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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
It’s 1932 in the Mississippi Delta, just three years after the crash. Prohibition prevents escapism found in the bottom of a bottle (but the bottles are there, if you know who to tip). The Klan still don their hoods and lynch young men. African Americans work on plantations in exchange for tokens, not dollars. Poverty is everywhere. More than that; there’s a violence in the air. It crackles like electricity; leaving bodies slick with sweat and fear.
That’s the setting for writer / director Ryan Coogler’s Sinners, a supernatural horror with music at its core. Michael B. Jordan plays both Elias and Elijah Moore (primarily known as the Smoke Stack twins), brothers who have come home to the South, having spent time working for Al Capone in Chicago. With a bag of cash, they acquire an old mill and decide to open their own juke joint. They have Irish beer and Italian wine. Their little cousin, Sammie (Miles Caton), is an accomplished blues guitarist and singer who can provide the entertainment. But when Remmick (Jack O’Connell) asks to be let into their club along with two friends, all hell breaks loose … quite literally.
From the offset, music – specifically the kind of music to be found in juke joints – is described as the work of the devil. It is seen as a way to open the door to spirits, good and bad. Although Sinners is not a musical, you cannot talk about it without acknowledging Ludwig Göransson’s throbbing, pulsating score. In this film, music bridges the gap between life and death; possessing an almost visceral ability to get under your skin and having you toe-tapping along in your cinema seat. There’s a mix of Southern spiritual, raspy blues and gentle Irish laments. The scenes where both Sammie and Pearline (Jayme Lawson) whip the juke crowd into a stomping frenzy are both powerful and captivating to watch.
Michael B. Jordan never allows his performance as both Smoke and Stack to be gimmicky. There’s an air of violence about the twins; a danger that seems to permeate through their perfectly tailored suits and glistening gold teeth. Their back story has seen a violent father, World War One and Chicago gangsters shape who they are. It’s a solid performance with layers of pathos and nuance. There’s a magnetism whenever he’s on screen. Similarly, Miles Caton is an actor you cannot take your eyes off. His speaking voice is like velvet and his blues performances are full of soul and wit. Caton shows us a young man desperate to be perceived in the same light as his older cousins; talented enough to break out of town but too naive for the bigger cities.
Wunmi Mosaku and Hailee Steinfeld are equally excellent as Annie and Mary, respectively, two women who have had love affairs with the Moore brothers. Mosaku’s Annie, in particular, plays an important part in explaining the lore of the film – of haints, vampires and ancestral music. It is her knowledge that imbues the team behind the juke with the hope of survival.
Jack O’Connell’s Remmick is uncanny and unsettling. His eyes glow with red embers, as if literally reflecting the gates of hell. Something about his movement also feels off; as if he were doing his best impression of a human. This is notable when he and two of his ‘converts’ sing “Pick Poor Robin Clean” in a bid to enter the juke. They look like mechanical dolls, lifted from the set of a Disney ride. The vampires in this film are both fast on their feet and very, very hungry. Remmick, too, is able to control and agitate them through music. And, although this film has more than a whiff of historical allegory about it, conventional vampire tropes are used. In particular, the need to be invited to cross a threshold is a key plot point.
But how Coogler positions the vampires in Sinners is most interesting. Remmick believes his ‘community’ offers a better life for the African Americans living in town. No more lynchings; no more going to war for a country that treats you as less than; no more false accusations; no more life on the run. Besides eternal life, he can offer power – he’s all about equality and love. His is a society drawn by music and shared memories; not Klan attacks and innocents being murdered. It’s an unusual positioning and it makes for a far more compelling supernatural offering.
Sinners is a thrilling, pulsating, violent and sensual film that will blow your mind with its incredible score. There’s horror elements, personal trauma, historical allegory and top notch performances. It could easily be one of the films of the year.
Sinners is now showing in UK cinemas.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oqCwr_bzHI
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.
With the reunification of Germany, residents of the former GDR (or DDR, as it’s known in its mother tongue) were given less than a week to trade in their currency at a truly unfavourable rate of ‘two to one’. For an economy that was already shattered, with all state industries on the brink of extinction, it was another hammer blow to the people of the regime.
And it’s here where we find Maren (Sandra Hüller) at the start of writer / director Natja Brunckhorst’s Two to One. It’s July 1990 and she’s been made unemployed; as has her husband, Robert (Max Riemelt), and just about everyone else who lives in their apartment block. The socialist architecture of their domestic dwelling in Halberstadt underlines a community entirely dependent on a non-existent state for their income and home. Robert convinces his grouchy uncle Markowski (Peter Kurth) to let him, Maren and Volker (Ronald Zehrfeld) have a look in the state-owned bunker where he works. In there, they find entire caverns full of East German marks. With just days left to cash in as much as they can carry, they must hatch a plan.
There’s a relatively playful feel throughout the film. The kaleidoscopic opening credits almost seem to make fun of the concept of money. Even the attempts to break into the bunker are met with a Mission Impossible style score and out-of-breath attempts at sneaking along corridors. This is further evident in the colour palette. When you picture former GDR neighbourhoods, you probably don’t think of sun-dappled yellows, warm corals and striking turquoise. But that is exactly the palette that Brunckhorst employs. Sure, there’s the old Trabant cars and dodgy rip-offs of Western clothing, but the Halberstadt community is anything but grey and austere. It suggests a hope for the future that is yet to be realised.
At the heart of the film are two parallel stories; a national drama and a personal one. With all the flaws of the GDR laid bare, there’s a disillusionment and an anger that juxtaposes the firmly held beliefs that life won’t be better in the West. “They’ve screwed us all these years,” Robert says to Maren. “But you always knew that,” she shrugs in reply. “Yeah, but I hoped for something else,” he sighs. It’s a quick snippet of dialogue that belies the betrayal and fears of those suddenly finding themselves ‘stateless’. There’s the devastation in realising that the work you were doing ‘for the advancement of socialism’ was nothing more than cheap labour for the West. What can you do when an entire ideology is stripped away from you, becoming meaningless overnight?
There’s also commentary on what it means to swap one extreme for the other – does greed immediately replace the ‘greater good’? Does having endless piles of cash and stacks of electronic goods suddenly make you happy? Brunckhorst’s script would suggest not. There’s a desire to share the money and good amongst everyone in the apartment block in order to get one over on the failed regime, but there’s always personal interest and aspirations bubbling away in the background. It’s an interesting insight into real life events.
On the personal level, Maren is struggling with Volker’s return, because it is immediately clear that they have had a romantic past. Whilst he urges her to leave for the West – as he did; we first meet him upon his return from Hungary – she is convinced that both he and Robert can live with her in the East. It’s perhaps the weakest part of the film, not least because Robert is allegedly oblivious to their love affair.
In terms of performances, Peter Kurth gives an engaging turn as the spirit-swigging Markowski; a man who has lived through the horrors of Germany’s past and is utterly devoid of personal politics. Sandra Hüller, although undoubtedly the draw for many here, isn’t given too much to do beyond count cash and keep both the men in her life on an even keel. Max Riemelt adds cheeky humour and genuine hurt to his character; layering both personal and national tragedy on thickly. It’s a pleasing ensemble, and there’s plenty of funny on-liners to keep you engaged.
The pace takes a dip towards the end of the second act and into the beginning of the third. Brunckhorst seems to lose the sense of whimsy and fun that really draws you into the film in the opening 45 minutes or so. It’s made up for with a ridiculous ending that is equal parts incredible and entertaining. There’s also lovely archival footage of East German companies who survived past 1990 and facts about the real money bunker – with notes still appearing as recently as the early 2000s.Two to One is an entertaining approach to a period of history that caused personal conflict and national hardship. It’s enough of a light touch to keep you engaged whilst it deals with bigger themes and a traumatic historical backdrop.
Two to One is up for the Audience Award at the Glasgow Film Festival. Get your tickets here.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCY0Z0-IseU
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.
There are certain things that Hollywood simply does not include in its renderings of a post-apocalyptic world. There’s no bright colours; no priceless works of art on the walls; no cosy clothing; no rich food; and certainly no grand pianos. And yet, in Joshua Oppenheimer’s The End, it’s all there. Oh, and it’s a musical.
Mother (Tilda Swinton) and Father (Michael Shannon) have managed to escape the hellfires of earth in a luxurious underground bunker. They’ve raised their Son (George Mackay) entirely underground, never allowing anyone else to seek refuge in their little sanctuary. They have a Butler (Tim McInnery), a Maid (Bronagh Kelly) and even a Doctor (Lennie James) to cater to their every need – and their egos. However, the arrival of Girl (Moses Ingram), throws their harmonious survival pact into disarray. She knows too much about what it’s like above surface level and no one in this family is willing enough to confront their past lives.
Writers Rasmus Heisterberg and Joshua Oppenheimer certainly know what they are doing when it comes to blending tragedy with humour. There are so many rapid exchanges of dialogue or elements of physical comedy that will have you laughing out loud, only for them to be undercut by dark truths moments later. Indeed, many of the songs in Marius De Vries and Josh Schmidt’s score are mournful ballads that reflect on life as it previously was.
And the score really is something to behold, here. Although you won’t be familiar with the songs, some of the writing and musical motifs are bound to stay with you for days afterwards. Bronagh Kelly delivers a heartbreaking lullaby to her son who has passed away. It’s incredibly powerful and her vocals are well-matched to the emotion she conveys. Michael Shannon and Tim McInnery deliver a delightfully old-fashioned tap dance sequence and a gentle duet about plucking up the courage to speak to a love interest. George Mackay has a beautiful voice and an impressive range whilst Moses Ingram gives an emotional rendition of “Exhale”, a song about counting each passing second. Tilda Swinton, too, has a powerful solo called “The Mirror”, where she contemplates her relationship with her mother.
The performances within this eclectic cast really do deliver beyond singing capabilities. Michael Shannon is hilariously self-aggrandising as he encourages his son to write his life story – one in which he is portrayed as an altruistic oil baron. Tilda Swinton is neurotic, snobby and obsessed with keeping her bunker life ‘just so’. Bronagh Kelly’s Maid is a collection of heartbreak and guilt. Her unravelling is particularly painful to watch because she does seem like a decent, caring person.
George Mackay steals every scene he is in. His character – having never interacted with anyone outside the bunker – is physically and verbally awkward. He’s so keen to be noticed and say his piece, even when it’s not the most emotionally intelligent thing to say. It’s a genuine, warm and engaging performance from Mackay, who has excellent on screen chemistry with Moses Ingram. Ingram’s character is so much more wary and damaged than the mollycoddled bunker dwellers, having had to survive above ground her entire life. She brings hard truths and trauma to the family – something that causes their perfectly curated life to splinter and split.
There are a couple of pacing dips in The End. It has a two and a half hour run time and there are particular scenes or conversations that feel like they could be shortened or cut entirely. But hey, it’s the end of the world, you’ve got the time. The End probably isn’t going to be for everyone. And that’s okay, not every film needs to be. If you enjoy musicals, this is something new for you to fall in love with. If you enjoy people-driven drama, conflict and nuance, then this will likely work for you, too. It’s almost like a curious little study of human behaviour, with each character aware of the artifice of the setting and of themselves. Definitely worth the watch if you enjoy seeing familiar genres executed with a new and different flair.
The End had its Scottish premiere at the Glasgow Film Festival. Find out more here.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=avvm0e4oNCE
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.
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.
