BFI Flare: I Saw the TV Glow (Jane Schoenbrun, 2024)

Hands-down the finest film of 2024, Jane Schoenbrun's jaw-dropping sophomore feature I Saw the TV Glow is included in BFI Flare's Best of Year strand, where it plays tomorrow alongside Queer, Will & Harper and Power Alley.  Schoenbrun's debut feature, the lo-fi experimental horror We're All Going to the World's Fair, was an unsettling and narratively challenging effort that centred on a sinister online game; while that ambitious, creepypasta-like film heralded the arrival of an exciting new talent, it only hinted at what the filmmaker would achieve with their next feature.  In many ways, We're All Going to the World's Fair feels more like a precursor to Kyle Edward Ball's Skinamarink than it does to I Saw the TV Glow, despite some obvious thematic connections between Schoenbrun's films—which form part of a trilogy that will be capped by the director's debut novel Public Access Afterworld.   

I Saw the TV Glow wears its influences on its sleeve, and the core of the film's DNA can be traced to Richard Kelly's Donnie Darko, the work of David Lynch in general and Twin Peaks in particular, and The Smashing Pumpkins' track "Tonight, Tonight" (and its Méliès-inspired video).  Schoenbrun's film begins, almost in medias res, in the analogue mid-90s, when teenagers Maddy (Brigette Lundy-Paine) and Owen (Justice Smith) bond over young adult TV show The Pink Opaque, which centres on two girls who share a psychic connection they use to fight evil; Owen isn't allowed to stay up to watch the programme when it airs, so Maddy supplies him with grainy VHS tapes of the episodes.  When Maddy suddenly goes missing, presumed dead, the series is cancelled; but she resurfaces eight years later, prompting a confounded Owen to rewatch the frankly terrifying finale of The Pink Opaque.

Looking to explain her disappearance, Maddy takes Owen to a bar called the Double Lunch, a venue that appears in both reality and The Pink Opaque, and as such seems to serve as a nexus between worlds; in an overt reference to Twin Peaks: The Return's Roadhouse and its musical guests, we watch Sloppy Jane perform the mesmerising "Claw Machine" on stage before Maddy embarks on her story.  The detached, dissociative Owen, who once reneged on plans to run away with Maddy, again loses his nerve as she outlines what he needs to do in order to emerge from his torpor, and Maddy subsequently vanishes for good.  Years and decades pass as Owen works at a cinema, then an indoor amusement park, while Maddy and the series seem all but absent from his thoughts—until one rainy, restless night, when he decides to stream The Pink Opaque, which is now quite different from how he remembers it.

In the Buffy the Vampire Slayer-like The Pink Opaque, one of the protagonists, Tara, is played by singer-songwriter Lindsey Jordan, whose band Snail Mail contribute a cover of "Tonight, Tonight" to the film's soundtrack; moreover, Amber Benson, who played Tara Maclay in Buffy, appears here as the mother of one of Owen's schoolmates.  Yet this meta-trivia never proves distracting; somehow, the haunting I Saw the TV Glow manages to be both immersive and self-reflexive, and its beguiling crepuscular world(s) may make the viewer as obsessed with the film as Maddy and Owen are with the unnerving YA show.  This eerie, near-unclassifiable work is no mere pastiche; it's a heartbreaking, highly singular piece of mise en abyme cinema, one that gets under your skin and stays there for days.

Darren Arnold

Images: A24

BFI Flare: Black Fruit (Elisha Smith-Leverock, 2024)

Black Fruit (German: Schwarze Früchte), which screens tomorrow at BFI Flare, is an eight-part series from Germany's ARD1 that centres on two black twentysomethings in Hamburg.  The series dips into themes of friendship, identity and loss as it follows Lalo (played by series creator Lamin Leroy Gibba), an ex-architecture student floundering after the death of his father.  When his relationship with the conceited Tobias (Nick Romeo Reimann) ends, Lalo finds comfort in his best friend Karla (Melodie Simina), who is enjoying a successful and steady career in finance but nonetheless struggles with discrimination in her workplace.

The series gets off to a strong start, but its back half is horribly uneven; the low point comes in the form of the fifth episode, which is when directing duties transfer from Elisha Smith-Leverock to David Uzochukwu.  This part is more or less a chamber piece, one in which the players aren't given much of interest to work with.  With better writing, this stark change of pace might have worked, but instead it highlights how the show thrives when it's out on the streets of Hamburg, capturing the sights and sounds of the city's vibrant nightlife; without such momentum, this turgid episode places the dialogue under a scrutiny it can't bear.

Following this episode, Black Fruit gets moving again, but it never fully recovers from this misstep.  The remaining parts feel very lopsided, focusing on Lalo as Karla is all but sidelined until the series finale, when an engrossing storyline centring on her professional difficulties is hastily wrapped up.  Given that Lamin Leroy Gibba is also the show's head writer, perhaps this shouldn't be too surprising, but it's jarring to find that Karla's story arc is neglected for so long; while flashbacks to Lalo's childhood are both engaging and well-wrought, the adult version of the self-centred protagonist could use a bit less screen time.

The cinematography, courtesy of Claudia Schröder and Malcolm Saidou—as with the directors, they get four episodes apiece—is perhaps the strongest element here, with a range of bright and muted tones reflecting the characters' various moods.  Despite its flaws, Black Fruit retains a messy charm, and its exploration of German society, in which it addresses, inter alia, racism, sexism and homophobia, makes for refreshing viewing.  There's the sense that the team involved—a writers' room was set up to develop the script—will have learned a great deal from the experience; with this in mind, a second season would be no bad thing.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI

BFI Flare: Heightened Scrutiny (Sam Feder, 2025)

Sam Feder's Heightened Scrutiny, which screens tomorrow and Saturday at BFI Flare, is an urgent exploration of the ongoing fight for transgender rights in the US.  The film follows personable American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) attorney Chase Strangio as he limbers up to argue a landmark case—United States vs. Skrmetti—before the US Supreme Court, challenging Tennessee's ban on gender-affirming healthcare for transgender youth.  Feder engages with the material on both micro and macro levels, outlining the details of Strangio's personal journey while also examining the media spin that influences public opinion.

This ripped-from-the-headlines documentary—it was only in December that Chase Strangio presented his argument to the Supreme Court, with a verdict not due until June—splices together courtroom drama, media analysis and personal accounts as it focuses on the knotty relationship between media coverage and legislation.  Feder identifies a worrying trend of how some respected mainstream media outlets have contributed to a cultural climate that has normalised discriminatory laws; this most compelling aspect of the film highlights the role—and responsibility—of journalism in moulding public perception and discourse.

The film features conversations with a wide range of experts, and these interviewees prove extremely insightful when it comes to illuminating the issues at hand, offering viewers a well-rounded understanding of the many complexities surrounding transgender rights.  Yet, while Heightened Scrutiny is undoubtedly well-meaning, its rather pedestrian presentation somewhat diminishes its impact.  The film's attempt to pack so much into its sub-90-minute running time can occasionally lead to a feeling of information overload, almost as if some much-needed emotional weight has been neglected for the sake of yet another info dump.

That said, the film performs an important function: as the Supreme Court decision on United States vs. Skrmetti nears, Heightened Scrutiny serves as a valuable historical document.  Feder's film raises awareness of transgender rights, and also invites audiences to consider how media narratives (and their consequences) might apply to wider issues.  While the timely Heightened Scrutiny may be a rather perfunctory documentary, one that will frustrate some viewers on account of its necessarily open ending, it remains an essential watch for anyone interested in the current struggle for trans rights in the United States.

Darren Arnold

Images: Festival Scope / Heightened Scrutiny

BFI Flare: Queens of Drama (Alexis Langlois, 2024)

Filmed over the course of five weeks in Brussels, Alexis Langlois' feature debut Queens of Drama is a reflection on the dualistic nature of fame and the often rocky journey artists undergo in their pursuit of success.  This Belgian co-production has already screened at several film festivals, including London and Gent, and it plays at BFI Flare on Wednesday.  Often more odious than melodious, this shrill musical drama follows Mimi Madamour (Louiza Aura) and Billie Kohler (Gio Ventura), two young women who audition for a cutthroat singing reality TV series that bears more than a passing resemblance to The Voice.

Mimi is selected in the competition and goes on to enjoy a glittering pop career, one largely built on anodyne smash hit "Don't Touch", while Billie is rejected by the show but carves out a name for herself in the underground punk scene.  Langlois weaves a star-crossed romance between these contrasting characters, who make a connection (of sorts) during their brief time together on the TV show.  Also looming large in the story is Mylène Farmer-esque pop star Magalie Charmer (Asia Argento), whose stint at the apex of mainstream music serves as a blueprint for Mimi, who seeks to emulate this stalwart performer's success and longevity.

Despite the very different paths taken by Mimi and Billie, they don't lose track of each other, and the film charts the peaks and troughs of their careers and relationship; a song is never too far away as Langlois attempts to prop up a sagging narrative with musical interludes fashioned by the likes of Yelle, Pierre Desprats, and Louise BSX.  Ultimately, Queens of Drama buckles under the weight of its near two-hour running time, which is padded out by highly repetitive sequences, many of which feature onetime Eurovision contestant Bilal Hassani, who gets way too much screen time as tiresome stan Steevyshady.

Hassani commandeers the film's opening scene in a manner that might sink the hearts of many viewers who, like me, wrongly conclude that they'll have to endure 114 minutes of his grating character; mercifully, Steevy soon makes way for the two protagonists, with the role subsequently functioning more or less as that of a Greek chorus.  Queens of Drama isn't all bad—game newcomers Ventura and Aura both deliver brave, committed performances, and the film is nearly always visually interesting, largely on account of its Day-Glo colour palette—but at least half an hour of it should have been left on the cutting room floor.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI

BFI Flare: Cherub (Devin Shears, 2024) / Gender Reveal

Devin Shears' virtually dialogue-free Cherub, which screens on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday as part of this year's BFI Flare, is a poignant study in loneliness.  This Canadian feature, which served as Shears' thesis at Toronto's York University, centres on Harvey (Benjamin Turnbull), a shy, overweight lab technician who embarks on a journey of self-discovery after finding a copy of the eponymous magazine, which celebrates larger men (90s Belgian publication The Fat Angel Times inspired both this fictional magazine and the film itself).  Turnbull delivers a brave, touching performance as Harvey, capturing the character's hopeful longing for connection in a world in which he's more or less invisible.  

The project began as a short—the initial script ran to just eight pages—but soon reached a running time that saw it morph into a feature-length endeavour.  On occasion, Cherub does feel a little like a padded-out short, but such moments are fleeting.  Boxed into a 4:3 aspect ratio, Harvey goes about the daily drudge sans complaint, and Turnbull, without the luxury of dialogue, skilfully conveys the character's keen sense of isolation.  Many other Harveys in many other films have been reduced to mere objects of ridicule, but while Shears' film is not without humour, it never stoops to making fun of its wistful protagonist.  This is a moving and wonderfully empathetic work, and a fine example of low-to-no-budget filmmaking.

Another Canadian title showing at Flare is Mo Matton's amusing Gender Reveal, which plays alongside Dutch filmmaker Jop Leuven's Marleen in Sunday's shorts programme I Like Who I Like.  Matton is better known for their work as an intimacy coordinator on films such as Close to You (Flare 2024), but has already directed a couple of shorts prior to Gender Reveal.  Their latest effort follows three flamboyant housemates—Rhys (Ayo Tsalithaba), Ting (Ke Xin Li) and Mati (Alex Miron Dauphin)—who attend a dull, squirm-inducing gender reveal party hosted by Rhys' boss Marc (Alexandre Bacon) and his wife Chloë (Lauren Beatty).  The uneasy trio, who are in a three-way relationship, try to grimace their way through the event.

Being a Canadian production, it shouldn't surprise anyone to learn that a smattering of Gender Reveal's dialogue is en québécois, but even the well-meaning if clumsy small talk of Marc, who is also the father-to-be, does little to assuage these guests' discomfort—irrespective of the language employed.  But it isn't long before all this cringing gives way to something more sanguineous, as Matton gleefully orchestrates a riotously gory finale.  If there's a complaint to be made here, it's that Gender Reveal ends too soon; perhaps it should have spent a bit longer in the oven, à la Cherub, and you can't help but feel that there's a potential feature in there.  But even as it is, Matton's impish film is tremendously good fun.

Darren Arnold

Images: Festival Scope

BFI Flare: Sad Jokes (Fabian Stumm, 2024)

Sad Jokes, directed by and starring Fabian Stumm (Bones and Names, Bruxelles), screens tomorrow and on Sunday as part of this year's BFI Flare.  The story follows Stumm's Joseph, a filmmaker who lives with his close friend Sonya (Haley Louise Jones), who also happens to be the mother of his child.  Sonya is struggling with her mental health and has spent the last few months in and out of a clinic, from which she tends to discharge herself before her treatment is complete.  As Sonya attempts to get her life back on track, Joseph becomes the primary caregiver to their son, Pino (Justus Meyer), while working on various film projects.

Joseph has recently completed one film, which is about to premiere, and is preparing to shoot another, an absurdist comedy whose script is currently failing to convince producer Gero (Godehard Giese).  Given his work commitments and parenting duties, it is mildly surprising to learn that Joseph has the time to attend life-drawing classes, but it is there that he persuades his sunny, likeable teacher Elin (Ulrica Flach) to work on his new film.  Elin is tasked with moulding a ridiculously outsized head based on Joseph, which perhaps tells us something about his ego—although he generally comes across as a fairly grounded sort.

One of Sad Jokes' early scenes (pictured top) sees Joseph playing shopkeepers with Pino.  Perhaps inevitably, the goods involved are DVDs from Joseph's own collection, and this interaction plays out against a backdrop of a bookcase crammed with an extensive range of films, many of which are from UK label Artificial Eye.  The titles that find their way into Pino's bag include an Éric Rohmer box set, which underlines what one of Sad Jokes' key cinematic reference points is.  With this in mind, it would be easy to dismiss the film as a Rohmer pastiche, but Stumm injects enough of his own distinct style into proceedings.

The director is good value in the lead role, but although Joseph is the main character, Fabian Stumm generously makes room for others to shine: Jones doesn't get a great deal of screen time, but nevertheless impresses as the troubled Sonya, while the excellent Flach—a Swedish theatre veteran who here makes her feature debut—provides a genuinely showstopping moment with her superb delivery of a Joan of Arc speech.  The beautifully photographed Sad Jokes is a solid, assured piece of work, one that demonstrates real progress on the part of its talented writer-director, whose next film will be set in Belgium.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI