The Second Cure, by Margaret Morgan

Cats have become an endangered species and the virus causing their demise has crossed over to humans, causing a variety of effects that divide the population. The disease affects the brain, causing some people to lose their faith, some their inhibitions, some develop synaesthesia and increased creativity. Sydney scientist Charlie Zinn is a leading researcher into the causes and a potential cure, but not everyone sees the need for a cure including her partner Richard. Charlie’s sister-in-law Brigid is a Brisbane journalist trying to dig the dirt on charismatic evangelical politician Jack Effenberg, prospective premier. The science gets a bit eye-glazing in places, but it is cleverly inserted into the narrative and adds to its authenticity. It’s the politics that lets the story down because it lacks the detail given the science and so lacks credibility. Effenberg is a modern day Bjelke-Petersen, which may be possible in Queensland, but the lack of response to his antics from Canberra and the other states defies belief. A fast–paced thriller with well-drawn characters, the book unfortunately jumps the shark about half way through when suspension of disbelief can no longer be maintained. It is nevertheless an entertaining tale of a very different kind of dystopian future.

The Favourite (2018), directed by Yorgos Lanthimos

Funny, sad and moving, based on real events and making good use of the salty language and behaviour of the times, The Favourite is thoroughly entertaining until the ending, which is bizarre and mystifying. Old, ill and under the thumb of her oldest and closest friend, Lady Sarah, Queen Anne is a pitiable figure, often pathetic but occasionally demonstrating that she remembers who is ultimately in charge. The relationships are complex – there is no doubt that Sarah loves the Queen, but she takes her power for granted and abuses it. Lady Sarah’s distant cousin Abigail is young and desperate after falling on hard times; her duplicity and grab for power are understandable, her rapid descent to cruelty somewhat less so. The political intrigue and power struggles of the court are intertwined with the personal power games of the Queen’s favourites and are often depicted as absurd and extreme. The three leads – Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone - are amazing and deserve their awards nominations. Nicholas Hoult is delicious as the leader of the opposition. It is refreshing to see the men as peripheral to the main action, although still presented as fully drawn characters. The look and feel of the film is rich and sumptuous, with really interesting use of colour and music. The make-up is also outstanding, accurately reflecting the times when male presentation was far more full-on than female. It is a pity about the strange finale to what is otherwise an absorbing, witty, surprising and moving film.

Colette (2018), directed by Wash Westmoreland

Naïve country girl Gabrielle Sidonie Colette has been brought up to be a free spirit by tolerant and loving parents. This captivates a much older man, worldly and sophisticated Willy, who runs a literary ‘factory’ in Paris. He commissions young unknown writers and publishes under his name, reaping the spoils of their success and rarely paying them on time as his extravagant habits always exceed his income. His young wife blossoms in bohemian turn-of-the century Paris and willingly joins his factory to support their lifestyle. But young girls grow up and as Colette finds her voice she comes to resent Willy’s betrayals, manipulation and exploitation. Keira Knightly is very good in the title role, while Dominic West complements her well as Willy, in what is a pretty familiar character for him. The story demonstrates that fluid sexuality and gender roles are not a recent phenomenon, with Denise Gough convincing in the role of Missy, Colette’s transgender lover. In a nice finishing touch, photographs at the end illustrate how Colette’s life played out as a bestselling author and the most successful female French novelist.

Shell, by Kristina Olsson

The rather beautiful cover in tones of peach shows a smudgy image of the Opera House, viewed from the sea with gulls swooping around it. There have been some rave reviews of this book, but it turns out that sometimes you can judge a book by its cover. Sydney in 1965; the Opera House is under construction and its architect is courting controversy; Vietnam is heating up and the Federal Government has introduce conscription, with protests growing. Pearl Keogh is a journalist, hauled up by her bootstraps from struggle street – yada yada yada. Despite the clichés she is quite a fascinating character. Her career has been sidelined by her politics (communist); she is racked by guilt about her younger brothers who ran away from an orphanage after the death of their mother. Her drip-fed backstory is interesting; her current motivation and decisions are interesting. It is a pity her story ends abruptly, with no sense of what she will do next. Axel Lindquist is a Swedish glassworker obsessed with Jorn Utzon, whom he has never met despite working on his opus dei. He becomes a borderline stalker as he attempts to get into his hero’s mind. They are an unlikely couple, brought together for the device of the story and for no other discernable reason. The writing style is changeable and frustrating. Past events are referred to in an allusive and elusive manner, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. An example of where it works is with the reasons Pearl’s brothers ran away. It is clear abuse was involved without any need to detail it. An example of where it doesn’t is with Axel’s glasswork; there is no sense of what he is actually creating – and therefore why he is on the project at all – until the very end. This contributes to his lack of substance as a character. Some of the language is overblown, with passages that could be considered poetic, but often read like strings of words on a page with little meaning. Similarly, there are several lists of Sydney harbourside suburbs for no clear reason other than as a tribute to the city.

Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool (2017), directed by Paul McGuigan

When fading movie star Gloria Grahame was appearing on the stage in 1970s London she took up with aspiring actor Peter Turner. Based on Turner’s memoir, the story offers a delightful reversal of the usual trope of older man and ingénue. Presumably intended as a vehicle for Annette Bening, she turns in her usual accomplished performance but is more than matched by Jamie Bell as the young lover. Bening perfectly captures the fading glamour of a former Hollywood femme fatale, while Bell is totally convincing as the down to earth lad who is enchanted with her. Funny, sad and moving, the film is a small sweet pleasure for its sincere tale and appealing performances.