The Movie Quiz: What was the last film made in the truncated Chronicles of Narnia series?
Denis Villeneuve
Christopher Nolan
Edgar Wright
Matthew Vaughn
Jurassic World Rebirth is out this week. How many films in the Jurassic Park/World sequence does that make?
5
6
7
8
The director of which film is currently favourite to become mum to the next mayor of New York?
Which doesn't feature a Gleeson?
Phantom Thread
Peter Rabbit
The Smurfs
Assassin's Creed
What was the last film made in the truncated Chronicles of Narnia series?
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
Prince Caspian
The Silver Chair
The Magician's Nephew
Who is the odd character out?
Sherlock Jr
Batman
Annie Hall
Liberace
A song by which post-punk band shares a title with the name of a Werner Herzog feature?
Blondie
The Dead Kennedys
Magazine
The Raincoats
Which is not a character in the Austin Powers series?
Ivana Humpalot
Dixie Normous
Gloria Passworthy
Fook Mi
Who did not win an Oscar when Saoirse Ronan was nominated in the same category?
Brie Larson
Frances McDormand
Renée Zellweger
Ariana DeBose
Which of these Tilda Swinton films does not take its title directly from a famous painting?
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Irish Times
2 hours ago
- Irish Times
Best graphic novels of 2025 so far: ‘One of the most affecting reading experiences I've had for many years'
Checked Out by Katie Fricas (Drawn & Quarterly) is a love letter to books and bookishness, wrapped in a memoir of part-time work, queer love and the suffocating perils of writer's block. Louise is an army brat who's moved to New York to spread her wings, and finds herself working in the city's oldest private library, where she stacks shelves, plans dates and attempts to surreptitiously research a long-gestating graphic novel project about the heroism of pigeons in the first World War. Fricas's art is frenetic, matching the scuzzy, chaotic contours of early adulthood, and the bursting enthusiasm of those drawn to big-city life. Her text, too, is scratchy and blunt, as if drawn at speed, so as to better capture the natural speech of everyone around her. This is dialogue with the ring of truth, filled with nuggets of casual wit, keenly observed character moments and a pitch-perfect sense for dry non-sequiturs. Checked Out by Katie Fricas Checked Out has too many laugh-out-loud moments to count. Arriving for a date, Louise is aghast to find her partner for the evening is wearing a floppy, oversized homburg on her head. 'I think it was my dad who told me,' she tells us, deadpan, 'it's hard to get close to people in big hats.' In a book entirely stuffed with them, these are truly words to live by. Raised by Ghosts by Briana Loewinsohn (Fantagraphics) is a sweetly melancholy coming-of-age memoir, of a slightly more subdued hue, telling the story of Loewinsohn's early 1990s teenage angst. Formed from exquisitely crafted vignettes from her life as a latchkey kid – TV dinners, empty house, shifting friend groups, absent parents – it's complemented with teenage diary entries and transcriptions of the actual notes passed between Loewinsohn and her classmates in high school, largely kids falling between the cracks of adults who barely notice them. They agonise over mixtapes and fret over the spurned feelings and fallings-out that populate any ascent toward teenagerdom. READ MORE We are, in a sense, passengers in the drift of Briana's hormonal fog, but there is much sweetness to be found. The absence of her parents from the text is literal, both in the sense that Briana goes through much of her life without seeing them, and that we as the reader are never shown their faces when they do occasionally appear. Raised By Ghosts by Briana Loewinsohn These parental shortcomings are, however, small enough matters, and Loewinsohn's genius is for depicting quotidian dramas that never quite rise to the point of crises. This is not a plot-heavy book, nor one that comes off as cloyingly sombre or self-pitying. It's a marvel of tiny observations, of the diffidence and dislocation of youth, and the life-giving power of art and friendship. I came to No Time Like The Present by Paul Rainey (Drawn & Quarterly) as a devotee. Rainey's previous book, Why Don't You Love Me?, was my pick of the year for 2023 and, as any one of the dozens of people to whom I raved about it will attest, left a mark on me for some time afterward. His follow-up, then, had a lot to live up to, and with a respect for your time that its author would likely approve of, I'm happy to say: it has done. [ From the archive: Adventures in parenting, sun-worshipping and strange gifts Opens in new window ] No Time Like The Present begins in a near-future Milton Keynes, albeit in a universe where a great shift has taken place. Though the exact mechanics are not laboriously described, people of this present have been granted access to the future, via a series of 'junctions' through which time travellers from the future have recently begun to pass. No Time Like The Present by Paul Rainey For almost all ordinary people, actually traversing these junctions is prohibitively expensive, but those with a little know-how can access a future-enabled web portal called the 'Ultranet'. Through this, they can gain details of events yet to come or, in the case of our nerdy protagonists Cliff and Barry, settle for access to as-yet-unreleased Star Wars and Doctor Who properties. Saying much more about what follows would undermine the premise but, as with Why Don't You Love Me?, the genius of No Time Like The Present lies in its construction. A time-travel epic that barely leaves the bedsits, comic shops and community centres of Milton Keynes for its first 200 pages, and centres its drama entirely on the heartbreaking, heart-warming interpersonal relationships of people watching their lives slip away in entirely grounded, entirely familiar, ways. This is mind-bending sci-fi married to the tiny mundanities of modern life. Smart, funny, sad and sharp as a tack. Rainey had a seriously hard act to follow before he wrote this book. I'm delighted to say he now has two. Muybridge by Guy Delisle (Drawn & Quarterly) is a biography of rambling British inventor and entrepreneur, Eadweard Muybridge, from his start as a failed bookseller in 1850s New York to travels in the wild west, and his eventual place at the head of European art and science some decades later; a rise centred on the quest that would define his life's work: to prove, once and for all, whether all four of a horse's hooves leave the ground mid-gallop. Muybridge by Guy Delisle Delisle gets us to that point by charting, with his trademark lightness of touch, the course of one irascible man's eventful life, at a time when photography, the telegram and electricity were still brand new, and film, recorded audio and, indeed, the American west, were still being born. The many nesting connections between Muybridge's work and all these other developments are wonderfully explored, and there is scarcely a page without a scintillating factoid. In one throwaway panel, Delisle mentions that photography predates the invention of paint tubes by several decades, forcing us to reckon with the fact that Muybridge, with his bulky, expensive and temperamental equipment, was capturing his subjects with greater freedom than painters of the time. [ 'Narratively ingenious with gorgeously toothsome art and character design': The best graphic novels of 2024 Opens in new window ] Along the way, there's also deceit, death and murder, and we discover our cantankerous protagonist's work hold the seeds of everything from modern photography and film to animation techniques still used to this day. But Muybridge is, at its heart, a rip-roaring study of obsession, a triumph of biography set amid one of the most fascinating eras of scientific and artistic history. Few reads this year have given me more contemplative satisfaction than The Compleat Angler, adapted by Gareth Brookes (Self-Made Hero), a beautifully toothsome rendering of Izaak Walton's seminal book on fishing, first published in 1653. Of course, The Compleat Angler is no more solely about fishing than Jaws is solely about a shark. The Compleat Angler, adapted by Gareth Brookes In an age when the call to reject our busy, materialistic world is so common as to be a cliche, it may sound trite to call a 17th-century fishing manual timely. But we are given no other option when we encounter these themes so explicitly in its first few pages, which see Walton railing against 'money-getting-men, men that spend all their time, first in getting, and next in anxious care to keep it: men that are condemned to be rich and then always busy or discontented: for these poor-rich-men, we anglers pity them perfectly'. Much of the book's text is filled with that same wry, rambunctious energy, providing meditative paeans to the slow joys of quiet dedication, interspersed with zen-like koans about life and its many mysteries. And, yes, the rest is instructions on how to catch, and prepare, various fish. Brookes' exquisite rendering of the text, including hundreds of illustrations combining linocut printmaking and ink on bamboo paper, comprise some of the most deeply pleasing imagery you'll find in any graphic novel this year. The fish putt in and out of their four panel borders, while ink blotches mimic raindrops and air bubbles and slowly radiating ripples on glassy river streams. The Compleat Angler is, truly, a gorgeous object. It's no exaggeration to say that, barring the publisher's details on its dust jacket, every single page of this book would sit handsomely on a gallery wall. But it's also a seductive treatise on reflection – a call, one might say, to inaction, from a slower, more contented past. It's one that may not have ever existed, of course, but we could do worse than reach for it regardless. Misery of Love by Yvan Alagbé, translated from the French by Donald Nicholson-Smith (New York Review of Books) is, occasionally, a tough read. This is true in several senses. The first being that most of the book is formed of disconnected memories playing out of order in the mind of Claire, a young woman attending her grandfather's funeral in Paris. The narrative is, thus, fragmentary. Through it several patterns emerge: ruminations on death and religion; a strained, abusive relationship with her father; and, perhaps most prominently, a passionate affair with an African man, who her family rejects on grounds of his race. Parcelled out in this way, many of this book's mysteries are not initially apparent from the bricolage of experiences, snippets of conversations, flickers of sexual encounters and replayings of personal trauma we receive. All of which swirl from page to page, greatly enhanced by Alagbé's charcoal watercolours, which give every brushstroke a spectral, haunted quality. As Misery Of Love progresses, we gain greater context for the meanings of these images, and it becomes increasingly clear that the only way, perhaps, to deliver their whole without overwhelming the reader, is to ration such memories to us piecemeal. Moreover, there is a sense that this devastating carousel of fleeting glimpses mirrors Claire's own hesitance, or refusal, to address the events, and pain, they hint toward. Eventually, Misery of Love unfurls into a story about French colonialism, doomed romance and the long-lasting impacts of familial abuse, one so adroitly conveyed that its many interconnected climaxes converge to create one of the most affecting reading experiences I've had for many years.
Irish Examiner
18 hours ago
- Irish Examiner
Film review: Jurassic Park: Rebirth places the focus on the real stars — the dinosaurs
It is hard to believe the world might grow weary of living dinosaurs, but such is the world of Jurassic Park: Rebirth (12A), which begins 32 years on from the opening of the theme park that offered the miracle of resurrected Triceratops, Tyrannosaurus rex, et al. These days, alas, the kids are inured to the wonder of the dinosaurs, who, dying off due to climate change and disease, can only be found in the wild in a no-go zone around the equator. Enter Martin Krebs (Rupert Friend), a pharmaceutical company fixer who requires dino DNA for a revolutionary new heart medicine, and who commissions the mercenary Zora Bennett (Scarlett Johansson) to assemble a team to source the DNA of three of the biggest dinosaurs that ever lived. Complicating matters is the fact that the three behemoths are seagoing, airborne, and land-dwelling; also, the samples need to be taken from living creatures. Having thus raised the stakes a little higher than previous Jurassic Park movies, director Gareth Edwards unleashes his crack team on a remote island — Zora pulls in her old sea-captain pal Duncan (Mahershala Ali), and dino expert Dr Loomis (Jonathan Bailey) — and tosses them into scenarios that fans of the franchise will recognise as a kind of Jurassic Park greatest hits, albeit one that includes dinosaurs that have evolved/mutated into beasts that are strongly reminiscent of the nightmarish creatures from the Alien franchise. An early nod to the work of animation genius Ray Harryhausen tells us that Edwards is deliberately harking back to past glories, and for the most part it works. Scarlett Johansson is enjoyably self-deprecating and hard-nosed as the mercenary-in-chief, and there's strong support from a charismatic Mahershala Ali and a quietly diffident Jonathan Bailey, who deftly juggles the twin roles of hapless boffin and Johansson's love interest — although, as always, it's the terrifying dinosaurs who are the real stars. Vincent Cassel and Diane Kruger in 'The Shrouds.' The Shrouds ★★★☆☆ Cinema release The Shrouds (16s) stars Vincent Cassel as Karsh Relik, a man who has pioneered 'Gravetech', a coffin-cam technology and the ultimate memento mori that allows mourners to observe their loved ones decomposing in their graves. Obsessed with his dead wife Becca (Diane Kruger), Karsh is horrified when his cemetery is vandalised, and suspects corporate sabotage —a view shared by Terry (also played by Kruger), Becca's sister and Karsh's confidante. All of which sounds morbid, to say the least, but is par for the course for writer-director David Cronenberg, who once again explores many of the motifs that have characterised his work: body horror, doppelgängers, the unholy blend of human and machine. It all feels rather stilted, however, and particularly Cassel's performance and dialogue delivery, and the story itself has the clumsy, fumbling feel of a man trying to remember how this thing used to work. Beat the Lotto Beat the Lotto ★★★☆☆ Cinema release Beat the Lotto (G) is a documentary by Ross Whitaker detailing how a syndicate of gamblers, assembled in 1992 by Cork man Stefan Klincewicz, attempted to scoop the Lotto by buying up every single possible combination of six numbers. Featuring contemporary TV footage and talking heads interviews with the syndicate members, the film does a surprisingly good job of ramping up the tension in a story we already know the outcome of, as the Lotto, alerted to the unusual patterns of play, goes on the offensive. That said, Whitaker is less successful at framing the syndicate as plucky outsiders who took on the system and won; despite their almost child-like excitement at being on the inside track, these are men who seek to strip away the fantasy of winning the Lotto in their pursuit of a cast-iron plunger. As journalist Mark Little points out, the perfectly legal heist marked the death of a certain kind of economic innocence as we belatedly learned that the luck of the Irish was no substitute for a clear-eyed appraisal of the odds.
Irish Times
a day ago
- Irish Times
Women are told to be assertive at work, then made to feel scummy for actually doing it
In my day job as a television journalist, I live a sort of ridiculous existence of dressing like a real estate agent in brightly coloured suits while asking people about the horrendous thing that has happened to them or their loved ones. After leaving court or an inquest or a crime scene for the day, I often want to remove my brain, give it a spray and wipe and put it back fresh for the next day. Because that's not physically possible, I have to make do with the next best thing - trying my best to melt it out of my ears with reality television. My white noise machine is the sound of very thin and very rich white women screaming at each other across various series from the Real Housewives franchise. My salve is disappearing into the beige world of the Kardashians, where nothing bad happens except having to eat those massive salads they're always shaking in giant plastic containers. Lately I've been watching the half women, half hair extension cast of The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives. I don't want to have a single thought while I watch producers do a truly commendable job of creating dramatic fight scenes at parties where nobody is drinking. I just want to exist as a piece of half sentient play-dough watching the shape and colours of these women doing TikTok dances in matching tracksuit sets. Maybe this is the adult equivalent of calming baby sensory videos. Perhaps like other journalists I should take up running or boxing to decompress. But I prefer the thinking woman's alternative, and welcome the comforting glow of Love Islanders on an OLED screen. READ MORE The benevolent gods over at Netflix have bestowed a second season of America's Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders upon us. It seems to be a show about southern women with big hair breaking the spirits of some of the most beautiful and talented dancers I have ever seen. I have neither an interest in cheerleading nor the NFL, but I am glued to the plotlines of young hopefuls trying to join the squad. Will so-and-so perfect her high kicks in time? Why are all these women pushing their body through gruelling training if being a cheerleader pays less than minimum wage? Helpfully, Dallas Cowboys' executive vice-president and the daughter of the team's owner, Charlotte Jones, explains 'they actually don't come here for the money'. 'It is about a sisterhood that they were able to form, about relationships that they have for the rest of their life,' says the daughter of a billionaire with a completely straight face. Which leaves the women to try to eke out a living doing whatever they can to pay their rent while putting in 14-hour days between work and rehearsals. This season we see the dancers refuse to sign their contracts, as they attempt to negotiate a liveable wage from a football team making huge sums of money from their labour and likeness. It's syndicalism in spandex. RIP Karl Marx: you would have loved this season and the Thunderstruck dance routine. One girl breaks down in tears explaining she's just exhausted between the demands of the team, looking perfect and working full time. 'But why do we want people to quit their full-time jobs, when that's what's so impressive about ya'll?' a team official responds. Again with a completely straight face. [ Brianna Parkins: I am quite good with money. I know exactly how to spend it all Opens in new window ] When women ask for more money, particularly young women or women from minorities, they are made to feel unreasonable for making an entirely reasonable request. You can take all the advice about women needing to be more assertive and asking for what they want, like men do, in order to close the gender pay gap. But I have found that when I have done just that, it has rarely been received well. Instead, especially in my early career, I was gaslit into thinking I was just lucky to be there. Or they would plámás me. Telling me how much they loved my work. I was very important to them. They just couldn't show me that by giving me more money. Which is odd because in free-market capitalism, money is probably the most popular way of rewarding someone for doing a good job. Instead I was made to feel greedy and scummy. As if I was cheapening myself and my profession for stooping to something as low as 'working for money'. Until I finally had a (male) boss in Australia who hinted at me to ask for a pay rise and then rolled his eyes at my lowly request and added another $10k on the figure. I can never make up for the years on less money than I should have been earning. But I can advise young women (and cheerleaders) to learn from my mistakes.
