Warning: Contains spoilers

Having cut his teeth working on visual effects for the original Star Wars trilogy, Joe Johnston went on to be a fine director in his own right. His back catalogue features entertaining, visual effects-driven gems like Honey, I Shrunk the Kids (1989) and Captain America: The First Avenger (2011). However, my favourite film of Johnston’s is The Rocketeer (1991), a glorious throwback to Saturday matinee serials like King of the Rocketmen (1949), adapted from a comic book character created by Dave Stevens.

Read more

Chapter 1: The Mars Landing

Chapter 2: The Man with the Trilby Hat

Chapter 3: Mr Stains

With George’s new legal guardian Mr Stains having revealed the truth of his inheritance, George now finds himself under the protection of the enigmatic and deadly Giles. He has been assigned to protect George by a mysterious organisation that even the British government fully cooperate with, but why? Can he be trusted?

Read more

Warning: Contains spoilers

I didn’t see writer-director John Hughes’s Ferris Bueller’s Day Off at the cinema. The film had a 15 certificate in the UK, and at eleven years old, it took me a little longer before I dared to sneak into films underage; an underrated and thrilling coming-of-age ritual that, according to my children, is much harder to do these days. Whilst underage, I was never refused admission to any film at the cinema (nor was I ever refused alcohol in pubs under the age of 18, but that’s a transgressive tale for another time). However, my own children have had to devise more cunning methods for their own underage cinemagoing; an activity I encouraged, as such scheming teaches initiative, planning, and requires a bit of courage.

(For the record: Both my underage cinemagoing and that of my children still involved ticket purchases. Whatever else one might do to subvert the British Board of Film Classification, cinemas must be financially supported.)

Perhaps you can infer from my parenting style that I’m both Generation X and a product of Ferris Bueller’s rule-defying schtick. Well, in fairness, I was a rebel long before the release of this film, but when I caught up with it on VHS a couple of years after the cinema release, it certainly struck a chord with me, considering at the time I was up to my eyeballs in an ultra-strict evangelical Christian school in which breathing in the wrong direction would get you in trouble. Suffice it to say, in addition to open defiance via pranking, I found a variety of cunning ways to get away with things, Ferris Bueller-style, under the noses of the teachers.

Of course, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off specifically satirises some of the more woeful aspects of American high school, but I find it has a more universal resonance for those enduring the absurdities of most forms of teenage schooling. My own views on education and schools are largely iconoclastic. I’m firmly pro-education but deeply anti-schools in most of their current manifestations in the western world, with a few notable exceptions (Finland, for example). But I digress. The point here is that the first act’s satirical laughs at the expense of American high school certainly hit the target.

For those unfamiliar with the narrative, our teenage protagonist Ferris (Matthew Broderick) fakes an illness and tricks his parents into letting him have the day off school. What directly follows is a triumphant exclamation of “They bought it!”, an MTV logo that’s now a symbol of a sadly bygone era, and the first of many fourth-wall-breaking monologues. These expound on Ferris’s subversive but sensible philosophy concerning needing to take a look around once in a while, or you miss life, as well as first-world problems such as being given a computer instead of a car for a birthday present. But most critically, he delivers a key speech that sums up latchkey kid Generation X apathy.

“I did have a test today… It’s on European socialism. I mean, what’s the point? I’m not European. I don’t plan on being European. So, who gives a crap if they’re socialists? They could be fascist anarchists, it still wouldn’t change the fact that I don’t own a car… Not that I condone fascism, or any “ism”, for that matter. “Isms”, in my opinion, are not good. A person should not believe in an “ism”; he should believe in himself.”

There’s a reason Generation X gets stereotyped as self-reliant, distrusting, politically unengaged, and rebellious, with a sense of humour that doesn’t give an airborne fornication who gets offended by it. This speech sums it up and provides insight into why I shrug at the lunacy of modern politics, often driven by “isms” on all sides of the debate. At times like these, I’m channelling my inner Ferris Bueller.

Not that I think Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is a particularly deep or incisive film. It has a few things on its mind, which I’ll come back to in a bit, but for the most part, quite rightly, it’s just about delivering laughs. These come thick and fast in the first act, with Ferris dragging his hypochondriac best friend Cameron (Alan Ruck) into his schemes, and also a more willing participant in the form of his girlfriend, Sloane (Mia Sara). The antagonist, Dean of Students Edward Rooney (Jeffrey Jones), obsessively pursues Ferris, determined to put an end to his shenanigans.

Read more

First, I’d urge a little moderating of expectations. Steven Spielberg’s Disclosure Day is not, I suspect, going to be revered in years to come as a groundbreaking alien contact classic in the vein of his 1977 landmark in the genre, Close Encounters of the Third Kind. But nor does it need to be. Attaching Spielberg’s name to anything of this sort inevitably brings a lot of baggage, but Disclosure Day can be enjoyed as a fine science fiction thriller in its own right, without making unfair comparisons to his earlier work.

In fact, I’d urge emphasis on the “thriller” rather than “science fiction” elements here, as I think the former is more successful than the latter. We’re thrown into the story in medias res, with Daniel Kellner (Josh O’Connor) and his girlfriend Jane Blankenship (Eve Hewson) evidently in over their heads. A shadowy agency called Wardex, led by Noah Scanlon (Colin Firth), is menacing them both. Daniel has stolen something from Wardex. Something Noah does not want to get out. “History does not have a reset button,” he warns. “If you do this, there’s no undoing it.”

Elsewhere, local weather presenter Margaret Fairchild (Emily Blunt) has a mysterious experience akin to Roy Neary in Close Encounters, the precise nature of which I won’t spoil (though it is somewhat revealed in the trailer). Everyone thinks she’s crazy, including her boyfriend Jackson (Wyatt Russell). But like Roy Neary, she is set on an obsessive path. One that will eventually bring her into contact with Daniel.

I don’t want to say too much more about the plot, as it is best experienced with as little prior knowledge as possible. The science fiction elements reminded me of The X-Files (1993–2018), but the conspiracy thriller stuff is more informed by The Manchurian Candidate (1962), Spielberg’s earlier Minority Report (2002), and even the Jason Bourne films. Although not an action film per se, this has some splendid vehicular pursuits and one cracking set piece involving a train that will certainly get the blood pumping.

On the other hand, David Koepp’s screenplay is less successful when glibly throwing up big societal and theological questions. It asks whether Noah might be correct in his ideas about suppressing the truth about UFOs (or UAPs, as they’re now known) to preserve social and economic order. Is he right to suggest that monotheistic religions like Christianity will have the rug pulled out from beneath them if aliens are revealed to be real? Is he right to fear potential ontological shock on a global scale? Well, considering there’s a nuclear war brewing in the background, the scene is set for things to get at least a little bit The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951). Or The Abyss (1989), for matter, which features a similar impending war, prior to alien revelations. But the question about whether God created highly intelligent beings on other planets isn’t explored to my satisfaction. For example, if God did create alien races, are they “fallen” like the human race? If so, did Jesus have to die for them as well? That’s a splendid can of theological worms that a bolder film would have opened.

Instead, much about the aliens remains ambiguous in this story, to the point that it may frustrate some viewers (especially in the finale). Ever the optimist, Spielberg asks us to open our minds, but would nun Sister Maura (Elizabeth Marvel) not cite the verse about Satan appearing as an angel of light (in 2 Corinthians chapter 11, verse 14) at least once, to keep an open mind about the other possibility? The Bible also mentions a test (in 1 John chapter 4, verses 1–3) for any extra-terrestrial entities that may manifest themselves to humans, to discern whether they can be trusted or are demonic spirits sent to deceive (according to the Bible, evil entities of this sort can take physical form, as discussed in Genesis 6). But none of this is discussed in the film.

Of course, one can also shrug and say, “It’s just a film”. I doubt non-religious viewers will be bothered by any of this. All the same, I think it’s better to leave theology out of it rather than pay it mere lip service. Either go there properly and really scratch that theological itch, or don’t go there at all. Close Encounters of the Third Kind doesn’t bother itself with such questions (despite the presence of a priest near the end), which allows for more satisfying metaphorical spiritual interpretations (that I’ve discussed elsewhere). In contrast, Disclosure Day raises these issues, but without getting into any significant depth.

On the plus side, it does emphasise the need for empathy, understanding, truth, and how perhaps we should learn about the unknown rather than fear it. The latter point is applicable on many levels, whether to promote dialogue between nations, or simply getting to know that next door neighbour who seems a bit odd, rather than being only about aliens. So this is an earnest film with it’s heart in the right place.

Performances are excellent, especially from Emily Blunt. Her character arc is rich and emotionally resonant, with moments where she speaks in non-English languages proving something of a tour de force. As for Colin Firth, he’s a nuanced antagonist, with his driven, weary attempts at containing the situation contrasting with the attitude displayed by Colman Domingo’s character, Hugo Wakefield. Hugo is pleasingly enigmatic, though one can understand why Daniel and Margaret get frustrated with his need-to-know drip-feed of information.

Visually, this looks fabulous, with regular Spielberg cinematographer Janusz Kaminski providing that wonderful luminescence that accompanies so many of the director’s works, post Schindler’s List (1993). Another Spielberg regular, composer John Williams, is also on splendid form. His themes here are more understated than in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but they prove a wonderful accompaniment to the drama. Given my well-documented dismay at the absence of melody in much of modern film scoring, it’s gloriously refreshing to hear actual melodious themes, recorded by an actual orchestra, by a film music legend (the last of his kind, I fear). I stayed through the entire credits to luxuriate in the score.

In summary, Disclosure Day represents Spielberg on vintage albeit not groundbreaking form. As one would expect, there are deft visual touches that delight, such as an image of hail in the background that focus-pulls to an image of falling cereal. Or a reflection shot involving Emily Blunt’s face and the back of a man’s head (I can’t explain precisely why this is clever, as it’s a bit of a spoiler). In addition, no one can direct a chase scene quite like Spielberg, and this film has several that make the admission price well worth it. Just don’t go expecting the alien encounter stuff to be quite as exhilarating as in the earlier Spielberg classics.

The Dillon Empire beyond Substack

For a full list of my published novels, click click here.

For more on my novels and other fiction projects, click here.

For my Patreon page, click here.

For my Medium page, click here.

For the Dillon on Film podcast, click here.

Read more

Chapter 1: The Mars Landing

Chapter 2: The Man with the Trilby Hat

In last week’s chapter, George had a frightening encounter with a mysterious assassin. This week’s chapter picks up with him in hospital, as the truth about his inheritance is revealed.

Read more

Warning: Contains spoilers

Moulin Rouge! (2001) was released in the UK on the Friday immediately after the terrorist attacks on the 11th of September 2001. After the shock and horror of that tragic day, and the heaviness of its immediate aftermath, my wife and I headed to the cinema that weekend to watch Baz Luhrmann’s opulent musical extravaganza, feeling very much in need of romantic escapism. The film delivered in spades. We laughed, we cried, we loved the music, and we were so taken with it that we went to see it again the following day. Despite the heartwrenching finale, its simple, unashamedly on-the-nose message, delivered with copious amounts of surreal, heartfelt entertainment value, was the tonic we needed exactly at that moment to revive our spirits: “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return.”

It’s a line from the Nat King Cole song covered by David Bowie and Massive Attack that bookends the film, which brings me neatly onto another reason this film particularly struck a chord (pun ruthlessly intended): the soundtrack. Luhrmann’s genius in revising various classic tracks, sometimes radically and indeed hilariously, whilst throwing in a few new tunes (such as ‘Come What May’), made this a key film for Generation X. I know Luhrmann’s offbeat, gaudy, over-the-top style puts off some viewers. I will acknowledge that I’ve yet to come across anyone prior to Generation X who loves this film (most of the classic tracks are from the 70s, 80s, and 90s). However, to my mind, Luhrmann’s considerable talents have never been put to greater use. I love all his films (even those that critics sniffed at), but for me, Moulin Rouge! sits at the top of an extremely impressive pile.

Read more

Aside from the obvious appeal this may have to children, Masters of the Universe seems squarely aimed at people nostalgic for the 1980s cartoon TV series. I grew up watching it, so I am squarely in that demographic. But am I pining for a big-screen live-action mega-budget version? Not really. Especially after the less-than-stellar 1987 film version starring Dolph Lungren (who has an amusing cameo here). All that said, the new Masters of the Universe could have been dreadful, and it isn’t. It’s not particularly good either, but there are one or two redeeming features that make the viewing experience not entirely unpleasant.

The sheer number of screenplay and story credits (Chris Butler, Aaron Nee, Adam Nee, David Callaham, Alex Litvak, and Michael Finch) provides some indication of how this long-gestating project has passed from person to person over years of development hell, finally taking shape under director Travis Knight. A former rapper best known in cinema circles for animated gems like Kubo and the Two Strings (2016) and actually-not-bad Transformers spin-off Bumblebee (2018), he helms this solidly albeit unremarkably, armed with a national debt-sized visual effects budget that somehow yielded cartoony, weightless CGI. But strangely, this feels like an apt choice, perfectly suited to this sort of colourful piffle.

Set in the Kingdom of Eternia, the plot revolves around young Prince Adam (Artie Wilkingson-Hunt plays him as a boy, Nicholas Galitzine as an adult). Considered a bit of a weakling by those around him, including his father King Randor (James Purfoy), he reluctantly undertakes arms training under the tough love tutelage of Duncan, aka Man-At-Arms (Idris Elba), before Eternia gets attacked by Skeletor (Jared Leto, unrecognisable visually or aurally, so probably his best-ever performance). Adam is whisked off to Earth through the machinations of Castle Greyskull’s mysterious Sorceress (Morena Baccarin), along with the “Sword of Power” that gives the wielder the power of a god. Or something. Look, it doesn’t matter. Mattel made this up to sell toy figures. It’s nonsense.

Fortunately, the film knows this is nonsense, so the good news is we get plenty of jokes in which the film laughs at itself, tonally akin to Flash Gordon (1980). For example, given that Adam is eventually known as He-Man, it is amusing to see when he takes a boring HR job on Earth, that his pronouns (displayed on his desk) are he/him. Skeletor also gets a few funny lines, even if one evil laughter gag is ripped directly out of Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997). Silly sexual innuendos about characters named “Fisto” and “Ram Man” will go over the heads of children in the audience. On top of this, Adam’s childhood friend Teela (Camila Mendes) amusingly asks why Adam’s clothes mysteriously disappear when he’s in He-Man form, leaving him in a loincloth and that silly chest piece, which reappear when he’s back in regular form.

The bad news is, for all its knowing ridiculousness, the jokes don’t always land (it’s certainly not as fun as the aforementioned Flash Gordon). What’s more, this is far too long at 143 minutes. Some of the battles are entertaining, but some of them feel plodding and lack dramatic heft, since Adam’s character arc is so telegraphed and predictable (essentially, learning it’s fine to be a kind, sensitive, problem solver, people person, alongside the absurdist machismo of being a ripped, smashy-bashy demigod).

One more plus point: The score. Daniel Pemberton offers a genuinely hummable main theme (a lovely throwback, considering how irked I’ve been at the lack of melody in contemporary film scoring). I’m glad to see Brian May of Queen doing guitar work on it too, which perhaps explains why the Highlander (1986) track ‘Princes of the Universe’ crops up and why I kept thinking of Flash Gordon. Also on the soundtrack, The Cure’s ‘Boys Don’t Cry’ is heard at one point, as a knowingly ironic reiteration of the film’s major theme.

The performances are good enough. Kristin Wiig has a fun vocal role, and I particularly enjoyed Alison Brie’s underused take on Evil-Lyn, a sorceress who has chosen Skeletor’s side. Her anxious flattery amused me, but at the same time, she’s clearly a force to be reckoned with in her own right, and if there’s a sequel, I wouldn’t be surprised if she returns. But despite a fan-bait mid-end credits scene, I rather hope that doesn’t happen. Masters of the Universe is just about tolerable for those with a nostalgic itch to scratch, but it certainly isn’t good enough to warrant a series.

The Dillon Empire beyond Substack

For a full list of my published novels, click click here.

For more on my novels and other fiction projects, click here.

For my Patreon page, click here.

For my Medium page, click here.

For the Dillon on Film podcast, click here.

Steven Spielberg’s Disclosure Day is about to hit cinemas. Therefore, now seems an opportune time to discuss previous films of note dealing with aliens, UFOs, and the possibility that we might not be alone in the universe. Here’s a list of ten key examples where extra-terrestrial intelligence visits humanity, sometimes with benevolent intent, and sometimes with less than friendly motives.

For this list, I am sticking to my ten-year rule. That rules out recent films like The Vast of Night (2019) and Project Hail Mary (2026), both of which I greatly enjoyed. I’m also omitting films I consider fantasy rather than science fiction, so no E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial (1982) here. Much as I love that film, it’s more of a modern fairy tale than a story seriously examining the ins and outs of potential alien contact.

On the more malevolent side of alien contact, films I consider horror primarily, such as The Thing (1982) or Alien (1979), are also inadmissible. In any case, even if I had considered the latter, I ultimately opted to stick to first contact films that take place predominantly on Earth to narrow the selection. Hence why I’ve also left out 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and Solaris (1972).

On with the list, in chronological order.

Read more

Last week, we met George Hughes, the impoverished, bullied 13-year-old from a future where the human race is about to land on Mars. George’s desire to be an astronaut looks entirely impossible, given his social situation. However, in this week’s chapter, during a school cross country run across a nuclear contaminated wasteland, George is pursued by a mysterious stranger.

Chapter 2: The Man with the Trilby Hat

Read more

I’m gradually becoming a fan of Leo Woodall. After a splendid supporting performance in Bridget: Mad About the Boy (2025) and his heartbreaking turn in Netflix’s adaptation of One Day (2024), he’s on great form in director Daniel Roher’s Tuner, as New York City apprentice piano tuner, Niki. He’s effectively an adopted nephew to Harry (Dustin Hoffman), a friend of Niki’s late father. Niki also has a talent for cracking old-fashioned safes, thanks to suffering from hyperacusis (extreme sensitivity to sound). This comes in handy when an increasingly forgetful Harry forgets the combination to his safe.

Unfortunately, it also provides temptation when an unfortunate plot development involving mounting medical bills (US “healthcare” strikes again) causes Niki to do the wrong thing with good intentions. He gets involved with a criminal, Uri (Lior Raz), and his gang of safe-cracking burglars. At the same time, he develops a romantic relationship with music conservatory student, Ruthie (Havana Rose Liu), whose ambition is to become an apprentice to renowned composer Marius Maissner (Jean Reno). Things go well for a while, but naturally, Niki’s life of crime comes back to bite him in the backside, in ways that complicate his relationships with Harry, Harry’s wife, Marla (Tovah Feldshuh), and Ruthie.

Roher and co-screenwriter Robert Ramsey are less interested in the crime thriller elements and more in the romantic story, and the lead characters in general. The love story is poignant, with further detail about Niki’s condition gradually revealed, and how it forced him to set aside a potential career as a virtuoso pianist with perfect pitch. Besides Woodall, the rest of the cast are excellent. Hoffman’s character is curmudgeonly but warm and outgoing. However, he largely takes a back seat, with Havana Rose Liu proving the key member of the supporting cast. Roher includes some nice little directorial touches as Ruthie warms to Niki, such as the way her hair is tied up in a bunch when they initially meet, then it’s in a ponytail, then free-flowing as romance blossoms. Perhaps not an original idea, but an effective visual cue all the same.

This shares some obvious thematic DNA with Fingers (1978), and more recently, Baby Driver (2017). My wife, who saw this with me, commented immediately afterwards that this was like Baby Driver with Jewish people and no car chases, pointing out many thematic and narrative parallels. However, Roher’s style is far removed from Edgar Wright’s, so the comparison may not immediately leap to mind when viewing.

Tuner isn’t without flaws. One particular contrivance in the final act raised my eyebrows. All the same, this is well-made, gripping, and enjoyable overall. It’s worth adding that although the film is scored by Will Bates, the music Ruthie composes onscreen is written by Marius De Vries. I should add another special shout for sound designer Johnnie Burn, who enables us to experience the world through Niki’s ears throughout, amid the various ways in which he protects his hearing from intolerable volume and is sometimes unable to do so. It’s a deft and immersive choice, making the film all the more effective.

The Dillon Empire beyond Substack

For a full list of my published novels, click click here.

For more on my novels and other fiction projects, click here.

For my Patreon page, click here.

For my Medium page, click here.

For the Dillon on Film podcast, click here.

What if a major pop star stole a song you wrote? The latest from Once (2007), Begin Again (2013), and Sing Street (2016) director John Carney riffs on this idea, resulting in possibly his most enjoyable work to date. Power Ballad is a wise gem of a film exploring themes of fame and ambition, wanting (understandably) to be credited for one’s work, the ironies of gaining the world whilst losing one’s soul, and being blind to what is most important in life.

Lead singer for wedding band The Bride and Groove, Rick Power (Paul Rudd), is not so much a has-been and more a never-was. Hailing from the US, Rick was once a wannabe rocker in a struggling band but wound up performing 1980s hits at weddings to support his Irish wife, Rachel (Marcella Plunkett), and their teenage daughter, Aja (Beth Fallon). At a wedding where the groom knows washed-up boyband singer Danny Wilson (Nick Jonas, of the Jonas Brothers), Danny ends up singing with Rick on stage. The pair get on well, and afterwards, jam together in an increasingly drunken state. Rick helps Danny with some solo material, and unwisely plays him one of his incomplete songs, the titular power ballad, ‘How to Write a Song (Without You)’.

Six months later, Danny has had a massive comeback on the back of a hugely successful solo single. No prizes for guessing what that single is. Rick is understandably miffed not to have been at least co-credited. But to his dismay, he discovers he has no concrete proof of writing the song. In light of this, the record company push back, refusing to reconnect Rick with Danny. The conscience of the latter begins to eat away at him, even though he outwardly denies all knowledge of Rick writing the song.

This is a story about betrayal. Rick and Danny get on extremely well to start with. So well, in fact, that Danny gives Rick a rare and valuable guitar. But back in LA, Danny is desperate to remain living in the style to which he has become accustomed. For his part, Rick ends up alienating fellow band members and his own family in his seemingly unhinged determination to prove that he did indeed write Danny’s huge hit. He feels as though he is being gaslit, most notably by Danny, whom he considered a decent guy, but now feels he misjudged.

In other hands, a film like this could have gone to darker, more bitter places. However, Carney and his co-writer Peter McDonald also make this a film about the trappings of fame. Danny doesn’t know what truly inspired the song he has stolen (a plot point I won’t spoil), so when he tells his soon-to-be-ditched current girlfriend, Marcia (Havana Rose Liu), that it’s about her, his downward trajectory in terms of selling his soul is abundantly clear. At the same time, although we understand Rick’s desire for proper recognition (he’s not that bothered about the money), we also realise long before he does that he has something far more valuable than a writing co-credit for a hit single: A wife and daughter who love him for who he is.

Power Ballad is a smart, sweet, satisfying concoction, with a deftly poignant final scene. Performances are strong, not just from the leads, but also the supporting cast (including co-writer Peter McDonald, who plays Rick’s loyal fellow band member, Sandy). Like Carney’s other films, I suspect this will particularly appeal to anyone who has ever been in a band, but if you haven’t, this still has more than enough entertainment value to warrant seeing regardless.

The Dillon Empire beyond Substack

For a full list of my published novels, click click here.

For more on my novels and other fiction projects, click here.

For my Patreon page, click here.

For my Medium page, click here.

For the Dillon on Film podcast, click here.

Warning: Contains spoilers

Later this month, Steven Spielberg’s much-anticipated new science fiction film Disclosure Day hits cinema screens. Obviously, this isn’t the first time Spielberg has dabbled in UFOs or aliens, or indeed science fiction in general. With that in mind, it seemed timely to take a fresh look at the first time the great director pondered whether we are alone in the universe.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind proved an innovative and influential genre landmark upon release in late 1977. However, I first saw it on television during the 1980s and didn’t get to see it properly in the cinema until the mid-1990s. At the time, I was a student in Southampton, and a regular frequenter of the wonderful Harbour Lights cinema (then a BFI-funded endeavour, but now part of the Picturehouse chain). I knew people working there and regularly requested showings of favourite films I’d yet to see in the cinema, including Close Encounters of the Third Kind. To my surprise and delight, they obliged with a gorgeous 70mm print. I suspect, in part, because I encouraged lots of my fellow students to attend and behaved a bit like a one-man publicity machine for Harbour Lights. Indeed, when my father visited me during my final year, and we paid that cinema a visit, he said the staff behaved “as though the Queen had arrived”.

But I digress. Close Encounters of the Third Kind on the big screen, especially in 70mm, proved a revelation. It’s a landmark cinema experience that forever changed my relationship with that film. Close Encounters cannot be properly appreciated on television, and there’s a reason I sought it out at cinemas twice since then (once in 35mm and more recently in a 4K digital format).

Read more

I wonder if reading me praise the current splendid run of horror films is getting a little tiresome? Over the past few weeks, I’ve given strong notices to Undertone, Exit 8, Hokum, Obsession, and Passenger. Now I’m about to do the same with Backrooms. The problem isn’t that I’m unhappy that horror is having such a renaissance at present (and indeed, has been throughout this decade, as I’ve discussed elsewhere). The problem is that I’m running out of adjectives. “Scary”, “frightening”, “disturbing”, “horrifying”, and “terrifying” are getting rather overused in my reviews, so I’m setting myself a challenge to include none of them here (even though they all apply).

Perhaps the best adjective to describe Backrooms is “nightmarish”, simply because it actually provoked nightmares after I watched it. There’s little overt gore (mostly glimpses), and the violence is limited. However, it is a singular film that gets under the skin in ways that are difficult to put into words. There are levels of skin-crawling foreboding here that recall the darkest moments of David Lynch. At times, the film tells its story via found footage, in the style of The Blair Witch Project (1999). Yet somehow, it’s unlike any other horror film I’ve ever seen.

I suppose there’s some tonal and visual similarity with Exit 8, which also deals in yellow-hued liminal spaces. But that was set in a looping railway station corridor. This one features a mysterious parallel world accessible via a porous wall in the basement of a rather second-rate furniture shop with an odd piratical theme. Said shop is owned by Clark (Chiwetel Ejiofor), who is unhappy due to his recent divorce and increasing dependence on booze. He’s living in his own shop, sleeping in one of the beds, so in a pretty miserable state. What’s more, his therapy with Dr Mary Kline (Renate Reinsve) isn’t exactly helping.

One night, Clark discovers this peculiar parallel world, or extradimensional space, or whatever it might be. At first, it looks like a yellowish open-plan office with random sticks of furniture. However, the farther he goes in, the more he discovers it is unending, with the architecture taking on peculiar shapes and sizes that recall German Expressionist art. It features portals that feel like a particularly twisted take on the tiny doors accessed in Alice in Wonderland. Or, as the film puts it, the place seems to have been constructed by someone attempting to design what they have never seen, though it has been described to them. Some bits they get right, but some bits they don’t. It’s a mishmash.

Amid this bad dream world lurks something dark and menacing. We don’t know quite what it is. Nor does Clark, but he doesn’t seem to have a problem endangering the lives of his staff, Bobby (Finne Bennett), and Kat (Lukita Maxwell), dragging them into his explorations of this extradimensional world, saying he’ll pay them overtime for this “research”. Needless to say, things go very wrong indeed.

Backrooms is a triumph of imaginative production design for Danny Vermette. The increasingly surreal spaces have a labyrinthine quality that is nothing less than extraordinary, considering the film’s comparatively small budget. Dread-inducing visuals, including furniture and later humanoid figures sunken into the floors and walls, as though they have been partially absorbed, add to the escalating psychological terror. In this respect, director Kane Parsons, who created the YouTube web series upon which this is based (in turn, an adaptation of the “Backrooms creepypasta”), is in full control. His and cinematographer Jeremy Cox’s innovative use of wide-angle lenses, gradually narrowing passageways, steep chutes, houses within rooms, and staircases across sheer drops, is seriously anxiety-inducing. And yes, at the heart of this infernal maze lies a malevolent force, the precise nature of which is genuinely unsettling.

Performances are good, with Renate Reinsve in particular offering an understated masterclass in fear mingled with traumatised curiosity (mostly on account of her experiences of a schizophrenic mother and the destruction of her childhood home, glimpsed in flashbacks). Mark Duplass also crops up in an enigmatic supporting role that I won’t spoil. I should also add that the sound design and score (by Parsons and composer Edo Van Breeman) is first-rate, with ambient noise and slow-burning, creeping unease trumping jump scares (though there are a couple of those, too, well-deployed).

For me, the greatest strength of Backrooms is its refusal to provide full explanations. There are hints, here and there, and a few reveals that provide some answers. But this is a sublimely chilling existential horror that offers nothing in the way of reassurance. What you bring to the film will doubtless reflect how you interpret it, as there are myriad metaphorical applications. For me, it has something to say about the nature of broken people who blame all their problems on someone else, perhaps due to the fracturing, misleading nature of memory. It also highlights the hypocrisy of those who fail to take their own good advice. My youngest (who saw it with me) interpreted it as a metaphor for dementia. And yes, it’s about loneliness being a bad thing. As God put it in the Book of Genesis: “It is not good that the man should be alone.”

It goes without saying that Backrooms won’t be for everyone, but once again, horror fans have another must-see to add to their list.

The Dillon Empire beyond Substack

For a full list of my published novels, click click here.

For more on my novels and other fiction projects, click here.

For my Patreon page, click here.

For my Medium page, click here.

For the Dillon on Film podcast, click here.

If you’ve been considering delving into the vast cache of my short stories, novellas, and serialised novels peeking out tantalisingly from behind the dreaded paywall, you now have an even more compelling reason to do so. For a full rundown of why becoming one of my paid readers on Substack is a rather splendid idea, check out this article.

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 tale. 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 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?

Chapter 1: The Mars Landing

‘Today, the human race will land on Mars.’

As far back as he could remember, George Hughes wanted to be a space pilot. He knew everything about the history of interplanetary travel and had followed the Mars mission with avid interest.

The television newsreader continued. ‘United Spacelines vessel Holst will reach geostationary orbit within the next four hours. From there, preparations for landing will be made. As well as Captain David Gull, co-pilot Sophie Miller, and other crew, the passengers consist of businessmen, film stars, sports personalities, pop singers, and two former US Presidents. These celebrities will be surveying the terrain, choosing plots of land, ready for the architects who will build their luxury holiday homes.’

George munched his breakfast as the screen cut to a computer simulation displaying the Martian surface, indicating where the Holst would land and where the passengers could have their homes built. Decades previously, people had questioned the sanity of celebrities who wanted off-world accommodation, but following the huge success of moon colonisation, it was only a matter of time before attention turned to other planets. Martian holiday homes became the latest fad for the stupidly rich.

‘The Holst carried its passengers in luxurious accommodation across space over the last seven days.’

The television showed images inside the Holst. George pondered how much space travel had changed over the last hundred years. The vessel’s interior was a far cry from the cramped, weightless conditions of old NASA shuttles, and instead resembled the interior of a luxury ocean liner. There were expensively decorated living quarters, as well as a large restaurant, bar, casino, dance floor, and cinema.

A simulation outside the Holst revealed the craft resembled an enormous Y.

‘The Holst is the largest spacecraft ever built. Her fuselage is fifty feet tall and over five hundred feet long, by three hundred feet wide. She has been equipped with revolutionary new slingshot rockets, enabling her to travel faster than any vehicle in history. The journey from Earth to Mars was made in less than seven days, averaging between five hundred and seven hundred thousand miles per hour. Until now, a manned voyage to Mars seemed impossible, due to the energy requirements, but water-powered slingshot rockets have changed everything...’

The screen went black.

‘Another power cut,’ said George’s adoptive mother Gertrude, from the kitchen.

‘Typical,’ said, George’s adoptive father Albert, from the bathroom.

George sighed. The power cuts always seemed to occur when there was something interesting on television. But he had to leave soon anyway, or he’d be late for school.

Gulping down his last mouthful of dry toast, George crossed the sitting room to collect his schoolbag. Their tiny flat consisted of one bathroom, one kitchen, one bedroom, and a large communal living area with faded, peeling wallpaper that doubled as George’s bedroom. Against one wall, an ancient-looking brown and green sofa riddled with holes faced the even more ancient-looking television that had been broadcasting the Mars landing. George stared mournfully at the blank screen for a few more seconds, hoping the power would be restored once he returned.

Gertrude strode into the room, flustered and out of breath. Her clothes were ragged from years of wear and tear, and her hair always stood on end, no matter how much she brushed it. Craig Patrick and his gang of bullies at school often said his adoptive mother looked like a witch. This infuriated George, who thought Gertrude the kindest, sweetest person in the world.

‘You ‘ad enough breakfast, George?’

Even though he was still hungry, George knew better than to say he hadn’t eaten enough. Gertrude would offer another slice of toast then there would be none left for her.

‘Plenty, thanks,’ said George.

Gertrude wasn’t convinced. She crouched down and scrutinised George with worried eyes. ‘I ‘ope we’re feedin’ you proper. You’re a growing lad after all.’

‘I’m fine. I’d better go, or I’ll be late for school.’

Albert emerged from the bathroom in his shabby dressing gown, his grey hair sticking out at peculiar angles much like Gertrude’s. ‘George, m’lad! Could you let the power station know our electric’s gone again? I’d go myself, only I’m already late and the roads will be a nightmare when I get out.’

George nodded, thinking, with a stab of pity, just how much older his adoptive parents looked, even though they were only in their late forties. Despite this, their eyes had a sparkle of contentedness that George envied.

‘’Ave a good day dear,’ Gertrude said as George left.

‘Y’never know,’ Albert added. ‘Today could be the day that changes your life.’

Albert often said that to George.

George closed the rotting chipboard door behind him, and strode away from Flat 3, Road 7, DCT District 427; the tiny, run-down concrete bungalow that had been their home for most of George’s thirteen years. He ignored the familiar thick black clouds smothering everywhere affected by the atomic fallout of World War IV, but wished he lived in the nearby city of New Sunderland. At least there, the atmosphere processors ensured it was sometimes possible to see the sky.

George again wished he was a space pilot and could travel to Mars, even though he knew this could never be. Interplanetary travel was prohibitively expensive in the DCT scheme. He couldn’t get within a mile of a spaceport, let alone apply to be a pilot, unlike other children his age, born into rich families. But George refused to let go of his ambition. One day things would be different.

After ten minutes, George reached DCT School 832, which he had attended since the age of five. He stared up at the dreary steel and concrete columns of the school building, groaning inwardly. The mock examination papers had been marked, and the teachers would be angry at his results.

Sure enough, as he sat in the classroom at his internet terminal, moth-eaten Mrs Richards fixed him with a cold glare from beneath shaded spectacles.

‘George Hughes, I’m sorry to say your results are outstanding.’

George sighed, resigned to what was coming.

‘I’m disappointed in you, to say the least. I don’t understand why you continue to defy me. There was no need to get all the questions correct.’

Craig Patrick yelled from the back of the class. ‘Because he thinks he can be a space pilot!’

George glanced at Craig as the other pupils sniggered. Craig was a stupid bully and had a face like a pale spotty camel, yet somehow managed to be the most popular person in class. Mrs Richards let the laughter continue for a moment then motioned for silence.

‘No Craig. Someone as intelligent as George would realise there’s no chance of ever becoming a space pilot. Unless he’s magically forgotten who he is and where he lives. Have you forgotten George? You know what the DCT scheme is, right? Debt Control Tax. Instituted forty years ago to prevent financial collapse after the war. Intended as a temporary measure but became permanent. Every low-paid worker pays one hundred percent tax, to avoid slipping into debt. In return, the government feeds, clothes, and houses you, as well as providing a generous allowance...’

‘Hardly generous,’ George muttered.

‘I’m sorry. What was that?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Exactly what any space pilot application made by you will lead to, George. Therefore, there must be some other reason you insist on attaining marks that will never be of any use to you.’

George’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. He hated the way Mrs Richards made fun of him in front of the entire class.

‘Come now George, you could at least have answered this question incorrectly: Calculate the speed of light from a light source emanating from within a spacecraft travelling at one hundred thousand miles per hour. No thirteen-year-old DCT child should know that.’

‘299,792,458 metres per second,’ said George, without even thinking.

‘And what’s all this stuff underneath? Can’t you answer any question simply?’

‘It was a trick question. The speed of light is constant, regardless of whether the source of the light is in motion or not. However, that is assuming the light is travelling through a vacuum, in the absence of matter. In reality, the speed of light depends on the material the light moves through. For instance, light moves slower through glass than through air…’

‘Enough!’

George fell silent at Mrs Richards’s command. He had launched into a scientific lecture without meaning to, but the speed of light and theory of relativity were such fascinating subjects, he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm.

‘If you must answer everything correctly, then at least have the decency to keep your answers free of explanations that are nothing more than showing off.’

‘But the question said to explain…’

‘Be quiet.’

Mrs Richards began to foam slightly at the mouth. From experience, George knew this was a sign that now would be a good time to back down. But he also knew this was a humiliation he would have to endure again. Despite being a DCT child, despite what he knew about his future job prospects, and despite Mrs Richards, deep down he knew someday he would be a space pilot. Therefore, he had to study hard. If that meant endless ridicule for getting high test results, it was a price he would have to pay. Try as he might, he couldn’t deliberately get Maths and Science questions wrong. Why did everyone think it was showing off to use his talents to the best of his abilities?

After school, George didn’t want to face the jibes that would inevitably come his way as he left the building, so he tried to slip away unnoticed. Instead of making his way across the playground, he crept around to the rear of the school, hoping to leave through the back gate. Unfortunately, upon passing the dustbins he was confronted by Craig Patrick and two of his cronies, Dave McFarlane and Trevor Scott. Trevor was tall, pale, and thin. Dave was short and fat.

Upon seeing him, Craig, Scott, and Trevor cut off George’s escape. George’s heart sank at getting caught. At the back of the school there were no surveillance cameras, and no witnesses to the beating up that would inevitably ensue. George was no fighter, and Craig was considerably bigger than him.

‘It’s the space pilot!’ Dave hissed.

‘Think you’re better than us?’ taunted Trevor.

‘Of course, he is!’ Craig pressed his ugly face against George. ‘He’s going to be a great scientist like, like…’ Craig stuttered as his brain tried to catch up with his mouth, before he finally managed to think of a name. ‘Frankenstein!’

‘It’s Einstein you moron,’ said George.

‘Whatever,’ said Craig, punching George in the jaw. His teeth slammed into the side of his mouth, cutting his cheek. Tasting blood, he staggered back but remained on his feet. Knowing he was in for more of the same, George decided he wouldn’t just take it silently.

‘Do you really enjoy this? I mean, surely there’s only a very limited amount of fun in making my life miserable?’

Craig punched him again, this time on the nose. A jolt of pain shot through George’s head and his eyes filled with water. He decided to fall to the ground even though the punch hadn’t been hard enough to cause this. That way, Craig might give up earlier and leave him alone.

Craig, Dave, and Trevor all began to kick him as he lay sprawled on the tarmac. George curled up into a ball and closed his eyes, aware only of blinding pain as blows rained down on him.

‘Wait!’ said Craig. The kicking ceased.

‘Let’s get him a space helmet!’ said Dave.

‘I reckon he’s had enough,’ said Trevor.

‘I say when he’s had enough!’ hissed Craig.

George opened his eyes and saw Craig carrying a large dustbin filled with rubbish over to where he lay. Dave and Trevor pulled him to his feet and Craig placed the dustbin over his head. Cold rice pudding, eggshells, and other waste from the school kitchens spilled down his head, neck, and face. The dustbin covered most of his body.

George couldn’t see a thing. He tried to breathe in and accidentally tasted rotten, stinking cabbage. Coughing violently, he spat it out and waited for Craig and the others to leave him alone.

Eventually, the hysterical laughter from Craig and the others stopped and George heard them run away. After waiting a moment, he pushed himself out from under the dustbin. His back and ribs ached from where he had been kicked, and his mouth and nose were swollen. The taste of blood and rotten cabbage lingered in his mouth as he scraped away the worst of the mess from the dustbin.

When he finally left through the back gate, George thought he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure emerging from behind the other dustbins, but when he turned back there was no one. Dismissing the image as a trick of the light, he hobbled into the road and staggered along the street away from the school.

The grey landscape seemed darker than usual. A rumble of thunder echoed in the skies. George remembered he had to visit the power station on his way home to report the loss of electricity, so hastened his step, despite pain from his bruises. People kept staring at him, and George realised he must look and smell disgusting. He continued to brush himself down, but the stench of the bin clung to him. He longed to be home where he could take a shower.

George noticed crowds congregating around one of the many giant video screens dotted outside around DCT District 427. People were watching with great interest, and George remembered the cause of their curiosity. He rushed into the crowd and stared at the screen. Several people moved away from him, making disgusted faces at the smell.

George’s heart thumped with excitement as the screen displayed the Holst spacecraft on the surface of Mars. Sophie Miller was about to become the first human to set foot on the surface. She had already put on her spacesuit and had emerged from the hatch, walking down the ladder to the ground. The Holst utilized the latest digital cameras to beam pristine pictures back to Earth; a far cry from the fuzzy images of the 1969 moon landing.

George expected Sophie Miller to come out with a snappy one-liner similar to Neil Armstrong’s legendary “one giant step for mankind” quote. However, she could only manage an uninspiring but understandable ‘Wow!’ as she set foot on Mars and stared across the bleak red landscape.

At this, people began to move away from the screen. George couldn’t understand why. He wanted to clap and cheer, but his enthusiasm for space travel wasn’t shared by these people whose only thoughts were of their own troubles. Yet although his dream of becoming a space pilot seemed further away than ever, George couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that elevated him above his miserable day. Mankind had landed on Mars. Although, he didn’t know why, he knew it was the beginning of a new era that would change the world forever.

Click here for Chapter 2

Copyright 2005 Simon Dillon. The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

The Dillon Empire beyond Substack

For a full list of my published novels, click click here.

For more on my novels and other fiction projects, click here.

For my Patreon page, click here.

For my Medium page, click here.

For the Dillon on Film podcast, click here.

Another week, another review praising a newly released horror film. Given that I’ve raved about at least four over the past month or so (Hokum, Undertone, Exit 8, and especially Obsession), it seems ludicrous to do so again. Well, perhaps I won’t rave to quite the same degree. Passenger, directed by Trollhunter (2010) helmer André Øvredal and written by Zachary Donohue and TW Burgess, arguably isn’t in quite the same league as that lot. Nonetheless, it’s still immensely effective as an imaginative and frightening piece of cinema.

The film begins at night with a pair of pals on a road trip (played by Miles Fowler and Alan Trong). When they pull over briefly, something attacks them. I won’t spoil exactly how that plays out (even though the trailers have) because it’s a strong, scary opener. However, I will say that the folkloric rules of the story, concerning how you should never pull over at night when on a road trip in the US, are immediately apparent. Subsequently, a young couple, Tyler (Jacob Scipio) and Maddie (Lou Llobell), who recently decided to travel and live in a van, happen upon the aftermath. Whatever demonic evil attacked the two blokes at the start attaches itself to them, and alarming developments ensue.

It’s best to keep further details vague, because whatever is stalking these travellers proves more unsettling the less is known about it. The film gradually reveals the nature of the menace, and when it does, it becomes a bit less nerve-shredding. However, the strong Judeo-Christian ethic inherent throughout is dramatically satisfying, and the suspense set pieces are nail-biting. They often take place at night, amid blinking headlights, so you perhaps think you see a figure in the woods by the road. Then it’s gone. Then it’s closer. Or is it even there at all? Another particularly unnerving moment takes place in an empty car park. I should add that, like the films mentioned in the first paragraph, this knows how to use jump scares effectively. Surround sound is also deployed to great effect, so that’s another reason for horror fans to see this one at the cinema.

A welcome Melissa Leo pops up in the supporting cast to provide some suitably terrifying exposition. As for our leads, Scipio and Llobell make Tyler and Maddie easy to root for. They’ve left their apartment and are engaging in a nomadic lifestyle as drifters. Tyler is in his element, but Maddie is less sure and secretly craves stability. Of course, whatever relationship challenges they have get interrupted by all the scariness.

In some ways, this film could be summed up as Nomadland (2020) meets It Follows (2014). Given that I’m somewhat agnostic on the former but love the latter, Passenger proved to be right up my street. However, a part of me slightly resents it for using one of my favourite romantic films, Roman Holiday (1953), as a prop in a notably disturbing but admittedly innovative sequence. I just hope the effect isn’t permanent. I really don’t want to start imagining evil figures lurking in the background when I next feel like wallowing in the company of Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck as they fall in love with one another in Rome.

Will the current unbroken run of good horror films continue? Next week sees the release of Backrooms, so I’ll review that soon and keep you posted. In the meantime, horror remains a buyer’s market at the cinema, with Passenger another sterling addition to the current scariness menu.

The Dillon Empire beyond Substack

For a full list of my published novels, click click here.

For more on my novels and other fiction projects, click here.

For my Patreon page, click here.

For my Medium page, click here.

For the Dillon on Film podcast, click here.

As romantic comedies go, you could do a lot worse than Finding Emily. This thoroughly predictable but charming tale gets by on the strength of its leads, Angourie Rice and especially Spike Fearn. Director Alicia MacDonald and screenwriter Rachel Hirons evidently take their cue from the tone of Richard Curtis films, and frankly, at present, that feels like a breath of fresh air. We all could do with a bit of romantic escapism in these uncertain times.

Finding Emily is also a love letter of sorts to Manchester nightlife and especially the greats of the Manchester pop music scene. Why else would it begin with the strains of New Order’s ‘Blue Monday’? In truth, that admittedly brilliant track has now been so overused in films that there really ought to be a moratorium on it. It isn’t as though New Order are lacking in other brilliant songs that would fit just as well. Anyway, in addition to New Order, the fantastic soundtrack (not exclusively Manchester acts) also includes Black Grape, Alison Limerick, Scissor Sisters, George Michael, Anz, Chappell Roan, Billie Eilish, Sweet Female Attitude, James Blake, Carly Rae Jepsen, Blossoms, and many others.

On the subject of music, our romantic lead, Owen (Fearn), is a talented songwriter and former band member who gave up his promising musical potential for reasons revealed later. He lives with his older brother, Matt (Jack Riddiford), and his brother’s girlfriend, Freya (Isabella Laughland), whilst holding down a sound engineer job at the university. One night, he meets undergraduate Emily (Sadie Soverall). They have an instant romantic spark, and she gives him her phone number. Unfortunately, she’s left off a digit. Deliberate or accidental? Owen thinks the latter (and given what we’ve witnessed, so do we). However, finding her again among a university of around 40,000 students presents a bit of a challenge.

Learning of his plight when he tries tracking down every Emily on campus, American psychology student Emily Raines (Rice) decides to help the lovestruck Owen. However, she’s secretly using him as a case study for her dissertation, which attempts to prove that romantic love is a form of temporary insanity. Emily encourages Owen into some professionally dubious (at best) behaviour, including sending a mass email to every Emily on campus (318 of them), hoping the right Emily will respond. Unfortunately, he uses “CC” instead of “BCC”, creating an email group of Emilies who are decidedly divided in their reactions. Some call him a creepy “incel” type, but others admire his hopeless romantic schtick.

Naturally, the incident goes “viral” on social media, and some of the online reactions are the funniest parts of the film. Thus, we get a gentle but immensely enjoyable satire of social media culture wars, in addition to the obvious developing attraction between the leads. I was also amused by the scenes with Julia Rogers’s Emily Weston, the Student Union president, a stereotypical activist type endlessly harassing the exasperated Dean of Students (Minnie Driver). Another bonus is Prasanna Puwanarajah, who plays Emily’s egomaniacal celebrity psychologist professor.

At its core, though, this is an unashamedly sentimental romance. Doubtless, some will find it cheesy, but I found it thoroughly winning. It has heart to spare, and Spike Fearn deserves particular credit for making Owen someone with whom it is immensely easy to sympathise. Yes, it all moves to an inevitable and obvious conclusion, but it is well made by all concerned, with plenty of laughs along the way. Don’t rush out the moment the end credits begin, or you’ll miss a rather hilarious send-up of The Verve’s famous ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ pop video.

The Dillon Empire beyond Substack

For a full list of my published novels, click click here.

For more on my novels and other fiction projects, click here.

For my Patreon page, click here.

For my Medium page, click here.

For the Dillon on Film podcast, click here.

Warning: Contains spoilers

While DreamWorks was animating Shrek (2001), they were also animating The Prince of Egypt (1998). The latter was considered a much classier project to be working on, so if animators were perceived as under par in some way, they were punished by being transferred to working on Shrek instead. This was known as being “Shreked”. It is somewhat ironic, therefore, that Shrek — a film that evidently wasn’t well regarded by Dreamworks animators — went on to become a huge hit, whereas The Prince of Egypt made a lot less at the box office.

To be clear, box office is not a metric of quality. The latter biblical retelling is nothing less than magnificent, but Shrek is wonderful too, and it is amusing that it proved immensely popular after being the butt of an internal joke. An anarchic blast of fairy-tale subverting fun, it also delivers the same feel-good factor as the best Disney princess animated classics on its own terms. A quarter of a century later, it still makes me laugh like a drain, and whilst digital animation has come a long way, Shrek still feels fresh and thoroughly amiable.

Read more

Since when did watching Star Wars start to feel like homework? When Disney insisted on umpteen television spin-offs, which then spawn film spin-offs, such as The Mandalorian and Grogu. I deeply resent the idea that I must pay a streaming subscription to be up to speed on previous events in this story, prior to seeing a film in the cinema that damn well ought to stand alone. The good news is that coming into this with no prior knowledge won’t be the end of the world, as it is easy to pick up from a narrative perspective. Why? Because nothing of great dramatic consequence takes place. That’s the bad news, though there are other redeeming elements I’ll get to in a moment.

For the record: I don’t like the idea of Star Wars on the small screen. It’s meant for the big screen. Given how George Lucas’s 1977 original and its immediate sequels changed the course of cinema, it feels odd to point out how much this latest spin-off, The Mandalorian and Grogu, feels like a glorified television episode (despite a few eye-popping IMAX visuals). Compromising Star Wars by making new streaming “content” (if you’ll forgive my use of an obscenity) seems to have damaged it, so that when it returns to cinema screens, it no longer feels quite the same.

That isn’t to say The Mandalorian and Grogu is terrible. For children who enjoy space adventures, it’s loads of action-packed fun. And fans of Star Wars in general, I daresay, will enjoy it. But it certainly isn’t groundbreaking cinema or adding anything new or of great worth to the Star Wars canon. There are no significant character arcs or any sense of the mythological heft that gave the original trilogy such universal emotional resonance. Instead, the screenplay (by Jon Favreau, Dave Filoni, and Noah Kloor) feels more like a video game, with Mando (Pedro Pascal) and Grogu (an amazing piece of puppet work) going from one peril to the next in the pursuit of goals that never feel as though they have any impact on the wider universe, or on the characters themselves.

For that reason, I can scarcely be bothered to include a plot set-up in this review, though I’ll attempt one all the same. Mando, having officially adopted Grogu (aka “Baby Yoda”), is now spending his time tracking down post-Return of the Jedi (1983) Imperial remnants on behalf of the New Republic. These baddies still have things like AT-AT walkers at their disposal (as we see in an enjoyable opening sequence). To get to one particular Imperial warlord, Mando is asked to liaise with relatives of the late Jabba the Hutt for information. Anything involving Hutts is typically bad news, and that proves to be the case here.

What follows is an enjoyable but empty melee of thrills and spills. On a technical level, there are plenty of spaceship battles, deadly droids of all sizes, oddball aliens, and huge monsters that have been splendidly rendered, sometimes with old-school models and puppetry rather than CGI. That’s pleasing (especially Grogu, as I’ve already mentioned). If all you want from this film is lasers and robots and monsters (oh my!), then you’ll have a great time. I expect children in particular will love the whizz bang excitement of the many how-will-they-get-out-of-this situations, and one particular monster sequence will delight fans of the original film, for reasons I will not spoil.

The supporting cast, onscreen or vocally, features overqualified talent, including Sigourney Weaver, Stephen McKinley Henderson, Jeremy Allen White, and Martin Scorsese (I’m not joking). Director Jon Favreau helms the piece slickly, and if you’re a fan of Ludwig Göransson, you’ll probably like the scoring. My favourite element remains Grogu, and I respect the film for gleefully leaning into the Muppets-in-space aspect some of the more boring contingents of Star Wars fandom criticise from time to time.

All the same, The Mandalorian and Grogu doesn’t qualify as must-see cinema or even as a particularly satisfying summer blockbuster. It does what it needs to do well enough and will be enjoyed by the audiences I’ve already mentioned, but I doubt it’s going to feature in many best films of the year lists come December. And yes, I’m still annoyed that I bought a Disney+ subscription to trawl my way through all three series of The Mandalorian (a seriously mixed bag) due to concern that I wouldn’t understand this. No film should require such extensive preparation via a medium other than cinema. Still, I suppose at least I’ve established one thing: If you’re a casual viewer who fancies seeing The Mandalorian and Grogu, but you haven’t seen the TV series, I can tell you that you can safely skip the homework.

The Dillon Empire beyond Substack

For a full list of my published novels, click click here.

For more on my novels and other fiction projects, click here.

For my Patreon page, click here.

For my Medium page, click here.

For the Dillon on Film podcast, click here.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I thrashed around in hot bedclothes, sweaty and alert. My mind refused to relax and instead imagined scenario after scenario in which I uncovered treasure. After finally managing to nod off, I dreamed about uncovering treasure, though the dr…

Read more