Selections and commentary by Pat Harrington 3,407 words, 18 minutes read time.
This week swings from the operatic highs of Carmen Jones to the paranoid corridors of power explored in Trump’s Power and the Rule of Law. Whether it’s noir, musical, bio-drama or the stylised violence and tragedy in Scarface you’re after, it’s all here. The past never sleeps on screen – it sings, seethes, and sometimes explodes. Highlights include Doctor Zhivago, The Imitation Game, and Patti Smith: Electric Poet. Settle in for an alternative view of this week’s entertainment.
Saturday, 9th August
BBC Two, 10:20 a.m. – Carmen Jones
A landmark in cinematic and cultural history, Carmen Jones reimagines Bizet’s opera with audacity and elegance, transplanting its fatal passions into a mid-century American military milieu. Otto Preminger’s adaptation is both a product of its time and a challenge to it: an all-Black cast led by the incandescent Dorothy Dandridge and the quietly magnetic Harry Belafonte, navigating desire, duty, and doom with operatic intensity.
Dandridge doesn’t just smoulder—she commands. Her Carmen is sensual, self-possessed, and tragic, a woman whose agency is both her power and her peril. Belafonte, meanwhile, lends Joe a wounded dignity, his descent into obsession rendered with aching restraint. Their chemistry is electric, but it’s the inevitability of their unraveling that gives the film its tragic weight.
Preminger’s direction is stylised yet unflinching. He doesn’t shy away from the racialised gaze of 1950s Hollywood, nor does he resolve its tensions. The film wrestles with stereotype and spectacle, sometimes awkwardly, often poignantly. It’s a work of contradictions—glossy yet gritty, progressive yet compromised.
The music, adapted from Bizet’s score with lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II, is the film’s beating heart: a collision of operatic grandeur and American vernacular, high art refracted through the lens of studio-era showmanship. It’s this fusion—of cultures, genres, and expectations—that makes Carmen Jones so compelling. Uneven, yes. But unforgettable.
BBC Two, 1:00 p.m. – Doctor Zhivago
David Lean’s Doctor Zhivago is cinema at its most expansive—three hours of snow-drenched yearning, political rupture, and poetic melancholy. It’s a film that dares to be slow, to linger, to ache. Omar Sharif plays Yuri Zhivago with a kind of haunted gentleness, a man torn between love and loyalty, art and ideology. Julie Christie’s Lara is luminous, yes, but also elusive—more symbol than certainty, a figure of beauty caught in the machinery of history.
This isn’t just a romance. It’s a requiem. The Bolshevik Revolution looms not as backdrop but as force—sweeping away the old world with brutal efficiency. What’s lost isn’t just privilege or poetry, but a sense of spiritual coherence. The Russia Zhivago loves is vanishing, replaced by something colder, harder, more mechanised. The tragedy is personal, but the grief is national.
Lean’s direction is painterly, almost operatic. Snow becomes metaphor. Trains become prisons. The score swells, and time collapses. It’s a film made for big screens and long afternoons—a cinematic cathedral where history and heartbreak echo in every frame.
Breathe it in. Then ask yourself: what does it mean to live through someone else’s revolution? To watch the world change, not by choice, but by decree?
Channel 4, 8:00 p.m. – The Manhattan Project in Colour
History rarely feels this close. This quietly devastating documentary uses restored, colourised footage to trace the birth of the nuclear age—from theoretical spark to mushroom cloud. Gone is the grainy abstraction of black and white. In its place: vivid uniforms, sunlit labs, and the unsettling clarity of faces that once seemed distant. It’s not just more lifelike. It’s more haunting.
We follow the Manhattan Project from its inception to the irreversible moment at Hiroshima. The scientists—brilliant, driven, often disturbingly detached—appear almost innocent in their pursuit. There’s a strange dissonance between their intellectual triumph and the horror it unleashes. Genius, here, is not absolution.
The film doesn’t sermonise. It doesn’t need to. By simply showing what happened—who built it, how it worked, what it cost—it invites reflection without forcing it. Some events resist narration. They demand silence, space, and clarity. This documentary offers all three.
Watch it not for answers, but for perspective. The footage breathes. The consequences linger.
Sunday, 10th August
BBC Two, 1:40 p.m. – Casablanca
Still the gold standard for romantic drama, Casablanca remains as taut, stylish, and emotionally resonant as ever. It’s a film of glances and silences, where Bogart and Bergman barely touch, yet the ache between them fills the room. Their love is doomed not by lack of feeling, but by the world they inhabit—a world fractured by war, compromise, and impossible choices.
Set against the chaos of wartime Europe, the film dances between personal desire and political duty. Rick’s café may be neutral ground, but neutrality is a myth. Everyone here is choosing sides, whether they admit it or not. Bogart’s Rick is all cynicism and wounded honour, a man who’s already lost too much. Bergman’s Ilsa is luminous, yes, but also torn—between love and loyalty, memory and mission.
The dialogue crackles. The shadows linger. And the moral ambiguity is the point. Sacrifice here isn’t clean—it’s complicated, painful, and necessary. Casablanca doesn’t just endure. It deepens. Watch it again. It never dulls.
PBS America, 8:55 p.m. – Trump’s Power and the Rule of Law
This is not a shout. It’s a whisper. And that’s what makes it so chilling. This documentary traces the slow, deliberate erosion of legal norms under Donald Trump—not with hysteria, but with clinical precision. The tone is restrained. The implications are not.
Through appointments, firings, and carefully orchestrated media narratives, we watch institutions bend. Some break. The film doesn’t dramatise the power grabs—it simply lays them out. And in doing so, it reveals how fragile the rule of law can be when confronted by sustained pressure and strategic ambiguity.
The scientists of The Manhattan Project may have unleashed horror without quite grasping its scale. Here, the architects of institutional decay seem to understand exactly what they’re doing. It’s not about ideology. It’s about control—how it’s seized, dodged, denied.
There’s no narrator telling you what to think. Just a sequence of facts, decisions, and consequences. If you care about democracy, watch it. The rule of law might seem abstract—until it’s gone. Then it’s not theory. It’s aftermath.
BBC Two, 10:00 p.m. – The Imitation Game
Alan Turing cracked codes, saved lives, and changed the course of history. And yet, in the eyes of his own country, he was a criminal. The Imitation Game captures that paradox with aching precision, anchored by Benedict Cumberbatch’s quietly devastating performance—a man of brilliance and vulnerability, logic and longing.
Yes, it’s a code-breaker’s thriller. The wartime stakes are high, the tension real. But beneath the ticking clocks and encrypted messages lies a deeper tragedy: how a society punishes those who don’t conform. Turing’s queerness, his eccentricity, his refusal to play by social rules—all become grounds for persecution. The film doesn’t just mourn his death. It indicts the system that made it inevitable.
Director Morten Tyldum keeps the surface polished, but the anger simmers underneath. It’s a rare mainstream film that takes a moral stand without shouting. The injustice is laid bare, not through polemic, but through character, consequence, and silence.
Watch it for the history. Stay for the heartbreak. It’s polished, moving, and quietly furious. A rare mainstream film that takes a moral stand.
BBC Two, 11:50 p.m. – The Three Faces of Eve
Long before dissociative identity disorder entered the public lexicon, The Three Faces of Eve dared to dramatise its contours with startling empathy. Joanne Woodward’s performance is a revelation—raw, fragmented, and deeply humane. She doesn’t just play a woman in crisis; she inhabits the splintering. You feel her confusion, her terror, the flickers of clarity that vanish as quickly as they arrive.
The film is restrained in its style but radical in its subject. Released in 1957, it treats psychological trauma not as spectacle but as mystery—something to be understood, not judged. There’s no lurid framing, no sensationalism. Just a woman trying to make sense of a mind that won’t hold still.
The final reveal is haunting. Not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s quiet. A reminder that trauma doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it whispers. Sometimes it speaks in different voices. And sometimes, it waits years to be heard.
Watch it not for answers, but for recognition. The pain here is real. And Woodward makes sure you don’t look away.
Monday, 11th August
BBC Two, 11:00 p.m. – In the Heat of the Night
“You’re in the South now.” With that line, Sidney Poitier’s Mr Tibbs steps into a town steeped in suspicion, hostility, and heat—both literal and metaphorical. What follows is more than a murder mystery. It’s a confrontation. Between law and prejudice. Between dignity and ignorance.
Poitier is magnetic—cool, composed, and quietly furious. His presence alone destabilises the town’s hierarchy. Rod Steiger, as the sheriff forced to reckon with his own bigotry, delivers a performance of grudging complexity. Their dynamic bristles with tension, but also with the possibility of change—however reluctant, however partial.
Norman Jewison’s direction is spare and deliberate. The film is shot in sweat and silence. Every glare tells a story. Every pause is loaded. And that slap—delivered by Poitier, returned without apology—is one of the most unforgettable moments in American cinema. Not just for its shock, but for its refusal to flinch.
Tuesday, 12th August
Film4, 9:00 p.m. – Nobody
What if the quiet dad next door wasn’t just quiet—but lethal? That’s the premise, and Bob Odenkirk runs with it. Known for his comic timing, he flips the script here: bruised, brooding, and oddly tender. His Hutch Mansell is a man worn down by routine, until violence gives him purpose—or at least a reason to feel again.
The film is a cocktail of black comedy and bone-crunching action, laced with a critique of middle-class masculinity. Hutch isn’t just fighting gangsters—he’s fighting the slow death of identity. The suburban grind, the performative restraint, the buried rage. It’s all there, under the blood and banter.
Director Ilya Naishuller keeps things lean and kinetic. The fights are brutal but balletic. The pacing is tight. And the tone? Somewhere between John Wick and Falling Down, but with more heart. There’s a family subplot that shouldn’t work—but does. And Christopher Lloyd, as Hutch’s father, steals scenes with gleeful menace.
By the end, you’ll be cheering. Maybe even fist-pumping. And then wondering what that says about you. Nobody is short, sharp, and strangely satisfying—a revenge fantasy with just enough soul to sting.
ITV4, 10:00 p.m. – Reservoir Dogs
Before the trunk shots and pop-culture monologues became Tarantino trademarks, there was this: a warehouse, a botched heist, and a group of men bleeding trust by the minute. Reservoir Dogs still feels volatile—like cinema with a lit fuse.
The suits are iconic. The ear scene is infamous. But it’s the dialogue that cuts deepest. These men talk like no one’s listening, revealing egos, insecurities, and loyalties that shift with every beat. It’s a film about paranoia, masculinity, and the stories we tell to survive.
Tarantino’s debut is lean and mean. There’s no fat on the script—just tension, blood, and bravado. The nonlinear structure keeps you guessing, while the performances (especially Harvey Keitel and Tim Roth) ground the chaos in something raw and human.
Love it or loathe it, Reservoir Dogs changed the game. Its impact still echoes in every slow-motion strut, every ironic soundtrack cue, every crime film that dares to talk before it shoots. It’s not just style—it’s a statement. And it still snarls.
BBC One, 10:40 p.m. – Confessions of a Steroid Gang (Parts 1–3)
This doc mini-series is lurid but fascinating. We follow a group of gym rats who start juicing and end up dealing. Vanity turns to violence.
There’s something tragic about it all. Men chasing an impossible body image, losing their minds and morals along the way.
The pacing is fast. The tone is bleak. Watch all three parts if you can stomach it. You’ll come away shaken.
Wednesday, 13th August
Film4, 3:35 p.m. – Oliver!
Say hello to Tony Montana. Brian De Palma’s neon-drenched epic is all excess—drugs, guns, ego, and ambition turned radioactive. Al Pacino doesn’t just chew the scenery; he devours it, delivering a performance so outsized it borders on operatic.
It’s not subtle. But it’s not stupid either. Beneath the shouting and shootouts is a brutal parable about the American Dream—how it seduces, corrupts, and ultimately consumes. The film’s violence is stylised, but the consequences are not. Every triumph is laced with dread.
Fans often quote the wrong lines. The real message isn’t in the rise. It’s in the rot. In the paranoia. In the loneliness that power brings. Scarface is a cautionary tale dressed as a gangster fantasy. Watch it for the spectacle. Stay for the tragedy..
Thursday, 14th August
Old Hollywood elegance, with shadows creeping in. Grand Hotel unfolds in a Berlin hotel where lives intersect—romance, theft, illness, ambition, escape. Greta Garbo yearns. John Barrymore broods. Joan Crawford sparkles. The performances are heightened, theatrical, and strangely intimate, as if each character knows they’re dancing on the edge of something irreversible.
The film is glossy, yes, but not frivolous. Beneath the art deco sheen lies a melancholy pulse. This is a world teetering on the edge of modernity—where glamour masks desperation, and every chandelier-lit corridor leads to a reckoning. It’s a story about fleeting connections and the quiet tragedies that unfold behind closed doors.
Grand Hotel won Best Picture and essentially invented the ensemble drama. Its influence is everywhere—from Magnolia to The White Lotus. Even if you’ve never seen it, you’ve felt its echoes. Time to correct that. Step inside. Everyone’s got a story. And not all of them end well.BBC Four, 7:00 p.m. – Grand Hotel
Old Hollywood elegance. Multiple storylines unfold in a Berlin hotel – romance, theft, illness, and escape. Garbo, Barrymore, Crawford.
It’s glossy, theatrical, and a touch melancholy. A world teetering on the edge of modernity.
The film won Best Picture and invented the ensemble drama. You’ve seen its influence even if you haven’t seen the film. Time to correct that.
Friday, 15th August
Channel 5, 9:00 p.m. – Lost in the Desert with Nick Knowles (Part 1)
A stripped-down survival show with a familiar face in unfamiliar terrain. Nick Knowles is dropped into a hostile desert environment—no crew comforts, no scripted rescues. Just sand, sweat, and the slow unraveling of certainty. It’s the kind of setup we’ve seen before, but Knowles brings a stubborn sincerity to the ordeal. You get the sense he’d attempt this even without the cameras rolling.
Part 1 sets the stakes: dehydration, disorientation, and the creeping dread of isolation. There’s no flashy editing or adrenaline-fuelled soundtrack—just the slow grind of survival and the quiet drama of a man testing his limits. It’s not reinventing the genre, but it doesn’t need to. The charm lies in Knowles himself: gruff, determined, occasionally baffled, but never performative.
Whether you stick around for Parts 2 and 3 may depend on your tolerance for self-inflicted hardship and sand-in-every-crevice realism. But if you’re drawn to the idea of discomfort as character study, this might just surprise you.
BBC Two, 11:00 p.m. – Colette
A biopic with bite. Colette isn’t just a period drama—it’s a reclamation. Keira Knightley plays the French literary icon with wit, fire, and a flicker of fury. Colette was a rule-breaker, a provocateur, and a woman who refused to be silenced. The film traces her journey from ghostwriter wife to cultural force, battling for ownership of her words, her body, and her name.
The costumes dazzle, yes—but they’re armour as much as ornament. The writing crackles with defiance. This is a story about authorship in every sense: who gets to speak, who gets credited, and who gets erased. Knightley’s performance is sharp and layered, capturing both Colette’s vulnerability and her steel.
If you’ve ever had your voice dismissed, diminished, or stolen, this one will land hard. It’s not just about literary fame—it’s about survival, reinvention, and the quiet revolution of saying “no” and meaning it.
Sky Arts, 11:00 p.m. – Patti Smith: Electric Poet
Patti Smith isn’t just a punk icon—she’s a mystic, a memoirist, a mother of reinvention. This documentary captures her in full: the poet who howls, the activist who listens, the artist who never stopped asking questions. It’s not a concert film, though music pulses through it. It’s a spiritual roadmap, tracing the fault lines between art and resistance, grief and grace.
We see Smith as seeker and witness—her voice raw, her gaze steady. There’s poetry, politics, and personal pain, all braided into a portrait that refuses easy categorisation. She speaks of loss and legacy, of Mapplethorpe and motherhood, of New York before it was polished and after it was broken. The film doesn’t idolise—it honours.
It’s a fitting tribute to an artist who made vulnerability a weapon and turned punk into prayer. If you’ve ever felt the need to scream, scribble, or stand still in defiance, this one’s for you.
Streaming Choices
Summer of 69 (Disney+, available from Friday 8th August)
Forget Woodstock—this one’s all strip clubs, sex coaching, and teenage awkwardness. Summer of 69 is a raunchy coming-of-age comedy starring Sam Morelos as Abby, a socially anxious gamer who hires an exotic dancer (Chloe Fineman) to help her seduce her high school crush. The plan? Master the infamous position he’s supposedly obsessed with. The reality? A crash course in self-confidence, friendship, and the kind of chaos only a $20,000 livestream budget can buy.
Directed by Jillian Bell, the film leans into its absurd premise with surprising sincerity. There’s pole dancing, high heel tutorials, and a subplot involving a strip club’s unpaid debt. But beneath the neon and nudity, there’s a sweet dynamic between Abby and her reluctant mentor—part Risky Business, part emotional bootcamp.
It’s messy, earnest, and occasionally cringe-inducing. But if you’re after laughs, libido, and a reminder that growing up is rarely graceful, this might just scratch the itch.
Harvest (MUBI, available from Friday 8th August)
Quiet, slow, and deeply affecting. This intimate rural drama explores the tension between tradition and change in farming life. Visually beautiful and emotionally restrained, it lets the landscape speak as much as the characters. A meditative piece about labour, loss, and the rhythms of the land. One for those who appreciate stillness and depth.
The Bus Driver and Britain’s Cocaine King (Discovery+, both available from Monday 11th August)
One man. One empire. One of the biggest cocaine trafficking operations in UK history—run by a bus driver. This feature-length documentary traces the rise and fall of Jesus Ruiz Henao, who flooded 1990s Britain with cocaine and built a billion-pound network that took police five years to dismantle. It’s a story of brutal efficiency, charm, and systemic blind spots.
Using real surveillance footage, court documents, and exclusive interviews, the film peels back the layers of Britain’s drug underworld. There’s no glamour here—just the human cost, laid bare. The tragedy isn’t just in the violence or the scale. It’s in how ordinary lives get pulled into something vast, corrosive, and impossible to control.
Gripping, unforgiving, and far from the stylised sheen of crime fiction. This is the system, exposed.
Outlander: Blood of My Blood (MGM+), first two episodes from Saturday 9th August)
The kilts are back—but this time, it’s the parents’ turn. Blood of My Blood is a sweeping prequel to Outlander, tracing the forbidden romance of Jamie Fraser’s parents, Brian Fraser (Jamie Roy) and Ellen MacKenzie (Harriet Slater), alongside the wartime love story of Claire’s parents, Henry Beauchamp (Jeremy Irvine) and Julia Moriston (Hermione Corfield). One tale unfolds in the clan-riven Highlands of the 18th century, the other in the mud and censorship offices of World War I.
There’s rebellion, aching love, and the kind of generational trauma that shaped the original series. But this isn’t just backstory—it’s a confident, emotionally rich drama in its own right. The production values are high, the performances nuanced, and the writing unshackled from source material, allowing for fresh invention and sharper stakes.
You don’t need to be an Outlander devotee to dive in. But if you are, you’ll spot the echoes—traits passed down, choices repeated, and the quiet heartbreak of history looping back on itself
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