The Golden Christmas — A Romanian Family Saga

In a quiet Romanian village, nestled among rolling hills and fertile fields, lived a young couple named Ilie and Lorena. They were simple, hardworking people who spent their days tending the land, caring for animals, and cooking fresh food from their own harvest. Their life was humble but full of love — the kind of love that grows stronger with every shared sunrise.

Yet one dream remained painfully out of reach: a child of their own.

Years passed. They prayed, hoped, and waited. They refused modern medical procedures, believing they would bring bad luck. Instead, they trusted destiny.

And destiny finally answered.

One winter night, just before Christmas, as the village glowed with candlelight and the church bells echoed across the snow, Lorena felt a warmth she had longed for. Months later, she gave birth to a golden‑haired, green‑eyed girl.

“Maria,” Ilie whispered, holding the tiny bundle. “Our miracle.”

Maria grew up energetic and bright, helping her parents in the fields and playing among the haystacks. But as she grew older, her mind wandered beyond the village. She devoured books, dreamed of the city, and longed for a different life.

One day she told her parents:

“I want to see how life is outside the village.”

Lorena’s hands trembled as she folded Maria’s clothes. “Just promise you won’t forget where you come from,” she said softly.

“I could never,” Maria replied, hugging her tightly.

Ilie placed a small bag of money in her hands. “Go, fata tatei. But come back when your heart tells you to.”

Maria moved to Bucharest, where she quickly found success. She had everything she once dreamed of — except the warmth of home. Her parents were aging, and she felt the distance growing heavier each year.

Then she met Robert, a kind man who fell deeply in love with her. They became engaged, and after several years, Maria told him she wanted to return to her village.

“I miss them,” she admitted. “And I miss who I was there.”

Robert smiled. “Then let’s go. I want to see the place that made you.”

He soon fell in love with the peace of the countryside.

Maria spent precious time with her parents, who were now very ill. Robert divided his time between the city and the village, supporting them all.

Then came another miracle: Maria became pregnant.

They married, and soon after, their son Petrica was born — healthy, strong, and adored by everyone. His hair shone with the same soft golden hue that had once made the villagers whisper that Maria was touched by destiny.

But life is fragile. Ilie passed away, leaving Lorena to live out her days comforted by her daughter, son‑in‑law, and the little boy who brought light into her old age.

The Golden Thread

Long before Petrica became a man, the villagers spoke of the Popescu family as one touched by a quiet, enduring light. It wasn’t magic — not in the fairy‑tale sense — but something gentler and more human.

Ilie’s patience. Lorena’s faith. Maria’s resilience.

Each generation carried a glow that seemed to brighten in winter, as if the family’s spirit was woven into the season itself.

Every Christmas, Lorena would take out a small golden ornament Ilie had carved by hand decades earlier. She would place it in Petrica’s palms and say:

“It’s not the wood that matters. It’s the light it reminds us of.”

Petrica listened. He always listened.

He grew up in a house where love was quiet but constant. After Ilie’s death, he became Lorena’s shadow — helping her walk, preparing her tea, learning to read her pain before she spoke. These were the first lessons that shaped the doctor he would become.

When Lorena passed away at ninety, Petrica carried the golden ornament to her funeral, tucked inside his coat, close to his heart.

He didn’t cry loudly. He didn’t collapse. He simply stood there — strong, dignified, unshaken — the living continuation of the family’s golden thread.

The Making of a Strong Man

Petrica grew into a disciplined, intelligent young man. He studied medicine, became a doctor, and earned the respect of everyone around him. He didn’t chase attention; attention came to him. He carried himself with the quiet dignity of someone who knew who he was and what he stood for.

He was calm, respected, quietly charismatic. A man who didn’t need to speak loudly to be heard.

And that’s when Miruna noticed him.

Miruna was beautiful, lively, and full of fire. She worked as a secretary in Bucharest, loved going out, loved being admired, and loved the thrill of the city. Men followed her everywhere — and she liked it that way.

But Petrica was different.

He liked her, yes. He found her charm amusing, her confidence refreshing. But he didn’t run after her. He didn’t text her constantly. He didn’t try to impress her.

He simply lived his life — focused, steady, unbothered.

And that drove Miruna wild with curiosity.

“Why doesn’t he look at me like the others?” she muttered to her friend one evening.

“Maybe he’s not interested,” her friend teased.

Miruna frowned. “No. He’s interested. I can feel it. He’s just… not chasing.”

The more Petrica kept his distance, the more Miruna wanted to understand him.

The Night That Changed Everything

One evening, Miruna decided to surprise him at the hospital where he worked.

“He’ll be happy to see me,” she told herself, adjusting her hair in the reflection of the glass door.

Instead, she walked into chaos.

A major accident had filled the hospital with injured people. Nurses ran through the halls, doctors shouted orders, and the waiting room overflowed.

And there, in the middle of it all, was Petrica — sleeves rolled up, covered in blood that wasn’t his, moving from patient to patient with the focus of a warrior.

“Scalpel.” “Hold pressure here.” “Stay with me, sir. You’re going to make it.”

His voice was steady, his hands precise, his presence commanding.

He didn’t see her. He didn’t see anyone. He was saving lives.

Miruna watched him for nearly an hour, unnoticed. And for the first time, she understood:

Petrica wasn’t just strong. He was purposeful.

She left the hospital shaken — and changed.

The Truth Miruna Hid

The next morning, Miruna waited outside his apartment. When Petrica arrived, she stepped forward.

“We need to talk,” she said quietly.

He studied her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t been honest with you.”

They sat on a bench beneath a linden tree. Miruna took a deep breath.

“I used to be with someone,” she began. “Someone who… controlled me. Someone who made me feel small. Someone who didn’t let me breathe.”

Petrica said nothing. He simply listened.

“I left him,” she continued. “But he didn’t leave me. He still calls. He still watches. I thought I could handle it alone, but I can’t. I’m tired of being afraid.”

Petrica’s jaw tightened.

“Is he still in your life?” he asked.

Miruna nodded.

Petrica’s expression hardened — not with jealousy, but with resolve.

“Then this isn’t just your past anymore. It’s a problem we solve now.”

Miruna felt something she hadn’t felt in years: safety.

But destiny wasn’t done with them yet.

Because the man from her past — the one she feared, the one she thought she had escaped — was already on his way to the village.

And he wasn’t coming to apologise. He was coming for her.

By Maria Camara

To be continued

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Fringe 2026: Best In Class Interview

Introduction 

Best in Class returns to the Edinburgh Fringe in 2026 as one of the festival’s most vital and talked‑about platforms for working‑class comedians. Founded by Sian Davies after confronting the financial and social barriers that routinely shut out performers from less privileged backgrounds, the project has grown from a single crowdfunded showcase into a movement that trains, supports, and champions working‑class talent across the UK. Their Fringe shows have become a daily sell‑out phenomenon, celebrated for bringing fresh voices to a festival still dominated by middle‑ and upper‑class acts . With award‑winning momentum behind them — including the Edinburgh Comedy Awards Panel Prize and multiple grants supporting their work — Best in Class arrives at Fringe 2026 with a renewed mission: to platform performers who deserve to be heard and to challenge the systemic inequalities that shape the comedy industry

1. Working‑class barriers — The Fringe keeps getting more expensive and more corporate. From where you’re standing, what’s the most invisible barrier working‑class comedians still face that middle‑class audiences never notice?
The biggest barrier is still financial, but two other huge factors are contacts and knowledge.Many working-class comedians simply don’t have the same networks as people who grew up around the arts. They might not know the right people to ask for advice, where to find opportunities, or even what opportunities exist in the first place.A lot of that knowledge gets passed around informally, so if you’re not already in those circles it can be much harder to access. That’s one of the things Best in Class tries to help with. We want our acts to experience the Fringe, build connections, gain confidence and learn how the industry works, so they can take those opportunities forward into the rest of their careers.
2. Funding the Fringe — Best in Class is proudly crowdfunded and profit‑sharing. What’s the most surprising thing you’ve learned about who does and doesn’t put their money behind working‑class talent?
We’re always incredibly grateful for every donation, whatever the size.One of the most encouraging things this year has been seeing support from some really well-known and established comedians. It’s lovely to know that people who are further along in their careers believe in what we’re doing and want to help the next generation of working-class talent.More broadly, it’s been really heartening to see support come from all sorts of places. Every year we’re reminded that there are lots of people across the comedy industry and beyond who genuinely want to help make opportunities more accessible.
3. Talent pipeline — You’ve built a showcase that’s become a launchpad. What’s the moment you realised Best in Class wasn’t just a show but a counter‑culture talent engine?
It’s hard to choose one particular moment, because we’re lucky enough to see lots of small (and occasionally very big!) wins.Whether it’s spotting one of our alumni on TV, hearing them on the radio, seeing them tour a full show, or watching them get opportunities they might not otherwise have had, those moments are always a real source of pride.

For us, that’s what Best in Class is all about: helping talented working-class comedians take the next step in their careers and showing just how much incredible talent is out there.

4. Class on stage — How do you navigate the line between representing working‑class life and being expected to perform it for a largely middle‑class festival audience?
As comedians, we’re used to sharing our lives on stage. That can feel quite vulnerable for anyone, regardless of their background.

The brilliant thing about comedy is that audiences connect with honesty. While our acts bring their own experiences and perspectives to the stage, they’re not there to represent an entire class or community. They’re there to tell funny, personal stories.

What we’ve found is that great comedy resonates with audiences from all backgrounds. The specifics of a story might be different, but the emotions and experiences behind it are often surprisingly universal.

5. The 2026 line‑up — This year’s acts range from vaudeville chaos to dark self‑deprecation to political storytelling. What unites this line‑up beyond class background?
This year’s line-up all share values that really align with Best in Class: a strong work ethic, a willingness to support one another, and the determination to pursue their goals despite the barriers they may face.

We’re also passionate about building a sense of community. Best in Class has never just been about putting on a show; it’s about creating a network where comedians can learn from each other, champion each other and grow together.

This year’s cohort is a fantastic example of that spirit, and we’re incredibly proud to be working with them.

6. Comedy industry inequality — If you could change one structural thing about the UK comedy industry tomorrow to make it fairer, what would it be?
It’s a big one, but fees.

We all understand that rising costs affect everyone, from venues and promoters to audiences and performers. But comedy simply wouldn’t exist without comedians, and performance fees haven’t increased at the same rate as many other costs.

If we could change one thing, we’d love to see comedians paid more fairly for their work. Even small things like travel expenses can make a huge difference, particularly for newer acts who are often paying significant costs upfront just to get on stage and build their careers.

7. Fringe economics — The Fringe loves to market itself as “the world’s biggest open‑access arts festival”. From your perspective, how true is that slogan in 2026?
The Edinburgh Fringe is still one of the most exciting and accessible arts festivals in the world in many ways, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult for people without financial backing to take part.

Like much of the arts sector, rising costs have had a significant impact, and those challenges are often felt most acutely by people from working-class backgrounds.

We’d love to see more meaningful conversations about how performers can access the festival if they don’t have a financial safety net. The more people who are able to take part, the richer and more representative the Fringe becomes.

8. Bursaries and impact — Your bursaries now help working‑class comedians bring full shows to the Fringe. What’s the most powerful transformation you’ve seen from someone who received support?
One of the most rewarding things we see is a real increase in confidence.

For many of our acts, performing at the Edinburgh Fringe is something they’ve never imagined would be possible. Once they’re there, meeting other artists, performing their work and seeing audience reactions, they begin to realise that they absolutely deserve to be part of it.

That shift in mindset can be incredibly powerful. We regularly hear from alumni about how much the experience helped their confidence, opened new opportunities and encouraged them to aim higher in their careers.

9. Comedy and identity — Several acts this year talk openly about disability, neurodivergence, sexuality, or cultural heritage. How do you create a space where those stories can be told without being commodified?
We don’t ask people to talk about any particular aspect of their identity. The comedians we work with are selected because they’re talented, funny and have something interesting to say.

If an act wants to talk about disability, neurodivergence, sexuality, cultural heritage or any other part of their life, that’s entirely their choice. We want people to feel able to tell the stories that matter to them, in whatever way feels authentic.

Ultimately, our role is to create a supportive environment where comedians can be themselves. We trust our acts to decide what they want to share with audiences and how they want to share it.

10. Future of Best in Class — If Best in Class had unlimited funding and zero constraints, what’s the radical version of the project you’d build next?
If funding and resources were no object, we’d love to support more working-class comedians at every stage of their careers.

That could mean more bursaries, more training and mentoring opportunities, regional showcases across the UK, industry networking events, and year-round development programmes rather than focusing primarily on the Edinburgh Fringe.

Ultimately, we’d love to build a sustainable pipeline of support, helping talented comedians access opportunities, develop their skills and progress their careers, regardless of their financial background or where they live.

Find out more about Best In Class

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Culture Vulture 20th – 26th June 2026

There are weeks when television and film simply provide entertainment, and there are weeks when they seem to engage in a wider conversation. This is one of the latter. Running through this week’s selections are questions about memory, identity and the stories nations tell about themselves. From Brazil’s obsession with football to the American Revolution, from the anti-apartheid movement to Brexit ten years on, from the Somme to Jack the Ripper, the past is everywhere.

Yet this is not a week trapped by nostalgia. Alongside the historical themes come reflections on artificial intelligence, internet culture, celebrity, science fiction and the future itself. Add in some superb classic cinema, a welcome celebration of comedy legends such as Mel Brooks and Rick Mayall, and a rare chance to revisit one of Britain’s greatest television dramas, and there is plenty here to reward curiosity. Selections and writing are by Pat Harrington.

🌟 Highlights

🌟 Goolagong (BBC Four, Saturday) – the story of one of the greatest sporting figures of the twentieth century.

🌟 Sound of Metal (BBC Two, Tuesday) – one of the most moving and original films of recent years.

🌟 Our Friends in the North (BBC Four, Wednesday) – still one of the finest dramas British television has ever produced.

Saturday 20th June

John Snow: A Last Big Story – Channel 4, 8.00pm

John Snow’s final broadcast feels less like a curtain call and more like a reckoning with time itself. The veteran journalist — now living with Alzheimer’s — turns the camera inward, tracing the contours of memory as both a gift and a thief. For decades he stood at the heart of history: wars, revolutions, elections, human triumphs and tragedies. Now, the story he’s telling is his own.

This is not a sentimental goodbye but a lucid, brave exploration of what it means to lose the very faculties that once defined a life’s work. Snow speaks with the same candour that marked his reporting, acknowledging the fog that sometimes descends and the grace of those who help him navigate it — especially his wife, Precious, whose presence here is tender and grounding.

The “last big story” is not about politics or conflict; it’s about the endurance of truth when memory falters. It’s about love, dignity, and the stubborn light of curiosity that refuses to go out. A moving, humane hour — and a reminder that journalism, at its best, is an act of empathy.

Goolagong – BBC Four, 9.00pm and 9.50pm (Episodes 1 & 2 of 3)

Evonne Goolagong Cawley’s story has always felt bigger than tennis — a life lived at the intersection of sporting brilliance and cultural change. These opening chapters trace her rise from a small Australian town to the centre court of the world, a journey shaped as much by quiet resilience as by natural grace.

What emerges is not just a portrait of a champion but of an Indigenous woman navigating a country that often refused to see her fully. The series treats her achievements with the respect they deserve, but it also lingers on the deeper legacy: how she became a symbol of possibility for those who had been told to expect little. A thoughtful, beautifully paced tribute.

Big (1988) – Great TV, 6.50pm

There’s a reason *Big* still works: beneath the high‑concept premise sits a film with real heart. Tom Hanks — all open‑faced wonder and awkward limbs — gives one of those performances that seems effortless until you try to imagine anyone else doing it.

The comedy is warm rather than wacky, the emotion earned rather than engineered. And in the middle of it all is that bittersweet truth the film never quite says aloud: childhood is fleeting, adulthood arrives too quickly, and sometimes the only way to understand either is to stand in the wrong shoes for a while.

The Odessa File (1974) – Talking Pictures TV, 9.05pm

A taut, wintry thriller adapted from Frederick Forsyth’s bestseller, *The Odessa File* plunges into the murky world of post‑war secrets and the shadow networks that tried to keep the past buried. Jon Voight plays the journalist drawn into a conspiracy that feels both sprawling and claustrophobic, the kind where every answer only deepens the unease.

It’s very much of its era — all cold streets, coded messages and moral ambiguity — but that’s part of its power. A reminder that history doesn’t end cleanly; it lingers, waiting to be uncovered.

The Hitcher (1986) – Legend, 3.05am

A late‑night shocker that still has the power to unsettle. Rutger Hauer’s performance as the enigmatic hitchhiker is one of those rare turns that elevates a genre film into something mythic: calm, charismatic, and terrifying precisely because he never overplays it.

The film itself is lean and relentless, a road movie that becomes a nightmare with no safe exits. If you’re awake at this hour, it will stay with you longer than you expect.

The Frighteners (1996) – Film4, 12.05am

Before Middle‑earth came calling, Peter Jackson made this wonderfully odd supernatural comedy‑horror — a film that refuses to sit neatly in any one box. Michael J. Fox anchors the chaos with charm, while Jackson fills the frame with inventive effects, tonal shifts and a sense of mischief that feels very much his own.

It’s a film that deserved a kinder reception on release, and time has only strengthened its cult appeal. Strange, stylish, and surprisingly heartfelt.

Sunday 21st June

Free Nelson Mandela (Episode 2 of 3) – Channel 4, 9.00pm

A compelling examination of the international campaign that helped bring apartheid to an end.

Later… with Jools Holland – BBC Two, 10.00pm

From Alexandra Palace Theatre, featuring Shania Twain, KNATS, Arlo Parks and Sam Smith. Later remains one of the best showcases for live music on television.

Gaia (2021) – Film4, 1.45am

A late‑night curio with real bite. *Gaia* takes the familiar language of eco‑horror — the forest as something ancient, watchful, and quietly furious — and pushes it into stranger, more psychological territory. The film’s power lies in its atmosphere: humid, oppressive, and threaded with the sense that nature is no longer content to be background scenery.
It’s a story about guilt and stewardship, but also about the thin line between reverence and fear. Visually striking, thematically unsettling, and perfect for the small hours when the world feels a little too alive.

The Vikings (1958) – Great Action, 2.30pm

A glorious slice of old‑school Hollywood adventure, all roaring seas, clashing swords and Technicolor swagger. Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis throw themselves into the spectacle with the kind of commitment modern blockbusters rarely muster — every gesture big, every emotion worn proudly on the surface.
It’s a film from a time when historical epics were built on charisma rather than CGI, and its charm lies in that very theatricality. Broad, bold, and irresistibly entertaining.

Goldfinger (1964) – ITV1, 4.20pm

For me, Goldfinger isn’t just a Bond film — it’s the Bond film. The one where everything clicks into place: the swagger, the style, the danger, the flirtation, the sense that the whole enterprise has suddenly discovered its own mythology. Sean Connery is at his most relaxed and lethal, moving through the film with that effortless mix of charm and steel that no one has ever quite matched.

But what really seals its place as my favourite is the humour threaded through Ulrich Goldfinger’s dialogue — that dry, almost courtly villainy that makes every exchange a pleasure. There’s a theatricality to him, a sense that he enjoys the game as much as Bond does, and the script gives him lines that still sparkle decades later.

Sleek, confident and endlessly rewatchable, Goldfinger is the moment Bond stopped being a series of spy capers and became a cultural institution — and it still feels like the gold standard.

Hidden Figures (2016) – Film4, 6.30pm

A genuinely uplifting drama that earns every emotional beat. *Hidden Figures* tells the story of the Black women mathematicians whose brilliance helped steer NASA through the early space race — a chapter of history too long overlooked.

The film balances its inspirational arc with sharp performances and a clear‑eyed understanding of the barriers these women faced. It’s a celebration not just of intellect, but of persistence, dignity and the quiet heroism of being excellent in a world determined not to see you.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) – Channel 4, Midnight

Martin McDonagh’s darkly comic drama walks a tightrope between fury and tenderness. Frances McDormand is extraordinary as a mother weaponising grief into action, while the film circles themes of justice, forgiveness and the messy, contradictory ways people try — and fail — to be better.
It’s prickly, provocative, and impossible to shake. A midnight screening feels fitting: this is a story that sits with you long after the credits roll..

Monday 22nd June

Britain’s Railway Empire in Colour – More4, 9.00pm

There’s something quietly mesmerising about colourised archive footage — the way it collapses the distance between then and now. This series uses it to bring Britain’s industrial and transport heritage vividly back to life, revealing a world that feels both familiar and impossibly distant. Steam, steel and soot become not just historical artefacts but lived textures, reminders of the ingenuity and labour that built the modern country. A gentle, absorbing watch.

Lucy Worsley Investigates: Jack the Ripper – BBC Two, 9.00pm

Worsley takes a welcome detour from the usual true‑crime obsession with suspects and theories. Instead of asking who Jack the Ripper was, she asks what the murders did to us — how they shaped the modern appetite for grisly narratives, sensational reporting and the commodification of fear. It’s a thoughtful reframing, peeling back the mythology to reveal the cultural machinery beneath. Less whodunnit, more why‑we‑still‑care.

Andy Warhol’s America: Living the Dream – BBC Four, 9.00pm

Warhol understood celebrity long before the rest of us caught up. This documentary explores the artist not just as a painter or provocateur, but as a kind of cultural antenna — someone who sensed where America was heading and mirrored it back with unnerving clarity. Fame, consumerism, reinvention: Warhol didn’t just depict the American dream, he dissected it. A sharp, stylish portrait of an artist who saw the future and shrugged.

House of the Dragon – Sky Atlantic, 9.00pm

The fires of Westeros burn on. This chapter of the Targaryen saga continues to revel in dynastic politics, betrayals and the uneasy dance between power and prophecy. Dragons soar, alliances crumble, and every conversation feels like a prelude to violence. It’s grand, operatic television — the kind that understands the pleasure of watching a world eat itself from the inside out.

American Visions: The Way from the Atlantic – BBC Four, 10.00pm

A rich, expansive look at how waves of immigration reshaped American art and identity. This episode traces the cultural currents that flowed from the Atlantic into the American imagination, showing how new arrivals transformed not just the country’s demographics but its creative language. A thoughtful, beautifully curated hour for anyone interested in how nations reinvent themselves.

Secrets of the Celebrity Sex Tapes – Channel 4, 11.05pm

A provocative but revealing dive into a phenomenon that helped redefine modern fame. The programme examines how leaked tapes — once scandals — became stepping stones in the machinery of celebrity culture, blurring the lines between exploitation, agency and opportunism. It’s a story about voyeurism, power and the strange economy of attention that governs the digital age.

The Producers (1967) – BBC Two, 11.00pm

Mel Brooks’ debut feature still feels like a controlled explosion of comic energy. Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder are a perfect double act — one volcanic, the other perpetually on the brink of collapse — and the film’s audacity hasn’t dimmed with time. Satire this bold shouldn’t work, yet it does, gloriously. A riotous, meticulously crafted masterpiece.

The Phantom of Soho (1964) – Talking Pictures TV, 11.30pm

A rare chance to catch a German *Krimi* — those stylish, atmospheric crime thrillers often adapted from Edgar Wallace novels. *The Phantom of Soho* offers all the genre’s pleasures: fog‑shrouded streets, eccentric villains, and a mystery that feels both pulpy and oddly elegant. A cult curio, and a reminder of how inventive European genre cinema could be in the 1960s.

Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa (2013) – BBC One, 12.30am

One of the few TV‑to‑film transitions that genuinely works. *Alpha Papa* keeps Partridge’s small‑scale pettiness intact while placing him in a hostage‑crisis plot that somehow amplifies his absurdity rather than overwhelming it. Steve Coogan is superb, balancing pathos and pomposity with surgical precision. A late‑night treat for anyone who appreciates comedy built on exquisite discomfort.

Tuesday 23rd June

Peter Murrell: The Man with the Money – BBC Two, 7.00pm

A cool‑headed look at one of the most contentious recent chapters in Scottish politics. The documentary traces how Peter Murrell — once a discreet operator behind the scenes — became a central figure in a story that spiralled far beyond party lines. It’s less about scandal for its own sake and more about the fragility of political trust, and how quickly reputations can unravel in the glare of public scrutiny.

The American Revolution: The Times That Try Men’s Souls – BBC Four, 10.00pm

The early days of the American struggle for independence were defined by uncertainty, exhaustion and a sense that the whole enterprise might collapse before it began. This episode captures that precariousness — the cold winters, the wavering morale, the sheer improbability of the cause. A sober, well‑drawn reminder that revolutions are rarely born in triumph; they begin in doubt.

The American Revolution: Conquered by a Drawn Game – BBC Four, 11.00pm

The conflict enters a phase where victory becomes less about winning battles and more about simply enduring them. This chapter explores the strategic stalemates and the psychological toll of a war that refused to resolve itself neatly. Survival becomes its own kind of triumph, and the series shows how persistence — rather than glory — ultimately shaped the nation’s fate.

Science Fiction: Atomic Age – Sky Arts, 11.00pm

Margaret Atwood and a roster of sharp minds explore how science fiction absorbed and refracted the anxieties of the Cold War. Mutants, invasions, dystopias — all the familiar tropes take on new resonance when seen as expressions of nuclear fear and geopolitical tension. A thoughtful, engaging hour that treats sci‑fi not as escapism but as a cultural seismograph.

The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946) – Talking Pictures TV, 1.35pm

A richly tangled film noir steeped in secrets, ambition and the corrosive power of old sins. Barbara Stanwyck is magnetic as the woman at the centre of a web she helped spin, and the film’s atmosphere — all shadows, guilt and brittle glamour — is irresistible. A classic that still cuts deep.

The War of the Worlds (1953) – Legend, 3.00pm

The definitive screen telling of H.G. Wells’ alien invasion tale. Even now, the film’s blend of Cold War paranoia, religious awe and apocalyptic spectacle feels potent. The Martian machines remain iconic, and the sense of civilisation teetering on the brink is handled with a seriousness that later adaptations sometimes sidestep. A cornerstone of sci‑fi cinema.

Live Now Pay Later (1962) – Talking Pictures TV, 4.05pm

A sharp, surprisingly modern satire about consumerism and the seductive pull of easy credit. The film skewers the salesman culture of the era, but its observations about debt, desire and the illusion of prosperity feel eerily current. A sly, clever gem that deserves more attention.

Escape from New York (1981) – Legend, 11.30pm

John Carpenter’s dystopian classic remains a masterclass in world‑building: grimy, anarchic, and pulsing with attitude. Kurt Russell’s Snake Plissken is the ultimate anti‑hero — laconic, cynical, and somehow still magnetic. The film’s vision of a decaying America sealed inside its own violence feels both fantastical and uncomfortably prophetic.

Sound of Metal (2019) – BBC Two, 12.05am

An extraordinary, deeply humane film about hearing loss, identity and the painful work of acceptance. Riz Ahmed delivers a career‑defining performance as a drummer whose world collapses and reshapes itself in ways he never expected. The sound design is astonishing, pulling the viewer into his shifting sensory reality. A quiet masterpiece about learning to live differently.

Wednesday 24th June

Peter Flannery Remembers Our Friends in the North – BBC Four, 10.00pm

A quiet, reflective half‑hour in which Peter Flannery looks back at the making of one of British television’s towering achievements. What emerges isn’t just nostalgia but a sense of how rare it is for a drama to capture the sweep of political, social and personal change with such clarity. Flannery speaks with the calm authority of someone who knows he created something that will outlast all of us.

Our Friends in the North – BBC Four, 10.15pm, 11.25pm and 12.30am

The 1964, 1966 and 1967 episodes return — early chapters in a saga that still feels astonishingly relevant. Watching them now, you’re struck by how confidently the series moves between the intimate and the epic: friendships tested by ambition, politics reshaping lives, history pressing in on ordinary people. It remains one of the great British dramas, not because it tries to be important, but because it understands how people are shaped by the times they live through.

How Green Was My Valley (1941) – Film4, 1.30pm

John Ford’s elegy to a Welsh mining community is as moving now as it was eight decades ago. The film’s power lies in its tenderness — the way it honours working‑class life without romanticising the hardship that defined it. Memory, loss and belonging run through every frame, and Ford’s eye for human dignity remains unmatched. A classic that earns its sentiment.

Bad Lieutenant (1992) – Legend, 1.35am

This version of *Bad Lieutenant* is one of my favourite films — and it’s easy to explain why. Abel Ferrara strips the crime drama down to something raw, feverish and spiritually bruised. Harvey Keitel gives a performance that feels almost too intimate for the screen: a man collapsing under the weight of his own corruption, staggering through addiction, rage and self‑loathing until he reaches a moment of grace that is as shocking as anything that precedes it.

What makes the film extraordinary is its refusal to tidy up human behaviour. It’s messy, anguished, confrontational — but also deeply compassionate. Ferrara understands that redemption, when it comes, is rarely clean or comfortable. The film stares directly at human ruin and still finds something worth salvaging. That’s why it lingers, and why it remains one of the most powerful pieces of American cinema of the 1990s.

Thursday 25th June

Boy George and Culture Club – Sky Arts, 9.00pm

A look back at one of the defining acts of the 1980s.

Rick Mayall: Magnificent Bastard – Sky Documentaries, 9.00pm

A full‑blooded tribute to a performer who didn’t just change British comedy — he detonated it. Rick Mayall was a force of nature: all manic energy, wicked intelligence and that unmistakable glint that told you he was about to push a scene somewhere dangerous, hilarious, or both. The documentary captures that volatility beautifully. You’re reminded how he could dominate a frame simply by entering it, how his presence made even seasoned actors brace themselves for impact.

What comes through most strongly is the sheer joy of him — the way he treated comedy as a contact sport, hurling himself into performances with a physicality that felt both reckless and precise. Whether it was the punk chaos of The Young Ones, the grotesque brilliance of Bottom, or the sly, weaponised charm he brought to everything else, Mayall operated on a frequency entirely his own.

But the programme also honours the man behind the mayhem: the generosity, the loyalty, the fierce work ethic. Colleagues speak about him with a mixture of awe and affection, aware that they were in the orbit of someone genuinely irreplaceable.

It’s a reminder that Mayall didn’t just make people laugh — he expanded the possibilities of what British comedy could be. A magnificent bastard, yes, but also a once‑in‑a‑generation talent whose influence still ripples through everything that came after.

Mel Brooks and Me – BBC Four, 11.25pm

Alan Yentob sits down with a comedy titan whose career spans continents, genres and several eras of American entertainment. Brooks is funny even when he’s not trying to be, but what makes this profile compelling is the sense of a man who has always understood the mechanics of laughter — how to build it, how to weaponise it, and how to survive by it. A warm, generous portrait.

Imagine: Mel Brooks Unwrapped – BBC Four, 11.35pm

A companion piece that digs deeper into Brooks’ extraordinary career, from the Borscht Belt to Broadway to Hollywood. There’s mischief, of course — Brooks can’t help himself — but also a surprising amount of reflection. You’re reminded that behind the chaos of *The Producers* and *Blazing Saddles* lies a meticulous craftsman who shaped modern comedy more than almost anyone else.

Little Big Man (1970) – 5 Action, 1.20pm

Arthur Penn’s revisionist western dismantles the myths of the American frontier with wit, melancholy and a sharp political edge. Dustin Hoffman plays the 121‑year‑old Jack Crabb recounting a life lived at the margins of history, and the film uses his tall tales to expose the violence and hypocrisy beneath the old cowboy legends. Funny, tragic and quietly radical.

All the King’s Men (1949) – Film4, 2.45pm

A powerful, still‑resonant study of political corruption and the seductive pull of populism. Broderick Crawford is mesmerising as Willie Stark, a man who begins with righteous fury and ends consumed by the very forces he once railed against. The film’s moral clarity — and its understanding of how power corrodes — feels as sharp today as it did in 1949.

Friday 26th June

What Happened at the Somme – BBC One, 7.30pm

Whenever a programme turns its attention to the First World War, I find myself watching through the lens of my own visits to the Somme — trips taken over many years with my good friend, mentor and historian Alan Midgley, who is sadly no longer with us. Alan had that rare gift of bringing history alive without ever sensationalising it. Walking those fields with him — the wind moving through the grass, the silence settling over ground that once shook with unimaginable violence — changed the way I understand the war. It stopped being “history” and became something intimate, human, and painfully present.

One image in particular has stayed with me: the German First World War Jewish graves at Falaise cemetery. Perfectly tended, modest, marked with the Star of David. Standing there, Alan quietly explaining the regiments and the dates, I felt the weight of something far larger than the war itself. These were young men who fought and died for a country that, within a generation, would declare them outsiders, strip them of citizenship, and ultimately murder their families.

Their sacrifice — loyal, patriotic, and no different from that of their Christian comrades — counted for nothing in the eyes of the regime that followed. That is the tragedy carved into those stones. They died believing they were part of the German nation; history repaid them with betrayal.

It is impossible to stand in that cemetery and not feel the moral dissonance of it all: the neat rows, the dignity of the inscriptions, the quiet respect of the place — and the knowledge that the country they served would later deny their very right to belong. It is one of the most haunting lessons the Western Front offers: that memory is fragile, and that the meaning of sacrifice can be rewritten by those who come after.

So when I watch any documentary about the Great War — its battles, its politics, its human cost — I do so with those visits in mind. The Somme is not just a battlefield; it is a landscape of ghosts. And thanks to Alan, I learned to see it not as a place of death, but as a place of enduring remembrance — a reminder of how easily nations forget the people who fought for them, and how important it is that we do not.

Independence Storm – PBS America, 7.55pm

A clear‑eyed historical documentary tracing the turbulent path toward national independence. Rather than offering a tidy narrative, it leans into the complexity — the competing visions, the fractures within movements, and the sheer human cost of political transformation. It’s a reminder that independence is rarely a single moment of triumph, but a long, contested process shaped by sacrifice, compromise and the stubborn will of ordinary people.

My Tiger Family – BBC Two, 9.00pm

An intimate, beautifully shot wildlife documentary that follows a family of tigers with a patience and tenderness that feels almost novelistic. The filmmakers give the animals space to be themselves — wary, playful, fierce, vulnerable — and the result is a portrait of family life that feels surprisingly relatable. The jungle becomes a character in its own right, a place of danger and sanctuary in equal measure. Quietly captivating.

Flood: When the Thames Drowned London – Channel 5, 9.00pm

A gripping reconstruction of one of London’s greatest natural disasters, charting how a combination of weather, tide and human miscalculation brought the capital to the brink. The programme blends eyewitness accounts, archival material and expert analysis to show how fragile a city can be when nature decides to test it. It’s sobering, but also oddly reassuring — a reminder of how much has been learned, and how much still depends on vigilance.

Madonna and Graham – BBC One, 10.40pm

Madonna joins Graham Norton for what promises to be a lively, revealing conversation. She remains one of pop’s most enduring provocateurs — sharp, funny, and entirely unwilling to play the role expected of her. Norton, with his mix of mischief and empathy, is one of the few interviewers capable of drawing out both the armour and the person beneath it. Expect candour, humour and at least one moment that will be replayed endlessly online.

True Grit (1969) – 5 Action, 1.25pm

The film that finally won John Wayne his Oscar, and with good reason. As Rooster Cogburn, Wayne delivers a performance that balances gruffness with surprising warmth, playing a man whose rough exterior hides a stubborn moral core. The film itself is a classic frontier tale — dusty, funny, and shot through with a melancholy that deepens with age. A western that earns its place in the canon.

Psycho (1960) – BBC Two, 11.00pm

Hitchcock’s masterpiece remains one of the most influential thrillers ever made — a film that rewrote the rules of suspense, narrative and audience expectation. Even now, its shocks still land, not because of gore but because of the director’s absolute command of tension and misdirection. Bernard Herrmann’s score, the stark black‑and‑white photography, the audacity of the plot — it all adds up to a film that feels both timeless and perpetually unsettling. A landmark of modern cinema.

Dark Waters (2019) – BBC Two, 12.45am

A quietly devastating film that takes a familiar American story — corporate malfeasance on an industrial scale — and strips it of sensationalism until all that remains is the slow, grinding horror of the truth. Todd Haynes directs with a kind of moral stillness, letting the facts speak for themselves, and the result is a drama that feels less like a thriller and more like a reckoning.

Mark Ruffalo gives one of his finest performances as Rob Bilott, the corporate defence lawyer who finds himself on the wrong side of the table when a West Virginia farmer brings him evidence of something deeply wrong. What begins as a favour becomes a decades‑long battle against DuPont, a company whose chemical pollution poisoned a community, contaminated the water supply, and quietly entered the bloodstream of almost every living person on the planet.

The film’s power lies in its refusal to exaggerate. There are no grand speeches, no courtroom fireworks, no Hollywood catharsis. Instead, Haynes shows the toll of persistence: the long nights, the fraying relationships, the professional isolation, the sense of pushing against a machine designed to exhaust anyone who challenges it. Bilott’s heroism is not glamorous — it is patient, stubborn, and quietly self‑sacrificial.

What makes Dark Waters so unsettling is the scale of the harm. The chemicals at the centre of the case — PFOA, used in Teflon — were never meant to leave the lab, yet they ended up everywhere: in rivers, in soil, in animals, in human blood. The film makes clear that this wasn’t an accident but a choice, a corporate calculation that the cost of cleaning up would be greater than the cost of letting people suffer.

Haynes shoots the story in muted tones, as if the world itself has been leached of colour by the contamination. It’s a visual metaphor for a system where accountability is always deferred, and where the truth emerges only because one man refuses to stop digging.

By the time the credits roll, the devastation is not loud but cumulative — a sense of how fragile public trust is, and how easily it can be poisoned when profit becomes the only measure of value. Dark Waters is a film that lingers, not because it shocks, but because it tells the truth plainly and lets the implications settle in your bones.

Streaming Choice

The Root of the Game (Netflix) – A rich, three‑part exploration of Brazil’s relationship with football — not as a pastime, but as a national language. The series understands that Brazilian football is inseparable from the country’s history, politics and social tensions. It moves from the street pitches of Rio to the vast modern arenas, tracing how the game became a vehicle for identity, resistance and joy.
What’s most striking is the emotional range: football as escape, as aspiration, as a mirror of inequality, and as a kind of collective poetry. The documentary captures the swagger and sorrow of a nation that sees itself reflected in the way it plays.

Avatar: Fire and Ash (Disney+) – James Cameron continues his ecological epic with a chapter that deepens the mythology of Pandora while pushing the emotional stakes higher. The film blends astonishing visual spectacle with a story rooted in family, displacement and the cost of survival.
Cameron remains one of the few filmmakers who can make digital worlds feel tactile and lived‑in. The action sequences have a clarity and physicality that most blockbusters can only dream of, but the real power lies in the quieter moments — the bonds between characters, the rituals of Na’vi life, the sense of a world fighting to protect itself.
It’s grand, earnest, and made with a sincerity that feels increasingly rare.

The Agency – Season 2 (Paramount+) – One of television’s smartest espionage dramas returns with a second season that doubles down on moral ambiguity and psychological tension. The series treats intelligence work not as glamour but as a slow erosion of certainty — a world where loyalty is provisional, truth is negotiable, and every decision carries a cost.
The writing is taut, the performances tightly wound, and the plotting intricate without ever becoming opaque. It’s a rare spy drama that trusts the audience to keep up, and rewards them for doing so.

I Am Frank Ordell (Netflix) – An animated fantasy adventure with a streak of eccentricity that sets it apart from the usual streaming offerings. Frank Ordell is an unlikely hero drawn into a world of magic, mischief and moral dilemmas, and the film balances humour with a surprisingly thoughtful emotional core.The animation is vibrant without being frantic, and the storytelling has that gentle, slightly off‑centre charm that appeals to adults as much as children. A small, distinctive delight.

Richard Jewell (Netflix) – Clint Eastwood’s quietly furious examination of media hysteria and institutional failure. The film recounts the true story of Richard Jewell, the security guard who discovered a bomb at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics — and was then wrongly accused of planting it. Paul Walter Hauser gives a remarkable, deeply humane performance as a man bewildered by the speed with which public admiration turned into suspicion. Eastwood directs with restraint, letting the injustice speak for itself.
The film’s critique of press frenzy and FBI overreach feels depressingly timeless.

The American Experiment (Netflix) – A sweeping documentary series that examines how American identity has been constructed, contested and continually reinvented. Rather than offering a single thesis, it embraces contradiction: the tension between idealism and inequality, unity and division, myth and reality.
It moves through history, culture, politics and personal testimony, showing how the idea of America has always been a negotiation rather than a fixed point. Thoughtful, ambitious and refreshingly nuanced.

Boiling Point (Channel 4 Streaming) – f you haven’t seen it yet, now is the moment. Boiling Point is one of the most gripping British dramas of recent years — a single‑take pressure cooker set in a restaurant kitchen on the brink of collapse. Stephen Graham is superb as a chef barely holding his life together, and the film captures the chaos, camaraderie and emotional volatility of service with unnerving authenticity. It’s tense, humane and utterly absorbing. Catch it before it disappears.

Volver (BFI Player) – Pedro Almodóvar’s warm, funny and deeply humane masterpiece — a film that blends melodrama, mystery and domestic comedy with the director’s trademark generosity of spirit. Penélope Cruz gives one of her finest performances as a woman navigating family secrets, grief and unexpected reinvention. The film is a celebration of female resilience, community and the strange ways the past refuses to stay buried. Rich, colourful and emotionally resonant, Volver is Almodóvar at his most accessible and most profound.

Radio Choice

Midsummer Dreaming – Radio 3, Saturday 9.30pm

A gently enchanting programme that treats midsummer not as a date in the calendar but as a state of mind — a moment when the year seems to pause, the light stretches impossibly long, and the world feels briefly suspended between the ordinary and the magical. Midsummer Dreaming weaves together music, poetry and quiet reflection to evoke that sense of threshold: the lingering glow of evening, the hum of the natural world, the feeling that something ancient is stirring just beyond the edge of perception.

Radio 3 excels at this kind of mood‑building, and the programme draws on a wide palette — from folk traditions and choral works to contemporary compositions that capture the shimmer and stillness of the season. The selections aren’t just pretty; they’re evocative, tapping into the deep cultural roots of midsummer as a time of ritual, celebration and gentle mischief.

Interwoven with the music are reflections that give the hour its emotional weight. There’s a sense of looking both forward and back: midsummer as a moment of abundance, but also a reminder that the light will soon begin to recede. The programme understands that this is what gives the season its poignancy — the beauty is heightened because it is fleeting.

It’s the kind of broadcast that invites you to slow down, step outside for a moment, and listen to the world breathing. A perfect midsummer companion: thoughtful, atmospheric and quietly restorative.

Archive on 4: The Art of Listening – Radio 4, Saturday 8.00pm

An exploration of what it truly means to listen.

10 Years After Brexit – Radio 4, Sunday 1.30pm

A decade on from Britain’s departure from the European Union, this programme takes a measured, quietly probing look at what has — and hasn’t — changed. Rather than reheating the old arguments, it focuses on lived experience: how Brexit has reshaped work, identity, borders, and the country’s sense of itself.
Economists, historians and ordinary citizens offer perspectives that are sometimes contradictory, sometimes unexpectedly aligned, but always grounded in the reality of a nation still negotiating the consequences of its choice.
What emerges is not a verdict but a portrait of a country in transition — one still trying to understand what sovereignty means in practice, and what kind of future it wants to build.
As with all political retrospectives, listeners should confirm details with trusted sources.

Being Greek – Radio 4, Tuesday 9.00am

A thoughtful examination of identity, heritage and belonging.

Podcast Choice

Artifacts

A compelling series that digs into the emotional history of the internet — not the technology, but the traces we leave behind. Each episode takes a digital “artifact” (a message board post, a meme, a long‑forgotten website, a viral moment) and uses it as a doorway into the ways online life has shaped memory, relationships and self‑expression.
What makes it special is its tone: empathetic, curious, and alert to the fact that the internet is not just infrastructure but a vast archive of human longing, creativity and embarrassment.
It’s a reminder that digital culture isn’t ephemeral at all — it’s where many of our most intimate stories now live.

Endgame

A thoughtful, often unsettling exploration of one of the defining questions of our age: can humanity live alongside Artificial General Intelligence? Rather than indulging in sci‑fi panic or techno‑utopian cheerleading, the podcast takes a sober, interdisciplinary approach — speaking to philosophers, engineers, ethicists and psychologists about what AGI might mean for work, autonomy, creativity and the very idea of being human. The strength of the series lies in its refusal to simplify. It acknowledges both the extraordinary potential and the profound risks, and it treats listeners as adults capable of holding both ideas at once. A gripping, intellectually serious listen that feels urgently relevant.

The Rest Is Politics – Who Funds Reform?

An examination of political funding, influence and the forces behind one of Britain’s most talked-about political movements.

This week’s Culture Vulture ranges from the Welsh valleys of 1941 to the future of artificial intelligence, from Bond and Hitchcock to Evonne Goolagong and Nelson Mandela. The strongest thread running through it all is the question of how individuals and societies tell their stories. Whether through film, television, radio or podcasts, the past is constantly being revisited, challenged and reinterpreted. That makes this one of the most thoughtful and rewarding cultural weeks of the year so far.

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An Evening with Toyah, Songs and Stories

Airdrie Town Hall, Saturday, 20th June

Toyah, picture by Andrew Hunter

Toyah Wilcox has had a fascinating career spanning acting, singing and TV presenting. At this most enjoyable show, she recounted her career including many amusing and entertaining anecdotes along with singing some of her greatest hits including “It’s a Mystery”, “Echo Beach” and “I Want to be Free”. A large screen in the background showed the original pop videos.

In the upper circle was her husband Robert Fripp of King Crimson, who often provided a foil to Toyah’s stories. During lockdown they produced a highly popular series screened across social media called “Sunday Lunch”. In one episode Toyah persuaded him to dance in a tutu in their back garden, which he regretted doing. It was only when “Rolling Stone” magazine credited his contribution to “Sunday Lunch” with a revival in interest in prog rock that he felt better about it!

Toyah also recalled her work with the late film director Derek Jarman which included “Jubilee” and “The Tempest”. Another major film role was Monkey in “Quadrophenia”, where she persuaded Leslie Ash to pogo punk-style to be noticed in one scene although this might be somewhat anachronistic given that it was a film set in 1965! It wasn’t always a comfortable life performing; her recollection of the filming of the video for her 1981 hit “Thunder in the Mountains” involved her riding what might be described as a cut-and-shut chariot that would send modern health and safety people into a fit.

Towards the end of the evening Toyah took questions that had been submitted by members of the audience during the intermission. The show finished with “I want to be Free” in which the audience were encouraged to sing along, which they did quite enthusiastically.

“An Evening with Toyah, Songs and Stories” was a most enjoyable two hours spent in the company of a most accomplished performer of many talents.

By Andrew Hunter

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17/06/26 – Counter Culture – Midweek Song List (153)

HELLO — and welcome back to the weekly wander through the musical back‑alleys, neon-lit side streets and occasionally questionable cul‑de‑sacs of popular culture. This week’s list is a proper patchwork quilt: punk reworks, glam stompers, synth‑era paranoia, a detour through Oz, and one of the greatest acoustic reinterpretations ever committed to tape.

As always, the aim is simple: songs that spark something — memory, curiosity, argument, or just the urge to turn the volume up until the neighbours start Googling “noise complaint template”.Let’s begin.

THE SONGS

AGNOSTIC FRONT – “BLITZKRIEG BOP” (Ramones cover)

The Ramones’ 1976 original is the Big Bang of American punk — two minutes of down‑stroke guitar, bubblegum nihilism and the most famous “Hey! Ho!” in history. Agnostic Front’s version drags it forward into the New York hardcore era they helped define. Where the Ramones were bratty and pop‑leaning, Agnostic Front are all grit, concrete and sweat‑drenched basement shows. Their cover isn’t reverent — it’s a reclamation, a reminder that punk didn’t stay in CBGB’s; it mutated, toughened, and found new teeth.

THE ANIMALS – “HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN”

A folk standard with murky origins — possibly New Orleans, possibly England — but it was The Animals who electrified it in 1964 and turned it into a global phenomenon. Eric Burdon’s vocal is still astonishing: raw, haunted, almost sermon‑like. Alan Price’s organ part is one of the most recognisable in British rock history. Sixty years on, it hasn’t aged; it simply stands there, timeless, like a building you can’t believe humans ever managed to construct.

BROKEN PEACH – “PERSONAL JESUS” (Depeche Mode cover)

Depeche Mode’s 1989 original was all swaggering blues‑industrial minimalism. Broken Peach — Spain’s theatrical, Halloween‑costumed, cabaret‑punk collective — take it somewhere else entirely. Their version is part performance art, part rock revue, part fever dream. The harmonies are tight, the staging is knowingly eccentric, and the whole thing feels like Depeche Mode reimagined by Tim Burton after too much espresso.

NOEL GALLAGHER – “THERE IS A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT” (The Smiths cover)

A bold move: covering one of the most beloved songs in the British indie canon. The Smiths’ 1986 original is all doomed romance and Mancunian melodrama. Noel doesn’t try to recreate that. Instead, he leans into a stripped‑back, orchestral hush — voice, guitar, and a soft swell of strings behind him. The result is unexpectedly tender. Without Marr’s shimmering arpeggios, the song feels more fragile, more human, almost confessional. A rare case of a cover that doesn’t compete with the original — it converses with it.

INXS – “NEVER TEAR US APART”

Released in 1987, this is INXS at their most cinematic. A slow‑burn ballad built on strings, saxophone and Michael Hutchence’s velvet‑and‑smoke vocal. It’s a song that feels like a memory even on first listen — a kind of widescreen romantic fatalism. Decades later, it remains one of the band’s defining moments, a reminder of Hutchence’s ability to make intimacy sound operatic.

METALLICA – “WHISKEY IN THE JAR”

A traditional Irish folk song, famously electrified by Thin Lizzy in 1973. Metallica’s 1998 version — from their covers album Garage Inc. — is heavier, chunkier, and unmistakably theirs. It’s Metallica having fun: big riffs, big drums, and James Hetfield leaning into the swagger. The song’s journey from folk ballad to hard‑rock anthem is a perfect example of how tradition survives by being reinvented.

NENA – “99 RED BALLOONS” (Long Version Mix)

Cold War paranoia wrapped in synth‑pop sugar. Released in 1983, “99 Luftballons” became a global hit in both German and English. The long version stretches out the tension — more synths, more atmosphere, more of that strangely upbeat dread. It’s a reminder of a time when nuclear anxiety sat right next to chart‑friendly pop, and nobody thought that was odd.

THE SOUND – “GLASS & SMOKE”

Adrian Borland’s band never got the recognition they deserved during their lifetime, but their influence has only grown. “Glass & Smoke” is quintessential post‑punk: brooding, melodic, emotionally flammable. Borland’s voice carries a kind of heroic vulnerability — the sound of someone trying to hold the world together with bare hands.

T. REX – “TELEGRAM SAM”

Marc Bolan at full glam‑strut. Released in 1972, “Telegram Sam” is all swaggering riffs, nonsense poetry and glitter‑dusted attitude. It’s not trying to be profound — it’s trying to be irresistible. And it succeeds. A reminder that glam rock, at its best, was both utterly ridiculous and utterly brilliant.

TIFFANY – “I THINK WE’RE ALONE NOW”

Originally a 1967 hit for Tommy James & The Shondells, Tiffany’s 1987 cover turned it into a mall‑pop juggernaut. Her version is pure late‑80s: synths, drum machines, teenage yearning. It’s impossible to hear without picturing denim jackets, food courts and the last golden age of bubblegum pop.

THE WIZARD OF OZ – “IF I ONLY HAD A HEART”

From the 1939 film that practically invented modern cinematic fantasy. The Tin Man’s song is whimsical on the surface, but there’s a melancholy undercurrent — a character longing for something he believes he lacks. It’s one of those rare musical numbers that has lived far beyond its film, becoming part of the cultural bloodstream.

NEIL YOUNG – “HEART OF GOLD”

Released in 1972 on Harvest, this is Neil Young’s only US No.1 single — a fact that still surprises people. It’s folk‑rock perfection: harmonica, acoustic guitar, and Young’s unmistakable high, quivering vocal. A song about searching — for meaning, for goodness, for something unspoiled. Half a century later, the search still resonates.

And that’s your lot for this week — a playlist that zig‑zags across decades, genres and emotional weather systems. If one of these tracks sends you down a rabbit hole, mission accomplished. If several do, even better.

As always, we end with a question — and this week it’s an easy one to argue about:

Which cover version in this list improves most boldly on the original?

See you next week for more cultural excavation and sonic archaeology.

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Film review: Disclosure Day

Introduction

I’ve never really got the whole ‘If it were proven beyond all doubt that we Earthlings were not the top of the food chain in God’s universe, then organised religion would collapse overnight’ argument.

Why?

Christianity survived proof that the Earth was not the centre of the universe with the other planets revolving around it, though admittedly, it took a while, and the likes of Galileo got a bit of a hard time about it.

It also survived Evolution, with a few die-hards persisting with outright denial to this day, but the vast majority managing to incorporate Darwinian Natural Selection into God’s Great Plan.

I can see no good reason why they shouldn’t be able to accept extra-terrestrial life-forms as fellow members of God’s creative handiwork.

And Christians aren’t the only game in town when it comes to religion. Buddhists and Daoists would take such a development in their stride, as they do most everything. Indeed, when high-ranking Tibetan Llamas started arriving in the West in the fifties and sixties, many of them still thought the world was flat. They took the news that they’d been misinformed with little more than a rueful shrug.

Hindus have so many looking strange beings in their pantheon of Gods that I don’t think a few more would phase them unduly either.

I’m not sure where Islam stands on the issue, but if we were subjected to a hostile invasion involving vastly superior technology, I’d definitely, on current form, give the Shia a key role in marshalling our defence.

Of course, many people aren’t religious at all. But I have a more optimistic view of human nature, of human beings of all religions and none than the Guardian reviewer of this film in that I think that, if were to have a real Disclosure Day and be presented with verifiable true footage of spindly, harmless looking traditional ‘Grey’ type alien visitors being subjected to horrific experiments by a shadowy government (American, inevitably) backed corporate entity we would be righteously appalled.

Plot

I say all this because the ‘This film will challenge everything you think you know about God and our place in the universe’ angle has been one of the main selling points of the movie.

Actually, this was only a marginal, though important and interesting aspect of the film. We have some religious symbolism, a blink and you’ll miss it appearance by Jesus (and, to be honest, I did miss this, only knowing about it through Mark Kermode’s review on You Tube), but is largely explored through the character of Jane (Eve Hewson), a one-time Novice-Nun, whose mind is quickly put at rest as regards to what all these Alien goings-on she’s stumbled into mean for her Faith by a single quote from Genesis delivered by her kindly former Nun-mentor Sister Maura (Elizabeth Marvel).

Jane is the girlfriend of Dr Daniel Kellner (Josh O’ Connor). Daniel is a former employee of this shadowy corporate-government organisation, Wardex (perhaps a stand-in for Elon Musk’s Space X), after absconding with a huge cache of memory sticks upon which he has downloaded almost eighty years’ worth of absolute proof of Alien visitations, dating back to the notorious Roswell incident of 1947. He intends to use this cache to disclose this information simultaneously to the whole world. Wardex, led by the villainous Noah Scanlon (Colin Firth, getting to be the baddie for a change).

Meanwhile, beautiful but restless Kansas City TV weathergirl Margaret Fairchild (Emily Blunt, the real star of the show), who shares her life with bumbling, amiable and soon uncomprehending boyfriend Jackson (Wyatt Russell, channelling Woody Harleston), begins to have strange experiences after a Disney-esque Red Cardinal bird (all of the animals in the film, which are actually Aliens taking on a form that is palatable to us humans, are Disney-esque, I think deliberately so) flies into their kitchen while she is expressing her desire to relocate for what is clearly the umpteenth time.

These experiences include being able to converse fluently in foreign languages she’s never learned, without knowing she’s doing it, the ability to read the minds of others, or to appear to them as long-lost loved ones.

Most of all, she is an empath, and ‘Empathy is a Superpower’ is the central, positive message of the film.

Soon, Margaret and Daniel are brought together by an equally shadowy, but benevolent group of ex Wardex employees, led by Hugo (Coleman Domingo), who are determined to help Daniel to finally get the Truth out there.

It becomes clear that this coming together and Margaret is no accident, that it has long been predestined by Close Encounters they’d had separately in their childhood, the memory of which they had suppressed.

They are to be the joint vehicles through which the existence of the Aliens will finally be revealed to the world.

The movie soon becomes a traditional chase/quest movie, taking place against a backdrop of a world on the brink of World War 3 over tensions on the Korean peninsula (due to the actions of the dastardly DPRK of Hollywood imagination).

There is one particularly thrilling chase scene involving a train in a scene that Spielberg has acknowledged as a conscious nod to Hitchcock’s North by Northwest.

It’s a Big Hollywood Steven Spielberg film, so it’s big in every way, impeccably directed, great cinematography, a big score by John Williams, plenty of thrills and spills, human interest and humour, all performed by a great ensemble cast.

Conclusion

I won’t give the ending away, though the title gives a pretty big clue as to who comes out on top in the battle between the Truthers and the anti-truthers. All I’ll say is that I found the climactic last twenty minutes or so to be both thrilling and moving.

There are criticisms to be made, for instance, the Alien device utilised by Margaret, Daniel and Co. in pursuit of their quest is something of a McGuffin. But I enjoyed the film too much to want to dwell on such things here.

Of course, you could, as some have, dismiss the whole thing as a fairy story based on conspiracy nonsense, and maybe I’m guilty of Confirmation Bias, because I want very much for extra-terrestrial visitations to be true. That is so because I have a heart and soul and don’t work for the Guardian.

But I’m not alone. Spielberg has called his original story a summation of both his cinematic work in the Science Fiction genre and his own longstanding studies of UFO/UAP sightings and abduction accounts. He believes the film to be true ‘in essence’, so the question really as to its quality as a movie should be, ‘Did Spielberg convince us that he is indeed a believer, and did he realise his vision in such a way as to make that belief seem plausible?’

On both counts, I say a big yes. I might have somehow missed Jesus speaking fluent Aramaic, with every word, of course, understood by Margaret, but I wasn’t bored for a single one of the movies two-hundred-and-twenty minutes: What more can you ask of a wet Thursday afternoon?

A worthy addition to the great Spielberg canon. Maybe not as groundbreaking as Jaws, ET, or its spiritual predecessor Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but a fine movie nonetheless.

Postscript   

I’m aware that there is an alternative reading of this film that sees it as part of an ongoing Psyop, linked to the real-life disclosures promised by the Trump administration and the no doubt entirely benevolent ‘training’ being provided to American Evangelical ‘Pastors’ by Israel to prepare them for a potential faith-shattering series of ‘revelations.’  I don’t dismiss this reading out of hand and will certainly bear it in my mind when and if events linked to ‘The Alien Files’ unfold. But, for now, a deep dive into that particular rabbit hole could ruin a very good film.

Anthony C Green, June 2026

Directed by Steven Spielberg

Screenplay by David Koepp, from a story by Steven Spielberg

Music by John Williams

Starring

  • Emily Blunt
  • Josh O’ Connor
  • Colin Firth
  • Even Hewson
  • Wyatt Russell

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The Devil Wears Prada — Fashion, Power, and the Quiet Cost of Becoming Someone Else

There are films that arrive with a burst of hype and then fade, and there are films that quietly embed themselves in the culture, quoted, referenced, and revisited long after their release. The Devil Wears Prada (2006) belongs firmly in the second category. On paper, it’s a workplace comedy set in the fashion industry. In practice, it’s a film about power, identity, and the subtle, creeping cost of ambition — all wrapped in the immaculate tailoring of a Meryl Streep performance so controlled it borders on mythic.

Anne Hathaway plays Andrea “Andy” Sachs, the earnest journalism graduate who stumbles into a job at Runway magazine, a job she neither wants nor respects. Hathaway gives Andy a kind of open‑faced sincerity that makes her early awkwardness painful to watch: the shapeless sweaters, the clunky shoes, the hopeful smile that dies a little each time someone looks her up and down. She is the outsider in a world that speaks a language she doesn’t understand.

And then there is Miranda Priestly. Meryl Streep doesn’t play Miranda so much as inhabit her — a performance built on micro‑expressions, glacial pauses, and a voice so soft it forces everyone around her to lean in. It’s one of those rare performances where the actor’s restraint becomes the source of the character’s power. Streep strips away the clichés of the “boss from hell” and replaces them with something far more interesting: a woman who has survived in a world that punishes softness, and who has learned to weaponise precision, silence, and expectation.

Miranda is also, crucially, not remotely PC — and that’s part of her enduring fascination. She doesn’t flatter, she doesn’t soften her language, and she doesn’t pretend to care about the emotional comfort of the people around her. She judges ruthlessly, dismisses incompetence without apology, and expects the world to meet her standards rather than the other way around. In 2026, when workplaces are drenched in HR‑approved phrasing and corporate empathy theatre, Miranda’s bluntness feels almost radical. She is a relic of an older professional culture — one where excellence was demanded, not negotiated — and the film never tries to sand down her edges. It lets her be formidable, exacting, and occasionally cruel, because that is the truth of who she is.

Andy’s journey begins with humiliation. Her early days at Runway are a blur of ringing phones, impossible demands, and the constant sense that she is one mistake away from being fired. Emily Blunt, in her breakout role as senior assistant Emily Charlton, plays her with a brittle, hilarious desperation — a woman who has built her entire identity around serving Miranda and who sees Andy as an unworthy intruder. Blunt’s performance is sharp, funny, and tinged with sadness; she is the loyal soldier who has given everything to a system that will never love her back.

The turning point comes when Andy, after yet another icy dismissal from Miranda, decides she has had enough of being the office joke. With the help of Nigel — Stanley Tucci at his warmest and most quietly devastating — she undergoes the famous transformation. The clothes change first: Chanel boots, sleek coats, immaculate tailoring. But the real transformation is internal. Andy learns the rhythms of the office, anticipates Miranda’s needs, and begins to excel. Hathaway plays this shift beautifully, letting Andy’s confidence bloom even as the audience senses the cost.

Because the cost is real. As Andy rises, her old life begins to fray. Adrian Grenier’s Nate becomes the embodiment of the life she is drifting away from — supportive at first, then resentful, then quietly alienated. Her friends roll their eyes at her new priorities. Andy herself starts to feel the dissonance between who she was and who she is becoming. The film never condemns her ambition, but it does show how ambition can quietly rearrange your values when you’re not paying attention.

Paris is where everything crystallises. The city is a dreamscape of fashion and power, but it is also where Andy sees Miranda’s humanity for the first time. Streep allows tiny cracks to appear in the armour: the tremor in her voice when she mentions her failing marriage, the flicker of fear when she realises her position at Runway is under threat. These moments don’t soften Miranda; they deepen her. They show the cost of being a woman at the top of a world that still expects women to apologise for their success.

And then comes the betrayal — not of Andy, but of Nigel. Tucci plays the scene with heartbreaking dignity, the quiet devastation of a man who has given everything to an industry that discards him in a heartbeat. Miranda sacrifices him to save herself, and Andy sees, with painful clarity, the kind of person she would have to become if she stayed on this path. It’s not that Miranda is evil. It’s that she is pragmatic in a way Andy cannot be without losing herself.

The moment Andy walks away — throwing her phone into the Paris fountain — is not a triumphant escape. It’s a moment of self‑recognition. She has reached the edge of who she is willing to be. When she returns to New York, she is not the naïve graduate who started the film, but someone who has seen the machinery of power up close and chosen not to be consumed by it.

The final scene between Andy and Miranda is one of the most quietly perfect endings in modern cinema. Andy sees Miranda on the street. Miranda pretends not to notice her. But once inside her car, she allows herself the smallest, most private smile — a smile that acknowledges respect, recognition, and perhaps even affection. It is the closest the film comes to a reconciliation, and it is enough.

What makes The Devil Wears Prada endure is that it refuses to simplify its characters. Miranda is not a monster. Andy is not a saint. Emily is not a villain. Nigel is not a martyr. They are all people navigating a world that demands more than it gives back. The film understands the emotional complexity of female power, the loneliness of leadership, the seduction of ambition, and the quiet bravery required to walk away from something that is consuming you.

And perhaps that is why the film still resonates. It understands that growing up — truly growing up — means recognising the moment when the cost of staying outweighs the fear of leaving. Andy learns it in Paris. Many of us learn it much later. But the lesson is the same: your life is yours to shape, and no job, no matter how glamorous, is worth losing yourself for.

By Christopher Storton

Picture credit: By IMP Awards, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8559391
Pat Harrington’s review of the Devil Wears Prada 2 is  here
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Malorie Blackman’s Thief!

Dame Oneta Malorie Blackman DBE FRSL

Malorie Blackman’s Thief! is a gripping and imaginative young‑adult novel that blends realism, science fiction, and moral questioning into a fast‑paced story about justice, responsibility, and the frightening consequences of being misunderstood. First published in 1995, the book remains one of Blackman’s most underrated works, overshadowed by the later success of Noughts & Crosses, yet it contains many of the same qualities that define her writing: a strong sense of empathy, a willingness to explore difficult themes, and a deep understanding of how young people experience fear, hope, and moral pressure. Thief! follows the story of Lydia, a twelve‑year‑old girl who is wrongly accused of theft and then swept into a terrifying future where her town has become a dystopian nightmare. Through Lydia’s journey, Blackman explores how a single moment of injustice can spiral into something far bigger, and how courage often emerges in the most unexpected circumstances.

The novel begins in the present day, with Lydia on a school trip. She is an ordinary girl, shy and thoughtful, who often feels invisible among her peers. Her life is not dramatic or rebellious; she is simply trying to get through school, navigate friendships, and make her mother proud. This ordinariness is important because it makes the sudden accusation of theft feel all the more shocking. Lydia is accused of stealing a classmate’s electronic organiser, and the accusation hits her with the force of a physical blow. She knows she is innocent, but the adults around her are quick to assume the worst. Blackman captures the emotional intensity of this moment with sensitivity: Lydia feels humiliated, frightened, and betrayed. She is overwhelmed by the realisation that people she trusted are willing to believe she is a thief without giving her a chance to defend herself. This injustice becomes the emotional foundation of the novel, shaping Lydia’s decisions and her understanding of the world.

The accusation also sets up one of the novel’s central themes: how quickly a person’s reputation can be destroyed. Lydia is not a troublemaker, but she lacks the confidence and social power to defend herself effectively. She is a child in a world where adults hold authority, and Blackman uses this dynamic to show how vulnerable young people can be when they are misunderstood. Lydia’s sense of fairness is deeply shaken, and she begins to question whether the world is as just as she once believed. This emotional turmoil is still fresh when the novel takes a dramatic turn. On the journey home from the school trip, a violent storm erupts. Lydia is caught in the chaos, and the storm becomes a symbolic and literal force that tears her out of her familiar world. In a moment that blends realism with science fiction, the storm transports her into the future — a future where everything she knows has changed.

When Lydia wakes up, she finds herself in a version of her hometown that is unrecognisable. The streets are deserted, the atmosphere is tense, and the sense of danger is immediate. She soon discovers that the town is under the control of a tyrannical leader, a boy named Dominic, who rules through fear, surveillance, and strict curfews. Lydia is shot at for being outside after curfew, and this moment marks the beginning of her terrifying journey through a dystopian world. Blackman’s portrayal of the future is chilling not because it is filled with monsters or supernatural threats, but because it is a distorted version of reality — a world where ordinary people have been pushed into submission by a system that punishes disobedience and rewards cruelty. The future Lydia encounters is bleak, oppressive, and deeply unfair, mirroring the injustice she experienced in her own time but magnified to an extreme degree.

As Lydia navigates this dangerous world, she learns that the future she has entered is not random. It is connected to her own life in ways she could never have imagined. The tyrant who rules the town is a boy from her own time, someone she knows — and someone whose future has been shaped by events that Lydia herself may influence. This revelation introduces one of the novel’s most important themes: the idea that small actions can have enormous consequences. Lydia realises that the future has become a nightmare because of choices made in the present, and she begins to understand that she has a role to play in changing what is to come. This theme is particularly powerful for young readers, who often feel that their actions do not matter. Blackman challenges this belief by showing how Lydia’s courage, honesty, and determination can alter the course of history.

Throughout the novel, Lydia is forced to confront difficult moral dilemmas. She must decide whom to trust, how to survive, and whether she is willing to take risks to help others. These dilemmas deepen the story and make Lydia’s journey more than just a physical adventure; it becomes a psychological and ethical struggle. Lydia’s character grows as she faces danger, betrayal, and fear. She becomes more assertive, more strategic, and more aware of her own strength. Yet she never loses her moral compass. Even when she is frightened or uncertain, she refuses to become cruel or selfish. This integrity is one of her defining traits, and it is what ultimately allows her to change the future.

Blackman’s portrayal of the dystopian future is both imaginative and grounded in social commentary. The future town is a place where inequality has deepened, where power is concentrated in the hands of a few, and where ordinary people live in fear. The curfews, surveillance, and punishments reflect real‑world concerns about authoritarianism and the erosion of civil liberties. By placing a young girl at the centre of this world, Blackman highlights how political systems affect individuals, especially those who are vulnerable. Lydia’s struggle becomes a metaphor for the fight against injustice in all its forms, whether it appears in the classroom, the home, or society at large.

The novel’s pacing is fast and tense, keeping readers engaged as Lydia moves from one danger to another. Yet Blackman also takes time to explore Lydia’s emotions, giving the story depth and resonance. Lydia’s fear, confusion, anger, and determination are portrayed with nuance, making her a relatable and sympathetic protagonist. Her emotional journey is as important as the physical one, and it is this combination of action and introspection that makes the novel so compelling for young readers.

As Lydia uncovers the truth about the future and her role in it, the novel builds toward a dramatic climax. She must confront Dominic, the tyrant, and expose the truth about how the future came to be. This confrontation is intense and emotionally charged, forcing Lydia to draw on all the courage she has developed throughout her journey. The climax is not just a battle between characters; it is a battle between values — between fear and hope, cruelty and compassion, despair and possibility. Lydia’s victory is not easy, and it comes with the realisation that changing the future requires both bravery and responsibility.

When Lydia finally returns to her own time, she is forever changed. She carries with her the knowledge of what the future could become, and she understands that her actions matter. The resolution of the novel is hopeful but realistic. Lydia has grown, but she is still a young girl who must navigate the challenges of her everyday life. Blackman does not offer a neat, sentimental ending; instead, she acknowledges that trauma leaves scars and that growth is a gradual process. Yet Lydia emerges stronger, more confident, and more aware of her own capabilities.

The themes of Thief! are rich and relevant for GCSE students. The novel explores justice and injustice, showing how easily a person can be misunderstood and how devastating the consequences can be. It examines identity and self‑discovery, as Lydia learns who she is when everything familiar is stripped away. It addresses power and manipulation, revealing how authority can be abused and how fear can be used as a tool of control. It also critiques social inequality, showing how systems can fail young people and how those failures can shape the future. These themes make the novel not only exciting to read but also meaningful to study, offering opportunities for discussion, analysis, and reflection.

Blackman’s writing style is clear, direct, and accessible, making the novel suitable for young readers while still offering depth and complexity. She balances fast‑paced action with emotional insight, creating a story that is both thrilling and thought‑provoking. Her ability to capture the inner life of a young protagonist is one of her greatest strengths, and it is what makes Thief! such a powerful and memorable novel.

In conclusion, Thief! is a compelling exploration of injustice, courage, and the power of individual action. Through Lydia’s journey into a dystopian future, Malorie Blackman shows how ordinary people can rise to extraordinary challenges and how the choices we make today can shape the world of tomorrow. The novel’s blend of thriller, science fiction, and social commentary makes it an ideal text for GCSE students, offering both an engaging story and rich thematic material. Nearly three decades after its publication, Thief! remains a relevant and resonant novel, reminding readers that even in the face of fear and misunderstanding, it is possible to fight for the truth and change the future.

By Christopher Storton

Picture credit: By Taraforfun at the English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12403360

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West Coast Punk Songlist 3

Today I fill in some of the gaps in my previous offerings of West Coast Punk. There is really a rich “songbook” of music out there from ’77-’80, and after that “hardcore” became the norm, being born in Orange County CA by a younger and much more violent youth, called “surf punk” right at the dawn of the decade. It’s more or less where I lost interest but there are veterans of this genre who wrote some classics – that will be for another time – meanwhile, enjoy!

Count Vertico = I’m a Mutant: A Spin-off (basically the whole band but the drummer singing) of the incredible, what I call, “Sci Fi” band ICE 9 with the brilliant Dan Demiankow on guitar – they were outta Mt. Hood Community College, but Dan has roots back to the early seventies. His depth and talent shine. Overlook the staccato beginning and behold the tortuous lead solo at 2:00 – a classic for Dan! Other ICE 9 to follow in subsequent columns.

Red Kross – Annette’s Got The Hits: A latecomer Hollywood band (pre-surf punk) they had a 12 year old bass player we used to say looked like a young Benny Hill. I saw them live at the legendary Hong Kong Cafe – and they were amazing – very primitive but clever lyrics and imagery of the surfing life.

Middle Class – Out of Vogue: Probably the first speed punk single, but it precedes the genre by a couple of years. Super fast, super brief, as it should be. I saw them live at the legendary Fleetwood gig with the Germs and Mau Maus. They were like Black Flag at the time – dressed like the man on the street with zero punk affectation. Clocking in at one minute flat.

Agent Orange – Blood Stains: Again, I saw them at the Hong Kong Cafe,opening for the Germs – COMPLETE chaos! This song is clever with sarcastic observations of the world around them and the risk of living life in the fast lane. It sounds as good now as it did 47 years ago! GREAT Indian-style solo.

Rik L Rik – Meathouse: Rich Elrich hailed from Pomona – and friends of mine at Harvey Mudd College where I was a freshman knew him in high school – he had a 240 Z back then! He was one of the many rotating members of Negative Trend – but this single (on white vinyl, at least my copy is) has a clever arrangement, and once again a sanguine oboservation of the claustrophic nature of these insular music / personal scenes.

The Germs – Media Blitz: Whereas No God/Lexicon Devil , their 1st single, sounded like a trash can rolling downhill, this first song off of GI (the enigmatic blue circle on a black background) is absolutely a monster! Cohesive, thick, yet clean production, great wall of sound guitar by Pat Smear (later of Nirvana and the Foo Fighters) and the great, dynamic drumming of the crazy man himself, Don Bolles. How they ever tied Darby Crash down long enough to deliver a standout performance is beyond me. Purportedly produced by Joan Jett (her contribution has been the subject of debate). I love the TV/radio talking on the outro. PS I saw them live 2x w/Darby, once w/Shane West.

The Dickies – Manny Moe And Jack: They were somewhat of a comedy band and signed early on to A&M records, but this is my favorite single of theirs (and there are several great ones!) as I like the flowing sound and fantastic long sustained guitar chords. Their comedic approach to an auto parts store continues the tongue in check nature of LA / West Coast punk. And did I mention? a KILLER guitar tone!.

The Dead Kennedys – California Uber Alles: Great musicianship on this their debut single. Their tongue in cheek dig at the then California governor Jerry Brown portrays a dark future combining hippy/liberal ideals and Nazi-ism – too bad they abandoned their oppo to said governor in later years, but oh well, there ya go! Their 1st album hit the T40 in the UK – certainly not in the US! Enjoy.

By Jeff Williams

Click on links for West Coast Punk One and Two

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Culture Vulture 13th–19th June 2026

There are weeks when television and film seem to be engaged in the same conversation. This is one of them. Across the schedules we find stories about reinvention, reputation, political upheaval and cultural legacy. Nelson Mandela emerges from prison to become a symbol of resistance. David Bowie transforms popular culture. James VI and I is re-examined through a modern lens. The American Revolution and Brexit become stories about nations wrestling with identity. Even many of the week’s films explore individuals trying to redefine themselves in changing worlds.

The arrival of the World Cup adds a further sense of occasion. England’s clash with Croatia is likely to dominate conversation, but there is plenty here for those whose passions lie elsewhere. History, music, literature, politics, wildlife, science and cinema all receive generous treatment.

🌟 This week’s highlights are Free Nelson MandelaThe American Revolution and Children of Men, three works which examine how people respond when history forces change upon them.

Selections and reviews are from Pat Harrington and apologies for the late posting which is a result of his hospitalisation for observation for a medical condition.

Saturday 13th June

🌟 Trooping the Colour: The King’s Birthday Parade
BBC One, 10.30am

Trooping the Colour returns with all the familiar splendour: the immaculate drill, the Household Division at full strength, and that unmistakable blend of ceremony and choreography that Britain still performs better than almost anyone. Yet the pageantry now sits in a subtly altered landscape. The past year’s royal difficulties — health scares, absences, shifting public sentiment — hover at the edges of the spectacle, giving this year’s parade a slightly more fragile undertone.

And then there’s the growing visibility of Republic, whose Not My King banners have become a recurring counter‑melody at major royal events. Their presence doesn’t overwhelm the ceremony, but it does frame it differently: a reminder that national rituals are no longer received with automatic deference, and that the monarchy now marches in step with a more contested public mood.

The result is a Trooping that feels both timeless and newly complicated — the grandeur intact, the context unmistakably changed.

🌟 The Magnificent Seven (1960)
BBC Two, 3.15pm

Sturges’s classic still rides tall: a western built on pure cinematic instinct, where myth, morality and melancholy sit easily alongside gunfights and swagger. What makes it endure isn’t just the action but the chemistry — a band of drifters, outlaws and idealists trying to be better men than their circumstances allow. It’s Hollywood myth‑making at full tilt, polished to a shine yet edged with just enough regret to give it weight. A film that knows exactly why the genre mattered, and why it still does.

Cyrano
BBC Two, 5.00pm

A chance to revisit Joe Wright’s lush, musical reimagining of Rostand’s classic — a tale where wit becomes armour and love demands both courage and concealment. Peter Dinklage gives the story its emotional centre, playing Cyrano with a bruised intelligence that makes the familiar tragedy feel newly intimate. The film’s blend of stylised romance, aching self‑sacrifice and Wright’s painterly visuals turns an old favourite into something tender, modern and quietly disarming.

Shanghai Noon (2000)
5 Action, 6.55pm

Jackie Chan and Owen Wilson strike gold in this breezy East‑meets‑West buddy romp. Chan’s acrobatic brilliance and Wilson’s laid‑back drawl shouldn’t work together, yet somehow they click perfectly — a clash of styles that becomes the joke, the charm and the engine of the whole film. The action is inventive, the humour easygoing, and the western backdrop gives it all a sun‑bleached swagger. One of the most purely enjoyable buddy westerns of its era, and still a delight to revisit.

🌟 Heatwave Night
BBC Four, from 7.00pm

BBC Four devotes an evening to the long, strange summer of 1976 — the drought, the dust, the cracked earth and the half‑remembered stories that have since hardened into national folklore. It was the year Britain baked, hosepipes were banned, tempers frayed and an entire generation formed its first memories of heat as something almost mythical. These programmes sift through the facts and the fantasies, revisiting a season when the country felt both sun‑struck and slightly unhinged. A warm, nostalgic dive into a moment that still glows in the collective imagination.

Originals at the BBC
BBC Four, from 8.35pm

This archive‑rich trawl through pop history looks at the songs whose first versions were quietly eclipsed by the covers that later defined them. It’s full of fascinating reversals: Mick Jackson performing “Blame It on the Boogie” before the Jacksons turned it into a disco juggernaut; Liza Minnelli debuting “New York, New York” years before Sinatra claimed it as his own; and early, often surprising takes from David Bowie, Chaka Khan, Randy Newman, Randy Crawford, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and the Osmonds.

What emerges is a portrait of musical evolution in real time — the moment before a song becomes a standard, when it still belongs to its original voice. It’s a quietly revelatory reminder that the version we know best isn’t always the one that came first.

Harry and Meghan: Has America Had Enough?
Channel 5, 8.35pm

This timely documentary takes the temperature of the Sussexes’ standing in the United States, where the initial fascination has cooled into something more complicated. The film charts the arc from Oprah‑era sympathy to a landscape shaped by media fatigue, shifting public sentiment and the couple’s own high‑profile projects.

What emerges is a portrait of a brand in flux: admired by some for their independence, dismissed by others as overexposed, and increasingly caught in the crossfire of America’s culture‑war reflexes. The programme doesn’t pretend there’s a single narrative — instead it maps the competing ones, showing how quickly celebrity, royalty and activism can collide in the American imagination.

A brisk, revealing look at how the Sussex story plays across the Atlantic, and why the mood there may matter more than ever.

🌟 Ferrari (2023)
Sky Mix, 9.00pm

Michael Mann’s Ferrari is less a biopic than a pressure chamber — a portrait of Enzo Ferrari at the moment when ambition, obsession and personal tragedy all begin to collide. Adam Driver plays him as a man carved out of resolve and regret, running a company on the brink while navigating a private life held together by secrecy and strain.

Mann shoots the racing sequences with his trademark precision — mechanical violence, beauty and danger fused into one — but the film’s real charge comes from the emotional wreckage Ferrari can’t outrun. It’s sleek, sombre and quietly devastating, a study of a man who built an empire at a cost he could never fully control.

Ella Fitzgerald: Just One of Those Things
Sky Arts, 9.00pm

This superb profile traces Ella Fitzgerald’s rise from a troubled childhood to becoming one of the most luminous voices of the twentieth century. The film captures both the precision and the playfulness in her singing — that effortless glide across a melody, the improvisational daring, the way she could make even the most familiar standard feel newly minted.

What stands out is the contrast between the public brilliance and the private reserve: a woman who poured everything into performance yet kept much of herself hidden offstage. Through interviews, rare footage and a lovingly curated soundtrack, the documentary shows how she shaped American music while quietly navigating the pressures of race, gender and relentless touring.

Benedetta (2021)
Film4, 12.30am

Paul Verhoeven’s Benedetta is a heady collision of religion, sexuality and power — a film that treats the convent not as a sanctuary but as a crucible where desire, faith and ambition combust. Virginie Efira is mesmerising as the nun whose visions may be divine revelation, psychological rupture or calculated self‑advancement; Verhoeven keeps all possibilities alive, letting the ambiguity do the unsettling work.

The film is provocative, yes, but never cheaply so. Its real charge comes from the way it exposes the machinery of authority — how institutions police bodies, weaponise belief and fear the unruly force of female agency. It’s bold, irreverent and sharply intelligent, a late‑night watch that refuses to behave.

Nostalgia (2022)
BBC Two, 1.20am

Mario Martone’s Nostalgia is a slow, beautifully bruised meditation on what it means to return to the place that shaped you — and to discover that time has rewritten it in ways you can’t quite reconcile. Pierfrancesco Favino gives a wonderfully inward performance as a man drawn back to Naples after decades away, only to find that memory, identity and the city itself no longer align.

The film moves with a kind of haunted patience, lingering in alleyways, courtyards and half‑forgotten rituals as it explores how the past can both anchor and endanger you. It’s a drama about homecoming that understands the ache beneath the idea — the knowledge that you can revisit the streets of your youth, but you can’t return as the person who once walked them.

A thoughtful, late‑night piece: atmospheric, melancholy and quietly gripping.

Sunday 14th June

Dial M for Murder (1954)
BBC Two, 2.00pm

Hitchcock’s chamber‑piece thriller remains a masterclass in controlled tension — a film that turns a London flat into a trap, a stage and a moral maze. Ray Milland is superb as the husband whose charm curdles into calculation, plotting the “perfect” murder with the cool logic of a man who believes he’s smarter than everyone in the room. Grace Kelly, luminous and poised, becomes the pivot around which the whole scheme twists.

What makes it endure is the precision: the way Hitchcock builds suspense from timing, angles, tiny gestures, the slow tightening of circumstance. It’s elegant, claustrophobic and wickedly satisfying — a reminder that sometimes the most gripping thrillers barely need to leave the living room.

Moby Dick (1956)
Legend, 5.40pm

John Huston’s muscular adaptation of Melville’s great American novel still carries the weight and weather of a true seafaring epic. Gregory Peck sheds his usual moral steadiness to play Captain Ahab as a man consumed from the inside out — all flint, fury and fatal purpose — driving his crew across the oceans in pursuit of the white whale that has become his destiny and his doom.

The film has a rugged grandeur: storm‑lashed decks, creaking timbers, and a sense of myth gathering like fog around the Pequod. Richard Basehart’s Ishmael provides the human anchor, watching as obsession tightens its grip on ship and captain alike.

A classic tale told with salt, sweat and tragic poetry — still gripping, still immense.

🌟 Tiger Island
BBC One, 7.15pm

A beautifully filmed journey into one of the planet’s most fragile wildlife refuges, where every frame seems to shimmer with both wonder and warning. The programme follows the tigers that haunt this isolated landscape — elusive, powerful, and increasingly vulnerable — while capturing the delicate web of life that surrounds them.

What gives it real force is the sense of precarity: a habitat under pressure, a species surviving on the thinnest of margins, and the people working to protect a world that could vanish with alarming speed. It’s immersive, urgent and quietly moving — a reminder of what’s at stake when wilderness meets the modern world.

Michael Palin’s Hemingway Adventure
BBC Four, 8.15pm

Palin’s travelogue is a genial, gently obsessive pursuit of Ernest Hemingway’s shadow — following the writer’s footsteps from Key West to Cuba, from Parisian cafés to African plains. What begins as a literary pilgrimage becomes a portrait of the man behind the myth: the bravado, the tenderness, the damage, and the restless need to keep moving.

Palin brings his trademark curiosity and lightness of touch, treating Hemingway not as a monument but as a complicated human being whose life spilled across continents and genres. The result is part biography, part journey, part meditation on why certain writers refuse to fade.

A thoughtful, engaging evening with two great travellers — one on screen, one in memory.

🌟 Free Nelson Mandela
Channel 4, 9.00pm

This major documentary series opens with a stark, unflinching examination of apartheid — not as distant history, but as a system of white supremacy engineered to control every aspect of Black South African life. The episode traces the machinery of segregation, the brutality used to enforce it, and the early resistance movements that began to challenge the state’s grip.

What gives the film its power is the way it balances the political with the personal: the rise of Nelson Mandela set against the wider struggle of a people fighting for dignity, representation and the right simply to exist on equal terms. It’s rigorous, moving and necessary — a reminder of how oppression is built, and how it is eventually dismantled.

Bowie: The Man Who Changed the World
Sky Documentaries, 9.00pm

A familiar but always worthwhile study of one of modern culture’s most influential figures.

🌟 A Time to Kill (1996)
Legend, 9.00pm

Joel Schumacher’s adaptation of John Grisham’s novel remains a gripping, morally charged courtroom drama, set in a Deep South still riven by race, rage and old injustices. Matthew McConaughey plays the young lawyer drawn into a case that forces the town — and the audience — to confront the limits of justice when the law and lived experience collide.

Samuel L. Jackson brings fierce, wounded gravity to the father at the centre of the trial, while the film builds its tension not from legal theatrics but from the volatile atmosphere outside the courtroom: mobs, threats, and a community on the brink.

It’s slick, urgent and emotionally loaded — a 90s thriller that still knows how to get under the skin.

Later… with Jools Holland
BBC Two, 10.00pm

Jools returns with a line‑up that spans eras and energies: Mike D of the Beastie Boys, bringing the wry charm and hip‑hop heritage only he can; the smoky, soulful intensity of Baby Rose; and the radiant, genre‑defying presence of Beverly Glenn‑Copeland, whose late‑career renaissance feels like a gift every time he performs.

It’s one of those eclectic Jools nights where the contrasts do the work — hip‑hop royalty, a rising voice steeped in emotion, and a visionary elder statesman of experimental soul all sharing the same musical floor. A quietly special edition.

🌟 Children of Men (2006)
BBC Two, 10.45pm

Alfonso Cuarón’s dystopian masterpiece still feels frighteningly close to the bone — a world collapsing under infertility, authoritarianism and despair, rendered with such immediacy that it barely feels like science fiction at all. Clive Owen gives one of his finest performances as the weary bureaucrat dragged, almost against his will, into protecting the one fragile spark of hope left on Earth.

Cuarón’s long, fluid takes remain astonishing: chaos unfolding in real time, violence without glamour, humanity flickering in the rubble. Yet for all its grit and grime, the film carries a quiet, stubborn belief in the possibility of renewal.

A modern classic — urgent, immersive and emotionally shattering.

Boiling Point (2021)
Channel 4, Midnight

Stephen Graham is electrifying in this ferocious, real‑time restaurant drama, a single unbroken shot that traps you in the pressure cooker of a London kitchen on the brink. What begins as controlled chaos slowly unravels into something rawer and more revealing — a portrait of overwork, ego, exhaustion and the fragile humanity beneath the chef’s whites.

The camera never lets you escape, weaving through cramped spaces and frayed tempers as service spirals out of control. It’s tense, immersive and brilliantly acted, a late‑night watch that leaves your pulse racing long after the plates stop clattering.

🌟 World Cup 2026: Haiti v Scotland — BBC One, 2.00am

Scotland return to the World Cup stage for the first time in 28 years, opening their Group C campaign against Haiti — a match that feels both historic and quietly nerve‑shredding. Steve Clarke’s side arrive in good form after strong warm‑up wins, but the pressure is unmistakable: with Morocco and Brazil looming later in the group, this is the game they simply have to take something from.

Haiti, making their first World Cup appearance in over half a century, won’t make it easy. Expect a cagey start, flashes of jeopardy, and the hope that Scotland’s midfield spine — McGinn, McTominay, Christie — can impose control when it matters.

A late‑night (or very early‑morning) appointment for the Tartan Army, and a moment decades in the making.

Monday 15th June

🌟 The Power of the Dog (2021)
BBC Two, 12.05am

Jane Campion’s magnificent deconstruction of western mythology unfolds with a slow, coiled intensity — a frontier drama where the real battles are waged in silence, glances and buried wounds. Benedict Cumberbatch is extraordinary as Phil Burbank, a man whose cruelty masks a deeper, more dangerous vulnerability, while the wide Montana landscapes feel less like freedom and more like emotional terrain waiting to erupt.

Campion strips the western of swagger and replaces it with psychological precision: masculinity as performance, desire as threat, power as something that shifts in the smallest of gestures. Every frame is controlled, unsettling and quietly devastating.

A modern masterpiece — tense, elegant and lingering long after the credits fade.

Gagarine (2020)
Film4, 1.30am

A quietly luminous film that turns a crumbling Paris housing estate into a place of dreams, memory and fragile hope. Ladj Ly and Fanny Liatard blend social realism with a touch of science‑fiction poetry, following teenager Youri as he tries to save the only home he’s ever known — transforming the tower block into a kind of spacecraft built from longing and imagination.

The result is moving without sentimentality: a portrait of community under threat, of youth inventing escape routes when none are offered, and of the small acts of care that keep people afloat. It’s tender, inventive and unexpectedly cosmic

🌟 Brexit: A Very British Civil War
BBC Two, 9.00pm

The concluding part of the documentary examining Britain’s defining political conflict.

Dolly: The World’s Most Famous Sheep
Channel 4, 10.00pm

The story of the scientific breakthrough that quietly rewrote the rules of modern biology. This documentary revisits the creation of Dolly the sheep — the first mammal cloned from an adult cell — and unpacks the mix of brilliance, controversy and sheer audacity behind the experiment.

It’s a tale of lab‑coat ingenuity and global shockwaves, charting how a single sheep in a Scottish shed forced the world to rethink ethics, genetics and the boundaries of possibility. Clear, accessible and surprisingly moving, it captures the moment science stepped into a new era.

OnlyFans: Inside the Machine
BBC One, 10.55pm

A look inside one of the most influential — and divisive — platforms of the digital age, tracing how a site built on direct creator‑to‑audience connection became a lightning rod for debates about labour, autonomy, exploitation and the economics of online fame. The documentary digs into the company’s inner workings, the people who rely on it, and the wider cultural forces that turned a niche service into a global flashpoint.

It’s brisk, revealing and quietly unsettling — a portrait of a platform that reshaped the internet while raising questions society still hasn’t fully answered.

Tuesday 16th June

Letter to Brezhnev (1985)
BBC Two, 12.05am

A small film with a big heart, this Liverpool romance captures the grit and charm of 1980s Merseyside with disarming honesty. Alexandra Pigg and Peter Firth bring a lovely, tentative chemistry to a story that begins as a chance encounter and blossoms into something far more hopeful — all against the looming backdrop of Cold War politics and everyday economic struggle.

What makes it endure is its mix of humour and yearning: a city battered by circumstance but still capable of producing moments of joy, defiance and sheer romantic audacity. It’s tender, funny and quietly political — a reminder that even in bleak times, people still dream of escape, connection and something better.

Sign of the Pagan (1954)
Film4, 3.15pm

A proudly old‑fashioned slice of Hollywood spectacle, pitched somewhere between historical pageant and sword‑and‑sandals intrigue. Jack Palance cuts a striking figure as Attila the Hun — all brooding menace and coiled ambition — while Jeff Chandler’s Roman general provides the square‑jawed counterweight in a tale of empires clashing and destinies foretold.

The film has that unmistakable 1950s studio sheen: lavish sets, bold colours, and a script that treats history as a canvas for myth rather than accuracy. It’s grand, earnest and enjoyably overblown — the kind of matinee epic where the drama is big, the stakes are bigger, and subtlety is left at the city gates.

Rosa Elettrica
Sky Atlantic, 9.00pm

A stylish Italian crime thriller with a cool, modern pulse, steeped in neon shadows and moral ambiguity. The series follows a young woman pulled into the circuitry of organised crime, where loyalty is fragile, power shifts without warning, and every choice seems to spark another dangerous consequence.

What sets it apart is its atmosphere: elegant, moody and charged with a distinctly European sense of fatalism. The plotting is sharp, the performances simmer, and the cityscape becomes a character in its own right — seductive, treacherous, impossible to escape.

A sleek, confident slice of contemporary Italian noir.

🌟 The American Revolution — BBC Four, 10.00pm
The opening chapters of a major new history of the United States, told with a clarity that cuts through centuries of myth‑making. This first instalment traces the tensions, ideas and imperial missteps that pushed Britain’s colonies from grumbling dissent to outright rebellion — a story of taxes, pamphlets, protests and the slow ignition of a political identity that would reshape the world.

What stands out is the programme’s sense of scale: intimate portraits of the people who lived through the upheaval set against the vast geopolitical forces grinding into motion. It’s rigorous, vivid and refreshingly unsentimental — a strong start to a series that promises to re‑examine a revolution everyone thinks they already understand.

Science Fiction in the Atomic Age: Arthur C. Clarke and Ray Bradbury
Sky Arts, 10.50pm

A fascinating study of two giants whose imaginations helped define what modern science fiction could be. Clarke, the cool rationalist of the space age, and Bradbury, the lyrical chronicler of human longing and dread, make for a compelling contrast — one looking outward to the stars, the other inward to the soul.

The programme traces how their work emerged from the anxieties and exhilarations of the Atomic Age: technological leaps, existential threats, and a world suddenly aware of its own fragility. Through interviews, archive material and sharp critical insight, it shows how both writers shaped not just a genre but the way we think about the future itself.

A richly engaging hour for anyone who loves the crossroads where imagination meets history.

Knives Out (2019)
Film4, 11.40pm

Rian Johnson’s witty and ingenious revival of the murder mystery — Knives Out Johnson’s modern whodunnit is a gleeful reinvention of the Agatha Christie template — a country house, a dead patriarch, a squabbling family, and a detective who sees more than he lets on. What lifts it is the tone: sly, spry, and fizzing with character, from Daniel Craig’s drawling Benoit Blanc to Ana de Armas’s quietly brilliant moral centre.

The film delights in misdirection and social satire, peeling back layers of entitlement and ego while keeping the mystery satisfyingly tight. It’s clever without being smug, funny without undercutting the stakes, and packed with the kind of detail that rewards a rewatch.

A sparkling, precision‑tooled crowd‑pleaser — the murder mystery reborn with a grin.

Wednesday 17th June

The Lavender Hill Mob (1951)
Film4, 5.15pm

One of Ealing’s finest: a perfectly judged caper that pairs Alec Guinness’s mild‑mannered bank clerk with Stanley Holloway’s genial schemer in a plot to smuggle stolen gold out of the country. What begins as a modest fantasy of escape blossoms into a wonderfully daft criminal enterprise, executed with that trademark Ealing blend of wit, warmth and gentle anarchy.

Guinness is magnificent — precise, understated, and quietly hilarious — while the film’s escalating absurdity never loses sight of the human foibles beneath the farce. A small comic masterpiece, still sparkling after seven decades.

Titans of the Cold War
PBS America, 7.50pm

A pivotal chapter in the long standoff between East and West, charting how the arrivals of Nikita Khrushchev and Dwight D. Eisenhower reshaped the Cold War’s trajectory. The programme captures a moment when bluster, brinkmanship and back‑channel diplomacy all collided — Khrushchev’s volatile mix of reformist impulses and showmanship meeting Eisenhower’s steadier, military‑minded pragmatism.

It’s a study in contrasts and consequences: two leaders inheriting a world on the edge, each trying to manage nuclear anxiety, ideological rivalry and the uneasy hope that dialogue might avert catastrophe. A brisk, insightful slice of Cold War history, illuminating the personalities who steered the superpowers into a new, uncertain phase.

🌟 England v Croatia – FIFA World Cup 2026
ITV1, 8.00pm

The World Cup rolls into its first truly seismic evening as England open their campaign against Croatia — a fixture heavy with history, expectation and the familiar national cocktail of hope and dread. Gareth Southgate’s side arrive with a squad brimming with talent but carrying the weight of a country that always wants this to be the year.

Croatia, perennial tournament disruptors, remain as technically sharp and tactically stubborn as ever, even as a new generation steps out from under the long shadow of Modrić. It’s a meeting of styles as much as reputations: England’s pace and directness against Croatia’s control and patience.

A match guaranteed to dominate the national conversation — tense, tactical and impossible to ignore.

🌟 Children of Men (2006)
BBC Three, 9.00pm

A second chance this week to catch Alfonso Cuarón’s dystopian masterpiece — a film that still feels alarmingly close to the world outside the window. Set in a Britain buckling under infertility, authoritarianism and despair, it follows Clive Owen’s weary civil servant as he’s pulled into protecting the one fragile spark of hope left on Earth.

Cuarón’s long, fluid takes remain astonishing: chaos unfolding in real time, violence stripped of glamour, humanity flickering in the rubble. Yet for all its grit, the film carries a quiet belief in the possibility of renewal.

Urgent, immersive and emotionally shattering — absolutely worth a repeat viewing.

The Idea of You (2024)
BBC One, 10.40pm

Anne Hathaway brings warmth, wit and a quietly bruised honesty to this thoughtful romantic drama about a woman who stumbles into an unexpected relationship that upends the neat borders of her life. What begins as a chance encounter with a younger pop star becomes a story about desire, agency and the courage it takes to choose happiness when the world insists you shouldn’t.

The film balances fantasy with emotional truth, letting Hathaway’s performance anchor the glamour in something recognisably human — the longing to feel seen, the fear of being judged, the thrill of rediscovery.

Thailand: The Dark Side of Paradise
BBC Three, from 10.40pm

A revealing look behind Thailand’s tourist image.

They Live (1988)
Legend, 11.10pm

John Carpenter’s cult satire remains as sharp as a boot to the ribs — a gleefully subversive blend of sci‑fi, action and anti‑consumerist rage. Roddy Piper’s drifter discovers a pair of sunglasses that reveal the world as it truly is: billboards barking obedience, elites exposed as skeletal overlords, and capitalism literally wearing a human mask.

Carpenter plays it deadpan and furious, mixing B‑movie swagger with a political bite that feels even more relevant now than it did in ’88. The famous alleyway punch‑up is still absurdly glorious, but it’s the film’s bleak wit and prophetic clarity that linger.

Thursday 18th June

Ad Astra (2019)
Film4, 6.40pm

Brad Pitt gives one of his most restrained and affecting performances in this visually ravishing sci‑fi odyssey. Set in a near‑future solar system fraying at the edges, the film follows an astronaut sent on a mission to track down his long‑lost father — a legendary explorer whose obsession may now threaten humanity itself.

James Gray turns what could have been a straight adventure into something more intimate: a story about isolation, legacy and the emotional gravity we carry across vast distances. The imagery is stunning — moon‑buggy chases, Neptune’s blue haze, the quiet terror of deep space — but it’s the film’s melancholy pulse that lingers.

A thoughtful, beautifully crafted journey into the cosmos and the self.

🌟 Catch Me If You Can (2002)
TLC, 9.00pm

Steven Spielberg’s breezy true‑life tale of deception and reinvention remains one of his most purely enjoyable films. Leonardo DiCaprio is irresistible as Frank Abagnale Jr., the teenage con artist who slips through America in a blur of forged cheques, borrowed identities and audacious charm, while Tom Hanks’s dogged FBI agent gives the chase its steady, beating heart.

Spielberg keeps the tone light without ever losing sight of the loneliness beneath the bravado, turning a cat‑and‑mouse caper into a story about yearning, escape and the strange American romance of becoming someone new.

🌟 Queen James
BBC Two, 9.00pm

A fresh, incisive examination of James VI and I — a monarch whose intellect, insecurities and political instincts shaped two kingdoms at a moment of profound change. The programme digs into the culture and court politics that surrounded him: the factional manoeuvring, the ideological battles, and the delicate dance between king and favourites.

It also confronts, without sensationalism, the long‑debated question of James’s sexuality. His intensely intimate relationships with men such as Esmé Stewart, Robert Carr, and George Villiers have led many historians to argue that he was gay or bisexual — a dimension of his life that shaped both the dynamics of his court and the anxieties of those who served within it.

What emerges is a portrait of a ruler both shrewd and vulnerable, navigating union, religion, reputation and desire in a world that scrutinised every gesture. A sharp, engaging hour that reframes a familiar figure with welcome clarity and complexity.

The Accused: Beyond Reasonable Doubt
Channel 4, 10.00pm

The opening episode tackles one of the most perilous fault lines in the justice system: the fragility of eyewitness testimony. Through real cases and forensic reconstruction, it shows how memory — fallible, suggestible, and easily distorted — can send an investigation veering off course, even when delivered with absolute confidence in the witness box.

The programme lays out the dangers with clarity: misidentification, pressure from police procedure, the subtle influence of expectation, and the devastating consequences when a jury mistakes certainty for truth. It’s sober, unsettling viewing, and a reminder that the line between justice and injustice can hinge on a single, unreliable recollection.

A compelling start to a series intent on probing the system’s most uncomfortable weaknesses.

The Last Man on Earth (1964)
Talking Pictures TV, 11.15pm

Vincent Price is superb in this stark, unsettling adaptation of Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend — a film whose influence can be felt in everything from Night of the Living Dead to modern zombie cinema. Shot in eerie, depopulated Italian streets, it follows a lone survivor haunting his own ruined world, battling vampiric creatures by night and crushing loneliness by day.

Price plays it with a weary, haunted dignity, turning what could have been pulp into something strangely elegiac. The film’s low‑budget ingenuity and bleak tone give it a power that still resonates, decades later.

Friday 19th June

El Dorado (1966)
5 Action, 1.15pm

Howard Hawks reunites with John Wayne for a late‑career western that wears its age with easy charm. Wayne plays a seasoned gunfighter drawn into defending a small town alongside Robert Mitchum’s boozy sheriff and James Caan’s eager young sidekick — a trio whose chemistry gives the film its unhurried pleasure.

There’s plenty of classic Hawksian business: dry humour, camaraderie forged under pressure, and action that unfolds with relaxed assurance rather than bluster. It’s a film more interested in character than spectacle, and all the better for it.

A mellow, quietly irresistible slice of old‑school western storytelling.

Milan with Michael Portillo
9.00pm

Michael Portillo turns his eye — and his famously exuberant wardrobe — to one of Europe’s great cities, tracing Milan’s blend of industry, elegance and restless modernity. From the Duomo’s marble forest to the quiet rituals of the aperitivo hour, he explores a city where fashion, finance and centuries of artistic ambition sit comfortably side by side.

Portillo is at his best here: curious, lightly professorial, and genuinely engaged with the people who keep Milan’s cultural engine humming. The result is a portrait of a city that’s both grand and intimate, stylish yet grounded.

A graceful hour in the company of a guide who knows how to make history feel alive.

🌟 Elvis’s ’68 Comeback Special
BBC Four, 9.00pm

The King’s great reclamation of self and swagger — a televised resurrection that turned a fading Hollywood idol back into a livewire performer. Dressed in black leather, framed by a tight studio crowd and a crackling sense of danger, Elvis tears through his catalogue with a hunger that had been missing for years.

What makes the special so electrifying is its mix of intimacy and spectacle: the loose, joking sit‑down sessions where he reconnects with his roots, and the big, theatrical numbers that remind you why he became a phenomenon in the first place. It’s a portrait of an artist rediscovering his edge in real time.

Still one of television’s most iconic musical moments — and a thrill to revisit.

🌟 The Horse Whisperer (1998)
Great TV, 9.00pm

Robert Redford directs and stars in this quietly moving drama about healing, forgiveness and the slow work of finding your way back to yourself. After a devastating accident leaves both a teenage girl and her horse traumatised, her mother brings them to Redford’s Montana ranch — a place where patience, open skies and hard truths begin to do what medicine alone cannot.

Redford plays the role with understated grace, letting the film breathe in long, lyrical stretches of landscape and silence. Kristin Scott Thomas brings emotional steel as the mother trying to hold everything together, while the story unfolds with a sincerity that never tips into sentimentality.

A spacious, heartfelt film about second chances — and the courage it takes to accept them.

New Life (2023)
Film4, 11.30pm

An intelligent, tightly wound horror‑thriller that begins as a chase movie and gradually reveals something far stranger — and far more moving — beneath its surface. A woman on the run and the agent pursuing her seem locked into a familiar cat‑and‑mouse rhythm, but the film keeps shifting the ground under your feet, peeling back layers of fear, guilt and transformation.

What makes it stand out is the emotional depth threaded through the tension: moments of stillness that hint at lives derailed long before the plot catches up with them. By the time the truth emerges, the horror has become something unexpectedly humane.

Lean, surprising and quietly affecting.

The Invitation (2022)
Channel 4, 12.10am

A stylish gothic horror blending vampires, class and dark romance. A lush, slow‑burn gothic tale that uses its vampiric premise to probe something more human — desire, power and the social hierarchies that feed on both. The film wraps its blood‑dark themes in candlelit corridors, whispered secrets and a romance steeped in danger, letting the supernatural elements sharpen the class tensions rather than overshadow them.

It’s atmospheric without being overwrought, seductive without losing its bite, and smart enough to know that the scariest monsters are often the ones society quietly enables. A beautifully made slice of gothic unease.

Streaming Choice

Polar Park — Channel 4 Streaming, from Friday 19th June

Polar Park arrives on Channel 4 via Walter Presents, adapted by Gérald Hustache‑Mathieu from his own cult 2011 film Poupoupidou. Set in Mouthe, officially the coldest town in France, it follows David Rousseau (Jean‑Paul Rouve), a crime novelist who drifts into the Jura mountains in search of inspiration and instead finds a series of murders staged as famous artworks.

What begins as a quirky detour becomes a stylish, snow‑dusted mystery with a distinctly French flavour: dry humour, melancholy charm and a sense that everyone in this remote community is performing a version of themselves. Hustache‑Mathieu uses the TV format to deepen the world of the original film — expanding characters, sharpening the visual language and leaning into the Coen‑esque mix of oddity and menace that critics praised on its ARTE debut.

The cast — including Guillaume Gouix and India Hair — play it with just the right level of deadpan sincerity, and the show’s wintry aesthetic gives it a personality that stands apart from the usual crime‑drama palette. It’s atmospheric, offbeat and quietly gripping: a murder mystery that’s as interested in mood and character as it is in clues.

Train-ing It with Joe Wilkinson — Channel 4 Streaming, from Friday 19th June

Joe Wilkinson’s travelogue is exactly the sort of quietly oddball delight Channel 4 does best. What begins as a simple rail journey becomes a rambling, self‑deprecating wander through Britain’s quirks, characters and minor absurdities. Wilkinson’s humour is warm, slightly baffled and never cruel, and the show’s charm lies in how happily it embraces the unglamorous. It’s gentle, funny and unexpectedly human — a series that finds meaning in missed connections, lukewarm tea and the strange poetry of public transport.

A Spark into Flame: Hamilton and Hip Hop — Disney+, from Tuesday 16th June

This documentary digs beneath the phenomenon of Hamilton to trace how hip hop reshaped the language of musical theatre. It’s part cultural history, part creative anatomy: a look at how rhythm, rhyme and political storytelling collided to produce a show that felt both radical and inevitable. The film is at its best when it connects Broadway to the wider currents of Black artistry — showing how a form born from resistance became the engine of a global hit. Smart, pacey and full of insight, it’s a reminder that revolutions in culture often begin with a beat.

Project Hail Mary — MGM+, from Thursday 18th June

This adaptation of Andy Weir’s novel leans into the joy of problem‑solving under impossible pressure. It’s part survival story, part cosmic mystery, anchored by a central performance that captures both the terror and the wonder of waking up alone in deep space with the fate of humanity on your shoulders. The film balances hard science with real emotional pull, and its unlikely partnership at the story’s heart gives it warmth amid the equations. Smart, inventive and surprisingly moving — a sci‑fi puzzle box with soul.

🌟 Poor Cow — StudioCanal Presents

Ken Loach’s debut feature still lands with a raw, unvarnished force. Poor Cow follows Joy, a young woman navigating the margins of 1960s London, and Loach shoots her life with a documentary eye that refuses sentimentality. Carol White is extraordinary — open, wounded, hopeful in spite of everything — and the film’s mix of social realism and emotional immediacy feels as fresh now as it did on release. A tough, tender portrait of a woman trying to carve out a future in a world that keeps closing in.

🌟 Kneecap — Prime Video

Kneecap is a riot of energy — a swaggering, politically charged, deeply funny portrait of Belfast’s most anarchic hip‑hop trio. It mixes satire, social commentary and sheer chaotic charm, blurring the line between myth‑making and autobiography. What gives the film its bite is the way it treats language, identity and rebellion not as themes but as fuel: everything burns bright, loud and unapologetically local. It’s bold, inventive and brimming with attitude — a cultural firecracker that refuses to behave.

Marching Powder — Prime Video

Danny Dyer’s Marching Powder is exactly the sort of swaggering, rough‑edged crime caper he was born to front. It’s loud, cheeky and unpretentious, built around Dyer’s gift for playing men who talk themselves into trouble faster than they can fight their way out of it. The film has that early‑2000s Brit‑crime energy — fast cuts, big characters, a plot that barrels forward on attitude as much as logic. It’s messy, funny and knowingly over the top, the kind of thing you watch with a grin because everyone involved clearly knows the game they’re playing.

The Woody Allen Collection — Prime Video

A new Woody Allen collection inevitably arrives with a double pull: the films themselves — sharp, funny, formally inventive — and the long shadow cast by the man who made them. Few directors have shaped modern screen comedy as deeply as Allen; fewer come with such a complicated public legacy.

Engaging with this set means holding both truths at once. The early work still crackles with wit and neurotic energy; the later films drift between nostalgia and self‑parody. But watching them now also means acknowledging the discomfort that surrounds Allen, and recognising that admiration for craft doesn’t require silence about the controversies.

The collection becomes, in that sense, a test case for how we approach socially compromised artists who are nonetheless undeniably talented. The answer isn’t to pretend the work exists in a vacuum, nor to erase it entirely, but to watch with awareness — to let context deepen, rather than flatten, our understanding.

As cinema, these films remain influential. As cultural objects, they ask us to think about the uneasy space where art, ethics and legacy meet.

🌟 The Tasters — Available to buy and rent

The Tasters takes the chilling premise of Hitler’s real‑life poison‑tasting brigade and turns it into a tense, claustrophobic character study. The film isn’t interested in easy moral binaries; instead it sits with the unsettling truth that people can be trapped inside monstrous systems without being monsters themselves. The women at its centre live in a state of suspended terror — loyal, fearful, complicit, resistant, often all at once — and the drama lies in how they navigate that impossible space.

What gives the film its bite is the way it handles socially compromised people who nonetheless possess agency, intelligence and talent. It refuses to flatten them into symbols. Instead, it asks how we judge those whose choices were shaped by coercion, survival and the machinery of dictatorship.

As with any work rooted in morally tainted history, the challenge is how to watch it: not with blanket condemnation or blind sympathy, but with an awareness of context and a willingness to sit in discomfort. The Tasters understands that history is rarely tidy — and that the people caught inside it are even less so.

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