May December is uncomfortable viewing – rightly so

It would be all too easy to get the tone wrong in a film about grooming and child sex abuse, but Todd Haynes’s May December makes for uncomfortable viewing in just the right way.

Gracie Atherton-Yoo is a notorious woman after having groomed and seduced a 13-year-old boy, Joe, when she was 36. Discovered in flagrante delicto in the storeroom of the pet shop where they both worked, she was sent to prison, where she gave birth to a girl.

Fast forward 23 years. She and Joe are married and have three children. Honor is at college, while twins Mary and Charlie are set to graduate from school.

And Gracie’s story, which scandalised the nation, is set to be retold in an independent film, where she will be played by Julliard-educated Elizabeth, who is famous for a light TV role and is looking to push her career further.

Elizabeth is visiting Gracie and the family in preparation for the role, with the latter hoping that this movie will ‘set the record straight’, unlike the tacky tabloidesque TV film that we see in the background of one shot, and all the sensationalistic, gossipy magazine stories that the former has gathered as part of her research

Based on the real-life case of Mary Kay Letourneau, Samy Burch’s screenplay is at once high camp, in the fashion of All About Eve, for instance, but also deeply serious.

By the end, there is no obvious resolution to the story; when is Gracie lying/gaslighting and when not, for instance? How much can we trust her word? What will happen to her and Joe now that all their children are leaving the nest – and he is still only 36?

Yet we see, throughout the film, her microaggressions of bullying and control on all her family – including Joe. There’s a scene where she and Elizabeth are in a shop, as Mary is selecting a dress for her graduation, Gracie ‘compliments’ her daughter for having the ‘bravery’ to select a dress that shows off her upper arms. Result? Mary backs down and selects a different dress.

Late on, we learn that Gracie had been abused by her elder brothers – a classic path to becoming an abuser oneself and it is important that the film acknowledges this. Yet she denies it to Elizabeth – suggesting she is gaslighting her own son from her first marriage who gave Elizabeth this information in the first place.

Who – and what – do you believe? It’s a superb look at gaslighting and at personality disorder, and at the effects of abuse on all those around whom it happens.

Julienne Moore is superb as Gracie; brittle and vulnerable and threatening all at the same time.

Natalie Portman is equally good as Elizabeth. The theme here of performing roles – not least, our socially expected ones – are important throughout the film.

Charles Melton, as Joe, has already won a number of awards and it is no surprise why – he manages a poignant subtlety that acts as a stark and important contrast to the campness mentioned earlier. This is a painful performance for him.

And the ending should harrow, in terms of what it suggests – well, what you as the viewer decide to read into it.

It is a really very fine film.

The Boy and The Heron is an utter joy

A “big fantastical film” written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki, legendary co-founder of the legendary Japanese Studio Ghibli, The Boy and the Heron is yet another stonkingly good release at the end of the year.

It’s 1943 and 12-year-old Mahito Maki’s mother Hisako is killed in a hospital fire in Tokyo, as he sees the building collapse in flames.

Mahito’s father Shoichi, an air munitions factory owner, marries his late wife’s younger sister, Natsuko, and a year later, the pair move to her estate in the countryside, where she is attended by several old women. But Mahito is indifferent to the affectionate overtures of his pregnant new mother.

A grey heron, behaving in a way never seen before, leads Mahito to a derelict tower on the estate, which was sealed after its architect – Natsuko’s eccentric granduncle – disappeared inside.

Meanwhile, Mahito finds a copy of How Do You Live?, dedicated to him by his mother. There's big meaning stuff here – the novel was by Genzaburō Yoshino, published in 1937, and is the Japanese title of this film.

When Natsuko goes missing – Mahito had seen her walking toward the tower – he realises that, for all his indifference toward her, he has to find and save her.

Entering the tower, he moves into a series of alternate worlds. In one, he encounters bubble-like spirits called Warawara – reminiscent of the Adipose in the Doctor Who 2008 episode, Partners in Crime – but all of these worlds have levels of threat and complexity.

Ultimately, he is faced with the choice of – in effect – becoming a god (and would he be a good god or a bad god?) or returning to his own world, even though he hates the state of where that is (WWII).

It’s a brilliant, beautiful, complex film. The animation completely recalls for me that ‘golden age’ of Disney – glorious watercolour backgrounds and simpler characters/foregrounds.

I saw the dubbed version and voice talents include Mark Hamill as the granduncle, and Dave Bautista as the king of vastly overgrown – and monstrous – parakeets (no, I’m not having you on).

The music by Joe Hisaishi is well worth noting – a beautiful soundtrack.

Having lost my husband in September – and with so much of what I’ve seen since seeming to involve grief and how people deal with it – I found it immensely moving, but also invigorating.

It’s an absolute joy to watch – the look is sensational – and it has an ultimately positive message about how we have to move forward from loss.

Bradley Cooper is a maestro with this Leonard Bernstein biopic, but Carey Mulligan is outstanding

If you’re not careful, “you’ll die a lonely old queen”. That’s a warning from Felicia Montealegre to her husband, iconic American , composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein, in the second half of Bradley Cooper’s extraordinary new film, Maestro.

And sexuality is a hugely important part of this latest feature from Cooper.

I haven’t seen his take on A Star is Born – I am only really familiar with him as Rocket Raccoon – forgive me! But on the basis of this, he is a seriously creative director and writer, and a very fine actor too.

It’s less about Leonard Bernstein as a composer/conductor, and more about his relationship with his wife, Felicia.

That was complicated, because although he very clearly and genuinely loved her, he was also bisexual and not monogamous. She accepted this – and in way that was not passive. In terms of that quote at the top of this review, what struck me so forcefully is that it’s only in relatively recent years that ‘bisexual’ has been more regularly used (though the word was coined in the 19th century).

For many, if attracted to the same sex, it was assumed that, even on spectrums, they were still ultimately and essentially ‘gay’.

A bit like the phrase ‘non-binary’. And if you don’t have the words to describe yourself, how do you understand yourself?

And in the case of Lenny and Felicia, how do they navigate both the sexuality issues and those of non-monogamy?

Though the politics of the times they lived through are also dealt with. Early on, it’s suggested to Bernstein that he drops the ‘stein’ from his name in order to ‘get’ an orchestra.

The cinematography is superb, with filing in both black and white and colour, and in different proportions dependent on when the scenes are set. It’s a joy to look at and Cooper ensures that we get the time to linger – including on faces as they register emotion (which means subtle acting is required). This is not some cinematic equivalent of fast food.

The music is great – and not just Bernstein’s own. There’s Mahler and Beethoven too. And Broadway, since Bernstein transcended genres. Watch for the stunning On the Town rehearsal/fantasy sequence.

Cooper is simply superb as Bernstein, but Carey Mulligan steals it from under his feet. She is outstanding as Felicia – and must be a favourite for the Oscars. I couldn’t recommend it more.

 

Barbie – so much better than expected

A Sindy child myself – albeit more on the basis of my mother’s choice rather than mine – Barbie was not a film I expected to want to see. And then I viewed the trailer and read the early reviews.

My actually seeing it, though, was to be jinxed. Twice, I booked for myself and The Other Half to go and see it, but then on both occasions, he didn’t feel well enough to go. He urged me to go on my own, but it wouldn’t have felt right to do that.

 

Before my first Christmas on my own, I looked for where to stream it, but couldn’t find anywhere (Sky Cinema was overwhelmed with seasonal films), so ordered a 4k ultra HD disc of it.

 

And here, a brief diversion. At the end of 2022, The OH and I decided to pull our metaphorical fingers out and get a new DVD/BluRay player, since the old one was coughing and spluttering to the point of extinction.

 

He sorted one via Richer Sounds – all 4K ready etc – and we went down to Borough to collect. So far, so good. Oops. But it didn’t go with our telly. At that point I started looking up compatible TVs, because that would probably be less angst than returning the disc player. First, we were astonished at how affordable they were and second, we started considering size.

 

We got the tape measure out and played around with it. In the end, we concluded that we could go from 32 inches to 42 inches – without overwhelming our small living room.

 

Reader, we did it. And that 10-inch difference, with the 4K resolution etc, transformed our viewing. Suddenly, the idea of ‘home cinema’ was more than a mere idea. To add, we also invested in a soundbar. So, some pretty serious kit, which makes watching film (and sport) at home a seriously different proposition that previously.

 

Since the OH passed away in September, I have found that this is helping to transform my film watching. I’m not a big TV programme viewer in general, but the set-up makes it so much more enjoyable to watch the footy and stream films or watch them on disc. On Christmas Day, for instance, I made the centrepiece of my time watching Maestro on Netflix. For me, 42 inches seems to be the size of screen at which home viewing is where you can feel a sense of the cinematic scale of a movie.

 

Anyhow, back to Barbie.

 

Just before Christmas, feeling glum with a brutal cough and cold, the disc landed on the doormat. Perfect ‘cheer-up’ material.

 

And it is.

 

You’ll all be ahead in terms of the plot. Barbie lives in Barbieworld, where Barbies rule the roost and Kens are pretty much decoration. But then Barbie starts having negative thoughts because there's a rift in the space-time continuum (or something like that) and she has to travel to The Real World to sort it out.

 

Greta Gerwig has done such a good take with this, in terms of examining patriarchal attitudes, but also the counter to that – in effectively asking, ‘what is it to be a man?’

 

And it also makes quite clear that women can be bitches to other women, often in enforcing/trying to enforce patriarchal ideas of how women should look. 

 

The bubble gum look works so well to help this – and of course, harks back to the doll itself and all the accessories you could buy (and it was the same for Sindy).

Very funny, very clever. Beautifully filmed and directed by Gerwig, who co-wrote the screenplay with Noah Baumbach.

As for the cast, Ryan Gosling is excellent as ‘Ken’ and Margot Robie is is just so good as Barbie.

Absolutely loved it. And I suspect that, if you haven’t seen it yet, you will love it too when you get around to it.

Wonka is a (Paddington) bear hug of a movie

Paul King has found a formula – and it’s every bit the equal of any chocolate treat that Willy Wonka can confect.

Having hit the jackpot with the Paddington films (Paddington in Peru comes next year), King teamed up with Paddington 2 co-writer Paul Farnaby to create a Willy Wonka origin story. And it’s an absolute joy.

We meet our titular hero as he arrives by sea in an unnamed European city (hints of both France and Germany though mostly filmed in England), armed only with his magical abilities with the cocoa bean and the dreams that his mother, who steered a narrow boat up and down canals, told him were so important.

She herself made wondrous chocolate – this feels reminiscent of Joanne Harris’s iconic novel, Chocolat, not least in a sense of magic being involved – but died before she could impart the secrets to her son.

The problem for Willy though, is that the town he has chosen in which to launch his products on the world is effectively run by a cartel of three unscrupulous chocolatiers who want this threat to their power gone – and that follows having fallen prey to the dreadful Mrs Scrubitt and her henchman Bleacher, after the latter offers a homeless Willy a roof over his head, without mentioning the hidden costs that will drive him into captivity and forced labour.

Calah Lane as Noodle

But Willy makes new friends, including the orphan Noddle, and they all – eventually – engage with his plans of how to free themselves and defeat the cartel.

A few commentators have suggested that Willy is such a nice character, it’s hard to believe that, in his future lies a less charming approach.

But there are hints here that his inherent mischievousness could develop a darker side. And Timothée Chalamet captures both that and the naivety of the character in a completely convincing way.

He also has a very pleasing singing voice that does full justice to the great new songs from Neil ‘The Divine Comedy’ Hannon. It’s also a delight that the film includes new versions of Pure Imagination and The Oompa-Loompa Song from the classic 1971 Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley score.

I’ve already effectively said that Chalamet is very good indeed – he is utterly convincing and has charm by the bucketload, and can sing and hoof brilliantly. Teenager Calah Lane as Noodle is simply wonderful in what is sure to be her breakthrough role.

Everywhere else – as with the Paddington films – is a wonderful ensemble cast. Sally Hawkins as Willy’s mother, Jim Carter, Natasha Rothwell, Farnaby and Rakhee Thakrar as his new friends are all excellent.

Matt Lucas and Mathew John Baynton as two of the triumvirate of the chocolate cartel are also great, but do rather lose out to a wonderful turn from Paterson Joseph as the third of their corrupt number. And this is before we mention Rowan Atkinson as a dodgy priest, Olivia Colman as Mrs Scrubitt, Tom Davis as Bleacher and Keegan-Michael Key as a corrupt chief of police.

Ah… and then there’s Hugh Grant, who risks stealing the entire show with his Oompa-Loompa (left), as he did when playing Phoenix Buchanan in Paddington 2.

Anything else to add? It looks gorgeous. And after a really tough personal year, it was the hug of a movie that I needed. There is a scene involving flamingos and balloons that had me blubbing for sheer joy.

And that seems to be King’s great skill: he can create films like this, without a shred of cynicism, but always avoiding over sentimentality or mawkishness. A great big (Paddington bear) hug of a film!

Bernarda Alba – a warning from Spanish patriarchy and fascism

Frederico Garcia Lorca completed The House of Bernarda Alba, his final play, in June 1936. On 16 August, he was arrested by the fascists and, two days later, murdered by a firing squad. One of those thought responsible, a distant relative, boasted that he had fired “two bullets into his arse for being a queer”.

The play was banned in Spain until 1963. That was partly because of what it suggested politically, about the nature of dictatorships and the inevitability of their ultimate failure, but also because the behaviour and language of the characters was regarded as shockingly immoral in a country that was still a fascist dictatorship.

Indeed, it was not until 1978 that the Spanish constitution gave men and women equality under the law, effectively ending the Franco regime’s system of guardianship for single women. In Francoist Spain, motherhood was the very definition of womanhood.

It’s not difficult to see why the play was considered ‘problematic’ in Spain then, and this latest production, a new adaptation by Alice Birch at the National Theatre in London until early January, reveals once again not only its power, but also reminds us that it is still completely topical.

The titular character has just become a widow and has stated that her five daughters will observe a years-long period of official mourning for their father. The exception, we learn, is the oldest daughter, Angustias, who is 39 and already engaged to local village hunk, Pepe El Romano.

The trouble is, while she doesn’t love him, she knows it’s her way out of this household – but two of her sisters do hanker after him and the youngest, Adela, is already having an affair with him.

As Poncio, Bernarda’s maid, tells Adela brutally: be patient – at such an age, Angustias is likely to die in childbirth and then Pepe will be free to marry her. However, Adela isn’t prepared to wait and moves forward with her rebellion.

Here is a work that, on the cusp of the Spanish Civil War and the triumph of Spanish fascism, railed against the country’s deeply patriarchal society – a society where the Catholic church would link arms with a fascist regime to promote and enforce exactly such patriarchal views.

Never mind these women having sexual needs and desires, one ‘crime’ in the play is having a white fan rather than a mourning black one.

While it was written just before the civil war, Lorca foresaw dictatorship; Bernarda is a dictator in her own home. She is quite prepared to openly and physically torture one of her own daughters for stealing Angustias’s photo of Pepe – yet persists in saying it was a ‘joke’ and refusing to accept that the daughter in question is actually in love/lust with Pepe too.

So much of the power of this work comes from the fact that there is no male voice heard. Pepe El Romano appears, but only ever silently. This is women policing each other according to patriarchal rules. Sisters telling on sisters; servants fanning the flames. There is, of course, a storm – a reckoning – coming. Or is it? Will what happens really change Bernarda and how she rules her daughters with a rod of iron? Lorca – and Birch – leave that open, though only just.

But ours is a time when author Margaret Atwood finds herself frequently reminding people that The Handmaid’s Tale was “not a manual!”

US states are banning abortion and making contraception access much more difficult. In Iran, people (predominantly but not exclusively women) are being murdered by the state because they will not cover their heads for a ‘morality’ law. In Afghanistan, the Taliban closes beauty salons.

In the US and UK there’s a pearl-clutching obsession with trans women (it’s never trans men, note) and whether they are ‘real women’ and/or a danger to (real) ‘women and children’.

In the UK, we can see an increasing influence from those with similarly conservative religious and socially political positions.

For example, in May this year, British Conservative Party MP Miriam Cates, a religious fundamentalist herself, claimed that the UK’s low birth rate is the most pressing policy issue of the generation and is caused in part by “cultural Marxism” – a far-right, antisemitic dog whistle if ever you wanted one.

She was addressing the National Conservatism conference. It was in London – though run by a US-based right-wing thinktank. Ms Cates frequently speaks out against trans people, was a congregant of an evangelical church that has carried out conversion ‘therapy’ (she denies knowledge of this) and has linked with a charity, The Christian Institute, that wants Section 28 back and a higher age of consent for homosexuals.

She is far from alone. Add in the likes of Danny Kruger MP (Tory), Kemi Badenoch MP (Tory secretary of state for business and trade), Rosie Duffield MP (Labour), Joanna Cherry MP (SNP and a lesbian) and House of Commons Alba party leader Neale Hanvey MP – himself gay – and you get an idea of where we are. And they are not alone.

A short while ago, over on X/Twitter, I found this in my notifications.

Presumably, either my views on sexuality and gender render me ‘male’ or some people (or AI) think that my avatar cannot possibly reflect someone who was ‘assigned female at birth’. A year ago, at the theatre for my last birthday, I was challenged by a woman (I assume) as to whether I was in the right queue for the toilets.

In other words, I wasn’t ‘womaning’ enough.

This is men – and women – policing how women look and behave. This is men – and women – enforcing patriarchal views. As Bernarda Alba does. Remember that I said this production is timely?

But back to the production itself. The first half in particular is simply stunning theatre, as the female cast range around a series of rooms in a set that never represents a home, but suggests a prison/convent. All the bedrooms are hung with crucifixes. A rifle hangs in the living/dining room, suggesting the tragedy to come, and the walls are not solid, affording no privacy to any of the inmates. Merle Hensel’s set is a claustrophobic wonder.

Rebecca Frecknall’s direction is excellent. It requires the audience to concentrate so hard to see and understand all the individual stories going on, overlapping, all at the same time, yet offers huge rewards for doing so.

Pepe El Romano (James McHugh) never speaks, but his arsenal includes dance to suggest the erotic as his mere presence – albeit beyond the locked gates of the Alba household – stirs all the daughters imprisoned inside.

And then there is Harriet Walter (left, with Rosalind Eleanzar as Angustias), whose casting essentially made me book for this, on my birthday, after just becoming, myself, a widow.

She is superb as the eponymous Bernarda. Steely, hypocritical, vicious and without a shred of humanity as she rules her household. Utterly bound up in ‘respedctability’.

Of the daughters, particular mention to Imogen Mackie Walker, who had to step in to play Adela the night I saw it. She was excellent. Plaudits also go to Rosalind Eleanzar as Angustias, Eileen Nicholas, as Maria Josefa – Bernarda’s dotty old mother, who her daughter tries to keep imprisoned in her room – and Thusitha Jayasundra as Poncia.

This really is a stunning adaptation and production of an iconic play that, almost a century after it was penned, remains – tragically – absolutely one for our times.

Drag as protest in award-winning doc Queendom

“I just hope people get it and don’t think I’m some sort of propaganda freak,” says Gena Marvin, as she prepares to take her performance art onto the streets of her home town Magadan, an old Soviet gulag.

“I think drag’s always been political,” responds her friend, who is filming the performance for social media. “Totally!” says Gena.

Queendom is an award-winning documentary film from Agniia Galdanova that should be seen by as wide an audience as possible.

Gena is a 22-year-old queer artist who was already using her art to make statements against the homophobic, nationalistic Russian regime.

Seeing the film, just days after a ruling by the Supreme Court of Russia stating that the “international public LGBT movement” – whatever that is – is “extremist,” and effectively outlawing any public LGBT-related activity, adds further context.

As Gena discusses the “exaggerated” nature of drag, she observes how that obviously means it draws attention to itself, and how “all important issues deserve attention” – in this case, the Russian war on Ukraine.

Brought up by her grandparents after her parents died, Gena is abused, physically and verbally, by residents in Magadan – and verbally by her grandfather – before leaving to study in Moscow. There, she joins protests against the war.

A scene where she watches through a car window while travelling through the Russian capital, with scores of police in riot gear heading in the same direction, on foot, is just single example of many powerful ones.

She creates her own costumes, largely from junk and tape, often with a resulting otherworldliness. Indeed, early on, she expresses how, even as the film was being made, she was still exploring where she fitted in any kind of the boxes/labels that ‘normal’ society tries to impose on everyone.

In today’s Russia, Putin uses the ‘traditional family’ as a distraction from other issues and to maintain the support of ultra-orthodox Christian leaders in the country. It’s no coincidence either that the Supreme Court statement came on the cusp of a presidential election year.

Thrown off her course for “using” the colours of the Russian flag in a protest costume, on the grounds that that “violated federal law”.

The film offers a great appreciation of what performance art can do. Gena disappearing below a raft of bodies clad in plastic tape colours of the Russian flag is incredibly powerful.

In the course of all the harassment and brutality that faces her, Gena maintains dignity and

The film also illustrates the bravery of anti-war protestors in general, facing baton assaults as police claim that arrests are to “stop the spread of COVID-19”.

Galdanova’s film is, at all times, calm – surprisingly so, given what the camera records. It’s no surprise that it’s been seen at a number of film festivals and has already won a number of awards.

With a limited cinema release, it can be streamed via watch.dogwoof.com.

Alun Armstrong shines in, and lifts, a slight play

To Have and to Hold is the new play from Richard Bean, writer of the massive global hit, One Man, Two Guvnors, and takes place in the Yorkshire village of Wetwang – and yes, it’s a real place.

 

There, we meet Jack and Florence Kirk, a couple in their 90s, both struggling with ill health and the realities of old age. They are joined by Rob and Tina, their adult children, who live far away from Yorkshire. Rob, a novelist and screenwriter, flits between London and LA, while Tina, who runs a group of private GP services, is based in the south west of England and is contemplating a move to Australia.

 

The siblings have been invited home by Jack, who knows that they need to discuss, as a family, the failing health of both himself and his wife. He has already had prepared power of attorney documents.

 

Which is pretty much the plot – although that needed discussion never really happens. We do get a slight (very slight) subplot about a crime, while ex-copper Jack, when alone, spends time preserving stories of his favourite cases on an old tape recorder.

 

There are light references to the generational divide in such things as the internet – and Jack gets to have a very a good riff on smartphones and how people have stopped seeing the world around them because they’re always looking down at their small screens – plus nods to the difficulties the elderly face when, for instance, the local Post Office closes.

 

But the main idea of the piece seems to be how university education that was opened up after WWII for the likes of Rob and Tina saw them move away – not just physically, but in terms of class too. Flo and Jack are very much still working class, but their son and daughter have become very much middle class. The contrasts in their speech/accents reflect this.

 

The elderly couple rely for help – and company – on local character Rhubarb Eddie and vet’s nurse Pamela, Flo’s niece.

 

It’s funny – very much a two-hour sitcom – you have a sense what you’re getting with the first entrance: on a Stannah stairlift. There are running gags and word play, such as Flo getting ‘prostate’ confused with ‘prostrate’ – and it’s arguably at its best when she and Jack are bickering.

 

But in general, it all feels rather directionless. The characters of Tina and Rob are sketches and the subplot – like so much else here – is never really resolved.

 

What saves To Have and to Hold are, first, the performances (more of that in a moment) and James Cotterill’s absolutely magnificent set – a beautifully naturalistic and detailed living room (with front door, back door, stairs, and a serving hatch from the kitchen. All very retro and all with a sense of a home that has been loved and nurtured.

 

It’s quite a static play, and directing duo Richard Wilson and Terry Johnson do a good job keeping as much movement in it as possible.

 

But yes – the performances. Adrian Hood as Rhubarb Eddie is a vast man mountain (he was Norman, the bread delivery man in dinnerladies, but I had no idea just how big he is!) and is very funny and affectionate in the role. Hermione Gulliford (Tina), Christopher Fulford (Rob) and Rachel Dale (Pamela) do sterling service with limited help from the script. 

 

Marion Bailey was apparently a late casting replacement as Flo and that simply makes one admire what she does here even more. It’s a very good performance.

 

But the reason I booked (perhaps ironic given the subjects of age, infirmity etc) for my first live performance since The Other Half died in September, was Alun Armstrong, who plays Jack here.

 

He’s not – that I’m aware of – done much stage work in recent years. Having become aware of him first via the televised version of the RSC’s epic production of The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby (he played Wackford Squeers), I’d seen him on stage in the 56-performance West End musical The Baker’s Wife(revival next year!), as the Olivier-winning, eponymous Sweeney Todd in the magnificent 1993 National Theatre chamber opera version of the Sondheim classic, and then as Willy Loman in the National’s 1996/’97Death of a Salesman.

 

He should have won again for that too, in my opinion. I saw it – as a reviewer – in the Lyttleton stalls and wept absolute buckets.

 

In 1998, he was appearing as the editor in The Front Page at the Donmar Warehouse. As part of my long-term project to get The OH to see actors I very seriously rated, we got tickets. Hildy was played by Griff Rhys Jones, who was very good. Armstrong’s character, editor Walter Burns, makes his first appearance about half way through the three-act piece.

 

Around five minutes after Armstrong had arrived on the Donmar stage, Tony leaned into to me (he was sitting on my right) and said: “I get it”.

 

This is the first time I’ve seen him live since, so thanks so much to a friend for alerting me to this production. 

 

It is an absolute joy to see him back on stage. His comic timing is simply superb. But he also gives the piece its most genuinely emotional moments – Armstrong, who never had a formal theatre training, has real heft as an actor. He can go from making you laugh to making you blub in moments. One of the finest actors of his generation. 

 

So, in summary: the play is slight (very), but it’s important to note that that’s not necessarily bad. Set – brilliant. Cast – all of them do wonders with slight material. Alun Armstrong? Absolutely every bit as fabulous as the last time I saw him on stage.

A killer of a film ... if you've not watched the genre extensively

David Fincher’s new film, The Killer, is based on a French graphic novel and centred on an unnamed contract killer, played by Michael Fassbender.

It opens in Paris, where the eponymous assassin is stationed in an empty building opposite a posh hotel, waiting for his target to arrive. Narrated by The Killer himself, he explains his processes, the “logistics” of the what he does and his philosophy – essentially, that he must have no empathy whatsoever and that, in a world where few are able to be at ‘the top’, he has chosen to be one of those.

But when the contract arrives, it all goes pear shaped and The Killer must take action fast if he is to escape.

From then on, as his own life is threatened, he can no longer play by his own rules, but has to improvise.

The film has had mixed reviews – primarily because many reviewers note that the ‘cold-blooded contract killer’ has been done many times before – sometimes better and sometimes worse.

For me, that wasn’t a problem – I’ve not even seen The Day of the Jackal all the way through – so it never felt like a rehash of something I’ve seen countless times before.

Fassbender is utterly chilling – most particularly in the long opening scenes where he’s waiting and preparing – his face, physicality and voiceover mesmerising. I have seen reviews that regard the narration, which carries on throughout the film, as ‘pretentious’, but for me, it worked very well and helps illustrate just how much the character has cut himself off from humanity.

Or has he?

Part of the fun here is seeing where, in the circumstances in which he finds himself, he breaks his own ‘code’. And whether he really is as utterly emotionless as he likes to claim.

Erik Messerschmidt’s cinemaphotography is striking. The use of tracks by The Smiths throughout – The Killer finds their music helps him concentrate – should perhaps make one want to slit one’s own wrists, but (and I am no Smiths fan) I think it works really well here, with more than a hint of the ironic.

As already said, you can’t take your eyes off Fassbender. Kerry O’Malley is really good as the secretary to a lawyer, but Tilda Swinton, in a cameo late in the film is simply … well, Tilda Swinton! She absolutely crackles and brings humour to the film – albeit it in a very dark form.

So my very personal take is that it’s worth seeing on a big screen – it’s distributed by Netflix, is on at only a select number of cinemas (I saw it at a Curzon) and is streaming now – but if you’ve seen lots of those ‘cold-blooded contract killer’ movies, you might not be as impressed as I was. 

It’s so much not my usual type of film – and I really wondered whether it would be too violent for me. I can’t watch much of The Sopranos or Deadwood – even though I completely understand that they are superb works of TV drama – because the violence (physical and language-wise) becomes overwhelming for me after a short while.

Here, Fincher has made a violent film that reminds me of The Silence of the Lambs, in that the actual violence itself is clear – and not remotely celebrated – but also not filmed in ways so as not to make it gratuitous.

I’d also note that, at 118 minutes, it’s really tight and not self-indulgent in an era when many films seem to come from a starting point of having to be over two hours.

A much-needed examination of gender identity

Given how much trans people have been weaponised for the sake of the culture wars, it feels like an extraordinarily brave thing for award-winning Basque director Estibaliz Urresola Solaguren to make her feature film debut with a story about a young trans girl exploring her gender identity.

Brave – and necessary. Solaguren – who also wrote the script for 20,000 Species of Bees – was inspired by the suicide of a 16-year-old trans boy Ekai Lersundi in 2018.

Here, we find a family that lives in the French Basque Country. The parents are on the cusp of splitting up and of the children (teenage Nerea, 10-year-old Eneko and eight-year-old Aitor) the boys seem to constantly fight, while Aitor – also known as the less gender specific Cocó – is clearly unhappy and constantly acting up.

Their mother Ane takes the children with her for an extended summer holiday in the Basque Country south of the Pyrenees, where they will stay with her mother, Lita. Gorka, their father, stays at home.

Ane has allowed Cocó to wear their hair long and use blue nail polish, and they are quietly pleased when the local old ladies congratulate Lita on having a lovely granddaughter, but the conservatively religious grandmother nags her daughter to go to a hairdresser and get Cocó a “boy cut”.

 

Wary of local children, Cocó increasingly spends their days with Aunt Lourdes – a local ‘wise’ women, who lives alone, keeps bees and uses them to cure neighbours of a variety of ailments. There, they start to open up, often describing themselves (unprompted) as behaving like a girl.

 

They question what went “wrong” with them in their mother’s womb and why they are “like this”.

 

But Lita is becoming more strident in her approach, trotting out tired clichés about Ane having over-indulged the child, and the great patriarchal one that the problem is that Cocó is surrounded by women (which doesn’t seem to have changed Eneko’s gender identity).

 

Ane is confused about the issue – but also hits back at her mother, who had done nothing to tackle a dirty little family secret about her late husband, a sculptor.

 

Cocó prays to become Lucía – and even asks her aunt if she can’t die and come back as a girl.

 

Essentially an all-female ensemble piece – it won an award for the best female ensemble cast at the Guadalajara International Film Festival – it’s moving, yet never mawkish or sentimental, and is tackled with great sensitivity and humanity.

 

To help ensure accuracy, Naizen, a regional association for the families of transgender children, worked with Solaguren and provided guidance for Sofía Otero, who plays Lucía.

 

Otero carries the film on her eight-year-old shoulders – a simply outstanding performance that saw her become the youngest ever winner of the Silver Bear for best leading performance at the 73^rd Berlin International Film Festival in February, just one of many awards that the piece has already garnered. In September, it was put forward for nomination for next year’s Academy Awards.

 

Patricia López Arnaiz as Ane and Ane Gabarain as Lourdes also turn in superb performances, while Gina Ferrer García’s cinematography is top notch.

 

If you can, do see it. It’s also on Curzon Home Cinema now. It is a film that will stay with you a very long time.

As Solaguren put it in an interview: "The girl does not transform. Throughout the film, she acquires the tools to express who she is. What is transformed is the family."

Sabrina – a troubled Billy Wilder pic that still does it

I've just watched Sabrina for the first time in years. Written, directed and produced by the legendary Billy Wilder, and released in 1954, I'd rather forgotten how good it is.

Humphrey Bogart was cast against type as a respectable, buttoned-up businessman who is trying to stop his thrice-divorced playboy brother (William Holden) from ducking out of an arranged marriage that would profitably cement a deal between their Larrabee family businesses and those of another family ... and running off with the family chauffeur's daughter, played by the eternally glorious Audrey Hepburn in the eponymous role.

But the machinations fail, as Linus Larrabee (Bogart) finds his heart melted by Sabrina and eventually decides to give life a try.

Bogart struggled to get on with Wilder and had little time for Holden.

He'd wanted Lauren Bacall to be cast as Sabrina. Now I adore Bacall, but that would never have worked ... Betty as ingenue? She was light years beyond that by To Have and Have Not, her film debut.

I do wonder if Bogart was not feeling confident in playing a romantic lead and would have hoped to rely on recapturing the on-screen chemistry and wise-cracking of To Have or Have Not and The Big Sleep.

It is not that, but it works – and that includes in the chemistry between Bogart and Hepburn, which is different to that between Bogart and Bacall, but very much still does the job.

Holden does the playboy brother to perfection. Hepburn is ... well, Hepburn. She's an icon for a reason. There is a lightness to her performance and yet utter conviction.

And the supporting cast is delicious – watch out for Ellen Corby as Bogart's chief secretary; she went on to play Grandma Walton in The Waltons.

But two things. First, it's an excellent reminder of just what a great artist Wilder was. Having penned a witty, engaging script – and in spite of difficulties on set (Bogart apparently apologised later to Wilder for his behaviour) – he then drew out of Bogart a genuinely nuanced and critically acclaimed performance – just watch his eyes; this is not a role done by rote.

Second: Bogart was a far better actor than is sometimes assumed. I said 'watch his eyes' for a reason. He's thinking the part, not just saying it. It's almost Stanislavski (granddaddy of 'method' acting).

And to conclude ... Wilder's ending is an understated, funny, brilliant joy.

I'm delighted to learn that, in 2002, the film was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress, as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant".

A superb history of trans and non-binary lives

Before We Were Trans by Kit Heyam is a remarkable achievement. First published last year and now out in paperback, it is an attempt to map out a history of trans and non-binary people – not just within the white West, but taking in cultures around the world.

Heyam works scrupulously to avoid imposing contemporary, white Western values and ideas about gender onto people from different cultures and living in very different societies (and times), reminding readers that to do so is dangerous in terms of a meaningful understanding of history, but that it also risks colonising – or re-colonising – those lives.

 

It is full of revelatory information. For instance, I had no idea that in Swahili, “all pronouns are gender neutral”. Or that “The Daughters of Bilitis, an American lesbian activist group founded in 1955, described butch lesbians as ‘the worst publicity we can get’.”

 

Records from WWI internment camps on the Isle of Man provide a wealth of information from the German civilians imprisoned there for years with no ‘biological females’.

 

The author explains in detail how, in some cultures, from First Nation to South Asian ones, gender non-conformity is often intrinsically linked to spirituality. No matter how difficult some in the West might find it to understand this, we should not pretend it is not the reality for people who experience gender in such a way.

 

Heyam is also determined that we should not simply assume that in every – and there are plenty – historic example of gender non-conformity, we should assume that the person involved was trans or non-binary.

 

They point out that there could have been motives for being gender non-confirmative that could have involved coercion, the need to make a living and more. But as they point out, it’s also a major likelihood that at least *some* were what we would now describe as trans or non-binary.  

 

Initially, I found it a bit annoying to be reminded of these things quite frequently, but I came to understand the value of such reminders. I read history books on a reasonably regular basis, but have never read one like this, and ultimately it benefits from it. It has helped me think quite seriously about number of things I have not thought through before.

 

But Heyem also hits the proverbial nail right on the head in an understanding of why Western, non-binary people might be easily tempted to appropriate the experiences of non-Western, non-gender conforming people, given the assaults on trans and non-binary people currently being experienced – not least in the US and UK.

 

We need to construct a more nuanced dialogue in order not to appropriate, while still celebrating the range of non-gender conforming lives and understanding that in terms of our own relationship to the wider LGBT+ community.   

 

Heyam Is to be applauded for taking a complex subject and approaching it in such a way as to make it informative, challenging and, as they suggest at the end, ‘kind’, to those in the past as well as those living now and, indeed, those in the future.

 

A very different and valuable history – and one to be heartily recommended.

Trussed Up – how the Daily Mail screws with the national conversation

Trussed Up: How the Daily Mail tied itself in knots over the Tory leadership

 

On 7 July last year, The Other Half and I were travelling home from a holiday on Rügen, Germany’s largest island, which is on the Baltic. As we piled into the taxi from our holiday home to head to the railway station, we caught the radio news.

 

The words ‘Boris Johnson’ featured highly. Our driver told us that it was top of the German news cycle. “Boris Johnson ist total verrückt!” I exclaimed, finding it the best my limited German could manage (translation: ‘Boris Johnson is totally crazy’).

 

He howled with laughter. I rather like to think that he later shared this with friends over a beer, as an anecdote of what at least what one Brit thought of Johnson – and could even convey it in German.

 

It was four hours back to Hamburg. But on an excellent German train, with excellent onboard wifi, that ensured we were glued to the slow-mo car crash taking place back in London.

 

By the time we got home, Johnson was no longer the prime minister.

 

Hurrah!

 

Or perhaps less so.

 

For three utterly exhausting months, the country had to watch – helplessly – as The Conservative and Unionist Party first elected a new leader, then dumped her after she screwed the economy, and then found a quick way to choose a third leader (and second unelected prime minister).

 

And a crucial part of that farce was played by the Daily Mail – ‘the voice of Middle England’ – which loves to pretend that it represents ‘common sense’ etc.

 

Liz Gerard is “Long in tooth and sometimes claw, old poacher turns gamekeeper to watch the Press”, as per her Twitter profile. She has had a journalistic career of over 40 years, including 30 as a night editor at The Times.

 

Here, she has done a detailed analysis of the Daily Mail over that quarter of a year, illustrating its massive influence over Tory MPs and members.

 

It is, in effect, a diary, charting the opinion columns and leaders surrounding the issue.

 

Those of us who are aware of what the Mail is like might not be expecting to be surprised. However, what Gerard has done reveals the absolute precision of a real sub-editor (traditionally paid better that reporters on ‘The Street’ for being more literate etc) and shining a light on how the Mail works against democracy.

 

Concentrating on this specific, tumultuous time, she shows precisely how the Mail terrifies Tory MPs. And indeed, she hardly needs to make much extraneous comment – when you see/read the Mail content in this condensed way, it’s very clear what a danger this is and how much sheer hypocrisy there is.

 

I grew up in a rabidly Mail home; I know what this paper does. What Gerard has done here is brilliant in making it so clear just how the publication works against democracy, the public and political debate.

 

I have never read as many parts of Mail editorials as in the last two days reading this book – and never has it been clearer that so much of it is hysterical, pearl clutching with little relation to reality.

 

Gerard has done us all a favour – reminding us just how bad the Mail is, how and why. It is a malign influence on the country’s life. Read this – and spread the word about why and how.

You can buy the book here. 

You can follow Liz over on Twitter twitter.com/gameoldgirl.