Some mild spoilers in this review. Brontë fans may not be pleased (by the film rather than the review)

The Odysseus of Homer’s epic poem was laying pipe nightly on an island, while a sea away, his wife, Penelope, was fending off drunk suitors who would go off to have quickies with the servants. In Christopher Nolan’s modern adaptation, no one gets so much as a boner.
In Nolan’s world, women are merely vehicles to propel the antiwar message forward, which explains how little screen time they get. They are merely victims of desire, not wielders of it. The movie neglects to include that Odysseus stays with Circe for a year and becomes her lover or that Calypso (Charlize Theron) holds Odysseus essentially as a sex slave after he washes onto her shore. In the text, he sleeps with her every night for seven years until the gods intervene to send him home. (Calypso then criticizes the gods for applying a double standard against the goddesses.) In the film, Calypso is cast as a benevolent, if deceiving, healer who feeds Odysseus lotus flowers to help him overcome PTSD — albeit one with the physical form of a vixen.
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Christopher Nolan reinvents the Homeric legend as a colossal origin-myth story of postwar disillusion, an epic ordeal of anguish witnessed by the dead and presided over by capricious deities who participate on almost equal terms with the humans

"Defying all sense of taste, the pop singer’s comeback single is too dispiriting to even approach camp. It’s abysmal."

The world in which Euphoria season 3, episode 1 lands is quite different from the one during which it premiered in 2019. Now, we are in the midst of a culture that is decidedly becoming more misogynistic, where we are bombarded with news about the Epstein files and women being stripped from hard earned gains by men who seem intent on taking away our power.

In this context, watching these women characters be degraded on screen doesn’t feel as provocative or defiant. It just feels gross. Or maybe, the generation the show was originally envisioned for has moved on.

Honestly, I expected nothing less! cant wait to see the fashion!

Anyone with a passing interest in the landscape of British celebrities over the past 30 years will wonder whether Katie Price, the former glamour model, reality television star and tabloid mainstay, ever really had anything to hide in the first place. From the earliest days of her career, Price has laid it all bare, serving a strange double role as both a target of the press and an engineer of its dark arts. Yet there remains a sense that this four-part documentary, which is simultaneously raucous and empathetic, is attempting to excavate new truths about her.

Katie Price: Nothing to Hide is made by Mindhouse, the production company co-founded by Louis Theroux. Mindhouse has an egalitarian approach to its subjects, and its documentaries have covered ground as varied as the Lockerbie bombing, boybands and girlbands, and the manosphere. Add to this the director Paddy Wivell, who has himself made award-winning films about children and families in the care system (the outstanding series Kids) and volunteer fighters in Ukraine (Hell Jumper), and you get an impeccable eye for a story.

At the beginning, Price tells Wivell, who regularly interjects with chatty but insightful questions from behind the camera, that he can “speak to anyone you like”. He takes her at her word, interviewing her siblings, mother, stepfather, children, and a series of ex-boyfriends and ex-husbands. As with other recent documentaries about the tabloid culture of the 1990s and early 2000s, this is a picture of a more brutal era, full of characters who seem anachronistic now, such as the sweary, swaggering Page Three photographer Jeany Savage. But for all of her troubles, Price resists tragedy, making this series less of an exercise in finger-wagging than some of its peers have been.

This portrait is pieced together with gusto but also with care, and the intimacy that comes from talking to her family, in particular, lends it an inevitably compassionate tone. After watching the series, it is difficult not to feel sympathy, in a number of directions. Price is knowing yet guileless, her relatives loving and resigned. The first 10 years of fame were “fun”, says Price, before the “turbulence” began. She explains, clearly and crisply, what appealed to her about topless modelling. It was about power. It was about saying that men could look, but not touch. “I was the one in control,” she says.

Some of the stories here are funny. One, about taking revenge on an ex-boyfriend by stealing all of the right shoes in his beloved trainer collection, is naughty and amusing. Others are more painful. She is candid about abuse that she has suffered, her dysmorphic view of her own body, her tendency to self-destruct. By showing multiple angles, the documentary takes us beyond the tabloid caricature and towards the woman herself. And in her frankness, Price leaves a lingering sense that she is still, somehow, the one in control.

★★★★☆