Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 4/8/2016)

Great things have been expected of Kawase since she became the youngest winner of the Camera d'or at Cannes for her feature debut, Suzaku (1997), which chronicled the impact of economic stagnation on a family in a remote mountain village. However, her blend of mystical lyricism and calculated mannerism prompted mixed reviews for The Mourning Forest (2007), which focuses on the relationship between a nurse grieving for a lost child and an old man suffering from dementia, and Still the Water (2014), in which a pair of lonely teens are brought together by their domestic woes. In adapting Durian Sukagawa's novel, Sweet Bean, however, she strikes a better balance between reflection and drama, as she returns to her key themes of meaningful communication and the connection between humanity and the natural world.

Stuck in a middle-aged rut, Masatoshi Nagase runs a dorayaki kiosk in a Tokyo suburb. He is forever being lectured by owner Miyoko Asada about showing more initiative, but he is so uninspired by his work that he goes through the motions while serving regulars including schoolgirl Kyara Uchida. In a bid to lighten his load, Nagase advertises for a kitchen assistant and is embarrassed when 76 year-old Kirin Kiki applies for the job, as she is so frail and has gnarled hands.

As the cherry blossom brightens the neighbourhood trees, Kiki returns to plead with Nagase to give her a chance. She notices that he uses tinned sweet bean paste in his pancakes and tells him that he will never attract customers unless he makes his own `an'. Early the next morning, Kiki arrives at the stall and shows Nagase how to prepare the ingredients to make a bubbling pot of dark red azuki beans. He is surprised by the difference in the taste and news soon spreads that his dorayaki are the best around.

Feeling neglected by her single mother, Uchida begins spending more time at the kiosk and enjoys talking to Kiki, who is always so positive about life and the people she meets. However, rumours start circulating that Kiki lives in a former leper colony and Asada cautions Nagase about employing someone who might jeopardise health and safety regulations.

On realising she is causing Nagase problems, Kiki sends him a letter of resignation. But Uchida is determined not to lose contact and suggests they go to visit Kiki at the sanatorium in which she had been confined before the law about the exclusion of leprosy victims was changed in 1996. She is pleased to see them and introduces them to her friend, Etsuko Ishihara. Kiki urges Nagase not to feel guilty, as she understands Asada's concerns and is grateful to have had one last opportunity to use her culinary skills.

Touched by Kiki's acceptance of her fate, Nagase writes her a letter, in which he explains that he had once been imprisoned for injuring a stranger in a bar brawl and that he had been forced to borrow money to make reparation. He is now so indebted to a loan shark that he has to work for Asada, who makes his life a misery. But he is glad to have had the chance to work with her and promises not to go back to using mass-produced an.

Shortly afterwards, Nagase is informed that Asada intends replacing him with her nephew. He also learns that Kiki has died. Accompanied by Uchida, he returns to the sanatorium in its pleasantly wooded grounds and is touched to discover that Kiki has left him her cooking utensils. She has also recorded a cassette message for her new friends, in which she reminds them that it's important to live well and put more effort into being a decent person than a success. In conclusion, she exhorts them to take pleasure in the world around them and savour the sensory sensations of daily life. As the film ends, the cherry blossom has returned and Uchida drops in on Nagase's new dorayaki bar in the park.

This cosy scene typifies Kawase and cinematographer Shigeki Akiyama's use of Nature throughout this touching, if slightly stilted saga. Whether lingering on the pink blossom on the trees or the red beans moiling in a large saucepan, Kawase celebrates the everyday sights that so many people miss while rushing around or dawdling with their eyes on a handheld screen. Avoiding platitudes about the old ways being best, she touches fleetingly on the impact of the recession on Japanese society and the extent to which it continues to cleave to age-old concepts of duty and honour. However, by raising the treatment of lepers alongside such issues as ageism and chauvinism, Kawase also reflects upon the lack of compassion and empathy in regards to social stigma that remains an enervating national characteristic.

Playing opposite her real-life granddaughter, Kiki is a delight as the septuagenarian making the most of her borrowed time. Her little heart-to-hearts with Uchida are charming, but her intimate early morning moments with the disaffected Nagase are both amusing and moving, while the care she takes over each stage of the caramelising process will have foodies drooling. The mood changes outside the confines of the kiosk and Kawase allows her social message to be clouded by a touch too much sentiment. But, despite David Hadjadj's piano score sometimes feeling a little twee, this treatise on patience and tolerance, resignation and regeneration slips under the jaded defences and will leave most viewers with a smile and an appetite.

Laurent Tirard seeks to address another form of prejudice in Up for Love. But this remake of Argentine director Marcos Carnevale's 2014 comedy, Corazón de León, is so poorly judged, cast and executed that a sincere attempt to discuss the superficial significance of physical appearance winds up doing more harm than good. Having been aware of the reaction to his own drastic weight loss after a brush with a potentially fatal disease, Tirard felt he had an insight into how it must feel for a person to be judged solely on their stature. But, by opting to use computer-generated imagery and forced perspectives to allow Jean Dujardin to play a man measuring 4ft 5in, Tirard regrettably prioritised star wattage over diegetic credibility and not only left himself open to accusations of sizeism, but also hostage to the debilitating consequences of green-screen filming.

Having returned home following a blazing restaurant row with ex-husband and law firm partner Cédric Kahn, Virginie Efira is running a bath when her landline rings. The caller informs her that he picked up the mobile she left on the table when she stormed out and offers to return it over dinner. Realising the bath is overflowing, Efira hangs up and is dismayed when she takes another call and finds Kahn on the other end of the line wishing to continue their argument. She distrusts his choice of a rich client and would rather show some integrity than replenish their coffers. So, when the stranger calls back, she cuts Kahn off to make arrangements to meet for lunch the next day.

With her long legs and blonde hair, Efira turns heads on her way to the office, where secretary Stéphanie Papanian strives to avoid favouritism between her bosses. As usual, Kahn is in a foul mood and baits Efira about lacking the cutting edge to succeed in either her professional or personal life. Stung by his cruelty, she goes to the café in the hope of meeting a Prince Charming and is stunned when Jean Dujardin turns out to be handsome, debonair and 16 inches shorter than she is.

Fighting the urge to stare, as he hops on to the chair opposite her, Efira thanks him for returning the phone. But, while she is keen to beat a hasty retreat and insists she has a meeting with a client, Dujardin persuades her to take the afternoon off to go sky diving. Overcoming her terror at being strapped to a man who barely comes up to her chest, Efira is exhilarated by the experience and accepts a second invitation to meet Dujardin late at night in a seedy part of town. He takes her to an exclusive nightclub, where they feast on Cypriot squid in black ink sauce and dance without anyone judging them.

Taken by his confidence and chivalry, Efira kisses Dujardin as he drops her off and he returns home to tell twentysomething son César Domboy that he has met someone special rather than just another statuesque playmate. Forever being knocked over by the bounding family dog and at loggerheads with hopeless cleaner Edmonde Franchi, Dujardin is happier at his architectural practice, where he is well respected and working on an extension for the Liège opera house. But he is aware that Efira is hiding him from her family and friends and she promises to introduce him to mother Manöelle Gaillard and deaf stepfather Bruno Gomila at a forthcoming gallery opening.

Giggling with friend Marie Laborit, Gaillard is charmed by Dujardin, but can't help making insensitive remarks over supper. Embarrassed by her mother's lack of tact, Efira takes out her frustration on a gawping couple at the next table. Sensing her discomfort, Dujardin asks if he should keep believing in them as a couple and she insists she has no problems with his size or the fact that they get quizzical looks wherever they go. In a bid to patch things up, she goes to a children's shop to buy him a sweater and lets assistant Fabienne Galula think it's for her son. Dujardin is pleased with the gift, even though he is not used to receiving them and hopes that she knows how much he cares.

Unfortunately, Kahn spots Dujardin collecting Efira from work and makes a Snow White joke the next morning. Already fuming about the fact that he has slept with the judge in their case, Efira becomes even more stressed when Dujardin arrives unannounced and is treated like a small boy by the fascinated Papanian, who brings him a glass of water with a straw for a treat. Not realising that Dujardin is seat in one of the high-backed chairs in front of Efira's desk, Kahn barges into her office and begins thumping the back of the chair until the jolted Dujardin jumps up to shake his hand.

On his way home, Kahn is surprised to see Dujardin pull up alongside him at the traffic lights. When he winds down a window and orders him to let Efira live her own life, Kahn leaps out of the car to confront Dujardin and doesn't know where to put himself when his rival puts up his fists. Returning to his vehicle, Kahn drives away. But Dujardin catches up to him once more and invites him to a garden party at his home that weekend.

Against his better judgement, Kahn shows up and is delighted to find Dujardin hanging by his fingertips from the top of a high shelving unit after slipping off a chair in his bid to reach some napkins. Keen to let Efira see her hero in such a predicament, Kahn calls her inside. But Dujardin begs him to be a man about things and suggests they play table-tennis for Efira's affections. The proposition seems to work, as the pair are joking like old pals when the bemused Efira finally finds them. But Efira realises all is not well and is angry with Gaillard for spurning the invitation and for failing to take her feelings for Dujardin seriously. When Gaillard tuts down the phone, Gomila ticks her off for being a snob and for choosing to ignore his disability because it's not as readily apparent as a lack of inches.

Domboy has also been struggling to accept that Efira's feelings for his father are genuine. He is something of a slacker on the lookout for handouts, but Dujardin takes him to the airport to meet the Finnish entrepreneur who could help him launch his idea for an app. Another outing proves less propitious, however, when Dujardin and Efira go to the beach and bump into Galula, whose son is wearing the same pullover. Dujardin pretends not to be bothered by the incident, but Efira admits that she finds the staring and the veiled smirks a problem when they are out together and he sends her home if she cannot accept him for who he is.

While Dujardin throws himself into the Liège project, Efira finds it hard to concentrate. She loses her temper when Kahn tells her that they have dropped the contentious client because he has slept with his ex-wife and they are now representing her. Efira also cries on Papanian and Gaillard's shoulders because she has realised too late what she has lost. But they encourage her to find Dujardin and tell him how she feels. So, she sky dives into the opera building site and kneels on the concrete with the parachute billowing behind her to plead her love. He listens silently as she admits they will get neck and back ache from looking down and up at each other, but she is no longer bothered what anyone else thinks. On hearing those words, Dujardin relents and they kiss.

The half smile that Dujardin gives Efira just before the final embrace comes close to justifying his casting, as it captures the essence of his character. But one is left to wonder why an actor of the requisite height wasn't given a chance to make a name for himself in a rare romantic lead, especially as the combination of trick staging and process photography clearly fails to work. Even though Efira and Dujardin approximated the character eyelines while delivering their dialogue against green screens, there is no obvious spark between the pair, despite their presence and charisma, this shortage of passion makes their romance seem like a contrivance concocted to make a point.

With the exception of the hilariously gauche Papanian, the supporting characters also seem to exist to reinforce elements of the storyline, with Kahn being such a boorish caricature that one is left to question Efira's judgement for marrying him and then remaining in business with him after the divorce. Such flaws recur throughout Tirard and Grégoire Vigneron's screenplay, which so dilutes its social commentary that this winds up feeling like a grown-up fairy story rather than a morality tale.

Indeed, Tirard also struggles to achieve a consistency of tone, as he lurches between romcom and sitcom and between kitsch and slapstick, in the form of a laboured running canine joke riffing on the Oscar-winning Dujardin's relationship with Uggie in Michel Hazanavicius's The Artist (2011). But, while it's the poverty of the effects work that prevents this rather tacky enterprise from convincing, Tirard could have saved himself several headaches and a good deal of opprobrium by making a wiser choice in pre-production.

By contrast, onetime critic Jim Hemphill made exemplary casting choices in pairing Lea Thompson and John Shea in The Trouble With the Truth, a five-year old study of post-marital manners that is being released as a VOD this week on iTunes and Amazon. Given that mainstream Hollywood has largely forgotten how to do films about adults having meaningful conversations, this is a relishable throwback to the kind of character-driven cinema that was produced by the pioneering independents of the early 1980s. In some ways, the premise recalls the opening meeting between Michael and Bella in Charlie Kaufman's Anomalisa (2015). But this feels like a sedentary variation on Roberto Rossellini's Journey to Italy (1954) or Stanley Donen's Two for the Road (1967), as it eavesdrops on a middle-aged couple raking over the coals of their relationship.

The initial encounter, however, takes places in a café between bar pianist John Shea and his 24 year-old daughter, Danielle Harris, who has popped in to inform him that she is getting married. He's appalled to discover that she has settled for the Steady Eddie she had always joked was her fallback and urges her to have a relationship and even children with him without making a formal commitment. Harris teases her father about his womanising and mentions that novelist mother Lea Thompson is due in Los Angeles later in the week to publicise her latest book. Shea has never quite forgiven Thompson for cheating on him and then wedding her wealthy paramour. But he can't resist calling her and is pleased when she accepts his dinner invitation.

They meet at the bar where Shea has his floating gig and he admits to barmaid (and current lover) Keri Lynn Pratt that he is nervous about meeting his ex-wife after so long. Thompson is happy to see him and explains that she is in town to speak at a conference of librarians in a bid to boost sales. Shea insists he is proud of her for realising her dream, but ribs her that she only has the luxury of writing at her leisure because she married money. That said, he admits that he has become the kind of self-absorbed individual who used to infuriate him in John Updike novels.

Taking their drinks upstairs, Thompson teases Shea about living in a tiny apartment in order to avoid overheads and ticks him off for dating someone his daughter's age. He protests that he suffers from FMS Syndrome (Fraid I'll Miss Something) by settling down and jokes that he became a feminist because it made it easier to bed women. When he implies that Thompson sold out by marrying her lawyer, she threatens to leave. Promising to be more respectful, he explains that he has lost faith in love since taking a literature class and learning from CS Lewis that romantic love is a 12th-century construct. She despairs of him, but agrees to go for something to eat.

Telling Pratt he will see her later as he leaves a big tip, Shea takes Thompson to a nearby bistro, where she gets a call from Harris, who doesn't want to talk to her father. They get drinks from waitress Adrienne Rusk and Thompson succumbs to the temptation of steak, even though Harris has been trying to persuade her to go vegan. Shea chooses salmon, but takes a bite of the fillet mignon and they agree that it would be easier to be an environmentalist if meat didn't smell and taste so good. He also wishes he had been a better father to Harris and laments about not having fulfilled his youthful ambitions to do voluntary work.

Shea admits he was nervous about meeting Thompson in case being rich had changed her and avers that money turns people into nitwits. Thompson says wealth just exacerbates existing characteristics and mocks his concern that Harris will lose her spirit by marrying a man as boring Thompson's second husband. She insists that Harris will be fine and concedes that she got lucky in having her first novel published because she met a helpful agent at a party. Indeed, she wonders whether luck plays more of part in success than talent and hard work combined. But Shea is unconvinced by her argument that it's better to try and fail than duck the issue and she sheds a few tears as he retreats to the bathroom to regain his composure.

On his return, Shea joshes Thompson about being an eternal optimist and she says there is nothing wrong with seeking ways of avoiding facing up to the inevitability of pain and death. He apologises for being prickly and says he was nettled by her mention of luck, as he has recently been cursing his own because he failed to build on such early breaks as recording with Miles Davis. She admonishes him for refusing to play the game and frittering his time away on groupies. But Shea declares he is anything but the stud she thinks he is and protests that he only betrayed her four times during their 14-year marriage. She tries to name his partners and is shocked when he says that he lied about one infidelity because he knew she was looking for a reason to leave him and gave her the excuse she wanted.

Thompson is stung, as she began seeing her lawyer shortly afterwards. He tells her not to feel bad, as he was probably looking for an escape route of his own and she wishes he had been truthful with her, as she had mostly been happy with him. She admits she is bored with her husband, however, and banks conversational gambits in order to retrieve them when they have nothing interesting to talk about. Shea recognises his rival in a character from Thompson's latest novel and she admits he also spotted the similarity and was angry that the book had been so widely reviewed. She says the passion never waned with Shea and he agrees that he wanted to sleep with her even when he wanted to throttle her.

Shea announces that he often pours his emotions into his songs and Thompson asks how many of them she inspired. At this point, they decide to move to another part of the restaurant for dessert because a woman at the next table has been listening in on them. As they settle, Thompson admits to feeling relieved when she heard on the news that her husband's plane had crashed and felt disappointed when he called to tell her he had taken a different flight. Shea asks if she still loves her spouse, but she concedes she would leave if she could think of a good reason. She says it was easier with Shea because he cheated on her in so many ways, including playing their special song to another woman.

He shrugs on admitting that he enjoys getting smiles from pretty girls and breaks off to order some chocolate cake with two forks. Once they are alone again, Thompson confesses to having an affair with a fellow author and Shea feigns dismay because her beau is so much younger and sends her juvenile billets doux that make her cringe. She admits she finds him dull and wishes it was possible to have sex without repercussions. Moreover, she hints that it was never like that with Shea, as even when things were bad there was always the possibility that they could improve.

They tuck into the cake and Thompson asks Shea if he has considered them spending the night together. He claims that he thinks that on every date and she mocks him for making her feel so special. Yet, she confesses that she had fantasised about them going to bed and blames the wine for making her feel nostalgic and horny. She asks if he regrets letting her go, but he defends his decision and insists there is no point in dwelling on what can no longer be changed. He says the divorce hit him hard, as it meant they couldn't go back. But there was a plus side, as he didn't want to grow old with someone who knew what a failure he is.

Thompson says she sees nothing but their common history when she looks at him and insists he is still her best friend. They pay the bill and he suggests they get a bottle of wine and go back to her hotel room. She agrees and they continue to chat, with the alcohol loosening their tongues. Thompson wishes she felt like an adult because she is approaching 50 and Shea jokes that he is like someone from Planet Ork, as he feels he is getting younger and more insecure with each passing day. He admits to having wasted what little talent he has, but accepts that lots of casual sex is a passable consolation prize. She tells him she is developing a children's book about a baby rhino and he tries to find hidden meanings in the storyline.

Laughing lasciviously, Thompson says neither her spouse nor her lover has a horn to be proud of and she kisses Shea as he protests that she is getting smutty. He backs away, but she says they should embrace the fear and see where tonight leads them. Shea protests that he likes his life, as he doesn't have to ask permission for anything he does, and she accuses him of being a selfish coward. He's hurt when she tells him he is as dull as her husband and they kiss again and he carries her to the bed. She pops to the bathroom to freshen up, but Shea suddenly gets cold feet and slips away, leaving Thompson to close the door with a `do not disturb' tag on the handle.

Simply photographed by Roberto Correa in rich evening colours that capture the ambience of the rooms without distracting from the close-ups of Thompson and Shea, this is a fascinating study of two people who have always loved one another without ever really understanding each other. They reminisce about the passion that sustained them through the difficult times and that still burns temptingly brightly. But they avoid addressing the personality traits that doomed them to separate and that entrap her in a stale marriage and him in a joyless round of one-night stands. They share so much, but have little in common beside their daughter and they can't even agree on whether she is doing the right thing in committing to a decent, dependable dullard.

Desperately trying to hide his vulnerability, Shea is wittily insolent when taunting Thompson and boyishly sulky when she gets too close to the chinks in his defences. But, despite his claims of contentment to both Harris and Thompson, Shea is a loser who keeps moving to avoid being confronted with the truth. This makes him more evasive that Thompson and less compelling because he is editing himself in a way she is too tipsy to do. Consequently, she gives away secrets as much in the hope of enticing Shea as in the need to unburden herself. Perhaps she has been seduced by her own abilility to create a scenario and have it play out the way she envisages. But she is every bit as emotionally immature as Shea and, therefore, just as responsible for her unhappiness as he is.

The characters may not be honest with each other or themselves, but Hemphill treats them with equal respect by creating realistic, civilised people with recognisable problems, ambitions and flaws. Every now and then, the dialogue sounds a touch theatrical, but it deftly interweaves exposition and emotion with recollection and revelation before reaching its neatly judged bittersweet conclusion. Moreover, thanks to Hemphill's canny blocking and editor Michael Benni Pierce's smooth sense of timing, this remains entirely cinematic. It's a shame that UK audiences won't get to see it on the big screen. But this intimate saga is well worth seeking out online.

Also showing exclusively on VOD is Norwegian documentarist Pål Refsdal's Dugma: The Button, a timely hour-long insight into the mindset of an Islamist suicide bomber. Given unprecedented access to four members of Jhabat al-Nusra, the Syrian branch of Al-Qaeda, Refsdal records them waiting to be given their missions and tries to ascertain what drives them to make the ultimate sacrifice for a cause they don't seem entirely to understand and fathom whether they have been duped into embracing martyrdom by vague promises of 72 virgins in the upper echelons of Paradise.

The first volunteer is Abu Qaswara al Maki, a 32 year-old who gave up his family and cushy job in Mecca to become a jihadist. He shows Refsdal around the armoured car he expects to drive into his target and explains the system of buttons, cords and remote control devices that will ensure his payload will blow his enemies to Hell. A cheerful, chatty individual, Qaswara brandishes the mobile phone on which he will contact his father so that he can share in his son's heroism. But he uses his other mobile to flash up photographs of his children and returns to his room to tease his mother about getting Skype so they can chat face to face. As he watches a video clip of the daughter he has never met in person, Qaswara sings wistfully about being with her in Paradise, where the good-hearted meet.

As if to reinforce this contradiction between the ordinary bloke and the soldier of Allah, Refsdal shows Qaswara meeting up with his pals for a fried chicken dinner, during which they discuss a brother who recently blew himself up. Qaswara sings about sacrifice in a nearby mosque, as Refsdal cross-cuts to Abu Basir al Britani praying in his humble room. Born Lucas Kinney in London to an American father and a British mother, the 26 year-old Basir insists he misses nothing about home, as life there is miserable for a self-respecting Muslim man. He goes on watch in a bombed-out building and peers at Syrian army snipers through a small hole in a wall of sandbags. Along with Abu al-Yaman and an unnamed companion, they discuss the brutality of the Assad regime and its readiness to rape and murder and hide the evidence of its crimes from the world's media.

Yaman prepares a meal for his comrades and jokes while washing the pots about how he used to tick off his sisters for slacking over their chores. He debates the five points of martyrdom with Abu Abdelrahman, who agrees that the most important benefit is being forgiven all their sins on shedding the first drop of blood. However, they grin knowingly at each other on mentioning the 72 virgins who will be waiting for them in the afterlife.

Elsewhere on the frontline, Refsdal films a Turk speeding out of the compound and cuts to a night shot of his truck detonating across the city. Qaswara is growing impatient at being overlooked for prestigious missions and visits a wounde sheikh for advice. Over a meal, he urges him to be patient, as, even though he might kill lots of unbelievers, there's little point in wasting his own life on an objective that can be easily recaptured.

The insurgents are also targeted by the Syrians and Refsdal joins a convoy speeding across country to the site of an air strike. People rush around in furious confusion and have to be reminded about the rockets and grenades in the rubble. One man curses Assad for victimising civilians, only for a volunteer to chide him for being economical with the truth because everyone knows there is a rebel base nearby. Momentarily chastened, the man resumes his rant and denounces the government for slaughtering innocents.

Back in his hideout, Basir reads some news reports on his laptop and laughs bitterly about American claims to respect sovereignty. Yaman shows him footage of a girl being pulled from the rubble after a bombing raid and they lament that the West receives such a biased view of events on the ground. Meanwhile, Qaswara shows Abdelrahman the inside of a tank and pokes fun when he asks about the speedometer, as velocity should be the last thing on a martyr's mind as he approaches his target. However, Abdelrahman seems more preoccupied with getting his virgins and has to be reminded that the first joy of reaching Paradise is seeing Allah's face.

The mood is more serious the next time Refsdal encounters Qaswara, however, as he is about to embark upon his mission and barely has time to deliver a farewell message as he checks his controls. But he is soon back at base, as the army had blocked the road with boulders and Qaswara was forced to turn around. Yet, while he accepts that Allah did not want him to die that day, he insists that he had experienced the ultimate Muslim thrill of heading towards his holy destiny, albeit in vain.

Across the city, Basir is relieved to have been spared the strike that decimated his bedroom. He reveals that he has recently been married and admits that his new domestic responsibilities have made him rethink his views on martyrdom. When Refsdal presses him about whether he would still accept a mission, Basir becomes evasive and waffles on about women being emotional creatures who need their husbands beside them. He accepts that Allah will test him, but the die-hard conviction appears to have waned when he shakes hands with Qaswara, who has been offered another mission. In preparation, he sings at the mosque and returns home to slick back his hair with gel. But, once again, the operation is cancelled and he is nearly caught in a barrel bomb attack when he goes to headquarters for debriefing.

Qaswara is stood down from active service after five months with the suicide squad and sent to a city away from the war zone to spread the message of Allah. He runs activities for young people and is shown raising funds for the promotion of Sharia by raffling a magic mop and organising a banana-eating contest.

Basir is also withdrawn, as his wife might be pregnant. He wants to send her some flowers and, as he plucks some from a bush, one of his companions jokes that he is beheading them like an ISIL executioner. Before he leaves, Basir tries to remove the ceiling fan from his quarters. He stands on the table, but it is too rickety. When asked why he is abandoning his vocation, Basir explains that he remains a jihadist and is willing to die in combat. But he can no longer take a conscious decision to destroy himself and leave his family in extremis. Although Refsdal doesn't push him on the issue, it's clear Basir's regret is tinged with relief.

A closing caption reveals that none of the men depicted got to push the Dugma button. But, while this short study contains hints of wry scepticism, Refsdal accords these `martyrdom seekers' the greatest respect and, as a result, is able to present a unique insight into the faith and doubt that co-exist in the fundamentalist psyche. Following on from Taliban Behind the Masks (2013), this is another bold bid to humanise combatants invariably demonised in the West. In many ways, it comes as a relief that the chosen quartet survive. But the impact would have been infinitely more devastating had one of them gone through with a mission of no return.

A very different form of political resistance comes under scrutiny in Brendan J. Byrne's documentary, Bobby Sands: 66 Days. Thirty-five years have passed since the H Block hunger strikes in Northern Ireland and Byrne does an excellent job in contextualising the protest being made by 27 year-old Bobby Sands and nine IRA companions in the spring and summer of 1981. Byrne may not always be stringently objective, but this is a much less emotive account of the battle for Republican prisoners to regain their Special Category Status than such dramatised versions as Terry George's Some Mother's Son (1996) and Steve McQueen's Hunger (2008). Indeed, by making provocative and poignant use of Sands's cell diary, this blend of archive footage, animation, dumbshow and talking heads offers a cogent insight into the revolutionary credo that ultimate victory comes from withstanding suffering rather than inflicting slaughter.

After Fintan O'Toole, the literary editor of the Irish Times, considers the popular image of Bobby Sands, childhood friends Raymond McCord and Denis Sweeney recall him being part of a non-sectarian football team in the 1960s and being one of the lads. But historian Richard English and biographer Denis O'Hearn reveal that he was so appalled by the escalating tensions at the end of the decade that he joined the Provisional Irish Republican Army aged 18 in 1971.

Byrne doesn't adhere to a strict chronology, as he counts down the days. He frequently flashes back to examine aspects of Sands's in greater detail, with Michael Biggs from St Cross College, Oxford and Irish historian Tim Pat Coogan explaining how fasting was an ancient Gaelic form of protest that poets used to shame patrons into paying them. But it became a political act in the early 20th century and Irish Times reporter Brendan O'Cathaoir realised when interviewing Sands at the start of his strike that he viewed himself as an heir to Gandhi and had reconciled himself to death at the outset (`If I die, God will understand.').

Belfast historian Jack Foster recalls how the 200 deaths caused by the IRA in 1972 brought a Loyalist backlash and, against a brimstone speech by the Rev Ian Paisley, Byrne and expert editor Paul Devlin show how a counterwave of terrorism was unleashed and the Troubles became a way of life for Catholics and Protestants alike. Yet, as fellow IRA volunteer Tomboy Louden recalls, Sands was an ordinary lad, with a Rod Stewart haircut and a steady girlfriend in Geraldine Noads. But he was proud of his roots and took exception to Catholic families being driven out of Rathcoole. However, not long after joining the IRA, he was arrested in October 1972 after four handguns were found in the house where he was living.

As former Sinn Féin publicity director Danny Morrison reveals, the British government had brought in Special Category Status for Republican prisoners in December 1972 and Séanna Walsh remembers the IRA inmates at Long Kesh being allowed to wear their own clothes, while also avoiding chores and having freedom of association. Consequently, they could almost operate like an army within the camp and Danny Devenney and Gerard Rooney recall how Sands devoured political texts and developed his own strategies of revolution and resistance. However, as Sinn Féin president Gerry Adams reflects, he also read Irish activists like James Connolly and Liam Mellows and understood the nature of struggle in Ireland and how he could exploit his own situation to help the cause.

A caption highlights the hunger strike undertaken by Terence MacSwiney, the Lord Mayor of Cork, after he was imprisoned without trial in 1920. Biggs notes that the tactic was borrowed from the Suffragettes and that 10,000 Irish Republican starved themselves between 1917-23, while Coogan mentions that future Vietnamese leader Ho Chi-minh (who was studying in London) was among those to be impressed by his martyrdom. Sands took inspiration from MacSwiney, as he felt he could help liberate his people by resisting food and prevent his comrades in arms from being branded common criminals by being denied their political rights.

But this was still in the future, as Sands was released from prison in 1976 and returned home to marry his sweetheart. The cause came before family, however, and he found providing for a wife and son a challenge, while striving to launch a community newspaper and establish groups for youths, women and the community at large so that no Republican neighbourhood could be neutralised if its active service unit was put out of action. In October, he was arrested again, while fleeing an attack on the Balmoral Furniture Company in Dunmurry, and was sentenced to 14 years for possessing a firearm. But, Special Category Status had been withdrawn in 1 March and Sands found himself in the H Blocks at Long Kesh in a prison uniform and a work regime.

Over 15,000 had perished in the Troubles by this time, with the IRA being responsible for over 900 deaths. Such statistics clearly still rankle with former guard Dessie Waterworth, who recalls the loss of life within his profession and the risks attendant on it and has no sympathy for those who opted to go on hunger strike. But his was a secondary tactic to reclaim Special Category Status after Kieran Nugent (on 14 September 1976) had instigated `the blanket protest' of wrapping himself in his blanket rather than wear a prison uniform. This was followed by `the dirty protest', when Republicans responded to the removal of basic amenities by smearing excrement on the walls of their cells.

Richard O'Rawe recalls the conditions, as Byrne uses animation to illustrate a passage from the evocative Sands text, `The Window of My Mind'. Yet, while such tactics made headlines, they had little impact at Westminster, especially as Margaret Thatcher had come to power on 4 May 1979 and both Norman Tebbitt and biographer Charles Moore concur that she was a mainstream Unionist who wanted to punish those endangering the realm, particularly after they assassinated her close ally, Airey Neave. So, as O'Toole, Coogan and Foster aver, Sands recognised that he would have to invoke the spirit of the 1916 Easter Uprising in order to win over Catholic and Republican hearts and minds.

Although life was hard in the cells, there were lighter moments and Colm Scullion and Bik McFarlane remember everyone sitting close to their doors to hear someone give the nightly recitation. Sands kept his friends agog for 10 nights with the story of Jet, who had refused the Vietnam draft and ridden across America on a Harley Davidson. But, while such escapism boosted morale, it also served a purpose in focusing minds and McFarlane (who would become the Officer Commanding the 1981 Hunger Strike) recalls the first hunger strike starting at the Maze Prison on 27 October 1980. Seven men refused food - IRA volunteers Brendan Hughes, Tommy McKearney, Raymond McCartney, Tom McFeeley, Sean McKenna, Leo Green, and Irish National Liberation Army member, John Nixon. But, even though (as historian Thomas Hennessey stresses) she had inherited the policy from Labour, Thatcher was in no mood to back down, as she felt she had to stand up to terrorist blackmail.

Her intransigence paid off, as the hunger strike was abandoned after 53 days on 18 December. Sands was furious that he had not been chosen for the task, as he knew he would see it through to the end and he blamed Hughes for being duped into believing a deal was in the offing. According to fellow hunger striker Laurence McKeown, Sands fought with the IRA leadership to mount a second campaign, but few were convinced of the risk, as a second failure would have a detrimental effect. But O'Toole claims that Sands had a Victorian sense of duty that combined with his sincerity and intensity to fuel a regret that he had not doing enough to help liberate his people. This was his chance to make amends.

Sands weighed 64kgs when he first refused food on 1 March 1981. Dr Herman Heyes declares that the body can withstand the effects of such starvation for around 28 days, but starts to decline thenceforth. One of the first debilitating symptoms is dizziness, but this passes before a susceptibility to the cold creeps in, along with a diminution of reason. But, while there were protests on the streets of Belfast, Jim Gibney from Sinn Féin's publicity unit was concerned that people were not as engaged as they had been during the first strike. Thus, when Frank Maguire, the Independent Republican MP for Fermanagh and South Tyrone died suddenly, Gibney suggested that Sands stood in the by-election against Ulster Unionist Harry West as an Anti H-Block candidate.

O'Toole recalls that opinion was divided over the wisdom of the plan, as many felt it was a cynical exploitation of Sands's suffering. But election agent Owen Carron knew from the moment he met Sands that he meant business and was prepared to pay the ultimate price to secure his demands. As there were so few photographs available, a snap of him smiling during a night drinking homebrew in the cells was chosen and academic Ronnie Close speculates that this cheerful everyman pose helped humanise Sands and made him the Che-like embodiment of the struggle, even though very few Republicans knew much about him as an individual.

The IRA hardly helped his cause, as it murdered census collector and mother of two Joanne Mathers shortly before polling day on 9 April and O'Toole criticises the command for not realising that Sands was creating a new truth for Republicanism by showing how starving to death had a warrior nobility that far outweighed the cowardly use of bombs and remote control devices. Mathers was buried on the morning that the result was announced that Sands (30,492) had beaten West (29,046) and was now a member of the British Parliament. His mother and sister told the press they hoped his victory would save his life, but Carron knew that Sands could not be persuaded off his chosen path.

The election seemed to waken Irish Americans, with Fr Sean McManus, the founder of the Irish National Caucus, complaining that Charles Haughey's government in Dublin was chillingly quiet on the issue of the hunger strikes. However, former Irish Ambassador to the United States Sean Donlon and Ted Kennedy aide Matthew Murray agree that it was difficult to shake romantic notions that Sands was David to Thatcher's Goliath, especially as President Ronald Reagan (as former speechwriter Aram Bakshian confirms) had no intention of interfering in British domestic affairs or in supporting a prisoner of conscience who belonged to a terrorist organisation.

After 45 days, Sands had lost a considerable amount of weight. Heyes reveals that a rapid eye affliction sets in around this mark that produces violent vomiting and Sands did notice that his sight had started to fade. It also became more difficult for him to appreciate the seriousness of his deterioration and he was given the Last Rites on Day 51. Support on the streets remained strong and Haughey sent Health Minister John O'Connell to see Sands and Sile De Valera was inconsolable when she saw how ill he was. According to O'Toole, Haughey remained quiet for fear of losing an upcoming election. But the mood was much less fervent in the Republic, even though the British refusal to compromise boosted IRA recruitment in the North.

With neither side willing to lose face, Sands slipped to 45.24kgs on 26 April, when a party of human rights commissioners were denied permission to visit him. As a large demonstration castigated Thatcher and Haughey, Democratic Unionist Peter Robinson accused Sands of putting on a performance. But O'Toole accepts that he had ceased to be a soldier and was now an artist who had seized the moral high ground and had fired imaginations by using his body as a symbol of Republican defiance.

On Day 62, McFarlane saw Sands in the prison hospital and was shocked to see a cage had been erected over his bed, as his body couldn't bear the weight of the blankets. They touched hands and Sands told him to tell the lads he was hanging in there. Carron came to say his goodbyes and Mrs Sands appealed for calm in the event of his death. A diary extract confirms that Sands was on a lonely road, but he was happy to follow it to help an ancient nation gain its freedom.

Sands died on 5 May 1981. Some people came on to the streets to pray, but others hurled petrol bombs at army patrols. The Soviet news agency, TASS, claimed Britain was operating concentration camps, while an American senator took the opportunity to condemn Britain to shameful isolation. Over footage of the huge crowds lining the funeral route and paying their respects at the cemetery, Foster states that Sands reshaped the mystique of Irish Republicanism. But O'Toole wisely notes that Sands was also mythologised, to the extent that his sacrifice is much better known than those of fellow strikers Francis Hughes (12 May), Raymond McCreesh, Patsy O'Hara (both 21 May), Joe McDonnell (8 July), Martin Hurson (13 July), Kevin Lynch (1 August), Kieran Doherty (2 August), Thomas McElwee (8 August) and Michael Devine (20 August).

Ultimately, the families stepped in and the hunger strike ended after 217 days and 10 deaths on 3 October 1981. The Conservatives made a big display of strength at the party conference shortly afterwards, but gave Republican prisoners Special Category Status in all but name three days later. As O'Toole opines, by winning his seat at Westminster, Sands demonstrated that the ballot was a viable alternative to the bullet and marked a sea change in the Republican approach. Sands caught the public imagination and effectively ended the armed struggle by dramatising his suffering and his legacy was the Northern Ireland Peace Process that culminated in the Good Friday Agreement on 10 April 1998.

The closing caption reveals that 3532 lives were lost between July 1969 and December 2001 and Byrne is right to accord them equal significance. But the contention that Bobby Sands is perhaps the most important victim of the Troubles is keenly argued in this intelligently compiled analysis of an emotive situation whose endgame clearly lies some way in the future. The contributions of those who shared the cells with Sands are invaluable, but the real insights come from the journalists and scholars, whose sense of perspective is a little less clouded by indelible memories.

Byrne makes astute use of his archive material, but the silent reconstructions of prison life are less succesful (even though he includes a time-lapse passage of the set being constructed), while the animated segments feel a touch self-conscious. By contrast, Edith Progue's score is more nuanced, while the extracts from Sands's humble and winningly articulate writings are beautifully read by Martin McCann to provide the few genuine glimpses of the largely forgotten man behind the immortal martyrdom and the thoughts that occupied his mind, as he allowed his ebbing life to become an emblem of commitment, attrition and hope.