Superman (2025)

Score: 3.5 / 5

It was only a matter of time before DC films changed course, and James Gunn's new vision for the shared universe arrives with jovial flair in Superman. The brightly-hued film feels ripped from a comic book, with energy to boot, as it energetically races into refreshing new territory for its IP. As an unapologetic apologist for the previous, much darker DC franchise (the DCEU, if I'm correct?), I was hesitant about this film. Not because of its recasting of the character or a new direction for him, not by a long shot; I felt sorrow for some really cool plot threads and characters that will now never reach completion. Though, since the franchise has been handling multiverses pretty darn well now for over a decade now, maybe our already-formed Justice League will get some payoff someday.

As writer and director, Gunn wastes no time in getting to his main course in this energetic and fast-paced, if peripatetic, superhero vehicle. Do we really need yet another iteration of Clark Kent's origin story? Of course not, so Gunn smartly eases on down to the good stuff. Superman is already beloved around the world when he oversteps the rule of law while stopping an international crisis; shortly after, he is humiliated and defeated badly for the first time. This launches the plot, in which Superman has to navigate suddenly cloudy waters about his identity and purpose while battling scientist and tech genius Lex Luthor along with public opinion. Actually, he also has to fight himself, in more than one manner of speaking.

This is a very silly movie in a lot of ways, and I found its good humor and charm a warm and fuzzy throwback to the Christopher Reeve films. Which is saying a lot, because David Corenswet's (Pearl, Hollywood, The Politician) Superman also reminded me a lot of Reeve's, both in appearance and in aura. He just feels like the character you imagine. When he takes off into the skies and our camera is shakily wobbling in front of his face, I was fully on board for the ride. And as emotionally intense as the film gets -- well, tries to get -- it never feels weighed down by too much sentiment or nostalgia. Fairly early on, a cartoonishly CGI-made Krypto the Superdog helps save Superman, and it was then I knew Gunn did not want us to take this movie seriously. When "the Justice Gang" convenes, I laughed and clapped along with everyone, though by that point I was getting lightheaded from everything going on and all the new characters. We may not have needed an origin story, but that doesn't mean we should already be in medias res, you know?

The heavier parts mostly come from the villain and the girl. Nicholas Hoult has some fun playing Lex Luthor (and letting a hilarious Sara Sampaio frothily float around him as Eve Teschmacher), who takes a character written rather obviously to evoke Elon Musk and makes him chic and bitter. He's delicious, but rather shockingly, to me, quite human and accessible; it's a wise choice not to make him raving or monstrous. I do think he's a bit flat and pathetic, which might be the point; greed is such a banal motivator in films of this caliber. And then there's Lois Lane, who in this film is pretty convincing as a hard-hitting journalist determined to speak truth to power. One scene in particular stands out in my memory, when Clark offers Lois an exclusive interview and their discussion about his ethics nearly derails their relationship. It's damn good writing. So I'm not sure if it was partly the writing or not, but Rachel Brosnahan's (I'm Your Woman, The Courier, The Amateur) performance didn't really work for me; I found her savvy and direct but also pretty shallow and rigid. We aren't given reason, in the film, to see why Clark loves her, and indeed, at one point Lois says something to the effect of, "I knew this relationship wouldn't work out." Doesn't sound like a committed partner to me, and she's talking about Superman for crying out loud!

Additionally meaningful in this jaunt, Gunn's choice to emphasize the narrative of Superman being an alien cannot be overstated. The geopolitical conflict of fictional countries is a clear allusion on Gunn's part to reality, and so is his choice to open his renovated DCU with the story of an immigrant saving the world. At one point, Superman gets taken by masked thugs who assault him and lock him into a special, secret detention cell crowded with other prisoners, mostly political opponents, reporters, and even a family that was split up. This is the kind of immediate, direct, impassioned social commentary more superhero movies should have, and it feels like Gunn is saying, "Come, enjoy the movie, and learn to see the world around you." But before it gets too deep, Superman takes a split second to save a squirrel in the middle of a battle, which is one of those delightfully illogical and impossible things that happens in comics, and it feels effervescent here.

Everybody is going to rate their favorite Supermen, but I don't think I can. Nothing will beat Henry Cavill's version of the character, who gave me some uncanny valley in his tortured focus, and it makes me very sad that we likely won't be getting that again. Yet, much like with the other leading men who came before, Corenswet rises to the occasion with aplomb, helping us to renew our belief in integrity, duty, and the power of action.

Sketch (2025)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I haven't been this blissfully surprised by a film in a long time, perhaps not since The Wild Robot. Writer/director Seth Worley taps deep into emotional reserves and imaginative creativity in Sketch, a family film that pushes aesthetic boundaries even as it doubles down on tasteful, mature themes. In concept and scope, it feels like Jumanji or Bridge to Terabithia, and in aesthetic style, it feels like a mixture of Detective Pikachu and Velvet Buzzsaw. I was reminded of A Monster Calls multiple times during this viewing experience, and I eagerly intend another such screening.

Taylor, a middle-aged widower (an exceptional Tony Hale), prepares to sell his family's house yet is having trouble with his children. Jack (Kue Lawrence), eager to please and step up to the challenge of a suddenly smaller family, wants to help and fix everything while repressing his own grief and needs. Amber (Bianca Belle), younger, is mostly quiet, preferring to channel her brainpower and idle hands into drawing -- hence the title -- various creatures and monsters of increasingly frightening nature -- again, hence the title -- and crafting elaborate mythologies around her imagined enemies. Perhaps it's easier to draw our monsters and cover them in glitter than it is to, say, meditate on the death of your mother or confront your bullies at school. Art is a therapeutic tool, and this film is one determined to help you work through some things.

Jack, one day, discovers a pond that can fix broken things and becomes obsessed with putting his mother's ashes into the water, hoping she will return to life and fix their broken family. One thing leads to another, Amber appears, and her notebook ends up quite soaked in the water. Soon enough, the brightly colored and bloodthirsty monsters of her soul pour out of the forest, stalking around town and causing mayhem. Eventually, the family -- including Taylor's sister Liz (D'Arcy Carden, in a thankless role she absolutely slays), who can more clearly see the psychological dynamics at play and verbalizes the theme of lamentation and grieving -- must band together to fight the monsters and restore normalcy.

The deeply sentimental and heartrending story had me in tears more than once, and it's a beautiful accomplishment in both design and execution here. Yet I'd be lying if I said that's the best part of this film; indeed, this is a rare case of me appreciating the "action" and effects even more than the story or writing. Amber's creatures, when brought to life, are so brilliantly conceived and rendered that I repeatedly had to pinch myself from shouting out "Yes!" in the screening when a new one appeared. There's a giant round blue one with googly eyes that rains glitter, reddish-orange multi-legged "eyeders" made out of powdery chalk, and a dark, hooded silent creature with Amber's creativity and a bitter axe to grind. 

As silly as these creations could have been, the film designers make them feel tactile and consequential. Not unlike the cartoonish creatures in Detective Pikachu, these are clearly designed appropriately to the initial drawings by Amber, yet palpably rendered to feel believable and dangerous. We are right there with the kids in our awe and shock when the monsters strike, and it's just as funny as it is alarming. Much like kids playing pretend and getting too "into it," this film literalizes the experience of seeing your imagination manifesting before you. Notably, the film feels shot, more often than not, as if it were a horror film, underscored with music filled with dread and slowly roving cinematography that, had this been rated R, would have had me gripping my armrests in fear. The authenticity and bravery on display hold true for the screenplay and the acting, which coalesce into a rollicking adventure through an emotional gauntlet course with plenty of absurdist insight, slapstick comedy, and even innocent potty humor, so that nobody in the audience feels left out of the fun.

G20 (2025)

Score: 2 / 5

Released on Amazon's Prime Video the same week as The Amateur, G20 is a less gritty and more fun political action-thriller. In the vein of big-budget terrorism movies centered around a sitting US president -- think White House Down, Air Force One, and Olympus has Fallen -- this outing features one of the most compelling and exciting leading stars yet in the form of a formidable Viola Davis. Her character, former Iraq war veteran who was immortalized on a TIME magazine cover, is now President Danielle Sutton, and she's eager to make a splash at the G20 summit in Cape Town. She's also eager to be a good mother to her two teen kids, though her daughter is causing no small amount of havoc, domestically. When mercenaries led by a special forces officer hijack the summit and take the world leaders hostage, Sutton escapes but returns to save her colleagues and her family.

There's not a moment of this film that doesn't feel familiar or predictable, which is disappointing in a film with four writing credits. It's also really disappointing that the film looks so cheap: its clear use of greenscreen in many scenes and endless transition shots makes it look like a network television show's CGI from twenty years ago. But director Patricia Riggen handles the film's propulsive action with diverting thrills and no small amount of tension, even with a frustrating number of bait-and-switches that start at the end of the opening sequence itself. Perhaps that's a problem of the writers, the editors, or the director, but regardless, this is one of those films to not think too critically about. Just go along for the ride. Davis will get you where you need to go. 

The rest of the cast is unremarkable. Anthony Anderson does what he can with a mostly inept First Gentleman, Antony Starr's villain is boorishly blasé, and Douglas Hodge is utterly wasted as the UK Prime Minister. Elizabeth Marvel has a few nice moments, but she's shoehorned in by a screenplay that needs a final twist, and Ramon Rodriguez is memorable as a sweet and plucky sidekick to the prez. But this is Davis's movie through and through, and she delivers with a knowing sense of grit and determination. Her scenes are highly satisfying not necessarily because of her particular physical prowess (this isn't John Wick, after all) but because of her emotional dedication to whoop ass; Davis is never less than authentic, and we feel every punch and kick along with her (remember The Woman King?). It's also highly satisfying to see her pushing back against her white colleagues who explicitly question her leadership as a Black woman, and that her best help comes from other people of color. 

What's the film really about, though? Other than a hammy thematic concern about family and keeping one's house in order, not much. The entire terrorist plot is about money, unfortunately. Cryptocurrency, in fact, and deepfakes, AI, and trade wars all take significant time to discuss. And discuss these characters do, though after multiple detailed conversations and rather obtuse dialogue, I'm still unable to paraphrase much of what the actual plan was, or how various characters schemed to bypass the villainous demands. Perhaps because I simply don't know anything about digital currency, but also perhaps because it doesn't really matter for the story, either.

Arguably too little too late, G20 ends up little more than a ramshackle vehicle for a fun but uncomfortably wobbly ride. It fits with this year's Captain America: Brave New World in that it attempts to address real-world chaos and inflamed racial politics by merely using them rather than offering insight or illumination. It feels "nice," yet I'm not convinced a story like this should ever feel "nice." Eager to impress on us how simple and ultimately helpful it is to find common ground and play nice with diverse people, the film saves itself from total obscurity by enshrining a Black woman as a badass president in the style of Harrison Ford. I just wish our world reflected even an ounce of that in practice right now.

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.

How to Train Your Dragon (2025)

Score: 1.5 / 5

This film is just not for me. I saw the 2010 animated film back in undergrad and didn't care for it much back then; it just seemed a bit too simplistic and oriented for much younger audiences than myself. It also pulled far too much from similar -- better -- fantasy ideas and imagery for me to take seriously. Apparently based on a 2003 children's novel (itself part of a series), the franchise blossomed with Gen Z and has evidently reached such success that we already are being treated to live action remakes.

That's plural, because the studio is already working on a sequel, which will reportedly be a similar remake of the 2014 animated sequel. Surely they intend to complete the trilogy. When will enough be enough? How soon is too soon? This blatant and artistically bankrupt money-devouring scheme should make everyone as angry at DreamWorks as they tend to be at Disney, if not more.

Worse -- and I admit I may not be the best judge of this -- this mostly live-action remake felt so like the original that I didn't even notice any significant change or departure. Written and directed by Dean DeBlois, who wrote and directed the originals, the material feels rinsed and recycled rather than scrubbed and redefined. It's just a cyclical exercise in content creation. It's barely filmmaking, and it certainly can't be called art. 

I'll concede that, as someone who generally prefers live action to animation, I'd rather watch this film than the original. There's some nice set design and dressing, nice costumes, and some passably entertaining performances in this that I didn't appreciate in the animated original. There are also some indulgences in scenes like a flight sequence and some unnecessary backstory exposition that tend to slow the film's pace, making it feel just a bit more geared toward a slightly older audience, which I similarly appreciate (though I'm not sure any of it was necessary, and I'd have preferred a shortened viewing experience). And yet, despite this seeming-impetus for more developed storytelling, much of the action in the film requires extensive (and, surely, expensive) use of CGI to populate the screen with dragons and flight, yet these scenes provide CGI that would fit better visually in an animated movie rather than a live action one. Where is the logic here?! People criticized The Lion King (2019) for attempting live action yet feeling grossly animated (an accusation I find unfounded, as photorealism is a valid filmmaking goal in and of itself), yet this animation is more cartoonish and opaque than that. This is the kind of animation that we saw in Detective Pikachu, and nobody would say that hewed toward "realism."

And if you think I'm being too critical of the business side of this, take a look at what they're doing in Epic Universe in Orlando and how it aligned with the release of this film. The film is no artistic achievement in live-action remakes, in storytelling, in culture. It's a costly advertisement for a theme park, leeching money off fans who would rather cosplay and watch cosplay than engage in critically aware entertainment, art, and imagination. Disney has done this, too, but never have I seen such a blatant disregard for an IP's own fanbase in favor of grotesque desperation for money.

Final Destination Bloodlines (2025)

Score: 4 / 5

It's been a very long time since I last watched a Final Destination movie, and I'm not sure I've seen all of them. But Bloodlines has me thinkin' it's time to revisit this series.

A quick brush-up on IMDb tells me the previous entry in the franchise, the fifth, was released all the way back in 2011. In our era of reboots and legacy sequels, we should always be prepared for a familiar title like this, but few manage to handle it as compellingly or with as much artistic integrity as Bloodlines, and that's what I want to chitty chat about today. Because anyone familiar with any of these films -- or even the ideas they present, which have pervaded our culture -- knows that they hinge on an understanding of Death as a sort of disembodied god who, like a trickster, utilizes Rube Goldbergian setups to slaughter people who try to thwart or flee their demise. As such, these films provide excessively, gloriously slapstick violence that always please gorehounds and more physically-minded horror fans. 

Yet the series also provides horror and terror of unusual depth for anyone interested in more existential and philosophic concerns. These may not always be manifest in the sometimes rote screenplays and obnoxious dialogue, but the ideas are inescapable, much like Death himself, and these movies are great fodder for post-screening conversations about fate, agency, nihilism, free will, and the purpose of both life and the ending thereof. More importantly, these films have an uncanny knack for preying on and exacerbating our anxieties about fairly common occurrences: trucks with lumber, tanning beds, and LASIK surgery stick out as prime examples (and if you know, you know).

As a standalone story, Bloodlines handles itself with aplomb, framing its concept with the effect of death (read: trauma, family curses, etc.) as it stretches through generations. Opening with the much-publicized sequence in which a 1960s young couple goes to a newly opened restaurant tower that rather resembles the Space Needle in Seattle, the screenplay keeps going back to this massive disaster as a touchpoint. We eventually learn that the disaster was averted due to a well-timed premonition, and that, ever since, Death has claimed all survivors of that day. They were never supposed to continue living, you see, and so their offspring and families and careers have been, from Death's perspective, ill-gotten. We learn about all this through our present-day protagonist, the granddaughter of the premonitory woman who is now a paranoid recluse, and Tony Todd as William Bludworth.

The latter is a poignant and charming addition to this revitalization of the franchise, as Bludworth has appeared in some previous entries, and Todd's considerable gravitas and humor as a performer has made the role iconic. Todd's inclusion here -- significant due to his passing last November -- and the film's dedication to him wrung moisture from my eyes, and his single scene ends with an affirming farewell (that he reportedly improvised) that will haunt you. More pointedly, his role underscores the legacy element of this legacyquel, as he was also a survivor that day in 1969, a revelation that provides more nuance and purpose to his role in the series.

The main plot, in the present day, offers no less thematic concern, as it centers around an extended family who are apparently the last intended to be claimed by Death. As the grandmother eventually shares, all others who were supposed to have died in the tower disaster have, by now, died in extreme and weird circumstances. Her descendants band together, despite their longtime estrangement, to pore over her notes and concoct a plan to escape their respective dooms. It's a riveting, fun ride, and all the more so when it's littered with bizarre, funny, grisly, shocking deaths. 

Directors Zach Lipovsky and Adam B. Stein (who directed Freaks in 2018 but nothing else I've seen) pull no punches in their highly stylized approach to this material, and it's clear they have both a deep understanding of this franchise and what fans want from it as well as a rich sense of humor and joy in bringing the sometimes unwieldy material to life. And that's no diss on the writers, including Lori Evans Taylor, Guy Busick (who often works with Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillett), and Jon Watts (Clown, Wolfs, Star Wars: Skeleton Crew, and the MCU's Spider-Man trilogy). This writing committee here crafted an admittedly detailed and weighty story that, in the wrong hands, could have lost a lot by way of tone, style, and metaphysics. There's a joie de vivre on display here that frankly we don't see a ton of in contemporary horror; stylistically, it feels not unlike some of Sam Raimi's work, a la Evil Dead. And the soundtrack is... well, it's a delight, and I won't spoil it.

You can always tell when a death is coming because the astonishing editing (Sabrina Pitre) and cinematography (Christian Sebaldt) draw relentless attention to potentially dangerous items or events in the immediate vicinity of the characters in a given scene. A tree trimmer leaning against a trunk, a man blowing leaves nearby, kids kicking a soccer ball, and a trash truck rumbling up the street: you've got yourself a new disaster in the making, and the film is begging you to fantasize about the order of operations for yourself. Which of these Chekhovian guns are going to "go off" first? Extreme closeups and amplified sound effects feed into our expectation of fulfillment: like the reverse of a murder mystery, we know someone will die, we just don't know how yet. Instead of too many suspects, as in a whodunnit, here we have too many potential killers, and they're almost all mundane objects and simple mechanical processes. Just remember that a penny is never lucky in a film like this, and a train isn't just a vehicle to get you from place to place.

I won't spoil anything else, but I don't pick pennies and trains obliquely. These feature in repeated motifs in this film, and I think those are pointed at cultural critique of common conveniences. Make a cloud of associations with pennies, for example, and you'll note "pennies from heaven" and luck along with pennies killing people when dropped from the Empire State Building or the pennies placed on the eyes of the dead before they are ferried to eternal rest. Am I digging too much into this film? I think not, and with all these ideas in mind -- and with, frankly, the metafictional yet also very literal affirmation from Tony Todd -- I don't think it's a stretch to say that this is the best film in the franchise, and a damn good film in its own right. I never expected to genuinely enjoy all of a Final Destination film, yet this one handles both comedy and existential horror with a mastery and sense of artistic vigor we rarely see. It's a consummate meditation on life's purpose and how we can go so terribly awry in the face of metaphysical dread.

The Gorge (2025)

Score: 3 / 5

You may find familiar, dear reader, my praise of films that know and demonstrate exactly what they are, regardless of budget, marketing, and online chatter. A B-movie that is, enthusiastically, the kind of simpler, cheaper, wackier thing you expect to see in an encore feature at a drive-in or underground film festival will earn extra points for me purely as a result of this self-awareness (not metafiction, mind you, but pure comfort in its clearly defined subgenre or intended audience) and resulting conviction. Think genre films. Think zany action. Think excuses for flair. These are films you don't have to take notes during -- heck, you probably don't even need subtitles, because the dialogue isn't that important -- and can sit back and fully enjoy. Or not, and you can snack and chitchat with your friends while it plays before you. 

This is what Scott Derrickson, notably religious creator of thoughtful and haunting horrors The Exorcism of Emily Rose and Sinister, has released to us this year. I'm a big fan of Derrickson's work and the way he has articulated his faith in relation to his preferred genre, and I've been glad for his continued rise in prominence and studio structures. Though nothing he's directed has felt as poignant or personally affecting as those two titles already mentioned -- the former remaining the single best meditation on the intersection of faith and horror I've ever seen and the latter being the single scariest viewing experience I've ever had in a cinema -- the director of Deliver Us from Evil, Doctor Strange, and The Black Phone seems to enjoy playing with big budgets and effects-laden visuals in recent years. The admittedly diminishing returns show no sign of running out with The Gorge.

Sadly, though, this film was not released in cinemas, and I simply cannot understand why. Unless you're at home with a sizable tv screen and at least decent surround sound, The Gorge cannot glean from you the awe it was clearly intended to harvest. 

In brief, the plot concerns two mercenary snipers stationed in isolation at two towers opposite a gorge, which they must maintain lest the dangerous creatures below emerge. That's it, and I tell you that because as such, this is a fabulously high-concept film. Compare it to '70s disaster films or major summer blockbusters: you can get a lot of mileage out of Kevin Bacon fighting carnivorous giant worms in the desert. And regardless of the quality of its special effects, there is something charming about simply watching the compelling conceit unfurl; it helps the film's legacy when major stars populate the screen and special effects are convincing and/or funny. 

And while Derrickson and his screenwriter Zach Dean clearly have fun plumbing the depths of their titular gorge and its secrets, one does grow a little suspicious of their own investment in the film. Because for all its wacky energy and bizarre plot turns -- and trust and believe, these are aplenty -- the film takes itself just -- just -- too seriously. Needless details are one thing, but when their sole purpose is to elicit sympathy from the viewer and intensify emotional attachment, we trespass into sentimentality. We don't need to know that Miles Teller has PTSD from the military or that Anya Taylor-Joy's terminally ill father is soon to commit suicide; these are masterful performers with enough charisma to lead larger projects than this, so let them just do it. Edit out the sentimental crap and turn this movie into what it should be: a mostly silent, curious and introspective, white-knuckled ride through hell and back.

That's not to say the romance aspect of this thriller/adventure/sci-fi/horror film is unwelcome. Despite its truncated length, the budding relationship between the two characters feels both blissful and earned, thanks to a montage sequence for the ages. By the time he hatches a plan to visit her, we're fully on board with this, though frankly she was so rude to him at first I was yelling at the screen for him to go back. The problem is rather that the film leans too heavily into this at times, and too heavily into the action and mystery and horror at others, with no clear tonal through line or even recognizable pattern. Worse, and this is perhaps a little mean, but Dean's dialogue needed some serious workshopping to sound believable and to save my poor eyes from rolling.

After you see the film, I dare to just think about the exact same story but shot entirely from Miles's perspective. Or Anya's. Think about us, stuck there silently with one character as they have to learn their job, settle into place, discover each other, try to communicate and build a relationship, and decide to make the dangerous and disobedient visit. That approach would ratchet up the tension and mystery even more by obscuring certainty about the beguiling other person, shed the artificial sentimentality of being force-fed their backstories, add opportunities for creative cinematography, editing, and sound mixing around one person's isolated existence, and provide space for unexpected and earned comedy as we would understand the awkwardness of being alone and needing to connect with another character even from afar, if only to learn what the heck the movie was about! We'd discover things along with the characters in a much more compelling and authentic way, without too many details from the screenplay being lost along the way.

And I think that's where we'll leave this review. Several things yet I wanted to mention -- including the amazing score from Reznor and Ross that electrifies this film's energy, Sigourney Weaver's delicious appearance from head to toe, effective and scary monster design (a mix of Annihilation and The Mist), Sope Dirisu's considerable skill in enlivening a miserable exposition-dumper minor part before being totally wasted by the film, the absolute nonsense that these lovers need binoculars to even see each other yet often smile and wave without so much as a squint, the insane color grading of the fog scenes (gray to yellow to blue to red, for no apparent reason) that had me in a panic attack because I hadn't taken anything so why was I tripping -- but describing too many details of a movie like this can really take the joy away from your raw viewing of it. So if any of this sounds remotely interesting to you, or you want to just have a fun time with a fine flick, check out The Gorge. It's a solid date night choice.

Thunderbolts (2025)

Score: 3.5 / 5

The MCU seems to be really struggling to continue moving forward, yet this year's Thunderbolts offers some promising signs about the franchise's direction. I won't recount the plot here because a) you've probably already seen it if you're interested, and b) as with most superhero films, the plot doesn't really matter. What does matter here is visual design, thematic conceit, manageable stakes, and a curiously weak introduction that almost fails before, impossibly, climbing up to a climax and denouement that feel significant and -- most importantly -- earned.

Taking as its cue a certain dim and bleak visual dynamic riddling recent MCU films, the film starts almost drained of warmth in its color palette. We are reunited with Yelena (Florence Pugh), emotionally numbed while grieving her sister (back in Endgame, if you can believe the timeline has gotten so wildly widespread yet gone almost nowhere linerar-ly since 2019) and contemplating suicide in a somewhat family-friendly way. Working as a sort of black-ops private agent for CIA Director Valentina Allegra de Fontaine (Julia Louis-Dreyfus), Yelena is sent on a couple clean-up missions for her boss, who is under Congressional investigation, only to discover that she herself may be on the slate for deletion. Yelena teams up with others in similar shoes, and their secret collective is formed as a rogue faction of third-rate outcasts masquerading as antiheroes.

The union of Yelena with US Agent (John Walker, played by Wyatt Russell), Ghost (Hannah John-Kamen), and Taskmaster (Olga Kurylenko) is well-written and shot here, fighting each other as they slowly realize that they are all pawns in Valentina's game. They are disposable in their world and in ours, as the sad, hard truth is that if you haven't been keeping up with the MCU series streaming exclusively on Disney+, you simply won't know or care about these characters. Heck, I've been keeping up, and I still need to scour the internet to remember who has done what and showed up where in alliance with whomever in what series titles. It's a nightmare. Thankfully, you don't necessarily need to know much about these characters beyond what Thunderbolts provides about them.

This allows the actors a lot of room to play and express themselves as discontented and dispassionate soldiers. Remember how the first Avengers were light-hearted white men slapping each other on the back while joking about cussing? This is a far cry from that, with each character dealing with crushing disappointment, shame, guilt, and self-doubt and allowing it to lash out at each other with snide, sneering humor and the uniquely aggravated impatience of boredom. They are, quite literally, heroes stuck in the shadow of their more famous counterparts, yet those counterparts have all but abandoned a world in need. Pugh is clearly the protagonist of the film despite its ensemble cast; she perhaps most clearly is struggling with the crushing void (read: depression) and goes through the best arc of the film, literally sacrificing herself while acting on full throttle. David Harbour's Red Guardian and Sebastian Stan's Winter Soldier join the team as well, rounding out the angsty mercs with macho gusto. 

The motif of shadows becomes literalized not just in the shadowy nature of Valentina's black ops mercenaries, as they start the film being, but also in its secondary antagonist, Bob. Lewis Pullman's awkward, anxious little man who had been subjected to human experimentation in Valentina's secret trials to create superhumans known as Sentries. He unexpectedly survived and was cared for by Yelena before being recaptured and brainwashed by Valentina, who effectively convinces him he's a god. Trying to kill him fails, and Bob becomes the Void, his destructive shadow-self who begins trapping all of New York City and its citizens in darkness and nightmarish dreams of their personal traumatic memories. This motif is showcased throughout the film, in pointed dialogue about depression, trauma, guilt, shame, and suicide, and in visual elements, including color desaturation, the opening Marvel logo, and the pretty cool special effects of the Void and his assault on civilians. Cinematographer Andrew Droz Palermo (You're Next, A Ghost Story, The Green Knight) really nails it here.

As with any superhero flick, there are unnecessary action flourishes and sequences that don't do much other than keep us locked into familiar narrative beats. Schreier doesn't always seem to know what to do with action scenes, so the fighting is often unclear and muddled, perhaps intentionally (as these are not the best or most polished Avengers ever) but also formally through editing cuts that don't always follow or flow. Thankfully, the action isn't really the focus of this film, so these issues are minimal. Thankfully, too, Schreier knows that the success of this film is in its characters and their emotional appeal, so he focuses mostly on Pugh, who plies her typically A-lister craft on a character that desperately needs to have real life breathed into her. She does with aplomb, making Yelena one of the most interesting, consequential, and worthwhile characters in the entire franchise.

As the end of MCU's Phase Five, Thunderbolts may not be the Avengers movie anybody wanted or asked for, but it might be what we need at this point. Instead of a climax relentlessly shoving debris-clouded CGI at us as entire planets collapse and aliens descend on war-torn cityscapes, this one features mostly plays of light and shadow, interspersed with equally visually dynamic dream sequences. With these smaller stakes -- visually, if not necessarily thematically -- we can connect better with the unique aspects of these characters and how they might change the general sensation of superhero movies in this series moving forward into Phase Six. One can only hope, anyway.

Ballerina (2025)

Score: 3 / 5

It's difficult to review a film you barely remember. I spent the summer mostly without internet access, taking notes on movies and leaving them until I returned home. The problem is that I didn't take many notes on Ballerina, the spin-off with the unfortunate subtitle "From the World of John Wick," and now specifics of the film are difficult to recall. Yet, as I lament my shortsighted notetaking, I also wonder if that in itself is indicative of my feelings about the film.

For most of the film's first third or so, my notes are essentially nothing more than "worldbuilding, character (re)introductions, and placement in the franchise." Eve Macarro is the titular dancer, daughter of two assassins affiliated with a new crime family called the Cult, led by its Chancellor (Gabriel Byrne). Her father had taken her from the Cult to deliver her to his own syndicate, the Ruska Roma, led by the Director (Angelica Huston), which resulted in the Cult murdering her parents. She agrees to become a ballerina and assassin, and trains for twelve years under her Director's punishing, matronly watch. We see John Wick (Keanu Reeves) during his meeting with the Director (an event from John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum), placing the subsequent events of this film between that and Chapter 4; as a personal note, I don't fully understand this, as chapters 3 and 4 otherwise feel quite nicely subsequent, but perhaps it doesn't matter overmuch. Wick advises Eve to abandon this life, but she persists and becomes "Kikimora" (much as he became "Baba Yaga") shortly thereafter upon successfully completing her first mission. She inquires about the Cult, but is forbidden from learning more or hunting them by her Director, due to a tenuous truce between them.

Ana de Armas performs well enough in the lead role, offering more physical prowess than I expected of her, despite some genuinely obnoxious dialogue that beats you over the head with thematic points, but the action simply isn't up to snuff with the rest of the series. Perhaps that's unfair; the action may be rigorous and precise, but it's presented to haphazardly that it's almost impossible to follow. Whereas the other films have featured crisp, calculated cinematography and long takes meant to dance around the action as if we're present with it, Ballerina is shot and edited like... well, like a rudimentary action film, with unnecessary and distracting cuts between each fighting beat, dim lighting and distant lenses that make sure we know where we are spatially but often obscure the action itself. Especially in the first third, the action is sorely disappointing. It does improve slightly by the midpoint, when Eve chooses to pursue vengeance on the Cult for her father; it's perhaps to be expected that in a franchise about revenge, this entry finally finds its footing when its character chooses to seek revenge.

Though it still never reaches the high points of Chad Stahelski's films, Ballerina does improve significantly in its latter half, when Eve meets the Chancellor's son (Norman Reedus, who is woefully underused here) at the Prague Continental, who helps point her to his estranged father and asks her to help him hide his daughter from the Cult. After this, the final third of the film is essentially one long action sequence, as Eve finds, infiltrates, and attempts to utterly destroy the Cult's compound in a snowy Austrian hamlet. This is, finally, when the film feels like an earnest attempt to join the franchise, as its bonkers, often silly action is never less than entertaining and engrossing, even though it's never presented with the finesse or polish of Stahelski's fever dreams. Unpretentious and fun, its serviceable thrills worked well enough for me that I stopped taking my brief notes to just enjoy the wacky nonsense. I did note, once, that her enemies are pretty shockingly stupid, often running into clear danger without seemingly being aware that they're asking to be shot or stabbed or blown up. 

So if the film is saying that Eve is a skilled assassin because her foes are blundering, oafish men, I'm not sure this adds much to either the world of John Wick or the representation of women in action films (Atomic Blonde will remain my platinum standard, thank you very much). After all, Reeves returns for the climax in a much larger capacity than I expected or even wanted, as if the filmmakers knew he had to be involved in order to legitimize the mess they were creating. But if it's simply adding color and shape to the dynamics of this stylish world of syndicate-officiated violence and providing images of lesser assassins with entire European villages hellbent on her demise as she attempts to burn it all to ash, then I guess Ballerina does eventually provide enough to recommend itself to any fans. 

Elio (2025)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Knowing nothing about a Disney film is my preferred way to experience them. Earlier this summer, I had the unmitigated pleasure of experiencing Elio, the latest feature from Pixar. It doesn't necessarily rewrite the studio's tried-and-true formulas, and its signature schmaltzy sentimentality feels about as familiar as anything else from the studio, well, ever. From its heartbreaking premise of an orphaned child and put-upon guardian to its yearning themes of loneliness and desperation to belong despite overwhelming loss, the film is thoroughly calculated to effectively pluck at any viewer's heartstrings. Even its visuals aren't all original; more than once I caught myself annoyingly comparing sights to Lilo & Stitch, for the most recent example. But a film that knows exactly its essence, its target audience, its purpose, and its style and capitalizes on those things is rarely less than satisfying.

Elio Solis (Yonas Kibreab) lives with his Aunt Olga (Zoe Saldana), an Air Force major who gave up her dreams of becoming an astronaut to care for her young nephew. Elio's at the age of acting out in largely unpredictable and often destructive ways in his quest for belonging, and Olga's generosity and guardianship is embittering, starting to grind her gears as she wishes he'd appreciate her efforts and work with her rather than against her. Bringing Elio to work with her one day is disastrous for Olga: he is so inspired by the possibility of contacting extraterrestrial life that he uses a conspiracy theorist's device to send a message to space, causing a power outage at the military base and nearly causing Olga's firing. At the end of her patience, Olga sends Elio to camp, where his school bullies will unfortunately also be in attendance.

I mentioned a certain other story earlier about an unconventional guardianship, a troublesome orphaned child, and a desire for companionship and belonging. And it's this aspect of the film that feels the most grounded. Elio is somewhat infuriating to watch; in our screening, several kids were telling him not to do certain things that, of course, he'd do with disastrous results. This isn't the wide-eyed Belle or Rapunzel, reading books and fantasizing about life's possibilities while living an otherwise responsible, humble life; this is a modern kid, likely with neurodivergence and hyperactivity, causing ruckus because he's troubled while being materially cared for. So when he is nearly assaulted by his bullies at camp and escapes via suddenly-appearing UFO, we breathe a sigh of relief along with him rather than feel fear or trepidation. He's saved by people who are surely -- finally -- looking for him.

Like characters in Galaxy Quest, Elio is so thrilled to have discovered something magical (read: been discovered by someone who actually wants him) that he's even more desperate to fit in. The aliens welcome him to their Communiverse, a crossroads in space where aliens from different planets share their knowledge and technology. They mistake Elio for the creator of the Voyager spacecrafts, through which he broadcast his message to them (remember that these were probes launched in 1977 carrying messages), and deem him to be Earth's ambassador and planetary leader. Wanting to prove to himself that he belongs, and avoiding disappointing these strange new friends, Elio quickly spurts out lie after lie, confirming their opinions of him and agreeing to negotiate with an angry warlord, Grigon (Brad Garrett), to avoid him attacking the Communiverse.

It's interesting that both Grigon and Elio share a desperation to belong, and the potential for destruction when they don't belong. Though Elio's negotiations fail, he meets Grigon's sweet and innocent son, Glordon (Remy Edgerly), who naively agrees to being Elio's hostage in order to avoid becoming like his father: there's a somewhat disturbing tradition in their species of coming-of-age via fusion with an Iron Maiden-esque body suit, and Glordon does not want that future. And, though it doesn't even start until after the halfway point (in a brisk 90-something-minute runtime), Elio's friendship with Glordon is perhaps the film's most endearing and memorable dynamic. Most other characters, interesting enough in design if not in drama, are treated by the screenplay as immaterial objects of curiosity, which I think is rather wise in a kid's film like this. Too often secondary characters run amok with our attention, but this story (written and directed by two teams of three, respectively) feels surprisingly, compellingly focused on the important players.

We're swept up with Elio in a wash of joyous, funny, and warm-hearted montages meant to endear us to the fantasy of belonging he's experiencing. And it's all very effective. I was genuinely choked up multiple times, and yes, I wept like a babe by the climax, heavy-handed though it is. Something about beautiful, imaginative imagery and simple but challenging emotions can really impact even the most hard-boiled of viewers if you give yourself over to raw storytelling. With an evocative score, lots of genre references to sci-fi and Spielberg, and a joie de vivre missing from much animated films these days, Elio reads like a love letter to the kid in all of us, wondering if there's life out among the stars and if it could be better than this one, and ends with a poignant reminder to care for the people and places we call home in the here and now.