Reviews

The Voyager crew invent an "Irish" holodeck town replete with every stereotype Hollywood has ever invented about us. As an Irishman, I've always felt that these kind of tropes show up the people who buy into them more than they do the Irish they're insulting but there's something about this episode that rubs me the wrong way. Perhaps, it's that Star Trek was always supposed to be forward looking. Their characters were supposed to be immune to the types of stereotypical thinking that morphs too easily from patronising to outright racism. That a bunch of 24th century Federation citizens could be so clueless and pathetically limited in their own understanding of an entire nation of people just feels wrong. Of course, it was written by 20th century Americans and so one could assume its showing nothing more than what we already knew-that US writers of the 1990's were as clueless about real Irish culture as they were in the 30's and 40's. However, there are enough glowing reviews of this episode by Americans writing in the 2020's to conclude that too many of them still revel in such patronising reductions of whole nationalities. "Make him more curious about the world around him..." Janeway commands when changing the Michael Sullivan character because well...all Irish people must be parochial-and even with all her sophistication upgrades, he's still not averse to the odd bar brawl. The irony is-and I say this as an Irishman who has been to the US dozens of times-that by and large, Americans tend to be more parochial than Irish people. As a small country, looking outside is almost our default position. It's not for nothing we punch above our weight in producing writers, singers, and other artists. But alas, some people are never happier than when their ignorant stereotypes are being indulged an erroneously confirmed.

Not a bad actioneer by the always steady and oft inspired hand of Jonathan Mostow. We all know what the plot is, a bunch of heroic US Navy submariners, take a German U-boat and with it the priceless Enigma coding machine, thereby turning the Battle for the Atlantic the Allies' way. Not only did they have to bail Britain out by entering the war in the first place but when the latter couldn't get their hands on the enigma themselves, the mighty Americans needed to swoop in and do it for them. Obviously I'm being disingenuous in my last point, but to all the outraged reviewers-Now you know that it feels like! You have entire museums dedicated to showing off some of humankind's greatest achievements while claiming ownership of them at the same time. Except the vast majority of those monumental achievements belong to you even less than the story of capturing the enigma belongs to the US. You just went and stole them and then showed them off-for a grubby profit. So until you find yourself outside one of those museums with a placard in your hand, dial the hypocrisy down a bit.

As for the movie, it's all about the action which is pretty non-stop, aided by a lean script and some decent performances. The true kudos go to the man at the helm however as, once again, Mostow shows his ability to take a concept movie, drive it into a high gear, and maintain the pace from start to finish.

From a dramatic point of view, Hero Worship is standard TNG fare with few if any standout moments. However as a thought piece, it becomes one of the more interesting attempts to help its oft younger audiences to get a grip on complicated issues. In this case, it's identity and the natural tendency for children to struggle with it in early adolescence. What this episode cleverly shows is that it's perfectly natural for kids to be confused, especially in times of stress, and that it does not necessarily have to be life-defining. It can be a mere phase.

As a psychologist of several decades, I'm aware the subject of dysphoria is much more complex than any wiki definition or social media explanation can transmit. Unfortunately in the current climate any attempts at a rounded conversation quickly becomes embroiled in prickly commentary and nervous mediators. However, the fact that this episode depicts an albeit sci-inflected version of the disorder means it cuts thru any of that contemporary controversy. And in doing so, it allows us to appreciate that "Hero Worship" has much to teach the modern world about the potential transience of the disorder and of course the dangers of adults *wholly* embracing it in order to avoid dealing with deeper problems.

In short, the episode becomes a typically well considered episode of TNG where the characters become models for the audience as we all weave our way thru these choppy waters. For example, we see Troi advising Picard and Data to show an appreciation for wider context in which the troubled child is operating. In doing so, she encourages a crucial sensitivity to the very nature of adolescence itself as well as the tendency for young teens to use external models as they abstract (after all they are mere novices at this skill) their own age-appropriate internal stress into something that it is in fact not. Of course the kid wasn't an android. But he needed to believe he was for that short period of time so that his mind could adjust to the trauma. This is why Troi advised a soft indulgence-wait him out-as opposed to the fanatical and extreme solutions some might reach for today.

This is what TNG always did so well. It gave its largely youthful audience a safe platform on which to excavate and evaluate their burgeoning sensibilities and rapidly evolving feelings alike. To cast their mind into the safe space of science fiction and reel it back into the real world edified and better informed than it had been before.

Data's Day has been one of my favourite TNG episodes for over 30 years for one very particular reason and it's to do with a peculiar quality that TNG holds above all other shows-the desire it creates within the minds of its audience to "be there". Many of us who grew up on the revamped version of the original series watched and rewatched these episodes (one 5pm episode a day repeated at 11pm if you were watching it on Sky) right throughout our late childhood and early adolescence. In that regard, the series occupies a very special part of our memories, one couched in a sense of comfort and easy living (who else gets to watch tv at 5pm but someone who has little else to worry about?) of having the family buzzing about the house, of well rounded contentment. Complementing this was something that TNG rarely gets credit for but every fan cherished-the set design and decor. Far from the gloomy dark sets of modern tv, TNG was warmly lit in a palette of late 80's/early 90's creams and beiges, filled with spatial rooms and corridors, tidy and clean with soft carpets and long awning windows and featuring an array of facilities we would get to visit and revisit again and again. To the kids who grew up with it, the Enterprise of this series was a plush and safe space and most importantly familiar. We longed to be there and now as adults revisiting it all for the first time in decades, the nostalgia for that sense of safe comfort is palpable.

It is this strange power which Data's Day taps into. As the titular character recounts his daily business both personal and official in a letter to Commander Maddox (he of Measure of a Man), the set-up requires us to follow the oft comical android around the ship. In doing so, the episode sends us closer to our coveted destination amid the stars of our mind than any other, filling the gaps in our own private mental maps of the ship. We visit nearly all of the secondary sets and even see a few new ones such as the hairdressers and the gift replicators. We see the main characters doing a little bit of what they do on their free time and get a sense of what it really was like to live aboard the Galaxy Class flag ship of Star Fleet. If that wasn't enough, and it could have been, threaded into the mix is a delicious b-plot that serves the primary drama brilliantly in that it justifies the retrospective narrative of Data's letter to Maddox as well as Data's wandering while adding a sense of excitement to the proceedings. (Of course, the convenient absence of Troi and her empathic sense from this b-story could count as a plot-hole of sorts and is the reason this episode rates a 9 and not a 10.)

Though such a premise could have leant itself to being nothing more than a tedious season filler, Data's Day instead seemed to bring the best out in cast and crew alike. The interactions between Spiner and Burton, the great Meaney and Chao, Sirtris and McFadden are fantastic and director Robert Wiemer assists them greatly with some inspired staging. It results in some of the funniest interchanges in the entire series with Spiner at the center of it all. Whether it be Data's delivery of the "good news" to the chief or the slow turning reveal of his fixed dancing smile, this show will have you howling with laughter no matter how many times you've seen it. In between will be the type of smiles that only the contentment of being in one of your favourite places can bring.

This season is astonishingly bad. Four contestants who couldn't care less about the tasks and a fifth who plays them all with the straightest most humourless bat possible. On top of that Greg is throwing points at this contestant even when it's totally undeserved.

We've seen him favour one contestant before but this season has been outrageous. It's like he's afraid to give this person any less than 4. It has turned an already boring series into a real slog, and for the first time since it began, I'm no longer bothered about even seeing it.

It's a real shock too because I'm a dyed in the wool fan, who has watched and rewatched every season multiple times. Season 10 was the only other weak season (no doubt cos of the channel switch and still getting to grips with no live audience) but this one has tanked below even those standards.

A first rewatch of Voyager in over 20 years has proven more enjoyable than I anticipated. In particular, the antagonists are much more I interesting than I remembered. The Vidians were underused but genuinely disturbing, the Kazon were more generic but with some interesting threads, while Species 8472 was (imo) the show's greatest contribution to ST. Coming close to them however were the Hirogen, at least the Hirogen of "Hunters" and "Prey". Sure they were a ripoff of Predator but while many ST fans would argue that its writers should be bringing us something new instead of borrowing from alternative sci-fi mythologies, a nomadic group of powerful humanoid hunters was exactly what a show like Voyager needed as a recurring villain. But the cherry on top was the physical appearance that the writers and makeup guys came up with. Simply put, when first introduced, the Hirogen looked nasty, strong, and deeply intimidating. While their armour and cranial ridges went some way in achieving that effect, it was their size that did most of the heavy lifting. The first time we see them in "Hunters", the two we meet are both over seven foot tall and they tower awesomely over Tuvok and Seven. Sure, Tony Todd in "Prey" was only six and a half feet but he was plenty big enough to intimidate. Alas, by this episode, most of them are now of average height and almost completely incapable of intimidating on the same level as before. If anything, they look like a runt sub-species of the Hirogen we previously met. Shame, because this antagonist had real potential.

I remember telling a friend about this episode over a pint of Guinness twenty years back and describing it as the best ST episode I'd ever seen so I'm delighted to see how well it's still going down today.

The Dominion Arc to DS9 was a platform for some of the best sci-fi to ever hit a screen, big or small and In the Pale Moonlight is in many ways the pinnacle of that arc. Not because of any great action but because of its writing and ultimately because of how it brought Star Trek full circle.

I loved TNG & DS9 equally, and after a recent rewatch of both, what has struck me most is their symbiosis. TNG was an aspirational sci-fi exploring an ideal of existence that was, and has remained a fascinating contrast to the far more dominant dystopian science fiction. But if TNG held up the ideal, DS9 held a mirror to that ideal and reminded us that no matter how high humans can ascend we will always be walking a tightrope and falling will simply come with greater consequences.

In the Pale Moonlight was the lynchpin to this process of mature reflection and so justifiably lays claim to being the greatest ST episode of them all.

Watching this from episode one thru to the end, I was constantly worried they'd lose their nerve and mess it up. So watching the credits roll on this scintillating finale, I felt a dizzying combination of relief and ecstasy. They didn't just bring it home intact, they put a gold cap on what has been the most refreshing tv I've seen since in decades and delivered a thrilling and heartfelt denouement that took the building momentum of the entire 12 episodes and channeled it into a punch to the face of tyrants everywhere. Andor is nothing short of a masterpiece of understatement; a thunderous testament to the power of a single idea and the balls to build an entire show around it. Stunning!

There is no other show currently streaming that is more impressive than Andor. In seven episodes, it has kicked the doors to the SW universe wide open, not just in its mining of new stories but in both its tone, expression, and style. It's strictly for the adults and it eschews the episodic structure of the Mandalorian with gusto. That said the first six eps can be easily watched in two movie-like instalments. If the next six prove likewise, we might just have an iconic new SW quadrilogy on our hands-& my respect and admiration for this endeavour will have exploded thru whatever ceiling I've been hitherto rating modern tv shows under.

Moon is that rare breed of film that seamlessly weaves existential introspection with thrilling story-telling resulting in the most satisfying and touching of film going experiences. It is a tour de force of technical achievement from the set design to the acting to the score to the directing.

The film tells the fascinating story of Sam Bell (Rockwell) who when coming to the end of a three year stint as the sole crew member on a moon base encounters a duplicate of himself. This encounter sets the scene for some mind-bending self-reflection and a heartfelt bonding between the two men as they not only discover who they are but that their lives are in danger. In telling this story, Jones constantly plays with the audience's expectations exploiting their knowledge of film convention in general and science fiction convention in particular so that the narrative is kept fresh and unpredictable and the audience kept on their toes.

Like all great science fiction films Moon looks great. The production design is truly excellent with more than a few nods to 2001: A Space Odyssey, while the visual effects are simple but immaculate. The magnificent Moonscapes against which the exterior action takes place are nothing short of sumptuous. Moon is a testament to the idea that the clever and restrained use of visual effects that is necessitated by an independent budget can produce a quality far beyond that of even the most expensive blockbusters. Like 2001 and Blade Runner before it Moon uses its look and visual effects not to impress the audience in a vacuous attempt to show off but as a subtext for the story. This only heightens the visual experience and gives the film's look a life of its own.

The script is tight and economical with not a word of dialogue out of place or wasted. Given that the film only stars one actor and that loneliness is an important theme there are extended periods where no words are spoken. In such circumstances score can become critical and the audience will not be disappointed as Clint Mansell's unforgettable music carries you throughout the film colouring every scene with a pervading sense of mystery. Indeed, his score is so subtly haunting that you continue to 'hear' it even when it's not there.

At the centre of this film is Sam Rockwell's powerhouse performance which is possibly the most impressive piece of acting since Pachino's portrayal of Michael Corleone. As with that latter performance, Rockwell takes on the mammoth task of portraying two different versions of the same character and he succeeds so wonderfully that at times you feel you could be looking at two different actors. Of course the real trick was in playing the character differently enough to account for the personality changing over time but similarly enough to reinforce the point that they're the same person. And it is in pulling off this trick that Rockwell lays the groundwork for some of the most unique and profoundly touching acting in modern film history as the two Sam Bell's grow past their initial suspicion and resentment of each other to the point where they become bound by genuine compassion and concern for each other. For me, this is the punctuating performance in this maverick actor's career and one that confirms him as the standout actor of his generation.

Sam Bell's AI companion Gerty is superbly brought to life through a combination of Kevin Spacey's perfectly measured vocal performance and an incredibly innovative conception of robot-human interface where Spacey's monotone voice becomes emotionally embellished through the use of emoticons. Though the existential relationship between the two Sams is the heart and soul of this film, the three-way interaction between Rockwell, Spacey's voice, and the physical robot is at times equally touching and this is never better realised than in the moment when Gerty breaks protocol to tell Sam the truth.

Ultimately it is the poignancy of Moon that makes it so deeply brilliant and that poignancy is drawn from the story through the intuitive combination of Rockwell's searing performance and Jones' profound and visionary direction. In one standout scene this perfect harmony between the two and their respective crafts is realised as Bell sits in his rover talking to his daughter who is back on Earth. As Bell begins to emotionally crumble before our eyes Jones cuts to an exterior shot, which slowly pans behind the rover and the more distant blue sphere of the earth. This is perhaps one of the most beautiful and haunting scenes in the history of cinema.

Duncan Jones' Moon is the best debut since Scorsese maybe even since Welles. It is the best science fiction film since Bladerunner maybe even since 2001: A Space Odyssey. The more often I see this film the higher it rises in my estimation. In fact, Moon might just be one of the best films ever made.

A rare gem of film that has remained relatively unacknowledged (when compared to more commercially successful Coen brothers films), Miller's Crossing stands alongside The Big Lebowski as the Coen's best film to date and indeed as one of the finest examples of it's genre whether that be the Gangster or Noir genre. This is a film that boasts perfection from all quarters from the acting, the casting, the writing, the directing, the cinematography, to the scoring.

Of course, its standout strength is the dialogue which is not only the best example of Coen dialogue but perhaps the most powerful use of dialogue in modern film. The main thrust of the film's quick and steady pace comes from the lyrical and relentless back and forth between the film's characters (and in typical Noir fashion, this is usually between Tom and someone else).

As is the case in most films, the level of the writing raises the level of the acting. Each of the actors' performances are first rate and indeed there are many career bests given here. When I lament the fact that the likes of Pachino and De Niro don't consistently produce the quality they did in the 70's and early 80's, I remind myself that we just don't have the quality of writing as we did then and while films have become better in other respects they've never quite reached the same heights from the point of view of the writing. Joel and Ethan Coen are amongst a relatively small number of contemporary writers who are consistently working on that level and Miller's Crossing is the perfect example of great actors being fueled by great writing. Finney and Polita clearly revel in the expounding of their luscious lines while J.E. Freeman simply burns a whole in the screen. Of course, this is Byrne's film from start to finish and he carries it well with a distinct and unique brand of cool as he delivers immortal line after immortal line with pure gusto.

Those who claim the violence in this film is gratuitous need to re-watch. For example, in the most violent scene involving Casper and the Dane, the violence is used to illustrate the complex aspects to Casper's character (e.g., his paternal attitude towards his 'boys' and his sociopathic attitude towards killing; his adherence to ethics and his vengeance against those who betray theirs). On top of that, speaking from a technical point of view, violence in Coen films is typically choreographed into the action scenes in a relatively artistic manner where it is used as a counterpoint or visual exclamation mark to augment and punctuate the action and/or tension of a scene. Nowhere is this more true than in Miller's Crossing a film that boasts some of the Coens most memorable and best choreographed action scenes.

As for the symbolism of the hat and the dream sequence where Tom must chase his, I heard before that the Coens claim there was none. This is difficult to believe as the film is very much about thinking oneself out of problems and not loosing one's head and Tom himself explicitly equates thinking to hats during the film. But that's the great thing about symbolism in clever films - there's a lot one can make of even a hat.

When I see a film like this receiving such an average rating on IMDb it really makes me wonder why certain people feel the need to rate a film that they must know is just not aimed at them. Just leave it alone and go rent some formulaic pseudo-quirky comedy like the Hangover or something. But for those of you who believe humor is something that needs constant re-inventing then look no further than Jared Hess' films. Gentlemen Broncos is quite simply one of the freshest, funniest, well acted (from a comedic standpoint), and sharply written comedies I've had the privilege of seeing.

The film tells a small but endearing tale which is playfully examined on a number of skilfully interwoven levels. Like Hess's earlier film, Napoleon Dynamite, Broncos is populated by an array of quirky characters, each with hidden depths. The setting is another small town in 'Nowheresville USA', and the context is the wonderfully brought to life world of trashy science fiction writing. Again, as he did in ND, Hess manages to create a world so utterly bizarre from a visual and aesthetic point of view but so familiar from an emotional point of view that the emotional tribulations of the characters become the dominant focus of the film. And this, of course, is the point. The emotions that the film both explores and manages to stir within the audience are the truest feature of the conceptual landscape. So as the film progresses, the realness of the characters increasingly stands out against the more surreal elements of the film and, with that, the audience becomes increasingly enamoured of each and every one of them.

The story itself centres on an insecure adolescent, Benjamin (Angarano), who writes science fiction novellas. Hess succeeds wonderfully in giving us yet another central character who we immediately root for and admire despite, and perhaps because of, his obvious lack of typical mainstream lead character traits. Angarano is, as usual, excellent in the lead role in that he manages to play a shy character with little to say while simultaneously holding the viewers' attention throughout. The supporting roles are all manned ably with Coolidge, White, and Clement scoring particularly well. However, as is the case with every film he stars in, Sam Rockwell steals the show from his very first scene to the very end of the closing credits. Choosing yet another quirky secondary character, Rockwell again shows that he's not just the most talented character actor of his generation but one of the most instinctively and originally funny as well. Being a good actor and being funny in a film are not necessarily mutually compatible skills but Rockwell does it with ease and as the fictional heroes of both Bronco and Brutus, he gives us two entirely different and insanely original comedy Sci-Fi characters that I will personally relish watching again and again.

As a backdrop to the action Hess uses the world of pulp science fiction novels and, as intimated above, it is with this multi-layered device that main thrust of the comedy is delivered. The fictional world of the "Yeast Lords" is so outrageously funny that I defy anyone to get through the four or five scenes starring Bronco or Brutus without cracking up at least once (for those who have the DVD, there's a particularly hilarious blooper where Rockwell can't bring himself to say the line "were there pimps?" without breaking into laughter at the sheer absurdity of his lines). All in all, the film sends up this peculiar little genre of "writing" while clearly maintaining a strong affection for the potential imaginative freedom it sometimes manages to exploit.

Gentlemen Broncos is the most original and authentically eccentric film I've seen, well since Napoleon dynamite. This latter aspect to Hess' films is a true virtue given the plethora of 'whacky-by-numbers' films that Hollywood has been inflicting on us over the past decade. At no time watching Broncos did I feel like I'd seen any of it before and the freshness combined with the innate razor-sharp wit of the writing and acting allowed me to laugh the most refreshing and honest laughs I had laughed in years. If you watched it and didn't like it but did like ND, please go back and watch it again. This is a rare gem of a film and if you ultimately change your mind and come to agree with us small band of Hess devotees then do your best to get that ridiculously inappropriate rating up.

If there was one thing we knew about QT prior to Kill Bill it was that he was a perfectionist. If there was another, it was that he was a master of dialogue and character-driven film-making where his visual flourishes were expertly but subtly woven into the background of his films. Thus, when he decided to make his next feature a full-blown action film QT was not only entering new territory but was determined to show us that his mastery of the visual side to film-making was just as sharp as his mastery of the verbal side.

One might have argued that he was already accomplished in this respect. After all, there were moments of technical mastery such as the tracking shots in Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. He gave us an extraordinary example of how split-screen technology can be used to move a story forward in Jackie Brown. His use of the camera in frenetic scenes such as the 'Mr. Pink getaway' scene was as raw and effective as the best action directors and his limited interference with the camera in the majority of his dialogue-driven scenes were indicative of a very disciplined mind reminiscent of the greats such as Hitchcock, Kurosawa, Allen, and of course Kubrick. However, QT believed (and with some justification) that action films are, from a technical point of view, the most difficult films to make well. And if he was to prove his worth as a director he would have to make it is an action director.

To say that QT was successful in his desire to cut it as an action director is an understatement of "gargantuan" proportions as Kill Bill is an action film that goes beyond any that came before it or have emerged since. Not content to toil in one of the many action sub-genres, QT bridges at least 4 genres from Spaghetti Western to Japanese Anime, seamlessly interweaving the different styles and pushing the boundaries of their conventions to the point that the viewer finds his/herself witnessing a broader yet unique and singular genre of QT's own creation. With each passing scene, QT squeezes, twists, and stretches traditional conventions to find new ways to lure the viewer into his frenetic world of pure vengeance.

And this is precisely what makes KB such an extraordinary film-going experience. It is the profoundly imaginative manner in which he conceives of and executes the action scenes that is the most jaw-dropping aspect to this film. This film is built on a seemingly endless series of conceptual flourishes that usurp and assimilate traditional samurai, Kung-Fu, anime, and western genre conventions onto his unique and broader platform. Take for example the moment when the bride plucks the eye out of one her assailants, signaling the film's switch from colour to black and white. The act which becomes more significant to the story in Vol. 2, is a conceptual bridge to the traditional samurai sword-play film convention of filming bloody scenes in black and white so as to avoid censorship. It is with this convention that QT heralds the imminence of blood-shed, and if the eye-plucking is anything to go by, a lot of it.

Of course, one mustn't limit one's review of KB to its technical innovation. It is after all a QT film and like all his films its fueled by his typical razor-sharp dialogue and dazzlingly original characters. This is of course yet another factor that raises it above your typical actioneer in that the time is taken to give each of the main characters a back-story and mutually contradicting layers. Naturally, QT's peerless casting plays a part here as he chooses actor after actors who inhabit these layered characters in ways that retrospectively speaking it would seem only they could.

The gang of assassins on whom the Bride is wreaking her revenge are played by an unlikely ensemble of actors who each exude a unique brand of cool which is expertly tailored for a film of this nature. Populating the background of this story are an array of characters which together with the actors who play them (e.g., Gordon Lui, Michael Parks , Sonny Chiba, David Carradine) represent a knowing and sometimes audacious nod to the genres that KB is exploring.

Central to the film's casting of course is Uma Thurman as both volumes of the film rest on her shoulders. Most important here I believe is that Thurman never once stops being a woman. I have found that one of the most consistently irritating features of heroine-centred films is the tendency for the woman to act like a typical male, specifically, macho hero. Nowhere in the course of this film is there a trace of this in her performance. Instead, we are given a rather interesting portrayal of a woman clinging to her revenge mission as though there was nothing else to live for. Throughout the film, she demonstrates an authentic anger, composure, emotion, and cunning that is distinctly feminine.

However, the real star of this film is QT. Ultimately, KB is a reflection of an intuition for film-making that goes beyond special. As the film progressed, I found myself repeatedly re-evaluating a director who I had already considered one of the greats and each time elevating his position in that hierarchy. I almost regretted that KB was 'nothing more' than an action film as films of that genre are often looked down on in acts of ignorant film-snobbery. However, like QT argues, great action films are not easy to make. They involve the choreography of words, sound, and physical movement into a unified whole. KB is a testament to this ideal and as a result it is a memorising piece of film-making that in terms of technical and conceptual innovation is matched only by 2001: A Space Odyssey and Citizen Kane. Seriously!

Manhunter is the best 'serial killer' genre film I've seen to date. It covers the 'serial killer' phenomenon from all possible angles - from the killings themselves and the motives of the killer, to the manhunt and the effects it has on the agents tracking the killer. Each of these four angles could themselves be the sole premise for such a film and it's to Mann's credit that he not only manages to deal with each of these angles in a substantive manner but also skilfully weaves them together into a coherent story.

The film moves at a steady pace and, while always conveying the urgency of the characters' actions, it never feels rushed. The process of tracking the killer is shown to us in meticulous detail right down to the unspoken rivalry and/or contempt that the different branches of the law enforcement system have for each other. And it's this last point that touches on that which makes Manhunter so clever and in my opinion better than the book itself.

Everything important in Manhunter is subtly hinted at so it's left up to the audience to infer: Graham's ability to track serial killers (he's half-way there himself); relatedly, Graham's motives for choosing Lounds to lure the killer (whether he was aware of them or not); Dolarhyde's disgust/insecurity at his own physical appearance (and the root of his desire to kill). This is the true brilliance of Manhunter. Rather than force-feeding the audience, Mann recognises that the characters in this film are driven by their ability or inability to deal with their own psyches. The subject matter is therefore subjective and should never be clear-cut enough so that it can be explained in black and white.

For those who say that there was too much focus on Graham and that the book focused mainly on the tooth-fairy, I will remind you of the film's title and to recognise the differences between this title and the book's. Mann quite rightly went his own way with the film. I've always felt that there's very little artistic merit in reproducing a book in film form - that's one step up from listening to a book read out on a tape.

While on the subject of reproducing the book in film form, I'm unfortunately obliged to mention the more recent Red Dragon film. I noted that this far inferior film actually has a higher rating than Manhunter and it makes me laugh that a film so formulaic, coarse, and obvious (on all levels) should be held in higher esteem. But I suppose it stands to reason that if babies like drinking formula they want the same thing from their films.

Manhunter is not just a technical masterclass in direction and writing but also in acting. Each character is fully drawn out by the actors and they each relate to the different characters in consistently different ways. Peterson has never been better as the introspective lead investigator who innately empathises with these killers and so understands how their profound insecurities can lead to murder. The progression of his character throughout the film is believable and quite expertly conveys to us his desperate attempt to separate himself from 'his man'. Farina is, as always, brilliant and as much as I'm a fan of Scott Glenn, the former's Jack Crawford is the grittier and more hard-edged. With every glance and eye-movement, Farina brings to bear his first-hand knowledge of what it is to be a cop doing his job under time pressure.

Standing out from this excellent ensemble is of course Brian Cox as Lecktor. While there is some merit to Anthony Hopkin's unfortunately more renowned portrayal of the same character, his is undeniably a caricature of a serial killer and, therefore, not realistic at all. A serial killer must appear to be, by definition,a very normal person - that's how he manages to kill a 'series' of people as opposed to just one and then being caught! My problem with Hopkin's Lecktor is that he is quite clearly not fully there in the head and so even the rawest recruit from the FBI down to the Cub Scouts would be able to pick him out as suspect no. 1. Cox gives us something entirely different. His Lecktor is smart, charming, and beneath the surface empty, devoid of sentiment and compassion. Again, it's to Mann's, and the actor's credit that, by the time his three scenes are done with, we have an implicit feeling as to what may be driving this Lecktor as well as an uncomfortable liking for him.

Three stand-out sequences to look for: 1) the 'walk-through' of the tooth-fairy's letter through the forensic process. Not a quick, flashy cut in sight. Instead we have a patient almost soothing series of scenes that convey exactly what the different forensic specialists do better than any film before it or since (yes, they each have their own departments and there is not one indication that Jimmy Price and co. carry a gun, let alone go tracking down the killers themselves!). 2) Graham's visit with Lecktor. A dream-like sequence where the two play the best mental game of chess I can remember seeing in a film. 3) Dollarhyde encountering Reba. Michael Mann at his best shows us in three scenes how the fantasy-driven psychosis of a serial killer can be shattered to the point that the real person beneath is partially and briefly exposed.

File under 'Masterclass'.