Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 21/8/2014)

Sadly, the weekly film release schedule is becoming prone to the same kind of criticisms that can be levelled at top-flight football. All the media hype surrounds the blockbusters, as this is where the big money is to be made and the American production companies know how to convince viewers of all ages that their latest release is the only game in town. The rest of this premiering slate is made up of independents from either side of the Atlantic, while the odd foreign offering catches the eye of the aficionado, but fails to entice many punters to part with their hard-earned, in spite of the enthusoastic write-ups.

This week, however, a feature has made it into the theatrical line-up that seems more out of place than one of the teams from the FA Cup Extra Preliminary qualifying round that was held last weekend featuring on Match of the Day. It has been sponsored by an august Mancunian institution, but its flaw are far more egregious than those in Louis Van Gaal's starting XI. Indeed, it wouldn't be too wide of the mark to say that this is one of the least engaging films that this critic has seen in the 29 years he has been writing for The Oxford Times and its sister publications.

At one point in Art Party, Pavel Büchler, a professor at Manchester School of Art, declares: `art is a serious business; let's be serious about it.' If only co-directors Tim Newton and Bob and Roberta Smith had heeded his wise words before embarking on their satirical documentary, as their freewheeling, scattershot approach does a noble cause such a grave disservice that it is difficult to conceive of it winning any converts. Indeed, it is more likely to reinforce both prejudices against the teaching of art in schools and preconceptions that art is a luxury that society can do without in times of extremis.

Bob and Roberta Smith is the artistic name of Patrick Brill, a member of the Royal Academy of Arts, who achieved a degree of notoriety in 2011 with `Letter to Michael Gove', an open missive to the then Secretary of State for Education that accused him of stifling creativity by the imposition of conformity and stunting the personal growth of children by depriving them of the chance to `draw, design and sing'. The text contained a cheap gag about Gove's sartorial insipidity betraying the fact that he was not a visual person. But, otherwise, there was much to admire about the cogency and passion of Smith's arguments.

In order to further publicise his entirely laudable campaign to retain existing levels of art education in schools, Smith hosted an alternative party conference in Scarborough in November 2013. As much an immersive installation as a political protest, the event combined speeches, seminars, lectures and fringe meetings with workshops, live music, performance art and stand-up comedy. Reports at the time commended the intention while questioning the quality of some of the art on display. But most commentators were prepared to offset the knowing amateurism of the stunt against its undoubted passion and commitment.

A straight factual record of the occasion could easily have conveyed the seriousness of the enterprise and the potency of its message. But Smith and Newton decided to burlesque the masquerade by inter-cutting it with the Damascene conversion of a caricatured secretary of state named Michael Grove, whose high-handed pronouncements about art and education expose his ignorance and philistinism and make him a suitable target for ridicule. However, if this gambit was to work, the standard of humour had to be more sophisticated than that of a sixth-form revue taking pot-shots at a detested member of staff.

As artists from across the country make their way to Yorkshire (some of them consuming edible Michael Gove kits prepared by Bobby Baker), Michael Grove MP (John Voce) summons parliamentary aid Hetty (Julia Rayner) to his home so he can dictate his plans for a new art curriculum while he soaks in the bath. He announces that children from primary schools upwards will be taught to appreciate art by being exposed to aesthetically pleasing objects, getting a sense of perspective and learning the names of the 10 best artists (one of whom has to be a woman for PC reasons). As Hetty tries to express her reservations, the camera drifts towards the toilet where busker Flame Proof Moth (Tim Siddall) sings about how better the world would be if it was run by women. However, he conveniently seems to forget that Grove is pursuing a largely Thatcherite agenda.

Up in Scarborough (which was chosen because it was the place the art foundation course was launched), artists, educators and concerned supporters break off from protesting and performing to speak to the camera. Most repeat the contention that youthful imaginations will be impoverished by being denied the opportunity to express themselves through the various forms of art and, while the levels of eloquence vary, the enthusiasm for the cause is indisputable.

Hetty thinks that Grove should put in an appearance at the Art Party and he reluctantly agrees after an interview with Joana Borja on the student television station The Gas goes badly wrong. He explains that art is an expensive subject to teach and that the money would be better spent on core subjects that would prepare pupils to become productive members of society. But, when Borja tries to argue that creativity is as important as literacy, Grove loses his temper and storms off the set and ushers Hetty towards his ministerial car so he can tell those assembled at Scarborough that he is taking a holistic approach to education and is performing delicate, life-saving surgery rather than doing any butchering.

Following a humdrum indie number by The Fucks, Oriana Fox welcomes viewers to The O Show in time to see Bob and Roberta Smith ascend the podium to deliver his celebrated open letter to gales of laughter and rapturous applause. Lesley Butterworth from the National Society for Education in Art and Design follows by warning of an imminent cultural desert, while Shelly Asquith of the University of the Arts London Student Union calls on Govebusters everywhere to rise up and defeat him. Standing by the side of the road, Flame Proof Moth name-checks Esther McVeigh in a song about having the freedom to do whatever one wants to do, while Fox learns from plate-smashing performance artist Silvia Ziraneck that she is a feminist whose personality is inseparable from her art.

A montage shows events taking place across Scarborough, as Julia Farrington from Index on Censorship pledges her support for courageous artists everywhere. Roger Clarke supervises a performance involving record players, while Jeremy Deller opines that art makes life worthwhile, even if it isn't always well taught. An unnamed woman in wellington boots gushes that art is brilliant as she stomps paint on to a large sheet of paper. Elsewhere, Art Fund director Stephen Deuchar relates an anecdote about discovering art's potential for subversion in a school woodwork lesson, while an inexpert violinist performs a number about the fun involved in learning an instrument and someone in what appears to be a cow mask tears up pieces of paper bearing a range of slogans.

Grove arrives at this point and sniffs that Scarborough is `Blackpool without the charisma'. He is appalled by the enjoyment being derived from a coconut shy whose targets are plaster busts of himself and misses Cornelia Parker waxing lyrical about the debt she owes to art and how it is a privilege to be able to create. She also warns that it would be a false economy to undermine Britain's lucrative creative industries. Clearly, Hetty agrees and she urges the protesters to keep up the good work when Grove is out of earshot.

Refusing to go into the hall because everyone is so hostile to him, Grove mooches around the foyer, where Richard Wentworth is busy telling Fox that the world will forget how to hold hands and love if art is banished. Maureen Duffy reads a poem railing against the cuts and hoping the Art Party will make a difference. Mark Hudson avers that a Picasso or a Pollock make it impossible to see the world through the same eyes again, while Jessica Voorsanger dresses as Salvador Dalí to urge art teachers everywhere to think outside the box. DJ Haroon Mirza proclaims art to be freedom, as he explains how science and technology are crucial to his mode of expression, but Ian Bourn laments the passing of the revolutionary spirit of the 1960s.

Unable to watch The Fucks playing another tune, Grove seeks sanctuary in the kitchen, where he bumps into Bob and Roberta Smith. They eat silently from the buffet, as singer Jemma Freeman states that art helps us reflect upon and understand life, while actor Samuel West demands to know how kids can possibly benefit from dumbed-down literature courses. As Smith declares Gove to be a dictator bent on silencing freedom of expression, Voorsanger leads Grove to the stage, where he is met with a chorus of boos.

Waiting for the heckling to die down, Grove seizes his opportunity and denounces artists for getting fat by making empty gestures for patrons with more money than taste or sense. He blames Labour for letting the art horse get lazy and boasts that he intends leading it to water and making it learn some home truths, as the only valuable painting jobs are undertaken by decorators. Bizarrely, he proceeds to claim that Churchill was a better artist than Hitler and this provokes Hetty into demanding to know why he is persecuting children. Loud cheers greet her assertion that Grove is a journalist playing at politics and he follows her in shocked dismay as she rushes out of the room.

As Hetty gazes as the nocturnal North Sea, Flame Proof Moth serenades her with a song about jokes whose punchlines can only be understood after death. Inside the venue, Grove shies away from placards proclaiming him to be a vicious monster and he flees when the DJ unleashes some booming beats. Panicking, Grove removes his jacket and tie and suddenly breaks into a smile as he surveys the shattered busts at the shy. He is embraced by an Italian artist (Norman Mine) zipping across the floor on a wheeled chair and allows his torso to be painted before he dashes on to the stage and starts pogoing to The Ken Ardley Playboys. Overcome with delirious zeal, Grove bellows that `art makes children powerful' and stands among the dancing delegates as Freeman's band plays another ditty with impenetrable lyrics. Sinking to his knees, Grove jumps up to bop with Hetty, as the camera circles the room before an Andy Warhol lookalike asks the crowd if they want some more and the sequence ends with a blurred crash zoom.

Grove wakes on the promenade the next morning covered in detritus from the Party. His face is still smeared with paint and he walks to the beach in a pair of flip-flops. Holding a poster as a cape, he strips to his underpants and strides out into the sea. When Hetty comes looking for him, all she can find is his copy of Churchill's Painting As a Pastime. Flame Proof Moth comes to meet her singing about reaching for the best available thought and they wander off together arm in arm. As the scene fades, a caption reveals that 14% fewer children chose art at GCSE in 2013 than they had done in 2010. It urges viewers to join the Art Party and help kids become the best they can be, while another Freeman title drones on the soundtrack as Michael Gove's name appears in the list of apologies included in the closing crawl.

Given the thanklessness of his task, John Voce deserves considerable credit for throwing himself into the role of pantomime villain with such relish. Julia Rayner also tries hard, as the mother more concerned for her child's future than her own career. But it's difficult to find anything else to be positive about in this woefully misguided farrago. Age may perhaps explain the aversion to the racket generated by Jemma Freeman and George Lionel Barker, but it's harder to find excuses for the vast majority of the other artistic contributions, which do much to confirm the (erroneous) impression that modern British artists are smug, self-indulgent and largely dependent upon subsidies from institutions they profess to despise.

Tim Newton and Bob and Roberta Smith do little to bolster their cause by having Grove deliver preposterous pronouncements that say more about the juvenility of their own sense of humour than the political creed of Michael Gove. It's one thing to mock an opponent by turning his own words against him, but making them up to have him seem ridiculous is reductive and counter-productive. The jibes at Gove's square appearance further enervate the satire. But too many of the statements by the corralled acolytes contradict each other, particularly in regard to the relationship between art and commerce. Some of the personal interjections are sweetly poignant, but too many more are platitudinous and others plain daft.

It could be argued that Art Party was never intended to be a forum for cogent debate, as the emphasis was always more on fun and freedom. Yet there is something sadistic about Grove's debasement, which seems at odds with the positivity of the contributors. Moreover, Newton and Smith struggle to get across the cathartic sense of release that the participants clearly experienced as they staged their act of defiance. The co-directors also allow valid arguments to get lost in the distracting mediocrity of the sideshows. Consequently, this fails resoundingly in both its political and artistic purpose and seriously risks harming a worthwhile cause in the process.

There aren't that many reasons to get excited about Stuart Murdoch's God Help the Girl, either. The second Scottish musical in recent times, after Dexter Fletcher's Sunshine on Leith, this spin-off from a 2009 concept album is set in Glasgow. But, apart from an excruciating kayak trip down the Clyde, this tale of wannabe indie pop stars could have been set anywhere. Indeed, the locale is such an irrelevance that this could almost be a mistaken for a covert party political in favour of the No vote in the upcoming referendum. Fans of Murdoch's band, Belle and Sebastian, might be better disposed towards the jingle-jangly melodies and darkly twee lyrics. But even the most devoted will struggle to warm to the vapid characters, the derivatively threadbare narrative and the self-consciously gauche lashings of insouciant charm.

Giving doctor Cora Bissett the slip, Aussie Emily Browning leaves the mental health facility where she is being treated for depression and an eating disorder to catch a bus and a train into Glasgow. She sings en route about going to a seminar. But, in fact, she goes to the Barrowland Ballroom to be less than impressed by Swiss frontman Pierre Boulanger and his band, Wobbly Legged Rat, and to be surprisingly taken by the bespectacled Olly Alexander, the lead singer of King James VI of Scotland who gets into a fight with drummer Lee Thompson on stage because he is drowning out what is supposed to be an acoustic-led song.

Looking for worse for wear, Alexander finds Browning sitting on the stairs and invites her home. He reveals that he is working as a lifeguard at the university pool while trying to make it as a musician. But, much as she likes him and his attitude, she decides to return to the clinic, where Bissett places her in solitary confinement as punishment for leaving without permission. During a therapy session, Bissett explains that life is like a pyramid whose good things can only be attained once sound foundations have been laid. She suggests that Browning starts confiding her thoughts to a notebook, while hairdresser Ann Scott Jones gives her a new bob that seems to give her the confidence to sneak downstairs after lights out to play a mournful song about trees and lost love on a piano in the dayroom.

Bissett encourages Browning to apply to music schools and she puts together a cassette under the name God Help the Girl. Having limped out of a football match on the university campus, Browning seeks out Alexander at the pool and borrows a costume to go for a swim. She tells him about her songs and he offers her his spare room and, as she settles in, she sings about how she is getting used to the ambience of her new surroundings. Feeling buoyant, she goes to the radio station from which star-spotting DJs Mark Radcliffe and Stuart Maconie broadcast and spots Boulanger unloading equipment for a live session with fellow Rats Michael Drum and Michael M. He promises to pass on the tape and she returns home excitedly to encourage Alexander to play her one of his own songs. She assumes the role of a psychiatrist analysing his problems and they dance awkwardly around the room (and, in the process, somewhat prove Alexander's claim to have the constitution of an abandoned rabbit).

In order to make a few extra shillings, Alexander gives guitar lessons to well-heeled blonde Hannah Murray and she readily volunteers information about her day when Browning tags along to a tutorial and they decide to write a song out of nothing. Murray and Browning cavort around the room as Alexander strums in the background and they collapse with a satisfying sense of having discovered their musical soulmates. Alexander reckons that a songwriter only needs to come up with one anthemic song to become a pop deity and Browning likes his idea that some sort of higher being guides composition.

Continuing to feel good about herself, Browning gets a job as a waitress and allows Boulanger to kiss her when he lets her choose an outfit from the boutique where he works. However, she wakes in the night and asks Alexander if she can snuggle in his bed because she has had a bad dream and he readily concurs. He also merely shrugs next morning when she lets the bathwater seep under the door and sings a winsome ditty about wanting to wash, dry and dress her (while a chorus of boys who have been wowed by her charms line up along the landing wall). Cross-cut with this excruciating number is a montage of Browning waiting tables and writing in her notebook. But, even though she joins in the last, split-screen verse to confide her nervousness at how quickly everything is changing, she appears to remain oblivious to the fact that Alexander is desperate to protect her from the vicissitudes of city life.

Having met in the Queen's Park Glasshouse, Browning and Alexander swig from a hip flash as they take a tour of the more picturesque parts of Glasgow. Their conversation is banal in the extreme and, as dusk falls, he avers that the birds must be having a disco when she complains about the noise they are making. After seemingly strolling all night, they wake Murray by pinging her window with pebbles and suggest that she uses the front door when she starts to lower a ladder of knotted sheets. Alexander takes them to the university boat house and they borrow a kayak and proceed to paddle along the Clyde.

Browning explains how she left Australia to follow a boy in a band and they try to ignore three youths on the bank who want to know if Murray would sleep with their mate. Alexander rants about the Victorians building the city and then leaving it to rack and ruin and they accuse him of being a Glaswegian-born nerd with an English accent as plummy as Murray's. She suggests they form a band because the trip has bonded them, but Alexander wonders if there's any point, as no great pop music has been written since the end of the 1960s. They purchase chips from a floating takeaway and Browning kisses Alexander in a pally way and he looks confused. As the sequence irises out, Murray claims to feel like a drunken Tom Sawyer.

Yet, while things seem to be falling into place, Browning keeps taking her medication and having moments of doubt. Indeed, having decided against leaving a phone message for Bissett, she seeks out Scott Jones for some consolation. Her enthusiasm renewed, Browning meets Murray and Alexander at a children's playground and they agree to advertise for someone to play bass and drums in their combo. They cut and paste some wacky fliers and find themselves being chased through the streets by aspising bandmates in a sequence that manages to combine references to A Hard Day's Night and The Sound of Music.

Murray visits Browning at the café and is surprised to see her snogging Boulanger in a back room. However, she says nothing when they meet up with Alexander at the pool and he tuts at their announcement that they have penned a song that is a cross between The Osmonds and David Bowie, because the Thin White Duke has never written anything that made him cry. They go to rehearse with those who replied to their flier and home movie footage is intercut into the sequence, as Browning tunefully laments that things haven't turned out the way she expected.

Strolling home, the three friends consider a name for their band and Alexander sniffs that all names are stupid, even The Beatles. He also points out to sticky origins of 10cc and Pearl Jam. When they tick him off, he protests that he likes people but despises collective idiocy. However, Browning suddenly slips into a funk and mopes around when not reading soulfully in her room. Alexander drags her out and they arrive at a hall where the band just happens to be playing for some dancing pensioners and they send a dog named Captain to fetch Murray so she can join in the last part of the song. She arrives in time to dance around with Browning and notice one of the handsome lads shimmying on the floor. However, he turns out to be a bore when they go to the pub, where Murray drops the bombshell that she is going on holiday to Bordeaux for a fortnight with her parents. Moreover, Alexander discovers the existence of Boulanger, who comes to sweep Browning away.

As they lie in bed, Boulanger confesses that he didn't give the tape to Radcliffe and Maconie because he listened to it and decided it wasn't very good. Browning is stupified and asks why he has been lying to her and he insists it was to spare her embarrassment because she writes tunes for children and her lyrics are depressing. Storming out, Browning tells Boulanger what he can do with his Swiss charisma. The following morning, however, Alexander turns down her request to accompany him to church, as he has had a nightmare about his empty life flashing before his eyes and needs to boost his spirits without having to look out for her well-being.

Feeling sorry for herself in the bath, Browning goes for a walk with a portable record player. She kneels beside a river and plays a single that is accompanied by inserts of ballerina Sarah Swire dancing and snippets of Browning bopping in a bookshop, while Bissett scrawls lyrics in mid-air in yellow paint. As the number ends, they bounce around in a gym class and crash after taking drugs. As she swallows her pills, Browning is bombarded with incidents from her recent past and she sees herself perishing in an umbrella duel with Murray in some sort of Avengers tableau.

Alexander comes to the clinic to find Browning and tells Bissett that he realised she was unwell from her autobiographical lyrics. He gives Browning some flowers and she asks where he went after church. Peevishly, he retorts that he doesn't have to tell her everything and she asks if he can bring Murray the next time he visits. Bissett frets that she let Browning stand on her own two feet too soon, but she still urges her patient to proceed with her college application. Browning responds by singing as she writes in her notebook about finding freedom hard to handle. The song is taken up by the band with Murray on vocals and Browning wanders into the venue where they are playing. Alexander concentrates on a keyboard solo, while Murray does an inelegant jelly-legged dance before completing the lyric about being open to dark surprises. As she finishes, Browning applauds and tells her that she has to sing the number at their upcoming concert.

Alexander andd Murray tinkle on a keyboard and agree that the gig will be a disaster without Browning. He tries to hide his emotions, but Murray clams that she hasn's seen so much suppression of feeling since Stalinist Russia. Some time later, Browning shows up at Alexander's flat in a downpour and tells him she is going to music school in London. He protests that no one there will have a fifth of her talent and she explains that she needs some grown-ups to put the order and structure back into her life. Furthermore, she insists that he is dreaming if he thinks he can sit around Glasgow waiting to be discovered, as it takes money to make music these days. Alexander protests that no one else will let them achieve their distinctive sound, but Browning states firmly that she has been living in her own head for too long and has to srrike out alone to sing, dance and meet new people. She concludes that she loves him and Murray, but can't settle for the narrow perameters they represent.

Browning takes off her wet jeans and Alexander makes her a hot drink. He removes his glasses and closes in for a kiss. But she informs him that he has missed his chance to win her heart and he snaps back that she was too busy sleeping with Boulanger to notice him. He sleeps on the floor and Browning reaches down from the sofa to stroke his head and confesses that she felt a healing power when Scott Jones first cut her hair. Consequently, when she had felt at a low ebb, she had sought her out and undergone a form of Christian healing. As Scott Jones laid hands on her aura, Browning had closed her eyes tightly. But she had still felt the presence of a man in the room and, even though she only acknowledges the historical Jesus, she felt cleansed of her past ailments as her thoughts formed an unconventional prayer. As a result of her experience, Browning declares herself feels ready for the next stage of her life and Alexander begs her not to tell Murray she is leaving until after they have played their debut show.

Joking about having to break into a car in order to play Browning's tape, Radcliffe and Maconie wish God Help the Girl luck with their gig and Browning transforms from a brunette sashaying down a corridor to a blonde holding the audience in the palm of her hand, as she duets with Murray and Alexander gazes at her like a devoted puppy. The next morning, still blonde and wearing a leopard-skin coat, Browning slips a note under Alexander's door. He walks with her to the station and gushes that he wants a period of controlled happiness that would enable him to put a flag in the timeline of pop history. However, Browning's mind is made up and he realises he will have to settle for the magic they generated during their summer of infinite possibilities.

As the train pulls away, Murray cycles across the city and offers the disconsolate Alexander a lift on her tandem. They pedal away and, as he sings a closing song about being in a band, the camera follows Browning as she travels by train and bus and takes a deep breath in a close-up designed to stress her cute vulnerability. It's the final act of calculation in a movie that drips with an aching sincerity and a resolutely humourless bathos that are reinforced by every trite song on a soundtrack that forever feels as though it has been shoehorned into the scenario rather than being its inspiration.

When not trying to create pop promos for songs like `Down and Dusky Blonde', `I'll Have to Dance With Cassie' and `Dress Up in You', Murdoch does a decent job in giving the story a cinematic vibe, even though he does frequently allow scenes to meander. He is ably abetted by cinematographer Gilles Nuttgens, whose grainy 16mm views of Glasgow are much more interesting than the endless soft-focus close-ups of Emily Browning, whose hairstyle and costumes seem chosen specifically to recall Clare Grogan in her Altered Images phase. Alexander also appears to have been dressed to resemble Buddy Holly, despite clearly being something of a directorial alter ego. But he consistently comes across as querulous and unmeritably self-satisfied with his own minuscule talent.

Murdoch just about ensures that the songs emerge organically from the action, but the stagings devised with choreographer Emily-Jane Boyle are often cumbersome. It's fine to hark back to the innocent British musicals starring the likes of Tommy Steele and Cliff Richard, but the routines here are scarcely more sophisticated and their lack of polish and ironic pastiche leaves them looking decidedly flat-footed. As for a script that often feels like an episode of Skins written by Enid Blyton, it shows no appreciable understanding of mental illness and exploits Browning's manic and melancholic interludes to lurch the plot over the countless bumps in the road through a risibly implausible Glaswegian neverland. The dialogue is just as execrable and the lead trio deserve much credit for trying to make it sound like something a modern 20 year-old might actually say. Nevertheless, Browning's kittenish preening, Alexander's dweeby moodiness and Murray's air-headed hauteur remain as eminently resistible as the overall air of suffocating, soft-cushioned whimsy.

The standard improves slightly with Lowell Dean's second feature, WolfCop. Expanded from a trailer that won a nationwide competition and earned Dean his budget, this is a classic example of a brilliant premise being let down by the fact that it is not backed up by lots of other little good ideas. Turning a drunken, incompetent police offers into a werewolf is such an amusing concept that it's astonishing that nobody has thought of it before. But, despite boasting the cheekiest transformation process in lycanthropic cinema, this cheap and cheerful genre offering lacks genuine wit and terror and, as a consequence, it quickly runs out of inspiration.

Deputy Leo Fafard is not one of the great cops. He wakes most mornings with a raging hangover beside a woman he doesn't recognise and, as we first meet him, he is throwing up after another hard night on the tiles. Having managed to drop his gun under his car, he drives across Woodhaven, listening to radio news reports about missing pets and the town's forthcoming annual Drink`n'Shoot hunting festival, which has become a bone of contention in the mayoral race between incumbent Corrine Conley and her clean-cut challenger, Ryland Alexander. .

Arriving at the station, Fafard is ticked off by chief Aiden Devine for being late again and is filled in by partner Any Matysio on a gas station robbery committed by a gang wearing pig masks. He also learns of a nuisance noise complaint against his oddball buddy Jonathan Cherry and goes to his gun shop to investigate. Cheery is convinced that the stolen animals have been used by teenagers in satanic sacrifices and shows Fafard camcorder footage of a pentagram carved into a tree trunk. Convinced Cherry is loopy, Fafard goes to the Tooth & Nail bar, where his flirtatious conversation with barmaid Sarah Lind is interrupted by gang leader Jesse Moss heckling an impromptu speech being delivered by the earnest Alexander.

Later that day, Fafard is roused from his on-duty slumbers by Devine, who dispatches him to investigate reports of some kids causing a commotion in the woods. There's a full moon and Fafard creeps through the undergrowth holding a torch and his gun. However, he gets knocked out after finding Alexander's body hanging upside down and wakes the next morning with a recurring image of a wolf in his head. He tries to shave, but finds his stubble has become strangely resistant to his razor and he freaks out when he lifts his vest to find a pentagram etched into his torso. As he leaves for work, Fafard notices that his senses have become heightened and he growls at a passer-by being cruel to his dog. He also experiences flashbacks, as he arrives at the crime scene to see coroner James Whittingham balancing a doughnut on the corpse as he examines it.

Matysio becomes suspicious when Conley cancels the Drink`n'Shoot because it has only been called off once before in living memory and that was 32 years ago when her bar-owner father and Fafard's cop dad perished in mysterious circumstances. Fafard tries not to dwell on the past and seeks out Lind to drown his sorrows. She closes early to have him to herself. But, as 10pm approaches, Fafard starts to feel unwell and rushes into the gents. Much to his surprise, he realises that his urine is bright red and he looks on in horror as his penis rapidly grows in size to start his skin-splitting transition into a wolf.

Up in the bar, Lind puts a loud rock track on the jukebox. Consequently, she hears nothing as Fafard completes his change and rips the throat out of a goon sent by Moss to abduct him. However, Fafard remembers nothing the next morning when he wakes chained to a bed at Cherry's place. He shows his pal camera footage of his lupine antics and confirms his new nature by lacing Fafard's breakfast eggs with wolfsbane. Cherry tells Fafard that they are going to have to keep a close eye on him until the solar eclipse occurs in three days time and a still bemused Fafard meekly agrees as Matysio collects him for work.

Arriving at the Tooth & Nail, Matysio is admonished by Devine for suggesting that they bring in outside help to crack the case. She feels ill at ease being in her father's old bar and a photo on a noticeboard reminds her of past times. Yet, when she finds facial skin plastered to the toilet wall, she comments on its resemblance to Fafard and holds it up to do an impression of his morning after excuses. Unimpressed, Fafard tells her to go back to the station while he clears things up. But he is deeply troubled by red-tinted flashbacks to the previous evening and, as Moss stabs one of his acolytes in the eye for bungling the kidnap, Fafard goes to the public library to look into his father's fate and the mythology surrounding werewolves.

He borrows a book and shows it to Cherry, as he explains that a lycanthrope is usually created by subjecting the village idiot to a baptism of blood taken from an innocent victim. But what is even more sinister is that one werewolf can keep a number of shape-shifters fed for decades. Cherry agrees that it's a sinister situation and suggests giving Fafard a horse tranquilliser to keep him out of trouble until after the eclipse. He also proposes locking him in a cell so that he can film the transition when it occurs at 10pm. Ushering Matysio away when she calls for a quick word with Fafard, Cherry watches the excruciating flesh-shedding process and, even though he forgets to switch on the camera, he declares it the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

Fafard craves booze and downs a bottle of whisky in one before demanding a pack of Liquor Donuts. Cherry tries to keep him occupied by playing Go Fish through the bars, but Fafard wants to don his uniform and do a little crime fighting. So, they zoom off in his car to answer a robbery call at a Korean convenience store. Declaring himself to be `The Fuzz', Fafard slaughters the pig-masked crooks and takes a bottle and some more doughnuts as a reward. However, he accidentally ppulls the door off his car and they head to the garage to customise it (in an obligatory montage sequence) into something more suitable for a werewolf.

As Fafard marks his territory by spraying a gang of graffiti taggers, Matysio goes to question Lind at the bar and tears down the photo of her father in disgust at the buxom barmaid's snide indifference. Meanwhile, Fafard and Cherry have driven out to a barn where Moss is hosting a wild party. He furiously sniffs three lines of red powder on hearing that more piggies have been thwarted and is even more livid when Fafard ploughs through the wall of the barn and liberates the procured women before setting light to a crystal meth laboratory in the basement. Cherry watches from the passenger seat as Fafard rips the face off one of Moss's minions before pulling off another's head and tossing it across the room. Realising that the lab is going to explode, Cherry drags Fafard away and they speed off as a ball of flame erupts into the night sky.

Matysio and Devine are baffled by the reports of all the mayhem. But Lind seems unmoved by Fafard's personality change and flirts with him in a Red Riding Hood outfit before having vigorous sex with him inside his cell. However, as they enjoy a post-coital cigarette, Fafard begins to feel dizzy and he realises that Lind has drugged him. Moreover, he is appalled to see that her lithe body is little more than a disguise used by the shape-shifting Conley, who has been in cahoots with Cherry all along to find a suitable fool to turn into a wolf in time for the eclipse ritual that will allow them to live in health and strength for another few decades.

In their self-satisfied haste, however, the pair overlook the fact that everything has been recorded on a CCTV camera fixed to the wall and, having viewed the footage, Matysio tools herself up for a rescue mission. She drives out to the woods in Fafard's souped-up car and hears on the radio that Woodhaven will be plunged into darkness during the seven and a half minutes of the eclipse. However, reaching Fafard will be no easy matter, as Moss has stationed rowdies across the forest. But she picks her way through them wearing night vision goggles and lines up a shot from a prone position, as the robed Conley, Cherry and Devine explain to Fafard how they have ruled the town for 200 years and now need his blood to continue their reign of terror.

Looking up, Fafard sees the Moon start to slide across the Sun and he feels himself changing. Conley produces a ceremonial dagger and plunges it into his fur. However, as she catches his blood in a silver goblet and Cherry apologises to Fafard for choosing him, Matysio kills him with a single shot and he rapidly reduces to smouldering ashes. A second shot breaks Fafard's shackles and Conley orders Devine to recapture him before the eclipse ends. Matysio approaches Conley, only to see her turn into Lind, who taunts her that she seduced her father before killing him.

As Matysio and Lind fight, Fafard blasts the remaining members of Moss's entourage and distracts Lind long enough for Matysio to fire a fatal shot. However, Fafard is himself winged by Moss's bullet and he delights in informing the wolfcop that this is the precise place where his father was slain. Enraged, Fafard attacks Moss and finishes him off in time to kill Devine, who has stabbed Matysio in the stomach after she impaled him in a bid to stop him from shooting Fafard. The partners thank each other for their heroics and Fafard promises to get Matysio to a hospital after they have called into a liquor store.

A post-credits sequence has Fafard confront the cruel dog owner, but there are too few laugh out loud moments in this adequate, but rarely riotous romp. Working from a story idea by Bannister Bergen, Dean shows off what he has learned while making shorts and his debut feature, 13 Eerie (2013). But, even at a trim 79 minutes, the slender plot often feels stretched tighter than a changing werewolf's skin.

Led by the willing Fafard and the scene-stealing Matysio, the cast works hard and Emerson Ziffle's creature make-up is highly impressive considering the budgetary restrictions. But Dean cunningly employs a combination of cinematographer Peter La Rocque's eclipsian darkness and co-editors Michael D. George and Mark Montague's rapid cutting to prevent the audience from getting too close a look at the effects. So, while this may not fulfil its promise in terms of gore and gags, it still passes the time admirably and will probably do better business on disc than it will on the big screen.

The lawman at the centre of Philip Gröning's The Police Officer's Wife may take his duties more seriously, but he is certainly no paragon of virtue. Indeed, as the action unfolds over 59 chapters, it becomes clear that David Zimmerschied is every bit as bestial as Leo Fafard. But in employing the observational detachment that served him so well in recording the everyday lives of the Carthusian monks in the 2005 documentary Into the Great Silence, Gröning deprives the audience of the psychological insight that is vital to understanding both the wife beater and the victim who endures his tyranny with a passivity that extends well beyond her desire to protect their young daughter.

Gröning sets the tone in the first chapter, which is bookended by captions announcing its start and end. The scene is filmed by a static camera, which fixes on two birth trees in the middle diatance. As birdsomg fills the soundtrack, an unidentified figure runs through the woods. Across the small, provincial German town, policeman David Zimmerschied walks home through the quiet streets after his night shift. He creeps around the house and performs a few chores before washing and joining wife Alexandra Finder All seems cosy, yet Gröning follows this scene of domestic bliss with a close-up of an old man, Horst Rehberg, who turns from looking out across a snowy landscape to stare forlornly into the lens.

Zimmerschied and Kleemann have a four year-old daughter (who is played imperceptibly by twins Pia and Chiara Kleemann) and they take her on a candy hunt in the forest. She hopes to see some rabbits, but it content to snuggle up to her parents on a rug and look up into the trees. But things are less idyllic next time Zimmerschied is out in the countryside, as he and partner Katharina Susewind are sent to a traffic incident and he has to shoot a deer that has been badly injured by a frightened motorist. Fortunately, he seems to have the knack of not taking his work home with him and he is shown arm wrestling with Finder before they go to bed together.

Finder dotes on Kleemann and takes her for little outings to a nearby river, where she tells her about ducks, baby birds and fish. They spot a worm crawling through the grass and Finder suggests making a little home for it. Over a spaghetti supper, Kleemann tells Zimmerschied about her day and feeding a creature named Hob with some apple. A top shot peers down on to the table, but the deceptive peace is shattered in Chapter 9. Husband and wife had been watching television together, curled up on the sofa. But, after Zimmerschied returns from a night patrol (or perhaps wakes up from a dream), he jumps up from the settee and starts searching every room in the house. Eventually, he gets his gun from the wetroom and pulls the covers off the bed and demands to know why she didn't come to wish him goodnight. She says nothing as hunches up on the bed and listens as he demands that she keeps him informed of her whereabouts every hour of the day and night.

Hiding whatever fears she might have faced, Finder wakes Kleemann next morning and fusses over her as she dresses for breakfast. The child is next seen singing a ballad about St Martin giving half his cloak to a beggar and Gröning follows a shot of a squirrel in the woods with footage of Rehberg getting dressed methodically in his cramped kitchen. Some time later, Finder and Kleemann go into the alley at the side of the house and lift four paving stones to create a little garden in the soil beneath the slabs. They use toy tools and a plastic watering can to plant some seeds and Finder smiles when Kleemann asks if they will have grown in a few hours. They play football in the alley and Finder later enjoys a moment of tenderness with her spouse.

When the weekend comes, Zimmerschied takes Kleemann to a monster truck rally and she giggles as he blows on her fingers to keep them warm. More proof of her infectious sense of mischief is provided when she sings while hiding under a sheet with her mother and shines a torch in her eyes. They fall asleep together and Finder convinces Kleemann that they have had the same dream. The next day, she allows her to leave some fruit out for Hob and reassures her when thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. But, while mother and child are inseparable, they rarely interact with others and Finder looks wistfully out of an upper window at the neighbours milling around a bric-a-brac sale in the street below.

Kleemann gets excited on her father's birthday and Finder is reluctant to wake him after he spent the night drinking with a pal. However, she insists on entering the bedroom to sing to Zimmerschied and present him with a toy boat and a candle to blow out. But he is far from interested and Finder tells her disappointed daughter that he wasn't fully awake. Still hungover,Zimmerschied pulls Finder down on to the bed and tries to make love to her. But she wriggles free because Kleemann might come back in and he sulks that he should be allowed to do what he wants on his birthday.

In order to cheer herself up, Kleemann plays with a toy piano and Zimmerschied is seen in a much better humour, as he sings a swimming fish song through the window of his patrol car. Perhaps this is the memory that Rehberg as he chops vegetables alone in his kitchen (although it is never made clear whether he is the aged Zimmerschied). He might also be reflecting on the water fight he had with Finder as she tried to do the laundry. She gives as good as she gets and he is forced to hide in the shower before calling for a truce as he cowers in the bath. But Finder soaks him with sink spray hose and leaves him to clear up the mess when she insists she can hear Kleemann crying upstairs.

At bedtime, Kleemann complains that she doesn't like the bear on her pyjama bottoms because he is hitting the other animals. So, Finder has a fox in the pattern explain that the bear isn't mean, even if he sometimes gets cross because he and doesn't always feel comfortable in his thick fur. As they lie on the sofa, Finder strokes Zimmerschied's hair and gazes lovingly at him. He wakes from a doze and looks up to see her looking down on him and they link fingers in a touchingly trusting gesture.

That night, a fox scurries across the pavement under the streetlights. Unable to sleep, Zimmerschied tries to coax Finder into having sex. However, she turns on her side and he suddenly loses his temper and kicks her on to the floor. Fearing the worse, she tries to flee. But he chases her around the house, bawling that he is nothing without her as she is the basis of his existence. Finder locks herself in Kleemann's room and the child looks nervous as she hears her father trying to yank the handle off the door. They sit and wait in reddish light until Zimmerschied breaks down the door and sweeps his daughter out of the room. He sits down and fights to regain his composure, while Kleemann runs back to her mother. The girl clings to her on the bed, as Zimmerschied lies on the kitchen floor and begins to sob. But, as they camera returns to the dimly lit bedroom, we see for the first time the bruises on Finder's slender body.

All seems placid again as Finder takes Kleemann to watch the water cascading down a small weir in the river. But she has a nightmare that ants have invaded her bed and Finder has to give her a bath and wrap her in a fluffy towel to convince her than the insects have gone. As she dries her, Finder explains how veins carry blood around the body and that this makes her skin tingle rather than any ants in her bedding. She shows Kleemann how to find her pulse and she kisses her, as the child looks up in wonder that her body is capable of doing such strange things.

While out on patrol with Lars Rudolph, Zimmerschied gets a call that Finder has locked herself out and he asks his partner to drive home to check she is okay. Whether this action was inspired by concern or possessiveness, it appears to be playing on Rehberg's mind as he eats in quiet contemplation in his kitchen. As the focus falls back on Finder and Zimmerschied, they are blowing bubbles and trying to catch them on a dartboard. Fingers gently stroke skin as they play and a similar tenderness is evident as Finder helps Kleemann weed her flower patch.

But Kleemann clearly finds her father's mood swings difficult and Finder has to interrupt him as he plays a driving game to tell him that she wants to make friends with him again (after an unseen incident). Zimmerschied petulantly declares that he doesn't want to be friends with Kleemann today and sends her back to bed before resuming his game. Finder consoles her weeping child and reassures her that Zimmerschied is not as unkind as he sometimes seems. Feeling brave, Finder confronts her husband and blocks his views of the screen. He gets angry and accuses Finder of making promises on his behalf and he grabs her by the hair when she demands that he shows their daughter some affection and warns her never to speak to him like that again.

Breaking free of his grip, Finder storms outside and, as she paces furiously, Zimmerschied.slips penitently into Kleemann's room. He promises that they will always be friends and pushes the door closed to stop Finder from peeking in as he reads a story. As if to seal the deal, he takes her for a ride in his police car and turns on the siren at her request. They speed along an empty country road and Kleemann covers her ears while trying to eat an ice cream cone. Zimmerschied smiles at her indulgently when she asks him to put the siren on again and even keeps his cool when she lets the ice cream slat on to the rear passenger window and he makes her promise to tell no one about their secret day out.

Finding herself alone, Finder looks into the camera and sings about a lovely day. Her joyless rendition ends with the spoken words, `because I like you'. Meanwhile, Zimmerschied takes evidence photographs at a crash scene as the injured are stretchered to an ambulance and the dead lie twisted in the undergrowth. On another occasion, Finder takes Kleemann to see a parade march past and they walk home holding hands. Some time later, she gets up early and finds Zimmerschied's flak jacket and riot helmet. She puts them on and waddles in to see her sleeping mother. Somehow needing an audience, she wanders downstairs in her pyjamas and pads barefoot through a side door and into the street, where a highly amused Zimmerschied finds her as he returns from his shift.

A top shot peers down on Zimmerschied and Finder coiled naked together on the bed. One of them is crying quietly. Next door, Kleemann sleeps soundly with her toys and doesn't hear the fox foraging outside or the squeak of metal that suggests it has found the food she left out for Hob. A few mornings later, Zimmerschied brings home some flowers, which he arranges in a vase before picking up a few toys and pulling some weeds from Kleemann's flower bed. Seemingly on an even keel, he lets the sun warm his skin before wandering out of the side gate. The light also pours in through Rehberg's kitchen window, as he snoozes at the table. A bird sings outside, but he is alone.

Finder amuses herself by making squeaking noises with her finger on a window pane. There is dirt under her nail and, from her profile, it would appear as though she has been battered again. Her eye is blacked when she comes to sit with Zimmerschied, who is playfully trying to steal Kleemann's food. He laughs when the child informs her mother that she smells and Finder fights the tears of pain and humiliation. She falls forward on to the floor and both Kleemann and Zimmerschied ignore her. After a while, she picks herself up and sits on a chair. But she soon leaves the room and Zimmerschied tuts that she has probably gone back to bed, while Kleemann repeats her accusation that she needs a wash.

Yet, as Finder stands naked in the bathroom, the camera surveys the bruises on her body. She lights a cigarette and Zimmerschied bangs on the door forbidding her to smoke. When she ignores him, he smashes down the door and Kleemann catches a glimpse of her mother's injuries. Shocked, she tries to run away. But Zimmerschied catches up with her and sits her on his knee to tell her that Finder has an illness that causes her to go funny colours. He tells Kleemann to pinch him to help her understand and he continues that the nasty odour is caused by the same condition. Finder eavesdrops through the door before taking a shower.

It's never revealed whether Kleemann believes Zimmerschied's story, but she is next seen lying with her head on her mother's lap as they sit beside the river. She also appears with both parents to sing a hesitant version of a ballad about Sleeping Beauty, whose lyrics reflect ironically on Finder's situation of being caught in a bad dream from which there is seemingly no escape. The pair smile awkwardly at one another as Kleemann keeps bailing them out when they forget the words, but it doesn't look as though either is entirely convinced by the story's happy ever after. And the fairytale mood is reinforced when a slow-motion shot of Finder and Kleemann sharing a bath appears to present them as doll-size figures adrift in a giant's tub.

Out on patrol, Zimmerschied drinks from a hip flash. Some of the liquor splashes back on the wind from his open window and douses Rudolph, who lets it pass. When they stop,Zimmerschied wanders into a cornfield and lets the ears brush against his outstretched palm. .Back home, he plays darts with Finder, but there is no pleasure in the game. He leans the board against the back of the sofa, but Finder loses interest when she sees the fox pass by on the street below. She rushes to fetch Kleemann and asks her if she can see it. An old man wanderrs past walking his dachshund and they convince the sleepy girl that she has finally seen their nocturnal visitor.

Left to her own devices one day, Kleemann rushes between rooms wearing Zimmerschied's helmet and Finder's wedding dress. She totters down the stairs and goes to inspect her flowers, which she sprinkles with a large watering can. Her activity contrasts with the empty stillness of Rehberg's kitchen, which could almost be what Kleemann is dreaming of when Finder wakes her and dresses her while she is still half asleep.

However, things are about to get terrifyingly real again. Zimmerschied is watching television with a beer when Finder comes in to offer him some fruit salad. He declines, but makes room for her on the sofa so she can watch and eat. After a few mouthfuls, Zimmerschied announces he is going to bed. But he cannot resist commenting on the noise Finder makes when she chews and he grows even more irate when she tries to eat more quietly. A distorted medium shot resets the scene, as Finder sits back on the settee and tells Zimmerschied to go to bed if he is sleepy. He asks if he is no longer allowed to sit on his own furniture and he slaps her hard across the face when she tries to explain that she merely didn't him waiting up on her account.

Standing over her, Zimmerschied pulls hard on Finder's hair as he tells her that he is always there for her and that she doesn't appreciate what he does for her. He slumps into the armchair and apologises profusely. But when Finder keeps crying, he tells her that he will get up and go. Suddenly, Finder screams at him to get out. Yet, when he makes a move towards the door, she throws herself on the floor and grabs his leg while pleading with him not to leave her. Zimmerschied clasps her to him and she squirms free to fetch a duvet to keep them warm. He tells her they don't need it and throws her across the room when she tries to wrap it around them. Finder sobs that she loves him, but Zimmerschied throws a punch that leaves her motionless on the floor.

Almost in embarrassment, Gröning cuts away to pictures on the walls. Zimmerschied whips himself up into a frenzy by repeating the word `me', as the room grows darker. A crosscut to a cornfield in bright sunshine whites out to return him to the reality confronting him, as Kleemann wanders into shot to tell Kinder that she can't sleep. Seeing her mother on the floor, the child fetches her own duvet and covers them both as she lies beside her. Feeling guilty, excluded and admonished, Zimmerschied starts to weep.

Cutaways to a white dove and some trees at dusk give way to a top shot of Finder and Kleemann holding their noses as they duck down in the bath. Despite her bruises, Finder sings about being as strong as a tiger and as tall as a giraffe on a beautiful day. As she sings, the camera closes in on the surface of the water and the blurred pinkness of female flesh. Kleemann appears underwater with her eyes closed, as though she is being drowned to spare her further pain at the hands of her father. A cut reveals a child's drawings on a wall, while a second shot shows some curtains through an open doorway. Rehberg appears again against a snowy backdrop. He looks down and turns away, as the camera pulls to the right to focus on the view as it fades to black. The 59th and final chapter centres on Kleemann, as she stares into the lens with a mix of accusation and questioning that suggests she has been scarred by experiences that will continue to haunt her.

Few will thank Philip Gröning for his fussy use of 118 chapter captions during this often arch exercise in slow cinema. But there is no question that this disconcerting drama needs all 175 minutes of its running time to capture the timbre of the household under scrutiny. Unfortunately, however, while it could be taken as read that monks adhere to their vocation because of their devotion to God, it is less obvious why Finder would remain with a man who not only endangers her own well-being, but also that of her daughter. As he had given no reason why Zimmerschied should be prone to violent conniptions, Gröning perhaps felt the interest of balance was best served by withholding any clues as to whether Finder derives any sexual gratification from her torment. But, by imposing such rigidly detached objectivity, Gröning and co-scenarist Carola Diekmann eschew any social or psychological rationale for the stand-offs and, consequently, their this runs the risk of becoming more provocatively voyeuristic than valuably analytical.

Acting as his own cinematographer, Gröning composes each frame with meticulous care and he wisely keeps the majority of the brutality off screen. But some may quibble at the decision to study the family in isolation, as this prevents outsiders from commenting on the state of the marriage or offering to intervene on Finder's behalf. But the elimination of the quotidian social contact that might occur through shopping or taking Kleemann to kindergarten renders proceeding unnecessarily artificial. Indeed, they often feel as though they are taking place within a controlled experimental environment and that Gröning has consulted his notes before deciding which scenes to include in his final dissertation. Given the prescribed sterility of the milieu, it's a wonder the performances are not more metronomic, although the Kleemann twins are always much more expressive than their screen parents, who understand the need to maintain an air of authentic unreality.

Numerous incidents feel contrived and replete with loaded metaphors, but the least satisfactory are those involving Rehberg. Gröning and Diekmann invite the viewer to speculate about whether this morose figure represents Zimmerschied after a lifetime of recrimination and regret. But, as it is never revealed what happened to his wife and child (if, indeed, he ever had any), it is impossible to read anything tangible into his weary movements and withered expressions. Production designers Petra Barchi, Adan Hernandez and Petra Klimek deserve credit for creating such a poignant contrast between the two domiciles. But this subplot only reinforces the suspicion that Gröning is more intent on playing rather pretentious narratorial and structural games than offering cogent sociological insights into why seemingly respectable men feel the need to abuse their partners and why so many of these victims elect not to resist or flee.