PIKE RIVER (2025)

Based on the Pike River tragedy of 2010, this drama captures the profound impact of one of the worst mining disasters in New Zealand's history.

When Robert Sarkies’ Pike River opens, the audience is immediately pulled into the sombre atmosphere of New Zealand’s worst industrial disaster in living memory. The film does not overexaggerate the explosions that killed 29 men underground in November 2010. In fact, it never depicts them at all. Instead, it steps back and allows us to experience the catastrophe as the families did: with unanswered calls, rumours, and the agonising drip-feed of official updates that concealed more than they revealed. This restraint is one of the film’s greatest strengths, and it makes Pike River as emotionally bruising as it is respectful.


The narrative focus is on two women; Anna Osborne, played by Melanie Lynskey, and Sonya Rockhouse, portrayed by Robyn Malcolm. Osborne lost her husband, while Rockhouse lost her son, one of the youngest men underground that day. Their shared grief becomes the foundation of a friendship that sustains them through years of campaigning, legal battles, and shattered promises. Rather than being a wide-ranging historical account, Sarkies and writer Fiona Samuel choose to tell the story through the eyes of these two women, which brings an intimacy and focus that a more generalised approach would lack.

The decision not to dramatise the explosions is powerful. In avoiding spectacle, the film denies the audience any easy release or excitement at what is a national tragedy, and keeps them with the waiting families; standing at kitchen benches waiting for phone calls, gathered in school halls as police and politicians offer vague reassurances, or staring into the cold mist rolling off the Paparoa Ranges. The cinematography by Gin Loane captures both the grandeur and the bleakness of the West Coast setting, often framing the characters against skies heavy with rain, visually reflecting the burden of grief and uncertainty.


Performance-wise, the film is anchored by Lynskey and Malcolm. Lynskey imbues Anna with quiet determination, a strength that grows as her trust in the authorities diminishes. Malcolm’s portrayal of Sonya is more openly fierce (away from the cameras), bristling with frustration and a refusal to be silenced. Together they provide a moving portrait of resilience, and the decision of the real Osborne and Rockhouse to allow their grief to be portrayed on screen gives the performances an additional weight.

Supporting roles vary in impact. Roy Billing’s portrayal of mine chief executive Peter Whittall is unsettling, embodying the defensiveness and evasions that came to symbolise corporate negligence. He is a character it is easy to despise, though Billing avoids caricature by grounding Whittall’s responses in self-preservation rather than overt villainy. Lucy Lawless, on the other hand, feels underutilised, her presence more distracting than meaningful, given her stature in New Zealand’s screen industry.


Structurally, the film is deliberate and unhurried. At 138 minutes it demands patience, though the pacing mirrors the endless delays and empty promises endured by the families. Real news footage is woven into the narrative, together with an appearance by Jacinda Ardern as herself, which grounds the film in a sense of documentary truth. Combined with on-location filming in Greymouth, including the mine gates and memorial crosses, the authenticity is palpable.

But Pike River is not without its limitations. By centring almost entirely on two families, the story inevitably narrows its scope. It hints at broader issues, such as the decades-long erosion of industrial safety standards, the complicity of successive governments, the failures of the Department of Labour, but does not explore these fully. For viewers unfamiliar with the history, the systemic causes of the disaster are left largely unexamined placing the blame squarely on the Mine's management. 


Yet what it does, it does with great conviction. The film refuses to sensationalise, instead immersing the audience in the exhaustion and rawness of families who were left in limbo. The slow release of communication, the confusion of waiting, and the crushing realisation that accountability would be endlessly deferred are portrayed with sensitivity. The emotional intensity is unrelenting, and at times the film is difficult to watch; because it should be.

The timing of the release is also significant. Fifteen years after the disaster, the legislation and regulator that emerged from its ashes—the Health and Safety at Work Act 2015 and the creation of WorkSafe—now faces being dismantled by the current government. Proposals to reduce enforcement, cut back regulation, and “streamline” oversight risks repeating the mistakes that allowed Pike River to happen. For those working in the health and safety sector, the reminder is sobering: lives were lost before change was made, and those lessons are already in danger of being forgotten.


Pike River is ultimately less about what happened inside the mine, and more about what happened after. It is about families forced to become advocates, about women who channelled their grief into a fight for justice, and about a community scarred by betrayal. It may not tell the full story, but the story it does tell is searing and important.

In the end, Sarkies has crafted a film that is haunting not because of what it shows, but because of what it withholds. By denying us spectacle, it leaves us with silence, absence, and unanswered questions; just as the families of Pike River have experienced. And that, perhaps, is the truest way to honour their story.

Pike River is being released in NZ cinemas on October 30, 2025
Find your nearest screenings here


ELEANOR THE GREAT (2025)

Eleanor the Great follows 94-year-old Eleanor Morgenstein, played by June Squibb, who, after moving to New York to reconnect with her family, accidentally fabricates a story that spirals beyond her control. Scarlett Johansson’s directorial debut explores themes of aging, loss, family, and truth in a poignant tale of friendship and identity.

Scarlett Johansson’s directorial debut, Eleanor, the Great, is a film that walks a tightrope. It teeters between heartfelt sentiment and moral unease, between laugh-out-loud charm and moments that make you squirm. It’s a story that dares to ask whether good intentions can excuse bad behavior, and whether grief can justify deception. The answer, as the film suggests, is complicated.

At the heart of this tangled tale is Eleanor Morgenstein, played with fiery precision by June Squibb. Eleanor is 94, sharp-tongued, and unapologetically difficult. She’s spent the last several decades living in Florida with her best friend Bessie, a Holocaust survivor whose trauma has been shared only with Eleanor. Their bond is deep, forged through years of companionship and mutual loss. But when Bessie passes away, Eleanor’s world begins to unravel.


Forced to move back to New York and live with her daughter Lisa (Jessica Hecht) and grandson Max (Will Price), Eleanor finds herself adrift. Her family is well-meaning but distant, and Eleanor, ever the contrarian, resists their efforts to help. A misstep at the local Jewish community center lands her in a support group for Holocaust survivors. Embarrassed but encouraged to stay, Eleanor begins to share Bessie’s story as her own.

What starts as a moment of confusion quickly becomes a full-blown impersonation. Eleanor, suddenly embraced by the group and no longer invisible, finds herself basking in the attention. Her tale catches the eye of Nina (Erin Kellyman), a young journalism student grieving the recent loss of her mother. Nina sees Eleanor as a source of inspiration and connection, and the two form a bond that is both touching and troubling.

The film’s strength lies in its performances. Squibb is magnetic, delivering Eleanor’s barbed wit with impeccable timing while revealing the vulnerability that lies beneath. She makes Eleanor’s deception feel less like a malicious act and more like a desperate grasp for meaning. Kellyman, as Nina, brings a quiet intensity to her role. Her grief is palpable, and her need for connection makes her an easy target for Eleanor’s charm.


Chiwetel Ejiofor plays Roger, Nina’s father and a respected news anchor. His presence adds another layer to the story, as Eleanor’s lies begin to attract wider attention. The stakes rise, and the emotional fallout becomes harder to ignore.

Tory Kamen’s screenplay is ambitious, tackling themes of aging, identity, and the ethics of storytelling. It doesn’t shy away from the discomfort of Eleanor’s actions, but it also doesn’t fully condemn her. Instead, it invites the audience to sit with the ambiguity, to wrestle with the idea that sometimes people lie not to deceive but to be seen.

That said, the film is not without its flaws. The narrative occasionally leans too heavily into sentimentality, and the resolution feels overly neat given the gravity of Eleanor’s deception. There are moments when the tone shifts abruptly, moving from light-hearted banter to emotionally charged confrontation without warning. These tonal inconsistencies can be jarring, but they also reflect the complexity of the story being told.


Johansson’s direction is confident, if occasionally uneven. She gives her actors room to breathe, allowing the relationships to develop organically. The friendship between Eleanor and Nina is particularly well-crafted, offering moments of genuine warmth and heartbreak. It’s a dynamic that anchors the film, even as the plot veers into morally murky territory.

One of the film’s most compelling aspects is its exploration of how society treats older people. Eleanor’s impersonation is rooted not just in grief but in a deep sense of invisibility. She is a woman who has lived a full life, yet finds herself overlooked and underestimated. Her lies are a way of reclaiming agency, of asserting her presence in a world that has moved on without her.

The film also touches on the power of storytelling, and the fine line between honoring someone’s memory and appropriating their experience. Eleanor’s use of Bessie’s story is deeply problematic, but it’s also a reflection of her love and admiration. She wants the world to know Bessie, to feel the weight of her survival. In doing so, she crosses a line that cannot be uncrossed.


Despite its uneven tone and ethical quandaries, Eleanor, the Great is a film that lingers. It presents a portrait of a woman who is flawed, funny, and heartbreakingly human. Squibb’s performance is the glue that holds it all together, infusing Eleanor with a vitality that makes her impossible to ignore.

You may leave the cinema unsure of how to feel. You may laugh, you may cringe, you may even cry. But you will remember Eleanor. And perhaps that’s the point.

Eleanor the Great is in NZ Cinemas from October 9, 2025
Find your nearest screening here