Today I’m looking at Blood Simple (1984), the Coen Brothers’ debut, and it already feels like their world of bad decisions and escalating chaos is fully formed. It’s tightly constructed, with everything slowly spiralling out of control as each character digs themselves deeper. Dark, tense, and occasionally funny, it’s really the atmosphere and sense of paranoia that stays with you.

Today I’m looking at Saturday Night Fever (1977), a film that’s really as much about the world around Tony Manero as it is about him—Brooklyn life, routine, frustration, and then this escape into the dance floor where everything briefly feels bigger. John Travolta is the standout, completely owning that mix of confidence and insecurity, and the disco soundtrack just drives the whole thing with this relentless energy. It’s stylish, a bit grim underneath it all, but it really captures that contrast between escape and reality in a way that still hits.

Today I’m looking at Raging Bull (1980), a film that hits more like a character study than a traditional sports movie. What stands out for me is De Niro’s transformation as Jake LaMotta, and the way Scorsese frames everything in these intense, almost suffocating black-and-white sequences that keep you locked in close to the violence and insecurity underneath it all. It’s brutal, controlled, and at times hard to watch, but it’s one of those films that stays with you because it never really softens its edges.

Today I’m looking at Star Wars (1977), the film that really kicked off my whole movie watching life. I first saw it in the cinema when I was four, and it just landed as this massive experience—good versus evil, rebels versus Empire, lightsabers, spaceships, the whole thing. Harrison Ford as Han Solo was the standout for me, all attitude and charisma, and Darth Vader is still one of the great screen villains, just pure presence and menace. It’s simple storytelling, but it’s done with so much energy and imagination that it’s stuck with me ever since.

Today I’m looking at Repo Man (1984), this strange mix of punk LA, crime story, and sci-fi paranoia that just kind of exists in its own lane. It doesn’t really behave like a normal narrative — it drifts, it breaks rules, and half the time it feels like it’s not interested in explaining itself at all. What holds it together is that deadpan energy and the feeling that everything is slightly unhinged but somehow still deliberate.

Today I’m looking at Black Bag (2025), a sleek Stephen Soderbergh spy thriller that’s more about tension, performance, and shifting loyalties than action. It plays like a constant game of reading people under pressure, where no one ever feels fully truthful. Quietly paranoid and restrained, it’s more about atmosphere than spectacle, and it’s held together by how controlled and precise it feels throughout.

Today I’m re-examining Two Hands (1999), one of those late-90s Australian films that locks into a very specific Sydney energy—small-time crime, everyday life, and everything sitting uncomfortably close together. Heath Ledger really stands out in an early role, that mix of charm, awkwardness, and vulnerability as things start to spiral. It’s funny, tense, a bit rough around the edges, but it captures a time and place in a way that still feels completely authentic on rewatch.

I watched Enter the Void last night, and it’s a film that’s more about experience than story, and I found myself reacting to the way it pulls you through it rather than anything traditional in terms of plot. It’s disorienting, immersive, and kind of overwhelming in a way that sticks with you after it ends.

Today on Dave's Movie Diary, I'm revisiting The Edge (1997), a film I've always enjoyed for its combination of survival adventure, psychological tension, and spectacular scenery. I talk about Anthony Hopkins' remarkable performance, Alec Baldwin's underrated work, the film's breathtaking wilderness setting, and why it's one of those highly watchable 90s movies that still holds up today.

This episode takes a look at Clerks (1994), Kevin Smith’s breakthrough indie comedy. I reflect on its place in 90s culture, my own history with the film, and why its mix of dead-end jobs, friendship, sarcasm and everyday frustration still resonates decades later. Sometimes the smallest films leave the biggest impression.