Release Date – 19th November 2021, Cert – 12, Run-time – 2 hours 7 minutes, Director – Jane Campion

Patronising rancher Phil (Benedict Cumberbatch) finds his home-life disturbed when his far less domineering brother George (Jesse Plemons) marries boarding-room owner Rose (Kirsten Dunst), bringing her son (Kodi Smit-McPhee), who Phil also torments, along with them.

The Power Of The Dog’s composer Jonny Greenwood stated in an interview with Variety “to me, the banjo can be a dark and sinister instrument”. It’s this darker side to the plucked-instrument which is demonstrated in the film. Whereas it might normally be associated with something more jaunty and joyful, think Kermit The Frog lightly singing Rainbow Connection, in writer-director Jane Campion’s latest it’s placed in the hands of rancher Phil Burbank (Benedict Cumberbatch). He’s picking away in the dark shadows, already having proved himself to be a looming figure full of spite for anyone who isn’t a tough male just as himself. He’s the complete opposite of his brother George (Jesse Plemons), a much friendlier figure who appears to be embarrassed by, and deeply apologetic for, Phil.

When George marries widowed boarding-room owner Rose (Kirsten Dunst), bringing home both her and her son Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee) tensions and fury begin to rise within Phil. Despite having already frequently patronising and tormenting the pair, particularly Peter, when serving him food at their inn, he dials up the behaviour that clashes violently with the way he chooses to live his life. The film focuses on such interactions between Phil and Rose or Peter, particularly within the mid-section of the piece, with much of the arc being made up of vignettes detailing them. Instead of any overall narrative arc the characters develop, if at all, off screen. We jump forwards in time to see the change that has been undergone since the ending of the previous chapter and how things are now playing out, before moving on again to the next simple, extended chapter.

This makes for a slow-burn that while initially interesting in the way that it depicts its characters begins to slightly lose the viewer due to the lack of visible development occurring in the moment. It’s what makes the mid-section feel somewhat lengthy and a much slower burn than it perhaps is. There are elements and details that manage to keep your interest, not just the sinister banjo (although that is a highlight), but perhaps not as much in terms of change in characters until the third act where things begin to turn around. The relationship between Phil and Peter becomes more of a focus, at a point where it doesn’t quite feel too late but almost quite sudden. Because we haven’t seen what has occurred in the gap in-between there are certain decisions or moments that while interesting and adding to the late-stage development of the film and the characters within it, you almost want to see more of what has led up to this. More of an overall narrative, or feeling of character development, rather than the vignettes that we do see – of largely interactions that build up to the eventual change and development.

The characters themselves certainly have potential. There’s enough detail within them and the interactions certainly pose themselves as a point of interest to keep you in more than just the detailed scenery of the world – displayed in a handful of early pan-shots that truly immerse you in the setting, closed in by the surrounding circle of hills. However, it’s as the slow pacing is felt and the chaptered nature really comes through that you begin to disengage from the piece to then gradually reengage as a new point is brought into the mix that makes us questions Phil’s real attitudes and mindset in the next stage of the piece. Perhaps a second viewing is in order, to allow the detail of the characters to wash over me rather than the pacing and nature of the plotting and development. It’s certainly not a bad film, and it does have its moments at the start, end and at a number of points in the generally slow and divided by middle. However, on first viewing The Power Of The Dog almost leaves you wanting more, in terms of what you haven’t seen, to give what you have seen that extra bit of interest and intrigue.

As The Power Of The Dog appears to become more about character interactions rather than their development the slow burn of the chaptered structure is felt. However, either side of this there are moments of interest that keep you in place in the visually striking nature of the piece.

Release Date – 19th November 2021, Cert – U, Run-time – 1 hour 12 minutes, Director – Céline Sciamma

When her mum suddenly leaves one morning, eight-year-old Nelly (Joséphine Sanz) discovers Marion (Gabrielle Sanz), a young girl who looks exactly like her, in the woods outside of her late grandmother’s house, and her mum’s childhood home.

For my money Tideland is Terry Gilliam’s best film. It’s a view that in holding puts me in a very small minority. However, there’s something about the childlike perspective that Gilliam captures, pushing across the feeling of innocence that works really well and brings you into the world of creativity and imagination. I found this feeling arising again within writer-director Céline Sciamma’s latest, Petite Maman. As eight-year-old Nelly (Joséphine Sanz) explores the woods outside of her late grandmother’s house, building tree forts and briefly playing with a paddleball she comes across a young girl who looks exactly like her in the form of Marion (Gabrielle Sanz). Over the course of the short 72 minute run-time of the piece the two gradually form a close bond in the games they play and the conversations they have.

Dialogue is often relatively simplistic yet it manages to form a big impact in the light of the events that are going on in Nelly’s home life. While her mother (Nina Meurisse) and father (Stéphane Varupenne) are clearing out her recently-passed grandmother’s house her mum, also called Marion, suddenly leaves one morning, with dad claiming that she’ll be back soon. It’s made apparent that the younger Marion is the same as the one that Nelly knows as her mum, and soon her mind begins to piece together lessons about grief and emotion. Yet, the film never feels overbearing or forceful. Much like Nelly herself, or perhaps any other child, you gain the slightest pieces of information that develop overtime, and in your mind, without you overly realising. Adding to the emotional aspect of the piece and further putting you into the childlike exploration of the themes that the film handles so well.

It’s a feeling that’s expanded upon by not having any overall explanation as to the presence of the younger Marion. No major mystery or sci-fi links; it simply just is. It’s an acceptance that’s found with Nelly as she finds herself connecting to gradual unforced parallels in her own life while simply being able to just be free and play. Expressing herself and growing without realising. Even the viewer may not realise it as they’re taken on this open and personal journey. One that’s quiet, collected and gradual, knowing exactly where it’s going, even if the character’s don’t. And much of this is down to Sciamma’s carefully written dialogue and understanding of her characters – which she continues to demonstrate after her screenplays for the likes of the sensational Portrait Of A Lady On Fire and My Life As A Courgette.

There’s an overall childlike innocence to Petite Maman. It’s displayed in so many elements, not just the U rating, where you don’t truly realise the information that has been dropped in an absorbed until the more emotional, yet still quiet and collected, points in the latter stages of the short and effectively used run-time. Everything flows from the perspective of the young central figure as she simply plays and explores through playing and creating with her friend. Allowing the theme of friendship to be key to the film, explored deeply with simplicity and effectiveness that helps to bring you in to the film as a whole. One that on the surface is about the central friendship, and yet subtly provides you with detail and information, preparing you for a deeper, more thoughtful piece on grief through the eyes and mind of a child, whether for the child or adult, or both, in all of us.

Petite Maman’s detail is subtle yet effective. It comes through the play and imagination of the central friendship, pushing the theme of childlike innocence while allowing us to unknowingly absorb and store information, like a child, for a rounded and emotional conclusion.

Release Date – 19th November 2021, Cert – 12, Run-time – 2 hours 24 minutes, Director – Reinaldo Marcus Green

Richard Williams (Will Smith) does everything he can to help train his daughters, Venus (Saniyya Sidney) and Serena (Demi Singleton), become the most successful tennis stars in the world, despite anything, and everything, that might stand in his and their way.

One of the questions that may arise about this biopic about the rise of tennis superstars Venus and Serena Williams is why does it focus on their father? Perhaps that’s because King Richard isn’t your standard sports biopic, or really a biopic at all. It’s about one specific time in the life of the pair, as their careers appear to finally be properly taking off. It’s just as their father planned in the 78 page plan he wrote for their whole career before they were even born. The film follows him passionately trying to see them succeed, no matter what stands in their way. “This would ain’t never had no respect for Richard Williams” he tells them in the packed family van “but they gonna respect y’all”.

Will Smith is great in the central role and with his standard brand of charisma, mixed with the dramatic hits we know he can deal, makes for an engaging figure. One striving and fighting for his family to make their lives the best they can possibly be, trying to prove those who attack him late at night on the nearby public tennis courts wrong. While those around him, from neighbours to famous tennis coaches, doubt his ability as both a father and a coach the abilities of Venus (Saniyya Sidney) and Serena (Demi Singleton) soon turn them quiet and gain high-attention. Moving them from the streets of Compton to the estates of sunny Florida where fortune comes ever closer, and barriers of all kinds begin to fall down around them thanks in part to the persistence of their father – his high demands causing bafflement amongst coaches, managers and many other industry figures around him.

Yet, amongst the more serious points that the film makes – including just how much the rise of Venus and Serena means in terms of representation of black players in what is shown to be a sport almost exclusive and only accessible to white people – there’s plenty of heart emitted in the family core. The unexpected needle drop of Bananarama’s Cool Summer sets the tone of one scene to later lead into a family road-trip singalong of Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler – an instant joy creator if ever there was one. It’s joy that begins to be toned down as the girls begin to enter the world of professional training with Jon Bernthal’s Rich Macci. He’s worked in the industry for a long time and knows the best, and often only, ways for a player to reach the heights that Richard has in his eyes. However, the two somewhat clash when father begins to claim he knows best in regards to this and won’t have his daughters play in junior matches and tournaments. As the film begins to feel more like a traditional sports biopic, somewhere in the vein of Le Mans ’66/ Ford Vs Ferrari – perhaps pushed by Bernthal’s presence – you begin to question whether the passionate figure of Richard really knows what he’s talking about.

It’s perhaps in this second half, where relationships with coaches and training become more of a focus and perhaps take centre-stage, where the more traditional feel brings a new overall tone to the film. It’s certainly not vastly different and you’re still able to remain in the piece, but the general feeling is one of traditional familiarity. What helps it along, and perhaps helps keep you truly situated in the unfolding events that build up to the tennis match finale – which is played out rather well and begins to bring you back to the state you were in before the slight shift – is Smith’s performance. There’s been plenty of awards season discussion around his role in this film, and it’s very likely that he’ll get a nod, and you can understand those who say that he may very well win. It’s certainly his best performance in years, thanks to the laidback nature that he gives Richard’s exterior, yet the consistent concentration, worry and hope that lies within him for the future of his daughters. It’s very likely him who stops the film from feeling as much like a traditional sports film and biopic as it could.

Yet, the feeling of a father trying his best to push his kids is still there. Needing to be reminded not to go too far, while some wish that he would go further when it comes to sponsorship deals, or simply just listen to others. While his three half-daughters don’t get a great deal to do there’s at least time for his wife Brandy (Aunjanue Ellis) to shine in a particularly effective scene in the later stages of the piece. It’s another reminder of the family unit and feeling that runs throughout the film and acts perhaps as the biggest push for Richard, amongst everything else and the more dramatic tones. It adds an extra layer to the tennis matches that he watches with pride as his daughters, in the views of the frequent players and coaches in the junior tournaments, come from nowhere and go from strength to strength and win to win. It’s what largely sets the film aside from a number of sports biopics, and, alongside Smith’s engaging and connecting central performance, stops it from wholly feeling like one too.

While it might slip into the realms of a more traditional sports biopic as it focuses more on training, Will Smith’s performance in King Richard keeps the film’s passion, spirit and drama afloat. Reminding us of the striving father trying to see his daughters succeed in both tennis and breaking down barriers, even if to the frustration of others who he may see as such barriers.

Release Date – 16th October 2021, Cert – N/A, Run-time – 1 hour 23 minutes, Director – debbie tucker green

Three vignettes looking into the experiences of Black Britons and Americans in modern society.

Adapted from her stage-play of the same name, writer-director debbie tucker green brings a stage-like quality to the screen adaptation of ear for eye – which she has re-written especially for it to work on the screen. There’s a simplicity to much of the staging throughout the piece, often set against a plain black background, allowing for the barrage of verbal details to come through. In the fast-paced opening scenes we see a mother telling her son how to interact with the police. Nothing he does seems right, and it’s claimed that whatever he does will only get him into further trouble; often only speaking one word at a time. It’s again a simple interaction, and yet it comes at you so quickly and with such force that it can often seem overwhelming. The sequence, which almost doesn’t come up for air until it’s over, forms only the beginning of the short 83 minute feature, yet packs in much of the detail, tone and themes. The theatrical nature of the film, both in look and on some occasions performance-wise, means that it feels as if it’s being performed right in front of you, you begin to feel the passion emerging from the scene and the screen. Indeed whereas some stage-like films and adaptations sometimes create something of a barrier ear for eye doesn’t always appear to have this same issue.

From an opening with such modern day relevance the film moves on and eventually reaches a shocking conclusion. As white faces read out racial laws and restrictions that should feel as if they’re from a bygone era and yet are part of unbelievably recent history. It’s a much swifter portion compared to the two that have come before it, and yet still has its effect within its simplicity. It shifts away from the performances being the core connection that bring you into the piece as you’re reminded once more that this is indeed reality, adding a further feeling that allows the film to step away from the common ‘filmed theatre’ style and label.

Perhaps the standout exchange, and the one that truly solidifies the film and keeps you in place; after the busy, tone-setting nature of the first vignette, is the second part in which we a heated debate between Lashana Lynch’s US Female and Demetri Goritsas’ US Male (no characters in the film are credited with anything other than these basic descriptions). The two actually respectively play a student and professor, arguing over the content of the professor’s lecture, Lynch’s character claiming that he eased the severity of the actions of the white killer being discussed in class. The sequence flows well and brings you perhaps the most out of all three parts of the piece. The way the two actors bounce off each other throughout the debate as it escalates and swirls within the small confines of an office which is largely made up of one table on the platform stag puts you in place as you simply sit and witness it unfolding, points, arguments and protests shooting and tumbling in the process.

This sequence is perhaps the most effective of the three. It feels to be the one that doesn’t quite lose steam, or begin to lose you as the more theatrical stylings begin to come through. This isn’t to say that this is a major issue in the other two segments placed either side of this one, however the case of the less ‘theatrical’ performances and techniques that are on display perhaps allows the central two performances in the moment to further shine and land an engaged impact on the viewer. Of course, this may be far from the case to those who have more of a liking for features that come across as near ‘filmed theatre’, with the initial flow of details and information having more of an impact because of the further connection with the format – when it comes to that initial styling I’m certainly not the target audience, but I did warm to ear for eye fairly quickly and managed to not overly notice the stage-like nature, or put it aside, as I got caught up in what it had to say. And the film has a lot to say and certainly tells you it with passionate detail from both tucker green and the cast that she has assembled to display the passion, arguments, confusion, hurt and more faced by her characters plucked straight from modern society and placed into this screen adaptation of occasionally artistic realism.

Not holding a standard ‘filmed theatre’ feel ear for eye occasionally switches and changes pace, overwhelming you with real-life details before its passionate, sometimes theatrical, performances further shine and allow for more thought later on.

Release Date – 12th November 2021, Cert – 15, Run-time – 1 hour 36 minutes, Director – Eva Husson

While her employers (Colin Firth, Olivia Colman) spend the day with, long-distant since World War One ended, friends to celebrate an engagement, maid Jane (Odessa Young) spends Mothering Sunday in an affair with future-groom Paul (Josh O’Connor).

There are two lines of period drama in which director Eva Husson’s Mothering Sunday travels along. One is the standard Silver Cinema kind where Colin Firth comments on how much of a lovely day it is, what with the weather being so nice and fortunate for the occasion, in most of the scenes he appears in. The other is the rise in steamy kind of period drama where lust and passion, the kind that you would never expect to see in something like Downton, emerges with an in-your-face force that would turn away what you would think of as the conventional Silver Cinema audience. While the film boasts Sandy Powell as costume designer it seems that there are plenty of sequences where she may not have had much of a difficult job as Odessa Young and Josh O’Connor casually parade around a lavish house in their birthday suits.

However, the occasion being celebrated isn’t either, or any, character’s birthday, nor even Mother’s Day. It’s in fact the engagement between O’Connor’s Paul and Emma D’Arcy’s Emma. A group of wealthy figures, once much closer before losing their children during World War One – Paul being the only one to have returned – meet to celebrate, however the day is much more emotional than expected. We see them grieve, undistracted by the fine weather, particularly a very brief selection of appearances from Olivia Colman. However, this theme is far from the main focus. There are a selection of ideas on display within the film, yet not all get a chance to come to the fore to be properly realised, on some occasions even by the audience. Instead they’re traded in for scenes focusing on the affair between Paul and maid Jane (Young), who has been given the day off by her employers the Nivens (Firth, Colman).

Largely the film acts as a fairly quiet and calm period piece, reflected in the relatively gentle nature in which the narrative passes. Going along smoothly without any real bumps in the road, both in terms of difficulty and emotional beats. You generally sit there and watch things pan out for the characters, interested at some points but without any real emotional connection to the film due to the fact that it doesn’t seem to go into much overall depth. We see jumps forward to an older Jane, struggling to write a book in her now happily married state with husband Ṣọpẹ Dìrísù. It builds up an image that there may be something dramatic and impactful arriving, although the jumps into the future themselves are still relatively calm. It perhaps makes the, perhaps, eventual dramatic point less impactful than perhaps expected, if anything continuing the pace and tone of much which has come before. Especially when such moments are delivered more as passed on news rather than being properly glimpsed, character emotion often seems to be less of a focus when compared to the design and luxury of many of the settings within the piece.

At one point I found myself making note of an excellent, rather satisfying, looking pie. It’s layers all neat, uniform and formally coordinated. It parallels the film itself. It feels organised and in order, but perhaps not always completely satisfying. It passes by without any major trouble or disturbance with a kind of standard British period drama feel to it – but perhaps with a fair bit more full-frontal nudity. It’s generally fine for what it is, but perhaps lacks the drama that it may want, thus limiting the impact. It dwells on the peaceful nature of the grand house in which Jane finds herself for much of the run-time, enjoying the lovely day that we’re so often reminded of. It is indeed a nice day, a calm one where there seems little to worry about and that could go wrong. A feeling which impacts the film as a whole and your view of it as things continue to travel along a calm path that never truly has an emotional impact, as if it’s become so relaxed and used to its state that, much like Paul and Jane when together, it doesn’t want to leave it.

For much of the run-time Mothering Sunday is a generally fine period piece for what it presents, however its uninterrupted gentle nature means it rarely delves into more dramatic reaches and lacks an emotional connection with the viewer.