Tag: Reviews

Adolescence

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

When I watched Adolescence, I couldn’t stop thinking about the themes that run through the show—bullying, toxic masculinity, social media radicalization, and the collapse of authority in today’s world. But what unsettled me the most was how difficult it is to pinpoint Jamie’s true motive.

Jamie isn’t just an aggressor—he’s also a boy who’s humiliated, rejected, and stripped of his dignity online. Katie turns him down, but that alone isn’t what breaks him—it’s what follows. She and her friends publicly emasculate him, using coded digital language that adults wouldn’t even recognize as bullying. They flood his Instagram with:

    •    “📉” (chart decreasing) → Suggesting he’s losing status, becoming irrelevant.

    •    “🌽” (corn emoji) → A veiled insult implying he’s pathetic or embarrassing.

    •    “🪑” (chair emoji) → Originally a meme, now used to call someone a loser.

    •    “🤡” (clown emoji) → Mocking him as a joke, a failure.

    •    ”#4473” → A number code in the show that essentially brands him as an incel.

This isn’t just name-calling—it’s a calculated digital assault, designed to socially destroy someone without leaving direct proof of bullying. Gen Alpha doesn’t need slurs anymore; they weaponize the very structure of the internet to erase someone’s worth. And Jamie? He internalizes it. But does this alone explain his descent into violence?

So is Jamie a Budding Psychopath or a Product of His Environment? I struggled with this question, just like the detective in the show. I was bullied too. I know what it’s like to be humiliated, to feel powerless. But I didn’t turn into a psychopath. Maybe that’s because, despite everything, I had a loving family to balance out the pain. Jamie had his mother. He had Eddie, his father, who—though strict and temperamental—never abused him, never stopped loving him. So what went wrong?

Psychologically, Jamie displays classic traits of conduct disorder and early psychopathy:

    •    Lack of empathy – He doesn’t react to the suffering of others.

    •    Emotional detachment – Even in high-stress situations, his expressions remain eerily controlled.

    •    Manipulative tendencies – He learns to adapt, charm, and deceive when needed.

    •    Entitlement and resentment – His frustration at rejection doesn’t lead to self-reflection but rather a belief that he must regain control.

But Adolescence refuses to give us an easy answer. Maybe Jamie was always inclined toward violence, and the bullying only accelerated what was already there. Maybe he was looking for an excuse. Or maybe he’s what happens when a system allows boys like him to slip through the cracks until it’s too late.

A key theme in Adolescence is the failure of authority figures—parents, teachers, even psychologists—to intervene before things spiral out of control. One of the most striking moments is when the psychologist in Episode 3 is visibly afraid of Jamie. This isn’t just a child with anger issues—this is a boy who understands the power he holds over others and enjoys wielding it.

There’s also a generational shift at play. In Episode 2, we see students openly mocking and disrespecting their teacher without consequence. It’s not just about kids lacking fear—it’s about the absence of structure, discipline, and moral guidance. When you combine this with unregulated access to toxic online figures, the result is kids shaping their worldviews based on whoever speaks the loudest.

And this is where the show forces us to confront something deeply uncomfortable. Jamie’s radicalization isn’t just a personal failure—it’s a collective one.

Beyond its themes, Adolescence is a technical masterpiece. Each episode is filmed in one continuous shot, meaning there are no visible cuts—just an unrelenting, immersive experience that traps you in the characters’ world. The sheer amount of planning and execution that must have gone into this is mind-blowing.

Owen Cooper (Jamie) is phenomenal. His ability to shift between vulnerability and cold detachment is chilling, and watching his transformation feels disturbingly real. Stephen Graham (Jamie’s father, Eddie) delivers a gut-wrenching performance, portraying a man who knows he failed his son but doesn’t know how to fix it. The psychologist in Episode 3 is also haunting—seeing an adult woman visibly shaken by a 13-year-old boy speaks volumes about how dangerous Jamie has become.

Adolescence isn’t just about one boy’s descent into violence—it’s about what happens when we ignore the warning signs. It’s about how social media radicalizes young men, how modern bullying has evolved into something almost undetectable, and how the collapse of authority leaves kids to raise themselves in digital echo chambers.

Was Jamie always destined for this path? Or was he a product of his environment? That’s the disturbing question the show leaves us with.

One thing is certain—Adolescence is not an easy watch. But maybe that’s exactly why it needs to be seen.

Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy – A Perfect Goodbye to a Dear Old Friend

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

I have adored Bridget Jones ever since I first read about her in the British Council Library while doing my master’s, sometime around when the first film had just been released. I remember reading a review about how Renée Zellweger had put on weight and trained for one of the most marvellous British accents ever filmed on screen. That intrigued me enough to pick up Bridget Jones’s Diary, and from that moment on, I was hooked.

Bridget wasn’t just a character; she was a person who existed in a parallel universe, someone I could have bumped into at a bar, embarrassed myself in front of, and then laughed about it with her over a bottle of wine. She was silly, kind-hearted, brutally honest, and had a truckload of insecurities that made her incredibly relatable. She thought just like I did—only in a much quirkier, funnier, and more inimitable way.

So, of course, I followed her journey through Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, where I nearly lost my breath laughing when she found herself in a Thai prison and taught the inmates Like a Virgin, and then through Bridget Jones’s Baby, where she teamed up with another one of my all-time favourite actresses, Emma Thompson, who played Dr. Rawlings with her signature deadpan wit.

And now, here we are, 25 years later, with Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy—the final chapter. I was 24 when I first met Bridget, and now I’m going to be 50 as I say goodbye.

In this film, we meet Bridget (Renée Zellweger) as a mother of two, navigating life without Mark Darcy (Colin Firth), the love of her life, who has tragically passed away. Seeing her without him was heartbreaking, surreal even, but true to form, Bridget carries the movie with her classic blend of chaos, warmth, and self-deprecating humour. Zellweger, once again, is absolutely brilliant in this role. It was tailor-made for her—no one else could have played Bridget as perfectly as she does. Cate Blanchett, Rachel Weisz, and other names were once considered, but let’s be honest, Rachel Weisz is simply too pretty, and Cate Blanchett… well, she’s Cate Blanchett. But Renée? She is Bridget.

There’s a new romantic interest, of course. Enter Leo Woodall as Roxster, the much younger man who is charming, cheeky, and absolutely smitten with Bridget. But here’s the thing—why do people always frown upon an older woman dating a younger man? If a 50-year-old man marries a woman 20 years younger, no one bats an eyelid. But when it’s the other way around, it’s suddenly scandalous. Why can’t Roxster be smart, funny, emotionally available, and great in bed, all at once? I was completely rooting for him. Unfortunately, the film takes a more conventional route, and Bridget ultimately ends up with her children’s teacher, played by Chiwetel Ejiofor. Nothing wrong with that—it’s sweet, stable, and safe—but I wish they hadn’t made us fall in love with Roxster only to take him away.

One of the best things about this film is how it brings back so many familiar faces, even if only for fleeting moments. Gemma Jones returns as Bridget’s mum, still delightfully meddlesome. Jim Broadbent is back as her ever-suffering father. And then there’s Mark Darcy—Colin Firth—appearing in just a few scenes but making an unforgettable impact. That one look he gives her across the room, where only she can see him… it was poignant, beautiful, and so utterly Bridget Jones.

Her old friends are back too—Jude (Shirley Henderson), Shazzer (Sally Phillips), and Tom (James Callis)—which I was especially happy about since they were mostly absent in the last film. And, of course, Emma Thompson returns as Dr. Rawlings, stealing every scene she’s in with her impeccable timing and no-nonsense delivery.

At its heart, Mad About the Boy is a film about loss, love, and moving forward. It’s about finding new beginnings even when you think your best years are behind you. It made me laugh (because Bridget always makes you laugh), but it also made me cry. It made me miss my best friend. It made me miss the people I’ve lost over the years. And, most importantly, it made me love the people I do have in my life all the more.

There’s something incredibly special about following a character for 25 years, growing older alongside her. When I first met Bridget, I was young, full of dreams, and a bit of a mess—just like her. Now, as I near 50, I realise that life never quite stops being a mess, but that’s okay. As long as we have love, laughter, and the occasional disaster, we’ll be just fine.

Bridget once said, “You know, I never really understood why you needed someone else to make you feel whole… but as it turns out, you were right. I was just fine on my own. But with you, I feel perfect.”

And honestly? That’s how I feel about this film. I was fine without it. But having it in my life makes everything feel just a little bit more perfect.

Here

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I love the movie. I saw the late-night show. After the movie ended, the audience remained seated as the titles rolled. No one spoke and no one got up to leave, though it was well past 1 am. I came out with my partners from the theatre hall; all three of us were still silent as we got into the car and drove for a good 5 or so minutes without speaking a word.

The beginning of the movie is absolutely charismatic. The way the journey through the ages is depicted is mesmerizing. The single, unmoving camera makes it feel as though we have a view into the lives of all those who passed through that house. It’s a surreal, almost voyeuristic experience. The final sequence takes your breath away—that’s when the camera finally moves, panning across, and we see the entire household. It’s almost like a vista of someone’s life opening up before you, and as the camera moves out into the garden and over the sky, giving a panoramic view of the house, it’s amazing. The sight of one kingfisher flying through the air connects ages that have passed. Time flies, time flies, time flies. The movie keeps reminding us of this phenomenon, beautifully captured by the stationary camera, bringing us through all those eras, memories, heartbreaks, bonds, happiness, and sadness—all merging into one big experience. And with the title itself, the director asks you to live in the “here and now”!

In crafting Here, director Robert Zemeckis described how, from the very beginning, every member of the crew had to “commit to the language of the movie.” For Zemeckis and his cinematographer Don Burgess, this meant filming from a single, fixed point, with every bit of set dressing needing to be “right where it needs to be—not just for one scene but for every scene.” The challenge of shooting all the scenes within a single view turned out to be more difficult than anyone anticipated, with Zemeckis calling it “the hardest movie any of us have ever made.” The decision to shoot in a taller 1.85:1 aspect ratio added further complexity, as the team had to spend three months experimenting with lenses to find the one that would best suit the film’s vision. Zemeckis, who famously incorporates active camerawork and computer graphics into his films, noted how his experience with technically complex shots in Contact and What Lies Beneath ultimately prepared him for the restrictions he embraced in Here.

The film drifts through time, shifting from pre-independence America, colonial America, the early 1900s, the Great War, World War II, the Vietnam War, and the Covid pandemic. It moves in a way that sometimes reminds me of a stream of consciousness—flickering between experiences and capturing how the mind flows from one memory to the next. The film doesn’t shy away from portraying the tough conversations that come up in life. One especially poignant scene features a Black father talking to his son about how to stay safe if ever pulled over by the police—a piece of writing that’s terribly heartbreaking, especially because it’s still so pertinent here and now in the lives of people of colour.

The storyline interweaves elements like the Native American experiences, and her necklace that is found centuries later, beautifully connecting different eras. It shows that the nostalgic pieces we leave behind can be a bridge, letting future generations wonder and try to understand the experiences of all those who lived before them.

This movie stirred up a lot of nostalgia in me because I connect so deeply to the homes I’ve lived in. I spent my childhood in a joint household much like the Youngs’, where my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and my parents lived together with us. So many experiences in the movie echoed my own, like the scene where John and Pauline’s daughter stands before the window as Pauline lifts her bags, planning to leave the house. The daughter wistfully says, “I will miss this house.” That moment took me right back to my own childhood home, where I still remember waving to my grandmother as we left. My mother’s experience was quite like Pauline’s, but mine was like the daughter’s. It was an instant connect.

The film’s use of “panels” within each scene adds an evocative layer to the storytelling. Zemeckis explained that these panels were intended to create subtle shifts between scenes, allowing one moment to blend naturally into the next, like the scene where the Beatles first appear on The Ed Sullivan Show, leading into the wedding scene of Wright and Hanks. These transitions, Zemeckis said, weren’t in the script because they would “make the reader’s head explode,” but they were “refined throughout” the film to bring the audience effortlessly from one era to the next. Editing Here became a significant, unexpected challenge. As Zemeckis explained, “You wouldn’t think it would be. You say, ‘Oh, well, aren’t you going to just cut the slates off and assemble everything?’ Well, right? No, that can’t happen.” Each panel’s timing and pacing required intricate care, making the editing process an “elaborate chore.”

The performances are deeply compelling, with the cast delivering authentic, nuanced portrayals that evoke genuine emotion. The dialogue is written with such care, sparking both introspection and connection.

What sets Here apart is its ability to capture the essence of time and memory, weaving them seamlessly into a narrative that feels universal yet personal. The film lingers with you long after the credits roll, as I mentioned earlier, inspiring reflection and conversation. It’s the kind of movie that challenges conventions and speaks to a collective consciousness—a testament to the power of storytelling and its ability to remind us of the profound moments found in the everyday.

The acting in the movie was more than exemplary, but that’s what you expect in a movie by Robert Zemeckis. I was looking forward to this movie, and I was not disappointed in the least. There were several moments that touched me: the scene where Hart’s daughter speaks about missing the house, the story of Alan and Rose, and especially the scene where the housekeeper Raquel dies of Covid. And the very, very last scene, where the camera closes in on the faces of Tom Hanks and Robin Wright as she says, despite all the tears she has shed in that house, just how much she loved it—how much I truly loved it here.