Boseman is introduced as Andre Davis, a grieving son at the funeral of his slain NYC police officer father. His righteous fury at his father’s death is presumably intended to make us sympathetic to his subsequent acts as a police detective. When a drug heist goes wrong and several police officers are shot and killed, Andre is asked to lead a manhunt to capture their killers.

Drawing from a long line of police thrillers that have come before it, 21 Bridges is formulaic filmmaking at its finest. Of course, Andre can’t trust anyone around him, including his partner. Of course, the good guys become indistinguishable from the bad, and Andre can only rely on himself. Of course, Andre is redeemed for his sins by the end of the film. Would that it were all not so predictable.

Andre is partnered by Sienna Miller’s Frankie Burns, and they share precious little chemistry. New York is shot as a dark and foreboding place – hardly the city that never sleeps of repute – and the characters are similarly lacklustre. Burns has a little girl she mentions at one point in a vain attempt to give her some depth, while Andre still visits his ailing mother. None of this information adds to the audience’s understanding of their motivations or actions.

The only performance that is remotely interesting is Stephan James’ turn as Michael. Here is someone who communicates the urgency of his situation, and who the audience can understand and perhaps even feel sympathetic toward. J.K. Simmons phones in his performance and the remaining cast are noteworthy only for their injuries: oh, there’s the fingers-missing guy! Hey, there’s the one with no eye.

At only 99 minutes, 21 Bridges is an outlier given the trend to long-form filmmaking and the inability of modern directors to tell their stories efficiently. I’d love to say the film doesn’t feel bloated but it really drags at stages.

21 Bridges is more miss than hit and is unlikely to satisfy fans of crime thrillers or action/adventure films. One can only hope Jonah Hill doesn’t feel inspired to create the ultimate 21 Jump Street Bridges crossover.

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Phoenix is Arthur Fleck, a clown working in streetside advertising by day and wannabe stand-up comedian by night. He cares for his ailing mother and fantasises about his neighbour Sophie (Zazie Beetz). An altercation with some street toughs will set Arthur on a downward spiral that eventually leads to violence and mayhem.

Phoenix deserves all of the plaudits he receives for his nuanced turn as the troubled anti-hero. Fleck is a sad and lonely man, lost in a big city that doesn’t care about its downtrodden but celebrates the success of billionaires like Bruce Wayne. Phoenix creates a character that the audience will care about, even though he does awful things that should repulse us. It is a rare actor who can walk this tightrope and yet Phoenix has a track record of achieving just that.

Phoenix hasn’t been nearly as prolific as many of his peers in the past decade or so, but consider some of the films he has featured in and the performances he has unleashed. As Johnny Cash in Walk the Line through to Her and You Were Never Really Here, he is reliably one of the best actors to watch for the pure enjoyment of seeing someone completely engaged in their character. That quality is again present in this film.

Joker is a critical commentary on social isolation and the disconnection the mainstream feel from the ruling elite. Although it seemed a bit of a stretch to suspect widespread violence as a consequence of this film, that fear does speak to the power of the medium to provoke. Were Phillips’ film any less potent, those fears would have been completely unfounded: it is a compliment that some feared its quiet power.

The cityscape (and film more broadly) pay homage to the films of Martin Scorcese and Robert De Niro, in particular, Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy. The streets of Joker’s Gotham City are more disturbing to this viewer than those of Taxi Driver, however, and perhaps this is because they feel more modern in their grime. As someone who came to Taxi Driver as an adult, there is a different sense looking back at New York versus looking at Joker’s Gotham that makes Arthur Fleck’s milieu more immediate. Older viewers might disagree.

Todd Phillips has created a masterpiece of modern cinema, that features a wonderful leading performance and speaks with urgency about social isolation and the plight of the mentally ill. This is easily one of the best films of 2019.

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The show’s format has morphed several times over the years. Season 4 is basically a 7-hour movie: a completely serialised eight-episode story. Here’s the biggest difference, however: where the film was unashamedly fan-servicey, season 4 is about giving the audience what they need, not what they want.

I think people who only ever dipped their toe in the show missed out just how broken Veronica (Kristen Bell) is. That was always my favourite part of the show: the darkness hiding behind her bubbly persona. And it’s just as well, because this season really dives into that aspect of her personality. Here is someone who was raped, and her best friend killed, all before her 17th birthday. She’s been clenching her fists ever since, and it’s definitely taking its toll. Like all noir protagonists, Veronica continues to be the instrument of her own demise – don’t expect that to change anytime soon.

The most enjoyable part of this season? Watching Veronica and her dad work together as equals. She may have gained her PI licence towards the end of s3, but this is the first time we really see them working side by side as co-workers, spit balling ideas and challenging each other’s theories. The most surprising part of this season? Seeing a different, more mature Logan (Jason Dohring) who, miraculously, doesn’t feel neutered. I never thought a post-therapy Logan would be an effective character, but Rob Thomas, Diane Ruggiero-Wright and others have shown me just how good they are at writing characters that truly evolve.

There are a lot of returning faces, but unlike the movie, it never feels like overload – people show up in places that make sense. Poor old Wallace (Percy Daggs III) is again only peripherally relevant, and my one wish is that he gets a more prominent role if we get another season. The guy’s been on the sidelines since s3.

The mystery concerns a bombing in Neptune during spring break. As usual, the story is full of twists and turns, and the list of suspects is long. J.K. Simmons, Patton Oswald and Clifton Collins Jnr are the big-name additions to the cast, and both are predictably excellent. Mido Hamada plays a congressman embroiled in the mystery, and his character is the only misstep. Throughout the season, his actions make little sense, and his motivations flip-flop depending on the needs of the script.

My only other complaint is far from integral. Visually speaking, this looks nothing like the first three seasons or the film. This show always had a California-noir thing going on, with lots of exaggerated colours – neon lights, stained glass windows – that served to exaggerate the shadows lurking in the corners of Neptune. This season, however, offers nothing but flat and bland lighting. It’s weird considering TV these days is just as stylish as feature films – if anything, the visuals are less impressive than the previous incarnations.

There’s been a subtle shift here too. As you’d expect, Veronica and Logan’s relationship is different to the early years. The writing is less soap and more kitchen sink (at least in the first half of the season) and there are a several arguments between them that play out quite realistically. As someone who seems to have come through the other side of trauma, Logan is the only one who really understands how broken Veronica is, and like I said before, her flaws have never been focussed on this much before.

As a character study, this season offers some of the best writing the show has ever seen. The central mystery won’t have the watercooler edge that s1 did, but the drama will definitely remembered by fans for years to come. If you’re someone who lost interest some time in s3 or perhaps when the movie came out, I can assure you that this is a much more confident run of episodes. We fans are in an incredibly lucky position – we love the show as much as the central cast do, and Kristen Bell has said time and again that she’s prepared to return to this character for as long as she’s on this earth. Not only that, but creator Rob Thomas has shown he’s adaptable to whatever format is going (serialised network TV, case-of-the-week TV, feature film, books and now streaming TV). Long may Veronica continue.

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Christopher McQuarrie, the sometimes-brilliant, sometimes-naff writer is firing on all cylinders here. This is much more in the league of Rogue Nation, Edge of Tomorrow and Jack Reacher than it is The Mummy, Jack the Giant Slayer or The Tourist. In fact, this is very much a sequel to Rogue Nation (unsurprising, since it was the last M:I film) but also feels like the end of this second chapter of the franchise (films 3-6, that is.)

All the standard Mission: Impossible stuff is here. We have a plot that’s almost too complicated to follow, Hunt has no idea who to trust and the twists and turns appear as frequently as the action scenes. In fact, the approach to action here got me thinking about what’s been missing from big budget Hollywood recently. People complain about superhero movies’ over-reliance on VFX, but that’s not the problem. What’s missing from those films is tension. An awesome action scene is all about the set up; if there’s no tension along the way, the pay-off means nothing.

And Mission: Impossible has almost always been about establishing tension (except perhaps the second one). It’s something Christopher Nolan did exceptionally well in his Batman films, but has otherwise been missing from superhero films because they’re impatient to get to the bombastic stuff (see also The Meg.) The fact that very few other franchises are attempting this perhaps explains why Mission: Impossible has succeeded so consistently at the box office.

Cruise is his reliable self, getting younger by the day because of his alien DNA and/or deal with Satan and/or ability to time travel. There are a number of series regulars around him, but newbies Angela Bassett and Vanessa Kirby are welcome inclusions. Henry Cavill is good, but as with Jeremy Renner’s character in the previous two films, the filmmakers haven’t quite nailed the characterization of the “equally-capable offsider”. I’m not sure if there’s some pride there on Cruise’s part (he is also a producer, after all) or simply the fault of the writers, but they have yet to strike gold with someone Hunt can bounce off who isn’t comic relief or a love interest.

The only other criticism is that I saw all the twists coming. Don’t get me wrong – it didn’t ruin the experience – but an air of predictability hangs about the film.

As far as action goes, however, Fallout just blows the competition out of the water. It has one of the most insane climaxes of any action film I’ve seen in recent years, and yet it still manages to remain visceral and grounded. And lest I belabor the point: this is because it puts in all the hard work before the action hits.

One more thing: this is an example of a film with extensive reshoots (check out how many scenes from the original trailer are missing) that still came out of the gate swinging. Proof that reshoots don’t always spell disaster.

I think a lot of Hollywood could learn from these films. It isn’t a five-star script, but in terms of how to plan, properly pace, choreograph, shoot and edit an action movie, Fallout is hard to beat.

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Steven (Colin Farrell) and Anna Murphy (Nicole Kidman) lead a strangely clinical life. Though successful by any other metric, they speak as if detached from reality, and when they have sex it’s completely without intimacy. Steven’s a successful heart surgeon, but he’s been seeing a boy named Martin in secret.

From here, the Murphys’ lives spin slowly out of control. The cinematography perfectly sells such entropy. The film is filled with lots of super low or super high angles. The characters constantly find themselves in big, empty and soulless buildings. In fact, the preponderance of slow zooms and wide angle shots with nary an extra in sight reminds me of the thrillers of the 70s (Coma; The Conversation).

The soundtrack perfectly accentuates the off-kilter storytelling. Overseen by Johnnie Burn and Simon Carroll, it’s a mixture of classical and modern pieces, with an emphasis on discordant, drawn-out notes. It’s not an exaggeration to say that a good 70% of the film’s success hinges on their work here, because otherwise the film’s best scenes would come across as silly.

The DVD presentation is very good, and it comes with the standard electronic press kit-type interviews with the stars and director. It’s the latter that’s the most interesting. Him speaking on the genesis of the project is particularly pertinent for those of us who wonder how on earth someone comes up with such a strange narrative.

We’re in familiar territory for Lanthimos here, and perhaps that’s what holds The Killing of a Sacred Deer back. See, this would have worked quite well as a straight thriller: an agent of chaos (read: Martin) upsets a perfect family and their perfect life. But because Lanthimos is…well…Lanthimos, of course Steven and Anna are strange to begin with. This detracts from any plot developments. Had Anna and Steven’s life been more relatable, the film would have been more unsettling. Instead, I was holding the characters at arm’s length from the very beginning.

The first two acts are a masterclass in tone and rising tension. Once we get to the third act, however, there’s nothing left but for the film to putter across the finish line. If you’re a fan of Lanthimos’ previous work – or avant-garde thrillers generally – this will probably hit the spot. Others may find the destination less impressive than the journey…

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This is definitely a step up from the last time we saw Jessica (Krysten Ritter), in ‘Defenders’. She may have been the best thing about that team-up show, but here she’s surrounded by great characters. As with season 1, the most important supporting character is Trish Walker (Rachael Taylor), Jessica’s adoptive sister/best friend – everything else is just narrative garnish. It’s their drama that keeps me coming back to this series.

The show’s feminist credentials are perhaps unsurprising – considering you could call it a mash-up of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ and ‘Veronica Mars’ – but season 2 takes it a step further, with a policy of women-only directors. And it pays off. This is a show about relationships between women. The Bechdel test may be a rather primitive tool in 2018, but this passes with flying colours. Sure, Malcolm (Eka Darville) is still present and correct, and there are newcomers Pryce (Terry Chen) and Detective Costa (John Ventimiglia) that shine in smaller roles, but it’s Jessica, Trish, Dorothy (Rebecca De Mornay) and other surprise appearances that make up the core of the story.

And we can’t forget Carrie-Anne Moss as Jeri Hogarth, who’s been a mainstay of the Marvel Netflix shows. This season really puts Jeri through the wringer, and Moss’ performance might even be a career best.

There’s a lot less action here, which is disappointing. In fact, if you go in expecting a superhero show, you might be disappointed. Instead think of it as a private eye themed drama cum thriller – or just a superhero show for those of us who are a little sick of superheroes. Another disappointment: is it just me, or are the Marvel Netflix shows getting smaller and smaller budgets?

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that there aren’t any wonky moments. I honestly can’t decide if I liked Janet McTeer’s performance here or not; sometimes her portrayal feels nuanced, other times it’s more pantomimic. Suffice to say, she may be a contentious character.

At the centre of all this is Ritter, whose character is just so damn brilliant. Jessica is fascinating, powerful and damaged, and an absolute arsehole to everyone around her. She’s a woman so compelling that I can’t look away, even when she’s at her self-destructive best. Though this doesn’t reach the heights of the near-perfect season 1, this is a good continuation of her story. Long may this show continue.

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David Suchet completed his 24-year run in the BBC Poirot adaptations four years ago, and now it seems Branagh’s ready to take the reins. His interpretation of the sleuth is distinct yet clearly honours Agatha Christie’s creation, whilst he heavily hints where he wants to take his detective for the sequel.

The only real problem with Murder on the Orient Express is that, well…if you’ve read the book or seen a different adaptation before, then you know how it ends. And it’s not the type of solution that you easily forget. In fact, out of all the Christie books I’ve read, this is one of probably only two or three where I can’t shake the reveal from my mind. This was always going to temper my enjoyment of the film.

So for those of us who’ve seen it all before, what is there to appreciate? Well, obviously we have the star-studded cast. Daisy Ridley, Johnny Depp, Willem Dafoe, Judie Dench, Josh Gad and Penelope Cruz all feature, all immaculately coifed and costumed. Thankfully it appears that all were able to be present on set at the same time too, unless it’s simply a case of visual effects coming a long way since The Expendables 2.

Speaking of VFX, the film is chock full of them. Whilst the train is stuck for most of the runtime, Branagh ensures that the backdrop is nothing short of breathtaking. The effects are mostly great, except for a couple of stumbles. More importantly, Branagh and his cinematographer, Haris Zambarloukos, know how to shoot a movie on a train. There are dozens of immaculately conceived shots, and whilst we get scene after scene set in train compartments, no one shot is the same. Despite being disappointed by Zambarloukos’ work in the single-setting film, Locke, a few years ago, here he can really let loose. Seriously, if you want to know how to shoot a scene in a confined space, this is the feature to study.

I did have trouble with some of the accents, and that might be because so many actors were mumbling their way through verbal patinas that were clearly not their own. The film does a good job of providing flashbacks or cutaways at just the right moment, so we are never confused (a problem in some murder mysteries when they talk frequently about events that have occurred off screen.)

Murder on the Orient Express is an enjoyable murder mystery, and Branagh’s interpretation of the character can sit comfortably next to Suchet’s. Recommended.

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Thankfully, Mike Flanagan was the man for the job. His adaptation (co-written by Jeff Howard) stays true to the source material whilst making alterations that clearly had to happen with the change of medium. But above all else, it’s clear that Flanagan is a huge fan of the book, and King’s work in general.

As we know, King’s done every story at least twice (see also ‘Christine’ and ‘From a Buick 8’) so on the surface, Gerald’s Game is similar to ‘Misery’, in that our lead character is bedridden for the majority of the story. Carla Gugino plays Jessie Burlingame, wife of Gerald (Bruce Greenwood). As the film starts, they have retreated to their holiday house in the hopes of healing their failing marriage. Initially intending to spice up their love life with a little bit of bondage, Gerald happens to drop dead at the worst possible moment, leaving Jessie handcuffed to the bed. And this is how she spends the rest of the film.

Since the majority of ‘Gerald’s Game’ plays out in Jessie’s head, depicting her mental struggle was always going to be the challenge of any adaptation. In this department, Flanagan’s film excels. By having imaginary versions of herself and people from her past appear, Jessie is able to have conversations instead of merely talking to herself.

Gugino is excellent as Jessie. I feel like I’ve only seen her in supporting roles before, and it’s great to see her let loose in an extremely challenging role. Greenwood is great also. The film doesn’t shy away from the most shocking parts of the book – including that one moment of gore – and it handles the darker and more serious topics reasonably well too.

The cinematography is excellent. The camera uses the setting to the fullest effect, whilst there are some genius moments of lighting that really sell the eerie parts of the story.

King fans can rejoice, for Flanagan’s film is up there with the best of King’s work. For those who are wondering, he even included the link to that other King story. Most importantly, it’s restrained when it needs to be restrained, and doesn’t hold back when the tale reaches its crazy zenith. You could argue the film stumbles during the final act, but again, that’s true to the novel – I know quite a few people that feel that way about the book also.

All in all, it’s been worth the wait.

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All things considered, I often enjoy Darren Aronofsky’s lesser-liked films. Noah had its moments, whilst The Fountain is one of my favourite movies of all time. So I was fully prepared to go against the grain with Mother!

The story sees Jennifer Lawrence playing a nameless wife to Javier Bardem’s “Him.” The two of them live in his family home, which was recently rebuilt after burning to the ground. Bardem’s character, a famous poet, is suffering from writer’s block. It takes the visit of a stranger to kick both the plot and his creativity into gear. And that’s where things get a little weird.

I think part of the frustration with Mother! has to do with audience expectations. As a friend of mine said, “I went in expecting Rosemary’s Baby. If I’d expected Mulholland Drive instead, maybe I would have enjoyed it more.” Mother! was indeed advertised as a kind of modern-day Rosemary’s Baby, and that’s how the first act feels – as if everyone’s in on something that’s being kept a secret from Lawrence’s character.

And she is reliably excellent in the role, even if her character’s experience quickly starts to wear thin. A lot of crap is heaped on her, and whilst she tries to stick up for herself, her constantly put-upon role grates after a while. Mother! sees Aronofsky in full allegory mode, and whilst there are no doubt lots of theories as to what’s actually going on, at the end of the day I. Just. Don’t. Care.

We don’t even get a reliably awesome soundtrack courtesy of frequent Aronofsky collaborator, Clint Mansell, for this film is almost completely without music. The cinematography is nice, though it absolutely refuses to pull back from extreme close-ups, and the use of visual effects is impressive, as is usually the case with the director’s works.

As the film finished and the credits rolled, I heard two things in the cinema. From one corner, a snigger. From another corner, a stage whisper of, “That was stupid.” Those two responses really sum up the film. Perhaps, in a decade’s time, this will get a stunning reappraisal, but right now I find that hard to believe.

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Claire Holt and Mandy Moore play a pair of sisters, Kate and Lisa, who sign up for a shark cage dive whilst holidaying in Mexico. Thanks to the title of the film, we know that they very quickly find themselves on the ocean floor, trapped in the cage and surrounded by sharks.

Anyone who’s read my reviews before knows that this is my jam. The restricted location allows for the writers to tick off the possibilities one by one, and I get satisfaction purely from watching our characters assess their options, make decisions and adapt to each crisis as they arise.

And it’s good thing that that kind of stuff interests me, because hooooo boy, is this script bad. Actually, to be fair, each dramatic beat is perfectly placed, and each event cleverly ups the stakes. It’s the dialogue that consistently lets the film down.

Which leads me to the next issue. The first thing that occurred to me when I heard about the premise of this film was this: how will the two characters communicate? Well, 47 Meters Down’s approach is to have our protagonists wear full face masks complete with radio contact between them. Except it’s established at the start of the film that they’re diving with a shoddy operator, in an old rust bucket of a boat. So the super high-tech diving equipment doesn’t really make sense.

But we can ignore that, right? There’s no need to be picky. However. Despite being full face masks, they still obscure the actresses’ faces most of the time. It’s entirely possible that 70% of this film features diving doubles, because we can’t see Kate and Lisa clearly, which means I’m focussing on the awful dialogue even more.

It’s a shame, because the movie has every right to be better. It’s hard to keep a straight face when Moore and Holt are saddled with such awful lines. They do their best with what they have – and indeed, in the early scenes on land, they’re coping well enough. But they can’t overcome the terrible dialogue when they’re having to emote underwater (and then record all their lines later on in post-production, obviously.)

47 Meters Down does feature somewhat realistic lighting though; basically it’s very, very dark. Which is a nice change from the usual underwater scenes you see in the movies, where the bottom of the ocean looks like shallow, crystal-blue Caribbean waters. It presumably helps with the VFX too, which get the job done well enough.

But you know what? I still enjoy this kind of movie, no matter how trashy. It sure ain’t The Reef, Open Water or Black Water, but at least it’s not Shark Night 3D or Bait.

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