SGT. HAANE (2026)

Haane Manahi DCM of B Company, 28th Maori Battalion, whose remarkable bravery was crucial in the 1943 battle for Takrouna's fortified summit in Tunisia.

Tearepa Kahi’s Sgt. Haane arrives as a rare and deeply significant addition to Aotearoa’s cinematic landscape. It is a World War II story told not from the distant vantage point of empire, but from the lived experience of Māori soldiers whose courage has echoed through generations. 

At its centre is Lance Sergeant Haane Manahi of Te Arawa and Ngāti Raukawa, a man whose actions at Takrouna in 1943 were so extraordinary that multiple Allied generals recommended him for the Victoria Cross. That recommendation was later reduced without explanation, a historical injustice that has long lingered in the memories of his descendants. Kahi’s film, however, is not a retelling of grievance. It is a reclamation of legacy, a celebration of whakapapa, and an attempt to bring a story long held within whānau into the public consciousness.

The film takes an unconventional approach to its subject matter, weaving together dramatic re-enactments, archival research, and interviews with descendants of the 28th Māori Battalion. This structure reflects a distinctly Māori way of storytelling, where the past is not sealed away but remains in constant dialogue with the present. Voices of mokopuna sit alongside depictions of their tīpuna, creating a sense of continuity that honours the intergenerational nature of remembrance. It is a thoughtful and culturally grounded choice that reinforces the idea that history is not static but lived and carried.

At the same time, this approach shapes the film’s rhythm. The narrative frequently shifts between eras, moving from the heat of battle to reflective commentary and back again. While this reinforces the film’s kaupapa, it occasionally softens the dramatic tension of the wartime sequences. The ascent of Takrouna, an almost vertical limestone cliff defended by hundreds of enemy soldiers, is one of the most astonishing feats of the North African campaign. Yet the film often describes the scale of the challenge more than it visually immerses the audience in it. The re-enactments are compelling, but they are brief, and the constant return to present-day reflection sometimes interrupts the emotional momentum that the battle scenes begin to build.

This is not a failure of intent but a limitation of scope. Sgt. Haane is not a Hollywood war epic with vast budgets and sweeping battlefield choreography. Instead, it is a film that prioritises connection over spectacle. The soldiers who climbed Takrouna were cousins, all descendants of Ngāti Whakaue from Ōhinemutu. Their bond is central to the story, and Kahi foregrounds this relational aspect throughout. The performances from Alex Tarrant, Niwa Whatuira, and Vinnie Bennett are grounded and sincere, capturing the quiet determination of men who understood both the danger ahead and the responsibility they carried for one another.

Still, there are moments where the film feels as though it is holding back. The audience is told of the overwhelming enemy presence, the heavy artillery, and the near impossibility of the mission, but these elements are only lightly depicted on screen. As a result, viewers unfamiliar with the historical context may not fully grasp the magnitude of what Manahi and his men achieved. The story is extraordinary, almost unbelievable in its bravery, and there are times when the film’s restraint risks making it feel less immediate than it truly was.

Yet the emotional power of the story remains undeniable. One of the film’s most affecting threads is the discovery of Nizar Chhoubi, the last remaining resident of Takrouna, whose family was protected by Manahi during the battle. This connection across cultures and continents reinforces the film’s central theme: that this is not simply a story of war, but of humanity. Manahi was not only a soldier. He was a protector, a leader, and a man whose decisions saved lives beyond the battlefield.

The interviews with descendants add further depth. Their voices carry pride, sorrow, humour, and a sense of duty to keep these stories alive. For those who grew up hearing about Takrouna, the film is a long-awaited acknowledgement. For newcomers, it is an introduction to a chapter of history that deserves far wider recognition. The blend of perspectives creates a tapestry of memory that feels authentic and heartfelt.

Where the film excels most is in its intention. Kahi is not interested in revisiting the controversy of the downgraded Victoria Cross. Instead, he seeks to restore the mana of Haane Manahi by focusing on what truly matters: the courage he showed, the lives he saved, and the legacy he left behind. The film positions him not as a figure defined by bureaucratic injustice, but as a hero whose actions speak louder than any medal.

In the end, Sgt. Haane is a film of immense cultural value. It may not deliver the scale or intensity of a large budget war epic, but it offers something far more meaningful. It provides a Māori-centred retelling of one of the most remarkable acts of bravery in New Zealand’s military history. It honours the men of B Company, acknowledges the whānau who have carried this story for decades, and invites the wider public to understand the depth of their sacrifice and connection.

Most importantly, it ensures that Haane Manahi’s story, once held quietly within families, now has a place on the silver screen, where it can be seen, remembered, and passed on.

Sgt. Haane will have commemorative screenings from 20-30th April, including ANZAC Day, and will be released nationwide on April 30th. Find your nearest screening here
 

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

Review written by Alex Moulton

QUEER (2024)

In 1950s Mexico City, an American immigrant in his late forties leads a solitary life amidst a small American community. However, the arrival of a young student stirs the man into finally establishing a meaningful connection with someone.

Luca Guadagnino’s Queer is an evocative yet uncertain adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ semi-autobiographical novel. It is a film that captures the raw emotions and alienation at the heart of its source material but struggles with cohesion, often feeling like a series of fragmented vignettes rather than a fully formed narrative. While it boasts stunning cinematography, a deeply immersive atmosphere, and a striking lead performance from Daniel Craig, Queer ultimately falls into an ambiguous space—partly an exploration of desire and addiction, partly a surreal fever dream, but never quite a satisfying whole.

Set in post-war Mexico City, Queer follows William Lee (Daniel Craig), a self-destructive expatriate wrestling with addiction, isolation, and an unreciprocated obsession with the enigmatic Allerton (Drew Starkey). Lee, a stand-in for Burroughs himself, is a character defined by yearning—an outsider looking in, unable to bridge the emotional gap between himself and the object of his affections. Guadagnino excels in capturing this alienation, making the city feel at once vibrant and suffocating, a backdrop for Lee’s spiraling descent into self-loathing and delusion.

However, the film struggles to give this longing a clear emotional arc. Lee’s infatuation with Allerton is evident, but the film keeps their dynamic at arm’s length, rarely allowing for the deeper psychological exploration that might have elevated their interactions beyond surface-level tension. Instead, Queer drifts between scenes of desire, rejection, and hazy self-destruction, painting a compelling mood but never fully engaging with the deeper existential questions raised by Burroughs’ writing.

Craig’s portrayal of Lee is a departure from his usual roles, showcasing a raw, stripped-down performance that anchors the film. He fully embodies Lee’s instability, delivering a character who is both pathetic and painfully relatable. His erratic energy, shifting between desperate charm and simmering rage, makes him an engrossing presence, even when the script doesn’t quite know what to do with him.

Drew Starkey’s Allerton, however, remains something of an enigma. The film, like the novel, presents him more as an idea than a fully developed character—an object of obsession rather than a person in his own right. This lack of depth makes it difficult to fully invest in the relationship at the story’s core. While this may be intentional, highlighting the asymmetry of their connection, it also leaves much of the film feeling emotionally hollow.

One of Queer’s greatest strengths is its visual and atmospheric richness. Guadagnino, alongside cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, crafts a world that is both dreamlike and tactile. The film’s Mexico City is a landscape of smoke-filled bars, sun-drenched streets, and dimly lit rooms steeped in loneliness. Every frame is meticulously composed, evoking a sense of timelessness that enhances the film’s melancholic tone.

However, while Queer is visually captivating, its storytelling is less assured. Guadagnino has never been a director particularly concerned with traditional narrative structures, but here, the lack of cohesion feels more like an oversight than an artistic choice. The film drifts between moments of surrealism and grounded drama, sometimes to great effect, but often at the expense of narrative clarity. The final act, in particular, leans into abstraction in a way that feels less like an intentional crescendo and more like an unraveling of the story’s already tenuous structure.

Queer resists conventional storytelling. Guadagnino seems caught between honoring the fragmented nature of the source material and trying to shape it into something more traditionally cinematic. The result is a film that often feels unsure of itself—committed to Burroughs’ themes but hesitant to fully embrace his chaotic, free-associative style. Queer occupies an in-between space. It captures the mood and essence of Burroughs’ world but never fully commits to either realism or abstraction. This hesitancy makes the film feel oddly restrained, as if it is holding back from diving into the true depths of its protagonist’s psyche.

The film’s sound design and score further enhance its hypnotic, immersive quality. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross provide a haunting soundtrack that oscillates between jazz-infused melancholy and eerie electronic pulses, underscoring the film’s shifting tones. The use of ambient noise—whispered conversations, the hum of neon signs, the distant echoes of the city—adds to the sense of isolation and disorientation that permeates the film.

Yet, while the film’s sonic landscape is beautifully crafted, it sometimes feels more effective at setting a mood than driving the story forward. Like much of Queer, the music and sound design contribute to an overall aesthetic experience rather than a tightly woven narrative.

Queer is an undeniably beautiful and emotionally raw film, but it remains frustratingly elusive in its storytelling. Guadagnino has crafted a visually stunning meditation on alienation, longing, and self-destruction, yet the film never quite finds its footing in terms of narrative clarity. Daniel Craig delivers one of his most vulnerable performances, elevating the film even when the script falters. However, the lack of a strong emotional arc and the fragmented nature of the storytelling prevent Queer from being as powerful as it could have been.

For those willing to embrace its dreamlike pacing and elliptical structure, Queer offers a haunting, melancholic experience. But for those looking for a film that fully engages with Burroughs’ themes in a cohesive and impactful way, it may feel like an incomplete exploration—compelling in moments but ultimately uncertain of how to translate its source material’s complexity into cinematic form.

Queer is coming to Aotearoa NZ cinemas April 3, 2025

Runtime: 136 minutes
Classification: TBC

MAURICE AND I

In the aftermath of the 2011 Christchurch earthquake, New Zealand architects Sir Miles Warren and Maurice Mahoney fight to save their finest building from demolition.

The documentary Maurice and I is a film of two halves: one that explores the remarkable partnership of New Zealand architects Sir Miles Warren and Maurice Mahoney, and another that chronicles the Christchurch Town Hall’s turbulent history, from its design to its near destruction. Directed by Rick Harvie and Jane Mahoney, the film is both an intimate character study and a broader reflection on the value of architecture in society.

The story begins with the formation of one of New Zealand’s most significant architectural partnerships. Warren and Mahoney, despite their differing personalities, worked in perfect sync. Warren, the more extroverted of the two, had a natural ability to charm clients and present bold, innovative concepts. Mahoney, precise and detail-focused, ensured their ambitious designs were grounded in structural integrity and practical execution. Their combined expertise led to some of the most iconic buildings in Christchurch and beyond, with the Christchurch Town Hall being their crowning achievement.

The film moves seamlessly between archival footage and contemporary interviews, painting a vivid picture of their working relationship. The moments featuring the two men together are particularly compelling. In one interview, Warren speaks passionately, making sweeping statements about their work, only for Mahoney to interject with a quiet but firm correction. Warren, unfazed, continues with his storytelling. It is these interactions that truly bring their partnership to life, showing the mutual respect and reliance that made their collaboration so successful.

However, Maurice and I is not just a celebration of their architectural achievements. The film takes a somber turn when addressing the devastating impact of the 2011 Christchurch earthquake. Many of their buildings, once symbols of modernist ingenuity, were either destroyed or deemed unfit for restoration. The Christchurch Town Hall, an internationally acclaimed venue known for its groundbreaking acoustics, faced an uncertain fate. The debate over whether it should be demolished or restored became one of the most contentious aspects of the city’s rebuild.

The documentary presents multiple perspectives, including that of Gerry Brownlee, the former minister overseeing Christchurch’s reconstruction. Brownlee, who had previously pushed for the Town Hall’s demolition, appears in the film and acknowledges his stance, though he stands by his assessment of the building’s structural issues. This inclusion adds depth to the documentary, highlighting the tensions between heritage preservation and the practical realities of post-disaster recovery.

What makes Maurice and I so compelling is its ability to make architecture accessible to all audiences. While the film discusses complex design principles and acoustic innovations, it never feels overly technical or exclusionary. Instead, it highlights the human stories behind the buildings—the friendships, the creative struggles, and the cultural significance of these spaces.

The Christchurch Town Hall is more than just a structure; it is a place of memories. Through archival footage, we see performances from some of the world’s most iconic artists—Billy T James, Leonard Bernstein, The Ramones, Tom Petty, and many more. These moments reinforce the idea that architecture is not just about aesthetics or engineering; it is about the experiences that take place within these spaces.

One of the most touching aspects of the documentary is its timing. Neither Warren nor Mahoney lived to see its completion, making Maurice and I feel like a posthumous tribute to their work. The final interviews with Mahoney, filmed shortly before his passing, add an emotional weight to the film, serving as a reminder of the impermanence of life but the enduring nature of creative legacies.

Ultimately, Maurice and I is a beautifully crafted documentary that resonates on multiple levels. It is a film about friendship, artistic vision, and the struggle to preserve history in the face of disaster. Whether you are passionate about architecture or simply appreciate compelling storytelling, this documentary is well worth watching. It leaves viewers not just with a greater appreciation for Warren and Mahoney’s work, but also with a deeper understanding of why buildings like the Christchurch Town Hall are worth saving—not just for their design, but for the lives they touch.

Maurice and I was released in NZ cinemas on September 5, 2024

THE APPRENTICE (2024)

A dive into the underbelly of the American empire. It charts a young Donald Trump’s ascent to power through a Faustian deal with the influential right-wing lawyer and political fixer Roy Cohn.

The Apprentice is a somewhat unsettling biographical drama that delves into the rise of Donald Trump, portrayed by Sebastian Stan, and his relationship with the notorious lawyer Roy Cohn, played by Jeremy Strong. Directed by Ali Abbasi and written by Gabriel Sherman, the film takes audiences through Trump's formative years as a real estate mogul in the 1980s, while simultaneously painting a portrait of American greed, power, and corruption.

From the outset, The Apprentice sets the tone with its gritty, almost documentary-like recreation of 1970s and '80s New York. The yellowish hue and grainy texture of the film evoke the era so convincingly that viewers are transported back to a time of crumbling city streets and decadent excess. Cinematographer Kasper Tuxen’s work here is nothing short of brilliant, and this immersive quality gives the film a raw and analogue aesthetic that mirrors the chaos of the period. The film's look is striking, giving the impression of watching real footage, making the transition from Trump's early days of ambition to his later years as a powerful, unapologetic capitalist all the more jarring.

The film's strength lies in its portrayal of Trump and his interactions with the key figures in his life, particularly Roy Cohn. Cohn, a corrupt and cunning lawyer with a sordid past—including his involvement in the Rosenberg trials—is depicted with chilling precision by Strong. The relationship between Trump and Cohn is central to the story, and as their interactions unfold, it becomes clear that Cohn moulds Trump into the figure we recognise today. Cohn’s infamous life lessons—"attack, attack, attack," "deny everything," and "never admit defeat"—are philosophies that Trump adopts with fervour. It is through this mentor-student dynamic that The Apprentice explores the psychology behind Trump’s rise to power, though it often focuses more on the mechanics of his ascension than on his personal evolution.

Stan’s performance as Trump is unexpectedly nuanced. At first glance, Stan may seem like an odd choice to play Trump—he is too charming, too handsome. Yet, over the course of the film, Stan subtly transforms into the man we know, adopting Trump’s trademark verbal tics, arrogance, and bravado. His portrayal captures a man who, despite fleeting moments of insecurity, is driven by an insatiable desire for attention and self-aggrandisement. Stan refrains from falling into the trap of mere impersonation; instead, he delves into the core of Trump’s character, illustrating his shallow yet increasingly monstrous persona. By the film’s conclusion, the viewer barely recognises the young, ambitious man from the opening scenes, as Trump’s trajectory leads him to become an embodiment of unchecked power.

Cohn’s character is equally captivating. Strong delivers a chilling performance, embodying the malevolent cunning of a man who thrives on manipulation and deceit. Cohn is portrayed as a mentor with sinister motives, seeing in Trump a protégé he can shape in his own image. The film suggests that Cohn’s teachings extend beyond the boardroom, influencing Trump’s personal relationships as well. His courtship of Ivana Trump (Maria Bakalova), for instance, is marked by a predatory quality. Trump is depicted as initially fawning and attentive, but once he has "won" her, his interest wanes—a reflection of his inability to value anything outside of himself.

While the performances are undoubtedly the film's greatest strength, the narrative itself has limitations. The Apprentice presents a gripping first half, carefully charting Trump’s early years and his close association with Cohn. However, the film's second half feels rushed, as it abruptly jumps to the late 1980s when Trump has already become a dominant force in New York real estate. This leap in time glosses over significant aspects of Trump’s development, leaving viewers to fill in the gaps between his early ambition and his eventual rise as a political and business heavyweight. The shift in focus away from Trump’s personal psychology weakens the film’s latter half, as it offers little insight into his internal transformation during these crucial years.

Abbasi’s direction also leans heavily on broader themes of corruption and moral decay in America, which at times dilutes the personal narrative. The film doesn’t just explore the rise of Trump but uses him as a symbol of the broader systemic issues that plague the American political and financial landscape. Trump’s ascent is framed not as an anomaly but as a product of a system designed to reward those who are willing to cheat, lie, and manipulate their way to the top. This is a tale not only about an individual’s corruption but about a society that enables and even celebrates it.

Yet, for all its strengths, The Apprentice leaves viewers wanting more depth in its exploration of Trump’s character. The film presents Trump as a man driven solely by greed and a lust for power, but it offers little psychological insight beyond that. His transformation is largely attributed to Cohn’s influence, but the film doesn’t delve into the personal complexities or deeper motivations that might have shaped Trump’s worldview. This makes for a somewhat one-dimensional portrayal of its central figure, which may leave some audiences feeling unsatisfied, particularly in light of the film's ambitious scope.

Moreover, the film’s narrative lacks a clear conclusion. While Cohn's death provides a somewhat fitting end to his arc, Trump’s story feels incomplete. This is, of course, reflective of the reality that Trump’s rise continues in the political sphere, but it nonetheless leaves the film feeling unresolved. The story ends with Trump poised on the brink of further power, yet the audience is left without a satisfying denouement to his journey within the confines of this film.

Despite these narrative shortcomings, The Apprentice succeeds in being both captivating and unsettling, thanks largely to the powerhouse performances of Stan and Strong. Strong, in particular, steals the show with his portrayal of Cohn as a morally bankrupt figure who sees in Trump a means to extend his own influence. His ability to deliver lines dripping with malevolence while maintaining a casual, almost elegant demeanour is a testament to his talent. Stan, too, shines in a role that could easily have fallen into caricature but instead becomes a thoughtful examination of one man’s transformation into a symbol of American excess.

In the end, The Apprentice offers a gripping, if flawed, portrayal of Donald Trump’s rise to power. The film’s focus on corruption, power, and the dark side of the American dream resonates long after the credits roll. It may not provide all the answers about its central figure, but it does offer a fascinating glimpse into the forces that shaped him—and the society that allowed him to thrive.

The Apprentice will be released in NZ cinemas on October 10, 2024

Classification: TBC

Runtime: 120 minutes

NEVER LOOK AWAY (2024) [NZIFF]

Swashbuckling CNN combat camerawoman, Margaret Moth, risks it all to put the viewer inside the conflict. When a fateful injury gets in the way of her appetite for danger and adrenaline, Moth must find the strength to carry on.

Never Look Away, directed by Lucy Lawless, is a compelling and unique documentary-style film that immerses viewers in the extraordinary life of Margaret Moth. Moth, a New Zealand-born camera operator, defied the odds and broke through barriers in a field dominated by men, particularly in war correspondence. Her story is one of fearlessness, passion, and resilience, and Lawless' film attempts to capture the essence of a woman who lived life on her own terms.

The title Never Look Away is fitting for a film about a woman who spent her career staring directly into the face of danger, capturing the horrors of war through her camera lens. Moth's determination to document the truth, no matter the cost, is at the heart of the film. Lawless weaves together interviews, archival footage, photographs, and digital reconstructions to tell Moth's story, creating a film that is as visually engaging as it is emotionally impactful.

The documentary is structured around two main narrative threads. One focuses on Moth's personal life, including her controversial relationships and her hedonistic lifestyle. The other delves into her professional journey as a war correspondent, driven by an insatiable desire to expose the world's injustices. While both narratives are compelling, they do not always seamlessly intertwine. At times, the film struggles to balance these competing aspects of Moth's life, and the audience feels the film lacks a cohesive direction. Nonetheless, the documentary manages to convey the sheer complexity of Moth as a person, even if it falls short of fully integrating her personal and professional experiences.

Moth was not a conventional figure, and Lawless does not shy away from showing the more controversial aspects of her life. From her relationship with a 17-year-old boy when she was in her early thirties to her indulgence in drugs, partying, and open relationships, Moth's personal life was anything but ordinary. These elements of her life may be troubling for some viewers, but they also highlight her unapologetic approach to living. Moth lived by her own rules, and Lawless captures this rebellious spirit with unflinching honesty.

However, it is Moth's professional life that truly defines her legacy. She was one of the first female camera operators in war zones, a field fraught with danger and dominated by men. Moth's fearlessness in the face of peril is astounding. The film shows her repeatedly placing herself in harm's way to get the shot, from standing on rooftops during bombings to travelling through war-torn regions in Europe and the Middle East. Her work reveals the staggering human cost of war, particularly for innocent civilians caught in the crossfire.

Lawless uses creative storytelling techniques to bring Moth's experiences to life. One of the most visually striking elements of the film is the use of large digital dioramas, built by Wētā Workshop, to depict some of the more significant action sequences. These dioramas, combined with pastel filters and dramatic interludes with actors, add a layer of artistry to the film that elevates it beyond a standard documentary. While these stylistic choices are captivating, they can at times feel at odds with the film's more grounded documentary approach, creating a slight dissonance in tone.

The film does not shy away from the trauma Moth endured. A near-fatal injury shifted the trajectory of her life, turning Never Look Away from a tale of rebellion into a story of resilience and recovery. After being severely injured, Moth channelled her anger and determination into a remarkable comeback. Despite her injuries, she returned to the field, continuing to capture the horrors of war with the same fearless determination that defined her earlier career.

One of the film's shortcomings is its lack of detail about Moth's early life. There are hints of a painful past, including references to abuse, but much of this remains unexplored. With Moth's passing, many details of her life are lost, and the film relies heavily on second-hand accounts from those who knew her. This leaves some aspects of Moth's story feeling incomplete, and viewers may find themselves wanting more insight into the experiences that shaped her into the fearless woman she became.

Despite these gaps, the film succeeds in portraying Moth as a complex and compelling figure. She was not just a war correspondent; she was a woman who lived life to the fullest, embracing danger and defying convention at every turn. Her work in places like Baghdad, Kuwait, Bosnia, and Tbilisi made her a celebrated journalist, and her legacy is cemented by the powerful footage she captured. Yet, Never Look Away also reminds us that Moth was more than her professional achievements. She was a woman with a thirst for adventure and a desire to push the boundaries of what was possible.

The film's pacing reflects the chaos of Moth's life, jumping from one dangerous situation to the next with little time for reflection. While this mirrors the fast-paced nature of her career, it also makes the film feel somewhat disjointed. The audience is whisked from one warzone to another without a clear sense of resolution or growth. This frenetic pacing can be disorienting, but it also serves to highlight the relentless nature of Moth's work and the toll it took on her.

Never Look Away ultimately paints a portrait of a woman who was driven by a passion for truth and a thirst for adventure. Moth's story is one of resilience, rebellion, and an unwavering commitment to capturing the realities of war, no matter the personal cost. Lawless' film does not provide easy answers or neatly tied-up conclusions, much like Moth's own life. Instead, it offers a raw and unfiltered look at a woman who refused to be ordinary, even in the face of unimaginable challenges.

Never Look Away is a film that asks us to confront the uncomfortable truths of war and the human cost of conflict. It also challenges us to consider what it means to live life to the fullest, as Margaret Moth so boldly did. While the film may not be perfect in its execution, it is a powerful tribute to a woman who never looked away from danger, from injustice, or from the opportunity to capture the world as it truly is.

Never Look Away is one of 105 films screening as part of the Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF)

The full programme of 2024 films is outlined here.

Tickets can be booked online at www.nziff.co.nz

BOB MARLEY: ONE LOVE (2024)

Jamaican singer-songwriter Bob Marley overcomes adversity to become the most famous reggae musician in the world.

With biographical dramas, there's often a fine line between honouring a legend and succumbing to clichés. Bob Marley: One Love, directed by Reinaldo Marcus Green and written by Terence Winter, Frank E. Flowers, and Zach Baylin, attempts to navigate this line as it delves into the life of the iconic musician, Bob Marley. Starring Kingsley Ben-Adir in the titular role, the film takes audiences on a journey through Marley's tumultuous life, from his rise to global stardom to his enduring message of unity and love amidst political turmoil.

Ben-Adir's captivating portrayal of Bob Marley is at the heart of the film. The British actor immerses himself in the role, capturing Marley's charisma, stage presence, and inner conflicts with remarkable authenticity. From his humble beginnings in Jamaica to his meteoric rise as a global icon, Ben-Adir's performance offers a nuanced portrayal of Marley as both a musical genius and a complex individual grappling with personal and political challenges.

Lashana Lynch, portraying Rita Marley, provides a strong supporting performance, offering insight into the emotional complexities of Marley's personal life. As Marley's steadfast companion and confidante, Lynch brings depth to the character, showcasing Rita's unwavering support and resilience in the face of adversity. Together, Ben-Adir and Lynch infuse the film with a sense of authenticity and emotional depth, anchoring the narrative amidst its various twists and turns.

Director Reinaldo Marcus Green brings a sense of authenticity to the film, capturing the vibrancy of Jamaica and the cultural landscape of the 1970s with vivid detail. Using Jamaican Patois adds a layer of realism to the dialogue, immersing viewers in Marley's world and the complexities of his identity as a Jamaican Rastafarian. However, while the film's direction and cinematography effectively evoke the spirit of Marley's music and the era in which he lived, its reliance on flashbacks and exposition detracts from its overall cohesiveness.

Thematically, Bob Marley: One Love explores the power of music as a force for social change and cultural unity. From his early days as a struggling musician in Kingston to his international acclaim as a symbol of peace and solidarity, Marley's journey embodies the transformative potential of art in the face of oppression and injustice. Yet, while the film touches on themes of family, faith, and social justice, it often falls short in delving into the complexities of Marley's persona and the broader socio-political context of his time.

One of the film's standout elements is its use of Bob Marley's iconic songs, which serve as a powerful soundtrack to his life story. From anthems of resistance like Get Up, Stand Up to soulful ballads like Three Little Birds, Marley's music remains as relevant today as it was during his lifetime. The film pays homage to Marley's musical legacy, showcasing timeless classics that resonate with audiences across generations. However, while the soundtrack adds depth and emotional resonance to the storytelling, the film could have benefited from a more comprehensive exploration of Marley's musical evolution and influences.

Despite its strengths, Bob Marley: One Love is not without its flaws. The film's narrative often feels disjointed, with abrupt shifts in tone and pacing that detract from the overall viewing experience. While Ben-Adir delivers a compelling performance, the script's superficial treatment of Marley's story and its formulaic approach prevents it from reaching its full potential. Moments that could have offered insight into Marley's inner life and motivations are glossed over in favour of more conventional biopic tropes, leaving audiences wanting more depth and nuance.

Bob Marley: One Love offers a glimpse into the life of a cultural icon but ultimately falls short of capturing the full complexity of its subject. While the film succeeds in celebrating Marley's musical legacy and message of unity and love, it struggles to transcend the limitations of the biographical genre. Nevertheless, Ben-Adir's captivating performance and the film's evocative soundtrack ensure that Marley's spirit lives on, inspiring future generations to embrace his message of peace, compassion, and unity.

Bob Marley: One Love is available in NZ cinemas from February 14, 2024

OPPENHEIMER (2023)

The story of American scientist, J. Robert Oppenheimer, and his role in the development of the atomic bomb.

In Christopher Nolan's latest film, Oppenheimer, the intricate life of physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer takes centre stage, skillfully portrayed by Cillian Murphy. With a stellar cast and a dynamic narrative structure, the film navigates Oppenheimer's journey from quantum physics to the Manhattan Project and beyond. Split into three distinct acts, each possessing its own unique style, the film's ambitious approach, while commendable, introduces some notable challenges.

Oppenheimer unfolds as a three-act narrative, illuminating Oppenheimer's scientific contributions, the creation of the atomic bomb, and the subsequent courtroom drama. Christopher Nolan, alongside co-writers Kai Bird and Martin Sherwin, crafts a high-energy biopic filled with dynamic pacing, complemented by Ludwig Göransson's powerful score. The film employs a non-linear structure, seamlessly weaving between timelines and formats, creating an immersive and engaging experience.

Cillian Murphy's portrayal of Oppenheimer is a standout performance, capturing the scientist's vulnerability and enigma. Supported by an ensemble cast including Emily Blunt, Matt Damon, and Robert Downey Jr., the film sustains its captivating narrative throughout its three-hour duration.

Captured for IMAX, Oppenheimer delivers scenes that balance epic grandeur with intimate moments, whether portraying towering pillars of fire or nuanced conversations. Nolan's adept use of black-and-white and colour cinematography, coupled with shifts in film stock and aspect ratios, enriches the visual narrative. While some moments lack subtlety, the overall visual experience remains consistently stunning, contributing to the film's immersive nature.

Despite the film's intricate structure, Nolan's direction and Göransson's score collaboratively create an atmosphere of unrelenting dread. The narrative's focus on Oppenheimer's unique perspective, coupled with vivid depictions of scientific processes, amplifies the weight of the atomic bomb's creation and its consequences. The technical finesse displayed in maintaining focus amid timeline shifts is commendable, making Oppenheimer a cinematic marvel.

In its exploration of Oppenheimer's life, the film sidesteps deep political analysis, using communism as a backdrop without delving into ideological exploration. Furthermore, there is a noticeable limitation in the portrayal of female characters, reflecting historical biases present in the subject matter. Despite being framed around political proceedings, the film surprisingly offers little insight into the political conditions of the era.

Oppenheimer encounters challenges in its opening scenes, with a lack of clarity that may initially disorient viewers. However, as the narrative settles, a clearer storyline emerges, culminating in a robust emotional payoff by the climax. Cillian Murphy's nuanced performance, marked by a powerful gaze, contributes to the film's emotional resonance.

While Murphy's portrayal of Oppenheimer is compelling, the film has a one-sided focus on the "tortured white male genius". The victims of the atomic bomb's atrocities, particularly the Japanese and Native Americans, are somewhat overlooked, creating a noticeable gap in the narrative. This omission prompts questions about the film's portrayal of historical events and the perspectives it chooses to emphasize.

Oppenheimer stands as a cinematic triumph, showcasing Nolan's directorial prowess and Murphy's stellar performance. The film's dynamic storytelling, visual spectacle, and unrelenting atmosphere contribute to its immersive nature. Despite its one-sided focus and historical oversights, as a three-hour cinematic experience, Oppenheimer manages to captivate audiences without overstaying its welcome.

Oppenheimer was released digitally on November 21, 2023