Fackham Hall is an old-fashioned British slapstick comedy in all the right ways, a frequently side-splitting parody that gleefully skewers traditional period dramas like Downton Abbey and Gosford Park. The genre is ripe for satirical deconstruction, and director Jim O'Hanlon adopts an Airplane!-style approach to the humour, filling the picture with a rapid-fire succession of slapstick gags, sharp dialogue, and subtle visual jokes. Genuinely funny comedies are few and far between, particularly with actors continually mugging the camera and improvising, which makes Fackham Hall all the more refreshing. Screenwriters Steve Dawson, Andrew Dawson, Tim Inman, Jimmy Carr, and Patrick Carr (their first feature-film script) concoct a seemingly endless stream of comedic ideas, making this one of the most consistently hilarious comedies of 2025.


The Davenport family have inhabited the luxurious Fackham Hall estate for generations, but because Lord Humphrey Davenport (Damian Lewis) has no male heir, they may be forced to leave when he dies. Lord Davenport and his wife, Lady Prudence Davenport (Katherine Waterston), push their youngest daughter, Poppy (Emma Laird), to marry her cousin, Archibald (Tom Felton). When Poppy is unable to go through with the wedding, the family's last hope is Rose (Thomasin McKenzie), Humphrey and Prudence's eldest daughter. When a thief and orphan named Eric Noone (Ben Radcliffe) arrives at Fackham Hall to deliver a letter, he ends up getting a job as a hall boy. Eric sees this as an opportunity to steal money from the Davenports, but he immediately forms a bond with Rose.

The script inherently understands British period dramas, puncturing their solemn self-importance and recognisable tropes with impeccable comic timing and uproarious slapstick. The family's patriarch upholds longstanding traditions, including gifting his daughter an empty necklace box on her wedding day. Estate staff continually stand up whenever Rose enters the room, even though she keeps walking in and out. Lord Davenport's valet serves as an extension of his boss, acting as his arms while the patriarch smokes or picks his nose. When Mrs McAllister (Anna Maxwell Martin) conducts Eric's job induction, she explains every detail, including the definition of "floor" and "wall." Scandals and secrets grow more ridiculous by the minute, a hunting scene leads to abject chaos when a rifle misfires, there are two supporting female characters known as the "Bechdal Sisters," and a wedding dress train is impossibly long.


Visual gags abound, which vary in subtlety. In one moment, Rose shows Eric the book that she's reading, entitled One Shade of Grey. In another scene, an anachronistic Trainspotting poster silently adorns the walls of the servants' quarters, which is all the more funny because its presence is neither explained nor acknowledged. O'Hanlon even explores World War I flashbacks, selling their authenticity with thick film grain and specific colour grading before the tongue-in-cheek comedic payoff. The creative ideas never seem to subside.

Cheap parody films like Disaster Movie and Meet the Spartans unsuccessfully try to use the small budget to heighten the comedy, hoping that cartoonish CGI and chintzy sets will provide additional laughs. But O'Hanlon approaches Fackham Hall like a genuine period drama: the locations glow with aristocratic grandeur, the sets brim with ornate detail, the costumes swish and sparkle with convincing old-world flair, and the original score by David Arnold and Oli Julian is dramatic and elegant instead of whimsical or humorous. The sincerity anchors the absurdity, as almost any scene could be mistaken for something out of Downton Abbey until the humour kicks in, which makes the gags hit harder. Instead of revelling in silliness or broad performances, O'Hanlon is careful with comedic timing, often building to the laughs and using them as payoffs. For example, Eric shares an intimate moment with Rose while bringing her tea, but Mrs. McAllister interrupts when she notices the boy's enormous erection. With short-form skits filling social media, this measured approach to comedy is very welcome.


Dramatic actors fill the lead roles and play things straight, which makes the escalating absurdity even funnier. Thomasin McKenzie, who rose to prominence for her nuanced performances in Leave No Trace and Jojo Rabbit, clearly has a ball here and nails the persona of a posh, upper-class British lady. The other performers are equally strong, including Ben Radcliffe (Masters of the Air) as Eric, and Tom Felton as the chauvinistic Archibald. Jimmy Carr even pops in and almost steals the show despite only appearing in two scenes as a vicar who continually misreads his sermons. Sure, it's a one-joke character, but Carr is nevertheless hilarious, and he never wears out his welcome. Another recurring joke is the presence of author J.R.R. Tolkien (Jason Done), who spends the movie scribbling ideas in his notebook for what will become The Hobbit. His presence is an amusing historical in-joke and affectionate ribbing of a recognisable storytelling device.

Fackham Hall might not work for everyone, as it is not aimed at younger viewers who prefer scrolling on their phones during movies. But for those who can appreciate dry, witty comedy, it's an absolute hoot. Pairing meticulous craft with gleeful irreverence, Fackham Hall is a rare type of parody film that understands humour and drama. Even the end credits maintain the comedic tone, supplying side-splitting updates on each character's fate to parody one last genre convention and squeeze out a few final laughs.

8.2/10

War Machine is a badass military action movie with science-fiction overtones, and it stands out in a sea of generic, algorithm-churned streaming content. It's arguably the best work of Australian filmmaker Patrick Hughes, who made a terrific impression with the lean outback western Red Hill before becoming a reliable purveyor of big-budget action movies. Despite a familiar narrative framework, Hughes turns the material into an enormously compelling watch with assured direction, tactile location work, and a commitment to sustained, nerve-shredding tension that makes the film feel far more theatrical than its streaming origins imply.


81 (Alan Ritchson) and his brother (Jai Courtney) always dreamed of becoming U.S. Army Rangers, an aspiration that continues after they both enlist in the military. But before they can undertake the selection course, an operation during deployment ends in tragedy, leaving 81 as the sole survivor. Decorated for his actions yet consumed by guilt, he embarks on the Army Ranger selection course two years later. 81 capably rises to all the physical challenges, but his superiors, Sergeant Major Sheridan (Dennis Quaid) and Officer Torres (Esai Morales), are wary of his mental capacity. Upon reaching the final stage of selection, they appoint 81 as squad leader and drop the remaining candidates in remote terrain. The exercise is simple: reach the finish line back at battalion headquarters before the time runs out. But the squad soon encounters a dire threat: an advanced alien machine with devastating weaponry that relentlessly pursues the soldiers, who are equipped only with dummy rounds.

The broad strokes are admittedly formulaic - unresolved trauma, sceptical commanding officers, and a survival ordeal doubling as redemption - but Hughes executes the script with admirable panache. Reacher star Ritchson's surprisingly nuanced and textured performance ensures that 81's backstory gives the character emotional weight rather than feeling perfunctory, raising the stakes as the alien craft relentlessly pursues the squad through the harsh terrain. His physicality is incredible, but the palpable undercurrent of guilt simmering beneath the stoic exterior elevates the performance, sold through terse dialogue and the visible fight to hold back tears as he wrestles with his demons.


Visually, War Machine carries the slick digital sheen typically associated with Netflix productions - clean, high-resolution imagery and cool-toned colour grading - but Hughes offsets that gloss with tactile, real-world environments. Shot in regional Victoria, the film makes astute use of cliffs, dense bushland, and a treacherous river, while the action ranges from tense foot chases to a spectacular vehicular escape. The reliance on physical locations lends texture and credibility to the action, grounding the sci-fi premise in something palpably real. Indeed, location filming creates a sense of authenticity that frequent use of blue screens and digital environments lacks. The alien machine itself also looks impressive: metallic, weighty, and convincingly integrated into the frame, avoiding the cartoonish artificiality that plagues lesser CGI-heavy spectacles. In short, War Machine looks tailor-made for the big screen. (Thank goodness the movie received a limited theatrical release in Australia before its Netflix debut.)

Additionally, the R rating gives War Machine an edge to hammer home the direness of the situation and illustrate the brutality of the alien weaponry. Indeed, the extraterrestrial weapons tear through flesh with shocking efficiency, and the violence underscores the genuine peril facing the squad. It's not gore for its own sake; it reinforces the hopeless imbalance between prey and predator, amplifying the film's white-knuckle intensity. Since big-budget alien invasion blockbusters are almost always PG-13 for maximum commercial prospects, it's all the more refreshing to see a gritty, violent sci-fi action movie like this.


To be sure, conveniences crop up in the plotting, and the timing of the alien craft's appearances eventually becomes predictable. Yet even when it's possible to anticipate an attack, the execution of the action sequences maintains tension. Hughes understands escalation: each encounter feels more desperate than the last, with dwindling numbers and mounting psychological strain pushing the narrative forward at an agreeable, robust clip.

As with many films centred on elite soldiers, some viewers will dismiss War Machine as American military propaganda, but that reading feels reductive. The Ranger selection course looks punishing to the point of inhumanity, and military life here is defined by loss, rigid hierarchy, and psychological toll rather than glamour or recruitment fantasy. Moreover, the central conflict is extraterrestrial, not geopolitical; the film is concerned with survival and personal redemption, not ideological messaging. If anything, the story emphasises the cost of service far more than it celebrates institutional triumph. Rather than waving flags, War Machine focuses on soldiers trying to survive against seemingly impossible odds under unimaginable pressure. Familiar in outline but electrifying in execution, War Machine stands as one of the most gripping action films of 2026 so far, a strong reminder that well-worn formulas can feel fresh and intense in the right directorial hands.

7.9/10

Darren Aronofsky mounts another deeply moving, achingly poignant character study with 2022's The Whale, a big-screen adaptation of Samuel D. Hunter's 2012 play. Like 2008's The Wrestler, the film centres on a profoundly flawed protagonist whose self-destructive impulses seem to chart an inexorable course toward tragedy. The thematic echoes between the two works are unmistakable, making it unsurprising that Aronofsky spent years trying to get the film made. The resulting picture is among the director's finest efforts to date - an intimate, suffocating tragedy that does not merely resonate, but lingers like a bruise. It is a rare film that forces you to sit with another person's pain so unflinchingly that looking away feels like a moral failure.


Charlie (Brendan Fraser) is a morbidly obese recluse who never leaves his Idaho apartment and teaches online writing courses to college students. His only friend, a nurse named Liz (Hong Chau), often checks in on him and brings him unhealthy food, but Charlie refuses to go to the hospital despite her desperate pleas and his rapidly declining health. Charlie soon encounters Thomas (Ty Simpkins), a missionary for New Life Church who becomes curious about the enormous man and hopes to bring him spiritual guidance in his final days. With Charlie soon expecting to die, he hopes to reconnect with his estranged teenage daughter, Ellie (Sadie Sink), whom he abandoned when he left his wife (Samantha Morton) to have a relationship with a student. Although Ellie is repulsed by her father because of his past actions, Charlie offers her a hefty inheritance if she spends time with him.

Reflecting its stage origins, The Whale takes place in a single location, a decision that turns the film into an emotional pressure cooker. There is no escape for Charlie, and none for us. The walls seem to close in as his health deteriorates, the perpetual rain outside acting like a funeral march that never truly relents. Miraculously, Aronofsky keeps the film compelling and engaging for its nearly two-hour runtime despite the cramped setting. With titles like Requiem for a Dream and Black Swan to his name, Aronofsky has a reputation for creating uncompromising and uncomfortable features, and The Whale is no different. Parts of the movie are deeply uncomfortable, unsettling, and confronting due to its subject matter, heady themes, and the uncompromising portrayal of a broken man who refuses to sway from his path of destruction. However, bursts of humour add levity, preventing the picture from becoming too dour or dull.


In other filmmaking hands, The Whale would be a safe, upbeat story of redemption, but the screenplay (written by Hunter, adapting his own play) avoids convention. In The Wrestler, Mickey Rourke's Randy "The Ram" tries another approach to life to avoid a potentially fatal bout in the ring, but here, Charlie refuses to save himself despite the desperate pleas of those around him, and Aronofsky forces us to witness his refusal in excruciating detail. Viewers do not merely observe from a distance; we are in the room, listening to every laboured breath and watching him binge eat, turning passive viewing into shared helplessness. It leads to an almost unbearably emotional conclusion that leaves room for interpretation without coming across as a copout. This reviewer struggled to fight back tears as the end credits began to appear, set to Rob Simonsen's emotional score, not because the film is manipulative, but because it earns its emotion, scene by scene. The final moments feel less like a narrative climax and more like the culmination of accumulated regret, missed chances, and fragile, almost-delusional hope. It is devastating precisely because it refuses easy absolution.

The title of The Whale operates on multiple levels. Ostensibly, the title bluntly refers to the overweight Charlie, a label that risks reducing him to a spectacle. However, the title also gestures toward Herman Melville's Moby-Dick, and the essay that Charlie repeatedly re-reads, which was written with raw, unvarnished honesty. His reverence for the paper speaks volumes about his worldview: he believes that truth, stripped of pretence and ornamentation, is the only thing that truly matters. Thus, the "whale" is not merely Charlie's body, but the enormity of his guilt, grief, and longing - an emotional leviathan he cannot outrun. Like Captain Ahab pursuing his obsession, Charlie is locked in a fatalistic trajectory, though his pursuit is not revenge but redemption.


The Whale was another thrifty endeavour for Aronofsky, who created the film on a scant $3 million budget. Aronofsky rejects glamour and aesthetically pleasing visuals, as Charlie's dingy, dim, unkempt apartment looks like the genuine, lived-in home of a tragic recluse, down to a dirty old laptop. A thick sense of atmosphere pervades the picture, especially with perpetual, intense rainfall. Although this is the type of movie that should be shot on grainy 16mm film, Matthew Libatique's digital cinematography enhances the distinct visual identity, ensuring it does not look like generic streaming content with bright lights and saturated colours.

Aronofsky struggled to find the right actor to play Charlie, which is the key reason it took a decade for the film to come to fruition. Brendan Fraser is pitch-perfect, earning him a well-deserved Oscar and denoting a well-deserved comeback for the actor after over a decade of obscurity. Despite Charlie's flaws and mistakes, The Whale works because it's easy to care about him and become invested in his fate, thanks to Fraser's nuanced portrayal. Crucially, Charlie does not simply feel like an actor in a fat suit because the movie captures the realities associated with obesity: the awkward walking, intense sweating, laboured breathing, wheezing, thinning hair, and inevitable health complications. Fraser's performance drew controversy from certain groups who felt that Aronofsky should have cast an obese actor instead of using prosthetics and a fat suit. However, prosthetics have long been part of the craft, and the authenticity Fraser achieves is undeniable.


A superb supporting cast surrounds Fraser, including Stranger Things star Sadie Sink, who perfectly embodies the angst, frustration, anger and conflicted emotions of a teenager whose father abandoned them. Beneath the cruelty of every barbed remark lies unmistakable hurt. Sink and Fraser's scenes crackle with volatility not because of raised voices but because every exchange feels like a battle between resentment and the faint, terrifying possibility of forgiveness. A flawless Samantha Morton also appears relatively briefly as Charlie's ex-wife, and her powerhouse performance adds another layer of power and emotion to the story. Through her limited screen time, Morton crystallises years of pain and betrayal, reminding us that Charlie's self-destruction deeply scarred those around him. Meanwhile, Hong Chau is extraordinary as Liz. The actress grounds the film in fierce, exhausted compassion, oscillating between tenderness and barely concealed fury. Rounding out the main players is Ty Simpkins, who brings an unsettling earnestness to Thomas, whose naïve religiosity gradually gives way to confusion and doubt. Together, the supporting cast ensures the film's tragedy radiates outward; this is not just a story about one man's collapse, but the emotional wreckage surrounding it.

Aronofsky offers no comfort with The Whale; instead, he offers confrontation - with mortality, regret, and the consequences of our choices. And yet, within that confrontation lies a fragile thread of grace. The film is as difficult as it is compassionate, anchored by a transformative central performance that feels less like acting than exposure. It is a cinematic work that wounds deeply but deliberately, and the ache it leaves behind is precisely the point. In an uncommonly strong year for awards contenders - including The Banshees of Inisherin, The Fabelmans, Top Gun: Maverick, Tár, and Marcel the Shell with Shoes On - The Whale stands out as the best feature film of 2022.

10/10

Sometimes, it's refreshing to watch an unpretentious, technically proficient horror flick that knows precisely what it is. Such is the case with Primate, which goes straight for the jugular and does not waste time on soap opera-level drama or attempts at allegory. Director Johannes Roberts (47 Meters Down), who co-wrote the script with regular collaborator Ernest Riera, creates a balls-to-the-wall slasher movie that switches out a knife-wielding, masked killer for a rabies-infected chimpanzee. The first standout genre title for 2026, Primate is a gripping, armrest-clenching 85 minutes of edge-of-your-seat tension and visceral gore, and the stylish execution compensates for any screenplay shortcomings.


After spending years away from home, college student Lucy (Johnny Sequoyah) flies to Hawaii to visit her sister, Erin (Gia Hunter), and her father, Adam (Troy Kotsur), a successful novelist with a hearing impairment. Accompanying Lucy are her long-time friends Kate (Victoria Wyant) and Nick (Benjamin Cheng), though Kate also invites an additional guest, Hannah (Jessica Alexander). In addition to writing novels, Adam also takes care of a chimpanzee named Ben, who roams the house as part of the family. However, Ben begins acting strangely after a mongoose bites him, and Adam leaves his daughters alone to attend a book signing. As Lucy and her friends enjoy their night of drinking, things turn awry when Ben aggressively lashes out after succumbing to rabies. With the violent chimp roaming the residence, the group can only find safety in the pool as they work to figure out how to get help.

Narratively, Primate shows little innovation. It's a standard set-up: the script throws a group of vulnerable characters into a perilous situation, and there are several predictable moments and recognisable slasher tropes. Plus, the characters often over-explain things (during a close-up of a shattered phone screen, one character says the phone screen must have cracked when they dropped it), some of the dialogue is trite, and there are no surprises when it comes to who lives or dies, but this is all unsurprising for a contemporary horror movie.


Where Primate truly soars is in its execution. Roberts's track record with horror is uneven, but this is easily his best film to date. He expertly ratchets up tension through anticipation rather than constant bombardment, with Ben's unpredictable behaviour and tendency to lurk in the shadows generating sustained unease. The director turns familiar genre beats - such as characters leaving the pool to seek help - into superb, white-knuckle set pieces through precise staging and pacing. Another enormous asset is the score. Composer Adrian Johnston (who worked with Roberts on The Strangers: Prey at Night) avoids generic, bombastic modern horror music; instead, he goes for a stylish, John-Carpenter-esque synth soundtrack that creates tremendous atmosphere and a perpetual sense of dread.

An R-rated horror film in the purest sense, Primate wastes no time signalling its intentions, opening with a graphic attack that may leave some viewers flinching. Roberts shows restraint where it counts, but he does not shy away from the brutal realities of a chimp attack, and the violence is both impactful and varied. Crucially, the film relies on effective old-school practical effects rather than obvious digital bloodshed, lending the carnage a tactile, unsettling authenticity.


Instead of an all-digital chimp, Ben is a practical creation, with movement specialist Miguel Torres Umba performing inside an unbelievably convincing chimp outfit. Since Primate is not goofy or comedic, the ability to accept Ben as a real chimp was vitally important - a man in a chintzy rubber costume would not cut it. Thankfully, the practical effects courtesy of the maestros at Millennium FX immaculately sell the illusion. Ben's human co-stars are also convincing, with Johnny Sequoyah and Gia Hunter the most notable standouts as Lucy and Erin. Strong acting is not common in horror movies, but the performances in Primate are unusually robust, with Oscar-winner Troy Kotsur (Coda) even appearing as the hearing-impaired Adam. Of course, the film does feature a few obnoxious characters to augment the kill count, but that's part of the fun.

Modern creature features are often cheap, nasty affairs with awful digital effects that are mostly relegated to the direct-to-video realm, which makes Primate all the more refreshing with its A-grade technical execution and superlative special effects. Films like Primate prove that confidence and craftsmanship still matter more than reinvention. Plus, with the movie hitting cinemas so close to the equally satisfying 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple, the horror genre looks unusually healthy in 2026.

7.3/10

Although it seems pointless to remake a classic Arnold Schwarzenegger action flick, 2025's The Running Man had potential because director Edgar Wright (Hot Fuzz) sought to create a more faithful screen adaptation of the 1982 novel by Stephen King (writing under the pseudonym Richard Bachman). But despite a promising creative team and a generous budget, the resulting picture is surprisingly underwhelming - an overlong slog that runs out of steam long before the climax arrives. Some aspects of the movie work, and there is no denying the technical proficiency on display, but the lack of a strong cinematic personality is unfortunate.


In 2025, an authoritarian media network known simply as the Network controls the United States. With most citizens living in poverty, the Network receives a steady influx of desperate volunteers to appear on dangerous game shows and reality TV. The most popular program is The Running Man, in which runners can win $1 billion if they survive 30 days on the run, while hunters and ordinary citizens set out to find and kill them. Ben Richards (Glen Powell) needs money to buy medication for his sick daughter, and does not want his wife (Jayme Lawson) putting herself in danger to support the family. With no other options, Ben tries out for the Network, and executive producer Dan Killian (Josh Brolin) selects him for The Running Man. Although Ben does not want to appear on the show, Killian convinces him by promising to protect his family. With show host Bobby T (Colman Domingo) overseeing the carnage, Ben flees into the country as the hunt begins.

1987's The Running Man bears little resemblance to King's novel, only using the game-show premise as a springboard for a violent, gleefully goofy action film that showcases Arnie in his prime. Meanwhile, for this new version, Wright and co-writer Michael Bacall (Scott Pilgrim vs. the World) adhere closely to the book's narrative beats, but the result feels overly episodic and bloated, juggling too many characters who receive insufficient development and depth. Most egregious is the inclusion of two Anti-Network activists who serve identical narrative functions, while Amelia is awkwardly shoehorned into the story's final stretch, and her abrupt shift from hostility to Ben's ally is entirely unconvincing. The material might have been better served as a television miniseries, where its sprawling structure could allow for proper character development. As it stands, this iteration of The Running Man underscores the importance of making changes while adapting books for the big screen.


It's disheartening how generic and ordinary this version of The Running Man feels, as there is scarcely any inventiveness or shrewd humour that we expect from Edgar Wright. The television game shows and ads contain some effective satire, and Wright scatters a few funny moments throughout the flick, but it mostly feels like a generic action blockbuster. Even the dystopian setting and themes feel well-worn after so many years of comparable science-fiction movies, from The Hunger Games and Divergent to Mad Max: Fury Road and Ready Player One, and much more. Unfortunately, Wright's take on dystopian sci-fi does not feel compelling or fresh. There is a nugget of an interesting idea in the biased media creating propaganda and controlling the narrative, but it feels like Wright is hesitant to condemn contemporary media outlets properly.

At the very least, The Running Man is an R-rated action movie, a rare beast in contemporary cinema. The picture comes to life in fits and starts, particularly during the brutal action set pieces that look slick and expensive. One standout sequence involves Elton (Michael Cera), an Anti-Network activist whose booby-trapped home kills plenty of armed assailants in creative and brutal ways. However, the hunters feel like a missed opportunity. The 1987 feature contained a selection of colourful, distinctive hunters with their own quirks and badass names. Here, the hunters are generic soldiers in generic uniforms.


Although Glen Powell is usually a perfectly serviceable leading man, he is out of his depth here, struggling to create a compelling or consistent character. His Ben Richards never quite gels as either an everyman pushed to desperation or a defiant anti-authoritarian figure. By contrast, several supporting players inject more energy into the film. Michael Cera and Martin Herlihy (a dead ringer for Lewis Pullman) bring some much-needed pep and eccentricity, while Colman Domingo clearly relishes the chance to play the smarmy host, injecting the film with a theatrical flair it sorely needs. Josh Brolin is reliably solid as Dan Killian, but the character never achieves the menace or complexity required to anchor the story's moral conflict. Elsewhere, strong actors like William H. Macy, Emilia Jones and Lee Pace are left stranded by thin characterisation, reinforcing the sense that the ensemble is simply too large for the film to handle effectively.

The Running Man is not as dire as the remakes of Total Recall or RoboCop, but it feels like a wasted opportunity. Wright battles with immense overlength as he struggles to maintain interest and energy, particularly during the beefy second act, when the pacing slows to a crawl. The decision to soften King's bleak ending in favour of something safer and more formulaic only exacerbates the problem, forcing the movie to limp through an extended finale that overstays its welcome. While the film is competently made and occasionally entertaining, it lacks the bite, invention, and confidence necessary to justify its existence. In the end, this new The Running Man proves that fidelity alone is not enough and that even a great director can stumble when they fail to properly reshape material to make a compelling film.

5.6/10

At this point, any non-Hallmark festive film offering is a refreshing change of pace, and 2025's Tinsel Town further stands out because it is a British Christmas comedy flick. It's familiar territory for director Chris Foggin, who previously helmed the surprisingly enjoyable and endearing This is Christmas back in 2022. Although Tinsel Town is a step down compared to Foggin's previous festive flick, it remains a fun and funny picture that works more often than not. It's also an affectionate ode to pantomime theatre, the boisterous British Christmas tradition incorporating slapstick comedy, topical jokes, songs, cross-dressing, and audience participation. Any viewers who are unfamiliar with the longstanding tradition will get an amusing crash course here.


After finishing his work on the blockbuster Killing Time VII, Hollywood superstar Bradley Mac (Kiefer Sutherland) finds himself out of work when the studio cancels plans for future sequels. Bradley's options for acting work are limited, as the performer has been blacklisted and typecast after years of poor on-set behaviour. Bradley's agent (Katherine Ryan) suggests theatre work in London, but upon arriving in the United Kingdom, the superstar soon finds he has been tricked: he'll be playing Buttons in a pantomime production of Cinderella in the small town of Stoneford. Unable to wiggle out of the contract, Bradley starts rehearsing, while his bitter ex-wife, Grace (Alice Eva), forces him to spend time with his daughter, Emma (Matilda Firth). Bradley also bonds with choreographer Jill (Rebel Wilson), who is dealing with a troublesome ex-husband, Kieran (Danny Dyer).

The way that Tinsel Town skewers major Hollywood stars is amusing, from the tongue-in-cheek film-within-a-film snippet in the opening sequence to Bradley's reputation as a difficult, demanding diva who refuses to do his own stunts. Casting the gruff Sutherland in the lead role is inspired, as the actor rarely does comedy, but he approaches the material with delicious zeal and enthusiasm, openly mocking his own tough-guy image and leaning into the material's absurdity. Another standout is the always-brilliant Derek Jacobi, a theatre box office attendant who used to perform in pantomimes before a personal tragedy forced him offstage permanently. A key scene involving Jacobi and Sutherland is one of the most poignant moments in the whole feature, displaying more care and sincerity than the usual Hallmark dreck.


The narrative trajectory is unsurprising, as the screenplay deploys many recognisable tropes: an absent father bonding with his child, an abusive ex-husband who provides some trademark conflict, a third-act complication that threatens the performance, and so on. Unfortunately, Tinsel Town begins to lose its way in the third act when it piles on the complications, leading to a court case that slows down the pacing. Luckily, it soon picks up, and the climactic performance is wonderful. There are ample laughs throughout the picture, particularly from Jason Manford and Asim Chaudhry as David and Danny, two flamboyant actors who play the stepsisters in the panto performance of Cinderella. Mamford and Chaudhry routinely steal scenes with their sharp wit and strong personalities. Less successful is Rebel Wilson, who is impressively low-key here, but she is unable to mask her native Australian accent.

It's refreshing to see a Christmas movie that doesn't have the chintzy, low-grade look of a Hallmark movie. Tinsel Town has a more nuanced visual style and looks more cinematic, while the English scenery is far more intriguing than studio backlots, artificial-feeling sets, or rural American locations. Foggin shot the movie on location in the English town of Knaresborough in North Yorkshire, and this gives the production a welcome sense of authenticity. Foggin also fills the picture with festive music, from the Christmas-tinged soundtrack by Kara Talve and Sami Goldberg to the several recognisable Christmas songs that appear.


Do not let the trashy, AI-looking poster fool you - Tinsel Town is worth your time and attention because its heart is in the right place. Beneath the celebrity satire and broad jokes is a genuine affection for performance, community, and the strange magic of live theatre at Christmas. The feature's understanding of pantomime as both gloriously silly and quietly meaningful gives it an emotional backbone, elevating it above many formulaic festive fares. When Tinsel Town leans into this sincerity rather than overcomplicating its plot, it mostly succeeds, delivering enough laughs, charm, and seasonal goodwill to justify its existence.

6.7/10

Santa Jaws is precisely the novelty, one-joke, Z-grade Syfy original movie that its title suggests; a low-budget affair with drab visuals, cheesy scripting, campy action scenes, hammy acting, and phoney digital effects. It's also astonishingly fun, as shark-enthusiast director Misty Talley (Zombie Shark) leans into the tongue-in-cheek absurdity with gusto, turning it into a comedy rather than something more serious. Santa Jaws may not become an annual tradition for many households, but it's more enjoyable and rewatchable than most festive Hallmark slop, though your mileage may vary.


Cody (Reid Miller) and his best friend Steve (Hawn Tran) are comic book enthusiasts, and they spend their time working on a goofy comic entitled "Santa Jaws." As Christmas approaches, one of Cody's drawings gets him into trouble when it goes viral online, attracting the attention of his school principal. With his parents grounding him and Cody developing severe resentment toward his family, he wishes for help from Santa Jaws... and the universe grants his wish. Suddenly, a large great white shark manifests itself and starts feasting on Cody's family. As Cody's extended family becomes hapless fish food, Cody and Steve work with attractive classmate Jena (Courtney Lauren Cummings) to find a solution and kill the shark.

Merely describing the content of Santa Jaws without critique will either persuade or dissuade you from watching this Yuletide masterpiss. This is a movie about a shark with glowing red eyes like Rudolph's nose that wears a Santa hat on its fin. The shark also uses Christmas string lights to lasso victims, and she gains a candy cane horn to impale hapless folks in her path. Jingle bells accompany the shark's every appearance, Christmas things attract it (but not iconic songs that are too expensive to license), and only Christmas things can harm it, including exploding baubles. Writer Jake Kiernan, scripting his first and only movie to date, fills the screenplay with hysterical puns - "See you in Jingle Hell," "Santa Jaws is coming to town," and "Ho, ho, ho, you son of a fish" are among the film's arsenal of gut-busting one-liners.


If any of this sounds appealing, Santa Jaws is for you. If this stuff makes you cringe, give this one a skip.

Do not approach Santa Jaws expecting award-winning special effects - after all, we are dealing with the Syfy channel here. The CGI is not always aggressively terrible in terms of texturing, but the movement is a different matter: the shark never moves naturally or believably. However, the Santa-hat-clad dorsal fin is at least a practical effect, which is rare in such productions. The attack scenes are uproarious, and director Talley compensates for the awful digital effects by keeping the movie's tongue firmly planted in cheek. I mean, one victim loses his legs when the shark pushes a boat into him. One would also think that characters could survive by staying away from the water, but that's clearly too difficult.


Not everything about Santa Jaws works, and the screenplay is the clearest example of how the film both succeeds and fails. Kiernan's script understands comedy far better than drama: the Christmas-themed puns and sight gags land consistently, but the connective tissue between attacks is burdened with flat exposition and rote family conflict that feels imported from a more earnest holiday movie. When it's funny, it's very funny. But the pacing tends to drag in between the attack scenes due to the actors and the unspectacular scripting. Reid Miller gives it his all as young Cody, but the supporting cast is notably hit-and-miss - Jim Klock and Carrie Lazar are especially awful as Cody's parents, who sound like they are reciting their dialogue from cue cards.

Santa Jaws is one of those self-promoting, critic-proof movies - no matter how many critics try to tear it to shreds, there will always be a curious audience who will watch the movie based on the title alone. It's completely ludicrous - but I enjoyed virtually every second of it, and I'm glad I watched it.

5.3/10

There is something inherently amusing about watching a heist movie like 2025's Now You See Me: Now You Don't that unironically adheres to the convoluted formula Rick and Morty cleverly parodied in 2019. Although it's nice that this long-delayed sequel reunites the original cast - including Isla Fisher, whose pregnancy prevented her from returning in Now You See Me 2 - it's disheartening that the picture is so lifeless and tepid, unable (or unwilling) to rectify the issues that let down its two predecessors. The film is undeniably slick and well-executed by director Ruben Fleischer, who takes over from Louis Leterrier and Jon M. Chu, but the polish cannot overcome the clunky pacing, as the movie becomes weighed down by yet another overstuffed, twist-heavy plot.


A decade after the Horsemen's performance, three young magicians - Charlie (Justice Smith), Bosco (Dominic Sessa), and June (Ariana Greenblatt) - use holograms and deepfakes to pull off a heist, draining thousands of dollars from a shady crypto bro. The stunt catches the attention of J. Daniel Atlas (Jesse Eisenberg), who invites them to join a mission assigned by the enigmatic Eye: steal a valuable diamond from Veronika Vanderberg (Rosamund Pike), whose company helps launder money for criminals. Travelling to Belgium, Daniel soon encounters the other three original Horsemen: Jack Wilder (Dave Franco), Henley Reeves (Isla Fisher), and Merritt McKinney (Woody Harrelson), who reveal that a mysterious tarot card summoned them. They need all the assistance they can get to disrupt Veronika's criminal empire, with Lula May (Lizzy Caplan) also answering the call, and the team reuniting with Thaddeus Bradley (Morgan Freeman).

For a movie about magicians, Now You See Me: Now You Don't is too short on actual magic. Just like the last two movies, many of the acts depicted on-screen are absurdly over-the-top, and there's nothing special about watching digitally-enhanced magical illusions. There are isolated scenes when the picture comes to life, including an extended single take in a booby-trapped mansion showcasing intricate sleight-of-hand without the aid of CGI. However, such moments only highlight how artificial the rest of the illusions feel. And when Veronika finally catches the Horsemen unaware by trapping them and forcing them to improvise, the timing of their escape still perfectly aligns with their overarching master plan. Spontaneity simply does not exist in this universe; everything is always part of the plan.


This point neatly leads into the sequel's major downfall: its stubborn unwillingness to shake up the trademark formula. The climax involves an elaborate, immaculately orchestrated plan that unfolds with mechanical precision, and the magicians apparently possess endless time, money, and resources to construct flawless props and environments without any outside assistance, scrutiny, or even the faintest hint of logistical difficulty. At least heist films like Ocean's Eleven show the construction of replicas, whereas everything here appears out of nowhere. Rather than feeling exhilarating, the movie's intricate scheme feels preordained - another demonstration that the Horsemen's victories are the result of narrative inevitability instead of cleverness. And because the script cannot resist cramming in additional double-crosses, red herrings, mythological teases, and character subplots, the rhythm grows lumpy and erratic. It moves quickly, yet somehow drags.

However, there are positives here. When Now You See Me: Now You Don't finds momentum, the jazzy score and crisp editing give certain set pieces a playful energy, and the globetrotting locations and elaborate production design are undeniably handsome. However, Fleischer lacks a signature style or flourish, and the picture looks like a generic blockbuster rather than anything more eye-catching or distinctive. There's even a blatant nod to Christopher Nolan's Inception in a rotating corridor scene, underscoring the movie's derivative nature.


Isla Fisher's return adds a welcome spark, and Lizzy Caplan also drops in. (This is the first entry in the series without Michael Caine, who retired in 2023.) Meanwhile, Rosamund Pike is clearly having great fun here as a broad, cartoonish villain with a South African accent. She is the only performer who seems to understand that this series works best when it embraces its own silliness. But Pike's deliciously over-the-top energy only highlights how flat some of the returning cast dynamics have become. Woody Harrelson's familiar shtick feels reheated, Jesse Eisenberg's brooding control-freak routine has long since worn thin, and the ensemble's once-snappy chemistry mostly goes through the motions. Even the humour feels inconsistent, with jokes either landing out of rhythm or leaning too heavily on self-satisfied winks. Additionally, the younger magicians feel underdeveloped, more functional than charismatic, and never quite form a dynamic that justifies their narrative prominence.

Now You See Me: Now You Don't enjoys deploying twists in typical heist-movie tradition, while the mythology involving the Eye remains frustratingly muddled - expanded in some areas, ignored in others, and never clarified enough to justify its continued presence. Worse yet, the film cannot stand on its own: the third act pivots into setup for a fourth entry, dangling a new conspiracy and a fresh roster of adversaries, because apparently a self-contained story is the one illusion this series refuses to perform. Now You See Me: Now You Don't is watchable and even sporadically entertaining, but it feels less like a daring new trick than a familiar routine performed one too many times.

5.2/10