Little White Lies was established in 2005 as a bi-monthly print magazine committed to championing great movies and the talented people who make them. Combining cutting-edge design, illustration and journalism, we’ve been described as being “at the vanguard of the independent publishing movement.” Our reviews feature a unique tripartite ranking system that captures the different aspects of the movie-going experience. We believe in Truth & Movies.
Music has a way of tying us to a time or place. An unforgettable gig, shared with a friend. A first dance at a wedding. A loved one’s personal favourite. School days, holidays and special occasions all have their own soundtrack; a piece of music that brings a smile to your lips or makes your eyes water in remembrance. It’s a powerful thing to experience.
Herb McGwyer (Tom Basden) used to make music that moved people, back when he performed in a duo with Nell Mortimer (Carey Mulligan). Now, his solo career is seriously in need of some funds and Nell has given it all up to make chutney. So, when Charles Heath (Tim Key) offers the pair hundreds of thousands of pounds to perform a gig on Wallis Island, both accept unquestioningly. But the days spent on this remote Welsh island have a transformational effect on all involved. Music really does have a power of its own.
James Griffiths directs, whilst Basden and Key have written the script, based on their own short film. The writing is so sharp and so funny, you’ll almost struggle to catch your breath. Charles, in particular, is such a hilarious character, purposefully mis-pronouncing his lines or making terribly timed puns. It’s a story that feels universal – as the film deals with nostalgia and loss via music – yet the jokes are uniquely British. (There’s a particular reference to Harold Shipman that had many in the Glasgow Film Festival audience choking on their sauvignon.)
The performances are all excellent and the chemistry between the cast is palpable. Tim Key somehow manages to make Charles the most infuriating, hilarious and empathetic character all at the same time. Tom Basden gives you every inch the jaded star you’d expect – he’s huffy and demanding; but ultimately bruised by his experiences in the industry. His duets with Carey Mulligan’s Nell are genuinely beautiful to listen to. Nell, in contrast to her brusque former partner, is gentle and nurturing. Sian Clifford also appears in a supporting role as local shop owner, Amanda, a role that gives rise to equal parts comedy and romance.
At the heart of it all are themes of grieving and memory. Charles is unable to detatch himself from his notion of who McGwyer and Mortimer once were, because it keeps him in the cosy nostalgic glow of a period of time in his life when he was happy. Herb is mourning is lack of solo success and finds himself battling unexpected jealousies when he realises that Nell no longer misses their former life. It’s the music that links the three leads, but they all have a different connection to it and a different sense of the role it played in their lives. It’s an interesting take on the notion that music is something that binds us together. There’s a scene on the local beach, where Nell encourages them to write their hopes and dreams for the future on some lanterns she’s bought, and you can tell that Herb, in particular, is struggling to see what the future might hold for him, so wrapped up is he in the past.
The soundtrack, like the film itself, is warm and folksy. For some, it might all feel a bit twee and on the nose but there’s something so heartwarming about it all that you’ll be willing to overlook that. Basden and Mulligan both have excellent singing voices and they blend together beautifully. Their love songs – and the on screen chemistry they share whilst performing them – are genuinely gorgeous. So much so, that some performances may have a few bottom lips trembling. And that’s what is so great about this film – the comedy is razor sharp but the drama that unfolds is genuinely upsetting. Both the writing and the performances know how to maximise both elements for the most amount of impact.
If you’re looking for a genuinely entertaining bit of British cinema, showcasing the striking Welsh coastline and phenomenal local talent, The Ballad of Wallis Island is a must see. It’s gentle when it needs to be, utterly hilarious and unapologetically good for the soul.
The Ballad of Wallis Island was the Surprise Film for the 2025 Glasgow Film Festival. It’s due for release in US cinemas on March 28 and UK cinemas on May 30.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTi-e20yVNs
Editor at Moviescramble. European cinema, grisly thrillers and show stopping musicals are my bag. Classic Hollywood Cinema is comfort food. Spare time is heavily dependent on a lot of pizza and power ballads.
For their 193rd episode, two suburbanite film critics, two nanny-gawking dads, and two accosted school teachers, Will Johnson and Don Shanahan, circle back to a cinematic cottage industry found in the 1980s and 1990s of so-called domestic terror: stories that preyed on the pearl-clutching fears of the upper middle class. One of the best to get the audience’s blood boiling was 1992’s The Hand That Rocks the Cradle directed by the late Curtis Hanson and starring Rebecca De Mornay. It’s time to steal a baby, but this show won’t steal yours. Come learn more and stay for the mutual love and respect that fun movies encapsulate. Enjoy our podcast!
German cinema has long been coming to terms with the nation’s past. Films like Downfall, Sophie Scholl: The Last Days, The Tin Drum and Das Boot, all offer a unique perspective on life in Germany during World War Two. It’s a confronting position, as a viewer, that often makes you wonder if you could ever defy the horrors that unfold onscreen.
One woman who did attempt to defy the Nazi regime was Hilde Coppi (Liv Lisa Fries). Along with her husband, Hans (Johannes Hegemann), she sent radio messages in Morse code to Russia, distributed anti-Nazi materials across Berlin, put up anti-Nazi posters around the city and wrote letters to mothers whose sons were named on Radio Moscow. Both she and Hans were part of a friendship group who undertook all of these activities, knowing that getting caught would mean death. Director Andreas Dresen’s film, From Hilde, With Love, is told in a non-linear structure, allowing us to get a full and compelling understanding of a woman who stood up to be counted.
What’s interesting about Hilde’s story is that we’re even getting to hear about it at all. So many films in the war genre focus on the derring-do of male spies or resistors. Indeed, this could have been a film about Hans. But writer Laila Stieler gives us a fascinating portrayal of Hilde, instead, both as a young woman and during her incarceration at Plötzensee. It’s not a hagiography, either, as her flaws are laid bare through Liv Lisa Fries’ formidable central performance. She is complex and full of life; a woman you can admire and pity.
Owing the narrative structure, the film jumps back and forth throughout Hilde’s life. When we meet her in the past, the scenes are vibrant and colourful, infused with a cosy yellow glow. There’s dances and sex and drinking. Even when the friends are plotting their next move, there’s a joyfulness about their decision to take a stand. We get to watch a beautiful love story, too, as Hans slowly becomes less wary about his “prudish” new recruit. That, too, breathes life into both characters as we get to see them in moments of desire and bliss. In contrast, Hilde’s present is full of steely greys and sterile blues; hospital creams and washed out greens. Prison life is harsh and unforgiving – not least because Hilde has just given birth to a son and the restrictive diet means she is not producing enough milk for him to survive.
The performances give the film the weight that it needs. Liv Lisa Fries is utterly captivating as Hilde. It is a deeply complex, emotional performance that allows us to see Hilde at her rational best and devastated worst. She isn’t just some grainy photograph in a history book, she is a living, breathing woman fighting for her life. Fries rejects the cliche of the ‘warrior woman’ and, instead, gives us a historical figure who is practical, softly-spoken and interesting. She possesses a resilience that neither her mother nor her fellow prisoners seem to emulate. It’s incredibly powerful to watch. She also does a phenomenal job with a botched birth scene that is difficult to endure as a viewer.
The drudgery of prison life is fully realised, here, but you cannot help but feel the palpable tension that permeates the cell doors. Hilde’s particular wing of political prisoners have yet to face their farcical trials and death is surely just a signature away. That unease is always lingering below the surface, even when Hilde is spending time with her son or nursing other prisoners. The thin blade of the guillotine feels mere inches away, at all times. When it does come, we are given a beautiful moment of Hilde enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face one last time, before Teutonic efficiency means it’s her turn to place her neck on the block.
From Hilde, With Love is not designed to make you cry; it’s meant to make you feel the weight of history on your shoulders. It should make you question if you could ever be so brave (and perhaps thankful that you’ve never had to be). It’s a truly fascinating portrait of one of World War Two’s most compelling figures.
From Hilde, With Love has its UK premiere at the Glasgow Film Festival. Get your tickets here.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFj7RVBRD1o
Editor at Moviescramble. European cinema, grisly thrillers and show stopping musicals are my bag. Classic Hollywood Cinema is comfort food. Spare time is heavily dependent on a lot of pizza and power ballads.
“You can’t just quit a show because a director made you feel weird. You’ll never get hired again,” fifteen year old Emily is warned by a fellow actor. It’s dubious and harmful advice, to say the least. But it’s typical of the kind of nonchalance that all of the adults in Emily’s life display. She is let down all of the adults around her whilst she participates in an emotionally abusive and exploitative avant-garde theatre troupe.
Writer / director Sarah Galea-Davis’s film The Players makes its international debut at the Glasgow Film Festival. It’s quiet, intense and brooding; it’s devoid of the histrionics you might expect of a close-knit theatre ensemble. Instead, it’s dripping with sepia toned theatre lights, unsteady close ups and unsettling dynamics. It’s an exploration of power within the theatre scene; how easy it is for “direction” to become an excuse for humiliation and taking advantage.
It’s summer 1994. Emily (Stefani Kimber) has found herself plucked from obscurity and cast in a seven hour version of Hamlet, where half the script has been replaced by movement pieces and interpretive dance. She is thrilled to be accepted by her much older colleagues, as life at home has not been smooth of late due to her parents’ separation. But when director Reinhardt Frank (Vikings’ Eric Johnson) starts to pay her more and more attention, Emily struggles to cope with the very adult situation she finds herself in.
What starts off as seemingly innocent fun – a glass of booze to join the adults in a toast or a sneaked cigarette to feel grown up – quickly descends into outright manipulation. Reinhardt declares that Emily would look better with short hair and so his girlfriend, Marley (Jess Salgueiro) gets the scissors out. No one bats an eyelid, either, when he suggests setting Emily’s costume on fire. Excuse and after excuse is doled out for a pattern of predatory behaviour with young ingenues. Galea-Davis is strong in her condemnation of Reinhardt – he is a pretentious, odious man with a fragile ego – but equally of those around him. Why is no one stepping in? Why is no one calling it out?
Kimber and Johnson are excellent in their respective roles. Kimber brings youthful enthusiasm in abundance to Emily. Initially, she is full of adolescent awkwardness, repeatedly tucking her hair behind her ears and shy about her performance abilities. In conversation, she is earnest in her attempt to appear interesting and experienced around her grown up colleagues. She, no doubt, sees this theatre family as a replacement for her flight mother and angry father. She is vulnerable; something Reinhardt spots from the offset.
Johnson is stroppy and charming; passionate and dangerous. More often than not, his temper (and his ego) get the better of him. His desire to dominate clearly stems from feelings of inadequacy. There’s a particularly glorious scene where a festival director explains that he hasn’t seen his latest work, “… but my assistant said she was riveted.” Johnson’s eyes burn with humiliation and rage. He is the one who does the bruising. His ability to switch between softly spoken compliments and firmly gripped instructions is quite alarming to behold. It’s an intense performance that revels, somewhat, in its loathsomeness.
“All directors are going to want to sleep with you … You gotta play the game,” an actress unhelpfully suggests. The Players raises a lot of questions about the theatre world. Why are all of these adults having such emotionally complex and intimate conversations with a sheltered fifteen year old girl? How can these women victim blame someone so vulnerable? Where is the sense of sisterhood and shared experience? But, of course, these questions have come up time and again since the #MeToo movement really took hold and the answers are rarely simple. Galea-Davis wants us, as viewers, to feel anger and disgust. But would we behave any differently, she seems to ask. The Players is an interesting, complex film that exposes the potential abuses within the theatre industry. It’s quietly dangerous and emotionally charged throughout. Both Stefani Kimber and Eric Johnson are magnetic leads.
The Players is showing at Glasgow Film Festival 2025. Get your tickets here.
Editor at Moviescramble. European cinema, grisly thrillers and show stopping musicals are my bag. Classic Hollywood Cinema is comfort food. Spare time is heavily dependent on a lot of pizza and power ballads.
Little White Lies was established in 2005 as a bi-monthly print magazine committed to championing great movies and the talented people who make them. Combining cutting-edge design, illustration and journalism, we’ve been described as being “at the vanguard of the independent publishing movement.” Our reviews feature a unique tripartite ranking system that captures the different aspects of the movie-going experience. We believe in Truth & Movies.
Newcomers Enter the Rankings – The Brutalist, Wicked, I’m Still Here, and A Complete Unknown emerged in the top ten after the Oscars, reflecting fresh audience interest. ● Shifts in Viewer Attention – While Dune: Part Two, Alien: Romulus, Inside Out 2, and Gladiator II ranked highly before the awards, they were replaced by new titles post-Oscars, possibly due to shifting critical conversations and winner announcements. ● Sustained Success for The Substance & Conclave – These two films held their positions as the most streamed, proving their long-lasting appeal to audiences.
Surging Interest in Indie and Arthouse Films – Flow and Nosferatu gained traction after the Oscars, suggesting a growing curiosity in artistic and unconventional storytelling.
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They say that life imitates art. And that is certainly the premise for writer / director Jin-hwang Kim’s second feature length film, Nocturnal, where a murder plot seems to have been lifted directly from a best-selling book. It’s a confident offering from the Korean director; a gritty neo-noir that isn’t afraid to plunge you into the heart of the action.
Bae Min-Tae (Ha Jung-Woo) hasn’t been out of prison for all that long. His drug addict brother, Bae Seok-Tae (Park Jong-Hwan), has been found dead in a neon-lit karaoke bar. More than this, his brother’s girlfriend, Cha Moon-Young (Yoo Da-In) appears to be on the run. Could she have ordered the killing? Or has Bae Seok-Tae done something to displease local crime boss, Chang Mo (Jeong Man-Sik)? And why does his death closely resemble the novel of one of Cha Moon-Young’s former lecturers?
Nocturnal is definitely a film where you have to pay attention. This isn’t your regular revenge thriller or cat and mouse chase. For one thing, there are four cats. Jin-hwang Kim manages to expertly weave competing storylines together, complete with flashbacks, to keep you engrossed until the very last scenes. The large cast of characters almost feels like a bit of world-building, and the ending will certainly leave you wanting more, which is always pleasing.
One element bound to hook your attention is the violence. Even the flashback to Bae Seok-Tae’s death is visceral and unflinching. Bae Min-Tae is both ruthless and fearless. Not once does he back away from a fight – even when he is heavily outnumbered. We see him threaten two elderly shopkeepers with a large gas canister and a lighter; we see him beat a man (almost to death) with a coat stand. His weapon of choice is a pipe, and we regularly hear the crunch of metal on bone, complete with a bloodied close up. The fight choreography is impressive. As viewers, we can enjoy (or wince at) overhead tracking shots, slickly edited short, sharp cuts or 360 shots round an entire gang of Chang Mo’s goons. One particular scene, in which Bae Min-Tae clatters someone’s head off a perspex window, gives a gloriously thunderous percussive effect.
But it’s not all about flashy or blood-streaked visuals. The performances are excellent, here, too. Ha Jung-Woo carries the film with a steely determination that is never spoken but always evident. As he pieces together the last few days of his brother’s life, you get the sense that both siblings were trapped in an endless cycle of violence, addiction and gang life. Not one to display weakness, we get glimpses of his hurt through a lingering hand over a book; a desperate panting when the end seems in sight. It’s a very nuanced performance, albeit a physically charged one. He provides a neat contrast to Kim Nam-Gil’s Kang-Ho Ryeong, the author of the titular novel who is perpetually in neat polo necks and glasses.
The cat(s) and mouse chase at the heart of the film is what keeps the pacing tight. We follow each individual in pursuit of Cha Moon-Young (Bae Min-Tae, Chang Mo, the police and the novelist), almost trying to stay one step ahead of each of them. There are no obvious clues to track, as such, just an awareness that Kang-Ho Ryeong’s story is said to provide the outcome for this particular murder mystery. As each of them pursues their own agenda, we as viewers get to piece together the story of Bae Seok-Tae’s past and his relationship with Cha Moon-Young. Their story is both dramatic and depressing, wrapped up in the side effects of addiction and violence – a long way from the glamour of the karaoke bar or Chang Mo’s tailored suits.
Nocturnal is a must see for lovers of a good crime drama that’s willing to get its hands dirty. It’s got car chases, personal vendettas, crime gangs and thrilling moments of tension. The last five minutes alone are well worth the ticket price. A seriously entertaining piece of cinema.
Nocturnal has its European Premiere at the Glasgow Film Festival. Get your tickets here.
Editor at Moviescramble. European cinema, grisly thrillers and show stopping musicals are my bag. Classic Hollywood Cinema is comfort food. Spare time is heavily dependent on a lot of pizza and power ballads.
Last Breath is a harrowing and inspiring thriller based on the 2019 documentary of the same name. The film follows the true story of a commercial diver trapped at the bottom of the North Sea with only minutes of oxygen remaining, and the extraordinary rescue mission that defied all odds. Starring Finn Cole alongside Woody Harrelson, this gripping cinematic experience brings an unbelievable survival story to life.
Finn Cole is a British actor best known for his breakout role as Michael Gray in the hit BBC crime drama Peaky Blinders (2014–2022), where he portrayed the ambitious and calculating cousin of the Shelby family. He also starred as Joshua “J” Cody in the critically acclaimed TNT series Animal Kingdom (2016–2022). His movie credits include Dreamland (2019) alongside Margot Robbie, Here Are the Young Men (2020), and the thriller Last Breath (2024).
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Michael Premo’s documentary, Homegrown, opens with Chris building nursery furniture for the birth of his son. He’s wearing a t-shirt with 1776 in a circle of stars. A reference to the Declaration of Independence or Trump’s 1776 report, perhaps. He’s pumped up, as he talks to the camera. “If you think DC was bad … just wait,” he grins. “Just wait.”
People across the world remember DC. Specifically, the storming of the Capitol Building on January 6 by pro-Trump supporters who believed that the 2020 election of just three months prior was stolen from their chosen candidate. It felt like the unravelling of one of the greatest political systems in the world. It was a dark day for all sides of the voting spectrum, with crimson blood splattered and streaming down the pale marble steps of democracy.
Premo takes an objective stance to his documentary subjects. Chris, the father to be, is regularly called by his wife to ensure that he’s wearing a mask at all of the various rallies he attends. She’s seven months pregnant and doesn’t want him bringing Covid home. We meet Randy, an older man who is convinced that civil war is afoot. We are also introduced to Thad, a Latino ex-serviceman who espouses conservative family values. He has four children, two of whom he is trying to bring to the United States. He is perhaps the most conflicting of the trio.
We see pro-Trump rallies of all sizes and demographics. Men wearing camo, beers in hand, recite the Proud Boy oath which declares them Western chauvinists. They point to bumper stickers that say things like “Fuck Your Feelings” and “Even Covid Choose Trump”. Don’t Tread on Me and Thin Blue Line flags are draped over cars and fences. There are jokes about shooting and crucifying those with opposing views.
And all of this is captured, without hesitation, on camera. Which does rather make you wonder what might be being said behind closed doors if this is the content that is out in the open. No one seems quite able to explain what Trump has actually done to improve their lives. “I’m in love with what he’s done for the people in terms of … uh … unification,” says Thad, who also finds himself at Black Lives Matter events.
Chris features most prominently in the documentary, giving us a tour of his windowless man cave, stacked with AR-15s, twelve gauge AK-47s and AR-10s. He believes that “Ninety to ninety five per cent” of cop killings are justified. “Are you legal?” he shouts, boorishly, at an Asian protestor who is heckling his Trump rally. Chris’s wife is a Chinese immigrant.
What Premo captures perfectly is how long this feeling of unrest and chaos has been brewing within certain circles. Trump’s election defeat prompts immediate calls of interference and robbery. Online platforms quickly raise a literal call to arms. This seems like the perfect outlet for months of pent up hatred and bile. As the bitterness of defeat sinks in, the chance to “mobilise” and spread fear, seems like the only option for a taste of power. Chants of “The election isn’t over until we say it is” and “Who’s streets? Our streets?” are laced with a violence that is palpable.
The excitement at the thought of actually storming a government building is written all over Chris’s face. He’s packed tasers and knives under the guise of a survival kit. It is him we follow into a tight, dark corridor as pro-Trump supporters attempt to push their way past riot police. He is pepper sprayed several times, leaving his eyes weeping and his skin raw. Premo alternates between his own footage and the body cameras of the police front line. Chris is a vocal agitator, shouting obscenities in the face of those trying to protect the Capitol. “I’m gonna drag Pelosi out by her fucking toes,” he yells at the crowd, whipping groups of men into a frenzy. The disorientating camerawork amongst the violent clashes adds a claustrophobic layer to the spiralling chaos.
The film ends with Thad being disavowed by the Proud Boys for his involvement in the BLM movement whilst Chris receives one of the longest prison sentences attached to the riots – 12 years. His newborn son will be a teenager before he will properly meet his father. Randy, meanwhile, is seen sitting on the back of a pick up track, rounding up yet another crowd to inflict violence upon cars and passers by. The news cycle, the echo chamber, the unrest has not stopped. Will it ever, Premo seems to ask.
Homegrown is showing at the Glasgow Film Festival 2025. Get your tickets here.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=na6rWo4oK_A
Editor at Moviescramble. European cinema, grisly thrillers and show stopping musicals are my bag. Classic Hollywood Cinema is comfort food. Spare time is heavily dependent on a lot of pizza and power ballads.
