Evil Does Not Exist – or perhaps it does, in Hamaguchi's enigmatic eco-parable

Single father Takumi – we’re led to believe he’s a widower – lives with his eight-year-old daughter Hana in the peaceful village of Mizubiki, not far from Tokyo. Takumi is an odd-job man, who primarily acts as a woodcutter, and as the collector of water from a pristine stream for a local restaurant to cook its noodles in. He also spends time teaching Hana about the environment – how to identify trees, plants and animal tracks.

But his life – and those of the rest of his community – is suddenly disrupted when a Tokyo company plans to create a glamping site in the area, for Tokyoites to chill.

 

The company is racing against time to get construction started, so that it can claim a post-pandemic financial grant, and it sends two members of a talent agency that has branched out into PR to go and address a meeting in the village and smooth the way and be able to claim, in a totally perfunctory way, that it has undertaken a consultation.

 

But the villagers are not impressed. Top of their list of concerns is that the planned sceptic tank is not remotely adequate and will, given where it is to be sited, pollute the water for the village itself and for villages further downstream.

 

The two company apologists are taken aback both by the level of objection to the scheme and the sophistication of those objections, but essentially deflect the questions.

 

However, we learn that, while their direct bosses fit the bill of rapacious capitalism, they are both deeply discomfited by it – and their roles within it. But when they head back to Mizubiki, ostensibly to offer Takumi the job of caretaker at the glamping site, events take a series of unexpected turns.

 

Writer and director Ryusuke Hamaguchi has produced an absorbing, meditative film that both engages and, ultimately, confuses. The ending is an enigma squared and then squared again.

 

The lengthy opening has the camera looking upward toward the trees as it moves through a winter woodland. Yoshio Kitagawa’s cinematography is superb: wonderful, lingering shots of nature are beautiful and make clear what we are (ultimately) looking at, while Eiko Ishibashi's score adds to the sense of something haunting.

After this opening, the film focuses on Takumi’s work and routine. In many ways, this is reminiscent of the first part of Wim Wenders’s Perfect Days. There is something almost hypnotic about it.

 

It’s a slow film, but that is not bad, because it has meditative qualities. The cast is excellent. Hitoshi Omika as Takumi manages to combine gentle and dark. Ryo Nishikawa as Hana gives a remarkable performance.

 

Ryuji Kosaka as Takahashi and Ayaka Shibutani as Mayuzumi the corporate employees, are very good.

 

Hamaguchi does not provide easy solutions. But this is an eco-parable that will live long in the mind – whatever the ending means and however you personally interpret it.

Just who is the Monster?

Saori Mugino is a widow, raising her young son Minato and working in a laundry in a small city in the Nagarno region of contemporary Japan. When the boy starts behaving oddly – and returns home from school one day with an injury – she grills him until he says that his new teacher, Mr Hori, had inflicted it.

Saori goes to the school, demanding action against the teacher, but only receives overly deferential apologies, particularly from the principal, who herself seems oddly distant.

But when Hori himself claims that Minato is bullying sensitive classmate Yori, she becomes ever more determined to get at the truth and the situation escalates.

Written by Yuji Sakamoto and directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda, the story is told three times. First from Saori’s perspective, then from Hori’s and finally, from that of the two boys.

It is subtle, affecting and very sensitive. Kore-eda himself has denied that it’s an example of the Rashomon effect – storytelling centred on the unreliability of witnesses – and certainly it’s more of a jigsaw than an enigma.

There are manifold themes here: respect, acceptance – not least of self-acceptance – bullying, grief and loss, the concept of rebirth in Japanese Buddhism, and the problems that can be caused by overly strict structures.

Kore-eda’s direction is excellent – not least of his child actors. He coaxes an extraordinary performance in particular from Soya Kurokawa as Minato, who won the best newcomer at Japan’s Blue Ribbon Awards, as well as from Hinata Hiiragi as Yori.

Sakura Ando as Saori, Eita Nagayama as Hori and Yuko Tanaka as the school principal also produce fine turns.

The film includes the last music for film written by legendary composer Ryuichi Sakamoto – delicate piano pieces that add to the poignant atmosphere.

Monster’s world premiere was at Cannes last year, where it competed in the Palme d’Or. It won the Queer Palm and the award for best screenplay. It’s not difficult to see why. It is a very special film.

Robot Dreams is a an absolute charm

Dog is a lonely hound living on his own in a third-floor New York apartment in the 1980s. In the evenings, he plays Pong on his own. But one night, flicking through channels on TV while eating his usual meal of microwaved macaroni cheese for one, he spots an ad for a build-your-own-robot as a friend, and immediately orders one.

When he’s completed the build – hilariously watched by pigeons on his windowsill – and worked out how to activate his new buddy, their life together begins as they set out to explore the city.

Robot is fascinated and thrilled by everything, and passes on that zest for life to Dog. The pair roller-skate in Central Park, dance together, watch The Wizard of Oz together and, after Robot learns not to squeeze Dog’s paw too tightly, hold hands.

But on a trip to Long Beach at the end of summer, the pair are separated after too much enthusiastic play in the water from Robot. Try as he might, Dog can’t help his friend and, when he returns the following day with tools and manuals to do so, he finds that the beach is now locked until 1 June the following year.

How they cope without each other and learn to live again is the core of the film.

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Who knows. But Robot certainly dreams – not of sheep, but of finding his way back to Dog; dreams that are worked and re-worked from his time-limited experience of life. One in particular is gorgeous – he finds himself in The Wizard of Oz, surrounded by tap-dancing flowers doing a routine straight out of Busby Berkeley, as New York shimmers in green – seen like the city of Oz – on the horizon.

Between the Oz references, the trope of the gay love of musicals – here, Oz (don’t forget ‘friends of Dorothy’) and the Berkeleyesque routine – plus the holding hands, it’s little wonder that there is online speculation that this is a subtle and tender gay love story.

To be clear, there’s no mention of the gender of either Dog or Robot, but female characters in this anthropomorphic New York are pretty easy to spot. And the beach scenes clearly show Dog is male – watch out for a very funny swimming costume change gag.

Robot Dreams is Pablo Berger’s first animated feature and is based on Sara Varon’s comic of the same name. Entirely hand-drawn in 2D style, it has won plenty of plaudits – and rightly so. It’s a sweet, charming story, which depends on the visual, as there is no dialogue. It also references Isaac Asimov’s collection of short stories – and specific short story – of the same name. There’s a lot going on here. It’s not remotely a ‘kid’s movie’.

Don’t be misled by the animation being ‘old-fashioned’. It is fabulously done and gorgeous to watch – 1980s New York itself has been so lovingly created, while the cast of thousands has been given such wonderful attention to detail. There are couple of scenes where Dog is on a scooter with another character, riding into the countryside, where the trees coming over the horizon is simply stunningly done.

And while the comedy is gentle rather than LOLZ, it is certainly there. There’s a lovely scene about photo booths that will take those of us of a certain vintage back!

The ending is perhaps not what you’d expect, but shows a nice sophistication. The ’80s soundtrack is great.

Robot Dreams is a gentle, charming, really well-paced joy. My only personal surprise (disappointment?) as I came out of the cinema was that so many reviews have said: ‘Bring tissues – you will cry as well as laugh’, yet I didn’t.

Given how easily I blub at films (though I hate it when I feel my tear ducts are being deliberately tweaked), I walked home wondering if the absence of even a pricking meant it was not quite of the calibre so many have stated. Writing this, thinking back over the film itself, I have realised that it not bringing forth an instant deluge does not mean it’s not very good indeed.

I took lots of tissues to The Zone of Interest, expecting to find that would set me off, but it didn’t, yet it is one of the best (and most important) films I’ve seen thus far this year.

Robot Dreams is a wonderful film that I suspect is going to stay in my mind for a long time. And of course it’s gay!

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