the audience to picture the scenes as they unfold. Joan (Mandipa Kabanda, in her theatrical debut), a sixteen-year-old peasant girl, turns up unexpectedly at the farm of Robert de Baudricourt (Thierry Mabonga), insisting that she be given a horse and a suit of armour. (Well we’ve all been there!) Voices in her head have told her that she must ride to the rescue of the city of Orléans, which is currently under siege by the English army. Those same voices assure Joan that not only can she save the city but, furthermore, she’s destined to be the one to crown the Dauphin in Rheims Cathedral.

Against all the odds, Robert is convinced by Joan’s visions and grants her request. The ensuing carnage in Orléans does appear to have a seemingly miraculous outcome with the French defeating the English, providing a turning point in the 100 years war. But of course, as we all know, history doesn’t have a happy ending planned for Joan – and all too soon, she finds herself on trial for witchcraft, judged and assessed by a bunch of toxic males, who feel threatened by her seemingly supernatural abilities. Only Ladvenu (Lewis MacDougall) finds some sympathy for her plight, but he is shouted down in the general chorus of ‘burn the witch!’

As I said earlier, it’s stripped-back and spare, but the harsh declamatory style of the dialogue sometimes makes it hard to follow proceedings – and it seems ironic that a huge blank screen standing onstage throughout is barely utilised as anything more than a handy barrier to conceal costume changes. There’s one brief sequence with a few static images and music by Charli XCX – and a longer filmed epilogue, created by Adura Onashile, which features a tarred-and-feathered Joan speaking directly to camera, evoking comparisons between her mission and the work of protestors against the current conflict in Palestine. Are social media activists channelling Joan as a prototype? This seems to suggest that they are – but, the inevitable effect is to make those earlier scenes seem even starker by comparison – and wouldn’t Joan’s immolation benefit from some suitably fiery visuals? I can’t help feeling this is a missed opportunity.

Still, this is a serious, thought-provoking performance piece with the six-strong cast moving from character to character with total commitment. MacDougall is particularly compelling as Ladvenu and Ross Mann manages to imbue elements of humour into the bullish, vengeful Chaplain. A four-way production between Raw Material, Perth Theatre, Aberdeen Performing Arts and Citizens Theatre, Saint Joan in at the Traverse until the 21st of March.

3.4 stars

Philip Caveney

The Swansong

18/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Based on a 2008 radio play by David Greig, this lunchtime musical by Eve Nicol and Finn Anderson tells the tale of a suicidal young woman saved by a talking swan. And yes, it’s as quirky as it sounds.

Lydia (Julia Murray) can’t see a way forward. After “a shit day, a shit week, a shit life,” she’s had enough. Armed with a bottle of gin and a headful of suicidal thoughts, she walks to her local duckpond, intent on drowning herself in its muddy shallows. But when she stumbles into Swan (Paul McArthur)’s nest, he offers her a deal: if she’ll come with him for one last party, he’ll make it so she can die instantly and painlessly just by clicking her fingers, any time she wants. Curious, Lydia agrees.

And so follows a wild night out, as the unlikely duo fly across the Edinburgh skies before drinking their way from bar to sex club to London sleeper train. As the hours pass, Lydia becomes less intent on ending her life. It’s not that Swan does or says anything especially profound, it’s just that he’s there, listening without judging, giving her the space and time to reconsider.

With an onstage band comprising musical director Dale Parker (piano) and Rachel Dunns (sax and flute), the music is seamlessly integrated into this latest piece for A Play, A Pie and A Pint, as Swan encourages Lydia to take to the pub stages and sing her self-penned songs. Both Murray and McArthur have soulful, expressive voices, ensuring we make a real emotional connection with their characters.

However, although the performances are faultless and the direction cohesive, I can’t help feeling that this play adds up to less than the sum of its parts. There’s clearly an allusion to Leda and the Swan, but the storylines are very different and I don’t know what I’m supposed to infer. Is it simply the collision of the human and the divine? If so, to what end? I’m also unconvinced by the Swan’s proposal: if Lydia really wants to die, she already knows how to make that happen. Surely he needs to offer something more than a slightly quicker way out?

Nonetheless, there’s no denying that, despite its dark themes, this is an engaging piece of musical theatre, and a more than worthwhile way to spend your lunch hour.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

One Day: The Musical

17/03/26

The Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh

The genius of David Nicholls’ 2009 novel lies in its central conceit, with July 15th assuming a profound significance. According to folklore, St Swithin’s Day’s weather is prophetic: whatever we wake up to that morning, come rain or shine, we’re in for another forty days of it. For Edinburgh students Dexter and Emma, it’s the date of their graduation party – and it signifies the start of something destined to last a lot longer than six weeks. Their 1988 brief encounter on their final night in the city is the start of a lifelong friendship. We catch up with them every year on this symbolic day for a snapshot of what they’re up to, sometimes together, sometimes apart. Though occasionally wobbly, the relationship survives their divergent paths as they navigate their respective ways through the minefields of adult life: careers and families, dreams and disappointments. The structure allows for an expansive narrative while still focusing on the minutiae. No wonder screenwriters couldn’t wait to get their mitts on it, as evidenced by the speedy release of Lone Scherfig’s 2011 film, and – more recently – the 2024 Netflix miniseries.

And now, perhaps inevitably, there’s this musical – a co-production by the Lyceum and Melting Pot, adapted by David Greig and directed by Max Webster. With music by Abner and Amanda Ramirez, One Day is both exuberant and memorable, a fitting celebration for the Lyceum’s 60th anniversary.

From the moment we enter the auditorium, there’s no mistaking the extravagance and ambition of Rae Smith’s design; the venue has been reconfigured beyond recognition, creating an in-the-round performance space from this 19th-century end-on theatre. We’re in tiered seating on what is usually the stage; the lower stalls are covered with a revolving wooden floor; the proscenium arch is lined with bulbs like a Hollywood mirror, reflecting the other half of the audience back at us. There are cabaret-style seats as well, making this an altogether different experience from the more traditional one we’re used to here. It’s exciting and audacious, priming us for what’s to come.

Dexter (Jamie Muscato) and Emma (Sharon Rose) make an appealing pair. They’re stock characters in a way – his posh-boy entitlement contrasting with her scrappy working-class determination – but they’re fleshed out enough for us to see beyond these stereotypes. If first-class honours student Emma is infuriating at times – settling for too little, with her job in a crappy restaurant and a boyfriend (Dan Buckley) she doesn’t love – then Dexter is immeasurably more so, squandering his unearned privilege and refusing to grow up. But we care about them too: they’re sweet and funny and vulnerable in their own ways, and we want them to succeed, both individually and together. The two leads are perfectly cast, imbuing the protagonists with warmth and humanity – and their vocals are impressive too.

The ensemble provide outstanding support in a variety of guises, from key characters such as Dexter’s parents (Josefina Gabrielle and David Birrell) and Em’s best friend, Tilly (the wonderfully-named Miracle Chance), to a crowd of 90s ravers and a whispering maze. Webster’s direction is overtly theatrical, playing with dramatic techniques to excellent effect. I especially like the physical manifestation of Dexter’s breakdown, as the actors cling to a literal lifeline, encircling him in his despair.

Carrie-Ann Ingrouille’s choreography complements and enhances the sprightly tone of the production, the 14-strong cast often seeming more numerous. Musical director Nigel Lilley leads his band with a matching ebullience, so that – despite the poignancy of the ending – the over-arching mood is one of verve and vivacity. It’s a clever balance.

Of course, I can’t leave this review without mentioning Imogen Brown, one of three young actors playing Dexter’s daughter, Jasmine. We’ve chosen tonight’s showing specifically because Imogen is performing: I know her from a drama class I teach. She’s every bit as professional and engaging as I would expect her to be, the role adding depth to Dexter’s character, as well as hope for his future.

A fabulous production all round, One Day: The Musical well deserves the success it has already achieved in its Edinburgh debut, and is sure to consolidate this when it transfers to the West End.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Project Hail Mary

15/03/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Science fiction movies come in all shapes and forms. They can be epic widescreen showcases. They can be intriguing ‘what if’ commentaries on uncertain futures. They can be wildly funny, gently heartwarming. They can be tales of triumph over adversity. They can be suspenseful, ironic, prophetic and surprising. Project Hail Mary somehow manages to be all of these things in the space of a couple of hours and, trust me, that’s not intended as a criticism.

Based on the novel by Andy Weir and adapted by Drew Goddard, the story begins aboard the titular space probe with Ryland Grace (Ryan Gosling) waking up from a very, VERY long sleep. He’s long-haired, bearded and extremely confused. What’s he doing on a freaking space ship? He’s a junior high school teacher for Christ’s sake! And why are the only other people aboard the probe both dead?

Memories from thirteen years ago gradually start to come back to him. He remembers being approached by Eva Stratt (Sandra Hüller), an administrator for the European Space Agency. She’s looking for a molecular biologist, something that Ryland worked at before he became a teacher. Eva delivers some bad news: the sun is dying, its power being gradually consumed by single-celled organisms called ‘Astrophage.’ If nothing is done about the situation, it will mean that humanity is going to face ‘total extinction’ within just a few short years. Will Ryland help her to find a solution for the problem?

He agrees to join her huge team of scientists, but makes it very clear from the outset that he’s really not interested in going into outer space himself. He’s a homebody, not a hero. On no account will he ever don a spacesuit and venture out of Earth’s gravity. Eva tells him it’s not a problem. So… how did he get here? And now he is here, what’s he supposed to do?

I love the way this complex tale is told, the background to the story gradually released via out-of-sequence recollections. Directors Phil Lord and Christopher Miller seem to relish multi-faceted storylines (see Into the Spider-Verse if you want further proof) and while PHM takes its own sweet time laying out all the pertinent details, it never loses momentum. Around the halfway mark, Ryland has a chance encounter with an alien starship and subsequently meets up with its only surviving crew member. He’s an Eridian, a strange many-limbed creature that appears to be made from lumps of stone and who Ryland immediately dubs ‘Rocky.’ Once they have devised a way to communicate, Ryland discovers that Rocky is on a similar mission to him – trying to find a way to save his own planet, Erid, which is also being ravaged by those pesky astrophages.

The two of them resolve to work together, though that isn’t a straightforward process…

The relationship between the two mismatched travellers is at the heart of this goofy and unapologetically sentimental tale. Rocky is a deceptively simple creation, devised using old-school puppetry rather than digital effects – and Gosling has rarely been more engaging than he is here, as a kind of super-nerd discovering that he’s capable of more than he ever imagined.

Best watched on an IMAX screen – some of the special effects sequences are eye-popping – this is an enchanting and thought-provoking tale that keeps me hooked throughout and delivers an intricate storyline with extraordinary skill.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney