We all know what it takes, visually or aurally, to get our engines running when it comes to humour. But it requires something pretty special to crank up our personal laugh-o’meters to maximum revs. To have us guffawing and snorting, rolling around n the floor, apoplectic with mirth, holding on to our guts for dear life – well, that is the ultimate. For me, visually, it takes a Mr Bean emerging from his kitchen with a turkey festooned over his head; a Basil Fawlty physically and verbally berating his jalopy for all the indignities he’s suffered at its behest or a Victor Meldrew mistaking his cat for the telephone to do the trick. In very recent times there’s been the irascible Cleaver Greene gatecrashing an intimate dinner party via hot air balloon. Aurally, for this punter, there’s nothing better than the rapid fire repartee between David Mitchell and Lee Mack on ‘Would I Lie to You?’ Sometimes I fall off the sofa when those two get going.

But, all of the above, is humour played out for maximum effect on its audience. It’s a far cry from the gentle chuckles that are produced from watching ‘The Meddler’. In this no one is in any way in danger of rupturing something as Marnie Minervini (Susan Sarandon) attempts to find relevance in her life after the passing of a partner – a partner who was the fulcrum of her existence. Her coping mechanism is, well, meddling – meddling in the world of her daughter, Lori (Rose Byrne). When Lori enforces some boundaries she moves on to her daughter’s circle of mates. Ms Sarandon has come a long way since her wide-eyed turn in ‘Rocky Horror’. Although perhaps not quite in the came league as Streep, she is now a veteran who can still pull an audience. In this she is thoroughly believable as as the well endowed (financially) widow who’s struggling to remain positive in a situation where the world can quickly turn inwards and be shut out as one follows an inclination to go to ground. The film, for those of us of a certain age ourselves, could lead us to take stock of our own situations and engage in an inner debate about what ifs. I know I couldn’t imagine going it alone without my wonderful Leigh.

Last century I was very partial to the manly ways, gruff voice and bristling moustache of actor Sam Elliott. In ‘The Meddler’ we have a new version of Sam for our now not so new millennium in JK Simmons. At first Marnie pushes away any notion of love re-entering her orb as a suitor is set up for her. But an accidental encounter with Zipper (Simmons) is a different kettle of fish altogether and she finds herself drawn to him, together with his rustic lifestyle. His quiet, hands off approach works away at her defences.

This is not an offering that will make many top tens for the year. It’s just something that lightly tickles the funny bone for, as Marnie re-invents herself with the help and hindrance of those around her, she’s in a better position to take on how many years remain to her. We can leave our screening room with a smile to continue on into the fraught world of our own ageing.

From Kiwi-land comes a movie to ratchet up the laugh-o’meter. It’s ‘Hunt for the Wilder People’. Yes, it’s somewhat rough around the edges and some of the acting, even from the redoubtable Sam Neill, is a tad on the dodgy side. And, yep, some of what goes on doesn’t make a great deal of sense in director Taika Waititi’s production. But it does rate five stars for heart and that more than makes up for its other faults. In it we encounter many a comic weirdo as the story-line plays out. Neill plays a crusty bushman, not adverse to living off the land. He, too, is suddenly bereft of his life partner, leaving him floundering and suddenly responsible for the care of a ward of the state. When he arrives at the isolated property of Uncle Hec (Neill), the tub of lard, citified teenager, Ricky (Julian Dennison), is singularly unimpressed with his new surrounds, but gradually he thaws and develops a type of affection for the place and his carers. The sudden death of his partner has Hec under suspicion for kidnapping, so he and the kid go bush big time, leading the NZ constabulary on a merry chase up mountain and down dale.

Those of us who have had time in the teaching game are well aware of misfits like Ricky, struggling with the lack of love they receive and flaying around, too, for relevance. Young Dennison well evokes this, but he also possesses some serious chops when it comes to comedy and his playing off the veteran is a joy. Adding to the pleasures is some petty awesome scenery. Forget the film’s deficiencies. At the packed house screening Leigh and I attended we joined everybody else in enjoying this Kiwi gem immensely. It looks as though it will conquer Oz, as it did its homeland back across the Tasman.

Ramping it up several more notches is ‘The Nice Guys’ – who are anything but. It is, though, a hilarious romp. If you found copious humour in the ‘Lethal Weapon’ franchise, or ‘Kiss Kiss Bang Bang’, then this offering is for you as some of the same people are involved in its making. I had no sooner recovered my breath from one comic set piece than we were amidst another. Frenetic action abounded as Holland March (Ryan Gosling) and Jackson Healy (Russell Crowe) duck and dive through LA’s tawdry 1970s underbelly. Crowe plays straight man to Gosling’s hapless goofiness which sees the duo beset by all sorts of mayhem. The NZ icon’s reactions to Gosling’s prat falls and dimness are priceless, leading to a full-throttle attack on our laugh-o’meters. Aussie ingenue Angourie Rice, as March’s practical tweenie daughter, doesn’t quite steal the show, as the young fellow does in the previous movie, but she’s pretty damn good considering what she is asked to do in this effort from director Shane Black. It was a far different world this movie was set in – pre-digital, pre-political correctness; a world before the fun police took complete control and this is milked for all it is worth. I am hoping that, like ‘Lethal Weapon’s’ Gibson and Glover, there’s at least another sequel for this in the pipeline. Gosling and Crowe are guffaw inducing comedy gold.

As the great philosopher/songster Jimmy Buffett once remarked ‘If we couldn’t laugh we would all go insane’ and I thank these three movies for helping me keep insanity at bay for a while longer.

Trailer for ‘The Meddler’ – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XbN58_kYZrU

Trailer for ‘Hunt for the Wilder People’ – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dPaU4Gymt3E

Trailer for ‘The Nice Guys’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQR5zsLHbYw

Clutching the microphone hotly in their hands, they totter up onto the stage on skyscraper high heels, threads of sparkly dress clinging to their nubile forms. They wait nervously for the backing to crank up, then they open their mouths and are away, hoping to sway the judges. In truth, many of them sound okay in the lower registers – their voices quite acceptable, if generic. But, as the chorus builds, oral orifices are extended to their widest and they commence to emit such atonal screeching that they are a danger to eardrum and glassware everywhere. On cue the adoring over-excited teenage audience erupt in rapturous applause and they holler ecstatic approval as the judges fist pump and start dancing on their chairs. Invariably all seats are turned or, ‘It’s a yes from me!’ is uttered in unison. I call them the squawkers. I can’t stand them. Just ask my lovely lady. She’ll tell you.

Now, really, I don’t watch much of this sort of programming, but my little secret is that I am quite addicted to the chair turning section of ‘The Voice’. For me the ‘battles’ of that show are a real turn-off, but only last night I was sucked into the ‘lives’. In these each of the quartet of judges get to select one out of four of the remaining finalists from their team, based on performance. Sure enough, the first two judges both selected squawkers, despite the quite awesome talent ranged against them in competition. At least Delta and Ronan had a bit more taste. I doubt I’ll be sucked in again. It really does, in no way, resemble a test of talent if almost every female contestant who is shapely and can squawk gets a gong. I know full well any with a great country voice will be given their marching orders now that Keith Urban is no longer involved. I’ve also seen some terrific Jimmy Barnes-style belters not last any distance, despite them being arguably the male equivalent to the squawkers.

So where did this confusion first occur that squawking could be considered a hallmark of a singer with the chops to make it in the music business and conquer the world? Could it be sheeted home to the truly appalling (musically speaking) Florence Foster Jenkins?

Until now this trail-blazer was a woman known to only a few cultists who were familiar with her, the unwitting cause of one of the great hoaxes of history. But, as a result of two biopics on her being released almost simultaneously, she has crossed into the mainstream. And here’s something those of you who know me well would have thought I would never concede on a matter of cinematic quality – the English language take on her is somewhat better that the sub-titled one.

Both films, though, do make good viewing. It was just that one had Meryl Streep, one didn’t. Catherine Frot, who some consider to be held by the French in the same regard as Streep is by Hollywood, was terrific in her portrayal of Jenkins – the American just takes it to another level. Both, in being padded up for their roles, put me in mind of Susan Boyle, although in no way is that lady a squawker. She has the voice of a nightingale – these two actresses were just plain crows. I don’t know so much about Frot, but from what we know about MS in the excellent, but underrated, ‘Ricki and the Flash’, the Streepster can really belt it out most tunefully. I can only imagine how difficult it would have been for her to produce the off-key barnyard hollerings and screeches required for the film.

The eponymous Anglo-American effort also had the advantage of being helmed by director Stephen Frears who possesses an excellent track record, including ‘The Queen’ and ‘Philomena’. It is also the one that sticks closest to the facts and has the added charms of Hugh Grant as Jenkin’s hubby in a marriage never consummated. He is in fine form doing his usual schtick, as well as some engaging soft shoe shuffle. But almost stealing the show is ‘Big Bang’ alumni, Simon Helberg, playing the diva’s pianist. His disbelief, on first acquaintance, at what comes out of her mouth is priceless.

In both productions the filthy rich FFJ is surrounded by sycophants praising, to the hilt, her anything but melodious singing for their own ends – usually a decent slice of her pie. Some feel sorry for her; some indeed love her, but are going along for the ride. The French version also has a sub-plot of a destitute vocal accompanist whose star rises as that of Madame Jenkin’s falls. This provides a modicum of youthful glamour that the other doesn’t require.

The real events happened during the years the Yanks were involved in World War Two; Jenkins giving her vocal dexterity a public airing at Carnegie Hall to raise funds for the GIs. Frot’s ‘Jenkins’ is set in France immediately after the prior global conflict and this time the charity were the veterans from that country. In it her name has been Frenchified to Marguerite Dumont. Andre Macon takes on the husband’s role, tying himself in knots, as does Grant, trying to come up with ways to keep the terrible truth in-house. In both the climax is a grand concert that brings the house of cards all tumbling down – albeit in two completely different ways.

Although both Frot’s and Streep’s Jenkins are silly women to the max, such is the skill of both actresses, the audience, by the end, are completely in their corners. It’s the way her vanity is seized upon and pandered to by those around Florence/Marguerite that, in part, causes this. Her husband(s) does it for another reason, other than to feather his own nest. It is interesting to check out the real FFJ on-line and YouTube her performances – although the end credits of the Streep film provide part illumination.

Yes, the french have been gazumped here in my view – just this once, mind you. But some reviewers have disagreed. Sandra Hall, for the Age, states that ‘Florence Foster Jenkins’ ‘…is fun, but ‘Marguerite’ is the one that keeps you thinking about Florence’s yearnings long after her squawks have finally stopped ringing in your head’.

Now, if only those squawkers from ‘The Voice’ et al could be told the hard truth, as Jenkins should have been all those years ago.

Trailer – ‘Florence Foster Jenkins’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rRVCNffvKk

Trailer – ‘Marguerite’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jnr78V0se3s

The real lady on YouTube = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DMu9PKWthLE

I didn’t realise the convolutions. It wasn’t till after the viewing of it that I read Paul Byrnes critique of ‘Mia Madre’ in the Age to see what he thought. I’m afraid his opinion of it was more praiseworthy than mine. To me, the convolutions he revealed were almost as interesting as the film itself – which is another way of saying I’ve seen far better this year. That being stated, there were several scenes of magic within it and I was wiping away tears at the end – which, I am afraid, is nothing unusual for me.

The convolutions? Well, darling of the Italian film industry, Nanni Moretti, lost his mother during the making of his previous cinematic offering and this film concerns a brittle, harried film director (Margherita Buy) – and Moretti has her retain her own name for this role. She’s obviously playing him, according to Byrnes – just a female version, perhaps channelling his inner feminine self. This is a take on the old, much tackled chestnut of a film within a film – this one about union unrest. Buy, as the director, had the added pressure of a marriage going on the rocks, failing to have any idea of what’s going on with her daughter and her mind is playing tricks on her. Part of the problem with this movie is that it segues between reality and fantasy without the usual stock filmatic warnings, leaving the audience to work it out for themselves. We become quite adroit at this as it progresses – a tribute to the director I guess. To cap it all off, for Margherita, her mother is dying – a fact that she finds difficult to accept, as no doubt Moretti did, in the making of ‘We Have a Pope’. To complicate matters, Moretti himself plays the director’s brother in ‘Mia Madre’. The brother is more accepting of the situation and practical about his mother’s condition than his sister. He has stated how much he enjoyed playing the type of man he wishes he was. Yep, sure was convoluted

Then mega-star Barry Huggins turns up to play a lead in Buy’s movie. He propositions her (unsuccessfully) on their first meeting, has an over-inflated view of his own talent, but unfortunately can never seem to remember his lines. John Turturro, as Huggins, steals the show. His celebratory dancing is joy to behold, as is his flaying around for excuses for his inability to recall dialogue. He ‘fesses up, in the end, to the cause.

Byrnes sums it all up when he opines ‘It could be a little faster, a tad more upbeat, a pinch funnier,…’ but the French critics in particular, conversely, lapped this one up. One film journal labeled it the best film of 2015 from anywhere. It must have lost something in translation as far as I am concerned.

Trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aOa_A48vPLs

It seems a month of Sundays ago now that Anthony LaPaglia starred in what I feel is the best movie our country has produced. Forget ‘Picnic at Hanging Rock’, ‘Priscilla: Queen of the Desert’, Muriel’s Wedding’ and others lauded as such. For me, the slow burning ‘Lantana’ (2001), set in a very fecund Sydney, overloaded with sweaty humidity and oodles of smoldering tension just under the surface ready to explode, stated that our nation had come of age in film-making. Anthony LaP, playing opposite Barbara Hershey and Kerry Armstrong, was the perfect fit for the lead.

We know his story – an Adelaide lad, smitten with soccer, heads to La-La Land to try and make it a career in the movies, but, in the end, did so on the Hollywood small screen rather than the big. He did make films along the way, demonstrating he’s no one trick pony – often in very sensitive, but underrated, roles. He came home for ‘Lantana’ and nailed it. And now he’s returned to the city of his birth, for the first time in forty years, taking the lead in this little ripper – ‘A Month of Sundays’.

Some critics have panned it, for the production takes, well, a month of Sundays to get going. Other scribblers on the subject, like my old pal Paul Byrnes for the Age, has celebrated its lack of bells and whistles, to make something he describes as having ‘…a brain and a heart.’ I concur. It has that in spades.

Look out, if you are fortunate enough to see it, for the deft touches – for instance, what’s going on at the back of screen when there’s talking heads in the foreground. It is quite illuminating on Aussie, or is it Adelaidean, suburbia.

ALP plays Frank, a man without a hope in hades of coming to grips with the grief and associated lassitude that envelopes him. His marriage to Wendy (Justine Clarke) is kaput now that she is a huge television identity in a local soap, starring alongside Gary Sweet. His son won’t have a bar of him and his beloved mother has recently passed away. And he smokes almost continuously. He’s in a bad way. He’s just going through the motions in his job in the real estate game and it’s hard to see why boss (John Clarke playing John Clarke) keeps him on. We eventually get to figure that out.

Then out of the blue comes a phone call and Frank has his mum (Julia Blake) back. She gradually gives him the tools to cope a tad better and third time director Matthew Saville subtly milks Frank’s getting of wisdom for all it’s worth.

For me the beauty of the film is all in Frank’s doleful face. Anthony LaPaglia is no longer at his zenith and it shows. But along with ageing he has been gifted with something quite wonderful. He doesn’t have to verbally articulate his pain – one only has to observe his beaten-down visage. Silence has as much impact as words. But when words are spoken, particularly between our sad sack and boss Lang, they are a joy to behold.

Gee I hope this movie does well. It deserves to. It’s that pure pleasure of the small stuff that gets me every time.

Movie Trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oDmrOg5mj8

The once sleepy island of Pantelleria is a fragment of Italy, lying between Sicily and Tunisia. Due to its proximity to the latter, these days it is a stepping off point for refugees from Africa in the quest for a new life. ‘A Bigger Splash’ is set at the time when a trickle had begun, but was yet to become the flood it is today.

Paul, played by Belgium’s pride, ‘Rust and Bone’s’ flavour of the month, Matthias Schoenaerts, has come to the island looking for a quiet break with older lover Marianne (Tilda Swinton). She is recovering from an op on her vocal chords. It is a tribute to the actress that the script gives her necessarily little to say, but she conveys all she needs to through overt facial expression, pantomime and some occasional hoarse whisperings. It is a stellar performance. You see the lady is a former rock goddess, a Bowiesque chameleon. In her pomp, she played to seething stadiums. Paul is not too happy when she receives a call from her ex-lover Harry (Ralph Fiennes), saying he is on his way and bringing a surprise to boot. He knows Harry’s form. He knows he still carries a candle for Marianne and that she hasn’t quite got him out of her system. He knows the island’s quietude will disappear as Harry is full-on. Past fifty, he still disports himself as if he was half that age, with all the accompanying indulgences. And he is a motor-mouth of the first order. Paul knows the patience he will need to get through Harry’s visit will have to be extreme.

The surprise turns out to be a young-ish lass who may, or may not be, Harry’s long lost daughter. She looks every bit of her supposed twenty-four years and the affection between daughter and dad, to put it mildly, seems somewhat unhealthy to all concerned. But Penelope’s eyes soon alight on Paul and you just know this girl, played by ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’s’ Dakota Johnson, has some mayhem in mind with people’s affections .

All four of the main players are required to get their kit off for this outing. Whilst the others are somewhat more circumspect, Fiennes wanders around starkers at the drop of a hat, so to speak. Swinton is far more mesmerising– that alien face of hers is really something and for me, watching her, is the film’s highlight. That and Fiennes’ Sir Mick Jagger parody. The Stones feature quite prominently in ‘A Bigger Splash,’ on several levels.

As it all goes belly-up for our quartet the offering does outstay its welcome somewhat. Paul and Harry have their inevitable squaring-off and for me, after all that was done with, well that was the place to tie it all together and roll the credits. But no, there’s an investigation to be done by the local police, with the inspector in charge plainly starstruck by a famous celebrity being involved. At this point it lost some of it’s attraction for this viewer.

Director Luca Guadagnino certainly knows how to ramp up the hedonistic inclinations of Harry and his back-in-the-day squeeze. And, on top of all the other inter-personal machinations, we discover there may have been a little something going on between Harry and Paul, once upon a time, as well. This movie is an enjoyable experience as it transforms itself from something of a romp into a tale with more bite to it. The sun-dappledness of the cinematography is an asset and I did appreciate a more engaging performance in this from Ralph F than in the lamentable ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’ – although I am sure many would beg to disagree.

And how do we interpret the film’s title. Well that might not be quite as obvious as it seems.

 Trailer for the movie = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mOVgI0-pb4

That’s how Rampling describes it – as ‘cracking up’. Charlotte R is ruminating on her latest filmatic venture to be released here. In it a long standing wife is trying to hold it all together. Her husband is not always there in the present for her. But hold it together she does – well almost. Right at the end, maybe she has finally lost it.

We first meet Kate when she is out walking her beloved dog, Tessa, on the Broads where she resides with hubby of forty-five years, Geoff (Tom Courtney). She’s planning a big village bash to celebrate that anniversary as the one for the fortieth had to be postponed due to his health. Although he hasn’t been quite the same since, Geoff now seems robust enough for an event of that nature, if not overly enthusiastic about it all. He’s grizzled, dishevelled and very vague, but has promised to make an effort for the occasion. It’s been a childless marriage but contented enough. The childlessness, though, comes back to haunt when Geoff receives a letter from Switzerland.. It knocks Kate’s husband for six – he becomes mentally all over the shop, far worse than normal and Kate is determined to get to the bottom of why that should be so.

As the days head towards their weekend celebration the letter starts to dominate proceedings and not in a positive way. As Kate delves deeper the solid core of her relationship is shattered by what she finds.

The film counts down the days as it becomes obvious that the climax of the piece will occur at the event now neither really wants to take place, but it is too late to back out. Although all is far from well in their idyll on the Broads, they both try to put a smile on their dial as they face a multitude of friends. Knowing the background, it is not easy to watch and by the time ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’ rolls onto the turntable Kate has reached crisis point.

Rampling won a Silver Bear at last year’s Berlin Film Festival for her performance as Kate. The veteran actress herself was coming out of a period of grief after the death of her own husband of seventeen years. Her counter to this was to continue working, including on this vehicle. She delivers a bravura performance, but for this viewer it was the equally venerable Tom Courtney’s nailing of the befuddled, rudderless Geoff that really stood out in what is essentially a two-hander. In Geoff, am I seeing a future not too far away now?

’45 Years’ continues the recent trend of the makers of movies waking up to the fact that, in greydom, there is a whole demographic, largely ignored in the past, still enamoured with actually going to the cinema. That is, as long as what they see is not kidnapped by CGI, superheroes and ear-drum splitting din. That many recent releases of a more subtle nature reflect their own stage in life is a bonus. This particular effort is also the antithesis of the light-hearted and fluffy fare also catering to this scribbler’s age group. Delightful as many of these are, ’45 Years’ is more cerebral. You could do worse than spend an hour and a half in Kate and Geoff’s company receiving a reality check.

’45 Years’ Trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXAnjA9tAnQ

Both vehicles were strong releases – one even strong enough to garner an Academy nomination. Both were dominated by leads who, without doubt, were also worthy of their respective consideration for gold statues due to their fine performances. As I have seen neither ‘The Room’ nor ‘The Revenant’ I cannot pronounce on the decision to go with their stars for the top acting gongs, but without doubt DiCaprio has been overdue for some time. As for ‘Spotlight’ being the best film of the last twelve months, I really have my doubts. It was a story that needed to be told, but the telling thereof had its faults in my view. It lacked the quality of the other nominated offerings I have viewed – indeed it lacked the quality of the two examined here – one set in the famous New York borough of Brooklyn in the 50s, the other in a quite well known suburb of Los Angeles, also in the 50s. Increasing the pleasure of going to the cinema to take in these two movies, I was accompanied my my lovely lady. It always makes for a better experience receiving her opinions on what was projected up there on the silver screens at the State.

Let’s start with the one that took us back to a dark period in the story of last century’s film-making – the blacklisting of the Hollywood 10. I guess the climate in those years would be similar to our own present one with the so-called Wall on Terror. As is the case today with Muslim extremism, many pollies back then saw it was in their political interest to beat up the threat of communism for all it was worth. It was the Cold War. ‘Reds under the bed’, ‘the only good commie a dead commie’ and all that nonsense. They were all undesirables to be ferreted out and at all costs, revealed for all to see. Even if the connection was only tenuous, or there had been a mere flirtation with the Communist Party in the heady days of youth, it mattered not. And some of Hollywood’s finest became caught up in the net. Many were imprisoned and all were blacklisted, i.e. they lost their livelihoods. One of the victims was Dalton Trumbo, a scriptwriter with a golden touch.

Although perhaps a tad slow to get going, once this movie had a head of steam up it was quite a ride. ‘Breaking Bad’s’ Bryan Cranston was superb as the idiosyncratic, workaholic Trumbo – a whiskey fuelled wordsmith and force of nature. He often produced his scripts in the bath due to a bad back. Many, I find, like Trumbo, do their best work in a sudsy tub. But then, almost stealing the show, was John Goodman as a B-grade movie mogul. He didn’t give a toss about who he should or shouldn’t employ. He just needed people to churn out scripts that only had to be literate to get the thumbs up. Enter Trumbo, fresh out of prison, in desperate need of work so he took on all Goodman’s character had to offer. And some of what he produced turned out to be purlers – so word started getting around. Goodman provides most of the levity in what otherwise could have been a pretty depressing journey, despite the ultimate outcome. Diane Lane is solid as Trumbo’s loyal, stoic wife and as we’d expect, Helen Mirren is all class as gossip columnist Hedda Hopper. She’s a red hater from way back. Her part in the movie, though, was historically inaccurate.

Paul Byrnes makes this point in a recent review and marks ‘Trumbo’ down as a result. He objected to the fact that the film introduced characters that didn’t exist in real life, ignoring others who had a major role in proceedings. Regular readers will know my take on all that. John Wayne doesn’t come out smelling of roses here and we get an interesting performance from Michael Stuhlbarg as Edward G Robinson, caught between a rock and a hard place as the McCarthy hearings probe the communist affiliations of the film world. No doubt Michael Douglas would be rapt as it turns out his venerable dad (Dean O’Gorman) truly was the great American hero (in this telling, that is).

As well as dissing director Jay Roach for the film’s historical porkies, the Age critic also had a go at the screenwriter John McNamara’s failure in making Louis CK’s fictional role a composite of the other nine victims imprisoned for their political leanings. So, out of five stars, here are the ratings:-

Paul Byrnes ***½ Lovely Lady ****½ Blue Room ****

Now lets jump across to the Atlantic side of the US of A to NYC where, in the post-war years, that country, as well as persecuting undesirables, was allowing in many desirables in the guise of refugees from yet another Irish diaspora. It was hard times back in Eire and Eilis Lacey was hoping it would all be better for her across the ocean. She’s a reserved, small town gal – bit of a mouse to look at, you’d think, on first impressions. But look closely, especially at those eyes. There’s verification if one needs it that first impressions can deceive. Almost as soon as she’s through those Ellis Island doors a gorgeousness emerges that’s plain for all the world to see. Mentoring her on the other side is warm-hearted priest Father Flood (a warm-heated turn from Jim Broadbent) and soon she is set with accommodation, boarding-house style, with a job thrown in. Julie Walter’s landlady is a star performance, so much so that it’s reportedly the basis for a new television series being developed for the Beeb. Mad Man’s Jessica Paré also catches the eye as her soft-centred floor-walking overseer, keeping her on her toes behind a department store counter. Miss Fortini knows more about her charges than they could ever suspect.

The movie has, in itself, been described as a throwback to those golden years of Tinsel Town in the fifties when its product did not require lashings of beneath the sheets activity to establish a relationship between the leads in a movie with romantic pretensions. The first of Eilis’ beaux is not a fellow Irish fella but Tony (Emory Cohen), a plumber of Italian stock. His role, for me, is one of this offering’s highlights. How could she not be charmed by him? Our bonny lass is eventually, but it took some doing on Tony’s part. As the relationship develops director John Crowley warms up the film’s colour palette and Eilis emerges from dowdy garb to become quite the girl about town.

But a sudden death back home changes all this, causing Eilis to rush back to the Emerald Isle. Now she stands out for her sophistication in her grey little burb. Soon she’s the centre of attention with one and all conspiring to keep her away from boarding a liner back to the New World. And it’s made harder to do so by the entry of another love interest, played with sensitivity by up-and-comer Domhnall Gleeson. We know Eilis has taken a secret with her back to Erin. And that really puts a spanner in the works.

As with yours truly, Paul B fell head over heels for the charms of this recent release, one that missed out on the best picture gong at the Oscars. I would have been joyous if it had bettered the lacklustre ‘Spotlight’, but that was not to be. Byrnes describes Nick Hornby’s script work, based on Colm Toibin’s 2009 novel as ‘…one of his best: economic, unforced, expressive, not in the least theatrical.’ He states that Hornby left room for ‘…shiploads (pun?) of emotion, distributed widely across the characters.’ ‘Brooklyn’ was, for this viewer, one lovely cinematic experience. If only there were more of its ilk.

Paul Brynes ****½ Lovely Lady ***½ Blue Room ****½

‘Trumbo’ trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_y_Pj–igG4

‘Brooklyn’ trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szRFS4NO6f8

One of the joys of having a JBs close at hand, apart from the obvious if you know me, is its monthly in-house magazine, ‘Stack’. Essentially this is a platform to sing the praises of the company’s popular media offerings, but at least it keeps me informed of the latest CD/DVD releases. Each issue, though, also contains the latest movie reviews. As these don’t impact on sales, at least in the short term, they can be honest. I was intrigued by those penned by John Roebuck in the latest issue. One of my favourites for the slim new year to date, ‘The Big Short’, could only manage two stars out of five. He also critiqued the pair of offerings I just happened to see during my recent Melbourne trip. His opinion of them was the exact opposite to mine.

If ever I am at a loose end in Yarra City and do not feel like a quiet night back at the hotel with a book or the tele, its off to the Kino I head. It doesn’t have the ambiance of our own State – there’s popcorn to be had – but, positioned at the Paris end of Collins, its central and can be relied on to have a range of movies of the type I like. As it turned out, this time I had two evenings free so I took in a duo of what I hoped would be treats, each also featuring in the big awards this year. Their titles – ‘Spotlight’ and ‘The Danish Girl’.

As for Mr Roebuck and the first film, he rates it a strong four stars, claiming it is ‘…as illuminating as it is engrossing.’ My best description for it would be ‘mildly interesting; just watchable’. ‘Spotlight’ is about the uncovering of the evil deeds, going right to the top, that members of the Boston clergy perpetrated on young children. If they were not participating, they were just as culpable by sweeping it under the carpet. That city’s Globe newspaper had a crack investigative team, going under the banner of Spotlight. Once they received a whiff of what some truly awful men of the Catholic church had done in the past to innocents, at the behest of their new editor Marty Baron (Liev Schreiber), they were on to it. That some of the crew also had an inkling, in prior years, about these despicable goings on was a pertinent side issue. One knows, either from historical fact or Hollywood precedent, how this will all work out. Despite the evasiveness of the power brokers at the head office of the church, it will no doubt be a case of good winning out over evil in the great American tradition. This duly occurs, well, sort of. Really there can be no winners in this scenario. Schreiber is pitch perfect in his role as the head of the newspaper, as is Michael Keaton portraying the chief reporter for the team. Mark Ruffalo won an Oscar nod as another on the case, but I really thought he was all over the shop. Nowhere is this more evident than in the scene where we are told of all his life woes – quite excruciating. Ex-Mad Men alumnus John Slattery just seems completely out of his depth in this field as well. Rachel McAdams, in contrast to some of her other fare, turns in an attractive performance as one deeply affected by what the team is turning up. Kudos to director Tom McCarthy for keeping the tone from being too chest-thumping. The tale is competent in its telling and it is a story that certainly needs to be told – it just didn’t set the world on fire for me. John R obviously disagreed. Four stars though? I don’t think so.

And our friend did not like ‘The Danish Girl’ at all. It’s a cinematic recording of the recipient of world’s first sex-change operation, way back in the 1920s. Roebuck felt it smacked of ‘…prestige-mongering.’ He was also offended that the historical participants were placed on a canvas not remotely resembling the true story. He went so far as to say that the director, Tom Hooper of ‘The King’s Speech’ fame, turned in an effort lacking in any inspiration. He may have a point or two with his panning, but all of it totally overlooks the performances of two amazing thesps as its leads, Eddie Redmayne and the luminous Alicia Vikander. The former, as a woman (Lili Elbe), is simply mesmeric. For my money his showing of his capabilities in this was superior to his star turn in ‘The Theory of Everything’ as Stephen Hawking. Its worthy of another Oscar win, as is Alicia V for her role as Lili’s wife.

This movie grabbed my attention far more profoundly than ‘Spotlight’. Does it really matter so much that it veered so far away from factual events? Any viewer worth their salt these days will know that one does not take as gospel what is viewed up there on the silver screen – as well as being perfectly competent to do their own background checks if so desired.

Unfortunately the Kino also has the State’s habit of thrusting ice cold air onto patrons during summer screenings. The first night it was hot and humid and I came dressed accordingly in a t-shirt and shorts. I froze. On the second occasion, despite the temperature, I rugged up. Guess what? Of course. There was nary a whisper of chilled air.

Trailer for Spotlight = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EwdCIpbTN5g

Trailer for ‘The Danish Girl’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d88APYIGkjk

They all featured strong performances from female thesps, at the peak of their craft, in the central roles did these three movies. One would expect as much from Carey Mulligan, Cate Blanchett, Rooney Mara and Jennifer Lawrence. Their vehicles weren’t exceptional I would have thought, but three of the above, nonetheless, garnered Oscar nominations. And all played women who fought against/defied expectations as to how their gender should conduct themselves in a male controlled environment.

In viewing order, ‘Suffragette’, ‘Carole’ and ‘Joy’ entertained, but none of the three will leave a lasting impression on this viewer as the very best offerings on the silver screen do. Good competent film-making was patently evident in the trio – but none were correctly deserving of being amongst those listed for the best movie ultimate gong in the eyes of those sitting in judgement.

In ‘Suffragette’, Mulligan’s character, Maud Adams, was a fictional battler who rose to some minor prominence in the movement and managed to be present at its historically defining moment. The setting was the immediate pre-war years of last century, just before an atrocious conflict stymied the momentum for female enfranchisement – a momentum that had been building over the previous decade. Maud was employed for peanuts as a washer-woman in an industrial laundry; she and her fellow workers considered fair game by the bosses for all sorts of exploitation, including sexual. As with Jennifer Lawrence’s Joy, Maud decides to find a way out from a hard scrabble existence. The suffrage leagues offered that for her, but in joining her local branch she loses the respect of her husband (Ben Whishaw), contact with her son (Adam Michael Dodd) and at times, her freedom – such as it was.

The Sarah Gauron directed movie conveyed well enough the view that these radical women constituted a threat to normal society and were treated in much the same way by the authorities as Islamic terrorists are today, especially once their bombing campaign commenced. The venerable Streep had a cameo as the venerable Pankhurst. Helena Bonham Carter was in fine fettle as a cause-supportive pharmacist – one who aspired to be a doctor, except that for women this was frowned on by the establishment. The devious patriarchal duplicity countering these ground-breaking female warriors for change was a police inspector by the name of Steed (Brendan Gleeson). His unrelenting persecution of these women became softened once he took a particular interest in Maud and for this film devotee, despite all of Mulligan’s considerable presence, the Irish actor stole the show.

The next attraction left me wondering how the Academy could choose between them – and on what basis. Was it screen time; age; or the fact the senior woman had won previously and therefore was deserving of the higher category? We have come to expect sterling performances from Blanchett, so it really was Mara who was the revelation. Yet she has been considered to be in the lesser role so therefore relegated to the supporting category. Couldn’t split them myself. Of course Aussie Cate was pitch perfect in every way in her cool, reserved portrayal of a mature married woman manipulating Mara’s obviously attracted, but somewhat naive, Therese, into a lesbian relationship. For Cate B this, to my mind, was no where near the searing calibre of what she turned in for Woody Allen to receive the Best Actress Oscar a few years back.

The Eisenhower fifties weren’t the best of times to be engaging in not so discreet same sex coupling and soon the film morphs into a ‘Thelma and Louise’ type affair as the blighted duo take to the road. They are pursued by an unscrupulous representative of the older woman’s spouse. Hubby is out to get back what was rightfully his. Rooney Mara is eye-opening as the younger of the pair, playing the would be lover with a mixture of Audrey Hepburn and a doe-eyed ingenue caught in the headlights. The film was beautifully lit to be of its era, but the narrative, despite its subject matter, was somewhat laboured in places. ‘Rolling Stone’ described it as ‘One of the year’s best film’s.’ It’s not the end of January yet but already more than one offering has easily outshone it to my mind. I suppose it is all a matter of taste, but this is far from a classic.

Joy Mangano invented a mop. The eponymous adaptation of her remarkable story is one of a woman whose revolutionary, but nonetheless humble, cleaning appliance became the fulcrum around which a business empire was built. She presented her domestic breakthrough to the world just when it was all turning better for the female in the workplace. But there was still a long way to go and Joy had many hoops to jump through to achieve her success. There’s much to enjoy in this ‘Erin Brokovich’-like saga – a small woman against a world of manipulating and grafting men. In the capable hands of David O Russell, ‘Joy’ never reaches the heights of his previous acclaimed productions, ‘Silver Linings Playbook’ and ‘American Hustle’, but with her same foil in those two outings, Bradley Cooper shining, Lawrence reigned supreme. The whole shebang is not a bad way to spend an hour and then some in a darkened room. There’s the added bonus of Robert de Niro as the father and Isabella Rossalini as Joy’s reluctant financial backer. The movie features some interesting family dynamics as Joy’s plans threaten to spectacularly unravel, also threatening to fracture the already fragile relationships between her not always supportive closest relatives. All very enjoyable, but it does descend into cheesiness on occasions and some aspects of the story do stretch belief. Had I cared enough about it I would have checked out the story of the real Joy to discern how much was fact and how much fiction – but I didn’t.

Would it be unpatriotic of me to say that I will be quite pleased if our hope for best actress is bested on this occasion? Nobody doubts her talent any more, but really – apart from maybe the sex scene – I felt ‘Carole’ was no real stretch for our leading lady. I haven’t seen all contenders in action, but I have my fingers crossed in the unseen there is more worthiness from a nominee than the above actresses delivered in these reviewed titles. Hope I am not being too harsh on Cate.

‘Suffragette’ trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HdQ0iVrl2Y

‘Carole’ trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EH3zcuRQXNo

‘Joy’ trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ng7qMsbX3zM