Monthly Archives: December 2022

My Top Ten Films of 2022

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Elvis. Credit: Warner Brothers

Welcome to the annual selection of my ten top films of the year. I say “top” films rather than “favourite” or “greatest” because, in truth, I can’t really consider any of these favourites without a second watch, and some of these I’ve only seen once. However, my final selection made enough of an impression to wind up on this list. As for “greatest”, my views on that are well documented, ie I don’t consider a film “great” or a “classic” (a term carelessly chucked around by less thoughtful film commenters) until at least ten years have allowed it to mature to that status, like a good single malt whisky. For more of my thoughts on what constitutes a great film, by all means, disappear down this rabbit hole.

Some additional points on criteria: To qualify for this list, the film in question has to have had a UK cinema release (even a limited one) during 2022, and I have to have seen it in the cinema. Films only available on streaming are ineligible, as they therefore aren’t “cinema” by definition, but more like “TV Movies”, as they used to be called. No, I don’t care if that makes me sound like a curmudgeonly “gatekeeper” (if you’ll forgive my use of an immensely irritating term I see splattered around these days, with reference to people who actually know a damn thing about cinema history). I may have made some allowances during the pandemic, but 2022 was the first year cinemas were open without interruption since 2019, so no more of this newfangled streaming nonsense. Cinema is the primary place to see films, and that is a tenet of the Dillon Empire carved in stone for all eternity.

Another critical point of order: I refer you again to the opening of my previous paragraph: To qualify, the film has to have been released in the UK in 2022. I am well aware US release dates are sometimes different, and indeed release dates differ throughout the rest of the world. However, my list is based purely on UK release dates, hence no mention of films such as Tár, The Whale, Babylon, Empire of Light, or The Fabelmans (all due for release in the UK early next year, so will qualify for my 2023 list, should they prove worthy).

On a related note, I didn’t get the chance to see The Lost Daughter, The Tragedy of Macbeth, and The Power of the Dog until early this year, when in fact they were all 2021 UK releases. Why did I wait? I wanted to see them at the cinema, not on streaming, and where I live in southwest England, sometimes that means I have to wait for them to show up at independent venues. But I never regret waiting. True love waits, and all that. And yes, at least one of those films (The Power of the Dog) would have been on my 2021 list, edging out another film. So one has to bear in mind the inevitability of such excellent films occasionally falling through the cracks.

The Power of the Dog. Credit: Netflix

What didn’t make the cut?

Before I get to the list, first a quick glide through my cinematic year. The first film I saw in 2022 was The Electrical Life of Louis Wain; a quirky, enjoyable piece of work that I was sad to leave on the sidelines. Parallel Mothers is another one I regret omitting, despite its flaws. Lots of people loved Belfast, but it didn’t hit the spot for me in quite the same way. And despite the deluge of critical praise heaped on cinematic art-installation piece Memoria, quite frankly I nearly fell asleep watching it.

Nor did I have my sights on The Eyes of Tammy Faye, or the immensely entertaining trio of The Duke, The Phantom of the Open, and The Lost King. Leaving out the latter was particularly painful, as I enjoyed it so much, despite certain shortcomings. By contrast, I didn’t particularly mind omitting Red Rocket, as I much preferred Sean Baker’s previous film, The Florida Project. Nor did I mind leaving out Everything Everywhere All At Once; a film everyone except me seems to love, but I found it exhausting and headache-inducing. A shame, as I really wanted to like it.

Drive My Car proved more positive, though I found it overlong, and Ali & Ava is worth a special mention too, despite also failing to secure a slot in the top ten. No space either for potential Oscar contenders She Said and The Woman King, both strong films. Nor could I fit in romantic comedy Mr Malcolm’s List, despite being thoroughly charmed by it. Leaving out Bowie celebration Moonage Daydream also hurt a little.

Moving on to blockbusters, The Lost City proved a modestly enjoyable riff on Romancing the Stone, but it wasn’t memorable enough to include. Jurassic World: Dominion was an utter disappointment, and the less said about James Cameron’s wet fish Avatar: The Way of Water, the better. On the plus side, Top Gun: Maverick flew its way into blockbuster history, smashing all manner of box office records. I enjoyed it, will concede it is an improvement on the original film in every respect except the soundtrack, but I don’t think it is as good as many have claimed.

Top Gun: Maverick. Credit: Paramount

Animation-wise, it’s not been a stellar year; or at least, not in mainstream Hollywood. I suppose The Bob’s Burgers Movie was enjoyable, as was The Bad Guys, and Minions: The Rise of Gru did what I expected of it. By contrast, Disney and Pixar seem hellbent on streaming self-harm, denying a gem like Turning Red a cinema release, and putting out superfluous Toy Story spin-off Lightyear instead. As for the interminably preachy Strange World, please don’t get me started. On a more positive note, I enjoyed anime Beauty and the Beast variant Belle quite a bit, even if it did rather try and bludgeon me into touchy-feely emo submission. Even more positive are the two outstanding animated films that made my top ten, about which more in a moment.

Superhero films seem to have hit a rather indifferent patch this year. I enjoyed Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness and even the much-maligned Thor: Love and Thunder, but neither hit anything like the highs of previous Marvel endeavours. As for Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, I found it rather dull, despite the undeniably poignant open and close, paying tribute to Chadwick Boseman. Black Adam didn’t do much for me either and I think it’s best for all concerned if we draw a veil over Morbius. I suppose The Batman is the closest thing we had to a solid superhero film this year, though it is somewhat overlong and fell short of Christopher Nolan’s magnificent Dark Knight trilogy.

Quite honestly, I’ve rather had it up to here with superhero films, and I think we could all do with a decade-long moratorium on the genre. Perhaps that way, some more interesting and original filmmaking could come out of mainstream Hollywood. Yes, I know that’s unlikely to happen. Still, I can dream.

On the other hand, as with 2021, this has been a fine year for horror films. The Black Phone, X, Crimes of the Future, Smile, Barbarian, Bones and All, and The Menu all caught my eye for one reason or another. Some were more flawed than others, but all proved imaginative and interesting, not to mention scary and disturbing. There are two horror films in my final selection, as you’ll see in a moment. I’ve also seen a good clutch of thrillers this year, including The Outfit, Beast, Fall, See How They Run, Glass Onion, and Watcher. Some of those I also regret omitting from this list, especially the last three.

On a different note, I want to give a special shout to Matilda: The Musical. This opulent, charming musical adaptation of the Roald Dahl classic is my favourite “family” film of the year, in the sense that most people understand the term. Personally, I don’t like to say “family film” as “family” isn’t a genre, and one could argue The Godfather is a “family” film. But I’m sure you take my point, ie that it’s a lovely film for all ages. I’m just sorry US audiences appear to be only getting it on streaming, which frankly is not on. I suggest taking to the streets in protest against streaming. Down with this sort of thing, as Father Ted would say.

Finally, there were certain films I found it excruciating to leave out. Consider these numbers 15 to 11 in my countdown: The Souvenir: Part II, Elvis, Licorice Pizza, Un Monde (Playground), and Guillermo Del Toro’s stunning remake of Nightmare Alley. Leaving out the latter hurts my cinematic soul, but thankfully Del Toro is represented elsewhere in the top ten.

Without any further ado, here’s my top ten.

10. Living

Credit: Lionsgate UK

Bill Nighy’s standout performance is the centrepiece of this poignant, low-key gem from Oliver Hermanus and Kazuo Ishiguro. Adapting Akira Kurosawa’s Ikiru (itself partly inspired by Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich) they conclusively prove not all remakes are bad. Nighy’s indifferent life as a post-war London bureaucrat is given a shake-up when he receives bad news from the doctor. He wants to do something of significance with what is left of his life, and after forming a close friendship with the much younger Aimee Lou Wood, he finds a new purpose. Melancholy, elegiac, and bittersweet, this gets under the skin in true Ishiguro style. Expect Oscar nominations to follow.

9. Flee

Credit: Curzon Artifical Eye/Participant/Neon

As far as I’m concerned, Flee deserved to win Best International Film, Best Animated Film, and Best Documentary at this year’s Oscars. It was nominated for all three but won nothing. A crying shame, as this stunningly animated account of an Afghan refugee’s traumatic journey is harrowing but immensely gripping. Director Jonas Poher Rasmussen’s creativity eats the screen, with imagery ranging from detailed colour to monochrome minimalism for the darker moments. Covering a range of incident including the subject’s encounters with human traffickers, corrupt post-Soviet Russian police, coming to terms with homosexuality, and the ever-present threat of being sent back to a home country caught in a vicious cycle of war and religious extremism, Flee is riveting cinema.

8. The Northman

Credit: Focus Features/Universal

Director Robert Eggers continues to impress with this vivid, bloody, bonkers tale of Viking vengeance. Featuring a muscular central performance from Alexander Skarsgård and a committed turn from the always excellent Anja Taylor-Joy, this may be infused with mythology and madness, but never at the expense of realism. As spectacle, this is top-notch stuff, with sublime icy Nordic visuals particularly impressive on the big screen, where you can all but feel the shivering winds amid the gruesome mayhem. Nicole Kidman also appears in the supporting cast, and has a standout scene worth the price of admission alone.

7. Pinnochio

Credit: Netflix

Do we really need another film of Pinocchio? Apparently, we do. Guilllermo Del Toro’s masterful stop-motion animation adaptation of Carlo Collodi’s novel puts a subversive, surreal, surprisingly moving spin on the timeless fairy tale. Ignore those mollycoddling twits saying this is too alarming for children. Yes, Del Toro’s take embraces dark themes, but the discussions around death and grief are handled in a way that I consider entirely appropriate for family audiences. Not only does it look stunning, but Del Toro adds strongly anti-fascist, anti-authoritarian undertones, and has interesting things to say about the nature of father/son relationships. In short, it’s a beautiful piece of work, and my favourite animated film of 2022.

6. Verdens Verste Menneske (The Worst Person in the World)

Credit: Oslo Pictures/MK Productions/SF Studios

Renate Reinsve is brilliant as the protagonist of Joachim Trier’s Oscar-nominated Norwegian drama that pretends to be a romantic comedy. In fact, the tone is more tragicomic, with emotionally messy coming-of-age threads woven into the sublimely enjoyable whole. As one of Reinsve’s romantic interests, Anders Danielsen Lie plays a particularly interesting supporting character who I found oddly relatable. One particularly euphoric sequence, involving a moment when time is frozen, remains one of the most exhilarating pieces of filmmaking I’ve seen all year.

5. Nope

Credit: Universal

A blockbusting nail-biter that both celebrates and critiques Hollywood spectacle, featuring great lead performances from Daniel Kaluuya and Keke Palmer. Some criticised Jordan Peele’s unusual sci-fi monster movie as being too narratively dense and lacking the discipline of his earlier films like Get Out. I don’t agree. If anything, I enjoyed Nope even more. Like Christopher Nolan and Denis Villeneuve, Peele is one of an increasingly rare breed: An uncompromised auteur filmmaker working in mainstream Hollywood. His work here is singular and brilliant, filled with unique images best appreciated on an IMAX screen.

4. De Uskyldige (The Innocents)

Credit: Mer Film/Protagonist Pictures

The second Norwegian film on this list, and my favourite horror film of the year. This kids-with-powers tale swiftly abandons X-Men territory for something more Village of the Damned-ish, but remains very much its own beast. Director Eskil Vogt retains a grounded realism throughout, not defining anyone as an outright villain, despite some appalling acts (including hideous animal cruelty). When events escalate into murder, even then Vogt is careful to paint these children as emotionally immature, complex characters, whose backgrounds as well as poor impulse control have a bearing on their actions. This just makes it even more disturbing, especially as the adults remain oblivious to events throughout.

3. Decision to Leave

Credit: CJ Entertainment

Park Chan-wook’s twisty-turny romantic thriller features electrifying chemistry between insomniac detective Park Hae-il and murder suspect Tang Wei. Both the romantic elements and the thriller aspects are brilliantly handled, with Chan-wook’s innovative directorial style playing with points of view and fantasy versus reality to sublime effect. For instance, the way Park Hae-il imagines himself in scenes where he wasn’t present isn’t just a gimmick but becomes increasingly visually important as an indicator of his state of mind. An undercurrent of dark humour plays out in the detective sequences, with the romance building a vividly melodramatic head of steam that lingers long in the consciousness. In short, this is right up my street, and I absolutely loved it.

2. The Banshees of Inisherin

Credit: Searchlight/Film4

On a small Irish island circa 1923, Brendan Gleeson and Colin Farrell go from friendship to feud. Although laced with pitch-black comedy, this is a profoundly sad tale on several levels, with Gleeson’s digit-severing self-mutilation threats both a potent metaphor for the Irish political situation of the time, and an astute comment on male pride. In some ways, the key character in the film isn’t Gleeson or Farrell, but the troubled character played (brilliantly) by Barry Keoghan. He’s considered the village idiot, but revealed as someone far more complex, thoughtful, and troubled, with his subplot beautifully interwoven with the main plot, adding sublime layers of irony. Brilliantly written, acted, and directed, and featuring atmospheric island landscapes that make great use of Aran Island locations, this darkly hilarious but unsettling drama ought to go on to Oscar nominations.

1. Aftersun

Credit: A24/MUBI

I agonised over whether this or The Banshees of Inisherin should be my number one choice. In the end, I’m opting for Charlotte Wells’s extraordinary debut feature, as I found it so hauntingly moving. This small miracle of a film may not sound remarkable in terms of plot; a single father and his adolescent daughter bonding during a holiday in a Turkish resort circa the late 1990s. But the luminous atmosphere of understated poignancy, simultaneously realistic and dreamlike, elevates this exploration of parent-child relationships, coming of age, loss, and the nature of memory to deep and profound effect.  

Wells makes particularly clever use of reflective surfaces, which adds to the feeling of vivid recollection of a halcyon past. Paul Mescal and Frankie Corio deliver performances that are so convincing, I kept forgetting they were actors. The deftly deployed slow burn of tiny details emotionally creep up on you, culminating in an astonishing final shot that lingers long in the consciousness. You won’t listen to Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie in the same way ever again. A perfectly formed gem that left me in tears, and my favourite film of 2022.

That’s (almost) it for 2022. Next year, an inevitable glut of superheroes, sequels, and reboots looms on the horizon. I confess I’m not enthralled at the prospect of any of these, save the second part of Denis Villeneuve’s Dune adaptation, and I suppose the next Mission Impossible may be fun. I am looking forward to Tár, The Fabelmans, Oppenheimer, and a few others. Megan looks agreeably nasty too. However, I suspect as with this year, the bulk of the cinematic gold will be found outside mainstream Hollywood.

Film Review – Pinocchio

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Credit: Netflix

I finally got around to seeing Guillermo Del Toro’s Pinocchio. What took me so long? I wanted to see it in the cinema, as watching a film by Del Toro for the first time on streaming is anathema to me. Unfortunately, UK screenings have been limited, but my patience paid off and I got the chance to see the film properly at the rather wonderful Barn cinema Dartington, a local independent here in southwest England.

A long-gestating labour of love for Del Toro, this stop-motion adaptation is simply sublime. You might not think you need another version of Pinocchio given the various takes scattered throughout cinema history. These include Disney’s famous animated version from 1940, Robert Zemeckis’s pointless live-action remake of the Disney animation from earlier this year, Steven Spielberg/Stanley Kubrick’s masterful sci-fi spin on the tale: AI: Artificial Intelligence (2001), and Matteo Garone’s 2019 adaptation, for which I have a soft spot. However, trust me when I say Del Toro’s version more than justifies its existence. It might just be one of my top films of the year.

The Del Toro stamp is evident from the opening image, a pan down from a pine cone revealing a grieving Geppetto at a graveside, who has lost his child. The film goes into a flashback showing the relationship between Geppetto and his young son Carlo (his name presumably a nod to the book’s author). This poignant first movement gives the story genuine emotional heft, with Geppetto creating the rough-hewn wooden Pinocchio in drunken grief. Pinocchio is subsequently brought to life by Del Toro’s equivalent of the Blue Fairy (some kind of forest spirit, adorned with Del Toro-esque eyes on her wings).

Much of the rest of the story is familiar, but again, it is given a uniquely Del Toro-esque spin. For example, the sequence when Pinocchio and the other boys become donkeys is replaced with Pinocchio getting military training to fight in Mussolini’s army. The anti-fascist underpinnings echo back to earlier Del Toro masterpieces such as Pan’s Labyrinth (2006).

Vocal performances are uniformly superb, with the likes of David Bradley, Ron Perlman, John Turturro, Tilda Swinton, Cate Blanchett, Christoph Waltz, and Finn Wolfhard all contributing excellent work. But for me, Ewan McGregor rather steals the show as Sebastian J Cricket, the put-upon moral voice of reason who (initially at least) would rather be writing his book. Gregory Mann is also excellent in the dual role of Pinocchio and Carlo.

The stop-motion animation is lovingly crafted under Del Toro and co-director Mark Gustafson’s supervision. The screenplay, which Del Toro wrote with Matthew Robbins, bravely explores death and grief, and has interesting things to say about father/son relationships. As the film points out, in moments of despair, fathers can say things they don’t mean, sometimes holding their children to unreasonable why-can’t-you-be-more-like-so-and-so standards, failing to appreciate them for who they are.

This is also a rather subversive take on Pinocchio. Given how the original revolves around the titular puppet learning to obey and behave, in this version, unthinking obedience is questioned at every turn. This is true near the start, when Pinocchio goes to church, shocking a congregation when he demands to know why everyone loves the wooden rendering of Jesus on the cross, but doesn’t give him the time of day. It’s a stark, feather-ruffling moment highlighting religious hypocrisy and prejudice. But the film cuts deeper still, with Del Toro using the early years of Mussolini’s reign as a framework for his anti-authoritarian themes. Not only do people want to exploit Pinocchio (such as carnival owner Count Volpe), but the fascists also want to turn him into a propaganda-spouting deadly weapon.

Alexandre Desplat contributes a fine music score, and though the songs aren’t perhaps particularly memorable (at least on a first viewing), this is a minor nit in an otherwise superb piece of work. Guillermo Del Toro’s Pinocchio is the best-animated film of the year, and a wonderful watch for children and adults alike, despite the dark themes.

UK Certificate: PG

US Certificate: PG

Film Review – I Wanna Dance with Somebody

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Credit: Sony

Some pop star biopics are genuinely interesting pieces of cinema with strong emotional punch. Baz Luhrmann’s recent Elvis, for instance. Or Dexter Fletcher’s Elton John musical Rocketman. Or even Anton Corbijn’s monochrome gem Control: A sublimely bleak account of Joy Division’s Ian Curtis, heavily influenced by the wave of British “Angry Young Men” pictures of the late 1950s/early 1960s.

Then there are the more run-of-the-mill musical biopics. These follow a careful formula, with tab A fitting into slot B, romping through career highs and lows, taking great care not to upset surviving relatives, and making sure no one sues. Although they can contain strong lead performances, the films themselves tend to be timid, and fail to get under the skin of their subjects. Bohemian Rhapsody (about Freddie Mercury) and Respect (about Aretha Franklin) are two recent examples. I Wanna Dance with Somebody also belongs in this category.

It isn’t a bad film per se, just disappointingly conventional. This rise and fall of legendary pop/R&B singer Whitney Houston (Naomi Ackie) crams much into its 144-minute running time, feeling more like a montage than anything meaningful. It charts Houston’s early gospel roots, getting signed, the big hits, her relationships with her tough but supportive mother Cissie (Tamara Tunie) and financially irresponsible, philandering father John (Clarke Peters), the key role her friend and assistant Robyn (Nafessa Williams) played in her life, as well as that of her producer Clive Davis (Stanley Tucci). Then, in rather skimmed-over fashion, we get her marriage to Bobby Brown (Ashton Sanders), the drugs, and the tragic downward spiral.

Director Kasi Lemmons’s helming is solid if unremarkable, and one gets the distinct impression Anthony McCarten’s screenplay is walking on eggshells. Certain key facts are glossed over. For instance, the film doesn’t get into the recent allegation in Kevin Macdonald’s documentary Whitney of sexual abuse by Dee Dee Warwick (Dionne Warwick’s sister) during Houston’s childhood. Nor does the film examine who supplied her with drugs. As for the strangely similar death of Houston’s own grownup daughter Bobbi three years after her demise, that isn’t even mentioned.

But most crucially, we get no real sense of what made Whitney Houston tick, as the film lurches from career landmark to career landmark. Naomi Ackie is certainly very good in the lead (though understandably, she lip-syncs to Houston’s singing), but the film itself doesn’t stand out from its rather average contemporaries. It’s all a bit episodic and therefore lacks emotional heft.

On the other hand, the music is superb. Quite honestly, that’s what I most enjoyed about the film. I’ve always been a fan of Whitney Houston, not least because her status as a pop icon is one in the eye of snobby music critics who think great performers always have to write their own songs. That’s as absurd as saying Laurence Olivier was a bad actor because he didn’t write Hamlet. Whitney Houston was a consummate performer with an extraordinary vocal range. That at least is something that comes through loud and clear in I Wanna Dance with Somebody, even if the film fails to tell us much more about her than that.

UK Certificate: 12A

US Certificate: PG-13

Film Review – Avatar: The Way of Water

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Credit: 20th Century Studios

There seems to be a marked difference between US and UK critical responses to Avatar: The Way of Water. US publications such as Variety generally approved the film, whereas here in the UK, the Daily Telegraph’s Robbie Collin hilariously claimed the experience of watching the film was “like being waterboarded with turquoise cement”. How partial am I to turquoise cement? Not much, as it turns out.

I’ll give James Cameron credit for imagination, considering the meticulously designed, visually opulent world-building spectacle on display here. He’s obviously doing his thing in an I-am-an-uncompromised-artist sort of way. However, raw ambition alone doesn’t make a great film. Adjectives like immersive are chucked around a lot in publicity and reviews, but one cannot be immersed in a film that, unlike the oceans of Pandora, has the intellectual, emotional, and spiritual depth of a puddle. Spectacular imagery will only get you so far.

The plot concerns the further motion-capture adventures of former marine Jake (Sam Worthington), now a full-time resident in his Na’vi body on the planet Pandora. He and his wife Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña) have had two teenage sons of their own: Neteyam (Jamie Flatters) and Lo’ak (Britain Dalton), plus a young daughter Tuktirey (Trinity Jo-Li Bliss). They have also adopted half-breed Kiri (Sigourney Weaver playing a 14-year-old via the aforementioned motion capture), who has mysterious origins, and feral human child Spider (Jack Champion); a bit of a wild card in a Newt-from-Aliens sort of way.

When the “Sky People” (ie humans) return to Pandora with another morally dubious agenda, Jake and his family are forced to flee the jungles and head for the seas. Once there, they meet another, slightly different shade of blue Pandoran tribe. Said tribe teaches them the “Way of Water”, which pretty much means riding gigantic flying fish, lounging around in beach huts, and spouting blithering nonsense about the Way of Water connecting all things. Kate Winslet turns up as one of the people of this tribe, not that you’ll recognise her. Oh, and there are alien whales involved, as well as a revenge-seeking Colonel Quaritch (Stephen Lang), the villain from the first film, who turns out to be not-quite-dead in a manner in which I won’t get into, in case it is considered a spoiler.

In fairness, I derived some modest enjoyment from the whizz-bang action, alien aquatic interactions (Dances with Whales, anyone?), but after a while, it becomes every bit as tedious as its predecessor. My problem with this film isn’t so much that it’s transhumanist New Age claptrap, but that it’s such insufferably dull transhumanist New Age claptrap. The script is so po-faced, so stiflingly serious, that I wound up with the urge to become a harpooner on a whaling vessel just to spite Cameron. Hardly the reaction he is seeking, I daresay, as his film is desperately sincere. So sincere, in fact, that I don’t recall a single joke in the entire film. That I really cannot forgive. If Schindler’s List is permitted a few funny scenes, there’s no excuse for excluding them here. I felt the lack of humour so much that started inventing my own, wondering if Pandoran fish might be tasty served with Avatartare sauce. Yes, that’s how desperate the inward Dad jokes got.

Again, it all looks terribly pretty, but so what? Bereft of an engaging story, bogged down with characters I deeply don’t care about (who say “woohoo”, “cuz”, and “bro” so much that I wanted to slap them around the head with a wet kipper), and hamstrung by a clutter of obvious that’s-going-to-be-important-in-later-films “franchise-building” (if you’ll forgive my use of an obscenity), it all amounts to a massively expensive, insanely overlong video game cut scene. I find it strange using that term in a film review, considering “cut scene” means something quite different with reference to cinema, but that really is the best way I can describe the “turquoise cement” contained herein.

To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, to direct one obscenely budgeted Dances with Wolves sci-fi variant may be regarded as a misfortune. To direct two looks like carelessness. To plan to direct five (as Cameron does) looks like insanity, especially considering how many Cadbury’s Crunchies you can buy for the $2 billion spent on this film. When I was growing up, a new James Cameron film used to be an event awaited with immense excitement. Now they’re a dreaded endurance test.

All things considered, Avatar: The Way of Water is a soggy, waterlogged bore. If you really have the urge to watch a sci-fi film about saving the whale, I recommend tracking down Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986). It’s a lot more entertaining. Also, if you’re planning a cinema trip over the Christmas holidays, please don’t be too downcast by this review. This is merely my not particularly humble opinion, and I can already hear the Avatar defenders sharpening their knives. But if you concur with my thoughts, I offer this consolation: There are plenty more fish in the sea.

UK Certificate: 12A

US Certificate: PG-13

2022 In Review

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This year has been an exciting one, as I continue to make sense of my new profession: Full-time writer. Some of what that has meant I won’t bore you with. The duller freelance assignments are hardly worth mentioning, though they help pay the bills. However, in this piece, I will review the goals from my New Year post and see how they compare with what I actually achieved.

New Novel: The Hobbford Giant

Image by Syaibatul Hamdi from Pixabay

This gothic mystery novel was top of my year’s writing goals, and I’m pleased to say I now have a first draft. Next year, I will look at the manuscript with a more critical eye, having had a bit of distance from it, and start to polish it up.

A dark and sinister tale to sit alongside the likes of Spectre of Springwell Forest, The Irresistible Summons, The Thistlewood Curse, Phantom Audition, and The Birds Began to Sing, The Hobbford Giant is set in 1997, and concerns a young woman, Mira, who gets a job as a journalist at a local newspaper in the (fictional) town of Hobbford in southwest England. Years earlier, a huge abuse scandal caused the closure of the local orphanage where her parents grew up, revolving around the man in charge, Gregory Barry. Although he was due to be put on trial, Gregory Barry vanished without a trace before he could be prosecuted.

Mira stays with her reclusive uncle Artemis (her mother’s older brother), until she can find a place of her own. Art is a therapist to rich clients. He lives in a large house and seems to have done very well for himself, but for reasons I won’t get into here, he is estranged from Mira’s parents, who are less than keen on her staying with him. Once in Hobbford, Mira reports on an archaeological dig investigating a local legend about a giant buried in a nearby hillside. What took place in the Hobbford orphanage rears its ugly head as the plot thickens, and Mira soon discovers she has a highly personal connection to the mystery.

For this story, I was somewhat inspired by the real-life Cerne Abbas Giant in Dorset, and the legends surrounding it. In my story, local legend states this giant was sent by a witch to take revenge, after the witch in question was persecuted. The giant was slain, and the body supposedly buried inside the hill. What bearing this has on the main narrative has to remain under wraps for the time being.

My Year on Medium

Photo by Jonny Gios on Unsplash

Another writing goal this year was simply to continue with my Medium output. This I have also achieved, having published well over a hundred exclusive-to-Medium articles. Here’s a sample of some of my favourites.

What Kind of Cinemagoer Are You?

Which of these ten archetypes best describes your film viewing persona?

The Big Myth About Plotters

Every stage of my writing process challenges the notion that plotters cannot be spontaneous.

My Ten Commandments of Film Reviewing

The Dillon Empire’s sacred tenets for aspiring film critics.

Be Offensive on Purpose

When writing fiction, if you’re going to upset readers, do it intentionally, not accidentally.

Is It Ever Acceptable to Use a Phone in a Cinema?

Short answer: No. After a recent extraordinary confrontation, I can’t believe I’m still having to say this.

Leave Room For the Reader

The final piece in the puzzle of a well-told story is the audience.

My Ten Favourite Horror Films

An agonisingly selected smorgasbord of scariness.

The Tangent Tree

Once again, I set myself the goal of restarting this film podcast series. And once again, this didn’t happen. My producer and co-presenter Samantha Stephen also wants to restart this, but our paths in life have rather diverged of late. Samantha is busy pursuing her academic goals with great aplomb (currently working on her Masters) and no longer lives nearby, so that’s part of the reason we’ve not yet pulled our fingers out on this one.

Has The Tangent Tree had its day? I don’t know. I hope not. I’ll talk to Samantha again and if there is any news, I shall announce it here. But I don’t think it’s fair to include this on my annual goals list next year when a new series failed to materialise two years in a row.

Short Stories

Credit: Pixabay

My writing goals for 2022 also included releasing another short stories anthology. This didn’t happen either, but I still plan to do this, ideally early next year. On a more positive note, I wrote a handful of new short stories this year, some of which I’m holding on to for the time being, as they might wind up as exclusives for the aforementioned anthology. Three others were published in Medium publication Fictions.

In-Between

Originally conceived as a supernatural satire, this evolved into something far more personal. It concerns a recently deceased man whose attempts to haunt his family are constantly interrupted by ghost politicians attempting to secure his vote in an afterlife by-election. Check it out in full here.

Sweet Dreams

A science fiction thriller set in the near future, about a journalist investigating a tech company that manufactures nightmare-suppressing nanotech for children. Check out part one here. (NOTE: Links to subsequent parts are included at the end of each instalment.)

Vindicta

A spine-tingling ghost story set shortly after the end of World War II, concerning a jewel thief and murderer whose past catches up with him whilst fleeing for South America. Check out part one here. (NOTE: Links to subsequent parts are included at the end of each instalment.)

My Ongoing Quest for Mainstream Publication

Image by Matthew Z. from Pixabay

The final goal in this year’s list was to keep pursuing mainstream publication. This I did for my grown-up fantasy novel Ravenseed; an epic set mostly in the Dark Ages. Alas, this full-blooded tale of love, lust, betrayal, and vengeance didn’t get any bites. I’m hanging on to the manuscript for now, as I’m hopeful I may be able to generate interest in the future.

However, more hopefully, I have had a certain amount of interest shown by literary agents in my gothic mystery The White Nest (not the real title – I’m keeping that a secret for now). Here’s a snippet of my agent pitch, to give you a taste of the plot.

A widower fears his young son is cursed when he shows disturbing behaviour akin to that of his younger brother, before he vanished without a trace twenty years previously. Gnawing dread that history will repeat itself is inherent in (title redacted), my 99,000-word modern gothic mystery novel. It’s also a coming-of-age romance with hints of the supernatural, exploring traumatic sibling relationships, parental worries, false guilt, and the misleading nature of memory.

After his young son Ben writes a disturbing story about murdering a boy in a forest, widower Nick Unwin is alarmed by eerie parallels between his son’s behaviour and that of his younger brother Jason, prior to his inexplicable disappearance twenty years previously. This tragic past returns to haunt Nick when he sees an image of his long-lost brother in a newly released film. Fearing a repeat of history, Nick decides to investigate, along with Tanith, an old flame from his early teenage years, with dark secrets of her own connected to Jason’s disappearance. But as they delve deeper into the labyrinthine mysteries of their past, long-buried memories resurface. Nick is forced to face the terrible fear that has plagued him for decades: Was he responsible for the death of his brother?

As I said, I’m hearing positive noises, and have good feedback post-full manuscript requests, but certain details need to be ironed out. I’ll keep you updated once I have definitive news, so watch this space.

Other Achievements This Year

One of the reasons I didn’t publish a short story anthology this year is because I chose instead to focus on the rewrite, retitling, and rerelease of The George Hughes Trilogy. As I’ve explained elsewhere on my blog, this trilogy of sci-fi adventure novels were originally titled George Goes to Mars, George Goes to Titan, and George Goes to Neptune, but I decided to withdraw them because I felt the titles didn’t do them justice (they sounded too much like picture books for very young children). I also wanted to polish the manuscripts up to my current standards, as the first novel, in particular, needed a shakedown, having been written well over fifteen years ago (I’ve improved a lot as a writer since then).

I rolled my sleeves up and did a big push on rewrites. The new titles are The Martian Inheritance, The Titan War, and The Neptune Conspiracy, each of which I much prefer. I’m enormously proud of these three stories, and always have been (the stories themselves haven’t changed). I designed new covers too. As a result, I’m doing a big push on these stories at the moment, as you’ve probably noticed. I have also released all three novels in a special omnibus volume that’s three for the price of two.

Finally, I decided to launch a Patreon page this year, to help with funding my writing endeavours. I offer people the chance to support me at four different levels (Ally of the Dillon Empire, Free Citizen of the Dillon Empire, Knight of the Dillon Empire, and General of the Dillon Empire), and so far, I’ve had over ten supporters. I post exclusive material for supporters, including exclusive sneak peeks at covers, images, title announcements, and so on, plus early access to short stories and novel samples, writing updates, video updates, film of the month recommendations, interesting deleted segments, and more. At present, for Knight of the Dillon Empire support level and higher, I’m serialising the draft version of my thriller novel The Balliol Conspiracy (the title may change if it is ever released).

Please have a look at my Patreon page here and consider supporting me. If nothing else, check out the hilariously awkward video of me at the edge of Wistman’s wood on Dartmoor last September, in desperate need of a haircut.

As you can see, I’ve certainly been busy during the last twelve months. I’m taking it a bit easier throughout the rest of December, as I’ve been rather flat out this year and could do with the break. What are my goals for 2023? I shall expound on that further on New Year’s Day. Watch this space.

It only remains for me to wish you all a Merry Christmas.

Film Review – The Silent Twins

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Credit: Universal

In the opening of The Silent Twins, the eponymous twins are anything but silent. As young girls in the early 1980s, they record a chatty radio show together in their bedroom, until their mother calls them to dinner. At that point, they go silent. At dinner, they are silent. At school, they are silent. They seem to share an exceptionally close, possibly even psychic bond. But they are extremely reluctant to interact with anyone else.

This is based on the true story of June and Jennifer Gibbons, young Black twins from Haverfordwest in Wales. Polish director Agnieszka Smoczyńska helms this unusual, ambitious film. It isn’t the first time the story has been tackled on screen, and for this version, screenwriter Andrea Seigel adapts the book by investigative journalist Marjorie Wallace, who spent a lot of time interviewing the Gibbons twins.

Growing up, the twins were essentially cast aside by the schools and social services, as they didn’t know what to do with them. However, together they seemed to inhabit an imaginative and colourful make-believe world, depicted in the film through sometimes unsettling stop-motion animation sequences. They were artists who wrote many poems and stories, with June even getting a novel self-published. However, after a few sexual escapades, some drug taking, a series of petty thefts, and an arson incident, in a hugely controversial decision, the twins were committed to Broadmoor hospital.

I’ll stop discussing the story here, for the benefit of those unfamiliar with the case. Suffice it to say, this is an unusual and intriguing stranger-than-fiction story. Letitia Wright and Tamara Lawrance are outstanding as June and Jennifer, with Leah Mondesir-Simmonds and Evan-Arianna Baxter equally excellent, playing their younger counterparts. Jodhi May also crops up as Wallace, and a few other fairly well-known names appear in the cast, including Michael Smiley as a frustrated teacher.

The problem with the film — and it’s a fairly serious one — is it feels as though we are merely observing the twins, rather than being a party to their world. Whilst it is impossible to truly understand what went on in the minds of this enigmatic pair, because the viewer feels shut out (or at least, I did), any sense of outrage at the disproportionate and unfair court ruling that placed them in one of Britain’s oldest and most notorious psychiatric facilities becomes oddly muted.

On the plus side, the film is imaginatively directed and never less than compelling. I just wish it had the emotional clout of something like Peter Jackson’s Heavenly Creatures; an obvious comparison piece, albeit one that’s a much more disturbing story with murder at the centre of it. But there are some lovely touches along the way. For instance, I was particularly captivated by the joyful scene when the twins unpack their first typewriter, a device much more loaded with authorial symbolism than the modern equivalent of a laptop.

All things considered, The Silent Twins won’t be for everyone, but it is worth a look if you’re curious, despite the flaws.

UK Certificate: 18

US Certificate: R

Content warnings: Drug abuse, sexual content, swearing, disturbing images.

Film Review – Violent Night

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Credit: Universal

Mainstream Hollywood fare at Christmas typically veers between occasionally feel-good but usually nauseatingly sentimental fare, and alternative programming like Bad Santa, Gremlins, Black Christmas, and Krampus. The latter embrace a more cynical take on the festive season, yet normally wind up with a feel-good vibe regardless. Tommy Wirkola’s Violent Night has ambitions of this kind, yet the film underdelivers in a major way, failing to cash in on the presence of Stranger Things actor David Harbour. The Die Hard with Santa Claus premise has potential, but the results are decidedly mediocre.

Harbour’s Santa has become cynical and jaded over the years, given to boozing, vomiting on bartenders, and lamenting the greed of humanity in between drunken deliveries. One of these is the young daughter of the Lightstone family, Trudy (Leah Brady). Her parents are heirs to a fortune visiting family matriarch Gertrude (Beverly D’Angelo), who has a vault full of cash in her mansion. When armed thieves under the leadership of a man codenamed Mr Scrooge (John Leguizamo) take the Lightstone family hostage to steal the $300 million in the vault, it’s up to a temporarily stranded Santa to save the day, with a little Home Alone-ish help from Trudy.

The set-up is promising, and I had hoped for appropriately horrid ends for this gathering of the disgustingly rich and entitled. Trudy and her seemingly reasonable parents (Alexis Louder and Alex Hassell) aside, the supporting cast seem ripe targets. I particularly wanted a nasty comeuppance for Trudy’s older cousin (Alexander Elliot), a TwitTok-obsessed narcissist who’s just had “the first of no doubt many sexual harassment claims” hushed up by bribery. His ghastly sycophant mother (Edi Patterson) and her idiot actor boyfriend (Cam Gigandet) are also great meat for the grinder.

Alas, for the most part, the film wimps out of satirical punitive measures, despite the presence of multiple gory kills among the baddies (deploying baubles, candy canes, fairy lights, and other festive items). Amid the fights, we also get family therapy. Sometimes this raises a smile, but by the end, the bolting on of traditionally upbeat fantasy Santa elements amid all the mindless brutality feels forced, as though the film can’t quite decide its tone, and as a result ends up as neither fish nor fowl.

This could have done with being more anarchic, satirical, and subversive, or else it needed to switch to a Santa-themed variation on Home Alone with a more family-friendly approach. Not even the amiable presence of Harbour can save it from feeling a bit nothingy, though he does his best with Pat Casey and Josh Miller’s uncertain screenplay. Tommy Wirkola directs to solid but indifferent effect. Quite honestly, the biggest laugh from this trip to the cinema came from the Cocaine Bear trailer that screened before the main feature.

In short, all things considered, Violent Night is a disappointment.

UK Certificate: 15

US Certificate: R

Content Warnings: Violence, gore, swearing.

Film Review – Aftersun

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Credit: MUBI/A24

As the quiet final credits rolled on Aftersun, the astonishing debut feature from British writer-director Charlotte Wells, a woman sitting in the row behind me burst into loud sobs. Immediately aware of what she’d done, she then laughed, and remarked to her companions: “I’m sorry, I don’t normally cry at films, but it just made me think of my Dad.” Words of gentle concern and reassurance followed from her friends, as the rest of us slowly got up and filed out of the cinema in silence. I held it together until I got outside, but as the cold December breeze hit my face, tears poured down my cheeks as I headed for the car. It was the weather, honest.

OK, it wasn’t, but I offer this more personal than usual introduction as a warning of sorts. This quiet, unassuming, slice-of-life gem is an emotional slow burn. As it explores the bond between a parent and child, the nature of memory, coming of age, and loss, it may creep under your skin in ways you don’t expect. I should probably offer a second warning to anyone after thrills, spills, car chases, explosions, or even a typical three-act plot with big dramatic turns. This isn’t the film for you.

It’s difficult to express in words just why Aftersun touched me as deeply and profoundly as it did. I was absorbed throughout, but not much happens in terms of plot. The film is a series of vignettes, as thirty-year-old single father Calum (Paul Mescal) and his eleven-year-old daughter Sophie (Frankie Corio) take a holiday to a Turkish resort in the late 1990s. Having evidently scrimped and saved for this holiday, he is determined to give Sophie the best possible experience. Father and daughter spend their time in the usual holiday resort activities: lounging by the pool, swimming, playing games, eating ice cream, visiting local shops and tourist spots, but we learn very few specifics about their backstory, other than Calum is separated from Sophie’s mother.

Calum clearly loves his daughter, but his character is gradually and heartbreakingly revealed as rather more complex and troubled. At the same time, Sophie is starting to notice the way older adolescents and teenagers behave around one another, with pubescent hormones complicating matters. Yet throughout the film, the father-daughter bond remains. A myriad of tiny moments, such as the way they apply after-sun cream to one another’s faces at the end of the day, or a tender scene when Calum strokes Sophie’s eyebrow until she falls asleep, form a remarkable whole.

Mescal and Corio both deliver sublimely subtle, authentic performances. Quite honestly, I forgot I was watching actors, and that is a big part of what makes the film work so well. Spending time in the company of Calum and Sophie is a heartfelt joy, and by the end, I simply didn’t want to be parted from either of them.

As for Wells’s direction, she, cinematographer Gregory Oke, and editor Blair McClendon deftly generate a rhythmic style that feels simultaneously realistic and dreamlike. Well chosen visual motifs punctuate the film. For example, hang-gliders in the sky, or close shots of limbs bumping against one another in companionable bliss. There’s also a sense of mystery hovering over the film, and an understated ambiguity that allows for differing interpretations of Calum’s suffer-in-silence anguish, as well as clues concerning his fate.

A vivid framing device involving the adult Sophie (Celia Rowlson-Hall) sees her in a busy, strobe-light-bathed nightclub on her 30th birthday, thinking back to her father, whom she sees as he appeared during their holiday, on the crowded dancefloor. This scene is returned to at key points, not as a laboured gimmick but at moments when the poignant accumulation of memory takes on new meaning when looked back on. The film has the ring of truth because it is always impossible to fully grasp the bittersweet significance of childhood’s end, or indeed the end of any era, whilst it is being experienced.

As such, memory is a key element of this film, both thematically and in form, since the film employs both Mini DV camcorder footage recorded during the holiday, and Sophie’s memories, shot in glowing 35mm. In viewing the footage, what answers does Sophie seek? Is she trying to understand her father’s pain years after the fact, as she was too young to do so at the time? Or is this simply a moment of melancholy recollection? The tragic implication that Calum is no longer part of her life is hinted at throughout, but Wells is never crass enough to state it outright.

Wells also makes clever use of 1990s pop tunes on the soundtrack, including Blur, Catatonia, Aqua, The Lightning Seeds, REM, Chumbawumba, and All Saints, as well as an extraordinary vocal-only version of Queen and David Bowie 1980s classic Under Pressure. In addition, Oliver Coates contributes a spare, achingly beautiful score. Coates also gets a credit for his contribution to the aforementioned Queen/Bowie track, which accompanies a key moment in the finale.

Speaking of which, this film has the best final shot of the year; a surreal, enigmatic, almost unbearably sad image that I suspect will haunt me for the rest of my life. Transcendent moments like this remind me why I fell in love with cinema in the first place. All of which brings me back to where I began this review, leaving the screen in absolute floods, moved beyond words. I entirely understand why the woman behind me couldn’t hold back her tears. I scarcely need add that for any serious lover of film, Aftersun comes with my highest possible recommendation.

UK Certificate: 12A

US Certificate: PG-13

Film Review – The Infernal Machine

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Credit: Paramount

Writer-director Andrew Hunt’s The Infernal Machine, adapted from a story by Louis Cornfeld, features a top-notch lead performance from Guy Pearce. It’s just a shame the screenplay couldn’t quite match his acting, or indeed Hunt’s direction, which is stylish and menacing, as befitting a paranoid psychological thriller of this sort. Despite being far-fetched, it holds the attention throughout, even if the big twist in the finale doesn’t really deliver the audience rug pull of a Les Diaboliques (1955), The Game (1997), or suchlike.

The plot is set in 2001, and concerns reclusive, booze-ridden British novelist Bruce Cogburn (Pearce), who lives a solitary existence in a remote Californian residence, threatening to shoot anyone who dares venture onto his land. He’s getting harassing letters from a fan of his book The Infernal Machine; a controversial tale pulled from shelves twenty years earlier, after it supposedly inspired a real-life shooting in 1981 that left 13 people dead. He hasn’t written a book since.

Drowning his sorrows and increasingly paranoid, Cogburn is discovered hung over by police officer Higgins (Alice Eve). She decides to assist his investigations, and various twists and turns ensue. Does the killer (Alex Pettyfer), who claimed he discovered a hidden code in Coburn’s novel, know more about the stalker? He’s behind bars, but could he help, Hannibal Lecter-style? Or is that just going to make matters worse? Is there an even bigger secret behind events?

It’s convoluted in an agreeably shaggy dog story sort of way, doing just enough to grip the audience whilst leading them on a hiding to nothing. Or at least, not very much. But it’s a very well-acted not very much, with Pearce giving his all. Some of the set pieces impress, from a directorial perspective. The opening credits roll over menacing close-ups of typewriter keys in a rather Fincher-esque touch. A mysterious sequence in a nightclub is another highlight that I won’t spoil. Perhaps the symbolism is a tad overdone. One image involving ants devouring a scorpion leaps to mind, though it could just be a homage to The Wild Bunch.

All things considered, this is a so-so thriller likely to appeal to writers more than anyone. It also raises the hoary old question of artistic responsibility, and whether a book (or film, piece of music, etc) can inspire a person to commit murder. Yet having raised the issue, the film doesn’t really dig deeper. Instead, such concerns are put to one side with the revelations in the latter stages.

In the end, The Infernal Machine is a little frustrating, but it passes the time amiably enough if this is your sort of thing. It just about gets a pass from me, for Guy Pearce alone.

UK Certificate: 15

US Certificate: R

Content Warnings: Very strong language, violence.

The George Hughes Trilogy Returns

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Those of you who have followed my writing over the years will know I once self-published a science fiction adventure trilogy primarily aimed at the Harry Potter/Alex Rider demographic. They were entitled George Goes to Mars, George Goes to Titan, and George Goes to Neptune. I withdrew these novels from publication as they didn’t exactly sell in great numbers, but now they have been published again, this time with new titles.

Why the new titles?

After a bit of research, I discovered people thought the originals sounded like picture books for very young children, when in fact these are aimed at all readers. For the young and young at heart, if you will. Anyone who enjoys a great science fiction adventure, child or grown-up, will enjoy these novels. Consequently, the novels were retitled The Martian Inheritance, The Titan War, and The Neptune Conspiracy respectively, under the umbrella title The George Hughes Trilogy.

Are the titles all that’s changed?

No. Because my standard of writing has improved a great deal since the original manuscripts were written (as it should), I decided to give them a thorough polish before re-releasing them. I’ve removed lots of superfluous dialogue tags, unnecessary descriptions, redundant or repetitious passages, and in the first novel in particular, quite a bit of unnecessary political backstory that rather held up the action. These new versions are brisker, tighter, and frankly more fun to read. I shaved off about 9,000 words from the first novel (originally written in 2006) and about 5,000 words off each of the subsequent sequels (originally written in 2012 and 2014, respectively).

Rest assured, the stories themselves have not changed.

What’s The George Hughes Trilogy about?

I’m glad you asked. In 2005, I came up with the story of thirteen-year-old orphan George Hughes, in what is now The Martian Inheritance. He goes from rags to riches when he discovers he is the sole proprietor of the planet Mars, due to a land registry claim made by his ancestor. Because humans are landing on Mars, he has exclusive rights to sell plots of land to film stars, pop stars, former presidents, and other celebrities with more money than sense, who want to build Martian holiday homes.

Unfortunately, this makes George an assassination target, as other sinister parties covet Mars for themselves. George is protected by the Mars Trust, an organisation set up by his late ancestor, and by a mysterious secret agent called Giles. They journey to Mars together and uncover a sinister conspiracy as well as an alien threat. Along the way, they are joined by the spoiled but spirited Meredith, the daughter of a rich industrialist who wants to build on Mars. An action-packed, thrilling, twist-laden adventure ensues.

What about the sequels?

I originally intended the first novel to be a standalone. But the voices in my head wouldn’t allow it. I don’t want to get into spoilers regarding the sequels, but I’ll say three things about them.

1) The second novel, The Titan War, involves Titan, time travel, and parallel universes. It’s probably the most action-packed of the three and features a much darker, deadlier alien threat than in the first novel.

2) The third novel, The Neptune Conspiracy, still has plenty of action, involving Neptune, miniaturisation, and a lot of big twists. But at the same time, the focus here is on a more psychological, emotionally complex character arc for George.

3) I think the novels get better as they go along, so yes, I like the third one best. 

They’re not just for children?

I’m very proud of these novels, and no, they are absolutely and emphatically not just for children. Along the way, some of the preoccupations present in my other novels manifest themselves, including themes of fundamentalist religious oppression, abuse of power, and the responsibilities of the rich. Not that I mean to be preachy. I wrote these novels with no loftier intent than to craft exhilarating, gripping sci-fi tales, with an emphasis on adventure. 

There isn’t enough fun sci-fi on bookshelves in my opinion. It all tends to be very highbrow and serious. Despite their occasional darker, more serious themes, the George Hughes adventures are meant to be great entertainment for all ages. So why not give them a go?

Where can I buy them?

Paperbacks and ebooks are available from the usual outlets, including Amazon and Smashwords. By far the best option is to pick up a paperback or ebook of the omnibus edition, which contains all three novels at a discounted price of three for the price of two (on Amazon in the UK here, in the US here, or on Smashwords here). Failing that, the novels can be purchased individually.