Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 8/11/2018)

In Briar Grace-Smith's `Charm', middle-aged Maori caterer Charm (Tanea Heke) is trying to get the food ready for a traditional tangi funeral. As kids mill in and out of her kitchen, she finds tasks for them all and sends others to keep an eye on the arriving guests so that she can anticipate their culinary needs. She is trying to forgive a youth for dropping the pavlova on the floor when her adopted son, Matai (Derek Tahata), arrives with his white girlfriend, Willow (Becky McEwan), who proceeds to patronise the older woman by congratulating her in making such a good job of raising an abandoned boy. 

The gushing girl also drops the bombshell that she and Matai are living together to cut down their student living expenses. But, as Charm seeks refuge in the pantry to gather her thoughts, she finds Waru's mother cowering in a corner. As the child had perished because of neglect, the mother has been excluded from the service. However, the intensity and sincerity of her grief (as she pleads with Charm to bring her baby back) persuades the cook to let her attend. She wipes a tear from her eye and takes a deep breath, as Matai reminds her that she saved him from a similar fate and that she will always have his love and gratitude. Bustling back into the kitchen, Charm tells Willow to help with the steam puddings and she tells her to listen to ?? () rather than make it up as she goes along.

At the same time as this (all the stories start at 10am), Casey Kaa's `Anahera' takes us to the nearby Mokopuna Primary School, where Anahera (Roimata Fox) is teaching Waru's classmates. Having settled a dispute about whether it's okay to sit in the boy's chair, she slips into the staffroom to make a cup of tea. Her Kiwi colleague, Jarrod (Rob Kipa-Williams), asks if she is going to the funeral and she is reminded by their boss, Nola (Patricia Vichman), that she owes it to the family to be there, in the circumstances. Anahera gets upset, as she blames herself for Waru's neglect and Jarrod reassures her that she could have done nothing to save him. 

Ticking off various children for minor misdemeanours in the corridor, Anahera wanders outside and finds one of Waru's tops in the lost property box. She hurries into the bathroom to calm herself down, only for Jarrod to push in beside her and they have unprotected sex against the wall, even though Anahera is married. He tells her that she only has to say the word and he will be hers forever, but she sinks to the floor and sobs, as she tries to come to terms with her guilt at Waru's death and her adultery. Pulling herself together, she washes her face and tidies her hair before wandering back into the corridor, without noticing an unsupervised boy disappearing through the exit. 

Two of the children Anahera is fretting about belong to Mihi (Ngapaki Moetara) in Ainsely Gardiner's `Mihi'. She can't get her car to start and can only reach the school answering machine. So, she tells her twin daughters that the school has been attacked by a dragon and sends them into the garden with a piece of bread each and a tin of sweetcorn to share. Placed in a queue when she calls the welfare hotline, Mihi resents being snooped on by her nosy neighbour Tania (Josephine Stewart-Te Whiu) and she is about to tend to her crying baby boy when tweenage daughter Harmony (Paeumu Gardiner-Davis) arrives. 

She has been sent home because Mihi couldn't afford a museum trip and they are in the middle of a blazing row when Tania knocks at the front door with a bag of groceries and the petrol from her lawnmower. Mihi accepts the charity with reluctance, but Harmony grabs a box of muesli bars and rushes off to share them with her sisters.

The sound of drunken carousing opens Katie Wolfe's `Em', as Em (Awahina Rose Ashby) and her pals drive home from a heavy night. Despite singing along with the radio, Em is starting to feel the worse for wear and can barely stagger up the garden after she's dropped at her home. Realising that her partner is out and that their baby daughter is lying on some blankets in the kitchen, Em tries to find the spare key among the clutter that has gathered on the porch. 

She makes it inside and cuddles the infant, who is well wrapped up and reasonably content. But Em needs to sleep and she uses the sink to haul herself off the floor. Within a couple of steps, however, she falls over and is lucky that the child is unhurt. She continues to gurgle quietly, as Em lays her down beside the patio doors and goes outside to crash out on a pile of footwear on the other side of the glass. 

A car arrives at the funeral venue in Renae Maihi's `Ranui', as Waru's great-grandmother, Ranui (Kararaina Rangihau), comes to take his body back to his ancestral home. Wearing a crown of leaves and chanting an incantation, she enters the hall to find the boy's maternal great-grandmother, Hinga (Merehaka Maaka), performing the rites of her tribe. Ranui offers a bone for a bone in the hope that Hinga will recognise that paternal rights should prevail, but she resists because the child's father is in prison. 

After a heated exchange, however, Hinga backs down and accompanies the small casket to the car, as it is being carried by Ranui's hulking grandsons. As they prepare to leave, however, Waru's mother asks if she can come with them and Ranui welcomes her into the back of the vehicle, where they console each other as they start to cry.

The funeral makes the bulletin at the TV station where Kiritapu (Maria Walker) works as a news anchor in Chelsea Cohen's `Kiritapu'. She resents being compared to Pania of the Reef by her camp hair and make-up man, Pierre (Cohen Holloway), who asks Kiritapu why the `maaowrees' are so out of control. Refusing to be goaded, Kiritapu produces a fixed smile as Pierre and his assistant, Natalie (Chelsea Cohen), debate which skin tone blush to use on her cheeks. 

Meanwhile, anchorman Richard (Johnny Brugh) keeps asking field reporter Matewa (Peata Melbourne) questions about Waru and why Maori men keep killing their babies, only to butt in before she can she answer. As Kiritapu walks through the offices to the set, she receives a mixture of half-hearted greetings and sniping remarks about Maori machismo. During an ad break, Richard has continued browbeating Matewa and tuts that his time would be better used discussing something of relevance to New Zealanders, like Brexit. 

Back on air, he advises his viewers to stop bellyaching about being given lemons and serve them up with a gin and tonic. However, his smugness tips Kiritapu over the edge and she launches into a diatribe about crime being a national problem that affects everyone regardless of race. She also refers him as `Dick' before branding him an ignoramus who spouts opinions that are detached from reality. Smiling with quiet satisfaction, she hands back to her co-host and seems unconcerned by the ranting producer in her earpiece summoning them both to his office. 

A peaceful expression plays on the face of Mere (Acacia Hapi), as she lies beside her beloved nan's grave in Paula Jones's `Mere'. However, she jumps up when her younger brother Rua (Mahutonga Hotere) steals nan's walking stick and runs off with his Superman cape fluttering behind him. He bumps into Stan (Kimo Houltham), who lifts him off his feet and threatens to toss him on the rubbish tip. Mere retrieves the stick and walks her sibling to hall because he wants to say goodbye to Waru. 

As she tidies the footwear beside the door, Mere finds a pair of black stack heels and tries them on. They belong to her cousin, Abbey (Krysyal-Lee Brown), who has returned after seven years for the funeral and is sporting blonde hair and fashionable clothes. She warns Mere to keep away from Stan, who tells her to mind her own business and bear hugs Mere in informing her that he will pay her a visit later on. 

Taking courage from the fact that Stan gets a jolt from nan's stick, Mere marches after him and denounces him and all the village menfolk for protecting Waru's killers. However, neither Stan nor his pals speak the traditional dialect and they haven't got a clue what she has been saying. He squares up to Mere, but Rua rushes up and places himself between them, like a true superhero. 

The voice of the dead boy (Hatene Kereopa) speaks over the opening of Awanui Simich-Pene's `Titty and Bash', as he describes seeing the whole world as he passed to the other side. Calling to her kids to behave while she's out, Bash (Miriama McDowell) is joined in the front seat of her car by her sister, Titty (Amber Cureen). She turns on the radio and winds past a report on Waru's funeral to sing along to the `Diamonds' song that had Em had been listening to during her car journey home. Titty also alludes to Willow's vegetarianism and Mere's brother's love of superheroes, as she tries to find a way of broaching the subject of Bash's determination to rescue some kids from the home of some drunkenly abusive relatives. 

As Waru continues to whisper on the soundtrack, Titty admits to being scared and doesn't want to cause a family split. But Bash is bent on following Charm's example and taking responsibility for little ones who can't help themselves. They park outside the single-storey hut and have a bottle thrown at them by a sozzled male. Titty tries to urge caution, but Bash refuses to turn back.

Ending on a note of unsettling ambiguity that reinforces the battle that Maori women face to protect their offspring and defend themselves against their often violent menfolk, this is a bold declaration of defiance rather than an appeal for pity. Riskily leaving Waru's fate unresolved, the film confronts the audience with the poverty, alcoholism, domestic abuse and dead-end despair that are made all the more difficult to combat by the communal closing of the ranks to protect the perpetrators from Pakeha justice. 

Linked by the estimable contributions of cinematographer Drew Sturge (shooting in an almost colour-banished DCI Scope) and production designer Riria Lee, the episodes have a stark authenticity that is only fitfully compromised by laboured symbolism like Titty and Bash's names translating as `Thunder' and `Lightning' and Kiritapu's downright implausible fusillade on live television. Easily the most powerful segment is Renae Maihi's `Ranui', as the great-grandmothers demonstrate how women from rival tribes can solve problems without resorting to aggression. But this also proves the high watermark of the picture, as the closing three plotlines are markedly less challenging thematically or formally than the opening quartet. 

Tanea Heke and Roimata Fox particularly stand out in the first two stories, although Awahina Rose Ashby's lurchingly hungover rescue of her baby daughter is also well done. Credit should also go to Kerry Warkia and Kiel McNaughton for coming up with the format, which could easily be replicated to give the silenced a voice in other parts of the world.

CinemaItaliaUK returns this weekend with a screening of Daniele Luchetti's lastest feature, I Am Tempesta. Having assisted Nanni Moretti on Bianca (1983) and The Mass Is Ended (1985), Luchetti made his directorial debut for his mentor's Sacher Films and followed It's Happening Tomorrow (1988) by starring Moretti alongside Silvio Orlandi in The Yes Man (1991). This went on to win four Donatello Awards and Luchetti repeated the feat with My Brother Is an Only Child (2006). Moreover, his reunion with Elio Germano on Our Life (2010) resulted in him sharing the Best Actor prize with Javier Bardem, for his performance in Alejandro González Iñárritu's Biutiful.

Germano returns for this capitalist parable, which was scripted by Luchetti, Sandro Petraglia and Giulia Calenda in the wake of former prime minister and media tycoon Silvio Berlusconi being ordered to perform community service in an old people's home following his conviction for tax fraud. This time, however, he has to share the spotlight with Marco Giallini, who was so amusing as the medic who refuses to believe that priest Alessandro Gassman has messianic qualities in Edoardo Maria Falcone's God Willing (2015).

Tycoon Numa Tempesta (Marco Giallini) has friends in the highest places and so much money that he fills the empty hotel in which he lives with his collections of model sports cars and pinball machines. While on a flying visit to set up a big deal in Kazakhstan, however, he is informed by his lawyers that they have been unable to make a 2012 conviction for tax evasion disappear and that he has been sentenced to a year's community service. Such is his fury that Numa leaves his legal triumvirate in the middle of nowhere. But drop-in shelter boss Angela (Eleonora Danco) is less than impressed by Numa's high-handed attitude and she warns him that, unless he knuckles down, she will not only will she confirm the confiscation of his passport, but also recommend a lengthening of his punishment. 

Having lost his wife and business, Bruno (Elio Germano) spends lots of time at the centre with tweenage son, Nicola (Francesco Gheghi). He tries to be friendly to Numa when they meet in reception and allows him to borrow his phone when they bump into each other in the storeroom. But Bruno is outraged when Numa blows his credit on a call to Stockholm and Angela has to intervene when they start fighting. She advises Numa to make the best of his time with her to open his heart and reconnect with the real world. But he is far too self-obsessed to listen.

Heading home to his hotel (which he considers less stressful than owning a home), he Skypes with his Kazak contact, Dmitri (Jo Sung), who is worried about the fact that Numa is essentially imprisoned in Rome. But Numa is convinced he can magic away any inconvenient problems and he mumbles about his undiminished power while sharing a bed with prostitutes Klea (Klea Marku) and Mimosa (Sara Deghdak). However, his guests fail to show up for a gourmet dinner and Angela makes him throw the food away when he tries to serve it at the centre.

Bruno has learned about Numa's wealth and status from a magazine article pasted on a wall of the underpass where he and Nicola are sleeping rough. But, while he is prepared to cut him some slack, an engineer who has fallen on hard times (Luciano Curreli) is irritated by his condescension and suggests that he spends more time doing proscribed chores like cleaning the toilets than shouting instructions to staff members on the street outside the centre. Indeed, when the God-bothering Angela invites Numa to a group discussion, everyone criticises his attitude and he exacerbates the situation by informing them that he was born as poor as they are, but made an effort to work his way up. 

While Bruno and Nicola work out how to find €200 to rent a rusting caravan on an insalubrious bank of the Tiber, Numa gets a visit from hooker Radiosa (Simonetta Columbu), who chastises him for not getting enough sex. Instead, he persuades her to go for a drive in his chauffeured Maserati and she is surprised when he stops to chat to Il Greco (Marcello Fonte), who is gleaning in some bins on the pavement. She is even more taken aback when they drive to the night shelter and Numa rescues Bruno and Nicola from an altercation in the queue and invites them to spend the night in his hotel. 

Radiosa takes an instant liking to Bruno and asks him to friend her on social media. But he is more interested in taking a bath and sleeping in a king-sized bed, while Nicola enjoys playing with a virtual reality headset and one of Numa's model cars. The irony is, by helping a couple of strangers, Numa has his best night's sleep in years and sends Bruno and Nicola sets of matching cat pyjamas to thank them.

Nevertheless, Numa still complains that he has lost €30 million because Angela restricts his phone usage. So, Bruno suggests that he bribes 10 of the centre regulars who influence Angela's assessment of his performance. They are willing to go along with the deal, with the supposedly wheelchair-bound Boccuccia (Franco Boccuccia) leaping up to shake his hand because €100 is a small fortune. But they splurge the cash on scratch cards and Numa is disappointed with them. He says they are suckers because no one wins on scratchers and then promptly lands a €300 prize. 

In a bid to teach them how to make money rather than beg for it, Numa gives everyone another €100 note and challenges them to make a 10% profit by the next time they meet. Bruno is amused by his tactics and tells Nicola that they are cut from the same cloth. But, when they bump into Radiosa on a night out with Klea and Mimosa, they tell him that Numa had a tough childhood with an unloving father who abandoned him when he was still young. Thus, while he makes money hand over fist, he can't heal the pain in his heart. As the trio are psychology students, the watchful Nicola takes them at their word and he is concerned that Bruno is too set on a little easy cash and comfort to recognise the bigger opportunity staring them in the face. 

Back at the caravan, Nicola reads an article in which Numa shares his tips for getting rich quickly. The next day, Bruno tells the other nine in their tontine that they are going to take Boccuccia's €100 and divide it among themselves to that they can each show Numa their 10% profit. As he has promised to give them another €100 if they succeed, they can pay Boccuccia back and then work the scam again to earn their dividend, just like the corrupt capitalist banks do. He is mildly suspicious, but pays up and benefits by being lauded at Angela's next group session. Indeed, he claims to be establishing empathy with his new brethren and she declares that love is empathy plus interest. 

As a reward for putting him in Angela's good books, Numa invites the gang back to the hotel and they have a ball in the heated swimming pool. Radiosa and her pals also show up and Bruno has her psychoanalyse the engineer, who just needed someone to share his troubles with. While his guests enjoy themselves, Numa chats with Nicola who informs him that he has tracked down his estranged father and will reunite them if he gives Bruno a well-paid job in one of the 12 casinos he operates around Rome. Numa is impressed by his nous and lauds the group for swindling him, after Il Greco lets slip how they made their profit. Indeed, he now considers them colleagues rather than charity cases, as they have learned how to skim the poor. 

When Dimitri calls to tell Numa he has been dropped from the Kazak deal, he decides to seduce Angela in an effort to get his term reduced for good behaviour. As she has been trying to lobby the welfare minister prior to the passage of a new law, Numa bribes his old friend to add her suggestions to the bill. Moreover, he exploits her happiness to lure her into bed in her shabby apartment in a grim part of town and tiptoes away convinced he has played the game with his typical skill. 

When one of his crew dies unexpectedly and Numa discovers he is Kazak, he gets Bruno and Il Greco to appeal to Angela to let them accompany their old friend to his last resting place in his homeland and she agrees to let Numa escort them. He brings in beauticians to give them all a makeover and they look very chic, as they mourn on a remote hillside. They also look the part when he introduces them to Dimitri and his cronies as investors in their development scheme and Bruno gives an inspirational speech that convinces the Kazaks that they are going to make a small fortune.

Unfortunately, Il Greco and Boccuccia have stayed behind and they are watching the TV news when Angela comes in and realises Numa has been conning her. She tells all to the police and Numa is arrested and Angela has to hide away in a convent for her own protection. Bruno is dismayed, however, and comes to visit Numa in prison to thank him for giving him a chance to live the dream. As they are leaving, Nicola tells Numa that his father is in the same jail and recommends paying him a call. So, while he invites his old man (Carlo Bigini) to a sardine supper in his cell, Bruno celebrates Nicola passing his exams at school with the rest of the group, who all work at the casino that Numa had signed into Bruno's name. 

As Bruno and Radiosa kiss, however, somebody celebrates winning the jackpot and one is left with the nagging suspicion that Bruno might lose his windfall as quickly as he got it. But the majority of viewers will settle for the table-turning finale that has all the hallmarks of the feel-good fables produced by Italy's greatest peddler of underdog dreams, Frank Capra. Luchetti and his co-scenarists are considerably more cynical, however, as they suggest that Bruno and his pals have had a change of fortune rather than a change of heart. Similarly, Numa is already greasing the wheels inside and stands a much better chance of enjoying the rest of his life than Angela, who is seen criticising her fellow sisters during choir practice for lacking her fount of empathy.

Once again, Marco Giallini has to learn the hard way and no one does scowling good grace with more insincere conviction. But he finds himself having to carry the plot over a number of potholes, the most treacherous of which sees him bedding the incorruptible Eleonora Danco. Clearly, the writers hadn't watched enough Capra, as Jean Arthur would never have allowed herself to be duped like that. Then again, Numa Tempesta is hardly a Longfellow Deeds or a Jefferson Smith. The convenient death of a refugee whose origins are never mentioned until he departs also smacks of contrivance, as does Angela's chancing upon the TV news report.

But Giallini is well supported by a solid ensemble, with Elio Germano and Francesco Gheghi evoking memories of Lamberto Maggiorani and Enzo Staiola in Vittorio De Sica's Bicycle Thieves (1948). The neo-realism is purely cosmetic here, though, as cinematographer Luca Bigazzi and production designer Paola Comencini find more to intrigue them in Numa's pleasure dome. There's a neat parody of Danny Lloyd's tricycle ride in Stanley Kubrick's The Shining (1980), while the slo-mo walk as the down-and-outs regain their swagger recalls both Philip Kaufman's The Right Stuff (1983) and Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs (1992). Such grace notes give proceedings a sheen. But this is a pretty superficial satire that entertains without addressing Italy's pressing social, economic and political problems with any great insight or depth.

The 13th London Korean Film Festival kicked off its focus on everyday realism with a screening of Hang Sang-soo's second feature, The Power of Kangwon Province (1998), and the event also affords admirers of this ever-compelling auteur an opportunity to catch up with his latest offering, Hotel By the River. Following The Day After (2017) and Grass (2018), this is Hong's third consecutive monochrome collaboration with cinematographer Kim Hyung-koo and the bleached visuals have a bleak elegance that makes this drolly melancholic rumination on missed connections feel like a harder drinking variation on Alain Resnais's Last Year At Marienbad (1961).

Poet Ko Younghwan (Ki Joo-bong) has checking into a largely empty hotel on the wintry banks of the Han River because he has a premonition that he is about to die and feels he should make his farewells to estranged sons Kyung-soo (Kwon Hae-hyo) and Byung-soo (Yu Jun-sang). They call to say they are bringing coffee, but Younghwan doesn't want them to come up to his room and suggests they meet in the café. By contrast, Sanghee (Kim Min-hee) is happy for friend Yeon-ju (Song Seon-mi) to come to her room, as she is feeling lonely after checking in to get over the painful break-up of her relationship and recuperate from the bad burn on her left hand. 

As she parks, Yeon-ju recognises the car belonging to the brothers, but says nothing as she joins Sanghee. She tells her to forget her unworthy boyfriend and they console each other for being so unlucky in love. When it snows, they go for a walk and Sanghee recalls a teacher chiding the class for behaving like puppies when it had snowed when she was a girl. The chitchat between the women contrasts starkly with the fraternal banter, as Kyung-soo tries to prove himself more intelligent than film director Byung-soo and mocks his pretension when he suggests that he has high hopes for his next project. He reminds his younger sibling of his childhood nickname of `Buffoon' before sniping at him for being taller and thinking that this makes him somehow superior. 

Despite promising to meet his sons, Younghwan dozes off in the wrong part of the café. As he wakes, he sees Sanghee and Yeon-ju wandering in the snow and he comes out to greet them. He tells them how beautiful they look and, when they comment on his lyrical language, he tells them that he is a poet. They recognise his name and are pleased to meet him and he hopes that they can see each other again during their stay.

Spotting Kyung-soo and Byung-soo through the window, Younghwan comes to join them. Fussing over a vine that needs watering in the café, Younghwan tells them about the nagging feeling that he is about to die, even though he is in excellent health, and they are somewhat nonplussed. Having always been fond of Kyung-soo's wife, he asks after her and Byung-soo shoots his brother a quizzical look when he claims she is doing well, even though they have now been divorced for some time. When they go outside for a smoke, Kyung-soo tells his sibling to keep quiet about the separation, as it will only disappoint Younghwan. He also taunts him for claiming that their father seems frail and reminds him that he was only a small boy when Younghwan walked out on their still bitter mother and can't possibly know enough about him to reach any sort of valid conclusion. 

Unable to find Younghwan, Byung-so goes looking for him and is recognised by receptionist, Yoo-jung (Park Ran). She asks for his autograph, just as she had earlier inquired whether his father would sign her copy of his latest book. A black cat follows Byung-so down a path and the camera zooms in to get a better look. As he calls for his father, he wakes Sanghee and Yeon-ju, who have been having a nap. 

They enjoy being snuggled up on the single bed, but are curious to know who is shouting. When they look out of one window, they see a magpie building a nest in a tree and Sanghee is impressed that it can work so precisely in the cold. From the other side of the room, Yeon-ju recognises Byung-so and Sanghee is intrigued that he is a film-maker. However, Yeon-ju informs her friend that he is a pseudo-auteur who makes the kind of ambivalent films she avoids. Shrugging, Sanghee takes another sip of her wine and suggests they have another lie down. 

Meanwhile, Younghwan has awoken from his own slumbers and bought his boys a couple of stuffed toys as parting gifts, as he has realised that their reunion has not been a success and that he would rather be alone. When he rejoins the brothers, however, they get along famously, as they pose for a photo with their cuddlies and write their names in Chinese script as a keepsake. Younghwan compliments them both on their penmanship and tells Byung-soo that his name has a dual meaning. Firstly, it implies that he will remain close to Kyung-soo, while it also highlights that he has a celestial and a temporal side to his nature and that he will only be happy if they find equilibrium. 

Waking from another catnap, Sanghee confesses to wondering what her ex is doing and hopes he is happy. But Yeon-ju reminds her that he is a married man who cut her dead when it suited him and doesn't deserve her pity. However, Sanghee insists that he is a nice man who fretted too much and forgot to remember that their trysts were supposed to be fun. Keen to change the subject, Yeon-ju admits to stealing a pair of gloves from the car parked in front of the hotel, as she is convinced that she once owned it and had a crash in. Sanghee is shocked by her friend's action and asks if she is a kleptomaniac. Laughing, Yeon-ju goes to the window to point out the car, but it has already gone. 

In fact, it's outside a nearby restaurant and Sanghee and Yeon-ju decide to go inside, as darkness falls and the cold starts to bite. Younghwan and his sons are already eating and the poet is explaining that the hotel manager has asked him to leave. Initially, he had invited Younghwan to stay for free, as he was such an admirer of his work and he wonders what he could have done to have offended him. As he muses, it becomes clear that he has turned down several invitations to drinks and to visit local landmarks and Kyung-so and Byung-so suggest that he might have made more of an effort to show his gratitude for the owner's hospitality. 

At the next table, Yeon-ju wants to ask Byung-so for his autograph. But Sanghee thinks it's embarrassing to make a fuss of celebrities and urges her to leave them in peace. However, they begin making plenty of noise of their own, as Younghwan asks Byung-so about girlfriends and his brother avers that he has been intimidated by their mother into being timid around women. When his father admonishes him, they remind him that he walked out on their mother and Younghwan explains that they were too young when they got married and that he couldn't bring himself to stay with her solely out of guilt. 

Eavesdropping, Yeon-ju declares that men don't understand love and are too immature to address their feelings. She makes an exception of her own husband, but considers all men cowards when it comes to commitment. However, Sanghee believes that she was equally to blame for the breakdown of her relationship with her married lover, as she's not that great at understanding men. When Younghwan sidles over to their table and reads them a poem, however, she keeps pouring him soju because she can see he is upset. He has texted the boys to send them back to the hotel and they have driven off, even though Kyung-so is too tipsy to drive. As he composes himself, Younghwan says he would be happy to die with Sanghee and Yeon-ju, as they are like angels.

Waking in the café, the siblings go up to Younghwan's room to say goodbye. They find him slumped in the bathroom and sob over their dead father's body. Simultaneously, Sanghee and Yeon-ju begin to cry in their sleep, as they face each other on a single pillow. 

As with a number of pivotal events in this story, Younghwan's death takes place off screen and Hong records the reaction rather than the reality. As in many of his previous 21 features, key scenes take place over copious glasses of soju and drunkenness loosens tongues to allow the odd home truth to slip out. Moreover, Hong can't resist self-deprecating references to his own status as an artist and the kind of arthouse films he produces. All of which guarantees that this will be a treat for aficionados and something of a puzzle for the uninitiated. 

Few have a keener insight into human foible. Yet Song never judges the awkward specimens of humanity he places before our gaze, as we share their inarticulacy and mundanity. That's why we can empathise with the characters, while being amused by them and the petty situations that seem to flummox them. Muse Kim Min-hee is less in the spotlight here than in previous collaborations with her off-screen partner. But her cosy exchanges with Song Seon-mi have a disarming sweetness that contrasts with the bickering between Kwon Hae-hyo and Yu Jun-sang and the detached regret that colours Ki Joo-bong's stumbling efforts to patch things up with his sons before he has his Bergmanian moment of clarity and redemption. 

With the transition sequences playing to a poignantly melodic score by Dalpalan, the action is largely composed of sedentary conversations that are mostly filmed by Kim Hyung-hoo with an attentive, but discreet camera. Son Yeon-ji's measured editing reinforces the pace imposed by the often hesitant encounters, as Hong demonstrates once again that there are few things more difficult that communicating cogently and meaningfully with another human being. Hence, the frequency of repeated remarks among the pauses and distracted gazes, as even the profoundest utterance is left to hang in the air rather than impact upon the hearer. Ambivalent, perhaps. But curiously compelling, all the same.

There's a treat for slapstick fans this week, as the BFI has bundled four silent shorts together into a programme entitled, The Marvellous Mabel Normand. Once the biggest female comedy star in Hollywood, Mabel Normand was the Queen of Keystone and her relationship with Canadian producer Mack Sennett was so chequered that it formed the basis of the 1974 Michael Stewart and Jerry Herman musical, Mack and Mabel.

Born in New Brighton on Staten Island on 10 November 1892, Normand started out modelling for postcards illustrated by style-setter Charles Dana Gibson before Sennett spotted her in Biograph colleague DW Griffith's Her Awakening (1911). When he opened his own studio in 1912, he hired invited Normand to join Keystone's troupe of Bathing Beauties. However, she quickly revealed a gift for knockabout and she went on to make 17 comic shorts with Roscoe `Fatty' Arbuckle and 12 more with Charlie Chaplin. 

Indeed, it was in one of Mabel and Fatty's outings, A Noise From the Deep (1913) that she threw cinema's first custard pie, while Chaplin made his first appearance as The Tramp opposite Normand in Mabel's Strange Predicament (1914). Completing her catalogue of famous firsts, Normand also became the first movie heroine to be tied to the railway tracks in Sennett's serial spoof, Barney Oldfield's Race for Life (1913), and teamed with Chaplin and Marie Dressler in the first feature-length comedy, Tillie's Punctured Romance (1914).

She's first seen here in Mabel's Dramatic Career (1913), in which romance seems on the cards with Sennett's hayseed before his disapproving mother, Alice Davenport intervenes. She has brought city girl Virginia Kirtley to the farm to meet her son and shows Mabel the door. To add insult to injury, Sennett takes back the engagement ring he had just given Mabel and she is forced to look for a job in moving pictures. 

Having instantly fallen out with Kirtley, Sennett comes to rue his haste, especially when he sees Mabel on a poster advertising her new film, At Twelve O'Clock. Venturing into the nickelodeon, Sennett has to be restrained by fellow patron Roscoe Arbuckle because he is such a rube that he doesn't understand that the action is fictional and that Mabel isn't really being imperilled by the villainous Ford Sterling. When the Keystone Kops fail to save her, however, Sennett clears the auditorium when he begins shooting at the screen. Moreover, he tracks Sterling down to his home and he is about to plug him when he realises that he and Mabel have three children together and his fury is cooled by two buckets of water being emptied from an upstairs window. 

Full of self-reflexive references to Sennett's own studio, this is primarily notable for the ambitious presentation of action on two planes within the frame. While watching Mabel's travails on screen, the audience also has to keep tabs on Sennett's dyspeptic reaction and Arbuckle's attempts to calm him down. This was hardly new in 1913, but it didn't happen often in quickie comedies and confirms that there was much more to Sennett's cinema than pratfalls and pies. 

By the time Normand made Mabel's Blunder (1914), Sennett trusted her sufficiently to let her share the directorial duties. Completed in five days, this one-reel comedy of errors sees Mabel playing a stenographer at the company run by father Charles Bennett and son Harry McCoy. The latter is eager to propose, but Bennett also flirts shamelessly with Normand, who puts up with his advances because she needs the job. 

When Bennett goes to lunch, however, Normand is dismayed to discover McCoy cosying up to pretty stranger, Eva Nelson. She persuades visiting cabby brother Al St John to switch clothes so that she can drive McCoy and Nelson to a party being thrown at chic eaterie La Ramada by his pal Charles Parrott (who would later find fame as Charley Chase). However, as St John has covered his face with a veil, Bennett mistakes him for Normand and sweeps him off to the restaurant, where Normand has worked herself into a right tizzy before the truth emerges that Nelson is McCoy's kid sister. 

Keeping intertitles to a minimum and switching between studio sets and authentic Glendale locations, Normand and Sennett keep the action moving to ensure nobody dwells too long on its improbabilities. The episode in which Wallace MacDonald pops in to touch McCoy for a loan seems a little extraneous, but silent aficionados will appreciate the wonderful keyhole-shaped mask used for the shot in which Mabel snoops on her beau in his father's office. 

Confusion also reigns in Charlie Chaplin's His Trysting Places (1914), which is one of the longest films that he made during his at Keystone. For once placing The Tramp (who is here called Clarence) in a domestic situation, this two-reeler reminds audiences that the character often displayed an edgy side in his earliest incarnations. Indeed, he could often be callous and abrasive, as his infant son and the hulking Mack Swain soon discover in this two-part farce. But Chaplin might not have been around to refine his iconic hobo had Normand not intervened to persuade Sennett into giving him a second chance after he had failed to impress in Making a Living (1914). Indeed, she taught him to how work with the camera and slow down the pace of his often frenetic comedy.

Stuck in a cramped kitchen trying to read a magazine while wife Mabel tries to cook and take care of Baby Peter, Chaplin keeps burning himself on the stove. Despairing of her feckless husband, Mabel dispatches him to the sitting room and ticks him off for carrying their son by the scruff of his neck as though he were a Gladstone Bag. When she finds Chaplin sitting in the crib and the baby playing with items in the fireplace, she sends him packing, although she does give him a peck on the lips when he promises to buy the child a present. 

Nearby, Mack Swain bids farewell to wife Phyllis Allen before setting off on his morning constitutional. He agrees to post a letter for neighbour Peggy Page, who has written to her sweetheart to arrange a tryst in the park. However, the missive remains in his overcoat pocket, as Swain takes a detour into a corner diner. Hanging his belongings on a hatstand, Swain props up the counter, where he is soon joined by Chaplin, who has bought Peter a new feeding bottle. This is in the pocket of his own coat, which he hangs on the same stand. However, Swain takes Chaplin's coat after they get into an argument over some slurped soup and a ham bone and they each march off in a state of high dudgeon. 

While Swain meets Allen on a park bench and pours out his woes, Chaplin gets home to find Mabel pressing a pair of trousers. He manages to sit on the iron before she discovers the billet doux in his pocket and breaks the ironing board over his head. As he flees, Mabel scoops up Peter and follows him to the park. She entrusts the boy to a passing policeman and struts on to find Chaplin telling Allen that his wife has gone crazy. Mistaking Allen for Page, Mabel accuses her of being a jezebel and she pushes her erring spouse into a convenient dustbin. 

Spotting the commotion from the snack bar, Swain quickly becomes embroiled and finds himself holding the baby after the cop comes over to investigate. Naturally, having found the bottle in what she takes to be Swain's coat, Allen draws the conclusion he has a secret love child and sets about him with cockquean ferocity. Initially perplexed, Swain realises what must have happened and returns Chaplin's coat and child with a manly handshake. Before heading home, however, Chaplin hands the letter to Allen, who lays into her bemused spouse with renewed vigour. 

The pace and pugnacity of the knockabout during the park sequence is a joy to behold, with Normand and Allen setting about their menfolk with relish. Allen's expressions as Chaplin tells her his sob story and blows his nose on her handkerchief are also priceless. But, in truth, Normand plays third fiddle here and it might have been more interesting to have included something like Mabel's Married Life (1914), on which she was credited as Chaplin's co-writer. This would also have spared us the dubious encounter between Chaplin and a nosy black youth outside the shop where he bought the bottle. 

Much had happened to Normand by the time she made the last offering in this quartet, Leo McCarey's Should Men Walk Home? (1927). She had parted and reconciled with Sennett, who had helped her set up her own studio in 1916. But, while she had impressed the critics with its first and only production, F. Richard Jones and James Young's Mickey (1918), her decision to sign a contract with independent producer Samuel Goldwyn backfired and her Sennett comeback, Molly O' (1921), was lost in the furore when Roscoe Arbuckle was accused of killing starlet Virginia Rappe. 

Further scandal followed when Normand became a key witness when Irish director William Desmond Taylor was murdered in his bungalow on 1 February 1922. Two years later, chauffeur Joe Kelly used her gun to shoot oil baron Courtland S. Dines. Moreover, she had started to struggle with tuberculosis and would die at the age of 37 in 1930. Rumours circulating around Hollywood at the time, however, suggested she had alcohol and cocaine problems. Such gossip has never been substantiated, but it contributes to making Normand's penultimate picture such a bittersweet experience. 

Produced by Hal Roach and boosted in the press by Normand's friend, Mary Pickford, the action dispensed with the mawkish humour that had characterised Richard Wallace's Raggedy Rose (1926), which had been co-scripted by Stan Laurel. Instead, Mabel plays a `girl bandit', who hooks up with gentleman thief Creighton Hale after prevents her from stealing his wallet at gunpoint after she hitches a ride. Gatecrashing a swanky party, they set their sights on an expensive brooch that the host plans to give to his wife. But he has hired detective Eugene Pallette to keep an eye on the guests and Mabel and Hale struggle to give him the slip.

Mabel distracts Pallette while Hale cracks the safe, but he spots the open door and tries to nab Mabel while she has her hand stuck in the vase in which her partner in crime had hidden the jewellery. Doggedly pursuing the pair downstairs, Pallette lingers by the fountain in which Hale is submerged after dropping the brooch in the water. But he fails to catch the cracksman red handed because Hale has slipped the priceless item into a punch bowl and Mabel devotes herself to preventing an increasingly frustrated Oliver Hardy from taking a drink in case he's been served a special ingredient. 

No sooner has she retrieved the brooch from the host's glass, Mabel is chased upstairs by Pallette and she's forced to pop it down the front of her dress. A watching maid prevents him from frisking her, but the clip falls to the floor, where it is found by a toddler wearing nothing but a nappy and a smile. She picks it up and tootles down the staircase to present it to her father in time for him to give it to his wife. Shrugging in resignation, Mabel and Hale get their coats. They vow to go straight (starting tomorrow), but Pallette catches Hale with his pockets full of cutlery and Mabel rolls her eyes in despair. 

Greatly aided by the fleet playing of the Meg Morley Trio on the newly commissioned soundtrack, this is a spirited caper that allows Normand to show off both her gift for physical comedy, but also her talent for mumming. Her expressions as she watches the punch being ladled out are matched only by Hale's failing efforts not to corpse while posing as a water-spouting cherub under Pallette's challenging gaze. But credit should also be given to McCarey - who would go on to win the Oscar for directing the screwball classic, The Awful Truth (1937), and the religious saga, Going My Way (1944) - for timing the gags to perfection and it's no accident that several would be recycled by, among others, Laurel and Hardy and the Marx Brothers.

As for Normand, she racked up 167 shorts and 23 features during a career that saw her achieve greater autonomy than any female comedy performer before Lucille Ball. Events off screen conspired against her, however, and it's a shame that her name has slowly slipped into obscurity. This presentation should help restore its lustre and there are copious opportunities to enjoy more of her peerless merry-making on disc and online.

Arriving in the slipstream of David Blair's Hurricane, Denis Delic's 303 Squadron is the second film this autumn to commemorate the achievements of the Polish pilots who flew with the RAF during the Second World War. Adapted from a bestselling book by Arkady Fiedler (who had witnessed the unit in action at RAF Northolt ), this is a well-intentioned tribute that sticks to historical fact with a little more rigour than its competitor. But there is something distastefully cynical about the decision to release it in cinemas on the weekend marking the centenary of the Armistice that ended the Great War on 11 November 1918.

In the summer of 1940, as Winston Churchill broadcasts to the nation on the eve of the Battle of Britain and Herman Goering (Jacek Samojlowicz) tours airfields in the Pas-de-Calais, a group of Polish pilots based at RAF Northolt becomes frustrated because they are being restricted to training flights while homegrown rookies are being sent to confront the Luftwaffe with only 10 hours of flying time under their belts. Jan 'Donald' Zumbach (Maciej Zakoscielny) masks his annoyance by flirting with the nurses during one of the many medical check-ups. But when RAF johnnies Ronald Kellet (Nik Goldman) and John Kent (Marcin Kwasny) tool up in a flashy car and challenge Zumbach to fly a Hurricane, he not only outfoxes a Messerschmitt over the coast, but he also buzzes the toffs before landing and pretending to doze off nonchalantly in his deckchair. 

Reprimanded for insubordination by Stanley Vincent (John Kay Steel), Zumbach thinks back to when he was training at Deblin and joining pals Witold 'Tolo' Lokuciewski (Antoni Królikowski) and Jan Daszewski (Aleksander Wrobel) in flirting with pretty engineer Jagoda Kochan (Anna Prus). However, the Germans had invaded Poland on 1 September 1939 and the Soviet Union had launched its own attack on the country 16 days later. Zumbach was forced to leave Jagoda behind in order to fly a shiny blue bi-plane to neutral Romania and, while he was making his way to Blighty, his beloved was being arrested by the Nazis. 

Following a training flight on 30 August, when the Poles again face down enemy planes, the RAF top brass accept the recommendation of intelligence wonk Thomas Jones (Andrew Woodall) to use Polish pilots as cannon fodder while British chaps are trained up in the hope they can buy time before the Americans enter the war. Witold Urbanowicz (Piotr Adamczyk) is summoned to Whitehall to be informed that 303 Squadron is now operational and he assures his superiors that his men are the best pilots anywhere in the world. 

Urbanowicz gives his charges a rousing speech on the night before their first patrol and they acquit themselves admirably in combat. One German ace returns to base cursing that the Poles are back in the air, while the pompous Vincent informs Jones that it's his belief the Poles are trying to take the credit for kills made by Kent and Kellett. However, when he flies with them and they save his life, he recognises their talent and urges Jones to publicise their heroics in the media. 

To that end, he dispatches actress in uniform Victoria Brown (Cara Theobold) to Northolt to get to know the Poles and she dances with Zumbach in the mess. Indeed, they end the evening crashed out on her bed and he flashes back to Baden in 1938, when he had been dancing to the same tune with Jagoda at a function with her engineer father (Robert Czebotar) and Urbanowicz. He bumps into Wilhelm von Rüttenberg (Steffen Mennekes), a German flying ace he had befriended while competing in air speed races. However, he is accompanied by aide Johann Behr (Piotr Witkowski), who is a priggish Party zealot who jumps to his feet to sing `The Horst Wessel Song' when some Hitlerjunge barge into the function room. 

A cut-back to the present shows Victoria being put out when Zumbach comes to see Jones to ask if he can find out what happened to Jagoda. They speak in French because the English that was good enough to seduce Victoria is lacking when it comes to addressing an officer about something important. Nevertheless, they dance together at a shindig at the Orchard pub, which sees snooty officer Athol Forbes (Kirk Barker) beg Zumbach's forgiveness for treating him like a cad. This camaraderie is contrasted with a sniping exchange between Von Rüttenberg and Behr about Adolf Hitler and his cronies taking all the headlines and the credit for the deeds performed by their faceless forces. As this showdown takes place in a Paris casino, it is interrupted by the arrival of some Can-Can dancers who make Behr smiles when they reveal their bare bottoms. 

Having tumbled into bed with Victoria, Zumbach has to cycle back to the airfield to join his patrol. But Urbanowicz directs his ire at During Josef Frantisek (Maciej Cymorek) for repeatedly flying with his radio off and acting on his own initiative. However, it's Arsen Cerbrzynski and Stefan Wójtowicz (Antoni Salaj) who become the 303's first casualties and, following a rendition of the national anthem, their brothers in arms dance without music with their dinner companions in their memory.  

On 15 September, the Poles fly to avenge their friends. But Zumbach's determination to do his duty prompts him to reject Victoria's efforts to get him transferred to a training post and she breaks up with him. As he turns away, Jones arrives with letters from Jagoda, who is bearing up and waiting for the clouds to clear. Meanwhile, in Calais, Von Rüttenberg hopes that the badly wounded Behr has learned his lesson when he receives a gramophone record from Goering denouncing the Luftwaffe for losing the Battle of Britain because they lacked the spirit of the Allied pilots. 

By contrast, an awed (and unstuttering) King George VI (Jamie Hinde) visits Northolt on 26 September and praises the 303 to the skies, as he discovers the melting pot origins of the pilots and jokes that he is beginning to feel a little Polish himself. He even holds on to a pet dog when the squadron scrambles and he coos at their prowess as they join their RAF buddies in shouting `tally ho!' before engaging the enemy. A cut hurtles us forward five years to coloured archive footage of VE Day before a closing caption informs us that, during the Battle of Britain, the 303 claimed 126 German planes while only losing eight pilots. 

In a nice touch, the leads are credited alongside snapshots of their characters. However, Ludwig Paszkiewicz (Jan Wieczorkowski), Miroslaw 'Ox' Feric (Krzysztof Kwiatkowski), Stanislaw Karubin (Nikodem Rozbicki), Zdzislaw Henneberg (Waclaw Warchol) and Kazimierz Wunsche (Hubert Milikowski) have been such ciphers that it rather feels like tokenism to accord them this honour. Indeed, the wafer thin characterisation does much to undermine this sincere commendation of the 303 Squadron and its sacrifices, as only Zumbach has anything like a backstory and this marks him out as something of a bounder, as he cheats on the sweetheart he left to face the music back home. But the cardboard cutout Nazis and the stiff-upper RAF types are even more skeletally stereotypical and the only ring of Blighty authenticity comes from Marian Zawalinski's production design and Malgorzata Skorupa's costumes.

The scattershot scripting by Krzysztof Burdza, Tomasz Kepski and Zdzislaw Samojlowicz is also a major weakness, with the flashbacks to pre-war Poland being particularly clumsy. The shot of Zumbach and Jagda snogging in a plane parked beside a sun-dappled lake is risibly twee. Yet it almost feels grittily socially realistic compared to the Baden sequence (which has been stolen from Leslie Howard's The First of the Few, 1942), in which heiling Nazis pop up out of the woodwork to turn a joyous occasion into an arch demonstration of their humourless fanaticism.

Despite the best efforts of effects creator Artur Borowiec and sound designer Bartosz Putkiewicz, the computer-generated combat sequences also creak loudly, as they owe more to Tony Scott's Top Gun (1986) than Jan Sverak's homage to the Czechoslovakian pilots who flew with the RAF, Dark Blue World (2001). The jittery editing means that everything happens so quickly that there is never any ebb or flow to the dogfights and it's only the reassuring boom of Lukasz Pieprzyk's chest-thumping score that reassures the audience that `our boys' are winning. Naturally, all sorts of liberties are taken with the facts in the name of dramatic licence and such tweaking can be forgiven. But it's a shame that such an earnest and honourable project should so riddled with faults and lose its bearings after Zumbach becomes distracted by an entirely fictitious popsy from the ministry.

Much has been written about the managerial genius of Josep `Pep' Guardiola Sala. But, as Duncan McMath's documentary, Take the Ball, Pass the Ball, comes to cinemas, let us not forget that none of the three clubs the revered Catalan has managed is exactly short of a bob or two and that organising the gifted and highly paid superstars of Barcelona, Bayern Munich and Manchester City represents a very different challenge to finding a winning formula at somewhere like Fort William, who sit bottom of the Highland League on -8 points (after being deducted nine points and fined £150 for fielding an ineligible player), with a goal difference of -105 after having drawn one and lost the rest of their opening 16 fixtures this season. 

In fact, Guardiola is the spectre at the feast in this cine-variation on Graham Hunter's 2012 book, Barça: The Making of the Greatest Team in the World, as he only appears in a credit crawl coda. It all begins rather hectically with a flashily cut focus on the 2010-11 Champions League final against Manchester United at Wembley. Michael Carrick admits that he was awestruck by their performance that night. But, before McMath can offer any evidence to back up this contention, we are swept back to the night that José Mourinho's Internazionale knocked Barcelona out in the semi-finals and prevented them from competing in the 2009-10 final at the Bernabeu, the home of their mortal rivals, Real Madrid. 

Graham Hunter and fellow journalist Sid Lowe identify this match as Mourinho's audition to become the manager at Madrid and he quickly set about needling Guardiola in order to emerge as the king of the mind games. Following a contentious Copa del Rey semi-final, Mourinho accused Guardiola of being the only manager in history who attacks the officials for being right (after they correctly disallowed a Barcelona goal). But his triumph proved short-lived, as Barça bounced back in the Champions League seimi to win 0-2 in Madrid, with the help of a wonder `slalom' goal by Lionel Messi. 

A 1-1 home draw took them to Wembley. But, once again, McMath opts against providing any analysis of the Barcelona performance to hive off at another tangent to highlight the remarkable recovery from cancer of French defender Éric Abidal and why his teammates were so keen for him to life the trophy after a 3-1 win that Sir Alex Ferguson accepted as a rare humiliation. Fellow full-back Dani Alves gets particularly emotional in this segment, as he had offered to donate a portion of his liver to help Abidal's recovery. But the episode confirms the togetherness that made this such a special group of footballers and such an effective playing unit. 

Despite his elevation to godlike status, Guardiola did not devise the Barcelona way. It was fashioned by Johan Cruyff, who had been a key figure in the rise of `Total Football' under Rinus Michels with Ajax and Holland in the late 1960s and early 1970s. He had joined Barcelona in 1973 and helped them win their first La Liga title in 14 years. But, while he helped restore pride as a player, he rebuilt the club when he took over as manager for the 1988-89 season and introduced a method of playing out from the back and pressing to regain possession that was instilled into teams at every level. A vital role was played at the club's academy, La Masia, by director Albert Benaiges and coach Laureano Ruiz, who devised the training drill known as `La Ronda'.

As Andrés Iniesta and Xavi Hernández explain, every homegrown player grew up in this tradition and this made it slightly easier for them to make the transition into the first team. But imports like Thierry Henry and Dmytro Chygrynskiy found it harder to park their egos and shake old habits. The latter recalls being substituted at half-time for playing two long balls to Zlatan Ibrahimovic because Guardiola insisted on his way or the highway. Goalkeeper Víctor Valdes admits that he found it tough to get used to passing to withdrawn centre backs Carles Puyol and Gerard Piqué rather than clearing his lines and we see him commit a howler in El Clásico. But, three minutes after his mistake, he had the confidence to play another pass under pressure and, this time, he hit his man.

Even the greatest have their off days. But Lionel Messi's have tended to come in the blue and white stripes of Argentina rather than the blue and garnet of Barcelona. We are shown grainy home movie footage of a tiny kid from Rosario tormenting defences with his balance and the speed of his thought and feet. Coach Charly Rexach recalls convincing the board that it had to jettison in-house rules about the accepted height of players in order to snap up the teenage Messi and how he had made his commitment to his parents by providing them with a written promise to sign their son on a napkin.

Such was his seismic impact on the squad that Juventus boss Fabio Capello had asked Barcelona coach Frank Rijkaard if he could take Messi on loan after he had dazzled in a pre-season Gamper Trophy match. But he quickly became a fixture in the team, with his modesty and work ethic making him popular with players and fans alike. A debate ensues about his finest goal, Eidur Gudjohnsen favouring a majestic long dribble against Getafe, while compatriot Javier Mascherano plumps for a dink over Arsenal keeper Manuel Almunia. 

But, while Messi was the jewel in the Barça crown, he was one of many exceptional talents who were placed at the disposal of Pep Guardiola when he was promoted from B team coach on 5 June 2008. As an elegant midfielder, Guardiola had won La Liga and the European Cup as a 20 year-old under Cruyff in 1991-92 and become a key component of the so-called `Dream Team'. Nothing is said about his continued success under Bobby Robson, who had used a young coach named José Mourinho as an interpreter while finding his feet. In the intervening years, the Portuguese had gone on to have success with FC Porto and Chelsea. But, while he was convinced he was the right man to succeed Rijkaard, Cruyff persuaded club president Juan Laporta that Mourinho had abandoned the Barcelona philosophy at Stamford Bridge and that he should put his faith in the 37 year-old rookie.  

From the outset, Guardiola established himself as his own man by selling untouchables like Ronaldinho and Deco and dropping star striker Samuel Eto'o to the bench. A decade on, this still rankles with the Cameroonian, who went on to score some vital goals during a debut campaign that saw Barcelona win an historic treble. As Jordi Cruyff, Sergio Busquets and other stars recall, however, they needed a bit of luck along the way. Reserve goalkeeper José Manuel Pinto made a vital penalty save in the Copa semi-final, while a late Iniesta strike saw them through to the Champions League final on away goals against Guus Hiddink's Chelsea. 

But there was nothing fluky about Guardiola's decision to play Messi in a `false No.9' position against Madrid, as the Blaugrana won 2-6 in the capital to extend their lead at the top of the table to seven points. Nevertheless, he got lucky again in the CL final against Manchester United in Rome, after Valdes was required to make two important saves while teammates cleared their heads after watching an inspirational pre-match video set to the theme of Ridley Scott's Gladiator (2000) that left many of them in tears. Needing no second invitation, Barcelona won 2-0 and Guardiola was hailed as a visionary. 

Despite all the effusive praise, however, no one talks specifics and we are left to accept Guardiola's genius at face value. A quick dash through his remaining three seasons makes scant mention of the fact that he made history by ending 2009 with six trophies in the Camp Nou cabinet. Instead, McMath concentrates on his inability to cope with the pressure of his fourth season in charge, which still culminated in him winning his 14th trophy on an emotional Copa night against Athletic Bilbao. Cruyff had advised him to quit after the Wembley win, but he was replaced by president Sandro Rosell after a shock defeat by Chelsea in the CL semi-final. 

All agree that Xavi has the mentality to become Cruyff and Guardiola's heir. But the last word goes to Guardiola himself, he pops up in a closing cameo to reveal that success depends on ball retention and accurate passing, that he is more motivated by solving tactical conundrums than winning trophies or making big bucks and that people will only be able to say whether his Barça team was the greatest of all time if it is still being spoken about with joy and respect in 25 years time.  

Scripted by Graham Hunter and photographed and edited by Victor M. Gross, this is a curate's egg of a picture. The breathless opening is bemusing, as it bombards the audience with a welter of information and opinions that have no context whatsoever. Barça diehards will know exactly what is being discussed, but it does feel a bit like making a documentary about The Beatles and starting with the recording of Sgt Pepper. The decision to keep Guardiola away from the camera, while his praises are sung by players, underlings and bosses alike, also smacks of self-conscious contrivance. But the tempo slows a little after this hectic salvo and McMath and his cohorts provide an entertaining record of the evolution of the current FC Barcelona.

In truth, this should really have been a documentary about the contribution made by Johan Cruyff, who died of lung cancer at the age of 68 in March 2016. But football memories grow ever shorter and the focus on Guardiola will entice those who watched All or Nothing: Manchester City on Amazon Prime. Many will be content with the Play Station approach to the visuals, which are diced and reshown from so many angles that it's often difficult to appreciate the particular goal or piece of skill being showcased. 

But the effect becomes wearisome after a while, as does the reliance on talking heads and the fact that the eye is frequently taken away from the sporting action flashing past to read the often unclear subtitles. When are producers going to come up with a format that satisfies the needs of the viewer without offending the artistic sensibilities of their directors? They've only had eight decades to come up with solution. Surely subtitle legibility isn't too much to ask?

At a time when Donald Trump blames anything that annoys him on the perniciously mendacious media, Vitaly Mansky's documentary, Putin's Witnesses, provides a timely insight into fake news and the ways in which politicians use the press to bolster their position and repudiate their rivals. Reflecting on his experiences while filming Vladimir Putin for state television, the Ukrainian-born Mansky expresses regret at his own folly and fury at way in which the Russian people has been duped into accepting a myth than masks tyranny. Coming almost a century after the murder of the Romanovs, this is a sobering exposé on the manipulation of power and the new forms of totalitarianism that are seemingly gaining an unstoppable momentum.

As the rest of the world prepared to greet the new millennium, Boris Yeltsin dropped a bombshell on the Russian people by announcing that he was resigning and handing over power to Vladimir Putin. While the announcement was being made on television, Vitaly Manksy was busy filming his wife, Natalia, and their two daughters, Polina and Nika, to gauge their reaction to the news. Nika tries to hide in the bath, while Natalia loses her temper with her husband for stalking her as she is trying to come to terms with the loss of an all-too-brief utopia. Polina offers to film Mansky's response, but he is too shrewd to record anything other than a new answerphone message to greet New Year callers.

At the time of Putin's elevation, Mansky was the head of the documentary unit at the national TV station and he was entrusted with producing a profile of the new leader that would appeal to the public in the run-up to the presidential election. Ostensibly, Putin did not conduct an official campaign. But, surveying the footage he captured with the benefit of hindsight, Mansky can see Putin shrewdly placing national interest above personal ambition in a bid to reassure the voters that he would put their well-being before his own ambition. Yet, he also spun them lies about Russia being encircled and imperilled by foreign foes and Chechen terrorists, as he spent Defender of the Fatherland Day in the Hero City, Volgograd, to show people that he had the support and trust of the armed forces and that Russia was placing itself in safe hands in installing him in the Kremlin.

He spent International Women's Day in a textile factory in Ivanovo, but doesn't say a single word to the female workforce, as he is whisked through the building by his minders. During press conferences, he denounces TV advertising and stunt debates, as people would rather see him get on with the business of governing. Nevertheless, when he flew to St Peterburg to attend a funeral, he took the opportunity to meet up with the teacher he had always cited as a major influence on his development. However, while Mansky and his waited with the clearly besotted Vera Gurevich, Putin opted not to call and flew back to Moscow amidst claims that the Chechens had been thwarted in an assassination attempt. 

On returning to the city with British Prime Minister Tony Blair, however, Putin did visit the Gurevichs and taking his place for the first time in the Tsar's box at the Mariinsky Theatre and presented Vera with a big bunch of red flowers. In the cramped apartment, Putin looks ill at ease and unsure how to behave, as he strives to look statesmanlike in the presence of a woman who can barely contain her pride in having him in her home. Her husband urges Putin to rid the garden of the weeds and poses for photographs, as Vera sends her erstwhile student into the night with the phrase, `it's time to win'.

This proved to be the final scene in Mansky's film and Vera's words became a popular slogan in the last days before the election. But Mansky suggests that Putin's push for power began at 23.59 on 8 September 1999 when the first of a series of bomb went off across Moscow. Putin had been prime minister for just three weeks and was the sixth man to hold the office during Yeltsin's presidency. His popularity rating was zero when the blasts occurred, but his air of authority and the promise `we'll rub them out in the outhouse' cemented his position. But Mansky reports that many suspected that Putin's agents had planted the devices to give him the opportunity to look strong and it's fascinating to watch him being filmed in unrelenting close-up during a nocturnal visit to the scene of the first explosion and being asked whether he felt the means justify the ends when it comes to violence. 

Putin had turned the question into a statement of defiance that ended with a promise of reprisal. But the complicity charge has never been entirely disproved and Mansky leaves it hanging as he moves on to Election Day on 26 March 2000. While Natalia chivvies her husband into putting down his camera and leaving for the polling station, Putin and wife Lyudmila arrive to cast their vote. He poses for the camera and makes sure the press get the message that the Chechen people will be supporting him today to protect them from terrorism. Only one French journalist waited for Mikhail Gorbachev to cast his ballot, however, and he jokes with old cronies who claim he could have been president for life by reminding them that Napoleon kept building up his part after being appointed First Consul and would up in exile on St Helena.

Meanwhile, Yeltsin and wife Naina smile quietly at home at the prospect of Putin having to carry the state on his shoulders and sign off the daily mountain of papers. She commends her husband for passing on power in an orderly and democratic way, while he preens about giving Putin time to learn on the job and gain the respect of the people. Yeltsin summons grandson Vanya to join them. He is happy to avoid bedtime hops on to Yeltsin's knee so he can vouch for Putin while munching on a biscuit.

Back in the real world, Mansky reveals that the nonexistent Putin campaign team had actually been a well-oiled machine run by Dimitri Medvedev that had taken advantage of government channels to ensure victory. We seen inside the Putin bunker on election night and Mansky identifies Anatoli Chubais, co-founder of the Union of Right Forces. However, he cuts away to show Yeltsin getting twitchy about a Gorbachev interview on television, as Mansky explains that he had kept the former First Secretary off air from the moment he seized power in 1991. He also suggests that he had chosen a successor who would be beholden to him in order to guarantee he would have a safe retirement. 

Indeed, daughter Tatiana is in regular phone contact with Putin insiders during the night and Mansky claims she played a significant part in brokering the deal that landed Putin the acting presidency. She produces champagne when the first call is made for Putin's victory (despite only 44% of Muscovites voting for him) and she urges her father to call Vladimir Vladimirovich to celebrate their shared victory. But, while Yeltsin phones campaign HQ to be informed that Putin had just left the building, he waited in vain for the vote of thanks and the look in his eye (as he urges someone to change channels to avoid Gorbachev) betrays the fact he has just realised that he has not only become yesterday's man, but a persona non grata. 

As Yeltsin bids goodnight to Mansky's crew with a promise that Putin would maintain a free press, we return to the War Room to meet some of the key players behind the scenes. There's Minister of the Press, Mikhail Lesin, who also owns the country's largest advertising agency and used his power over the various TV channels to control content during the election campaign. Across the table is former dissident Gleb Pavlovksy, who would be a key adviser for the first 12 years of Putin's rule before he went into active opposition. He was following the example of Ksenia Ponomaryova, the former head of Channel One Russia, who defected soon after the election and died at the age of 54 in 2016.

Further along is Mikhail Kasyanov, the first PM of the Putin era, who later opposed his former boss and had his reputation destroyed by a covertly recorded TV assassination. Another to fall after being a prominent ideologue during the first three terms was Vladislav Surkov, while Valentin Yumashev reinforced his position by marrying Tatiana Yeltsin in 2002. They all listen as Putin gives his first press conference. He makes no apology for playing the Chechen card and expresses his relief that he didn't have to mislead the electorate with false promises. As he concludes, he declares that his priority is to be honest at all times. 

In the background, Mansky hears the voice of Boris Nemtsov on TV. He is lamenting that Putin won on the first round because a run-off would have forced him to be more open about his economic plans. Nemtsov would be murdered by the Kremlin wall in 2015 for opposing aggression against Ukraine, while Lesin (the architect of Putin's economic reforms) would be found dead in a small hotel in Washington that same year. Mansky ponders the fact that so many people who shared the 2000 triumph have since gone into opposition or were fired, like Alexander Voloshin. He even divorced Lyudmila, leaving only Medvedev within the charmed circle.

Mansky continued to film Putin during his first year in office. Even though channels like NTV opposed him before it was closed down, the majority were prepared to give him a honeymoon period. But things started to change slowly and imperceptively. The army has its `conquerors of fascism' banner restored and swore allegiance on a hammer and sickle flag rather than the Russian tricolor. New brooms began to sweep the corridors of power, including St Petersburg crony Igor Sechin, who would play a crucial role in the arrest of opposition leader Mikhail Khodorkovsky.

While filming his new profile of a president who has just labelled the collapse of the Soviet Union `the largest geopolitical tragedy of the 20th century', Mansky asked him why he had restored the Communist anthem. He describes meeting a woman in Lensk, who asked him to put the clocks back 20 years. However, he had persuaded her that they had to move forward, but would not erase Soviet history, as this would be an insult to their parents. But Mansky isn't convinced and cites this as further proof of the ex-KGB operative's desire to restore much of the central control that had existed under the Party, without being saddled with its stifling ideology. 

We see Sergei Mikhalkov, who had written the original words to Alexander Alexandrov's Soviet anthem, attending a recording of the revised words with his film director son, Nikita. An air of booming patriotism and neo-nostalgia fills the booth, as the old man remembers previous tweaks to remove the names of undesirables and jettisoned ideals. Yet there was sizeable opposition to the reinstatement of the USSR's anthem and Mansky was called back to the Kremlin for Putin to clarify some of the point's from the previous day's interview. He concedes that some will be unhappy, while others think he has made a debilitating compromise. But he wishes to put on record that unpopular decisions sometimes have to be made for the good of the nation and he hopes that even those who disagree with him will accept his reasoning. Mansky begs to differ, but a smiling Putin suggests it would be better to agree with him. 

A year has passed since Yeltsin stepped down and Mansky spends New Year with his family. He has clearly not approved of everything his prodigy has done and there is a sadness and a sense of impotence in his eyes, as his speech leading up to midnight is interrupted by his chattering grandson. When Mansky asks about the new anthem, Yeltsin declares it `reddish' with a sign of resignation. 

During one of his last interviews with Putin, Mansky asks whether he thinks things have gone well in his first year and Putin deflects suggestions that he has imperial ambitions. As they travel to the gym, Putin warms to his theme by stating that he dislikes the restrictions placed upon monarchs and looks forward to the time when he can walk away and become a private citizen again. He also notes that he has come to appreciate that laws he passes today will affect his own future out of power and Mansky hopes that he lives up to his noble intentions. 

However, Putin is still president and much has happened on the domestic and international scene to discredit Russia and suggest he will do anything to retain his status. Having once satisfied himself that he was merely a witness to events, Mansky has come to feel guilty for having been an accomplice in abetting Putin's rise and, as we see close-ups of ordinary Russian faces, he admits to being fearful that the future may well be even darker than the past. 

Deserving to stand alongside Cyril Tuschi's Khodorkovsky (2011) and Maxim Pozdorovkin and Mike Lerner's Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer (2013) in its assessment of Putin's Russia, this is vastly superior to Sierra Pettengill and Pacho Velez's The Reagan Show (2017), which similarly sought to use in-house archive footage to analyse the use and abuse of power. Now exiled in Latvia, Mansky has certainly played a price for any complicity and this mea culpa earns him more remission for his sins. Coming after his bold snapshot of North Korea in Under the Sun (2015), it also confirms him as a film-maker of considerable courage. 

A fair amount of foreknowledge is required to follow the events under scrutiny, but Mansky's curdled narration guides viewers through a year of seismic change in both Vladimir Putin the man and the regime he led. The effect early retirement had on Boris Yeltsin is equally striking and Karlis Auzans's conspiratorial score almost descends into a lament during the closing sequences as the extent of his betrayal sinks in. But Mansky isn't simply holding up the mirror to Putin, as he has clearly detected similarities between the Kremlin cant and that currently gushing out of the Oval Office.

Having made such a fine job of revealing how Josip Broz Tito used film to bolster his regime in Cinema Kumunisto (2010), documentarist Mila Turajlic turns the focus on her family home and the chequered career of her own mother in The Other Side of Everything. This is a deeply personal and potent account of Yugoslavian and Serbian history since the Second World War. But, by placing the focus squarely on the actions and recollections of the indomitable Srbijanka Turajlic, it also serves as a warning of the invidious nature of creeping fascistic tyranny. Indeed, fewer words spoken on screen this year have resounded more chillingly than Srbijanka's assertion, `You don't believe how it all can begin...until it begins.'

Born to lawyer parents who lived in the Central Belgrade neighbourhood that encompassed several foreign embassies, as well as the Supreme Court and the Ministry of Defence, Srbijanka was two years old when the family apartment was divided to help solve a housing crisis. As she polishes the door handle, she recalls being able to hear the new people through the door and smell their cooking. Captions reveal that the rooms were still divided when Mila was born in 1979 and would remain so as mother and daughter lived through the break-up of their country, civil war, sanctions, a bombing and a revolution. 

Finding some blueprints dating back to the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes, Srbijanka shows how State Security agents locked the six-strong family out of various parts of their apartment in 1947 and moved three families into the confiscated rooms. We see the peepholes in the doors that click when they are slid back and Srbijanka remembers her parents urging friends to ring the doorbell three times because the secret police only rang it once. As her father was under suspicion for resisting Tito, he was under surveillance and Srbijanka remembers that life was always tense. However, as elections approach in 2015 and violence erupts in the street below the apartment, it's clear that little has changed in the intervening 70 years. 

As a former professor at University of Belgrade, who had been in the vanguard of opposition to President Slobodan Miloševic in the 1990s. Srbijanka is in demand for a TV interview to comment on the situation in the capital in the run-up to the ballot. She answers forthrightly about the prospects of the Democratic Party that she has helped form through her activities with Otpor!, which had been formed to expose Miloševic as a dictator. However, she feels too old to accept a ministerial post and suggests the time has come for the new generation to come forward. 

Srbijanka has wanted to follow her parents into the legal profession. But her father had refused to let her compromise herself by joining the Communist Party in order to study law and she had read electrical engineering before visiting Paris during the protests in June 1968. When she married a professor of applied mathematics and found her way into academe, she vowed to stand with her students rather than block their protests, as so many tutors had done on campuses across the planet in 1968. 

She hosts a reunion for members of the Yugoslavian team that competed in the Sixth Mathematics Olympics and they recall Slovene Virko Hofner warning Miloševic of the dangerous course he was taking in annulling the Kosovan constitution in October 1988 and the old friends agree that this was the moment their old country began to fragment. After her guests leave, Srbijanka tells Mila that the shift hit her when the March 1991 census refused to allow `Yugoslav' as an option in answer to the question about nationality. 

Yet, when the civil war finally broke out, Srbijanka admits to having been taken by surprise. The cult of Miloševic had been growing, but it was only when tanks rolled into Slovenia in June 1991 that the harsh truths began to hit home. What's more, she was alarmed by how many people felt the invasion was justified and friendships were placed under strain, as Srbijanka opposed a war others felt was an act of patriotic heroism. She watches an impassioned speech she made at the time and wishes she hadn't gone on so long. But she sticks by her claims that her generation should have done more to oust Miloševic before could become such a monster. 

When Mila asks about the risks she took, Srbijanka states she had a responsibility to do something to protect the future that Mila and her sister Nina would inherit. When she invites some cousins to tea, the subject crops up of why Serbs are so divided when Croats and Slovenians manage to be  united. Fittingly, this leads to a discussion of the apartment in its pre-partitioned state and, a few days later, a neighbour unearths some rent documents from 1941 that he thinks might interest Mila. 

Her great-grandfather, Dr Dušan Peleš, had been one of the signatories of the declaration forging the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes in 1918 and the unnamed neighbour shows Mila a painting of the event. She also visits 89 year-old next-door tenant, Nada Lazarevic, during her interview with the census taker, who had just interviewed Srbijanka. Her replies are curt and cuttingly to the point and Srbijanka explains that she had accepted a tiny two-room flat in 1947 and had always thought they got a raw deal. In fact, the building had been built by Peleš and Srbijanka's parents had been allowed to keep a sizeable plot. But she admits that the Lazarevics were a constant reminder of what had been lost and why. 

Footage of snow and twinkling Christmas trees follows a blazing row between Srbijanka and some of her friends about Serbian attitudes towards Russia, Germany and America. She attacks questions in a poll doing the rounds that included references to preferred emigration destinations and links to war crimes and terrorism. But, with Nina (who is an information systems professor at Belgrade University) looking on from the kitchen, she gets most agitated while recalling the 1993 blend of sanctions and inflation that meant shops were empty and she didn't know where the next meal was coming from. She also remembers passing lengthy food queues in Republic Square after Miloševic had won the December election and wanting to scream at supporters who had kept him in power despite bringing them to their knees. 

Rummaging through her keepsakes, Srbijanka finds a billion dinar banknote and the whistle she had been awarded for her speech about dreaming of a better tomorrow during the 1996 Optor! protests. She recalls how close they came to civil war when rival demonstrations clashed in Belgrade and how Miloševic had her fired in 1999 because he recognised the threat she was starting to pose to him. Things changed, however, when the West stopped seeing Miloševic as an upholder of the balance of power and branded him `the butcher of the Balkans' and NATO started bombing Serbia in March 1994. 

Shortly after this conversation, Nada Lazarevic dies and Srbijanka launches an appeal for the restoration of her rooms. Mila and Nina wonder if she's being a bit mercenary, but she insists she is in the right. As she does when she turns down an invitation to speak on the 15th anniversary of the overthrow of Miloševic on 5 October 2000. She feels the topic has been done to death and Mila urges her to use the platform to call for another revolution. Over footage of the incursion into the parliament building, we hear Srbijanka lamenting that the sweet song of freedom didn't match the bitter reality, even though she accepted a post in the Ministry of Education, as the coalition of 18 disparate parties was doomed to failure. 

During a TV interview, Srbijanka had called for calm amidst the euphoria and hoped that democracy would take root. But, 15 years on, the nationalists win the election by a long way under Miloševic's former Minister of Information, Aleksandar Vucic. Shortly afterwards. Srbijanka's name appears on a list of 30 `Serb-haters' and she is summoned to appear in court to justify her actions in the 1990s. 

She refuses to let Mila accompany her and nothing about her interrogation is mentioned. Instead, Srbijanka urges Mila and her generation to step up to the plate before she wins permission to repossess Nada's flat and she finally gets to turn the key in the door behind the armchair. They discover that the doorway has been glued shut and have to use knives to break the seal. But, on being able to walk through into the next room for the first time in her life and her reaction is regret, because this no longer feels like her apartment. 

This metaphor for Srbijanka's experience of life in Yugoslavia/Serbia couldn't be more apposite and confirms the intelligence and incisiveness of her daughter's excellent film. Despite the shrewd use of archive material by editors Aleksandra Milavanovic and Sylvie Gadmer, Mila keeps the camera on her chain-smoking mother, whose frank and grounded insights into the psyche and politics of her compatriots suggests she should have played a much larger part in shaping the post-Miloševic state. However, the misogynist extremism of her excitable enemies reveals much about the Serbian bear pit and how unlikely it is that solutions to the country's problems will be found any time soon. 

Very much a portrait by an adoring daughter, this is also a compelling alternative history of a century full of false dawns, broken promises and unshakable dreams. But it's also a coded warning for those tempted to succumb to a cult of personality, with the clips of Miloševic bringing to mind both Putin and Trump, as he listens to criticism with an impassivity that barely conceals his sense of contemptuous superiority and conviction in his own rectitude.

The eyes of the world have been fixed on the American mid-terms for the last week and there's more election fever in Norah Shapiro's Time for Ilhan, which is showing in London under the auspices of Dochouse. No one of Somali descent had ever been elected to legislative office in the United States before Ilhan Omar was dispatched to the Minnesota House of Representatives by the voters of Minneapolis in October 2016. But it was anything but an easy ride for the community organiser and mother of three, who had left her war-torn African homeland with her father when she was 12 years old.

There are 70,000 Somali-Americans in Minnesota and such was Ilhan Omar's standing in the community that mentor Habon Abdulle, from the Women Organising Women Network, and VoteRunLead founder Erin Vilardi urged her to run for the District 60B seat in the Minnesota House of Representatives. She is supported by Keith Ellison, who became the first Muslim to be elected to the US Congress. However, she knows it won't be easy, as the mix of students and Old and New Americans makes it difficult to find unifying issues. Moreover, she is also campaigning in tough neighbourhoods on this patch is Cedar-Riverside, which has earned the nickname `Little Mogadishu' and triples the city's unemployment rate.  

Adding to her problems is the fact that Phyllis Kahn has held the seat since 1972 for the Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party. But Ilhan believes that Kahn has become complacent and no longer pursues the radical liberal policies that could alleviate the poverty of so many of her constituents. Campaign leader David Gilbert-Pederson also believes that it's time for organised people to reclaim the political arena from organised money and he provides considerable ingenuity and impetus to bolster Ilhan's charisma and commitment. Husband Ahmed Hirsi is right behind her and takes leave of absence from his bank to care for their three children, Ilwad, Isra and Adnan. But Ilhan is frequently asked on the stump whether she has her father and husband's permission to run. 

During a strategy meeting, campaign manager Bill Emory and field worker Stacey Nyaboke Rosana recognises that Kahn will be a tough opponent, as she can point to 43 years of service and contacts in all the right places. But, during a radio interview with Ilhan and fellow Somali-American Mohamud Noor (who had been beaten by Kahn at the last election), it's clear that Kahn has a sense of entitlement to the seat and brags about her winning record rather than engaging in a debate about the issues. 

Born in Somalia in 1981, Ilhan was raised by her father, Nur Said, after her Yemeni mother died when she was two years old. When the civil war broke out, the family spent four years in a refugee camp in Kenya before being sponsored to emigrate to the USA. On arriving in New York, Ilhan was dismayed that this version of America looked nothing like the suburban idyll she had seen in a promotional video. But Nur relocated to Minnesota, which has a long tradition of welcoming exiles. 

In her eightieth year, New Yorker Kahn is of Jewish extraction and likes to compare herself to Bernie Sanders. She has battled chauvinism since her university days and State Senator Patricia Torres Ray (who was the first Latina elected to the Minnesota Senate) acknowledges her achievement in declaring it's time to elect someone more representative of the shifting demographic. Yet she remains the only sitting politician willing to endorse Ilhan as Caucus Day arrives on 1 March 2016. Needing to gather as much support from the 12 caucus centres across the district, Ilhan has a busy day and schedule co-ordinator Wil Sampson-Bernstrom has his work cut out. 

But the hard work pays off and Ilhan takes a 60-40% lead into the District Convention. Kahn claims Ilhan is younger and prettier and even suggests she is the `white guilt trip' candidate. However, Noor insists he has the support of the Somali community and that Ilhan's base rests solely with the students. Indeed, Ilhan's supporters are concerned that the patriarchal nature of Somali life will count against her and Nur takes his daughter to meet Imam Sharif Mohamed at the Dar Al-Hijrah Mosque and she is pleasantly surprised by his enthusiasm for her campaign. 

At the District Convention, Noor is eliminated after the first ballot with only 11% and hopes are high that Ilhan can carry the day because she has a comfortable lead over Kahn. However, she struggles to persuade Noor supporters to transfer their votes to her and Kahn strings out the ballots because she knows a lot of Ilhan's backers have commitments that will prevent them from spending long hours at the convention centre. A fifth ballot is held and Ilhan pleads with Noor to recommend her. But he refuses to do so, as he knows an inconclusive result will enable him to participate in the Primary election in August. Kahn also hopes this will play into her hands, as the majority of the students will be home for the summer holidays.

With new campaign drivers Dan Cox and Joelle Stangler calling the shots, Ilhan hits the streets again. As this is such a pro-Democrat district, the winner of the 9 August Primary will take the ticket, as there will be no Republican candidate in the November election. Ilhan and Gilbert-Pederson pound pavements while the polls are open and remind the stay-aways that people are willing to die to secure the vote in other parts of the world. She has a nervous wait for results, but wins with 41% to Noor's 30% and Kahn's 29%. However, within three days of her election, a right-wing blogger accuses Ilhan of immigration fraud and a bigamous marriage to her own brother. 

Withdrawing access to the documentary crew, Ilhan battened down the hatches, as xenophobic hysteria took over social media. After 10 days, the Minnesota Attorney said there was nothing to investigate and Ilhan issued a statement clarifying that she had not been married to Ahmed when they had their first two children before their 2008 break-up. She had then married British citizen Ahmed Nur Said Elmi in 2009, only for them to separate in 2011 and divorce six years later. Almost as soon as she left Elmi, Ilhan had patched things up with Ahmed and they had welcomed a third child before legally marrying in 2018.  

Two weeks after the furore dies down, Ilhan allows Shapiro to return, as the focus shifts to the November election. Two days before the ballot, Donald Trump arrives in Minneapolis to give a bile-filled speech about illegal Somalis joining ISIS. But spirits are high on 8 November and Ilhan hopes that Hillary Clinton can follow her glass ceiling-shattering success. But the mood dips as the night wears on and the film loses its own momentum, as two months are allowed to lapse before Inauguration Day in January 2017. While clearing her office, Kahn gives a shrugging interview that avoids any in-depth analysis of her defeat and the only sighting we get of Noor sees him calling Ilhan his `sister' in a publicity-garnering speech. 

Stangler stays with the team as a transition aide and handles the media storn that follows, as Ilhan is seized upon as a woman of colour making a difference in Trump's America. She makes the cover of Time magazine in denouncing the President's immigration ban and gets to invite him to tea with her family on Trevor Noah's The Daily Show. A closing sequence shows a family dinner time, with the kids accepting that they have to sacrifice contact time with their mother for the greater good, before a credits montage reveals how Trump's election has prompted more women and members of minority groups to run for public office. 

As Oprah Winfrey proclaims that `the new day is on the horizon', one is left with a sense of despair because millions of right-leaning people around the world seem to be intent on dragging out the twilight of the past. But, even while applauding Ilhan Omar's achievement and her stoicism in the face of unprecedented indifference from within her own party and outright hostility from her opponents, Norah Shapiro's record of her campaign leaves many questions unanswered. Nothing, for example, is said about the funding for Ilhan's campaign, as no one gets to run for any sort of office in the United States without deepish pockets. Moreover, given that students of both sexes played a sizeable part in her election, it seems somewhat artful to suggest that this was a chiefly victory for the sisterhood. 

That said, the closing segment - which typifies the slickness of Jan Bradwell and Eli Olson's editing and the emotive gaucheness of Tom Scott's score - does raise the hairs and there is no doubt that Ilhan has done much to mobilise female activism in her own state and beyond. Yet, we don't get to learn much about her as a person and, in this regard, the film is less revealing that Josh Kriegman and Elyse Steinberg's similarly themed fly-on-the-wall study, Weiner (2016). Shapiro seems content to place Ilhan on a pedestal rather than depict her tackling the negativity surrounding her campaign and the problems facing her district head on. We hear little about policy and even less about core ideology. Thus, while this has its share of air-punching moments that should rally many more women to the cause of breaking the white, able-bodied, heteronormative male hegemony, it's too frenetic to leave any room for an in-depth discussion of the pertinent issues impacting upon both District 60B and America at large.