American Fiction: A funny satire on literary ghettos and dysfunctional families

Thelonious ‘Monk’ Ellison is a black Los Angeles-based professor and writer of acclaimed literary novels that sell poorly. Uptight and abrasive, his college decides he needs to take some enforced leave and spend time at a literary festival and with his family in Boston.

After presenting a poorly-attended seminar at the festival, Monk is horrified to find a packed event for a talk with fellow black author, Sintara Golden, whose bestselling novel, We's Lives in Da Ghetto, is full of tropes about the lives of black people – what he later describes to her as “black trauma porn”.

Sitting down to pen a satire on this kind of novel, My Pafology, Monk sends it to a publisher in contempt – and is stunned to be offered a huge advance. But with his elderly mother failing with Alzheimer’s, he has to take responsibility for finding a care home for her and, although the family is apparently well-off, that cash will be very welcome.

But when the book becomes a best seller – published under an alias, by a supposed fugitive on the run – and Monk gets a film deal, he has some heavy ethical decisions to make.

It’s a funny film, which has a benefit of not being hectoring in tone and also not being simplified in terms of themes. 

When Monk challenges Sintara over her own book, she has no time for his moralising, effectively shrugging and saying it’s “what the market wants”.

There are also attitudes within Monk’s own family life that send a message that they’re not without intolerances or problems or a lack of understanding. Having been raised in a middle-class, well-off home that produced three professional siblings, he seems to have little or no comprehension of the reality of some black lives for those much lower down the economic and social ladder.

His mother is homophobic and his late father would have probably disowned Monk’s brother, who has come out as gay after being in a straight marriage for some years. Indeed, all three siblings are recently divorced (a slightly odd note to presumably excuse why their professional incomes won’t cover mum’s care costs).

And then there is the central question of how Monk deals with his success coming as his ‘joke’ backfires and makes him into what he despises.

Director Cord Jefferson also adapted the screenplay from Percival Everett’s novel, Erasure, the latter earning him this year’s adapted screenplay Academy Award.

Making it as a comedy about a literary ghetto – and combining it with a story of a dysfunctional family – avoids it seeming too ‘preachy’.

Laura Karpman’s jazz-filled score deservedly won her a first Oscar nomination.

But it’s the performances that really make this film. Jeffrey Wright as Monk is superb in a roles that needs him to be many things – brusque to the point of rudeness, highly intelligent (except in emotional terms), yet also vulnerable in many ways.

Sterling K Brown as Cliff, Monk’s brother, Leslie Uggams as his mother, Erika Alexander as his girlfriend and Adam Brody as the film director and provide excellent support.

Worth watching and currently streaming on Amazon Prime.

A sweet look at ageing, loneliness, friendship and more

Milton Robinson is nearing 80, a widower living on his own, with an estranged son, and a daughter who, worried that her father is starting on a dementia pathway is naggin him to see a doctor.

One night, a UFO crash lands in his garden and a small alien appears. After his initial terror, Milton takes the nonverbal and apparently unthreatening alien inside and treats him as a guest.

He tries to tell the authorities, his daughter, a shop assistant and a local council meeting that he regularly attends, but all assume he’s imagining it. But then an acquaintance, Sandy, drops by and sees the alien, then names them Jules.

This is a really interesting and subtle point. All the characters assume – without any side – that the extra-terrestrial is male (they can pilot a spaceship, for instance), but we never find out, while Jules as a name is gender neutral.

Sandy warns Milton not to tell anyone else – before another acquaintance, Joyce, spots them and demands to be in on the action, though possibly from nefarious motives.

However, secret services monitoring knows that something has fallen to earth in the vicinity of the small town and the hunt is on.

Billed as a science fiction comedy-drama, it’s fairly slender in terms of the comedy aspect, but there is gentle humour. Watch out for the ET nods in Milton’s speeches to the local council and a running t-shirt gag later on.

Written by Gavin Steckler and directed by Marc Turtletaub, it is gentle and heart-warming, with themes of loneliness, friendship, kindness and family rifts played out sensitively, and over a pleasingly tight 87 minutes.

Jules themselves is very well done in terms of leaving plenty to the imagination throughout, with Jade Quon helping create and maintain the mystery around the character.

But it also relies on an excellent central trio. Ben Kingsley does a really lovely and delicate job with Milton, while Harriet Sansom Harris as Sandy and Jane Curtin as Joyce are also in very fine form.

Finally, Zöe Winters as Denise, Milton’s daughter, lends good support.

All in all, Jules was never going to set the cinematic world on fire, but it’s a sweet film, full of heart. Currently streaming on Sky Cinema, it’s well worth an hour and a half of your time.

Brighton Rock – brilliance all the way through

In Brighton at the beginning of March for a few days away – the first time I’ve been there when it didn’t involve work – I suddenly decided to revive my holiday habit of ‘themed’ reading.

A visit to Waterstones ensured that I left the shop in possession of a copy of Grahame Greene’s novel, Brighton Rock.

It was by far the greyest, dampest day of the visit, so I took myself off to the cinema to see Wicked Little Letters, sipping coffee for over an hour beforehand as I started the book. Later, the weather was so much better that, wrapped up, I could sit alongside the beach and read more, surrounded by much of the architecture that features in it – including hotels I’d stayed in previously.

It's an excellent read. After I’d finished, I wanted to see the Boulting brothers’ 1948 film, with a screenplay by Greene himself, alongside Terence Rattigan. Streaming makes this easier (and usually cheaper) than buying a disc these days – it’s currently to be found on Amazon Prime.

Set in 1935, it tells a story of rival gangs who clash over a protection racket involving local bookies. Kite, the leader of one, has already been found murdered after a newspaper investigation into the violence. When his fellow gangsters discover that Hale, the reporter responsible is in Brighton for work, their new, self-appointed leader, teenage thug Pinkie Brown, decides to seek revenge for his late mentor.

But before Hale can be despatched, he comes to the attention of Ida Arnold, a brassy, outgoing entertainer, who realises he’s terrified. Later, when an inquest declares that he died of natural causes, she sets out to investigate.

Initially drawing criticism for its portrayal of crime and violence – the Daily Mirror declared: “This film must not be shown” – its reputation has grown with time. In the BFI’s 1999 list of the 100 best British films, it was listed at 15. It’s not difficult to see why.

Some baulked at the changes to the book, but having read it so recently, it’s easy to compare, and the screenplay made it tighter for a 92-minute feature. If I complained about on-screen infidelity to a literary source, The Late Other Half used to note that films of books are “adaptations”, so of course they are not going to be exact.

This maintains all the spirit of the book, but dispenses with some of the novel’s more complex plotting, including simplifying the themes around Catholicism. The only controversial change, in my opinion – and one made without Greene’s permission – was to the ending, which was turned into a sentimental one. The filmmakers felt that the book’s ending would potentially alienate the censors – presumably aware that the representation of crime and violence in the film already had them treading on thin ice.

John Boulting’s direction is excellent (brother Roy produced). Harry Waxman’s cinematography is very good indeed. There’s a really classy noir feel about the film, and the scenes of the chase of Hale through the street early on were shot on hidden cameras, with Brighton’s residents and visitors going about their business, unaware.

And whoever thought of having someone moving among the racegoers and gangsters at the meet, wearing evangelical sandwich boards and placards, was a genius – a brilliant touch.

Combined with the writing, directing and production talent, the cast reads like a bit of a who’s who of British cinema of the mid-to late 20^th century.

While she doesn’t quite make that list, let’s start with Carol Marsh – a newcomer at the time – who turns in a lovely performance as Rose, the teenage waitress that Pinkie exploits in his attempts to evade justice.

Harcourt Williams as the very dodgy lawyer Prewitt is delightfully slippery and slimy, while Doctor Who No1 William Hartnell as Dallow, one of Pinkie’s gangsters, is very good indeed.

Richard Attenborough, who had already played Pinkie in a stage adaptation, is outstanding in the role. Totally believable as the teenaged, psychopathic killer with a deeply-ingrained set of religious beliefs. I love the detail that the film adds, of him frequently seen with a circle of string, doing frantically paced cat’s cradles. It’s a 1930s fidget toy.

The intensity of his performance – the iciness of it – is pitch perfect. In so many ways, it feels like a rehearsal for 10 Rillington Place.

And Hermione Baddeley (left) is every bit his equal in the deliberately contrasting role (perhaps her greatest?) as Ida. Her working-class warmth, her concern for Rose, her unflinching belief in an idea of ‘right and wrong’ (as opposed to a Catholic conception in the book particularly, of ‘good and evil’) are wonderfully served here.

All in all, a film that should be seen and a book that should be read. Never mind streaming – I’ve ordered it on disc, because it should be in my library.

 

A mixed bag from this lesbian road/caper/crime comedy

Well. Where to start? Ethan Coen’s second feature without his bro, Joel, is a bit of an oddity. Drive-Away Dolls is a lesbian road/caper/crime comedy – not that that that is a bad thing, but it seems too have something of an identity crisis. 

Coen directs, but the screenplay was written jointly with his wife, Tricia Cooke, who has worked as an editor or associate editor on many of the Coen brothers’ films.

This is one case where I’m going to mention people’s personal lives, because the couple are quite open about this and it seems relevant to the film.

Cooke and Coen have two children, but she identifies as lesbian and queer, and describes her marriage as “non-traditional”. They both have other partners.

The point being that this is not some some sort of straight riff on lesbian lives.

Bu back to the film. It’s Philadelphia in 1999. After permissive Jamie is kicked out of her relationship with cop Sukie, she learns that her up-tight friend Marian is planning a trip to Tallahassee, Florida, to visit a relative and enjoy some birdwatching, and decides they should make the trip together.

They use a drive-away car company (where someone can transport a car one-way for another client). However, a misunderstanding means they get the wrong car – with an intriguing cargo.

When the bunch of crooks who had booked the car finds out, they set off in murderous chase.

It’s so hit and miss. It seems like a very deliberate attempt to come up with the trashiest, most lesbo-exploitation flick you could – and perhaps that’s a positive finger to the state of lesbian representation on screen? But yet the film feels conflicted.

There are some very good moments.

Flashback sequences of Marian starting to explore her sexuality are spot on. But a series of psychedelic interludes, which have no explanation until very, very late on, are annoying. And while it’s genuinely funny in places, it’s not laugh-out-loud funny in the same way that it seems to want to be.

It actually has a great core message – that horny women who shag other horny woman are fine!

But problems aside, Geraldine Viswanathan as Marian is really fantastic, bringing a sense of genuine nuance to a generally unsubtle film. Margaret Qualley, as Jamie, gives it her all, but I do wonder about the accent a bit.

Beanie Feldstein is great as the cuckolded girlfriend and cop.

There is a tiny cameo here for Pedro Pascal, a slightly larger one for Matt Damon, and a bigger role for Colman Domingo, all of whom give of their best. Joey Slotnjick as one of the gangsters is very good.

So very much a mixed bag. But while the film itself is more than a tad all over the place, it's most certainly good to see lesbians being represented in such morally non-judgemental – indeed, in such positive ways.

Superb film of August Wilson's Ma Rainey – and not just because of Chadwick Boseman

After yesterday’s early evening football, there was still time for a film and, in this case, it was a re-watch of Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.

I’ve seen August Wilson’s play three times – I reviewed the National Theatre’s 1989 production, then went to see it with The Other Half when it played briefly at the Hackney Empire (where the roof leaked onto us). Then we went to see it again in the National’s top-notch 2016 revival.

The release of George C Woolfe’s 2020 film – produced by Denzel Washington as part of his long-term project to bring all of Wilson’s plays to the screen – was overshadowed by news of the death of star Chadwick Boseman at just 43 from cancer, while the film was in post-production.

His performance as the tragic, traumatised trumpeter Levee in Ma’s four-piece band – at once full of contempt for the white men who only tolerate the black musicians because they bring money in, but also overly deferential to them because he wants his own band – is brilliant. Little wonder that he received a hat-load of posthumous awards and nominations.

In a way, though, Boseman’s tragically early passing dwarfed the rest of the cast. The Other Half and I streamed it early after it landed on Netflix, having linked up the TV to one of our phones because we were at the start of two months without the internet after a major blow-out. That was how much we wanted to see it – and see it early.

Yet seeing it again now, I can not only re-engage with the brilliance of Boseman, but also better appreciate Viola Davis’s powerhouse performance as Ma.

I’m also now familiar with Colman Domingo, who played Cutler so well, and can enjoy more fully Glynn Turman’s turn as Toledo.

The film landed barely six months after the murder of George Floyd, illustrating just how topical the themes of Wilson’s – and Woolfe’s film – remain.

An essential watch.

 

Rashomon: Superb filmmaking from Kurosawa

More catch-up cinema, as I increasingly appreciate streaming. This afternoon’s choice came from browsing the ‘international’ section on Sky Cinema. I’ve seen a couple of iconic Japanese director Akira Kurosawa’s films, but I only knew of Rashomon by name.

In the last period of classical Japanese history, a woodcutter and a priest are sheltering from a torrential downpour in Kyoto’s Rashomon Gate. Joined by a commoner, they are discussing a recent case of the rape of a woman and the murder of her Samurai husband.

Having both given testimonies at the subsequent trial, they are bemused by the how much all of the accounts differ, including that of the murder victim, which the court receives via a Shinto medium.

The priest insists that the dead can’t lie, but even he has doubts. Who to believe?

The screenplay is by Kurosawa and Shinobu Hashimoto, from Ryunosuke Akutagawa’s short stories In a Grove and Rashomon, while cinematographer Kazuo Miyagawa contributed plenty of ideas. He’s particularly famous for his tracking shots and there’s a superb one early in the film, as the woodcutter travels through a forest.

The music from Fumio Hayasaka is also worth noting – not least a bolero that echoes Ravel’s iconic one, using exactly the same beat, though changing the melodic line.

In terms of the cast, Toshiro Mifune (pictured above) shines as Tajomaru, a notorious bandit.

Machiko Kyo as the wife, Masayuki Mori as her Samurai husband, Takashi Shimura as the woodcutter and Minoru Chiaki as the priest all deserve praise.

It was awarded the Golden Lion in Venice in 1951 and an Academy Honorary Award at the 1952 Oscars and is generally credited with introducing Japanese cinema to an international audience.

Rashomon also gave its name to the Rashomon effect, which notes the unreliability of witnesses.

And it’s not difficult to see why this work has regularly featured in lists of the greatest films of all time. Extraordinary filmmaking, with an enigmatic story that ultimately finds a reason to continue having faith in humanity.

Joyous take-down of racism and fat-shaming

More catch-up film. This time, John Waters’s 1988 comedy, Hairspray. As with Studio Ghibli, I find myself wondering how on earth have I have missed this previously?

But on the other hand, what a joy to discover such pieces now!

The plot is simple – teenage Tracy Turnblad is a brilliant dancer who dreams of being on The Corny Collins show, a dance off. On the way to realising her dream, she fights racism and, given that she is chubby, fat-shaming.

But there’s plenty of racist opposition to her ideas, from individuals and institutions. And Tracy has a job on to win.

It’s a joy. Wonderfully camp, and with the positive messages mentioned above – plus a wonderful cast. Rickie Lake is marvellous as Tracey. Then there is Divine as her mother, Jerry Stiller as her father and Debbie Harry as the mother of her fiercest – and most bitchy – opponent.

One question, though: how do you make a ‘musical’ of this, given the music that’s already an integral part of this original version?

A reminder that Ghibli is every bit as good as Disney

I’m back on catch-up film. This time, more from Studio Ghbli, in that studio’s 2004 adaptation of Diana Wynne Jones’s novel Howl’s Moving Castle, with direction and screenplay by the legendary Hayao Miyazaki.

Sophie is a shy young hatter in a Victorian era setting who believes herself unlovely. But after a chance encounter with a wizard – and the Witch of the Waste – she is cursed into being an elderly woman, and becomes drawn into a battle that reflects the start of a war in the human world.

Utterly astonishing – not least in its portrayal of the positives of age – this is simply wonderful, but also its deeply anti-war position. It nods to The Wizard of Oz and much more, but it’s also very much of itself.

It’s fabulously animated, with a wonderful steampunk look, and a very real sense of morality as well as humour.

I watched the English dubbed version, with a fabulous voice cast – not least the utter legend that is Lauren Bacall as the Witch if the Waste, and Billy Crystal as a little fire demon.

Quite simply wonderful.

Macho or not? In & Out remains a charming gay comedy

The Frank Oz 1997 film In & Out has been described as being one of Hollywood’s first efforts at making a ‘comic gay movie’ – can somebody mention Blake Edwards’s 1982 Victor/Victoria please, so I don’t have to!

But to the point: Howard Brackett is an English teacher in a small Indiana town. He is due to marry colleague Emily Montgomery within days, but then the Academy Awards ceremony sees a former pupil of his not only laud him in a winning speech, but out him.

But Howard is not even remotely out to himself. The media descends on his small town and harasses him, while the entire community questions what he’s really like.

Very light, very funny – full of lots of truths (arguably tropes, but then they’re tropes because they’re often true, if you get my meaning). It also very nicely pokes fun at the idea of 'masculinity'.

And it’s a fab cast.

Kevin Kline is lovely in the central role of Howard; as is Oscar-nominated Joan Cusack as his finance. Debbie Reynolds and Wilfred Brimley as his parents are fab too. Then there’s Bob Newhart as the school principal – the expected joy.

In a way, the surprise here is Tom Selleck as gay TV reporter Peter, who helps Howard actually understand who he is. It’s a really good performance.

Here’s a fun little fact. At the end, all the characters – including Cusack’s Emily – dance to Macho Man by The Village People. She danced to the same song on film again in 1993, in Adams Family Values.

Genuinely charming and heart-warming.

Streaming on Sky Cinema and well worth a watch.

An exquisite mediation on loss – and observing life

It's 30 March 1924, and the Sheringham, Niven and Hobday families have gathered for lunch by the Thames at Henley – a Mothering Sunday ritual that they have performed for some years and maintain, even though both the Niven sons and two of the three Sheringham sons were killed in the 'Great War'. Yet the reality of their collective loss is unspoken.

This time, the lunch is taking place just days before the remaining Sheringham sibling, Paul, is due to marry Emma Hobday. Neither of them is particularly enthusiastic about the situation, but feel they have no alternative.

For Paul, it’s complicated by a long-standing affair he’s been having with Jane Fairchild, a maid at the Nivens’ home. On the morning of the annual lunch, he tells his parents he’ll join them later, as he needs to cram for his law studies.

Instead, he’s surreptitiously called Jane and arranged for her to join him at the family home. The staff have also been given the day off (as has Jane) and they’ll have the place to themselves. But when Paul finally leaves for Henley, tragedy strikes.

Told from Jane’s perspective, Eva Husson’s 2021 adaptation of Graham Swift’s 2016 novel of the same name jumps between 1924 and further stages in Jane’s life, including her marriage to Donald, a philosopher, and her own development as a successful writer.

The film’s been described as working “at a frustratingly chilly remove”, but this does actually work in a number of ways. First, as Donald notes to Jane, her having been a maid has turned her into an observer of people.

Second, in a state of grief, Mrs Niven questions Jane about her past, checking that it really was the case that she has no family (she’d been abandoned at birth), before saying that that means she’s lucky, as she has nobody to lose.

Third, the bottled-up emotions of the upper classes also plays out here – so it’s shocking when Mrs Niven breaks down at the lunch and swears that all the children have gone.

In other words, an emotional remoteness is pertinent to the film.

In many ways, it’s a meditation on grief and loss – and pushing through that. The screenplay from Alice Birch is very good, while Jamie Ramsey’s cinematography is lushly sensuous, Sandy Powell’s costume design is sumptuous and Morgan Kibby’s music is spot on.

The supporting turns are excellent – not least from Olivia Colman and Colin Firth as the desperately unhappy Nivens, but also from Sope Dirisu as Donald and Josh O’Connor as Paul.

But the film rests on Jane and Odessa Young gives a really fine performance in a film where so much is about the camera on her face.

As an added attraction, there’s a delightful, sparkling cameo from Glenda Jackson, in her penultimate role, as the older Jane.

I’d bought the disc on a visit to the BFI Southbank late last year, remembering having seen the film advertised and also aware that I am becoming a big Colman fan.

It’s pure coincidence that I decided to watch it today, given that tomorrow is Mother’s Day, but it will be on Channel 4 tomorrow (Film4 was one of the production companies involved) and is well worth a watch.

Drop the Dead Donkey stage reunion is an utter joy

When I first saw that Drop the Dead Donkey was going to be produced as a stage production, I had serious doubts. How often do such revivals generate huge, nostalgic excitement, yet then disappoint?

But after heading to Brighton last Sunday for a much-needed break, Facebook algorithms decided to show me posts from the city’s Theatre Royal, revealing that the play was on tour there this week.

Enthusiasm took over and I booked for last night (Brighton might not be very far from London, but it’s light years away in terms of ticket prices, which also helped overcome any doubts about shelling out).

Decades on from the demise of GlobeLink News, most of the central figures from that TV newsroom are recruited by an anonymous source to start a GB News-like TV news channel, called Truth News, where facts will come second to what The Great Algorithm says will pull in the viewers – and the advertisers.

This is one reunion that is an absolute delight.

Much of that is down to Andy Hamilton and Guy Carver, the writers behind the original TV series between 1990 and 1998, who have written this stage version. The tone is absolutely spot on. It’s as though the dialogue – and the performances – have come from a sort of creative muscle memory. They’ve lost none of their satirical bite.

To add to the fun, Hamilton and Carver are continuing to change the script to add topical comments in order that the satire is fresh. This week, these included snipes at the scandal over F1 Red Bull boss Christian Horner, plus plenty of digs at Sunak, Trump and Putin. And yes, in a spirit of even-handedness, Starmer too.

Of course, a huge part of the fun here is seeing so many of the original cast back in their famous roles – and this time, live. Sadly, David Swift, who played grouchy co-news anchor Henry Davenport, and Haydn Gwynne, assistant editor Alex Pates for the first two TV seasons, are no longer with us – it’s lovely that they are remembered at the end.

But Robert Duncan as inept CEO Gus Hedges, Jeff Rawle as accident-prone, hypochondriac news editor George Dent, Ingrid Lacey as assistant editor (from season three) and lesbian Helen Cooper, Victoria Wicks as far-right, empty-headed, posh co-news anchor Sally Smedley, Stephen Tompkinson as unethical field reporter Damien Day, Neil Pearson as deputy sub-editor and general dogsbody Dave Charnley, and Susannah Doyle as vindictive and cynical personal assistant Joy Merryweather are all still very much with us.

They come on stage one by one, with the audience rapturously applauding each arrival. This gives the writers the opportunity to give us some backstory about what has happened to them all since GlobeLink’s collapse. These are hilarious.

For instance, George has done a series of jobs – all short-lived – such as working for Liz Truss during her (short-lived) premiership, while Sally hosted a TV show about revealing what your underwear was.

And Sally is still as gloriously, magnificently stupid as she ever was. There’s a moment during the first live broadcast from Truth News where she’s reading a cue about Chinese president Xi Jinping and says it as “President eleven…” before going on to fabulously and serially libel national treasure Sir David Attenborough.

In terms of national treasures, Trevor McDonald also features – but I’m saying no more.

Hamilton and Carver have done a wonderful job here. The gag count is probably highest in the first act, while in the second, the point about fake news, algorithms and deep fakes is hammered home. Just when it risks getting a bit po-faced, what follows is a very clever and very, very funny indeed. The satire is no less effective than it was all those years ago.

There’s great set design from Peter McKintosh and direction from Derek Bond. And big plaudits to Julia Hills and Kerena Jagpal as new characters Mairead, an award-winning investigative reporter, and Rita, an unpaid intern who is the station’s weather presenter. It must be tough coming into such a nostalgia situation but both are excellent.

The late OH and I loved the TV series. We both worked in newsrooms (print, not TV), but we certainly knew a George Dent.

It’s not the most youthful audience: the writers clearly knew this would be the case and acknowledge it delightfully when Gus is stressing the importance of getting young people to watch Truth News – and the cast respond by briefly breaking the fourth wall to look directly at the audience and raising a collective eyebrow.

An utter joy.

Production tour dates and more

Wicked it might be, but it's also confused

Here is a real oddity: Wicked Little Letters is billed as a black comedy but, while it manages to be that, it also has something of an identity crisis.

Based on the true story of a poison pen scandal in the seaside town of Littlehampton that scandalised England in the 1920s, Thea Sharrock’s film tells the story of neighbours Edith Swan and Rose Gooding.

When the latter moves in, she soon becomes known for her rambunctious behaviour – not least boozing and swearing.

By contrast, Rose is the pious, stay-at-home daughter of Victoria and Edward, a domineering man with very firm ideas about ‘proper’ behaviour – particularly when it comes to women.

When a series of obscene letters being arriving for Edith, suspicion falls on Rose. As the situation escalates, police officer Gladys May decides to investigate, having concluded that the case isn’t quite as straightforward as almost everyone else believes.

There is much that is genuinely comic in Jonny Sweet’s screenplay, but the story has a very dark reality to it. The identity crisis is because of moments where there are instances of the comedy moving into mugging and slapstick. These are not a comfortable fit.

It’s a shame, because there’s much to enjoy here – not least in the performances. There’s delightful support from Joanna Scanlon, Lolly Adefope and Eileen Atkins as local women who help Moss. 

Gemma Jones gives as lovely turn as Victoria and Timothy Spall is excellent as the deeply unpleasant Edward.

Anjana Vasan has some really fine moments as Moss, but she’s one of the cast who has been directed to go over the top in a couple of scenes. Malachi Kirby, as Bill – Rose’s boyfriend – seems to have been faced with a very scant sketch of a character to work with.

But the central duo are a major reason to see this. Jessie Buckley as Rose brings wonderful vivacity and warmth to the role, but real emotion when it’s needed. Olivia Colman as Edith is delicious as the prissy wannabe saint, but every bit as good in the scenes where we discover the lived reality behind this public face.

Wicked Little Letters is good on showing just how women were expected to behave at the time – and how they were judged if they refused to conform (pressures that have notion away a century on). It also acts as a useful reminder that ‘trolling’ existed well before the internet and social media – and the damage that it can do.

A sensitive film about first love and self-discovery

Browsing Sky Cinema for something to watch, I came across Luca Guadagnino’s 2017 coming-of-age romantic drama, Call Me by Your Name. I knew next to nothing about it, but drawn by seeing Timothée Chalamet’s name, I decided to dive in.

Adapted from André Aciman’s 2007 novel of the same name by James Ivory, it tells of a summer romance between the precocious Elio Perlman, the 17-year-old son of archaeology professor Samuel, and Oliver, a 24-year-old graduate, who is staying at the family’s summer home in northern Italy to assist Samuel.

Set in 1983, Elio initially thinks he has little in common with the older man – indeed, that he is arrogant. But gradually, he’s drawn toward him and starts to understand that he sexually attracted to him.

It’s not difficult to see why it was critically acclaimed and won a batch of awards – including an Oscar and Bafta for best adapted screenplay for Ivory.

The look of it is beautiful – Sayombhu Mukdeeprom’s cinematography is excellent. The film uses music so well – Elio is obsessed with music, plying piano and guitar, transposing music and adapting a piece of early Bach to perform it in the styles of later composer (Chalamet plays both piano and classical guitar in the film).

The central cast is very good indeed. Not just Chalamet, but Armie Hammer as Oliver bring great intelligence and sensitivity to their roles. Amira Casar as Annella, Elio’s mother also deserves a mention, as does Michael Stuhlbarg’s father seems light for the main, but gets a superb final scene of great emotional depth.

The age difference between the main characters was controversial for some – particularly in the US, where the lowest age of consent was higher than in Italy.

Two writers in the American journal, Psychiatric Times, said the central relationship was “about asexual predation” and asked whether one scene in particular was “appropriate” (the scene involves alcohol), perhaps forgetting that it’s a work of fiction, adapted from another work of fiction – and fiction doesn’t have to deal with “appropriate” or that cultural differences do actually happen.

One imagines a substantial element of that was a certain type of American prudery – not just about sex, but also about teenagers having a drink (though a gun is fine).

An enjoyable, sensitive and beautiful film about self-discovery.