Crime 101 (2026)

Score: 4 / 5

When a career thief (Chris Hemsworth) gets a little rattled by a grazing bullet, he calls off his next hit. More than successful, he doesn't think it's an issue nearly as much as his fence (Nick Nolte) does; hired to carry out the next job is an unhinged, dangerous young thug (Barry Keoghan). Meanwhile, an insurance broker (Halle Berry) who works to help pay settlements for the thief's victims, is frustrated with being denied promotion in her company and so decides to help the charming thief in order to get a hefty cut. Oh, and the scheme has been obsessed over by an LAPD detective (Mark Ruffalo) whose theory is ignored by his precinct, sending him on a rogue mission because he refuses to "find a theory that works for the whole building."

Though its title seems to indicate a beginner's foray into cinematic capers, there's nothing elementary about the sleek yet grim presentation of Crime 101. The number instead refers to the 101 Freeway in sunny southern California, the primary setting of Hemsworth's crime spree and his means of reaching his targets and escaping pursuit. But this isn't the Los Angeles of La La Land; dark and warm, the city reads as richly layered in the dusk between its twinkling lights and chrome-plated vehicles. There's more than an air of noir to this material, and cinematographer Erik Wilson (of the Paddington films) seems intent on milking the visual dynamics of the oft-filmed cityscape for every drop of its shadowy beauty. 

I'm not sure I could repeat more of the plot reliably, nor the character names, so we'll stick with general impressions here. That's not to say this film is forgettable, at all, but rather that I was more entertained by seeing recognizable stars playing together in this mysterious world of greed, pride, and crime. Writer and director Bart Layton, adapting this material from a fairly recent novella of the same title, pulls from his inspirational sources with knowing and satisfying results; more than once, I leaned to my friend and muttered things like "Michael Mann," not because Layton felt redundant but because he so clearly was building off visual flair and thematic tensions familiar to fans of Thief and Heat. Take the protagonist as a case study: Hemsworth apparently grew up poor (and we see several shots throughout of homeless camps around LA) and, in one scene of emotional vulnerability, shares that his goal in stealing is to make enough money to stop working and enjoy life. Enjoyment, something he's apparently never really experienced, comes at a price, but one he never explicitly states. It's a cool move in a screenplay with serious messages to proclaim about class, earned wealth, privilege, and the divisions between desperate people.

Film noir and especially organized crime aren't my usual cinematic happy place, so I was surprised by how much I enjoyed Crime 101. Its likable cast does a lot of that heavy lifting, even those with smaller parts, like Corey Hawkins and Jennifer Jason Leigh. My favorite was probably Nick Nolte, whose brief screentime indicates that he's a Fagin-meets-King Saul type, whose paternal energy toward Hemsworth and Keoghan suggest that he's groomed these young men into hardened criminals (specifically, ones willing and able to become his personal soldiers in their urban battlefield). Everybody owns their time in front of the camera, which makes us care for these complex, wicked people expediently. That way, by the time Layton tosses not one but two excellent car chase sequences at us, we actually care about their outcomes (something I've never said before).

Other flourishes abound, and I eagerly anticipate a second screening, if only to pay closer attention to the stylistic choices in crafting this dramatic Gordian Knot. I recall that the opening sequence is a montage -- not wholly unlike the start of The Devil Wears Prada, an admittedly strange reference here, but it's what I thought of -- as Hemsworth, Berry, and Ruffalo all prepare for the day. We're listening to one of Berry's self-help audio recordings, which speaks vaguely about our interconnectedness with other people and how community should be our basic focus, and it made me think of Crash (2004) and the onslaught of huge ensemble dramas in the years surrounding it that didn't boast singular plots so much as slices of life of many plots that were all loosely and contrivedly bound together.

The film also skillfully avoids some of the more obnoxious clichés in movies of this ilk. Perhaps most tellingly, Berry's character is not defined by the male characters around her, and she has a vivid internal life shared freely with her audience. As she tells her jerk of a boss off, people audibly cheered. We don't usually get moments like that in a genre about men for men. Speaking of which, Hemsworth himself proves yet again his underused skills as a bona fide leading man, injecting such nuance into his character that it's easy to forget his superhero status among A-listers. Somewhat shy and awkward, he bears an aura of haunted gravity when he's unable to maintain eye contact, brooding behind the wheel, and it's largely left to us to interpret his silence. It's a risky move from Layton, but one that pays off in dividends thanks to this alchemical blend of acting and directing.

And, as a final note, it ends with something like hope. Or, rather, a surprisingly moving, emotional denouement. I stopped taking notes about twenty minutes into the film because I was so absorbed by the understated and unexpected craft of this fiercely intelligent and artful thriller, so another screening will be forthcoming. In the meantime, I can't recommend this title enough.

Mickey 17 (2025)

Score: 4 / 5

When an auteur throws a curveball your way, pay attention. Bong Joon-ho's first outing since his huge Parasite Oscar haul will surely have many a critical eye, as all major award winners do. Mickey 17 is a curious follow-up, and anyone unfamiliar with his work prior to Parasite will feel it's a bizarre divergence from the norm. And perhaps it is. But that's what Bong does best. Like Yorgos Lanthimos in some ways, Bong bends genre and style to suit the way he feels about his material, whether it's cute fantasy adventure mixed with harsh reality in Okja, vaguely western action and drama in The Host's monster mayhem, horror and comedy in the crime thriller Mother, or of course riveting action in the dystopian sci-fi allegory Snowpiercer. And in this, Bong's third English-language feature, he explores similar political themes as he did in Okja and Snowpiercer, perhaps suggesting that he knows what that particular market needs to see. 

Based on a recent novel, the story follows the reincarnated misadventures of the titular Mickey (Robert Pattinson). A rapidly dying Earth leads teams of colonists to other planets, and hoping to escape some loan sharks, Mickey and his friend Timo (Steven Yeun) join one headed to icy Niflheim. As in any Bong film, the symbols pile up quickly, but note that Niflheim is the world of the dead in Norse mythology. Timo is accepted as a shuttle pilot, but Mickey has no real skills, so he signs up as an "Expendable," which is a job nobody else wants and that the company bureaucrats are shocked to learn Mickey enthusiastically wants. What he doesn't know is that the name is quite apt, and he is signing on to be truly expendable. Cloned repeatedly (hence the number after his name), Mickey will be tasked with any dangerous maintenance or expeditionary need in order to assess Niflheim's suitability for colonizers to, well, colonize.

This means that many, many Mickeys die over the course of this film. Whether it's to fix something on the ship as deadly debris flies by or being the first on the distant planet to remove his helmet and suffer new terrestrial infections, Mickey's life and death and renewed life are less a miracle than a mockery of existence. There's nothing personally fulfilling about the salvific job, and despite his sacrifices, the other crew members scorn Mickey with disdain as less than their collective worth. After each demise, Mickey is reprinted, essentially, in a printer of organic matter with his own memories replanted into his brain. Through extensive voiceover narration, Mickey speculates this cycle isn't as bad as what he'd have endured and suffered at the hands of those gangsters back home. And so he keeps dying, in grotesque and often rather dull ways, such as when he's used to test vaccines.

Pattinson is incredible in this role, going completely gonzo in an unhinged performance that inexplicably marries the tonal disparity at work. After all, the sci-fi trappings abound while larger-than-life characters act like fools and discuss the environmental, humanitarian, and economic impacts of colonialist practices on this mysterious new planet. That's a lot of ground to cover. Who better to guide us through the complex dynamics at work here than someone expendable by definition? Pattinson's wide-eyed Mickey speaks in a strained high voice as the pushover wimp who dies repeatedly, and it's his growth into a fairly banal hero that the film champions as truly salvific in the end. Friendship and teamwork help, of course, with notable friend Nasha (Naomi Ackie) offering Mickey companionship as well as support, seeing him for the brave and kind soul he is beneath a nervous exterior.

Which is why, when Mickey 17 is presumed dead by an opportunistic Temo, the lab prints a new version, Mickey 18, but this one is different. Aggressive and arrogant, Nasha recognizes a change and grows suspicious. Pattinson's firing on all fronts in the dual role, and it's never less than an absolute pleasure to behold. When Mickey 17 unexpectedly returns, they have to navigate a new reality, one punishable by the government's express ban on "multiples." Questions of identity and humanity abound, who deserves to live and why, even regarding the sexual imagination of his girlfriend, but I'll leave those fun thematic points for you to discover for yourself.

As Mickey toils, the true authors of his suffering -- which, by the way, is far more funny than I'm making it sound -- come into clearer focus. Kenneth Marshall, the tyrannical businessman and government leader in charge of the whole operation, and his wife Ylfa are paranoid self-aggrandizing supremacists who believe they deserve to be in charge and that any question or threat to their particular brand of elite eccentricity is deserving of capital punishment. Mark Ruffalo and Toni Collette one-up Pattinson's gonzo acting choices in performances that frankly I found a bit grating by film's end despite their obvious intention for that reaction. Ruffalo and his false teeth and stilted speech pattern had me laughing aloud in the theater, while Collette's character's obsession with sauces is burned into my brain as the most inventive and bizarre trait possible in such a bit part. Their allegorical significance to a certain failed businessman and president cannot be overstated, and the film missteps briefly in overtly tying them to reality. At one point we see a room of their supporters wearing red caps and it was disappointingly obvious from Bong, whose point had already been made manifest by that time.

The film gets a bit needlessly convoluted in its second half, once Mickey 18 bludgeons his way onto the scene, even with Pattinson's endless voiceover. Its jumbled amalgamation of themes such as economic hardship and disparities, the worth of human life and the cost of experimentation on flesh, environmental abuse and collapse, and authoritarian efforts for colonization create a heady mixture that, if not for Bong's signature satirical flair, might feel unfocused and overwhelming. It even includes CGI alien critters -- excuse me, "creepers" -- in a significant if, again, obvious thematic conceit. A few too many subplots keep the lengthy runtime moving quickly, though, along with evocative cinematography from Darius Khondji and a gloomily sinister production design reminiscent of '70s and '80s ideas of futuristic space travel. Mickey 17 might not be what any of us were expecting from Bong, but it's exactly what he does best.

Poor Things (2023)

Score: 5 / 5

Some of the best cinematic scholarship of the year will center on the latest trip-and-a-half from Yorgos Lanthimos, whose auteur streak has just reached profound new heights. If you love him, you love him; if you don't, definitely avoid this film. The most profound, bizarre, and deeply literary film of the year is also one of the most purely entertaining and unforgettable viewing experiences in years. Poor Things is at once a natural extension of Lanthimos's oeuvre and a brazen evolution of timeliness and complexity, sure to launch him into a new strata of filmmaking in ways that The Lobster, The Killing of a Sacred Deer, and even The Favourite weren't prepared to do.

The Greek auteur here seems interested in his usual theming -- the awkwardness and easy fallibility of human relationships -- and finally embraces the Gothic pastiche with which he's always flirted. Without rehashing the full plot here, suffice it to say that Poor Things is a postmodern feminist reimagining of Frankenstein in a manner analogous to Guillermo del Toro's Cold War-era answer to The Creature from the Black Lagoon in the form of The Shape of Water. Which is to say that it takes the bones of that "source material," if you will, rearranges and redecorates it with contemporary style and ideas, and repurposes it for unique and culturally disrupting ends. It might also be fair to say that this is perhaps Lanthimos's most funny and positive -- or, at least, comedic in the most classically Greek sense -- film yet, which could arguably make it more accessible to those less familiar with his previous, darker films.

The entire production -- all nearly two and a half hours of it -- is impeccably, impossibly detailed with outrageously inventive artistry. Stilted and occasionally horrific dialogue elicits as many embarrassed chortles as it does explosive belly laughs. Sets reminiscent of something in a Tim Burton film or Dr. Seuss story are palpably realized, and I thought more than once of Barbie in terms of production design, practical effects, and theme. Otherworldy costumes fill the usually fisheye lens with popping colors and tactile intrigue. Victorian London becomes steampunk Paris with a few stops at Lisbon and Alexandria along the way, making the protagonist's journey indeed something of a road flick, allowing the filmmakers ample time and space to realize the splendor of their awesome, wholly original world.

Other writers will cover the endlessly fascinating characters with better insight and theory than I could summarize here, but this is one of the most radically feminist stories I can recall seeing in ages. It's helped, yes, by a magnificent cast, all here performing at their very best. Emma Stone pulls out yet another performance for the ages as Bella Baxter, the protagonist, whose journey of self-discovery and external discovery forms parallel plotlines; her intellectual enlightenment is woven with threads of her sexual and emotional maturity, and as she learns about the fantastic world around her, she learns to trust -- and to what extent -- the odd characters she meets, most of whom angle to use her in some way. She'll have none of it. Stone's performance is a tightwire act of impetuousity we rarely see from any leading actress; completely unpredictable in every scene, one wonders the extent to which she was allowed to improvise versus calculated specificity. The cast is uniformly great, but I'd note especially Mark Ruffalo as the greasy villainous cad (whose sexual proclivities reach a certain Streetcar Named Desire climax that had me weeping from laughter) and Kathryn Hunter as the powerhouse madame of a French brothel (whose comparatively brief screen time offers devastating and challenging nuance in what could easily be a one-note character).

The continuous references to Dr. Godwin (Willem Dafoe) as "God" deserves unpacking, as does most of the film in general, and I confess to know nothing about Alasdair Gray's novel of the same name which this screenplay by Tony McNamara adapts. It would be nice to know, but I'm hesitant to borrow the book from a library because I don't want to tarnish the raw experience of seeing this film's beauty and strangeness as filtered through Lanthimos's vision. But it is precisely the language of dialogue that I'm most curious about, having seen the film, because of the way it evolves along with Bella, both in terms of subject/substance, yes, but also in terms of rhetorical style and increasingly complex turns of phrase that bear multiple meanings. Witty in the best, most devious sense, McNamara pulls no punches with his biting sensibility. The smorgasbord of artists assembled here are all performing at the top of their craft, aligned to perfect effect by a director coming into his own with each new project. Poor Things is one of the best -- read: most important -- films of the decade.

Dark Waters (2019)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Todd Haynes has done it again. Nobody would have thought he'd jump into a legal thriller, much less one about the DuPont poisoning scandal in West Virginia. But here it is, one of the best pictures of the year.

Mark Ruffalo stars as Robert Bilott, an Ohio attorney who stumbles upon a troubling problem in the foothills of Parkersburg, West Virginia: cows are becoming mad, getting sick, and dying en masse. The farmer whose cows have been plagued is convinced that DuPont is dumping chemical waste nearby, and even though Bilott's firm represents the chemical manufacturer, he cannot shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong. This protagonist is a more or less typical Haynes character study in that he is an outsider looking for belonging and purpose and ends up in way over his head. His timid, almost turtle-like demeanor belies a fiercely obsessive intellectual bent, and Bilott quickly becomes, as the headline said, "The Lawyer Who Became DuPont's Worst Nightmare."

Ruffalo here proves his mettle in the kind of "everyman" role that James Stewart thrived on, an awkward but unshakably decent man determined to do the right thing. And in a case like this, the right thing will prove to dominate the rest of his life, much to the chagrin of his wife, the woefully underused but always reliably excellent Anne Hathaway (who really should have played opposite Cate Blanchett in Carol, but that's another rant). It's one thing, after all, to prove wrongdoing. It's quite another to prove intent and lasting damages for such a long period of time and, as we learn, over so much global ground.

Because, thrilling as the film often is, its earnest delivery of corporate-sponsored destruction of lives and property is ongoing, making questions of our own health and complicity requisite topics of conversation for post-screening reflection. While the film pulls at our patience -- the story spans decades, friends -- writers Mario Correa (I don't know of him) and Matthew Michael Carnahan (Lions for Lambs, State of Play) do their best to keep the important parts in, balancing crucial plot development with key character turning points, making the film remarkably intimate and vast at once. It can all get pretty thick and heavy, and Haynes wades into surprisingly dark water here (forgive me). Thankfully, the righteous anger of Dark Waters comes with a strange optimism: even this little guy could take on the big business. The film allows Bilott the platform to help laypeople like me understand how this disaster could have happened, how and why it's been covered up for so long, and of course how it's possible -- indeed, our duty -- to resist.

I was left with cold sweat and a warm feeling in my heart despite the agony of viewing, but I was also left with the burning question of why on earth Haynes decided this story would fit into his body of work. But as I reflected on his early film Safe, in which Julianne Moore develops a mysterious illness to everything around her, I recognized Haynes's sense of paranoia and invisible stressors that loom over the proceedings. And as I thought of Far From Heaven, I wondered if Haynes was drawing a parallel from that picture's depiction of racism/sexism/homophobia and in this film finally highlighting economic status and class as similarly dangerous social constructs that alienate victims and disenfranchise individuals most at risk. And, of course, Haynes controls his art with a sure hand and remarkably insightful eye, making even the slightest of focus shifts sing with purpose and injecting electrified tension into each emotional beat between actors. This movie is a masterclass in directorial artistic integrity, and it's also a damn important story to see on screen.

Thor: Ragnarok (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

Easily the best of the Thor movies and perhaps the funniest installment in the MCU yet, Thor: Ragnarok is the opposite of the end of the world. Its visual attention to comic book style, bright and lurid colors, and absurd imagery provide a feast to view. More importantly, the film boasts fresh humor -- thanks be, no doubt, to director Taika Waititi -- that reveals character and propels the story while making for a bizarre, buddy-comedy that also happens to be about superheroes.

While searching for Infinity Stones to no avail (a quest he embarked upon after Age of Ultron), Thor has run afoul of a fire demon who prophesies the apocalypse, Ragnarok, and reveals that Odin (Anthony Hopkins) is missing. Upon vanquishing his foe and returning to Asgard, Thor confronts Loki (who had been posing as Odin since The Dark World while the Nine Realms fell into disarray) and the two search for Odin on earth. In a hilarious little scene, Doctor Strange sends them to Norway, where Odin reveals his imminent death. His firstborn, Hela (a deliciously campy Cate Blanchett), is freed from her prison by his passing, and she appears in gothic glory as the goddess of death before destroying Thor's hammer and casting both Thor and Loki into the void of space as she travels to Asgard.

The rest of the plot is largely inconsequential. Heroes do heroic things, villains do villainous things, and just about everyone delivers killer punchlines. Thor ends up on the waste planet Sakaar, lorded over by the Grandmaster (Jeff Goldblum doing the Jeff Goldblum thing, in a bluish getup like that of Benicio del Toro in Guardians of the Galaxy; the two are related somehow, if I remember my lore) who forces him to become a gladiator. After fighting the Hulk ("I know him! He's a friend from work!") and getting roundly smashed (Loki takes particular joy when Hulk tosses Thor as a rag doll, à la Loki's abuse in The Avengers), the two plan to escape back to Asgard and stop Hela. Why stop her? Well -- and here's where the film is strangely serious -- Hela's mission is to expand the colonial Asgard empire. She seeks cosmic domination, as though nine realms were nothing, and her giddy lust for power manifests as ruthless, wanton violence against her inferiors. The film does not shy away from implicating Odin in this imperial horror, and Hela's subtext is clearly to spread her master race across the universe. It's a subtle shift from mindless destruction to designed genocide; an incredibly timely portrait of the evils of supremacy and the privileged few who not only allow it to happen but are complicit in its ravages. In these moments, the film hits surprisingly close to home, especially given the ties to Nordic culture and religion often claimed by white supremacists.

But that social commentary is only a small part of the film, though I'd argue the most important. Some more fun if messy plot happens. Badass Valkyrie 142 (Tessa Thompson, who we will need more of, please-and-thank-you) joins the team, along with two other gladiators Korg and Miek (Korg is voiced by Waititi, Miek is silent and just as funny). They start a rebellion and commandeer a ship or two and do a lot of fighting along the way. Eventually they return to Asgard and stop Hela and Skurge (Karl Urban, in a sadly small role) from annihilating the citizens and Heimdall (Idris Elba). Then the Big Battle commences, and I'll let you watch the rest. Just know there's a giant wolf, a fire demon, a sacrifice, an eyeball, and a lot of smashing.

As a comedy, Ragnarok is stunning. Who knew Chris Hemsworth's secret skill was pitch-perfect comic delivery? As a superhero movie, it is no less impressive. Considering the amazing Civil War, I wasn't sure MCU could out-do itself, but lo, and behold the spectacle here! Of course it's all pretty absurd, but then this is a movie about gods and aliens, not billionaires and science projects. The tone aptly fits the material, and this movie's self-referential jabs reveal its refusal to take itself too seriously. Consider Thor's repeated efforts to calm Hulk by using Black Widow's "sun's getting real low" line, which obviously don't work coming from the earnest god of thunder.

Then again, this movie sets up some really interesting ideas moving forward. After two years of Hulk taking over Bruce Banner's (Mark Ruffalo) body, Banner fears that if Hulk emerges again, Banner will never come back. The climax features Banner letting Hulk rage, and we are left wondering if that was Mark Ruffalo's exit from the franchise. Also, (SPOILER ALERT) the destruction of Asgard and exodus of its people suggests that Thor will reign as king and set up a new home in Norway. Just as I was wondering if that is something we're going to see in a future film, the mid-credits scene happens, in which a larger spaceship intercepts their earthbound ship. What is happening? We just don't know yet.

IMDb: Thor: Ragnarok

Spotlight (2015)

Score: 5 / 5

It could easily have given itself over to sensationalism, given its lurid subject. But, much to its credit, it didn't, and it ended up being one of the best movies this year.

Spotlight is that magical movie that shines because all of its comprising elements are so thoughtful, calculated, and impassioned, and they all blend together seamlessly. Everything about this movie is about as perfect as it could have gotten. Not a moment of screen time is wasted. Not a breath of dialogue is cast aside. Even Howard Shore's score is so understated that I often forgot it existed, until I realized its subtle tugging at my heartstrings.

Concerning the Spotlight team of the Boston Globe in 2001, the film follows a group of journalists who labored to, pardon, shine a spotlight on the epidemic of child sex abuse by Catholic priests. As they uncover the conspiracy, they learn that the entire city is implicated, including clergy, lawyers, judges, and even journalists. As one of the characters describes it in a revealing conversation, "If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse them." It's a damning indictment, all the more horrifying because of its truth.

The script is perfect. Written by Josh Singer (The West Wing, Fringe) and director Tom McCarthy, the dialogue clips along at a furious pace, but never sinks into melodrama and never sacrifices plot for clarity. McCarthy's attention to emotional beats and character arcs is pretty amazing, considering that his film could easily have gotten swept away with its frenzied plot, numerous characters, and thematic concerns. He keeps everything anchored on his main characters -- Mark Ruffalo and Michael Keaton are a wonder, but never break ranks with the fabulous ensemble -- and follows them to their climactic end. That keeps the film emotional but never sentimental.

McCarthy and his editor keep the film streamlined and taut, roiling through the tumultuous plot with a firm resolve to spare no details and to face the evils head-on. Their breakneck pace keep the film feeling more like a thriller than a biography or drama, helped along by an ensemble prepared to go into the dark subject matter. Cinematographer Masanobu Takayanagi (Silver Linings Playbook, Black Mass) helps with that, too, painting a picture of urban duplicity, where the whitewashed facades are at once pure and decadent, holy and monstrous, reflective and deceptive. Together, they keep our focus on the characters' emotional rollercoasters as they hear stories from survivors, lies from lawyers, sins from priests, accusations, condemnations, revelations, confessions, and ultimately more stories.

It's a brutal movie. Sweeping? No. I don't think a sweeping movie on this subject is possible. Partly because the problem is too widespread. Partly because the problem itself isn't a pleasant one that everyone talks about. Partly because one of the best ways to understand the issue is to hear directly from the victims and survivors, and no movie could possibly have the time or resources for that scope (and my favorite documentary, 2006's Deliver Us from Evil, handles it brilliantly, in my estimation, for reference). As the tagline declares, we need to "Break the story. Break the silence."

IMDb: Spotlight

Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015)

Score: 3.5 / 5

You could hardly ask for a more explosive start to a summer blockbuster season, especially one with the lineup we have this year. But Avengers: Age of Ultron does something a bit surprising, and it's something I'm not sure paid off. Only time will tell, but it seemed that Marvel Studios might have dictated the film's central theme in order to make a statement about its future productions. That is, the characters' oft-repeated sentiments that change is inevitable, change is necessary, and evolution is coming -- coupled with the film's ending -- certainly seem to be preparing the vast fanbase for drastic changes as our stars move on with their lives and new stars jump on board the superhero express.

I suppose this theme of evolution implies both hope and tragedy, which might be why this film is far more melancholy than most of the films in its universe. Make no mistake, you parents who take young children to these movies: This picture is violent, it is heavy (though not as dark as, say, The Winter Soldier), and it is wildly complex. Its ending has no shawarma, no festivities, and not even much closure. In fact, it's about as tonally opposite to Guardians of the Galaxy as Marvel could have made it. If you know me, you know I prefer darker flicks to lighter pics, so why didn't I rate Ultron higher? Because it's a bit of a mess.

If we want to dig into it and read that the tonal instability of the film results from its central bittersweet heart, I can appreciate the otherwise messy script. The sheer number of characters is considerably harder to swallow, though. We have our core team of six (-ish?), but then we see a constant flow of secondary characters from the other films that pop in for a few hot seconds (Nick Fury's presence did nothing for me this time around, guys, though Agent Carter can come back any damn time!), and then Whedon has the nerve to throw in new characters who deserve more screen time and script treatment than they are given. Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch are pretty fabulous, though neither gets much chance to shine until the last half-hour or so of movie time. On the other hand, though, one of this film's greatest successes lies in its greater appreciation for Black Widow and Hawkeye, though Ultron is probably the closest we'll get to a standalone film for either of them. Specifically, the tender moments between Black Widow and Hulk are charming, if a little forced.

Who else is new? Oh yes, Ultron, the weirdly sassy megalomaniac spawn of Tony Stark's hubris. James Spader's voice is nice and all, but come on. A supervillain? Hardly. This hunk of computer-generated junk is only dangerous because Joss Whedon's team made him look sleek and a little vampiric. Oh, and the character's consciousness can be omnipresent, which is pretty awesome. But for someone (something?) who has literally all the world's information inside his head, he has pretty basic plans for global destruction. Turn a city into a meteor, and annihilate humans with it. But does he use his supercomputer skills to try and cause chaos around the world, maybe even as a distraction for his foes? Nope. Except in his attempted creation of Vision, which is actually rather wonderful until the Avengers hijack him, essentially hobbling Ultron's master plan before the climactic battle has even started (what kind of plot device is that??).

The worst, though: Ultron isn't even interesting. I mean, we never ever think that he might be good (Stark, baby, you named your own computer Jarvis...does "Ultron" have any kind of sweet, familiar ring to it at all?). From the first moment we hear his voice, we know he's evil, even though that particular characteristic is never explained or qualified. As a full-fledged creation, he's strangely neurotic, so he often feels like a man in a suit. Which is just weird. Okay, I might be a little biased because I just saw Ex Machina and its AI character Ava is sympathetic, sweet, and totally ominous. Hell, even the Winter Soldier was a scarier villain than Ultron, if we're going for sheer screen presence. The Pinocchio song Ultron sings is a little unnerving, but it doesn't quite fit with the character (though it might have, had the filmmakers made him into some kind of Frankenstein's monster who became disillusioned with Stark).

Instead of interesting, our villain is a product of rotten computer programs, and he unleashes a legion of uniform robots that serve much like the Chitauri in the first Avengers. That is, bodies to be destroyed by the droves. This brings me to my main problem with the film: the action scenes. They're fast, they're furious, they're even pretty darn cool. But the camera is so shaky, the editing so sharp, and the attention to all the characters so uneven that I can scarcely keep track of which hero is doing what and where and why before another set piece explodes. Add to that the downright insane levels of complicated scenarios our heroes need to fix (much like the dwarves' inane plan at the end of the second Hobbit), and the plot becomes a nightmare that feels much to large for Whedon's hands. That's not to say there aren't a few nice moments, notably the opening sequence, and near the end when all the heroes gather in a crumbling church to fight off the horde in slow-motion. And for all the filmmakers' cleverness in making the team actually work together as a team, the camera and editing don't do much to help our awareness of it. Rather, we are bombarded with things smashing and sparking and breaking and the drama is just absent.

Maybe I'm just bitter because it felt more like a video game than a movie. Special effects are great, but when you sacrifice decent character development and plot points in order to show off a huge climax scene or some cool fight moves, I'm going to roll my eyes until a hero shows off his muscles.

That said, I loved the stupid thing. It's noisy, it's silly, it's messy, it's downright fun. Is it epic? Hell no. But (despite obnoxious popular claims of everything being "epic") how many movies these days actually are, even in the superhero tradition? What it is is a rollicking (if not quite swashbuckling) action picture with some of our favorite characters doing ridiculous things and looking great in the meantime. Parts are heavier than its predecessor, and yet the whole thing feels less consequential (as a direct result of the overblown fight sequences), and so it's a pretty spot-on sequel, as far as that goes. And its last gambit is one that deserves a little nervous consideration: Do the last few scenes mean that we might not be seeing much more of Hulk, Iron Man, Hawkeye, or Thor? Don't get me wrong: Disney is not going to let these bankables slip away. And I haven't been keeping track of the stars' contracts. But Hulk running away, Iron Man's odd send-off, Hawkeye's tender homecoming, and Thor's adventurous exit all smacked of finality in a way we have not yet seen. Our last moments were instead focused on the new Avengers: War Machine, Falcon, Vision, and Scarlet Witch, led by Captain America and Black Widow. It does make one wonder what will happen in Civil War and Ragnarok, if Hulk will get a standalone picture (unlikely), and if our current heroes will be reduced to supporting roles or even cameos in Infinity War.

But we still have a long damn time before all that.

P.S. There's an awkward little mid-credits scene that reminds us that Thanos is still a thing, and that he's pissed off about these Infinity Stones getting scattered all over. Does anyone else get the feeling that Marvel Studios is going for a Harry Potter thing where it's not until the last movie that the villains and heroes fight over control of a set of holy objects? Maybe if they spread the big plot points out a wee bit we wouldn't need two parts to the climax. Just a thought.

P.P.S. I think the film might have been stronger without Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch, simply because they distracted us from the dynamics of our core heroes. And because I think they fit in better with the X-Men than the Avengers. But both actors were great, and Witchy rocked in the climax. I guess if someone needed to die, I'm sort of glad it was a new person rather than one of our favorites. But is Quicky dead? That last shot of him next to Hawkeye was kind of bizarre, and in a movie where the villain can transfer his consciousness at will, I'm not counting anybody out.

IMDb: Avengers: Age of Ultron

Foxcatcher (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

Foxcatcher was, for me, the most emotionally brutal film of this year. Director Bennett Miller turns his uniquely intense gaze to the already horrific story of the Schultz brothers' interaction with John du Pont. Besides the actual events of their relationship -- culminating in the brutal murder in 1996 -- Miller's film concerns the dynamics of modern American athletes and coaches, sports and their patrons, men and their rivals, men and their friends, determination and pride, perseverance and mental instability, history and fate, and even wealth and status. For a film with a presumably straightforward premise, Miller complicates his presentation with fifty shades of everything. Typical, if you all remember Capote (2005).

Our three leads soar in this, and though their Oscar recognition might come in second to the more accessible, more emotionally rote films this year, their performances rocked my world. Channing Tatum -- whose acting has always worked for me, so I don't know why lots of high-brow-ers refuse to give him much credit -- delivers a knockout work that must be the dramatic peak of his career so far. Deeply introverted, surly and childlike, his movement work for Mark Schultz is so transformative that I forgot I was watching "Magic Mike" and not a real, cauliflower-eared wrestler. Likewise, Steve Carell disappears into his haunting portrayal of John du Pont (only partly due to his incredible makeup) and proves yet again that comedians can indeed excel in weighty drama. Mark Ruffalo, forever the perfect supporting actor in his chameleonlike ability to embody his character and counter the emotional strength of his scene partners, is a wonderful big brother to Tatum and a suitable unwitting antagonist of sorts between Tatum and Carell.

The du Pont estate, palatial and extravagant, provides ample atmosphere for excess and moral decadence as lines become blurred between pride and power. Du Pont seeks glory from his star Mark Schultz (Tatum), and desires his brother Dave (Ruffalo) to join them. Mark is precariously placed between great favor and great disappointment as he pushes himself to excel on his own terms, until his brother caves to du Pont's pressure and joins the team. As much as Mark needs money and craves success, his financially comfortable brother Dave tries to be a family man. But both end up biting du Pont's greenbacked lure and moving in to the vast Foxcatcher estate, where life turns into a continuous training regimen. The lines between coach and father, brother and rival, professional and personal quickly get erased.

We are presented with a uniquely homosocial environment, and Miller does not shy away from a moment of its implications. Wrestling, an especially intimate sport with no shortage of erotic suggestion, is shown in all its complexity without beating us over the head with its technical intricacies (in other words, this isn't your typical sports film that wastes so much time telling you how the sport works in real life). Instead, wrestling in the film becomes more about what it looks and feels like: an uncomfortable, erotic, and violent power play between two men. Outside the gym walls, the relationships between Mark, Dave, and du Pont is almost no different, as du Pont actively points out when he says multiple times that he wants to be more than a coach to his boys. Du Pont, for all his villainous psychopathy, is due some sympathy as we see him wrestle (ha) with a perceived inconsistency between wealth and success and between family heritage and independent pride. Vanessa Redgrave graces a few scenes as the primary vehicle for du Pont's problems, his disappointed mother, who expresses her disdain for the "low sport" and her fierce pride in family heritage over her own son.

I could wax effusive for hours, but don't just take my word for it. Go see it, and don't spend your strength right away -- you'll need it for round three.

IMDb: Foxcatcher