Review – G does Films

My Master Builder at Wyndham’s Theatre – Review

Immediately as I sat down in my seat at Wyndham’s Theatre in London’s West End, I was struck by the unusual structure upon the stage. Resembling a transparent scaffolding, it seemed as if the actors would have little space to perform. The lights went down and on walked Ewan McGregor as a famed architect Henry Solness, giving a speech about the nature of architecture and how it resembles real life. Then, the transparent structure lifted and the audience was introduced to the Solness’s pristine seaside house in The Hamptons, USA. Little did I know that the structure would play a significant part in the play, and would turn out to be the section of a modern Church Henry had designed.

My Master Builder was written by Lila Raicek (in her West End debut) and is based on The Master Builder, an 1892 play written by Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen. Director Michael Grandage does not regard Raicek’s play as an adaption or remake of Ibsen’s play, but rather ‘in conversation’ with Ibsen’s. Plot-wise, the two plays share a love triangle with the male lead architect and two women, but Raicek’s brings the two women more to the forefront and allows them to be more layered. My Master Builder is set on the 4th July, with Henry’s wife Elena, a publishing magnate, preparing to throw a party to celebrate her husband’s unveiling of his latest masterpiece. Their brittle marriage is further shaken by the unexpected arrival of Mathilde, a former student of Henry’s, with whom he shares romantic history. As the evening goes on, each is forced to reckon with the past and comprehend how it will affect the future.

As with any tragedy driven by deeply flawed characters, the performances are central to My Master Builder. Indeed, what attracted me to the play was McGregor’s return to the London stage. From Trainspotting to Christopher Robin, McGregor has a wholesome presence like no other. His performance as Henry Solness maintained this to a degree, but is much more thoughtful and nuanced than his more well-known work. Henry is a classical tragic hero; undeniably flawed but sympathetic. Whenever he is around his wife, he is mostly apprehensive and insecure, whereas when he is around Mathilde, he is relaxed, and emotionally as wide-eyed as a child. Whilst McGregor is definitely exceptional, he is almost overshadowed by Kate Fleetwood’s Elena. A stunning stand-out, Fleetwood portrays Elena as sympathetic yet not necessarily likeable. Fleetwood excellently portrays Elena’s emotional vulnerability which builds the tension between her and Henry to a boiling point. Elena’s dry, sarcastic sense of humour was also notable and generated several laughs.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth Debicki’s Mathilde functions as a crux of the play. Being the source of romantic tension that the play hinges on, Mathilde is a victim of the fragile relationship between Henry and Elena. As such, Debicki portrays Elena as much softer than the other characters, with an almost angelic-like quality in her interactions with Henry; whom he sees as a light in the darkness, leading to some genuinely wholesome and passionate moments between them. Supporting cast members David Ayala and Mirren Mack also have their exceptional moments. Ajala portraying Ragnar as the flamboyant, sexually confident friend who alleviates the tension with his comedic timing. Whilst Mack as Elena’s young assistant Kaia was enjoyably enthusiastic in her role and also portrayed a degree of innocence in an environment plagued by emotional turmoil.

The Church set piece which is used throughout the play is almost a character itself. Its incomplete and transparent appearance reflects the characters; no one in the play is entirely happy and feels their lives are incomplete in some way. It signifies the fragility of the relationships, and the way architecture reflects real life. The idea of turning ideas into ‘bricks and mortar’ alludes to how we all have an idealised version of our lives in our head, but making them a reality is never as easy as it seems. As Raicek elegantly puts it, ‘our romantic illusions are often in conflict with the incursions of reality’. A poignant sentiment thoughtfully woven into the performances and relationships between the characters. At certain points Henry climbs the stairs of the church which initiates his vertigo; a wretched irony signifying how even our greatest dreams can be painful once they’re translated into reality.

My Master Builder isn’t anything hugely original or groundbreaking in terms of tragic theatre. The themes and story of flawed lovers chasing an unobtainable dream has been done in countless plays. However, the architectural perspective keeps it relatively fresh and the strong performances make it thoroughly enjoyable. The vulnerability the cast brings to their characters makes it profoundly believable and brings captivating emotional tension.

The mysterious structure on the Wyndham’s stage for *My Master Builder*.

Asa Butterfield’s poignant stage debut as…Harry Potter? A Review of his stage debut in ‘Second Best’

Asa Butterfield is on his own. He sits on a chair on the stage of Studio 2 at Riverside Studios in London. He occasionally gets up to wander around and pass reflective glances at the audience shuffling into their seats. What follows is a story about missed opportunities, fate and family, told solely by Butterfield and strangely revolving around Harry Potter…

Second Best is the fictitious story of Martin Hill, a man, who at 10 years old, was one of the two final contenders to play Harry Potter. Based on a novel of the same name written by David Foenkinos, the one-man play is effectively an uninterrupted monologue of Martin Hill telling the story of his life and the knock-on effect missing out on the role of a lifetime had. Definitely one of the most unique plays I’ve ever seen, not only does it begin with Butterfield already on stage, he continues to be present for the entire duration of the play. Arguably one of the most famous British child actors of this generation, popping up in series’ such as BBC’s Merlin (2008) and Ashes to Ashes (2008), and films like The Wolfman (2010), and Nanny McPhee Returns (2010). Until he received wider recognition for The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas (2008) and Martin Scorsese’s endeavour into the family genre in Hugo (2011). Of course, most young adults will most likely know Butterfield as Otis Milburn from Netflix’s Sex Education.

Arguably dissimilar to his screen work, Second Best allows Butterfield to express his full acting range, from the humorously endearing awkwardness of Otis Milburn to much more poignant, tense emotional moments that the play requires. His exceptional ability to express this range gives the play an undeniable bittersweet feeling. For the most part, it is exceptionally funny, and Butterfield’s comedic timing in the stories he tells land excellently with the audience. However, there are times in the play which deal with loss; not only losing the role of a lifetime, but the loss of family and of one’s sense of self. Butterfield portrays such moments with unexpected sensitivity, evoking great sympathy for Martin Hill and reminds us how easy yet dangerous it is to reflect on what could’ve been.

The stage itself is also very uniquely designed and arranged to reflect the play’s bittersweetness. It is a white room with various seemingly random objects scattered around. From corner shop crisp shelves to a hospital bed affixed high up on the wall, these objects are the only other actors on stage with Butterfield. They act as visual accompaniments to Butterfield’s storytelling, giving the play a personal touch of the things we associate with certain memories and feelings. Moreover, there is a wardrobe from which Butterfield retrieves certain costumes and props, with some hilarious nods to Harry Potter itself. Second Best pokes fun at Harry Potter; the inescapable scale of a global phenomenon and the use of certain terms and phrases to create some admirable irony.

Solely the fact that Butterfield’s stage debut was a one-man play is impressive, but the range he provides in his performance makes it even more so. It was truly wonderful to see a British actor who popped up so frequently in my adolescence and whose roles had some personal resonance with perform on stage. I do hope the reception Second Best has received encourages Butterfield to pursue further theatre endeavours, as he has clearly made the transition from screen to stage with exceptional grace. Second Best was one of the most uniquely funny yet poignant plays I’ve seen, and it is a play I would recommend to anyone who enjoys something different on stage, is an Asa Butterfield fan, or simply even a Harry Potter fan.

Nosferatu (2025) Review: Robert Eggers’ triumphantly terrifying return to vampiric form

It is unlikely that the director of Nosferatu (1922), F. W. Murnau, would’ve imagined 102 years later there would be a remake of his film which so closely recaptures the essence of the original. When I first watched Murnau’s original film, I was immediately struck by its captivatingly ominous atmosphere, despite the fact it is one of the oldest films I’ve ever watched. I found it to be particularly effective when the titular vampire wasn’t on screen. As a viewer you’re only left to imagine what his presence is like, the musical score and camera work reminding us that he is coming, filling us with dread. I can imagine this is how Robert Eggers felt when he first watched the film, as a remake has been a passion project of his for 10 years. Despite his minimal filmography, Eggers’ has proved himself to be one of the most interesting and distinct filmmakers of the past decade. The Witch (2015), The Lighthouse (2019) and The Northman (2022) all have a uniquely identifiable style, despite the fact they overlap into multiple genres. Having previously written about both Robert Eggers’ films and Nosferatu (1922), I was adamant that there was no other filmmaker who could successfully produce a modern remake of the horror classic given the overlap between their distinct yet straightforward approach to horror. Now a new year has arrived with a new take on the horror classic, I can safely say I was not disappointed.

Just as the 1922 original was, Nosferatu (2025) is effectively a retelling of Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel Dracula. The original was, in fact, an unlicensed adaption, so much so that Stoker’s widow won a lawsuit against the film which allegedly led to all copies of the film being destroyed. Of course, this wasn’t enough to stop the original from continuing to live decades later like some vampiric monster. Solely the fact that Eggers was able to successfully breath new life into a story which has been told countless times across many different medias proves not only the timelessness of the story, but his ability has a filmmaker. Nosferatu (2025) is effectively the same story as Dracula; a solicitor is called to sort a property deal out with a mysterious Count who resides in a creepy, isolated castle and eventually makes his way to the solicitor’s hometown to feed on the living. So how does one successfully retell a story which has been done to death? (Pun intended).

One of the first things that’s most striking about Egger’s film is its faithfulness to the time period. Nosferatu (2025) is set in 1838 Germany and you well and truly believe it. As demonstrated in his previous films (especially 2022’s The Northman), Eggers has shown to be able to masterfully capture historical accuracy, from the set design to the character’s speech. Nosferatu (2025) is no exception. The dialect is almost Shakespearean yet completely understandable for a modern audience, and the costume and set design fully immerses the audience into the 19th Century. Even the minimal use of lighting makes some scenes almost look black and white, creating that creaky, claustrophobic feeling that the 1922 original conveyed. Of course, the use of lighting and shadows is a big factor in also conveying the generally creepy atmosphere that you’d expect from a gothic horror film. This is something that combines Eggers’ distinct directorial features with what is required of a Nosferatu film; further supporting the notion that there was no other filmmaker right for the job. One sequence in particular involving horses and a carriage in a forest was particularly captivating for its camera work and use of shadows, reminding the audience that the titular vampire’s is somehow omnipresent…

Rarely is it that one can describe an actor truly ‘disappearing’ into a role. The only recent examples I can think of is Colin Farrell as The Penguin in Matt Reeves’ The Batman universe, or possibly Nicolas Cage in last year’s horror film Longlegs. Partly due to the incredible makeup and costume work, and partly due to the exceptional performance. The same can be said for Bill Skarsgård as Nosferatu. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not watching Skarsgård. You’re watching the real Count Orlok who happens to have a taste for the blood of the living. I appreciate the fact his appearance was kept relatively secretive before the release of the film, which makes his performance even more striking. When he first appears you still don’t see him; being out of focus in the foreground or background as the main focus is Nicholas Hoult’s terrified reactions as he listens to the Count’s deeply raspy tones. Skarsgård apparently worked on the voice for Nosferatu for weeks, providing a slow, deeply unsettling tone which combines the temperament of a Transylvanian lord and something much more sinister. His appearance may not be what you expect, but it certainly harkens to the appearance of 15th Century Prince Vlad the Impaler, who was allegedly the original inspiration for Stoker’s Dracula.

Just like the 1922 original, Nosferatu’s presence reverberates throughout the film, in part due to the fantastic performances from the film’s cast. As mentioned, Hoult’s Thomas Hutter seems genuinely terrified when he first meets the Count, as if it is the first time he’s seeing Skarsgård in full costume and makeup. As previously mentioned, the film’s dialogue is very Shakespearean-esque, which allows the actors to really play the time period to their full potential. Aaron Taylor-Johnson is excellent as Hutter’s friend and vampire skeptic Friedrich Harding, who effectively plays as a counter act to Willem Dafoe’s Professor Albin Eberhart Von Franz, a Swiss philosopher who happens to be an expert on the occult and all things vampiric. I truly believe Dafoe would fit right at home in any historical time period. The unique eccentricity in his performances in Eggers’ films show his versatility as an actor and his ability to adapt to any period of history. Ralph Ineson, who I believe is a substantially underrated actor with his low, raspy, Yorkshire voice, is also great as the doctor who treats Ellen for her ‘sickness’. Which brings me to the performance that everyone is going to be discussing; Lily-Rose Depp as Ellen Hutter. The film requires a lot from her as an actor both emotionally and physically; convincing us that she is under the spell of the Count by physically contorting her body and face without any additional editing, which she pulls off with terrifying magnificence. Similarly, however, Simon McBurney as solicitor turned madman Herr Knock terrifically pulls of feats of terrifying emotional and physical derangement which must also not go unappreciated.

Nosferatu (2025) is a real treat for horror fans. It is clearly a film made by people who truly care about the source material and historical accuracy, and whose sole interest is immersing an audience in its world for two hours. It recaptures the distinctly unsettling atmosphere of the original, whilst using particularly grotesque and terrifying imagery to revitalise the horror for a modern audience and show us that vampires can still be scary. As for criticisms, I struggle to find many. Being a gothic horror film, some may find it a little slow paced, and it could perhaps leave you wanting to see more of the Count himself, but ultimately that is the purpose of the film. To take the time to fill its audience with dread and only imagine the horrors that await. I wouldn’t even describe Nosferatu as scary, but it doesn’t need to be. Scaring a modern film audience is an increasingly difficult task year by year, and films such as this opt to consistently and effectively unsettle and discomfort an audience rather than outrightly scare them, which is arguably just as effective. Everything from its chilling musical score by The Northman composer Robin Carolan to its exceptional historical accuracy, Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu is a film made to be seen at the cinema, and might very well be Eggers’ magnum opus. Happy New Year to cinema.

Waiting for Godot at the Theatre Royal Haymarket – A Review

“What are you waiting for?”

“We’re waiting…for Godot.”

Life hinges on asking questions. If we didn’t ask questions, we wouldn’t get anywhere in life. Playwright Samuel Beckett sussed this out when he wrote his surreal play, Waiting for Godot, in the 1940s. The play reflected the hopelessness and uncertainty in a post-WWII world, whilst the satirical banter between its characters giving it a strangely playful side. It was first performed in a tiny Parisian theatre in 1953 and was received very divisively. Understandably so, as the play asks many questions, and potentially leaves the audience asking even more. Today, however, Waiting for Godot is one of the most famous plays ever written, and has been widely regarded as a classic. I recently found out why.

At London’s Theatre Royal Haymarket, there is a stage upon a stage. The actors stand upon a section of barren countryside. There is nothing except Ben Whishaw’s Vladimir looking skyward next to a scraggy tree, and Lucian Msamati’s Estragon sitting on a rock missing a boot. What follows is an exceptionally thoughtful journey into both hopefulness yet hopelessness, and absurdity yet solemnity. The play centres on these two characters who have nothing waiting for a mysterious figure to arrive and give them something. Who is this character? What are they going to do? How do these two men know him? These are all questions left relatively unanswered, and instead the play explores the meaning of life, accepting the absurd, and why we might wait for something that may never come.

Admittedly, I knew very little about this play beforehand. In fact, I wasn’t familiar with any of Samuel Beckett’s work beforehand. Interestingly, I would’ve described the plot of the play the exact same way before watching it as I would after. It isn’t, effectively, about anything in particular. The enjoyment comes from watching the performances and absorbing the conversations. What initially attracted me was Ben Whishaw and Lucian Msamati. Their chemistry and comedic timing carries the majority of the 2 hour and 45 minute runtime. Whishaw’s youthful look and intentionally child-like Vladimir contrasts perfectly to Msamati’s more begrudged, clueless Estragon. If anything, Waiting for Godot proves the two actors are certainly amongst the British greats. Msamati was especially magnetic with his comedic timing and delivery. One such moment occurred when he approached the front of the platform, overhanging the front of the stage, just as some latecomers entered the stalls. Before delivering his line, he stared at them and disappointedly shook his head, gave his line, and there was an instantaneous applause.

Another such moment of audience elation came during a moment with visiting characters Lucky and Pozzo, played by Tom Edden and Jonathan Slinger, respectively. The two pass by Vladimir and Estragon several times in the play, Pozzo a privileged, foppish individual who leads the non-verbal Lucky around on a rope, seemingly to serve him as a slave. When Lucky is told to ‘think’ amongst other actions, a hilariously lengthy, meandering monologue follows about God, man, Earth, whilst the other characters wander cluelessly around the stage waiting for it to end. Once it is abruptly ended by Vladimir, the audience once again applauded. As such, Edden’s performance was notable for its reliance on physicality, generating some particularly hilarious moments when interacting with the other characters. Slinger as Pozzo was also exceptional, seamlessly slipping between his pompous persona and a more regular one to convey some vulnerability to the character. Whether Lucky and Pozzo are reflections of Vladimir and Estragon is certainly implied, but never blatantly obvious. Both pairs of men rely on each other for survival, and are seemingly two sides of the same coin. Their relationships are never defined, as they threaten to leave each other several times, yet rely on each other for companionship as well as survival.

Initially, I thought that writing about Waiting for Godot would be difficult, but now that I have, I can fully appreciate the play’s timeless themes and iconic characters. Never have I been so entranced by such a minimal play, nor have I ever both laughed and reflected in concurrence. This is mainly thanks to Whishaw and Msamati’s extraordinary performances which will certainly go down as one of the best in the play’s history. Waiting for Godot is a play that reminds me why I love going to the theatre and the craft of acting. It relies on so little yet requires so much, allowing the audience to fully appreciate a cast who are well and truly in their element.

Why I don’t watch movie trailers anymore

If you’re early enough to the cinema you’ll be lucky enough to get a glimpse of previews of upcoming film releases, which is arguably one of the biggest selling points for movies. Usually they’ll be for films you haven’t heard of, or films you have heard of but have not yet seen the trailer. Some films sometimes even warrant viewing the trailer when it is released online, if they are anticipated enough by the likes of big studios, directors or franchises. Recently however, I have considered viewing trailers as an unfortunate experience rather than a fortunate one, and I tend to avoid seeking out the trailer for something unless under exceptional circumstances. The reason? Trailers spoil the movies.

This is not a recent problem. Ever since a trailer for Castaway (2001) revealed whether Tom Hanks escapes the island, there has always been controversy over trailers spoiling movies. The Terminator franchise is another infamous culprit, with the trailers for several of the instalments revealing a little too much information about their villains. If you look up any major movie trailer online, there’s a likely chance you’ll find comments about how it made people feel as if they watched the entire movie in the trailer. Granted, if you haven’t seen the movie, it is impossible to tell how much of the movie the trailer reveals. A recent example is M. Night Shyamalan’s Trap, a movie about a police operation to trap a serial killer at a concert. However, the big ‘twist’ the trailer seems to spoil is that the father (Josh Hartnett) is the killer. M. Night Shyamalan is known for his plot twists, so to make such a significant reveal in the trailer of his film seems uncharacteristic of him. However, having seen the film, the trailer only reveals the first half of the movie.

Some trailers have undoubtedly spoiled major plot points in movies; from the infamous plot reveal in the trailer for 1973’s Soylent Green, to the recent thriller remake Speak no evil revealing what happens at the end of the movie. Nevertheless, most trailers don’t go this far. More commonly trailers reveal too much general information about a movie which diminishes the excitement of watching a movie for the first time. It makes you feel as if all those YouTube comments were justified in saying the whole movie was in the trailer.Another recent example for this which I experienced was the trailer for Alien Romulus. The trailer not only exposes some of the film’s most exciting action sequences, but also that it would have another iconic chest-bursting scene. Granted, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie itself, but I found myself reflecting that some of the action or scary scenes would havehad more of an impact if they weren’t shown in the trailer. This is something I sadly find myself thinking evermore frequently after watching new movies. When it comes to big franchises and highly anticipated releases, fans are going to watch the movie when it comes out regardless of any marketing; I don’t need to see the trailer for Joker: Folie à Deux or Robert Eggers’ upcoming Nosferatu remake because I am already sold on the concepts they represent and because I enjoyed what came before.

Which brings me onto the reasons as to why trailers give away too much information. Firstly, ever since the pandemic, cinemas have been struggling to get back on their feet. Many Odeon and Cineworld branches have permanently closed, budget cuts have been made, and the companies have had to find new ways to get punters in the cinema. The pandemic habituated people into streaming; why spend £20 to go to see one film in the cinema when you can stream many more at home for a cheaper monthly subscription? As such, trailers have been targeted less towards fans and dedicated cinemagoers and more to general audiences who don’t care as much about significant plot points being revealed. Alternatively, perhaps movie studios simply feel they must sell as much of the movie as they possibly can to get people to return to the cinema.

Long gone are the days when most movie trailers would be a quick highlight reel of the general atmosphere and vibe of amovie. An effective movie trailer should sell this effectively without revealing too much of the plot. There are, however, recent exceptions. Oz Perkins’ recent horror Longlegs starring Nic Cage as a deformed serial killer had a very minimal yet intriguing marketing campaign. The trailers only tended to show seemingly random shots from the movie which effectively conveyed the creepy, ominous tone without revealing plotlines. They even went as far as creating a whole website about the murders from the film as if they were real, leaving further details completely at the discretion of the audience.

Sadly, most trailers aren’t this reserved, and more often provide cinema fans such as myself with too much information to sell a film. As such, I personally only tend to watch trailers if they are for a film I have heard very little about but sounds intriguing. I find the less I know about a film, the more I enjoy it. Hence why I generally avoid watching movie trailers.

Civil War review: The scariest movie of the year so far

Alex Garland doesn’t want you to know why they’re fighting. He wants you to know how it’s affected regular people. He wants you to know what it’s like to be forced to be neutral because it’s out of your control. He wants you to know what’s happened to a country in which a full-scale civil war was unimaginable. With his new movie, Civil War, he asks Americans (or anyone in the Western world really) what if there was a war going on right outside your door?

That’s the premise of Civil War in a nutshell. There’s army vehicles and soldiers on every street in the major cities, makeshift refugee camps in abandoned stadiums, and the sound of gunfire and bombs every night. The film follows the events of the war from the perspective of four journalists (played by Kirsten Dunst, Wagner Moura, Cailee Spaeny and Stephen McKinley Henderson) on a road trip from New York to Washington DC. Dunst excels at portraying the stoicism of a seasoned war journalist, alongside Moura who once again proves to be a standout as he was in the Netflix series Narcos (2015-2017). Spaeny is equally excellent as Dunst’s emotional opposite; the young, aspiring journalist who has yet to experience the harsh realities the seasoned adults have, making her a great surrogate for the audience. Civil War also features Nick Offerman as an unnervingly passive US president. The film opens with him rehearsing a speech; insensitively remarking ‘The greatest victory in the history of America’ which provides a layer of dark satire to the already poignant subject matter. Indeed, it was generally a great choice from Garland to have the film follow the perspective of war journalists; watching the events unfold from a seemingly neutral perspective makes the moral implications of the war much more apparent.

It would be underselling to describe their road trip as treacherous. Where Garland’s other films such as Men (2022) or Annihilation (2018) carefully orchestrate your emotional tension which lead to a climax, Civil War grabs your fear and keeps hold of it until the very end. There’s a constant state of tension whether the characters are drinking around a campfire in an abandoned parking lot with the sounds of battle in the distance, or on the front line dodging waves of gunfire as they attempt to document the harrowing events. Being one of A24’s biggest budget films so far, it certainly shows through its scenes of battle, which are some of the most gritty and realistic I’ve seen in a film. The sound design alone warrants this film to be seen on the biggest and loudest screen possible, with some of the most terrifying gunfire I’ve heard in a film.

As you’d expect from a big budget film headed by A24, Civil War also boasts some uniquely striking cinematography. From a crimson rural landscape lit up by patches of fire to a shot of someone sitting in front of colourful graffiti amidst an intense firefight, Civil War maintains its arthouse sensibilities whilst utilising its budget to create a stunningly terrifying world. The atmosphere it creates is undoubtedly dystopian, and even borderlines apocalyptic level, with certain elements fondly reminding me of the barren hopelessness of AMC’s The Walking Dead. Some of the music choices were especially reminiscent of The Walking Dead. Using heavy rock or even rap music to satirically juxtapose the dystopian atmosphere; a montage of tanks, helicopters and army vehicles being deployed to De La Soul’s Say No Go was oddly satisfying. Nevertheless, these moments never compromise the tension. There’s one scene in particular with a sniper which kept my teeth grinding even though I knew what was coming. In addition, the scene with Jesse Plemons turns out to be much more terrifying than the trailer let on, proving the actor to once again be the master of ‘unnervingly polite’ characters.

For a film which evokes such negative emotions, it deserves unanimous positivity. It’s concise narrative keeps you perpetually on the edge of your seat, and it displays some of the finest filmmaking A24 has produced so far. Some may find its subject matter overbearing at times, as it deals with the grim reality of war journalism rather heavy handedly, but I found this to be a good thing. It forces us to face a reality which we are not so far behind, and delivers a cautionary tale without getting bogged down in the politics. I’d even go so far as to say Civil War is the scariest film of the year so far, as it challenges something we often take for granted in the Western world – peace and comfort.

Late Night with the Devil review: Demonic possession…on a talk show!?

Demonic possession is a sub-genre of horror which has arguably been done to death at this point. From The Conjuring franchise to last year’s disappointingly mediocre It Lives Inside and The Exorcist: Believer, the idea has ranged from reasonably frightening to downright underwhelming. That is until writer-director duo Colin and Cameron Cairnes conjured up the idea of presenting demonic possession on a live talk show.

The film stars David Dastmalchian in his first lead role as Jack Delroy, a host of 70s talk show. Being a found footage film, it is presented as a combination of documentary-style clips and the salvaged footage from the broadcast of Delroy’s show on Halloween night 1977. The supporting cast includes Laura Gordon as a parapsychologist, Ian Bliss as a former magician turned skeptic, and Ingrid Torelli as a girl who is allegedly possessed by a demon; all of which appear as guests on Delroy’s show.

The main component of this movie which compelled me to write about it was its style and editing. Its goal is to effectively convince a 2024 audience the events of the film really occurred in 1977. It opens with a documentary-style sequence narrated by prominent character actor Michael Ironside explaining the Jack Delroy’s background and what circumstances led him to divulge into the paranormal on his talk show. The rest of the film is the Halloween talk show presented as it was filmed, with commercial breaks including literal behind the scenes moments showing what the characters are doing in the meantime.

As a viewer, this makes you feel strangely more vulnerable than if you were watching a normal horror film. As with most found footage horror, it makes the plot feel much more grounded and as if the events were really unfolding in front of you. Being shot as a 70s talk show, the film also has that oddly unsettling atmosphere, with the graininess and the tension which occurs when something goes wrong live on air. In addition, Dastmalchian provides an exceptional performance as the host. He brings the necessary charisma but also that slightly insecure edge which is mostly seen in the behind the scenes footage. Torelli however was an unexpected standout. Her subtle yet effective mannerisms; glancing into the camera, distinct facial expressions, and soft yet sinister voice substantially increased the tension when she was introduced.

Throughout the film the viewer is left to ponder whether various problematic events on the show are technical difficulties or something far more inexplicable. This is directly addressed by Bliss’s skeptic Carmichael the Conjurer; calling out how certain ‘paranormal’ events are all a staged act to boost viewership. These events paradoxically place the viewer in a state of tension and comfort. You feel enveloped by the comfortably familiarity of the talk show, but also anxious as to whether the lights flashing, flickering screens, and certain reactions from characters are legitimately paranormal. The tension comes to a climax with, of course, with conjuring of a demon live on the show, which is subsequently followed by some disturbing backstory regarding certain characters, leading to a final scene which packs a horrific punch.

As intriguing and original as this film is, it may not please every horror fan. Some may interpret the ambiguity in tension as pacing issues, and the retro interpretation of the found footage genre may be viewed as a cheap way of invoking nostalgia. However, I found myself absorbed into the film’s atmosphere. It was creatively edited and acted in a way which made me feel like I was watching Night Owls with Jack Delroy on Halloween night in 1977. After all, isn’t that the goal of horror set in a certain time period?

Imaginary review: Another great concept from Blumhouse…?

Imagination is one of the foundations for establishing horror. Watch almost any horror film, and at some point, they’ll be a moment when it forces the audience’s imagination do the work. In Alfred Hitchcock’s 1960 classic Psycho, it’s when Norman Bates looks into the camera with a menacing smile on his face, letting the audience only imagine what else he’s capable of. In John Carpenter’s The Fog (1980), it’s whenever the fog engulfs parts of the town and the audience is left to imagine what lurks within. Even indie horror film Skinamarink (2022) thrives from forcing its audience to imagine what the entity is stalking the children in the house by never showing and only implying. But what about a horror film literally called; Imaginary?

Kick-Ass 2 (2010) director Jeff Wadlow’s new horror Imaginary attempts to follow this archetype, but mostly fails to capture the same effect. The film centres around children’s author Jessica (DeWanda Wise) and her husband Max’s (Tom Payne) family; mostly his children Alice and Taylor (Pyper Braun and Taegen Burns). Once Alice discovers a harmless-looking Teddy bear in the basement of Jessica’s childhood home, things about Jessica’s childhood begin to unravel and the family is placed into a state of supernatural jeopardy. The film is produced by Jason Blum’s head honcho horror company Blumhouse Productions, the company behind recent films M3GAN (2022), Five Night’s at Freddy’s (2023), and Night Swim (2024). Unfortunately, Imaginary seems to be an amalgamation of the weaker aspects of those films, with some acceptable moments scattered throughout.

Similarly to the especially disappointing Night Swim, Imaginary isyet another great concept from Blumhouse executed with little precision. Kids having imaginary friends is a great concept for a horror film. The idea of a child having an invisible entity they can talk to that adults can’t see opens many doors of possibility for tension and horror. After all, good horror films often leave the audience to imagine the horror which is much more effective. Chauncey the bear seemed to me as Blumhouse attempting to create another modern horror icon to match the likes of Annabelle the doll or M3gan. Whilst his presence did conjure moments of malice and tension through the unlikely innocence of a girl’s imaginary friend, it was too toothless and infrequent to have a lasting effect. I understand studios prefer to keep a film’s rating as low as possible to increase its audience, but there were no scenes in this film that were particularly shocking. There is only one death and it is mostly off-screen, which leaves the only content warning of this film to be ‘Strong threat’.

I also felt this film convoluted the concept a little too much. Horror movies focusing on the story and characters too much has always dragged the horror aspect down, and in Imaginary it not only does that but also asks too much of its audience. Without spoiling, it doesn’t clearly set the boundaries of its story and world. I had several questions leaving the cinema, and it had clearly tried to borrow things from better horror films such as IT (2017), Insidious (2010), and even the Annabelle films. Granted, there are promising moments scattered throughout this film. The things it borrows from Insidious in particular I appreciated; that subtle, blink and you’ll miss it type horror always grabs my attention. There’s also a scene with the older sibling Taylor and the bear later in the film which was genuinely really unsettling, and was probably the best scene in the movie.

Perhaps Blumhouse need to start taking notes from more indie horror films such as last year’s Talk to Me and When Evil Lurks; let their characters be enveloped in the horror rather than spending too much time establishing layers and a story world. None of the characters are particularly likeable in Imaginary, and some dialogue moments border on horror-comedy, which I cannot imagine was the intention. There are some promising moments in Imaginary, and it establishes an interesting concept, but the dodgy dialogue, paper-thin characters, and convoluted story hugely let this one down.

The Zone of Interest review: A haunting perspective on blissful ignorance

What do you hear from your house? What noises can you identify from the outside? A dog barking? A lawnmower? Probably nothing beyond mundaneness of everyday life. Now imagine instead of those noises, you hear sounds from the Auschwitz concentration camp from 1943. That is the overall tone of director Jonathan Glazer’s new film, The Zone of Interest.

The film depicts the Höss family, living a seemingly comfortable life next to the camp. The family consists of real-life camp commandant Rudolf Höss, his wife Hedwig, five children, and a dog. It follows their everyday lives, focusing mostly on Rudolf, in balancing his family life with his work. In doing this, the film presents the ultimate juxtaposition; how can one live an idyllic life knowing the atrocities that are occurring right over the wall? Like any good horror film, it’s what you don’t see that haunts you the most.

There’s little to no musical score. When there is, it consists of monotone, ominous soundscapes accompanied with a screen of black or red to force the audience to only imagine the reality of the situation. Otherwise, the film wants you to hear the haunting background noises coming from beyond the wall. This may not be a horror film, but it is arguably more haunting than most modern horror films. The film really wants its audience to feel the blissful ignorance of its characters. With the camp buildings pouring with smoke and looming behind the wall whilst Hedwig shows her mother around the garden, and the fateful sounds of gunfire and shouting as a child plays in his bedroom. It makes the familiarity of household life disconcerting as it shows the true dangers of complacency.

Christian Friedel and Sandra Hüller portray Rudolf and Hedwig, respectively. Hüller having recently been nominated for best supporting actress for the film; her second BAFTA nomination following best leading actress for Anatomy of a Fall. Rightfully so, as she displays the most emotional range in a cast of intentionally deadpan performances. Friedel’s portrayal of Rudolf also provides some depth to his character; showing his disconcertingly relatable love for animals and his family, yet never losing that haunting, emotionless complacency to the reality of his work.

The camera work is notably exceptional, often concisely framing its subject matter in a way which visually juxtaposes the idyllic family life against the backdrop of the camps. As previously mentioned, the camera barely moves. Glazer allegedly placed cameras around the home of the family, allowing their performances to be captured in a natural, almost documentary-style way. Moreover, the camera barely moves throughout the film, concisely capturing what it needs to and intentionally not showing what the audience can only imagine. The film has been nominated for several awards, including best picture, director, adapted screenplay, international feature film, and sound at the Academy awards alone. Similarly to fellow nominees Oppenheimer and Killer of the Flower Moon, The Zone of Interest once again forces its audience to take a glimpse into a dark period of human history to reflect on how disconcertingly easy it was for people to feign ignorance in the face of unspeakable atrocities.

Interestingly, this film is only rated a 12A, which shows how it hides the outright horror and lets the imagination of its audience do the work. Still, that’s not to say it’s not a tough watch. Not much particularly happens in the film, and there is one sequence edited over with a negative filter which seems a little out of pocket until you read up about it afterwards. Nevertheless, not much is meant to happen. Similarly to last year’s controversial yet harrowing Sound of Freedom, its focus isn’t on delivering a conventionally compelling narrative, it is on the idea of what horrible things happen behind closed doors, and how dangerously ignorant we become of it. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a quieter cinema than the one for this film.

Why experimental horror ‘Skinamarink’ is scarier than you think

As the great John Carpenter once said, horror is a universal language. We are all born afraid. Fear can be attributed to a lot of every day actions. We get to work on time in fear of being late. We attend social events in fear of missing out. Even those who have supposedly mastered fear still feel afraid. Batman fights criminals in fear of letting down the memory of his parents and his city. But what is it that people generally fear the most? What is it that keeps us up at night looking at that dark corner of our bedrooms? The unknown.

No one understands this better than writer/director Kyle Edward Ball, with his recent experimental horror film Skiramarink (2022). The premise of this film is quite simple; two children wake up one night to find their father is missing and various objects around the house are mysteriously disappearing. Ball’s focus however is not on delivering a tightly cohesive story with developed characters. Instead, he creates a creepy atmosphere relying mainly on ambient sounds and images. Ball has a Youtube channel on which he makes commenters’ nightmares into short films, as well as uploading his 2020 short film Heck, as a proof of concept for Skinamarink. Through these short films Ball clearly pioneered his minimal directional style; using grainy found-footage style camera work, mysterious ambient background noises, and minimal use of dialogue or physical appearance of characters. Effectively, this outputs a ‘running up the stairs after switching the light off’ type feeling.

For general audiences, Skinamarink can best be described as a combination of Paranormal Activity (2007), The Blair Witch Project (1999) and Poltergeist (1982), though much more subtle. Skinamarink really breaks filmmaking down to its most basic components; a series of images and sounds, and maximises their effectiveness. Most of the film consists of dark, grainy shots of various rooms in the house, often from the perspective of the two kids. Superficially, that sounds exceedingly unappealing, but if you maintain an open mind and experience this film for what it is, it is unsettling unlike any other horror I’ve seen. There’s one scene where the dad tells one of the kids to look under the bed, and there’s nothing even there, but it provokes that child-like fear that everyone still feels into adulthood, creating an anxiety level which is through the roof. This film masterfully exposes childhood fears, as it deals with the removal of various sources of comfort we have as children. Throughout the film, old cartoons play on a TV to serve as a background comfort noise for the children, and various household objects (including doors, windows, and seemingly parents) disappear. This reminds us of the comfort we found in these things in childhood, and provokes the feelings of them being taken away with a lack of control. Of course, this film also frequently relies on that feeling of something lurking in the dark and lets our imagination run wild, but the most unsettling thing about this is the fact that whatever our imagination conjures up, it never comes. It keeps you in a perpetual state of tension and anxiety as you expect a jump scare to come to relieve the tension, but they often never do. I watched this film with a friend, and there was one shot of a corridor, and the slight outline of what we both agreed looked like a person, but the film never provides a clear answer, which is the most terrifying thing.

Enjoyment of a film can be defined as how effectively it stimulates our emotions. A good comedy will make us laugh, a good heartfelt drama will make us cry, and a good horror will make us afraid. Skinamarink proves a big budget with big scares isn’t a prerequisite to successful scares, effectively proving that over-relying on jump scares is an easy way to get an audience reaction. Nevertheless, I can understand why Skinamarink has polarised audiences, as it is very slow placed and spends a lot of time in the dark (literally). It would be perfect if it was a little bit shorter, and perhaps more concisely embedded its already skeletal story. As it stands, I hugely appreciate the different approach to the horror genre, as Kyle Edward Ball is clearly someone who has a love for the craft and understands what keeps people in suspense. It doesn’t spoon feed its audience with plot and predictable jumpscares, and relies heavily on the ‘feel, don’t think’ mentality. It is the type of film to inspire aspiring filmmakers (such as myself), as it shows all you need is a camera, a house, effective lighting, and good editing skills to create an effectively creepy film. If anything, Skinamarink demands multiple watches to piece together its story and fully appreciate the substance behind the tension.