Top Twelve Best Film/Television Moments of 2025

Oh dear, it’s April and this post was meant to be up at the end of last year. Not that I’ve done one of these in a while, as I simply haven’t had enough material to fill up all twelve spots in a “best moments of film and television” list since 2023.

In any case, this is exactly what it says on the tin: my twelve favourite scenes, twists, moments or concepts from film or television media that was released in 2025 (though I give myself a little bit of wriggle room and occasionally allow some material from the year before)...

Woman of the Month: Nala

Nala from Sinbad 

One of my favourite things to do on these monthly posts is to showcase extremely obscure female characters, and this may well be the most obscure one I’ve ever written about. Nala, played by Estella Daniels, appeared in only seven of the thirteen episodes of Sinbad, a 2012 show that was cancelled after only one season. So, why bring her up at all?

Despite this take on the legend being all but forgotten about, Nala left an impression on me. I’ve seen the actress since then (Death in Paradise, Da Vinci’s Demons) and despite her limited screentime in this show, she’s the focus of its best episode. “Old Man of the Sea” is a variation on all those stories about Death and the Maiden, generally revolving around a plot in which the latter is forced into matrimony with the embodiment of Death (or a fey, or even the devil himself) only to outwit him at the last moment.

But Nala is also granted a sense of history and backstory the other characters don’t, as it’s clear from the very first episode that she and her father are running from something. She becomes part of the Providence crew as the requisite highborn and educated one (like Djaq or Toph) and is guided by a sense of morality and idealism. As well as her sense of entitlement, there is also duty – the very thing which prevents her from reneging on the deal her father made with Death when he finally catches up to her.

For whatever reason, Nala was written out of the show at about the halfway mark and promptly replaced by a white woman (the optics – not great), but while she lasted she was the heart of the crew. Perhaps she would have returned in time – we’ll never know.

Reading/Watching Log #124

Autumn again. It feels we’ve had two weeks of summer and six months of winter, and now things are turning back towards the cold. Still, there’s a beauty to fall, especially in clear weather. I was walking through the park in the sunshine the other day and was struck by the ambiance: there’s a strange sort of darkness to the light, the shadows felt deeper, and the leaves are just beginning to turn even though the sky was solid blue.

I’m still seeking out variations on the stories of L.F. Baum, J.M. Barrie and Lewis Carroll, and in doing so it was interesting to note that Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz each have definitive versions (obviously, the Disney and MGM films). And yet that’s not quite the case for Peter Pan, even though there are more adaptations out there of his story than the other two – by quite a far margin. I suppose that makes sense; if you’ve got what’s considered the iconic version of something, nobody else wants to compete with it.

More to the point when it comes to the multitude of adaptations, Peter Pan has been staged and retold so many times that many of the latest versions are aware of the weight of their predecessors, and so end up musing on the nature of the story itself.

This is the thousandth time Hook and Peter have crossed swords, the millionth that Peter and Wendy have said goodbye to each other. She can’t go and he can’t stay, and the legacy of that is a bit like the underlying theme of Hadestown: the story taken on a life and tragedy of its own, and so every time we tell it again, we hope it might turn out differently. But no, Peter Pan is still out there somewhere, as young as he ever was.

There’s no understating how deeply these stories have soaked into our culture. Remember when Neo followed the White Rabbit at the beginning of The Matrix? Or when Ofelia wore an Alice dress and pinafore in Pan’s Labyrinth? Or that a vampire movie could be called The Lost Boys and everyone would know the reference? Likewise, we all know the connotations Kingo is making when he calls Sprite “Tinker Bell” in The Eternals – not just her eternal youth, but her unrequited love for Ikaris. The term “flying monkeys” is a recognizable term to describe people who submit to narcissists and do their bidding. Then there’s Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch, which exists in a much more tragic context. These stories are everywhere.

Finally, I told myself that I would try and cut down on the length of these blog posts, as they’re getting increasingly long despite my lack of free time to actually write them. Then of course, I end up writing what amounts to three giant essays on Peter Pan. But for April, I really am truly going to try and cut back…

Standing Tall #36

Back to it!

This giraffe sculpture was a rather poignant one, as it was inspired by children who wear the Beads of Courage – that is, the unique strings of beads that children undergoing cancer treatment receive, one bead representing each milestone test or procedure they go through.

The name of the sculpture is Hero, which was decided upon after the Child Cancer Foundation put out a call for suggestions. One contributor proposed Hero as: “this is what all our children are to their loved ones.” Once again painted by Ira Mitchell-Kirk (his name pops up a lot; I can only assume he was commissioned to paint several of these giraffes) and sponsored by the Child Cancer Foundation, it depicts the large glass beads that make up these mementoes against a bright blue background.

It was situated in Merivale Mall, which was a bit of an odd venue for it (surely the hospital would have been a better fit?) but as you can tell from all the Christmas decorations, I visited during the holidays!

Links and Updates

It’s been a while and the news has been stacking up. There’s a lot of exciting stuff on the horizon, so let’s get into it…

Woman of the Month: Ellen Ripley

Ellen Ripley from Alien and Aliens

When we discuss trailblazing and iconic female characters from the eighties (or in sci-fi generally) two names spring immediately to mind: Sarah Connor and Ellen Ripley. Way back in 2017, I watched the two Terminator films (there are only two) and always meant to follow up with the two Alien movies (also only two), as the comparison between these women is fascinating.

Everyone already knows this, but Ellen Ripley as written in Alien was originally a male character, and when the decision was made to cast Sigourney Weaver, absolutely nothing was changed. This makes sense, as gender is largely irrelevant in the first Alien film. Rape subtext aside, it’s essentially a crew of miners attempting to survive a life-or-death situation in closed quarters, and Ripley’s most defining scene is refusing to let her crewmates back on the ship when there’s the chance they could be contaminated, instead wanting to follow safety regulations.

It’s the exactly opposite of what we’d expect a Screw the Rules, I’m Doing What’s Right protagonist to do, but it’s also indisputably the right call.

It also has nothing to do with the fact Ripley is a woman, in stark contrast to Sarah Conner, who absolutely has to be a woman. The whole reason the plot takes place is because time travellers want to kill the mother of the Resistance leader fighting them in the future – before she’s given birth.

This is of particular interest since James Cameron directed The Terminator before taking on Aliens, which does have more of an interest in the fact Ripley is a woman, particularly as it pertains to motherhood. Waking up from cryogenic sleep to discover her daughter has died in the intervening years, the emotional core of the film is Ripley becoming a mother to Newt, the sole survivor of the latest Xenomorph attack.

It doesn’t feel like a coincidence that James Cameron was the man behind this change, bringing Ripley more in line with Sarah Connor, as a Mama Bear protecting her young at all costs. But that doesn’t change the fundamentals of her character: a determined, no-nonsense, tough-as-nails but fundamentally decent woman who represents the best of humanity – whether it’s comforting a little girl or going back for the cat. This is the reason for the character’s longevity: that she’s a normal woman in terrifying circumstances. No superpowers, no extraordinary talent, just grit and bravery.

(Just like Sarah Connor).

Reading/Watching Log #123

February has come and gone, and I’ve continued my foray into the worlds of Wonderland, Neverland and Oz, which I think of as the Big Three of children’s literature. Perhaps the most interesting thing about reading the original stories concerning these worlds is how much of what we think we know about them is based on adaptative material with no basis in the actual books. For instance, Neverland is always referred to as the Neverland in J.M. Barrie’s text, and before his transformation, the Tin Man was initially called Nick Chopper – not Boq, though there is an unrelated Munchkin that goes by that name.

There’s also a lot of material that never made it into any adaptation: for example, I’m sorry that Baum’s delightful Queen of the Field Mice never made it onto the screen, though I can obviously understand the limitations there back in 1939.

Likewise, there’s a lot more emphasis on the weird and wonderful events being framed as dreams in the adaptations, even though Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is the only one that actually used this framing device in a book. MGM’s The Wizard of Oz famously made Dorothy’s adventures a prolonged dream, with actors playing characters both in the real world and their fantasy counterparts in Oz, something that wasn’t an aspect of Baum’s book at all. Yet the concept became so pervasive that Return to Oz used it too.

They also hinted at it in Disney’s animated Peter Pan, which ends with the Darling parents returning home to find Wendy asleep by the window, the implication being that she dreamt it all (unlike the book, where the three children are gone for a long time). Likewise, the 2003 film leans into the double casting of Jason Isaacs as Captain Hook and Mr Darling, providing a degree of commentary on Wendy’s relationship with each one.

More than that, the concept of madness barely figures into the books, but has since become an intrinsic part of these stories, with the mental facilities of the girls being called into question much more than in the books themselves. ABC’s Once Upon a Time spin-off starts with Alice in a sanatorium, with doctors trying to convince her that her adventures were a hallucination. Return to Oz starts with Dorothy (nearly) receiving electric-shock therapy, and the facility staff becoming the villains she faces in Oz. And Andy Weir’s Cheshire Crossing is a crossover graphic novel in which Alice, Dorothy and Wendy all meet at a remote research facility and sanatorium. 

It’s interesting the way these components have soaked into our understanding of the stories, becoming an intrinsic part of retellings, despite that subtext not appearing in the original texts. Sometimes these adaptations even borrow from each other: Dorothy in Return to Oz has a scene in which she appears to do some slow-motion rabbit-hole falling.

And for the record, Peter Pan is by far the best book of the three. You get the definite sense that Baum and Carroll were simply making things up as they went along, writing as the mood struck them, and though a lot of people have put a lot of effort into trying to understand or cross-examine Alice’s Adventures and The Wizard of Oz, by each author’s own admission they exist mainly to entertain. As such, they generally come across as completely random.

Baum is probably the least sophisticated of the three authors, though I still think it’s fascinating that he almost didn’t seem to understand a lot of what he was writing. There are clear feminist undertones at work (his mother was a suffragette, so this was no doubt on purpose) but although he claims to have written: “a modernized fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are retained and the heartaches and nightmares are left out,” it certainly didn’t pan out that way.

There’s some genuinely scary stuff in these books, and despite the Americanization of certain archetypes (switching out the kings, carriages, knights and heraldry for tin men, scarecrows, hucksters and cornfields) he couldn’t help but retain some of the underlying components of our oldest stories (as in Coraline and Labyrinth, the conclusion of Ozma of Oz features a competition against an ancient being with impossibly high stakes).

He also manages a few nuggets of wisdom, like this from the Scarecrow: “I am convinced that the only people worthy of consideration in this world are the unusual ones. For the common folks are like the leaves of a tree, and live and die unnoticed,” or this from the Hungry Tiger: “It isn’t what we are, but what folks think we are, that counts in this world.”

For the most part though, his stories (like Carroll’s) come across as pretty random. In comparison, Barrie has something important to say about the nature of childhood, the passage of time, and the realities of growing up. Peter Pan is an inherently bittersweet story, one in which its grand adventure is bookended by the anguish of parenthood and the cost of never achieving maturity.

Going forward into March, I’m leaving Wonderland and Neverland behind, but the Yellow Brick Road is stretching on for a while longer. Baum wrote a lot of these books.