Dave’s Movie Diary

This episode is on The Sixth Sense (1999), a film I first saw in cinemas back when twists like this could still genuinely surprise audiences. Rewatching it now, I was struck by how well it still holds up — extraordinary performances from Haley Joel Osment, Toni Collette and Bruce Willis, plus a brilliantly original script that remains just as rewarding even when you know exactly where it’s going.

This episode is about Subway (1985). I hadn’t seen it since the early 90s and what struck me most was how completely wrong my memory of it had been. I’d remembered a tense action thriller, but what I found instead was pure 80s style — eccentric characters, great music, strange energy and a film that feels more like a long music video than a conventional story. Sometimes pure distraction is exactly what you need.

This episode is about The Russia House (1990). What struck me most on revisiting it wasn’t the spy story, but simply spending time in the Soviet Union of 1990. Sean Connery is perfectly cast, but for me Michelle Pfeiffer completely steals the film. A slow, patient spy thriller that puts all its faith in character rather than action.

This episode is about The Hateful Eight (2015). I hadn’t revisited it in about 11 years, and it’s always been the forgotten Tarantino for me. Going back to it now, I was struck by how impressive it looks — that sense of isolation in the blizzard and the widescreen photography really stand out. But I also found it a much tougher watch than I remembered.

This episode is about Manhattan (1979). Revisiting it after thirty years, I was struck again by how beautiful it looks — New York in black and white is still extraordinary. But the film itself now feels more self-absorbed and uncomfortable than I remembered. A hugely influential film, but one that’s become more complicated with time.

This episode is on The Club (1980). I remembered really liking this when I first saw it in the 90s, but revisiting it now it feels much more theatrical and melodramatic than I recall. Strong nostalgia for late 70s Australia, but overall not quite as convincing this time around.

This episode is on Toni Erdmann (2016). A very strange film and one that takes its time — much slower and far less comedic than I expected at first. But once it settles into the father-daughter relationship, it becomes surprisingly funny, moving, and quietly profound about the way we live and what actually matters.

This episode is on The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996).Rewatching it now, I found myself less interested in Larry Flynt the man and more drawn to the film’s bigger ideas around free speech, censorship and hypocrisy. Great performances all round, but a film that feels a little less provocative and a little more exhausting with time.

This episode is on Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead (2007). It’s a simple setup that spirals fast — two brothers planning a robbery that goes wrong in ways that ripple out into everything else. What stuck with me coming back to it is how controlled it feels, even as everything in it is collapsing.It’s a film about greed, family, and the point where bad decisions stop being fixable. Tight, bleak, and quietly devastating.

This episode is on Scarface (1983). It’s Tony Montana’s rise and fall — all ambition, excess, and self-destruction. It’s loud, violent, and iconic, but underneath it’s really just a straight line from wanting everything to losing everything.

This episode is on Miami Vice (2006), a film I really didn’t get the first time I saw it back in 2007.Coming back to it now, it’s less about plot and more about mood — undercover work, blurred identity, and the emotional cost underneath it all. It’s messy, dense, and better than I originally gave it credit for.

Today I’m looking at Barton Fink (1991), which feels less like a film about writer’s block and more like a surreal pressure-cooker of ego, performance, and atmosphere. What really stands out is John Turturro trapped in this decaying hotel world, with Michael Lerner and John Goodman delivering these unforgettable, increasingly unhinged performances. It’s not a film you solve — it’s one you sit inside and let unravel.

Today I’m looking at Jaws (1975), a film that never really felt like a discovery because it was already such a huge part of popular culture before I properly saw it. Rewatching it now, what stands out most is just how brilliantly Spielberg builds tension through what you don’t see. A landmark film that still completely holds up.

Today I’m looking at Unbreakable (2000), a film that feels even more fascinating now given what superhero cinema eventually became. What still works is how restrained and grounded Shyamalan keeps it, with Bruce Willis and Samuel L. Jackson building something far more thoughtful than a conventional comic book film.

Today I’m looking at Local Hero (1983), a film I somehow avoided for nearly 20 years before finally catching up with it by chance. What really stayed with me was the warmth of the small Scottish village setting, the incredible Mark Knopfler score, and just how effortlessly charming the whole thing feels. Not sure it’ll become a regular rewatch, but I’m very glad I finally spent time with it.

Today I’m looking at Schindler’s List (1993), a film that takes me back to a time when cinema still felt like a genuine cultural event. Watching it now, what stands out is Spielberg’s ability to create something that feels less like entertainment and more like witnessing history. Still one of the most powerful and important films I’ve ever seen.

Today I’m looking at Q & A (1990), a Sidney Lumet crime drama that feels more interested in institutional corruption than conventional thriller mechanics. Nick Nolte is outstanding as a man who sees his own corruption as completely justified, and the film still feels as raw and morally tense now as it did when I first saw it in the early 90s.

Today I’m looking at Against All Odds (1984), a very slick, very 80s thriller built around sun-soaked locations, shifting loyalties, and some beautifully questionable decisions. Jeff Bridges, Rachel Ward and James Woods are all great here, but what really stood out for me was just how effortlessly entertaining it is. Not especially deep, but a perfect snapshot of that glossy mid-80s Hollywood style.

Today I’m looking at The Long Good Friday (1980), a British gangster film about Harold Shand, a London crime boss trying to step into legitimate business just as everything around him starts to fall apart over one Easter weekend. What really stands out is Bob Hoskins’ performance, the tension in the way power slowly unravels, and the London Docklands setting as the city itself shifts between eras. It’s a film built on pressure rather than spectacle, and it still feels incredibly controlled and sharp today.

Today I’m looking at Deliverance (1972), where a canoe trip through rural Georgia starts as a kind of last hurrah and slowly turns into something much darker and harder to come back from. It’s the way the film tightens around these four guys — stripping away comfort and control — that really sticks with me. Still an incredibly unsettling watch, and one that doesn’t really fade once it’s over.

Today I’m talking about The Fabulous Baker Boys (1988), a film with a slightly predictable plot but undeniable chemistry between Jeff Bridges and Michelle Pfeiffer sustain this one plus the dynamic between the brothers is another plus. What a run Jeff Bridges was on from Cutters Way in 1981 all the way through to The Contender in 2000. Maybe the most underrated actor of his generation.

Today I’m looking at Rain Man (1988), a film I first saw at 15 in the cinema with my dad, double-billed with Twins. What’s stayed with me is how it works as a road movie built on forced proximity, where the emotional shift between the two brothers slowly does all the heavy lifting. Still a film I like a lot, but now I see Tom Cruise as carrying more of the emotional weight than I did at the time.

Today I’m looking at The Boost (1988), a very 80s story about ambition, excess and self-destruction. James Woods throws himself into the lead role as a man spiralling out of control, and while the film can be heavy-handed at times, it works as both a period piece and a cautionary tale.

Today I’m looking at Ferrari (2023), Michael Mann’s portrait of a man trying to hold everything together while the walls slowly close in around him. Adam Driver is excellent as Enzo Ferrari, and the film is less about racing than pressure, obsession and the personal cost of chasing greatness. It’s measured, deliberate and feels very much like a late-period Michael Mann film.

Today I’m looking at Dressed to Kill (1980), a film that reminds me why Brian De Palma was such a distinctive filmmaker. It’s stylish, suspenseful and completely unapologetic in the way it pushes sex, violence and voyeurism to the forefront. Not everything works for me, but it’s never less than fascinating to watch.

Today I’m looking at First Blood (1982), a film that’s much more than the action franchise it eventually became. Sylvester Stallone gives one of his best performances as John Rambo, a troubled Vietnam veteran pushed to breaking point by a world that no longer understands him. Tense, emotional, and surprisingly human, it still holds up remarkably well.

Today I’m looking at A Short Film About Love (1988), a quiet film about longing, obsession, and one-sided connection. It’s restrained and observational, letting the emotion sit without much explanation or resolution. Simple, but it lingers through what it doesn’t say as much as what it does.

Today I’m looking at Street Smart (1987), a gritty New York crime drama about ambition, desperation, and people trying to talk their way through bad decisions. What really stands out for me is Morgan Freeman’s performance as Fast Black—completely magnetic, unpredictable, and carrying the whole film whenever he’s on screen. It’s a bit uneven, but it has enough tension and energy to keep pulling you through.

Today I’m looking at The Sting (1973), a smooth con film built around charm, deception, and a long-game hustle. What stands out most is the pairing of Paul Newman and Robert Redford and the way the whole film just runs on style, rhythm, and execution. It’s light, clever, and really just about enjoying how the con slowly unfolds.

Today I’m looking at Elephant (2003), Gus Van Sant’s stripped-back, observational film about a school shooting that’s more about mood and structure than story. It uses long tracking shots and quiet spaces to build this sense of everyday normality slowly breaking down. It’s restrained and unsettling, focused more on atmosphere and aftermath than explanation.

Today I’m looking at Return of the Pink Panther (1975), another Clouseau film built around chaos, misunderstandings, and escalating slapstick. Peter Sellers is the standout again, fully inhabiting that mix of cluelessness and accidental genius. It’s light, episodic, and really just about the gags, but it still works on that level.

Today I’m looking at Blood Simple (1984), the Coen Brothers’ debut, and it already feels like their world of bad decisions and escalating chaos is fully formed. It’s tightly constructed, with everything slowly spiralling out of control as each character digs themselves deeper. Dark, tense, and occasionally funny, it’s really the atmosphere and sense of paranoia that stays with you.

Today I’m looking at Saturday Night Fever (1977), a film that’s really as much about the world around Tony Manero as it is about him—Brooklyn life, routine, frustration, and then this escape into the dance floor where everything briefly feels bigger. John Travolta is the standout, completely owning that mix of confidence and insecurity, and the disco soundtrack just drives the whole thing with this relentless energy. It’s stylish, a bit grim underneath it all, but it really captures that contrast between escape and reality in a way that still hits.

Today I’m looking at Raging Bull (1980), a film that hits more like a character study than a traditional sports movie. What stands out for me is De Niro’s transformation as Jake LaMotta, and the way Scorsese frames everything in these intense, almost suffocating black-and-white sequences that keep you locked in close to the violence and insecurity underneath it all. It’s brutal, controlled, and at times hard to watch, but it’s one of those films that stays with you because it never really softens its edges.

Today I’m looking at Star Wars (1977), the film that really kicked off my whole movie watching life. I first saw it in the cinema when I was four, and it just landed as this massive experience—good versus evil, rebels versus Empire, lightsabers, spaceships, the whole thing. Harrison Ford as Han Solo was the standout for me, all attitude and charisma, and Darth Vader is still one of the great screen villains, just pure presence and menace. It’s simple storytelling, but it’s done with so much energy and imagination that it’s stuck with me ever since.

Today I’m looking at Repo Man (1984), this strange mix of punk LA, crime story, and sci-fi paranoia that just kind of exists in its own lane. It doesn’t really behave like a normal narrative — it drifts, it breaks rules, and half the time it feels like it’s not interested in explaining itself at all. What holds it together is that deadpan energy and the feeling that everything is slightly unhinged but somehow still deliberate.

Today I’m looking at Black Bag (2025), a sleek Stephen Soderbergh spy thriller that’s more about tension, performance, and shifting loyalties than action. It plays like a constant game of reading people under pressure, where no one ever feels fully truthful. Quietly paranoid and restrained, it’s more about atmosphere than spectacle, and it’s held together by how controlled and precise it feels throughout.

Today I’m re-examining Two Hands (1999), one of those late-90s Australian films that locks into a very specific Sydney energy—small-time crime, everyday life, and everything sitting uncomfortably close together. Heath Ledger really stands out in an early role, that mix of charm, awkwardness, and vulnerability as things start to spiral. It’s funny, tense, a bit rough around the edges, but it captures a time and place in a way that still feels completely authentic on rewatch.

I watched Enter the Void last night, and it’s a film that’s more about experience than story, and I found myself reacting to the way it pulls you through it rather than anything traditional in terms of plot. It’s disorienting, immersive, and kind of overwhelming in a way that sticks with you after it ends.

Today on Dave's Movie Diary, I'm revisiting The Edge (1997), a film I've always enjoyed for its combination of survival adventure, psychological tension, and spectacular scenery. I talk about Anthony Hopkins' remarkable performance, Alec Baldwin's underrated work, the film's breathtaking wilderness setting, and why it's one of those highly watchable 90s movies that still holds up today.

This episode takes a look at Clerks (1994), Kevin Smith’s breakthrough indie comedy. I reflect on its place in 90s culture, my own history with the film, and why its mix of dead-end jobs, friendship, sarcasm and everyday frustration still resonates decades later. Sometimes the smallest films leave the biggest impression.

Today on Dave’s Movie Diary, I’m revisiting The French Connection (1971), a film that helped define the gritty, street-level crime movies of the 1970s. I discuss Gene Hackman’s unforgettable Popeye Doyle, William Friedkin’s raw directing style, the legendary chase sequence, and whether this Oscar-winning classic still packs the same punch on a modern rewatch.

A cold, precise look at Michael Mann’s neon-soaked debut about a professional safecracker trying to walk away from the life he’s built. It’s a film about control, obsession, and the illusion that you can negotiate your way out of who you are. What starts as a crime story slowly becomes something more existential — about time, identity, and what freedom actually costs.

A look at Martin Scorsese’s relentless thriller about obsession, fear, and moral collapse as a family is stalked by a man from the past. It’s a film where performance becomes pressure, and justice starts to feel dangerously unstable.

A look at John Hughes’ classic about skipping school, breaking rules, and the strange art of living in the moment — with a darker undercurrent hiding under all the fun.