Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 18/2/2016)

The opening sequence sets the tone, as Tim Roth sits in his car on a suburban Los Angeles street and follows Sarah Sutherland, as she leaves her home and drives away. That night, he trolls her Facebook page. But the expression on Roth's face is one of mournful regret rather than anything more sinister. As the story unfolds, it transpires that Sutherland is his estranged daughter and that he rarely sees her as ex-wife Nailea Norvind has not forgiven him for taking the decision to switch off their son's life support machine several years earlier. Roth has lived with the agony of his choice ever since and channels it into providing home care for the terminally ill.

His first patient is Rachel Pickup, who is in the final stages of her battle with AIDS. She is emaciated and too weak to speak, but Roth chats away to her while giving her bed baths and preparing her meals. Pickup trusts him implicitly and seems to recognise that his respectful tenderness is born out of genuine affection rather than a sense of duty. But he is so protective of her that when asked about Pickup's condition by her sister, Kari Coleman, Roth gives little away and even makes her feel guilty for having found it so difficult to cope with the stigma of her sibling's ailment.

On the night Pickup dies, Roth sends the night nurse away and washes her body before putting on a clean nightdress. Such is his tenderness that it is both unsurprising and entirely disconcerting when he goes to a bar and informs a couple celebrating their engagement that he is mourning the loss of his wife of 21 years. Given such a peculiar fabrication, Maribeth Monroe is perhaps right to question his presence at her aunt's funeral. But Roth treats her with a solicitude that is so disarmingly professional that it is difficult to read anything more into his demeanour than humane empathy.

As he gets to know architect Michael Christofer, however, one begins to wonder whether there is something sinister about the lengths to which Roth goes to know and understand his patients. He visits a house that Christofer designed and while browsing in a bookshop appropriates his career while chatting at the till. Yet the tetchy Christofer, who is wholly dependent upon Roth after suffering a debilitating stroke, finds him affable company and much prefers him to his own family. However, his children wreak their revenge after his passing by charging Roth with sexual harassment after they discover one of his techniques for alleviating Christofer's frustration.

Regardless of Roth's unconventional methods, this episode feels a touch forced and Franco strays further into novelettish territory when Roth is assigned to cancer victim, Robin Bartlett. Furious at being stricken and affronted by the indignity of her chemotherapy, Bartlett becomes increasingly reliant on Roth as the side effects of her treatment sap her energy and will to live. Her decline is harrowing to watch, but the denouement and its abrupt cut to black seem designed more to spark a debate than reflect real life.

Franco seems well aware of the divisive nature of his ending, however. Indeed, he never allows the audience to form a definitive impression of Roth, as each act of selfless kindness is subverted by a moment of unsettling eccentricity. Yet the uncertainty over whether Roth is an angel of mercy or a grief-driven sociopath proves something of a distraction by tilting the action too far in the direction of the psychological thriller, when the dramatic focus is surely on how people react as sufferers, caregivers and loved ones to disease and the prospect of their own mortality.

Inscrutable to the last, Roth gives a compelling performance and his interactions with Pickup, Christofer and Bartlett are often deeply moving. However, a dark wit informs his relationship with Christofer and this contrasts tellingly with the palpable pain that Roth feels when he finally makes meaningful contact with Sutherland. The slow leaking of this backstory information feels arch, as Franco manipulates the viewer into jumping to conclusions before letting the tragic truth emerge. But the analysis of the pressures facing palliative carers and the ethics of assisted suicide is cogent and sincere and it's hard to imagine anyone not being affected by the cases and issues under consideration.

The pain of loss is also a key factor in Brett Haley's I'll See You in My Dreams, a carefully made, but somewhat prosaic drama about later life that feels like a TV-movie that has somehow escaped on to the big screen. Knowingly played by a decent cast, this is full of fleeting insights into loneliness, independence, companionship and romance. But the lifestyle magazine settings and the contrived instances of minor rebellion mean that this Los Angeles saga feels too far detached from real life to provide anything more than some gentle silver escapism.

Despite being widowed for 20 years, retired teacher Blythe Danner feels content. She visits friends June Squibb, Rhea Perlman and Mary Kay Place at their retirement complex, but has no desire to give up the house she has worked so hard to turn into a home. But, then, her beloved golden retriever Hazel dies and a large black rat scuttles across her living-room floor and Danner is so startled that she sleeps on a bench in her garden rather than go back inside.

She is woken by Martin Starr, the new pool boy, who has also reached a crossroads in his life after being forced to move back in with his mother after a relationship break-up. They discover that they both used to sing in bands and. disregarding the age gap over a bottle of wine, he suggests that they find a karaoke bar some time. Perlman, Squibb and Place have also decided that Danner needs to get out more outside their weekly bridge games. Against her better judgement, Danner agrees to go to a speed dating event with Perlman and has a miserable time, as elderly gentlemen in various states of repair attempt to charm and/or seduce her.

However, Danner does catch the eye of Sam Elliott, a cigar-chomping member of the country club who chats her up in the car park and invites her to lunch. Amused by his Dixie chutzpah, she agrees and spends an agreeable afternoon on his boat, which he has named `So What' after a Miles Davis number. She also goes to a bar with Starr and croons a sultry rendition of `Cry Me a River' that gets a warm reception from the regulars. Moreover, she joins Place, Squibb and Perlman for an afternoon vaping medicinal marijuana and nearly get arrested when returning home with a shopping trolley full of snacks after getting the munchies.

Much to her surprise, Elliott gets under Danner's defences and they sleep together. Starr is somewhat put out when he comes to tell Danner he has lost his job and sees Elliott in a dressing-gown. But shortly after daughter Malin Akerman comes for a rare visit, Danner gets the news that Elliott has succumbed to a heart attack and she is devastated by his loss. Starr comes to offer his condolences and manages to catch the rat, which is taken away in a little cage by exterminator Mark Adair-Rios. Resisting the offers to join the girls at the club, Danner vows to make the most of her remaining time and be grateful for the last unexpected taste of romance.

Sipping chardonnay at all times of the day and night, the 71 year-old Danner gives a fine account of herself as a proud women suddenly feeling vulnerable as the inevitability of her own demise. Elliott and Starr never quite feel worthy of her intelligence and spirit and several of her best scenes come in conjunction with Place, Squibb and the ever-perky Perlman. She struggles to convince as a onetime jazz chanteuse, but the problems here lie largely with Haley's overly cosy direction and the cornball script he wrote with Marc Basch, which seems more like a series of set-pieces rather than a slice of life. The production values are even less remarkable. But, even though it could do with fewer Exotic Marigold clichés and some much rougher edges, this deserves credit for exploring the decidedly untrendy topic of what it means to be old and how best to use the time that forever seems to slipping through one's fingers.

Things are no easier for the young, according to debuting writer-director Gren Wells in The Road Within, which is launched this week on video on demand. A remake of Ralf Huettner's German road movie, Vincent Wants to Sea (2010) that also taps into Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris's Little Miss Sunshine (2006), this is a well-meaning attempt to change audience perceptions of three specific mental health issues. But, such is the perfunctoriness of the characterisation and the clumsiness of the lurches between mawkishness and comedy that this calculating odyssey fails to make its desired points with any clarity or precision. Moreover, while making the most of some splendid scenery, it also wastes five willing performances.

When his mother dies, twentysomething Tourette's sufferer Robert Sheehan is entrusted to the care of psychologist Kyra Sedgwick by his estranged politician father, Robert Patrick, who has a senatorial election campaign to fight. Unable to control his movements or outbursts, Sheehan is used to his mothers unquestioning acceptance. Consequently, he finds it difficult to settle into the Nevada clinic dorm he shares with Dev Patel, a Brit whose obsessive compulsive disorder manifests itself in a severe form of mysophobia that prompts him to wear rubber gloves at all times.

Patel's fastidiousness annoys and amuses Zoë Kravitz, an anorexic who takes a shine to Sheehan after he attacks a child who was filming one of his episodes on his mobile phone. His reaction results in him being carpeted by Sedgwick, however, and he is so frustrated that he agrees to fall in with Kravitz's plan to steal the doctors car and drive to California so he can fulfil his mothers wish to have her ashes scattered in the Pacific. Unfortunately, they are discovered stealing the key by Patel and they decide to kidnap him to prevent him from raising the alarm.

Naturally, Sedgwick realises the trio is missing the following morning and alerts Patrick. However, keen to keep his name out of the papers while he's on the hustings, he dissuades her from calling the cops and convinces her that it would best for all concerned if they followed the fugitives and brought them home themselves.

And so begins a journey of discovery that doesn't spring a single surprise. Kravitz taunts Patel about his phobia, Sheehan blurts out obscenities in inappropriate places and Sedgwick comes to realise there is more to Patrick than his bluff public persona. Sheehan can't remember the precise place where he had spent an idyllic holiday with his mother, so they head for Santa Cruz. However, Sheehan manages to lose the box containing the ashes, while the skeletal Kravitz has become so weak from a combination of a lack of food and persistent purging that she collapses on the beach and has to be rushed to hospital. Frightened at being force fed, she pleads with Sheehan to help her escape, but he knows she will die unless she accepts help. Moreover, he makes things up with his father, who concedes that he will be better off staying with Kravitz and Patel throws in his lot with them rather than returning with the anxious Sedgwick.

While not on a par with Robin Tunney on her own road trip in Bob Gosse's Niagara, Niagara (1997), Sheehan avoids histrionics in capturing the Tourette convulsions. However, the crack about Amy Winehouse falls horribly flat and Sheehan's symptoms seem to go into abeyance when it suits the story and, similarly, Kravitz's eating disorder only becomes an issue when the plot needs a gentle prod. Patel's OCD is more consistently depicted, but tics like his repeated need to open and close doors are often exploited for comic purposes and this tendency to patronise characters Wells is supposed to care about has a profoundly discomfiting effect. As does the fact that they

The relatively painless way in which people have their epiphanies also undermines the action, with the growing bond between Patrick and Sedgwick being particularly mushy. Christopher Baffa's cinematography is a plus, as is the score by Josh Debney and the Newton Brothers. But the pieces slot into place far too neatly for a film that prides itself on being spikier than its source., but often does little more than raise the volume of the bickering.

While this title is freely available online, readers will have to head to the Regent Street Cinema in London for the latest offering from CinemaItaliaUK on 24 February. New releases from Gianni Zanasi are like hen's teeth, so La felicità è un sistema (or `The Complexity of Happiness') is bound to attract a sizeable audience.

A philosophy student from the University of Bologna, Zanasi briefly studied cinema under Nanni Moretti before graduating from Rome's prestigious Centro Sperimentale film school in 1992. Following the prize-winning short La belle prove (1993), he made his feature bow with Nella mischia/In the Mix (1995), which focused on five teenagers planning scams on the outskirts of Rome. However, he scored only moderate hits with A domani/Tomorrow and Fuori di me/Beside Myself (both 1999) and tried his hand at a documentary, La vita è breve ma la giornata è lunghissima/Life Is Short But the Day Is Long (2004; co-director Lucio Pellegrini) and a TV mini-series, Padri e Figli/Fathers and Sons (2005; co-director Gianfranco Albano) before returning to features with Non pensarci/Dont Think About It (2007), which starred Valerio Mastandrea as a washed-up 36 year-old punk rocker who returns to Rimini to make amends with his estranged family.

Such was the film's success that Zanasi and co-writer Pellegrini were commissioned to make a TV spin-off, which reunited Mastandrea and the Donatello-winning Giuseppe Battiston, as the brother struggling to run the family cherry factory. Now Mastandrea and Battiston join forces in another exploration of Italian capitalism and the extent to which Italian society has sold its soul.

Fortysomething lawyer Valerio Mastandrea specialises in preventing companies from going bankrupt. Working for Teco Celio, he befriends the owners of struggling concerns and uses his people skills to coax them into selling to those with a greater understanding of the business world. In most cases, this involves latching on to sons who have inherited enterprises to which their workaholic fathers devoted their lives and in which they have no interest at all besides the dividends that allow them to enjoy a privileged lifestyle.

Accustomed to long hours partying in order to bag his prey, Mastandrea salves his conscience by insisting that he protects the jobs of ordinary working folk and, thus, is performing a utilitarian service. However, things begin to change when he is asked to handle the case of 18 year-old Filippo De Carli and his 13 year-old sister, Camilla Martini, who find themselves in charge of a vast multinational after their late parents crash their car into a river. Refusing to accept advice and determined to prevent cutbacks, the siblings force Mastandrea to rethink his priorities, just as Celio's son, Giuseppe Battiston, begins to fight back against his overbearing father. Moreover, Mastandrea also finds himself falling under the spell of Hadas Yaron, the Israeli girlfriend who asks to crash at his apartment after she breaks up with his brother, Daniele De Angelis, and has nowhere else to go.

The spirit of Frank Capra is clearly alive and well, as this feel-good snipe at the established order resembles the kind of underdog saga that became known in the 1930s as `Capra-corn'. However, it also recalls Jean-Pierre Améris's recent romcom, Une Famille à louer, in which the wealthy Benoît Poelvoorde mucks in with single mum Virginie Efira and her two kids.

Whether ingratiating himself with hopeless heirs or trying to second guess the whims of his teen charges, Mastandrea excels as the high-flier rekindling his dulled sense of humanity. The debuting De Carli and Martini also show well, as does the splendidly kooky Yaron. Yet, while this puts a new spin on the global economic downturn, the satire could have been sharper and a bit more politically trenchant. On occasion, Zanasi also allows the soundtrack to intrude upon proceedings. But, while it may be a little soapboxy in places, this is a picture with its heart in the right place and Vladan Radovic's angular photography and Roberto De Angelis's chic production design are excellent.

Si Bell's cinematography is one of the stronger aspects of actor David Leon's feature debut, Orthodox, which he has expanded from a 2012 short of the same name. However, this noirish chunk of social realism consistently strains credibility, as it descends into ever more hackneyed melodrama that not even a typically committed central performance from Stephen Graham can relieve. Films about Britain's Jewish community are comparatively rare, with Paul Morrison's Wondrous Oblivion (2003), Ric Cantor's Suzie Gold (2004), Paul Weiland's Sixty Six (2006) and Josh Appignanesi's David Baddiel-scripted comedy, The Infidel (2010), among the more recent examples. So, this has to be seen as a missed opportunity to follow the lead set by British Black and Asian film-makers in challenging some preconceptions and stereotypes.

Bullied as a child because of his religious beliefs, Stephen Graham took up boxing as a form of self-defence. However, his deeply religious father disapproved of him resorting to violence and they drifted apart. Now, Graham struggles to make a living as a kosher butcher in North London, but refuses to allow his shiksa convert wife Rebecca Callard to work, as her place is at home with their two sons. Desperate for some extra cash, Graham accepts some bare-knuckle bouts organised by gym owner, Michael Smiley. He also does some muscle work for Smiley on behalf of Jewish businessman, Christopher Fairbank.

When Fairbank needs some tenants threatening, Smiley sends Graham to do the dirty work. However, he learns too late that squatters are occupying a property he has been ordered to torch and he is sentenced to four years after Smiley grasses him to the cops. Smiley has designs on Callard, who commits suicide before Graham is due for release. Moreover, he returns home to discover that his children have disappeared and he is so distraught that he accepts Smiley's offer of support.

While working at the gym, Graham notices that Smiley is grooming Giacomo Mancini to be his new strong arm. He is keen to prevent the youth from repeating his mistakes and urges him not to trust Smiley. Fairbank has certainly lost faith in him and severs all ties on deciding to put sell his housing interests to a developer. But Smiley has other plans and installs some Romanians in the empty rooms. He is furious when a faulty gas fire kills several of the illegal tenants and he tries to pin the blame on Fairbank.

When he refuses to carry the can, Smiley assaults him and orders Mancini to burn the bodies. Convinced he will get into trouble, Mancini defies Smiley, who loses his temper and has to be held back by Graham. But Mancini asserts himself and makes such a good job of beating up Smiley that Fairbank takes him under his wing, leaving Graham to head to Israel in search of his boys, who have been sent to foster homes by the conniving Fairbank.

Although his faith is important to him, Graham seems driven more by a need to fit within his community than adhere to the tenets of the Torah. Consequently, Judaism rarely feels crucial to a hard-luck melodrama that feels formulaic at almost every turn. Much more might have been made of Graham's contradictory convictions and the problems they cause for Callard, as well as himself. But the character study is overtaken by events once Graham is imprisoned and. Thus, despite some solid acting, Callard's humiliation, the forced repatriation of her sons and the strand involving Mancini and the Romanians simply fail to ring true.

Leon makes admirable use of the locations in the capital and his native North-East. But his penchant for greyhound symbolism and moody slow-motion sequences feels cumbersome within a scenario that forever seems to be rushing through lengthy stretches of time or pausing for flashbacks or convoluted conversations that fill in the missing pieces required to make sense of the next twist. However, it's the lurch into Kosher Nostra territory that proves most problematic, as Smiley and Fairbank feel like caricatures from a quota quickie rather than authentic villains exploiting their status within an enclosed community. As a result, the callous mistreatment of the migrants feels more like a topical dramatic convenience rather than a concerted attempt at social criticism.

Finally, this week, comes a profile of Mavis Staples, who could be described as one of American music's best-kept secrets. As a vocalist with The Staples Singers, she brought a distinctive potency to gospel, blues and R&B. Moreover, she played a significant role in the Civil Rights movement. Yet, as the debuting Jessica Edwards reveals in Mavis!, she also struggled to establish herself as a solo artist and, consequently, was allowed to slip through the cracks of music history. This fulsome tribute goes some way to restoring Staples to her rightful place. But, while it celebrates the 76 year-old's zest for life, it fails to capture the dynamism of her live performances to the same degree as the potent archive footage.

Born in the tough South Side of Chicago on 10 July 1939, Mavis Staples began singing in local churches before joining father Roebuck `Pops' Staples and sibling Pervis, Cleotha and Yvonne in The Staples Singers. Following an early hit with `Uncloudy Day' (1956), Pops took family on the road and, with Mavis on lead vocals, they soon found a niche in the thriving gospel market. However, when Pops developed a close friendship with Dr Martin Luther King, Jr., he started writing `message songs' like `Long Walk to DC' and `When Will We Be Paid?' that called for racial equality and Mavis caught the eye of a young Bob Dylan, whose `Blowing in the Wind' moved Pops greatly and who appears in the film to confirm that he asked Pops for Mavis's hand in marriage. Somewhat coyly, she admits that they might have `smooched', but she says no more and Edwards declines to press her on this or any other personal matters.

Despite scoring hits on Epic in 1967 with `Why (Am I Treated So Bad)' and `For What It's Worth', Pops took the bold step of signing to the legendary Stax Records label in 1968. Moreover, he introduced a new rhythm and blues element to tracks like `I'll Take You There' and `Let's Do It Again', which topped the charts in 1972 and 1975 respectively. `Heavy Makes You Happy (Sha-Na-Boom-Boom)', `Respect Yourself' and `If You're Ready (Come Go With Me)' also sold in their millions and, around the same time, Mavis took her first tentative steps as a solo artist with the 1969 album, Mavis Staples.

However, like Only for the Lonely (1970), it failed to find a wide audience and another seven years were to elapse before Staples teamed with Curtis Mayfield to release, A Piece of the Action. Further collaborations followed with Prince on Time Waits for No One (1989) and The Voice (1993). But Mavis always put the family first and joined them to perform `The Weight' with The Band for Martin Scorsese's seminal documentary, The Last Waltz (1976). One of the most touching moments in the film sees her pay a visit to ailing drummer Levon Helm, who, like talking heads Bonnie Raitt, Chuck D, Al Bell, Sharon Jones, Steve Cropper, Marty Stuart and Julian Bond has nothing but admiration for Mavis, as an artist and as a human being.

Unfortunately, as musical tastes began to change, sales started to dip and The Staples Singers failed to reach the Top 40 on the albums charts after Turning Point (1984). Nevertheless, they were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1999 and, following Pops's death in 2000, Mavis collected the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 2005. Although she teamed with Wilco's Jeff Tweedy on the solo projects, You Are Not Alone (2010) and One True Vine (2013), Mavis was most determined to release a collection of her father's final songs and there is genuine pride in the sessions with Tweedy and his drummer son Spencer that resulted in the 2015 release, Don't Lose This.

Throughout this affectionate fan letter, Edwards is happy to let Mavis sing her father's praises and credit him and God for any success she might have had. She might have gone into greater detail about why Mavis struggled for solo recognition and lingered longer on her vocal style. But, while Edwards records recent gigs like the 2014 Newport Folk Festival with little imagination, there are still several classic clips of Mavis in action to cherish. What's more, it's evident from the heartfelt testimonials that she is held in high esteem by her peers and devotees. Yet, one wishes that Edwards had uncovered a little more of the Mavis who made such an emotional speech at the 2011 Grammys, as she clearly has a good deal more to say than she allows herself in this sincere, but sometimes frustratingly cautious salute.