The 1975 musical satire is a curious amalgam of madcap comedy and Brit realism as the band ride the giddy highs and brutal lows of the 70s music industry

Here is Slade’s movie musical satire from 1975, a film with all the pungent historical presence of a pub ashtray, about an imaginary band called Flame which looked and sounded a lot like Slade, fronted by Stoker, played by Noddy Holder. It came out a year after the film’s soundtrack album was released, and now gets a rerelease for its 50-year anniversary. Slade in Flame – which is to say, Flame, starring Slade – is regarded by fans and non-fans alike with enormous affection and regard , and it certainly has a weird, goofy energy: the audio mix sometimes surreally privileging ambient sounds such as doors closing and glasses chinking, with the dialogue way in the background.

It’s about an innocent working-class Midlands band getting taken up by creepy adman-type smoothie Robert Seymour, played by Tom Conti, who exploits their raw talent for cash and takes them on a rollercoaster ride of fame, the action regularly suspended while the band sing their various tracks. But then their former manager, dodgy cockney mobster Mr Harding (Johnny Shannon) reappears – a man who never gave a hoot about them in their early days and contributed nothing to their career – demanding his share of the action. So it bizarrely mixes the madcap comedy of A Hard Day’s Night – or a late-period Carry On – with the brutal nastiness of a crime thriller like Get Carter. The effect is striking, in its way, but finally somehow depressing in a way that isn’t entirely intentional, and depressing in a way that actually listening to Slade is not. It also shows the unexpected influence of a particular kind of Brit social realism with a generic loyalty to unhappiness.

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Report from Nielsen and HarperCollins shows that parents see reading as a literacy skill, rather than something to encourage their children to love

Less than half of parents find it fun to read aloud to their children, new research shows.

Only 40% of parents with children aged 0 to 13 agreed that “reading books to my child is fun for me”, according to a survey conducted by book data company Nielsen and publisher HarperCollins.

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Eight ex-couples who split up due to infidelity are sent to a luxury villa together. It’s a grim cross between Love Island and Jeremy Kyle – and somehow also unforgivably boring

First, an important point of order. The new Netflix television series Cheat: Unfinished Business should not be confused with the Netflix television series Cheat. The latter was a 2023 gameshow hosted by Danny Dyer, notable for being forgettably bad. The former is a 2025 reality show hosted by Amanda Holden, notable for being the single worst thing that has ever been created in the history of humankind.

You might think this is an exaggeration, but that’s only because you haven’t just watched four episodes of Cheat: Unfinished Business in a row, and haven’t found yourself involuntarily clawing at your eyes in a doomed bid to injure any part of your brain that might remember watching it. I have. Quite frankly it’s a wonder I can still type.

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The remarkable story of how British culture was transformed by émigré architects, filmmakers and writers

The Englishness of English Art sounds like something a parish-pump little Englander might like to bang on about, but it is in fact the title of an arresting study by the German Jewish émigré Nikolaus Pevsner. “Neither English-born nor English-bred,” as he put it in his foreword, he nevertheless pinned down with startling precision the qualities that characterised English art and architecture: a rather twee preference for cuteness and compromise, for frills and fripperies.

This shouldn’t surprise us. Newcomers are typically better placed than natives when it comes to deciphering unwritten social codes. Unencumbered by textbook propaganda and excessive knowledge, the stranger’s-eye view very often has the merit of freshness, even originality. Bertolt Brecht dubbed this the Verfremdungseffekt , or alienation effect, from which Owen Hatherley takes his title.

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Known as the ‘singing photographer’, Arlene Gottfried traversed her home city with a camera, capturing vibrant communities that no longer exist

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There’s potentially too many run-of-the-mill I-met-Lennon anecdotes from talking heads and fans, but enough wheat among the chaff to keep things interesting

We have recently seen a slew of intriguing movies about John Lennon’s post-Beatles existence: The Lost Weekend: A Love Story , about Lennon’s brief relationship with his assistant May Pang, and Kevin Macdonald’s excellent archive-clip-collage study One to One: John & Yoko . Now here is a lengthy and self-consciously reverential film, which is sadly the weakest of the group. It doesn’t quite get to grips with the implications of its own title (was Lennon on “borrowed time”, exactly, in the 1970s?) and there’s an awful lot of hot air from an awful lot of talking heads in its lengthy running time, some of whom are regaling us with less-than-premium-quality anecdotes – often just beamingly recalling the pinch-me moment they actually met John Lennon and, wow, he said hi and they couldn’t believe it.

The film covers the whole period from Lennon’s arrival in New York right through the decade, the solo albums, quarrels with Paul, protests, interviews, joint ventures with Yoko, the struggle to get a green card, the “lost weekend” with Pang, and finally his murder at the time he was planning an ambitious new global tour. Beatles-expert veterans like Ray Connolly and Philip Norman offer their reminiscences, along with broadcasters like Andy Peebles, Bob Harris and Tony Palmer – but, frankly, there are no alpha-level surviving intimates of Lennon.

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Channel 4 interviews adult survivors in an essential documentary. Plus: David Tennant’s tricky new gameshow. Here’s what to watch this evening

9pm, Channel 4
Anna Hall has been reporting on gang grooming for more than two decades, after first broadcasting her findings in her 2004 film Edge of the City. In this horrifying documentary, she meets five grownup victims who speak about their experiences, examines the failings of the authorities (victims were referred to as “child prostitutes” or labelled “promiscuous”) and looks at how grooming became a polarising political issue. What’s even more troubling, Hall says, is the fact that the exact same patterns are being repeated today. Hollie Richardson

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It’s hard to resist this moreish story about Napoleon’s renegade pastry chef (who is also a spy). Orgies, opium and tantalising fun with whipped cream are all on the menu

Much like the desserts whipped up by its titular cook, Carême is a rich, moreish and knowingly indulgent treat. This swashbuckling French period drama follows the “world’s first celebrity chef” Antonin Carême as he cavorts around Paris in the early 1800s under the watchful eye of first consul Napoleon Bonaparte, whom he has sworn to hate as he holds him responsible for the death of his adopted sister. It is about as understated as a 12-course tasting menu. But as it scoffs and seduces its way through the Napoleonic era, it’s hard not to fall for the extravagant charms of the Bake Off: extra spice.

Carême (a twinkly-eyed Benjamin Voisin, in full rock-star mode) is a principled young renegade and preternaturally talented pastry chef who makes his disdain for Napoleon clear from the beginning. Despite being midway through a steamy, whipped cream-based encounter with his sometime girlfriend Henriette (Lyna Khoudri), he is called away from his, ahem, tasting session and asked to cook for the troops. “Should I poison them?” he asks, cheekily, before setting to work. He does not choose to commit mass murder, but does reluctantly end up saving Napoleon’s life, leaving Carême in a bind. Should he work for the man he despises? Does he have a choice?

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A conservative movement seeking to harness female fandoms and pop culture gossip is the new front in the hard right’s endless culture war

Fun news from the Guardian’s “Everything is Awful” desk this week: the “ womanosphere ” cometh. The article heralds the arrival of “a crop of conservative personalities … convincing young women of a gender-essentialist worldview”.

What does such essentialism entail? The woman holding a sign reading “Make him a sandwich” is a strong clue. “Be thin, fertile and Republican” is the Guardian’s conclusion.

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