Trained cave divers were recruited as well as Thai Navy Seals, U.S. Special Forces, Australian medical experts, a Thai nurse named “Amp” Bangngoen who helped as a translator, and thousands of volunteers to undertake the rescue in the cave’s claustrophobic, winding underground passageways. The challenge became even more real when divers discovered four pump workers trapped not far from the cave entrance and had to undertake a dangerous rescue that became a trial run for the later attempt to free the boys. With the cave rapidly filling with water, the conditions became so daunting that one volunteer — a former Thai Navy Seal, died from a lack of oxygen.

When members of the Seals concluded that they did not have the diving skill required for the rescue attempt, Rick Stanton and John Volanthen, two highly experienced British divers were called to Thailand. The inspiration of people of many backgrounds and training coming together from all over the world — including the U.S. and China — to engage in a joint undertaking captured the world’s attention. Paraphrasing the late poet George Eliot, “What greater thing is there for human souls than to feel that they are joined for life, to strengthen each other, to be at one with each other in silent, unspeakable memories?”

The documentary not only depicts the bravery and determination of the divers, but offers a look into their personalities and goals, each with a compelling story. In one interview, one of the divers says that his dangerous hobby is “two parts ego, one part curiosity and one part a need to prove yourself.” The divers talk about how they had been “outsiders” all of their lives, always regarded as misfits and “nerds.” Fittingly, it was Stanton and Volanthen who first discovered the lost boys and their coach on a ledge two miles into the cave, where they had taken refuge after heavy rain submerged the route they had followed.

Finding the boys was only the beginning of the ordeal, however. How to get them out seemed an impossible task given the monsoon threat and the rapidly filling cave. Though thousands of gallons of water were drained from the cave, it was only after a daring proposal to bring the boys out (rejected as “insane” by Australian Doctor Richard Harris) was finally approved that a way forward could be seen. The result is a deeply moving experience that should be seen on the big screen to experience its full impact. Even a cliché-ridden closing song, dreamed up by well-meaning Oscar-baiters, cannot ruin the experience that is The Rescue.

The lives of World War I English poets Siegfried Sassoon (Jack Lowden (“Dunkirk”) and Wilfred Owen (Matthew Tennyson, “Making Noise Quietly”) are inextricably linked in U.K. director Terence Davies’ (“A Quiet Passion”) Benediction, an examination of Sassoon’s thwarted relationship with Owen and the heartbreaking sadness of his life. Both soldiers fought in the front lines of the war on the Western Front but only one returned home. Owen’s death, one week before the armistice, is particularly poignant since only five of his poems, now considered masterpieces, were published before the war’s end.

In his poem “Anthem for Doomed Youth,” Owen maintains that there is no glory in the deaths of young men on the Western Front.

“What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? — Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle can patter out their hasty orisons.”

In addition to seeing many of his friends killed in combat, Sassoon had to endure the death of his brother Hamo (Thom Ashley, “War of the Worlds” TV series), a loss that haunted him until the end.

“Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you’ll never forget.” — “Aftermath”
“But death replied: ‘I choose him.’ So he went, And there was silence in the summer night” — “The Death Bed”

Sassoon’s war service was marked by instances of extraordinary bravery, including the capture of a German trench in the Hindenburg Line. Armed with grenades, he scattered 60 German soldiers and he was nicknamed “Mad Jack” by his men for his effort and, on 27 July 1916, he was awarded the Military Cross.

“Wound for red wound I burn to smite their wrongs; And there is absolution in my songs” — “The Poet As Hero”

Culled from archive footage, Benediction opens with a montage showing the war’s death and destruction. As a young combatant, Sassoon makes clear his opposition to the political conduct of the war, saying, “I have seen and endured the sufferings of the troops and I can no longer be a party to prolong these sufferings for ends which I believe to be evil and unjust.” The circulation of this statement, “Finished with the War: A Soldier’s Declaration,” leads to his being sent to Craiglockhart War Hospital, a psychiatric facility where he meets the young poet Wilfred Owen.

Aside from describing a productive relationship with his closeted psychiatrist, Dr. Rivers (Ben Daniels, “The Exorcist” TV series), and his friendship with Owen (who is given only about five minutes in the film), the story quickly shifts to Sassoon’s prolific activities as a gay man after the war. While Davies’ previous films have contained a veiled gay subtext, Benediction is his first film that contains overt depictions of homosexuality, a punishable offense in England in the 1920s. Unfortunately the portrayals, although intended to mirror Sassoon’s actual relationships, contain harmful stereotypes that mar the film. The repressed Davies once said that “being gay has ruined my life. I hate it. I’ll go to my grave hating it which is why I have been celibate.”

Sadly, this hatred of being gay may translate into an exaggerated depiction of Sassoon’s relationships as being filled with mean-spirited jealousies, resentments, and companions who are lacking in affection, tenderness, or the sharing of common goals. Prominence is given to Sassoon’s affairs with entertainer Ivor Novello (Jeremy Irvine, “Paradise Hills”), socialite Stephen Tennant (Calam Lynch, “Black Beauty”), and Ivor’s former lover, retired actor Glen Byam Shaw (Tom Blyth, “Scott and Sid”). Cutesy one-liners abound. Comparing Sassoon’s current poetry to his earlier efforts, Shaw declares that his work has moved from “the sublime to the meticulous.”

Surprising his friends, however, Siegfried finds long-term companionship with a young female friend, Hester Gatty (Kate Phillips, “Downton Abbey”), and they are soon married even though she is aware of his past sexual inclinations. Davies plays with time, showing a montage of young faces slowly turning into those of old men. Sassoon (Peter Capaldi, “The Suicide Squad”), is shown as a bitter old man having a shouting match with his adult son George (Richard Goulding, “Me Before You”). We also witness Sassoon’s separation from his wife Hester (Gemma Jones, “Rocketman”), although no context or reasons are given for the breakup. Davies said, “At the end of his life, I think he was actually quite unfulfilled.” The assumption that Sassoon converted to Catholicism and married only out of a desire to be conventional, however, is speculative.

While Benediction has many strong points and the narration of brief excerpts from the poems is very moving, the opportunity to make real the greatness of these men may have been missed. We see them mainly from an emotional distance and the film rarely evokes our empathy or caring until the very end. Unfortunately as well, some of the important points of Sassoon’s life are not mentioned, including his role in bringing Owen’s work to the attention of a wider audience after the war, his participation in the politics of the labor movement, his editorship of the Socialist Daily Herald, his membership in the Ghost Club, a paranormal investigation organization, and his being a recipient of the 1928 James Tait Black Award for fiction.

Davies, however, who has had a long and distinguished career as a director of such memorable films as “Distant Voices, Still Lives,” and “The Long Day Closes,” must be acknowledged for bringing the work and career of these two great poets to public attention. In his poem “The Last Meeting,” Sassoon laments the loss of his friend David Thomas who was killed at Fricourt in 1916. “I know,” he wrote, “that he is lost among the stars, and may return no more but in their light.” Thanks to Davies, the poetry of Owen and Sassoon may return to the light.

As with any based-on-a-true-story, the film is fictionalized for the purposes of narrative — any research into actual spy activities will reveal that espionage is a much messier process than any story. Not that fidelity to documented records stops a film being effective, as The Courier is a superbly crafted tale of geopolitical tensions, spy craft and suspense. The first act covers Greville’s (Benedict Cumberbatch, “Black Mass”) initiation into the “great game,” learning the trade from agents Dickie Franks (Angus Wright, “Official Secrets”) and Emily Donovan (Rachel Brosnahan, “Patriots Day”) while making contact with Oleg Penkovsky (Merab Ninidze, “My Happy Family”). From here, events become more tense as Oleg fears discovery and the world moves towards the Cuban Missile Crisis. In the third act, the film takes a swerve into something more melancholy, and Cumberbatch also undergoes a shift. Throughout the film the actor is on reliable form as Greville, combining the well-mannered gentleman with a sense of arrogance and entitlement, much as he did in “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy,” “The Imitation Game” and “Doctor Strange.” He’s arguably not pushing himself, but his transition from confident albeit amateur spy to desperate victim is palatable, and a physical transformation makes the film all the more moving.

Despite the focus on Greville, this is a film very much about relationships. The marriage of Greville and his wife Sheila (Jesse Buckley, “Chernobyl” TV series) is strained despite evident devotion, while their son Andrew (Keir Hills) offers a more innocent perspective on the wider events. The professional spies have their own professional relationships with Greville and with each other, and the not-always amicable association between the agencies serves as an effective backdrop. Differing goals of gathering usable intelligence, maintaining peace and keeping their assets safe mean that Dickie and especially Emily often appear at the intersection of these goals, with the camera holding on their faces as they attempt to argue for humanity in the face of political expediency.

The most significant relationship, however, is that between Greville and Oleg, or Alex as he asks to be called. “Alex” is compelled by conscience to share information with the West, a conscience expressed in a powerful opening shot as the camera pans from the almost parodic monstrous figure of Krushchev (Vladimir Chuprikov, “Diplomatic Situation” TV series) to Oleg’s grim expression. Ninidze’s performance is an impressive piece of understatement, his eyes expressing volumes while his mouth remains firm, giving the British a run for their money in the stiff upper lip stakes. Between this man of conscience and compassion and Greville the rather bumbling but good-natured soul, a touching relationship grows that allows the film to explore the interplay of the interpersonal and the geopolitical. These two men, and their families, are impacted by the decisions of their government but also have impact themselves. The Cuban Missile Crisis underlines the role that these men play, unsung heroes operating in the shadows at significant personal risk. As the viewer sees this genuine friendship develop, we care for them and share their wish for peace, while also fearing for them as danger and violence stalk ever closer.

The film’s interweaving of the public and personal creates a strong resonance between this story and our contemporary times. The period detail is exquisite, from the costumes to the sets and the props, especially the various briefcases. Despite this, the film never feels quaint or old-fashioned. It is often tempting to look at films set during the Cold War such as “Bridge of Spies” and “Red Joan” as being nostalgic or at least dealing with something that is over and done with. However, any glance at major news stories of recent years will highlight that while the tensions between nations change, they do not end. Political aggression and severe intolerance continue to plague the world over, and it can feel like we have no influence over these threats. A story like The Courier serves to dramatize unknown people and exploits, and in doing so reminds the viewer that conscience and individual action can have an impact on wider events. While we are never as separate as we might like to imagine, a film like this reminds us to hold onto our interpersonal relationships, which might just end up making a wider difference.

For thousands of families in every part of the world, 2020 was a year of grief. During that year, many people lost those closest to them: Mothers and fathers, grandparents, siblings, as well as friends and relatives, victims of a raging pandemic. Filmed prior to the pandemic, however, the efforts of a non-profit New Jersey group, “Good Grief” founded in 2004 to offer support for children and surviving parents who have lost someone close are documented in the remarkable film Beautiful Something Left Behind, winner of the Grand Jury Award for Best Documentary at the 2020 SXSW Film Festival. In spite of the difficult subject matter, the film is filled with elements of joy as well as sadness and the resilience of children.

According to Danish director Katrine Philp (“Home, Sweet Home”), “What we experience in the documentary is this openness. The children in the film are not afraid to talk about their feelings and their grief. They are amazing and brave, and I think we, as adults, can learn a lot from them.” How we process grief is different for each person, but for children whose understanding is limited, death of a loved one can be especially heartbreaking. Even more than others, they are anxious, scared, and confused and needing constant reassurance that they are still loved, though no one can fill the void in their lives. What they slowly and painfully comprehend, however, is that they will never see their loved one again.

Adults try to talk to children about their pain, providing comforting assurances, but ultimately, there is little that can be done except to provide listening and extra hugs. Photographed by her husband, cinematographer Adam Morris Philp (“What We Become”), and edited by Signe Rebekka Kaufmann (“False Confessions”), Philp does not philosophize or attempt to provide answers to unanswerable questions. She simply records the stories of children who have lost a parent or sibling. These include Peter, Mikayla and the siblings Nolan & Nora and Nicky & Kimmy, showing their different approaches in handling grief. There is no narration, dramatic music, or explanation about what we are seeing, only the voices of children mostly under ten years old interacting with relatives and volunteers.

Staff and volunteers at “Good Grief” engage children in group sessions where they discover that their feelings are valid, though each child expresses their loss differently. Some are unusually expressive while others find it hard to even talk, though the suffering is etched on all their faces. The program also provides activities for grieving children, some acting out their parent’s deaths by recreating their story in a sand tray using miniature figures and pieces, others expressing their anger and pain in a “volcano room,” taking care of their teddy bear in a pretend hospital bed, and, as a community, sending balloons and lanterns to the sky to reach their loved ones in what they refer to as heaven.

Filming children can be a challenge as they can go from one emotion to another in a short period of time and tears are always just under the surface. According to Philp, “Grief is not a linear process. It’s much more like fragments. And sometimes you’re happy and everything is good, and the next moment you’re sad. So I wanted to also to work with the structure of the film, and be inspired by the voice of the children.” Talking about the death of her father during filming, Philp says, “Feeling my own grief while filming the families . . . made complete sense. I fully understood what the families were going through and the challenges they faced.” During the shoots Philp moved from Copenhagen to Morristown, NJ, with her husband, and their two children.

“We wanted to be closer to the families we were filming,” she says “and be able to tell their stories in their own pace, when they were ready.” The past year was traumatic for many, and Philp hopes that Beautiful Something Left Behind encourages viewers to talk directly about their emotions and reach out to people who are struggling. “I think that we need to be there for each other, care for each other, and show all the compassion that we can,” Philp says. “Because when you’re in grief, it is so isolating. It can be such an isolating feeling if you’re not sharing it with anybody. I really hope that this film will make us all braver when we encounter people who have lost, and not be afraid of talking about our emotions and sharing our experiences.” Combining deep sadness, smiles, laughter, and yes, moments of joy, Beautiful Something Left Behind provides catharsis for the children and the viewer, opening our hearts just a little wider.

According to the United States Sentencing Commission, the incarceration rate for blacks in the U.S. is over five times higher than whites. In addition, Black male offenders receive sentences that are on average 19.1 percent longer than whites. In Georgia and Louisiana, the proportion of Blacks serving life sentences without possibility of parole is as high as 73.9 and 73.3 percent, respectively. While these statistics tell a story of racial inequality, what they do not reveal is the human cost on families left behind. Winner of the Sundance Award for Best Director, Garrett Bradley’s (“Cover Me”) stunning documentary, Time, shows the human cost on a Black family in Louisiana coping with the absence of husband and father of six boys, Robert Richardson, sentenced to 60-years in prison for the attempted robbery of a credit union.

Using home videos and archival footage edited by Gabriel Rhodes (“And We Go Green”), the film takes place over a period of 20 years and, as one boy declares, “time is loss . . . time flies.” Describing the film’s title, Bradley says that “Time is abstract. The word itself can elicit many meanings, symbols, and practicalities.” The passage of time in the film, however, as shown in the videos compiled by wife and mother, Sybil Fox Richardson — known as Fox Rich, reflects the boys’ growth from childhood to young adults, an entire life without having ever known what it means to have a father.

Left with empty spaces and a cardboard cutout of their father hanging on the wall, their house is filled with a constant reminder of the missing piece, the empty chair at the table and the space in the passenger’s seat in the family car. The absence of the father, however, did not quell the family’s optimism or their determination to have Robert released from his draconian prison sentence. Even more importantly, it did not diminish the love they felt for each other. As an accomplice, Sybil served only three and one half years as a result of a plea bargain. Although a similar deal was offered to Robert, it was withdrawn and the maximum sentence was imposed, even though it was his first offense and there was no violence involved.

The film, shot in black and white by cinematographers Zac Manuel (“Buckjumping”), Justin Zweifach (“Trial by Media”) and Nisa East (“Holy Denver”), is basically Fox’s story and her growth from a self-doubting and insecure young woman to an eloquent advocate for criminal justice reform. In her 2009 memoir, “The One That Got Away: A True Story of Personal Transformation,” she relates her move to New Orleans to be closer to Robert and her campaigning for prison reform in schools, churches, and community gatherings. We also follow her business career as an owner of a car dealership in New Orleans as well as being a motivational speaker.

Employing a non-linear narrative with numerous flashbacks, Time depicts scenes of childhood in kindergarten where the twins (Freedom and Justus) talk about Freedom’s “student of the month” award, the celebration of birthdays, a visit to an amusement park, and the boys’ development into college students pursuing a professional career. Unlike typical stereotypical images of young black males, the boys are shown as complex human beings with a unique ability to set reachable goals for themselves and articulate their feelings. Set to the poetic score of now 96-year-old Ethiopian nun and pianist Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou, the viewer is immersed in the family’s struggle.

According to Bradley, “I wanted the film to feel like a river, and not like a collage, and the music helped reinforce that idea and intention. Describing Guèbrou’s music, Bradley s says “I like how open-ended time can be. Emahoy’s music is radically pointed. She frames her own sense of time; she molds it to her liking.” Though Fox maintains her composure throughout, there is a sense of determination about her, a certainty that she will not quit until she can greet her husband walking out of prison. Her fight is one to make sure the family stays together, even after twenty years of frustration. Some of the footage depicts Fox’s numerous phone calls to the judge’s assistant seeking information which is usually not available.

Fox’s tone is one of restraint and courtesy, yet it is clear that she hides her frustration about the unresponsiveness and insensitivity of the justice system. She is a fighter, however. As Bradley describes it, “I loved the spiritual connection of what it means to be a strong Black woman and to work within and outside of the constraints and parameters that the world gives you. To find yourself and remain an individual and to ensure that there’s nuance in your life within those realities.” Time is not a film only about prison reform but also about the enduring bonds of love, one that grew in strength over the years. As Nobel Prize-winning poet Derek Walcott expressed it, “Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.”

Before diving into the movie itself, it’s important to grasp the context in which this story is based upon. Beginning in 1917, United States Radium Corporation operated three factories — including one in Orange, New Jersey. To finish their product at an accelerated rate, the factories hired hundreds of young women to help paint the watch dials. But due to the way they instructed them to lick the harmless brushes, the women began to see life-altering results. From their skin glowing to jaws disintegrating, the supposed “magical” properties of radium were anything but, and these girls were the terrifying examples of its true toxic nature. Yet in an effort to seek retribution, the girls at these various factories would fight in court against the Radium Corporation, yet no genuine conclusion to the story would come about until the mid-70s. And even so, there’s still many unanswered questions.

As for the movie, the story centers around New Jersey sisters, Bessie (King) and Josephine Cavallo (Abby Quinn, “Landline”), who are watch dial painters at (the retitled) American Radium. While Bessie fantasizes about transforming into a Hollywood starlet, Josephine suddenly becomes ill, forcing the pair to discover the deadly truth behind the glowing liquid that funds their lives. Yet as more truths become unearthed, Bessie’s Tinseltown dreams shift to thoughts of justice; risking everything to protect not only the lives of her family and friends, but for the countless workers across the world putting themselves in jeopardy. And no matter what new corporate foes they face, Bessie and the other titular girls aren’t willing to go down without a fight.

Both on and off the screen, the tale of Radium Girls is the classic David vs. Goliath situation. Yet in the case of this project, the focus seems to be more on the accessibility of the story for a wider, younger audience, rather than paying tribute to the actual individuals that were involved. And if you’re the sort of person that gets sucked into a Ryan Murphy mini-series for the glam rather than the grit, you’ll know (or may have no clue) where this movie is going. And similar to Murphy’s recent efforts for Netflix (particularly “Hollywood”), Mohler and Brittany Shaw’s screenplay is filled with the kind of dialog that reads more Tumblr than authentic. It’s wish-fulfillment in the most well-intentioned of ways, yet still feels too heavy-handed to be organic sentences coming from teens of the era.

This choice particularly comes across whenever Mohler and Shaw place Bessie into social situations. From casual hipster-like discussions at parties, to melodramatic cries for justice at the most cringe-worthy of times, the approachable nature of these interactions is borderline laughable. And when adding in Bessie’s fan-girlish mentions of new films, every line comes across as too polished and unbelievable. Sure, there is nothing wrong with showcasing these events in a more palatable manner for a modern crowd, but it begs to wonder (if this story were in much more polished hands) how better the end result would be if it wasn’t.

Luckily, the film has Joey King (“Wish Upon”) — who even in 2018 (when the film was going through its initial festival circuit) had the kind of sparkle inside her to become something special. And as we (and Hulu, along with Netflix) know, she certainly did. With her puppy dog eyes and memorable pout, King swings the attention towards her, no matter where she stands in the frame. She has a raw kind of magic inside that is familiar to Winona Ryder fans of the 90s — for she is relatable as she is beautiful and as heartbreaking as she is enchanting. And regardless of what hokey bit of dialog is written for her on the page, she delivers it with a fire burning within her core.

The rest of the cast does equally well at making the best of what is handed to them. Abby Quinn, Colby Minifie (“Submission”), and Susan Heyward (“Poltergeist”) all leave memorable impressions; each bringing their brand of appeal and vulnerability to their respective roles. But perhaps the greatest surprise is the inclusion of Greg Hildreth (“Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps”) as the girl’s lawyer, Henry Barry. An actor who doesn’t get nearly enough fanfare on the Great White Way, Hildreth certainly deserves more film-related opportunities than he’s been given. Here, he exhibits a Jimmy Stewart like quality that (though not given as much screen time as he should) certainly leaves a charming impression.

Similar charm can be found in the work of costume designer Sylvia Grieser and set decorator Heather Yancey. Perhaps some could argue that the visuals on display comes off more sleek than other period dramas, both Grieser and Yancey define the world of Bessie and Josephine with a ModCloth sort of whimsy. Every garment, piece of furniture, and detail in-between is hard not to drool over. And though specific viewers might find this style over accuracy approach to be jarring, considering their small budget, Grieser and Yancey deliver in giving each of the film’s heroines their unique visual aesthetic that is just as courageous as the actions they take.

Ultimately, Radium Girls is the trail mix of indie biopic dramas. It has an inherent sweetness that cannot be denied, but easily as much of an uneven saltiness in-between. Neither flavor compliments the other perfectly throughout the film’s 102-minute runtime. But the elements that do blend nicely stand out in this easily digestible adaptation. And though Pilcher and Mohler’s finished product doesn’t take the same risks as their titular heroines, perhaps this will lead them to make bolder and more confident choices as their careers progress. Because their work can glow, without a drop of radium.