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Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the "Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing). He was named reviewer of the year in the 2007 Press Gazette awards and is Film Critic in Residence at Falmouth University.
Entrusting a film about the exploitation of women to the director of the Austin Powers trilogy was a risk scarcely worth taking.
From the welcome shout-outs to the perverse omissions.
Made to appear as though it was shot in just one take – the question is not how the makers of 1917 achieved this coup, but why.
With nominations for some of the worst movies of this awards season, as well as a stubborn omission of most non-white talent, Bafta has some claim on being the most clueless awards body.
From Little Women to Star Wars.
From The Souvenir to Midsommar.
The film zips back and forth in time, teasing out the telling contrasts and bitter ironies of the novel.
This is a movie that dares to leave its audience in the dark.
A murder mystery pastiche with bags of humour, this is more than just Agatha Christie with Wi-Fi.
Atlantics appears at first to be a straightforward romance, but morphs into something quite different.