Sounds like a real weepie, right? That it’s nothing of the kind is thanks to Stephen Frears’ understated direction, the skilful script from Steve Coogan and Jeff Pope and, most of all, the consistently diverting interplay between Coogan and Judi Dench.

Coogan plays journalist and disgraced ex-spin doctor Martin Sixsmith, on whose non-fiction book The Lost Child Of Philomena Lee the script is based. Lasting round for a source of income, he hears of Philomena (Dench) who, having got pregnant as a teenager, was disowned by her family and shoved into a Tipperary convent where the nuns put her to unpaid work in the laundry.

When her son was three years old they flogged him off to an American family looking to adopt. Now, half a century later, she wants to find him…

Despite his distaste for ‘human interest stories’, Martin finds himself drawn into accompanying Philomena, first to the Irish convent and then to Washington D.C., in search of her son.

The relationship between Martin and Philomena fuels most of the laughs: he’s sophisticated and cynical, she’s an avid reader of Mills & Boon novels – and innocently delighted to find she can watch Big Momma’s House on the huge flatscreen in her D.C. hotel room.

Dench, drawing on her own Irish family background, scores another acting tour de force, pitch-perfect in her accent and lacing Philomena’s naivety with an innate shrewdness. Coogan, meanwhile, tones down the Partridge mannerisms to give a portrayal of unexpected depth.

For all its humour, though, Frears’ film doesn’t pull any punches as regards the behaviour of the Catholic Church, sometimes glancing towards Peter Mullan’s more single-mindedly bitter The Magdalene Sisters (2002). Philomena ’s final revelation of callous sanctimony will leave you gasping.

Verdict:

Odd-couple chemistry from Dench and Coogan, a smart script and honed direction make this real-life story highly compelling. Blending comedy and tragedy, it secretes a potent sting.

#odeon_promo a { float:left; } #odeon_promo a.newline { clear:both; }

(opens in new tab)

(opens in new tab)

The post Philomena review appeared first on Game News.

Not for compering a show filled with nearly naked girls, nor for the lion they are failing to tame, but because the girls have the temerity to move onstage – illegal during this puritan period.

For most of its runtime, Michael Winterbottom’s freewheeling biopic has a similar spring in it’s step, whizzing giddily past like a pastiche of every swinging ’60s movie ever made.

Winterbottom has always been a restless soul, and he has great fun switching modes and decades as an ageing Raymond looks back on a montage-filled documentary of his life. It may not move you, but boy does it move.

Equal parts Austin Powers and Alan Partridge, Raymond is a shameless self-promoter, turning a criticism of his nudie play Pyjama Tops into an advertising slogan promising, “Arbitrary displays of naked flesh!”, and making a killing in the process.

In his best film role since 24 Hour Party People – and one he suggested to Winterbottom himself – Coogan has a high old time, embellishing Greenhalgh’s witty script with gleeful Sean Connery and Marlon Brando impressions.

Whether cheating on his wife Jean (Anna Friel), frollicking with showgirls, or doing blow with his daughter Debbie (Imogen Poots), Raymond is a man completely without a moral compass – or hypocrisy.

“Tell me about yourself, warts and all,” he instructs his mistress Fiona (Tamsin Egerton), before deciding, “skip the warts.” When the film follows Raymond’s lead there’s much to enjoy – cameos from UK comedy stars, strong female performances, Jacqueline Adams’ Herculean production design.

When it attempts to engage with Debbie’s spiralling drug problems, it’s as ill-equipped as her father. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry!” is his mantra as he cancels her first show. But he’s not trying to spare her feelings so much as stop her from having them, and the film suffers from similar difficulties with emotional engagement.

Raymond – or at least the character portrayed here – isn’t a King Midas who sold his soul for gold, but someone who never had one, so it’s hard to feel anything but impatience until the party starts over.

You suspect the man himself would heartily agree.

The post The Look Of Love review appeared first on Game News.