28 Years Later (2025)

Score: 3.5 / 5

More than two decades after they teamed up to freshly spin zombies into modernity in 28 Days Later, Alex Garland and Danny Boyle reunite for another outing in a Rage-infected world. This film -- or at least another installment in what was a fairly simple duology -- has reportedly endured development hell since 2007, due to conflicts over franchise rights and studio finances after the relative successes of 28 Weeks Later, which included minimal input from its original creators. While this series was groundbreaking in a lot of ways, including setting a visual tone consciously adopted by The Walking Dead in 2010, rewatching the first two now is something of a frustrating experience, boring one to distraction with their very-of-the-time shaky and grainy cinematography, frenetic editing, and simplistic plot. 

After a highly effective and chilling theatrical trailer for 28 Years Later was released, featuring Taylor Holmes's haunting recording of Kipling's "Boots," I was excited to revisit Garland and Boyle's vision of a world long-since cannibalized by the Rage Virus and its undead infected. There was something raw and riveting in their vision of apocalypse in the years before zombies had their renaissance, and now that zombies are somewhat dull again, I hoped for a spark of ingenuity. Boyle, like him or not, usually provides that spark. In our age of reboots, requels, and remakes, I expected endless Easter eggs and IP throwbacks and legacy characters, and I was willing to accept them. Thankfully, Garland and Boyle zig instead of zag, and here provide a mostly original story that does none of the things we expect franchise installments to do.

Opening with a terrifying scene of children in Scotland during the outbreak of the virus as they watch Teletubbies before being slaughtered, the film announces itself with a fury matching that of its monstrous antagonists. We're then launched into the present by onscreen text, much like the previous two films, and moved from London to a remote Northumberland locale called Holy Island, accessible only by a sandbar at low tide, effectively quarantining a small town of survivors. Adolescent boy Spike (newcomer Alfie Williams) is taught to be a man early in this dangerous world by his father Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), who takes him across the water to the mainland to hunt his first zombie and become a man. Spike, who idolizes his father, learns quickly (along with us) how the world has changed in the years since civilization collapsed. The worldbuilding is familiar and a bit disappointing to anyone familiar with zombie fiction, but Boyle and his designers include some really cool ideas about society and religion among the survivors that provide chilling discomfort in the in-town scenes, especially when Spike and Jamie return to celebrate their success in a wild, drunken party.

As much as the human survivors seem to have devolved into a new Dark Age of pseudo-religious dogma and celebrated violence, the infected seem to have evolved in their own way. Mostly without clothes, some have become bloated and obese, crawling and rolling around to eat anything they can, while others have a twitchy, manic energy that allows them to sprint and chase their prey tirelessly. Too, "alphas" have sprung up, seemingly more intelligent and commanding hordes of sprinters like warlords in a wasteland. There's even a curious suggestion that they might have some influence over nature, as rats and crows amass near them and move in concert a la Dracula, though the precise connection is never made explicit. One alpha in particular, nicknamed Samson, lives nearby and interrupts Spike's hunt, leading Jamie to intervene and hurry his son back to their home sanctuary. Samson's huge and has a notably distracting penis, which elicited more than a few chuckles in our screening, and while his physically threatening presence is indeed scary, I found it annoyingly curious that his supposed intelligence hasn't yet induced him to traverse the sandbar before this incident. If he's truly been in this region for many years (as another character claims later in the film), how is this the first time he's seen others make the mad dash and not thought, "Hmm, I can do that, too"?

Spike's coming-of-age celebration -- which we know to be a sham, despite Jamie's claims not to have helped during the hunt -- ends with a horrible revelation: Jamie is cheating on his mentally debilitated wife Isla (Jodie Comer, doing everything she can with a mostly thankless role) with the town schoolteacher. A furious Spike confronts his father, who viciously backhands him, provoking Spike to burn a barn and, during the chaos, flee with his mother to the wilderness. He plans to seek out Dr. Kelson, a mysterious hermit and recluse, who Spike hopes can aid his ailing mother; the relatively untested Spike deems himself her caretaker and foolishly thinks he can protect them both en route, despite knowing nothing of Kelson except his father's warnings of madness and a vague location based on a campfire they saw in the distance while hunting. At least we know Spike comes by his hubris honestly.

Their journey is fraught with peril, taking on a sort of Odyssey homage or even a Wizard of Oz-esque road trip to the enigmatic medicine man. They are joined by a young man (Edvin Ryding), apparently a NATO solider from Sweden, whose frustrated and anxious antics allow for most of the film's humor. They encounter a pregnant zombie and, in what may be the film's most memorable scene, deliver her baby; later, they continue to care for the baby and constantly claim it's free of the virus, which is such a patently foolish and impossible-to-determine claim that I bit my tongue to stop shouting at them, "You don't know that!" Motherhood might seem to take over as a theme from failed fatherhood here, but apart from Spike himself arguably "mothering" his own mother and the non-zombie zombie baby, the film doesn't really explore it with any depth.

Indeed, I'm not sure at all what the theme of this film might be. Despite violent, morally ambiguous militarization being a theme of 28 Weeks Later, and the presence of the soldier here, that isn't really expanded upon here. And all the cultlike religiosity on display in both Spike's village and Dr. Kelson's outpost is clearly objectified by the camera but almost conspicuously ignored by the screenplay. Speaking of which: Dr. Kelson is played by an electrifying Ralph Fiennes in a setting clearly meant to be iconographic of this film and its upcoming sequel. Fiennes reminded me of Brando in Apocalypse Now, and he clearly intends to; obviously mad yet chillingly calm, he paces among pillars of bones (from thousands of corpses, surely) and lives almost as one with them, though the film offers no clarity as to how he has survived, what his bone temple means (beyond memento mori), or why, despite a mysterious nerve agent he can shoot to temporarily disable the infected, he doesn't simply eliminate the infected (especially Samson, who he has named himself, apparently knows with great familiarity, and is very nearly killed by).

Other than these annoyingly large plot holes and illogical thematic concerns, my other complaint in this film is its absurd, insane ending that in no way fits the film preceding it. Seemingly, Jack O'Connell's character is the sole kid who survived the opening scene's bloodbath 28 years earlier, so we can imagine more of his story will be fleshed out in the upcoming sequel from Nia DaCosta, but the sudden tonal shift with these new characters in some kind of wacky, thickly stylized cult of parkour thugs throws the entire movie into a mess before it suddenly and unceremoniously ends. I hated the ending so much I would have walked out of the cinema if it hadn't ended so quickly. From the upset outcries in the auditorium, it sounded like most people didn't like it. Surely we'll understand more in January when The Bone Temple is released, but it's a profoundly weird and unwelcome denouement to what was an otherwise somber and morose character drama.

I'm glad Boyle and Garland don't rely on prior knowledge of the series in order to entertain us, and the relief from needing footnotes or extensive "ending explained" videos on YouTube is considerable. There aren't callbacks and returning characters and expansive lore to be found here, and that makes this film unique in our present climate. Its climax, in which Kelson has to teach Spike -- and the audience -- about the importance of respecting and sanctifying death, is remarkably poignant. I only wish the film had focused more on this conceit, even with its hallucinatory editing and dreamlike segues, and less on material specifics that never come to fruition.

Lilo & Stitch (2025)

Score: 4 / 5

Of the live-action remakes of Disney films, Lilo & Stitch was not an expected one, if only due to its comparatively recent original. The runaway 2002 hit has certainly made its mark on fan culture; Stitch is ubiquitous in any Disney store or park. And though the original film has its downsides -- after a truly magical first hour or so, it devolves into mindless chases that eschew the smarts setting it up -- it clearly inspired a generation with several sequels and multiple television series. Dean Fleischer Camp's new film effectively captures the magic of the original, making it more grounded and less frenetic, providing more of what made it memorable and less of what made it irritating for an audience perhaps older than its target.

Clearly offering fan service, at least for those in the know, the film's cast includes returning members who voiced the original Nani, David, and others. Chris Sanders himself returns, not as writer or director, but as Stitch's iconic voice; perhaps an unpopular take, but I have always liked Stitch better when he does not use actual words, relying instead on loose mimicry and vulgar vocalizations. And, of course, we get more Elvis music. To add to the pleasant melange, we get stunning photography in Hawaii and while surfing, sincere and compelling emotional performances from excellent actors, earnest and earned sentimentality with updated themes (more on this presently), and its signature chaotic comedy, often slapstick in form. 

Though there aren't many changes to the plot, a few should be mentioned and considered here. Gantu, the giant hunter tasked with apprehending the runaway Stitch, is wholly absent here, and I personally found that choice brilliant. We already have Jumba and Pleakley chasing him, and we don't need more chaos on that front, and an enormous gray alien stalking around would subtract from the live-action premise of this film. To that point, I also found the switch from the heavy CGI in the film's inciting scene to live action when Stitch makes landfall as welcome and exciting as the flip in Enchanted, or, to be frank, in The Wizard of Oz. Cold and dark animation in space among aliens is fine, but the refreshing color and light and tactile pleasures of Kauai (actually, I think it was mostly filmed on Oahu?) feel revelatory. Additionally, Jumba and Pleakley are a delight here, brought to hilarious life by a morose Zach Galifinakis and a sweetly naive Billy Magnussen; some will decry the lack of drag in Pleakley's human presentation, but I'm not sure there was going to be a controversy-less decision on that front. Would it be better for bad drag, as in the animated original, in an era of fears around men in dresses (which are statistically unfounded, to be clear)? Could Magnussen and his designers have pulled off good drag, and what might that have felt like to genderqueer and drag performers in the biz?

Lilo Pelekai herself is charming and less monstrous than in the original, which could incite anger from fans who need her to be as "bad" as her adopted alien pet. Newcomer Maia Kealoha imbues Lilo with a believable sense of lonely duckling syndrome (there is nothing ugly about the beautiful child, which I think helps explain the mysterious lack of attention to the "ugly duckling" motif in the original), and her drifting identity here is slightly less eccentric, which helps us love her more. That said, I did miss her iconic moment in the original of attempting voodoo against her bullies with frog legs and pickle brine. Most importantly, this is arguably a film more about Nani than the original, and she gets hers and then some. Sydney Elizabeth Agudong is a fully-realized young woman here, not just a capable caretaker for her sister but an ambitious and eager professional whose career and entire life have been stymied by the loss of their parents. Many audiences are upset by the film's denouement, which dramatically changes Nani's arc (don't worry, I won't spoil it here), but I found it significantly more feminist and realistic than the original, and it palpably reinforces the entire franchise's primary theme of the virtues of found family.

Building on that point, for those of you in the know, we also get a new character who rounds out the realism and comfort of the film's melodrama in Amy Hill as Tutu, David's grandmother and the Pelekais' longtime neighbor. David himself (Kaipo Dudoit) is charming and winsome, and together, they provide much-needed thematic warmth to this film. Hannah Waddingham doesn't have much to do, but her stilted inflection as the alien Grand Councilwoman is fabulous. Oh, and Courtney B. Vance is a delicious Cobra Bubbles, and that's all I'll say about that. There's a new social worker from a significant actress, and a few cool updates to the source material, and it's all really lovely in emphasizing the "found family" aspect of ohana, especially as Lilo (and, by extension, the audience) learns what caretaking fully requires. And under this director's thoughtful and humble guidance, this movie generously provides exactly what I hoped for in a remake of this material: faithfulness in all aspects with a few intentional and measured deviations for increased emotional and aesthetic impact.

Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning (2025)

Score: 4 / 5

When I walked out of the screening of The Final Reckoning -- intended to be the end of the Mission: Impossible franchise -- the cinema owner asked me my opinion, and all I had to say was, "Wow. That was a lot of movie."

As a standalone film, which it patently is not, it simply doesn't work. There are far too many flashbacks and callbacks in the first hour to previous entries that it feels like a televised recap before the series finale. Repetitive and condescending, the screenplay pauses in nearly every scene to describe explicitly what just happened, what's currently happening, and why it matters to the audience; it may be the talkiest action film ever made. And it's all deeply concerned with its own pretense, conceitedly pointing out the stakes at each turn and reminding us why Ethan Hunt and his impossible missions have, for over a generation now, enraptured audiences and encapsulated the art of filmmaking through the decades.

And it's for that reason that the film works wonderfully as a climax to the impossible missions of Hunt and of Tom Cruise himself. Not only does it ramp up the action to freshly imagined impossibilities for Hunt to endure, testing him beyond anything he's previously faced; The Final Reckoning reads like a swan song for Cruise, who is gifted with not only superhuman action prowess but a certain control over the visual language of the film. Despite his ghastly hairstyle in this film, he graces the screen with the surety and suavity he's mastered as an iconic brand his whole life. As a creative (and financial) power behind the scenes, one wonders at a few moments that exemplify his control over his own projects: during one of the most literally breathless sequences in the series, Hunt turns a submarine's wheel to devastating effect and the film's aspect ratio shifts from widescreen to IMAX. It's the kind of subtle flair Ang Lee tossed into Life of Pi, among other examples, and it makes the vision pop from our eyes to our whole being. I felt like my seat was vibrating in the screening; maybe it was me, maybe it was because I wasn't inhaling enough.

While the specifics of the villainous AI known as The Entity aren't all that clear -- be sure to rewatch (the retrospectively poorly-named) Dead Reckoning Part One for slightly better comprehension -- the point of this film is less topical and more mythological than its predecessor. Hunt is figured here as the savior of the world without much doubt or concession. President Sloane (Angela Bassett, gloriously returning) begs him, two months after Hunt retrieved the cruciform key to the Entity's source code, to save the world as the AI takes over various countries' governmental operations and nuclear weaponry; he accepts after demanding, essentially, carte blanche and whatever he deems necessary, including a warship in the Pacific. I chuckled as often as I gasped in this movie because, really, what else can you do with such material?

Unlike our ongoing onslaught of superhero films, Mission: Impossible always grounds its impracticalities and unlikelihoods with amazing effects and stunts, which is why I'd generally prefer these films to other action franchises. Cruise here astonishes with his endless running, jumping, running, swimming, running, falling, and more running, and his climactic chase on and around biplanes is exactly as thrilling as it should be. Under Christopher McQuarrie's now-masterful direction of the last few entries, this film smartly balances its extended action sequences with meaningful melodrama via its enormous cast of A-list stars, including returners Ving Rhames (who gets a fabulously emotional send-off), Simon Pegg, Hayley Atwell (whose romantic purpose feels both underbaked and underserved here), Janet McTeer, Holt McCallany, Henry Czerny, Nick Offerman, Angela Bassett, Hannah Waddingham, Shea Wigham, and more. Esai Morales returns as the human face of villainy, though he has little to do and is as grating as Christoph Waltz in his Bond film, and Pom Kelementieff, who is thankfully less awkward in this picture than the last. And for its three-hour runtime, they all admirably step up to the plate in this final outing, making the time fly by.

McQuarrie and his co-writer don't inject much humor into this film, and while it does feel tonally more somber and apocalyptic than these movies usually do, it pays off in sentimental and nostalgic dividends. They know this is all ridiculous, and they know that's why we've loved it for so long, so they don't cheapen the experience one iota. Its seriousness might put off some fans, but I think the franchise deserves its eye-popping, breathtaking finale to take itself more seriously than usual. After all, it's a much different world than when Hunt accepted his first mission. I'd be interested to see the almost-six-hour full cut of the Dead Reckoning film altogether, because I think that would help the pacing and spectacle considerably; much like the final two Harry Potter films, the buildup and payoff work better continuously rather than separated. But I cannot deny that this is the most-movie movie I've seen in cinemas in years. 

Another Simple Favor (2025)

Score: 3 / 5

There's something to be said for the kind of sequel that takes the best-loved parts of an original story, usually key characters (or actors) and glamorous or silly or sexy plot points, and ships them to exotic international places. Think of murder mysteries with Poirot or Jessica Fletcher; think of family adventures like Herbie or spy thrillers with Ethan Hunt; heck, think of road pictures with Bob Hope and Bing Crosby or Abbott and Costello. Rian Johnson is doing it with Benoit Blanc and Steven Rowley is doing it with Guncle Patrick. I certainly didn't expect it from any follow-up to Paul Feig's sleazy, cutesy romp through thick suburban psychology in A Simple Favor, but if that's what he wants to give us, I'm willing to buckle up and enjoy the ride.

Five years after the events of the first film, Stephanie (Anna Kendrick) is still touring with her book, but it's clear sales are dropping and her fans want a follow-up. As if on cue, Emily (Blake Lively) returns in her signature stylish fashion, released on appeal from prison and freshly engaged, asking and coercing Stephanie to be her maid of honor. The lucky man, it turns out, is Dante Versano (Michele Morrone), a wealthy Italian man whose family has close ties to organized crime. Eager to renew interest in her vlog and book -- and to gather new material for a real-time sequel -- Stephanie agrees, and the cast sets off to Capri for a sun-drenched romp in the Mediterranean. Feig knows what we want in a sequel, so the costumes and scenery are intensified almost to distraction, and the plot becomes too convoluted for any simple description. In other words, things get very pretty and very messy.

The energy of Another Simple Favor is wildly different from the first; I'd compare its tonal shift to that between seasons of the series The Flight Attendant, with the first being more psychological and the second being more spectacular. Comedic elements here are both more contrived and more forced, but it's never unwelcome; the screenwriters perhaps watched too many classic-Hollywood ensemble comedies during their writing sessions, as zany antics threaten to overtake the plot at every turn. Too, a thematic concern here: the first film took an incisive look at motherhood in a digital age and interrogated what it means for a woman to be successful and a mother and, maybe both, whereas this sequel attempts to question the relationship between identity, loyalty, and criminality, with distinctly diminishing payoff. I'm still rather confused by what, if anything, this film is actually saying, because I was so enamored with its visuals to care much about its theming.

The soapy drama never disappoints, though, and the ensemble clearly enjoys bringing it to life. Henry Golding returns as Sean with some delicious drunken one-liners aimed at both his exes. Emily's mother Margaret is recast from Jean Smart to Elizabeth Perkins, though she isn't given much to do here, and Allison Janney joins the company as Emily's Aunt Linda with a welcome vibe that feels not unlike your own aunt wandering in and causing some ruckus while having a hell of a good time. Unfortunately, none of the new characters are given much to do, so they mostly drift in and out of frame unceremoniously. The camera worships only Kendrick and Lively, as do we, and I confess some frustration at the teased and sorely lacking sapphic subtext from the original; at least they look good and are doing the most to keep attention on themselves. Instead of pining for Emily, now Stephanie is worried about being murdered by her best frenemy. When they split into their own misadventures, the film lags, but their explosive energy together makes it worth the watch.

My personal bias against organized crime flicks -- I just don't care about mafia mania or the dynamics of a looming mob war -- means that I felt at least a third of this film was totally disposable. So many scenes, especially with Dante's family matriarch Portia (Elena Sofia Ricci), could and should have been excised in favor of more tete-a-tetes with the characters we know and care more about, disrupting tea time and bachelorette parties and the marriage of (SPOILER ALERT) convenience. Instead, we're given a story so bizarre and impossible and laughable that it loses itself in the mire it's created; the film's so escapist it forgets that we should also care about these characters as people more than just eye candy. Not that Lively's outfits aren't gobsmacking and Oscar-worthy, I would have just enjoyed more of her torrid family drama and Gone Girl-esque escapades than we got here.

Clown in a Cornfield (2025)

Score: 2.5 / 5

Teenaged Quinn Maybrook (Katie Douglas) relocates to rural Missouri with her father Glenn (Aaron Abrams, Hannibal), the new town doctor. Their relationship is strained after the premature death of Quinn's mother, and Kettle Springs is no place to cultivate much love. The town celebrates its heritage proudly in the form of its mascot, Frendo the Clown, a commercial creation for the Baypen Corn Syrup factory, seemingly the raison d'etre for the town's existence. But there is a stark generational divide, and the town's older citizens clearly resent Gen Z and its attitudes and disrespect of history, money, and power. Founder's Day is approaching, and there will be blood to pay as the town celebrates.

Based on a 2020 young adult novel, Clown in a Cornfield is a simple, rote exercise in teen slashers. Indeed, as a slasher, the film fails to add anything of substance to its subgenre. Apart from its admittedly effective setting -- most of the film takes place in and around large corn fields and barns at night -- and the homicidal clowns themselves, the story treads over so many familiar tropes that it often reminded me of other, more original stories I'd rather rewatch, like Dark Harvest or Children of the Corn. Though this title notably flips the script by (SPOILER ALERT) making the older generation the cult of murderers, it's so obvious from the early moments that I kept waiting for something more exciting to occur. Even AHS: Cult handled killer clowns better than this, and clowns aren't something I've historically found frightening (apart from the clown sightings in 2016). 

To discuss the film is to spoil it, so I hope you've already seen it, if you have any interest. Essentially, by the halfway point, as the high schoolers party in a remote farmhouse, they are assaulted en masse by a posse of clowns emerging from the twilight stalks. A bloodbath ensues: despite a satisfyingly high body count, most of the actual kills in this movie are comparably tame, even neutered, presumably for a younger audience. The characters are all archetypal to a fault, from sarcastic and foul-mouthed Quinn with her incessant one-liners and excessive f-bombs to her love interest Cole (Carson MacCormac, Shazam! and Fury of the Gods), a sweet and popular privileged boy who maintains an arm's length distance. The Black boy is killed first, then the weightlifting meathead; eventually the blonde mean girl gets pitchforked and it's all very predictable and expected. 

By the time it's revealed that the clowns are the older residents -- including the kids' awful teacher, the shopkeeper, the diner waitress -- I was hoping for more and finally got it. Sort of. There's some keen commentary here on generational division, respect for heritage, and critique of capitalistic power. The syrup factory, which essentially created and sustains Kettle Springs, burned down, and these kids are becoming famous on the internet (65k followers, if my notes are correct) for capitalizing on "killer clown" short videos. Staging their own fame, the kids are viewed by their elders as undesirables, eschewing tradition and forsaking legacy, and so the elders apparently periodically band together to slaughter their own children. Does it make sense? No. But this is the substance of so much YA material, and it does offer a nugget of fascinating insight into the fracturing political rot of small towns these days.

The climax occurs when Cole's father, the mayor (Kevin Durand, Abigail, Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, The Strain, recently), unmasks himself as the ringleader of the killers and attempts to hang his own son. Not enough psychological attention is provided to his character to justify filicide, though it is strongly suggested to be due to Cole's identity as gay. That's the other big reveal -- gosh, there's a lot of twists in this remarkably simple narrative -- and we learn that Cole (despite being a teenager) had a tumultuous relationship with his ex, quite literally the "boy next door" to Quinn, named Rust. Thankfully, Quinn and her father and the two young men survive the night and the clowns are all dead, though the mayor escapes in time to allow for a sequel.

If you like young adult horror, this should fit the bill for some light entertainment. What Clown in a Cornfield (the title should be plural, irritatingly) lacks in gore it makes up for in premise, which opens the door for compelling discussion around rural politics and economics; too bad its screenplay doesn't offer more substance to chew in that regard. Its characters are unlikable but gutsy -- excepting its lovesick gay teens, who are a bit too charming -- so the eventual survivors do earn our affections; pretty much everyone else dies. The adults are bad (It comes to mind as another referent here), the fields are dangerous, and the action is chaotic in a rather satisfying way, at least until the film decides to overexplain its own motives. And there is something to be said for a story that knows its target audience and caters to it: the kids, regardless of their attitudes, have to fend for themselves because the previous generation sold them out and can't bear the impending retribution. 

Until Dawn (2025)

Score: 1.5 / 5

Have you played the video game Until Dawn? The 2015 release is basically an interactive film itself, a darkly beautiful and quietly brilliant choose-your-own-adventure experience I played with a former coworker in a single sitting that had us genuinely scared and delighted. A smart and knowing variation on the slasher subgenre of horror, the game involves a group of young people stuck on a snowy mountain trying to stay alive while being stalked and hunted by a mysterious killer. Its cast includes Rami Malek, Hayden Panetierre, and Peter Stormare, and the goal is to keep as many people alive as possible... or not, which is also a valid choice in the game's mechanics. So when I heard a film was being adapted from the game, I was admittedly nervous. Not because it's basically already a film, which it is, but because a film by necessity (I say, knowing full well that Black Mirror: Bandersnatch can offer a different style of film-making and -viewing for audiences these days) has some limited options for narration. 

Maybe that's not fair. After all, cult classic Clue (1985) provides multiple endings within its single runtime; more to the point, our era of multiverses has allowed for any number of possibilities in terms of a single plot having multiple outcomes or arcs. Heck, even a miniseries exploring many different narratives could have been a more fruitful avenue for this IP to pursue. It's not for me to say which would be "better" or not, but I can say that, as it is, Until Dawn takes the seemingly endless possibilities of its premise and squanders nearly all of them. 

A metafictional, postmodern Groundhog Day in a world not dissimilar from The Cabin in the Woods, Until Dawn concerns Ella Rubin and her four friends (they have character names, but who cares?) as they drive to a remote visitor center in Glore Valley, an old mining town where visitors apparently routinely go missing, looking for her missing sister. Stranded by nightfall and torrential rains, they investigate the center and are almost immediately killed one by one. Soon enough, they reawaken to discover their own missing persons posters, learning alarmingly quickly that the day will repeat endlessly as they continue to fall prey to death in its many forms. The guestbook's limited names and a large hourglass spinning around indicate to them their purgatorial fate. As such, the film's structure allows for a series of small-scale horror sequences of varying styles and methods. 

Too bad, then, that all are derivative and mostly devoid of actual scares. What annoys me isn't the premise, or its mishandled linear narrative; Edge of Tomorrow is functionally the same thing in a sci-fi action/war format, and it's excellently handled. And it's not the endless options of horror-fueled violence, because that just makes it cool: what genre tropes will be employed next? Killer clowns? Werewolves? Mad scientists? Extradimensional monsters? Home invasion? Ghosts? "Yes, and" is the rousing answer. But director David F. Sandberg (Lights Out, Annabelle: Creation, Shazam!, Shazam! Fury of the Gods) and writer Gary Dauberman (Annabelle Comes Home, 'Salem's Lot, writer of the Annabelle series and Andy Muschietti's It duology) don't seem to know what to do with the plethora of options at their disposal, choosing to play things safe and predictably. Instead of changing aesthetically with each rest of the hourglass, they proceed with the same visually dark, early-2000s style of their vision, depressingly flat in ocular dynamics, repeating the same night in the same way with the same rhythm of kills. There are a few fun moments, notably an explosive jump-scare related to drinking the house's water, but anything of note in that regard was spoiled by the film's trailers.

Worse, none of the characters are memorable or interesting, only generally a terrible group of "friends" who end up running around, screaming, and dying without distinction before returning yet again to discuss their various traumas. For a premise literally dripping with self-awareness and fresh, witty opportunities for actual terror, it decides to waste its time on familiar and dull archetypal beats. Even a la Silent Hill, I found the film most intriguing as it attempted to dramatically suggest the history of the town, yet it even spoils the fun in that. I'd rather play the game, as with that other mention, or even the Blair Witch game, all of which allow for greater interactivity with stories and lore wildly more immersive and experimental than this sadly underbaked and lackluster excuse for cheap genre commentary. This might be my biggest disappointment of the year, along with Snow White.

I'll note that playing the game again may help my opinion, as I'm sure there are Easter eggs here, particularly around the protagonist's missing sister and Stormare's character, but I was too checked out to make the connections consciously or with any degree of interest.

Carry-On (2024)

Score: 3 / 5

It's not quite the same as the one-location surrealist suspense of this year's Drop, but Carry-On exemplifies a close sibling of the subgenre: that of the borderline-absurdist (often holiday-related) terrorist thriller. More an update on Die Hard, or Flightplan for that matter, this Christmas release brings all the expected action and heart out of an impossible but highly entertaining story. Shockingly not released in cinemas during the post-awards season holiday audiences, Carry-On is a Netflix exclusive, one that would have been fun on a large screen but nevertheless manages to demand audience attention and reward it. 

Jaume Collet-Serra belongs to a curious group of excellent but still comparably young genre filmmakers churning out movies with charming regularity, and clearly pulling directly from their favorite inspirations. Apart from his quartet of Liam Neeson-led action thrillers -- all of which are solid viewing choices, if somewhat indistinguishable, like The Commuter -- the Spanish director has handled some significant horror titles, including Orphan, The Shallows, and The Woman in the Yard, in addition to two major blockbusters belonging to important IPs: Black Adam for DC and Jungle Cruise for Disney. With all these, Collet-Serra staunchly resists excessive worldbuilding, extensive mythologies, and room for online forums to debate finer points of plot and theme. Lean and mean, straightforward thrills is his game, and he does it better than most these days.

Carry-On is clearly in the same vein as his Neeson thrillers, but this time it's Taron Egerton's vehicle for action stardom. And what a return to form it is for the hot young star, who steps into the role with capable aplomb and magnetic screen presence. Egerton plays Ethan, a TSA agent at LAX on Christmas Eve, one of the busiest days of the year; he has become stymied in his job, unmotivated to pursue promotions and seemingly content to be a grunt worker. When his pregnant girlfriend (Sofia Carson) who also works at the airport encourages him to reapply for his dream job at the police academy, he instead takes the initiative to prove to his boss (Dean Norris) that he can handle a more intensive job in the terminal: managing a baggage-scanning lane. It's not clear at first, but we learn Ethan has become quite cynical about law enforcement after he was rejected from the academy for concealing his father's criminal history. It's not a great backstory, and clearly forcefully arranged by writer T.J. Fixman to demonstrate daddy issues and an identity crisis, but little attention is paid to it by the film itself.

Thankfully, apart from this ham-fisted setup that overstays its welcome, the film proper kicks off when Ethan arrives on duty. After a somewhat miserable pep talk by the boss for their new shift, staffers take their positions as the onslaught of Yuletide travelers overwhelms the queue. Almost immediately, due to his eager offering, Ethan is put on a baggage scanner and slipped a mysterious earpiece, through which he is contacted by a terrorist. The stranger (Jason Bateman) quickly establishes dominance and consequence, proving that his no-nonsense plan is both imminent and irresistible. The unseen man has accomplices all over, and is nondescript himself, maneuvering literally behind the scenes to ensure that a certain piece of luggage bypasses the scanners without setting off any alarms. Ethan is in the undesirable position of ignoring whatever he sees on the scanner, though he has no idea exactly what or when or why this device is moving under his radar. 

Despite its Christmas setting, there isn't a lot of festive material here, so debates about this film's holiday canonicity will surely continue, but the whole debacle is a ton of fun regardless. While the terrorists' plot is admittedly overwrought, the film doesn't provide clear answers until later, making the narrative plot compelling up to its third-act climax, when the head villain confronts Ethan in a closed terminal bathroom and they brawl. Up to that particular point, I had few issues with the film, despite occasional unlikelihoods that are frankly necessary for things to proceed. But, as with a Bond film, the villain's monologue revealing all conveniently provides annoying closure to the varied fraying threads, and I found it wildly out of character for the master manipulator, who is patently not a sociopath or mastermind, and rather merely a committed mercenary. After this point, the climax continues for an interminable stretch that involves a tarmac hijack and chase, Egerton leaping into a plane's undercarriage, and a sequence of fights that would better fit a Mission: Impossible entry than a realistic story about an average Joe saving the day. 

The whole thing boils down to a sort of Trolley Problem: Ethan must decide whether he wants to save his pregnant girlfriend or everyone on a plane. When he makes his choice, the stakes are rearranged so that he must choose between his pregnant girlfriend and everyone in the airport. In a game like this, where consequences are constantly in flux -- at one point, it even becomes clear that a crucial politician is also in transit on the plane, and that she may be the true target -- the constant expository dialogue can become tiresome, as can legitimizing each new turn of the screw. Yet Egerton and the cast -- especially the typically sardonic, condescending Bateman -- remain consistently understated, a brave and smart acting choice in a flick like this that can so easily be played broadly and falsely. 

And all this is not to mention the rest of the film, which includes a bizarre and impossible -- but genuinely delicious -- subplot of Danielle Deadwyler as an LAPD detective piecing together disparate elements of the terrorist plot and attempting to intervene from the outside, along with DHS agent Logan Marshall-Green. It's weird and off-putting, but the considerable talents of these actors make it work, along with a strange and vicious fight in a speeding car. And it's within such sequences that we understand the absurd project at work: when you're laughing and choking in equal measure at insane action scenes, the movie has you hooked, and it earns its laurels. This isn't John Wick; it's violent, yes, but also silly. Carry-On might not be in my annual holiday watchlist, but I look forward to another screening already.

Maria (2024)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Biopics are so rarely this beautiful and fascinating. Think of the onslaught of them that barely scratch the surface of their subjects; especially heinous in this vein are those about musicians, relying heavily on recreations (or lip-syncs) of famous performances to fill a runtime that hurries from iconic look to overly dramatized scenes of troubled personal lives. And each time, audiences decry what amount to jukebox montages, seeking artistic integrity and braver swings when it comes to depicting complex inner lives of our celebrities. Pablo Larrain does that, and I don't know why more people aren't talking about his trilogy of troubled wealthy white Western goddesses, which started with the amazing Jackie (2016) and transcendent Spencer (2021). 

Maria takes as its subject the renowned and influential American-Greek soprano Maria Callas, "the Divine One," in the final week of her life in 1977, in relative isolation in her Paris apartment. Due to her declining health, she has stopped singing for some years and hidden from the public, relying heavily on substances to cope with her failing body and mind while slowly poisoning herself in what is implied to be a semi-intentional self-sabotage. Yet the film suggests that she wants to sing again, so she paces the cavernous halls of her abode like a Victorian ghost, occasionally singing for her maid or butler, or for herself, as Hamlet's mother might say, holding discourse with the incorporal air. She even becomes sure enough of herself that she commissions a final recording to be made, though it does not seem that she is up to the task when the time comes.

Larrain is notably a fan of opera, so it makes some sense that this final entry in his trilogy is more sentimental and gentle than the previous two. Steven Knight's screenplay allows for lots of thickly theatrical dialogue that may strike some as unrealistic but struck my ears as exactly the kind of abstract pretense often voiced by high art professionals, particularly after having experienced fame. Anyone who fears losing their body as a means of professional craft will appreciate this film, as the otherwise beautiful and elegant Callas privately wars with her own perfectionism and atrophying vocal muscles. In one memorable scene, she declares that she cannot listen to her own recordings because they are too perfect, and real music should never be technically perfect but rather interactive and reflective of the present audience and space. It's this kind of knowing writing that allows the character to reach out from her circumstances and touch contemporary audiences cerebrally.

And Angelina Jolie more than rises to the occasion, proving yet again that she is an exceptional actress of formidable skills. She often mutely expresses ineffable emotions, fighting like King Lear against the raging tempest of time, refusing to go gentle into that good night, even as she cannot quite resuscitate her dying voice. It's not unlike watching Julianne Moore losing her mind in Still Alice, though it's a much-heightened piece of aesthetic drama in Larrain's vision rather than a pure character-based psychological treatise. Jolie allows the pretentious dialogue to lilt off her lips while maintaining an icy poise, the kind of camp diva we all expect of a star of her caliber; I wondered, at first, if this would simply be an excuse for Jolie to exhibit her own comfort and cruelty as a bonafide star in her own right, but she puts in hard work here, carefully skewing just shy of the usual rudeness and entitlement we see in films of musical stars suddenly lording over their servants and fans. Too, I have to say, Jolie's lip-synching is so utterly convincing in this admittedly difficult role -- and through numerous close-up, long takes of just her face as Callas sings -- that I repeatedly forgot it wasn't a live musical number. One moment even reminded me of Cynthia Erivo's magnificent singing in Bad Times at the El Royale.

Curiously, several of Callas's scenes of singing are played up quite ambiguously. Though it's clear in moments that she's not the great soprano at the height of her career -- which is saying a lot, as she died so comparably young at the age of 53 -- it's never quite clear if she's actually any good. The film weaves in and out of her headspace so fluidly that it's possible she's legitimately lost her voice (a few telling closeups of the maid in particular are almost embarrassing by proxy) or if she's still pretty damn great and simply not living up to her own personal standards. I love that choice, because, much as we saw so well in Birdman, the art is so rarely an objective thing that it has to be mediated by other ears and eyes. Not a far cry, that, from the death of the artist argument, of course, but it bears some consideration here.

And there are some moments, reportedly, in which Jolie herself does sing and we hear it, though I defy anyone to try and identify those moments, because the sound design is really phenomenal and Jolie is firing everything she's got at the role. And it feels oddly personal to her, which is also intriguing; much as her foray into melodrama in the possibly pseudo-autobiographical By the Sea, this smacks of personal investment for her, and it's hard to ignore someone who's been such a global star for as long as her ilk fretting and puttering around as they contemplate their own imminent demise and possibly incomplete legacy. All this, too, is to have said nothing of the miraculous realism and photo-accurate recreations of sets and costumes and hairstyles throughout the film, which seamlessly craft a memorable atmosphere for the drama and will surely excite fans of Callas herself. Anyone interested in the sordid details of her private life will be left wanting -- her relationship with Aristotle Onassis (Haluk Bilginer) is present and effective but sparse on specifics or on her feelings about it -- and the personification of Mandrax, her primary drug of choice amidst an ongoing medication cocktail, in an interviewing Kodi Smit-McPhee is both obnoxious and sometimes affecting. But as a slice of imaginative speculation into the life of one of opera's brightest stars, the film has so much to say about the cost and pursuit of art and what is left in its glorious wake.

September 5 (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

In the grand tradition of news outlet dramas of flashpoint historical events, September 5 capably and compellingly recreates the events of that date in 1972 at the Munich Summer Olympics. More accurately, the primary setting is inside the ABC Sports broadcasting control room. During an otherwise routine schedule, gunshots ring out through the night, and it becomes slowly revealed that agents of Palestinian militant terrorist group Black September have infiltrated the athletes' village, killed two Israelis, and taken nine others hostage. Producers and editors, technicians and reporters alike, the cast of assembled characters struggle to make sense of the crisis as it unfolds before their eyes, eventually deciding to allow the events caught on camera to be seen live around the world.

In our age of cameras everywhere and nonstop news, it can be hard to remember a time when our daily existence wasn't mediated at all. Even growing up in the '90s, I can recall, meant a certain hour or so of dedicated television time, usually for the evening news and at least one episode of a show. So some viewers may not be able to empathize with the experience of watching such world-shaking events unfolding in the moment; much less, the agony of those execs in the newsroom. But director Tim Fehlbaum and his team skillfully approach the story as a grounded, urgent, and intentionally intense process, making the film something as close to an immersive experience as a docudrama can be. The silver screen even looked low-resolution, grainy and warm like 16mm news videos of the time, mostly handheld to effortlessly feel more thrilling by the minute. And don't get me started on the amazing sound design, which is crisp and clear and expansive and tactile and all the things you don't really expect in what is essentially a chamber thriller.

Actors do exceptionally well here with their demanding material, which by all accounts is remarkably well-researched and accurate to real events. Yet don't go into this film expecting a historical treatise on the geopolitical or religious or racial contexts for the massacre or even into its fallout, memorably dramatized by Steven Spielberg in 2005. Rather, this film is presented almost as a lesson in journalism in new media: the live broadcasting of events isn't invisible to the terrorists themselves, after all, which irrevocably complicates the situation and our assessment of it. And while it seems curious, perhaps, for the producers to want to tell this story --and in this way -- at this particular moment in our contemporary world, I am somewhat relieved that the film doubles down on its internal historicizing, rendering it politically toothless in a world currently eager to bite down on low-hanging fruit. Indeed, this choice largely makes the film a snapshot of a particular moment in history, made compelling by its counterintuitive and refreshing focus.

I want to defer, here in my final and somewhat jumbled thoughts, to critic Matt Zoller Seitz, who eloquently mused about the admittedly lacking awareness, in September 5, of context or lasting implications of media coverage during crises. Specifically, he talks about certain characters and how, after this story, they continued on to shape certain aspects of American media through relationships with politics and politicians who, together, began using immediate broadcasting access to shape American policies:

"What we’re seeing in September 5 is the birth of live news as entertainment. It’s the opening salvo in a long and sadly successful war against journalistic ethics and ideals that would lead to the current pathetic conditions of cable and Internet 'news,' which consist largely of 'takes' rather than original reporting. That nobody involved in the 1972 crisis could have foreseen where things would go lends poignance [and, I would add, urgency] to a movie that’s otherwise concerned only with what’s in front of it."

Drop (2025)

Score: 3.5 / 5

One of the more prolific horror/thriller creators right now, Christopher Landon is especially skilled at injecting absurd but relatable comedy into his inventive and exciting stories. His latest, Drop, takes a Hitchcockian premise and shoots it into a relentlessly modern context while smoothing it all over with stylish flair that will have your eyes popping.

Like a throwback to the 2000s, when everyone was remaking Hitchcock thrillers with new, updated contexts (Flightplan, Disturbia, A Perfect Murder, Murder by Numbers, etc.), Drop features a relatively small cast of characters racing against time and each other's wits in a single location. In an age when thrillers tend to get aggressively disturbing, or otherwise stretch themselves too thin with vague plotting or esoteric meaning, it's wonderfully refreshing to witness one that intentionally sets tight limitations with the intent to fully exploit each possibility therein. I had hoped last year's Trap, for example, would fit in a similar vein to this, but that film violated the strictures of its own premise; Drop keeps us locked into its obvious -- but no less intense -- agenda: sending us on a highly entertaining roller coaster ride.

Violet (Meghann Fahy of series The White Lotus, The Perfect Couple, and Sirens) is going on a date for the first time since the death of the father of her young child. It's been years after a terrifying prologue that dramatizes the violence he had enacted on her, and yes, whether or not she's implicated in his death will be an explicit concern later. This is not the kind of film to leave questions or possibilities unconsidered. Leaving young Toby home with her younger sister, Violet dolls herself up and goes to a fancy high-rise restaurant overlooking Chicago, determined but anxious to meet the man she's been texting for some time. Henry arrives a tad late, giving the screenplay enough time to very quickly ratchet up suspense. Between casual conversation with the bartender and hostess, the piano player, and another person waiting for his own blind date, Violet begins receiving digital (and titular!) "drops" of messages on her phone from someone in her near vicinity. As anyone familiar with Scream would guess, what starts as cutesy quickly becomes alarming: the sender shows a masked man at her home, ready to murder Violet's sister and son, if she does not acquiesce to their demands (not unlike Saw, either, for that matter). 

Trying not to panic, Violet awkwardly stumbles through her initial impression with Henry (Brandon Sklenar), and that's about as far as I'll go with plotting. Part of the joy of watching films like this is witnessing the yarn unspooling and being unable to stop it (much like part of the joy of most sitcoms is screaming at the TV, "Just tell the truth and you wouldn't be in this mess!"), so enjoy the plot as you're hurling along it at breakneck speed. Landon's got you covered.

But I want to pause here for two other reasons. First, for all that this film tries to do in terms of tension and excitement and pulp, its most effective moments for me are drenched not with camp or action but rather with unspoken anxiety. Violet's antics as she struggles against mounting panic are laughably strange, yes, but they're also fuel for our own anxieties as we root for her to figure a way out of her situation. She keeps looking at her phone during the date, of course for obvious reasons, but the camera often focuses us on Henry's notice of it and subtle disappointment. They take turns awkwardly going to the restroom, getting a new table, going to get more drinks, etc., and constantly bounce off each other so that they are actively not connecting in any helpful ways. We want her date to go well.

And cringe as that last sentence may be, it remains true. This is mostly due to a little thing we rarely discuss anymore: chemistry. Fahy and Sklenar are effortlessly likable in this film, and the pull their characters exert on each other, even from opposite sides of the restaurant, yanks our attention in the best way. Each exhibits the kind of screen presence that made golden age Hollywood stars the impetus for creating a whole movie around them. And the screenplay and direction lean into that, which we simply don't see in films anymore. Their magnetic energy allows the more logistically complex buildup to the climax feel both earned and necessary, helping us ignore gaping plot holes in favor of just enjoying the wild ride of Violet's experience.

Post-screening discussions should probably include some appreciation for how this film presents commentary on domestic abuse and how surviving women get hamstrung by a society that chooses not to hear or trust them. This story smartly introduces and sidesteps lots of tropes adjacent to that area of concern, especially regarding Violet's admirable endurance as well as Henry's characterization as distinctly not a knight sent to her rescue. And even as it deals with surviving abuse and overcoming fear in an age of surveillance and virtual connections, the film never feels too heavy or serious. It's grounded, but not intentionally funny in the style of Landon's other directorial ventures. And, by film's end, I felt as elated as if I had just disembarked the latest coaster at Six Flags.

Sinners (2025)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Ryan Coogler's auteurist streak shows no signs of slowing with Sinners, his much-publicized and wildly popular feature film released this past spring. His behind-the-scenes producing and generative brilliance is fascinating, but the specifics are beyond my interest here, so please do yourself a favor and read elsewhere how Coogler has worked to secure the rights to his own creativity, his money, and his integrity. The film itself is more my concern, and as such, I'll not be commenting excessively on its cultural impact, especially in the weeks and months following its release; that said, this is a prime example of how much I'm growing to detest online chatter about art. Yes, Sinners is a singular and masterful work of cinema, and it will prove to be important for both students (of genre, horror, film production and business, American culture, music, etc.) and fans. But the overblown, hyperbolic headlines and "reviews" from average moviegoers has simply got to stop (they're takes, not reviews). Sinners is by no means original in its conceit or storytelling, and I find it laughably disappointing that so many people seem determined to label it with exaggerated and objectively inaccurate laurels. And anyone who tries to introduce or suggest a film to you with anything sounding like "it's the best" or "it's the most" should be immediately questioned about how much they actually know about cinematic history.

And I get it: vampire movies are as old as cinema itself. How original can anything involving vampires really be these days? Lore and rules about the bloodsucking monsters of the night has become so extensive over the past century and a half that new stories concerning them must cherry-pick their own guidelines and boundaries to create a thematically and logically coherent narrative. As such, Sinners mostly fails to make significant impact on the mythic structure it utilizes. The screenplay forces its characters to constantly (in the second half, that is) reify what threats are actively preying upon them and how they might go about vanquishing them. Or at least surviving their onslaught. The sheer number of times freshly-vamped monsters saunter up to doorways and ask to be invited inside is enough to make me roll my eyes, even in repeat viewings. The extraordinary speed with which bitten/mauled characters turn into vampires is bizarrely more akin to action films, and even the film's internal logic about if and how long vampires can endure sunlight falls apart under any scrutiny. And then there's the hive mind exhibited by those who have turned, which demands its own complicated conversation.

Sinners, as a vampire film, owes much to what has come before, and its messy attempts at worldbuilding ring hollow. Conceptually, it seems a mixture of The Color Purple and From Dusk Till Dawn, with strong doses of Night of the Living Dead, Fright Night, and Midnight Mass added. Its plot, designed as a vehicle for horror, is one of the oldest scary stories in the Western world: while celebrating, a group of friends and family are targeted and tormented by monsters without, seeking entry by any means and resorting to existential violence. Setting the story in Jim Crow-era Mississippi allows lots of thematic material, though even this is hardly novel, considering the likes of Lovecraft Country and Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, among many literary works by Tananarive Due and others.

But anyone interested in how Sinners operates beyond the realm of the vampire subgenre of horror will find plenty of boons in this fabulous film. Art doesn't need to be wholly original or inventive to be exceptional, and so despite Coogler's mind-boggling choice to so constrain his artistic output with the shackles of vampire lore, this movie is an astonishing piece of filmmaking. Indeed, I'd have much preferred if his story of bootlegging brothers returning to the Delta from success in Chicago, buying a racist's abandoned sawmill, and fixing it up as both a juke joint (for joy) and sanctuary (from Jim Crow) stuck to those elements. Interludes that demonstrate the cultural, historical, and healing powers of music provide tons of potential to this film, notably in a much-discussed single long-take that has me gasping for air each time I witness it. It'll leave you gobsmacked, too, don't fret. And, even in the moments that vampires first start attacking people, one character calls them haints multiple times. My only question, really, after repeat viewings, is why -- oh, why -- didn't Coogler simply stick with that? Eliding the word "vampire" entirely from his screenplay would have freed the film from so much unnecessary baggage and associations and plot holes and generic limitations.

Aside from all that, which is really the only frustration I have with the film (and the way it's been absorbed into social blather), Sinners is pretty amazing, so I won't waste our time with echoing the consensus that its cast is uniformly brilliant -- though I want to say Wunmi Mosaku is perfect and beautiful and highly skilled and needs to be in my eyeballs more often -- and that Michael B. Jordan is a force of nature onscreen. As an introduction to Miles Caton, Sammie is the kind of character every actor wants but only powerhouse performers can embody; Caton deserves accolades for what he gives to this picture. 

Coogler's direction, Autumn Durald Arkapaw's cinematography, Ludwig Goransson's score (and the soundtrack), the editing, the costumes, the effects: it's all detailed and carefully constructed, meaning that great care was clearly applied to its production. If only every film was crafted with a fraction of this level of thoughtfulness and specificity. Questions can be raised, for sure -- I wondered aloud, in my most recent viewing, why it's shot on spectacular 65mm with IMAX cameras when so many shots have only shallow focus and severe close-ups, to which my viewing friend shushed me -- and I rather wish more consideration had been granted in the screenplay to the unbounded potential of Sammie's musicianship that transcends time and place. While it can be a hard film to describe without its obvious referents, and even as a narrative (after all, is it Sammie's story, or Smoke and Stack's?), its first hour, its turning point, and its denouement together make Sinners one of the richest, bravest, and most compelling films of the year so far. If only Coogler had avoided naming his antagonists as vampires.