Anaconda (2025)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Have you seen Anaconda? The 1997 cult film is a disaster of a movie. As an unapologetic fan of even trashy creature features, I have long loathed that mishmash of horror and adventure that fails at everything except its own nonsensical joie de vivre. From Jon Voight's offensive accent to its garishly stupid effects, there is nothing of value in the product, though arguably the experience may prove diverting for those interested in watching Hollywood go so horribly awry. I'll never watch (nor understand, but that's another tirade) the four sequels -- yep, you read correctly, four sequels -- that have strung out its legacy, even inexplicably crossing over with our beloved Lake Placid.

Enter Tom Gormican, who must have been touched by God one night, inspired to create something fresh out of this stagnant puddle. Toying with a concept in flux between a remake, sequel, and reboot, Gormican turns the material of the '97 Anaconda into an homage not unlike what James Franco did for The Room in The Disaster Artist (2017). To be fair, this isn't quite as conceptually highbrow as that lauded feature, but it's damn close. Essentially, the new Anaconda exists in a metafictional world where the main characters' love of the original Anaconda leads them to launch production on a remake of it as a legit, must-be-taken-seriously film. It should be scary, and romantic, and exciting. So a group of lifelong fans are going to do the material justice.

Problem: they have no funding. On a minimalist budget (in fact, they seem to owe more than they are able to secure from a loan), the team travels via boat through the Amazon, making things up as they go, attempting to film the comeback story of their dreams. 

Gormican's work with Nic Cage in The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent seems to have prepared him for this film, tonally, as it grapples with really dense concepts through low-brow entertainment. Playful and charming, Gormican's screenplay is matched in wit and earnestness by his assembled cast, who have all done this kind of work very well before. The team of wannabe filmmakers includes Jack Black, Paul Rudd, Steve Zahn, and Thandiwe Newton, who before long discover that an actual monstrous anaconda lurks in the jungle around them. These actors, wacky and silly in their own right, mesh into a formidable ensemble whose sense of humor exceeds the grasp of the screenplay. One hopes that bloopers and behind-the-scenes footage will be provided to us with a home viewing release, because you can almost feel the riotous joy happening offscreen every time a scene ends. I wanted to see more shenanigans!

Their chemistry, as an added bonus, helps the film earn its own seriousness when it does, in fact, get a bit more emotional. There's a stirring sentiment that arises as we, too, hope these hooligans will make the film of their dreams; it won't be the film of our dreams, of course, but who among us hasn't fantasized about being behind a camera for our ideal movies? It's a simple tactic, but one that implicates our own hopes and desires in effortless fashion. To be fair, this film perhaps leans a bit too far into itself as an action film by its final act, and in that it's a bit disappointing; things explode and guns keep firing, and the film's parodic bent starts to get a bit too reflexive. Probably due to Black's screentime, I repeatedly had to remind myself that this is not, in fact, the long-awaited finale for the Jumanji series.

It doesn't all work, especially a bizarre subplot about criminals poaching (?) gold illegally in the Amazon basin and their connections with the team's hired boat captain (Daniela Melchior). And while there's some hilarious back-and-forth between Rudd and Black about the theme of their movie that gets repeated, they unfortunately never articulate anything about that. Similarly, I earnestly hoped that during the film's denouement -- or at least during its credits -- we'd see some of the film they shot, but we don't, which left me feeling quite sad. Putting these characters through such an ordeal without providing closure to their raison d'etre fails them as much as it does us.

I had a hell of a good time in this film, and I look forward to a rewatch. It's also, for whatever it's worth to you, easily one of my favorite killer snake films, making up a lot of lost points in my book simply for having some legitimately frightening moments with its laughably enormous serpent. So come for the adventure and comedy, enjoy the ride, and say hello to a cameo appearance or two. It's easy to take in, even if you're not used to swallowing your fare whole.

Mufasa: The Lion King (2024)

Score: 3 / 5

Remember when Disney made sequels to its major animated features as direct-to-home-video flings? We all had one we liked. With few exceptions, we can all agree most of them were "bad," and while I generally don't use or approve of such evaluative words, I do agree that most were subpar technically and artistically in most aspects of their existence. Some are still fun, though, and a select few include some really brilliant moments. The Lion King was no exception to the Disney sequel tradition, spawning in addition to the Timon & Pumbaa television series, The Lion King II: Simba's Pride in 1998 and The Lion King 1½ in 2004. While The Lion King (1994) is simply not a favorite of mine (the stage musical far surpasses it in my esteem), its sequels are surprisingly among my preferred of the period. They include music and characters and humor that adds to my appreciation of the original rather than detracting or taking the material in a weird new direction.

Mufasa: The Lion King is in a similar vein, marking the first sequel to a Disney live action remake of a classic since (and I could be wrong here) 102 Dalmatians in 2000. The origin story of its title character, it's curious this is the film Disney chose to make after the passing of James Earl Jones, to whom they notably dedicate this picture. Young Mufasa learns about Milele, a mythical paradise which his small pride hopes to find, from his beloved parents (Anika Noni Rose and Keith David), from whom he is violently taken (and effectively orphaned) by a sudden flood. Saved from hungry crocodiles far downriver by another young cub named Taka, Mufasa is adopted into another pride, this one run by King Obasi (Lennie James). Obasi wants nothing to do with the outsider, but his son Taka and Taka's mother Eshe (Thandiwe Newton) care for him and raise him to be a conscientious and helpful leader in the pride. Cared for by the females, he learns to hunt and provide for the males.

While hunting, Mufasa and Eshe are attacked by two white lions, Mufasa killing one. The other escapes to its own pride of albino outcasts, led by Kiros (Mads Mikkelsen), whose son is now dead. Vowing revenge, Kiros leads the white lions to slaughter the royal pride. They do, with Mufasa and Taka barely escaping with their lives. Together, they work to find the lush oasis of Milele and live in peace with their new friends Sarabi (Tiffany Boone) and Rafiki (John Kani). But Kiros still hunts for them, and a final battle looms, fated, to determine the true king of... well, the Serengeti, I guess?

Much like the original classic, this story has the hallmarks of mythic storytelling and functions according to the logic of both fables and tragedies. As an origin story and personal trauma drama, Mufasa is an affecting if archetypal tale told with conviction and resonance. As a franchise entry -- following the "live action"-esque 2019 remake -- it adds some new lore and characterizations that I found fun and thoroughly entertaining. As a standalone film, however, this movie never quite reaches beyond itself and often feels a bit lost in its own visual splendor, a problem that plagued its predecessor. A few new musical numbers -- penned by Lin-Manuel Miranda, who I wish would just stop -- tend toward the forgettable, even if they do add some charm to the film's occasional doldrums. And as fan-service for a company seemingly doubling down on making money over telling worthy stories, Mufasa is pretty great, especially if the kid in you always wanted to know why Pride Rock looks the way it does, how Scar got his name and his wound, and why a possibly insane mandrill would bless a lion's cub.

Various elements will work for different audiences, and your endurance will be tested regardless. Visually, the whole thing is stunning, and frankly the ingenuity and shock of Kiros and his albino pride had me audibly gasping in the auditorium multiple times. Then again, the misadventure our heroes take through a snowy mountain pass felt forced and strange as far as spectacle goes, and made me want to look at a map for snowy mountain ranges in that region. In terms of voice acting, there's not much joy here, especially with the childish and wholly unnecessary framing story of Simba and Nala's daughter Kiara (Blue Ivy Carter) being scared by a thunderstorm and told the story of her grandfather by Rafiki while Timon and Pumbaa (Billy Eichner and Seth Rogen) recite an obnoxious series of low-brow jokes about bodily functions and Disney's legal department. But Mikkelsen is a welcome voice here, bringing suitably sly menace to a character not dissimilar from the villain we know and love, and the two leading stars (Aaron Pierre as Mufasa and Kelvin Harrison Jr. as Taka) carry the film capably.

What does work exceptionally well is director Barry Jenkins (Moonlight, If Beale Street Could Talk, The Underground Railroad), who was by no means in his element here. His work in American life is almost forgotten in this fantasy African realm of pseudo-realism, but the high-tech and enormous budget don't seem to scare or overwhelm the veteran auteur. His regular cinematographer James Laxton shoots things with a patience and interest that can only have been bred in real-time hands-on interaction with real actors physically embodying the lions in physical proximity. What is surely the state of the art will be revealed by others, but mark me: when inside details about how this film was created are clarified, movies will change for the better. Much like Peter Jackson's groundbreaking work on Gollum (and other creatures) in The Lord of the Rings, there is technology here that will pave the path forward to more realistic digital characters rooted firmly in live performances by actors. And Laxton draws us in with gentle and graceful approaches, which is not the norm for this studio, this genre, or this age. He makes you want to breathe deeply to experience this beautiful world through your other senses.

And while I wouldn't even say this is the best example of photorealistic moviemaking from Disney -- that accolade must still bejewel the crown of The Jungle Book -- it does improve upon The Lion King by treating its characters like actors rather than like animals who inexplicably dance and sing, choosing now to let them emote and express in increasingly accessible ways. I don't really like all Miranda's new music, but Jenkins makes them more interesting by staging and dramatizing them the way he does. In fact, I'd be interested to see if a film like this launches Jenkins into more mainstream fare, and I enthusiastically agree with a rumbling I read somewhere that he'd do well to direct a film adaptation of something like the Broadway hits Hamilton or Once on this Island. Jenkins isn't able to control the story here, and does feel a bit railroaded into his lane, but his choices within what is under his control are brilliant and help the movie rise above expectations set by what came before. The film pulses with energy and with artistry, and I couldn't look away from its splendor, even when studio and IP constraints threatened to bore me.

Reminiscence (2021)

 Score: 2.5 / 5

A man whose job is to sift through other people's memories gets embroiled in a mystery, searching an urban wasteland for a troublesome woman while descending the echelons of criminality. Put it any way, and there's nothing groundbreaking about the rote plot, which is largely ripped from any number of classic noir movies. And that's okay, generally, if it's specific and detailed enough to still hold one's interest and curiosity. Noir movies largely exist today because of their embrace of science fiction, and Reminiscence seems determined to fit within that niche. But this is no Blade Runner or Minority Report, and this one can't quite make its mark without relying heavily on its conscious references to those earlier works.

Hugh Jackman plays Nick, a haunted man whose gravelly, world-weary voice narrates the movie like a Bogart impersonator. He lives in a sunken world, a stretch of Miami coast mostly underwater after climate change flooded the land and made daytime impossibly hot. His demimonde consists of a Venice-like shadowy world in which his routine involves boating to work in a cavernous warehouse to help sad clients relive their pasts. Using a memory recalling device that looks like a giant spider web of clear cables, he plops his clients into a tube of fluid and verbally guides them into their past. Sometimes it's simply to help someone find lost keys or remember a date; more often, it seems, it's to let someone indulge their masochistic melancholia by torturously reliving a happy memory, perhaps of a loved one since passed away. The latter cases he tends to warn, saying that "the past can haunt a man" and encouraging them not to live through these memories and forget to move on.

Nick and Watts, his ex-military business partner (played by a typically reliable Thandiwe Newton), are close friends, despite her addiction to alcohol and his addiction to, I guess, moodiness. It's a little creepy that they can see the memories of their clients, but the clients don't seem to care. Until one day, when the femme fatale, Mae, appears in a revealing crimson dress to push his buttons; she asks Nick to stay after hours to help her find her keys. He's clearly taken instantly -- who wouldn't, especially by the stunning Rebecca Ferguson all gussied up and doing her best Lauren Bacall or Barbara Stanwyck style of sultry seduction. The distinctly tragic jazz singer even sings his favorite sad song in a jazzy alto voice, and he's off to the races in a steamy romance that never manages to feel believable beyond its eroticism. And then, suddenly, she disappears with nothing but a few clues and depressing memories.

Where did she go? And why does she feature in the memories of a comatose suspect being prosecuted as a mule for drug kingpin Saint Joe? After seeing this, Nick learns that Mae was a narcotic addict, and he's off again, this time to hunt down the criminals. Unfortunately, as is so often the case in the genre, the crime extends far beyond a single man, and Nick struggles -- as do we -- in a turbulent quagmire of corrupt cops and lawyers, drug fiends, and politicians and businessmen desperate to stay dry in a wet world. As unrest grows in the lower classes, Nick inadvertently reveals damning truths about the "barons" in power, and by the end I cared more about the peripheral uprising than about Nick chasing a scar-faced killer.

Apart from its derivative science fiction elements -- which are pretty bare-bones anyway, relegated to the limited "money shots" of CGI -- even the noir aspects of Reminiscence aren't novel. I found myself spacing out of the movie, more interested in ticking off its repeated visual references to Vertigo and other Hitchcock films, to say nothing of Chinatown, The Maltese Falcon, and of course the obvious inspiration Total Recall. The ludicrously complex plot here -- not helped by constant references to characters we haven't met yet and won't be properly introduced to us -- is far more distracting than any of the visual successes the movie displays. I'll never remember the plot of this flick (except a creepy man hunting for his boss's bastard child, which I'm not even certain was really happening) and that's probably a good thing.

I might remember some of its platitudes about time and the dangers of nostalgia, but its sentimental platitudes delivered in voiceover have thankfully vacated my own memory. I will remember, however, the splendor of a drowned city, a memory recall device in fiber optic cables, and a gag-inducing few remarks that tried to thematically link this story to the Orpheus and Eurydice myth. Oh, and a very sad Hugh Jackman who just needed a hug.