You know how sometimes you watch a film, and the only way to describe it is by explaining the other stories that it reminds you of?

​100 Nights of Hero​ is one of those films. It’s a larger-than-life queer romantasy, set in a stylised medieval world. We wanted to unpack it for you in this week’s guide as a left-field film you might otherwise miss.

Based on a cult graphic novel of the same name, ​100 Nights of Hero​ is the latest film by emerging British director Julia Jackman, who won the New Talent Award at the BFI Future Films Festival. It’s clearly angling for a millennial/Gen Z audience, with a cast that includes Charli XCX, Emma Corrin (the bald baddie in​Deadpool & Wolverine​), Nicholas Galitzine (of cult fav romcom ​Red, White & Royal Blue​) and Maika Monroe (scream queen from ​It Follows​ and ​The Guest​).

The Lowdown on 100 Nights of Hero

What's 100 Nights of Hero about? A queer medieval romantasy about a wager, a love triangle, and a maid who uses the power of storytelling to protect the woman she loves.

Who directed 100 Nights of Hero? Julia Jackman

Who stars in 100 Nights of Hero? Maika Monroe, Emma Corrin, Nicholas Galitzine, Amir El-Masry, Felicity Jones.

Where can I see 100 Nights of Hero? In limited cinemas around Australia from July 2nd, with a few previews here and there.

We’ll be honest: to begin with, we weren’t quite sure how to interpret this film. It’s stagey and camp, but not immediately apparent whether or not the melodrama is self-aware. But once you settle in for the ride, the tongue-in-cheek nature of the story starts to peek through. 100 Nights of Hero reveals itself to be a charming, cheeky indie film.

And as we suggested earlier, it shines hardest when you see it as part of a constellation: it’s deeply intertextual.

Wait, ‘intertextual’?!

The term ‘intertextuality’ is handy here: it describes how the meaning of one text is shaped by another. ‘Text’ in this setting doesn’t mean ‘writing’, but any cultural artefact, from a fashion accessory to a meme to a nursery rhyme.

100 Nights of Hero is a story within a story within a story. So there’s heaps of intertextuality within the film itself, but that also extends out into all the other films, books and TV shows that make this indie feature comprehensible.

So for this week’s guide, we’re diving into some intertextual analysis! Hooray! We’ll be unpacking how 100 Nights of Hero relates to seven other iconic stories, because we think that context is going to help you fall in love with this queer, dark fairytale. But first…

How does 100 Nights of Hero start?

The film begins with a creation fable: a childlike god named Kiddo creates the world, as a peaceful garden which she leaves for its inhabitants to enjoy. But her father, the hawk-like Birdman, is dissatisfied with her laissez-fair approach. He takes control, instructing the people of the world to worship him. His doctrine includes strict constraints around gender and marriage.

The narration and visual style of this opening sequence sets the tone for the rest of the film: it's kitschy and over-the-top. Scarlett-robed priests wearing bird masks stand around chequered medieval passages, and ridiculous headgear and feathers feature heavily.

What are some references so far?

1) ​The Grand Budapest Hotel​

The voiceover narration, extravagant costuming and excessively structural mis-en-scene of 100 Nights of Hero will feel instantly familiar to fans of ​Wes Anderson​. Every frame is composed with symmetrical arrangements, a distinctive palette and an aesthetic that feels more like a Pinterest board than a real moment.

If you were new to this style it might feel distracting. But if you’re familiar, it’s a choice that says “Hello, I’m embracing the artifice of filmmaking!”. The choice primes you for further Wes-ness: period nostalgia, arms-length emotion and deadpan humour.

2) Psalms and parables

This creationist story is a clear nod to the scripture of Abrahamic texts, which prepares us for a parable: we're looking out for characters and events that are symbolic, and a story with a moral message. But Kiddo doesn't read as a monotheistic God. She comes across as something older: an earth-mother figure, a nature deity, the kind of divine feminine that appears across cultures. Her creation is an abundant garden left to grow.

In this context, Birdman's takeover parallels history: the suppression of earth-based spirituality by patriarchal institutions, with declarations of witchcraft and heresy. This critique is blunt, which comes across as slightly naff. But what’s interesting is that although this opening sequence is critical of patriarchal religious structures, 100 Nights of Hero uses the same language and form. It’s acknowledging the power of stories to shape the world.

What’s the plot of 100 Nights of Hero?

Against this backstory, we meet Cherry (Maika Monroe), a noble lady living with her husband Jerome (Amir El-Masry). The couple are summoned before the disapproving bird priests to explain why Cherry is still not pregnant. They are given 100 days to rectify the situation, or Cherry will face execution.

Although Jerome protests that the couple are trying their best, it becomes clear that the marriage is still unconsummated (to Cherry's disappointment). We get a first glimpse of the film’s queer themes: it's implied that Jerome may be more interested in his manservant than his wife. Meanwhile, we meet Cherry's maid, Hero (Emma Corrin). Hero (the narrator explains) is Cherry's… Long pause... Best friend.

What stories are references here?

3) ​The Handmaid's Tale​

For all its whimsical quirkiness, 100 Nights of Hero has an unsettling throughline. The women of this world are trapped: reduced to their childbearing ability, forbidden from reading and subject to the rules of men who hold the cards.

The parallels with Margaret Atwood's dystopias are hard to ignore, particularly the TV adaptation of ​The Handmaid's Tale​. There’s a difference in tone: where Atwood’s stories are grim and harrowing, 100 Nights of Hero goes bright and farcical. But a gilded cage is still a cage, and some of the costume similarities (like oversized white headdresses) make this comparison even more striking.

4) ​Bridgerton​

Like ​Bridgerton​, 100 Nights of Hero is a period romance that has absolutely no interest in being period accurate. It's not trying to recreate a historical moment; it's riffing on the tropes of the past, the same way Bridgerton borrows the Georgian aesthetic of Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters and remixes it for a contemporary audience.

The corsets and candlelight are vibes, not research, and this non-literal recreation of the past acts more as commentary on the present. But while ​Bridgerton​ imagines a multiracial, LGBTQ-accepting period utopia, 100 Nights of Hero instead draws parallels between the medieval setting of the story, and today’s politicisation of women’s reproductive choices.

OK, so what happens next?

After a wink towards Hero’s upcoming role in this love triangle, we step further into rom-com territory: the love wager.

Jerome makes a bet with his handsome playboy friend Manfred (Nicholas Galitzine) that his loyal wife is impossible to seduce. Jerome will leave Cherry alone in Manfred's care: if he succeeds in seducing her, he will inherit Jerome's estate. Should he fail, he must father a child to present as Jerome's heir. Presumably, both of these outcomes will end with the dishonour (and possible execution) of Cherry.

Jerome traipses away with his manservant on a ‘business trip’, and a comic love triangle ensues: Manfred attempting to woo Cherry with his manly manliness, and Hero attempting to protect Cherry from his over-eager advances. She does so with the only weapon she has available: the power of storytelling.

Hero and Cherry agree on a plan: whenever Manfred is being too persistent, Cherry will ask Hero to tell them a story. Cherry begins to tell the tale of three sisters (one of whom is played by Charli XCX) who harbour a dangerous secret: they can read. Over the course of 100 nights, Hero spins the tale: a parable about the power of storytelling, and literacy being stripped from women to disempower them.

Manfred’s tendency to fall asleep during these recitations helps Cherry evade his advances.

What other stories help us understand the plot so far?

5) One Thousand and One Nights

Often known in English as The Arabian Nights, One Thousand and One Nights is a collection of Arabic folk tales connected by a common fictional storyteller: Scheherazade. The backstory goes that the king kills each new wife the morning after their wedding night, until Scheherazade begins telling him a bedtime story and leaves him hanging at the cliffhanger. He can't kill her until he finds out what happens next. And so she survives until the next night. And the next.

It's one of the earliest known examples of the 'frame story', and the clear inspiration for the original 100 Nights of Hero graphic novel. Famous tales associated with One Thousand and One Nights include ​Aladdin​ and ​Sinbad​. So it’s probably more familiar than you realise!

6) ​10 Things I Hate About You​

Given that this beloved 90s rom-com was itself based on Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew, it's no surprise it maps so neatly onto 100 Nights of Hero. Both hinge on a wager that sets a romantic pursuit in motion, and both feature a floppy-haired charmer who takes the bet, assumes it'll be easy, and then develops real feelings.

Like all the best rom-coms, 100 Nights of Hero starts with a familiar structure, then deviates from the path in order to make a point. The biggest deviation is Hero’s role. While most love wager stories (​How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days​ is another example) hinge on the couple overcoming their flaws and their false start, this film flips the script. We watch Manfred slowly fall for Cherry, but he stays a jerk. It’s a stark contrast to Cherry’s blossoming relationship with Hero.

So, what are the key themes of 100 Nights of Hero?

At its core, 100 Nights of Hero is a film about the telling of stories: who tells them, how they are told, and what they can achieve. On its own, the film feels almost soap-opera-esque: it's melodramatic and exposition-heavy, with an omnipotent voiceover (Felicity Jones) driving much of the action. But once this central theme becomes clear, the narrative exposition becomes self-referential. This film is cheekily self-aware: it leans into the whimsical, fable-like format in order to unpick some interesting questions about who gets to shape the stories a culture tells about itself, and what happens to the people those stories leave out.

As we’ve shown, this is a film that is best understood in the context of the stories that have shaped it. But there’s one last story that deserves a mention:

7) ​The Princess Bride​

Camp. Cheesy. Completely unbothered by its own plot holes. ​The Princess Bride​ is the gold standard for a certain kind of knowing, winking fantasy romance, and 100 Nights of Hero clearly has it bookmarked. Both films find dramatic tension in absurdity, and both understand that the most satisfying love stories are the ones that never quite take themselves seriously enough to be ruined by logic.

Combining this kind of ridiculous, quirky humour with the darkness of the plot is a surprising choice. But somehow, it works.

On Fairytales, Feminism, and the Power of Telling Stories

For all its camp and colour, 100 Nights of Hero has something meaningful at its core. Being denied access to education and reproductive choices is a reality for many women in the world today. The film's fantasy world framing (literacy as witchcraft, queer love as heresy) isn't so far removed from the real mechanisms by which women's knowledge and relationships have been controlled by men.

Across much of history this has been enforced through patriarchal narratives about gender roles, morality and status. Meanwhile, oral storytelling has been a way for marginalised people to subvert official narratives, maintain culture and re-assert agency.

What 100 Nights of Hero suggests is that history isn’t just written by the victor.

It’s that - in the very end - the best storytellers win.

100 Nights of Hero is out in limited cinemas around Australia from the 2nd July - so head along to see it on the big screen while you can! If you do, we're always curious for your thoughts.

Pass the popcorn 🍿

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If you're a cinema-going Sydneysider, you'll be seeing a lot about Sydney Film Festival right now. But even if you're not based in Sydney, the festival is worth keeping an eye on: it's the first major Australian film festival of the year, which means it's often where films get their Australian premiere before hitting cinemas nationwide.. So wherever you are, SFF is your chance to get the scoop on what's coming.

We've noticed a lot of 'Best of the Fest' lists doing the rounds, and we wanted to offer something a little different. Most lists focus on the big names, like Sundance favourite ​The Invite​ with Olivia Wilde, Seth Rogen, Penélope Cruz and Edward Norton, or A24's adventure thriller ​The Death of Robin Hood.​ And those are great films! But for us, film festivals are at their best when they tempt you to order something unexpected from the menu.

So instead of a straight top five, we've put together the perfect festival tasting platter: five films we think balance each other beautifully. A mix of Australian and international, documentary and drama, light and shade. The one thing they all have in common? They're ambitious, worth talking about, and each one opens up a completely different conversation about the world we're living in right now.

So here's our five-course degustation, à la Festival du Film de Sydney. Bon appétit.

Boss Cat

Director: Genevieve Clay-Smith Cast: Olivia Hargroder, Penny Downie, Julia Savage Sun 7 June 5pm | State Theatre | Mon 8 June 2pm | Hayden Orpheum | ​GET TICKETS​

Boss Cat is a gorgeous, long-awaited debut from the founders of the much loved Bus Stop Films. If you want to leave the cinema grinning like a Cheshire cat, this is our top pick.

Shot in the Blue Mountains, the film follows twenty-three-year-old Sonja (Olivia Hargroder), who lives with Trisomy 21 (Down syndrome). After the loss of her mother, her grandmother Doris (Penny Downie, The Crown) becomes guardian to Sonja and her younger sister Emma (Julia Savage), but Doris has very different ideas about how Sonja should live, setting off a battle for her independence, her home, her friendships and her boyfriend Michael (Chris Bunton).

We've been lucky enough to get a sneak peek - which is why we can recommend it wholeheartedly.It's joyful, funny, original and empathetic.

Why it’s worth talking about: There's a big national conversation happening right now about the NDIS, disability and what’s needed to live an independent life. Boss Cat is a message from creatives living with disability.. It encourages everyone to ask if independence is about self-sufficiency, or if we can approach it as a way to foster the freedom to make your own choices? We all need help sometimes. What changes when we stop treating that as a problem?

How you'll leave feeling: With a big smile and Hunters and Collectors stuck in your head. (You'll see.)

Silenced

Director: Selina Miles Cast: Jennifer Robinson, Amber Heard, Brittany Higgins Sat 6 June 6:15pm | Ritz Randwick | Sat 13 June 2pm | Palace Norton St | ​GET TICKETS​

Silenced was chosen as Sydney Film Festival's Opening Night film: a huge honour that speaks to the scale of what director Selina Miles has pulled off. It premiered at Sundance, and safe to say: this film is having a moment.

Silenced is a documentary that threads together stories from Colombia to London, LA to Canberra, and finds a chilling common thread: defamation laws are being weaponised to silence survivors in a post-#MeToo world.

Miles secured access to some of the world's highest-profile cases (including Brittany Higgins and Amber Heard), and human rights lawyer Jennifer Robinson guides us through the strategies being deployed by perpetrators of sexual violence to manipulate the legal system and re-victimise the people who speak out. It's a wildly impressive feat from an Australian team.

Why it’s worth talking about: Defamation law isn't a fluffy topic, but underneath the legal language are some basic questions. When does presumption of innocence conflict with a person's right to tell the truth? What is 'reasonable doubt', and who gets to hold it? Should court trials be public? How does anyone without significant resources get their day in court? Silenced gives you the language to sink your teeth into these questions, which is exactly what we’re all about.

How you'll leave feeling: Fired up and ready to tip the 'too hard basket' all over the floor.

No Good Men

Director: Shahrbanoo Sadat Cast: Shahrbanoo Sadat, Anwar Hashimi, Liam Hussaini Thurs 4 June 6pm | Fri 5 June 12:30pm | State Theatre | Sat 6 June 3:45pm | Dendy Newtown | ​GET TICKETS​

A drumroll for… Afghanistan's first rom-com!

We love a good rom-com here at good.film: whether it's recent Aussie gem ​Addition​ or queer Canadian Bollywood romance A Nice Indian Boy, the genre is the perfect vehicle for bringing you fresh perspectives in well-loved packaging. No Good Men was written and directed by filmmaker Shahrbanoo Sadat, and follows Naru, the only female camerawoman at a Kabul TV station. Having left her cheating, abusive husband and struggling against a deeply patriarchal society, she is convinced there are "no good men in Afghanistan". Can anyone prove her wrong?

When Naru is diverted to a serious news story (rather than the 'female content' usually foisted on her) she must work with Qodrat (Anwar Hashimi), Kabul TV's top journalist. Their mutual suspicion gradually transforms into something much deeper, and they are drawn together - romantic comedy at its best.

However, what makes No Good Men so gripping is the backdrop to this unfolding romance: with the Taliban approaching, the window of freedom for journalists, women and civil society is about to slam shut. By adeptly playing with rom-com conventions, Sadat's film conveys the terror of a society where the freedom to love, work and live are under threat.

Why it's worth talking about: Five years after the fall of Kabul, it can feel like the world has moved on. The news cycle certainly has. But the women of Afghanistan are still living with the consequences, and by packaging this history into a battle-of-the-sexes workplace rom-com, No Good Men makes their stories feel incredibly relatable. With the thematically similar conflict in Iran dominating headlines, it will have you talking about the everyday, personal stories that underpin grand geopolitics.

How you'll leave feeling: Maybe buoyed by a 'love conquers all' ending. Or maybe not... No spoilers here.

Sheep in the Box

Director: Kore-eda Hirokazu Cast: Ayase Haruka, Daigo, Kuwaki Rimu Tue 9 June 8:20pm | Wed 10 June 12pm | State Theatre | Sun 14 June 7:45pm | Event George St | ​GET TICKETS​

What would you do if you could talk to someone you'd lost? Not a memory of them, but an AI trained on their voice, their words, their patterns. Would it be comforting? Disturbing? Both at the same time?

Sheep in the Box is a Black Mirror-esque fable from cult favourite Japanese director Hirokazu Kore-eda. The story follows grieving couple Otone (Haruka Ayase) and Kensuke (Daigo Yamamoto), whose seven-year-old son Kakeru (Rimu Kuwaki) died two years ago. When they're approached by a company called REbirth about building an AI humanoid replica of Kakeru, Otone and Kensuke disagree about the best way forward. Ultimately, Otone's grief overcomes Kensuke's apprehension, and they take an uncanny replica of their son into their home.

In other films: cue horror sequence! But Sheep in the Box is gentle. Like so much that explores AI, it ends up being a meditation on relationships, grief, and the nature of being human. Told through the unfolding bonds between new-Kakeru and his grieving, searching parents, Sheep in the Box explores the age-old, unanswered question of whether life would be better if we could eliminate grief and loss.

Why it's worth talking about: If you're looking for an action thriller, this ain't it, but if you're in the mood for a D&M about sentience, souls and the nature of reality, buckle up. Sheep in the Box is genuinely empathetic towards AI, which is bound to provoke strong reactions in itself. We reckon those varied reactions are where the real conversation lies: what gut responses did you have to the film's generous empathy, and why?

How you'll leave feeling: Philosophical, and probably a bit unsettled.

Leviticus

Director: Adrian Chiarella Cast: Joe Bird, Stacy Clausen, Mia Wasikowska Sat 6 June 6:30pm | Sun 7 June 11:30am | State Theatre | Mon 8 June 6:45pm | Ritz Randwick | ​GET TICKETS​

Australian thrillers are having a moment right now. From recent indie ​Alphabet Road​ to breakout international success ​Talk to Me​, this country is landing serious punches when it comes to films that keep you on the edge of your seat, peeking out from between your fingers.

Leviticus is the debut from Melbourne-based screenwriter and director Adrian Chiarella, and premiered at Sundance to rave reviews. If you're across your Abrahamic references, the title does a lot of work here. Leviticus is the Old Testament book frequently weaponised against LGBTQ+ people: "They are to be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads."

The title alone sets the stage for a blood-curdling queer coming-of-age horror about two teenage boys contending with an evil force that takes on the form of the person they desire most: each other.

Set in a regional Victorian town, the film follows Naim (Joe Bird, Wolfram) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), whose budding relationship is seen as sinful by their God-fearing Christian community. Forced to undergo a conversion therapy ritual by a mysterious 'healer' (Nicholas Hope), they are subjected to a sinister supernatural entity hell-bent on punishing their chemistry with terror.

Why it's worth talking about: Conversion therapy is still legal in parts of Australia. Around the world, religious institutions continue to practise it under different guises. Leviticus, like all great horror, uses fantastical monsters to tap into very real fears. This lets all of us step into an experience that is viscerally relatable for many LGBTQ+ people throughout history: what it feels like to become terrified of yourself, of your own attractions. You'll be reliving the jump scares, but also talking about why they cut so painfully deep.

How you'll leave feeling: Buzzy off the adrenaline, and considerably less willing to let this topic slide off the table.

And there you have it! Our perfect tasting plate of five films at SFF, most of which will be coming to cinemas around Australia later in the year (so be ready!). If you found this guide helpful, we'd love you to pass it along to a friend: our community grows mostly through word of mouth.

We're especially excited to introduce you to Silenced and Boss Cat: two films we'll be supporting when they hit cinemas nationwide. We'll be at SFF Opening Night, and hanging out on the red carpet at the Boss Cat world premiere (Sunday 7th June!) so come up and say hi if you're heading along to the festival.

Oh, and for the final course on this film degustation?

Passe le pop corn! 🍿 From the good.film team

PS Got a film-loving friend? Give them a nudge to subscribe at ​www.good.film

Life Could Be A Dream opens with a wedding dress. Opening credits drift onto the screen as we alternate between two shots: a woman underwater, struggling and sinking under the weight of white silk, lace and organza. Then the same woman, laughing and dancing in the arms of her husband, surrounded by wedding guests.

It's a straightforward metaphor that sets the emotional undertow of Life Could Be A Dream, and launches us straight into the film's narrative.

Sarah (Maeve Dermody) sits up from her reverie in a designer bathtub, calling out to her son: "Can you turn that off now darling?". Her teenaged son, Otis (Sonny McGee) is watching his parents' old wedding videos on his phone. He smiles at a clip of his gorgeous Dad, Jake (Alexander England) who completes the couple’s wedding dance with a kiss: "Give it up for my beautiful wife!". But for Sarah, the memory continues: "You should have practiced last night" memory-Jake whispers to her. "I can't believe you got it all wrong." Sarah wipes steam from the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection.

This short opening scene, about an illusionary 'perfect' romance, reflection and motherhood, sets the stage for a gorgeous, thought-provoking Australian film.

The Lowdown on Life Could Be A Dream

What's Life Could Be A Dream about? At forty, Sarah Smilie is forced to confront a painful truth: she is trapped in a marriage held together by the faded illusions of love. As her thirteen-year-old son begins to navigate the turbulence of adolescence, the dangers of her marriage become impossible to ignore. Seeking refuge, Sarah relocates to a mansion she has been tasked with selling, a place suspended between the present and the past.

Who directed Life Could Be A Dream? Jasmin Tarasin.

Who stars in Life Could Be A Dream? Maeve Dermody, Sonny McGee, Alexander England, Noam Sen-Gupta

Where can I see Life Could Be A Dream? In cinemas May 14th. Find the full list of screenings here.

Who’s the team behind Life Could Be A Dream?

Life Could Be A Dream is the debut feature from director Jasmin Tarasin, and it's the kind of film that makes you want to see it again as soon as you leave the cinema. It's a layered and deceptively simple story about a mother and son spending a few summer days in a glamorous empty mansion that Sarah is trying to sell for a client.

But it's really about an inner journey. There's no first-person narration here: instead, Tarasin takes viewers inside Sarah's world through the dreamlike use of memories and metaphors.

The film is beautifully crafted, and the majority of the creative team are women: the choices of writer Courtney Collins, cinematographer Meg White and editor Gabriella Muir are central to the vision, supported by a powerhouse collective of designers, casting crew, producers and EPs. There's also a sense of purpose behind the film; the urge to tell a 'behind-closed-doors' story in a way that feels real.

“After watching this film, I hope audiences sit with a quieter question of what freedom looks like in my own life - and is that enough?”
Jasmin Tarasin, Director

How does the film engage with archetypal ideas of romance?

At the heart of the film is a simple but radical question. Does Sarah continue pretending that her relationship is romantic, or turn to look things in the eye?

A series of flashbacks act as the film's inflection points as Sarah gradually makes her decision: Jake, taking the phone from Sarah to chat charmingly to her mother, but hanging up before Sarah can continue the call. He compliments her, but asks who she's dressing up for. Starts kissing her, persuading her to skip her best friend's birthday. This urge to control Sarah clearly stems from Jake's own insecurities, and she seems to sense this. To reassure him, Sarah lets him get his way: simultaneously telling herself that his neediness is romantic, and that her own  sacrifice is an act of love.

Other relationship flashbacks in Life Could Be A Dream are more ethereal than literal. These use cinematic language - a gauzy glow with soft backlighting and diffusion - to hint at the classic romance movies that have shaped our love illusions.

In one romance-hazed dream scene, Sarah comes to a realisation: "You're not Mr Darcy" she tells a linen-shirted Jake, before awakening to the much harsher lighting of her real world. Her silken Victorian nightgown has been replaced by her old, frayed t-shirt.

How does Life Could Be A Dream reference Pride and Prejudice?

It's clear that Sarah is a Jane Austen fan: we see a closeup of Pride and Prejudice on her bedside table, after a dreamlike sequence where Jake quotes the novel's protagonist Mr Darcy: "I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper." This passage comes from a section of Austen's novel where the rude, standoffish Mr Darcy is 'humbled' by his love for Elizabeth and becomes a changed man.

This romantic archetype — a misunderstood, troubled man revealed to be secretly good, and a smart, compassionate woman who ‘unlocks’ his true, repentant self — is an ideal that Sarah uses to justify Jake's behaviour. Even when he's being blatantly cruel, she seems to understand that he's hurting, and responds with empathy.

In this way, Sarah is shown to be complicit in the relationship dynamic, but the film doesn't blame her. Instead, this framing is used to empower Sarah as she painfully lets go of her illusions, and begins to put herself and her child first. There's a scene towards the end of the film where Jake calls, sobbing: "You're my family!" he says "And you can't just…" Sarah, with eyes on her son, hangs up.

How does Life Could Be A Dream address coercive control?
Firstly, it’s important to note that Life Could Be A Dream is one woman’s story - and it’s not one that we immediately associate with people experiencing coercive control. The poolside lazing and opulent mansion setting makes this explicit: we're watching a highly educated, upper-middle class white woman navigate a broken relationship.

Sarah has a safe place to go, speaks perfect English, can drive, does not experience racism, and has a litany of other factors working in her favour. But despite this, she has spent over a decade experiencing coercive control. The film is insistent: this can, and does, happen to anyone. So while on-the-ground support services are vital for women escaping family violence, we also need cultural change.

“When I made this film, I wasn’t thinking about the audiences already deeply engaged in this space. The advocates, researchers and frontline workers doing extraordinary work. I was thinking about the person watching from the couch who does not yet have the language for what they are experiencing.”
Jasmin Tarasin, Director

Tarasin is clear: her interest is in cutting through the archetypes that allow controlling behaviour to be misidentified:

“The stories we inherit about love shape us long before any crisis arrives. The perfect partner. The perfect marriage. The fairytale we’re handed as children and spend years trying to live inside.”

In Sarah’s story, it’s the looming adolescence of her son that forces her to finally confront this ‘fractured fairytale’.

How does the film deal with raising boys?
Despite an undercurrent of anxiety and grief, Life Could Be A Dream is dreamy and bright. In part, this is thanks to Sarah's teenaged son Otis. He's on the cusp of a transition from boyhood to manhood, but instead of showing Otis as a risk to be mitigated, the film presents his coming-of-age story as an opportunity.

Otis is kind, thoughtful and funny. His relationship with his Mum is loving and cheeky, and he soon develops a crush on Sati (Noam Sen-Gupta) who works at the local grocery store. His interactions with Sati and his Mum throw Jake into sharp contrast: Otis shows none of the same manipulative behaviour, in part because he seems secure in himself. He checks out girls at the beach, but he also happily cleans windows and even whips up a pavlova for Christmas.

Sometimes, Otis seems almost too perfect: in one scene, he cheerfully pawns a cherished gold necklace his Dad gave him in order to buy groceries. But this inherent goodness serves the film. There's been a growing conversation around parenting in an age of the 'manosphere'. While the concern is justified, this social anxiety also runs the risk of inferring to boys that they are problems to be managed. Life Could Be A Dream is more generous: when it comes to breaking cycles of family violence, young men are portrayed with a sense of hope. By presenting Otis as the film's quiet hero, Life Could Be A Dream offers a new archetype of what’s possible for men.

How does Life Could Be A Dream use visual metaphor?

Metaphors play a heavy role in the film, weaving the key themes of dreams, illusions and fantasies into Sarah's emotional arc. Some evoke the senses, giving the film an 'embodied' feeling — like when Sarah asks Otis to bury her at the beach, and cracks form in the sand when she breathes.

Other visual metaphors give the film layered meanings. Towards the end of the film, there's a sequence that lasts for just a few seconds: the two teens dancing under the sprinkler on a hot Christmas afternoon, while ants crawl over half-eaten cherries and an empty champagne glass.

At first glance the mangled cherries and overturned glass represent a broken illusion, the ants symbolising decay. But there’s no sense of loss: the soundtrack is pulsing and upbeat, with joyful humming. The music forces you to see the images differently. Yes, it's a scene that’s messy, sticky and imperfect, but the ants are also full of life; an unstoppable force finding sweetness in the small things.

At the end of the day, Life Could Be A Dream's most notable visual motif is water. The opening scene of the underwater wedding dress recurs at key moments, but there's also effervescent bubbles, ocean ripples, crashing thunderstorms, creeping fog, steamy glass and rainbows in sprinklers.

Like love itself, water isn't a singular force: it drowns the characters but it also cleanses, refreshes, uplifts and renews. With this analogy in mind, the film's closing scene is poignant. The film opens with Sarah drowning alone underwater, but ends with mother and son diving into a calm ocean pool together.

So, what's the takeaway from Life Could Be A Dream?
Jasmin Tarasin has made a film that weaves together multiple kinds of dreams: romantic illusions, hopes for the future and subconscious inner truths. But it's also sharp with Australian summer: chips and seagulls, blue skies and white wine in the sun on Christmas Day.

In a landscape where films about family violence tend toward the harrowing or the redemptive, Life Could Be A Dream finds a third way: sun-drenched, patient, and full of unexpected tenderness. It's a beautiful debut, so catch it while it's on the big screen, where the light and water and sound can do their work properly.

Life Could Be A Dream is in cinemas around Australia May 14th - find a screening near you here.

We're doing something a bit different this week. Last Friday, we attended a preview Q&A screening of Wolfram, by legendary Australian director Warwick Thornton (Samson and Delilah, The New Boy, Sweet Country). We had the opportunity to interview Thornton and the film's star Deborah Mailman, then hear from both at the Q&A after the film.

In most of our film guides, we give you our interpretation of a film's themes and deeper meaning. But this time, we've decided to foreground Thornton and Mailman’s words as much as possible - so read on for some personal insights from two of the Australian film industry's greatest talents, plus a healthy dose of larrikinism and swearing (you've been warned!).

The Lowdown on Wolfram

What's Wolfram about? Three Aboriginal children escape forced labour in a 1930s Central Australian mining town and are pursued across the outback, while their grieving mother fights to find them.

Who directed Wolfram? Warwick Thornton

Who stars in Wolfram? Deborah Mailman, Pedrea Jackson, Hazel May Jackson, Eli Hart, Thomas M. Wright

Is Wolfram a true story? It draws on oral histories from many First Nations families, including Thornton's own, to recreate a little-known chapter of Australian history.

Where can I see Wolfram? In cinemas April 30th. Get discount movie vouchers to see it at Dendy, Event, Village and Hoyts cinemas.

What's the story with Wolfram?

Wolfram is the latest film from Warwick Thornton, one of Australia's best directors. A Kaytetye man born and raised in Mparntwe (Alice Springs), Thornton centres Indigenous experiences in his work, which is acclaimed around the world (his debut feature, Samson and Delilah, won Caméra d'Or at Cannes and was shortlisted for an Academy Award).

Wolfram is a rollicking Western set in a 1930s mining community in Central Australia. Pansy (Deborah Mailman) is a grieving mother desperately hoping to be reunited with her children, Max and Kid (Hazel May Jackson and Eli Hart), who are being forced to work in the mines. When Max is kidnapped by outlaws Frank and Casey (Joe Bird and Erroll Shand), Kid sets out to find them. They reunite at an outback station and meet indentured teenager Philomac (Pedrea Jackson). Together, the three Aboriginal youths escape and are pursued across a dramatic landscape by men on horseback.

What's the link between Wolfram and Sweet Country?

If you've seen Thornton's earlier film, Sweet Country, you'll recognise the setting and several characters, including stationmaster Kennedy (Thomas M. Wright) and the now-grown Philomac. If you haven't, don't let that put you off - Wolfram stands alone.

However, when Thornton first heard screenwriters Steven McGregor and David Tranter were working on "the sequel to Sweet Country", his reaction was unambiguous:

"I was like, for f*ck's sake. I am not going to go anywhere near that. Cos I've got a lot of trauma around Sweet Country. It just hurts."

But reading the script changed everything:

"This film is actually... It's a cure for Sweet Country. Sweet Country is so poisonous. This is actually the cure. And then I realised it actually has a f*cking reason to be there."

The pain that Thornton clearly feels around Sweet Country sits just below the surface of the conversation: the film was a true story, and he seems haunted by the act of immersing himself in something so horrific and unjust.

Is Wolfram also a true story?

Like Sweet Country, Wolfram is deeply rooted in historical accuracy, but this time it's not a retelling of one specific event. Instead, it draws on oral histories from many families, including Thornton's own. He tells us this process is about:

"Talking to grandmothers. They, for some reason, have a better memory than the grandfathers…"

Tales of the 'mad uncle who ran away', children labouring down dark mineshafts, love stories and massacres all entwine in Wolfram. But it’s the freedom to reweave these strands and ultimately craft some semblance of justice that seems transformative for Thornton:

"It actually is the bookend of something that I am upset about, which is Sweet Country. And this is the answer to it. It has redemption. It has sanctity."

What does 'wolfram' mean?

You know how films always open with production logos? In Wolfram, these drift out of the darkness accompanied by the insistent sound of a hammer and chisel. By the time the picture joins us, we're anticipating a craftsman at a workbench, or a prisoner tunnelling free. Instead, we're welcomed into this world by a small Aboriginal child chipping away in a dimly lit mineshaft.

"There's a piece of metal called tungsten, and it used to be called wolfram."

Thornton explains: tungsten hardens steel.

"So every time we went through a world war, the price of wolfram became just as expensive as gold. Empires and idiots needed to create harder metals so they can create guns, barrels, bombs, and shit. And in Alice Springs we don't have much gold, but we have a f*ck-tonne of wolfram. So it's like another gold rush, but it's a piece of metal to make... to kill people."

Between 1914 and 1918, Australia mined almost half of the world's entire supply of wolfram, often exploiting local Aboriginal children for free or cheap labour in miserable conditions.

The film is set in the 1930s, as the price of wolfram crashes. The white colonists' relationship with the land is purely transactional, so a sense of precarity runs throughout - one early scene centres on a dead horse in the middle of the main street. Sweat, flies and desperation fill the air.

How do Chinese Australians feature in Wolfram?

One of the film's most striking qualities is the solidarity between its Aboriginal characters and the town's Chinese miners. Pansy is in a relationship with Zhang, a kind man who recognises her anguish at being separated from her children: "We'll go to Queensland, get some gold, then I promise you - we'll come back for them." Later, Chinese miners risk their own safety to help the children and Philomac evade the bad guys. There's even a scene in a dusty tin alleyway where traditional martial arts delivers a first-pumpingly satisfying moment of comeuppance for the racist, arrogant Frank.

For Thornton, this solidarity is rooted in lived history:

"When you have different nationalities and cultures being persecuted by the Western existence and the White Australia policy - we all get together! We're on the bottom of the food chain and we have to help each other. And what happens when we all get together? Well…"

He pauses for comedic effect.

"…we start rooting!"

"We have these amazing Chinese, half Chinese half Aboriginal families. We have the most amazing Japanese, half Japanese half blackfella families. And that was important for us. To make them part of our existence."

Mailman sees this as correcting a distorted national story:

"This is our history. It's who we are. And we're not just a small demographic of this country, which often is the bigger sort of dominant narrative that this country presents itself with."

"It's not just Aboriginal Chinese. You've got the Aboriginal Japanese, the Aboriginal Afghan - these are relationships over generations that were really strong. So I'm really glad that's in there because it is a really untold story."

Who's the star of Wolfram?

There's a shot in Wolfram that gave us goosebumps: fat raindrops hitting red earth, the frame sliced through by a freshly laid veranda. Later, the sound of gunshots gives way to the image of chubby, squirming tadpoles. Rich eddies of dust rise from horses' hooves, and then the horses themselves become insignificant within vast landscapes. In one scene, Philomac helps the kids cross a creek, and the creek itself feels like the main protagonist. Country doesn't just feature in Wolfram - it watches over everything in it.

This is made possible because of Thornton's unique position as both director and cinematographer. He’s got a classic tongue-in-cheek take on this:

"People say that's cheating, because you have to be tormented by some wanker cinematographer if you're directing, or if you're a cinematographer you have to be tormented by some f*cking wanker director. I just went... I'm going to get rid of the middle man."

He’s self-depreciating, but his mastery of the craft leads to stunning on-screen moments. This visual instinct extends to sound. The loud, incessant buzzing of flies carries across scenes, turning a diegetic detail in one frame into an ominous sonic metaphor in the next (keep an ear out for this when you watch the film!). Thornton cites Russian WWII film Come and See as an influence:

"They did something with sound that absolutely impressed me all my life - understanding that sound can be much more visual than the camera."

Mailman says that shooting on Country also shaped the performances. Her character Pansy carries much of the film's emotional weight:

"There was very little dialogue, so I wasn't able to go through my own process as an actor. I thought: we'll get out there onto Country. And that's where I'll find it."

Is Wolfram a hopeful film?

During the Q&A, the host prods at Thornton’s claims about an ‘antidote’ to Sweet Country: "This is a brutal film as well…"

Thornton cuts in with characteristic bombast: "It's f*cking Disney! It's Finding Nemo!"

It's hyperbole, but he's got a point. There's a sense of righting-wrongs in Wolfram that sets it apart from Thornton's other work - and he seems aware of what a departure this is:

"A Warwick Thornton film that's hopeful? Jesus. He must be getting old."

When we ask what, specifically, he's hopeful about:

"I'm hopeful that people will see it. That they will actually be entertained and learn something about Indigenous people and their country - our country - that can make them have better decisions later in life."

Wolfram is dark and violent, but it's also an adventure story about solidarity, survival and a kick of genuine feel-good justice. This chance to craft a new story seems to have been a cathartic experience for Thornton:

"We make films that actually empower ourselves foremost. And then hopefully Australia watches and learns a little bit more."

Wolfram hits Australian cinemas on April 30th.

We’ve got discount movie vouchers to see it at Dendy, Event, Village and Hoyts cinemas. Good Tix include a built-in donation to a cause of your choice - if you choose to support Indigenous Equity while you head along and see Wolfram, your movie ticket will go towards The Healing Foundation, Yalari, and the Lowitja Institute.

Have you ever dreamt about escaping the big smoke and running headlong into the idyllic embrace of the Australian countryside? Well, after watching James Litchfield’s directorial debut you might start rethinking any sudden changes of scenery.

Alphabet Lane is a darkly funny, deceptively sharp thriller about a couple who move from Sydney to the Monaro Plains, and then slowly lose their grip on reality through an escalating brinkmanship of imaginary friends.

Coming in at a lean 80 minutes, Alphabet Lane packs a remarkable amount into its tight runtime. We saw it before its national release on April 23rd, and haven't stopped thinking about it since.

The Quick Bite on Alphabet Lane

What's it about? A couple leave Sydney for regional NSW to see if the grass really is greener, only to find that isolation does strange things to the mind, and the heart.

Who directed it? James Litchfield (feature debut)

Who stars in it? Tilda Cobham-Hervey, Nicholas Denton, Henry Nixon

Where can I see it? In independent cinemas across Australia from April 23rd. Find a screening near you.

What is Alphabet Lane about?

Anna (Tilda Cobham-Hervey) and Jack (Nicholas Denton) are a sweet, playful couple at a personal crossroads. They've left Sydney behind and planted themselves on the windswept Monaro Plains in regional NSW, to see if the grass really is greener. But we meet them at a point when their idyllic homesteader fantasies are beginning to run up against the lonely reality of life in the country.

Their taciturn neighbour Cory (Henry Nixon) gives small talk a new meaning, and the friends they left behind are a phone screen away but feel a world apart. So Jack does what any imaginative, slightly reckless partner might do - he invents some imaginary friends for the two of them. Enter Joe and Michelle: fictional neighbouring couple who are fun, warm and easy company.

What starts as a trivial bit of fun to lift their spirits gradually begins to dismantle their relationship, and their mental stability. Litchfield even teases just how dark this could get with a fleeting moment in which Jack jokingly recreates the iconic chainsaw scene from The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. It's a more than subtle wink at the uncanny horror simmering beneath, but this isn’t a supernatural thriller. It’s a genre-crossing story that feels uniquely Australian.

Is it a thriller? A comedy? A relationship drama?

Honestly? Alphabet Lane is all three, and that's what makes it so interesting. If you're a fan of Martin McDonagh's dark absurdist humour (think In Bruges or The Banshees of Inisherin), you'll recognise the off-kilter energy that runs through this film. You won't always know whether to laugh at the comic lunacy or grip your armrest tensely as these two Sydney-siders slowly unravel.  

It's a juggling act that could easily come crashing down, but Litchfield holds it all together by keeping the film grounded in something real: a relationship under strain. The genre elements never overwhelm the emotional core. This is, at its heart, a story about two people trying to stay together, and all the strange, desperate, sometimes self-destructive things they do in the attempt.

What does Alphabet Lane say about relationships?

As actress Tilda Cobham-Hervey observed at a Q&A screening, most relationship films are about the beginning or the end. This one is about the middle, about what people do to stay together and the “bids” they make as they try to figure things out.

From the start, this particular relationship is structured by sacrifice and guilt: Jack seemed to have initiated the move to the country, not Anna. She's there partly because he wants this life, and she loves him. That imbalance sits beneath everything.

The invented friendship with their fictional neighbors - Joe and Michelle - begins as a game. They’re an extension of Anna and Jack's natural tongue-in-cheek playfulness and intimacy, and their entrance into the story feels believable, not plot-devicey. But it gradually becomes a way of expressing needs that neither of them can state directly. As Anna’s sense of isolation increases, her attachment to the imaginary neighbours slowly starts to feel like more than play. When Jack tries to “kill them off” as the story begins slipping out of control, she resists.

Anna’s decision to up the drama and talk about their imaginary neighbours to real people is especially telling. At first, it reads as a bid for connection. Later, it feels closer to sabotage, or at least a desperate attempt to make visible just how isolated she is. At this point the desperation takes over and drives these two to a finale that no-one was expecting - least of all us! No spoilers here though ;)

What does the film say about the fantasy of country life?

One of the film’s most interesting threads is the gap between the romantic idea of living on the land and the reality of it. It gives us a contemporary lens on what it means to live in the country, on a farm, in Australia now.

A scene that captures this perfectly is when Jack sits on the porch with the farmer, looking out over the landscape. Jack, who doesn’t have to work or manage the land, seems to breathe in the scenery. He relishes the country, or at least the idea of it. Being there appears to make him feel more authentic, more “real.”

But the film is sharp about the limits of that fantasy. His attempts to connect with the farmer feel awkward and slightly performative; he remains, in some essential way, a tourist; childishly pleased when asked to close the farm gate behind the sheep, or to be invited to try his hand at butchering. When the farmer asks if he would actually want to be a farmer, Jack answers with a quick “no.” He wants the romance of rural life, not its demands.

The contrast in what each man sees is telling. Jack sees a landscape, atmosphere, meaning. The farmer sees shipping containers, machinery, and a property full of jobs still unfinished. They are looking at the same place, but living entirely different truths within it. Once again, Alphabet Lane hints at the idea of constructed, personal realities: not so much ‘lies’ as disparate worlds.

What makes the performances so good?

Alphabet Lane is a theatrical two-hander: Cobham-Hervey and Denton brilliantly weave between the sensitivity of Anna and Jack’s yearning for fellowship and the impish thrill of their dangerous delusions, letting us get caught up in their web of little white lies and big, invisible truths. Our entire understanding of Joe and Michelle, the illusion of these two companions, rests entirely on the lead actors’ ability to tell a story that even we start to believe in. It’s their storytelling as much as it is Litchfield’s that carries this film.

The score by composer Mark Bradshaw (who also composed for Jane Campion's Top of the Lake) builds a musical hum underneath the story. It sits light but uneasy, suspending you in a feeling that something is slightly off even in the most tender moments. It's exactly the kind of score that communicates what the characters can't say out loud.

What's the takeaway from Alphabet Lane?

What we loved about this film was the complexity of it. One friend was drawn to the themes of isolation, another was all in on the directorial decisions and edit, another was deep into the shared fictions of relationships.

One major takeaway was how our communities shape our relationship narratives: the ‘outside eyes’ of our friends, families and neighbours help us calibrate our sense of self. Alphabet Lane is a cautionary tale of a couple who attempts to fill that void themselves.

It’s a great film for getting philosophical: isn’t the whole world one big, shared, negotiated fiction? But it’s also a refreshingly relatable slice-of-life in modern Australia. The familiarity of their millennial-Aussie dynamic makes it even more entertaining to watch Jack and Anna grapple with the nature of reality, and fight for who gets to define it in their relationship.

Alphabet Lane is an independent film, so don’t wait around to catch it in cinemas - it’s getting a limited run this weekend, from the 23rd April. You can find the full list of screenings here.

It's one of those questions that's been done to death - can we ever really know the people we love? - but Norwegian director Kristoffer Borgli (Sick of Myself, Dream Scenario) makes it feel fresh.

With Zendaya and Robert Pattinson as the leads, The Drama had plenty of buzz before a single frame was screened. Add a fake engagement announcement planted in The Boston Globe that went genuinely viral, and the marketing machine was already doing its job.

Okay, I haven't been on socials for months - what's The Drama actually about?

Emma (Zendaya) and Charlie (Pattinson) are on the glide path to their wedding. He's enthusiastically ticking every pre-marriage box. She's... less fussed. There's a restlessness to Emma that Zendaya plays with a subtle, simmering edge - small warning signs that become important later.

Borgli runs a classic bait-and-switch. The first act is warm and funny: Charlie workshopping his Best Man speech to make his mate cry, wondering how he can imply or allude to the fact that he and Emma have great sex, and a wedding dance lesson that goes brilliantly sideways when Emma hijacks the playlist and goes full freestyle.

The choreographer's meltdown is a highlight - played by the brilliant Celia Rowlson Hall, a real-life director and choreographer. If you haven't seen her music video for Love Takes Miles featuring indie darling Lucas Hedges, we'll wait while you fix that... She's also a fav of ours from playing the older Sophie in Charlotte Wells's gorgeous film ​Aftersun​. But, we digress.

The point is, these early scenes are charming enough to make you genuinely love these two together - which is exactly the point.

Here's where the drama starts. Have you ever wondered if people would like you if they really knew you?

The turning point arrives at a wedding food tasting. Maid of Honour Rachel (an outstanding Alana Haim) goes rogue, demanding everyone at the table confess to the worst thing they've ever done. Everyone squirms their way through some fairly minor crimes - then Emma speaks.

If you’ve ever walked away from a social situation or looked back on a particularly thorny time in your life where you weren’t quite you, then you most certainly will connect with this on some level; that bone-deep sense of wishing you could take something back, even if it’s just an utterance. The film creates that ick feeling of knowing you aren’t coming across quite right in a conversation that’s meant to bring you closer to someone but ends up doing the exact opposite.

Spoilers from here - read at your own risk!

Emma reveals that as a troubled teenager, she brought her father's shotgun to school, but chose not to use it. It's a confronting gear shift in a film that's otherwise been light on its feet, and it's a deliberate one.

But it's also where The Drama is at its most awkward; the tonal leap is jarring enough that it's easy to understand why the film has already divided audiences.

A father of one of the children killed at Columbine has publicly condemned it, and for us here in Australia, where we're still processing the shooting in Bondi last year it's very much a live wound - it's hard to separate the cinematic intent from the real-world weight.

Whether Borgli earns the gamble is genuinely debatable.

But what's the film really asking underneath all that Drama?

The most interesting thread The Drama is pulling on is the gap between thinking something and doing it. If you've imagined doing something terrible - and never acted on it - does that make you terrible? The characters around Emma largely treat her as if she pulled the trigger. Rachel, her Maid of Honour, is particularly damning, cutting Emma off entirely and delivering a scorched-earth speech at the wedding itself.

Which is interesting, because it doesn't seem like Rachel and Emma are even that close. Has this dark, shameful secret kept Emma seperate from her friends all this time? Was this reveal actually an awkward, mistimed attempt to reach out?

You start to wonder if Rachel is less a person than a stand-in for public opinion - for the cancel-first, understand-never reflex that flattens complex human stories into a verdict. Of course, the line between what is forgivable or not is subjective, and Rachel brings her own context and family history to the disclosure. But this question is the sharpest idea in the film, and one that we wish Borgli gave a bit more time to before the next gag arrived.

The takeaway.

If we’re talking purely vibes, though, the movie nails it. The film’s uncanniness is beautifully reflected in some clever editing by Borgli and Joshua Raymond Lee, and a paranoid, discordant score from Daniel Pemberton keeps things pacey. Borgli shows us how substance can be so closely mirrored in style - to great effect

But the film's most provocative question - where's the line between a dark thought and a dark act, and who gets to draw it? - deserves more room than it gets. The comedy and drama is good enough that you'll leave entertained. Whether you'll leave satisfied...? We'd love to know.

We recently headed along to see I Swear, the indie British film based on the true story of Tourette Syndrome advocate John Davidson (played incredibly by Robert Aramayo), whose tics include coprolalia - involuntary swearing and offensive language.

To be honest, much of what we’d heard about this film came through news headlines after this year's BAFTA ceremony, where John was seated near several microphones during the evening. I Swear won two awards that night, including Best Actor, and during the ceremony John's tics (which he cannot control) included racial slurs at the moment Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo (from Sinners) were on stage.

The incident sparked global conversations, some constructive, others less so. Here at good.film, we were feeling for everyone involved, and the incident raised questions about involuntary behaviour, stigma, and the cost of not understanding. Would it have been better managed (and then less upsetting for all parties) if we had a stronger collective awareness of Tourette's in the first place? Undoubtedly.

And you know what? ‘Better understanding’ is something we can actually act on, so we jumped at the chance to see the film and learn more. I Swear is set in a working class neighbourhood in Scotland in the 1980s, and if you’re a fan of this kind of gritty-but-funny British indie (ie. if you like Billy Elliot, Adolescence, The Young Offenders, Scrapper or This Is England) then I Swear should definitely be on your list.

What’s I Swear About? Diagnosed with Tourette Syndrome at 15, John Davidson navigates his way against the odds through troubled teenage years and into adulthood, finding inspiration in the kindness of others to discover his true purpose in life.

Who Directed I Swear? The film was written & directed by British filmmaker Kirk Jones. The film’s subject, John Davidson, is an executive producer.

Who Stars in I Swear? Robert Aramayo as John Davidson (whose performance scored him Best Leading Actor at the BAFTAs), alongside Maxine Peake, Shirley Henderson, and Peter Mullan.

Where Can I See I Swear? I Swear is out now in Australian cinemas. Get discount movie tickets to see it for less at Dendy, Event, Village and Hoyts Cinemas right here. We donate $1 from every Good Tix sold to Australian charities.

The film tackles some pretty heavy subject matter: themes like stigma and discrimination are at the heart of the messaging. It’s also clear from the trailer that John has suffered from some serious abuse in the past; we glimpse a scene where he’s seen crying, bruised and bloodied, in a hospital bed. So we did have some apprehensions going in; was this film going to be a kind of "misery porn" that would leave audiences feeling helpless and pitying?

It's not. I Swear is surprisingly uplifting, with plenty of warmth and genuine laughs throughout. Admittedly, a lot of these come from John's tics (when he makes a cup of tea, he often tics "I use spunk for milk"), but it's framed in such a way that we're not laughing at him, but at the scenario and widely varied reactions of the people he meets. The film uses this to its advantage: in poignant contrast, there are a handful of scenes where John's tics tear at your heartstrings. When he's grieving, scared, or hurt, we see just how much his Tourette's prevents him from being truly heard and cared for.

But maybe that's the wrong framing? Because it's not John's Tourette's that's getting in the way of other people's empathy. It's their own ignorance and confusion. That's a key point of the film: the problem isn't Tourette's. The problem is that people don't understand Tourette's.

What's beautiful about I Swear is that these bystanders (or sometimes perpetrators) aren't judged too harshly. There's real compassion here: for the woman on the receiving end of a catcall tic, or for John’s fragile, complicated mother who can't cope with public stares and feelings of personal failure. John constantly accepts accountability, even when he knows it isn't his fault, and offers forgiveness, even when he doesn’t need to. That refusal to blame and shame feels genuinely refreshing, especially in the wake of the BAFTA Ceremony finger-pointing.

Towards the end of the film, John takes up the mantle of advocate and activist. We see him in rooms with the same kinds of teachers, police, and lawmakers who have wronged him - but he's not there to admonish, just to educate. These are the scenes that feel the most quietly powerful. Change doesn't have to be angry and forceful. Sometimes a gentle conversation is a more effective tool for the job.

It's the sort of message we really valued leaving the cinema with (we even made a little video for Instagram here) so we're getting behind I Swear as it hits Australian cinemas. It's out NOW, so make sure you catch it on the big screen while you can.

Want to see it for less? Get discount movie tickets for ​Event, Village and Hoyts Cinemas right here​. We donate $1 from every Good Tix sold to Australian charities.

We ran a giveaway competition for the good.film community offering free tickets to I Swear. Here's a review of I Swear from one of our competition winners, Life in the Dark. Join the mailing list (it's free!) if you'd like to win tickets or get invites to special events.

Oh, and if you do see it, we’d love your thoughts on the closing scene. Did it send a mixed message, or did it sit right with you? This is a true story after all, and real life tends to resist the neat bow that fiction likes to tie at the end…

But what really gets our hearts aflutter - and why we’re backing it in a big way - is how cleverly it plays with the traditional formula, making this story feel perfectly tuned for contemporary love.

In short, if you loved the self-aware quirks of Fleabag, the charm of Hugh Grant in Notting Hill, or if your go-to pep talk in a rough moment is something like Bradley Cooper’s in Silver Linings Playbook, then ADDITION is absolutely for you.

Traditionally, tension in romantic comedies comes from external obstacles. Social rules, misunderstandings, or circumstance keeping lovers apart until the final act.
Think Bridgerton, where romance strains against rigid class boundaries - desire versus ruin. Or Heated Rivalry: while it does a brilliant job showing how hot sex can be when layered with consent, the core conflict still sits outside the lovers themselves - fear of coming out because of public exposure and professional risk.

In ADDITION, the primary conflict isn’t external. It lives inside Grace (Teresa Palmer).

For the relationship to work, Grace must face the thing she fears most: letting go of her compulsive counting. What feels like protection - a system that keeps her world ordered and safe - is also what keeps intimacy at bay. Falling in love demands uncertainty and a rewriting of the story she tells herself about who she is. Exactly what her anxiety resists.

That shift alone makes ADDITION different. But the film goes further, breaking with the rom-com mould in three key ways to give it a distinctly 2026 feel. We'll give you the one to three below, but first, some quick context.

From page to screen - how Addition came to be

ADDITION is adapted from Toni Jordan’s award-winning novel - a book many readers have loved for years. The film has been more than a decade in the making, and that patience shows.

Grace (Teresa Palmer) is a “counter”: she has a compulsive need to count things, a system that keeps her safe and in control. Enter Seamus (Joe Dempsie), effortlessly charming and instantly intrigued. Grace offers Seamus her ‘best’ herself: witty, flirty, whip-smart. While it’s clear early on that she struggles with anxiety - or what might once have been dismissed as “highly strung” - she keeps her deeper compulsions carefully managed.

The pressure builds as intimacy grows. Love means time together, fewer breaks, less space to release the internal tension. When Grace hits breaking point, she does something painfully recognisable: she hurts the person she loves to push them away. Anything to avoid being fully seen, right?

From there, the film shifts. Grace can no longer maintain the façade. Vulnerability feels destabilising. The routines meant to support her - medication, therapy, exercise - begin to feel monotonous and suffocating. She doesn’t feel like herself. And the relationship, once electric, starts to strain.

What does it really mean to be yourself- and can you even do that with someone else? It’s a question we’ve all asked ourselves at one time or another, and ADDITION explores it beautifully, weaving in the complexities of mental health along the way.

How Addition does love differently

As we flagged above, traditionally, rom-com tension comes from external obstacles - social rules, misunderstandings, or circumstances keeping lovers apart until the final act. ADDITION flips that script, deftly reimagining the genre in three key ways.

1. The heroine isn’t required to be “hot” at all times.

Teresa Palmer as Grace is hot. There’s no denying it. But, classic rom-coms often demand a leading woman who remains effortlessly desirable, even in crisis. Think Pretty Woman or How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Vulnerability is allowed, but rarely at the expense of attractiveness

ADDITION refuses to gloss over or romanticise struggle. Grace is working hard - often painfully hard - to stay well, to show up, and to be someone capable of love. We see the physical toll of her counting. We see exhaustion, fragility, and moments where she looks haggard or broken. We see her “switch” it on for others.

Teresa Palmer’s performance captures this brilliantly. Grace can move from bright and magnetic to unravelled and even haggard within a single scene. The film doesn’t cut away or rush through the hard parts - there’s no upbeat montage or tidy resolution. We sit with the monotony, the fatigue, the repetition of recovery routines, and the weight of living with anxiety.

By taking the time to show this, ADDITION makes it clear that mental health isn’t just a plot device; it’s treated with real care. It’s a struggle that affects every part of Grace’s life - and the film lets us feel that fully.

2. The love interest doesn’t “save” her

In many rom-coms, the arc is simple: the hero rescues the heroine, emotionally or materially.

But Seamus doesn’t fix Grace. The relationship doesn’t “complete” her. Instead, he offers something subtler and more powerful: safety. Safety to be seen. Safety to be honest. Safety to “let the crazy out” (Grace’s words, not ours) without shame.

That experience of safety matters - but can you really be safe if you’re relying just on one person to provide it?

Which leads us to….

3. Love that stretches beyond the romantic

One of ADDITION’s most meaningful expansions of the genre is its treatment of love beyond romance.

No spoilers here, but what carries Grace forward is not romantic love alone.

Grace’s family matters - especially her relationship with her niece, a young mathematical prodigy who idolises her. Grace wants to be present and worthy of that admiration. That bond raises the stakes in a different way.

It’s open to interpretation, but we’d argue that wanting to show up for her niece is just as powerful a driver of Grace’s growth as romantic love. ADDITION suggests that love can be plural: romantic, familial, and self-directed - and that together, they form something more durable than the classic “happily ever after”.

The final sums

Filmed in Melbourne, ADDITION is a love letter to the city - even for those of us who “ahem” not so secretly prefer other Aussie cities.

One of the things we love most is that it’s powered by a (pretty-much) all-female creative team (see the gorgeous pic below from the Westpac Open Air Premiere).

Producer Bruna Papandrea (Big Little Lies, Gone Girl, The Dry, Wild) brings the confidence of someone who knows audiences are ready for emotionally layered storytelling. First-time screenwriter Becca Johnstone delivers dialogue that feels sharp, lived-in and deeply respectful of the character’s interior life. Director Marcelle Lunam brings a steady, assured vision that never sensationalises struggle or rushes emotional beats.

ADDITION delivers warmth, chemistry, and genuine pleasure - but it also takes mental health seriously. If you’ve experienced anxiety, OCD, neurodiversity, or any form of psychological strain, you may recognise yourself in Grace.

It also offers a thoughtful model for loving someone who’s struggling: not by fixing them, but by being steady, accountable, and present. And it reminds us that care - from family, partners, or ourselves - can be a powerful catalyst for growth.

Ultimately, ADDITION is about connection. About showing up. About the messy, difficult, sometimes hilarious work of letting your “crazy” out and being human and in love.

ADDITION is in cinemas now. Rated M.

We’ve partnered with Hoyts, Event, and Village cinemas to bring you discount movie vouchers through our Good Tix - cheaper tickets that include a built-in charity donation. Watch, feel good, repeat. You can grab your Good Tix at the button below

Looking for tickets? Book your Maria Anna Mozart Concert Tour Tickets here.

In 2024, good.film worked on the release of the AACTA Award Winning film Mozart's Sister - an Australian documentary about the vanished compositions of Wolfgang Mozart’s sister. Maria Anna (known affectionately as ‘Nannerl’) once played side-by-side with her little brother, as the two toured Europe and performed before kings and queens. Her disappearance from public life, and her vanished compositions, tells a larger story about the erasure of women’s contributions to classical music.

After the film screened, we announced the ‘Mozart’s Sister Pledge’: a call to action for diversity in classical music. As part of the pledge, we invited you to share why this change is important to you (and had some incredible responses - see below!).

Now, here’s the part you don’t know… Since then, we’ve taken the results of the Mozart’s Sister pledge to some incredible partners, including orchestras around Australia, Minderoo Foundation and Create NSW. As a result, we’re delighted to announce that the Maria Anna Mozart Concert Tour has received grant funding! A huge thank you to the aforementioned partners who have been so supportive.

The tour invites orchestras and ensembles around Australia to bring the film’s powerful original score to life in concert. It centres the Mozart’s Sister soundtrack, composed by acclaimed Australian composer Jessica Wells. The program will also feature a Mozart concerto with the ghost of Maria Anna’s fingerprints, additional diverse work chosen by each orchestra, and cinematic visuals from the film’s director Madeleine Hetherton-Miau.

The tour will take place between March-October 2026, with full dates and locations to be announced soon. To find out about a performance near you, join the Mozart’s Sister mailing list:

An Immersive Concert Experience

Presented as an immersive visual concert, the performance combines excerpts from Mozart’s Sister, live orchestral performance, and live narration to re-tell Maria Anna Mozart’s remarkable life.

The concert program examines how the music from so many women has been lost to history, and invites audiences to reflect on whose stories are remembered, performed, and celebrated on stages today.

"Mozart’s Sister had such an incredible release and this tour is a beautiful next chapter. Hearing Jess Wells’ score brought to life by orchestras will open Maria Anna Mozart’s story to new audiences, and give people a powerful new way to experience her legacy."

Madeleine Hetherton-Miau, Director, Mozart’s Sister

"Composing the score for Mozart’s Sister was a huge privilege! Too often, brilliant contemporary compositions don’t get programmed simply because audiences don’t recognise the names behind them. This tour changes that (who doesn’t love Mozart?), while championing diverse composers and new work."

Jessica Wells, Composer, Mozart’s Sister.

Why this tour matters now

The tour arrives at a time when classical music institutions are being challenged to better reflect the communities they serve. In 2025, only 14.6% of works performed by Australian orchestras were composed by female or gender diverse composers, a figure that highlights broader issues around diversity and representation in the sector.

The Maria Anna Mozart Concert Tour celebrates the work of an iconic composer whose contributions were erased, while also spotlighting incredible contemporary voices like Jessica Wells and featured works chosen by each orchestra. Presented with support from Create NSW and Mindaroo Foundation, the concert is an invitation to experience classical music as vibrant, modern, and powerfully relevant.

Tickets are now on sale for the Maria Anna Mozart Concert Tour

Orchestras participating in the tour include Sydney Youth Orchestra, Symphony Central Coast, Chatswood High Orchestra, Beecroft Orchestra and Sunshine Coast Symphony Orchestra.

Find Maria Anna Mozart Concert Tour dates, ticket links and more info at www.good.film/mariaannamozart.

About Mozart's Sister

For the first 16 years of her life, Maria-Anna Mozart shared equal billing with her younger brother Wolfgang, performing before Kings and Queens until she was forced to withdraw from public life. Mozart’s Sister is a ‘musical-true-crime’ story that unravels what happened to her long-lost compositions, from multi-awarded Director/Producer Madeleine Hetherton-Miau and Producer Rebecca Barry.

Mozart’s Sister re-launched in Jan 2026 on ABC iView, after a hugely successful cinema release saw it become the 4th ranked documentary at the 2024 Australian box office. It has won multiple awards, including Best Music in a feature documentary in Australia at the AACTA Awards.

About composer Jessica Wells

Jessica is the composer of the ‘Mozart’s Sister’ soundtrack, with extensive experience composing, arranging and producing music across classical, film and commercial industries. She is one of Australia’s most sought-after composers: in 2025 she premiered her new concerto for Melbourne Symphony Orchestra and her full-length ballet for West Australian Ballet. She is passionate about mentoring and uplifting composers, as recognised as the recipient of the 2024 Art Music Luminary Award (NSW).

Join the mailing list and get in touch

The Maria Anna Mozart Concert Tour will be taking place at various locations around Australia between March-October 2026. Don’t miss the chance to see this groundbreaking concert: sign up to the newsletter to get updated when the full list of dates and tickets are available.

If you’re an orchestra, school, organisation or supporter who’d like to learn more about the concert program (including how to get involved!) you can reach out at hello@good.film.

Our Favourite Responses to the Mozart’s Sister Pledge

We asked you to share your vision of what diversity in classical music means to you, and had some incredible responses:

“A rich diversity of works, compositions and performances that embrace equality would be music to my ears!”

“I would dream to see music directed and played by more women. I want my daughters to feel that it is absolutely natural for a woman to become a composer.”

“Opportunities to hear more people’s unique voices through their compositions”

“Actually hearing stories from multiple perspectives, therefore encouraging empathy and contributing to a fairer, progressive society.”

“Every concert includes music, performers, staff and audience members from many different backgrounds and sectors in society. I want to see myself reflected in what is performed, and I want other people to feel the same and feel like they can be a part of the amazing world of Classical music.”

"Greater cultural diversity thus new sound experiences"

"More women leading in the sector. Concerts that are produced by women, from the compositions to the performance, artistic director, mise en scène, etc…"

"Its a matter of justice and equality between the whole diverse world of people that create music, and the right to be heard as a composer and listened to by the audiences according to their work."

“"For arts organisations to present more contemporary works by women will greater reflect the audiences that listen to the music. It will create a richer music landscape and make more meaningful contributions to the cultural landscape in Australia” “More diversity improves the richness of human experience"

"More diverse works instead of the same shows over and over."

"Broader voices, richer experiences, inclusive storytelling."

It started life as an award-winning novel. Then, a groundbreaking drama in the 1980s that won the late William Hurt a Best Actor Oscar. In the 90s, it was transformed again - this time into a record-setting Broadway musical (with music & lyrics by the legendary Kander and Ebb) that bagged 7 Tony awards. Now, nearly half a century on, the web’s being woven all over again.

In 2025, Oscar-winning director Bill Condon (Chicago, Dreamgirls) breathes new life into Kiss of the Spider Woman through a modern day lens. And to be fair, you could argue its core themes - sexual identity, oppression, resistance and self expression - make the story even MORE relevant today than when it first unspooled in cinemas.

Backed by a sizey Hollywood budget and led by a global megastar in Jennifer Lopez, we were fearing something sanitised, to be honest; all gloss, no depth. Instead, the film’s moving portrayal of two male prisoners who fall in love - one a dreamer, one a fighter - is the bedrock that gives Kiss of the Spider Woman its meaning and its staying power.

Okay, set things up for me - what’s the context of Kiss of the Spider Woman?

It’s a strange title, right? Very gothic, very “throwback”. And a grim cement prison mightn’t be the first place you think of for a lavish movie musical. But it all makes more sense in the first 5 minutes of the film, when Director Bill Condon (who freshly adapted the original 1976 novel by Argentine writer Manuel Puig) gets us up to speed with the characters and the stakes.

It’s May 1983 in Argentina, and Valentin (Mexican actor Diego Luna, Andor) is a political prisoner. At least, “that’s what they tell me”, he says to his new cell mate Luis (played by queer Los Angelino Tonatiuh Elizarraraz). Luis is a gay window dresser who’s been convicted of “public indecency” which, he quite proudly announces, was conducted with a man. Gasp!

Straight away, we get where they stand. Valentin is prickly, practical and reads biographies of Lenin for fun. Luis is talkative, out and proud, and he’s fine with Valentin’s activism: “I respect all ideas,” he tells his cell mate, “as long as they respect mine.” They’re clearly opposed on many spectrums - but fundamentally, they’re both “resistors” of oppression. Kindred spirits, then…?

What’s going on in Argentina during Kiss of the Spider Woman?

In a nutshell, the movie’s set right at the tail end of what became known as the "Dirty War" - a stretch from 1976 to 1983 when Argentina’s military dictatorship secretly kidnapped, tortured, and killed thousands of people they deemed to be political opponents or left-wing activists. That obviously includes resistance figures like Valentin - AND homosexuals like Luis, who were openly called “degenerates” (and privately, far worse).

We won’t get into a whole treatise on South American political history (and to be honest, there’s better films for that). But there’s a real sense here that Bill Condon and his team set out to do serious justice to the political realities of the time and place their story is set, and not just give lip service to the Dirty War. In doing that, fair warning: things do get pretty grim.

As for that odd title? It’s the name of Luis’ favourite movie, an old Hollywood musical starring his favorite silver screen diva, Ingrid Luna as Aurora (played by J-Lo herself). And since they’ve got nothing else to do in their leaky cell, Luis decides to act out Kiss of the Spider Woman for Valentin, scene by scene. He knows it by heart, and it’s a heart that beats with Latin passion.

So wait… is Kiss of the Spider Woman a musical?!

Sure is. And when Luis first dives into his reenactment and the screen bursts into lavish colour, it's kind of a shock from the grey prison walls - of course, that's the point. We’re MEANT to be transported. It’s the idea that stories and fantasy are a kind of fuel for the oppressed. For Luis, singing and performing are an escape; a shield from the disgust and discrimination he encounters daily.

Valentin’s resistant at first. “I hate musicals!” he spits. “They're pure propaganda! Made by the ruling class to put people's minds to sleep!” (which is pretty funny to hear as an audience member of a musical). He actually makes a good point about musicals being regressive. Valentin points out that when a male is threatened by a powerful woman in Luis’ favourite movie, his first reaction is to possess her: “He wants to turn her into a doormat!”

But Luis totally pushes back on that, arguing that there was much more respect for women in the golden era. It’s a moment that lands with a thud, because - well, he’s WRONG. Films of that era largely included women as glossy accessories: someone to drape off a dashing (male) hero to make him look like a winner. Yet Luis is adamant that women’s magnetism gives them power. Why is that? Perhaps it’s because he yearns to have the same kind of feminine allure? More on that below…

This insight into Luis’ idea of female power is represented by Aurora, the character played by J-Lo. It’s important to remember that the flashback musical sequences we're seeing are Luis' MEMORIES of his favourite film. Not the movie itself, but the way it looks in his mind. So there's this dreamy, campy quality. It's part of what makes Kiss of the Spider Woman so fascinating. We’re seeing 1940s desire, from the perspective of a 1980s man who wants to be a woman, all filtered and refocused through the lens of today. Phew! That’s not an easy balance to pull off.

How does Kiss of the Spider Woman explore queer identity?

Here’s the area where Héctor Babenco’s 1985 film really broke out. Playing the Luis role, William Hurt became the first leading actor in Academy Awards history to win an Oscar for playing an explicitly gay character. In hindsight, it was a bold show of solidarity for a community that was largely marginalised, and reeling from fearmongering voices in the midst of an AIDS epidemic.

Cut to four decades later, though, and there’s obviously been huge strides in acceptance for the LGBTQI+ community. For that reason, Kiss remolds Luis’ sexual identity somewhat: though it’s impossible in his current life, Luis admits to Valentin that above everything else, he “wants to be a woman”. And it’s here where the modern update draws on a much more nuanced understanding of sexuality.

It’s obvious that performer Tonatiuh and director Bill Condon want to represent a wider gender spectrum. Yet they never utter the term ‘transgender’. Remember, it’s 1983 - the character TODAY might identify as genderqueer or trans, but Luis is trapped in a time when those terms and visibility simply didn’t exist. Hence, reactions like when Valentin admits he’s disgusted at “people like you”, saying bluntly “If a man called me a woman, I would kill him.”

The satisfaction of Kiss is watching those attitudes shift. Luis has a habit of self-deprecating jokes (actually a really common trait in minority groups, as a kind of coping strategy). He says things like “I’m a window dresser. When the Junta is overthrown, I don't think they expect to see a bunch of sissies leading the march!” But after one too many put-downs, Valentin has had enough. “I cringe every time you make fun of yourself,” he urges Luis. “People look at you and see a monster, so you play the part. But you're not a monster, you're a man.”

Ultimately, though, Kiss is less concerned with Luis’ specific identity and more with his dignity. In their normal lives, Luis and Valentin’s paths would likely never cross. Even if they did, Valentin would probably roll his eyes at Luis’ flamboyance and collection of silk scarves (if he even looked up from his notebook). But together in their cell, the traits and colours of their “identities” begin to melt away. They stop seeing each other as labels like “gay”, “straight”, “activist” or “window dresser”. Instead, they bond purely as the person they each are inside.

Why is Kiss of the Spider Woman being described as polarising?

As we’ve found over and over, LGBTQI+ themes trigger a certain kind of polarisation that puts a film squarely in the crosshairs (just look at the IMDb User Ratings for the film below to see what we mean). We've written about this before - it’s called brigading.

Brigading is essentially coordinated backlash from online groups on platforms like IMDb and Letterboxd, who are opposed to the film’s open LGBTQI+ and Latino themes. Apparently, some Reddit threads have even coordinated downvoting as a protest against Jennifer Lopez herself (!) based on what they perceive to be her ‘overexposure’ - but isn’t that just an obvious smokescreen for racism?

The thing is, brigading against Kiss of the Spider Woman is particularly ironic - not just because the film’s received strongly positive critic reviews (nearly 80% on Rotten Tomatoes as we write this). But the core point - the one that beats at the heart of the film itself! - is that art, and great stories, CAN AND DO foster our empathy for others, and therefore connection.

How about Kiss of the Spider Woman’s casting and performances?

Here’s where Kiss really sings (forgive the pun). The natural warmth of Diego Luna as Valentin hits our empathy button hard. Luna isn’t the film’s only secret weapon though: that award probably has to go to relative newcomer Tonatiuh, who was born to immigrant parents from Mexico, and was raised by his mother and grandmother in East LA.

It’s obviously meaningful to have this South American story portrayed authentically by Latino and Latina performers. “With [this character], I returned to the totality of my being”, Tonatiuh told Variety. “Latinos and queer people everywhere are being asked to make themselves small. And [yet], we come from a long line of resilient and beautiful people in history. I think it's time to remember our dignity and to remind people of our worth.”

And on the topic of beautiful resilient people, yes, we’re happy to report that Jennifer Lopez is super engaging as the titular Spider Woman. It’s a surprisingly physical role - singing, dancing, dangling off spiderwebs (really). And while the multi-hyphenate superstar is arguably RIIIIGHT on the knife’s edge of being too old for the character (J-Lo’s 56 IRL), she really does nail it.

What’s the takeaway from Kiss of the Spider Woman?

There’s really three ways to look at this new incarnation of Manuel Puig’s 1976 story. One is at surface level: the jail scenes are poignant, and the lavish femme fatale film sequences are sumptuous and brimming with va-va-voom. It’s seriously a costume designer’s dream - anyone who loves old-school musicals or the lure of a Technicolor dance number will be in carnivalé heaven.

The second approach is to view Kiss as a kind of history lesson. One that urges us to keep our minds more open to difference. More poised to push back against “leaders” that aim to hang onto power by only pretending to solve problems (think: lack of housing, poverty, drug addiction, etc). Instead, they’re focused on marginalising and dividing communities.

But the third viewpoint is our favourite, and it’s one that backs up everything we know about the power of film and storytelling. Aside from their nationality, these two men are different in almost every way: Valentin is academic and grounded; Luis is a romantic dreamer. They have completely different views on equality. But by being incarcerated together - by sharing each other's lives, struggles, and dreams - they begin to accept (and eventually love) each other.

And it all happens through conversation: through stories they act out, and memories they recount. In its own way, Kiss of the Spider Woman is a microcosm of exactly what we need more of: more openness, more conversation, and more sharing, to enable humankind to see more eye to eye. Luis and Valentin’s bond is like a test case; a reminder that it’s impossible to know what you’ll learn from someone else’s perspective UNTIL you’ve heard it for yourself.

As Luis says in a letter to his beloved mother towards the film’s finale, “When I went to prison, I thought my life was over. But… I learned about dignity in the most undignified place.”

Okay, time out on the matcha latte. It's Hangeul Day this week, a national holiday in South Korea that traditionally gets celebrated with a whole bunch of festivals and cultural events - including our favourite, going to the movies! (don't forget the Tteokbokki: spicy rice cakes are a Korean movie theatre staple).

It got us pondering about the truly incredible Korean films that have been embraced by Western culture over the last few years, so we put together a little taster menu of Unforgettable Korean Films that Broke Through (and one upcoming one that we think will, too). If you've never seen a Korean feature, it's not too late to change that - and the movies below are the perfect place to start. Add a few to your watchlist today and Jeulgida (enjoy) on your next movie night!

​Parasite

​Where else could we begin? Bong Joon Ho's thrilling 2019 social satire is an absolute banger. Seemingly a study of rich vs. poor at first glance, the film unpacks like a glorious puzzle over a tight two hours in ways that are both immensely satisfying and completely unexpected. Packed with delicious performances, every single angle and beat of Parasite is damn near perfect - and it's totally a parable for our socially-climbing times. No wonder it became the first film in more than 6 decades to win the coveted Palme d'Or AND the Academy Award for Best Picture.

Loved it? Check out 'Memories of Murder' - Bong Joon Ho's 2003 crime thriller that's still raved as one of the director's very best.

​Minari

Okay, we're slightly cheating here, but look past the film's American midwest setting - this is a deeply personal story to writer & director Lee Isaac Chung. The son of Korean immigrants, Chung was raised on a farm in rural Arkansas in the 1980s by parents chasing 'the American dream', and that's exactly the story he tells here. This beautiful, gentle and layered film explores the strangeness of this foreign land through the eyes of seven year old son David, who puzzles out the new emotions and new behaviours (ahem, racism) he encounters as a new American. Minari is tender, funny and achingly personal, and simply oozes quality; Steven Yeun became the first Asian-American to be nominated for a Best Actor Oscar as the father figure, Jacob.

Did you know? For writing and directing Minari, Lee Isaac Chung was nominated for over 90 international awards, including a DGA, two BAFTAS and two Academy Awards.

​Burning​

Another Steven Yeun starrer, this gorgeous romance-mystery from director Lee Chang-dong is definitely a slow burn, excuse the pun. Centred on a boy-boy-girl trio, what starts as tactile and emotional embers soon starts roaring into a layered thriller when one character goes missing. The most common review? 'You won't be able to get it out of your head'. Earning wall-to-wall critical acclaim (including a Top 3 of the year spot from Sight & Sound mag), Burning became the first Korean film ever to make the Best International film Oscar shortlist - paving the way, you could say, for the Academy's loving embrace of Parasite the following year.

Director Lee Chang-dong's #1 fan might just be 'Anora' filmmaker Sean Baker - the 4-time Oscar winner is a huge fan of Lee's work, referring to him as a 'modern master'.

​Past Lives

Our second American-Korean hybrid, but we simply had to include Celine Song's achingly beautiful love story because it's TOTALLY ABOUT the confusing identity soup of being Korean, and American, and neither, and both. The crux of the story is Nora (wonderfully played by Greta Lee) whose past life crashes into her present - along with a ferris wheel of emotions - when her first love visits her for the first time in decades... and meets her American husband. As we wrote in our guide to the film, "Past Lives is the kind of subtle romantic drama that speaks volumes without anyone exchanging a word - just a long, loaded glance will do. It’s also absolutely dripping with yearning in a way that 21st century movies rarely make time for anymore."

​No Other Choice​

We're buzzing for this. Releasing next month in Australia, the new drama from Park Chan-wook (arguably Korea's master of cinema) certainly sounds like it's at the sharp, dark edge of social commentary right now. Squid Game's Lee Byung-hun stars as a white collar manager who spirals after losing his job, then bombing out at a string of interviews in a ruthless and ageist job market. Until he decides to claw back a bit of dignity and take matters into his own hands. Juicy! Could No Other Choice be the spiritual sequel to Parasite? We'll know soon.

Can't wait for this one? Check out the rest of Park Chan-wook's catalogue in the meantime - you can't go wrong with his revered 2016 romantic thriller 'The Handmaiden', his acclaimed 2022 film 'Decision to Leave', or his groundbreaking revenge tale from way back in 2003, 'Oldboy'.

INTER ALIA is thought-provoking as hell. It takes the fear that any parent of teenagers walks around with, and prods at it like a bruise.

The scene? A top level High Court Judge (played ferociously by Rosamund Pike), renowned for her uncompromising feminist stance on rape cases, finds her worldview torn to shreds when her own son is accused of rape by a female friend.

Inter Alia is the new sold out show from London’s National Theatre and our first deep-dive into a stage play filmed for the big screen. Why now? We’d be lying if we said there wasn’t some cultural pride - the writer is Australian playwright Suzie Miller. She’s the force behind Prima Facie, which sold out around the world in 2022 and won its star Jodie Comer a well-deserved Tony Award.

But there’s a deeper fascination here than just a local connection. The issue of consent is such a nuanced and spiky one. That’s where art like this can help; there’s immense value in those “I didn’t think of it THAT way!” conversations in the movie foyer that tune our minds into a new line of thought.

How does Inter Alia explore being a feminist, while also being a wife, and a Mum?

The way Pike plays Jessica Parks, she’s a bit like a legal rock star. She (literally) rocks the mic in her role as a judge - the stage is like a mashup of her courtroom and a karaoke club. Sounds weird, but it gives the play’s opening scenes massive energy. Pike belts out a breathless, non-stop performance - but what it REALLY conveys well is the endless juggle of her job and her home life. “I swear I spend my entire life doing everything in between the cracks of everyone else's needs!” she rails to us, panting and rushing.

Jessica’s midway through a trial when her son phones her with an “emergency”... to help find his party shirt. This is the first hint of the anxious extremes she’s living under - but is it her own fear of failing as a perfect mother, or something more to do with her son and his background? She rushes from her chambers to home (this is done fantastically well on stage; with a quick flick of lighting, we’re zipped between the courtroom and her kitchen), whipping off her robes and wig… to find her husband moaning about not having red wine for their dinner party.

It’s a huge theme of Inter Alia: balance. The impossible balance. She’s nailing a high-profile career, but also committed to putting her child first. These can mostly co-exist, but what happens when they collide? What parts come undone? And even though she shares the child rearing with her husband, his approach is so different, it’s like they’re at war. So instead of feeling supported, it feels like the job is HARDER (this is often a reason for divorce, by the way - many women feel it’s actually easier to single parent than to co-parent with a resistant spouse). But can a busy mother, no matter how much of a badass feminist that she is, do it all?

It’s interesting how there’s a push-pull in this “main parent” idea. Like when, in a flashback, their son Harry breaks his arm at school, and Jessica rushes to the hospital. But why was SHE the one to go, not her husband Michael? His answer is a meek one: "I just thought he'd want his Mum." It’s infuriating (she was in the middle of a deposition at the time!) but Jessica is self-aware enough to admit, "I'm torn between wanting to rage against this, and the compliment of being a good mother." She’s one of the UK’s most respected judges, but she still yearns for society’s ‘gold star’ on her cardboard ‘World’s Best Mum’ chart.

She wants to be a good wife too, with all the inner conflict that brings. There’s hints across the dialogue that her barrister husband is a touch jealous of his wife becoming a judge before he did. That she ‘eggshells’ his feelings because of it. And that, secretly, he might truly believe that women are only being elevated to the bench in the interests of gender equity. “Not in YOUR case, of course!” he maintains, but Jess has seeds of doubt. She loves her husband, but his lumpy views are, well - the views of a man born in the 70s, raised by a man born in the 40s. It shows how feminist attitudes are still fighting against a HUGE generational tide.

How does Inter Alia explore assault within the legal system?

Compared to her home life, Jessica’s career in the courtroom is startlingly black & white. She presides over a lot of rape cases, telling us with a note of pride, “It’s here that I can affect change.” Early on, she explains how her mind works behind the bench: she views her job as protecting the witness (in other words, the victim) - to protect her from more trauma.

Jess pushes back, HARD, against the (almost always male) defence barristers, who can easily be thought of as stand-ins for the patriarchy. “I always make it clear that there will be NO victim blaming in this court!” she hollers, and then throws in for us as a cheeky wink, “He's a barrister I worked alongside once, and now he must obey me.” It’s a pretty delicious moment.

So her stance is crystal clear: “support the sisterhood.” But the crux of Inter Alia, the core irony, is what happens when her home and work collide. When Harry is accused of rape the day after his party, how can Jessica unquestionably “believe the victim” then? “Don't you believe me Mum?” Harry begs her messily. “Of course I do!”, because what else can a mother say? She’s thrown into a tailspin of self-blame - “I TRIED TO RAISE A FEMINIST SON!”

Suzie Miller takes Inter Alia into fascinating territory by laying out the murkiness of proof when it comes to consent and assault in the courts. Because what's moral, and what's legal, are two very different things, and it's only what's legal that counts in court. "We both know how difficult it is to secure a conviction in a rape case!” her husband rallies, trying to find the silver lining.

He’s right. Even if Harry WAS guilty, he probably won’t be FOUND guilty: legally, it’s nearly impossible to PROVE that someone intentionally raped someone else if they deny it. But Jessica is incredibly conflicted by this. She’s fought for victims her whole career.

She’s disgusted to find herself deploying the same tricks she shoots down in her courtroom. The kind defence lawyers use to cast doubt on the (usually female) victim’s account. Jessica clings to the fact that memories CAN be faulty - especially when someone’s traumatised. And she knows convictions are vanishingly rare. And though she recognises how problematic that is, the thought that her son is unlikely to end up in jail brings her a grim sense of relief.

What does the play have to say about raising boys?

Here’s where the real emotional meat of Inter Alia starts to sizzle. Suzie Miller weaves four key motherhood flashbacks into the story. There’s the hospital visit we mentioned, and a scene where Harry is much younger and wanders off at a playground while she's on the phone, distracted with a case (another reminder of the career vs. family juggle).

But the sharper ones are a scene where Jessica wrestles with the sick feeling of explaining to her young son - without scaring him - that no-one else is allowed to touch his body. And later, when Harry’s 12, believing she’s caught him watching porn on his laptop and deciding to have “the talk”. She might stammer and struggle, but in both scenes Jessica is TRYING to do it right.

As online resource Teach Us Consent advises to parents who suddenly find themselves in that same awkward boat, “Don’t freak out — this is the perfect moment to open up a conversation, understand how they came across it, and ask them what they thought about it. Be sure to emphasise that porn isn’t made to depict reality or be educational.” And that’s exactly what Jess does. She’s a mother who’s deeply invested in protecting her son from abuse AND from becoming an abuser. She’s making the effort - but the question Inter Alia poses is can women really reach into and influence that world, no matter how hard they try?

As her son stands accused, Jessica is consumed by a sense of failure. She turns to her husband, realising that perhaps she can’t do it all - she can’t reach their teenage boy on her own. She needed Michael to teach him how to be a good man: “I want to know if you sat him down and had a talk with him about respecting women!” And she’s sick with the realisation that that never happened. Michael’s defence is that he’s like “every other man” in their 40s and 50s, “we don't know what to say!” And there’s another, deeper fear for these men: that maybe they barrelled through layers of consent in their younger days, too. What if someone from their own past has a long-buried accusation to make?

What’s the takeaway from Inter Alia?

What indeed! There’s not a moment of Inter Alia that’s anything less than fierce and fantastic entertainment. It’s no wonder it sold out instantly in London: Rosamund Pike grabs the red-hot material by the scruff of the neck and furiously tears it to shreds (she's incredibly impressive).

Thematically, it’s honestly tough to squeeze all the layers of this potent play into one, single nutshell. Woven into the rapid-fire dialogue are comments on #MeToo, social media pressure, the “optics” of gender, and the crushing realisation that justice so often slips away within the rigid confines of the legal system. Oh, and how as a woman, you literally can’t do it all.

But Inter Alia is a piece of art that's driven from start to finish by sheer impact. Like the Emmy winning Adolescence, this is a story that unseals the pressure cooker of the manosphere to let us in. It’s no secret that boys have instant access to harmful or demeaning porn, and yet their fathers (and father figures) aren’t talking with them about how to contextualise it. There’s a proven link between porn exposure and retro attitudes to consent: research found that teens who have seen pornography are more likely to agree with the statement “girls may say no at first, but then can be persuaded to have sex” than those who haven’t. It’s scary.

We won’t spoil the ending, but if we were to choose one takeaway to emphasise from Inter Alia, it’d be Suzie Miller's own call to action: TALK TO YOUR BOYS. Even with the most incredible women leading the issue, we need men. We need them to process their own histories and silences around consent. And we need them to sit down with their sons, take a deep breath, and have those conversations about what consent looks like in 2025. If you’re not sure where to start, we recommend checking out the resources from our friends at Teach Us Consent.

It's been ages since we've dived into a proper comedy... especially one as thorny as this.

​THE ROSES hit cinemas on Thursday, and no, it's not quite a remake of 1989's revenge hit The War of the Roses. That movie was a sharp, dark look at possessiveness and 1980's greed (hey, Michael Douglas played Gordon "Greed is Good" Gekko in 1987's Wall Street, after all).

The new version directed by Jay Roach (Bombshell) is actually a fresh new adaptation of the Warren Adler novel from 1981, and the film's themes have been updated too. The black comedy is still front and centre - there's some brilliant one-liners from Aussie writer Tony McNamara - but now, THE ROSES has a different flavour of fish to fry.

THE ROSES stars Benedict Cumberbatch, Olivia Colman, Allison Janney, Andy Samberg and Kate McKinnon. SEE IT FOR LESS with a Good Tix movie voucher - every Good Tix sold includes a donation to Australian charities.

How has The Roses been freshened up for 2025?

Today's version of the story is much more focused on the power balance between a husband, Theo (Benedict Cumberbatch) and his wife Ivy (the always brilliant Olivia Colman). He's an outstanding architect, and he defines most of his persona from his work. But when his newest build collapses in a freak storm, he's suddenly unemployable.

The story starts to play with how Theo wrestles with that. Who is he without his career label? He seems embarrassed to be dealing with laundry and dog poo as a new stay-at-home-Dad. The pained expression that Cumberbatch gives to Theo seems to be saying, Hang on, I've won awards - aren't I better than this?!

All this happens just as Ivy's genius for pairing new flavours with seafood gets discovered by California's elite, so suddenly, she's the breadwinner. More than that actually - her restaurants are booked solid, she's featured in magazines and being invited on private planes with celebrity chefs to live the high life. And it's obvious that Theo feels left out, resentful and jealous.

For their marriage, it's a sudden role reversal that asks a lot of questions. Ivy gave up years of her career to raise their kids, so why can't Theo do the same? Or is Ivy being a bit unfeeling by embracing her new success while her husband mourns his own career dying?

How does The Roses look at motherhood and careerism?

This struck us as one of the film's chewiest themes. Ivy's talent is in sudden demand - she WANTS to pursue that and so does Theo - he's an encouraging husband and he's happy for her. But the irony of parenthood is that generally, the more time you spend fueling your work, the less you have left for your offspring.

By running an empire, living her dream and growing herself, Ivy's mostly away from her family. Professionally she's a huge success - but in her eyes, as a wife and mother, she's a failure. The whole storyline ploughs into the guilt that women can feel (or are socially prompted to feel) when they prioritise their career 'ahead' of their children. And the stats don't lie...

The graph below from the Australian Institute of Family Studies shows the jump over 40 years of women in their 30s in the workforce... from 50% to nearly 80%. And it's still mostly women that opt to take time out of their careers to raise kids. Recent data from our Workplace Gender Equality Agency suggests only 17% of parental leave was taken by men! So while there's good legislation in place to drag things onto equal footing, culturally, we're still figuring things out...

Colman beautifully expresses the wrench of that impossible ask. One scene is really palpable, when Ivy's daughter shares that she got her first period, but it was okay because "Dad was there" for her. Ivy's heartbroken that she missed this delicate mother-daughter milestone... then Theo weaponises it, by throwing back at Ivy that it's okay she wasn't there - "You never are."

There's another layer of resentment too: now that they're on his watch, Theo encourages his kids to start getting sporty. Soon [mild spoiler], they're so physically fit that they both win scholarships to an elite sports school, and move away from home. Her children have turned into people Ivy doesn't recognise - and she can't hide her anger towards Theo for causing it.

What does The Roses say about marriage, love and lust?

In this new version of The Roses, Theo & Ivy are deeply in love. They're even still in lust for eachother: they're upfront about sex and their desire for each other. The point is they're not incompatible people... but life's events & obstacles keep turning them into enemies (Theo is aghast when Ivy wakes their kids up at midnight to try ice-cream sandwiches for "fun").

When things are good, they can work with that because they're partners. When things aren't good? That's when nastier colours emerge. Take the dinner party scene when barbs start flying in front of their stunned friends: Theo says of the dessert's bitter aftertaste, "Ivy likes to leave a little bit of herself in every meal" while Ivy hits straight back with a dig at Theo's lovemaking.

Neither of those things are true. Theo loves his wife's cooking and Ivy loves her husband's body. But the truth is clouded by all of their OWN emotional layers - shame, regret, resentment. It's easy to see how even a strong couple can turn on each other under stress (in Australia, around one in three marriages end in divorce). The love is still under there, deep down... but it's just so FUN to throw oranges at your wife's head or drop a pair of live crabs into your husband's bath.

One surprising bit of honesty comes from their friend Amy (Kate McKinnon), who's a little TOO keen for a one-night stand with pretty much anyone except her husband Barry (Andy Samberg). Theo's worried - obviously they're on the rocks? But Amy sets him straight. Sure, she lusts after someone different for a night - but if she was going through chemo, it's Barry that she'd want by her side. Barry puts the change a different way: "I used to know what she was about to say even before she said it. Now, sometimes I don't know what she means even after she's said it."

What’s the takeaway from The Roses?

Like the original film, The Roses' luxury home becomes the rope in their tug-of-war - but that's just a red herring. What Theo & Ivy are really battling to win back is their past. There's things they've said they can't unsay, and time they've been gone they can't come back for. And over time, their pride in themselves has replaced their support for each other like a strangling weed.

We still want to stress, this film is FUNNY. It occasionally goes to extremes (guns and epi-pens are both fired off), but The Roses insightfully digs into the idea that any partnership is a living, breathing thing. It's about more than just passion. Frustrated? Yeah, that'll happen. You need patience. Flaws? We've all got 'em. You need awareness to realise YOU'RE not perfect either.

Theo & Ivy started out as each other's cheerleaders. Maybe by the end they still are (we won't spoil things). If there's any one takeaway from The Roses though, it's that choosing to be each other's cheerleaders is what keeps a marriage on track. Like a pot of French cream simmering on the stove, you've got to tend to it. It's when you turn your back that things quickly boil over.

THE ROSES is out now in Australian cinemas. Get discount movie tickets to see it for less at Event, Village and Hoyts Cinemas right here. We donate $1 from every Good Tix sold to Australian charities.

We're skipping a full ​Weapons​ guide this week. Partly because it veers into horror (and after ​Together​ last week, we don’t want you thinking we’ve gone full scream queen), and partly because - while it nods to themes like alcoholism, teacher–parent boundaries, and community safety - it doesn’t explore them deeply enough to qualify as impact entertainment in our book.

But that call got us thinking - it’s a good chance to share what we mean by “impact entertainment.” For us, it’s not just documentaries or even the filmmaker’s “why.” It’s about you, the audience. Does the film spark conversation? Deepen your understanding of something like grief, family, or love? Give you something worth talking about afterwards?

With that in mind, we’re turning our attention instead to ​Conclave​ - an acclaimed drama we missed when it first released. Now on streaming, it’s the perfect time to explore what’s been hailed as "immaculate... a godsend for audiences who crave intelligent entertainment."

Who Directed Conclave? Edward Berger
Who Stars in it? Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow, Isabella Rossellini, Carlos Diehz
Where Can I See it? ​Conclave is streaming now​ for subscribers on Amazon Prime Video, and is available to buy or rent on other streaming platforms.

What's the premise of Conclave?

It's essentially an election story - the Pope has passed away, and Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes) is tasked with managing the ancient (and massively secretive) ritual of electing a new one. Rather watch paint dry? Think again. Somehow, Swiss-Austrian writer-director Edward Berger (All Quiet on the Western Front) has built a riveting procedural that plays more like a high-stakes thriller than a papal-shuffling story.

There's two big reasons for this, and the first is timing. Just a few months after Conclave was released, the real Pope Francis died of cardiac arrest, triggering the real-life conclave in May 2025 that led to the election of Pope Leo XIV. It was the first conclave in 12 years (and only the third since 1978!), lending the film an incredible ripped-from-the-headlines timeliness.

The other reason is the genuine tension that Berger manages to build as the story unfurls into a conspiracy that's almost more Mission Impossible than Roman Catholic church. Just because these Cardinals are holy men doesn't mean they're not also, simply, men - driven by their own hidden (and not so hidden!) temptations.

How accurate is Conclave to the real thing?

Smoke and string and incantations... hey, the real-life papal conclave is already stranger than fiction. But that doesn't mean the team behind Conclave took liberties just for the fun of it. The filmmakers went hard to recreate the top-secret ritual, pouring thousands of hours of research and meticulous attention into real world details (like, say, the exact shade of red and gold threads that make up the cord suspending their distinctive 'pectoral cross').

So when we see the cardinals sequestered without their devices, dark shutters rolling down the windows, guards at every entrance, and the symbolic grey and white smoke signals pouring solemnly from the Sistine Chapel, the details aren’t just Hollywood. They’re exact replicas of proper Vatican protocol, embedded over centuries.

It probably goes without saying that filming wasn't allowed inside the Vatican. The production team built a full-scale replica of the jawdropping Sistine Chapel interiors at Rome’s legendary Cinecittà Studios. The process took about ten weeks, covering everything from the lavish types of marble and carpeting used in the real location down to the kinds of hooks installed on the doors. (All that attention to detail paid off: the film was nominated for eight Academy Awards, including production design, costume design and best picture).

Okay, so it looks accurate, but you're probably wondering if Conclave nails the actual goings on... to which we'd say, Is the Pope Catholic? While some of the truly inner-sanctum scenes had to be imagined (like how the deceased Pontiff is covered before his body is whisked away), the process of the actual conclave voting is accurate. Director Edward Berger and screenwriter Peter Straughan interviewed willing members of the clergy, and carefully studied public records, to faithfully capture the conclave's solemn inner workings. The result is the closest we'll ever get to really being there.

What does Conclave say about ideas like power and ego?

Beyond the gorgeous costumes, what really hooked us about Conclave is its sharp exploration of power and ego in leadership - especially when these holy men are supposed to rise above such human frailties. Power is messy, ambition is tangled - and we’re often drawn to leaders who seem like they don’t want the role.

Why? Because it hints at humility and a deep awareness of the heavy burden leadership carries. But as Conclave explores, in that sort of environment how do you run for leadership - or lead - without showing that you actually want the crown?

Cardinal Lawrence, played superbly by Ralph Fiennes, embodies that paradox. He habitually shrugs off the idea that he should be elected. Instead, he wrestles with shaken faith and a refusal to be anointed - even though his colleagues push back with, “Ah, but that’s exactly why you should be Pope.” Alone in front of his mirror, Lawrence mutters, “You’re a manager,” giving us a quiet, wry glimpse into his internal tug-of-war between humility and ambition.

And then there’s the power play with Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow). A subtle accusation of sabotage crystallises how even Lawrence - despite his denials - might secretly crave power. But think about it this way: after devoting his life to the Church, doesn’t he have a duty to lead it - especially if the alternative is someone who might corrupt it?

What's the Conclave 'twist" I keep hearing about?

Without giving it away, yes, there's a huge twist at the end of Conclave that some have applauded and others felt blindsided by. It centers on one Cardinal's medical history and introduces an entirely new theme to the film.

In our eyes, it's a crucial inclusion. As it invites us to ponder concepts like identity, and how the Catholic church continues to slowly - very slowly - modernise itself to remain relevant to society's changing social norms.

We'd argue that Conclave doesn't sensationalise this character's reveal. Instead, it charges the film's final moments and pushes boundaries on what leadership and true faith mean.

What’s the takeaway from Conclave?

What do we really get with Conclave then - a political drama? Sure. But set aside the robes and rituals, and it’s actually a (razor-sharp) meditation on human nature, whether it takes place in the Holiest of places or not.

Berger and Straughan are probing timeless themes here: the wrestle of faith, the pull of ambition, the corrosion of greed. They come in many guises. And you’ll find yourself mulling over the questions they pose long after the white smoke clears.

​CONCLAVE is streaming now​ for subscribers on Amazon Prime Video, and is available to buy or rent on other streaming platforms.

WEAPONS is out now in Australian cinemas. Get discount movie tickets to see it for less at ​Event, Village and Hoyts Cinemas right here​. We donate $1 from every Good Tix sold to Australian charities.

Together​ opened in cinemas last week, and there's three big reasons we were immediately IN.

Firstly, THAT premise. It's about a couple that literally begin to "fuse together"... talk about fertile ground! Could this be the movie that anyone obsessed with Couples Therapy will be referencing for years? We're itching to know what tone the film takes. Is it a straight up body horror, or more of a twisted romance? Maybe even a dark comedy? (Thrillingly, it's kinda all three).

Second, the film was written and directed by Aussie Michael Shanks, and we love to get behind our local filmmakers (the film was shot in Melbourne too, in just 21 days). Together's his debut feature film, and we hope it's a home run.

Third, when Together premiered at Sundance it generated huge buzz AND sparked a bidding war between massive players like A24, Neon, Apple and Amazon. It was arguably the most talked-about movie of the festival... and that chatter has gotten even louder since the film's been smacked with a lawsuit (more on that below).

We're no legal experts, but we ARE pretty handy at judging the merit of an original film premise. And the closer we looked into Together's genre-defying DNA and "WTF?!" premise, we just HAD to check it out.

Who Directed Together? Michael Shanks
Who Stars in it? Dave Franco, Alison Brie, Damon Herriman
Where Can I See it? Together is out now in Australian cinemas. Get discount movie tickets to see it for less at ​Event, Village and Hoyts Cinemas right here​. We donate $1 from every Good Tix sold to Australian charities.

What's Together really about at its core?

Writer-Director Michael Shanks has said that he was drawn to tell a story about co-dependency. He chose the body-horror mould to try and explore how "our darkest fears about intimacy can manifest", and says that the couple's story slowly emerged during the writing process as he asked himself: "what might we lose by surrendering to another person?"

Together isn't an extreme horror (think Saw) that uses physical effects purely for shock. It's much more keen on examining the social construct of relationships: how we balance our individual selves (and goals) when we're in love, what healthy co-dependency looks like, and what that can turn into when the balance goes horribly wrong.

Shanks sets the action somewhere isolated, of course (remember Get Out's creepy drive into the woods? Same vibes). Millie, played by Alison Brie, gets a great new teaching job, but it's in a remote small-town. No friends, no family, hours away from anywhere they know. Tim (played by Brie's husband Dave Franco) tags along, because as a musician he doesn't have a full time job or really any other ties. That's the first hint that this relationship isn't exactly 50/50... and what they're about to go through puts the nagging differences between them to the ultimate test.

How does Together explore ideas like emasculation?

There's early hints that Tim & Millie's relationship isn't exactly bulletproof. During the farewell party at the beginning of the film, Tim gets an invite from his muso mates to go on tour with them as a backup guitarist, and we can tell he's WAY more amped about that dream than following his girlfriend to the middle of nowhere.

In the other room, Millie's bestie asks if Tim's stepped up in the romance stakes yet - he hasn't made love with her in months. Something's off. Watch how Millie defends Tim though: he doesn't have a stable job and he doesn't seem that committed, but when her friends hint that Millie could do better, she backs her partner because that's what partners do. But each piece of logic seems to chip away at Millie's surety. Is she defending him because he's Mr. Right, or Mr. Right Now?

For Tim, he's battling a string of knocks to his ego - actually, more to his maleness. There's the low libido for a start, code for you're not a "real man" unless you're virile. Millie's the breadwinner while he's a gigging musician whose "big break" is still vaguely on its way. There's other hints too: he's useless with power tools and doesn't have a drivers' licence, so he relies on Millie to take him places. When it comes to gender roles, he's literally in the passenger seat.

The last piece of emasculation is when Millie pauses the party music and SHE gets on one knee to propose. Perhaps she's sensing Tim's distance and wants to lock him down. But it makes their confusing relationship worse: Tim pauses horribly, the mood gets REAL awkward, and it's yet another "man thing" that Millie, arguably, has "taken" from Tim. It means their move to the countryside starts with a heap of question marks. Are they even all that compatible? And if their relationship's that fragile, how will they cope when it's really put to the test?

Together takes things deeper with a look at grief and purpose

Shanks quickly kicks the film into gear when Tim & Millie get stuck outdoors on a weekend trek, spending the night in an abandoned cave with some creepy undertones that we won't spoil. Maybe not the ideal date night, but it actually gives them a chance to talk over their conflicts, and dig deeper into what's been keeping them so distant.

That's where we get a bit more backstory about Tim and the traumatic loss of both his parents (in a few quick and impactful cuts, we immediately get why it still haunts him so viscerally). Suddenly the pieces fall into place; no wonder he's disengaged, anxious, and uninterested in sex. His grief has kind of emptied him out, making him happy to follow his partner just to make sense of himself. If you've seen Ari Aster's Midsommar, you'll recognise the emotional beats.

Watch out for the scene where Millie is welcomed to the neighbourhood by her colleague Jamie (Damon Herriman) with a house visit and a bottle of wine. Tim immediately senses Jamie's eye on his fiancee, and it boils up a slight panic in him. You can almost hear his thoughts: What if she falls in love with him? What if she leaves me? What will I have left? Who will I be?

It's great, because Tim's grief-jealousy-self-doubt combo means when creepy scenes inevitably start to happen, we're never on sure ground as to whether it's just his fractious mental state at play, or something more supernatural is going on. One morning, he wakes up choking on Millie's long hair. In another scene, she leaves for a drive and he has a violent seizure in the shower. And what was up with that weird, sticky substance that melted their legs together in the cave...?

The duality of the situation is so clever (because hey, there's always two sides in a relationship). Through Tim's eyes, bizarre things are happening, he's frightened, and he's relying on Millie to be his support structure and sympathiser. From Millie's point of view though, her "boy partner" is crumbling: he's turning into a panicked, sweaty conspiracist; a troubled weirdo when what she really needs is a stable, reliable partner. In other words? A proper man.

What's the deal with Together being hit with a lawsuit?

In May, film company NEON and Michael Shanks were sued by another filmmaker, Patrick Henry Phelan, who claims that the concept (and even specific plot points) were stolen from his 2023 indie film ​Better Half​, which ALSO has the central idea of a couple becoming physically fused. Bit of a coincidence, no? Even more curiously, Phelan actually pitched his script to real-life couple Dave Franco and Alison Brie, who he claims turned him down, then copied his ideas. Shanks hit back, asserting that his Together screenplay was already registered with the Writers Guild of America way back in 2019. Standby for who emerges the winner in THAT arm wrestle.

What’s the takeaway from Together?

How fine is the line between mutual support and toxic attachment? That's the key question Together wants us mulling over as we exit a movie that ends with, it has to be said, one of the most impressive physical effects transformations since Jeff Goldblum turned into The Fly.

In this case though, it's not played for vomitous reax - in fact, the whole scene is backed by a syrupy Spice Girls love song that's got to be one of the most sarcastic and funny needle drops of 2025. There's something deeply romantic, and deeply horrifying, going on at the same time. How often can you say that?!

Ultimately, Together is an absorbing and super original reflection on modern relationships. How we balance them, how we keep them intimate, and how we maintain a healthy independence within them. The physical fusion is a metaphor, of course: as much as we might long to be totally united with someone we love, seeing it happen in bodily form is a seriously revolting notion.

But the provocation is the point. Think of the conversations that exploded after The Substance went to fish-eyed extremes to make us rethink women's beauty standards. Together has every chance of sparking the same kind of deep conversations: this time about co-dependency and blurred boundaries. Oh, and who's really best at handling a power saw.

Together is out now in Australian cinemas. Get discount movie tickets to see it for less at ​Event, Village and Hoyts Cinemas right here​. We donate $1 from every Good Tix sold to Australian charities.