

I still feel suffused with the golden light and intense motion of Andrew Haigh’s masterful exploration of individual and generational grief.
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I still feel suffused with the golden light and intense motion of Andrew Haigh’s masterful exploration of individual and generational grief.
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This isn’t the easiest film to like. A quasi documentary based on the memoir by writer director Bill Bennett about his pilgrimage along ‘the way’ to Santiago de Compostela.
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Sequels come with expectations, perhaps of inevitable disappointment. The two predecessors to this film were solid, tense and imbued with the adorable coupledom of John Krasinski and Emily Blunt who further burrowed into our hearts during Covid with their goofy charm.
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Having seen two exemplary films exploring war and the nature of evil just the day before (Civil War and Zone of Interest), I felt unprepared for the kaleidoscopic onslaught of the latest iteration of the Mad Max saga.
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I’m a bit of a fan of a good 1940s film, specially when it is restored and shown up on a big screen. This one was scheduled because there was a Powell and Pressburger documentary at the festival this year and it was a pleasant way to pass the last Sunday morning of MIFF 2024.
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It’s quite possible that I should’ve given this film a miss. It started at 11:45 pm and I knew I had a morning film the next day. I kind of got caught up in the rush to get there and enthusiasm to see something a little bit weird late at night, something that I would never have the chance to see elsewhere.
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I found this documentary hard going. If I’d seen it at the start of the festival and less tired, I might have been awed by the technique of overlapping footage with disconnected but meaningful audio.
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I had heard a buzz about this French drama by Boris Lojkine which can be a blessing or a curse. Gladly, the rumours were true.
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Late night B grade horror is a bit of a MIFF treat but I think I knew 10 minutes in that this one was not going to be a ‘so bad, it’s good one’.
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