Maestro (2023)
Director: Bradley Cooper
Screenwriter: Bradley Cooper, Josh Singer
Starring: Bradley Cooper, Carey Mulligan, Matt Bomer, Maya Hawke, Sarah Silverman, Sam Nivola

When On the Waterfront opened in 1954, its score gained just as much critical praise as any other element of the film – which isn’t a light feat considering it won eight Oscars. Amazingly, it would remain Leonard Bernstein’s only contribution to cinema. At least, his only contribution that was intended to be part of a film – the music he composed for West Side Story is probably some of his most iconic work, but it was composed for the stage rather than for the screen. For a character as big as Bernstein with a mark on American culture of similar stature, it’s amazing to think that it has taken this long for his second mark on cinema to be made.

Bradley Cooper writes, directs, and stars in Maestro as the man himself. Cooper’s belief in his own ability to multitask is clearly quite strong, and its strength is only matched by his ambition to make a film that spans a life as long and as rich as Bernstein’s. We meet him as an old man who has already done it all, and then we take a step back into his mid-twenties in the early 1940s.

Maestro is a rare case in which style becomes substance. Bradley Cooper’s performance as Bernstein changes to fit each historical era that the film visits – he is more stagey and theatrical in the 40s, and looser and, seemingly, more improvisational in the 70s. It’s not only Cooper’s performance that changes – the cinematography changes to suit the era it’s portraying in more ways than just the use of black and white footage for the older sequences.

As Bernstein himself ages with constantly shifting makeup and facial prosthetics, the look and feel of the world around him informs us as to when it is all taking place by becoming a part of the era it’s portraying. When it’s showing us something from the 40s, it could easily be dropped into a Charlie Chaplin film, whereas the shots that take place in the 70s could be mistaken for Deliverance. In the few glimpses we get into the 80s, it has the atmosphere of a cheesy Miami-set disposable action movie.

The only aspect that isn’t changing and reinventing itself throughout is Felicia, Bernstein’s wife portrayed by Carey Mulligan. Mulligan’s performance is in such stark contrast to Cooper’s that it accentuates both of their characters – Felicia is caring and stable while Leonard is passionate and erratic. They aren’t compatible as lovers, but they share a warmth towards each other that neither takes for granted.

Bernstein is such a flawed character that, if it wasn’t for Felicia’s stability beside him, it would be hard to empathise with why he makes such chaotic life choices at every available opportunity. Maestro never advocates for those choices or attempts to put Bernstein in a light that he isn’t worthy of – it’s as critical of him as it needs to be – but seeing how quickly his personality and his life can change does go some way to creating some relatability for how he could become so self-destructive. A kind light is encouraged by the wealth of context that we’re afforded.

Of course, Maestro isn’t breaking new ground in telling quite a personal story in contrast to an otherwise well-crafted public image. Tár even beat it to be the first one about a conductor to be released in the 2020s. The best comparison for Maestro, however, is probably in something it’s the opposite of, The Greatest Showman. They’re both films about Americans who broke new ground in their respective eras – the former as the first American to lead a symphony orchestra and the latter as the American (P. T. Barnum) who popularised the circus. What makes Maestro and The Greatest Showman so different, though, is that Maestro never attempts to glorify its subject under the pretence that his achievements should outweigh his character. It celebrates his art while retaining the integrity of his flaws.

What it all amounts to is a biopic that is long overdue but served well by its existence now that it is finally here. Bradley Cooper has managed to make Maestro a thoughtful depiction of Leonard Bernstein’s life and character, but also of the world that shaped him and the people who were around him for it all.

Score: 17/24

Written by Rob Jones

You can support Rob Jones on his website: rbrtjones.com
Twitter: @rbrtjones

According to Screencraft, there are six essential elements to a Christmas film: nostalgia, magic, family, atmosphere, hope, and redemption. These can all be easily applied to festive classics we know and love, such as the iconic It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), the joyous Elf (2003), and the British household staple Nativity! (2009).

Even so, there has been debate upon debate about whether certain films can be entered into the yuletide Hall of Fame, the most prominent of these being Die Hard (1988). One film that should be considered but seems to fly under the radar is Steven Spielberg’s 2002 crime caper and comedy-drama Catch Me If You Can.

Released on Christmas Day, the film is based on the true story of how teenager Frank Abagnale Jr. (Leonardo DiCaprio) successfully pulled off confidence schemes worth millions of dollars by impersonating a pilot, a doctor and a lawyer, all whilst evading the clutches of FBI agent Carl Hanratty (Tom Hanks).

Doesn’t sound very Christmassy, right? Wrong!

Spielberg’s caper immediately establishes the film’s sense of nostalgia through its period setting of the 1960s. We are transported back in time to when banks didn’t have high-tech security, Pan Am was the kingpin of American air travel, and Frank’s ugly orange knitted vest was considered fashionable. These are all nostalgic for the people who grew up in and around the 1960s, and that group would have been the target audience for this film back in 2002.

The film’s sense of nostalgia still holds up today. There is a scene in which Frank, in the midst of his pilot con, goes to the cinema to watch the iconic James Bond film of the era Dr. No (1962), then it cuts to him having a suit measured. What name does he give the tailor? Ian Fleming, the author of James Bond.

In a way, it’s magic. Which is, of course, a key ingredient of a Christmas film.

Whilst the magic isn’t depicted in the stereotypical manner of wizards and fairy dust, Frank is represented as an immoral magician, right from the moment he steps into his classroom in a new school and hoodwinks his class into thinking he is the substitute teacher. We buy into the grand scale of Frank’s ongoing mastery of disguise and sleight of hand, and it makes for entertaining viewing even if certain elements of the true story have been widely disputed.

As with most Spielberg films, one of the central themes is a broken home and the effects it has on the children involved. If anything screams “Christmas film” it’s the idea of family and themes of reconciliation and repairing broken relationships.

We are introduced to the tight-knit Abagnale family, with Frank Sr. (Christopher Walken) receiving an award as his wife Paula (Nathalie Baye) and son Frank watch on in admiration. We then cut to a scene in which Frank watches his parents dancing by the family Christmas tree, as Frank Sr. recounts the story of how he and Paula met. From here, the idyllic family life takes a turn when Frank Sr.’s tax problems and Paula’s affair ultimately lead to their divorce. Upon being forced to choose which parent to live with, Frank rebels by running away from upstate New York to the City, thus kickstarting his career as a high-stakes con artist.

Throughout the film, we see Frank meeting up with his father, hoping that the money he has made will convince his parents to reconcile and make their living situation go back to the way it was. Frank Sr. resists this idea, having moved on and accepted what happened. This upsets Frank, who plunges deeper and deeper into his scams.

The film’s heartbreaking climactic moment comes years later, as Carl tells Frank that his father has died whilst they are flying back to the US. Distraught, Frank escapes the plane and finds the house of his mother, who has a new family. This prompts Frank to finally stop running and to surrender to Carl and the FBI.

In the climax, Frank sees his mother’s new family on Christmas Day, where there are fairy lights and a tree just like the one in the start of film. He looks on through the window, excluded from the life he used to have and desperately longed to have back. The beautiful tones of Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song” underpin the emotional weight of the scene, with the warmth of the classic song heavily contrasting Frank being left out in the cold.

Christmas Eve itself is a recurring motif throughout the film. Frank calls Carl to provoke him to send a team to chase him and apologise for their last encounter. Carl sees through this, realising that Frank has nobody to talk to. A few years later, Frank calls Carl on that day to tell him that he wants a truce, as he is getting married. Carl declines, saying that he will be caught and put in prison. Their final interaction on this day comes when Carl tracks Frank down to Montrichard, where his father met his mother on Christmas Eve. Frank is subsequently arrested by French police.

Hope is another seasonally relevant key theme throughout Catch Me If You Can, as Frank’s schemes are based upon his hope that the rewards will prompt his parents to get back together. The naivety of this notion makes the film’s climax all that more heartbreaking. Leonardo DiCaprio’s performance in this regard is phenomenal, as he is able to shape-shift from a cocky kid playing the part of an adult into an anxious young boy going through a traumatic change in his life when he is on the brink of adulthood. It is certainly a gamble to cast a 32 year-old as a 16 year-old, but it paid off. Spielberg is able to utilise the actor’s talents to convey this loss of childlike hope over time, presenting a type of coming-of-age we often see in Christmas films like Elf and Meet Me In St. Louis.

At the end of the film, after Frank is sentenced to 12 years in prison, Carl offers him an opportunity for redemption, as he realises that Frank’s conning skills can be utilised to help the FBI detect fraud. Frank accepts serving the rest of his sentence by working at the FBI, but finds that an office job is incredibly tedious. Frank prepares to impersonate a pilot one last time, but Carl finds him in the airport, saying nobody is chasing him. He tries to question Carl about his family, as Carl reveals that he is the father in a broken home, with a daughter not much younger than Frank himself. At that moment, we think Frank is going to go through with the con, but he appears back at the FBI and the film ends with him and Carl discussing one of the cons in great depth. This is a bright, feel-good ending reminiscent of any number of great Christmas films, and one that arguably ties their father-son-like relationship together, revealing to us a found family staple of a deeply unconventional nature but a wholly Christmas one nonetheless.

Written by Grace Laidler

Follow Grace Laidler on Twitter: @gracewillhuntin

May December (2023)
Director: Todd Haynes
Screenwriters: Samy Burch, Alex Mechanik
Starring: Natalie Portman, Julianne Moore, Charles Melton, Gabriel Chung, Elizabeth Yu

Todd Haynes’ films are hard to pin down. Ever the subversive, the renegade of the new queer cinema movement has a proven track record of destabilizing conventional wisdoms surrounding everything from sex to gender to celebrity to domesticity and the American nuclear family. Unafraid to wear his influences on his sleeve, and to subject them to satire and scrutiny, Haynes wields homage, melodrama, and allegory in his deconstruction of the social, political, and aesthetic contexts in which his characters dwell. His is a cinema of transgression that gets its teeth from a sort of reflexive formalism, for his films frequently call attention to their own artifice. 

Take 2002’s Far From Heaven, for example. In many ways, the film, which centers on a 1950s suburban housewife whose secret affair threatens the sanguine domestic lifestyle she is expected to uphold, is a straight-up remake of Douglas Sirk’s 1955 melodrama All That Heaven Allows, complete with all the soap and glitziness that defined Hays Code-era Hollywood. The catch is that Haynes’ film is, nonetheless, thoroughly modern in its details—by peppering in subject matter that would have been considered too taboo back in the 50s (even for Sirk, who was considered a rebel in his time), namely interracial and homosexual relationships, Haynes turns the entire genre on its head. Films such as Far From Heaven demonstrate Haynes’ unique ability to firmly situate his work relative to established cinematic traditions—and to then boldly defy them. In this way, Todd Haynes is a filmmaker who always seems to have his finger on the pulse, his films conversing with the past to illuminate the present. 

The present unto which May December, Haynes’ latest, arrives feels particularly elusive—and, fittingly, so does the film. Written by Samy Burch and loosely inspired by the public scandal surrounding Mary Kay Letourneau, the screenplay orbits three central characters: Gracie Atherton-Yoo (Julianne Moore), a suburban pariah who was once the subject of a tabloid frenzy surrounding her predatory sexual involvement with a 13-year-old boy; Joe Atherton-Yoo (Charles Melton), the boy, now in his 30s and married with children to Gracie; and Elizabeth Berry (Natalie Portman), a B-list actress who comes to study Gracie and her family in preparation to play her in a movie about the scandal. 

On first glance, such a premise seems tailor-made for the Netflix-patented true-crime-content-machine; and yet May December cleverly co-opts these vapid true-crime precepts, and our twisted attendance to them. Where Far From Heaven leverages melodrama to challenge the genre’s largely sanitized depiction of domestic life in the 1950s, May December weaponizes viewers’ learned appetite for sensationalism to unravel the tabloid mythologies that form around deviant crimes and their perpetrators—and which often exploit the victims. 

Portman’s Elizabeth is the doorway through which Haynes instantly implicates the viewer. Her morbid curiosity to get to the bottom of Gracie and Joe’s strange dynamic largely matches our own. However, as she ingratiates herself among the family, it quickly becomes clear that Elizabeth’s intentions are far more perverse. As Gracie’s mask begins to slip, so too does Elizabeth’s, revealing her obsessive, megalomaniacal fantasy of coveting, or perhaps recreating, Gracie’s and Joe’s lived experience. The ensuing dissonance, heightened by the melodramatic register in which the film operates, not only makes for an unnaturalness that is often quite funny (Marcelo Zarvos’s ostentatious score is a big part of this), but it also makes space for thorny ethical questions surrounding spectatorship, representation, autonomy, and consent—none of which feel overly didactic. 

Instead, in true Haynes fashion, ambiguities stay ambiguous, and the viewer is left to dwell in the gray areas. Neither patronizing nor flattering these characters, Haynes complicates prevailing assumptions surrounding Gracie and Joe by lending them both a degree of agency, and in doing so undermines whatever vague suggestion is made toward a simple sociological explanation for their relationship (e.g. personality disorders, abuse begetting abuse). Actors and outcasts alike, these are characters whose identities are defined by performance, whether of normalcy, security, sincerity, or innocence. Like the many mirrors Haynes frames them in, Portman, Moore, and, perhaps most impressively, Melton reflect and belie their characters’ superficial personas. 

May December comes at a strange moment in time when the popularity of true-crime content feels at odds with flattened conceptions of moral goodness and badness in popular media. What makes the film feel particularly incisive and contemporary—infinitely more so than the titles it is destined to be algorithmically paired with on the Netflix home screen—are the ways in which it converses with this moment and indeed the viewer. Haynes’ latest is, once again, hard to pin down; but it is even harder to forget. 

Score: 22/24

May December is nominated for 4 Golden Globes.

Written by Connell Oberman

You can support Connell Oberman in the following places:

Twitter: @ObermanConnell
Instagram: @connello_22
Substack: ConnellOberman

Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987)
Director: John Hughes
Screenwriter: John Hughes
Starring: Steve Martin, John Candy

You’d be hard-pressed to name a more beloved Thanksgiving movie than the late John Hughes’ Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987). For many, the film has a virtual monopoly on the holiday’s cinematic canon (sorry, Charlie Brown) and endures as quintessential post-feast viewing. And, while Hughes’ other holiday flicks such as National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (1989) and Home Alone (1990) would go on to become living room mainstays in their own right, the king of crowd-pleasers’ first foray into holiday fare remains his most timeless. 

The film stars Steve Martin and the late John Candy as an oddball pair of unlucky travelers determined to make it home for Thanksgiving—in spite of the gamut of transportation delays thrown their way. The two are total opposites: Martin plays Neal Page, a prickly, Scroogean advertising executive who wants nothing more than to be left alone, while Candy plays Del Griffith, a chatterbox shower-ring salesman who Neal can’t seem to shake. Needless to say, Neal and Del’s perceived incompatibility makes for some delightful screwball comedy as they continually find themselves stranded. 

Anyone even marginally familiar with Steve Martin or John Candy’s work can see how inspired their casting was for a film with such a premise. These guys are their characters, and their characters are them. Their chemistry is palpable even as Neal’s standoffishness increasingly and hilariously chafes up against Del’s inability to take a hint. Hence the litany of endlessly-quoted one liners—some scripted, some improvised—which have cemented themselves in the American pop-culture lexicon (“Those aren’t pillows!”). 

And yet such iconic moments were ultimately conjured by Hughes’ brisk and gratifying script, as well as his willingness to let the performers make it their own. As Kevin Bacon—who has a brief cameo at the beginning of the film as the guy Neal races to hail a cab during rush hour—once recalled, “He wasn’t precious about his own dialogue. He was precious about his characters.”

One might recall the motel scene—in which Neal ruthlessly explodes on Del, only for Del to soberly reaffirm his security with himself, with all his idiosyncrasies and eccentric tendencies—as one of many in the film that cracks you up while tugging at your heartstrings. This is where the film hits a sweet spot: one where farcical comedy is balanced seamlessly with sincere emotional drama. Martin and Candy elevate the latent sentimentality in Hughes’ script to surprisingly moving ends, and Hughes relishes in it. Perhaps more so than National Lampoon’s and Home Alone—both of which Hughes wrote, but did not direct—Planes, Trains and Automobiles’ direction seems to be in perfect harmony with its performers, mining Martin and Candy’s brilliance for all it’s worth.

Above it all, Neal and Del’s ultimate connection—one between two lonely men who, under different circumstances, would likely remain total strangers—is what maintains the film’s continued resonance. We care about these characters because, in a way, they are us. Perhaps even more so today than in 1987, the tedium of our routines so often alienates us from our neighbors. It would not be difficult to imagine a contemporaneous version of this film sending up the impersonality of ridesharing and the gig economy. (When was the last time you made meaningful conversation with your Uber driver? What if you were now stuck with them?) 

Underneath all the film’s warm-and-fuzziness is a sort of universal truth, an exercise in empathy that has maintained its potency. As Hughes once said about the film: “I like taking dissimilar people, putting them together, and finding what’s common to us all.” These themes are not new, but they are universal—and when delivered skillfully and sincerely, comedy can become quite affecting. Planes, Trains, and Automobiles is one of those films that feels like a rarity in big studios’ output today and yet timeless nonetheless, which is perhaps why it is remembered so fondly. This is a comedy that set a standard for the genre—even if, at the end of the day, it was all in the holiday spirit.

Score: 19/24

Written by Connell Oberman

You can support Connell Oberman in the following places:

Twitter: @ObermanConnell
Instagram: @connello_22
Substack: ConnellOberman

And yet it was not without its burdens. The considerable side-effects of growing up in the spotlight reached a disturbing crescendo by the time Foster started undergrad at Yale in 1980, where she was obsessively stalked by John Hinckley Jr., the Travis Bickle wannabe who would go on to shoot Ronald Reagan. Amazingly, Foster continued to act in films between semesters until she graduated in 1985—although few of them managed to garner critical or commercial success. That trend continued in the years following as Foster struggled to redefine herself as an actress. She had displayed such strength and graceful resilience on-screen and in her life: it was about time her adult roles reflected that. 

That much-needed spark came with 1988’s The Accused, in which Foster plays a rape survivor fighting to bring her assailants to justice, and 1991’s The Silence of the Lambs, which saw her embody the now-iconic FBI trainee Clarice Starling alongside Anthony Hopkins’ legendary Hannibal Lecter. Foster won an Academy Award for each film, and she carried on the momentum through the 90s with celebrated performances in films such as Nell (1994) and Contact (1997), and even made her directorial debut with Little Man Tate (1991). Foster’s pedigree amongst her peers and audiences was undoubtedly cemented by the time she was invited to head the jury at the 2001 Cannes Film Festival, a position from which she ultimately stepped down to star in David Fincher’s suspenseful cat-and-mouse thriller Panic Room (2002). 

Through the 2000s, Foster’s turn as the villainous Madeleine White in Spike Lee’s Inside Man (2006) and her well-documented but ultimately ill-fated effort to direct and star in a biopic about the notorious, if technically brilliant, Nazi propagandist Leni Riefenstahl made convincing counterpoints to dissenting criticisms accusing Foster of “sanctifying herself as an old-fashioned heroine [rather than] taking on dramatically risky roles.” Such criticisms arguably neglected to acknowledge the fact that Foster has been taking risks since she was a child, but they also failed to appreciate the deeply affecting vulnerability Foster brings to even the most competent and resolute of characters. 

And, while Foster has been famously—and understandably—reticent about her personal life aside from her devastating 1982 Esquire essay “Why Me?,” which recounted her experience as a public figure up to the John Hinckley incident, and her 2011 Golden Globes speech which vaguely alluded to speculation surrounding her sexuality, this vulnerability has come to define her career. Jodie Foster is not only simply good at her job, much like many of the women she has played, but she also clearly brings a piece of herself to every role. Now, after a long stint working primarily as a director, she seems to be turning a new chapter—one that sees the celebrated actress return to form with projects such as the upcoming ‘True Detective: Night Country’ (2024), and get personal in films like 2023’s Nyad. 

In 2021, Foster told the New York Times: “I am a solitary, internal person in an extroverted, external job. I don’t think I will ever not feel lonely. It’s a theme in my life. It’s not such a bad thing. I don’t need to be known by everyone.” Perhaps the reluctant movie star would rather her work speak for itself, as it does in these 3 Career-Defining Performances. 

1. Taxi Driver (1976)

Taxi Driver Review

Any evaluation of Jodie Foster’s career would be incomplete without mention of her revelatory turn as Iris Steensma in Martin Scorsese’s early-career masterpiece. Hers is widely considered to be one of the best child performances of all time and earned her the first Oscar nomination of her career at the age of 13. Already an acclaimed child star for her work in films such as Disney’s Napoleon and Samantha (1972) and the 1973 adaptation Tom Sawyer, Foster seemed destined to become a defining performer of her generation. If Taxi Driver taught us anything, it’s that she already was. 

Martin Scorsese must have sensed it, too. Foster had previously appeared in the auteur’s 1974 film Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, so by the time she was cast in Taxi Driver, she and Scorsese had already established a working relationship. Still, then-12-year-old Foster’s casting as a child prostitute opposite Robert De Niro’s antisocial weirdo Travis Bickle raised more than a few eyebrows. Abundant cautionary measures were taken to ensure Foster’s—and her mother’s—comfort while performing, including regular psychiatric check-ups, constant accompaniment by a social worker on set, and the substitution of Foster with her older sister Connie for a few particularly suggestive scenes. 

Foster herself, though, seemed unfazed by her role’s apparent ethical grayness: “To me it was another role, and I understood the difference between making movies and actually being a person. So it wasn’t really impactful for me. I don’t think I was confused by the sexuality in the film,” she recalled. It might be an overstatement to assume that Foster had a complete and clear-eyed understanding of the film’s thematic material at the time, but she embodied this character with such fearlessness and emotional candor that she elucidates it all the same. 

Her character does not get significant screen time until the film’s third act, when the increasingly unstable Bickle takes it upon himself to facilitate her liberation—and yet Iris is not merely the object of Bickle’s crusade but also the film’s beating heart. Upon their first meeting, or in the iconic diner scene, the sociopathic Bickle is baffled by Iris’s naive buoyancy. She’s a victim of a perverse society, undoubtedly more so than Bickle, and yet her sense of indignation seems far less than that which he feels on her—and his—behalf. By the time Bickle goes on his rampage, the textually rich interactions between he and Iris have called into question any notion that his actions are driven by anything other than a need to placate his violent urges in the name of righteous justice. Still, Iris represents the sort of injured humanity that no doubt wrestles for control inside Bickle. The kids aren’t alright, and neither is he. This layered diagnosis of the many diseases plaguing American society after the Vietnam war (and which are just as prescient today) would have been simply incomplete without Foster’s acutely intelligent and affecting performance. 

While Foster would go on to bolster her early-career resume with starring roles in tentpole films like Freaky Friday (1976) and Bugsy Malone (1976), it was undoubtedly Taxi Driver that would come to define this stage of her career; not only for its revered status, but also for what was undoubtedly her coronation as a performer well ahead of her time—and meant for much more than Disney originals. Robert De Niro famously took Foster under his wing while filming, which, it could be reasonably assumed, only refined her enormous talent. “He really helped me understand improvisation and building a character in a way that was almost nonverbal,” Foster said of the experience. With one of the most prolific actor-filmmaker tandems of all time attesting to her skills, Jodie Foster was clearly bound to play with the big kids. 

2. The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

The Silence of the Lambs Review

Foster won her second Oscar for her role as Clarice Starling, the industrious young FBI investigator opposite Anthony Hopkins’ cerebral and chillingly polite Hannibal Lecter, an incarcerated cannibal Starling is tasked with gleaning psychological insight from to help catch a serial killer. Fresh off her first win for her role in 1998’s The Accused, Foster was in a new prime—and while her performance in that film could just as well represent this stage of her career, it is her turn as Starling that has since been immortalized. 

Despite her newfound acclaim in adult roles, Foster had to wait behind industry fixtures such as Michelle Pfeiffer, Meg Ryan, and Laura Dern for the role—all three declined the part due to film’s disturbing themes and Foster, having expressed enthusiasm for the part since she read the 1988 novel, got her shot. 

The film has since reached classic-status—despite controversy surrounding its polarizing treatment of themes related to transgenderism and sexuality—thanks in no small part to Foster’s performance. Foster’s Starling, small in stature, nonetheless consumes every scene she’s in, transcending even Sir Anthony Hopkins, who is also at the top of his game. Director Jonathan Demme frequently frames Clarice in close-ups, which feels like a deliberate rendering of the inescapable male gaze that follows her everywhere, and Foster, with her aptitude for the subdued and unspoken, shines. She convincingly embodies a woman who is simultaneously unwavering and deeply vulnerable in the face of Lecter’s psychological ambushes. It’s the type of thing that separates run-of-the-mill crime thrillers from timeless innovations of the genre—and Foster’s performance is timeless in its own right. 

Would it be going too far to say her role in Silence was one of Foster’s most personal? Perhaps not, since Foster reportedly tried to option the novel even before Demme was attached, and since the film offers compelling reflections on gender politics and the experience of being watched. Foster was, unfortunately, no stranger to such themes in her real life, so it makes sense that she approached the role with profound honesty and vulnerability. Clarice is tough; she’s “the woman that saves the women.” And yet she exists in a discomfiting reality that most women know all too well. 

The tension between these elements illuminates a theme that would come to define the roles Foster took on. If not lambs, then Foster’s unusual life experiences nonetheless scream through her work. From “Why Me?”: “There were things to be done, secrets to keep. I was supposed to be ‘tough,’ like cowboys, like diplomats, like ‘unaffected actresses’—not because anyone asked me to but because I wanted to show them (God knows who) that I was strong. I wanted to show them all that Jodie was so uniquely ‘normal’ and ‘well-adjusted’ that nothing could make her fall. I think I believed all this, my subconscious propaganda.”

3. Contact (1997)

By 1997, Jodie Foster was a bonafide movie star. Suddenly, she found herself being sought after for bigger and bigger projects—which would result in a string of genre star vehicles around the turn of the millennium. The actress would go on to work with the likes of David Fincher and Spike Lee, but it was perhaps her collaboration with Robert Zemeckis in his sci-fi melodrama Contact (1997) that bore the most memorable performance from this period in her career. 

The film, an adaptation of Carl Sagan’s 1988 novel, was a box office success and has largely held up over time despite mixed reviews upon its release. Foster’s performance is far and away the best part of the film, as her character Dr. Ellie Arroway becomes more than a generic sci-fi protagonist in her quest to establish contact with extraterrestrial beings. Foster, with her trademark rugged sensitivity, largely embodies the tension between faith and science and the messy convergence of the two. Like the film’s screenplay, Foster’s performance is interesting because it cleverly subverts easy clichés in favor of a more grounded, humanistic exploration of its otherwise schmaltzy premise. She’s no Ellen Ripley, but she’s just as heroic. 

A film of cosmic ambition, Contact works precisely because of Foster’s ability to bring depth and sincerity to her character. As Dr. Arroway gets swept up in the frenzied worldwide response to her discovery of an otherworldly radio transmission—a flagrant confirmation of the existence of extraterrestrial life—her character nonetheless feels honest and believable, which makes her ultimate journey into space all the more compelling. Zemeckis understands this and rarely separates the audience from Foster even as the film’s scale expands dramatically. 

In Foster’s own words: “I think, more than any character that I’ve ever played, Ellie Arroway is the most like me or at least the most like how I think I should be seen — how I see myself or something.” The lonely astronomer might not be the first of Foster’s characters to feel like a de facto analogue for Foster herself, but her sci-fi milieu only confirms that Foster has the chops to tackle any kind of material. 

Whether she’s surrounded by blue screens or rubbing elbows with other iconic performers, Jodie Foster consistently delivers performances capable of moving even the most cynical viewer. Her filmography boasts a pantheon of strong-willed heroines, precocious youngsters, and complicated women—and her prolific directorial career is nothing to thumb your nose at. With more to come from the legendary actress as she enters her 60s, now is as good a time as ever to appreciate her storied career. 

Written by Connell Oberman

You can support Connell Oberman in the following places:

Twitter: @ObermanConnell
Instagram: @connello_22
Substack: ConnellOberman

The four films released annually between 2012 and 2015 present a dystopian near future dominated by class divides and its public’s insatiable appetite for violence and cheap thrills. It focuses upon Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) as she navigates her position as a tribute in the 74th Hunger Games in Panem, what was once North America, before winning and unintentionally becoming the face of a rebellion.

In the universe of the films, the Hunger Games are an annual televised event in which 24 participants (Tributes) are forced to fight to the death until one remains. This competition was enforced by the Capitol (the ruling power of Panem) after the 13 Districts of Panem rebelled against their power. As retribution, District 13 was annihilated, and the 12 remaining Districts must offer up their children into the Hunger Games as a reminder of the cost of insurrection against the Capitol.

One boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18 are selected from each District in a lottery system (the Reaping). They are paraded as if they are celebrities, dressed in high fashion, interviewed on mandatory viewing programmes, before being shipped into a custom-made themed arena in a battle that often lasts weeks.

The Victor is then bestowed a home, riches, and exemption from further participation in the Games, while their District receives additional food for the year following their victory. The Victor will then be placed into a pool of Mentors to support the future Tributes of their District as they navigate their own preparation for the Games.

The Quadrilogy follows Katniss primarily, as she wins her first Hunger Games and manages to survive her second until she is liberated by the Rebellion. Whilst this is ongoing, she is navigating complex relationships with Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson), her two-time District 12 Tribute/Victor counterpart, and Gale Hawthorne (Liam Hemsworth), her childhood friend and closest ally in District 12. Meanwhile, she is trying to keep her family safe, primarily her sister Primrose (Willow Shields), and trying to escape any negative attention from her accidental enemy, President Snow (Donald Sutherland).

In this Movie List from The Film Magazine, we are evaluating the best moments across the four films that cover Katniss Everdeen’s journey from a District 12 Tribute to the figurehead of a revolution. We will be considering the moments that made our hearts stop and kept us on the edge of our seats as we attempt to outline what truly are the most iconic moments of the Girl on Fire and beyond. These are the 10 Best The Hunger Games Moments.

Follow @thefilmagazine on X (Twitter).

10. Katniss Adjusting Her Aim to Kill President Coin
The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 2 (2015)

The rebellion has ended with the underclass Districts triumphing over the might of the Capitol. The Government of Panem has been overthrown. The end of the Hunger Games, and the end of forced starvation and extreme poverty, is in sight. But Katniss is all too aware of what it has cost her, having witnessed the deaths of her squadron, including Finnick Odair (Sam Claflin) and brutally, in the last moments of the war, her little sister Prim (Willow Shields). The whole saga started with Katniss trying to save Prim from death, and despite it all she couldn’t save the person who mattered to her the most. Katniss has been charged with killing President Snow (Donald Sutherland), the now dethroned ruler of Panem. President Coin (Julianne Moore), the leader of the Rebellion and now assumed President, announces what is about to happen. Katniss pulls the single arrow from her sheath and takes aim at Snow, before quickly adjusting her aim and shooting Coin straight in the heart. She intends to kill herself with a nightlock pill (crafted from poisonous berries) tucked in her outfit, but Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) stops her in her tracks, allowing her capture and Snow to be torn apart by seething crowds.

This, as the end of the war, is what we’ve been waiting a long time to see. Katniss facing President Snow, finally with her in power. However, her previous discussions with him illuminate the pawn she has been for President Coin. Katniss begins to see that Coin is not trying to overthrow Panem for entirely pure reasons, she wishes for power and is willing to allow the Hunger Games to continue in a differing format. Katniss also comes to learn that Prim died in a trap placed by the Rebels, which also killed many Capitol children, seen as collateral damage by Coin. In this moment, Katniss finally reclaims the autonomy she lost as a pawn for both Snow and Coin. Whilst she becomes an enemy of the nation, Katniss knows she has avenged her sister and prevented another corrupt leader rising in Panem. Katniss never wanted to be the hero, but she still did it. This, Katniss’ final kill, represents the end of her journey as a warrior and a piece in their games. Katniss barely makes a sound, but the weight of her emotion is clear in every small movement she makes. She has nothing to lose, but might be able to change the course of the future with one final shot.

This moment makes the list because of how shocking it is, and the gravity of the situation itself. Katniss, a girl from the poorest part of a poor region, now stands before two Presidents as the most important person in the country. The culmination of the series must be represented in the top 10, only hindered by how much we’ve lost to get to this point, and how painful it is to see Katniss ready to die after losing Prim.

9. Finnick Odair’s Death
The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 2 (2015)

In one of the scariest moments of the franchise, Katniss and her elite Capitol invasion squad have descended below the streets of the city to avoid ‘pods’ (traps intended to kill advancing rebels) and increased Peacekeeper (Capitol soldiers) presence. However, the sewers and tunnels beneath the city are not without danger. Snow-white humanoid lizard beasts (created by the Capitol) pursue the group, soon decimating them as they attempt to flee via tight, dark sewer tunnels. Our heroes make a last stand as they attempt to climb out of the sewers, with Katniss and Finnick (Sam Claflin) leading the charge as the most skilled combatants. Finnick manages to save Katniss and takes out countless Mutts as the others escape, ultimately throwing his trident straight through a Mutt to save Katniss as she ascends the ladder. Armed only with a knife, Finnick makes it to the ladder before being dragged underwater to be massacred. Katniss activates a detonation sequence in her Holo (a map loaded with sensitive Capitol info) and uses it to kill Finnick and the Mutts.

Katniss having to mercy kill Finnick is yet another traumatic moment for her and the audience. Finnick’s death represents the hopelessness of the group’s Capitol mission. Finnick is the Victor amongst Victors, beloved by all and a larger-than-life personality. Katniss lied to make this mission happen, and she sees Finnick’s death as yet another that she caused, another weight for her to bear. It could have been avoided if she had only stuck to her original orders of avoiding live combat, but she wished to be the one to kill Snow no matter what. Finnick’s death cuts deep as, by this point, we know he has married his childhood sweetheart, and that in his years post-victory of the Hunger Games he was sex-trafficked by President Snow. He was presented as a symbol of success amongst the Districts but treated only as a plaything by those in charge.

This scene is so iconic for many reasons, the pure shock of Finnick’s death when he has become one of the most beloved characters and revealed many new layers of vulnerability throughout the franchise. As an audience member, you just want to see Finnick finally live a quiet life with his wife, however it is snatched away in a particularly horrifying manner, allowing him no reprieve from the non-stop torture he has faced since the age of fourteen. Finnick’s death remains one of the biggest talking points of the franchise many years on.

Recommended for you: 10 Best Twilight Moments

Dream Scenario (2023)
Director: Kristoffer Borgli
Screenwriter: Kristoffer Borgli
Starring: Nicolas Cage, Julianne Nicholson, Michael Cera, Dylan Baker, Tim Meadows, Lily Bird, Jessica Clement, Paula Boudreau, Marie McPhail

Nicolas Cage has become an internet darling in recent times, to the point that he’s the first actor since John Malkovich who has been able to comfortably play himself in a film without it seeming self-indulgent. Matt Damon and Ben Affleck turning up for a small cameo in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back might qualify for a special dispensation, however. The thing with Nicolas Cage that makes him unique, though, is that he is one of very few actors who pops up in anything and everything. He can just as easily carry a huge budget blockbuster as he’s likely to be the face of a straight-to-streaming B-Movie. What we can always guarantee is that he’ll always give it his absolute best. Whether that means creating a new meme or garnering widespread critical acclaim doesn’t really matter, because either way we’re in for something special.

To that end, Dream Scenario seems like, well, a dream scenario for a Nicolas Cage film. At its base, it’s about an unremarkable professor, played by Cage, who wants more from his life, and suddenly finds notoriety when he starts popping up in people’s dreams. As a premise, it’s weird and compelling, but it also comes with the backing of A24 – a studio who have built a certain level of trust among audiences with films like Everything Everywhere All at Once and Past Lives in recent memory. It sounds like a B-Movie fit to garner the internet’s next favourite meme, but it’s backed by a studio that could give us Cage’s next Academy Award for Best Actor.

Paul (Nicholas Cage) is instantly quite relatable as a character – he lives a normal life with a normal job and a normal family. It’s comfortable, but it isn’t anything exciting. We get a glimpse into the kind of person he is when he sets up a meeting with a former colleague, Sheila (Paula Boudreau). Sheila is about to have a piece of research published that Paul believes he should be credited for. Whether he actually should or not is never confirmed, but Sheila certainly doesn’t agree with him.

As we get to know Paul more, it’s quite easy to believe it might well have been a reach on his behalf in an attempt to gain any kind of recognition in the field he has been working in for his entire life. Paul’s wife, Janet (Julianne Nicholson), encourages Paul to record the meeting so she can hear her husband demand what he’s owed, but he deletes the recording before she’s able to hear the truth of what actually happened.

Paul and Janet go to the theatre together where an ex-girlfriend, Claire (Marnie McPhail), recognises Paul. She’s excited to see him because he has been on her mind lately, albeit unwillingly. He has been appearing in her dreams. He then learns that he has been appearing in his students’ dreams too, and then also the dreams of a bunch of random people who are asking who he is and why it’s happening on Facebook.

Initially, he’s besotted by the limelight, and he actively takes his space in it. People are excited to meet him for what appears to be the first time in his life and he can’t get enough of it. He even derails whole lectures to engage in a Q&A sessions with students who are seeing him in their dreams. What he isn’t so happy about is that, like in real life, he always seems to play a passive part in the dreams. As he starts to play a much more active role in his own life, the version of him that appears in people’s dreams follows suit, but it isn’t to a desirable end.

Dream Scenario is far less weird than it seems. Much like Being John Malkovich, it uses its surrealist nucleus as a driver to explore much more usual themes. Through this odd phenomenon where Nicolas Cage’s Paul is appearing in everyone’s dreams, we’re asked to consider cultural phenomena that are relevant to modern life. The newly instantaneous and unfiltered nature of how a person can rise to fame, the loss of nuance that comes with the sudden mass awareness of a flawed individual, and the frivolity of cancel culture are all brought into question.

There isn’t really anything in Dream Scenario that absolutely has to be driven by the idea that this random person has started showing up in people’s dreams, though, nor is there any attempt to explore how or why it might be happening. If Paul had just gone viral as the result of pulling a strange face in the background of a news report, for example, most of Dream Scenario would be exactly the same film.

The story of Paul’s rise and fall could still be the same for the large majority of it, and in a way, it might have even been more satisfying as a complete narrative. There wouldn’t have been any abstract concept to dive further into when there was clearly no interest in doing so. The interest of the film is plainly in deconstructing and commenting on modern viral celebrity culture and the pitfalls that come with it.

Dream Scenario is a showcase of what Nicholas Cage does very well, or at least one of the things he does very well. It’s a character study of a man who’s frustrated with a life that most people would be satisfied with because he wants more from it. It’s as if Charlie Kaufman’s Adaptation was rewritten to replace the references to orchids with an allegory about a mild-mannered Freddy Krueger, and who else could play such a role? It’s effortlessly watchable and compelling in a number of ways, but it wouldn’t have hurt to further explore the absurd concept that it all comes from.

Score: 19/24

Written by Rob Jones

You can support Rob Jones on his website: rbrtjones.com
Twitter: @rbrtjones

How to Have Sex (2023)
Director: Molly Manning Walker
Screenwriter: Molly Manning Walker
Starring: Mia McKenna-Bruce, Enva Lewis, Lara Peake, Daisy Jelley, Laura Ambler, Shaun Thomas, Samuel Bottomley

Winner of the Un Certain Regard prize at Cannes 2023, How to Have Sex follows three 16-year-olds on a girls’ trip to Malia. Molly Manning Walker’s riveting directorial debut captures those formative teenage years, with a focus on female friendship and first sexual experiences, specifically around the subject of consent.

Best friends Tara (Mia McKenna-Bruce), Em (Enva Lewis) and Skye (Lara Peake) fully embrace their first taste of post-GCSE freedom, in a joyous bubble of drinking and partying. While the film navigates dark territory, it is also full of great humour, perfectly depicting the emotional rollercoaster of being a teenage girl and the messy silliness of Brits abroad.

But beneath the glittery, ecstatic haze of uninhibited freedom, Walker sustains a looming sense of something sinister, and this darker area is explored later in the film.

How to Have Sex expertly captures the experience of being 16, transporting us into Tara’s position. The close-ups of her face reflect both euphoria and overwhelm, as she navigates exciting but daunting untrodden territory. Thrust into an ultra-sexualized world where men receive blowjobs onstage at nightclubs and prizes are awarded for sexual conquests, the party island is a sensory overload. These close-ups are most poignantly used during moments of sexual intimacy, conveying Tara’s emotional experience, rather than the physical act itself.

The presentation of female sexuality is a stark contrast to films like Harmony Korine’s Spring Breakers; the voyeuristic gaze of his camera constantly leering over the teenage girls’ half-naked bodies. Thankfully, the male gaze is purposefully absent in Walker’s film, and in the wrong hands, such intimate scenes might have been handled far less sensitively.

Molly Manning Walker’s film highlights the pressure to have sex; whether that pressure is from society, friends, or the pressure we put on ourselves. As the more sexually experienced Skye tells Tara, “if you don’t get laid on this holiday, you never will”. The film demonstrates how losing one’s virginity can be seen as a goal to be achieved, no matter what the potential cost.

Walker discussed her intention behind the film’s theme in an interview with Miranda Sawyer for The Guardian. “For me, consent has become too black and white in terms of ‘she said yes, so it’s fine’…that doesn’t always work – it’s not enough”. The film does a great job of exploring the nuances of consent, rather than a binary presentation, particularly the subtleties of external pressures and coercion. Walker avoids blaming men alone, explaining in the same interview: “not taking away all blame or guilt, but I know that it’s not all their fault… it’s the way that society has brought them up”.

Walker’s personal experience heavily influenced the film, drawing on her own wild teenage holidays, as well as a sexual assault at the age of 16. “Some of these holidays are still the best memories of my life, but there are other complicated memories within them”, she told Woman’s Hour. The film importantly acknowledges that a traumatic event does not need to eradicate the joyful ones, nor define someone as a “victim”. Walker added that “as a British society we love to not talk about things”. She hopes to take the film to schools, in order to open up important conversations about consent.

While everyone’s first sexual encounter is different, the film manages to speak to a universal female experience that is painfully relatable. Mia McKenna-Bruce’s captivating lead performance and the film’s urgent message makes How to Have Sex a total must-see.

Score: 22/24

Written by Gala Woolley

You can support Gala Woolley in the following places:

Twitter – @GalaWoolley
Blog – screenqueens.co.uk

Wingwomen (2023)
Director: Mélanie Laurent
Screenwriters: Cédric Anger, Chris Deslandes
Starring: Mélanie Laurent, Adéle Exarchapoulos, Isabelle Adjani, Manon Bresch

In the early 2000s, just before the big superhero boom, there was a trend of lighthearted, easily digestible action movies that revolved around an endearing central friendship. Charlie’s Angels, Shanghai Noon and Ocean’s Eleven were all a part of it. Now, in 2023, we find ourselves at the other end of the superhero boom. Just as box office returns are diminishing for Marvel and general audiences seem to be moving on from the churn of comic book adaptations, Wingwomen takes a look back at the trend we all left behind.

Wingwomen opens with a simple sequence of our two protagonists in what comes across as a training mission of sorts. For what, we’re never explicitly told. Carole (Mélanie Laurent) is the calmer, more level-headed and focused half of the duo, while Alex (Adéle Exarchapoulos) is the maverick who never misses a beat, even if her mind is preoccupied with the latest man in her life ghosting her. They’re pursued through a forest by an army of military drones – Carole drives a quad bike while Alex shoots from the back, being sure to vent about the instability of her love life throughout.

It’s campy and cheesy, but it’s also very watchable for one good reason…

From the moment Wingwomen starts, it is quite obvious that one aspect of it holds a lot of promise. In Carole and Alex, we have two leads who feel like real people, and who interact with one another in such a way that makes it hard not to succumb to their charms. They’re in some kind of an extraordinary situation, but they could just as easily be painting a wall together and it would be just as compelling to watch.

Their character archetypes go as far back as Laurel and Hardy – one is organised and the other is a mess, essentially. It’s the same dynamic that films like Rush Hour and Lethal Weapon have created such memorable relationships with. Wingwomen takes it in a slightly different direction, one that’s more concerned with subverting expectations and creating a reliance on one another along the way. Carole experiences problems that would feel more natural to Alex, and Alex is the best possible person to help her reason her way through those problems. Carole isn’t going through anything that Alex hasn’t had to learn how to cope with herself, often just to survive the hectic life she leads. The touching element of it all is that it gives Alex a selfless purpose in this relationship too, despite being the messy one. They need each other more than either of them knows, and it’s hard not to feel warmed by it when the characters are so authentic.

Unfortunately, as the narrative unfolds and we learn more about the world that these two find themselves in, it quickly starts to feel like we actually learn less. Quite early on, Carole and Alex decide they want nothing more than to lead normal lives. It’s one of the most exciting parts of the film, because by that point it’s already abundantly clear that these two characters are the heart and soul of Wingwomen. To see them transition into normal lives together would be fascinating.

Instead of diving further into these two characters though, we’re just introduced to more and more plot points that only exist for the sake of facilitating mediocre action sequences. There are super high-tech concepts that are introduced and then immediately abandoned – like a retina-scan secured bunker in the forest that blends into its surroundings because it’s a big mirror that they can see out of but nobody can see into. It’s visually appealing, but it comes and goes without leaving any impression or being given any explanation. That’s true for more or less everything outside of the core story which is just the richness of Carole and Alex’s friendship with one another.

Just as Wingwomen is a film of two halves from a narrative perspective, it is also one from a technical point of view. Some of its cinematography is beautiful, and there are a number of shots that are reminiscent of films like Parasite. In those moments, everything comes together to create a visual image that tells as much of the story as the dialogue filling the scene could hope to. Then there are moments when the screen feels as if it’s filled with disposable clutter instead. One example is during an ad-hoc musical sequence that, again, comes and goes without anything to justify its inclusion.

There is a very strong heart to Wingwomen that is constantly undermined by a tendency to create flamboyant set pieces with poor execution. Carole and Alex are wonderfully written characters with a beautiful dynamic as friends, but it’s hard to truly appreciate how brilliant that is when the bells and whistles attached to them are so loud and pointless. Even so, if this was shown as part of an early-2000s buddy action marathon it would be very difficult to spot the imposter. In fact, the only thing that might give it away is how well the buddy part is written while the rest is on par. If this trend is to make a comeback in the wake of the superhero boom, then hopefully they’ll at least have characters that are as compelling as this early entry into its revival era.

Score: 12/24

Written by Rob Jones

You can support Rob Jones on his website: rbrtjones.com
Twitter: @rbrtjones

The film follows Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson), his wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall), and their son Danny (Danny Lloyd). Jack has taken a job as the winter caretaker at the isolated Overlook Hotel, where he plans to work on his writing. The Shining tracks the family’s collective descent into madness as the hotel’s evils take hold of them. It is a film about family, heritage, responsibility, and the destructive capabilities of man. 

Director Stanley Kubrick’s attention to detail was unrivalled – each and every shot, every item on each shelf, and every single word that made it into the final cut of The Shining was absolutely intentional. As a result, his one and only certifiable horror has endless value in that it can be watched over and over again with each revisitation uncovering new meanings and hidden nuggets of information. The film is so densely packed with meaning and filmmaking intent that its shoot ran for 34 weeks longer than it was supposed to (51 weeks instead of the originally planned 17). The overrun delayed the production of Steven Spielberg’s adventure movie Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), which was waiting to film on the same lot at Elstree Studios.

The Shining is a film that is so carefully constructed that it has formed its own lore and, consequently, a wide range of conspiracy theories. A documentary was even made about them, aptly named Room 237 (2012). Some think that Kubrick was trying to tell us that he directed the faked moon landings, others believe that the film is a retelling of the legend of Theseus and the Minotaur. The rumours surrounding these readings have been given credence by the issues present during the film’s elongated production, especially those regarding Kubrick’s apparently excessive number of takes and his reported mistreatment of lead actress Shelley Duvall. Just as the lore of what is in the film lives on, so does the lore surrounding the making of it.

In this Movie List from The Film Magazine, we are evaluating all that The Shining is. We will be considering the conspiracy theories and assessing the rumours, but most importantly we will be judging the artistry of the film itself, counting down the ten most horrifying, stomach-churning and iconic moments. These are the 10 Best The Shining Moments.

Follow @thefilmagazine on X (Twitter).

10. Mr Halloran Gets Killed

“Hello…anybody here?”

At number ten on this list is a moment that arrives towards the end of the film, after the hotel has descended into chaos.

The hotel’s head chef, Dick Halloran, has received some disturbing images of the hotel through his ability to ‘shine’ – a type of telepathic communication. After a few failed attempts to contact the hotel through their radio system, Mr Halloran gets onto a plane and begins to make his way to the Overlook.

It is made very clear earlier in the film that it wouldn’t be easy to travel to or from the hotel once the snow arrives, as the roads do not get cleared and they would need to use the snowcat to traverse them. As we watch Jack become more and more of a threat in the hotel itself, and thus understand that Danny’s plight is becoming increasingly difficult, scenes of Mr Halloran are interspersed. He is our beacon of hope, the only remaining saviour for Danny and his mother, and the pacing of his arrival plays cleverly against Jack’s inevitable “here’s johnny” moment.

As Mr Halloran enters the hotel, the camera follows, keeping a safe distance from the vulnerable man as he wanders further into the dragon’s den. This moment is so laced with tension that every echo of Halloran’s voice send a shiver down the spine as we silently pray for him to rescue Wendy and Danny. All of this hope is swiftly cut down with a beastly yell and the swing of an axe, driven straight into Halloran’s chest. This moment is horrifying – it is the only murder we see on screen in The Shining and it comes so suddenly. After we have picked our jaws up from off the floor, our attention is turned fully to Jack, his hunched frame rising slowly into frame. There is nothing standing between Jack and his family now.

Due to the poor critical reception of The Shining at the time of its release, Kubrick cut around 19 minutes of footage from the 144-minute run-time. In doing so, he removed many of the scenes tracking Mr Halloran on his journey to the Overlook Hotel, effectively taking away the juxtaposition between his long journey and swift death. It is this juxtaposition that makes this moment one of the best in The Shining. For this reason, the longer cut (widely referred to as the ‘US version’) is a more complete and suspenseful experience.

9. Danny’s First Vision – The Blood

“Tony, why don’t you want to go to the hotel?”

This is the first visually distressing moment in the film, and the first warning of things to come. In this moment, Danny is in the bathroom of his house and he is talking to Tony about going to the hotel. That’s when the blood comes…

Danny describes Tony as the little boy who lives in his mouth, but Wendy tells the doctor and Mr Halloran that Tony is Danny’s imaginary friend. Danny is talking to Tony in the mirror, wiggling his finger and changing his voice whenever Tony is replying (an acting choice that was made completely independently by actor Danny Lloyd). In the scene, he is asking Tony why he doesn’t want to go to the hotel. After a few tries asking, Danny’s eyes widen and the now-iconic image of the hotel elevators appears on the screen, gallons of blood slowly gushing forth from the door.

There has been barely anything more than a polite conversation presented thus far in The Shining, so it is particularly striking for the first piece of visual horror to come quite literally crashing in as a wave of blood.

This moment acts as the opening of the floodgates, as the introduction to the onslaught of horror that will occur at the Overlook Hotel. From this point in the film, we are marching towards something terrible, and Danny is the only character who is aware of this. This is a moment that shapes the rest of the film, introducing a sense of intrigue and dread, calling us towards the hotel whilst also informing us that terrible things await. 

The bloodied elevator shot took 3 takes to record, which is a low number compared to some of the other scenes which reportedly took over 100 takes. However, these 3 takes actually took a year to complete, due to the mammoth task of cleaning and resetting the blood. Kubrick was apparently unhappy with the first two shots, complaining that they didn’t look enough like blood. Ahead of release, Kubrick had to bend the truth and explain that the blood was rusty water so that he could bypass the rule that blood was not to be shown in trailers.

Recommended for you: The Shining (1980) Review