The Fantastic Magic Baby (3 Stars)

"The Fantastic Magic Baby" is one of the strangest entries in the famed Shaw Brothers catalogue; rather than the hard-hitting kung fu epics the studio is known for, it plays like a filmed Peking Opera adaptation of a chapter from Journey to the West, focusing on the impish Red Boy (aka the Fantastic Magic Baby) and his clashes with the Monkey King and the celestial pantheon.

Visually and stylistically, the film is a vivid feast of opera-inspired choreography, flamboyant costumes and painted-backdrop stagecraft, with fights unfolding more like acrobatic dance numbers than conventional fight scenes; this gives the film a theatrical energy that is incredibly distinctive but can also feel disorienting or slow to viewers expecting standard martial arts spectacle.

The narrative itself is skeletal: there’s a simple arc about rescuing the monk Tripitaka and guiding Red Boy toward righteousness, but most of the enjoyment comes from the sheer performative flair. For some, that makes it a mesmerising oddity; for others it drifts toward the baffling.

In short, it’s less a traditional martial arts film and more a vibrant, theatrical curiosity; worth watching for fans of Hong Kong cinema and anyone curious about the fusion of opera and wuxia, but likely not representative of Shaw Brothers' typical action fare.

Lost Highway (5 Stars)

Finally I'm watching my favourite film again. It's a masterpiece. Maybe I shouldn't say finally, because I watched it twice last year. It's a film I could watch every day, or maybe only once a week, because it's overpowering and I need time to recover.

It's a film that I'd like to watch with friends who appreciate it as much as I do. It's a film I'd like to discuss with friends, preferably over a beer. Tonight I was sitting alone, during and after the film, so I tried something new. I started a discussion with ChatGPT. First I asked what the film meant, and I was glad that ChatGPT gave the time loop interpretation, not the fantasy interpretation that Fred Madison invented everything while he was in his prison cell. The latter interpretation was popular for years, until David Lynch came out and said it was wrong. That's probably why ChatGPT sticks to the time loop theory.

Our discussion revolved around two questions:

1. Who is the executioner?

2. Did Fred Madison really kill his wife?

A couple of times I contradicted ChatGPT, saying "That isn't true, because..." and I always got insightful replies. Either ChatGPT said "Yes it is", giving arguments to back up its position, or it agreed with me.

This was clearest in the case of Fred Madison killing his wife. ChatGPT said a few times that Fred was a murderer, but when I said "I don't think Fred really killed his wife", it backed down and said "There are a lot of arguments in favour of your position". After the alleged murder the body is never shown on screen. More to the point, at the end of the film Fred finds his wife in the hotel having sex with Dick Laurent. The only other explanation for this is that in the time loop the final scenes of the film might have happened before the murder. Maybe. That doesn't add up, because Andy is alive before the murder, but he's dead at the end of the film.

The executioner must be Fred. He kills Dick Laurent in cold blood. Dick Laurent was guilty of killing people in snuff films, so he was condemned to death. Where was he sent to wait for his execution? Into the time loop. Where was the executioner? Fred was hiding in Pete Dayton's body.

The main argument against Fred being the executioner is that he dies at the end of the film. Or does he? The final scene takes place outside of the time loop, where anything is possible. In the opening scenes, when Dick Laurent's death is announced, we hear the police cars chasing Fred; but Fred is still in his apartment.

Interestingly, ChatGPT tried to smooth over all our disagreements by saying David Lynch is painting a surreal picture which can't be fully explained; it doesn't matter if Fred killed his wife or not.

A friend of mine – if you're reading this you know who you are – said to me that David Lynch makes films which only he can understand. That's not a viewpoint I like. I prefer ChatGPT's surreal picture explanation.

I'd still prefer to discuss the film with a person. Preferably in person, but if anyone wants to leave comments on this post I'll answer him.

Success Rate:  - 3.9

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Eddie the Eagle (5 Stars)

The 2026 Winter Olympic Games are currently being held in Italy. I've glanced at some of the events when they were broadcast live. There are lots of weird sports that I'd never even heard of. What's this thing called curling? I'm sure skill is involved, but I can't get into it. Ice skating, now that's something different. Elegance on the ice. That's the only event that held my interest for more than half an hour.

In honour of the Olympic Games, I just watched "Eddie the Eagle", which shows a young athlete's path to the 1988 Winter Olympic Games in Canada. Those were simpler days. It's a great film that I've already watched a few times. It's a crowd-pleasing underdog story that knows exactly what it is and rarely pretends to be anything more. Directed with buoyant energy, it turns the improbable true story of British ski jumper Eddie Edwards into a glossy, feel-good sports fantasy.

Taron Egerton plays Eddie with wide-eyed sincerity, leaning into the character's awkward optimism without tipping into parody. He makes Eddie's stubbornness oddly moving; this is a man who confuses delusion with destiny and somehow makes it work. Hugh Jackman, as the hard-drinking coach Bronson Peary, supplies gruff charm and a familiar redemption arc. His performance is charismatic, if comfortably within his star persona.

The film takes generous liberties with fact, smoothing rough edges and inventing rivalries to heighten drama. Yet its unabashed sentimentality is part of its appeal. Bathed in 1980s nostalgia and propelled by a rousing score, it celebrates perseverance over podium finishes.

Success Rate:  + 0.0

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Falling Down (5 Stars)

Joel Schumacher's Falling Down is usually remembered for Michael Douglas's volcanic turn as D-Fens; yet the film's moral and emotional centre lies elsewhere. It belongs to Robert Duvall, whose portrayal of Sergeant Martin Prendergast gives the film its conscience, its melancholy and, ultimately, its quiet hope.

Duvall plays Prendergast as a man on the brink of retirement, shuffled off to desk duty after a traumatic shooting. In lesser hands the character might have been a stock weary cop counting the days; Duvall instead builds him from small, almost invisible gestures. His voice is soft, nearly apologetic; his posture slightly stooped; his gaze observant rather than commanding. Where D-Fens explodes outward, Prendergast absorbs. The performance is reactive, patient, almost recessive, and that restraint becomes its power.

From the outset, Prendergast is framed as diminished. At work he is patronised by colleagues; at home he is dominated by a fragile, manipulative wife who infantilises him. Duvall resists caricature here. He does not play Prendergast as weak; he plays him as cautious, a man who has learned that force has consequences. The backstory of the mistaken shooting hangs over him like a moral wound. Every decision is filtered through that guilt.

As the narrative intercuts between D-Fens's rampage and Prendergast's investigation, a subtle inversion takes shape. D-Fens believes he is reclaiming agency in a world that has wronged him; Prendergast appears to have relinquished his. Yet scene by scene, Duvall charts a quiet reclamation. The more clearly Prendergast understands the psychology of the suspect, the more he begins to trust his own instincts again. The detective work becomes an existential process.

Duvall excels in moments of understatement: a pause before contradicting a superior; a slight tightening of the jaw when his wife's anxiety spirals; the calm insistence with which he pieces together D-Fens's path across Los Angeles. He never overplays the character's intelligence; it simply accumulates. By the time Prendergast realises he is the only officer truly grasping the situation, the audience recognises that authority has shifted to him almost imperceptibly.

The climax crystallises the arc. Confronting D-Fens, Prendergast does not meet rage with rage. He meets it with clarity. The famous exchange, in which D-Fens begins to see himself not as a righteous avenger but as the villain of the piece, lands because Duvall underplays it. There is no triumphant flourish, only a steady moral gaze. In that moment, Prendergast completes his journey from self-doubt to moral certainty.

What makes the arc satisfying is that it is not about heroism in the conventional sense. Prendergast does not rediscover bravado; he rediscovers judgement. His retirement becomes less an escape than a choice made on his own terms. The man who began the film overshadowed by louder personalities ends it as the figure who restores order, both externally and internally.

In a film often read as a lightning rod for cultural grievance, Duvall provides ballast. His performance anchors the story in empathy and responsibility. If Douglas supplies the fire, Duvall supplies the gravity; and it is gravity, in the end, that gives Falling Down its enduring weight.

Success Rate:  + 1.8

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Wuthering Heights (5 Stars)

This film has been promoted as the perfect film for Valentine's Day. I almost agree. It's a powerful film packed with passion from beginning to end, but as those who've read the novel by Emily Bronte know, it's a tragedy. You won't go home with a contented feeling in your heart. In fact, this post could be reduced to a two-word review:

Love hurts.

My praises go out to German cinema fans. The theatre (373 seats) was almost full, even though the film was shown in its original version with English dialogue. The film was shown simultaneously in another room (404 seats) dubbed into German, and it was also close to being sold out. I'm always happy when the cinemas are full.

The Road Home (5 Stars)

I have a principle. Every time I watch a bad film, like "Spring Breakers" yesterday. I make sure that the next film is something I know and love. Bad films have an effect on my mood. They bring me down. So what better film can I watch than "The Road Home", a beautiful love story directed by Zhang Yimou?

"The Road Home" is one of Zhang Yimou's most deceptively simple films; a rural love story told with the clarity of folklore and the emotional precision of memory.

Set in a small northern Chinese village, the film unfolds through a son's recollection of how his parents met. The present is rendered in austere black and white, while the past blooms into saturated colour; a visual strategy that quietly reverses expectation, suggesting that memory is more vivid than lived reality. At the centre is Zhang Ziyi's luminous performance as a young woman whose love expresses itself through ritual, patience and stubborn devotion. Her repeated walks along the dirt road become acts of faith; love is not declared but enacted.

Zhang strips away political spectacle and urban modernity, focusing instead on landscape, tradition and the dignity of ordinary people. Yet beneath its pastoral calm lies a subtle meditation on change. The arrival of modern education, the Cultural Revolution's aftershocks and the erosion of village customs hover at the edges of the frame. What remains constant is the emotional architecture of remembrance.

Unfashionably earnest and almost defiantly sentimental, "The Road Home" works because it believes in its own sincerity. It's a film about waiting, about honouring the past and about how love survives in gestures repeated over time. In its quiet way, it's one of Zhang's most moving achievements.

Spring Breakers (1½ Stars)

"Spring Breakers" was shown in my local cinema as part of the monthly Cinema Futuro series, which highlights films that the organisers consider to be the future of cinema. When it began three years ago the emphasis was on films directed by women, but this is no longer the case. When the film was announced the posters called it a cult film, which surprised me, because I had bad memories of the film. I wanted to be in the cinema today, but I was unable to go due to family issues, so I watched it at home instead.

Today I made an effort to enjoy the film, I really did, but within the first half hour I felt like turning it off. It's such a superficial film, about four girls who go on spring break – that's an American thing – after robbing a diner to get the money. It's the best time of their lives, they repeatedly claim in voiceover, until they're arrested at a party with excessive drug use. They're bailed out by a local drug dealer who gives them guns and uses them to get revenge on his rival.

Anyone who knows anything about me and my tastes will immediately know why I don't like things like this. In my youth I avoided drug use, with the exception of a few weeks experimenting with LSD when I was 20. The women in the film are objectified as weak eye candy, with the exception of a sudden, unexpected transition in the final scene. There's no character arc, unless you can call the sudden jump from one extreme to the other an arc.

I've read article after article praising the film. I seem to be in the minority. The only reason I have for granting it half a star above my rock bottom rating is the eye candy. I like beautiful girls. The film has nothing else in its favour. It's trash, and I don't say that in a good way. Today's the second time I've watched it, and there will never be a third time.

Success Rate:  + 4.4

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