Film review: OF HUMAN BONDAGE review (John Cromwell, 1934)

Philip Carey (Leslie Howard), a man with club foot, embarks on medical school, having been told he has no aptitude for artistry. One day, when out with friends, he meets a tarty, coarse waitress named Mildred (Bette Davis). Despite her unattractive personality, her unusual but not altogether becoming looks, and her barely-disguised contempt for his physical condition, Philip falls hopefully in love with her, an attachment which she flagrantly abuses.

Film review: JEZEBEL (William Wyler, 1938)

Julie Morrison (Bette Davis), a headstrong young woman from New Orleans enjoys toying with the cloistering conventions of the time and is used to getting her way. So when he fiancée Pres (Henry Fonda) rainchecks a date because he’s held up at work, she decides to teach him a lesson.

Film review: DAVID BRENT: LIFE ON THE ROAD (Ricky Gervais, 2016)

15 years on from the BBC's mockumentary covering Britain's thirstiest boss, Brent is Back. Except, rather than back in the domain of being a Regional Manager, he's now a sales rep for Lavichem, a toiletries distributor. His heart, however, doesn't lie with tampons; he wishes to make it as a rockstar. So, impetuously and not at all financially judiciously, he cleans out his pensions fund to pay four musicians, an aspiring rapper Dom (Doc Brown, aka Ben Bailey Smith aka Zadie Smith's brother) and a sound engineer to go on tour with him as the band 'Foregone Conclusion'. A three week tour around Berkshire, to be precise.

As a big fan of the TV show, I was expecting cringe and situational comedy aplenty in David Brent: Life on the Road, and to that end, the film certainly delivers. Probably a little too much so. Brent's self-funded tour is, not surprisingly, a complete crash and burn. The four musicians can play their instruments and the sound engineer (played by Tom Basden) has experience aplenty, but no amount of aural wizardry could come close to atoning for the sheer egotism of the band's frontman.

Brent's delusions of grandeur, thinking he's singing about matters of substance (from racism, to disabled people, to the plight of the Native Americans) is toe-curdingly embarrassing. The cringe factor is compounded by his complete lack of self-awareness, and the earnest look on Brent's face as he delivers lyrics like 'they fly like an eagle, sit like a pelican' about the Native Americans. As audience numbers dwindle and Brent's sense of isolation kicks in, he actually has to pay his bandmates just to have a pint with him. It's mortifying, and where there should be laughs, we're just feeling unease.

But there's now a glossiness to David Brent: Life on the Road that betrays the films' TV roots. The film looks like a film, what with overhead tracking shots and excellent sound design (which must have been down to Gervais wanting the best possible platform to exhibit his pipes). But in having good production value, the intimate air that the TV show has been lost. And, even more of an issue, because the film uproots Brent to a new company with a new group of colleagues, you're not able to engage with them in the film's 90 or so minute running time.

For example, David Brent's only friend at Lavichem, Nigel (played by Phoneshop's Tom Bennett), admits that nobody really gets him, and hence why he and Brent gravitate towards each other. His social clumsiness make him a sitting duck for the rest of the office. It's not nice watching him get bullied, particularly as he definitely isn't an ill-meaning person, and I feel more character development on his part would have made the movie a more satisfying viewing experience.

The fact that Nigel doesn't get to come into his own and is relegated to the role of a sideshow is because this film, quite clearly, revolves around Ricky Gervais David Brent. Gervais writes, directs, stars, and, much like his cinematic counterpart, he can't stand it when the spotlight isn't on him. The fact that Gervais' most authentic acting in David Brent: Life on the Road was the scene in which  Brent jealously watches Dom, the rapper he 'befriends' (mainly as a get out of jail-free card for his un-PC jokes) rapping to the adulation of a crowd, speaks volumes.

Still, credit to the supporting players who are still able to make an impact despite their paltry screen time. Ben Bailey Smith captures the viewers emotions perfectly in terms of his reaction shots to each of Brent's misguided quips, and his rapping style is understated but incisive; the perfect foil to Brent's bloated singing style. Tom Bennett genuinely moved me as Nigel. His character has a bit of Mackenzie Crook's Gareth's zaniness, a bit of Martin Freeman's Tim's quiet compassion, as well as injecting a third element, of the overgrown schoolboy who sadly never outgrew getting picked on. And finally, Tom Basden, as Foregone Conclusion's Sound Engineer, is a dignified presence throughout the film, his low tolerance for Brent's crap gradually softening as his watches him go through degradation upon degradation. 

These three British talents are good factors that contribute to the quality of David Brent: Life on the Road. But what stops the film from achieving greatness is the sheer, unrelenting narcissism of Gervais. This was never really a film that needed to be made; The Office's co-creator, Stephen Merchant's absence on this film speaks volumes. Like Finding Dory, the superfluous sequel that should never have been made, this film is overkill.

The Office Christmas special was the perfect time to end it, because it balanced tying up story loose ends with long-suffering characters getting some well-earnt redemption. I really cared about Tim and Dawn. By the end, I'd even cared about Gareth. But I didn't care about David Brent a fraction as much as Ricky Gervais wanted me to, and tries to get you to, working overtime, in this film.

Because his affection for a character he created is not mirrored by the audience, after a while, the novelty of watching Gervais play himself wears thin.

There's a sequence in the film where David Brent pays for a photoshoot, where he goes through all the masturbatory notions of gazing into the camera in all manner of provocative poses. Brent really fancies himself a lead singer in a band.

Despite all the humiliation, the awkward silences and the tiny crowds throughout the film, it's quite clear that so does Gervais.

6/10

The Chelsea Redemption.

On Saturday night, in Bavaria, Chelsea Football Club finally got their hands on the thing that has eluded them for so long: the Champions League trophy. Years of heartbreak, disappointment, last-minute goals and tears were purged with the most cathartic of penalty kicks from Didier Drogba. All those moments of hurt were forgotten as Chelsea players and fans celebrated this moment, this fantastic, unforgettable moment, as they were crowned European Champions of 2012.





Chelsea had very much been the underdogs going into this final, and after a few minutes played, it wasn’t hard to see why. The final this year was held in Munich and Bayern Munich looked very much like the home side, Chelsea, the anxious guests at a party they knew they felt they may not be welcome to. The two sides both lined up in what looked like 4-2-3-1 formations, but whereas Robben and Ribery created havoc for Chelsea all night down the wings, the West London club had the rather less glamorous pairing of Kalou down the right and Ryan Bertrand down the left. The 22-year-old youngster was a surprise name on the teamsheet on Saturday, having never even played in a CL game for Chelsea before. If stagefright got to the young lad, he certainly didn’t show it, and he and his mentor Cole did a commendable job of trying to stifle the siege of goal attempts that came their way.

Despite Bayern’s dominance throughout the game, Chelsea never lost their focus and Frank Lampard and John Obi Mikel were faultless in their holding midfield roles. The latter lost all confidence under Andre Villas-Boas, when, following an error from the Nigerian leading to Liverpool scoring a goal at Stamford Bridge in November, AVB then froze him out. Roberto di Matteo, however, does not operate in such a draconian way as the Portuguese did (which might explain why he’s a Champions League winner and AVB’s at home eating a Pot Noodle and counting his payoff, js), and he injected confidence and belief back into Mikel. As such, the midfielder paid back his trusting gaffer richly with a fabulously controlled and shrewd performance on Saturday. That our possession statistics finished 45% to us when it felt like it’d been a lot less owed a lot to Mikel’s possession.

Despite doing the best they could to neuter the influx of Bayern attack, however, we all felt a goal from the German side was inevitable. And that it was, on the 83rd minute Muller headed the ball into the night from a great cross from Kroos. It seemed like the end, and marred an otherwise faultless performance from Luiz (who was ball-watching at the time of the goal), Cole (who got drawn towards the ball), and Cech (who could possibly reacted better.) That was it then, it seemed. Had Bayern Munich seen through the 1-0 lead and lifted the Champions League trophy, who could really begrudge them it? They’d played the better football all night.

But Chelsea were not having any of it. Whilst fans across the world fought back tears as we were staring in the face of another grim Champions League disappointment, Roberto di Matteo took off Kalou for Torres. The Ivorian has seen a renaissance under RDM, being yet another one of the player who was unfairly frozen out during AVB’s reign of terror (Kalou conceded one late penalty against Valencia in the group stages and as punishment for his mistake didn’t see a start for weeks. This ~flawless tactic used by Andre Village-Idiot was shown up beautifully when di Matteo put trust in the young Ivorian to play against Benfica, and he scored the winner that night. Just noticin’), but the Champions League final wasn’t one of his better games, and he was rightfully subbed for Torres.

And it was Torres who made a nuisance of himself near the corner flag, forcing a challenge from Contento to win Chelsea a corner as the clock ticked down. His compatriot Juan Mata took the corner, who had up until then had a relatively quiet game; Mata excels in matches where Chelsea play football, but when we churn out our brand of catenaccio as we did on Saturday night and also in the two legs vs Barca, his talents are left wanting. Frank Lampard and Gary Cahill did a jolly job of running around in the Bayern penalty area to confuse their defenders as to who to mark, leaving Drogba to jump up and head the most important goal of his life into the back of the net. It was a thumping goal, as good a header as you’ll ever see and it meant that, three minutes from time, having been comfortably on the backfoot for the entirety of the game, somehow, Chelsea were going to drag this into extra time. We were still in it! In fact, on the 94th minute when Mata was fouled and Chelsea were awarded an inviting free kick, some wondered if Drogba would win it then. As such, he blazed his shot over.



But the drama was far from over. In the third minute of extra time, Ribery found himself shimming into the penalty area. Chelsea have always been weaker defending down the right, as exhibited by Boswinga making a few suicidal moves during the game that relied on the fingertips of Cech to rescue. This was exemplified again, when Drogba, attempting to make an ill-advised tackle on Ribery much like he had done against Fabregas at Camp Nou, found himself clipping the Frenchman’s heels and conceding a penalty.
Just like Drogba’s foul on Fabregas at Camp Nou, he got away with it. Former Chelseabung Arjen Robben stepped up to take the penalty. The Dutchman had once missed for Chelsea in a semi final second leg penalty shoot-out at Liverpool, which led to the London club from getting dumped out of the CL in 2007, but overall, he is a consistent penalty taker, having scored one against Real Madrid in the previous round for Bayern. But luck was on Chelsea’s side. Luck and – let’s face it – some cheeky gamesmanship from John Obi Mikel, who found himself sledging Robben in the most Joe Hartesque way, consistently telling the Dutchman Cech would save his shot. And that Cech did. Chelsea fans breathed a huge sigh of relief, thanking their luck stars whilst at the same time getting increasingly agitated. So far in this competition we’d shown that we’ve probably got more lives than Super Mario. But even Super Mario dies eventually.

So then it was time for penalty shoot-outs. David Luiz, who had been in pain since about the 20th minute, stayed on the pitch. Paulo Ferreira was supposed to come on for Mata but once the cold realisation of penalties occurred, RDM chose to keep the diminutive Spaniard on the pitch. Chelsea lost the coin toss which meant that, as if playing a German team on their home soil on penalties wasn’t daunting enough, we now had to contend with taking said penalties in front of their fans. Bayern Munich had never lost a penalty shoot-out in Europe, we were told, and Chelsea had never won one.

And so the shoot-out began. Philipp Lahm, who missed one against Real Madrid in the semi finals, exhibited guts to take the first one, and he scored, though Cech got very close to it. Mata went first for Chelsea. The fear was etched across the little guy’s face and when he missed, it didn’t come as a huge surprise. Chelsea fans accepted defeat. It was 1-0 on penalty shoot-outs against a German side. We’d ridden our luck a long way to get where we were. Time to call it a day.

But if that was the script, the Chelsea players sure as hell weren’t adhering to it, for, after Mario Gomez scored a solid penalty, David Luiz stepped up to take Chelsea’s second. Now, I don’t think I’m alone here when I say I physically grimaced when I saw the Brazillian do his insanely long run-up to the penalty. I won’t lie, I thought he was going to blast it over. But Luiz proved me and all his detractors wrong by slamming it emphatically into the net with such force that you half expected the goal frame to fall down.

Manuel Neuer, who had already gotten a confidence boost by keeping Mata’s out, then cemented his hero status for Bayern fans by taking a cool penalty which squirmed into the net under Cech’s body. Frank Lampard had initially been down to take Chelsea’s fifth penalty, but as we were trailing 3-1 at that point and another miss would have made the deficit insurmountable to come back from, chose to go third. Neuer’s decision to go to the right was a solid one as that is the majority of where Lampard hits his penalties. However, had he paid closer attention, he might have noticed that Chelsea’s hunchbacked hero also has another penalty-taking pattern; when the penalty is of high pressure, more often than not, Lamps will smash it down the middle. This is what he did against van der Saar last season and against Hart this season. And that was what he did on Saturday night to make it 3-2.

Then stepped up Ivica Olic. English football fans might still have nightmares of the Croatian, as he scored one of the three goals at Wembley the night that we failed to qualify for Euro 2008. But there was definitely a trace of fear on his face as he took his penalty, and Cech read both his expression and his body language perfectly, in doing so making a fantastic one-handed save to keep it out. Then it was Ashley Cole for Chelsea. The Englishman missed last season in a penalty shoot-out against Everton to allow the Merseyside team to advance at their expense, but aside from that, he scores great penalties. That people all over the world were hating on him and willing him on to miss was a huge factor in why he scored, in my opinion. 3-3.

And then Bastian Schweinsteiger, the bloke who scored the decisive penalty against Real Madrid in the semi-final, stepped up to take Bayern Munich’s last penalty. “Well he’s German, that’s a forgone conclusion,” I said to my brother. And, as with my various bouts of duff decision-making in life, with boys and predicting football scores in the past, Bungy was wrong again. :p Perhaps it was his slightly staggered run that cost him, but Schweinsteiger’s technique in taking his penalty wasn’t bad at all. Cech may have gotten a fingertip to it to tip it onto the post. But it meant that, incredibly, despite missing our first penalty, the score was tied at 3-3 and we still had a guy to take the penalty.



And it couldn’t be more apt that the man to take the decisive penalty for Chelsea should be Didier Drogba. Just before taking his penalty, he gave Neuer the eyes. The German went the wrong way, and, despite his penalty lacking the power of Luiz, Lampard and Cole’s, having sent Neuer the wrong way, the ball hit the net, meaning Chelsea won the penalty shoot-out and the Champions League final.

Years of hurt and heartbreak were instantly erased with that penalty kick, that beautiful, cathartic penalty kick. Players fell to the ground, redemptive tears streaming down their faces as the fantastic realisation that they’d done it, they’d really done it! All that money, all those big names, all those years of going tantalisingly close without reaching the final outcome… and now it had.

Glee, euphoria, delight, redemption, atonement… not enough words to describe how ecstatic I was then, how ecstatic I was four hours after, how ecstatic I was the next day, how ecstatic I am now and how ecstatic I will always be when I think about Saturday 19th May, at the Allianz Arena.

In a night that needed heroes, Chelsea had them all over the pitch. Cech, for his reaction saves throughout as a well as his penalty heroics, is the first that comes to mind. The big Czech Republic international had done his homework and then some; the goalkeeper went the right way for all six of the penalties he was faced with, keeping three of them out. Then there’s Drogba, who, in the aftermath, announced his retirement from Chelsea. The Ivorian has given the West London club eight years of his life, and the rollercoaster ride has had highs, lows, and never been anything less than exhilarating throughout. That it should be him to score the equaliser on Saturday as well as the winning penalty kick (whilst in between casually conceding a penalty purely so that the haters could have some false hope that Chelsea would lose) epitomizes everything good that he has done for this club, and for that, every Chelsea fan will forever be in his debt.

Then there was Ashley Cole, who once again cemented his position as the best left-back in the world. Facing a plethora of Bayern attacks, the defender wowed fans with a stream of blocks and goal line clearances. It is worth re-iterating that, at 3-1 down in Napoli when the tie was seemingly out of our hands, Cole made one of his quintessential goalliine clearances to prevent the score from being 4-1, a deficit that we surely would not have recovered from. The man is a hero. In the absence of John Terry, David Luiz and Gary Cahill were thrown into the deep end, a feat no less daunting when you consider that both of them had been out of a spell with injury. But both were terrific; Luiz has been criticized over the course of the season for lacking defensive discipline but he was nothing but totally focused on Saturday, and Gary Cahill, who must be pinching himself at his reversal of fortune from going battling relegation with Bolton to playing in a CL winning side, threw his body on the line in a fearless way that would make John Terry proud.

And of course plaudits have to go to Roberto di Matteo, who picked Chelsea up from pandamonium when AVB was initially sacked and instilled our team with confidence and belief. No one was ever saying that Lampard had to play every game, but to be sat ignored on every big game merits an explanation at the very least. When RDM didn't play the big names, he still managed to keep them sweet by explaining his reasoning to them, rather than acting like he was above it. The fact that he as status as a Chelsea legend as a player naturally boosts his cause, but this wasn't something RDM rode on; he has shone tactical shrewdness beyond his years (the double marking of Cole and Ramires on Alves in the first leg against Barcelona comes to mind, as well as the super-defensive 6-3-0 formation he employed in the second leg when Terry got sent off that saw us through to the final). Abramovich would be a fool not to reward the one man who has given him what he wants - the big eared trophy - a contract.

And lastly, but by no means least, there was the one, the only, Frank Lampard. Chelsea’s captain for the night played in a more conservative role of holding midfielder, which has been the norm under di Matteo. Such is the manager’s guile that he immediately recognised that whilst Lampard’s aging legs may no longer accommodate the surging box-to-box midfielder role the Englishman is so accustomed to, that by no means there is no place left for him at Chelsea. And so Lampard took on this role and understood it impeccably. On Saturday he gave a performance of huge footballing intelligence and also exhibited bravery to take the initiative to be the third penalty taker (rather than fifth) when Mata missed his. He is a footballer of tremendous fearlessness and pluck, and has devoted no little part of his life in pursuit of this, the Holy Grail of football.

And so it happened, that Chelsea Football Club, incepted in 1905, won the Champions League on the 19th of the 05th. It was a performance of guts, spirit and determination. Chelsea proved to be trolls of the Universe by capping off a season when they have frequently been underwhelming by winning the FA Cup and the one they really wanted, the Champions League. Chelsea found their Holy Grail, forever wrote themselves into European football folklore and saw their happy ending. Abramovich’s billions of Roubles went some considerable way to attaining this goal, but the joy, the sheer, unadulterated joy of getting our hands on the thing that we wanted more than anything else, well. The ensuing euphoria and memories that will forever live on in our hearts are something that even a Russian Oligarch can’t buy

The night Peter Crouch-ed and Bern-ed.

In series 1, episode 17 of Glee, Mr Schue tells Quinn Fabray, of the trials and tribulations of high School: “A couple of bad decisions and you go from the top to the bottom”. He could just as easily have been talking about football. For Spurs in the Champions League, Peter Crouch was one of their star men; where he has disappointed in the league this season, he has more than made up for in the big European platform with goals against the likes of Inter and AC Milan, some of them pivotal ones (he scored the winning goal against AC Milan that was the difference between the two sides). In fact, it wouldn’t be an overstatement to say that, yesterday, going into the first leg of their quarter final clash with Jose Mourinho’s Real Madrid, he was just as integral to Tottenham’s plans as their wing wizard Gareth Bale, whom the Spurs manager Harry Redknapp had valued at £80million.

Unfortunately, the big occasion got to the big man. In eight minutes, Peter Crouch made two rash tackles. The first, on Sergio Ramos, was misplaced and mis-timed. The second on Marcelo, when he was already on a yellow, was downright stupid. Even as – what I consider to be – the biggest Crouchie fan in the world, there is no justifying his two idiotic tackles. He rightful sending was essentially the catalyst for Tottenham’s implosion at the Bernabéu. At that point they were 1-0 down, but with almost three hours ahead of them, had everything to play for. The match ended 4-0 with the return leg at White Hart Lane next Wednesday (of which my younger brother will be attending as his 13th birthday "present"), looking like nothing more than a formality. In the space of eight minutes, Peter Crouch went from hero to zero.

Even with the best will in the world, I cannot find any ways to justify Peter Crouch’s two awful tackles. All I can do is examine them and attempt to delve into the black hole that is a footballer’s mind – and try to explain them. The first element, I think, is the psychological. Before the game, Peter Crouch had been talked up, down and all around by various members of the English and Spanish media, not to mention Real Madrid players themselves. Former Arsenal player Emmanuel Adebayor said of his fellow lanky striker, “When I was playing in England I always loved a lot of Tottenham players, especially Peter Crouch”. The much-maligned Togo striker completed an acrimonious move north of London to Manchester to play for Man City, and was in the side that lost to Spurs on the 5th May 2010 in what was dubbed as the “Fourth Place Showdown”, in which Crouch gave his counterpart Adebayor a masterclass in how to maintain possession, pass to teammates, and above all, score. Yet, yesterday, Adebayor hit the net twice, and played majestically, whereas Crouch walked after 15 minutes, so there is no question who came out the winner this time round.

Elsewhere, where Adebayor talked Crouch up, former Chelsea defender and Mourinho faithful Ricardo Carvalho took particular glee in talking the 6’7” striker down. He claimed that Peter Crouch “was easy to play against.” Whether he genuinely thought that, or he was just trying to psyche the England man out, we’ll never know, but he certainly succeeded in unsettling Crouch, because those words clearly had their impact; Crouch is by nature a mild-mannered footballer who doesn’t make a habit of making rash tackles. Yet he dished out two tackles yesterday that would probably have made Nigel De Jong shudder. There’s a sort of grim humour in thinking that Mourinho still hasn’t ended his constant mind-games, but the chants of “Tonto!” directed at Crouch by the Real Madrid fans obviously aren’t totally inaccurate; Carvalho played Crouch like a five dollar banjo.

It’s a massive shame because as I have mentioned, it’s hardly as if Peter Crouch as been setting the premier league alight with his scoring this season. He has played very well with Rafael van der Vaart, no doubt about it, and he has provided the majority of the Dutchman’s assists in the league, but Crouch invariably would have wished to scored more himself; many Spurs fan often question why Crouch plays so much and Pavlyuchenko so little. The Champions League is (was?) the one platform where he truly shone this season, scaring the majority of defenders senseless with his unusual frame and playing style. That he has done so much for Spurs in the CL this season will instantly be forgotten. It is irrelevant that he was such a huge factor in putting them in the Quarter Finals, because it is also he who has almost single-handedly prevented them from progressing further. The Guardian gave his performance against AC Milan in the first leg at the San Siro a 9/10, a score they very rarely dish out unless in the face of true excellence. What did they give him for his performance last night? A two. And the sad thing is, that was being generous.

With Tottenham staring at the bleak pit of Champions League exit and facing an uphill battle with Chelsea and Manchester City for the two remaining Champions League places in the premier league, the only way Peter Crouch can go from here is up. That’s the thing about football, it goes hand in hand with failure, with wrath, with moments of madness. But it is also ten-a-penny with redemption. As Stuart Pearce demonstrated with his penalty for England in Euro 96, the road to personal atonement lies in football. I began with a quote from one of my favourite shows, Glee, so I’ll end with another quote from another one of my favourite shows, Sex and the City. Our protagonist, Carrie, has just embarrassed herself hugely in tripping up on a catwalk, in front of hundreds of people. She has a choice, run away and hide, or get up, and proudly get on with it. She does the latter. Why? Because, as she reasons, “When real people fall down in life, they get right back up and keep walking.” In 1990, Stuart Pearce fell down. In 1996, he pulled himself back up. Now it is up to Peter Crouch, and Peter Crouch alone, to do the same.

My 10 Favourite Films of 2010.

I can’t tell a lie, I wasn’t exactly blown away by the majority of 2010 releases. Much of this was my own fault/ I didn’t frequent my little arthouse digs quite as much last year, which explains the highly commercial nature of the majority of my top 10. 

Whilst there are usually two or three obscure little treats in my top list, due to the fact that I barely watched any indie films this year, the top 10 is the most blockbuster it’s been for a while. And what I did see, on the whole, I wasn’t impressed with. 

Should I have time I may do a least favourite 10, but until then, the goodies.

10. StreetDance 3D [full review here]

I have big, unapologetic love for my dance movies (Step Up 2 made the same position on my top list of 2008 two years ago). StreetDance 3D is very similar to the Step Up movies; it centres around dance and disaffected youth and looks at how dance gives them a raison d'etre, and like with the original Step Up with Channing Tatum, it fuses hip hop and street dancing with the more refined skills involved in ballet. 

As so much of the film revolves around the dancing spectacles, the acting, plot and dialogue aren’t the greatest, but they more than suffice, plus there’s the novelty of seeing Charlotte Rampling cast as a ballet teacher; even in autopilot, she’s nothing less than a queen. 

Set in inner-city London, the city is shot in a way that Woody Allen captured London in Match Point- practically on a pedestal, and the cameos from Britain’s Got Talent acts such as Diversity and Flawless, the acting debut from the wonderful cheeky chappy George Sampson, the trendy soundtrack and the modern day Romeo and Juliet parallel all somehow fit together slickly. 

So whilst it’s a simple enough film in terms of character and plot, the dancing is anything but, and StreetDance 3D is one of the few films wherein watching it in 3D genuinely does heighten the viewing pleasure. Definitely worth singing and dancing about.

90. Holes (Andrew Davis, 2003).