Matilda

Abigail

20/04/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Twelve-year-old Abigail (Alisha Weir) is kidnapped one evening after her ballet class. Sedated, blindfolded and spirited away to an abandoned mansion, she’s held hostage by a ragtag bunch of mercenaries, intent on extorting $50 million from her gangster father (Matthew Goode). But when Daddy doesn’t care enough to cough up, what’s a tweenage girl to do? Sometimes you have to be a little bit naughty…

Although it treads a well-worn path, Abigail is more than just tropes and jump-scares. The script (by Stephen Shields and Guy Busick) is witty and spare, the exposition deftly integrated. Although the characters never stand a chance – their subsequent fall is inevitable – they are three-dimensional and interesting, their shifting dynamic always plausible.

The gang are not exactly innocent victims of their story. They’re all prepared to traumatise a child for nothing more than the mighty moolah. But directors Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett manage to engage our sympathy for the squad, allowing us the time and space to get to know them and understand their motivations.

Medic and former-addict Joey (Melissa Barrera) is the second lead, and we’re on her side from the outset. She’s aghast to learn that the victim is a child, and forms a bond with Abigail straight away. Ex-cop Frank (Dan Stevens) is harder to like: he feels neither shame nor remorse for the work he does; he’s pragmatic and cool. Rickles (William Catlett), Peter (Kevin Durand) and Dean (the late Angus Cloud, to whom the film is dedicated) are all hapless in their various ways, while rich-kid hacker Sammy (Kathryn Newton) is just in it for the lulz.

But the tiniest mite packs the mightiest sting, and it turns out that there’s much more to Abigail than meets the eye…

Weir is clearly having a whale of a time in this 18-certificate bloodfest: she more than holds her own with the adult actors. She’s the perfect embodiment of innocence and evil, and it’s great to see her refusing to be typecast. Although it’s an undeniably violent film, the action meets the demands of the story and never feels superfluous.

This grisly thriller is a gem, but be warned: the characters’ endings are often a little bit gory.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Tim Minchin: BACK

23/11/22

Cineworld, Edinburgh

The tagline for BACK promises “old songs, new songs and fuck you songs” – and that’s exactly what we get. It’s great to see Minchin ‘back’ on the stage, albeit – for today – via the medium of screen. I loved Matilda, and am truly sorry his animated movie was so cruelly canned, but I did miss Tim-the-performer while he was working on those other projects, and BACK is a triumphant return.

I admire his resilience. Whatever private tears were shed over the Hollywood let-down, his public self is irrepressible. And I imagine live performances as popular as these provide quite the tonic for a bruised ego.

BACK is wide-ranging – both topically and musically. There’s an ode to cheese, a rant about progressives’ infighting and a plaintive memorial to a lost loved one; there’s a capella, solo piano and an accomplished eight-piece band. This makes sense: after all, the show is loosely constructed as a memoir, looking back at almost thirty years of an unusual career.

Three hours seem to fly by. Minchin’s ebullience makes him fascinating to watch, as well as listen to: this is as much a spectacle as it is an evening of song. As if his trademark bare feet, big hair and eyeliner weren’t arresting enough, he’s rarely still, jumping on and off the piano, doing backward rolls off the stool, and even sweeping broken glass off the stage (his own glass, I should add; the crowd is on his side).

Standout moments include If I Didn’t Have You, for it’s cheeky observations, and I’ll Take Lonely Tonight, for its wistful honesty, but the whole show works well. I find myself impressed anew by Minchin’s witty lyrics and musical dexterity, and I’m also engaged by his attempt to confront the thorny issue of ‘cancel culture’ from a liberal standpoint, highlighting the hypocrisy of promoting empathy via rage.

The tour is over, but this recording remains, and – if you get the chance to see it – do. Minchin is a joy.

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield