Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma (2026)

Score: 5 / 5

Jane Schoenbrun does it again, and this time, in a film that feels tailor-made for me personally. Have you ever felt that way about a film? Scholar and writer Pierre Bayard suggests that we all have a book inside ourselves that is always looking for its perfect match from an external artist, and that our preferences in art are shaped by how well (or not) new art "fits" our mold. I don't know how they did it, but Schoenbrun did that for me here.

Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma concerns, like their previous work, the power of pop culture/art to inform and even determine the identities of young people who consume it. Specifically, it targets fans of '80s slasher franchises who grew up with endless sequels in which Jason and Freddie and Michael are illogically killed and resurrected ad nauseam, roving the American landscape to slaughter sinners from rural Texas to suburban Illinois to Manhattan itself. During this film's opening credits, we're treated to dated and merchandised material related to a fictional version of such IPs, the Camp Miasma franchise, which clearly owned a major stake in the cultural milieu of the in-film world.

Yet, in Schoenbrun's hands, the film is not merely an homage or satire of Friday the 13th. It knowingly and explicitly recalls so many pop horror references -- including name drops like Neve Campbell and Heather Langenkamp, among others, that felt surprising and perhaps even a bit unethical considering their lives and continued careers -- that it often feels less like a fictional film and more like a film student's capstone project. There are also constant overt references to noir and queer films, the most obvious being Sunset Blvd and Sleepaway Camp, which add to the heady mix of cerebral and sensual pleasures offered once the story gets going.

And while I won't get into the plot much here -- it's perhaps the single element that might pull the uninitiated through the otherwise queer horror fever dream -- I do want to recognize that, despite its flamboyance and metatextual fictionality, this might be Schoenbrun's most grounded and accessible feature film yet. Their previous two films -- both excellent, if more understated and quietly disturbing -- premiered at Sundance as experimental and off-kilter entries, garnering cult praise and status as a result. Similarly, in this film, the main character (played by Hannah Einbinder, fresh off Hacks) has just debuted her film at Sundance; we're told it was basically Psycho from the perspective of the shower head, which had me cackling aloud. She's now been tasked with reviving an old, problematic slasher franchise for a studio hoping to capitalize on the queer and progressive niche-to-fringe audience market. After all, you get enough of the weirdos and freaks onboard, and suddenly the niche is mainstream.

In doing so, she becomes obsessed with the original star of the first Camp Miasma film to the point of tracking down the recluse, who has bought and currently lives isolated in the setting of that original film. Enter Gillian Anderson as the unbelievably erotic and insane glamazon who challenges the young filmmaker at every step while inviting her to be more human, less idealistic, and to create real meaning in her art. I was reminded more than once, too, of Chuck Tingle's Bury Your Gays in this film's unabashed lampooning of what happens when big business attempts to dictate new art. Frankly, that the slasher villain of this franchise is a queer mess of a person who wears a sort of camera obscura on their head that is at once vaguely vaginal and reminiscent of characters in Silent Hill; the killer is also called "Little Death," which leads us to lots of potential conversations about violence, orgasms, and one of the most articulate artistic explorations I've ever seen about how and why queer women might especially love these kinds of "unwoke" horror series.

Schoenbrun's direction and writing here is unparalleled in its constantly multiplying layers of meaning. Taking inspiration from classical art, they even manage to pull off an embedded story by showing much of the original "Camp Miasma" film that made Anderson's character a star (and a Norma Desmond wraith haunting the site of her own peak and rot). Humor abounds, especially in the first act, including a few sequences with excess of food -- both candy and fried chicken in gluttonous quantities each -- that had me attempting to stifle my laughter in the chillingly quiet theater. Much like the cartoonishly stylized violence we'll be subjected to in the film, these moments indicate for me that Schoenbrun is adding even more themes here about the consumables that plague artists seeking satisfaction. When in the throes of writer's block or creative drought, we so often gorge on unhealthy sensory things that feel instantly gratifying but never quite fulfill. 

And this is all just the tip of the iceberg. The backgrounds of many scenes are painted in matte style, almost glaringly obvious. A vibrant and emphasized color palette keeps things gay and dreamy. Offbeat needle drops imbue a semi-nostalgic sense of calm and comfortable unease throughout. This film will have many more screenings in my living room, so if you missed it in its limited theatrical release, please know that I'll literally never not want to watch this with you. It's very possibly my favorite film of the year. Let's get into it.

Coyote vs. Acme (2026)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Much like other films of its ilk -- Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Space Jam come readily to mind -- Coyote vs. Acme manages to straddle the age gap with aplomb, offering plentiful laughs and thoughtful cleverness suited for all ages. That this film was shelved for so long and almost scrapped entirely by the studio is a chilling reminder that our presence and financial support of titles at the box office matters and is consequential in terms of what gets produced and distributed!

Opening with a bizarre and delightful notice that the film is "based on a true story," we begin with a prologue indicating that a crime caper is underfoot. An animated Dr. Lorre (modeled after the late great character actor) flees armed Acme agents in his lab, using all kinds of strange company products to deter and stall his pursuers. He's leaked intel to a mysterious contact, but he's caught before he himself can escape. This plot will pick up again later, and while it's not the main focus of this film, it does inform the eventual climax, in which a massive company seeking ever greater profits in order to monopolize and rule the world is brought low by underdogs who have finally had enough of its abuse and exploitation. Hmm... perhaps it's no surprise Warner Bros. nearly axed it for a fucking write-off.

Anyway, screenwriter Samy Burch (whose magnificent work in May December feels like a far cry from her work here, yet she's clearly one of the most capable and insightful new voices we have) masterfully crafts a fun, silly story that should appeal to all ages. After a thrilling opening, she shifts us to a classic setup that feels equally nostalgic and hilarious: Wile E. Coyote, the famous emaciated and nonverbal predator, uses an endless supply of Acme products to attempt to catch and kill his nemesis, the impossibly fast-moving Road Runner. Visual and aural gags abound in this raucous sequence that had some of the loudest laughter I've ever heard in a cinema, and I was easily the youngest person present. 

There's a purity of purpose and of joy in a film like this, thanks to Burch as well as director Dave Green, that doesn't hinge on franchise continuity or on product placement. This movie isn't trying to get kids to buy new action figures or lunch boxes, and there's no annoying music or slapdash action. To be sure: there is action here, but it doesn't have the frenetic editing and obnoxious score that plagues most animated fare for kids these days. This movie knows its primary audience may well be millennials and older generations who could bring their kids or grandkids to appreciate something a bit more mature in nature.

Which sounds weird when so much of the film involves an animated homicidal canine attempting to use rocket shoes to catch his prey, but it works surprisingly well.

The story proper, as indicated by the title, concerns Coyote's ennui about constantly failing in his compulsion. He turns to legal action against Acme after seeing an ad for Will Forte's legal firm. I don't remember Forte's character's name, but it doesn't really matter. He's the "nice guy" lawyer who probably started with a sense of purpose and has been so battered by life that he really only exists to settle cases now. His settlements, moreover, are almost always in favor of Acme itself, who pays pittance to cartoon characters with grievances. In this world -- a strange one that perhaps other films in the IP have addressed, but that depicts cartoon characters living in tandem with the real world, despite having a fairly tertiary role as entertainers instead of fully-fledged citizens -- nobody else seems to care what happens to cartoons as long as they're funny and fairly inconsequential.

At first annoyed and then begrudgingly inspired by Coyote's determination to bring Acme to task, Forte -- along with the audience -- gets swept up into a hybrid mystery-action courtroom drama saga and eventually decides to go for Acme's jugular. They're making, he discovers, intentionally flawed products for cartoons as test subjects, so they can refine their products for much larger and more devious purposes in the "real" world, for humans. Of course, Foghorn Leghorn is the owner of Acme, but he's basically untouchable behind his cadre of sycophants and bullies, led by John Cena and Tweety Bird. Forte is the film's everyman: a down-and-out guy who finally finds a calling, a purpose, and whose earnest efforts to that end are a foil to the rambunctious and often self-sabotaging efforts of Coyote and the other cartoon characters. Even the other humans are a bit ridiculous, but fittingly so. Lana Condor plays the other emotionally affecting role as Forte's assistant (and niece), and their paired performances are so well attuned to each other that it's remarkable to think they're often sharing the screen with invisible scene partners.

Some people might take umbrage with the oft-reiterated mystery plot line, and some might balk at a somewhat inflated runtime. But those are small potatoes when the film's boons keep returning on our investment. I can't even begin to recount the sheer joy of cameos by some of our favorite animated characters in unexpected ways, including Taz, Daffy, and of course Bugs himself. Luis Guzman's strait-laced judge is an absolute pleasure, as is Martha Kelly's deadpan legal partner. There's a car chase, an insane asylum, a tunnel with a train, Goldbergian machines, vaudevillian slapstick, clever puns and adult humor, and a surprisingly touching theme that coalesces in the denouement about the duality of friendship and purpose. We're all chasing our roadrunners, but what do our roadrunners think of us?

Passenger (2026)

Score: 2 / 5

So... hope that your car doesn't get scratched, or you'll be haunted to death?

Andre Ovredal is a solid filmmaker, as evidenced by his remarkable streak of horror films, including Trollhunter, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, The Last Voyage of the Demeter, and of course The Autopsy of Jane Doe, which is a perennial favorite of mine. But even the best practitioners don't land every attempt, and while Passengers has its moments of terror and technical prowess, this was a miss for me. It doesn't even feel like an Ovredal film, and it often gave me the impression it was rushed through production and maybe even had a mix-up of behind-the-scenes folks, because some of its elements simply don't follow through or make sense in retrospect. I'm not even sure I remember enough of it to offer a useful review, but do let's try.

Paramount chose to release Ovredal's latest without much advertising and on a mischosen weekend based on other releases. We might wonder if they did so to "bury" it and push it out of their queue. Even without much public interest (things like Scary Stories and the Dracula chapter can drum up their own audiences just by virtue of their title, whereas this one is generic to a fault -- yes, even in its title), the film should still excite fans of Ovredal in general. It's a low-budget scarefest with only Melissa Leo as a known star in a bit part, and its plot is the kind of B-movie shlock we love to see at midnight screenings and drive-ins.

Belonging to the odd subgenre of "car horror," the film concerns young people driving out in the boonies as they're haunted and hunted by a mysterious and deadly titular hitchhiker. Yet this one is not quite like Duel, The Hitcher, or The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, doubtless because its big bad is -- you guessed it -- a nonhuman, malevolent entity. It pulls more from the likes of Jeepers Creepers in that regard, so if you like that vibe, definitely give this one a try. Ovredal drowns the film in palpable darkness and almost vicious attention to things like headlights and turning signals, so it's a visual feast for anyone eager to peer into the darkness to see that which they probably don't want to see.

There's a suitably spooky opening scene about two young men getting attacked by said ghoul, but the real story -- if "story" is a reasonable word for a road trip through hell -- starts when a young couple (Jacob Scipio and Lou Llobell) move into their renovated van and flee the city to live on the road. This nomadic lifestyle is gaining popularity these days of unaffordable life in conventional settings, but it's obvious these kids are in for trouble. Despite initial excitement, the two aren't really feeling great about such a life six weeks into their new routine; rather, she's not, and it seems less likely that they'll revert to another plan than that they'll break up due to their different expectations and dissatisfactions. Yet before we get into the Nomadland of it all, they come across the boys from the first scene -- what's left of them -- and unwittingly pick up the demonic spirit that caused the horror.

Unfortunately, we get a lot of time spent on the main couple, and they just didn't work for me. We learn a lot about their past, their proclivities, their interests and activities; I just didn't care about any of this wdrldbuildling. We need it (otherwise they're just flesh to become carnage), but I'd have liked more substance to them, and ideally that they'd match attempts at theming once the horror kicks in. Thankfully, the film avoids needless exposition on the Passenger himself, allowing the mystery and horror to take over. That does make some plot points feel underbaked, as we're never quite sure what the "rules" are for him, but I think that helps with the tension in this instance. The plot's premise is too basic and derivative for me to care much about "lore" it might try to build. Think of this kind of film like a ghost story around a campfire; we don't need logic, we need scares.

That is something Ovredal handles well, as always, alongside his cinematographer and editor. There's a scene where the female lead walks across a large empty parking lot at night to her van, and my skin was crawling as the camera spun around her, each time revealing something just wrong in her vicinity. Like the distance between herself, the store, and the van, or the approaching figure of the Passenger himself. Another memorable sequence takes place as the couple camps out to watch Roman Holiday in the woods with their projector, which they end up using to try and light the forest in their attempts to ward off their attacker. These moments will stick with me, even if I don't remember most of the rest of the film. It also -- and this surely sacrificed my pleasure -- often results to intentional comedy, which sapped the film of much of its horror. One-liners, often admittedly clever, are dropped a little too often, and at least one soundtrack choice heading into an important scene made it feel more like a rock concert than a climactic confrontation. 

Nothing wrong with a fun little thrill ride like this, and frankly it's a fine piece of filmmaking. It just doesn't carry much heft or offer anything original, feeling a little too derivative and a little too simple. On the other hand, I'd happily pop this in on a low-stakes date night or Halloween party, especially if it was outside or in a drive-in. Not everything needs to be hyped or promoted to be worthwhile, and many fine films offer serviceable entertainment for those of us who just enjoy squirming in our seats once in a while. 

The End of Oak Street (2026)

Score: 5 / 5

"Greg, you only go to church at Christmas and now you're telling the kids God's looking out for us?"

Do you remember, back in '80s and '90s blockbuster releases, when you could walk out of a film quoting it at several parts because there were some real zingers? "Snakes. Why'd it have to be snakes?" "I'll have what she's having." "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." It was also always about the delivery, and that's something that has gone out of style. Nowadays it would sound cheesy to declare such lines with the same gusto; we've largely moved to a more internalized acting style on screen, with flatter timbre and diminished range of pitch. Just close your eyes and listen to "content creators" online; it's mind-numbing to hear such droning, yet it's affecting all of us and being reflected on the silver screen. Point being: the filmmakers and cast, in this case, knew exactly what kind of film they were making. 

The End of Oak Street throws us back to 1982 in both its setting and its style. Housewife Denise (Anne Hathaway) is secretly writing a novel that seems to verbalize her desire to divorce Greg (Ewan McGregor). Meanwhile, Greg has lost his job and works as a pizza delivery driver to try and make ends meet. Of course this is an absurd premise, but we go along with it (EDIT: I may be mistaken, but I don't think Denise has a job. I'll have to see it again to be sure). Their kids, teens Audrey and Brian (Maisy Stella and Christian Convery), have their own issues that stem directly from their parents' domestic strife: Audrey's a loner and Brian's acting out. Their secrets will all have a reckoning before this drama concludes because, stylistically, these films focus on and usually reinforce the nuclear family, the American dream, and simple morality.

Their neighborhood, in an idyllic Michigan suburb called Flowerdale, is awash in bright amber glow, pulsating with that nostalgic and tactile warmth we recognize from 30+ years ago. This is the kind of dreamlike neighborhood Laurie Strode inhabited in Halloween; that film was shot in California but set in Illinois, and Oak Street was shot in Georgia but set in Michigan. Something about them warmer climes sure does work for a welcoming atmosphere in realizing the world of the film. This is the kind of neighborhood that feels like what we should want. Broad manicured yards with well-maintained fences and community pathways between for the school kids to navigate; clean front porches filled with people, especially during the apparently regular neighborhood block parties; established old trees and gently curving roads; trios of bullies on bikes and teens reading on the roof outside their upstairs window. There's the kindly elderly lady down the street who is Denise's only confidante, the irritable and constantly complaining next door neighbor who threatens the dog, and even the suspiciously tokenized new Black family in the neighborhood, whose daughter will befriend Audrey. Only Audrey, much to Brian's confusion. 

David Robert Mitchell, the Metro Detroit native whose previous films include It Follows and Under the Silver Lake, seems to have quite the bone to pick with these quiet, nice suburbs and their grotesque underbellies. Conspiracies and sex and violence in the geopolitical heart of the American Dream. This time, he compounds his critique not with an embodied moralistic curse or with a trippy odyssey through paranoid possibilities. This time, he... well, in a sense, yes, he does that here, too. But he allows these characters to grow naturally and breathe together. He allows us to get to know and care for them: to see them at ease at dinner, cracking jokes and gossiping about the neighborhood drama. They're so lovely, it hurts extra when the parents start fighting and we're moved to the kids' perspective. These characters aren't communicating healthily, the filmmakers beat us over the head with. This is the dissolution of the family and the neighborhood.

This is also the kind of archetypal nostalgic town that features an omniscient librarian who lives in a beautifully tended, massive green Victorian mansion atop the town's tallest hill. When, researching in the library, Denise fails to identify a mysterious and large new plant in a neighbor's backyard, the librarian instantly recognizes it as an extinct plant from twenty million years ago. And Denise -- and we -- aren't meant to think of that as odd or coincidental or really fucking lucky. We're just supposed to go with it. Because of course our childhood librarian would have been able to instantly identify a prehistoric sapling from a single Polaroid image. 

Oh, right. Did I mention? The twist happens when the family wakes up after a freak storm to discover that carnivorous and predatory dinosaurs are roaming their neighborhood. 

Yeah, this is a horror film, though one determined to make a fairly general audience feel safe and entertained. You might not have guessed it based on my words thus far; that's because the film is really about the family dynamics, and the spectacle is really just a means to enhance and entertain around that drama. Between a few brief moments of awe, this film, much like Jurassic Park, is mostly a strung-together series of increasingly intense set pieces involving the family members fleeing, hiding from, or fighting back against an onslaught of large, reptilian monsters. Actually, much like 65 from a few years ago, this is a rare example of a dinosaur movie for adults that isn't related to the aforementioned franchise. And it's one that, importantly, also makes dinosaurs scary again. These aren't familiar beasts like the T-rex or velociraptors of Isla Nobler; these are freakish, feathered horrors hell-bent on chasing their terrified prey and feasting in the middle of paved roads and mulched flower beds.

The extent to which we want to add meaning to this film will vary on your context. I could not help focusing on some of the surprisingly thoughtful dialogue about philosophy and religion (as you may have guessed from my opening quote), and so I found myself wondering about the Garden of Eden, monstrous reptiles, angelic portals, a devastating fire, two kinds of pristine paradises smashed together, and the characters' forbidden fruits. Most of the film's plot -- from violent episode to intense emotional conversation to violent episode -- feels structured in a predictable, comfortable manner. This fits with the characters' actions, as they repeatedly attempt to batten down their hatches and make themselves more safe by hiding inside, pretending things are normal as they listen to music or drink the last of the milk while they hear neighbors screaming and being eaten just outside. What does it take for sleepy, comfortable American suburbanites to wake up and get to work? To go outside and help the people who need it? Ah, but it's so much easier to convince yourself things outside aren't as bad as they seem; that the media is lying to us so why should we bother to investigate; that personal security is even possible when the world is burning around us.

The horror of the film stems from attempts by the characters to normalize what is, functionally, irrational and actively harmful. A shotgun blast often isn't enough for these monsters. If you think you're safe on the roof, wait till the pterosaurs swoop in. While scouting, the parents come across a mating pair of giant, hairy long-necked herbivores. And when you think you've seen it all, an enormous albino snake slithers all through the house in eerie silence until someone finally notices it and saves its intended prey. And don't get me started on the wormholes. These aren't reasonable things, which makes it all the more anxiety-inducing for us watching when the family starts tearing off cabinet doors to haphazardly board up their windows. Do you really think two two-by-fours and a couple nails will stop a triceratops from smashing through your bay window?

Regardless, what's amazing about this film is how much it packs into a speedy, exciting, and consistently entertaining ninety-something minutes. Plenty of suspense and action for the fans of classics, gore for the horror fiends, inspiring romance for both parents and kids, a feel-good sense of community (and, perhaps, some subversive critiquing for the debaters), a gorgeous and rousing score by Michael Giacchino that felt inspired by John Williams. I hummed theme music as I left the cinema, and immediately started quoting it. At one point, Hathaway tearfully admits that she's "just trying to figure out the least scary way to handle this," which will haunt me for a while yet. These aren't heroic characters in an epic struggle against a dangerous new world. This is the story of a family dissolving and suddenly being forced to choose to help each other try to survive at least a little longer as they come to terms with their own bleak doom.

Easily the surprise of the year, The End of Oak Street is already a forever favorite of mine. It's the kind of rare art that feels tailor-made for me. If Stephen King wrote a Steven Spielberg film inspired by Jumanji and the end of The Lost World: Jurassic Park, this would be it. It's high-concept, chock-full of viewing pleasures, and a perfect end-of-summer flick. And I couldn't be happier with it.

In the Grey (2026)

Score: 3 / 5

Guy Ritchie's latest rambunctious action-filled crime film is a bit of a misnomer.

When something is in a gray area, we usually mean that a situation is morally complicated to the point that no action can be clearly identified as right or wrong. So when Rachel (Eiza Gonzalez), a lawyer and high-stakes strongman for the wealthy and naughty, describes in her opening narration that she lives and works "in the grey," I didn't expect a plot featuring what she'd later call a pincer operation. Before long, we understand that how she recovers debts for rich and powerful clients is to hunt down and corner the debtor using both legal and extralegal means. This means, basically, things like freezing their assets and being formally investigated by court order as well as sending out specialists for violence and terror, all so the debtor pays up. I'm not sure that constitutes ambiguity so much as it describes having a foot in two worlds; she's a merc vigilante who happens to also serve justice in court. It sounds more like the plot of a Shondaland series, doesn't it?

Her best help are her two sons, easily a decade older than she. Sid and Bronco (Henry Cavill and Jake Gyllenhaal) are quirky leaders of a mercenary commando squad, a team of elite operatives who can infiltrate and basically wage war as needed to pressure Rachel's targets into paying their debts. Apparently she saved them, in the recent past, from death row in a foreign prison, and they must have sworn an oath of loyalty to her; Ritchie doesn't tell or show us much, beyond a brief flashback to said release from prison, and some intentionally funny yet confusing language about "mom" and "boys" between the characters. In typical Ritchie style, the rapid-fire dialogue is dry and layered, rendering it occasionally difficult to parse and consume; I watched with subtitles, which helped considerably. 

The performers, at least the leads of whom have worked with Ritchie before, feel lived-in and comfortable, as if we already know them, too. These aren't performances that take us some time to appreciate or settle into; they just are these strange, Coen-brothers-esque people with verbal shorthands and disarming alertness despite seeming so bored. It's like seeing John Wayne or Clint Eastwood in a Western, or Doris Day in a musical: these people seem to simply be their character, even in the public eye, even decades later. Obviously the guys look great, and inasmuch as we can know anything about their internal lives -- the film is quite opaque on that front; this is by no means a movie for studying characters -- it seems they're a couple. Hard to tell, their exact relationship, but one claims the other is his husband and they express love in a stilted, stoic, realistic way. They're definitely more than just brothers in arms, at any rate. And this, too, shapes the unique tone of this film, with its intentionally playful machismo. They and their team share a beautiful dynamic we don't often see in mainstream films, and there are some fun elements of gender play that feel like a throwback to old Howard Hawks movies.

Also typical of Ritchie's projects, there's a profound diversity of eye candy in the film. Despite not capitalizing on the beautiful bodies of his stars, Ritchie offers up a smorgasbord of costumes, locations, and action to keep us interested. Or, rather, entertained. I never once cared about the plot of this film, mired in excessively detailed technicalities of international banking and tactical invasion of an island fortress. Caring about the superficial elements is the game in this kind of film: gorgeous vistas of Saudi Arabia and the Canary Islands, a vehicular chase on dangerous roads and lots of firefights, and knockout habiliments that include seersucker, desert robes a la Lawrence of Arabia, and some devastating suits. These are what carried me through this film.

Which is good, because I am still not entirely sure about the plot specifics. Not due to any fault of the filmmakers, though; this thing is edited to death (by Martin Walsh, prolific editor extraordinaire) in clever montages with explanatory voiceovers about all the various schemes and plots as they unfold. Sometimes live action flash-forwards help us understand that the plan is unfolding as planned, intercut as they are with the map or diagram. But the quick pacing and constant stream of voiceover monologuing left me feeling breathless, bemused, and sometimes befuddled. This may work well for viewers who enjoy the sensory overload that is life with our cell phones, but not so much for me. I enjoy breathing while watching a movie, and being able to focus on something.

And, for goodness' sake, if you're going to cast Rosamund Pike in something, please let her show off. She deserves more time to shine.

Insidious: Out of the Further (2026)

Score: 2.5 / 5

I had rather hoped the series would end with the wrapping of the Lambert story in its fifth installment, The Red Door. But the Further indeed goes further this summer, and its diminishing returns are a disappointing validation of my hope. 

Insidious: Out of the Further continues its franchise-building in this sixth installment. Instead of continuing the trends of Chapter 3 and The Last Key in following medium and psychic Elise Rainier (Lin Shaye) in other paranormal investigations of her long career, the film decides to start a new story. Well, mostly. At the risk of spoiling a key moment for you who might be interested (and who haven't seen any trailers or cast lists), Elise does indeed show up to mentor and save this new protagonist, but it's only in the Further. Because of course, at the end of the first film, she dies. It seems she is continuing her work of shepherding people through the Further and safeguarding the living who enter it, a sort of posthumous chaperone delaying her own rest for the good of others. 

And boy, do we need help. The Further, the series' concept of another dimension like limbo, is bursting with the dead. Ghosts and demons lurk in its ever-swirling misty darkness, and they crave escape and the chance to live again. so when dental hygienist and single mother Gemma (Amelia Eve, of The Haunting of Bly Manor) starts astral projecting, they swarm. Gemma is just trying to have a normal life with her daughter Maya and her cop boyfriend Nick (Brandon Perea, of Nope and Twisters), but she's haunted by memories of her mother, who killed herself twenty years prior. After that upsetting opening sequence, we learn that her mother was mentally unwell through a smattering of flashbacks. What's spooky is that Gemma is starting to act in similar ways, paired well through visual design and composition for our viewing benefit. While she may not be fully conscious of her astral projecting, she is keenly aware that spooky, ghastly figures are stalking her and often invading her home, which is also her childhood house. 

Unfortunately, the film spends far too much time on other elements of plot and theme to be really coherent. The film I just described would have been lovely, especially once Gemma meets Elise and they start ghost hunting. We don't need an extensive backstory for the new villain, a monstrous ghost named Cyrus who, we eventually learn, was a death cult leader and retains his following in the Further, promising them all life again in the living world. We don't need Elise to have an additional character be her avatar in the living world; no shade to Maisie Richardson-Sellers as full-time tattoo artist and part-time medium Clare, who performs very well, but whose role is written seemingly for the sole purpose of having more bodies to scare, injure, and kill in a scary movie. We could have simplified the story, used another generic but visually stimulating demon or entity -- heck, use Cyrus, but cut the dialogue and endless "research" they do on him, and trust the audience to work it out for ourselves! -- and gotten on with the drama and scares.

Because that's what an Insidious audience wants at this point. Family drama and scares. This franchise is to horror films what haunted houses are for Halloween. For those who seek out its unique pleasures, it's a staple in our diet. We want the brooding atmosphere, endless grim anticipation, cheap shocks with jolts of harsh light and sound, zany characters launching themselves from pervasive darkness, and a wandering sense of the netherworld coming too close to our own. Haunted houses aren't for everyone, and you can certainly enjoy Halloween without them, but they bleed into our consciousness even in the festive decoration aisle at your local hardware and grocery stores. Similarly, Insidious isn't for all horror fans, but franchises like this set the standard for those surface-level scares and wickedly fun spectacles of the genre, while proving the financial viability of the genre on an institutional (indeed, global) level. 

But director and writer Jacob Chase manages to handle some clever and novel set pieces effectively, so don't write off this film as a wholly skippable blip in the franchise. I squirmed right out of my seat in not one but two nasty scenes in a dental chair, and there's a nightmarish scene that takes place in a pillow fort -- and no, I will not be elaborating beyond extolling its Backrooms-flavored claustrophobia and its uncanny sound design. It's a spooky little ride that manages to be charming, nonsensical, thrilling, and mostly forgettable, so perfect for a movie night with friends or a date. And it's got some truly bizarre moments (the grapefruits, anyone?) sure to provoke entertaining conversation, if not quite stimulating.

Obsession (2026)

Score: 5 / 5

Be careful what you... oh, you know.

Curry Barker, the 26-year-old former YouTuber, has crafted what might be the defining horror film of 2026, and it's only his first theatrical release. His directorial debut, Milk & Serial, an excellent found footage horror flick from a couple years ago, failed to be picked up by a distributor, so he released it on YouTube, where it went viral, much like his short films. And since the release of Obsession in May, it has become one of the highest-grossing indie films of the year and one of the highest-grossing, ensuring that Barker has only just entered the realm of exciting new horror artists. As of this writing, he has announced his third film as a horror-comedy backed by James Wan's company, an A24-backed reboot of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and an original horror film for Universal. This reminds me of the successes of similar artists like David F. Sandberg (Lights Out, which led to Annabelle: Creation, Shazam!, Shazam! Fury of the Gods, and Until Dawn), Kane Parsons (of this year's Backrooms), and Chris Stuckmann (of last year's Shelby Oaks). 

Turning our current anxieties around control and consent -- especially between genders, but also socially -- into a scalpel cutting right to the heart of horror, Barker gives us the story of a young man who just wants to be loved by the girl he likes. There has been a resurgence of such films lately, often genre-bending, always led by a strong young actress who fights the terrible restrictions put upon her by insecure and violent men (think of Companion and Promising Young Woman, for starters). Obsession, carving out its own niche, hinges on magic to work, or at least something supernatural and inexplicable. Taking its hint from nightmare scenarios spawned by gameplay and/or playful trinkets, the vehicle of this horror is a stick called the "One Wish Willow" sold in a witchy little new age shop for a few dollars. With one's spoken wish while breaking the twig, the thing is said to come true. 

A veritable genie's wish or monkey's paw for a new generation, the One Wish Willow's power manifests in unexpected and usually unpleasant ways. This is the rising action of the film, which follows the misguided desires of young Bear, the nickname of Baron, your archetypal boy next door. He's a sweet fella, a nice guy, who doesn't want his coworker and hardcore crush Nikki to know his feelings. Telling her will be awkward and weird, as is demonstrated in the film's harrowing first shot as he delivers his speech declaring his love to the camera and an offscreen female voice. So, what if he waits for the right moment...indefinitely? Or, better yet, what if he just announces his feelings at his next trivia night with friends? That's his plan, anyway, much to the frustration of his friend and confidante, Ian (Cooper Tomlinson, apparently a longtime friend and collaborator with Barker). Ian is also their coworker, along with Sarah (Megan Lawless), who harbors her own crush on Bear. I found myself repulsed by this foursome of people who are clearly their own best friends, and while I think we're meant to care about them, I think we're also meant to feel that they're a bit too insular and too emotionally disconnected from each other and reality.

That's not relevant at all, these days.

Barker's construction of this film's spiraling plot is deceptively simple, shoving his characters into miserable and horrid emotional and existential traps and forcing us to watch the often relatable consequences. One of the more uncomfortable cinematic experiences of the year is following around a guy we've all been at some point as we grow to realize that his "nice guy" caricature is inauthentic and desperate, manipulating others not explicitly but by planning his own actions to get them to do what he wants them to do. All the while, he justifies it to himself and us. After all, he's suffering, too, and we're meant to see and feel that. Michael Johnston's acting as Bear is award-worthy, if only because his sweaty and teary face is contorted into such grotesque images of horror so consistently in the film, whenever he's not hiding behind a meek and mild mask. 

His insidious obsession with Nikki climaxes early in the film, when he snaps his stick to make Nikki love him more than anyone else in the world. He should have been more specific.

Who among us hasn't wished something ghastly -- or even potentially ghastly -- in the heat of a charged moment? We sympathize with him in the moment, after a highly economic narrative setup by Barker, and while we don't like it, it doesn't really settle in until he looks out the car window to see Nikki's black silhouette in front of the door she was supposed to have entered. This is going to be bad. 

While I won't spoil the rest of the plot here, as its cruel spiral features some truly nasty revelations best served raw, I want to speak on Inde Navarrette's performance as Nikki, who indeed is suddenly and horrifically held in thrall of Bear. The film plays with the extent of her agency and self-awareness in pretty cool ways, including moments in which we think she may be earnest and lucid and when she's forcibly playacting, and even when she's clearly being controlled by an outside force. Baker himself seems to know this, and he brings his cinephilia to task here, referencing other horror films about female agency with specific shots and plots points that reminded me of The Exorcist, Evil Dead, Smile, Possession, and of course Fatal Attraction. But Navarrette's similarly award-worthy performance is shockingly, devastatingly physical. Her frenzied movement and unpredictable body language is a masterclass in nonverbal communication, especially of her facial muscles, often pulled taut when seen in super close-ups where she morphs into such controlled and unbelievable visages that Lon Chaney would be impressed. Which is insane, because she's also delivering richly nuanced lines, often in doublespeak, while manically altering her vocal output. It's hard to know what of her performance may have been enhanced by various practical or special effects or post-production ADR, but regardless, it's exactly the kind of performance that makes a star.

This film might spark heated debate about things like using women for exploitative horror and the extent to which we really get any female perspective in the film at all -- there isn't really any justification or redemption for the female brutalization here -- but I wonder, too, if that is kind of the point. There is cruelty being done to women in this world of desperate, incel-coded men who live online and disregard their material impact on the world, so we need to see that and recognize it and take steps to address it. 

And we haven't even talked about the actual violence in the film, which is considerable and considerably graphic. No doubt influenced by Ari Aster among others, Barker lets the gorehounds have their fill as much as the intellectual crowd. Bear continues to cuddle Nikki even after he suspects that her soul is being tortured in hell while a demon possesses her body -- one of several possible "behind-the-scenes" explanations for what's happening here -- which is a moment of scarring emotional violence. In another scene, a character is bludgeoned to death and we see all of it; the scene reportedly had to be edited down from its original vision to avoid an NC-17 rating. These two kinds of violence are paired appropriately and thoughtfully by Barker's screenplay even as he deliberately skews our pacing and visual composition expectations, keeping us always unsettled. Beware, ye who enter here. Obsession is a hell of a ride.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 (2026)

Score: 3 / 5

I don't know quite what I wanted from what amounts to a legacy sequel to the 2006 runway runaway hit that Botha adapted and improved its source material. Frankly, it doesn't seem like the filmmakers of The Devil Wears Prada 2 knew what they wanted either. Settling for nostalgia over novelty, screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna (27 Dresses, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend) and director David Frankel (Hope Springs, Collateral Beauty, Marley & Me) work hard to recreate the tone, beats, and general sensation of their original masterpiece. What they perhaps don't do as well is craft a compelling story, but I'm not sure any of us really want or need that in a sequel to a film more about its effect and affect than anything else. So I'm not here to discuss the plot; you can discover that for yourself. In summation, I can tell you that I had a blast seeing this movie in cinemas, and that I satisfyingly checked my brain at the door to just have a good time. It delivers that in spades.

I do, however, think this film has a few noteworthy elements that, had I known heading into it, might have improved my attention and appreciation. Let us start with the world itself. Things have changed drastically in the past twenty years, and media is in chaos. Merging companies in an endless shuffle have only gotten worse, along with the proliferation of online "content" and clickbait and the near death of print media. Remember that twenty years ago, flip phones and Blackberries were the shit; now, they're so much dead tech. The film opens with a dramatic moment when, as Andy Sachs (the inimitable Anne Hathaway) accepts a prestigious journalism award at a gala, she and her entire newsroom are laid off via text message. Her speech, perhaps a little too on the nose for the first scene, brings us back to her ambitious character whose dreams are, once again, going to take some serious grit and guts to continue achieving.

So when Miranda (a typically glorious Meryl Streep) enters the picture, we're ready for their shenanigans. She and Runway are under fire for a puff piece ignoring -- arguably promoting -- sweatshop labor, a sure recipe for cancellation in our viral digital age. Perhaps unrealistically, Andy is brought in by the big boss of Runway's parent company to correct the problem and move the magazine into a bold, better new age. Yet Miranda was not told about this, and her stuck-in-the-mud, old-fashioned managerial attitude won't loose the reins without a fight. She's being watched by new assistants who constantly gossip and connive around her, hearkening back to Miranda's old abusive behaviors while relishing their new protection from such diabolic passive-aggression thanks to new HR policies. Andy is shocked, for example, to see Miranda hanging up her own coat in the office. It's hilarious, and oddly sad.

That's because the world now punishes (some) wicked bosses, valorizes remote work under the guise of "work/life balance," and cares less about social awareness or critical engagement in journalism than about monetization and success via clicks. Runway is dying, and Miranda can't save the sinking ship. Streep's performance, though not the Miranda we know and love to loathe, is knowing and nuanced despite some ham-fisted dialogue. She's unsure of her job, being constantly watched and reported on by overpaid underlings while attempting to make sense of social media and online noise, but she is still the best at what she does. Or, did. I thought of the song from White Christmas more than once: "What do you do with a general when he stops being a general?" Streep's softening makes her sad and confused, like a grandmother in early stages of dementia, grasping fiercely for those zingers whenever someone around her threatens to expose her vulnerability. 

Similarly, Emily and Nigel (a diva-esque Emily Blunt and a distressingly aging Stanley Tucci, both excellent if underused) are here with mostly nothing to do but to offer bitchy quips and glamorous looks. Their dialogue, along with most of the film's one-liners, desperately seek to warm us with overwrought and obvious throwbacks to the original film. Don't get me wrong; nostalgia sells, and there's nothing wrong with revisiting some of the lovely moments that we still watch (the first film is a regular watch for me when I've fallen ill, and I know others who do the same). But whereas previously we went on a journey with Hathaway's Andy, getting to know her character from the inside out and everyone else from the outside in. This time, we know everyone of consequence (minus a few new additions like Kenneth Branagh and Justin Theroux, who are easy enough to understand), so we're just bumping along between them, much like we might in a sitcom. 

Each beat of the plot is a hamfisted rehash of the original, from a high-stakes bid for impossible validation (in the first, an unpublished Harry Potter manuscript and in this, an interview with a reclusive billionaire-philanthropist played by Lucy Liu) to a new romantic liaison between Andy and the renovator of her new apartment (played by Patrick Brammall), who is clearly better than the men she juggled last time, but with whom Hathaway seems to beg to have chemistry with. No doubt due to its sinfully larger budget, this film does include many celebrity appearances, all of which really worked for me; Lady Gaga, playing herself, has a too-brief but delightful moment in a dick-measuring contest with Miranda before taking the stage to sing one of the three fabulous songs she recorded for this film. But then there's the ending, which turns abruptly from the rather grim realism of the plot, offering a deus ex machina wherein the machina is a billionaire who existentially saves journalism for the present. Maybe it's a good idea for Hollywood to produce more stories about billionaires choosing to give their ill-gotten gains back to society -- obviously, that's true -- but the lionizing of such people smacks of tone deafness in this particular story and at this particular time in real life.

Finally, the editing of this film simply didn't work for me. Previously, we had magnificent montages of various fashion walks, each of which told a specific and layered mini-story. We understood Andy's essential other-ness from the young, hot fashionistas of NYC from the music-led montage that opened the first film, whereas this film nods to that with its first three or so shots before scrapping the style altogether. A story literally about looking and grabbing/commanding attention should mirror that impetus in its own composition and structure, and this one inexplicably refuses to do so.

And Emily? That's all.

The Odyssey (2026)

Score: 5 / 5

How do you tell a new version of one of the oldest stories in the Western world? You start by telling a story about stories. I was a little nervous at first that Christopher Nolan would pull some of his usual shtick again and mess up the timeline of his own film, but then I remembered that The Odyssey itself isn't really linear. Of course there's no reason not to start in medias res, and in this case it makes perfect sense with Nolan's oeuvre. But the truth is that if you're consuming the foundational epic for its plot, you've already missed the mark. Sure, the whole dang thing is arguably "about" its plot, but what makes it really compelling is its sense of style, its complicated characters, its sense of pacing and propulsion despite its stretched timeline. 

Actually, Nolan's film feels at once like a wildly satisfying (and the first, which is crazy) adaptation of Homer's epic poem for a modern audience and one of the most riveting pieces of filmmaking this year. In a perhaps unobvious move, he starts us focused intently on Telemachus (reliable Tom Holland) and Penelope (a glorious Anne Hathaway), fending off a cadre of suitors feasting and whoring in the king's hall in Ithaca. These scenes take place near the end of the story, chronologically, as Odysseus has been missing for ten years. That's in addition to the ten years he was away from home for the Trojan War. He barely knows his own son, and Penelope is nearing the end of her rope. Or, rather, tapestry, which she cleverly uses (and unravels) to keep the wolfish suitors (led by a sniveling Robert Pattinson) at bay. These scenes, occasionally sprinkled in between flashback episodes of Odysseus's adventure, are filmed like a bleak political thriller, ending in a climactic banquet hall battle that, truly, took my breath away with its sheer barbarism and spectacle.

The bulk of the film -- though, as I say, arguably not its focus -- concerns the titular journey of its hero, told in lengthy flashback sequences. He's on an island with Calypso (Charlize Theron, wasted in the bit part but always a commanding and welcome presence on screen), eating lotus flowers (in a curious but effective change to the source material), suddenly trying to remember why he's there and for how long he's been stuck in a somewhat limbo-esque beachside paradise. He's seeing visions of his past in Troy, wallowing with his army for years outside the city gates until he designs and creates a massive wooden horse; this bit takes several scenes, including a particularly gross montage of the men hiding inside with their piss and shit and dead comrades, getting dragged and flipped around as they're brought into the city (again, not part of the original story, nor from The Iliad). He's also seeing the goddess Athena (Zendaya), though he doesn't always seem sure if it's really her, or a dream, or just his own imagination. All this is to say that his mind is fractured, and so is our approach to his story, a highly effective means of granting us emotional access to these characters and their plight as we, too, attempt to figure out what's happening.

Even a graduate-level familiarity with the material won't save you from at least wondering once or twice, "Gosh, I don't remember that part" or "Wait, who is that again?" That's because Nolan's vision isn't a straightforward adaptation so much as it is a thesis project, combining other sources (like Virgil) along with Homer to deliver a story that's familiar but fresh at the same time. He's uniting stories rather than corrupting them. At its heart, it's very much the story we want to see; in his grip, though, Nolan's story takes on new and important themes paired with some of the most arresting and thrilling visuals we've ever seen from an epic. Not because it's bombastic and loaded with CGI, but because most of it is filmed in seemingly natural light and with practical effects. Perhaps the only scene clearly done with CGI is the encounter with Scylla and Charybdis, and while I didn't love those designs, they worked fine enough. But the Cyclops, the Laestrygonians, the sirens, Circe's animals, and all the "big ticket" creatures and visuals are apparently practical. It's gobsmacking.

Yet for all the spectacle -- even the frustrating moments -- Nolan cares more about the effect of these things on his characters than about our experience of them. He makes it a profoundly human story, grappling with weighty themes of fate and purpose; he makes us wonder about our own lives, our glorious intentions, our miserable failures, our great shames and hopes, inviting us to think about the story of our own lives through the warping lens of memory, regret, and uncertainty. With all these ideas whirling around our minds, it might be easy to say the nearly three-hour runtime is a slog, but it isn't. The simplicity of these proceedings keeps us grounded, compelling us to continue experiencing rather than drifting away. The experience, though, is exhausting, and more than once during the film I had to stretch and breathe deeply, just to attempt to revive my endurance.

Despite the hullabaloo online about this film -- perhaps hypocritically, I'm becoming increasingly convinced to leave social media, if only to avoid people complaining loudly about things they neither understand nor care to -- and as a student of the classics, I had no significant qualms with this film's depiction of history or characters (or the cast, for that matter). Everyone is playing at the top of their games, including Benny Safdie, Elliot Page, Lupita Nyong'o in brilliant double roles, Himesh Patel, and even John Leguizamo. Samantha Morton plays such a terrifying Circe that I nearly choked on my own saliva (and, again, her scene features some of the nastiest and most inventive practical effects I've ever seen on film). The costumes are exquisite, especially Agamemnon's helmet. Ludwig Goransson's score is transportive, utilizing ancient instruments to evoke a unique sonic palette. Sure, some of the dialogue can be off-putting (the repeated use of "dad" in Telemachus's mouth is grating), but any complaints about accents, etc., are little more than stupid hot air from people who have clearly never thought critically about any film.

And we haven't even discussed the analog filmmaking, the brutally physical shoot, Nolan's use of brand new technology for IMAX film cameras, or even Matt Damon's performance as the complicated protagonist. There will be college courses based around this film for the sheer amount of material to be covered. While I'd have liked a few changes, having now seen the film twice (specifically, more cleverness and agency and violence from Penelope, more comeuppance for Mia Goth's character, a better visual on the sirens, less obsession with genre lingo like "Zeus's law," and slightly more elevated dialogue a la The Lord of the Rings), I'm so thrilled that this is what we have. Seeing this on the biggest screen possible and with the best sound system will change you; there were moments of such intense passion from the subwoofers that my seat was vibrating like in a 4D movie. Most importantly, Nolan expects us to both do our homework, denying us the pleasures of modern blockbusters and forcing us to catch up with him in a story that feels almost suspiciously anti-AI and anti-summary. These are complex ideas and characters, and we're meant to approach them with appropriate nuance and thoughtfulness. Harryhausen films and their ilk are fabulous and personal favorites, but Nolan is giving us something brand new. Which is saying a lot when he specifically references such things, including a shot from the original Clash of the Titans (1981) involving Athena's statue's head broken off and tumbling down steps. It's a single shot, and I let out a half-strangled moan and laugh combined that probably unnerved people sitting around me. They should be so fortunate to understand the craft at work here. All hail!

Pillion (2026)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Come for the kinky sex. Stay for a transcendent and challenging story of self-discovery and learning how to take the reins of your own life.

Pillion, the feature film debut of writer and director Harry Lighton, is adapted from a 2020 novel of a different name. The title, tellingly, refers to the secondary seat on a motorcycle, for a passenger along for the ride instead of doing any driving. Appropriately, the film dramatizes a sexual relationship between an eminently dominant man and a profoundly submissive one, quite literally one who drives a motorcycle and one hanging on for dear life. As is true in most comedy, it works best as a mirror for ourselves: most of us, at least at some point, chose to be merely a passenger (or spectator, if you rather) in our own lives, allowing someone else undue influence and power to the point of control, and we were happy to do so. It can be easier, can't it, to let someone else care for us?

In this case, it might also feel better to let someone abuse us. That's where the film gets interesting. It doesn't really articulate its own psychological justification, but it does offer a clear-eyed window into the steamy, sexy, raw, and often awkward life of two men engaging in a somewhat taboo sexual relationship. Colin (a compelling and brilliant Harry Melling) lives with his aging parents and sings with his barbershop quartet, the picture image of an incel who means well, too shy and sheltered to pursue any kind of individuality or even his own dreams. So when a leather-clad biker named Ray (an effortlessly sexy Alexander Skarsgard, clearly having a blast in the role) gruffly invites and controls a fast, fierce fellatio in the alley, Colin is completely enraptured at a new horizon of opportunity. He's also a little smitten by the mystery man of his dreams.

Lighton's approach to their budding relationship isn't salacious or sleazy, which might affect your mileage with the film. Sure, it's sexy, but mostly in a heartwarming, even funny way. Lighton frames his characters -- especially the giant-sized Skarsgard -- in knowingly witty ways, ensuring that we never forget the wild mismatching of these stars and their star-crossed characters. He's often in focus and on a plane with more power than other characters, but he occasionally also offers stability and comfort simply due to his blocking and placement in the frame. Thankfully, Lighton also avoids what might be an expected pitfall by carefully not making either man an antagonist, or even really a villain at all. Sure, Ray does some bad things, but for most of their relationship, Colin actively seeks that out. 

Colin wants to experience a wilder side of life, so he abandons himself to the whims of a man willing and able to make those calls. Melling tactfully and carefully delivers a performance that's best when he's nonverbal, nervously gazing at his dom for approval and assurance, or studying the other biker gang members to see just how he fits in and how he might improve himself in their eyes. Lighton doesn't quite detail the dynamics of these lifestyles, so don't expect an education on BDSM relationships in this film. But he does underscore that this particular dynamic is neither sustainable nor ultimately healthy for these two men, and it's painted in colors we can all understand. We all want love, and might allow undesirable things to happen to us when we're swept up in the excitement of something new.

Not to get too personal, but I found this film's exploration of the life-affirming process of learning not to accept what you think you want and instead pursuing greater self-awareness and sustainable relationships to be deeply cathartic and healing. And by film's end (spoiler alert), when Colin learns that perhaps his relationship with Ray -- while having taught him valuable lifelong lessons -- needs to end, I was a blubbering mess in scenes that most people would probably find simply nice. That's part of the beauty of film in general, and especially from a studio that empowers its artists to do the weird, personal art: some will hit us unexpectedly hard. Hopefully we can all be adults about it.