Healthy Generations

by @saidonescottishlady

Big Budgets, Small Stories, and the Question of Authenticity

May has handed us two films sitting at almost comically different ends of the budget spectrum. One arrived on a marketing wave estimated at a quarter of a billion dollars; the other crept into a handful of cinemas with what felt like the change found down the back of the sofa. Both, in their own ways, are worth your time. Only one of them will leave you thinking about it on the bus home.

The Devil Wears Prada 2

David Frankel returns to direct, with Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt and Stanley Tucci all reprising their roles two decades on. The set-up: Andy Sachs is now a respected reporter whose newsroom is unceremoniously laid off mid-gala, while Miranda Priestly finds herself under pressure as the magazine world wobbles around her. Their paths, inevitably, cross again.

Most sequels turn up two or three years after the original, while the iron is still warm. Twenty years is practically unheard of — and the small miracle here is that they managed to get the whole team back together: the director, the writer, all four leads. That alone is worth raising a glass to.

And it is fun. It is just not, I’m sorry to report, as fun as the first one.

What the cast do brilliantly is slip back into characters who never really left them. The first film was such a phenomenon that these four have spent twenty years being approached in airports, in supermarkets, on the school run, by fans wanting to hear them say “That’s all” or “Gird your loins!” or pronounce on florals one more time. They haven’t just played these roles, they’ve been living alongside them. You can feel that on screen — the ease, the lack of strain. Every glance, every pause, every weaponised eyebrow lands exactly where it should.

And the clothes — well, the clothes are extraordinary. If you came for the costume department, you will leave fed.

The film also tries to make a point about journalism, which is interesting in theory, but I’m not entirely sure it earns the right to make it. It is a bit like being lectured about the importance of public libraries by someone arriving in a chauffeured Mercedes — the message may be true, but the messenger is wearing Dior.

And here’s the thing I can’t quite shake: it is Ugly Betty without the texture. Without the different bodies, the different backgrounds, the different ways of moving through the world. Ugly Betty (a firm favourite in this house, I’ll declare an interest) understood that the fashion world is funniest and most revealing when you look at it from the outside, from the margins, from the office at the end of the corridor. Prada 2 is shot resolutely from inside the corner office. That is a choice. It is a beautiful, very expensive choice. But it is not the more interesting one. Shall we just call the thing it’s missing authenticity?

Note: Click the pics to go thought to the trailers for each film.

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Rebuilding

And then, with a fraction of the noise — probably one per cent of the marketing spend, possibly less — there is Rebuilding.

Written and directed by Max Walker-Silverman, it stars Josh O’Connor as Dusty, a Colorado rancher whose land and home have been taken by wildfire. He ends up in one of those temporary trailer camps the American government sets up after disasters, surrounded by neighbours who have lost everything too, and tries to work out what comes next. Meghann Fahy plays his ex-wife Ruby; the wonderful Lily LaTorre plays his young daughter Callie-Rose. Amy Madigan and Kali Reis round out the cast.

This is a small, quiet film, but it has something firm and clear to say about the world — about what happens when everything you built is suddenly not there any more, and about the unexpected business of putting one foot in front of the other when you do not particularly want to. At its centre is the relationship between a father and daughter, and what makes the film so quietly remarkable is that it refuses to go where you assume it is going. It keeps catching you out, gently, with kindness rather than twists.

Josh O’Connor is having an extraordinary year (between this, The Mastermind, The History of Sound and Wake Up Dead Man, you could be forgiven for thinking he’s been cloned), and this might be the quietest and best of the lot. He does the very particular thing of playing a man who hasn’t got the words for what he feels, and somehow makes that wordlessness the most articulate thing on screen.

It is uplifting in a way that has nothing to do with sentimentality. It is uplifting because it takes loss seriously, and then takes community more seriously still.

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Coat On or Kettle On?

Worth the trip, or worth the wait?

If you only have one cinema trip in you this month, Prada is the bigger night out — and there is genuine pleasure in watching four pros do what they do best, in clothes most of us will only ever see on a screen. But Rebuilding is the one that will stay with you. And in a month, in a year, in a decade, I suspect it is the one I’ll still be quietly recommending to people.

If you have any feedback on the column, please send to saidonescottishlady@me.com

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by @saidonescottishlady

Oscar/BAFTA – Big Swings, Quiet Precision, and Project Hail Mary.

Awards season always promises a kind of clarity — a sense that the year in film has resolved itself into winners, runners-up, and a broadly agreed hierarchy of achievement. This year, though, felt less tidy than that. There were clear frontrunners, certainly, but also a sense that the conversation was being driven as much by scale and ambition as by precision.

Two films dominated the nominations across both the Academy Awards and the BAFTA Awards: Sinners and One Battle After Another. Between them, they set the tone for the season — big, confident pieces of filmmaking that signalled intent from the outset.

Of the two, Sinners is the one that really stayed with me. It’s a film that feels genuinely original — not just in story, but in execution. Everything is working: the music, the performances, the costume, the design. It’s cohesive in a way that’s increasingly rare. And at its centre is Michael B. Jordan doing something quite remarkable, playing two characters with a clarity and distinction that never feels like a trick. It could easily tip into gimmick, but it doesn’t. It holds.

Note: Click the pics to go thought to the trailers for each film.

One Battle After Another, which I’ve spoken about before, perhaps carried more of the awards momentum, but I’m not entirely convinced it warranted quite that level of acclaim. There’s much to admire, but it didn’t land for me in quite the same way.

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The Quiet Winner

Alongside those bigger titles, Sentimental Value quietly — or perhaps not so quietly — took both the Oscar for Best International Feature and the BAFTA for Film Not in the English Language.

It’s an extraordinary piece of work. What it does so well is place real, grounded drama at its centre while allowing moments of genuine humour to surface naturally. The opening, built around an actress paralysed by stage fright, is painfully funny — not written for laughs, but observed with such precision that it becomes hilarious. That tonal balance carries all the way through.

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Performances That Cut Through

The acting categories, as ever, were where much of the real discussion sat.

At the BAFTAs, Robert Aramayo won for I Swear, and it’s a performance that rewards attention. As a Scot, I was slightly gobsmacked to discover he isn’t Scottish at all, but from Hull. The accent work is that convincing. I suspect there may have been a few people watching with Tourette’s who were equally surprised he wasn’t one of them. It’s a carefully judged, controlled piece of acting that never overplays its hand.

At the Oscars, Best Actor went to Michael B. Jordan for Sinners, which makes sense in the context of the film’s scale and ambition. It’s a performance that matches the film — bold, outward, and technically impressive.

For those catching up on the year’s films, though, Timothée Chalamet in Marty Supreme is worth seeking out — even if the film itself doesn’t quite work. I never fully understood what it was trying to be, but his performance within it is precise and compelling. It’s possible to admire the work even if you’re not convinced by the film around it.

Then there’s Ethan Hawke in Blue Moon. The film focuses on Lorenz Hart, long-time writing partner of Richard Rodgers, on the opening night of Oklahoma! — the first major work Rodgers created with Oscar Hammerstein II after their partnership ended. That context matters. What you’re watching is not just a man at a turning point, but a man being written out of his own story. It leans theatrical, certainly, but Hawke gives it a precision and control that makes it hard to look away from.

On the female side, Jessie Buckley stands out for me. What she captures is not just emotion, but the particular experience of a woman left in the lurch by a man — even when that man happens to be Shakespeare. It’s specific, grounded, and quietly devastating.

If she hadn’t been in the running, Rose Byrne would have been my choice. Her performance is electric, and the film around her builds pressure with a kind of relentless precision that’s difficult to sustain — but she does.

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The Noise Around It

There was, of course, controversy around the broadcast — particularly the use of language that seemed to make it to the tv broadcast. It’s a complex issue and not one that benefits from being reduced here. What’s clear is that it distracted from the work itself, which is rarely helpful and served no one well.

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And Then, Something Else Entirely

After all of that — the campaigns, the wins, the inevitable debates — along comes something like Project Hail Mary.

It tells the story of a scientist (Ryan Gosling) who wakes up alone on a spacecraft with no memory and must piece together his mission to save Earth from a global threat. As he uncovers the truth, he forms an unexpected alliance that becomes key to humanity’s survival.

It’s uplifting, charming, and unexpectedly tender. There’s a warmth to it that feels unforced.

It is also about an hour too long.

But even so, it does something many of the more decorated films don’t quite manage: it leaves you feeling better than when you started. Which is one of my very favourite things about the movies.

If you have any feedback on the column, please send to saidonescottishlady@me.com

by @saidonescottishlady

Three Films About Dissent — At Very Different Scales

I’ve recently seen three films that sit in completely different cinematic worlds, yet are preoccupied with the same thing: dissent.  One Battle After Another (dir. Paul Thomas Anderson), The Secret Agent (dir. Kleber Mendonça Filho), and It Was Just an Accident (dir. Jafar Panahi) vary wildly in budget, geography and production risk. But all three are about what happens when individuals push back against systems that appear immovable

Note: Click the pics to go thought to the trailers for each film.

One Battle After Another 

Paul Thomas Anderson’s film is the most obviously “big”. It has scale, gloss and serious awards momentum. Leonardo DiCaprio plays Bob Ferguson, a former radical who has retreated from public life to raise his daughter quietly. That quiet is shattered when she is abducted by forces tied to his past activism. Bob is dragged back into confrontation with Colonel Steven J. Lockjaw (Sean Penn), a military figure whose pursuit feels both ideological and personal.  The plot moves between action and satire, but what interested me more was the generational tension. Bob isn’t a fresh-faced revolutionary; he’s tired, wary and compromised. The film isn’t romantic about activism. It shows how movements fracture, how strategy becomes muddied, and how the state adapts just as quickly as its opponents.  Sean Penn’s performance deserves the attention it’s getting. He plays Lockjaw with discipline rather than bluster. There’s something unsettling about how measured he is — he believes in the system he represents.  For all its scale, the film is really about longevity. What does it mean to keep fighting? And what does it cost over time? It’s polished, occasionally sprawling, but serious in its intent.

The Secret Agent

If Anderson works in widescreen, Kleber Mendonça Filho works in atmosphere. The Secret Agent is set in Brazil in 1977 under the military dictatorship. Wagner Moura (he of Narcos fame) plays Marcelo, a technology specialist who arrives in Recife hoping for relative stability, only to find himself navigating surveillance and quiet repression.  This is not a film of explosions or grand speeches. It’s about coded communication. Characters refer to inanimate objects — most memorably a “hairy leg” — when discussing dangerous acts. Language becomes camouflage. You understand that direct speech could be fatal.  The dictatorship rarely appears in obvious form. It’s there in paperwork, in suspicion, in who is listening. Marcelo is not an obvious hero; he’s an ordinary man trying to judge when to speak and when to stay silent.  What’s impressive is the restraint. The film doesn’t overplay its hand. It trusts the audience to read the subtext. Resistance here is incremental, cultural, embedded in everyday exchanges. It feels specific to Brazil and that period, rather than generically “political”. 

It Was Just An Accident

It Was Just an Accident  Panahi’s film is the most intimate — and arguably the most daring. Made covertly in Iran, it begins with something almost banal: a minor car accident. Vahid, a mechanic, becomes convinced the driver he helps may be the prison torturer who once abused him. The problem is that he never saw his torturer’s face.  Vahid abducts the man and consults former comrades. What follows is not a revenge thriller in the conventional sense but an extended moral debate. Is this the right person? What does justice look like? And if the state cannot be trusted, who gets to decide?  The tone is unexpectedly funny at times — dry, awkward, human. That humour makes the ethical questions sharper. The film refuses to give an easy answer. Revenge is tempting. It is also destabilising.  Knowing it was filmed and edited in secret inevitably sharpens its impact, but the film stands on its own as a serious exploration of trauma and responsibility in contemporary Iran. 

A thread through all three: dissent is personal

These films operate at three different scales.  One Battle After Another shows institutional, generational struggle. The Secret Agent shows coded, cultural resistance. It Was Just an Accident turns dissent inward, asking what it means morally.  None of them offer neat victory. Movements continue. Codes persist. Questions remain unresolved.  What they share is an understanding that dissent is rarely dramatic in the way cinema likes it to be. It’s exhausting, ambiguous and often compromised. Sometimes it’s loud. Sometimes it’s whispered. Sometimes it’s just a conversation about what you’re prepared to do next.  And that feels, at the moment, uncomfortably relevant.

My Favourite:

• One Battle After Another is likely to win all the awards but my favourite of the three is It Was Just An Accident. The covert filming and the questions it leaves us with gave me shivers. It is astonishing.
• It’s the BAFTA’s this weekend and Oscars very soon. Next month I’ll do a sweep up of all the big winners.
  
  If you have any feedback on the column, please send it to: saidonescottishlady@me.com

Real Lives, Real Stakes: Three Films That Put History (and Humanity) on the Big Screen

Every awards season throws up a theme, whether the organisers intended it or not. I’ve already talked about grief being a main theme of this year but another thread has kept tugging at me: real people, real events, real consequences. Hamnet, I Swear, and Nuremberg are very different films—one is intimate and domestic, one modern day and visceral, the last grand and courtroom-bound—but they share a fascination with what it means to live through the kind of history that doesn’t feel historical when you’re in it.

Note: Click the pics to go thought to the trailers for each film.

Let’s start with Hamnet, which pivots Shakespeare out of the spotlight and gives it to Agnes (often called Anne), the woman who married him, mothered his children, and kept a home while he wrote himself into immortality. There’s something wonderfully corrective about this perspective: the film reminds us that genius rarely flowers in isolation; it’s fed, clothed, and occasionally told to get on with it by someone with calloused hands and a sharper sense of reality.

Jessie Buckley is the reason this works as well as it does. She plays Agnes with a kind of grounded quality—never saintly, often stubborn, always human. You believe she can pluck a chicken, barter for seeds, and look straight through her husband’s excuses. Her scenes have texture; even the quiet moments feel lived-in. The production design helps: the sets and costumes are richly tactile without shouting, and you can almost smell the smoke from the hearth.

I wasn’t entirely convinced by Paul Mescal’s Will. Plenty of people will adore him, and I can see why—there’s a gentle melancholy he carries off with grace.  And the film doesn’t need him to grandstand; it needs him to be the partner against which Agnes’s choices and losses are measured, and on that front it mostly delivers.

What struck me most is how Hamnet folds grief into daily life without making it a slogan. The death of their son isn’t played as a single moment— like real grief, it’s more like weather that moves in and never quite clears. The film earns its emotion scene by scene, with small gestures and the stubborn survival strategies of people who have already lost more than they can say.

I Swear: The body won’t behave, the world rarely helps

I Swear was the surprise of the trio, it plunges you into the reality of living with Tourette’s syndrome, and does so with a rigour that refuses sentimentality. The lead performance is extraordinary—so present and precise that I genuinely thought the actor must be Scottish with Tourette’s himself, only to discover he’s from the South East and performing with astonishing control. The craft is invisible in the best way: you don’t admire technique so much as feel for a person whose body insists on being noticed when all he wants is to be left alone.

The film’s nerve lies in its willingness to show the social fallout. The scene in which he’s beaten up is horrible—almost unwatchable—but necessary. It’s not violence as spectacle; it’s violence as the logical, ugly end of a thousand small misunderstandings, a thousand moments in which the world decides that difference is insult.  You wish, absurdly, to reach into the screen and rearrange the strangers’ faces, or at least the one person who might say, “He can’t help it.”

There’s also a surprising, sardonic streak that saves the film from becoming an endurance test. The humour is observational, never at the expense of the protagonist, and it acknowledges the daily negotiations that those with visible conditions must make. Dates, job interviews, bus rides—ordinary life becomes a set of calculations: Will this person understand? Can I explain it in time? Do I have the energy? The film respects the maths without wallowing in it.

It’s tempting to talk about “awareness” in connection with I Swear, but that’s too tidy. Awareness is what you get after empathy has done its work. The film forces empathy upon you by refusing to make the main character a symbol. He is particular and sometimes difficult, and that’s the point. If you leave the cinema understanding even a fraction more about what it costs to move through the day with an unruly body, that’s the film doing what art does: enlarging the circle of what we’re willing to consider human.

Nuremberg: The theatre of justice, and its limits

Onto Nuremberg, which shoulders heavier historical furniture and does a decent job of not getting crushed beneath it. Courtroom dramas always risk feeling like lectures with wooden desks, but this one remembers that trials are theatre—high stakes, harsh lighting, and the human habit of playing to an audience even as the docket is read.

Russell Crowe’s Göring is the showpiece here, and he’s frankly very good. There’s a dreadful charisma to the man that Crowe captures without excusing: the manipulations, the serrated wit, the calculated pauses. You wouldn’t want him at your dinner table, but you understand why others did—a chilling reminder of how evil often packages itself in intelligence and charm.

That said, I wasn’t entirely convinced this was the definitive telling of Nuremberg. The film’s heart is in the right place—earnest about the importance of accountability, clear-eyed about the bureaucratic banality of atrocity—and the important point that it can happen anywhere.  The quote from R.G. Collingwood at the end of the film : “The only clue to what man can do is what man has done”. Is the thesis of the piece.  We may believe “never again” but we need to be vigilant.

There’s value in the attempt. In an age heavy with disinformation and light on patience, Nuremberg reminds us that facts can be theatrical without being false, and that the spectacle of justice—the staging, the rhetoric—doesn’t invalidate its purpose. Indeed, ceremony is one of the ways we take evil seriously enough to bind it in words we can live by. The film might not close every debate, but it nudges them back into public view, which is no small service.

A thread through all three: when history gets personal

Watching these films back to back, what binds them isn’t simply that they depict real people and events. It’s that they frame history as something felt in kitchens, on buses, and in courtrooms where eyes meet across tables. Hamnet shows how private grief can shape public art. I Swear insists that a diagnosis is not a costume but a daily negotiation with the world. Nuremberg asks whether justice can ever catch up with what men are capable of when they decide that other people are an idea rather than a reality.

You might appreciate that these films sit on different shelves but speak to the same impulse: to witness. Not to romanticize the past, not to flatten the present, but to look and name. We were there. Or if we weren’t, someone was, and we can stand close enough to listen.

Recommendations (with the light touch of humour we promised)

• Hamnet is for anyone who has ever wondered about the person standing just out of frame in the famous portrait. If you like your history with mud on the hem and emotion unfolding in small, stubborn moments, it will suit you down to the ground. If you go with a Shakespeare fan, prepare to have a lively debate afterwards about whether Will would recognize himself here, or simply take notes.
• I Swear is powerful and sometimes punishing. Bring someone kind, and possibly a handkerchief. If you’ve ever tutted at a stranger for making noise in a quiet place, this film will sit you down and have a word. It’s not homework, though; it’s art with a pulse.
• Nuremberg is worthwhile, particularly for Crowe’s chilling turn and the reminder that justice is a practice as well as a principle. If you’re in the mood for nuance, you’ll find plenty. If you want one clean narrative, you may bristle—but then again, the historical record isn’t tidy, and perhaps neither should the film be.

A final note: these films benefit from discussion. If your post-film ritual involves a cup of tea at home or a late supper, lean into it. Hamnet invites conversation about partnership and grief; I Swear about patience and public space; Nuremberg about the sanity (and necessity) of institutions.

In a year where cinema keeps returning to what actually happened—and who it happened to—these three films remind us why we keep sitting in the dark with strangers: to see real lives enlarged, not to make them unreal, but to make them visible.

More Korean Netflix Series

by Barry Normal

Two more series I can recommend having thoroughly enjoyed them:

Diary Of A Prosecutor

South Koreans do psychopaths really well and there is a great one in this series who is a successful Seoul prosecutor who steps on the wrong toes and gets sent to a provincial city. Slight spoiler alert is usually the psychopaths turn out to have a good heart; they just got messed up early or are ambitiously doing what you just have to do! Although sometimes they are just plain old evil!!

What happens with a lot of South Korean Netflix series is they start really well and then become very, very, slow. Probably because they have to fill 16 episodes. The shortist I’ve seen is 12 and the longest 20.

But the Diary Of A Prosecutor is a bit like a Perry Mason without the murders with a different case or continuation of a case each episode, and the characters are really well drawn; a commonality in South Korean drama. This one did not get slow for me.

I really like the humility of their series. They are about regular people doing regular jobs dealing with everyday issues and they bring out the dignity and meaning in everyday lives.

Misaeng – Incomplete Life

When this started it reminded me of one of those Russian art house films where nothing much happens. It has that kind of downbeat feeling to it, but things begin happening soon.

It is about a big South Korean international trading company and one of the teams. Against the bosses wishes they have to take on this kid in his 20s who doesn’t have a university degree (point of contention for his peers). Turns out he was recommended by one of the big bosses who likes Go. He was a Go champion who quit. Things get interesting when he helps resolve difficult deals using his Go strategies.

This series is 20 episodes and I enjoyed unreservedly each one until the 20th! It suddenly turns into a Hollywood blockbuster. Weird is not the word. Out of context are words. But nevertheless a great watch and as usual excellent character portrayal and humility abounds. Real people in real life.

And something worth saying about both these is that Mrs. Normal liked them too and she won’t watch anything scary or with lots of killings in them.

One last thought: You can watch dubbed into English or most other languages, but I prefer the original Korean with English subtitles.

The Fluency of Silence

The Fluency of Silence

I was on a Zoom call with some French friends the other day and mentioned coming across some Tweets (eXes?) about Keanu Reeves.

Immediately they said “Keanu? We call him “Canoo.”

Canoo? Whatever! But why Canoo Reeves? 

Well, this Tweet had quotes from Keanu and one of them really caught my fancy, the title of this blog, “The Fluency of Silence.” 

So in the interest of weirdness, wisdom and what do we expect from the man who starred in the Matrix movies? Here they are, because they are not so weird and in the opinion of yours truly, quite wise:

“If you’re too tired to speak, sit next to me, because I too, am fluent in silence.”

“I dream of a day where I walk down the street & hear people talk about morality, sustainability & philosophy instead of the Kardashians.”

“Sometimes we get so caught up in our daily lives that we forget to take the time out to enjoy the beauty in life. It’s like we’re zombies. Look up and take your headphones out. Say ‘Hi’ to someone you see and maybe give a hug to someone who looks like they’re hurting.”

“Someone told me the other day that he felt bad for single people because they are lonely…I said that’s not true I’m single & I don’t feel lonely. I take myself out to eat. Once you know how to take care of yourself company becomes an option and not a necessity.”

“I don’t understand why people get mad when they get rejected by somebody or something. They have done you a favor by not wasting your time and playing with you.”

“Money doesn’t mean anything to me. I’ve made a lot of money, but I want to enjoy life and not stress myself building my bank account…I give lots away and live simply, mostly out of a suitcase in hotels. We all know that good health is much more important.”

Amen to that! Join one of our keep fit classes – online or live!!

South Korean Netflix

by Film and TV Critic Barry Normal

Certain employees of Healthy Generations already have a medium to serious addiction to South Korean Netflix series and I am here tonight to tell you about two of these productions: One a series and the other a film; I give 5 stars to each.

It began with CEO Crockett’s friend Stephan the German who lives in a small town on the Provencal coast just outside Marseille, La Ciotat: the town where the movies began with the Lumiere brothers. Click here to see their very first movie of a train arriving at La Ciotat station in 1896. What better person than Stephan to start a celluloid addiction?

The Extraordinary Attorney Woo is a 12 part series about an autistic girl, top of her year at law college who can’t get a job because of her condition until one of the two top law companies in Seoul decide to hire her for political reasons partly because of her ability to quote every statute on the South Korean law off by heart and partly because of her mysterious family origins. This series has one of the best endings I have ever seen, full of hope and satisfaction.

The film is Miss Granny and is about an old women who could always sing really well but whose life took a different and harder turn as a young woman. When old she gets the chance to follow her singing dreams with her grandson after visiting the Young Picture Shop to get her funerary picture taken. It is one of the funniest films I have seen in ages and the music is excellent.

You may have been put off South Korean programs after hearing about “Squid Game”. But the Attorney Woo and Miss Granny showcase a huge part of South Korea’s entertainment culture which is lighthearted, funny, poignant and an introduction into a completely different culture.

I like to listen to the original soundtrack with English subtitles but you can have a dubbed English version.