I’ll be honest, before I saw the book this film is based on referenced in the opening credits, I didn’t know it was a book. I mean, I figured it probably was, because most films like this are, but I had never heard of it. When I got home after seeing the film I googled the book and quickly learned about the literary forgery scandal surrounding it. My exact words were, “Ha! Okay, that explains a lot.”

The film starts off promising enough with the main character James an emotional and physical wreck who lands himself in rehab after nearly 20 years of substance abuse. James’s first sober human contact is with a female flight attendant who refuses to sell him alcohol based not on the fact that he’s clearly an addict, but rather on her genuine concern for his well-being and because ‘a doctor told her not to.’ Maybe I’m jaded, but I think a flight attendant would be more likely to refuse James alcohol because he it seems like he’s had quite enough already and she doesn’t need a disruptive passenger making a mess. Anyway. This pretty much sets precedent for all of the people in James’s world and the other characters in the movie. Stereotypical and one-dimensional.

A strained but ultimately loving relationship with James’s brother and parents is hinted at, but never really explored or explained. A love interest is introduced, adding a bit of sexy danger as contact between male and female patients is verboten (then why are all of the patients thrown into the same common space? That makes no sense.), but again this has no backstory, or indeed credibility, at all. Two recovering addicts, both pretty and both in pain, of course a hookup is inevitable, right? Except they don’t do anything. At least it is implied that they don’t. And the reason that they don’t is not because one or both of them realize that having an affair while trying to focus on sobriety is probably not the best plan. It’s because all they do is emote and reminisce about their troubled pasts. While that in itself is not unbelievable, especially in the setting of a rehab facility, it is a bit far fetched for two barely sober 20-somethings. They seem to have no need or desire to leave the healthy progress in the group session and just have some ill-advised, stress relieving sex. For those plagued by mental demons, it generally takes far longer to get to the placid ‘let’s do the incredibly difficult and painful thing (talking about their worst past experiences) instead of the easy thing that also happens to feel good (boning)’ place.

It’s as if no one else but James in this narrative matters at all. Only one of the other characters is introduced by name (the enigmatic ‘Roy’). All of the others we hear passively referred to and are like, ‘Oh, um, I guess he means that Billy Bob Thornton guy?’ or ‘I assume that’s the love interest woman?’. And no one else’s story is explored at all. A guy who is clearly a deeply closeted gay man searching for sexual intimacy at any price, who has been to prison, and leaves his daughter’s phone number with James in case he dies after leaving rehab too soon – never explained or mentioned again after he leaves. A woman whose only family appears to be her grandmother, and who lost her virginity to prostitution – completely unexplored. A guy who seems to have a ton of money, is relatively stable in his sobriety, and who wants James to be his son – never developed. He leaves the facility before James does and says, ‘Call me as soon as you get out’, and is then never mentioned again. If this dismissal of all other characters is an attempt to mirror James’s self absorbed nature it’s not executed very well because that major character flaw is never addressed or rectified. Moreover, the issues of James’s past are never adequately dealt with at all. He has flashbacks to a night at a carnival with an ex-girlfriend that was obviously traumatic and ended with him being arrested. But this is never explained. The only breakthrough James has about his troubled past is that he suffered from ear infections as an infant and, strangely, he feels extremely guilty about beating up an authority figure who was trying to sexually assault him.

I’d also like to take just one minute to say that all of the characters who are not white dudes are stereotypes, and lazy unimaginative ones at that. All of the women just want to talk and help, because women are all nurture-y, don’tchaknow. And there are two black guys – one’s a musician and the other is an athlete. Because of course they are. Oh, and the film is set in lower-middle class Ohio in 1993. All of those demographics apply to my adolescence. As someone who was literally there, I can assure you of the following:

1. using the word ‘retarded’ was really not cool. If anyone did they got very dirty looks and would not continue to do so unless they were a garbage human being. Not exactly what one did to set themselves up as a sympathetic protagonist.
2. announcing to a room full of a patient’s peers that said patient had been diagnosed as bipolar, while not exactly illegal yet (HIPAA would not become law in the US for another three years), would be a serious misstep in one’s career as a sobriety counselor.

If you’re in the mood for a film that gives an honest and accurate portrayal of what surviving mental illness and addiction with the help of a halfway decent support system looks like, save yourself the effort of going out and re-watch Silver Linings Playbook instead.

This movie was…okay. Growing up the daughter of a die hard Bruce Springsteen fan, I really wanted to like this film. And I did, for the most part. But I’m also glad that, because I see so many movies, this one was essentially free.

It tells the (mostly true) story of Javed, a second generation British Pakistani kid growing up in the suburbs during the 1980’s. Played by Viveik Kalra, Javed is a talented and passionate writer and dreams of pursuing an education and eventual career in that field. The pressures of being the stereotypical only son to stereotypical British Pakistani parents are added to the minefield that is adolescence, even to those with privilege Javed doesn’t have. While, yes, the strict parents and the dutiful only son are indeed stereotypes of British Pakistani culture, the use of these doesn’t feel like token efforts at inclusion due to the film being the product of Gurinder Chadha, arguably the most commercially successful British Indian filmmaker. Additionally, as the movie is based on the true story of a Bruce mega-fan, the fact that Javed’s young life happened to be a version of tropes that are harmful in the hands of white filmmakers makes the use of them seem less problematic.

A chance encounter with a classmate introduces Javed to the music of Bruce Springsteen. Bruce’s lyrics about dissatisfaction with the mediocre and the futility of meeting other people’s expectations gives Javed the validation every lonely teenager so desperately craves. I have no idea what it feels like to be a racial and religious minority, but I do know what it feels like to be an unhappy kid who finds solace only when completely ensconced in the comfort of music that speaks to you. I can only imagine that being the child of Pakistani parents in 1980’s England compounds the overwhelming sense of alienation and the resulting ennui. In that sense this film is extremely well done.

Another interesting facet of this movie is the inclusion of Bollywood cinema staples, most notably the musical numbers. There are a few of these, the first of which being an angst-ridden solo featuring Javed and dramatic lighting on the night of 15 October 1987 and the notorious ‘hurricane’ mis-forecasted by Michael Fish. Another one is a group number that takes place in, yet another Bollywood motif, a busy market square. Only loosely explained trips abroad and the passage of long periods of time without the use of a montage are two more Bollywood devices that are perhaps less charming. The result is a sometimes awkwardly timed and clunky plot that is periodically broken up by moments of such poignant clarity it’s almost heartbreaking.

I really, really hope Jon Favreau never turns out to be a sexual harasser. Because, damn, can that guy create cinematic childhood joy. Disney has never been one of my favourite studios. A fair few of their animated movies (generally ones that involve talking animals) remind me of being a kid and make me feel better when I’m sick and stuck in bed but, other than that, I’m kind of lukewarm on the whole thing. I’m definitely not one of those ‘Disney People’. You know who I mean. So it’s fair to say that when it comes to how much I would enjoy the Lion King remake, despite Scar’s song advising me otherwise, I was not prepared.

Compared to Favreau’s take on The Jungle Book, which left me dissatisfied in a way that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, The Lion King delivers in a big way. The almost shot-for-shot and line-for-line rendition speaks to the genius of the original. In that respect, there wasn’t much that could have been improved upon (with a few very notable and problematic exceptions, which were addressed). With the writing and storyboard in the bag all that was missing was voice talent and cinematography, both of which are unrelenting in their exquisiteness.  I mean, can you get a better voice for Nala than Beyonce? No. No you cannot. Likewise, Seth Rogan as Pumbaa – Seth Rogan was born to voice a gassy but lovable warthog. But the top prize has to go to Chiwetel Ejiofor. His voice takes Scar from campish evil rogue that you actually would kind of like to hang out with to truly terrifying villain, especially considering the target demographic for this movie. Scar’s voice is matched by an equally dangerous appearance that makes no compromises in the sinister department. This brings me to the actual look and feel of the film. While the all of the characters are obviously CGI, they don’t look it. At all. I cannot imagine the number of hours that must have been spent filming wild animals in order to create this level of photorealism.

The story is a familiar one, but this rendition takes a little more time to offer a bit of backstory about Scar and Mufasa’s childhood rivalry that the original left out. Other details are brought up to date and the abrasive heteronormativity of most Disney fare is tempered a bit. The “dress in drag and do the hula” line and scene have been conspicuously replaced and, when confronted with the prospect of a childhood friendship destined to become a romantic relationship baby Simba doesn’t just say “I can’t marry her – she’s my friend,” but “I should be able to marry whoever I want”. Big difference there. Certainly not a grand gesture, but hopefully enough for an alienated kid to feel at least a little bit seen. In this same way, the Lion King reboot has a tone that indicates how children have changed since the 1990’s. In some ways the cotton wool has been unwrapped from childhood. Kids are allowed to be more aware of the real world than they were a few decades ago. While the movie makes expert use of a few moments of comic relief, the heavy issues of death, anger, shame and violence are dealt with in very realistic ways.

Of all of the Disney remakes thus far, The Lion King is by far my favourite. I have high hopes for The Little Mermaid and Lady and the Tramp, but this one will be hard to beat. Who knows, maybe I shall become one of those Disney People.