The warmth of the real-life story of the Neil Diamond tribute band, Lightning & Thunder (aka Mike and Claire Sardina), gets a jukebox sorta-musical treatment in this sentimental fable of second chances, perseverance and hope. After the challenging year we’ve had with 2025, ringing in ’26 with a bit of ‘Sweet Caroline’ and human kindness might be just the ticket.
Focus Features/Universal Pictures
For those who didn’t catch the 2008 documentary of the same name, the Sardinas found each other on the Milwaukee tribute circuit, two people who had already been through the ringer but who lived in optimism and joy. We first meet single dad Mike (Hugh Jackman in an alarming wig) as he strums his Neil Diamond anthem at an AA meeting, perennially grateful to have survived the military and alcoholism but still looking for a happily ever after. Mike steps on stage as ‘Lightning’, not exactly a Diamond impersonator, more of a channeller of the songwriter’s music. That’s not a niche that’s working out for him until he meets single mom, Claire (Kate Hudson in an alarming mullet) who does a mean Patsy Cline impression. Sparks fly, music is played and the duo blend their talents, families and possessions as a unique double-act, both on and off stage.
This should be the second act both players have been hoping for – complete with benediction from Pearl Jam (yes, really) and sell-out shows – but disaster strikes. How unconditional love, resolve and Diamond’s choice back catalogue sustain a family through dark times is how Song Sung Blue earns its emotional resonance. Jackman can of course sing and emote to tear-inducing levels, but twinned with Hudson’s bubbly persona and a bleak narrative arc, he’s perhaps the best he’s ever been in this genre. He embodies optimism, even when it’s hard to find, and his lusty renditions of ‘Forever in Blue Jeans’, ‘Crunchy Granola Suite’ and Diamond’s bonkers ‘Soolaimon’ are a cinematic euphoria shot. Hudson meets him musically and emotionally, delivering a weepie solo of ‘I’ve Been This Way Before’ in a button-pushing moment that is played tonally – like the rest of the movie – with such sweet sincerity that cynicism struggles to have a place.
Focus Features/Universal Pictures
If that sounds cheesy it’s because it is. Song Sung Blue (written and directed by Craig Brewer) unapologetically embraces dreamers, rhinestones and yes, the healing power of a banger tune; offering a chorus line of nice, earnest people just struggling to get by. There’s no worldwide fame or cash windfall at stake here; this is a film about the elation of being your true authentic self, of finding your tribe, of getting up when you’re knocked down. It’s a portrait of a small but good life, and the love that sustained it. Sweet, feel-good and positive, it also reminds audiences of how many Diamond songs are on the cultural hard drive. You’ll be adding to your karaoke list post-watch…
Pictures courtesy of Focus Features/Universal Pictures Song Sung Blue is in cinemas now
Timothée Chalamet has already been testing the tensile nature of likeability with his recent promo stunts for this frantic, nervy sorta-triumph of the underdog story from Josh Safdie. With his viral marketing strategy (blimp, orange, ‘schwep!’) and unapologetic declarations about striving for greatness, Chalamet has been prepping audiences for his turn as fifties New York grifter Marty Mauser, a bombastic motormouth who wants to change his humdrum life as a shoe clerk for fame on the international stage as a table tennis champion. Marty will do anything (and anyone) to get that dream; his childhood married sweetheart (Odessa A’zion) or the movie star wife of a prospective sponsor (Gwyneth Paltrow), leading his bestie (Tyler, The Creator) into danger or pissing off a mobster (Abel Ferrara) with a beloved dog. His exploits leave him running as fast as his mouth, always one dollar away from triumph or disaster.
A24/Central Pictures
Written by Safdie and Ronald Bronstein and loosely inspired by real-life table tennis star Marty Reisman, Marty Supreme is a tale of America, of ambition, of audacity, of balls – orange ping pongs and the cajones required to con. As Marty races through Manhattan streets, to London (where he represents the USA on a shoestring), to dangerous New Jersey hinterlands and onward to Japan for an all-on-the-line bout, the film unpacks the psyche of a winner… who actually doesn’t win anything. Marty is a mythomanic whose tenacity and self-belief moulds reality, his want naked and feral. Modern parallels can be drawn between American foreign policy, the prostrating of contestants on talent shows telling judges they’ll ‘give it 110 percent’, the performative nature of social media existence.
A24/Central Pictures
Marty isn’t ethical or good, but he’s multi-dimensional and magnetic – whether he’s falling through a ceiling in a bath or acing a ping pong into a fruit bowl. There’s something to admire in his endless drive for success despite the odds being stacked against him. Much of that charm is down to Chalamet’s ballsy and unapologetic performance, rattling through the picture like a live wire, his activities soundtracked by anachronistic needle drops. The more Marty fails, the harder he tries, the more sure of his eminence he becomes. The verve and swagger of the kid is hypnotic, impressive.
A24/Central Pictures
Directed with kinetic energy by Safdie, watching Marty Supreme is like playing one of the matches so entertainingly essayed in the film. When the lights go up, the feeling is one of exhaustion and relief. And of certainty; that this is Chalamet’s best work of his career, that he is pursuing greatness as fervently as Marty. It is award-winning stuff and worthy of a big orange blimp. Schwep!
A24/Central Pictures
Pictures courtesy of A24/Central Pictures Marty Supremeis in cinemas now
Who wears a push up bra to bed? If you wore exclusively white, wouldn’t there be a lot of laundry? Does liking Barry Lyndon make you a monster? Questions you will ask while watching Paul Feig’s knowing, horny, beach read of a movie that zips along breathlessly but leaves gaping holes in logic if you really think about it. That is not to say it’s bad – this is the sort of bonkbuster thrill-ride you’d consume on a sun lounger and feel satiated without ever declaring it a work of art.
Daniel McFadden/Lionsgate
The set-up: Ex-con Millie (Sydney Sweeney) needs a job and interviews as a housekeeper for the picture-perfect, wealthy Winchesters; cream cashmere-clad wife, Nina (Amanda Seyfried) and hunky hubby Andrew (Brandon Sklenar). Miraculously, Millie gets the gig – which fulfils her parole conditions and provides a home. But within days Nina has turned from calm delight to feral psycho, while Andrew simmers with disapproval, regret and a propensity to lurk around the house in a white vest that shows off his guns. So far, so Jane Eyre.
Daniel McFadden/Lionsgate
What is really going on in the Winchesters’ dynamic? Who is a reliable narrator? Why does the window not open in the housemaid’s room? How does Millie have this many Abercrombie & Fitch saucy-student outfits in her bag of meagre possessions? Why does the gardener look like a dancer from a Magic Mike show? As Nina turns to shrieking hysteria, Millie and Andrew start flirting over Junior Mints in the den and things flip to ‘thriller’ in ways that are easily pre-plotted by aficionados of the genre.
Daniel McFadden/Lionsgate
But sometimes, that’s exactly what you want. With dialogue that is knowingly camp, sex scenes that tap into Mills & Boon tropes and a performance by Seyfried that feels designed to let you in on the secret while Sweeney flaunts, The Housemaid is a wilfully trashy ride that should be enjoyed with a beverage and a side of self-awareness. The only trigger warning is to not watch if you like china sets or dentistry.
Daniel McFadden/Lionsgate
Pictures courtesy of Lionsgate The Housemaidis in cinemas now
A La-La Land fixture since the ’30s, this trolley-car bar has entertained The Duke, The King and The Chairman among a constellation of stars who have dropped by for a Mai Tai and a bite. It has featured in movies, songs and legends, dodged the wrecking ball and continues to provide old Hollywood glamour and gossip from its rouge embrace. Hollywood Authentic invites you to meet us at The Formosa…
First opened in 1939 across the road from the Samuel Goldwyn Studio lot, the Formosa Cafe has been the site of whispered secrets and Hollywood tales ever since. The 1917 Hampton Studios, 1920s Pickford-Fairbanks Studio and the fledgling United Artists, plus the Warner Hollywood Studios all sat at the corner of Formosa and Santa Monica Boulevard at various times over the decades. The stars of productions looking for a quick bite and drink – off-site and away from the commissary – would pop across the street to sink into the deep, red vinyl booths and speakeasy atmosphere of the Formosa. The sign on the bar, ‘Where the stars dine’, isn’t an empty boast. Regular John Wayne got so sloshed one night he slept off his whiskey in the bar and was found making scrambled eggs for breakfast in the kitchen the next morning. Marilyn Monroe has sipped at the storied watering hole, as has Howard Hughes, while juggling screenings across the street and dates at his table. While making films in town, Elvis Presley used to rock up to meet Colonel Tom Parker in his favourite booth (his liquor decanters are on show in the bar now), and he once turned up with a new Cadillac for a waitress who his party had forgotten to tip. His daughter, Lisa Marie, continued the tradition and hosted a posthumous 88th birthday party for her father in the cafe days before she died in 2022.
The sign on the bar, ‘Where the stars dine’, isn’t an empty boast. Regular John Wayne got so sloshed one night he slept off his whiskey in the bar and was found making scrambled eggs for breakfast in the kitchen the next morning
Mobster Bugsy Siegel used a booth so often the restaurant was referred to as his ‘office’ and he had a secret safe installed at his table for sneaky cash transactions, which is still visible through a glass pane in the floor. Frank Sinatra, James Dean, Humphrey Bogart and Ava Gardner frequented the venue for its discretion, dim lighting, cosy vibes and killer cocktails. Little wonder that it featured in a key scene in Curtis Hanson’s love letter to cinema’s Golden Age, LA Confidential, when LAPD detectives (Guy Pearce and Kevin Spacey) offend Lana Turner by interrupting her dinner and assuming she is a sex worker. In The Majestic, it stood in for the fictional Coco Bongo bar on Santa Monica Pier, and of course such a vintage hangout would be an onscreen haunt for old-school Hollywood fans Jon Favreau and Vince Vaughn in Swingers.
For almost as long as movies have been the industry of Los Angeles, a restaurant has sat on this site. Established in 1925 as the Red Post Cafe, the business was expanded with a decommissioned 1904 red trolley car and a partnership with chef-turned-restauranteur Lem Quon (and stayed in the Quon family for decades). The trolley car remained, Chinese food went on the menu and the Formosa asked many of its famous clients to autograph their headshots as they draped over the bar. Those 8x10s lined the walls for years, looking down on the swirling cigarette smoke and hushed conversations through to the threat of demolition in 1991. When longtime patron Bono heard his favourite cocktail lounge might shut down, he scribbled a poem on a drinks coaster:
… It’s dark in the daylight, you can’t see very far Past the ghosts of Sam Goldwyn in the old train car. Jane Russell was there, and so was Monroe When James Dean told the “Rock” where to go Hey, Elvis is dead but he haunts the PagodaIt’s on Santa Monica, it’s called Formosa.
The Formosa survived, with fans including the Beastie Boys, until an unpopular remodelling in 2015 when the vibrant lacquered walls, pagoda lanterns and buddha statues were ripped out for a more modern look. Later, as it seemed that the ghosts of Hollywood might be lost along with a legendary haunt, preservationists and the 1933 Group moved in to save and restore the grand dame.
Consulting old photographs for veracity, the team painstakingly replaced all the fitting and ephemera as it was (dusting off in-storage items, re-purchasing sold property), and worked on a new bar area and the refurbishment of the 36-seater, 800-series Pacific Electric trolley car – which is now the oldest surviving model of its kind. The careful $2.4 million restoration replaced trolley parts and uncovered new glass – and allowed the small room at the back of the car, which was formerly Siegel and then later mobster Mickey Cohen’s private office, to shine. Now it’s a cosy VIP dining space for up to 20 people with its own separate entrance and a vintage rotary phone to make orders directly to the bar. It was also here during the recent Presley birthday celebrations that Elvis’ prized possessions were displayed for guests (his gem-encrusted ‘TCB’ ring, Aloha Hawaii cape and silver Vegas belt among the treasures) after being flown in with the curator via private jet direct from Graceland. The vibe of both kingpins and the king reside here.
Wanting to honour the heritage of the place, a back dining room was created where the smoking patio used to be, with an ornate bar formerly from Chinatown’s famous Yee Mee Loo restaurant. The Yee Mee Loo was a similar time capsule, with an underground Tiki joint called the Kwan Yin Temple serving lurid drinks, decorated with a clock that ran backwards and a bar that was a prop altar used in the 1937 movie The Good Earth. The bar had been in a Glendale restaurant and then a private home’s lounge before the 1933 Group found it and relocated it. The tiles on the pagoda roof of the whimsical bar were created by Warner Bros Design Studio – a fitting link to the company’s old-time links to the bar as former neighbours. The dining space alongside it is now decorated with vintage photos, lobby cards and promo material of trailblazing Asian actors who made their mark on Hollywood, in theatre and in TV and radio, curated by filmmaker Arthur Dong.
These days, the Yee Mee Loo bar and the original brass-topped bar – which gleams like a polished Buick – are linked by the same terrazzo floor slabs that line the Hollywood Boulevard Walk of Fame. Famous names once again stare down from the reinstated headshots on the walls and identify the coveted booth seating (take a pew at the Ava Gardner, the Elvis or the John Wayne); the cocktail list is a book of talent favourites. The Duke’s ‘All Nighter’ (Milagro Blanco Tequila, RumChata, Fair Goji Liqueur, passionfruit and lime) sits alongside the bar’s famous Mai Tais and Blood and Sand concoctions. Drink a couple of those and you may well feel you’ve travelled to another time – or dimension; apparently the ghost of a gentleman sits in booth eight and can only be seen through the reflection in the bar’s overhead mirror…
Photographs by MARK READ Words by JANE CROWTHER 7156 Santa Monica Blvd, West Hollywood, Los Angeles, CA 90046 www.theformosacafe.com
Co-writer and director of Train Dreams, Clint Bentley, celebrates an American New Wave movie that showcases a beautiful paradox and resonates through the decades.
ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST (1975) One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was the first film that really changed me. I probably saw it way too young – in seventh grade – about 12 years old – but that’s also part of why it was so impactful. I was having a terrible time in school: bullied, feeling out of place, learning for the first time that the world was not inherently fair. Then I saw Nicholson try to rip a sink out of the floor to throw it through a window and escape his confinement. And in that moment I was saved. I’ve carried that moment, along with the rest of this incredible film, with me ever since.
Amazon MGM Studios
I grew up on a ranch in Florida. We only had three TV channels and so I watched a ton of movies, mostly with my mom. She loved American movies from the ’60s and ’70s and so that’s what I loved, too. Movies taught me about life. Steve McQueen, Clint Eastwood, Jack Nicholson – watching these men struggle helped me navigate those years. When I first watched Cuckoo’s Nest, I was moved so deeply by McMurphy – in a position where everything is stacked against him, but never losing his spirit. Never letting go of his passion for life. It opened me up as a person and, looking back, it set the tone for the types of films I one day hoped to create. There’s a deep humanism that runs through the film. A love and an understanding for its characters who are all trapped in an oppressive system. The older I get, the more that resonates with me.
Amazon MGM Studios
The craft of the film is also so striking and so beautiful. It’s amazing to see how Milos Forman achieves this magical combination of intention and openness. It’s a beautifully written script that’s always taking the audience somewhere, yet so gently that many moments feel totally improvised. As if a camera just happened to be there when something happened. I know now what a rare and difficult balance it is to strike as I’m constantly trying to find it as a filmmaker. I’ve been so inspired by this approach. Of trying to create what might be closer to a theatre troupe and letting scenes play out before a camera in hopes that we might achieve the feeling of life, with all of its beauty and surprises. When you get lucky enough to find that balance, some magic happens. Moments appear that you never would have been able to dream up. Moments that come to define your movie. The whole film comes to life and you feel more like you’re discovering it rather than creating it.
Cuckoo’s Nest is also a film that allows itself to make mistakes. There are moments that I think the film could probably have been fine without – moments that, in and of themselves, you might not have missed had they been left on the cutting room floor. And yet that shagginess is part of what makes the film so lovely. It helps give it its personality. Like the characters in the film itself, its ‘flaws’ are part of what helps reveal its spirit.
Amazon MGM Studios
In a movie full of unforgettable moments, one scene that has always stayed with me is the baseball game scene. Nurse Ratched (the incomparable Louise Fletcher) won’t let the guys watch a baseball game on TV. So McMurphy, in an act of defiance, pretends that he’s watching the game, acting it out for the guys. What starts out as something juvenile and a bit silly slowly takes on more resonance and depth. The other patients start to gather around him and he narrates the imaginary action with such conviction (yelling over the piped-in ‘calming’ music, no less) that these lost and bullied men momentarily believe in the game. They get lost in the performance and, more movingly – for this moment at least – they’re free. It’s an incredible performance from Nicholson, in the midst of a company of amazing performances. But more deeply, it’s a moment of rebellion and solidarity. A moment that illuminates the power of imagination. Of play. Of making art in dark times. It shows the power of art to foster resilience, endurance and to even be a protest in its own way.
Amazon MGM Studios
There’s a melancholy to Forman’s film. It’s not only inherent in the story, but it suffuses through the filmmaking itself. From the look of the cinematography to the strange, haunting score that always seems to wander in from around the corner. And yet hand-in-hand with that melancholy is a deep love and appreciation for life. I leave this film and I’m just very thankful to be alive, to be able to walk around. It reminds you to revel in the little moments. Having a beer at a baseball game. Going out to meet a friend. It reminds you what a blessing it is just to be alive.
Amazon MGM Studios
A more recent inspiration from this film came when considering how to approach an adaptation of a piece of literature – especially one as iconic and beloved as Train Dreams. Having just adapted this novella, I now know the responsibility and the fear inherent in the task. It’s a delicate process. The film must be able to stand on its own, whether the audience has read the book or not. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest releases itself from the source material while always honoring its spirit. Despite the liberties taken with the text (and despite Ken Kesey’s hatred of the film), it’s hard not to see the reverence that Forman had for the source material and for what it could communicate about the human spirit.
Amazon MGM Studios
The ending of the film still bowls me over every time I see it. The way tragedy and triumph somehow exist in the same moment. The element of rebirth inherent in the story. It’s a catharsis I still get shaken by every time I experience the film. One of the beautiful aspects of great art is that it can give us this emotional release. It seems to be something we’ve needed as long as we’ve been human – from the early tribal ceremonial experiences, up through Ancient Greek theatre, into today where most of us get it in the cinema (I’m sure there will be some other unimagined form one day). It’s a rare and special thing when a film can pull us into a story, take us on a deep emotional journey and, in the process, transform us. The pieces of art that achieve this resonance and depth become timeless. We hold onto them. It’s why we still read Don Quixote. It’s why this film will never go out of style. Despite moments that end up feeling dated or from another time, there’s a universality that we hold onto. Something that we’ll return to over and over to help us get through the dark times, whatever form they may take.
Feisty Eleanor (June Squibb) is 94 years young and still enjoys trolling her neighbours and bossing grocery store clerks around to fetch pickles. But when her bestie Bessie (Rita Zohar) passes away, Eleanor is lost. She and Bessie, a Holocaust survivor, had lived together in Florida – sleeping in matching twin beds, bitching together over the kitchen table – and Eleanor’s daughter decides to move her Ma closer to her, in Manhattan.
TriStar Pictures
Floundering in the big city, Eleanor joins a Jewish OAP group at a local community centre to make new friends, only realising once she’s part of the gang that they are all Holocaust survivors who regularly share their stories. Not wishing to differentiate herself, Eleanor fibs – recounting the experience she’s heard many times from Bessie as her own. And when a young journalism student (Erin Kellyman) asks to profile her, she agrees. What harm can it do?
TriStar Pictures
Of course, this is no simple white lie in a world where faux Holocaust survivors threaten the authenticity of the events of WW2 for those wishing to deny it, but this is a gentle comedy designed to make audiences like Eleanor despite her misjudgements. That’s easy to do as played by Squibb, a cute granny with a comedically sharp tongue, but the film – directed by Scarlett Johansson in her helming debut – is soft around the edges.
TriStar Pictures
A tinkling piano score suggests all proceedings should be viewed as quirky cute, but the way Eleanor’s lie builds out to take in the grief of a father (Chiwetel Ejiofor) and easy forgiveness, it’s territory seen numerous times before in Lifetime movies. And tonally, it’s a hard line to walk as it wanders through generational trauma, trips to Coney Island, family farce and a crisis of faith. Johansson doesn’t always manage to overcome the disconnects.
The treat therefore, is in watching Squibb twinkle her way through various situations – compelling as a fallible older woman, even if the material doesn’t meet her in quality.
Pictures courtesy of TriStar Pictures Eleanor the Great is in cinemas now
There are two types of people in the world: Christmas movie people and non-Christmas movie people. If you’re in the former group, you’ll likely love Richard Curtis, John Lewis adverts and enjoy Kate Winslet in the The Holiday. And Winslet’s directorial debut sits comfortably within that vibe, a festive comi-weepie with a star-studded cast, cute kids and a closer that will make you want to give your family members a good squeeze (even the grouchy ones). It’s unapologetically tinsel-y, emotionally manipulative and loaded with Britishisms – in other words, a successor to Love, Actually and exactly the type of movie you might want to watch post-turkey with the fam when it debuts on Netflix.
Kimberley French/Netflix
Written by Winslet’s son, Joe Anders, the titular June at the centre of a scrapping family is a granny matriarch (Helen Mirren) with terminal cancer, whose pre-Christmas fall puts her in hospital under the eye of nurse Angel (the absolutely delightful, Fisayo Akinade). June’s grown kids don’t really gel: bossy career woman Julia (Winslet) and abrasive organic-only Molly (Andrea Riseborough) fight; rumpled Connor (Johnny Flynn) doesn’t get out of his parents’ house much, and hippy Helen (Toni Collette) hasn’t been home from LA for years. Crammed together in a hospital room with various offspring (directed with appealing authenticity so as not to come over as stage-school brats) and a daft dad (Timothy Spall), June’s family unravels and binds tightly together again as she takes her final breaths…
Kimberley French/Netflix
Family squabbling is sketched with relaxed realism as the siblings talk over each other, tell their dad to shut up and get so infuriated by one another a visiting rota is drawn up. A vase is broken, people confess jealousy over vending machine snacks and there’s a gooey nativity with Christmas lights. None of it is deep, but the family dynamics feel recognisable even if death is somewhat sanitised. Winslet’s direction is assured, and regardless of whether Yuletide cheese is your bag or not, this is a confident start for an actor making their foray to the other side of the camera. It bodes well for what Winslet might do next.
Kimberley French/Netflix
Pictures courtesy of Netflix Goodbye June is in cinemas now
Who hasn’t wondered ‘what if?’ about a lost love? Joan (Elizabeth Olsen) certainly has, despite a long marriage to perennial complainer Larry (Miles Teller). When she pops her clogs not long after he’s kicked the bucket she finds herself in an afterlife terminus with a destination choice to make. Does she head to a forever with her earthly ball and chain? Or with her handsome first husband, Luke (Callum Turner) who has been waiting for her for 67 years since he bought it during the Korean War? To help her in her quandary, she has an afterlife consultant and the choice of any number of fantasy existences to pick (Studio 54 World, Weimar World without Nazis, Men-Free World is full, Clown World decommissioned). Of course, there are rules: once eternity is decided, it can’t be undone and any escapees are thrown into the black nothing of ‘the void’…
Leah Gallo/A24
It’s a classic rom-com scenario – a love triangle in which Joan must choose between the partner she has shared a life with and the husband she barely got a chance with; the familiar vs the novelty. And both hubbies are keen to win this contest, sniping and scrapping with each other as they try to entice Joan to endless days on the sunny coast in Beach World (Larry) or in a winter wonderland in Mountain World (Luke). Playing like a forties screwball comedy, Eternity is concerned with romantic overtures and smart protagonists, but also understands the choice paradox affecting us all. Yes, this may be a tale about picking the right guy, but it’s also about plumping for the right paradise, opening up bigger questions about happiness and contentment. While the characters walk through the recruitment hall of different, amusing eternities, audiences will certainly question their own ideas of perfection and if their current existence is meeting requirements.
Leah Gallo/A24
Turner and Teller do admirably in matching each other in charm as well as foibles, ensuring the happy ending remains a genuine mystery while Da’Vine Joy Randolph sneaks off with many scenes as a seen-it-all afterlife consultant. Olsen, trapped between two spouses, is given more than standard fodder to work with by screenwriter/director David Freyne (co-writing the former Black List script with Pat Cunnane). Joan is frustrated by the process, tempted by an amusing third option and wrestles with what perfection looks like. And if, indeed, it exists on heaven or earth. Where she ultimately ends up feels earned and dramatically satisfying. That said, it’s a shame we don’t get to spend more time in some of the eternities – Ice Cream or Space World might have been fun to visit.
Leah Gallo/A24
Pictures courtesy of A24 Eternity is in cinemas now
In these days of AI, fake news and the decline of print media, it’s something of a thrill to watch Laura Poitras and Mark Obenhaus’ study of a Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalist as he looks back at his scoops and old-school investigative reporting. Now in his eighties, but still a pill on the phone to his sources and scribbling longhand on countless yellow legal pads, Seymour Hersh is renowned for breaking the story of the US military massacre in My Lai during the Vietnam War via dogged research, nosy-parkering and tenacity – and he’s continued to expose corruption, power play and cover-ups in the decades since. Such a thorn in the US government’s side that White House tapes caught Nixon calling him a ‘son of a bitch’, ‘Sy’ is an entertaining subject, and a reminder of disappearing skills and industries.
Netflix
In charting some of Hersh’s most famous stories – including those interweaved with Woodward and Bernstein over the Watergate scandal, and the torture at Abu Ghraib prison – the directors chart some of the US government’s darkest secrets and plots straight out of movies. One of Hersh’s leads took him to the CIA’s attempts to create a real-life Manchurian Candidate using LSD, his folly in believing he’d found love letters between Marilyn Monroe and JFK is unpicked, and his current unveiling of atrocities in Gaza keeps him horrified. And while Hersh reveals his methodology (he spent an entire meeting making small talk with military top brass while transcribing an upside-down document on his desk), he also reveals his own story.
Netflix
A working-class boy expected to take on his dad’s business, he developed an unexpected flair for writing, tearing up as he recalls a teacher taking him to the admissions office of the University of Chicago. Study led to work covering police beats and gangland slayings on Chicago local papers until he decided he wanted to write about more than ‘mass murders’.
His tenure at The New York Times was during a period when newspaper print was impactful, stories typed out and sucked up tubes in the newsroom, journalists propped their feet up on messy desks while smoking and calling moles on their landlines.
That’s not to say that Cover Up is a nostalgia trip (though aficionados of archival presses churning out news print are well served), the film stays relevant due to the constants that remain throughout history. That power continues to breed corruption, and that someone needs to hold administrations accountable. The big question the film seems to ask is – with truth seeking, hard news reporters like Hersh, now a vanishing type – who will perform this role going forward?
Netflix
Pictures courtesy of Netflix Cover Up is in cinemas now
Sydney Sweeney’s transformation from pin-up to boxing bod in prep for this role was made much of in the press. It’s unfortunately the only transformative thing about the role, which is more interested in the eighties styling and domestic abuse of a trailblazing real-life female boxer than her achievements in the ring. Though the coercive and abusive relationship at the heart of this poverty porn biopic is grubbily fascinating (a husband living through his wife’s success while also feeling emasculated by it), it makes a film about female glass-ceiling smashing ultimately about a man.
Warner Bros. Pictures
We first meet Christy as a scrappy teen amateur pugilist from Tennessee whose ferocity in the ring attracts the attention of a middle-aged local manager, Jim Martin (Ben Foster in an amazing comb-over wig). Jim briskly marries his young charge, devoting himself to getting her the same deals as her male counterparts. Now in her books as well as her bed, Jim can control Christy’s rising fortune, fame and friendships, a svengali in a shell suit. Though Martin was a truly astonishing fighter, gaining representation by Don King, lucrative prize fights and endorsements, and press coverage usually reserved for the gents, David Michôd’s film concentrates on the battles at home. Jim becomes jealous of his wife’s dalliance with a former girlfriend and of her financial clout, punching down physically and emotionally.
Sharing similarities with I, Tonya, Christy doesn’t offer the same internal life seen in Margot Robbie’s interpretation of a sportswoman from the wrong side of the tracks. While Sweeney gamely swings, she doesn’t always connect – her performance often marooned in ugly wigs and fashion. Martin’s conflicted sexuality is explored, but her future wife (played with real warmth by Katy O’Brian) is given short shrift. Foster has more success playing a toxic misogynist, imbuing the manager with gimlet-eyed, hair-trigger malevolence which manifests in a horrific incident that is genuinely shocking. Always excellent, he manages to make Jim’s self-pitying motivation plain and his mercurial monstrosity horribly plausible.
The story of ‘the coal miner’s daughter’ – as Martin was dubbed – is certainly fascinating, but audiences may want to do their own research on leaving the theatre. Christy is the title, but we learn little of her, only the outside forces that came to define her.
Pictures courtesy of Black Bear Pictures Christy is out in cinemas now
