The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025)

Score: 4 / 5

Like the other big summer superhero blockbuster this year, Superman, it would seem that the MCU has again decided that origin stories are sometimes not the way to introduce a well-known hero. Er, heroic family. As if we didn't already know and love Marvel's so-called "First Family," and been treated to multiple previous iterations of them, the writers here smartly toss us into the thick of the Fantastic Four career. We're expected to keep up, and to learn the lore of this particular version of the team as we go. That's not entirely fair; we are given some exposition in the form of a thickly stylized, televised news bulletin, a sort of miniscule mockumentary about the beloved celebrities and how they came to be. But even this narrative device feels more a product of the film's production design than a straightforward means of dumping necessary background info. Because director Matt Shakman (WandaVision, Cut Bank, and exceptional experience in television) does effective worldbuilding and stylistic amalgamation better than most in this ever-expanding genre.

I won't rehash the plot here, but it's nothing new, either for fans of the Fantastic Four or for anyone who's ever seen a superhero movie. But it works -- and works quite well --  as a result of its production design and its earnest, grounded performances. 

Kasra Farahani's (Loki) production design is rich and tactile, evocative and fanciful, and it's just astonishing to behold. As this film is set on an alternate Earth (828, rather than our familiar 616), he isn't bound to specific time or style. He evokes multiple decades from the mid-twentieth century in colors, shapes, textures, fabrics, and general visual splendor, crafting a truly mid-century modernity that feels ripped from any number of period titles, if nothing more obviously than The Jetsons. The dreams, in those days, of space have been immortalized in our cultural mind (think October Sky or The Vast of Night) as aspirational and perfect. Or fanciful yet, to our mind, distinctly old-fashioned in form (think some of the tech in the original Star Wars or Alien, right?). I mean, here we have a cute-as-heck robotic butler named HERBIE yet also large, chunky computers and impractical restrictions on navigating a city when not flying. And there are just enough actual things from our own mid-century brand names and products present in this film that the details are never less than engrossing: which bits are real, and which were manufactured for this alternate reality?

The lead performances are all solid, and I especially appreciated the actors seemingly toning down what could easily have been hammy roles. Especially given the heavy retro-'60s color scheme and trappings, these guys could have overplayed a lot. Heck, as much as I've enjoyed the 2005/2007 and 2015 films of this team, those were all overplayed with nearly opposite energies. Shakman keeps this one pretty even-keel tonally, giving the team enough time to settle in and make their characters comfortable and lived-in. As we're picking up the threads of their collective dynamic, we're able to sense that these four have long since developed a real family vibe, and we never doubt their mutual affection or respect. It's pretty magical ensemble work. There's also a sort of sub-theme here, which becomes apparent as the plot develops, of what happens to an insular group when public opinion eventually turns on them; that's a bit too timely right now, so I'm not going to attempt fleshing out that observation.

Thus, the interpersonal drama of the team didn't wholly work for me, but I'm well aware that's a "me" problem. Stories that hinge on soon-to-be-parents and obsession over infant health and safety are simply not interesting to me, and while I appreciated this Johnny's comparatively respectable cocksurety and subtle undermining of himbo expectations, the relationships between the teammates all felt predicated on the obnoxiously unassailable specter of The Child. To be fair, one must consider the rest of the plot to appreciate why there is so much ad nauseum focus on The Child: the villain of this story, cosmic god Galactus (and, by extension, his Silver Surfer, much as we saw in the 2007 film), plans to basically devour Earth to temporarily satiate his eternal hunger, until he divines that Reed and Sue's baby is powerful enough to be his next vessel. The specifics remain unclear in how any of this works, of course, but the malicious focus on needing this baby provides thematic closure (or, arguably, purpose) for the screenplay's endless obsession with it.

I do think this story, simple as it is, is remarkably effective in introducing us to these characters and their role in the MCU. Most origin stories are simple for a reason: new names, new personalities, new themes, new locations, it's all a lot to take in. So we need a basic narrative formula to tie all those things together in a more palatable form. There's a reason Moon Knight, for example, needed multiple episodes, rather than a single film, to get us on board with not only its new and unfamiliar characters but also its somewhat unconventional themes and storytelling mode. Same can be said for WandaVision, actually, which is doubtless why Shakman and his team of writers opt to attempt mythmaking here. A cosmic deity knowing only hunger and needing human child sacrifice for consumption and possession is a the root of human existential horror. Think about Kronos and his children, or Jehovah's demand of Abraham, or Palpatine and his plan with Han and Leia's child (or Rey in the films). This is a foundational myth capitalized on by the screenwriters and emphasized in Galactus's (badass) physical design and chilling performance by Ralph Ineson (The Green Knight, The Witch, kind of giving here something akin to Tim Curry's Lord of Darkness in Legend).

I also think that, by launching us into the Fantastic Four's celebrity status, the heart of the film wins us by making its characters more human, rather than less. How many superhero films start by taking your average person and somehow transforming them into a hero at the cost of alienating us from them? Well, by definition, probably most. Then they have to spend a sequel or more navigating issues of being somehow more than human, including celebrity status and increased scrutiny. But in this film, we know immediately that they are globally renowned and beloved; it's only as that status begins to crumble -- and their multiple plans as a team successively fail -- that their chilly facade cracks and lets us, the audience, in. It gets quite unexpectedly emotional, much like Thunderbolts, earlier this year.

The CGI baby was awful to watch. And that's all I have to say about that.

Inside Out 2 (2024)

Score: 4.5 / 5

A second outing is rarely as evocative, provocative, or enthralling as a first outing, but Inside Out 2 is a worthy sequel in what may well become an ongoing series. While it was an uncharacteristically risky choice to tap a first-time feature director in Kelsey Mann (who had supervised the stories for The Good Dinosaur, Monsters University, and Onward), Mann's energy effortlessly fits the wacky yet emotional world of Inside Out. His product is a sequel through and through: taking what worked best about the original and, almost a decade later, giving more and more of it in faster bursts and more pizzazz.

Since we don't have to waste time getting ingratiated into the inner world of Riley -- literally, as the main characters are, in fact, personified emotions in her head -- this film jumps right into new territory. Joy, Sadness, Fear, Disgust, and Anger now oversee a new part of Riley's mind called her "Sense of Self," a collection of memories in a pool of feelings that shape Riley's core beliefs about herself. It's one of those elements of fantasy or sci-fi that often feels laborious at first, but once it's introduced, actually manages to feel both inspired and clever. Much like the first film's use of "core memories," here the Sense of Self becomes the primary lynchpin for the plot and coming conflict. And conflict is indeed coming: Riley is now a teenager. 

Riley prepares for high school by attending an ice hockey camp that may qualify her for the school's team. Unfortunately, her "Puberty Alarm" goes off at the start of her weekend away, and her emotions are not prepared for the onslaught. After a team of workers all but demolishes Headquarters, Joy and her fellow emotions are invaded by five new emotions who clash tremendously with Riley's status quo. Their leader, Anxiety, is a harried orange time bomb, and her accomplices Envy, Ennui, and Embarrassment do little to slow her roll. Nostalgia appears to be a new emotion as well, but she's mostly pushed out and told to wait for Riley to grow up a bit more. While Joy wants Riley to have fun and be herself at camp, Anxiety wants Riley to win and impress her coach and future teammates. Their clash leads Anxiety to jettison Riley's Sense of Self and attempt to fashion a new one, marooning Joy and the others so they won't interfere; the original emotions embark on an adventure to Riley's subconscious to rescue and reinstate her Sense of Self.

There's a lot -- and I mean a lot -- of content in this film. Breakneck plot points would make attempting a detailed summary extremely difficult, and I'm finding it difficult to even remember all that occurs narratively. Riley's interactions with her best friends are hard to endure as she abandons them, under Anxiety's influence, in order to hang out with Val and the other established high school hockey team. Her desperation to fit in and impress the older girls adds a distinctive queer element to the story that shocked and delighted me, though it's never made explicit by the screenplay (but the visual artists certainly knew what they were doing). There's also some interesting tension with the coach that leads Riley to act in distinctly unethical ways, and though the film avoids too much direct discourse on morality, we get the keen perspective inside her head of the internal damage that dishonesty and selfishness does to us all.

Riley often repeats to herself that she's a good person, and while it becomes pretty annoying, it also rings remarkably true, especially for those of us who deal with debilitating anxiety. When Anxiety takes over, Riley shuts down and begins acting in erratic ways, which make so much sense as we see the chaos within her brain. It's a natural but brilliant evolution of what came before, and all of it feels earned and authentic to what we know of these characters as well as what we know of the developing human brain. Much as the first film blew our minds with its personifications and dramatizations of childhood emotions, this film matures those ideas into a really heady mixture of exploration. In fact, even as I tear up thinking about my wracking sobs during a screening of this film, I'm not entirely sure what kids -- presumably the target audience for this animated film -- will really enjoy this film. Sure, it has bright colors and fast action, but its ideas are quite complex and not thoroughly enjoyable, even for adults. It hurts so good, you might say.

That said, it does include genius ideas like the first, which come in rapid succession as Joy and her friends hurry through Riley's subconscious. There are additional characters rendered as other kinds of animation (like in Ralph Breaks the Internet), such as Riley's childhood video game crush or her favorite character from a Blue's Clues or Dora the Explorer type show, and of course her Deep Dark Secret (which I was certain would remain a mystery until the next installment and reveal itself as a crush, probably queer, until the post-credits scene, which reveals it as something so annoyingly dull I'll never speak of it). There's Riley's Mount Crushmore, which you can surely imagine for yourself, and a bizarrely Orwellian scene in Imagination Land. 

Its cleverness never quite lands in the same way as the first film, and so its impact is also lessened. There's never the emotional trauma inflicted by Bing Bong, but frankly I'm okay with that. Especially since the climax, in which Joy and Anxiety have to work together like Joy and Sadness had to previously, is a much-needed balm for anyone as triggered by Anxiety as I was while watching. But what is disappointing to me is that the new emotions other than Anxiety are not given enough time to become memorable like the original five. Envy and Ennui do almost nothing, and while the latter is hilarious, the French caricature wears thin quickly; Embarrassment has key narrative beats to hit, but he's not given much character to mine. Moreover, the thematic beats of individuality and belonging and remaining true to yourself are always good to remember, but do feel a bit trite and quaint at this point. With so many new ideas, those are the big takeaway morals?

And yet I still find myself misty-eyed at the film's denouement, as Joy and Anxiety work together to help Riley more gracefully enter puberty. There's a freedom that comes when her anxiety is checked and she no longer feels the need to succeed over others or impress them. She simply and joyously embraces the sensation of skating on the ice, and it's a cathartic moment of grace after so much havoc. The understated final message of the film, I think, is to embrace simplicity and integrity to yourself. We should all be so fortunate (scratch that: read healthy) to do the things we love to do for its own reward. To be content with our interests and actions when they align and not feel any need to use it for clout or attention or temporary pleasure, to live in the moment and find spiritual sustenance on one's own terms. Happiness and fulfillment are choices we can consciously make. Those are ideas I would love to see manifest in a future installment, because that had me reeling in my seat as the credits rolled. 

Cruella (2021)

 Score: 4 / 5

We should have expected something like this after the financial success of Maleficent, though it's a bit surprising how late this is in coming. Not that an origin story for one of Disney's most iconic villains is ever to be expected, Cruella is still a wickedly good time at the movies. While it will have its detractors -- not the least of which vocally clamor against all live-action remakes, reimaginings, and sequels of beloved classics -- this is one case where I'm not sure that particular complaint is warranted. This is no mere origin story; in fact, it hardly even approaches the basic questions about the mad villainess. Why does she so detest nuclear families, and why does she want to murder 99 puppies?

Actually, if anything, this film answers the first of those questions. Cruella, or rather Estella, is a dog-loving, precocious child of a poor laundrywoman who is killed under suspicious circumstances at a wealthy manor. Newly orphaned, the Dickensian girl rallies herself and debuts as a sassy, spunky rebel with more bite than bark. Thieving on the street with her new friends Jasper and Horace, the trio come of age together and live in a crumbling flat by night while scamming the unwitting by day. But Estella (Emma Stone) is a fashion designer, and finally gets a job at the luxurious Liberty department store. Failing as a maid, she drunkenly reworks a window display that catches the eye of one Baroness von Hellman (Emma Thompson), a veritable Dragon Lady and primary vendor of the store.

In many ways, this is indeed an origin story, and it checks all the boxes of that narrative style in the sort of exposition-heavy, oddly fractured yet annoyingly coherent way that has become increasingly common. I'll never quite understand the need for these stories for iconic characters who really don't need them, but there is a basic satisfaction in seeing new performers and designers put fresh spins on old ideas. And while this isn't the same kind of story as Maleficent, which completely rewrites the character to be essentially and actively good, it's more like Broadway's Wicked or even Venom in that, while explaining her eccentricities away, the movie still respects and embraces the inherent madness and dangerousness that makes its antihero a true, real villain. I suppose, with that in mind, this movie is less an origin story and more along the lines of giving the Devil his due. Or, rather, her due.

In what becomes a crime-comedy mash-up of The Devil Wears Prada and Joker, our female fashionistas engage in heist after chase after publicity terrorism. Estella, now working for the abusive and manipulative Baroness, is determined to dethrone the bitch and take her place as London's premier designer. And yet, as in Phantom Thread and others, the Baroness is also the closest thing to a mentor (and mother?) that Estella has; moreover, even as Estella sabotages the Baroness's public appearances, the Baroness seems to feel that more lines are being crossed than just those between a boss and employee. While the film certainly never covers up the fact that Cruella is not a good person, and is capable of pretty rotten behaviors, we're constantly reminded that the Baroness is far worse; Cruella's intense determination to punish a wicked overlord intersects with her desire to be the best in the biz, and that combination reveals psychological depth to her character that is never fully explored by the film.

Craig Gillespie (I, Tonya and 2011's Fright Night, a personal favorite) directs this movie with a similar panache and irreverent style he's used before. Lengthy sequences match up with a bombastic and loud soundtrack packed with upbeat, recognizable hits like in an Edgar Wright movie. Cold lighting and stark sets frame costumes that wear actors, and yet everyone in this movie leans into the strange aesthetic. Whirling cinematography and nauseatingly choppy editing notwithstanding -- more than once during the two-and-a-quarter-hour feature I had to look away just to reorient myself -- its kinetic energy cannot be denied. And the movie looks great the whole time, even when we're not quite sure if it's doing anything substantial. Then again, the work here by costumer Jenny Beavan (Mad Max: Fury Road, Sense & Sensibility, Gosford Park, and countless others) is always doing substantial work, and I'd have watched it all again immediately to be able to stare at these habiliments again.

The only sore spot in this film that made me cringe is Joel Fry as Jasper, whose weird, unrequited thing for Cruella turns him into a limp, dull character who pulls focus in the worst way, a sort of bedraggled wallflower with little humor and too much sentiment. Paul Walter Hauser as Horace, on the other hand, is a laugh-aloud delight, and his pairing with wicked little piratey dog Wink is nothing short of brilliant. Kirby Howell-Baptiste and Kayvan Novak pop in to the film occasionally as Anita and Roger, and are lovely even as they are underused. But the movie belongs fully to Emma Thompson and Emma Stone, who manage to work with their costumes and hair in such a way that their performances elevate to another level altogether. Much like Glenn Close did, actually, in the original.

I say "original," because it quickly became apparent that this movie is not a prequel to the 1961 animated classic so much as it is a prequel to the 1996 live-action film that started the whole trend. Its updated time period and intoxicating visual spectacle reveal its kinship, to say nothing of the costumes that are sure to win buckets of awards. And with Close as executive producer here, could we have expected anything else? I'm desperately hoping for a follow-up film, partly to answer the remaining question of how and why Cruella becomes an animal-killing psychopath. Remember, it's not just dogs; in the original, we're introduced to her by way of cat-napping a Siberian tiger from the zoo and turning it into, well, something furry to play with in her boudoir.

But mostly, I'm eager for a sequel that has already been teased. Reports indicate that both Emma Thompson (who stars here, of course, but deserves a lot more screen time) and Emma Stone have publicly expressed interest in a sequel that bridges time, providing more backstory for these new characters and crossing over into Cruella's adult life. They described it as a Godfather II-like thing, which makes magnificently twisted sense, and would surely include Close reprising the role. If that happened, I could die happy.

Da 5 Bloods (2020)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Four aging Vietnam War veterans reunite in Ho Chi Minh City. Catching up doesn't take long -- the bonds forged in war clearly have not weakened -- and we quickly learn their purpose. The four black Americans recently learned of a landslide that revealed what they hope is the plane near which their squad leader was killed. The "Bloods", as the group called themselves, hope to reclaim what's left of the body or at least memorialize the site; they also hope, as we discover, to reclaim a buried locker of gold bars they had buried there during the war.

The four men, older if not necessarily wiser, embark on their journey into the heart of darkness much as we might expect in any movie dramatizing the war in Vietnam. Tempers run as high as the jungle temperatures, dangers lurk around every palm frond, and madness slowly manifests before the group fractures. It doesn't help that each successive scene reveals -- mostly through quickly paced, jargon-infused expository dialogue -- increasingly disturbing details about the relationships between the men. After all, the character who is perhaps most like a protagonist declares very early on that he is a vocal Trump supporter. Later, as the group explores the city, one reunites with his old Vietnamese girlfriend and learns he fathered a now-grown child. One man reveals his financial bankruptcy and consequential desperation for this journey. All seem to have varying degrees of PTSD.

The story, far from inventive, nevertheless manages to feel consistently fresh, clearly due to the uncompromising vision of its writer and director Spike Lee. Though this movie doesn't reach the horrific immediacy and jolting timbre of his previous feature, Da 5 Bloods must be ranked among the best of the director's films. Its surprising humor and sudden, gory violence combine into a fever dream of an experience, one that I would have preferred to see on the big screen instead of streaming on Netflix. Don't be daunted by its lengthy runtime; this movie is electric with energy, both thematically and dramatically. I found myself only briefly getting lost in the implications of certain developments before getting absorbed into the next crucial sequence. And its mix of genres (the heist aspect of the plot feels very Western, as if Lee were turning The Treasure of the Sierra Madre into an homage of Apocalypse Now) keep it fabulously engrossing in terms of aesthetics.

And, as only Lee can do, this movie wears its relevance on its sleeve without beating us over the head with its significance. A stock story of warring men journeying into the wild for gold could be storytime fodder for any time and place. Add elements of racial injustice, colonial and imperial fallout, gender politics, mental illness, etc., and you can start to actually say something audiences might consider relevant. Lee, with his typical flair, combines all these elements and more until such easy "lessons" become impossible to untangle, much less critically defend. Instead, he simply allows the complexity of the story he presents to be just that -- complex -- while framing it with timely and equally complicated stock footage. Here, he frames the story of the Bloods with the voices of Muhammed Ali and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., both of whom are synonymous with Civil Rights activism in the U.S. and both of whom were vocal opponents of the war in Vietnam.

Through this frame, Lee also seems to be repurposing the trope of American films that deal with Vietnam. They are, far and wide, populated by macho white men who behave very badly and are glorified in cinematic history as a result. Name any major movie about the Vietnam War and it will not indicate that nearly one-third of the soldiers sent by the U.S. were black. But here, bolstered by what I would call the most surprising and award-worthy performance of the year so far by Delroy Lindo, the focus is firmly on black men. Sure, they don't behave much better than their white counterparts in other flicks, but the dramatic depth is far more profound. During flashbacks, the Bloods squad leader Stormin' Norman (played by Chadwick Boseman) educates his comrades (and audience) on the history of a racist country relying on black and brown bodies to die in its wars, on the few significant soldiers of color actually recognized by history, and on viewing the gold they seek as the first step toward reparations for slavery.

Perhaps most welcome, for me, was that this movie isn't nearly as on-the-nose as BlacKkKlansman was. Granted, Lee's wit and messages worked magnificently well there, and it spoke keenly to the America he was trying to entertain and teach. But here, despite Lee's insistence that Trump be named multiple times in this movie, Lee is not simply "bashing" anybody, much as they may deserve it. In playing a longer, more delicate game, he reveals the devastating legacy of "President Fake Bone Spurs", as one character says, pointing out that while his red MAGA hat floats around the Vietnamese jungle, the man himself never did. Delroy Lindo's character, the Trump supporter, makes his case for the Oscar this year in one particular scene as he cuts his way, alone, through the jungle and rants and raves directly into the camera. As Lindo speaks about the U.S. government and grows more incensed, Lee twists our expectations by not having the character go mad; rather, he reaches a cathartic revelation (an apocalypse, now, if you will) before calling on a cruel God and -- well, there's still more irony to be had in the scene.

As always, Lee can be enjoyed as pure entertainment. But what I love best about him is that he layers so many complications atop each other -- dramatically, thematically, artistically -- that you could never fully and absolutely understand one of his movies. I haven't even mentioned the score by Terence Blanchard (and soundtrack by Marvin Gaye!) which also deserves an Oscar nomination, or the Vietnamese woman who acts as a sort of Greek chorus, accentuating themes of racial injustice in history and wartime governments while raising questions about the narrative filters on this film. Further, Da 5 Bloods would seem to be Lee's means of revisiting his earlier movie The Miracle at St. Anna and putting it in a crucible to make new art that is dramatically and intellectually more dense and satisfying. And, by framing it the way he does, Lee performs the haunting revelation that this war, for black Americans, is far from over.

Richard Jewell (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Atlanta, 1996. The Georgia summer heat isn't bothering the thousands of people who descended on the Olympic games and assorted festivities. During one concert at Centennial Park, a pipe bomb explodes, killing two people and injuring a hundred more. A frantic hunt for the bomber begins, but a clear suspect takes center stage: Richard Jewell, the security guard who found the bomb.

But Richard Jewell doesn't begin here. The introduction to this film starts earlier, following its protagonist through a bustling office where he works as a custodian. Shortly after, we see that he has become a security guard at a college. His tough work ethic doesn't always jive with his coworkers or the people he serves; he is mocked for being overweight and for having lofty ambitions (he considers himself law enforcement, on par with police officers). He is fired after multiple complaints from students of him overstepping boundaries and abusing the power of his position; he views this as him going above and beyond the call of duty, but the dean simply asks him if he'll resign or if he needs to be fired. It's pitiful in the awkward way where we are made to understand his predicament even though he is clearly in the wrong. But it's awkward viewing because we know the director and we know he is using this introduction to lionize someone who might not entirely deserve it.

If you know the story at all, things get more familiar from here on out. After moving in with his mother, Richard gets a job working security for the Olympics in Atlanta. Once he alerts the authorities about a suspicious bag -- they initially mock him for being so pretentious, only to discover three pipe bombs inside -- he works hard and fast to make a perimeter before the explosion. His heroic action makes him the center of attention, and before he can go home he is swept up in the media spotlight, interviewed by Katie Couric herself. But as the FBI begin to investigate, he becomes their primary suspect. He certainly fits the psychological profile.

Despite Clint Eastwood's heavy-handed storytelling, which seems to only get more problematic as he continues pumping out movies, the film manages to keep its emotional manipulations in check by focusing so tightly on the relative uniqueness of its characters. Unlike the broad stereotyping in Sully, for example, a lot of the characters here are not really representative of their professions, and so they aren't really painted as "good guys" or "bad guys." Jon Hamm, for example, and Olivia Wilde are painted pretty clearly as the antagonists (FBI agent and media reporter, respectively), but their characters are a little too specific and too layered to represent their power structures. Wilde is especially fascinating in a sure-to-be criticized role as a desperate reporter who jumps to wild conclusions and exchanges sex for information.

But the movie belongs firmly to Paul Walter Hauser, Kathy Bates, and Sam Rockwell as Jewell, his mother, and their lawyer. The three of them play off each other beautifully, crafting a moving relationship that bends under each new blow by the media and the government without breaking. And while most artists in Trump's America are doing well to vindicate the free press, this film does the difficult -- and, thankfully, mostly tasteful -- job of showing what negative effects can happen when the news jumps to conclusions. Eastwood isn't lampooning the FBI or press here, though I was certain he would, and he does a fair job showing how irritating his main character can be and why he was, somewhat rightfully, suspected. But Eastwood seems more interested in showing how the tone of the news and the disdain of the investigators ruined Richard Jewell's life, along with the repulsive popular interest and mob mentality of the public who wanted him to fry.