It Lives Inside (2023)

Score: 3 / 5

Possession movies are a basic food group in horror cinema, evidenced by new additions every year, and they've been getting wonderfully culturally and ethnically diverse. Starting with The Exorcist, almost all possession films find their theological heart in white Christianity, specifically Roman Catholicism. In only the last few years, we've had multiple possession movies that dramatically expand the scope of represented faiths to include Judaism (after The Possession in 2012 we finally got The Vigil and The Offering), Islam, Caribbean brujeria, Korean and Japanese myth, indigenous religions, and even a few devoid of faith, which usually means the theming is psychological and about some kind of trauma or disorder. It Lives Inside is the first Hindu possession horror film I've seen, and while the trappings are fascinating and beautiful, I wish there was something else fresh going on to make it more worthwhile.

Samidha ("Sam," played by Megan Suri) is a smart, popular Indian-American student in high school. Her mother (Neeru Bajwa) is overbearing but her father adeptly helps calm things between them, seeing that Sam is an American kid foremost and wants to fit in in ways her mother eschews. Sam is harboring a crush on Russ, the popular (white) guy in her class, and her former best friend Tamira seems to be going off the deep end, sleep-deprived and talking to herself while behaving in a paranoid and irritable manner. One teacher (Betty Gabriel) becomes concerned and asks Sam to reconnect with Tamira, but Sam has no interest in associating with the "crazy" Brown person and reveals no small amount of internalized racism in the interaction. Her frustration with being relied on to help Tamira leads Sam to break a glass jar Tamira has been obsessively carrying around.

Naturally, the jar was holding an evil spirit -- known in Hindu and Buddhist myth as a pishach -- that feeds on human energy and flesh and can only be contained, not destroyed. Once Tamira goes missing, after the jar is broken, Sam suspects her delusions might have been truthful. Sam begins experiencing hallucinations and vicious dreams about a tooth-riddled monster approaching her and hurting the people around her. The pishach functions like many movie monsters, especially in coming-of-age narratives, attempting to isolate Sam from her family and friends while chipping away at her sense of reality. It's effective here, as Sam is already fairly isolated and working hard to assimilate; her attempts to use an Americanized name, hang with micro-aggressive white kids, and build a barrier between her home life and her social life all make her an easy target for a creature that will prey on her identity and specifically her body.

And that's about where the intrigue stops, or at least it did for me. Bishal Dutta's directorial debut indicates strong concepts and accessible drama, but it stops short of really adding anything meaningful to the existing heap of culturally specific possession movies. After introducing the assimilation theming and especially the conflict between Sam as a first-generation citizen and her mother, the film shies away from making any significant observations or arguments about being Brown or Hindu in America (the Netflix-released His House is great in this regard, so go watch that!). Even the knowledge that the demon came from India along with several other Indian families it preyed upon doesn't lead this narrative into Sam searching for more community or exploring generational and familial trauma and immigration. Too, there is almost no suspicion or clear racism against Sam -- who is present when one of her friends is murdered -- by the white kids or their families, no police presence, and that's when the whole racial-relevance shtick feels less authentic and more convenient.

It's as though Dutta wants to just make a standard teen scary movie that just looks more diverse than others in the market. Which is fine, but for the first widely released Hindu possession movie, it's a shame It Lives Inside wasn't designed for more meaningful impact or insight. Dutta and his cinematographer work hard for a claustrophobic aesthetic, rich in shadows and mostly comprised of severe close-up shots, but they are undercut by haphazard editing that bewilders as often as it pushes the plot along. Worse, despite the demon's pretty cool design, their final confrontation is too long and action-heavy, and it felt that Dutta cared more about mass audience appeal and a potential sequel than about honoring the story and characters of this material. 

Dream Scenario (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

The biggest shock of the year for me, Dream Scenario is also one of the most daring and thoughtful movies released cinemas in a long time. "Provocative" is a word that came to mind also, but not because it provokes audiences in ways like Saltburn or Priscilla are meant to instigate passionate discussions of hot topics. This film provokes us to rethink dreams and the waking world, yes, but more importantly it forces us to compare dreams to social media and the kind of meta-fame that comes with anonymous people suddenly becoming popular icons. This is a rare genre-defying blend of dark comedy, fantasy, horror, and social commentary-as-drama, not tonally or aesthetically dissimilar from works by Spike Jonze, Charlie Kaufman, or the magnificent 1979 film Being There.

Anyone who knows me knows I strongly dislike Nicolas Cage as a performer and actor, but that that doesn't stop me from liking some -- and, I must emphasize, only a select few -- of films in which he stars. Here, he's magnificent as a mild-mannered and eccentric biology professor, nondescript and fumbling Paul Matthews, whose own wife describes them as people nobody would notice and who prefer not to be noticed by anybody. His jokes aren't funny, and his interests are dispiritingly bland. His altered physical appearance and awkward movement work fabulously realize a character who needs basically no introduction or backstory because he is such an everyman. As his agitation and indignation grow, so too does his temper, and he's at his typical best (ooh, I'm cringing to even write that) when his gears grind to a halt and he explodes.

How does an everyman become a martyr? It starts when he spontaneously starts appearing in the dreams of others. There is no inciting incident, no cause, no rationale; there is also no pattern or correlation between dreamers who see Paul. His wife (a woefully underused Julianne Nicholson) doesn't dream of him, but his daughter does. Several of his students dream of him. Many strangers dream of him. They all do share, however, similar visions of him simply existing in the world of their dreams and being memorable, despite him doing nothing in the dream. He's just there, watching, much like he does in real life. He meekly strolls though, as we see, in his unflattering sweater and wide eyes, sometimes smiling in a passive but pleasant way. Though, of course, most people who dream of him don't even know that's his dominant character trait.

Norwegian director Kristoffer Borgli's first American film is a masterclass in balancing these seemingly disparate elements, and it's clear he feels passionately about it as both writer and director. Part of the film's beauty is that, while it does follow some familiar beats and raise predictable questions about its material, it actively resists categorization and feels endlessly believable. Dream sequences are almost never obvious, until of course they are. Unlike most dramatized dreams in bright white echo chambers or ethereal foggy soundstages, here the set/location, sound design, nor editing reveal that the scene is in fact a titular dream scenario. The cinematographer's use of film stock gives the proceedings a grainy reliability so that, when odd things do occasionally happen, you have to remind yourself that we're not seeing a fluke or fantasy. The dreams are also not predictably inserted, and so -- except for one darkly hilarious montage of dreams -- you're never quite ready for someone to float away or brutally kill another.

Because the point of the film, by its halfway point, is not why a nondescript man is appearing in the dreams of so many people, or even how sudden recognizability and fame without reason or purpose can affect someone's life. Rather, the point of the film is how fickle and dangerous that kind of fame (or infamy) actually is and how devastating it can be for those who can't handle it and don't understand it. Right around the time Paul is learning to embrace his popularity -- appearing on talk shows and publishing a book -- his presence in dreams suddenly turns violent. He is cruel and violent towards others, even sexually assaulting and murdering people; in real life, people are terrified of him to the point of group therapy and ostracizing Paul. Everything in his real life is jeopardized, from his car being vandalized to his daughter fearing him, his wife leaving him, his job being taken, his book being cancelled. Everything is gone, and he has done nothing to deserve any of it.

Dream Scenario may not make great insights or even solid statements about its subject matter, but its approach and convictions will haunt you. Cage -- being who he is -- is turned into a freak not because of his nature but because of everyone's perception of him, and it's the kind of role he excels in realizing (Adaptation comes to mind as the crucial counterpoint here). He has, especially recently, relished in metafictional roles that cater to him, but this is one of the first times his bizarre choices feel earnest and earned, and I often felt that he was supporting the film rather than the other way around. He plays the part as if it were a biopic about an innocent professor obsessed with ant evolution, so much so that his alarming presence in dream scenes feels a bit like a caricature or someone else entirely. Perhaps the emotional climax of the film occurs when, desperate for the prosecution to stop, Paul releases a video of himself weeping, begging for sympathy, and it's seen (as like most influencers) as a grab for yet more attention and weaponizing his own fame. It's telling, too, that Borgli cast Cage in a role that somewhat mirrors his own bizarre, meme-able fame that has little real basis in merited talent or skill yet increasingly perseveres in our virtual culture.

The things I dislike about the film, apart from Nicholson's dully written role, come from its screenplay, which feels at once thoughtfully inspired and tragically underbaked. Its grasp on concepts, especially the agony of being unable to control your own famous image, is strong. Its grasp on humans is less strong, and the presence of other famous names like Michael Cera, Dylan Gelula, and Dylan Baker comprise a cast of flat, unremarkable, and mostly hostile characters. Its grasp on horror is simple but effective (and, I should note, very little graphic violence), making the disturbing bits less horrifying and more horrified, as if the film itself doesn't want to perpetuate the scary stuff. Its grasp on humor is complex and less effective, taking frankly cheap shots at cancel culture, Fox News, capitalist influencers, and more while avoiding the admittedly difficult but more satisfying existential humor that the film could so easily harness. This satire is more about recognizing face-value references than about the Big Ideas those references should be, well, referencing. This makes the comedy element awkward and somewhat cringey. I'd have preferred a film that either goes in whole hog with its humor -- albeit in a fittingly complicated, absurdist way -- or with its horror, or one that at least threads those needles with more finesse from the writer's workshop.

Napoleon (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

Thank heaven Ridley Scott is still making movies. His style may not always land for everyone, and his subject matter certainly doesn't, but I've liked every title I've seen of his directorial filmography. With this ambitious biopic and historical war thriller combination, however, I think the vastness that is Napoleon might be slightly beyond Scott's grasp. At least as a lesson in history. The film, while endlessly engaging and fabulous in spectacle, tries to do far too much in its two-and-a-half-hours, and rumor has it that a four-plus-hour director's cut is in the works already. I certainly hope it is.

Scott is here doing what he does best -- or, at least, most famously -- in fictionally dramatizing real historical events mobilized by massive wars. He's also creating a project few filmmakers have dared attempt, though the most immediate comparison point I can conceive might be Oliver Stone's storied (and in my opinion, utterly brilliant) biopic of Alexander the Great. His focus, of course, is here Napoleon Bonaparte, who Scott tries to epitomize from the French Revolution in 1973 (as he apparently watches the beheading of Marie Antoinette) right through his defeat in the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. That's a massive amount of time -- and accomplishments -- to fit into any film, but it does flow rather nicely for what amounts to a bullet-pointed summary.

I confess not knowing a lot about the Napoleonic Wars, but I followed this film generally well, though my notes include several questions for light research. While I knew Egypt was part of his empire, I didn't know about the Battle of the Pyramids; while I knew his invasion of Russia is usually considered a failure, I didn't know that Moscow had been abandoned and burned in 1812. A better screenplay would have found ways of providing more context and information in addition to the "dramatic bits" that seem to dominate the dialogue. And really, that's my only complaint with this film in general: David Scarpa's screenplay just doesn't get deeper than a surface-level survey of Napoleon's wars, shallowly avoiding insight or even much explanation while tying together massive set pieces and Big Ideas. Stringing us from battle to battle, the screenplay only dramatizes Napoleon to the extent that he starts as a terrified soldier and ends as a tragically confident emperor, with only an enigmatic and erotic marital arrangement to flavor his life between wars.

The deeper parts of the screenplay -- and yes, they do exist -- are the more melodramatic and private. Scott's film is wielding a dual purpose: one, to chronicle Napoleon's imperial ambitions, and two, to dramatize the obsessive and contentious romantic relationship he shared with Josephine, an aristocratic widow who takes notice of him after his heroic victory in the Siege of Toulon (which is one of the film's best and most graphic battle scenes, and be warned if you dislike the idea of seeing a horse's torso explode from cannonball impact). Their meeting in 1795 starts a lifetime of passionate lovemaking, grueling political intrigue, and letter-writing that apparently served as inspiration for the entire project. Joaquin Phoenix is never less than arresting as Napoleon (though not always believable with his lack of discernible accent and his age, which doesn't always match the age of the character), but it is Vanessa Kirby whose performance deserves more attention. Kirby has the thankless job of playing a mysterious character mostly lost to history, whose sole purpose in the film -- and, arguably, in life -- is to be a mirror of sorts to the emperor, policing his ego, stroking his ambition, and of course providing sustenance for his desires. Josephine's inability to provide Napoleon with an air becomes the central problem in their relationship, but beyond that familiar plotline is a wealth of weighty power dynamics and sensual challenges between them.

Frankly, I'd have liked this film to either be a miniseries (which, with a potential four-plus-hour cut, I guess it essentially will be) or two separate films, one focusing on Napoleon's wars and public persona and one on his private struggles with family and politics. Both are deserving of more screen time and more dramatic and thematic depth. What is it about Josephine that makes Napoleon all but go mad for her? What is it about him that she apparently loves so much? We're never really given insight into their relationship; the actors are both masters of creating backstory and internal conflict with little more than a silent look, but the screenplay could and should help its audience a bit more. Especially since the film suggests to a lesser extent that it's in pursuit of Josephine that Napoleon finds his motivation for warmongering and empire-building. Neither the director nor writer seem interested in making broad statements about Napoleon as a man, tyrant, or anything else; there's nary a moment of insecurity about his height or attempts to compensate (as pop culture would otherwise imply), about colonialism, madness (I mean, not even a hint of insight into the Napoleon Complex, if you please), or anything that makes Napoleon out to be more than a figurehead, fated to rise and fall in preordained beats of life or a cinematic reel.

So, while it's frustrating to not know much more about Napoleon after viewing the film than before, it's also clear that Scott and his team aren't interested in a history lesson or character discussion. Those are movies that could (and should) be made. This is a period war movie, one that takes its apparent purpose as something akin to war epics of decades gone by. It uses relentlessly impressive battle scenes on enormous scale to cow us into awe, alternating these massive sequences with private bedchamber scenes to underscore Napoleon's "home" life and how it interplays with the man we know from history. With the graphic battle scenes, and the film's closing text discussing the estimated three million deaths during the Napoleonic Wars, I wish the film had leaned into an understanding of him as a warmonger, yes, but also a deathmonger; he seems most lively on screen only when battle rages around him and the threat of death is imminent. This would have been a fascinating lens to view the film through, especially given the contrasting desperation for new life Napoleon craves in begetting a son. It's telling that, once his son is born, he completely disappears from the film and is not mentioned even in the closing text.

Saltburn (2023)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Much like the tonal tightrope she mastered in her debut, Promising Young Woman, Saltburn is an aptly fitting sophomore feature for Emerald Fennell. As in that first film, this one doesn't really tread new ground; rather, it takes a familiar trope and turns it on its head. Previously, Fennell took the "rape revenge" arc and flipped the script, literally, turning the avenging angel into a self-sacrificing shell of a stalker and master manipulator. Now, in Saltburn, she takes the sociopathic class-climber and uses that lens to critique the wealthy elite and skewer their polite mannerisms that disguise cruelty and indifference.

Essentially -- and, surprisingly, without credit -- a reimagining of Patricia Highsmith's The Talented Mr. Ripley, this story takes place in the English countryside in the mid-aughts. This is crucial, both in terms of geographical location (the original heavily utilized a tour of exotic Italy to contrast with the titular character's struggles in New York City) and time period (when, in the 2000s, certain vicious anxieties about acceptance of gay adolescents were reaching a breaking point). These changes make quite a difference to both aesthetics and theming, making latent queerness explicit while also making the entire plot more believable for anyone not accustomed to vacationing in romantic Mediterranean locales. We can all understand the eccentricities of an aristocratic Oxford family in their manor, if only because we know about Downton Abbey and the eventual decline of such estates.

Few actors were a better choice for the lead here than Barry Keoghan, who has made quite a career for himself in the last seven years playing possibly dangerous creeps, weirdos who don't quite fit in and are almost certainly unreliable in the most violent way. Here as Oliver Quick, his chameleonic tendencies showcase Keoghan's range in new ways, as we see him subtly shift his mannerisms and voice in almost every scene, to better ingratiate himself to his scene partner and their version of acceptable or endearing behavior; in this way, his performance reminds me a lot of Michelle Williams in All the Money in the World but with a much nastier tone. But Oliver is not just a scary social climber, oh no: he's a scholarship student at Oxford, shunned for his perceived poverty and relative lack of social graces (although he is completely unreliable about his past, even if we weren't to be introduced to his family eventually). 

While it's never quite clear what exactly motivates Oliver, he soon notices Felix Catton, an impossibly beautiful upperclassman (in every sense) whose cool suavity and seductive popularity sets him worlds apart from Oliver's reality. It's unclear in their early scenes whether Oliver wants Felix as a friend, a lover, or a role model, but his obsession is apparent. It's clear he has a long game in mind when, after their creepy meet-cute (is "meet-creep" a thing yet?), Felix and Oliver develop an unexpected camaraderie that even Felix's friends decry as weird. Part of us wants to root for the hot, popular guy to chum it up with the gutter kid, because that's sweet; part of us wants them to fall in love because if Julia Roberts can do it, these queer kids should! But the bigger part of us knows this isn't healthy or normal, and Oliver's leechlike ambitions will cause many problems to come. Jacob Elordi is making quite a big splash in highbrow cinema lately between Euphoria, Priscilla, Deep Water (also a Highsmith story), and an upcoming Paul Schrader film, and he knowingly weaponizes his good looks and mellifluous voice to devastating effect for both us and Oliver.

When Felix invites Oliver to his home, Saltburn, for the summer holiday, the latent tensions and suspected manipulations come to fruition, making up the body of the film. As Felix introduces Oliver to the sprawling property and mansion, we also meet his various family members in increasingly hilarious ways. These people are the proverbially "stupid rich," from Richard E. Grant's sweetly infantile father ("Sir James," as if he could be a knight) and Rosamund Pike's deliciously glamorous and dubiously "woke" mother ("Elspeth," if you please) to Alison Oliver's stylishly dispossessed sister ("Venetia," the sole possible reference to Italy and also a literally depressed sinking city) and Archie Madekwe's refreshingly clear-eyed but desperate-to-be-included queer cousin Farleigh ("far" as the only non-nuclear family member and effectively masking his bitchy faux-superiority from the family on "lee"ward side of politeness). Oh, and then Carey Mulligan rejoins Fennell in the most outrageous supporting role here as "Poor Dear Pamela," a houseguest for no discernible reason or rhyme, who is blissfully unaware that she has overstayed her welcome, although it's also notably possible that Elspeth's professed lesbian fling of the past is in fact not so past and might very well be Pamela.

In case it all sounds like too much at this point, don't fret. It's not. It's a perfect blend of substance and style, a wickedly blasé take on roasting the upper class while also raising questions about those of us who idolize them. The wickedly mean-spiritedness of the film is always a little murky, and we're never quite sure if we should be laughing aloud or cringing in shame. Saltburn is always beautiful to behold, though, both due to its lavish production value and especially Linus Sandgren's suggestive cinematography. The filmmakers' presentation of their world starts fairly accessibly and formally, but by our actual introduction to Saltburn itself, even the camera and edits start to lean into the characters' own perceptions of reality, addled as they are with alcohol, drugs, lust, and confused emotional states. The film is lush until it becomes garish, the summer night's dream tipping ever more into nightmare. Evening gowns and suits notwithstanding, the most shocking moments of the film involve multiple bodily fluids and nakedness of a sort that reveal the gleeful evil at the heart of these characters and the film itself.

The ending, however, frustrates me to distraction. Fennell's slyly funny project, both sumptuous and insidious, is best when it is also provocative. The same was true of her debut feature. Little is more provocative than some ambiguity, some suspense, as any filmmaker of dark dramas and thrillers would tell you since at least Hitchcock's reign. But in the final, I don't know, fifteen minutes of the film, Fennell makes a disastrous blunder in depicting -- almost like dramatized flashbacks in a Dateline episode -- exact moments of Oliver's criminality. We see him calculate and orchestrate his initial meeting with Felix, supply Venetia with razors, ruin Farleigh's prospects, poison Felix after his rejection, and ultimately murder Elspeth. For all the empowering moments of deduction and suspicion Fennell has provided her audience, in the final moments she acts as though she didn't trust us at all, holding our hand and explaining every gruesome beat that made her film so grimly compelling. Leaving all those moments vague would have been infinitely more powerful -- haunting our minds during and after the viewing -- especially given the film's final sequence of Oliver dancing nude through the halls of Saltburn.

Wish (2023)

Score: 3.5 / 5

The latest animated musical feature from Disney is going to do little more than endear longtime fans and stoke the fires of people who love to hate the studio. Wish isn't really much of anything new, spends a lot of time referencing (directly and indirectly) the storied history of the studio, and basically functions as a microcosm of the 100th anniversary celebration Disney has been observing this year. Personally, I really enjoyed this movie and felt its determined nostalgia was sweet and pure and -- most importantly -- earned this year. While I might have wished (ha ha) for a more original concept or execution, some of Disney's more recent forays into purely imaginative works haven't been well received at the box office or popularly, so I don't envy the creators in trying to find that happy medium. On one hand, you have brilliant, progressive works like Strange World which precious few people talk about or even saw, and on the other, you have straightforward sequels or cinematic cousins (Inside Out 2 and Elemental, for example).

After a storybook introduction, we're cast into Rosas, a Mediterranean kingdom at some unclear point in history. The unexpectedly beautiful animation blends CGI techniques with what appears to be something akin to hand-drawn backgrounds that reminded me distinctly of Sleeping Beauty (almost certainly an intentional reference). King Magnifico (Chris Pine) rules Rosas through egotism, charm and charisma, and his sorcery, which he uses to control magic; specifically, he collects the wishes of his citizens and keeps them hidden at the top of his castle tower, occasionally bestowing a wish on a special citizen. We meet Asha (Ariana DeBose, whose sudden stardom is really just wonderful), a teenager who interviews to be the king's apprentice before realizing Magnifico is actually power-mad and a manipulative liar. Thus, the central theme of Wish might arguably be about leaders who promise and don't follow through, or who take more than they give back in pursuit of their goals. I confess myself a little surprised Magnifico doesn't more closely resemble Ron DeSantis, but his villainous color palette is pure green, indicating that money and greed/envy are the real evils here.

As a fantasy and a musical, the film takes the easy and fun path forward, rather than delving into somber territory about an ordinary girl who is forced to confront a corrupt king. Before long, Asha wishes on a star that promptly falls to earth and follows her around, helping her in her quest. The Star is mostly silent and has a stylized appearance that could have come out of a Nintendo game or Studio Ghibli film, and its somewhat chaotic magic immediately allows several woodland animals and vegetation to speak. Alan Tudyk's goat Valentino is particularly delightful. With all the talking animals and Asha's friends (of which there are seven who clearly share characteristics with the seven dwarfs who aid Snow White) on board with their somewhat vague mission, and they set out with Star to rescue the captive wishes from Magnifico.

A smattering of upbeat and fun musical numbers litter the film, some more engaging than others, though I particularly enjoyed the songs' focus on character and thematic development rather than pushing plot along. Similarly, there are endless references to other Disney material, which comes to fruition near the end of the film. By the climax and denouement, the film seems to be suggesting a few key things about its own nature that I find deeply satisfying in their ambiguity. The main point, during the climax, is that people's wishes are pure and true to themselves, offering purpose as well as hope, and that wishes should not be co-opted by others, especially leaders. Asha becomes magical herself when the Star sprinkles its dust on her and gifts her a magic wand that allows her to grant wishes and defeat evil. While it seems the film is meant to explain the nature of Disney's iconic wishing star (from its longtime logo over Cinderella's castle through its associations with the Blue Fairy and Tinker Bell and even the firefly Ray), I can't help but wonder if this movie could be an unofficial origin story for the Fairy Godmother. It's a fun thought, anyway. And that's mostly what Wish is: a fun time with good music and excellent animation that just makes you feel good. We're not in a renaissance for Disney yet, but we're getting close to due for another one, if the studio's past trend continues. In the meantime, I'm more than happy with this kind of material to celebrate its anniversary!

Thanksgiving (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

Just in time for the titular holiday, Thanksgiving is Eli Roth's love letter to '80s slashers that center on "other" holidays than Black Christmas and of course Halloween. The trend bled out -- so to speak -- during the decade, from Mother's Day and New Year's Evil through My Bloody Valentine to Graduation Day and Prom Night, encompassing the likes of Silent Night, Deadly Night and April Fool's Day among many, many more. Few are remembered or regarded well, but those of us in the know usually bust one or two out every year during its respective season. I have a whole list of Christmas horror movies I bust out in December to usher in the festivities! But this is the first Thanksgiving slasher I've seen, and it feels a lot like those '80s ones in the best ways.

It's clear Roth eschews both "elevated" horror (a la A24 titles and their ilk) as well as exclusive jump-scares (and often supernatural tactics, a la Blumhouse), preferring instead to lean into bloody violence while following a classic whodunnit plot. Longtime fans will remember his fake trailer for a Thanksgiving slasher in the middle of Tarantino/Rodriguez's Grindhouse in 2007, and this film definitely remembers that promise, even using title text that feels ripped from exploitation films of the time. To reassure those (like me) who tire of some of Roth's previous bloodbaths: this film isn't simply a gorefest and actually exhibits some admirable restraint on that front. Roth isn't going for heightened themes here, either, and has crafted a hyper-focused thrill ride of suspicion and fear along with geographical and cultural specificity that makes Plymouth, the home of the holiday, an interesting and dynamic character itself. 

It helps, too, that films like this just work. They are tailor-made to be crowd-pleasers, generating dread, cultivating frisson, and allowing catharsis in palatably brief runtimes and reliably paced beats. The closest this film gets to making broader statements is in its opening, a deliciously bleak sequence that depicts a Black Friday sale -- on Thursday night -- that turns into a violent mob and results in multiple deaths. It's horrifying and grimly funny, not unlike the opening sequence of Krampus but with Roth's flair for blood. A year later, a killer dressed up as the aptly-named John Carver (first governor of Plymouth) begins murdering the primary instigators of the previous year's tragedy, who were recorded on security camera footage that had since been deleted mysteriously.

The whodunnit aspect kicks into gear when the group of teenage friends -- led by Jessica (Nell Verlaque) whose father owns the store -- all receive creepy notifications on social media from the killer with pictures of a dinner table with their names set at seats. While the sheriff (Patrick Dempsey) works to investigate, Jessica and her friends piece together the killer's MO and targets pretty quickly, much like in a Scream story. Not all the characters are well rounded, but you don't expect or even want that in movies like this, and frankly it helps keep energy up and humor up when you don't get too attached to the characters who will invariably end up on the, well, cutting room floor. On the other hand, the killer is more than effectively scary, because of both his cold confidence and frankly disturbing literal reminder of colonialism, fundamentalism, and the power of traditions that are perhaps problematic. Which makes this film a pretty great way to serve a sadistic and sardonic dish to anyone with a taste for it.

The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

A prequel book based on the backstory of the antagonist was probably not what most fans expected ten years after the Hunger Games books were published. However, once its release, it was a sure thing a film adaptation would be in the works. Thankfully, director Francis Lawrence returns to the franchise, carefully maintaining aesthetic and thematic through-lines with the earlier films. This story is set sixty-four years prior to Katniss Everdeen's first time in the titular games, so very few of the characters are the same (though some names like Heavensbee and Flickerman reveal ancestry in fun ways). And while the world is slightly different than the one established previously, it's instantly recognizable as the chilling world of Panem. Here, it hasn't been a dystopian hellscape for long, and this film dramatizes what is only the tenth annual Hunger Games.

It's a remarkably faithful adaptation of the novel, one that honors its story and characters admirably given the book's length (well, the film is plenty long to accommodate) and scope. The primary difference I noticed is that the book features detailed and long-winded philosophical conversations between the young Coriolanus Snow and his colleagues as he climbs the ranks of students, mentors, and finally gamemakers. The film slyly bypasses these, making the film notably more action-oriented than the book, though that's surely not a bad thing given its target audience and the flavor of previous installments. I personally like this series the farther it gets from the titular games; it's the politics and historical references I find most fascinating, and this story feels like a huge step in the right direction (like Mockingjay and its sequel). Additional references to things like District 13, Katniss, Mockingjays, and more are fun in the moment, though they do leave me wanting more.

And it's arguably partly due to the odd nature of the source material here. The book is as odd as the film in that while it's lovely to return to Panem and the ideas in the series, it begs the question of whether Collins has more "origin" stories to tell -- about Coin, for example, or the First Rebellion against the Capitol, when District 13 went underground -- because that would be super cool if they were written as such. The thing about The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is that it's hard to tell if it's meant to be a standalone prequel. Especially its ending, which features a missing protagonist and the imminent rise of a villain, doesn't quite wrap up this story in satisfying dramatic terms, making us wonder if this is meant to be the start of a series focused on a young Snow.

The film belongs squarely to Tom Blyth in his performance as a young Coriolanus Snow, and it's a gripping performance, due to his striking beauty and arresting presence on screen. It's a shame he neither looks nor acts like Donald Sutherland, but then, who does? What Blyth brings, apart from youthful curiosity and desperation, is a sense of profound entitlement based purely on his own ambition. He's not from the wealthiest of families -- his too-brief scenes with Grandma'am (Fionnula Flanagan) and cousin Tigris (Hunter Schafer) indicate their filial warmth and financial duress -- but he's terrifyingly smart; Snow clearly changes his physical presence and mannerisms once he leaves home and is out among his peers and superiors, making himself more like them and even above them. He navigates a world of appearances and facades with deft footwork and a chilling poker face, developing his manipulations even as his integrity begins to crumble. There comes a point when he can't be bothered to justify or even label what he's doing as moral, much less his goals. It's just so subtle -- and was in the book, too -- which makes Snow such a fascinating and insidious character.

As for the film itself, I had a grand time soaking it all in. Due to its earlier time period, the design of costumes and props is retro, seemingly inspired by '50s decor, perhaps best showcased in the Hunger Games operational hub. A wall of old-style televisions, in front of wood paneling, displays views from within the arena while commentator Lucky Flickerman (Jason Schwartzman) hosts the first-ever national broadcast. He's delightful but in a more restrained way than his descendant, played by a zany Stanley Tucci, though this film features very little camp or comedy. The Capitol is a more dangerous place in this era, so its glamor is notably minimal, perhaps explaining why we get to know so few of its denizens in this film. Peter Dinklage plays Casca Highbottom, the dean of the Academy who co-imagined the Hunger Games and now is mentally tortured by the horror he has wrought with its implementation. Dr. Volumnia Gaul, sadistic and megalomaniacal head gamemaker, is played gleefully by Viola Davis, who imbues the eccentric character with camp and chews so much scenery she'll surely need dentures.

As I said, it's a fabulous film, much heavier and more bitter than I expected and almost devoid of humor, one that very much honors and continues what has come before. Rachel Zegler (West Side Story, Shazam: Fury of the Gods) plays Lucy Gray Baird, a traveling musician and burgeoning revolutionary who gets conscripted into the games, and her stunning voice and surprising physicality help her a lot, because her acting chops feel a little out of their depth here (though she's also not given much dynamics to play with by the screenplay, in which she's pretty one-note, so to speak). When the games do happen, in the middle act, it's more brutal than before, perhaps because of the starved and sick competitors (it's clear they'll be pampered in subsequent years, as the games become more spectacular and popular) and perhaps because of the comparatively small arena. But it's in the final act that I was most intrigued, after Snow and Baird have developed something more than mentorship connections that feel distinctly romantic or manipulative. While Lucy Gray is more fully herself, "Coryo" is steely and cold, and their fraught dance of tension during the denouement and emotional climax is a haunting and deeply uncomfortable end to the larger-than-life story. Which is to say, it's brave and bold and memorable, and not at all what I expected from this franchise at this late point.

Next Goal Wins (2023)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Taika Waititi is back in pure form with Next Goal Wins, which is also one of my favorite movies this year. Perhaps it feels unfairly fresh to me because I usually eschew sports films; those more accustomed to the genre might find this bland or trite, because it doesn't offer many surprises to the typical narrative or themes. But novelty doesn't trump other concerns, and this movie has style and heart to spare. I haven't laughed aloud this much in cinemas in years, and before the film ended I had also openly wept.

The story concerns Thomas Rongen (a terrific Michael Fassbender), the real-life Dutch-American football (soccer) coach with a nasty temper. That rage has gotten him into trouble with FIFA before, and now he's offered an ultimatum: he'll be fired outright, or he can relocate to American Samoa to coach their losing team back to a ranking that isn't worst. Because they are, literally, the worst team, having notoriously lost a World Cup game by the largest margin in the organization's history. As they prepare for the 2014 World Cup, Rongen has to navigate a culture he doesn't understand and build trust among his team, yes, but he also has to face himself, his temper, and the pain in his past he hasn't yet processed. Sometimes it takes failure and displacement to get you to really take stock and make internal changes. So Next Goal Wins is a sports story about underdogs, and in that it isn't anything groundbreaking; it's also the story of a tortured coach who finally starts to heal, and in that it's similarly rote.

What makes it special is the Waititi flair and humor, especially paired with a setting we don't get to see much in American movies. While that reveals my tendency to enjoy stories of white Westerners in "exotic" cultures, I'd argue that even those of the Eat, Pray, Love ilk aren't all bad. Escapism works, both in life and in art, and as long as the white visitors or transplants know their place and the story doesn't hinge on cultural appropriation or colonialism, I find it potentially incredibly endearing. Think of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, its sequel, or even last year's Ticket to Paradise, and they're just fabulous feel-good exercises that offer tastes of wholly different lives, and we can be changed along with the protagonist by just absorbing the newness.

All this said, I do rather wish that Waititi had chosen to situate his protagonist not as the new coach but rather as the team captain, Jaiyah, played by Kaimana, who easily gives one of the best performances in the movie. Jaiyah is fa'afafine, a community in Samoa that is recognized and respected as another gender (other than male or female). In real life, she is the first openly non-binary and trans woman to play in the World Cup qualifiers. With that incredible germ of a story right there, it's hard to swallow that Waititi wanted to center everything about a bitter white coach unable to handle his anger instead. Jaiyah's dynamic arc of courage and perseverance could have dramatized hours of storytelling on its own, but Waititi uses her as a subplot to help Rongen see the light. And while this relationship is one of the most important and central to the film, it's also treated with a certain glibness by the screenplay: during one particularly nasty scene, Rongen uses Jaiyah's legal name intentionally cruelly in front of the team in an attempt to control and shame her, and it's really just chalked up to his not knowing better as a foreigner. Even later when they reconcile, Rongen's pointed questions about her genitals aren't addressed as anything more insidious than an annoyance.

Dramatically, even on Rongen's side, things are kept pretty close to the chest. His ex, played by Elizabeth Moss, and her new fling, played by Will Arnett, pop in for a few scenes, but they're mostly treated as silly distractions after they've sent Rongen packing in the opening sequence. Much more screen time is given to the Samoans, including a brilliant Oscar Kightley as Tavita and the team under him. Tavita plays perhaps the strongest role in showing Rongen that island life isn't the same as it is in the rest of the world, getting him to slow down and seek happiness in practical, real ways. His lessons, and lessons from the other islanders, are laced with large dollops of comedy, intentionally eccentric to white ears but rich in Waititi's idiosyncratic wit. While sometimes the humor tries to mask a shallowness of these characters, who aren't very well realized, the effect on the film is a sort of delightful romp through a wholly new slice of life. I absolutely loved it all, from the soundtrack choices to stunning tropical visuals and richly designed costumes. For a heartwarming and inspiring story that is as reliably safe as it is hilarious, please go see Next Goal Wins with your friends and family this holiday weekend!

Totally Killer (2023)

Score: 2.5 / 5

On Halloween night in the present day, Jamie Hughes is getting ready to go out with her friends. Their town of Vernon could be anywhere, but it's special because thirty-five years previously, Vernon was also home to a killer who slaughtered three teenage girls in the days around Halloween. As the "Sweet Sixteen Killer" -- so named due to both the age of his victims and the number of times he stabbed each one -- was never discovered nor apprehended, he's become something of a local boogeyman, even inspiring Michael Myers-type rubber masks as an annual tradition. Jamie's mother (Julie Bowen) is overprotective, as she was friends with the three victims, and that very night she's murdered by a masked killer who stabs her sixteen times. It seems that the killer -- who may or may not be a serial killer, as many characters point out, due to the limited number of victims -- has returned.

I was excited for this film based on this premise alone. Comedy director Nahnatchka Khan helms the horror-comedy slasher flick, released exclusively on Prime Video, that knowingly pits precocious Gen Z teens against a mysterious menace. What I was not ready for, and frankly what I'm still reeling over, is the inclusion of time travel. What at first felt like a Scream meets Fear Street mashup is actually more in line with Happy Death Day 2 or Back to the Future but with stabbings. Thankfully, the time travel kind of makes sense here, in simple ways overlooked by the likes of the MCU, and while that means the horror element isn't nearly as effective as it could be, the humor is definitely present. Because once the killer chases Jamie herself, and Jamie inadvertently rides her friend's school science project into 1987, she realizes she might be able to stop the original murders, change history, and save her mother.

Of course there is too much ado about Jamie's unbelievability in the '80s, as nobody heeds her warnings about impending slaughter. Her mother (Olivia Holt) turns out to be an archetypal "mean girl" along with the other victims, and though Jamie tries to save her mother's bitchy friends, there is a certain emotional disconnect the film utilizes to chillingly hilarious effect. While the murders themselves are brutal, we're not made to really feel the weight of them because, of course, they were inevitable (and, according to the film's logic, arguably deserved) to some extent. And Jamie's reaction to culture shock is probably the most entertaining aspect of this movie, from the big hair fashion and constant smoking to outright misogyny, all of which occur through rapid-fire dialogue and bone-dry delivery. She's a total fish out of water, and despite her warnings that go unheeded, she subtly transforms (thanks to Kiernan Shipka's thoughtful if grating performance) into a woman who takes initiative and embraces her own integrity.

The other performances all fit the wacky, somewhat campy vibe of Totally Killer, for better and for worse. And I actually enjoyed that, because its effect is to simultaneously cut through the veneer of '80s nostalgia so often present in horror/sci-fi material based in the period. Shipka is so unimpressed with the mise en scène that we are too, though we're not ready for it. I especially liked the concept, not totally divorced from the likes of Fear Street or some Stephen King stories, that the isolated small town dealing with past trauma includes a lot of folks who peaked in high school and are trapped in reliving the past. I'd have liked more thematic concern on that front. Some of the contemporary bits got a bit annoying to me, like the wasted subplot about a murder podcast. And frankly the kills themselves aren't effective as slasher horror, with sloppy fight choreography and cinematography and editing that exacerbates the mishandled moments. And I haven't even mentioned that, when the killer is finally unmasked, there's very little reason to care, and that's just not the kind of reveal that makes a quality slasher movie.

Tetris (2023)

Score: 2 / 5

It's not exactly the kind of film anybody expects or wants. The supposedly real-life story of how one of the first digital games became a worldwide phenomenon sounds interesting enough, but ultimately we're just talking about Tetris. Blocks slowly falling as you attempt to create full rows and stop the buildup. A time-waster of the highest order, the game now lends itself to a film that could have leaned into that mentality. Instead, the film, an AppleTV+ exclusive, tries desperately to spin a yarn of international intrigue framed by big business, government oversight, and fraud, as if the whole escapade was a spy flick. I don't think the premise or concept is inherently wrong or misguided, but I can tell you it certainly did not interest, engage, or enlighten me.

Directed by Jon S. Baird (Stan & Ollie, Filth), Tetris tries desperately to be the exciting story of Henk Rogers, founder of an American software company who "discovers" a new video game and wants in on its big rollout to the world. As narrator, Rogers plays a strange game like a cheap magician, carrying us along a wildly complex ride of patents and copyrights and laws between major software firms and agencies in the Soviet Union, Japan, and the U.S. He notices the oddball game at a convention in Tokyo, learns it was quietly developed by a Russian programmer and distributed privately, and decides that with details about its popularity and potential beyond the Iron Curtain, he wants to make it big by licensing and distributing it worldwide.

The problem is that Rogers is in way over his head. He's a low-level entrepreneur suddenly thrust into the world of big business in the quickly blooming computer age, yes, but also in Cold War politics and legalities. As such, Baird's approach to storytelling goes from a dynamic, kinetic enthusiasm in the early part of the film to a color-leeched and more somber tone once Rogers gets to Russia. Fittingly, his family welfare suffers as a result of his single-minded determination to own the game, and their financial future is as much at stake as his relationship with his wife and daughter. Thankfully, Taron Egerton proves himself yet again as a compelling and deeply nuanced leading man -- something his flashy big action and fantasy roles thus far haven't quite showcased -- and his Rogers is the kind of intriguing almost-antihero that plays off both his charming likability and his dubious integrity. Maybe that's unfair, as the film doesn't really question his business practices, but his somewhat innocent incompetence in understanding the politics of "keep out of Russia" and "other suits don't play fair" feels more convenient than believable for most of the film. Especially given his tireless perseverance.

A great ensemble fills out the large cast of characters, including a shrewish Toby Jones as negotiator Robert Stein and especially Roger Allam as Robert Maxwell, the infamous business villain of the 1980s, who together with his son Kevin (Anthony Boyle) attempts to profit from Tetris by meeting directly with Gorbachev. It's all kind of interesting, but mired and muddled with lots of talk about market value and copyrights and frankly I didn't understand most of what was happening. Things become a bit more clear as Rogers attempts to avoid and also work with the Soviet authorities, but they're so hammily caricatured that these scenes feel like a different movie altogether. Case in point: a Russian thug literally threatens to throw a child out a window several floors up to demonstrate that everything -- like in Tetris -- falls at the same rate, thanks to gravity. It's the kind of zinger that could provoke chills if it wasn't cartoonishly funny.

I don't know entirely if the breezy, cheeky tone is all Baird's doing, or writer Noah Pink's (who really should be applauded anyway for turning such a drab, drawn out story into something at least concise and dramatic), or simply because Matthew Vaughn produced it. Regardless, the ambivalent and somewhat condescending tone is thoroughly not entertaining; vilifying Russians as "crazy" in this day and age feels more than a little tone-deaf, as does championing the victories of capitalism over communism. In fact, apart from Rogers, ultimately made into an underdog against the USSR, no other character in the film is much more than a caricature of various archetypes. The film itself feels like it wants to lean into the intricacies of politics and finance, but it undercuts its own efforts with breakneck editing, insider jargon you can barely follow, and truly bizarre special effects littered throughout to remind us that in Rogers's head, apparently, colorful blocks are always falling. Trouble is, he's not a savant, and this isn't The Queen's Gambit (which I also generally dislike, for different reasons but on similar premises).

The Marvels (2023)

Score: 3 / 5

Much will be made of CGI overload, of confused plotting and endless sequels, of franchise and superhero fatigue. Some might bleed into my thoughts here. But, generally speaking, few people are considering The Marvels on its own terms as a film. Maybe that's deserved, being the thirty-third feature film in the MCU, where nothing is really standalone anymore and everything leads to yet more projects in an ever-expanding multiverse of characters, stories, themes, and media. Public interest in the juggernaut of IP is waning -- if not collapsing -- but that doesn't discredit the films, franchise, or genre as a whole. When people bellyache and despair of Disney and Marvel and superheroes, they're saying far more about themselves than about the art.

So for this, I'll just list my ruminations on each key element of storytelling here, because I have no coherent observations or arguments for the purpose of lionizing or decrying this film. For me, The Marvels is one of the least satisfying and most confusing MCU films, but it's a lot of fun in its breezy (and mercifully brief) running time.

The plot? A mess. This film seems meant to be the lynchpin of several disparate storylines, something the MCU will need to continue doing to tie together the multitudinous tapestry it's created. The problem for me is that I can hardly remember where all these characters originated or why they're all significant. Principally, the film is meant to be the sequel to Captain Marvel -- and frankly I barely remember that film -- continuing Carol Danvers's (Brie Larson) vague intergalactic antics with the Kree and the Skrull. I can scarcely remember who they are, except that Lee Pace played an evil Kree in the second Thor film and Ben Mendelsohn played a good Skrull at some point, unless I've mixed them up as well. Essentially, and I do mean bare basics here, Danvers had destroyed the AI ("the Supreme Intelligence") that ruled the Kree homeworld of Hala, unwittingly leading the Kree into civil war and planetary desolation. So their new leader, a revolutionary warrior named Dar-Benn (Zawe Ashton), seeks magical "quantum bands" to restore Hala and save her people by siphoning resources from other planets. Earth is on the list.

The characters? Mostly disappointing. The leading actresses are mostly wonderful. Larson continues her cool, prickly leading streak. Teyonah Parris remains one of the most compelling and delightful additions to the entire franchise as Monica Rambeau, though her lack of a codename is still frustrating after her introduction in WandaVision; thankfully, this film recaps enough of her story via flashbacks that you don't need to have seen it to understand her, but you do need to have seen Captain Marvel. Iman Vellani is just as cute and energetic and slightly irritating as she was as Kamala Khan in Ms. Marvel (which I saw but also don't remember well), and I was able to follow her arc here without recalling previous information. With their varied personalities and styles, I was excited to see them team up, become quantum-ly entangled, and kick ass. And while they are richly realized on screen, they are pitted against one of the most bland and forgettable villains yet, despite Ashton's clear desperation to make something exciting out of a flat, nondescript character.

The writing and direction? I'd compare the storytelling efforts here to a juggling act with smoke and mirrors for flair. Director Nia DaCosta (Candyman, Little Woods) also co-wrote, and I was so excited for her voice, especially with a team of females fighting a female villain in a franchise dominated by men. Unfortunately, we don't get much of her voice because she's too busy trying to recreate and continue the distinct flavors of the other characters. Scenes with Khan are frenetic and cutesy, loaded with Gen Z-isms and dynamic special effects; scenes with Rambeau are more stately and dignified, mirroring her wisdom and warmth; moments featuring Danvers tend to be a bit sassy and wry, as she is clearly the most powerful superhero in the MCU but also just a badass woman. The screenplay is a mess, too, co-written by committee (writers from WandaVision and Loki penned this mess) attempting to mash up these characters for the first time while sharing enough backstory to get by and also ham-fisting exposition into almost every scene.We get enough breaks with frenzied, kinetic action that it doesn't feel to forced, but a second viewing reveals a sort of tripping skip in terms of pace.

Oh, and I haven't even mentioned that you also need to have seen the miniseries Secret Invasion to know what Nick Fury has been up to in space for the last few years, and even with that knowledge now (I hadn't seen it before seeing The Marvels) I am very confused as to his doings with the Skrull and Kree as well as Samuel L. Jackson's characterization, which is much different here. Here he does basically nothing except offer snarky commentary, and I am none the wiser as to what he's doing, why the whole tentacled-cats thing keeps happening, and how it ties in with anything else in the larger franchise.

The visuals? My opinion here is firmly my own, but I don't understand why people hate on CGI so much. Don't get me wrong: superhero movies tend to overuse it, and I don't think it's always necessary or effective in terms of storytelling. But the number of people who call certain CGI elements "bad" or "cheap" clearly don't know how much work and money go into these shots. Let's work toward avoiding these words and start talking about what's actually on screen, because there's so much nuance to unpack. In this movie particularly, I had trouble understanding what, exactly, the womens' powers were, despite lots of talk about harnessing light energy, because it all just sort of looked like rainbow-colored light that comes out of their hands and eyes. When Dar-Benn rips holes in space and pirate resources from other planets, we're presented with now obnoxiously familiar images of black holes and global destruction, and it's not as awe-inspiring as it used to be.

You'd never know that master cinematographer Sean Bobbitt was behind the cinematography, as choppily edited and fast-paced as the film is. Further, even primarily dramatic scenes without lots of CGI are flatly lit and so packed with unnecessary set pieces and props that the emotional energy gets lost in the mix. When the chaos starts -- Dar-Benn claims one of the quantum "bangles" which somehow then entangles the three heroes -- we flip around between the Marvels with an apparent disdain for continuity and rules. They keep telling each other not to use any powers to avoid swapping places, but they all keep doing it; worse, they apparently only change places sometimes while using their powers, which makes the whole thing feel like a half-baked gimmick.

In the end, there's also not really an end. SPOILER ALERT. Monica's sacrifice sends her off into another dimension (or something, because nothing is sacred anymore and who knows what's coming next) in which her mother is alive but also not her mother, and in which she meets Kelsey Grammer's Hank McCoy "Beast." I'm excited for the X-Men to join the MCU, and it makes sense with the multiverse crap, but I wish for less buildup and more cohesion. Meanwhile, the short-lived team of women leads Kamala to go off on her own, locate Kate Bishop (seen in Hawkeye, because why not throw in yet another miniseries we need to have seen to make sense of this?), and suggest they start a new team of young Avengers. Oh, and Carol casually flies through Hala's sun to repower it and help restore Hala for the Kree. Because she can apparently just do anything. It's all fun until it's eye-rollingly irritating. Getting an actual conclusion for literally any of these multiplying characters and plots would be great, and relying on audiences to have seen literally every MCU production to make sense of ongoing films is not great.

Theater Camp (2023)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Joan Rubinsky (Amy Sedaris) is the dearly beloved founder and director of AdirondACTS, a summertime theatre camp in the homophonous region of New York. When she suddenly falls into a coma (after experiencing a seizure from strobe lights during a production of Bye Bye Birdie), her son Troy takes over as director for the summer. The trouble is that Troy (Jimmy Tatro) is not a theatre artist, and so his personality and language are directly at odds with the young campers as well as with the camp staff. Troy, as a hopeful finance bro, needs to fight the looming threat of foreclosure, keep spirits up for the kids and for his mother, and try to learn exactly what theatre is all about, and he's in for a rough ride.

The opening sequences feature an intoxicating enthusiasm for the material, written and performed by people who clearly know the ins and outs of youth theatre programs as well as wannabe "great" artists on and behind the stage. Clearly the entire filmmaking team loves (and surely identifies with) the misfit, starry-eyed, precocious kids who populate theatrical realms as well as the idiosyncratic, desperate, and deeply spiritual wannabe camp counselors who do this in between other jobs that probably don't pay well and certainly aren't contributing to the characters' artistic expression. Between aggressively paced audition montages, theatre games, and weirdly specific but deeply funny theatre lessons, the early half of Theater Camp flies by (which is saying a lot, as the film only lasts a breezy 90 minutes) with top-notch insider humor at what makes theatre a wonderful world.

The film takes its structural format as that of a mockumentary, meant to cover the regular operations of the camp but refocused slightly on Troy and Joan's legacy due to her absence. While it is perhaps the easiest means to elicit humor and a certain deer-in-headlights energy from the actors, the film itself largely abandons the mockumentary aspect well before the climax. Sure, it's cute to have that nervous energy a la The Office or What We Do in the Shadows for a while, but once that logic isn't reinforced, the gimmick loses its novelty and intrigue. It started to really slip for me during the film's middle act, which tries to balance more expansive plot points (like a possible class war with the neighboring rich kids' camp that amounts to nothing) with emotional beats between counselors and Troy (which are never really substantial or even resolved). By the climax, which is presented as large snippets of the bold, original musical number of the camp, the entire mockumentary shtick is obsolete, leaving us in a very different place aesthetically than where we started and sacrificing that connective tissue.

Emotionally, the film clearly aims its love letter to its subjects, meaning that it won't make many ripples outside its target audience. But that's okay, especially for what is destined to be a minor cult film, and for those people its heart is on its sleeve. The kids featured -- well, some of them -- are ridiculously talented, and they're all cute as buttons, which makes it sad that we don't get to know any of them as real characters. We do get to know the counselors with more depth, the most interesting being Noah Galvin's Glenn, the technical brains and brawn behind the theatre. And then there's leads Amos and Rebecca-Diane (Ben Platt and Molly Gordon, respectively), who are the kind of incisive caricatures that would fit in well on SNL. Actually, the whole film feels a bit like an SNL skit stretched to its absolute breaking point, offering tantalizing bits of insight and joy without developing any of it to its dramatic or even -- please forgive -- campy potential. So while it doesn't really do much with itself, Theater Camp is a hilarious feel-good escape into one of the most fully realized subcultures of thespians I've ever seen on film.

Priscilla (2023)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Sofia Coppola's films all tend to be about privileged white women struggling for belonging, community, and independence concurrently. She's fascinated by privilege, especially wealth, and often chooses subjects with ambiguous or even corrupt motivations and behaviors. So when I heard a biopic of Priscilla Presley was heading to cinemas, I immediately wondered if Coppola had a hand in it (I also suspected Pablo Larrain, director of Spencer and Jackie). The ex-wife of the King himself, Priscilla is an icon for millions of fans worldwide, the archetypal bird in a gilded cage whose presentational style and photogenic flair has made her a target for criticism and projection by anyone with an opinion since she entered the public scene. After Baz Luhrmann's spectacle-oriented take on Elvis's story last year, it was only a matter of time before someone took on the story of his sometime wife. I'm glad it was Coppola, who feels fresh and earnest as ever.

Coppola's film, which she also adapted from Priscilla's 1985 memoir and produced by Priscilla herself, spends a lot of time putting us in its subject's shoes. A lengthy introductory act situates us in young Priscilla's temporary home in a U.S. military base in Germany in 1959, when she was only fourteen years old. Elvis, who had enlisted, meets her and begins courting her. Coppola leans into how utterly creepy their courtship is, allowing the dialogue, muted colors and light, and pervasive silence to highlight the discomfort of suggestibility. Even as young Priscilla herself is enamored of the star heartthrob, her parents and some others know it's a bit awkward. Contemporary critics would (rightly) label this relationship as "grooming," in no small part due to the number of interactions in which Elvis specifically tells Priscilla how to dress, what to say, and how to feel about both their public and private times together. Jacob Elordi's performance as Elvis is disturbingly effective, and this film almost exclusively shows him in private moments, with reserved energy and a smoldering desperation for control, making his depiction a fascinating contrast to Austin Butler's recent portrayal.

Much as Coppola suggests the eventually tragic flaws that unmade Elvis -- his use of drugs, bursts of rage, and affairs with other women -- she understates it all. She treats Priscilla the same way, and leaves most of the drama in Cailee Spaeny's capable hands. Spaeny has the unenviable task of taking the protagonist from her wide-eyed, starstruck fourteen-year-old youth to her divorce in 1973 at the age of twenty-eight, long after she is established as a fashion icon as well as a mother. Her ability to span this age range is extraordinary, as is her skill at commanding screen presence with precious little dialogue. Much as Coppola works best with facade and internalized beats, Spaeny taps into the woman behind the man to generate a carefully constructed doll-like persona, rich in a growing sense of uncertainty and suspicion that the man she married isn't who he promised to be. The film cleverly -- and in some of its most entertaining moments -- dramatizes Elvis's odd growing phases, including his Bible studies, periodic obsession with autobiographies and philosophical readings, and gunslinging escapades, but focuses on Priscilla's reactions to them and place within (or without) these antics.

Priscilla's facade, expertly crafted by Spaeny and Coppola, is reinforced by the cinematographer and editor, who have both worked with Coppola before, making the whole look and feel of the film less of a biopic and more of a memoir. One hopes that Priscilla's lived experience is honored, especially with the real life woman as executive producer, but the film itself seems to suggest its own authenticity visually and aurally. It also, smartly, avoids some of the more salacious moments it could easily have indulged. We don't see Elvis and Priscilla making love, though a major driving force of the film is sexuality: their courtship, in the first half, must involve some kind of sexual behavior, but Elvis keeps Priscilla virginal until their marriage, after which she immediately becomes pregnant. After, as his affairs become increasingly apparent, Coppola avoids making us see his behaviors, focusing instead on the effect of suspicion and disloyalty on their marriage and on Priscilla in particular.

As in all Coppola films, actually, what we don't see is often as important (if not more important) as what we do see. After Luhrmann's film last summer, I found myself wondering where the elusive and manipulative Colonel Tom Parker was in this movie; he is referenced a few times, but never makes an appearance. One wonders what his relationship with Priscilla looked like, if it existed, but his nebulous, shadowy influence on Elvis is what matters here far more than his direct presence. The relative absence of public scenes and concerts and dramatized sex makes the film feel more trustworthy as biography, and it also makes the scenes in which Elvis attempts to control Priscilla that much more horrifying and vicious. His casual comments that she looks better in blue and that he wants her hair to be black land with a shuddering weight, and in the screening I attended people audibly scoffed at him and muttered phrases like "what the hell" and "girl, no," but there was no laughing. Perhaps most shockingly, in an otherwise standard disagreement, Elvis throws a chair at the wall very near Priscilla, and one audience member called out "bitch, get outta there" and really it was what we were all thinking.

The film's ending, arguably anticlimactic in terms of "action" but deeply satisfying in terms of theme and character, features the most literalized version of Elvis's dream collapsing and Priscilla's life beginning that I could have imagined. For a film about the ways she willingly entered his prison and made the best of it before slowly learning his toxic, abusive truth, that it ends with her liberation -- albeit in a realistically melancholy manner -- Priscilla is one of the most interesting and important movies I've seen yet this year. And I haven't even mentioned the costumes, hair, and makeup.

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)

Score: 5 / 5

There's nothing quite like seeing Scorsese do what he does best these days. Not unlike how I feel about Ridley Scott's films, it's just something to cherish when we get it on the silver screen. And, while some will say Scorsese's best are his Italian-American crime sagas -- and sure, there are some gems in his monopoly there -- I personally got burned out on those a long time ago. Give me Silence or Hugo or New York, New York any day instead. I'll always be bitter The Aviator didn't win more Oscars, and I still think Shutter Island is one of the best mystery thrillers ever made. After the wretched mess that was The Irishman, I was afraid his swan song had been sung; thankfully, it was not the end.

Perhaps the thing I loved most about this movie -- and there is a lot to love -- is how much it taught me. Based on the 2017 nonfiction book by David Grann, it's the story of the Osage Nation who, after being displaced from their home and pushed into uninhabited Oklahoma territory, discovered oil and immediately became the wealthiest community per capita in the country. It's the dawn of the twentieth century and the law required that the "incompetent" tribe members had "guardians" to manage their money based on full or half-blood status, as white people greedy for money and land will do. And, unsurprisingly, the Osage became targets of masked assailants who robbed and murdered them for their money; the newly formed FBI was brought in to investigate the twenty-plus murders (though it is likely far more Osage were murdered) and eventually the mastermind was discovered.

Apart from teaching me history, this movie imparted other valuable lessons. In terms of storytelling, master screenwriter Eric Roth (Forrest Gump, Munich, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, A Star is Born, Dune) pulls a stunning feat: making the villains obvious and apparent to us immediately, and forcing us to experience their evil motivations and machinations. Their bald-faced corruption and murderous greed isn't hidden from us at all, though they certainly smile and play nice with their intended victims. Leading the pack is the diabolic William King Hale (Robert De Niro in one of his best performances), a reserve deputy sheriff and political boss who acts as an ally to the Osage, learning their language and observing social graces and generosity, while scheming to have them all slaughtered. His nephew Ernest (Leonardo DiCaprio, in yet another perfect performance), arguably the protagonist of this film, is no less sociopathic but is clearly less intelligent. Meaning well, he returns home from the war to be a driver for an Osage family that includes Mollie (Lily Gladstone, who will win many awards for her work here), his future wife. As she becomes ill with diabetes and Ernest cares for her, we wonder about the extent to which he is nursing her or poisoning her, and if any of it is intentional or if he himself is being manipulated by "King."

Scorsese masterfully balances the heartrending tragedy at the core of this story, tightly focusing on the relationship between Ernest and Mollie as it grows organically, as she withers with illness and with sadness, as Ernest straddles genuinely caring for her with his horrific crimes, and as suspicion and doubt creep into their marriage. It's a potent romantic drama, one of Scorsese's best, and it functions best by making both characters endlessly complex and fascinating; they give of themselves but often to the point of undermining their goals or well-being. But what makes this movie amazing is that Scorsese also richly dramatizes the expansive scope of the murders and politics in the community at large, turning what could be a chamber drama into an epic in every sense of the word. Think Hadestown, and that's more along the lines of how this movie operates. One particular scene features Mollie lying in bed, suffering, while Ernest attempts to administer her medicine and the fires in town outside cast a red and orange glow into their room, and if that's not hell for them -- and us, in that moment -- I don't know what is. 

And that's another thing this movie teaches: substance with style can be the best way to make a movie, rather than prioritizing one over the other. Of course it depends on the material, but here it is the story that Scorsese cares most about: the story and, by extension, the characters. Moments of expansion matter, of course, particularly the film's references to the Tulsa Massacre and the KKK and how that ties in with expansionist white violence against people of color and how land ownership and greed played such a fundamental part in the excessive bloodshed of our nation's formation and specifically the formation of wealth inequities that have only gotten worse in the subsequent century. The weight of this movie is felt, too, through its actors, including the likes of Jesse Plemons, Brendan Fraser, and John Lithgow, who show up for only a few scenes but lend their considerable talents to a story already rife with authenticity and artfulness. Rodrigo Prieto's cinematography perfectly matches Scorsese's dual focus, making us uncomfortably intimate when necessary before sweeping us along the Oklahoma landscapes in all their beauty. The score and editing make the three and a half hours of runtime ripple with tension, and despite the agonizing length, barely a moment is dull or unnecessary.

Five Nights at Freddy's (2023)

Score: 2 / 5

Did you ever visit "Chuck E. Cheese" as a kid? In the '90s, it was a pretty cool place, with ball pits and climbing pipes and Skee-ball; they had a few interactive video games like a Jurassic Park jeep you drove to escape dinosaurs, but it was mostly arcade-style games. My family went for several years to celebrate my birthday, and it was always a blast, cheap toy prizes and all. I won a pair of fuzzy dice once and I still have them along with the memories. The only icky thing I remember -- well, "icky" is relative, because of course the pizza grease-smeared ball pits were icky by today's standards -- was the band of animatronic characters. They always played fun music, but they were kind of creepy due to their massive size, jerky movements, and general oddness. Maybe it's a "me" thing, but I don't generally like large, loud anthropomorphic animals, whether they are costumes or robots.

So I was about as hopeful for this movie as I was for M3gan and Child's Play, which is to say, not particularly excited but curious enough to get a ticket. After all, with Josh Hutcherson starring, Matthew Lillard in the cast, and a trailer that looked much darker than it had any right to, Five Nights at Freddy's looked to be a fun time! I've not played the games -- didn't even know they existed until this year -- but based on a few YouTube clips I watched in preparation, they seem to be first-person survival games where you can't fight or even really run so much as watch and react (such as watch security monitors and close doors) to try and protect yourself. So, given a cinematic adaptation, the franchise would surely do well with suspense in the Hitchcockian manner: a sort of creeping voyeuristic dread when things at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza start going bump in the night.

Unfortunately, that's not the movie presented to us just in time for Halloween. Instead, the film tries to straddle the line between tragic character drama and something like a PG-13 version of Saw, succeeding at neither genre and only marginally succeeding at much in the way of entertainment. For its horror elements, I was surprised by the amount of blood actually shown, but very little in the film was effectively scary. A few jump scares were nice, but they were mostly the result of clever editing and musical stings. The animatronic characters are lumbering and dull; apart from eye-catching design elements (apparently they were brought to life by Jim Henson's Creature Shop), they're more akin to Boris Karloff's Frankenstein monster in terms of pitiful awkwardness. Unless, that is, you have an innate discomfort around puppets and robots, in which case you'll mutter constantly to yourself "nope, nope, nope" throughout the movie.

A few additional horror elements also failed to resonate with me. Namely, (SPOILER ALERT) the ghostly children feel shoehorned in and completely out of left field. They're not scary, they're not given time or reason to evoke sadness, and their presence frankly didn't make full sense to me. The friend who joined me for the screening had to try and explain to me afterward exactly what had happened and why these kids were even there, because while the basic plot was easy enough to grasp, there is a lot of story and a lot of characters packed in to this film. While also trying to balance tragic psychodrama with flaccid scares, it's clear the screenwriters (three of them, no less) were doing far too much for their own good. In a film like this, and the first of what is surely a wannabe franchise, simplicity and a certain minimalism would have served the material much better.

As a drama, however, I didn't totally hate it. Josh Hutcherson gives a somber, committed performance, and it was refreshing to see him in a suitably complex role. He plays Mike, a security guard looking for work in order to support his much younger sister; he's haunted by the memory of his younger brother being abducted from under his watch many years prior. Then he gets hired as the night watch at the now-defunct Freddy's family entertainment restaurant. Elizabeth Lail gives a somewhat confounding performance (or, rather, a solid performance in a confoundingly written role) that was clearly intentionally underbaked by the writers; so much of the mystery hinges on her sharing what she knows, and she infuriatingly doesn't share information until the finale. Matthew Lillard only shows up in a couple scenes, but he's utterly delightful, naturally.

But the movie is squarely Hutcherson's, and he carries it admirably despite the lackluster material he tries to elevate. His recurring nightmares about his brother's abduction are a bit harrowing, especially when the ghost kids inexplicably show up, but by the third one it's boring, and they just keep happening. Mike's waking life is far more interesting, particularly as he struggles to balance brotherhood and parenthood to his young sister Abby (Piper Rubio). Their Aunt Jane (Mary Stuart Masterson) is angling to get full custody, but Mike knows it's only to collect child support money. His dreams get worse once he is hired at Freddy's, no doubt due to the child disappearances there in the '80s. So when the animatronic band comes to life at night, it feels a bit too busy, despite their annoyingly not-so-scary antics.

I've faulted the writers enough, but I think director Emma Tammi does some pretty cool things with the material as well. It's all much more atmospheric than the material calls for, so her pacing and control of tone feels horribly mismatched. But her keen attention to evocative imagery and color grading is occasionally really beautiful, and I'd have liked to spend more time in the world of the film. She harnesses a sense of nostalgia that has become popular (think Stranger Things) but voids it of much sentiment, turning the accoutrements of childhood materialism into hollow --and dangerous -- waste.

All in all, this movie is just weird. From what I gather, it doesn't do much to appease fans of the games in new or exciting ways, but it also tries to pack in too many obscure plot points and characters to make much sense for the uninitiated. It features some solid suspense and dread, then fumbles in moments that should be earned scares; in fact, the only emotion I felt in this movie was sadness, which actively dampens the frisson we should be feeling. For being almost two hours long, it bounces off too many ideas and plot threads to feel substantial or consequential. For being PG-13, it's both bloodier than it has a right to be and less scary than it deserves (there are some truly terrifying PG-13 movies out there, including Insidious, The Ring, A Quiet Place, so do your homework and stop complaining about that). I just wanted something more original, more thematically satisfying, and more fun.