Selected and reviewed by Pat Harrington
3,564 words, 19 minutes read time.
There’s a rich week ahead, with enough variety to suit any mood: from a spider-powered multiverse to a smoky Los Angeles noir. Look out especially for the thoughtful Johnny Vegas: Art, ADHD and Me on Wednesday, and a strong historical pairing of post-war documentaries on Thursday and Friday. Our streaming choices bring a fresh crop of true crime, European drama, and psychological thrillers to binge at your leisure. Let’s dive into what’s on this week, all from an alternative standpoint.
Saturday, 2nd of August
Now, Voyager on BBC Two at 12:30 PM (1942)
Bette Davis doesn’t just act in Now, Voyager—she unfurls. Her Charlotte Vale begins as a woman crushed by maternal tyranny and social expectation, and ends as something quietly radical: a person who chooses love without possession, freedom without fanfare. It’s a transformation steeped in restraint, but no less seismic for its softness.
This is melodrama, yes—but it’s also a study in emotional architecture. The cigarettes, the tears, the clipped dialogue—they’re scaffolding for something deeper: a portrait of female autonomy in a world that prefers its women obedient and untroubled. Davis, with her flinty vulnerability and unflinching gaze, makes Charlotte’s journey feel both personal and political.
The film’s famous final line—“Don’t let’s ask for the moon. We have the stars.”—still lands like a soft thunderclap. It’s not just romantic; it’s defiant. A declaration that compromise, when chosen freely, can be its own kind of liberation.
Eighty years on, Now, Voyager remains a touchstone for anyone who’s ever had to unlearn shame, redraw boundaries, or find beauty in the aftermath. It’s not just a classic—it’s a quiet revolution in gloves and pearls.
LA Confidential Legend, 9:00 PM
Curtis Hanson’s LA Confidential doesn’t just revive noir—it retools it for a postmodern age, where the shadows are deeper and the glamour more toxic. Set in a 1950s Los Angeles that gleams with promise and rots from within, it’s a tale of bent cops, broken dreams, and the seductive power of image.
Guy Pearce’s straight-arrow Ed Exley and Russell Crowe’s bruising Bud White form a moral axis that never quite aligns, while Kim Basinger’s Veronica Lake lookalike floats through the wreckage like a ghost of Hollywood past. Their performances are sharp, wounded, and unforgettable—each character caught between duty and desire, justice and survival.
The film’s style is impeccable: slick suits, bloodied knuckles, and a score that hums with menace. But beneath the surface lies something more unsettling—a meditation on institutional rot and the cost of truth in a city built on illusion. It’s brutal, yes, but also strangely tender in its moments of reckoning.
Twenty-five years on, LA Confidential still punches hard. It’s not just endlessly watchable—it’s a mirror held up to power, fame, and the stories we tell to keep the dream alive.
Gladiator on BBC One at 10:20 PM (2000)
Russell Crowe’s Maximus doesn’t just command the screen—he haunts it. Ridley Scott’s Gladiator is a blood-and-sand epic that marries brute spectacle with aching pathos. It’s a story of betrayal, vengeance, and the long shadow of empire, rendered in dust, steel, and sorrow.
Crowe’s performance is mythic yet human—his Maximus is a man of few words and deep wounds, driven by memory and honour. Joaquin Phoenix’s Commodus slithers through the film with a blend of cowardice and cruelty, a tyrant desperate to be loved. Their clash is operatic, tragic, and utterly absorbing.
But it’s Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerrard’s score that elevates Gladiator into something transcendent. The music doesn’t just accompany the action—it mourns it. Ethereal vocals and swelling strings evoke a lost world, a man’s fading dream, and the quiet hope of reunion beyond death. The “Now We Are Free” theme lingers long after the final frame, a requiem for Rome and for Maximus himself.
Scott’s vision of ancient Rome is grand and grimy, but the emotional core is intimate: a father, a soldier, a man undone by power and redeemed by sacrifice. Every betrayal, every slash, every roar of the crowd feels earned—and every note of the score reminds us what’s at stake.
Gladiator isn’t just a historical drama—it’s a lament, a legacy, and a battle cry. Are you not entertained? Yes—but you’re also moved.
Sunday, 3rd of August
All About Eve on BBC Two at 3:00 PM (1950)
Theatre is war, and All About Eve is its most elegant battlefield. Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Oscar-laden classic remains a masterclass in ambition, manipulation, and the fragile currency of fame. Bette Davis’s Margo Channing is a star in twilight—witty, weary, and unwilling to go quietly. Anne Baxter’s Eve Harrington is the ingénue with ice in her veins, climbing the ladder rung by stolen rung.
Their verbal sparring is exquisite—dialogue so sharp it draws blood. But beneath the barbs lies something more poignant: a meditation on ageing, authenticity, and the fear of being replaced. Davis, in one of her finest performances, gives Margo depth and defiance, turning vulnerability into power. Baxter’s Eve is all surface charm and subterranean calculation—a performance that still chills.
The film’s score, composed by Alfred Newman, is subtle but vital. It underscores the tension with theatrical flair, swelling in moments of revelation and retreating into silence when words do the wounding. It’s music that knows when to step back and let the drama breathe.
Seventy-five years on, All About Eve still crackles with relevance. In an age of curated personas and backstage politics, its insights into performance—onstage and off—feel as fresh as ever. Fasten your seatbelts. The ride is still deliciously bumpy.
Children of Men on BBC Two at 10:00 PM (2006)
Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men is a dystopia that doesn’t feel imagined—it feels inherited. Set in a near-future Britain hollowed out by infertility, xenophobia, and bureaucratic decay, it’s a film that trades in urgency and despair, but never lets go of hope. Clive Owen’s Theo is a reluctant guide through the wreckage, a man numbed by grief who finds purpose in protecting the last flicker of possibility.
The film’s visual language is astonishing. Long, unbroken takes plunge us into chaos with no escape hatch—bullets fly, blood spatters, and the camera never blinks. It’s not just technique; it’s immersion. Emmanuel Lubezki’s cinematography turns every alleyway and refugee camp into a crucible of tension and humanity.
John Tavener’s choral score, paired with ambient soundscapes and silence, adds a sacred weight to the film’s bleakness. Music arrives like grace—brief, haunting, and necessary. It reminds us that even in collapse, beauty survives.
Children of Men is a prophecy. A portrait of societal breakdown that feels eerily familiar, and a reminder that the future isn’t something we inherit—it’s something we shape, or fail to. In the end, it’s not the explosions that linger—it’s the quiet, the child’s cry, the possibility of renewal
Hustlers on E4 at 10:00 PM (2019)
Hustlers opens with sparkle but lands with steel. Lorene Scafaria’s true-crime drama is less about pole-dancing and more about power—who has it, who’s denied it, and what happens when women take it back. Jennifer Lopez’s Ramona is magnetic: a matriarch, mentor, and mastermind, striding through the film in fur and heels with the swagger of someone who’s survived more than she lets on.
The sting operation at the film’s heart—drugging and draining Wall Street clients—is morally murky, but Scafaria never lets the story slip into easy judgment. Instead, she foregrounds female camaraderie, economic desperation, and the blurred lines between hustle and harm. Constance Wu’s Destiny offers a quieter counterpoint to Ramona’s bravado, and together they form a duo built on trust, ambition, and shared trauma.
The soundtrack is a character in itself—Usher’s “Love in This Club,” Lorde’s “Royals,” and Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat Major all land with precision, underscoring mood and motive. It’s music that seduces, stings, and sometimes mourns. The film’s rhythm is part pop video, part elegy.
Hustlers isn’t just glitz—it’s grit. A story of survival wrapped in sequins, where every dollar has a backstory and every dance is a negotiation. It’s funny, sharp, and quietly devastating. The American Dream, repackaged and resold—one lap dance at a time.
French Exit on Channel 4 at 12:00 AM (2020)
Michelle Pfeiffer’s Frances Price is the kind of character who doesn’t so much enter a room as alter its temperature. In French Exit, she’s a widow with dwindling wealth, a Paris-bound escape plan, and a cat who may be her reincarnated husband. What unfolds is a darkly whimsical chamber piece—odd, wry, and quietly devastating.
Azazel Jacobs directs with a light but deliberate touch, letting the absurdity breathe without ever tipping into farce. Frances is brittle and brilliant, her barbed wit masking a slow unraveling. Pfeiffer plays her with exquisite detachment, a woman who’s seen the world and decided it’s not worth the fuss. Lucas Hedges, as her son Malcolm, offers a muted counterpoint—adrift, loyal, and quietly complicit in their shared retreat.
Nick deWitt’s score is sparse and spectral, more mood than melody. It drifts through the film like a half-remembered tune, underscoring the emotional dislocation without insisting on it. The music, like Frances herself, is elusive—elegant, mournful, and hard to pin down.
French Exit won’t be for everyone. It’s a film that trades in tone rather than plot, where meaning flickers in the margins and grief wears designer gloves. But for those attuned to its frequency, it’s unforgettable—a portrait of decline rendered with style, strangeness, and surprising grace.
Monday, 4th of August
Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse on Film4 at 1:20 PM (2018)
A blast of colour and heart that rewrote what superhero films could be. Miles Morales’ journey is visually thrilling and emotionally grounded—a Spider-Man for a new generation, and arguably the best yet.
As someone who grew up reading the comics and watching the cartoons, I’ve always felt a deep connection to Spidey. He wasn’t just a superhero with extraordinary powers—he was a teenager with very ordinary problems. That hit a chord then, and it still does now. Spider-Verse honours that legacy while expanding it, showing that the mask can belong to anyone, and that heroism is as much about heart as it is about strength.
The animation is revolutionary, the soundtrack electric, and the emotional beats land with real weight. It’s a joyful anomaly in a genre often weighed down by formula—a film that celebrates difference, honours tradition, and dares to imagine more.
What Happened at Hiroshima on BBC One at 8:30 PM
A solemn and essential documentary marking 80 years since the atomic bomb fell. Survivors speak, as do historians. Unflinching in its facts and dignified in tone, it lets the horror speak for itself.
There’s no narration to soften the blow—just the quiet authority of lived experience. The testimonies are resolute and devastating, a reminder that history isn’t distant or abstract. It’s personal, and still echoing. This is not a film for comfort, but for clarity. It asks us to witness, to remember, and to reckon with the cost of power.
Tuesday, 5th of August
Roman Holiday on Film4 at 4:50 PM (1953)
A dreamlike escape through post-war Rome. Audrey Hepburn is radiant; Gregory Peck is effortlessly charming. Their chemistry is gentle, unforced—two strangers colliding in a city still catching its breath.
There’s something quietly poignant about the setting: cobbled streets, Vespa rides, and a Europe rebuilding itself. The romance is sweet, yes, but also wistful—tinged with the knowledge that holidays end, and choices have consequences. Hepburn’s Princess longs for freedom; Peck’s journalist wrestles with truth and tenderness. What unfolds is a story of fleeting joy and quiet dignity.
It’s a classic for a reason. Not just because it’s beautiful, but because it understands that sometimes, the most meaningful connections are the ones we let go.
45 Years on Film4 at 11:25 PM (2015)
Charlotte Rampling and Tom Courtenay quietly devastate in this story of a marriage rocked by long-buried memories. A letter arrives days before their anniversary, and with it, a ghost from the past. What follows is a masterclass in restraint—grief, doubt, and disquiet ripple beneath the surface.
Still waters run deep. Director Andrew Haigh lets silence do the talking, and Rampling’s performance is a study in emotional precision. The ending doesn’t shout—it lingers, unsettling and unforgettable. A portrait of love, time, and the fragile architecture of trust.
Storyville: The Hijacker Who Vanished – The Mystery of D.B. Cooper on BBC Four at 11:10 PM
A playful yet probing look at one of aviation’s great unsolved mysteries. In 1971, a man boarded a plane, demanded $200,000, parachuted into the night—and was never seen again. Theories abound, suspects multiply, and the truth remains elusive.
But this isn’t just a true-crime curio. It’s a portrait of American myth-making—how mystery becomes folklore, and how the gaps in a story invite projection, obsession, and reinvention. The film balances archival footage with speculative flair, inviting us to consider not just who D.B. Cooper was, but why we’re still asking.
Wednesday, 6th of August
Miranda on Talking Pictures at 4:50 PM (1948)
Glynis Johns charms as a mermaid on dry land in this breezy post-war comedy. There’s light innuendo, seaside mischief, and a gently subversive streak as Miranda upends the lives of the men around her—all with a wink and a splash.
Post-war London provides a quaint backdrop, its austerity softened by whimsy and wit. The film doesn’t ask much of its audience, but it gives plenty in return: a frothy little gem that floats along on charm, cheek, and the sheer novelty of a mermaid in a nurse’s uniform.
Churchill: Winning the War, Losing the Peace on BBC Two at 8:00 PM
Churchill’s post-war decline is often overlooked. This documentary digs into why the public turned on their wartime leader—how victory gave way to fatigue, and how the mood of a nation shifted from defiance to domestic need.
It’s a portrait of power in transition: the man who rallied Britain through its darkest hours now struggling to connect with a country craving change. The film doesn’t seek to diminish Churchill’s legacy, but to complicate it—offering insight into the burdens of leadership, the limits of myth, and the quiet revolution of post-war democracy.
Johnny Vegas: Art, ADHD and Me (Part 1) on Channel 4 at 9:00 PM
Johnny Vegas opens up about neurodivergence and late-life diagnosis while exploring his artistic side. It’s honest, touching, and often funny—full of self-deprecation and quiet revelation. You get the sense he’s only just begun to know himself, and that the journey is as important as the destination.
There’s no neat arc here, no tidy resolution. Just a man reckoning with identity, creativity, and the labels that arrive late but land hard. It’s a portrait of vulnerability and reinvention, told with warmth and wit.
Thursday, 7th of August
Point Break
BBC One, Thursday 7 August at 10:40 PM (1991)
Bank-robbing surfers, Keanu Reeves as an undercover cop, and Patrick Swayze as a zen anarchist. It’s preposterous—and poetic. Kathryn Bigelow finds beauty in adrenaline and freedom in risk, crafting a film that’s as much about longing as it is about lawbreaking.
I first saw it on a ferry, travelling with my late friend Alan Midgley. We both enjoyed it immensely, and it brings back happy memories—of laughter, motion, and the kind of cinematic escapism that feels bigger than the screen. That sense of freedom, of chasing something just out of reach, still resonates.
The waves crash, the sky burns, and the line between duty and desire blurs. Beneath the action beats lies a meditation on masculinity, loyalty, and the lure of escape. It’s a cult classic for good reason: stylish, soulful, and utterly unafraid to take itself seriously, even when the plot goes airborne.
France: The Post-War Recovery (Part 1) on PBS America at 8:00 PM
Post-liberation France was a nation in flux—scarred, divided, but hopeful. This documentary traces the country’s slow climb from devastation, covering the social rebuilding, economic trials, and political scars that shaped a modern republic. It’s history told with depth and care, resisting easy triumphalism in favour of nuance.
There’s a quiet dignity to the way the film handles trauma and transformation. You see a country reckoning with collaboration, resistance, and the fragile promise of unity. It’s not just about policy—it’s about people, memory, and the long shadow of war.
Friday, 8th of August
Apocalypse Now on Film4 at 11:55 PM (1979)
Coppola’s Vietnam odyssey still mesmerises. From the thunderous Ride of the Valkyries to Brando’s brooding finale, it’s a descent into madness that reshaped war cinema. Not just conflict—this is cinema as fever dream, myth, and moral reckoning.
The jungle sweats, the soundtrack haunts, and the performances burn slow. It’s a film that asks not what war does to nations, but what it does to the soul. Nearly half a century on, it remains hypnotic, harrowing, and utterly singular.
France: The Post-War Recovery (Part 2) on PBS America at 8:00 PM
The Marshall Plan, Gaullism, and the birth of a modern state. This second instalment charts France’s political reconstruction and cultural rebirth, as the nation moves from fractured memory to forward momentum. It’s a study in resilience—how institutions were rebuilt, identities reshaped, and futures imagined.
Where Part 1 lingered in the rubble, Part 2 looks to the scaffolding: the policies, personalities, and philosophies that defined the new republic. Pairs beautifully with Thursday’s episode, offering a full-circle view of a country learning to live again.
Streaming Choices
Revenge (Channel 4 Streaming, from Saturday 22nd August)
Inspired by The Count of Monte Cristo, this glossy American drama stars Emily VanCamp as Emily Thorne—a young woman who returns to the Hamptons under an assumed identity to exact revenge on the wealthy elite who destroyed her father’s life. Stylish, emotionally charged, and full of twists, it’s a tale of deception, obsession, and the long arc of justice.
VanCamp brings steely resolve to a character driven by grief and calculation. The show blends soap opera intrigue with psychological thriller beats, turning high society into a battleground of secrets and sabotage.
Walter Presents: Promethea
All six episodes available from Friday, 8th August on Channel 4 Streaming
She should be dead. Instead, she stands up—naked, unharmed, and with no memory but a name: Promethea. So begins this eerie French thriller, where trauma, identity, and buried secrets collide in a story that’s part psychological mystery, part supernatural coming-of-age.
Fantine Harduin leads a strong female cast in a series that’s as stylish as it is unsettling. Taken in by the family who hit her with their car, Promethea begins to experience visions of a murdered student. The killer is still out there. But the deeper question is: what role did she play?
As the six-part drama unfolds, we’re drawn into a world of corporate cover-ups, missing girls, and strange abilities that hint at something far larger than memory loss. Director Christophe Campos keeps the tension taut, balancing emotional depth with genre flair. It’s a show that asks not just who you are, but what you might become when the truth is too dangerous to face.
September 5 (Paramount Plus, from Thursday, 7th August)
Broadcasting history was never meant to be written in blood. But in September 5, it is. This taut political thriller revisits the 1972 Munich Olympics, where a sports crew at ABC found themselves covering a hostage crisis that would shake the world—and reshape journalism.
Directed by Tim Fehlbaum and starring Peter Sarsgaard, John Magaro, and Leonie Benesch, the film doesn’t flinch. It follows the moment when eight gunmen from Black September stormed the Olympic village, killing two Israeli athletes and taking nine hostage. What begins as a celebration of global unity turns into a seventeen-hour standoff, watched live by millions.
But this isn’t just a retelling. It’s a reckoning. Through the eyes of producers scrambling to balance ethics, ambition, and survival, September 5 explores the collision of terror, diplomacy, and media spin. The control room becomes a crucible—where every decision could mean life or death, and every broadcast shapes the narrative.
Stylish, urgent, and deeply unsettling, it’s a film that asks what happens when the lens becomes the battlefield. Not just a thriller—this is history, refracted through the flicker of live TV.
Hunting the Yorkshire Ripper (Prime Video, from Sunday, 3rd August)
This isn’t just a retelling—it’s a reckoning. Hunting the Yorkshire Ripper (originally aired as This Is Personal: The Hunt for the Yorkshire Ripper) is a dramatised account of the late-1970s investigation into one of Britain’s most notorious serial killers. But the real story here isn’t just Peter Sutcliffe—it’s the institutional failure that let him slip through the cracks.
Alun Armstrong delivers a bruising performance as Assistant Chief Constable George Oldfield, a man slowly unravelled by the weight of the case. As the bodies mount, so do the missed chances: false leads, media pressure, and a chilling disregard for the women whose lives were lost. The series doesn’t flinch from showing how class, misogyny, and bureaucracy shaped the hunt—and how they obscured the truth.
Stylishly shot and emotionally raw, this two-part drama is unsettling but necessary viewing. It’s not about closure. It’s about accountability.
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