Rohan Naahar

Perhaps the year’s most striking documentary, Sugarcane is billed as an ‘investigation’ into the crimes that were committed by Catholic missionaries against Indigenous peoples of Canada across a century, but it is equally successful as an examination of inherited trauma, and as a study of a community in crisis. At the beginning of the 20th Century, schools were set up specifically for Indigenous children across North America, ostensibly to help them assimilate into Western culture. The children were subjected to unspeakable crimes at these ‘residential’ institutions, operated exclusively by the Catholic church, causing many of them to take their lives as they grew older. The magnitude of the tragedy, which is revealed gradually throughout the film, is immeasurable.

Trust Wallace to get himself mixed up in a plot that puts all of humanity at peril. The eccentric inventor — he’s the protagonist of Nick Park’s four-time Oscar-winning stop-motion animation series — makes his streaming debut alongside his ‘top dog’ Gromit with the feature-length Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl. Released on Netflix, the film is a pure nostalgia trip for fans who grew up with their charming adventures, replete with quirky household gizmos, absurd villains, and more cheese than you’d find in a Frenchman’s larder.

A Canadian couple takes their children on a tour of the world in the new National Geographic documentary film Blink, but it isn’t just an ordinary vacation. Three of their four kids, aged between 13 and 7, have been diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, an incurable eye condition that will eventually render them blind. Overnight, the lives of the Pelletier family changed forever. The movie begins after the parents, Edith and Sebastien, made their peace with the cards they were dealt, although there is a sense that they will never fully wrap their heads around the tragedy. Still in the process of accepting their new reality, they collect their entire life’s savings and plan a trip across the globe.

The standard for Indian documentaries about cultural icons is so low that Yo Yo Honey Singh: Famous, out now on Netflix, comes across as a refreshing change of pace. The streamer is itself guilty of lowering the bar with glorified PR exercises like Nayanthara: Beyond the Fairytale, Modern Masters: SS Rajamouli, and the worst of them all, The Romantics. They functioned more like corporate orientation films than the genuinely engaging journalistic profiles that they’re supposed to be. Not that the Honey Singh doc provides any real insight into his artistic process, barring the hilarious scene in which he is stumped by none other than Salman Khan. It does, however, do a decent enough job of giving audiences a peek inside his troubled mind. And for his fans, that will be enough. Many of them appear on camera, either commenting on his well-publicised fall from grace, or expressing their dismay at the lacklustre music that he has been releasing recently. In one scene, a woman tails him on a bike, and weeps openly as he stops to interact with her. A highly sensitive person himself, Honey recognises the emotions that she is experiencing, and begins serenading her with his biggest hit, “Blue Eyes.” Any cynical suspicion that you might have had about the woman being a plant disappears instantly. In another scene, a couple of flower sellers attempt to sell him a garland at the traffic signal. Honey quips that he needs a woman in his life to gift it to. They recognise him, and comment about his past troubles. “You’re looking smart now,” the young flower seller says to him. Honey is ecstatic.

When Dwayne Johnson succeeds, he takes hundreds of others along for the ride with him. But when he fails — and he has, in recent years — he doesn’t go down alone. After establishing himself as something of a B-movie auteur early in his career, director Jaume Collet-Serra, like so many others in his position, accepted Hollywood’s offer to level up to the big leagues. He was appointed by Johnson as his latest lackey, but found himself responsible for directing the star’s two biggest recent bombs. These were movies — Jungle Cruise, and more calamitously, Black Adam — that significantly derailed Johnson’s career. Collet-Serra became collateral damage. But as it turns out, being relegated to the relatively forgiving realm of streaming was exactly the jolt to the system that he needed. His latest film, Carry-On, is his best in years.

Oscar-winner Eddie Redmayne is at his slipperiest in The Day of the Jackal, the new mini-series based on the classic beach read by Frederick Forsyth. The book was previously adapted into a lithe (and largely faithful) movie back in 1973, but has been updated for a modern audience by series creator Ronan Bennett. The bones of the story — a cat-and-mouse chase between an assassin on a mission and a secret agent tasked with stopping him — remain the same, but Bennett’s attempts to flesh the narrative out are mostly unsuccessful.

In the almost criminally enjoyable new Netflix series Black Doves, Keira Knightley and Ben Whishaw play a chic housewife and her gay best friend who just happen to be covert operatives. They straddle dual identities, as does the show, which can often juggle tones with the deftness of a circus performer. Black Doves is at once a complex espionage thriller, a cheekily humorous dark comedy, and when it needs to be, a dreary domestic drama. It soars on the strength of its two central performances, and writing that is both self-aware and endearingly sincere.

Did the French auteur Jacques Audiard watch Chachi 420 and feel inspired to make his latest film, Emilia Pérez? Stranger things have happened this year. Nick Jonas has celebrated Holi in Greater Noida, and Ed Sheeran has fried a batata vada with Sanjyot Keer. Is the idea of Audiard, a Palme d’Or-winning maestro, watching a Kamal Haasan rip-off really that outlandish? The genre-fluid mess that it is, Emilia Pérez certainly has origins in mainstream Indian cinema — it can go from Ekta Kapoor-style drama to Farah Khan-inspired musical in a matter of minutes. And like so many of our country’s films, its gender politics aren’t entirely above reproach.