F1: The Movie is Joseph Kosinski’s latest addition to the mentor-hero formula he previously explored in Top Gun: Maverick. Once again, an experienced veteran is brought in to train the next talent. While the structure is effective, it feels repetitive and familiar. The film falls into nearly every typical blockbuster trap, cliché one-liners, exaggerated emotional beats, and a Hollywood gloss that often feels too polished to be genuine. Some lines, like “Let’s build you a car” or “But we have the pilot,” feel manufactured and hollow. Despite this, the film’s strength lies in its technical aspects. The racing scenes are well crafted, and the sound design delivers (thanks to Lewis Hamilton who made sure of this and was also the producer of the film). The pacing is well managed through a series of tension peaks, major crashes, scandals, keeping the audience from disengaging. It attempts to broaden the narrative beyond the drivers, especially with the storyline of the young female technician; but it is underdeveloped so you loose interest in her storyline and end up not understanding why they are giving her so much screening time. Inclusion is visible and intentional across age, race, and gender. Ultimately, F1 is watchable and visually engaging, but narratively safe. It delivers what it promises, but no more. The hype may have raised expectations too high for what is, at its core, a decent but predictable ride.
The live action How to Train Your Dragon is one of the few remakes that actually works. It sticks to the original story, keeps all the important moments, and captures the same emotional core. Some scenes were cut or changed, but nothing that messes with the main plot. These edits felt practical, especially since live action films can’t move as fast or be as exaggerated as animation. One of the smartest choices was having Dean DeBlois, who wrote and directed the original trilogy, direct this one too. He knows this world and these characters inside out, and you can tell. It feels like it was made by someone who really cares about what made the first movie so special. Mason Thames (Hiccup) and Nico Parker (Astrid) both did a great job. They were charismatic and easy to connect with. Gerard Butler, though, was a bit much for me; his performance felt too exaggerated at times, kind of cartoonish in a way. The visuals were honestly amazing. The special effects were solid across the board, and Toothless looked great, realistic but still full of personality. Even though this is clearly aimed at kids and younger audiences, it doesn’t feel lazy or watered down. Compared to all the disappointing live action remakes we’ve seen lately, this one is a relief. It knew what it wanted to be and stuck with it, and that makes all the difference.
Cinema Paradiso is about life: the beautiful moments and the difficult ones. It's a coming of age story; a movie about growing up, losing things, and loving something so much it changes your life. It follows Salvatore, a kid living in a small town in Sicily after World War II. His dad never came back from the war, his mom is doing the best she can, and the only escape in that town is the local movie theater. The cinema becomes everything for him: it's where he hangs out, learns, and starts to dream and escape the monotony of the town he lives in as well as the sad reality that his dad is never coming back. It’s also where he meets Alfredo, the man who runs the projector at the movie theater. Alfredo ends up becoming the father figure Salvatore needs. He teaches him how to work the reels but more importantly, he becomes his mentor and his guide. Their relationship is one of the most powerful parts of the film: it’s honest, emotional, funny and just unforgettable. it has stayed with me all this time. It’s through Alfredo that Salvatore starts to understand the world and himself. You also see how the town and the cinema change with time: how people watch movies, how censorship worked back then, and how little by little the old world disappears. But the story always stays focused on Salvatore and his path from boy to man. The cinematography is simple. Don’t expect super artistic shots or crazy visuals. The story and the characters are what matter here, and the way it’s filmed just helps bring that to the front. Ennio Morricone’s music is incredible. It gives the movie its emotion. It's one of the best scores I’ve ever heard.
Yes, it’s a long movie. But so much happens in the middle that it never feels dense. There are little emotional peaks all the way through; some moments hit you with sadness, others with joy, nostalgia, even dread. It captures all the emotions that come with life. The ending is one of the best full circle moments I have ever seen.
El secreto de sus ojos is one of those rare films that balances emotional depth, political weight, and a story that stays with you long after it's over. It's not about figuring out who committed the crime, we learn that halfway through. It's about what happens next: how justice gets twisted, how people become consumed by the past, and how some wounds never **** story moves between the 1970s and the 1990s in Argentina. That time jump isn’t just for plot, it shows how deeply the country changed (or didn’t). In the ’70s, Argentina was under a brutal dictatorship, and you can feel that tension in every frame: the fear, the silence, the corruption. The city looks worn down, the institutions broken. In the ’90s, things look more stable on the surface, but the trauma is still there. That’s the world Ricardo Darín’s character lives in, one where justice was never served and time didn’t fix anything. Darín is incredible, as always. His character, Benjamín, is haunted, not just by the murder, but by everything around it: the love he never acted on, the system that failed him, and the past he can’t let go of. Guillermo Francella, though, is the heart of the film. He gives it soul, humor, and tragedy all in one. The soccer monologue about the significante of passion is incredible. Easily his best role. The writing and direction are sharp. Every detail matters. The way the film uses color, especially red, to represent love, violence, and obsession is powerful without being overdone. And the structure, jumping between past and present, keeps you fully engaged while slowly revealing what happened. And then there’s the ending. That final plot twist is one of the most unforgettable I’ve ever seen. It’s not just shocking, it completely reframes everything you thought you understood about the story and the characters. It lands with the kind of emotional weight that very few films ever achieve. It’s emotional, intelligent, and absolutely unforgettable.Also, please don’t confuse this with the American remake. It doesn’t even come close. Score: 10/10
Caramel is one of those hidden gems that stays with you long after the credits roll. Directed by and starring Nadine Labaki, the film uses beautifully intimate extreme close-ups to immerse us in the emotional world of five women navigating love, duty, and desire in a conservative Lebanese society. What makes this film remarkable is how it treats its characters with empathy and depth; every scene feels quite intimate. The storytelling is simple but very powerful; it becomes a quiet ode to female friendship: unconditional support, raw, and deeply relatable. Women will see themselves in these characters; men should watch to understand them better. It’s an intimate, sensory experience with a lot of heart and meaning.
Beautiful Boy is one of those rare films that quietly delivers a devastating emotional impact and I genuinely don’t understand why it flew so under the radar. Its lack of promotion, limited theatrical release (it didn’t even reach some countries), and the overall absence of buzz is baffling considering the strength of what’s on screen. Steve Carell and Timothée Chalamet give incredible performances. The diner scene is unforgettable: raw, heartbreaking, and impeccably acted. The screenplay, based on David Sheff’s memoir, doesn’t sensationalize or sugarcoat addiction. Instead, it leans into the messiness, the painful cycles of relapse, and the emotional toll on both the addict and the family. Even if you haven’t experienced addiction firsthand, the film taps into something deeply human, the helplessness, love, and frustration of watching someone you care about disappear into something you can’t control. It’s not easy to watch, but it’s honest, and that’s exactly why it works. That said, this is a heavy drama that deals with an intense subject matter. If that’s not your kind of story, fair warning. But if you’re open to something emotionally honest and beautifully performed, this is a film that deserves far more attention than it got.
James Mangold’s A Complete Unknown aims to tell the story of Bob Dylan during a key moment in history, but it doesn’t quite land. Mangold, known for emotionally strong and fast-moving films like Ford v Ferrari and Logan, takes another approach here. But while the slower pace fits Dylan’s vibe, it also makes the film feel too long and, at times, flat. Timothée Chalamet gives a strong performance. He really becomes Dylan, nailing his voice, his energy, and his presence. But the script doesn’t give him enough to work with. We don’t see many emotional highs or lows, no real struggle or even happiness. Chalamet is clearly capable of more, but the material holds him back. The movie runs for over two hours and could easily be shorter. There are several scenes that could be shorten. That said, one of the film’s strengths is the music. We get full performances of his songs, and they’re placed in historical context: Vietnam, civil rights, JFK’s assassination. Those parts are thoughtful and **** the end, A Complete Unknown has strong acting and great music, but the story isn’t deep or dramatic enough to leave a lasting impression. It’s a film with potential, but the script falls short.
The Apprentice traces the rise of Donald Trump with an unflinching gaze. It doesn’t glamorize or oversimplify. Instead, it carefully constructs the man through the relationships and decisions that shaped him, most notably, his connection with Roy Cohn. Sebastian Stan’s performance as Trump is eerily precise, he captures not just the voice and mannerisms, but the subtle shifts in confidence and insecurity that define him. But Jeremy Strong as Cohn is on another level. He embodies a man both monstrous and deeply human. Strong avoids cliché and builds a complex, layered character who, against all odds, earns our sympathy by the end. That’s a tremendous feat, and he should’ve won the Oscar for it. The infamous dinner scene is unforgettable.
Better Man is not your standard music biopic, and that’s exactly why it works. For once, we get a film that doesn’t sugarcoat addiction or glamorize the darkest parts of fame. It leans into the discomfort, and that honesty is refreshing. Even more impressive is the bold artistic decision to portray Robbie Williams as an ape. It’s strange at first, but as the film unfolds, it becomes clear: this is a man emotionally unevolved, burdened by childhood trauma, impostor syndrome, and the inability to heal. The metaphor hits hard. And although I usually find musicals cringeworthy, the musical sequences here are a pleasant surprise, beautifully shot, emotionally driven, and integral to the story’s rhythm. This is more satire than straight drama, and it fits Robbie’s personality perfectly. Better Man stands out in a sea of biopics that feel and look quite similar.
