The Hand That Rocks the Cradle review – serviceable 90s thriller remake

There are some smart updates to the psycho-nanny hit, but without the searing presence of Rebecca De Mornay, this one is unlikely to stick around for quite so long The yuppie-in-peril thriller, a multiplex mainstay throughout the late 80s and early 90s, tried to expose the vulnerabilities of our day-to-day, suggesting that danger could emerge from anyone and anywhere. It could be a co-worker (The Temp, Disclosure), a spouse (Sleeping With the Enemy, Dream Lover), a lover (Fatal Attraction, Don’t Talk to Strangers), a lodger (Pacific Heights, Single White Female), a parent (Mother’s Boys, Benefit of the Doubt), even a child (The Good Son, The Crush), a subgenre that insisted we maintain militant in spaces we’d assumed were safe. One of the era’s most creepily effective examples was Curtis Hanson’s The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, because it played on a specifically awful fear for parents – that the person you’d entrusted to protect your child had a nefarious agenda. Rebecca De Mornay’s...

Timestalker review – Alice Lowe’s anti-romcom is a darkly hilarious spin through history

The actor and film-maker’s ingenious comedy sees her play a gamut of characters who meet gory ends chasing a not-worth-it love interest

The Taoist philosopher Zhuangzi dreamed he was a butterfly – but couldn’t be sure if the butterfly wasn’t the one having the dream about him. Film-maker Alice Lowe dreams her way into a cosmically recurring persona in this likably chaotic, flawed comedy; she plays a woman who regenerates Blackadderishly throughout the years, from the 1680s to the 1980s, forever in love with the same man, forever destined to sacrifice herself for him, almost but not quite in possession of the knowledge that this guy is unworthy of her. At each stage, the incarnations of the past are perhaps dream-memories and the personae of the future are prophecies. Or … is she just very, very mad?

In 1688, Lowe is Agnes, a humble Scottish maidservant who is enamoured of a heretical preacher (Aneurin Barnard) who is about to be executed. In 1793, she is a poutingly bored noblewoman who conceives an erotic fascination for a dandy highwayman in the Adam Ant style, with the memorably annoying name of Alex O’Nine Ribbons (again Barnard). And in 1980, with leg-warmers and a frizzy hairstyle which makes her look like Barry Gibb or the Cowardly Lion, she plays a British woman in a drolly unconvincing-looking New York who has become a stalker-superfan of a new romantic pop star (Barnard once more). In addition, she is briefly to be seen as a magician’s assistant in Cleopatra costume in 1940 and even more briefly – almost subliminally – as some kind of Jane Eyre-ish schoolmarm in 1847 who is decapitated by a carriage wheel. (This last episode is so bafflingly fleeting that some of it must surely have been lost in the edit.)

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