Posts Tagged Counter Culture

Digger Review: The Year’s Most Divisive Film May Also Be Its Best

Spoilers?

Before the movie proper begins, the audience are requested not to ruin the enjoyment of the film for others by revealing the major twist that occurs roughly a quarter of the way through. That might sound as if Digger might be way too full of its own self-importance, but that twist, which is more of a tonal-narrative shift than a ‘twist’ is so integral to a first viewing experience that I believe it to being a justifiable request, and as such I will try to honour it.

This does make a full in-depth review which explores every major facet of this multi-faceted work of art difficult to do, but I’ll do my best. If you’re looking for short-cuts, then plenty of reviewers in both video and prose form have chosen to ignore the filmmaker’s wishes. ‘Knowing’ won’t make enjoyment impossible, but the impact of that first look will certainly be lessened. Really, this is movie that is best seen twice (at least), once ‘blind’ and once ‘eyes-wide-open’.

To get the conclusion out of the way early, this is the most interesting new film I’ve seen in a long time, and maybe the best.

Introduction

If you’re looking for an action packed ‘Tom Cruise Movie’, then Digger is unlikely to be for you. The closest comparison I can think of is with those who went to see The Truman Show expecting a silly Jim Carrey knock-about screwball comedy.

Despite being the brainchild of a major filmmaker in Inarritu (though Birdman and The Revenant are the only examples of his filmography I recall seeing), a $180M or so budget, and the presence of Cruise, John Godman and a stella supporting cast, this looks like being one of the biggest Box Office flops of the year, certainly of Tom’s career. Some theatres have already pulled it within two or three weeks of it opening. It’s also sharply divided critics. It is perhaps noteworthy that amateur movie-buff video reviews on You Tube have tended to be much more positive than the professional arbiters of taste who make a nice living out of telling us what to think.

I’m firmly in the positive camp, though I recognise that when it makes an appearance on Amazon or Netflix or wherever, probably before Christmas, most casual viewers simply won’t get it.

Despite the money lavished upon it, Digger is essentially an art-house/cult movie, even if it’s difficult to envisage Cruise in a cult film, unless it’s a Scientology advertising enterprise.

I’ve long been a fan of Dogville, another highly unusual movie featuring a major star (Nicole Kidman), and I also defied convention by really liking the second Joker movie, so I suppose I’m front-and-centre as far as its target audience is concerned.

I wouldn’t have known this from the misleading marketing campaign, which definitely hasn’t helped its reception. I’m fortunate in that I hadn’t seen so much as a single trailer, so went in with no preconceptions. I’ve seen a few of them since, and all I can say is, don’t be either put off or by encouraged by them, because their relationship to the film itself is so flimsy as to be all-but non-existent.

Plot

At its simplest level, it’s an eco-disaster movie. An oil rig in Greenland owned by mega tycoon Digger Rockwell (Cruise), a living embodiment of Big Oil, explodes, sending a giant iceberg with added tsunami heading towards Western Europe, starting with Nowway, with incalculable consequences for the environment, human life, and European civilisation itself.

The first part of the film mostly consists of discussion between Rockwell, who’d been well aware of the potential dangers posed by the continued operation of his enterprise, US President Compson (Goodman), and various members of his government and military over what to do next.

Compson, dying of rectal cancer (or ‘cancer of the arse-hole,’ as he calls it) is a composite of Trump, Nixon, and almost all US Presidents in between. The decision to include fanatical Evangelical Christians praying over the President within this inner-circle was I suspect a late one, inspired by the insane tone of Trump’s second term.

The choice essentially resolves itself as being one between Nuking the iceberg, favoured by the government and military, and Rockwell’s preferred option of ‘managing the narrative.’, i.e. what matters is not ‘what happens’, but of how the story of what happens and why is decided upon and presented to the public.

The sole voice of reason inside this elite sanctum comes from Doctor Ganesh (Riz Ahmed), the representative of unbiased scientific reason and a warrior for truth, justice and environmental sustainability.

This is the basic premise of the film, but there are so many additional layers of storytelling at work here that it would be as misleading as the pre-movie marketing to say that it’s ‘about’ a giant iceberg heading towards Western Europe, or at least to say that it’s ‘only’ about that.

It’s these additional layers that make the film memorable.

The Shift

For the first the first forty minutes or so (others got it sooner) I had no idea of what I was watching. Two questions arose. 1) Is it dark comedy satire where the performances are deliberate caricatures and the humour is broad and farcical?

Certainly, serious subjects can be approached in that manner, with Kubrik’s Dr. Strangelove springing immediately to mind.

And 2), is this a disaster movie where you don’t really see the disaster, only reactions to it?

Again, that would be a valid artistic choice. I can’t think of an easy example, but I’m sure it’s been done.

But then we got that ‘Aha’ meta-narrative moment, or ‘moments’ in my case, and I realised I was watching something entirely different.

From then on, I was able to relax and fully immerse myself in the delightfully strange world of Digger.

Politics and Themes

The idea of elite narrative management, and the peculiar, though not exclusively American penchant for thinking every problem can be solved by the use of massive military firepower, will be familiar to anyone, Left or Right, who is even remotely politically aware.

But there’s a lot more besides.

Key is Rockwell’s unhinged presentation to the European parliament. Following on from Ganesh’s damning indictment of how the Rockwell’s of this world, and the political leaders who have been enabled and often funded by them, have put power and profit above everything, even the survival of the planet, the cornered tycoon decides that there is nothing for it but to tell the truth, that everything the good scientist has said is true, but…

There is certainly much truth in his defence that the reason he didn’t stop drilling once the likely consequences became clear was that nobody really wanted him too. Here he poses the question to the elites who pontificate about ‘sustainability’ at the likes of Davos, the WEF and the European parliament of whether they are prepared to give up on the private jets that transport them to such gatherings.

And to the average citizen of the advanced nations of the First World, to us, he asks if are we are willing to sacrifice our cars, our mobile phones, our twenty-four-hour Amazon deliveries.

There are legitimate criticisms to be made of these aspects of the politics of the film. The, ‘we all bare an equal responsibility’ arguments can mean letting big business off the hook to a certain extent; not everybody agrees with the mainstream ‘climate change’ narrative, which is largely taken as self-evidently true, and there are unrepresented optimists amongst us at least entertain the possibility that some of the environmental problems caused by economic development might, in a future, more rational society organised for the benefit of the many rather than the few, be solved by further technological development.

In any case, as I’ve indicated, Digger isn’t simply a warning to humanity or a cinematic treatise on the evils of corporate greed.  That narrative change raises other ideas, other questions and other themes.

There are too many to list here and, anyway, and It would be impossible to uncover every layer in a single viewing. That’s why it requires a second, perhaps a third or a fourth.

But of primary importance, for me, of those themes I did ‘get’ right of the bat was an exploration of the role of art in general and political art and satire concerning real-world major events recent enough to be fresh in the memory of the audience.

The film doesn’t provide answers. It raises questions with which the intelligent viewer will leave the cinema immediately mentally engaging with.

Some examples: Should that role be to challenge establish narratives? To entertain, educate and inform, ala Lord Reith’s dictum on the role of radio and television in the early days of the BBC? Does an artist have a responsibility to stick to the facts, such as they are known, or can they be amended in order to strengthen the impact of ‘the message’? What do audiences themselves want, do they want to challenged, or are they mostly happy to see recent history, no matter how terrible, parodied and presented as a black and white story of Good v Evil, complete with pantomime villains to be hissed, sneered and laughed at in a coming together of collective catharsis? Could it even be that populist political art in particular can be subtly nudged by the powers that be into being just one more form of controlled opposition?

To even raise such questions in a two-hour big budget movie is ambitious to say the least, but Digger pulls this off, and does so whilst, mostly, managing to be very entertaining.

The disconcerting discomfort I, and many others, felt during the first part of the movie was clearly all part of the plan.

Design and Performances

The film looks and sounds great, every frame cleverly designed. Despite being mainly set inside a series of rooms, the money is very much on the screen. Full credit to Inarritu, and to cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezeki for that, and to Cosmo Sheldrake for his great score.

This is a film where, I suspect, nothing is present by accident, everything has meaning, and that includes the choice of the name ‘Rockwell’ for the main character, though I’ll lave that to your consideration.

Cruise and Goodman are both superb, and almost unrecognisable behind mountains of prosthetics. Tom was spending six hours a time in make-up initially until, busy and resourceful man that he is, he worked with the artists in getting this down to an hour.

Some have suggested this is Cruise’ Oscar-bait movie, one he doesn’t mind taking a commercial hit on if it helps to show his acting chops and perhaps give him a shot at a gong. If that was true, which I doubt, reactions so far suggest he will fail, but so what? In the long run, this won’t do the latter part of his acting career any harm at all. After all, he’s now in his mid-fifties and can’t be dangling from helicopters forever.  In any case, he should be proud of his performance, i and I hope he is.

Outside of Cruise and Goodman, there is a large ensemble cast, and they all played their part in the film’s artistic success. Riz Ahmed is great as Ganesh, as is Jesse Plemons as Kenny, in a role that is small as measured by screen time, but crucial as to the complete vision of the film.

It could be argued that, apart from Sophie Wilde who is point perfect as Hannah, a part that is very much embedded in the deeper levels of the movie, there isn’t really much of a role for women. Sandra Huller and Emma Darcy both do what they have to do very well, but on first viewing at least, their parts didn’t seem to be strictly necessary, and neither did the sub-plots in which they were featured. But that’s an opinion that could change with another viewing or two.

Conclusion

Self-indulgent folly or modern masterpiece? Time will tell. I don’t even know what my own opinion will be a few years down the line.

But I do know that my first viewing, amongst an audience of four at 11am in a small seaside cinema, will live long in my memory.

Anybody who is a fan of intelligent, challenging cinema should watch this at least once, preferably without spoilers, but if you can’t be avoid them or can’t resist seeking them out, see it anyway. You might love it, or you might hate it, as many seem to do. But hate is at least a strong reaction, and any strong reaction has to be better than the ‘Meh’ that most modern movies elicit.

Digger is at the very least a bold experiment, and if it is the commercial disaster that’s being predicted, a prediction that seems as though it’s being confirmed by the receipts in so far, then you might not get another chance to see a major filmmaker given a Hollywood budget to do as he pleases.

Anthony C Green, October 2026

 

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There are two other highlights I would particularly recommend.

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

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

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

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

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

Plenty to enjoy, and plenty to think about.

Saturday 17 October

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

American Star (2024) — Film4, 9pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday 18 October

The Addams Family (1991) — ITV2, 4pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Living (2022) — Film4, 9pm

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

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

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

Nighy brings an extraordinary restraint to the central performance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Priscilla (2023) — BBC Two, 10.45pm

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

Cailee Spaeny plays Priscilla, while Jacob Elordi portrays Elvis.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday 19 October

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Selma (2014) — BBC Two, 11.05pm

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

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

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

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

Its depiction of collective action is particularly powerful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday 20 October

Hot Fuzz (2007) — Film4, 9pm

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

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

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

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

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

One of the finest British comedies of its generation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

An important subject deserving careful investigation.

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

Stacey Dooley is certainly keeping herself busy.

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

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

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

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

Midnight Run (1988) — Film4, 11.25pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Its documentaries regularly demonstrate why independent filmmaking remains so important.

Wednesday 21 October

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

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

But how much do we actually know about him?

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

This documentary investigates the historical figure behind the notorious reputation.

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

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

The World’s End (2013) — Film4, 9pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Experiment — Channel 4, 10pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday 22 October

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday 23 October

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Blackening (2022) — BBC Two, 11.30pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Streaming

Netflix

Fading Grandeur — All six episodes available Friday 23 October

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

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

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

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

Does power corrupt?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One of the week’s most intriguing streaming choices.

Judge John Deed — All 29 episodes available Saturday 17 October

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

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

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

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

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

Channel 4 Streaming

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prime Video

The Last Viking — Available now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BBC iPlayer

Smiley’s People — Available now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paramount+

Treasure Island — Episode 2 available Monday 19 October

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

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

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

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

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

HBO Max

The Narco Hack — All three episodes available Friday 23 October

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

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

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

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

The documentary examines the technological operation and its consequences.

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


Radio

Sunday 18 October

Childline — BBC Radio 4, 1.30pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

A fitting tribute to an important legacy.

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

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

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

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

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

A gentle but potentially fascinating piece of historical detective work.

Monday 19 October

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday 20 October

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Final Thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy the week.

Selections and reviews by Pat Harrington

 

 

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Pride, Power and the Machinery Behind Austen’s Most Misread Love Story

Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is not  just a polite romance but a critique of the social systems that shape desire, duty and identity. Elizabeth Bennet’s independence, Darcy’s transformation and Lydia’s downfall reveal a world where reputation is currency and moral clarity becomes an act of resistance.

Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is often packaged as a polite romance — a story of misunderstandings, dances, and eventual harmony. Yet beneath its surface lies a sharper, more politically attuned novel, one that interrogates the social machinery of Regency England with a precision that still resonates. Austen’s world is not merely decorative; it is a system of power, reputation, and economic dependency that shapes every choice her characters make. Elizabeth Bennet’s independence, Darcy’s transformation, Lydia’s downfall, and the Bennet family’s precarious honour are not isolated narrative beats but expressions of a society built on fragile hierarchies and unforgiving moral codes.

To read Pride and Prejudice seriously is to recognise that its emotional arc is inseparable from its social architecture. Pride and prejudice are not simply personal flaws; they are symptoms of a world that teaches people to judge, categorise, and protect status at all costs. Austen’s protagonists do not merely fall in love — they learn to see clearly in a world clouded by class, gender, and expectation. Their growth is not sentimental; it is ethical. And in Austen’s hands, ethical clarity becomes a form of resistance.

Pride and Prejudice: The Title as Social Diagnosis

Austen’s title is deceptively simple. It gestures toward two human failings, but in practice it functions as a critique of the forces that produce them. Darcy’s pride is not merely arrogance; it is the learned reflex of a man raised to believe that wealth confers virtue. His sense of superiority is not innate but cultivated — a product of upbringing, class boundaries, and the constant reinforcement of social hierarchy. Elizabeth’s prejudice, meanwhile, is not petty spite but a defensive posture. She is a woman who must protect her dignity in a world that routinely undermines it. Her misjudgement of Darcy is shaped by wounded pride, social vulnerability, and Wickham’s manipulative charm.

Austen uses this symmetry to expose how social structures distort perception. Darcy’s pride blinds him to Elizabeth’s worth; Elizabeth’s prejudice blinds her to Darcy’s integrity. Their eventual clarity is not a romantic epiphany but a dismantling of the assumptions society has taught them to trust. The title becomes a map of the novel’s moral terrain: pride and prejudice are obstacles, but they are also catalysts for transformation.

Elizabeth Bennet: Integrity in a System Built to Undermine Women

Elizabeth Bennet’s independence is often celebrated as a refreshing departure from Regency norms, but its significance is deeper. Her refusal of Mr. Collins is not simply a rejection of an absurd man; it is a refusal to participate in a system that demands women sacrifice autonomy for financial security. Elizabeth’s insistence on respect — on marrying for compatibility rather than convenience — is a political stance disguised as personal preference.

Yet Elizabeth’s independence is not absolute. When Lydia elopes with Wickham, Elizabeth confronts the brutal reality of reputation: one sister’s mistake threatens to destroy the futures of all five. The Bennet family’s honour becomes a fragile commodity, vulnerable to public scrutiny and social condemnation. Elizabeth’s role shifts from spirited observer to moral anchor. She assumes responsibility not because society demands it, but because she understands the stakes. Her integrity becomes a form of stewardship — a refusal to let her family collapse under the weight of scandal.

As C.S. Lewis argued in his essay A Note on Jane Austen (published in Essays Presented to Charles Williams, Oxford University Press, 1947), “Austen’s heroines are moral agents first and romantic figures second.” Elizabeth Bennet exemplifies this with unusual clarity: her choices are not whimsical gestures of feeling but deliberate acts of ethical independence in a world designed to limit it. Her refusal to marry without respect, her insistence on judging character rather than status, and her willingness to confront the consequences of Lydia’s scandal all mark her as a woman navigating a system that undervalues her intelligence yet depends on her moral labour. Elizabeth’s agency is not rebellion for its own sake — it is the quiet, persistent assertion of a selfhood that refuses to be shaped entirely by class expectation or patriarchal convenience.

Elizabeth’s moral clarity is not naïve idealism; it is a deliberate act of resistance against a world that offers women little protection and even less forgiveness.

Lydia’s Scandal: Reputation as Social Currency

Lydia Bennet’s elopement is often treated as comic chaos, but Austen uses it to expose the harshness of Regency morality. Lydia’s impulsiveness becomes a public crisis, and Wickham’s predatory behaviour is reframed as her moral failure. The consequences are immediate and severe: the Bennet sisters’ marriage prospects collapse, the family’s social standing is threatened, and their financial future becomes precarious.

As Marilyn Butler argues in Jane Austen and the War of Ideas (Oxford University Press, 1975), “Austen’s novels expose the pressures of a society that polices women’s behaviour.” Lydia Bennet’s elopement makes those pressures brutally visible. Her impulsiveness is treated not as the folly of one teenage girl but as a moral catastrophe capable of contaminating the entire Bennet family. In Austen’s world, female reputation is a collective asset, fragile and easily destroyed, and Lydia’s downfall reveals how swiftly society punishes young women for the misconduct of men. Wickham drifts through towns leaving damage behind; Lydia is the one who pays the price. Butler’s insight underscores the structural nature of the scandal: Lydia is not simply reckless — she is operating within a system that offers her no education in self‑preservation and no protection from predatory charm.

Reputation in Austen’s world is not merely personal; it is collective. A single misstep contaminates the entire family. Lydia’s downfall reveals how little agency young women possess and how quickly society punishes them for the misconduct of men. .

Austen does not absolve Lydia, but she does contextualise her. Lydia is reckless, yes — but she is also a product of a society that gives girls no education in self‑preservation. Her scandal is not simply a plot device; it is a critique of a world that treats female virtue as a fragile currency and male irresponsibility as an inconvenience.

Darcy’s Intervention: Love as Ethical Action

Darcy’s response to Lydia’s scandal marks the novel’s moral climax. He does not declare his feelings; he acts on them. He tracks down Wickham, pays his debts, and forces him into marriage — quietly, without seeking credit. This intervention is not romantic heroism but ethical responsibility. Darcy recognises that his earlier pride contributed to the Bennet family’s vulnerability. His actions are a form of restitution, a deliberate correction of his own misjudgements.

Darcy’s transformation is meaningful because it is active. He does not simply become kinder; he becomes accountable. His intervention critiques the social system itself: only a wealthy man can repair the damage caused by another man’s misconduct. Elizabeth sees him clearly for the first time — not as an aloof aristocrat but as someone capable of moral courage.

In Austen’s world, love is not expressed through sentiment but through action. Darcy’s loyalty is not decorative; it is decisive.

Darcy’s Friendships: A Window Into His Moral Code

Darcy’s relationships with Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam reveal aspects of his character that Elizabeth initially cannot see. His protectiveness toward Bingley is not snobbery but genuine concern for a friend too trusting for his own good. His candid conversations with Fitzwilliam show humour, honesty, and shared responsibility. These friendships matter because they expose Darcy’s values: loyalty, duty, and care.

They also parallel Elizabeth’s devotion to her sisters. Long before they recognise their compatibility, Darcy and Elizabeth share a moral vocabulary. Their eventual union is not a triumph of romance but of ethical alignment.

Social Context: The Machinery Behind the Morality

Austen’s world is shaped by forces that operate quietly but relentlessly:

  • entailment laws that disinherit daughters
  • economic dependence that forces women into strategic marriages
  • militia culture that enables men like Wickham to drift between towns
  • class boundaries that dictate who is “worthy” of respect

These structures are not background decoration; they are the engine of the plot. Elizabeth’s intelligence operates within these constraints. Darcy’s transformation is meaningful because he learns to see beyond them. Lydia’s downfall is tragic because she never understood them.

Austen’s critique is subtle but pointed: the moral failures of individuals are inseparable from the systems that shape them.

Resolution: Moral Clarity as Liberation

By the novel’s end, pride and prejudice have not simply been overcome — they have been interrogated. Elizabeth learns discernment; Darcy learns humility. Their union is not a reward for good behaviour but the result of ethical growth. They choose each other not because society approves, but because they have learned to see clearly.

Austen’s message is sharp: emotional maturity is a form of liberation. Reputation, class, and gender may shape the world, but they do not have to define the self.

Conclusion

In the end, Pride and Prejudice reveals itself not as a genteel love story but as a study of how people learn to see clearly within a world determined to obscure their vision. Austen’s characters move through a landscape shaped by class hierarchy, gendered expectation, economic precarity and the fragile politics of reputation. Elizabeth Bennet’s independence, Darcy’s ethical transformation and Lydia’s vulnerability are not isolated narrative turns but expressions of a society where moral clarity is hard‑won and social missteps carry collective consequences. As A.S. Byatt observes in Passions of the Mind (Chatto & Windus, 1992), “Austen’s characters learn to see truly, and that is their freedom.” That insight captures the novel’s deepest argument: liberation comes not from romance but from the courage to interrogate pride, dismantle prejudice and recognise the structures that shape desire, duty and identity. Austen’s brilliance lies in showing that emotional maturity is not merely personal growth — it is a quiet act of resistance against the machinery of her age.

By Mia Fulga

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The Mentalist – Season 1, Episode 1 (“Pilot”) *Spoilers*

When The Mentalist first aired on CBS in September 2008, it arrived in a crowded field of procedural dramas. Yet its pilot stood apart — not through forensic spectacle, but through the quiet precision of a man reading the world like a book. Patrick Jane, played with deceptive ease by Simon Baker, is introduced not as a detective but as a fallen showman, a former “psychic” whose gift is observation rather than prophecy. The episode, written by Bruno Heller and directed by David Nutter, is a masterclass in character‑driven storytelling that balances crime‑scene intrigue with psychological depth.

The Opening: A False Calm

The first scene is deceptively domestic — a missing‑child case that turns into a murder. Jane wanders through the victim’s home, making tea, chatting lightly, and dismantling illusions. His charm disarms, his insight cuts. Within minutes, he exposes the rot beneath the family’s polite veneer, provoking a confession and a killing. It’s a shocking introduction: a consultant whose empathy is both weapon and wound.

The Case That Defines Him

Soon after, the California Bureau of Investigation investigates a double homicide marked with the blood‑red smiley face of Red John — the serial killer who murdered Jane’s wife and child. But Jane sees through the imitation. The placement of the symbol is wrong, the psychology inconsistent. He declares it a copycat, and he’s right. This moment crystallises the show’s thesis: truth hides in detail, not mysticism.

Patrick Jane: The Broken Magician

Jane’s brilliance is inseparable from his guilt. Once a television psychic, he mocked Red John on air — and paid with his family’s lives. The pilot lets this history seep through gestures rather than exposition: the tightening jaw, the hollow apartment with a mattress on the floor, the haunted stillness when he sees the killer’s mark again. Baker’s performance oscillates between levity and despair, a rhythm that becomes the series’ heartbeat.

The Ensemble: Friction and Balance

The CBI team forms the moral architecture around Jane’s chaos.

  • Teresa Lisbon (Robin Tunney) is the pragmatic leader, torn between admiration and exasperation.
  • Kimball Cho (Tim Kang) offers dry humour and discipline — the procedural ballast.
  • Wayne Rigsby (Owain Yeoman) brings warmth and curiosity.
  • Grace Van Pelt (Amanda Righetti) embodies idealism, her belief in intuition clashing with Jane’s cynicism.

Their interplay grounds the episode, turning what could be a one‑man show into a dynamic study of belief versus reason.

Craft and Direction

David Nutter’s direction mirrors Jane’s mind: deliberate, observant, never rushed. The camera lingers on gestures — a swallow, a glance, a misplaced object — inviting viewers to play detective. The pacing alternates between stillness and sudden confrontation, echoing Jane’s own volatility. Critics at the time noted the show’s tonal difference from Psych or Monk: less whimsy, more melancholy, a procedural with a soul.

Themes That Haunt the Series

  1. Observation as Power – Every truth is visible if you know where to look.
  2. Deception and Consequence – Jane’s past fraudulence fuels his present honesty.
  3. Trauma and Redemption – Solving crimes becomes his penance.
  4. Morality and Manipulation – His empathy often blurs into exploitation; the pilot dares viewers to question whether justice justifies deceit.

Why It Endures

The pilot succeeds because it trusts silence. It doesn’t shout its brilliance; it lets us discover it, as Jane would. Beneath the procedural framework lies a meditation on guilt and the human need to make sense of chaos. The final image — Jane alone in his bare apartment, the blood‑red smiley face on the wall — is both closure and curse. It promises a series where every solved case is another step toward an impossible peace.

Reviewed  by Christopher Storton

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Inside Spin Cycle: A Queer Love Story Caught Between Cycles

There’s something about a Fringe show set in a laundrette that immediately makes you lean in. Maybe it’s the hum of the machines, maybe it’s the way people behave differently when they think no one’s watching. Spin Cycle takes that instinct — that quiet, nosy curiosity — and turns it into a queer love story that slips between memory, myth and the mundane. It’s tender, strange, and a little bit disorienting, like overhearing a couple argue in public and realising you’ve wandered into the middle of something you shouldn’t understand but somehow do.

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Talking to the team behind it, you get the sense they’re not interested in neat answers or tidy emotional arcs. They’re more concerned with the mess — the stains, the rewashing, the things we keep trying to fix even when we know they’re already worn through. What follows is a conversation that feels as intimate and slippery as the play itself.

Spin Cycle unfolds in a laundrette — a place that’s both public and strangely intimate. What made you realise this was the perfect setting for a queer love story that refuses to stay neatly folded?

ZOFIA: A Launderette is such a liminal space. Its whole reason for existence is to be a place of transition: you enter with dirty clothes and leave with clean. I felt that it is the perfect setting for a play that exists to examine that feeling of being in the midst of transition, being somewhere between forgetting and remembering, between loving and not. I also think the phrase “air your dirty laundry” is aptly fit.

You add memory slippage, absurdism, and a wash cycle that bends time. How did you find the balance between emotional truth and theatrical strangeness?

BETHAN: The absurd space versus the tense scene work is a part of this play that’s very exciting to build on. In many ways the launderette feels like a third character, or entity. It plays a vital role in pushing Noel and Kitt to try again at the top of the play. There’s a sense the space may even have some control over their fate as a couple and maybe is pushing them to some conclusion but as we learn, Kitt and Noel can’t help but have the same conversations over and over again. Their dialogue is pacy and naturalistic and as far as we know they are emotionally truthful. Unless someone knows more then they let on?….

The play champions Irish heritage and queer, gender-non-conforming characters. How do those identities shape the emotional engine of the story?

RHIANNON: The characters queer identity or ‘irishness’ isn’t there to make any kind of political statement, they’re simply who the characters are. Those identities affect how they move through the world, how they understand love, belonging and themselves. The play places two different experiences of Irish and lesbian identity side by side. Noel is a working class, non-binary artist from Northern Ireland whose identity is shaped by financial insecurity, community expectation and navigating a world that wasn’t built for them. Kitt is an Irish-American who has inherited wealth and whose connection to Ireland is rooted in family history rather than lived experience. Spin Cycle, at its core is a love story and it explores how love can exist between two people whose understandings of home, privilege and self are radically different.

“Eyes lock. Hearts thump. But something is off.” What’s the “off” for you?

ZOFIA: It’s the feeling of Deja vu. Deja vu is described as “an illusion of memory whereby—despite a strong sense of recollection—the time, place, and context of the “previous” experience are uncertain or impossible.”

The show has been described as Eternal Sunshine meets The L Word. What feels accurate about that comparison — and what doesn’t?

ZOFIA: Spin Cycle and Eternal Sunshine both seek to answer the same question- why is heartbreak intrinsically tied to the joy of love? There are themes of memory and repression in both as well, although Spin Cycle remains more ambiguous than Eternal Sunshine. As for The L Word, well, there is plenty of Talking, laughing, loving, breathing, fighting, fucking, crying, drinking, riding, winning, losing, cheating, kissing, thinking, dreaming in both.

The laundrette becomes a suspended world where past and present collide. Did you imagine it as a memory, a metaphor, or a place where truth stops hiding?

BETHAN: The launderette may have more hope for their relationship than they do. It’s certainly somewhere where hard conversations are forced out. It is somewhere the truth stops hiding and it feels like somewhere that has existed forever and will continue to until the cycle reaches an end the launderette is satisfied with. The liminal space has been an important factor in creating a neutral zone for Noel and Kitt to explore their guilt, lust and ultimately loss. Thematically thinking of the setting as the launderette, are we washing something until it’s ragged and worn and finished, or are we cleansing something and rescuing stained memories?

Class quietly shapes the story. How consciously did class weave itself into the writing?

BETHAN: When we started this project it was a short twenty minute scene with a hint of a class divide. As we have lived with the characters, certain nuances emerge as obvious directions to take them both. Noel and Kitt really do clash in many ways, notably Kitts inherited wealth from her grandad and Noel inherited orange sash from theirs. It felt important to flesh out where each may have struggled or bloomed forming their identities and their place in the world.

Bethan Rose talks about a “complicit sense of voyeurism.” What do audiences recognise in Kitt and Noel that makes the play feel so familiar?

BETHAN: The couple have a struggling power dynamic and you see them fall apart in front of you, remembering and forgetting in real time. I think audiences will recognise many of the feelings they go through. There are moments where you don’t want to be listening into their conversations, like you’ve accidentally been spying on them. There are also moments where audience members will recognise patterns in the relationship and even take sides. Discomfort and familiarity arises when met with parallels to your own life.

You’re an entirely queer creative team. How did that shape the rehearsal room? BETHAN: At the end of rehearsal we all kiss.

If Kitt and Noel could step out of the laundrette and speak to you, what truth do you hope they’d finally rinse clean? RHI: If I met Noel outside of the Laundrette – I really hope that they found a good therapist to help rinse away their shame about who they are and where they come from. ZOFIA: If Kitt were able to step out of the Launderette, I would hope she could be honest about her entitlement.

 

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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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10/06/26 – Counter Culture – Midweek Song List (152)

“Rain, rebellion, synthesisers and Southern swagger — your midweek cultural tonic.”

Many people regard June as the start of Summer, but so far the weather has been so relentlessly wet that even the ducks are filing formal complaints. The fish are threatening industrial action. And last week’s joke about Christmas stock appearing in Home Bargains? We said “August” — but given the rumours that they’re planning to rescue Denby pottery, perhaps we’ll forgive them if the baubles come early. If a major British ceramics brand and hundreds of jobs can be saved, that’s a Christmas miracle we’ll happily take in June.

 

But enough meteorology and retail speculation. Time to turn to the real business of the week: music.

This edition takes us from the snarling birth of punk to the shimmering synths of early New Wave, from Southern rock swagger to Californian sunshine pop, from communal singing to glam-rock provocation. A proper Counter Culture spread — eclectic, historically grounded, and always with an eye on the cultural currents beneath the tunes.

Let’s dive in.


GNARLS BARKLEY – Crazy

When Crazy landed in 2006, it felt like a song that had always existed — a modern standard arriving fully formed. CeeLo Green’s soulful, wounded vocal sits atop Danger Mouse’s cinematic production, built around a haunting sample from Gianfranco Reverberi’s 1968 spaghetti‑western score Nel Cimitero di Tucson. The track became the first ever UK No.1 based solely on downloads, signalling a shift in how music would be consumed.
It’s a song about losing your grip on reality, yet it’s delivered with such swagger that it feels liberating rather than despairing — a rare trick.


THE BEACH BOYS – Fun, Fun, Fun

Released in 1964, this is the Beach Boys at their most effervescent: teenage rebellion, fast cars, and harmonies so bright they could power the national grid. Brian Wilson’s arrangement is a masterclass in controlled exuberance — the opening guitar lick nods cheekily to Chuck Berry, while the vocal stack is pure California sunshine.
It’s also a sly little morality tale: girl borrows car, girl misbehaves, girl loses car. But with harmonies like these, who cares?


CHOIR! CHOIR! CHOIR! – Zombie

The Canadian collective Choir! Choir! Choir! specialise in turning pop songs into communal acts of catharsis. Their take on The Cranberries’ Zombie is especially powerful — a massed choir reclaiming Dolores O’Riordan’s protest song about the Troubles and the human cost of political violence.
What was once a howl of grief becomes, in their hands, a shared lament and a reminder of how music can bind people together in the face of tragedy.


ELTON JOHN & DUA LIPA – Cold Heart

A clever, shimmering hybrid: Pnau splice together fragments of Elton’s back catalogue (Rocket Man, Sacrifice, Kiss the Bride) and build a sleek, modern disco track around them. Dua Lipa’s cool, crystalline vocal contrasts beautifully with Elton’s warmth.
It’s a reminder that pop history isn’t a museum — it’s a living archive, constantly being reinterpreted and re‑energised.


GARY NUMAN – My Name is Ruin / Are Friends Electric?

Numan’s 2018 Old Grey Whistle Test performance is a fascinating bridge between eras. Are Friends Electric? (1979) was one of the first major UK hits built almost entirely on synthesizers — a stark, dystopian track that helped define early New Wave and electronic pop. Tubeway Army may have dissolved, but Numan’s influence only grew.
My Name is Ruin shows the evolution: darker, heavier, industrial‑tinged — and featuring his daughter Persia, whose ethereal high notes add an eerie, almost ritualistic quality. A family affair in the best possible way.


LYNYRD SKYNYRD – Sweet Home Alabama

A cornerstone of Southern rock, released in 1974 as a response to Neil Young’s critiques of the American South. The track’s breezy feel — those instantly recognisable opening chords — belies the cultural debate it sparked.
Musically, it’s irresistible: triple‑guitar attack, swaggering rhythm section, and Ronnie Van Zant’s laid‑back vocal. Whatever your view on the politics, it remains one of rock’s most enduring anthems.


MAGAZINE – Shot By Both Sides

Howard Devoto left the Buzzcocks because he wanted to explore something more angular, more cerebral — and Magazine was the result. Shot By Both Sides (1978) is a post‑punk landmark: jagged guitars, paranoid lyrics, and a sense of intellectual unease that set the template for countless bands to come.
It’s punk with a library card — and all the better for it.


MORRISSEY – The Monsters of Pig Alley

A later‑period Morrissey track that leans into noirish atmosphere and cinematic tension. The title references the 1912 D.W. Griffith film, one of the earliest gangster movies. Musically, it’s brooding and muscular, with Morrissey’s vocal weaving between menace and melancholy.
Whatever one thinks of the man, his ability to conjure mood remains intact.


ELVIS PRESLEY – Girl of My Best Friend

Recorded in 1960, this is Elvis in his early post‑Army period — smoother, more mature, and leaning into the pop‑ballad tradition. The song itself dates back to the late ’50s and has been covered many times, but Elvis gives it a tender, almost conversational quality.
It’s a snapshot of a transitional moment: the raw rock ’n’ roll rebel evolving into a polished mainstream star.


SEX PISTOLS – Pretty Vacant

If punk had a mission statement, this might be it. Released in 1977, Pretty Vacant is less overtly confrontational than God Save the Queen, but its sneer is just as potent. Steve Jones’ guitar is a wall of sound, Paul Cook’s drumming is tight and propulsive, and John Lydon’s vocal — especially the infamous pronunciation of “va‑CUNT” — is pure provocation.
It’s not just a song; it’s a cultural rupture. A reminder that punk wasn’t merely a genre — it was a demolition job on the complacency of the era.


THE STONE ROSES – I Am the Resurrection

The closing track of their 1989 debut album, and one of the great codas in British rock. The first half is a swaggering kiss‑off; the second half dissolves into a euphoric, extended instrumental jam that feels like a premonition of the Madchester rave‑rock fusion to come.
It’s the Roses at their most transcendent — a band briefly touching the divine.


SWEET – Blockbuster (Uncensored Version)

Ah, Steve Priest. Glam rock’s resident agent provocateur. His Top of the Pops appearance — Prussian helmet, swastika armband, silver platform boots, fake toothbrush moustache — was designed to wind up the BBC establishment, and it succeeded magnificently.
Today, in our era of humour‑averse pearl‑clutching, the clip is labelled “Uncensored Version,” which tells you everything about the cultural shift.
It raises a serious question: should artistic expression be constrained because someone, somewhere, might take offence?
Counter Culture’s answer is simple: art must be free to provoke, unsettle, and challenge — otherwise it’s not art.


AND FINALLY…

If you enjoy the Midweek Song List, remember we also produce:

 

And of course, you can follow us on X


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The Devil Wears Prada 2: A Sequel Crying Out for the Old Miranda

Twenty years after leaving Runway, Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) has built a respectable career in journalism — right up until her entire newsroom is laid off by text message during an awards gala. At the same time, Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) faces a crisis of her own: a sweatshop scandal involving a major advertiser gives corporate owner Irv Ravitz (Tibor Feldman) the excuse he’s been waiting for to interfere. Runway publishes what should have been a glossy, harmles puff piece  on a major fashion brand — only for that brand to be exposed days later for using sweatshop labour. Without Miranda’s consent,  Irv hires Andy as Runway’s new features editor, a move that lands like a diplomatic incident.

Miranda, once the terrifying high priestess of fashion, now finds herself hemmed in by HR briefings, “tone workshops,” and a younger staff who don’t instinctively recognise her authority. Print is shrinking, advertisers are restless, and the magazine is being pushed toward cheap digital churn. Andy tries to uphold real journalism, but her long‑form pieces barely register in a world ruled by algorithms.

Andy reunites with Emily Charlton (Emily Blunt) — now a high‑powered executive whose company’s aggressive pricing strategies symbolise the industry’s moral drift. Meanwhile, tech investors circle Runway, including the serenely confident mogul Evan Roth (played with icy charm by an actor clearly enjoying himself), who sees the magazine not as a cultural institution but as an underperforming asset. As the pressure mounts, Andy becomes central to Miranda’s survival strategy — not as an assistant this time, but as someone who understands both the old world and the new.

The men orbiting Miranda and Andy remain so resolutely beige they could be painted directly onto the set. Kenneth Branagh, as Miranda’s latest husband, drifts through scenes like a distinguished but faintly bewildered museum patron — present, polite, and utterly incapable of matching her gravitational pull. Peter Brammall, playing Andy’s boyfriend Peter, fares no better: a man so gently supportive and narratively weightless he feels less like a romantic partner and more like a well‑meaning flatmate who occasionally remembers they’re dating. And then there’s Stanley Tucci, returning as Nigel, the lone male presence with actual flavour — sharp, warm, and effortlessly charismatic, reminding you how much more alive this world becomes when someone on screen has a pulse stronger than chamomile tea.

Themes: What the Film Tries to Say — and How Well It Says It

The film is preoccupied with change — who drives it, who benefits from it, and who gets crushed beneath it. It contrasts Miranda’s old‑world authority with the frictionless, jargon‑heavy ideology of modern tech.

The “techno‑manosphere” is embodied in nepo‑CEO Jay Ravitz (B.J. Novak) and Emily’s boyfriend Benji Barnes (Justin Theroux), a mash‑up of Musk, Bezos, and Zuckerberg. They spout shibboleths about “cutting expenses” (meaning people) and the inevitability of technological “progress.” Benji’s mantra — “You just have to get out of the way” — is the distilled essence of their worldview: change as inevitability, disruption as moral good, efficiency as destiny.

A critical planning session with a dozen consultants takes place, improbably, in the packed company cafeteria. When Jay invites Miranda, she asks, with surgical disdain, “Do we have one of those?” It’s one of the few moments where the film remembers who she is.

But the film’s biggest misstep is Miranda herself. The original Miranda was frightening because she embodied taste, hierarchy, and institutional authority at their most refined and ruthless. Here, she has been softened into something almost unrecognisable — tidy, tamed, and constantly shadowed by the moral anxieties of 2026. When we see Miranda struggling to hang up her own coat it’s clear that something has changed. And the dialogue tells us she no longer throws her coat at assistants due to HR complaints. The film seems more interested in showing a tamed Miranda than in understanding why she worked in the first place. The result is not growth; it is defanging.

And yet, the film does land one thematic point beautifully: tech’s victory is not inevitable. Without spoiling anything, the final movement hints at a future shaped not by dashboards but by people who still believe in the value of craft. It’s a quiet, almost stealthy note of hope.

Cameos and Watchability

Despite its flaws, the film is undeniably watchable. The cameos — designers, editors, influencers, and a few sly nods to real‑world fashion royalty — give it a fizzy, knowing energy. Lady Gaga’s brief appearance is a highlight: funny, pointed, and perfectly calibrated.

The film moves briskly, the locations are gorgeous, and the cast is uniformly committed. Hathaway remains a compelling centre of gravity; Blunt steals every scene she’s in; Streep, as Miranda, even in a softened register, still radiates authority. Even the tech bros are entertaining in their buffoonery.

It’s not the sharp, cruel, diamond‑cut satire of the original — but it’s never dull.

Would I See The Devil Wears Prada 3?

Absolutely.

And I’d like to see it go further.
I’d like the PC guff — the HR euphemisms, the corporate tone‑policing, the algorithmic hand‑wringing — to be presented as outdated. I’d like a return to mean Miranda, not just as a bully, but as a woman whose authority comes from taste, judgement, and the ability to see what others can’t.

If this sequel is about the world outgrowing its monsters, the third film should be about the world realising it still needs them. Because the truth is that industries don’t collapse from cruelty; they collapse from complacency. Prada 2 imagines a landscape where the sharp edges have been sanded down, where Miranda’s authority is treated as an embarrassing relic, and where institutions believe they can replace vision with workflow and taste with metrics. But the absence of monsters doesn’t create harmony — it creates drift. Standards loosen, identities blur, and the centre of gravity shifts from people who know what they’re doing to people who know how to present what they’re doing. A third film should confront that reckoning head‑on: the uncomfortable but necessary realisation that the figures once dismissed as tyrants were often the ones holding the whole thing together. Not because they were kind, or gentle, or easy, but because they cared enough to demand more than the world found convenient. We need the monsters and we need to learn how to deal with them.

By Pat Harrington

 

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Exploring ‘Once We Were Punks’: A Journey Through Rural Ireland’s Music Scene

The premise of Frank Shouldice’s film, Once We Were Punks might seem routine or clichéd, something we’ve seen a hundred times before; four lads who were in a band in the Eighties who get together again in middle age. Perhaps – up to a point – but this is a much richer and satisfying film than that brief sketch suggests.

Back in the 1980s, Justin Kelly the vocalist and lyricist, formed a band with his mates, David Meagher, Paddy Glackin, and Noel Larkin; The Panic Merchants. As the film opens, we see the former band members revisiting their old hometown, Baillieboro in County Cavan. Some fascinating archive footage shows how different rural Ireland was just forty-odd years ago.

The Panic Merchants never made the big time. Fame and fortune eluded them. Everyday life intervened. They went their separate ways. John moved to America. Paddy went to Australia. Then, 25 years later, they met up again at a funeral – common in Ireland – and decided to team up again.

The new band was named The Sons of South Ulster, taken from that marginalised part of Ireland, ‘the three counties the Brits didn’t want, and Ireland didn’t give a shit about’ as Justin puts it. The new band reaches audiences never dreamt of by the old one, with albums of raw unpolished songs deeply rooted in rural Co Cavan, songs referencing local places and characters, that capture a universal sense of loss.

As the calendar and the clock mark off the days and hours until a big live gig in the legendary Dublin music venue, Whelan’s, the lads and their family members open up in snatches of interviews with the producer. Justin was traumatised by the fate of his late father, a captain in the Irish Army who was thrown under the bus by senior politicians in a notorious arms dealing scandal in the early 1970s. Paddy moved to Australia to escape the homophobia then rampant in rural Ireland. Noel is quietly but defiantly living with cancer. Each of them is coming to terms with the reality of growing older. Their raging against the dying of the light packs a real emotional punch.

Noel’s cancer diagnosis gradually takes centre stage. He treats it bravely with a large measure of understatement, but his wife makes it clear to us that he is in the words of Irish singer Gloria, getting through it ‘one day at a time.’

This is a story of vulnerability, resilience, and endurance, Justin, David, Paddy and Noel are middle-aged men shaped by friendship, affection and love for one-another, shaped by their circumstances and most of all by their determination to complete their unfinished business.

Reviewed by David Kerr


Once We Were Punks
Director: Frank Shouldice

Runtime: 96 minutes. Ireland 2025.

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Counter Culture on X: A Place for Thoughtful Engagement

Social platforms rarely feel like places for reflection. They reward speed, certainty, and spectacle — the very things Counter Culture has always resisted. And yet there’s value in stepping into the public square, not to shout above the crowd but to offer a different frequency: slower, sharper, more attentive to the textures of culture and the stories that shape us. That’s the spirit behind Counter Culture’s arrival on X, a platform where the project can extend its reach without losing its voice.

A Space for Thoughtful Signals

The new X page introduces Counter Culture with a simple promise: film, TV, books, politics, and everyday life explored with atmospheric insight and clarity. It’s a mission statement that cuts against the grain of the platform’s usual churn. Instead of hot takes, the feed offers fragments of the site’s longer essays — glimpses of reviews, cultural notes, and political reflections that invite readers to slow down rather than scroll past.

This approach matters. In a landscape where cultural commentary is often reduced to outrage or instant reaction, Counter Culture’s presence on X becomes a small act of resistance: a reminder that criticism can be patient, that analysis can be humane, and that curiosity is still a political stance.

Building a Public Archive

Already, the page is beginning to form a kind of living archive. Posts link back to recent pieces — from reflections on Wuthering Heights (2026) to dispatches from Summerhall’s 2026 programme. Each link is a doorway into a larger conversation, a way of threading the site’s essays into the rhythms of daily browsing.

This isn’t about chasing virality. It’s about creating a trail of signals: small, steady markers that guide readers toward deeper engagement. The X page becomes a map of what Counter Culture is paying attention to — and, by extension, what it believes is worth noticing.

A Community in Formation

Every cultural project begins with a handful of readers. The X page currently shows a modest following, but that’s not a weakness — it’s a beginning. Communities built slowly tend to be communities built well. They gather people who are drawn to the work itself rather than the noise around it.

The early posts, the quiet feed, the absence of spectacle: all of this creates space for something more durable. A readership that values nuance. A conversation that doesn’t collapse into slogans. A shared sense that culture is not just entertainment but a way of understanding the world.

Why This Platform, and Why Now?

Counter Culture has always been about more than reviews. It’s about the moral weather of everyday life — the signals that pass between politics, art, and personal experience. X, for all its flaws, remains a place where those signals circulate quickly. Being present there means being part of the cultural bloodstream, not as a passive observer but as an active interpreter.

The platform also offers something practical: visibility. Not the empty visibility of metrics, but the meaningful visibility of connection. A way for readers to encounter the work in their daily routines. A way for the project to grow without diluting its integrity.

What Comes Next

As the page develops, it will become a companion to the main site — a place for previews, reflections, fragments, and provocations. A place where the editorial voice can stretch, experiment, and respond to the cultural moment without losing its grounding.

Counter Culture’s arrival on X isn’t a pivot. It’s an expansion. Another room in the same house. Another signal in the same frequency.

And as the feed grows, so will the conversation.

By Maria Camara

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