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"Ready or Not 2: Here I Come" amps up the lore and humor in a sequel that’s not a mere retread but a consistently entertaining deep dive into the twisted games of the elite that generates a similar excitement achieved by its predecessor. Back in 2019, Radio Silence duo Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett surprised critics and horror fans alike with Ready or Not, a blood-soaked horror-comedy that made everyone question walking down the aisle. In that film, a young bride named Grace (Samara Weaving) found herself on what should’ve been the happiest day of her life, playing a twisted game of hide-and-seek where her spouse’s affluent family hunted her as a part of a wedding night ritual that involved worshipping the devil. At midnight, on the day of the wedding, every new member has to draw a game card from “Le Bail’s puzzle box, with Grace pulling the hide-and-seek card. Should the new member draw that card, the rest of the family has to hunt and ritually sacrifice them before dawn, or they will die instead. Grace survived the grueling ordeal by the end as she puffed on a cigarette with her fiancé’s mansion burning down in the background. It was a fitting conclusion to one of the better horror films released in recent years, and it could’ve all ended there. Now we have Ready or Not 2: Here I Come, a sequel not purely driven by greed, but I’m sure the success of the first film didn’t hurt. Radio Silence, along with writers Guy Busick and R. Christopher Murphy, mulled over ideas of returning to this world, but it all didn’t come together until they worked with Kathryn Newton on their vampire flick Abigail. It was there that they realized that Grace could have a badass younger sister, and this could be a story about that bond, along with expanding the lore of the game. The result is a sequel that is fun in all the right ways and a follow-up that is different enough in its execution that it’s not a lazy retread of its predecessor. The film picks up from the moment of the mansion fire and finds Grace being rushed to the hospital. The only emergency contact that the hospital can find to notify is Grace’s estranged sister, Faith (Newton), who gets the rundown of Grace’s nuptials gone wrong and believes her sister is going to prison. Meanwhile, Chester Danforth (David Cronenberg), a dying billionaire, makes it clear that the game isn’t just tied to one single family. It’s a global network of ultra-rich psychopaths driven by ritual, and the potential power that comes along with it should they win. Soon, Grace is being hunted in a new game where, should the rich be defeated, they’ll lose all of their fortune. After she refuses to participate, she learns that her sister Faith is also marked for death in this new game, which makes her younger sister believe the crazy story Grace has been telling her, and it finds the sisters who are at odds needing to rely on each other to survive. The creatives know that they couldn’t just copy the beats of the original, and that includes from its narrative to its style. Ready or Not 2 feels familiar enough to be connected to its predecessor but different enough to stand on its own. The expansion of the mythology is the biggest addition, and it actually adds a devilish layer to the story, realizing that the rich elite are all involved in this twisted game in order to maintain their wealth and status. The story now involves six total families, and they hold a seat on the Council that runs as a secret cabal run by Le Bail, the devil in question that the Le Domas family worshipped in the first film. Grace’s survival signals a new game where the six families are now able to play for the High Seat and have total control of the Council. The scope is expanded so much that Elijah Wood’s character, simply called “The Lawyer,” is needed to oversee the proceedings and make sure all rules are followed. The sibling discourse and mistrust is at the heart of the film, and that is what drives the primary story between Grace and Faith, something that Weaving and Newton play beautifully. According to Radio Silence, the pair hadn’t met before filming, but you would never guess it. They feel like sisters from top to bottom, from their looks to the ease with which they bicker, to the moments they realize they need to depend on each other to get out of this twisted Hunger Games on steroids. The reasons for their estrangement are explained, and even if it’s not given enough room to breathe because of the carnage around them, Weaving and Newton’s instant connection makes their dynamic feel authentic. The audience buys it from the jump, and it helps that these two horror movie veterans aren’t afraid to get down and dirty when necessary. They go through it in this film, from physical violence to being splattered with blood, but they do so on equal footing. Weaving carried the final girl torch on her own admirably in the first movie, but her partner in crime this time around is much welcomed.

"Project Hail Mary" is a very convoluted genre exercise held together by a grounded and humoristic performance by Ryan Gosling. Phil Lord and Christopher Miller are usually very talented filmmakers however here their unserious tone doesn't match this serious sci-fi setting and Drew Goddard's adaptation. The way this film is presented is just here's a thing and here's a thing and this happens and while the dialogue is very spry and funny there's not a lot of information we know about Dr. Ryland Grace and I wish we'd been given more about him and who he was on Earth besides him being a school teacher prior to him being picked for this assignment. "The Martian" doesn't need to do that because more of the personality shines through with the way it's written through the Mark Watney character whereas Ryland Grace doesn't really have much to go off of in terms of coming up with his solution because he gets his memory wiped and he's learning who is as we're learning who he is and there's not much info that he learns about himself. There's a scene with a the dry erase board where he writes down clues from his luggage and stuff but what exactly is he giving up from his life on Earth to be there? and that's something the movie doesn't really tell us. As far as the science stuff goes, the reason why Drew Goddard script falls flat here is because he previous script 'The Martian" does a very good job of breaking down all the info of the things that have to be solved so Mark Watney can survive, like how to grow food and supply resources on Mars, how to make water and how to save battery on the rover and how to make contact with NASA. We understand each step of process that scientists deal with. This film starts going off in deep long discussions about chemicals and enzymes that aren't explained as much so you can't feel as attached to the process of solutions that they're going for. Because there were so many moments during this where I had no idea what was happening or why and it keeps you from being engaged with the film as you should be. I do credit Ryan Gosling for doing his best to elevate this tedious clunky adaptation. Only so many people like Gosling could hold the screen for so long and he's a little goofy and playful and doesn't take himself too seriously but the problem is the movie doesn't take Grace as character seriously but when it gets to a moment time to care about his fate it doesn't have any emotional heft that it's going for because it's too tight on feet for so long that they can't make the transition to actual substance. There are so many awkward transitions where a big crucial thing will happen and the shift to the next thing uncertain when it tries pick back up to be funny again.

"Preschool" is a silly yet oddly endearing movie that at times it threatens to push the antics too far but Josh Duhamel the director keeps things wrangled together, delivering a big-hearted crowd-pleaser anchored by a fun ensemble.

"The Pout-Pout Fish" is a colorful, charming animated film perfectly tailored for its young audience.

"Erin Brockovich" is a terrific movie, with a starring performance by Julia Roberts that's as funny, romantic and justifiably self-confident as any seen on the screen since Hollywood's golden age. Loved rewatching this in theaters courtesy of AMC Fan Faves.

"Kiki's Delivery Service" is observant, sensitive coming-of-age film. Hayao Miyazaki creates a majestic film about staying true to their core selves, gain independence early on, try new things and explore. Seeing this in IMAX was so great.

"Bodycam" is brilliant take on a concept that proves that the found footage sub-genre can still surprise. The found footage sub-genre of horror has had several ebbs and flows since it became popular following the success of "The Blair Witch Project." When it works, it really works, and when it doesn’t, it really doesn’t. Sometimes it comes down to a good idea and proper execution that makes the gimmick now feel like a gimmick, and that’s something director and co-writer Brandon Christensen finds with "Bodycam," the latest found footage exercise that is now available to watch on Shudder. At 75-minutes, the film is lean and doesn’t waste much time getting tension started from the jump, and, because it involves the cameras that are mounted on police uniforms, there is a bit of social commentary at play. Make no mistake! This is a horror film through and through, but it’s hard not to think about several news stories where bodycam footage has played a role, for and against cops, which has allowed those not in law enforcement to catch a glimpse of the job that is gritty and, sometimes, very complicated. Christensen wants this to play in the back of your mind as the horror unfolds, and this is something that makes this film work surprisingly well. Officer Jackson (Jaime Callica) and Officer Bryce (Sean Rogerson) are on standard routine patrol when they receive a call that most police officers say can be the most dangerous to respond to. They are notified about a domestic dispute that is in a particularly rough neighborhood, but that becomes the least of their problems once they enter the home. Circumstances unravel and lead to Officer Bryce making a life-changing call that leaves the officers with two dead bodies in the home. Led by the fear of the situation, Bryce decides he wants to cover it up and convinces Jackson to go along with the plan, despite his resistance. However, there is more at play than what made this domestic dispute call go wrong, and it’s soon obvious that there is something supernatural going on in the area, and it has taken control of its inhabitants and will do the same to the two officers if they don’t figure out a way to stop it. One of the positives about the best found footage is that, thanks to their relatively short runtimes, there isn’t much room for fat, and they typically cut right to the chase. It falls into that category as no time is wasted throwing Bryce and Jackson into an unrelenting spiral of circumstances. Christensen understands that pacing is essential, wasting no time with unnecessary exposition or wasted moments. He makes every single frame count as the nightmare of the situation escalates. This does sacrifice things in terms of character since the audience only really gets to know Bryce and Jackson on a surface level, but in terms of the experience, it moves at a pace that gives it a sense of necessary urgency. Christensen also makes great use of the technology he’s using to capture his story. The bodycam footage works two-fold. It gives the film a proper sense of realism, but there are limitations to what the footage can capture, and it’s something the director uses to his advantage. Since so much is obscured thanks to what these types of cams can usually capture, it allows the audience to use their imagination of what they could see next or what could be lurking right out of frame. Christensen, with the aid of his cinematographer Clayton Moore, is committed to the format, and they don’t make any asinine choices that make their gimmick not work. Honestly, the burden of suspending disbelief isn’t necessary like it can be in some found footage films. Frequently, the audience has to question why a character is holding onto a camera when, in reality, they would ditch that thing within a moment’s notice. Thanks to the cameras being mounted to their uniforms, as is the practice, the audience never has to roll their eyes at why all this footage is being captured. It’s meant to be thanks to the nature of their profession. As the characters go, Rogerson fares a bit better because he has more to work with, and his character is at the heart of the situation that kicks things off. He finds a delicate balance that works because while he’s technically a “bad cop” because of what he’s doing, Rogerson makes it clear that it’s coming from a place of fear rather than entitlement. He’s not 100 percent likable, particularly in his description of the rougher neighborhoods they patrol and his thoughts on the people who live there, but he’s able to find some shades of grey. In the end, "Bodycam" was a pleasant surprise. There are faults to be had with character development, but Christensen embraces the format wholeheartedly and creates a relentless descent into the occult that never lets up and offers something much better than this sub-genre typically delivers.

The Gates is an uninspired crime thriller that falls short of its potential because it takes a detour into some laughably bad plot developments. This unrealistic movie also mishandles its intent to have socially conscious messaging about racism and classism.

"Undertone" is a unique horror movie relies largely on clever sound design and a limited setting, but it still conjures up a world of sympathetic characters, a strong story, and spine-chilling scares. There is something to be said about a film that rewards your patience. Often referred to as a slow burn, it’s a gradual buildup to a payoff that makes all the waiting worth it and allows all the pieces to come together to form a terrific, cohesive experience. This is what takes place with A24’s latest horror release, Undertone, written and directed by Ian Tuason in his directorial debut. Across various reviews, you’ll be told about its immersive sound design, and let it be known that this is no mere gimmick. This is sensory overload in the best way, where you’re put within the sonic landscape of the film and allowed to let every ounce of the fear seep in. What’s also impressive is what happens during moments of complete silence. You’re so immersed in the film’s haunting atmosphere that even the silence feels like a threat, gradually creeping to the surface. It has been a while since a horror film has lingered with me this way, and it’s one that I haven’t quite been able to shake. Evy Babic (Nina Kiri) is the co-host of a paranormal podcast alongside her friend, Justin (Adam DiMarco), where the setup for their show is perfect for discussions about the other side and their validity. Evy is a pure skeptic, while Justin is a believer in the paranormal, but after Evy has to move back home to take care of her dying mother (Michèle Duquet), the podcasting duo is sent recordings for their show from a married couple experiencing paranormal phenomena in their home. As they dive into these recordings, Evy draws closer to becoming a believer as the sounds from these tapes push her further into escalating paranoia and terror. The shocks are meant to surprise, and one should be able to experience this level of fear firsthand. One of the masterstrokes of the film is that the only characters shown on-screen fully are Evy and her mother, with the camera lingering almost uncomfortably primarily on Evy. The rest of the characters, including Justin and the sounds from the recordings, are all off-screen voices, which allows for the audience to be fully immersed in Evy’s sensory experience. Not only does this amp up the fear due to the film’s immaculate sound design, but it also creates a sense of growing isolation as Evy’s paranoia and fear from what she’s hearing creates an unnerving level of claustrophobia. Nina Kiri has the task of essentially being the one human element that carries the film. She’s the face the audience sees from frame to frame, although there are occasional glimpses of her mother. Physically, her mother is present, but she’s so near death that Evy is practically alone in the house. Her supporting cast, albeit in a very unusual sense, is the sound design and voices that she hears along the way. Personally, I was unfamiliar with Kiri’s work before this film, although I was aware she was a fan-favorite on the Hulu series The Handmaid’s Tale. As this was my first experience with her work, I was blown away by how emotive she was as an actress, as she conveys Evy’s emotions throughout the film. This goes beyond sleep deprivation and stress. Evy is being ripped apart by paranoia as she dives deeper into the voices and sounds that she can’t shake. Kiri makes you feel like you’re in this with her, and that’s a combination of her stellar performance and Tuason’s choice to keep the focus on her as the sound becomes almost unbearable to take. Undertone is immersive in the best way. Having experience as a podcaster myself, the way that the outside world is cut off once the headphones are placed on is expertly replicated here. Every sound within the house is blocked out, and all we hear are the voices within her headphones. Sometimes it’s pleasant, as is the case during some early podcasting banter with her co-host Justin, and other times it’s downright terrifying as she is drawn into the ten recordings sent her way. Because of how this is all set up, it’s easy to feel as if we’re listening with Evy, which makes the experience equal parts intimate and unnerving. This is primarily why the film remains with you long after it’s over. The voices that Evy hears become the voices the audience is hearing in their heads, and it makes it nearly impossible to shake them off. Then there are the moments when the audience is waiting patiently for the next fright. Yes, Undertone is a masterclass in sound design, but it’s also visually arresting, as some of the images are also haunting to the core. For a film made on a reported $500,000, it doesn’t look like it. There is limited space to work with and one primary performer, but there is a polish to Undertone that allows it to look sleek enough without diminishing any of the style necessary to maintain the film’s sense of closed-in space.

"Slanted" is a twisted unsettling cautionary tale of self-acceptance and the cost of trying to be someone else. Amy Wang uses genre storytelling with a brilliant radical commentary to capture a lived experience that resonates deeply with brilliant performances by Shirley Chen and Mckenna Grace in the dual lead role. Moving through the world as a person of color can be challenging and feel downright impossible at times. In the coming-of-age dark comedy Slanted, an Asian American teenager with the dream of becoming her school’s prom queen undergoes a radical transformation to be deemed acceptable and beautiful by American societal standards. Since childhood, Joan Huang (Shirley Chen) has dreamed of becoming Prom Queen. In her mostly white, primarily conservative town, it’s the ultimate symbol of beauty and acceptance. When she stumbles upon a mysterious procedure that will change her racial makeup, she jumps at the opportunity. After the procedure is seemingly successful, she rebrands herself as Jo Hunt (McKenna Grace). She’s finally accepted by the school’s vain and vicious queen bee, Olivia (Amelie Zilber), who decides to support Jo’s prom queen campaign. Jo soon discovers her new appearance isn’t all she thought it would be. It alienates her from her parents and her heritage, and, when her original face begins to reassert itself, her new reality is likely to go up in flames. Slanted is a satirical but serious coming-of-age film that explores the struggles of growing up with feelings that being white is the only way you’ll succeed in the world. Many people of color face this insecurity especially when growing up in spaces in which they are one of the few, if not the only, minority. Joan’s journey will resonate with people from all walks of life who’ve ever felt different and othered. Shirley Chen is a talented young actress whose journey as Joan is moving and emotional. She just wants to fit in and feel beautiful. She just wants the boy she has a crush on to notice her. She just wants the people in town to smile at her when she’s walking down the street instead of staring at her with contempt and unease. Chen realistically conveys Joan’s longing and desperation for acceptance. The film doesn’t shy away from the uncomfortable moments and micro-aggressions Joan faces. There’s one scene in particular when Olivia and her friend Greta (Sarah Kopkin) invite Joan to get manicures with them. As it turns out, they only wanted her to tag along to serve as a translator. Even after Joan realizes this was their intention in inviting her, she still begs the owner to accommodate them. There’s another scene in which her father’s client, Harmony (Elaine Hendrix) condescends to Joan and makes racist comments as Joan fills in for her father when he is too injured to run his cleaning business. Again, these moments are uncomfortable, but an example of the reality many Asian Americans, and people of color in general, face in their day-to-day lives. McKenna Grace’s portrayal of Joan’s post-surgery persona, Jo, is just as thrilling and entertaining as Chen’s. The character has literally reinvented herself, and while she gets the acceptance and approval she has always craved, she has done so at the cost of her heritage, her parent’s approval, and the real friendships she had before. McKenna gets many heavy moments as Jo deals with the emotional and mental fallout of her actions as well as the body horror aspects. The rest of the cast is just as talented as the two leads. Fang Du as Joan’s father, Roger, has a standout performance here. He just wants the best for his child, and deep down, feels guilty for moving her into an environment that made her feel she isn’t good enough or pretty enough to exist as she is. R. Keith Harris as Willie, the sinister head of the organization offering the race-altering procedure plays the character as a peaceful and kind guru whose friendly nature is undercut by the emotional and mental manipulation he carries out. Amelie Zilber’s Olivia could have easily been a one-note mean girl, but a twist adds surprising layers to the character. Without spoiling too much, she and her father can relate to everything Joan/Jo is going through on a personal level. 'Slanted" is a creative and entertaining blend of body horror and racial commentary. Audiences will find the film just as enlightening as it is entertaining.

"Reminders of Him" is another failed Colleen Hoover adaptation. There are melodramas that work because they lean fully into their emotions, and then there are movies that mistake emotional manipulation for emotional storytelling. This very clearly unfortunately lands in the latter category. It wants to be a tearjerker about forgiveness and second chances. Instead, it ends up feeling hollow and lifeless. Directed by Vanessa Caswill and adapted from the novel, the film follows Kenna Rowan (Maika Monroe), a woman recently released from prison after serving seven years for a car crash that killed her boyfriend, Scotty. When she returns to town, she hopes to rebuild some version of a life and reconnect with the daughter she left behind. That proves nearly impossible as Scotty’s parents, Grace (Lauren Graham) and Patrick Landry (Bradley Whitford), now have custody of the child and refuse to let Kenna anywhere near her. The only person who shows her any sympathy is Ledger Ward (Tyriq Withers), a former NFL player who owns the local bar and is also happens Scotty’s best friend. The setup isn’t inherently bad. Stories about people trying to rebuild their lives after catastrophic mistakes can be incredibly compelling, and there’s a lot of emotional territory you can explore there, like grief, resentment, forgiveness, and the way communities close ranks around tragedy. Unfortunately, the film never digs into any of that with much depth. The problems start with the performances, and they’re hard to ignore. Maika Monroe has proven in the past that she’s capable of carrying complex emotional material—look at Longlegs—but here she gives what is easily the weakest performance of her career. Kenna is supposed to be a woman carrying enormous guilt and desperation, yet Monroe plays nearly every scene at the same flat emotional level. Even moments that require her to explode with anger, you can tell she is barely trying; therefore, her performance becomes less believable. There are confrontations where she’s clearly meant to be furious or devastated, but the delivery feels strangely lifeless, like she’s just trying to get through the dialogue. Tyriq Withers, on the other hand, at least looks like he’s trying. His performance as Ledger isn’t amazing, but it’s easily the most watchable thing in the movie. There’s a natural warmth to him that helps the character feel somewhat human in a story full of cardboard personalities. When Ledger is on screen, the film briefly feels like it might find some emotional footing. Unfortunately, the script never gives him enough material to elevate things beyond “serviceable.” One of the film’s biggest issues is the writing. The screenplay, credited to Caswill alongside Hoover and Lauren Levine, feels oddly mechanical. Scenes don’t flow into each other so much as they simply happen in sequence. Characters make emotional leaps without the groundwork to justify them. The most glaring example comes early in Kenna and Ledger’s relationship. When Ledger first discovers who Kenna is, he reacts exactly the way you’d expect: anger and hostility, a firm refusal to let her anywhere near the child. That reaction makes sense. But within a few scenes, that anger evaporates, and he suddenly begins sympathizing with her. There’s no meaningful transition, and the shift happens because the story needs it to happen so the romance can begin. That romance is another major weak point. Monroe and Withers share almost no chemistry, which makes their relationship difficult to invest in from the start. The film tries to frame their connection as something complicated and forbidden, but without believable emotional tension between them, the whole thing feels forced. You’re constantly aware of the mechanics pushing the plot forward. The supporting characters fare even worse. Scotty’s parents, played by Lauren Graham and Bradley Whitford, should be emotionally central figures in the story—they lost their son and are raising his daughter, after all. That’s powerful material. Yet the film barely explores their perspective at all. Instead, they exist almost entirely as obstacles in Kenna’s path. Most of the supporting cast functions the same way. They’re not characters with their own inner lives; they’re narrative tools that either block Kenna or help her depending on what the scene requires. Once the film ends, it expects the audience to feel some kind of catharsis. The problem? Well, it’s that very little of the emotional groundwork has been laid in a convincing way. The movie constantly tells you how much pain everyone is carrying, but it rarely shows it in a way that feels real. What makes Reminders of Him so frustrating is that the core idea isn’t hopeless. A story about a woman trying to earn forgiveness after destroying a family’s life could have been powerful. With stronger writing and more committed performances, it might have explored grief and accountability in a meaningful way. Instead, the film settles

"The Optimist" is a Holocaust film that can make you sympathetic to the struggle of others and look inwards to any buried traumas of one's own. There are films about the Holocaust that assault you with horror, and there are films that approach from a quieter angle, asking you to sit, listen, and be changed. Finn Taylor’s "The Optimist" belongs firmly in the latter camp. It is a work of deep reverence—for history, for truth, and above all for one man, Herbert Heller, yet it ultimately blossoms into something tender, hopeful, and unexpectedly life-affirming. At the heart of the film is Herbert Heller, a Czech Jewish boy from Prague who survives Terezín and Auschwitz, and the older man he becomes decades later in Northern California. It’s clear that Taylor never wanted Herbert to be framed simply as a victim, or even as a conventional “inspirational” figure. Taylor himself has described Herbert Heller as “a different kind of hero, the kind of hero we really need right now, that leads with compassion and depth and understanding and grace." That phrase quietly defines the film. Rather than focusing on spectacle or on the machinery of genocide, Taylor orients the entire story around Herbert’s moral and emotional presence—how he listens, how he comforts, how he gently reaches out to a contemporary teenager, Abby, who feels her own world collapsing. The film’s title is not a sentimental cover. It is a statement of character. Herbert Heller has seen “the end of the world” and chooses, again and again, not to give up on humanity. Taylor’s casting of Herbert in both timelines is crucial to that effect. As the older Herbert, Stephen Lang is a revelation. Better known on screen for his hard-edged, macho roles in “Avatar” or “Don’t Breathe”, Lang is here cast deliberately against type. While there are many actors who would have seemed a more obvious fit—men who already read as “Holocaust survivor” at a glance, Lang was an inspired choice as he delivers a completely chameleon-like portrayal of Heller – an individual, a real person. Lang disappears into Herbert with such humility that, according to Taylor, even the Heller family was stunned by the portrayal. The performance is gentle, often fragile, yet suffused with a core of quiet strength. A small anecdote from set says it all as in my exclusive interview with him, Taylor recalled instinctively putting a steadying hand under Lang’s arm as they walked down a muddy path—only to feel the actor’s massive bicep under his costume. The strongman is still there, but in "The Optimist" that strength is redirected inward, toward compassion. As young Herbert, Luke David Blumm is the kind of discovery most directors can only hope for. The role is technically punishing—often performed inches from a wide-angle lens—and emotionally demanding, carrying the boy through bewilderment, terror, stubborn resolve, and flickers of joy. Blumm never strains; he simply inhabits Herbert, making the child’s experience feel acutely present rather than historical abstraction. Blumm carries the weight of young Herbert, and the film, on his shoulders. If we don’t understand and believe the once joyous child within and the hardships and torturous conditions he then survived, we will not believe Lang’s performance as the older Herbert and his optimistic outlook on life. Luke David Blumm captivates. Together, Lang and Blumm present one seamless life: a boy marked and nearly destroyed by history, and an old man who somehow remains warm, funny, and open-hearted. What makes the film so quietly powerful is not just who it is about, but how it is told. Taylor’s filmmaking is careful, restrained, and rigorously thought through, always in service of point of view and emotional truth. Visually, Taylor divides the film between two worlds. In the United States, where the elderly Herbert lives among the Northern California redwoods, US cinematographer Antonio Riestra leans into a natural, sometimes handheld intimacy. In Europe, by contrast, cinematographer Alexandra “Sasha” Cirul works in and around Prague, Terezín, and a purpose-built Auschwitz. The Czech studio, Stillking Films, which hosts blockbuster franchises like “Mission: Impossible” and “Spider-Man”, “bent over backwards” for this because it was about one of their own, Herbert Heller from Prague. The studio built Auschwitz. The team was allowed to shoot in the actual Terezin. Finn Taylor builds a remarkably coherent visual grammar for THE OPTIMIST by rooting every choice in point of view, geography, and emotion. By splitting the shoot between America and Europe, using Antonio Riestra for the redwood ringed present and Alexandra “Sasha” Cirul for Prague, Terezín, and Auschwitz, Herbert’s Californian refuge stands in stark visual contrast to the death camps. In the U.S. material, Taylor leans into the looser, sometimes handheld intimacy—most notably in the early interview scenes, where the slight instability of the camera mirrors Herbert’s

"Ghost Elephants" is a captivating, illuminating and well-shot documentary about elusive creatures and the people dedicated to finding them. Werner Herzog’s latest film is a fascinating exploration of this vast region and its spectacular inhabitants.

On its surface, The Pink Pill: Sex, Drugs & Who Has Control chronicles the battle to bring a medication for women’s low sexual desire to market. At its core, the documentary is about power. It is about who gets to define health, who gets to claim pleasure, and who benefits when women are told to stay quiet about their bodies. It is maddening and relatable. Women all wonder, “What happened to me?” Men always get listened to. Women are dismissed and made to feel wrong for even asking the question. Directed by Aisling Chin-Yee and premiering at DOC NYC, the film follows entrepreneur Cindy Eckert’s decade-long struggle to win FDA approval for Addyi, the drug frequently labeled “female Viagra.” The nickname is catchy. The comparison is revealing. More than twenty medications for male erectile dysfunction have been approved with relative efficiency. Addyi was stalled, scrutinized, and moralized for years. Why do we want horny women running around? says one FDA executive. You want to throttle the lot as you watch. The discrepancy is not just bureaucratic. It is ideological.From the beginning, the film establishes the central injustice. Male sexual performance is framed as essential to identity. If a man cannot perform, it is treated as a crisis of masculinity and a medical emergency. If a woman cannot orgasm, feels pain during intercourse, or loses desire, she is told it is normal. After childbirth. After menopause. After years of marriage. After life happens. Buy some lubricant and try harder. It’s all on you. The Pink Pill dismantles that normalization. It exposes how medical education and healthcare institutions have long sidelined women’s sexual needs. These same systems have aggressively funded and fast-tracked drugs for men. The film shows regulators raising concerns that women might become drowsy and fall asleep while driving children to school. The subtext is unmistakable: a woman’s primary role is caretaker. Her pleasure is secondary and deeply suspect. What makes the documentary especially urgent is its timing. Chin-Yee situates Eckert’s fight within a broader political shift. Footage of the 2016 election, the reshaping of the Supreme Court, and the fall of Roe v Wade is not incidental. It underscores a pattern. As the political right has gained power, reproductive rights have narrowed. Abortion access has been curtailed. Conversations about contraception and bodily autonomy have become battlegrounds. The correlation is not subtle. Movements that seek to limit women’s control over reproduction often also resist conversations about female desire. In conservative and religious circles, sexuality is frequently tethered to procreation and marriage. Female pleasure outside those boundaries is framed as indulgent, destabilizing, even sinful. Throughout history, many religious doctrines have treated women’s sexuality as something to regulate. Modesty codes, purity culture, and rigid gender roles are not fringe ideas. They are embedded in institutions that shape law and policy. The recent rise of right-leaning political movements has amplified these frameworks. The idealized “tradwife” narrative celebrates domestic submission, childbearing, and withdrawal from public power. Feminism is cast as corrosive. Autonomy is reframed as selfishness. Against that backdrop, a drug designed to enhance female desire becomes more than medicine. It becomes a **** Pink Pill makes clear that resistance to Addyi was not solely about clinical data. It was about discomfort. Discomfort with the idea that women might seek sex for pleasure rather than obligation. Discomfort with acknowledging that female libido is not automatically extinguished by age, motherhood, or long-term partnership. Discomfort with women naming dissatisfaction and demanding solutions. Fear sits at the center of this discomfort. Fear that sexual agency disrupts traditional hierarchies. Fear that a woman who claims her own pleasure might also claim her own economic and political independence. Fear that equality in the bedroom signals equality everywhere. Witty, incisive, and unapologetically provocative, The Pink Pill demands that viewers confront the hypocrisy of a culture that celebrates male virility while policing female desire. It challenges the rising chorus of voices that seek to return women to narrower roles under the banner of tradition or faith. And it insists that acknowledging women as full sexual beings is not radical. It is overdue. In the end, the pink pill is not just about libido. It is about whether society is willing to accept that women’s pleasure carries weight. It deserves research, respect, and recognition. That it is not a problem to be suppressed, but a reality to be understood. The fear exposed in this film is real. So is the resolve of those who refuse to be silenced.

"André Is an Idiot" is a cleverly made and surprisingly touching documentary given how utterly irreverent and profane it is. It memorably chronicles the final years of eccentric advertising creative André Ricciardi, after he was diagnosed with colon cancer. Some scenes look staged for comedy, but the movie has emotional authenticity. Director Tony Benna wisely spares us the gory details of how André died in favor of showing us how André lived, both before and after cancer. And what a life it was, void of convention and rife with creativity to give us a delightful and disturbing portrait of a quirky and likable funnyman finding the humor in a death sentence, his friends and family. From the very first moment we meet André, we are introduced to a man of many fascinating contradictions. He’s audacious, punk rock, has a bit of a bad drug problem, has an irreverent sense of humor, and is just capable enough at what he does. He doesn’t seem to want much at the end of the day. Good friends, good food, and a good laugh, and he seems satisfied. André is a little off-kilter, and he prefers to live his life a little differently than most. And as it turns out, that includes his death as well. We learn a lot about André very early in the film. We learn that he fell into advertising, kind of on a whim, and just so happened to be pretty good at it. We learn that he married his bartender so she could get a green card, and they ended up falling in love and having two kids. We also learn that his kids refer to him by his first name, and they don’t really hug much. And we also learn that André is dying from stage four colon cancer. "Andre is an Idiot" is many things at once. It is the slow process of dying and grieving. It is a celebration of a life lived. It is a comedy sketch. It is one man’s last hurrah on this planet. It is almost a grotesque, voyeuristic insight into a person’s final days. It is also a testament to the value and veracity of the power of the human spirit. And maybe most importantly, it is a PSA for every man over 40 to get their colonoscopy. André is called an idiot by his mom because colon cancer is one of the easiest cancers to treat if caught early. He even had a friend who suggested going to get a colonoscopy together a year prior, which André, of course, refused. This becomes one of the major focuses of the film, as anyone out there who may be too uneasy about someone peeking in your rectum. It’s an uncomfortable 20 minutes, or it’s the end of your life. Should be an easy decision. The film, and André for that matter, uses humor quite often. Not as a crutch or a shield, but as a way of looking at the world and his place in it. Throughout the film, Andre narrates several comedic scenarios set to animation, whether it’s a character he makes out of his hair falling out or a game show idea about people picking better ways to kill him other than cancer. These moments are both humorous and somber as they reflect his refusal to be sad about his impending death, but also his refusal to allow anybody else to be sad about it either. For everyone else, they are going through the 7 stages of grief, but André got past denial and bargaining pretty early. He’s halfway through acceptance, and we’ve only reached the 30-minute mark. The rest of the film feels like everyone else catching up, and Andre is slowing down to let them. As far as the humor goes, there’s one moment that is genuinely played for laughs, and it’s when André and his friends in advertising come up with a clever ad campaign to get more people to get a colonoscopy check. They use different objects that look similar to butt holes as a way of connecting the two. The imagery and the message use humor in a clever way to highlight not only André’s view of the world, but also to leave a lasting impression on the world before he goes. "Andre is an Idiot" is ultimately a sad story. We are watching a man slowly wither and die before us, but he never stops smiling, he never stops laughing, and he eventually learns to hug his kids. It’s a tender portrait of a man, his life, and his choices, some great, others quite idiotic. But it’s a life with love, no matter what. And it’s one we could all take more than one lesson from.

"For Worse" is a gentle middle-aged rom-com that deliberately lowers expectations even as it faithfully hits all the genre beats. It’s an approach designed to charm without dazzling, and at that it succeeds admirably.

"Dolly" is a scrappy, low-budget horror movie about a mute, hulking serial killer in a doll mask, a wig, and a prairie dress. Paying homage to 1970s backwoods slasher flicks, but it doesn't take itself too seriously. Writer-director Rod Blackhurst goes for the jugular with the gruesome slasher that recalls 70s and 80s horror but lacks giving this film strong character development. The film centers on Macy (Fabianne Therese) and her boyfriend Chase (Seann William Scott), who head into the woods for a romantic getaway. Chase is carrying more than camping gear; he’s planning to propose. Macy, meanwhile, is quietly grappling with what it might mean to become a wife and, more importantly, a stepmother. Those early moments hint at something deeper than your average slasher. There’s vulnerability there. Doubt. The fragile hope of building a family. And then the forest begins to close in. Not long into their hike, Macy and Chase stumble upon dolls hanging from tree branches and scattered across the ground. At first glance, it feels like a strange art project. But the longer we sit with the image—the cracked porcelain faces, the tangled synthetic hair swaying in the breeze—the more oppressive it becomes. The production design is easily the film’s greatest strength. The woods feel claustrophobic, suffocating, as if the couple has wandered into a shrine of decay. The dolls aren’t just props; they become a presence—a silent audience. When Chase follows distant music deeper into the forest, the film shifts from eerie to violent. He encounters a towering, masked figure known only as Dolly (Max the Impaler), whose physical performance is genuinely unsettling. There’s a disturbing childlike quality to the way Dolly moves—frolicking one moment, brutal the next. It’s a performance built on physicality rather than dialogue, and that choice works in the film’s favor. Max the Impaler commits fully, crafting a villain who feels both grotesque and strangely playful. Technically, "Dolly" is committed to its aesthetic. Shot on 16mm, the grainy texture gives the film a grimy, vintage feel that clearly nods to 1970s exploitation horror. The cinematography leans into harsh shadows and dizzying close-ups. The editing is frantic when it needs to be, letting chaos overwhelm the screen. There’s an earnestness in how the violence is portrayed. It doesn’t wink at the audience or cushion the blows with humor. It wants you to feel uncomfortable. And in flashes, it works. Fabianne Therese brings an emotional rawness to Macy that the script doesn’t always support. She feels human, even when the story reduces her to survival mode. There are moments when you glimpse the fear behind her eyes, the heartbreak of a future unraveling before it even begins. Seann William Scott, playing against the comedic energy many associate him with, throws himself into the physical demands of the role. He’s bruised, bloodied, desperate. It’s a performance that shows commitment, even when the character’s decisions strain credulity. But here’s where the frustration creeps in. For a film that runs just over 80 minutes, Dolly feels oddly stretched. There are lulls where tension dissipates instead of building. The emotional threads introduced early on—Macy’s hesitation about motherhood, Chase’s proposal—never fully evolve into something meaningful. They’re introduced like promises the story doesn’t quite keep. More than anything, the film struggles to carve out its own identity. Its inspirations loom large, almost distractingly so. There’s a constant sense of familiarity in the structure and tone, as though the movie is chasing the shadow of something iconic rather than forging its own mythology. Homage can be powerful when it transforms influence into something fresh. Here, it often feels more like replication than reinvention. And then there’s Dolly herself. As striking as the character is visually, we’re given almost nothing beneath the mask. A sliver of backstory—just enough to anchor the madness—could have elevated the horror into something tragic or mythic. Instead, Dolly remains a silhouette. Intriguing, yes. But emotionally distant. I wanted to feel more—to let the dread seep under my skin and truly care who would make it out of that forest. Instead, I found myself admiring the craftsmanship from a distance: the gritty practical effects, the 16mm texture, and the deliberate grimy exploitation vibe. But atmosphere alone can’t sustain emotional investment. In the end, I can see this connecting with horror fans who crave throwback, atmospheric slashers, but even with its brief runtime, it left me strangely detached. For all the noise and nastiness, there wasn’t enough emotional weight to pull me in, and I never truly cared who survived the night.

"Protector" is a lean, action-packed and gritty crime thriller that's also uninspired, tedious, clunky and increasingly preposterous. Mila Jovovich crafts an interestingly troubled and sympathetic character in this action thriller, but her work is in service of a flawed, confusing script that leaves off with a bewildered point.

"Youngblood" reimagines the 1986 cult hockey drama through a distinctly Canadian lens, transforming an underdog story into a meditation on race, legacy, and belonging. Hubert Davis reimagines the 1986 cult hockey drama through a distinctly Canadian lens, transforming an ’80s underdog tale into a layered meditation on race, legacy, and belonging within the country’s most sacred sport. What emerges is not nostalgia but confrontation. Anchored by Ashton James in a breakout performance, this new Youngblood shifts its focus inward. Dean Youngblood is a gifted Black Canadian junior hockey player from Hamilton with legitimate NHL draft potential. Talent is not his obstacle. Culture is. The film does not romanticize the rink. Instead, it exposes the toxic locker room codes that still define parts of hockey’s identity: ritualized hazing, quiet complicity, coded exclusion, and overt hostility. Dean’s battles are physical, but the deeper collisions are psychological. He is not merely fighting for ice time. He is fighting for dignity in a system not designed with him in mind. At the emotional center lies Dean’s relationship with his father, played with restrained gravitas by Blair Underwood. A former athlete whose own aspirations were curtailed by systemic barriers, he carries both pride and unresolved grief. For him, Dean’s talent represents possibility and unfinished business. Their dynamic gives the film generational weight. This is not just one young man’s journey to the NHL. It is a continuation of a struggle inherited. Beyond the locker room dynamics, Hubert Davis’ film positions hockey within a larger cultural reckoning. The film situates hockey within the broader conversation about representation in Black cinema, challenging the long-standing image of the sport as culturally exclusive terrain. By centering a Black Canadian protagonist in a space historically resistant to change, Davis reframes the ice as contested ground. Dean’s journey is not merely athletic ambition but narrative reclamation. In doing so, the film aligns itself with a growing body of contemporary sports dramas that interrogate who gets to occupy the center of the frame and why. James balances vulnerability with defiance, allowing Dean’s frustration to simmer rather than explode. His performance feels lived in rather than theatrical. Underwood, meanwhile, provides the film’s moral anchor. The scenes between them hum with affection, tension, and expectation. Those exchanges gives "Youngblood" its lasting emotional charge. In this film the rink once again becomes a cultural battleground, echoing themes the director previously explored in Black Ice. The ice sequences are kinetic and immersive, capturing the speed and violence of the sport without glamorizing it. Yet the quieter domestic moments resonate more deeply. In kitchens and living rooms, away from arena lights, the film finds its soul. The supporting cast adds necessary texture. Authority figures played by Shawn Doyle and Jessica McDonald represent institutional rigidity, while Oluniké Adeliyi and Henri Richer-Picard embody the forces of tradition and change pressing in on Dean. Not every secondary character is fully developed, but collectively they illustrate how structural pressure operates through **** the film falters, it is in pacing. The middle act leans into familiar sports drama rhythms, and some narrative beats feel inherited rather than reinvented. Still, these are minor setbacks in an otherwise purposeful recalibration of the story. What ultimately distinguishes "Youngblood" is its refusal to center triumph alone. The film understands that perseverance carries cost. By situating Dean’s journey within the ongoing realities of race and identity in hockey and grounding it in a father-son bond shaped by sacrifice, Davis ensures this remake functions as commentary, not replication.This "Youngblood" is less about winning the game and more about surviving the **** in that respect, it lands with force.

"War Machine" begins as a gritty military drama before veering into explosive science fiction territory. Patrick Hughes’ loud, muscle-bound action spectacle combines the punishing mythology of elite Ranger training with a sudden extraterrestrial invasion, creating a film that feels like a collision between battlefield realism and creature-feature chaos. The story opens with a decorated soldier attempting to push himself to the absolute limits of endurance. After earning the Silver Star, he voluntarily enters the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program, better known as RASP, the notoriously brutal training course designed to test the physical and psychological limits of elite soldiers. In this environment, names are stripped away. Identity disappears. The candidates are reduced to numbers and forced to prove they belong among the military’s most formidable fighters. For Alan Ritchson’s character, that number is simply 81. At first glance, the film appears to be building toward a familiar but compelling military drama about endurance, sacrifice and brotherhood. The opening act leans heavily into the mythology of elite military training. Candidates are pushed to their breaking points as they run until exhaustion, crawl through mud, haul impossible loads and face relentless psychological pressure. Ritchson portrays 81 as a relentless physical force who refuses to break under the strain. His determination impresses the commanders overseeing the program, but his intensity also alienates fellow trainees who interpret his focus as arrogance. For a time, the film plays like a straight-faced military drama reminiscent of the punishing boot camp sequences in "Jarhead." The tension builds steadily toward the program’s final challenge, a brutal twenty-four hour mission known among the candidates as the Death March. The soldiers are deployed on a grueling exercise designed to test strategy, teamwork and survival. To increase the challenge, they are given explosives but no weapons. In the real world, hauling heavy junk out of a property may not carry the same life-or-death stakes, but the principle of calling in professionals to handle the heavy lifting is just as smart. Then the film makes a dramatic turn. During the Death March, the trainees encounter something no military exercise could ever prepare them for. An alien war machine crashes the mission and transforms the survival test into a desperate battle for humanity. What began as a grounded military drama suddenly morphs into a full-scale science fiction monster movie. The tonal shift feels deliberate. Hughes plants subtle clues throughout the first act that hint something larger is lurking beyond the soldiers’ training ground. Once the alien threat arrives, the film fully embraces its genre pivot. The result feels like a cinematic mashup between Jarhead and Predator. The soldiers who have spent the entire film proving their toughness must now confront an extraterrestrial killing machine equipped with technology far beyond anything on Earth. It is faster, stronger and seemingly **** course, action movie logic dictates that every invincible enemy contains a hidden weakness. Once the soldiers begin to uncover that vulnerability, the Death March becomes an explosive battlefield filled with desperate tactics, improvised weaponry and plenty of grisly violence. The film’s title also carries an interesting piece of cinematic trivia. War Machine shares its name with the 2017 Netflix satire War Machine starring Brad Pitt. Aside from the title, however, the two films could not be more different. The earlier project examined military bureaucracy and political conflict. This version is a testosterone-charged monster brawl wrapped inside a Ranger training **** biggest challenge for War Machine is its own excess. Even with a runtime barely exceeding ninety minutes, the film often feels longer than it needs to be. The tonal shift between grounded realism and alien warfare never fully stabilizes, leaving the movie caught between two competing identities. Still, there is a certain reckless charm in the spectacle. Hughes directs the action with blunt-force enthusiasm, and Ritchson’s towering physical presence makes him a natural anchor for the film’s relentless combat sequences. If the premise sounds absurd, the movie rarely pretends otherwise. "War Machine" delivers exactly what its title promises: an unapologetically loud barrage of military bravado, monstrous threats and explosive chaos. For viewers seeking thoughtful science fiction or nuanced war drama, the film may feel exhausting. But for audiences craving a rowdy blast of creature combat and action spectacle, War Machine provides plenty of mayhem.

"Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man" is a stylish and immersive continuation to a complex long running series but struggles with uneven pacing and underdeveloped characters. It’s been a while since the electric atmosphere in the cinema was this palpable. The love for Tommy Shelby, the Manchester crime world, and flat caps clearly hasn’t wavered after all those years. It was finally time to see how writer Steven Knight’s (Locke) global TV hit translates to the big screen. What used to be the title track of the series is now used much later in the story. However, when this needle drop hits, it sets in motion one of the movie’s most iconic scenes. It takes a while to get there, and the drawn-out first act makes it feel even longer. After the explosive bombardment of a Birmingham arms factory, director Tom Harper (Wild Rose) and Knight take it down an entire notch action-wise. They take the camera to a secluded mansion beyond Birmingham, where Tommy Shelby (Cillian Murphy) is now a mere trace of the man he once was. Gone are the days of him being one of the most feared gang bosses in Birmingham, as the memories of his late brother Arthur and daughter leave him drained. Even his attempt at writing his definitive autobiography, which is the laughing stock for the people around him, doesn’t make the ghosts disappear. On the contrary, when the spitting image and sister (Rebecca Ferguson) of his deceased love appears on his doorstep, the demons from his past start to haunt him even more. While the introduction of Ferguson’s Kaulo provides more direction for Tommy, as her news about his troublesome son Duke (Keoghan) sets his life in motion, it has little impact on the film. It provides the opportunity to give Ferguson a strong female presence and significantly more magic to the Peaky Blinders world, but Knight soon discards her character to the sidelines. The same applies to Sophie Rundle. Besides experiencing the emotional influence her Ada has on Tommy and her character’s role as an MP in Birmingham, Rundle contributes very little to the overall storyline. That’s certainly not due to bad acting, as the Bodyguard actress delivers a striking performance. It is because Knight underuses her completely, which is where it becomes clear that Peaky Blinders works much better as a series than as a film. had been six 50-minute-long episodes instead of a 112-minute feature, as there are certainly many scenes that could have been the ending of an episode, the supporting characters would be much more fleshed out. How did Ada navigate the events after the last season? How did she secure the political spot that once belonged to Tommy? What has she been up to? We know little to nothing about her comings and goings, as the filmmaker rightly wants to shine the brightest spotlight on Tommy. If Knight had dedicated one episode to Ada, her life and her strengthened connection with her brother, her presence and emotional impact would be far greater, allowing Rundle to become a far more significant presence. The only two characters that hold comparable weight to Tommy are Duke and **** sympathiser John Beckett (Tim Roth). After hearing that Duke is raiding government artillery depots as the malicious leader of Gen Z Peaky Blinders and has formed a secret alliance with Beckett to distribute counterfeit money, Tommy heads back to his original stopping ground. Say farewell to the lengthy scenes of him wandering around his decaying house, smoking opium and visiting the graves and be ready to embrace him laying down the law in the most stylish and explosive way. Tommy’s triumphant return results in the familiar ‘booting up and suiting up’ sequence, which certainly is one that will delight the fans, while also making the feature feel more like a movie than a prolonged episode for the very first time. When waging the emotional war with his son and the physical war with the ****, Tommy shows that he’s still the true alpha male, no matter how many times Duke tries to outshine him. Murphy gives once again an effortlessly charming and ruthless performance, while Keoghan delivers a solid effort, matching his ****, suave style, and squared-jaw appearance with a composed performance. While Duke could have easily been a cold-hearted ruffian, Keoghan does add the necessary subtle emotion without turning the movie into a drama. He could easily carry an entire episode on his own, and Roth could do the same. While his larger-than-life **** feels slightly over the top at times, Roth’s always enjoyable acting and the strained yet sadly unexplored relationship between Duke and Beckett add an extra explosive spark to the movie.

"Hoppers" is wild funny clever and one of Pixar’s stronger overall originals. Daniel Chong uses his irreverent nature he learned from Cartoon Network to give us an environmental adventure for kids and adults with a great cast led by Piper Curda and his collaborator Bobby Moynihan. Pixar fans have two new releases to be excited for in 2026. Later this summer, Woody and his roundup gang of toys will return in Toy Story 5. But first comes the arrival of their latest original film, Hoppers. While they have found critical and commercial success with most of their sequels, Pixar’s early original efforts draw more passion. Recent originals, Luca, Turning Red, Elemental, and Elio, may not have reached the heights of the studio’s glory days, but "We Bare Bears" creator Daniel Chong brings his zany sensibilities to this delightfully madcap adventure. The film begins with an unusual premise that feels perfectly suited to Pixar’s long tradition of imaginative storytelling. Daniel Chong’s animated adventure introduces a young environmental activist who attempts to save the wetlands she loves by transferring her consciousness into a robotic beaver. The concept may sound strange, but in typical Pixar fashion, the film transforms that eccentric idea into a warm, thoughtful exploration of activism, empathy and the fragile connections that hold the natural world together. The story follows Mabel (Piper Curda), an environmentally conscious college sophomore whose favorite place on Earth is a tranquil lake surrounded by forest. Her peaceful sanctuary is threatened when plans emerge to demolish the wetlands and build a new highway. Determined to protect the ecosystem she cherishes, she frequently fights against Mayor Jerry (Jon Hamm) as he plans to destroy an abandoned glade in Beaverton with a freeway. Her last chance at preserving the glade comes when she discovers an invention by her professor, Dr. Sam (Kathy Najimy), one that she amusingly exclaims “is nothing like Avatar.” The “Hoppers” program allows humans to inhabit an animal robot and talk with other animals. Mabel “hops” into a robotic beaver and goes on a mission to bring a slew of displaced animals back and save the glade. On her journey, Mabel meets a community of animals and their head beaver, King George (Bobby Moynihan). He teaches her about the pond rules that allow for the critters to live in harmony. This includes answering the obvious question on the audience’s mind: what happens when someone has to eat? Well, as King George answers with a matter-of-fact glee, “If you gotta eat, eat!” This sets the tone for the oddball comic energy present throughout. The many animals Mabel encounters all have their own set of witty peculiarities. Loaf (Eduardo Franco) brings a mellow beaver with a chill vibe around the pond. A very hungry bear named Ellen (Melissa Villaseñor) gets lots of laughs as she goes between grumpy and nonchalant. The Animal Council contains the Bird King (the late Isiah Whitlock Jr.), the Fish Queen (Ego Nwodim), the Amphibian King (Steve Purcell), the Reptile Queens (three snakes all played by Nichole Sakura), and the Insect Queen (Meryl Streep). Each of the leaders gets an opportunity to be funny, while not undercutting their intimidating presence as they take Mabel’s mission too far, plotting to squish the humans that displaced them. Dave Franco plays the unhinged son of the Insect Queen, Titus, a perfect casting choice that unleashes his wild side as a performer. And of course, Tom (Tom Law), the lizard that went viral online, is a riot. Fans of Chong’s We Bare Bears will relish in the absurdity, going further than anything Pixar has put out. He and Luca screenwriter Jesse Andrews developed the story together, with Andrews writing the screenplay. The comedy consistently hits hard with plenty of hilarious jokes and a handful of shocking developments that will have the audience howling in laughter. But what takes Hoppers to the next level is how it slows down in between the laughs. Chong and Andrews allow space for the characters to sit with their surroundings, soaking in the beauty of nature and the lives within. The film establishes Mabel’s love of the natural world as a bonding connection between her and Grandma Tanaka (Karen Huie). These scenes are conveyed patiently and with great poignancy. That calmness transfers over to her connection with King George as he holds firm to his belief that the pure-hearted good within us will prevail. "Hoppers" packs more laughs than any Pixar film in recent memory, complemented by a loving reverence for nature and community. It is hard to imagine coming away from this film not being swept up by its unabashed silliness and sincerity. In a time when the state of the world can feel so dour, Daniel Chong’s film reminds us that strength resides in unity. As sappy as it may sound, it champions the expression of “we’re all in this together.” There will always be people out there fighting the good fight.

"The Bride!" is a bold but uneven gothic romance reimagined as a classic monster tale. The Bride! begins with resurrection, not merely of flesh but of imagination. Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Gothic romance revisits the mythology of Bride of Frankenstein and Mary Shelley’s original Frankenstein, transplanting the familiar story into the smoky jazz clubs and restless streets of 1930s Chicago. What emerges is a strange and often ridiculous reimagining that blends monster mythology, romance, with social rebellion that doesn't feel earned or well established about women’s agency in a patriarchal world. The film opens with the restless spirit of Mary Shelley, portrayed by Buckley, lamenting that her original literary creation remains incomplete. In death she still searches for inspiration. That quest leads her to Ida, a free spirited woman moving through Chicago’s nightlife as a moll tied to mob culture. During a chaotic night out, Shelley’s spirit seizes Ida’s body, altering her personality so dramatically that the people around her react with violence. A fall down a flight of stairs ends Ida’s life. Meanwhile, another wandering figure moves through the city’s shadows. Frank, played with wounded sincerity by Christian Bale, arrives seeking Dr. Euphronious, portrayed by Annette Bening. Created more than a century earlier, Frank’s request is simple. He wants a companion. He wants someone capable of loving him. Reluctantly, Dr. Euphronious agrees to help. Their grim search leads to a graveyard where Ida’s body is recovered and transformed through the familiar ritual of electricity and unnatural science. When the Bride awakens, she carries none of Ida’s past memories. Instead, she embodies a strange fusion of innocence and rebellion. Her first encounter with Frank is far from romantic. Confronted with his grotesque appearance, she bluntly tells him she prefers distance. (It doesn’t help that Mary Shelley is still banging about in her re-invigorated head.) Frank basically grants Ida a new lease on life, which she takes to with wild and somewhat reckless abandon, leading to her and Frank going on the run together. The most salient point that The Bride! strives to make concerns the structural social limits on women’s agency. The 1930s world that Gyllenhaal brings to the screen is a familiar one, where women are sidelined at best and brutalized at worst by men taking their liberties with them. It’s a world where Ida dancing in the middle of a nightclub invites groping, abusive hands, or a highly competent woman must play second fiddle to a criminally negligent lead detective (who also happens to be an accidental murderer). The active and passive diminishing of women exists in every frame, a thematic contrast to Gyllenhaal’s free-flowing, wildly idiosyncratic visual and tonal flourishes. She and cinematographer Lawrence Sher frequently experiment with color and scale, phantasmagoric imagery, and Old Hollywood references throughout the film. Ida’s deadly fall down the stairs is framed as a cosmic and spiritual transfer of one’s soul, hinting at her imminent rebirth. Her revival in Dr. Euphronious’s lab is a dazzling, explosive light show, speaking to the opportunities she will ostensibly have in her second life. The film’s most unhinged (and glorious) sequence has Frank and Ida turning a glitzy New York party into a “Thriller”-esque flash mob set to Irving Berlin’s “Puttin’ on the Ritz.” At the film’s best, Gyllenhaal eschews convention and gleefully embraces the absurd, macabre foundations of the Frankenstein mythos, enveloping us in an atmosphere. However, time begins to soften the tension between them. Without the burden of memory, the Bride begins to discover the world anew. Frank, who finds joy in watching classic musicals starring entertainer Ronnie Reed (Jake Gyllenhaal), reveals a gentle fascination with performance and spectacle. Their bond slowly forms through shared curiosity rather than destiny. When Frank violently defends her from a pair of attackers, their connection transforms into something deeper. Soon the pair embark on a cross country odyssey, evading authorities while embracing a life defined by pleasure, freedom, and defiance. Meanwhile, the Bride’s increasingly flamboyant persona begins to inspire women who see her as a symbol of rebellion against restrictive expectations. What begins as a monster narrative evolves into a broader exploration of identity, liberation, and companionship. While its overarching theme is very compelling, The Bride! stumbles in the execution of the story itself. As Frank and Ida continue their crime spree, it becomes less clear what we’re supposed to make of their romance. Are they star-crossed lovers with a penchant for murder, or are they each other’s ruin? Their relationship may sit in a middle space, but Gyllenhaal doesn’t provide enough about them for us to say definitively.

"Operation Taco Gary's" is an irreverent conspiracy theory comedy with honorable intentions. is one of those offbeat comedies where you’re all in on what it’s selling, or it won’t be for you. Maybe it’s because offbeat comedies have been missing like this in the marketplace, but I was mostly invested in all of the film’s silliness, its broad comedy, and truly out-of-this-world characters. Written and directed by Michael Kvamme in his feature directorial debut, Operation Taco Gary’s is one part a collection of comedic moments probably best served when you’re stoned with your friends, but it also has a little to say about making sense of the world we’re living in. Perhaps the best thing to accept about this nonsensical universe is that nothing really makes sense, and not to drive yourself crazy, you have to scream into the void, get your frustrations out, and carry on. This can be enjoyed without deciphering its true message, but it’s appreciated when even the silliest of comedies that begin with the mysterious death of American Pie’s Jason Biggs have a little something to say beneath the surface. Danny (Simon Rex) and Luke (Dustin Milligan) are estranged brothers, with the latter a paleontologist preparing to move to Ottawa for a new job. During his moving sale, his older brother, Danny, arrives with tales of his very own new job in Tucson, and, perhaps against his better judgment, Luke looks at this as an opportunity to have him ride along. It doesn’t take too long to figure out why the brothers are estranged. Danny is a free spirit and a conspiracy theorist who doesn’t have a good relationship with the truth. Danny’s sudden arrival in Luke’s life again comes with its own agenda, and a part of it has to do with what’s going on at the Taco Gary’s fast-food chain and the mysterious death of actor Jason Biggs (the less you know about the journey, the better). To say more about the plot would ruin some of the fun, but it should be noted that most of the fun comes from the very committed performances of the cast. Rex is wonderfully unhinged as Danny and brings a manic energy to the role that suits his comedic capabilities. You have to question the stuff he’s spouting off about (he frequently utters the phrase “I haven’t been honest with you”), but also have a sense that he COULD be telling the truth. It’s to forget that Rex can be a spark in some of his projects, something he demonstrated perfectly in 2021’s Red Rocket and in a supporting role in 2024’s Blink Twice. Milligan provides an essential counterbalance to Rex’s Danny (who, despite Rex’s committed portrayal, isn’t the best person to be around on his own) and comedically portrays the growing disbelief and aggravation with his brother as more of the story unfolds. Together, they share the appropriate chemistry to make this work because, as with any road trip movie where you’re mostly stuck with a pair of characters, it must be time well spent for the audience. Thankfully, that’s mostly the case here. The film also does its own share of world-building that works within the framework of its story. Part of Danny’s conspiracy theory is that “The Coalition,” a standard shadowy organization, is actually in control of our planet, and Taco Gary’s fast-food chain is our only safe zone. In the universe of all this craziness, other characters drive the story. There’s Tiago (Arturo Castro), a one-eyed agent who is in pursuit of Danny, and a girl named Allison (an underused but effective Brenda Song), who is an ally of Danny’s and serves her a role as a “badger,” making her necessary for crossing into Canada while she’s deep undercover at her job at a trampoline park. No one said this was MCU world-building, but it’s so specific to the film that it’s hard not to be caught up in the wackiness of its charms. At the film’s core, though, beyond the conspiracy theories, extraterrestrials, and escalating silliness of the plot, this is a story about brotherhood and accepting family despite the dysfunction. Danny and Luke couldn’t be any more different. As Luke gets wrapped up even more in Danny’s unhinged world, it’s clear that there is a reason he’s there and why Danny, despite not filling him in from the jump, trusted Luke enough to go on this journey with him. What surprised me the most was that there were consequences and poignancy that paid off, which gives the movie a beating heart. "Operation Taco Gary’s" is really about accepting the chaos in the world because, despite some of our best efforts, chaos will exist, and we simply have to carry on. Sure, it involves a secret organization led be celebrities and it may have been founded by aliens and it features a standout sequence involving cocaine and ketamine but, once you get passed all of that craziness, it’s really a movie about loyalty and learning that, even if you can’t understand everything in the world, you can certainly find a way to live in it.

"Crazy Old Lady" is an interesting exercise in style, the film confirms Mauregui's ability to build atmosphere and direct actors, although his narrative approach seems to stall before reaching the intensity it promises. Martín Mauregui masterfully touches on the impacts of dementia while also delivering bone-chilling scares. It's a wild roller coaster ride that rarely gives you a moment to breathe. And that's the best kind of horror.

"Idiotka" is a fun, irreverent comedy oozing with originality that explores identity, artistic expression, self-exploitation, and the American Dream. Writer-director Nastasya Popov makes her feature directorial debut at SXSW with Idiotka, a fashion-fueled story about chasing your dreams, which she developed with producing partner Tess Cohen (They Call Me Magic). Inspired by aspects of her own experience growing up in a Russian immigrant household, Popov tells a unique tale that’s personal, comical, smart, and all-around fun. The film opens with frenetic energy and smash-cut editing that sets a chaotic tone. Aspiring designer Margarita Levlansky (Anna Baryshnikov, also an executive producer) begins recording a self-tape for a fashion competition, trying and failing to appear composed. Her home environment, a small apartment in the Russian district of West Hollywood where she lives with her babushka Gita (Galina Jovovich), father Samuel (Mark Ivanir), and brother Nerses (Nerses Stamos) is as claustrophobic as it is lively. They’re months behind on rent, and an eviction notice is imminent. Loving the unhinged nature of her audition tape, producer Nicol (Camila Mendes, also a producer) decides Margarita’s intergenerational struggle is just what they need on the Project Runway-esque reality competition Slay, Serve, Survive, hosted by Oliver Knowles (Owen Thiele). Yes, her thrifty style is impressive, but what they really want is to exploit that juicy personal trauma. Although she tries to resist sharing everything about her family’s life, Margarita quickly realizes that she needs to lean into it just to stay a contestant. And with a $100,000 cash prize on the line, she has to do some things she’ll come to regret. Anyone who’s seen reality TV knows how exploitative they are, and adding competition to the mix only adds more chances of humiliation and drama. Idiotka is just as much about fashion as it is about the Russian immigrant experience. Margarita’s grandmother, a former sewing teacher, plays a significant role in her life and ambitions as a fashion designer. Gita has an entrepreneurial spirit and encourages her granddaughter to work hard, never letting anything get in her way of success. She understands the public’s need for spectacle and seemingly doesn’t mind Nicol’s invasive tactics for content. However, her son, Samuel, a disgraced doctor unable to find work, is very private and tries to stay out of the spotlight. The Levlansky family are a spirited bunch, but the film has quite a few larger-than-life characters who manage to be the right amount of eccentric without completely overshadowing others. The three judges — Emma Wexler (Julia Fox), Jonathan Smith (Benito Skinner), and Candy (Saweetie) — each have familiar personalities without being obvious caricatures. Margarita’s fellow contestants don’t make as big of an impact, but they represent different styles like coquette core and indie sleaze. Manipulative yet possibly genuine producer Nicol is one of the more interesting characters. Her motivations seem straightforward: get as much spectacle and vulnerability on tape as possible. However, there’s nuance to her relationship with Margarita. She becomes a friend and mentor, offers real advice, and stays cool under immense pressure. Both have contradictory aspects to them, showing how they try to balance the harsh realities of the entertainment industry with having empathy for others.

"The Napa Boys" and its alt-comedy cast brings a cult comedy approach to its spoof of Hollywood’s franchise filmmaking, with the anarchic comedy boasting a cast of alt-comedians.

"Undercard" is a relationship drama disguised as a boxing film that doesn’t succeed in either genre or realm.

"Dreams" is less like a mismatched romance and more like a case study in benevolent cruelty. Michel Franco's latest film asks us to look closely at how wealth can perform compassion while quietly practicing domination. True love is selfless and does not compartmentalize. At the film’s center is Jennifer, played by Jessica Chastain, a San Francisco philanthropist whose money funds Mexican arts programs even as her day-to-day interactions with Mexicans reveal a transactional, extractive ethic. Jennifer is all about tidy compartments and well-defined margins. Director Michel Franco opens this film with the sound of terror. We hear bodies trapped in a truck crossing the desert, screams ricocheting in darkness before daylight and expulsion. One of those bodies belongs to Fernando, a gifted Mexican ballet dancer played by Isaac Hernández, whose undocumented status becomes the hinge on which every intimacy turns. Franco wastes no time on speeches. The power imbalance is established kinetically, in breath, thirst, and silence. Fernando arrives in San Francisco and slips into Jennifer’s life with the ease of someone who already knows the hiding places. He knows where the spare key is. He eats from her refrigerator. He sleeps naked in her bed. Their sex signals an existing arrangement that works only so long as Jennifer controls the terms. What unsettles her is not the affair itself but Fernando’s refusal to remain where she puts him. The chill does not come from age difference or erotic secrecy. It comes from how fluently Jennifer converts affection into leverage. She runs a family foundation with her father and brother, underwriting a dance academy in Mexico City and a ballet studio for underserved kids in San Francisco. She flies private. She glides from gala to gala. She is the type of donor institutions depend on and quietly fear. Her goodness is managerial. The film’s most damning details are small. Jennifer speaks no Spanish despite her constant presence in Mexico and her insistence on funding Mexican culture. When she gives instructions to her housekeeper, the orders are translated through Google Translate, stripped of dignity. When Fernando speaks Spanish to a waiter, she bristles. The language that holds his life together irritates her. Her philanthropy is expansive, but her ear is closed. Even their sex talk feels cringeworthy and unnatural. Fernando, for his part, wants acknowledgement. He wants to be seen as a partner rather than a liability. When he leaves and finds work cleaning a motel, it is not a fall so much as a restoration of agency. Jennifer’s response is telling. She does not ask what he needs. She hires a private investigator. Care grows into **** Mexico City, Jennifer occupies a gated family home as if it were neutral ground. She visits the academy, notes Fernando’s absence, then confronts his parents with the help of a translation app. His mother’s words cut through even when they are not rendered in English. Leave him alone. Date someone your own age. It is the only adult boundary placed in the film, and it is promptly ignored. What makes Jennifer usurious is not simply that she benefits from Fernando’s precarity. It is that she cannot tolerate a version of him that exists farther than her reach. When his talent earns him a foothold at San Francisco Ballet without her intervention, her pride curdles. She resumes the affair, then places him as a teacher in the new studio, reasserting authorship over his progress. Desire returns with force, but it is braided with bookkeeping. The family’s liberalism is a velvet rope. Jennifer’s father articulates it with exquisite politeness. He is happy she helps immigrants, he says, but there are limits. The phrase floats, genteel, and yet when her brother notices the intimacy, the limits harden. Jennifer responds not by defending Fernando as a person but by protecting her standing. The order of operations matters. After all, Fernando is technically working for her. There are limits to Franco’s approach. The film’s editing and flow leave little room to imagine why these two would like each other beyond appetite and utility. Yet that hollowness may be the point. What looks like love collapses under inspection because it was never equal to begin with. "Dreams" lands as a blunt, by-design parable of North and South exploitation. The affluent wokerati will squirm a wee bit watching this as its force comes from insisting that benevolence can be violent, that support can be predatory, and that speaking the language of justice does not confer it.

"In the Blink of an Eye" is an ambitious attempt to connect humanity, this sci-fi drama ultimately projects a disjointed, poorly executed existential idea that fails to connect the dots with the audience. Director Andrew Stanton weaves together three different stories across three different eras of human history. The result is a streaming epic as painfully sappy as it is structurally ambitious.

"K-Pops" attempts to be heartwarming, succeeding in small stretches, and .Paak uses South Korean locations and culture well, creating charming moments before the offering reaches for more predictable plotting. Despite a thoroughly formulaic narrative arc, this amusing semiautobiographical comedy marking the directorial debut of musician Anderson .Paak carries a sweetness and goofy sincerity. The filmmaker stars as a washed-up nightclub drummer who gets a fresh start working for a reality competition show in Korea, where he runs into a woman (Jee Young Han) from his past and becomes an unlikely mentor for a young contestant (Soul Rasheed, .Paak’s real-life son), changing his future outlook. This affectionate showcase for .Paak’s infectious personality and style is predictable yet charming. And it mostly avoids vanity pitfalls while promoting the ability of music to cross boundaries and unite cultures.

"Scream 7" veers towards both familiar and uninteresting brand-new territories. It doesn't not reach the same heights as other installments and the kills and the return of Neve Campbell is refreshing but it now feels too little too late. For an entry in a film series that imagines itself to be self-aware, Scream 7 appears to have no idea that it is well past time to throw in the (bloody) towel. There is little that’s fresh about this outing, other than the new faces of the actors who join series vets Neve Campbell and Courteney Cox as well as Mason Gooding and Jasmin Savoy Brown. Yet even that fresh blood can’t help Scream 7 do anything other than congeal into something that should’ve died years ago (at least before the making of Scream VI). Original screenwriter Kevin Williamson returns to the franchise, this time as both co-writer and director, but the wit that he brought to the scripts for Scream, Scream 2, and Scream 4 is nowhere to be found. Instead, it’s replaced by at least five winking references to the absence of Sydney Prescott (and Campbell) in the New York murders in the last movie, only a couple of which are actually funny. By the final one, it’s beating a dead horse with far less enthusiasm than a psycho would have for that grisly activity. There are a few requisite call-outs to other, better horror movies (Nightmare on Elm Street, The People Under the Stairs, Friday the 13th), but it’s less interested in the stabs at satirizing the genre. Veep’s Timothy Simons gets the biggest laughs as a high school drama teacher (excellent casting), and Cox’s Gale Weathers remains as delightfully **** as ever, though that owes more to Cox’s delivery than the script. Scream 7 inexplicably follows Scream (aka the fifth one) and Scream VI, rivaling only Fast & Furious in its lack of title consistency. The opening sequence is the series’ weakest; no offense to Jimmy Tatro and Michelle Randolph (whose names I had to look up, which may also be a comment on my aging out of the key demo), but they are no Drew Barrymore. Or Jada Pinkett Smith. Or Liev Schreiber. And their murders (spoiler?) aren’t at the level we’ve come to expect from this franchise that even in its worst moments at least knew how to execute a good kill. There’s a dearth of creative deaths here with a few notable exceptions, but there’s also just a dearth of deaths for the standards set by the series. There are long periods, especially in the first half, where we’re just twiddling our thumbs. It relies more on jump scares than actual tension, thinking that the sound of a box cutter ripping through cardboard is enough to make us leap out of our seats. I was as bored as Matthew Lillard’s Stu Macher in the original, but I turned that complacent energy into something more productive than destructive (aka writing this review and not killing people). It’s great to see Campbell back as Sidney Prescott (Sidney Prescott-Evans now, thank you very much), and while Scream 7 mentions her return eleventy times, it pretends like Sam and Tara Carpenter (Melissa Barrera and Jenna Ortega) from the previous two films never existed. This entry finds Sydney living in the small town of Pine Grove, far from Woodsboro, California, but never far from the trauma that continues to haunt her. She’s now married to the chief of police, Mark Evans (Joel McHale), with three kids, but Scream 7 only really cares about her oldest, Tatum (Isabel May), who is now as old as Sidney was at the time of the Woodsboro murders. Tatum’s friends start dying, and Sidney is once again forced to reckon with masked killers who want her and her loved ones dead. Like every other movie nowadays, Scream 7 incorporates AI into its plot, apparently as much of a requirement for Hollywood screenplays as it is in the workflows of corporate America. Over the course of six previous movies, I have never guessed whose face is behind the Ghostface mask, but I figured it out this time around. I have not gotten smarter, but these movies have definitely gotten dumber—or assume that its viewers have. By its nature, it’s nearly impossible to replicate the first Scream (not to be confused with 2022’s movie of the same name), which upended the genre with intelligence, wit, and affection, all while being fun, funny, and frightening. Scream 7 lacks any semblance of its energy on either the horror or the comedy side of things. It’s not scary, and it’s not that funny. I wish some studio executive had the bravery to kill the franchise. Be sure to shoot it in the head.

"Twenty One Pilots: More Than We Ever Imagined" offers an intimate look at the band's journey, exploring their musical evolution and the profound relationship they have built with their fans. The documentary combines performances, behind-the-scenes moments, and personal reflections that showcase both the pressures of success and the passion for creating music. It is an emotional experience that celebrates the power of music to connect with millions of people.

"Breakfast at Tiffany’s" is a tale about escapism, about realizing that life’s events become different if we change the way we see them, and about finding a place where we can feel good about ourselves. Can't wait to see Lily Collins play her in the movie about the making of this film.

"The Bluff" is a new but disappointing installment in the pirate genre, There’s a genuinely strong premise at the heart of this movie and it’s frustrating because you can see the potential almost immediately. A former pirate who has built a quiet life for herself in the Cayman Islands is forced back into violence when her old captain invades her home and threatens her family. That’s a clean, high-stakes setup as it’s intimate but still large in scope. You have history, betrayal, survival, and a mother protecting her child. That’s not thin material, it’s the kind of foundation you can build something muscular and emotionally grounded on. The film follows Ercell “Bloody Mary” Bodden (Priyanka Chopra Jonas), who has left her pirate days behind and is living peacefully with her husband T.H. (Ismael Cruz Córdova) and their son Isaac (Vedanten Naidoo). When we first meet her, she isn’t framed as a legend but rather keeps things lowkey. She’s a wife and a mother, and her kids have no idea about her past. It makes the return of Captain Connor (Karl Urban) feel personal and high stakes, as he represents a past she actively buried. Priyanka Chopra Jonas does a lot of heavy lifting here, especially physically. The action sequences are where the film feels most confident, and that’s largely because she commits fully. Her sword work feels trained rather than decorative. There’s weight to the choreography, and the close-quarters fighting has intention behind it. When she’s moving through confined spaces or fighting multiple people at once, you can feel the tactical awareness of someone who has survived before. It doesn’t look like a star going through rehearsed motions, but rather someone who understands how her character would fight. Karl Urban, meanwhile, is clearly enjoying himself. He leans into Connor’s volatility and ego, and while the script doesn’t give him layered material, he at least gives the character personality. His appearance alone signals the type of man he is: the messy, almost shoulder-length hair, the unpolished beard, the posture of someone who thinks he owns every room he walks into. He’s not subtle, but he’s not sleepwalking either. You can see the effort. Where the film struggles is in the writing. The central emotional conflict of Ercell reconciling who she was with who she has tried to become never fully develops beyond the surface. We’re told she has a violent past. We’re shown that she’s capable of brutality when necessary. But the internal struggle that should anchor the story isn’t explored in a meaningful way. Her transition back into warrior mode feels too smooth, too clean. The psychological cost of picking up that identity again barely registers. That’s what ultimately holds the film back. It keeps moving forward plot-wise, but it doesn’t slow down enough to let the emotional consequences breathe. The invasion of the island should feel like a rupture. It should change something fundamental in her. Instead, it functions mostly as a trigger for the next action sequence. Visually, the film is a mixed bag. The Cayman setting is inherently cinematic, and there are moments where the landscape adds scale and texture. But the overall look of the movie often feels muted in a way that doesn’t enhance the tone. Rather than gritty or tactile, it can come across as flat. For a film that clearly had the resources to build substantial sets and stage large sequences, the finished product sometimes feels visually underwhelming. The supporting characters don’t get much room to exist outside their narrative function. T.H., Isaac, and Elizabeth are present, and they give Ercell something to fight for, but they’re not written with enough specificity to deepen the stakes. They are more symbolic than dimensional. When danger comes for them, you understand why it matters, but you don’t feel the full weight of it. What keeps The Bluff watchable is its craftsmanship in moments. The action choreography is sharp. The production design has ambition. There are sequences that genuinely work, especially when the story narrows into the mechanics of survival. In those stretches, the film finds focus. You can see what it was aiming for: a raw, contained pirate thriller that emphasizes endurance over spectacle. The issue is that it never quite goes far enough emotionally or narratively to distinguish itself. Outside of having a female pirate lead, which is refreshing but shouldn’t be the only standout quality, the film doesn’t push its themes in an interesting direction. It plays out in a way that feels safe. Competent, but safe. By the end, you’re left with a movie that isn’t bad in execution, but isn’t memorable in impact either. It delivers solid fight sequences and committed performances from Priyanka Chopra Jonas and Karl Urban, yet it stops short of becoming something that lingers. What makes "The Bluff" so disappointing because it fails completely, but because you can see how much more it could have been.

"Fruitvale Station" is still a powerful exploration of a tragedy of Oscar Grant's death that is still relevant of killings that happen today. This is still Ryan Coogler's best movie and Michael B. Jordan's best performance. I really wish they'd make grounded dramas like this more rather than dull genre exercises.

"One Mile: Chapter Two" deepens the emotional weight introduced in the opening and begins to shift the story from introspection to confrontation. If Chapter One was about quiet tension, this chapter feels like movement — not just physically, but psychologically. The protagonist is no longer just reflecting; they’re being pushed to act. What stands out here is the escalation. The stakes feel clearer, and the "mile" starts to take shape as something demanding resilience rather than contemplation. There’s a subtle tightening in the pacing, suggesting that whatever lies ahead won’t be optional — it will be earned. Overall, Chapter Two builds momentum without losing the intimate tone of the story, making it feel like the calm before something much bigger.

"One Mile: Chapter One" is a fun exercise that gives great thrills from Ryan Phillippe. The audacity is in believing the world needed a chapter two, before even seeing Chapter One. While it lacks the inventiveness of most genre films, it has enough action to keep you entertained. sets a powerful emotional tone right from the start. The pacing feels intentional and reflective, drawing you into the protagonist’s inner world before the external conflict fully unfolds. What stands out most is the subtle tension — you can sense that the "mile" is more symbolic than physical, hinting at personal limits, regret, or transformation.

"Diabolic" is a by the numbers possession movie that has some scenes that drag with some acting that isn’t very good, however, the story is strong enough to keep viewers interested with unexpected provocative plot twists and suspenseful scares.

"The Dreadful" is a quasi-remake of a much better Japanese horror film strips its source material of any complexity, idiosyncrasy and nuance.

"I Can Only Imagine 2" is effectively and delicately clichéd and annoying with the way it explores pertinent themes such as intergenerational trauma, the life and death drive, the complex father–child dynamic, the artist’s vocation and the challenges they face.

"This Is Not a Test" is a thin, frustrating zombie film with not much to say weighed down by weak characters and technical shortcomings.

"Psycho Killer" is a laughable attempt at a serial killer slasher that’s only true scare is how bad it is. We all know that there are bad, worthless, even nearly irredeemable films that fail on almost every front, but it’s rare to witness a movie truly fall apart at the seams in real time as it goes on. A complete slow destruction of all the elements that make a film tick, from an increasingly absurdist screenplay to technical aspects that look increasingly fake—essentially the film equivalent of watching a car crash in slow motion. Unfortunately, "Psycho Killer" is a near-perfect example of this endeavor, and it’s even more baffling when you realize the studio and talent behind it. You would expect a movie written by Andrew Kevin Walker, of an actual good serial killer mystery, Se7en, and directed by cemented producer Gavin Polone, to at least be more interesting, but the screenplay is Psycho Killer’s most perplexing attribute. From the laughably bad CGI-covered kills to its simultaneously incomprehensible and rushed central mystery, it seems clear that this film is the product of an over-edited production that unfolds into a complete disaster, not even having the decency of being an entertaining one by the time it reaches its end. The film starts with an intriguing enough setup, opening with State trooper Jane Archer (Georgina Campbell) witnessing her husband and partner officer get gunned down on the road by the titular “Psycho killer” (James Preston Rogers), better known across the country as The Satanic Slasher. The slasher has been murdering people seemingly at random within a straight path of destruction, ransacking pharmacies for drugs, painting pentagrams in blood, and hiding out in motels as he formulates his sickening plan to essentially be known as the ultimate satanist. Jane has obviously been struggling to come to grips with her husband’s murder and thinks each day about what she should’ve done to prevent it on the road that day, and she soon sees the only way she’ll get any sort of closure is if she takes the investigation head-on and finds the killer herself. What ensues is a cat-and-mouse hunt of sorts as Jane uncovers the deeper meaning of the slasher’s satanic motivations, as she uncovers a mental depravity that’s deeply terrifying and will send shockwaves across the nation. It admittedly is a noble effort to just craft a solid serial killer mystery surrounding such dark subject matter, and it seemed that having Kevin Walker as screenwriter was a great addition to aid in that, so it’s insane just how inept the script here is on every level. Every piece of dialogue is so artificial, characters spout constant exposition dumps and random reasoning for things that happen within the mystery, and all the satanic panic ideas behind the killer’s actions, the film throws at the wind never sticks at all; everyone in this film speaks like a robot. God bless Georgina Campbell, as we know she is a more than capable performer from Barbarian fame, but even she can’t save how stale both the writing and her characterization are here. Her arc here is stagnant, just continuously running in circles around the same idea of her blaming the death of her husband on herself, and the people around her reiterating that without expanding on it in the slightest, and somehow, this is the least of the movie’s problems. If we focus on the actual serial killer himself, it becomes even more apparent how badly the film misses the mark. Everything surrounding his satanic “plan” is completely incomprehensible. Not only is there never an ounce of believability to how he’s able to pull off his murders, but the satanic slasher’s kills aren’t even remotely interesting in the slightest. There are numerous points throughout the film’s back half where it dips into straight-up unintentional camp once the slasher meets up with Mr. Pendleton’s (Malcolm McDowell) goofy ass satanic cult, all while the killer has entirely ADR voice lines that sound like a discount Venom, but the film continues to take itself completely seriously, leading to a tonal nightmare that borders on being laughable. After a string of kills that have outstandingly bad CGI and death sequences that feel more in place within a Final Destination film than in this film’s world, we get a complete and utter embarrassment of a third act that makes the previous incoherent stretches of the film’s narrative seem tame in comparison. It would not be a joke to say that every other line throughout this section seems ADR’d, even Georgina Campbell’s final face-palm-worthy quip of “Go To Hell Psycho,” is awkwardly shoved into the movie’s climax, fully cementing the complete unraveling of something I couldn’t even believe was a finished product. It’s rare to see something as incomprehensible in every element, even within other awful movies, but it’s at times almost impressive just how much of a mess "Psycho Killer" really is. Its befuddling narrative will leave you clueless.

"Redux Redux" is a revenge tale worth the trip across the multiverse. The revenge story is familiar ground to trek. In fact, it is almost a cliche subgenre at this point. The premise is straightforward: an aggrieved person enacting their own sense of personal justice against whoever has wronged them. Redux Redux is a film in this mold. An angry mother is tracking down the man who killed her daughter. We have seen this story before, and yet this movie adds a clever wrinkle—the mother tracking down the killer in every timeline. That’s right, a multiverse revenge story is on the menu here, and it is an adrenaline rush that maximizes thrills while still telling us a compelling story of grief, vengeance, and resolve. Irene Kelly (Michaela McManus) is reeling from the death of her daughter at the hands of a vicious killer, Neville (Jeremy Holm). Setting out to avenge her daughter, she kills him. At the film’s opening, we witness her watching his immolation. Justice is served, well, in one timeline. Irene sets out to kill the murderer across parallel universes, allowing her mission to fuel a grief-stricken vendetta. And yet, as she travels across the multiverse, killing him again and again, she faces her own reckoning, putting her own humanity in jeopardy. This film wastes little time on exposition. Given this is an indie-thriller, it maximizes its storytelling by throwing us right into the action. While there might be intrigue over how Irene comes into possession of what essentially is a time machine (that looks like a refrigerator), or the mechanics of the multiverse as it relates to this film’s world, none of those points would enhance the plot; if anything, they would derail us. Logic-hounds might want more info; on the other hand, the script is clever enough to assume the audience is well-versed in the logic of multiverses, thanks to the multitude of films on the subject. The story uses sci-fi trappings without overindulging in them. The multiverse is a tantalizing story concept. Seeing it told this way breathes new life into what feels like a stale idea. Traveling to parallel universes for a singular purpose again is nothing new, but this film manages to give the concept an urgency that feels like we are breaking new ground. Now, in many ways, the multiverse angle is window dressing. A mere plot device that adds a unique spin to the revenge tale. The revelation of the film lies in its characters and performances. Kelly delivers a visceral performance that, in any other circumstance, could have been one-note. Instead, she brings a character with layers, someone more than a grieving mother with an axe to grind. The more times she kills her daughter’s murderer, she loses a bit of herself. The bloodlust glistens in her eyes at first, but it softens and eventually leaves us with a woman well past the edge, but existing in the abyss. Her story ultimately becomes one of redemption. There are clever twists along the way, but the heart of the story centers on Mia (Stella Marcus), a runaway Irene encounters on her travels. After saving her from a certain death at the hands of the monster, the two form a bond. Mia seeks to enact her own vengeance against the killer. Through Mia, we see the dangers of Irene’s continued path and her second chance at motherhood. Moreover, their dynamic adds a breath of humor and warmth to an otherwise grim story. Marcus, for her part, is sensational, creating a character who proves tough as nails on the outside to mask her trepidation and past scars. In addition to characterization and razor-sharp script, the film is dripping with a sense of menace. There is a genuine threat in Neville; the atmosphere oozes with dread, leaving imprints on the armrests and on our bodies, in a cold sweat. The pulsating action builds to a bloody climax that is both triumphant and cathartic. "Redux Redux" lives up to its title and feels like a stirring reinvention of the revenge story.

"Midwinter Break" is a a stirring meditation on faith, commitment, and the enduring power of love but it lacks a sense of urgency that makes us care about these characters. Polly Findlay's film, adapted from Bernard MacLaverty's novel, is beautifully observed and exquisitely acted, but undeniably slow. While Ciarán Hinds and Lesley Manville skillfully convey a relationship founded on the most fragile of intertwining insecurities. They are characteristically terrific playing off each other, this rumination on love and spirituality is so restrained that it at times veers into tedium.

"Paul McCartney: Man on the Run" is a comprehensive documentary about Paul McCartney's life and career from 1970 to 1981 that shows an intimate, funny and sometimes emotional charge through the 1970s as McCartney tried to escape the aftermath of being in the biggest band in the world by forming Wings – who would go on to become one of the biggest bands of the decade. On the whole, "Paul McCartney: Man on the Run" is a visually and technically creative documentary that successfully contextualizes McCartney’s decade of metamorphosis as a person and musician via his second band, Wings.

"EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert" is an exhilarating razzle-dazzle of a live show, a must-see for all Presley fans. From getting a behind-the-scenes look at how he orchestrates his shows, the shows themselves, to hearing his story from him and through his music, this concert documentary is a celebration as well as a reintroduction to who fans believe is one of the best to ever touch a microphone. Making something look easy is hard work. Many will never know the dedication and sacrifice it takes to make challenging look effortless. Sure, some may have natural talents and abilities, but to reside at the top of your craft or be heralded as one of the best, hyper-focus, countless hours of practice, and even failures must be endured. No one sees all the occasions you forfeited time with friends and put a pause on love. They don’t see the sleepless nights of trial and error and the strain on your bank account. So, next time you envy, criticize, or celebrate someone and their craft, remember they may have outworked everyone else. You can’t spell pelvis without Elvis, and you’ll want to move yours as you witness the so-called King of Rock and Roll on screen like never before. Directed by Baz Luhrmann, EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert is guaranteed to have you all shook up. Baz Luhrman when he directed the Elvis biopic felt so artificial and messy and didn't feel like the biopic the legend truly deserved because of Luhrman's tendency to flamboyantly over-stylize everything and telling the story from the point of view of the Col Tom Parker character played so terribly by Tom Hanks. Here he makes a really immersive concert film with in depth experience giving us a more intricate look at the musician. EPiC details the journey from the ‘Hound Dog’ singer’s movie career and military stint to his return to the stage. Weaving in and out of interview clips, band practice, and unseen concert footage, the film is informative, humanizing, melodically grand, and pure spectacle. Controversies aside, this deeply introspective observation details the joys and pitfalls of an incredibly public life. Whether the focus is scrutiny, difficulties, personal thoughts and feelings, or love, there is a song and performance to match the moment, further expounding on what we are meant to understand. It’s always been deeper than just music. We learn what moves him, his influence, how he organizes and quarterbacks his musical arrangements, and just how popular he actually was. This is the most comprehensive detailing of this era of his life outside of reading a book. It’s an electric event for even the most casual Elvis fan. From a technical standpoint, EPiC is flawless. The editing pieces its narrative together perfectly. The restored audio and video are terrific and are best appreciated in IMAX; it’s sonically exceptional and truly impressive. Also, if you already didn’t have an appreciation for the stage presence of the Memphis Flash, prepare to be blown away. If this is the only type of concert you can attend this year, it will not disappoint. This harmonic voyage is emotional, exciting, resonant, and sure to leave an impression. Furthermore, you may detest parts of his personal life, but you will respect him as an artist. Its rewatchability is high. After this experience, it’s further confirmation that the artistry of music has declined significantly. Seeing how much work and effort he put into his shows, down to the smallest detail, is impressive. Not only was it the movements and timing, but also how the music sounded. There was care in the craft and the words. Now, I’m not saying that it doesn’t exist today, but most modern music is like fast food. Hopefully, watching a legend at work will inspire upcoming artists to put the work in to be great. Because if you want to be considered a musician, you should, as the kids say, know ball.

Despite the fact many people throw crap on "The Judge," it's so rewatchable. Duvall earned his seventh Oscar nomination (his fourth in supporting) for David Dobkin’s John Grisham-esque courtroom drama. He plays Joseph Palmer, the ornery magistrate of an Indiana hamlet who employees his estranged son (Robert Downey, Jr.), a hot-shot Chicago lawyer, to defend him in a murder trial. Even though it's a bit overstuffed trying to be all things to all people: a legal thriller, family drama, Capra-corn Americana, with dialogue written by Nick Schenk who also wrote Clint Eastwood's "Gran Torino," the chemistry between Downey and Duvall is magnetic you can't take your eyes off them. The best moments are also with Downey and Emma Tremblay who plays his 9 year-old daughter and is teaching her how to drive and is telling her that him and her mom are getting divorced which feels honest.

"Get Low" provided Duvall with one of his best late-career roles as Felix Bush, a Depression-era hermit who throws his own funeral while he’s still very much alive. We soon learn Felix’s solitary, cantankerous lifestyle stems from a great tragedy in his past. Director Aaron Schneider does an expert job recreating 1930s Tennessee on a tight budget, while an able supporting cast — including Bill Murray as the town undertaker and Sissy Spacek as a lovely widow — provide Duvall with some fantastic sparring partners.

Cormac McCarthy’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel "The Road" came to the big screen in all its brooding, unrelenting glory. Set in a post-apocalyptic wilderness, Viggo Mortensen is so good as a father desperately trying to protect his son (Kodi Smit-McPhee) as they travel slowly to the sea. Along the way they encounter violent thugs and a near-blind old man (Duvall) who just commands the screen. Director John Hillcoat perfectly evokes the harsh, cold landscape of a frighteningly not-too-distant future, aided by sensitive, perfectly realized performances.