Saturday, 28 February 2026

One Battle After Another (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2025)

Decades after he went on the run, an ex-radical (Leonardo DiCaprio) finds himself and his daughter (Chase Infiniti) targeted by the white supremacist Christmas Adventurers Club and their attack dog Lockjaw (Sean Penn).


I was not in a hurry to get this review out. I wanted to take my time with it, and absorb some of the context around it. I had no real angle to write from.


A couple years ago I had a silly idea to do a themed series covering the career of PT Anderson, except I would pretend PT was the same filmmaker as Paul WS Anderson.


This is the movie where it feels like their respective paths could converge. Kind of.


In light of the recent news about the Warner Brothers sale, writing about One Battle After Another gained a new layer of pathos. If this merger goes through, the results will not be good.


In its pieces, this movie has the heart of exploitation cinema: A band of radical women activists hiding out as nuns; Teyana Taylor is styled as an action heroine, complete with - at one point - a massive machine gun.


But all of these elements are surface. What the movie is ultimately about is taking these images of rebellion and revolution and breaking them down, showing the ways in which real change is accomplished without the overt heroics (and implied individualism) the early scenes present - instead it is the less glamorous work, of ongoing interpersonal relationships and community-building, which can cause the most important shifts.


While it is based on a novel (which I have not read) this movie is so primed for 2025 America.


Underneath the action scenes and comedy, there is a throbbing pulse of rage to the movie - a righteous anger at the state of the world, and the foundational sins of the country that still carries so much weight.

 

It did not help that before the screening I had watched the footage of an immigrant woman being tackled by an ICE agent outside a courtroom - a brutal display of state violence. The film’s focus on white supremacy and immigration carried an extra charge.


The film is split into two halves:


In the first half, we follow the revolutionary group Paris 76 in their youth, directly engaging the government (freeing immigrants from a Denton centre; leaving bombs in government buildings; robbing banks).


In the second, we are dropped into the present, as DiCaprio’s “Bob”, paranoid and disillusioned, tries to raise his daughter according to the principles he lived by with his old comrades.


Teyana Taylor, so impressive in Three Thousand and One, is the deceptively solid sun around which the first part of the film orbits.


She is a mythic figure, an archetype of a strong black woman. Highly sexual AND physically imposing, she feels like a descendant of Pam Grier’s action heroines of the seventies.


She seems like the perfect embodiment of the white establishment’s fears and desires - as well as her partners’.


In the early scenes I was a little disconcerted - I thought she was a bit too broad. 


But that image turns out to be a lie - in the end, she is just a human being, as flawed and capable of failure as anyone else.


It is a shocking, brutal reveal. And it plays to the film’s broader focus on the difference between people who play with a belief system, and those who do the work, make the sacrifice to embody it. 


DiCaprio’s Pat/Bob is the positive inverse of his role in Killers of the Flower Moon - whereas that film presented him as an antagonist who is capable of recognising his own moral failings, but too weak to rise above them.


Here he is playing a character who initially tries to be an ally and work against the institutions which are designed for him, but when the film jumps forward in time, he has given that up. The most he will do is performative (offering a (correct) analysis of the US presidents during a parent-teacher meeting).


Ultimately he does not become the film’s hero - and he saves no one. 


As his daughter Charlene, Chase Infiniti is a welcome balance - she spends most of the movie apart from her father, and the actress more than holds her own against heavyweights like Sean Penn and Regina Hall.


Sean Penn’s emotionally stunted, childish soldier is both terrifying and pathetic, while the club he worships are both all-powerful and ridiculous, capable of great damage but unable to quash dissent or destroy the communities they are seeking to eradicate.


It is a performance of tics but it works for a man struggling to find a channel for his own desires - until he finds the perfect avatar in Taylor’s Perfidia.


One performance that has thankfully not gone unnoticed is Regina Hall - as one of Bob/Pat’s comrades who comes to rescue Charlene, she delivers the most understated yet nuanced portrayal in the film. She is almost in a different movie from the more heightened characters around her, yet she also grounds it. 


There is a scene toward the end, where she has to make a choice, which is the most emotionally devastating in the film. And that recognition is delivered purely in her face. It is a fantastic showcase for an actress who seems to be capable of anything (is Scary Movie 6 something I should review?).


This movie earns its 162 min runtime, and it is built for IMAX. The final meeting between Lockjaw and the bounty hunter in the desert is breathtaking.


One of the best movies of the year.



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In The Heat of the Night (Norman Jewison, 1967)

Due to bad timing, northern cop Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier) happens to be in the southern town of Sparta when a local bigwig is found murdered.


Fingered as the chief suspect because he is black, Tibbs is forced to pair up with Police Chief Bill Gillespie (Rod Steiger) to solve the mystery.


As they get closer to uncovering the truth, Tibbs and Gillespie find themselves on the wrong side of the town’s regressive power structure - and the police chief is forced to question his own assumptions about his reluctant partner, and the system Gillespie is upholding…



Originally I was planning to review the rest of the Shaft sequels, but I found a copy of this film first. And I was hooked.


I had always avoided In The Heat of the Night because I assumed - like Poitier’s other big hit of 1967, Look Who’s Coming To Dinner, it was more of a heavy-handed drama. Bobbins to that.


In The Heat of the Night is great. Like Shaft, the mystery is just a framework. This is a high-tension thriller with a razor-sharp sense of humour.  


That humour is key - I was reminded of Jewison’s The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming! in the way the film layers its examination of prejudice with irony. 


That being said, that earlier film was more overtly farcical. This film shows it is a difficult balance to strike.


Tension and humour operate on the same basic mechanics, but the film has to function with a delicate balance of tones. Lean too comic and the story is robbed of stakes, lean too far the other way and the film could become relentlessly bleak. 


The opening of the film has the structure of a joke. 


It opens with a pair of legs climbing off a train in the middle of the night - a hand is briefly shown. 


We then follow a local deputy (Warren Oates) as he cruises the streets and discovers a dead body. This leads to the introduction of Chief Gillespie, who orders a sweep of the town.


The scene ends where it began, with the deputy finding the unseen stranger sitting at the train station.


Addressing the stranger as ‘Boy’, the deputy draws a gun and arrests him.


Cut to the first shot of Sidney Poitier, sitting on a bench reading a magazine.


It is a fantastic character introduction - made even more impressive by Tibbs coolly following the deputy’s commands. He is clearly unsettled, but he is not going to show the deputy anything - just a cold stare.


Thus is set a fascinating dynamic - once the local cops know who he is, they need Tibbs’ help to solve the case. Neither party wants anything to do with the other - Tibbs was only in town because he has to change trains, and understandably wants nothing to do with the locals’ open hostility towards him.


Violence is not shown, but it is implicit in every interaction he has to endure. Unable to betray his true feelings, Tibbs relies on a subtle wit (his “Right, Chief?” to Gillispie after he explains how to determine the time of death is gold).


It is only when he shows up Gillispie, and makes the racist lawman explode, that he is able to return in kind (cue the iconic “They call me MISTER Tibbs!”).


The film is filled with moments like this, as Tibbs’ investigation - and more importantly, his very presence - gets deeper into the town’s secret underbelly.


The slapping scene remains impactful (no pun intended) because of how long the film has taken to build up to the moment.


The film has stoked such tension over the threat of violence towards our hero that when Tibbs slaps Endicott back, it comes off like an explosion.


Followed by reaction shots of everyone in the scene, it is a cathartic moment that immediately becomes a catalyst for notching up the tension, and the stakes - unwilling to act, Gillespie is now under pressure.  


When Tibbs has another face-off, this time with a lynch mob, Gillespie comes to the rescue.


To the film’s credit, it does not have the Chief affect a total about-face immediately. At this stage, he is ready to help Tibbs, but only so that the northerner leaves town.


Ultimately the solving of the mystery not only forces Gillespie to confront his own prejudice, but the collective hypocrisy of the white townsfolk: 


The white community hides their own deviance and hypocrisy, and while they hate black people they need them - not just Tibbs,but Mama Caleba (Beah Richards), the abortionist.


The film ends with the two lawmen finally on even terms.


Tense, funny and sadly timeless, In The Heat of the Night is a great movie.



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Friday, 27 February 2026

Claudine (John Berry, 1974)

Single mother Claudine (Diahann Carroll) lives with her six children, who she supports with welfare payments and clandestine work as a maid. After falling in love with garbage man Roop (James Earl Jones), Claudine finds her life beginning to change - in ways which might put this new relationship in jeopardy…



When I decided to do a deep dive into Black popular cinema of the seventies, I was not interested in just turning it into a project on Blaxploitation. After focusing on romance in January, I was keen to check out Claudine - I was initially planning to put this review out last month, but it took too long to write.

 

This movie is lovely. 


It was also triggering - as someone who has been on welfare for extended periods, this movie captures the suffocating sense of claustrophobia and powerlessness that comes with the constant stream of check-ins.


I do not want to compare my situation with the title character. I was lucky to be single and have no dependents. But this movie hit that feeling of being both stuck in one place, and of having to work while not having enough to live on - this movie hits all these things without coming off as heavy-handed, and does not lose its way as a romantic comedy.


Dhianne Carroll was parachuted into the lead at the last minute when original lead Diana Sands (The Landlord) had to back out due to cancer (she would sadly pass away the same year of the film’s release).


Carroll is believably put upon - you can see her attempting to maintain a vague sense of calm with her kids - her explosions are inevitable, but carry the weariness of someone used to juggling multiple balls in the air.


James Earl Jones is so effortlessly charming as her new love Roop, one wishes he had more opportunities to continue in this mould. 


Of course as the movie progresses, and the pressures on the couple build, his trajectory becomes the spine of the film’s third act.


Initially Claudine is sceptical at this extremely forward man who asks her out within seconds of seeing her for the first time. 


While their meeting is a meet cute, their courtship is a slow dance.


And Roop also has to win over her kids - this is more of a war of attrition, with the kids showing a variety of different responses to this stranger.


When the relationship is discovered, Roop is willing to jump through the hoops the system throws in his way - but the movie is too smart to turn him into a saint.


As the couple attempt to navigate life together, his own familial obligations almost overwhelm him


Roop undergoes a breakdown and retreats from every aspect of life. Shockingly, this once proud, free-spirited man, is a shell of himself, intent on disappearing into a bottle.


This is one romantic comedy that is not immune to systemic racism or economic pressure. 


His fall is a massive part of the film’s second half, and while I wanted to see how it resolved, I was very keen to see how the movie pulled out of this turn toward tragedy.


Ending with a wedding, a foot chase and a mass arrest, Claudine manages to pull it off. 


Directed by former blacklistee John Berry (He Ran All The Way), Claudine was a big hit on release, and was lauded for standing out from the more action-oriented blaxploitation films which were cresting in the early seventies. Sadly, few black-centred romantic comedies would follow in its wake until Hollywood remembered this audience existed in the early nineties.


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The Landlord (Hal Ashby, 1970)

Seeking independence from his smothering family, rich kid Elgar (Beau Bridges) visits the apartment building he owns to survey the land before he converts into a swank new residence for himself.


After meeting the residents, Elgar discovers a newfound sense of purpose - as a landlord.


As his new reign progresses, and reality begins to close in on this self-styled white saviour, Elgar shows his true colours...



The directorial debut of editor Hal Ashby, The Landlord is an evergreen tale of a rich white man whose dreams of egalitarianism are ultimately laid bare as self-serving. 


It is so razor-sharp in its satire, I kept having to check the film’s release date. Released only a few years after the passing of the Civil and Voting Rights Acts of the Sixties, The Landlord’s evisceration of liberal hypocrisy. The Elders clan are not the overt bigots of In The Heat of the Night (a film edited by Ashby), but they are more dangerous because they see themselves as more enlightened.


Introduced with a to-camera address attempting to pontificate on life, main character Elgar Enders is the epitome of empty privilege.  


His introduction to his new home is not subtle - he accidentally hits the back of a parked car. 


The film occasionally undercuts him by intercutting short scenes of Elgar as a child in primary school, but his adult self needs little help: Turned on and flattered by the residents, he abandons his plans in the space of a few minutes. 


It is a testament to Beau Bridges that he carries off scenes like this without trying to lean into the joke. He plays Elgar with a sincerity that makes the satire hit even harder. 

 

While his family treat Elgar as a petulant child, he also lives out the characterisation. One can see why Elgar seeks an escape.

 

His family are ultra-conservative and racist, a stance which Elgar rejects, but this difference is a matter of degree not kind. Ultimately, his own privilege and racism and less externalised.

  

In one of the major confrontations with his family, Elgar’s response, his idea of rebellion, is to humiliate his black butler. This action is a more extreme example of his whole project, in which he continues to hold power over other people.


Ashby’s editing juxtaposes different temporalities to build its ironies, intercutting characters with their actions to show their contradictions and hypocrisies. 

 

The film is filled with great scenes - Elgar’s mother (Lee Grant) sharing a drunken lunch with apartment resident Marge (Pearl Bailey); Elgar’s standoff with Copee (Louis Gossett Jr.) after he learns the younger man has impregnated his wife, Fanny (Diana Sands); and the moment after everything has derailed - his mother gone, the prospect of fatherhood - when Elgar is shown regressed to a childlike state, giggling in front of the TV.


The finale is a suitably double-edged end to this idiotic odyssey of self-undiscovery, with Elgar’s former girlfriend Lanie (Marki Bey) taking back her boyfriend and the baby he had with another woman.


Did the landlord really learn his lesson? 


Related


If you are new to this blog, I also co-host a podcast on James Bond, The James Bond Cocktail Hour

You can subscribe on Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.


If you enjoy something I wrote, and want to support my writing, here’s a link for tips!