Juniper (2022), directed by Matthew Saville

Sent to boarding school by his grieving father, teenage Sam has been lost since the death of his mother. Suspended following a violent incident on the rugby field, Sam is contemplating suicide. His attention is diverted by the arrival of his estranged alcoholic grandmother, former war photographer Ruth, from England. She has broken her leg and needs care, but her spiky personality makes everyone’s life difficult, especially her nurse Sarah. When his Dad goes to England to sort out Ruth’s affairs, Sam is left to reluctantly help Sarah care for his grandmother. Slowly Sam and Ruth build a bond, which may help them both come to terms with life and death. This strange little New Zealand film has some profound things to say about love, grief, and family relationships. There is a sense that it is an autobiographical piece by the writer/director, as it is a period piece – 80s or 90s, judging by the technology or lack thereof. Charlotte Rampling is fabulous as the independent, take-no-prisoners Ruth. The chemistry with newcomer George Ferrier, as Sam, carries the film. Martin Csokas doesn’t have enough to do in the rather thankless role of son and father. Sometimes slow, occasionally clunky and disconnected, the film is nevertheless moving and the rural NZ setting is beautiful.

The Murder Rule, by Dervla McTiernan

Law student Hannah Rokeby transfers university from Maine to Virginia to join the Innocence Project, defending prisoners apparently wrongly convicted. She has a hidden agenda, with an interest in a particular case linked to her mother’s troubled history. But is her alcoholic mother a reliable witness and will Hannah have to re-evaluate her quest for vengeance? This tale is quite a departure from McTiernan’s Irish detective trilogy, although equally dark. It lacks the authenticity of the earlier books, straining credulity at every turn. Timing, characters, motivation, procedure – nothing quite adds up, despite some convenient later justifications.

Crowbones, by Anne Bishop

Back in the world of the Others, in the small lakeside tourist town of Sproing, Vicki DeVine – the Reader - continues to act as a bridge between the Terra Indigene and human populations. The delicate balance of relations between the species is threatened by a malicious prankster on this world’s equivalent of Halloween. But there are much darker forces at work here, with both humans and Others manipulated to cause maximum trouble as some kind of experiment proceeds and a truly terrifying hunter is sent to clean out the rot. Vicki DeVine and her alliance of humans, shapeshifters, vampires and elementals must work together to protect the town and the future of interspecies cooperation. They risk being caught between the evil that threatens and the wild retribution that could ensue. Anne Bishop’s fantastic worlds are completely immersive and this one, a recognisable alternate of our own, contains striking parallels and warnings about the dangers of messing with the natural world. Hopefully she is not yet finished with its colourful characters.

Good Luck to You Leo Grande (2022), directed by Sophie Hyde

Nancy Stokes is a 50-something widow who has only ever had sex with her husband and never enjoyed it. A former Religious Education teacher who has always lived within the rules, she takes a walk on the wild side by hiring sex worker Leo and a hotel room to try all the things she has never experienced. What follows is an education for all concerned in sex positivity, body positivity, consent and boundaries, letting go and owning desire. Emma Thompson literally embodies the role of Nancy, taking her from buttoned up to naked and fancy free. Along the way are revelations about marriage and motherhood, judgement and disappointment, acceptance and respect. Leo and Nancy learn from each other over the course of their short liaison, both leaving satisfied. Something about Daryl McCormack’s eyes and mouth is reminiscent of a young Jonathan Rhys Myers. He makes Leo a fully rounded character and is very nice to look at in what is essentially a two-hander, although Isabella Laughland provides a useful comic cameo towards the end. While the film leans a touch towards the didactic, it is all in a very good cause, with a funny and poignant take on a rarely touched topic.

Intimacies, by Katie Kitamura

An Asian-American interpreter has been living in The Hague for several months, on contract with the International Court. She has always moved around so much, from childhood onwards, that nowhere feels like home. With a new relationship and the prospect of a permanent job, there is a chance of a real future on offer. But is it the future she wants? We never learn the name of this woman, who wanders around making do with inadequacy. The one friend she has made in the city seems to be two-faced, with ulterior motives. Her relationship at first seems so promising, but her partner has been withholding information from the start and fails to communicate about crucial aspects of his life. She just rolls with it all, overthinking everything, doubting herself, but taking no action. Her attitude to her work is similarly ambivalent; contact with accused war criminals leads her to question herself and her life choices. It’s all a bit aimless, with various characters, mostly male, seemingly introduced only to treat her badly with no consequences. The word intimacy is used repeatedly throughout the text, which is odd as the protagonist has little true intimacy in her life. The ambiguous ending is perhaps meant to offer hope, but only reinforces her passive acceptance of a life not good enough.

Love and Virtue, by Diana Reid

A scholarship girl from Canberra, Michaela is an outsider at Sydney University’s Fairfax residential college. Super smart, but lacking confidence and a little naïve, from the start she submerges herself into the rampant drinking culture in order to fit in. Her next door neighbour Eve is a performative rebel, but is really just another of the privileged Sydney private school boys and girls who all know each other. Their friendship is always problematic, but Michaela doesn’t realise it until Eve co-opts an incident in O week to make a point and raise her own profile. The fallout lasts a lifetime. Reid’s depiction of campus and college life rings true and Michaela’s undergraduate experience investigates power and consent in this milieu. The story has a 90s vibe so it is shocking to realise it is contemporary and depressing to know that so little has changed nor seems likely to among the entrenched and toxic structures of academia. This debut novel has seen Diana Reid compared to Irish publishing phenomenon Sally Rooney, but her writing seems far more grounded in the real world. She has a second novel in the works so it will be interesting to see where she goes next. Hopefully not up her own arse like Rooney.

Thor – Love & Thunder (2022), directed by Taika Waititi

Thor has been creating havoc as much as he helps out while roaming the Universe with the Guardians of the Galaxy. The advent of the God Butcher sees them part ways in an attempt to save the day; Thor reuniting with Valkyrie and old flame Jane Foster along the way. Taika Waititi’s off beat take on the second Thor movie brought some much needed levity to the Marvel superhero franchise. Not so much in this third outing. The script is clearly aiming for humour, but is mostly just lame and self-indulgent. There are some funny cameos, including Russell Crowe as Zeus and Matt Damon, Melissa McCarthy and Sam Neill as actors in the tourist mecca of New Asgard. The pace picks up in the second half of the film, with some nice special effects and a mighty army of children. Chris Hemsworth relaxes too much into the lame humour, but his nude scene almost makes up for it. Returning as Jane, Natalie Portman brings class. Christian Bale makes a fabulous, well-rounded villain, although his aesthetic veers dangerously close to Voldemort. Overall the flaws outweigh the entertainment. Hopefully this is Waititi’s last venture in the MCU.