Author: Andres Kabel

Please, please save me from any further “based on a true story” films. I have said this before and it remains true: for some reason, the girdle of factuality almost always saps the plotline, script, and dialogue of artistry. So too with Wicked Little Letters, a currently popular, very British, “juicy” (as in the centrality of cussing) comedy. In a classic English town, Littlehampton, poison pen letters full of profane, sexual stupidity arrive in the letterboxes of the prim, proper residents, who, naturally, are shocked. Edith, a repressed spinster under the thumb of a truly bigoted father, is the first to receive the missives, and based on her say-so, the buffoonish police arrest neighbour Rose, a spirited, take-no-prisoners Irish blow-in. From this early plot premise, we follow the only “good cop,” and indeed the first ever female policeman, Gladys, as she hesitantly seeks justice.

Let me give credit to the elements of Wicked Little Letters that work: the village atmosphere is rendered atmospherically. You will hear fulsome praise of Olivia Colman’s expressive portrayal of Edith, of Jessie Buckley’s characteristically true rendering of Rose, Anjana Wasan’s “look at my expressive eyes” turn as Gladys, and also Timothy Spall’s grotesque depiction of the cartoonish father, and yes, all show considerable artistry. But the script they work with turns most scenes into “staged” moments that never convince. The deferred “plot twist” is telegraphed way too early. Worst of all, the copious profanity should send us into fits of laughter but instead sounds like kids playing at swearing. By the time we arrive at the ham-fisted “climax,” boredom has long set in.

The title of this three-part documentary, Australia’s Sleep Revolution with Michael Mosley, is unlike to draw in anyone not currently thinking about sleep and its ramifications, but it’s a hidden treasure, one that anyone cursed with insomnia must watch. Mosley, as ever, expertly spins out the storyline of thirty insomniacs (himself included, of course) being tackled by a large multi-disciplinary team of experts at Flinders University, the result being a modestly entertaining watch. But the meat of series is twofold: the unfolding of a method of “retraining” the body and mind to a productive framework whereby roughly 85% of your “bed time” is actual “sleep time” (an added factor not of interest to me is the latest techniques to battle sleep apnoea); and the variety and dramas of the participants, many of whom are engaging characters. I learnt something valuable and am sure any insomniac viewer would do likewise, and for further elucidation, one can, of course, turn to the accompanying Mosley book.

Born of Estonian parents, I was immediately drawn to Rainer Sarnet’s ultra-quirky The Invisible Fight, an energized, silly story of a young martial arts fan (played with huge, attractive brio by moustachioed Ursel Tilk) who journeys to a monastery of adepts. Everyone is hooked on heavy metal music and roaring, lovely music informs most scenes, especially the copious kung-fu fights. Our hero embarks on a path to mastery of his chosen calling and all manner of extravagant battles, choreographed with a love of classic movies, take place, a love interest enters, and much is in place for a thoroughly frisky cinematic experience. Add an element of satire (it is set in the early 1970s, when Estonia was a crushed satellite of the Soviet Union) and there is much to admire. Yet the plotline is a meaningless mess, with no calibration of intensity and no sense of control, and the ending is a bust. I was intended to laugh, I guess, but never did, so watch The Invisible Fight if the allure of a meld of heavy metal, kung-fu, and religion calls to you, but otherwise, it is regrettably difficult to recommend.

Based on Trent Dalton’s mega bestselling novel of the same name, Boy Swallows Universe, a lovingly crafted seven-episode streaming show, never flinches from the dark side of the original work. Eli Bell grows up in the harsh light of the bogan drug world of 1980s Brisbane, accompanied by his semi-savant older brother Eli. Even as his parents and stepfather sell and take drugs or alcohol, a naive optimism grips Eli, and both the actors portraying him over a decade, Felix Cameron (especially) and Zax Burgess, convey this superbly. The other actors in a busy ensemble are also superb, with special mention of Simon Baker as Eli’s agoraphobic alcoholic estranged father. The bleak yet somehow lovely background of Brisbane’s grungier suburbs is on full display with lush cinematography and the music score is evocative. The underlying book veered, in my opinion, toward the overly histrionic, but John Collee’s script, and the work of three directors, achieve a powerful balance that marries gritty reality, emotive aspirations, surreal elements, and narrative tension. Boy Swallows Universe is a triumph, definitely the highlight of the 2024 Australian movie/show scene and a worthy aspirant globally.

If someone were to pass me a magazine article, say, about a 90-year-old British WWII vet who gatecrashes the 70th anniversary of Dunkirk in France and becomes plastered on the front covers of newspapers … well, I’d read and mutter “interesting.” As a movie, The Great Escaper is a dull, drama-deficient failure. Michael Caine convincingly plays the vet shuffling with his walker but the lines he is given by the pedestrian script blunt his performance. Only toward the end is he allowed to shine a little and display real emotion, but by sticking to veracity the narrative can find no tension or friction. In theory, Glenda Jackson should work well as his wife, the two of them clearly meant to portray what it is like to be very elderly but still bask in seventy years of love, but her performance is all hammy edges and no traction. The music is abominably treacly and the supporting cast adds few sparks. All up, The Great Escaper might make sense if you adore World War II nostalgia but otherwise, skip it.

Season 1 of Annika startled me with its narrative device of the main character regularly speaking directly to the viewer, and it took me one and a half episodes to come to grips with the notion. I suspect that in many writers’/directors’/actors’ hands, musings, usually around a cultural or historical theme, and confessions would backfire badly, but in this case, the effect is stunning. Each episode of this procedural series is standalone, with the key Marine Homicide investigator solving a distinct murder, and somehow the chats-to-viewer mesh seamlessly with both the murder case and the evolving lives of the homicide crew. The script crackles with superb dialogue, Directorial control never falters, marrying action and investigation to scenes on and around Scottish waters. And, most important of all, Nicola Walker is brilliant in her portrayal of DI Annika Strandhed. As a bonus, the other bit characters are also portrayed wonderfully well; Jamie Sives is especially absorbing as DS Michael McAndrews, #2 in the unit and someone with longstanding linkages with Annika. Season 1 ended with a brilliant cliffhanger, a climax that spills over into the six episodes of Season 2 with satisfying cohesion, and Season 2 itself does not lack for a fine finale. Overall, Annika has proven to be a welcome surprise package.