Twelfth Night (2018): a passion project both fuelled and frustrated by textual fidelity

Whilst the stripped back, modern-day domesticity of Shanty Productions' Twelfth Night has clearly been influenced by Joss Whedon's Much Ado About Nothing (now six years old - how did that happen?), a more immediate and apt point of comparison is the version of The Merry Wives Of Windsor directed by Fiona Laird for the RSC last year. The aesthetic and performances in Laird's production were overtly influenced by the brand of reality-soap hybrids currently populating such small-screen channels as ITV2 and E4 in the UK, with a healthy dollop of seventies British sitcom stirred in - the latter emphasised further still by the camerawork during the live theatre broadcast.

Adam Smethurst's screen adaptation of Shakespeare's more highly-regarded comedy is regularly at its strongest when wholeheartedly embracing precisely these influences. With South East England standing in for play's setting of Illyria, Twelfth Night could easily at times be retitled The Only Way Is Sussex. This is especially true of the scenes focused upon the younger and more privileged Illyrians, such as when Olivia (Shalini Peiris) makes her first appearance stepping from the back seat of a shiny black car hiding behind fashion sunglasses and wrapped in a fur-lined coat. Orsino (Ben Whybrow) is similarly transformed into a spoiled millennial, delivering his famous opening speech whilst moping on the balcony of his trendy apartment overlooking his pool, his attendants-cum-drinking-buddies enabling him to wallow in his love-lorn condition through acoustic guitar improv.

The sitcom influences are never far away either, most clearly in the scenes involving Malvolio, played by seasoned Shakespearean actor Antony Bunsee, whose enjoyment in the role is both obvious and infectious. By turns a priggish party-pooper, lovestruck dupe and ludicrous buffoon, Bunsee effortlessly brings Malvolio to life in a way which demonstrates both a wonderful skill for physical comedy and an insightful understanding of a character too often reduced to a second-rate baddie. The double act of Simon Nagra and Dominic Coleman as Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek respectively is also satisfying throughout, Coleman in particular imbuing Aguecheeck with a foppish feebleness that elevates any scene he appears in.

Smethurst's decision to shoot his film as a full text version of the play is both admirable and ambitious, especially when considering this the debut feature both for him and his production company. But it's a choice which too often results in issues which undercut the film's many strengths, conflicting with the enjoyable nature of the contemporary setting and influences on Twelfth Night. Ironically for a story with duality at its core, Smethurst seems intent on making his film function as two distinct versions of Shakespeare's play at the same time for markedly different audiences.

For a start, with a running time of two hours and forty five minutes, Twelfth Night is both overlong and at times far too slow. Whilst some ardent Bardolaters might jump at the chance to experience Shakespeare's play performed uncut and untampered with on screen, it's hard to imagine the same young people drawn to the film's contemporary aesthetic having the inclination or the patience to sit through a version nearly three hours long. Smethurst's fidelity to his Shakespearean source also leaves him struggling to truly leave his mark as a filmmaker on Twelfth Night. There are signs early on of this being a sociopolitical take on the story as Viola (Sheila Atim, who also plays her twin brother Sebastian in a strong double performance) washes up on a south coast beach as one of several shipwrecked refugees; but Smethurst sadly abandons this potentially interesting contextual choice, making no further reference to it for the remainder of the film's running time.

There are also moments where either cuts or amendments to the source would have avoided parts of the action feeling so out of place in a modern-day setting, such as when Viola in her disguise as Cesario duels with Sir Andrew. Smethurst offers no explanation as to why the pair use antiquated swords, particularly jarring when brandished by Viola wearing a twenty-first century puffer jacket. The director allowing himself more freedom to adapt Shakespeare's play for his chosen setting would undoubtedly have resulted in issues such as these being easily resolved.

Twelfth Night ends up as a flawed film of Shakespeare's play that is nonetheless very easy to like, thanks to both the talent in front of the camera and the obvious passion of those behind it. Despite the relative problems, Shanty Productions' abilities in bringing Shakespeare to the screen are regularly apparent here. If Smethurst returns to Shakespeare for a future project with his production company - something I sincerely hope he does - then hopefully he'll give himself more scope to put his own stamp on whichever play he chooses, and let his voice as a filmmaker become all the more distinct.


Twelfth Night is available to stream on iTunes and Amazon Prime Video.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his PhD. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Journeyman - DVD Review

'As emotionally punishing and dramatically satisfying as Considine's directorial debut Tyrannosaur'

Mark Kermode likes to remind his audience every so often that Jaws may be a film with a shark in it, but it isn't a film about a shark. This isn't a review of Jaws, so I'll leave it up to you whether or not you want to discover what Kermode thinks Spielberg's film is actually about - preferably after reading this review, if you don't mind.

The reason I mention this is because Journeyman has a similar relationship with boxing: the central character may be a boxer, but the film isn't actually about the sport. The title refers to Matty Burton's (Paddy Considine) status as a proficient and popular fighter who has never managed to make it truly big - we learn early on that his WBO title was won on a technicality rather than a definitive victory. But it soon takes on an additional and far more weighty meaning as Matty suffers a devastating head injury, from which both the medical and personal roads to recovery are long and far from easy.

It's a shame then that Considine as writer and director takes a bit too long to realise Journeyman isn't a boxing story, making the first fifteen minutes of his film an unremarkable opening chapter which establishes Matty's professional life and concludes with a boxing match that fails to engage in the way boxing's legacy on the big screen proves that it can. The dialogue here at times feels particularly stilted: brash opponent Andre Bryte (Anthony Welsh) ominously describes the match as a "life-changer" for Matty several times in multiple scenes, telegraphing for anyone who might have missed it that this is the point at which a major plot development is going to happen.

It's to Considine's immense credit therefore that, beyond this opening section, Journeyman shifts up several gears to deliver an experience as emotionally punishing and dramatically satisfying as his directorial debut Tyrannosaur. The film never holds back in showing the aftermath of Matty's injury for him, his wife Emma (Jodie Whittaker) and their infant daughter Mia, the couple struggling to come to terms with the challenges they now face both individually and together.

Whilst Considine's direction feels far more assured here than earlier, it's the flawless performances he and Whittaker deliver which make the film such a compelling, heartbreaking watch. Considine in particular makes Matty's transformation in the weeks and months following his injury both sensitive and believable; slowly bringing back enough of the version of the man he plays at the start, without ever hinting that an artificial fairytale ending might be on the cards.

That said, Journeyman does allow sentimentality creep in as the story nears its conclusion, something which fans of Tyrannosaur may find more difficult to accept than the more hard-hitting scenes of the film's middle act. But, thanks to the fine work of Considine both in front of and behind the camera, the film has by this point earned the emotional conclusion it offers.

Journeyman was released on UK DVD, Blu-ray and digital download on Monday 30th July.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his PhD. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Macbeth (2018) - Online Review

'As the camera swoops through rooms, snakes down staircases and soars around the exterior of this impossible environment, the film feels at its most cinematically vibrant and innovative'.

In one of the most well-known speeches from Macbeth, the title character describes life as "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing". It's a line which could quite easily be lifted from the play and applied to any number of CGI-fuelled Hollywood blockbusters, but perhaps less often to screen adaptations of Shakespeare's own works. However, when considering Kit Monkman's overtly stylised version of Macbeth shot entirely on green screen, the words of the murderous protagonist could quite easily become the director's very own Banquo: haunting Monkman whilst spelling his downfall.

Thankfully, the director's aesthetic choices are for the most part a success. Monkman's version of the story unfolds in a collossal globe-like structure, assembled like a fantastical life-size doll's house made up of the settings in which the various scenes play out. As the camera swoops through rooms, snakes down staircases and soars around the exterior of this impossible environment, the film feels at its most cinematically vibrant and innovative. Architectural sketchwork is regularly worked into the picture: a pleasing and subtly executed touch, making it feel as if we're watching the story unfold in an edifice being designed and constructed before our eyes. The technical ambition on display is admirable throughout, helping the film to look unlike any version of Macbeth we've seen before.

It's when Monkman relies more on the dramatic and narrative elements of his film than the technical ones, however, that he flounders most often. Perhaps surprisingly for an adaptation clearly not set in our world, the supernatural elements of the story are remarkably reduced. Many of the witches' scenes are pared down or cut altogether, their remaining lines delivered by Mother (Wunmi Musaku) - a mysterious figure but one that Monkman is careful never to present as being distinctly magical.

Neither do we see Macbeth's "dagger of the mind" nor Banquo's ghost, both unequivocally presented here as figments of the murderous Scot's increasingly fragile mental state. Whilst this potentially makes for a more psychological rather than supernatural interpretation of Shakespeare's play, Monkman's investigation of this approach doesn't quite go far enough, leaving his version of the story feeling too rudimentary in places. Mark Rowley and Akiya Henry as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth respectively are both fine, but their scenes together - particularly those in Acts 1 and 2 - struggle to authentically create the charged, power-hungry relationship needed between the two characters.

The most intriguing element of the film is the Porter (Kes's David Bradley), transformed from Shakespearean fool to a non-speaking observer of the action, and who spends much of the film watching Mario Caserini's 1909 silent film version of Macbeth. It's a nice metacinematic touch, reminding the audience that they're watching just one of the many screen adaptations of this particular play. It's a shame therefore that Monkman does little more with the idea than this - a criticism which could arguably be applied to the whole film. As an experiment in innovative cinematic approaches to Shakespeare, this new version of Macbeth rightfully deserves to be applauded; as a new big screen take on a play already committed to celluloid countless times, however, Monkman's film rarely does enough to distinguish itself from its many forebears.

Macbeth is available to watch digitally now. 

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his PhD. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Picking up the pieces of the Saw franchise in a post-"torture porn" world

The following article contains references to plot details for the first seven films in the Saw franchise.

Thirteen years after its original release, I will still defend the original Saw as a worthwhile and cleverly structured horror thriller, even if its low-budget production and corny performances haven't stood the test of time as well as its plot twists. "Perhaps you enjoyed Se7en. This often goes up to Ei8ht" was the pull quote from Peter Bradshaw's Guardian review slapped on the film's DVD cover, emphasising the echoes of David Fincher's earlier (and far superior) neo-noir with added brutality to be found throughout James Wan's first mainstream directorial effort.

Importantly, Saw was not the film which earned the series its position at the centre of the "torture porn" trend which dominated the horror genre for the opening decade of the twenty-first century. That dubious honour went to the first sequel, 2005's Saw II, which ventured down the bigger-equals-better route by expanding the claustrophobic primary setting of the first film from a repulsive abandoned bathroom to an entire derelict building. The ante was also upped considerably in terms of the sadistic "games" set up by John Kramer (Tobin Bell), a.k.a. the Jigsaw Killer, moving from the psychological minimalism building to horrific self-sacrifice seen in the first film, to a gleefully unpleasant house of horrors designed to cause maximum suffering and splatter throughout.

If Saw II marked the franchise's first undeniable steps into the torture porn arena, then the third film was the point at which it plunged in headfirst and never looked back. The ante was upped once again, and whilst the series arguably takes place in an extreme reflection of our own world from the very start, it's still hard to accept Saw III's traps could believably be planned and executed by Jigsaw even with the help of his disciples as revealed in subsequent installments - I mean, who has access to that many putrid pig carcasses?

Away from the increasingly convoluted and unpleasant traps, Saw III was also the final installment to give a script credit to the original film's writer Leigh Whannell, making it the series' swansong in terms of narrative coherence or sense of craft. Whilst the second sequel was a far cry from Saw's twisting thriller plot, at least it made sense and involved characters we vaguely cared about. It's fitting that Jigsaw himself dies at the end of the third film, as this is where the series' life should have ended as well.

Instead, we were "treated"  to another four installments which cater pretty much entirely to the torture porn crowd. The traps may make less sense, but hey, at least they get the blood gushing, the guts splattering, the victims screaming and the audience wincing. Away from the gore, however, there's little within any of the closing four Saws of worth. Each of the main "games" in these films is essentially a lazy rehash of elements lifted from Saw II and Saw III featuring characters in whose survival we're given no reason to invest.

By far the biggest error post-Saw III was the series' shift increasingly further away from Jigsaw - given a hokey and entirely unnecessary origin story through flashbacks - and onto Detective Mark Hoffman (Costas Mandylor), eventually revealed to have been Kramer's accomplice since before the events of the first film. Thanks to Bell's convincing performance and the groundwork laid in the first few installments, Jigsaw was an intriguingly paradoxical antagonist providing the franchise with a solid core even as other elements continually deteriorated. Hoffman offered none of that: a stock bent-copper-cum-serial-killer with a clichéd and thinly drawn motive, performed by Mandylor with as much nuance as a pair of industrial-sized ice blocks to the head (take a bow, Saw IV).

Seven years after Saw: The Final Chapter seemingly drove the very last nail into Jigsaw's coffin, an eighth installment, simply titled Jigsaw, will attempt to resurrect the series once again at the end of October. There's no doubt that horror tastes have changed since torture porn's heyday in the early years of the noughties. The more traditional approach of films such as The Conjuring and its sequel and spin-offs, the social commentary approach of Get Out and, most recently, the brazenly nostalgic coming-of-age slant on Stephen King's It all offer horror experiences distinctly removed from the later Saw films' thinly-plotted splatter-fests. Jigsaw therefore not only has the task of rebooting the franchise from a position of practically zero critical credibility; but also needs to prove to those of us who were there at the beginning, before the torture porn aspect displaced everything else, that the entire concept of the Saw films isn't simply a relic of the recent past that should have been left to rot.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his PhD. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

The Autopsy Of Jane Doe - Blu-ray Review

'All the proof anyone might need that it's still possible to make a successful horror film using the tried and tested tropes of the genre'.

For a considerable chunk of its running time, The Autopsy Of Jane Doe is all the proof anyone might need that it's still possible to make a successful horror film using the tried and tested tropes of the genre. Apart from a brief opening scene, the entirety of André Øvredal's film takes place in a single location: the morgue run by Tommy Tilden (Brian Cox) and his son Austin (Emile Hirsch). The director patiently unfolds the mystery surrounding the titular cadaver through Tommy and Austin's post-mortem examination, gradually building up both the tension and the suggestion that supernatural forces may or may not be at play.

As such, The Autopsy Of Jane Doe essentially offers a fresh and intriguing twist on the haunted house set-up for much of its first half. It's a genuine shame then that Øvredal can't keep that momentum going as his film heads towards the closing act. It's possible to pinpoint the moment at which the director moves away from the palpable levels of suspense and intrigue he's created and shifts towards far more schlocky and unsubtle means of unnerving the audience. The chilling understatement and restraint used so well during the first forty five minutes or so are replaced by jump scares and occasional CGI elements which, whilst never terrible, lack the highly effective simplicity, precision and emotional care taken over what's come before.

Whilst he does manage to regain some of the earlier intrigue during the coda, what Øvredal delivers is ultimately a film of two halves, the second section being markedly less interesting and well executed than the first. What the director does have on his side throughout, however, is the central pairing of Cox and Hirsch, both of whom commit fully to the tone of both halves and who share a satisfying and believable subtly fractured relationship. Credit also deserves to go to Olwen Catherine Kelly who plays the Jane Doe of the title, making the task of being both genuinely menacing and a convincing corpse look remarkably easy all the way through. 

The Autopsy Of Jane Doe is available on UK Blu-ray, DVD and digital download now.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his PhD. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

"I understood that reference": Passengers, Kong: Skull Island, and the pitfalls of paying homage to cinema's past

On the surface, recent Hollywood offerings Passengers and Kong: Skull Island appear to have little in common other than being mainstream blockbusters; the former being a sci-fi vehicle for current hot properties Chris Pratt and Jennifer Lawrence, whilst the latter offers the latest reboot for the titular giant ape. But they share a curious trait, one which you might not expect to see in such standard Hollywood fare: both contain a number of prominent allusions to past cinema, ranging from the unmistakeably iconic to uncompromisingly cult.

Passengers' most obvious reference point is The Shining - the bar on the starship Avalon may as well have been taken straight out of the Overlook Hotel, complete with Michael Sheen's android barman Arthur replicating Joe Turkel's Lloyd in appearance if never in creepiness. Perhaps less surprising for a film set in space are references to both 2001: A Space Odyssey and Silent Running; but there are also definite links to a less immediately obvious bedfellow in Cast Away at points throughout Morten Tyldum's film.

Whilst Kong: Skull Island by definition draws on past Kong films - John Guillermin's 1976 remake feels like the strongest influence - it arguably more often evokes Apocalypse Now both visually and narratively, a connection reflected just as strongly in the film's promotional materials. Other Vietnam war movies of the '70s and '80s are inherently referenced, partly thanks to the fact that Kong: Skull Island is set in the period immediately following America's involvement in the conflict. But Jordan Vogt-Roberts also includes some more obscure and surprising references: Mark Kermode was particularly delighted to find that a reference to notorious Italian horror flick Cannibal Holocaust was entirely intentional, and the director himself has confirmed that Kong chowing down on a giant octopus is a deliberate nod to Park Chan-wook's Oldboy.

With their film geek credentials established, however, both Tyldum and Vogt-Roberts do precisely nothing with them. After an intriguing opening half, Passengers opts for 'Fishburne ex machina' at the end of its second act, followed by a race against time to avert disaster as derivative as it's possible to create. Kong: Skull Island meanwhile proceeds to both figuratively and literally waste a talented cast in favour of railroading the establishment of the MonsterVerse, the latest attempt at a cinematic universe which will eventually lead to Kong squaring off against the newly rebooted version of Godzilla.

The homages are therefore rendered empty, their apparent foreshadowing of some intertextuality with cinema gone by ultimately amounting to nothing. The iconography on display essentially becomes a meaningless checklist for those who appreciate it, reducing their viewing experience to something akin to Steve Rogers in the first Avengers film enthusiastically acknowledging his understanding Nick Fury's allusion to The Wizard Of Oz. Sure, you recognise the references, but what's the point if they're just there for you to let others know you spotted them?

In fact, including such bold references to iconic cinema with no thematic or narrative payoff actually damages these films more than if they hadn't included at all. If Tyldum hadn't taken so many visual cues directly from The Shining, it might not feel like such a disappointment when Passengers eventually pitches its tent so firmly in such woefully generic action sci-fi territory. If Vogt-Roberts (and the marketing team) hadn't pushed Apocalypse Now so blatantly in front of us, the blow of finding out that the film is ultimately yet another rushed franchise starter made with several sequels already in mind may have been a little easier to take.

Perhaps most disappointing, in Kong: Skull Island's case at least, is the thought of the film that we could have had. Are the brief flashes of such cult offerings as Oldboy and Cannibal Holocaust remnants of a far more interesting film that Vogt-Roberts really wanted to make? Unless the director chooses to confirm or deny this, we'll probably never know. Sometimes, however, it seems fair to say that the ignorance of not being able to say "I understood that reference" might indeed be bliss.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his PhD. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Prevenge - Blu-ray Review

'Takes a genuinely original high concept and turns it into a sub-90-minute feature that's really bloody good'.

There are all sorts of reasons to admire Alice Lowe's directorial debut Prevenge. There's the fact that Lowe is on both writing and leading lady duties alongside directing, doing at least two of these whilst also being heavily pregnant. There's also the fact that the vast majority of Prevenge was filmed in Cardiff in under two weeks on a relative shoestring. But, perhaps most importantly, it's a film which takes a genuinely original high concept and turns it into a sub-90-minute feature that's really bloody good. That high concept - expectant mother Ruth (Lowe) goes on a killing spree seemingly under the orders of her unborn child - is undoubtedly Prevenge's hook, something which Lowe never forgets and plays to her advantage throughout.

Her work with Ben Wheatley in particular has clearly influenced Lowe's approach to making her own film: both the tone and subject matter are somewhat similar to those of Wheatley's jet black comedy Sightseers, which Lowe both co-wrote and starred in. Whilst Prevenge regularly has a dark sense of humour, however, it feels first and foremost like a cult slasher flick. Lowe regularly infuses her film with the spirit of old school horror, with the unnerving soundtrack from electronic duo Toydrum adding to the sense of low-budget retro splatter even though the film's moments of bloody violence are in fact isolated and relatively understated. The relentless focus on Ruth's point of view and state of mind works well, with Lowe skilfully keeping the audience guessing just how much of what we're witnessing is all in Ruth's head until the very end through both her direction and performance.

Whilst the full story is unfolded with patience, where Prevenge perhaps falls down most often is in its narrative structure. Ruth's path from one murder to the next too often feels disconnectedly episodic, with some of her victims given little opportunity to become anything more than caricatures. Lowe seemingly does this to retain a sense of ambiguity as to how and why Ruth has chosen her victims, and indeed whether we should sympathise with them or not, but as more about Ruth's own circumstances is revealed throughout the film it's hard not to crave a more fleshed out target for her to hunt down. Tom (Kayvan Novak) is the closest Lowe gets to this, although the development he receives still feels only partially successful. 

Prevenge was released on UK Blu-ray and DVD on Monday 5th June 2017.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Catfight - DVD Review

'The commitment by Anne Heche and Sandra Oh in throwing themselves into their respective roles mean that Catfight's catfights are anything but exercises in pussyfooting'.

As the picture above might suggest, the three pivotal fight scenes in Catfight are anything but stereotypical 'handbags at dawn' affairs you might expect to see between two female characters in a more mainstream offering. Instead, writer and director Onur Turkel makes his trio of tussles no-holds-barred punch-ups straight out of the violent animated shorts of the Tex Avery era. Fists are launched at faces, weapons come into play, each blow is punctuated by overblown cartoon-style sound effects, whilst the action is regularly set to a cheery and instantly recognisable soundtrack; Catfight might contain the best use of The Stars And Stripes Forever yet committed to screen.

The fight scenes are amongst the film's most successful sequences for a few reasons. Perhaps top of the list is that Turkel wisely limits himself to three, using each to clearly define the close of an act within Catfight's narrative. It allows each to hit home fully as the enjoyably brutal sequence that it is, concentrating the film's most extreme moments and ensuring each feels satisfyingly realised. The choreography is on the whole well done, and the commitment by Anne Heche and Sandra Oh in throwing themselves into their respective roles mean that Catfight's catfights are anything but exercises in pussyfooting.

Away from its violent set pieces, however, the film falters a lot more noticeably. Taken as a whole, this is a fairly straightforward satire of contemporary America, one which Turkel's script rarely lacks the sharpness to make incisive or funny enough. There are moments here which work well - a group of gallery patrons mistaking the start of Veronica (Oh) and Ashley's (Heche) second bout for a performance piece is particularly well-executed - but there are also far too many which are too blunt. The inclusion of a Saturday Night Live style comedy show being watched by characters at several points throughout could have worked nicely, but instead feels like a ropily written framing device for the background story about a war the US is waging against "the Middle East".

Turkel's decision not to make this politically skewed towards either the left or the right is admirable, but it also leaves his film with very few people to genuinely root for. Both well-to-do housewife Veronica and self-righteous artist Ashley are for much of the film consistently unlikeable, and few of the characters outside of the central pair are developed enough to make up for this. The one exception here is Sally (Ariel Kavoussi), Ashley's continually put-upon assistant whose arc is arguably the most satisfying on offer.

Catfight is released on UK Blu-ray, DVD and digital download on Monday 24th April 2017.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Taboo: Series One - TV Review

'There are only so many gravelly line deliveries and guttural rumblings you can tolerate before you just want to offer Delaney a lozenge and tell him to speak up a bit'.

Your overall enjoyment of Taboo is likely to come down to a combination of two things: how far you're happy to engross yourself in the series' grim and grimy version of Regency era London without worrying too much about what's actually going on; and how far you're able to tolerate yet another growly and incoherent performance by Tom Hardy.

For me, unfortunately, the answer to both of these questions was: not very far at all. As James Keziah Delany, Hardy is arguably less growly and incoherent as he was in both Lawless and The Revenant, but his performance here is still distinctly positioned towards that end of the spectrum and it's starting to get a bit tiresome. There are only so many gravelly line deliveries and guttural rumblings you can tolerate before you just want to offer Delaney a lozenge and tell him to speak up a bit.

Whilst Hardy's performance may not be for everyone, at least it's consistent. The version of 19th Century London he inhabits is far less so, veering from unsettling horror to broad parody, sometimes within the same episode. Mark Gatiss' prosthetics-heavy caricature of the Prince Regent typifies the flaws of the latter, feeling like a rejected character from The League Of Gentlemen who's wandered into the series uninvited. The script too lacks consistency, clearly aiming for gritty period drama but too often sounding like it was written by a thirteen-year-old boy who's just discovered a whole set of swearwords he can't wait to use. This is Pulp Dickens, taking in everything that's good and bad about such an idea, but with the elements that don't work ultimately outweighing those that do.

The plot is all over the place, taking eight episodes to tell a story that could easily have been covered in four and still have had room for a couple of the relatively more successful deviations. Instead we have a garbled mish-mash of politics, murder, gunpowder and witchcraft which, by the final episode, have largely all been eschewed for brainless action sequences anyway. The secondary storylines offer little consolation: a subplot involving James' half-sister Zilpha Geary (Oona Chaplin) and her increasingly unpleasant husband Thorne (Jefferson Hall) is initially one of the most intriguing threads Taboo has to offer, only to transform into one of the most frustrating once it reaches its limp and unsatisfying conclusion.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

The Founder - Cinema Review

'The moments in the script which allow Keaton to truly bring Kroc's indomitable ruthlessness to life are too few, but when they arrive the actor makes the most of them'.

In successfully bringing the lives of Mark Zuckerberg and Steve Jobs to the big screen in The Social Network and, er, Steve Jobs respectively, both David Fincher and Danny Boyle did what many considered nigh on impossible: they made the stories behind Facebook and Apple not only interesting, but thrilling. As a film focused on how another of the most recognisable corporate brands of the last hundred years took the first steps to becoming the burger-peddling behemoth it is today, comparisons between Fincher and Boyle's films and John Lee Hancock's McDonald's origin story The Founder are both entirely appropriate and utterly inevitable.

It's a shame then that Hancock not only fails to achieve the same level of tension and engagement throughout the majority of his film, but seems relatively unaware of The Founder's position amongst the recent spate of big business biopics. The Social Network and Steve Jobs worked because the directors recognised that attempting to put the whole of these stories on screen simply wasn't viable. Hancock in fact has form for taking just this approach to the relationship between Walt Disney and P. L. Travers in the excellent Saving Mr. Banks.

The bulk of The Founder takes place over seven years during the 1950s and 1960s, but the length of time covered isn't the issue. Steve Jobs covered more than twice that period, but did so in a way which captured the essence of its subject through focusing on a handful of key moments in intensive detail. Hancock too achieved the same level of precision in his handling of Disney and Travers, but falls dispiritingly short of that high mark here. The director's routine and linear execution is his critical failing: a number of characters and elements are left regrettably underdeveloped - not least Ray Kroc's (Michael Keaton) relationship with his wife Ethel (Laura Dern), a subplot all but forgotten about come the halfway point and which gives Dern criminally little to do.

Whilst Keaton never delivers the post-Birdman and Spotlight powerhouse turn many will have expected, he portrays Kroc compellingly, believably and - perhaps most importantly - without the need to ever turn the entrepreneur into a pantomime villain. The moments in the script which allow Keaton to truly bring Kroc's indomitable ruthlessness to life are too few, but when they arrive the actor makes the most of them. Of equal importance here are John Carroll Lynch and Nick Offerman as McDonald brothers Mac and Dick respectively, deftly providing the understated old-world honesty as a counterpoint to Kroc's modern and unashamedly devious approach to both business and life in general.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Moonlight - Cinema Review

'Yes, this is a portrait of a homosexual African-American man, but at its core Moonlight is about a human being struggling to find his place amongst other human beings'.

After its success at this year's Oscars, Moonlight's importance in cinema history is now unquestionably set in stone. In winning Best Picture, Barry Jenkins' film became the first with an entirely black cast to do so. Earlier on in the night, Mahershala Ali received the award for Best Supporting Actor for his performance in the film, becoming the first ever Muslim winner of an acting Oscar. Nonetheless, it should perhaps go without saying that the qualities of being 'important' and of being 'good' do not necessarily go hand in hand in the world of film. A flawed and only partially successful film can still be considered historic in what it attempts, just as a film that is both entertaining and expertly made might offer little of significance beneath this craft. Truly exceptional films excel in both of these areas; Moonlight is one of these films.

Much has been made - and rightly so - of Jenkins' nuanced depiction of both the black and gay communities in America, and in particular of where these two circles overlap. But what elevates Moonlight further still is the universality it achieves. Race and sexuality are undeniably pivotal, but Jenkins effortlessly avoids making his film solely a platform for addressing issues. Yes, this is a portrait of a homosexual African-American man, but at its core Moonlight is about a human being struggling to find his place amongst other human beings. This is a love story and a realist drama and a family saga and more told through carefully selected chapters, and Jenkins succeeds in crafting each in soaring, emotional fashion.

Jenkins' film might more accurately be described as a triptych than a portrait, offering three distinct episodes in the life of Chiron with three different actors (Alex Hibbert, Ashton Sanders and Trevante Rhodes) playing the character across the film. Spending the entire running time in any of the three periods would surely have proven to be a pleasure, so it initially seems a shame that Jenkins decides to lift us out of one to move to another. But with each third as strong as it proves to be, Moonlight's whole satisfyingly becomes much more than the sum of its parts.

The abrupt disappearance of a key early character sits uncomfortably at first, until you realise that this is exactly the sensation Jenkins wants you to feel, because that's exactly how Chiron feels about their absence too. The characterisation of Chiron in the final third also jars initially, feeling as though Rhodes could be playing a different role altogether; but once again, Jenkins justifies his fearless decision-making at precisely the right time and it pays off infinitely. Even when it appears to take potential missteps, Moonlight not only overcomes these but transforms them into undeniable strengths.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Christine - Blu-ray Review

'Campos infuses his film with the discomfort, anxiety and frustration of the title character: it's likely that you'll find Christine's high-strung paranoia burrowing its way into your own mind before long as you watch'.

Perhaps most importantly when telling the true story of a local news reporter who ended her life on live TV in 1974 by putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger, director Antonio Campos ensures Christine is never exploitative. Campos deftly handles the many distressing episodes in Christine Chubbuck's (Rebecca Hall) life with sensitivity and respect, whilst also never being coy about the events leading up to her suicide. The director takes his time, spending much of the opening hour measuredly putting the different elements of Christine's life in place. It can make the first half of the film feel uneventful at times, especially in comparison with the second; but it's a decision which ensures that your investment in Christine is genuine before the film's more emotive sequences arrive.

That Campos continually resists both maudlin sympathy for his subject and feigning - or indeed forcing - understanding of why her life ended the way it did is key to Christine's sincerity as a biopic. A scene in which Christine is unexpectedly taken by a colleague to a self-help group provides the sole moment where she explicitly states the problems in her life, not to spell things out for the audience but to highlight just how disconnected Christine has become from the world. Vocalising her feelings to a complete stranger is just as ineffectual as never opening up to those she lives and works with every day.

The director's motivation here is instead an overriding sense of empathy, one which he achieves with increasingly impressive levels of success throughout. Campos infuses his film with the discomfort, anxiety and frustration of the title character: it's likely that you'll find Christine's high-strung paranoia burrowing its way into your own mind before long as you watch. A crowded, alcohol-fuelled 4th of July party at the home of her news station's owner is oppressive, uncomfortable and disorienting, making you want to exit the situation just as much as Christine clearly does.

Pivotal to Christine's success in achieving this is Hall's engrossing central performance. Hall transforms herself into Christine in a way that never feels like an impersonation, skilfully allowing her inner turmoil to rise to the surface in volatile fashion only once or twice. Perhaps the crowning achievement of Christine is the fact that, despite knowing how the story ends, Hall and Campos together make you hope against hope that things will actually turn out okay for Christine, whilst presenting you with a compelling narrative of why they ultimately did not.

Christine was released on UK Blu-ray and DVD on Monday 27th February 2017.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

T2 Trainspotting - Cinema Review

'Whilst Boyle has managed to get the band back together, you can't shake the nagging feeling that you'd rather be revisiting them going hell for leather at their greatest hits from twenty-odd years ago'.

The soundtrack of T2 Trainspotting includes a remix by The Prodigy of Iggy Pop's 'Lust For Life', the 1977 track given a whole new lease of life nearly two decades later when Danny Boyle used it during the opening sequence of Trainspotting. A musical outfit at their most popular at the same time as the original film's release, The Prodigy's more recent output, whilst still entertaining, struggles to recapture their past glories. Their remix of 'Lust For Life' is a prime example: perfectly enjoyable but nothing special - a sentiment which can equally be applied to Boyle's belated sequel to a film which transcended cinema in 1996 to become a defining cultural moment.

In fact, in many ways T2 might be more accurately regarded as a remix of Trainspotting than a straightforward sequel. All the key elements are here - the characters, the settings, the Edinburgh-accented expletives regularly turning the air Saltire blue. But whilst Boyle has managed to get the band back together, you can't shake the nagging feeling that you'd rather be revisiting them going hell for leather at their greatest hits from twenty-odd years ago.

Perhaps surprisingly, it's not the film's many nods back to the original film that create this effect. Trainspotting is referenced explicitly through sounds, settings and flashbacks incorporating footage taken from the older film. It's a bold move by Boyle, as if he's actively offering up T2 for comparison to its forebear now held in mythic reverence by many; whilst the nostalgic overtones work more often than not, they also frequently remind you that what you're watching rarely lives up to the original.

Whilst it meandered through the various figures within his life, Trainspotting was ultimately the story of Mark Renton (Ewan McGregor), the juxtaposition of his eloquent narration and deplorable actions for much of the story positioning him as the ultimate '90s antihero. It's a focal point T2 lacks to its detriment; but, whilst I couldn't tell whose story is being told here, I certainly know whose I wish it had been. Ewen Bremner's return to the role of Spud makes the character's journey through the film consistently affecting, amusing and authentic, but too often he's pushed into the background.

The spotlight is instead given to Mark's enjoyable but less interesting rekindled bromance with Sick Boy (Johnny Lee Miller) and, more frustratingly, Begbie's (Robert Carlyle) relentless pursuit of Mark following his actions at the end of the first film. For me, Trainspotting's weakest section is its final act where Begbie moves from being an occasional extreme presence in Mark's life to a key player, and his increased prominence in T2 has a similar effect. Whilst Carlyle's performance in the role is excellent once again, the film would be stronger with less of Begbie's cartoon villainy and more of Spud's subtle and satisfying character journey in its place. 

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, and why the Star Wars franchise needs to focus on looking forwards not backwards

SPOILER WARNING: The below article contains significant spoilers for Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. We therefore recommend reading this post only if you have already seen the film.

Central amongst the many, many well-documented problems within George Lucas' Star Wars prequel trilogy was the writer and director's treatment of Anakin Skywalker as he progressed towards becoming one of the most iconic cinematic villains of all time. Simply put, it was difficult at any point to actually imagine that either Jake Lloyd's pint-sized pod racer or Hayden Christensen's juvenile Jedi-in-training would actually grow up to be the ruthless Sith Lord seen in the original films. It wasn't just a question of dodgy casting either: even if you were on board that Anakin's journey to the dark side was a story which needed to be told, it's fairly likely that the version of that story related through Episodes I to III wouldn't be the one you'd choose.

In choosing to fill in the blanks in Darth Vader's origins, however, Lucas manacled the Star Wars franchise to a restrictive and unsatisfying approach from which J. J. Abrams successfully managed to break it free in Episode VII. Whilst The Force Awakens was undoubtedly nostalgic about the series' past in many ways, that nostalgia was never the driving force behind the narrative. The focus was on new characters continuing the story, with the familiar faces largely there to help them do that rather than steal the limelight.

All of which leaves Rogue One: A Star Wars Story awkwardly caught between Lucas' prequels and Abrams' continuation. The first in what Lucasfilm is describing as the Star Wars Anthology series, Rogue One is by definition a prequel, but as it sits outside the Skywalker saga you might think that it would escape the constraints Lucas brought upon himself during Episodes I to III. In practice, that's frustratingly not the case. This might not be an 'Episode', but it is a lengthy direct prelude to the events of Episode IV, the final scenes of Rogue One taking place literally seconds before the opening moments of A New Hope.

Whilst director Gareth Edwards does his best to create a story which can stand apart from this status, he's ultimately fighting a losing battle. The appearances by key characters from A New Hope vary wildly in their success. Ironically, the scenes involving Darth Vader (voiced once again by James Earl Jones) are not only the best nostalgic moments but also two of the best sequences in the whole film. Princess Leia's brief digitally recreated appearance at the end of Rogue One only works because it's so fleeting - any longer on screen and the illusion would most likely have fallen apart.

Which leads to the technological resurrection of the late Peter Cushing for the role of Grand Moff Tarkin, a decision that sits far less comfortably. Questions of taste and dignity aside, from a purely aesthetic point of view it simply doesn't work. Tarkin's CGI appearance is so distracting that it jolts you out of the film experience every time he appears, to the point where you'll start to question why Guy Henry (who provides the motion capture performance) wasn't simply allowed to play the part on screen: if he looks and sounds enough like Cushing to be digitally transformed into him, surely a better, more natural job could have been done with prosthetics? The only other option would have been to find some way of artificially writing Tarkin out of the story, or perhaps alluding to his presence without putting him on screen; but, as Rogue One's plot revolves around the construction of the Death Star, it's likely that his absence would have felt just as jarring as his presence in the finished film.

However, the characters who aren't in A New Hope end up casting a far greater shadow over Rogue One than those who are, as it's here that the film's prequel status comes back to bite it most significantly. By definition, none of the new faces can make it to Episode IV, which leads to an awful lot of death in the final act. That in itself wouldn't necessarily be a problem if Edwards managed to make his characters' demises feel warranted. Instead, the majority Rogue One's cast meets their end because logic dictates that they have to, rather than because it fits the arc they've followed, leaving the high body count amongst the film's key players seriously lacking the emotional weight that it should undoubtedly carry.

Rogue One is never a bad film; in fact, it's regularly quite an enjoyable one. But unlike The Force Awakens, which managed to both echo and build upon the characters and stories that precede it, Rogue One is undoubtedly a film continually held back by its inescapable obligation to the legacy of the Star Wars franchise. If those in charge at Lucasfilm wants the iconic sci-fi series to avoid the embarrassing and frustrating lows of Lucas' prequel trilogy as it continues, they need to ensure that both they and the films look forwards far more often than they look back.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Hunt For The Wilderpeople - Online Review

'Much like Hec and Ricky, Hunt For The Wilderpeople is stubbornly and charmingly its own animal.'.

As Taika Waititi's last film before he swaps Antipodean climes for Asgardian ones, Hunt For The Wilderpeople on initial inspection does little to change the director's status as the most left-field choice to helm a Marvel movie to date. This is an unashamedly quirky Kiwi comedy through which Waititi shows almost no aspirations to move into making Hollywood blockbusters. There's a well-executed car chase and a less-well-executed giant boar - ill-advisedly touched up with CGI but which would have fit the film much better had it been left as a raw practical effect - but for the majority of the running time Waititi wisely opts for a low-key indie aesthetic.

In doing so, the director puts the odd couple of veteran Sam Neill and newcomer Julian Dennison squarely in the spotlight. Generational juxtaposition is hardly a new idea - there's more than a hint of Up in the film's set-up for a start - but when it works as well as it does between Waititi's central pair it doesn't really matter. Whilst the chemistry between the two drives much of the film, the director's decision to initially keep them apart also works well, making the relationship which gradually develops between Hec (Neill) and Ricky (Dennison) feel all the more authentic.

Waititi's writing also deserves just as much credit, striking a pleasing balance between emotion and humour, sentiment and silliness throughout. An early scene set at a sparsely attended funeral, presided over by the director himself cameoing as an awkwardly forthright priest, is just one of many memorable examples that will make you laugh and cringe in equal measure. There are shades of both Edgar Wright and Wes Anderson here; but more often than not, much like Hec and Ricky, Hunt For The Wilderpeople is stubbornly and charmingly its own animal.

Look closer then, and Waititi's latest is both a positive forerunner and the perfect warm-up for his blockbuster debut. Mark Ruffalo has already compared Thor: Ragnarok to Midnight Run in its buddy road movie aesthetic, but he needn't have looked any further than Hunt For The Wilderpeople for a point of comparison. Let's just hope Waititi can maintain the no-nonsense appeal he achieves so well here as he deservedly moves on to bigger things.

Hunt For The Wilderpeople is currently available on Netflix UK.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Metropolis (2001) - Blu-ray Review

'The shots directly influenced by Lang's film are regularly impressive: Tima's creation smartly parallels that of the Maschinenmensch, whilst the colossal ziggurat at the centre of Metropolis provides some of the film's most striking images'.

Ostensibly an adaptation of Osamu Tezuka's 1949 manga of the same name, which in itself took inspiration from Fritz Lang's hugely influential 1927 silent film (although Tezuka had only seen one image from Lang's film when creating his comic), it's perhaps not surprising that Metropolis continually feels caught between the different influences upon it. Together, director Rintaro and screenwriter Katsuhiro Otomo blend loose influences from previous works with ideas of their own and from elsewhere in the sci-fi genre.

The plot of Metropolis is therefore an amalgamation of several narrative influences, a decision that creates problems which Rintaro's film never manages to satisfyingly overcome. The sociopolitical elements which come largely from Lang's film never sits entirely comfortably alongside the relationship between teenager Kenichi (Kei Kobayashi) and advanced robot Tima (Yuka Imoto) which, apart from existing between a human and a machine, is largely conventional in its execution.

Whilst Lang occasionally made his film too thematically dense for its own good, the problem is greater here, Rintaro straining at several points under the weight of the commentary he takes on. A subplot involving workers waging an insurgency against the employment of robots in Metropolis struggles to get enough screen time during the first half, only to then be concluded a bit too hastily when the focus shifts further onto Kenichi and Tima's story later on.

Aesthetically, Metropolis owes just as much to Blade Runner as it does to its overt sources, the director achieving a satisfying postmodern style that blends futuristic sci-fi with hardboiled crime fiction. The occasional use of computer animation sits well alongside the traditional hand drawn artwork for the most part; the inclusion of a giant robotic CGI fish in the background of one early scene is distracting, but is thankfully uncharacteristic of the director's approach overall. The shots directly influenced by Lang's film are regularly impressive: Tima's creation smartly parallels that of the Maschinenmensch, whilst the colossal ziggurat at the centre of Metropolis provides some of the film's most striking images. 

Look past its impressive visuals and lofty cinematic influences, however, and there's simply not enough narrative and thematic craft within Rintaro's film to recommend it as highly as other Japanese animated features of the same period. Metropolis was released in the same year as Studio Ghibli's Spirited Away, and Rintaro's film is consistently outstripped in terms of character and storytelling when placed side by side with that of Hayao Miyazaki. 

Metropolis was released as a limited edition Dual Format Blu-ray & DVD steelbook on Monday 16th January 2017. A special edition Dual Format Blu-ray & DVD will be released on Monday 13th March 2017.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.

Humans: Series Two - TV Review

'Continually does what the best sci-fi should do: offer a sense of escapism whilst also asking intelligent questions about the world you'll return to after watching'.

The first series of Humans offered a conclusion which simultaneously tied up enough of its many story arcs satisfyingly whilst also providing plenty of scope for creators Sam Vincent and Jonathan Brackley to continue matters. Success with both critics and audiences meant that a second series was announced before the final episode of the first had aired, giving Vincent and Brackley the chance to show us what happened next for their characters and, more enticingly, go deeper into the parallel present in which Humans is set.

By the closing scenes of series two, there's a definite sense that the show's creators have gambled on Humans being renewed a lot more than they did in series one, the end of the final episode clearly intended to lead into a continuation of the story. As such, should the gamble not pay off, then the frustration of a tale in some ways half told will be much harder to ignore than if Humans had remained a self-contained eight episode drama in 2015. That the most watched episode of this series received almost 1.5 million fewer viewers than the least watched episode of the last means that a third run of episodes is anything but a sure thing.

Which is a shame, because as well as providing plenty of scope for the series to continue, Humans' second run also offers a continuation of many of the strengths seen in the first. The returning cast resume their strong performances, with Gemma Chan and Will Tudor taking their portrayal of synths Mia and Odi respectively to impressive, emotional new heights in particular. Whilst it's necessary that a few of the last series' key players don't return, new additions such as Dr. Athena Morrow (Carrie-Ann Moss) and sinister synth Hester (Sonya Cassidy) more than make up for it.

The main flaw here is that Vincent and Brackley do little to remedy the relative shortcomings of the first series, in that once again there is a bit too much going on for them to fully explore everything in just eight installments. One or two elements introduced early on are forced to take a back seat for a few episodes before being concluded somewhat perfunctorily, whilst a punt is taken to leave others on a cliffhanger in the hope of the series' renewal.

Issues such as these are continually dwarfed by what the series gets right, however. There's a well-crafted sense of evolution from the ideas central to series one, with the world of Humans and the characters within it explored in new, thought-provoking and believable ways. The journey of Hester throughout the overarching narrative is an excellent example, as is the realignment of the relationship between Joe (Tom Goodman-Hill) and Laura (Katherine Parkinson) by the final episode. Most importantly, this continually does what the best sci-fi should do: offer a sense of escapism whilst also asking intelligent questions about the world you'll return to after watching. There's a reason the series is called 'Humans' and not 'Synths', a detail never forgotten throughout.

Humans: Series Two is currently available on All4 in the UK, and will debut on Monday 13th February 2017 on AMC in the US.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his MA by Research. He's also on Google+ and Twitter.