Parky At the Pictures (24/7/2026)

(Reviews of Ask E. Jean; Cucinelli: The Gracious Visionary; and On the Sea)

ASK E. JEAN.

Documentarist Ivy Meeropol is best known for two films about her grandparents, Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. She examined the impact on the family of their capital conviction of spying for the Soviet Union in Heir to an Execution (2004), while Bully. Coward. Victim. The Story of Roy Cohn (2019) focussed on the man who had prosecuted them. The latter also examined Cohn's influence on Donald Trump and his name crops up frequently in Ask E. Jean, a profile of pioneering columnist, editor, and agony aunt, E. Jean Carroll.

After a blizzard of clips that establish Carroll as a force of nature, she takes us through her efforts to become a magazine writer while married to a husband who saw himself as Ernest Hemingway. Ironically, a quiz she had written about Papa and F. Scott Fitzgerald was published in Esquire and Carroll embarked upon a gonzo phase that saw her go camping with author Fran Lebowitz, move in with all of her ex-boyfriends, and meet radical lesbian pornographers. Breaking off an interview, she asks Meeropol if her viewers will know what a magazine is, as the world has gone digital.

As the first female contributing editor in Playboy history, Carroll was in demand and we see her boarding the Love Train to discuss romantic novels before she recalls hanging out with Hunter S. Thompson while writing his biography. Her livewire style prompted Elle to offer her an advice column in 1993 and she accepted instantly, as she had grown up reading Ann Landers and Abigail Van Buren. She flicks through old copies of the magazine and shrugs at the columns she doesn't rate. But she wrote with a candour and a positivity that encouraged women to consider themselves precious and not behoven to any man.

Such was her success that NBC's Roger Ailes gave her the Ask E. Jean TV show (1994-96), in which she oozed chic and charisma, as she draped herself over the set's white sofa while offering callers quippingly empathetic advice. This live, daily show was dubbed `America's Answering Machine' by Entertainment Weekly and Carroll now believes advice outlets are the best way to take the pulse of the nation, as the questions reveal so much about the status and concerns of the help-seekers.

She doesn't look back with pride on all of her contributions, however, and particularly regrets an appearance on Geraldo Rivera's chat show, during which she accused Anita Hill and Paula Jones of being `wimps' for not standing up to Clarence Thomas and Bill Clinton, whom they respectively claimed had harassed them. What makes her all the more conflicted is the fact that she had not reported real estate tycoon Donald Trump for raping her in a changing room at the Bergdorf Goodman department store in New York, in spite of the urging of her writer friend, Lisa Birnbach.

The women discuss over a meal how Carroll had called Birnbach with what she hoped she would see as a funny story. But she was appalled and told Carroll to report the crime to the police. Instead, Birnbach agreed never to speak of it again, at Carroll's insistence and she tried to get on with her life and career. However, when the #MeToo movement grew up following accusations against Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein, Carroll felt she couldn't advise women on similar issues if she had remained silent herself. She compiled `The Most Hideous Men in My Life List' and put Trump on it and news outlets pick up the story. Carroll spoke about the assault on numerous shows and was encouraged to sue, especially after President Trump dismissed her claim as a politically motivated lie. He also glibly added that she was not his type.

Considering that her integrity as an advice columnist rested on her honesty, Carroll decided to sue for defamation. We see a monochrome clip of a 1964 episode of the panel show, To Tell the Truth, on which Carroll had appeared after winning the title of Miss Cheerleader USA. She had based her advice-writing style around encouragement and she felt she owed it to her readers to confront Trump about using his status and power in a bid to dismiss and silence her. After all, she had once said on her TV show, `Always press charges.'

Lawyers Roberta Kaplan and Joshua Matz succeeded in persuading the Department of Justice not to throw out the case on a count of presidential immunity. She scoffs at his attempt to make himself the victim, in embarking upon a lengthy legal battle through various courts. But she refuses to buckle and attributes her confidence to her mother, Betty, a Republican politician who raised her daughter to live on the front foot. Bearing this in mind, the 80 year-old Carroll reasons that she needs to look as she did in 1996 during the trial to assuage any jury doubts about how `fuckable' she was/is and hires her old TV make-up artist, Lisa Corelli, to recreate her style.

She brings a civil suit for defamation and battery and we see clips of the questions she was asked during a pre-trial deposition, which she claims would have stopped a racehorse. She recalls in voiceover how she had bumped into Trump in the revolving door of the store and he had asked her to help him choose a gift `for a girl'. He had asked her age (56 at the time) and he had hit upon lingerie as the perfect present after rejecting handbags and hats.

In the deposition footage, Carroll recalls the banter between them when he asked her to put on a bodysuit. She had joked that he should put it on and felt she could coax him into putting it on over his pants when they went into the changing room. However, Trump had slammed the door and pushed her against the wall, banging her head. She describes what happened next and reveals that it had been over very quickly. So shocked by what was happening to her, Carroll had laughed, in an effort to return to the previous sense of repartee. But the moment she could get her knee up to push him away, she did so and left.

While discussing the encounter, Birnbach points out that Carroll was more famous than Trump at the time, as he was a man `with a bad combover' who was known for `losing upwards'. However, her decision to go public cost her the Elle column after 27 years (because the magazine didn't have the pages to accommodate her) and she tells Meeropol that firing a woman for standing up to a powerful man was `not a good look'. She has since contacted many of the other women who have come forward to accuse Trump and she claims to feel like a coward in their presence, as they had much more to lose than she did.

Finding people to come forward to corroborate in court proved tricky. Birnbach agreed after Carroll dedicated her book to her, while fellow NBC host Carol Martin agreed to appear at the second trial because Carroll had told her the next day and she had warned her to keep quiet because Trump's lawyers would destroy her.

Carroll recalls her social life around the time she was writing for Saturday Night Live and remembers meeting TV anchor John Johnson at Elaine's. We cut to Trump looking at a photo of himself meeting Carroll and Johnson in a receiving line, as he backs up the assertion that she was not his type. He mistakes Carroll for his wife, Marla Maples, and claims the image is blurry when he has the error pointed out. It isn't. When pressed about dating in the deposition taping, Carroll reveals the music stopped after she was raped and that she hasn't had sex since.

The jury took little time in finding for Carroll and Trump was ordered to pay $5 million for sexually abusing and defaming her. He gave a furious interview on CNN, in which he called Carroll `a whack job' and denied all of her allegations. As abusive messages on social media poured in, Carroll decided to sue again for the CNN remarks and his postings on Truth Social. On camera unde oath, she admits to feeling guilty about the episode because she believes it to have been her own fault. In a clip from her TV show, Carroll struggles when meeting a woman who had felt the same way after she had been raped and it seems clear that she was reliving the hideous experience (as she claimed she often did so, even at her mother's deathbed). In retrospect, she wishes she had consulted a therapist, but she was born in 1943 into the generation that bounced back and didn't complain and she is only realising that she has suffered as a result of what Trump did to her.

Carroll notes that Trump didn't attend the sexual assault trial, but turned up when he stood to lose money. She got the shakes when she first saw him in court, but Kaplan took her hand in the witness box and she regained her composure and saw the ex-president as a nobody. He ended up being $83.3 million poorer as a result of the hearing, which left Carroll contemplating splashing out on a toaster. She received grateful mail and used invitations to speaking events to appeal for women to fight on because there's still a long way to go.

Closing captions reveal that Trump continued to appeal the verdicts and refused to pay a cent. Carroll has promised to invest the remainder (when it comes) in a foundation for women rights. This will be enhance her legacy, which stands on her courage to take on a bully and expose him for what he is. Outrageously, he was elected a second time and is currently making a horlicks of things, while also trying to claw back the $5 million within days of paying it while seeking a way to take the case back to the Supreme Court. Some piece of work.

This isn't a perfect documentary, but it gets the job done with precision and panache. Carroll comes across ebulliently, but intelligently, as she discusses both her career and her crusade. Editors Leah Goudsmit and Ferne Pearlstein piece together clips from diverse sources in a propulsive manner that doesn't always leave room to pin events down to times and places. Nevertheless, Meeropol manages to capture Carroll's personality, but also the vulnerability that she had to keep under control while righting her wrong.

She also makes it clear that Trump isn't alone when it comes to toxic masculinity and the clips from the TV show (ironically commissioned by the man at the centre of Jay Roach's Bombshell, 2019) are deftly used to highlight the value of Ask E. Jean in holding up a mirror to America. It would be nice to return to the golden autumn of magazine publishing with Carroll, as she is right to lament its eclipse by online media. Something along the lines of Andrew Rossi's Page One: Inside the New York Times (2011) or Marshall Curry's The New Yorker At 100 (2025) would be wonderful. Meeropol might also take a tilt at another bigoted, bullying blowhard in Senator Joseph McCarthy? In the meantime, there is much to ponder here. And celebrate, as the right person prevailed.

CUCINELLI: THE GRACIOUS VISIONARY.

Now 70, Giuseppe Tornatore will always be renowned for Cinema Paradiso (1988), as well as such diverse features as Everybody's Fine (1990), The Legend of 1900 (1998), Malèna (2000), Baaria (2009), and The Best Offer (2013). However, he has recently returned to the documentary format he first explored with Lo schermo a tre punte (1995), which told the history of Sicily through meticulously chosen film clips. Now, following his superb profile of 13-time collaborator Ennio Morricone in Ennio (2021), Tornatore has delved into the world of fashion for Brunello: The Gracious Visionary, which has been scored by Oscar winner Nicola Piovani.

Brunello Cucinelli introduces himself in his vineyard with a precious nocturnal rumination on fire. Footage from his lavish 70th birthday party follows some gushing talking heads. But a charming (if corny) segment follows, as Cucinelli returns to his rustic childhood home, which is filled with actors living out the daily routine that was a 1950s reality for his 13 family members and five neighbours in `a small village' where there were no mod cons like running water or electricity and nothing went to waste. Rabbits were combed for their wool and his father, Umberto (Matteo Calderini), taught him about the beauty of nature and straight lines in urging him to keep the cows moving ahead when ploughing the fields.

As played by Francesco Cannevale, the seven year-old Brunello is a cherubic altar boy who loves being with his siblings on the daily 7km walk to school in defiance of the padrone because his father insisted the boys received an education. Mother Maria (Beatrice Carlani) doted on him and he dreamt each night of monks or knights in battle (shown in animated form before his wide-open eyes). He also adored Grandfather Fiorino (Aristide Cini), who taught him to play cards and let him beat his old pals at the cosy village tavern. According to the talking heads, Cucinelli's skill at cards is key to his character, as he people watches, plans ahead, and exploits his advantages. To emphasis the point, Cucinelli is shown (rather awkwardly) shuffling a pack and dealing cards with assured deliberation.

An uncle gave him Plato to read and he became hooked on philosophy. He considered becoming a priest, but missed Maria so much on his only night in the seminary that he came home. Much is made about the world getting great sweaters because the Roman Catholic Church missed out, but it's not as though he lost his vocation on the cusp of taking Holy Orders - he was a small boy who knew little of the wider world and preferred to stick with what he knew.

Shortly after burying a pair of green corduroy pants his mother had made because he didn't like the colour (an early style statement says one talking head), the family moved to the Ferro di Cavallo neighbourhood of Perugia. Now 15, Brunello (Francesco Ferroni) was teased for his peasant dialect and lamented the loss of the silence he had so cherished in the country. But he found a niche playing scopa at Bar Gigino, where regulars (of all ages) accepted him for himself. He let his hair grow and acquired a camel-hair coat, which flapped behind him as he rode his Vespa in the hope of catching the eye of Federica (Emma Fatone) on the local bus.

Coming home one night, Brunello saw Umberto sobbing because factory life depressed him because he was treated so badly. This made him vow to live and work with dignity and he befriended a kid with learning difficulties named Gianfri (Alessandro Romani) and took him daily on his motorbike to see the express train go by. He also tried to help Lella (Elena Maneggia) give up prostitution and Oprah Winfrey pops up to say that Cucinelli learned how to see the good in people because Umberto had been so dehumanised.

Although Brunello (Saul Nanni) enrolled to study engineering, he dropped out at 24 and spent his time reading philosophy, playing briscola, and romancing Federica, who had introduced him to her home village of Soloméo, which had been seen better days and he had promised her that he would restore it. Her parents didn't approve, however, as they considered him beneath her. His situation improved, though, when he started modelling for Elisse and hit upon the idea of making cashmere sweaters in vibrant colours (prompting several talking heads to call him a `visionary'). Quitting the bar, he started in a small workshop and made enough stock to attend a trade fair in a Munich hotel, where a couple of friends made effusive farewells at the door to pique the curiousity of the industry bigwigs lining the corridor. Miraculously, the gambit paid off and he sold 11,800 pullovers and used upfront payments to buy more wool and hire more knitters.

Calculated risks paid off and Brunello was soon a success (as he Cucinelli acknowledges in interview with a knowing smile). In the office, he used different voices to con callers into thinking he had a bigger operation. But his change in fortune persuaded Federica's parents to approve their marriage and we see mentor Fr Alberto presiding over the ceremony. We also see him in a home movie footage of an Easter Passion Play in Soloméo, in which Cucinelli had (naturally) played Jesus Christ.

He did, however, prove to be the saviour of Soloméo, as he bought the castle and renovated it to become the headquarters of his company. Moreover, as Oprah opines, he created a factory atmosphere that was the exact opposite to the sweatshop in which his father had toiled. Maria came to help occasionally, as the enterprise grew and took on kitchen staff to feed the cashmere crew. Following a trip to New York, however, business boomed after Barney Pressman took a liking to Cucinelli's wares (none of them green) and started selling them as luxury items for top dollar in Barneys.

Sensing that he needed to diversify, Cucinelli branched out into wider fashion and received a huge boost in China when actress Tao Liu wore his designs in the soap opera, Ode to Joy (2016), and sales went through the roof. Some of the profits were used to restore the church in Soloméo to fulfil a deathbed promise to Fr Alberto, who passed soon after Cucinelli lost his mother. Taking 20% of company revenue to restore the rest of the village, he also invested in projects to bring beauty to his part of Umbria - and he looks upwards to ask Fr Alberto if he did a good job, as Tornatore cuts to a drone shot over the village, which looks irresistibly picturesque. Daughters Camilla and Carolina are rightfully proud, although he jokes that they call him `Atilla' because he's always knocking things down.

Having built a theatre next to the church, Cucinelli bulldozed some old warehouses in the valley and created vineyards and a park, so that everyone could share in a little piece of paradise. His new premises were built with beauty in mind and we see him strolling around the factory floor bantering with the seamstresses and a talking head credits him with inventing a new brand of humanist capitalism. All the rooms have natural light, wages are above the market level, and everyone eats lunch together. Even when he floated on the stock market, he consulted the workers and ensured that dividends went towards good works, such as renovating the opera house and the cathedral in Perugia, as well as reaching out to countries like Malawi.

Although he has treated himself to a private jet, Cucinelli insists that the goats live happily in the Gobi Desert region where the methods of combing wool haven't changed in centuries. The process reminds him of the family brushing rabbits in Castel Rigone and reconnects him with his roots. Sticking to his principles helped him through the Covid-19 pandemic and he was asked to address the G20 in Rome in 2021. He used the words of St Augustine to remind them that they were the custodians of Creation and we see the statues of the great philosophers he has dotted around Soloméo, accompanied by quotes from their works. Critics have scoffed, but Cucinelli believes their words can change hearts and minds, even in the hard-nosed modern world. Futhering this end, he has amassed half a million books from around the world for a library in Soloméo.

Umberto lived to be 100 and saw his son receive an honorary degree from the University of Perugia. A montage of awards follows before Oprah and others provide closing encomia. We see him at the head of a long, long table seating family, friends, and colleagues, as Cucinelli signs off by hoping that his tombstone reads, `He was a good man.'

He certainly seems to be, as the work that Cucinelli has done around Soloméo and Perugia is entirely laudable and poignantly honours the parents whose struggles have inspired him. But this profile never feels like anything other than a vanity project. Cucinelli is too visible for it to be anything else from the moment his company logo appears before opening credits reading, `Brunello Cucinelli Presents' and `A Production by Brunello Cucinelli Spa Masi Films'. He's ubiquitous, mingling with the actors recreating the key moments from his past when not talking directly to the camera or striking contemplative poses denoting a man with another plan. One wonders how much say Cucinelli had in such scenes, as he is clearly used to things being done to suit him. Not that he comes across as anything other than charismatic, benevolent, thoughtful, loyal, and spiritual, even when relating the most rehearsed of anecdotes and aphorisms. But the relentlessly conspicuous modesty eventually becomes a bit much, especially given the fact that Cucinelli owes his fortune to producing expensive luxury items for the rich and privileged.

While overly deferential and reverential in the actuality segments, Tornatore handles the reconstructions with typical aplomb. The young Brunello comes across as a mix of Totò Di Vita, Renato Amoroso, and Peppino Torrenuova. The scene in which he twirls in the country snowfall, as his mother looks on adoringly from the window, manages to be both twee and touching and this tone pervades much of the flashback material, which has been impeccably designed by Maurizio Sabatini and photographed by Fabio Zamarion.

But these sequences end abruptly once Cucinelli becomes the `king of cashmere', however, as if he's not prepared to share the credit with any actorly amanuensis. This switch of focus also leaves more room for the fawning talking heads to gush in awed admiration about his savvy, piety, philanthropy, integrity, and humility. Nobody has a bad word for the gracious Brunello. Not in this sycophantic and self-serving `film', at least.

ON THE SEA.

A decade on from her directorial debut, The Violators (2015), novelist Helen Walsh returns behind the camera for On the Sea. As it's set in a small fishing town in North Wales, it completes a trilogy of convenience with Mark Jenkin's Rose of Nevada and Marc Evans's Effi o Blaenau.

Moulded by tradition and set ways, brothers Jack (Barry Ward) and Dyfan Morgan (Celyn Jones) rake mussels for a living in a small town on the North Wales coast. Three years on, Dyfan still resents the fact that he had to work alone while Jack beat cancer and chides him for going easy with his sullen 16 year-old son, Tom (Henry Lawfull). Jack disapproves of his son hanging out with some local lads, but he and dressmaker wife Maggie (Liz White) are happy to leave him home to study with girlfriend Lois (Leisa Gwenllian), while they nip out to the pub.

Together since they were kids, Maggie coaxes Jack on to the dance floor and urges him not to get involved in a fight when Scottish deckhand Daniel (Lorne MacFadyen) complains to his boss, Richmond, about being owed three weeks' wages. He sees Daniel again next morning when Tom's pals rag ageing fisherman Bernie (Danny Webb) on the quayside and push him into the sea. Jack gives Daniel some cash to warm Bernie up and comes to the pub later to run them home. He learns that Daniel's father fished scallops in Oban before he drank himself out of business and they mock the posh Londoners craving the seafood they break their backs to catch. Over a scotch after cutting firewood, they discuss the fact Jack has spent his life in the town and Daniel asks if he's ever been up to the old tin mines, as it's supposedly good for rabbits. Knowing this is a gay pick-up spot, Jack doesn't answer, but he has suppressed that side of himself because he loves his wife.

Getting home, Dyfan informs him that a crucial customer has defected to Richmond and he is upset when Jack suggests that some of his nephews might have to be laid off. He confides in Maggie that he suspects Dyfan is trying to muscle him out, knowing Tom doesn't want to follow in his footsteps. But she reminds him his co-owner and can't be pushed around. She also asks him to have a word with Tom because she had caught him in bed with Lois and she doesn't want him making any mistakes he will regret.

Finding Bernie slumped on his parlour floor, Jack takes him to hospital and throws Finn (Kieran Roberts) out of the house when he finds him with Tom and Lois because Bernie has had to lose a leg. He asks Daniel to join him on Bernie's scallop dredger to make enough cash to get him through the winter and they go out together. Daniel flirts as they sort the catch and invites Jack to his caravan for a couple of cans. But he declines politely, while suggesting that they could go out in Bernie's boat again.

Having ventured up to the tin mines, Jack watches two men having sex from the shadows. He goes to church with the family on Sunday and bridles when he hears someone say that Bernie brought bad luck on himself by having a woman onboard his boat. Jack goes out without Daniel and takes the cash to Bernie, who is refusing to let the nurses wash him and Jack offers to do it if that makes him feel less self-conscious. At the pub, Jack goes to sit with Dyfan after a brief chat at the bar, which irks Daniel because they had called him over with a veiled homophobic remark. Daniel waits for Jack to leave the pub and punches him.

Nursing a split lip, Jack drives round to clear his head and parks alongside the caravan. Daniel opens the door and fetches them beers. He insults Dyfan, but apologises for the lip, which he reaches across to touch with his thumb as they sit on the sofa. Pulling the curtain across, Daniel leans in for a kiss, but Jack pulls away. Daniel follows him and, standing behind him, removes his jacket and unbuckles his belt. He reaches round before requesting a blow job. Refusing an invitation to the pub - because this is his town - Jack bolts as soon as they're done, pausing only to say that his operation scar is a shark bite. Arriving home, he feels too guilty to speak when Maggie calls out to him.

Bumping into each other at Bernie's when Jack brings some groceries, he watches Daniel give him a bath and skin a rabbit he had caught for lunch. Once they had settled Bernie down for a nap, however, they kiss passionately and have sex on the parlour floor. Returning home, Jack argues with Maggie over helping Tom get a Saturday job that will prevent him from helping out with the mussels.

They start using the boat for their trysts and get to know each other when not swimming and exploring small islands. Jack refuses to mix with Daniel in the centre, however, and they argue in the street. He's still in a bad mood when Dyfan and wife Iris (Lisa Jen Brown) come for lunch and they square up when Dyfan makes a cutting remark. Maggie picks up on the gyst and is waiting after Jack runs through the lanes to the pub to find Daniel flirting with another man on the pool table. When he confesses, Maggie throws him out and he moves into a hotel room.

Dyfan tries to force him out of the business, but Jack insists he's not selling. Daniel moves on, but reminds Jack that he was entitled to make a choice and that their relationship was not a lie. Jack resists contact, but sinks down at realising that he has lost everything because he was true to himself. Tom refuses to speak to him, but Lois finds Jack in the chippy and tells him he'll come round eventually.

Maggie asks Jack to come home and they agree to sell the family farm to Dyfan. However, Tom suddenly decides to pull his weight with the mussels and Maggie tells Jack that she probably always knew about him because she had remembered an incident when they were courting when he helped a man who had lost his dog in a lake. She goes to Hollyhead to see Daniel and brings him back to the house to see Jack, who has been struggling since a visit to the doctor. They agree to go out in the boat again and the film ends with a top shot down on to the deck.

Vague echoes of Luchino Visconti's La terra trema (1948) and Francis Lee's God's Own Country (2017) permeate this thoughtful study of identity, family, and community in an insular Welsh town. Basing her story on actual events, Walsh takes her time to establish the characters within their locale and deftly sketches in the tensions between Jack and Dyfan and the sense that the former's recent health scare has made him aware that time is precious. More might have been done to define Maggie's standing in the town, while Tom's bad boy pals are clumsy ciphers, as are the rival Richmond family. Old-timer Bernie is also dropped into the narrative without any backstory, while his drastic amputation and incapacity conveniently bring Jack and Daniel together on his boat. Moreover, no mention is made of how the elderly Bernie can afford such a craft when he is a one-man operation reliant on casual crewing in a highly competitive industry. But this isn't a documentary and Walsh never lets taking leeway undercut the authenticity of the setting and the developing situation.

While still novelistic in places, this is more cinematic than The Violators and suggests that Walsh refined her style while making the Channel Four series, The Gathering (2024). Yet, having been so measured in her pacing for four-fifths of the film, she allows events to tumble in on themselves in the final reel. Consequently, the resolution feels both melodramatic and sentimental. This is a pity, as the performers had created such credible characters that they deserved something better. Despite occasional enunciatory over-emphasis, Dubliner Barry Ward excels as the taciturn, hard-working family man who is proud of his roots and resigned to the sense of regret that he has suppressed his bisexuality. He doesn't come across as the church-going type, which makes the scripture reading sequence feel a bit laboured (it also seems unlikely that the rebellious Tom would also tag along). But maybe he attends services to please Maggie, as part of the cosy routine into which they have drifted. She is admirably played by Liz White, although the characterisation is rather thin and the reasons for her seemingly sudden decision to take Jack back are left off screen.

Henry Lawfull does what he can with the stereotypical small-town teen role, while Effi o Blaenau's Leisa Gwenlliran is wasted as Lois, although her sympathetic chip shop speech is nicely judged. Celyn Jones serviceably plays the hulkingly bearded cut-out villain, who doesn't appear to have a single redeeming feature. But his sons are given short shrift, which makes their acceptance of their cousin when he unexpectedly shows up for work seem all the more contrived. Lorne MacFadyen's entrance is also rather cumbersome, as he has obviously been in town for a while (to have accumulated back pay) and it's inconceivable that Jack would not have noticed him before in such a small place. Nevertheless, MacFadyen plays the tattoo-laden drifter with a mix of empathy and edge, and Walsh develops their relationship with suspenseful hesitancy, while filming their initially raw, but increasingly tender passion with a frisson and finesse that challenges the ingrained notions of masculinity that shaped each man's upbringing.

Working with a small crew and a modest budget, Walsh succeeds in creating an air of domestic intimacy that she contrasts with the wildness of the scenery around Amlwch on the island of Anglesey. Eschewing sunshine, Sam Goldie's seascapes are splendidly evocative and reinforce the hardscrabble nature of mussel raking. He also captures the ambience of the town, although Walsh neglects to establish how its other residents earn their livings and how the Morgans are viewed within the community. Yet, while it might not have anything particularly new to add to the familiar coming out scenario, this is still a thoughtfully poignant and flintily realistic picture, with a solid cast and a superior sense of place.