This week’s Culture Vulture edition refuses the bland and predictable — we’re navigating through bold cinema, music-and-memory documentaries, cultural undercurrents and streaming drop-ins that matter. We open with three standout picks, our 🌟 Highlights: the audacious, unsettling high-concept of Infinity Pool; the quietly devastating sci-fi of Moon; and the extraordinary true-crime saga King of Lies. These selections don’t just entertain—they pry open corners of cultural life worth inspecting. As always, this guide is incisive, principled, slightly contrarian—and always about more than just what’s on.
Across the week you’ll find emotional archaeology (The Piano), post-industrial journeys (Compartment No. 6), teenage nostalgia (Byker Grove), and the seismic interplay of sport, power and deception.
Saturday 15th November 2025
- Compartment No. 6 — BBC Two, 1:00 AM (2021)
- Simple Minds: Everything Is Possible — BBC Two, 10:00 PM
- Infinity Pool — Film4, 11:35 PM (2023)
Infinity Pool
Brandon Cronenberg’s Infinity Pool is a seismic voice in the body-horror genre, turning lives of privilege into zones of existential horror and moral collapse. We follow a couple on a luxury retreat where rules don’t apply and consequences are optional—until they’re not.
Alexander Skarsgård plays James, a writer whose obscurity has bred a hunger for recognition; Mia Goth as the seductive shape-shifter embodies the corrupt magnet of power. Their dynamic is a slow burn that detonates.
The film’s world is elegant but toxic: a country built on “tourist justice” where only the rich can transgress without penalty. Cronenberg uses it to comment on modern inequality and the commodification of danger.
The writing asks: if we removed consequence from human action, who would we become? The film doesn’t give answers—it prolongedly drags us into the reflection.
In the final act, Infinity Pool becomes ritual, punishment, carnival and nightmare stone-cold merged. It lingers precisely because the image of self-unravelled ambition is one we recognise too well.
Compartment No. 6
This film by Juho Kuosmanen adapts Rosa Liksom’s novella into a train-bound journey from Moscow to Murmansk, focusing on Laura (Finnish student) and Lyokha (Russian miner). (Wikipedia)
At first their relationship is antagonistic, steeped in cultural and personal difference—but the film refuses a romantic payoff and instead gives us something more fragile: unexpected companionship in a harsh landscape.
Visually, the long stretches of Arctic terrain, the rattling train, the small gestures – hair in the wind, sharing vodka, near-silences—bring out the emotional geography of loneliness and transient connection.
What moves it into a deeper realm is its refusal of easy redemption: they don’t “solve” themselves, but by the end the journey has shifted them both.
Compartment No. 6 is gentle in its ambition yet powerful in its quiet honesty—a film about being changed rather than saved.
Simple Minds: Everything Is Possible
This documentary traces the evolution of Simple Minds from gritty Glasgow origins to international anthems. The film places their music, movement and reinvention front and centre, but doesn’t shy from the unseen costs: creative tension, shifting band-line-ups, the collision of authenticity and stadium ambition.
Interviews with Jim Kerr and Charlie Burchill emphasise that reinvention was a necessity: to stay alive in a changing world, the band kept evolving. The Glasgow roots—street culture, optimism, ambition—remain visible, anchoring the story.
In the end, the documentary becomes less about nostalgia for the past and more a reflection on endurance: how a band keeps believing music might open doors, even when doors seem to shut.
Sunday 16th November 2025
- The Horse Whisperer — Great TV, 5:30 PM (1998)
- King of Lies — Sky Documentaries, 8:00 PM
- Jools’ New Orleans Jukebox — BBC Four, 9:30 PM
- The Untouchables — BBC Two, 10:00 PM (1987)
- Ad Astra — Channel 4, 11:00 PM (2019)
- ’71 — Channel 4, 1:15 AM (2014)
King of Lies
Sky Documentaries’ King of Lies is a riveting dissection of ambition, spectacle and ruin. It chronicles how Russell King took control of one of football’s oldest clubs—Notts County—with promises of wealth and renewal, and how that promise exploded into debt, delusion and scandal.
The film paints King not simply as a villain, but as a consummate performer: charming, obsessive, and dangerous. He highlights how in modern sport the veneer of ‘transformational investor’ often masks something far darker.
Ultimately, the documentary asks what football fans, clubs and communities lose when they hand the keys to ambition without accountability. It’s a cautionary tale of the intersection between identity, money and hope.
The Horse Whisperer
Robert Redford’s pastoral drama follows trauma, reconnection and trust. After a tragic accident, a teenage girl and her horse are scarred; Redford’s character, Tom Booker, enters as a guide for healing. The film uses Montana’s landscapes—the skies, the snow, the wide plains—as emotional reflections of inner turmoil.
Scarlett Johansson brings subtle strength to her role as the teenager whose accident changes everything, while Kristin Scott Thomas and Redford balance vulnerability, protectiveness and complexity. Their interactions skip easy sentimentality and lean into moral nuance.
In the end, The Horse Whisperer suggests that healing isn’t about erasing the past but learning to live with its imprint. It’s a film attuned to the quiet work of recovery.
Jools’ New Orleans Jukebox
Jools Holland’s journey into New Orleans is warm, unpretentious and musically rich. The film avoids performing the city; instead, it immerses itself in local culture, letting streets, clubs and musicians tell their own story.
What stands out are the performances—raw, stripped-back, alive. The documentary avoids slick production gloss and lets you feel the sweat, the rhythm, the legacy of a city where music is survival, identity and resistance.
The result is a love-letter to New Orleans that is serious about joy. It reminds us that music is always entwined with place, history and endurance.
The Untouchables
Brian De Palma’s 1987 gangster epic remains a master-class in style and moral clarity. Kevin Costner plays Eliot Ness, Sean Connery delivers his iconic cameo, and the film moves with operatic verve—fedoras, shadows, moral absolutes, and yet a modern emotional core.
The Odessa Steps-inspired sequence at Union Station is cinema-text in itself; the Prohibition-era setting combined with Morricone’s score lends a mythic heft. But the film also hinges on Ness’s moral weight: that one man can attempt to hold the line when the system is rotted.
In the end, The Untouchables presents justice not as pristine, but as perilous work. It’s a caution: the hero cannot simply fight corruption—he must survive it.
Ad Astra
James Gray’s 2019 space odyssey takes the blockbuster template and infuses it with quiet, haunting interiority. Brad Pitt as Roy McBride drifts into space physically and emotionally, searching for his father—and in the process confronting the void within.
The visuals are hypnotic: moonscapes, neon redouts, silent corridors of ships. Yet the human core remains. Pitt’s performance is controlled, disciplined—and slowly undone. The emotional weight comes from what he’s missing rather than what he’s doing.
Ad Astra ends not with victory but with reflection, a whisper rather than a roar. It invites you to look into the cold and ask what you’re tethered to—and whether you can ever return.
’71
Yann Demange’s debut feature plunges us into Troubles-era Belfast, following a young British soldier accidentally abandoned in enemy territory. The tension is razor-sharp; survival is all.
Jack O’Connell carries the film with raw urgency. The city is depicted as labyrinthine, untrustworthy, full of shifting allegiances and betrayal. The camera stays tight, the stakes never drop.
But the film’s deeper power lies in its refusal of heroes. Everyone is compromised; escape is temporary. ’71 is an unflinching look at the cost of conflict—and the fragility of innocence in its face.
Monday 17th November 2025
- Once Upon a Time in Space (Episode 4 of 4: Friends Forever) — BBC Two, 9:00 PM
- Vespa — Film4, 9:00 PM (2022)
- Men of the Manosphere — BBC Three, 10:00 PM
- Arena: The Last Soviet Citizen — BBC Four, 10:00 PM
- Hazardous History with Henry Winkler — Sky History, 10:00 PM
- Underground — BBC Four, 11:20 PM
Vespa
Alice Rohrwacher’s Vespa is a neon-soaked exploration of youth, dislocation and identity. A young courier hurtles through a cityscape that feels electric and estranged, delivering packages by scooter and inhaling a lifestyle that flickers between freedom and chaos.
The aesthetic is bold—city lights, traffic, motion as metaphor. Rohrwacher uses movement not just as backdrop but as structure: the courier’s journey mirrors his internal drift.
The performances are raw and restless. The protagonist’s crisis is generational: unsteady jobs, distorted dreams, belonging that feels elusive.
Themes of migration, marginalisation and the brittle resilience of hope run throughout. The courier exists within a system that spins him along but doesn’t support him.
Ultimately, Vespa asks: what happens when you drive fast but have nowhere you truly belong? The ride becomes the question.
Once Upon a Time in Space
This concluding episode (Friends Forever) completes a series tracing the Soviet space programme and its human stakes. Rather than focusing on rockets, it focuses on the people—engineers, cosmonauts, families left behind after the USSR collapsed.
What resonates is the human cost of ambition. These are not just stories of technological triumph; they are stories of loneliness, dislocation and faith in systems that vanish.
The episode closes the narrative with grace, reminding us that the journey of space exploration is as much inward as it is outward.
Men of the Manosphere
This documentary plumbs the internet’s “manosphere,” a space populated by influencers, reactionary communities and young men seeking identity. It avoids easy condemnation and instead asks why so many feel compelled to join one.
The greatest strength is its focus on the algorithms, the platforms and the emotional vulnerability that gets channelled into polarised online tribes. It’s not just about ideology—it’s about connection, dislocation, and digital desperation.
In the end, the film doesn’t tell us how to “solve” the problem—but it shows us what it looks like when connection becomes radicalised. A necessary watch for these times.
Arena: The Last Soviet Citizen
Sergei Krikalev, the cosmonaut who became a symbol of the Soviet Union’s collapse. In 1991, Krikalev was orbiting Earth aboard the Mir space station when the USSR dissolved beneath him. He had launched as a Soviet citizen but returned months later to a country that no longer existed, landing in newly independent Kazakhstan as a citizen of Russia.
The film uses archival footage, interviews, and reflective narration to capture the poignancy of Krikalev’s situation. His story is not framed as one of heroism alone, but as a meditation on loyalty, dislocation, and the human cost of political upheaval.
Rather than focusing on Cold War battles, the documentary highlights the strangeness of witnessing the end of an ideology from orbit. Krikalev’s endurance in space becomes a metaphor for those who served a system that vanished, raising the haunting question: when the state disappears, what remains of the people who believed in it?
Hazardous History with Henry Winkler
Winkler explores the risky, reckless, and often bizarre practices of the past — from perilous playgrounds to dangerous products, stunts, and travel mishaps. His style blends humour and curiosity, making serious historical risks engaging and accessible.
Underground
A look at 150 years of the London Tube system, this documentary traces how tunnels beneath the city became arteries of movement, class, wartime refuge and social change.
What stands out is how infrastructure becomes story: the Tube isn’t just engineering—it is metropolitan myth, covering ordinary lives, extraordinary leaps and the rhythms of a city.
It’s both nostalgic and forward-looking: an homage to what we rely on, often take for granted, and seldom examine.
Tuesday 18th November 2025
- The Piano — BBC Two, 12:00 AM (1993)
The Piano
Jane Campion’s The Piano remains a towering, elemental work of cinema. Set in nineteenth-century New Zealand, it tells of Ada McGrath (mute since childhood) sent to a remote settlement, her daughter Flora and her piano forming the emotional and symbolic centre of the film. (Wikipedia)
Holly Hunter’s performance is fearless—she doesn’t speak a word, yet her presence commands the screen, her piano playing the voice she does not have. Sam Neill and Harvey Keitel fill out the emotional terrain with intensity and menace.
Campion’s direction transforms landscapes—mud, sea, forest—into inner states. Music and silence merge: Michael Nyman’s score threads through Ada’s internal world.
The film refuses easy romance. It confronts desire, power, voice, agency: who owns language, and who is voiceless? Campion’s gaze is both poetic and unflinching.
In the end, The Piano invites you to listen—not just for the notes, but for the silence that structures them.
Wednesday 19th November 2025
- Two Way Stretch — Film4, 11:00 AM (1960)
- Moon — Film4, 9:00 PM (2009)
Two Way Stretch
A breezy British comedy with Peter Sellers in top form, plotting the absurd heist of returning to prison to pull off a robbery. It’s delightfully old-school: witty, charming and unapologetically of its era.
The charm lies in the cast—Sellers, Wilfrid Hyde-White, Lionel Jeffries—each with distinct stylised delivery. The humour relies on character more than gags.
Though light in tone, the film subtly comments on authority and social order: criminals who hate prisons enough to break in rather than out. Vintage, warm and still entertaining.
Moon
Duncan Jones’ Moon is a near-perfect example of sci-fi stripped to essence: isolated lunar worker, corporate overlord, identity unravelled. Sam Rockwell is brilliant as the man who finds himself at endpoint of technology and humanity.
The film’s design is sparse, mechanised yet lived-in. It evokes the classic era but asks immediate questions: what if your job is your life—and your life is owned by the corporation?
The twist is handled with subtle emotional weight rather than spectacle. Moon doesn’t shout; it whispers—and in the whisper you hear the void.
Thursday 20th November 2025
- All the King’s Men — Film4, 2:35 PM (1949)
All the King’s Men
Based on Robert Penn Warren’s novel, this 1949 film charts the rise and ruin of populist politician Willie Stark. The relevance today is uncanny: power, charisma, corruption.
Broderick Crawford’s performance is ferocious. As Stark transforms from idealist to demagogue, the film captures the seductive dynamic of politics and the wreckage that often follows.
Shot in sharp black-and-white, it feels partly noir, partly political tragedy. It reminds us that the corrupt and the idealist often start in the same place—but the path diverges.
The film remains a searing study of ambition and compromise. Watch it not as a period piece, but as a mirror.
Friday 21st November 2025
- Ex Machina — Film4, 9:00 PM (2014)
- Deliverance — BBC Two, 11:00 PM (1972)
- Men — Film4, 11:10 PM (2022)
Ex Machina
Alex Garland’s Ex Machina is perhaps the smartest mainstream thriller of recent years, interrogating consciousness, power and humanity through the prism of artificial intelligence. Domhnall Gleeson, Alicia Vikander and Oscar Isaac form a tense triad of creator, creation and tester.
The setting is a sleek modernist estate—cold, austere and human-empty. Spaces become labs of deception, reflection and control.
Vikander’s Ava is chilling and mesmerising; she displays curiosity, vulnerability and calculation in equal measure. The film asks: what does “I feel” actually mean—and who gets to decide?
Garland interrogates tech-culture, narcissism and the cult of genius through quiet tension rather than fire-and-brimstone.
The final act lands like a moral guillotine: the viewer is left with more questions than comfort.
Deliverance
John Boorman’s Deliverance remains a muscular, terrifying exploration of masculinity, nature and survival. Four city men go on a canoe trip—and find themselves in a wilderness that doesn’t care.
Jon Voight and Burt Reynolds lead a cast that knows the stakes aren’t just physical—they’re existential. The movie uses the Georgia wilds and the river as metaphors for the inhuman.
The film refused to cosy its horrors; it asked what happens when civilisation’s surface is stripped away. You emerge changed.
The river becomes memory, trauma and myth. The film lingers in your body.
A brutal, unforgettable ride.
Men
Alex Garland returns with Men, a bold horror film probing grief, gender and the uncanny. Jessie Buckley anchors the film with vulnerability and strength as she enters a village of men who look alike—and whose behaviour shifts from welcoming to menacing.
The horror is bodily, psychological and symbolic. Rory Kinnear’s multiple roles unsettle not just within the narrative but in your perception of identity.
The film uses the rural English landscape as a hall of mirrors: familiar, peaceful, and deeply wrong. Trauma, guilt and echoing male violence are central themes.
Men doesn’t give answers; it unsettles them. You leave with the image of the village house, the identical men, and the question of whether escape is ever fully possible.
Streaming Choices
Train Dreams — Netflix, from Friday 21st November
This adaptation of Denise Johnson’s novella charts half a century in the US Northwest: railroads, logging, migration, quiet desperation and changing landscapes. It’s a meditation on time and solitude.
The narrative’s strength lies in how landscapes and memories intersect: remote towns, fading rail lines, the dust of industry. Johnson’s original text used brevity and reflection; the film honours that, using long takes and silence to evoke the passage of generations.
Key characters emerge not as heroes but as witnesses: to machines, to forests, to loss. Their gestures carry weight precisely because they are small. The adaptation reminds us that American myth often comes with weathered boots and scars, not just triumph.
Production values feel measured: the cinematography catches both vastness and erosion. The soundtrack holds moments of quiet drifting, underscoring the film’s sense of waiting and endurance.
In its final act, Train Dreams asks: what remains when everything you built moves on without you? It’s not a film about leaving footprints—it’s about whether the ground remembers you.
The Family Plan 2 — Apple TV, from Friday 21st November
Apple TV’s The Family Plan 2 continues the hit family‑action franchise, this time raising the stakes with a global chase, unexpected alliances, and the weight of legacy.
Mark Wahlberg reprises his role as Dan Morgan, the suburban dad with a hidden past, while Michelle Monaghan returns as Jessica Morgan, anchoring the emotional core of the story. Their children, played by Zoe Colletti and Van Crosby, are once again central to the family dynamic, navigating hidden histories and the tension between chaos and connection. New cast additions include Kit Harington, bringing intensity to the sequel’s expanded international plot, alongside Reda Elazouar and Sanjeev Bhaskar in supporting roles.
The film’s action design is inventive, leaning into globe‑trotting sequences, unconventional hideouts, and gadgetry that feels plausible rather than cartoonish. Director Simon Cellan Jones and writer David Coggeshall ensure the tone remains fun but urgent, with set‑pieces that are sharper and more ambitious than the original.
At its heart, The Family Plan 2 is still about family bonds—fathers, daughters, and the choices between connection and chaos. The sequel is self‑aware, nodding to the franchise’s legacy while delivering fresh spectacle.
Byker Grove — ITVX, all 18 series from Sunday 16th November
The full archive of Byker Grove, the Newcastle-based teen drama that ran for eighteen series, lands on ITVX on 16th November. (ITVX) It’s a rare streaming event: every episode available in one go.
For British television culture, Byker Grove represents a transitional moment: post-Children’s BBC, pre-digital-stream era, the show addressed issues like drug abuse, sexuality, belonging and identity with a frankness unusual for its time. It launched the careers of major names but remains under-examined in scholarship.
Streaming the full run invites revisiting not only nostalgia but cultural memory: what young people watched, how regional identity mattered, the ways drama for teens anticipated adult concerns.
For new viewers, it offers a time-capsule of late-80s/90s youth Britain; for older viewers, a chance to trace how storylines and characters evolved over nearly two decades.
In its completeness, the archive drop is an invitation: binge-responsibly, but with awareness. Byker Grove is surprisingly relevant—and streaming it all at once offers the chance to see continuity, change and cultural shift in motion.

