Release Date – TBC, Cert – N/A, Run-time – 1 hour 38 minutes, Directors – Fabio D’Innocenzo, Damiano D’Innocenzo

In the heat of the Italian summer family rifts are caused as a group of parents begin to act out in anger against their children, who themselves are discovering more of the world and themselves.

The height of summer is often a time when anger rises. The heat adds to stresses and tensions. It further boils upset over and, as many films have depicted in the past, causes many troubles both in the streets and in the privacy of your own home, although it can often cause the walls to become unrecognisable; adding to the swirling effects of the heat. In Bad Tales – the second feature of brothers Dabio and Damiano D’Innocenzo – the heat adds to already tense relationships between parents and their children. Over the course of the 98 minute run-time, almost feeling like an anthology, anger rises and on many occasions spills over, with repercussions for the young kids. It’s a film largely compromised of such ideas – parents unnecessarily lashing out, and taking out their problems, on their children.

At one early instance a father shakes his child upside down to stop them from choking, before walking off and crying and blaming the child for his response. With much more to come it’s already safe to say that this is certainly one to put in the book of bad movie parenting. There isn’t often much character development or huge elements of plot throughout the film, it mostly follows the lines of the characters and their behaviours and actions over the course of the summer, and how one or two scenarios have knock-on effects into others peoples lives and personal problems. There’s a lot to keep track of, with both the adults and kids being followed and almost all in different places at one time. A great many characters are present and the film tries to pack a lot in during it’s fairly short run-time – reducing most scenes to snapshots of its near-anthology style.

With their parents acting in random acts of rage and making home feel unsafe the kids each go out to explore the world. A world which they seemingly know little about apart from what they wish it to be in their ideals and what they’ve heard from grown-ups. Thus ensues various chasings of relationships, dark thoughts and encounters. They’re discovering themselves and developing that way, however often their discoveries or want to discover more about themselves leads to them acting on their initial instincts. One child is told, by an adult who initially seems like one of the only good people in the film, to “go and stare at girls in their swimsuits”. It’s an unsettling remark and only leads to more rather uncomfortable moments and exchanges not just within this section of the narrative but within the lives of each of the young members of the cast.

At a number of points the question could be asked to whether this film is trying to be a comedy, or at least have some comedic tones. And while this might be the case, the nature of some of the dialogue and actions within the piece simply overshadow this point and remove any humorous potential, even if in a dead-pan style. The film simply goes along its lines of bad people doing bad things to each other, or rather specifically their children, and describes itself rather well in the line “this senseless, sad and even pessimistic story”. Some have described this as a fairy-tale – a dark, twisted one at that, as many classics often turn out to be – yet, the film never really seems to have any fantastical elements or anything aside from its constant depictions of family abuse and childhood development influenced by slanted adult views. It’s a sort of anthology with repetitious depictions of negative humanity that stop comedy – if that is what the film is aiming for – from coming through. It’s just lucky that the autumn comes through to hopefully cool down the heated anger and discomfort of the summer.

Bad Tales may be aiming for dead-pan comedy of sorts, however it’s tone and angered characters simply don’t allow it to come through. What we end up with is a slightly repetitive selection of snapshots all similar in content and style, which appears to be angered abuse and occasional discomfort.

Release Date – TBC, Cert – N/A, Run-time – 1 hour 35 minutes, Director – Ken Fero

Documentary exposing deaths in prisons, and on the streets, caused by police brutality and the effects that they have had.

The brief text-filled trailer for Ultraviolence claims that this is a film that the police and politicians don’t want you to see, the film marks one of those few occasions where this may actually be true. Ken Fero’s film takes an unflinching look at a number of deaths in police custody, caused by police brutality. “It’s a powerful thing the truth” is stated at one point after multiple instances of CCTV footage, archive pieces, interviews, protest footage and more, “and it can’t go away. It’s been here since day one and will be there until the day I die”. This is a film made to expose the shocking, often heavily uncomfortable, truth behind the unjust deaths in police custody, over 2000 in the last 50 years. The actions that are being taken to receive justice for them and how in so much time so little has changed – this film has been in the works for ten years, and serves as a follow-up to Fero’s (and Tariq Mehmood’s) 2001 feature Injustice.

The film is bold. It’s quick. It jumps right to the point and doesn’t stop for breath. It’s not afraid to shy away from the heavy details and at times may very much be an uncomfortable watch, but a necessary one. At one point we witness the slow death of Christopher Alder, literally left to curl up and die on the floor of the police station reception. It’s impossible to look away, no matter how much you want to. As the seemingly lengthy process continues, and the film covers more acts of police brutality; often racially provoked attacks, you can’t help but feel the same fiery anger and rage that the film burns brightly throughout its short 75 minute run-time.

“Here we watch death happen. It is not cinematic, it is brutal”. This is a film concerned with what it’s showing, about trying to send a message. It’s a timely film and that makes it all the more powerful. The lack of recreations and use of archival footage only increases the impact on the viewer. Archival footage helps to tell the narrative of each instance and point that the film covers, telling individual narratives while also helping to create an overarching (nonchronological) story of unfortunate never-changing. Meanwhile, interviews form a further emotional connection with the subjects causing the film to pack and even grander punch, and protest scenes put you right in the centre of it all. You get caught up within the action, emotion and anger and the film argues its point more than effectively thanks to the way it structures itself and displays its points.

This is a film that knows precisely what it wants to do and does precisely that with all the information and resources it can possibly get. Not wasting any time and coming from a personal, yet unified, angle. Fero’s narration throughout acts as a letter to his son, encouraging him to stand up against violence and injustice from the police. To prevent further inequalities in the court system, and to stop them from defending the police, despite proof against them. It’s an angered letter, and one that is open to everyone while still having that highly personal feel to it from father to son. This is a finely constructed letter of “powerful… truth”, one that captures many harsh, discomforting truths and puts the viewer in the centre to see it all. The pain and the injustice, there seems no other way to describe it. It’s a film that needs to be seen to truly understand and feel the true extent of, and even words can’t properly prepare someone for some of the content. Much of which comes from the pacing and style of Fero’s filmmaking, structure and the editing that contributes to the overall power of the piece.

Ultraviolence is shocking, emotional, sometimes uncomfortable, but most of all it’s angry. Personal to the filmmaker as he speaks to his son and the viewer it’s not an easy watch, but certainly a finely made one that’s as quickly edited as it is to its urgent messages.

Release Date – 21st January 2022, Cert – 15, Run-time – 1 hour 33 minutes, Directors – Matt Fifer, Kieran Mulcare

Breaking from a string of one night stands Ben (Matt Fifer), trying to cope with the recurring impacts of past sexual trauma, forms an instant connection with Sam (Sheldon D. Brown)

New York City, a place often showed crammed with residents and tourists in its crowded streets and towering buildings. Not often associated with quiet intimacy and soft, brushstroke style hues as seen in Cicada. Over the course of its short 93 minute run-time its priorities are clear, specifically the emotions of the two central figures in the relationship that the film focuses on. The discussions they have and how they relate to their previous traumas, alongside the way people perceive them in public. For the most part we follow Ben (Matt Fifer), a young man spending most of his nights engaging in passionless one night stands. He regularly attends somewhat informal therapy sessions with Cobie Smulders, where he still struggles to be properly open about his past, however, things seem to change all of a sudden after a chance encounter in a book shop.

Looking through the other side of the shelves is Sam (Sheldon D. Brown). It’s a traditional place for a movie romance to start, and in some ways the pair’s relationship follows such lines. Yet, the conversations of the romance are what truly show the bond between the pair. Both figures have something they’re trying to hide. For Ben it’s sexual trauma in his past, which gradually comes to life bit by bit over the course of the film. Meanwhile, Sam is worried about homophobic abuse he might experience in public, on top of potential racial abuse, particularly after previous harsh experiences with this – this being the reason why he isn’t openly gay. For this reason Sam doesn’t even like to hold hands with Ben in public, and prefers to keep their relationship inside and private. Both figures have their struggles, and yet somehow there’s a belief in the relationship.

Ben’s nerves and worries as his reluctance to talk about the assault in his past is shown through the use of handheld cameras; particularly during the therapy scenes. The camera faintly wobbles and shakes as his voice stammers and pauses, although sometimes becoming slightly distracting after a while. This is clearly a personal film for Fifer – who stars, writes, co-directs (with Kieran Mulcare), and produces the film – and also for Brown, who has an additional story credit. Some have stated a number of the elements to be autobiographical, this is a film that itself is a very naturalistic piece, emphasising the humanity and internal thoughts and struggles of the two leads. Their situations are brought to life on the screen with thought, care and sensitivity.

There may not be a lot going on, but there’s detail and worries that keep the film going, and the viewer engaged with the development of the characters and they ways in which they cope with their pasts and current fears. The plot is light, at times it simply feels like a relationship being watched in real time – although, of course, this definitely isn’t the case. Much of the pacing is slow and gradual, although most scenes and elements of the film don’t feel like this. They take time to provide a fly-on-the-wall view of the relationship that both constricts and frees the two figures and the effects that it has on them and their mindsets. It’s certainly interesting at times and the viewpoint and focus on the characters’ rather than just their relationship helps, too. Providing that natural feel, genuine pain, reluctance and connection.

While the relationship as a whole might be conventional, the quiet, personal style and focus on the internal thoughts, fears and traumas of the pair pushes the film gently along; it’s realism showing through the bit by bit revelations showing when the characters themselves, and perhaps the actors, are ready.

Release Date – TBC, Cert – N/A, Run-time – 1 hour 35 minutes, Director – Natalia Meta

When her voice recordings begin to contain strange background noises Inés (Érica Rivas) begins to experience strange nightmares, further fuelled by the thought that there could be something unknown inside her.

It’s been pointed out before, and shall likely continue to be, that Natalia Meta’s The Intruder seems to be very much inspired by Peter Strickland’s Berberian Sound Studio. Of course, it’s one of the first things to come to mind when a sound recording-booth for a film is involved. And there are some similarities between the two. In the case of this feature we follow Inés (Érica Rivas), by day she works as a voiceover artist, dubbing violent gore-fests in a dark, cramped booth with few co-workers. In the evening’s she continues to use her voice as part of a choir. Her voice is integral to her worklife, her passions and her communication with the few other people that crop up in her life. So, of course, it would be very serious if something, or perhaps someone, bad were to happen to it. And thus the scene is set for the remaining 85 minutes or so.

One day during a recording session it’s brought up to Inés that there are strange noises, perhaps voices, in the background of her dubs. Over time these instances only become louder and more prominent in the recordings. It begins to be suggested that perhaps there’s a force living inside of Inés that’s causing these disruptions to her work, this leads her to worry and leaks into her efforts in the choir. Soon, it feels as if all aspects of her life are being affected. She has increasingly vivid nightmares, disturbing her sleep and causing further issues in her day-to-day life. When looking at such elements the film certainly feels like more of a drama or thriller, however during the nightmare sequences the horror elements are certainly there.

Writer-director Natalia Meta’s piece (adapted from C.E. Feiling’s novel El mal menor – The Lesser Evil) works best when looking at such horror based themes. The feeling begins to arise part way through, during the slower, more dramatic, scenes where Inés’ situation simply feels like more of a personal conundrum rather than something that could – and in some respects is – the content of a horror film. Yet, when leaning towards the horror genre the film works best. It feels like it has some more detail and that the story is going somewhere, the pace certainly picks up during such moments and more often than not, when they do eventually arrive, they tend to be fairly effective.

Perhaps it’s the feeling of Berberian Sound Studio that provides this feeling, although The Intruder does stray away from feeling exactly like it when it begins to tread on the border. Such moments are during the more dramatic stages, when twists and turns begin to be introduced during the protagonists mysterious relationship with the equally ambiguous Alberto (Nahuel Pérez Biscayart). There are a number of different ideas made within the film, not all of them convincingly wrapped up in the large, multi-tie bow that’s attempted to be drawn together in the final few minutes, and it’s a lot to get through in 95 minutes. And while the film gets through it well enough there’s the feeling that on the one hand it’s trying to cram in a lot in a short space of time and on the other that sometimes even at such a short length it feels somewhat drawn out at times. It’s a weird feeling, luckily not present all the way throughout.

When leaning in to the horror, particularly during the opening half hour, it works best and has some interesting elements. There’s some engagement to be found in the drama, too, however, the slightly different tone and themes during such moments does create a slightly uneven sense that distracts from the potential of the title intruder. An element which should feel darker and further explored than it actually does. Instead leaving the film feeling rather uneven as it begins to focus on other themes or elements.

There’s potential in The Intruder, mostly coming from the horror related scenes which are the true high points. The drama has some interesting moments, however it seems to divert on occasion causing the finished product to feel slightly uneven.

Release Date – TBC, Cert – N/A, Run-time – 2 hours 36 minutes, Director – Lav Diaz

Three goldminers (Nanding Yousef, Bart Guingona, Don Melvin Boongaling) venture through an expansive jungle to return to their home village.

From looking at the filmography of director Lav Diaz two and a half hours is a relatively short run-time, compared to his usual 4 hour plus, some of his features have stretched to over 10 hours long. And yet with such heavy core themes as comparing the animal-like instincts and behaviours of humans 156 minutes could seem rather lengthy. And yet, as the three central goldminers (Nanding Yousef, Bart Guingona and Don Melvin Boongaling) travel through the jungle to return to their home village tales of folklore are spun and recited, sparking superstition and fear within the trio. There’s certainly detail to the behaviours of the characters as the jungle causes their sanity to drop, and for a generational divide to cause even more frustrations. Not only do they turn on each other but begin a false battle for an almost just as false leadership of the group – although there is one figure less involved in scraps that starts to take a leading role.

While some scenes during this first hour feel somewhat lengthy they’re still relatively engaging and accessible. The impact of the jungle on the central three figures certainly creates some interest and it helps the film to handle its themes well. It’s once out of the jungle, just as new faces are being introduced, where things begin to get slower. The tone and focus of the film begins to change as the scenes become even longer. Our protagonists are somewhat separated and there appears to be three separate stories created. Elements of folklore are dropped and the piece appears to lose substance. Despite more characters less happens and it shows in the much slower pacing.

What follows is 100-110 minutes of anger, rage, chickens, people randomly snapping at each other, threats, chickens and fights and attacks that look like poorly set out stage fights. The closest thing to a view into animal behaviour is the fact that the village is flooded with roosters and chickens. Dialogue is drowned out by the irritating sound of clucking, squawking and cock-a-doodle-doos – such screaming certainly keeps you awake on a number of occasions. It also provides an understandable explanation as to why almost everyone in the village seems so angered and prone to just being generally horrible to everyone else. There’s a lack of substance which only really allows for the run-time to be truly felt, the engagement of the viewer is quickly lost and its hard to get back into the film once this happens.

As things continue to change in tone, although not for the better and simply creating an even more unengaging feel, the film feels very different to how it started. Detail and key themes are lost and eventually the piece feels very much the same. Wandering for something to show that relates to its key themes, but with extra characters and potential it seemingly fails. It works best when focusing on the mania the three initial focuses find themselves dropping into when traipsing through the uncertain terrain of the jungle. It’s when their minds create stories, visions and falsehoods and the way they respond to this and the instincts that cause them to act upon them, it might be slow but there’s still something there. Once out on the other side such themes drain away and what we’re left with is a long streak of lengthy, uninteresting, anger with little more substance, and the occasional poultry squawk.

There’s more poultry than substance in Genus Pan, including in volume. While it starts out as something fairly interesting and with a good view into human behaviour it soon loses all of this in exchange for almost two hours of people snapping at and scrapping with each other in unconvincing fashion.

Release Date – 3rd September 2021, Cert – 15, Run-time – 1 hour 25 minutes, Director – Cathy Brady

When her sister, Kelly (Nika McGuigan), returns after being missing for several years, Lauren (Nora-Jane Noone) must put up with circulating rumours and their pasts coming back to haunt them in their small Northern Irish border town.

Through all the mystery that writer-director Cathy Brady’s feature debut, Wildfire, creates it’s made by more than just her screenplay. Her two leads are fantastic in creating a close sisterly bond, even for characters who haven’t seen each other for several years. Nora-Jane Noone plays Lauren, a young woman, happily married and with a job that seems to be fairly stable and secure, much like her life appears to be going. That is until her sister, Kelly (Nika McGuigan) turns up in her small border Northern Irish town, muddy and dishevelled, after being missing for several years. Her return not only comes as a shock but what seems to be an almost unwelcome one. Kelly’s reappearance throws the stability of Lauren’s life in all directions and causes rumours to circulate around the town, alongside tension for the sisters. Having grieved already for her sister, and still mourning the ambiguous loss of their mother, Lauren’s life turns into a spiralling confusion in an instant.

Yet, the two still manage to reform their sisterly bond. Despite tensions and stresses and an initial struggle they quickly find themselves laughing and joking at their past antics in old haunts – such as the corner of the local bar. Yet, their seemingly dark pasts, or old traumas, lie around every corner, the other residents of the town dredge up mysterious points that gradually piece together, relating to the sisters’ lives during The Troubles. Soon stories spread and rage grows much like a titular wildfire. The film itself isn’t about The Troubles, yet the story elements that relate to it help to emphasise the darkness that lies within some scenes. Even some of the instances of Thelma And Louise style bonding – this tone especially emerging in the escalations and dramatic action of the third act – contain these hints of anger and sadness; reminiscing can often completely turn to heated emotion.

Thanks to the chemistry and power of the two central performances, mixed with Brady’s screenplay, such moments never feel as if they suffer from imbalance. The feeling of the film and the emotional engagement of the viewer is pushed further due to the fact that this is a piece layered with the fingerprints of a cast and crew who clearly care for what they are making. All wanting to tell a good, engaging story, and they certainly achieve this. The mystery throughout keeps you situated as the pasts of the two central figures are never fully detailed and much is left in the shadows, both individually afraid to step into them, or even properly discuss them. The dark cinematography pushing such ideas, a fair deal of the film’s key scenes take place at night, or dusk and dawn. For those scenes that are set during the day there’s a greyness to them that still hints at the otherwise drab and dull life of the small Northern Irish border town in which the film takes place, although this largely seems a façade. Everyone is holding their own secrets, and often it’s what they know about other people – specifically Kelly and Lauren.

Wildfire is a small, quiet film and yet it speaks clearly and loudly. It uses its short 85 minute run-time to great effect and tells an investing, sometimes tense and emotional story within it. It follows an interesting, ambiguous path, with darkness and fearful threat around each corner, as more about the sisters and their pasts is revealed. The two central performances carry power and care, and Brady’s direction and screenplay push this further. There’s strength within the relative simplicity of the film and the way the cast and crew handle this. Once everything is revealed and the end of the film arrives what has been viewed is a film about the gradual re-growth of a tested bond between two sisters, trying to cover the joint tragedy of their lives in a cramped, claustrophobic town in which it seems nothing is ever kept a secret.

The Troubles might lightly lie in the background but there’s still a darkness to Cathy Brady’s quietly strong debut. McGuigan and Noone are fantastic in the lead roles, as mysteries unravel the film stays stable, even if its central characters can’t.

Release Date – TBC, Cert – N/A, Run-time – 1 hour 42 minutes, Director – Matt Hulse

Director Matt Hulse recreates his siblings’ punk band, The Hippies, from when he was eleven.

Documentarian and short-maker Matt Hulse’s Sound For The Future could easily come across as some sort of breakdown or vanity project, as he meticulously tries to recreate a punk band he and his siblings were a part of in the late-70’s and early-80’s. However, there’s something about the delightfully odd nature of things that gives the film a personal nature for its creator, although not quite a completely nostalgic one. “It’s absurdity and I love absurdity, things that shouldn’t go together” he says as he experiments with ways of recreating his childhood band. He casts various trios to play the younger versions of “Britain’s youngest punk band” – Hulse was eleven when the band was first formed, his sister, Polly, eight and older brother, Toby, twelve – in radio interviews, pictures and more.

The film feels like a making of piece, a feature length behind the scenes look with a personal twist for the director. This personal twist is what gives the film its flair and helps to keep it going over the course of its run-time. It keeps your interest as new ideas and brought in and to a fair degree the highly creative mind of Hulse is explore. There’s an air of wry and occasionally bizarre humour that comes through and helps to keep things light and entertaining in this kind of two piece documentary – one looking at Hulse’s recreation, the other at the band known as The Hippies; both showing the effects of collaborative efforts.

Both elements go hand in hand and merge together well. Both are spawned and progressed further by the other and yet never feel as if two completely different points are being made, or shown. The film simply travels along its course and keeps the viewer engaged and entertained for most of the run-time, as just how personal this – as some might refer to it as – experiment is for Hulse. As the band develops, releasing and promoting new songs, there’s a hint of drama and emotion seemingly coming from the filmmakers part, finding its way into the background of some scenes and ideas. More elements of his personality shine through and he makes for an interesting subject in himself, although certainly doesn’t make himself the star of the film – once again placing this far from a vanity project.

Throughout the film and its handful of related subjects – all going together because of how closely related they are and the way that the documentary works – there’s plenty of entertainment to be found. Not just through Hulse, but through the general energy of the band and the imagination and creativity that goes into making it, despite more than one trio being formed there appears to be one main group we follow and much of this seems to go alongside them. The kids seem to be enjoying themselves being a part of this and so do a number of the people involved, it’s rather infectious and has you as the viewer put into a similar frame of inspiration that situates you in a good place to follow along the film and get caught up with the various points that are made and unfold as plans, plans of snapshots of memories in Hulse’s mind. It’s an interesting concept and it’s pulled off well thanks to the fact that the film doesn’t take itself too seriously, and with its occasionally absurd style and humour it’s hard not to like the personal tales that this film unfolds, and the band at the centre of it.

Hulse is an interesting figure, and so is the band that he recreates over the course of the film. At times delightfully odd at others a compelling look into the mind of its creator, Sound For The Future is a brilliantly creative personal experiment that sparks imagination.

Release Date – 18th June 2021, Cert – 12, Run-time – 1 hour 22 minutes, Director – Jerry Rothwell

Documentary, using the memoir of the same name, looking at the experiences of non-speaking autistic people around the world.

It would be very easy for me to simply quote masses of Jerry Rothwell’s The Reason I Jump – inspired by Naoki Higashida’s memoir of the same name – and simply say that I agree, and there’s likely to be some of this within this review. In many ways the film, which follows the experiences of a handful of non-speaking autistic people around the world, speaks for itself. Using the words of Higashida’s work throughout it attempts to put the viewer in the mind of these people, to understand what they think and feel on a regular basis. “One of the things I would love to do is to get inside his head, just for ten seconds, to understand what it’s like” says one of the parents of the documentary’s subjects. And, that’s exactly what this film does a more than perfect job of doing. Experiences and emotions that are so hard to describe are summed up and described with ease by the autistic writers’ thoughtful words – even more amazing that he was 13 at the time he wrote his memoir.

The brief passages that are read out (by Jordan O’Donegan, accompanied by Jim Fujiwara portraying Higashida exploring the world around him, mostly fields in the UK) are explored further by looking at a handful of non-speaking autistic subjects. Each one while complimenting the writers’ words having their own unique set of circumstances, thoughts and feelings. We spend time not just with the subjects but those around them, often their parents, as they describe how they have developed and helped the autistic people in their lives to develop. Various themes are covered in each segment, from the panic that can be experienced in everyday scenarios – “exactly what the next moment has in store never stops being a big, big worry” – escapes, communication and expressions of various kinds; yet all come under the core arc of the film, never diverting from it.

Through eloquence and kindness, both from the filmmakers and the figures featured in the film, the piece attempts to remove some of the social stigma around non-speaking autistic people. It does exactly what it sets out to do and puts the viewer in the minds of the people who are being shown and represented, given a larger voice to speak with, even if it’s through pointing at letters on a board. Through all these representations and the points that it explores it’s clear that this is a film that wants to promote kindness and acceptance. “Our friendship only requires some peace from the world” explains one subject of the film as it looks at a pair of almost lifelong autistic friends. There’s something about the sensitivity of the film and the way that it handles its subject matter that not only wins the viewer over and welcomes them in for the run-time, sometimes looking on in a sense of wonder.

Such themes, however, never feel exclusive. The film opens its ideas to everyone, offering an open hand to all viewers. It’s thanks to a positive outlook with spins of emotion as a number of personal thoughts and experiences are viewed and described. This might be a personal piece for everyone involved, yet it’s open enough to allow anyone to engage with it, to learn and empathise with the subject matter. It successfully puts you into the minds of non-speaking autistic people and allows Higashida’s powerful explanations and descriptions to lift the piece up, expertly get across what it’s like for the people the film follows and simply make things understandable. None of this is done in a way that makes it feel as if the film is preaching or shouting at the viewer it simply gently guides them through the points it makes and shows them another view of the world. It’s fantastically, accurately done and is a truly admirable effort of kind thoughtfulness and openness.

The Reason I Jump is a caringly open look into the world of non-speaking autistic people. Hagashida’s words are powerful and are backed up well by the subjects that the film follows, making for a kind, accurate, welcoming film that seems to want to advance understanding to help bring people together.