Cinema on demand: the top five places to watch new films online

Cinema is dead, long live cinema!

The second most famous line in Sunset Boulevard comes near the beginning. Joe Gillis has broken down and is looking for help with his car. He pulls into the garage outside a seemingly empty mansion, where he is assumed to be an undertaker by the Miss Havisham-like figure lurking inside. She is wrapped up in a leopard print robe and hides behind dark glasses. Gillis turns to leave. "Wait a minute, have I seen you before?" he says. "Get out!" the woman commands. "You used to be in silent pictures, you’re Norma Desmond! You used to be big.” Desmond, played by Gloria Swanson, straightens her back and lowers her gaze. “I am big,” she informs him. “It’s the pictures that got small.”

She was right. Today many of us are as familiar with watching movies on a tiny laptop, mobile phone or tablet screen as with going to the cinema. You can order DVDs through the post, download new releases legally from iTunes or stream on demand from a growing number of back catalogues online. The model that held following the advent of video – cinematic release, home release, television – has broken down. With House of Cards and Arrested Development being funded and released simultaneously on Netflix, what reason is there to stop movies being produced in the same way? While mammoth international releases are unlikely to relinquish their box office potential; small, independent productions limited to big city art houses, are taking advantage of the potential for immediate release online.

A contemporary example. The German film Lore is currently on limited release, mainly in independent and specialist cinemas. Its distributor, Artificial Eye, is part of the same company that owns the Curzon Cinemas and launched Curzon on Demand last year. Now you have a choice: watch the film at home or at the cinema. This is exciting because it has the potential to provide greater exposure to films – art house, foreign language, short, experimental and documentary films – that would otherwise fail to make it to widespread release.

But what does this mean for film as an art form, cinema as an experience? Squinting in the dark, listening to baseless audio and leaving poor Joe Gillis floating in the pool while your broadband buffers itself stupid, or worse, you are subjected to adverts - is this really the way we want to watch films? The jury is out and the precise direction of simultaneous distribution is unclear. Below are five of the most interesting services available in the UK, each approaching on-demand viewing in their own way. The list is by no means exhaustive, so let us know of any (legal) alternatives below.

The most famous line from Sunset Boulevard comes at the end. Norma is lost to her cinematic delusions. The times have changed and so have the pictures. “All right, Mr DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up," she announces to the camera. She's not alone.

Curzon on Demand

Currently available online and on Apple devices, Curzon on Demand works much like a bespoke iTunes for independent cinema fans. New releases cost £10 (£9 for Curzon members) and viewers are provided HD streaming for seven days. Because CoD isn’t a subscription service, there is no free trial. Because they are connected to Artificial Eye, arguably the finest selection of independent and foreign films released in the UK rests at your finger tips, for £3 or £4 a pop.


In Britain we have are used to receiving light versions of successful US services. A number of companies (Xfinity and Hulu, for example) have designs upon the UK market, but like Netflix before them, are likely to encounter licensing and pricing difficulties. In the States, the cable TV provider HBO (aside from providing box sets in advance at the rate of one episode a week) is responsible for producing feature-length television dramas and high quality documentaries. They have a little-known British cousin: HBO UK. Alex Gibney’s Mea Maxima Culpa: Silence in the House of God was made for HBO, and is available to stream online in the US, while on at a small number of cinemas in the UK.


Mubi has existed in various forms since 2008. The Turkish-born entrepreneur Efe Cakarel decided that given so many people were already watching films online, there had to be a way to “monetise” the phenomenon. In its current form, Mubi offers users a new film every day, available to stream for one month, curated by the company’s editorial team. They also run a neat digital film magazine, Notebook, which keeps users up to date on film news, and explains the rationale behind their selections. For example, We Have a Pope became available when the current pontiff announced he was doing a runner, Proud to be British kicks off a Nick Broomfield retrospective, and Martin Scorsese’s personal account of Italian cinema, My Voyage to Italy, was made available to coincide with the general election. The service costs £2.99 per month, a price which is liable to rise, but you can get a free month here.


Tesco entered the online streaming bizz in 2011 when it bought a majority share in video-on-demand service Blinkbox. The service attempts to rival iTunes by offering a massive array of TV shows and movies priced between 99p and £3.49. Interestingly, it also offers a number for free, with adverts spliced into the heart of the action 4od or SkyGo style. It does not offer the same video quality and easy of use iTunes does (particularly for Mac users), but because it is Tesco, in-store promotions are quite common.


There is a lot of power behind Film4oD. Not only does Film 4 play a large part in distributing a great many British films, their video-on-demand provider FilmFlex is co-owned by Sony Pictures and Disney. As a result, it offers wide-release movies – Skyfall, On the Road, Taken 2 – somewhere between initial launch and DVD/rental release. Among these are excellent indie films which fall into the same category: This is Not a Film by Jafar Panahi, Toby Jones in Berberian Sound Studio and the superb documentary McCullin. It offers 48-hour online streaming or download options, and films cost up to £3.99. There are no subscription fees and the site is neatly curated. One to watch.

The market for on-demand viewing is in flux. Google, Amazon and Apple all have nascent “instant” or “on demand” services, mostly channelling diverse subscriptions into one place. The Guardian has established a “screening room” which provides content via Distrify, a business which tries to sell premium "content" through already popular sites. The BBC’s iPlayer should not be underestimated. Its films come and go quickly, but there is always something there worth a look.

A still from the film Lore, recently released in cinemas and online.

Philip Maughan is a freelance writer in Berlin and a former Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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Shami Chakrabarti’s fall from grace: how a liberal hero lost her reputation

Once, it was trendy to say you liked the former director of Liberty. No longer.

It might be hard to remember now, but there was a time when it was trendy to like Shami Chakrabarti. In the mid-2000s, amid the Iraq War backlash and the furore over identity cards, speaking well of the barrister and head of the human rights campaign group Liberty was a handy way of displaying liberal credentials. She was everywhere: Question Time, Desert Island Discs, Have I Got News For You. A young indie band from Worcester called the Dastards was so keen on her that it even wrote a song about her. It included the lyric: “I turn on my TV/The only one I want to see/Is Shami Chakrabarti.”

The daughter of Bengali immigrants, Chakrabarti was born and brought up in the outer-London borough of Harrow, where she attended a comprehensive school before studying law at the London School of Economics. Her background was a great strength of her campaigning, and during the most authoritarian years of New Labour government she burnished her reputation.

Fast-forward to 13 September 2016, when Chakrabarti made her House of Lords debut as a Labour peer. Baroness Chakrabarti of Kennington wore a sombre expression and a rope of pearls looped round her throat beneath her ermine robe. It was hard to recognise the civil liberties campaigner who was once called “an anarchist in a barrister’s wig” by Loaded magazine.

Yet Chakrabarti has also been cast in another role that is far less desirable than a seat in the Lords: that of a hypocrite. On 29 April this year, Jeremy Corbyn announced that Chakrabarti would chair an independent inquiry into anti-Semitism and other forms of racism in the Labour Party. The inquiry was prompted by the suspensions of Naz Shah, the MP for Bradford West, and Ken Livingstone, for making offensive remarks that were condemned as anti-Semitic. On 16 May Chakrabarti announced that she was joining Labour to gain members’ “trust and confidence”. She said that she would still run the inquiry “without fear or favour”.

The Chakrabarti inquiry delivered its findings on 30 June at a press conference in Westminster. The atmosphere was febrile – there were verbal clashes between the activists and journalists present, and the Jewish Labour MP Ruth Smeeth was reduced to tears. The report stated that Labour “is not overrun by anti-Semitism, Islamophobia or other forms of racism” but that there was an “occasionally toxic atmosphere”. It listed examples of “hateful language” and called on party members to “resist the use of Hitler, Nazi and Holocaust metaphors, distortions and comparisons”. Many Labour supporters were surprised that the report’s 20 recommendations did not include lifetime bans for members found to have shown anti-Semitic behaviour.

Then, on 4 August, it was revealed that Chakrabarti was the sole Labour appointment to the House of Lords in David Cameron’s resignation honours. Both Chakrabarti and Corbyn have denied that the peerage was discussed during the anti-Semitism inquiry. But critics suggested that her acceptance undermined the report and its independence.

In particular, it attracted criticism from members of the UK’s Jewish community. Marie van der Zyl, vice-president of the Board of Deputies of British Jews, said: “This ‘whitewash for peerages’ is a scandal that surely raises serious questions about the integrity of Ms Chakrabarti, her inquiry and the Labour leadership.” A home affairs select committee report into anti-Semitism in the UK has since found that there were grave failings in the report for Labour.

Two further incidents contributed to the decline in Chakrabarti’s reputation: her arrival on Corbyn’s front bench as shadow attorney general and the revelation that her son attends the selective Dulwich College, which costs almost £19,000 a year in fees for day pupils (£39,000 for full boarders). She said that she “absolutely” supports Labour’s opposition to grammar schools but defended her choice to pay for selective education.

Chakrabarti told ITV’s Peston on Sunday: “I live in a nice big house and eat nice food, and my neighbours are homeless and go to food banks. Does that make me a hypocrite, or does it make me someone who is trying to do best, not just for my own family, but for other people’s families, too?”

This was the end for many of those who had respected Chakrabarti – the whisper of hypocrisy became a roar. As the Times columnist Carol Midgley wrote: “You can’t with a straight face champion equality while choosing privilege for yourself.”

Hypocrisy is a charge that has dogged the left for decades (both Diane Abbott and Harriet Harman have fallen foul of the selective school problem). The trouble with having principles, it is said, is that you have to live up to them. Unlike the right, the left prizes purity in its politicians, as Jeremy Corbyn’s squeaky-clean political image shows. Shami Chakrabarti started the year with a campaigning reputation to rival that of the Labour leader, but her poor decisions have all but destroyed her. It’s difficult to recall a time when a liberal icon has fallen so far, so fast. 

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood