Cornwall Film Festival is only a couple of weeks away! The 20th edition includes screenings of critically acclaimed films from different countries and genres. With Halloween right around the corner, we’d be remiss not to highlight two of the most highly anticipated 2021 horror films that are featured in the festival’s line-up this year: Lamb and Titane. Both will be screening at CFF, bringing bold and unique horror visions to Cornwall audiences. While horror has never not been in fashion, over the past few months, reboots have stolen the spotlight from original new horror films. Halloween Kills (2021) is a 20-million-dollar production that cashed big at the box office, earning more than $90 million during its first two weeks in theatres. As part of the canon horror franchise that first graced cinemas in 1978, the latest instalment attracted die-hard fans as well as young horror enthusiasts curious to find out the fate of Michael Myers. The film’s success has already set another sequel in motion, with Halloween Ends slated for a 2022 release. Similarly, the Scream franchise is back to reclaim its famous place in horror cinema. When the original film premiered in 1996, it shook the world of horror with its meta style and the instant classic “Do you like scary movies?” Today, the franchise directors are depending on 90s nostalgia and the iconic white mask to lure audiences back to the cinema for the fifth film which is set to premiere in January 2022. US (2019) While such franchises have built their fan base over time, it’s become frustrating to witness the recycling of familiar faces, merely masks, to churn more stories along the same lines. This is where indie horror filmmaking comes in. Blumhouse Productions is among the most prolific production companies dedicated to horror filmmaking. Its record not only includes Paranormal Activity (2007) and The Purge (2013) but more high concept horror films like Jordan Peele’s Get Out (2017) and Us (2019). It’s undeniable that the horror genre has experienced a renaissance in recent years. However, audiences may have missed some of the latest horror masterpieces due to distribution issues or a simple reluctance to venture beyond the typical English-language horror movie. Here to spruce up your Halloween movie night, the following are six indie films that are among my all-time favourites. It’s equally scary and satisfying how many of them are debuts; only goes to show that the horror genre is here to stay and may do well to expand and allow fresh voices to breathe new life into its immortal zombie corpse. Raw (2016) Visually and acoustically singular in its execution, Raw immediately put Julia Ducournau on the horror filmmaking map. As a first feature, it shocks and stuns on every level. Not only did Ducournau transform the way we look at flesh, she channeled our darkest fears in this brilliant coming-of-age tale. The film won the FIPRESCI Award at Cannes. Thelma (2017) Like Ducournau, Joachim Trier utilized the horror genre to tell the story of a young girl discovering her innermost desires. Trier incorporates supernatural elements to present Thelma’s struggle to come to terms with her sexuality. Thelma goes perfectly with Raw for a horror double bill. In Fabric (2018) Peter Strickland portrays a cursed dress in a haunting story that is bound to become a cult classic. The film’s kaleidoscopic imagery and unique score make it more than just a ghost story. Saint Maud (2019) Directed by Rose Glass, Saint Maud is a spell-binding debut that leaves a mark in horror cinema. While watching this film, I wondered how different, possibly better, it would be without any dialogue simply because of its overwhelming visuals and sound. Not to mention Morfydd Clark’s unforgettable performance as the tortured Maud for which she won the Best Actress BAFTA Cymru award last week. His House (2020) It’s hard not to be jaded by yet another haunted house movie but this one haunts differently. Remi Weekes’ directorial debut shatters all our expectations and cleverly channels the horror genre to depict the horrors of the refugee crisis. Host (2020) Of course, the pandemic yielded creative filmmaking efforts but none quite like Rob Savage’s Host. What Searching (2018) did a couple of years ago was impressive but creating an entire film using Zoom and screen recording is much more potent and relatable during quarantine times. Savage makes the most of every single prop to support the story from the first conference call and until shutdown.

This year Cornwall Film Festival is bringing award-winning films from all around the world to local audiences. The festival’s line-up includes Céline Sciamma’s latest feature, Petite Maman (2021). Praised by audiences and critics alike, the film tells a moving story about memory and friendship. Before watching Petite Maman, I revisited Céline Sciamma’s filmography, from shorts to Cannes winners. Her body of work is regarded among the best in queer cinema. The majority of her films tackle sexuality and gender identity issues through the perspective of children and adolescents. Her first three features act as a coming-of-age trilogy, mapping the lives of queer characters at different stages of their life. I realized I had only watched two of Sciamma’s films while the remaining films were to be fresh first watches. I decided to watch her films chronologically to observe the development of her directorial approach over time. What I concluded at five in the morning after the credits rolled on Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) is that Sciamma’s talent as a director is undeniable. She is particularly skillful in directing child actors which is evident in the resonant performances delivered by actors as young as 12. Stylistically, her visual language especially when depicting desire and longing is consistently intimate, tender, and empathetic. Her camera lingers but never leers. Her frequent focus on hands touching and eyes meeting emphasizes the interminable longing to connect, a feeling that is inherently queer. After finishing my Sciammarathon, I found it quite challenging to rank her different films. While thematically joined by ideas of growth and sexual liberation, each film presented a unique story that is difficult to compare to the others. Nevertheless, I’ve made it to the other side and the following are my personal rankings of Sciamma’s films. #5 Girlhood (2014) Drenched in beautiful hues of blue, Girlhood stands out as one of Sciamma’s most visually engaging films. Following Vic (Karidja Touré) while she struggles to fit in and figure out her future as a woman, the film captures the experience of youth and its confused restlessness. I found Sciamma’s close-ups on different body parts and long stretches of skin the most striking and soothing aspect of the film. #4 Water Lilies (2007) Sciamma’s feature debut was nominated for the Camera d’Or and Un Certain Regard awards at Cannes Film Festival. The film showcases Sciamma’s talent in tenderly navigating queer desire with breakthrough performances from young actors. Portraying young love through a queer lens proves to be Sciamma’s forte as she effortlessly moves the audiences with simple yet poignant words like “I want it to be you.” #3 Pauline (2010) It’s telling when a seven-minute static shot speaks louder than an entire feature film. Sciamma’s short film, Pauline, manages to pack so much emotion in a single take. Pauline (Anaïs Demoustier) opens up to the audience about her painful experience as a child battling her “weird feelings.” Her monologue paints an all-too-familiar picture of queerness denied, repressed, and eventually accepted and freed. #2 Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) And then she stormed Cannes! Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire earned Cannes’ Queer Palm and Best Screenplay Award. Starring Noémie Merlant and Adèle Haenel in arguably career-best performances, the film marks Sciamma’s first venture into period filmmaking. After exploring young queer identity in her previous films, she presents its counterpart in Marianne and Héloïse - two adult women constantly challenging each other’s understanding and acceptance of love. #1 Tomboy (2014) Despite Portrait’s wild success on a global scale, Sciamma’s earlier Tomboy is quite unlike all her other films and so it snatches the top spot as my favorite Sciamma film. Laure/Mikӓel (beautifully played by a captivating 12-year-old Zoé Héran) embodies a distinct voice in queer cinema - a child determined to forge their own gender identity in the face of intolerant parents and unsympathetic friends. I personally appreciated Sciamma’s gentleness in representing and validating Laure/Mikӓel’s feelings throughout the film. Sciamma collaborates with child actors once more in Petite Maman. The award-winning film will screen on 19 November at Cornwall Film Festival. Book your tickets now!

Movies that examine the relationship between man and machine go back to the sixties. When Stanley Kubrick released his magnum opus 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), robots entered the collective consciousness and have remained there until today. His HAL can be seen in TARS in Interstellar (2014) as well as in the unforgettable Ash from Alien (1979). Later, depictions of machines shifted to a more human-like form. Since Maria turned heads in Metropolis (1972), filmmakers have explored a myriad of ways to depict the interaction between mankind and machines. From fembots and Stepford Wives (2004) to replicants and Transformers (2007), storytellers have continually integrated machines in their cinematic tales to address issues of identity and technology. Thus we arrive at Julia Ducournau’s Palme d’Or winner Titane (2021). The film has garnered critical acclaim, generated discourse about gender identity, and made it as the official submission to represent France at the upcoming Oscars. It’s difficult to describe the film’s storyline without possibly spoiling it. Based on reviews from countless international film festivals, Titane does kick off with a particularly memorable sex scene involving a woman and a Cadillac. Perhaps the most iconic filmmaker to fuse sex and machines is David Cronenberg. Ducournau confirms that he served as an inspiration for her distinct horror filmmaking. Cronenberg’s 1996 Cannes winner Crash marked a significant shift in the way we understand sex. The film follows James Ballard (James Spader) who becomes consumed with the sexual appeal of car crash victims. A master of body horror, Cronenberg created a discussion about the nature of sex - not what is or isn’t sexual but rather what could be sexual. Such controversial territory is not unfamiliar to Cronenberg who, in 1983, took audiences around the world on a wide ride in his techno-erotic thriller Videodrome. In the film, another obsessive protagonist pursues sensual pleasures through television devices and porn tapes. The late 20th century witnessed the rise of movies targeting the man-machine duality. While Edward Scissorhands (1990) portrayed the impact of a metal arm on identity and social acceptance, the Terminator franchise dialed up the action to create immersive cinematic experiences for tech-hungry audiences. In 1999, the Wachowskis changed the world with The Matrix. The cult classic posed philosophical questions about human nature, free will, and the very fabric of our reality. Its Agent Smith set an unbeatable archetype for evil robot before it became a popular plot device in films like I, Robot (2004). As we step into 21st century cinema, the idea of man vs machines becomes reductive. Nuanced stories dive deeper into our relationship with machines, be they microchips, robots, or full fledged A.I. humanoids. Filmmakers no longer put man and machine in a cage to watch them fight - instead, they set them free and watch them coexist. Alex Garland, famed for his stellar work in sci-fi, made his directorial debut Ex Machina in 2014. Undoubtedly inspired by the ideas of Blade Runner (1982), Garland examined the boundaries and potential of artificial intelligence through a modern take on Frankenstein. Ava, brilliantly played by Alicia Vikander, is an advanced A.I. humanoid with a lot to prove. Its thought-provoking conversations with Caleb (Domnhall Gleeson) tackle what it is to be human. The audience shares Caleb’s doubts about Ava’s ‘humanity’ and together we experience a memorable Machiavellian final act that captures our fears about robots as it does about human nature itself. A few years later, Leigh Whannell’s Upgrade (2018) showcased the unleashed power of artificial intelligence. It asked: would absolute power still corrupt absolutely when delegated to artificial intelligence? The film’s expertly choreographed action sequences make it a futuristic thriller that is equally action-packed and stimulating. The majority of the aforementioned films are helmed by men. Wondering how Julia Ducournau presents man and machine? Don’t miss Titane (2021) at Cornwall Film Festival this November. Book your tickets now!

This is one piece in a collection of 10 film reviews submitted by this year’s New Wave Jury members at Cornwall Film Festival 2021. The collection tackles recent films that stood out as radical works of filmmaking. You can read the other reviews here. I had gone to the cinema on a whim that day and honestly, I had wanted to watch Candyman (2021). Unfortunately, Candyman wasn’t playing at the right times so the lady at the counter suggested Malignant (2021). It was the first I’d heard of it so I shrugged my shoulders, bought some M&Ms and ended up in front of James Wan’s new horror flick with no expectations. Despite having no expectations to begin with, I still wasn’t expecting that. Malignant follows Madison, a young woman tormented by horrifying visions of strangers being massacred, who she discovers that her visions are real events and sets out to find the victims and stop the bloody murders she witnesses every night. Doesn’t sound too special, right? After some intrigue from the film’s bizarre opening sequence, the main body of the narrative plods along in a relatively predictable fashion before climaxing in one of the most bonkers third acts I have ever had the pleasure of watching. This is a film that is disguised as a mainstream horror, it waits for you to lean back into the common comforts of the genre and then unveils itself as an absurd body horror that is sure to stick in your mind after you leave the theatre, whether you like it or not. In my mind, the only reason why such a film can be pulled off is its campy undertones, there is something about the tone that doesn’t take itself too seriously and I think it’s ultimately the reason why this film can work on any level. At the same time, I could totally understand why Malignant wouldn’t be to everyone’s taste. There is a lot of waiting involved before any sort of originality begins to show. Although the Kafkaesque action set pieces are pretty spectacular, they can also be nauseating to some. I haven’t looked myself, but I imagine there are more than a few reviews that are simply just “that was a bit dumb.” James Wan has earned quite the reputation in horror following his smash hits The Conjuring (2013) and Insidious (2010) but Malignant feels very different from its predecessors. Wan used this film as an opportunity to do what I like to refer to as a ‘Miley Cyrus.’ He used the title to branch away from demons, ghosts and haunted houses, and instead delved into developing what feels like a far more authentic style of storytelling. Like Miley Cyrus in her Wrecking Ball era, Malignant isn’t for everyone but it’s definitely something to be seen, and oh boy, is it a lot of fun. By Izzy Wilkinson

This is one piece in a collection of 10 film reviews submitted by this year’s New Wave Jury members at Cornwall Film Festival 2021. The collection tackles recent films that stood out as radical works of filmmaking. You can read the other reviews here. I am unsure if a review of Das Purpurmeer (2020) is ethically warrantable. I am wary that these words may veil and confine this more-than-just-observational documentary. Directed by Khaled Abdulwahed and Amel Alzakout, this sixty-minute witness of live suffering, screaming, fear, drowning, and death. Das Purpurmeer is radical cinema of paramount importance. Its witness calls for action. Justice must be sought for the asylum seekers affected by border violence, systematic xenophobia, and unlawful killings in the strife of refugee crises. There is the possibility of noisy narcissism in stating how positively or negatively one feels about the film. However, I have sensed from other reviews that the way to discuss the film as a work of art is to address its combination of poetic narration and the non-artful, uncontrollable way the GoPro camera captures the horrific scenes. In this regard, I understand how some viewers may perceive this film as individualising the fatal accidents of the refugee crisis, as Amel waxes her own journey, reflections on her life up to this point, voiced over one long scene of collective suffering. Yet, while I agree that the poetic voice over personalizes the traumatic event, I don't think that this is some moral failing on the part of the filmmaker. The process of separation between art and artist is unlikely since the same artist who constructed this work from this traumatic event also experienced it in person. It wasn't a designed event, nor was it something they exploited as a bystander - they were there in the middle of it, holding a presumably equal position with every other person treading the water. Therefore, in the filmmaker's decision to provide poetic narration over the footage, how can we question or blame them? This is their way of contextualising the trauma they suffered, a way of ordering and expressing their own subjective experience of it. Although confined to Amel's experience and limited by the capabilities of the GoPro, this approach also achieves the effect of representing each person there by suggesting that they each had their own life, their own friends or family, their own history, love, goals, fears and humanity to think about while they faced these terrifying moments. The real existence of their headspace, their thoughts and emotions, is much more palpable here than in any cold, detached statistic. Indeed, it may not be a perfect representation if one subjects it to the same ethical quotas as other documentary forms, but as a work of art, as an artefact of human suffering, does not fit into that subjection. It is best read and understood outside of most typical decodings of documentary, and should be taken for the impervious facts, personal and political, of it. Its witness, subjective and real, must be felt and left lodged in the mind of the viewer. By Jordan McClelland

This is one piece in a collection of 10 film reviews submitted by this year’s New Wave Jury members at Cornwall Film Festival 2021. The collection tackles recent films that stood out as radical works of filmmaking. You can read the other reviews here. The instance of my own introduction to the Evangelion franchise occurred around a decade ago, when I found myself instantly captured by its interpretation of adolescence and the emotional evolution that accompanies such a time in life. Never had a piece of fiction felt so achingly relatable at the time. The chords that it struck internally have kept ringing ever since, influencing my choice to educate myself more thoroughly about the art of storytelling. Evangelion as a whole, considering every counterpart media related to the franchise, is anatomically confusing and bewildering upon an initial experience, but just underneath the surface of emotionally estranged characters, giant robots and religious symbology is a perfectly realised analogue of the creator’s own struggles with hope, despair, anxiety, and depression. The latest and, supposedly, final chapter in the ‘rebuilt’ film saga, Evangelion: 3.0+1.0: Thrice Upon a Time (2021) attempts and succeeds in concluding the entire canon of Evangelion media, all the way back to the original televised series which aired in the 90s. The payoff of Hideaki Anno and his team producing the film over the course of eight years is a precise, innately cinematic animated feature. The tone is considerably more diverse throughout its runtime compared to other instalments, showing us new sides of certain characters in a manner that had never been expressed until now. The worldbuilding is slow and steady during the first half, with Rei, Shinji and Asuka trekking across striking apocalyptic vistas after experiencing the traumatic finale of the prior instalment. Suddenly, they find themselves residing and living in an unexpectedly tranquil village. By living and socialising with ‘normal’ people, the three estranged characters inevitably find themselves in a position to self-reflect; a long overdue moment for each of them. The second half takes us to the other side of the coin, slowly descending toward a violent, metatextual finale that positions Shinji in direct conflict with his father. Many ideas and ongoing themes from the course of the series are explored in the latter half, with the film slowly divulging into its own canon to the most extreme degree. The most impactful and creative aspect of this concluding chapter is how Anno manages to re-interpret and re-imagine the most familiar elements of Evangelion, and subsequently mirror them in the struggles that he and his team have personally faced in closing this long-running opus project. The result of this display of pure, meta-bending artistry is an experience that is equal parts exciting and cathartic, but simultaneously bittersweet. By the time the credits rolled, I was reminded of why I and so many others have a reason to care about Evangelion in the first place, and that reason was Hideaki Anno. By Jules Davison

This is one piece in a collection of 10 film reviews submitted by this year’s New Wave Jury members at Cornwall Film Festival 2021. The collection tackles recent films that stood out as radical works of filmmaking. You can read the other reviews here. Essel (Alicia Vikander), a local common woman asks her lover, Prince Gawain (Dev Patel), “What did it feel like when you…[motions chopping off the head of The Green Knight]?” He answers, “Like cutting a melon in two.” After exiting the cinema, a debate ensued among my friends regarding the history of the arrival of melons on UK shores. I question whether this initial response was the director’s aspiration but if melon transport was our only concern, then we must congratulate him. After directing the critically acclaimed A Ghost Story (2017), David Lowery embarked on adapting the 14th century poem, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight into The Green Knight (2021). The saga follows Gawain, the impulsive and foolhardy nephew of King Arthur (the one with the roundtable) as he seeks honour in the ultimate quest to challenge the notorious Green Knight. At first glance, Lowery teases with the notion of genre interplay. The film could be described as a window into the true heart of fiction and a mirror to the limitless imagination of storytellers in the form of a fantastical and mythological tale. It could also be described as a period piece adorned with the armour, gowns and goblets of early medieval England or a journey of action/adventure with exploits of machismo and the classic hero with a kind soul. Most interestingly, however, it introduces the idea of a heritage film. The heritage film genre relates to a foundational era of period dramas that offer escapist visions of England’s past as a response and relief from a socially and politically unstable present. Originating in 1980s Thatcherite Britain, it brought literary adaptations of Jane Austen and the Bronte Sisters to the screen in a rose-tinted romanticism of the ‘great nation we once were.’ The chronicle of The Green Knight, although falling into the category of heritage film, subverts this by highlighting that the pursuit of honour for name, title, class and rank which characterises much of our history, is not as pretty a path as one can idealise. The story is introduced in a strict chronological run of the mill format but as Gawain takes his first steps on his mission, it quickly dissolves into a psychedelic nightmare that not only overthrows the linearity but turns completely nonsensical. To try and make any sense of it, you will only go into a deeper state of confusion. This is a rare feature to behold in cinema, one where the fate of the story is determined by the viewers’ personal perception and interpretation. Lowery has crafted a beautiful piece of cinema, leaving only one aspect for critique – in the next feature, please get your exotic fruits facts straight. By Lily Ray

This is one piece in a collection of 10 film reviews submitted by this year’s New Wave Jury members at Cornwall Film Festival 2021. The collection tackles recent films that stood out as radical works of filmmaking. You can read the other reviews here. Upon reflecting on the films I’ve watched this year, I was surprised to realise how few of them were 2021 releases. Perhaps Cornwall's selection of cinemas aren’t showing the films I want to watch - sorry Newlyn, you are just too far away for me. Nevertheless, there were a few that I bothered to make an effort to go and see including Nomadland (2020). Through its protagonist, Fern, the film aims to give voice to real people who have either been exiled by American society or have chosen to live outside of it. As a result, both Fern and the majority of the characters she meets live in vans. What immediately struck me after watching Nomadland was the confidence of its director behind the camera. Chloé Zhao does a seamless job of blending fact with fiction and I’m excited to see her do more of this unique hybrid cinema. Although I initially enjoyed it, it was quite some time before I realised just how important this film is, with this gradual realisation forming as a result of my personal, evolving relationship with life in Cornwall. For me, Nomadland not only channeled the preconception of what it means to live in a van but also an ever-growing frustration with the systems we occupy. Living in Cornwall, I know many people who live in their vehicles not out of choice but as a result of the extreme housing crisis present here. Instead of a trendy hashtag, it’s an all too common consequence of an unfair system built to make rich people richer and poor people poorer. The majority of available jobs only pay enough to meet the average costs of living. Consequently, people too often find themselves stuck, simply not making enough money to save. It’s a problem that desperately needs to change and I was glad to see a film that challenged these ideas succeed both financially and critically. By Samuel Bestwick

This is one piece in a collection of 10 film reviews submitted by this year’s New Wave Jury members at Cornwall Film Festival 2021. The collection tackles recent films that stood out as radical works of filmmaking. You can read the other reviews here. I have not gone completely blind into a film for a long while, so Vladimir Jóhannsson's Lamb (2021) surprised me in many ways. Is the film a horror? Erm - a little. The score had the faintest sense of tension and the gruesome ending would suggest that the film is a horror but throughout the film, I thought it leaned toward more of a family drama. The most beautiful and quiet moments were with María and Ada, and their connection to each other which makes their relationship very unique. But as you realise what María goes through to keep this child, you feel uneasy, yet you do not know why. Throughout this film, Jóhannsson neither describes nor tells you exactly how or why this is happening, and this is something I liked to an extent, letting my mind wonder about the meaning of it all. The main surprise in this film was this odd yet beautifully CGI’d lamb-human hybrid and the way Jóhannsson established the twist. As with most of the film, he subtly showed this weird creation like it was not meant to happen, almost like a wrong take in the film. This could also be a cultural difference, as those familiar with Icelandic folklore would not need any additional information or context, whilst international audiences may not have much of a clue. The way Jóhannsson depicted the story was brave and you could say it was almost confusing for some. Watching Lamb changed the way I, as a filmmaker, understood twists. It taught me that you don’t need an over-dramatic pan-down to establish the reveal, instead you can do it subtly. I hope more people go watch Lamb. It’s a film that changed my approach to making films whilst helping me reevaluate my choices when it comes to watching film trailers - I have to try some more blind watches. By Leonardio Donadio

While environmental filmmaking sprouted in the fifties and sixties, it wasn’t until the 21st century that eco-activism spread like wildfire across the filmmaking landscape. The turn of the millennium marked a surge in films tackling environmental issues such as climate change, pollution, and corporate violations of ecological safety standards. According to FilmFreeway, more than 300 environmental film festivals were established over the past 21 years. Perhaps more noteworthy is the fact that the majority of those festivals focus on documentary films. The boom in eco-activism has stimulated public interest in environmental films, especially documentaries. The critical nature of environmental themes infuses documentary filmmaking with potency and popularity surpassing that of its fictional counterpart. While the award-winning Erin Brokovich (2000) ushered the new era of environmentalism on film, documentaries like Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth (2014) garnered international acclaim and served as an impetus in green movements all around the world. With the rise of sustainability initiatives and lifestyle changes such as veganism, major production studios are integrating, and possibly capitalising on, eco-activism in their films. Bong Joon-ho’s Okja (2017), for example, incorporates fantastical characters that are grounded in the very real and inhumane meat industry. The film competed for the Palme d’Or - a first for a Netflix production - and was listed among the top 10 most influential films of the decade inThe New York Times. The dynamic between real life issues and cinema plays a key role in environmental filmmaking, both narrative fiction and documentary. In honour of this year’s Great Big Green Week, Mor Media Charity has curated a selection of films to showcase the evolution of eco-activism throughout the 21st century. Fusing fiction and documentary, the selection presents a wide range of environmental issues through the lens of filmmaking. Audiences can take a deeper look at the growth of environmental films, from incisively informative documentaries like Netflix’s Virunga(2014)and Sundance winner Chasing Coral (2017) to Oscar-nominated indies like Beasts of the Southern Wild (2012) and First Reformed

This year’s Cornwall Film Festival will screen Pablo Larraín’s latest, Spencer. Starring Kristen Stewart, the film tells the story of the fateful night that Lady Diana decided to end her marriage to Prince Charles. The film has garnered critical acclaim from international film festivals as well as Oscar buzz for Stewart’s career-best performance. Before Stewart became Diana, she dabbled in various film genres and worked with master filmmakers like Kelly Reichardt and Olivier Assayas. From blockbusters to indies, the 31-year-old actress has proven her versatility across a wide range of roles since a young age. The Mor Media Charity team shared their personal favourite Kristen Stewart films. Their diverse selections demonstrate Stewart’s talent to deliver unforgettable performances. CFF business manager Sally Barnett chose Panic Room (2002) as her favourite Kristen Stewart film. As a child actor, Stewart starred in David Fincher’s thriller alongside Jodie Foster and Forest Whitaker. The film marked the launch of Stewart’s career as she gave a memorable performance that was never dwarfed by those of her older co-stars. She embodied complex emotions as the only child of a divorced mother whose new house was under attack. A few years later, Stewart was cast as Bella Swan in the film adaptation of the best-selling YA phenomenon Twilight (2008). Over the following five years, her fame skyrocketed as millions of viewers avidly rushed to the cinemas to watch the sequels unfold on the big screen. Despite her strong association with the franchise, Stewart managed to break free from being typecast in teen flicks and fantasy films. After completing the second Twilight film, she played the legendary singer Joan Jett in The Runaways (2010). It was her first but not her last biopic production. Later in her career, she portrayed other real-life figures including the literary persona JT LeRoy and French actress-activist Jean Seberg. Kristen Stewart Breaks Down Her Career, from Panic Room to Twilight | Vanity Fair Stewart’s name is linked to blockbusters as it is to independent filmmaking. She might be well known for her Twilight movies and her recent role in Elizabeth Banks’ Charlie’s Angels (2019) reboot but over the past decade, she solidified her place in indie cinema. CFF executive director Louise Fox picked Stewart’s award-winning indie film Clouds of Sils Maria (2014) as her favourite. The film was Stewart’s first collaboration with French director Olivier Assayas. She played Valentine, a young personal assistant to famous actress Maria Enders (played by Juliette Binoche). The film earned her a César Award for Best Actress in 2015, making her the first American actress to ever win the award. She reunited with Assayas a couple of years later in my personal favourite Stewart film, Personal Shopper (2016). She gave a haunting performance, tackling the impact of grief in this supernatural yet grounded film. Today, Kristen Stewart has grown beyond the screen and into an international queer icon. Most recently, the actress played a lesbian character named Abby in Hulu’s Christmas rom-com Happiest Season (2020). Directed by Clea Duvall, the film followed Abby who spends the holidays with the family of her closeted girlfriend Harper (Mackenzie Davis). Lyanna Hindley, the coordinator of CFF’s Screen Stars of Tomorrow, chose the film as her favourite, praising Stewart’s comedic skills. After the film’s release, Duvall interviewed Stewart for InStyle where they discussed her queer identity and its intersection with cinema and her personal life. Stewart will be seen next in David Cronenberg’s Crimes of the Future which is currently in post-production. Don’t miss her in Spencer at the 2021 Cornwall Film Festival this November. Book your tickets now!

Last week, two new trailers announced the release of upcoming black and white films: Joel Coen’s The Tragedy of Macbeth and Rebecca Hall’s Passing. Both films rely on stark monochromatic visuals that strip away the familiar colourful palettes found in most modern films. Considering the Shakespearean source material, Coen’s decision seems a deliberately theatrical one. However, Hall’s might be simplistic given the film’s racial themes. What is it about black and white that make them such compelling choices when a spectrum of countless colours exists? Let’s take a look at memorable monochromatic films that made a lasting impression in modern cinema. One of the most iconic black and white films that always comes to mind is Woody Allen’s Manhattan (1979). Allen opted for monochromatic tones to illustrate his magical vision of New York City. The beautiful Queensboro bridge shot lives on in our minds until today. Fast forward to the nineties, auteurs including Steven Spielberg and Tim Burton produced stellar black and white films that defined their careers. In Schindler’s List (1993), Spielberg conveyed the yin and yang of humanity during the Nazi regime through his black and white imagery. Burton, on the other hand, shared the story of an infamous filmmaker using monochromatic visuals in his double Oscar-winning cult classic Ed Wood (1994). Many directors have tried their hand at shooting their films in black and white. Master filmmakers like Christopher Nolan and Darren Aronofsky experimented with the power of monochrome early on in their careers. In 1998, both directors made their feature debuts in black and white. While Nolan’s Following garnered critical acclaim at the Slamdance Film Festival, Aronofsky’s Pi earned him the Directing Award at the Sundance Film Festival. Both debuts demonstrated how a skilled director can capture intense emotion, even obsession, using only black and white compositions. The new millennium further popularized the use of monochromatic filmmaking in radical new ways. Filmmakers Frank Miller and Robert Rodriguez utilized black and white to translate the original graphic novel to their seminal gritty action film, Sin City (2005). Similarly, Marjane Satrapi and Vincent Paronnaud brought Satrapi’s autobiographical graphic novel to life in the black and white animated feature, Persepolis (2007). Sometimes monochrome is simply the right choice for the story being told. When Michel Hazanavicius wanted to tell a story set in Hollywood’s silent era, he resorted to black and white in his Best Picture winner The Artist (2011). So did David Fincher when he revived the untold 1930s story of Hollywood screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz through glamorous sets and glimmering scenes in the monochromatic Mank (2020). At other times, black and white imagery simply becomes a comforting sanctuary for filmmakers. For example, Korean filmmaker Hong Sang-soo is known for his frequent use of black and white visuals in movies such as The Day After (2017), Grass (2018), and Introduction (2021). The same applies to Polish director Pawel Pawlikowski who painted dreamy black and white portraits of the human condition in Ida (2013) and Cold War (2018). If Allen made movies out of Manhattan, Alfonso Cuarón created cinema out of Roma (2018). The breathtaking black and white photography of Cuarón’s semi-autobiographical film moved hearts around the world, even at the Academy which awarded the film three Oscars. A year later, Cornish filmmaker Mark Jenkin showcased the endless potential of monochromatic filmmaking in his feature debut, Bait (2019). Shot on 16mm film, Bait stood out as a textural and experimental production which pushed the boundaries of visual storytelling. Jenkin won the 2019 BAFTA award for Outstanding Debut by a British Filmmaker for his promising first feature. Perhaps a personal favorite black and white film is Noah Baumbach’s Frances Ha (2012). The delightful yet at times disheartening tale of a young woman growing up in a big, little world is memorable not only for its poetic screenplay but also for its charming monochromatic cinematography.