Lyricist Lorenz “Larry” Hart (1895-1943) may not be a household name to many, but his voluminous catalog of works written with composer Richard Rodgers (1902-1979) – a bona fide compendium of American musical standards – reads like a laundry list of this country’s most beloved favorites, including “The Lady is a Tramp,” “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered,” “My Funny Valentine,” “Isn’t It Romantic?” and, of course, the pair’s biggest sensation, “Blue Moon.” But, for all of Hart’s artistic successes, he led a turbulent professional life and a lonely, largely unhappy personal life, perhaps best exemplified by the events of March 31, 1943: opening night of the musical Oklahoma!, the smash hit collaboration of Rodgers and his new lyricist partner, Oscar Hammerstein II (1895-1960). Rodgers teamed up with his new colleague after Hart, a hopeless alcoholic, became too unreliable to work with. This change represented a devastating blow to the prolific lyricist, especially when the new duo’s musical was showered with rave reviews, the revelation of which Hart witnessed firsthand at the opening night party for the show, held at New York’s legendary Sardi’s restaurant. The foregoing events thus provide the foundation for director Richard Linklater’s latest offering, a re-creation of that evening’s tension-filled festivities in which a hapless and sometimes-hysterical Hart (Ethan Hawke) is buried under a pile of deflating professional disappointments, including emotionally intense exchanges with Rodgers (Andrew Scott) and a genial but largely unsuspecting Hammerstein (Simon Delaney). But, if that weren’t enough, Hart suffers personal setbacks, too, particularly in his efforts to win the affections of 20-year-old Yale co-ed Elizabeth Weiland (Margaret Qualley), a platonic friend whom the 47-year-old would-be suitor hopes will accept his sincere (albeit overzealous) romantic advances. (According to the film’s production notes, it’s not clear if Larry and Elizabeth actually met at this event, but the screenplay postulates what might have transpired if they had. And, even if they did, wooing her would have probably been a tall order for a “bachelor” widely believed to be closeted gay man, one of New York society’s biggest open secrets.) Through all of these ordeals, Hart struggles mightily to maintain his composure with an endless stream of shots, all the while pouring out his feelings to his friend and Sardi’s bartender Eddie (Bobby Cannavale), author and fellow restaurant patron E.B. “Andy” White (Patrick Kennedy), and barroom pianist Morty Rifkin (Jonah Lees). In telling this multilayered story, the dialogues among this cast of colorful cohorts cover a wide range of subjects and are tinged with an array of moods from bawdy to heartfelt to hilarious to cringeworthy, a true rollercoaster ride of emotions. However, what really brings this material to life is the depth of feeling exhibited by the gifted ensemble, especially Hawke, who handily delivers the best performance of his career, as well as fine turns by Qualley, Cannavale and Scott. And, even though the film is essentially shot on one set, the exquisite production design, with its re-creation of the legendary New York nightspot, keeps the picture fresh without ever appearing the least bit stagey. Of course, a movie about a musician wouldn’t be complete without a fitting score, as is the case here with its excellent repertoire of works featuring the likes of Jerome Kern, George Gershwin, Irving Berlin, and, naturally, Rodgers & Hart. Admittedly, as the film plays out, some might see the narrative as somewhat repetitive and perhaps even exhausting to watch, contentions that arguably have some merit. Some have also criticized some of the picture’s open exchanges about homosexuality, something that likely wouldn’t have occurred in 1943, a time when same-sex acts were still criminal offenses that most closeted individuals wouldn’t have dared bring up in public. Nevertheless, “Blue Moon” is otherwise an absorbing tale, a tragedy in the truest sense of the word set against a prototypically American backdrop. It’s truly sad that someone who gave us so much also had to endure so much pain, even if some of it was self-inflicted. Indeed, under circumstances like these, then, it should come as no surprise that the moon in a setting as sad as this would be any color other than blue.
Whether or not we realize or acknowledge it, our memories can have considerable impact on us, perhaps even going so far as to define our character and drive our motivations, for better or worse. This is especially true when it comes to significantly powerful recollections, the kind that leave a profound, lasting impression on us and our psyche. But are these remembrances fixed and unalterable, essentially representing unshakable, infallible records of past experiences? Or can they shift over time, despite perpetual reinforcement that makes them seem like they’re fundamentally unchangeable? And how does that affect us in terms of our character, perspective and actions? Those are among the questions raised in this debut feature from writer-director Pierre Saint-Martin Castellanos, a fact-based memoir about his mother and a trauma she underwent in her youth. Retired Mexico City lawyer Socorro Castellanos (Luisa Huertas) leads a rather unfulfilling life in her cramped, rundown high-rise, sharing an apartment with a sister she despises (Rebeca Manríquez), her unemployed ne’er-do-well son (Pedro Hernández) and his industrious, inexplicably devoted wife (Agustina Quinci), a career woman who has become the couple’s principal breadwinner. Socorro had a long career skillfully maneuvering her way through Mexico’s corrupt political and legal system, but it’s worn down the gruff, surly, sometimes-ruthless counselor, contributing to the failing health and embittered outlook that have come to shape her everyday existence. But, more than that, she’s spent much of the past 50 years obsessing over the memory of her older brother’s killing at the hands of Mexican troops during the 1968 student protests at the Tlatelolco Massacre, one of the most violent event’s in the nation’s recent history. She has long sought her own brand of “justice” (i.e., vengeance) against the soldier responsible for his death, but all to no avail. However, when she comes upon a vital clue about her brother’s killer, she at last sees an opportunity to exact revenge. With the aid of the building’s jovial but untrustworthy janitor (José Alberto Patiño), a criminal whom she helped keep out of jail, Socorro hatches a plan to take down the alleged killer. But is this a wise idea? Is it a genuinely foolproof scheme? Is she sure of her facts? And has time hardened her memories to the point where she doesn’t question their accuracy? “We Shall Not Be Moved” provides an intriguing look at the question of how reliably we can trust our recollections, especially as we age and as infirmity, limitation and unyielding inflexibility begin to take their toll on our outlook and physical well-being. These themes are brought to bear through the film’s superb character development and stunning black-and-white cinematography, a fitting and gorgeous metaphor for the protagonist’s determined, unbending mindset. The picture’s devilish comic relief further enhances these attributes, providing the narrative with an edge that sharpens the story’s unapologetically bold sensibilities. It may take a little effort to find this independent gem, which has principally been playing at film festivals and in special screenings, but the filmmaker’s premiere effort is well worth it, a thoughtful production from a promising new talent.
Well-made arthouse films are, without a doubt, the cinematic genre that I enjoy most. Which is why movies that unsuccessfully attempt to pass themselves off as such annoy me to no end, particularly when they give the genre itself an undeserved reputation. Regrettably, that’s very much the case with writer-director Sven Bresser’s debut feature outing, “Reedland.” When widowed Dutch reed cutter Johan (Gerrit Knobbe) stumbles upon the corpse of a young woman in one of his fields, he’s troubled at what he finds. It’s suggested (though never made especially clear) that he feels guilty about this disturbing finding on his property, so he subsequently launches into an impromptu investigation of his own to discover the truth behind this unsettling incident, despite warnings from authorities advising against this. That, in itself, should make for an engaging premise, but, disappointingly, the filmmaker fails on this point. He loses control of the story, dressing it up with a wealth of visually stunning cinematography in an attempt to cover this offering’s many shortcomings. However, no amount of admittedly gorgeous imagery can make up for a lack of a coherent, comprehensible narrative, the primary undermining culprit in this production. For starters, what should be the core story element is largely (and inexplicably) forgotten once introduced. Even though passing references to it are scattered throughout the picture, they’re bafflingly intercut with long, lingering images of reed fields blowing in the wind, frequent protracted sequences of Johan walking or driving, segments of a loving grandfather doting on his young granddaughter (Loïs Reinders), and countless extended closeups of the protagonist silently emoting (but never really cluing us in on what he’s pondering). Complicating matters further are the inclusion of several largely mishandled illusory sequences and a number of oddly conceived scenes involving a noisy malfunctioning washing machine, a graphic equine insemination act and Johan engaging in “self-gratification” while staring at a computer screen featuring what appears to be an AI-generated sex worker. But what does any of this have to do with a grisly murder investigation? Delightful ambiguity is one thing, but cryptic obfuscation is something else entirely. These elements are not inspired innovation or creative cinematic license at work; they’re depictions of unfocused pretention trying to make themselves out to be something more than they are. In light of that, then, it’s truly mystifying how this release managed to earn the distinction of being named the Netherlands’ official entry in the International Film category at the upcoming Academy Awards. Curiously, as the closing credits roll, a graphic dedication appears on screen in which the filmmaker pays tribute to his mother for helping him “to see the reeds” (whatever that means). Obviously, the director is attempting to portray something of a meaningful and highly personal nature through this work, and that’s certainly laudable. Sadly, though, it’s unfortunate that he didn’t let the rest of us in on what that was. Instead, we have been left lost to roam the reed field aimlessly on our own.
Finding compatible companions – let alone good friends or romantic prospects – seems to have become considerably more problematic than it once was. Such kindreds appear to be more elusive nowadays, and forging meaningful, lasting connections with them – for whatever reason – has become fundamentally more difficult, sometimes driving us to great lengths and even acts of desperation. That can be especially true for those in communities that fall outside the mainstream, as well as those grieving the passage of loved ones who are having trouble recovering from their losses. And now, in this latest offering from actor-writer-director James Sweeney, audiences get an opportunity to witness these dynamics play out firsthand in an unlikely but affecting, heart-tugging scenario. When Roman (Dylan O’Brien) and Dennis (Sweeney) each lose their identical twin siblings, both seek comfort in the company of a support group for those similarly situated. Before long, their chance meeting leads to the development of a close friendship, one that seems to fill the void left by the deaths of their siblings. In addition to becoming pals, Dennis and Roman also provide encouragement and solace for one another as they work through the pain of loss. But, despite the relationship that emerges between them, something doesn’t feel quite … right. As background details begin to surface, matters don’t add up as thought, even though this has nothing to do with such things as the basic differences that exist between them (Dennis is gay but Roman is not, even though his late twin brother, Rocky, was). So what exactly is going on here? To say more would reveal too much, but suffice it to say that intriguing developments wait in the wings. And these revelations are very much tied to the considerations discussed at the outset above. In many ways, “Twinless” represents a continuation of themes the filmmaker first explored in “Straight Up” (2019), an examination of the loneliness and search for connection that many of us are looking for these days, particularly among those who belong to constituencies that feel inherently marginalized. Like its predecessor, this engaging comedy-drama accomplishes that goal through a cleverly constructed, intelligently crafted narrative that follows an intriguing and entertaining path in unwinding its story, one filled with gentle though occasionally chancy humor, touching moments (without becoming mawkish, manipulative or clichéd), inventive yet credible plot twists, and honest, hard-earned insights. Ultimately this offering may not provide definitive answers to all the questions it poses, but it nevertheless serves up clues about how we may have arrived at where we’re at, as well as possible strategies for working through our sorrows and loneliness and how to move past them so that we don’t feel quite as isolated going forward.
In an age where life’s everyday challenges can test our wits, becoming overwhelmed is a real possibility when they pile up. Just ask Linda (Rose Byrne), a therapist who struggles to sincerely and sensitively assist her troubled patients. But that’s just the start of her problems. She’s also tending to a sick child (Delaney Quinn), the demands of which are considerable, both from the whiny, often-unappreciative youngster and her annoyingly insistent caregivers. To make matters worse, a burst pipe in the ceiling of her apartment has forced mother and child to move into a hotel, a stay that’s become unexpectedly extended due to the lack of repair work by her inattentive landlord. And, through all of these ordeals, Linda is on her own, given that her unfeeling husband (Christian Slater) is frequently away on business. As a consequence, this palette of issues has forced Linda into therapy herself with a peer counselor (Conan O”Brien), whose incessant indifference not only offers little help, but also tends to exacerbate the stress in her life. Over time, the specific pressures associated with each of these incidents begin to snowball, making coping nearly impossible. And, as time passes, Linda feels as though she’s losing herself and descending into her own personal madness. So what is she to do? That’s what this intense offering from actress-writer-director Mary Bronstein seeks to explore. This exceedingly dark comedy-drama examines what a woman on the edge might go through as the breaking point approaches. There’s an undeniably raw, edgy, realistic quality to this release, one that sometimes makes this a decidedly uncomfortable watch. The barrage of challenges to simply get through the day keeps coming at the protagonist (and, hence, viewers) relentlessly, presented here in nonstop fashion at breakneck speed. And it seems that, no matter what good faith efforts Linda makes to resolve her dilemmas, they’re never enough, often exposing her to petty, undue criticism that, in turn, prompt undue, unfair and unfounded accusations of blame and shame. All of these foregoing attributes are routinely intensified by the picture’s regular use of macabre comic relief, serving up laughs about incidents and subjects that many of us might genuinely feel guilty chuckling about. But this film’s real standout asset is the superb performance turned in by Byrne, easily the best work of her career and handily worthy of awards consideration, capably backed by Quinn, O’Brien and other cast members in fine supporting portrayals. To be sure, “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You” won’t suit everyone, and even avid cinephiles may at times find their patience, tolerance and sensibilities sufficiently challenged. Nevertheless, this is one of those “sign of the times” pictures that unflinchingly exposes much of what’s wrong with contemporary society and that we’d all be wise to take seriously if we ever hope to see improvement in a world where a lack of compassion, understanding and support are being allowed to run rampant. It’s no wonder that so many of us might feel like kicking back under conditions like this. Indeed, maybe it’s time we should all seek to grow some legs of our own.
While in our youth, as we struggled to understand the puzzling nature of life, many of us likely heard our elders say, “You’ll understand someday when you get older,” advice that we probably tucked away in good faith for future reference. But how many of us actually came upon that promised understanding when we grew into adulthood? Chances are, many of us patiently awaited the arrival of such insights only to discover that said assurance about them never panned out as hoped for. In fact, I’m willing to bet that failed expectation happened more frequently than not. And, in this sophomore feature outing from director Clint Bentley, that scenario would again seem to be the case as the film’s perpetually perplexed protagonist searches for meaning. But, considering how frequently this situation tends to occur in everyday life, for me, the key question becomes, do we really need to see a movie that depicts this kind of all-too-familiar experience, one that many of us have already gone through ourselves? This widely praised character study follows the life of Robert Grainier (Joel Edgerton), a logger who toils in the forests of the Pacific Northwest in the early 20th Century. Having been orphaned at a young age without ever knowing his parents, he’s always sought explanations for life’s mysteries, but they generally eluded him, even on into adulthood. And, in an era when the world was changing rapidly on many fronts, he longed for answers, though they never materialized, leaving him constantly wondering about his existence, particularly when he witnesses unexplained injustices, tragedies and personal setbacks. While it’s true that many of us can empathize with his circumstances, we nevertheless also can’t help but ask, “Well, who hasn’t gone through that?” (This isn’t exactly new ground.) In that sense, then, the film focuses on the yearning of a lost soul constantly striving for some grand revelation that never arrives, and it tries to elevate this notion to the level of something that’s never been conceived of before. Moreover, to emphasize the nobility of this point, the picture dresses it up with allegedly lofty voice-over observations that sound profound but that, frankly, don’t add much that’s meaningful or even interesting. The filmmaker also tries to cover these shortcomings with gorgeous cinematography and a capable lead performance by Edgerton (though, considering the admittedly less-than-demanding character of the role, that’s not exactly saying much). Perhaps the picture’s strongest (and most underrated) asset is its cast of colorful supporting players, most notably William H. Macy and Kerry Condon, though, regrettably, their screen time is somewhat limited. Given the accolades that have been generously showered on this offering, I find it disappointing that it fails to live up to the hype, both in terms of its cinematic attributes and, more importantly, the depth of its content. Maybe I’ll understand it better when I get older. But, given that there’s not much to understand in the first place, I sincerely doubt it.
No matter how much we like to think that life’s bigger concerns have the greatest influence in dictating our actions, it’s nevertheless curious to see how the issues that affect us most personally – those seemingly “smaller” considerations – ultimately hold the most sway over our behavior. That becomes apparent in this latest offering from writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson, based on the 1990 novel Vineland by author Thomas Pynchon. In a quasi-dystopian version of America, a battle for control of the nation’s cultural and sociopolitical direction simmers between leftist vigilante rebels known as the French 75 and conservative authoritarian figures supported by the military and quietly backed by a moneyed class of ultra-right wing White supremacists known as the Christmas Adventurers. But, despite the magnitude accorded to this struggle, in the end, events in the personal lives of the combatants’ individual operatives have more impact in steering their actions. Set over the course of nearly two decades, the story follows the interracial relationship of French 75 members Perfidia Beverly Hills (Tayana Taylor) and Pat “Rocketman” Calhoun (Leonardo DiCaprio) as they carry out various missions reminiscent of 1960s radicals. The duo is in love (sort of), but, in the wake of one of their raids on an immigration detention camp, Perfidia meets and unexpectedly takes a shine to her opponent, Colonel Steven Lockjaw (Sean Penn), an encounter that leads to a tryst and unplanned pregnancy, all without Rocketman’s knowledge. Not long after Perfidia’s daughter is born, however, she leaves her partner to pursue her own rebel agenda, saddling Rocketman with the care of a daughter that he thinks is his. But, when Perfidia is captured by authorities, she rats out her colleagues (including Rocketman) in exchange for a spot in the witness protection program, forcing her former partner and his daughter into hiding. Skip ahead 16 years to a time when Lockjaw has an opportunity to move up in the Christmas Adventurers organization, provided he passes Caucasian purity scrutiny, a tricky proposition as the potential father of a mixed-race child. To cover his tracks on this possible “liability,” he must track down the missing child, now a teenager (Chase Infiniti), who has spent the ensuing years with her presumed dad, both of whom have assumed aliases while in hiding. And, when word of this gets back to them, they’re forced to go on the run to avoid capture (or worse). That’s easier said than done, though, given that Rocketman has developed substance abuse issues that have taken their toll on him. Fortunately, however, he’s aided by a cool, composed street smart sensei master (Benicio Del Toro) who confidently manages the affairs of the immigrant residents of a sanctuary city, having become adept at helping others stay ahead of officials. And so, despite the broader conflict going on around these characters, their priorities are almost exclusively personal as they seek to tend to their respective agendas. But can they? Thus begins a kickass thrill ride as all concerned seek to protect themselves at all costs, a story filled with great action sequences, riveting chase scenes, and mesmerizing twists and turns, with a good measure of comic relief thrown in to make it interesting. Admittedly, there are times (especially early on in the film) when the connections between the various story threads aren’t connected or made clear as well as they might have been, and Del Toro’s character and storyline feel somewhat underdeveloped. But those issues are more than compensated for by the picture’s other strengths, as well as an outstanding performance by Penn in a role in which he expertly plays against type. The film, which has a vibe somewhat reminiscent of the excellent contemporary thriller “Eddington” from earlier this year, is also surprisingly well paced for a movie with a 200 runtime, a noteworthy accomplishment, to be sure. And, like “Eddington,” this offering has drawn its share of mixed reactions from viewers and critics, probably for some of the same cultural and sociopolitical reasons as those associated with that earlier offering. However, “One Battle After Another” is truly worth the time, another fine release from a gifted filmmaker.
William Shakespeare is widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language, though there’s some disagreement about whether he actually wrote the materials attributed to him. Even sketchier than this are some of the details about his personal life, aspects of his character that have been the subject of much conjecture, especially where they may have influenced his literary undertakings. And an examination of that nexus is where this latest offering from writer-director Chloé Zhao makes its appearance on the stage (or, in this case, the screen). Based on the best-selling speculative novel Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell (who co-wrote the screenplay with Zhao), the film presents a fictional take on how the Bard’s most noteworthy work, the quintessential theatrical tragedy, Hamlet, came into being. Essentially, the narrative maintains that the stage play (which, in Shakespeare’s time, used the names “Hamlet” and “Hamnet” interchangeably) came about as a grief/coping response after the author (Paul Mescal) and his wife, Agnes (Jessie Buckley), lost their young son, Hamnet (Jacobi Jupe), to “the pestilence” (assumed to be bubonic plague). It’s presumed that the tragic but heroic Hamlet is a fictional homage to Shakespeare’s courageous, honorable but ill-fated real life progeny (though, admittedly, it’s something of a stretch to understand what connection an 11-year-old boy from rural England might have to a prince of the Danish royal family). Bringing the play to life often led to marital discord between Will and Agnes, given that he was working on the production in London while she maintained the family household in Stratford-on-Avon. And, all the while, the couple struggled to come to terms with their feelings of loss, something that Shakespeare hoped to resolve by creating this latest work. As noble as this sentiment might be (and as truly effectively as it’s addressed in the picture’s closing 15 minutes), the overall execution otherwise leaves much to be desired. To its credit, “Hamnet” features superb performances (particularly by Buckley and Noah Jupe as Hamlet, though Mescal comes across as a bit hammy at times), along with a fine score, stunning visuals and an excellent period piece production design. But, even with all these assets in its favor, this release is sorely in need of editing and a better script, one with fewer repetitious and incongruent elements (most notably the clumsy integration of original Shakespearean on-stage dialog with contemporary off-stage exchanges). These shortcomings, regrettably, make for an often-dull tale, one that prompted a number of viewers at the screening I attended to start nodding off – literally. What’s more, the screenplay would appear to assume that most audience members have an intimate familiarity with both the minutiae of the play and the details of Shakespeare’s biography, inferences that ask an awful lot of viewers upon entering the theater. Indeed, when all is said and done, “Hamnet” truly is a major disappointment, an unapologetic example of Oscar bait, a picture that holds itself in bloated esteem simply because of its lofty attributes and subject matter. But that kind of unrepentant cinematic preening has grown tiresome over time, even though it’s a formula that this filmmaker never shies away from employing in her productions – and this offering, unfortunately, is once again no exception.
Life can sometimes present us with hard choices. However, according to the latest feature from writer-director David Freyne, death can hand us some even bigger ones. That’s the dilemma posed to Joan Cutler (Elizabeth Olsen), who passes away after a long and happy life. But, once in the afterlife, she faces a task that’s not at all what she expected, given the unforeseen nature of what eternity turns out to be. It turns out that the deceased get to pick the form of eternity that they wish to experience, one drawn from a virtually infinite range of interests based on personal preferences. But there are a few catches: (1) newly arrived spirits have a week to choose the eternity they wish to experience, and (2) once they make their decision, there’s no changing it. However, this process is further complicated for Joan by the fact that two predeceased souls have awaited her arrival, both of whom want to accompany her into whatever form of eternity she selects: her recently deceased husband of 65 years, Larry (Miles Teller), and the first love of her life, her long-departed first husband, Luke (Callum Turner). She loves them both, feelings that Larry and Luke freely reciprocate. But how can Joan make such a difficult choice? Her assigned afterlife coordinator (AC) (John Early) tries to help, as does Larry’s AC (Da’Vine Joy Randolph), but there’s only so much they can do. The same is true for Larry and Luke, as well as Joan’s recently deceased best friend, Karen (Olga Merediz), but the final decision is hers. So what will she decide? “Eternity” presents viewers with an intriguing tale of what to do under circumstances as trying as these. It thus shows that what most of us imagine to be a time of ever-lasting bliss and harmony can carry challenges not unlike the lives we just left, even if potential happiness ultimately awaits us for successfully surviving such tests of character. In that sense, it calls to mind parallels examined in such previous related offerings as “Defending Your Life” (1991) and “What Dreams May Come” (1998). And, in doing so, this delightful supernatural romantic comedy-drama holds viewer interest well with its numerous plot twists, inventive and surprisingly edgy humor, steady narrative pacing, and fine performances from the entire ensemble, especially Randolph and Early in memorable supporting roles. It’s also gratifying to watch a romcom that doesn’t resort to clichés or get trapped in the kinds of sappy, manipulative tropes so often typical of releases in this genre. Indeed it’s refreshing to see a depiction of eternity that certainly doesn’t unduly feel like it. Here’s hoping the real thing comes across the same way.
Landmark moments in virtually every area of endeavor are worthy of, and frequently celebrated in, films that applaud the significance of these accomplishments, and that even includes groundbreaking developments in moviemaking. These cinematic commemorations are generally imbued with a sense of respectful reverence regarding their subject matter, recognition befitting such achievements. However, the latest offering from director Richard Linklater presents a puzzle on that front, given that it incorporates a pervasive degree of ambiguity that may leave viewers scratching their heads, despite the undeniable excellence of the picture itself. In 1959, as the French New Wave filmmaking movement was beginning to find its stride through the works of new directors like François Truffaut (Adrien Rouyard) and Claude Chabrol (Antoine Besson), another new aspiring talent, Jean-Luc Godard (Guillaume Marbeck), a longtime, decidedly restless movie critic at the magazine Cahiers du Cinéma, began work on his first project, “Breathless,” the story of a thief on the run and his relationship with a young American woman in Paris. The film would star Jean-Paul Belmondo (Aubry Dullin), a longtime friend of Godard and newcomer to the business, and Jean Seberg (Zoey Deutch), a rapidly rising star in Hollywood circles. Like other New Wave offerings, the production featured innovative filming techniques, new approaches to storytelling, and alternative, sometimes edgy content compared to conventional works of French cinema. However, in the interest of experimenting with the untried, Godard took these principles to an extreme, working without a script, not informing his cast of what was being asked of them, making minimal use of rehearsal and shooting time, and abandoning many of the accepted standards of traditional filmmaking. Needless to say, this way of working frustrated his stars, as well as his producer, Georges de Beauregard (Bruno Dreyfürst), who envisioned his investment evaporating before his eyes amidst the relentless chaos on the set of this shoot. Yet, when offered suggestions or given orders on how to proceed, Godard would not be moved, insisting that his improvisations and spontaneity were essential to the creation of this project. In telling Godard’s story, Linklater masterfully taps into the rampant disorder on the set, depicting the filmmaking as an unfolding trainwreck, frequently commented upon by Godard with vacuous, stream of consciousness observations and justifications about how and why things were transpiring as they did. Yet, as history has since shown, “Breathless” went down as a groundbreaking work of cinema in the French New Wave, inspiring innovations that would subsequently make their way into the art of filmmaking, influences that have lasted to this day. But, based on this offering, one might readily develop doubts. Indeed, is “Nouvelle Vague” intended as homage or parody? Good cases could be made for either argument. (In the interest of full disclosure, I’m not an especially huge fan of “Breathless”; while it may have been inventive in some ways for the time it was made, it comes across today as terribly dated, perhaps even pretentious, despite the influence it had on many other New Wave releases that came along in later years.) Nevertheless, whatever impression one might ultimately take away from this film, it’s undeniably an impressive work, beautifully filmed in gorgeous black and white, with fine performances by the ensemble, an excellent period piece production design, super cool costuming (right down to Godard’s ever-present sunglasses), a smooth, sophisticated jazz soundtrack, and utterly hilarious yet understated writing. Admittedly, this one is unlikely to appeal to anyone other than diehard cinephiles and those intimately familiar with “Breathless” and its cast and crew, but those in the know on these subjects are sure to enjoy this release immensely as one of 2025’s best films and, arguably, one of Linklater’s most noteworthy projects. Think of it as a love letter with a serious, tongue-in-cheek funny bone, and you’ve got an idea what this one is all about. This Netflix offering may not leave you breathless, but it will likely leave you vastly entertained.
Splitting a single story into two movies is a risky production decision that sometimes pays off and sometimes doesn’t. Is it truly merited artistically speaking, or is it simply an attempt at an unabashed box office money grab? When the creators of the cinematic adaptation of the smash hit Broadway musical Wicked announced in 2022 that they would be depicting the material through two films, the decision was met with somewhat mixed reactions. Could the pictures each stand alone despite being parts of the same story? Would the first installment be strong enough to retain audience interest over time before the release of the second part (in this case, a year, far longer than a typical Broadway intermission)? And would there be a distinct enough connection to seamlessly tie the two movies together? Those are among just a few of the potential pitfalls typically associated with a production decision like this. In this case, however, the move has appeared to pay off, both creatively and monetarily. The extra time taken to tell the story here has effectively facilitated a better understanding of the narrative and the nature of its characters than the original stage play, which was often criticized for throwing too much content at audiences too quickly, making it hard to follow. And, while this second part doesn’t have quite the same spark as its 2024 predecessor, it’s still a capable, polished effort thanks to its fine production design, stirring musical numbers and stellar performances. As for the somewhat diminished luster, that could be due to the fact that the material in this second act (as in the play itself) is darker and more serious than, and not quite as well organized as, part one, with decidedly fewer laughs and less overall whimsy. It could also be that the novelty of the first film has worn off in the time since its release a year ago, understandable for material as distinctive as this. Whatever the case, though, “Wicked: For Good” nevertheless presents an entertaining, enjoyable and at times enlightening tale, continuing the story of the two principals, Glinda the Good Witch (Ariana Grande-Butera) and Elphaba, now known as the Wicked Witch of the West (Cynthia Erivo), the onetime best friends who have been divided by the nefarious maneuverings of the Wizard of Oz (Jeff Goldblum) and the evil Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh). As the story threads of this quartet unfold, the film also picks up and substantively elaborates upon the roles of several supporting characters whose participation wasn’t always made clear in the first installment, giving them an opportunity to shine in their own right. This includes the plotlines involving Elphaba’s sister, Nessarose (Marissa Bode), Nessa’s romantic interest, Boq (Ethan Slater), and the charming, if conflicted, Prince Fiyero (Jonathan Bailey). It also opens the door to introducing characters from this work’s original cinematic source material, “The Wizard of Oz” (1939), including unexpectedly transplanted farmgirl Dorothy Gale (Bethany Weaver) and her sidekicks, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion (voiced by Colman Domingo), players who figure significantly in the overall narrative but are incorporated here without becoming overly intrusive. Admittedly, viewers may not find this offering from director Jon M. Chu quite as enthralling as “Wicked: Part 1” (2024), but it’s far from the unfairly overblown disappointment that some have expressed about it. For what it’s worth, “Wicked: For Good” once again proves that tales of life over the rainbow don’t disappoint, making us feel like warmly welcomed visitors who come to believe that there’s truly no place like our collective second home.
Grief tends to be one of those taboo subjects that many of us are reluctant to talk about, let alone address. But, by failing to do so, we may end up saddling ourselves with a tremendous burden that weighs us down and from which escape can be difficult. That’s especially true for those who’ve experienced devastating losses through such events as the death of loved ones or, even more horrifically, through traumatic experiences, such as being a firsthand witness/survivor of the Holocaust. Those are among the painful human tragedies experienced by a diverse but connected collection of scarred individuals in this impressive directorial debut from actress Scarlett Johansson. When 94-year-old widow Eleanor (June Squibb) loses her longtime best friend and roommate, Bessie (Rita Zohar), she relocates back to her home in New York to live with her daughter, Lisa (Jessica Hecht), after many years of retirement in Florida. However, because Lisa holds down a full-time job, she’s reluctant to leave mom home alone during the day, so she signs up Eleanor for a group activity at the local Jewish Community Center. In a strange turn of events, though, Eleanor ends up attending the wrong function – a meeting of a Holocaust survivor support group. Needless to say, Eleanor is thrown for a loop. She was born in Iowa and didn’t live through the wartime atrocity, even though Bessie did and shared many of her stories of survival with Eleanor. Because the lonely new transplant is so warmly welcomed into the company of the group, she’s not sure how to react, especially when she’s asked to tell them her own survival story. In an effort to save face, Eleanor begins telling one of Bessie’s stories as if it's her own. In response, group members appreciate “her” candor and courage in opening up. That’s particularly true for a guest of the group, Nina (Erin Kellyman), a young Jewish journalism student hoping to get a story out of her attendance. And, like Eleanor and the other group members, Nina has recently experienced a **** loss of her own – the untimely accidental death of her mother. Nevertheless, Nina is captivated and convinces Eleanor to tell “her” story for the article she’s writing, a development that quickly snowballs and takes on a life of its own. The challenge for Eleanor thus becomes, how can she keep a lid on the truth? And what might happen if it ever surfaces, especially when Nina’s dad, Roger (Chiwetel Ejiofor), a TV journalist, takes his own interest in Eleanor’s story? To some, this might seem like a strange, potentially unnerving tale for a movie narrative given the subject matter, but I believe that’s precisely the point – it’s intended to shake viewers out of their comfort zones when it comes to dealing with an often-tabooed subject like grief (and, considering the back stories of the characters involved here, there’s plenty of that to go around among them). Through an experience like this, those struggling with these conditions just might find that there’s new comfort to be had even when purposely being dragged out of one’s comfort zone. And, when that happens, is the alleged “betrayal” perpetrated in a situation like this truly a betrayal at all if its intrinsic sincerity ultimately helps to help generate a sense of solace? That’s something worth thinking about, and it’s examined here with a great degree of sensitivity and surprisingly enlightened understanding. Making all of this work are the superb performances of the ensemble across the board, most notably Squibb, who turns in yet another stellar portrayal, one definitely worthy of awards season consideration. This is particularly true when it comes to serving up the film’s strategically placed comic relief, deftly delivered with the kind of gleeful sarcasm for which Ms. Squibb has now become famous. Sadly, “Eleanor the Great” has flown well below the radar of most moviegoers since its release earlier this year, but, now that it’s available for streaming online, here’s hoping it finds the audience it genuinely deserves, especially for those lost in their grief and who are unclear about how to find their way out of it.
“To thine own self be true” – it’s an admonition and affirmation generally held in high regard, but it’s also one that can be difficult to live up to. In many instances, that’s attributable to not really knowing oneself in the first place. And, as this telling documentary from writer-director Andres Veiel reveals, that was very much the case where German filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl (1902-2003) was concerned. At the risk of profound understatement, this colorful, controversial yet innovatively brilliant German-born actor-producer-director lived what could best be termed “a complicated life.” As an impassioned devotee of the arts, she developed a stellar reputation for her work as an actress and filmmaker in such pictures as director Arnold Fanck’s “Storm Over Mont Blanc” (“Stürme über dem Mont Blanc”) (1930) and her own directorial debut, “The Blue Light” (“Das blaue Licht – Eine Berglegende aus den Dolomiten”) (1932). Her considerable talents, in turn, caught the attention of the leaders of the country’s emerging National Socialist (i.e., ****) Party, who were looking for someone to serve as a creator of propaganda films (even if they weren’t officially called as much at the time). Riefenstahl was thus recruited to direct documentaries about the landmark Nuremberg **** Rally, “Triumph of the Will” (1935), and “Olympia” (1938), a two-part production celebrating the glories of the Third Reich at the 1936 Berlin Olympiade. Through these works, the filmmaker significantly advanced her reputation as a documentary filmmaker, introducing never-before-seen innovations in cinematography. She relished these opportunities to showcase her capabilities, but it came at a price when the truth of **** atrocities emerged during World War II – incidents about which she claimed to have no knowledge until she began witnessing them firsthand as a documentary war correspondent in Poland in 1939. Disillusionment subsequently set in. But, when she was accused of actively helping to sanction such unspeakable brutality, she assertively recoiled, insisting that this was not her intent when she agreed to make her films (despite remaining “friends” with the perpetrators who hired her). “Riefenstahl” thus raises the **** question, “In light of the foregoing, was she truly unaware or remarkably naïve and delusional?” Through a wealth of archive footage, including numerous interviews with the filmmaker, there’s plenty of evidence that cuts both ways: Did she willingly turn a blind eye to avail herself of the opportunity (and consequently believe her own hype)? Or was she shielded from the truth by her **** overlords to get the agenda-driven output from her that they were seeking? This unceasing ambivalence would become a ghost that would haunt her for the rest of her life, especially when skeptics and investigative journalists in later years raised hard questions about her role in the rise of the Third Reich. Riefenstahl’s vociferous efforts to defend her name and work reflect the intrinsic indecision that pervaded her outlook during the 50+ years she lived after the war’s end, an attribute whose nature almost comes across as surreal at times. Regardless of what one might believe, there would appear to be plenty of room for justified ambiguity here, much of it based in the filmmaker’s apparent inability (or unwillingness) to examine her own true self. This outstanding release thus illustrates how clear-cut answers to pressing questions like this may not always be readily available, a quality that provides decidedly riveting viewing, particularly through the deliberately ambivalent ways in which this story is told and documented. So was Riefenstahl a victimized pawn? A gullible idealist? A bald-faced, lying collaborator? That’s up to viewers to decide, especially since the protagonist herself doesn’t appear to have a response to any of these characterizations. To thine own self be true, indeed.
A miscarriage of justice is a truly abhorrent outcome where legal matters are involved. And so it’s particularly ironic and maddening when such a development is rooted in an actual miscarriage itself. Such was the case for 24-year-old Julieta Gomez (Camila Plaate), a woman of modest means from the conservative Tucumán region of Argentina in 2014. In this fact-based story, Julieta is rushed to the hospital with severe abdominal pain and excessive bleeding, unaware that she’s in the process of miscarrying (or even that she’s pregnant). However, while undergoing treatment, she’s falsely accused of having performed an illegal abortion on herself during a bathroom visit, a procedure she was clearly in no condition to carry out on her own at the time. With flimsy accusations and questionable proof against her, authorities arrest Julieta while she’s still lying in a hospital bed receiving care. She then spends the next two years incarcerated awaiting trial for her alleged crimes. And, when she’s finally brought into court, she’s saddled with inept counsel and the prejudice of a corrupt, agenda-driven judicial system more concerned with keeping women disempowered than meting out real justice. She’s subsequently and summarily handed an unjust, unfounded eight-year prison sentence that her new activist attorney, Soledad Deza (portrayed by writer-actor-director Dolores Fonzi), intends to appeal. To effectuate this goal, Deza ramps up an aggressive publicity campaign to win public support for her client in her quest to obtain a new hearing, one that garners national – and even international – attention for women’s rights in Argentina, particularly with regard to the right to choose. And, to safeguard Julieta’s identity from undue scrutiny, she’s given the pseudonym “Belén,” which translates to “Bethlehem,” an intentionally loaded term in a predominantly Catholic country like Argentina where conventional religious values hold considerable sway in shaping public policy and jurisprudence. Director Fonzi delivers a fairly inspiring and noble tale in her second feature outing, with fine performances from Plaate and in her own lead portrayal. However, the narrative treatment here is somewhat pedestrian, following a rather rote, formulaic and surprisingly predictable approach, even among viewers who might not know much about the story going in. The film thus ultimately plays very much like material one would find in a typical television drama or movie of the week. Moreover, many incidents leading up to the new hearing feel like they’ve been lifted largely intact from other courtroom-based sagas, such as “In the Name of the Father” (1993), “Conviction” (2010), “Bridge of Spies” (2015) and “The Trial of the Chicago 7” (2020), despite differences in the particular circumstances from those stories. To be fair, “Belén” is by no means a bad film, but it doesn’t feel especially fresh or original, either. Considering the significant gains to have come from the diligent efforts of Deza and her peers, it would have been preferable to see this courageous team of advocates get a better, more uplifting picture than what has emerged out of an otherwise-somewhat underwhelming production.
When a film has the capacity to provide a template for overcoming domestic discord, promoting forgiveness and helping to heal one’s past, it’s to be truly commended for going beyond being mere entertainment or even an admired artform. It aspires to become a noble, laudable cinematic godsend, one verging on providing a valuable service to those requiring much-needed guidance and direction in their lives. At the risk of exaggeration, such is the case with the latest offering from writer-director Joachim Trier, arguably the best work of his storied career. When aging, esteemed Scandinavian filmmaker Gustav Borg (Stellan Skarsgård) unexpectedly reconnects with the family from which he has long been estranged, his two adult daughters, Nora (Renate Reinsve) and Agnes (Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas), are baffled by his sudden reentry into their lives. After years of conflict and incessant arguing with his wife, Gustav departed without warning, leaving his now-recently deceased spouse to raise their two daughters on her own. Despite the challenges associated with such circumstances, Nora would go on to become a successful, if troubled and lonely, stage actress, while Agnes went on to live a comparatively stable life as a wife and mother. Gustav, meanwhile, launched into a noteworthy filmmaking career, though, due to the onset of failing health and problem drinking, he hasn’t worked on a new project for some time. However, with his re-emergence into his daughters’ lives, he now hopes to change that – by making a movie that he views as a legacy production, a less-than-veiled autobiographical piece that he claims to have written for Nora and for which he would like her to play the lead. But, given the longstanding bitterness between Nora and her father, she turns him down, a major setback for his plans to proceed – that is, until Gustav meets a young American rising star, Rachel Kemp (Elle Fanning), to whom he offers the part. The director’s casting choice, in turn, unleashes a barrage of new emotional turmoil, some of which involves rehashing the past and other parts of which uncover new, previously concealed issues involving both Gustav and his daughters, as well as family members from his own past. At the same time, taking on the role of Gustav’s protagonist pushes Rachel to examine her role in this complex scenario, both for the development of her own career as an actress and how she fits into what is clearly a metaphorical vehicle for sorting out Borg family drama. As challenging as all of this can be for everyone involved, however, it also provides the players with an opportunity for healing, personal and professional growth, and a fresh start for the future. The question is, can they rise to the occasion? Filmmaker Trier thus embarks on a rather involved storyline (sometimes a little too involved for its own good), but the narrative nevertheless eagerly takes on the ambitious task of intertwining various aspects of art and life and how one might be drawn upon to address the challenges and opportunities of the other. While the picture might potentially be seen as a little overlong, the director manages to successfully cover considerable ground without belaboring his material or incorporating extraneous elements. Moreover, the deftly penned screenplay effectively keeps the picture from becoming too heavy-handed through the inclusion of strategically placed comic relief, including several delightfully witty nudges at a well-known Scandinavian furniture retailer. These assets are further enhanced by this release’s gorgeous, creative cinematography and the superb performances of its fine cast, particularly Reinsve, Skarsgård and Fanning, all of whom turn in decidedly award-worthy portrayals representing some of the best work of their respective careers. As the winner of the Grand Prize of the 2025 Cannes Film Festival and a nominee for the event’s Palme d’Or (the festival’s highest honor), “Sentimental Value” is yet another standout effort from this gifted Norwegian filmmaker, one very much in the same vein as – if not, arguably, even better than – his eminently praiseworthy previous offering, “The Worst Person in the World” (“Verdens verste menneske”) (2021). Keep an eye on this one as movie awards season unfolds.
Nuclear conflict is one of those subjects that’s almost too big to think about despite the possibility of its occurrence being something we can’t and shouldn’t ignore. Unfortunately, then, it’s frustrating when a film comes along that might help to shed some light on the subject but that leaves viewers not entirely clear what to make of it. Such is the case with this clumsily constructed offering from Oscar-winning director Kathryn Bigelow. The picture, told from different perspectives in three overlapping chapters, follows the developments associated with a single mysteriously launched nuclear missile headed for the US mainland and the efforts to determine who fired it and how it might be contained. The first chapter primarily chronicles the efforts of the military and the staff in the White House Situation Room. The second looks at the event from the perspective of Strategic Command. And the third follows the impossible decision-making process left in the hands of the President (Idris Elba). Over the course of these interlocking segments, viewers are introduced to the gut-wrenching issues thrust upon the Secretary of Defense (Jared Harris), the head of Strategic Command (Tracy Letts), the Deputy National Security Advisor (Gabriel Basso) and the Situation Room chief (Jason Clarke) as they attempt to sort out what to do, determinations that are fundamentally greater than any of them are capable of addressing realistically, let alone satisfactorily. It’s a frightening scenario, to be sure, as the missile comes ever closer to striking its target, Chicago, a calamity projected at killing upwards of 10 million. Regrettably, though, the format chosen to tell this story does little to clarify matters for audiences. Given the many characters and diverse locations involved in the narrative, as well as the pervasive jargon, numerous shorthand acronyms and underexplained policy options that pepper the needlessly complicated screenplay, one practically needs a scorecard or flow chart to keep everything straight, making the film more of a chore to watch than a vehicle designed to offer insight and enlightenment. Sadly, there are no winners in circumstances like this, and the picture, to its credit, makes that point abundantly clear. However, when it comes to leaving a hard-hitting, truly meaningful, scared-down-to-your-socks impact on those who watch this release, the goal is not achieved nearly as well as in any number of other offerings, such as “Fail Safe” (1964), “Dr. Strangelove” (1964), “WarGames” (1983), “The Day After” (1983) or “Threads” (1984), all of which make clearer, better defined viewing choices than this film. In the end, when it comes to the feasibility of engaging in nuclear gamesmanship, one can’t help but be enlightened by the astute observation presented in “WarGames,” the notion that “the only winning move is not to play,” a message that “A House of Dynamite” attempts to echo. It’s just unfortunate that it doesn’t do so nearly as well as its predecessor, particularly given the stakes involved.
The desire for vengeance is indisputably a toxic force, one that can lead us to engage in unspeakable acts whose despicable nature is often on par with the wrongs committed against us. Consequently, we can’t help but ask ourselves if this is an acceptable, justifiable course. What’s more, no matter how much we may wish to seek retribution, are we truly capable of following through on such acts, especially if we can genuinely appreciate the harm those heinous deeds may have had on us? Those are the thorny questions raised in this latest offering from acclaimed Iranian writer-director Jafar Panahi, showing us how a simple mishap can spiral out of control, creating a chain reaction of problems that grows progressively difficult to contain. What begins as a minor traffic accident involving Eghbal (Ebrahim Azizi), a young husband and father, quickly snowballs into a progressively dangerous, intricately complicated scenario in which he’s unexpectedly spotted by Vahid (Vahid Mobasseri), a onetime-persecuted Azerbaijani dissident who believes that Eghbal is the Iranian government intelligence officer responsible for having tortured him while in captivity. But is he? Vahid is uncertain, but he nevertheless avails himself of the opportunity to kidnap the suspected culprit, threatening to bury Eghbal alive to get his revenge. However, as Vahid zealously digs Eghbal’s grave, he pleads with the kidnapper that he has the wrong man. Given his **** uncertainty, Vahid gives his victim a reprieve, holding him hostage while trying to definitively prove his identity. This sets off a series of both perilous and surprisingly comical incidents involving other former radicals (Mariam Afshari, Hadis Pakbatan, Mohamad Ali Elyasmehr), all of whom struggle to determine whether the suspect is who Vahid contends. And, as this increasingly madcap situation plays out, additional complications arise that prompt Vahid and his peers to question if they can carry out this dubious venture. Having been on the receiving end of monstrous state-sponsored treatment allegedly at the hands of their captive, they wonder whether they can impose the same kinds of atrocities on him that had been thrust upon them. Their compassion and humanity gradually rise to the surface, increasing their hesitancy. Then they also wonder what would happen to them if Eghbal’s claims of innocence prove correct? The filmmaker skillfully wrestles with both sides of these questions and does so in ways that successfully combine gut-wrenching drama, chilling moments of terror, and inspired, masterfully implemented episodes of comic relief. These strengths aside, however, the narrative occasionally gets bogged down in overly talky sequences (especially in the overlong closing act), but, given Panahi’s long personal history of censorship, harassment and arrest by Iranian authorities, this is understandable. In fact, given the courageous but controversial views expressed herein, in some ways, I find it hard to fathom how this film got made in the first place. Nevertheless, for his efforts, the filmmaker has been deservedly rewarded with some prestigious accolades, including the Palme d’Or at this year’s Cannes Film Festival, the event’s highest honor. Ironically, much of what has transpired in Iran over the past 75 years feels akin to the metaphor driving this story, an ongoing series of unfortunate events in which the stakes are continually upped with each passing incident. Yet, those similarities aside, as fitting as the film’s themes and title might thus seem, chalking up everyday real world matters to being “just an accident” comes up distressingly short in describing what has actually gone on in Iran. Perhaps it takes an uncomfortably distressing fable like this to help us see what can happen when we let our impulses get the better of us – and to realize that some things we might attribute to mere accidents are, in the end, nothing of the kind.
In a movie with a title like “After the Hunt,” one would assume that the characters are indeed hunting for something, either literally or metaphorically. However, after watching this latest offering from filmmaker Luca Guadagnino, as near as I could tell, that missing element would most likely be the plot. Given the overwritten, overintellectualized, unfocused nature of its narrative, with its many meandering, disjointed story threads, it’s hard to say exactly what the director and screenwriter Nora Garrett were going for here. The story essentially centers around Yale University philosophy professor Alma Imhoff (Julia Roberts), an acclaimed voice in her field and eager tenure candidate who learns about an alleged sexual misconduct accusation leveled by one of her top grad students, Maggie (Ayo Edibiri), against one of her closest longtime professional colleagues, Hank (Andrew Garfield). She’s consequently caught in the middle, a scenario that seriously tests her loyalties, not to mention the impact that her “involvement” might have on her chances of securing tenure. But, in the process of trying to sort out her feelings on these matters, Alma also comes face to face with aspects of her own character that she has long buried, revelations that expose her own contemptible nature, a trait that has been carefully concealed but turns out to be on par with that of both Maggie and Hank. Add to that story threads involving a mysterious health issue, a dark secret from her past, and Alma’s constantly shifting relationship with her husband, Frederik (Michael Stuhlbarg), an demonstrably (and inexplicably) flamboyant therapist, and you’ve got a boatload of content packed into a picture in need of direction. And, because the story is set in the philosophy department of an academic environment, the film incorporates plenty of lengthy scholarly discussions (many of them decidedly belabored) that, frankly, amount to little more than high-minded intellectual ****. Admittedly, several of the intergenerational exchanges are scathingly witty and spot on in their critical poignancy, but they’re too few and far between compared to the many other overwrought dialogues that dominate a screenplay that clearly takes itself too seriously. To its credit, the film’s fine performances (especially Garfield and Edibiri) are its strongest suit, though Roberts’s glowingly praised lead portrayal is, in my opinion, somewhat overrated compared to some of her past performances. What’s more, this release is occasionally hampered by some odd camera work and an original score and soundtrack that often intrude too much on certain scenes, drawing more attention to the music than to the action it’s supposed to be supporting. Overall, “After the Hunt” feels like a knock-off of one of Woody Allen’s dramatic productions (right down to copying the signature credits style used in that filmmaker’s movies) though without the same level of eloquence and relevance present in those films. In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess that Guadagnino is not one of my favorite filmmakers, but, in the case of this pretentious cinematic mess with its wholly unlikable characters, I believe he’s reached a low point in his filmography. So, with that said, do yourself a favor and hunt for something better to watch instead.
In an age where distinguishing what’s genuine on its surface from something that’s clandestinely veiled, it may be difficult to know what to believe. As a result, we might give up and disregard making any attempt to identify inherent (and potentially significant) differences. Or, by contrast, we may become so obsessed with reconciling such matters that we descend into a sea of paranoid conspiracy theories, potentially seeing them at every turn and placing us on the sidelines of reality with no credibility to our names. In actuality, the “truth” probably resides somewhere in between, but where and how do we draw the lines of accurate and meaningful distinction? Those are the considerations continually raised and examined in this new dark comedy/fable from director Yorgos Lanthimos in which a pair of intellectually challenged cousins, Teddy (Jesse Plemons) and Don (Aidan Delbis), kidnap the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company, Michelle Fuller (Emma Stone), believing that she’s an alien from Andromeda who’s quietly but determined to seek the destruction of mankind. But is their contention legitimate or the ravings of delusional madmen? The narrative continually vacillates in each direction, especially when the cousins’ captive employs some skillful psychological warfare to throw them off their game and undermine their confidence in their claim. In any event, this unlikely trio has an impending deadline of four days – the time before the alleged arrival of the Andromedan mother ship in connection with the next lunar eclipse – to resolve matters, a challenge made difficult by the emergence of several distracting subplots and the impact of Michelle’s gamesmanship on her captors’ plans. And, as the picture plays out, it raises intriguing questions about corporate motivations, unbridled greed, the sincerity (or lack thereof) behind public health initiatives, environmental degradation (particularly involving the welfare of bees and the role of colony collapse disorder (CCD)) and the true nature of Earth’s ancient past. It all makes for an intriguing mix of influences that never fails to captivate, an attribute made stronger by the fine, award-worthy performances of the three principals, a smartly penned screenplay, intriguingly clever special effects and an edgy, dramatic original score. A few pacing issues crop up at times, and several incidents of graphic violence may be more than what sensitive viewers can handle. But, those minor considerations aside, “Bugonia” is the first stellar awards season release to appear in this year’s movie marketplace and yet another brilliant work from Lanthimos, arguably one of the hottest directors in the business these days. This decidedly quirky offering probably won’t appeal to everyone, and viewers may not come away from it with any greater sense of clarity in terms of how to distinguish truth from deliberately concealed fiction. But, if nothing else, it gives us all much to think about as we attempt – no matter how successfully or futilely – to figure out what’s really going on in our world and what we might be able to do about it.
If a movie franchise has nothing especially new to say about itself or its mythology, perhaps it’s best if it refrains from trying to say anything at all. Such is the case with this latest installment in the “Tron” series of would-be sci-fi screen epics, a nondescript, underwhelming effort that, regrettably, disappoints in myriad ways. What starts out as a generally unengaging tale about AI corporate espionage that straddles life in the real world and cyberspace improves somewhat as it moves along, particularly in the back half when the connection to the original 1982 release becomes more apparent (and more compelling). But what precedes that development is uninspiring, even if it is visually dazzling to look at. Its attempt at conveying a cautionary tale about the potential dangers associated with artificial intelligence (not to mention the greedy, dimwitted purveyors of this dubious technology) may be laudable for its nobility and sincerity, but it’s not especially new at this point given the many other cinematic releases that have already tackled this subject (and better), perhaps best seen in several of the “Terminator” offerings. Arguably, the biggest problem here is an anemic script that generally tries mightily (though not always successfully) to link this picture’s narrative with its seminal roots, but it frequently feels as if it’s reaching for a suitably sufficient tie-in. That’s particularly apparent where a key story element is concerned, one that has been alluded to in previous installments but that is brought up directly this time – and that should have played a far more significant role in this iteration but that, sadly, is largely glossed over when introduced, receiving only scant treatment thereafter. The casting also leaves much to be desired, with gifted character actor Jared Leto being thrust into a part where his performance is about as appealing as a lukewarm bowl of porridge (with few prospects for greater, more meaningful depth and development); protagonist Greta Lee turning in a portrayal lacking in passion, interest and realistic believability; and Jeff Bridges essentially making an extended cameo that he could have just as soon phoned in (though, thankfully, Jodie Turner-Smith and Gillian Anderson are on hand to breathe some much-needed life into the otherwise-lackluster acting). Interestingly, this offering boasts an impressive original score by Nine Inch Nails, but its presence is so undeniable that it often tends to overpower the action that it’s meant to complement (I often found myself listening more intently to the background music than to the on-screen dialogue – an element that really shouldn’t be that obvious). To be honest, I can’t say that I hated director Joachim Rønning’s latest feature outing, but I certainly didn’t love it, either. In fact, the only reason I’d recommend seeing it on a big screen would be for the special effects, and, if that’s not justification enough for you to plunk down your hard-earned money for theater ticket prices, I’d suggest waiting until it comes to streaming and watch it at home.
George Orwell (born Eric Arthur Blair, 1903-1050), author of such legendary novels as the allegorical Animal Farm and dystopian 1984, has been called one of the greatest and most insightful writers of the 20th Century. And, in light of recent history, he’s also been widely regarded as one of the most prescient, a plainspoken scribe who clearly saw the future long before it happened and wasn’t afraid to straightforwardly call it for what it would become. In recognition of that legacy, Orwell’s life, work and outlooks are now the subject of this latest production from prolific activist documentarian Raoul Peck. The film weaves together a biography of the author, the central themes of his journalistic and literary works, and illustrations of how those notions have materialized in the “management” (or, one might more accurately say, manipulation) of social, political and world affairs over the years, with an especially heavy emphasis on the present day. The filmmaker cites myriad examples of these manifestations to show just how on target Orwell was in predicting what would lie ahead, both in the places where he lived (England, Spain and Burma (now Myanmar)), as well as other locales around the globe, including Russia, Ukraine, Haiti, France, Latin America, Asia, and, most importantly, the US. And, while Peck largely targets the policies and practices of the right, he’s not afraid to take on anyone whose dogma is so rigid that it throws circumstances off balance for everyone. Most notably, though, the picture details just how insidious these initiatives can be, agendas accomplished through the skillful “handling” of language, media, beliefs and actions that lead to intentional, calculated and shameful obfuscation, creating purposely misleading impressions in the minds of an unwittingly susceptible public. The narrative places much emphasis on the signature double-talk expressions Orwell features in his narratives (especially 1984), including such meaningless phrases as “War is peace,” “Freedom is slavery” and “Ignorance is strength,” slogans that say nothing but become widely embraced with relentless and intimidating repetition. The director’s inclusion of these references thus depicts the deliberate war on truth being waged by those in power who will do anything to maintain their control over it, particularly when dealing with a compliant, quiescent population. These themes are further supported by an array of clips from other fictional and documentary works, such as the 1954, 1956 and 1984 versions of “1984,” “I, Daniel Blake” (2016), “Land and Freedom” (1995), “Minority Report” (2002), and “Orwell Rolls in His Grave” (2003), to name a few. And further enhancement is provided in numerous voiceover sequences from Orwell’s own writings, deftly narrated by Damian Lewis. All told, these elements provide a comprehensive look at the author and his work, as well as its relevance in today’s world. With that said, however, some aspects of this offering could use some work, most notably in the organization of its content, its overreliance at times on material that needs to be read (and that often flies by too quickly) and an occasional tendency toward redundancy, elements that have been known to intrude upon other films by this director. In addition, “Orwell: 2+ 2 = 5” has frequently been termed (and quite accurately at that) as the scariest picture of 2025, primarily due to its inclusion of some troubling graphic imagery (sensitive viewers take note). Nevertheless, this is an important film for our times, one that viewers should not be afraid to watch considering the stakes involved. Indeed, turning a blind eye might be easier to do in the moment – but probably not in the long run.
Few will likely take issue with the notion that “Crime doesn’t pay.” And that idea rings even more true if restated as “Crime doesn’t pay if you’re a nice guy.” That’s one of the truths that emerges loud and clear in this fact-based comedy-drama about soldier-turned-thief Jeffrey Manchester (Channing Tatum), who had trouble finding his way (and making ends meet) after leaving the military. Set in North Carolina in 2004, this young husband and father is greatly troubled by his inability to adequately provide for his family. His solution is to turn to a life of crime, specifically drawing on his uncanny knack for being able to spot details in opportunities and exploit them to his advantage. He specifically targets fast food restaurants, gaining access by breaking through the roofs of these businesses and dropping in to swipe whatever cash is on hand, generally just before they open for the day. He treats the skeleton crews typically on duty at that time with his signature polite, apologetic courtesy and kindness before stealthily making off with the loot. His stash adds up quickly and substantially – that is, until one time when he’s caught, convicted and thrown into prison. But that proves to be a mere detour, promptly escaping and going on the run, skillfully taking refuge behind the scenes in a Toys ‘R’ Us store. However, his stay turns out to be longer than anticipated, and, with that kind of time on his hands and a natural inclination to want to be helpful to others in need, he unwittingly becomes distracted. This leaves him vulnerable to being discovered and recaptured, especially when his Samaritan side surfaces in doing right by others. That’s especially true when he takes a liking to Leigh Wainscott (Kirsten Dunst), a genial but challenged single mother of two who works at the store and who falls hard for his charms, unaware of who he really is. Can Jeffrey keep up the ruse? Or will he fall victim to his naturally compassionate and generous tendencies? As endearing as this crowd-pleasing story might sound, though, it’s somewhat uneven (and at times innocuous) in its execution. For instance, it’s difficult to fathom how someone so allegedly nice could simultaneously be capable of such dubious behavior (especially when viewers never really get to find out how he got that way). Then there’s the film’s tendency to downplay the seriousness of the protagonist’s actions in light of the picture’s predominantly frothy narrative. And the love interest story thread – no matter how charming it might be at times – is given too much weight in the overall flow of the movie. With that said, though, there are definite strengths present here, too, particularly in this offering’s depiction of a hardened criminal hiding out in the whimsical environment of a toy store, the aspect of the film that truly works best (and should have received greater focus). The wacky juxtaposition of these disparate elements evokes many hearty laughs, especially in the segments where the protagonist must inventively look for ways to keep from being found out, most notably by the facility’s surly store manager, Mitch (Peter Dinklage). In all, though, while “Roofman” makes for a modestly entertaining diversion, it would have fared better by playing to its strengths more and scaling back the less engaging romantic subplot, sequences that tend to slow the pacing and detract from what actually works best. Indeed, try as writer-director Derek Cianfrance might, there’s simply no getting away with that.
Life in an Argentine prison during the country’s infamous Dirty War might seem like an odd backdrop for a movie musical. But, given the engaging source material on which this film is based – the 1992 Tony Award-winning hit Broadway musical featuring the compositions of John Kander and Fred Ebb (best known for their work on Cabaret) and the acclaimed 1976 novel by author Manuel Puig – this exuberant, visually involving new release succeeds in telling a captivating tale of unlikely friendship and romance between two very different cellmates during a troubled time in the Latin American nation’s history. At first glance, impassioned but perpetually embittered political dissident Valentin Arregui (Diego Luna) seems like the last person who would befriend someone like Luis Molina (Tonatiuh), a shallow, flamboyant gay window dresser who has been sentenced to eight years behind bars for corrupting a minor. Valentin is compulsively committed to his cause as if it were an inescapable crusade. However, thanks to Molina’s irrepressible wit and charm, he manages to win over his relentlessly serious cellmate. He accomplishes this through his gift for articulate, mesmerizing storytelling, specifically his intricate account of a classic 1950s B-movie musical called “Kiss of the Spider Woman.” Luis cheerfully recounts the film in an apparently sincere attempt to help Valentin forget his troubles. This movie within a movie is thus brought to life through vivid re-creations of Molina’s meticulously detailed descriptions of this campy melodrama, one whose plot in some ways parallels aspects of the real world storyline of the two prisoners. It tells the tale of a love triangle of sorts involving two men (Luna and Tonatiuh in dual roles) vying for the affections of a sophisticated but lovelorn heroine (Jennifer Lopez) while they simultaneously fend off the diabolical advances of a vampish supernatural villain, the Spider Woman (also portrayed by Lopez). Luis spins a compelling yarn that gradually wins over Valentin’s attention, stirring unexpected feelings of warmth, affection and sensitivity within him for the enchanting storyteller. But there’s a catch – Luis is secretly acting as an informant at the behest of the prison’s warden (Bruno Bichir). By spying on Valentin, Luis clandestinely seeks to gain his cellmate’s trust in hopes that he’ll reveal valuable information about his political contacts, an outcome that comes with the possibility of parole if he succeeds. However, to complicate matters further, Luis becomes torn about his mission when he starts developing feelings for the man he’s setting up to betray (talk about a tangled web). In telling this layered story of love, deceit, guilt and conflicted sensibilities, director Bill Condon has skillfully woven together two vastly different plotlines, presenting both with equal, albeit divergent degrees of cinematic polish. This is especially apparent in the picture’s outstanding production numbers, whose stellar renditions of its award-winning (though arguably underrated) Broadway score and impressive, inventive choreography unfold in the midst of a vibrantly hued production design characterized by exquisite sets and elegant costumes. These elements thus combine to make for a fitting homage to the grand and glorious movie musicals of days gone by. Then there are the fine performances of the three principals, most notably Lopez, who shows off a range of skills in an award-worthy portrayal that will undoubtedly leave viewers stunned and wondering where she’s been hiding her many talents all these years. While the development of the relationship between the two male leads could admittedly be stronger and the gravity of the prison narrative could have received much-deserved weightier treatment – aspects that were more fully developed in the original 1985 dramatic screen adaptation of this work – it’s important to remember that this film and its predecessor present very different takes on essentially the same story. Indeed, those expecting a remake of the original might be disappointed or view it (albeit somewhat unfairly) as a lightweight rendering of this material, one that some cinephiles might even see as trivializing the nature of its backdrop. But one might also want to think twice before being too harsh; after all, no one would dare raise a comparable criticism about other acclaimed musical works in this vein (such as “Les Misérables” (2012), for example), so how fair would a remark like that be in this case? Bear that in mind if such notions come to mind while screening this film. All things considered, “Kiss of the Spider Woman” is an unexpected cinematic treat, one that’s moving, entertaining, thoughtful and visually dazzling all at the same time, a fusion of attributes that too few films successfully combine these days. And, coming from someone who generally doesn’t care much for movie musicals, that truly speaks volumes.
An essential element of any love story is chemistry between the lead characters, even if it takes an unconventional form. Regrettably, however, that’s exactly what’s missing in director Bing Liu’s debut narrative feature, based on the novel by Atticus Lish. Told in the form of a narrated letter/journal entry to her late film, the film chronicles the unlikely love story of Aishe (Sebiye Behtiyar), an ambitious, sharp-witted twentysomething Uyghur woman who illegally immigrates to the US, and Skinner (Fred Hechinger), a troubled young American soldier who just returned stateside after three tours of duty in the Middle East and is now apparently unsuccessfully battling PTSD. They meet by chance in New York, where Aishe toils to make ends meet working long hours in a Chinatown restaurant and Skinner tries to sort out his life and his mental state. Together they embark on a rollercoaster romance with a series of breakups and reconciliations as Aishe tries to decide on marriage or a life of solitude, peace of mind and independence, all the while staying ahead of immigration authorities, and Skinner seeks to find a stable existence that may or may not involve the love of his life, depending on his mood, focus and ever-changing inclinations for a steady, traditional relationship. To be honest, the basic premise behind this release is inherently something of a stretch, made worse by a narrative that becomes meandering and redundant after a time. But the bigger issue here is that I never bought the sincerity of the connection between the protagonists, right from the moment they met and at virtually every turn during the course of their on-again/off-again partnership. The reason? Despite her inexperience with romance, Aishe seems far too smart and determined to chart the course of her life to put up with Skinner’s unpredictability and capriciousness. In fact, after their first emotionally tense confrontation, I was astounded by their subsequent reconciliation, given that she seems like the type who would have walked away and not looked back without a second thought. Granted, an immigration-driven marriage might resolve some of the issues of her legal status in the US, but with Skinner? It’s true that she has an apparently deep sense of compassion for his condition, but, being the fiercely headstrong individual that she is, I can’t see that empathy being enough in itself to make her want to stay with him on a long-term basis. What’s more, Aishe’s back story often feels incomplete, and Skinner’s is even more nonexistent, an aspect of the story that makes their actions and responses all the more perplexing at times. In all, this offering is half-baked and implausible across the board, making for a screen romance that’s unengaging and unrealistic, one not worth the time.
In this age of increasingly untrustworthy AI, rampant fake news and unabashedly self-serving social media, it’s becoming ever more difficult for many of us to distinguish what’s “real” and what isn’t these days, almost as if we’re stuck in a frightening new Orwellian paradigm. That’s significant, not only for how we perceive existence, but even in terms of how we experience and respond to it. In fact, these circumstances might even be looked upon as a metaphysical or existential nightmare. So it is for Matthias (Albrecht Schuch), who works for a Vienna-based organization known as MyCompanion, a business that enables clients to hire individuals to serve as professional impersonators or stand-ins for those in need – any need – as conditions warrant. He has become so proficient at this that his services are in high demand. However, Matthias has become so adept at his work that he’s begun to lose himself in it, unsure of where his job leaves off and his own reality begins, and that inherent uncertainty comes with consequences. For instance, it has seriously impacted his relationship with his significant other, Sophia (Julia Franz Richter), who claims that she doesn’t know him anymore. On top of that, Matthias increasingly finds himself embroiled in dubiously complicated cases involving the likes of a bullied wife (Maria Hofstätter) who’s looking for coaching on how to argue more effectively with her overbearing husband (Branko Samarovski) and a wealthy senior (Tilo Nest) who’s looking for someone to stand in as his absent estranged son at his lavish 60th birthday soiree, an event couched in an underlying agenda cooked up by the guest of honor. And, as the protagonist desperately seeks answers to better know his true self and to cope with these ever-maddening circumstances, he feels like he’s becoming hopelessly lost, frequently unable to discern or explain himself. He also unfairly becomes the unwitting object of conjecture, ridicule and blame from outsiders, including uninvolved third parties, who generally misinterpret conditions and see them through their own distorted (and often-shallow) filters, making them unconscious embodiments of unbridled pretention, not unlike superficial, proudly preening ****, as one character astutely observes. Writer-director Bernhard Wenger deftly explores these mind-boggling scenarios with delicately applied dry wit and hilarious situational humor, showing more than telling what’s driving his narrative’s objectives. At the same time, though, there’s a deadly seriousness beneath the laughs, making insightful observations about the blurred lines of reality and fantasy, in addition to scathingly symbolic references to social media toxicity and the undue judgmentalism that often tags along for the ride. What’s more, the filmmaker skillfully shows how all of these questionable, seemingly disparate elements ultimately tie together, leaving Matthias (not to mention the rest of us) with a noxious new form of existence that has us wondering about our very nature and what to believe about our fundamental sense of reality. “Peacock” is a smartly written, intelligently crafted debut feature from this gifted filmmaker, one that often reminds me of inventive, quirky pictures like director Ruben Östlund’s “The Square” (2017). It’s a picture that simultaneously entertains, enlightens and inspires in eye-opening ways – provided we leave ourselves open to that possibility. And, in this day and age, we had better do that if we want to avoid consequences that, frankly, could be too troubling to think about.
When a new filmmaker emerges on the scene, that director is often held to an almost impossibly high level of scrutiny, as if being judged before a panel evaluating a grad student’s thesis. To a certain extent, that can be an arduous but worthwhile trial to see if the candidate has what it takes to defend his or her case and, ultimately, to cut it in the field into which entry is being sought. At the same time, though, it’s important to remember that the cinematic newcomer has likely never attempted anything like this before and that there’s bound to be an inescapable learning curve involved. Such are the circumstances surrounding the debut offering from Ronan Day-Lewis in his first feature outing, an ambitious if sometimes-flawed collaboration with his father, three-time Oscar-winning actor Daniel Day-Lewis, who comes out of retirement after eight years in making his return to the big screen. And, while there certainly are qualities that could have been better handled, this is nevertheless an impressive premiere for the new director, one that, one hopes, bodes well for an auspicious future. “Anemone” is, by its nature, a picture that’s difficult to characterize, but I see it as an intensely personal drama made up of a collection of anecdotal stories that delve into the complexities involved in interpersonal relationships between brothers and between fathers and sons. This includes the experiences of siblings Ray and Jem Stoker (Day-Lewis, Sean Bean), along with those of their son/stepson, Brian (Samuel Bottomley), as well as Brian’s marginalized mother, Nessa (Samantha Morton). These accounts address a variety of incidents involving personal trauma and the forgiveness (or lack thereof) associated with them. Their explicit and detailed confessions recount painful occurrences that stemmed from military service, family relations, and interactions with authority figures, such as implicitly trusted clergymen who never should have been accorded such respect to begin with. In the process, these revelations explore themes related to toxic masculinity, mental health issues (particularly PTSD), the willingness to face (or avoid) one’s demons, and cultural behavioral expectations, including whether they should be adhered to unwaveringly. Because of the approach used here, the pacing has been criticized by some as overly slow and plodding, but, given the eloquence of the writing in conveying them, I found this take to be quite effective, coming across like listening to engaging, earnest and heartfelt storytelling being imparted to what one would hope is a willing, sensitive and supportive audience. This narrative is further enhanced by stylistically stunning cinematography and an emotive and atmospheric score, creating a visual painting accompanied by a fitting musical backdrop. And then there are the superb performances of Day-Lewis in a triumphant return to his craft, showing that he hasn’t lost a step since his last on-screen appearance, as well as the fine supporting portrayals by Bean, Bottomley, and, especially, Morton. For all of these strengths, however, the production has some issues with its ill-considered attempts at symbolism and surrealism, occasional narrative meandering, and sequences that could have used some judicious film editing. However, considering that this is the filmmaker’s first attempt at plying his craft, I’d much rather see him take the risk of experimenting in these ways than falling back on formula elements, even if not all of them work out as hoped for. “Anemone” may not be a perfect film, but I would hate to see it mercilessly trod upon for its shortcomings. There’s enough discouragement in the world these days to see an excessive amount of it heaped upon a promising filmmaker at a time when the industry can use all of the fresh and inventive new talent it can get.
They say “War is hell,” and, without a doubt, there’s plenty of evidence to back up that contention. But rarely, if ever, does anyone say that “War is boring,” although that can certainly be said about its depiction in this latest offering from writer-directors Alex Garland and Ray Mendoza. This fact-based account tells the story of a Navy SEAL unit charged with providing support for a US Marine operation in Ramadi during the Iraq War in 2006. Filmed in real time, the picture seeks to take viewers onto the front lines of this urban warfare setting, one that results in an ambush by insurgents armed with grenades, guns and IEDs, leading to fatalities and multiple life-threatening injuries. The attack, in turn, necessitates calls for evacuation that place the rescuers in extreme peril as street fighting intensifies around them, portraying this hazardous battlefield scenario in an authentically choreographed re-creation of on-the-ground events. But, in depicting the conflict, the filmmakers ponderously commit the grave error of making it mind-numbingly dull; it’s so “clinical” and by the book that it’s devoid of any sense of viewer engagement, with no character development, no emotional involvement and virtually no background about why any of this is transpiring in the first place. In fact, the narrative so anonymizes the circumstances surrounding this incident that the film ends up coming across like little more than a big screen version of a video game. Frankly, that raises the question, what’s the point of this, and why should the audience care? To compound matters, the picture’s protracted opening sequence, which chronicles the preparation and intelligence-gathering setup for the main event, goes on forever, leaving viewers wondering if anything is ever going to happen. And, when it at last does (and quite predictably at that, a quality that characterizes the film overall), the story becomes little more than an endless stream of gunshots, explosions and grotesquely wounded soldiers screaming in agony. Is this supposed to be “entertainment”? Indeed, by that point, “Warfare” becomes more of an endurance test than an estimable work of cinema. It thus makes one wonder about the purpose behind this production. If the intent is the misguided glorification of combat, it doesn’t do much to favorably make its case. And, if it’s meant to declare an anti-war statement, it seems strangely proud and self-congratulatory of its achievements in capturing the authentic look and feel of conflict, qualities that would appear to undercut such a core message. Even setting aside these philosophical issues, the film’s lack of focus beyond the battlefield footage causes it to fail even as a war picture in purely conventional terms when compared to countless other predecessors, including any number of World War II and Vietnam Era offerings, as well as more contemporary releases like “Black Hawk Down” (2001), “The Hurt Locker” (2008), “Good Kill” (2014) and “Eye in the Sky” (2015). When all of these considerations are taken collectively, this release has little going for it on so many fronts that it’s difficult to fathom the rationale for its existence – or a reason why anyone would realistically want to see it.
The LGBTQ+ community has made remarkable strides in terms of acceptance over the past five decades, a far cry from the conditions that were in place years ago. However, despite this progress, community members from various personal backgrounds and those working in certain professions have struggled with their comfort levels when it comes to being open about themselves. They have been unable or unwilling to step forward to profess their true natures to a world that has steadily become more understanding (even if there’s still work to be done in this area, as has become painfully apparent of late). Such are the conditions faced by Lucas (Tom Blyth), an undercover cop assigned to arrest (some would say entrap) gay men who cruise public spaces (particularly restrooms) looking for sex partners, ultimately nailing them on counts of indecent exposure. There’s one problem with that, though: Lucas wrestles with his own attraction to men, a leaning that has made doing his job more personally challenging. He also struggles to cope with the pressures of remaining closeted in his less-than-accepting family, particularly his hypercritical, homophobic uncle (Gabe Fazio). The ante gets upped on all of this when, on the job, Lucas encounters a middle-aged man, Andrew (Russell Tovey), to whom he’s highly attracted. Andrew is something of a mystery man himself, giving off vague vibes about himself that keep Lucas at bay, despite the charged sexual energy between them, as well as the officer’s growing amorous feelings for the enigmatic stranger. The duo is ostensibly trapped at arm’s length in their own choices, but they must nevertheless contend with how to handle the undeniable attraction between them in the wake of personal and professional impediments that they’ve allowed to get in the way – and that, thanks to several ironic plot twists, end up complicating their respective lives even further. Despite the film’s seemingly plausible premise, however, the execution of this story leaves something to be desired, a problem attributable to a narrative and screenplay that could definitely use some work. For starters, the picture is set in the late 1990s, yet the paranoia level among the two leads comes across more like something out of the 1950s. Granted, circumstances in the LGBTQ+ community weren’t as conciliatory then as they are today, but, as a general rule, they weren’t as overwhelmingly confining as they’re depicted here. Then there are plot elements that simply don’t mesh as well as they might have. When the film’s big reveals surface, for instance, they’re often treated almost flippantly, as if they were being employed as insensitive comic relief instead of as dramatic turning points more in line with the overarching tone of the remainder of the story. And then there’s the release’s uneven pacing, marked by a dreadfully dull opening act that, thankfully, is somewhat made up for into the film’s admittedly better-handled second half. But, despite the steady improvement as the film progresses, there’s still plenty of material here that could stand some much-needed shoring up. As one of the year’s most anticipated LGBTQ+ releases, writer-director Carmen Emmi’s debut feature unfortunately comes across as a sizable disappointment, one that could have used a few more script revisions before being committed to film. When a director seeks to make a picture with a profound statement, it’s imperative that the material backs it up with a solid, factually grounded foundation befitting such an insightful observation and does so with eloquent, suitably fitting writing, both of which, sadly, come up lacking in this well-intentioned but ultimately flawed offering.
Producer-writer-director Jordan Peele has quickly developed quite a reputation for making horror flicks/psychological thrillers that undeniably push the envelope of these genres, turning out creations unlike anything most moviegoers have ever seen. In the process, he has often packed his pictures with much for viewers to process on multiple levels as they walk out of the theater. And, in his latest offering, in which Peele has acted as producer, handing over the writing and directing responsibilities to filmmaker Justin Tipping, he has overseen the birth of yet another release in the same vein as previous projects like “Get Out” (2017), “Us” (2019) and “Nope” (2022) – only this time on steroids and laced with a touch of crack. “Him” tells the story of Cameron Cade (Tyriq Withers), a pro football prospect who’s looked upon by many as the sport’s next quarterback G.O.A.T. (i.e., “greatest of all time”). His future looks bright until he experiences a baffling yet devastating head injury at the hands of disturbed fan teetering on the edge of sanity. So, in an effort to reinvigorate his skills (and to rejuvenate his career), he agrees to be taken under the wing of veteran hurler Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans), a QB who led his team to eight championships but is now on the fence about retirement. When the recovering protégé begins his mentorship under the sports legend, however, he gets much more than he bargained for. He enters a world in which he becomes ensconced in a dizzying mix of hyper-ambition, psychological gamesmanship, professional jealousy and an aberrant culture that gleefully and relentlessly celebrates mind-numbing brutality. Given Cam’s precarious mental state in the wake of his injury, combined with an onslaught of conflicting messages, mind games and bizarre occurrences that straddle the borders of reality, he struggles to make sense of it all, particularly when it comes to deciding whether to embrace or abandon the world of which he’s about to become a part. His existence turns surreal, confusing, and, above all, troubling. He has some big decisions to make, provided if he’s even capable of thinking straight at this point. But the film is about more than just Cam’s struggle to hold on to his sanity in the face of his mentor’s malevolence, gaslighting and questionable motives; it’s also a strong statement about the bloodsport culture of football and the ways in which society has come to worship it as something akin to a perverse religious cult. In fact, the narrative is riddled with ominous Biblical and Satanic symbolism, elements that have been suitably tweaked to reflect the nature of the world of pro football and the exalted position it’s been accorded in contemporary society. Yet, curiously enough, in making its case, the film tells a tale that alternates between being deadly serious with its troubling imagery and not taking itself seriously at all with its astutely timed sinister comic relief, walking a precarious tightrope of moods that keeps viewers guessing about what’s really going on here. In the process, it provides a perfect showcase for Wayans to show off acting chops that most of us probably never knew he possessed; his ability to switch gears and turn on a dime and make it look effortless is truly impressive. Add to those qualities the film’s breakneck pacing, edgy film editing, stunning visuals and eclectic production design, and you’ve got a cinematic rollercoaster that’s sure to leave you exhilarated, exhausted and unnerved by the time the credits roll. Now, this is not to suggest that the film is without problems. The narrative is excessively overstuffed and somewhat unfocused at times (no doubt to try and convey what it’s like to be in Cam’s head under these circumstances), and its various messages can be more than a little obvious and heavy-handed on occasion. However, even if “Him” is not perfect, Tipping and Peele should be commended for trying to breathe new life into a genre that’s been releasing a steady stream of lame, half-baked offerings of late, and I’ll take this offering over any of its underwhelming wannabe peers any day of the week.
It’s been said that “life is what you make of it,” that “we become what we believe.” To some, this probably seems like the content of a warm, fuzzy, inspirational greeting card. But, if we truly take the time to examine ourselves and our lives, we’re likely to find that there’s more than a small kernel of truth in these observations. Such is the point of the latest offering from filmmaker Kogonada, who deftly explores how this principle is applied to our romantic lives, especially for those who are single and who believe that they’re all thumbs and hopelessly stymied where questions of love and relationships are concerned. The film follows the quirky, surreal, metaphysically driven experiences of David (Colin Farrell) and Sarah (Margot Robbie), who meet at a destination wedding. Their journey, however, actually begins before they meet when they each lease vehicles from an unusual car rental agency, one that’s more than it seems on the surface and that’s run by a pair of colorfully eccentric proprietors (Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Kevin Kline). As their experience unfolds, these unconventional circumstances continue, revealing that this scenario has much more going for it than meets the eye. And, before long, after the ceremony ends, they spontaneously embark on a road trip of self-discovery, one that takes them through a series of dreamlike, profoundly insightful experiences from their past. These astute re-creations help to show them how they’ve become the individuals they are, particularly where romance is concerned. They’re each initiated by passing through magical doorways to alternate realities to which they’re directed by an unusual, interactive GPS device located in their rental car. These portals walk them through a series of whimsical, increasingly intense, highly personal events that provide enlightening perspectives on their lives and individual natures – and how they needn’t be saddled with their outcomes if they choose not to be. The protagonists’ collective and respective stories are related with an array of emotions – some painful, some delightfully humorous and all of which provide them with an enhanced awareness of their past, present and potential future. As with his previous superb offerings “Columbus” (2017) and “After Yang” (2021), the director has again created a picture that packs a lot to ponder in a single, sensitive, skillfully layered cinematic package. But what sets this film apart from those other releases is its finely interwoven emotional textures, sentiments that create a tapestry covering a wider range of feelings than seen in those previous works. It’s without a doubt the director’s most “commercial” work to date, but Kogonada’s vision of what’s “commercial” is far more substantive and meaningful than what one finds in most contemporary releases, particularly in the romcom genre. There may indeed be an underlying element of the “boy meets girl” formula at work here, but it’s presented with far greater depth than what is typically found in such offerings. All of this is meticulously enhanced by a variety of inspired production elements, including the film’s inventive production design, gorgeous cinematography, smartly compiled soundtrack, perfectly timed comic relief and impressive performances (especially Robbie yet again). Admittedly, there are a few occasions when the pacing could stand some quickening. And the narrative is peppered with a handful of plot devices that might initially seem a little forced or even overly peculiar, but they all work out in the end, rewarding viewers with more than a fair share of revelatory and satisfying “a ha!” moments. When all is said and done, “A Big Bold Beautiful Journey” lives up to every bit of its suitably audacious title, making for both an enlightening watch, as well as a great date night movie. Don’t let this offering’s eccentricities and innovatively original approach keep you from enjoying everything it has to offer. You’re likely to be pleasantly entertained, and you might even learn a little something about yourself in the end, too.
Are there times when telling the truth is not necessarily the wisest course to follow in getting what you want? Some might say, somewhat self-righteously, never. However, for those faced with potentially problematic circumstances, that might not be the case. Such is the conundrum faced by Guinean immigrant Souleymane Sangaré (Abou Sangare), who relocates to France to escape the many hardships in his African homeland. He hopes to secure a permanent new home for himself by seeking asylum from Guinean political persecution, a designation that would earn him the protections of French authorities. There’s just one problem with his story: It’s not true. That’s not to suggest that he’s not fleeing many ordeals back home, but there’s no guarantee that they would qualify him to stay in France, no matter how problematic they might be. Hence the asylum ruse, a plan he seeks to perpetrate with the aid of Barry (Alpha Oumar Sow), an expensive (some would say extortionist) social worker/asylum broker playing on (and profiting from) Souleymane’s fears and desperation. Barry supplies his client (like many others with whom he “does business”) with phony asylum documents and an allegedly convincing personal story that he can tell to French authorities during an official interview with a government case worker (Nina Meurisse) to determine his eligibility. While preparing for his meeting with officials, Souleymane works (illegally) as a food delivery courier with the assistance of a shady associate, Emmanuel (Emmanuel Yovanie), who “rents” him fraudulent work credentials that allow him to earn money off the books, a scenario fraught with complications as he bicycles through the streets of Paris. Through this experience, viewers witness the many challenges that immigrants/asylum seekers face when trying to land a new home for themselves far away from their roots. These include numerous bureaucratic nightmares, unbridled prejudice, ubiquitous swindlers, and the frustration of being unable to do virtually anything in addressing difficulties back home, such as handling family health matters and coping with separation from loved ones like Souleymane’s fiancée (Keita Dalo). Writer-director Boris Lojkine’s latest feature outing tells an involving dramatic tale that captured three top honors at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival, including the Un Certain Regard Jury Prize, the Un Certain Regard Best Actor Award (Sangare) and the FIPRESCI Prize, among numerous other honors and nominations at other events and awards competitions. This is made possible in large part by the picture’s fine performances, as well as its atmospheric cinematography and skillful film editing, both of which show off sides of the City of Lights not often seen. There’s also a strong degree of authenticity pervading the narrative, bringing an insightful and profound level of credibility to the story. However, these assets aside, there are times when the film focuses a little too much on the setup preparation for the main event (the interview), along with a sometimes-excessive reliance on depictions of Souleymane’s workaday life, while sacrificing greater depth into the protagonist’s character development and back story. More emphasis in these key areas undoubtedly would have added more substance to the finished product, not only giving viewers a more complete picture of its lead, but also likely generating a deeper sense of empathy for his situation. As it stands now, “Souleymane’s Story” is certainly a solid offering, but, with some tweaking in these other regards, it could have elevated this release to the truly outstanding level that it might have otherwise attained.
Director Francis Lawrence’s screen adaptation of Stephen King’s novel by the same name is one of those pictures that makes me want to stand up in the theater and exclaim that the Emperor is indeed naked (though I’d probably be quickly escorted from the moviehouse if I did so). The source material for this production, originally written at the time of the Vietnam War, was an allegory about the draft and its impact on young American men at the time, a mandate that often led to their deaths in an unpopular and largely unexplained conflict. And it’s a statement that’s admittedly still valid (albeit perhaps not as relevant) all these many years later. However, the story’s translation from book to screen in the present day leaves much to be desired, in part because its message isn’t as timely as when the book was written and in part because of the film’s stunningly poor execution. “The Long Walk” tells the tale of a feebly justified (and even more poorly explained) grim ritual in which 50 young men selected from a nationwide lottery embark on a nonstop march in which they must maintain a minimum 3 mph walking speed. Their determined efforts in this symbolic venture are supposedly intended to inspire the population to become more productive citizens in a dystopian version of America as it recovers from a great war. But those who fail to sustain their pace are mercilessly gunned down after three warnings (and who said cold-blooded killing isn’t motivational?). The last man standing in this open-ended competition is named the “winner,” an accomplishment that entitles him to whatever he wishes as a reward. Symbolism and literary surrealism aside, however, the premise behind this work is utterly absurd, especially since participation in the march is voluntary, a betrayal of one of the principal thematic elements of the source material in allegorically criticizing an underlying inhumane mandate. Given that, then, who in their right mind would sign up for something like this? But, beyond the inherent lunacy of its premise (not to mention its contradictory and countless logically implausible plot elements), the picture fails as a well-crafted, engaging work of cinema. To begin with, it commits the cardinal moviemaking sin of predictability, its narrative events and ultimate outcome largely visible from miles away. Next, its storyline quickly becomes tediously repetitive with only minor deviations in plot devices along the way. Its billing as a horror flick is seriously misplaced, as it’s not particularly scary – just gratuitously gross whose shock value impact and multiple disgusting references to bodily functions fade rapidly by going to the same tiresome well far too many times. And, on top of all that, it’s often terribly boring, loaded with protracted conversations among bland, monodimensional characters that just aren’t especially compelling or profound. The screenplay driving all this appears to draw its inspiration from the narratives in pictures like “Platoon” (1986) and any number of classic World War II buddy films but with less articulate and attention-holding writing. To its credit, the film valiantly attempts to infuse the story with insights related to contemporary social and political issues, though these efforts sadly remain largely underdeveloped. What’s more, there are missed opportunities here, too, such as the picture’s failure to make a definitive statement about the bloodsport nature of the event given its popularity with a rapt, admiring and inexplicably reverential public that’s able to watch the entire spectacle via a live video feed. When all of these elements (or should I say shortcomings?) are combined, you’ve got one ridiculously hot cinematic mess (handily one of the worst releases of 2025), one that probably would have been more aptly titled “Roadkill.” I find it puzzling that this offering from the director of four of the five “Hunger Games” franchise releases was unable to work his magic once again in this release in light of the similar nature of this project. However, in my view, this production misses the mark by such a wide margin that, if the sharp-shooters in this story had an aim comparable to that of the director, no one would have died by the time the closing credits roll. But, then, maybe we would have been better off with a picture that produced such an outcome, given that there’s little redeeming entertainment, enlightenment or educational value in this cinematic debacle. And, no matter what anyone might say, in the end, the Emperor is still naked.
If a horror flick hopes to succeed, it must fulfill one basic requirement – it has to be scary. Regrettably, however, that’s where the latest offering from writer-director Zach Cregger drops the ball, a downfall brought on by a host of other shortcomings. The film chronicles the mysterious overnight disappearance of all but one student from the third grade class of newly hired teacher Justine Gandy (Julia Garner). While there’s no direct evidence implicating her in this troubling event, she quickly becomes a target for scrutiny and ridicule, particularly since none of the other elementary school’s classes reported any missing pupils. Officials are at a loss, and the only one of Ms. Gandy’s students who did not vanish, Alex Lilly (Cary Christopher), is unable to shed any light on why he was spared the same fate as his classmates. As the investigation continues, Justine’s background – most notably her penchant for alcohol abuse and her tendency to become too involved in the lives of her students – comes under closer examination by the police, the school principal (Benedict Wong) and the father of one of the disappeared children (Josh Brolin). The story is told in a nonlinear fashion with chapters based on the experiences of the film’s primary characters, with each segment gradually (one might more realistically say tediously) revealing different pieces of an enigmatic puzzle as seen from their respective perspectives. Admittedly, this is an interesting and commendable approach for telling the tale, one not typically employed in horror films. However, that narrative is also part of the problem, given that it’s slowly paced and sparsely frightful. It’s also seriously lacking a much-needed revelatory back story, leaving viewers wondering why events are unfolding as they do (and, consequently, leaving them unsure why they should care, either). As the picture plays out, it also loses focus, uncertain whether it wants to be a sinister thriller or a sidesplitting campy romp (I’ll vote for the latter option here, as that seems to be when the picture works best, especially with the arrival of Alex’s mysterious Aunt Gladys (Amy Madigan), who bears an uncanny and inexplicable resemblance to Bozo the Clown). All things considered, though, these elements don’t hang together well, and, as the film drones on and on, it’s easy to lose interest, especially since the rationale behind them is largely unclear. What’s more, several passing plot devices of a questionably stereotypical nature have been incorporated here as well, leaving one to ponder the reason for their inclusion. “Weapons,” unfortunately, is yet another example of a supposedly scary movie gone wrong, one that fails at its basic task and doesn’t deliver the goods on so many other fronts. Maybe the time has come for Hollywood to give this genre a rest for a while so that it can work out its growing list of issues before production begins on a round of more underwhelming, overhyped releases like this one.
When filmmakers seek to stretch their creative juices by working on projects that aren’t typical of their normal output, they need to get their ducks in a row first if they hope to succeed in these new ventures. In tackling such productions, some have brilliantly broadened their ranges, while others have regrettably failed miserably. Rarely, however, do they fall somewhere in the middle, but such is the case with director Darren Aronofsky’s latest, a comedy/crime thriller that gets some things right and others not so much. Set in 1998, the picture follows the story of a once-promising baseball prospect, Hank Thompson (Austin Butler), whose chances of going pro were ruined by a severe knee injury, forcing him to settle for a routine job as a New York City bartender. It may not be everything he hoped for, but it pays the bills and provides him with a steady supply of his other passion, alcohol. However, his relatively mundane life takes a bizarre left turn one night when his shady, punked-out neighbor, Russ (Matt Smith), asks him to babysit his cat when a family emergency calls him home to London. It’s a favor that unwittingly draws Hank into the underbelly of his neighbor’s sordid, crime-ridden life. And, before he knows it, Hank is unexpectedly caught up in a web of theft, murder, mayhem and crooked cops, leaving him surrounded by an array of corpses and impending threats, with all implications pointing toward him as the perpetrator. He’s thus forced to take desperate measures to stay alive and ahead of the law, all the while struggling to protect his feline companion. The premise here is an intriguing one that gets progressively better as the film unfolds. However, it’s somewhat slow to start and features a profoundly dark narrative in the opening act, leaving one to wonder where the alleged comedy of this offering lurks. As the picture progresses, though, the promised (and often-inspired) humor gradually emerges, providing the much-needed comic relief called for to offset the story’s more sinister and decidedly edgier aspects. This welcome development genuinely helps to save the film from itself, a change in tone that’s significantly enhanced by a coterie of colorful supporting characters superbly portrayed by an excellent ensemble featuring the likes of Regina King, Liev Schreiber, Vincent D’Onofrio, Griffin Dunne, Carol Kane, George Abud, and, of course, Tonic the cat. The film also offers up a fine re-creation of life in 1990s New York down to the finest of details. When these elements are considered collectively, it’s easy to see how the director’s efforts at expanding his vision hit the mark on some points and not on others. In that regard, this offering shows the filmmaker’s promise for tackling projects beyond his typical fare, but a few more ducks need to fall into line before he can truly claim success when embarking on ventures into new territory.
When we experience a traumatic tragedy, we often can’t fathom how we’re going to respond to it. Some reactions may follow expected patterns. But others may come across as wholly unpredictable, in large part because we don’t quite know what to make of them ourselves. That can become considerably more complicated when we don’t even know how to speak about them, to find the words to sufficiently express our feelings. And, when you combine all of these elements, you have the basis for the quandary faced by unnerved protagonist Agnes Ward (actor-writer-director Eva Victor in her debut feature). The film, told in a series of time-shuffled chapters over the course of several years, follows the troubling experience **** student/professor (Victor) enrolled in the English lit program at a small liberal arts college in rural New England, along with her patchwork attempts at reconciling her feelings about it. In the course of sorting out her emotions, her plans for dealing with her circumstances and the potential fallout involved, and the impact of the event on her life and prevailing outlook, she examines her options and feelings from a variety of angles. And, in the course of doing so, she engages in a series of introspective but often-vague conversations with her best friend (Naomi Ackie), her kindly but somewhat bumbling neighbor (Lucas Hedges), an embittered rival from the university (Kelly McCormack) and a Samaritan sandwich shop owner (John Carroll Lynch) who helps her overcome a serious panic attack while driving, among others. These dialogues often mix a curious combination of poignant observations, dark humor and blunt revelations. But therein lies the picture’s fatal flaw – this odd concoction of story elements doesn’t mesh well, leaving viewers wondering where the narrative is ultimately headed (the overriding uncertainty of the lead’s reaction to her circumstances notwithstanding). It’s as if this offering is constantly reaching for a profound insight that it’s fundamentally unable to adequately express, an experience that becomes ever more exasperating as the picture unfolds. That’s unfortunate given the subject matter involved here, but the goal is never sufficiently attained, presenting the audience with an array of random situations and a collection of unrelated characters that seem to provide the basis of something meaningful that never emerges. To its credit, there are some truly engaging moments (though not enough of them), backed by fine performances and some gorgeous cinematography. But those qualities aren’t nearly enough to save this lost and meandering exercise that seems innately incapable of answering its own questions, making for what essentially amounts to an ambitious but innately unsatisfying watch.
Reimagining a classic film can be tricky business, especially when it involves one that’s well-liked and well-known. But, with the right team behind such a project, the result can be positively delightful, and such is definitely the case with this reworking of the 1989 dark comedy, “The War of the Roses.” In fact, in this case, I’d even go so far as to say that this new production is actually an improvement over its often-overrated predecessor. Director Jay Roach’s scathingly biting comedy follows the lives of Theo and Ivy Rose (Benedict Cumberbatch, Olivia Colman), a pair of successful British professionals who quickly fall madly in love, marry and resettle in northern California, eventually becoming the proud parents of two children. Theo is an accomplished architect, while Ivy is a gifted but underconfident chef who concocts spectacular culinary creations that only her family gets to sample. However, when Theo lands a plum contract to design a museum, he comes into a windfall whose proceeds he gifts to Ivy to launch her own eatery. As fate would have it, though, the partners’ fortunes trade places, with Ivy becoming a huge hit that leads to the opening of a chain of restaurants and Theo’s career taking an unexpected tumble, relegating him to the role of househusband as he struggles to revive his sagging reputation. This invariably leads to mounting petty jealousies and intensifying marital discord between two spouses who ostensibly once seemed to love one another deeply – and all with wickedly hilarious results. So what makes this version of the Roses’ story better than its forerunner? Several factors play into this, but nearly all of them are tied to the vastly improved writing at work here compared to the original. The scope of the narrative has been significantly enlarged in this iteration, and all to the better, primarily due to the inclusion of an array of colorful supporting characters and a diverse palette of genuinely sidesplitting scenarios. In addition, the dialogue is crisper, snappier and faster paced, enabling the story to flow more like a screwball comedy than an embittered, often-dour and frequently nasty exercise. That’s not to suggest the lack of an edge in this updated production; quite the contrary. But the pacing, delivery and contents of its inspired and devastatingly hard-hitting one-liners are virtually nonstop, giving the picture a rapid-fire immediacy that its predecessor frequently lacked. Those qualities are further enhanced by sharper character development and the award-worthy spot-on performances of the two leads, whose undeniable chemistry makes their portrayals even more compellingly on target. Add to that the incisive contributions of the film’s fine ensemble (most notably Kate McKinnon, Andy Samberg and Allison Janney), and you’ve got a cinematic formula that truly fires on all cylinders. Admittedly, there are a few elements that could have been handled a little differently, and some aspects of the screenplay feel a little overwritten at times, but these shortcomings are so minor that they’re hardly worth mentioning. Considering how well everything meshes in this production, I must confess that I’m somewhat surprised the picture was saddled with a late August release, typically one of the movie industry’s distribution wastelands. I was also concerned in advance that this could have turned out to be another of those misguided remakes that have come to characterize many of filmdom’s high-profile releases these days. But “The Roses” delivers the goods across the board and genuinely deserves an appreciative audience for its efforts as one of 2025’s better offerings, especially in the comedy genre. Don’t let preconceptions stand in your way of giving this one a look – you won’t regret it.
I’m always amazed at how a single film can be fundamentally characterized in multiple ways, but that’s understandable when the picture combines an array of diverse elements, each of which has a validity all its own that can subsequently lead to different overarching interpretations. Such is the case with this 1963 film classic from famed Japanese auteur Akira Kurosawa, which provides the cinematic inspiration behind filmmaker Spike Lee’s current reimagination, “Highest 2 Lowest,” now playing theatrically. Like the current iteration, “High and Low” follows the story of a wealthy businessman, Kingo Gondô (Toshirô Mifune), who’s looking to take control of the shoe manufacturing company for which he works, a plan that requires him to leverage his entire personal fortune to make it possible. But, just as he’s about to close the deal, he’s distracted by the alleged kidnapping of his young son (Toshio Egi), a crime for which the perpetrator demands a ransom equal in value to the funds needed to cover the pending transaction. However, not long after hearing about the kidnapping, Gondô learns that the culprit has nabbed the wrong child, erroneously taking the son (Masahiko Shimazu) of his chauffeur (Yutaka Sada). But Gondô is not off the hook: the kidnapper still demands payment of the ransom, even though the crime doesn’t involve his son. This leaves Gondô with a huge moral dilemma: does he use the money to close his business deal or to pay the ransom of his employee’s child? As Gondô grapples with this decision, an intense police investigation ensues to discover the kidnapper’s identity and to figure out a way to retrieve both the victim and the ransom money. Unlike the current film, though, Kurosawa’s version focuses less on the particulars driving this scenario and more intently on the ethical questions that the protagonist is left to wrestle with, issues ultimately symbolic of the divisive class and economic disparities in Japanese society. Indeed, while the picture provides viewers with its share of intense thriller moments, in many regards it’s really more of a morality play, not only where Gondô is concerned, but also in its exploration of the inherent chasms between rich and poor, privileged and impoverished, and control and servitude. (This attribute, in turn, helps to shed light on the nature of the film’s character and the relevance of its original Japanese title, “Tengoku to jigoku,” which translates to “Heaven and Hell,” in my opinion a more fitting appellation that probably should have been retained when renamed in English.) The foregoing aspects of the picture thus distinguish this predecessor work from the current release, even though the exact nature of the nexus between kidnapper and target is not developed as fully here as I believe it should have been (one of the few ways in which the present offering modestly improves upon the original). In addition, there are times in the opening act, as well as in the run-up to the film’s conclusion, when the storytelling could have been a little brisker (the slower pacing style of the period in which the picture was made notwithstanding). Still, this offering’s social and cultural themes are nevertheless intriguing, and their place here has a tendency to grow on audiences as the picture progresses. And those thematic aspects, when combined with the contrast of the narrative’s riveting criminal investigation, make for an intriguing mix, one that undoubtedly accounts for the differing perspectives that this release often evokes among viewers. While “High and Low” may not be Kurosawa’s best work when compared with such pictures as “Rashômon” (1950) and “Ikiru” (1952), it stands out as one of the filmmaker’s most thoughtful and engaging works, one that probes the heaven and hell that reside here on Earth, both individually and at their points of intersection, and how the lines between them can become all too easily blurred, a caution to us all.
Director Spike Lee is known for having made his share of fine films (“Do the Right Thing” (1989), “Malcolm X” (1992), “She’s Gotta Have It” (1986), “BlacKkKlansman” (2018) and “Da 5 Bloods” (2020), among others), as well as his share of misfires (“Chi-Raq” (2015), “Red Hook Summer” (2012) and “Bamboozled” (2000), to name a few), but rarely do his pictures fall squarely in the largely indistinguishable middle. Such is the case, however, with the filmmaker’s latest outing, a reinterpretation of the 1963 Akira Kurosawa Japanese crime thriller, “High and Low” (“Tengoku to jigoku”), a remake admittedly being a somewhat unusual production choice for this storied auteur. This is by no means a bad offering, but it is a puzzling one that is largely difficult to categorize. “Highest 2 Lowest” follows the story of David King (Denzel Washington), a successful New York City music mogul said to have “the best ears in the business.” However. when on the brink of closing a deal to revive his sagging recording company, he’s suddenly distracted by the apparent kidnapping of his 17-year-old son, Trey (Aubrey Joseph), whose release carries a $17.5 million ransom demand, an amount essentially equal to what he would need to complete his pending business transaction. Matters become further complicated when David learns that the criminals have not kidnapped Trey but have instead erroneously nabbed the teenage son (Elijah Wright) of his longtime friend, Paul Christopher (Jeffrey Wright), an ex-con who works as his driver, associate and confidante. This leaves David with the question, should he pay the ransom for someone who isn’t his son? Will doing so prevent the deal from proceeding? And what kind of public fallout would he experience if he declines to do so? Such are the dilemmas he must address and the outcomes they could bring. However, while this story thread makes up the core of the film’s narrative, it’s not especially well executed in terms of writing, editing and the performances. With that said, though, the picture nevertheless succeeds brilliantly in other ways, most notably in terms of its articulate statement about the state of current support for the arts and culture in the African-American community, particularly when it comes to funding efforts that are genuinely deserving of financial backing versus those artistically underwhelming projects that are rewarded merely for their commercial viability. This is perhaps best reflected in a performance of the picture’s inspiring title song, a composition truly worthy of serious consideration for an Academy Award in the upcoming best original song competition (an Oscar category to which I usually devote little attention). What’s more, it’s commendable that Lee makes his point on this score without resorting to his often-used tactic of angrily screaming at the audience and browbeating viewers into submission, a most refreshingly welcome deviation to his usual style of filmmaking (a change that I hope he employs more frequently going forward). When all of these diverse attributes are considered collectively, however, it’s not entirely clear precisely what the filmmaker was going for in the first place, which is why it’s a release best relegated to the artistic middle ground of his filmography. Indeed, there are sincerely noteworthy elements in place here, but there are also others that could stand some work, a mixed outcome I typically don’t expect from this director. In that sense, then, it could be said that the picture has a most fitting title to describe its content, even though it’s a somewhat disappointing result from a filmmaker from whom I generally expect better.
No matter how many elements a filmmaker may get right in creating a movie, none of them means anything if they’re not set within a coherent cinematic context, either thematically or in terms of the picture’s central narrative. And, regrettably, that’s the problem that plagues the second solo narrative feature outing from writer-director Ethan Coen. This pulpy comedy-drama-crime thriller, which follows the exploits of flamboyant, perpetually “thirsty” small town private detective Honey O’Donahue (Margaret Qualley) in her investigation of a series of unsolved murders apparently tied to mysterious church, successfully incorporates an array of truly captivating qualities – colorful character development, fine performances (particularly by Qualley and in the supporting portrayals of Aubrey Plaza, Chris Evans and Charlie Day), a well-crafted production design and a collection of knock-it-out-of-the-park one-liners. In fact, about the only thing that’s missing here is a solid, comprehensible story. The picture’s disjointed jumble of plot threads – many of them underdeveloped and/or extraneous – meanders along for roughly 90 minutes without ever really going anywhere or saying anything relevant or meaningful. To be sure, “Honey Don’t!” has its share of genuinely enjoyable moments, but a handful of modestly memorable instances does not a movie make. And that’s unfortunate, given that it seems the picture has many of the ingredients for what could have potentially been an outlandishly funny, wickedly engaging tale. Instead, viewers are left with a plot that aimlessly roams from tangent to tangent and never seems to coalesce into something substantial or integrated, no matter how visually appealing it might be or how effective it is in tickling one’s funny bone. And, when the film comes up lacking in this regard, it often falls back on titillating sequences driven by graphic sexuality or edgy violence to shore up its obvious deficiencies, a rather cheap and cheesy way to try and revive sagging audience interest. In that sense, then, this production reminds me very much of the films of such directors as Quentin Tarantino and Paul Thomas Anderson, whose releases, in my view, are often long on style and woefully short on substance. I find all of this rather disappointing, especially in light of Coen’s filmography over the years, particularly his many successful productions with his brother Joel. But perhaps that’s the key ingredient that’s missing here – the collaboration of the two siblings working together to produce truly outstanding works of cinema (and, thankfully, a reunion of the two is said to be in development). Whatever the case, though, it appears the filmmaker’s sophomore attempt at working on his own has not yet yielded cinema of the caliber that he’s capable of. Let’s hope that changes with his next project.
Despite the ever-growing popularity of horror films, I can honestly say I’ve really tired of half-baked releases that just don’t cut it, and that’s very much the case with this debut feature from writer-director Michael Shanks. By “half-baked,” I’m referring to pictures that aren’t especially scary, fall into patterns of predictable plot developments, routinely incorporate vague, unexplained elements, and fail woefully in their attempts at trying to offer audiences “something more” in terms of meaningful content, themes or insights. Regrettably, this combination of underwhelming qualities often results in meandering narratives that make little sense and don’t deliver on their hoped-for entertainment and visionary promises. It’s particularly disappointing with offerings that aspire to the commendable “smart horror” moniker yet still manage to come up short, as is so here. For what it’s worth, “Together” follows the cryptic, unsettling experiences of Tim (Dave Franco) and Millie (Alison Brie), a tale in which these real-life off-screen spouses portray a long-term unmarried couple whose relationship has hit troubled waters, resulting in a gap wider between them than what most of us saw during the days of social distancing. This becomes further aggravated when the long-term city duo relocates to the country, where Millie takes a new teaching job while Tim tries to sort out his future as a wannabe rock star. They genuinely seem to love one another, but is that enough to sustain their partnership? And, when they fall prey to a series of odd paranormal experiences that simultaneously drive them emotionally further apart while bringing them physically closer together (literally) than they ever could have imagined, their lives and world are turned upside down. In telling their story, the filmmaker seeks to make a statement about the challenges and joys that can accompany long-term romances, using a horror context as the backdrop for the exploration of these notions. And, while this approach may have some laudable merits on paper, the execution of this idea nevertheless leaves much to be desired, leading viewers through a series of underdeveloped and unrelated episodes that collectively fail to gel. Sadly, whatever connections were being sought after here are often scattered, employing a variety of tropes that just don’t mesh well. The film is at times romantic, at times modestly frightening and at times comedically campy, but it never settles on a consistent path as the story plays out. What’s more, the chemistry between the two leads is never truly convincing, making one wonder why these two partners are together in the first place and how they’ve managed to stay together as long as they have. In short, this offering ironically never really hangs “together” in my estimation, a major letdown for what was supposed to be one of the most anticipated releases of the summer movie season. Unfortunately, though, this typifies what has happened with so many of today’s horror flicks, including many of the more ambitious projects that have sought to raise the bar for this genre. Indeed, there’s not much to see here, folks, so my recommendation is to simply move along.
Heist movies – particularly those with a finely honed comic edge – have become one of the most popular and enjoyable genres in today’s cinematic marketplace. And, when they’re done right, they can be a lot of fun, too. However, to succeed as solid entertainment vehicles (not to mention works of good filmmaking), their creators need to combine their films’ various elements with smart, savvy, razor sharp precision, something that director Tim Story’s latest offering only gets down pat about half the time. When Zoe (Keke Palmer), a shrewd, scheming, seductive thief, hatches an elaborate plan to hijack an armored car for use in stealing the weekend receipts from an Atlantic City casino, she taps a variety of resources to make it work, including gathering inside information from a bumbling security guard/driver, Travis (Pete Davidson), during a convincingly staged romantic encounter that he believes is genuine and not the cleverly disguised ruse that it is. His ineptitude and naivete, in turn, lead to a daring, high-speed highway chase that results in the theft of the vehicle and ends up embroiling Travis and his seasoned partner, Russell (Eddie Murphy), in a high-stakes caper to swipe $60 million in cash. And, to ensure the duo’s assistance, Zoe reveals that she has Russell’s wife, Natalie (Eva Longoria), under surveillance – and under the threat of violence – if he and Travis don’t cooperate in carrying out her scheme. By all rights, this might sound like a grounded premise for a film of this stripe, and that would have likely proved true with better execution in several key areas. However, as far as releases like this are concerned, “The Pickup” is, unfortunately, a mostly mediocre offering. To its credit, the film sports a modest number of thrill-filled moments, a fair amount of genuinely funny bits and some truly kick-ass chase scenes. It also features a standout performance by Palmer (who really deserves to get better roles than this), as well as capable turns by Longoria and by Andrew Dice Clay as Travis and Russell’s surly, foul-mouthed boss. But the script needs some serious work, given its many plot holes, implausible story elements and generous helpings of predictability, many of which represent missed opportunities that could have been employed in making the narrative more inventive, unexpected and engaging. Then there are the performances of Davidson, who hands viewers yet another cloying, obnoxious portrayal, and Murphy, whose deadpan delivery often makes him look like he’s sleepwalking through the picture save for a few over-the-top comic outbursts that seem incongruent and largely out of character. Admittedly, this offering generally improves the further one gets into the story, but it still comes up disappointingly short overall. With some precision retooling in the writing and more effective character development and direction for the leads, this truly could have been so much better. As it stands now, though, it’s not only the casino that’s getting robbed.
An old adage in Hollywood advises against remaking the classics given that, with few exceptions, most fail to live up to the quality of the originals. So it’s always a pleasant surprise when a reboot comes along that defies the conventional wisdom. Such is the case with this wild, wacky, sidesplittingly hysterical installment in the “Naked Gun” franchise, the first since the 1994 release of “The Naked Gun 33-1/3: The Final Insult.” To call this offering a remake per se isn’t entirely accurate; it’s more of a continuation of the franchise’s mythology, even though it’s also an origin story of sorts featuring the start of the legacy of Detective Frank Drebin Jr. (Liam Neeson), son of the late infamously incompetent but always-triumphant Detective Frank Drebin Sr. (Leslie Nielsen). As with this series’ prior releases, the story here is basically incidental, serving primarily as a vehicle for carrying the endless stream of hilariously silly bits, sight gags and slapstick humor that have come to characterize the zany nature of these films. Essentially, though, the younger Drebin intrepidly, albeit it ineptly, seeks to solve the mysterious death of an electronics genius in a fatal car crash that’s initially chalked up to suicide but that may actually be murder to cover up a bigger and more fiendish plot. Aiding Drebin is his trusty sidekick, Ed Hocken Jr. (Paul Walter Hauser), son of his dad’s late wing man, Ed Hocken Sr. (George Kennedy), and the sister of the deceased (Pamela Anderson), a blonde bombshell femme fatale who frequently and brilliantly steals scenes with her unexpected but often-unassuming antics. While most of the gags land solidly and consistently (including some very off-the-wall material), there are a few times when the picture tries a little too hard, but they are far more the exception than the rule. Along the way, the narrative also incorporates nods to an array of other releases, such as the “Mission: Impossible” and “Kingsman” movies, as well as passing homages to its predecessor pictures. At the same time, though, this offering deliberately introduces aspects of the protagonist’s character and back story that are all his own, efforts to clearly set it apart from predecessor films. That’s smart filmmaking, to be sure: A picture that pays tribute to its heritage while simultaneously establishing its own destiny, a release sure to make series creators Jim Abrahams, David Zucker and Jerry Zucker proud of what their successors have produced. Much of the credit for that goes to writer-director Akiva Schaffer, as well as the undoubtedly influential hand of producer Seth MacFarlane, whose presence here may be somewhat low key but is nevertheless undeniable. Kudos also go out to the fine ensemble, performers who absolutely rose to the occasion when needed, vanquishing the doubt that many may have held about them before the picture’s release. In fact, that could be said about “The Naked Gun” as a whole: I’ll admit to having my doubts about whether the cast and crew would be able to pull this off, but they did – and skillfully at that. It’s a genuine pleasure to once again see a comedy in a theater that actually makes me laugh out loud, something I haven’t done to this degree in quite some time. So, to put it modestly, I guess you can probably tell I really liked this one.
Films about dystopian futures are getting more popular these days (are they trying to tell us something?), but they’re not all created equal, and this debut feature from writer-director R.T. Thorne is one of those that doesn’t quite cut it. The picture’s intriguing premise starts off with considerable potential but, regrettably, as it unfolds, it loses traction, meanders, repeats itself, and unsuccessfully tries to fuse changes in tone and direction that don’t mesh. In a world ravaged by a deadly fungal pandemic, civil war and famine, humanity’s remnants struggle to stay alive, with farmland having become the most precious and priceless commodity. But holding on to this resource has become challenging given the rise of roaming bands of marauders seeking to steal it from its owners at any cost. Such is the experience of the Freemans, a family of African-Americans descended from Civil War survivors who migrated north to Canada after the conflict and settled on a lush parcel of land that has been in their possession for generations. Under present conditions, however, they must fight to retain it, combatting the invasively cunning intruders with same the same forcefulness and guile used by the would-be thieves. Leading these preventive efforts are parents Hailey (Danielle Deadwyler) and Galen (Michael Greyeyes) and their four children. They’ve trained the youngsters to be diligent and disciplined, which has helped to keep the farm productive and protected. But now, with the growing outside menace threatening them, they must be more vigilant than ever, a challenge considering the growing independence and unreliability of their eldest, Manny (Kataem O’Connor). As he comes of age, Manny has been increasingly looking to find his own path, one that frequently distracts him and doesn’t always align with the family’s objectives. And, as matters intensify, the Freemans are thus placed in ever greater peril. The depiction of that peril, however, becomes redundant, tedious and dubiously graphic after a time. The narrative also grows somewhat incongruent from the material that launches the film, namely, through the introduction of a far-fetched cannibalism storyline involving characters who more closely resemble zombies than their prototypical flesh-eating counterparts, who usually have the good sense to at least cook their food before consuming it. The film also has some of the worst sound quality I’ve seen in quite a while, its dialogue often coming across as garbled and barely intelligible (an increasingly annoying quality in many movie releases these days). To its credit, this offering features some gorgeous cinematography, an eclectic soundtrack and score, several engaging and unexpected (but underdeveloped) narrative themes and generally capable performances by the cast (despite not having a better script to work with). Ultimately, though, it’s unfortunate that the execution here doesn’t match the concept behind the story, coming across like an awkwardly conceived cross between the “Mad Max,” “Rambo” and “Walking Dead” franchises. Judicious retooling might have improved the finished product, but, sadly, in its present state, those behind this effort could sadly be said to have bought the farm.
Deceptive though it might seem, high camp can be a tricky artform to pull off successfully on screen, especially in genres like horror and sci-fi. It requires deftly managed, evenly sustained pacing – not necessarily at the breakneck speed of a screwball comedy, but certainly steady in its regular dispensing of delicious nuggets of wry and macabre wit with bridge segments in between them that move the story along without overstaying their welcome. Sadly, however, in his fourth feature outing, director Dan Allen only gets this down pat about half of the time in this twisted and sinister retelling of the classic Felix Salten 1923 novel about a motherless roe coping with life in the forest. In this ghoulish iteration of the tale, a divorced mother (Roxanne McKee) and her 13-year-old son (Tom Mulheron) are on their way to visit her in-laws’ family after her ex-husband (Adrian Relph) summarily ditches his promise to spend the weekend with the boy. However, the duo’s journey is interrupted when their ride is brazenly attacked on a remote roadway by a ferocious mutant adult stag that looks like something out of the “Jurassic Park/Jurassic World” movies only with cheesier special effects (but with a supremely stylish set of hooves that resemble those in the inner sleeve artwork from the Rolling Stones’ Tattoo You LP (1981)). Not only does the woodland monster go after the stunned mother and son, but also all of their relatives, including the family matriarch (Nicola Wright), who suffers from a form of dementia but seems to have an unusual (but unexplained) psychic bond to Bambi. This scenario is further complicated by a band of apparent bounty hunters who are charged with capturing and/or killing the creature, as well as other equally gruesome wild animals that have also mysteriously mutated, including a pack of rabbits whose carnivorous proclivities put the bunny from “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” (1975) to shame. The reasons behind the hunt don’t become clear until well into the film (after more than enough of the aforementioned protracted narrative hammocks), but they nonetheless provide the absent justification behind much of the story (as well as the source of Bambi’s unrepentant rage), making for a final act that compensates for many of the picture’s prior shortcomings. To its credit, the film’s campy elements are well done, but there just aren’t enough of them and they’re a little too loosely strung together (at least initially), almost feeling as if the in-between sequences amount to little more than excessive padding to fill out the runtime. In addition, there’s a certain predictability to the narrative wherein it’s easy to guess who’s going to get done in and when, as well as who ultimately ends up surviving the ordeal. I was also somewhat puzzled by the preponderance of F-bombs scattered throughout the screenplay, a count that rivals “The Wolf of Wall Street” (2013) at times, particularly for a story involving younger characters. These issues are somewhat made up for by the inclusion of several surprisingly touching moments, an unexpectedly nice counterpart to the graphic (but generally in-context) gratuitousness that pervades the film, often depicted in colorful and cleverly raucous ways (remember what I said about those bunnies). Indeed, those who enjoy their horror with a touch of dark humor are sure to enjoy this production from the makers of the “Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey” films, though don’t be disappointed if you still come away from it hungering for a little more, especially in light of this offering’s scant 100 duration. Nevertheless, come the movie’s end, don’t be surprised if you still find yourself heaving a heavy sigh and heartily exclaiming “Deer me!”
Some would say – and quite astutely at that – there’s plenty of madness to go around these days, and they’d be right. But where and when did this begin? A good place to start looking would be the COVID-19 Pandemic, a time when fear was ratcheted up, conspiracy theories ran amok, “protective” measures slid into excessive overreach, neighbors routinely spied on (and often made unsupported accusations about) neighbors, and people’s imaginations were let loose without restraint. What began as an alleged but widely legitimized public health crisis soon spilled over into myriad other areas of life as tempers, paranoia and disinformation flared to new heights. So why did this happen? As we look back now with the benefit of hindsight, it’s gradually become clearer what unfolded, although many of us still don’t acknowledge it or discuss it much. Thankfully, this is where writer-director Ari Aster has stepped in, gobsmacking us out of our indifference, denial and complacency with his fourth feature outing, a no-holds-barred cinematic essay on that time of profound and rampant insanity in May 2020 as depicted through the lives of the citizens of the fictional small desert town of Eddington, New Mexico. This cross-genre blend of comedy, drama, modern-day Western and social satire shoves its content squarely in our faces, forcing us to take a critical look at it, no matter how much many of us would rather not do so. The result is an incisive, insightful, incendiary multifaceted examination of what can happen when all sense of reason is recklessly cast to the winds. While the film covers a wide range of material and numerous story threads, its primary plotline follows the simmering feud between longtime well-liked mayor Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal), a by-the-book supporter of community welfare and official public health and safety policies, and sheriff Joe Cross (Joaquin Phoenix), a commonsense law enforcement professional who urges the public to assess their circumstances realistically and with an acute degree of discernment. But that’s just the beginning: when matters grow increasingly heated and inherently more unpredictable between them, Cross challenges Garcia in the upcoming mayoral race in which the incumbent had been running unopposed. And, as tensions mount in the wake of the stress caused by both the COVID outbreak, the local political discord and the emergence of inflamed social disturbances (such as the protests that broke out nationwide, including in Eddington, in the wake of the George Floyd killing in Minneapolis), conditions erode further, going from bad to worse, reaching an eventual breaking point, both for Garcia and Cross, as well as the entire local population. The filmmaker employs an intriguing approach in telling this epic saga, examining the prevailing conditions without judgment but pointedly depicting all of them with equal degrees of inspired and unfiltered lunacy, incorporating a narrative style that in some ways recalls the work of director Yorgos Lanthimos. In accomplishing this, the picture maximizes its impact through skillful cinematography and film editing, bitingly scathing writing, and an excellent ensemble including both leads and a host of colorful supporting performances from the likes of Emma Stone, Austin Butler, Deirdre O’Connell, Michael Ward, Cameron Mann, Matt Gomez Hidaka, Luke Grimes, Amèlie Hoeferle and William Belieau, among others. While the film’s final act is admittedly somewhat overlong and periodically unhinged, the finished product overall nevertheless represents quite an accomplished work of filmmaking. To be sure, this offering won’t appeal to everyone and is likely to generate divisive reactions among both avid cinephiles and casual moviegoers. But, for those unafraid of confronting issues that have largely been swept under the rug, this one is right up your alley. As Mark Twain once wisely observed, “It’s easier to fool people than to convince them that they have been fooled,” and Aster draws on that sentiment frequently throughout this work. No matter what one may believe about the events of five years ago, the director skillfully spotlights the chaos of that time and how it often manifested as an exercise in deception, control and a loss of common sense in so many areas of everyday life. Let’s sincerely hope we learn our lesson from this film so that we needn’t go through an experience like that ever again.
For those seeking sanctuary and the prospects of a better life, the hope of reaching a promised land holds an abiding attraction. That’s particularly true for those who are desperate to change their fates, and perhaps no one understands this better than refugees seeking to flee their circumstances. Unfortunately, that promise is often just that – a promise – and one that’s frequently and perpetually out of reach. Such are the conditions addressed in writer-director Mahdi Fleifel’s narrative feature debut, the story of Palestinian cousins Chatila (Mahmoud Bakri) and Reda (Aram Sabbah), who, like many Middle Eastern migrants, have left behind their lives in Lebanese refugee camps for the hope of a better future in Europe. Their goal is to relocate to Germany, but, as with many of their peers, their journey stalls in Greece, the gateway to the heart of the continent and their eventual destination. The cousins lack the funds to pay smugglers for counterfeit documents and passage, so they live on the streets of Athens, struggling to find ways to get by, including theft, hustling and taking advantage of others. Their plight is a frustrating one, a scenario made more complicated by Reda’s on-again/off-again drug use, a condition that repeatedly results in financial fits and starts and growing anxiety over the duo’s inability to move forward. This, in turn, launches them into pursuing an array of increasingly dangerous schemes to fulfill their plans, but will these questionable ploys pan out? The film thus plumbs the desperation that they, like many refugees, often repeatedly experience, especially under present-day conditions. In doing so, the film earnestly evokes a profound degree of empathy for the characters’ exasperating circumstances and generally without judgment, outcomes made possible in large part by the compelling performances of the picture’s two leads. The mood underlying this story is further enhanced by its aptly employed grainy, suitably gritty 16mm cinematography, visually reinforcing the nature of everyday living experienced by the beleaguered protagonists. What’s more, this offering draws heavily from the narratives of “Midnight Cowboy” (1969) and “Casablanca” (1942), including many plot elements that pay fitting homages to these storied Oscar winners. However, for all its strengths, this release tends to meander at times, with some sequences that go insufficiently resolved and others that feel more than a little convoluted. Moreover, on occasion it feels as if the filmmaker was ambivalent about which storyline choices he wanted to make – those of a truly original cinematic tale or those of a picture aimed at giving well-intentioned but somewhat underdeveloped nods to the screen classics from which it derived much of its influence, resulting in something of a mixed bag. Those modest shortcomings aside, however, “To a Land Unknown” effectively provides viewers with a look inside a world that most of us never see but to which we seriously need to have our eyes opened.
Considerable chatter has been devoted in recent years to the question of whether the movie industry is producing too many superhero/action-adventure films. Much of that talk has specifically focused on whether certain franchises/mythologies have been overdone. That’s particularly true where the “Superman” mythos is concerned, a body of work that has assumed multiple forms on TV and the big screen since the 1970s. And, after viewing this latest iteration involving this storied and much beloved character, I can’t help but concur with the opinion that the man from the planet Krypton needs to be given a serious rest for a while. In my opinion, what has been called the biggest disappointment of this summer’s blockbuster season is an assessment that’s, unfortunately, right on target. In short, writer-director James Gunn’s latest is a hot mess that strains viewer interest not long into its overlong 200 runtime (a duration that honestly feels even longer than the official tally) and never manages to get it back. The biggest problem here rests with an overstuffed narrative that at times becomes challenging to follow, thanks to a screenplay that’s loaded with incongruities, rampant assumptions and a noticeable lack of back story; film editing tediously in need of much-needed snipping; overreliance on comic relief that grows progressively tiresome (especially with Superman’s annoyingly overzealous canine pal, Krypto); and an overall production whose vision is both tedious and not particularly original (especially in the rather ho-hum action sequences that we’ve seen so many, many times before in better films, most notably those from the Marvel Universe). In addition, the picture’s attempts at updating the nature of the Superman mythology for the present day are uneven at best, including some elements that are sufficiently contemporary with others that are woefully anachronistic (e.g., why are elements involving The Daily Planet newspaper portrayed in much the same way as they were in the past, given that today’s journalism business is a very different animal from what it was years ago?). To its credit, the film’s attempts at evolving the protagonist’s character into a paragon of “wokeness” (a source of much criticism in some circles) provides an intriguing spin on the nature of the Man of Steel – one very much in line with Superman’s traditional embodiment as a champion of “truth, justice and the American way” – even if it is somewhat excessive on occasion. That’s especially true where matters involving “aliens” (like Kal El himself) are symbolically demonized as threats to society, a less-than-subtle allusion to how many perceive today’s immigrants. However, the attempt at making the film’s hero more socially relevant is at times undermined by inconsistent character development, a problem that plagues many of this release’s other players, too. And that’s unfortunate in light of the performances on display, including a capable Christopher Reeve-esque portrayal by the film’s lead (David Corenswet), as well as fine supporting characterizations of mythology staples Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) and Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult). In essence, though, “Superman” regrettably feels like an offering created by committee, a production that desperately should have gone through several more rounds of revisions before being committed to a final print. What’s more, if this picture was meant to lead off a new franchise involving this character, it comes up short all around, a prospect that doesn’t bode particularly well for the artistic future of this series. Superman deserves better than this, but that’s noticeably lacking in this release, one that, over time, is likely to become forgettable, particularly when measured against its superior predecessors, films that commendably and authentically depict its protagonist as a genuinely super-man.
Sometimes movies have a way of surprising us in unexpectedly pleasant ways. And this latest installment in the “Jurassic” franchise is just such a case. Admittedly, I had more than a few reservations going into this one; I couldn’t help but think that this was a cinematic commodity that had run its course, that it was essentially out of gas to offer anything new of genuine value, and, to a certain degree, that’s true, at least where originality is concerned. However, despite the picture’s expected plunge into familiar territory, director Gareth Edwards’s latest feature offering is nevertheless highly entertaining, even if not particularly groundbreaking. Perhaps that rests with the fact that this is arguably the most Spielbergian installment in the series, in many ways reflective of the iconic production that launched the franchise in 1993. In yet another story involving self-serving agenda-driven characters placing themselves in tremendous peril by venturing into a world of dangerous, genetically manipulated dinosaurs recklessly brought back to life for profit and entertainment purposes, the film follows a narrative formula that most viewers will find more than a little recognizable. But what helps to set this installment apart from many of its predecessors is the quality of the filmmaking itself, specifically its ability to effectively build and maintain tension, its capacity for presenting story arc elements in fresh and inventive ways, and its overall production values, most notably its fine (and occasionally unanticipated) special effects and its efforts in upping the talent quotient of the cast with such commendable additions as Scarlett Johansson and Mahershala Ali. Most importantly, though, this offering is to be applauded for its continuity in staying on track in terms of tone, self-aware of what kind of a movie it truly wants to be. This differentiates “Rebirth” from many of its previous releases, which often couldn’t decide whether they wanted to tell bona fide sci-fi-based tales or present themselves as campy romps (as seen, for example, in the now-famous (or is it infamous?) Bryce Dallas Howard high heel sequences in the first “Jurassic World” offering (2015)). What’s more, Spielberg’s influence in bringing this production to life is clearly present in the finished product, both in terms of honoring the merits of the series’ premiere installment, as well as in its respectful homages to the auteur’s classic 1975 offering, “Jaws.” To be sure, there are some aspects here that are wholly predictable (such as little doubt as to which characters will be offed and when), and there are times when the pacing could stand to be brisker, particularly when the film strives (sometimes a little too hard) to invoke a greater degree of character depth and development than what has typically been the case in previous “Jurassic” releases. In addition, the picture suffers from occasional plot holes, several contrived narrative devices (including one egregiously silly element near the film’s outset that nearly cost me my hopes for the remainder of the release) and more than a little blatantly shameless product placement shots. On balance, though, this is a surprisingly good picture in a series that’s now seven installments deep, an accomplishment that few franchises (other than the “Star Trek” and “007” series) can boast. Don’t be too quick to sell this one short; it may not be perfect, but it’s certainly enjoyable summertime action-adventure fare that makes for a good time on a lazy Saturday afternoon when you don’t feel like going outside to brave the heat.
Many of us would likely agree that “truth” is a hard commodity to come by these days, especially in political and social matters. One need only look to the increasingly bombastic claims coming from each end of the spectrum to see that their agendas and perspectives are being driven by their respective polarized viewpoints, some of which probably contain kernels of truth but that have been significantly enhanced with ample doses of hyperbole and exaggeration. So what are we to believe? That’s a good question, one that this latest documentary from director Andrew Goldberg seeks to address, primarily from the standpoint of how right-wing conservative media and politicians have been deliberately engineering well-orchestrated campaigns of disinformation/propaganda/indoctrination (choose whatever word best suits you) to sway the hearts and minds of a largely uninformed and unquestioning public. Beginning with the Nixon presidency and continuing to the present day, this constituency’s game plan, according to an array of observers and experts, has been (and still is) based on implementing programming designed to play on the fears of White Americans who have come to believe they are targets for ever-increasing degrees of victimization and marginalization. Isolated incidents are blown out of proportion to make them seem like the norm, and threats to their well-being are seen as coming from all directions, potential dangers generally attributed to such scapegoats as immigrants, minorities and members of certain religious sects (the specific alleged perpetrators all being easy to figure out). And these dire warnings are typically packaged in gruesome, graphic, frightening detail and embellished with outright fabrications for maximum impact to fan the flames of support for their manufactured validity (after all, fear can be a powerful motivator and source of common ground in scenarios like this). Hence, individuals who might ordinarily not consider themselves racist or prejudiced are manipulated into viewpoints with which they concur that nevertheless are unwittingly laced with such feelings. Through video clips, sound bites and interviews with analysts of these efforts (as well as former participants in these initiatives), the filmmaker builds what seems to be a damning case against these calculated ventures. However, at the risk of playing devil’s advocate, one could also readily contend that the arguments against these undertakings (by implication) are fundamentally just as potentially biased as the criticisms being leveled here, their own version of the “truth” having been slanted to an opposite but comparable degree. This naturally begs the question, “Where is the objectivity in that?” It also muddies the waters when it comes to finding a suitable answer to the inquiry, “What exactly is the truth here?” While left-leaning viewers will undoubtedly cheer on the discussion raised in this film, the picture nevertheless fails to provide the kind of unblemished clarity and impartiality one might hope for when all things are considered. Sadly, the viewers who might benefit most from screening this release probably won’t see it, having already been conditioned into making up their minds about this subject. And, at the same time, for those who do watch it, this would most likely be seen as a case of preaching to the choir. Regardless of where one’s political leanings may lie, as strong a case as this production might be seeking to make, “White with Fear” ultimately probably won’t provide any of us with the answers we seek either way, and that’s a shame considering how badly we need them these days.
Movies about underdogs overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds often have a relatively easy time of winning over viewers thanks to their inspiring narratives. This is especially true for fact-based stories, as well as films that have a particularly strong family-friendly vibe associated with them. At the same time, though, these productions also run the risk of overdoing it when it comes to these qualities, and such is very much the case here. The film tells the tale of the Afghan Dreamers Robotics Team, a quartet of passionate, inventive high school girls (Amber Afzali, Nina Hosseinzadeh, Sara Malal Rowe, Mariam Saraj) who achieved wide acclaim for their ingenious mechanical creations. They were inspired by their coach and mentor, Roya Mahboob (Nikohl Boosheri), an Afghan computer coder who made it her mission to introduce the young women of her country to the opportunities available through a pioneering technology little known to them. And so, with the assistance of her brother, Ali (Noorin Gulamgaus), a generous computer entrepreneur, Samir Sinha (Ali Fazal), and other assorted benefactors, Mahboob built a team that successfully participated in a number of international robotic competitions. Achieving that objective wasn’t easy, however, given the many challenges the Dreamers faced in terms of finding funding, acquiring materials to build their creations, and overcoming resistance from the chauvinistic Afghan male population who generally didn’t believe that their country’s women were worthy of being educated, let alone be allowed to engage in activities like this. Writer-director Bill Guttentag’s latest feature manages to check off all the requisite boxes for a film of this stripe, but it frequently tends to go overboard in delivering its messages, stressing points that are easy to grasp without having to browbeat audiences. What’s more, the approach taken in assembling this release is far from original, rigidly following an outline that’s highly formulaic, predictable and by the numbers, leaving little to the imagination, even without having knowledge of the particulars of this saga in advance. To its credit, the picture makes some fine, uplifting points about commitment, determination and innovation, as well as the value of equal educational opportunities for women. It also features some clever cinematography, an eclectic soundtrack and commendable performances by a crop of largely newcomers. And, as evidenced here, the impact of Mahboob’s efforts to foster women’s academic and vocational aspirations was truly significant, having planted seeds of change to shift the culture during the years between the overthrow of the repressive Taliban regime and its subsequent return to power. Sadly, though, as undeniably important as this story is, it genuinely deserved a better film than what has been presented through this sorely underwhelming effort.
