No Time for Goodbye review – well intentioned drama about the loneliness of the asylum-seeker

Journalist Don Ng’s debut feature raises interesting questions about the asylum experience – but his film is too sentimental and superficial to truly answer them This is a film made with the best of intentions – and it has some good insights into the loneliness and isolation of seeking asylum in the UK. But there are a few too many sentimental moments to properly work as social-realism, or anything close to convincing drama, which is disappointing given its creator, Don Ng, is a journalist-turned-director making his feature debut. It’s set in London, where Bosco (a sensitive performance by Yiu-Sing Lam) has arrived from Hong Kong fleeing the government’s crackdown on political freedom, though he doesn’t really talk much about the situation back home. Bosco is sent to live with other asylum seekers on a military base while his application is processed. Some of the best scenes turn out to be gentle observations of his sense of dislocation: walking around the local corner shop, for exam...

Golda review – lifeless Meir biopic hides Helen Mirren’s talent in a cloud of cigarette smoke

As a drama about the Yom Kippur war, this film is bafflingly dull. As a portrait of Golda Meir, Israel’s prime minister at the time, it’s even worse

Helen Mirren’s latexed and enhanced portrayal of Golda Meir, Israel’s “Iron Lady” prime minister during the 1973 Yom Kippur war, has been overtaken by a debate about “Jewface” casting because Mirren is not Jewish – addressing why Jews are casually excluded from the otherwise fiercely policed sensibilities about authenticity and identity on screen. (Would they get a white actor, for example, to black up as President Anwar Sadat?) It’s a valid and important question, but not exactly the problem in this stately, stuffy and at times almost comatose TV-movie-type drama about tension in Israel’s corridors of power as the Yom Kippur war exploded and the country faced off against Egypt, Syria and Jordan in a battle for its very existence.

Mirren, normally such a sparkling performer, is lumbered with a grey wig, false nose and jowls, with occasional headscarf and handbag, making her look as if she is playing the Queen doing an impression of Richard Nixon. This Golda Meir impassively chainsmokes her way through wooden potted-history dialogue scenes with her military top brass, while everyone blows cigarette smoke at each other; occasionally she takes a break to lie prostrate on a hospital bed, stoically smoking and dying of cancer. Is she going to die? Why not? The film is flatlining.

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