Parky At the Pictures (9/1/2026)

(Reviews of Becoming Victoria Wood; Still Pushing Pineapples; and Son of the Soil)

BECOMING VICTORIA WOOD.

Victoria Wood cropped up recently during research for an article on the 80th anniversary of David Lean's Brief Encounter (1945). In her 2000 Christmas show, Victoria Wood With All the Trimmings, she had pastiched the railway buffet sequences with a trademark mix of affection and acuity. Clever though the writing was, however, it was a surreal gag about a mince pie in the eye that got the biggest laugh and earned the skit its masterclass status. The evolution of the comic mind that devised such inspired lunacy is explored with insight and gratitude in Catherine Abbott's poignant and perceptive documentary, Becoming Victoria Wood.

In the opening montage, Melvyn Bragg erroneously describes Victoria Wood as Britain's first female stand-up. But what emerges from this blizzard of clips and encomia is that being funny came naturally to a Lancastrian whose dual streaks of self-belief and ambition helped her overcome ingrained showbiz bias against funny women and cruel press comments about her looks and size.

Producer Geoff Posner recalls how groundbreaking Victoria Wood As Seen on TV was in 1985 and Dawn French, Jennifer Saunders, Maxine Peake, Joan Armatrading, and Michael Ball concur amidst clips underlining Wood's genius for character, one-liners, and observations on the world from a woman's perspective. Her comedy was fresh and fearless and utterly unique, from her chatty stand-up and dextrous comic songs to her two-handers with Julie Walters and the incisive lampoon of British soap operas in Acorn Antiques. But Wood never hogged the best lines, as she confronted issues that everyone else considered taboo.

Previously unseen scrapbooks and teenage recollections (featuring Jessica Borden) take us back to the Bury bungalow, where she grew up with her three older siblings. Yet, she failed to apply herself at Bury Grammar School, as friends Lesley Schatzberger and Anne Sweeney recall. although they also note how her aspiring playwright father and mature student mother had little time for family life and that `Vicky' expressed her rebellion by refusing to conform at school and hiding away in a bedroom with its own piano and TV set, as well as lots of books.

As she told Michael Parkinson, Wood realised she wanted to be famous at the age of four and knew she could fulfil her ambition by being funny after seeing Joyce Grenfell at the Buxton Opera House. She took her first steps at the Rochdale Youth Theatre Workshop and Birmingham University, where she befriended Bill and Alison Lloyd and Jane Wymark, who remember her being shy and dismissing the Stanislavskian approach of her tutors. Sahlan Driver recalls Wood stealing a production of Joe Orton's Loot by singing at the piano in the intermissions and he made the first recordings of her songs with a live audience. Classmate Robert Howie put her forward for ITV's New Faces talent show in 1974 and she won her heat to reach the final (along with Les Dennis). They both lost out to Tony Maiden and Wood could barely hide her disappointment or her annoyance at being called `a female Jake Thackray' by judge Derek Hobson and being advised by Clifford Davis that Joyce Grenfell-like acts were old hat.

Hired to write topical songs on That's Life in 1976, she found the brief difficult and a period of inactivity followed. She did Edinburgh and a short tour with Jasper Carrott, but he explains how audiences were suspicious of women comedians, who were judged on their looks as well as their material. Feeling she had blown four lucky breaks, Wood moved to Morecambe and reluctantly toured small venues with punk comic, John Dowie. This led to her being spotted by Dusty Hughes of the Bush Theatre in London and her being cast alongside Philip Jackson in the revue, In At the Death, for which she wrote the heartbreaking `Love Song' and a sketch for Julie Walters that launched their friendship and taught Wood that she could write witty dialogue, as well as lyrics.

She further proved the point with Talent, which debuted at The Crucible in Sheffield before being screened by Granada in 1979, with Julie Walters playing the hopeful attending a talent show with her best friend. Ian McKellen presented her with the Evening Standard Most Promising New Writer Award and she went on to do two more with producer Peter Eckersley (along with the stage show, Good Fun) before he died between the BAFTA-nominated pilot of Wood and Walters and the six-show series that followed and sapped her confidence when it was under-enthusiastically staged and coolly received.

Wood also had to endure plenty of cutting remarks about her body shape, even though she admitted being self-conscious in interviews. Peake, Ball, and French and Saunders denounce the writers who focussed on her weight, while emphasising the courage it took to embrace the vulnerability of going on stage and living and dying by your material. Dowie and others credit Geoffrey Durham (who she married in March 1980), with giving Wood the confidence and security to be in the spotlight, as he not only loved her for who she was, but he also made a good sounding board.

They did Funny Turns together (with Durham playing Spanish magician, The Great Soprendo) before she went solo with Lucky Bag (both 1982) and started doing more personal raconteuring between songs, for which she needed to develop a stand-up persona that seemed authentic, but allowed her to keep some of herself back. But this new writer-performer knew herself, knew what got laughs, and knew what she wanted to do next. This was Victoria Wood As Seen on TV for the BBC in 1984 and the perennial struggler became an instant national treasure, in the company of Julie Walters, Celia Imrie, Duncan Preston, Patricia Routledge, and Susie Blake. As Posner reveals, she became more pointed in her writing and more protective of it and how it should be played. She had learnt her job and now had things she wanted to say about class, gender, human foible, and sex - which she nailed in the wonderful `The Ballad of Barry and Freda (Let's Do It)'.

A BAFTA followed, but the real reward was the latitude to try new things, whether it was writing dramas like Pat and Margaret (1994) and Housewife, 49 (2006), the sitcom, dinnerladies (1998), and a range of tele-specials and touring one-woman shows. She even directed That Day We Sang (2014), which finally gave her the control she had always craved. But she never forgot the struggle she had endured to discipline herself to make the most of her talent and never took her platform or her success for granted. Moreover, she recognised that she could use her work to give others a chance to shine, such as Maxine Peake, who was told by Wood that she had been cast as Twinkle more for her size than her ability - a fact for which she will be eternally grateful.

Having taken us through the stages took Victoria Wood to the top, Abbott rather rushes through the later career. She says little about Wood as a mother or the breakdown of her marriage and makes merely dutiful mention of her death at the age of 62 in April 2016. But this is not meant to be an exhaustive tribute along the lines of the BBC's seven-part Our Friend Victoria (2017). It's an origins story that shows how Wood overcame her own demons and the prejudices of a patriarchal industry to change the comic landscape. The clips of Wood in action might have been allowed to play a little longer, while the sequences of the slender, long-haired Jessica Borden declaiming Wood's words feel arch and de trop.

Nevertheless, Abbott has chosen some splendid talking heads, with Wood's school and college friends often being more revealing than her showbiz chums. However, their sincerity is touching, while Geoff Posner offers fascinating insights into how much resilience it took for Wood to understand her métier and grow into her public persona. Walters and Durham are heard only from 1980s interviews and there's no sign of Imrie, Blake, and Preston (probably to keep the focus on Wood's apprenticeship rather than her success). But we see plenty of Wood in chat show extracts, in which she is unfailingly forthright in coming across as herself rather than as her performance alter ego. The secret of her appeal can be summed up by the observation, `We're all in it together, but some of us are on the telly,' as Victoria Wood never forgot who she was, where she came from, and how hard she had had to work to make her name. Knowing this should make admirers revere her even more, as for all the setbacks, doubts, and media rudeness, she was consistently and innovatively funny - and, as everyone in showbiz knows, that is by far the hardest thing to be.

STILL PUSHING PINEAPPLES.

Having profiled some enthusiastic film-makers in A Bunch of Amateurs (2022), documentarist Kim Hopkins has embarked upon a study of a real-ale pub in The Local. This is due to be released some time over the next year. In the meantime, we have the second part of this working lives trilogy, Still Pushing Pineapples, which examines how a singer has made a living for the last four decades by performing a hit record on which he had originally provided backing vocals.

A mischievous opening montage whizzes us through the heyday of 1980s party starters Black Lace and implies that Dene Michael Betteridge was always at the heart of things. Well, in a way, he was - if you know who is inside the pineapple costume on Top of the Pops. However, a snippet from a local radio interview reminds us that Dene only became a singing member of the combo in 1986, which was two years after its biggest hit, `Agadoo', had reached No.2 in the charts, in spite of many people claiming to hate it. Indeed, the segment ends with Dene and Alan Barton laughing off the fact that Black Lace had been adjudged the worst band in the world. Yet, four decades on, Dene is still in demand the length and breadth of the country for nostalgia nights with ageing audiences in bijou venues doing a brisk bar trade.

Having spent Christmas in Blackpool with his elderly mother, Anne, Dene starts planning a road trip so that she can return to Benidorm one last time. As she's too frail to fly, Dene has bought a camper and he and girlfriend Hayley Louise Spridgens take Anne for an overnight test drive so she (and her tiny dog, Coco) can get used to sleeping in the van. To help her doze off, they play some Black Lace tracks and she does the hand movements above her duvet.

Hayley has a tattoo of Dene (and a pushed pineapple) on her arm, even though they've only been dating for a couple of months. When he has a heat treatment, he recalls such Black Lace hits as `Superman', `The Hokey Cokey', `Wig Wam Bam', and `The Music Man' with the therapist (who was born in 1983, but seems to know them all). He also mentions that he and Alan Barton featured in Alan Clarke's Rita, Sue and Bob Too (1987) singing `Gang Bang'. He's proud of what he's achieved and his infectious bonhomie means everyone seems pleased to see him when they know who he is. He certainly has everyone up in a Whitby bar around the time of the Coronation and not only do people remember the words to the songs, they've got all the actions, too.

Anne beams as she watches her son in action and her delight at being in Benidorm for her 89th birthday is evident, even though the long journey by sea and road takes its toll. Hayley paints her nails and helps her float in the pool, while Dene arranges for them to motor along the promenade in a convey of mobility scooters before coming up with a special Spanish cake. Cutaways recall previous visits with Black Lace and remind us of how hard Dene has worked to provide pleasure for his audiences. Even when he takes Anne to a nightclub to sip some champagne, he's recognised by the female comedian who brings him on stage to sing `Agadoo' - and everyone has fun.

After putting Anne to bed, Hayley asks Dene why he needs the pop star adulation when he's a nice bloke in his own right. Interspersed with cuts back to Alan Burton and Colin Routh (aka Gibb) having the big hits, Dene explains that he was only a backing vocalist on `Superman' and `Agadoo' and that he has always felt like a bit part player in the glory days who came to the fore as the hits wallowed in the lower reaches of the charts. Hayley reminds him that he had his own successes with Black Lace and has done more than anyone to keep the band and its music in the public consciousness.

As they chat, he mentions how Colin was forced to leave after an underage sex scandal and he took the band on with Alan. However, he left to join Smokie and was killed in a minibus crash, leaving Dene to carry on Black Lace on his own. Now, he is keen to have a hit in his own right to validate himself, but Hayley is more concerned that he has fun rather than stress or wear himself out.

They try writing lyrics together before heading home, but everyday life soon takes over when Anne cracks a rib in a fall and is hospitalised. To make things worse, his manager informs Dene by text that he's being replaced by a younger singer and the story will be that he is too old to cope with all the travelling. While annoyed at such callous treatment, he sees this as a kick up the bum to go in his new direction and Hayley (who is now his manager) backs him all the way.

After a Dalek sings `Agadoo' to him at a fan convention, Dene does a gig in Wythenshawe with Hayley's young daughter urging him to sing something different. Proving it never rains, he discovers an expensive problem with his prized Bentley. But the festive trip to Blackpool goes ahead as usual, even though numbers booked for party nights are down. Driving through the town, they lament how run down buildings have become and have doubts that the resort can ever recover its former glory. At the hotel, Dene and Hayley use AI to work on their Benidorm song and Anne asks why he is using robots to help him. She belts out carols at the seafront venue and Dene and Hayley join her for `Whatever Will Be, Will Be (Que Sera, Sera)'. But Anne seems to be the only one really enjoying herself.

Back home in Leeds, Dene (laudably without bitterness) removes the Hawaiian shirts from his clothes rack and resists Hayley's efforts to buy him a pineapple jacket, as he is determined to ditch the Black Lace persona. She has her doubts and his gig in Bolton goes so badly that he's forced to sing `Agadoo' and Hayley manages to coax a few people on to the dance floor. Undaunted, Dene records new material and plays it at a working club in Hull. A couple of desultory dancers shuffle through a waltz, but people are more interested in the bingo and the raffle than Dene's new single, ` This Is the Moment'.

Seeking to refresh his image, Dene poses for photos in his new blue jacket. Anne, Coco, and Hayley join him, but the eyes are drawn to the latter's young daughters, as they hold rictus smiles and pull tongues. Hayley also looks stiff and she confronts Dene about needing to commit to their relationship so she can give the girls some structure. He agrees, but is feeling low because the lack of work is eating into his savings and he decides to embrace his past and do something to mark the 40th anniversary of `Agadoo'. A peculiarly montage puts a surreal spin on Dene's performance in Blackpool, as the sound distorts, lights flicker, and the nodding likeness on his dashboard stares stoically ahead. But the big plans to celebrate the song are kyboshed when Colin Gibb dies at the age of 70 and news reports delight in mentioning that `Agadoo' is an annoying earworm. Watching the funeral online, Dene is moved by the eulogy, but cracks a smile when the service ends with the congregation doing the familiar actions.

As the film ends, we see Dene getting a tattoo for Hayley and taking her kids on a rollercoaster. Anne comes to watch and one can only hope that she long continues to do so. But the closing image of Dene singing a reflective ballad about feeling more positive while dressed as a pineapple feels even more of a miscalculation than the trippy reverie that had preceded it. What would the Bradford Movie Makers think?

According to Kim Hopkins, Dene Michael must have sung `Agadoo' over 10,000 times. He's not the only singer in the history of popular music to be primarily associated with one tune. But, considering he didn't record the lead vocal, he's done remarkably well to make a decent living out of a hit that inspired Spitting Image's No.1 lampoon, `The Chicken Song'. He comes across as a nice chap, whose devotion to his mother is deeply toucing. His eagerness to play happy families with Hayley and her three girls also seems sincere. But there's something desperately sad about seeing a middle-aged man selling feel-good memories in Wheeltappers-style venues, in which the pies and the ale take priority over the talent. Think Phoenix Nights with pre-recorded backing tracks and the faint whiff of desperation surrounding a man who once landed on his feet and is slowly realising that his 40-year lucky streak is running out.

Operating the camera herself, Hopkins capably captures the bittersweet atmosphere of the clubs and the mildewed aura along the Golden Mile to reflect on Dene's situation as an ambitious artist whose audience can only accept him as a yesterday man. Editor Leah Marino makes equally deft use of the archive footage to contrast the mood and fashions of the 1980s with those of today, when waistlines are not so slim and echoes of better days are starting to fade. But one has to wonder why Hopkins chose to ignore the fact that Dene served six months in prison in 2016 for conspiring with his then wife to make £25,000-worth of fraudulent benefits claims for a debilitating bout of sciatica when he was still performing regularly. Of course, everyone is entitled to a second chance, but this airbrushing of a significant incident in Dene's recent life feels more than a little disingenuous. He deserves better.

SON OF THE SOIL.

Director Chee Keong Cheung may have come a long way from the family restaurant, The Golden Dragon, but he is still based in Lancaster, where the action aficionado made his first films as a teenager. Now, following on from Underground (2007), Bodyguard: A New Beginning (2008), and Redcon-1 (2018), he has taken himself to Nollywood to make Son of the Soil, which he has released under his own Action Xtreme banner.

When Lagos chambermaid Ronke Ladejo (Sharon Rotimi) witnesses Dr James Baptiste (Philip Asaya) kill a woman in his hotel room, she tries to flee. However, he injects her in the neck with Matrix, a fentanyl cocktail that is ravaging the Nigerian capital, and she barely has time to call her American-based brother, Zion (Razaaq Adoti), before she is run over by a car under the watchful gaze of a small street kid named Remi (Ijelu Folajimi). Zion joins his mother (Patience Ozokwor) at the funeral, where local gang leader Jagunlabi (Damilola Ogunsi) hopes that Zion has not come home to cause trouble.

When Zion asks Ronke's co-worker, Nike (Sunshine Rosman), to meet him to ask about his sister, she tells him about Zanga Republic (the place the buy Matrix) and he is ambushed by the vicious, baseball bat-wielding dealer, Shaka Bulla (Taye Arimoro). Left bloodied and in possession of a murder weapon, Zion is picked up by the cops and Commander Obi (Ireti Doyle) informs Special Investigations Inspector Bello (Emeka Golden) that he has served time before for killing after being dishonourably discharged from the military and she has no intention of letting him loose on the streets again.

However, Bello takes him to the hospital, where Remi helps him escape and Obi asks Baptiste to eliminate him before he interferes in the next shipment of Matrix. Tooled up and tipped off with information by Jagunlabi, Zion checks out the docks at Ijede and gets into a gun battle on the water before stealing Shaka's infamous black van. He leaves a trail of bodies behind before killing the chemist who makes Matrix and blowing up his laboratory in a bid to lure the untouchable Baptiste into the open. However, he also has time to entrust Remi to his mother because he's concerned she's going to get caught in the crossfire.

Indeed, it's in trying to get her off the street that Zion is caught in an ambush and a tuk-tuk chase ensues, with Shaka, sidekick Hundred (Durotimi Okutagidi), and pink-haired assassin, Roxy (Kehinde Hannah Alagbe), hurtling through the snarled streets. Zion gets wings and crashes vehicle, but is given a ride on the back of a scooter by Nike, who removes the bullet and calls on Jagunlabi to help Zion after he gets a call from Baptiste threatening his mother. They are too late to save her, however, and the medicine man gives Zion a charm to wear to protect him when he ventures into Shaka's lair.

They face off in the street and Zion is forced to retreat after Jagunlabi is shot in front of the gloating Shaka. But he somehow gets his black van back and forces Hundred into revealing that Shaka is celebrating in Palm's nightclub. Without too much difficulty, he shoots Shaka in the knees and hangs him by his wrists so that he can extract information about Baptiste and Remi while repeatedly stabbing his captive. This leads to a shootout on a train and a showdown between Zion and Baptiste that ends with the latter being shot in the head after threatening to inject Remi with Matrix. Bello lets Zion go free, but Obi kills herself when he charges her with complicity.

Doubling as screenwriter, Razaaq Adoti can't be accused of stinting on incident or colourful characters, even though this revenge thriller follows along familiar lines and occasionally lurches unconvincingly between plot points. The bearded Philip Asaya and the braided Taye Arimoro make splendidly hissable villains, with the latter taking particular delight in the cruelty with which the swaggering Shaka operates. Adoti also makes his mark, as the taciturn hero who keeps walking into traps and severe beatings. However, they're all upstaged by Ijelu Folajimi, as the worldly wise orphan who knows the value of a naira and the price of trust.

Initially, Chee Keong Cheung seems so obsessed with canted angles and extreme close-ups that they get in the way of the action. Cinematographer Jack Thompson-Roylance sticks to his brief, however, leaving editor Alistair Cave to do what he can with shots that don't always slot together without jarring. Nevertheless, the picture settles into its style and relentless rhythm, with is reinforced by the Tolu Obanro songs that accompany the pillow sequences that superbly capture the sights and sounds of the Lagos backstreets. Indeed, this sense of place is the film's strongest suit, with Chee having an eye for market stalls, wandering livestock, and the traffic snarling cramped roads that is infinitely preferable to his rather lurid penchant for bloody corpses and spattered ground. He clearly knows what he's doing, but this lacks the class and composure of

Jean-Luc Herbulot's Dakar-set Zero (2024), which also had a lot more to say about America's relationship with Africa.