I revisit Andrea Arnold’s Fish Tank (2009), a film that completely blew me away when I first saw it and feels even more powerful on rewatch.

It’s a raw and incredibly realistic portrait of a teenager trying to find her place in the world, surrounded by circumstances and adults that often fail her. Katie Jarvis gives an extraordinary debut performance as Mia, while Michael Fassbender delivers one of his most complicated and unsettling roles.

This is a film about loneliness, belonging, family breakdown and the desperate search for something better. It’s uncomfortable, heartbreaking and beautifully made — a film that stays with you long after it finishes.

I revisit John Sayles’ Passion Fish (1992), a beautifully made character drama about two damaged people who slowly learn to understand each other.

Mary McDonnell and Alfre Woodard are fantastic as two women dealing with their own struggles, while the Louisiana bayou setting gives the film an incredible sense of place.

A quiet, thoughtful film about pride, addiction, forgiveness and finding a way forward.

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Francis Ford Coppola’s Rumble Fish (1983) might just be his forgotten masterpiece. In this episode, I revisit its stunning black-and-white cinematography, mythic performances from Mickey Rourke and Matt Dillon, and the dreamlike atmosphere that makes it unlike anything else Coppola directed. I also explore the film’s place in Coppola’s remarkable 1980s career, its themes of identity and growing up, and why it became even richer on a rewatch decades later.

Available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and the Dave’s Movie Diary YouTube channel.

I revisit Clerks II (2006), a sequel that feels just as much like a time capsule of the mid-2000s as it does a return to Kevin Smith’s most famous characters.

What once felt like a hilarious follow-up now plays as a film about growing up, resisting change and trying to recapture a moment that’s already passed. Along the way, I revisit the unforgettable Star Wars versus Lord of the Rings debate, Rosario Dawson’s terrific performance, and ask whether some of the film’s humour has aged as well as the characters themselves.

I revisit Abbas Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us (1999), a quiet, beautifully observed film that finds meaning in everyday conversations, routine and the rhythms of village life.

What begins as a simple story gradually becomes a thoughtful meditation on community, patience and the small moments that give life its richness.

I revisit Mercury Rising (1998), a late-‘90s thriller that holds up better than its reputation. Bruce Willis brings plenty of heart to the role, the supporting cast is full of familiar faces, and it’s a fascinating snapshot of the era’s government paranoia and technology. An entertaining rewatch nearly 30 years on.

I revisit Sally Potter’s Orlando (1992), a unique and fascinating film that completely confused me when I first saw it but has taken on a very different meaning decades later.

Tilda Swinton is extraordinary as a character who moves through centuries of history while exploring identity, gender, love and society’s expectations.

A visually stunning and thought-provoking film that challenges the viewer and rewards patience.

I revisit Adrian Lyne’s Jacob’s Ladder (1990), a film that has always stayed with me because it refuses to give easy answers.

When I first saw it, I think I experienced it mainly as a disturbing psychological horror film — unsettling imagery, strange events, and a constant feeling that something wasn’t quite right. But coming back to it years later, what stands out isn’t the horror. It’s the grief, the trauma, and the sadness underneath it all.

Tim Robbins gives one of his best performances as Jacob Singer, a Vietnam veteran struggling to understand what is real and what may be a memory, a hallucination, or something else entirely. The film constantly keeps you off balance, but that uncertainty is what makes it so powerful.

What I appreciate more now is how much confidence Adrian Lyne shows as a filmmaker. He doesn’t rush to explain everything or give the audience simple answers. Instead, he creates an experience about memory, loss and the difficulty of letting go.

Jacob’s Ladder is not a film you solve. It’s a film you experience.

Another reminder that sometimes the films that stay with us are the ones that leave a few questions unanswered

I revisit Steven Spielberg’s Duel, the film that announced the arrival of one of cinema’s greatest filmmakers. What begins as a simple moment of road frustration turns into a terrifying game of cat and mouse between Dennis Weaver and an unseen truck driver.

Coming back to it now, I was struck by how much of Spielberg’s future style is already here — the suspense, the ordinary person facing something overwhelming, and the ability to turn something completely familiar into a nightmare.

A simple story, brilliantly executed, and a fascinating glimpse at the filmmaker Spielberg was about to become.

I revisit The Money Movers (1978), a gritty Australian crime film that surprised me when I first discovered it on VHS as a teenager recovering from a knee injury.

A lean, hard-edged story about cash security guards, corruption and betrayal, it’s also a fascinating time capsule of Australia in the late 1970s. Full of familiar faces, practical action and a world that feels very different from today.

A forgotten Australian gem that deserves another look.