Month: April 2025

Havoc

27/04/25

Netflix

Welsh filmmaker Gareth Evans first came to prominence with his martial arts epic The Raid in 2011. An inevitable sequel (imaginatively entitled The Raid 2) followed in 2014, but his last big-screen release, The Apostle (2018), came and went with barely a ripple. So Havoc is clearly an important project for Evans. Which may explain why it feels like the very definition of the word ‘overkill.’

To be fair, it starts well. The action takes place in an unspecified American city – actually a heavily-CGI’d Cardiff. Grizzled cop Walker (Tom Hardy) is at an all-night garage, hastily trying to buy a Christmas gift for the twelve-year-old daughter he rarely ever sees. (Mind you, we don’t get to see much of her either.) Walker, it quickly becomes clear, is a dodgy copper, but then he’s not alone. Every member of the police force we meet in this story is on the take, apart from Ellie (Jessie Mai Li), who has only recently taken up her post as Walker’s sidekick.

After a drug deal goes wrong, Charlie (Justin Cornwell), the son of crusading politician, Lawrence Beaumont (an underused Forest Whitaker), finds himself hunted by a vengeful Chinese gang leader, who lost her own son in the resulting gunfire. Walker is ‘persuaded’ by Beaumont – yes, he’s also dodgy – to rescue Charlie, in exchange for a pardon for former crimes…

But the plot hardly matters, since Havoc – as the name might imply – is mostly an excuse to string together a series of action set-pieces. The first of them, the aforementioned ‘drug deal gone wrong’, is nicely staged, with some artfully-filmed slo-mo sequences and, what’s more, it’s relatively brief. But having dipped his bread in the old red stuff, Evans (who also wrote the screenplay) seems determined to serve up an ‘all-you-can-eat’ buffet of mayhem and murder.

The action becomes increasingly incoherent. People don’t just get shot and fall down, they dance around the screen spouting blood like human colanders. There’s a seemingly inexhaustible supply of ammunition and the Chinese drug gang employs an infinite number of human targets, all of whom appear to exist simply to run gleefully towards their own destruction. You’d need an abacus to keep a record of the body count.

For me, the main problem here is that, aside from Ellie, every character I meet is a villain of the lowest order and, while it’s not impossible to get audiences to root for bad people, you first have to know something about them in order to care what happens. But I know hardly anything about anybody and that includes Walker. Somewhere in this mess, excellent actors like Timothy Olyphant and Richard Harrington struggle to make any impression, as they are inextricably lost in a tidal wave of blood and bullets. As Havoc thunders towards its final, protracted punch-up, I’m already wistfully looking forward to the credits.

This one is clearly made for diehard action freaks and doubtless it will scare up some kind of an audience on Netflix – but for me it’s too loud, too messy and too downright unbelievable.

2.8 stars

Philip Caveney

SIX The Musical Live!

27/04/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

We first saw SIX The Musical in 2018 on its triumphant return to the Edinburgh Fringe. A year earlier, as a bare-bones student production, it had garnered a lot of attention. Now it was back with a big budget and a lot of buzz. We duly went along to the purple upside-down cow tent dominating George Square Gardens (AKA the Udderbelly) and immediately understood what all the fuss was about. With its high-octane energy and witty lyrics, this re-writing of herstory was bursting with vim and invention. Afterwards, we bought the album and listened to it on repeat.

We saw it a second time when it came to the Festival Theatre on tour, now with a different cast. The production was as compelling as ever – but those Udderbelly Queens will always reign as far as we’re concerned.

So we’re delighted to see that an original-cast reunion performance has been filmed; what’s more, it’s included in our Cineworld Unlimited plan. What better way to spend a Sunday morning than engaging in a little Fringe-nostalgia, and trying to suppress the urge to sing along with some of our favourite songs?

It’s astonishing to think that Lucy Moss and Toby Marlow were still at uni when they wrote this juggernaut, which now boasts more than a thousand performances both in the West End and on Broadway, to say nothing of its wider global reach. Their combined talent is truly awesome and, directed by Liz Clare, the musical absolutely deserves its huge success.

The conceit is simple: each of Horrid Henry’s wives thinks she’s the most historically important. Unable to come to a consensus, they decide to battle it out via the medium of song, so that the audience can judge who’s suffered the most and is therefore the most deserving. It’s hardly a spoiler to reveal that, in this feminist reframing, they end up setting their differences aside and embracing their sisterhood. After all, together they amount to more than just one word in a stupid rhyme, right? Combined, they’re the main reason anyone remembers Henry at all.

They sing in herstorical order: Jarneia Richard-Noel (Catherine of Aragon – divorced), Millie O’Connell (Anne Boleyn – beheaded), Natalie Paris (Jane Seymour – died), Alexia McIntosh (Anne of Cleves – divorced), Aimie Atkinson (Katherine Howard – beheaded) and Maiya Quansah-Breed (Catherine Parr – survived). The songs are wonderfully distinct, incorporating Latin-American-tinged funk, a plaintive ballad and thumping Teutonic techno. Each Queen earns every minute of her time on the throne.

For anyone who hasn’t seen it, grab the chance while you can: this version, filmed live at London’s Vaudeville Theatre, comes with a précis of the production’s journey, as well as a pre-show cast interview, and has several showings a day in multiplexes this week. You’d be hard pressed to find a more dynamic and entertaining group of dead women to spend your time with.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Pink Floyd at Pompeii

25/04/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

I first saw this film in the cinema fifty-three years ago…

Wait. Stop. Can that be right? I mean, I understand that I’m getting old but… fifty-three years? But, yes, the dates do check out. And amazingly in 1972, when Pink Floyd at Pompeii was released, I had already been a fan of the band for half a decade. In 1967, in what was my final year at a rather horrendous boarding school in Peterborough, I was entranced enough by the Floyd’s second single, See Emily Play, to actually use some of my pocket money to buy a mono copy of their debut album, The Piper At the Gates of Dawn. Returning to school with it held proudly under my arm, I found myself surrounded by a gang of bigger boys, who sneeringly informed me that the Floyd were ‘degenerates who took drugs’ -unlike their favourite band, The Beatles. They then threw me to the ground and attempted to stamp all over my new purchase but luckily I was able to shield the album with my own body and it survived to be played another day.

I took great delight the following morning in strolling over to my assailant’s breakfast table and dropping a copy of a newspaper in front of them. The banner headline on page one was, “‘I took LSD,’ says Paul McCartney.”

The years rolled on. In 1969 I finally saw the band live at the Liverpool Philharmonic performing Umma Gumma, managing to procure a ticket for the equivalent of what might these days fall down the back of the average sofa. I emerged with the demeanour of somebody who had just witnessed the second coming of Christ. I remember that at one point the band wore gas masks and played in the midst of bright red smoke. I was by now a rabid fan.

Which finally brings me to this re-release. In 1972, director Adrian Maben persuaded the band to go to the ancient ruins of Pompeii, set up their equipment in an empty arena and run through excerpts from their new album, Meddle, plus a selection of live favourites (Careful With that Axe, Eugene; A Saucerful of Secrets; Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun). There’s no audience present unless you count the various film technicians and road crew, standing stripped to the waist in the baking sun and watching with apparent indifference as David Gilmour, Roger Waters, Richard Wright and Nick Mason unleash a barrage of sonic mayhem. On the directorial side there’s little in the way of special effects. Cameras, mounted on rails, prowl restlessly around the musicians as they play, sometimes tracking along behind stacks of sound equipment. At key moments in the Blitzkrieg, images of ancient statues, bubbling lava pits and fiery sunsets are inserted into the mix, Maben seeming instinctively to know when to augment a particular sound with a visual counterpoint.

What’s new here is the massive scale of an IMAX screen, a pin-sharp print and a crisp, clear digital sound mix that captures every last musical nuance in perfect detail. There are cutaways to the band ensconced at Abbey Road studios, working on what will be Dark Side of the Moon. The wonderful advantage of hindsight shows four young men who are quietly confident that their new brainchild will be good, but completely unaware that in just one year, they will be releasing one of the biggest-selling – and many would claim – greatest albums in history.

The next time I saw Floyd live, it was at Wembley Stadium, with that massive state-of-the-art show that included the infamous exploding aeroplane and levels of technical razzle-dazzle that changed the rock business forever. But it’s at Pompeii that I prefer to remember them, a youthful quartet just beginning to nuzzle hungrily at the edges of greatness, blissfully unaware of everything that’s about to follow. And I’m amazed to discover that Maben’s film is so ingrained in my memory that I can remember key shots and images as they unfold. It’s one hour and thirty-two minutes of sheer heaven for me and, glancing around the packed auditorium, I can see I’m not alone.

Stars? For me, this one can’t be anything less than the maximum allowed. After all, I’ve waited a very long time to see it. Again.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

A Little Inquest Into What We Are All Doing Here

24/04/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

As the title suggests, ThisEgg’s A Little Inquest Into What We Are All Doing Here takes the form of a legal hearing scrutinising the cancellation of their 2022 piece, The Family Sex Show. Some readers may remember the furore: news of the play, aiming to open up avenues for safe, open conversations about sex for children and parents, was picked up by extremist hard-right groups, and there were calls for it to stop. And so, before it was fully developed, the fledgling drama had its wings well and truly clipped. Venues, understandably scared by bomb threats, pulled out. Members of the company, their families and venue staff were called paedophiles and subjected to death threats. The pearl-clutching moral outrage had its intended effect, and The Family Sex Show never made it into production.

Lead artist and producer Josie Dale-Jones sits behind a desk and speaks into a microphone, laying out the details for us to consider. She is scrupulously even-handed, not only defending her much-maligned play, but also acknowledging some of the mistakes she made along the way.

The main focus, however, is on two issues.

First, our current approach to sex education does children a disservice. Not everyone has parents who are willing – or even able – to listen to their concerns and offer them sensible advice. Teachers have neither the time nor the training to deliver the guidance young people need in this area. So what’s the answer? Let them learn about sex and relationships from their equally ill-informed classmates? From porn? Or perhaps we should leave it to Andrew Tate to let them know what’s what? The Family Sex Show might have had its faults, but it should never have been cancelled without even being seen. How can we decry something without understanding what it is? At least ThisEgg were trying to make a difference. Who knows? Maybe this play would have been some youngsters’ salvation, helping them to navigate their way through their thorny adolescent years.

Second, being the victim of a wave of public vitriol is horrific. Dale-Jones reads out a selection of the violent, misogynistic emails and letters she received. They’re terrifying. Who are these people, who – hiding behind the anonymity of a jaunty email address – casually advise a stranger to commit suicide, or threaten to murder them, gleefully citing their parents’ address? They’re not so few in number that we can afford to rest easy. They walk among us. Maybe we’re related to them; maybe, unwittingly, we count them as friends. Unsurprisingly, the impact on the recipients’ mental health is devastating.

Dale-Jones is a committed performer, and the interrogative format of Abbi Greenland’s script stops the piece from feeling too didactic. The wider concerns are skilfully woven into her personal story, combining the macro with the micro to form a challenging and thought-provoking narrative.

About forty minutes into this hour-long production, there is a sudden shift of gear, and we find ourselves hurtling in an entirely unexpected direction. There’s glitter, tap-dancing, a second actor (Laurence Baker) – and a depiction of the dying throes of a longterm relationship. Here, director Rachel Lemon offers us a glimpse of the more private consequences of being silenced: the loss of confidence; the loss of self-esteem; the loss of income. This section is figurative, providing a stark contrast to the more literal earlier stretches. I like the audacity but, although there are some moments I enjoy and admire, I find it weakens the message overall.

Nonetheless, this is a clever, provocative piece of theatre, which raises a lot of important points for debate. It’s easy to see why it won a Fringe First award last year.

3.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Looking For Me Friend: The Music of Victoria Wood

23/04/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Victoria Wood was on my radar early on. Like many others, I first became aware of her when she appeared on (and won) TV talent show New Faces in 1974. Over the years, I regularly tuned in to her latest TV iteration, witnessing her various working partnerships with the likes of Julie Walters, Celia Imrie and Maxine Peake – and was dismayed to hear of her death from oesophageal cancer in 2015 at the age of just 62.

Paulus grew up through the strictures of the 1970s and 80s and, as a gay man, he found Wood an inspiration, enjoying in particular her songs and the playful way she used lyrics to create and define characters. When he met kindred spirit, Michael Roulston, it was perhaps inevitable that the two of them would eventually collaborate on a show, which they brought to the Edinburgh Fringe in 2022.

Looking For Me Friend is essentially a love letter to Victoria Wood, a celebration of the woman who would never use the word ‘biscuit’ when she could say ‘Garibaldi,’ who helped launch the careers of so many other performers, who always came across as somebody you’d love to have a long chat with over a cup of coffee. (I’m fascinated when Paulus tells us that, early in his career, he sent begging letters to scores of entertainers asking for their financial help and the only one who actually came back with a cheque – for £50- was Victoria Wood.) Sadly, he never met her in person.

This is a warm hug of a show, and Paulus is a confident and charming performer, nailing each song with aplomb and chatting with the audience in between. This isn’t an impersonation so much an interpretation of Wood’s best musical pieces, which vary in tone from laugh-out-loud funny to downright heartbreaking. Roulston provides sensitive musical accompaniment and occasionally weighs in with some pithy one-liners from Wood’s back catalogue. The two men work together with absolute ease.

It’s clear that there are some people in tonight’s audience who harbour the same devotion to the woman that inspired Paulus, some of them able to shout out even Wood’s most obscure catch-phrases on cue. I’m not that much of an expert myself but listening to the surprising range of material in tonight’s performance does make me appreciate that I’ve missed out on much of the late comedian’s finest compositions. Of course, you don’t have to be a Victoria Wood fan to enjoy this show: even in the unlikely event that you’ve never heard of her, you’ll feel that this is an hour and a half in which you’ve been thoroughly entertained.

Looking For Me Friend has just one more show in Edinburgh before it moves on to pastures new, so grab some tickets. Do it! Do it toniiiiiiiight!

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Sinners

20/01/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

After Black Panther and Wakanda Forever, Ryan Coogler clearly needed to strike out in a new direction, and here’s the long-awaited result. While on the face of it, Sinners initially comes across like a more complex version of From Dusk Till Dawn, it’s far more ambitious than Tarantino’s film: a Gothic vampire-musical mashup, though more seriously intentioned than that description might suggest.

It’s 1936 and shady twins, Smoke and Stack (both played by Michael B Jordan), return to their old stomping ground in Mississippi. They’ve been working for mobsters in Chicago for quite some time and have returned with mountains of cash and noble intentions. They are determined to set up and run a juke joint, where the local Black community can gather to drink and dance and listen to music. Of course there’s money to be made from the enterprise, but that’s almost an afterthought. Is it a problem that they’ve purchased the building and the land from members of the Ku Klux Klan?

In order to set the right tone for their venue, the twins recruit their cousin, Sammi (Miles Caton), a young musician, who – despite being the son of a local preacher – has a near supernatural ability to play guitar and sing the blues. They also secure the services of veteran musician, Delta Slim (Delroy Hatton), who is as much lured by the twins’ access to good booze as by the handsome wages they offer him.  Also present on the launch night  are the twins’ respective old flames. Smoke’s ex, Annie (Wunmi Mosaku), is a cook and ‘Hoodoo’ priestess (the latter talent sure to come in handy at some point), while Stack’s former girlfriend, Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), is a white-presenting mixed-race woman with an uncanny ability to instigate trouble.

It’s all going swimmingly until the unexpected arrival (at sundown) of a fugitive called Remmick (Jack O’Connell). He’s being pursued by Native American trackers, but they are forced to give up once darkness falls. Remmick is a wandering Irish musician with an unusual method of recruiting others to his cause. He’s a vampire… and he’s soon lured by the sounds of music issuing from the juke joint, music that he wants to claim as his own, even if he does want to bowdlerise it, make it white. But he can’t come inside the juke joint unless he’s invited…

Sinners – as you may have gathered – is a great big allegory, where the word ‘vampire’ could just as easily be substituted for ‘colonialism’. It’s handsomely filmed in 70mm and expensively mounted, meaning that just about every frame looks ravishing. The recreation of the pre-war era is beautifully visualised and the cameras linger hungrily on the details. For me, it’s the many musical aspects that provide the most memorable sections: three mournful-looking vampires harmonising beautifully on a plaintive version of The Wild Mountain Thyme; a slow and languorous pan around the juke joint where Sammi’s performance is augmented by unnamed musicians from a whole variety of different eras; and, best of all, the massed vampire hordes outside the building, bashing out a rollicking version of The Rocky Road to Dublin while O’Connell dances a frenzied Irish jig.

Not everything about Sinners is quite as assured. For one thing, having two Michael B Jordans for the price of one might seem like a great idea on paper but, when the action kicks off, I’m sometimes unsure which twin I’ve got eyes on. At times, the mumbled dialogue makes me wish I’d chosen a subtitled presentation. And furthermore, there’s a general ponderousness to the storytelling, an earnest  desire to show every last detail, that too often slows down the momentum, allowing my attention to wander. I feel sure that a tighter edit would help no end. This could lose thirty minutes and be all the better for it.

Nitpicks aside, Sinners is an unusual venture in these troubled times: a big-budget extravaganza that is neither a sequel nor a prequel, and that furthermore has no glimpse of spandex in the mix – unless you count that weirdly-dressed dude with the electric guitar, adding a frenzied solo to Sammi’s acoustic performance.

Do stay in your seats until the credits have rolled for a while. Eighty percent of the audience at the screening I attend wander off and miss an important 90s-set coda, where Sammi (now played by blues legend, Buddy Guy) is still touring the clubs – and still playing his ol’ guitar.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Warfare

19/04/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

After the ferocity of Civil War, perhaps it was inevitable that Alex Garland’s next project would see him heading further into the world of military action – though it must be said that Warfare, co-written and co-directed with former marine Ray Mendoza (depicted in the film by D’Pharoah Woon-A-Tai), may qualify as the most realistic slice of it ever recreated on camera. Based on a real event, which took place in November 2006 in Ramadi, Iraq, it follows a platoon of Navy SEALS into action, as they occupy a house and await incoming Iraqi forces.

We first meet the platoon in their downtime as they watch an Eric Prydz workout video featuring some statuesque women and one man, bobbing about to the strains of Call On Me. The men laugh along and react to each other’s antics, letting off steam before heading into action. But the fun is short-lived. All too soon, they’re sneaking down darkened streets, singling out the house where they are going to hole up overnight while they wait for things to kick off. Two Iraqi families live there and are taken captive and secured in one room ,while the troops take up their positions, keeping watch for the insurgents they are told are gathering in this area.

As a new day dawns, I begin to recognise some of the actors. That’s Will Poulter as Erik and Joseph Quinn as new recruit, Sam. And there’s Cosmo Jarvis as the sniper, Elliott. But I can’t recall seeing a film where recognising the actors matters less, because this is a true ensemble piece, the characters’ identical uniforms making it difficult to tell them apart, just as it must be in reality. 

Warfare does exactly what it says in the title. It takes you from your safe seat in the cinema and plonks you down in the midst of the action – and it’s not somewhere you really want to be. There are none of the tropes that we so often associate with movies about war. There are no heroes here, no villains, no miraculous dodging of incoming bullets, no conveniently-timed lulls in the action.

At first what there is in abundance is waiting. The troops sit around, bored, longing for the action to start but only so it will eventually be over. And I share that awful anticipation with them. I flinch at every unexpected sound; I hold my breath whenever a radio crackles into life. And, when the action does come, it occurs with such unexpected shock that I find myself wincing at every explosion, every unexpected rattle of gunfire. 

The real-life event I spoke of is actually a tragedy. This is not the story of a platoon of soldiers who act with extraordinary valour and emerge with everything intact. It’s the story of a bunch of guys who have their asses handed to them in a string bag. It’s hard to watch and occasionally even harder to stomach, because there’s very realistic injury detail here and the troops who went through the experience have contributed all their memories to ensure that nothing is left out.

Warfare is truly game-changing. Does it qualify as entertainment? The truth is, I’m really not sure that it does, but it feels to me like an important film and a unique achievement, a construct that doesn’t try to tailor its narrative in an attempt to make it more palatable, preferring to depict warfare as it really is: bloody horrible. 

Those of a nervous disposition may want to give this one a wide berth – and anybody out there who harbours illusions about the nobility of war is about to have them well and truly shattered.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney 

Drop

18/04/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

I’m not at all sure about Drop at first. It begins with a woman trying to escape a brutal attack from a violent man, the camera lingering on her battered face, so I’m worried it’s going to tread the ‘female suffering as spectacle’ path – and that, therefore, I’ll hate it. Thankfully, this approach is limited to the opening scene, and things quickly take a turn for the better.

The woman, Violet (Meghann Fahy), is a psychotherapist, specialising in survivors of domestic abuse. She knows what they’ve endured because she’s been there too. Since her ex’s death, dating hasn’t exactly been her priority: she’s been focusing on raising her son, Toby (Jacob Robinson), and building her career. But her sister, Jen (Violett Beane), thinks it’s time that Violet had some fun, and persuades her to meet up with the guy she’s been chatting to via social media. He seems nice, and Jen’ll babysit Toby. What’s the worst that can happen?

Henry (Brandon Sklenar) is almost too good to be true. He’s handsome, charming and easy to talk to. Sure, the fancy restaurant he’s suggested for their date is situated on the top floor of a soaring skyscraper, but how is he supposed to know that Violet’s afraid of heights? Palate has an excellent reputation and a lovely atmosphere. Surely this is the start of something promising…

But then Violet begins to receive mysterious ‘digi-drops’ (airdrops), which gradually grow more threatening in tone. Digi-drops can only be sent within a fifty-metre radius, so she knows they’re coming from within the restaurant. But, of course, there are countless people glued to their phones; how can she identify who’s responsible? And anyway, that’s soon the least of her worries because, before she knows it, she’s being instructed to murder her date – and, if she refuses, her tormenter says he will kill her son.

If the premise sounds preposterous, that’s because it is, but the script – by Jillian Jacobs and Chris Roach – is genuinely thrilling, the tension ramped up with each passing minute. Fahy convinces as the desperate woman, fighting an unseen enemy with everything she’s got, and the plot is twisty, turny and delightfully unpredictable. Indeed, under Christopher Landon’s direction, Drop exhibits as much sophistication as Palate‘s Michelin-starred dishes – until we reach the final scenes, where ‘bold’ segues into ‘bonkers’ and ‘believability’ flies out of the smashed window.

In the end, the good outweighs the bad, and I leave the cinema more than satisfied by this exciting whodunnit with its appealing central duo and intriguing cast of suspects.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

The Penguin Lessons

16/04/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Adapted from Tom Michell’s memoir by the ever industrious Jeff Pope, The Penguin Lessons begins in 1976, when Michell (Steve Coogan) is a somewhat disaffected English teacher, beginning a new post in a private school in Argentina. He arrives in a country that has recently undergone a brutal coup and takes up his post under the watchful gaze of Headmaster Buckie (Jonathan Pryce), a man who prefers to put the needs of the school first and pretend that the current political upheaval is of no consequence. The only friend Tom makes on the staff is Tapio (Björn Gustafsson) a well-meaning but humourless Finlander, who seems to have the knack of saying the wrong thing every time he opens this mouth.

On a brief visit to Ecuador, Tom chances upon a group of oil-covered penguins washed up on a beach. One of them is still alive and – mainly because he’s trying to impress a young (married) woman he’s met in a dancehall – Tom takes the luckless bird back to his hotel room and cleans him up. Having acquired the penguin – Tom dubs him ‘Juan Salvador’ – he finds it impossible to get rid of it, the penguin following him hopefully everywhere he goes. Eventually, Tom has no option but to take Juan Salvador back to the school and keep him hidden in his room… until, in a moment of madness, fuelled by the indifference of his privileged pupils, Tom is prompted to bring the creature into the classroom…

The Penguin Lessons could so easily descend into a mawkish comedy at this point – and there’s no denying that Juan Salvador (or at least the penguin actor who portrays him) is impossibly cute, coaxing adoring sighs from the audience every time he waddles engagingly onto the screen. But Pope’s script skilfully touches on darker themes, dealing with the brutal regime of the Junta and the plight of the ‘disappeared,’ the thousands of people arrested by Perón’s forces. Tom manages to distance himself from the situation until Sofia (Alfonsina Carrocio), the daughter of the school’s housekeeper, Maria (Vivian El Jaber), is arrested on the street and taken away to be ‘interrogated.’

Coogan is on impressive form here, portraying Tom as a cynical, hardbitten loner with something lurking in his past. The short scene where we discover the reason for his remoteness is affecting because it is so understated and yet so utterly believable; likewise, the scene where Tom is prompted to confess to Maria that he could have tried to help Sofia as she was being arrested but was ‘too scared.’

Peter Cattaneo directs with a lightness of touch that effortlessly fuses the film’s disparate elements. There are many who will criticise its ambition but, to my mind it’s beautifully handled: a funny, touching story set against a tumultuous background.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to p-p-p-pick up a penguin.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Ivor

15/04/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s Scarlet’s twenty-first birthday, and she’s promised to spend it with her mum. Single-parent Sarah (Laura Harvey) is beyond excited: she’s not enjoying her empty nest, and is determined to go the extra mile for her student daughter (Alice Glass). A landmark occasion requires a significant gift – and what could be more significant than an actual iceberg?

The titular piece of polar glacier – “Ivor” – dominates both the family kitchen and the Traverse 2’s stage: a great big hulking metaphor, displaced and dangerous.

Scarlet’s not exactly delighted by the surprise. Not only is it weird, it’s also way too much. She feels suffocated by her mother’s ridiculous largesse. How now can she break the news that, in fact, she won’t be staying here after all? That she’s planning to go to London with her girlfriend, Jude (Betty Valencia), and has only popped in to collect something…

Jennifer Adam’s sprawling script encompasses ecological disaster, terrorism and helicopter parenting. The creaking, leaking iceberg symbolises more than the melting ice caps: it’s a reminder of the enormity of the task ahead for Jude and Scarlet, young women determined to save the world. Meanwhile, the petty squabbles and hypocrisies between the three loom just as large. It’s a lot to pack in to fifty minutes’ playing time and, although director Catriona MacLeod succeeds in pacing it well, I can’t help wishing there were a little less here. Valencia’s performance is strong, but I think the play would be more compelling without Jude, with a tighter focus on the mother-daughter dynamic, set against the ever-looming climate crisis.

Heather Grace Currie’s clever design almost fills the small stage with an Ivor comprising huge white sheets teased into peaks, which is quite an achievement on a small budget. Unfortunately, this affects the sight-lines, and I wonder if a more abstract construction – an up-lit empty frame, for example – might serve the piece better.

The idea behind Ivor is pleasingly quirky but, in its current form, it doesn’t really suit the PPP running-time. Given longer to develop its themes – Jude’s family’s experiences in Colombia in particular need a lot more attention – this could be a really fascinating play, with much to say about the troubled times we live in.

3 stars

Susan Singfield