Director: Matt Ross

Created and written by: Mike Makowsky

Based on: Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine, and the Murder of a President by Candice Millard.

Netflix’s impressive four-part mini-series Death by Lightning (2025) dramatizes the events around the 1881 assassination of US President James Garfield by Charles Guiteau.

Initially reluctant to run for the presidency, Garfield was in office for just 200 days before he was shot – later succumbing not to the bullet but to the negligent medical treatment he received.

The story unfolds in two strands, as the lives of Garfield (Michael Shannon) and Guiteau (Matthew Macfadyen) become tragically intertwined.

Garfield’s story takes us inside the inner workings of the DC political machine, where the likes of James Blaine (Bradley Whitford) and Roscoe Conkling (Shea Whigham) are jostling for power. When – amid lacklustre efforts from his contemporaries – Garfield makes a stirring patriotic speech at the 1880 Republican National Convention, he finds himself on their presidential radar.

We also spend time with Guiteau – a chancer, ex-convict, and dreamer who worms his way into the political scene and latches on to Garfield, before turning on him. Dismissed as a harmless annoyance, he becomes increasingly desperate and unhinged.

As the upright Garfield, Shannon is suitably austere, coming across as a good man trying to rise above the political cesspool and do the right thing for his country. His scenes at home on his Illinois farm and with his wife Crete Garfield (Betty Gilpin) are especially affecting.

Meanwhile, Macfadyen has all kinds of fun as Guiteau, keeping things the right side of cartoon villain. The look on his face when his reality finally catches up to him is priceless.

The most pronounced character arc belongs to Chester A Arthur (Nick Offerman), a boorish, immature thug selected as Garfield’s running mate purely on the basis of his powerful position in New York. Arthur is later forced to rise to the occasion and prove the faith Garfield vests in him.

If there are negatives, it’s the occasional lapse into the modern (including liberal use of the f- and m- f- words). There’s also the fact that we never really know what made Guiteau tick, beyond unnamed psychological problems. By the end of the four episodes, the overriding feeling is anger – not at the assassin, but at the incompetent doctor who treated Garfield.

Overall, this is a strong drama, which brings to life a curious but highly significant episode from US history.

Writer takeaway

All kinds of fascinating, lesser-known episodes from history are waiting to be explored through screen drama. One of the main challenges is striking the right balance between historic authenticity and modern-day relevance.

Director: Steven Zaillian

Writer: Steven Zaillian

Based on: Jonathan Harr’s non-fiction book, A Civil Action.

Reading the source book highlights what an epic challenge it was to condense the 500-page non-fiction legal thriller into a tight two-hour narrative.

The case centres on a cluster of childhood leukaemia deaths in the town of Woburn, Massachusetts. The cause is allegedly water from the city wells which was polluted by a chemical (TCE) originating from two local businesses owned by large corporates WR Grace and Beatrice Foods. With facts that are nearly impossible (and prohibitively costly) to prove, the case has become an orphan – i.e. kicked from law firm to law firm.

Enter cocky personal injury lawyer Jan Schlichtmann, whose initial reluctance to take on the Woburn case turns into a crusade that nearly destroys him and his firm.

In the book, Schlichtmann’s financial, mental and emotional downfall gathers momentum over a decade as he runs into insurmountable procedural brick walls, a hostile judge, and large bills that turn into unpayable debts and unsustainable credit lines.

In the film, this arc is pronounced. We meet Schlichtmann coldly talking about the cost of a life in personal injury terms, eliciting a huge settlement through courtroom theatrics, and celebrating with champagne. He has a huge walk-in closet and a plush boutique firm. By the end, he’s lost everything – yet keeps fighting.

His tenaciousness becomes both a strength and a weakness (not an uncommon character profile in these types of stories).

Nowadays, the rich source material would be a natural fit as a multi-part series for a streamer. This would have allowed all aspects of the story to breathe and the many conflicts to fully play out. But, by necessity, the film keeps things simple, which is no mean feat considering that the real-life case didn’t unfold cinematically.

There’s not even an emotional climax as the Woburn families take to the stand. After a deposition in which a bereaved father recounts losing his son to leukaemia, defence attorney Jerome Facher mutters to a colleague that there’s no way he’s letting the families get in front of a jury.

As in real life, he gets his way and the case is fractured. This shifts the courtroom focus solely to whether Schlichtmann can prove the science and get a jury to hold Grace and Beatrice liable for polluting the wells. Wisely, the film forgoes the technical intricacies spelled out in the book.

Throughout, the film relies on broad strokes instead of subtle layering. This drains some of the emotional depth, reducing the story to representative scenes. It also plays fast and loose with some of the facts. But it still hits the narrative marks, raising the stakes, and handling its unconventional conclusion effectively.

It also boasts a fine cast, with John Travolta suitably polished as Schlichtmann and a low-key Robert Duvall sadly seen far too briefly as Facher. John Lithgow is another scant presence as Judge Skinner, who takes an instant dislike to Schlichtmann.

Kathleen Quinlan leads the Woburn families as bereaved mother Anne Anderson who just wants someone to take responsibility for what happened to her son. The quality continues with Tony Shalhoub, William H. Macy and Zeljko Ivanek as Schlichtmann’s increasingly stressed associates. We also have appearances by James Gandolfini, Kathy Bates and Sydney Pollack – even Stephen Fry pops up as a chirpy scientist.

Again, there’s a sense of disappointment that no-one pitched this as a mini-series at the time, especially as several of these great actors are no longer with us.

Writer takeaway

Comparing any novel or non-fiction book to its film adaptation is rarely fair. Both should stand alone, with differing creative demands and intents. Not to mention lengths.

But reading A Civil Action and then seeing the movie offers a valuable window into how to strip down a story of great complexity into its basic parts and reassemble those parts into a solid screen narrative.

Director: Tim Fehlbaum

Writers: Moritz Binder, Tim Fehlbaum, and Alex David

Script source: Deadline

September 5 takes us into the ABC Sports broadcasting studio in Munich, an outpost created for the purposes of covering the 1972 Summer Olympics.

A day in which the meagre televisual highlight was a “back to the Cold War” boxing match between the USA and Cuba is thrown into chaos when gunshots are heard from inside the Olympic Village. We quickly learn that several of the Israeli team members have been taken hostage by terrorists who are demanding the release of 200 Palestinian prisoners.

We’re then taken on a nail-biting ride as the sports team scrambles into “news” mode, aware that they are the only broadcasting unit with live footage of the in-progress hostage situation.

At the centre of the action is Geoff (John Magaro), who is thrust into the role of newsroom point man, despite the fact he has barely made his sport broadcasting bones, with just a smattering of golf and minor league baseball on his resume.

Heading the whole thing is Roone (Peter Sarsgaard), ABC Sports president, who’s trying to squeeze every bit of human drama out of the Olympic action, who jumps at the chance of covering a real news story. There’s also VP of operations Marvin (Ben Chaplin), whose Jewish heritage gives him a more personal connection to the story. He provides the counterpoint to Roone’s “we follow the story wherever it goes” attitude.

In fact, one of the areas in which the film succeeds is showing us some of the dilemmas news crews face when covering unfolding events, especially when lives are at stake. In this case, with a camera trained right on the room where the hostages are being held, there’s a chance they’ll capture live footage of someone being killed – compelling TV but what if the family of the victim is watching back home?

There’s also a great sequence in which the newsroom becomes aware that ABC is available in all of the athletes’ rooms in the Olympic Village – as they’re broadcasting live footage of German cops attempting to covertly enter the hostages’ room…

Another plus is how the film places its events into a wider historical context. While there’s no escaping the connection to current events, the main political angle here is Germany attempting to reinvent itself on the world stage following WWII by hosting the Games, only to find itself at the centre of another crisis (involving Jewish hostages). With the war ending just 27 years earlier, the memories and traumas are still fresh.

Indeed, post-war tensions are palpable among the multi-nationality ABC team, most notably young German-English translator Marianne (Leonie Benesch). As the team’s only German speaker, she’s pivotal in covering the story but becomes increasingly appalled that her country has allowed this to happen. Understandably, the Germans had decided to forgo the optic of having armed security patrolling the Olympic Village, giving the terrorists the chance to slip inside.

The film also looks really good. The claustrophobic TV studio setting has been painstakingly created, with plenty of old school tech and lively scenes of the newsroom in action. There is also liberal use of the actual footage of the Olympic Village, while the fictional production team cuts to real video of ABC’s anchor Jim McKay and its on-the-ground reporter Peter Jennings.

With so much working in its favour, the film should be an all-out success. But, for some reason, it falls short.

Sometimes, it’s hard to put your finger on why a film is lacking… something. September 5 is one of those films.

Certainly, all the ingredients are in place: compelling real-life event; solid acting; authenticity; period detail; a sense of urgency. Yet, the film doesn’t fully engage.

It might be because – as with Saturday Night (2024) – the importance of what the team was doing is not revealed until the end (we learn that 900 million people were watching ABC’s live coverage).

It might be because of how the real events concluded, giving the whole thing a sense of grim inevitability.

It might even be because whatever pressure and stakes were building in the newsroom were nothing compared to what was actually unfolding in the Olympic Village.

The fact that the film incorporates so much actual footage should work in its favour, but it only adds to the documentary feel. This puts emotional distance between us and the team, adding to the emotional distance of not seeing any of the actual “action”. From the room, the hostages are bundled into a bus and taken to a military airbase where “all hell breaks loose”.

Ultimately, we’re watching the watchers who themselves are watching… a balcony. They’re removed from the drama and so are we. Instead, the film shows us in meticulous detail how an apparently inexperienced (yet impressively slick) broadcast team covered a live news story.

Overall, there is much to admire and enjoy about September 5. It takes a unique perspective on a terrible real-life event and shows us how this sports news team brought the story to the world.

However, it ultimately suffers from a style that’s a little too by-the-book and a narrative that’s a little too far removed from the victims to allow for any real emotional engagement in the characters or in the tragedy they so effectively covered on that day in September.

Writer takeaways

Here are a few things writers can take away from September 5:

1. Writing urgency: While not told in real time, like Saturday Night, this is an example of writing “urgency”, with a ticking clock and the pressures of live TV.

For example: The sequence starting on page 24 when the team realizes something is wrong and everyone scrambles into action. It then intensifies in the sequence starting on page 52 when they go live.

2. Setting up the story: Note the difference in opening between the script and the film…

The script takes us straight into the newsroom, showing us the ABC Sports team covering Mark Spitz winning gold in the pool. However, the film begins by spending a minute or two showing footage of the ’72 Olympics accompanied by an ABC voiceover promoting the network’s coverage.

The film’s opening not only places us in the story’s world but it immediately creates authenticity and takes care of some exposition (including the technical limitations of the day).

3. Stakes: The concept of stakes in the story is interesting. With regard the hostages, the stakes are life and death. However, for the ABC Sports team, the only stakes are really that the news won’t be broadcast live. This mismatch is one of the reasons why the film lacks some emotional intensity.

For example: Contrast this to one of the “TV news” films we mention below, Good Night, and Good Luck (2005). Here, the wider stakes and that of the news team are inextricably linked. High-profile journalist Edward R. Murrow’s on-air campaign against Senator Joseph McCarthy proves a powerful weapon in the fight to end the Communist witch-hunts, which caused widespread damage to people’s lives.

4. Use of real footage: While the use of real footage does make September 5 feel a bit disjointed and adds to the “documentary” vibe, it is done seamlessly. In the script, it’s written as plain dialogue, such as in the scenes where the control room is communicating with Jim McKay in the studio.

5. Emotional connection: Despite the disconnect between the hostages and the newsroom, there are some great moments where the film makes a personal connection between the characters, their situation, and the wider context. This is highlighted in the scenes with Marv and, especially, the (fictional) Marianne.

For example: On pages 105/6 of the script, after the fate of the hostages is known, Geoff tells Marianne he shouldn’t have sent her out to the military base (where the hostages were taken). “I can only image the things you saw,” he says. She replies that she saw nothing, adding that everyone there was just “staring into the night” waiting for something to happen because they “wanted to take a picture of it”.

This is a simple yet effective exchange which sums up her feelings about what has happened in her country – so soon after the war – as well as ABC Sport’s role that day as a bystander, voyeur, and an important recorder of history.

Also watch…

• Munich (2005): Steven Spielberg’s acclaimed drama tells of the attempt to hunt down the terrorists responsible for the kidnapping of the Israeli athletes.

• One Day in September (1999): Kevin Macdonald’s Oscar-winning documentary recounts the tragic events of 5 September 1972.

• The Eichmann Show (2010): This TV movie tells of controversial efforts to televise the 1961 trial of Nazi Adolf Eichmann.

• Good Night, and Good Luck (2005): Goes behind the scenes at CBS as broadcaster Ed Murrow and his producer Fred Friendly take on Senator Joseph McCarthy and his damaging Communist witch-hunts.

• Frost/Nixon (2008): Dramatizes the revealing post-Watergate interviews conducted between British talk show host David Frost and former US president Richard Nixon.

Director: Jason Reitman

Writers: Gil Kenan and Jason Reitman

Script source: Deadline

Now a TV staple, Saturday Night was a network disrupter that launched the careers of Chevy Chase, John Belushi, Gilda Radner, and Dan Akroyd, among many others. At the heart of it was visionary young producer Lorne Michaels, who rightly bet that this untested mix of zany talent would lead to TV comedy gold.

Unfolding in real time, the film shows us the narcotically enhanced chaos behind the scenes, as Michaels tries desperately to corral the undisciplined talent and troubleshoot the array of last-minute problems (not least the three-hour running time). It all takes place under the cynical eyes of the network bigwigs.

Meanwhile, the clock ticks down to 11.30 when the whole shebang is supposed to go live or face the axe in favour of a rerun of Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show.

The whirlwind narrative doesn’t leave much room for depth or for developing relationships. A side-trip into the “complicated” relationship between Michaels and show writer Rosie Shuster, who’s since taken up with Akroyd is a bit of a non-starter. Likewise, we don’t really get into any insights into the cast or their backstories, which is partly the point. At the time, these household names were unknowns; kids given the keys to the candy store in the form of 90 minutes of live TV on a major network.

Where the film succeeds is in the never-let-up energy, as we hurtle through the scattered rehearsals, clashing egos, fistfights, and obstinate union guys.

Along the way, we meet oddball comic Andy Kaufman and a young Billy Crystal desperate to get a slot on the show.

Also present is Muppet originator Jim Henson, who was supposed to be on the first broadcast but got short shrift from “prince of darkness” head writer Michael O’Donoghue (not to mention X-rated horseplay with his beloved puppets). Of course, Henson’s belief that puppetry could have a place on prime-time TV came true with his own Muppet Show – a not unlike Saturday Night variety show.

As the countdown continues unabated, the challenges intensify, with the unpredictable Belushi going awol, acerbic host George Carlin storming off set, and Michaels learning his show was only greenlit as part of a game of chicken the network was playing with Carson.

The casting is also a success, especially Gabriel LaBelle as Michaels, Cory Michael Smith as Chase, and Dylan O’Brien as Akroyd. Welcome additions are Willem Dafoe as NBC Head of Talent Dave Tebet, and J.K. Simmons as “Mr Television” Milton “Uncle Milty” Berle, a lecherous (and famously well-endowed) icon who’s pissed at being replaced by this new generation.

It is this generational shift which could have used more emphasis to audiences unfamiliar with how Saturday Night shook up the network establishment, moving entertainment away from cosy shows produced in Burbank to the energy of New York City.

There is some indication of this in the contrast between the staid history of Rockefeller Center and the manic Studio 8H where Saturday Night is being produced and also in a few dismissive references to the Kraft Macaroni Hour, which is pretty self-explanatory.

But like many things that blew minds back in the day (such as Elvis), Saturday Night Live looks pretty tame by modern standards. Without firmly placing this show in its cultural context, as Baz Luhrmann managed in Elvis (2022), it’s reduced to just a whistlestop trip through the stress and confusion of live TV.

This is enjoyable enough – seeing the likes of Ackroyd and Chase in their nascent form, with their charisma, talent, and egos given free reign is a real highlight.

However, where it has a tendency to fall flat is – ironically – in the show’s content. The brief glimpses of the sketches are not exactly side-splitters, despite the reaction of the crew to “bits” like Kaufman attempting to lip-synch to the Mighty Mouse theme.

Of course, this stuff is subjective, but if you don’t find the output funny, it’s hard to really grasp how the show moved the needle and won over the network fuddy-duds.

Overall, this is an entertaining “where it all began” movie that shows us the messy and uncertain origins of an anarchic hit, which – 50 years later – is still going strong.

However, while the point of Saturday Night is that it’s claustrophobic and told in real time, a bit more context setting might have helped a wider audience to understand the cultural shift which resulted from those 90 frantic minutes.

Writer takeaways

1. Writing “real time”

Writing a film which unfolds in real time means compressing the narrative into around 90 minutes. This is a great hook, which helps to strip away all the unimportant detail and focus on the story. The downside can be a lack of depth and character development.

However, the protagonist in Saturday Night still arcs, going from not knowing what the show’s about to being able to articulate it towards the end. Likewise, the cast and crew get it together before showtime. They all go on a journey. There’s even room for a subplot around Michaels and Rosie’s relationship, even if it’s not fully fleshed out.

A small but effective detail in Saturday Night is the clock. It doesn’t just show us the time, but the time clicking down. In several places in the script, Michaels also gives us a time check. Notice that this is usually a non-round number. Again, it’s all about heightening the tension and using the real time framing to the strongest effect.

2. Writing “chaos”

The key to this film is the chaotic nature of putting together not just a TV show but a live TV show.

In the film, some of the detail and lines are lost in the kerfuffle. However, take a look at the script to see the “ER-style” techniques the writers use to pull this off. From the device of following different characters, to the choice of descriptive words (peel off, doors fly open, everyone jumps to their feet, etc.), to the mix of overlapping dialogue and physical action. There are also the unexpected moments, with the appearance of a llama and – later – a fake blood machine.

Along the way, we meet all the main players and understand the challenges facing Michaels. Even though history tells us he pulled it off, there’s plenty going on to suggest he won’t, which keeps us hooked.

3. Importance of putting “disruptive” events into context

As our review notes, one of the weaker parts of Saturday Night is that it doesn’t make the significance of the show clear to audiences unaware of its cultural context. In order to get disruption, we have to get what is being disrupted.

The script for Saturday Night includes a scene in Act Three in which Michaels flees the studio and walks down the street. He “encounters” an array of characters which Saturday Night Live would introduce – including Wayne and Garth & The Blues Brothers. Later seasons of the show also showcased the talents of Steve Martin and Bill Murray. This small addition shows us what the future holds for this experimental show.

Another way could have been a short montage at the beginning of the existing TV landscape. For a great example of this, take a look at the opening to The Trial of the Chicago 7 (2020). The first 12 pages are devoted to a sprawling montage-history lesson which sets up the significance of what’s to come.

As a newer writer without a track record, trying to break in is hard but limiting your script’s appeal to those who already know the context of your story is risky.

Also watch…

Being the Ricardos (2021): Aaron Sorkin takes us on a detailed, nostalgia-rich journey behind the scenes of The Lucy Show. It focuses on a period rife with conflict, not only between Lucille Ball and husband Desi Arnaz but the Communist witch-hunts, which threatened to derail TV’s most beloved star.

September 5 (2024): A TV sports broadcasting unit covering the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich must pivot when Israeli athletes are taken hostage by a terrorist group. Another example of a movie taking us on an “as it happens” journey, only this time in the thriller genre.

Late Night with the Devil (2023): Fortunately not a fact-based film, this is still a great example of a film unfolding in real time, as a talk show goes live on Halloween and invites in a demonic spirit. It’s also notable for its authentic recreation of 1970s television.

A Futile and Stupid Gesture (2018): Another tale of how an American comedy institution was born in this story of Doug Kenney – co-founder of the National Lampoon empire. Beginning life as a magazine in the 1970s, the brand extended into books, live comedy and, of course, movies (here, Joel McHale takes on the role of Chevy Chase).

Screenwriters: Bradley Cooper and Josh Singer

Director: Bradley Cooper

Script source: Script Slug

Summary

When Leonard Bernstein (Bradley Cooper), the assistant conductor of the New York Philharmonic, gets the opportunity to take centre stage, it launches a decades-long, high-profile career as a conductor, composer, pianist, and educator. Despite his attraction to men, he marries actress Felicia Montealegre (Carey Mulligan), who remains by his side for over 25 years.

Review

The first thing to note is that Maestro is quite the achievement, which is largely down to Cooper’s commitment as director, co-writer and lead actor.

However, the overall success of the film is mixed. On one hand, Maestro can be praised for its boldness and artistry. On the other hand, it can be faulted for moving so far away from the “biopic” mould that it leaves the viewer lacking a fulsome sense of what really drove Bernstein as a creative.

The film starts in 1943 with Bernstein’s big break and his early relationship with Felicia. It then moves us forward to the mid-1950s, with Bernstein now a widely acclaimed conductor and composer, married to Felicia and with two young children. It is the marriage of Bernstein and Felicia which is at the centre of the film.

The main problem with this aspect of the story is that when they meet and marry, Bernstein is, well, Bernstein: exuberant, dedicated to his career, the toast of the town, flirtatious, universally loved – and in a relationship with a man.

These elements of his character are present throughout the film. Likewise, Felicia is an accomplished actor with her own career. The fact she comes to rue the compromise and sacrifice forced upon her by his self-centred brilliance and not so discreet dalliances drains some of the impact.

We get a good idea of dalliances but had we seen more of the brilliance, it would have enhanced the “domestic” elements of the story, particularly in the later years when things come to a head and they separate.

While the soundtrack is fused with Bernstein’s music, too little emphasis is placed on how that work was created.

Early scenes feature such key figures as Aaron Copeland, Jerome Robbins, Adolph Green and Betty Comden (and even a passing mention of a young “Stevie” Sondheim). However, they get pretty short shrift as the drama moves us on to Bernstein and Felicia.

Throughout, Bernstein’s career is presented as an unmitigated success, with his frustration over what he sees as a creative life of too little accomplishment quickly glossed over in an interview.

One of the features of Maestro is that we are “told” a lot of things.

Candide and West Side Story are casually dropped into the dialogue, while Bernstein’s resume is recounted by TV interviewers.

In terms of his stage musical output, only On the Town gets any real attention but this quickly becomes a fantasy dance sequence involving Bernstein, Felicia and a trio of handsome sailors. There is more focus on his conducting, with scenes showing us his bombastic energy and intensity. It is in these scenes in which the real Bernstein emerges and we see what he means when he tells us how music runs in his veins.

As Bernstein says in an early scene with Felicia, like her, he is a person compiled from various “pieces”. This fragmentation is mirrored in the stylised direction, which works both for and against the film.

Elements such as the switch from black & white to colour and the Thanksgiving Day parade scene, in which an absurdly large inflatable Snoopy intrudes on an emotionally wrought scene between Bernstein and Felicia elevate the film. However, some of the other “arty” aspects detract and distract from the drama.

Overall, while it is easy to appreciate the amount of work that went into bringing Maestro to the screen, the overriding feeling is that this was a slightly missed opportunity to explore its subject in real depth.

Spending more screen time blending Bernstein’s creative struggles, his inner turmoil, his contradictions and his public face with the complications of his private life might have served to present the pieces of this uniquely gifted artist as a more dramatically compelling whole.

Writer takeaway

The main lesson I took from Maestro was the importance of having a bold vision for your story. Writing comes down to making choices – and here, there was a clear intent in how the story was told, from the focus on Bernstein’s marriage to the stylised framing.

For more on Bernstein, here’s an interview with the man himself:

Director: Julian Schnabel

Screenwriters: Jean-Claude Carrière, Julian Schnabel and Louise Kugelberg

Synopsis:

*Spoilers* In what would be the final years of his life, struggling Dutch painter Vincent van Gogh (1853 to 1890) exiles himself in Arles and Auvers-Sur-Oise.

Financially supported by his loving brother, Theo, Vincent uses his time in the French countryside to develop his distinctive colourful painting style. He also develops a strong attachment to fellow painter Paul Gauguin, but suffers mentally, experiencing visions and violent erratic behaviour.

When Gauguin leaves, Vincent spirals downward, ending up in an asylum. Finally released, he goes to live with a doctor (the subject of one of his most famous paintings, The Portrait of Doctor Gachet). He dies shortly thereafter of a mysterious gunshot wound.

Review

*Spoilers* At Eternity’s Gate (named for one of Vincent van Gogh’s more emotive works) succeeds on many levels, but falters elsewhere, leaving us with an intriguing companion piece to Lust for Life (1956), which covers similar ground.

While his paintings now sell for millions and are considered masterpieces, Vincent was a troubled man whose talents were largely unrecognised during his lifetime (he died at 37). At Eternity’s Gate focuses on his final years, highlighting the contrast between his positive development as the artist we know today and the negative metal decline he experienced, culminating in a sad and untimely demise.

When Gauguin (Oscar Isaac) left Auvers-Sur-Oise, Vincent decided an appropriate response was to slice off an ear and send it to his friend, handing the severed body part to a waitress at a local café to post. It was this behaviour that landed Vincent in hospital and then an asylum, where he continued to flourish as an artist. It is this balance between the man and his work that provides the central thread to the story.

As portrayed by the ever-compelling Willem Dafoe, Vincent is presented as brilliant, tormented, reflective and self-aware. The artist was far from a raging madman and the isolated ear-slicing incident that has become one of his defining biographical details is put into context here. The filmmakers are more interested in the ‘why’ than the ‘what’ and avoid showing us the gory details.

It is made clear that Vincent understood his mental state and was determined to show people how he saw the world through his paintings. He was also highly spiritual, believing his painting ability was the only gift God bestowed upon him. This is revealed through a forthright discussion with a priest (Mads Mikkelsen), who dismisses one of his paintings as ugly, even turning it to face a wall.

Vincent’s mental state fed his art, his commitment to which kept him isolated from a largely hostile world, further driving his mental decline. Throughout, the film channels Vincent’s point-of-view, showing us his perspective on the world, including scenes in which the other characters directly address the camera, speaking to him and us simultaneously.

The result is a highly intimate portrait of the complexity of Vincent. Indeed, one of the more touching scenes comes when Theo (Rupert Friend) comes to visit his brother in hospital. The affection between the brothers is palpable, as is Vincent’s deep vulnerability.

A further strength of the film is how much time it devotes to showing us Vincent’s artistic process. We see just how he was captivated by light and how he embraced nature, mixing vibrant colours and obsessively trying to express on canvas what he saw. The finished works are on display throughout, showing us just how prolific this period of Vincent’s life was, including the iconic Sunflowers and some of his other more famous pieces.

Where the film falters is in some of the dramatic choices. In a 2019 article on the film for The Art Newspaper, van Gogh specialist Martin Bailey singles out two bones of contention. Firstly, in the film, it is suggested that van Gogh was shot by a young man, when it is widely assumed that Vincent died by his own hand. Secondly, the film references a blank ledger that Vincent fills with sketches, which was stuck on a shelf and forgotten until 2016. Bailey notes that the art world accepts the sketches in the ledger are not Vincent’s work. These choices seem strange, as they do not benefit the narrative or alter the outcome. It could be argued they even weaken the story.

Factual discrepancies aside, what At Eternity’s Gate achieves is to give audiences a deeper understanding of Vincent, the man, as well as a deeper appreciation of van Gogh, the artist.

Writer takeaways

Usually, screenwriters make changes to historical events in order to strengthen the screen narrative in some way or to present a certain point-of-view. However, in this case, the changes made seem to make little difference to the story, except to call its accuracy into question.

Much of what actually occurred in Arles and Auvers-Sur-Oise when Vincent was alone simply can’t be known. But there is enough interest in Vincent and his work to have drawn the attention of art experts and history scholars, so that his final years have been well documented.

Of course, this is a dramatization and not a documentary, as Bailey acknowledges. Indeed, he describes the story as an “imaginary two-hour journey”, with Schnabel “embroidering” the facts to present his own “slant on the artist’s life”.

As with any biographical drama, it is important viewers recognise the ‘drama’ aspect and to not assume all is fact.

It’s equally important us to be clear why we’re making changes to the historical narrative. In this case, the decisions seem to be driven simply by the filmmakers favouring certain minority theories about van Gogh, rather to enhance the screen narrative.

Writer/director: John Ridley

Summary

*Spoilers*. 1972. Shirley Chisholm, the first black woman elected to Congress, embarks on a long-shot (and ultimately doomed) run for the US presidency. Supported by a team of faithful followers, including her low-key husband, and working with a shoestring budget, Shirley takes on the establishment to spread her “give politics back to all the people” message.

She faces political resistance, discrimination, personal conflict, and turmoil within her team as the campaign moves towards the Democratic Convention, where a candidate will be chosen to take on Republican incumbent Richard Nixon.

Review

*Spoilers*. In 1968 (the height of the Vietnam War and Civil Rights Movement), Brooklyn school teacher Shirley Chisholm (Regina King), the daughter of immigrants from Barbados, became the first black woman elected to Congress.

She faced pushback from bigoted colleagues who took umbrage at her equal pay, and had to fight the House leader over her appointment to the agriculture committee. She later worked to alleviate poverty, end the war, and promote gender and racial equality. In 1972, she decided to run for president.

At this point, we are about 10 minutes into the film…

This biographical summary highlights one of the main problems of Shirley, namely that it fails to place its protagonist into her historical context. We are “told” a lot about Ms. Chisholm but this does not translate into satisfying drama. When we first meet her, she is “formed”. Already a leader and trailblazer, she is unafraid to go up against the establishment and stand her ground, proud of being black and of being a woman.

While there are some instances during the film of her façade cracking, such as her reaction when her husband Conrad (Michael Cherrie) balks at being pushed into the background and a rift with her sister Murial (Reina King), we are never in doubt that Shirley will push on, regardless of the outcome of her presidential bid.

This leads into the second problem, which is that writer/director John Ridley chooses to focus on a dramatically unsatisfying episode of Shirley’s life. Her presidential bid becomes more of a docu-drama, in which Shirley’s political operatives weigh up which states they should target and mutter about delegate counts.

There are moments of drama, such as an attempt on Shirley’s life by a deranged stranger and the frustration her single-mindedness causes among her team, as they try to navigate the political landscape and to refine her messaging. However, the lack of real stakes is always apparent.

Significant events which merit far deeper consideration are almost side-lined. These include the landmark legal case in which one of her team, Robert Gottlieb (still a law student at the time), successfully challenged the ‘big three’ TV networks (NBC, ABC and CBS) over Shirley being barred from the televised debates.

We don’t even get to see Shirley up on the stage going toe-to-toe with her rivals – though we’re told she’s a terrific debater.

Likewise, the fallout among Chisholm’s black supporters after she visits bigoted Alabama Governor George Wallace in hospital when he was paralysed in a shooting becomes a damp squib. Even the implications of Chisholm courting the support of the more radical Black Panthers is not really explored, beyond a testy meeting with the movement’s leader, Huey Newton (Brad James).

However, amid all of this is a regal performance from King as Shirley. King holds the screen throughout, infusing Ms. Chisholm with the right balance of strength and vulnerability. Her layered performance makes up for some of the deficiencies in the drama, suggesting the struggles Shirley went through before we meet her.

There is also great support from Cherrie as her supportive but frustrated husband; the late Lance Reddick as her long-time advisor ‘Mac’ Holder; and Terrence Howard as her confidante Arthur Hardwick Jr. Rounding out Chisholm’s team is Lucas Hedges as Gottlieb, Christina Jackson as young single mother Barbara Lee, who Shirley takes under her wing, and Brian Stokes Mitchell as wily political operator Stanley Townsend.

In the end, Shirley’s presidential bid fizzles out at the Miami Democratic convention with a not-unexpected last-minute bait-and-switch over delegates involving duplicitous fellow black candidate Walter Fauntroy (charismatically played by André Holland).

We then get the obligatory “what happened next?” text, in this case letting us know, among other things, that Shirley continued in Congress for the next decade, divorced Conrad and married Hardwick. We also get a lovely cameo from the real Barbara Lee, a long-time US Representative. However, this section simply emphasises how Shirley ultimately misses the mark, narratively and dramatically.

Overall, while it is well-acted, interesting in places, and worthy in its intentions, Shirley feels like an episode in a longer TV mini-series, an approach which may have better served the life, struggles, and many achievements of Ms. Chisholm.

Writer takeaways

1. Choose the strongest narrative arc: The most successful biopics tend to home in on a single episode in the subject’s life. However, it is important to choose the strongest episode that highlights the subject’s struggles, amplifies the many facets of their character, places them into their historical context, and emphasises their impact on the world. A good recent example is Rustin (2023), in which we follow protagonist Bayard Rustin as he organises the landmark 1963 March on Washington, D.C.

2. Think about your format: If there is just too much material to comfortably fit into a feature (looking in your direction, Oppenheimer (2023)), maybe your story lends itself to a broader, streamer-friendly mini-series. Likewise, if your mini-series idea is more filler than killer, streamlining it into a feature might be the best way forward. In this case, a series following Shirley from Brooklyn schoolteacher to her latter achievements as a multi-term Congresswoman via her presidential bid would have been a deeper and far more satisfying piece of work (especially given the strength of the cast).

3. Remember the stakes: One of the big let-downs in Shirley is the lack of stakes. While her run for the presidency was notable, it was always a loser. Not only did Shirley fail in her bid to move the needle for the Democratic race, the process ultimately led to the re-election of Richard Nixon. She was a successful member of Congress at the start and continued as such post-election. There is no question that Shirley was a trailblazer but choosing her presidential run as the focus of the film drained the story of the personal and political stakes needed to maximize the drama.

Find out more about Shirley Chisholm:

• https://www.archives.gov/research/african-americans/individuals/shirley-chisholm

• https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/shirley-chisholm

Director: Baz Luhrmann

Screenwriters: Baz Luhrmann, Sam Bromell, Craig Pearce and Jeremy Doner

Script sources: Script Slug / Deadline

Summary

An ailing Col. Tom Parker (Tom Hanks) narrates the story of how he transformed Elvis Presley (Austin Butler) from small time singer into the world’s biggest star.

Review

Early in the film, we are introduced to the mesh of influences that informed the musical life of Elvis: the sexual power of rock ‘n roll; the spirituality of the black church and gospel; and the soul of blues and r ‘n b music. We are also introduced to Col. Parker, whose background was in the carnival and the novelty acts that were there to draw in the punters and separate them from their money (or ‘snow-making’, as Parker calls it).

Luhrmann infuses all these influences to bring us a fantastical tale wrapped in showmanship that perfectly captures Presley’s aura, while showing us a little of the man beneath the persona.

Bookended by a bejewelled black screen, the film offers up full sensory overload, driven by the spectacular musical performances.

Lots has been made of Butler’s full-on Elvis transformation and all the praise is well deserved. As well as looking the part, he captures the excitement, energy and edginess of the younger Elvis, as well as his later complexities, insecurities and contradictions.

This is no mean feat, given the whistle-stop nature of the film that whips us through the whole Presley saga – from his humble roots through to the gruelling Vegas years that precipitated his death at age 42.

Along the way, we get a fantastic tour of Beale Street, as Elvis absorbs the music and comes into contact with a young BB King (Kelvin Harrison Jr) and a magnificently flamboyant Little Richard. We also see him draw inspiration from the likes of Arthur ‘Big Boy’ Crudup (Gary Clark Jr), Sister Rosetta Tharpe (Yola), and Big Mama Thornton (Shonka Dukureh). Elvis may have helped to make black music mainstream, but the film never lets us forget where that sound came from.

It also underlines Elvis’ social conscious, as he reacts to tragic events taking place in the US at the time, such as the assassinations of Robert Kennedy and Dr Martin Luther King Jr.

If there are negatives, the cacophony of overlapping images and sound is sometimes a little too ‘noisy’ and, for a film that runs over 2.5 hours, some of the pitstops are a little too brief. For example, the ‘Elvis in Hollywood’ years are a mere footnote, which is fine, except when Presley reveals a deep desire to be a great actor, in the vein of James Dean, there’s no real context for this.

It’s been well-documented that being forced to make frothy vehicles for his singing instead of quality movies was soul destroying for Elvis. However, here the frivolity of Hollywood is instead juxtaposed with the death of Dr King.

Wider criticisms of the film seem to fall into two categories: the shallow nature of the narrative; and the use of Col. Parker as the narrator (albeit an unreliable one).

Given the stylised nature of the film and the fact it covers so much ground, it’s not surprising that it has attracted accusations of superficiality. However, outside of the flashiness, the film actually cuts through the Elvis mystique to give us hints of a complex man; at once confident and shy, determined and lost, musically gifted but uncertain of his place in the entertainment world.

The quick cutting of the film mirrors his unpredictable, unfocused nature, as we see Elvis dreaming of stardom, embracing the controversy of his ‘lewd’ movements, and enjoying his power over his audience, including the female adoration, then later expressing his longing to become a serious actor, and then of returning to his gospel-inspired roots.

The film captures it all, showing us how Elvis became a brand, complete with the paid hangers-on and tacky merchandise, with Parker as the driving force and Presley at the centre. The craziness of the presentation is ideally suited to the craziness of the Elvis universe, with the money flowing like water, Graceland becoming an adult playground, and the next snow-making scheme always brewing.

The second criticism is that presenting Parker in a sympathetic light is problematic, given the accusations that he was largely responsible for Elvis’ breakdown and demise.

However, it’s important that we (or at least Elvis) believe Parker was personally invested in Presley, rather than just seeing him as a cash cow. The Elvis presented here is not a weak man, as has been suggested, who was under the thumb of Parker.

The best example of this is when Elvis teams up with a couple of hippy-type producers – one of whom candidly tells Presley his career is ‘in the toilet’ – to put together the ’68 TV special, which resurrected him as a performer. Meant to be a festive family special, Elvis goes rogue to present his music in his way. All the while, Parker tries to finesse the sponsors, who have been promised a cosy Christmas show and balk at the black leather and social activism. Ultimately, Elvis gets his way.

While Hanks’ performance as Parker has been called annoying and distracting, questionable accent aside, his portrayal of him as a slightly ridiculous grandfatherly character ensures he comes across as sly but benign, a façade that belies his true motives.

Parker doesn’t ‘get’ the music, but from the first sexually-charged performance, he sure gets the audience reaction, and the snow-making possibilities it offers. If Parker was presented as an out-and-out villain, it would be less believable that Elvis would keep him around. The Parker in the film is manipulative but not overtly controlling, getting what he wants but making Elvis believe he’s working in his best interests.

Indeed, one of the best sequences happens in Act III, when Parker sets Elvis up at the newly-opened International Hotel in Vegas. His early performances at the venue were full of life and energy. Elvis enjoyed an unlimited budget and the freedom to create his own show, complete with an orchestra and two back-up groups.

However, this is intercut with Col. Parker doing a deal with the hotel’s owners that torpedoes Elvis’ dreams of touring overseas and locks him in to the International for what turned out to be 800+ gruelling shows that ruined his creativity and his health.

Seeing Elvis at his peak as a performer, while watching Parker sign away his future on a napkin so he can pay his own gambling debts and (as an illegal alien) avoid travelling overseas is a simple yet emotive sequence that highlights the ‘complex simplicity’ of the narrative and the power of the moving image.

Throughout the film, Elvis is not afraid to confront or defy Parker but was ultimately tied to him financially, to the point where cutting him loose would have ruined Presley.

In a telling scene, towards the end, we see Parker dictating his list of ‘expenses’ that date back over 20 years to the beginning of their relationship, including a few bucks for gas money. When the bill of $8.5m is presented, Elvis realises he’ll never be free of Parker and acquiesces to the brutal Vegas schedule.

Overall, the film is not a scathing exposé of Elvis, nor is it an unmitigated love letter. We get a glimpse of the extra-marital affairs and how he drove his wife Priscilla (an effective if underused Olivia DeJonge) away, and we see Elvis’ downward spiral, paranoia and drug abuse.

Ironically, given the bombastic nature of the film, Elvis’ demise is handled subtly and briefly, with the intercutting of the fictional and real Elvises (again, highlighting Butler’s awesome transformation, which, it should be noted, never strays into mere impersonator territory).

Likewise, this is not a sympathetic portrait of Parker. He’s a master of the spiel and that’s what he spins us in his voice-over narration. He sells us his side of the story but the focus of the film is Elvis, whose life is juxtaposed with Parker’s actions and comments.

This allows us to judge for ourselves whether the fake colonel (aka Andreas Cornelis van Kuijk) really is the bad guy or just a small-time carnie with a dodgy past whose ultimate novelty act got far bigger than either of them could have dreamed.

In the end, the film is really a love letter to cinema itself and the sheer visual spectacle that results when a visionary director like Luhrmann takes on a unique, almost mythical, subject like The King of Rock ‘n Roll, Elvis Presley.

Writer takeaway

My main takeaway from Elvis is the visual power of cinema and how that starts on the page. Reading the 175-page script is a wonderful lesson in how to balance the demands of storytelling and spectacle.

It’s also a great example of crafting a full-life biopic in a way that leaves the audience feeling like they’ve got a fresh perspective on a well-known figure.

Go further

Peter Guralnick’s two-volume set of non-fiction books, Last Train To Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presley & Careless Love: The Unmaking of Elvis Presley, flesh out the Elvis story in such an in-depth way that they make the perfect companion to the movie.

You might also want to check out EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert (2026), which is comprised of restored concert footage unearthed by Luhrmann.

Writer/director: Sean Durkin

Script source: Script Slug

Summary

Known as Texas “wrestling royalty” in the 1980s, the Von Erich family is headed by formidable patriarch Fritz (Holt McCallany), who built a career around wrestling (including his feared “Iron Claw” move). While his sons are expected to follow in his footsteps, a series of tragedies threatens the family legacy.

Review

Written and directed by Sean Durkin, The Iron Claw is one of those films that if it wasn’t based on (or inspired by) historical events, would probably have been dismissed as being too far-fetched.

While it has plenty working in its favour, the odd pacing drains some of the emotional engagement out of the tragic tale of the Von Erichs, a “cursed” family of professional wrestlers.

(For those unfamiliar with wrestling, this is not the “grappling on the ground” of The Foxcatcher (2014); it’s more Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler (2008) but with slightly less of a pantomime feel.)

After a preamble which sets up the family and bookends the narrative, we meet the eldest living son Eric (the actual eldest boy died in childhood).

Clearly the heir apparent, Eric (Zac Efron) – with a bulked-up physique and boxy haircut that make him look a bit like a non-green Lou Ferrigno in The Incredible Hulk TV show – pushes himself to the limits to achieve success in the ring.

Close behind him is David (Harris Dickinson), less ripped but better than Eric at the obligatory showman-esque smack talk. There’s also Mike (Stanley Simons), a gentler soul who would rather write music than body slam The Sheik.

Rounding out the quartet is Kerry (Jeremy Allen White), a talented discus thrower headed for the 1980 Olympics. When the US boycotts the Olympics, Kerry dons the trunks and joins Eric and David in the ring.

The bond between the brothers is strong, and while they defer to their old man, it is obvious that he’s a toxic presence.

Driven, living vicariously through his boys, and intolerant of weakness and outward emotion, he pushes them to be better. But, in the process, breaks each of them to varying degrees.

Fritz is enabled by the boys’ God-fearing mother Doris (Maura Tierney), whose response any time one of her sons wants to discuss something mushy is “go talk to your brothers”.

The result is a dysfunctional family dynamic where love and respect are measured in degrees of punishment in the ring, and traumas are suppressed until they come out in devastating ways.

For the first half of the film, the narrative largely revolves around the brothers’ relationship with each other and the ring, as Eric is groomed by Fritz to get a shot at the world heavyweight title.

Those not initiated into the world of pro wrestling might be a bit confused as to how you can become a champion in something choreographed and seemingly without rules. This is somewhat explained by Eric on his first date with Pam (Lily James). Apparently, it’s simply a reward for being good at the moves and for entertaining the crowd.

In the context of the story, it symbolizes shallow success. Just as the “prize” of working hard to win the fleeting praise of Fritz comes at a cost, the physical exertion needed to win over the baying crowd lands the ultimately meaningless “prize” of the title belt.

Cracks start to appear, as the brothers each take their turn at being Fritz’s favourite.

As Eric dedicates himself to the ring, David’s finesse pushes him up the pecking order, while Kerry’s welcome return to the family turns the brothers into the feared Von Erich trio. All the while, Michael grapples with being the odd one out. As a subplot, Eric is pursued by the relentless Pam, who makes it clear from day one that marriage is in their future.

At midpoint, the tone shifts. Eric marries a pregnant Pam but very quickly the first tragedy strikes, as David dies unexpectedly. This loss hardly has time to settle before Kerry heads off for what we guess is a doomed night-time motorbike ride. The next thing we know, he’s struggling to cope with losing a foot. An underprepared Michael is co-opted into the ring in a clearly unwise move which ends in surgery that leaves him brain damaged.

Before the end of the film, Michael and Kerry both die by suicide, leaving Eric as the only living Von Erich son.

Unfortunately, this litany of woe is so compressed that there really isn’t any time for each event to reverberate before the next tragedy befalls the family.

The timeline rolls on, glossing over multiple years and events. In one scene, Eric and Pam have a baby, then in the next they have two young sons and a third on the way. Eric takes over the wrestling business and Fritz is pushed into the background.

One of the best sequences comes toward the end when Kerry (who leaves the family to wrestle for the then-WWF) comes home for Christmas. This opens a vein of suppressed emotion, which leads to Eric finally feeling the full weight of what’s come before.

Throughout, the wrestling scenes are intense, even wince-inducing, while the acting is great. The Von Erichs are well-cast, with Efron mining plenty from his role as Eric, whose physical appearance and stoic persona cover up a lifetime of pent-up frustration.

Overall, this is an effective film, which covers a period in the lives of one family, whose name was both a blessing and a curse. If only there had been a little breathing room between the unrelenting tragedy, it might have created something that reverberated in a more drastically satisfying way.

Writer takeaway

As I note in the review, the main issues with The Iron Claw are the problems created by back-to-back tragedies and compressing an elongated timeline. It highlights the challenge of effective pacing in stories built around real-life events. Here, the writer had little choice but to bunch up the various tragic episodes, which undermines an otherwise strong film.

Writer/director: Jeff Nichols

Inspired by: Danny Lyon’s 1967 photo-book, The Bikeriders.

Script source: Indie Wire

Review

*Spoilers* It’s always unfair to make creative comparisons between films, as they ought to be judged on their own merits. However, with The Bikeriders, the influence of Goodfellas (1990) is hard to ignore – from the ‘family’ dynamics to the ‘wall of sound’ soundtrack (even Muddy Waters fades in for a few bars), to the casual violence and the hand-wringing women who marry into this world. The comparison extends to the structure, with an episodic narrative and voiceover technique.

Inspired by Danny Lyon’s 1967 photo-book of the same name, which told of the Outlaws club, The Bikeriders employs the device of a photographer putting together a book, who is invited in to record and photographs the bikers. However, his focus is on Kathy, who acts as our guide through the world of the fictional Vandals and whose personal recollections shape the story.

While presumably used in deference to the source material, the technique feels like a bit of a misstep, interrupting and fragmenting the action as we cut back and forth between the bikers and Kathy’s interview.

The film would have benefitted from spending some of this ‘interview’ time setting up the characters and their relationships more fully.

For example, we never learn what drove Benny to join the group or why he’s so loyal to Johnny. Similarly, aside from knowing he liked Marlon Brando in The Wild One (1953), we don’t understand what compels Johnny, a family man with a steady job, to invest himself so fully in this group that he’s willing to risk his life to keep his position as its leader.

Likewise, there’s a lack of context. Towards the end, we’re told that this was the ‘golden age’ of biker clubs. However, the wider implications of this aren’t really explored, beyond a few scuffles between rival clubs and an outlier from California rolling into town for a good time.

More importantly, given Kathy’s central role, we never really see her and Benny’s relationship take root or develop. Any chemistry between this mismatched duo is either non-existent or simply not given time to come through.

A brief bar meeting and an exhilarating bike ride, followed by a ‘red flags flying’ stalker move by Benny is all we get before she tells the interviewer matter-of-factly that she married him a few weeks later.

A scene or two revealing their individual motivations and deepening their connection would have made this a far more satisfying journey. As it is, they share very little screen (or bike-riding) time, making the third act resolution feel a bit thin.

As Benny, Butler does a great ‘brooding loner who’s not afraid of a fight’ but it would have been good to see other dimensions of his character, as the actor did so well in Elvis (2022). Without this layer of characterisation, the ‘torn loyalty’ aspect of the story is lost.

Comer makes a committed but grating (verging on annoying) Kathy, constantly fretting over the reality of the life she chose with her cool-looking but emotionally distant biker.

Kathy casually throws around colourful biker-guy monikers and recounts episodes of appalling violence like a Mob wife but there’s no real traction or explanation. One minute she’s shocked by the rough and ready lifestyle, the next she’s a willing participant, with Vandals hanging out at her house and parking their machines on her lawn.

At the beginning, the biker world is so alien to her that we need a more satisfying reason why she would commit herself to that life.

Without investing us in Kathy and Benny’s relationship, all we have is the spectre of the ‘what the hell did you expect?’ question hanging over her story.

As Johnny, Hardy is a charismatic and world-weary leader, ambling and mumbling through the story, almost resigned to a grim fate yet doggedly holding on to his slice of power. His attachment to Benny is another aspect of the film which could have used more attention.

Of the bikers, not surprisingly, Michael Shannon is a standout, using his scant screen time to good effect, revealing the kind of depth lacking elsewhere.

Throughout, the action scenes are visceral and evocative, whether that’s the sight of the Vandals swarming into town on their machines or the down-and-dirty violence that overshadows their world.

This again draws parallels – both complementary and otherwise – with Martin Scorsese and Nicholas Pileggi’s Mob classic.

Goodfellas works because we see what Henry Hill sees. From the moment he watches from his bedroom window as those gangsters fool around outside the cab stand, we understand the seductive allure of Mob life against the realities of growing up in a neighbourhood of ‘nobodies’. The contrast of the glamour and the hole-digging. The normalisation and justification of the criminal behaviour. The privileges and sacrifices that come with being part of the ‘family’. It all culminates in Henry’s ultimate fate worse than death – ending up another suburban ‘schnook’.

However, with The Bikeriders, this balance is missing and so are the heart and the stakes.

Overall, The Bikeriders feels authentic, has some strong performances, and projects a gritty energy, effectively dropping us into this closed world of leather jacket-clad outcasts. However, while it’s a wild ride, the lack of depth, cohesiveness and emotional engagement makes it an equally frustrating one.

Writer takeaway

The Bikeriders highlights the ongoing debate about when a script is deemed an adaptation. In this instance, the credited source of inspiration is Danny Lyon’s 1967 photo-book of the same name. As well as images, the book contains transcribed interviews.

However, as reported by Variety, when awards season rolled around, the film’s writer (and director) Jeff Nichols found himself in the ‘original screenplay’ category.

Why? Essentially, it was because a photo book with anecdotes doesn’t have a defined narrative (although the point of photojournalism is to tell a story in images – a bit like a film). Interestingly, though, the book’s creator Lyon inspired the character of Danny, the photojournalist who chronicles the fictional motorbike gang.

However, it seems that the lack of a cohesive story to adapt is what makes the script original.

Other true-life films flagged in the article include Moonlight (2016), based on an unpublished play, and Nichols’ previous work Loving (2016), which cited documentary The Loving Story by Nancy Buirski as its foundation. Both of these films found themselves moved between the original and adapted categories.

It all highlights the grey area between what qualifies as a new narrative as opposed to one that’s been adapted from pre-existing material. Officially, these decisions are made in offices at the Writer’s Guild and the various awards’ bodies which apply their own criteria and reasoning.

From a writer’s POV, the main thing to appreciate is the sheer breadth of source material out there which can provide a jumping off point for screen drama. It also highlights the work that goes into the process of creating a script which has a coherent narrative and developed characters.

As Nichols told Variety:

If you want to watch the original biker movie, track down the Marlon Brando classic The Wild One (1953). It was based on a short story, “Cyclists’ Raid” by Frank Rooney ( published in January 1951 by Harper’s Magazine), which was inspired by news coverage of a1947 American Motorcyclist Association motorcycle rally in Hollister, California.

For the ultimate account of biker life, check out Hell’s Angels by Hunter S. Thompson (1966):

Screenwriter: Julia Cox

Directors: Jimmy Chin and Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi

Script source: Deadline

Based on: Diana Nyad’s book, Find a Way.

Summary

At the age of 60, sports broadcaster and retired professional swimmer Diana Nyad (Annette Bening) decides to return to the water in a bid to become the first person to complete the 110-mile open ocean swim from Cuba to Key West without a shark cage – a challenge known as the ‘Mount Everest of swims’.

With the help of long-time friend Bonnie Stoll (Jodie Foster), Nyad embarks on a multi-year journey to achieve the goal she was unable to attain as a younger woman.

Review

*Spoilers* Nyad is the latest in the line of “against the odds” sports biopics. Working in the film’s favour is a committed central performance by Bening and a lovely supporting turn by Foster as Diana’s devoted friend Bonnie, who becomes her tireless supporter and coach.

A short opening sequence shows us (the real) Diana as a younger woman, conquering the open water swimming world but falling short when it came to the Cuba-Florida test. This effectively sets up her character before we meet her decades later.

Turning 60 and long-retired from swimming, Diana has built a successful career as a broadcaster – but harbours a lingering desire to complete the 110-mile swim which alluded her in her prime.

By the time she dons the swimsuit, we know she has the skills and focus to succeed. We also appreciate the scale of her challenge.

Once Diana has committed to the swim and Bonnie has signed on, the real preparations begin. Along the way, she recruits a loyal crew, including seasoned maritime expert John Bartlett (Rhys Ifans), who is always ready with a philosophical quip or a dire warning about the conditions at sea. The kinship which develops between Bartlett and Bonnie is a nice touch.

The scenes of Diana in training for her swim(s) are effective and there are enough setbacks along the way to keep us interested. The fact that the weather and tidal conditions only give Diana a short opportunity each year to complete the swim adds a ticking clock to the action. In reality, the swim took four years to complete, following several aborted attempts.

During Act Two, the action does get a little repetitive, with scenes of Diana ploughing on though the harsh conditions of the Florida Straits. However, this is partly the point, as we see first-hand just what it takes to complete the Mount Everest of swims.

As attempt after attempt fails, the story gets a little bogged down, as Diana regroups, gets the team back together and tries again. The writer does a good job in making each of these attempts harder than the next, especially when the jellyfish make an appearance, and by mixing things up, such as the eerie night swimming and the mental toll the arduous swim takes on Diana.

On the negative side, Diana is quite a hard character to root for. Undoubtedly determined and possessing an inner drive and strength which most people lack, she is also flinty and self-absorbed, seemingly oblivious to the sacrifices those around her are making and the strain her efforts to complete the swim are putting on others, especially Bonnie.

Even when Bonnie finally puts her foot down, balking at Diana’s desire to make yet another attempt, it’s a short-lived fight which is only ever going to be resolved in one way. In fact, the whole team coalesces around Diana as her quest drags on, with Bartlett, in particular, giving up what turns out to be precious time to her endeavour.

Brief flashbacks to Diana’s childhood add depth to her character, as things with her jovial school swimming coach take a dark turn. While this aspect is not fully explored, it does serve to explain Diana’s controlling nature and her need to put up an emotional wall. That her cage-free swim leaves her vulnerable makes a nice contrast.

Overall, while the film is – ironically – a little shallow, as an inspiring sports biopic, it ticks all the boxes. It gives us a strong and single-minded protagonist, who beat the odds to achieve her goal, with the help of a devoted friend and coach.

Indeed, it is this friendship which anchors the film, providing warmth and heart; something sorely needed in this tale of a determined swimmer who had no intention of giving up on her dream of conquering her watery Everest.

Writer’s takeaway

A compelling antagonist is an important screenwriting element, giving the protagonist a worthy and multidimensional adversary. Nyad provides a reminder that the antagonist does not have to take human form. Diana’s foe is the ocean, which writer Cox calls the “mother of all antagonists“.

Man (or woman) vs. nature can provide a compelling and exciting narrative. However, just as it is important to develop a complex human antagonist, it is crucial to explore Mother Nature’s potential and the full extent of the risk it presents to the protagonist (which usually include death).

Indeed, in Nyad, we see just many how challenges the ocean poses, from the creatures it harbours and its strong currents to the unforgiving weather conditions. Of course, it also includes the extreme mental and physical demands which swimming the daunting 110-mile stretch of the Florida Straits places on the protagonist as she fights to achieve her dream.

Here are a few more more fact-based films in which Mother Nature fills the role of antagonist:

• The Perfect Storm (2000): Fishermen get caught up in the mother of all storms.

• Jungle (2017): The Amazon rainforest is the foe facing backpacker Yossi Ghinsberg.

• Everest (2015): A group of climbers gets into trouble trying to scale Mount Everest.

• 127 Hours (2010): A lone climber must take drastic action when he gets trapped in a canyon.

• Wild (2014): A woman in turmoil tests herself by hiking the 1,100-mile Pacific Crest Trail.

• The Revenant (2015): A fictionalised revenge tale about real-life frontiersman Hugh Glass.

Director: Clint Eastwood

Screenwriter: Nick Schenk

Inspired by: The New York Times Magazine article “The Sinaloa Cartel’s 90-Year-Old Drug Mule” by Sam Dolnick, published 11 June 2014.

Synopsis:

*Spoilers* Earl Stone (Clint Eastwood) is an elderly horticulturalist who has spent his life neglecting his family while clocking up thousands of miles driving across the country to conventions to show off his widely-admired daylily hybrids (with buds that bloom for just a single day) and enjoying life to the full.

When his farm falls into the bank’s hands, Earl finds himself in a hole, until a chance meeting gets him work doing what he loves, driving. Only it’s delivering drugs for a Mexican cartel.

Earl does what he’s told and asks no questions as he ferries drugs from El Paso to Illinois. He gets well paid for his efforts and quickly becomes the gang’s go-to ‘gringo’.

DEA agent Colin Bates (Bradley Cooper), who is investigating the cartel, sets about tracking down its top mule, who has been dubbed ‘El Tata’ (or ‘Grandfather’).

Earl manages to reconnect with his estranged family before Bates catches up to him. In court, Earl eschews his defence lawyer and pleads guilty. He ends up tending flowers in the prison’s garden.

Review

*Spoilers* With a strong cast, Eastwood at the helm, and compelling real-life source material, The Mule has all the makings of a modern classic. Unfortunately, the whole turns out to be somewhat less than the sum of its parts.

The problem is the story never really gets going. Things roll along under Eastwood’s languid directorial style, with a bit of tension here and there, a touch of humour, and some soul searching.

For much of the film, we are taken on a scenic road-trip with Earl, as he tucks into pulled pork sandwiches, helps a young family fix a flat tyre, and sings along to Dean Martin and Willie Nelson on the radio – all the while toting hundreds of kilos of cocaine around in his truck, with the DEA closing in on the operation.

Along the way, we get the obligatory age-related scenes, in which Earl decries the internet and mobile phones, gets baffled by the concept of texting, and grapples with a modern world in which women form biker gangs and black people balk at being referred to as ‘negroes’. It’s all watchable, if pretty pedestrian stuff.

Like the Robert Redford vehicle, The Old Man and the Gun (2018), the film is a leisurely character study of an unlikely elderly criminal who gets brought down by a committed law enforcement agent.

However, while Redford’s Forrest Tucker was a life-long criminal who got a kick out of his illegal activities, Earl is a law-abiding Korean War veteran, who’s proud of his clean driving record. His later-life career as a key member of a drug cartel is therefore a little hard to believe – not least the random way in which he gets involved in the first place.

And unlike Casey Affleck’s Detective John Hunt in The Old Man, Cooper’s DEA Agent Bates has no real skin in the game; he just wants to make his mark in Chicago before moving on to better things.

While we get some insight into Hunt’s personal life and mentality, we know little about Bates, except that he’s as neglectful of his family as Earl. This is revealed through a scene in which the two men unwittingly meet, and Bates chides himself for missing his wedding anniversary.

When Bates catches up to Earl later and arrests him, there is a touching scene between them, but, overall, the mutually respectful cat-and-mouse relationship is not established and Bates’ interest in Earl is fleeting.

One of the main issues with The Mule is that Earl himself is a curious and somewhat problematic character. On one hand, he’s a gentle soul who loves his daylilies and has regrets about how he treated his family. On the other, he seamlessly slides into the role of hot-shot drug mule without a second thought.

He doesn’t blink when his Mexican crew puts packages in his truck and gives him a burner phone. He also quickly gets up to speed with requirements of his illicit role, thinking on his feet when a traffic cop’s sniffer dog gets a little close to the stash, and making the most of the envelopes of cash he finds in his truck after a drop.

Earl is also apparently quite the ladies’ man; something made abundantly clear when he entertains a couple of buxom hookers while partying at the cartel boss’ palatial Playboy mansion-style Mexican estate. This all a bit far-fetched (even though it’s inspired by a true story), and while the scenes in which he tries to re-establish the connection with his ex-wife and daughter are effective, the underlying character inconsistencies make for an uneven narrative.

This is amplified by some of the plot choices. For example, when Earl misses his scheduled drop to spend time with his dying ex-wife, you might think that when his cartel catches up to him, he’d be destined to be buried underneath his lilies with a bullet in his head. However, the next time we see Earl, he’s a little banged up but still walking around. This is okay, except the story has already established that anyone going against the cartel winds up dead, so giving Earl a free pass to go AWOL with valuable product seems a little off.

Likewise, after reconnecting with his daughter following his ex-wife’s death, Earl promptly abandons her again by pleading guilty to all charges in court. She tearfully sends him off with a promise to visit. Again, this is fine, but smacks a little of tying everything up with a neat bow. Indeed, we leave Earl where we found him, peacefully tending his flowers.

On the plus side, we have the indestructible Eastwood (who apparently had to slow himself down to play the less spry Earl) in the driver’s seat. We also have an (arguably under-used) supporting cast sprinkled with award-winners and nominees. Not only Cooper, but Dianne Wiest as Earl’s ex-wife and Laurence Fishburne as Cooper’s boss. There’s also Andy Garcia as the cartel’s jovial boss, Michael Peña as Cooper’s partner and Alison Eastwood as Earl’s estranged daughter. Also strong is Ignacio Serricchio as Earl’s handler, who gets increasingly angered at the old man’s laidback approach to the serious business of drug muling.

A further way in which The Mule bears comparison with The Old Man is that it is a mediation on age and passing time. It is this aspect of the story that arguably works the best. The constant references to Earl’s age and his ex-wife’s demise are all constant reminders that time is catching up to him.

The film even ends with the Toby Keith song, Don’t Let the Old Man In. Like Forrest Tucker, in the end, all that’s left for Earl Stone to do is to do is look back, both with regret that the good times are over, but also sadness over some of the choices he made.

Writer takeaway

The main lessons are to be found in the adaptation and the choices made by the writer in shaping the dramatic narrative.

The Mule was ‘inspired by’ Sam Dolnick’s 2014 New Times Magazine feature on the Sinaloa cartel (which was headed up by the infamous El Chapo). Eastwood’s character of Earl Stone is a fictionalised version of Leo Sharp (aka the real ‘El Tata’), an unlikely “urban legend”, who transported huge quantities of cocaine from the Mexican border to Detroit and beyond for a decade, before he was picked up by DEA agents, headed by Special Agent Jeff Moore.

Dolnick’s article details a wide-ranging investigation into the cartel, which ended in multiple arrests. Sharp himself was sentenced to three years in prison. Throughout the trial, there was a question over whether he was coerced into driving for the cartel or was a willing participant. There was also an issue over his health, with assertions that he had dementia.

All in all, it makes for compelling reading and offers plenty for a screenwriter to get their teeth into.

When it comes to adapting material for the screen, certain departures from the source story are always necessary. The reasons for these changes are usually driven by a combination of narrative requirements and practical considerations. Key decisions that need to be made early on in the process are the overall tone of the story and the focus of the plot.

Reading the source article, it’s clear that with The Mule, the filmmakers could have gone the route of telling the tale from the point of view of law enforcement, which tracked the cartel for months, in what was Detroit’s largest cocaine operation. That would potentially have made for an exciting crime thriller, in the vein of Heat (1995).

Instead, screenwriter Schenk and Eastwood were drawn to bringing a more personal story to the screen. So, while the investigation is an important part of the narrative, it takes a backseat to the unlikely senior ‘gringo’ who made the whole operation possible.

Director: Roger Michell

Screenwriters: Richard Bean and Clive Coleman

Synopsis

Newcastle, England, 1961. Aspiring playwright and social activist Kempton Bunton, 60, pursues his cause of securing free TV licences for the elderly and WWII veterans, much to the consternation of his long-suffering wife, Dorothy, who just wants him to get a steady job and stop making a fuss.

Kempton is particularly aggrieved that the UK government has spent £140,000 (around £3m today) on buying Francisco Goya’s portrait of the Duke of Wellington for the National Gallery in London.

Supported by youngest son Jackie, Kempton’s crusade culminates in him ‘borrowing’ the painting, with a plan to hold it hostage and get the government to pay up, so he can redistribute the wealth. However, things get complicated, leading to the return of the painting and Kempton’s arrest.

Review

Sometimes, life is odder than anything dreamed up by writers. The story behind The Duke would fall into this category.

Kempton Bunton (Jim Broadbent) is an unlikely working class hero living in a rundown Newcastle suburb still reeling from the effects of war. The poverty is all around, as is the blatant inequality and injustice. Indeed, Kempton gets himself fired from his job after standing up for a Pakistani employee who is expected to take shorter breaks than his white colleagues, while enduring the boss’ racist abuse.

Kempton is a passionate advocate for social justice, dashing off plays about injustices that he (ironically) sends off to the BBC, quoting Gandhi, and getting worked up about his pet cause – paying for a TV licence. Meanwhile, his grounded, mostly disapproving wife Dorothy (Helen Mirren) toils away as a housekeeper and does her best to keep the household together, which includes restless younger son Jackie, who wants to travel the world as a boat builder, and elder son Kenny, who has criminal ties and a married girlfriend.

While the theft of the painting and its fallout are the hooks, the emotional framework within which the story is set concerns the death of the Buntons’ teenage daughter. While Dorothy refuses to share her grief, or even visit the grave, Kempton blames himself (he bought the bike she was riding when she had a fatal crash).

The shenanigans with the Goya indirectly serve to trigger the healing process for them both. (Note the clever use of one of Kempton’s plays.) The ending ties up all the loose ends in a satisfactory, warm-hearted (and unexpected) way.

The main strength of The Duke is Broadbent as the forthright, pipe-puffing, irrepressible Chekov fan who believes wholeheartedly in his cause. The role of Kempton could’ve easily tipped over into the insufferable but Broadbent keeps him sympathetic (if a bit annoying).

The scenes towards the end in the courtroom are especially strong, combining humour (such as Kempton’s unsolicited explanation of the origins of his name) with simple but effective pathos that asserts the overall goodness of people and the strength of the collective. The verdict (which mirrors the real-life verdict) feels just and offers the opportunity for a few moments of the kind of unity that Kempton champions.

Mirren mostly rolls her eyes and tuts disapprovingly. However, the relationship between Dorothy and Kempton feels natural and comfortable, increasingly so as his caper leads to her acceptance of their daughter’s death.

Direction by (the late) Roger Michell is suitably quirky, employing techniques such as split screen and newsreel footage to give the film an authentic sixties feel (although some have pointed out the geographical inaccuracies that are likely lost on anyone unfamiliar with Newcastle). The filmmakers also quite deftly overcome the large hurdle regarding the actual theft of the painting, which is revealed at the very end.

If there are negatives, it would be the rather rapid escalation of events, from Kempton trying to get people to sign his free TV licence petition to heading off to London for a couple of days, to staring at the stolen Goya in his backroom. This extends to the eventual return of the painting, which, while humorous, negates Kempton’s previous efforts to keep his involvement under wraps.

Given Kempton’s domineering personality and his central role in proceedings, it’s also maybe not surprising that the secondary characters are a little thinly drawn, such as the hapless cops, pompous government officials, and the Bunton kids.

However, overall, this is a feel-good old-fashioned fictionalisation of rich, compelling source material that highlights how far Britain has come in the intervening years, as well as what we’ve lost along the way, and how far we still need to go to achieve fairness and equity.

Writer takeaways

1. However intriguing or quirky the source material, it’s important to anchor the story in something relatable and to give it an emotional heart.

2. The Duke is a good example of the physical journey and emotional journey at play: The physical action revolves around the Goya caper, but the emotional journey concerns facing up to bereavement and embracing the grieving process.

3. Even when history provides all the ingredients for a compelling script, it still takes considerable work and creativity to shape the events to fit a screen narrative. The ‘Kempton returns the painting’ sequence is a good example.

In reality, Kempton hung on to the painting for four years and returned it voluntarily through a railway station’s lost luggage service before surrendering to the police six weeks later. Not very cinematic.

In the script, the writers condense the timeframe to six months and force Kempton’s hand by having his son Kenny’s devious girlfriend discover the painting and blackmail him to get her hands on half the reward offered for information on its whereabouts.

This prompts Kempton into brazenly strolling into the National Gallery with it under his arm and handing it to a bemused guard, setting up the final act in which he finds himself in the dock. While a little contrived and unbelievable, it does add urgency, cause & effect, and momentum. It also aligns with the humorous and slightly irreverent tone.

Director: Steven Spielberg

Screenwriters: Liz Hannah and Josh Singer

Synopsis

*Spoilers* 1965. Daniel Ellsberg (Matthew Rhys), a military analyst with the RAND Corporation, copies top secret government documents, known as the Pentagon Papers. The material comprises thousands of pages of analysis which revealed that four consecutive US presidents (Truman to Johnson) were concealing facts about the Vietnam war. Commissioned by secretary of defense Robert McNamara (Bruce Greenwood), the papers are highly damaging to the government and the current president, Nixon. Ellsberg has seen up close the bloody quagmire of the war and is determined to expose the truth to the public.

1971. Kay Graham (Meryl Streep), publisher of The Washington Post, is preparing to take her family’s business public. A lone woman among male executives, Graham is somewhat out of her depth, having taken over the business following the suicide of her husband. The fact she inherited the business, and that many of the men are not comfortable with her in charge, is made quite clear.

Graham gets a call from Nixon’s chief of staff to inform her that the Post’s reporter is not welcome at the forthcoming wedding of the president’s daughter, highlighting conflict between the paper and the White House.

In the newsroom, managing editor Ben Bradlee (Tom Hanks) gets wind of a ‘big story’ The New York Times may be working on. He sends an intern up to NY to investigate. Graham is contacted by her old friend McNamara to tell her that something unflattering is about to be published about him.

The Times runs a story on the Pentagon Papers. Bradlee is incensed at not getting the story first. He is determined to follow up and publish more on the Papers.

While at dinner with Times editor Abe Rosenthal (Michael Stuhlbarg), Graham overhears that the government is taking the NY paper to court to get it to stop publishing top secret material. Nixon duly wins an injunction against publication.

Post journalist Ben Bagdikian (Bob Odenkirk) tracks down his old colleague Ellsberg, who gives him 1,000 pages of classified material. The Post has its story.

With the IPO hanging in the balance and the threat of legal implications, Graham has a dilemma over whether to proceed with the story. In New York for the public offering, Graham, whose own son fought in Vietnam, sees the public backlash against the war, as protesters gather in the streets.

Graham decides to go ahead and authorise publication. Legal action duly follows. Momentum to publish builds and soon other newspapers from across the country are covering the Pentagon Papers.

The Post wins its Supreme Court case, with the lead justice underlining that it is the duty of the press to be the voice of the people, not the mouthpiece of the government. Nixon rails against the decision and bans the Post from entering the White House.

A little later, at the Watergate Hotel, a security guard reports a suspected break in…

Review

*Spoilers* Just as he did with Bridge of Spies (2015), Spielberg has delivered an intelligent film that feels very much rooted in the older traditions of filmmaking.

The Post is a solid piece of work that harnesses the talents of not only its weighty cast (with some big names appearing in supporting roles), but its wider creative team; not least co-writer Josh Singer, who also penned, among others, Spotlight (2015), First Man (2018) and multiple episodes of The West Wing (1999-2006).

However, just because the credentials are in place, does it mean the resulting film achieves its aims? The answer would have to be, yes.

The film takes us right into the heart of the newsroom and also into the dilemma faced by Graham, who had to decide between publishing a story that was very much in the public interest, but which risked bankrupting the paper by derailing the IPO and pulling the plug on the cash that was to keep the business afloat.

While the action largely centres on Bradlee as he races to get his blockbuster story on to the Post’s frontpage, the story is equally about Graham’s transformation from a housewife and mother who found herself at the helm of a DC newspaper through tragic circumstances, to a strong in-charge publisher willing to make a difficult decision to defend her paper’s right to publish. It’s a subtle, but effective journey, with Streep striking the right balance, allowing Graham to grow into her burgeoning role, shedding her self-doubt (and the male-dominated attitude of those around her) and coming into her own.

The relationship between Graham and Greewood’s McNamara is also effectively handled, portraying a strong friendship threatened by the conflicting interests of the paper.

While Bradlee is hustling to get his hands on the Papers, he asks Graham to use her long-standing friendship with McNamara to gain access to the material. She balks at the idea, reminding Bradlee of his own close relationship with John F Kennedy and wondering whether he considered him a friend or a source. It’s this constant back and forth between close political ties and journalistic integrity that form a key theme in the story.

As Bradlee, Hanks is charismatic and tenacious, bull-headedly determined to take his ‘little’ paper beyond the confines of DC and get it publishing important news. He is, of course, very much on the side of ‘publish and be dammed’, despite the potential immediate implications for the paper, arguing that if the Post bows to the will of the Nixon White House, it is already effectively out of business.

The initial clash between hardcore newsman Bradlee and out-of-her-depth Graham subtly gives way to respect, as Graham comes around to Bradlee’s way of thinking.

As you might expect, the attention to detail is terrific, including a nice scene in which the Post’s frontpage is manually typeset, with the Pentagon Papers story front and centre. It’s also great to see some ‘old school’ pre-digital reporting, with Odenkirk’s Bagdikian scrabbling with his loose change at the payphone to get in touch with a source and the final copy getting sucked into the tube for its journey to the print room.

Of course, there is no getting away from the fact that this is a ‘wordy’ film. While Bridge of Spies offered the chance for some Cold War derring-do to break up dialogue-heavy scenes, other than an opening sequence set in the heart of the Vietnam War (accompanied by the obligatory Creedence Clearwater Revival track), this is a film about people in offices and corridors and big houses talking about important stuff.

For anyone who finds this kind of film hard work, The Post may be a bit heavy going.

However, for those who appreciate the ability of film to take its audience behind closed doors, this is a great example of the competing interests involved in running a newspaper, with the added wider implications and historical context. It’s also interesting to see a Nixon-era film that focuses on something other than Watergate.

While the two films have much in common (including a wonderful cast), The Post is less ‘procedural’ than Spotlight, as it focuses more on the wider themes of the freedom of the press and its role in keeping a ‘check’ on the government.

The decision of the Supreme Court and the eagerness of the Post (et al) to publish material that damaged the government nicely segues into the start of the Watergate scandal and the paper’s role in bringing the ugliness and criminality of the White House to the public’s attention.

As such, when the credits of The Post roll, you almost want to immediately watch what still may be the best of all the ‘journalists getting their hands dirty to expose the truth’ films…

You may also like:

All the President’s Men (1976): Alan J Pakula’s classic serves as the perfect ‘follow-up’ to The Post, as it takes us back into the same newsroom a year later, where reporters Carl Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) and Bob Woodward (Robert Redford) – on whose non-fiction book the film was based – investigate the Watergate scandal that brought down Nixon. Among the film’s many other accolades, Jason Robards won an Academy Award for his portrayal of Ben Bradlee.

Shock & Awe (2017): Set in 2003, Rob Reiner’s real-life inspired tale tells of two crusading journalists (Woody Harrelson and James Marsden) who set out to reveal the truth about the US invasion of Iraq and the existence of those alleged weapons of mass destruction. This is a lesser-known newsroom film that could use a little more depth and gravitas, but nonetheless offers a perspective on the ‘war on terror’ and a conflict that, along with Afghanistan, has been likened to the Vietnam War in terms of its ‘unwinnable’ nature.

Spotlight (2015): Written by Josh Singer and directed by Tom McCarthy, this is a real ‘journalistic procedural’ film that shows us how a group of Boston Globe journalists exposed the shocking extent of paedophilia by Catholic priests and the almost equally shocking cover-up by the Catholic Archdiocese. The film takes us into the heart of the investigation and the conflict the paper faced in publishing its revelations in a community that was rooted in, and tied to, the very institution it was exposing.

Director: Rupert Goold

Screenwriter: Tom Edge

Based on: The stage play End of the Rainbow by Peter Quilter

Synopsis:

1968. Singing sensation Judy Garland is in a tailspin. In her mid-40s, she’s homeless and reduced to touting her young children around, earning a few dollars from her live shows and staying in hotels she can’t afford. She has a drinking problem and is coping with an addiction to medication that was forced on her while she was a child star at MGM under draconian studio head Louis B Mayer.

Judy gets the opportunity to earn real money by doing a series of headline shows at the Talk of the Town nightclub in London, where she is still treated as Hollywood royalty. While reluctant to leave her children behind, Judy believes the engagement could give her enough money to buy a house and finally enjoy the family life she craves. Before leaving for London, she meets a young businessman, Mickey Dean, at a party.

Judy becomes the toast of the town in London with her sold-out performances. Mickey arrives and marries Judy after a whirlwind romance.

However, Judy struggles with her addiction, while also battling her ex-husband, Sid Luft, over custody of their children, who have settled with their father and don’t want to leave. Mickey’s promised business deal, which is supposed to give Judy the chance to return to the US and pay off her debts, falls through and the marriage quickly falls apart.

Judy’s troubles begin to affect her performances on stage, and she becomes a laughingstock. She breaks her contract and plans to return home.

Before leaving London, she takes to the stage one last time and is a big hit. Breaking down while trying to get through her classic ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’, the crowd steps in for an impromptu singalong, letting Judy know how much she’s still loved by the audience that she adores.

Review

The story of Judy Garland’s life is certainly bittersweet. While she was – and remains – loved by millions around the world, her experiences away from the spotlight were far from a Hollywood fairytale.

From a troubled early childhood as Frances Gumm, to her years as MGM’s sweetheart, which deprived her of a normal adolescence and embedded problems that would plague her to her death, Judy Garland lived a life of much sadness, loneliness and addiction. She was also a born star, who dazzled audiences on stage and screen, as an actor and singer. She craved the audience’s adoration and they duly obliged.

Judy gives us a whistlestop tour of it all, as encapsulated in a few months in London towards the end of her short life.

The set-up quickly lets us know that, when we meet her in 1968, she’s in financial dire straits, scraping a meagre living and self-medicating to the point where no one wants to work with her due to her unreliability. We also learn that she’s a devoted mother to her young children, Lorna and Joey Luft (by this time, Liza Minnelli is grown and successful in her own stage career), who yearns to give them a stability that she simply cannot provide, either practically or emotionally. The Talk of the Town shows promise to be her saving grace. But, even in London, Judy can’t escape the dark clouds.

She also can’t escape the button-down characters who serve to turn proceedings a little grey and overcast. From the flinty PA assigned to keep Judy on the straight and narrow to the (fictitious) bickering gay couple who are devoted fans and can’t believe their luck when she comes round to their flat for an omelette, there is a certain forced Britishness about the film that makes parts of it stereotypical and flat.

The arrival of unlikely suiter Mickey does liven things up, but unfortunately, the marriage is over so quickly, it’s never made entirely clear whether he really had feelings for her or simply saw her as a business opportunity (the film takes some liberties, husband-wise, as in real life, Judy didn’t marry Mickey until after her London engagement ended).

That’s not to say there isn’t plenty to enjoy. Zellweger morphs into Judy, giving her stage scenes her all and showing immense vulnerability. There are moments when you can see inside her soul, which is a powerful thing. Her loneliness is palpable, yet there remains a flicker of hope that she will, once day, enjoy a soft landing. Knowing that would never happen adds extra pathos to the story.

While it takes around 40 minutes before we get to see Judy perform, the musical sequences are lively and colourful, with some wonderful musical arrangements.

Also strong are the scenes with Darci Shaw, as a young Judy forced to grow up on the set of films including The Wizard of Oz (1939); forced to swallow pills so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat real food; more pills to sleep and to stay awake for gruelling filming and rehearsal sessions; forced to remain an innocent young girl next door, even when she was becoming a woman; rebuffed by her co-star and first love, Mickey Rooney; treated like a commodity by Mayer and his minions.

It’s horrible to watch and it gives us the chance to see just why grown-up Judy made the destructive and desperate choices she did, and just why she craved a stable family life so much.

However, overall, the trouble with Judy is that it doesn’t really show us anything new. A once-imperious career on the wane; a mind addled from years of alcohol and prescription drug abuse; a collection of husbands on whom she became dependent (and several of whom screwed her over); a stage presence and a star quality that never quit, even when her world was falling apart. Judy gives us a glimpse of all of this over its two-hour running time. But you come away with a bit of a shoulder shrug, thinking “okay, and…”.

It’s a story we’ve seen before and have seen repeated over the years with other stars who hit the big time then struggle to conquer their demons. As such, while Judy gives us all the star quality of its titular star, the film falls short of A-list.

Writer takeaway

The main lessons we can take from Judy is how to work with, adapt and supplement source material.

In discussing the adaptation of his Broadway and West End play, End of the Rainbow, Quilter noted how screenwriter Edge eliminated some of the fantasy elements of the stage show in order to formulate a story that was “much more true and precise”.

Indeed, while Judy credits Rainbow as its source material, much of the background came from tapes of Judy herself speaking. As Edge told Vanity Fair: “She was commissioned to write her biography and kind of endlessly missed the deadline, so they ended up bringing her a tape recorder.”

The resulting tapes revealed Judy’s “deep-seated anger” at her treatment over the decades. This gave Edge plenty of first-hand source material with which to work. Quilter also discussed how the team agreed the film should be “less theatrical”. It’s relatively rare to find a fact-based film based on a play, so it is a useful example of how to deal with different demands of stage and screen. Interestingly, Quilter called the film a “companion piece” to the play, which is a helpful way to think of any screen adaptation.

While Edge took the story into a more fact-based realm, it is worth noting that changes were made. As noted above, in order to fit in the Mickey Deans sublot, it was necessary to alter the real-life timeline of his relationship with Judy, introducing it early and bringing it to a head in London. The use of the gay characters, too, while fictionalised, serves to recognise her gay fanbase and her support of the community throughout her career, when members of that community faced persecution and even jail. This serves to bring the story up-to-date and offers a parallel between Judy’s struggles and the struggles of the LGBT community.

If you like Judy, you might also like:

• Life with Judy Garland: Me and My Shadows (2001): Judy Davis stars in this comprehensive two-part TV biopic that tells of Judy Garland’s life, from the 1930s to her death in 1969.

• Stan & Ollie (2018): Beloved comedy duo Laurel and Hardy find their partnership tested, in what would turn out to be their swansong tour of the UK.

• Behind the Candelabra (2013): Michael Douglas stars as flamboyant pianist Liberace in this tale of his tumultuous relationship with his younger lover, played by Matt Damon.

Director: Scott Z. Burns

Screenwriter: Scott Z. Burns

Script source: Deadline

Based on: The US Senate Intelligence Committee study of the CIA’s Detention and Interrogation Program and, in part, on the Vanity Fair article, ‘Rorschach and Awe’ by Katherine Eban.

Synopsis

*Spoilers* Daniel Jones (Adam Driver), a committed Senate staff member, is tasked with investigating and compiling a report for Senator Dianne Feinstein’s (Annette Bening) Intelligence Committee on a programme of detention and interrogation introduced by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon on 9 September 2001 (9/11).

Jones works tirelessly for seven years to uncover the truth about the programme, which involved the use of torture against those suspected of having information on terrorist organisation, al-Qaeda. Jones’ report revealed that the programme not only failed in its objectives but that it flouted the law and involved a CIA cover-up of evidence in the process.

Along the way, Jones faces pushback from the CIA, while there are fears that his report may never see the light of day.

Review

*Spoilers* When a film begins with the caption ‘based on the Senate Intelligence Committee study of the CIA’s Detention and Interrogation Program’, you might think you’re in store for a dry docudrama-style procedural.

In some ways, this assumption is true. The story centres on Jones’ efforts to painstakingly research the programme and produce a damning report that would extend to over 6,000 pages. It also details Senator Feinstein’s work to use her political weight to see the report’s findings were made public.

What makes The Report (actually The Torture Report) such compelling viewing is the way in which the story is structured, as we move between Jones’ investigative work and the harrowing implementation of the programme in question.

Interrogation was, in this case, a relatively benign word used to describe a newly-developed method of torture. The programme was implemented in the months following 9/11, a time when the desire to ‘get’ those responsible and to prevent further domestic attacks meant, in some quarters at least, all bets were off.

The idea behind the programme was to illicit information, with ‘suspects’ abused until they gave up titbits about the hierarchy of al-Qaeda and the terrorist acts the group was planning.

The essence of what Jones uncovered was not that the programme existed and was authorised at high levels in the CIA, but that, frankly, it didn’t work. Not surprisingly, many of those being tortured did talk, but they only gave information that the US already knew, or they simply made stuff up to get the waterboarding (mock drowning), stress positions, beatings and sleep deprivation, etc, to stop.

While the story may be procedural in nature, there is no doubt as to which side we are meant to take, as we regularly flash back to realistically inhumane torture scenarios and scenes portraying the cavalier attitude taken by some of those running the programme.

This is encapsulated by the icy cool CIA official Bernadette (Maura Tierney) and the two Air Force psychologists (played by T. Ryder Smith and Douglas Hodge) who come up with the supposedly effective, yet untried and untested, ‘enhanced interrogation techniques’, to the horror of FBI agent Ali Soufan (Fajer Al-Kaisi), who prefers a gentler, culturally aware approach to getting suspects to talk.

The CIA’s willingness to introduce a programme that involved putting prisoners in insect-filled coffins, keeping them naked at all times, and shaving off devout Muslim men’s beards highlights just how much the agency was angered and embarrassed by the 9/11 attacks. As White House Chief of Staff Denis McDonough (Jon Hamm) says at one point: “democracy is messy”.

Where the film really succeeds is leading us along with Jones and his investigation, as we find out the extent of the programme and share his outrage as he uncovers more details. The film may take sides, but the question still hangs over the film – should torture be permitted if it saves lives? It also weaves in much tension as Jones’ investigation continues and efforts to discredit him escalate, prompting him to take some risks.

There’s even a dark car park meeting with a ‘Deep Throat’ figure (played by Tim Blake Nelson), who personifies the growing unease with which those participating in running the programme underwent their work.

At the centre of the story is Jones, played earnestly by Driver, who clearly understands the gravity of his task, committing years of his life to sitting in a stark basement room lit only with fluorescent light, working away with a scant staff to try and fit the pieces together with little help from the CIA.

Even when the report is finished, it is subject to severe redaction that leaves it all but unreadable, highlighting how far those in charge went to keep Jones’ findings secret.

As Feinstein, Bening is strong and determined, though this is tempered by political realities. Losing her role as head of the committee following the Senate passing into Republican hands gives her the chance to finally act on Jones’ findings before she hands over the reins.

Overall, The Report fits into the pantheon of procedurals, such as All the President’s Men (1976) and Spotlight (2015), in which committed investigators come up against the establishment as they try to expose wrongdoing at the higher echelons, putting themselves in harm’s way in the process.

As such, this is a timeless story that stands next to those that covered the Watergate era and McCarthyism in the 1950s, showing the abuse of power and the idea that – to varying degrees – the ends justify the means.

Like those that came before, The Report is, at its core, about the truth and efforts to keep that truth under wraps. It is also about accountability from those we entrust with our safety and security.

So, did Jones and Feinstein’s efforts lead to that accountability? What do you think?

Writer takeaways

One interesting aspect of The Report is the use of real footage (including that of the late Senator John McCain). We also have a script which is partly based on an official report, which is quite uncommon. Other examples include biographical drama Snowden (2016) and Zero Dark Thirty (2012) about the capture of Usama Bin Laden (and is actually referenced in The Report).

The film adopts a structure that begins towards the end, with Jones talking to a lawyer, flashes back to show us how Jones got involved with the project and further flashes back to the introduction of the programme. This skipping around is deftly handled and is the main reason why The Report is far more than just men in suits hunched over computers and hurrying along corridors.

The story also unifies the big idea and the ‘little guy against the system’ journey. As writer/director Burns told Deadline’s The Contenders New York:

“The story that’s revealed in the report is incredibly horrifying and bizarre…Beyond that the story of Daniel Jones is incredibly compelling to me. This one guy sits in a windowless room for seven years and pieces together the puzzle.”

Director: Damien Chazelle

Screenwriter: Josh Singer

Script sources: The Daily Script / Script Slug

Based on: The non-fiction book, First Man: The Life of Neil A. Armstrong, by James R. Hansen.

Synopsis

*Spoilers* Mojave Desert, 1961. Neil Armstrong, a NASA test pilot, has a near-miss when flying the X-15 rocket plane. Distracted by his young daughter’s illness, Armstrong is later grounded.

After his daughter dies, Armstrong is hired to be an astronaut in Project Gemini, NASA’s second human spaceflight programme, a precursor to the Apollo missions. Armstrong moves his wife and son to Houston to begin training.

Over the next few years, the Gemini programme sees successes and failures, including the deaths of several of Armstrong’s fellow astronauts. Questions are raised about the cost (financial and human) of NASA’s programme, but the government is determined to beat Russia to the moon. Along the way, Armstrong’s second son is born but, still mourning his daughter, he becomes ever more distant from his family.

Eventually, Armstrong is named commander of Apollo 11, which successfully lands on the moon. On 21 July 1969, Armstrong becomes the first person to walk on the lunar surface.

Review

Damien Chazelle reteams with La La Land (2016) star Ryan Gosling for this interesting look at an important chapter in the history of spaceflight. Part boy’s own adventure and part domestic drama, First Man attempts to show us the man behind the moon walk, as Armstrong takes several small steps on his journey to immortality.

But is the result ‘out of this world’? The answer is… sort of.

On the space front, the film is superb. We are taken right into the heart of Project Gemini, from the arduous astronaut training programme through to early attempts to realise the ambitious plan to land men on the moon ahead of Russia.

Visually, the film is also a triumph. We feel the claustrophobia and fear of being inside the spacecraft, as well as the silent vastness of space and the euphoria of exploring new frontiers. The scenes in which things do not go to plan are suitably exciting and tense.

The film also addresses wider reaction to the US space programme. With the Vietnam War raging, economic and social issues plaguing society, and NASA’s testing resulting in fatal accidents, there was certainly not mass support to keep funding the programme. The protest song Whitey on the Moon sums up one such sentiment.

Throughout, the attention to detail and the overall authenticity of the film are impressive, due in no small part to the involvement of Armstrong’s biographer, James R. Hansen in the production. The Armstrongs’ children have also said that the film accurately portrays their parents.

On the downside, while we are asked to emotionally invest in Armstrong’s home life, we don’t really get a satisfying payoff. There is some domestic discord along the way, but mostly Armstrong’s wife (played by Claire Foy) takes care of the kids, nervously lights cigarettes, and looks on with wide eyes as her husband becomes ever more distant and heads off to do increasingly dangerous stuff that may put him on the growing list of NASA astronauts who never return home to their families.

These domestic scenes give us a flavour of Armstrong’s private struggles, but it doesn’t feel as though we really get to know the man and, unfortunately, they also work to slow the action down. In fact, there may have been an argument for incorporating more about Armstrong’s life before NASA and less of the domestic drama.

When it comes to the acting, all the performances are effective, if not spectacular. Gosling is stoic and committed as Armstrong. Jason Clarke offers strong support as Armstrong’s friend and fellow astronaut, Ed White, while Foy turns in a good ‘worried wife’ turn (with the occasional hint of an English accent).

One person who may feel aggrieved at his portrayal is Armstrong’s fellow Apollo 11 astronaut, Buzz Aldrin (Corey Stoll), who comes across as boorish and quite obnoxious. Given the conflicting personalities of Armstrong and Aldrin, it would have been nice to see more of their relationship in the build-up to the mission.

In summary, while this may not be the runaway success that some reviews have suggested, there is no doubt that the filmmakers invested lots of time and resources into recreating the events with accuracy.

They were also committed to creating a narrative that shows us a glimpse of the real Neil Armstrong, who cemented his place in history with one step and an iconic line that could have been scripted by a Hollywood screenwriter!

Writer takeaway

Along with Apollo 13 (1995), First Man is a must-read for anyone planning a space-set fact-based film. It highlights how to balance tension and character, including the wider impact of the mission and how to write claustrophobic action.

Another lesson offered is the important of creative choice and having a clear vision. It’s interesting to note that Clint Eastwood was attached to direct this film before Chazelle came on board. While it’s impossible to know how Eastwood would have approached the story, it’s likely we would have seen a very different film.

Director: Jerry Seinfeld

Writers: Jerry Seinfeld, Spike Feresten, Andy Robin and Barry Marder

Synopsis

Michigan, 1960s. With cereal-maker Kellogg’s dominating the market, rival Post pins its hopes on a new kind of milkless breakfast pastry. Fearing annihilation from Post’s innovation, Kellogg’s sets about getting its own version to market first, bringing together a host of unlikely ‘experts’ – enraging Big Milk, a South American sugar kingpin, and the cereal mascots in the process.

Review

*Spoilers* There are films which effectively shine a light on the corporate world, showing us the wheeling and dealing through satire, comedy or drama, with high-stakes, big bucks and go-getters. Unfrosted is not any of that. Essentially, it is a big bowl of sugary nonsense. While not necessarily a bad thing, it unfortunately runs out of steam in the second half, leaving it – not unlike the Pop Tart itself – mired in goo.

Calling this film ‘based on a true story’ is a bit like suggesting Froot Loops count as one of your daily recommended fruit and veg portions. Indeed, the filmmakers freely admit this is a ‘made-up origin tale’, which simply takes the real-life set-up of rivalry between Post and Kellogg’s as the starting point for 95 minutes of random zaniness.

The film starts promisingly, with Kellogg’s exec Bob Cabana (Jerry Seinfeld, who also directed and co-wrote) marshalling his peppy mascots, Snap, Crackle ‘n Pop, and finessing haughty English thespian Thurl Ravenscroft (Hugh Grant) through a commercial in his guise as Frosties’ Tony the Tiger.

We are further drawn into this cartoonish ‘too good to be true’ movie world with a detour through the Bowl & Spoon awards, with the actual Quaker behind the oat brand the subject of much ridicule for his simple grain. We are then thrust into the main narrative – Post’s attempts to develop its breakfast pastry and Kellogg’s frantic attempts to beat its rival.

Unfortunately, as we venture further into act two, the wafer-thin premise starts to soak in the milk a little too long. Cabana recruits his old right-hand woman Stan (Melissa McCarthy) and we plod on through a series of ‘bits’, as the ragtag team of inexplicables she assembles sets about making their codenamed ‘dingus’.

Along the way, there are short excursions to Puerto Rico and Russia, and a trip to the White House to meet with JFK, who’s in hot water with Jackie over ‘that blonde woman’ who sang him Happy Birthday.

By the time we arrive a midpoint, we’ve had Jack LaLanne’s exploding pants, a military-style funeral led by cereal mascots, complete with a milky send off, and a ‘sea monkey’ ravioli running amok (cooked up by Chef Boyardee and a German who’s a little too coy when it comes to his whereabouts in the 1940s). If all of that sounds like a good time, then this may be the film for you.

Amid the nonsense, there are a few clever moments, which it would be a shame to spoil, with a couple of the cameos raising a smile. There are also attempts to gently satirize the mafia, with the “Five Cereal Families” meeting at Barzini’s grocery store and strong-arm tactics by the onery milkmen who fear a dairy-free breakfast.

Likewise, the film sprinkles on a dusting of organised labour, US-Russia tensions and the space race. However, to pretend that this is (or was intended to be) anything other than pure silliness would be futile.

It is also hard to fault the worthy acting. Seinfeld is – as always – Seinfeld, playing the happy-go-lucky straight-man. McCarthy is a witty foil, while Jim Gaffigan is strong as the righteous Edsel Kellogg III.

On the other side, Amy Schumer plays up her ‘baddie’ role as Marjorie Post, with Max Greenfield as her hapless underling. One wonders what they added to Grant’s bowl of Corn Flakes to get him to sign up for all this malarky but he fully commits to his role, morphing from indignant, demeaned actor in a stupid suit to a kind of felt-clad Che Guevara leading his fellow mascots in a revolt.

Things bumble along until the predicable climax, when the Pop Tart hits the shelves to great acclaim and – gosh darn it – Kellogg’s is saved.

At this point, we are about down to the dusty stuff at the bottom of the cereal bag. However, we are then treated to a fun musical number, which reminds us that while it can be tempting to pull apart a film like this, it essentially delivers what it sets out to – an undemanding zany tale that people can dip into and enjoy like a Kellogg’s Variety pack.

Indeed, just as a Pop Tart doesn’t set out to be anything loftier than a great way to start your day, Unfrosted simply serves up a helping of harmless screen silliness. Sadly, the hit and miss nature of this silliness means that, just as some people prefer eggs or a piece of toast, there will be those who find the tale too sparse and sugary to be at all satisfying.

Overall, while Unfrosted is not the unmitigated failure some have suggested, it’s hard not to feel disappointed that the quirky premise and the talent involved couldn’t have resulted in something fortified with a little more comedy nutrition.

Writer takeaway

Never let the truth get in the way of a good story!: Sometimes, historical events can simply provide a jumping-off point for an inventive screen story.

More isn’t always better: While comedy often benefits from multiple voices, the fact that Unfrosted has four credited writers may have contributed to its scattered narrative and hit and miss tone that sometimes feels like ‘guys in a room making each other laugh’, which is not always to the benefit of the audience.

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Check out these films set in the business world, which also feature household-name companies and brands…

• The rise and fall of the first cell phone with a keyboard is the subject of Blackberry (2023), as two brilliant nerds get the chance to become tech titans with the help of a slick salesman who senses a money-making opportunity.

• Flamin’ Hot (2023) is the inspirational tale of Richard Montañez, a janitor at Frito-Lay, who – legend has it, at least – invented Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, which put the snack company back on the map.

• Air tells of attempts by Nike to secure up and coming basketball player Michael Jordan to promote its brand by developing a sneaker developed just for him, the now iconic Air Jordans.

• The Founder (2016) tells of Ray Kroc, a small-time salesman who grew the McDonald’s brand into a household name, at the expense of the brothers who founded the first restaurant.

Director: Bill Pohlad

Writers: Oren Moverman and Michael A. Lerner

Based on: The life of Brian Wilson

Synopsis

*Spoilers* California, 1960s. A young Brian Wilson (Paul Dano) is riding high with his brothers in their band, The Beach Boys. They have enjoyed a string of hits with their ‘surfin’ pop’ sound and the band has become internationally famous. However, following a panic attack, Brian tells his brothers he wants to quit touring and focus on writing and producing a different kind of album. Once in the studio, his true genius comes to the fore as he blends all kinds of sounds to produce a unique (and critically-acclaimed) album, Pet Sounds.

After his brothers return from a tour in Japan, divisions appear within the group, as Brian wants to continue along the same musical path, while the rest of the band wants to go back to the sound that made them famous. Brian goes to work on a new album, mixing his brothers’ vocals with his multi-layered, meticulous instrumental. Finally, unable to cope with a growing cacophony voices in his head, Brian slowly starts to lose grip on reality; a process invigorated by his experimentation with LSD.

California, 1980s. An older Brian Wilson (John Cusack) is struggling to cope with his mental demons. He has relinquished all control of his life to the shady Dr. Eugene Landy (Paul Giamatti), who, along with his goons, keeps Brian drugged up and under constant surveillance.

At a Cadillac dealership, Brian meets Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks), a former model turned car saleswoman. She finds herself attracted to his sensitive and childlike demeanour and they begin to date; their relationship moving tentatively forward under Landy’s intense gaze. Brian talks to her about the abuse he suffered at his father’s hands and how he literally spent several years in bed as an adult, struggling with his psychosis.

After meeting privately with Landy and seeing for herself how he treats Brian, Melinda becomes worried and sets out to free Brian from his ‘prison’. Landy eventually banishes Melinda from Brian’s life and berates him into producing another album.

Becoming friendly with Landy and Brian’s sympathetic housekeeper, Melinda manages to get hold of a document that proves Landy’s shadowy intent to lay claim to Brian’s wealth. The doctor is served a court order keeping him out of Brian’s life.

A while later, Brian, now on the road to recovery, seeks out Melinda and asks her out on another date; this time, just the two of them. A caption on screen tells us that they later married, and remain together today.

Review:

*Spoilers* Love & Mercy is not your typical cookie-cutter music biopic. We’ve all seen these over the years – a young and talented musician overcomes childhood adversity to hit the big time, only to get dragged down by some kind of addiction, before he sobers up and stages a successful comeback, usually aided by a strong and believing woman.

Love & Mercy is not that, even though all the same elements are in place – the abusive childhood, the early fame, the drug-induced downfall, and the resurrection supported by a strong woman.

However, while all the ingredients are there, the filmmakers offer up a very different cinematic feast. For a start, Brian Wilson is already a star when we meet him and the actual process of his downfall is not shown. Instead we have two distinct periods of his life, which are blended seamlessly together, flipping backwards and forwards in time to show us two very different Brian Wilsons.

It was a clever stroke to cast two different actors. While it might have been more plausible to whip out the prosthetics and age Dano by 20 years for the 1980s sections, that’s missing the point. In real life, Wilson adopted a different persona later in life and this is reflected by the performances. There’s a fitting disconnect here that helps us understand this complicated and troubled character. It’s personal evolution – literally leaving behind the person you were and becoming someone new.

In truth, the separation may actually be a little too distinct, with Dano fitting rather more snugly into Wilson’s skin. He looks suitably out of place among the California surfers in the wonderful opening sequence and plausibly pulls off the crazed genius act. We can feel his torment and literally see his mental wheels falling off; something made all the more poignant when we flip to the 1980s and get a fuller understanding of the inner black hole of which 1960s’ Brian is teetering on the precipice.

Cusack is no less touching as 1980s’ Brian, even though there are times it’s hard to relate this character to Dano’s in any way. Where Cusack especially shines is by not letting Brian tip over into a maudlin and pitiful character. We need to see what Melinda sees and why she went to such great lengths to save him – for the most part we do.

Elsewhere, Banks is wonderful as the lively and devoted Melinda, desperate to save Brian from Landy’s grasp. This is a case of the right person coming along at the right time and their relationship feels natural and organic throughout. Paul Giamatti is suitably sinister as the oleaginous Landy, pushing things just shy of over-the-top villainy.

The film is wonderfully evocative of both time periods and the music (as is should be) sounds great (if a little scant, given Wilson and the Boys’ back catalogue).

To sum up, this is a bold music biopic that’s not afraid to eschew the showy set pieces and genre formula to bring us something deeper and more resonant. There are places where the naval-gazing does drag a little and there’s a blended sequence towards the end that does lay things on a bit thick, but overall, Love & Mercy is quite a remarkable achievement and a credit to all those involved.

And, as the end captions and closing credits reveal, the film does adhere to at least one tried and trusted Hollywood convention – the happy ending (Wilson died in 2025).

The main thing that comes to mind with this film is what it doesn’t show, rather than what it does…

We don’t get the band’s rise to fame or the gory details of Brian’s downfall. Instead we get more studio time with 1960s’ Brian and more opportunity to see the aftermath of his drug addiction.

We don’t get the full brunt of the abusive childhood, or the later firing of the band’s manager (also the Wilson brothers’ father), which prompts so much residual vitriol. Instead, we get snatches of backstory that help us understand Brian’s state of mind.

We don’t get the introduction of Landy into Brian’s life, nor do we get much about Melinda’s life prior to her meeting Brian. Again, things are fed to us as and when we need to know them.

But rather than lessening the drama, conflict and emotional resonance, all these ‘omissions’ add to the film’s power; leaving us free to follow Brian (or should that be Brians) on the journey into and out of his (their) own personal hell(s).

Writer takeaway

The main lesson I took from Love & Mercy is how it gets inside the protagonist’s head, by:

1. Having the grounded and sympathetic Melinda drive much of the narrative in the 1980s’ section – we might not relate directly to Brian’s state of mind, but we can certainly relate to Melinda’s desire to help.

2. Blurring the line between genius and madness – much of the 1960s’ section revolves around Brian orchestrating Pet Sounds, blowing experienced session musician and A&R men away with his creativity in the process.

3. Linking the inner and outer life – this is made easier by Brian’s musicality and the overall theme of ‘sound’.

4. Having an actual antagonist – rather than having Brian being his own worst enemy, Landy provides us with a human ‘villain’ who Brian has come to rely upon and Melinda needs to get him away from.

While film is a visual medium, Love & Mercy proves that you can tell a story that’s largely driven by internal forces.

Director: Bob Fosse

Screenwriter: Julian Barry

Based on: The stage play Lenny by Julian Barry

Synopsis

*Spoilers* Catskills, 1950s. Lenny Bruce, a young Jewish comic, meets and marries stripper Hot Honey Harlow, but he doesn’t stay faithful for long. Together they form a double act and move to California where they get involved with drugs and have a child. Bruce’s act becomes increasingly controversial as he begins to use what is deemed obscene language.

Bruce and Honey’s marriage falls apart and she loses custody, due to her drug habit, which lands her in jail. Bruce is repeatedly arrested at his shows for obscenity.

He attracts a cult following and becomes obsessed with the law and his right to free speech. Honey leaves jail and goes back to Bruce. Their drug habit continues.

Bruce becomes increasingly deranged, rambling on stage and firing his lawyers as they try to defend him at trial. He is eventually found dead at home from a drug overdose, aged 40.

Review

*Spoilers* Shot in beautiful black and white, Lenny is striking on several fronts; not least the performances. Oscar-nominated Dustin Hoffman gives a committed and energised performance as Bruce, while equally impressive is Valerie Perrine as the troubled Honey.

The tale of Bruce’s downfall is as stark as it is predictable, as the drugs and his obsession with the law take over, and his lively routines become him simply reciting from the transcript of his obscenity trial.

One of the more interesting things about Lenny is that it was directed by the late Bob Fosse, who is, of course, best-known for some of the most iconic stage and screen musicals, including Cabaret (1972), Sweet Charity (1969) and the 1975 stage version of Chicago. As TV mini-series Fosse/Verdon (2019) revealed, the director/choreographer had much in common with his controversial subject.

Both started in showbiz at a young age, finding themselves thrust into the adult world of seedy dives and strip clubs. Both became dependent on drugs, suffered ill-health as a result of their lifestyles and died young.

Importantly, they both lived with insecurities that led them to treat the devoted women in their lives like dirt, as they continuously tried to bang every girl in sight in a futile bid to feel better about themselves.

This sexualising of women is highlighted by Fosse’s gratuitous use of near-naked women – including lingering striptease acts and a titillating three-way – to tell Bruce’s story. Just as Fosse/Verdon got a little weighed down by Fosse’s relentlessly immature, destructive behaviour, so too does Lenny, as we watch a grown man get a free pass to act like a bastard just because he has talent.

The main problem with the film, however, is Bruce’s lack of motivation. We don’t get any real sense of why Bruce became an outspoken profane soothsayer. One minute he’s a second-rate comedian doing bird impressions, the next he’s blowing up any chance of a mainstream career when he says something off-colour to an uptight 1950s audience, alienating top TV comedian Sherman Hart (a thinly-veiled Milton Berle) in the process.

We then see him rise to the status of 1960s counterculture hero as he taps into subjects hitherto unspoken of in public. But other than wanting to make money, become the centre of attention and get a rise out of people by using naughty words and racial slurs, there doesn’t seem to be any reason for Bruce’s revolt against the mainstream. His sudden obsession with studying law and railing about first amendment rights seems at odds with what’s come before.

Given that very few comedians have received the biopic treatment, Lenny is essential viewing for anyone interested in seeing real life interpreted for the screen and to get a closer look at an iconic performer.

However, to get a fuller picture of Bruce, the film should be used as a companion piece to other works, such as the documentary Lenny Bruce: Swear to Tell the Truth (1998) and even Bruce’s own 1965 semi-autobiographical book, How to Talk Dirty and Influence People.

Watching Lenny today, in a world where profanity is commonplace and comedians routinely critique the world with no holds barred and no subject off-limits, it’s a little hard to see why Bruce caused such a stir (in fact, he seems pretty tame).

But just as it’s difficult to grasp, for example, how radical rock ‘n roll was in the 1950s if you weren’t there to witness the revolution, it’s hard to understand how influential Bruce was.

However, what is relatable is the way in which he stood up for free speech. His willingness to take that stand paved the way for the likes of Richard Pryor, George Carlin and Bill Hicks, all famed for their free-flowing barbs that mixed reality, absurdity, profanity and satire.

Overall, part of the problem with Lenny is that Bruce’s story is presented in a bubble, when his life and impact need to be placed into the context of America in the 1950s and the early/mid-1960s.

With the Vietnam War gathering pace, societal divisions, the sexual revolution, and violent acts, such as the JFK assassination, shaping these years, Bruce became a much-needed voice of dissent.

Unfortunately, this aspect becomes a little lost in the haze of drugs, self-destruction, obsession and emotional immaturity that, not for the first time, silenced a voice that still had much to say.

Writer takeaway

Lenny has lessons in how to structure a story. It mirrors Bruce’s erratic behaviour by blending a variety of techniques including:

• Flashback: The early days where Bruce meets Honey.

• Flashforward: Bruce in his latter years, when his routines became self-absorbed rants.

• Documentary-style interviews: Honey, Bruce’s manager Art and his comedian mother Sally all get the mock interview treatment (with Fosse as the interviewer).

• The use of archival material & recreation: Such as court records, the verbatim routine towards the end when a drugged-up Bruce falls apart on stage, and the final image, which is of the actual Bruce, dead in 1966.

Other fact-based films that draw on similar techniques and themes include:

• All That Jazz (1979): Get a closer look at Bob Fosse in this thinly-veiled self-directed/choreographed biopic, in which Roy Scheider stars as womanising, drug-using Broadway director, Joe Gideon.

• Raging Bull (1980): If you want a beautifully-shot black and white tale of self-destruction, it doesn’t get better than Martin Scorsese’s biopic of boxer Jake La Motta.

• Man on the Moon (1999): One of the few comic biopics, this features a fantastic central performance by Jim Carrey as the manic Andy Kaufman.