★★★ Directed by #DNi Film review by Nathanial Eker-Male Director D-Ni proves that smartphones are a capable device for non-conventional filmmaking with this very short experimental piece. No Smoking comes in at just under three minutes and tells a simple story in reverse. A student is reprimanded for smoking on campus (ah, weren't those the days?) before, in an amusing commentary on student-teacher inequality, it's revealed that the cigarette he holds was smoked and disposed of by the Headteacher himself. Form is the central player here. D-Ni plays with the idea of reversing key events in one's history, calling to mind the feelings of utter despair we all inevitably feel when called up in front of an authority figure. Indeed, the soundscape embodies this sense of dread with its nonsensical aggression and uncomfortable 'melodies', if we can even call them that. In some ways, it could be asserted that the act of reversal represents the desire to repress past mistakes, but perhaps I'm looking into it a little too deeply. D-Ni also does some exciting things with colour, perhaps reinforcing the aforementioned despair with a literal turn from a technicolour world to a monochromatic pit of despair. Is the move from colour to black and white to contrast good vibes with a painful emotional state a tad cliché? Sure, but it works well regardless. However, the film lacks an inherent culpability, and though the ending tableau of a 'no smoking' sign allows for a cathartic 'a-ha' moment, it inspires little more than a quick grin and a fleeting thought. Regrettably, the film is also plagued by the occasional sloppy shot. While some may defend the lack of detail as a cinéma vérité inspired work of intentional amateur-ness, the positioning of the camera as a casual observer in an otherwise reasonably normalized diegesis suggests otherwise. Still. With a little more intent, practice, and ambition, the project could perhaps spell the beginnings of an interesting and enticing experimental director. At present, No Smoking represents an admirable attempt to craft a compelling short film on (presumably) a non-existent budget. 'Smartphone filmmakers' are becoming more and more ubiquitous, and D-Ni's appealing-if-lacklustre short reassures us that this is no bad thing. #NathanialEkerMale

★★★★★ Directed by: #JohannesGrenzfurthner Written by: #JohannesGrenzfurthner, #SamanthaLienhard Starring: #EthanHaslam, #JohannesGrenzfurthner Film Review by: Emily Davison A sceptic, yet intelligent, IT worker conducts a series of experiments in an attempt to cure his harrowing hearing impairment, but how far will one person go to achieve success and how much of himself will he lose along the way? Masking Threshold (2021) is an experimental horror film with the chilling tagline ‘try as we may to make a silence, we cannot’ and has, at the time of writing, won five awards. Three accolades include Feature Film, Original Score and Sound Editing/Sound Mixing, with Feature Film and Cinematography won at the IndieFEST Film Awards. The movie solely takes place in one room, exhibiting a unique blend of chamber play, DIY YouTube and scientific procedural filmmaking and demonstrates an exceptional achievement in creating a claustrophobic, harrowing horror which is likely to make even the most strong willed viewer squeamish. The film immediately establishes itself within the first few moments, as we are treated to an effective montage of the unnamed protagonist setting up his home workshop. Played by director and writer Johannes Grenzfurthner, but voiced by Ethan Haslam, the man, whose full body we never see for an hour and thirty minutes, suffers from tinnitus and medical science claims there is no cure. He develops a video log documentary as he shuts himself away from the world and we learn of his already isolated mindset as a gay man who also identifies as a geek and doesn’t appear to have any strong relationships in his life, resenting his parents. Florian Hofer’s stunning cinematography, Grenzfurthner strategic direction and Lenja Gathmann’s riveting sound design are the key triumphs of the film. From the first frame, we become completely immersed into this dark, disturbing narrative of one ordinary man beginning to lose his grip on sanity as his obsession with acquiring knowledge destroys him. Extreme close ups and harsh editing make the smallest, mundane activities of cracking an egg with a knife or eating takeaway piazza appear violent and foreboding. The protagonist’s descent into something deeply sinister is carefully signposted when he begins to eat food powder mix instead of real food and restricts his interactions with people, blocking his mother when she continues to contact him. His experiments become more and more macabre as he focuses on living organisms with fire ants and slugs, eventually moving on to worse. The torturous spiral of existentialism and decay is captured at every intimate detail, climaxing in a gory body horror nightmare with visceral, grisly visuals on full display. Although a feature length dialogue heavy film set in one room may be a turn off for some, especially in light of the unsettling content not for the faint of heart, Masking Threshold succeeds as one of the most original and disturbing horror flicks out there. The film is an intimate character study, making the most mundane everyday activities scary; combined with its excellent technical achievements makes this movie a must watch for any horror addicts. #EmilyDavison Masking Threshold (2021) trailer:

★★★★★ Directed by: #WesAnderson Written by: #WesAnderson Starring: #BillMurray, #TildaSwinton, #TimotheeChalamet Film Review by: Alex Matraxia With its delayed release due to the COVID pandemic, Wes Anderson’s newest film The French Dispatch has finally hit the festival circuit. A portmanteau movie that’s almost bursting at its seams, the film overflows with delight and ingenuity. A director like Anderson, whose style is always forcefully at the surface, may easily fall into the lethal trap of self-parody. But The French Dispatch is refreshing in its audacity, so divorced from logic, so compounded with character studies, shape-shifting its form every chance it gets. In lesser hands, this could all collapse in on itself (it’s no surprise that most anthology films, from Four Rooms to Twilight Zone The Movie, are disappointments). But Anderson has instead delivered an unforgettable film, exhilarating but never tiring, a tribute to journalism and the slightly-sad eccentrics who dedicate their lives to the written word. The film binds together the various stories retold by the contributors of The French Dispatch, a fictional publication based in Ennui-sur-Blasé. Anderson’s regular collaborators help turn the film into an aesthetic treat, from Robert Yeoman’s photography to Adam Stockhausen’s production design. The film is so composed of kitsch geometries that it begins to resemble some mid-century magazine cover. And Anderson appears to understand the anthology format better than most directors; the ability to move from one narrative to another so swiftly allows for sharp turns that work like palette cleansers (in fact the emphasis placed on food within the film suggests that Anderson is aware how his stories compliment each other like a three-course meal, with aperitifs on either side). Cause-and-effect can take a break while the imagination takes over, revitalising itself every half hour, bringing something new to the table whether a play-within-an-article-within-a-film, or an animated car chase with gangsters and acrobats. At no point do these casual absurdities feel like a nuisance, they always satisfy and replenish, partly due to their assurance in style, and also due to an impeccable cast. There are too many great performances to go into: Benicio del Toro’s tortured-artist, Adrian Brody’s maddening art dealer, Timothee Chalamet's wannabe-Trotsky, Frances McDormand’s love-weary journalist, and Jeffrey Wright’s Baldwin-like food writer. Tilda Swinton shines as Berensen, her lisp and camp vigour creating a truly memorable character. As does Bill Murray as Arthur Howitzer Jr, the editor of The French Dispatch publication. In typical Murray fashion, Howitzer Jr is laconic and martini-dry; but Murray’s characters are never pure cynicism, there’s always something endearing, sad-eyed but generous. Howitzer Jr has given everyone who writes for him a purpose, he pools together their zeal and helps facilitate their passions. His passing brings with it a contagious melancholy; it’s unclear what fate has in store for these writers after The French Dispatch’s final publication, whether their passions will continue to find nourishment or if they’ll be left without a platform, their talents diminished. Such malaise permeates each story, and this seems to be at the heart of the film. When Jeffrey Wright’s journalist considers cutting a scene from his article which he considers ‘too sad’, Murray’s Howitzer Jr insists that the sad part is the best part, that it makes the whole article worth reading. Similarly, the film’s power lies in its woefulness: the disillusions of youth, the desperation of ageing, the separation of lovers, the exploitation of art, and finally the dissolution of an editorial family. By the end of The French Dispatch, we’ve come to care for all its oddballs, their mischief and maladjustments. They remind us that it’s okay to believe in wild ideals, to cherish our passions to the point of absurdity.

★★★★★ Directed by: #PaoloSorrentino Written by: #PaoloSorrentino Starring: #FilippoScotti, #ToniServillo Film Review by: Alex Matraxia Warning: spoilers The Hand of God, as much as it may feel like typical Sorrentino - floating corridors, religious surrealism, Toni Servillo - is overall more of a detour from the director’s previous work, taking us back in time to Naples in the 80s. While it is unashamedly personal, it’s also a delicate, entrancing portrait of youth, family, destiny and cinema. The film focuses on Neapolitan teen and Sorrentino-surrogtate Fabietto Schisa (played by Filippo Scotti), whose passions are split between cinema, football, and his Aunt Patrizia (Luisa Ranieri) who is something of a muse; considered insane by others, Fabietto knows that mystery and miracles enshroud the eccentric aunt, that she will somehow contribute to his coming of age. Indeed Fabietto faces the mounting pressures of adulthood; his father Saverio, played with nonchalant piss-taking energy by Toni Servillo, tells his son to lose his virginity fast, even if it means going to bed with ‘a dog’. Fabietto has a less-than-conventional upbringing, his mother Maria (Teresa Saponangelo) prone to playing cruel pranks, like frightening her husband with a fake bear. It’s a charming but certainly not perfect marriage - Fabietto’s father has been having an affair with his secretary and when the news is revealed, domestic hell breaks loose. Fabietto is not impervious to the pain of a house breaking from within, but nothing can prepare him for an upcoming disaster: while at a football match watching Maradona, his parents have been killed by a carbon monoxide leak. The hospital scene, where Fabietto is informed his parents have passed, marks a powerful tonal shift in the film from Fellini-esque circus to Visconti-style melancholy. Fabietto gets stuck on a loop, repeating his request that he sees the corpses, which the doctors deny. These long-shots of Fabietto falling apart in the hospital reveal an emptiness to the screen which has previously been crammed with energy and spectacle. From here on, Fabietto wonders through Naples trying to piece together a potential future. While his brother admits that he’ll spend his life escaping pain, Fabietto believes that such escape is impossible. He gravitates towards cinema, wanting to become a filmmaker, with the idea that he’ll be able to make sense of his pain through art. Sorrentino’s Naples resemble Fellini’s Rome, with its mix of burlesque characters and vibrant family. The traffic jam at the start of the movie hurtles into 8 1/2 and the helicopter shots of Naples echo back to La Dolce Vita. Fabietto’s brother even auditions for a Fellini movie in the hope of becoming an actor. But rather than simply play tribute to the Maestro, this coloration of Naples imbues it with a teenager’s eye for exaggeration, brashness, and mystery. Sorrentino is always a magician of cinematic wonder, there is no exception here. Autobiographical in content, The Hand of God doesn’t falter like other self-portraitures, say, Jodorowsky’s Dance of Reality which indulges the self-image of tortured artist. Sorrentino’s poetic memoir is interested in universality. In its final image, Fabietto sits alone on a train waving goodbye to a child dressed like a monk (presumably a reflection of his childhood), making for a sincere departure from innocence. Excitement for the future and irreparable loss come together, Fabietto’s nostalgia of the present seeping in. It infects us with its beauty.

★★★★★ Directed by: #JoannaHogg Written by: #JoannaHogg Starring: #HonorSwintonByrne, #TildaSwinton Film Review by: Alex Matraxia In many ways The Souvenir Part II isn’t really a sequel to Joanna Hogg’s 2019 film The Souvenir. It is a fluid extension of the first film, with greater audacity, dreaminess and complexity. Film student Julie (Honor Swinton Byrne) is still struggling to get over Anthony’s death, their relationship dominating the first film. Julie seems unable to direct herself, and in early parts of the film she’s unable to speak. When her parents ask her about Anthony, she seems unbearably mute. It gets harder, as Julie also has to direct her graduate film, an autobiographical retelling of her relationship with Anthony (a film within the film which she aptly calls The Souvenir). There are few films about filmmaking which focus on a director’s early journey into the craft. There’s something both endearing and painfully awkward about watching Julie make first-timer mistakes - changing camera set-ups last minute, unable to tell her actors enough about their characters. But this struggle seems to momentarily take her away from her grief as directing this film offers her a larger sense of direction. Julie finally takes charge of her life, and Honor Swinton Byrne's performance is a fine example of less-is-more: when Julie's DP throws a tantrum, Julie says nothing, and Byrne's silence shifts from helplessness to a kind of solidity. After being controlled by Anthony, The Souvenir Part II sees Julie blossom into independence. We never watch her graduate film, its screening gets intercepted by a dream sequence where Julie finally has to let go of the man (sometimes monster) in her memories. The dream, with its hand-painted backgrounds and smoke machines, fuses Derek Jarman with Powell and Pressburger. Maybe it’s no coincidence that these are British filmmakers. Hogg’s film seems to note its own loyalty to British filmmaking, attentive to gardens, rain, and grey roads. Julie's work is also determined by familiar surroundings, unlike Richard Ayoade’s Patrick (Ayoade is almost ingenious in his performance) who has landed a gig making a lavishly choreographed film. He seems to model himself on a mix of Orson Welles and Rainer Werner Fassbinder. As much as Julie wishes she could make Patrick’s films - stylistic, dynamic, escapist - she accepts that her work has to be something else, something more personal, drizzly, and slow. Her art is less about excitement, but a way to navigate her own life. Tilda Swinton reprises the role of Julie’s mother Rosalind, proud of her daughter despite the fact she doesn’t quite understand her. She doesn’t want to impose, she gives her child space, and yet her privilege (and its emotional indirectness) can make her seem distanced. Despite all these subtleties of character, when confronted by her daughter about Anthony’s death, she replies, “I felt through you”. In that moment, Rosalind’s awkwardness and stifled expression makes way for pure maternal selflessness. It’s apparent that Julie has never realised how much her mother gives her: a very ‘Hoggsian’ contradiction, how Julie’s grief can make her emotionally irresponsible. Hogg’s strength is in her characters, they are so stifled and inarticulate, but nonetheless captivating. The Souvenir Part II felt like returning to old friends whose company we adore. They seem real, and perhaps that’s because they are real - the autobiographical element of young-woman-becomes-filmmaker isn’t hard to spot. Like Julie, Hogg’s loyalty to her own style makes her films so distinct, so memorable. The Souvenir Part II, as unglamorous as it may seem, is nothing short of movie magic.

★★★ Directed by: Pierre Tsigaridis Written by: Kristina Klebe, Maxime Rancon, Pierre Tsigaridis Starring: Rebekah Kennedy, Danielle Kennedy, Ian Michaels, Clint Hummel, Dina Silva, Belle Adams Grimmfest Film Review by: Darren Tilby Pierre Tsigaridis' Two Witches is a tale of two halves: one half, a richly sumptuous homage to the classical era of 70s horror; the other half sees a film that struggles to find solid footing upon a winding path, which crisscrosses through chapters, but which also never really goes anywhere, and fails to explain why when it does. It's a real struggle to talk about the story of Two Witches. The film is set across three chapters (Chapter 1: The Boogeyman, Chapter 2: Masha and Epilogue), and we're introduced to a string of characters and stuff happening, but there's a distinct lack of anything cohesive in its narrative. I appreciate the characters and events of each chapter are linked, but it's not always clear how or why or to what end events in each chapter happen; as such, it is difficult to understand what exactly is supposed to be happening at large. The film does mention, as the credits begin to roll, the story will continue. This could be a good move; try to tie up some loose ends and unanswered questions. But, as it stands at the minute, as a story, on its own, it just doesn't work quite as well as it could. During the movie's 95-minute runtime, we're bombarded with a torrent of heavily gore-laden practical effects—no bad thing! But there's a discrepancy in the quality of said special effects throughout the film, ranging from serviceable to excellent, seemingly as the film goes on. The cast of characters and the writing also suffers the same inconsistencies: some characters come off as entirely unlikeable (and not in the way they're supposed to be), while others have a much more relatable disposition; and the writing (particularly in the dialogue) flitters between cringy lines awkwardly delivered, and solid, occasionally profound moments of contemplation. There are some incredibly effective scares here, also. But the understated beauty of figures moving in the background and mysterious shadows in the dark is ruined, at least occasionally, by the movies' bizarre insistence of pointing these things out. Bursts of loud music, designed to shock, and quick-cut editing highlight things that would be better left to ambiguity. The performances, however, are solid throughout, with Rebekah Kennedy giving a standout performance in chapter 2 as the titular young witch, Masha; her performance is wonderfully unhinged, creepy and terrifying in its playfulness. It plays perfectly into the retro feel held by the movie, which Tsigaridis perpetuates through stylistic choices pertaining to classic 70s horror cinema. But it's undoubtedly a respectful homage to the era; at no point do the filmmakers resort to the lazy copy and pasting of earlier films—Two Witches (at least in this way) stands on its own two feet! There are flashes of Dario Argento's Suspiria in its dizzying lights, disorientating camera work and vibrant colours on display, and maybe a hint of Rosemary's Baby in its theme of predestiny and devil worship. The rich, sumptuous colours and set design, along with incredible cinematography and sound design, makes for a well-put-together film, a well-crafted homage to 70s horror cinema, which, unfortunately, fails to live up to its full potential because of a brash attitude and convoluted plot.

★★★★ Directed by: Emily Bennett, Justin Brooks Written by: Emily Bennett, Justin Brooks Starring: Emily Bennett, Barbara Crampton, Dora Madison, Emma Myles, Meghan Lane Grimmfest Film Review by: Darren Tilby Lockdown has been hard on everyone. But, while the vast majority of us were stuffing our faces and piling on the pounds (months spent sat idle in total boredom), contemplating how much we miss doing even the most mundane of things, some creatives were making the best of a bad situation and finding workarounds to the restrictions imposed by Covid. A flurry of (mainly) indy films popped up, many featuring a small cast and intimate setting, with other cast members often appearing through the magic of video calls and zoom meetings (see 2020’s Host as a prime example of this), allowing for filmmakers to continue their work safely. Emily Bennett and Justin Brooks’ Alone With You is just the latest in a line of cinematic horror works to adopt this formula—and it’s a damn good one. Emily Bennett takes the starring role of Charlie, a young woman who, after returning home from work, sets about preparing a romantic anniversary meal for her soon-to-return-home girlfriend (Emma Myles), who has spent some time working away. Almost immediately, Charlie is plagued by strange occurrences in her flat: lights flicker, weird noises are heard, shadows move in the background, doors lock themselves, and something seems intent on isolating Charlie from the outside world. Trapped in her apartment, with only friend Thea (Dora Madison) and her overbearing religious mother – a remarkable turn from Barbara Crampton – popping up via video call for the occasional (often less-than-helpful) chat, Charlie begins to question her very reality. Alone With You makes excellent use of its intimate setting: what begins as cosy and welcoming soon gives in to a claustrophobic atmosphere of psychological torment. Indeed, there are some very effective scares here. The scares start as understated and creepy (figures moving in the background, voices in the air, that sort of thing) before gradually becoming more and more assaultive as the film goes on. The sense of terror and frustration is sold by Bennett’s superb central performance, which flitters between abject terror and a ferocity that betrays the truth of her character. At the same time, some outstanding camerawork, which seemingly stalks our heroine at every turn, peeking from around corners and through doorways, and moving through the apartment, draws us fully into this excellent horror experience. Looking now at its weaknesses: the story isn’t a particularly original one, and it’s a slow affair, and I think it’s safe to say there’s a slight deficit of scares here—there could have been, and perhaps should have been, more. I also feel that the last act was a little drawn out in places and ultimately seemed unnecessarily long. These are niggling complaints, however, and pale in comparison to what the filmmakers do get right. All said and done, Alone With You offers nothing significant enough to shake up the horror genre. But what it does offer is a story that is well told, a film of technical brilliance (especially in its cinematography), and a highly effective, horror-inflected meditation of grief and guilt. And while it might not be revolutionary, it’s undoubtedly one of the better films of its type.

★★★★ Directed by: Tharun Venkituswamy Saravanan Written by: Tharun Venkituswamy Saravanan Short Film Review by: Emily Davison A young man thrives on the idea of reaching his full potential without needing to sleep every night and waste a third of his life, but how long will he be able to keep the momentum going? JOJO (2021) is a short Indian mockumentary, performed in the English language, and presents an unnamed protagonist (Rishi) who appears to embody an emerging culture in which ambitious individuals believe that productivity is the key to success. The film is an Adrain Tomine comic adaptation and was shot in the 4:3 academy aspect ratio using crisp black and white photography. The film succeeds on all levels with its entertaining mockumentary format and showcases tongue in cheek, quirky humour with its identifiable and relatable protagonist. Beginning with the mundane task of making a cup of coffee, the short immediately hits the ground running with Rishi directly addressing viewers as he muses on how we humans squander our potential away by wasting one third of our lives on sleeping. Director and writer Tharun exhibits great talent behind the camera with a tight and snappy script, making the dialogue heavy short feel justified with its intriguing subject matter and perfect delivery by the lead. There are constant well timed jokes, with a personal favourite involving a quick sketch imagining how people would act if they had never seen a mattress before. The framing choice of a tighter frame is inviting and feels justified as opposed to style over substance, as our protagonist always speaks directly to us and we are invited into an intimate showcasing of his thought processes. Although he is clearly presented to not be taken too seriously, Rishi’s charismatic performance makes him likeable and relatable with his pursuits to stay away to work. Some drastic measures he takes are taking a freezing cold shower and listening to heavy metal music and downing endless cups of coffee; attempts to stay awake many viewers can probably relate to. The film even manages to sneak in a cheeky little Friends reference and pay off, feeling packed full of good content despite only running for over eight minutes. JOJO is a thoroughly entertaining short mockumentary, with contagious tongue in cheek humour, smart direction and an engaging performance from its lead – highly recommended viewing for a good giggle. #EmilyDavison JOJO (2021) Short Film:

★★★★ Directed by: Jim Cummings, PJ McCabe Written by: Jim Cummings, PJ McCabe Starring: Jim Cummings, Virginia Newcomb, PJ McCabe, Jacqueline Doke Grimmfest Film Review by: Darren Tilby The Beta Test is very much a Jim Cummings film: his signature is all over it (although he features, for the first time, as co-writer and co-director to PJ McCabe, who also stars in the movie). Any fans of his previous works will feel right at home here: the biting socio-cultural satire and jet-black humour remain, as, too, does the man-on-the-edge performance that Cummings does so well. This time in the guise of successful, happily married Hollywood agent Jordan, whose life is flipped upside down after an anonymous sexual encounter. Existing in a time of digital data and hypocrisy, which seems to condemn the individual for such behaviour, but simultaneously allows immoral business practices to take place without question, Jordan becomes entangled in a web of deceit. As is typical of Cummings’ films, there’s an incredible central cast (Cummings, McCabe and Newcomb all give solid showings), backed by an eclectic and fascinating cast of side characters, all of whom are important to the plot to varying degrees. There’s not an underwhelming performance, piece of poorly written dialogue, or a misdelivered line to be found anywhere, and Jordan, who had every chance of being boorish and unpleasant, becomes a kind of tragic anti-hero. The co-writing also works so well here, with both Cummings and McCabe's influences keenly felt within the on-screen, best-friend relationship between their respective characters; it's always a joy to see their interactions. But as is also typical of Cummings’ films (as with The Wolf of Snow Hollow), this movie benefits from repeat viewings: it’s not always clear precisely what is going on or why; the product of a confusing narrative structure. But things do fall into place after a couple of viewings or a bit of pausing and rewinding here and there. The humour is also very particular—it’s not for everyone. If you’re already a fan of Cummings, you’ll likely be fine here. Even so, the humour on display is jet black: it’s in the tragedy of our hero’s life situation and the brutal honesty of its scathing takedowns. Tonally there is a bit of a disconnect at times: the humour can occasionally feel awkward as it clashes with some of the more brutal scenes (the beginning is a particularly unpleasant experience). But there’s no denying that this is a superbly well-written film, perceptive and rife with sharp and incisive wit; Cummings and McCabe have done a superb job here. I always look forward to a new Jim Cummings film, and this didn't disappoint. The cult status he’s built up over the last few years attests to his talent as a filmmaker; and here, prominence is given to McCabe as a rising talent behind the camera, as well as in front of it. The Beta Test might not add anything new to this formula, but then if it's not broken—why fix it?

★★★★ Directed by: #JeymesSamuel Written by: #JeymesSamuel, #BoazYakin Starring: #JonathanMajors, #IdrisElba, #ReginaKing Film Review by: Alex Matraxia Warning: Spoilers The Harder They Fall opened this year’s London Film Festival; it's the feature debut of musician-turned-director Jeymes Samuel and like all good debuts it’s borderline over-confident in its stylistic force. At no moment does the film hesitate or compromise its world. Samuel’s vision is executed with lavish precision, operatic shoot-outs, theatrical set pieces. Ahead of the film’s evening premier, Samuel expresses that his ‘appetite was always huge’ and The Harder They Fall is an exciting testament to the filmmaker’s ambition. Set in the Old West, the film charters the journey of Nat Love, loosely based on a real man with the same name, an African-American cowboy during the American Civil War. Love is played by Jonathan Majors who balances charm with intensity; his face is always looking a little further than what’s in front of him. As a child, Love witnesses his parents’ murder by malevolent outlaw Rufus Buck (also a real outlaw and member of the multi-racial Rufus Buck Gang). Buck is played by Idris Elba who manages to locate the man within the monster; Elba’s Buck is a titanic force, a satanic presence, but Elba’s performance reminds us how there is thought beneath the violence (both humanising and terrifying). After killing the ten year old boy's parents, Buck carves a cross in the child’s forehead, so that he’ll identify the boy when he grows up and craves revenge. Twenty or so years later, the wounded child is now a man seeking vengeance with the help of his fellow outlaws. Regina King and Zazie Beetz also deliver strong performances; King’s character, Trudy Smith, is something of a scene stealer, her coldness made understandable and charismatic. And her memorable bowler hat becomes an iconic calling card. The film’s use of costuming is also worth noting; though it mostly adheres to period outfits, there are exceptions such as Love’s tan leather jacket, which looks like it was pried from a 70s Blacksploitation picture. There’s also Rufus Buck’s suit which looks distinctly 21st century. After all Buck believes in progress, his town will be a town for the marginalised to congregate. And yet, families will die if that’s what it takes. Costume does more than indicate time and place, it highlights the contradictions dormant in the characters, the fact that they are drawn up from a rich number of sources. Despite being a Netflix release, The Harder They Fall feels like it was made for the cinema - its widescreen vistas, horses and sunrises, present the classic iconography of the Western, delivered by cinematographer Mihai Mălaimare Jr, who was also responsible for the memorable desert shots in PTA’s The Master. It makes sense that the film was directed by a musician, since Samuel seems especially attentive to the rhythm of the film. Not just the pacing and perfection of the soundtrack, but also the editing of footage, how it builds best for dramatic effect. When remembering such classic Westerns like Leone’s The Good, The Bad and the Ugly or Fistful of Dollars, so much of the genre relies on music. Morricone’s score helped define Leone’s films, combined with an almost operatic use of close-ups. Samuel doesn’t shy away from throwing in some of these classic ingredients - rapid-fire close-ups and wide-shot showdowns. But while the film broadens the potential scope of the Western, it sometimes feels burdened by the genre. It tries to expand into a love story or revenge story, but these narrative threads can be stifled by the heavy reliance of genre to carry out the movie. After all, it’s a film with very little silence, every gap for reflection being immediately filled with yet another gunshot. Eventually, the violence grows tiresome. Nonetheless, Samuel’s film sets the bar incredibly high for this year’s London Film Festival, with scenes and set designs that are unforeseen. The Harder They Fall is an invaluable contribution to its genre and to the progress of filmmaking, telling the stories of the cowboys that White history chose to forget. Ahead of the premier, Regina King reaffirms how ‘It’s impossible to tell the story without all the storytellers’.

★★ Stars Directed by: #TobyDialah Written by: #EmmanuelChinedum Starring: #FavourChinaza, #MercyOkorie, #AnointingElijah, #KelechiEmmanuel, #PatienceDike, #JutoKenochi Film Review by: Alicia Moore “Vulnerable adolescent slips over the edge while she battles a psychological problem that promises to change her life forever.” Gone Mind is a short film that follows a story of struggle and attempted understanding. Jael (Favour Chinaza) is seen to be suffering greatly from a form of psychosis; her family and friends try to help to the best of their ability but with little knowledge of the situation, as well as Jael finding it difficult to express her issues, frustration and confusion quickly formulates as a result instead. The opening dialogue of the film is instantly gripping with well written lines that someone experiencing a similar mental health issue can connect with. The idea that this body is mine, these features are mine – I know I see with these eyes but I still feel detached from them. It’s like living in a different world that is a lot of the time fuelled by fright and anticipation for what might come next within the walls of your own mind. The writing in this sense did a great job with portraying the main character’s perspective throughout the story. The only thing I was longing for by the end of Gone Mind was a wider range of music or possibly extracts from a different genre type. This could have definitely assisted in the story evolving more fluidly as well as allowing the characters to actually evolve with the unraveling tracks. Pairing such delicate words, in the context of the dialogue mentioned previously, with music that is fitting to a horror/thriller didn’t sit right with me; the surrounding musical aspects of some scenes takes the focus away from the true emotional centre of the subject at hand. It almost dulls the impact of how the words could be interpreted by audiences, especially if they are watching the film with no real life experiences of individuals struggling with psychosis. How they view the issue could easily be warped, and this is where the trouble begins to slowly show itself… Individuals with psychosis are not violent most of the time, its mainly other factors in their health that leads to someone struggling with violent behaviour responses linking to psychosis. The stigma surrounding these mental health issues heavily consist of people shying away from those who are struggling because of the large spread misconception of violent behaviour in this way. Film is one of the hardest codes to crack here, psychosis being used for the plot of a horror or thriller with blood spill. Take a moment to think about how much that impacts on audience perspective of the disorder being presented. There’s a thin line between using the disorder and the person suffering as a weapon in the story, and writing the character who simply has the disorder a ‘villain’ — where the disorder isn’t acting as the villain instead. There needs to be a distinct balance seen. Unfortunately, Gone Mind does cross the threshold of it being harsh representation due to the way the short film concludes. Putting the bloody element to the side though, the content does stand as quite informative in terms of raising awareness of how psychosis affects individuals and the relationships around them. The biggest issue I have overall is that Gone Mind has been promoted as part of Mental Health Awareness Month. For the reasons above, it’s difficult to get behind using this as a piece of awareness for a hugely important topic. It’s frustrating to see fear being provoked by using disorders like psychosis in film; audiences should feel uneasy, of course they would if they are exploring something unknown to them, but definitely not fear. All in all, Gone Mind is really a brilliant breakthrough for the cast and crew with a small production. Despite the hiccup of a conclusion, it does stand with some much needed attention towards a disorder that isn’t prominently presented in media. With good relationships established within the short space of time, a very important component to a story of this nature, Gone Mind is a great achievement. You can watch Gone Mind here.

★★★ Written and directed by #JamesHastings Starring #EmilyHighams, #JestynPhillips, #TunjiFalana Film Review by Amber Jackson In 1963, Lucy (Emily Highams) is taken in the middle of the night to a mysterious facility in Heaven, where she is reunited with her grandfather (Jestyn Phillips) for a day. Fun and fantastical, Off The Coast is a light-hearted and somewhat clichéd narrative about pursuing dreams and never giving up on your loved ones. Lucy is an aspiring author who is consumed by grief after losing of her grandfather. Her parents are not coping well in the aftermath of his death, which arguably has a negative effect on their family unit as a whole. With grief manifesting itself in different ways, Highams gives an emotive performance of a child coming of age in a confusing world with few answers. Being taken to Heaven against her will appears to be unethical and creepy in this context, especially because Lucy is actually still alive. Despite this, the concept of the afterlife is interesting and not one commonly explored on screen. Lucy is given a guest pass for the day, whilst entering Heaven, as though she is observing visiting hours at an old people’s home that is under a prison lockdown. Everyone is dressed in uniforms in the setting of a giant mansion, like a type of upper class ‘rich’ heaven – except the deceased traipse about in pyjamas. Both dead and living are represented in unusual ways, with so-called ‘paradise’ appearing comfortable but only intensifying with uneasiness throughout the twenty-minute short. The dynamic between Highams and Phillips is that of a sweet and fun relationship between granddaughter and grandfather who have a mutual love of storytelling. Although a passion for stories shines through, the timeframe of the film itself could have been clearer. Suffice to say, the inventive and varied cinematography played into this abstract plot well, contributing to a trippy sense of timelessness. Likewise, the score seeks to guide the viewer from a false sense of security back to reality. What is highlighted by film creator James Hastings is the actual power of grief and bereavement that uniquely sparks the imagination. Bearing witness to one last bit of fun that Lucy is permitted to share with her grandfather is a bittersweet reminder of the importance of endings in every story - fiction or not. Off The Coast makes an appeal to encourage others to stop waiting around and to keep dreaming, which is ultimately an uplifting message. Available to watch on YouTube in the UK now. #AmberJackson #OffTheCoast #shortfilm