Tron: Ares (2025)

Score: 4 / 5

Tron is a strange franchise, one never really destined for all-time greatness, yet curiously enduring and improving over the decades with few and far-between entries. The story is actually quite dense and interesting, though largely inaccessible due to wooden dialogue and somewhat fanciful depictions of the inner workings of computer software. Rendered narratively inert -- or close to it -- then, the films work almost entirely as a result of their iconic special effects and visual splendor. Technological light shows scored by brilliant, equally iconic music make these films consummate entertainment. It helps that, after the 1982 original film, 2010's Legacy and now 2025's Ares have leaned into the stylized elements while also eliciting much more grounded and dynamic performances from well-cast leading actors. And Ares is certainly my favorite of the three.

Without Tron, we likely wouldn't have The Matrix or Wreck-It Ralph or Ready Player One. And, I'd argue, its design is more inspired, interesting, and thoughtful than those. Its cold, dark, bleak depiction of cyberspace built up in neon cities based around data hubs lends itself to a focused meditation on how our Age of Information might be physically represented. It's also cleaner and much more chic than the crumbling wastelands or candy-colored theme parks of the other titles I mention. It's arguably even as kinky as The Matrix, though more subtle. And its weighty thematic elements -- at least in the two sequels -- rival that of most science fiction in its earnest dramatization of sons becoming their fathers, the sins of the father returning, gods and CEOs vying for power, artificial intelligences taking over, and a revolutionary approach to liberation.

With a magnificent score from Nine Inch Nails (Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross), director Joachim Ronning fashions a stylish and sexy action movie with abundant thrills and more ideas than it knows how to handle. Much like the philosophical tone of Blade Runner, here we're launched into a violent race against time as characters enter and exit The Grid, Flynn's alternate reality of gaming codes, now made public and interconnecting servers around the world. Flynn's old nemesis Dillinger has reared his head again, in the form of his daughter (Gillian Anderson) and her son (Evan Peters), the new CEO. Their company has created a Master Control Program whose AI is so profoundly effective that they can create a body for him in the real world (using a magical form of 3D printing) and he'll be their super-soldier for all of 29 minutes.

His mission: permanence. To bring imagined codes in the Grid to real life, the Dillinger company will stop at nothing, even espionage and murder. So the CEO sends his new creation, Ares (an incredible Jared Leto), to find and take a rumored "permanence code" from the ENCOM CEO, Eve Kim (a ballsy and exciting Greta Lee). Kim has been running Flynn's old company well, and the film wisely builds on what has come before. I won't spoil things for the fans out there, but there is a sequence over halfway through the film that absolutely sent me into nostalgic joy, culminating in a legacy appearance so effective it brought me to tears. By film's end, Ares marks alongside Ex Machina or Her as one of the most moving and beautiful depictions of AI on film.

While lionizing the benefits of AI thus, at this particular moment in time, feels irresponsible at best, I don't entirely think that should derail our appreciation of this magnificent film. Much less dominate conversation about it. Let's keep it in conversation, of course, but I do think it's significant that the film ends with an embodied, limited portrayal of AI and an admittedly optimistic perspective: if we so fear AI wanting to become more human-like, have we considered that that includes death and dissolution? Ares himself muses, late in the film, that though he's searching for a "permanence code," so called because it would allow digital beings and items to exist in the real world for more than 29 minutes, it should really be called the "impermanence code." Essentially, Ares's sought-after permanence would actually make him mortal.

The visual flourishes of this series -- especially of the latter two entries -- hint at far more than surface pleasures. Kim's opening scene feels like an ironic inversion of the Garden of Eden, in which Eve herself enters a frozen waste with little more than filial love in her mind, not just sampling the fruits of her miraculous labors but in fact creating the tree of both life and knowledge. She's an idealist and dreamer, but that doesn't stop her from roughhousing when things turn sour, making her a riveting protagonist among this ensemble cast. We sadly don't have Michael Sheen's Zuse in this one, of course, but we are given other fabulous new characters like Jodie Turner-Smith's lethal and chilling Athena. And then there's the eye-popping finale that, while perhaps stealing a bit from The Avengers in visuals of Dillinger's cyber soldiers materializing in the real world of Center City and wreaking havoc while hunting their mark.

Hinging strongly on a Frankenstein reference, Ares himself dominates both narrative and screen, making the logical choice after Legacy to further continue the series' attentions to real-world implications of relations with programs and AI. I'm sad we didn't get Garrett Hedlund or Olivia Wilde in this, but perhaps there's room in yet another installment for more familiar faces. Tron may be many things -- not least of which is simply uninteresting to many people -- but for those who willingly let it take its course, a deeply satisfying experience of cerebral and surprisingly emotional spectacle await. The dialogue is messy, and rarely works in any of these films; the plot is convoluted and fanciful. Yet the ideas are really smart, and the films work because of the dedication and thoughtfulness of their performers as well as the devastatingly delicious awe of sound and image so effectively combined. Ronning has severely disappointed me before, but his work here is remarkable and truly special.

Scoop (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

Much like a courtroom drama, films about journalism require a certain writerly excellence simply by nature of its subject. When your story hinges on the use of language to particular ends, it needs to be written in such a way that its performative creation of the drama is both compelling and revealing, especially through its structure. It might seem obvious that an investigation -- whether that of reporters or of lawyers -- lends itself easily to a screenplay, with various discoveries forcing certain developments in an "a + b = c" manner, but actually writing these takes far more care and forethought than the prevalence of procedural television shows might suggest. So when a feature film about key historic moments that were brought to life through the journalistic efforts of a select few is released, it's really important to take note and pay attention. Especially these days, as reporting and the freedom of speech and of the press have quickly become dangerous hot topics of debate in our politically polarized culture.

Case in point: Scoop, a British production and Netflix release that dramatizes the behind-the-scenes intrigue and lead-up to Prince Andrew's devastating 2019 BBC televised interview. Surely some artistic license is taken in adapting the fairly recent events to screen, but for those of us who generally don't care about the monarchy and were only aware of the interview itself, Scoop fulfills its title in providing us with a richly contextualized backdrop to the bombshell. For example, we consciously know his answers in that interview were laughably weird, but it wasn't until watching this film that the bubble in which the royals live really came into clear distinction. How out of touch with reality would a person have to be to, in self-defense against accusations like that, simply say idiotic and tone-deaf things like "I don't sweat"? Or to end the trainwreck of an interview with "I really nailed that!" Incredible as it was that he thought it went well, it's equally bizarre that he and the entire royal PR team thought it was a good idea at all to go into such an open-ended interview meant to needle perhaps the most shameful and shocking scandal to rock the crown in more than a generation.

The film is as entertaining as it is excoriating, adapted from Sam McAlister's book by Peter Moffat and directed by Philip Martin, though it takes a while to make sense to an outsider. Billie Piper plays McAlister herself, here a junior producer on BBC's Newsnight, desperate to fulfill her primary duty of booking high-profile guests, especially those who are notably hard to get. Recent staffing cuts leave her shaken -- and her streetwise, chic demeanor, which is perceived as less professional and unworthy by her uptight colleagues -- and suddenly she gets a daring idea. Coming across a nine-year-old picture of Prince Andrew and Jeffrey Epstein walking together in Central Park, and knowing full well the dark rumors about their longtime friendship (note that at this point the convicted sex offender was still alive), McAlister shoots her shot by making contact with Amanda Thirsk (Keeley Hawes), the Prince's closest aide. Their negotiations are fraught, neither speaking freely about their aims or making promises about anything, until news of Epstein's death rocks headlines in August of 2019.

Sam pounces, enlisting veteran news anchor and hardlining journalist Emily Maitlis (a chillingly brilliant Gillian Anderson) to do the interview with Prince Andrew (an equally chilling, though in a different way, Rufus Sewell). While Maitlis, whose camera-ready makeup and hair are never less than picture perfect, even as she glides through their office with her leashed whippet, is certainly one of those icy executives who looks down on McAlister, the two women eventually lean on each other, each learning to rely on the strengths of the other to pull off this unique opportunity. The camera loves both actresses, sweeping us along with them through offices, lobbies, and regal halls alike, propelling the film forward just like their hard-hitting footwork (in thigh-high boots and sensible heels, respectively). While depicting the general staff at the BBC as bureaucratic boors might be unnecessary, the focus is on McAlister and her unique way of fulfilling her mandate. The one person (a producer, no less) no one expected to do anything remarkable managed to wrangle the scoop of the decade.

There are some insights into Prince Andrew, which will probably ruffle more feathers than the tightly wound scenes at the BBC. Sewell injects Andrew with an incompetence and cruelty that is almost distracting, playing him even in private moments as an overgrown kid, a schoolyard bully who only ever craves his own mummy's approval and can hardly relate to other adults apart from puffing up his charisma and letting his title do the work for him. Rumors of working for him reach a blistering head when, in one scene, he angrily chastises a poor maid, and Sewell's delivery (with a keen, uncanny reproduction of Andrew's voice) makes the proceedings feel like we're seeing a reality we were never meant to witness.

Andrew's irritation and general bewilderment is most apparent by the time he enters his now-infamous interview. While he tempers his blatant superiority in the room, devolving to something like a bad kid pretending to be nice during a parent-teacher conference, his simple confusion about why "this whole Epstein business" even matters is damning enough. The film dramatizes the whole interview, more or less, with the heightened mise-en-scene, patiently absorbing cinematography, and unbelievably tense performances perfectly recreating the real life event. While I was at first annoyed with the cutting edits to the folks behind the scenes, this technique too fulfills the promise of this film's title, providing us some insight into the BBC personnel being actively gobsmacked by the Prince's words and into his steely-faced staff, who don't seem to realize what a mess they've unleashed.

Some may question the purpose of a film like this, making the most out of recent history we all remember a little too clearly. My personal interest stems from not having known the context of the interview, and I suspect that will provide enough interest to most. But even those familiar with what happened will surely appreciate the female-led behind-the-scenes journalism, the details of inner BBC workings, the fraught nature of dealing with Buckingham Palace, and especially the film's chilling reminder that despite what the world says and jokes about Epstein and even Andrew, our focus should always be on the teenage girls who were so violated by evil men with money and power. Given where we as Americans are right now, with a former president currently on criminal trial for fraud and corruption, we would all do well to attend to recent stories of the elite preying on the vulnerable and getting away with it for far too long.

The Pale Blue Eye (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

The year is 1830, and the dying of the year is settling on the Hudson River Valley. Chilly weather precedes a chilling crime as a West Point Military Academy cadet is found hanged; soon after, his body is discovered to be desecrated and his heart forcibly removed. Terrified of scandal at the fledgling institution, the captains and superintendents hire a nearby semi-retired detective to investigate. While looking into possible -- and evidently likely -- occult activities on campus, he realizes he needs to penetrate the cadre of cadets to learns what's going on internally: enter a young Edgar Allan Poe, a real-life cadet at the time, whose poetic personality leads him to assist in the investigation.

The Pale Blue Eye is a recent Netflix film that adapts a magnificent novel by Louis Bayard. It's a difficult project, to be sure, as one of the primary charms of the book is the occasional shift in narrative voice from the detective to Poe; fans of the latter find the passages written in Poe's voice beautifully rendered from the historical man and artistic visionary. It seems appropriate that the so-called father of the American detective story would get his taste for the aesthetic from a formative experience early in his life, and so the whole concept is brilliant. And, while the novel almost ceaselessly twists its way through red herrings and minor mysteries to be solved, the film manages to faithfully adapt the major moments for its primary story. It just can never quite capture the joyful voice of Poe himself.

Which is by no means a fault of the cast or director/screenwriter. Scott Cooper helms this in those latter two capacities, and it's about as bleak as anything else he's done (Antlers, Hostiles, Black Mass, Out of the Furnace). Cinematographer Masanobu Takayanagi views the whole thing -- surely inspired by the title -- in pale gray hues, so much so that the whole thing could have been quite effective in black and white, except for streaks of blue in the river valley and the cadet uniforms. And the cast is great across the board, from underutilized but effective heads of West Point including Simon McBurney and Timothy Spall, to the primary family of suspicion including Toby Jones, Gillian Anderson, and Lucy Boynton.

The detective himself, Augustus Landor, is played by frequent Cooper collaborator Christian Bale. Landor, semi-retired no doubt due to isolation, alcoholism, and depression -- he's a widower whose adolescent daughter left him a couple years ago -- is still sharp as a knife and quick-witted. Prone as he is to the bottle and to melancholy sexual encounters with a local barmaid (Charlotte Gainsbourg), he seems dedicated to cut through the bureaucratic crap of the academy and solve the crimes. One might wonder why an actor of Bale's uncommon skills wants to play a bedraggled, world-weary man so comparatively early in his career, but if you're familiar with the book, he's not as detached from the proceedings as he first appears.

And then there's Harry Melling, playing Poe, whose performances lately have proved him a frighteningly intense and versatile actor coming into his own. He reminds me a bit of a young Gary Oldman in that way, and I'm eager to see how he continues. Here, though, he straddles a fine line between the agony of an artist unable to fully commit to his craft, the urgency of solving a crime for which he will inevitably also be targeted (either as a potential victim or suspect, or both), and his eager romanticism that will lead him into trouble with the family of the primary suspect. There are a few key scenes in this respect that shine, as he courts the sister of a particularly brutal cadet, though these were far more numerous and emotionally impactful in the novel. It's a side plot that better serves our understanding of Poe's character -- he uses her name to inspire some poetry of his own under the similar name "Lenore" -- that would make the already bloated film much longer.

But for a bleak, literary, and haunting mystery in the chilly midwinter, The Pale Blue Eye is exactly what the poet ordered.