Archive for Netflix

Culture Vulture: Best TV, Films and Streaming for 17–23 October 2026

St Fagans National Museum of History , Cardiff ,Wales, UK 27 Oct 2024 : Visitor Message board to the Aberfan Disaster 1966

Sixty years ago, on the morning of 21 October 1966, disaster struck the Welsh mining village of Aberfan. A huge mass of coal waste, saturated by heavy rain, collapsed and surged down the mountainside, engulfing houses and Pantglas Junior School. By the time the rescue operations were over, 144 people had died, including 116 children.

It remains one of the most heartbreaking tragedies in modern British history. The children had barely begun their final day of school before the half-term holiday. Many never came home.

Yet what makes Aberfan particularly disturbing is that this was not simply an unavoidable natural disaster. The spoil tips above the village had been allowed to grow despite longstanding concerns about their stability. Watercourses beneath the waste made the location especially dangerous. The National Coal Board had failed in its responsibilities, and the subsequent tribunal exposed a catalogue of negligence.

The grief was compounded by what followed. Families who had suffered unimaginable losses found themselves confronting an establishment reluctant to accept responsibility and, at times, more concerned with protecting institutions than helping those they had failed. Even the question of removing the remaining dangerous tips became another battle.

This week’s television commemorations are particularly important. Aberfan: The Village That Fought Back (BBC Two, Monday, 9pm) examines the community’s fight for justice and the resistance it encountered. Meanwhile, Alex Jones: Un Diwrnod yn Aberfan (BBC iPlayer, from Sunday) offers another opportunity to remember the lives lost and the people left behind.

For me, Aberfan is also a story about class and power. It raises questions about whose warnings are heard, whose lives are valued and what happens when institutions become more concerned with defending themselves than acknowledging their mistakes. Those questions have certainly not disappeared in the intervening sixty years.

This is our principal recommendation of the week. These programmes deserve to be watched, discussed and remembered.

There are two other highlights I would particularly recommend.

The first is The Day the Earth Stood Still (Talking Pictures, Saturday, 4pm). This 1951 science-fiction classic is one of my favourite films. Its message about the dangers of militarism and humanity’s capacity for self-destruction is just as relevant now as it was during the early Cold War. There was a remake in 2008, which I actually rather like, but the original remains comfortably superior. Sometimes the simplest approach is also the most powerful.

Our third highlight is Thursday’s Mercury Prize: Album of the Year (BBC Four, 9.30pm). In an age dominated by streaming playlists and individual tracks, it might seem strange to celebrate the album as a distinct artistic achievement. Yet the album remains alive and well. It allows musicians to develop ideas, establish moods and tell stories in ways that individual songs often cannot. This year’s ceremony, featuring performances by some of the most interesting names in British music, promises to be more of a miniature festival than a conventional awards show.

Elsewhere, Stacey Dooley appears to be taking over the television schedules. Every time I look through the listings, there she is again. Fortunately, she’s very good at what she does, and her documentaries continue to investigate worthwhile and sometimes uncomfortable subjects.

We’re also particularly pleased to see another Storyville documentary. Regular readers will know how much we value this strand, which consistently introduces British audiences to films that might otherwise struggle to find a place on mainstream television.

Among the films, there’s everything from Hitchcock and Agnès Varda to Edgar Wright, a little political satire, some classic horror and several powerful examinations of injustice.

Plenty to enjoy, and plenty to think about.

Saturday 17 October

North by Northwest (1959) — BBC Two, 2.15pm

Alfred Hitchcock’s magnificent espionage thriller stars Cary Grant as Roger Thornhill, an advertising executive mistaken for a secret agent and pursued across America by people who want him dead.

The film combines mistaken identity, romantic intrigue and spectacular set pieces, including the famous crop-duster sequence and the climactic confrontation on Mount Rushmore.

Grant is perfectly cast as the sophisticated innocent whose comfortable existence is turned upside down. Eva Marie Saint provides an intriguing romantic foil, while James Mason is wonderfully sinister.

Hitchcock was a master of suspense, but what makes this film so enjoyable is its elegance and humour. More than sixty years later, it remains a model of popular filmmaking.

The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) — Talking Pictures TV, 4pm

One of my favourite science-fiction films, and one whose message about peace seems especially appropriate for our troubled times.

Directed by Robert Wise, the story begins when a flying saucer lands in Washington and an extraterrestrial visitor, Klaatu, emerges accompanied by an imposing robot called Gort.

Klaatu has come with a warning. Humanity’s development of increasingly destructive weapons threatens not just Earth but potentially the wider universe. Unless human beings learn to control their aggression, consequences will follow.

Michael Rennie’s restrained performance gives Klaatu a quiet dignity. The film avoids the usual temptation to make aliens into monsters and instead invites us to look critically at ourselves.

Released during the Cold War, it reflects contemporary anxieties about nuclear annihilation, but its underlying concerns have lost none of their force.

The 2008 remake starring Keanu Reeves is quite good and shifts the emphasis towards environmental destruction. Nevertheless, the original is much better. It trusts its ideas, its dialogue and its audience. There are lessons here that humanity has still not fully learned.

Talking Pictures: World Cinema Classics — BBC Four, 9pm

Celia Imrie guides viewers through some of the great achievements of international cinema, considering filmmakers including Akira Kurosawa, Agnès Varda, François Truffaut, Luis Buñuel and Ingmar Bergman.

It’s an impressive collection of directors whose approaches differ considerably but who share a determination to explore what cinema can achieve.

Kurosawa brought extraordinary visual power and moral complexity to Japanese cinema. Varda helped pioneer the French New Wave with her distinctive, humane approach. Truffaut examined childhood, love and the cinema itself. Buñuel used surrealism to attack conventional morality, while Bergman explored faith, death, relationships and the human condition.

An excellent introduction for newcomers and a welcome opportunity for established film enthusiasts to revisit familiar favourites.

American Star (2024) — Film4, 9pm

Ian McShane stars as Wilson, an ageing assassin who travels to Fuerteventura to carry out what should be a straightforward assignment.

Instead, he finds himself drawn into the rhythms of island life and begins forming relationships with people who know nothing of his violent profession.

The film takes an unusually reflective approach to the hitman thriller. Rather than relying upon constant action, it examines loneliness, mortality and the possibility of finding something meaningful in an otherwise bleak existence.

McShane’s commanding screen presence makes him ideally suited to the role. A thoughtful variation on familiar territory.

The Everly Brothers: Harmonies from Heaven — Sky Arts, 9pm; NOW catch-up

Don and Phil Everly possessed one of the most beautiful vocal blends in popular music.

Their harmonies influenced everyone from the Beatles to Simon & Garfunkel, while songs such as Bye Bye Love, Wake Up Little Susie and All I Have to Do Is Dream helped establish the sound of modern popular music.

This documentary explores their musical achievements, family background and frequently troubled relationship.

There’s something poignant about the contrast between those immaculate harmonies and the personal tensions that eventually drove the brothers apart.

A reminder that music can create an impression of perfect unity even when the musicians themselves are struggling to maintain it.

Cléo from 5 to 7 (1962) — BBC Four, 9.45pm

Agnès Varda’s celebrated French New Wave drama follows a young singer wandering through Paris while awaiting the results of a medical examination.

Corinne Marchand plays Cléo, whose apparent confidence gradually gives way to fear and self-examination.

Varda uses the streets, cafés and everyday encounters of Paris to explore mortality, femininity and the experience of being watched and judged.

The film’s treatment of time is particularly interesting. What begins as an ordinary afternoon becomes an intense examination of what it means to be alive.

Beautifully observed, humane and surprisingly accessible, this remains one of the outstanding achievements of French cinema.

Death Race 2000 (1975) — Great Action, 11.25pm

Paul Bartel’s outrageous dystopian action film takes place in a future America where a murderous cross-country motor race has become a major spectator sport.

Drivers score points by killing pedestrians, and the public treats the carnage as entertainment.

David Carradine stars as the mysterious Frankenstein, with Sylvester Stallone among his competitors.

The film is often remembered for its ludicrous violence, bizarre characters and low-budget exploitation thrills. What sometimes gets overlooked is the political satire.

Beneath the deliberately excessive action lies a savage attack on authoritarianism, sensationalist media, celebrity culture and the manipulation of public opinion.

Its vision of a society entertained by cruelty is uncomfortably recognisable. Sometimes satire has to be outrageous to make its point.

Saint Maud (2019) — Film4, 1.15am, early Sunday

Rose Glass’s unsettling psychological horror stars Morfydd Clark as Maud, a young private carer whose intense religious convictions become increasingly dangerous.

Caring for Amanda, a terminally ill former dancer played by Jennifer Ehle, Maud convinces herself that she has a divine mission to save her patient’s soul.

What makes the film so effective is its refusal to offer straightforward explanations. Is Maud experiencing religious revelation, psychological disturbance or some frightening combination of the two?

Clark’s performance is extraordinary, capturing both vulnerability and fanaticism.

This is an intelligent examination of religious obsession, loneliness and the frightening consequences of absolute certainty.

Sunday 18 October

The Addams Family (1991) — ITV2, 4pm

The gloriously macabre Addams family return in Barry Sonnenfeld’s film adaptation of Charles Addams’s famous creations.

Anjelica Huston and Raul Julia are wonderfully cast as Morticia and Gomez, while Christina Ricci almost steals the picture as the magnificently deadpan Wednesday.

The joke, of course, is that this supposedly monstrous family is often more affectionate and loyal than the respectable people surrounding them.

The film revels in gothic imagery, eccentric humour and cheerful disregard for conventional values.

A thoroughly enjoyable comedy that has lost little of its appeal.

The Balkans: Europe’s Forgotten Frontier — BBC Two, 8pm

BBC Europe editor Katya Adler travels through Croatia, Bosnia and Albania, exploring how the region has changed since the violent break-up of Yugoslavia and the wider upheavals of the 1990s.

The wars that followed Yugoslavia’s disintegration left deep political, social and psychological scars. Old tensions have not simply disappeared, while questions of national identity and European integration remain contentious.

Adler is a knowledgeable guide to a region often neglected in British coverage of European affairs.

The Balkans have repeatedly played an important part in European history. Understanding their present requires an appreciation of the complicated past that continues to shape everyday life.

Kevin McCloud’s Classic Car Road Trips — Channel 4, 8pm (1/6)

Kevin McCloud combines an enthusiasm for design with a journey through the history and culture of some of Europe’s most celebrated cars.

His opening trip takes him along the French Riviera, travelling from Cannes towards Monaco in a beautiful 1960s Citroën DS convertible.

The DS was one of the most remarkable cars ever produced. When introduced in 1955, its futuristic appearance and advanced engineering seemed to belong to another age.

Its hydropneumatic suspension and elegant styling helped establish it as an icon of French design.

There are worse ways to spend an hour than travelling through the Riviera in such a magnificent machine, particularly with McCloud explaining the design philosophy behind it.

Living (2022) — Film4, 9pm

Bill Nighy gives one of his finest performances in this deeply moving drama about an emotionally reserved civil servant who discovers that he has a terminal illness.

Set in 1950s London, the film follows a man who has spent much of his life observing routine and convention but now begins questioning what that life has amounted to.

Adapted by Kazuo Ishiguro from Akira Kurosawa’s Ikiru, the film explores mortality, bureaucracy and the possibility of meaningful action.

Nighy brings an extraordinary restraint to the central performance.

It’s a gentle, thoughtful and ultimately uplifting film about the importance of making our limited time count.

Time — BBC One, 9pm (series finale; full series on iPlayer)

We’ve deliberately avoided saying too much about this latest series because we’ve been saving it up for a proper binge-watch.

David Tennant stars as prison officer Bobby Bailey, and Tennant’s involvement is reason enough to attract our attention. He’s one of those actors who can make even a quiet moment compelling.

The prison setting also promises an opportunity to explore questions of institutional power, punishment, responsibility and human vulnerability.

Rather than concentrate on the finale alone, our recommendation is to watch the series from the beginning on BBC iPlayer.

Some dramas are best experienced as a complete work, allowing their characters and tensions to develop without interruption. This looks like one of them.

French Connection II (1975) — Talking Pictures TV, 10.10pm

Gene Hackman returns as the obsessive New York detective Jimmy ‘Popeye’ Doyle in John Frankenheimer’s sequel to William Friedkin’s celebrated crime thriller.

This time Doyle travels to Marseille in pursuit of the heroin trafficker Alain Charnier, played once again by Fernando Rey.

The change of location gives the sequel a distinctive character, while Hackman delivers another uncompromising performance.

It’s a darker, sometimes more psychologically disturbing film than its predecessor, particularly in its treatment of Doyle’s vulnerability.

A worthy sequel to one of the defining American crime films of the 1970s.

Priscilla (2023) — BBC Two, 10.45pm

Sofia Coppola approaches the Elvis Presley story from an unusual perspective, concentrating on the experiences of Priscilla Beaulieu, who met the singer when she was still a teenager.

Cailee Spaeny plays Priscilla, while Jacob Elordi portrays Elvis.

Rather than presenting another celebration of the King’s musical genius, Coppola examines the imbalance of power within the relationship.

The glamour of Graceland gradually gives way to isolation, control and frustration.

It’s an intimate film about a young woman discovering that life alongside one of the world’s most famous entertainers can be deeply restrictive.

Children of Men (2006) — BBC One, 11.40pm

Alfonso Cuarón’s extraordinary dystopian drama imagines a future in which humanity has become infertile and society is collapsing.

Clive Owen plays Theo, a disillusioned former activist drawn into a dangerous mission to protect a young refugee.

The film’s images of authoritarian government, desperate migration, social breakdown and institutional cruelty have acquired an unsettling contemporary relevance.

Cuarón’s direction is remarkable, particularly the extended action sequences that place viewers directly inside the chaos.

Yet beneath the violence lies a profoundly humane argument about compassion and hope.

One of the finest science-fiction films of the twenty-first century.

Ernest Cole: Lost and Found (2024) — Channel 4, midnight, early Monday

Raoul Peck’s documentary tells the story of Ernest Cole, the South African photographer whose images exposed the brutality of apartheid.

Cole documented the everyday humiliations, restrictions and injustices imposed upon Black South Africans by the racist state.

His work was both artistic achievement and political testimony. It made visible a system that depended partly upon controlling what outsiders could see.

His photographs contributed to his exile, and much of his later life was marked by hardship and displacement.

Peck uses Cole’s remarkable archive to explore racial oppression, memory and the terrible personal costs that can accompany the pursuit of truth.

An important documentary about a photographer whose work deserves to be much better known.

Monday 19 October

Aberfan: The Village That Fought Back — BBC Two, 9pm; repeated Tuesday, 11pm

Sixty years after the Aberfan disaster, this documentary examines the struggle that followed the deaths of 144 people, including 116 children.

For the families, the nightmare did not end when the rescue operation finished.

They faced official resistance, evasions and an extraordinary struggle to have the remaining dangerous coal tips removed from above their village.

The disaster tribunal placed responsibility upon the National Coal Board, but securing practical justice proved another matter.

Particularly shameful was the pressure placed upon the Aberfan Disaster Fund to contribute towards the removal of the remaining tips. Money donated in sympathy for bereaved families was treated as a potential source of funding for work that public authorities should have undertaken.

This is not simply a historical account of industrial negligence. It’s about the relationship between ordinary people and powerful institutions, and the lengths those institutions may go to in order to avoid accountability.

The villagers’ persistence deserves recognition alongside the suffering they endured.

Essential viewing, and our most important television recommendation of the week.

Selma (2014) — BBC Two, 11.05pm

Ava DuVernay’s absorbing historical drama examines the 1965 campaign for voting rights in Alabama, culminating in the famous marches from Selma to Montgomery.

David Oyelowo is outstanding as Dr Martin Luther King Jr, capturing both his charisma and the enormous pressures of leadership.

The film avoids presenting the civil rights movement as a simple procession of heroic speeches and inevitable victories.

Instead, it explores the difficult strategic decisions, internal disagreements, state violence and extraordinary courage involved in challenging segregation.

Its depiction of collective action is particularly powerful.

Progress did not arrive because powerful people suddenly became generous. It came because ordinary people organised, protested and refused to accept injustice.

Priyo Maloti (2024) — Channel 4, South Asian film season; time to be confirmed

This Bangladeshi drama, directed by Shankha Dasgupta, stars Mehazabien Chowdhury in her feature-film debut.

She plays Maloti, a young pregnant woman whose life is devastated when her husband dies in a catastrophic fire.

What follows is a struggle to survive financially and emotionally in circumstances where support cannot always be taken for granted.

The film examines grief, insecurity and the vulnerability of those suddenly left to confront hardship alone.

It’s a welcome selection from Channel 4’s South Asian film season, which provides an opportunity to discover cinema beyond the industries and countries that usually dominate British film schedules.

Tuesday 20 October

Hot Fuzz (2007) — Film4, 9pm

Edgar Wright’s wonderfully inventive action-comedy stars Simon Pegg as Nicholas Angel, a London police officer whose extraordinary efficiency embarrasses his colleagues.

Transferred to the apparently peaceful Gloucestershire village of Sandford, he discovers that beneath the picturesque surface something decidedly sinister is happening.

Nick Frost is excellent as his enthusiastic but less disciplined partner, Danny Butterman.

The film affectionately mocks the conventions of Hollywood action movies while delivering a wonderfully sharp satire of small-town respectability, authoritarianism and the desire to preserve appearances at any cost.

Its rapid editing, visual jokes and lovingly constructed action sequences reward repeated viewing.

One of the finest British comedies of its generation.

Stacey Dooley: Down the K-Hole — BBC Three, 9pm; BBC One, 10.40pm

Stacey Dooley at the National TV Awards 2019 at the O2 Arena, London.

Stacey Dooley investigates ketamine use and the growing concern surrounding the drug.

Originally developed as an anaesthetic and now also being researched and used in carefully controlled medical settings, ketamine has become increasingly prominent as a recreational substance.

Its effects can include dissociation and altered perception, while repeated heavy use can cause serious harm, particularly to the bladder and urinary system.

Dooley’s strength as a presenter is her willingness to speak to people without immediately passing judgement. That approach can be especially valuable when examining drug use, where moral condemnation often gets in the way of understanding.

An important subject deserving careful investigation.

Clickbait Clinic with Stacey Dooley: Can Blue Dye Make Me Smarter? — BBC One, 11.40pm

Stacey Dooley is certainly keeping herself busy.

Here she examines the growing enthusiasm for methylene blue, a substance with established medical uses that has also attracted attention for possible effects on brain function.

Some preliminary research has explored potential neurological applications, including areas relevant to Alzheimer’s disease, but that is a long way from demonstrating that healthy people can improve their intelligence by taking it.

The distinction between interesting scientific research and commercial exaggeration is crucial.

The programme should offer a useful examination of how tentative findings can become exaggerated promises in the world of online health trends.

Midnight Run (1988) — Film4, 11.25pm

Robert De Niro and Charles Grodin form one of cinema’s most enjoyable mismatched partnerships in this action-comedy directed by Martin Brest.

De Niro plays Jack Walsh, a bounty hunter tasked with bringing a former Mafia accountant across America.

Grodin plays the accountant, Jonathan Mardukas, whose apparently mild personality conceals a remarkable ability to frustrate his captor.

Their journey becomes increasingly chaotic as criminals, federal agents and competing bounty hunters join the pursuit.

The action is entertaining, but the real pleasure lies in the developing relationship between the two men.

A clever, funny film that knows exactly how to combine comedy with genuine character development.

Storyville: A Want in Her — BBC Four; time to be confirmed

Another documentary from the excellent Storyville strand, which has long been one of our favourites at Counter Culture.

This deeply personal film explores the complexities of caring for someone affected by mental illness and addiction.

Such relationships can involve extraordinary love and loyalty, but also exhaustion, resentment and an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

The challenge for documentary filmmaking is to acknowledge these difficult feelings without reducing the person experiencing illness or addiction to a problem that needs solving.

Storyville has built its reputation by presenting demanding subjects with intelligence, honesty and humanity.

Its documentaries regularly demonstrate why independent filmmaking remains so important.

Wednesday 21 October

Caligula’s Hidden Legacy — PBS America, 7.05pm (1/2)

The Roman emperor Caligula has entered popular imagination as the embodiment of cruelty, extravagance and madness.

But how much do we actually know about him?

Many of the surviving accounts were written by historians hostile to his rule, raising questions about the accuracy of the more sensational stories.

This documentary investigates the historical figure behind the notorious reputation.

Ancient Rome remains endlessly fascinating partly because its politics, ambitions and struggles for power can appear so familiar.

A useful opportunity to distinguish historical evidence from the legends accumulated over centuries.

The World’s End (2013) — Film4, 9pm

Edgar Wright reunites Simon Pegg and Nick Frost for the final instalment of the celebrated Cornetto trilogy.

Five former friends return to their hometown in an attempt to recreate a legendary pub crawl from their youth.

Their reunion is complicated by the behaviour of Gary King, played by Pegg, a man who has never properly accepted that his teenage years are over.

What begins as a comedy about ageing, friendship and nostalgia becomes something rather more extraordinary when the group discovers that the town has changed in unexpected ways.

The science-fiction elements are entertaining, but beneath them lies a surprisingly affecting exploration of disappointment and the difficulty of moving on.

Alongside Tuesday’s Hot Fuzz, this provides an enjoyable opportunity to revisit two very different Edgar Wright comedies.

The Experiment — Channel 4, 10pm

Matt Fraser and Sophie Morgan invite ordinary people to participate in a social experiment within a new care facility.

The programme examines attitudes, behaviour and the relationships that develop when people are placed in an unfamiliar institutional environment.

There’s an interesting parallel with Netflix’s new Stanford Prison Experiment, which also begins with participants placed into assigned roles within a controlled setting.

The situations are different, but both invite us to consider how surroundings, expectations and power structures can influence behaviour.

The crucial question is whether people simply adapt to the roles given to them or retain the ability to challenge the assumptions underlying those roles.

Alison Steadman Remembers The Singing Detective — BBC Four, 10pm

Alison Steadman looks back at Dennis Potter’s extraordinary 1986 television drama, one of the most ambitious works ever produced for British television.

Potter combined psychological investigation, musical fantasy, detective fiction and autobiography to create something genuinely original.

Michael Gambon played Philip Marlow, a writer hospitalised with a debilitating skin condition whose memories and imagination become increasingly entangled.

The drama remains a testament to an era when British television was willing to take enormous creative risks.

The Singing Detective: Lovely Days, Stroke Clues — BBC Four, 10.15pm

An opportunity to revisit Potter’s masterpiece immediately after Alison Steadman’s introduction.

The series moves between Marlow’s hospital experiences, childhood memories and the imaginary detective story he has created.

Popular songs become part of an elaborate psychological landscape, while apparently unrelated incidents gradually reveal deeper connections.

Potter’s work demands attention, but the rewards are considerable.

Few television writers have explored the relationship between memory, illness, guilt and imagination with comparable originality.

Night of the Demon (1957) — Talking Pictures TV, 9.10pm

Jacques Tourneur’s classic supernatural horror follows an American psychologist investigating a mysterious cult led by the sinister Dr Julian Karswell.

Dana Andrews plays the sceptical investigator, while Niall MacGinnis gives a wonderfully unsettling performance as Karswell.

Based on M. R. James’s Casting the Runes, the film creates an atmosphere of growing dread.

Much of its effectiveness comes from the tension between rational explanation and the possibility that supernatural forces really do exist.

There has long been debate about the decision to show the demon itself, rather than leaving everything to the viewer’s imagination.

Whatever one’s view, the film remains one of the finest examples of British supernatural cinema.

Stacey Dooley: Rape on Trial — BBC Three, 11pm (1/2) and 11.50pm (2/2)

Stacey Dooley follows women who have reported being raped by men they know, examining the difficult and often lengthy journey towards trial.

The first programme introduces the women’s experiences and the challenges involved in pursuing their cases.

The second considers the approach of the trials, particularly the way complainants’ credibility may be scrutinised during proceedings.

These are sensitive and difficult subjects. The criminal justice system must protect the rights of defendants while also ensuring that complainants are treated fairly and respectfully.

The programme raises important questions about evidence, credibility, trauma and confidence in the justice process.

Another demanding assignment for Dooley, whose documentary work continues to cover an impressive range of subjects.

Thursday 22 October

Mercury Prize: Album of the Year — BBC Four, 9.30pm

The Mercury Prize returns to Newcastle, celebrating outstanding albums by British and Irish musicians.

Lauren Laverne hosts an evening featuring live performances from Florence + The Machine, Nia Archives, Kojey Radical, Olivia Dean, RAYE, Suede, JADE, Dove Ellis, Knats and Pulp, with the latter representing the charity album HELP(2).

This year’s shortlist also includes Paul McCartney’s The Boys of Dungeon Lane, Olivia Dean’s The Art of Loving and RAYE’s THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE.

Last year’s winner was Sam Fender, another artist with strong connections to the North East.

There’s something pleasing about the continued importance of the album in a musical world increasingly dominated by individual tracks, algorithms and streaming playlists.

Albums allow musicians to develop themes and create a sustained artistic experience. They can be ambitious, personal, experimental and occasionally difficult. That’s part of their appeal.

The Mercury Prize has often helped introduce audiences to performers they might otherwise have overlooked, while recognising established musicians who continue to take risks.

With so many acts performing live, the event promises to be much more than an awards ceremony. It’s effectively a miniature festival celebrating the continuing vitality of contemporary music.

Sweat (2020) — Film4, 1.40am, early Friday

Directed by Magnus von Horn, this Polish-Swedish drama follows Sylwia, a successful fitness instructor and social media influencer.

She has hundreds of thousands of followers, a carefully constructed public image and apparently everything needed for a glamorous modern life.

Yet behind the motivational videos and polished appearances lies a woman experiencing profound loneliness.

Magdalena Koleśnik gives an absorbing performance as Sylwia, whose online confidence conceals insecurity and emotional vulnerability.

The film examines the strange contradictions of social media celebrity, where the appearance of intimacy can coexist with a lack of meaningful personal relationships.

It’s an intelligent and uncomfortable portrait of a world in which being constantly visible does not necessarily mean being understood.

Friday 23 October

Sicily: The Conquered Isle — PBS America, 7.10pm and 8.30pm

Two programmes explore the remarkable history of Sicily, an island whose strategic position in the Mediterranean has made it a crossroads of civilisations.

The first, Crossroads of the Mediterranean, examines its ancient past and the succession of peoples who fought to control it.

Greeks, Romans, Arabs and Normans all left their mark, creating a distinctive cultural inheritance visible in the island’s architecture, traditions and historical monuments.

The second programme, Borderlands, explores Sicily’s role in the nineteenth-century unification of Italy.

The island’s history demonstrates how geography can shape politics and culture over thousands of years.

For anyone interested in European history, this should be rewarding viewing.

Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk (2016) — Great Action, 9pm

Ang Lee’s drama follows a young American soldier who returns temporarily from Iraq after an act of battlefield heroism makes him a national celebrity.

Joe Alwyn plays Billy Lynn, whose experiences of combat contrast sharply with the patriotic spectacle organised around him.

The film examines the way soldiers are transformed into symbols and used to promote reassuring narratives about war.

Behind the ceremonies, applause and carefully staged celebrations lies a young man struggling with memories of violence and the reality of returning to combat.

Its anti-war message emerges from the gulf between public mythology and personal experience.

An interesting and thoughtful film about the exploitation of military heroism.

Disco Night — BBC Four, from 9.45pm; BBC iPlayer

BBC Four devotes the evening to disco, a musical movement that transformed popular culture.

For some, disco still conjures up images of mirror balls, extravagant clothing and dance-floor anthems. Yet its history is considerably more interesting than those familiar images suggest.

Emerging from Black, Latino and gay communities, particularly in American cities, disco became an expression of freedom, identity and collective enjoyment.

It also changed how records were produced, mixed and experienced.

The influence of disco can be heard throughout contemporary dance music, electronic pop and club culture.

A welcome opportunity to celebrate music that has sometimes been dismissed by critics who underestimated both its artistry and its cultural importance.

The Blackening (2022) — BBC Two, 11.30pm

This comedy horror follows a group of Black friends gathering at a remote woodland cabin to celebrate Juneteenth.

For British viewers unfamiliar with the occasion, Juneteenth commemorates 19 June 1865, when enslaved African Americans in Texas learned that emancipation was being enforced following the American Civil War. It has since become a major celebration of freedom and Black American history.

The film takes familiar horror conventions and turns them into a sharp comedy about race, stereotypes and representation.

One of its central jokes concerns the old horror-film convention in which Black characters are frequently among the first victims.

By placing an entirely Black group of friends at the centre of the story, the filmmakers gleefully undermine that convention.

The result is a mixture of horror, comedy and cultural satire.

Disco: Soundtrack of a Revolution — BBC Four, 12.15am, early Saturday

This documentary series explores disco’s origins, cultural significance and lasting influence.

Far from being merely a commercial musical craze, disco provided an important outlet for marginalised communities and helped create new spaces for social and personal expression.

Its history also involves the commercial music industry’s attempts to profit from an underground culture, and the backlash that followed its enormous success.

The opposition to disco sometimes carried racial and homophobic undertones, making its history inseparable from wider social struggles.

A valuable companion to BBC Four’s evening of disco celebrations.

I Was a Teenage Sex Pistol — Sky Arts, 1am, early Saturday

The emergence of the Sex Pistols in the mid-1970s helped transform British popular music and youth culture.

Their brief but explosive career challenged the musical establishment, attacked social conventions and gave expression to the anger and frustration of a generation.

Punk was never simply about musical ability or even musical style. It was also an attitude, a rejection of established hierarchies and an assertion that young people could create their own culture.

This documentary revisits that extraordinary moment and the personalities at its centre.

The Public Image Is Rotten — Sky Arts, 2.50am, early Saturday

John Lydon’s career did not end when the Sex Pistols disintegrated.

With Public Image Ltd, he moved into far more experimental musical territory, combining elements of post-punk, dub, electronic music and avant-garde experimentation.

This documentary examines the band’s turbulent history and Lydon’s determination to resist easy categorisation.

There’s an interesting contrast with BBC Four’s disco celebrations. Disco and punk were often treated as opposing movements, yet both challenged musical conventions and created new cultural possibilities.

Lydon has remained an abrasive and unpredictable figure, but Public Image Ltd’s contribution to the development of post-punk deserves recognition.

A suitably unconventional conclusion to the week’s musical television.


Streaming

Netflix

Fading Grandeur — All six episodes available Friday 23 October

This Spanish comedy drama explores the tensions between appearance and reality, drawing upon the familiar attractions of family relationships, social embarrassment and personal ambition.

Spanish television has developed an impressive reputation for combining comedy and drama, often finding humour in situations that are far from comfortable.

A six-part series should provide enough room to develop its characters without unnecessarily stretching the story.

The New Stanford Prison Experiment — All six episodes available Wednesday 21 October

Does power corrupt?

That is the central question behind this new Netflix social experiment, which places thirty participants inside a real prison and randomly assigns them the roles of guards or prisoners.

The programme deliberately recalls the notorious Stanford Prison Experiment conducted in California in 1971.

Psychologist Philip Zimbardo and his colleagues recruited male college students and placed them in a simulated prison environment. Some were assigned the role of guards, others prisoners.

The study was supposed to last up to two weeks but was abandoned after just six days amid disturbing behaviour and psychological distress.

For many years, it was presented as evidence that ordinary people could rapidly become abusive when placed in positions of unchecked authority.

However, the original experiment has subsequently faced serious criticism. Researchers have questioned the way participants were instructed, the influence of expectations upon their behaviour and the validity of the conclusions drawn from the results.

The new Netflix programme uses a real prison setting, a mixed-gender group of participants and additional ethical safeguards.

It will be interesting to compare the findings with the original study, while remembering that this is also a television production intended to entertain.

Power certainly influences behaviour, but the relationship between authority, obedience and individual responsibility is more complicated than the old Stanford experiment sometimes suggested.

One of the week’s most intriguing streaming choices.

Judge John Deed — All 29 episodes available Saturday 17 October

Martin Shaw stars as Sir John Deed, a High Court judge whose determination to follow his conscience regularly brings him into conflict with the judicial establishment and political authorities.

Originally broadcast by the BBC between 2001 and 2007, the drama combines courtroom cases with political intrigue and personal complications.

Shaw brings considerable authority to the central role, making Deed an engaging if occasionally exasperating character.

The series is also interesting for its depiction of tensions between law, justice and institutional pressure.

Legal professionals may sometimes find themselves questioning the dramatic liberties taken with courtroom procedure, but the programme remains entertaining and frequently thought-provoking.

Channel 4 Streaming

Walter Presents: When the Night Comes — All six episodes available Friday 23 October

In an apparently idyllic seaside town, Stephanie wakes to the horrifying realisation that she has been raped in her own home.

The crime shatters her sense of security and exposes tensions beneath the community’s peaceful exterior.

The six-part drama explores the consequences of sexual violence, the search for truth and the difficulties faced by those attempting to rebuild their lives.

The Walter Presents collection continues to provide British viewers with access to international drama that might otherwise remain relatively unknown.

Its willingness to tackle demanding subjects has made it one of the most worthwhile streaming collections available.

Prime Video

The Last Viking — Available now

Anders Thomas Jensen directs this Danish black comedy starring Nikolaj Lie Kaas and Mads Mikkelsen.

Kaas plays Anker, a bank robber who entrusts stolen money to his brother Manfred before serving fifteen years in prison.

When Anker is finally released, he discovers that Manfred has developed serious psychiatric difficulties, believes himself to be John Lennon and no longer remembers where the money was hidden.

What follows is an increasingly bizarre attempt to recover the missing fortune.

Jensen has a gift for combining dark humour with damaged characters and unexpected emotional depth.

Mikkelsen is particularly well suited to this kind of material, bringing both intensity and comic unpredictability to his performances.

An unusual mixture of crime story, family drama and eccentric comedy.

BBC iPlayer

Smiley’s People — Available now

Sir Alec Guinness returns as George Smiley in this acclaimed BBC adaptation of John le Carré’s Cold War thriller, first broadcast in 1982.

Following the success of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, the series once again immerses viewers in a world of espionage, deception, old loyalties and deeply compromised individuals.

Guinness’s performance is a masterclass in restraint. His Smiley is outwardly unremarkable, but beneath the quiet manner lies an extraordinary intelligence and a formidable capacity for investigation.

Unlike the glamorous spies of popular adventure fiction, le Carré’s characters inhabit a morally ambiguous world in which personal betrayal and political calculation are inseparable.

One of the finest achievements of British television drama, and a perfect companion to this week’s Radio 4 Extra adaptation of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.

Alex Jones: Un Diwrnod yn Aberfan (One Day in Aberfan) — Available Sunday 18 October

This Welsh-language programme forms part of the commemorations marking sixty years since the Aberfan disaster.

On 21 October 1966, a collapsing colliery spoil tip engulfed Pantglas Junior School and surrounding houses, killing 144 people, including 116 children.

The tragedy remains a defining moment in the history of Welsh mining communities.

Commemorative programmes such as this are particularly important because they preserve personal memories and ensure that the experiences of those affected are not reduced to statistics.

The disaster also raises enduring questions about industrial responsibility, the treatment of working-class communities and the failure of powerful institutions to listen to warnings.

An essential companion to Monday’s BBC Two documentary, Aberfan: The Village That Fought Back.

Paramount+

Treasure Island — Episode 2 available Monday 19 October

The latest adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic adventure features David Oyelowo as Long John Silver.

The original novel remains one of the defining works of adventure fiction, introducing generations of readers to pirates, buried treasure, betrayal and the dangerous attraction of the high seas.

Long John Silver is the story’s great achievement: charismatic, resourceful, manipulative and morally ambiguous.

A successful adaptation needs to capture both his charm and the threat concealed beneath it.

Oyelowo is an interesting choice for the role, and the series offers an opportunity to introduce Stevenson’s enduring characters to another generation.

HBO Max

The Narco Hack — All three episodes available Friday 23 October

This three-part documentary tells the extraordinary story of Sky ECC, an encrypted messaging service that became popular among organised crime networks.

The attraction was simple. Subscribers believed that their communications were protected by encryption powerful enough to prevent the authorities from reading their messages.

For criminal organisations, that apparent security made it possible to conduct business with a confidence that would otherwise have been impossible.

In 2021, however, investigators led by French authorities succeeded in compromising the system, exposing communications that provided unprecedented insights into criminal networks.

The documentary examines the technological operation and its consequences.

It’s a fascinating illustration of the increasingly sophisticated struggle between organised crime and law enforcement, as well as the wider questions raised by encrypted communications, privacy and surveillance.


Radio

Sunday 18 October

Childline — BBC Radio 4, 1.30pm

Forty years after Esther Rantzen launched Childline in 1986, this programme examines the organisation’s remarkable history.

Childline was founded upon a simple but enormously important principle: children experiencing abuse, distress or fear needed somewhere they could turn for confidential support.

In the decades that followed, the service helped countless young people who might otherwise have remained unheard.

The programme has acquired additional poignancy following Rantzen’s death in September.

She was an influential broadcaster, but her work establishing Childline may prove to be her most enduring achievement.

It’s a reminder that the value of a public life is not simply measured by celebrity or professional success, but by the practical difference someone makes to others.

A fitting tribute to an important legacy.

The Mysterious Case of Annie Elizabeth — BBC Radio 4, 7.15pm

For history enthusiasts, this intriguing programme investigates the story behind Annie Elizabeth, a variety of apple with an unusually personal name.

Who was Annie Elizabeth, and why did an apple come to bear her name?

It’s the kind of apparently obscure historical question that can lead to unexpected discoveries about the people and communities of the past.

There is something rather appealing about the way ordinary objects can preserve human stories long after the people involved have disappeared.

A gentle but potentially fascinating piece of historical detective work.

Monday 19 October

Book of the Week: Stalin’s Apostles — BBC Radio 4, 11.45am; late repeat 12.30am

An adaptation of Antonia Senior’s book about the Cambridge Five spy ring.

Kim Philby, Guy Burgess, Donald Maclean, Anthony Blunt and John Cairncross became Soviet agents despite occupying positions of considerable privilege within British society.

Their activities exposed the vulnerability of an establishment that relied heavily upon personal connections, class background and assumptions about loyalty.

The story remains fascinating because it involves conflicting allegiances, ideological conviction, personal ambition and extraordinary betrayal.

It also provides an interesting historical companion to our television and streaming selections featuring John le Carré’s fictional world of espionage.

How Houdini Made Magic with Derren Brown — BBC Radio 4, Monday to Friday, 1.45pm

Derren Brown examines the life and extraordinary achievements of Harry Houdini, one of the most celebrated entertainers of the twentieth century.

Houdini became famous for his astonishing escapes from handcuffs, locked containers and seemingly impossible situations.

Yet his achievements were not simply physical feats. They also relied upon psychology, showmanship, misdirection and an understanding of audience expectations.

Perhaps most interestingly, Houdini later became a determined critic of fraudulent spiritualists, exposing techniques used to convince grieving people that mediums could communicate with the dead.

Brown is an ideal guide, possessing both practical knowledge of illusion and a fascination with the psychology of belief.

A promising series about entertainment, deception and the boundary between what we see and what we think we see.

The Essay: John Foxx — Key Moments — BBC Radio 3, 9.45pm

John Foxx, the original frontman of Ultravox, reflects upon five pianos that have played important roles in his life.

Foxx was a significant figure in the emergence of British electronic music, helping establish the foundations of what later became known as synth-pop and new wave.

After leaving Ultravox, he developed a distinctive solo career, combining electronic experimentation with atmospheric, often introspective songwriting.

His reflections upon the piano offer an interesting contrast with his reputation as an electronic music pioneer.

The relationship between traditional musical instruments and modern technology has always been more complicated than the familiar opposition between acoustic and electronic music suggests.

For those interested in the development of modern British popular music, this should be particularly rewarding.

Tuesday 20 October

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy — BBC Radio 4 Extra, 6am, 11am and 5pm

A radio adaptation of John le Carré’s 1974 Cold War thriller.

George Smiley is drawn out of retirement to investigate the possibility that a Soviet mole has infiltrated the highest levels of British intelligence.

The story is a masterpiece of deception, suspicion and psychological investigation.

Its world is far removed from the glamorous adventures of James Bond. Le Carré’s spies are frequently tired, disappointed and morally compromised individuals operating within bureaucratic institutions.

This adaptation was originally broadcast in 1988, nine years after the celebrated BBC television version starring Alec Guinness.

With Smiley’s People also available on BBC iPlayer this week, there is an opportunity to explore two of le Carré’s finest stories in different formats.

His novels remain among the most intelligent examinations of espionage, loyalty and betrayal ever written for a popular audience.


Final Thoughts

There is a particularly strong historical and political thread running through this week’s choices.

Aberfan reminds us of the terrible consequences of institutional negligence and the determination of ordinary people to secure justice. Selma examines the struggle for civil rights, while Ernest Cole: Lost and Found demonstrates the power of photography to expose oppression.

The Day the Earth Stood Still and Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk approach the subjects of war and peace from very different directions. Both invite us to question the comforting narratives that societies construct around violence.

Meanwhile, The New Stanford Prison Experiment and Channel 4’s The Experiment ask questions about power, authority and human behaviour.

Music is particularly well served, from the harmonies of the Everly Brothers to the experimental work of John Foxx, the Mercury Prize, disco and punk.

And there’s plenty of room for entertainment that makes fewer demands: Hitchcock’s magnificent North by Northwest, Edgar Wright’s comedies and the eccentric delights of The Addams Family.

That’s what makes a good week’s viewing. There should be opportunities to learn, to think, to be challenged and, occasionally, simply to enjoy ourselves.

Enjoy the week.

Selections and reviews by Pat Harrington

 

 

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The Mentalist, Season One, Episode Four: When Greed Becomes the Deadliest Motive

Contains spoilers!

After three episodes largely driven by passion, jealousy and personal desperation, The Mentalist takes a different turn with “Ladies in Red”. The fourth outing of the series leaves behind crimes of impulse and enters a world where wealth, influence and financial self-interest shape every interaction. It is a clever shift in emphasis. Instead of asking what people will do for love, the episode asks what they will do for money, status and self-preservation.

The result is one of the strongest early instalments of the first season.

The case begins with the discovery of wealthy banker Bruce Winter, found dead inside his own wine-cellar vault. It is the sort of opening that instantly captures attention. The image itself is loaded with symbolism. A room designed to protect valuable possessions becomes the setting for murder, suggesting from the outset that Winter’s carefully maintained world was far less secure than it appeared.

As the California Bureau of Investigation starts digging, the dead banker proves to have accumulated more than money during his lifetime. He has collected grudges, enemies, resentments and secrets. Relationships have frayed beneath the surface, business dealings appear increasingly questionable and those closest to him seem to be hiding as much as they are revealing. What initially appears to be a straightforward locked-room mystery gradually unfolds into something considerably messier.

One of the episode’s strengths lies in its portrayal of dishonesty. Almost everyone Jane interviews is lying, but not in the panicked way seen in previous cases. These are polished lies. Practised lies. The kind told by people accustomed to protecting reputations, investments and social standing.

That distinction matters.

Patrick Jane excels when faced with people who believe they are smarter than everyone else in the room. Wealthy suspects often assume their money, influence or sophistication gives them a natural advantage. In reality, those assumptions make them vulnerable. Jane understands that beneath every carefully crafted public image sits an ordinary human being carrying the same fears and weaknesses as everyone else.

Throughout the investigation, he barely concerns himself with appearances. While others focus on statements and alibis, Jane watches reactions. A pause that lasts half a second too long. A smile that arrives at the wrong moment. A contradiction that seems insignificant until it is placed alongside three others.

What makes Jane compelling is that he approaches crime almost entirely through behaviour. To him, people are puzzles long before evidence becomes one.

The women connected to Bruce Winter form another key part of the episode’s structure. The title, “Ladies in Red”, initially suggests glamour and elegance. Instead, it gradually reveals a network of complicated personal and financial relationships surrounding the victim.

Winter’s wife presents the image of composure while carrying years of resentment beneath the surface. His mistress exists in a relationship complicated by dependence and power imbalance. Other women connected to his business and financial affairs demonstrate how personal loyalties become entangled with money. The episode avoids painting these characters as simple stereotypes. Instead, it presents them as individuals navigating a world built around a wealthy man whose influence extended into almost every corner of their lives.

What emerges is a portrait of relationships turned transactional. Affection, loyalty and trust have all become commodities. Nobody seems entirely innocent, but neither does anyone feel entirely straightforwardly guilty.

At the centre of everything sits the vault itself.

The locked-room mystery is a familiar television device, but The Mentalist uses it effectively because Jane never treats it as a mechanical puzzle. He is less interested in how someone got into the room than why events unfolded the way they did.

Most detectives would begin by examining locks, entry points and security systems. Jane begins with motive.

Who benefited from Winter’s death?

Who understood his routines?

Who had enough access to manipulate him?

Who believed they could get away with it?

By approaching the question from a psychological direction rather than a forensic one, the episode transforms what could have been a standard puzzle into something richer. The solution grows naturally out of character rather than circumstance.

Away from Jane, Teresa Lisbon continues her steady evolution into one of the show’s most important figures. It would be easy for a character in her position to function merely as a sounding board for the lead investigator, but the series avoids that trap.

Here she spends much of the episode balancing competing pressures. Wealthy suspects attempt to exert influence. Powerful associates expect special treatment. Jane continues to ignore conventional investigative methods whenever it suits him.

Lisbon’s role is to hold everything together.

The growing dynamic between the two leads remains one of the show’s greatest assets. Jane provides chaos, uncertainty and intuition. Lisbon supplies discipline, structure and credibility. Neither would be nearly as effective without the other.

The supporting members of the CBI team continue to settle comfortably into their roles as well. Kimball Cho’s dry, understated interviewing style works particularly well against the arrogance displayed by several suspects. While others become impressed or irritated by displays of wealth, Cho remains refreshingly indifferent. Wayne Rigsby brings warmth and humour, often voicing the same disbelief many viewers feel when watching Jane’s elaborate schemes unfold. Grace Van Pelt, meanwhile, encounters a case that challenges some of her more idealistic assumptions. The investigation demonstrates that respectability and integrity are not necessarily the same thing.

Thematically, greed sits at the heart of everything.

Financial fraud, hidden investments, secret accounts and compromised business partnerships all feed into the central mystery. Yet the episode wisely refuses to treat greed purely as a desire for money. Instead, it presents greed as a broader appetite for control. Characters cling desperately to status, influence, reputation and security, even when doing so creates the conditions for disaster.

That idea proves more interesting than a simple murder motive.

Bruce Winter’s world is populated by people terrified of losing what they have built. Some fear financial ruin. Others fear exposure. A few fear humiliation more than either. The murder becomes the inevitable consequence of individuals placing self-interest above honesty.

When the final reveal arrives, it perfectly captures what makes The Mentalist work at its best. There is no dramatic chase, no sudden gunfight and no exaggerated twist designed purely for shock value. Instead, Jane carefully assembles the truth piece by piece before placing the killer in a position where guilt becomes impossible to hide.

The scene depends on psychology rather than spectacle.

Jane’s explanation is devastating precisely because of how calmly it is delivered. He understands not only what happened but why it happened. In doing so, he strips away the layers of deception that the killer has spent the entire episode constructing.

“Ladies in Red” ultimately represents an important step forward for the series. It demonstrates that The Mentalist is capable of handling more than emotionally charged domestic tragedies. Corporate corruption, financial crime, class privilege and social manipulation all fit comfortably within the show’s framework.

Just as importantly, it deepens our understanding of Patrick Jane himself. Beneath the charm and theatricality is a man with a remarkable understanding of power and the damage it can cause. He recognises that wealth often provides people with better masks, not better morals. In a world where everyone is trying to control the narrative, Jane remains dangerous because he sees the story underneath.

Four episodes in, The Mentalist is already showing signs of becoming something more than a conventional crime procedural. “Ladies in Red” is one of the earliest indications that beneath its murder-of-the-week structure lies a series genuinely interested in the weaknesses that drive human behaviour. Money simply happens to be the weakness under the microscope this time.

By Christopher Storton

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East of Eden Review: The Sins of the Parents

Some stories last because they find a way of speaking to every generation. The setting changes, the fashions come and go, but the questions remain stubbornly familiar. How much of our lives are shaped by the families we come from? Can people really escape the mistakes of the past? Are we free to become something different, or are we condemned to repeat patterns laid down long before we were born?

Those questions sit at the heart of East of Eden, and they are what make this new television adaptation feel remarkably fresh despite the age of the source material. Rather than treating John Steinbeck’s novel as a literary monument to be admired from a distance, the series approaches it as a living story about family, identity and the consequences of human choices. The result is a drama that feels both timeless and surprisingly modern.

Many viewers will arrive with memories of the famous 1955 film and its enduring association with James Dean. That version left a powerful mark on popular culture, but it inevitably compressed Steinbeck’s sprawling novel into something more focused and contained. This series has the luxury of breathing space. It allows characters to develop gradually, relationships to evolve and tensions to simmer rather than explode immediately. The benefit of that approach becomes clear very quickly.

At the centre of everything stands Cathy Ames, one of the most fascinating and unsettling figures in American literature. Adaptations often struggle with characters like Cathy because there is a temptation to explain them, soften them or fit them into a framework that audiences can comfortably understand. This series wisely resists that instinct.

Cathy remains elusive throughout. At times she appears wounded and vulnerable. At others she displays an astonishing capacity for manipulation and self-preservation. The contradictions are the point. Human beings are rarely as straightforward as we would like them to be, and Cathy serves as a reminder that some people refuse to conform to the categories imposed upon them by others.

What makes the character particularly compelling here is the way the drama examines the world surrounding her. The story never asks viewers to excuse destructive behaviour, but it does encourage them to consider the circumstances that shape it. Power, dependence, status and survival all become part of the picture. The result is a portrayal that is far richer than a simple battle between good and evil.

The men around Cathy are equally important to the story’s success. Adam Trask emerges as a fundamentally decent man whose greatest weakness may be his faith in the goodness of others. He wants to believe the best of people. It is an admirable quality until reality begins to challenge it. There is something quietly tragic about watching a person cling to an idealised view of the world long after events have demonstrated that such certainty may be misplaced.

Charles Trask provides an effective counterbalance. While Adam sees possibility, Charles often sees danger. He is driven by insecurities that have accumulated over years, particularly the suspicion that affection and approval have always been given more freely to his brother. His anger frequently masks deeper feelings of rejection and loneliness. In lesser hands the character could easily become one-dimensional. Instead, he emerges as one of the most sympathetic figures in the series.

As the story passes from one generation to the next, the same conflicts begin to reappear in new forms. Parents leave emotional legacies they never intended to create. Children struggle beneath expectations they never chose. Rivalries develop. Old resentments resurface. The details differ, but the underlying problems remain recognisable.

That is one reason East of Eden continues to resonate. Its biblical influences are impossible to miss, yet the drama never feels like a theological exercise. At its core it is about families. Most viewers will recognise elements of their own lives somewhere within these relationships. Few people have experienced the level of turmoil depicted here, but almost everyone understands the desire for approval, the pain of disappointment or the burden of living up to expectations.

Perhaps the novel’s most enduring idea is the belief that inheritance is not destiny. The past matters. Family history matters. The choices made by earlier generations leave their mark. Yet individuals are never entirely trapped by what came before. They still possess the ability to make decisions, change direction and choose different paths.

The series returns repeatedly to that tension. Characters make mistakes, sometimes catastrophic ones. They inflict damage on themselves and on others. Yet the possibility of redemption never completely disappears. That possibility gives the story much of its emotional weight. Without it, the drama would be bleak. With it, there remains hope even in the darkest moments.

The production itself is impressive. There is a confidence to the visual storytelling that helps distinguish it from much contemporary streaming television. Expansive landscapes create a sense of scale, while quieter scenes focus on the emotional fractures within families. The world feels inhabited rather than decorated. Costumes, locations and design choices support the story without constantly drawing attention to themselves.

Not every element works perfectly. There are occasions when the pacing slows and certain supporting storylines receive more attention than they perhaps deserve. Given the sheer size of the source novel, however, some unevenness was always likely. Compressing a work of this scope into a single television production is no easy task.

What ultimately matters is that the adaptation understands what makes Steinbeck’s novel endure. It is not the plot mechanics. It is not the period setting. It is not even the famous literary references. The lasting power comes from its understanding of people.

Life is complicated. Families are complicated. Love, resentment, guilt and forgiveness frequently exist side by side. Individuals carry the influence of the past while trying to create a future of their own. Those realities remain just as true today as they were when Steinbeck first put them on the page.

In an age where so much television disappears from memory almost as soon as the credits roll, East of Eden stands out because it has something meaningful to say. It trusts its audience to wrestle with difficult questions. It accepts that people can be contradictory. Most importantly, it recognises that the struggle between who we are and who we might become is one that never really ends.

That is why the story continues to matter. The setting belongs to another era. The human dilemmas do not.

By Mia Fulga

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Culture Vulture 12–18 September 2026

There is plenty to get stuck into this week, but three things stand out. The Last Night of the Proms remains one of those great television occasions, even if you normally only dip into classical music. England Till I Die looks like the most potentially unsettling piece of factual television, following an East Sussex anti-immigration activist over nine months. And film-wise, it is hard to look past The Red Shoes, Powell and Pressburger’s extraordinary 1948 masterpiece, still looking and feeling unlike almost anything else.

There is strong music programming too, with Chaka Khan and Simple Minds headlining Radio 2 in the Park, while BBC Four gives Friday night over to the Rolling Stones. Film4 supplies plenty across the week, and the streaming services offer a mix of crime, dystopia, politics and dysfunctional spies.

Saturday 12 September

The Red Shoes — 9.50am, BBC Two (1948)

Powell and Pressburger at full voltage: colour as emotion, movement as destiny, and a story that understands, with unnerving clarity, the price artists sometimes pay for brilliance. The film opens with a kind of deceptive lightness — the bustle of students, the chatter of rehearsal rooms — but even in those early scenes there’s a sense of something larger gathering, a tension between ordinary life and the pull of the stage.

Moira Shearer’s Vicky Page is one of those performances that seems to glow from within. She’s young, ambitious, and utterly sincere, and the film treats her not as a symbol but as a person caught between two forces: the joy of creation and the demands of those who claim ownership over it. Anton Walbrook’s Lermontov, all icy poise and implacable will, becomes the gravitational centre of the film. He doesn’t shout, he doesn’t threaten; he simply expects the world to bend to his vision. And in the world of The Red Shoes, that expectation is almost enough to make it happen.

The famous ballet sequence — still astonishing, still unmatched — feels like cinema stepping into another dimension. It’s not a filmed performance; it’s a dream, a hallucination, a manifesto. Powell and Pressburger let the stage dissolve into pure imagination, and for a few minutes you’re watching something that doesn’t seem bound by the usual rules of filmmaking. It’s the moment where the film declares, without hesitation, that art can be overwhelming, intoxicating, and dangerous.

What follows is inevitable, tragic, and strangely beautiful. The film isn’t moralising; it isn’t wagging a finger about ambition. It’s simply honest about the cost. For some people, the choice between life and art isn’t a choice at all — and The Red Shoes understands that with a kind of terrible sympathy.

A masterpiece, yes, but more than that: a film that still feels alive, still capable of unsettling you, still able to make you think about the things you love and what they demand in return.

Lawrence of Arabia — 1.30pm, BBC Two (1962)

Lean’s desert epic isn’t just large‑scale cinema — it’s cinema that seems to expand as you watch it, pushing outward into myth, psychology and the uneasy glamour of heroism. The first thing that strikes you is the sheer physical beauty of it: the desert not as backdrop but as a kind of vast, indifferent character, swallowing men, ambitions and empires without distinction. Freddie Young’s cinematography gives the landscape a monumental stillness, and Lean lets that stillness interrogate the people moving through it.

At the centre is Peter O’Toole, incandescent and unsettling. His Lawrence is not a straightforward adventurer but a man drawn to extremes — extremes of courage, extremes of self‑invention, extremes of delusion. O’Toole plays him with a kind of brittle radiance, as if the performance itself is lit from inside. You see the charisma, the intelligence, the recklessness, and the slow, painful recognition that the legend he’s building is also consuming him.

The film’s sweep is extraordinary, but what makes it endure is its ambivalence. It understands the seduction of grand narratives — the lone visionary, the desert campaign, the forging of alliances — but it also understands the cost. Lean never lets the spectacle drown out the politics or the psychology. The triumphs feel real, but so do the fractures, the betrayals, the dawning sense that Lawrence’s story is as much about the limits of empire as the possibilities of individual will.

Long, certainly. Magnificent, unquestionably. But more than that: a film that still feels like a challenge — to the viewer, to history, and to the idea of heroism itself.

Rosaline — 3pm, Film4 (2022)

A playful spin on Romeo and Juliet, yes, but what makes Rosaline interesting is the way it quietly punctures the solemnity that usually clings to Verona. By shifting the frame to Romeo’s overlooked ex, the film exposes the fragile architecture of the “great romance” — how much of it is timing, how much is teenage melodrama, and how much is simply who gets written into the centre of the story.

Kaitlyn Dever’s Rosaline is sharp, wounded, and wonderfully unimpressed by the myth-making around her. Through her eyes, the familiar beats of Shakespeare’s tragedy become something closer to a comedy of misplaced certainty. The film doesn’t mock the original; it just recognises that the intensity of first love can look very different once you’re no longer the one swept up in it.

There’s a breezy confidence to the whole thing — modern without being smug, affectionate without being reverent. And beneath the jokes, there’s a small but sincere point: change the narrator, and the legend shifts. The story you thought you knew becomes something else entirely.

Vera Cruz — 6.35pm, 5 Action (1954)

Aldrich’s Vera Cruz is one of those westerns that feels like it’s already leaning toward the genre’s darker future — cynical, sharp‑edged, and amused by its own ruthlessness. Gary Cooper and Burt Lancaster make a terrific, uneasy pairing: Cooper with that worn, moral gravity he carried so naturally, Lancaster all swagger, teeth and opportunism. They’re heading south not for honour or destiny but for profit, and the film never pretends otherwise.

What’s striking is how modern the tone feels. The Mexican setting isn’t treated as exotic backdrop; it’s a political landscape full of shifting loyalties, revolutionaries, mercenaries and people trying to survive the chaos. Aldrich shoots it with a kind of muscular clarity — dust, sweat, sudden violence — and lets the humour bubble up from the characters’ sheer audacity. Lancaster in particular seems to enjoy every moment of being a charming bastard.

The film’s cynicism isn’t bleak; it’s invigorating. You can see the seeds of the spaghetti western here, the move away from clean moral lines and toward something more ambiguous, more dangerous, more fun. Vera Cruz knows exactly what it is: a tough, stylish adventure where trust is a luxury and everyone’s playing an angle.

Last Night of the Proms — 7.10pm, BBC Two; 9pm, BBC One. Catch up via BBC iPlayer.

One of those fixtures in the television calendar that needs little introduction, beginning on BBC Two before moving across to BBC One for the climax of the evening.

Avengers: Endgame — 8.15pm, Channel 4 (2019)

A film built as a finale and delivered as an event. Endgame arrives carrying the weight of a decade’s worth of Marvel storytelling, and it doesn’t shy away from the scale of that responsibility. It’s unabashedly big, unabashedly emotional, and determined to give every character and every long‑running thread its moment.

The opening stretch is unexpectedly quiet, almost reflective, before the film swings into its playful time‑heist detour — a victory lap through the MCU’s own history. Then comes the vast, operatic climax, a sequence so crowded with heroes and spectacle that the screen feels barely able to contain it.

What keeps the film grounded is its sincerity. Beneath the CGI and the noise, there’s a clear understanding that endings matter. Some arcs close gently, others with thunderous fanfare, but each feels like part of a story finally being tied off.

Long, loud and built for maximum impact — but also surprisingly heartfelt. A blockbuster that knows exactly what it means to its audience.

Radio 2 in the Park: Chaka Khan — from 9pm, BBC Two. Catch up via BBC iPlayer.

Chaka Khan, the soul, funk and disco queen, is the headline draw on day one of the annual shindig. Her set, shown in full from 10pm, should be a crowd-pleaser.

Before that comes an hour of highlights from Stirling City Park, including performances from ABC, Lulu, Emeli Sandé and Texas.

The evening then heads into the archives, with Chaka Khan at the BBC at 11pm, followed by Texas at the BBC at 11.40pm.

Saint Omer — 1.50am, BBC Two (2022)

Alice Diop’s Saint Omer is a courtroom drama in form but something far more unsettling in effect. Inspired by a real case, the film approaches its subject with a calm, almost forensic stillness, refusing melodrama and letting the details speak for themselves. That restraint is precisely what makes it so gripping. Every pause, every hesitation, every quiet admission seems to echo in the room.

Diop isn’t interested in easy judgments. She’s interested in the uncomfortable territory where empathy, horror and uncertainty overlap. Through the eyes of Rama, a novelist observing the trial, the film becomes a study of how we try — and often fail — to understand the inner lives of others. The performances are extraordinary in their understatement; nothing is pushed, nothing is embellished, and the result is a kind of emotional slow burn that’s far more powerful than a conventional courtroom thriller.

Demanding, yes. You have to meet the film on its own terms. But the reward is a drama that lingers long after it ends — precise, unsettling, and quietly devastating.

Sunday 13 September

Gunfight at the O.K. Corral — 2.55pm, 5 Action (1957)

A western cut from the old studio cloth, polished, purposeful and carried by the sheer presence of its stars. Burt Lancaster’s Wyatt Earp is all upright resolve, a man who seems carved out of frontier duty, while Kirk Douglas’s Doc Holliday brings the volatility — charm, danger, and that flicker of self‑destruction that Douglas could summon so effortlessly. Together they give the film its spine: one steady, one unpredictable, both irresistible to watch.

Robert Aldrich directs with a kind of muscular classicism. The film isn’t trying to reinvent the genre; it’s honouring it. Wide streets, dusty saloons, men circling each other with the knowledge that violence is both inevitable and absurd. The build‑up to the famous showdown is deliberate, almost ritualistic, and when the bullets finally fly, it feels less like action and more like the fulfilment of a legend Hollywood had been polishing for decades.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s — 8pm, Sky Arts (1961)

A film wrapped in charm, glamour and that unmistakable early‑60s sheen, yet one that carries a complicated legacy. Audrey Hepburn’s Holly Golightly remains the centre of gravity — a performance so light it almost floats, yet anchored by a melancholy the film never fully names. She gives Holly a kind of shimmering fragility: a woman performing freedom while quietly terrified of what real closeness might demand. It’s one of cinema’s defining turns, and still astonishing in its precision.

George Peppard provides the steadier counterpoint, all quiet observation and gentle exasperation, while Henry Mancini’s score does half the emotional work — Moon River drifting through the film like a memory you’re not quite ready to confront. The elegance is undeniable.

But the film’s dated elements are impossible to ignore, and rightly so. Some choices now land with a thud, reminders of an era Hollywood preferred to gloss over. Acknowledging that doesn’t diminish Hepburn’s achievement; if anything, it sharpens it. Her Holly survives the film’s flaws and transcends them, becoming one of those rare characters who feels both iconic and strangely intimate.

A classic with caveats, but Hepburn’s performance remains untouchable.

Unmissable Moments at the BBC Proms 2026 — 8pm, BBC Four. Catch up via BBC iPlayer.

Two hours of mixed delights from this year’s Proms.

Radio 2 in the Park: Simple Minds — 10pm, BBC Two. Catch up via BBC iPlayer.

Simple Minds take centre stage for the second night of Radio 2 in the Park, bringing a formidable catalogue of songs with them.

Vesper — 11.10pm, Film4 (2022)

A striking piece of European science fiction that proves ambition isn’t measured in budget. Vesper imagines a future ravaged by ecological collapse, but it does so with a painter’s eye — damp forests, biotechnological oddities, and a world where every living thing seems half‑engineered and half‑feral. It’s grim, but not in the usual dystopian way; the film’s bleakness feels organic, lived‑in, almost mournful.

Raffiella Chapman gives the story its pulse. Her Vesper is resourceful, wary, and quietly determined, navigating a landscape where survival depends on ingenuity rather than firepower. The film’s strength lies in its restraint: no bombastic action, no glossy spectacle, just a slow, unsettling immersion in a future where nature has mutated beyond human control.

For a low‑budget production, it’s visually bold — intricate world‑building, strange textures, and a sense of scale achieved through imagination rather than money. The result is a sci‑fi film that feels genuinely otherworldly.

Ambitious, atmospheric and far more memorable than many bigger, louder dystopias.

Monday 14 September

Oliver! — 6.05pm, Film4 (1968)

Carol Reed’s lavish musical takes Oliver Twist and turns it into a full‑throated spectacle — big sets, big choruses, and Lionel Bart’s songs delivered with absolute gusto. It’s the kind of production that wears its scale proudly, every frame polished, every number staged to fill the screen. The story’s darker edges are softened, of course, but they’re still there if you look: the poverty, the fear, the precariousness of Oliver’s world.

What stands out now is how the film handles the women of Dickens’ novel, especially Nancy. Her arc gives the musical its emotional weight, a reminder that beneath the bright tunes lies a story shaped by sacrifice and danger. Counter Culture recently explored this in our piece on the women of Oliver Twist, and Reed’s version of Nancy carries that same tragic force — a character who anchors the film even as the spectacle swirls around her.

As a musical, though, Oliver! remains irresistible. Big tunes, big performances, and an Oscar‑winning production that still knows exactly how to entertain.

Epstein: Money, Power and Abuse — Panorama Special — 8pm, BBC One.

A Panorama special examining Jeffrey Epstein, the money and influence surrounding him, and the abuse at the heart of the story.

The Thin Blue Line — 10pm, Sky Documentaries (1988)

Errol Morris’s landmark documentary remains one of the clearest examples of non‑fiction cinema changing the real world. Through meticulous interviews and stylised reconstructions, Morris dismantles the official story surrounding the murder of Dallas police officer Robert W. Wood, exposing contradictions, coached testimony and a prosecution more interested in a conviction than the truth. The film’s impact wasn’t theoretical: Randall Dale Adams, the man at the centre of the case, had his conviction overturned in 1989 after twelve years behind bars, with prosecutors declining to retry him. Adams walked free, while the evidence increasingly pointed toward David Ray Harris — who later ended up on death row for an unrelated killing.

Calm, precise and quietly devastating, The Thin Blue Line shows how a documentary can do more than illuminate a case; it can correct one.

Get Carter — 11.05pm, BBC Two (1971)

Jack Carter returns to Newcastle for his brother’s funeral and quickly realises the official story doesn’t add up. What begins as a family obligation turns into a cold, methodical hunt for the truth, dragging him through a city where every door he opens reveals something more rotten than the last.

Caine plays Carter with unnerving stillness — a man who already knows the world is corrupt and is simply confirming the details. The violence is abrupt, the humour dry enough to sting, and the landscape itself feels complicit: terraces, slag heaps, concrete estates, all part of the film’s bleak moral weather. Mike Hodges strips away glamour until only cause, effect and consequence remain.

Brutal, unsentimental and still one of the finest British crime films ever made.

Tuesday 15 September

Garbo: Where Did You Go? — 8pm, Sky Arts.

Noomi Rapace narrates a portrait of the enigmatic Greta Garbo, one of cinema’s most famous and famously elusive stars.

The Royals: Time to Go? — 9pm, Channel 4. Catch up via Channel 4 Streaming.

A look at the monarchy and the increasingly familiar question of what place, if any, the institution should have in modern Britain.

Sicario — 10.40pm, BBC One (2015)

Denis Villeneuve’s border thriller is tense, morally murky and superbly controlled, with Emily Blunt, Benicio del Toro and Josh Brolin all excellent.

The Proposition — 11.35pm, Talking Pictures TV (2004)

A brutal, sun‑blasted Australian western built on a screenplay by Nick Cave — and if you know his work, the fingerprints are unmistakable. Violence, guilt, family, the harsh indifference of the landscape: Cave threads all of it through a story that feels both mythic and painfully human. As a big admirer of Cave, it’s hard not to relish how his sensibility shapes the film’s rhythm — the dialogue spare, the atmosphere heavy, the morality scorched at the edges.

The plot is simple and savage. Captain Stanley offers outlaw Charlie Burns an impossible bargain: hunt down and kill his older brother Arthur, a man responsible for atrocities, in exchange for the freedom of their youngest sibling. What follows is a slow, grim march through dust, heat and conscience. John Hillcoat directs with a stark, unblinking eye, letting the landscape do half the storytelling — a place where civilisation is a thin veneer and violence feels almost elemental.

Performances are flinty and lived‑in. Guy Pearce’s Charlie is a man hollowed out by loyalty and dread, while Danny Huston’s Arthur moves with the unsettling calm of someone who has already accepted damnation. The film’s brutality isn’t gratuitous; it’s part of the moral weather Cave and Hillcoat conjure so effectively.

Bleak, poetic and unforgettable — a western that feels like a ballad written in blood and dust.

You Were Never Really Here — 12.40am, Film4 (2017)

Lynne Ramsay and Joaquin Phoenix deliver a bruising, fragmented revenge film that is far more interested in trauma than conventional action.

Wednesday 16 September

Greed — 9pm, Film4 (2019)

Michael Winterbottom takes aim at obscene wealth, fast fashion and self-satisfied celebrity culture, with Steve Coogan doing what Steve Coogan does very well.

A River Runs Through It — 9pm, GREAT! TV (1992)

Robert Redford’s beautifully photographed drama follows two brothers growing up in early‑20th‑century Montana, their lives shaped by family, faith and the quiet rituals of fly‑fishing. What begins as a simple coming‑of‑age story deepens into something far more reflective: a film about the ties that bind, the choices that break us, and the things we can never quite say to the people we love.

The landscapes are extraordinary — rivers, forests, long summer light — all captured with a painterly calm that mirrors the film’s emotional restraint. Brad Pitt and Craig Sheffer give quietly affecting performances, their characters drifting together and apart as adulthood complicates the certainties of childhood. Redford’s narration adds a gentle melancholy, turning the film into a kind of elegy for a time, a place and a family that can’t be held onto.

Graceful, contemplative and deeply felt. A film that moves like the river at its centre: steady, luminous and quietly unforgettable.

England Till I Die — 10pm, Channel 4. Catch up via Channel 4 Streaming.

A sharp and unsettling slice of reportage. Filmmaker Jamie Roberts follows Liam, an East Sussex anti-immigration activist, over nine months.

Sicario 2: Soldado — 10.40pm, BBC One (2018)

The follow-up drops Emily Blunt and doubles down on Brolin and del Toro. Darker, harsher and less subtle than the original, but still gripping.

Our Ladies — 1.45am, Film4 (2019)

A group of Catholic schoolgirls descend on Edinburgh for a choir competition and immediately discover they’re far more interested in freedom, mischief and possibility than in hitting the right notes. What follows is a chaotic, funny and unexpectedly tender day out, as friendships shift, loyalties wobble and each girl tests the limits of who she might become once the school walls aren’t around her.

The film’s strength is its honesty. It doesn’t romanticise teenage rebellion, but it doesn’t scold it either. The humour is sharp, the dialogue rings true, and the performances capture that mix of bravado and vulnerability that defines being young and desperate to escape the version of yourself adults insist on seeing. Edinburgh becomes part of the adventure — messy, tempting, full of corners where trouble and opportunity blur together.

Funny, warm and considerably less pious than their teachers might like. A small gem of a coming‑of‑age film.

Thursday 17 September

The Secret Life of Bees — 7pm, Channel 5.

A look at the extraordinary variety of Britain’s bees — some 270 species — exploring their history, science and habitats. It begins with a visit to King Charles III’s bees at Highgrove.

Heatwaves & Food Prices: Saving on Your Supermarket Shop? — Tonight — 7.30pm, ITV1/STV.

Kate Quilton explores how the UK’s heatwaves have affected farmers and food prices.

The Theory of Everything — 9pm, Film4 (2014)

Eddie Redmayne won the Oscar for his portrayal of Stephen Hawking, with Felicity Jones equally impressive as Jane Hawking.

RED — 10.45pm, ITV1 (2010)

A slick, tongue‑in‑cheek action comedy built around the idea that the world’s most dangerous operatives are now supposed to be enjoying quiet retirement — and are utterly incapable of it. Bruce Willis’s Frank Moses is dragged back into the chaos when his past resurfaces, and he promptly reunites with a motley crew of former colleagues who are even less suited to domestic tranquillity than he is.

Helen Mirren is a delight as a refined assassin who still misses the adrenaline; John Malkovich steals scenes as a paranoid wildcard who’s usually right; and Morgan Freeman brings the easy charm of someone who’s seen everything and is still amused by most of it. The chemistry is the film’s real engine — older, sharper, funnier performers having a ball with material that lets them be both dangerous and daft.

Light, breezy and knowingly ridiculous, RED proves that retirement and tranquillity do not necessarily go together — especially when your old friends are armed to the teeth.

Io Capitano — 11.25pm, Film4 (2023)

Matteo Garrone’s migration drama follows two Senegalese teenagers, Seydou and Moussa, as they attempt the dangerous, often deadly journey to Europe — a route that promises opportunity but delivers exploitation, violence and unimaginable risk. What begins as a hopeful adventure quickly becomes a test of endurance, as the boys move through deserts, detention centres and the brutal economics of human trafficking.

Garrone films their odyssey with a stark, unblinking honesty. There’s no melodrama, no sensationalism, just the steady accumulation of hardship and small, fragile moments of kindness. The performances are remarkable in their simplicity: two boys trying to stay human in circumstances designed to strip that humanity away. The film’s power lies in its refusal to look away, and in its insistence that migration is not an abstract debate but a lived experience carried by real people with real dreams.

Tough, humane and quietly devastating — a story told with clarity, compassion and a refusal to simplify the truth.

Talking Pictures: David Lean — 11.30pm, BBC Four.

Following our Saturday selection of Lawrence of Arabia, this is a welcome opportunity to learn more about the man behind it. An archive-based insight into the life and career of director David Lean.

Friday 18 September

Shadow of a Doubt — 11am, Film4 (1943)

One of Hitchcock’s own favourites. Joseph Cotten brings menace into small-town America as Uncle Charlie, and the darkness gradually seeps through the respectable surface.

Coastal Unit — 9pm, More4. Walter Presents.

A French cop drama with a breezier touch than the genre usually allows. Brilliant rookie Lucia Passente is paired with jaded, old‑school veteran Victor Bruno Salomone, and the show leans into the fun of that mismatch — her sharp instincts and modern methods colliding with his weary pragmatism and “seen it all” attitude. The cases are serious enough, but the tone is lighter, warmer, more character‑led than the average procedural.

The coastal setting helps. Sun, sea and small‑town tensions give the series a relaxed rhythm, even when the investigations turn knotty. What keeps it engaging is the dynamic between the leads: Lucia’s energy pushing against Victor’s cynicism, each quietly learning from the other as they navigate crimes, colleagues and the odd personal complication.

Philadelphia — 9pm, GREAT! TV (1993)

Tom Hanks won his first Oscar for this landmark mainstream drama about AIDS, discrimination and dignity, with Denzel Washington alongside him.

Rolling Stones Night — from 10.10pm, BBC Four. Catch up via BBC iPlayer.

Unbelievably, the Rolling Stones are now up to their 25th studio album, and BBC Four marks their extraordinary longevity with an evening devoted to the band.

First up is a 2015 concert recorded at Hollywood’s Fonda Theatre, where the Stones performed their classic 1971 album Sticky Fingers in its entirety for the first — and, to date, only — time.

That is followed by two episodes of the 2022 series My Life as a Rolling Stone: Mick at 11.35pm, followed by Ronnie at 12.35am.

Starve Acre — 11pm, BBC Two (2023)

Matt Smith and Morfydd Clark anchor this bleak folk‑horror tale set in a Yorkshire landscape that seems determined to smother any hope. The story begins with a family grieving the loss of their young son, trying to hold themselves together in an isolated farmhouse where silence feels heavier than comfort. As Smith’s character becomes obsessed with the land’s strange history — old rituals, older stories, and something buried that should have stayed buried — the film shifts from domestic sorrow into something far more unsettling.

What makes Starve Acre effective is its restraint. The horror isn’t loud; it creeps. The countryside is shot not as pastoral beauty but as a place where ancient forces linger just out of sight, waiting for grief to weaken the boundary between the living and whatever came before. Clark brings a brittle, aching vulnerability, while Smith’s slow slide into obsession gives the film its unnerving pulse.

Bleak, atmospheric and quietly chilling — a folk‑horror story where the land itself feels like the antagonist.

Moonage Daydream — 1.20am, Channel 4 (2022)

Brett Morgen’s kaleidoscopic David Bowie documentary is less biography than sensory experience, making extensive use of Bowie’s own words, music and archive material. Take a look at the review I wrote when it was out at the cinema.

Streaming

Netflix

The Doll — all six episodes available from Wednesday 16 September.

A Polish drama centred on the ambitious Stanisław, a man determined to climb the social ladder while becoming increasingly consumed by his infatuation with Isabella.

Teenage Wasteland — available now.

Set in 1991 in blue-collar Middletown, New York, this tells the story of a teacher who creates a class called Electronic English in an attempt to connect with and engage his students.

Prime Video

You and Me Against the World — available from Friday 18 September.

Student Alma Lancaster is hiding rather a lot from her family. She is supposed to be studying law but is actually taking a filmmaking course. As if that were not enough, she is also involved with the rebellious Vadim, another part of her life unlikely to meet with family approval.

MobLand — Season 2 — episodes released weekly from Friday 18 September.

The criminal clans are back, including the Harrigans, with rivalries, alliances and family loyalties once again at the centre of things.

The Wizard of the Kremlin — available now.

A drama about the rise of Vladimir Putin and the political world surrounding his ascent to power.

Apple TV+

Slow Horses — Season 6, Episode 1 — available Wednesday 16 September.

Jackson Lamb and the dysfunctional inhabitants of Slough House return for another series.

Disney+

City of Blood — all eight episodes available Wednesday 16 September.

In a dystopian Berlin ruthlessly divided between rich and poor, sisters Phoebe, Soma, Paisa and Bea find themselves on opposite sides of the class divide. As they dig into the city’s criminal networks, they discover who is really pulling the strings.

Vampires.

Leaving Soon

Brassed Off — available on Channel 4 until Wednesday 16 September.

The Yorkshire mining community rallies around its colliery brass band against a backdrop of threatened pit closures, redundancies and a way of life being dismantled.

Coming Soon

The Diplomat — Series 4 — Netflix, available 15 October.

Radio

Saturday 12 September

The Bayeux Tapestry — 6am, 11am and 5pm, Radio 4 Extra.

An unusual recording from 1944 taking listeners through the story told by the Bayeux Tapestry.

Archive on 4: First Contact — 8pm, Radio 4.

A fascinating and difficult subject: indigenous peoples who remain uncontacted by the outside world. Survival International estimated in a November 2025 report that there are 196 uncontacted peoples around the world, chiefly in the Amazon basin.

Sunday 13 September

Between the Ears: A Circular History of the Loop — 7pm, Radio 3.

The loop — the repeated phrase, drum beat, guitar riff or fragment of sound — has become fundamental to modern music. This explores its history, including the wonderfully inventive methods of BBC Radiophonic Workshop composer Delia Derbyshire, for whom even tapping a metal lampshade with a small hammer could become raw musical material.

Monday 14–Friday 18 September

The Essay: In Voice — 9.45pm, Radio 3.

With the help of ear, nose and throat specialist Declan Costello, tenor Nicky Spence investigates how the human voice actually works. A week of essays looking at that most familiar, personal and surprisingly complicated of instruments.

Tuesday 15 September

Life as a Muse — 4pm, Radio 4.

Does the muse still have a place in the way we think about art and creativity? This considers the traditional idea of the muse while challenging some of the assumptions — and power relationships — that have come with it.

Selections and reviews by Pat Harrington

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Culture Vulture 6th–12th June 2026

The countdown to the World Cup continues, and football runs through this week’s selections like a thread stitched into the cultural fabric. From 1966: The World Cup Final in Colour and Lionesses: How Football Came Home to Gareth Southgate’s thoughtful exploration of modern masculinity and Kevin Bridges’ search for the soul of the beautiful game, television seems determined to remind us why football remains far more than a sport. It is memory, identity, aspiration and sometimes national therapy.

Away from the pitch, there is plenty to tempt the curious viewer. Ken Loach reflects on a lifetime spent chronicling working-class Britain, Steven Spielberg offers perhaps his most personal film in The Fabelmans, while science fiction enthusiasts are spoiled with everything from Blade Runner 2049 and Ex Machina to documentaries tracing the genre’s history from Mary Shelley to Isaac Asimov. Add in ancient Greece, Constantine the Great, James Dean, Clint Eastwood, Billy Idol and Muhammad Ali, and the result is one of the most varied weeks of the year so far.

As always, Culture Vulture’s aim is not simply to recommend programmes but to encourage exploration. The best television and cinema take us somewhere unexpected. This week, whether that journey leads to a football stadium, a distant galaxy, an Alpine village or the Roman Empire, there are plenty of worthwhile destinations.

Saturday 6th June

The Longest Day (1962) – Film4, 1:10pm

There’s a kind of architectural grace to The Longest Day — a film built not for spectacle but for endurance. Every sequence feels placed with deliberation, every perspective a brick in a vast, collective structure. It doesn’t chase emotion; it constructs it, piece by piece, until the enormity of D‑Day becomes something you can inhabit rather than merely watch.

What’s remarkable is its refusal to narrow the lens. Instead of a single hero’s journey, we get a mosaic of nationalities and motives, each fragment carrying its own rhythm. The film’s scale becomes human precisely because it’s broken into smaller, comprehensible acts — soldiers crossing fields, commanders weighing impossible decisions, civilians caught in the undertow of history.

Shot in stark black and white, it has the clarity of reportage. There’s no glamour in the mud, no romanticism in the chaos. Even the grand set‑pieces feel matter‑of‑fact, as if the camera were recording rather than interpreting. That restraint gives the film its moral weight: it honours the event by refusing to simplify it.

What lingers is the design — the sense that you’re watching not just a film but a reconstruction of memory itself. It may lack the visceral immediacy of modern war cinema, but its precision and quiet authority have aged beautifully. The Longest Day endures because it understands that history, like architecture, is built to last.

Prometheus (2012) – 5Star, 9:00pm

Few films divide opinion quite as consistently as Prometheus, and perhaps that is part of its appeal. It is a work that reaches, sometimes beyond its grasp, but always with an evident seriousness of intent. Ridley Scott returns to a universe he helped define, yet seems determined not to repeat himself.

What emerges is less a horror film than a meditation—albeit an uneasy one—on origins and belief. The questions it raises are large, almost unwieldy: who made us, and why? And more importantly, what does it mean if the answers are not comforting?

Visually, it is often extraordinary. Scott’s control of space, light and texture transforms even the simplest scenes into something imposing. The environments feel simultaneously alien and strangely recognisable, reinforcing the film’s central unease.

Yet the narrative resists coherence at times. Characters behave unpredictably, motivations blur, and the plot occasionally strains under the weight of its ideas. But even these flaws feel oddly consistent with the film’s ambition—it is less interested in tidy storytelling than in provocation.

For all its imperfections, Prometheus remains compelling. It is a film that invites interrogation rather than passive viewing, and that alone makes it worth revisiting.

Bohemian Rhapsody (2018) – Channel 4, 9:00pm

At its core, Bohemian Rhapsody is not a biography in the strict sense, but a celebration—one that occasionally sacrifices nuance for momentum. It moves briskly through familiar milestones, selecting moments that reinforce its central narrative of rise, fall and triumphant return.

Where it falters, it does so through simplification. Complex relationships are streamlined, tensions softened, contradictions smoothed over. But the film seems unconcerned with precision. Its priorities lie elsewhere.

Those priorities become clear in its musical sequences. Here, the film shifts register entirely, allowing performance to take precedence over narrative. The energy becomes infectious, the pacing more assured, the purpose more focused.

The Live Aid reconstruction is the culmination of that approach. Meticulously staged and emotionally calibrated, it is less a re-creation than a kind of cinematic homage. It works not because it is perfect, but because it understands what the moment represents.

In the end, it is a film that succeeds through feeling rather than detail. And while it may not satisfy every expectation, it is difficult to deny its impact.

Vermiglio (2024) – BBC Four, 9:20pm

Vermiglio unfolds with remarkable patience, allowing its world to emerge gradually rather than assert itself. Set within an isolated mountain community, it captures not just a place but a way of life that feels quietly on the verge of transition.

The pacing is deliberate, almost meditative. Moments are allowed to breathe, conversations linger, silences carry weight. There is little sense of urgency, yet a subtle tension runs beneath the surface.

Visually, the film is striking in its restraint. The landscape is not presented as spectacle, but as presence—constant, watchful, shaping the lives within it. Interiors are equally carefully composed, each frame suggesting relationships before they are spoken.

What gives the film its depth is its attention to detail. Small gestures, fleeting glances, everyday routines—these become the building blocks of something much larger. It is observation elevated into storytelling.

By its conclusion, Vermiglio does not so much resolve as settle. It leaves behind an impression rather than a statement, and that impression stays with you.

Blade Runner 2049 (2017) – BBC One, 10:20pm

Sequels often struggle under the weight of expectation, but Blade Runner 2049 approaches its inheritance with unusual confidence. Rather than attempting to replicate the original, it expands upon it—both visually and philosophically.

Villeneuve’s direction is precise, almost measured. Scenes unfold with a calm assurance that allows the ideas to surface naturally. There is no rush to explain, no urgency to conclude. The film trusts its audience.

Visually, it is extraordinary. Every frame feels composed, every environment carefully realised. The scale is vast, yet the focus remains intimate. This balance between spectacle and introspection is rare, and here it is sustained throughout.

Thematically, it deepens the original’s concerns with identity and memory. What does it mean to be human? And perhaps more intriguingly, what does it mean to believe that you are?

There is a quiet melancholy running through the film, a sense of distance that never fully resolves. It gives the narrative its emotional core, even when the plot becomes secondary.

The result is a sequel that feels both respectful and independent—a continuation that justifies its own existence.

BlackBerry (2023) – Channel 4, 11:35pm

BlackBerry approaches its subject with an unexpected lightness of touch. What might have been a straightforward corporate drama instead becomes something more agile—part satire, part character study, part cautionary tale.

The story of rapid ascent is handled with energy. Innovation, ambition and a certain degree of naïveté drive the early stages, creating a sense of inevitability that feels almost exhilarating.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the tone begins to shift. Success becomes pressure, growth becomes instability, and the cracks begin to show. The transition is gradual, which makes it all the more convincing.

Performance plays a central role here. The characters are drawn with enough specificity to feel real, yet broad enough to capture the wider themes. There is humour, but also tension.

What the film ultimately captures is not just the rise and fall of a company, but the fragility of success itself. It is as much about timing as it is about innovation.

Sunday 7th June

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958) – BBC Two, 1:00pm

Adapted from Tennessee Williams, the film retains much of the play’s theatrical intensity while opening it out just enough for the screen. The result is a chamber piece charged with emotional pressure.

The performances are central. Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman bring a volatile chemistry that never quite settles. Their exchanges carry a sense of unfinished business, of things left unsaid.

Beneath the surface lies a network of tensions—family, identity, expectation—that never fully resolve. The film thrives on this instability.

Dialogue does much of the work, but it is supported by careful staging and pacing. Scenes are allowed to unfold without interruption, creating a sense of accumulation.

It is a film that operates as much in what it withholds as in what it reveals.

The Beautiful Game (2024) – Channel 4, 3:35pm

Football provides the framework, but the film’s interests lie elsewhere. It uses the sport as a means of exploring dignity, resilience and the possibility of redemption.

The narrative is straightforward, but effective. Each character brings a different perspective, allowing the themes to emerge organically rather than being imposed.

There is a warmth to the storytelling that carries it through its more predictable moments. It never feels cynical, even when it leans towards sentiment.

Visually, it keeps things grounded. The emphasis remains on people rather than spectacle.

By the end, it is less about victory than about recognition—of self, of worth, of possibility.

Unforgiven (1992) – BBC Two, 10:45pm

Unforgiven dismantles the mythology of the western with quiet precision. It does not reject the genre outright, but it questions its assumptions at every turn.

Eastwood’s performance is central to that process. His character carries the weight of history—both personal and cinematic. Every action feels deliberate, considered.

Violence is presented without glamour. Its consequences are immediate and lasting, stripping away any sense of heroism.

The film’s pacing reflects its themes. It moves slowly, allowing tension to build without release.

What remains is something far more complex than a traditional western. It is a reflection on memory, regret and the stories we tell ourselves.

The Damned United (2009) – BBC One, 11:30pm

At first glance, it looks like a football film — the dugouts, the touchline fury, the familiar choreography of triumph and disaster. But The Damned United is really something narrower and far more revealing: a character study disguised as a sports drama. Brian Clough isn’t presented as a legend in waiting but as a man caught between swagger and self‑doubt, ambition and insecurity. The film is less interested in what he won than in what it cost him to want it so badly.

Michael Sheen captures that contradiction with unnerving precision. His Clough is magnetic one moment and brittle the next, a man who performs confidence because he cannot bear to show how fragile he feels underneath. Sheen plays him as someone who needs the room to love him but fears the moment they stop. It’s a performance built on tension — the kind that flickers behind the eyes rather than erupts in speeches.

The film’s structure helps enormously. By focusing on a single, disastrous chapter of Clough’s career, it avoids the sprawl of the traditional biopic. Instead, it becomes a study in pressure: the Leeds job as crucible, as mirror, as trap. The narrowness gives it clarity. We’re not watching a life; we’re watching a moment that defines one.

There’s humour here — sharp, needling, often at Clough’s expense — but it’s threaded with discomfort. The film refuses to indulge in easy admiration. It understands that charisma can be corrosive, that brilliance can shade into self‑destruction, and that the line between confidence and delusion is thinner than most of us would like to admit.

In the end, The Damned United is as much about failure as success, and that’s what makes it compelling. It’s a portrait of a man who wanted greatness so fiercely that he almost broke himself chasing it — and a reminder that sometimes the most interesting stories are the ones where things fall apart.

Monday 8th June

Bridge of Spies (2015) – Film4, 8:00pm

Spielberg treats the Cold War not as spectacle but as moral geometry — a landscape of lines, boundaries and quiet negotiations. The film moves with deliberate calm, its tension drawn from the spaces between words rather than the explosions that usually define the genre. It’s a story about decency under pressure, and the courage required to remain ordinary when the world demands extremes.

Tom Hanks anchors it with a performance of quiet conviction. His character, James Donovan, is not a man of grand gestures but of steady principles. In a world of paranoia and posturing, his restraint becomes radical. Hanks plays him as someone who believes that fairness is not naïve but necessary — that the law, even when inconvenient, is the last defence against chaos.

Visually, the film is composed like a negotiation itself: muted tones, careful framing, the chill of divided Berlin rendered with painterly precision. Spielberg’s camera doesn’t shout; it listens. Every shot feels weighed, every silence deliberate. The result is a film that trusts its audience to feel the gravity of diplomacy without the need for spectacle.

All of Us Strangers (2023) – Channel 4, 10:00pm

All of Us Strangers moves like a dream you’re not entirely sure you want to wake from — drifting between memory, imagination and lived experience with a kind of emotional weightlessness. It resists the usual scaffolding of narrative, choosing instead to follow the currents of feeling: uncertain, searching, unresolved. The film’s pacing mirrors its themes, as if time itself were hesitating.

The performances carry the film’s emotional charge. There’s a vulnerability here that never feels engineered — a kind of openness that allows the smallest gestures to land with surprising force. Andrew Scott, in particular, plays grief as something porous, a state that leaks into everything without ever announcing itself.

Relationships are drawn with unusual care. Nothing is simplified, nothing forced into neat arcs. Instead, the film allows complexity to emerge gradually, like a photograph developing in slow motion. The connections feel fragile but real, shaped as much by what is unsaid as by what is spoken.

Visually, the film walks a delicate line between realism and abstraction. Interiors glow with a soft, uncanny warmth; exteriors feel slightly out of reach, as though the world were being remembered rather than observed. It’s a film that understands how memory distorts even as it preserves.

All of Us Strangers doesn’t tie its threads together; it lets them drift, trusting that the audience will feel the shape of what can’t quite be articulated.


Tuesday 9th June

The Fabelmans (2022)

Film4, 9:00pm

Spielberg turns the camera on himself — or at least on the emotional terrain of his childhood. The Fabelmans is a film about the birth of an artist, but also about the fractures and loyalties of family life. It’s tender, painful, funny and occasionally startling in its honesty. What makes it so affecting is the way Spielberg balances the mythmaking of cinema with the messiness of real life. The film understands that art can be both an escape and a reckoning.

The performances are uniformly superb. Michelle Williams gives one of her finest turns as a woman torn between duty and desire, while Paul Dano brings quiet, heartbreaking dignity to a father who cannot quite understand the world his son is entering. The film’s emotional centre, though, is Gabriel LaBelle, who plays the young Spielberg with a mixture of vulnerability and fierce creative instinct.

What lingers is the film’s generosity. Even when depicting pain, it refuses to be cruel. It is a work of memory — imperfect, selective, but deeply felt. A late‑career masterpiece.

Muhammad Ali Night

BBC Four, from 10:00pm

A portrait of a man whose influence extended far beyond sport. Ali remains one of the most charismatic figures of the 20th century, and the documentaries capture both his brilliance and his contradictions. The programmes avoid hagiography, instead presenting a man who was equal parts poet, fighter, activist and showman.

Brexit: A Very British Civil War (Part Two)

BBC Two, 11:00pm

The conclusion of a story that continues to shape British public life. The documentary is clear‑eyed without being cynical, tracing the political and cultural fractures that remain unresolved.

Science Fiction in the Atomic Age: Mary Shelley to Isaac Asimov

Sky Arts, 11:00pm

A quietly absorbing journey through the roots of a genre that has always doubled as a cultural pressure gauge. What the programme understands — and articulates beautifully — is that science fiction isn’t really about the future at all. It’s about the present: the fears we can’t name, the hopes we barely admit, the technologies we suspect might outgrow us.

Tracing a line from Frankenstein to Foundation gives the documentary a pleasing sweep. Mary Shelley’s gothic anxiety about creation and responsibility sits surprisingly comfortably beside Asimov’s cool, rational visions of robotics and empire. The programme treats these works not as curiosities but as milestones in our evolving relationship with science — each one a marker of what humanity was afraid of, or yearning for, at a particular moment.

What makes it compelling is its refusal to flatten the genre into a single narrative. Instead, it shows how science fiction has always been a conversation: between writers and readers, between imagination and technology, between dread and possibility. The Atomic Age becomes a kind of crucible, where fear of annihilation and excitement about progress coexist uneasily.

By the end, you’re left with a sense of continuity — that the questions Shelley posed in the 19th century are still with us, simply wearing new clothes. The documentary doesn’t try to answer them. It just reminds us why we keep asking.

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

ITV1, 11:00pm

Terminator 2 remains one of those rare sequels that doesn’t just outdo its predecessor — it redefines the terrain entirely. What James Cameron achieves here is a kind of muscular elegance: action cinema engineered with the precision of a machine and the emotional pulse of something unmistakably human. The film moves with propulsive force, yet never feels rushed; every set‑piece is earned, every beat calibrated.

What surprises, even now, is the emotional undercurrent. Beneath the molten steel, the chases, the relentless forward motion, there’s a story about connection — unlikely, fragile, and all the more affecting for it. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s T‑800, once a symbol of implacable threat, becomes a study in programmed compassion, while Linda Hamilton’s Sarah Connor is transformed into something fierce, haunted and utterly compelling.

Visually, the film still feels astonishingly modern. The liquid‑metal T‑1000 remains one of cinema’s great creations, not because of the effects alone but because of the cold, unsettling grace with which it moves. Cameron understands that technology is most frightening when it feels inevitable.

More than three decades on, T2 hasn’t lost its edge. It’s still the benchmark — the film that proved action cinema could be thrilling, intelligent and unexpectedly tender, all at once.

Mean Streets (1973)

Film4, 11:55pm

Mean Streets still feels like a live wire — raw, restless, and vibrating with the energy of a filmmaker discovering his voice in real time. Scorsese’s breakthrough isn’t polished; it isn’t meant to be. It moves with the jittery rhythm of the neighbourhood it depicts, a world where loyalty is currency and guilt is a constant, unpayable debt. You don’t watch it so much as get pulled into its orbit.

Harvey Keitel’s Charlie is the film’s uneasy centre of gravity, a man trying to balance faith, obligation and the gravitational pull of old streets that refuse to let him go. He’s torn between the life he wants and the life he owes — a tension Scorsese renders with a kind of bruised tenderness. Charlie’s moral compass spins, but never quite settles.

Then there’s De Niro’s Johnny Boy, a performance that still feels dangerous. He’s chaos in a leather jacket — charming, reckless, infuriating, and impossible to ignore. The chemistry between Keitel and De Niro is electric, the kind that suggests a lifetime of shared history even when the script leaves it unspoken.

What gives the film its enduring power is its authenticity. Scorsese isn’t mythologising the streets; he’s remembering them — the bars, the debts, the rituals of masculinity, the way violence can erupt from nothing and return to nothing just as quickly. It’s a portrait of a community that traps as much as it sustains.

Half a century on, Mean Streets still crackles. It’s messy, alive, and utterly sincere — a film that understands how hard it is to leave the places that shaped you, even when you know you should.


Wednesday 10th June

Constantine the Great

PBS America, 8:50pm

History on an epic scale as the life of the Roman emperor unfolds. The documentary traces Constantine’s rise with clarity and sweep, showing how one man’s political instincts and religious convictions reshaped the ancient world. It’s a reminder that empires turn on personalities as much as armies.

Riddick (2013)

Sky One, 9:00pm

Riddick is the franchise stripped back to its sinew — no prophecy, no operatic world‑building, just a man, a hostile planet and the stubborn will to outlive whatever wants him dead. It’s a return to the lean, survivalist instincts that made the character compelling in the first place. The film moves with a kind of simplicity, as if clearing its throat after the bloated mythology of Chronicles.

Vin Diesel slips back into the role with the ease of someone putting on a well‑worn jacket. His Riddick is still all gravel and glare, but there’s a sharper edge here — a sense of calculation beneath the brute force. The film gives him room to be cunning rather than merely indestructible, and that shift makes the action feel more grounded, more earned.

The setup is classic pulp: abandoned on a sun‑scorched world, hunted by mercenaries who underestimate him, and stalked by creatures that definitely don’t. But the execution has a pleasing clarity. Director David Twohy knows exactly what kind of film he’s making — a survival thriller with sci‑fi trimmings — and he doesn’t clutter it with unnecessary lore.

What emerges is a story that feels oddly refreshing in its directness. No grand destinies, no cosmic stakes, just a man trying to stay alive long enough to get off the rock he’s been left on. It’s not profound, but it is satisfying — a reminder that sometimes the most effective sequels are the ones that remember what worked in the first place.

Ken Loach Remembers

BBC Four, 10:05pm

A reflective, moving look back at a career spent chronicling working‑class Britain. Loach speaks with the clarity and compassion that have defined his work for decades. There’s a sense of summing up here — not nostalgia, but a quiet reckoning with the stories he felt compelled to tell.

The Old Oak (2023)

BBC Four, 10:20pm

The Old Oak feels like a final note held just a little longer than expected — quiet, steady, and full of the moral clarity that has defined Loach’s career. Set in a former mining town hollowed out by decades of loss, the film watches what happens when a community already on its knees is asked to absorb even more change. There’s no sentimentality here, just the hard, necessary work of people trying to live alongside one another.

Loach treats migration not as a political talking point but as a human encounter: awkward, fraught, hopeful, and often tender in ways that catch you off guard. The pub at the film’s centre becomes a kind of pressure chamber, a place where old grievances and new possibilities collide. It’s a setting Loach understands instinctively — the last communal room in a town that has lost almost everything else.

What gives the film its quiet power is its belief in connection. Not easy connection, not the tidy kind that resolves itself by the credits, but the slow, fragile kind built through shared meals, shared stories, and the recognition of mutual struggle. Loach has always been at his best when he shows solidarity not as a slogan but as a practice, and The Old Oak is steeped in that sensibility.

As a final chapter, it feels right. Not triumphant, not despairing — simply honest. A filmmaker taking one last look at the people he has spent a lifetime championing, and offering them, and us, a measure of hope.

Witches: Truth Behind the Trials

National Geographic, 10:00pm

An examination of fear, power and one of history’s most enduring moral panics. The documentary digs into the social and political forces that fuelled witch trials, showing how hysteria becomes a tool for control.

Up the Junction

BBC Four, 12:25am

Up the Junction still lands with the force of something freshly made — raw, unvarnished, and unwilling to soften its edges for comfort. It’s one of those rare pieces of television that feels like a rupture, a reminder of just how radical British TV once dared to be. The film’s honesty is almost abrasive: no sentimentality, no tidy resolutions, just the lived reality of working‑class women navigating a world that offers them little and judges them for taking even that.

What makes it endure is its refusal to look away. The performances have a documentary immediacy, the kind that makes you forget you’re watching actors at all. The social commentary isn’t delivered as message but as experience — embedded in the rhythms of daily life, the choices constrained by circumstance, the quiet tragedies that accumulate.

Half a century on, its power hasn’t dimmed. If anything, its clarity feels sharper now, a reminder of a time when television didn’t just reflect society but confronted it.


Thursday 11th June

The Making of King Arthur

BBC Four, 8:00pm

A thoughtful exploration of Britain’s most enduring legend — part history, part myth, part national mirror. The programme traces how Arthur has been reinvented across centuries, reflecting the hopes and anxieties of each era.

James Dean: The Emotional Man

Sky Arts, 9:00pmA portrait of a performer who seemed to burn from the inside out. James Dean’s career was brief enough to feel like a flash, yet the emotional afterglow has lasted decades — a mixture of youthful intensity, unresolved longing and that strange, magnetic vulnerability that made him look both invincible and breakable at the same time.

The documentary leans into that duality. It doesn’t try to tidy him into a myth, nor does it pretend the myth isn’t part of the story. Instead, it traces the tension between the boy he was, the man he was becoming, and the icon the world insisted on making him. You feel the fragility beneath the swagger, the ache beneath the cool.

What emerges is a study in contradictions: a performer who seemed to reveal everything while giving almost nothing away; a symbol of rebellion who was, in many ways, searching for connection; a star whose brief life became a template for a certain kind of cinematic longing.

It’s a reminder that some figures endure not because they were fully understood, but because they never quite were. Dean remains one of them.

Constantine the Great (Part Two)

PBS America, 8:35pm

The concluding chapter follows the emperor’s creation of Constantinople and the reshaping of an empire. A sweeping end to a story that still echoes through European history.

Ex Machina (2014)

Film4, 10:45pm

Ex Machina still feels like a shard of ice slipped under the skin — sleek, controlled, and quietly unnerving. Alex Garland builds his story with the precision of a psychological trap, letting tension accumulate in the pauses, the glances, the silences that stretch just a little too long. It’s science fiction pared back to its essentials: intelligence, power, desire, and the dangerous spaces where they overlap.

Oscar Isaac gives the film its swaggering volatility, a tech‑messiah with a god complex and a taste for manipulation. Alicia Vikander, by contrast, is all poise and ambiguity — a performance so finely calibrated you’re never entirely sure where the machine ends and the person begins. Their scenes hum with a kind of electric unease.

Visually, the film is immaculate. Glass, concrete, soft light, and the sense that every surface is observing you. Garland uses the environment like a second script, a place where transparency becomes its own form of menace.

And then there’s the final act — cold, precise, inevitable. It lands not with shock but with the quiet, devastating logic of a conclusion you should have seen coming all along.

Arena: Clint Eastwood – Out of the West

BBC Four, 11:05pm

A portrait of one of Hollywood’s last great auteurs — a filmmaker whose career spans genres, decades and cultural shifts. The documentary is affectionate without being fawning.

Clint Eastwood: American Filmmaker

BBC Four, 12:05am

The second part of an excellent Eastwood double bill, tracing the evolution of a director who has always been more complex than his public image suggests.

Little Richard: I Am Everything (2023)

Channel 4, 1:55am

A blast of colour, noise and unapologetic self‑invention, Little Richard: I Am Everything is as flamboyant and furious as the man himself. The documentary refuses to sand down the contradictions — the joy, the rage, the brilliance, the lifelong tug‑of‑war between identity and expectation. It understands that Little Richard didn’t just help invent rock and roll; he detonated it, reshaping the cultural landscape with a scream, a shimmy and a streak of eyeliner.

What the film captures so well is the emotional voltage behind the performance. The joy is real — ecstatic, liberating — but so is the fury, the sense of someone fighting to claim space in a world determined to shrink him. The archival footage crackles, the interviews deepen the portrait, and the whole thing moves with the rhythm of a man who refused to be quiet.

It’s vibrant, defiant, and impossible to ignore — just like Richard himself.


Friday 12th June

Hunting the Debt Predators

Channel 4, 8:00pm

Investigative journalism at its most urgent. A look at those who profit from financial hardship — and the people fighting back. The programme is angry, clear‑eyed and necessary.

Queer (2024)

BBC Two, 11:00pm

A bold, jagged adaptation of Burroughs that refuses to smooth the edges of the source material. Queer moves with a kind of raw, intimate unease — a film that sits inside longing, self‑loathing and desire without trying to tidy any of it into catharsis. It feels both anchored in its period and strangely unmoored from time, as if the emotional landscape hasn’t changed as much as we’d like to think.

The film leans into the book’s nervy, uncomfortable honesty. Relationships are sketched in quick, piercing strokes; the vulnerability is palpable but never overstated. What emerges is a portrait of a man circling his own loneliness, reaching out and recoiling in the same breath.

Visually, it balances grit with a kind of feverish lyricism — realism shading into hallucination, memory bleeding into the present. It’s a film that trusts atmosphere as much as narrative.

The result is unsettling, intimate, and quietly devastating. It doesn’t seek resolution; it simply sits with the ache.

Queen & Slim (2019)

BBC Two, 1:10am

Queen & Slim unfolds like a modern myth written on the move — a road movie where romance, tragedy and political urgency are braided so tightly they become inseparable. It starts quietly, almost tentatively, then gathers emotional force until it hits with the weight of something inevitable.

What makes it so powerful is the intimacy at its core. The relationship grows in the spaces between danger, in the glances and hesitations, in the way two people learn to trust each other while the world closes in. The film never rushes that connection; it lets it breathe, deepen, complicate.

Visually, it’s striking — bold compositions, saturated colours, a sense of America as both vast and claustrophobic. The landscapes feel mythic, yet the violence and injustice that shape the journey are painfully real.

By the end, the film leaves you with a mixture of ache and awe. It’s a love story, a protest and a lament.


Streaming Choice

Michael Jackson: The Verdict (Netflix)

All three episodes available from Wednesday 3rd June

A forensic, often uncomfortable examination of one of the most scrutinised trials in modern pop‑culture history. The documentary avoids sensationalism, instead laying out the legal, cultural and media forces that shaped the case. It’s sober, detailed and designed to provoke reflection rather than deliver easy answers.

USA 94: Brazil’s Return to Glory (Netflix)

Available from Sunday 7th June

A richly assembled look back at one of the World Cup’s most emotionally charged triumphs. The documentary captures both the tactical evolution of the Brazilian side and the wider cultural moment that surrounded their victory. For football fans, it’s a warm bath of nostalgia; for everyone else, it’s a reminder of how sport can become a national myth.

Daisy Jones & The Six (ITVX)

All 10 episodes available from Sunday 7th June

One of the finest music dramas of recent years. Adapted from Taylor Jenkins Reid’s novel, the series charts the rise and implosion of a fictional 1970s rock band with such conviction that it feels like a recovered piece of music history. The performances are magnetic, the songs are genuinely good, and the emotional fallout is handled with surprising delicacy. It first appeared on Prime, where I watched it, and I loved every episode.

The Score (ITVX)

Both episodes available from Monday 8th June

A taut, stylish two‑parter that blends crime drama with character study. The Score is less interested in the mechanics of wrongdoing than in the people who find themselves pulled into its orbit. Sharp writing and a lean runtime make it an easy, satisfying binge.

The Evil Lawyer (Netflix)

All seven episodes available from Thursday 11th June

A taut, stylish legal thriller with a decidedly dark streak, The Evil Lawyer takes the familiar architecture of courtroom drama and twists it into something sharper and more morally slippery. The series follows a defence attorney whose brilliance is matched only by his capacity for manipulation, and the result is a portrait of power exercised in the shadows — calculated, ruthless, and unsettlingly compelling.

What gives the show its bite is the way it treats the law not as a noble ideal but as a weapon, wielded by someone who understands exactly how to bend systems, people and outcomes to his will. The tension comes less from the cases themselves than from the psychological games surrounding them: alliances formed and broken, truths buried, motives obscured.

Across seven episodes, the series maintains a sleek, propulsive rhythm. It’s glossy without being hollow, cynical without losing its grip on character, and just heightened enough to feel addictive. Beneath the twists, there’s a clear fascination with the cost of ambition — and the ease with which morality can be traded away when winning becomes the only metric that matters.

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Review of ‘Last Stop Larimah’

There’s a kind of town you come across in the Northern Territory now and then. A pub, a few weather-beaten buildings, maybe a servo if you’re lucky, sitting alone beside the highway as if the rest of the country forgot about it years ago. Larimah is one of those places. Blink while driving north from Daly Waters and you’d miss it entirely. But after watching Last Stop Larimah, you’ll never forget it.

Promotional poster for the HBO documentary 'Last Stop Larrimah: Murder Down Under', featuring a central smiling man in a cowboy hat and various residents in front of Larrimah signs. Text includes release information and credits.

The film circles around the disappearance of Paddy Moriarty, a hard-drinking bush character who vanished one day in 2017 along with his little dog. In any ordinary town it would’ve been odd enough. In Larimah, where the population could nearly fit around a card table, it turned into something between a murder mystery and a bush ballad.

What makes the documentary work so well is that it understands the Territory instinctively. It doesn’t arrive with a clipboard and a superior attitude from Sydney or Melbourne. It lets people talk. It lets silences hang in the air and it understands that Territorians often say the funniest things completely by accident, and that half the truth out bush is hidden inside exaggeration, gossip and old grudges.

And Christ-on-a-Bike, there are grudges in Larimah.

The townsfolk eye each other off like characters from some subtropical western. Everybody’s got a theory about Paddy. Everybody’s got a complaint about somebody else. One woman keeps a collection of homemade dolls hanging from trees that would frighten the life out of you after dark. Another resident carries on like a frontier publican from 1953. There are barking dogs, rusted machinery, warm beer, old caravans and enough personal feuds to start a small war.

The remarkable thing is that none of it feels forced. Australians of a certain age will recognise these people instantly. Every small town had a few once upon a time. Blokes who’d gone north after marriages collapsed. Women tougher than wire. Old bush workers who drank too much, talked too loud and somehow survived everything the country threw at them.

The Territory itself hangs over every scene. Those huge empty distances. The glare coming off the road. The sense that civilisation is a very thin arrangement out there and could blow away in the dry season wind. The filmmakers are wise enough not to overdo it. They let the country speak for itself.

What stays with you afterwards isn’t really the mystery, though that’s compelling enough. It’s the feeling that you’ve glimpsed a fading Australia. Not the tourist-brochure version with infinity pools and sunset cocktails, but the old north where people could still disappear into the scrub and where communities ran on gossip, resilience and sheer bloody-mindedness.

There’s a sadness underneath it all. Larimah feels like the last flicker of a world built by fettlers, drovers, station hands and wanderers who preferred hard country to easy company. Towns like it are disappearing now. The highways got better, the traffic got faster, and modern Australia slowly flowed around them.

But for an hour and a half, Last Stop Larimah takes you back there. Back to the beer-stained bars and dusty verges of the old Territory. Back to an Australia that was eccentric, suspicious, hilarious and strangely free.

A wonderful documentary. Funny without trying too hard, unsettling without becoming morbid, and full of affection for the people of the north. Exactly the sort of story the Territory tells best.

By David Ironside

Available to view in the UK on Netflix.

Picture credit: By http://www.impawards.com/2023/last_stop_larrimah.html, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=78798121

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Culture Vulture: 16th–22nd May 2026

There’s a strong undercurrent running through this week’s selections: institutions under pressure, myths being dismantled, and the uneasy relationship between image and reality. Whether it’s the collapsing morality of Brighton Rock, the paranoia of The Teachers’ Lounge, the media manipulations of Berlusconi and Elon Musk, or Marilyn Monroe trapped within the machinery of celebrity, much of this week’s viewing circles around people caught inside systems larger than themselves. Even the lighter selections carry that tension beneath the surface. Mean Girls understands social hierarchy as ruthlessly as any political thriller, while Rivals turns 1980s television into a battlefield of ego, money and performance.

Three highlights stand out this week. 🌟 Apocalypse Now remains one of cinema’s greatest visions of imperial madness, still overwhelming nearly fifty years on. 🌟 The Teachers’ Lounge is one of the sharpest recent dramas about institutional panic and surveillance culture. 🌟 BBC Four’s Dylan night offers a fascinating meditation on artistic reinvention, obsession and mythmaking around one of popular music’s most elusive figures.

As ever, Culture Vulture tries to look beyond simple entertainment value. This week’s programmes and films repeatedly ask who controls narratives, who benefits from power, and how individuals navigate systems built around spectacle, authority and manipulation. Fortunately, they also happen to be exceptionally entertaining.

Saturday 16th May 2026

🌟 The Teachers’ Lounge (2023) – BBC Four, 9pm and available on BBC iPlayer

This tense German drama turns an ordinary secondary school into a miniature surveillance state. When a series of thefts leads to accusations among staff and pupils, idealistic teacher Carla Nowak finds herself trapped inside a spiralling culture of suspicion, institutional self-protection and moral panic. What begins as a seemingly minor disciplinary issue gradually escalates into something far more unsettling.

Director İlker Çatak understands how quickly modern institutions can become consumed by process rather than justice. The school’s language of fairness and safeguarding masks deeper anxieties around authority, reputation and control, while social media and digital communication intensify every misunderstanding. Leonie Benesch gives a superb performance as a teacher attempting to remain principled while the structures around her quietly collapse.

What makes The Teachers’ Lounge so effective is its refusal to offer easy villains. Almost everyone believes they are acting reasonably, yet the collective result becomes increasingly oppressive and irrational. Sharp, claustrophobic and deeply contemporary, it is one of the most perceptive films about institutional anxiety in recent years.

Brighton Rock (1947) – Talking Pictures, 1.40pm

Few British crime films capture moral decay as vividly as Brighton Rock. Adapted from Brighton Rock by Graham Greene, the film turns the seaside resort into a landscape of spiritual corruption and post-war unease. Richard Attenborough delivers a chilling performance as Pinkie Brown, a teenage gangster whose cruelty seems inseparable from his terror of the world around him.

The Brighton depicted here feels haunted by decline, its cheap entertainments masking something darker beneath the surface. Decades later, the film still feels unsettling precisely because it refuses easy redemption or comforting morality.

Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison (1957) – Film4, 2.55pm

Deborah Kerr and Robert Mitchum bring remarkable emotional subtlety to this wartime drama about isolation, repression and companionship. Director John Huston allows silence and atmosphere to do much of the work, creating a sense of emotional tension that lingers throughout.

The film quietly reflects the anxieties of the 1950s: duty, faith, masculinity and the difficulty of emotional honesty. Beneath the tropical setting lies a surprisingly mature meditation on loneliness and sacrifice.

Mandate for Murder: Britain’s Struggle in Palestine – PBS America, 10.15pm

This documentary examines the final years of the British Mandate in Palestine, exploring how imperial policy, insurgency and diplomatic failure combined to shape a conflict whose consequences still reverberate globally today.

Dense but highly absorbing, it offers valuable historical context for understanding a region still trapped within unresolved tensions from that era.

Upgrade (2018) – Legend, 11.15pm

Leigh Whannell’s brutal techno-thriller feels increasingly plausible with every passing year. Set in a near future dominated by surveillance capitalism and invasive technology, Upgrade follows a paralysed mechanic implanted with an experimental AI system after a violent attack leaves his wife dead.

The film’s ending remains one of the bleakest mainstream science-fiction finales of recent years — a chilling warning about autonomy, algorithms and technological dependency.

The Last Duel (2021) – Channel 4, 11.20pm

Ridley Scott returns to medieval Europe with a film examining violence, masculinity and power through sharply contemporary eyes. Jodie Comer gives the film its moral centre in a story less about spectacle than institutional injustice.

Far from being merely historical drama, the film becomes a study of credibility, entitlement and systems protecting themselves.

Sunday 17th May 2026

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) – BBC Two, 2.30pm

Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell radiate charisma in one of Hollywood’s most joyous musicals. Beneath the glamour sits a surprisingly sharp satire about money, romance and survival within post-war America.

The film’s refusal to punish female ambition remains refreshingly modern.

Mean Girls (2004) – ITV2, 7.05pm

Tina Fey’s Mean Girls arrives in 2004 looking like a bubblegum teen comedy, all pink plastics and cafeteria cartography, but beneath the gloss it’s doing something far more sly. Fey treats the American high school not as a backdrop but as a fully functioning micro‑state — a place where power is negotiated through appearance, language, and the ever‑shifting borders of adolescent allegiance. The film understands that the real curriculum isn’t maths or English but the daily study of how to survive socially without losing your sense of self.

What gives it its staying power is the precision of its observation. Every corridor becomes a diplomatic zone. Every lunch table a fragile coalition. Every outfit a communiqué. And into this world walks Cady Heron, a girl raised outside the system who must learn its rules at speed. Her journey — from naïve outsider to calculating insider and back again — is less a plot than a case study in how identity is shaped, warped and sometimes obliterated by the need to belong.

Long before Instagram, TikTok or the relentless metrics of modern teenage life, Mean Girls grasped the exhausting labour of self‑surveillance. The way young people monitor themselves with the vigilance of border guards. The way a single misstep can feel like a geopolitical crisis. Watching it now, you realise Fey wasn’t just writing jokes; she was diagnosing a culture on the brink of becoming permanently performative.

And yet the film never loses its lightness. It’s funny, quotable, brisk — but threaded with a melancholy awareness of how fragile teenage identities really are. Beneath the bright colours and the comic timing lies a portrait of a generation rehearsing adulthood under fluorescent lights, trying on personas like costumes, hoping one of them might fit.

It remains, two decades on, one of the sharpest dissections of adolescent politics ever smuggled into a mainstream comedy. A film that saw the future coming and, with a raised eyebrow, warned us what it would feel like to live inside it.

The Cage – Episode 4 of 5 – BBC One, 9pm, full series available on BBC iPlayer

This gripping thriller continues to build tension around surveillance, secrecy and institutional distrust. The show’s atmosphere of quiet paranoia increasingly feels rooted in contemporary anxieties about systems designed more to contain than protect.

Brother (2022) – BBC Two, 10.50pm

Based on David Chariandy’s acclaimed novel, Brother is a deeply moving exploration of grief, race and masculinity within Toronto’s Caribbean community. Director Clement Virgo handles the material with enormous sensitivity.

Quietly devastating, it lingers long after the credits.

Mosul (2022) – Great Action, 1.30am

In Mosul, the war is not a backdrop but a suffocating atmosphere—grit, dust, and exhaustion pressed into every frame. The film rejects the clean lines of heroism and instead inhabits the chaos of a city pulverised by ideology and survival instinct. Streets are reduced to rubble, loyalties to reflex. What remains is the human impulse to endure, even when meaning has collapsed.

The Iraqi fighters here are not symbols but men hollowed by repetition—each skirmish another act of attrition rather than triumph. Director Matthew Michael Carnahan captures the rhythm of fatigue: the way violence becomes procedural, stripped of rhetoric, leaving only the weary mechanics of staying alive. The camera moves like a participant, not an observer, its urgency mirroring the moral claustrophobia of a world where every choice corrodes.

By the end, Mosul feels less like a war film than a study in entropy. Ideology dissolves, leaving behind the stubborn persistence of humanity amid ruin—a portrait of courage that refuses to flatter itself.

Monday 18th May 2026

Our Tiny Islands – More4, 9pm

This quietly beautiful documentary visits the Scottish island of Iona, where sheep farmer Joanne balances agricultural life with the fragile realities of island survival.

At a time when television often chases noise and conflict, Our Tiny Islands offers something slower and more reflective.

The Cage – BBC One, 9pm, full series on BBC iPlayer

The latest episode deepens the show’s atmosphere of institutional paranoia, pushing its characters further into moral uncertainty.

Lucy Worsley Investigates: The American Revolution – BBC Two, 9pm, available

Lucy Worsley explores the myths, contradictions and contested narratives surrounding the American Revolution.

Timely viewing at a moment when democratic ideals and national identity are once again fiercely contested.

Thailand: The Dark Side of Paradise – BBC Three, 9pm, 9.45pm and 10.30pm

This documentary strand explores the criminal underworlds and hidden economies operating beneath Thailand’s tourist image, examining how escapism, organised crime and inequality collide.

There is a strong undercurrent of melancholy beneath the beaches and nightlife.

Destroyer (2018) – BBC Two, 11.45pm

Nicole Kidman gives one of her boldest performances in this bleak neo-noir about trauma, guilt and institutional corruption.

Difficult, uncompromising and deeply atmospheric.

Tuesday 19th May 2026

Corinthians: We Were the Champions – BBC Four, 10pm, available on BBC iPlayer

This is the story of a team history almost forgot — the Manchester Corinthians Ladies FC, founded in 1949 and forged in defiance of the FA’s long, punitive ban on women’s football. The documentary gathers ten surviving players, now in their seventies, eighties and nineties, and lets them speak with the clarity of people who lived through something both exhilarating and quietly outrageous: a period when women were told, officially and repeatedly, that the sport they loved was not for them.

What emerges is not a tale of plucky novelty but of solidarity under constraint. These women built their own infrastructure when the governing body refused them pitches, recognition or even basic legitimacy. They toured the world, played to vast crowds abroad, and won tournaments that the FA pretended didn’t exist. The film treats these achievements not as curiosities but as acts of cultural resistance — small, determined rebellions against a system that tried to erase them.

There’s a tenderness to the way the documentary listens. The players recall the thrill of travel, the camaraderie of long coach journeys, the pride of representing a country that refused to acknowledge them. But threaded through the anecdotes is a sharper truth: that their success forced the FA, decades later, into a rare moment of contrition. The apology lands like a delayed recognition of what they always knew — that they were champions long before anyone bothered to write it down.

More than a sports documentary, it becomes a study of perseverance, collective dignity and the politics of being told “no” and playing on anyway. A portrait of women who refused to wait for permission, and in doing so changed the landscape of the game for everyone who followed.

Belmarsh: Serial Killers and High Security – Channel 5, 11.05pm and 12.05am

This two-part documentary enters Britain’s most notorious high-security prison, examining violent offenders alongside the institutional systems built to contain them.

The programme raises uncomfortable questions about punishment, spectacle and society’s fascination with true crime.

Small Town Big Riot – BBC Three, 11.20pm and 12.20am

BBC Three revisits the 2023 riots in Kirkby, Merseyside, before turning to local opposition surrounding a planned asylum centre.

Rather than simplifying events into slogans, the documentary explores mistrust, economic pressure and fractured community identity in modern Britain.

Berlusconi: Condemned to Win – Part 3 – BBC Four, 11.30pm, also available on BBC iPlayer

This fascinating documentary examines how Silvio Berlusconi fused celebrity culture, media ownership and populist politics long before such tactics became globally familiar.

Watching it now often feels less like history than prophecy.

The Krays (1990) – BBC One, 11.45pm

Peter Medak’s portrait of the Kray twins remains one of Britain’s most psychologically interesting gangster films — less interested in swagger than emotional dependency and social claustrophobia.

Wednesday 20th May 2026

The Future with Hannah Fry – BBC Two, 7.30pm, available on BBC iPlayer

Hannah Fry returns with another accessible exploration of science, technology and rapidly changing modern life.

At a moment when AI and automation dominate public debate, the programme offers useful reflection rather than panic.

Green Book (2018) – BBC Three, 9pmGreen Book (2018) — BBC Three — 9pm

Green Book is at its most compelling when it stops trying to solve America and simply lets its two leads inhabit the uneasy space between them. Mahershala Ali and Viggo Mortensen give the film its emotional ballast: Ali with his contained, almost architectural precision; Mortensen with a looser, more instinctive physicality. Together they create a dynamic that feels lived‑in rather than schematic — two men negotiating the boundaries of class, race and masculinity in a country that insists those boundaries are fixed.

Set against the backdrop of a segregated America, the road trip becomes a kind of moving pressure chamber. Each town, each bar, each immaculate Southern mansion exposes a different facet of the racial order: its absurdities, its cruelties, its rituals of humiliation. The film doesn’t always confront these structures with the sharpness they deserve, but it does understand how racism shapes the smallest interactions — the glances, the silences, the rules that are never spoken aloud because everyone already knows them.

What keeps the film interesting today is precisely this tension. It wants reconciliation, warmth, the possibility of mutual recognition. But it can’t entirely escape the shadows cast by the world it depicts. The friendship that develops between Don Shirley and Tony Lip is touching, yes, but it is also freighted with the asymmetries of the era: who gets to move freely, who gets to speak plainly, who gets to be fully themselves without consequence.

Viewed now, Green Book feels like a film caught between two impulses — the desire to soothe and the need to acknowledge. It doesn’t resolve that contradiction, but in its better moments it lets the audience sit with it. And in the performances of Ali and Mortensen, you sense the deeper story beneath the surface: two men travelling through a country that is still deciding who counts, and on what terms.

Marilyn and the Mob – Channel 4, 10pm and 11pm

This two-part documentary explores the long-rumoured connections between Marilyn Monroe, organised crime and Hollywood power structures.

At its best, the programme becomes less about conspiracy and more about exploitation, celebrity and institutional manipulation.

Thursday 21st May 2026

Marilyn Monroe Night – BBC Four, from 8pm

BBC Four devotes the evening to Marilyn Monroe, beginning with Eva Marilyn (1987), in which photographer Eve Arnold reflects on her encounters with Monroe beyond the studio image.

The evening also includes Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953), a programme on Jane Russell, and How to Marry a Millionaire (1953).

Taken together, the evening becomes less nostalgia than a meditation on celebrity, femininity and the machinery of fame.

Shadow of a Doubt (1943) – Film4, 2.25pm

Often cited by Alfred Hitchcock as one of his personal favourites, this superb thriller transforms small-town America into a landscape of hidden menace and creeping paranoia.

The Elon Musk Show: The Next Chapter – BBC Two, 9pm

This follow-up documentary examines the increasingly chaotic and politically divisive public life of Elon Musk.

The programme asks increasingly urgent questions about private wealth, technology and democratic accountability.

Friday 22nd May 2026

🌟 Apocalypse Now (1979) – Film4, 9pm

Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now remains one of cinema’s great, disorienting plunges into the abyss — a film that doesn’t so much depict war as inhale it, choke on it, and exhale something feverish and unsteady. Loosely tracing the bones of Heart of Darkness, it follows Captain Willard upriver on a mission that becomes less a military assignment than a descent through layers of moral erosion. Each stop along the river feels like a different stage of psychic collapse, a place where the usual coordinates — duty, sanity, purpose — have slipped out of reach.

What still astonishes, nearly fifty years on, is the film’s hallucinatory density. Coppola shoots Vietnam as a landscape where reality buckles under the weight of spectacle: helicopters choreographed to Wagner, flares blooming like poisonous flowers, the jungle vibrating with menace. It’s war as theatre, war as ritual, war as a kind of collective madness in which everyone is performing a version of themselves they no longer recognise.

Willard’s journey towards Colonel Kurtz becomes a study in contagion — how violence seeps into the bloodstream, how the line between hunter and hunted dissolves. By the time we reach Kurtz’s compound, the film has shed any pretence of conventional narrative. What’s left is a confrontation with the darkest corners of human capability, delivered in whispers, shadows and the oppressive heat of a world where morality has evaporated.

The scale is operatic, the mood narcotic, the effect overwhelming. Even now, the film feels less like something you watch than something you endure — a fever dream that drags you into its undertow and leaves you blinking, unsettled, unsure where the nightmare ends and the world resumes.

🌟 Dylan Night – BBC Four, from 9pm

Close-up portrait of an older man with curly hair, wearing a black leather jacket and a bolo tie. He has a serious expression and is looking directly at the camera.
Bob Dylan by KollectivFutur

BBC Four celebrates Bob Dylan with Sings Dylan, Sings Dylan 2, Shadow Kingdom and the fascinating documentary Tangled Up with Dylan: The Ballad of A.J. Weberman.

Together they become an exploration not simply of Dylan’s music, but of obsession, mythology and artistic reinvention itself.

And Now for Something Completely Different (1971) – BBC Two, 11pm

Before Monty Python became a national institution — the sort of comedy outfit wheeled out for anniversaries, retrospectives and reverent documentaries — they were something far stranger and more volatile. This early film, a stitched‑together anthology of their best sketches, captures them in their anarchic prime: gleefully dismantling authority, respectability and the very idea that comedy should obey the rules of narrative, logic or even basic continuity.

What’s striking, watching it now, is how alive it still feels. The humour doesn’t build; it detonates. Sketches begin in one register and end in another entirely. Punchlines are abandoned mid‑stride. Characters wander in from other sketches as if lost. It’s comedy as controlled demolition, performed by a troupe who understood that the quickest way to expose the absurdity of British life was simply to tilt it a few degrees and let the madness spill out.

The unpredictability is the point. By refusing normal structures — setups, payoffs, tidy resolutions — the Pythons created a form that mirrored the chaos they were mocking. Bureaucracy, class, patriotism, masculinity, the BBC itself: everything is fair game, and everything collapses under the weight of its own pomposity.

Half a century on, the film remains a reminder of how radical they once were. Before the merchandise, the nostalgia and the canonisation, there was this: a group of very clever people breaking comedy open just to see what new shapes it could make.

Streaming Choice

Untold: Liverpool’s Miracle of Istanbul – Available from Tuesday 19th May on Netflix

The 2005 Champions League final has been replayed so often it risks feeling like folklore rather than fact — a story polished by repetition, its edges smoothed by nostalgia. What this Untold documentary does is return to the rawness of the night itself, stripping away the myth to reveal the sheer improbability of what Liverpool achieved in Istanbul. It treats the match not as a highlight reel but as a collective emotional event: a moment when belief, identity and sheer stubborn refusal to accept defeat collided in a way that still feels faintly unreal.

The film understands that football at this level is never just football. It’s memory, inheritance, a kind of secular faith. The first half is presented almost as a study in despair — 3–0 down to an AC Milan side of almost absurd quality, the gulf between the teams looking unbridgeable. And then comes the shift: the surge of noise, the recalibration of hope, the sense that something irrational and magnificent is beginning to stir. The documentary captures that momentum with real care, showing how a team can be transformed not just tactically but spiritually.

What makes it compelling is the way it listens to the people who lived it — players, supporters, commentators — each carrying their own version of the night. For some, it’s a story of resilience; for others, of destiny; for many, a reminder of why football matters at all. The match becomes a vessel for something larger: the idea that identity is shaped not only by triumph but by the moments when triumph seemed impossible.

Nearly twenty years on, the Miracle of Istanbul remains one of sport’s great narrative ruptures — a night when logic failed and belief took over. This documentary honours that strangeness. It shows how a single match can become a communal memory, retold and re‑felt across generations, and why Liverpool supporters still speak of it with a kind of reverent disbelief.

Inspector Ricciardi – Series 3 available from Friday 22nd May on Channel 4 Streaming

One of television’s most atmospheric European crime dramas returns with more melancholy, mystery and political unease in 1930s Naples.

Inside Thailand’s British Drug Gangs: Untold – Available from Tuesday 19th May on Channel 4 Streaming

This unsettling documentary examines British criminal networks operating within Thailand’s tourist economy.

Kylie – All three episodes available from Wednesday on Netflix

A surprisingly reflective documentary series exploring Kylie Minogue’s career, resilience and ability to survive shifting pop landscapes.

I Saw the TV Glow – Available now on Netflix

Jane Schoenbrun’s haunting cult film explores identity, media obsession and emotional alienation through the lens of late-night television and adolescent loneliness.

Rivals – Season 2 available now on Disney+ UK

Jilly Cooper’s gloriously excessive world of media rivalry, sex and ambition returns with even more ego, manipulation and silk-shirted chaos.

Radio Picks

60 Years of Hurt – Radio 4, Saturday 10am

A sharply observed, six‑part excavation of England’s longest‑running national complex. Presented by David Baddiel, the series traces how decades of footballing disappointment — the near‑misses, the penalty traumas, the tournaments that slipped away — have seeped into the country’s sense of itself. What begins as sporting failure becomes cultural inheritance.

Across the six weeks, Baddiel brings in voices who’ve lived it from the inside and the outside: Dear England playwright James Graham, and former England stalwarts Stuart Pearce and David Seaman, among others. Their perspectives give the programme its mix of humour, melancholy and quiet revelation — a portrait of modern Britain told through the ache of what might have been.

Funny, rueful, and unexpectedly tender about the stories a nation builds around its own heartbreak.

Tarot and the Art of Creativity – Radio 4, Sunday 7.15pm

This thoughtful feature explores the relationship between tarot, symbolism and artistic inspiration. Rather than treating tarot as mere superstition, the programme examines it as metaphor, storytelling and creative provocation.

In an increasingly data-driven culture, there is something quietly refreshing about a programme willing to explore ambiguity and imagination.

Podcast Picks

The Story of Money with Gillian Tett and Robin Wigglesworth

What Gillian Tett and Robin Wigglesworth do so well in The Story of Money is peel back the surface of finance — the headlines, the market jitters, the jargon — and reveal the hidden architecture underneath. They speak with the clarity of people who have spent years watching how money actually behaves in the real world: not as an abstract economic force, but as a system of beliefs, habits, hierarchies and power structures that shape almost every aspect of modern life.

There’s a conversational ease to the way they explain things. You never feel lectured; you feel invited in. Tett draws on her anthropological instincts, showing how financial systems evolve like cultures, with rituals, taboos and unspoken rules. Wigglesworth brings the long view — the sweep of history, the way ideas about value and risk mutate across centuries. Together they make the complex feel graspable without ever flattening it.

What emerges is a portrait of money as something far stranger and more human than we usually admit. It’s a story of trust and illusion, of institutions built on collective belief, of crises that expose the fragility of systems we assume are solid. And in their hands, these ideas become not just intellectually engaging but quietly revealing about how power operates today — who benefits, who carries the risk, and who gets written out of the narrative.

It’s the kind of programme that leaves you seeing the world differently: the headlines, the markets, the political arguments, even the way we talk about debt and value. Tett and Wigglesworth don’t just explain finance; they illuminate the psychology and politics that sit beneath it, reminding you that money is never just money. It’s a story we’re all living inside, whether we realise it or not.

Gangster Presents: The Story of Ronnie Biggs

A fascinating exploration of Ronnie Biggs, celebrity criminality and Britain’s complicated fascination with outlaw mythology.

Everyday Positivity with Kate Cocker

Everyday Positivity with Kate Cocker

Everyday Positivity has become one of those rare fixtures in my day — a small, steadying voice that slips into the morning and quietly resets the emotional weather. I listen to Kate Cocker every single day, and over time I’ve realised how much I’ve absorbed from the little nuggets she drops almost casually, as if she’s chatting across a kitchen table rather than broadcasting to thousands.

What makes her so effective is the tone: calm, conversational, never preachy. She doesn’t arrive with grand theories or the glossy language of self‑help. Instead, she offers practical reflections on anxiety, stress and the low‑level emotional static that modern life generates. Her Pillars of Positivity have become a kind of internal toolkit — simple, repeatable habits that help you reorient yourself when the day starts to tilt. And her thoughts on gratitude are delivered with such gentle clarity that they feel less like advice and more like reminders of things you already knew but had somehow misplaced.

There’s something disarmingly human about the way she speaks. She acknowledges the messiness of real life — the wobbling confidence, the overthinking, the days when you feel slightly out of step with yourself — and then offers a way to navigate it without judgement. It’s not therapy, not philosophy, not performance. It’s companionship with good advice.

What the podcast ultimately provides is a rhythm: a moment of pause, a breath, a recalibration. And in a world that rarely grants us any of those, Kate Cocker’s voice becomes a small act of daily repair — a reminder that steadiness can be practised, and that positivity, when done properly, is less about cheerfulness than about choosing how to meet the day.

Promotional image for 'The White Rooms' by TP Bragg featuring a blurred background and text overlay.

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Mark Rober’s CrunchLabs Season 3: Science Meets Adventure

A smiling man wearing a baseball cap and a black t-shirt, set against a backdrop of tools on a pegboard.
Mark Rober


Season 3 of Mark Rober’s CrunchLabs continues the show’s mission to make science feel playful, intuitive, and radically accessible. The new run leans into spectacle without losing its educational core, using engineering challenges, large‑scale experiments, and hands‑on problem‑solving to spark curiosity across ages.

A Season Built on Curiosity and Momentum

Season 3 arrives with a clear sense of identity: science as adventure, engineering as storytelling. Each episode is structured around a central question or challenge, and the solutions unfold through experimentation rather than explanation. The tone remains warm and family‑friendly, but the scale of the builds has grown—bigger machines, bolder tests, and a wider cast of collaborators.

Plot Outline

The season’s ten episodes follow a consistent rhythm of inquiry, design, and discovery, each anchored in a specific engineering problem or scientific principle.

  • Lava vs Laser Destruction Test (Ep. 1)
    A comparison of destructive forces, pitting molten lava against high‑powered lasers to explore material science and energy transfer.
  • Backyard Squirrel 2.0 — Bank Heist (Ep. 2)
    A sequel to Rober’s viral squirrel obstacle courses, this time escalating into a full “bank heist” scenario that blends behavioural science with mechanical design.
  • Building a Liquid Sand Hot Tub (Ep. 3)
    A demonstration of fluidisation—how sand behaves like a liquid when air is forced through it—explained through a playful, oversized build.
  • This Ball Is Impossible to Hit (Ep. 4)
    Engineering meets sport as Rober designs a wiffle ball challenge that levels the playing field against professional players.
  • Vortex Cannon vs Drone (Ep. 5)
    A look at aerodynamics and pressure systems through the construction of a giant vortex cannon capable of knocking drones out of the air.
  • Glitter Bomb 1.0 vs Porch Pirates (Ep. 6)
    A return to the original Glitter Bomb design, revisiting the engineering behind one of Rober’s most famous inventions.
  • Engineers vs Food Robots (Ep. 7)
    A chaotic, comedic exploration of automation and robotics through the lens of everyday kitchen tasks.
  • Mark Rober vs Ninja Kidz (Ep. 8)
    A collaboration episode built around physics‑based “Minute to Win It” challenges.
  • Engineers vs Custom Go‑Kart Racing (Ep. 9)
    A 24‑hour design sprint where CrunchLabs engineers build and race custom go‑karts, highlighting rapid prototyping and creative constraints.
  • Episode 10 (Ep. 10)
    Details remain unlisted, but it completes the season’s arc of escalating engineering challenges.

Engineering as Storytelling

What distinguishes Season 3 is its narrative clarity. Each episode treats engineering not as a set of instructions but as a story: a problem emerges, ideas collide, prototypes fail, and solutions evolve. This structure mirrors real scientific thinking, making the process visible rather than presenting polished results.

A Tone That Invites Participation

Rober’s on‑screen presence remains the show’s anchor—enthusiastic, transparent, and disarmingly clear. The experiments are ambitious, but the explanations are grounded in everyday analogies. The show’s ethos is simple: science is not something you watch; it’s something you try.

A Season That Stands Apart

In a landscape dominated by drama and high‑stakes fiction, CrunchLabs offers something refreshingly different: a reminder that curiosity is a form of joy. Season 3 reinforces the idea that learning can be spectacular without losing its substance, and that engineering is at its best when it invites everyone to play.

Available on Netflix.

By Chris Storton

Pictkure credit: By Newhcrossaint – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=158421134

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Suburban Stillness, Violent Faultlines: Inside Love & Death

A promotional poster for the HBO Max series 'Love & Death' featuring Elizabeth Olsen, with a close-up of her face and an intense expression. The text reads 'Not every dream has a perfect ending.'


The first season of Love & Death examines how an ordinary suburban life can fracture under the weight of desire, repression, and unmet expectations. Rather than sensationalising a notorious true crime, the series focuses on the psychological pressures that precede violence, tracing the slow unravelling of Candy Montgomery and the community around her.

A Suburbia Built on Quiet Tension

Set in late‑1970s and early‑1980s Wylie, Texas, the series follows Candy Montgomery, a church‑going housewife whose life appears orderly and conventional. Beneath that surface lies a growing sense of dissatisfaction—emotional, marital, and existential. The show uses this suburban stillness as a pressure chamber, letting small gestures, glances, and routines accumulate into something volatile.

Plot Outline

  • A life that looks stable:
    Candy’s world is defined by church activities, family obligations, and the expectations of her community. Her marriage to Pat is functional but emotionally stagnant, and she begins to feel confined by the narrow script of suburban womanhood.
  • The affair with Allan Gore:
    Candy initiates an affair with Allan, the husband of her friend Betty Gore. Both are seeking escape from their own marital frustrations, and the relationship becomes a catalyst for everything that follows. Their affair is portrayed not as scandalous spectacle but as a symptom of deeper emotional dislocation.
  • Betty’s growing suspicion:
    Betty struggles with postpartum depression and marital strain, and her unease intensifies as she senses the distance between herself and Allan. Her emotional fragility becomes one of the season’s most affecting threads, grounding the story in the human cost of secrecy.
  • The killing and its aftermath:
    The series builds toward the 1980 killing of Betty Gore, for which Candy is accused. The violence is not depicted as a twist but as the tragic culmination of mounting psychological pressure. The courtroom battle that follows—led by Candy’s lawyer Don Crowder—centres on questions of self‑defence, memory, and motive.

Characters Drawn with Ambiguity

  • Candy Montgomery:
    Elizabeth Olsen plays Candy with a quiet, unsettling opacity. She is neither villain nor victim, but a woman whose internal contradictions become impossible to contain.
  • Allan Gore:
    Jesse Plemons brings a muted, conflicted energy to Allan, a man caught between obligation and longing. His passivity becomes one of the story’s most destabilising forces.
  • Betty Gore:
    Lily Rabe’s portrayal of Betty is deeply empathetic, capturing a woman overwhelmed by isolation and suspicion. Her presence haunts the series even after her death.
  • Pat Montgomery and the wider community:
    The supporting characters—friends, church members, lawyers—form a social ecosystem that both sustains and suffocates Candy. Their reactions reveal the fragility of the moral order they believe they uphold.

A Story Told with Restraint

The series avoids sensationalism, choosing instead to explore how ordinary people rationalise extraordinary choices. Its power lies in the slow accumulation of emotional detail: the quiet moments in cars, the awkward church gatherings, the unspoken resentments. These textures make the eventual violence feel tragically inevitable rather than shocking.

By Chris Storton

Available on Netflix.

Picture credit: By HBO Max – IMP Awards, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=73266730

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Why One Piece Season 1 Captivates Fans Worldwide

Logo of 'One Piece' featuring a skull with a straw hat and crossed bones.


Season 1 of Netflix’s One Piece establishes a confident, big‑hearted foundation for the Straw Hat story. It balances fidelity to Eiichiro Oda’s world with a grounded emotional register, creating an adventure that feels earnest, generous, and built to last.

A World That Opens Itself Slowly

The season adapts the East Blue arc, tracing Luffy’s first steps toward becoming King of the Pirates. What stands out, revisiting it now, is how assured the world‑building feels. The series doesn’t rush to impress; it trusts that the strangeness of Devil Fruits, the theatricality of pirates, and the moral ambiguity of the Marines will speak for themselves. The tone is bright without being naive, playful without losing emotional weight.

Plot Outline

  • The spark of the age:
    Gold Roger’s execution sets the world into motion, and the show uses this moment as a thematic anchor: freedom, ambition, and the cost of chasing both.
  • Luffy’s beginning:
    Luffy’s rubber‑body abilities and his uncomplicated belief in friendship define the early episodes. His escape from Alvida’s ship and his meeting with Koby establish the season’s moral compass.
  • Gathering the crew:
    Shells Town introduces Zoro and Nami, each carrying their own histories of loss and distrust. Their early alliance with Luffy is uneasy, which makes their eventual cohesion feel earned.
  • East Blue conflicts:
    The Buggy, Syrup Village, and Baratie arcs unfold with a rhythm that mirrors the manga: bursts of chaos punctuated by moments of surprising tenderness. Usopp and Sanji join not out of convenience but because their lives intersect with Luffy’s in ways that change them.
  • Arlong Park:
    The season’s emotional centre arrives with Nami’s story. Her past with Arlong gives the show its first real sense of scale—how oppression shapes people, and how solidarity can undo it. The walk to Arlong Park remains the season’s defining image of chosen family.

Characters Drawn with Clean Lines

The introductions are sharp and memorable. Luffy’s optimism is not a quirk but a worldview. Zoro’s stoicism is a shield he hasn’t yet learned to lower. Nami’s guarded intelligence is the product of survival, not cynicism. Each character arrives with a clear silhouette, and the season lets those silhouettes deepen rather than distort.

A Foundation Built on Heart

Season 1 works because it refuses to apologise for its sincerity. It believes in adventure as a moral act—an insistence that the world can be reshaped through loyalty, courage, and stubborn hope. With Season 2 now expanding the universe, the first season reads as a statement of intent: this is a story that values connection over spectacle, and it’s stronger for it.

By Chris Storton

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