Heartstopper Forever review – sanitized sex scenes won’t let the Netflix lovebirds grow up

The film-length finale to the teen LGBTQ+ show has poignant moments but feels like fan service by numbers If it were up to Kit Connor , Heartstopper would have ended quite differently. “If I’d had my way, I would have had Nick and Charlie cheating on each other and doing all those stupid things,” he recently told the Guardian. “Because young people do that and don’t necessarily need to be villainized for it.” Midway through Heartstopper Forever , the film-length finale of Netflix’s series, I started to see his point. The central star-crossed lovebirds of Alice Oceman’s megahit are now 18 and 17, and like most teenagers they have sex, get drunk and fight with their annoying siblings. Unlike most people their age, they don’t vape, don’t use sex apps and they definitely don’t cheat. Continue reading... from Film | The Guardian https://ift.tt/7iRZGVx via IFTTT

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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