Monthly Archives: November 2021

Film Review – Petite Maman

Posted on by
1
Credite: Pyramide Distribution

Portrait of a Lady on Fire director Céline Sciamma scores another bullseye with Petite Maman, a deceptively simple yet utterly beautiful magical realist gem. At a mere 72 minutes, the film is spare and stripped down, without an ounce of fat on its cinematic bones. Yet Petite Maman is a fillet mignon of poignancy, exploring themes of childhood innocence, imagination, creativity, friendship, loneliness, insecurity, grief, and catharsis with more depth and subtlety than many films twice the length, and hundreds of times the budget.

It is best to go into this film with as little knowledge of the plot as possible. Suffice to say, it concerns young Nelly (Josephine Sanz), who has just lost her beloved grandmother. Nelly’s mother (Nina Meurisse) sinks deeper into her grief when she and her husband (Stephan Varupenne) have to spend a few days in her mother’s home clearing away her possessions, with Nelly in tow. Nelly is eventually left alone with her father when it all becomes too much for her mother to bear. Exploring the nearby woods, she makes friends with an enigmatic girl about her age called Marion (Gabrielle Sanz). They immediately bond and form a close friendship.

To say any more risks spoilers, but the film depicts the rituals of childhood with crystalline authenticity. The way children ask one another “What’s your name?” and “How old are you?” before becoming trusted friends is evocatively depicted. Many viewers will doubtless be reminded of halcyon childhood days building dens in the woods, having sleepovers, playing games, telling one another secrets, eating pancakes, and play-acting.

Regarding the latter, these plays provide important subtext, deftly but unobtrusively weaving in bittersweet metaphors concerning the film’s main themes. The supernatural element is rightly glossed over, portrayed without special effects or fuss of any kind, with a slight ambiguity. Performances are superb, especially from the winning young leads, but Stephan Varupenne also deserves a special shout. In an era when fatherhood is often depicted with relentless negativity, his interactions with Josephine Sanz are a breath of fresh air.

Those looking for action and thrills would be better served elsewhere. Petite Maman is gentle and unhurried, featuring gorgeous autumnal cinematography courtesy of Spencer lenser Claire Mathon. The quiet, naturalistic, observational style and pacing contains not one moment of intrusive melodramatics, either in Sciamma’s direction or screenplay. There isn’t a CGI pixel in sight, and scarcely any music score to break the quiet, reflective tone (though Jean-Baptiste de Laubier’s compositions are a fine complement to the drama). Nor is there a single false note throughout. Petite Maman is captivating and beguiling from start to finish – suitable for all ages, incidentally – and one of the finest films of the year.

UK Certificate: U

US Certificate: Not yet known

Film Review – House of Gucci

Posted on by
Reply
Credit: MGM

House of Gucci is the second Ridley Scott film in as many months, thanks to pandemic-related release delays. Featuring first-rate performances from Lady Gaga and Adam Driver, and some absurd scenery-chewing whiny flailing from Jared Leto in a lot of prosthetics, it’s a hit-and-miss affair telling the true story of Patrizia Reggiani who married into the Gucci family with ultimately tragic consequences.

Lady Gaga is terrific as Patrizia, with Becky Johnston and Roberto Bentivegna’s adaptation of Sara Gay Forden’s book portraying her neither as bunny-boiling gold-digger nor as wronged innocent. As Maurizio Gucci Adam Driver is his usual brilliantly understated self, with the tiniest of facial movements communicating his character with finely attuned nuance. Jeremy Irons is pretty good too, in a supporting role as Maurizio’s father Rodolfo, who disapproves of his and Patrizia’s marriage. On the other hand, Al Pacino’s performance as Maurizio’s uncle Aldo is rather hammier, though not as hammy as Leto’s aforementioned Paolo, Aldo’s son. I found myself screwing up my face in bewildered exasperation whenever he featured in a scene, wondering why on earth Ridley Scott would think such ridiculous antics could possibly pass for acting. Salma Hayek also crops up, as fortune teller Pina Auriemma, whom Patrizia consults.

Scott directs as stylishly as ever, and naturally, everyone and everything looks fabulous – from Italian villas to the clothes, bags, cars, and other accessories. But don’t be fooled by the trailer. Although it promises a lurid, pulpy, soapy wallow, instead the film is rather better behaved – give or take a rather energetic sex scene towards the end of act one. I couldn’t help thinking the story would be better if told with a little less earnestness, and a bit more melodramatic flair. As a notorious, lifestyles-of-the-rich-and- famous true story of sex, greed, money, power, and betrayal, less restraint would have been welcome. It also drags on a bit, and ends on a whimper rather than a bang. Despite ending with a literal bang.

A mixed bag then, but House of Gucci is worth a watch purely for Adam Driver and Lady Gaga. Ultimately, one does feel some pity for Patrizia, thanks to the performance of the latter. On top of that, it portrays the moral vacuum shenanigans of backstabbing corporate takeovers with depressingly accurate aplomb. Another plus is the mostly 1970s/1980s soundtrack, which is studded with gems from the likes of Donna Summer, Eurythmics, and New Order (plus the odd bit of Mozart). However, in the end, the film struggles to register as much more than only occasionally above average, with Jared Leto’s eccentric performance threatening to sink everything whenever he walks onscreen. His whiny voice is still ringing in my head, even several hours later writing this review.

UK Certificate: 15

US Certificate: R

Content Warnings: Sex, swearing, violence.

Film Review – Titane

Posted on by
Reply
Credit: Diaphana/Neon/Altitude

To say that Titane is not for the easily offended or faint of heart is like saying it gets a bit chilly at the south pole. So consider yourself well and truly warned: This film contains graphically gory, blackly comic violence, sex, nudity, swearing and sometimes a mixture of all the above. Plenty of disturbing, distressing, surreal, bizarre scenes too, as well as vehicular sexual fetishism of a kind not seen since David Cronenberg’s Crash.

Cronenberg is the key influence on Julia Ducournau’s darkly amusing body horror provocation, also evoking The Brood and even Videodrome to a certain extent. David Lynch’s Eraserhead is another key influence. At any rate, anything that triggers mass offended walkouts at Cannes intrigues me, and in the absolutely nuts department, Titane doesn’t disappoint. Also, if you thought the wince-inducing bikini wax and scratching scenes were uncomfortable in Ducournau’s previous film Raw, this film manages to top them. Certain scenes had me squirming in my seat. If you’re female, I suspect you’ll squirm even more, for reasons I’ll spare you here, except to add that prosthetic make-up effects (possibly assisted by a little CGI) are very good.

I think I’ve probably laid it on thick enough now, so enough warnings. The point is Julia Ducournau has pushed the envelope, and it contains some jolly nasty stuff. The plot? I’m almost afraid to get into it, suffice to say it concerns Alexia (Agathe Rousselle), a highly disturbed young woman who after a car accident as a child, had a titanium skull replacement, and subsequently developed a kind of, well, sexual connection with vehicles. She has a dancing job twerking on cars in showrooms, but after a stalker takes his fandom a bridge too far, his death proves the first in a string of killings.

On the run from the police, Alexia decides to impersonate the long-lost missing son of a fire brigade Captain (Vincent Lindon), a la The Imposter (a fascinating documentary which I highly recommend, by the way). The only trouble is, she is pregnant after having unprotected sex with a car. No, really. Unless the oily discharges oozing from her body are all in her head. Who knows?

I have to say that as a horror film with gruesome metaphors, I preferred Raw. That film had interesting things to say about identity, peer pressure, family relationships, body image, and more, amid the cannibalistic nastiness. By contrast, Titane explores similar themes, with the added hot topic of gender fluidity, but the ridiculous levels of melodrama rather bury any serious point that might be being made. In fact, I found it very difficult to take the film seriously at all. It just feels like a silly shaggy dog story, albeit one shocking enough to provoke walkouts (yes, there were a few at the screening I attended as well).

On the other hand, it certainly isn’t dull. Performances are “committed” (and all that implies), the direction is stylish, and no one is going to walk out thinking a lesbian cyborg serial killer pretending to be a missing boy to indulge quasi-incestuous feelings for his delusional father having been impregnated by a car is a premise that’s been done to death. If that sounds like your cup of tea, great. But for goodness’ sake, please reread the warning at the start of this review, and if you are offended, don’t come crying to me afterwards.

UK Certificate: 18

US Certificate: R

Content Warnings: Very strong violence, sex, nudity, gore, bad language.

Infestation Unpacked: Spinner

Posted on by
2

My recently released book Infestation: A Horror Anthology features my Infestation novella – a six-chapter sci-fi horror tale – along with five other short stories. In the penultimate instalment of this series examining each story in the collection, this week I take a slightly deeper dive into Spinner.

Graphic designer Isabel is trapped in an abusive relationship with her bullying business owner partner Tyler, which is exacerbated once Covid lockdown hits in early 2020. They have recently moved into a new home; one which the son of the previous owner, Maud Spinner, was particularly keen to get off his hands. Never a good sign. Nor are the sinister sounds coming from the basement…

Photo by Marten Newhall on Unsplash

As a fusion of abusive relationship drama and supernatural horror, Spinner is dark, claustrophobic, and frightening. The running theme throughout the Infestation anthology concerns guilt, real or perceived. In the case of Isabel, she is constantly gaslit and made to feel guilty by Tyler. This set-up feeds into her later paranoia over the malevolent supernatural presence in their home, and whether maybe, just maybe, it might all be in her head.

Spinner almost didn’t get included in this collection, as I had concerns it wasn’t quite up to scratch. However, when I tested the story on Medium, I received some very strong positive feedback, here for instance, from people for whom the story resonated on a personal level. It is worth adding that Spinner is partly informed by the experiences of two people I know personally, besides a few obvious literary horror giants such as MR James and Stephen King.

Infestation: A Horror Anthology is available on Kindle and paperback from Amazon here (in the UK) and here (in the US). It can also be ordered via Smashwords here.

Film Review – Encanto

Posted on by
Reply
Credit: Disney

Encanto is Disney’s 60th animated feature, and quite honestly, it feels like the House of Mouse on bland autopilot. Yes, on a technical level it’s splendid, with all the lovely digimation flourishes you’d expect, and directors Jared Bush, Bryon Howard, and Charise Castro Smith putting their colourful boxes of tricks to good effect. But I found it very hard to give a damn about anyone or anything.

The plot is some waffle about a magic candle that once delivered a young woman called Alma and her three babies from scary chasey people on horseback in Colombia (though her husband was tragically killed). Said candle miraculously created a magic house with TARDIS-like rooms surrounded by mountains, thus a new home was born for Alma (voiced by María Cecilia Botero). In subsequent generations, her family grew, and each was bestowed with a magical gift by the house.

Now a grandmother and stern matriarch, Abuela Alma finds herself at odds with her granddaughter Mirabel (Stephanie Beatriz), who inexplicably didn’t get a gift at the point she came of age for the house to bestow one. Mirabel is therefore seen as a bit of an outsider and always in the way. When she sees visions of cracks in the house and the magic failing, everyone else, especially Abuela Alma, seems determined to remain in denial. Could the mysterious Bruno (John Leguizamo) — a family member mysteriously absent for somehow going off the magical rails — hold the answers?

To be fair, there are a couple of moderately enjoyable moments in the ensuing drama. An Indiana Jones-style cave/tunnel escapade scene, for instance, and a nice subplot of sibling rivalry between Mirabel and her Insta-perfect sister Isabella (Diane Guerrero), which has a fun resolution. The music (by Germaine Franco and Lin-Manuel Miranda) is agreeably bouncy, and one number involving another of Mirabel’s other sisters who has super-strength is an enjoyably surreal mix of donkeys, Greek myth, and other bizarre metaphors for taking on too much.

Yet despite all of this, there really is only so much everyone’s-special saccharine I can take before I lapse into a nauseous diabetic coma. I have no problem with sentimentality when done well, but here it feels incredibly forced, ladled on so the viewer feels bludgeoned into algorithmically dictated submission, via well-intended but unconvincing find-your-true-self waterboarding. Given that the film warns against tightly wound contrived perfectionism (in an inconsistent, powers-are-good-until-they’re-not sort of way), it seems oddly reluctant to take its own advice, aspiring to be nothing more than box-ticking machine-tooled production line content.

In short, I found Encanto an unsatisfying and rather forgettable tale. It might appeal to young children with very low expectations, but this is light years from top-flight Disney animation.

UK Certificate: PG

US Certificate: PG

Film Review – King Richard

Posted on by
1
Credit: Warner Brothers

Even someone as pathologically disinterested in sport as me has heard of tennis legends Venus and Serena Williams. King Richard concerns their rise to fame, as told through the eyes of their father, Richard (Will Smith). As with all the best films about sport, this isn’t really about the sport itself but about the triumph of the human spirit in spite of adversity through courage, determination, perseverance, and – in King Richard’s case – the historic landmark of African American women breaking into what had previously been seen as a predominantly white sport.

Of course, the road to success is far from easy. Having grown up in a background of southern racism, with very real threats from the Ku Klux Klan and other horrors, Richard is determined that his family will have a better life. The streets of Compton may be rough, but his will is set. His daughters will not be dragged down into criminality and destruction. Despite the ever-present spectre of institutional racism – running the gamut from the Rodney King beating to Faustian white country club condescension – Richard truly believes his children will rise above it, and be an inspiration to Black girls across America.

At the same time, the film doesn’t gloss over some of the criticisms that have been levelled at Richard in his obsessive moulding of Venus (Saniyya Sidney) and Serena (Demi Singleton). He has been accused of controlling and abusive behaviour, exploitation, self-interest, living vicariously through his children, and so forth. The film – made with the backing of the real Venus and Serena, who serve as executive producers – depicts the truth as somewhere in the middle, and therefore doesn’t shy away from moments where Richard is a bit more overbearing and misguided in his attempts at being a disciplinarian (for instance, in a scene where he tries to give a heavy-handed lesson in humility).

It is also worth mentioning that Richard’s wife Oracene (Aunjanue Ellis) is portrayed in a very positive light, both as supportive and as challenging of Richard’s excesses where necessary. Richard’s determination to do things his way is often met with frustrated bewilderment by the various coaches with whom he collaborates, including Paul Cohen (Tony Goldwyn) and Rick Macci (Jon Bernthal). Suffice to say, there are two sides to some of his more controversial ideas – keeping his daughters out of competition in junior tournaments through fear of burnout and the trappings of fame, for instance.

Will Smith is excellent, and I suspect an Oscar nomination may be forthcoming. His performance here reminded me somewhat of The Pursuit of Happyness, wherein he plays a similarly driven character determined to succeed against the odds. The supporting cast is also good, and director Reinaldo Marcus Green helms with a sure hand.

All things considered, King Richard works very well indeed. It isn’t flawless – clips of the real people over the end credits is a cliché I always roll my eyes at these days – but it is undeniably stirring, powerful, inspirational, and moving.

UK Certificate: 12A

US Certificate: PG-13

Film Review – Ghostbusters Afterlife

Posted on by
Reply
Credit: Sony

Three things summarise Ghostbusters Afterlife. First, it does for Ghostbusters what The Force Awakens did for Star Wars in terms of shameless nostalgic manipulation. Second, it substitutes grown-up protagonists in the big city for child protagonists in Spielbergian small-town shenanigans. Thirdly, it is moderately enjoyable, and certainly more entertaining than recent big-budget offerings like Eternals (or, as I call it, Interminables). However, you may still, as I did, emerge from the cinema thinking there really ought to be fewer sequels, remakes, reboots, and more, well, originality in blockbuster filmmaking. Rather like the first Ghostbusters, in fact.

The plot involves the daughter and grandchildren of original ghostbuster Egon Spengler (once played by the late Harold Ramis) being evicted and relocating to a small town somewhere in Oklahoma. In this town, Egon lived as a recluse, worried about the coming of an apocalypse-inducing evil spirit, prior to his death. The grandchildren in question are Trevor (Finn Wolfhard, from Stranger Things) and Phoebe (Mckenna Grace). Their mother Callie (Carrie Coon) has inherited her estranged father’s old farmhouse, along with the iconic (and now run-down) Ecto-1 vehicle, assorted ghostbuster paraphernalia, hidden underground laboratories, and so forth.

Phoebe and Trevor investigate a mysterious ghostly presence in an abandoned mine, discover their grandfather’s secrets, and needless to say, come of age as they inherit his ghostbusting mantle, with their mettle duly tested by the aforementioned (and familiar) evil spirit. Along for the ride are the aptly named Podcast (Logan Kim) and Lucky (Celeste O’Connor), on whom Trevor develops a teenage crush. Speaking of romance, Callie begins to flirt with school science teacher Mr Grooberson (Paul Rudd). His enthusiastic “punk rock” approach to his subject is rather at odds with the apathetic way he plonks summer school students in front of nasty 80s horror pics like Cujo and Child’s Play whilst he takes a nap.

There are bigger inconsistencies to come. For instance, the presence of a non-evil, non-bustable ghost does sit rather awkwardly alongside unambiguously evil demonic spirits that need to be, well, busted. Perhaps I’m picking nits. After all, no one comes to Ghostbusters for in-depth ponderings of the afterlife, even if such a term is used in the title. But it does feel like the film is breaking its own rules.

Performances are winning, especially from the Mckenna Grace. There are some entirely expected cameo roles from familiar faces (including one mid-end credits, which is worth staying for), and visual effects are well up to scratch, as one would expect. Yet somehow it all feels a bit forced, a bit drawn-out, and a bit predictable. It lacks the eye-popping, quick-witted charm of the original, which to be honest didn’t warrant one sequel, let alone three. Ghostbusters was essentially a one-joke film that didn’t lend itself to expansions or embellishments. Yet here we are, doing The Force Awakens thing.

On the other hand, despite such cynicism, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this. I also think, regardless of my misgivings, this is a film with its heart in the right place, in that director Jason Reitman (son of Ivan, who directed the original) honours both his own father’s legacy, and that of Harold Ramis. All of which plays into the film’s theme of generational reconciliation rather neatly. No groundbreaking masterpiece then – and yes, you may end up wondering what happened to high-concept original blockbuster filmmaking – but still a fun watch.

UK Certificate: 12A

US Certificate: PG-13

Infestation Unpacked: Regression

Posted on by
2

My recently released book Infestation: A Horror Anthology features my Infestation novella – a six-chapter sci-fi horror tale – along with five other short stories. Continuing this series examining each story in the collection, today’s tale under the microscope is Regression.

Jack Walker is a divorced English teacher haunted by a terrible secret in his past. When new neighbours move in next door to Jack, their young daughter reminds him of his secret, bringing up long-buried feelings of guilt. Even more unsettlingly, the girl seems to know things about his past, which ought to be impossible as she didn’t exist when the events took place.

A creepy, psychological, supernaturally tinged tale previously published on Medium, Regression deals in themes of guilt, conscience, and punishment. How much the girl really knows, and how much is a projection of Jack’s paranoia is left teasingly ambiguous throughout, inviting the reader to bring their own interpretation of events as lines between fantasy and reality begin to blur.

Photo by Joyful on Unsplash

The story for Regression originated from my youngest son, who came up with the bare-bones idea a couple of years ago, with a slightly different central mystery. I then did the hard work of fleshing out the details and making narrative tweaks. Regression also shares DNA with some of Daphne Du Maurier’s short creepy gothic mysteries, as well as elements of MR James and Susan Hill. Ambiguous ideas about reincarnation and ghosts derive inspiration from Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. There’s a little bit of Arthur Conan Doyle in there too.

Infestation: A Horror Anthology is available on Kindle and paperback from Amazon here (in the UK) and here (in the US). It can also be ordered via Smashwords here.

Film Review – Cry Macho

Posted on by
Reply
Credit: Warner Brothers

There are times I wish Gran Torino had been Clint Eastwood’s final onscreen performance. It would have been a fine way to bow out, in terms of the personal baggage contained in that role (no one else could have played what is essentially Dirty Harry in retirement) and as a superb, redemptive, character-driven piece on tough love mentoring. Eastwood has directed one or two fine films since (Richard Jewell, for instance), but his post-Gran Torino acting roles have been largely disappointing. He’s still an iconic presence in his new film Cry Macho, but for much of the running time, I found myself thinking that at 91, he really is, as Danny Glover puts it in Lethal Weapon, “too old for this shit”. Indeed, I was worried for his health at several points, which rather took me out of the drama.

Not that I was missing much. Based on a novel by N Richard Nash, Cry Macho is best described as deeply average. It is an entirely unsurprising, unmemorable, Eastwood-on-autopilot story that contains not one surprise. In 1979, washed-up rodeo rider Mike Milo (Eastwood) is asked by his rancher boss (Dwight Yoakam) to drive across the border to Mexico to bring him his estranged, troubled teenage son Rafo (Eduardo Minett), whom he believes is being abused by his mother (Fernanda Urrejola). Mike feels he owes his old boss, even though he considers him a “weak, gutless man” because he helped him out after the injury that put an end to his rodeo career several years previously.

Off Mike goes to Mexico, where he finds Rafo has a cockrell called Macho and a penchant for entering him in illegal cockfights. Rafo agrees to accompany Mike, but his rich, corrupt mother is less than happy with this development, and sends her henchman and the police on their trail. Of course, at first, Mike and Rafo don’t get along, but then they start to bond. When they find themselves forced to lie low in a small Mexican town, they befriend a local widow (Natalia Traven), who of course takes them under her motherly wing, and is attracted to Eastwood, despite the forty-year age chasm (it seems foolish to describe it as a “gap”). Mike becomes a mentor to Rafo, teaching him that this “macho” thing isn’t all it’s cranked up to be. In short, it is all very routine stuff for Eastwood, as both actor and director.

Eastwood had a remarkable late-career run in front of and behind the camera between 2000 and 2009, with the likes of Mystic River, Million Dollar Baby, Letters from Iwo Jima, Changeling, and the afore-mentioned Gran Torino (which shares DNA with this film). Before that, he spent decades interrogating masculinity, especially in classics like Unforgiven. In view of this, I expect better than Cry Macho, which has the weight of a paper towel and the depth of a puddle. Every insight is on-the-nose and predictable, and the finale is a damp squib.

That isn’t to say Cry Macho is unpleasant to watch. Eastwood can’t help but be magnetic, supporting performances are perfectly fine, and it ambles along agreeably enough. But this is a very run-of-the-mill affair that plays like a blander take on Gran Torino subject matter, shorn of that film’s darker edges and dramatic weight. For Eastwood completists only.

UK Certificate: 12A

US Certificate: PG-13

Film Review – Spencer

Posted on by
1
Credit: Neon/Topic Studios/STXfilms/FilmNation Entertainment

Spencer is a horror film. No, really. Do not go to this expecting The Crown, The Queen, Downton Abbey, or something of that ilk, because what this is most akin to – for the most part – is a low-key psychological horror story; a chilling, unsettling tale of paranoia and emotional breakdown, centred by a superb, career-best, Oscar-bait performance from Kristen Stewart, as Princess Diana.

A caption at the beginning reads: “A fable from a true tragedy”. Thus Steven Knight’s screenplay is immediately framed as a speculative dive into Diana’s consciousness and deteriorating mental health, during what must undoubtedly have been a tense Christmas in 1991, shortly before Prince Charles and Princess Diana announced their separation.

The film opens with the arrival of food at Sandringham, under military escort. This curious imagery gives a deliberate feeling of food being weaponised, which ties in with Diana’s battles with bulimia. The lavishly prepared food looks delicious, but for Diana, it is a minefield. For Diana, Christmas at Sandringham is a meticulously scheduled, carefully orchestrated ordeal, in which she has to endure ongoing misery most obviously concerning the grieving of her doomed marriage, but also the demons of past and present. As she ominously notes, in the royal family these things are one and the same, and there is no future.

Director Pablo Larraín – whose earlier film Jackie constitutes a similarly powerful depiction of the claustrophobia of grief – deliberately evokes classic horror films. The arrivals at Sandringham reminded me of The Shining, and there are many shots of Diana pacing inside the corridors that echo Kubrick’s roving camera inside the Overlook Hotel. Diana comments on the amount of dust, and how some of it could be Queen Victoria’s skin cells. Harry (Freddie Spry) and William (Jack Nielen) complain to her about how cold the place is. The vast, lavishly furnished rooms feel eerie, smothering, and confined. It is described as a place where everyone hears everything, even your innermost thoughts. This could be the setting of a classic gothic ghost story. Claire Mathon’s bleakly atmospheric cinematography and Jonny Greenwood’s melancholy score add to the overall horror film effect. Heck, there is even a couple of jump scares.

Considerable tension is generated by just how late Diana will arrive at meals, between bouts of bulimia and self-harm. In a particularly skin-crawling sequence, she sits at a tense dinner under the watchful eye of other family members. The pearls around her neck – a gift from her husband, who gave an identical set to Camilla – are like a noose. She fidgets, fiddling with the pearls as though being strangled, before fantasy and reality start to blur amid ghostly visions of Anne Boleyn (who crops up throughout the film at key moments).

The gothic atmosphere is enhanced by Rebecca-esque moments where staff appear to gaslight Diana with rumours of what people are saying about her. It is noted she has been getting dressed whilst her curtains are open, so they are sewn up for her own good, supposedly to protect her from photographers. This adds to Diana’s feeling of entrapment, and encourages her nocturnal wanderings, where she attempts to break into her now boarded-up neighbouring family home. Needless to say, childhood memories and ghosts return to haunt her.

Here I must return to Kristen Stewart’s central performance. As Diana, she nails the mannerisms, accent, awkwardness, vulnerability, and enigma of an individual who has already become a figure of legend in British royal history. Stewart is so good, in fact, that I almost feel bad for being scathing about her turns in those wretched Twilight films, and the equally bland Snow White and the Huntsman. Since then, Stewart has impressed me more and more in films such as Personal Shopper and Still Alice. This film confirms her status as a performer to be reckoned with, and I confidently predict an Oscar nomination to follow. Possibly even a win (it is far too early to call, as I’ve yet to see several key potential contenders, including Lady Gaga’s performance in the upcoming House of Gucci).

In addition to Stewart, there are one or two fine supporting turns. Timothy Spall is alarmingly sinister as Major Alistair Gregory, an equerry whose watchful eye over Diana feeds her paranoia. Sally Hawkins is warm and humane as another staff member called Maggie, who has become a confidant to Diana. Sean Harris also crops up as royal head chef Darren McGrady. For the record, the latter is a real person, Maggie is based on a real person (though her true identity is unknown), and Major Alistair Gregory is a fictional character.

With the exception of William and Harry, the rest of the royals are wisely kept in the background as a homogenous archaic presence hovering somewhere between menace and intrusive concern, as befitting Diana’s state of mind. However, The Queen (Stella Gonet) has a key moment where she informs Diana that they are currency, nothing more. In addition, Charles (Jack Farthing) reiterates to Diana how there has to be “two” of them – the real one, and one for the cameras. Speaking of cameras, one scene where Diana is assailed by photographers outside a church is deeply disturbing in that it is directed almost like an assault, and as an obvious harbinger of her ultimate tragic demise.

There are a few minor flaws (one metaphor concerning pheasants feels a little heavy-handed) but overall this is a superb piece of work – not as historical drama, but as myth-making psychological horror. On that basis, I’d highly recommend Spencer as one of the finest films of the year, with one of the finest central performances.

UK Certificate: 12A

US Certificate: R

Content Warnings: Strong language, scenes of bulimia and self-harm.