Cuckoo (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

As its title indicates, this off-the-wall horror title will be talked about for some time to come. Marketing for this -- and for Longlegs, earlier this summer -- managed to keep most of its plot and theming under pretty tight wraps, and both films are better for it. Some things just need to be walked into with minimal knowledge of the experience to come. And Cuckoo is bonkers.

17-year-old Gretchen (a physically committed Hunter Schafer, from Euphoria and The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes) gets dragged along by her father to a resort in the Bavarian Alps. That in itself wouldn't be too bad, but she's still grieving the death of her mother, so caring for her mute younger sister under the watchful eye of her new stepmother isn't helping her heal. And the somewhat haunted forest ringed by icy mountains, while beautiful, Gretchen views with a somewhat suspicious eye, as if they too are watching her, hemming her in, trapping her. She takes a risk right away to work in the resort's convenience store, and she's the first to notice that the locals are strange. Really strange. Like, young women keep vomiting and being hustled away.

But nobody seems to pay her much mind or care about her concerns. Not even when she's chased by a hooded woman keeping up with her on a nighttime bike ride in one of the film's most chilling scenes. Only Ed, an alluring young woman, sparks much interest in Gretchen, and the two discreetly plan to run away together. It's a wonderfully understated queer element in the film, and while it isn't part of the "bury your gays" trope, it does get abbreviated by another sequence of pure terror involving what seems to be a time loop and a violent car crash. Even when the detective gets called in -- he hypothesizes that the hooded woman is responsible for at least one death already, and her M.O. is something possibly supernatural or technological -- there are too many unknowns and too many weird things going on for Gretchen (or us) to have much grasp on her present danger.

Writer and director Tilman Singer has only made one feature film before Cuckoo (Lux, in 2018, which I haven't yet seen), but he's got a fascinating approach to this weird material. I'm using the word "weird" a lot, and I don't necessarily mean in an alienating, popular sense; rather, this fits into the domain of "weird fiction," a curious and inviting blend of science fiction and horror and character drama (read: insanity and the uncanny). Singer slows down our expectations -- though this isn't, strictly, slow-burn horror -- by letting us dwell with Gretchen in her strange new world and its shadowy horrors. He doesn't give us answers for a long time, letting the twisted mystery get darker and uglier to the point that I occasionally found myself distracted from watching the movie by simply trying to make sense of its bizarre edits, nerve-wracking sounds, and generally menacing aura. Eventually we do get a rather ham-fisted explanation of everything, and while I appreciated it for helping streamline things (I'm rarely invested in plot enough for that to make or break a film, to the point of sometimes seeking out spoilers in advance of a screening), I expect it will be frowned upon by most audiences. That kind of final act, "come to Jesus" revelation tying together disparate elements worked when Hitchcock made Psycho sixty years ago, but it fell out of favor shortly after.

He is, however, clearly an actor's director as much as he is a fresh storyteller. Schafer leans into the possibility that Gretchen's observations and concerns might be all in her head, a manifestation of her discomfort with her family and their new home while still dealing with her own bereavement. Opposite her is Dan Stevens as the delightful and sinister Herr Konig (with a pitch-perfect accent), doing the most with his performance in a way that wildly unbalances Schafer's performance style. The combination is intoxicating to watch. His slick, obsequious mannerisms in running the hotel quickly evolve into passive-aggressive control, micromanaging specifically female workers and guests alike. Stevens is always charming, and he uses that trait here like a honey to lure the other characters -- and us -- into a sense of unease before we realize the extent of his cruel machinations.

There is really no comparing this with Longlegs, which was also notably mysterious and strange in its marketing, but I did enjoy this one better, if only because it felt more fun. Schafer and Stevens have an almost comic dynamic, with Stevens's strangeness highlighting Schafer's deadpan straight man. Even the title and its meaning -- revealed to be, indeed, avian in theme -- suggest an unhinged wackadoodle energy Singer clearly enjoys exploiting. There's even the suggestion in the film of a sort of dark folktale about women's bodies and wills being hijacked by powerful men, but it's so satisfying understated that this doesn't feel overtly like an "issue" movie. It just wants to take you on a unique ride, have a blast, and talk about it after with your friends.

Glass Onion (2022)

Score: 5 / 5

Thank goodness they're back at it. Rian Johnson returns with Daniel Craig for another quick-witted, topical whodunnit to follow up Knives Out. And, befitting a sequel, this one is glossier, flashier, and bigger. The Gothic tendencies of the first are still present, but now in chic modern trappings. The self-aware political dialogue of the first is somehow more trenchant and expansive now. Think of this as like Branagh's new Poirot films: the first was more isolated and spooky, the second was more glamorous and brutal. It helps that Glass Onion takes place on a picturesque private Greek island topped with an enormous glass globe, because murder in paradise is always more fun.

It's the height of the COVID-19 pandemic and a group of old friends gathers for their annual vacation together at the island paradise home of Miles Bron, a billionaire techie and patented idiot played to perfection by Edward Norton, who plays against type to hilarious effect. One wonders if his idiocy has led to paranoia, because the group of friends he amasses are surely close-knit but they each hide devious secrets that only each other knows. They affectionately refer to themselves as "The Disruptors," which reveals their collective narcissism and smug self-righteousness, and their various pursuits smack of shady dealings and ill-gotten gains. Guarding each other's secrets as they do, they might best be described as frenemies.

Much as with the first installment, Johnson both honors and inverts typical whodunnit tropes. Yes, everyone in the large ensemble cast is a suspect, but they're also all deeply conflicted and ambiguous characters. The pool of suspects Johnson treats as a microcosm of social ills: the first film's insular family felt a bit Trumpian in its hyper-fixation on money and entitlement as well as their performative tolerance, and this film's fraternity of friends is more than a little echo chamber-y in its treatment of social media and its condemnation of greedily inspired tech advancements. Johnson also structures his delightfully twisty plot with knowing loops on itself, making it deucedly difficult to predict, much like the first film. Adding in metafictional flair -- such as his numerous gobsmacking cameos from people like Ethan Hawke and the late great duo Stephen Sondheim and Angela Lansbury -- only adds to the festive wackiness and off-the-wall ingenuity.

Daniel Craig leads again as Benoit Blanc (now confirmed to be gay and partnered to Hugh Grant) as the Cajun detective with a mind like a steel trap, although this time he plays more of a character than before. His attention was piqued when he receives an invitation to the Disruptors' vacation: each invitation takes the form of a deviously complex puzzle box Blanc declares to be silly and simple. However, Blanc was more or less recruited by a character played by Janelle Monáe. SPOILER ALERT: it is Monáe who really owns this movie in a dual role of twin sisters determined to bring down Miles for his criminality and dangerous new alternative fuel. And so, Blanc himself is a bit more relaxed and even goofy during the film's first act, which is a memorably blissful change in style for him.

The rest of the cast is uniformly great (including Kate Hudson's model and influencer with a penchant for racist tweets, Dave Bautista men's rights YouTuber, and a surprisingly nuanced Madelyn Cline as his sexed-up girlfriend Whiskey), although I personally felt that Leslie Odom Jr.'s tortured scientist and Kathryn Hahn's shady governor up for a senate election were underused despite being arguably the most dynamic actors of the ensemble. It's nice to see the actors play into or against type intentionally, and I wondered more than once how much of that was intentional to this movie in particular, to tie in with the symbolic ambiguity of its titular structure.

The plot, characters, performances, and themes are all pretty clear, but the layers get more interesting and intricate as they are peeled back. That's the brilliance of Johnson's creation in this series; it's like what Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson did with the Scream franchise in honoring the genre traditions while flipping them on their heads in intelligent and daring ways. Other recent satires like The Menu aren't dissimilar in targeting hot topics with complex, half-joking wit. And Glass Onion takes everything we loved about Knives Out and gives us more of it all, which makes it one of the best movies of the year and a joyous addition to what we can all hope will be a thriving new Netflix series.

The Gray Man (2022)

Score: 1.5 / 5

It was just so boring, I couldn't stand it. The Russo brothers proved themselves immensely capable directors with several of the biggest entries in the MCU, but it seems several of their efforts since have struggled to do much at all. And maybe, due to its star power and big names, their latest will have a healthy viewership. But watchability and draw are very much not the same as enjoyability and artistic integrity, or even solid storytelling. It smacks all the more hollow because it's the first installment of what Netflix seems to hope will be a series.

Ryan Gosling plays Sierra Six, an assassin and spy working for the CIA. His handler is Billy Bob Thornton, and his new boss is Regé-Jean Page; they all have character names, but I didn't care enough to learn them. The story proper jumps right off from these brief introductions, as Gosling enacts his latest mission in Bangkok, taking out a target who is revealed to be a fellow agent. Much like in a Mission: Impossible scenario -- but not nearly as well-executed -- the target tells Gosling about his boss's criminality and provides evidence as he dies. Gosling immediately goes on the run as Page makes him a target in turn. But he's no Ethan Hunt or even John Wick, and frankly I just didn't care. Gosling is stoic and active, and the character is basically void of personality or motivation.

To stop Gosling, Page brings in an ex-CIA mercenary, Chris Evans, sporting a ridiculous mustache and a sociopathic streak. Page seems desperate, and Evans is certainly up to the task by any means necessary. Unleashed on Gosling, Evans is a wild card, resorting immediately to torture and kidnapping and murder. He's probably the most fleshed-out character in this film, but even he has only a handful of concrete character details. He's also not particularly interesting, just pretty to watch (except for that bizarre growth on his upper lip). I hoped when Ana de Armas showed up to help Gosling that she'd save us from these shallow men, but the film barely even recognizes her as a person and treats her like an even more shallow sidekick. The only other woman of much consequence in the film is Thornton's niece, the kidnapped girl, so our two prominent women are relegated to cringey tropes.

The film is occasionally beautiful to behold, but cinematographer Stephen F. Windon of Fast & Furious fame mostly makes the movie look dark, cold, and lifeless. You can't see half the action or most of the globe-spanning locations through the murky darkness. There is almost no sense of fun in the film, and maybe there doesn't need to be, but when it becomes a slog to continue, that's a problem. I actually stopped watching it the first time because I couldn't take it any more; I finished up the last half hour the next day, but frankly I wish I hadn't. What a waste of resources.

The Matrix Resurrections (2021)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Lana Wachowski returns solo to the franchise that made her name great in the latest requel churned out of a major studio. I'm not mad about this one, mostly because it felt much more like the original film than the sequels it spawned. I always had a soft spot for the turn-of-the-millennium masterpiece that changed science fiction cinema, and while its sequels are fun, they went a little too crazy for me with their effects and simple (if bizarre) stories. Resurrections is lighter in apocalyptic tone and more fun, even as it grapples with cerebral themes in surprising ways.

The movie begins with what first feels like a flashback to the opening of the franchise as we watch Trinity's (Carrie-Anne Moss) eye-popping escape. The scene shifts to a new character named Bugs (Jessica Henwick) watching her, much as we are, who then also needs to escape and uses similar martial arts and time-defying action to do so. Within just a few minutes, we're already back into the world of the Matrix, even if we don't necessarily remember all the rules of the virtual realm. Bugs has discovered an old code being run in a loop around this moment, when Trinity first found Neo within the Matrix; it seems that someone is still looking for the "savior," who was presumed to be dead. But maybe she's after something else; it's when she locates a slightly altered version of Morpheus (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) that the plot really kicks into high gear.

Speaking of which, I can't pretend I fully understand the plot of this movie after a single viewing. I felt the same way about the previous installments too, but this one does a lot of work to, well, resurrect characters that Revolutions carefully and caringly ended. As such, it jumps through didactic hoops that I'm not sure will ever make full sense to me. There's a new AI -- at least, I think that's what he is -- called the Analyst (Neil Patrick Harris) who is working to understand the human mind and perfect the Matrix before its reboot. Agent Smith (Jonathan Groff) returns, this time as more of a trapped denizen of the Matrix looking for something between liberation and revenge. And, of course, we're re-introduced to Neo, who is still very much alive.

Living in a mild-mannered existence as the successful creator of a video game series called The Matrix, Thomas Anderson (Keanu Reeves) has occasional flashbacks -- or hallucinations -- to his time as Neo, many years before. Drawing on these for his games, he also vaguely recognizes a woman named Tiffany (also Moss) at a local coffee shop; she's married with children and also has no recollection of their shared past. In the movie's best scenes, Anderson meets with creators in his board room as they hash out ideas for a sequel game. The dialogue is shockingly, wonderfully aware of its metafictional attitude, and the geeky characters bounce ideas such as "bullet time" around with knowing chuckles. To make the Matrix an inside joke while inside the Matrix is the most brilliant idea Resurrections has to offer, and it really is too bad the film didn't capitalize on this storytelling device.

In fact, my main gripe with this film -- apart from the hurtle-jumping required to follow its plot -- is much the same as it was with the previous three. Heady concepts aside, I will never get why the Neo-Trinity love story trumps everything else. In a world of reality-shattering revelations and impending apocalypse of humanity, their love is framed as more crucially salvific than anything else. It's as if, to make the amazing, daring ideas sell, the Wachowskis felt the need to centralize the love story; now, so long after the trilogy ended, I can't help but wonder why Lana and the new writing team decided to continue this trend. It makes what is otherwise an exciting, fun, and interesting diversion damp with sentiment and (in my opinion) unearned nostalgia. 

Clearly I'll need a rewatch soon, if only to see a preternaturally aged Jada Pinkett Smith doing her sassy thing, and I desperately hope the movie makes more sense. Because I really want it to! As I said, this is probably my favorite since the beginning simply because of tone and less of an emphasis on masses of tentacled machines clawing through the earth's crust, a la James Cameron. Perhaps the happiest surprise to me is that the Matrix itself doesn't feel nearly as dangerous or icky as it did before; this is the first time in the franchise I believed how and why people in the Matrix didn't question their reality. Similarly, the lack of imminent danger made the whole thing feel less emotionally draining than previous installments. It made philosophical nuggets in the dialogue more palatable and more fun to consider in real time! And, of course, there's the purely entertaining draw of seeing a Wachowski prove again that she is the real master of big-budget, eye-popping sequences that every other action filmmaker has been trying to imitate for decades now. The multiple high-speed chases and group battles feature some of the best CGI of the year, often incorporating multiple explosions or fights in different speeds in the same frame. It's cool stuff, y'all.

Underwater (2020)

 Score: 4 / 5

I hadn't seen many trailers for Kristen Stewart's latest outing amidst the flurry of the holidays and pre-awards season, but it's been a long summer and I finally got around to viewing it. Having forgot almost everything in the trailers, I only knew the plot revolved around her getting stuck in a research station at the bottom of the ocean. I didn't know that the disaster would happen in the very first scene. I didn't know that Stewart has turned into a very physical actress. I didn't know that this movie would be so technically accomplished. And I certainly didn't know I was going to really enjoy it.

Underwater takes place entirely under water; at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, in fact, so under a lot of water. Before we know anything about anything, Kristen Stewart's tooth-brushing is suddenly interrupted by an earthquake. The submerged station -- which seems to be a research facility as well as a drill -- is nearly destroyed, and the few survivors race against time to gather near the escape pods. But they're all gone. Knowing they will die in the facility, they don deep-sea suits and drop to the ocean floor (not without casualty), with the insane goal of walking a mile to another station. As if it weren't already a thrilling update to a disaster movie, we soon learn that they are being hunted in the pitch-black water.

*Spoiler alert*

In the impossibly dark atmosphere (or lack of), the movie often looks and feels like a space movie. In fact, substitute just a couple of visuals, and we have what amounts to Ridley Scott's Alien. People are forced to travel between relatively safe spots where they can recharge and clean their suits; the pressure is exhausting and claustrophobic; we suspect they will all die. And then there's the humanoid monsters hunting them. I was a bit bewildered by this because I simply didn't expect it, and while the scares are mostly effective and well-designed, the horror of this movie felt increasingly gimmicky. It's just that we've seen it all before, you know? Throw the Xenomorph into James Cameron's The Abyss, and that's this movie, right?

Wrong. Because in Underwater's climax, Stewart and the last survivors have to navigate a hallway that serves as a nesting ground for these creatures. Hanging like bats, they seem to be dormant for the present, until of course one is awakened by the clumsy intruders (to be fair, they are wearing those unwieldy suits). Once Stewart extricates herself from being swallowed by a particularly hangry monster, she fires a flare gun into open water for a distraction and for, you know, a little enlightenment. And suddenly we see with her that a titan has emerged from the depths. No, this isn't The Meg. 

It's Cthulhu.

I know, I know, it's weird. But honestly the shock of that single shot was enough to bowl me over, and I still haven't quite recovered. It's the money shot of the year. We could talk about whether the movie deserves to be in Lovecraftian canon all we want, but that revelatory shot is the single coolest, most effectively horrifying shot in any movie inspired by the Lovecraft mythos. There are a couple passing hints earlier in the film that something strange was going on behind the scenes with the drilling company, including a pentagram drawn on a blueprint of the first drill site. There really isn't anything like xenophobia, paranoia, racism, madness, or cult worship, which may be why the reveal is so damn shocking.

Sure, it's probably even a cheap ploy by the filmmakers. But before that point, it was already an effective movie in its own right, derivative though it is. It's lean, it's mean; it drops us literally as the action explodes, and it never relents its horror until the credits start rolling. It has no pretense, no unnecessary fluff; it gives exactly what it wants and takes exactly what it wants. It's perfectly self-contained, mercifully brief in length, and doesn't even give you enough time to consider disliking what you're watching. It boasts some real technical artistry, too, especially in sound design and cinematography from the criminally underrated Bojan Bazelli (Hairspray, Burlesque, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, The Ring, Pete's Dragon, A Cure for Wellness, and Spectral, among others). And then to have that big bastard come clomping out, Underwater totally won me over. I can't exactly articulate why, but I just really had a blast with this flick. What a ridiculous delight.