Bone Keeper review – there’s a critter in the caves in serviceable Brit horror

An unconvincing group of friends is briskly picked off one-by-one while searching for a beastie that hitched a ride to Earth on a meteorite You get the measure early on of the tentacled predator in this British horror film when it makes mincemeat out of a hairy tough-guy Neanderthal. The movie opens with some punching-above-its budget special effects explaining the origins of the flesh-eater, which crash landed on Earth with a meteorite. Like Neil Marshall’s The Descent, it’s a creature that makes its home in caves – though unlike the earlier movie, Bone Keeper lacks a sense of sweat-trickling-down-your-back claustrophobia, despite a couple of good scares. Sarah Alexandra Marks plays Olivia, whose journalist grandfather vanished in the 1970s while investigating reports of a creature in a cave somewhere in the UK. Now years later, Olivia’s mother has disappeared while searching for him. So Olivia heads to the caves with a group of mates, who feel as if they’ve been dreamed up in a 20-...

Harder Than the Rock review – reggae’s unsung heroes finally get their moment

Cimarons, the UK’s first reggae band, played with Jimmy Cliff and Bob Marley but barely made a penny; this heartwarming film follows their first gig in 30 years

The UK’s first reggae band deserves all the love and attention coming their way with the release of this documentary. It’s the untold story of Cimarons, and begins in 1967 at a bus stop in London’s Harlesden where two Jamaican-born Londoners, Locksley Gichie and Franklyn Dunn, met and formed a band. By the end of the decade Cimarons would become the go-to backing group for Jamaican artists touring the UK, playing with the likes of Jimmy Cliff and Bob Marley. The band recorded albums of their own, worked as session musicians for Trojan records and toured with the Clash and the Jam. “They were the spark that started a big flame” is how MC General Levy describes their influence. But they barely made a penny out of music. Today, the band’s singer Michael Arkk works as an officer cleaner. How did Cimarons become reggae’s forgotten heroes?

Partly it comes down to choices. The band never hired professional management. They were in it for the music, touring in a clapped-out van with no heating and broken windscreen wipers. They called themselves Cimarons after a TV western, and only later found out it meant “wild and free”. The name fits.

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