Release Date – 26th December 2021, Cert – 18, Run-time – 1 hour 48 minutes, Director – Julia Ducournau

As exotic dancer Alexia (Agathe Rousselle) begins to act upon long-growing violent and murderous impulses an aging fire chief (Vincent Lindon) finds himself reunited with his decade-long missing son.

Before its premiere at Cannes earlier this year very little was known about writer-director Julia Ducournau’s follow-up to the excellent Raw. Two very basic plot synopses were released. One saying “following a series of unexplained crimes, a father is reunited with the son who has been missing for 10 years”. The other simply being the definition of titanium (the English translation of the film’s title) – “a metal highly resistant to heat and corrosion, with high tensile strength alloys”. It doesn’t truly prepare you for what’s to come over the next 108 minutes and that’s perhaps the best, and only. way to watch Titane. It’s very easy to start talking about the film and find yourself unfurling various details of the its twists, turns and general madness; often helped by the fact that, much like the details before the debut screening, it’s very hard to pinpoint Titane as just one thing.

Ducournau blends fantasy, body-horror, action, crime, family drama and more over the course of her latest feature with help from an excellently dead-pan, yet fearful, Agathe Rousselle as Alexia. Alexia works as an exotic dancer at a car show. Dancing on and around the likes of shining, flame-patterned Cadillacs – just part of the initial burst of neon colours we see in the hangar-like club – we see her gradually become something more like machine than human. Acting upon growing impulses she descends into a rage of violent, and far from clean, killings. The audible style that runs throughout the film is just as important as the visuals. And that includes the audible flinches that escape from the audience during many of the bloody exchanges that Alexia acts out. Such scenes are relentless in their energy and the extents to which they go, and yet somehow when put into the world of the film and all its slight dark weirdness never feels as if it crosses a line.

As the body count heightens we see an almost alternative story, that of aging, steroid-abusing fire chief Vincent (Vincent Lindon). After a decade apart he finds himself reuniting with his missing son. And while for the former the relationship is perhaps more about an emotional catching-up, if he at all went away, than anything else, the latter experiences a silent settling in to a strange, uncomfortable set of surroundings. Both hiding more than they would like to show. Each strand that Titane follows links back to a theme of identity and body image. Each one being something different for each character and yet all dealt with well, thanks to the film’s tone, themes and the performances that help bring such elements to life. Everything manages to contribute to this overall theme while still never setting quite setting aside the insanity of Alexia’s strand as she begins to try and hide more than just her killings.

Perhaps because of such shared ideas the characters feel more united in their various efforts. It allows for the more plot-lead arc of Vincent and the action-lead arc of Alexia to feel less contrasting and help to overall create a slightly more intimate feel within Titane for these two unrelated strangers with their fair share of differences within their own stories. Stories which are heightened by the details that we see. Personal, and sometimes brutal, details that have undeniably earned the film a hard 18 rating. However, it all links back to the idea of body image and identity.

Through the mixture of ideas and genres that run throughout the film it’s hard to pinpoint Titane as one thing. While many have labelled it as something truly off-the-walls and insane – which it bookends itself with with style and almost instant sensory engagement, making the madness the highlights of the audience experience – what’s not been discussed as much is the drama that lies at the heart of the film. The man reuniting with his son after ten years, their relationship and identities and the ways that the interact. It’s well-handled and gives the final piece an extra layer that prevents it from being purely sequential overload. When paired with the consistent elements of darkness, weirdness, horror, fantasy, violence and shock Titane is truly a film that manages to stay sane inside insanity.

It’s difficult to pinpoint Titane as just one thing, and perhaps best going in knowing as little as possible. While on the one hand violent and shocking, making good use of sound and visuals, it’s held up by a narrative arc which houses well-handled details of body image and identity to link the central characters and stop things from going overboard.

Release Date – 3rd December 2021, Cert – 15, Run-time – 1 hour 48 minutes, Director – Michael Pearce

Former Marine Malik (Riz Ahmed) takes his two sons (Lucian-River Chauhan, Aditya Geddada), in the middle of the night, on a trip through the desert plains of America to escape a body-consuming alien invasion.

Perhaps the biggest mystery within Encounter, the latest from co-writer (with Joe Barton) and director Michael Pearce, is that of whether there’s actually meant to be a sense of mystery of ambiguity within the film. While the piece certainly starts off this way, with former Marine Malik (Riz Ahmed) taking his two young sons, Jay (Lucian-River Chauhan) and Bobby (Aditya Geddada), from their home – which he has not been present in for some time – in the middle of the night to escape what he claims to be an alien invasion with lifeforms from another world taking over people’s bodies. We appear to see what he sees, brief glimpses of strange occurrences in people’s eyes to give away that they are no longer themselves, however gradually this line appears to be dropped. Initially in favour of asking whether Malik is going crazy or if what he’s actually seeing is real.

As he and his ten and eight year olds travel through the quiet American desert plains the audience is met with a narrative of facts rather than what could be engaging mystery. They’re offered a conspiracy theorist protagonist who offers answers to unasked question in his various ravings as he offers explanations as to why he’s taking his children to a secret bunker where they’ll be safe from the threat which surrounds them. As scenes change from focus on the aliens to family there’s a tonal shift from a modern indie-sci-fi flick to a genre-mixture family dynamic drama and then back to the more science-based monologues and elements. All while various authorities, and Malik’s PA (an underused and often forgotten about Octavia Spencer), chase after the trio believing Malik to be a danger to his children, particularly when believed to be holding weapons.

It’s at this point where the family bonding element feels to be completely dropped as the case appears to simply be that the increasingly agitated Malik is indeed a conspiracy theorist. More elements are dropped along the way, alongside brief narrative points which feel, much like a number of elements, quickly moved on from with little engagement or impact despite the potential that they hold. There are certainly a handful of scenes with plenty of potential, and Ahmed does his best with the material that he’s provided with, however the tonal shifts cause some scenes to feel underdone and lacking due to the difference to what has come beforehand.

There’s a lot being dealt with and instead of questions regarding the characters the biggest question that comes into play, particularly in the busy and slight drawn-out final stages, is what the film is actually about. With so much presented as fact there’s little room for questioning as things develop and are simply explained to you in the moment before moving on to the next stage of this off-kilter factual flow road-trip through the desert.

There’s potential within Encounter, however its construction and tonal shifts prevent it from becoming something truly engaging and mysterious, despite the efforts of the cast.

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.