Archives for posts with tag: war

I’m going to be unfair to this movie, because I’ve read the novel by Irène Némirovsky, which is brilliant. Suite Française was written during the war, before Némirovsky was murdered by the Nazis, and, though unfinished, it has a much broader and clearer vision of humanity than the film does. It follows, among others, a middle-class family whose son is away at the fighting as they flee Paris, an aging bon-vivant who sticks to his champagne amid the German bombs, an absolutely awful matron of late middle age who values her silver more than people, and a young married lady in the country in whose house an officer of the Wehrmacht is billeted.

MV5BMTczMjg3MzQ0NF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwMDYyNzY4NDE@._V1_UY268_CR4,0,182,268_AL_The movie, naturally, concentrates on the last grouping, because there’s the most smooching in it. Lucile Angellier (Michelle Williams) is unhappily married; luckily her husband is a POW, but unluckily her mother-in-law (Kristin Scott Thomas) is around to be unpleasant to her. When the Germans invade, Lieutenant Bruno von Falk (Matthias Schoenaerts) is put up in their house. He is polite, has a nice dog, and can play the piano. Lucile lacks a personality entirely.

Meanwhile, the mayor, Viscount Montmort (Lambert Wilson) and his wife (Harriet Walter) are trying to accommodate themselves to reality; a horrible German officer (Tom Schilling) is billeted on a farm belonging to the Labaries (Sam Riley and Ruth Wilson), which ends about as well as you’d think; a Jewish woman (Alexandra Maria Lara) and her daughter are…there.

This movie is stupid and melodramatic. You don’t need to add pathos to the Nazi invasion of France, or insulting inanities to Némirovsky’s novel. I suppose that, once one has hired the extremely handsome Mr. Schoenaerts, one feels he ought to be on screen, but every other story in the novel is more interesting than Lucile’s and Bruno’s, and less well-trodden.

Director: Saul Dibb
Rating: around PG-13
Length: 107 minutes
Score: 2/5

MV5BYWFlY2E3ODQtZWNiNi00ZGU4LTkzNWEtZTQ2ZTViMWRhYjIzL2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTAyODkwOQ@@._V1_UX182_CR0,0,182,268_AL_We begin in a boy’s youth, as his grandfather teaches him to shoot wolves. He hesitates, and the wolf disembowels their horse.

We then launch in medias res, as Soviet recruits are ferried across the Volga to fight the Nazis in what you can already say is the ruins of Stalingrad. Vassily Zaitsev (Jude Law) is among them. He is the boy of the earlier incident, but he is not one of the lucky few to be given a rifle before being sent into the hell between the German guns and those that ensure he will not retreat. Vassily starts out with a convincing expression of terrified panic on his face, but somehow Mr. Law manages to escalate as the film goes on.

After that first abortive offensive, Vassily is avoiding the Nazi mopping-up by hiding in a fountain full of corpses. There he is joined by the young political officer Danilov (Joseph Fiennes), whose car has just blown up, whose glasses are broken, whose competence with a gun is merely nominal, and who is generally having a really bad case of the Mondays. He fumbles with a rifle he finds until Vassily takes it from him and rapidly kills every Nazi he can see. Danilov, in true Soviet style, makes Vassily into a Hero of the Motherland, with a new fancy sniper rifle, fanmail, and slightly exaggerated rustic bona fides. They become fast friends, but Danilov also sells the heroism to a young(ish) Nikita Khrushchev (Bob Hoskins).

Two complications emerge. The first is a beautiful woman, Tania Chernova (Rachel Weisz), who can both read German and shoot, and thus bounces back and forth awkwardly between Danilov’s staff and Vassily’s band of miracle-workers. The second is a Nazi sniper, a Major König (Ed Harris), who has come all the way from Berlin to kill Vassily.

It doesn’t seem as though many saw this film, perhaps because in early 2001 it was still fashionable to imagine that we had solved the problem of war. It was particularly unpalatable at the time to consider a war in which neither side was hunky freedom-loving good guys. To be sure, Enemy at the Gates never for a moment questions that the Nazis must be stopped, but it also pulls no punches about the miseries of Soviet life–the wolf has already taken everything you love, the film tells you, but you must continue to fight.

Overlooking this movie, however, was a collective failure in judgement, because it’s rather good. It is affecting without being emotionally manipulative, unlike the vast majority of WWII movies. Everyone, particularly Hoskins and Harris, is well cast; it is difficult to believe that Ed Harris has only played a Nazi officer in one other film, as far as I can tell. You want to like Fiennes, but political officers are necessarily squirrelly. Weisz and Law are impossibly beautiful, and impossibly young, but they are carefully encrusted in dirt, so it isn’t jarring. They joke adorably about how Vassily’s crisp new uniform will probably be taken back directly after a photo-op.

Heads up, though, an entirely plausible number of people die.

Director: Jean-Jacques Annaud
Rating: R
Length: 131 minutes
Score: 4/5

So, I’m pretty sure that the impetus behind this film was that Tom Cruise saw a photo of Claus von Stauffenberg and thought, “I am doing humanity a disservice if I do not make a film about this man.” Also maybe felt that his résumé was lacking a movie where he got to thwart Nazis. Of course, he doesn’t actually get to thwart any Nazis. The Valkyrie plot failed, and nobody got to kill Hitler but Hitler, pace Quentin Tarantino.

mv5bmtg3njc2odeyn15bml5banbnxkftztcwntawmzc3na-_v1_ux182_cr00182268_al_Valkyrie is however a pretty good movie.  While Cruise as Stauffenberg gets to do a lot of jaw-jutting moralizing, the logistical problems–not to mention those of spinelessness–are well handled by everyone else.  Eddie Izzard (Fellgiebel) and Tom Wilkinson (Fromm) in particular waver and falter and smoke nervously in very convincing ways. Tom Hollander (Brandt) is as usual excellent in an as usual ungrateful part.

The film’s main strengths are the small things, though. A switchboard operator has to decide whether to put through the communiqué from the Wolf’s Lair or from the coup leaders, and his face eloquently says how far this is above his pay grade. Thomas Kretschmann, handsome as always and filled with ennui as the commander of a home guard division, likewise is never sure whether it’s a drill or whether the sky is falling and he should arrest Goebbels. Stauffenberg’s a.d.c. (Jamie Parker) is welcomed into the office with an offer of risky involvement in high treason and shrugs a yes. You actually watch the movements of the explosive-laden briefcase with some trepidation.

It’s not subtle. Goebbels (Harvey Friedman) and Goering (Gerhard Haase-Hindenberg) are sneering, evil cartoons. Hitler himself (David Bamber) is insufficiently mad for July of 1944, but still just awful. The ominous mass of greatcoats and jackboots hangs over the film. On the other side, Stauffenberg loves his wife, his children, and Jesus. The Stauffenberg children are relentlessly blond and play soldiers to the accompaniment of a phonograph playing Wagner and Tom Cruise’s agonized eyes. When the members of the plot are all rounded up and shot (spoiler alert!), Terence Stamp as Ludwig Beck gloriously observes, on learning that he is to be spared, that he’d like a pistol. For personal reasons.

And just in case you were wondering if it’s as hell-for-leather awesome as Tom Cruise movies usually are: he is blown up not once but twice within the first six minutes and then has to wear an eyepatch.

Director: Bryan Singer
Rating: PG-13
Length: 121 minutes
Score: 4/5

If you want to watch this for Benedict Cumberbatch, he’s great in it, but be warned: to play Christopher Tietjens properly, he abandons almost all of his vanity and makes his face as unattractive as he is able, and attempts to make his body appear hulking and clumsy.

Ford Madox Ford’s tetralogy Parade’s End, as is usual with Ford Madox Ford, has an unbelievably acute sense of how humanity operates, and is not hopeful about it. People cheat, and then manage to be worse to each other when they are not cheating. Totally inaccurate gossip ruins lives because of malice and laziness, not necessarily in that order. And despite the monumental efforts of many, the Great War was unfairly, desperately, but also bureaucratically, horrible. Somehow, Tom Stoppard’s screenplay manages to capture almost all of the novels’ uncomfortable perspicacity without stumbling into clumsy exposition. But that is perhaps unsurprising, because Tom Stoppard is a genius.

Christopher Tietjens (Cumberbatch) holds a minor but important position in the Department of Imperial Statistics. He is a large blond man from Yorkshire, scrupulously, even maddeningly exact, and unwisely generous. His wife, Sylvia (Rebecca Hall), is a perfect portrait of the type of woman who can get away with everything from general obnoxiousness up because she is so exceedingly lovely. She runs away with a poor sap called Potty Perowne (Tom Mison, with a fussy mustache). Christopher always thinks ahead and is unfailingly decent to and about her; that, in combination with her beauty, means that everyone thinks that she is a saint. The same people immediately believe that Christopher has any number of mistresses, including a young suffragist called Valentine Wannop (Adelaide Clemens).

He of course does not. He would like to, but he is too much of the Tory, and nothing at all of the hypocrite. Instead, he does his job, lends money to his friend McMaster (Stephen Graham), helps everyone he can, and finally becomes a reluctant but capable officer. He sounds perfect, perhaps, but there is an excessive rigidity about him that is troubling–in Ford’s perfect description, he is the type of Tory who would never lift a finger except to say “I told you so.”

The production is near-perfect. Time passes in the shapes of skirts and hats; Morris wallpapers cede to muddy trenches; a glitzy party in what I believe is Lord Leighton’s house gives way to a sad billet near the Front. One might find the pacing slightly slow, but it is in the service of actual drama rather than the manufactured kind. As with Brideshead Revisited, a feature film of this would be heavy-handed and dreadful.

Cumberbatch gamely wears a uniform two sizes too large and screws up his face so that it is not ludicrous when Miss Wannop tells him he is not so terribly ugly after all. Hall’s glorious halo of hair makes her believable as the spiteful femme fatale who is never so recognized. Graham and Anne-Marie Duff (as his wife), are by turns arrogantly social-climbing and cringingly pusillanimous. Not grateful parts, but well-acted. The rest of the large cast also performs admirably; a few are in parts that, even in the novel, are slightly two-dimensional to throw the three main figures into sharper relief.

It’s terrific.

Stray observations:

  • Every single thing Rebecca Hall wears is beautiful.
  • Rufus Sewell is perfectly cast as the gorgeous but deranged and oversensual Fr. Duchemin.
  • Denis Lawson has a small part!

Director: Susanna White
Rating: equivalent to TV-MA, I’d definitely say
Length: 287 minutes
Score: 5/5

Tcheky Karyo makes every movie about nine thousand percent better, and this is no exception. Between Karyo and Jason Isaacs chewing scenery, you are almost able to forget about Mel Gibson’s painful earnestness.

Look, you definitely think this movie is stupid and refried Braveheart. You are not wrong. But this movie is also tremendous, because somehow all the emotional beats hit, and also America is awesome.

Which is what it comes down to. The plot is silly, and the romances are unremarkable, and the Brits are ludicrously cartoonish, and Donal Logue recovering from his terminal racism is almost insulting, but…I cry every time Susan speaks to Benjamin, and I love America.

Stray observations:

  • Just…shoot him again, Gabriel. Don’t be dumb.
  • Can someone just make a supercut of all of Jean Villeneuve’s sick burns and mic drops? “I want accuracy and precision!” “If I die, I will die well dressed.”
  • Chris Cooper doesn’t lack for knives in the gut either.

Director: Roland Emmerich
Rating: PG-13
Length: 165 minutes
Score: 1,000,000/5

I keep oscillating between 1/5 and 2/5 for a score for this movie, because while it wasn’t any good at all, it also wasn’t actively bad, so 1/5 seems mean, but it was also really not any good. And probably other people aren’t quite as keen on James D’Arcy looking tense in a naval uniform, so that doesn’t get a free point.

In WWII, radar happened, and it is the subject of many excellent movies and even better quips (see, for instance, the charming exchange from Battle of Britain: “So I tell the cabinet that you’re trusting in radar and praying to God, is that right?” “More accurately the other way ’round. Trusting in God and praying for radar.”). And, in that grand tradition, Age of Heroes is about commandos sent to Norway to take out a German radar installation, I’m pretty sure.

Danny Dyer saves some of his men in the retreat towards Dunkirk, but then is sent to prison for desertion because of a misunderstanding or simple nastiness on the part of a superior officer. Sean Bean ignores the pleas of his pregnant wife to lead a commando unit (helpfully made up of men from Danny Dyer’s military jail and also some random Scandinavian-born American, which is where Askel Hennie comes in).  John Dagleish has to go with the commandos to Norway as the radar expert, but is largely useless for anything else. Our old friend and the only character whose name I learned, and that only because I already knew it, Ian Fleming (Mr. D’Arcy), is stressed out in the cabinet war rooms.

So they go to Norway and it’s cold and John Dagleish is useless and their contact has maybe gone dark or is maybe dead or is definitely a girl. Nazis are very unpleasant, to a point that seems cartoonish but is probably accurate. At this point the movie loses shape entirely, but not out of attempts at realism, just out of carelessness. All the set-up–explaining radar, commandos, intelligence services, geography–falls by the wayside in a welter of bad dialogue and worse pacing. Danny Dyer is, I think, meant to be conflicted and confused, but he comes off as dense and ineffectual. Which is not great, for a titular hero.

Commandos are fascinating, and I daresay a good film treatment of Fleming’s war service could exist and perhaps already does, but this isn’t it. (Neither is Any Human Heart, in which he figures as a minor character but which I couldn’t even finish watching, it was so dire.) Accounts of the early part of the war are usually depressing–Battle of Britain ends with a collective, near-despairing shrug–but this one is also just bad.

Oh, and, of course Sean Bean dies.

Director: Adrian Vitoria
Rating: NR
Length: 90 minutes
Score: 1/5

Do you remember the strange several years when everyone was convinced that Russell Crowe was both good-looking and a good actor? Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary on both fronts? We gave this man an Academy Award!


Anyway, Master and Commander is probably my favorite Russell Crowe movie, and that’s mostly in spite of him, and in spite of its…not really being all that good. When I saw it the first time, I hadn’t read any of the Aubrey-Maturin novels on which it is ostensibly based, and I rather liked it. Now I have read fourteen of the Aubrey-Maturin novels on which it is ostensibly based, and I like it no less.  This movie follows the plot of no single O’Brian novel, neither the one called Master and Commander nor the one called The Far Side of the World. Nor of any other. Which is fine, really; those novels succeed better at atmosphere than at plot. I have heard on good authority that this is a fairly verisimilitudinous reflection of naval life. The film also aims for atmosphere, sketching your favorite characters from the books in a pastiche of more or less plausible events that take place near the Galapagos and involve fighting the French navy.

Jack Aubrey (Crowe), the titular master and commander, is blond, sanguine, and incipiently fat. He’s smirkingly terrible and his accent is worse. Stephen Maturin (Paul Bettany) is as unattractive as they can make him as the doctor and naturalist who spends most of his time kvetching that a warship is not his private exploratory vessel. He has no Irish accent and is not a spy, so devotés of the books may resent it; I enjoy that he can walk in a straight line and probably add. James D’Arcy plays the good-looking lieutenant Tom Pullings, and I love him. That’s all Tom Pullings ever does–be good-looking and lieutenant as well as he bloody can. Billy Boyd is awful as the boatswain Bonden, but they don’t give Bonden a damn thing to do, so that’s the real problem.

Max Pirkis is an amalgam of various tiny midshipmen, including one named Reade and one named Blakeney, and he, as also playing Octavian in HBO’s Rome, is a revelatory, heartbreaking gem. Early on he loses an arm, and Aubrey gives him a biography of Lord Nelson, and I cry. So much. Later on, he squeakingly collects beetles for Maturin, still later he squeakingly helps decide the course of a battle with the French vessel Acheron. He’s wonderful.

This film’s chief failure is that it captures neither the unremitting navy-ness of the books nor the rather charming blink-and-you-missed-it humor. In addition it’s scattershot, trying to cobble together one full plot from a dozen loosely connected episodes. But, if you like movies about old boats and aren’t terrifically particular, you’ll love this. If not, you’ll be annoyed by the winking in-jokes, the borderline incoherence, and Russell Crowe.

Stray observations:

  • This film makes heavy, heavy use of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s “Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis,” and, while I deeply love that piece of music in all its forms, the anachronism makes me insane.
  • I really wish there had been more of these movies, as it clearly looked like they were planned, and I would eat them up like candy. However, I also see why there weren’t more–the movie strikes a bad balance between pleasing lovers of the books and pleasing neophytes, and ends up pleasing no-one. Also it made $50 million less than it cost.

Director: Peter Weir
Rating: PG-13
Length: 138 minutes
Score: 4/5

This miniseries is based on Alan Furst’s Spies of Warsaw (unsurprisingly), which is a book I have read (surprisingly), and in fact reminded me why I don’t read trashy historical or spy novels. It’s because they’re trashy. The book has no character development whatsoever, the dialogue is laughable, and it suffers from over-sharing the research. Also, the hero, though not exactly handsome (and necessarily 46 or over, having served in the Great War), is just one of those smooth, brilliant, daring chaps at whom women throw themselves and by whom no stratagem gets. He’s like Pug in The Winds of War, if The Winds of War was written by a hack, Pug was French, and I regretted having read it.

Anyway. It’s the late 30s in Warsaw. Jean-François Mercier (David Tennant), a minor nobleman, cavalry colonel and decorated, wounded veteran, widower, and military attaché to the French embassy, finds himself pulled into the fairly sordid world of international espionage. He gets to stick it to the Nazis, though, so it’s less sordid in his case, and I don’t know why he’s complaining. He also, naturally, has realized (as has no one else in Paris or elsewhere) that the Maginot Line is going to turn out to be a not very hilarious joke. He is self-righteous about this. On the way, though, he meets the lovely Anna Skarbek (Janet Montgomery), who is a lawyer for the League of Nations, or something else totally useless but extremely high-minded. She’s living with a Russian drunk. I wonder how that’ll turn out.

Nothing especially unexpected happens. I mean, spoiler alert: this ends in a Nazi invasion. Mr. Tennant gets to swan around in various uniforms, dinner dress, and totally unconvincing Polish peasant garb, foiling minor Nazi plots and being shot at by incompetent buffoons. He acts…like he always does, which is fine, I guess. Perhaps the most charming thing is the number of minor actors you recognize from other things: Linda Bassett as a Soviet diplomat/spy, Anton Lesser as a member of the Abwehr (guy can’t catch a break), Burn Gorman wonderfully uptight as Mercier’s superior at the embassy, Julian Glover gouty and crotchety as his uniformed superior in Paris, Fenella Woolgar as a disaffected aristocrat.

Oh, and Mercier’s best friend, a Polish officer called Antoni Something-or-other (Marcin Dorocinski), who plays the Brendanawicz character. You know, indulgent, caring, full of eye-rolling at your ridiculous antics. I think this may be the most important character in any drama. Mercutio was one, an early and stupendous get-a-grip friend. Antoni is great.

Stray notes:

  • All the changes that the series made from the book are good ones. Book Mercier does a lot of shagging in inappropriate places and is egged on by his daughter to do so. Series Mercier has merely an encouraging sister, and is not tempted by his cousin’s charms. There’s also a group of cartoonish SS officers who make no sense and do not appear in the screen version.
  • I am so tired of heroes who are posh and have to be around posh people but don’t enjoy it because they’re above it and they only go to parties because they have to for either espionage or merely social reasons. As a corollary, it is also irritating when they fall in love with the love interest because the love interest is the only person who understands their obviously tragic plight at formal dinners. Give me a protagonist who likes caviar, for pete’s sake.

Director: Coky Giedroyc et al.
Rating: NA
Length: about three hours?
Score: 3/5.

I am legitimately angry about this film. Partly because I’m an ancient historian, partly because I consider myself largely not-racist and not-misogynist, partly because I have eyes, and partly because this movie is the kind of awful that I find it hard to describe without four-letter words. Also because 300 was silly but enjoyable, and I thought this might come close to that success. But no.

It didn’t seem to involve much care at all, so I’m not going to give it the benefit of an argument, just provide slightly-edited versions of my notes.


  • We start off with the rationale for Xerxes’ invasion of Greece, and it is INSANE. It does get us some bitchin’ Marathon footage, in which…okay, the Persians look like Arabs, and Darius looks a tiny bit like Persian kings were portrayed, and then is KILLED BY THEMISTOCLES AT MARATHON WHICH DID NOT HAPPEN AT ALL. His son is there, and that’s nice because it’s pre-androgynous monster and is just as hot as regular Rodrigo Santoro, but bad because…
  • THIS allows Crazy Eva Green (as Artemisia of Caria, sort of, who was indeed a queen and indeed commanded ships at Salamis) to manipulate Xerxes into going insane in the desert and becoming that gold giant we all know and hate, and… now we can literally blame the second Persian invasion of Greece on a witch-like woman, so that’s a blow for feminism and reason. Herodotus blamed it on a woman, too, but way back, and not entirely out of insane personal spite.
  • The Athenians also fight almost naked, of course—but in blue cloaks and in skirts instead of diapers, but we are constantly reminded of the diaper-wearing, ultra-violent, petulant Spartans, so… that’s good too?
  • The effects seem worse, but it is not less stupidly violent. On the plus side, we do get Xerxes’ sweet-ass pontoon bridge across the Hellespont.
  • It gets a little bit hazy here, and all I have is:
    Australian Themistocles… I don’t like it
  • It gets a little better when Themistocles goes to ask for (presumably non-existent) Spartan ships? But Gorgo laughs at a united Greece, which… seems questionable; also they can’t afford Gerard Butler or he’s too fat.
  • Oh, right! Artemisia’s backstory. She’s not queen of Caria, here, but instead a woman whose entire family was raped and killed by a roving band of hoplites, and then she was apparently the woman that a slave ship kept around to abuse, and then she was left for dead until she was raised to be a death-obsessed ninja by some Persian aristocrat. Yup, okay. So this one is personal too. Makes total sense.
  • The writing is just catastrophically terrible; literally all the talking is exposition, and it’s clumsy exposition.
  • There is a complete misunderstanding of how Athenian armies AND navies work, which is fun…
  • OH! And then Artemisia tries to suborn Themistocles, with booze and her cleavage and then, of course, they hate-bone, and it’s gross and terrible on pretty much every level.
  • We… had not done our homework on what was on the Acropolis when the Persians burned it, and the Spartans did not arrive like the goddamn US Marines.

ARGH. So I’m very angry, and not just because we only sort of sneezed in the direction of Herodotus. You could make a movie just as good as 300 about Salamis, but you might have to try, and you might have to make the sequence of events intelligible, and you might have to write dialogue, or try to make people make sense, or not embarrass Eva Green, or something.

Director: Noam Murro
Rating: R
Length: 102 min., most of which was battle, and yet, somehow, boring.
Score: 0/5. Honestly, don’t watch it. It is none of the kinds of fun of the first one and all of the kinds of terrible.

Well, this certainly represents a swing back in the conventional wisdom about Winston Churchill. I, at least, was taught that he was a dangerous hothead who was responsible for the pointless slaughter of thousands of Dominion soldiers, and, while he did turn out to be right about the Nazi menace and was a splendid wartime PM, skepticism about his opinion of the German re-armament in the 30s was reasonable because of his past track record of war-mongering bloodlust.

In this, we learn that until Britain declared war on Germany in 1914, Churchill was rather hoping they wouldn’t, that he loved his wife very much and she him, that he was an admirable battalion commander when he was sacked and sent to the trenches, and that he was largely responsible for the development and effective use of basically every kind of mechanized weaponry or transport. Even the end-tag observes in an adulatory way that whatever setbacks he encountered in the Great War merely meant that he was able with energy and experience to face the challenges of WWII.

To be sure, this documentary addresses his arrogance and ability to put people off, but only to counteract that with tales of his surprising efficacy as a fairly junior officer, or his stellar efforts in reforming munitions factories, or a tender note to his wife when she writes rather worriedly. Even Gallipoli, the bugbear of his life, passes by in a couple grainy photos of presumably antipodean troops looking slightly nonplussed. The number of Allied dead in that catastrophe is mentioned some minutes later, when the narrative has largely moved on. Of course, this isn’t a film about the Dardanelles campaign, but, when you speak of Churchill’s WWI, it should perhaps loom a little bit larger. You could leave out the bit where your (much too handsome) actor, in his natty Glengarry cap, impresses his Scots fusiliers by standing on the firing step of his trench without a thought for his own safety.

The interviewees are an interesting bunch–a few professors of history, of course, but also some amazing war technology boffins, as well as a former officer in the Grenadiers, who had incisive remarks about Churchill’s time at the front. It was intriguing to see the range of ways of speaking that they had.


  • Churchill’s French shrapnel helmet might be my new favorite thing.
  • Look at photos of David Lloyd-George in 1914 and then in 1918. Oof.
  • Blenheim Palace seems nice. Also, I hope you like looking at paintings of the first Duke of Marlborough.

Director: Adam Kemp
Rating: NR
Length: 94 min.
Score: 3/5.