Horror is surely the most deconstructed genre in film, the slasher the most deconstructed subgenre therein, and Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma may be the most deconstructy of all such cinematic deconstructions. It tells the story of a young, queer, indie filmmaker hired to resurrect a problematic slasher series of yesteryear, the Camp Miasma films, which feature a box-headed villain who periodically emerges from a lake to murder teens who are drinking too much and forcing themselves on each other. Attempting to decide what she wants her reboot to be, she revisits the first film and meets its reclusive star, the enigmatic look in whose eye, in that first film, she's desperate to understand.

Mike gets on with Teenage Sex and Death; José does not. What José finds cutesy and aimless, Mike sees originality and charm in. Writer-director Jane Schoenbrun is keen to have their cake and eat it, building in criticism of Gen Z-esque reevaluations of old media by modern standards while engaging in them all the same. This is a film loaded with irony - but its love of its subject matter is obvious.

It's easy to argue that Teenage Sex and Death is at odds with itself when its former final girl (a delightfully drawling, glamorous Gillian Anderson) encourages the visiting filmmaker to cast off her intellectual pretensions and simply enjoy the "flesh and fluids", but it's a film that has plenty of room for ambiguity and blurring of the lines between points of view, and reality, media and fantasy. To some, the ambiguities will be approached as a problem to solve - just what is reality and what isn't, at the end of the day? - but for Mike, they're Schoenbrun's way of following Anderson's advice.

It's not a perfect film and there will be those to whom it fails to speak at all (one of them is on this podcast), but Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is at the very least interesting, and an eager addition to the groaning shelves of self-referential horror media.

Recorded on 23rd August 2026.

Half a century since its 1972 release, Bob Fosse’s Cabaret remains startlingly sexy, funny and politically unsettling. We admire Liza Minnelli’s extraordinary star-making performance, the film’s distinctive choreography and cinematography, and how the Kit Kat Klub, and the numbers performed within, chart the rise of the Nazis in 1930s Berlin. We also consider its unusually liberated treatment of sexuality, and how its rejection of rigid binaries and hierarchies offers a counterpoint to the certainties of fascism.

Recorded on 16th August 2026.

The End of Oak Street puts Mike in mind of the sort of disposable but likeable films he watched on video as a child, although they didn't tend to cost $85 million to make. Writer-director David Robert Mitchell conspicuously apes Steven Spielberg with a family, a suburb, a dinosaur invasion, a large pile of poo and a lot of 1980s nostalgia. We debate whether the film’s derivativeness, charmless performances, ropey CGI and poor plotting are outweighed by its genuinely effective set-pieces and its success as uncomplicated monster-movie fun. The End of Oak Street is far from good but if you watch it on VHS when you're eight years old, just as Mike did with The Pagemaster and 3 Ninjas, it'll probably stay with you forever.

Recorded on 16th August 2026.

We've tuned out of Marvel on the podcast for a little while, but one of the eternally entertaining superheroes, Spider-Man, reignites our interest with Brand New Day. With Doctor Strange having cast a spell at the end of 2021's No Way Home to make the entire world forget Peter Parker, for reasons that Doctor Strange presumably cast another spell to make us forget, Peter, newly isolated, returns to fighting street-level crime in New York City while pining for his old relationships and suffering severe headaches. Can he revive his former life? Surely it wouldn't be a Marvel film if an enormously significant, cliff-hanging event had permanent consequences.

Still, even for those as cynical as it's possible to be about the MCU, Brand New Day has plenty to recommend it. It aims for thematic depth - though how fully that's achieved is up for discussion - and is genuinely moving. Indeed, certain moments move the audience to cheer and applaud, which in turn moves Mike to harrumph bitterly. Destin Daniel Cretton, directing his second MCU entry following Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, demonstrates a gift for working with actors and a strong instinct for staging action, although Cineworld does its best to undermine those virtues with its poor projection.

We also return to our discussion of IMAX and The Odyssey, asking whether the frame's envelopment of the visual field impedes filmmakers' ability to express through composition and framing, and considering whether there's something fundamentally anti-democratic about making films whose fullest form can only be experienced at a handful of cinemas around the world.

Recorded on 1st August 2026.

Realising his dream of shooting an entire film on 70mm IMAX stock, Christopher Nolan adapts Homer's ancient Greek poem The Odyssey, a vast mythological epic and one of the foundational works of Western literature. We haven't seen it in full IMAX but IMAX Digital, the pretender to the IMAX name that nonetheless offers the best screen in Birmingham, which for three hours immerses us in the story of a war hero's attempt to return home and handle his past.

Other than the film's tempo and structure, which tell the story swiftly and non-chronologically, but without ever losing us, we don't agree on much. For José, it's beautiful to look at; for Mike, the visual pleasures are few and far between. José likes the performances across the board; Mike expresses serious reservations about some of them. We also discuss the disappointment of the final action scene, the extent to which the film treats the Greek gods as real, Zeus' law and how well the film represents ancient Greek culture and ways of thinking, and whether its explicit contextualisation of the story as a metaphor for PTSD is earned.

Recorded on 23rd June 2026.

Steven Spielberg returns to science fiction with Disclosure Day, an ambitious alien thriller that consciously recalls Close Encounters of the Third Kind, still one of his defining films fifty years on. We marvel at its extraordinary visual storytelling, virtuoso camerawork and sense of cinematic wonder, while asking whether its ideas about conspiracy, religion, the media and empathy are as sophisticated as its technical brilliance. We also revisit the perennial debate between CGI and practical effects, and consider the different worlds in which Disclosure Day and Close Encounters were made and released. Is Spielberg's enduring belief in communication and human connection still resonant in an age of fractured media and competing truths?

Recorded on 13th June 2026.

Most videogames that receive cinematic adaptations are big - the likes of Uncharted, Minecraft, Sonic the Hedgehog and Resident Evil, all of which have been adapted, some several times, are among the biggest games in history, and their cinematic versions are typically intended to be blockbusters. Exit 8 is not. It is an independent Japanese game made by one person, turned into a low-budget, high-concept, Japanese horror film. And most cinematic adaptations of videogames are not very good. The medium has a long history of failing to translate well to film. Exit 8 makes a success of the transition, finding plenty of space in the slight source material to tell a story about routine, fear of change, and personal improvement.

We discuss what makes the adaptation work and where it might not, think through the story's internal logic, and, as we did with Godzilla Minus One, remark upon the film's visual quality given its small budget, asking where all that money goes when Hollywood spends ten times the amount to achieve the same results. Exit 8 is a welcome surprise, particularly to Mike, who really thought it'd be rubbish.

Recorded on 27th April 2026.

Seven years ago, we disagreed with the thrust of what Mark Jenkin's Bait had to say about the world as it is and as it ought to be, but appreciated its expressive strength. It was a film with substance. You could grapple with it. Rose of Nevada broadly conveys the same messages, but, as they derive primarily from the film's setting and less so its plot, is less forceful and argumentative about them, requiring us to accept them in shorthand and take them as read.

Fair enough, perhaps - why make the same film twice? - but the story to which Jenkin's perspective is here allied is of little interest, and told with insufficient clarity, populated by dull, flat characters whose developments are poorly motivated - if at all. Jenkin is certainly a visual stylist, but he shows little instinct for effective storytelling or direction of actors here, and we question the response Rose of Nevada has received from other critics, which seems inexplicably universal in its positivity.

Recorded on 27th April 2026.

In 2015, Matt Damon found himself stranded on Mars in The Martian, an adaptation of Andy Weir's novel of the same name, and had to improvise unlikely solutions in order to survive and get home. In 2026, Ryan Gosling finds himself stranded in outer space in Project Hail Mary, an adapation of Andy Weir's novel of the same name, and has to improvise unlikely solutions in order to save Earth and get home. It's fair to say that we're on familiar territory here, but who cares when it's this entertaining?

Directors Phil Lord and Christopher Miller, known for gloriously imaginative and daft comedy, manage the competing tones in Project Hail Mary beautifully, moving easily between wacky discovery, dramatic reveals, and earned sentimentality, and never failing to show care and an instinct for the value of the image - some shots are breathtaking. Like Weir, they're unafraid to cannibalise their previous work in search of useful ideas, reworking the monkey thought translator from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs into a computer that allows Gosling's reluctant hero to communicate with Rocky, the alien he meets. In this and elsewhere throughout, Project Hail Mary shows the same reverence for scientific inquiry and application of intelligence to problem-solving that The Martian did, which is a pleasure in itself.

There's a huge amount to like here, at least until the long and excessively detailed ending, which sadly drags things down a little. We urge you to see Project Hail Mary while it's in cinemas - it's a massive crowd pleaser and one of the most satisfying experiences we've had at the pictures in a while.

Amidst all this, we also discuss Gosling's particular brand of stardom and place in the Hollywood hierarchy in comparison with Leonardo DiCaprio and Timothée Chalamet, between whose names José feels Gosling gets smothered.

Recorded on 1st April 2026.

Sirât is all about tone, and the time it takes to establish it. It begins with an array of massive speakers being set up in a desert, and over the next several minutes, we experience an outdoor rave, the music trance-inducing, the ravers moving freely and in their own worlds, as we gradually narrow our focus on an out-of-place father, Luis, and his young son, who we learn are searching for his daughter, last seen five months ago. Failing to find her there, Luis latches on to the mention of another, upcoming rave, and, while war breaks out in the background, uncertainly follows a group of ravers there.

It's possible to spoil Sirât severely - some of what occurs is barely signposted and hard to believe, but just as we're told about the music that underscores everything, this is a film for dancing to, not listening to. It would be all too easy to watch Sirât at a remove and find the events depicted ludicrous and laughable, but director Óliver Laxe demonstrates such control of tone that it's easy to be lured into the emotional state he needs to shock us when he wants. The only thing you should be prepared to expect is a lack of easy answers. Sirât is a film about a world coming apart that leaves you wondering what it's all for.

Recorded on 3rd March 2026.