If the success of films such as The Best Exotic Marigold, Hotel, Quartet, and Philomena have proven anything, it’s that there is certainly an audience for films with older ensembles. One that perhaps isn’t being fully served. Romance and excitement aren’t just for teenagers and 20-somethings, and even though Hollywood may be a young person’s game, there’s clearly a desire for movies with elderly protagonists, too.

Thus, we have Le Week-End, a charming and comedic drama about an older couple, Nick (Jim Broadbent) and Meg (Lindsay Duncan), who travel to Paris for the first time since their honeymoon. Managing to pack in what feels like a month’s worth of mishaps into the span of one weekend, they struggle to relate to the locals, an old friend they run into (played by Jeff Goldblum), and each other.

However, Le Week-End wisely avoids relying on the tired “aren’t-old-people-kooky?” tropes that some films of this type resort to. Nick and Meg aren’t presented as figures to laugh at, and even though they aren’t always likeable characters, their struggles and frustrations feel earned. Director Roger Michell seems more interested in exploring the intricacies of how people relate to each other rather than aiming for more standard cinematic moments of revelation.

Along those lines, I appreciated how unflinchingly the conflicts in Nick and Meg’s relationship are presented; their conversations frequently turn from charming banter to petty bickering with no apparent explanation, yet it feels natural. Nick and Meg say some truly horrible things to each other at times, but it’s understood that this is simply how the couple operate and that they can easily bounce back.

Much of this understanding is thanks to the nuanced performances from both Broadbent and Duncan. Broadbent has long been a beloved stalwart of British cinema, and his performance in Le Week-End is every bit as charming and befuddled as you’d expect. However, it’s Duncan who truly steals the movie. She’s an actress who has appeared in many films and television shows, but often in supporting roles (see: About Time, Alice in Wonderland, etc.), so it’s a treat to see her get a character she can really sink her teeth into. Meg is a fascinating and complex woman, and Duncan effortlessly portrays a woman who Nick is both endlessly exasperated by and hopelessly in love with.

All of this said, Le Week-End does suffer a bit due to its light tone. There is a weight to the central relationship, and the movie does wade into some surprisingly complicated emotional territory, but it still always seems like the movie is hedging its bets a touch; even at Nick and Meg’s most dire moments of conflict, it feels as though their reconciliation is inevitable. Early on, it’s established that these people need each other and are willing to overlook a lot in one another, so the moments of tension or temptation that come later seem more like temporary bumps in their relationship rather than foundation-shaking reverberations.

Luckily, though, the performances are good enough and there’s just enough honesty in the screenplay to make Le Week-End an overall success. The film’s portrayal of everyday conversations and emphasis on travel call to mind the Before series, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine Nick and Meg as Jesse and Celine a couple of franchise installments down the line. And, as is the case with Linklater’s films, the viewer’s enjoyment doesn’t come from following the simplistic plot, but rather from watching a small slice of life play out. There are a couple of standout scenes – in particular, a dinner table monologue from Broadbent later on – that cut surprisingly deep with stark honesty.

This is a movie that wins by letting its characters be complicated and messy. It’s occasionally a touch too twee for its own good, but as the credits began to roll, I found myself surprised by how much of the film had left a quiet impact on me.

Particle physics isn’t a subject that seems particularly cinematic. It’s not especially glamorous, and it’s probably safe to say that most people have no idea what it involves and have little interest in finding out. Enter Particle Fever, a new documentary that follows a group of physicists who devote their lives to this very practice. And while it may not make physics look glamorous, necessarily, Particle Fever does succeed at presenting a compelling peek into the groundbreaking and surprisingly interesting work that these scientists do.

Starting in 2007, Particle Fever tracks about half a dozen scientists as they attempt to pin down the Higgs particle, a subatomic particle that was long thought to exist but had never been proven. Their work is complex, and the film does provide some relatively comprehensible scientific explanation, but all the casual viewer really needs to know is this: this discovery is a big deal. The audience may not be able to wrap their minds around what this research means to the scientific community – and even the scientists themselves cannot completely justify why some people have spent decades of their life searching for this particle – but the film effectively conveys the magnitude of the discovery.

Where the film really succeeds is in its focus on the people behind the research and the humanity that they bring to their work. Without this, Particle Fever would play out like a boring science class video and merely be a collection of infographics and images of people looking at computer screens. Yes, the scientific achievement here is impressive, but it’s the people involved that provide the stakes of the movie. The pressure that many of these people put on themselves is immense, proving that while physics is not a glamorized field in our culture, for the people who live it, it is absolutely the most important thing. At one point in the documentary, the research hits a roadblock, and it’s disarming and heartbreaking to watch an elderly physicist lament the possibility that his 40 years of research in the field may have been for naught.

Particle Fever wisely hones in on a select group of people to focus on, and while they certainly add a welcome dose of humanity to the film, director Mark Levinson perhaps could have focused even more on them as subjects and provided more background. The science is fascinating and their accomplishments are impressive, but it’s the glimpses of humour and the unexpected candid moments where Particle Fever really shines.

Ultimately, Particle Fever feels a little at odds with itself as it navigates between conveying the sweeping grandness of the scientific discovery at hand and giving proper due to the people behind said discovery. For the most part, though, it does an impressive job of balancing both within its sleek runtime, even managing to wax poetic at times about what it all means. You don’t need to bring any prior knowledge to the film to enjoy it, and, perhaps against all odds, Particle Fever is a surprisingly accessible and suspenseful take on what should be an impenetrable subject.

Particle Fever trailer

Since its birth, rock music has thrived on rumour and myth. For example, you don’t have to search too long before finding urban legends about various musicians who supposedly sold their soul to Satan in return for musical bounty. But while the small town of Muscle Shoals, Alabama is steeped in some fascinating lore of its own. Muscle Shoals, a documentary from first-time director Greg “Freddy” Camalier, shows that the town’s legendary place in music history cannot simply be dismissed as a fluke or the stuff of old wives’ tales.

Even if you’re not familiar with the town of Muscle Shoals, you’ve almost certainly heard the soul and rock music that has been recorded in this sleepy Southern locale. The film opens by introducing us to a man named Rick Hall, who founded FAME Studios in Muscle Shoals back in the 1950s. Early hits by acts like Wilson Pickett and Percy Sledge were recorded at FAME and attracted the attention of legendary Atlantic Records producer Jerry Wexler and kicked off an impressive run of artists who stopped by FAME. The film also explores how the success of FAME Studios then led Hall’s trusty session band to open a competing recording studio of their own across town, which they dubbed Muscle Shoals Sound Studio.

Hall’s former session band, later deemed The Swampers, played on many of the songs that were recorded at FAME in its early days, but thankfully, the film doesn’t harp on the cross-town rivalry between Hall and The Swampers. Clearly Hall wasn’t pleased with the new competition in town, yet all of these years later, there doesn’t seem to be much ill-will remaining between the men.

Camalier instead seems more interested in delving into who these men are as people than he is on focussing on business spats that occurred over 40 years ago. And perhaps by sheer force, Hall more or less becomes the central figure in the movie. With his impressive moustache and Southern drawl, Hall is equal parts charisma and incorrigibility. He’s lived an odd and often sad life, but he’s a born storyteller, and watching him talk casually about the transformative sessions he recorded with Aretha Franklin in particular is an absolute treat.

But while Hall may be the main attraction here, Muscle Shoals has a pretty impressive arsenal of interview subjects. Aretha Franklin, Mick Jagger, Wilson Pickett, Greg Allman, Steve Winwood, Bono, Percy Sledge, and more also lend their voices to the film, many of whom have great stories of their time in Muscle Shoals and who eloquently expound on the unique and relaxing aura of the town.

That said, the film perhaps tries a bit too hard to build this mystique of Muscle Shoals, going to great lengths to convey a sort of spirit or “magic” to the town that is essentially intangible and doesn’t add a whole lot to the power of the film. Between the killer soundtrack and the hugely entertaining stories that the film’s subjects have, that should be more than enough to make even the biggest skeptic believe that there’s something special about the town. (Or, at least, to believe in the immense talent of the musicians and the producers who worked in the town’s music studios.)

You don’t have to be a music geek to appreciate Muscle Shoals. The film moves at a brisk pace, examining a wide variety of musicians and genres that found a temporary home in Muscle Shoals. Everyone is bound recognize at least a few of the songs that were recorded in Muscle Shoals and find their way into the film, whether it’s the Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses”, “Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman”, or Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird”. This is a musical legacy that speaks for itself and Muscle Shoals does a brilliant job at putting it on display and delving into some of the stories behind these great songs.

Muscle Shoals trailer

Michael Winterbottom is a director who’s not afraid to fully commit himself to an idea that he likes. Whether he’s teaming up with actors Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon for three diverse but equally funny films (24 Hour Party People, Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story, and The Trip) or exploring the erotic side of cinema by way of nine different songs in the appropriately titled 9 Songs, he’s a filmmaker who always seems to have the big picture in mind. His latest film, Everyday, has a similarly thought-out trick to it: it was filmed over a total of 5 years using all of the same actors. But while it’s admirable of Winterbottom to push the boundaries of conventional filmmaking with this project, it might be an example of the director becoming ensnared by his premise to the detriment of his own film.

Everyday covers a number of years in the life of a family, yet despite its expansive perspective, it doesn’t really go very far. The main thrust of action comes when the family’s matriarch (Shirley Henderson) brings her four children (played by real-life siblings Shaun, Robert, Katrina, and Stephanie Kirk) to visit their father (John Simm) in prison where he is serving a lengthy sentence for a somewhat vague crime. We witness several visits to the prison in the first half of the film, and it is interesting to see the slight variations in the family dynamics as the years go by. And by covering so much time with the same actors and using this repetition, Winterbottom seems to make some intriguing comments about how easily time can slip away if we allow ourselves to fall into routine. Many of the scenes here would not be nearly as effective if we couldn’t see that the children have visibly aged, or if he had simply recast their roles.

However, the film never fully gets past this somewhat gimmicky device. And in fact, it seems to actually impede Winterbottom from fully delving in to his younger characters; the viewer never really gets a good sense of who the female children are, in particular. There is something inherently moving in watching a child grow up and become more aware of the world around them, but a slightly meandering 90-minute movie is perhaps not the best avenue to explore these complicated dynamics.

Henderson’s character on the other hand does feel fully developed, partly thanks to the actress’ searing, rock-solid turn as a mother barely managing to hold her family together. We see the wear that time has on her face, and while I don’t think the real-life progression of time is essential to Henderson’s performance, it does enhance the experience to see her transition from the girlish young mother at the beginning of the film to the weary, fed-up voice of reason she becomes as the film goes on.

Everyday is hardly plot heavy, and while this does allow the film to meditate on its themes, it also makes it feel stagnant, even as the lives of both its characters and actors race by. Winterbottom has created a film that is startlingly honest at times, and while it may not be his best work, Everyday should stand as an interesting minor entry in his filmography.

Everyday trailer