The Blackening (2023)

Score: 4.5 / 5

What better way to observe Juneteenth in yet another year of our country going to hell than by celebrating Blackness in a genre notorious for excluding or disrespecting Black characters, and in a stereotypical summer horror setting? The Blackening takes more than its fair share of inspiration from the Scary Movie series and SNL sketches -- I've never even seen Scary Movie, but any knowledge of that beloved/bemoaned series will tell you all you need to know -- but it's also fully a film in its own right, one that knows exactly what it is and who it's for. Which is to say that it's a masterful horror-comedy for everyone, and specifically for Black audiences who want to enjoy seeing Black characters navigating their way through ridiculous, scary, and hilarious situations while in a safe and jubilant communal setting. It's why Jordan Peele named his most recent film Nope, after all, not to mention the tangible traces of Spike Lee littered here.

The story -- and indeed there is one here, rather than a string of sketches loosely held together by relevant dialogue -- concerns a group of college friends reuniting for a Juneteenth party. Knowingly, they are doing something a little unusual by renting a remote cabin in the woods for their gathering. Two of their number arrived previously to start setting up, and the other six follow the next day, though the first two are nowhere to be found; perhaps they went out for more supplies. The group spend their afternoon setting up, catching up, and playing Spades until growing suspicious of their friends' absence. When a door pops open leading them into a bizarre game room, things finally coalesce thanks to a board game entitled "The Blackening" with a cartoonish blackface mask as its centerpiece. The game speaks to them, and soon the friends find themselves antagonized by a murderous racist.

Even with just this early sequence, the notetaking viewer will have to stop because it's impossible to catch all the references. The situation alone distinctly recalls Scream (the opening sequence is of the first two friends and a voice inviting them to play a deadly game), The Evil Dead, Ready or Not, You're Next, and The Cabin in the Woods, to say nothing of all the spoken references (including a notable Scream 2 guffaw-inducing exchange). Things escalate quickly into the realm of Saw and The Strangers, but this movie manages to use those tropes to distinctly new effect, crafting its own flavor for the otherwise generic proceedings. This is primarily due to the dialogue, which is so rapid-fire and brilliant I'd have to watch multiple times to catch everything; I probably still wouldn't catch everything even with subtitles, as so much of the film revolves around the characters' knowledge of Black culture to survive the game's questions as well as its real-life complications.

What do I mean? Apart from its demands of knowing which Black characters have indeed survived the end of a horror film (a concept from which the film's marketing tagline of "We can't all die first" gets great mileage), the film requires knowledge of dark-skinned characters in The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air or Black guest actors on Friends, cultural touchpoints that only a certain range of millennial would really know at this point (I sure didn't!). When the killer finally materializes, he's certainly white, as his racist "Sambo" mask (and distinct throwback to Leatherface) indicates, and things take a turn toward slasher movie territory. But the need for street smarts and racial awareness does not stop here, perhaps most clearly when Ranger White -- yes, Ranger White -- shows up to dubiously help out. Even later, when the group splits up, much to their own chagrin and disdain, one pair find themselves needing to cross a pond, and one flaunts stereotypes by being able to swim across, though as the scene plays out, it's not so clear whether that was helpful or even relevant.

It should be a mark of pride for both the writers (who also penned Girl's Trip) and the ensemble cast that moments of verbal humor stick the landing just as often -- which is to say, always -- as moments of physical comedy. The cast is uniformly excellent, though Dewayne Perkins as the lovable gay BFF Dewayne perhaps carries the movie's heart with him. His presence reminds us of the film's secondary plot, about trust between friends and redemption with no small amount of sassy ridicule, and it all makes the primary plot mesh well with real grounding. And when things get bloody -- and indeed, the film is quite violent -- it's played more for laughs without gratuity or exploitation. Other notable standouts are Jermaine Fowler as the (twice) Trump-voting Android-touting loser Clifton and Grace Byers as Allison whose unintended Adderall trip brought me to stitches.

Allison, as the only biracial friend in the group, also catalyzes some really interesting discussion about colorism, to say nothing of Dewayne's queerness. It might be easy to enjoy the film without appreciating its deep examination of how and why we in America categorize Blackness so strictly, and how and why it never works for any of us. The friends bicker and argue about who is "Blacker" to the point of condemning each other to death for not being "Black enough." Is your Black card revoked because you use an Android, or because you talk like a white person, or watch Friends, or can swim? While this movie might not be as angry or incisive as Get Out, also frequently mentioned by these mindful and savvy characters, it certainly embraces its Black artists and audience from start to finish, offering plenty to enjoy and a little to challenge amidst its truly scary and damned funny brilliance.

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Only recently, I finally joined the throngs of fans of Into the Spider-Verse, easily one of my favorite animated films to date. So seeing its follow-up, Across the Spider-Verse, in cinemas was an experience I bitterly regret missing in 2018. Stunningly beautiful artistry, revamped characters voiced by stellar actors, and endlessly inventive storytelling with mature, complex ideas make this franchise one of the best out there. It's a great sequel, one that builds on what came before while still telling its own story -- stories, really. Unfortunately, and truly the only thing that left a bitter taste in my mouth, is its deeply cruel non-ending that leaves us on a cliffhanger for no good reason. It could have easily and satisfyingly wrapped itself up with a few hints at what's to come and still been a wonderful self-contained film; instead, it threatens us, big studio style, with needing to return for a future installment that we already want or we won't have closure. It's a cheap ploy that we've become desensitized to (thanks to the MCU), and one I certainly didn't expect and don't respect from this franchise, which has done so well bucking the status quo of genre films, animation films, and extended IPs in mass media.

We begin about a year after the first movie with Gwen Stacy (Hailee Steinfeld) trying to keep her Spidery identity secret from her police captain father (Shea Whigham) in their beautifully watercolored universe. When a version of Vulture materializes and causes chaos, a few other Spideys drop in from other dimensions to clean up the mess, telling her that Spideys across the multiverse have teamed up secretly to rectify these aberrations. Their leader, an intense Spider-Man 2099 (Oscar Isaac), doesn't say it, but we are meant to recall that Miles Morales (Shameik Moore), protagonist of this series, is such a "mistake." He was never meant to be a hero, and so begins the central thematic concerns of this film, once we shift to Miles's universe again: What makes a hero who should never have become a hero?

Miles is living a pretty good, albeit secret, life in Brooklyn when a new villain pops up. The Spot, Dr. Jonathan Ohnn, was previously an Alchemax scientist whose body became host to wormhole-like portals during the events of the previous film. He's retroactively input into the previous film as the man Miles hit in the head with a bagel, and don't think for a minute that isn't relevant or hilarious in the year following the major Oscar wins of Everything Everywhere All at Once. Voiced by Jason Schwartzman, the Spot starts a bit awkwardly as a C-level villain of the week until he starts controlling and mastering his powers, becoming increasingly dangerous and unhinged. His antics draw the attention of the Spider-Society, who descend on Miles's reality in a lovely reunion before the action really takes off. Unfortunately, the Spot soon enough disappears from this film and doesn't get much payoff dramatically, but he'll clearly be a big bad for our heroes to deal with in the upcoming sequel, promised for us in March 2024.

Questions of purpose and fate are the bread and butter of superhero tales, but never has it been so dramatized or so relevant in our age of super-saturation in terms of sci-fi fantasy content and superhero mania. When Miles literally has to compare himself with a cadre -- nay, legions -- of other similarly-abled Spideys, he has to ask himself repeatedly what makes him special, if he even is special. The screenplay's sharp critiques of determinism and lionizing of perseverance are fresh and relevant, perhaps all the more in our post-pandemic world. We're reminded strongly through Miles and Gwen and their actions here that imagining our other potentials doesn't and can't matter as much as honoring and cherishing the reality we're already grasping. That mastering our own fate and knowing ourselves inside and out make us our own heroes, and that empowering ourselves and others in the moment matter infinitely more than seeking out destiny for destiny's sake.

Its ideas, though rich, are difficult to fully appreciate despite the film's almost two-and-a-half hour runtime because it's just so damn full of ideas. And action, of course, with eye-popping artistry that feels more than a bit overwhelming. More than once, I had to look away from the screen to remember where I was and flex my limbs because it's such a transportive, trippy experience to behold. An aesthetically confident, assured film like this has no business being so kinetic and frenetic, yet it pulls no punches with its breakneck pacing and endlessly creative flow. Even its "quiet" or more somber moments are jam-packed with beautiful artwork, inspired music, and raw, earned emotional weight. Not a moment feels extravagant or unnecessary, even though the whole thing is unmitigated spectacle and paraded as such. Its heavy action is perfectly easy to follow, which most live action sequences cannot say for themselves, and even when things get too heady or chaotic, its directors masterfully know when to ground us with a line of dialogue or delayed edit -- or to pump in the tunes.

I hate the ending, but I cannot wait for the next movie. These are the real deal, and if you haven't seen them, you are absolutely missing out.

The Flash (2023)

Score: 3 / 5

Barry Allen, as his alter-ego The Flash, is tired of being a second-tier superhero, the "janitor" of the Justice League, cleaning up after his more famous comrades and taking care of the "lesser" criminals; he's also never quite gotten over the destruction of his family, when his mother was suddenly murdered and his father imprisoned for the crime. So when, near the beginning of this film, his emotions get the better of him and he unintentionally runs fast enough to go back in time, he sees an opportunity to save his family. He takes it, against the advice of Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck), and chaos ensues. Time travel. Alternate realities and dimensions. Franchise amalgamation. Lots of fan service. It's all nothing new to us in the age since the DCEU branched into the CW; hell, it's taken for granted now, when the Best Picture Oscar most recently went to a multiverse-spanning drama in Everything Everywhere All at Once. But, as is typical of this franchise -- and, increasingly, the MCU as well -- The Flash is at once a rousing and delightful romp through sci-fi fantasy and a messy, pandering attempt to generate money and collect all existing versions of the media under one banner.

Ezra Miller stars, of course, and he proves himself capable of leading a manic film like this with his signature eccentricities (real-life shenanigans notwithstanding). His performance won't be to everyone's taste -- I found him grating at best -- but he certainly commits to his dual performances once his present-day character meets himself from 2013 and they team up. 2013 Barry is unbearable, whereas present-day Barry is thankfully more grounded, and it's clear at least that Miller had fun with the duality. Specifically as he starts realizing how annoying he can be to others, Miller's Barry rises wonderfully to the occasion to become the hero he always wanted to be. The problem is that we've seen this story before, more than once, and so I found myself wondering time and again why the studio wanted this story at this time. Its bizarre mashup of It's a Wonderful Life and Back to the Future is neither original nor particularly relevant, though Christina Hodson's screenplay (she also wrote the wonderful Birds of Prey) deftly captures the focus of Barry's story on his relationship with family and his inability to cope with lasting trauma, and those quiet moments of character development shine brightly in this otherwise deeply chaotic flick.

Director Andy Muschietti clearly has fun with this material, and so it's hard to say exactly whence comes this chaos. Its breakneck pace and insane visuals may lie with Muschietti, but he also embraces the warm closeups and thematically crucial scenes, giving them due pause and reverence. Notably, any scene with Barry and his parents -- Maribel Verdú and Ron Livingston -- are deeply emotional and wonderfully realized. Perhaps its hectic, overstuffed screenplay are to blame, but most segments of the film are directly relevant to the full story it wants to tell. The bizarre score and visual effects -- cartoonish and immature, both, at best -- made me more than once wish the producers had seen the new Spider-verse movies and taken some inspiration. Then again, maybe they did just that, as I repeatedly forgot that The Flash is primarily a live action feature amidst the sheer volume of CGI.

Speaking of which, it should be noted that, in the film's climax (we'll get to it in the next paragraph), Barry repeatedly runs back through time to alter the outcome of his battle against the villain, and keeps entering the Speed Force, depicted cleverly and eye-poppingly as something like an hourglass chronometer with elements of pop-up book mechanics and theatre in the round. As he does so, alternate timelines manifest before his eyes, and soon enough alternate dimensions begin to materialize and collapse together. In this sequence, other Warner Bros properties make cameos in ways that would be exciting if the Spiderverse movies and X-Men movies and MCU hadn't already done it. It's still fun and all to see Christopher Reeves and Nic Cage and Henry Cavill all as Superman, Adam West as Batman, Teddy Sears as Zoom, Helen Slater as Supergirl, and even the Joker as performed by both Cesar Romero and Jack Nicholson. It's a little weird because they all appear to be created completely digitally (which will alienate viewers who can't glide over the uncanny valley), and the organic magic feels a bit forced, but it's still a clever and ultimately harmless way to renew interest in all the previous versions of these characters and retroactively unite them under a single franchise banner.

Some will decry the franchise's repeated use of General Zod's 2013 invasion of Earth as depicted in Man of Steel, but I do find its inclusion here interesting and satisfying, as it underscores the film's determined message that there are some crucial, "canonical" events that ultimately cannot be changed no matter the circumstances or attempts to alter the past. This is something pretty much every multiverse movie has flirted with or simply skirted, but The Flash comes right out and says it, making his stand against Zod that much more riveting because Barry has to try and assemble his own team to fight Zod (Michael Shannon). The other Justice League members don't exist in this alternate timeline, except for a different version of Batman, played by Michael Keaton in a delightful return to the role. Together, they mount a rescue for who they think is Superman but who turns out to be Supergirl (Sasha Calle), then they revisit the climactic battle time and again. The action is peripatetic at best, to say nothing of the dubious visual effects, but the dialogue is fascinating as the two Barrys argue over whether repeated time travel will solve their problems or create a worse mess. I'll give you one guess what they learn.

Thankfully, and this is where the film most strongly succeeds: Barry swallows the tough pill and accepts the awful truth that he cannot save his family. Far too many superhero movies endorse bad behavior and wish fulfillment -- indeed, enthusiastically embrace, if you recall the original two Christopher Reeve-led Superhero movies -- on the part of both the irresponsible, self-denying hero and the audience hoping for a "happy" ending. The Flash eschews this tendency, forcing Barry to make a melancholic decision and accept for the first time the fate that brought him to his current life. And sure, it ends on a hopeful note, especially regarding his incarcerated father, but that didn't stop me from weeping in the cinema during the finale sequence. After so much adrenaline-fueled chaos, that was an emotional turn I was completely unprepared to handle.

Alice, Darling (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

We've known for some time now that Anna Kendrick is a fabulously talented dramatic actress when she chooses to take on those roles, but her performance in Alice, Darling completely blew me away. Having no idea of the plot or themes of the film, I went in blindly, and immediately latched on to Kendrick's leading role, which the film uses as its focal point almost religiously. We're with her in almost every moment, breathing with her as she navigates the world in notably curious, cagey ways. She's deeply internalized and introverted, pasting a smile on when it's clear there's some dark thoughts swirling under the surface. She gets a little too obsessed with the story of a local missing girl. She dismisses her friends and lies to her boyfriend in increasingly bizarre ways, to the point that I was becoming convinced she was some kind of unstable soon-to-be villain a la Robin Williams in One Hour Photo and Insomnia. And then the truth sets in, after a series of flashbacks and current conversations between the friends, after which the film completely turns on its head.

Alice (Kendrick) meets her closest friends Tess (Kaniehtiio Horn) and Sophie (Wunmi Mosaku), who suggest that for Tess's upcoming birthday, the three women go to a relative's lake house for an unplugged vacation. They do, though Alice can't connect like she used to; she flinches a lot and obsessively monitors her phone, she gets defensive and irritable, she sits off on her own in silence rather than engaging and having fun. The girlfriends are attentive and concerned, but this weekend is about Tess and having fun, not about Alice or her attitude, so tensions rise and things get a bit prickly. After some time and conflict, the truth is finally revealed, and it's clear to the women that Alice's boyfriend Simon (Charlie Carrick) is deeply emotionally and psychologically abusive toward her.

And this is where the film hits differently. We've all "seen" emotional abuse in films before, but I have trouble recalling one where that is the primary focus, or where it is so accurately dramatized. There aren't physical confrontations here, no slapping or arm-grabbing or name-calling, just a series of deeply uncomfortable conversations -- which, it should be said, could be terribly triggering for the anxious or recovering audience member -- that include insidious psychological manipulations, gaslighting, and guilt trips. Her resulting panic attacks and anxiety (most clearly manifesting as ripping out her own hair) are torturous to watch, because from the outside the red flags are crystal clear. But Alice can't see the warning signs because she's too enmeshed in their codependency; we see her laboring to justify Simon's behavior and then her own behavior around him, describing his control as his love language toward her. It's horrific, and horrifyingly accurate to behold, especially when you think of people in your life who have gone through a similar situation or who might currently be suffering and we haven't caught on yet.

Apart from its story, first-time director Mary Nighy and cinematographer Mike McLaughlin work perfectly in tandem to craft a claustrophobic atmosphere of the uncanny. Alice's world isn't a bright, warm place, so often the colors are leeched from shots that only include Alice or her perspective. While the lake house and shots of nature are beautiful, they aren't ethereal or transcendent, suggesting (along with the sound mixing and score) that there is something not quite right in this apparent paradise. Appropriate, to be sure, as the neighborhood around the lake is currently organizing search parties to locate a missing girl, which Alice jumps into a little too eagerly. I mentioned earlier it made me wonder if she was a suspect, but by the time Simon shows up at the lake house to confront Alice and take her back home, I realized the missing girl subplot (or red herring) was a way for Alice (and us) to envision a possible means of her escape, or perhaps a cautionary tale of what she fears might happen.

Yet, despite the realism and horror of Alice's relationship with Simon, the film's heart lies much more strongly in the relationship between the young women. Tess and Sophie are in turns annoyed, suspicious, pitiful, helpful, and confrontational, and their dance around Alice is impressive mostly due to the actors. Similarly, Alice works best because of Kendrick's impossibly committed performance; the screenplay is fine, but the performances elevate it and then some. Their work as a trio, especially when the others know what Alice is really dealing with, moved me to sobbing tears by their final confrontation with Simon, and the briefly heartwarming ending thankfully ends with both Alice and the audience finally able to take a deep breath after so much anxiety-inducing tension.

Significant Other (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Another low-budget horror movie dropped unceremoniously on streaming (Paramount+), Significant Other is a pretty slow, familiar film that probably won't pique much interest from casual viewers. This, in my opinion, is the immense danger of direct-to-streaming releases. But for those who like the leading actors or the concept, or just want an old fashioned 90-ish-minute parable, Significant Other has boons in unexpected places. It won't land on any Top Ten lists of the year, but it capably and satisfyingly accomplishes what it sets out to do, which seems to be to scare us of the deep dark woods, of body snatching alien monsters, and of the dangers of committing to the person you love.

Ruth and Harry have been together for six years but remain unmarried. The film starts with them going on a camping trip in the Pacific Northwest, something Harry has long wanted to do together. Their dynamic is warm and comfortable, though Ruth seems to harbor significant anxiety. It helps that they're played by attractive and eminently likable young stars Maika Monroe (It Follows, The Guest, Greta, Watcher, Mark Felt) and Jake Lacy (Being the Ricardos, Obvious Child, Carol, Miss Sloane, The White Lotus), playing heavily into their interpersonal chemistry. When Harry proposes marriage to Ruth, she rejects him, accusing him of changing their relationship with labels when they had apparently previously agreed not to get married. She's got some baggage to unpack regarding traumas in her past and her parents' failed marriage, and the little blue pills she pops regularly don't seem to be enough.

Their fight is tense, both because of the raw emotions and because they are now stuck in the wild together in a disappointed, less-than-romantic headspace. The gloomy, rainy forest seems aptly chosen as the setting for their miserable trip, and as they hike, Ruth in particular seems to be aware that they are not alone in the woods. She glances around, curious and hesitant, staring into the space between trees as if willing an escape route to manifest. But when they discover a dead deer, covered in dark slime, her fears multiply. Shortly after investigating a cave in the forest, she tells Harry she has reconsidered his proposal and wants him to ask again; it's such an abrupt about-face that we're almost as shocked as Harry. They trek back to the scenic overlook site but, instead of accepting his proposal, Ruth pushes him off the cliff to his death.

I don't really want to spoil what happens afterward too much, but just know that there are indeed aliens and doubling that would make Hitchcock gleeful and weird reverse psychology that makes up the climax. It all reads a bit like a film student's master's thesis, but with a handsome budget for cinematographer and lead actors. It's not really "about" the body snatching or impending invasion (oops, maybe I'm spoiling things after all), as the heart of the film is very much with Harry and especially Ruth, who is forced to lean into her mental illness and disorders in order to combat the threat and survive. That, and with the concept of humans being the only sentient creatures in the universe who can love, makes the film's title a wonderfully clever play on the themes explored here. Significant Other serves some fascinating spins on worn-out tropes mixed into a glorified B-movie, and frankly it's a fine addition to your horror watchlist this or any year.

The Outwaters (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

2023 has thrown more than a few nasty curveballs my way, but I had no idea heading into this year that we'd be getting not one but two highly buzzed, experimental arthouse horror flicks in the first six months. Skinamarink came out of seemingly nowhere (no, I don't use TikTok, so I didn't know about it in advance), and The Outwaters did pretty much the same. Both are super low-budget, lo-fi horror experiences meant to destabilize more than terrify over their unbearably protracted runtimes. Like their clear inspiration, The Blair Witch Project, these films work hard to avoid any clear answers for what exactly is going on in terms of plot. The entire experiment, arguably, is to force viewers into a disturbed headspace and then require no small amount of interpretive input to complete their experience of the films. It's a dangerous gamble, one that inevitably polarizes audiences; I'd say if you love Blair Witch and enjoyed Skinamarink, The Outwaters should absolutely be your next movie night screening.

The film starts with a series of title cards and images identifying the four main characters, Robbie (also the writer, editor, and director), Michelle, Scott, and Ange, indicating that they have gone missing and that the following film was edited from their three memory cards found in the Mojave desert. Interestingly, the actors' names match their characters, which is perhaps a bit gimmicky now but does recall earlier pioneers in the found footage subgenre. Robbie, an aspiring LA filmmaker, takes his brother and their two friends to the desert to film a music video, and they do it while camping because that seems like a logical and glamorous thing to do. Sure, it's an obnoxious device, but thankfully the film leans less into their interpersonal drama than the beauty and intrigue of their setting. It doesn't take too long before weird things start to happen, from booming sounds and screaming animal noises to mysterious lights and camera batteries that won't deplete. When a shadowy figure approaches Robbie with an axe, though, the movie really takes off in a wholly different direction than I could have ever predicted.

The first half is something between Willow Creek and Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life, at least visually, and it serves best to lull us into a false sense of what the movie is doing. Some will call it unnecessarily lengthy, but I found it quite beautiful, much like the unnerving silence and waiting in Skinamarink. The first half is also quite brightly lit, offering vistas of the desert like we usually don't see in horror films; the second half, however, is almost entirely in the dark, lit mostly only by a single small beam from a very shaky flashlight. If you're willing to go along with it -- and if you aren't prone to motion sickness -- it's a hell of a ride, especially when tentacles and worms and lights start appearing where they oughtn't.

Of course, we know they're all going to die (excuse me, "disappear") out in the desert, so the whole thing is set up in the classic sense that we're going to witness the unspeakable. It opens with a shocking 911 call that is mostly unearthly screams from a female caller and unidentifiable, disturbing sounds around her. And what we do witness truly is unnerving, though not necessarily in the psychological sense of most of these kinds of films. Banfitch wants this to be a somewhat immersive experience -- the sound editing and design is absolutely unbelievable and had me making all kinds of wild notes before I just gave up and let it wash over me -- and in some ways it is, specifically for his own character. But The Outwaters does one better than just immersion, and here is where we're going to step into spoiler territory.

Because, in the second half of this film, Banfitch leads us directly to Hell on a one-way ride. It's a fever dream concocted of a clear love-hate relationship with both found footage films and cosmic horror of the Lovecraft variety. We don't quite go insane along with Robbie, but witnessing his descent is one of the most disturbing things I've ever seen on film, to say nothing of the shockingly graphic gore this film splatters all over the damn place. Without (hopefully) giving too much away, or inserting my own interpretations, the film suggests some time travel or time loops, teleportation, alternate dimensions, possible astral projection, and no shortage of bloody, squirming, toothy monsters. Because it's all captured in the format of found footage, this marks possibly the first film about cosmic horror that suggests it's all literal; too often, cosmic horror can be discounted in a visual medium as an artist's flourish or even as a character's perception of the horror. Not so here, where we have to believe that all the batshit bonkers stuff going on is very real.

And while Banfitch stubbornly refuses to give us any easy answers, he does drop a couple major hints at the end (the gas mask and government sign of a restricted area) that suggest a certain "reason" for the events of the film. Even so, I'd be eager to see the film again to try and pick up any other clues sprinkled throughout, difficult as it may be due to the opaque nature of Banfitch's vision. What we're left with, ultimately, is an extraordinary experience of suffering under powers humans can neither fully appreciate nor comprehend, one that leeches out of the screen and into our eyes and minds. Having witnessed the carnage, we've had the veils lifted ever so slightly from our own eyes, insinuating horror for us that will long outlast the rolling credits.

The Boogeyman (2023)

Score: 3.5 / 5

If you know the Stephen King short story on which this movie is based, you know this screenplay - by Scott Beck and Bryan Woods of A Quiet Place and 65 -- is already a strong work of imaginative horror. The story, though a bit chilling, is also annoyingly contrived and ends with a terribly cheesy gimmick. It is made up of a conversation between a bereaved man and his therapist, and that's all that happens. That scene basically becomes an early inciting incident in the new adaptation of The Boogeyman, released last week in cinemas, which is exactly where you should go see it. Feeding off both nostalgia for haunted house-type movies of the mid-aughts as well as so-called "elevated horror" of the late teens and now, it couches its plot of heavy tropes and jump scares in an earnest attempt to explore the process of grief and how to let go of it. Think Lights Out meets The Babadook and you're in exactly the right headspace.

Which is to say, effectively, that while The Boogeyman is by no means original, I thoroughly enjoyed it as B-level horror that wears its inspiration proudly on its sleeve. It's the sort of reliable popcorn chomper perfect for a date night or a spooky evening with friends or (older) kids. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with taking the road well traveled as long as you do it in style, which is why seeing it in a large dark auditorium works best.

Rob Savage has style. The director's previous outings included found-footage/screenlife films Host and Dashcam, which are far removed aesthetically from his work here. Here, his approach is deliberate and languid, forcing us to focus on the neo-Gothic beauty of his visuals, which mostly include very dark rooms and long shadows. He populates this film with plentiful jump scares, here more earned and more satisfying than their, well, jumpy nature in found footage flicks. The difference is that his earlier films were inventive, provocative, and timely. The Boogeyman, had it been released a decade ago, would probably have gone down as a classic, in the days when Insidious and The Conjuring ruled the genre, but now it's more quaint than anything.

Which is not to say it's not effective; Savage is still really good at what he does. The story, in brief, concerns therapist Will Harper (Chris Messina) and his two daughters Sadie and Sawyer (Sophie Thatcher and Vivien Lyra Blair) who are still reeling from the sudden accidental death of their wife and mother. The chemistry between the family members is really lovely, and the time this film takes in showcasing their relationship wonderfully raises the stakes for what follows. Sawyer is plagued by nightmares while Sadie can't quite connect with anyone at school. Will is visited by an unhinged man, Lester Billings (David Dastmalchian doing that creepy thing he does best), hoping to become a patient; Lester says his three children have died and that the evil spirit who killed them is now attached to him. Will calls the police while Lester, despairing, kills himself in the Harper house. Suddenly inexplicable, terrifying things start going bump in the night.

For some time now, the term "elevated horror" has been thrown around in reference to slow-burner horror dramas that deal with mental illness and thematic intangibles like grief, depression, codependency, etc. I resent that label, but this isn't the time or place for my manifesto! Anyone familiar with The Babadook or Smile or The Night House will be right at home in this film, dealing as it does with grief and healing, though The Boogeyman is much more straightforward in its literalization of the monster in question. The beautiful house that serves as primary setting here is starkly bleak, crawling with thick shadows even in the middle of a sunny afternoon. The children begin to notice a black moldy substance growing throughout the hallways, an annoying cliché that felt ripped from other films -- notably Mama -- which is the kind of trope that works best in face-value haunting movies, not ones trying to bridge the gap between emotional/psychological realism and supernatural horror.

What works much better is the monster itself, a nightmarish creature seen mostly in silhouette or shadow, like the best monsters of the genre. Sadie and Sawyer just want to find peace amidst their bereavement, and the monster's ever-present shenanigans provide only the opposite. It creeps around the house aggressively, popping up all over the place, unfurling its skeletal limbs and leering from darkened closets with glowing yellowish eyes. There's nothing novel about the way it scuttles under a bed, slams doors open and shut, or rises from impossible nooks of the upstairs hallway, but Savage and his cinematographer nail each moment, milking them for every terrifying beat. His use of negative space isn't as polished as the works of, say, James Wan, but it offers a lot for anyone who may be frustrated with what I'd call real elevated horror (exemplified in The Blair Witch Project or Skinamarink, but again, this is a conversation for another time!). And whoever thought of the use of the lit moon ball (lamp?) Sawyer sleeps with should be given some kind of Oscar for featured props, because it's fabulous.

It's the kind of horror film that works best when you don't think too much about it. The number of times someone in the cinema muttered "just turn on the damn lights already" reached a laughable height, to say nothing of the lacking mythology or gaping holes in logic (cell phone flashlights, anyone? And what about how the monster can apparently just blow out entire hallways filled with candles?). Better writing in that regard would have made the monster's terror linger long after the credits roll. As it is, the only chills that remain are our considerations of how grief manifests, and the lengths to which we can go to either embrace, control, deny, or grow from that grief. Sure, that's probably a better aim anyway, but couldn't the ride to that end have been a bit smarter?

The Little Mermaid (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

Rob Marshall is back in a big way! Every three or four years he returns with another major movie, and I would rank every single one on a list of my favorites. Even his work on Broadway and in television films are all utterly fabulous. And, being the slut for Disney that I am, I especially appreciate his directorial work for the studio starting with my favorite Pirates of the Caribbean film in 2011, followed by Into the Woods and Mary Poppins Returns. He combines wildly disparate energies in his films, from eye-popping spectacle to brooding woe and from bright camp to dark stylized chamber work. His dexterity extends, too, to his use of CGI, which really should set the standard for Disney in that it's often present but rarely overwhelming. Of course, a project like The Little Mermaid does, by necessity, require bounteous effects, but thankfully he reins it in in favor of character and atmosphere every time.

Which is exactly what these live-action remakes should do: either give us what we love in an updated or better way (think Beauty and the Beast and Dumbo), or recreate a middling work to become something we love (looking at you, Pete's Dragon and 101 Dalmatians). The Little Mermaid does indeed fit the bill for the former, basically retreading the original with a few interesting updates, not all of which worked for me but most of which did exceedingly well. Its aesthetic choices, story updates, and casting will be the focus of my thoughts here; if you don't know the story by now, I can't help you.

To start: the cast. Much will be made of this, so I'll be brief in my reflections. Halle Bailey is a magnificent Ariel, bringing no small amount of intelligence and likability to the rebellious-to-a-fault character; she finds ways of strengthening the music and her own character that are much needed. Javier Bardem is fine as King Triton, masterfully bridging tenderness with control. Jonah Hauer-King plays a wonderfully more rounded Prince Eric, whose arc parallels Ariel's own and makes their romance infinitely more believable, thanks in no small part to the inclusion of his mother as a character, the queen who fears the sea and its ill fate, played brilliantly by Noma Dumezweni. He even gets his own song and has a nice voice, though the scene is directed to be more like a mix of Zac Efron in High School Musical and a Michael Bolton music video. And, of course, we have Melissa McCarthy as our fabulous sea witch, who camps up the role even more than Pat Carroll and her animators did, turning an insane parody of Divine into a modern drag queen who looks and sounds like she's been chainsmoking in piano lounges for decades in the same glittering black bodice. Like McCarthy's humor or not, she completely blew me out of the water in this film -- as she did in Can You Ever Forgive Me? -- and she'll do the same to you. For you. Either way.

To continue: aesthetics and animation. Perhaps most surprisingly and successfully, to my eye, is Marshall's choice to stick to the energy and atmosphere of the original while making the non-human/merpeople characters photorealistic. It follows the pioneering efforts of Jon Favreau's The Jungle Book and The Lion King for sure in that way, which I personally really love. I've never really been a huge fan of the animal-centric cartoons, and so turning the animals into something you might see on a nature documentary who also happen to talk and sing is definitely my sweet spot. So numbers like "Under the Sea" and "Kiss the Girl" are here no less visually glorious, but they are pared down a bit in terms of voices (there is no chorus of singing fish whatsoever) and choreography (no awkward cartoonish crustacean band, but rather schools of fish simply showing off their synchronized swimming). At it helps to have Marshall, who himself led the charge with more "realistic" mermaids in PotC: On Stranger Tides, leading this charge again, effectively bringing his bona fides to an undersea realm that rivals that of James Cameron's Avatar: The Way of Water. 

What about the animated characters? Daveed Diggs is the standout by far, imbuing his Sebastian with gobsmackingly clever humor in ways I certainly didn't predict. Visually, he's also the most interesting animated character, despite his animators having little but eyes and claws to work with. I did not, however, like that they changed his role from concert master (who therefore knows Ariel very well and naturally treats her like a naughty student) to Triton's majordomo, which makes him a redundant Zazu to Bardem's Mufasa. Jacob Tremblay swims in for a couple scenes as Flounder, who is even more annoying and laughably inconsequential than his cartoon counterpart; the film may as well have cut his character. Awkwafina brings her signature voice and wit to Scuttle, who is changed to be a diving seabird, which is kind of cute when it allows her to speak to her friends underwater. Her performance is excellent and a welcome update from Buddy Hackett's iconic vocal take in the original; unfortunately, she is given an unforgivably obnoxious rap song by Lin-Manuel Miranda, who should just stop for a while until he finds something actually interesting to do.

To conclude: updates to the story. Here, Triton's aquatic kingdom does not appear vast or rich or even populated; without the concert at the beginning, the only merpeople we ever see are Triton, his daughters, and one who may be his sentinel or guard. We have no sense of scope or stakes, so his melancholy brooding later makes little sense, as does his conflict with Ursula for rule of the ocean. However, it is an unmistakably beautifully rendered Caribbean paradise that I'd be happy to revisit soon. The relationship between Ariel and Eric is magnificently organic, and includes her exploring his treasure trove of ocean artifacts as well as getting the marketplace to dance like Giselle in Enchanted. It was interesting -- neither good nor bad -- to have Ariel sing in voiceover during her time on land, though her new song could have used some more workshopping. Ariel also gets some key moments of agency, climaxing when she herself pilots the deadly galleon into her villain's torso. So, despite a few odd choices and arguable missteps, The Little Mermaid more than earns its place among the great live-action Disney remakes even as it helps shine a light on where the studio can go from here.

Sisu (2023)

Score: 3.5 / 5

I never really thought a Finnish action movie about World War II could be so entertaining. Sisu is indeed a war film but mostly devoid of actual war, a rousing action thriller that is also an arresting character drama, and a hilarious comedy soaked in blood and pain. The title word is apparently difficult to translate to English, but seems to refer to determination so strong that it supersedes death itself; it refers most clearly to the protagonist, whose deadly prowess as a commando earned him the title "The Immortal" before he retired and became a hermit and a gold prospector. Now he's a legend among Communists and Nazis -- and presumably his fellow Finns -- and his isolated existence in the Lapland region allows him near complete peace.

Until, that is, the Soviets agree to end the conflict if Finland sends the Germans back home. The retreating Germans adopt a scorched earth and land mine policy, leaving the rural tundra dangerous and barren. On their march, one troop of Germans comes across the protagonist, Aatami Korpi (Jorma Tommila), who has recently discovered significant amounts of gold. He's a bearded, grizzled man, filthy and unassuming, and he clearly hopes to be ignored by the Nazis. We had seen him previously ignoring the sounds of battle in the distance, as he seems willfully to distance himself from the conflict. One band of Nazis pass him by, but a smaller second group following accosts him; discovering his gold nuggets, they prepare to execute him and his beloved dog, and then his skills are made clear as he slaughters them. The sounds of battle attract the first, larger, platoon, led by a terrifying SS officer named Bruno Helldorf (Aksel Hennie), who pursues Aatami in his tank, with his platoon and captive Finnish women in tow. 

And so begins a bizarre and haunting cat-and-mouse chase across the bleak landscape between the Nazis and the lone killing machine. It doesn't take long for Sisu to tip from arthouse thriller to full-blown exploitation flick, with writer/director Jalmari Helander paying more than a little homage to spaghetti Westerns and '80s action classics like First Blood and Predator. We're not quite sure why Bruno is so determined to destroy Aatami, other than that he's a bloodthirsty and cruel Nazi, but there is a hint that with the war coming to an end and potential charges of war crimes heading his way, the gold might pay for his freedom. Who knows why Aatami wants the money for himself, but it's fascinating that the film slyly avoids the usual connotations of prospectors being colonists and capitalists who rape the land before they claim it (or trash it). Instead, he's a quiet hero, almost a guardian, taking the gold to protect his land's resources and, hopefully, to help rebuild the demolished infrastructure of his homeland after the terrors wrought by the colonizing Nazis.  In this way, the film is deeply nationalistic, which is an increasingly scary descriptor these days in America; it's surprisingly refreshing to see the sentiment embraced in another context. Think The Patriot, though again without the somewhat problematic basis.

Sisu works best, it should be noted, as a wild ride through action movie creativity. I was not ready for the sheer amount of point-blank black humor in this movie, which looks and feels so bleak that you certainly shouldn't be laughing aloud. But you do, both from the inventive and gory violence as well as the sheer absurdity of the more elaborate action sequences. Aatami picks his way through landmine fields before lobbing some directly at his Nazi pursuers, blowing them up headfirst. They lynch him near a roadside station and he manages to survive against all odds. He hides underwater by slicing Nazi throats and breathing their air bubbles. He helps the captured Finnish women escape and rise up against the Nazis themselves (very reminiscent of Mad Max: Fury Road and Free State of Jones). And then there's the climactic sequence on a plane which -- well, the less said about that the better. Just watch and enjoy it! Apparently unkillable as many action superheroes these days, he's also infinitely more interesting than most of the MCU or DC characters, even though he has only a single line uttered at the very end of the movie, and he looks like a bloody, muddy creature of the swamps more than a savior. But that only adds to the unique charm of this weird, fabulous flick.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 (2023)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Apart from his real-life persona, you do have to admire James Gunn for being one of the few massive-budget major-studio filmmakers whose unique aesthetic and style have never wavered. It's not easy, especially these days, especially the way whole committees of producers work under mega corporations like Disney or DC. Admittedly, Gunn's work isn't generally my preferred aesthetic, though I do enjoy his movies in these franchises; here, in his much-anticipated finale to the Guardians of the Galaxy series, he lets out all the stops to deliver a rambunctious, eye-popping, and heartrending story that feels more grounded and emotionally honest than maybe anything he's ever done. 

That's not to say it doesn't still feel very much like an MCU movie, complete with the usual hang-ups that are increasingly decried by audiences: marathon running time, overwhelming reliance on CGI, tag scenes to set up yet more movies, so many characters and plot points that you need special Wikipedia fan pages to guide you through the mess. These are all here, to be sure, but Gunn offers a distinctive flair for knowing that's what the audience will expect, so he leans heavily into manipulating how we feel rather than just what we see. His control over tone -- from the actors, from the soundtrack, from the pacing and screenplay -- exerts a certain magnetism for our experience of the stories he tells, and this one is a doozy.

Vol. 3 is solidly Rocket Racoon's story, and it was a long time coming. Bradley Cooper's beloved tinker and berserker character has had his past darkly hinted at before, but this film opens with him listening to Radiohead's "Creep" from Star Lord's prized Walkman. Indeed, the horrors of his past are thickly dramatized in this film, running parallel with the primary plot, and Rocket will learn that while he might indeed be a weirdo, he's also so very special. Trigger warning for anyone who doesn't like graphic harm done to animals, because there are some scenes in this movie I could hardly watch myself, and I wouldn't have said that was a particularly sensitive spot for me; at least not more sensitive than, you know, humans being brutalized, which tends to be less shocking after thirty-something movies in a violent franchise. Rocket, you see, was "created" as he is by a villain called the High Evolutionary (a stunningly scary Chukwudi Iwuji), a cruel scientist with a god complex who seeks to found a utopia of human-animal-machine creatures called Counter-Earth.

Interestingly, Rocket plays little part in the central plot of this film. Early, he is attacked by Adam Warlock (Will Poulter), sent from his Sovereign mother for revenge on the Guardians after the events of Vol. 2, and spends most of the film unconscious and near death. That gives him time to "tell" us his own story of torture and imprisonment by the High Evolutionary. The parallel (main) plot is of the other Guardians desperately trying to save him by traveling to the headquarters of Orgocorp, the High Evolutionary's company, to deactivate the "kill switch" that hinders their healing efforts. But the beloved team of misfits all have their own issues to handle as well, even apart from the constant threats of Adam Warlock and others. And yes, Sylvester Stallone cameos in this movie, too.

Peter Quill (Chris Pratt) is still devastated by Gamora's (Zoe Saldaña) death, and can't quite handle the new, alternate timeline version of her who leads the Ravagers and joins the race to infiltrate Orgocorp. She can't stand his simpering self-pity, nor his hopeless attempts to woo her, and while these make for interesting interactions between them (and some refreshingly sincere acting from Pratt), the would-be-romance doesn't drive the plot, which is refreshing even as it stings. It does teach Peter some valuable lessons, though, which land satisfyingly well by film's end. Drax, Nebula, Mantis, and Groot (Dave Bautista, Karen Gillan, Pom Klementieff, and Vin Diesel, respectively) are all present, and have some shining moments, but don't really have much to do except shoot off sassy or silly one-liners and help in the battles. Then add in all the cameos, the other characters -- I mean what about Cosmo the Spacedog, voiced by Maria Bakalova, or Lylla the otter, voiced to heartbreaking perfection by Linda Cardellini? -- and this movie feels like an entire miniseries crammed into two and a half hours.

The parallel plots do occasionally throw off the film's momentum, and I felt more than a little jarred when we'd go from relatively quiet, painful scenes in Rocket's past to bizarre locations and manic fighting scenes in the present. Thankfully, there are some really great practical effects and sets, the bread and butter of Gunn's demented charms, and some really freaky creatures out of his darkest imaginings, though the finale goes boom in big ways that only the MCU has really trademarked successfully. But generally speaking, this is one of the strongest MCU products we've seen in a long time. Its smart villain is one to remember, perhaps mostly because of the weird existential dilemma he signifies: his relationship with Rocket is as a jealous parent or jealous god who resents and fears the intelligence and goodness of his creation. No wonder this movie reads so much like Gunn's manifesto, as he always seems to want his movies to succeed beyond his legacy. And if you doubt me, check out the film's closing sequence, mostly a dance party to Florence and the Machine's "Dog Days are Over," which had me weeping for the rest of the day.