In this episode, Ralph and Owen journey into the spectral wastes of British film, asking: what went wrong, and what is to be done? Through kitchen sink realism, folk-horror spooks, socially-engaged documentarians, materially-inclined avant-gardism, and more than a handful of oddballs, the situation seems as underwhelming as it was in 1927, when Kenneth Macpherson opined that “it is no good pretending one has any feeling of hope about it”. Ninety-seven years later, is the landscape still as dispiriting – and why did ‘we’ never get our own New Wave – and why are we still stuck in the kitchen sink? Through cash, ‘character’, class, and capital, there’s a lot to unpick. Regardless, the boys do their best to keep the aspidistra flying.

This week, we’re slipping into the proverbial cinematic pool with a brief pitstop in Bradley Cooper’s Bernstein-biopic Maestro and a longer look at a luscious new restoration of Lou Ye’s Suzhou River (2000). We also figure out what it means to be ‘Shanghaied’.

In a year when so much felt so over, film seems so beautifully back. Casting their eyes over twelve months, four festivals, and countless hours of chthonic kino encounters, the boys sat down to boil the broth of 2023; setting out to identify their top 10 films of the year.

Jean Eustache is hard to pin down. A French auteur who combined the brevity of Bresson with the romantic rambling of Rohmer.

Eustache often preferred telling to showing. Yet somehow these moments of gossip and reminiscence are powerfully cinematic. A spell is cast with judicious editing, subtle performances and gentle fades to black.

After a short break the boys return to send new vibrations down your Eustachian tubes, prompted by a recent BFI Southbank retrospective.

LFF may be over, but the takes are not. For their final derive through the halls of contemporary arthouse film, Ralph, Owen, and George take stock of flicks both fair and foul: Jonathan Glazer’s tautly rigorous Zone of Interest, Molly Manning Walker’s spring-breaky debut How to Have Sex, Moin Hussain’s service station sci-fi Sky Peals, Wim Wender’s flabby kunstlerfilm Anselm, Linklater’s poorly-aimed Hit Man, Hamaguchi’s ham-fisted Evil Does Not Exist, Lila Aviles’ raucously intimate Totem, Pedro Costa’s compelling proof-of-concept The Daughters of Fire, and – finally – Close Your Eyes, the much-much awaited return of Victor Erice, in fine and dazzling form.

Un-reel city, under the brown fog of winter (well, autumn) dawn – a crowd flowed over Picadilly Circus, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Apologies to T.S. Eliot, but London Film Festival 2023 has landed – banging the slush from its shoes, clapping its hands together, and inviting us to step inside the cheugy rooms of Picturehouse bloody Central for two weeks of untapped film. For the first of our festival reports (there’ll be three), we got to grips with some biggies and some smallies: Kore-eda's MONSTER, Breillat’s long-awaited latest, LAST SUMMER, the Camera d’or winning INSIDE THE YELLOW COCOON SHELL, and a slurry of BFI-funded short films of [muffled cursing] dubious quality, alongside Coppola’s PRISCILLA. Oh, and we filmed the whole thing, just in case you want to see the whites of our eyes.

Watch at:

https://youtu.be/420bIpL7UdM?si=lJ235_IDbgA2Vxkp

Plumbing the murky and anodyne depths of German modernity, Christian Petzold – leading light of the Berlin School; protege of artist-filmmaker Harun Farocki – has a bafflingly uneven reputation.

The highs are thrilling and poised; the lows, schlocky and off-note. Why so inconsistent?

To separate the sauer from the succulent, the boys – joined by George MacBeth – set out on a long-distance road trip through the autobahns and service stations that have provided such weirdly compelling settings for his filmmaking – a journey that makes pit-stops at the great (Afire, Gespenster), the so-so (Jerichow, Cuba Libre), and the wurst (Barbara, Phoenix, Transit, Undine).

With a career bookended by moments of brilliance we celebrate a true return to form.

Owen and Ralph discuss Edward Yang - the golden boy of the Taiwanese New Wave. Yang rose to fame with elliptical films like Taipei Story and The Terrorisers - which depicted intimate relationships, strained by modernity and Taiwain’s unique east/west ambivalence. His dense period piece A Brighter Summer Day established a fascination with family dynamics, which he pushed further with his canonised swansong Yi Yi. 

Last weekend we dreamed in celluloid, in three-strip technicolor and, crucially, on NITRATE. The BFI's new, hopefully regular, festival dedicated to cinema's technical heritage was a triumph - give or take an opening night. The boys sampled some exhilarating expanded cinema on 16mm by Malcolm Le Grice, some dicy nostalgism from Mark Jenkin, and of course Blood and Sand, Rouben Mamoulian's bullish nitrate delight. Join us for recollections of this sweaty and flickery weekend as we discuss the good, the bad and the flammable.