Whether it’s Alex DeLarge from A Clockwork Orange (1971), Hans Landa from Inglourious Basterds (2009), Homelander from The Boys (2019–), or Anton Chigurh from No Country for Old Men (2007) – there’s no denying there’s something sinister about onscreen milk-drinkers.
The most recent character to join these ranks is Victor Frankenstein, as imagined by Guillermo del Toro in the new Netflix film adaptation of Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel.
At first glance, del Toro’s Frankenstein is a mistreated child-turned-excited inventor. However, his ambition swiftly turns to cruelty when he fails to recognise intelligence in his creation, in the same way his own father failed to recognise his intelligence.
Quentin Tarantino described his 2009 hit Inglourious Basterds as his “masterpiece.”
AFP
– Published by EveningReport.nz and AsiaPacificReport.nz, see: MIL OSI in partnership with Radio New Zealand
Live – Air New Zealand cancelled multiple flights on Saturday, with all A320 aircraft grounded due to a global software problem.
Airbus said a recent incident involving an A320 family aircraft had revealed intense solar radiation could corrupt data critical to the functioning of flight controls.
The company has ordered an immediate change to a “significant number” of its best-selling A320 jets, which threatened to disrupt half the world’s airlines.
Air NZ chief safety and risk officer Nathan McGraw said “as a precaution” all A320neo aircraft in its fleet would receive a software update before operating their next passenger service.
“This will lead to disruption across a number of our A320neo flights on Saturday and we’re expecting a number of cancellations to services across that fleet.
“We will contact customers directly if their flight is affected. Customers can also check the latest updates on their flight through the Air NZ app or website. We will provide an update when we have more information on the impact to our services on Saturday.”
Airbus A320s were commonly used on Air NZ’s Australia and Pacific Island routes.
In a statement, the plane manufacturer said: “Airbus acknowledges these recommendations will lead to operational disruptions to passengers and customers.
“We apologise for the inconvenience caused and will work closely with operators, while keeping safety as our number one and overriding priority.”
Air New Zealand says all A320neo aircraft in its fleet will receive a software update.Photo: 123RF
Air New Zealand cancelled multiple flights on Saturday, with all A320 aircraft grounded due to a global software problem.
Airbus said a recent incident involving an A320 family aircraft had revealed intense solar radiation could corrupt data critical to the functioning of flight controls.
The company has ordered an immediate change to a “significant number” of its best-selling A320 jets, which threatened to disrupt half the world’s airlines.
Air NZ chief safety and risk officer Nathan McGraw said “as a precaution” all A320neo aircraft in its fleet would receive a software update before operating their next passenger service.
“This will lead to disruption across a number of our A320neo flights on Saturday and we’re expecting a number of cancellations to services across that fleet.
“We will contact customers directly if their flight is affected. Customers can also check the latest updates on their flight through the Air NZ app or website. We will provide an update when we have more information on the impact to our services on Saturday.”
Airbus A320s were commonly used on Air NZ’s Australia and Pacific Island routes.
In a statement, the plane manufacturer said: “Airbus acknowledges these recommendations will lead to operational disruptions to passengers and customers.
“We apologise for the inconvenience caused and will work closely with operators, while keeping safety as our number one and overriding priority.”
Sorry to make you feel old, but Toy Story has officially turned 30.
Released in 1995, it has been three decades since audiences first heard the opening notes of ‘You’ve Got a Friend in Me’ and were introduced to the toy box of characters.
The film follows pull-string cowboy doll Woody, voiced by Tom Hanks, whose place as Andy’s favourite toy is threatened with the introduction of the delusional astronaut Buzz Lightyear, voiced by Tim Allen.
Toy Story, 1995.
Photo12 via AFP
– Published by EveningReport.nz and AsiaPacificReport.nz, see: MIL OSI in partnership with Radio New Zealand
While the UK needs to accelerate its energy transition, targets are being missed, projects run into delays, and the public wonders why progress feels so slow. The temptation is to blame politics, funding or technology. Yet there is a deeper reason the road to net zero keeps stalling.
Everything in our modern life, from our roads to our factories, have been built around readily available fossil fuels. As a result, we expect things to happen quickly, to last indefinitely and to disappear without consequence.
Why this expectation? Burning coal, oil and gas taps carbon and sunlight that were locked away over millions of years and releases that energy in a matter of decades. That compression of deep time (the vast geological timescales of Earth’s history) into human time gives the impression that highways, buildings and plastics can be produced at speed and endure without limits. Through burning fossil fuels, millions of years worth of stored sunlight and energy can be transformed into concrete, plastics and electricity in a matter of hours.
When we talk about decarbonisation, we are not just changing fuels. We are being asked to change this entire pace of living.
Fossil fuels made energy cheap and abundant, and so our economies were organised around speed. We learned to pour concrete and we assumed it would stand for decades. We built factories that ran day and night and supply chains that delivered instantly. Convenience became normal.
In this context, it makes sense that governments promise to “accelerate” the green transition. The problem is that the very systems we are trying to fix still run on the rhythms of the fossil era. They are not designed to slow down or pivot quickly.
The North Sea’s recent “tieback” oil licences help show what is really happening.
The UK government’s new North Sea strategy is a case in point. The introduction of “transitional energy certificates” or “tiebacks” allow new drilling on or near existing fields. So while the UK has committed to banning all new oil and gas licences, some new fossil fuel extraction is still permitted.
Instead of marking a clean break from fossil fuels, they extend existing infrastructure by linking smaller oil fields to older platforms. This approach is faster and cheaper than starting new projects. On the surface, it looks like progress. But it keeps the old system going rather than rethinking it.
This logic shows up in how we build, too. Concrete is a telling example. In 2025 the UK announced its first carbon capture retrofit for a cement plant in Padeswood, North Wales. This so-called “net zero” cement factory will trap around 800,000 tonnes of carbon dioxide each year and start producing low-carbon cement in 2029.
This is a major technical step forward. Yet the retrofit does not change how cement is made. It simply adds a filter to an existing process that heats ancient limestone to very high temperatures. It still relies on the idea that we can turn geological time into buildings in hours and have them endure for centuries.
The four-year retrofit shows how slow it is to adapt a single plant, but the real lesson is that governments, industries and societies are investing heavily to keep the same rapid tempo of construction, rather than imagining different materials or building practices.
The electricity grid reveals a similar mismatch. For years Britain’s electricity network connected projects on a first come, first served basis. This model assumed a steady trickle of large fossil fuel plants. The surge of renewables has overwhelmed it.
By late 2025 there were more than 700 gigawatts of generation and demand projects waiting in the queue – over four times the capacity needed to meet the government’s 2030 clean power target. Some developers have been waiting a decade for a connection. The backlog exists not because there is a shortage of projects, but because the system was never designed to handle so many small, decentralised schemes.
Regulators are now reforming the queue to prioritise “shovel-ready” projects. That is a necessary fix, but it is also an admission that our assumptions of endless, rapid growth have outpaced the physical network we built.
These examples reveal a deeper pattern. We are not only managing emissions or upgrading technology. We are holding on to the pace and habits shaped by the fossil era. The green transition often involves making the old system more efficient, rather than asking what a truly different future would require.
Many also expect this transition to be as quick and frictionless as the fossil fuel era made everything seem. Yet decarbonising means reworking industries and infrastructure that took decades to build.
Cement plants last half a century. Power lines take years to plan and construct. Even the most optimistic timelines involve years of design, consultation and construction. This is not a failure; it is the reality of shifting away from a system designed for speed and permanence without patience.
Resetting the clock
Recognising this mismatch does not mean giving up on urgency. Climate change demands swift action. But urgency is not the same as haste. Instead of expecting every solution to scale overnight, we need to design policies and industries in a way that respects how long things take, and, indeed, whose timing counts.
For example, do policies align with corporate investment cycles, election calendars or the slower timelines of ecosystems and future generations? Whose timeframes shape action?
Building a low-carbon economy will not feel like the rapid transformations of the past. It will involve repairing, adapting and sometimes slowing down. But if we want to move beyond fossil fuels, we cannot keep living on fossil time. A successful transition will be one that aligns our policies, industries and daily lives with the slower, more regenerative rhythms of the world we depend on.
Don’t have time to read about climate change as much as you’d like?
Jonatan Pinkse receives funding from the ESRC – The Productivity Institute.
Siavash Alimadadi does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
More than 20 of Nigel Farage’s former classmates have reportedly alleged the Reform UK leader made racist and antisemitic comments between the ages of 13 and 18.
The claims – some of which have been known for some time – are truly horrendous. They include allegedly taunting Jewish students, including telling one, “Hitler was right,” and singing, “Gas ‘em all.”
After a party spokesperson emphatically denied the accusations on his behalf, Farage has now dismissed the alleged comments as banter in a playground. Asked to categorically rule out that he had engaged in racial abuse, he said he “would never, ever do it in a hurtful or insulting way”. Or at least, “not with intent”, as he clarified once pushed further.
More recently, his position appeared to change again when he said, “I can tell you categorically that I did not say the things that have been published in the Guardian aged 13, nearly 50 years ago.”
However historic, reports of such behaviour – and Farage’s reaction – give us an insight into the leader of what I argue is now the UK’s main far-right party (more on that later). Anyone who has paid attention to Farage’s political career will not be surprised by the nature of the beliefs allegedly espoused.
Reform UK selected as head of its student organisation a former academic who argued that UK-born people from minority ethnic backgrounds were not always British. And when Reform MP Sarah Pochin came under fire for her complaints about adverts “full” of black and Asian people, Farage said he thought the “intention” behind her comments was “ugly”, but not “racist”.
With the latest allegations, Farage appears to be taking an approach of plausible deniability: who is to know what he thought at the time?
This has been part of the reactionary playbook for decades. Public figures cross the line before denying intent or pretending they are “just asking questions”. This strategy allows them to make their ideas enter the mainstream public discourse, while facing few real risks of repercussion or accountability.
What really matters is seeing this episode as part of a wider political project. In other words, even if Farage had not acted like this as a teenager, would that mean the politics he has helped mainstream for decades are now acceptable?
Reactionary playbook
Recent history shows that focusing only on extreme actions at the expense of more subtle discourse can help, rather than hurt, right or far-right political projects.
Jean-Marie Le Pen, the former head of France’s far-right Front National and father of current far-right leader Marine Le Pen, was fined on a number of occasions for describing the Holocaust as a “detail of history”. These claims again should not have surprised us, considering his political trajectory and the simple fact the Front National was born out of a neo-fascist alliance.
Yet the outrage caused by Le Pen’s Holocaust denialism did not prevent the mainstreaming of his party or politics. He remained president of the FN until 2011 and an MEP until 2019. Crucially, it paved the way for his daughter to become a leader who could appear more moderate by comparison while espousing similar politics.
Legitimisation through contradistinction is a key chapter in the far-right playbook. Find an extreme example to make your political project appear moderate by comparison. Marine Le Pen benefited from this again in 2022 when the extremist campaign of Eric Zemmour made her seem like a palatable alternative.
Farage himself benefited from this in the 2010s by portraying the British National Party as beyond the pale, claiming even to have destroyed the far right in the UK. Of course, this flies in the face of the politics that Ukip, the Brexit Party and Reform have pushed since – but it has worked wonders in the mainstream media.
Thanks to his more affable persona, his own elite status and connections and his more polished discourse, Farage was able to portray himself as acceptable by comparison with the extreme right, thus shifting the dial right regarding what is acceptable in mainstream discourse.
The threat cannot simply be resolved through individual introspection, apologies for crossing the line or indeed, the downplaying of deeply offensive speech as “banter”.
Even if Farage were to admit fault and apologise, this would not have the impact many hope. The cat is out of the bag: far-right views on immigration, Islam or trans rights are now core to mainstream public discourse and shaping the agenda, thanks in part to politicians like Farage.
Far-right politicians have been incredibly successful at forcing their ideas into mainstream discourse under a thin veneer of respectability, or by hijacking potentially progressive or liberal values such as free speech or violence against women and girls to push deeply reactionary politics.
Though I and others argue that Reform fits the academic definition of “far right”, there is a tendency among mainstream politicians and media to take the party at its word or to back away from confrontation. Something of the sort happened with the BBC apology to Reform in 2024 for calling the party “far right”.
Focusing on extreme events such as the reports of Farage’s teenage past can exceptionalise the nature of far-right politics and make it harder to call out. This sensationalist approach centred on one person’s behaviour prevents us from actually interrogating the wider process of mainstreaming, which takes more mundane forms and has a much deeper impact on our public discourse and democracy. It also downplays the role played by the mainstream media and politicians in the process of mainstreaming.
Creating individual monsters to symbolise extremism is a distraction away from the very real and systemic nature of the far-right threat.
Aurelien Mondon does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Jung Woo Lee, Senior Lecturer in Sport and Leisure Policy, University of Edinburgh
North Korea cemented its status as one of the dominant forces in women’s youth football in early November, defeating the Netherlands 3-0 in the under-17 World Cup final. They returned from the tournament victorious for a record extending fourth time, having won the past two titles.
The North Koreans also won awards for the tournament’s best and second-best overall players. These trophies went to North Korea’s forward, Yu Jong-hyang, and her teammate, Kim Won-sim, respectively. The success of North Korea’s young footballers is the product of a broader strategy aimed at strengthening national pride and boosting the country’s international standing.
It is perhaps no great surprise that North Korea, which is nominally under communist rule, was an early adopter of women’s football. Socialist ideology generally encourages women to take part in sport, seeing it as a means of achieving gender equality and promoting national strength.
In the late 1980s, when football’s global governing body Fifa was planning to launch women’s competitions, North Korea’s leaders promptly introduced football development programmes for women. This included incorporating football training for girls into the school curriculum and creating women’s football teams in the army, which allowed players to train and develop full-time at the state’s expense.
This approach soon began to pay off. From the 1990s to the early 2010s, North Korea consistently had one of the best senior national women’s football teams in Asia. North Korea won several Asian Cup titles before a major doping scandal involving five national-team players in 2011 put the breaks on this success.
North Korea was banned from the 2015 women’s World Cup and failed to qualify four years later. The country then went into a period of isolation during the pandemic, which prevented it from participating in the 2023 World Cup.
The North Korean women’s youth sides, meanwhile, have continuously shown footballing prowess on the international stage. The under-20 squad won the country’s first football World Cup in 2006, with North Korea emerging victorious from the inaugural under-17 women’s World Cup two years later.
Kim Jong-un came to power in 2011 and, like his father and predecessor Kim Jong-il, made the development of competitive sport a key policy priority. He increased investment in sport significantly, overseeing the construction of sports facilities such as the Pyongyang International Football School.
Opened in 2013, this is a state-run elite training facility that aims to identify and develop talented young footballers for the country’s national teams. Some of the best players from the current youth setup, including Yu Jong-hyang and Kim Won-sim, attended the school.
Why sport matters
Any sporting victory on the global stage is important for the North Korean government as it helps boost nationalism among the country’s people. In 2023, Kim Jong-un proclaimed: “it is a sacred duty of our athletes to raise our national flag high in foreign land”. Young North Korean women footballers have consistently performed this very act.
Jon Il Chong, who was announced as the best player at the under-17 women’s World Cup in 2024, told reporters after North Korea’s victory in the final: “It was the desire and honour of our team to give the respected fatherly marshal, Kim Jong-un, the report of pleasure and victory.” She added: “I will train harder and harder in the future so that I will demonstrate the honour of North Korea throughout the world.”
But Pyongyang’s goal extends beyond boosting nationalism among its athletes. Two days after the 2025 under-17 women’s final, the state-run Korean Central Television channel broadcast a delayed recording of the match on large outdoor screens in Pyongyang. Rodong Sinmun, the official newspaper of the ruling Workers’ party, described jubilant scenes across the capital.
“Even young mothers scolded their children to walk faster and stopped in front of the screens, holding them tight as they watched the match,” its report said. “The area around Pyongyang Station became a sea of ecstasy.”
North Korea’s under-17 World Cup win sparked street celebrations in Pyongyang.
North Korea’s leadership tends to be viewed internationally as despotic and militaristic. However, even relatively minor international sporting events like the under-17 women’s football World Cup present an opportunity for North Korea to project a more positive image of itself to the world. They also provide a channel for diplomatic dialogue.
Fifa’s webpage featured images and stories of the North Korean under-17 women’s team following their win in Morocco, with a celebratory and congratulatory undertone throughout. Even in South Korea, a country North Korea maintains frosty relations with, football fans shared their admiration for the North Korean team’s success on social media.
Clearly, the dominance of North Korea’s youth sides needs to be translated into the senior game for the state’s sporting strategy to be fully successful. North Korean football players need to join prestigious professional leagues in the west, competing on a more visible platform against the best players in the world.
But due to UN economic sanctions imposed on the regime in Pyongyang, which were first levied in 2006 and have been tightened since, no homegrown North Korean footballers can sign a contract with a foreign football club. This creates a significant barrier to the development of North Korean football beyond the youth level moving forward.
It remains to be seen whether North Korea can regather its past momentum and qualify for the senior women’s World Cup in Brazil in 2027. But, for now, North Korea’s footballing dominance seems limited to the youth ranks.
Jung Woo Lee does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
The NHS didn’t receive a great deal of specific attention in Rachel Reeves’ budget. She mentioned it, but in fairly general terms around plans to invest and cut waiting lists.
But the overall plan presented by the chancellor effectively incorporates the NHS into a high tax, high spend economic model. Those revenue-raising taxes include a long freeze in income tax thresholds, higher rates on property, dividends and savings, plus new levies on gambling and electric vehicles.
And structurally, this arrangement does two things for the NHS. First, it shifts more of the tax burden onto wealth and higher incomes, which may be politically easier to defend when channelling money into health. Second, it broadens the tax base that pays for day-to-day NHS running costs, reducing reliance on borrowing to fund nurses’ salaries or catching up on elective (non-emergency) procedures.
On the spending side, there was talk of protecting “record investment” and a promise of 250 new neighbourhood health centres.
Reeves said the government was “expanding more services into communities so that people can receive treatment outside of hospitals and get better, faster care where they live”.
This is an encouraging sign of plans to boost primary and community care capacity rather than just pour more money into hospitals. And it could be the only route to a sustainable NHS. For if more problems are dealt with earlier and closer to home, acute care becomes less overwhelmed.
Away from the NHS frontline, the “milkshake tax” – extending the sugar levy to high-sugar dairy drinks – is a relatively small move economically. But it is an important strategic step which shows that the Treasury realises that diet-related disease should be treated not just as a clinical problem, but a fiscal one too.
Even modest reductions in obesity and diabetes can significantly ease future NHS demand and improve people’s chances of working.
That said, critics could argue that it also functions as a kind of “sin tax” because lower-income households spend a higher share of their income on cheap, high-sugar products. So the levy risks being regressive unless it is paired with affordable healthy alternatives and targeted support, so that it changes behaviour without simply squeezing the poorest.
Alongside this, the decision to remove the two-child cap on some benefits pulls in the opposite direction. It is a redistributive measure that should reduce child poverty rather than penalise it.
Health risks
For the NHS, that matters just as much as any health-specific tax. Children growing up in poverty are more likely to experience poor nutrition, overcrowded housing, chronic stress and worse mental health. All of these drive higher use of health and social care over their lifetime.
Lifting the cap therefore acts as a preventative health intervention by boosting household resources for larger families, improving the chances that children have access to adequate food, heating and stability.
So in combination, a sugar levy that nudges diets in a healthier direction and a benefits system that no longer structurally penalises the children of larger families could, if well designed and properly supported, start to lessen long-term demand on the NHS. And that could work out to be a better approach compared to simply funding ever-rising treatment costs.
Overall, the budget nudges the UK towards paying more tax now to avoid an even more financially fragile NHS later.
But that comes with risks too. If economic growth, productivity and the UK’s general health do not improve quickly enough, a tax-heavy model with a still-overstretched health service could prove politically and economically unstable.
Catia Nicodemo is affiliated with the University of Oxford
So you want to be a cinephile? It used to be easy enough. When the first generation of film audiences emerged in the early 1900s, film clubs began springing up in urban centres across the globe. From New York to Paris to Mumbai, people would gather to watch, discuss and pontificate over the nature of the world through the lens of the screen.
Yet, as time and technology has progressed, the birth of home viewing and then streaming has created a much more fragmented and bewildering landscape – particularly for the young film fan wanting to progress to the elite ranks of the cinephile.
Far from simply becoming a member of an actual club, it can feel daunting for modern film fans to know where to start if they have a desire to learn more about movies. To help those in need, I present these handy tips for how to become a modern-day cinephile in the age of streaming algorithms.
No one’s 20s and 30s look the same. You might be saving for a mortgage or just struggling to pay rent. You could be swiping dating apps, or trying to understand childcare. No matter your current challenges, our Quarter Life series has articles to share in the group chat, or just to remind you that you’re not alone.
A useful starting activity for the digitally-savvy film fan looking to get up to speed with the history of cinema is to consult the wealth of “best of” lists available online.
These can be useful in drawing your attention to the wealth of films that exist that you might not have heard of. But these lists are inherently subjective and say far more about the people who produced them than they do about the supposed objective quality of the films highlighted.
Historically, cinephiles came from a particular subsection of society. This was not a club that made a lot of room for people working blue collar jobs, marginalised people, or anyone who didn’t have a lot of free capital and leisure time to spend in large urban centres. It is not surprising that the films and filmmakers that appear on “best of” lists are usually for, and from, that audience.
2: Ignore the algorithms
Another temptingly easy way to consume more films is to allow technology to do the work for us, particularly in the age of AI. Netflix has built its entire business model on this approach, providing suggestions for what we should watch as part of its platform model so that we all feel individually catered for, even if what we actually watch is very similar to everyone else.
Cinephiles through history have developed ways to watch beyond that which was available in their local multiplex or video store. You must find ways to watch beyond that which your streaming service recommends for you. Alternative streaming sites like Mubi draw from a wider range of both historical and world cinema.
These might be useful platforms to access films from a richer cultural heritage. But keep in mind rule number one: these services should not get to decide your favourite films either.
There’s a varied tasting menu of film history out there. Only you get to decide which of that is special. Delight in defying expectations. Mix a course of French new wave arthouse filmmaking with a marathon session of all the High School Musicals. Find value in the onscreen charisma of figures like Vin Diesel or Kevin Hart while enjoying the method acting of Marlon Brando or Viola Davis. Enjoy the directing of Michael Bay or Uwe Boll as much as Christopher Nolan, Greta Gerwig or Martin Scorcese.
Don’t be pigeonholed into liking only one kind of filmmaking. The more the merrier.
4: Try to love rather than judge
Cinephiles should be haunted by the spectre of the words of Anton Ego, the ghoulish restaurant critic and antagonist in the Pixar film Ratatouille (2007): “[Critics] thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read … But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defence of the new.”
The critic scene in Ratatouille.
Being a cinephile is about loving the new. It is not about degrading works you feel superior to. Avoid attending quote-a-longs of infamous flops like The Room (2003), or embracing cynical “so bad it’s good” rewatches. All these do are enforce fixed ideas of what is good and bad, while arching an eyebrow to seem subversive in the process.
Love whatever you want to love, sincerely and passionately, and find ways to articulate why.
5: Let’s get physical
We assumed when everything went online that, well, everything would go online. But the utopia of that worldview is long gone. When Netflix first launched as a DVD postal subscription service back in 1998, it boasted to its customers a back catalogue of over 70,000 films.
In 2020, it was estimated that the platform offered approximately 3,800 film titles. It turns out it’s cheaper to tell us what we should like, rather than letting us find that out for ourselves.
To find the films you want to see, you might have to go back into the physical world. Embrace older technology. Dust off your parent’s DVD or Blu-ray player (if they still own one). Visit your local library. Attend local film festivals or free screenings, especially if they are showing films you’ve never head of.
Better yet, go to the cinema. Switch off your mobile phone. Make conversation with the person sitting next to you (before and after the film only, please). Cinephilia was always supposed to be a way of bringing people together. Let’s turn it into that once more.
Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. Sign up here.
Alexander Sergeant does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
A roster of high profile advocates, including sportsmen, actors, two previous prime ministers and over 100 MPs, have recently joined patient groups and charities in calling for a UK national prostate cancer screening programme.
However, the UK National Screening Committee (UKNSC) has announced its draft decision to advise the government against routine population screening for all men. It has also rejected calls for a specific screening programme for black men due to “uncertainties” given the lack of clinical trials in this population group.
Instead, it recommended targeted screening every two years for a small proportion of men – those aged 45 to 61 years with a confirmed BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene mutation. Three in every 1,000 men carry these gene variants and may develop faster-growing and more aggressive cancer at a younger age.
Why such caution?
The UK screening committee commissioned the Sheffield Centre for Health and Related Research (Scharr) to model the cost-effectiveness of prostate cancer screening. It looked at screening all-risk men, black men, men with family history of cancer and BRCA carriers. Its initial findings were that screening for BRCA carriers was the most cost-effective, and there was the most uncertainty about screening all-risk men.
These findings reflect limitations with the way screening would be carried out. The evidence shows that the standard blood test used for early detection, the prostate‑specific antigen (PSA) test, is not accurate enough when used as a general screening tool.
The PSA test often fails to distinguish between cancers that would cause serious illness and those that would remain harmless for a man’s lifetime, such as a benign enlargement of the prostate called benign prostatic hyperplasia or BPH. That means screening with PSA alone could result in false positive tests.
As a result, many men could face invasive follow-up procedures or treatments, including surgery or radiotherapy that carry serious risks, such as incontinence and sexual side-effects, even when their cancer posed little threat. Conversely, the PSA test may also miss some cancers (called “false negatives”) with dangerous health consequences if not detected and appropriately treated.
Compounding the problem is a lack of convincing evidence that mass screening reduces the number of deaths from prostate cancer. The UKNSC has so far concluded that the balance of harms and benefits does not support a nationwide screening programme.
That said, the committee recognises the debate is not over. Screening proponents point to newer data. A recent study in the BMJ showed that PSA-based screening could reduce prostate cancer deaths by about 13% over time.
Meanwhile, advances in technology have improved diagnostic pathways. Many men with high PSA levels are now offered an MRI scan before biopsy, reducing unnecessary biopsies and the risks associated with them.
Assuming the government follows the committee’s advice, what this means for now in practical terms is that most men in the UK will not be invited for regular prostate cancer checks. The only widespread option remains the “informed choice” route, where men aged 50 years or over who want a PSA test can ask their GP, but even then, they should be informed of the possible risks as well as the benefits of testing.
However, this may not be the end of the story. The committee has opened a consultation on its draft recommendation and on the Scharr study. It is due to make its final recommendation in March 2026. It has also commissioned Scharr to undertake further modelling.
The health secretary, Wes Streeting, who will make the final decision on screening, said: “I will examine the evidence and arguments in this draft recommendation thoroughly, bringing together those with differing views, ahead of the final recommendation in March.”
The week before the recommendation was announced, a major two-year trial was launched to assess and compare different screening methods, including fast MRI scans, genetic testing and PSA blood testing.
But until screening can reliably tell harmful cancers from harmless ones, the risk of overdiagnosis and overtreatment will remain a real and serious concern.
David C. Gaze does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
