Peter Finch won a posthumous Oscar for his uproarious performance as a swivel-eyed news anchor – a cross between Billy Graham and Donald Trump

‘The time has come to say … is ‘dehumanisation’ such a bad word?” The speaker is Howard Beale, the sweat-drenched, swivel-eyed TV news anchor in this classic 1976 satire from screenwriter Paddy Chayevsky and director Sidney Lumet, now on rerelease. Depressed by the loss of his wife and by getting fired due to dwindling audiences, Beale proclaims he will kill himself live on air and is then re-hired as a colossal popular and then populist success, his celebrity delirium turning him into a crazy prophet, telling millions of Americans to scream out of the window that they are as mad as hell and not going to take it any more. Beale is a mixture of Billy Graham, radio star Orson Welles telling America the Martians are coming, and that notorious ratings-obsessive Donald Trump.

Network finds its place in the distinctive Hollywood tradition of showing TV as meretricious, mindless and corrupt … as opposed, presumably, to movies. It’s a classic 70s mainstreamer, a terrifically well-made, well-written talking point to put alongside other richly enjoyable small-screen dramas such as Robert Aldrich’s The Killing of Sister George from 1968, James L Brooks’s Broadcast News in 1987, Robert Redford’s Quiz Show from 1994 – and Antonio Campos’s Christine, about Christine Chubbuck, the American TV news reporter who in 1974 really did kill herself live on the air. Chayevsky denied she was the inspiration for this film. Peter Finch gives an uproarious performance as Beale, for which he posthumously won the best actor Oscar after succumbing to a fatal heart attack in the lobby of the Beverly Hills Hotel – a fate hardly less satirical or poignant than Beale’s own.

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© Photograph: Pictorial Press Ltd/Alamy

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© Photograph: Pictorial Press Ltd/Alamy

Pine writes, directs and stars – alongside Danny DeVito and Annette Bening – in this rambling comedy mystery about a shaggy, quirky pool attendant

Chris Pine is usually a likable screen presence but he’s let down here by a flimsy script and over-indulgent direction – which could have something to do with the co-screenwriter (Chris Pine) and the first-time director (er, Chris Pine). You can see what he was going for: a knockabout stoner neo-noir paying homage to old-school Los Angeles, but this is more like Chinatown without the savagery, or Inherent Vice without the brains, or The Big Lebowski without the drugs.

Pine’s character is very much a watered-down version of Jeff Bridges’ Dude (the strongest thing he consumes is an egg cream mocktail). He’s a shaggy, aimless slacker who lives in a trailer next to the apartment-complex pool he tends with zen-like focus. As his character name, Darren Barrenman, forewarns, he’s little more than a collection of quirks: he makes origami gifts; meditates underwater at the bottom of his pool; types soul-baring letters to Erin Brockovich. He also dresses in short shorts and a pink blazer, but later seems to have a bottomless dressing-up wardrobe, and regularly campaigns about public transport at the city council with the aid of hand-made dioramas. None of this really makes any sense.

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© Photograph: Landmark Media/Alamy

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© Photograph: Landmark Media/Alamy

A searching circus piece about refugees in limbo, acrobats confronting middle age and supreme silliness from a Tokyo troupe are among the international offerings

Vibrancy, musicality and athleticism from Brazilian company Grupo Corpo, founded in 1975, drawing on ballet, contemporary and Afro-Brazilian dance. They bring a double bill of UK premieres to the international festival: Gil Refazendo pays homage to the great musician Gilberto Gil; Gira is inspired by the rituals of the Umbanda religion.
Edinburgh Playhouse, 5-7 August

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© Photograph: Brian Hartley

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© Photograph: Brian Hartley

A compilation of Philomena Cunk moments. Formerly: [1][2][3][4]

Could Elaine May Finally Be Getting Her Due? [ungated] - "A new biography gives a compelling sense of a comic and cinematic genius, and also of the forces that derailed her Hollywood career."

Among the many merits of "Miss May Does Not Exist," a deeply researched, psychologically astute new biography of May by Carrie Courogen, is that the author sees continuities and patterns in a career that is unified, above all, by the force of May's character. Courogen also assesses May's fortunes in the light of social history, giving a detailed account of the many obstacles that May, as a woman, faced in the American entertainment industry of the late fifties and early sixties—a time of few female standup comedians or playwrights and no female movie directors working in Hollywood... She offers a vision of a society in which the crudely learned behavior of crudely socialized men brutalizes the women in their orbit even as it leaves the men vulnerable to calamities and catastrophes of their own making. The core of May's work is the horror of romantic relationships as experienced by women—the physical violence and mental cruelty endured by women at the hands of men... May is essentially a social filmmaker, one whose comedy involves more than her distinctive worlds: in their looseness, her movies defy the geometry of the frame and suggest ragged, shredded edges that reach out and tie in to the real world at large. Her next film would do so even more explicitly—and she'd pay the price for her audacity. After the eleven years in movie exile that May endured for "Mikey and Nicky," she made "Ishtar," a film that's far more famous for its negative publicity than its intrinsic qualities. Owing to reports of its out-of-control budget and May's domineering direction, her career was instantly, definitively crushed, and May has, for all intents and purposes, been serving a life sentence. The injustice of a great film being submerged under ignorant disdain is grievous enough; the wickedly punitive aftermath is an outrage... Alongside the film's scathing anti-Reagan politics, it's a tale of earnest grimness on a subject of fundamental importance to May: creative obsession... As discerningly intricate as her movies are about love and friendship, they're never limited to the private sphere but plugged into the wider world of power. She filmed with a bitterly realistic view of what people do to one another for the sake of perceived advantage, necessity, desire, or compulsion. The theme that unites these films is betrayal. Growing up poor and female, as the child of a man who was a desperate failure and a woman who was a desperate survivor, and in a household linked with the Mob, she felt the cold pressure of institutions and families alike, and witnessed the death grip of whoever had the upper hand. She saw the cruel side of show business from childhood, and entering show business, in her early twenties, negotiated its maelstrom of personal demands and implacable financial pressures. Even with no alter ego in her movies, they're filled with the dramatic essence of her experiences—and with their ravaging emotional effects. She revealed the unspeakably painful and the outrageously hostile, unseemly sympathies and scandals from behind antic masks and with the irresistible power of involuntary laughter. It's among the most vital bodies of work in modern cinema. But in 1987 her accomplishments mattered little. She instantly became a pariah and a has-been.

(previously: 1,2,3,4)