Project Hail Mary review: Ryan Gosling charms in sci-fi blockbuster with a reassuring soul
This adaptation of Andy Weir's novel is by no means the most original movie – but there's much joy to be had.
★★★★☆ Project Hail Mary is in cinemas now. Add it to your watchlist The last time Ryan Gosling blasted off into space was in the guise of Neil Armstrong heading for the moon in 2018’s First Man, making it home again before the milk in his fridge had gone off. Project Hail Mary is a considerably longer voyage into the unknown that sees Gosling’s mild-mannered science teacher Dr Ryland Grace on a fictional mission with significantly greater stakes than the one embarked upon by NASA’s real-life history maker. Exactly how long it’s been thus far when Ryland awakens on a spaceship isn’t immediately clear, certainly not to the hippy-haired, shaggy-bearded doc himself who’s suffering from amnesia; the most he can surmise is that he’s “several light years from my apartment” and all his fellow crew members have died. The bewildered traveller’s temporary memory loss is a tidy device, setting up a succession of patchy recollections to serve as flashbacks explaining how he got where he is and what’s happening back on Earth to have made the trip necessary; the sun is dying from a constant bombardment of parasitical extraterrestrial bacteria, and the key to avoiding mass extinction may just lie in a seemingly immune star at the far end of the galaxy. It’s good to get the premise-establishing science stuff out of the way in one sentence, as Project Hail Mary is by no means a film reliant on swathes of technological hokum (Ryland’s on-board problem-solving is framed in the playful manner of middle school classroom exercises), and more a family-friendly, intrinsically human story. Not entirely human, though, as our plucky but still a bit fuzzy-headed hero discovers a creature in the same planet-in-peril boat, or rather a massive craft that dwarfs Ryland’s own; a spider-ish being whose body appears to be comprised of several rough-hewn stones. He decides to call him Rocky. Language barriers are slowly overcome until viewers twig that what they’re watching is, in fact, a buddy movie in all but name, with a personality that could feasibly lay claim to being cinema’s most heartwarming cross-species bromance since Elliott touched fingers with ET. It’s a valid parallel, as the film is riddled with Spielberg-like wonderment (as opposed to the colder, convoluted likes of, say, Armageddon or Interstellar), and cruises along on the innate charm of Gosling, effortlessly hopping between puppy-dog helplessness and steely potential saviour of humankind. Co-directors Phil Lord and Chris Miller cut their teeth in animation (The Lego Movie, the Oscar-winning Spiderman: Into The Spider-Verse), and the duo’s talent for the wittily fantastical transfers well to what is only a second live-action feature, helped enormously by the quality of the source material. View Green Video on the source website Screenwriter Drew Goddard’s previous adaptation of an Andy Weir novel was 2015’s crowd-pleasing The Martian, and there’s much of the earlier film’s Matt Damon central character in Gosling’s Ryland, both retaining a keenly honed sense of the absurd when confronted with supposedly insurmountable obstacles. On Earth, Sandra Huller provides a solid sparring partner for Gosling as the pragmatic project leader who figuratively dragged Ryland away from his cosy, non-life-threatening day job in the first place, employing deadpan humour to manage her recruit while impressing upon him the enormity of the task ahead. With a running time north of two-and-a-half hours, it’s perhaps a touch longer than it needs to be, although it’s nonetheless a tale well told and only intermittently sags; even then, it’s rarely for more than a few minutes before the ever charismatic Gosling rights the ship, either when going it alone or as part of the marvellous Ryland and Rocky show. It’s by no means the most original movie ever made and there are plenty of opportunities to play spot the reference, but they arguably serve as unashamedly affectionate celebrations of the myriad joys out-of-this-world popcorn fare has brought us over the years. This is science fiction with a reassuring soul, where the sombre comes bearing a smile, and the vastness of space is never quite so scary when you’re sharing it with a new pal.
Project Hail Mary review: Ryan Gosling charms in science fiction with a reassuring soul
The last time Ryan Gosling blasted off into space was in the guise of Neil Armstrong heading for the moon in 2018’s First Man, making it home again before the milk in his fridge had gone off. Project Hail Mary is a considerably longer voyage into the unknown that sees Gosling’s mild-mannered science teacher Dr Ryland Grace on a fictional mission with significantly greater stakes than the one embarked upon by NASA’s real-life history maker. Exactly how long it’s been thus far when Ryland awakens on a spaceship isn’t immediately clear, certainly not to the hippy-haired, shaggy-bearded doc himself who’s suffering from amnesia; the most he can surmise is that he’s “several light years from my apartment” and all his fellow crew members have died. The bewildered traveller’s temporary memory loss is a tidy device, setting up a succession of patchy recollections to serve as flashbacks explaining how he got where he is and what’s happening back on Earth to have made the trip necessary; the sun is dying from a constant bombardment of parasitical extraterrestrial bacteria, and the key to avoiding mass extinction may just lie in a seemingly immune star at the far end of the galaxy. It’s good to get the premise-establishing science stuff out of the way in one sentence, as Project Hail Mary is by no means a film reliant on swathes of technological hokum (Ryland’s on-board problem-solving is framed in the playful manner of middle school classroom exercises), and more a family-friendly, intrinsically human story. Not entirely human, though, as our plucky but still a bit fuzzy-headed hero discovers a creature in the same planet-in-peril boat, or rather a massive craft that dwarfs Ryland’s own; a spider-ish being whose body appears to be comprised of several rough-hewn stones. He decides to call him Rocky. Language barriers are slowly overcome until viewers twig that what they’re watching is, in fact, a buddy movie in all but name, with a personality that could feasibly lay claim to being cinema’s most heartwarming cross-species bromance since Elliott touched fingers with ET. It’s a valid parallel, as the film is riddled with Spielberg-like wonderment (as opposed to the colder, convoluted likes of, say, Armageddon or Interstellar), and cruises along on the innate charm of Gosling, effortlessly hopping between puppy-dog helplessness and steely potential saviour of humankind. Co-directors Phil Lord and Chris Miller cut their teeth in animation (The Lego Movie, the Oscar-winning Spiderman: Into The Spider-Verse), and the duo’s talent for the wittily fantastical transfers well to what is only a second live-action feature, helped enormously by the quality of the source material. View Green Video on the source website Screenwriter Drew Goddard’s previous adaptation of an Andy Weir novel was 2015’s crowd-pleasing The Martian, and there’s much of the earlier film’s Matt Damon central character in Gosling’s Ryland, both retaining a keenly honed sense of the absurd when confronted with supposedly insurmountable obstacles. On Earth, Sandra Huller provides a solid sparring partner for Gosling as the pragmatic project leader who figuratively dragged Ryland away from his cosy, non-life-threatening day job in the first place, employing deadpan humour to manage her recruit while impressing upon him the enormity of the task ahead. With a running time north of two-and-a-half hours, it’s perhaps a touch longer than it needs to be, although it’s nonetheless a tale well told and only intermittently sags; even then, it’s rarely for more than a few minutes before the ever charismatic Gosling rights the ship, either when going it alone or as part of the marvellous Ryland and Rocky show. It’s by no means the most original movie ever made and there are plenty of opportunities to play spot the reference, but they arguably serve as unashamedly affectionate celebrations of the myriad joys out-of-this-world popcorn fare has brought us over the years. This is science fiction with a reassuring soul, where the sombre comes bearing a smile, and the vastness of space is never quite so scary when you’re sharing it with a new pal. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man review – This big-screen spin-off keeps a firm red right hand on proceedings
Although there are some issues in the transition from TV to film, this is nonetheless a robust offering for Cillian Murphy's Tommy Shelby.
★★★☆☆ Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man is in cinemas now and on Netflix from 20 March. Add it to your watchlist. Whatever happened to Peaky Blinders' Tommy Shelby? The last we saw of Cillian Murphy’s charismatic mob boss turned Member of Parliament at the conclusion of Peaky Blinders’ sixth season, he was riding off into the sunset after brokering dubious transatlantic business deals and infiltrating Fascist figurehead Oswald Mosley’s inner circle, while on the verge of a nervous breakdown following the death of his young daughter. Time doesn’t necessarily heal wounds, though, and during his long self-imposed exile (the story picks up again in 1940) Tommy’s been trying to make sense of it all by writing a book. But, Murphy's protagonist is still haunted by personal tragedies that prey on his mind much more than the war that’s broken out between England and Germany: "I’ve got a war of my own, inside of me ‘ead," he says early in the narrative. All that changes with a visit from Kaulo (Rebecca Ferguson), the Romani gypsy twin sister of the woman with whom he fathered a son back in the 1910s; she tells him the now fully grown Duke (introduced late in the most recent series and played here by Barry Keoghan) is causing havoc back in Birmingham, forcing Shelby senior to return to the city and re-take the reins of the family business. Duke’s been using muscle and intimidation to steal weapons from local munitions factories intended for squaddies on the front line, and he’s about to upset even bigger applecarts, helping Nazi sympathiser John Beckett (Tim Roth) to undermine the war effort by flooding the UK economy with £70 million in counterfeit banknotes. How does Kaulo know all this? Gypsy visions, of course; a Peaky staple going back several series that creator-writer Steven Knight enjoys calling upon for short-cut exposition, and to dig around inside the noggin of his central character - Tommy’s still hearing the voice of matriarch Aunt Polly, long after her murder in series five. It’s not the most satisfying of ploys, an all too convenient get-out clause, but the mystical Shelby gypsy roots continue to play a role in the family’s affairs, especially brought into focus in The Immortal Man via Keoghan’s rough-hewn Duke and his staunch pride in his ancestry. Knight and director Tom Harper just about get away with it, as a device to draw parallels between Duke and Tommy’s own youthful menace (father describes son as "my dark reflection"), driving home the Shelby dynasty’s bedrock ethos of tradition and family loyalty. View Green Video on the source website Here, the family extends to Tommy’s sister Ada (a returning Sophie Rundle), a beacon of decency in war-torn Brum, having taken over her brother’s seat in Parliament. There are examples of non-blood ties too, with a call back for Stephen Graham as Liverpool docks supremo Hayden Stagg, along with a few others unwaveringly faithful to the Shelby cause. Of the newcomers to the saga, Keoghan imbues Duke with a tender vulnerability beneath all his surface bluster and violence, and his scenes with Murphy give the film palpable heart whenever it runs the risk of being overwhelmed by beatings, bullets and bombs. He’s matched every step of the way by Roth, an initially laconic presence but increasingly terrifying as his dastardly plans edge closer to fruition, against elaborate locations and sets more imposing than on the TV version that make the devastation of war and its impact on ordinary folk horrifically real. The switch from a small screen six-hour narrative arc to a cinema release one-third of the length inevitably results in incident and characterisation being truncated, but Knight and Harper nonetheless manage to construct a robust story that doesn’t necessarily require viewers to have deep knowledge of the Peaky Blinders’ past, keeping a firm red right hand on proceedings.
Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man review – Big screen spin-off keeps a firm red right hand on proceedings
Whatever happened to Peaky Blinders' Tommy Shelby? The last we saw of Cillian Murphy’s charismatic mob boss turned Member of Parliament at the conclusion of Peaky Blinders’ sixth season, he was riding off into the sunset after brokering dubious transatlantic business deals and infiltrating Fascist figurehead Oswald Mosley’s inner circle, while on the verge of a nervous breakdown following the death of his young daughter. Time doesn’t necessarily heal wounds, though, and during his long self-imposed exile (the story picks up again in 1940) Tommy’s been trying to make sense of it all by writing a book. But, Murphy's protagonist is still haunted by personal tragedies that prey on his mind much more than the war that’s broken out between England and Germany: "I’ve got a war of my own, inside of me ‘ead," he says early in the narrative. All that changes with a visit from Kaulo (Rebecca Ferguson), the Romani gypsy twin sister of the woman with whom he fathered a son back in the 1910s; she tells him the now fully grown Duke (introduced late in the most recent series and played here by Barry Keoghan) is causing havoc back in Birmingham, forcing Shelby senior to return to the city and re-take the reins of the family business. Duke’s been using muscle and intimidation to steal weapons from local munitions factories intended for squaddies on the front line, and he’s about to upset even bigger applecarts, helping Nazi sympathiser John Beckett (Tim Roth) to undermine the war effort by flooding the UK economy with £70 million in counterfeit banknotes. How does Kaulo know all this? Gypsy visions, of course; a Peaky staple going back several series that creator-writer Steven Knight enjoys calling upon for short-cut exposition, and to dig around inside the noggin of his central character - Tommy’s still hearing the voice of matriarch Aunt Polly, long after her murder in series five. It’s not the most satisfying of ploys, an all too convenient get-out clause, but the mystical Shelby gypsy roots continue to play a role in the family’s affairs, especially brought into focus in The Immortal Man via Keoghan’s rough-hewn Duke and his staunch pride in his ancestry. Knight and director Tom Harper just about get away with it, as a device to draw parallels between Duke and Tommy’s own youthful menace (father describes son as "my dark reflection"), driving home the Shelby dynasty’s bedrock ethos of tradition and family loyalty. View Green Video on the source website Here, the family extends to Tommy’s sister Ada (a returning Sophie Rundle), a beacon of decency in war-torn Brum, having taken over her brother’s seat in Parliament. There are examples of non-blood ties too, with a call back for Stephen Graham as Liverpool docks supremo Hayden Stagg, along with a few others unwaveringly faithful to the Shelby cause. Of the newcomers to the saga, Keoghan imbues Duke with a tender vulnerability beneath all his surface bluster and violence, and his scenes with Murphy give the film palpable heart whenever it runs the risk of being overwhelmed by beatings, bullets and bombs. He’s matched every step of the way by Roth, an initially laconic presence but increasingly terrifying as his dastardly plans edge closer to fruition, against elaborate locations and sets more imposing than on the TV version that make the devastation of war and its impact on ordinary folk horrifically real. The switch from a small screen six-hour narrative arc to a cinema release one-third of the length inevitably results in incident and characterisation being truncated, but Knight and Harper nonetheless manage to construct a robust story that doesn’t necessarily require viewers to have deep knowledge of the Peaky Blinders’ past, keeping a firm red right hand on proceedings. Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man is released in cinemas 6 March. The movie will stream on Netflix from 20 March – sign up from £5.99 a month. Netflix is also available on Sky Glass and Virgin Media. The Peaky Blinders series is available to stream on BBC iPlayer. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Scream 7 review: Faults, plot holes and a dubious conclusion – but slasher franchise still has its pleasures
The new film in the long-running series mainly concentrates on tried and tested does-what-it-says-on-the-tin tropes.
As macabre as it may seem, and without lingering too long over what it says about the mindsets of millions of moviegoers, the sound of a shiny blade slicing into human flesh has rarely sounded so reassuring. The seventh spin of the Scream carousel represents a kind of homecoming, with the return of both the franchise’s most enduring heroine and the man who created the whole business 30 years ago contributing hugely to a horror that’s by no means perfect but isn’t short on pizzazz. Neve Campbell, absent from 2023’s Scream VI reportedly due to a dispute over pay, is back as Sidney Prescott, now in her late 40s and a wife and mother of three – including a daughter, Tatum (Isabel May), the same age as her mum was in the first film. Whereas 7’s predecessor shifted the action to the bustling beast of New York, here we’re in more usual small town territory, with Sidney enjoying an idyllic family life and running a modest coffee shop, until a menacing phone call signals another murder spree is on its way. Sound familiar? Of course it does, because the malevolent figure of Ghostface is gearing up for slaughter again, and has a new batch of sassy teenage girls and their unconvincing bad boy beaus to focus on, not to mention fresh hell to visit upon longstanding nemesis Neve. View Green Video on the source website Naysayers might be of the opinion that no matter the changes in location or victims, the Scream series has a tendency to repeat itself; and while there’s more than a smidgen of truth in that, the seventh chapter at least displays more style and wit than the last couple of so-so outings. Key to its more robust sensibilities is Kevin Williamson, writer of three previous entries (including the premise-establishing opening brace) and lowering himself into the director’s chair for the first time. Williamson relishes making fun, as he always has, of instantly recognisable horror conventions in a script that also affectionately sneers at rivals (there’s a neat line about Jamie Lee Curtis’s ubiquitous Halloween roles), while liberally peppering the action with self-referential motifs, be it the franchise-within-a-franchise Stab, or a nod to Campbell not coming out to play for the previous film: “You’re lucky you sat that one out,” Sidney is told by Courteney Cox’s steely TV reporter. “It was brutal.” Cox’s introduction this time round is terrific, a didn’t-see-that-coming moment that’s likely to have devoted fans breaking into applause, and Williamson gleefully stirs the pot by bringing back other familiar faces long thought to be deceased – a canny plot point involving FaceTime cellphone exchanges and theories of Ghostface employing AI as an accomplice providing a credulity loophole. As is traditional, there’s no shortage of suspects and/or red herrings when Campbell and Cox team up to unmask the killer, with another character baffled by an early finger of suspicion pointing at a comparative stranger: “That’s weird; isn’t it always someone you know?” In truth, those mystery elements could have been handled more effectively, and while the grisly attacks and fight scenes are choreographed with flair they don’t offer viewers much in the way of jaw-dropping shocks they haven’t seen before. It could be argued that a desire to respect a well-established template prevents Scream 7 from venturing too boldly into pastures new, opting instead to concentrate on tried and tested does-what-it-says-on-the-tin tropes, but the director deserves credit for the few occasions where he manages to add a modicum of spice to the formula of his 30-year-old “baby”. There are undeniable faults, plot holes and a dubious ending, although it’s still a crowd-pleaser executed with zest, suggesting Williamson is integral to Scream, if you wanna go faster. Scream 7 is released in UK cinemas from Friday 27 February. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
28 Years Later: The Bone Temple review – A supremely satisfying thrill ride with unexpected depth
Ralph Fiennes and Jack O'Connell go head-to-head in Nia DaCosta's entry in the post-apocalyptic franchise.
★★★★☆ 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple is in cinemas now. Add it to your watchlist The shift in tone in the final few minutes of 2025’s first film in the 28 Years Later trilogy wrong-footed viewers of Danny Boyle's return to celebrated horror franchise. As the sombre narrative of a young family’s struggles in a world long ravaged by apocalyptic disease came to a close, the director chose to bookend the tale with a blackly comic wave of terror propagated by a maniacal gang who bizarrely resembled something in-between the Teletubbies and a certain disgraced broadcaster. It was a compelling twist to the saga which begun back in 2002 with 28 Days Later, hinting that the fourth entry in the franchise would be a very different kettle of fish – not necessarily played for full-on laughs, but certainly less ponderous than the perpetually grim bulk of its predecessor. And so it proves, because this is the point where writer Alex Garland’s three-screenplay arc gains considerable momentum, courtesy of a deeper delve into its lead characters, a heightened sense of jeopardy and consequences, and inventively choreographed gore peppered with the some surprisingly decent gags. At its centre, The Bone Temple is a battle between good and evil, with Ralph Fiennes’ returning maverick medic Dr Ian Kelson seeking a cure to the virus that laid waste to the nation, and Jack O’Connell’s 'Sir' Jimmy Crystal peddling slaughter as the bedrock of his quasi-religious cult. Director Nia DaCosta, taking over from Danny Boyle, makes us wait for the battle proper, though, as the Fiennes and O’Connell characters don’t come face to face until past the halfway mark in proceedings, by which time the motivations of both have been firmly established. We open on Alfie Williams’ plucky but troubled pre-teen Spike from the previous chapter, now a reluctant member of the 'Jimmies'. Forced to earn his spurs in a fight-to-the-death initiation against another O’Connell acolyte, Spike likely regrets the direction his life has taken as he learns more about Jimmy Crystal’s belief system and his declaration that he is the true Satanic son of “Old Nick.” Fiennes, meanwhile, is following a more scientific path, attempting to domesticate one of the most physically imposing infected "Alphas" he names Samson (Chi Lewis-Parry). He does this not through intense one-to-one therapy, but instead via drug-filled darts and a steady stream of bygone Duran Duran hits - an endearing variation on Professor Henry Higgins and flower girl Eliza Doolittle from My Fair Lady. It occasionally feels like DaCosta’s vision of dystopia is being filtered through the lens of an ‘80s music video, especially so when a pivotal scene is played out to a soundtrack of Iron Maiden’s heavy metal banger The Number Of The Beast, but it’s an allowable level of gloss that enriches the spectacle without distracting from Fiennes’s or O’Connell’s end games. Williams, the beating human heart of the first instalment in the trilogy, has less to do this time around, although his anxious reactions to the Jimmies’ relentless mayhem still impress as the film’s moral compass of sorts. View Green Video on the source website It’s a toss-up as to who grabs the attention most gloriously; Fiennes as the man-of-medicine survivalist routinely capable of savagery but with a ready quip and a glint in his eye, or O’Connell as the persuasive opportunist manipulating his disciples into unspeakable violence. Both actors imbue events with personality, bringing rich textures to the story that have been largely missing since 28 Days Later, resulting in a supremely satisfying horror thrill ride with unexpected depth. There are loose ends to the narrative, the fate of supporting characters unresolved, but there’s a third Garland script to come (with Boyle confirmed as returning to the director’s chair) before anyone starts thinking of filing a missing persons report. That third film’s contents are teased in the epilogue to The Bone Temple, with another juicy twist to proceedings that promises one last frenzied feast with (hopefully) plenty of crowd-pleasing flavour.
28 Years Later: The Bone Temple review – A supremely satisfying horror thrill ride with unexpected depth
The shift in tone in the final few minutes of 2025’s first film in the 28 Years Later trilogy wrong-footed viewers of Danny Boyle's return to celebrated horror franchise. As the sombre narrative of a young family’s struggles in a world long ravaged by apocalyptic disease came to a close, the director chose to bookend the tale with a blackly comic wave of terror propagated by a maniacal gang who bizarrely resembled something in-between the Teletubbies and a certain disgraced broadcaster. It was a compelling twist to the saga which begun back in 2002 with 28 Days Later, hinting that the fourth entry in the franchise would be a very different kettle of fish – not necessarily played for full-on laughs, but certainly less ponderous than the perpetually grim bulk of its predecessor. And so it proves, because this is the point where writer Alex Garland’s three-screenplay arc gains considerable momentum, courtesy of a deeper delve into its lead characters, a heightened sense of jeopardy and consequences, and inventively choreographed gore peppered with the some surprisingly decent gags. At its centre, The Bone Temple is a battle between good and evil, with Ralph Fiennes’ returning maverick medic Dr Ian Kelson seeking a cure to the virus that laid waste to the nation, and Jack O’Connell’s 'Sir' Jimmy Crystal peddling slaughter as the bedrock of his quasi-religious cult. Director Nia DaCosta, taking over from Danny Boyle, makes us wait for the battle proper, though, as the Fiennes and O’Connell characters don’t come face to face until past the halfway mark in proceedings, by which time the motivations of both have been firmly established. We open on Alfie Williams’ plucky but troubled pre-teen Spike from the previous chapter, now a reluctant member of the 'Jimmies'. Forced to earn his spurs in a fight-to-the-death initiation against another O’Connell acolyte, Spike likely regrets the direction his life has taken as he learns more about Jimmy Crystal’s belief system and his declaration that he is the true Satanic son of “Old Nick.” Read more: Hamnet review: Jessie Buckley is superb in this masterly study of loss Marty Supreme review: Timothée Chalamet hits new heights in breathless and brilliant ping pong drama Fiennes, meanwhile, is following a more scientific path, attempting to domesticate one of the most physically imposing infected "Alphas" he names Samson (Chi Lewis-Parry). He does this not through intense one-to-one therapy, but instead via drug-filled darts and a steady stream of bygone Duran Duran hits - an endearing variation on Professor Henry Higgins and flower girl Eliza Doolittle from My Fair Lady. It occasionally feels like DaCosta’s vision of dystopia is being filtered through the lens of an ‘80s music video, especially so when a pivotal scene is played out to a soundtrack of Iron Maiden’s heavy metal banger The Number Of The Beast, but it’s an allowable level of gloss that enriches the spectacle without distracting from Fiennes’s or O’Connell’s end games. Williams, the beating human heart of the first instalment in the trilogy, has less to do this time around, although his anxious reactions to the Jimmies’ relentless mayhem still impress as the film’s moral compass of sorts. View Green Video on the source website It’s a toss-up as to who grabs the attention most gloriously; Fiennes as the man-of-medicine survivalist routinely capable of savagery but with a ready quip and a glint in his eye, or O’Connell as the persuasive opportunist manipulating his disciples into unspeakable violence. Both actors imbue events with personality, bringing rich textures to the story that have been largely missing since 28 Days Later, resulting in a supremely satisfying horror thrill ride with unexpected depth. There are loose ends to the narrative, the fate of supporting characters unresolved, but there’s a third Garland script to come (with Boyle confirmed as returning to the director’s chair) before anyone starts thinking of filing a missing persons report. That third film’s contents are teased in the epilogue to The Bone Temple, with another juicy twist to proceedings that promises one last frenzied feast with (hopefully) plenty of crowd-pleasing flavour. 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple is now showing in UK cinemas. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Song Sung Blue review: A big-hearted, blue-collar love story – with a shocking fork in the road
Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson shine in this stranger than fiction tale about a Neil Diamond tribute band.
The highs and lows of a husband-and-wife Neil Diamond tribute act were eventful enough to warrant an award-winning documentary, so it’s perhaps surprising to have taken a further decade-and-a-half for someone to turn their tale into a drama. For while both share a familiar, million-selling Diamond favourite as their title, and barely 10 minutes ever pass before another banger graces the soundtrack of writer-director Craig Brewer’s film, the music is largely a backdrop to a beautiful, big-hearted, blue-collar love story – with a shocking fork in the road along the way. Hugh Jackman is Mike Sardina, a Vietnam vet and recovering alcoholic celebrating 20 years sober when he meets a fellow traveller on Milwaukee’s low-rent “Legends” circuit of fairgrounds and old folks’ community centre casinos; Kate Hudson’s Claire, a lively, divorced mother of two struggling to pay the bills. She supplements her meagre hairdresser income by belting out the hits of country star Patsy Cline, while he’s more a jack(man) of all trades calling himself Lightning (“Chuck Berry, Barry Manilow and The Beatles rolled into one”) but, despite often being told he looks like Neil Diamond, he’s reluctant to take on the songs and persona of a man he regards as a hero. Claire persuades him otherwise (“you’re not an impersonator, you’re an interpreter”), after a first-date jam session where she joins in on keyboards and vocals; Mike dreams up a stage name for his new partner in rhyme, and hey presto: Lightning & Thunder are born. Romance blossoms (fast), the couple marry and settle into a life of domestic bliss with Claire’s kids and occasional visits by Mike’s daughter from his first marriage, because this is not a film about fame-hungry musicians reaching for the stars. Their ambitions are modest, with music as joyful icing on the cake of lower-middle-class contentment, but they nonetheless attain minor celebrity status via local TV coverage, which in turn leads to rubbing shoulders with superstars when they’re invited to open for grunge giants Pearl Jam. Everything in the garden is rosy, until a freak accident lands Claire in hospital, mothballing the singing act and leaving them drowning in huge medical bills, their future uncertain. It’s a shift in dramatic tone requiring Brewer to walk a tightrope he comes close to falling off, but luckily the director has two actors fully in control of every aspect of their characters to keep him on balance. Jackman establishes Mike’s good guy credentials early, the kind of man everyone likes and will do anything for (including Michael Imperioli’s aging Buddy Holly impersonator and Jim Belushi’s wonderfully comic, weepy gig promoter), facing his family’s upheavals with a pragmatism learned from past challenges as, first, a soldier and then an alcoholic. Read more: Marty Supreme review: Timothée Chalamet hits new heights in breathless and brilliant ping pong drama The Housemaid review: Amanda Seyfried shines in a satisfyingly scary chiller that doesn't take itself too seriously His charisma glows on the screen in every frame, and Hudson leaves an even deeper impression in her portrayal of a woman whose world is turned upside down, spiralling into depression and a slave to her medication; it’s hard to name a film in which she’s better. It goes without saying that the screenplay, unavoidably melodramatic in places yet never mawkish, is designed for audiences to root for the couple, but Jackman and Hudson are so on their game, so engaged in making Mike and Claire believable that only stone-hearted cynics won’t end up loving them. Also deserving of a shout-out are King Princess and Ella Anderson as, respectively, Mike’s and Claire’s world-wise teenage daughters, and Hudson Hensley as Claire’s younger son, giving the Sardina homestead a three-dimensional, credible family dynamic rarely seen on screen since Roseanne Barr’s ordinary people sitcom of the ‘80s and ‘90s. And then there’s the songs – more than a dozen of them in one shape or another, performed with gusto by actors with superb voices who have an unshakable handle on their uplifting qualities, exchanging looks that bring every line of every lyric to life. “Good times never seemed so good,” Neil Diamond sang on the evergreen Sweet Caroline, and this is a film where even the bad ones can be overcome on the path to something brighter. Song Sung Blue is released in UK cinemas on New Year's Day. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
The Housemaid review: Amanda Seyfried shines in a satisfyingly scary chiller that doesn't take itself too seriously
Amanda Seyfried and Sydney Sweeney are perfectly cast in this deliriously over-the-top tale of terror.
It’s rarely easy when a job requires you to nest full-time in somebody else’s house, especially if your boss is unhinged to the point where her moods swing as much as one of Tarzan’s jungle creepers. Desperate times call for desperate measures, though, so recently paroled jailbird Millie (Sydney Sweeney) fudges her CV to secure gainful employment as live-in maid to a well-do-family, in order to avoid being sent back behind bars. If the above reads like Millie is the villain of the piece, wait ‘til you get a load of the woman paying her wages – Amanda Seyfried’s Nina Winchester, moneybags queen of her own fancy castle, wife to the ruggedly handsome Andrew (Brandon Sklenar) and mother to precocious pre-teen Cece (Indiana Elle). Nina, you see, has a history of mental instability she hides beneath a veneer of confident, capable elegance, but which routinely makes itself known via screaming, violent outbursts when even the tiniest of cats get among her palatial pigeons. And so the scene is set for a psycho-thriller with a generous slice of ham, in which director Paul Feig grabs a copy of author Freida McFadden’s 2022, award-winning source novel and amplifies its sinister tones for a deliriously over-the-top tale of terror. The very picture of a benign people pleaser, Millie finds herself in hot water whenever one of Nina’s “episodes” results in wrongful accusations of her throwing away important paperwork, or stealing clothes and cars, but she takes it on the chin to stay out of chokey. Where is hubby Andrew when all this manufactured mayhem rears its ugly head, you ask? Yes, Millie’s hands are pretty much tied, due to the precariousness of her position, but surely the man of the house can’t keep turning a blind eye to the escalating apple cart upsets under his own roof… Fear not, because a truly audacious, out-there twist is on its way that will have viewers scurrying back to reassess all they’ve seen, and change their opinions of the folk they’ve been watching thus far. Read more: Goodbye June review: Kate Winslet's directorial debut is schmaltzy but affecting Marty Supreme review: Timothée Chalamet hits new heights in breathless and brilliant ping pong drama Feig has previous form walking the darker corridors of domesticity, but whereas 2018’s A Simple Favour revels in blackly comedic upheavals to happy homes, The Housemaid is a genuinely unsettling depiction of dysfunctional families and breathtaking cruelty. He’s assisted enormously in piling on the peril by the wild-eyed performance of his leading lady, flitting from pantomime-like to pure evil at the drop of an expensive hat; it’s a peach of a role for any actress, but Seyfried intuitively knows when to be ridiculous and when to really put the frighteners on. Sweeney is almost as impressive, even if audiences are initially baffled by how casual she is as the put-upon hired help; if anything, the facade of serenity is the ideal set-up for when the script throws a spanner in the works and her plucky, creative heroine chops come to the fore. View Green Video on the source website Sklenar’s contribution is harder to discuss here without spoilers, but we learn a little about him early on in scenes with his overbearing, judgmental mother (a perfectly pitched Elizabeth Perkins, it would have been good to see more of her), while 11-year-old Elle hits all the right notes as the brattish, sharp-tongued junior Winchester. Feig could be accused of over-egging puddings in the way he ultimately ties the threads of his characters together, and there are one or two moments when too close an examination of his house of cards might send it tumbling to the ground, but the end result is a satisfyingly scary chiller that benefits from not always taking itself seriously. Since McFadden’s original novel became a best seller she has published two equally well-received sequels, just as ripe for big-screen adaptation. Let’s hope so, because on this evidence the further adventures of a maid-in-hell seem made in heaven. The Housemaid will be released in UK cinemas on 26th December. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Five Nights at Freddy's 2 review: This boilerplate sequel should be more funny and more frightening
Here’s hoping any future reservation at the deathly diner has a more mouth-watering menu...
It’s an oft-observed rule in horror that when a character is described as having been left for dead, the sentence’s key words are “left for” – as countless resurrections of Halloween’s Michael Myers and Friday the 13th’s Jason Voorhees will testify. Doors are conveniently left ajar for further instalments, should the filmmakers and/or their financiers believe there’s a big enough market, and in the case of this second visit to the freakish Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza emporium the initial movie’s global box office take of nearly $300 million made the decision a shoo-in. It found favour with cinema-goers, despite mixed to negative reviews critical of both a diluting of the more violent source video game series and an overly convoluted plot – yet, while the first of those concerns is partially addressed by comparatively grislier action this time around, the script doubles down on unnecessary confusion, hopping from one scenario to another as if written by a child with a low attention span. The bad guys springing back to life are, of course, the titular Freddy and his similarly animatronic pals at the abandoned pizzeria; deactivated or disassembled when we last saw them, malevolent influences conspire to reboot the toy-town terminator terrors. Once again, they exercise a sinister pull on the franchise’s core human trio of mild-mannered security guard Mike (Josh Hutcherson), his precocious younger sister Abby (Piper Rubio) and plucky police officer Vanessa (Elizabeth Lail), none having learned much of lesson after being scarred (Vanessa, literally) by their previous skirmishes with cartoon robots possessed by missing children. The events take place a year later, focusing on an upturn in fascination with the Freddy’s brand that manifests itself in Halloween costumes, school science fair projects, and the attentions of a young team of paranormal investigators (in a very Scooby-Doo van) led by McKenna Grace, the actress taking a short stroll from the spook-chasing antics of her character in the most recent brace of Ghostbusters outings. Also fresh to the Freddy film orbit from the game series is The Marionette (previously known as The Puppet), an evildoer with a character design that comes perilously close to infringing on a Tim Burton copyright, but while genuinely menacing, it’s employed frustratingly too little. Therein lies the bugbear at the heart of Freddy’s 2, the returning pair of director Emma Tammi and screenwriter (and original game creator) Scott Cawthon rarely standing still long enough to give the scattergun narrative a semblance of structure. Characters crop up early in proceedings and then disappear for an hour or so, but are so lightly drawn to start with it runs the risk of viewers having forgotten them by the time they’re back on screen – a particularly worrying flaw when one of them turns out to have had a major say in the ensuing mayhem. Read more: Blue Moon review: Ethan Hawke and Andrew Scott shine in tender portrait of an artist Wake Up Dead Man review – Is this the best Knives Out film yet? Occasionally, the scares are tiresomely boilerplate (does every modest-sized house in small town America have a creepy, really long dark corridor?), the stuff of a horror yarn starter kit that ticks boxes instead of building suspense. Wayne Knight (also new to the series) has a decent enough supporting role as Abby’s ruthless, success-driven science teacher, making more of his brief-ish appearances than any of the leads can muster, none of whom are helped by hokey dialogue, like Mike telling Vanessa “you’ll never be free from your dad until you deal with the mess he left in your head". A tech wiz he may be, but Cawthon is a far from gifted wordsmith, his self-referential whimsy bordering on smug when he has Mike, struggling with the controls to take charge of the pizzeria’s computer system, say “what kind of idiot designed this place?” Considering the premise, plus the visual comportment and countenance of its villains, both Freddy’s 2 and its predecessor are curiously bereft of humour, the very few laughs limited chiefly to sight gags or five-second cameos alluding to the earlier movie. It should be funnier, it should be more frightening, and it needed everyone involved to bring a feistier game to a film that began life as, well, a game. Here’s hoping any future reservation at the deathly diner has a more mouth-watering menu. Five Nights at Freddy's 2 is released in UK cinemas on Friday 5th December 2025. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere review – is the Boss biopic worth a cinema trip?
This biopic works best when its sharper focus is on a troubled thirty-something burying himself in the creation of what would become one of his most celebrated records.
★★★☆☆ Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere is in cinemas on Friday 24 October. Add it to your watchlist Early on in Deliver Me From Nowhere, the man of the hour is shopping for a new set of wheels when the smooth-talking dealer tells him "I do know who you are". Bruce Springsteen, checking out the dashboard cassette player on a sporty little number, shrugs and says: “Well, that makes one of us." It’s an awkwardly glib exchange, unnecessarily reminding viewers they’re watching an account of a musician familiar to millions struggling with his own identity, and an example of the weak dialogue that occasionally threatens to derail an otherwise solid drama. We’ve been here before, and not that long ago; it’s less than a year since the release of A Complete Unknown and Timothee Chalamet’s Bob Dylan navigating an equally soul-searching creative crossroads. As voices of their generations, Bob and Bruce are cut from not entirely dissimilar cloth, so it’s inevitable that fans of either or both will indulge in studious games of compare/contrast between the two offerings. One intriguing difference is that while the earlier film is inspired by events leading up to Dylan infamously "going electric," The Boss biopic largely concerns itself with Springsteen doing practically the opposite. We first see Jeremy Allen White’s Springsteen drenched in sweat during the closing number of the last show of a lengthy arena tour to promote his and the E Street Band’s 1980 album The River, Bruce’s first US chart-topper and the global breakthrough that would go on to sell seven million copies worldwide. View oEmbed on the source website All is not well, though, as rapidly escalating fame sits uncomfortably on his shoulders, further scratching an itch to dial down the bombast and get back to basics – it’s time to buy a primitive tape machine and retreat to a weather-beaten cottage in semi-rural New Jersey. That, in a nutshell, is the central theme of the source material, author Warren Zanes's acclaimed book of the same name about the making of Springsteen’s next LP, the low-key and decidedly lo-fi Nebraska. Consequently, the film shadows a Springsteen shorn of superstar trappings, to fashion a compelling portrait of self-examination, and song as a form of therapy. The premise largely requires White to cut an introspective figure, far from the strutting peacock of Bruce’s stage persona, confronting unresolved issues from his past. Prominent in those memories is a difficult, frequently violent relationship with his father (an intense Stephen Graham, mostly seen in cold monochrome flashbacks), resulting in the slow realisation that many of these new songs are unwittingly autobiographical; at one point we see Bruce poring over a notepad and changing the tense of his lyrics from third person to first. There’s no shortage of images of White staring into the middle distance, arguably a little too doe-eyed and baby-faced to fully convince as a grown man wrestling with increasingly less dormant inner conflicts, and frustrated when trying to articulate his fresh artistic vision to others. A love interest subplot involving Bruce’s reluctance, perhaps inability, to commit to a relationship with a local single mother (Odessa Young) is more a distraction than key to the narrative, while the first few scenes he shares with manager and mentor Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong) are painfully pedestrian. Landau’s lasting importance to Springsteen’s success cannot be over-emphasised, but his initial purpose here seems to be as a pragmatic feet-in-both-camps buffer between his charge and the big bad hits-hungry record label, dispensing soundbite exposition so simplistic he may as well be wearing a succession of sandwich boards. Thankfully, Strong has more to get his teeth into as the film progresses, and director Scott Cooper eventually establishes a powerful bond between the two men, his actors expressing a totally believable mutual tenderness. Springsteen’s writing has walked hand-in-hand with cinema for decades, from his 1973 street-smarts serenade Rosalita mining the romance and cultural divides of West Side Story, to pockets of the 2019 album Western Stars exploring the vanishing America of director Peter Bogdanovich’s The Last Picture Show, and it provides touchstones in Cooper’s screenplay. When figuring out where he’s going with Nebraska’s contents, White/Springsteen catches a re-run of early ‘70s murderous youth classic Badlands on TV, and there’s a brief glimpse of boyhood Bruce and his dad in a darkened fleapit watching Robert Mitchum in The Night Of The Hunter (a film about a violent father figure, no less). Those scenes, however short, play a part in cementing the intimacy of the film and of its subject’s thought processes – significantly more than sequences with the E Street Band that expose White as lacking the physical presence of Springsteen the performer. Deliver Me From Nowhere works best when it’s small, when its sharper focus is on a troubled 30-something burying himself in the creation of what would become one of his most celebrated records, digging deep into music both haunting and healing.
Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere review – is the biopic worth a cinema trip?
Early on in Deliver Me From Nowhere, the man of the hour is shopping for a new set of wheels when the smooth-talking dealer tells him "I do know who you are". Bruce Springsteen, checking out the dashboard cassette player on a sporty little number, shrugs and says: “Well, that makes one of us." It’s an awkwardly glib exchange, unnecessarily reminding viewers they’re watching an account of a musician familiar to millions struggling with his own identity, and an example of the weak dialogue that occasionally threatens to derail an otherwise solid drama. We’ve been here before, and not that long ago; it’s less than a year since the release of A Complete Unknown and Timothee Chalamet’s Bob Dylan navigating an equally soul-searching creative crossroads. As voices of their generations, Bob and Bruce are cut from not entirely dissimilar cloth, so it’s inevitable that fans of either or both will indulge in studious games of compare/contrast between the two offerings. One intriguing difference is that while the earlier film is inspired by events leading up to Dylan infamously "going electric," The Boss biopic largely concerns itself with Springsteen doing practically the opposite. We first see Jeremy Allen White’s Springsteen drenched in sweat during the closing number of the last show of a lengthy arena tour to promote his and the E Street Band’s 1980 album The River, Bruce’s first US chart-topper and the global breakthrough that would go on to sell seven million copies worldwide. All is not well, though, as rapidly escalating fame sits uncomfortably on his shoulders, further scratching an itch to dial down the bombast and get back to basics – it’s time to buy a primitive tape machine and retreat to a weather-beaten cottage in semi-rural New Jersey. That, in a nutshell, is the central theme of the source material, author Warren Zanes's acclaimed book of the same name about the making of Springsteen’s next LP, the low-key and decidedly lo-fi Nebraska. Consequently, the film shadows a Springsteen shorn of superstar trappings, to fashion a compelling portrait of self-examination, and song as a form of therapy. The premise largely requires White to cut an introspective figure, far from the strutting peacock of Bruce’s stage persona, confronting unresolved issues from his past. Prominent in those memories is a difficult, frequently violent relationship with his father (an intense Stephen Graham, mostly seen in cold monochrome flashbacks), resulting in the slow realisation that many of these new songs are unwittingly autobiographical; at one point we see Bruce poring over a notepad and changing the tense of his lyrics from third person to first. There’s no shortage of images of White staring into the middle distance, arguably a little too doe-eyed and baby-faced to fully convince as a grown man wrestling with increasingly less dormant inner conflicts, and frustrated when trying to articulate his fresh artistic vision to others. A love interest subplot involving Bruce’s reluctance, perhaps inability, to commit to a relationship with a local single mother (Odessa Young) is more a distraction than key to the narrative, while the first few scenes he shares with manager and mentor Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong) are painfully pedestrian. Landau’s lasting importance to Springsteen’s success cannot be over-emphasised, but his initial purpose here seems to be as a pragmatic feet-in-both-camps buffer between his charge and the big bad hits-hungry record label, dispensing soundbite exposition so simplistic he may as well be wearing a succession of sandwich boards. Thankfully, Strong has more to get his teeth into as the film progresses, and director Scott Cooper eventually establishes a powerful bond between the two men, his actors expressing a totally believable mutual tenderness. Springsteen’s writing has walked hand-in-hand with cinema for decades, from his 1973 street-smarts serenade Rosalita mining the romance and cultural divides of West Side Story, to pockets of the 2019 album Western Stars exploring the vanishing America of director Peter Bogdanovich’s The Last Picture Show, and it provides touchstones in Cooper’s screenplay. When figuring out where he’s going with Nebraska’s contents, White/Springsteen catches a re-run of early ‘70s murderous youth classic Badlands on TV, and there’s a brief glimpse of boyhood Bruce and his dad in a darkened fleapit watching Robert Mitchum in The Night Of The Hunter (a film about a violent father figure, no less). Those scenes, however short, play a part in cementing the intimacy of the film and of its subject’s thought processes – significantly more than sequences with the E Street Band that expose White as lacking the physical presence of Springsteen the performer. Deliver Me From Nowhere works best when it’s small, when its sharper focus is on a troubled thirty-something burying himself in the creation of what would become one of his most celebrated records, digging deep into music both haunting and healing. Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere is released in UK cinemas on Friday 24th October 2025. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
The Woman in Cabin 10 review: Keira Knightley's whodunnit sinks without a trace
A look at the talented cast list for this stagnant murder mystery promises riches that never surface.
The ensemble crime mystery has been a fiction staple since long before Agatha Christie was bulk-buying typewriter ribbons, and is catnip for filmmakers. It enables them to fill the screen with an often starry cast of equally often exaggerated characters, teasing viewers as to which will ultimately be revealed as the culprit – but can there be culprits when there’s no evidence of a crime? Welcome aboard the “superyacht” Aurora Borealis, where investigative journalist Keira Knightley is the square peg in a round hole of mega-rich fellow guests; deep-pocketed donors awaiting an important announcement from their similarly philanthropic hosts Guy Pearce and his terminally ill wife. All’s as it should be for the first few hours of the voyage (although Knightley is slightly irked her ex-boyfriend photographer David Ajala is also a passenger), but when our intrepid reporter hears a scuffle in a neighbouring cabin, followed by the sound what she thinks is a woman being thrown overboard, cats are well and truly among pigeons. However, after raising the alarm so that the crew can carry out a spotlight search of the waters below, she’s informed a head-count shows that everyone is accounted for, and there’s no signs of anything remotely like foul play in the cabin – which nobody was berthing in anyway. The suggestion is floated (ha!) that she’s imagined the melee, especially after her erstwhile beau lets slip details of a trauma from an earlier newspaper assignment, but our Keira is determined to get to the bottom of the puzzle and figure out who knows more than they’re letting on. And who do we have? In addition to smoothie moneybags Pearce and his automaton-like staff, there’s his wife’s hangdog doctor Art Malik, boozy gallery owners David Morrissey and Hannah Waddingham, arrogant alpha male model Daniel Ings, flighty social media starlet Kaya Scodelario, wizened cartoon cut-out rock star Paul Kaye, and taciturn tech genius Christopher Rygh, a big noise in AI and facial-recognition software. Yet, having assembled his roll call of potential rogues, director Simon Stone does very little with them, each ambling in and out of proceedings while barely leaving a mark, as Knightley alternates between frowns and widening her eyes in melodramatic terror. Ruth Vale’s 2016 source novel was a best seller, but much of its depth and doings has been sacrificed in a slender 95-minute screenplay, co-written by Stone and two others, and based on an earlier, unused but credited adaptation. It hints at a tricky, difficult process that ultimately falls foul via plot threads abandoned before they’ve had time to pick up speed, logic-defying actions by Knightley, and a pivotal shock/twist near the halfway point that’s both utterly incredulous and delivered in such a ham-fisted fashion it may have viewers shouting “Do you think we’re stupid?!” at the screen. That spin, if done well, might have been the perfect kick-start for the remainder of the film, paving the way for a punchier tale of how greed and power midwife ruthlessness; instead, it largely disengages the audience and elicits laughs where no self-respecting writer or director wants them. A modicum of claustrophobic tension is achieved, thanks to the setting, the yacht’s narrow corridors and labyrinthine upper and lower decks helping to escalate Knightley’s desperation – it’s when the characters have to interact with each other that things go awry, the script struggling to escape the twin anchors of fortune cookie cliches and clunky exposition. The pity is that one look at the cast list promises riches that never surface; these are hugely talented actors feeding on the scraps of a solid premise made stagnant by the screenplay’s myriad shortcomings. So, welcome aboard the Aurora Bolearis, but you may find yourself wanting to disembark before it sinks without a trace. The Woman in Cabin 10 is released on Netflix on Friday 10th October 2025. Sign up for Netflix from £5.99 a month. Netflix is also available on Sky Glass and Virgin Media Stream. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Steve review: Cillian Murphy is in awards-worthy form in this powerful drama
The drama – adapted by writer Max Porter from his novella Shy – is stylish, responsible and intelligent.
★★★★☆ Steve is in select cinemas from 19 September and on Netflix from Friday 3 October. Add it to your watchlist The age-old adage that you don’t have to be mad to work here but it helps was never truer than for Cillian Murphy's Steve, head teacher at a residential reform school for teenage boys with, to put it mildly, severe behavioural problems. Stanton Wood is a controversial establishment, a last-chance saloon for youngsters the rest of the world has given up on (“a waiting room for borstal,” suggests one minor character), apart from Murphy’s Steve and his plain-speaking deputy Tracey Ullman. View oEmbed on the source website The pupils’ struggles are mirrored by Steve’s own; a driven educator cum social worker, escalating alcohol and substance abuse enabling him to keep numerous plates spinning while all around him falls apart. Thus, the scene is set for a pivotal 24 hours during which the pressure-cooker environment is tested to its limits, in a powerful film where dark humour only partially masks a desperate state of affairs, distinguished by across-the-board memorable performances. It’s an especially frantic day at Stanton Wood, on which a camera crew filming a short piece for a regional TV news programme coincides with a visit from the area’s pompous, knighted MP (a requisitely stuffy Roger Allam). Most significantly, though, representatives of the trust that bankrolls the project arrive to inform Steve and his staff that the buildings have been sold and the school will close in six months. Director Tim Mielants drops that particular bombshell fairly early on, by which time he’s already skilfully established his characters, from the mayhem of Steve on what he calls “a roundabout of doom” and the equally well-meaning but more pragmatic Ullman, to the arguably unsung stars of the piece, the boys themselves. Prominent among the miscreants is the troubled but clearly bright Shy, a mannered, captivating turn by Jay Lycurgo (screenwriter Max Porter’s own source novel was called Shy), who we first meet in a happy-go-lucky mood until a phone call from his mother reveals she no longer wants anything to do with him. Shy’s individual collision course is punctuated by pocket portraits of his fellow students (quick-witted bully Luke Ayres and maniacal Joshua J Parker make strong impressions), often presented as straight-to-camera interviews being filmed by the TV crew – heartfelt and hilarious in equal measure. Difficult and destructive influences they may be, but as Ullman says of the misfits in her charge, “I f***ing adore all of them.” The scholastic/babysitting efforts of Murphy and Ullman are accompanied by integral support from nervous rookie teacher Simbi Ajikawo (aka rapper Little Simz) and Emily Watson as a (mostly) tranquil counsellor, comprising a fully-rounded cast that might suggest the film is an ensemble work more in keeping with the original book. However, Murphy’s star power and undeniable charisma can’t help but dominate events, and it’s almost exclusively through him that we see Stanton Wood unravel at the start of its careening towards a grimly uncertain future. He’s in awards-worthy form, those bright expressive eyes piercing through a flustered, dishevelled frame as his commitment to the kids never wavers, despite sombre upheavals in his life away from the school that are drip-fed to viewers with stylish understatement. It’s high drama throughout and not always comfortable viewing, but Mielants and Porter use their canvas to shine a light on broader issues of social and educational systemic failure without once stumbling into preachiness. This is responsible, intelligent film-making, more important and questioning than boarder dramas like the Oscar-winning The Holdovers and wisely side-stepping the shock value controversies of, say, 1979’s Scum. Mielants is to be applauded for making his audience warm to a ragbag collection of ne’er-do-wells they might normally cross the street to avoid, and in Murphy’s title character he has helped fashion a poster child for underpaid, under-resourced workers navigating the obstacles that threaten the jobs they care passionately about. One scene in particular, close to the conclusion of the film, reinforces the bond which inevitably forms between teachers and pupils; a dialogue-free snapshot that moistens the eyes to temporarily dilute the anger built up over the previous hour about the callous treatment by those in power towards a near forgotten underclass.
Steve review: Cillian Murphy is in awards-worthy form in this powerful film
The age-old adage that you don’t have to be mad to work here but it helps was never truer than for Cillian Murphy's Steve, head teacher at a residential reform school for teenage boys with, to put it mildly, severe behavioural problems. Stanton Wood is a controversial establishment, a last-chance saloon for youngsters the rest of the world has given up on (“a waiting room for borstal,” suggests one minor character), apart from Murphy’s Steve and his plain-speaking deputy Tracey Ullman. The pupils’ struggles are mirrored by Steve’s own; a driven educator cum social worker, escalating alcohol and substance abuse enabling him to keep numerous plates spinning while all around him falls apart. Thus, the scene is set for a pivotal 24 hours during which the pressure-cooker environment is tested to its limits, in a powerful film where dark humour only partially masks a desperate state of affairs, distinguished by across-the-board memorable performances. It’s an especially frantic day at Stanton Wood, on which a camera crew filming a short piece for a regional TV news programme coincides with a visit from the area’s pompous, knighted MP (a requisitely stuffy Roger Allam). Most significantly, though, representatives of the trust that bankrolls the project arrive to inform Steve and his staff that the buildings have been sold and the school will close in six months. Director Tim Mielants drops that particular bombshell fairly early on, by which time he’s already skilfully established his characters, from the mayhem of Steve on what he calls “a roundabout of doom” and the equally well-meaning but more pragmatic Ullman, to the arguably unsung stars of the piece, the boys themselves. Prominent among the miscreants is the troubled but clearly bright Shy, a mannered, captivating turn by Jay Lycurgo (screenwriter Max Porter’s own source novel was called Shy), who we first meet in a happy-go-lucky mood until a phone call from his mother reveals she no longer wants anything to do with him. Shy’s individual collision course is punctuated by pocket portraits of his fellow students (quick-witted bully Luke Ayres and maniacal Joshua J Parker make strong impressions), often presented as straight-to-camera interviews being filmed by the TV crew – heartfelt and hilarious in equal measure. Difficult and destructive influences they may be, but as Ullman says of the misfits in her charge, “I f***ing adore all of them.” The scholastic/babysitting efforts of Murphy and Ullman are accompanied by integral support from nervous rookie teacher Simbi Ajikawo (aka rapper Little Simz) and Emily Watson as a (mostly) tranquil counsellor, comprising a fully-rounded cast that might suggest the film is an ensemble work more in keeping with the original book. However, Murphy’s star power and undeniable charisma can’t help but dominate events, and it’s almost exclusively through him that we see Stanton Wood unravel at the start of its careening towards a grimly uncertain future. He’s in awards-worthy form, those bright expressive eyes piercing through a flustered, dishevelled frame as his commitment to the kids never wavers, despite sombre upheavals in his life away from the school that are drip-fed to viewers with stylish understatement. It’s high drama throughout and not always comfortable viewing, but Mielants and Porter use their canvas to shine a light on broader issues of social and educational systemic failure without once stumbling into preachiness. This is responsible, intelligent film-making, more important and questioning than boarder dramas like the Oscar-winning The Holdovers and wisely side-stepping the shock value controversies of, say, 1979’s Scum. Mielants is to be applauded for making his audience warm to a ragbag collection of ne’er-do-wells they might normally cross the street to avoid, and in Murphy’s title character he has helped fashion a poster child for underpaid, under-resourced workers navigating the obstacles that threaten the jobs they care passionately about. One scene in particular, close to the conclusion of the film, reinforces the bond which inevitably forms between teachers and pupils; a dialogue-free snapshot that moistens the eyes to temporarily dilute the anger built up over the previous hour about the callous treatment by those in power towards a near forgotten underclass. Steve will be released in select UK cinemas on Friday 19th September and on Netflix on Friday 3rd October. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Spinal Tap II: The End Continues review – An exercise in nostalgia
Although still a good time, this sequel hardly enriches the Tap pantheon — and such beloved characters deserve a better film.
★★★☆☆ Spinal Tap II: The End Continues is in cinemas from 12 September. Add it to your watchlist You can’t keep a good band down, nor can you ever really say goodbye to a less celebrated combo who built their shaky reputation on such hard rock anthems as Big Bottom, Sex Farm and, of course, Stonehenge. Box office returns upon its release in 1984 are best described as modest, but the stature of This Is Spinal Tap skyrocketed over time, and today it’s regularly placed high on charts of all-time greatest film comedies. View oEmbed on the source website Not bad for a micro-budget, liberally improvised mockumentary about a fictional English group (played by Americans) coming apart at the seams on a make-or-break US tour, a film that both lampooned the often already preposterous heavy metal community, and dished up a heartwarming bromance. Our heroes are Tapping into America again in an all-new yarn, although references to the first film are many (brief cameos by supporting characters, mentions of erstwhile deceased drummers) and only go a little way to compensate for the worrying dearth of fresh Grade-A gags. The “II” of the title is a little misleading, however, as although this is the band’s second big screen outing there has been plenty of other Tap activity in the 41 years since their cinema debut. In tandem with a reunion album called Break Like the Wind, the 1992 straight-to-video release The Return of Spinal Tap chronicled the group’s sold-out concert at London’s Royal Albert Hall, the songs interspersed with comic vignettes. They got together again in 2009 for a two-month US tour, followed by another London show and an appearance at that year’s Glastonbury Festival, and Harry Shearer’s laconic bassist Derek Smalls resurfaced in 2018 with a solo album, Smalls Change (Meditations Upon Ageing). Ageing is key in the new film; if we take the timeline literally the musicians are now in their eighties (“when the candles cost more than the cake”), and are reconvening for a last hurrah, having not spoken to each other for 15 years. Badgering them into a one-off comeback show is Kerry Godliman as Hope Faith, the daughter of their earlier, now deceased manager Ian Faith, who sees the gig as an opportunity for everyone involved to find closure. She’s helped/hindered by Chris Addison as a manipulative concert promoter called Simon - a thinly-disguised hybrid of genuine music biz executive Simons Cowell and Fuller, who declares “my superpower is that I don’t give a s**t about music” and lectures the group about where they stand in “a post K-pop world”. The players are all in place, a premise of sorts is mapped out, yet the results on screen are disappointingly pedestrian; there’s a lack of flow to proceedings, a couple of set-ups denied a good punchline, and only intermittent callbacks to what else the band have been doing – more about Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest) and his English country village cheese shop would have been welcome. A huge part of the charm of This Is Spinal Tap was down to when the actors weren’t working from a script, bombarding viewers with great gags and throwaway lines cooked up in improvised scenes. There’s some of that in The End Continues, notably when Michael McKean’s front man David St Hubbins is being interviewed by Rob Reiner’s returning director Marty DiBergi, but nowhere near enough (arguably the film’s most laugh-out-loud joke doesn’t arrive until the closing credits). In a nod to the group’s status as a “legacy act” they cross paths with infinitely more enduring veterans Paul McCartney and Elton John, in what looks suspiciously like a publicity gambit on the part of the filmmakers, and sees real life awkwardly encroaching on the otherwise entirely fictional Tap universe. Superstars they might be, but neither Macca nor Captain Fantastic are blessed with strong acting chops, their appearances serving only to derail the credibility of the original, completely fabricated conceit. Read more film reviews: Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale review – A pleasant stroll with characters you know and love The Roses review: Colman and Cumberbatch are at war in a fun but frustratingly toothless ride The Thursday Murder Club review: A safe and cosy whodunnit with touches of pathos Thanks to the groundwork laid down several decades ago, St Hubbins, Tufnel and Smalls are robustly formed, widely adored comic creations whose very names have become shorthand for the more hapless, hamstrung elements of rock ‘n’ roll; we can’t help but be invested in them. Consequently, rather than enriching or adding to the Tap pantheon, the movie is best approached as an exercise in nostalgia that relies on an audience with a ready-made, unwavering affection for the band. There’s still a good time to be had, but such beloved characters deserve a better film than this – and seeing as the actors wrote it they’ve only themselves to blame.
Spinal Tap II: The End Continues review – Such beloved characters deserve a better film
Rather than enriching or adding to the Tap pantheon, the movie is best approached as an exercise in nostalgia.
You can’t keep a good band down, nor can you ever really say goodbye to a less celebrated combo who built their shaky reputation on such hard rock anthems as Big Bottom, Sex Farm and, of course, Stonehenge. Box office returns upon its release in 1984 are best described as modest, but the stature of This Is Spinal Tap skyrocketed over time, and today it’s regularly placed high on charts of all-time greatest film comedies. Not bad for a micro-budget, liberally improvised mockumentary about a fictional English group (played by Americans) coming apart at the seams on a make-or-break US tour, a film that both lampooned the often already preposterous heavy metal community, and dished up a heartwarming bromance. Our heroes are Tapping into America again in an all-new yarn, although references to the first film are many (brief cameos by supporting characters, mentions of erstwhile deceased drummers) and only go a little way to compensate for the worrying dearth of fresh Grade A gags. The “II” of the title is a little misleading, however, as although this is the band’s second big screen outing there has been plenty of other Tap activity in the 41 years since their cinema debut. In tandem with a reunion album called Break Like the Wind, the 1992 straight-to-video release The Return of Spinal Tap chronicled the group’s sold-out concert at London’s Royal Albert Hall, the songs interspersed with comic vignettes. View oEmbed on the source website They got together again in 2009 for a two-month US tour, followed by another London show and an appearance at that year’s Glastonbury Festival, and Harry Shearer’s laconic bassist Derek Smalls resurfaced in 2018 with a solo album, Smalls Change (Meditations Upon Ageing). Ageing is key in the new film; if we take the timeline literally the musicians are now in their eighties (“when the candles cost more than the cake”), and are reconvening for a last hurrah, having not spoken to each other for 15 years. Badgering them into a one-off comeback show is Kerry Godliman as Hope Faith, the daughter of their earlier, now deceased manager Ian Faith, who sees the gig as an opportunity for everyone involved to find closure. She’s helped/hindered by Chris Addison as a manipulative concert promoter called Simon - a thinly-disguised hybrid of genuine music biz executive Simons Cowell and Fuller, who declares “my superpower is that I don’t give a s**t about music” and lectures the group about where they stand in “a post K-pop world”. The players are all in place, a premise of sorts is mapped out, yet the results on screen are disappointingly pedestrian; there’s a lack of flow to proceedings, a couple of set-ups denied a good punchline, and only intermittent callbacks to what else the band have been doing – more about Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest) and his English country village cheese shop would have been welcome. A huge part of the charm of This Is Spinal Tap was down to when the actors weren’t working from a script, bombarding viewers with great gags and throwaway lines cooked up in improvised scenes. There’s some of that in The End Continues, notably when Michael McKean’s front man David St Hubbins is being interviewed by Rob Reiner’s returning director Marty DiBergi, but nowhere near enough (arguably the film’s most laugh-out-loud joke doesn’t arrive until the closing credits). In a nod to the group’s status as a “legacy act” they cross paths with infinitely more enduring veterans Paul McCartney and Elton John, in what looks suspiciously like a publicity gambit on the part of the filmmakers, and sees real life awkwardly encroaching on the otherwise entirely fictional Tap universe. Superstars they might be, but neither Macca nor Captain Fantastic are blessed with strong acting chops, their appearances serving only to derail the credibility of the original, completely fabricated conceit. Read more: The Conjuring: Last Rites review – Enjoyable chiller lets franchise rest in peace Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale review – A pleasant stroll with characters you know and love Thanks to the groundwork laid down several decades ago, St Hubbins, Tufnel and Smalls are robustly formed, widely adored comic creations whose very names have become shorthand for the more hapless, hamstrung elements of rock ‘n’ roll; we can’t help but be invested in them. Consequently, rather than enriching or adding to the Tap pantheon, the movie is best approached as an exercise in nostalgia that relies on an audience with a ready-made, unwavering affection for the band. There’s still a good time to be had, but such beloved characters deserve a better film than this – and seeing as the actors wrote it they’ve only themselves to blame. Spinal Tap II: The End Continues is in UK cinemas from Friday 12th September 2025. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
The Roses review: Colman and Cumberbatch are at war in a fun but frustratingly toothless ride
Olivia Colman and Benedict Cumberbatch are arguably far too likeable to take viewers into a world where bitterness, recrimination and malice reign.
★★★☆☆ The Roses is in cinemas now. Add it to your watchlist Can national treasures be nasty? Are beloved public figures capable of convincing us they’re cruel? The anatomy of a marriage disintegrating into a sea of vitriol and two-way psychological torture is undeniably grim subject matter, a highwire act for a filmmaker who, if the job’s done properly and honestly, leaves little room for the audience to root for either protagonist. And therein lies the flaw with The Roses; its leads are far too likeable in everyday life to take viewers into a world where bitterness, recrimination and malice reign. Both Olivia Colman and Benedict Cumberbatch have entries on their CVs where a film role has required them to be unsavoury types, yet here director Jay Roach seems to begin the tale with a Year Zero premise of characters who are charming and quick-witted, a filmic reflection of the stars’ familiar personalities from chat shows and awards ceremonies. Perhaps the intention is to heighten the shock value when the lovebirds subsequently turn on each other, but the viciousness is diluted by polite slapstick and a few too many zappy one-liners. Theo and Ivy Rose are well-to-do Brits abroad, he a globally renowned architect, she a skilled chef with a radically creative streak; however, when a freak storm destroys one of the former’s buildings, leaving his reputation in tatters, the latter steps up to be the chief breadwinner. It’s a switch that necessitates changes to their respective parenting roles, although disputes over the raising of their children pale against other confrontations fuelled by power, fame, wealth and ego. A mutual decision to split up leads to the inevitable who-gets-what in the divorce settlement, centred largely on the luxury California cliffside house Theo designed and built but which Ivy paid for. Battle lines drawn, the remainder of the narrative is a mildly comic game of tit-for-tat that involves such artillery as a spouse trapped in a room while grindcore band Napalm Death blasts out of the house’s in-built sound system, the torching of expensive imported moss (yes, moss), and the destruction of a bygone TV celebrity’s vintage stove. It’s a fun ride, admittedly, if lacking the venom that might have given it the edge of the earlier version of Warren Adler’s novel, filmed under its full title The War of the Roses in 1989, in which Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner were genuinely awful to each other. Read more film reviews: The Thursday Murder Club review: A safe and cosy whodunnit with touches of pathos The Life of Chuck review: Tom Hiddleston charms in entertaining, imaginative and non-horror Stephen King adaptation Freakier Friday review: Get set to party like it's 2003 all over again Weapons review: One of the best horror films of recent years Instead, we have a couple who are initially presented as all-round good eggs and who never quite manage to shake the image off; at times Colman’s plummy, sing-song Englishness is so off the scale it’s as if she’s overdosed on Joyce Grenfell pills. View oEmbed on the source website Tony McNamara’s script is clearly tailored to its British stars, groaning under the weight of (Oscar) Wildean wordplay that often makes scenes read like drawing room theatre productions staged specifically for supporting players Andy Samberg and Kate McKinnon to laugh at the Limeys and their funny foreign ways. As the Roses’ closest couple friends, they’ve presumably been shoehorned into proceedings to illustrate a different type of dysfunctional marriage that’s found a way to thrive – McKinnon does admirably well, considering how little’s on the page. Meanwhile, Allison Janney brings a touch of comedic class in what amounts to an extended cameo as Ivy’s lawyer, a ruthlessly hardnose quality that Colman herself never gets to play with any degree of persuasion. But for all the star power and talent of those names a little lower on the credits roll, The Roses is essentially a two-hander, designed around the notion of nice people forced into dirty tricks and dastardly deeds. Everyone, Colman and Cumberbatch especially, appears to be having a lovely time lampooning what is for most people in the real world a harrowing state of affairs; sly grins winning out over true sadism. This is not a bad film, by any means, it’s just frustratingly toothless when it should be leaving visible bite marks; a black comedy that’s nowhere near black enough.
The Roses review: A fun but frustratingly toothless ride
Can national treasures be nasty? Are beloved public figures capable of convincing us they’re cruel? The anatomy of a marriage disintegrating into a sea of vitriol and two-way psychological torture is undeniably grim subject matter, a highwire act for a filmmaker who, if the job’s done properly and honestly, leaves little room for the audience to root for either protagonist. And therein lies the flaw with The Roses; its leads are far too likeable in everyday life to take viewers into a world where bitterness, recrimination and malice reign. Both Olivia Colman and Benedict Cumberbatch have entries on their CVs where a film role has required them to be unsavoury types, yet here director Jay Roach seems to begin the tale with a Year Zero premise of characters who are charming and quick-witted, a filmic reflection of the stars’ familiar personalities from chat shows and awards ceremonies. Perhaps the intention is to heighten the shock value when the lovebirds subsequently turn on each other, but the viciousness is diluted by polite slapstick and a few too many zappy one-liners. Theo and Ivy Rose are well-to-do Brits abroad, he a globally renowned architect, she a skilled chef with a radically creative streak; however, when a freak storm destroys one of the former’s buildings, leaving his reputation in tatters, the latter steps up to be the chief breadwinner. It’s a switch that necessitates changes to their respective parenting roles, although disputes over the raising of their children pale against other confrontations fuelled by power, fame, wealth and ego. A mutual decision to split up leads to the inevitable who-gets-what in the divorce settlement, centred largely on the luxury California cliffside house Theo designed and built but which Ivy paid for. Battle lines drawn, the remainder of the narrative is a mildly comic game of tit-for-tat that involves such artillery as a spouse trapped in a room while grindcore band Napalm Death blasts out of the house’s in-built sound system, the torching of expensive imported moss (yes, moss), and the destruction of a bygone TV celebrity’s vintage stove. It’s a fun ride, admittedly, if lacking the venom that might have given it the edge of the earlier version of Warren Adler’s novel, filmed under its full title The War of the Roses in 1989, in which Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner were genuinely awful to each other. Instead, we have a couple who are initially presented as all-round good eggs and who never quite manage to shake the image off; at times Colman’s plummy, sing-song Englishness is so off the scale it’s as if she’s overdosed on Joyce Grenfell pills. View oEmbed on the source website Tony McNamara’s script is clearly tailored to its British stars, groaning under the weight of (Oscar) Wildean wordplay that often makes scenes read like drawing room theatre productions staged specifically for supporting players Andy Samberg and Kate McKinnon to laugh at the Limeys and their funny foreign ways. As the Roses’ closest couple friends, they’ve presumably been shoehorned into proceedings to illustrate a different type of dysfunctional marriage that’s found a way to thrive – McKinnon does admirably well, considering how little’s on the page. Meanwhile, Allison Janney brings a touch of comedic class in what amounts to an extended cameo as Ivy’s lawyer, a ruthlessly hardnose quality that Colman herself never gets to play with any degree of persuasion. But for all the star power and talent of those names a little lower on the credits roll, The Roses is essentially a two-hander, designed around the notion of nice people forced into dirty tricks and dastardly deeds. Everyone, Colman and Cumberbatch especially, appears to be having a lovely time lampooning what is for most people in the real world a harrowing state of affairs; sly grins winning out over true sadism. This is not a bad film, by any means, it’s just frustratingly toothless when it should be leaving visible bite marks; a black comedy that’s nowhere near black enough. The Roses is released in UK cinemas on Friday 29th August. If you're looking for something to watch tonight, check out our TV Guide and Streaming Guide or visit our Film hub for all the latest news. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
The Naked Gun review: Liam Neeson's legacy sequel is a 90-minute hoot
The Irish actor and Pamela Anderson star in a reboot as perennially quotable as the beloved Leslie Nielsen spoof trilogy
★★★★☆ The Naked Gun is in cinemas now. Add it to your watchlist. During the Leslie Nielsen years, there were essentially two Frank Drebins; the deadpan, stony-faced detective of the short-lived 1982 TV series Police Squad! giving way to a more expressive, slapstick-prone version deemed necessary for the feature-length rhythms of the first Naked Gun cinema trilogy (1988-94). The return of The Naked Gun in 2025 enables fans to discover which traits of the above have been inherited by Liam Neeson’s Frank Drebin Jr, as he takes on the mantle (ie, badge) of his father to fight crime with healthy lashings of comedy. In industry parlance, it’s a legacy sequel; a largely 21st century conceit in which a story’s premise is revived significantly further along the timeline and often built around descendants of the original characters. Consequently, references to what went before are par for the course, and in a franchise that was clearly fond of sight gags and one-line asides from the start it’s no surprise to find the reboot has a generous helping of nods to days of yore. Yet, while the film is an unashamedly affectionate celebration of the past, it has the clout and cavalcade of laughs to announce itself as its own beast. Things are shaky in the modern-day precinct, the more fiscally-minded higher-ups of the force threatening to shut it down due to the underwhelming number of crimes being solved. It falls to the younger Frank, therefore, to reverse the squad’s faltering fortunes by cracking a headline-grabbing murder, while also laying to rest some of the issues he had with his late father. As far as the plot goes, little more need be said here, as narrative threads aren’t especially important when director Akiva Schaffer and his co-screenwriters busy themselves front-loading the hilarity and giving the parody movie genre a much-needed shot in the arm. Those parodies are plentiful, although the film noir tropes upon which the elder Drebin’s world was built don’t get as much of a look-in as guffawing shout-outs to distinctly ‘80s police-related franchises such as Beverly Hills Cop or Lethal Weapon. Read more film reviews: Fantastic Four: First Steps review — Pedro Pascal's Fab Four give Marvel a much-needed boost Superman review: An entertaining relaunch for the last son of Krypton F1 review: Brad Pitt's racing drama is Top Gun on wet-weather tyres 28 Years Later review: A more reflective, human story that puts the zombie franchise back on track How to Train Your Dragon review: Live-action remake is Lord of the Rings-level epic However, for all the script’s gleeful send-ups of cinematic cliches of times gone by, the most intriguing and surprisingly subtle spoofing is provided by Neeson gamely digging the ribs of his own CV. There are undeniably elements of Nielsen in what his successor is tasked with carrying off, but Neeson’s performance is just as much about laughing (with a permanently straight face) at the plethora of vacant-eyed heroes he’s played in the Taken trilogy, and others like Non-Stop, The Commuter and Honest Thief. View oEmbed on the source website As he confidently treads a fine line between vigilante and vaudevillian, it begs the question why he hasn’t done more comedy, because although clues to his “serious” thespian work creep in from time to time, he fully understands the ebbs and flows and timing required to fashion a satisfying chuckle fest. And he’s not alone; Pamela Anderson by and large re-purposes Priscilla Presley’s femme fatale love interest role from the earlier films, and shows she’s admirably skilled at knowing when to serve as the perfect foil and when to land a gag herself. Likewise, the yarn benefits from other supporting players in roles that, on paper, might seem predictable and perfunctory; CCH Pounder makes a very funny fist of Drebin Jr’s hot-headed police chief boss, and Danny Huston has just the right amount of slime as a metaphorically moustache-twirling evil businessman. An across-the-board capable cast, then, although ultimately the stars of the show are the jokes themselves — some direct lifts from the bygone movies, some given a tidy little 21st century twist, and others so fresh and full of life they could well become as perennially quotable as their forebears. Make no mistake, this is a near 90-minute hoot that bodes well for more to come, a gun that feels like it still has several bullets to fire.
The Naked Gun review: As perennially quotable as its forebears
Liam Neeson stars in this legacy sequel to the iconic Leslie Nielsen spoof trilogy – a 90-minute hoot that bodes well for more to come.
During the Leslie Nielsen years, there were essentially two Frank Drebins; the deadpan, stony-faced detective of the short-lived 1982 TV series Police Squad! giving way to a more expressive, slapstick-prone version deemed necessary for the feature-length rhythms of the first Naked Gun cinema trilogy (1988-94). The return of The Naked Gun in 2025 enables fans to discover which traits of the above have been inherited by Liam Neeson’s Frank Drebin Jr, as he takes on the mantle (ie, badge) of his father to fight crime with healthy lashings of comedy. In industry parlance, it’s a legacy sequel; a largely 21st century conceit in which a story’s premise is revived significantly further along the timeline and often built around descendants of the original characters. Consequently, references to what went before are par for the course, and in a franchise that was clearly fond of sight gags and one-line asides from the start it’s no surprise to find the reboot has a generous helping of nods to days of yore. Yet, while the film is an unashamedly affectionate celebration of the past, it has the clout and cavalcade of laughs to announce itself as its own beast. Things are shaky in the modern-day precinct, the more fiscally-minded higher-ups of the force threatening to shut it down due to the underwhelming number of crimes being solved. It falls to the younger Frank, therefore, to reverse the squad’s faltering fortunes by cracking a headline-grabbing murder, while also laying to rest some of the issues he had with his late father. As far as the plot goes, little more need be said here, as narrative threads aren’t especially important when director Akiva Schaffer and his co-screenwriters busy themselves front-loading the hilarity and giving the parody movie genre a much-needed shot in the arm. Those parodies are plentiful, although the film noir tropes upon which the elder Drebin’s world was built don’t get as much of a look-in as guffawing shout-outs to distinctly ‘80s police-related franchises such as Beverly Hills Cop of Lethal Weapon. However, for all the script’s gleeful send-ups of cinematic cliches of times gone by, the most intriguing and surprisingly subtle spoofing is provided by Neeson gamely digging the ribs of his own CV. There are undeniably elements of Nielsen in what his successor is tasked with carrying off, but Neeson’s performance is just as much about laughing (with a permanently straight face) at the plethora of vacant-eyed heroes he’s played in the Taken trilogy, and others like Non-Stop, The Commuter and Honest Thief. View oEmbed on the source website As he confidently treads a fine line between vigilante and vaudevillian, it begs the question why he hasn’t done more comedy, because although clues to his “serious” thespian work creep in from time to time, he fully understands the ebbs and flows and timing required to fashion a satisfying chuckle fest. And he’s not alone; Pamela Anderson by and large re-purposes Priscilla Presley’s femme fatale love interest role from the earlier films, and shows she’s admirably skilled at knowing when to serve as the perfect foil and when to land a gag herself. Likewise, the yarn benefits from other supporting players in roles that, on paper, might seem predictable and perfunctory; CCH Pounder makes a very funny fist of Drebin Jr’s hot-headed police chief boss, and Danny Huston has just the right amount of slime as a metaphorically moustache-twirling evil businessman. An across-the-board capable cast, then, although ultimately the stars of the show are the jokes themselves - some direct lifts from the bygone movies, some given a tidy little 21st century twist, and others so fresh and full of life they could well become as perennially quotable as their forebears. Make no mistake, this is a near 90-minute hoot that bodes well for more to come, a gun that feels like it still has several bullets to fire. The Naked Gun is now showing in UK cinemas. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
28 Years Later review: A more reflective, human story that puts the zombie franchise back on track
Danny Boyle and Alex Garland return with a sequel to their 2002 effort which reinvented the zombie movie.
★★★☆☆ 28 Years Later is in cinemas now. Add it to your watchlist In 2002, director Danny Boyle and screenwriter Alex Garland were hailed as near visionaries for all but reinventing the zombie movie. In stark contrast to the shuffling foes of yore, the undead of 28 Days Later could run like Olympic sprinters while leaving splashes of vomited blood in their wake. View oEmbed on the source website The momentum was lost by the time of 28 Weeks Later in 2007 (on which the pair were credited as executive producers), its comparatively lukewarm reception arguably a factor in why it’s taken so long for a third entry in the franchise to get off the ground. Now, having delegated the heavy lifting to others for the last film, Boyle and Garland are back in the drivers’ seats to impart deeper wisdom about the longer-term aftermath of a world gone to hell — their apocalypse nous, if you will. The passing of time, in narrative terms, is crucial, inviting viewers to flick forward several chapters to a mainland UK quarantined for close to three decades, its waters patrolled by foreign military to ensure the infected (and their subsequent progeny) stay put. Meanwhile, on Holy Island off the coast of Northumbria, a close-knit healthy community goes about the day-to-day rebuilding of a working society, including 30-something couple Jamie and Isla (Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Jodie Comer) and their 12-year-old offspring Spike (relative newcomer Alfie Williams). Father takes son on an outlawed foraging trip to said mainland, where victims of the initial biological meltdown have mutated into a multi-tiered society of their own; slow-moving obese souls who largely crawl on their bellies feeding on worms, speedier folk hunting and eating herds of deer, and — most aggressively — "alphas" whose super-strength manifests itself in maniacally murderous behaviour. It’s Spike’s first expedition, a rite of passage celebrated upon his return in boozy pagan style by a wild party, the islanders singing along uproariously to 19th-century Geordie folk song The Blaydon Races and, for some unexplained reason, the Tom Jones hit Delilah. Yet, the soon-to-be teenager is unhappy, increasingly concerned about his mother’s failing health, and having heard tales of an eccentric, uninfected doctor still living on the mainland, he takes her back to seek him out in the hope of finding a cure. Garland’s script suffers a little from disjointed pace, its first act feeling like an overlong set-up for the meat of the second and its more typical elements of a post-apocalyptic voyage with specific intent. Once the aforementioned medical man (an equal parts bonkers and charismatic Ralph Fiennes) enters the fray, there’s a more tangible sense of a mythology developing from the initial catastrophic events, of a land adapting to an uncertain future while paying homage to its past. A philosophy of sorts emerges, seen through the eyes of Spike, the post-outbreak child for whom the internet, smart phones and selfies represent baffling magic (the film milks light-relief laughs accordingly). Read more film reviews: F1 review: Brad Pitt's racing drama is Top Gun on wet-weather tyres Elio review: Pixar's latest will charm children more than it will entertain adults How to Train Your Dragon review: Live-action remake is Lord of the Rings-level epic Ballerina review – Ana de Armas leads a propulsively flamboyant John Wick spin-off Lilo & Stitch review: A lavish Disney remake with oodles of oddball charm Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning review: A clunky but undeniably exhilarating closing chapter for Tom Cruise's action franchise It’s a hefty weight to place on Williams’s young shoulders, and he turns in an outstanding, remarkably layered performance, routinely acting his more lauded elders off the screen. Taylor-Johnson conveys cocksure bluster as the proud provider for his family, perhaps enjoying his standing in the new make-and-mend hierarchy too much; Comer skilfully pulls at heartstrings as the stricken Isla, drifting in and out of lucidity while haunted by vivid memories of happier times before the outbreak. The result is a well-seasoned, emotionally nutritious soup that feeds its audience a more reflective, human story than before, while never forgetting to satisfy the appetites of fans who may have climbed aboard primarily for the frights and gore – the violence is suitably, shockingly, deftly choreographed, although an over-reliance on fast-cuts and freeze-frames can frustrate. Quibbles aside, Boyle and Garland have nonetheless put the franchise back on track in style, and with clearly mapped-out plans for future instalments – 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple was shot immediately afterwards and is due for release in early 2026. The closing couple of minutes here tease at the contents of the next film, and suggest a radically different scenario to what we’ve seen so far. It looks like being a much more playful affair (no spoilers) that could either thrill or infuriate devotees, but at the very least it’s reassuring to see a supremely gifted duo of filmmakers relishing opportunities to sink their teeth into something fresh.
28 Years Later review: A more reflective, human story that puts the franchise back on track
In 2002, director Danny Boyle and screenwriter Alex Garland were hailed as near visionaries for all but reinventing the zombie movie. In stark contrast to the shuffling foes of yore, the undead of 28 Days Later could run like Olympic sprinters while leaving splashes of vomited blood in their wake. The momentum was lost by the time of 28 Weeks Later in 2007 (on which the pair were credited as executive producers), its comparatively lukewarm reception arguably a factor in why it’s taken so long for a third entry in the franchise to get off the ground. Now, having delegated the heavy lifting to others for the last film, Boyle and Garland are back in the drivers’ seats to impart deeper wisdom about the longer-term aftermath of a world gone to hell - their apocalypse nous, if you will. The passing of time, in narrative terms, is crucial, inviting viewers to flick forward several chapters to a mainland UK quarantined for close to three decades, its waters patrolled by foreign military to ensure the infected (and their subsequent progeny) stay put. Meanwhile, on Holy Island off the coast of Northumbria, a close-knit healthy community goes about the day-to-day rebuilding of a working society, including 30-something couple Jamie and Isla (Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Jodie Comer) and their 12-year-old offspring Spike (relative newcomer Alfie Williams). Father takes son on an outlawed foraging trip to said mainland, where victims of the initial biological meltdown have mutated into a multi-tiered society of their own; slow-moving obese souls who largely crawl on their bellies feeding on worms, speedier folk hunting and eating herds of deer, and - most aggressively - "alphas" whose super-strength manifests itself in maniacally murderous behaviour. It’s Spike’s first expedition, a rite of passage celebrated upon his return in boozy pagan style by a wild party, the islanders singing along uproariously to 19th-century Geordie folk song The Blaydon Races and, for some unexplained reason, the Tom Jones hit Delilah. Yet, the soon-to-be teenager is unhappy, increasingly concerned about his mother’s failing health, and having heard tales of an eccentric, uninfected doctor still living on the mainland, he takes her back to seek him out in the hope of finding a cure. Garland’s script suffers a little from disjointed pace, its first act feeling like an overlong set-up for the meat of the second and its more typical elements of a post-apocalyptic voyage with specific intent. Once the aforementioned medical man (an equal parts bonkers and charismatic Ralph Fiennes) enters the fray, there’s a more tangible sense of a mythology developing from the initial catastrophic events, of a land adapting to an uncertain future while paying homage to its past. A philosophy of sorts emerges, seen through the eyes of Alfie, the post-outbreak child for whom the internet, smart phones and selfies represent baffling magic (the film milks light-relief laughs accordingly). Read more: F1 review: Brad Pitt movie is thrilling but two-dimensional Elio review: Pixar's latest will charm children more than it will entertain adults It’s a hefty weight to place on Williams’s young shoulders, and he turns in an outstanding, remarkably layered performance, routinely acting his more lauded elders off the screen. Taylor-Johnson conveys cocksure bluster as the proud provider for his family, perhaps enjoying his standing in the new make-and-mend hierarchy too much; Comer skilfully pulls at heartstrings as the stricken Isla, drifting in and out of lucidity while haunted by vivid memories of happier times before the outbreak. The result is a well-seasoned, emotionally nutritious soup that feeds its audience a more reflective, human story than before, while never forgetting to satisfy the appetites of fans who may have climbed aboard primarily for the frights and gore – the violence is suitably, shockingly, deftly choreographed, although an over-reliance on fast-cuts and freeze-frames can frustrate. Quibbles aside, Boyle and Garland have nonetheless put the franchise back on track in style, and with clearly mapped-out plans for future instalments – 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple was shot immediately afterwards and is due for release in early 2026. The closing couple of minutes here tease at the contents of the next film, and suggest a radically different scenario to what we’ve seen so far. It looks like being a much more playful affair (no spoilers) that could either thrill or infuriate devotees, but at the very least it’s reassuring to see a supremely gifted duo of filmmakers relishing opportunities to sink their teeth into something fresh. 28 Years Later is now showing in UK cinemas. If you're looking for something to watch tonight, check out our TV Guide and Streaming Guide or visit our Film hub for all the latest news. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Death of a Unicorn review: A comedy-horror that's stretched beyond its capabilities
Paul Rudd, Richard E Grant and Jenna Ortega star in a quirky and cartoonish horror comedy
★★★☆☆ Death of a Unicorn is in cinemas from Friday 4 April. Add it to your watchlist Traditionally, unicorns have cantered at the more comfy end of the popular culture spectrum, their typical domain the worlds of cuddly toys, colouring books and posters on little girls’ bedroom walls — a far cry from anything that might invoke terror. Placing them in a fright fest, albeit one played for laughs, is akin to a Jaws reboot with previously human-friendly dolphins as the ravenous menace, and Death of a Unicorn is not the first example of big-screen juxtaposition where hitherto beloved childhood creatures are the monstrous villains of the piece. The good news is that this is a better movie than either Five Nights at Freddy’s or the truly woeful Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey (both 2023), but writer-director Alex Scharfman’s comedy-horror is still a concept stretched beyond its capabilities. Straitlaced single parent Paul Rudd and his infinitely cooler college-age daughter Jenna Ortega are driving to a weekend gathering at his moneybag employer’s country pile when their car collides with… well, you know. Understandably in shock, for more than one reason, Ortega touches the beast’s horn and experiences curious cosmic visions, seconds before panicky Dad springs into action to finish the wounded beast off with a tyre iron. View oEmbed on the source website With the carcass bundled away in their vehicle, they arrive at their destination - but wait! Other house guests discover the grisly cargo and realise it’s survived Rudd’s attempted mercy killing, so one them opts to get the job done with a gun. It gets sillier; a team of scientists also working for Rudd’s boss (Richard E Grant) grate the unicorn’s horn as a possible component of a cure for cancer - but it’s still not dead, and more unicorns (vengeful ones) rock up to give the hapless homo sapiens headaches. Of course, any film where the threat to life comes from the U word plainly isn’t taking itself too seriously, and despite muddled subtexts of ambition, greed and loyalty, Scharfman revels in the nonsense of it all, over-egging his fantastical puddings with glee. There’s suspense, nods to bygone horrors, elements of siege thrillers, a splash of slapstick, and dialogue that delivers a few great gags from a uniformly on-game ragbag assortment of characters. In all fairness, it’s tempting to overlook the ridiculousness of the premise and the unnecessarily fit-to-burst narrative when we’re in the company of such a lively cast clearly having fun. The initial awkwardness Rudd and Ortega share (think Jeffrey Jones and Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice) blossoms into a more dynamic chemistry as events escalate, both actors able to mine comic riches through subtle, well-timed glances. Grant may seem, at first, like he’s going for a variation on the more obnoxious and maniacal traits of his breakthrough role in Withnail and I, but in a film with a borderline cartoon-ish plot, his nervous energy suits the tone perfectly. He’s matched every step of the way by Will Poulter as his equally unlikeable son, a vivid portrait of selfishness and privilege, and though underused, Téa Leoni is the model of well-to-do snootiness as Grant’s wife. Further down the credits roll, Jessica Hynes joins in the japes as the rich family’s personal assistant, and while her time on screen is limited, she likely finds the outlandish mayhem second nature, given its parallels to the more fanciful pastiche-y corners of Spaced, the 1990s sitcom she co-wrote and starred in with Simon Pegg. Indeed, the discipline of shorter running times required by television might have been a better path the follow for a comedic setup that’s too busy for its own good. It would be a different story if the overall pacing of the yarn was robust enough to thrive at feature length, because while this particular unicorn has the requisite horn, it doesn’t quite have the legs.
Death of a Unicorn review: Jenna Ortega comedy-horror is stretched beyond its capabilities
Traditionally, unicorns have cantered at the more comfy end of the popular culture spectrum, their typical domain the worlds of cuddly toys, colouring books and posters on little girls’ bedroom walls - a far cry from anything that might invoke terror. Placing them in a fright fest, albeit one played for laughs, is akin to a Jaws reboot with previously human-friendly dolphins as the ravenous menace, and Death of a Unicorn is not the first example of big-screen juxtaposition where hitherto beloved childhood creatures are the monstrous villains of the piece. The good news is that this is a better movie than either Five Nights at Freddy’s or the truly woeful Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey (both 2023), but writer-director Alex Scharfman’s comedy-horror is still a concept stretched beyond its capabilities. Straitlaced single parent Paul Rudd and his infinitely cooler college-age daughter Jenna Ortega are driving to a weekend gathering at his moneybag employer’s country pile when their car collides with… well, you know. Understandably in shock, for more than one reason, Ortega touches the beast’s horn and experiences curious cosmic visions, seconds before panicky Dad springs into action to finish the wounded beast off with a tyre iron. View oEmbed on the source website With the carcass bundled away in their vehicle, they arrive at their destination - but wait! Other house guests discover the grisly cargo and realise it’s survived Rudd’s attempted mercy killing, so one them opts to get the job done with a gun. It gets sillier; a team of scientists also working for Rudd’s boss (Richard E Grant) grate the unicorn’s horn as a possible component of a cure for cancer - but it’s still not dead, and more unicorns (vengeful ones) rock up to give the hapless homo sapiens headaches. Of course, any film where the threat to life comes from the U word plainly isn’t taking itself too seriously, and despite muddled subtexts of ambition, greed and loyalty, Scharfman revels in the nonsense of it all, over-egging his fantastical puddings with glee. There’s suspense, nods to bygone horrors, elements of siege thrillers, a splash of slapstick, and dialogue that delivers a few great gags from a uniformly on-game ragbag assortment of characters. In all fairness, it’s tempting to overlook the ridiculousness of the premise and the unnecessarily fit-to-burst narrative when we’re in the company of such a lively cast clearly having fun. The initial awkwardness Rudd and Ortega share (think Jeffrey Jones and Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice) blossoms into a more dynamic chemistry as events escalate, both actors able to mine comic riches through subtle, well-timed glances. Grant may seem, at first, like he’s going for a variation on the more obnoxious and maniacal traits of his breakthrough role in Withnail and I, but in a film with a borderline cartoon-ish plot, his nervous energy suits the tone perfectly. He’s matched every step of the way by Will Poulter as his equally unlikeable son, a vivid portrait of selfishness and privilege, and though underused, Téa Leoni is the model of well-to-do snootiness as Grant’s wife. Further down the credits roll, Jessica Hynes joins in the japes as the rich family’s personal assistant, and while her time on screen is limited, she likely finds the outlandish mayhem second nature, given its parallels to the more fanciful pastiche-y corners of Spaced, the 1990s sitcom she co-wrote and starred in with Simon Pegg. Indeed, the discipline of shorter running times required by television might have been a better path the follow for a comedic setup that’s too busy for its own good. It would be a different story if the overall pacing of the yarn was robust enough to thrive at feature length, because while this particular unicorn has the requisite horn, it doesn’t quite have the legs. Death of a Unicorn will arrive in UK cinemas on 4th April. If you're looking for something to watch tonight, check out our TV Guide and Streaming Guide or visit our Film hub for all the latest news. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Oscars 2025: The case for A Complete Unknown to win Best Picture
James Mangold's Bob Dylan biopic should be propelled to Oscars glory thanks to a charismatic Timothée Chalamet.
A much-travelled route to Oscars glory is to play a well-known figure from the music world, the familiarity of the subject enabling audiences (and, more importantly, Academy voters) to get a handle on just how good a performance is. Since 2000, five lead acting awards have gone to portrayals of real-life musicians: Jamie Foxx as Ray Charles (in Ray), Reese Witherspoon as June Carter Cash (Walk The Line), Marion Cotillard as Edith Piaf (La Vie en Rose), Rami Malek as Freddie Mercury (Bohemian Rhapsody) and Rene Zellweger as Judy Garland (Judy). View oEmbed on the source website However, none of the above films went the extra mile and took home the glittering prize of Best Picture; so, while Timothée Chalamet’s spellbinding turn as Bob Dylan has the requisite buzz of a winner, is history against A Complete Unknown itself going all the way? Its failure to snag any gongs from three nominations at the Golden Globes and six at the BAFTAs would suggest the film is an outsider, but the Oscars have an intermittent tendency to throw curveballs, and outside events may conspire to put it among the frontrunners. A release date of late December 2024 makes it the "newest" of the nominees and feasibly fresher in voters’ memories, while headline-grabbing news in early ‘25 could yet be a factor; Liberal Hollywood has its concerns about President Trump’s agenda for the next four years, and the devastating wildfires in Los Angeles have hit the community hard. In times of trouble there is a temptation for audiences to seek out uplifting fare, so the feel-good elements of A Complete Unknown and its soundtrack of iconic songs certainly fit the bill. Director James Mangold’s decision to focus on a specific, relatively short period of time in the singer-songwriter’s career results in a more forensic canvas with greater attention to detail. The nomination for Best Costume Design is key, a vital component in the evocative recreation of an era viewers of a certain age still hold dear; in addition to the clothes, the depictions of a bustling New York and its smoky clubs contribute to a tangible sense of times that are a-changin’. <a id="menur1gc" class="fui-Link ___1q1shib f2hkw1w f3rmtva f1ewtqcl fyind8e f1k6fduh f1w7gpdv fk6fouc fjoy568 figsok6 f1s184ao f1mk8lai fnbmjn9 f1o700av f13mvf36 f1cmlufx f9n3di6 f1ids18y f1tx3yz7 f1deo86v f1eh06m1 f1iescvh fhgqx19 f1olyrje f1p93eir f1nev41a f1h8hb77 f1lqvz6u f10aw75t fsle3fq f17ae5zn" title="https://www.radiotimes.com/download-the-app/" href="https://www.radiotimes.com/download-the-app/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener" aria-label="Link Download the Radio Times app">Download the Radio Times app for more Oscars 2025 coverage – including interviews with the stars and exclusive features. Not that the movie is merely trading on nostalgia, as Dylan’s determination to follow his own path in the face of a disapproving folk hierarchy has parallels with battles subsequent generations of musicians have fought. You don’t have to be a baby boomer to feel A Complete Unknown "speaks" to you, its wider themes arguably making it the nominee with which audiences can identify most directly, echoing the seismic shifts that continue to affect modern music industry business models. Significantly, the film survived a potentially damaging pre-release controversy over Mangold playing fast and loose with the facts (altering time lines and, in one instance, the name of a leading character); he did so with Dylan’s tacit approval, in a manner that fuelled mythologies the artist has often had fun with himself. View Green Video on the source website Those particular reservations seemed to be laid to rest once the movie made its way into the world, thanks in no small part to Chalamet delivering a performance as charismatic as any footage of the real Dylan from over the last 60 or so years. The actor gave his own Oscar chances a sizeable boost with a guest spot on America’s long-running Saturday Night Live in January, an enigmatic and talked-about appearance which could yet prove to be the momentum that helps catapults the film to the top prize. All will be revealed at the Dolby Theatre, where it’s not entirely beyond the realms of possibility for A Complete Unknown to (as Dylan himself might put it) come knock, knock, knockin’ on Oscar’s door. Sponsored by Vue Save up to 30% on the latest releases at Vue in 2025 Are you a movie lover who always wants to be up to date with the latest releases? Then you're in luck, as RadioTimes.com readers can enjoy new films at Vue Cinemas for less. Customers will receive up to 30% off films with Vue Pass, as long as they have a RadioTimes.com account. It's a great time for new releases, with films such as Wicked, Nosferatu, The Brutalist and Moana 2 taking UK cinemas by storm. Head to your nearest Vue to catch these movies and more for up to 30% less if you're signed up as a RadioTimes.com member. Save up to 30% with Vue Pass The Academy Awards will take place on Sunday 2nd March. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
James Mangold's Bob Dylan biopic should be propelled to Oscars glory thanks to a charismatic Timothée Chalamet
Add A Complete Unknown to your watchlist A much-travelled route to Oscars glory is to play a well-known figure from the music world, the familiarity of the subject enabling audiences (and, more importantly, Academy voters) to get a handle on just how good a performance is. Since 2000, five lead acting awards have gone to portrayals of real-life musicians; Jamie Foxx as Ray Charles (in Ray), Reese Witherspoon as June Carter Cash (Walk The Line), Marion Cotillard as Edith Piaf (La Vie en Rose), Rami Malek as Freddie Mercury (Bohemian Rhapsody) and Rene Zellweger as Judy Garland (Judy). However, none of the above films went the extra mile and took home the glittering prize of Best Picture; so, while Timothée Chalamet’s spellbinding turn as Bob Dylan has the requisite buzz of a winner, is history against A Complete Unknown itself going all the way? View oEmbed on the source website Its failure to snag any gongs from three nominations at the Golden Globes and six at the BAFTAs would suggest the film is an outsider, but the Oscars have an intermittent tendency to throw curveballs, and outside events may conspire to put it among the front runners. A release date of late December 2024 makes it the “newest” of the nominees and feasibly fresher in voters’ memories, while headline-grabbing news in early ‘25 could yet be a factor; Liberal Hollywood has its concerns about President Trump’s agenda for the next four years, and the devastating wildfires in Los Angeles have hit the community hard. In times of trouble there is a temptation for audiences to seek out uplifting fare, so the feel-good elements of A Complete Unknown and its soundtrack of iconic songs certainly fit the bill. Director James Mangold’s decision to focus on a specific, relatively short period of time in the singer-songwriter’s career results in a more forensic canvas with greater attention to detail. The nomination for Best Costume Design is key, a vital component in the evocative recreation of an era viewers of a certain age still hold dear; in addition to the clothes, the depictions of a bustling New York and its smoky clubs contribute to a tangible sense of times that are a-changin’. Not that the movie is merely trading on nostalgia, as Dylan’s determination to follow his own path in the face of a disapproving folk hierarchy has parallels with battles subsequent generations of musicians have fought. You don’t have to be a baby boomer to feel A Complete Unknown “speaks” to you, its wider themes arguably making it the nominee with which audiences can identify most directly, echoing the seismic shifts that continue to affect modern music industry business models. Significantly, the film survived a potentially damaging pre-release controversy over Mangold playing fast and loose with the facts (altering time lines and, in one instance, the name of a leading character); he did so with Dylan’s tacit approval, in a manner that fuelled mythologies the artist has often had fun with himself. Those particular reservations seemed to be laid to rest once the movie made its way into the world, thanks in no small part to Chalamet delivering a performance as charismatic as any footage of the real Dylan from over the last 60 or so years. The actor gave his own Oscar chances a sizeable boost with a guest spot on America’s long-running Saturday Night Live in January, an enigmatic and talked-about appearance which could yet prove to be the momentum that helps catapults the film to the top prize. All will be revealed at the Dolby Theatre, where it’s not entirely beyond the realms of possibility for A Complete Unknown to (as Dylan himself might put it) come knock, knock, knockin’ on Oscar’s door.
A Complete Unknown review: This Bob Dylan biopic is one of the most convincing interpretations of a musician ever
Timothée Chalamet is perfect as Bob Dylan in this new biopic from director James Mangold.
★★★★☆ A Complete Unknown is in UK cinemas from 17 January. Add it to your watchlist Timothée Chalamet is an actor who relishes a challenge, as evidenced by his stepping into the shoes of an enigmatic, instantly recognisable cultural icon, knowing his portrayal runs the risk of dividing – or even alienating – millions of lifelong fans. But that’s enough about Willy Wonka… Anyone taking on the movie mantle of Bob Dylan would be subject to near forensic scrutiny, and while Chalamet does so with confidence, skill and subtlety, there remains the possibility of his outstanding performance being overshadowed, in the eyes of some, by a screenplay where the truths they are a-changin’. The intense fervour of a certain stripe of Dylan devotee has made A Complete Unknown the most talked-about biopic in years, propelled by its makers’ delight in holding an unusually high number of sneak previews prior to the film’s official release in both America and the UK. View oEmbed on the source website Consequently, internet forums and message boards of a diehard Dylanologist bent (the "dork web", if you will) have been ablaze with debates over dramatic licence playing fast and loose with the facts. Hot topics include why Bob’s pre-fame girlfriend has undergone a change of name, the poking of holes in the framing of his often fragile relationship with fellow folkie Joan Baez, and bafflement over the infamous audience heckle of "Judas!" being shown as taking place in a different year and country. However, according to director James Mangold, the singer himself was complicit in some of the intermittent detours from historical accuracy, as he was for the more playful elements of Martin Scorsese’s semi-fictionalised 2019 documentary Rolling Thunder (did anyone really think Sharon Stone had an affair with Dylan in her teens?). Taking author Elijah Ward’s 2015 book Dylan Goes Electric! as its spine, A Complete Unknown undoubtedly toys with the conventions of biopics, weaving more speculative thoughts into a timeline that begins with the singer arriving in New York in 1961 and ends with the controversy of him outraging the old guard with an amplified cacophony at the Newport Folk Festival four years later. In many ways, the "going electric" incident serves as a culminate peg for Dylan’s deeper rooted sense of, if not rebellion, then certainly resistance to what others expect of him ("They should just let me be… whatever it is they don’t want me to be," he says). That dissatisfaction is illustrated by scenes in which he uncomfortably jumps through hoops for middle-class intellectuals at an uptown party, or sprints to escape the feverish attentions of young (mostly female) fans on the streets of Greenwich Village, both telling instances of Chalamet reacting to his surroundings with remarkably understated nuance. It’s just one component of richly layered depiction that impresses at every turn; the slightly-hunched, wiry-framed physicality of Dylan is perfect, as is the part-mumble, part-staccato approximation of the singer’s speech patterns, and then there’s the small matter of the music. Chalamet was tasked with learning to both sing and play upwards of 40 songs in preparation for filming, and while he opts to avoid cold or clinical carbon copies, he imbues every one of them with purpose, eloquently capturing the essence of Dylan. Read more film reviews: The Brutalist review: An Oscar-worthy epic in length, weight and ambition Wicked review: Ariana Grande steals the show in bewitching blockbuster Nosferatu review: This creepy and compelling new take on vampire myth is a thing of beauty Gladiator II review: A sturdy sequel that revels in its more ludicrous qualities Emilia Pérez review: A musical that redefines what's possible in the genre We Live in Time review: Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield thrive in thoughtful but overcooked weepie It’s there right from the start when Bob makes a pilgrimage to meet his hero Woody Guthrie in hospital and plays the song he wrote especially for him, to the pleasure of Guthrie’s other visitor, Dylan’s first (and perhaps only true) mentor, Pete Seeger. As Dylan’s talent evolves, Chalamet himself gets bolder and more assured, inhabiting not just the skin of the man he’s pretending to be but the potency of the words he sings – among many highlights, his take on The Times They Are a-Changin’ is a genuine lump-in-the-throat moment. Special mention is due to Edward Norton as folk traditionalist Seeger, palpably conveying conflict and heartbreak as his friendship with the man in the spotlight goes from earnest father figure to reluctant adversary. The role helps add even more texture to what Chalamet achieves in one of the most complex and convincing interpretations of a real-life musician ever seen on film – imagined in places, perhaps, but nonetheless a cool, charismatic Dylan who should strike a chord with all but the most reticent of his followers.
A Complete Unknown review: One of the most convincing interpretations of a musician ever
Timothée Chalamet is an actor who relishes a challenge, as evidenced by his stepping into the shoes of an enigmatic, instantly recognisable cultural icon, knowing his portrayal runs the risk of dividing - or even alienating - millions of lifelong fans. But that’s enough about Willy Wonka… Anyone taking on the movie mantle of Bob Dylan would be subject to near forensic scrutiny, and while Chalamet does so with confidence, skill and subtlety, there remains the possibility of his outstanding performance being overshadowed, in the eyes of some, by a screenplay where the truths they are a-changin’. The intense fervour of a certain stripe of Dylan devotee has made A Complete Unknown the most talked-about biopic in years, propelled by its makers’ delight in holding an unusually high number of sneak previews prior to the film’s official release in both America and the UK. Consequently, internet forums and message boards of a diehard Dylanologist bent (the "dork web", if you will) have been ablaze with debates over dramatic licence playing fast and loose with the facts. Hot topics include why Bob’s pre-fame girlfriend has undergone a change of name, the poking of holes in the framing of his often fragile relationship with fellow folkie Joan Baez, and bafflement over the infamous audience heckle of "Judas!" being shown as taking place in a different year and country. However, according to director James Mangold, the singer himself was complicit in some of the intermittent detours from historical accuracy, as he was for the more playful elements of Martin Scorsese’s semi-fictionalised 2019 documentary Rolling Thunder (did anyone really think Sharon Stone had an affair with Dylan in her teens?). Taking author Elijah Ward’s 2015 book Dylan Goes Electric! as its spine, A Complete Unknown undoubtedly toys with the conventions of biopics, weaving more speculative thoughts into a timeline that begins with the singer arriving in New York in 1961 and ends with the controversy of him outraging the old guard with an amplified cacophony at the Newport Folk Festival four years later. In many ways, the "going electric" incident serves as a culminate peg for Dylan’s deeper rooted sense of, if not rebellion, then certainly resistance to what others expect of him ("They should just let me be… whatever it is they don’t want me to be," he says). That dissatisfaction is illustrated by scenes in which he uncomfortably jumps through hoops for middle-class intellectuals at an uptown party, or sprints to escape the feverish attentions of young (mostly female) fans on the streets of Greenwich Village, both telling instances of Chalamet reacting to his surroundings with remarkably understated nuance. It’s just one component of richly layered depiction that impresses at every turn; the slightly-hunched, wiry-framed physicality of Dylan is perfect, as is the part-mumble, part-staccato approximation of the singer’s speech patterns, and then there’s the small matter of the music. Chalamet was tasked with learning to both sing and play upwards of 40 songs in preparation for filming, and while he opts to avoid cold or clinical carbon copies, he imbues every one of them with purpose, eloquently capturing the essence of Dylan. It’s there right from the start when Bob makes a pilgrimage to meet his hero Woody Guthrie in hospital and plays the song he wrote especially for him, to the pleasure of Guthrie’s other visitor, Dylan’s first (and perhaps only true) mentor Pete Seeger. Read more: The Brutalist review: An epic in length, weight and ambition Bank of Dave 2: The Loan Ranger review – Rory Kinnear returns in likeable underdog tale As Dylan’s talent evolves, Chalamet himself gets bolder and more assured, inhabiting not just the skin of the man he’s pretending to be but the potency of the words he sings - among many highlights, his take on The Times They Are a-Changin’ is a genuine lump-in-the-throat moment. Special mention is due to Edward Norton as folk traditionalist Seeger, palpably conveying conflict and heartbreak as his friendship with the man in the spotlight goes from earnest father figure to reluctant adversary. The role helps add even more texture to what Chalamet achieves in one of the most complex and convincing interpretations of a real-life musician ever seen on film - imagined in places, perhaps, but nonetheless a cool, charismatic Dylan who should strike a chord with all but the most reticent of his followers. A Complete Unknown will be available to watch in UK cinemas from 17th January 2025. Check out more of our Film coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl review — A banquet of jokes with storytelling as audacious as ever
Aardman's stop-motion duo are back and fighting a familiar foe in this Christmas special, which maintains all the charm and invention that made its characters so beloved.
★★★★☆ Add Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl to your watchlist Reassuringly, not much has changed in the world of Wallace & Gromit since we watched them wrestling with A Matter Of Loaf And Death in 2008. They’re still living a life that revolves round the former’s “cracking” contraptions, and it will come as no surprise to viewers when, once again, the inventor’s handiwork lands our heroes in hot water. On that bedrock of familiarity and tradition, they embark on only their second feature-length adventure, filled to the brim with laughs, jeopardy, outrageously creative physical comedy, and supporting characters who provide much more than window dressing. Significantly, there’s the return of Feathers McGraw, the duo’s dastardly avian nemesis, incarceratred in a high-security zoo at the close of 1993’s The Wrong Trousers — an early scene here references jailbird Robert De Niro in Cape Fear, one of a slew of pop culture sight gags throughout (keep your eyes peeled for nods to Captain Nemo, The Flintstones, and local TV presenter “Anton Deck”). Wallace’s new moneyspinner is an automated garden gnome called Norbot, a relentlessly upbeat, workaholic little fellow (voiced by Reece Shearsmith) and the cornerstone of West Wallaby Street’s latest business, Gnome Improvements, capable of landscaping an entire back yard in a matter of minutes. View oEmbed on the source website Sensing an opportunity, Feathers concocts a fiendish plan from his cell by hacking into Wallace’s cumbersome basement computer system, and mass-replicating Norbot (switched to an altogether more evil setting) until he has a veritable army to do his villainous bidding. The endgame is to stage another heist to steal the Blue Diamond he nearly got away with when first battling man and dog, but not before masterminding a gnome-perpretrated crimewave which, inevitably, is blamed on Norbot’s creator. It’s an open-and-shut case in the eyes of Peter Kay’s Chief Inspector Mackintosh (a meteoric rise through the ranks for the lowly constable from The Curse of the Were-Rabbit in 2005), but his eager young protege PC Mukherjee (Lauren Patel) suspects something more sinister is afoot. It’s up to her and the ever resourceful Gromit to uncover the truth, as well as springing the bewildered Wallace from custody. There’s a lot going on, certainly more than could have been comfortably shoehorned into the pair’s previous 30-minute outings, and the intricate plot is noticeably better paced than the other feature in the series, Were-Rabbit. Originator Nick Park and Aardman Animations exhibit a much firmer grip on the necessities of the lengthier format — likely honed during the making of Shaun The Sheep cinema releases in 2015 and ‘19 — to deliver knockabout, white-knuckle thrills without sacrificing any of the characters’ innate, homespun charm. Preserving the spirit and personality of what went before is especially key in the passing of the baton to voice Wallace from the late Peter Sallis to Ben Whitehead, no stranger to the role courtesy of several video games stretching back to 2009. Even the most finely-tuned pair of ears would struggle to register any tangible difference, such is the skill with which Whitehead nails the enthusiasm, exasperation or more intimate traits of the character — essential, given the importance of how Wallace reacts to the mayhem swirling around him. Read more film reviews: Wicked review: Ariana Grande steals the show in bewitching blockbuster Nosferatu review: This creepy and compelling new take on vampire myth is a thing of beauty Gladiator II review: A sturdy sequel that revels in its more ludicrous qualities Emilia Pérez review: A musical that redefines what's possible in the genre That Christmas review: Richard Curtis's animation is twee but with a winning formula If a tiny handful of one-liners feel lazy and don’t quite hit their mark, there is nonetheless a hearty banquet of top-drawer jokes in Mark Burton’s script (with an additional material credit for comedians Holly Walsh and Barunka O’Shaughnessy) to keep things ticking along. The sets and situations are as audacious as ever, affording the characters show-stopping backdrops that liberally borrow from Tex Avery cartoons, Hitchcock thrillers and all points between — no mean feat for a film resolutely rooted in the quaintness of stop-motion. Computer graphic trickery is kept to an absolute bare minimum, because the strength with which Aardman have assembled and established this particular universe means it’s not needed. Whatever the advances in technology may have been since we last saw them, Wallace & Gromit are still big cheeses.