Film review – Happy End (Michael Haneke, 2017)

Michael Haneke’s latest picture is a twisted look into the wealthiest ways of living in the north of France, as seen through the eyes of a dysfunctional family hell-bent on self-destruction. A mixture of humour and satire litters the script to create a solid effort that, despite its best efforts, fails to deliver the same impact as the most dedicated of Haneke fans would hope for.

The film opens with a slow series of voyeuristic shots through the camera phone of 13-year-old Eve Laurent (Fantine Harduin), transmitting through a social media platform that looks similar to Snapchat. We see her murder her pet hamster and then, in the final shot, we see her unconscious mother, whilst an overlay of text chat show young Eve admitting she has poisoned her.

In the next shot we see the CCTV footage of a construction site where a huge disaster occurs, critically injuring one of the employees. It is in the aftermath of these two opening gambits that the rest of the film hangs its developing intertwining plots.

We later find out that this workplace accident was due to negligence at the hands of site supervisor and alcoholic Pierre Laurent (Franz Rogowski), whilst firm owner Anne Laurent (Isabelle Huppert) is left to pick up the pieces and deal with an impending lawsuit. Eve is now living with this family in a large mansion in Calais, along with depressed grandfather Georges (Jean-Louis Trintignant).

The ironically-titled Happy End is a good film, but not a great one. The cast is substantial and the dialogue is sharp, but somehow the plot doesn’t feel like it takes us on a journey with enough of the characters. It’s more of a satirical social commentary piece rather than a meaty piece of fiction, with too many of the characters used as fodder for the main characters.

Trintignant and Huppert reunite here with Haneke after the successes of 2012’s Amour, a film that won the Best Picture Academy Award and the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival. It is clear why Haneke was so keen to work with them both again. They don’t share much screen time together, but with the former’s desire to end his life and the latter desperate to keep the dysfunctional family together and presentable, there is enough to go on to maintain the interest. With the addition of the young Harduin to the cast, this triangle of strength is enough to carry the film.

It could be argued that Toby Jones’s inclusion is on the cynical side. His role is very minor, though his prominence in the advertising campaign will undoubtedly have helped ticket sales in the UK, a place where his acting credentials need no introduction – least of all in the arthouse cinemas in which Happy End will play. If this is true, I don’t mind. It’s just smart advertising and a good way to carve out a niche in the market away from the impending Star Wars: The Last Jedi Release next week. For those of us who go to see more than the most mainstream of films, options and variety are required.

It feels unlikely that Happy End will repeat the award season successes enjoyed by many of his previous efforts, but it’s not without merit.

Film review – レッドタートル ある島の物語 / The Red Turtle (Michael Dudok de Wit, 2017)

The Red Turtle may find it hard to be discovered by a dedicated mainstream market. This is almost inevitable for a feature-length traditionally-animated film that involves no spoken words at all, with a simple but thought-provoking story line. Its limited release reflects a genuine assessment of the expected appeal to the wider market. 

This is a shame because the film is a genuine triumph.

The film opens with a man being thrown around helplessly in an unnamed ocean. Struggling to fight the waves, he falls unconscious, later waking up on an uninhabited island. 

The nameless man never speaks, aside from the occasional “Hey!”, whilst his heritage is also somewhat ambiguous. Shipwrecked on an island and left to fend for himself, he busies himself with building a raft to escape and reunite himself with the outside world. However, a large red turtle prevents him from escaping, attacking the raft every time he attempts to leave. When it unexpectedly washes up on shore, he faces a conundrum – free it or exact revenge. 

If you have any fears about The Red Turtle maintaining your attention, you needn’t. It’s one of the most engrossing films I’ve seen this year.

The beauty of the film comes in its simplicity. With no character back stories, no names, no requirement to set the scene beyond the initial opening gambit, we’re left to ponder its surprisingly inspirational content.

Around halfway through the film, the man’s decision to flip the turtle on its back is doubtlessly divisive. Left without much else to focus on, my mind inevitably ended up wondering what I would do in the same situation. The turtle dies, which the man immediately regrets and feels great sorrow for. I felt equally guilty for feeling like he wasn’t completely in the wrong. A senseless murder of an innocent animal, but one that felt partly justified as revenge.

It’s a simple act that drives the more fantastical second half of the film. The lifeless body of the turtle disappears and is replaced with a young, beautiful woman, whom the man subsequently falls in love with.

Clearly, this is a film that is steeped in the metaphorical, encouraging the viewer to think about the deeper meaning of what they are seeing – and giving them the space to do so.
The turtle is a visual representation of man’s relationship to nature. Even as the stranded man fights against the tides and tries to leave the island, the turtle forces him back onto the island, on which he has everything he could possibly need to simply continue to survive. The turtle evenrtually provides him with companionship and, later, a child, this providing him with a fulfilling life too. 

It is a tale in part about man’s short-sightedness towards a nature that gives him everything, highlighting the knee jerk reaction to things he doesn’t understand. It is about the cycle of human life, about the destructive nature of humanity and about the forgiving nature of the surrounding environment – a nature that is forced to adapt to humanity’s shortcomings and still provide a platform for all life – human or otherwise – to continue.

For anyone with a passing interest in the future of the planet, beautiful animation or engrossing stories, this is a must-see.

Film review – My Life as a Courgette (Claude Barras, 2017)

My Life as a Courgette is a stop-motion animated film directed by first-time feature director Claude Barras. Short in length but big in heart, it has a way of drawing the viewer in and delivering a weighty emotional drama, despite its saccharine veneer.

It tells the story of the titular Courgette, a boy who is forced into an orphanage at the age of nine. He has come from a lonely and unhappy background but quickly learns to adapt and find his path with the six other children he lives with, notably the over-confident Simon and new girl Camille, whom he takes an immediate liking to.

This shot is one of the most memorable lingering shots of the film

The narrative is carried out from the perspective of the children, which gives rise to some elements of humour whilst giving the situation a melancholic edge. These are children all going through the same issue, as one child puts it they’ve “ran out of people to love them”.

The animation is truly beautiful and endearing, with a unique character design coupled with an a seamless stop-motion animation style. It is simply a joy to watch.

You’ll be hard-pressed to find a more emotionally-involving story in cinemas right now. This is one that needs to be seen.

My Life as a Courgette is out in cinemas now. You can watch a free ten minute preview below.

Film review – Paths of Glory (Stanley Kubrick, 1957)

If you’re a casual fan of the history of cinema, you may be forgiven for thinking that Stanley Kubrick has only released eight films. 

The reason for this misunderstanding? I blame the brilliant but consistently re-released boxset of films that features every feature he directed from Lolita onwards, along with a documentary on his career titled “A Life In Pictures”. It’s so prominent and features so many classic films that his early output is often forgotten.

The biggest casualty of this is Spartacus, the 1960 epic that starred Kirk Douglas. It seems obvious, but there’s a whole generation of film fans that are well aware of the film and the director but are surprised that Kubrick was at the helm.

It’s a shame that his early output is so criminally overlooked, but it’s also a problem that Masters of Cinema and Arrow have put a lot of effort into correcting. First came 1953’s Fear and Desire, a film steeped in rumours that Kubrick himself wanted to destroy all known copies of. It is far from his best work, but has an audience. It was bundled with three Kubrick-directed short films: Day of the Fight (1951), Flying Padre (1951) and The Seafarers (1953). These aren’t essential viewing for anyone other than the most ardent Kubrickian, but plot a path to his genius-level filmmaking that was revealed shortly after.

Arrow’s release of 1956’s The Killing is similarly detailed. The Sterling Hayden-starrer was a critical success on its release but commercially didn’t really make it out of the starting blocks, serving second fiddle to a now-hard-to-find film called Bandido! and eventually losing $130,000.

So where does Paths of Glory fit into this? It was Kubrick’s final film before his epic box office smash Spartacus in 1960, which was also critically praised and thus provided him much more leeway when it came to choosing his next project, which was Lolita.

Arguably, the reason he was offered Spartacus was in part due to his success with Paths of Glory. Indeed, the original director (Anthony Mann) was sacked after just one week of filming and it was this that led to Kubrick being hired, not least for the fact that Kirk Douglas was the star of both and his production company – Bryna Productions – was behind Spartacus and vicariously the hiring of a replacement director.

The short reason for Douglas’s affinity to Kubrick is quite simple – the film is absolutely brilliant. Douglas is allowed to explore a complicated character with no compromise to the artistic integrity, despite the fact that the film was banned in several countries for content deemed controversial at the time of release. It is a really powerful display of his acting ability.

Set entirely in French army bases during World War II, the basic premise of the film is that Colonel Dax (Douglas) is ordered by his superior General Mireau (George Macreary) to attack the “Anthill”, a well-defended German stronghold. Mireau’s reasoning behind his decision is entirely selfish as he has been offered a promotion for a successful attack on the Germans. Douglas attempts the manoeuvre despite knowing it is essentially a suicide mission for his men, but they all quickly realise it is doomed to failure and they retreat. They are subsequently accused of cowardice and three men are selected for trial and face the death penalty, with only their own accounts and Dax’s legal background to save them.

The film was banned by several countries on its original release, deemed as anti-military. Subsequently, cinema-goers in France, Germany, Switzerland and Spain were unable to see it until decades after its release. It is understandable, given the portrayal of the hierarchy and corrupt decision making. The integrity of the film is also maintained with a wholly miserable ending to the film, an early sign that Kubrick wasn’t one to conform to normalities.

Watching it now, it feels way ahead of its time. There is no happy ending. The characters are fully formed and Kubrick is confident enough to let the brilliant Kirk Douglas engulf the entire frame with close-ups and lingering shots.

The action sequences as the troops push over the top into no man’s land are engrossing and brutal, giving a reality to their predicament. Without getting this right, the whole picture would have fallen flat.

This is absolutely a film that needs to be watched and shouldn’t be seen as just a point of interest for die-hard Kubrick aficionados. If you can find a copy and want to see beyond The Chosen Eight, you really need to invest.

Film review – I, Daniel Blake (Ken Loach, 2016)

Of the many great films released in 2016, few left their mark on my conscience quite as much as Ken Loach’s “I, Daniel Blake”. I held off from reviewing it at the time, but decided to revisit it recently for a second time to make an honest attempt at reviewing it.

The film follows Daniel Blake (Dave Johns), a 59-year-old joiner on the living in Newcastle. He finds himself out of work after an suffering a heart attack has forced him to take a break, with his doctor telling him he cannot return for fear of another attack. He is navigating Britain’s complex benefits system in search of Employment and Support Allowance, for which he needs a Work Capability Assessment (undertaken by government workers and is completely separate from his own doctor’s assessment). Whilst at the job centre, he notices single-mother-of-two Daisy (Hayley Squires) having an argument in the job centre. They soon strike up an unlikely friendship as they continue to come up against brick walls that force them to make increasingly tough decisions.

I, Daniel Blake is social commentary at its absolute best

Typical of Loach’s output, many of the actors involved in the film are amateurs. This might give the film a rough-around-the-edges quality but equally provides a realism as the story develops. Knowing this prior to watching the film allowed me to give it some leeway on the performances.

The plot developments as the two characters get embroiled in complication after complication are akin to a horror film. Our lead character is behind on his bills and struggles to use computers, meaning he can’t navigate the government websites to retrieve the correct forms to fill in to access the benefits he’s entitled to. It’s overwhelmingly frustrating and will be familiar to anyone who has ever found themselves in a similar situation.

Squires’s performance is absolutely striking. The most harrowing memory of the film for most viewers will inevitably be a highly memorable scene at the local food bank. Rightly so – it’s a performance something taken to an entirely different level by her delivery. It’s unsettling, which is obviously its intention. She’s a great find in her debut role and will undoubtedly go on to even greater roles.

But the film isn’t about the actors, or about delivery of certain lines. It is solely a commentary on the broken support systems provided for the many 1000s of people in Britain who they should be helping. There are a small few people who endeavour to exploit a system, but in doing so they provide an excuse for those in charge to make the processes overly complicated for everyone.

Far more disturbing than this, the small few that do successfully exploit the system are handing media outlets the ammunition to criticise the rest, tarring them all with the same brush. Shamefully, most of Britain believe what is written in the media and assume the worst of people who are in dire need of assistance.

For all its shortcomings, this film shines a light on some of the most pressing issues facing a country that is supposed to be in a fantastic state. Whether you like it or not, the message is one that simply can’t be ignored.

Film review – Le Fille Inconnue / The Unknown Girl (Jean-Pierre Dardenne and Luc Dardenne, 2016)

It may have an interesting premise, but a dislikeable lead and a plot that lacks the sort of understated excitement that has won the Dardenne Brothers two Palme d’Or awards make The Unknown Girl a difficult watch.

Adèle Haenel stars as Dr Jenny Davin, a promising young doctor excelling at her job as a GP. However, one night she chooses to ignore a call at her practice’s door, assuming it is a late caller with some minor ailment. However, when she later finds out that it was a young girl in desperate need of help who shortly after was seemingly murdered, she becomes obsessed with finding out the truth behind the incident to atone for her mistake.

Adèle Haenel


I desperately wanted to like this film. I like the director duo and have been impressed by their previous output, but there was so little to work with on this one. 

Haenel fails to deliver any depth to a role that is a doozy for someone wanting to prove themselves to the world. Perhaps the fact she has already done this with an extraordinary body of work is one of the reasons she seems to lack passion in her delivery.

As a follow-up to the Oscar-nominated ‘Two Days, One Night‘, this can only be seen as a disappointment for the Dardenne Brothers.

Film review – Frantz (François Ozon, 2016)

Set primarily in Germany in the immediate aftermath of the First World War, François Ozon’s latest film is an emotional story portrayed almost entirely in black and white. It revolves around Anna (Paula Beer), a woman who is living with the parents of her lost lover and supporting each other in their collective grief. That man is the titular Frantz (Anton von Lucke), who we learn has lost his life in battle during the war. When a Frenchman by the name of Adrien (Pierre Niney) shows up at Frantz’s grave to give his respects, he tells them of his close friendship to their mutually lost friend.

Adrien (Niney) and Anna (Beer)

Ozon is something of a prolific filmmaker on almost the same level as Woody Allen. Since his celebrated debut feature length film Sitcom in 1998, he has written and directed sixteen films, amongst them the critically acclaimed Swimming Pool and the highly successful Potiche. Yet Frantz is, by all accounts, a departure in style for him and sees him in relatively unfamiliar territory with a historical war drama.

It is based on the play ‘L’homme que j’ai tué’ by Maurice Rostand. Before writing his script, Ozon was unaware that the play had already been adapted by legendary filmmaker Ernst Lubitsch as the film Broken Lullaby in 1931, though when he watched the film he realised that it was a completely different treatment to the direction he wanted to go with Frantz. He wanted to give the focus of the film to Anna, who was on the losing side of the war, providing more empathy to her as the central character.

There is an interesting chemistry between Beer and Niney, both of whom are playing extremely complex characters. They share this individual that has had a huge affect on their respective lives and begin to grow closer. Providing convincing characterisations of such  conflicting emotions is a challenge both rise to and it is this that elevates the film above being a wartime drama.

It was amazing to learn that this was Beer’s first performance acting as a French-language character. Many successful actresses couldn’t achieve what she has here in their first language let alone their second one. She revealed in a post-screening discussion that she had to learn and develop the script twice. Initially she developed the emotional responses to the words in her native German, before relearning the entire segments in French to ensure her delivery wasn’t lacklustre.

This is a truly moving film that gives an interesting point of view to the fallout from war that hasn’t often been explored before. Superb delivery from the two complex central characters means this comes highly recommended.

Film review – Aimer, Boire et Chanter / Life of Riley (Alain Resnais, 2014)

I remember sitting in the Olympic Stadium back in 2012, as British sporting darling Jessica Ennis stepped up to take part in another leg of her gold medal winning heptathlon events. It was a fantastic day of British sporting achievement, one which we’ve come to know as Super Saturday. Mo Farah, Jessica Ennis and Greg Rutherford picked up a gold medal each that day, whilst the rest up Britain picked up a slice of happiness. Finally it was good to be British again. We could be proud to be British. We were all preparing to eat some fish and chips, put up the bunting and play some wiff-waff. But then we realised. Something odd was happening. The public announcements. They were unusual. They were being provided in two languages. One was British-English, the best kind of English. But, wait… Is that French? BEFORE OUR LANGUAGE!? Very quickly we had forgotten how great it was to be British and taken up our normal stance of complaining about something. How very dare they? [1]

With this in mind, it’s easy to see why Life of Riley failed to ignite the British public’s interest when it was released back in 2014. The screenplay, provided by Laurent Herbiet, Alex Reval (a pseudonym for Alain Resnais) and playwright Jean-Marie Besset, follows closely the original Alan Ayckbourn play on which it is based. Ayckbourn is a quintessentially British playwright, the voice of the suburban British middle class. When the film opens and we see a car slowly drifting along a country road towards the heart of Yorkshire, we know where we stand. But then we get slapped in the face again. Why is everyone speaking in French? [2]


Of course, the more discerning amongst the cinema-goers – to which this film is primarily aimed – will see beyond this thin veneer and find quite a rewarding film. The cast provide a lot of depth to the plot, and bring it to life through some highly comedic performances, despite it constantly living in danger of slowing down slightly too much. It does fall short on a few occasions, with the pacing at fault for the lulls.

It centres around an off-screen character named George Riley, who we learn early on is dying of cancer. With months to live, the people central to his life decide it would be a good idea to have him join them in their local theatre production of another Ayckbourn play, Relatively Speaking. Those people consist of three couples: diagnosing doctor Colin and his wife Kathryn (Hippolyte Girardot and Sabine Azéma); George’s best friend Jack and his wife Tamara (Michel Vuillermoz and Caroline Silhol); and George’s ex-wife Monica and her new partner Simeon (Sandrine Kiberlain and André Dussollier). Alba Gaïa Kraghede Bellugi briefly appears as Tilly, daughter of Kathryn and Colin, in a moving final scene of the film. Most of the humour derives from the fact that our unseen titular character is evidently somewhat of a charmer and as the play continues forward and his clock is ticking down, they struggle to court his affections in increasingly desperate ways, resulting in a playoff as he decides who he takes on his final holiday to Tenerife, much to the disdain of their respective partners.

The distinctive set design is complimented by Dominique Bouilleret’s cinematography and essentially the setting of Yorkshire could have been dropped altogether. The film has the look and feel entirely of watching a play, but I did wonder whether or not it could have achieved something more given the capabilities of film as a medium over theatre.

The film premiered in competition at the 2013 Berlin Film Festival, in what would prove to be three weeks prior to the death of director Resnais. Thus, Life of Riley proved to be his swansong. I’m not convinced it would have been his first choice of film to tell at the end of his life, but it certainly doesn’t allow his career to finish on a low note. It is somewhat fitting that it would be a final return to Ayckbourn, having already adapted two other plays. It isn’t life-changing, but it is certainly not to be dismissed.

Life of Riley is available on Masters of Cinema dual-format Blu-Ray and DVD now.

[1] Dare they might, and justifiably so. French is the first language of the Olympic movement, based in the French-speaking city of Lausanne.

[2] I find this hilarious, by the way. I would like to apologise to the entire world for every single time an English or American film has decided to cast someone who can’t speak the language of the character they are portraying and asked them to speak in English with an invariably hammy accent. It’s a massive embarrassment. I still have no idea why studios are so reluctant to cast native speakers in big roles. The entire illusion of a film is lost on me when you can’t even have someone speak in the correct language.

Les Misérables (Raymond Bernard, 1934)

I have never read Victor Hugo’s novel Les Misérables. I have never seen the stage musical of “Les Miz”. I have never seen any of the three silent film adaptations of the book, nor have I seen any of the eight spoken-word non-musical adaptations of the film. I have not seen a single other film directed by Bernard, nor have I seen a single film starring any of the actors and actresses that are in this version. Therefore, I have only one reference point. Yes, you guessed it. It’s Hugh Jackman, Anne Hathaway, Russell Crowe and Sacha Baron Cohen’s film-of-the-musical from 2012. For this, I can only apologise.

To call this a single five-hour epic would be to bend the truth slightly, not least because it clocks in at a mere 4 hours 40 minutes. Actually, it was released as separate films in an episodic manner over a period of three weeks starting on 9th February 1934.

The first and longest part, Une tempête sous un crâne (Tempest in a Skull) tells the story of Jean Valjean (Harry Baur) as he finishes his prison sentence, then becomes increasingly frustrated that his past life as a convict blights him (his only crime being stealing a loaf of bread), having to hand in his prison documentation every time he enters a new town and constantly being pursued by Javert (Charles Vanel). Seeking a new start, he disposes of his papers and assumes a new identity, beginning a new life as Champmathieu.

The second part, Les Thénardier (The Thenardiers), concentrates primarily on the titular family acting as guardians to Cosette (Gaby Triquet, who sadly passed away two years ago), milking her mother for money and treating her like a slave. Her mother Fantine (Florele) is slowly approaching death due to the illnesses contracted through overworking to pay for Cosette’s falsely expensive upkeep. As this chapter concludes, we leave Champmathieu seeking to take sole custody of Cosette.

The third part, Liberté, liberté chérie (Freedom, dear Freedom) is set around the 1832 June Rebellion in Paris, as the various interweaving plots come to dramatic conclusions.

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I know a lot of people who class themselves as Les Miserables aficionados. You know, the type that has been to see the show 180 times, know every word inside out and tell you “You might have liked the film but I’m not sure you’d like the stage musical.” Well, I didn’t like the 2012 film because some of the main cast can’t sing. This was worsened by the contrasting excellent vocal performances from Hugh Jackman and Samantha Barks. It makes you wonder why they didn’t cast performers from one of the many stage adaptations there have been in the last 35 years. Of course, that’s because putting Borat in one of the main roles puts more bums on seats in the cinema, so it was clearly not an attempt to do a great piece of art justice, just an attempt to make money.

The main reason I say all of this is because if you want to get to the root of the purpose behind the original book, you have to read it. If you don’t have time (like me), then this is a great place to start. It is apparently the closest adaptation to the original source material there has been. What struck me was how deeply effective the characterisation was by Hugo of each of the characters. Each person is driven by a clear motive, and nothing is glossed over. It’s no small task to fully realise two or three major but conflicting characters in a story, let alone eight or more whose storylines are intertwined so tightly. It’s like Love Actually for the 19th Century. But good.

There are significant differences between this and the 2012 adaptation. Most surprising is the appearance of Valjean. Hugh Jackman he is not, so don’t expect to be swooning over him at any point. The Thenardiers are explored in great detail and are far more despicable, eliciting a far greater emotional response in me. Overall it’s just a more rounded experience, and far more satisfying as we journey through an epic story to a fittingly intense climax.

Visually, it is clear the 2012 film has borrowed from the 1934 interpretation. Most significantly I couldn’t help seeing the two stand-offs at the end with the rebellion fighters barricaded in the streets of Paris as being essentially identical shots. The tension was recreated blow-for-blow with very similar cinematography techniques. Why change something that works so well?

The Masters of Cinema release is fully loaded. The Pathé 4K transfer is extremely detailed, giving the film space over two discs to avoid unnecessary compression. The second disc features only Part III of the trilogy, so we are also treated to a large amount of supplementary features including documentaries, a 1905 short film Le Chemineau (The Vagabond) by Albert Capellani’s short film, a theatrical trailer, news reels and more. We also get a (now standard of Masters of Cinema) lavish 28-page booklet with five essays on the film.

So at almost five hours this is not for the faint-hearted, but you can cut it into three parts and digest this very faithful interpretation of the original story as you please. It’s a far cry from the 2012 musical film but it has a lot more to offer.

Les Miserables is out now on Masters of Cinema two-disc Blu-ray.

The Duke of Burgundy (Peter Strickland, 2014)

Peter Strickland’s latest film, The Duke of Burgundy, is an interesting one. Screened in competition at the British Film Festival under a wave of great reviews, it is a film very hard to categorise. I’ve seen it described as an erotic drama. It’s also been referred to as a sexual romance. I’ve a tendency to go with a black romantic comedy, albeit based on the sexual fetishes of a lesbian couple.

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On the face of it, it concerns a sadomasochistic relationship between a dominant woman and her submissive lover. They live in a small community populated exclusively by women, who we are led to believe share similar sexual tendencies. They are all clearly well off, and none appear to work outside a few butterfly lectures here and there.

To label it as a film simply about fetish sex is to do it a disservice. Actually by the end of the film it is clearly more about the demands made by the desires of one person in a relationship, and the effect that has on the second party, especially as they grow distant from these demands and find them less appealing.

The soundtrack, provided by Cat’s Eyes, tweely pitches somewhere between Goldfrapp and Belle and Sebastian. With the constant references to butterflies I was repeatedly reminded of early 00s band Misty Dixon. This juxtaposition between what we see and what we hear is quite intelligent: it underlines the innocence of one party and her belief that this is normal behaviour, even though it is clearly a strain on her besotted lover. She is living in a dream world and the music, in that sense, is perfectly pitched. Plus it’s really lovely music, which helps.

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The whole nature of the relationship is completely flipped from its initial portrayal, and by the end we see the surprising reality. This about-turn makes for some hilarious and at times heartbreaking scenes. Indeed, such is the detail in which we see the emotions and pain seen by one party, we barely see a glimpse of any of the sexual acts, usually having them implied behind closed doors or inferred from showing us the before and after shots. In this way, Strickland managed to avoid it becoming all about the sex and makes it a much greater film as a result.

In a post-50-Shades era the subject matter will no doubt turn a few heads. In many ways I hope readers of the 50 Shades series seek it out and are either disappointed or, more likely, pleasantly surprised.

Whilst it didn’t have the impact of Strickland’s previous film Berbarian Sound Studio, it was a highly satisfying, twisting and twisted tale that deserves a wide audience.

The Duke of Burgundy is released in UK cinemas in 2015.