Jurassic World: Rebirth (2025)

Score: 4 / 5

In an age when everyone wants to shove their opinions down your throat -- most of them negative -- find your joy. Jurassic World: Rebirth had me in jubilation most of the summer, and its simple pleasures I hold dear to my heart. Anyone who loves dinosaurs, adventure, and this franchise will find boons here. Skipping the self-explanatory narrative, then, let's just hit on the major points of interest.

With Gareth Edwards (Godzilla, Rogue One, The Creator) at the helm, and boasting a return to the series by master screenwriter David Koepp, the latest installment in the long-running series strips us of characters and locations we already know. Apart from general "vibes" and the adventure-gone-awry loose narrative structure, Rebirth feels less like one of the original Park films and more like a love letter to both Steven Spielberg and Michael Crichton. That might be appropriate, as its science fiction trappings are taken to an extreme here only previously hinted at: many of the dinosaurs in this film are the result of genetic experimentation, underscoring the ungodly methods used by wealthy men playing God.

Its setting is worthy of note: this film relocates the action to a new island, Ile Saint-Hubert, in the Atlantic. While I don't mind the globetrotting in principle or in practice -- look at Dominion for proof that it can work, though this film skips right ahead to a time when many of Earth's dinosaurs have died or migrated to remote, protected tropical regions -- it's bothersome here that the island houses an abandoned InGen factory. Why, I've asked before and apparently must again, why doesn't this franchise simply capitalize on the other islands in the archipelago Las Cinco Muertes, established in The Lost World seemingly for just this purpose? Why must we illogically move now to an island in the Atlantic that looks suspiciously like Thailand (where it was actually filmed)?

Edwards seems more constrained by studio dictates here, and eager to play it safe with the thrills and violence in this story. Few and far between are real scares here, as Edwards and Koepp work hard to instead increase character depth and development. We're encouraged to better identify with these characters than most in the series, and we sit with them through highly dramatic dialogue for lengthy bits of time. While this works to emotionally invest us in their experience, it does so by limiting our exposure to rampant death (contrasted with Jurassic World, for instance). There's also something lost, viscerally, by a complete (or, perhaps, near-complete) lack of animatronics and an overreliance on computer-generated creatures, and you can absolutely sense it this time around.

Thus it felt somewhat ironic that the film's central theme is the corrupting influence of capitalism; arguably, indeed, that capitalism is itself the real monster at work in this franchise. It's been part of the Jurassic cosmology since its inception, of course, but this film beats us over the head with the message. To that end, while the characters build up and riff off this central conceit -- and, admittedly, in believable and compelling ways -- there are so very many characters, and all new, that the theme begins to feel a bit overwrought. Thankfully, the characters are played off each other well enough that we never feel bogged down, as we know that soon enough they'll stumble into another dinosaur to cause some action.

The adult cast is uniformly excellent, as I don't think anyone would have doubted. The three leads -- Scarlett Johansson, Jonathan Bailey, and Mahershala Ali -- are exceptionally convincing together, and you can feel their joie de vivre at being part of this romp. There is a curious and, to me, often unwelcome subplot involving a young family who unwittingly get caught up in monster mayhem and need to be saved. It feels tacked-on and unnecessary, inexplicably stupid, and distractingly under-baked; the father, his two daughters, and the elder daughter's boyfriend are obnoxious and melodramatic, scraping for laughs and mostly unable to get them. I can't even say the actors perform well in these terribly misconceived roles. Thankfully, we get to experience Rupert Friend's villainous side, and that's always welcome.

Where the film skimps in its worldbuilding -- and I do mean that, because the prologue is profoundly, shockingly stupid, and ripped from the prologue to Edwards's Godzilla -- it makes up in sheer beauty and awe. Alexandre Desplat's score pays homage to John Williams while crafting moments of stirring sentiment and rousing aural spectacle. Accomplished cinematographer John Mathieson captures the towering monoliths of the island jungle with sweeping pans, gorgeous helicopter views, and some golden hour photography now seared into my brains. The film relishes in its daylight, and though it features its share of nighttime sequences, the best are bravely and wisely in clear illumination. And several sequences rank firmly among the best of the franchise, including an extended boat chase and a later sequence in an inflatable raft on river rapids. Melodrama is more palatable when it's interrupted by such masterfully suspenseful set pieces.

Your mileage on this film -- and on this series -- may vary, but do the rest of us a favor and bellyache about it to yourself. We know the CGI, the monstrous dinos, and the child actors are subpar (although I detest the "Distortus Rex," I love the "Mutadons," and there ain't no way to convince me otherwise on that count). We know the illogical jump in time after Dominion wasn't wise and sparks more questions, and we know there are plenty of other ways entries could (and should) be made for this franchise. But some of us are just here for beautiful people running from beautiful dinosaurs that eat them, and that's our joy. Let us have that.

Leave the World Behind (2023)

Score: 4.5 / 5

A relentlessly intriguing, engaging, and frustrating experience, Leave the World Behind is one of the most purely entertaining and provocative films of the past year, and I can't get it out of my head. Soon I intend to read the novel on which it is based and re-watch the film in the hopes of giving my brain some closure, but in the meantime, this will have to suffice. Unceremoniously debuting on Netflix in December, this thriller boasts some breakneck plot shifts, blockbuster visuals, and effectively gut-punching acting in ways that had me repeatedly gobsmacked during its two hours and twenty minutes.

To start with: plot and tone. I'll try not to spoil too much, but no promises; you've been warned. The story is essentially about a family in NYC who visit a Long Island mansion for a weekend away from their busy lives, only to have a series of strange and terrifying events occur that cut off their ability to return home or communicate with the outside world, indicating the onset of some apocalyptic event. Not "apocalypse" as in the literal end of the world, but in the sense of the revelation that certain unknown powers are taking over by force and the foreboding threat that everyone's lives are about to change, if they survive. The plot moves along swiftly, from credible threats to believable incidents, including the knockout of satellites and transit comms to the failure of ship and plane navigation systems, even to the spread of (likely) misinformation and scapegoating of possible terrorists or shadow uprisings. It's all a little too familiar a fear for us these days, and the film plays on the mystery to inform our suspense.

But the film is not always -- is, in fact, rarely -- focused on the macro picture. Rather, everything is filtered for us through the eyes and ears of the family we follow. Amanda Sanford, her husband Clay, and their children Rose and Archie are excited for their time away until, once at the mansion, the house's owners show up at night. Issues of class and race bleed into their confrontation: the Sanfords (Julia Roberts and Ethan Hawke, white) do not trust the strangers G.H. Scott and much younger Ruth (Mahershala Ali and Myha'la, not white), who claim to own the house but their story for why they needed to return doesn't quite add up. A power outage and some chaos in the city could perhaps be the cause, but their demeanor is prickly and sly; Amanda's latent racism peeks through in her suspicion and in her indignation at having booked the mansion for her own family's use. I was reminded more than once of the social anxiety milked to dramatic tension in the first act of Barbarian.

Writer and director Sam Esmail (Mr. Robot, Gaslit) knows about the cinematic language of post-apocalytpic movies and exploits it in what is essentially something just shy of it: a conspiracy apocalypse. This isn't the energy of A Quiet Place: Day One (to be released this year) in literalizing the likely end of humanity. This is something more like what we saw in Gareth Edwards's Godzilla, in The Purge films, and I suspect in Alex Garland's upcoming Civil War. It's something, indeed, that M. Night Shyamalan has handled multiple times, in The Happening and most particularly in Knock at the Cabin, which shares a lot of DNA with this film. Enough weird, threatening things happen that the characters are led to believe that NYC is being overtaken by terrorists in some kind of coup. But the film is less concerned with how that seems on a massive scale than in how those events affect the family and their newfound friends, their socializing and their hope, their ability to communicate and rationalize and cooperate.

Apart from the more horrifying elements of crashing freighters and planes and EVs, the film ratchets up its almost unbearable tension on the domestic level, and most of the film's middle comprises the interactions between the house owners, the Black father and daughter (and missing mother) who want to be home, and the house guests, the white family who lie to their children about what's happening and feel entitled to the house and its resources (because they paid for it, dammit). While I don't recall accusations of racism being verbalized in the dialogue, it is exactly this racial tension that electrifies each scene, often squaring Roberts off against Ali in riveting scene after scene. For an "end of the world" film to focus on home invasion and racism is an unusual gamble, and I found it a profoundly successful one.

Add to it some amazing cinematography from Tod Campbell, which would have worked better in cinemas due to his sweeping visual scope and his attention to endless production design details. Add to it Kevin Bacon in a bit part of an off-the-grid doomsday stockpiler who serves as the film's harbinger. Add to it a curiously detached feeling about death -- mass deaths are okay, but the deaths of the characters we know apparently are not -- and this movie shies away from what could be disturbing horror, settling for a much more standard, palatable stock thriller that is nevertheless very effective at what it attempts to do. It's a really extraordinary surprise of a film, not one I expected at all, even while watching! This wonderfully realized puzzle box deserves a watch, and then some. 

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

Score: 4.5 / 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

Green Book (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

If there was ever going to be an updated Driving Miss Daisy, I'm glad this is it.

The year is 1962 and Tony Vallelonga (Viggo Mortensen) lives happily as a bouncer in NYC, living in a small apartment with his wife (Linda Cardellini), two sons, and a large Italian family who come and go as they like. When the Copacabana is closed for renovations, Tony looks for work elsewhere; he's booked an interview with famed pianist Don Shirley (Mahershala Ali) as his driver on a concert tour through the Midwest and Deep South. "There are gonna be problems," he half-jokes in his interview, before his future employer reveals that Tony was chosen for his skills as a bouncer far more than any driving ability.

Before long, they're on the road, and it's here that the strengths of the lead players blossom. Mortensen and Ali perfectly match each other as unlikely companions who, in turns, build each other up. A few insults fly and lots of casual racism graces the screen, but we see that the two men never actively or deliberately seek to tear each other down. This is the sort of iron-sharpens-iron bromance modern masculinity desperately needs (and, I think, desperately wants). It never sacrifices women to its humor or desires, and barely blinks when one party is discovered to be queer. Caught between two masterful performances by veteran actors, we are swept up in the characters -- if not quite the story -- and delivered to a holy place.

And that's what I think the film is really up to. From its opening scene, the picture glows with what I initially thought was a quasi-nostalgic aura. The sort of good ol' days that some in our society want to go back to and "make great again." While the film does get occasionally dark as the pair traverse Jim Crow-dominated Carolina and Alabama, it never really depicts the horrors of the era. This might be off-putting to some, and arguably rightfully so. After all, thousands of black people were murdered, tormented, ostracized, fired, and, and, and during this period of time, and if this was the only film to depict the history, it would of course present an inadequate view of the whole. But the warmth, I'd argue, is the warmth of its two leading men and the transformative friendship they shared, now shared with us.

Despite what some may see as the film's downfalls -- including the dramatization of the men's relationship, their personal lives, and the realities of Jim Crow America -- it's a film distinctly hard to shake afterward. By the end, it's just one of those earned catharses, a solidly entertaining piece with a lot of heart that bleeds for all the right things. Like La La Land, it might do exceptionally well come awards season simply because it is so entertaining; unlike that lauded picture, though, this one actually draws attention to the problems in our culture rather than ignoring them.

IMDb: Green Book

Moonlight (2016)

Score: 5 / 5

Moonlight is one of those films impossible to effectively describe, because any attempt at doing so lessens its importance, impact, and beauty. But obviously I'm going to try to do that here.

In a form befitting its theatrical origin, the film follows young Chiron through three stages of his life, each named after the labels and identifiers others place upon him. It's a calm, calculated, and precise film, focusing in on the character drama at play as we quickly fall in love with our main man. With intimate camerawork and lyrical style, the film engrosses our attention as it seduces our senses, enveloping us in a very specific world we almost never see on the big screen.

Director Barry Jenkins leads with intoxicating compassion, setting up the places and people in his picture and almost immediately subverting our expectations, shattering stereotypes and narrative tropes with deceptive tranquility. Most importantly, he unravels his complex themes -- notably questions of identity -- in such a way that long-silenced voices may be heard loud and clear. Despite the seemingly preachy nature of its themes, including family, poverty, sexuality, black masculinity, gay masculinity, crime, addiction, and adolescence, the film doesn't actually try to get a single message across; rather, it offers us a glimpse of a beautiful life on the edge, and we are left with impressions and emotions and understanding, to handle as we are able. Chiron (played alternately by Alex Hibbert, Ashton Sanders, and the incredible Trevante Rhodes) ventures through a world of isolation and a culture in which he seeks meaningful connection, and as we follow him we lose ourselves to him. His silence speaks volumes, and in an otherwise somber picture, his life shines through as a flame of hope.

It's like nothing I've ever seen on film before. If I had to, I'd compare it to Boyhood in sheer scope and emotional effect. But where that film proudly declares its importance, Moonlight quietly slides under your skin and shakes you to the core. Its unassuming, unpretentious style paradoxically heightens the film beyond a simple story of a young man coming of age and turns it into an iconic masterpiece. See it. It'll change your life.

IMDb: Moonlight

Free State of Jones (2016)

Score: 2.5 / 5

It just tried too hard. This summer's wannabe blockbuster-slash-pre-Oscar-season-"Big Important Film" fell a bit flat, and for several reasons. It wants to be a vehicle for Matthew McConaughey's dramatic leading man spree, but his solid performance is hindered by splintered writing and an unfocused script. It wants to be a triumph of social justice rhetoric and historical reclamation, but wallows in its period and atmosphere. It wants to teach a history lesson about one of the most intriguing and least known stories of our Civil War, but can't decide between history and relevance, drama and action, or even if it wants to be a biopic about Newton Knight.

It's a fine picture. Really. Nice costumes, some really fabulous atmosphere (set design, cinematography), and a few strong action scenes. McConaughey is obviously working hard for the part, and the supporting cast is all in. The problems here are script and direction. Neither is as focused or specific as it should have been for clarity's sake, much less for dramatic competency. The script is confused and poorly paced, spanning a vast amount of time and space to cover the full story without ever diving into the ideological meat of the matter. Sure, visuals of slaves and freed men, runaway Confederates, lynchings, and the KKK all convey powerful shorthand, but that's all shorthand we've seen dozens of times before. In historical dramas, we have to see novelty, or we compartmentalize it into the nameless mass of wartime films we saw in high school history class.

I'm talking about the almost perfect sequence in which the women of the hidden camp march into town to supposedly bury their dead, under watchful guard by Confederate soldiers. As they level with the enemy, they reveal weapons under their mourning gowns and ope fire at point-blank range. That's something special, and it was the most memorable scene in the film for me.

It could have been epic. It could have been romantic. It could have been swashbuckling and intense. It could have been pedagogical and enlightening. It could have been relevant and brutal. And when it could have been everything but ended up as little more than a historical anecdote, it not only didn't do justice to its inspiration, but it didn't do justice to itself or its audience.

IMDb: Free State of Jones