They’re all going into TV nowadays, and here amid the cinematic runners and riders at the LFF is David Fincher directing Mindhunter. It's Netflix’s new series about the FBI in the Seventies, when the Bureau was slowly starting to realise that catching criminals needed more than the old “just the facts, ma’am” approach.
film reviews
Adam Sweeting
Matt Wolf
Loving Vincent was clearly a labour of love for all concerned, so I hope it doesn't seem churlish to wish that a Van Gogh biopic some seven or more years in the planning had spent more time at the drawing board. By that I don't mean yet further devotion to an already-painstaking emphasis on visuals that attempt to recreate the artist's own palette in filmmaking terms.
Jasper Rees
The crime novels of Jo Nesbø are rampaging Nordic psycho-operas. The author's Oslo detective Harry Hole is a lofty alcoholic who takes an outrageous pummelling in his pursuit of deranged serial killers. His many adventures fill the crime shelves in bookshops with their fat spines in flashing yellow upper case, but until now he's been kept from the screen.
Adam Sweeting
This is the 100th feature film by Takashi Miike, Japan’s fabled maestro of sex, horror and ultra-violent Yakuza flicks, and here he has found his subject in Hiroake Samura’s Blade of the Immortal manga comics. Manji (Takuya Kimura) is a veteran Samurai haunted by the cruel murder of his sister Machi, but saved from death himself by the “bloodworms” which were fed to him by a mysterious veiled crone and have rendered him immortal. If he loses a hand or is hacked by a sword, the worms speedily patch him up again.
Nick Hasted
Fish out of water come in various guises in Guillermo del Toro’s Cold War fable, shown at London Film Festival.
Demetrios Matheou
Richard Linklater’s sort-of sequel to one of the great American films of the Seventies, shown at London Film Festival, stars Bryan Cranston, Steve Carell and Laurence Fishburne as old Vietnam buddies reunited as America is embroiled in another futile war, in Iraq. On paper, it’s a timely and enticing prospect.
Saskia Baron
This is not a movie to see in the front row – intrusive close-ups, hand-held camerawork, colour saturated night shots and a relentless synthesiser score all conspire to make Good Time, shown at London Film Festival, a wild ride. An unrecognisable Robert Pattinson plays Connie Nikas, a nervy con artist who enlists his intellectually disabled brother Nick in a bank robbery.
Adam Sweeting
There have been several film and TV versions of RC Sherriff’s World War One play since it debuted on the London stage in 1928, but Saul Dibb’s new incarnation, shown at London Film Festival, is testament to the lingering potency of the piece.
Demetrios Matheou
Michael Winterbottom has always been a mercurial director, moving swiftly between genres, fiction and documentary, keeping us on our toes. But with On the Road it’s time to mark the tiniest of trends.
24 Hour Party People is one of the best films about the music industry ever made, a riotous fictionalisation of the revolution in Manchester in the Eighties and Nineties that revolved around Tony Wilson’s Factory Records and the bands Joy Division, New Order and The Happy Mondays. 9 Songs was a radical experiment, as the director presented a sequence of gigs as the backdrop of a sexually explicit love story.
Now music features again, in what appears to be the most traditional approach of a trilogy of music-related films, albeit one with a sly sleight of hand.
The heart of the film is a documentary account of a young band on the road, as Winterbottom and a no doubt skeleton crew accompany the up-and-coming London indie four-piece Wolf Alice on a nationwide tour to promote their debut album My Love is Cool.
From Dublin and Belfast, through the North to Glasgow and back towards London, we’re given a low-key, fly-on-the-wall view of the day-to-day of touring: countless miles on the cramped tour bus, arrival, unloading the kit, sound check, press and radio interviews, the concert, dismantling the stage, loading the bus, a party, back in the bus and all over again… This is the no-frills reality of the road, with none of the usual rock and roll clichés and histrionics that we’re accustomed to and that can, in truth, get all very tiresome.
Winterbottom is a master of detachment, who allows characters, actors, stories to reveal their own nuances
While Winterbottom wants to convey the repetitiveness and gruelling relentless of the tour, there’s nothing boring about it for the viewer: even in the short bursts of performance that we're given, the power and poetry of Wolf Alice comes across strongly. In between the gigs, as we slowly get to know the band members, they prove to be charismatic and likeable, bonded by their passion for music and an unspoken, no-nonsense professionalism.
There's also a gentle romantic thread to the film, between Estelle, a new member of the band’s record company, who is helping them with their promotional duties, and Joe, one of the roadies. Chalk and cheese – she from London, he an older Glaswegian, she confident, highly musical herself, he shy and a little morose – they nevertheless bond within the enforced intimacy of the tour bus.
If their eventual liaison seems rather risqué for a documentary, here is Winterbottom’s little twist, and the revelation that On the Road is a cunning addition to the vogue for doc-fiction hybrids. The pair are actually played by actors Leah Harvey and James McArdle, who were inserted into the real world of the band and crew, performing their characters' tasks for real, while playing to Winterbottom’s tune.
It’s not entirely necessary, for the endeavour would have worked very well as a straight-forward documentary. But it’s the kind of move that seems to keep Winterbottom interested. The chief benefit is that Harvey – a new young actress playing a tour newbie – serves as the audience's eyes and ears. Harvey also reveals some singer-songwriter chops of her own; she’s definitely a star in the making.
Another actor in the mix is Winterbottom regular Shirley Henderson, who has a cameo as Joe’s alcoholic mum, whom he briefly meets when the tour reaches Glasgow. But for the most part the band – singer Ellie Rowsell, guitarist Joff Oddie, bassist Theo Ellis and drummer Joel Amey – offer more than enough personality. They’re extremely endearing when following a number of performances with enthusiastic DJ sets for the same fans. And we feel their pain as they begin to fade towards the end of the tour, victims of their own commitment and the demands of the touring life.
All of this is viewed with highly distinctive ease. Winterbottom is a master of detachment, who allows characters, actors, stories to reveal their own nuances, without his help. And the result here is one of his most satisfying films.
Overleaf: watch the trailer for On the Road
Matt Wolf
People who live in glass castles might be wary of throwing stones. That clearly was not the case with American magazine journalist Jeannette Walls, who made of her often harrowing childhood a best-selling memoir that has found its inevitable way to the screen. A would-be Daddy Dearest with a hefty dollop of Captain Fantastic thrown into the mix, what would seem to be a star vehicle for recent Oscar winner Brie Larson is in fact pretty much dominated by Woody Harrelson as the fearsome paterfamilias who lashes out and loves in equal measure. Or does the first as a perverse way of expressing the second.
I actually knew Walls slightly during her formidable tenure at New York Magazine, where she was a gossip columnist on the rise and I was a journalism intern. Warm, engaging, and glamorous to a fault, the Walls with whom I intersected one long-ago summer gave no evidence of having been born into the nomadic, artistically minded but also largely dysfunctional family portrayed here. Director Destin Daniel Cretton's film may insist upon a glutinous ending, but the reality of events in the Walls household – or, more likely, the journey, as they set out once again on the road – was clearly far rougher and messier than so tidy-seeming a celluloid adaptation is prepared to acknowledge. 
There's nothing safe or reined-in about Harrelson's unbridled portrait of a man facing down personal demons, starting with drink, and clearly wanting to do right by his artist-wife (Naomi Watts, above left) and their numerous children, of whom young Jeannette would appear to be the most ambitious. There's tough love and then there's parenting that finds mum Rose Mary more interested in her latest canvas than in feeding her burgeoning family, who at one point take to dining on a mixture of butter and sugar in order to survive.
Harrelson's Rex, meanwhile, is an inventor and philosophe who spouts life-enhancing maxims – "You learn from living, everything else is a damn lie" – when he isn't teaching a young and terrified Jeannette to swim by dropping her this way and that into a pool. In thrall to a temper one sense frightens even himself, Rex justifies his actions as planting a fire in his daughter's belly, and if ever there were a case of success being borne out of rebellion, that scenario is on view here. Harrelson to his unceasing credit never soft-pedals behaviour that simply won't be confined. But just when the audience is putting its head in their collective hands alongside the onscreen Jeannette, Rex pulls himself up by his occasionally gallant rhetorical bootstraps, and you find glimpses of the visionary he might very well have been.
The flashbacks to the child-woman that is Jeannette, glimpsed alongside the parental bohemians who will in time join the ranks of New York's homeless, score pretty strongly throughout, leaving the contemporary sequences involving Jeannette's occupancy of 1980s New York society to land with a thud. We first encounter an indrawn Larson (pictured above) as the adult Jeannette fibbing her way through an important dinner alongside a boyfriend (Max Greenfield) who seems hardly worth the fuss (his arm-wrestling encounter with Rex seems too stagey by half), and it's surprising that so little is made of Jeannette in the hardscrabble magazine world workplace – an environment, one assumes, for which life with father might well have prepared her in its way.
From torment to triumph, or so Jeannette's life reads, at least in material terms. The truth, one imagines, is far more knotted, as family ties so often are.
Overleaf: watch the trailer for The Glass Castle