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Zazie Beetz

News, Reviews & Features

  • Review: Joker discovers the magical art of not giving a f*ck

    Movie Review | Becky Suter | 8th October 2019

    To be honest, I had every intention of getting this review done as soon as I’d watched the film on Friday, but then I got distracted by Untitled Goose Game and the rest of the weekend was a bit of a waterfowl blur, to be honest. My waking hours were mainly spent terrorising a small, English village, checking off my to-do list before I grew bored and wanted to fuck shit up, just for the sake of it. I stole goods from a small business and planted them in a man’s garden to frame him for theft for pure lols. I trapped the boy in the garage over and over again, because I thought he was was weak and he didn’t like my honking. Unbound by societal demands, I was liberated; I was free. The poor inhabitants of the village had done nothing to deserve my feathery reign of terror, other than they didn’t like me and therefore, I didn’t like them. By the end of the weekend, had even one villager shown just a morsel of kindness toward me (a piece of bread, perhaps), I would have just honked in their stupid faces, and continued to destroy everything they hold dear. I didn’t set out to be the figurehead of the goose rebellion; they made me that way. Throughout the ages, village elders will tell tales of "The Goose That Hid in a Box, Then Jumped Out and Scared the Lady.” In the early hours of the morning with no more worlds left to conquer, I closed my laptop and remembered I said I was going to do a write-up of Joker, about a marginalised character on the fringes of society who adopts an alter-ego in a downward spiral, and I realised my story had already been told, except it was filmed a lot better and had Joaquin Phoenix in it and not so many geese.

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  • Review: High Flying Bird shoots, hits the rim, bounces in off the backboard

    Movie Review | Luke Whiston | 20th February 2019

    I am a sucker for a sports movie. Whether it's the technical aspects, a soppy love story or some team melodrama, they are my cinema catnip. I think it's because sport is a wholly silly artificial concept - something we invented after settling down long enough to think about what to do with ourselves next, so we decided to throw rocks into holes then invite the other caves over to see who could do it the best. Jump forward a few millennia and sport has become this hyper-commercialised beast that is embedded deep within the tribal part of our psyches. And even though I know that's a bad thing, I can't deny a primal urge to holler and wave a big foam hand whenever someone sprints up to do a slam dunk. GO SPAWTS!

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