Posts Tagged Culture Vulture

Culture Vulture 18–24 July 2026

The World Cup reaches its climax this week, but that’s only part of an unusually rich few days for anyone who enjoys intelligent television. The final between Spain and Argentina promises one of the sporting moments of the year, while the BBC Proms throws open its doors to progressive rock in a gloriously unlikely meeting of orchestral grandeur and electric ambition. Elsewhere, BBC Three marks ten years of Fleabag, a reminder that Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s creation remains every bit as funny, fearless and painfully truthful as it was on its debut.

Selections and writing are by Pat Harrington.

Saturday 18 July 2026

2.40pm – BBC Two – Jesus Christ Superstar (1973)

Norman Jewison’s Jesus Christ Superstar isn’t just a film — it’s a fever dream of faith, doubt, and electric guitars. The desert looks biblical, but the energy is pure 1970s rebellion: sand, sweat, and rock riffs colliding in a swirl of conviction and confusion. Ted Neeley’s Jesus is fragile and furious, a man caught between prophecy and burnout, while Carl Anderson’s Judas prowls the frame like a conscience that won’t shut up.

It’s a film that still splits audiences — believers see revelation, sceptics see spectacle — yet both end up humming the same tunes long after the credits roll. Jewison’s direction is audacious, sometimes chaotic, but always alive. You can feel the tension between worship and performance, between the sacred and the showbiz.

Half a century on, it remains a strange, shimmering miracle: a rock opera that dares to ask whether faith can survive fame, and whether doubt might be the most human prayer of all.

4.20pm – BBC Two – Calamity Jane (1953)

There’s a  joy in watching Doris Day tear through Calamity Jane like a whirlwind in buckskin. She doesn’t just play the role — she inhabits it, all swagger and sunshine, a woman who can outshoot the men and outsing the saloon. The film’s Technicolor optimism feels almost defiant now, a reminder of when Hollywood musicals believed that a good melody could fix anything.

It’s warm-hearted and gloriously tuneful, with songs that stick like burrs and a spirit that refuses to dim. Beneath the yee‑haw bravado, there’s tenderness too — a story about belonging, self‑discovery, and the courage to love without losing yourself.

Impossible to dislike? Absolutely.

4.35pm – Film4 – Jason and the Argonauts (1963)

There’s a particular thrill in revisiting Jason and the Argonauts, the kind that reminds you why certain films lodge themselves in the collective imagination. It certainly remained in mine after  I watched it as a boy. Ray Harryhausen’s stop‑motion work isn’t just clever craftsmanship — it’s mythmaking in motion. Those skeletons, clattering into battle with eerie precision, still feel more alive than half the CGI armies that came decades later.

The film has that unmistakable adventure‑serial charm: bold colours, booming declarations, gods meddling from the clouds, and mortals scrambling to keep up. It’s earnest in a way modern fantasy rarely dares to be, and that sincerity gives it staying power. You can see every hour of labour in the creatures Harryhausen conjured, every frame nudged by hand, every illusion built from patience rather than processing power.

Imagination ages differently from technology. That’s why Jason and the Argonauts still casts a spell — not because it looks real, but because it feels wondrous.

6.35pm – 5Star – The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2011)

A fine British ensemble cast finds humour and humanity in later life. Comfort viewing done properly.

7.30pm – BBC Radio 3 – BBC Proms: The Prog Rock Prom – A Fanfare for the Common Man

Progressive rock arrives at the Royal Albert Hall with all the scale and confidence it deserves. A fascinating meeting of classical tradition and adventurous rock.

8.00pm – Radio 4 – Archive on 4: Alan Watts – The Brahmin of Bromley

A thoughtful portrait of the philosopher who helped introduce Eastern spirituality to the West.

9.00pm – BBC Four – The Sentinels

This isn’t your usual wartime drama. The Sentinels imagines a France pushed to the brink during the First World War, turning not to tanks or tactics but to science — or something close to it. In hidden laboratories far from the trenches, a radical serum is being tested, designed to push ordinary soldiers beyond human limits. Strength, speed, resilience: the promise is intoxicating, the cost less so.

The film follows the team behind the experiment — doctors, chemists, and a handful of unwilling visionaries — as they wrestle with the ethics of manufacturing heroes. There’s tension in every corridor, a sense that the war outside is nothing compared to the one happening in these rooms. And when the first “enhanced” soldiers step into the light, the question becomes whether France has created saviours… or something it can no longer control.

Atmospheric, unsettling, and quietly ambitious, The Sentinels asks what happens when desperation meets invention — and whether victory is worth the monsters we make to achieve it.

9.00pm – 5Star – The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2015)

The sequel doesn’t quite match the original’s freshness but the warmth of the performances carries it through.

12.15am – Film4 – Zola (2020)

A film that sprints head‑first into chaos and never once looks back. Zola takes one of the internet’s wildest true(ish) stories — a 148‑tweet odyssey of strip‑club hustling, bad decisions and worse men — and turns it into a neon‑lit thriller that feels both hilarious and horrifying.

Taylour Paige anchors the madness with a performance that’s sharp, sly and constantly alert, while Janicza Bravo’s direction keeps the whole thing teetering between comedy and dread. It’s a road trip, a nightmare, a social‑media myth made flesh — and somehow it all works.

A wildly entertaining descent into the kind of trouble you only get into when you trust the wrong person at exactly the wrong moment.

12.50am – Channel 4 – Men (2022)

Alex Garland’s Men is the kind of folk horror that doesn’t shout — it seeps. The film starts quietly, almost tenderly, then begins to twist itself into something far stranger and far more unsettling. Jessie Buckley carries the whole thing with a raw, brittle intensity, wandering through an English countryside that feels ancient, watchful, and profoundly wrong.

Garland leans into repetition, symbolism, and the uncanny with a confidence that’s both maddening and mesmerising. The village men — all sharing the same face, the same smile, the same threat — turn the film into a looping nightmare about grief, guilt and the monstrous shapes masculinity can take when left unchecked.

It’s eerie, provocative, and impossible to shake off.

Sunday 19 July 2026

11.25am – BBC Two – A Man for All Seasons (1966)


There’s a stillness to Paul Scofield’s performance, a kind of moral gravity, that pulls the whole film into orbit around him. Fred Zinnemann’s historical drama can feel austere on the surface, but Scofield gives it heat: quiet conviction, flashes of wit, and a resolve that never tips into sanctimony.

The debates over conscience, loyalty and power still land with force, not because the film shouts its themes, but because Scofield makes them human. Every pause, every measured line, carries the weight of a man refusing to bend even as the world closes in.

12.30pm – E4 – Zathura: A Space Adventure (2005)
An underrated family adventure with genuine imagination.

7.00pm – BBC One & ITV1 – FIFA World Cup Final Build-up

8.00pm – BBC One & ITV1 – FIFA World Cup Final: Spain v Argentina

The biggest match in world football. Two outstanding sides meet for the greatest prize the game has to offer. And if you are English let’s not be two down as number 3 or 4 in the World isn’t so bad!

8.25pm – BBC One – The Full Monty (1997)

The Full Monty just gets sharper. It’s still funny — properly funny — with that mix of Sheffield grit and warmth that never tips into sentimentality. The jokes land, the characters feel lived‑in, and the film’s big-hearted honesty about pride, work, friendship and desperation remains disarmingly fresh.

It’s still moving too. Beneath the cheeky bravado is a story about men trying to reclaim a bit of dignity in a world that’s slowly taken it away. Stripped them of it in fact! That combination of humour and vulnerability is why it endures, and why it still feels like one of the finest British comedies ever made.

9.00pm – BBC Four – BBC Proms

Elim Chan conducts Beethoven’s Fifth alongside Mussorgsky’s A Night on the Bare Mountain, while Marin Alsop brings Strauss’s Don Juan to life. A magnificent evening.

11.00pm – BBC Four – Hans Zimmer: Hollywood Rebel

A portrait of the composer whose music has become almost inseparable from modern cinema.

12.00am – Channel 4 – Diego Maradona (2019)

As exhilarating and contradictory as the football genius himself.

Monday 20 July 2026

7.00pm – BBC One – Our Lives: Big Cat Investigator

A fascinating search for Britain’s most elusive feline mysteries. Whether you’re convinced or not, the people behind the investigations are compelling company.

8.00pm – BBC One – Panorama: There’s a Gangster in My Flat

A disturbing investigation into landlords who unknowingly hand properties over to organised criminals.

9.00pm – BBC Two – Evolution (full series on iPlayer)

A sweeping account of how life on Earth has changed across millions of years. Worth watching as a complete series.

9.00pm – Legend – Get Carter (1971)

 Michael Caine’s Jack Carter is still the benchmark — cold‑eyed, controlled, and utterly uncompromising. There’s no glamour in this world, just smoke, concrete and the kind of violence that feels inevitable rather than sensational. The film moves with a hard, unblinking confidence, every scene sharpened by Caine’s icy precision.

Half a century on, Get Carter remains the gold standard for British crime cinema: lean, brutal, and stylish in a way that doesn’t date because it never tried to be fashionable in the first place.

10.00pm – BBC Four – Becoming Frida Kahlo

A richly rewarding portrait of the artist behind one of the world’s most recognisable faces.

11.00pm – Channel 4 – Secrets of the Celebrity Sex Tape

This week’s episode examines the strange intersection of fame, scandal and commerce through the story of Farrah Abraham.

11.00pm – BBC Two – In the Heat of the Night (1967)

One of my favourite films, largely because of that central relationship — two men circling each other with suspicion, pride and a slowly forming, grudging respect. Sidney Poitier’s Virgil Tibbs arrives with a cool, contained fury; Rod Steiger’s Gillespie bristles with small‑town defensiveness. They shouldn’t work together, and for a while they barely do, but watching them inch toward understanding is the real engine of the film.

What begins as a straight detective story becomes something far richer: a clash of temperament, background and worldview, played out in humid Southern nights and cramped police offices. Poitier and Steiger elevate every scene, turning procedural beats into moments of genuine tension and revelation.

It’s sharp, humane and quietly electrifying — a reminder that sometimes the most compelling drama comes from two people learning, reluctantly, to see each other clearly.

2.45am – Channel 4 – Minimum (2024)

A curious little late‑night gem — the sort of film that slips onto the schedule at an hour when everything feels slightly off‑kilter. Minimum doesn’t shout for attention; it sidles up with a strange mood, a few sharp ideas, and a tone that’s just elusive enough to keep you watching.

The plot follows a young woman drifting between dead‑end jobs and half‑formed ambitions, pulled into a quietly surreal chain of events after she discovers a mysterious device left behind in a rented flat. What begins as a small, almost forgettable moment spirals into a story about identity, chance and the odd ways life reroutes itself when you’re barely paying attention. The film keeps its cards close, offering hints rather than answers, and letting the unease build in the margins.

Intriguing, atmospheric, and exactly the kind of oddity that rewards anyone still awake at this hour.

An intriguing late-night curiosity.

Tuesday 21 July 2026

9.00pm – BBC Four – She-Wolves: England’s Early Queens – Matilda and Eleanor

Helen Castor restores two formidable women to their rightful place in English history.

9.00pm – Channel 4 – The Undeclared War (complete series available on Channel 4 Streaming)

Peter Kosminsky’s cyber-thriller feels alarmingly plausible. Smart television with plenty on its mind.

10.40pm – BBC One – Harriet (2019)

A stirring account of Harriet Tubman’s extraordinary courage, told with a clarity and urgency that never slips into hagiography. Cynthia Erivo gives the film its pulse — fierce, determined, and utterly compelling — charting Tubman’s escape from slavery and her return, again and again, to lead others to freedom.

The film balances action with quiet resolve, showing the grit behind the legend and the sheer audacity of Tubman’s missions. It’s respectful without being reverential, dramatic without losing sight of the real woman at its centre.

A powerful, heartfelt tribute to a life lived in defiance of fear.

11.00pm – BBC Two – The History Boys (2006)

Alan Bennett at his funniest and most perceptive. The film crackles with wit — that unmistakable Bennett blend of sharp humour, melancholy and insight — as a group of Sheffield sixth‑formers chase Oxbridge dreams under the guidance of teachers who are, in their own ways, just as lost as the boys they’re shaping.

It’s brisk, clever and full of lines that land with a sting or a smile, often both at once. A comedy, yes, but one with real bite: about education, ambition, and the stories we tell ourselves to make sense of growing up.

1.10am – Film4 – The Pillow Book (1996)

Peter Greenaway’s The Pillow Book is a visually sumptuous meditation on love, art and obsession — a film that treats the human body as both canvas and text. Inspired by Sei Shōnagon’s writings, it follows Nagiko, a woman whose life becomes entwined with calligraphy, desire and the search for a lover who can honour her need to be written upon as beautifully as she writes herself.

Greenaway layers image upon image: ink on skin, shifting frames, saturated colour, and a cool, deliberate eroticism that feels more like ritual than provocation. It’s hypnotic, strange, and uncompromising — a film that asks you to surrender to its aesthetic rather than simply watch it.

Wednesday 22 July 2026

12.50pm – BBC World Service – Witness History

The remarkable story of the Crazy Horse Memorial, one of the world’s most ambitious monuments.

8.35pm – Talking Pictures TV – Payday (1972)

A gritty slice of early‑1970s American cinema, Payday follows honky‑tonk singer Maury Dann as he barrels through the South leaving chaos, bad decisions and bruised relationships in his wake. Rip Torn is phenomenal — swaggering, magnetic and utterly toxic — giving the film a raw, lived‑in authenticity that feels closer to reportage than fiction.

It’s rough, sharp and steeped in the era’s dust‑and‑whiskey realism, the kind of character study that doesn’t tidy anything up or offer easy redemption. A late‑evening gem for anyone who likes their Americana unvarnished.

9.00pm – BBC Four – The Magic of Mushrooms (iPlayer)

A quietly fascinating reminder that fungi are among the unseen architects of the natural world.

9.00pm – TLC – One Day in My Body

Moving stories of resilience from people living with lifelong health challenges.

9.00pm – Film4 – Nobody (2021)

Bob Odenkirk proves he can throw a punch as convincingly as he can deliver a punchline. What starts as a story about a worn‑down suburban dad quietly absorbing life’s frustrations turns into a sharp, stylish burst of action cinema. Odenkirk brings a weary charm to Hutch Mansell — a man who’s spent years tamping down his instincts until one bad night gives him permission to let them loose.

The action is crisp, darkly funny and surprisingly character‑driven, with Odenkirk selling every hit through sheer commitment rather than swagger. It’s lean, fast and far more satisfying than you expect when it begins.

10.00pm – BBC Four – Play for Today: Edna, the Inebriate Woman

Patricia Hayes gives an unforgettable performance in Jeremy Sandford’s compassionate, uncompromising drama.

10.40pm – BBC One – The Hurt Locker (2008)

Kathryn Bigelow’s Oscar‑winning war film remains one of the most intense pieces of cinema this century. It follows an elite bomb‑disposal unit in Iraq, but what makes it so gripping isn’t just the danger — it’s the psychology. Jeremy Renner’s Sergeant James moves through each mission with a mix of swagger, skill and something far more troubling, and the film captures that adrenaline‑charged mindset with unnerving clarity.

Bigelow shoots every scene with a documentary‑like immediacy: dust, heat, silence, then sudden chaos. It’s lean, tense and razor‑sharp, a portrait of men living on the edge because they don’t quite know how to live anywhere else.

Thursday 23 July 2026

4.00pm – Talking Pictures TV – The Winslow Boy (1948)

David Lean’s elegant courtroom drama has lost none of its quiet dignity. Based on Terence Rattigan’s play, it tells the story of a family fighting to clear their son’s name after he’s accused of theft at naval college — a battle that becomes less about the case itself and more about principle, sacrifice and the cost of doing what’s right.

Lean keeps the tone restrained and humane, letting the performances and the moral weight do the work. It’s beautifully acted, sharply written and still moving in its calm insistence that justice matters, even when the world would prefer you let it go.

8.00pm – National Geographic – Pompeii: Out of Time with Tom Hiddleston (Disney+)

A fresh look at one of history’s greatest archaeological discoveries, presented with infectious enthusiasm.

10.40pm – BBC One – I Am Legend (2007)

Will Smith carries this post‑apocalyptic thriller almost single‑handedly, and that’s exactly why it works. As Robert Neville — the last man in a ravaged New York — he gives the film its emotional weight, playing isolation, routine and creeping despair with a quiet intensity that keeps you locked in.

The empty city is eerie, the action sharp, and the film’s mix of survival drama and sci‑fi horror still lands. Smith’s performance anchors everything: a man trying to stay human when the world around him has stopped being recognisable.

11.05pm – BBC Two – The Inspection (2022)

An emotionally powerful drama about identity, discipline and belonging. Inspired by writer–director Elegance Bratton’s own experiences, it follows a young gay Black man who joins the Marines after being rejected by his family, hoping the military will give him the structure and purpose he’s been denied.

What unfolds is tough, intimate and deeply human. The film doesn’t shy away from the brutality of boot camp, but it’s the quieter moments — the search for acceptance, the fight to be seen, the fragile hope of forging a new self — that give it real force.

Friday 24 July 2026

7.30pm – BBC Four – BBC Proms: The Prog Rock Prom

The television broadcast of one of the week’s musical highlights — a lavish, affectionate celebration of prog rock’s most ambitious, theatrical and musically adventurous era. This Prom draws on a wide sweep of the genre, with orchestral arrangements of classics by Yes, Genesis, Emerson, Lake & Palmer, King Crimson, Jethro Tull, Pink Floyd, Gentle Giant, Focus, Renaissance, Soft Machine, Moody Blues, Osibisa, Incredible String Band, Supertramp, Mike Oldfield, and even Frank Zappa.

Guest appearances from Carl Palmer, Peter Hammill, Guy Garvey, Gruff Rhys and Jane Weaver add extra personality to the evening, bridging the gap between the original prog pioneers and today’s eclectic musical voices.

A rich, playful and gloriously over‑the‑top tribute to a genre that always aimed higher, stranger and louder.

9.00pm – ITV1 – The Twisted Tale of Amanda Knox (ITVX)

Grace Van Patten stars in a drama that examines not just a murder investigation but the relentless machinery of modern media.

9.00pm – Film4 – Quadrophenia (1979)

The definitive Mod film. Angry, exhilarating and still unmistakably British. It captures that volatile mix of youth, identity and tribal belonging with a rawness that still feels fresh. Phil Daniels’ Jimmy is all restless energy and frustration, ricocheting between pride, insecurity and the desperate need to belong to something bigger than himself.

The film’s Brighton sequences remain iconic — chaotic, charged, and shot with a documentary immediacy that makes you feel the salt, sweat and adrenaline of the moment. And beneath all the scooters, parkas and The Who’s thunderous soundtrack, there’s a sharp, melancholy edge: a portrait of a young man discovering that the myths he clings to don’t always survive contact with reality.

10.30pm – BBC Three – Fleabag: 10th Anniversary

The first episode begins a celebratory overnight run of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s masterpiece, continuing at 10.55pm, 11.25pm, 11.50pm, 12.20am and 12.45am. Ten years on, it remains one of the sharpest, funniest and most emotionally honest comedies British television has produced.

11.05pm – BBC Two – Janet Planet (2023)

A beautifully observed coming‑of‑age drama that rewards patience. Annie Baker’s debut film unfolds in quiet, precise moments, following young Lacy as she navigates a summer orbiting her mother, Janet — a charismatic, complicated woman whose presence shapes everything around her.

The film is gentle but piercing, built from small gestures, overheard conversations and the subtle shifts that define childhood. Baker’s theatre instincts show in the careful framing and the way she lets scenes breathe, giving you time to settle into the rhythms of these lives.

It’s tender, truthful and quietly mesmerising.

11.25pm – Film4 – Velvet Goldmine (1998)

Todd Haynes’s glam‑rock fantasia is gloriously excessive — a shimmering, chaotic dive into identity, performance and the electric charge of reinvention. Set against the glitter‑soaked world of 1970s glam, it follows journalist Arthur Stuart as he digs into the rise and disappearance of rock icon Brian Slade, uncovering a story that’s part myth, part memory, part fever dream.

The film is all colour, attitude and theatrical swagger, with Haynes treating music and persona as acts of self‑creation. It’s bold, queer, stylish and defiantly messy in the best way, a celebration of the moment when pop culture felt like it could rewrite the world.

12.05am – Channel 4 – Polite Society (2023)

Fast, funny and joyfully inventive. Nida Manzoor’s debut feature is a riot of genre‑blending energy — part martial‑arts caper, part coming‑of‑age story, part affectionate send‑up of family expectations.

Ria Khan, a teenage stunt‑wannabe, becomes convinced her older sister is being swept into something sinister, and the film follows her increasingly wild attempts to “rescue” her. It’s sharp, colourful and packed with wit, but underneath all the chaos sits a sincere love for sisterhood, ambition and the messy business of figuring out who you are.

Streaming

Channel 4 Streaming

Walter Presents: Sea Shadows (all six episodes, Friday)

A Nordic mystery that values atmosphere as much as plot, making it ideal for a weekend binge.

Paramount+

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds – Series 4 (weekly from Thursday)

Still, arguably, the finest modern Star Trek, balancing optimism, humour and adventure with a confidence that feels wonderfully old‑school. Strange New Worlds keeps the spirit of classic Trek alive — episodic stories, big ideas, moral curiosity — but delivers them with the warmth and character‑driven charm that’s made this cast so easy to love.

Blue Bloods – Series 12 (Saturday)
Tom Selleck’s long-running family police drama continues to deliver dependable entertainment.

Netflix

Heartstopper Forever

Gentle, generous and full of warmth — and rooted, as ever, in the tender honesty of a gay love story. What makes Heartstopper resonate isn’t just that it centres queer relationships, but the way it treats them: with softness, sincerity and a complete absence of cynicism.

It’s a world where two boys falling in love is allowed to be joyful, awkward, hopeful and real. The emotional beats feel lived‑in rather than manufactured, and the show’s kindness toward its characters gives the romance a glow that’s hard to shake.

WWE Unreal – Series 3 (Tuesday)
A revealing look behind the spectacle of professional wrestling.

Prime Video

Project Hail Mary

A science‑fiction adventure with brains as well as spectacle — and one that wears its heart surprisingly openly. Andy Weir’s story centres on Ryland Grace, a schoolteacher‑turned‑astronaut who wakes up alone on a spacecraft with no memory and a mission that’s somehow even bigger than saving Earth.

What makes it stand out isn’t just the clever problem‑solving or the hard‑science puzzles (though there are plenty). It’s the emotional core: the slow, brilliant reveal of connection in the most unlikely circumstances, and the way the book turns isolation into something hopeful rather than bleak.

Smart, inventive and unexpectedly moving.

Apple TV+

Cape Fear – Episode 9 (Friday)

The thriller heads towards its conclusion with tensions mounting. As the story tightens, every character feels that pressure — choices narrowing, consequences circling closer, and the sense that the past isn’t finished with anyone just yet.

It’s the kind of episode where unease sits under every scene, where even quiet moments feel loaded, and where you can sense the finale gathering itself like a storm. A strong penultimate chapter, sharp and unsettling in all the right ways.

Leaving Soon

  • Bohemian Rhapsody (Prime – until Sunday)
  • Deepwater Horizon (Prime – until Wednesday)
  • The Producers (BBC iPlayer – until Wednesday)

Radio

Saturday & Sunday – BBC Radio 2 – 70 Years of the Official Albums Chart
Celebrating the chart first published in Record Mirror on 22 July 1956, this weekend retrospective revisits the records that defined generations.

Saturday – 7.30pm – BBC Radio 3 – BBC Proms: The Prog Rock Prom
A memorable collision of progressive rock and orchestral grandeur.

Saturday – 8.00pm – Radio 4 – Archive on 4: Alan Watts – The Brahmin of Bromley
An engaging study of the philosopher who opened Western minds to Eastern thought.

Wednesday – 12.50pm – BBC World Service – Witness History
The extraordinary story behind the Crazy Horse Memorial and the decades-long effort to carve one of the world’s largest sculptures from the Black Hills of South Dakota.

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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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Culture Vulture 13th–19th June 2026

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

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

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

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

Saturday 13th June

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cyrano
BBC Two, 5.00pm

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

Shanghai Noon (2000)
5 Action, 6.55pm

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

🌟 Heatwave Night
BBC Four, from 7.00pm

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

Originals at the BBC
BBC Four, from 8.35pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌟 Ferrari (2023)
Sky Mix, 9.00pm

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

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

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

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

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

Benedetta (2021)
Film4, 12.30am

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

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

Nostalgia (2022)
BBC Two, 1.20am

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

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

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

Sunday 14th June

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

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

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

Moby Dick (1956)
Legend, 5.40pm

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

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

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

🌟 Tiger Island
BBC One, 7.15pm

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

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

Michael Palin’s Hemingway Adventure
BBC Four, 8.15pm

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

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

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

🌟 Free Nelson Mandela
Channel 4, 9.00pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later… with Jools Holland
BBC Two, 10.00pm

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

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

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

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

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

A modern classic — urgent, immersive and emotionally shattering.

Boiling Point (2021)
Channel 4, Midnight

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday 15th June

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

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

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

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

Gagarine (2020)
Film4, 1.30am

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OnlyFans: Inside the Machine
BBC One, 10.55pm

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

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

Tuesday 16th June

Letter to Brezhnev (1985)
BBC Two, 12.05am

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

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

Sign of the Pagan (1954)
Film4, 3.15pm

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

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

Rosa Elettrica
Sky Atlantic, 9.00pm

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

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

A sleek, confident slice of contemporary Italian noir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knives Out (2019)
Film4, 11.40pm

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

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

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

Wednesday 17th June

The Lavender Hill Mob (1951)
Film4, 5.15pm

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

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

Titans of the Cold War
PBS America, 7.50pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A revealing look behind Thailand’s tourist image.

They Live (1988)
Legend, 11.10pm

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

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

Thursday 18th June

Ad Astra (2019)
Film4, 6.40pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌟 Queen James
BBC Two, 9.00pm

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

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

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

The Accused: Beyond Reasonable Doubt
Channel 4, 10.00pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday 19th June

El Dorado (1966)
5 Action, 1.15pm

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

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

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

Milan with Michael Portillo
9.00pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Life (2023)
Film4, 11.30pm

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

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

Lean, surprising and quietly affecting.

The Invitation (2022)
Channel 4, 12.10am

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

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

Streaming Choice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌟 Poor Cow — StudioCanal Presents

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

🌟 Kneecap — Prime Video

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

Marching Powder — Prime Video

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

The Woody Allen Collection — Prime Video

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

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

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

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

🌟 The Tasters — Available to buy and rent

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

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

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

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Culture Vulture 23rd–29th May 2026

A soaring vulture with outstretched wings against a blue sky, accompanied by bold text reading 'CULTURE VULTURE' and a graphic promoting 'COUNTER CULTURE' event from May 23-29, 2026.

Welcome to Culture Vulture, Counter Culture’s weekly wander through television, cinema and streaming from an alternative standpoint. We’ve picked out the most interesting things on this week’s screens — not the noisiest, just the ones worth your time. Stories stick with us in all sorts of ways — in what we remember, what we value, and what unsettles us.

This week carries a curious emotional rhythm. There is glamour and melancholy in equal measure. Music dominates one end of the schedule, from Queen’s operatic ambition to BBC Four’s superb late-night jazz session, while drama and documentary return repeatedly to questions of reputation, reinvention and the stories built around public lives. Marilyn Monroe, Shirley MacLaine, Cher and John Lennon all appear, each reframed through the lens of memory and myth.

Three highlights stand out. 🌟 My Favourite Cake brings warmth and quiet rebellion to modern Iranian cinema. 🌟 Dear England continues its examination of football and national psychology with rare intelligence. And 🌟 Jazz Night on BBC Four promises a rich late-night celebration of musical brilliance and cultural memory.

Selection and commentary is by Pat Harrington. Longer reviews of selected titles may also be available on the Counter Culture website.

Saturday 23rd May 2026

Funny Face (1957) BBC Two, 10:35am

Some films endure for their influence, others simply because people adore them. Funny Face belongs firmly to the second category. Stanley Donen’s musical is light on its feet and unashamedly romantic, but beneath the elegance sits something rather more interesting than a simple fashion fairytale. Audrey Hepburn’s Jo Stockton begins as an intellectual working in a Greenwich Village bookshop before being swept into the world of Paris fashion by Fred Astaire’s photographer Dick Avery.

The premise is knowingly fanciful. Nobody mistakes Funny Face for realism. Yet part of its pleasure comes from how openly artificial it is. Paris here is less a city than a state of mind. Cafés, boulevards and couture salons exist in a carefully arranged dreamscape where beauty is heightened and coincidence seems entirely reasonable.

Audrey Hepburn remains the film’s gravitational centre. There is always intelligence in her performances, even when the material threatens to reduce her to elegance alone. Jo is not merely decorative. She resists. She questions. She remains slightly amused by the absurd machinery surrounding her. Hepburn understood that charm is most effective when mixed with wit.

Fred Astaire, meanwhile, brings experience and ease. By this stage his dancing possessed a kind of deceptive simplicity. He never appeared to be showing off. He glided. That lightness suits Funny Face perfectly. The partnership between Astaire and Hepburn should not work on paper, yet somehow it does.

The musical numbers retain their power to delight. Bonjour Paris and Think Pink remain deliciously stylised creations, but perhaps the most memorable moments are quieter. Hepburn dancing in a smoky Parisian cellar carries an energy that feels spontaneous rather than choreographed, a brief eruption of freedom amid the orchestrated glamour.

What lingers, though, is the film’s gentle tension between thought and image. Jo is drawn towards philosophy and seriousness while the fashion world insists on surfaces. The film does not entirely resolve that argument. Perhaps that is why it still feels alive. Beneath the satin and photography lies a small debate about authenticity that modern culture, obsessed with presentation and self-curation, has hardly settled.

Queen Night Sky Arts, from 6:00pm

Sky Arts devotes the evening to Queen, beginning with Queen and I at the Opera and continuing through Queen Live at the Rainbow (7:00pm), Queen Greatest Video Hits 1 (8:45pm), Queen Greatest Video Hits 2 (10:00pm) and concluding with Queen: From Rags to Rhapsody (11:40pm). Queen’s journey from ambitious outsiders to global institution remains one of popular music’s great stories — part theatre, part rebellion and entirely their own.

My Favourite Cake (2024) 🌟BBC Four, 9:00pm

Some films arrive carrying noise and expectation. Others enter quietly and ask only for patience. My Favourite Cake belongs to the second category. This Iranian drama follows Mahin, an elderly widow who decides, against social convention and emotional caution alike, to reclaim companionship and pleasure. It is a modest story on the surface, but modesty should never be mistaken for insignificance.

The film understands solitude with unusual precision. Loneliness here is not melodramatic. It exists in routines, silences and rooms that feel slightly too large for one person. Mahin’s life has settled into habit, and habit has become a kind of invisible prison.

What gives the film its power is its refusal to sentimentalise ageing. Cinema often treats older characters as repositories of wisdom or comedy. My Favourite Cake grants Mahin something rarer — desire, contradiction and emotional agency. She is neither saint nor symbol.

The performances carry remarkable delicacy. There is no grandstanding, no theatrical pleading for audience sympathy. Instead, the actors allow emotion to emerge through hesitation and small gestures. A conversation, a glance, a shared meal — these become charged with meaning.

The social atmosphere surrounding the story is impossible to ignore. Without delivering speeches or slogans, the film reveals lives shaped by rules and expectations that limit intimacy and spontaneity. Yet the film resists despair. Its quiet rebellion lies precisely in refusing resignation.

Visually, the directors favour restraint. Domestic interiors and ordinary settings become spaces of emotional revelation rather than decorative backdrops. The camera observes patiently, giving scenes room to breathe.

What remains afterwards is tenderness. Not sentimental tenderness, but something more mature and harder won. My Favourite Cake reminds us that emotional hunger does not retire with age and that companionship remains a human need rather than a youthful luxury. It is a gentle film, though not a weak one.

Cher at the BBC / Cher Meets Rylan BBC Two, from 9:00pm

Cher has always understood reinvention better than most performers. These programmes offer archive celebration and present-day conversation, reminding us that longevity in entertainment rarely comes through caution. Cher survived fashions by refusing to become trapped by them.

Sunday 24th May 2026

Some Like It Hot (1959) BBC Two, 2:15pm

Billy Wilder’s comedy has the dangerous quality shared by truly great entertainments: it looks effortless. Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis play musicians fleeing gangsters by disguising themselves as women and joining an all-female band led by Marilyn Monroe’s Sugar Kane. The premise is absurd, but Wilder treats absurdity with such confidence that disbelief becomes irrelevant.

The film moves with astonishing precision. Wilder and co-writer I.A.L. Diamond constructed dialogue like clockwork. Jokes arrive exactly when needed and never overstay their welcome. Yet timing alone does not explain why the film continues to charm.

Jack Lemmon gives perhaps the most joyous performance of his career. His transformation from reluctant impostor to gleeful participant in the deception carries a comic abandon that still feels fresh. Lemmon’s genius lay in allowing panic and delight to coexist.

Tony Curtis provides an ideal counterbalance, smoother and more calculating, though just as vulnerable beneath the swagger. Together they form one of cinema’s great comic pairings.

And then there is Marilyn Monroe. Too often discussed as symbol before performer, Monroe here reminds us how skilled she was. Sugar Kane is funny, wistful and emotionally exposed. Monroe gives her softness without reducing her to fragility.

The film’s treatment of gender and identity feels surprisingly modern. Wilder never turns disguise into cruelty. Instead, masquerade becomes liberation, however temporary. Characters discover aspects of themselves precisely through performance.

By the time that famous closing line arrives — one of the greatest endings in film history — Some Like It Hot has become more than a gangster comedy. It is a celebration of human absurdity and tolerance wrapped in impeccable comic machinery.

Monday 25th May 2026Bank Holiday Monday

High Noon (1952) 5Action, 1:55pm

Westerns often concern themselves with myth. The frontier, the lone rider, the moral certainty supposedly forged beneath endless skies. High Noon dismantles those assumptions with remarkable economy. Fred Zinnemann’s film unfolds almost in real time as Marshal Will Kane, played with weary authority by Gary Cooper, waits for the arrival of a vengeful outlaw while the town he once protected quietly abandons him.

The film’s structure remains startlingly effective. There is little spectacle and no appetite for romantic distraction. Instead, tension grows through clocks, empty streets and conversations that reveal fear disguised as pragmatism. Kane moves from house to house seeking support and discovers that loyalty evaporates when danger becomes personal.

Gary Cooper’s performance is central to the film’s enduring power. His Kane is no swaggering gunslinger intoxicated by violence. He is ageing, tired and uncertain, yet propelled by an inner obligation he cannot comfortably abandon. Cooper plays him as a man trapped not only by circumstance but by his own conscience.

Much has been written about the film’s political dimension, and rightly so. Screenwriter Carl Foreman was working under the shadow of anti-communist blacklisting, and the atmosphere of cowardice and compromise carries unmistakable contemporary resonance. Communities under pressure, the temptation to stay silent, the fear of standing apart — these concerns extend well beyond the western genre.

The supporting cast deepen that moral landscape. Grace Kelly’s pacifist bride represents one response to violence, while others cloak self-interest in respectable language. Nobody is entirely villainous, which makes their retreat all the more uncomfortable to watch.

Visually, High Noon strips the western of romantic excess. Streets appear exposed rather than heroic. Zinnemann’s direction resists grandeur, grounding the story in dust, heat and social unease. Even the famous ballad, Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darlin’, feels less celebratory than mournful.

The result is a western that continues to unsettle because it asks an awkward question that societies rarely enjoy confronting: what happens when principle becomes inconvenient? More than seventy years later, High Noon remains lean, tense and morally provocative.

Groundhog Day (1993) 🌟Film4, 9:00pm

Some comedies make us laugh and fade into affectionate memory. Others linger because they smuggle larger questions into apparently playful premises. Groundhog Day belongs firmly to the latter group. Harold Ramis’s film follows Bill Murray’s cynical weatherman Phil Connors, trapped in an endlessly repeating day in the small town of Punxsutawney.

The brilliance of the premise lies in its deceptive simplicity. What initially appears to be comic inconvenience gradually becomes existential inquiry. Phil wakes each morning to Sonny and Cher’s I Got You Babe, condemned to repetition without explanation or escape.

Bill Murray’s performance is the film’s great balancing act. He had already perfected the sardonic persona by this stage, but Groundhog Day allows him to move beyond irony. Phil begins as arrogant and casually contemptuous, a man protected by superiority and emotional detachment. Murray never softens these traits too quickly, which makes the character’s eventual transformation feel earned rather than sentimental.

The screenplay, by Ramis and Danny Rubin, understands that immortality without purpose becomes torment. Phil experiments with pleasure, manipulation and recklessness before recognising that consequence-free existence offers surprisingly little fulfilment. The film’s comedy emerges not merely from repetition but from spiritual frustration.

There is also a distinctly philosophical dimension beneath the humour. Critics and theologians alike have interpreted the film through religious and ethical traditions — Buddhist cycles, moral rebirth, even secular humanism. Remarkably, the film supports these readings without becoming didactic.

And then there is the town itself. Punxsutawney could easily have become caricature, yet the film treats it with affection. The supposedly dull environment that Phil initially despises gradually reveals unexpected richness. People he dismissed as tedious become individuals worthy of attention.

What makes Groundhog Day endure is its refusal to offer easy revelation. Personal growth here is slow and repetitive, marked by failure as much as insight. That honesty gives the comedy unusual depth. Beneath its fantasy mechanism lies a quietly radical suggestion: happiness may depend less upon escape than upon learning how to inhabit the ordinary with greater generosity.

Starship Troopers (1997) Legend, 9:00pm

Few films have travelled a stranger critical journey than Paul Verhoeven’s Starship Troopers. On release it was frequently dismissed as loud science-fiction spectacle, accused of glorifying precisely the militarism it portrayed. Time, however, has been kind to Verhoeven’s savage sense of irony.

Adapted loosely from Robert Heinlein’s novel, the film follows attractive young recruits fighting an interstellar war against giant alien insects. On the surface, it resembles exuberant pulp entertainment. Battles are chaotic, uniforms immaculate and heroics plentiful.

Yet Verhoeven, who grew up in Nazi-occupied Holland, rarely approached authority without suspicion. The film’s stylised newsreels, patriotic slogans and choreographed certainty deliberately echo propaganda aesthetics. Citizenship, service and sacrifice become commodities sold through spectacle.

The cast contribute to that satire by embracing sincerity rather than parody. Casper Van Dien and Denise Richards inhabit their roles with straight-faced conviction, allowing the absurdity of the surrounding ideology to speak for itself.

Visually, the film remains impressive. Its effects retain energy and scale, while Verhoeven stages combat not as triumphant adventure but as industrial slaughter. Bodies are expendable, rhetoric plentiful.

What unsettles is how familiar some of the film now feels. Its media manipulation and emotional simplifications appear less exaggerated than they once did. Verhoeven understood how societies can package conflict as entertainment.

That combination of excitement and critique explains why Starship Troopers continues to attract reassessment. It is both thrilling and suspicious of thrill itself — a blockbuster with teeth.

M*A*S*H* (1970) Great TV, 9:00pm

Before the long-running television series softened the material into something gentler, Robert Altman’s MASH* arrived carrying sharper edges. Set during the Korean War but unmistakably shaped by the Vietnam era, the film follows military surgeons using irreverence and chaos as defence mechanisms against institutional absurdity and human suffering.

Altman’s direction refuses conventional order. Dialogue overlaps, scenes spill into one another and authority appears permanently destabilised. Rather than heroic wartime drama, the film presents organised confusion.

Donald Sutherland and Elliott Gould lead with sly intelligence, their doctors mocking bureaucracy while remaining grimly competent at their work. Their humour is frequently juvenile and occasionally uncomfortable, yet Altman refuses to tidy their contradictions.

The operating theatre sequences provide a sobering counterpoint. Blood and injury intrude abruptly upon comedy, reminding audiences that humour here functions partly as survival strategy.

The film’s anti-authoritarian spirit resonated powerfully in 1970 and still retains force today. Institutions promising order often appear ridiculous under scrutiny, and MASH* understands that mockery can become a form of resistance.

Not every aspect has aged gracefully. Some gender politics now feel jarring, and viewers may debate whether satire excuses certain excesses. Yet perhaps that friction forms part of the film’s historical honesty.

What remains undeniable is Altman’s influence. MASH* helped redefine American cinema, opening space for looser storytelling and more sceptical visions of power.

Dear England BBC One, 9:00pm – Episode 2 of 4

James Graham’s drama continues its thoughtful exploration of leadership, masculinity and national expectation surrounding England football. Less interested in sporting triumph than psychological burden, Dear England treats football as a stage upon which wider anxieties are performed.

Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret (2023) BBC Two, 10:00pm

Judy Blume adaptations have long been approached with caution, perhaps because her writing occupies a space rarely treated with honesty — the emotional turbulence of adolescence. Kelly Fremon Craig’s adaptation understands that legacy and handles it with admirable sensitivity.

The film follows Margaret, caught between childhood and adolescence while negotiating religion, friendship and bodily change. These experiences are familiar to millions, yet cinema often approaches them with embarrassment or exaggeration.

Abby Ryder Fortson gives a wonderfully natural performance. Margaret feels recognisably awkward and curious rather than manufactured for sentiment. Rachel McAdams, meanwhile, brings warmth and complexity to Margaret’s mother.

What distinguishes the film is its refusal to patronise young experience. Embarrassment, longing and uncertainty are treated seriously without becoming melodramatic.

The religious dimension adds further richness. Margaret’s search for identity extends beyond adolescence into questions of belonging and inherited belief.

Visually and emotionally, the film favours intimacy over spectacle. Domestic spaces feel lived-in and relationships properly complicated.

Gentle without being slight, Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret succeeds because it remembers what adulthood often forgets: growing up feels enormous when you are living through it.

Murder of the Essex Boys: Blood and Betrayal Channel 4, 10:00pm & 11:00pm

Channel 4 revisits one of Britain’s most notorious criminal cases in this two-part documentary examining gangland violence, contested narratives and the enduring fascination surrounding the Essex murders.

Tuesday 26th May 2026

Who Do You Think You Are? BBC One, 9:00pm – featuring Zoe Ball

The genealogy favourite returns as Zoe Ball traces family roots and forgotten histories, continuing a format that connects personal stories with wider social memory.

The Unstoppable Shirley MacLaine Sky Arts, 9:00pm

A portrait of one of Hollywood’s most distinctive performers, whose career embraced musical theatre, drama, comedy and unapologetic individuality.

World War II with Tom Hanks Sky History, 9:00pm

History revisited through testimony, archive and contemporary interpretation.

Prey (2022) Film4, 9:00pm (2022)

Franchises often suffer from exhaustion. The machinery grows louder while imagination grows smaller, until sequels begin to resemble contractual obligations rather than creative ventures. That is partly why Prey arrived as such an agreeable surprise. Instead of attempting to outdo its predecessors through sheer volume, director Dan Trachtenberg stripped the Predator formula back to essentials and rediscovered the tension that made the original memorable.

The film relocates the action to eighteenth-century North America and follows Naru, a young Comanche hunter determined to prove herself within a culture whose expectations do not always accommodate her ambitions. It is a simple premise, but simplicity can be liberating. The film understands that suspense depends less upon complexity than clarity.

Amber Midthunder gives a performance that anchors the entire enterprise. Naru is resourceful without becoming implausibly invincible and vulnerable without being reduced to helplessness. Midthunder plays her with intelligence and controlled determination, avoiding the kind of empty heroics that often flatten contemporary action cinema.

The setting matters enormously. Forests, rivers and open terrain are not decorative backdrops but active elements shaping the drama. The landscape feels inhabited and historically grounded, lending the story texture rarely found in franchise filmmaking. There is genuine pleasure in watching a film that allows environment and atmosphere to carry dramatic weight.

The action sequences are staged with admirable restraint. Trachtenberg avoids frantic editing and allows combat to unfold spatially, making violence legible rather than chaotic. The predator itself remains threatening because the film resists overexposure. Suspense survives when mystery survives.

There is also an intriguing thematic undercurrent surrounding survival and perception. Naru succeeds not through brute force but observation and adaptability. The film quietly questions assumptions about strength and authority without turning character development into a lecture.

What ultimately distinguishes Prey is its confidence in fundamentals. Character, setting and suspense take precedence over mythology and spectacle. For a long-running series, that feels almost radical. Prey may not reinvent science fiction, but it does something increasingly rare — it remembers how to tell a lean, satisfying story.

Reframed: Marilyn Monroe BBC Four, from 10:00pm
Continuing at 10:45pm, 11:25pm and 12:10am.

Marilyn Monroe has spent decades imprisoned inside her own mythology. This multi-part study attempts to look beyond the familiar iconography and reconsider the woman, performer and cultural phenomenon concealed beneath the image.

Wednesday 27th May 2026

Richard Madeley Inside the World’s Mega Prisons Channel 5, 9:00pm

Richard Madeley is granted rare access to one of the world’s largest and most tightly controlled prison complexes, a place built on the premise that overwhelming scale and absolute order can succeed where conventional systems have failed. What he finds is less a “facility” than a sealed world with its own rhythms, rules and tensions—an environment designed to contain the most dangerous offenders under a regime that prizes control above all else.

The programme follows Madeley as he moves through the layers of security and routine that define life inside. His calm, almost conversational style sits against a backdrop of stark conditions: vast cell blocks, relentless surveillance, and a daily existence stripped down to the bare mechanics of containment. The documentary doesn’t sensationalise, but it doesn’t soften anything either. It lets the place speak for itself.

What emerges is a portrait of a system built to be unyielding. Rehabilitation is not the headline here; the focus is on security, deterrence and the political logic that produced a prison on this scale. Madeley asks the obvious questions—about effectiveness, about humanity, about what such an institution says about the society that relies on it—but the answers are rarely straightforward. The result is a quietly unsettling hour of television, not because it shouts, but because it shows you a world most people will never see and leaves you to sit with the implications.

Murder on the Victorian Railway BBC Four, 9:00pm

History and true crime intersect in this reconstruction of one of Victorian Britain’s most notorious railway murders, a reminder that fascination with criminal spectacle is hardly a modern invention.

East Is East (1999) Film4, 9:00pm

There are films that wear their politics loudly and others that smuggle serious ideas through humour and domestic observation. East Is East belongs firmly to the second category. Damien O’Donnell’s adaptation of Ayub Khan-Din’s play examines family life within a British-Pakistani household in Salford during the early 1970s, balancing comedy and conflict with remarkable assurance.

At the centre stands George Khan, played magnificently by Om Puri. George is authoritarian, proud and often infuriating, determined to preserve cultural traditions while raising children increasingly shaped by British society. Lesser films would flatten him into caricature or villainy. East Is East refuses such simplicity.

Om Puri’s performance is extraordinary precisely because it embraces contradiction. George can be frightening and stubborn, yet also vulnerable and painfully human. Puri allows us to see a man struggling against forces he neither fully understands nor knows how to control.

Around him, the younger cast create a vivid sense of sibling life — teasing, quarrelling and forging identities in the uneasy space between parental expectation and personal desire. Their humour feels authentic rather than scripted for effect.

The film’s comedy is one of its great strengths. Domestic arguments, awkward courtship and generational misunderstandings provide genuine laughter. Yet the humour never conceals the emotional stakes. Behind the jokes lie questions about belonging, assimilation and the cost of divided identity.

The early 1970s setting matters too. Britain here appears restless and unsettled, wrestling with immigration, class and social change. The film never delivers political speeches, but politics inhabits the household nonetheless.

What makes East Is East endure is its generosity. Nobody emerges entirely right or entirely wrong. Families rarely operate according to ideological purity. They are messier, more contradictory and more emotionally entangled than public debates allow. Funny, bruising and compassionate, East Is East remains one of British cinema’s most perceptive portraits of cultural negotiation.

Dark Waters (2020) BBC Two, 11:30pm

American cinema has produced a distinguished tradition of investigative dramas exposing corporate and institutional wrongdoing, and Todd Haynes’s Dark Waters belongs honourably within that lineage. Based on true events, it follows lawyer Robert Bilott as he uncovers environmental contamination linked to chemical giant DuPont.

Mark Ruffalo gives a performance built upon persistence rather than charisma. Bilott is not presented as cinematic crusader or rhetorical genius. He appears cautious, often uncomfortable and increasingly burdened by the scale of what he uncovers. Ruffalo wisely avoids glamour.

The film’s strength lies in patience. Modern thrillers frequently confuse urgency with speed, but Dark Waters understands that investigation is usually painstaking work involving paperwork, persistence and frustration. Haynes embraces that procedural reality.

Anne Hathaway and Tim Robbins provide strong support, though the film’s emotional centre remains Bilott’s slow recognition of institutional indifference. The enemy here is not melodramatic evil but bureaucracy insulated by wealth and influence.

Haynes directs with unusual restraint. Offices, meeting rooms and industrial landscapes appear drained of glamour, reflecting a world where environmental catastrophe hides behind routine administration.

There is, inevitably, political resonance. Dark Waters speaks not only about pollution but about systems capable of dispersing responsibility until accountability becomes elusive. That theme feels painfully contemporary.

The result is compelling precisely because it resists sensationalism. Quietly angry and morally serious, Dark Waters reminds us that public health battles are often fought far from headlines and that persistence can sometimes become its own form of courage.

Thursday 28th May 2026

Local Hero (1983) Film4, 4:30pm

Few British films possess the gentle confidence of Bill Forsyth’s Local Hero. On paper, the story sounds almost slight. An American oil executive arrives in a Scottish coastal village intending to purchase the land for industrial development, only to encounter resistance, eccentricity and unexpected attachment. Yet Forsyth transforms this modest premise into something quietly profound.

The film benefits enormously from Peter Riegert’s understated central performance. His Mac is initially efficient and emotionally detached, a corporate emissary accustomed to viewing landscapes in transactional terms. Riegert wisely avoids broad transformation. Change arrives gradually.

Around him, the village becomes one of cinema’s great communities — humorous, eccentric and stubbornly individual without collapsing into caricature. Forsyth observes people with affection rather than sentimentality.

The Scottish landscape exerts its own power. Sweeping coastlines and changing skies are not presented merely as picturesque scenery but as emotional terrain. The land itself acquires value beyond economics.

Mark Knopfler’s score deserves special mention. Melancholy and lyrical, it drifts through the film like memory. Few soundtracks have fused so naturally with atmosphere.

Beneath the humour lies an understated meditation on modernity and belonging. Development promises prosperity, yet the film quietly asks what may be lost when value becomes purely financial.

The ending remains one of British cinema’s most affecting conclusions, marked not by dramatic confrontation but by longing and absence. Local Hero leaves viewers with that rare sensation of having visited somewhere emotionally real.

Classic Movies: The Story of Mulholland Drive Sky Arts, 8:00pm

Episode four of this documentary strand examines the making and afterlife of David Lynch’s modern classic.

A Life in 10 Pictures BBC Two, 9:00pm – Episode 1 of 4

Lives explored through defining photographs and the stories surrounding them.

Mulholland Drive (2001) Sky Arts, 9:00pm

David Lynch has always divided audiences between those eager to solve his work and those willing simply to inhabit it. Mulholland Drive rewards the second approach. What began life as an abandoned television pilot became one of the century’s most mesmerising cinematic puzzles.

Naomi Watts delivers a performance of astonishing elasticity, shifting between innocence, ambition and despair with extraordinary precision. Laura Harring complements her beautifully, her mysterious amnesiac radiating glamour and unease.

Hollywood itself becomes Lynch’s dreamscape. Beneath the palm trees and auditions lies a world shaped by fantasy, compromise and fractured identity. Lynch approaches Los Angeles not realistically but psychologically.

The film’s structure refuses easy explanation. Dreams bleed into reality, identities blur and narrative certainty collapses. Some viewers resist this. Others surrender and discover something hypnotic.

Lynch’s command of mood remains unrivalled. Sound design, lighting and rhythm generate unease long before anything overtly threatening occurs. Few directors understand dread so intuitively.

There are echoes of classic noir throughout — doomed desire, mystery and performance — yet Mulholland Drive transforms those influences into something more elusive and contemporary.

Its lasting fascination lies precisely in ambiguity. Rather than offering tidy meaning, the film invites participation. Like memory itself, it remains unstable, haunting and impossible to entirely pin down.

One to One: John and Yoko Sky Documentaries, 9:00pm

A documentary revisiting the partnership, activism and cultural influence of John Lennon and Yoko Ono during a turbulent period of public and private life.

Friday 29th May 2026

Charade (1963) Film4, 2:50pm

If Funny Face offered Audrey Hepburn wrapped in musical sophistication, Charade presents her in altogether more mischievous territory. Directed by Stanley Donen and co-starring Cary Grant, the film mixes romance, mystery and comic suspense with effortless style.

Hepburn plays Regina Lampert, suddenly entangled in murder, missing money and uncertain loyalties after her husband’s death. Cary Grant circles the narrative with his customary elegance, though part of the pleasure comes from never entirely trusting him.

Donen stages the intrigue with remarkable lightness. Suspense never overwhelms wit and comedy never dissolves tension. The tone remains beautifully balanced.

Paris again provides glamorous backdrop, though here the city carries danger alongside romance. Cafés and streets feel seductive but uncertain.

The chemistry between Hepburn and Grant remains irresistible. Their exchanges sparkle with flirtation and comic timing.

Often described as “the best Hitchcock film Hitchcock never made,” Charade earns the comparison while retaining its own personality — playful, stylish and endlessly watchable.

Erin Brockovich (2000) Film4, 9:00pm

There are films built around extraordinary people and films built around systems. Steven Soderbergh’s Erin Brockovich manages to be both. Based on a true story, it follows an unemployed single mother who stumbles into legal work and gradually uncovers environmental contamination linked to corporate negligence. The material could easily have collapsed into worthy melodrama or courtroom cliché. Instead, the film finds energy in personality and moral persistence.

Julia Roberts gives what remains one of her defining performances. Erin is introduced wearing confidence like armour — outspoken, abrasive and unwilling to perform respectability for those who have already dismissed her. Roberts understands that the character’s strength lies not in saintliness but in refusal. Erin is frequently impatient, sometimes reckless and entirely uninterested in becoming palatable.

The film wisely avoids presenting intelligence in narrow terms. Erin possesses no legal training and lacks institutional authority, yet she notices details others ignore and connects with people usually overlooked by professional structures. Her emotional directness becomes investigative skill rather than weakness.

Soderbergh directs with characteristic clarity. Offices, homes and desert landscapes are observed without glamour, grounding the drama in recognisable social realities. The contamination story matters precisely because it emerges from ordinary lives rather than abstract headlines.

Albert Finney provides superb support as Erin’s reluctant employer, their relationship developing through mutual irritation into hard-earned respect. The supporting cast deepen the sense of community affected by the scandal, reminding viewers that environmental catastrophe is ultimately lived through bodies and families.

The film also speaks to broader questions of class and credibility. Institutions often decide who deserves to be heard according to education, status and appearance. Erin repeatedly encounters condescension rooted in precisely those assumptions.

What makes Erin Brockovich endure is its combination of entertainment and anger. Soderbergh never sacrifices momentum for message, yet the outrage remains unmistakable. This is populist filmmaking in the best sense — accessible, emotionally engaging and morally alert.

Love, Simon (2018) ITV2, 9:05pm

Teen films often struggle with sincerity. Fearful of sentimentality, they retreat into irony or exaggerated cool. Love, Simon chooses a different route. Greg Berlanti’s adaptation of Becky Albertalli’s novel embraces emotional openness without embarrassment, following Simon Spier, a closeted teenager navigating friendship, family and first love.

Nick Robinson gives Simon an appealing mixture of confidence and uncertainty. He is not presented as tragic outsider or heroic symbol but as recognisably ordinary — bright, funny and anxious about what honesty might cost him. That ordinariness matters. Representation is sometimes discussed in abstract political terms, yet films such as Love, Simon demonstrate its emotional significance more quietly.

The supporting cast contribute warmth and texture. Jennifer Garner and Josh Duhamel avoid sitcom parenting stereotypes, creating a family environment marked by affection and imperfection rather than idealisation. Simon’s friendships feel equally lived-in, shaped by loyalty and misunderstanding in believable proportions.

The film’s high-school setting occasionally edges towards polished fantasy, and viewers accustomed to rougher coming-of-age dramas may find its tone almost disarmingly gentle. Yet gentleness should not be mistaken for triviality. Berlanti understands that adolescence can feel emotionally catastrophic even when external stakes appear modest.

There is humour throughout, particularly in Simon’s attempts to protect his secret while maintaining ordinary teenage life. The screenplay allows awkwardness and comedy to coexist with genuine emotional vulnerability.

What elevates Love, Simon beyond formula is its refusal to frame identity solely through suffering. Simon’s journey involves fear and loneliness, certainly, but also desire, excitement and hope. That tonal balance gives the film its generous spirit.

By the conclusion, Love, Simon feels less like cultural milestone than something perhaps more valuable — an affectionate, emotionally intelligent story about growing into honesty.

🌟 Jazz Night – BBC Four, from 9:05pm
Miles Davis: Birth of the Cool (9:05pm)
Alan Yentob Remembers Ella Fitzgerald (11:00pm)
Ella Fitzgerald: The Other Show (11:05pm)
Cleo Laine at the BBC (11:45pm)
Jazz 625 (12:45am)

BBC Four’s themed music nights have become one of British television’s quiet cultural treasures, and this jazz evening looks particularly rich. Beginning with Miles Davis: Birth of the Cool, the schedule moves through tribute, archive and performance to create something closer to a curated late-night session than ordinary broadcasting.

Miles Davis alone would justify attention. Few musicians reshaped their art form with such restless determination. From bebop through modal jazz and electric experimentation, Davis treated reinvention not as career strategy but artistic necessity.

The Ella Fitzgerald programming provides emotional contrast. Fitzgerald’s technical brilliance sometimes obscured the warmth and emotional intelligence of her singing, and Yentob’s tribute alongside The Other Show promises to revisit both performer and person.

Cleo Laine at the BBC reminds viewers that Britain produced jazz voices of remarkable distinction too, while Jazz 625 carries welcome archival pleasure. There is something comforting about encountering jazz at midnight on BBC Four, preserved not as museum artefact but living conversation.

In an era when cultural television is frequently squeezed by economics and ratings anxiety, evenings like this feel quietly defiant. Long may they continue.

Love & Mercy (2014) BBC Two, 11:00pm

Music biopics often follow predictable rhythms. Early promise, excess, collapse and redemption arranged with mechanical inevitability. Bill Pohlad’s Love & Mercy avoids that trap by refusing linear simplicity and approaching Brian Wilson’s life through fractured emotional memory.

The decision to divide Wilson between two actors proves inspired. Paul Dano portrays the young Beach Boys genius during the creation of Pet Sounds, while John Cusack inhabits Wilson later in life, vulnerable and constrained beneath the influence of manipulative therapist Eugene Landy. Rather than competing, the performances illuminate different emotional states.

Paul Dano is extraordinary. He captures not merely Wilson’s fragility but his obsessive musical imagination, conveying the exhilaration and exhaustion of creative brilliance. Studio sessions become psychological landscapes where sound and feeling merge.

John Cusack takes greater risks, resisting imitation in favour of emotional truth. His Wilson appears withdrawn and uncertain, trapped within systems of control disguised as care. Cusack allows pain and gentleness to coexist without sentimentality.

The film’s treatment of music deserves special praise. Rather than using songs simply as nostalgic reward, Pohlad explores composition itself — the painstaking search for sound, harmony and emotional expression. Recording studios become sites of invention and vulnerability.

Paul Giamatti’s Landy is chilling precisely because he avoids theatrical villainy. Control here emerges gradually, rationalised as protection and expertise. The film understands how dependency and exploitation can become entangled.

What remains afterwards is not scandal or tragedy but admiration for artistic persistence. Love & Mercy recognises Brian Wilson as neither saint nor casualty but complicated creator. Among music biopics, it stands as one of the most humane and formally inventive.

Radio Choice

Desert Island Discs Radio 4, Sunday 10:00am – featuring Emily Watson

A digital radio displaying 92.5 FM with various settings buttons, next to a pair of black headphones on a wooden surface.

I’ve loved this programme from the very first bars of its opening music. That familiar theme drops you straight into a different headspace—an invitation to settle in and listen as someone unpacks the story of their life through the records that shaped them. The structure is deceptively simple: eight pieces of music, a book, a luxury item, and the castaway’s journey through memory, influence and experience. But within that framework, people reveal far more than they realise.

What keeps me coming back is how much I learn about others just by listening. Music loosens people; it lets them talk about childhood, ambition, heartbreak, triumph—often without ever naming those things directly. I’m always curious to hear where my tastes overlap with theirs, and just as interested in the moments where they pull me somewhere new. A single track can open a door into a world I’d never have explored on my own.

And then there’s the pleasure of the choices at the end: the book they’d take to the island, the luxury item they can’t live without. Those details are often as revealing as the music—tiny windows into what someone values when everything else is stripped away.

The archive is a treasure in its own right. Decades of voices, eras, sensibilities, and shifting cultural landscapes, all preserved and waiting to be rediscovered. I trawl through it happily, dipping into old episodes, following threads, revisiting favourites. It’s one of the few programmes that rewards curiosity and patience, and it never fails to teach me something—about others, and quietly, about myself.

TikTok: The Working Week in Five Days Radio 4, Monday–Friday, 1:45pm

This timely series explores changing attitudes to labour, productivity and modern working life, asking whether inherited ideas about the working week continue to make sense in an age shaped by technology and shifting social expectations.

Podcast Choice

How Did We Get Here? Israel and the Palestinians BBC Sounds

A microphone on a boom arm next to a laptop displaying audio waveforms, with a notebook and pen, and a cup of coffee.

The BBC turns to one of the world’s most enduring and emotionally charged conflicts in this historical and political podcast examining the Israeli–Palestinian question. Rather than treating events as isolated headlines, the series attempts to trace deeper roots and competing narratives.

Whatever one’s perspective, context matters, and the podcast’s value lies in encouraging precisely that wider view.

My Mate Bought a Toaster

There is something gloriously nosy about the premise behind My Mate Bought a Toaster. Guests discuss their online purchase histories and, through shopping habits and accidental revelations, unexpectedly reveal versions of themselves.

Part comedy and part social anthropology, it appeals to anyone fascinated by the small clues people leave behind.

And if, like me, you occasionally study supermarket baskets and quietly construct biographies from groceries, this one may prove particularly entertaining.

Streaming Choice

BBC iPlayer

The Invisibles — Series 2

A living room scene featuring a person holding a remote control in front of a television displaying 'Top Picks' and 'New Releases'. A radio is visible on a table next to a bowl of popcorn.

The second series of The Invisibles returns to the Devon coast with its familiar blend of seaside melancholy and criminal nostalgia. Anthony Head and Warren Clarke slip back into the roles of retired thieves who can’t quite outrun the shadows they once commanded.
This run leans further into the ache of ageing — men confronting irrelevance, loyalty, and the seductive pull of one last job. The humour remains dry, but the emotional undertow is stronger.
Available from Friday 29 May, it’s a reminder that the past rarely stays buried, especially for those who once lived outside the law.

Living

Oliver Hermanus’s Living (2022) remains one of the most humane British films of the decade. Bill Nighy gives a career‑best performance as a civil servant quietly confronting mortality, in Kazuo Ishiguro’s adaptation of Kurosawa’s Ikiru.
Post‑war London is rendered in soft greys and moral clarity — a world where bureaucracy both shields and suffocates.
Available until Monday, it’s a study in grace, purpose, and the fragile dignity of small acts.


Discovery+

The Many Lives of Benjamin Kyle

This four‑part documentary revisits the baffling real case of a man found unconscious behind a Georgia Burger King in 2004 with no memory of who he was.
Through interviews, forensic work, and years of dead ends, the series follows his long search for identity — a journey that eventually revealed “Benjamin Kyle” to be William Powell.
All four episodes are available from 30 May, a haunting exploration of memory, anonymity, and the precarious architecture of selfhood.


Prime Video

Spider‑Noir

Nicolas Cage returns to voice the trench‑coated vigilante in this animated spin‑off from the Spider‑Verse universe, set in a stylised 1930s New York of chiaroscuro alleys and moral ambiguity.
The eight‑episode run leans into pulp narration, jazz‑era grit, and Cage’s sardonic delivery, which anchors the noir tone beautifully.
Available from Wednesday 27 May, it’s a moody, monochrome antidote to superhero gloss.

The Long Walk

Based on Stephen King’s dystopian novel, The Long Walk imagines a near‑future contest where teenage boys must keep walking until only one survives.
The adaptation preserves the book’s existential dread — a parable of endurance, spectacle, and state cruelty.
Available now, it’s stark, hypnotic viewing that turns motion itself into punishment.


Apple TV+

Star City

Star City is an alternate‑history drama set inside the Soviet Union’s secret cosmonaut training centre outside Moscow, expanding the world established in For All Mankind. The series follows engineers, cosmonauts and the ever‑watchful security services as they navigate the pressures of ideology, secrecy and ambition within the USSR’s side of the space race. It blends Cold War tension with the personal stakes of those working behind closed doors, showing how loyalty, science and survival intersect in a system built on both aspiration and control.
The series balances Cold War paranoia with human ambition, showing how ideology, science, and personal sacrifice collided in the race to orbit.
The first two episodes are available from Friday 29 May, promising a blend of historical precision and cosmic yearning.


Netflix

Nemesis

Nemesis is a taut British thriller about a former intelligence officer pulled back into a web of betrayal after a botched operation.
Its clipped tone and procedural focus give the drama a cold, metallic edge, with moral corrosion seeping through every exchange.
Available now, it’s espionage stripped of glamour — all consequence, no catharsis.

Rob Peace

Adapted from Jeff Hobbs’s biography, Rob Peace tells the true story of a brilliant Yale scholar whose double life in Newark’s drug trade led to tragedy.
Chiwetel Ejiofor directs with empathy, avoiding sensationalism in favour of systemic critique and human complexity.
Available now, it’s a portrait of promise undone by inequality and circumstance.

Maxxine

The third film in Ti West’s X trilogy, Maxxine follows Mia Goth’s survivor into 1980s Los Angeles, chasing fame while haunted by the violence that shaped her.
It’s both slasher and satire — a neon‑drenched study of ambition, exploitation, and the Hollywood dream machine at its most predatory.
Available from 21 May, it closes the trilogy with a mix of horror, irony, and defiant self‑invention.

Love Lies Bleeding

Kristen Stewart stars in Rose Glass’s neo‑noir romance set in the desert world of bodybuilding, obsession, and criminal temptation.
The film’s muscular style and queer intensity recall Bound and Body Heat, all sweat, longing, and danger.
Available until 31 May, it’s a feverish, intoxicating descent into desire and control.


Disney+

The Testament of Ann Lee

This docudrama traces the life of Ann Lee, founder of the Shakers, whose radical vision of equality and celibacy shaped an American religious movement.
Mixing archival material with lyrical reenactment, it captures the tension between spiritual purity, communal discipline, and the cost of conviction.
Available now, it’s a contemplative look at faith as rebellion.

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Culture Vulture 28th March – 3rd April 2026

A vulture in flight against a blue sky, with the text 'CULTURE VULTURE' prominently displayed above. Below the bird is a colorful logo reading 'COUNTER CULTURE' along with event dates from 28 March to 3 April 2026.

There’s a strong thread running through this week’s selections: power, control, and the consequences of overreach. Whether it’s the theatre rivalries of All About Eve, the financial excess of The Wolf of Wall Street, or the geopolitical tensions of Clash of the Superpowers, the question is the same — who holds power, and what do they do with it?

Three highlights stand out. 🌟 All About Eve remains one of cinema’s sharpest dissections of ambition and performance. 🌟 Clash of the Superpowers: America vs China brings the present moment into focus with a clear-eyed look at global tension. 🌟 The Teacher emerges as the week’s key drama, building from a character study into something darker and more unsettling about perception, blame, and social pressure.

What follows is a week that moves between classic cinema, serious drama, and quietly probing documentaries — a reminder that the most interesting stories are often the ones that resist easy answers. Selections and writing is by Pat Harrington.


Saturday 28th March 2026

All About Eve (1950), BBC Two, 10:00 AM
Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s All About Eve remains one of the sharpest dissections of ambition ever put on screen. Set in the theatre world but really about human vanity, it follows the rise of Eve Harrington, an apparently devoted fan who ingratiates herself into the life of an established stage star — and then quietly begins to replace her.

What makes the film endure is its dialogue, which cuts with surgical precision. Bette Davis, as the ageing actress Margo Channing, delivers lines that feel both theatrical and painfully real, capturing the fear of irrelevance in a world that prizes youth.

There’s a cold honesty at the heart of it. Success is shown not as a reward for talent, but as something often taken through manipulation and timing. The performance never stops, whether on stage or off.

The Ipcress File (1965), BBC Two, 2:30 PM
A grounded, deliberately unglamorous take on espionage, with Michael Caine’s Harry Palmer offering a working-class counterpoint to Bond-era fantasy. The film leans into bureaucracy and suspicion rather than spectacle.

A mid‑afternoon showing of The Ipcress File almost heightens its contrarian streak. At an hour usually reserved for gentler fare, the film offers something far more abrasive: a deliberately unglamorous portrait of espionage where the fluorescent hum of an office carries more weight than any exotic backdrop. Michael Caine’s Harry Palmer stands at the centre of it — a working‑class presence who refuses to smooth himself into the fantasy of the Bond era. He is competent, sardonic, and acutely aware of the classed architecture of the institutions he serves.

The film leans hard into bureaucracy and suspicion. Files, forms, and petty rivalries matter as much as any geopolitical threat. The machinery of the state feels cumbersome, sometimes absurd, and always faintly hostile. Instead of spectacle, we get the slow grind of process: surveillance that is as much about internal policing as external enemies, and intelligence work that looks more like clerical labour under pressure than heroic improvisation.

Its visual style does a great deal of the storytelling. The canted angles, the obstructed sightlines, the sense that the camera itself is eavesdropping — all of it builds a quiet unease. The Cold War setting isn’t treated as a stage for heroics but as an atmosphere of institutional paranoia, where loyalties blur and the line between victim and perpetrator is never clean.

What stays with the viewer is the film’s scepticism — a sense that intelligence work is murky, compromised, and far removed from the clean narratives the genre often promises.

The Shallows (2016), BBC One, 10:30 PM
A stripped‑back survival thriller that understands the power of limitation. Blake Lively carries the film with a performance that feels both exposed and resolute, turning a bare‑bones premise into something taut and steadily tightening. The ocean becomes less a backdrop than an adversary—vast, indifferent, and always encroaching.

The film’s real craft lies in its restraint. Confinement isn’t a gimmick but a pressure chamber, allowing tension to accumulate in small, deliberate increments rather than through spectacle. Every decision, every shift of tide, feels consequential.

It’s a lean, unfussy piece of filmmaking—confident enough to trust silence, space, and a single determined protagonist. A reminder that simplicity, handled with clarity and purpose, can be its own form of intensity.


Sunday 29th March 2026

Good Vibrations (2012), BBC Two, 12:05 AM
A spirited, big‑hearted portrait of Belfast’s punk eruption during the Troubles, anchored by Terri Hooley — that one‑eyed evangelist of noise, hope, and stubborn optimism. The film captures the improbable energy of the scene he midwifed: a cultural spark struck in a city frayed by fear, where music became both refuge and rebellion.

What the film gets right is the texture of that defiance. Punk here isn’t a fashion or a pose; it’s a refusal to let violence dictate the emotional weather. Hooley’s record shop becomes a fragile sanctuary, a place where young people could imagine a future not yet written. The film honours that without smoothing the rough edges.

And on a personal note: I once spent an evening in his company at the Pear Tree pub in Edinburgh during a festival — a night full of stories, laughter, and that unmistakable Hooley warmth.

It’s ultimately a film about building something new under pressure — culture as resistance, joy as a political act, and one man’s belief that music could carve out a space of possibility in a fractured world.

Charles Dance Remembers Little Eyolf, BBC Four, 10:00 PM
A thoughtful reflection on the demands of Ibsen’s work, grounded in performance and emotional weight.

It offers insight rather than nostalgia, highlighting the seriousness of the material.

A companion piece that deepens what follows.

Little Eyolf (1982), BBC Four, 10:15 PM
A stark psychological drama centred on grief and guilt, driven by intense performances from Diana Rigg and Anthony Hopkins.

The focus is on confrontation rather than action, with language carrying the weight.

Demanding, but deliberately so — a drama that refuses easy comfort.

Mindful Escapes, BBC Four, 11:50 PM
A quiet, meditative programme built around nature imagery and stillness.

It avoids explanation, allowing atmosphere to do the work.

In a crowded schedule, its restraint becomes its strength.


Monday 30th March 2026

Panorama: Dangerous Dogs – Is the Ban Working?, BBC One, 8:00 PM
An investigation into legislation and its real-world consequences. The programme frames questions rather than offering simple answers, examining policy in practice.As ever, the interest lies in the gap between intention and outcome.

🌟 Clash of the Superpowers: America vs China (2 of 2), BBC Two, 9:00 PM
A clear‑eyed examination of the world’s defining geopolitical tension, with Taiwan positioned — accurately and unavoidably — as the most volatile point of contact between two competing visions of global order. The documentary threads together history, military strategy, and present‑day diplomacy, showing how past grievances and shifting power balances shape the choices being made now.

What gives the film its weight is its refusal to pretend the story is settled. It presents a landscape in motion: alliances recalibrating, rhetoric hardening, and both Washington and Beijing navigating a rivalry neither can fully control. The programme resists the temptation to declare inevitabilities; instead, it sits with the uncertainty, the sense that the future is being negotiated in real time and could tilt in several directions at once.

The fragility is what lingers — a recognition that the world is watching a relationship whose consequences extend far beyond the Taiwan Strait, and whose next chapter remains unwritten.

The Teacher (1 of 4), Channel 5, 9:00 PM
Victoria Hamilton leads this school-set drama, opening with a teacher confident in her methods and sceptical of what she sees as modern sensitivities. Helen Simpson prides herself on preparing students for the real world, dismissing ideas of safe spaces and perceived fragility.

Her clash with influential pupil Cressida Bancroft quickly escalates. Accusations of manipulation and attention-seeking give way to something more serious when a tragic incident changes everything.

The episode sets up a story about authority and consequence. What begins as ideological conflict shifts into something darker, where certainty becomes liability.


Tuesday 31st March 2026

The Teacher (2 of 4), Channel 5, 9:00 PM
The drama deepens as Helen grapples with the aftermath of Dee’s suicide, carrying the weight of what happened in the detention room. A support meeting is convened, but Helen remains silent, consumed by guilt. The pressure builds not through revelation, but through what is left unsaid. It becomes a study in internal collapse — how quickly confidence can turn into isolation.

Storyville: Three Dads and a Baby, BBC Four, 10:00 PM
A sensitive and quietly ground‑breaking documentary that reframes ideas of family not through spectacle but through the texture of everyday life. Rather than emphasising the novelty of a three‑dad household, it lingers on the ordinary rhythms of care, compromise, and affection — allowing what might initially seem unconventional to feel entirely natural.

The film’s observational style gives it a gentle, unforced power: it watches rather than declares, inviting viewers to sit with the emotional intelligence of the relationships it portrays. Thoughtful, humane, and quietly effective, it’s exactly the kind of intimate, boundary‑nudging storytelling that Storyville does best.


Wednesday 1st April 2026

The Teacher (3 of 4), Channel 5, 9:00 PM
Public perception turns against Helen, with online abuse and vandalism pushing her further into crisis. At the same time, Sam becomes entangled in Cressida’s influence, suggesting the story is widening beyond its original conflict. The series sharpens here, showing how quickly narratives form — and how difficult they are to resist once established.

Hatton Garden: The Great Diamond Heist, Channel 4, 10:00 PM
A retelling of one of Britain’s most audacious robberies, this documentary steps past the tabloid mythology to look squarely at the men who planned it and the brittle logic that held their scheme together. Rather than indulging in caricature — the ageing villains, the improbable camaraderie, the whiff of nostalgia for a disappearing criminal underworld — it treats the heist as a human enterprise: flawed, determined, and ultimately undone by its own internal contradictions.

The film moves methodically through planning, execution, and collapse, showing how competence and delusion can coexist in the same breath. What emerges is less a caper than a study in overreach: ambition stretching just beyond its natural limits, and the quiet inevitability of consequences catching up. It’s a story about the seduction of the big score, but also about the limits of bravado when reality refuses to play along.

Belfast (2021), BBC Two, 11:45 PM
A late‑night broadcast of Belfast feels almost deliberate — a film about memory arriving at an hour when the city itself seems to thin out and quieten. What unfolds is a personal, gently lit portrait of childhood during the Troubles, told not through the machinery of politics but through the textures of ordinary life: the street as a universe, neighbours as constellations, fear and affection braided together in the same breath.

The film holds its balance with remarkable care. It never denies the tension humming beneath every scene, yet it refuses to let that tension eclipse the warmth of family, the rituals of community, or the stubborn, everyday acts of care that keep people upright in difficult times. It’s a story built from lived experience — not an argument, not an explainer, but a remembering.

The style is simple and direct, almost deceptively so. Its emotional clarity comes from attention to the small things: a child’s vantage point, the way adults shield and falter, the sense of a world both expanding and closing in. Nothing is overstated. Nothing is ornamental. It trusts the viewer to feel the weight of what’s unsaid.

What remains is an emotionally grounded a

Thursday 2nd April 2026

Oliver! (1968), Film4, 3:25 PM
A lavish, full‑throated musical that marries West End exuberance with Dickens’ enduring social conscience. The film’s world is deliberately heightened—sets that look painted by gaslight, choreography that moves like a collective dream—but the performances keep it grounded, human, and emotionally legible. Ron Moody’s Fagin, in particular, walks that uneasy line between charm and exploitation, reminding us that survival in Victorian London was often a matter of moral compromis

For all the colour and theatricality, the film never fully escapes the shadow of the workhouse. Inequality sits beneath every melody: the hungry children singing for “more,” the casual brutality of authority, the fragile solidarities formed among the dispossessed. It’s a musical that entertains without ever letting you forget the structural cruelty that shapes its characters’ lives—a reminder that spectacle can illuminate injustice as sharply as any social tract.

The Teacher (4 of 4), Channel 5, 9:00 PM
The conclusion brings consequences into focus. Helen is told her position is untenable, with the tragedy now fully attributed to her actions. At the same time, the narrative shifts into urgency as Sam appears to be in danger, drawn further into Cressida’s orbit. Helen’s credibility is questioned, complicating her attempts to act. The finale ties together responsibility, perception, and truth. What matters is not just what happened, but who gets believed.

Sunset Boulevard (1950), Sky Arts, 9:00 PM
A dark, enduring reflection on Hollywood’s capacity to manufacture dreams and devour the people who believe in them, anchored by Gloria Swanson’s extraordinary, self‑mythologising performance. The film’s brilliance lies in how it refuses to choose between satire and tragedy: it exposes the absurdity of the studio system while mourning the human cost of its illusions.

Wilder’s camera turns the mansion on Sunset into a mausoleum of thwarted ambition — a place where identity is performed, rehearsed, and finally lost. Swanson’s Norma Desmond is both monstrous and heartbreakingly fragile, a woman shaped by a system that discarded her and then blamed her for the wreckage. The result is a film that feels unsettlingly contemporary: a study of fame, delusion, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive.

Still sharp, still corrosive, still uncomfortably close to the world we live in.

Click to Kill: The AI War Machine, Channel 4, 10:00 PM
A stark, clear‑eyed examination of how artificial intelligence is reshaping the conduct of war, not in some imagined future but in the conflicts already unfolding around us. The film steps inside the labs designing autonomous weapons and into the militaries deploying them, tracing the uneasy handover from human judgement to machine‑driven decision‑making.

What distinguishes it is its grounding: engineers, soldiers, and those living in the shadow of these systems speak with a matter‑of‑fact precision that’s more chilling than any speculative warning. The documentary shows how automation enters quietly — in targeting assistance, in pattern recognition, in the promise of efficiency — until the question of accountability becomes blurred, then perilously thin.

The result is a portrait of a world edging towards a threshold it barely understands. A timely and unsettling watch, precisely because it reveals how much of tomorrow’s warfare is already embedded in today’s routines.


Friday 3rd April 2026

Funeral in Berlin (1966), BBC Two, 2:55 PM
A continuation of the Harry Palmer cycle that keeps its feet firmly on the ground, trading Bond‑era spectacle for something far more human and far more brittle. Set against the fault lines of a divided Berlin, the film leans into ambiguity — loyalties shifting, motives clouded, everyone operating in half‑light.

The tension comes not from set‑pieces but from uncertainty: Palmer navigating a world where every conversation is a negotiation and every ally might be a trap. It’s espionage stripped of glamour, but not of depth; a reminder that the Cold War was built as much on paperwork, favours, and quiet betrayals as on any grand manoeuvre.

A sharp, unshowy thriller that still carries the chill of its moment.

🌟 The Wolf of Wall Street (2013), BBC Two, 10:00 PM
A relentless, high‑voltage portrait of excess, driven by Leonardo DiCaprio’s ferociously charismatic turn as Jordan Belfort. Scorsese builds a world where speed, noise, and appetite become a kind of religion — a culture so intoxicated by its own momentum that consequence feels like an abstract rumour rather than an inevitability.

What makes the film endure is its refusal to settle into easy judgement. It stages the allure and the rot side by side: the adrenaline of the sales floor, the narcotic pull of wealth, the corrosive logic that turns ambition into appetite and appetite into damage. The comedy is sharp, the energy overwhelming, but beneath it all sits a steady moral undertow — the sense of a system that rewards the very behaviours it claims to condemn.

Fast, loud, and immersive, it remains a disturbingly clear mirror held up to a world where greed is not an aberration but an organising principle.

The Cure at the BBC, BBC Four, 9:00 PM
Archive performances tracing the band’s evolution across decades. A condensed history built through music rather than narration. A reminder of consistency within change.

The Cure: Radio 2 in Concert, BBC Four, 10:10 PM
A contemporary performance that bridges past and present. Confident, measured, and fully aware of its legacy. Completes the picture established by the archive material.


And finally, streaming choices

Sins of Kujo (Netflix) all ten episodes from Thursday 2 April
A dark, stylised manga adaptation that explores loyalty, power, and moral compromise. It leans into ambiguity rather than resolution, giving it weight beyond its genre.


Secrets of the Bees (Disney+) both episodes available from Wednesday 1 April
A quiet, meditative documentary that connects natural systems to wider environmental concerns without heavy-handedness.


Dumb Money (Paramount+) available from Friday 3 April
A sharp snapshot of financial rebellion and its contradictions, capturing both the thrill and the risk of collective action in modern markets.


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Culture Vulture 21st – 27th March 2026

An artistic poster featuring a large vulture in flight against a blue sky, with the words 'CULTURE VULTURE' prominently displayed at the top, and 'Counter Culture' logo along with event dates at the bottom.

This week’s Culture Vulture moves between shadow and light, from the moral labyrinth of post-war Vienna to the existential drift of modern memory, with plenty of sharp turns in between. It’s a schedule that rewards curiosity—whether that’s revisiting the classics or taking a chance on more challenging contemporary work.

🌟 Highlights this week:

The Third Man (Saturday) remains a masterclass in atmosphere and ambiguity; Training Day (Sunday) delivers a blistering study in corruption anchored by a towering central performance; and Boiling Point (Thursday) offers one of the most intense cinematic experiences of recent years, unfolding in a single, breathless take.

Alongside these, there’s a strong literary thread on Sunday evening via BBC Four, and a run of documentaries that probe power, identity, and memory. In short, a week that leans into substance without sacrificing entertainment. Selections and previews are by Pat Harrington.

Saturday 21st March

🌟 The Third Man (1949) BBC Two, 1:00 PM

Carol Reed’s masterpiece returns like a half‑remembered dream, its post‑war Vienna still carved into zones of occupation and moral exhaustion. The city becomes a character in its own right—bomb‑pitted, rain‑slick, and permanently off‑kilter—where every doorway seems to hide a watcher and every friendship carries a price.

Joseph Cotten’s bewildered Holly Martins stumbles through this broken landscape with the earnestness of a man who hasn’t yet realised the world has moved on without him. And then, of course, there’s Orson Welles: appearing late, disappearing early, yet haunting every frame. His Harry Lime is charm weaponised—an easy smile masking a worldview stripped of sentiment, a man who thrives in the cracks where empires collapse.

Reed’s tilted camerawork and Robert Krasker’s chiaroscuro photography create a visual grammar of unease, while Anton Karas’s zither score—jaunty, ironic, unforgettable—cuts against the darkness like a grin in a graveyard.

What lingers is the film’s moral clarity: not the simplicity of good versus evil, but the harder truth that in a ruined world, decency is a fragile, stubborn act. The Third Man understands that corruption isn’t always monstrous; sometimes it’s merely convenient. And that makes it all the more chilling.

Hobson’s Choice (1954) Talking Pictures, 4:35 PM

David Lean’s shift from epic sweep to cobbled‑street intimacy yields one of his most generous films—a wry, affectionate portrait of working‑class aspiration in a world that insists on knowing its place. Charles Laughton gives a gloriously blustering turn as Henry Hobson, a man pickled in his own self‑importance, but it’s Brenda de Banzie’s Maggie who quietly takes the reins. Her resolve is the film’s true engine: calm, practical, and utterly unwilling to let circumstance dictate her future.

Lean treats the Salford streets with a craftsman’s eye—warm light on shop windows, the bustle of trade, the small rituals of labour that give a community its rhythm. And in John Mills’ shy, gifted bootmaker, the film finds a tender study of talent overlooked until someone insists on seeing it.

What makes Hobson’s Choice endure is its humane clarity. It understands that liberation often begins in the domestic sphere, in the simple refusal to accept the limits others set for you. It’s a comedy, yes, but one with a spine of steel and a deep affection for the people who quietly reshape their world through competence, courage, and sheer bloody-mindedness.

A deeply satisfying piece of British storytelling—funny, warm, and sharper than it first appears.

Meet the Parents (2000) ITV2, 9:00 PM

A comedy of manners sharpened into something closer to a social gauntlet, Meet the Parents remains painfully funny because it understands a simple truth: nothing exposes our insecurities faster than meeting the in‑laws. Ben Stiller’s Greg Focker arrives as the perennial outsider—earnest, eager, catastrophically overthinking every gesture—only to collide with Robert De Niro’s Jack Byrnes, a patriarch whose quiet scrutiny feels more like an interrogation conducted under soft lighting.

What begins as mild awkwardness escalates with almost architectural precision. Each scene adds a fresh layer of discomfort: a misplaced joke, a family heirloom shattered, a cat that refuses to cooperate. The comedy works because it’s recognisable—every misstep is rooted in the desperate human urge to be liked, to belong, to prove oneself worthy of the people we love.

De Niro plays Jack with a beautifully controlled menace, the kind that never raises its voice because it doesn’t need to. Stiller, meanwhile, gives one of his finest physical performances, a man whose body seems to fold in on itself as the weekend unravels.

The result is a film that’s both excruciating and oddly tender. Beneath the humiliation lies a story about acceptance, vulnerability, and the fragile negotiations that bind families together.

La Chimera (2023) BBC Four, 9:20 PM

Alice Rohrwacher’s latest drifts in like a half‑remembered folktale, a story told in the hush between waking and sleep. Set among tomb‑raiders and dreamers on the fringes of modern Italy, it follows Arthur—Josh O’Connor, all haunted eyes and inward tilt—as he moves through the world like a man caught between realms. He’s grieving, searching, pulled backwards by a love he can’t relinquish and a past that refuses to stay buried.

Rohrwacher isn’t interested in tidy plotting or narrative closure; she’s after something more elusive. The film moves with the logic of memory—scenes folding into one another, time slipping, the camera wandering with a curiosity that feels almost archaeological. Earth, stone, dust, and song: everything here has texture, a lived‑in tactility that makes the film feel dug up rather than constructed.

What emerges is a meditation on longing and the quiet ache of things lost. It’s a film that asks you to surrender to its rhythm, to let its melancholy humour and gentle strangeness wash over you. Not for viewers who need firm handrails, but for those willing to meet it where it lives, La Chimera is quietly, insistently haunting—a story that lingers like a ghost brushing past your shoulder.

Aftersun (2022) BBC Two, 11:45 PM

Charlotte Wells’ debut unfolds like a memory you can’t quite hold still—sun‑bleached, tender, and edged with the quiet knowledge of what you didn’t understand at the time. Set on a modest Turkish holiday, it follows young Sophie and her father Calum, their days filled with the small rituals of a package break: poolside games, camcorder footage, the soft choreography of a relationship built on love and unspoken strain.

Paul Mescal gives a performance of extraordinary restraint, playing a man who is present and absent all at once—warm, playful, but carrying a weight he never names. Wells captures him in fragments: a glance held too long, a smile that falters, a moment alone on a balcony where the mask slips. The film trusts the audience to read between the lines, to feel the emotional weather gathering at the edges of the frame.

What makes Aftersun so quietly devastating is its structure: the adult Sophie piecing together her father through the grainy footage of that holiday, trying to understand the man she loved but never fully knew. It’s a film about the limits of memory, the tenderness of hindsight, and the way certain moments lodge in the heart long after the details fade.

Its emotional impact doesn’t announce itself. It creeps in, gentle and insistent, and stays with you long after the credits roll—like a song you can’t stop hearing, even when you’re not sure where you first learned it.

Infinity Pool (2023) Channel 4, 12:45 AM

Brandon Cronenberg’s Infinity Pool slinks in with the confidence of a nightmare that knows exactly where it’s taking you. Set in a luxury resort sealed off from the country surrounding it, the film skewers the kind of wealth that treats borders, laws, and even human life as optional inconveniences. Alexander Skarsgård’s blocked novelist arrives hoping for inspiration; what he finds instead is a world where consequence can be bought off, duplicated, or discarded entirely.

Cronenberg builds his satire with a cold, clinical precision. The resort’s sterile opulence sits uneasily beside the brutality it enables, and every indulgence feels like a step further into moral freefall. Mia Goth is mesmerising as the agent of chaos—playful, predatory, and utterly unbound—drawing Skarsgård’s character into a spiral where violence becomes entertainment and identity starts to slip.

The film is deliberately excessive, pushing its imagery and ideas to the point of discomfort. But beneath the provocation lies a sharp critique: a portrait of privilege so insulated that it forgets what it means to be accountable, or even recognisably human.

Disturbing, hypnotic, and darkly funny in places, Infinity Pool is less a holiday from reality than a descent into the kind of moral vacuum only money can buy.

Sunday 22nd March

Roman Holiday (1953) Sky Arts, 8:00 PM

There are films that feel like postcards from another world, and Roman Holiday is one of them—sunlit, effervescent, and carried by Audrey Hepburn’s luminous presence. As Princess Ann slipping the leash of royal duty for a single stolen day, Hepburn moves through Rome with a mixture of wonder and quiet yearning, discovering the city—and herself—with every sidestreet detour.

Gregory Peck’s newspaperman plays the perfect foil: steady, wry, and increasingly undone by the simple pleasure of watching someone taste freedom for the first time. Their chemistry is gentle rather than grand, built on shared glances and the kind of conversations that only happen when time feels briefly suspended.

Rome itself becomes a co‑conspirator—alive, spontaneous, full of possibility. The Vespa ride, the Mouth of Truth, the dance by the river: each moment feels both carefree and tinged with the knowledge that such days can’t last.

That’s the film’s quiet magic. Beneath the charm and sparkle lies a bittersweet truth about responsibility, desire, and the cost of returning to the life that awaits you. Roman Holiday is light, yes, but never trivial. It’s a reminder of how fleeting joy can be—and how deeply it can lodge in the memory.

🌟 Training Day (2001) BBC Two, 10:00 PM

Antoine Fuqua’s Training Day traps you in the heat and grime of Los Angeles over the course of a single, punishing day—a crucible in which ideals are tested, bent, and finally broken. At its centre is Denzel Washington’s Oscar‑winning Alonzo Harris, a detective who moves through the city with the swagger of a man who believes he owns it. Charismatic, terrifying, and utterly unpredictable, he turns every conversation into a power play, every smile into a warning.

Ethan Hawke’s rookie cop, Jake Hoyt, becomes our uneasy proxy—earnest, principled, and slowly realising he’s been invited into a world where the rules are rewritten to suit the man with the loudest voice and the deepest pockets. The film’s tension comes from that dawning awareness: the sense that corruption isn’t a sudden fall but a series of small compromises, each one easier to justify than the last.

Fuqua shoots the city with a kind of bruised beauty—sun‑blasted streets, cramped apartments, neighbourhoods humming with life and danger. It’s a portrait of power operating in plain sight, and of a system that rewards those willing to blur the line between protector and predator.

Victoria and Abdul (2017) BBC Two, 11:55 PM

Stephen Frears approaches this unlikely royal friendship with a light touch, but there’s a quiet charge beneath the decorum. Judi Dench, returning to Queen Victoria with the authority of someone who understands both the crown and the woman beneath it, gives a performance steeped in weariness, wit, and a longing for connection. Her Victoria is formidable, yes, but also lonely—boxed in by ritual, surrounded by courtiers who speak to her position rather than her person.

Into this world steps Abdul Karim, played with warmth and openness by Ali Fazal, whose presence unsettles the palace not through scandal but through sincerity. Their bond—part mentorship, part companionship—becomes a small act of rebellion against the machinery of empire, exposing the anxieties of those who fear any shift in the established order.

Frears keeps the tone gentle, even playful, but he never ignores the politics humming underneath: the racial prejudice, the class rigidity, the discomfort of a court that cannot fathom affection crossing its invisible boundaries. What emerges is a film about the human need to be seen, even at the end of a life lived in public.

Anchored by Dench’s quiet gravitas, Victoria & Abdul becomes more than a royal anecdote. It’s a tender study of connection in a world built to prevent it.

Poems in Their Place: W.B. Yeats BBC Four, 7:50 PM

Seamus Heaney guides us through Yeats’s world with the ease of one poet recognising another across time—a conversation conducted through fields, shorelines, and the shifting Irish light. Rather than dissecting the poems, he lets them breathe in the landscapes that shaped them: the loughs and lanes of Sligo, the windswept edges of the west, the houses where history pressed close against the imagination.

Heaney’s reflections are intimate without ever becoming possessive. He speaks of Yeats as someone both towering and touchable, a poet whose work is inseparable from the soil underfoot and the political weather of his age. The programme moves gently, allowing the cadences of the verse to settle into the scenery, as if the land itself were reciting alongside him.

What emerges is less a lecture than a pilgrimage—an exploration of how poetry lodges in place, and how place, in turn, becomes a kind of memory. For anyone drawn to Yeats, or to the idea that landscape can hold a story long after the storyteller is gone, it’s quietly transporting.

The Life and Loves of Oscar Wilde BBC Four, 8:00 PM

This concise portrait of Oscar Wilde moves with the clarity of someone determined to see the man whole—brilliance, bravado, vulnerability and all. It traces his rise with affectionate precision: the wit that dazzled London society, the theatrical flair that made him both irresistible and faintly dangerous, the cultivated persona that shimmered somewhere between performance and truth.

But the programme never lets the sparkle obscure the cost. Wilde’s contradictions—public confidence and private longing, moral sharpness and reckless desire—are handled with a steady, humane touch. His downfall is neither sensationalised nor softened; instead, it’s presented as the inevitable collision between a man determined to live expansively and a society determined to punish him for it.

What emerges is a portrait of a life lived in full colour, shadowed by the cruelty of its ending but never reduced to it. Clear‑eyed, engaging, and quietly moving, it honours Wilde not just as a literary icon but as a human being caught between genius and the world that couldn’t bear it.

The Picture of Dorian Gray (Read by Luke Thompson) BBC Four, 9:00 PM

Stripped of its visual decadence and returned to the purity of voice, Wilde’s dark moral fable feels sharper, colder, and more intimate than ever. Luke Thompson reads with a clarity that lets the prose do the work—those glittering aphorisms, the velvet‑soft seductions, the slow tightening of the moral noose. Without the distraction of costume or setting, you hear the novel’s true architecture: wit curdling into cruelty, beauty shading into corruption, the steady erosion of a soul convinced it can outrun consequence.

Thompson’s delivery captures the novel’s duality—its surface charm and its creeping dread—allowing Wilde’s language to shimmer and then darken, sentence by sentence. What emerges is a reminder of how modern the book still feels: a study of vanity, influence, and the seductive lie that one can live without cost.

In this pared‑back form, Dorian Gray becomes even more unsettling. The portrait may be unseen, but you feel its presence in every pause, every shift in tone. A classic made newly dangerous by the simple act of being spoken aloud.

Peer Gynt (1978 adaptation) BBC Four, 10:00 PM

This 1978 adaptation tackles Ibsen’s sprawling, shape‑shifting epic with a theatrical boldness that refuses to tame it. Peer Gynt has always been a journey through the self as much as through the world—a restless wanderer slipping between reality and fantasy, truth and self‑mythology—and the production leans into that instability. Sets shift, tones collide, and the boundaries between the literal and the symbolic blur in ways that feel deliberately disorienting.

The result is uneven, yes, but in a way that suits the material. Peer’s odyssey is a patchwork of bravado, delusion, longing, and evasion, and the adaptation captures that sense of a man constantly reinventing himself to avoid the one thing he fears most: being known. When the production lands—particularly in its quieter, more introspective passages—it finds a surprising emotional clarity beneath the spectacle.

What rewards the patient viewer is the cumulative effect: a portrait of identity as something provisional, performed, and often hollow. The ambition is unmistakable, the theatricality unapologetic, and for those willing to meet it halfway, the journey becomes strangely compelling—a reminder that some stories are meant to be wrestled with rather than neatly resolved.

Monday 23rd March

The Northman (2022) Film4, 9:00 PM

Robert Eggers’ The Northman unfolds like a saga carved into stone—brutal, ritualistic, and steeped in the kind of mythic inevitability that feels closer to legend than recorded history. Alexander Skarsgård’s Amleth moves through this world with the single‑minded force of a man shaped by prophecy and vengeance, his body as much a weapon as the blades he wields.

Eggers builds the film with an almost archaeological precision: longhouses lit by fire and smoke, landscapes that feel ancient and indifferent, rituals that blur the line between the spiritual and the hallucinatory. The result is immersive in the truest sense—you don’t watch the world, you’re dropped into it, surrounded by its mud, blood, and incantations.

The violence is unflinching but never gratuitous; it’s part of the film’s cosmology, a reflection of a society where honour and brutality are inseparable. Nicole Kidman and Anya Taylor‑Joy bring sharp, unsettling energy to the story, complicating the revenge narrative with their own forms of power and survival.

Demanding but deeply rewarding, The Northman is a vision of myth rendered with startling clarity—visually striking, emotionally primal, and driven by the sense that fate is a tide no one can outrun.

Ammonite (2020) BBC Two, 12:00 AM

Francis Lee’s Ammonite is a study in silence—an intimate drama carved from wind, stone, and the unspoken ache of two women who find each other in the margins of their lives. Kate Winslet’s Mary Anning is all flinty resolve and inwardness, a woman shaped by the harsh Dorset coast and the harder realities of being a working‑class scientist in a world that refuses to see her. Saoirse Ronan’s Charlotte arrives fragile, grieving, and adrift, her presence unsettling Mary’s carefully contained solitude.

Lee’s direction is stark and unhurried, letting glances, gestures, and the rhythm of labour carry the emotional weight. The landscape mirrors the characters—bleak, beautiful, and quietly alive with possibility. What emerges between Mary and Charlotte is less a sweeping romance than a slow, tentative thaw: two people learning to trust touch, attention, and the idea that desire might be something they’re allowed to claim.

The film’s power lies in its precision. Every silence feels deliberate, every moment of connection earned. Winslet and Ronan give performances built from small, exact choices, revealing entire emotional histories in the way they hold themselves—or allow themselves to soften.

Restrained, intimate, and emotionally exacting, Ammonite lingers like a tide pulling back, leaving behind traces of something raw and deeply felt.

Just One Thing (Episode 1) BBC One, 2:00 PM

Returning in the shadow of Dr Michael Mosley’s loss, Just One Thing continues with the clarity and practicality that made the series so widely trusted. The tone is gentle but assured, honouring Mosley’s legacy without leaning into sentimentality. The focus remains where he always placed it: small, evidence‑based habits that can make everyday life feel a little healthier, a little more manageable.

This opening episode reaffirms the show’s strengths—accessible science, clear explanations, and a sense of wellbeing rooted in curiosity rather than pressure. It’s a reminder that good advice doesn’t need to be grand or transformative; sometimes one small, sustainable change is enough.

Quiet, useful, and grounded in the spirit of Mosley’s work, it’s a thoughtful continuation rather than a reinvention.

Last Week Tonight with John Oliver Sky One, 10:40 PM

John Oliver returns with his trademark blend of forensic research and exasperated humour, slicing through the week’s headlines with a precision that feels both cathartic and slightly alarming. The show’s great trick has always been its ability to turn sprawling, often bleak subjects into something digestible without sanding off their seriousness, and this episode keeps that balance intact.

But there’s an added tension now: the world has grown so absurd, so relentlessly self‑parodic, that satire risks being overtaken by the news itself. Oliver leans into that challenge, using it as fuel rather than a limitation—pushing deeper, asking sharper questions, and finding comedy in the gap between what should happen and what actually does.

Smart, pointed, and occasionally furious, it’s a reminder that satire works best not when it mocks the world, but when it tries—however hopelessly—to make sense of it.

Tuesday 24th March

Of Human Bondage (1934) Talking Pictures, 8:10 AM

John Cromwell’s adaptation of Maugham’s novel still lands with a surprising sting—a drama stripped of glamour, driven instead by the messy, humiliating tangle of desire and self‑destruction. Leslie Howard gives a quietly wounded performance as Philip Carey, the medical student whose longing curdles into obsession, but it’s Bette Davis who seizes the film and refuses to let go.

Her Mildred is ferocious, abrasive, and utterly alive—a woman who weaponises vulnerability as easily as contempt. Davis plays her without apology, giving one of the great early performances of her career: sharp‑edged, unpredictable, and psychologically exact. It’s the kind of turn that feels modern even now, refusing to soften a character who is both victim and tormentor.

The film itself is lean and emotionally direct, its rawness heightened by the stark black‑and‑white photography and the sense of lives lived on the edge of respectability. What endures is the honesty of it—the recognition that love can be degrading, that longing can hollow a person out, and that sometimes the hardest thing is admitting what we’ve allowed ourselves to become.

A psychologically astute drama, anchored by Davis at her most fearless.

Power: The Downfall of Huw Edwards Channel 5, 9:00 PM


This dramatisation tackles a story still raw in the public consciousness, approaching it with a seriousness that acknowledges both the human cost and the institutional implications. Rather than indulging in lurid detail, the programme frames the events as part of a wider pattern—how power operates within trusted institutions, how oversight falters, and how reputations can shape or shield behaviour until the moment they no longer can.

It’s difficult viewing by design. The drama raises uncomfortable questions about accountability, newsroom culture, and the structures that allow problems to go unchallenged until they erupt into crisis. There’s no easy catharsis here, just a steady, disquieting examination of how systems fail—and what happens when the public’s faith in those systems fractures.

A sober, troubling piece of television, more interested in the mechanisms of power than in sensationalising the individuals caught within them.

Wednesday 25th March

Carlito’s Way (1993) Film4, 9:00 PM

Brian De Palma’s Carlito’s Way is a gangster film with its eyes fixed not on the rise, but on the impossibility of escape. Al Pacino gives one of his most quietly affecting performances as Carlito Brigante, a man freshly out of prison and genuinely trying to carve out a life beyond the violence that once defined him. What makes the film so compelling is the tension between that desire and the gravitational pull of his past—every choice he makes shadowed by the knowledge that the world he’s trying to leave behind isn’t finished with him.

Pacino plays Carlito with a weary grace, a man who can see the trap closing even as he tries to outrun it. Opposite him, Sean Penn’s turn as the coked‑up lawyer Dave Kleinfeld is a masterclass in self‑destruction, a reminder that danger doesn’t always come from the expected direction.

De Palma’s direction is stylish without being showy, saving his bravura flourishes for the moments when fate tightens its grip—the nightclub sequences, the subway chase, the final dash through Grand Central. Beneath the suspense lies a deep melancholy: a sense that redemption is always just out of reach for men like Carlito, no matter how sincerely they chase it.

A gangster film about regret rather than ambition, anchored by Pacino at his most soulful.

The Duchess (2008) BBC Two, 11:30 PM

Saul Dibb’s The Duchess presents Georgian aristocracy with all the expected polish—silks, salons, and stately homes—but it’s the quiet critique running beneath the surface that gives the film its bite. Keira Knightley plays Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, with a luminous intelligence that makes her confinement all the more painful to watch: a woman celebrated in public yet controlled, diminished, and traded in private.

Ralph Fiennes is chillingly restrained as the Duke, embodying a system in which power is exercised through silence, entitlement, and the casual assumption that a woman’s life is not her own. The film never needs to shout its politics; the constraints are written into every room Georgiana enters, every choice she’s denied, every compromise she’s forced to make.

What emerges is a portrait of a life lived under exquisite pressure—elegant on the surface, quietly devastating beneath. Dibb’s direction keeps the tone measured, allowing the emotional truth to seep through the cracks in the grandeur.

A beautifully mounted period drama that understands the cost of being admired but not free.

Thursday 26th March

🌟 Boiling Point (2021) Film4, 11:45 PM

Philip Barantini’s Boiling Point unfolds in a single, unbroken take, but the real trick is how quickly it pulls you into the rhythm of a kitchen on the brink—orders piling up, tempers fraying, and the quiet, corrosive pressures that hospitality workers carry long after the plates are cleared. Stephen Graham is extraordinary as Andy, a head chef barely holding himself together, his charm and authority flickering under the weight of exhaustion, debt, and unspoken grief.

The camera moves through the restaurant like another member of staff—darting, weaving, catching fragments of conversations that reveal whole lives in seconds. What emerges is a portrait of an industry built on adrenaline and compromise, where the smallest misstep can send everything spiralling. The tension is relentless, but never gratuitous; it’s rooted in the emotional truth of people trying to do their best in a system that gives them no room to breathe.

Stressful, exhilarating, and painfully recognisable, Boiling Point captures the chaos with documentary immediacy and the heartbreak with quiet precision. It’s a film that leaves you wrung out, but deeply impressed by the humanity burning beneath the heat.

Licorice Pizza (2021) BBC Two, 12:00 AM

Paul Thomas Anderson’s Licorice Pizza moves with the shambling confidence of memory—episodic, sun‑drenched, and stitched together from the kind of half‑formed adventures that feel trivial at the time and formative in hindsight. Alana Haim and Cooper Hoffman anchor the film with performances that feel wonderfully lived‑in: awkward, impulsive, and full of that restless energy that comes from wanting life to start faster than it actually does.

Anderson isn’t chasing plot so much as texture. The film drifts through 1970s San Fernando Valley with a kind of affectionate curiosity—political campaigns, waterbeds, wayward actors, and small hustles all folding into a portrait of youth that’s more about possibility than direction. The looseness is the point; ambition here is messy, instinctive, and often misguided, but always sincere.

What makes the film so charming is its emotional precision beneath the shaggy surface. Anderson captures the strange, elastic space between adolescence and adulthood, where confidence and uncertainty coexist and every encounter feels like it might tilt a life one way or another.

Shaggy, charming, and full of lived‑in detail, Licorice Pizza is less a coming‑of‑age story than a beautifully meandering reminder of how it feels to be young and hungry for something you can’t yet name.

Classic Movies: The Story of Ran Sky Arts, 8:00 PM

This thoughtful documentary digs into the making of Ran, Akira Kurosawa’s late‑career epic—a film so vast in scope and so steeped in Shakespearean tragedy that it feels carved into the landscape itself. The programme traces how Kurosawa fused King Lear with Japanese history and his own lifelong preoccupations: ageing, betrayal, the fragility of power, and the chaos unleashed when authority collapses.

What emerges is a portrait of a filmmaker working at the height of his visual imagination. The documentary lingers on the film’s extraordinary craft—those sweeping battle tableaux, the meticulous colour design, the way silence and stillness can be as devastating as violence. It also acknowledges the emotional depth beneath the spectacle: a story about a man undone not by fate, but by the consequences of his own cruelty.

Clear, engaging, and rich in insight, it’s a compelling look at how Ran became both a monumental achievement and a deeply personal reckoning for Kurosawa

Matter of Mind: My Alzheimer’s PBS America, 9:10 PM

This documentary approaches Alzheimer’s not as a medical puzzle to be solved but as a lived reality—messy, tender, frightening, and threaded with moments of startling clarity. Rather than leaning on experts or statistics, it centres the people navigating the condition day by day: individuals trying to hold onto their sense of self, and families learning to adapt with patience, grief, and unexpected resilience.

The film’s strength lies in its refusal to generalise. Each story is specific, shaped by personality, circumstance, and the small rituals that help maintain dignity. There’s no sentimentality, but neither is there despair; instead, the documentary finds its emotional weight in the honesty of its subjects and the quiet courage required to keep moving through uncertainty.

A deeply human look at dementia, grounded in experience rather than abstraction, and a reminder that understanding begins with listening.

Friday 27th March

Femme (2023) BBC Two, 11:00 PM

Femme is a thriller built on shifting identities and dangerous intimacy, a film that refuses to let you settle into easy judgments. Nathan Stewart‑Jarrett plays Jules with a brittle, wounded intensity—a drag performer whose life is shattered by a violent attack. When he later encounters George MacKay’s Preston, the man he believes responsible, the film slips into a tense psychological dance where revenge, desire, and self‑presentation blur in increasingly unsettling ways.

What makes the film so compelling is its moral complexity. Jules’ pursuit of Preston is driven by trauma, but the closer he gets, the more the boundaries between hunter and hunted begin to dissolve. The directors, Sam H. Freeman and Ng Choon Ping, keep the tone tight and claustrophobic, using London’s night-time spaces—clubs, flats, back rooms—as stages for shifting power and unstable truths.

It’s uncomfortable by design, a story about the masks people wear and the danger of believing you can control the narrative once you step into someone else’s world. Stylish, tense, and emotionally jagged.

Benedetta (2021) Channel 4, 1:00 AM

Paul Verhoeven’s Benedetta is provocative in the way only he can manage—irreverent, mischievous, and entirely uninterested in playing by the rules of the historical drama. Set in a 17th‑century convent, the film treats religion, desire, and power with a mixture of seriousness and sly humour, refusing to separate the spiritual from the bodily. Virginie Efira is magnetic as Benedetta, a nun whose visions, charisma, and appetites unsettle the fragile hierarchies around her.

Verhoeven leans into the contradictions: faith as performance, ecstasy as rebellion, and institutional piety as a mask for political manoeuvring. The result is a film that’s both playful and pointed, exposing the hypocrisies of religious authority while allowing its characters a messy, complicated humanity.

It’s not subtle, but that’s the pleasure. Benedetta pushes at boundaries with a wink and a scalpel, inviting you to question where devotion ends and desire begins.

Provocative, irreverent, and unmistakably Verhoeven.

Billy Idol: Should Be Dead Sky Arts, 9:00 PM

This documentary charts Billy Idol’s journey with a mix of amusement and awe, tracing the arc of a man who lived through the kind of excess that usually ends careers—or lives. What emerges isn’t just a rock‑and‑roll cautionary tale but a portrait of sheer, stubborn survival. Idol’s swagger, his peroxide sneer, and his knack for reinvention all come into focus as the film digs into the chaos of the early years and the hard‑won clarity that followed.

There’s plenty of entertainment in the anecdotes—wild tours, bad decisions, and the kind of near‑misses that would flatten most people—but the documentary also finds space for reflection. Idol comes across as someone who understands the cost of his own mythology, even as he continues to enjoy the performance of it.

An engaging, surprisingly thoughtful look at a rock icon who, by all reasonable measures, shouldn’t still be here—but absolutely is.

I Was a Teenage Sex Pistol Sky Arts, 11:20 PM

This documentary captures punk at the exact moment it stopped being a rumble in the underground and became a cultural detonation. Told with the rough edges intact, it’s less a tidy history lesson than a chaotic snapshot of the Sex Pistols’ early orbit—full of swagger, mischief, and the kind of combustible personalities that made the movement feel both inevitable and unsustainable.

There’s a scrappy immediacy to the storytelling, reflecting a scene built on impulse rather than strategy. The film leans into the contradictions: the DIY ethos colliding with sudden notoriety, the thrill of tearing down the old order, and the messy, often self‑inflicted fallout that followed.

Loud, unruly, and strangely poignant in hindsight, it’s a reminder of how a handful of teenagers managed to jolt British culture awake—whether it was ready or not.

The M Factor: Shredding the Silence on Menopause PBS America, 8:55 PM

This documentary tackles menopause with the clarity and compassion it has long been denied, treating it not as a private ordeal but as a major health and social issue that deserves open conversation. By centring women’s lived experiences—physical, emotional, and professional—it exposes how silence and stigma have shaped everything from medical care to workplace expectations.

The programme balances personal testimony with clear, accessible science, making space for the complexity of a transition that is too often dismissed or minimised. What emerges is a portrait of resilience and frustration, but also of possibility: a sense that honest discussion can lead to better support, better policy, and a better understanding of what half the population will go through.

An important, empathetic exploration of a subject that should never have been overlooked in the first place.

Secrets of the Sun (Parts 1 & 2) Channel 5, 9:00 PM & 10:00 PM

Dara Ó Briain brings clarity and enthusiasm to a fascinating exploration of our nearest star.

📺 Streaming Choice

The Predator of Seville (Netflix) All episodes available from Friday 27 March

A disturbing but necessary true-crime series that foregrounds victims’ voices over sensationalism. Thoughtful, measured, and quietly powerful.

Mike and Nick and Nick and Alice (Disney+) From Friday 27 March

An offbeat crime caper driven by odd-couple chemistry and escalating absurdity. Uneven, but often sharply funny.

Daredevil: Born Again – Season 2 (Disney+) Season 2 available from Wednesday 25 March

The second season of Daredevil: Born Again pushes further into the shadows, doubling down on the qualities that have always set Matt Murdock apart from the broader Marvel sprawl. This is a world of bruised knuckles, compromised ideals, and the uneasy knowledge that justice—real justice—rarely comes cleanly.

Charlie Cox remains the show’s anchor, playing Murdock with a weary conviction that makes every choice feel weighted with consequence. The series leans into that moral ambiguity, exploring what happens when a man who believes in the law keeps finding himself drawn back to the violence he’s sworn to rise above.

The action is tight and grounded, but it’s the introspection that gives the season its charge: questions of identity, faith, and the cost of trying to save a city that keeps slipping through your fingers.

A darker, more reflective corner of Marvel—still muscular, still gripping, but driven by character rather than spectacle.

The Pitt – Season 1 & Season 2 (eps 1–4) (HBO Max) Available from Thursday 26 March

Ambitious, character-driven drama that thrives on tension and shifting loyalties. Demanding but rewarding.

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Culture Vulture 21-27 February 2026

Your Week in TV and Film

A large vulture soaring in the sky with bold text reading 'CULTURE VULTURE' above, and a banner at the bottom displaying the event name 'Counter Culture' with dates '21-27 February 2026'.

A week of films that understand people caught in machinery — political, historical, emotional — and the strange, stubborn ways they try to reclaim themselves. Across the schedules you’ll find institutional rot, private mythologies, cosmic indifference, and the small acts of care that keep communities alive. Even the borderline picks earn their place by revealing something about the world that produced them.

Below, you’ll find the highlights, followed by the full Culture Vulture selection.

Highlights of the Week

Malcolm X — Tuesday, BBC2

Spike Lee’s towering epic remains one of the most intellectually rigorous portraits of political transformation ever put to screen. A foundational text.

Relic — Friday, BBC2

A grief‑stricken horror film that treats dementia as a collapsing architecture. Emotionally devastating, formally precise.

Call Jane — Monday, Film4

A reminder that care is political labour, and that survival often depends on the systems women build for each other when institutions fail.

2001: A Space Odyssey — Sunday, ITV4

Kubrick’s cosmic riddle — still thinking ahead of us.

Scrapper — Friday, BBC2

The International 11.15pm, 5Star (2009)
A steel‑toned thriller that treats global finance as a shadow state. Tom Tykwer follows a dogged Interpol agent through a maze of lawyers, politicians, and intelligence operatives, all orbiting a crime too large and too abstract to prosecute. The film understands corruption not as a plot but as an atmosphere — something breathed in, normalised, and quietly devastating. British social realism with imagination and heart. A small miracle of a film.

Saturday 21 February 2026

The International 11.15pm, 5Star (2009)
Tom Tykwer’s steel‑toned thriller treats global finance as a kind of shadow state — a jurisdiction without borders, answerable to no electorate, and fluent in the quiet coercions that shape the modern world. Clive Owen’s Interpol agent isn’t so much a hero as a man slowly realising he’s chasing smoke: every lead dissolves into a boardroom, every crime scene into a contract, every culprit into a committee. What he’s really pursuing is a structure, not a suspect.

Tykwer shoots the whole thing with a cold, architectural precision. Glass towers loom like fortresses; public spaces feel surveilled even when empty. The famous Guggenheim sequence isn’t just spectacle — it’s the film’s thesis made kinetic, a museum turned battleground to show how institutions built to civilise us can be repurposed to contain violence rather than prevent it.

What stays with you is the film’s understanding that corruption isn’t a twist but an atmosphere. It’s something inhaled, normalised, and quietly devastating — a world where accountability is always deferred upwards, where the people pulling the strings are too abstract to touch and too embedded to dislodge. Tykwer isn’t offering catharsis; he’s mapping the architecture of impunity, and letting the dread accumulate in the margins.

Sunday 22 February 2026

The Lady ITV1 9pm

ITV’s The Lady opens with a quietly devastating portrait of precarity. Jane Andrews, skint and running out of exits, steps into royal service hoping for stability. What she finds is a workplace where hierarchy is oxygen and every corridor hums with unspoken rules.


Mia McKenna‑Bruce gives Jane a raw, searching vulnerability, while Natalie Dormer’s Sarah, Duchess of York, is all brittle charm and bruised resilience — a woman who knows exactly how the institution metabolises outsiders. Their bond becomes the show’s emotional ballast: two women navigating a system that mistakes proximity for protection.


It’s royal drama without the sugar‑coating — a story about labour, loneliness, and the cost of being useful to power.

American Made 9.00pm, Legend (2017)
Doug Liman’s true‑crime caper wears the grin of a breezy Tom Cruise vehicle, but underneath the swagger sits a surprisingly sharp political anatomy lesson. Cruise’s Barry Seal is a pilot who thinks he’s stumbled into a lucrative side‑hustle, only to find himself absorbed into the CIA’s covert machinery — a world where policy is improvised on the fly, oversight is optional, and deniability is the closest thing anyone has to a moral compass.

Liman frames American foreign policy as a kind of carnival: loud, chaotic, and permanently on the verge of collapse. Every operation feels like a gamble placed with someone else’s chips, and the film is clear about who ends up paying the bill. The humour is deliberate — a sugar‑coating that makes the eventual rot easier to swallow — and when the consequences finally land, they do so with a thud that cuts through the film’s earlier buoyancy.

Beneath the hijinks is a portrait of empire behaving exactly as you’d expect when accountability is treated as an optional extra. It’s funny until it isn’t, and that tonal pivot aligns neatly with our interest in stories where systems misfire, institutions overreach, and ordinary people get caught in the blast radius.

2001: A Space Odyssey 6.20pm, ITV4 (1968)
Kubrick’s monolith remains cinema’s great act of cosmic contemplation — a film less watched than encountered, as if it were an artefact we’ve stumbled across rather than something made by human hands. Its sweep from bone tools to cold machinery charts not just humanity’s evolution but its estrangement, asking what intelligence becomes when it outgrows its makers and begins to dream in algorithms rather than instincts.

The film’s beauty is glacial, almost ceremonial. Kubrick composes images like architecture, letting spacecraft drift with the slow inevitability of tectonic plates. And then there’s the music: Richard Strauss’s Also sprach Zarathustra turning a sunrise into a secular hymn, Johann Strauss II’s Blue Danube waltzing us through orbital ballet. The score isn’t accompaniment so much as cosmology — a reminder that the universe can be terrifying and transcendent in the same breath.

What lingers is the sense of scale. 2001 treats humanity as a brief flare in a much older story, a species fumbling towards something it can’t yet name. Its ambition is limitless, its silence eloquent, its mysteries deliberately unresolved. Half a century on, it still feels like a message from the future, waiting for us to catch up.

Storyville: The Srebrenica Tape BBC Four — 10:00pm

A quietly devastating return to one of Europe’s deepest wounds. The Srebrenica Tape follows a young woman retracing her father’s final days before the 1995 genocide, moving through a landscape where memory and evidence are still fiercely contested. The film’s power lies in its intimacy: a daughter’s search becomes a reckoning with the machinery of ethnic hatred, the fragility of truth, and the long afterlife of atrocity.

For Culture Vulture readers, this is essential viewing — a documentary that refuses sensationalism, instead foregrounding testimony, archival integrity, and the human cost of political violence. It’s a reminder that history is not past; it’s something people must continue to survive.

Calendar Girls 10.00pm, BBC2 (2003)
A deceptively gentle comedy that understands how radical it can be for women — especially older women — to claim the frame on their own terms. What begins as a small act of fundraising mischief becomes a quiet revolution in self‑representation, as a group of Yorkshire friends decide they’re no longer willing to be tidied away by a community that underestimates them.

The film’s charm is disarming, but never flimsy. It treats ageing not as a retreat but as a phase of renewed agency, where confidence is earned rather than assumed. Helen Mirren and Julie Walters lead with a kind of lived‑in defiance, reminding us that visibility is political, and that humour can be a form of resistance when the world expects you to shrink.

Beneath the warmth lies a story about ownership — of image, of narrative, of the right to be seen without apology. It’s a softer pick, yes, but rich in social texture: a portrait of friendship as mutual uplift, and of ordinary women discovering that stepping into the light can be its own small act of rebellion.

Terminator Genisys 9.00pm, E4 (2015)
Genisys is revealing: a blockbuster wrestling with the very anxieties its story is built on — technological determinism, the fear of being outpaced by your own creations, and the uneasy weight of legacy in a culture that keeps rebooting the past to avoid confronting the future.

The film’s temporal gymnastics aren’t just narrative gimmickry; they’re a kind of industrial self‑diagnosis. Hollywood, like Skynet, keeps generating new timelines to correct old mistakes, hoping that enough retconning will restore a sense of inevitability. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s return becomes a meta‑gesture — a legacy figure trying to anchor a story that no longer knows what shape it wants to take.

Genisys is a cultural artefact of a moment when franchises began openly acknowledging their own exhaustion, folding nostalgia into spectacle while quietly asking whether the machinery can keep running. It’s messy, but thematically rich: a blockbuster about systems trying to outrun their own programmed fate.

Dog 11.00pm, Channel 4 (2022)
A wounded, humane road movie that treats trauma not as spectacle but as residue — something carried in the body long after the institution that produced it has moved on. Channing Tatum plays a ranger tasked with escorting a fallen soldier’s dog to a funeral, and what begins as a logistical errand becomes a study in guarded masculinity, moral injury, and the uneasy afterlife of military service.

The film understands how veterans are shaped by systems that offer structure, purpose, and belonging, then provide no map for what comes next. Both man and dog are trained for vigilance, primed for threat, and unsure how to inhabit a world that no longer requires their hyper‑alertness. Their journey becomes a kind of mutual rehabilitation — two beings learning to trust again, to soften without feeling exposed, to exist outside the rigid codes that once kept them alive.

What makes Dog quietly affecting is its emotional intelligence. It resists the easy catharsis of redemption arcs, instead tracing the slow, halting work of healing in the absence of institutional support. The landscapes are wide, the performances unshowy, and the film’s compassion feels earned rather than sentimental.

Breathless 12.25am, Talking Pictures (1960)
Godard’s debut still feels like a rupture — a film that breaks cinema open and rebuilds it in real time, as if the medium were discovering its own grammar on the fly. What begins as a petty‑criminal caper becomes a manifesto about freedom: of movement, of form, of thought. Michel and Patricia drift through Paris with the weightlessness of people who haven’t yet learned to take the world seriously, their romance doubling as a provocation to the culture around them.

The film’s jump cuts, street‑corner philosophising, and documentary looseness weren’t just stylistic flourishes; they were acts of rebellion. Godard treats the city as an open set, the camera as a conspirator, and narrative as something to be shrugged off whenever it becomes too obedient. Breathless isn’t interested in plot mechanics so much as the electricity of being alive in a moment when everything — politics, art, identity — feels up for renegotiation.

What makes it essential is that sense of reinvention. You can feel cinema shedding its skin, embracing imperfection, and trusting spontaneity over polish. It’s a film that insists culture doesn’t evolve politely; it lurches, fractures, and reassembles itself through people bold enough to ignore the rules. Breathless remains a reminder that art can be both playful and revolutionary, and that sometimes the most radical act is simply to move differently through the world.

Monday 23 February 2026

The Lady 9pm, ITV1 (episode two)

If the first hour charts Jane’s tentative ascent, the second shows how fragile that foothold really is. The palace, with all its soft furnishings and hard edges, begins to exert pressure — not through overt hostility but through the slow, grinding enforcement of norms Jane was never taught. Every misstep becomes a mark against her; every kindness from Sarah carries its own political weight.

Natalie Dormer leans into the contradictions of the Duchess: warm, wounded, and acutely aware of how the institution weaponises vulnerability. Her rapport with Jane is still the show’s emotional anchor, but here it becomes more precarious — a friendship lived under surveillance, where affection can be misread as overfamiliarity and loyalty is always a one‑way transaction.

Meanwhile, Philip Glenister’s DCI Jim Dickie begins to flicker at the edges of the narrative, a reminder that this story is heading somewhere darker. The tonal shift is subtle but unmistakable: the camera lingers a beat longer, the silences thicken, and the sense of inevitability creeps in.

It’s a tense, morally charged hour — the anatomy of a woman being slowly squeezed by a system that only ever pretends to protect her.

Dirty Business Channel 4 9pm (one of three)

The opener lands with the quiet fury of a system pushed past breaking point. Episode 1 sketches the landscape of a country where rivers are treated as collateral damage and accountability is a rumour. David Thewlis gives the drama its moral spine — a man who’s spent too long watching institutions shrug their shoulders — while Jason Watkins brings the bureaucratic dread of someone who knows exactly how the machinery works and how easily it can be gamed.

What makes the episode sing is its refusal to sensationalise. Instead, it sits with the slow violence of environmental harm: the paperwork, the evasions, the communities who’ve learned not to expect answers. It’s a story about pollution, yes, but also about the emotional sediment left behind when public trust is treated as disposable.

Call Jane 10.55pm, Film4 (2022)
A quietly urgent drama about reproductive rights in 1960s America, told with the steadiness of a film that knows its history is still painfully present. Elizabeth Banks plays a suburban woman whose medical crisis forces her into contact with the Jane Collective — an underground network offering safe abortions when official structures refused to see, hear, or protect the women who needed them.

Rather than leaning on melodrama, the film treats care as political labour: the phone calls, the whispered logistics, the emotional steadiness required to build systems of survival in the shadows. It honours the women who stepped into the vacuum left by institutions that preferred to look away, and it does so with a humane, unshowy clarity. A vital reminder that rights are built — and rebuilt — through collective courage.

Tuesday 24 February 2026

Dirty Business Channel 4 9:00pm (two of three)

Episode 2 tightens the screws. The investigation widens, and with it comes a portrait of a regulatory ecosystem that’s been hollowed out by design. The drama is at its strongest when it shows how power operates in the shadows: the off‑the‑record calls, the “miscommunications,” the way data can be massaged until it tells a comforting lie.

There’s a bleak humour running through the hour — the kind that comes from watching people try to do the right thing inside a system calibrated to make that impossible. The whistleblowers are drawn with care, not as martyrs but as ordinary workers who’ve reached the point where silence feels like complicity. It’s a story about courage, but also about the cost of it.

Malcolm X 11.00pm, BBC2 (1992)
pike Lee’s monumental biographical epic refuses simplification, tracing Malcolm’s evolution with intellectual rigour and emotional clarity. The film grounds his politics not in abstraction but in lived experience — the violence that shaped him, the faith that steadied him, and the historical pressures that demanded a new language for liberation.

Denzel Washington’s performance is mythic yet intimate, capturing a man constantly revising himself in response to a world determined to contain him. Lee’s direction matches that restlessness: bold, searching, and unwilling to sand down the contradictions that made Malcolm such a vital figure.

A foundational text for any conversation about power, resistance, and the cost of telling the truth in a country built on racial hierarchy.

Wednesday 25 February 2026

Dirty Business Channel 4 9:00pm (three of three)

The finale is a reckoning — not triumphant, not tidy, but painfully honest. The series understands that environmental harm doesn’t resolve neatly; it accumulates. Episode 3 follows the consequences outward: political, ecological, personal. Thewlis and Watkins are superb here, playing men who’ve spent years navigating a system that punishes transparency and rewards inertia.

What lingers is the show’s moral clarity. It refuses to let anyone off the hook, but it also resists the easy catharsis of naming a single villain. Instead, it shows how a culture of neglect becomes policy, and how policy becomes damage that communities must live with long after the headlines fade. It’s a sobering, necessary end to a series that treats the British landscape — its rivers, its people — as something worth fighting for.

Tolkien 1.00am, Channel 4
A biographical drama that treats creativity as both refuge and wound, tracing how a young Tolkien learned to build worlds as a way of surviving the one he was born into. The film follows him through friendship, first love, and the psychic shrapnel of the First World War, sketching the emotional and intellectual roots of the mythologies he would later write.

Rather than myth‑making about the man, it leans into interiority: the private languages, the obsessive pattern‑seeking, the way imagination becomes a shelter when reality turns hostile. It’s a quiet piece, almost literary in its pacing, and all the more affecting for how gently it links fantasy to grief, fellowship, and the need to impose meaning on chaos. A thoughtful late‑night watch — and one that speaks directly to Culture Vulture readers attuned to the politics and psychology of storytelling.

Thursday 26 February 2026

The 39 Steps 10.00pm, BBC4
Hitchcock in his early, taut, politically anxious mode — already fascinated by the ordinary man swallowed by systems he barely understands. Robert Donat’s fugitive hero is less a suave adventurer than a citizen abruptly caught in the gears of state power, forced to navigate a landscape where surveillance, suspicion, and bureaucratic indifference close in from all sides.

What makes it endure isn’t just the brisk pacing or the proto‑Hitchcock set‑pieces, but the film’s modernity: its sense that identity can slip through the cracks, that innocence offers no protection, and that the machinery of national security is both omnipresent and opaque. A thriller that still feels startlingly contemporary in its paranoia and political edge.

Can You Ever Forgive Me? 12.35am, Channel 4
A beautifully sad character study about loneliness, literary fraud, and the uneasy ethics of storytelling. Melissa McCarthy gives a career‑best performance as Lee Israel, a once‑respected biographer whose career has stalled and whose capacity for self‑sabotage is almost operatic. What begins as a petty survival tactic — forging letters from dead writers — becomes a strangely intimate act, a way of slipping into voices she finds easier to inhabit than her own.

Marielle Heller directs with a wry, humane touch, refusing to tidy up Lee’s rough edges or turn her crimes into a caper. Instead, the film sits with the ache of someone who feels more at home in other people’s sentences than in her own life. Quietly devastating, unexpectedly funny, and deeply attuned to the emotional economies of friendship, failure, and the stories we tell to stay afloat.

Friday 27 February 2026

Scrapper 11.00pm, BBC2
A tender, sharply observed piece of British social realism that understands how children metabolise loss in ways adults often miss. Charlotte Regan’s debut follows a fiercely self‑sufficient girl whose imaginative inner world — bright, funny, defiantly odd — becomes both a shield and a survival strategy after her mother’s death.

What could have been miserabilist is instead buoyed by humour, colour, and a genuine curiosity about how working‑class families patch themselves back together. The film’s emotional precision lies in its refusal to sentimentalise resilience; it shows how hard‑won it is, and how fragile. A small film with a big heart, and one that earns every beat of it.

The Creator 9.00pm, Film4
A visually ambitious sci‑fi epic that wears its influences proudly — from Apocalypse Now to A.I. — yet still finds room for its own anxieties about technology, militarism, and the blurred line between invention and responsibility. Gareth Edwards builds a world of sweeping vistas and tactile futurism, but the film’s real charge comes from its moral ambiguity: humans waging war on the very systems they engineered, then recoiling at the consequences.

It’s a story about creation without stewardship, about the ease with which fear becomes policy, and about the uncomfortable possibility that the “threat” might be more humane than its makers. The spectacle impresses, but it’s the ethical unease — the sense of a species losing control of its own narrative — that gives the film its weight.

Relic 12.20am, BBC2
A grief‑soaked horror‑drama that treats dementia with a seriousness the genre rarely musters. Natalie Erika James builds the film around a decaying house that mirrors a collapsing mind — rooms shifting, memories rotting, the familiar turning quietly hostile. The horror isn’t in jump‑scares but in the slow, devastating recognition of what it means to watch someone you love disappear by degrees.

What emerges is a story about mothers and daughters, inherited wounds, and the terror of becoming what you fear. It’s one of the most affecting horror films of the last decade, not because it’s frightening, but because it understands how grief reshapes a family from the inside out.

Green Book 12.35am, BBC1
A culturally significant film that benefits from a bit of framing. Peter Farrelly’s polished, awards‑hungry road‑movie pairs Mahershala Ali and Viggo Mortensen with undeniable charm, but its soft‑focus approach to America’s racial history reveals as much about Hollywood’s comfort zones as it does about the era it depicts. The film’s tidy moral arc — prejudice confronted, friendship forged — sits uneasily beside the structural realities it gestures toward but never fully engages with.

Still, as a mainstream text it’s useful: a chance to talk about who gets to tell stories about racism, and why the industry so often gravitates toward narratives that reassure rather than unsettle. Worth watching, especially if you treat it as the beginning of a conversation rather than the end of one.

Streaming Picks

Netflix — From Thursday

Crap Happens
A German comedy built on deadpan absurdity, where everyday humiliation becomes oddly tender. Beneath the jokes lies a quiet recognition of how people stumble through life trying to keep their dignity intact.

Channel 4 Streaming — From Friday

Walter Presents: Crusade
A Polish drama steeped in faith, politics, and personal conviction. Every character carries a private wound; every decision feels weighted by history. A slow burn with real moral texture.

Prime Video — From Friday

Man on the Run (Documentary)
A portrait of Paul McCartney rebuilding himself in the aftermath of cultural upheaval. Less about celebrity than the private work of surviving your own legend.

Prime Video — From Monday

The CEO Club
A glossy docuseries peeling back the lacquered surface of corporate mythology. Ambition, ego, and the curated performance of leadership — power at its most fragile.

Apple TV — From Wednesday

Monarch: Legacy of Monsters
Yes, there are creatures, but the real story is the human wreckage left behind: families fractured by secrecy, soldiers carrying unspoken trauma, civilians rebuilding in the shadow of forces too big to comprehend. Surprisingly emotional, quietly melancholy.

Prime Video — From Wednesday

The Bluff
Zoe Saldaña anchors this 19th‑century Caribbean action drama with grit and vulnerability. Pirates, buried secrets, and colonial tension collide in a story that refuses to flatten its heroine into a trope. Muscular, moody, and rich with historical unease.

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Culture Vulture Podcast (14–20 Feb 2026)

This week on Culture Vulture, Ryan dives into a TV and film lineup shaped by empire, reckoning, and the private costs of public life. From the ruins of Vesuvius to the fallout of modern politics, from tender kitchen romances to the spectacle of myth‑making, the week’s programmes ask a simple question: what stories survive us, and why?

We explore: • Rome as lived infrastructure — Mary Beard and Alice Roberts tracing power through roads, aqueducts, and ash. • The Tony Blair Story — a three‑part political autopsy on trust, certainty, and consequence. • The Taste of Things — cinema where cooking becomes a language of devotion. • Myth & violence — Bonnie and Clyde, Zulu Legend, Cape Fear and the stories we glamorise. • Institutional failure & testimony — from undercover policing to hospital histories.

Picks of the week:The Tony Blair Story (for political biography lovers) – The Taste of Things (for slow‑cinema romantics) – Bonnie and Clyde (for late‑night mythmaking)

Want the full written breakdown by Pat Harrington, including all programme times? 👉 Read it here: https://countercultureuk.com/2026/02/13/counter-culture-14th-20th-february-2026/

Full podcast script

Hello, this is Culture Vulture. I’m Ryan. This episode follows a week of television and film that keeps returning to empire, reckoning, and the private costs of public life. The selections move from the ruins of Vesuvius to the fallout of modern politics, from intimate kitchen romances to the moral ambiguity of espionage — a schedule that asks what stories survive us and why. The programme listings and commentary I’m drawing on come from the Counter Culture schedule for 14–20 February 2026 written by Pat Harrington.

Rome, Empire, and Material Traces

Start with the programmes that treat empire as infrastructure rather than legend. Mary Beard’s Ultimate Rome (back‑to‑back from 1:00pm, Saturday 14 February, PBS America) and The Roman Empire by Train with Alice Roberts (9:00pm, Saturday 14 February, Channel 4) both make empire tactile: aqueducts, roads, forums, and the scorched streets of Herculaneum become forensic records of power and collapse. These shows insist that empire is built by systems — bureaucracy, mobility, architecture — and that its failures leave material traces as well as political ones. The archaeology and the close reading of ruins turn history into a kind of moral geography, where who had space and who did not is part of the story.

Political Biography and Public Consequence

The week’s political centrepiece is The Tony Blair Story, a three‑part series that frames a premiership as both project and cautionary tale. Episode 1 “Who Are You?” airs 9:00pm, Saturday 14 February on BBC Two; Episode 2 “Iraq” is 9:00pm, Wednesday 18 February on BBC Two; Episode 3 “The Loss of Power” is 9:00pm, Thursday 19 February on Channel 4. The series traces how modernisation rhetoric, message discipline, and a narrowing of evidence can calcify into consequence. It’s television as autopsy: not merely scandal‑mongering but an examination of how institutional choices and rhetorical certainty can erode trust and produce long‑lasting harm.

Intimacy, Craft, and the Language of Food

As a counterpoint to the grand narratives, there’s a film that moves at the pace of a simmering pot. The Taste of Things airs 9:35pm, Saturday 14 February on BBC Four. Trần Anh Hùng’s film treats cooking as devotion: texture, silence, and ritual become a language of care. Where the political programmes map systems and consequences, this film maps the choreography of tenderness — how small gestures and repeated practice can hold a life together. It’s a reminder that intimacy is often a craft, and that cinema can register care through the smallest, most domestic acts.

Myth, Violence, and Media Spectacle

The schedule also asks how violence becomes myth. Bonnie and Clyde airs 11:00pm, Saturday 14 February on BBC Two; Zulu Legend screens 2:00pm, Saturday 14 February; and the classic revenge and spectacle of Cape Fear is 9:00pm, Sunday 15 February on Legend. These films show how media framing and public appetite can transform criminals into icons, or turn revenge into operatic spectacle. The programmes invite us to consider who benefits from the framing and what is lost when violence is aestheticised.

Institutional Failure, Trust, and Testimony
A recurring thread is institutional failure and its human cost. The schedule includes Storyville: “The Darkest Web” (10:00pm, Saturday 14 February, BBC Four), a documentary about undercover policing in encrypted online spaces, and Newsnight’s interview with Gisèle Pelicot (10:00pm, Sunday 15 February, BBC Two), which foregrounds testimony and the long shadow of institutional abuse. There’s also Alice Roberts: Our Hospital Through Time (8:00pm, Wednesday 18 February, Channel 5) and the wartime hospital mystery Green for Danger (6:10pm, Friday 20 February, Talking Pictures). Together these programmes interrogate how systems meant to protect can fracture trust, and how individuals — victims, whistleblowers, or frontline workers — bear the consequences. The week balances spectacle with sober testimony, and that tension is what makes it compelling.

Picks for the Week

If you want a short list to guide your viewing:

Must watch: The Tony Blair Story — three episodes at 9:00pm on Saturday 14, Wednesday 18, and Thursday 19 February; essential for anyone interested in modern political biography and the mechanics of public trust.

Comfort and craft: The Taste of Things — 9:35pm, Saturday 14 February; slow cinema that treats food as a language of care.

Late‑night pick: Bonnie and Clyde — 11:00pm, Saturday 14 February; watch for the way cinema remakes myth.

This week’s schedule is a study in contrasts — tenderness and brutality, infrastructure and intimacy, public consequence and private longing. Whether you’re drawn to forensic history, political biography, or films that move at the pace of a simmering pot, there’s a thread here that will stay with you after the credits roll. Thanks for listening to Culture Vulture.

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Counter Culture: 14th – 20th February 2026

Welcome to this week’s Culture Vulture. Love and power. Empire and collapse. Romance, revenge, political reckoning. This week’s television and film schedule doesn’t just entertain — it excavates. It moves from the ashes of Vesuvius to the fallout of Iraq, from Valentine’s ballads to the moral ambiguity of espionage and ambition. Rome looms large, both as ancient superstructure and modern metaphor, while Britain turns again to one of its most divisive prime ministers, testing the stories it tells about itself.

A vulture in flight with mountains in the background, overlayed with the text 'CULTURE VULTURE' and details about an event titled 'Counter Culture' scheduled for February 14th to 20th, 2026.

Across the week, desire is set against duty, myth against memory, and private longing against public consequence. The programmes form a kind of emotional and political atlas: lovers separated by fate, leaders undone by their own certainty, rebels crushed or sanctified by history, and artists trying to make sense of the ruins left behind. Even the lighter offerings carry shadows — nostalgia threaded with unease, comedy edged with mortality, romance haunted by what it chooses not to say.

This is a schedule about reckoning: with power, with legacy, with the stories that survive us.

Selections and reviews are by Pat Harrington.

🌟 Highlights this week:

The Tony Blair Story (BBC Two / Channel 4) — political biography as national self-examination.

The Taste of Things (BBC Four) — sensual, slow cinema about love expressed through craft.

Bonnie and Clyde (BBC Two) — still electric, still destabilising American myth.

Saturday 14th February

Zulu Legend, 2:00pm

A siege film that helped crystallise Britain’s imperial self‑image, Zulu stages its drama with almost ritual clarity: red coats set against an immense, indifferent landscape; a tiny outpost bracing itself against a tide it cannot comprehend. The film’s power lies not only in its spectacle but in the way it frames discipline as both virtue and burden — a brittle shield held up against fear, doubt, and the sheer scale of the world beyond the mission walls.

Its visual command remains undeniable: the geometry of the defensive lines, the choreography of movement across open ground, the contrast between rigid military order and the fluidity of the Zulu forces. Yet the politics of its era sit heavily on the frame. You can feel the film straining to honour courage while avoiding the deeper truths of empire, creating a kind of mythic standoff where psychology matters more than context.

What lingers is the study of hierarchy under pressure. Officers and enlisted men negotiate authority in real time, their clipped exchanges revealing cracks in the Victorian ideal of composure. Watch how fear travels — not in grand gestures, but in glances, hesitations, and the way men cling to routine as if it were armour. The film becomes, almost inadvertently, a portrait of a system trying to hold itself together as the world presses in from all sides.

Wuthering Heights Sky Arts, 7:00pm

Emily Brontë without the drawing‑room varnish. This Bristol Old Vic staging tears away the polite Victorian framing and lets the novel’s raw weather in — the moorland wind, the ferocity, the ungovernable longing. What emerges is a story driven not by manners but by appetite, where Heathcliff and Cathy feel less like characters and more like forces of nature grinding against the limits of their world.

The production leans into obsession as a kind of inheritance: love as curse, memory as trap. There’s a physicality to it — bodies flung across space, emotions that refuse to be domesticated — that restores the novel’s original strangeness. These aren’t literary ornaments but volatile presences, shaped by cruelty, class, and the bleak grandeur of the landscape.

Watch how the staging treats the moors not as backdrop but as a psychological terrain. The wildness outside becomes the wildness within, and the result is a Wuthering Heights that feels closer to myth than melodrama: a storm given human form.

The Roman Empire by Train with Alice Roberts Channel 4, 9:00pm

Episode two takes Roberts south into the shadow of Vesuvius — Herculaneum’s petrified streets, Capua’s amphitheatre, and the lingering imprint of Spartacus. It’s a journey through the architecture of revolt, where stone and ash become a kind of forensic record. Roberts has a gift for making empire tactile: the weight of masonry, the scorch of history, the way rebellion leaves marks long after the bodies are gone. What emerges is a portrait of Rome not as abstraction but as lived environment — built, broken, and contested.

Sleepless in Seattle Film4, 9:00pm

Romance in its gentlest, most disarming form. Nora Ephron builds a world where connection travels by radio waves and longing feels both old‑fashioned and strangely modern. What stands out now is the film’s faith — almost radical in our era — that two people can find each other through sincerity rather than spectacle. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan orbit one another with a kind of soft gravitational pull, their stories unfolding in parallel until destiny, or something like it, nudges them into alignment. It’s a film that believes in hope without embarrassment, and that’s its quiet power.

The Taste of Things 🌟BBC Four, 9:35pm

Cooking as devotion; intimacy shaped through ritual. Trần Anh Hùng’s film moves with a slow, confident breath, savouring texture, silence, and the unspoken language of people who understand each other through craft. Every dish becomes an act of care, every gesture a negotiation of love and longing. It’s a romance built not on declarations but on the choreography of a shared kitchen — a world where flavour becomes feeling and the work of creation is its own form of tenderness.

Bullet Train Channel 4, 10:00pm

Assassins, coincidence, and a streak of neon‑lit nihilism. David Leitch’s film is stylish, self‑aware, and relentlessly kinetic — a pop‑violence carousel where fate, bad luck, and competing agendas collide at 200mph. It’s less about plot than momentum, a candy‑coloured brawl stitched together with deadpan humour and an almost comic‑book sense of inevitability. The pleasure is in the choreography: blades, banter, and bodies ricocheting through a sealed metal world that refuses to slow down.

Love Songs at the BBC BBC Two, 10:00pm–12:00am

Three volumes of archival romance, stitched together from decades of studio sessions and televised longing. The BBC vaults open onto a parade of voices: Dusty Springfield giving heartbreak its velvet edge; Elton John turning confession into spectacle; Sade smoothing desire into something effortless; Annie Lennox making melancholy feel operatic. You get Motown polish, 70s soul, 80s synth‑soft yearning, and the kind of live‑room intimacy that modern pop rarely allows.

It’s love as broadcast history — a chronicle of how Britain has sung about devotion, disappointment, and the hope that someone, somewhere, is listening. The pleasure is in the shifts of tone: torch songs, power ballads, whispered promises, all preserved in the glow of studio lights. A reminder that romance, in all its forms, has always found its way onto the airwaves.

Fresh Film4, 11:10pm

Modern dating horror with a serrated satirical bite. Mimi Cave’s debut takes the rituals of courtship — apps, charm, curated vulnerability — and pushes them to grotesque extremes, turning intimacy into a literal transaction. What begins as a meet‑cute curdles into a study of power, appetite, and the commodification of bodies, all wrapped in a cool, stylish aesthetic that makes the brutality feel even more pointed. It’s a film that understands the anxieties of contemporary romance and exaggerates them just enough to feel uncomfortably plausible.

Mary Beard’s Ultimate Rome PBS America, from 1:00pm (back-to-back)

Empire examined through infrastructure, citizenship, and the long arc of decline. Beard moves through aqueducts, roads, forums, and frontiers with her usual forensic clarity, showing how Rome’s power was engineered as much as imagined. She strips away the marble‑and‑myth version of antiquity to reveal a society held together by bureaucracy, mobility, and the constant negotiation of who counted as Roman. Across these back‑to‑back episodes, grandeur becomes something lived rather than legendary — a system built by people, strained by ambition, and ultimately undone by its own scale.

Sunday 15th February

Lord of the Flies BBC One, 9:00pm

Episode two deepens the fracture: Jack hunts, order frays, and the island’s thin social contract buckles. Golding’s thesis — that civilisation is a fragile performance — remains unsettlingly durable. This version captures the escalation, though its polish sometimes blunts the book’s feral edge; the chaos feels curated when it should feel contagious. Still, the moral slide is unmistakable, and the boys’ drift toward violence lands with a familiar, queasy inevitability.

Cape Fear Legend, 9:00pm

Scorsese’s operatic revenge thriller, all sweat, dread, and moral corrosion. De Niro coils himself into a kind of biblical fury — a serpent‑like Max Cady whose righteousness curdles into something apocalyptic. The film plays like a nightmare in primary colours: thunder, neon, and the relentless pressure of a man convinced he’s an instrument of justice. It’s melodrama sharpened to a blade, a study in fear as performance and punishment.

Midnight Run Great TV, 9:00pm

A buddy movie with bruises and heart. De Niro and Grodin spar, bicker, and negotiate their way toward a reluctant respect that feels earned rather than engineered. Martin Brest keeps the pace loose but purposeful, letting the chemistry do the heavy lifting: one man running from his past, the other running out of patience. What emerges is a road‑movie fugue of bad luck, sharp dialogue, and the slow realisation that unlikely alliances can be the most enduring.

Newsnight – Interview with Gisèle Pelicot BBC Two, 10:00pm

A grave, necessary broadcast. Pelicot speaks in the long shadow of a case that shocked France, and the world — a story of manipulation, coercion, and institutional failure that forced a reckoning far beyond the courtroom. Her testimony has already reshaped public debate around power, consent, and the blind spots that allow abuse to flourish. What stands out is her bravery: the steadiness with which she recounts what happened, and the refusal to let silence protect those who harmed her.

Newsnight gives the space and seriousness the moment demands. Testimony as defiance; television as witness.

Crimes of the Future BBC Two, 11:55pm

Cronenberg’s surgical futurism at its most deliberate: a world where pain has vanished, bodies mutate as casually as ideas, and art becomes an incision. Crimes of the Future treats flesh as philosophy — organs as manifestos, performance as provocation — pushing its characters into a future where evolution and exploitation blur. It’s cool, clinical, and strangely mournful, a meditation on what humanity becomes when the body stops obeying the old rules.

A film that asks you not just to watch, but to contemplate what’s growing beneath the surface.

Queer BBC Three, 11:55pm

Burroughs’ longing rendered febrile, intimate, and slightly unmoored. This adaptation leans into the novel’s jittery interiority — desire without resolution, affection warped by self‑loathing, and the ache of wanting someone who can’t quite be reached. It’s a story built from glances, hesitations, and the restless drift of a man chasing connection across a landscape that keeps slipping from his grasp.

A fragile, hallucinatory portrait of yearning that refuses tidy catharsis.

Monday 16th February

Carry On Screaming Talking Pictures, 2:15pm

A slice of British comic history, delivered with the series’ trademark mix of innuendo, slapstick, and cheerful irreverence. The Carry On films occupy a peculiar but enduring place in the national imagination — low‑budget farces that began in the late 1950s as service comedies before mutating into a long‑running satire of British institutions, from hospitals to holidays to the police. What they lacked in polish they made up for in timing, ensemble chemistry, and a kind of bawdy resilience that carried them through two decades of cultural change.

Carry On Screaming is one of the more distinctive entries: a Hammer‑horror pastiche with fog, capes, and Kenneth Williams at his most gloriously mannered. It shows the series at a moment when it was experimenting with genre while still clinging to its familiar rhythms — double‑takes, misunderstandings, and jokes that land through sheer commitment. A reminder of how these films, for all their datedness, became part of Britain’s comic DNA.

Late Night with the Devil Film4, 11:05pm

A 1970s chat show becomes a séance, and the era’s hunger for spectacle curdles into something genuinely uncanny. The film plays with the grammar of live television — studio lights, audience patter, the illusion of control — and then lets the supernatural seep through the cracks. What begins as ratings desperation turns into a study of how far broadcasters will push the boundary between entertainment and exploitation.

Media spectacle meets the occult, and the result is a clever, creeping horror about the dangers of inviting darkness on air.

Tuesday 17th February

The Sting Legend, 2:30pm

A pair of small‑time grifters — a smooth hustler and a washed‑up old pro — team up to take down a Chicago crime boss after one of their own is killed. What follows is a long con built from false fronts, rigged bets, and a web of deceptions so intricate it feels like a stage play unfolding in real time.

Con artistry becomes choreography. Newman and Redford glide through the deception with an ease that borders on musical, every gesture part of a larger design. The film’s charm lies in its precision: the period detail, the ragtime swagger, the pleasure of watching two performers at the height of their powers outwit everyone in the room — including, occasionally, the audience.

Notorious Talking Pictures, 4:30pm

Hitchcock’s romantic espionage classic, where love and sacrifice knot themselves into something quietly devastating. Ingrid Bergman’s Alicia is recruited to infiltrate a Nazi circle in post‑war Rio, and Cary Grant’s Devlin becomes both handler and hesitant lover — a dynamic built on mistrust, longing, and the cost of duty.

The film sits at a pivotal moment in Hitchcock’s development: the shift from his British thrillers to the sleek, psychologically charged Hollywood style that would define him. Notorious blends suspense with emotional precision, showing how espionage corrodes intimacy and how devotion can become its own form of peril.

Love and sacrifice entwined, with the tension tightening frame by frame.

Renfield Film4, 9:00pm

Dracula reframed through dependency and dark comedy. Nicholas Hoult plays Renfield, the long‑suffering familiar who has spent a century fetching victims, cleaning up carnage, and absorbing the emotional shrapnel of serving the world’s most toxic boss. When he stumbles into a self‑help group for people trapped in abusive relationships, he begins to realise that his devotion to Dracula isn’t loyalty — it’s codependence weaponised.

The plot follows Renfield’s attempt to break free: moving into his own apartment, trying to form normal connections, and tentatively imagining a life not dictated by fear or obligation. But Dracula, played by Nicolas Cage in full theatrical relish, refuses to be abandoned. Cage leans into operatic menace — velvet‑lined ego, wounded pride, and a level of camp grandeur that makes every entrance feel like a gothic punchline.

As Renfield allies with a determined New Orleans cop, the film becomes a collision of genres: supernatural slapstick, action mayhem, and a surprisingly sincere story about reclaiming autonomy from someone who feeds on your weakness. Beneath the gore and gags sits a pointed metaphor about leaving controlling relationships — and the messy, exhilarating work of choosing yourself.

A horror‑comedy with bite, charm, and just enough sincerity to make the absurdity land.

The Tony Blair Story 🌟 BBC Two, 9:00pm – Episode 1 of 3, “Who Are You?”

The opening chapter revisits a leader who promised transformation and left behind a country still arguing over the bill. The programme charts Blair’s ascent through the language of modernisation — the smile, the spin, the centrist gloss — while quietly exposing how much of that project relied on presentation over substance. New Labour’s early triumphs are set against the machinery that enabled them: media choreography, ruthless message discipline, and a willingness to blur ideology in pursuit of power.

Reformer or war criminal? The question isn’t posed for shock value; it’s the unavoidable hinge of his legacy. This episode sharpens the contradictions rather than smoothing them: the peace‑broker who embraced interventionism, the communicator who mastered sincerity, the leader who rebranded Britain while deepening its fractures. A portrait of ambition that now reads as prelude to disillusionment — political biography as an autopsy of a project that remade the country and then lost its moral centre.

Bonnie and Clyde 🌟BBC Two, 11:00pm

A landmark of New Hollywood and the moment the old studio system finally cracked. Arthur Penn’s film detonated onto screens in 1967 with a mix of French New Wave cool, Depression‑era grit, and a level of violence that felt shocking not just for its bloodshed but for its beauty. Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway play the outlaw lovers as icons in the making — glamorous, reckless, and already half‑mythologised even as the bullets start flying.

The plot traces their rise from petty theft to folk‑hero celebrity, a crime spree reframed as a rebellion against a country failing its young. But the film’s real power lies in how it exposes the machinery of American mythmaking: the press that romanticises them, the public that cheers them on, and the violence that ultimately consumes them. Glamour fused with brutality; legend forged in real time.

A rupture moment — the point where American cinema stopped playing safe and started telling stories that bled.

Storyville – “The Darkest Web” BBC Four, 10:00pm

A documentary that begins with a simple premise — undercover officers entering encrypted criminal marketplaces — and quickly reveals the scale of what lies beneath the surface of the internet. The film traces how investigators embed themselves in darknet forums, posing as buyers, brokers, or facilitators, navigating spaces where anonymity is currency and every interaction could be a trap. What emerges is a portrait of a digital underworld built on encrypted messaging, cryptocurrency laundering, and the illusion of consequence‑free crime.

It also makes clear the human cost of this work. These officers are exposed to some of the most vile material circulating online, absorbing psychological damage so that ordinary people never have to see it. It’s a true sacrifice — a form of service that rarely receives public recognition, yet underpins every successful operation.

Surveillance in the fibre‑optic age means algorithms, metadata, and patient infiltration rather than stakeouts and wiretaps. The documentary captures both the ingenuity and the fragility of these operations — how a single slip can collapse months of undercover work, and how the border between observer and participant threatens to blur.

A sober, unsettling look at the hidden architectures of the internet, and the people trying to hold the line in a space designed to evade them.

Wednesday 18th February

Alice Roberts: Our Hospital Through Time Channel 5, 8:00pm

t Bartholomew’s Hospital as living institution — nine centuries of care layered into stone, wards, and ritual. Founded in 1123 by Rahere, a courtier‑turned‑cleric, Barts is the oldest surviving hospital in Britain, its history running from medieval charity through Reformation upheaval, Victorian expansion, and the birth of the NHS. The architecture reads like an archive: Wren’s eighteenth‑century buildings, the later surgical wings, the modern specialist units — each era leaving its own philosophy of medicine etched into the fabric.

Roberts traces how treatment, training, and public health evolved within these walls, showing how a hospital becomes a mirror of the society it serves. A story of continuity and reinvention, where the past is never quite past, and care is both a practice and a legacy.

The Tony Blair Story BBC Two, 9:00pm – Episode 2 of 3, “Iraq”

The episode tackles the decision that didn’t just define Blair’s premiership — it detonated it. The road to Iraq is laid out as a sequence of choices that look increasingly indefensible in hindsight: intelligence massaged into certainty, legal advice narrowed to a sliver, dissent sidelined, and a prime minister so convinced of his own moral clarity that he mistook conviction for evidence. The programme shows how the case for war was built on foundations that were, at best, wishful thinking and, at worst, wilfully misleading.

The critique lands hardest in the aftermath. The collapse of the WMD narrative, the civilian toll, the regional unravelling — all set against Blair’s insistence that history would vindicate him. Instead, the episode suggests a leader trapped by his own rhetoric, unable to acknowledge the scale of the catastrophe he helped unleash. Trust in government never recovered; neither did Britain’s foreign‑policy credibility. The political damage was immense, but the human cost — borne by Iraqis and by those sent to fight — is the indictment that lingers.

A scathing, unflinching account of a decision that turned a moderniser into a cautionary tale, and a premiership into a warning about the dangers of certainty unmoored from reality.

Breaking the Code BBC Four, 10:15pm (preceded by Derek Jacobi Remembers at 10:00pm)

Alan Turing’s brilliance and persecution — a story that only grows more resonant as Britain continues to reckon with how it treats those who serve it. The drama traces his codebreaking genius at Bletchley Park, the mathematical imagination that helped shorten the Second World War, and the private life the state chose to criminalise. It’s a portrait of a man who gave the country an incalculable gift and was repaid with cruelty.

The aftermath still stings: the investigation, the conviction, the forced hormonal “treatment”, and the quiet devastation that followed. I have a quaint belief that people who do good things for the country should be looked after — not hounded, humiliated, or destroyed. Turing’s fate remains a national shame, even if some steps have since been taken to acknowledge the wrong:

  • The 2001 statue in Manchester by Glyn Hughes, honouring Turing as a pioneer rather than a criminal.
  • The 2009 public apology from Prime Minister Gordon Brown, recognising the state’s “appalling” treatment of him.
  • The 2013 posthumous royal pardon, formally overturning his conviction.
  • The 2017 “Turing Law”, extending posthumous pardons to thousands of men convicted under the same discriminatory legislation.
  • His selection for the £50 note (issued 2021), placing his face — and his equations — at the centre of British currency.

These gestures don’t undo the harm, but they mark a slow, overdue shift in how the country remembers him.

A work of remembrance and indictment, carried by Jacobi’s precision and the moral clarity of a story Britain is still learning how to tell.

Sequin in a Blue Room Channel 4, 2:15am

A thriller‑tinged coming‑of‑age story set in the anonymous glow of hookup apps and private parties. Sequin, a sixteen‑year‑old drifting through desire and disconnection, slips into a world of coded invitations and shifting identities. After a chance encounter at the secretive “Blue Room” — a party where names are irrelevant and rules are few — he becomes fixated on finding a man he met only briefly. That search pulls him into a network of older men, blurred boundaries, and dangers he’s too young to fully read.

The film captures queer adolescence in transient digital spaces: the thrill of possibility, the ache of invisibility, and the way intimacy can feel both immediate and unreachable. Small scale, sharp emotion — a story about longing, risk, and the fragile hope of being truly seen.

Thursday 19th February

Ed Stafford: Right of Passage Discovery, 9:00pm

A series built around the rituals that mark the transition from youth to adulthood across different cultures, with Stafford stepping into ceremonies that are as much about identity and belonging as they are about endurance. Each episode follows him as he joins communities whose rites of passage still carry social, spiritual, or ancestral weight — from initiation rituals and tests of courage to symbolic acts that bind individuals to their people.

The programme treats these rites not as exotic trials but as living frameworks: ways of teaching responsibility, resilience, and communal duty. Stafford’s presence is less about proving toughness and more about understanding why these traditions endure, what they demand, and what they give back. The physical challenges — isolation, pain, fear, or ritualised hardship — are only part of the story. The deeper focus is on the values encoded within them: respect for elders, continuity of knowledge, and the moment a young person is recognised as someone who now carries part of the community’s future.

Rites of passage, seen up close, become a reminder that adulthood is not just something that happens to you — it’s something societies shape, test, and welcome.

The Tony Blair Story 🌟 Channel 4, 9:00pm – Episode 3 of 3, “The Loss of Power”

The final reckoning — not a gentle fade‑out but a slow, public unravelling. This episode charts the years when Blair’s authority drained away in full view: cabinet rebellions, backbench mutiny, a party that no longer believed its own leader, and a country that had stopped listening. The programme shows a premiership hollowed by Iraq, trapped in its own justifications, and increasingly defined by the gap between the rhetoric of moral purpose and the reality of political fallout.

The scathing edge comes from the portrait of a leader who mistook stubbornness for principle. Blair clung to the idea that history would vindicate him even as the evidence mounted that history was moving on without him. The episode lays bare the contradictions: a moderniser who became a liability to his own project, a communicator who lost the public, a strategist who could no longer read the room. By the end, the handover to Brown feels less like a transition than an evacuation.

Reputation calcifies; consequence settles in. Political biography becomes a meditation on what happens when power outlives trust — and when a leader cannot see that the story has already closed around him.

The Beguiled Legend, 9:00pm

A Civil War chamber piece where desire curdles into danger. Sofia Coppola pares the story down to its essentials: a wounded Union soldier taken in by a secluded girls’ school in Virginia, his presence unsettling the fragile equilibrium of women who have been living in enforced stillness. What begins as an act of mercy becomes a slow‑burn contest of attention, jealousy, and power, each character negotiating the boundaries between compassion and self‑preservation.

Coppola turns the house into a pressure cooker — lace curtains, whispered alliances, and the creeping sense that repression is its own kind of violence. The soldier’s charm becomes a catalyst, exposing rivalries and long‑suppressed desires, until the genteel façade gives way to something far more ruthless. Desire, repression, quiet poison. A story about what happens when the world outside collapses and the world inside turns feral.

Long Shot BBC Two, 11:00pm

A political rom‑com with media‑savvy charm, pairing Charlize Theron’s poised Secretary of State with Seth Rogen’s shambolic journalist in a story that plays sincerity against spin. The plot follows her presidential ambitions colliding with their unlikely reconnection, forcing both characters to navigate the gap between public image and private desire.

The film works because it understands the theatre of modern politics: the choreography of messaging, the compromises demanded by donors and optics, and the way authenticity becomes a performance in itself. Beneath the jokes sits a sharper question about what it costs to be principled in a system built to sand down edges.

A glossy, surprisingly warm satire about power, idealism, and the hazards of falling for someone who refuses to stay on script.

Friday 20th February

Lord Jim Talking Pictures, 1:55pm

Conrad’s great moral odyssey, rendered in widescreen. Peter O’Toole plays Jim, a young officer whose moment of cowardice during a crisis at sea becomes the wound he spends the rest of his life trying to cauterise. The plot follows him from port to port — a man in flight from his own shame — until he finds a remote community willing to see him as the hero he wishes he had been. That fragile redemption is tested by betrayal, violence, and the return of the past he thought he’d buried.

Honour, cowardice, redemption: the classic Conrad triad. The film leans into the novel’s central tension — whether a single failure defines a life, or whether a man can remake himself through courage, sacrifice, and the willingness to stand firm when it finally matters. A story about the weight of conscience and the cost of trying to live up to an ideal you once failed to meet.

A corrective to decades of rock history told through the wrong lens. Women Who Rock traces the lineage of artists who shaped the sound, style, and attitude of modern music, yet were too often sidelined in the official narratives. From blues matriarchs and punk pioneers to stadium‑filling icons and genre‑bending innovators, the series reframes women not as footnotes or muses but as architects — the people who built the foundations others stood on.

The programme digs into the erasures: the riffs borrowed without credit, the scenes built by women but branded by men, the industry gatekeeping that kept some of the most influential voices off the marquee. What emerges is a richer, truer history — one where creativity, defiance, and reinvention run through every era of rock, and where the artists who pushed the culture forward finally get the spotlight they always deserved.

Reclaiming rock history’s overlooked architects. A celebration, and a quiet rebuke.

The Myth of Marilyn Monroe Sky Arts, 3:00pm

A documentary that pulls apart the image to reveal the machinery behind it. Marilyn Monroe remains one of the most recognisable faces of the twentieth century, but the programme argues that the icon — the platinum hair, the breathy voice, the effortless allure — was both a shield and a cage. It traces how Norma Jeane was reshaped by studios, photographers, and public appetite into a symbol of desire, then held to the impossible standards of the fantasy she embodied.

The film moves through the key fractures: the early modelling years, the studio contracts that traded on her vulnerability, the battle for creative control, and the way fame magnified every insecurity. Interviews and archival material show how Monroe tried to reclaim her narrative — studying acting seriously, forming her own production company, pushing for roles with depth — even as the myth tightened around her.

Icon and vulnerability intertwined. Myth as prison and protection. A portrait of a woman who became larger than life and was diminished by it at the same time.

Lost Treasures of Rome National Geographic, 4:00pm

Pompeii’s villas and theatres reveal Rome’s wealth divide — a city frozen at the moment its social hierarchy was most exposed. This episode moves through the grand houses of the elite, where frescoes, gardens, and private bath suites advertised status as loudly as any modern luxury brand. These were spaces built for display: atriums designed to impress visitors, dining rooms arranged to showcase power, and art collections curated to signal education and taste.

Set against this are the more modest dwellings and public venues that tell a different story: cramped workshops, shared courtyards, graffiti‑lined walls, and the bustling theatres where ordinary citizens gathered for entertainment and escape. The contrast is stark. The same eruption that preserved marble colonnades also preserved the daily grind of those who served, laboured, and lived in the shadow of wealth.

The programme uses archaeology to map inequality with forensic clarity — who had space, who had privacy, who had beauty, and who had none of it. A reminder that Rome’s splendour was always built on a steep gradient, and that the ruins we admire today were once the backdrop to lives separated by status as much as by stone.

Green for Danger Talking Pictures, 6:10pm

A hospital‑set murder mystery where the antiseptic calm barely conceals the fractures of a country still reeling from war. Set in a rural surgical unit during the Blitz, the film begins with what appears to be a routine operation — until the patient dies on the table and suspicion settles over the medical staff like a fog. Each doctor and nurse carries their own secrets, resentments, and wartime exhaustion, and the operating theatre becomes a stage where professional composure masks private turmoil.

Enter Alastair Sim’s Inspector Cockrill, whose dry wit and eccentric manner cut through the veneer of civility. As he unpicks alibis and motives, the film reveals a world where trust is fragile, authority is strained, and the pressures of wartime service distort even the most disciplined environments. The clipped politeness of the staff only heightens the unease: beneath the starch and protocol lies fear, jealousy, and the sense that the war has frayed everyone’s nerves to breaking point.

A clever, atmospheric thriller where post‑war unease seeps into every corridor. Civility becomes a mask, and the hospital — supposedly a place of safety — turns into a crucible of suspicion.

The Damned United BBC Two, 11:00pm

Brian Clough as Shakespearean figure — a man of volcanic charisma, brilliance edged with insecurity, and a talent for turning every slight into a crusade. The film follows his ill‑fated 44 days at Leeds United, a club he loathed and a dressing room that never wanted him. What emerges is less a sports biopic than a character study of pride, obsession, and the way a leader can be undone by the ghosts he insists on wrestling.

Michael Sheen plays Clough with a mix of swagger and brittleness: the public bravado, the private doubt, the need to prove himself not just better than Don Revie but better than the version of himself he fears he might become. The plot cuts between his glory years at Derby — the rise, the trophies, the intoxicating sense of destiny — and the Leeds tenure, where every decision feels like a misstep and every room seems to shrink around him.

It’s a story about ambition curdling into self‑sabotage, about a man who could inspire loyalty in thousands yet alienate those closest to him. A football tragedy told with theatrical precision, where the pitch becomes a stage and Clough strides across it like a flawed king convinced the crown should already be his.

Red Joan BBC One, 12:35am

Espionage and late‑life reckoning. The film opens with Joan Stanley — a quiet, retired civil servant — arrested in her garden and confronted with the life she thought she had buried. Through interrogations and flashbacks, the story traces her transformation from idealistic physics student to reluctant spy, drawn into the world of atomic secrets during the Second World War. What begins as intellectual excitement becomes a moral crisis: should one country hold the power to annihilate the world, or is sharing knowledge a form of preventing catastrophe?

The plot follows Joan’s entanglement with a charismatic communist lover, her work on the British atomic programme, and the slow erosion of her certainty as she realises the stakes of the information she’s passing on. The film frames her actions not as simple treachery but as a collision between personal loyalty, political conviction, and the terror of a world on the brink of nuclear imbalance.

In the present day, the reckoning is quieter but sharper. Joan must explain to her son — and to herself — whether she acted out of idealism, fear, or self‑deception. Conviction versus betrayal. A life lived in the shadows finally dragged into the light, where the question of guilt becomes far more complicated than the headlines ever allowed.

Streaming Choices

Dangerous Liaisons Channel 4 Streaming – Season 1 available from Saturday 14th February

A lush, cynical prequel to the French classic, this tale of seduction and social warfare revels in manipulation and ambition. Alice Englert and Nicholas Denton bring sharp intelligence to a world where intimacy is currency and love is merely leverage.

Obsessed Walter Presents (Channel 4) – Series 1 available from Friday 20th February

A suburban fresh start turns sour in this tense French thriller. What begins as domestic renewal becomes psychological siege, with paranoia and proximity doing most of the dramatic heavy lifting.

Watching You Disney+ – All six episodes available from Friday 20th February

A one-night stand spirals into digital nightmare when hidden cameras expose more than intimacy. Slick and unsettling, this Australian thriller taps into modern anxieties about surveillance, shame and the illusion of privacy.

The Templars ITVX – All six episodes available from Thursday 12th February

Medieval spectacle meets existential crisis as an order of knights battles war, plague and political decay. Armour and intrigue abound, but the series is strongest when it questions faith and authority in collapsing times.

Love Me, Love Me Prime Video – Available from Friday 13th February

Glossy young-adult melodrama set against an elite Italian school. Love triangles, grief and reinvention collide in a sunlit coming-of-age romance that knows exactly which heartstrings it wants to pull.

56 Days Prime Video – All eight episodes available from Wednesday 18th February

A supermarket meet-cute gives way to suspicion in this sleek romantic thriller. As secrets surface, the series probes how easily intimacy can mask deception.

The Occupant Paramount+ – Available from Thursday 19th February

A survival drama with a psychological edge: stranded in frozen isolation after a helicopter crash, a geologist must rely on a mysterious voice over the radio. Tense, claustrophobic and morally ambiguous.

A week where empires fall, myths are dismantled, and love — in all its forms — is interrogated rather than assumed.

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Culture Vulture 7–13 February 2026

A soaring vulture against a blue sky, with bold text 'CULTURE VULTURE' above. Logo for 'Counter Culture' at the bottom and event dates '7-13 February 2026'.

This week’s Culture Vulture is shaped by ambition and aftermath. Ancient civilisations are rediscovered not as ruins but as living systems; technological dreams soar faster than politics can follow; and contemporary Britain is examined with uncomfortable honesty. Across film and television, there’s a recurring sense of limits — moral, social, environmental — and what happens when they’re tested. Selections and reviews are by Pat Harrington.

🌟 Highlights include Alice Roberts’ vivid return to Ancient Rome, a thoughtful two-part account of Concorde’s rise and restraint, and a late-night run of cinema that ranges from the hushed intimacy of Past Lives to the fevered excess of Babylon.

Saturday, 7 February

Lifeboat Film4, 11.00am

Hitchcock’s wartime chamber piece remains one of his most controlled exercises in tension. Stranded in the open Atlantic after a U‑boat attack, a handful of survivors are forced into a proximity that strips away every social comfort they arrived with. The boat becomes a floating tribunal: class, ideology, and personal grievance all jostling for space in a vessel barely big enough to hold them.

What unfolds isn’t simply a survival story but a study in moral drift. Hitchcock watches, almost clinically, as fear and necessity blur the lines between pragmatism and complicity. The film’s economy — a single location, no escape, nowhere to hide — sharpens every exchange. Power shifts by the inch. Trust becomes a rationed commodity. And the question of who counts as “enemy” becomes harder to answer the longer the boat stays afloat.

Eighty years on, its unease hasn’t softened. The film’s argument — that crisis exposes character more reliably than comfort — lands with the same cold clarity it did in 1944. Lean, tense, and still disquietingly current.

The Personal History of David Copperfield Film4, 4.30pm

Armando Iannucci approaches Dickens with a lightness that never tips into frivolity. His adaptation trims and reshapes the novel without losing its emotional through-line, treating Copperfield’s life not as a sequence of set pieces but as a continuous negotiation of identity, class, and belonging. The result is brisk, generous, and unusually clear-eyed about the chaos of growing up.

Dev Patel anchors the film with a kind of open-hearted intelligence — a David who observes as much as he endures. Around him, the ensemble leans into character without lapsing into costume-drama excess. Tilda Swinton, Hugh Laurie, Rosalind Eleazar, and Peter Capaldi all find the human pulse beneath the eccentricities, giving the film a lived-in texture that keeps its playfulness from floating away.

Visually, it’s a production that delights in invention: shifts in perspective, theatrical flourishes, and sudden intrusions of memory that feel true to the way a life story is actually pieced together. But beneath the wit sits a steady compassion for people trying to make sense of their circumstances — a quality that makes the film feel less like a reinterpretation and more like a conversation with Dickens across time.

Flash Gordon ITV4, 6.45pm

A technicolour blast of pulp bravado, still wearing its comic‑strip origins with total conviction. The plot is essentially an excuse for set‑pieces, matte paintings, and Queen’s operatic thunder, but the film’s real pleasure lies in how unabashedly it leans into its own excess.

Princess Aura — played by the very hot Ornella Muti — embodies the film’s flirtatious streak. Her scenes with Flash are pitched somewhere between seduction and power play, all heightened glances and deliberate provocation. It’s part of the film’s broader aesthetic: sexuality rendered as camp spectacle rather than realism, folded into the same register as the costumes, the colour palette, and the melodramatic line readings.

Nothing here is subtle, and that’s the point. The film operates on pure sensation: colour, sound, and a kind of theatrical earnestness that makes its silliness feel strangely coherent. Seriousness isn’t just absent; it’s actively banished, leaving behind a work that’s both self-aware and entirely committed to its own feverish universe.

A delirious, affectionate throwback — and still one of the most entertaining slices of sci‑fi excess ever put on screen.

Ancient Rome by Train with Alice Roberts Channel 4, 8.30pm 🌟

Episode 1 of 6: Pompeii – A City Alive

The series opens with a welcome shift in perspective. Instead of treating Pompeii as a static tableau of disaster, Alice Roberts insists on restoring its movement — the rhythms of work, trade, and domestic life that defined the city long before the ash fell. Using Rome’s transport networks as her spine, she traces how goods, people, and ideas circulated through the region, giving Pompeii a sense of lived continuity rather than archaeological stillness.

Roberts is a calm, precise guide: curious without theatrics, authoritative without overstatement. The production follows her lead, favouring clear explanation over spectacle. Streets, workshops, and homes are presented not as relics but as functioning spaces, each revealing something about how the city organised itself and how its inhabitants understood their place in the wider Roman world.

It’s history delivered with confidence and restraint — the kind of programme that trusts viewers to appreciate detail, context, and the quiet satisfaction of seeing a familiar site reframed with intelligence.

The Lighthouse Film4, 1.30am

Robert Eggers’ storm-lashed two-hander remains one of the most singular films of the past decade: a black‑and‑white fever dream where isolation, labour, and myth grind two men down to their rawest selves. Shot in a boxy aspect ratio that feels almost claustrophobic, the film traps Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson in a world of creaking timber, relentless weather, and rituals that seem older than either of them can articulate.

Dafoe leans into the role of the veteran keeper with a sea‑dog’s theatricality — part tyrant, part storyteller, part ghost. Pattinson matches him with a performance that flickers between resentment, yearning, and something more feral. Their exchanges have the rhythm of a curse being spoken and respoken, each encounter tightening the psychological noose.

Eggers threads folklore, maritime superstition, and half‑remembered nightmares through the film’s fabric, letting reality slip just enough to keep the audience unsteady. The result is hypnotic and punishing in equal measure: a descent that feels both meticulously constructed and instinctively unsettling.

Demanding, yes — but once seen, it’s difficult to shake.

Sunday, 8 February

Betrayal ITV1, 9.00pm Episode 1 of 4

The opener sets its terms quietly, favouring tension that seeps rather than strikes. Instead of the usual parade of tradecraft and gadgetry, the episode settles into the unease of people who no longer know where their loyalties sit — or who might be watching them recalibrate.

Relationships are the real battleground here. Marriages, friendships, and professional alliances all carry a faint charge, as if every conversation might be doing two jobs at once. The political backdrop is present but never overplayed; the danger feels as much emotional as geopolitical, rooted in the small betrayals that accumulate long before anyone crosses a line on paper.

It’s a restrained start, but the control is deliberate. If the series can maintain this level of psychological pressure — the sense that everyone is slightly out of step with themselves — it could build into something quietly gripping.

Emily BBC Two, 10.00pm

This reimagining of Emily Brontë sidesteps the usual period‑drama comforts in favour of something far more volatile. Frances O’Connor’s film treats Brontë not as a literary monument but as a young woman wrestling with desire, grief, and the sheer force of her own imagination. The moors aren’t scenic backdrops; they’re emotional weather, shifting with her inner life.

Emma Mackey gives the film its pulse. Her Emily is restless, sharp, and difficult in ways that feel entirely earned — a portrait of creativity as something closer to compulsion than accomplishment. The film leans into that intensity, allowing moments of tenderness, strangeness, and outright wildness to coexist without smoothing the edges.

Visually, it’s windswept and tactile, but the modernity comes through in its confidence: the refusal to tidy up the contradictions that shaped both the writer and the work she would eventually produce. It’s a film that understands the cost of making art, and the solitude that often comes with it.

Moody, immersive, and defiantly alive.

Past Lives BBC Two, 12.00am 🌟

Celine Song’s debut is built on the smallest of gestures: a pause held a beat too long, a glance that carries years of unspoken history, the quiet ache of paths not taken. What begins as a childhood connection stretches across continents and decades, reshaped by migration, ambition, and the slow realisation that intimacy doesn’t always resolve into romance.

Greta Lee and Teo Yoo give performances of remarkable stillness, letting the film’s emotional weight gather in the spaces between their words. John Magaro completes the triangle with a gentleness that refuses easy antagonism; everyone here is trying to do right by the life they’ve chosen, even as they feel the pull of the one they didn’t.

Song directs with exquisite restraint. Scenes unfold with the clarity of memory rather than melodrama, allowing the film’s questions — about identity, fate, and the stories we tell ourselves to keep moving forward — to surface naturally. Nothing is overstated, yet everything lands.

Quietly devastating, and all the more powerful for its refusal to force the moment.

Monday, 9 February

Knife Crime: What Happened to Our Boys? BBC One, 8.00pm

The programme takes a deliberately steady approach to a subject that’s too often reduced to headlines and panic. Instead of chasing shock value, it traces the long chain of decisions and omissions that shape young people’s lives: youth services stripped back to the bone, schools stretched beyond capacity, families left without support, and communities absorbing the consequences.

Interviews are handled with care. Parents, frontline workers, and young people themselves speak with a clarity that cuts through political noise, and the film gives them the space to articulate what’s been lost — not just lives, but trust, opportunity, and any sense of a safety net. The police presence is contextual rather than dominant; the emphasis is on prevention, not punishment.

What emerges is a portrait of systemic neglect rather than individual failure. The documentary doesn’t pretend there are easy answers, but it’s unflinching about the cost of looking away. Difficult viewing, but necessary if the conversation is ever going to move beyond rhetoric.

Concorde: The Race for Supersonic Channel 4, 10.30pm 🌟 Episode 1 of 2

The story of Concorde is often remembered as a sleek icon of national pride, but this opening episode digs into the far messier reality behind the silhouette. The Cold War sets the tempo: Britain and France pushing for a civilian aircraft that could outrun sound itself, while the United States and the Soviet Union pursued their own visions of the future. What emerges is less a straightforward technological triumph than a geopolitical gamble — a project driven as much by prestige and rivalry as by engineering ambition.

The programme captures the sheer audacity of the undertaking: the materials that barely existed when the plans were drawn, the political brinkmanship required to keep the partnership alive, and the constant sense that the whole enterprise might collapse under its own weight. Concorde becomes a symbol twice over — a marvel of design, and a reminder of how national identity can be welded to a machine.

Clear, confident documentary-making, and a strong start to a story that still feels astonishing in scale.

Concorde: The Race for Supersonic Channel 4, 11.30pm🌟 Episode 2 of 2

The second half of the story opens with Concorde triumphant: a machine that proved the sceptics wrong and briefly made the future feel airborne. But the victory is short‑lived. Environmental protests, sonic‑boom anxieties, and a patchwork of overland bans steadily shrink the aircraft’s usefulness, turning a technological breakthrough into a route map defined by political caution.

The documentary traces this narrowing horizon with a quiet, accumulating sadness. What began as a symbol of national ambition becomes a luxury service for the few, its engineering brilliance undermined by the world it was built to outrun. The tone shifts from exhilaration to something more elegiac, acknowledging both the achievement and the limits that ultimately grounded it.

A thoughtful conclusion — clear‑eyed about the compromises, and honest about the melancholy that clings to Concorde’s final years.

Tuesday, 10 February

The Secret Science of Sewage BBC Four, 10.00pm

A subject that rarely gets airtime is treated here with the seriousness it deserves. Sewage systems — usually invisible unless something goes wrong — emerge as one of the great, uncelebrated feats of modern civilisation. The programme traces how these networks protect public health, manage environmental pressure, and quietly absorb the consequences of population growth and climate volatility.

What could have been dry becomes unexpectedly absorbing. Engineers, microbiologists, and frontline workers explain the sheer complexity of keeping waste moving, treating it safely, and returning water to the environment in a condition that won’t cause further harm. The film is careful to show both the ingenuity and the fragility of the system: the innovations that keep it functioning, and the points where decades of underinvestment begin to show.

It’s a reminder that infrastructure is only “boring” until it fails — and that the pipes beneath our feet tell a story about priorities, resilience, and the hidden labour that keeps cities alive.

Deliverance BBC Two, 11.50pm

Boorman’s survival thriller still carries a charge that hasn’t dulled with time. What begins as a weekend adventure for four suburban men quickly unravels into something far darker, exposing the brittleness of the confidence they bring with them. The river becomes a kind of reckoning: beautiful, treacherous, and utterly indifferent to their attempts to master it.

The film’s most notorious moments tend to dominate its reputation, but the real unease lies elsewhere — in the way masculinity curdles under pressure, in the shifting power dynamics within the group, and in the dawning recognition that civilisation is a thin veneer when the landscape refuses to play along. Jon Voight and Burt Reynolds give performances that understand this fragility, charting the slow collapse of bravado into fear and improvisation.

Boorman shoots the wilderness with a clarity that feels almost accusatory. The forest is not malevolent, just unmoved by human drama, and that indifference is what makes the film so unsettling. Deliverance remains a study in control slipping away — from the environment, from each other, and from themselves.

A classic, and still a deeply disquieting one.

Wednesday, 11 February

3:10 to Yuma Film4 11.10pm

James Mangold’s remake pares the Western back to its essentials: two men, a journey, and a deadline that tightens with every mile. Christian Bale plays the rancher desperate enough — and principled enough — to escort a notorious outlaw to the waiting train, while Russell Crowe gives that outlaw a charisma that’s as dangerous as any weapon he carries.

What follows is less a chase than a moral negotiation. The film keeps circling questions of duty, temptation, and the price of doing the right thing when the world offers easier exits. Bale’s quiet resolve and Crowe’s seductive intelligence create a dynamic where every conversation feels like a test of integrity, and every pause hints at the possibility of betrayal.

Mangold shoots the landscape with clarity rather than romance, letting the dust, distance, and violence sit without embellishment. The tension builds not from spectacle but from the slow erosion of certainty — who these men are, what they owe, and how far they’re willing to go to hold their ground.

A lean, gripping Western that sharpens the genre’s ethical edge rather than polishing its myths.

Hunt for the Oldest DNA PBS America, 8.30pm

This documentary treats genetics not as a technical curiosity but as a frontier of human understanding. Researchers push the limits of what ancient material can reveal, extracting fragments of DNA from environments once thought too degraded to yield anything meaningful. The work is painstaking, often speculative at the outset, but the breakthroughs are startling: glimpses of ecosystems, species, and climates that predate human memory.

The programme balances the lab work with a sense of intellectual adventure. Field sites in permafrost and sediment cores become time capsules, each sample a chance to push the genetic record further back. Explanations are clear without being simplified, and the scientists’ excitement is grounded in the scale of what’s at stake — a deeper, more precise map of Earth’s past.

Absorbing, lucid, and quietly awe‑inspiring.

Thursday, 12 February

Becoming Victoria Wood You & Gold, 9.00pm

Rather than leaning on the familiar warmth of Victoria Wood’s greatest hits, this portrait looks at the machinery behind them: the discipline, structure, and sheer graft that shaped her voice long before fame arrived. The programme traces how she built her comic world from close observation and meticulous rewriting, turning everyday detail into something both precise and generous.

Colleagues and collaborators speak to the rigour beneath the charm — the way she shaped a line, tightened a rhythm, or reworked a sketch until it landed exactly as intended. The result is a portrait that honours her humour without flattening her into a national treasure, showing instead the ambition and intelligence that powered her work.

A clear‑eyed, quietly moving study of craft, and a reminder that brilliance rarely happens by accident.

Not Welcome: The Battle to Stop the Boats Channel 4, 10.00pm

Channel 4 approaches one of the most charged areas of British politics with a steadiness that cuts through the noise. Rather than amplifying slogans, the programme traces how policy, rhetoric, and electoral calculation collide with the realities faced by people on the move. Ministers, campaigners, and frontline workers all appear, but the emphasis remains on the human consequences of decisions made far from the shoreline.

The documentary is unflinching about the machinery behind the headlines: deterrence strategies that reshape lives, legal frameworks stretched to their limits, and a political climate in which migration becomes a proxy for broader anxieties. It’s a portrait of power under scrutiny, and the film refuses to sand down the contradictions or soften the impact.

Challenging, clear‑eyed, and committed to interrogating the gap between what is promised and what is lived.

Friday, 13 February

Nosferatu the Vampyre Talking Pictures, 10.10pm

Werner Herzog’s reimagining of Murnau’s silent classic is less a remake than a haunted echo — a film that moves with the logic of a fever or a half‑remembered nightmare. Klaus Kinski’s Count Dracula is not a suave predator but a lonely, plague‑ridden figure, his hunger bound up with despair as much as menace. Isabelle Adjani’s Lucy brings a kind of luminous fatalism to the story, her stillness as unsettling as any of the film’s gothic flourishes.

Herzog leans into atmosphere over shock. Landscapes feel abandoned by time, interiors seem drained of warmth, and the encroaching sense of sickness gives the film a slow, suffocating dread. Even the familiar beats of the Dracula story feel newly fragile, as if the characters are trapped inside a myth they can’t quite control.

It’s a work of mood and texture — eerie, mournful, and strangely beautiful — a vampire film that treats horror as a kind of existential condition rather than a genre exercise.

Babylon Film4, 11.45pm

Damien Chazelle’s Hollywood epic opens in chaos and rarely lets the temperature drop. Set in the industry’s transition from silent film to sound, it treats early Hollywood as a battleground of ambition, appetite, and sheer logistical madness. The parties, the sets, the disasters — everything is pitched at a scale that feels both exhilarating and faintly grotesque, a world fuelled by people who believe the future can be willed into existence through force of personality alone.

Margot Robbie and Diego Calva anchor the sprawl with performances that understand the film’s contradictions: the thrill of creation, the brutality of the system, and the way success can curdle into myth almost overnight. Chazelle isn’t interested in tidy nostalgia; he’s after the volatility of an industry reinventing itself in real time, and the casualties left behind when the machinery moves on.

The result is intentionally messy — a sensory overload that veers between brilliance and collapse, mirroring the world it depicts. Exhausting, often electrifying, and never less than confrontational about the cost of spectacle.

Queenpins Channel 4, 12.10am

A brisk, good‑natured crime caper built around a real coupon‑fraud scheme that ballooned far beyond its suburban origins. Kristen Bell and Kirby Howell‑Baptiste make a sharp double act, playing two women who channel boredom, frustration, and a talent for small‑scale hustle into something far more elaborate than they ever intended.

The film keeps its energy up without tipping into chaos. There’s a clear sense of how consumer capitalism — its loopholes, its absurdities, its endless promises of reward — becomes both the backdrop and the fuel for their operation. Paul Walter Hauser and Vince Vaughn, as the investigators circling the case, add a welcome deadpan counterweight.

It’s not trying to reinvent the genre, but it doesn’t need to. The pleasure lies in the pace, the performances, and the sly acknowledgement that ingenuity often flourishes where the system isn’t looking. A lighter, well‑judged note on which to end the week.

STREAMING CHOICES

Here are polished, expanded versions for each of your remaining listings — keeping your established tone, cadence, and editorial clarity. They sit naturally alongside the rest of your guide.


Lead Children

All six episdoes available from Wednesday 11 February 2026 on Netflix

A stark, unsettling documentary that refuses to look away from the long shadow of environmental contamination. Focusing on communities living with the consequences of industrial negligence, it traces how lead exposure shapes childhoods, futures, and entire neighbourhoods. The filmmaking is restrained but quietly furious, grounding its argument in lived experience rather than abstraction. Difficult viewing, but a vital reminder of how policy failures become personal.

Walter Presents: Lolita Lobosco (Series 3)

Series three available from Friday 13 February on Channel 4 streaming

Still one of Walter Presents’ most enjoyable imports, this third series returns to Bari with its trademark blend of sunlit charm and knotty crime. The cases remain sharply constructed, but it’s the offbeat humour, character detail, and sense of place that give the show its warmth. Lobosco herself continues to be a compelling centre — wry, capable, and never in a hurry to fit the mould. Crime drama with personality, and all the better for taking its time.

Speakerine

All six episodes from Thursday 12 February on ITVX

Set behind the scenes of French television’s golden age, Speakerine uses its glamorous surface as a foil for a more incisive story about ambition, gender, and institutional control. The period detail is elegant without tipping into nostalgia, and the drama understands how power operates quietly as well as loudly. Stylish, poised, and sharper than it first appears — a series that knows exactly what it’s saying.

Cross (Season 2)

Episodes 1-3 available from Wednesday 11 February

Season two pushes further into psychological territory, tightening its focus on obsession, trauma, and the cost of relentless pursuit. The series remains slick, but it avoids the trap of empty escalation by grounding its tension in character rather than spectacle. This early run of episodes suggests a show confident enough to deepen its themes rather than simply raise the stakes.

How to Get to Heaven from Belfast

All eight episodes available from Thursday 12 February on Netflix A darkly comic exploration of faith, guilt, and reinvention, blending Northern Irish wit with genuine emotional bite. The humour is sharp but never cruel, and the series knows when to let a joke land and when to step back. Beneath the comedy sits a thoughtful meditation on belief, belonging, and the stories people tell themselves to keep going. A smart, surprising piece of television that earns its shifts in tone.

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