Author: Bouquets & Brickbats

Violet Evergarden

10/07/21

Cameo Cinema, Edinburgh

First, a positive: Violet Evergarden is beautifully animated. The artwork is glorious, each frame a delight. The landscapes are remarkably rendered: the countryside lush and verdant, the rain almost palpable. The setting is a peculiar mash-up: the costumes are sort of Victorian; the locations are vaguely European; the Eiffel Tower looms improbably over a pretty, coastal town. The effect is dreamy and ethereal; we are somewhere, nowhere, anywhere. It’s the past (because telephones are new-fangled, a threat to Violet’s job), but it doesn’t matter when. This is all about human nature, and there are close-ups a-plenty to showcase the intensity of the characters’ emotions: clenched fists, tear-filled eyes and shifting feet.

Second, a caveat: Taichi Ishidate’s film is based on a prize-winning illustrated novel by Kana Akatsuki and Akiko Takase, which has already spawned an acclaimed TV series, also by Kyoto Animation. I have neither read the book nor seen the programme. For those who have, Violet Evergarden: The Movie might well be a welcome addition to the pantheon. However, as a stand-alone, it doesn’t work.

It’s such a shame. I want to like this film. I’m so excited to be back in my favourite cinema, watching on the big screen, but the artwork deserves a better story than this. The script (by Reiko Yoshida) is an incoherent mess. An Auto Memory Doll would have done a better job.

That’s what Violet is – an Auto Memory Doll. We’re introduced to this idea by virtue of a convoluted sub-plot that is never resolved. Daisy’s grandmother has just died and, after the funeral, Daisy (Sumire Morohoshi) takes a brief break from castigating her mum (but not her dad) for being busy at work, and finds a series of letters sent posthumously from her great-grandmother to her daughter. They’ve been written, she learns, by an Auto Memory Doll, or ghost writer. Still, despite a long, expositional scene all about Daisy’s emotional connection to her family, we don’t need to worry about her. She barely features again.

Instead, we pick up the story of a famous Doll, the eponymous Violet (Yui Ishikawa). Her backstory is detailed at breakneck speed, so I can barely keep up. There’s a war. She’s orphaned (I think); she meets a naval officer, Dietfried (Hidenobu Kiuchi), who then gives her to his soldier brother, Gilbert (Daisuke Namikawa), who’s supposed to train her to become a weapon. Instead he teaches her to read and write. There’s a bomb. She loses her arms. Gilbert feels bad. She gets prosthetic arms and becomes a writer. Her writing is exquisite. Everyone wants her to write for them, including a famous playwright! She’s a whizz at expressing others’ emotions. But she can’t say ‘I love you’ in her own right. Yup, it really is that trite.

From thereon-in, it’s all soaring strings and melodrama. It’s clearly meant to be profound, but I feel like I’m looking for depth in a pebbly puddle. Violet comes across as such a drip, it’s hard to believe she ever fought in a war. She’s vapid and weepy and painfully submissive. The endless subplots (the dying child, the random playwright who cries for reasons never explained) are muddled and dull. Even her writing is hack: the letters she writes for Yurith’s family would have been better left to the viewers’ imagination, because the banality of the messages belies the story’s entire premise.

In short, this is a film for those already enamoured of the tale. For the uninitiated, it’s a ponderous bore. I spend the last hour just waiting for it to be over.

2.6 stars

Susan Singfield

The Dumb Waiter

07/07/21

Old Vic: In Camera

Some questions are no-brainers. Would I like to see The Old Vic’s production of The Dumb Waiter by Harold Pinter? Well, as I consider it to be among the finest one-act plays in history, the answer to that is a resounding yes.

Am I able to be part of the socially-distanced audience for one of its live performances? Well, no, that’s awkward. It’s a long way from Edinburgh to London – but luckily, for a small fee, I can choose to watch it online as it is transmitted live, so it’ll be the next best thing to actually being there.

And who are the chosen performers for this production? David Thewlis as Ben and Daniel Mays as Gus. When I think about it, I can’t come up with two more appropriate actors for those roles. Thewlis promises to be a perfect fit for the snappy, irritable Ben, while Mays, with his perpetual hangdog look, is just right for his hapless subordinate, Gus.

The tickets are duly booked and a reminder is popped into the diary. All good.

The Dumb Waiter first arrived on the London stage in 1960 and, in many ways, it’s the play that first cemented Harold Pinter’s reputation. It’s the tale of two hit-men, sequestered in a grubby room, waiting to kill whoever walks through the doorway. The room is pretty featureless apart from the titular dumb waiter, and the men’s rambling conversation is punctuated by a series of seemingly meaningless instructions that are delivered within it.

Of course this antiquated piece of machinery is a metaphor for something – and the beauty of the play is that a viewer’s interpretation of what it might actually represent can be wide-ranging and inventive. Across the years, I’ve seen this performed in various venues and, back in the dim and distant past, have even been part of a youth theatre production of it. The play has been a huge influence on so many other productions – Martin McDonagh’s wonderful film In Bruges, for instance, clearly owes it a considerable debt.

So, the play begins at the appointed time, and yes, Thewlis and Mays are every bit as good as anticipated. Perhaps it doesn’t help that I know the script so well I could probably be working as a prompt – so there was never any chance of surprising me here, since director Jeremy Herrin has opted to play it straight, sticking to the original staging. What’s missing, of course, is the subtle electricity that’s generated by being present at the actual event, the indefinable frisson of watching the play unfold right in front of my gaze without the inevitable distancing that ensues whenever a play is turned into a movie.

In short, I’m still longing to return to the theatre for real. Until that time, The Dumb Waiter is a fine way to pass an hour and I urge you to watch it while you still have the chance. You’ll find the link here: https://www.oldvictheatre.com/whats-on/2021/live-stream-from-home/old-vic-in-camera-the-dumb-waiter

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Supernova

01/07/21

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Ah, timing. It’s unfortunate for Supernova that its release comes so hot on the heels of the infinitely superior The Father, and that – given their overlapping subject matter – comparison is inevitable. Harry Macqueen’s film isn’t bad by any means, but it’s polite to the point of missing the point, with so much unsaid – and unshown – that it’s difficult to accept the enormity of the endpoint.

Tusker (Stanley Tucci) is a novelist with early-onset dementia; Sam (Colin Firth) is his partner. As an uncertain future looms, the couple take a camper van on a road trip, revisiting significant locations from early in their relationship and calling in on Sam’s sister (Pippa Haywood), until finally they reach a guest house with an out-of tune piano, which – it seems – is all the practice Sam is going to get before he gives his first recital in an unspecified ‘long time.’

Both Tucci and Firth give the sterling performances you’d expect: they’re believable long-term lovers, with all the tics and tender bickering that signify something solid. Neither actor is showy, and that’s good; this is a sombre story, and it deserves the gravitas they bring. Dick Pope’s cinematography is rather lovely too: all long, languorous shots, highlighting the simple beauty of the British countryside.

And yet. There’s not enough here. It’s all anticipation and no substance. There are some poignant moments: the blank pages in Tusker’s notebook giving lie to the fact that he’s still writing; Sam’s realisation that their dog, Ruby, has been bought specifically to keep him company when Tusker no longer can. But we never see any devastation, either clinical or emotional. The worst we see of the encroaching Alzheimer’s is a brief moment when Tusker wanders off and doesn’t know where he is; the most misery we witness is a muted discussion about suicide. Where are the sharp edges, the corners, the spikes? Where is the anguish? Of course, this film is all about not wanting to confront those truths: Tusker wants to die before grim reality kicks in, and Sam wants to pretend it’s never going to happen at all. But we, the audience, need to feel afraid and we don’t: it’s all too glossy, too glib, too bloodless, too bland.

In all, Supernova feels like a slightly wasted opportunity. It’s almost there, but it needs unbuttoning.

3.7 stars

Susan Singfield

In the Earth

24/06/21

The Cameo Cinema

Ben Wheatley is an enigma. Undeniably prolific, he’s also versatile. Unlike most directors, who find an approach they’re happy with and stick pretty closely to it, Wheatley flits happily from genre to genre with no apparent game plan. Indeed, recent rumours that he’s signed on to helm the sequel to Jason Statham’s big budget creature-feature, The Meg, sound implausible enough to be true. But of all his releases, only a couple of them (Sightseers and High-Rise) stand up as true successes. The rest feel like missed opportunities and his much-lauded shoot-’em-up, Free Fire, is one of the few times I’ve been in a cinema and longed for a fast-forward button.

In the Earth sees him returning to the kind of folk-horror elements he mined so effectively in A Field in England, although this time he’s opted for a contemporary setting. The cities of the world are suffering through a crippling pandemic (sound familiar?) and scientist Martin Lowery (Joel Fry) arrives at a remote research facility in a forest on the outskirts of Bristol. He’s looking for his former colleague, Olivia Wendle (Hayley Squires), and is informed that she is conducting some ‘crop research’ in deep forest, several days’ walk from there. He’s assigned forest ranger, Alma (Ellora Torchia), as his guide and the two of them set off into the woods.

But one night, they are attacked by unknown assailants and robbed of their footwear. Shortly thereafter, Martin gashes his foot badly, something we’ve been kind of expecting because of a pointed pre-credits sequence. Then the two of them bump into mysterious loner, Zach (Reece Shearsmith), who takes them to his encampment and performs a bit of impromptu – and extremely grisly – surgery on the damaged foot. Martin is soon to discover that Zach is not the man to entrust his foot – or indeed, any other part of his anatomy – to. Zach is, to put it mildly, bananas, a man who believes that there are ancient spirits in this part of the forest, ones that are taking advantage of the pandemic to exert their power and influence over humanity… and then things start to get really weird.

In the Earth sets out its stall effectively enough and, though it takes a while to build up a head of steam, it boasts performances – especially Shearsmith’s – that are accomplished enough to make me suspend my disbelief over the various loopy shenanigans unfolding under the ancient oaks. Mind you, Martin is so hapless he may as well have the word VICTIM tattooed on his forehead. And why exactly is he there in the first place? A full day after viewing the film, I’m still not sure. And herein lies the main problem with this film. It’s nebulous to the point of being infuriating.

A local legend about a woodland deity called Parnag Fegg is introduced early on, but is never effectively followed up and, instead, we are offered fleeting glimpses of earlier happenings, often flung at us in the midst of psychedelic sequences, when a bunch of fungi start throwing out hallucinatory spores. The first of these passages is impressive, but I could have done without the second one, which just feels like more of the same and, once again, has me thinking wistfully about a fast-forward function. More damningly, for a horror film, apart from a couple of wince-inducing injury details, this doesn’t feel remotely scary.

In the end, I realise that I don’t really care what happens to any of the characters, mostly because I haven’t learned anything about them. File this one under ‘Y’ for ‘Yet another missed opportunity.’

3.2 stars

Philip Caveney

In the Heights

18/06/21

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Lin-Manuel Miranda’s award-winning stage musical makes a successful transition to the big screen, with Jon M Chu’s direction really capturing the community spirit at the heart of the piece. Washington Heights is a Manhattan suburb, home to a diverse range of Latin-American people. The film is a raucous celebration of Latinx culture, and – although it touches briefly on issues of poverty, racism and immigration – it’s essentially joyful: a sweet love story; “there’s no place like home.”

Anthony Ramos plays Usnavi, owner of a corner store/bodega, who dreams of returning to his native Dominican Republic to re-open his late father’s beach bar. He’s got a bit of a thing for Vanessa (Melissa Barrera), who works in a nail salon, although she really wants to be a fashion designer. Meanwhile, Nina Rosario (Leslie Grace) has come back home from Stanford University for the summer, and – though the whole-neighbourhood’s in awe of her achievements – she’s decided not to return. The grass isn’t always greener, and she misses belonging. At Stanford, she will always be an outsider.

Christopher Scott’s choreography is sublime: it’s vibrant and sexy and sometimes dizzyingly gorgeous. The huge ensemble cast are expertly utilised. There’s a scene on the fire escape that almost literally takes my breath away, and the Busby Berkeley-esque synchronised swimming provides another unexpected delight. The cinematography (by Chu and Alice Brooks) is also spectacular: you can feel the heat rising from every shot, shimmering and crackling, and – during the blackout – it’s genuinely oppressive. The neighbourhood is fully realised, and captured with love.

The film is long; some might say too long. Even though it’s bursting with energy and sparky, likeable characters, it does start to flag at around the eighty-minute mark, and there’s still more than an hour to go. A little tightening wouldn’t go amiss, but – in spite of this – watching In the Heights is, on the whole, a fun way to spend an afternoon.

Although I’m captivated, I sadly find myself at odds with the film’s underlying message, which seems to be an exhortation to appreciate what you have and stay put. I love the community pride that is feted so exuberantly here, but I’m also perturbed by the ‘don’t try anything new’ connotation, which literally nobody gets to challenge. It feels right for Usnavi to realise that home is where the heart is, that he already has exactly what he needs, but the same doesn’t ring true for Vanessa – or Nina. I wish there was more nuance here.

I’d probably like a bit more grit too, if I’m honest. The racism Nina encounters at Stanford is delivered almost as an aside; the plight of DREAMers only briefly touched upon. These are urgent, interesting topics, and there’s space here, I think, for a little more depth, more heft. As it is, In the Heights is lovely, but ephemeral. I can’t see it lingering in my mind, or having a lasting impact.

Still, if what you’re seeking is escapism, this movie more than ticks the box.

3.9 stars

Susan Singfield

The Kitchin

16/06/21

Commercial Quay, Leith

A 50th birthday celebration is a great excuse to push the boat out – and the fact is, we’ve been trying to visit The Kitchin ever since we first moved to Edinburgh, some five years ago. We’ve managed to dine at all the other Tom Kitchin restaurants over that time: The Scran and Scallie, The Southside Scran and even The Bonnie Badger out in Gullane, but, mostly because of our complete inability to organise booking months ahead of time, we’ve never been able to find a suitable slot at his flagship venue. Until today.

It’s the sixteenth of June and we’re sitting at a table in The Kitchin, sipping our welcome glasses of champagne. The place is swish and comfortable and, though busy, it’s socially distanced enough for us to feel relaxed. We’ve walked the three miles from home to Commerical Quay, so we’ve managed to work up a decent appetite en route. On the other side of a glass partition, we can see Tom himself, hard at work on his latest masterpiece. We’ve opted for the Chef’s ‘Surprise’ menu, which means that we won’t know what we’re having until it arrives. The waiter gives us ample opportunity to rule out any ingredients we have an aversion to, but the fact is, we like most things and part of the thrill of dining at this level is to hand over control to the seasoned professionals on the other side of that screen.

We’ve also opted for the matched wines. This is going to be pricy, but hey, you’re only fifty once, right?

We start with an amuse bouche – a Swedish potato and seafood cake, which is essentially a little mouthful of salty heaven and a great way to get the old taste buds woken up. Goes well with the champagne too.

This is followed by a pea and lovage velouté, intensely flavoured but light as you like and we cannot resist mopping up that rich, green sauce with handfuls of freshly made soda bread. ‘Go easy on the bread,’ I keep telling myself, but I just somehow can’t make myself do that.

A glass of wine arrives (I’m not going to list all the wines, suffice to say that they are expertly paired with each dish), and then we’re presented with scallops in puff pastry. These are cooked in their shells and sealed with a ring of pastry, so they have to be opened up by the waiter, revealing melt-in-the-mouth tender scallops floating in a vibrant, citrus-infused sauce. If there’s a standout for me in this list of knockout dishes, this may just be it. But happily it proves to be a close-run thing.

Another glass of wine arrives, and then our next dish. This is pork cheek with truffle and asparagus, ladled with béchamel sauce and it’s every bit as good as it sounds. Truffle can be overpowering but not so here – there’s just enough of it to lend an extra burst of flavour, while the pork cheek is tender and expertly spiced.

The next dish is John Dory with fennel and it’s a bit of a revelation, this one. For one thing, I’ve never eaten John Dory before and I have to say that I enjoy the experience; the white flaky fish is deliciously seasoned. Also, I’d be the first to admit that fennel has never been my favourite food, but this is cooked in a tangy lemon sauce and is absolutely delicious. I vow that the next time I cook with fennel, I’m going to try a similar approach.

A switch to red wine signals what is no doubt intended as the main course in this menu, lamb rib, loin and jus – though, like all the other dishes, it is perfectly proportioned, because we still have a way to go on this food odyssey. An earthy Lebanese wine makes the ideal accompaniment to the succulent meat, which is ladled with a rich, marrowbone gravy. In a vain attempt to be critical, I observe that the first mouthful of lamb is chewier than I anticipate, but that’s the only criticism I manage to summon up. The second and third mouthfuls are fine.

We’re expecting our pudding around now, but out comes an extra one, just because they can, and this is an oat mousse with strawberry jus, light, intensely flavoured and just the thing to cut through the lingering notes of the meat dish we’ve recently finished. Think of it as a delicious palette cleanser.

Now comes the actual pudding and seriously, this is just perfection in a bowl, an apple crumble soufflé that features all the flavour of the traditional favourite, but is so light and fluffy that it almost threatens to float away from our spoons. The apple is just tart enough to cut through the sweetness of the soufflé and I have to resist the impulse to applaud. This is up there with B & B’s all-time favourite pud, Mark Greenaway’s sticky toffee pudding soufflé.

Just when we’re telling ourselves that we can’t possibly eat another thing, out comes a little lemon birthday cake with a candle on the top, and we happily share it, before ordering some coffee.

There can’t be any more… can there? Well, yes there can, actually, because here’s a dainty chocolate almond financier and I challenge anyone to turn a blind eye to that when sipping a latte! I know we couldn’t.

So, that’s it, we’re finally done. We’ve been here for something like two and a half hours, we’ve eaten some extraordinary food, we’ve drunk quite a bit of wine (so sue us) and we can honestly say this is a meal so special, so unique, we’ll never ever forget it.

And that’s the object of the exercise, right?

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Nobody

15/06/21

Cineworld

Since the success of Liam Neeson’s Taken, there’s been a trend for mature actors reinventing themselves as superannuated action heroes. The latest to throw his toupee into the ring is Bob Odenkirk (better known to many as Saul Goodman in Better Call Saul/Breaking Bad). Here he plays Hutch Mansell, the ‘Nobody’ of the title and, in a series of rapid fire clips, we’re shown just how ordinary his everyday existence is. Married to Becca (Connie Neilsen), with a couple of young kids to support, his biggest concern seems to be getting the household garbage out on time for the weekly pickup. You know. An ordinary guy with an ordinary job and an ordinary past.

But a household burglary intrudes upon his routine and the fact that the thieves steal his little girl’s Kitty Kat bracelet makes him snap – whereupon we learn that Hutch isn’t quite as ordinary as he seems. He is a former ‘auditor’ for the FBI, a man adept at using his fists and a variety of weapons to lethal effect – which he now proceeds to do with unwholesome relish, first by taking on a bunch of bullies who have the misfortune to get onto the same bus as him and latterly, by taking on Russian mobster Yulian (Aleksey Serebryakov), a man who is no stranger to violence himself and who seems to have half the Russian population of America at his beck and call.

Nobody is decently acted and glossily filmed and it has a penchant for putting Vegas-style ballads behind the action sequences, which sometimes works to good effect – but what’s utterly repugnant about this film is the neanderthal subtext, the suggestion that a man cannot be truly happy unless he’s driving a broken bottle into another man’s face. Even more insulting is the notion that women secretly respect this – a scene where Becca responds sexually to Hutch, after years of abstinence, because he has reinvented himself as a ‘tough guy’ is pretty much the final straw. All the female characters here are either silent victims or, like Becca, they respond to the overtures of a ‘real man’.

It’s 2021 for Christ’s sake! This kind of nonsense would have seemed hopelessly outdated back in 2008, when Taken was originally released, but now you wonder how anybody could be so insensitive as to create something so morally reprehensible. (Derek Kolstad, step forward and accept the Misogynist of the Year prize.) Odenkirk must also carry some of the blame, since his production company is behind this farrago.

As the film progresses (if I can use that verb), the mayhem becomes ever more over-amped and ridiculous, as Hutch – aided by his aged dad, David (Christopher Lloyd), and the mysterious Harry (RZA) -takes on hordes of Russian hitmen, none of whom appear to have had any weapons training and who are summarily beaten, shot, stabbed and blown to smithereens. Kolstad, of course, created the character of John Wick and that franchise is no stranger to extended fight scenes, but here the prolonged action just becomes monotonous, as limbs are snapped, eyes gouged out and bodies blown to pulp.

By this time, I’m just praying for it to end – and don’t get me started on the film’s ludicrous conclusion, which appears to be hoping for another instalment of this drivel. The most depressing thought of all is that Nobody might just succeed in that ambition.

1 star

Philip Caveney

Bo Burnham: Inside

13/06/21

Netflix

Bo Burnham is what you might call a polymath – a man of wide-ranging talents. He acts; he writes; he sings; he plays maddeningly catchy music. He’s extraordinary! He’s also been around for quite a while (he first started performing comedy as a teenager), but I, sadly, have only recently become aware of him. He’s the writer/director behind the bittersweet coming-of-age movie, Eighth Grade, which Bouquets and Brickbats awarded a well-deserved 4.8 stars in 2019. More recently, he submitted a perfectly-judged performance as Ryan in Promising Young Woman. And he has three comedy specials on Netflix, the latest of which is Inside.

Like everyone else in recent history, Burnham found himself trapped at home by the pandemic. Shortly before being locked down, he’d been afflicted by crippling bouts of stage fright. Also, he was about to turn thirty, and he needed to talk to somebody about that situation.

So he wrote, directed and performed a one-hour-twenty-seven-minute piece that all takes place in one room of his house. Of course he did. He’s a polymath.

It can sometimes be hard to write about comedy, but this show is particularly hard to pin down, because it careens frantically from one routine to the next, all of them stitched together by a stream of perceptive, oddly Beatle-ish songs, each one of which seizes on a particular subject and brilliantly eviscerates it. Whether he’s commenting on the all-pervasive overload of the internet, spoofing a children’s show where a sock puppet is revealed to be a submissive slave to his human counterpart, offering a commentary on the kind of fluff that masquerades as emotion on Instagram, or exposing the raging narcissism that lurks at the root of every comedian’s output, this is never less than fascinating. It’s wry, self-deprecating – and sometimes shocking. Occasionally it dares to stand on the very edge of a precipitous ledge, staring down into the abyss.

Comedy is subjective, of course, but – having watched this – I was prompted to catch up on his two previous Netflix specials and to note how his work – though always first rate – has matured over the eight years, from what. (2013), through Make Happy (2016) to Inside (2021). This latest piece represents him at the very peak of his powers. Where he will go next is debatable – there is some talk of him pursuing a movie career but, if that is the case, I hope he doesn’t give up on what he’s doing here.

Which is being brilliantly, irreverently funny. And if there’s something we all need right now, it’s more laughter.

4.8 stars

Philip Caveney

The Father

11/06/21

Cineworld

It’s been over a month since the 2021 Oscars, where The Father won awards for best male actor and best adapted screenplay, but somehow it seems I’ve been eagerly awaiting its arrival for much longer than that. It’s finally here, available to view on the big screen, where its powerful narrative pulses from every frame.

Anthony Hopkins is, it seems, the oldest recipient of the best actor award and we know, don’t we, that sometimes such honours are handed out because it’s late in an actor’s career and there might not be another chance to reward him? But make no mistake, his performance in the lead role is a genuine tour de force. As ‘Anthony,’ a widowed man enduring the terrifying, mind-scrambling rigours of Alzheimer’s, he pulls out all the stops, taking his character through a range of moods and manifestations – from grandstanding showoff to sly insinuator – before delivering a final, desperate scene that is absolutely devastating.

Those seeking a rollicking, sidesplitting comedy should be warned: this is not the film for you.

Anthony – when we first encounter him – is living alone in his spacious London apartment, where he’s receiving regular visits from his compassionate daughter, Anne (Olivia Colman). Anthony has recently dismissed his paid carer, claiming that she’s stolen his watch, and he’s adamant that he will not, under any circumstances, move out of the place that he has always regarded as home. But as the story progresses, the touchstones of his life crumble one by one as the familiar things around him begin to change at a terrifying rate. The place doesn’t look the same… items have been moved, rearranged. Anthony’s favourite painting is missing… and why does somebody by the name of Paul (Mark Gatiss) parade around saying that this is actually his apartment? Who is Paul exactly? Anne’s ex-husband? If so, who’s the other Paul (Rufus Sewell), and why does he act like he owns the place? And what’s all this nonsense about Anne moving to Paris?

Perhaps the new home help, Laura (Imogen Poots), might be able to put things in order, but why does she remind Anthony so much of his other daughter, Lucy, the one he seems to have lost touch with? And most bewildering of all, why is it that sometimes, even Anne appears to be a different person than she used to be?

Florian Zeller’s astonishing film, adapted from his stage play, unfolds almost like a psychological horror story, as Anthony struggles to take in what’s happening to him. While I expected this to be bleak, I’m not fully prepared for the power with which it hits me. There’s doubtless extra impact because, for the last ten years of her life, my own mother was afflicted by Alzheimer’s and I recognise many of the beats here as being absolutely authentic. Perhaps that’s why the tears are rolling so copiously down my face.

Despite being confined mostly to one set, The Father never feels stage bound, because so much of what I can see onscreen is in a constant state of flux and because, at times, I feel every bit as unsettled as Anthony does. I’m never entirely sure where a scene is taking place, when it it is set and who is present in it – and that’s not meant as a criticism, but as an observation about the story’s unsettling grip on me. While there was aways a danger of The Father being completely dominated by Hopkin’s extraordinary performance, Colman is as excellent as always, managing to kindle the audience’s sympathy with a mere glance. And Olivia Williams is also compelling as the film’s most enigmatic character.

I walk out of the cinema, bleary-eyed from crying and, if I still have a few unanswered questions, well, that feels exactly right. This is an assured film that handles its difficult subject with rare skill.

So, worth the wait? Most definitely. But maybe remember to take some hankies?

5 Stars

Philip Caveney

Dream Horse

09/06/21

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Yeah, yeah, we’ve seen it all before. A British film about a bunch of working-class people, cast adrift by the closure of whatever industry has kept them going, left to fend for themselves, lost, broke and frightened. Until – hurrah! – they’re saved, thanks to their plucky can-do attitudes and a sense of community… Miners saved by joining a brass band, steelworkers redeemed by stripping, you know how it goes. And yeah, it’s all very inspiring, but somehow it leaves a nasty taste in the mouth, because what’s it saying? That our government doesn’t owe us a duty of care; we just need to dig deep enough, try hard enough, find our own way out of the mire? I don’t buy it.

But I really like this film, written by Neil McKay and directed by Euros Lyn. I just do. I’m not really expecting to, but I can’t help myself. My heartstrings are well and truly tugged.

It’s very, very Welsh. And, as a Welsh person who no longer lives in Wales, I find myself filling up as Katherine Jenkins sings Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau, the crowds at the racecourse joining in, and when the Cefn Fforest locals line the streets, singing Bread of Heaven. There’s quite a lot of singing, actually – which is no bad thing.

The plot is no great shakes. It’s based on the true story of supermarket cashier Jan Vokes (Toni Collette), her unemployed husband, ‘Daisy’ (Owen Teale), and city accountant Howard Davies (Damien Lewis), who make a plan to breed their own racehorse. Jan has experience of breeding greyhounds and pigeons, and Howard has previously owned a racehorse – which was so expensive it nearly cost him both his home and his marriage. But they’re all trapped and fed up, and this plan offers them a glimmer of hope. However, they can’t afford it alone. And so the syndicate is born, and – although only twenty-three people actually commit to stumping up the ten pounds a week required for part-ownership – it seems like the whole village is invested in the group’s success.

First, the Vokes buy an injured mare named Rewbell. Then, they breed her to Bien Bien, a thoroughbred stallion. The resulting foal is Dream Alliance, owned by the syndicate, and trained by Philip Hobbs (Nicholas Farrell). Howard warns the syndicate that they are unlikely to make much money from their horse – that they have to be “in it for the hwyl,” not financial gain. This proves to be wise advice. It’s not too much of a spoiler to say that Dream Alliance becomes a relative success (because it would be a very different kind of movie if the venture were a flop), but no one makes more than a couple of grand. The hwyl though. The hwyl. That’s life-changing.

There’s such a lot of hope in this film, such a lot of joy. The importance of simple camaraderie, of sharing a goal, of feeling part of something; it’s all writ large here. Kerby (Karl Johnson) is a shambling alcoholic until the syndicate gives him new hope; widow Maureen (the inimitable Siân Phillips) finally has something other than Tunnock’s teacakes (delicious thought they are) to divert her. The whole crew take a minibus to the races and crash into the owners’ bar, claiming their place among the elite with their heads held high. It’s glorious. And there is, genuinely, some real suspense in those final furlongs.

If you’re looking for something to raise your spirits, Dream Horse is it.

Enjoy. Mae’n grêt.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield