Empire of Light (2022)
Director: Sam Mendes
Screenwriter: Sam Mendes
Starring: Olivia Colman, Michael Ward, Colin Firth, Toby Jones, Tom Brooke, Tanya Moodie, Hannah Onslow, Crystal Clarke

Sam Mendes has returned following the critical success of his exceptionally thrilling and award winning World War I movie 1917 to set his lens upon a British drama surrounding staff at a south coast cinema in 1980. It has been promoted as a love letter to the cinema experience, but is a film so oblique that it’s hardly a letter at all and instead a series of barely related log lines that could have been the subjects of six or seven better movies. Whatever you have imagined this film to be, it almost certainly is not.

Part ode to cinema, part coming-of-age tale, part racial tension drama, part dysfunctional romance, part psychological thriller, part abuse story, Empire of Light is made up of disparate threads that contradict one another, that make it impossible to decipher any kind of thematic throughline. In a film of this type, with so many different intentions, it would be natural to assume that the above threads occur across the film’s range of characters and that the relatable element within the narrative is the cinema itself – just as the airport is in Love Actually or the death of a suburban husband is in Mendes’ own American Beauty – but all of the different stories Mendes attempts to tell here are told through just two characters across a relatively short amount of time, and thus each thread’s intention smashes into the next as we are thrown from a film premiere to a mental breakdown and into a racially motivated gang assault before being dragged back to a lesson about the sanctity of film projection with all the grace of King Kong swatting planes away atop the Empire State Building. It’s a real shame, too, because going back to the cinema, seeing the classic way that films used to be projected and how the exhibitors used to make each night feel special, is the only saving grace yet is presented as if an afterthought.

Sam Mendes has not written any of his projects by himself before, Empire of Light being only his second screenwriting credit of his twenty-plus year career (the first being as co-writer on the largely dialogue-less 1917), and to his credit he does land some small and emotionally stirring story beats (each of which occur in the cinema itself), but the issues with this movie are almost exclusively on the page. Beyond the disparate threads of the story there is an almost complete lack of consequences to anything or for anyone – a mental breakdown at work doesn’t cost a job, friendships or seemingly anything else; a near-death experience doesn’t cause life-altering trauma; the unconventional dynamics of the central relationship causes no tension with or for any character – and worse still there is an exploitation of real world issues like National Front racism and workplace sexual abuse that come out of nowhere to offer a small hint at stakes and conflict but then disappear (in terms of impact and meaning) just as fast. It’s a pity because it’s easy to see how a respected filmmaker writing characters with in-the-movie backstories would attract the acting talents of Olivia Colman, Colin Firth and Toby Jones, and there is some very strong work occurring behind the camera from the likes of iconic cinematographer (and regular Mendes collaborator) Roger Deakins, as well as Oscar winning composers Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. The film is well made, just badly written.

Olivia Colman is given the opportunity to really dive into the psyche of her character here, and she duly delivers with all the class we’ve come to expect from one of the great dramatic actors of our time. And there is no doubt that the supporting players – including the young and magnetic Michael Ward – are played well, presented effectively, embraced by both the director and the actors. But as the film begins to open up and early readings, which could vary from each character representing a particular era of cinema to idealisations on the cinema itself being a means of escape for people from all walks of life, the film’s on-the-nose dialogue and stunted editing techniques (which at times look as if they’re stitching shots from two completely different films together) come to the fore, some sequences being so close to amateur in how they’re written that even Colman and Firth can’t shine any light on them.

Worse still, the film is without a lens – that being a perspective for us to view the world from. We’re not physically rooted to the cinema, though it would make for a much better movie to witness the romance and drama of day-to-day life within the walls of a cineplex, nor are we transported through the world by Olivia Colman’s Hillary or her co-lead, Michael Ward’s Stephen. We experience things happening just because they’re happening, and we can barely locate ourselves in this world because the first act makes the cinema a magical palace and the rest of the film treats it like an ugly step-child, the final act introducing us to locations and settings that we haven’t even seen before. The messaging on the page is so muddled that even a director with the credentials of Sam Mendes can’t find a perspective through which to film it, that Lee Smith (the editor of Inception and The Dark Knight) is unable to find any consistency in the footage Mendes has handed to him. Empire of Light is a mess, albeit one that holds so much potential for those hopeful for a celebration of their passion: cinema.

Those are the people with whom this film will resonate the most. People who’ve been able to get through hard times because of the escapism of sitting in the dark, alone, absorbing something profound. There are moments here that will speak to that person in ways that few films do, but they’re only moments – Empire of Light is so distracted, so lacking in commitment to this message, that even if you consider yourself to be one of those people, you’ll be left wishing that there was far more of this good stuff included.

There’s a really good film somewhere within the mess that is Empire of Light, one that celebrates the cinema as a home for catharsis, for understanding, for passion and art, one that is a celebration of culture. But it’s buried so deep beneath lesser ideas that we only get hints of what that movie could have been. This is almost certainly the worst film of Sam Mendes’ respected career, a tripe rumination on everything and nothing all at once. If you would like a film about films, and specifically about the experience of cinema, watch Martin Scorsese’s Hugo instead, or take the time to absorb the unrivalled classic Cinema Paradiso, because Empire of Light isn’t the one for you. Truthfully, it isn’t really for anyone.

Score: 10/24

Grab a hot cup of tea (or a bottle of vodka) and join us with this Movie List from The Film Magazine as we look back at this staple of British cinema’s most cringe-worthy, jaw-dropping, and heartwarming scenes. These are the 10 Best Bridget Jones’s Diary Moments.

Follow @thefilmagazine on Twitter.

10. Introducing Mark’s Christmas Jumper

Family gatherings are uncomfortable enough without your mother trying to set you up with a divorcé in her sitting room while you’re wearing a floral waistcoat she laid out for you. Unfortunately, this is exactly how Bridget first meets Mark.

At Christmastime, Bridget visits her parents, Colin (Jim Broadbent) and Pamela (Gemma Jones), at their yearly turkey curry buffet hosting all their closest friends and neighbours. Her father warns her that her mum is playing matchmaker when Pamela suddenly swoops in to usher her over to Mark, a recently divorced barrister. Given her mother’s track record, Bridget is convinced that he’ll be a ‘bushy-haired, middle-aged bore’ and is pleasantly surprised when she first sees his kind eyes and dimpled chin. But her spirits fall when she casts a glance at his tacky Christmas reindeer jumper.

Mark’s jumper is iconic and a lasting image from the film. It instantly defines his character as a bit stiff and awkward while also not being too impressed with himself. We get our first glimpse of Bridget’s nervous oversharing too, as she resolves to quit smoking and drinking while still holding a cigarette and mimosa. This moment is funny and cringey, and quickly sets up their opposites-attract character dynamic.

9. Blue Soup for Bridget’s Birthday

Bridget is always making a mess of things, so it comes as no surprise that she’s a mess in the kitchen as well. As she struggles to cook a three-course feast for her birthday dinner, Mark suddenly stops by her flat. This moment is a complete 180 from the last scene as she is genuinely pleased to see him and they share a smile. Upstairs, he inspects her cluttered stovetop, and a cut to a closeup reveals that she has in fact prepared blue soup (thanks to the bright blue string she used to tie some celery and leek together). Mark pours them each a glass of wine, takes off his jacket, and saves the day by making omelettes.

This is a sweet moment when Bridget sets aside her judgements, Mark lets down his stiff exterior, and we get to see the real chemistry between them. They work well together, sharing a drink, a laugh, and an inside joke, revealing that they were actually suppressing their feelings for one another all along. Finally, when Bridget’s friends arrive for dinner, the camera cuts to Mark subtly adjusting his tie. This small gesture reveals so much about his character and that he cares about making a good first impression with her friends. They, in turn, are delighted to meet him, though his impression is a bit overshadowed by their effort to gulp down Bridget’s blue soup.

For this Movie List of the 10 Best Films of 2021, I wanted to focus on some of the smaller and more underappreciated movies that didn’t get a large marketing budget. Be warned: as this has been a tough and depressing year, and this list has been written by someone whose favourite artist is Phoebe Bridgers, the entries on this list might bring about deep sadness.

Follow the author of this article, Annice White, on Twitter @annicewhite_.

10. Two of Us 

Starting off this list is a film centred on the somewhat homophobic trope that same sex relationships can never truly be happy.

Nina (Barbara Sukowa) and Madeleine (Martine Chevallier) have been living together in secret for years, just as Pam and Terry did in a favourite of 2020 A Secret Love. Their families think they are just ‘friends’ who live across the hall from each other. When Madeleine becomes ill and her family no longer wants Nina around, their relationship is tested.

Two of Us is a different take on the ‘family doesn’t know about us’ trope. Rather than being a classic “mum, dad, I’m gay”, the film explores serious inequality issues faced by the LGBTQ+ community. Nina is not permitted to look after her partner or even see her. The film shows intimacy between two women: the relationship is clearly not sexless, something which cinema seems to shy away from.

Two of Us hopefully shows how LGBTQ+ movies are broadening out the scope of issues they explore. Or, at least, we can dream.

9. The Mitchells vs. the Machines

The Mitchells vs the Machines works like a fun animated version of a ‘Black Mirror’ episode. It is an absolute joy of a film; perhaps the only joyful film on this list.

Katie (Abbi Jacobson) is an aspiring filmmaker ready to go off to college to get away from her overbearing and anti-technology father. While the family are on an uncomfortable road trip to California, a new AI robot Pal (think Siri) voiced by Olivia Colman, decides it has had enough of being told what to do and looks to take over the world. When Katie thinks she knows a way to stop the robots, the family decide to carry on their road trip and save all of humanity.

The Mitchells vs the Machines follows a typical ‘must save the world’ narrative but this is not necessarily something to be critical of. It is a wonderful film to be enjoyed by all the family, ingrained LGBTQ+ elements being welcomed inclusions.

In this Movie List from The Film Magazine, we’re counting down the most emotionally resonant, funny and important moments from Love Actually for these, the 10 Best Love Actually Moments.

Follow @thefilmagazine on Twitter.

10. Colin Goes to an American Bar

After deciding he is on the wrong continent for love, Colin Frissell (Kris Marshall) travels to America, because “any bar anywhere in America contains ten girls more beautiful and more likely to have sex with [him] than the whole of the United Kingdom”.

Sure enough, not one but three beautiful American women are charmed by his cute British accent and invite him to their place (after warning him that they only have one bed and no pyjamas).

Colin’s Christmas gets even merrier when they tell him that he hasn’t met their fourth housemate Harriet, and “she is the sexy one”.

9. So Much More Than a Bag

In a rush to buy an expensive gold necklace for the woman with whom he may or may not be having an affair, Harry (Alan Rickman) wants to grab it and go, but the shop assistant (Rowan Atkinson) has other plans when he agrees to have it gift wrapped.

After placing it in a box, he ties it with a bow before delicately wrapping it in cellophane. Rickman anxiously glances over his shoulder as Atkinson slides open a drawer to retrieve tiny, dried roses, which he sprinkles lovingly. Atkinson then meticulously crushes fresh lavender. An increasingly agitated Rickman urges the man to hurry, to which he agrees, before slowly attaching a large cinnamon stick with a ribbon. As Atkinson retrieves a pair of garden gloves to add some holly, an exasperated Rickman asks – “what else are you going to do? Dip it in yoghurt? Cover it in chocolate buttons?!” All the while, his wife Karen grows increasingly near.

Mothering Sunday (2021)
Director: Eva Husson
Screenwriter: Alice Birch
Starring: Odessa Young, Josh O’Connor, Colin Firth, Olivia Colman, Sope Dirisu

‘Normal People’ and Lady Macbeth screenwriter Alice Birch has teamed with Girls of the Sun director Eva Husson to adapt Graham Swift’s “Mothering Sunday” novel for the big screen, a wholly British post-war drama filled with commentary on class and social dynamics. In many ways this is your go-to period drama, but Mothering Sunday separates itself by taking those tropes and expectations and delivering them alongside an erotically charged story of a woman undergoing a period of self-realisation. It is a movie headlined by outstanding performances from leads Odessa Young (Shirley) and Josh O’Connor (God’s Own Country).

Told through the fractured lens of an autobiography being written by Odessa Young’s Jane Fairchild, Mothering Sunday adapts the same non-linear approach that one’s mind does when attempting to contextualise important moments throughout one’s life. Here, the focus is the post-Great War forbidden romance that Jane (a maid for a rich but childless middle-aged couple) holds with an upper class man by the name of Paul Sheringham (Josh O’Connor).

The creative decision to reconstruct the narrative in a non-linear fashion may be met with opposition by genre traditionalists, but it does work greatly to highlight the woman at the film’s centre, to bring a tale about war and loss into the realm of female empowerment. Whereas Graham Swift’s novel was very much centred on the loss felt during a Mothering Sunday meal between families who lost their children during the First World War, Birch and Husson’s adaptation is told much more from the realm of romance and class divide, and is therefore much more concerned with the untold female experience than it is with the well-told male experience of 20th century war. In fact, this adaptation seems less concerned with the war in general – moments of loss and incandescent grief hang over every moment like an unwelcome cloud but are rarely central to our focus as we watch Jane love, lust and find her own empowerment.

Though much is gained through the screenplay’s alternative focus, it does seem like opportunities were missed, particularly with regard to the wider emotional resonance of the picture and the depth of each of the characters. There are some hints at a unique take on the central narrative seen many times elsewhere – the lower classes traditionally presented as oppressed are shown to have freedoms the upper classes don’t have due to the self-determined rules of politeness and etiquette the upper classes use as a form of identity – though this seems barely scratched upon and politically ambiguous at best. The shift away from the weight of loss caused by the war and towards a more refined romance (focused on the woman’s journey) also neglects some of the supporting characters, making for a finished piece that does little to make best use of acting juggernauts Colin Firth and Olivia Colman, who play a married couple that have lost each of their children in the war and are attempting to deal with the grief and loss they have been left with.

While Firth and Colman are disappointingly underused, young talents Odessa Young and Josh O’Connor are given a lot of room to find their characters and particularly their romance. It takes not very long at all to believe that the couple know one another, to trust that their intimacy is genuine, to believe that they have good sex. In a movie filled with nudity, including full-frontal male nudity, Young and O’Connor maintain a sense of head-over-heels love for one another, Young’s excited expressions and fluttering eyelashes illustrating her need for her partner’s touch just as O’Connor’s still stare and soft drags on his cigarettes indicate his character’s constant absorption of every part of his partner’s body and mind.

Nudity and sex play a large part in Mothering Sunday’s central aim to tell of a woman’s empowerment, and with women behind the camera it is ensured that these elements are free of the same male gaze that could have transformed them into altogether more gratuitous and cringe-inducing aspects. Through Eva Husson’s lens we see sex and nudity as a form of closeness, an expression of beauty – both from the eye of the beholder and from within – and though this remains vital to every scene, the sex still feels visceral, it still comes across as sexual as opposed to false or awkward.

Mothering Sunday’s approach to sex and nudity offers a consistent reminder of how this is a story being told by a woman looking back on her own life; how this is a story being written by a woman specifically. This helps Husson’s film to avoid any sense of objectification and instead frame all nudity as a form of personal realisation or at the very least retrospective self-appreciation. There also remains a freshness to seeing the male form through the female gaze, O’Connor rarely seen as brutish and often framed as beautiful and delicate, just as has been normalised of women over the past century of male-fronted cinema. Through intimate cinematography (including some fantastic use of natural lighting to highlight creases in skin and tuffs of hair), and equally through the narrative framing of O’Connor’s Paul, we well-and-truly believe this man to be fragile, and more importantly to be capable of deep levels of intimacy – thus we believe in the enormity of his impact on Jane’s life.

So far as period dramas go there is little else to separate Mothering Sunday from the rest of the pack, this particular romance taking more from screenwriter Alice Birch’s Lady Macbeth than from the grand period films of decades past by largely restricting its presentation to one stately home and one period-appropriate car. The lack of budget can certainly be felt in these areas in particular, and while Jamie Ramsay’s cinematography excels in the bedroom there is little by way of establishing shots and pick-ups to separate the visual presentation of Mothering Sunday from an English Heritage advert – needless panning demands attention be brought to Ramsay’s camera work despite the quality of performances on show, and worse still suggests that each of us watching may not have the patience to sit with a still frame for more than just a few moments. The score does much better in emphasising the good that occurs in both the screenplay and the performances, though it is noticeably less memorable than the intrusive camera decisions and sits just on the edges of being impactful to the overall reception of this film.

Eva Husson’s Mothering Sunday isn’t going to revolutionise its ages-old genre but praise must be reserved for the combined efforts of its director and screenwriter regarding their attempts to re-appropriate the source material in their own image. This 2021 period drama may be by-the-books in some ways and frustrating in others, but it is always clear what the filmmakers’ intentions are and thus easy to recognise how this film may go on to find an audience of dedicated devotees. Ultimately though, Mothering Sunday will likely be best remembered for the early-career highlights offered by Josh O’Connor and Odessa Young, Young in particular offering a remarkable leading turn that begs to be absorbed just as her love and beauty is absorbed by her on-screen partner.

15/24

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)
Director: Tomas Alfredson
Screenwriters: Bridget O’Connor, Peter Straughan
Starring: Gary Oldman, Colin Firth, Mark Strong, Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hardy, John Hurt, Toby Jones, Ciarán Hinds, David Dencik, Roger Lloyd Pack, Stephen Graham, Kathy Burke, Simon McBurney

Oddly enough, ten years on from its initial release and despite its 1970s setting, cold grey buildings and colder grey suits, Tomas Alfredson’s adaptation of John le Carré’s “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” feels more relevant and connective today than ever. Perhaps it’s because our world in this third decade of the 21st Century is becoming as ridiculous, conspiratorial and paranoia-fuelled as it was at the height of the Cold War. Talk about depressing.

The British Secret Service, known euphemistically as The Circus, has a mole among their number. A vital operation in Europe has been botched, resulting in the apparent death of a key agent and the loss of vital intelligence. Whoever has infiltrated the Circus continues to send information of utmost sensitivity back to Moscow, and with every senior figure working in British espionage under suspicion, George Smiley (Gary Oldman) is asked to come out of enforced retirement to flush out and expose the enemy agent before any more lasting damage is inflicted.

Swedish director Alfredson might have seemed an odd choice at first to helm this culturally very British spy novel adaptation, though he had already proven his skill at the drawn-out and creeping tension-build and maintaining a consistently chilly atmosphere in his breakthrough vampire drama Let the Right One In. This talent for maintaining an all-encompassing, uncomfortable and uneasy atmosphere is what he puts to extremely good use in bringing to life the detail-oriented, intelligence-fuelled and emotionally dead world of Cold War spycraft.

The casting of this sizeable ensemble is faultless, with Gary Oldman delivering the low-key performance of his career as Smiley. He may be a man of few words, but he doesn’t really need to speak often when he’s got the art of communicating through sitting perfectly still and subtly altering his facial expression down to such a fine art. So much of the film is about Smiley sitting, listening and watching others, and it’s difficult to imagine another filmmaker imbuing someone slowly taking off their shoes for a final confrontation with such fragile tension. If we’re being picky he’s probably a bit too in shape and full-haired to be le Carré’s Smiley as written, but sometimes an actor is able to communicate a character’s essential essence despite physical differences. Others in the film’s impressive cast all have their moments to impress over the course of the film, but those worthy of particular note are Colin Firth as the charismatic Bill Haydon (“Tailor”), Mark Strong as agent-in-hiding Jim Prideaux, Benedict Cumberbatch as Smiley’s confidant Peter Guillam and John Hurt, who was once considered to play Smiley, but is much better suited as the cantankerous, barking head of The Circus, “Control”.

Though it’s an exceptionally well-made spy film, where Tinker Tailor really hits the mark is as a commentary on the futility of war. It takes le Carré’s novel and, aside from a bit of plot streamlining, presents things as they were on the page, with the spy-writer-extraordinaire’s well-researched dissertation on dying world superpowers fully intact. Every character is on edge as the investigation to find the Soviet mole within the British secret service progresses – the paranoia of the Cold War and threat of an enemy gaining the upper hand is perfectly communicated through subtle characterisation, with every member of The Circus looking as though they’re rotting from the inside out, even those with a misplaced air of confidence about their plans and future prospects, such as Toby Jones’ Percy Alleline (“Tinker”), are in reality teetering over a cliff edge.

The film’s stark visual style paired with Bridget O’Connor and Peter Straughan’s economic adapted screenplay highlight this near-constant sense of unease, keeping us at arm’s length from everyone we follow, never allowed to really know anybody. We watch these once-powerful men from afar, sitting and slowly crumbling in bleak, frigid offices and dank hotel rooms. We are given just enough information to make our own judgements on which shade of grey the key players are operating in, about what may be going through the heads of this group of decrepit spies, but not quite enough to plot the exact course the film will take. Smiley is always one step ahead of the viewer in his investigations, and marvelling at the way his mind works when all the pieces of the puzzle finally slot into place is part of the fun. Even after watching the film multiple times and reading its source novel, you can still find yourself struggling to keep up with his brilliant powers of deduction and just how he connects the dots to ultimately identify the traitor.

It’s not a completely unemotional film; Cumberbatch as Peter Guillam’s personal life outside intelligence work is fleetingly glimpsed and, in a rare moment of levity, Smiley reminisces with retired researcher Connie Sachs (Kathy Burke), showing us happier times at the Circus during a raucous office new year’s party. This scene is revisited and re-contextualised during the film’s finale, including a heartbreaking use of Julio Inglesias’ “La Mer” over the final wrapping-up montage, symbolising long friendships ending cruelly and a handful of pleasant memories being forever tainted by the unforgivable actions of a few.

One question remains after watching this latest, most meticulous and best adaptation of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy: a decade on from its critical acclaim and moderate box office success, where is the follow-up? Le Carré wrote two more books in the “Karla Trilogy”, “The Honourable Schoolboy” and “Smiley’s People”, and many more stories where his bespectacled spymaster made major and minor appearances. Surely it can’t just be about waiting for an opening in Benedict Cumberbatch’s hectic schedule, can it? 

23/24

Supernova (2020)
Director: Harry MacQueen
Screenwriter: Harry MacQueen
Starring: Colin Firth, Stanley Tucci

“Being sad something is gone just means it was great whilst it was there.” 

A middle aged couple set off on a long road trip to see important places from their past, all the while learning to adapt as one of them is suffering from the ever evolving complications that come from living with dementia. Supernova highlights the importance of companionship and the power of family that is required when one is most at need. 

Two years after Tusker (Stanley Tucci – The Devil Wears Prada) is diagnosed with Early-onset Dementia, he and husband Sam (Colin Firth – The Kings Speech) set off on a road trip around the UK in an old camper van with their friendly dog in tow. Along the way they visit places they had been in the earlier days of their relationship, and reflect on the happy memories they have made. Subtle hints towards the ever-progressing illness that Tusker is suffering from are present from the start and grow to be more troublesome when they make a pit stop at Sam’s sister’s house for a few nights stay. Tusker had put together a surprise Birthday party for Sam and had intended to make a speech in which he would thank him for all he does for him, a moment that should have been romantic and emotional but turns out to be the latter for entirely the wrong reasons. Tusker stands to make the speech and, due to his illness getting the better of him, he loses his confidence and asks Sam to read it for him. Sam reads the speech out loud to all their closest friends and family in a beautifully captivating moment, Firth shining in a spine-chilling read that showcases his character’s sheer fragility. It’s a key example of Firth’s strength in a subdued but utterly captivating overall performance; one that sees the Oscar winning actor grow into a pained man, Firth exemplifying not only the hurt that Sam must be going through but the inner strength it takes to love and care for a deteriorating partner. This turning point in the story, when Tusker first admits defeat, spins the whole film on its head and truly drives home the darkness awaiting the loving couple down the road.

Supernova is broken down into three distinct acts, starting with the pure ambiguity of the situation and plot reflecting exactly how emotionally charged the film is. There is a clear unknown regarding the couple’s future, and entering the second act – when they arrive at Sam’s sister’s house – they start to understand what they’re going through and how they’re not tackling it alone. The third act leaves them both with decisions to make, simultaneously together and independently – it’s simply stunning screenwriting from Harry MacQueen, who also excels at directing an intimate screen portrait of love and loss between two middle aged people.

Set against the breathtakingly beautiful backdrop of the Lake District, Supernova shows how despite both men having successful careers – Sam a highly celebrated concert pianist and Tusker a best selling author – and a healthy lifestyle, dementia can affect anyone. Sam and Tusker had their entire future taken away from them in a way that, devastatingly, so many viewers will be able to relate to. 

There are many beautifully comedic moments from both lead performances throughout the film that reflect the personality of the two main characters; the film’s witty, charming dialogue aiding the layered performances from both Firth and Tucci who show an immense on-screen chemistry from the opening to the closing shots. Giving a career best performance, Tucci’s ability to showcase the ever growing struggle from the point of view of someone who is still in the position of knowing exactly what is happening to them is inspired; subtle yet brutally honest. 

Supernova’s long takes and autumnal colour palette make for a cosy and warming film; one that is superbly written, directed and performed, all the while reminding each of us that sometimes having a companion is the most important thing in the world. 

22/24

Since making a name for himself as a student Oscar winner of short film, the Yorkshire born filmmaker has worked with the likes of Colin Firth, Ewan McGregor and Michael Caine to offer his unique and often specific stories to audiences of all nations and languages across his six feature films to date, his works being nominated for five BAFTAs and an Oscar, and even winning a César award.

His is a directorial catalogue filled with thematic explorations of class, poverty and capitalism, but one that is equally as likely to make you laugh as it is to cry, his often comedy-tinted approach to the dire circumstances in which he writes his characters bringing about endearing and memorable material time and time again.

In this edition of Ranked, we’re looking at those six feature releases and comparing them in terms of artistic merit and cultural worth to find out which film is the worst, which is the best, and which films fall somewhere in between.

If you have an opinion you’d like to share, please do in the comments below. And don’t forget to tweet us.

6. Hope Springs (2003)

Far from Mark Herman’s most inspired work, Hope Springs suffers from a complete lack of what brings people to the film in the first place: Colin Firth’s charm. The actor, fresh from his endearing performance in Bridget Jones’ Diary (2001), plays a heartbroken thirty-something Brit looking to mend himself in the one place on the map he could point to in the hope of a life-changing break from normality, Hope Springs (USA). The issue is that Firth is all drama, his character portrayed as dejected, beaten and with very little motivation to so much as open his eyes, and it comes in complete contrast to the rest of the film which is vastly more tongue-in-cheek, his American counterparts on the screen being wholly committed to a more comic sensibility. The juxtaposition is at times embarrassing, and what Herman was trying to say with Hope Springs seems muddled at best due to a screenplay which stops and starts narrative threads time and time again. This is a film that could have had a lot to say regarding British pessimism in opposition to American optimism, or even used the protagonist’s vocation as a portrait artist to offer similar explorations of capitalism to those that are available in the filmmaker’s earlier works, but it doesn’t really do either, instead settling for a disjointed romantic comedy with not very much to offer in terms of romance or comedy. Hope Springs is, in almost every element of filmmaking, the worst movie of Herman’s career; an uncharacteristic misstep from a talented artist with far more to offer.

1917 (2020)
Director: Sam Mendes
Screenwriters: Sam Mendes, Krysty Wilson-Cairns
Starring: George MacKay, Dean-Charles Chapman, Colin Firth, Benedict Cumberbatch, Mark Strong, Andrew Scott, Richard Madden

It is a truth generally accepted that the First World War was a cruel, wasteful and ultimately pointless conflict. Never before nor since have so many lives been needlessly thrown away. We should of course honour and respect the fallen but hope against hope that history is not repeated. That might be why there are relatively few WWI films compared to those dramatising WWII, which is far easier to moralise and delineate. New Sam Mendes film 1917 therefore had a difficult balance to strike.

April 1917 and Lance Corporals Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman) and Schofield (George MacKay) are given a dangerous mission to travel through enemy territory and deliver an order to stop two divisions of British soldiers from attacking German lines. The Germans have seemingly fallen back, but are reinforced, well-equpped and ready to spring a trap that will wipe out the 1,600 British attackers.

Sam Mendes doesn’t tend to write the films he directs himself, but it’s only right that he co-penned (with Krysty Wilson-Cairns) this most personal of stories. Inspired by the experiences of his grandfather Alfred H Mendes during the war, we bear witness to the experiences of millions of soldiers who fought in the Great War as our two protagonists thread their way through networks of grim trenches and across exposed, shelled battlefields (strewn with bodies) towards their distant objective. Every soldier we see in passing would have their own story to tell and little details to be found in the production design and performances of the background players offer the merest hint of where they came from, who they joined up with and whether they still have any fight in them after three years of ceaseless conflict.

The film is in the unfortunate position of having to follow Peter Jackson’s already-definitive 2018 WWI documentary They Shall Not Grow Old. No matter how well you bring this passage of history back to life, it will never feel as authentic as that collage of real words and images. 1917 is very different in style to something like Saving Private Ryan which, effective as it was, put you in the boots of a soldier then repeatedly bludgeoned you with editing and shakycam. The whole thesis here is to present a certain kind of reality without artifice; performances, camerawork and editing aiming to make the experience seamless, a heightened reality. From an extended Paths of Glory-influenced opening track through the trenches, we never leave the sides of the pair of soldiers given a daunting mission, but we are kept at arms length as a passive observer.

Roger Deakins is the only cinematographer the average moviegoer could reliably name, and there’s very good reason for that. He’s done great and game-changing work with Mendes, the Coen Brothers and Denis Villeneuve for decades. 1917 could very well be the road to his second Oscar. In terms of the camerawork, the first half of the film is pretty low-key, working in tandem with editor Lee Smith to keep the illusion of a continuous shot alive, but then we get the none-more-Deakins Expressionist scene set in a ruined town. As Schofield sprints through collapsed buildings and rubble-strewn streets, avoiding enemy soldiers and dodging gunfire as he goes, what’s left of civilisation around him is vividly backlit by the fires of war making the frame look like a particularly dramatic war artist’s painting.

There are little moments of beauty among the horror aside from the gorgeous way Deakins frames everything – blossom floating across battlefields and corpse-littered rivers, a tender song delivered to a gathering of nervy soldiers waiting to go over the top.

It’s strange how few war films actually feature dead bodies. You usually see many, many people shot or dying on screen but then they’re miraculously out of site, never cluttering the frame. 1917 keeps the signs of death front-and-centre, from the horse corpses shrouded by flies in No Man’s Land to the river dam of the dead that an exhausted Schofield has to negotiate as he barely clings to his own life.

The appearance of the big named actors is admittedly pretty distracting. Andrew Scott gets a good little role, standing in for what must have been many tired and disillusioned officers in the latter stages of the Great War, a man who doesn’t bat an eye at two more young men on a possible suicide mission but implores them to throw their flair guns back to their trench for reuse if they think they’re about to go down. Elsewhere you’re not thinking another senior military figure is making an appearance key to the plot but that Colin Firth or Mark Strong or Benedict Cumberbatch are gunning for a major acting award with even less screentime than Judi Dench in Shakespeare in Love. That said, there is no taking away what a burden George MacKay shoulders with his naturalistic performance, carrying so much of the story, the suffering of so many brave men single-handedly.

Thomas Newman’s unobtrusive score underpins the whole thing and gives it lifeblood. Often it’s a stripped back piano theme that’s at once sombre and eerie – perfect for telling a story of war. But then, as the film moves into its final, chaotic and nerve-shredding stretch we get a more grand, more orchestral theme that makes you pray the mission will succeed so no more men have to die.

1917 may not be a revolutionary new take on the war film, it may occasionally embellish for the sake of drama or cheat on its one-shot gimmick, but with technical dazzle and no-nonsense characterisation it becomes a pretty fine example nonetheless.

20/24

For this list, we’ve analysed the contemporary era of cinema (1970 and beyond) for the very best rom-com ensemble casts that came to define eras, surprise audiences and ultimately sell their film, whether the picture could be considered good or not.

As a rule, we’ve avoided films that are firmly attached to other genres, such as musicals like Grease and La La Land or dramas like The Silver Linings Playbook and Shakespeare In Love (all of which have rom-com elements), and have judged all casts based on casts alone – beware, there may be some seriously trash movies in the list ahead!

In no particular order…

1. No Strings Attached (2011)

Starring that year’s Best Actress Oscar winner Natalie Portman and arguably the decade’s most trustworthy go-to rom-com leading man Ashton Kutcher, this early 2010s offering from Ivan Reitman, the director of Ghostbusters (1984), featured a stacked cast of future industry leaders including Oscar-nominated director Greta Gerwig and multi-time Emmy nominee Mindy Kaling.

Oscar winning actor Kevin Kline played Kutcher’s father, meanwhile Lake Bell, Ophelia Lovibond, Ludacris and Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse’s Jake Johnson offered their two cents in some of the film’s smaller roles, filling No Strings Attached to the brim with some of the decade’s most influential and recognisable names.

Cast: Natalie Portman, Ashton Kutcher, Kevin Kline, Lake Bell, Cary Elwes, Greta Gerwig, Olivia Thirlby, Ludacris, Mindy Kaling, Jake Johnson, Ophelia Lovibond

2. You’ve Got Mail (1998)

The 2nd half of the Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks rom-com double bill, You’ve Got Mail, also directed by Nora Ephron (When Harry Met Sally), peaks its older sister to this slot due to each of its stars (particularly Hanks) being even closer to the top of their game, with the supporting cast being nothing short of a who’s who of top class late 90s names.

Leading male Tom Hanks had won two Oscars between Sleepless In Seattle and You’ve Got Mail (for Philadelphia and Forrest Gump) and was about to win his 3rd for 1998’s Saving Private Ryan, while the supporting cast featured that year’s Supporting Actor Oscar nominee Greg Kinnear, award-winning comedian Dave Chappelle, Steve Zahn, Parker Posey and even Chris Messina in a small role.

Cast: Meg Ryan, Tom Hanks, Greg Kinnear, Parker Posey, Dave Chappelle, Steve Zahn, Heather Burns, Jean Stapleton, Chris Messina