Month: March 2024

Mothers’ Instinct

30/03/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Benoît Delhomme’s directorial debut looks beautiful: every scene is a pastel-perfect work of art. Stepford-ish wives Celine (Anne Hathaway) and Alice (Jessica Chastain) are next-door neighbours, with identikit McMansions, impeccable wardrobes and lookalike husbands. Even their sons, Max (Baylen D. Bielitz) and Theo (Eamon Patrick O’Connell), are a matching pair: they’re best friends, just like their moms. But not everything in this 1960s paradise is as peachy as it seems, and Max’s sudden death exposes more than just grief…

Mothers’ Instinct works well in many ways: Hathaway and Chastain deliver performances as flawless as their characters’ powder-pink co-ords. Celine’s brittle devastation and Alice’s mounting unease are slowly revealed, leading us first one way and then another, as we’re not sure whose version of reality to believe. The tension crackles and there’s some fine melodrama at play here.

Sadly – and don’t read any further if you’re worried about spoilers – there’s also an embarrassingly regressive subtext: women without children are monstrous. A generous reading might be that this is what happens to women when motherhood is the only role they’re allowed (Alice, keen at the start of the film to return to her work as a journalist, is told by her husband to contribute something to her son’s school newsletter). But, as the film progresses, it feels more like an indictment of childless women: driven mad by the frustration of their most basic desire, they are dangerous and should be feared.

It’s 2024. I honestly thought this was going to go somewhere different, that it would tease us with the clichés and then pull the rug from under us. But no. This actually is the grieving-mother-turns-psycho insult that is suggested from the start.

In the face of this deep-rooted misogyny, it seems pointless to quibble about minor plot details, such as why the police wouldn’t suspect foul play when so many deaths occur in one small neighbourhood, or how a woman can walk on a lawn in stilettos without getting mud on her heels or crawl through a hedge without mussing up her hair.

Mother’s Instinct has a lot in common with its lead character: it’s beautifully put together, but fundamentally fucked up.

2.7 stars

Susan Singfield

Late Night with the Devil

29/03/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

The majority of horror movies have recently settled into a predictable format – an unfolding sequence of jump-scares and body shocks with an open-ended conclusion that allows for the inevitable sequel. Late Night with the Devil comes as a reinvigorating breath of foul air to the genre. Written and directed by Australian brothers Cameron and Colin Cairnes (though the setting couldn’t be more convincingly American), the film is entirely set in a TV studio, a recording of a 1977 Halloween special, hosted by struggling chat show star, Jack Delroy (David Dastmalchian).

We’re first given a verité-style catch up on the man’s career: his slow steady rise to fame in the 60s, when he briefly challenged Johnny Carson for the top spot, and the rumours that his success is due to his membership of a mysterious cabal of wealthy entertainers and businessmen. But more recently his ratings have begun to slump, culminating in an awkward appearance by his wife, Madeline, on the show just weeks before her death from lung cancer. Subsequently, Delroy has been off screen for quite some time but now he’s back – and it quickly becomes clear that there’s a lot riding on tonight’s appearance.

And then we’re told that was his final show.

Delroy’s guests are revealed one by one. There’s ‘psychic’ Christou (Faysal Bazzi), who offers the usual ‘I’m getting a message from somebody beginning with D’ patter. There’s James Randi-style sceptic Carmichael (Ian Bliss), currently offering half a million dollars to anyone who can offer convincing proof of the supernatural. And there are the headliners, parapsychologist June (Laura Gordon) and her teenage ward, Lilly (Ingrid Torelli), whose jaunty, ultra-polite confidence is unsettling to say the very least. June believes that Lilly is possessed by a demon and has recently published a book about her conversations with the creature within. Pushing for more viewers, Delroy suggests that June might like to invite the demon into the studio for an interview. What could possibly go wrong?

The show is interspersed with commercial breaks, where a handheld camera follows Delroy around the building, filming his off-screen conversations with his producer (this is perhaps the one element that doesn’t entirely convince; who is filming these sequences and why?) but, suffice to say, as the evening proceeds, things begin to go wrong, initially in small ways but growing ever more disruptive, ever more sinister.

Dastmalchian captures his character perfectly, allowing us glimpses of the paranoia that lurks behind that smooth, unruffled exterior. I also like Rhys Auteri’s performance as his ever-smiling co-presenter, Gus, who clearly doesn’t relish the new direction in which the show is heading, but has to keep supplying the deadpan jokes until the bitter end, even when he’s provoked into interacting with the thing he hates most. Late Night with the Devil is also occasionally very funny, which is something of an unexpected bonus. The nuances of an American chat show are effectively captured – the eye rolls, the in-jokes, the relentless cheerfulness in the face of adversity. In places I find myself laughing out loud at the sheer audacity of it all and then, just as suddenly, I’m not laughing any more.

In its final stretches, the film hurtles headlong into bone-wrenching, head-exploding madness and I have no option but to strap in and go with it. It’s been quite a while since I have so thoroughly enjoyed a horror film and I look forward to whatever the Cairnes brothers have hidden up their respective sleeves for their next offering. Meanwhile, Late Night with the Devil serves as a perfect introduction to their evident skills.

4.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Road House

28/03/24

Amazon Prime

I’ve been a fan of director Doug Liman’s work since watching Go, way back in 1999 – and I’ve rated Jake Gyllenhaal since Donnie Darko in 2001. So when I hear that the two of them are teaming up to create a new version of Road House, a cheesy Patrick Swayze fight flick from 1989, my interest is immediately piqued. Why would anyone bother? Then I hear that Liman has officially disowned the film, because Amazon Studios promised him a theatrical release for it and reneged on the deal. Gyllenhaal, on the other hand, claims he was always told it would go straight to streaming.

Go figure.

Gyllenhaal (who has clearly been putting in some serious time down at the gym) plays Elwood Dalton, a former UFC middleweight fighter, now in disgrace after “something bad” happened. When we first meet him, he’s at a scuzzy ‘no holds barred’ event, where a local tough guy is taking on all comers. But one look at Dalton stepping into the ring and he’s off, leaving the disgraced celebrity to take the winnings. On the way out of the club, Dalton is stabbed, something he appears to take in his stride – and then he’s approached by Frankie (Jessica Williams), who owns a nightclub out in the Florida Keys and is looking for a new bouncer. It seems that the titular establishment has been attracting the wrong kind of clientele and punch-ups are now a nightly occurrence.

Dalton reluctantly turns up for the gig, only to discover that – for safety reasons – the bands perform in a chicken wire cage and the staff are of a distinctly nervous disposition. Rough stuff promptly ensues…

This version of Road House is a sizeable step up from its progenitor. It helps that Gyllenhall’s Dalton is a softly spoken, helpful sort of guy, who gives his opponents every opportunity to walk away before, as a last resort, dealing with them, quickly, effectively and with minimum fuss. There’s some chirpy dialogue and some dryly funny observations as the carnage ensues. Along the way, Dalton enjoys a brief romance with the local Police Chief’s daughter, Ellie (Daniela Melchior), and even finds time to establish a quirky friendship with Charlie (Hannah Love Lanier), a teenage girl attempting to run the local book store with her father, Stephen (Kevin Carroll).

The plot thickens when it turns out that all that violence at the club is being orchestrated by local business kingpin, Ben Brandt (Billy Magnussen), who – in turn – calls out his father’s preferred honcho, Knox (Connor McGregor in his debut screen role), to back him up. McGregor may not be Laurence Olivier, but he attacks his role with such evident glee that, despite his character’s repulsive qualities, he somehow manages to win me over, if only at the prospect of seeing him get his comeuppence.

Road House starts and finishes explosively and if, like an aging boxer, it gets a little bit flabby around the middle, well it’s certainly a big improvement on the original and a fun way to spend a couple of hours.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Hotdog

26/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Hotdog (Chloe-Ann Tylor) is all dressed up and ready to party! 

Wearing a garish hired costume and carrying a handbag, a phone and a bottle of lemonade, she’s leaving the sanctuary of her flat and heading off to an undisclosed location to strut her stuff. Outspoken and full of pent-up bile, she is determined that tonight she will be the life and soul of the party. She will dance and drink and curse and laugh out loud! She will sweep aside anybody who has a single bad word to say about her and show them who’s the boss.

But, as is so often the case, her forced exuberance only exists to mask a deeper, darker truth. Because something bad happened to Hotdog in the recent past – something that it’s going to take her a very long time to come to terms with.

Written by Ellen Ritchie and directed by Beckie Hope-Palmer, with an enchanting central performance  by Chloe-Ann Tylor, the latest piece from A Play, A Pie and a Pint is an astutely observed drama that deals with the subject of trauma. Tylor (most recently seen by B&B in  Same Team: A Street Soccer Story and in the fabulous Battery Park) talks directly to the audience, discussing her character’s uncompromising, no-holds-barred approach to life. She tells us about her apparent hatred of her over-protective mother and her revulsion for the kind of fridge-magnet things that people are prone to say to her. 

As she chips steadily away at the brittle carapace she’s constructed around herself, the real story gradually emerges – and it’s utterly heartbreaking.

Tylor is joined onstage by Ross Allan, who at first undertakes the role of a silent stage hand, ensuring that props, music cues and sound effects are there whenever Hotdog needs them. It’s only in the poignant final stretches that he becomes Andy, the proprietor of the chippy where Hotdog tends to finish up her evenings. As in his previous role, he is exactly the helping hand she needs, the one who keeps a caring eye on her. He’s also the bearer of a truth universally acknowledged – that Joni Mitchell is the greatest lyricist of all time.

Kenny Miller’s set might at first glance seem overly complicated, but all those meticulous white lines on the floor – like Hotdog’s motivation – eventually fall into place.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Mowgli Street Food

24/03/24

Hanover Street, Edinburgh

We’re not big on chains, but some of them are worth it. Dishoom, Wahaca, Wagamama: we’re looking at you. And now we can add Mowgli to the list.

I’ve been past this place on the bus a few times, and it looks lovely: a grand old building with more twinkling lights than Fairyland at Christmas. My interest is further piqued by listening to owner, Nisha Katona, on the Off Menu podcast. The concept – “the kind of food Indians eat at home and on their streets” – seems strong and some of those dishes sound amazing. Treacle tamarind fries? Yoghurt chat bombs? I need to try them

We’re long overdue a catch-up with some friends, so what better excuse to head into what, it turns out, was once the Clydesdale? “I used to bank here,” our pal tells us. The conversion has been more sympathetically managed than the Edinburgh Hawksmoor, also housed in an old bank, and which we found very imposing and austere. Here, the lofty space has been cunningly sectioned off so that it feels cosy and inviting, as well as very glamorous.

The food is good. It’s all small plates, and between us we sample four items from the House Kitchen (Agra ginger chicken, house lamb curry, mother butter chicken and Aunty Geeta’s prawn curry), two from the Hindu Kitchen (temple dahl and green ginger and rhubarb dahl), three Curry Companions (Mowgli slaw, roti breads and basmati rice) and, of course, those treacle tamarind fries. To the disappointment of one of our friends, there’s no Mowgli house keema available tonight, but he’s happy enough with what he orders instead.

The standout dishes are the lamb curry, which is melt-in-the-mouth tender – and, surprisingly, the slaw. None of us has ever considered coleslaw as an accompaniment to curry, but it works a treat, offering a cool, crispy contrast to all those rich sauces. We’ll be aiming to repeat the trick at home. But almost everything tastes great: the flavours are robust and interesting; the spicing delicate. I only have minor criticisms: I find the tomatoes in the prawn curry a little too astringent, and I can’t really taste the rhubarb in the ginger and rhubarb dahl. The tamarind fries are a revelation though. They’re very sweet and rich, so one portion between four of us is certainly enough, but they’re truly delicious.

None of us drinks alcohol, but there are several mocktails on offer, as well as a couple of 0% beers. The Estrella Dam goes down well with the others, and I enjoy a bottle of sparkling water.

We’re too full for either of the ‘big’ puddings available (gulab jamun or a chocolate brownie) but we can always find room for a little sweet something, so we’re pleased to see homemade ice cream cones on the menu. Sadly, the same friend who wanted the keema now learns that there’s no coconut ice cream, so he decides to do without. The rest of us go for either the salted caramel or the mango sorbet, and both are excellent.

All in all, we have a lovely evening. Of course, a lot of that is to do with the company, but Mowgli feels like a strong addition to the Edinburgh food scene, and I’m sure that we’ll be back. After all, I still need to try those yoghurt chat bombs.

4.1 stars

Susan Singfield

Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire

23/03/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Back in 2021, Ghostbusters: Afterlife felt like a sizeable step in the right direction. Director Jason Reitman (son of Ivan Reitman, who created the original Ghostbusters) had somehow managed to pull off an effective reboot, introducing a new cast of players and putting two of the youngest members at the helm. This sequel, written and directed by Gil Kenan, wants to have its cake and eat it, employing the new cohort, and bringing in some fresh faces, whilst handing large dollops of screen time to the veteran cast from the first two films. The inevitable result is that Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire feels overstuffed as too many characters slug it out to get their stories across.

There’s a creepy prologue set back in 1904 and then we’re brought bang up-to-date as we join the Spengler family – Phoebe (McKenna Grace), Trevor (Finn Wolfhard), their mum, Callie (Carrie Coon), and ‘step-teacher’ Gary Grooberson (Paul Rudd) as they pursue the Hell’s Kitchen Sewer Dragon through the streets of New York. The Spenglers now operate from the iconic fire station where the franchise began, but the team have been so industrious that they are in serious danger of running out of storage space for ghouls. Then Phoebe (who is only 15) is banned from working with the team by old adversary, Mayor Peck (William Atherton) and has to watch in frustration as the others head off on their ghost-busting duties without her.

Things take a sinister turn when new arrival, Nadeem (Kumail Nanjiani), wanders into the second-hand shop run by Ray Stantz (Dan Akroyd) and sells him a mysterious sphere which used to belong to his late Grandma. It turns out that said sphere is cursed and is the key to releasing an evil spirit called Garakka, who has laid dormant for thousands of years – and is capable of unleashing a second ice age that will turn the world into a frozen wasteland…

This plot-line seems to belong more in the realms of cosmic horror than fun-filled family entertainment. It feels unnecessarily complex and convoluted – and I’m disappointed to report that some of the main characters from Afterlife – Trevor (Wolfhard), Podcast (Logan Kim) and Lucky (Celeste O’ Connor) – have hardly anything to do here other than draw breath. Meanwhile, every actor who enjoyed as much as a walk-on part in the first film is afforded the opportunity to return and strut their respective stuff.

Comedian James Acaster as scientist Dr Lars Pinfield shows some promise as an actor but Nanjiani gets the few funny lines on offer. A promising link-up between Phoebe and teenage ghost, Melody (Emily Alyn Lind), really doesn’t have enough space to fully develop. Time and again, we find ourselves back with the original cast, who really don’t have a valid reason to be there. Bill Murray as Peter Venkman and Ernie Hudson as Dr Winston Zeddermore look like they’re acting in their sleep and, in one scene during the climactic punch up with Garakka, I count thirteen characters, which significantly dilutes the impact.

Most damning of all is the fact that long stretches of the film are just plain dull, spending far too long on exposition, striving to tell us things rather than show them.

This is a shame, because Afterlife rescued a tired formula and gave it the kiss of life. Frozen Empire makes me suspect that this franchise has now flatlined.

2.8 stars

Philip Caveney

The Motive and the Cue

21/03/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh: National Theatre Live

It’s 1964 and Welsh superstar Richard Burton (Johnny Flynn) has decided to turn down some lucrative film offers in order to perform Hamlet on Broadway. (We’ve all been there.) He’s decided that the director should be John Gielgud (Mark Gatiss). Now in his sixties and considered something of a has-been, he famously played the Danish prince to great acclaim as a young actor.

To complicate matters, Burton has recently married Elizabeth Taylor (Tuppence Middleton) – for the first time – and she reluctantly accompanies him, but finds herself banished from the rehearsal space and sequestered in a swish hotel room with an endless supply of alcohol, while her husband grapples with his role.

Jack Thorne’s fascinating play, beautifully directed by Sam Mendes, never shows us the finished production but lingers instead on successive rehearsals as director and star bicker and feud their way to a fresh vision of Shakespeare’s most-performed play. There’s a large ensemble cast at work – some eighteen of them – but most of the other actors are relegated to supporting roles, though both Allan Corduner as Hume Cronyn and Luke Norris as William Redfield manage to make an impression. Meanwhile, Gatiss and Flynn joust entertainingly with each other to sometimes hilarious effect, Gatiss perfectly embodying Gielgud’s sly and snarky manner, while Flynn turns up the bombast as the hubristic Burton, his working-class-lad-made-good bluster deliciously rendered.

Middleton too does well with her character, capturing Taylor’s earthiness and her uncanny ability to cross all boundaries, particularly in the scene where she acts as a kind of intermediary when Gielgud and Burton (inevitably) end up at each other’s throats. I love the scene where Gielgud reflects on the tragedy of achieving stardom at twenty-three, to which Taylor points out that she was just twelve when National Velvet became a runaway hit.

The production is also blessed with an extraordinary set by Ed Devlin, where scene changes are revealed using an ingenious expanding letterbox arrangement. I have no idea how this is achieved, but the effect is remarkable, the transformations so slickly done it feels almost like a series of magic tricks.

This is a play that will delight anyone who loves theatre and the way it works, a glimpse at the nuts and bolts that lie behind the glittering façade. It’s fascinating to see the players experiment with the source material as they gradually inch their way to what will eventually become one of the most successful theatre productions in history.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

Pushin’ Thirty

19/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s 2011 and Eilidh (Taylor Dyson) and Scott (Sam James Smith) have just won their school talent show with a brand new song. Like plenty of other teens, they dream of pop stardom, but they live in Dundee, not a place renowned for its entertainment opportunities. Scott impulsively announces they should pack their bags and head for London, where fame surely awaits them – but Eilidh is reluctant to leave while her mum is ill, so Scott grabs his guitar and jumps aboard the Megabus without her.

Now it’s 2023 and they’re both fast approaching the dreaded three-o. Eilidh is living with her widowed dad and working at a local bakery. The two former friends haven’t exchanged so much as a word over the passing years, not even a Facebook post. When Scott returns out of the blue, his dreams of stardom in tatters, Eilidh is somewhat nonplussed to learn that he wants to pick up where they left off…

The latest addition to the A Play, A Pie and A Pint season, Pushin’ Thirty by Taylor Dyson and Calum Kelly is a gentle, whimsical tale about missed opportunities and the enduring importance of friendship. It’s a deceptively simple piece, laying bare the types of hurts and insecurities we so often bury. Anchored around two vivacious performances from Dyson and James Smith, this is compellingly told, the actors inhabiting their roles with ease so that we totally believe they really are old pals. There’s a steady stream of witty banter (never ask Scott why he doesn’t sing!) interspersed with some memorable songs from Dundee-based company, Elfie Picket. Beth Morton’s direction is sprightly: the pace never flags and the music is seamlessly incorporated.

Anyone who has ever picked up a guitar and dreamed of making it big will identify with this story. By my reckoning, that covers most of the people I know – and I’m sure they’d all enjoy this funny, heartwarming production.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Monster

17/03/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

After his Korean-set story Broker, director Kore-Eda Hirokazu returns to his Japanese homeland for Monster, working alongside screenwriter, Yûji Sakamoto. The result won the Best Screenplay award at the Cannes film festival and it’s easy to see what entranced the judges. This masterful Rashomon-style story offers us the same set of circumstances from three different perspectives and, as each successive layer is revealed, our perceptions are radically changed and confounded.

The story is set in an unnamed Japanese suburb and begins with a devastating fire at a local hostess bar. Rumours fly about who might have been there at the time, and suspicion falls on Hori (Eita Nagayama), a young teacher at the local primary school. Single mother Saori (Sakura Mugino) becomes increasingly concerned by some of the things that her young son, Minato (Sōya Kurokawa), says to her and she develops the suspicion that Hori may be bullying him. But when she makes enquiries, she is met with an ultra-polite wall of apologies from Yori’s fellow teachers, headed up by the school’s inscrutable principal (Yūko Tanaka). And what is Saori to make of Yori’s claim that Minato has himself been bullying fellow pupil, Hoshikawa (Hinata Hiragi)?

As the plot unravels, a question arises: who exactly is the titular monster of the tale?

But in this story, appearances can be deceptive. As soon as I settle upon one explanation, I am obliged to drastically rethink it – and it would be criminal to reveal anything more about this sly, gently paced and decidedly labyrinthine film. Suffice to say that, as it it moves sure-footedly towards a thought-provoking, open-ended conclusion, it generates a powerful grip.

There are wonderful performances here, particularly from the young leads, who perfectly embody the awful uncertainty of pre-adolescence – and from Mugino, whose baffled incredulity is palpable as she struggles through the hoops and hurdles of bureaucracy. There’s also a gentle, melancholy soundtrack courtesy of the legendary Ryuichi Sakamoto – sadly his last.

Monster is an accomplished film and Kore-Eda clearly a director at the top of his game.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

Drive-Away Dolls

16/03/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Since their auspicious debut with Blood Simple way back in 1984 (when I had the honour of interviewing them for Manchester’s City Life magazine), Joel and Ethan Coen have unleashed a whole barrage of brilliant films. OK, so there have been one or two misfires in there, but few filmmakers have been so consistently prolific and on the button.

A few years ago they decided to take a sabbatical and work on their own individual projects. Older brother Joel landed first with The Tragedy of Macbeth, which – despite having possibly the most self-aggrandising screen credit in history – turned out to be one of the finest Shakespeare movie adaptations ever. Now it’s Ethan’s turn and Drive-Away Dolls, co-written with his wife, Tricia Cooke, is the result. The central story is so sniggeringly phallus-obsessed it might just as easily have been written by Beavis and Butthead.

The ‘dolls’ in question are Marian (Geraldine Viswanathan) and Jamie (Margaret Qualley), two lesbian besties. Marian is reserved and socially awkward. She spends most of her spare time reading highbrow literature. Jamie is her polar opposite, with a propensity for raucous and ill-fated relationships. She’s in the process of messily breaking up with policewoman, Sukie (Beanie Feldstein), and urgently needs a change of scenery, so she talks Marian into taking her on a road trip to Tallahassee.

The women hire a drive-away vehicle from Curlie (Bill Camp) and set off on the long drive, blissfully unaware that they have got their wires badly crossed and that the boot of their car contains a metal attaché case containing something of great value. (This device feels so like the MacGuffin in Pulp Fiction, it surely has to be intentional.)

At any rate, Marion and Jamie are being pursued by a trio of bad guys, led by ‘The Chief’ (a criminally underused Colman Domingo), who want what’s in that briefcase. Rough stuff inevitably ensues…

While Drive-Away Dolls feels closer to familiar Coen territory than Shakespeare ever could, it’s exasperating to witness how consistently this fails to hit any of its chosen targets. Viswanathan and Qually are both engaging performers, but Qually in particular is stuck with the unenviable task of delivering slabs of frankly unbelievable dialogue, the kind of lines that no human character would ever utter. Furthermore, the women’s lesbianism is viewed purely through the male gaze: they are incongruously penis-fixated and the camera lingers on their bodies in a salacious fashion, which makes the whole thing feel dated as well as puerile. The villains are so inept that they fail to generate any sense of menace and, meanwhile, a string of A listers, including Matt Damon and Pedro Pascal (who presumably signed up for this on the understanding that it had the name ‘Coen’ attached), are reduced to cameo roles that give them little to do except die.

There are a few funny lines. A couple of weird psychedelic sequences, which seem to have drifted in from an entirely different movie, occasionally attempt to shift this ailing vehicle into a higher gear, but Drive-Away Dolls is a resounding failure that feels hopelessly stuck in first.

The news that the Coens are back together and already working on their next project can only come as a welcome relief.

2.5 stars

Philip Caveney