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Every facet of Poor Things is odd, quirky, and unsettling--and intentionally so. This area is a well-known powerhouse for director Yorgos Lanthimos, and perhaps what is most impressive about it is how smartly crafted everything comes together, from the way various shots are framed all the way down to the witty dialogue and expressions moment to moment. Even the music theme is in a frequent pitch-bend, with each twing grating our ears with discomfort like the insidious Midsommar score by Bobby Krlic. This one goes even deeper down the rabbit hole than The Favourite, with hysterical running gags, fisheye lens, mad science, outrageous characters, and stunning set and costume design as if from a lavish Michel Gondry period piece.

The story has strong vibes of Voltaire's Candide, as the protagonist, a beautiful, young, naive woman, takes an optimistic dive headfirst into a nightmarish world of men and propriety. Emma Stone is tasked to portray a wide range of mental acuity for her character, given a science fiction aspect of the film's premise (one that becomes less and less shocking the more we explore the world around it). It features peak Willem Dafoe, in a memorable role that just seems written entirely for him, and Mark Ruffalo, who expertly plays one of the more overtly satirical figures in the film. The degree to which these three (and others) commit to and embrace the absurdity of their roles in this world is a big part of why everything works as well as it does.

Runtime is 2 hours 21 minutes, yet there is not a dull moment in the film not worth rewatching. You get invested in this wild tale and will not want it to end. It delivers raw, bold, scathing critiques on class, shame, sex, abuse, and dependence--all in impeccably awkward and satirically brilliant form. Like many of his films before it, Poor Things is a robust package of truths about ourselves that are as embarrassing to witness as they are impossible to deny. Yorgos delivers yet another remarkable film of the highest quality. If you've enjoyed his other films, I would not miss this one.

This movie was boring af. The first song is pretty and I appreciated the chalky animation that appears inspired by the Puss in Boots sequel. Beyond that I was bored to tears.

The plot is beat-by-beat, the villain is pure formula & paper-thin, and they don't invest in any running gags or in enriching any side characters. It's as if they had to reach a deadline so put in the minimal effort necessary to get it finished, which left us with a hollow movie devoid of any magic, held together only by its mind-numbingly predictable narrative.

I feel bad for those who worked hard on this film because this could have been a good movie if the studio just took the time to fill it with personality and character. Instead, Wish is a pretty lifeless addition to the Disney canon.

Note: Apparently there has been a hate-train trashing this film trending all over TikTok. It is why my niece already had a well-formulated opinion on the film at Thanksgiving dinner without having even seen it. Sadly, the thoughts she echoed were pretty spot-on, so she just saved me the trouble of warning her against it.

Magnifico. A thoroughly imaginative feature with passion in every scene, every frame. This film is what stepping into fantasy feels like. The kind of inspiring creativity we only see fully realized from filmmakers like del Toro, Miyazaki, and Selick.

Yet what elevates this reimagining is not the aesthetic alone, but in how its thematic focus is firmly centered on Gepetto's loss, loneliness, and the meaning of life, death, & life after death. It hovers over some profound and difficult ideas, such as coming to grips with the fact that no one of us will be here forever. It gets pretty dark, and the ending rivals Toy Story 3 in the way it pulls on the strings of emotional devastation.

The film takes place in Mussolini's WWII Italy, presenting a simplified war is good/bad morality tale, while simultaneously digging into deeper themes that contrast the effects a father's expectations can have on a young boy. There is one segment that doesn't quite fit seamlessly into the flow of what is otherwise an intimate story about Geppetto and his son. However, the strong thematic arc still connects everything well. For instance, Gepetto's real son's name in the film is Carlo, which is the same name as the original author of Pinocchio-a beautiful gesture from del Toro that, after countless iterations of the story, he intends to finally bring the "real" Pinocchio back to life for audiences around the world.

The score by Alexandre Desplat has some memorable tunes composed fittingly in the Minor key, with heartfelt lyrics all co-written by Guillermo del Toro himself. He dedicates the film to his parents, and has said that his mother was his main inspiration to make the film. Sadly, she passed away just a month before the film's premiere. It is just apparent with each stop-motion frame that this is an earnest and intimate work from the wooden pine center of del Toro's heart.

Personally, this is the best animated film I've seen in years. I hope it wins Best Animated Film and gets a Best Picture nom. It drops on Netflix this weekend so clear a few hours from your schedule to watch.

Les Cinq Diables, from director Léa Mysius, begins with intrigue but never fully delivers on its concept. Adèle Exarchopoulos is magnetic in every scene, and Sally Dramé rivals Hushpuppy (Quvenzhané Wallis) as the cutest kid ever. If this movie shines for any one reason, it is that we get to spend 96 minutes with these two.

The story and storytelling, however, are the weakest links. For a good chunk of the film, the story sort of meanders without any real sort of tension, presumably to tease out the mystery. Some plot points end up going nowhere, the climax that gets supernaturally pieced together doesn't pack the punch it seems it is going for, and I think a lot more could have been done to bring the themes home and make it far more powerful. In a way it reminds me of a Jacques Audiard film in the way it unloads a lot of rich theme but does not tie it down neatly for the viewer--which may be frustrating for some audiences and thought-provoking for others.

Les Cinq Diables is an ambitious film that lays decent groundwork but never seems to find its footing. It may leave enough for some interesting discussion on the interface between sexuality and relationships through the eyes of the innocent, but its clever approach more often gets entangled in subpar storytelling and a loosely-threaded plot.

Watch it for the cute kid and for the goddess Adele. Skip if you desire a more cohesive narrative.

Such a fuzzy feel-good heartwarming film, like putting on Mr. Rogers' big red sweater. The screenplay is incredibly well written in its approach and Tom Hanks is absolutely perfect as his sixth cousin.

Unfortunately by the second half of the film, the sweater unravels into formulaic melodrama so structured that you realize you already knew the beats of the film from the very first scene. It avoids going full Ron Howard and keeps a small-world feel, but it never really achieves legitimate poignancy outside of the one-on-one scenes with Hanks.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood humanizes a saintly hero into an ordinary humble man to help us realize just how capable we all are of the simple kindness Mister Rogers exemplifies. A family film worth watching for the golden moments, the nifty score, and a tender performance from Tom Hanks. Go see it with a friend in need of inspiration and a cup of peppermint hot chocolate.

The Irishman is a film with its own breathing, beating conscience. Throughout the film, we are introduced to characters with the details of the gruesome fates that await each of them plastered on the screen. There is no mistaking many of these are dead men walking. Men with their fates sealed into the actions we are concurrently reliving through the retrospective lens of an older, wiser person.

The movie is long. Please, please see it in theaters, as it may be the last new Scorsese film you can do so, but start it with an empty bladder. It's no Wolf of Wall Street in pacing, but it's paced exactly where it needs to be, and never gets slow or disengaging. It's apparent that a lot of thought goes into instilling these moments with extra meaning or tension, from smelling something fishy to giving alcohol metaphors as someone who strictly doesn't drink.

Acting is superb from the entire cast. Pacino is very Pacino, Pesci carries an intimidatingly loud silence, De Niro is great in every scene, and Anna Paquin gives a phenomenal ghostly presence. She may very well have given the Oscar-nominated performance with the fewest lines in history (we'll see, Judi Dench...).

The de-aging effects have a Polar Express-y softness most noticeable in the early scenes. Makeup is only occasionally distracting (e.g. De Niro's bright blue contacts). And there's an early curb scene that should have been re-shot to be less old man.

The Irishman ("I Heard You Paint Houses") is complete and wholesome cinema. It gives the Netflix generation a hangout sesh with some of cinema's most beloved actors dishing out their same gangster core, but with the mental burden and guilt-ridden glances that haunt an aging hitman. The opening song contains everything Frank "The Irishman" Sheeran is about to unfold for us over the next 3½ hours. Over that time the narrative weighs down the tune with a growing heaviness, all the way up until the poignant final shot.

This is Scorsese matured and in true form, doing what he does best as a veteran filmmaker and master storyteller, only with the introspection, wisdom, and humanity that confront and reflect on his life's work.

The Cave is not a didactic or information-driven documentary. It's an actively observational grounding of the audience into a truth you have to see to believe-a spiritual appeal to the senses. For every bomb we see almost hit us, we are spared a screen full of text. For every infant hand we see reaching up for the doctor's stethoscope amidst the chaos following a blast, we are spared a formal, scripted interview sit-down or sound bite. When we see a gassed group of children brought to The Cave to die and wrapped in tablecloths because there are no replacements available for their chemically-stained clothes, we are diverted away from more standard informative fare that attempts to describe the indescribable.

This is not about the state of the Syrian war. This IS the Syrian war, enclosed from both ends, with the relentless reverberations of warplanes flying above ground and the normalization of a day-to-day constant of fear.

Most impactful was the perspective of the pediatrician (the subject of the film). Through clinical training, physicians grow a callus for their patients. Intentionally so, to remain calm, collected, rational. But also unintentionally, to subconsciously remove themselves from the trauma children experience in front of them on a daily basis. Seeing Dr. Amani crack, it destroyed me. Locking herself in the room and weeping, waiting for the next wave, not knowing what's going to come next. "Come home," her father insists on voicemail. But the clinic depends on her. It would be nothing without her. We're reminded that heroes are human and vulnerable.

I felt physically beaten down leaving the theater. I had to play my "It's going to be ok" playlist. I am not sure if it will, but if Amani can help these children find some momentary faith, I think we can all do better.

"For some reason, she was always enough for me."

Hvíter Hvíter Dager, Iceland's Oscar entry for Best Foreign Film this year, is a quiet, mature look at grief and memory. It is about a man who carries within him a love so pure, he struggles to understand anything else. It is about refusing to let go of the version of someone you want to hold onto forever.

The narrative slowly unravels like a novel as themes are explored through nuance and metaphor. The delicate dealing with love lost recalls Lee Chang-dong's Secret Sunshine and Céline Sciamma's Portrait de La Jeune Fille en Feu, regarding the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. The cinematography, shot in a noticeably textured 35mm, is peculiar in the way it involves the setting and keeps us a certain physical distance from the characters. I think Michael Haneke would be proud of this film.

The central character Ingimunder's relationship with his granddaughter Salka serves the film in predictable but endearing ways. Strong child acting is often taken for granted, but Ída Mekkín Hlynsdóttir's performance is far from typical. It is also a testament to both fine direction (Hlynur Palmason) and strong casting because the two leads are almost irreplaceable and truly contribute to make the film something special.

A White, White Day is enriched by its simplicity and singularity as it takes on heavy themes. The characters are real, the story is thoughtfully restrained, and the ending is remarkable. One of the more memorable films of the year.

"Better to suffer injustice than to do it..."

I don't have many words tonight. A lot of thoughts and emotions. I didn't expect a perfect score from me this year, but I am just floored and overwhelmed by the visual poetry and spiritual magnitude of it all. It feels transcendent. With a beauty that permeates all the way to one's own relationship with God.

Based on true events, A Hidden Life is Malick's most direct exploration of faith since To the Wonder, and perhaps his most fully realized work yet. It is an allegorical story about a man of extraordinary faith. A real-life parable of perseverance and free will. A spiritual journey centered in not just our humanity, but on what it means to truly walk the steps of Christ. And on what it means to choose what we believe is right and just, when we are given every reason not to.

Malick doesn't glorify the central character's ideals or deeds. Rather we focus on the humble threads of love and the storm they weather--and the romantic chemistry is perfect. August Diehl & Valerie Pachner are both exceptional and so incredibly in love. Seconds into the film and you already know it. Pachner gives a particularly moving performance deserving of an Oscar nomination (she is in SF this week doing Q&A's!). Every touch, glance, or embrace between these two is personal, powerful, believable. You can see the stress leave their shoulders each time they first see each other. Sincerity fills the screen as their thoughts, worries, desires, and personal bond resurface in the context of God.

The cinematography is superb, with DP notably credited to Jörg Widmer and not Emmanuel Lubezki. There is a rare seamless quality achieved blending in old footage as well as in choosing to entirely forgo subtitles in a film spoken in equal parts English and German. The music is the best I've heard all year. A beautiful traditional theme by James Newton Howard (Blood Diamond, TDK) with Handel, Dvorak, and other great classical works mixed in.

A Hidden Life is a film that may stay with you for some time. This is quintessential Malick, joining the ranks of The Thin Red Line and The Tree of Life. Go in with an open mind and heart, ready for a spiritual experience.

An extremely self-aware A-to-Z psychological thriller about taking back your life through rituals of control, complete with patriarchal caricatures and metaphors of intrusion left and right (think Aronofsky's "mother!"--but a dark comedy).

Approaches the level of Snakes on a Plane or Teeth on self-aware high-concept absurdity, yet manages to be taken seriously thanks to a great performance by lead actress Haley Bennett, lush cinematography, and a constant stream of creative ways to push the autonomy message over the top (the first frames of the film are close-ups of farm-to-plate preparation of lamb meat).

Swallow is destined to be a cult-classic. It's the quintessentially bold, fun, and unique indie film festival offering (Anna and the Apocalypse was that film for me last year).

Highly recommended, but not for the squeamish.

Begins as a charming and heartwarming love letter from a son to his Italian supermodel mother who made a social impact on the industry, but quickly veers into being a movie about himself and his own lifelong obsession with her. Much of the film feels more like a behind the scenes featurette for the finished product than a completed film.

If the lost privacy of a supermodel who cannot escape the perpetual spotlight of the male gaze is a central theme to the film, then constantly invading her space against her repeated demands to turn off the camera or stop filming only achieves to establish an intrusive and uncomfortable vibe for the viewer and artificially create the precise basis of her angst. Perhaps less honest filmmakers would have cut that footage out, but given the nature of the film's subject, it really just makes everything worse.

Despite her vocal insistence on remaining private, her son films her changing, taking a s***, and sleeping. I think there exist more delicate and respectful ways to pay respect to an elderly woman's poignant desire to disappear from a world in which her existence was defined within still images tailored to man's concept of beauty. Only at the end of the film does the filmmaker unveil his mother's responses to the existential questions he poses at the beginning (when this still had much promise).

Whatever this movie was supposed to be about was entirely lost in the creepy and violating manner in which it was made. The way it exists now, a good hour could be removed and it would still improve the film. I'd skip it.

*minor vague spoilers on structure & theme*

Waves is an ambitious, impassioned, and honest depiction of the trials and tribulations that reverberate through our lives. It is slice of life cinema that brings us so urgently into human moments at an intimacy I haven't seen since Honeyland or Roma. It's about the weight of our personal battles, but also about rediscovering family, love, and some sense of normalcy in a world that can grow tumultuous and overbearing.

Waves, however, is primarily a sensory experience. The meticulous, immersive film & sound editing is notably well done, with visuals & colors that reflect character & mood, thoughtfully crafted transitions, and a jarring shift in tone and theme (writer/director Trey Edward Schultz apparently does all the editing himself!). There is essentially an anxiety-filled Krisha-like chapter accompanied by a fantastic score from Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross of Nine Inch Nails, followed by a lighter, more weightless Terrence Malick chapter. The camera communicates theme and emotion through all of this extraordinarily well.

Wonderful casting & chemistry. It's sincerely difficult to pick a favorite character when each one is written and acted so well. A few minor issues with the first half, including the medical probability of a particular event and the dynamic style being a bit heavy-handed initially. The second half emotionally wrecked the audience, as tears and sobs filled the Opera House throughout this portion. At times I thought of Lee Chang-dong's masterful meditation on grief, Secret Sunshine in the way the film spends time in silence, self-discovery, and learning to love again.

The opening shot of the film begins with the sound of heavy breathing in and out. Amidst all the chaos in life, it never again feels we can reduce life back down to these peaceful respiratory oscillations that keep us alive and moving forward.

DFF42 Red Carpet Presentation

"Among all the people you know, how many really understand what's going on inside you?"

House of Hummingbird is a bleak but beautifully told story of a girl drowning in childhood neglect who learns how to live by and for herself as she is confronted with the true transience and fragility of the bridges that connect us with others. Set in 1994 Seoul, the film is a semi-autobiographical coming-of-age of both the director and her country.

The few melodramatic steps taken by the script are counterbalanced by how it avoids being overly cinematic; you forget you are watching a film. It's this distinction that spares it from a comparison to Eighth Grade. Where Bo Burnham crafted an expressive, modern, and quintessentially teenage coming-of-age, Bora Kim gives us a muted and nuanced story of an ageless soul coming to terms with a lonely existence. The nature of Eunhee's relationships with her Chinese teacher and one of her classmates bears a closer resemblance to Lost in Translation. While the themes of how we define family and fending for ourselves are both reminiscent of the 2018 Cannes darling Shoplifters.

At karaoke, Eunhee sings into the mic:

🎶 "Love is like glass. It shines so beautifully but breaks so easily. And how difficult it is now as I deal with the pieces..." 🎶

The sad notes of the film are hard-hitting, but like her teacher says when Eunhee asks about the residents protesting relocation, "Don't pity them. We don't really know their lives." And so are we reminded as such regarding the central character.

The film is framed from her perspective, letting us into this world only so far as Eunhee understands it. Free of stereotypes and cliches, the film takes us so far into the mental seclusion of adolescence, right to the home of internal angst--to the point where we are offended on behalf of Eunhee when someone says to her, "You only think about yourself..." It's only then we surface from the depths of her perspective.

House of Hummingbird is a true gem of a film. With the exception of an amateurish plot point written into the end, the film is perfect. Biggest surprise of the festival so far. .

• I've dreamt of that for years.
• Dying?
• Running.

_____________________________

And so begins our introduction to the titular character and her nascent growth into being--a growth beyond the canvas, beyond the parameters of physical isolation, beyond the inescapable predicament of social and family burden. It is a taste of freedom. The beginnings of a liberating journey to find an existential peace from the inner turmoil that, as we learn early on in the film, likely took her own sister's life.

Céline Sciamma's Portrait de La Jeune Fille en Feu is a remarkable film. It is Call Me By Your Name in its judgement-free paradise, palpable sexual tension, and look-into-the-flame Élio catharsis. It is The Favourite in its female-centric, lesbian-tensioned period drama with Vivaldi as a centerpiece (but with a mood far more romanced than Yorgos' unique lavish satirical darkness). It is Persona in its framing of duality and Abbas Kiarostami in its lunar pacing. It is unapologetically feminist: a love story between two souls who happen to be women on an island free of men, including but not limited to an abortion, the subsequent painting of said abortion, and the gentle caressing of armpit hair at center screen.

While not entirely its own, the film is nonetheless brilliant in almost every regard. Cinematography, including framing, color palette, and the dream-like landscape, is stunning. There is a visual language of unspoken glances and facial beauty through close-ups and lighting that parallels the script and brings out the mystique of the enigmatic Héloïse. The story is unveiled so poetically, as if watching the long-restrained passion of the female artist slowly burst from the seams of her oppressive corset of objectification.

'"The "muse" is this fetishized silent woman who is inspiring just because she is beautiful. One of the manifestos of the film is to get rid of this idea of the muse-which is a nice word that actually hides the participation of women in artistry."

• Céline Sciamma, Writer/Director

The nine muses of the Greek Mythology were deities that gave artists, philosophers and individuals the necessary inspiration for creation. One of the nine muses, Calliope, had a son named Orpheus... Sciamma's thought-provoking commentary on women and art is gently told but powerfully received, and it does not go unnoticed.

This film, like a majestic portrait, will remain echoing in your mind like the haunting hymnal Latin chant, "Fugere non possum": I cannot run away.

A nutty blend of Persona and Hour of the Wolf, with seamless performances, outstanding camera work, and thought-provoking allegory to Greek mythology and biblical parables. Slow boil Vigo & Buñuelian visuals, shot like a silent film, but with impeccable soundstage. Atmosphere that ranges from an isolated paranoid terror to a cartoonishly drunken stupor, as we spend the full runtime suspended in the split second feeling of losing our grip on the side rail.

Robert Eggers has handcrafted a raging tempest. It'll leave you stirred, with just a little bit less of your own sanity.

"One half for me, one half for you."

3 years. 400+ hours of footage. My 2nd viewing. Yet I am still at a loss for words at how a film like this is even possible.

It somehow manages to present a grounded narrative, a parable of rural life, and a kind environmental message, all quietly captured through observational lens and intimate scope. You will witness everything from a cow giving birth to the near-drowning of a child (which, while brief, is very difficult to watch). The editing and fly-on-the-wall filmmaking style is superb.

Do not miss.

"The piano doesn't sustain sound. Left alone, the sound attenuates and disappears. Perpetual sound is... essentially the opposite of piano, because the notes never fade. I suppose in literary terms, it would be like a metaphor for eternity."

In confronting his (and our) mortality, Ryuichi Sakamoto meditates on the perpetuity of music that overlays the finality to his existence.

"Music... requires peace."

Sakamoto finds a special purity in the trees as he wanders the forest, in the ice caves as he peers under glaciers, in a Tsunami-surviving piano left "retuned by nature", absorbing the world as his soundstage.

Such is an artist's mind.

A sweet and simple episodic tale of a boy who discovers musical inspiration through nature. Pretty soon, we, too, begin to hear the cuckoo bird's underrated song and begin to see the animal-shaped clouds & trees in the background as the film progresses. Regardless of who its audience is, Gauche the Cellist offers some valuable lessons in perspective. Pre-Ghibli Takahata forming his prime.

There isn't a dull second in this film. It is full of memorable & cinematic "moments" and packed with insane carnage, all with tourniquet-tight editing (Extended Cut only hits the end credits at just over 90 minutes). Even the slow start is almost serene, using the Apocalypse Now ever-flowing, insidiously slow but constant stream to lure us into a deeper part of our own selves. To deliver us, along with a group of believers, into a true hell on earth.

"Nothing does change. It's what is."

As my first viewing now since having seen the first three, I can appreciate the way this film mythologizes the character. This is done in part through School Boy's reverence, which adds a great counterbalance to the chemistry of the cast. We also revisit the human core of the first installment, from the dialogue scene in the rain to the close up of his knife sinking with the boat-symbolizing the indefinite struggle of a PTSD veteran who has to live with the heavy soul of his past. And the St. Francis prayer recited in the backdrop of the weapon-welding montage: a prayer of opposites, of contradictions, of embracing humility and forgiveness in the face of evil. A prayer of philosophical inquisition-an appeal directly to God to help one understand and navigate the world around us with greater wisdom and clarity. It is a fitting theme for John Rambo.

"Where there is darkness, light."

Granted, the film is not a cerebral one, but it has some fitting choices for mood and set up. The peaceful stream to doom is abruptly juxtaposed by a sheer brutality that is so extreme, it can really only be matched by the unrestrained amount of violence onscreen throughout the last act. Could Stallone have capitalized on this earlier mood and went with more stealth à la First Blood? Sure, but given how perfect the pacing is and the pointed catharsis of the film's setup & violent delivery, I find it quite forgivable how shamelessly the film forgoes drama and suspense, all without betraying character. In this way, Rambo truly is a staple barebones action film. A fitting peak in the series as a manifestation of his inner war.

The baddies are paper thin and one-dimensional, but the Tatmadaw Burmese militia being a real entity and perpetrators of genocide gives the antagonists weight. The solid score from Brian Tyler is built around Jerry Goldsmith's classic theme from the earlier installments, yet polished free of the 80s vibe (Battle Adagio stands out as John Rambo's new theme). Visually, the post-production CGI blood is poor and detracting. I don't know how much of that can be attributed to the feature's comparatively lower budget having been independently made by Stallone. Nonetheless, I admire the man's passion for the legacy that his films leave for his fans.

David Morrell, the writer of the original novel "First Blood", has said this is the closest in tone he has seen any of the movies get to the character he wrote. Personally, I think Rambo 4 has the best of both worlds: a sincere depiction of an aged Rambo and the over-the-top action, brutality, and thrills of Rambo II & III. I'd even say it is the best of all the Rambo movies.

Rambo 1: reluctantly fights ("I didn't do anything!") Rambo 2: reluctantly fights ("In prison at least I know where I stand.") Rambo 3: reluctantly fights ("I put in my time. My war is over!") Rambo 4: reluctantly fights ("I can't help you. I don't want to.") Rambo 5: MOTIVATED TO KILL 🇺🇸 🇺🇸 🇺🇸

Rambo: Last Blood is a hollow, self-contained sequel that manages to be both inconsistent and completely unnecessary for the character. The main plot points are so brief and uninspired that I am not sure why they didn't just cut out the entire first hour and summarize it in a cue card at the beginning. The girl who gets captured is a brand new, unknown, stubborn, and unlikable character made up for this film, essentially so she can be used as a prop to provoke Rambo's rage. This would have been forgivable had the film been honest about not wanting to do the drama and just jumped into the action. Instead we get a half-baked and uninteresting first hour trying to convince us why Rambo should care about her.

The film takes a bloodlust angle. Having just watched the first four installments, this is inconsistent to a degree with his character in that it's the only Rambo where he is actually motivated inside himself to go kill-rather than a victim to the system used and exploited for his supersoldier training in a way that places him in a moral dilemma he cannot refuse, like how it always has been with every other Rambo film.

Some are calling this MAGA: The Movie. There is a 20-second sequence where John Rambo goes rogue and is crossing the US-Mexico border back into the United States. He stops his truck at a flimsy little wooden fence in a field in the middle of the night, then rams the truck through the fence with ease. He goes on to lure a group of Mexican criminals, rapists, gang members, & murderers across the border to trespass onto his property where he proceeds to gun them down one by one. This film is every xenophobe's fantasy. The final half hour is just a series of deaths the enemies walk right into without any kind of resistance or forethought. Rambo is not challenged whatsoever. It is simply a massacre, like watching an old man slaughter goats.

One redeeming quality of this film is the score from Brian Tyler. He takes Rambo's Battle Adagio theme from the previous film and mixes in some A Monster Calls (Fernando Velàzquez) and LOTR (Howard Shore). This song takes place in a memorable scene just before the Trump wall advertisement.

Last Blood is legitimately not a good Rambo film. It isn't quite "pretend it never existed" bad, but it is quite a step back after the large step forward that was the previous installment.

Disappointed.

In modern cinema, it seems as if PTSD is more often presented in its more nuanced, less exaggerated or stereotyped form. But Stallone's explosive ending monologue in First Blood is precise, compelling, and familiar enough to stir in us the most severe of our encounters with the condition.

With an unexpectedly poignant undercurrent and an 80s cheese shell, Johnny lures us into his troubled mind over a brisk 90 minutes, then delivers succinctly and beautifully.

This is a heavy, heavy film. It is a film about grief-a theme already explored in many ways this year alone (Midsommar, The Farewell, The Nightingale), but never this intimately or confrontational. Grief is one of the most mysterious and unpredictable parts of our nature, and it is bravely unpacked in this film, as if reopening a box of long lost memories...

Evelyn is a retreat along the path once walked by a brother and a son, as each family member pieces together and rebuilds the memory of him through reflection, emotion, logic, dreams, catharsis, and rediscovery.

Evelyn is a brave film, because it puts on display the complexities of grief and how much it differs among individuals. A single retreat may be healing for one person and provocative & unsettling for another who may have already made peace. We see a distant family come together as all of the moving parts of grief unfold in front of the camera, and nothing about it is easy or neat. But it is organic. It is courageous. It is universal. You can feel the suppressed become unsuppressed. You can feel an unwanted layer of pain peeled off of this family the way you sweat out toxins in a sauna. And from the emotionally affecting sister to the almost comically irritating dad, you really form a bond with this family from the beginning.

It's soul-wrenching and challenging, but in all the necessary ways. Evelyn being on Netflix may or may not undo any damage associated with Netflix's 13 Reasons Why, but it is a step in the right direction for mental health awareness and suicide prevention.

An essential watch.

"The Art of Racing in the Rain" is a color-by-numbers Hallmark film through and through. Each moment is filled to the brim with cookie-cutter plastic goodness. The entire cast and crew are on autopilot, as if they are taking on Formula racing literally. The comedy falls flat, but any comedy it does generate is unintentional and usually paired with some degree of cringing.

"Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed inside the hospital to hear the diagnosis and the options being discussed."

The above is an actual quote from the family dog. It could traditionally be considered some kind of spoiler if this film didn't have the subtlety of a public bludgeoning. The movie also knows nothing about dogs. It makes zero effort to get inside the mind of the star pup it is supposed to be about. It is more convincingly a horror film about a human with locked-in syndrome stuck inside of a dog's body stuck inside of a vanilla Lifetime Original Movie. And it's a dog with perfect 4K color vision and a perspective & vantage point used only when convenient for the narrative or if the angle fits the scene.

The acting is horrific and the dialogue is insufferably bad. It is full of canned phrases, spitting Instagram meme-level wisdom followed by a musical score that is either a premade sample off GarageBand or recycled from daytime TV soap operas. The dog dad (Milo Ventimiglia) is constantly smoldering. Literally every expression he makes in every scene is some version of a smolder... and he is in every scene. The child actress who plays the daughter is barely given any lines, and the one time she is seen bawling hysterically, her face is completely dry. The character who goes through chemo is rocking a beautiful set of long natural eyelashes despite losing her hair and brows. Her overall appearance on her deathbed makes me look like a cancer patient in comparison.

I haven't seen a movie this bad in a while. Then again, I have essentially already seen this film. Odds are you probably have too.

This remake manages to suck all the life out of the original. It really is like watching National Geographic while hearing The Lion King (1994) on in the other room. There is a total disconnect between what you are seeing on-screen and what you are hearing or supposed to feel-so much that I am surprised this was not noticed early on and left on the cutting room floor. Baloo in Favreau's The Jungle Book (2016) alone should have been a warning sign.

At its best, the soundtrack is only as good as the original. I was waiting out for Beyoncé and Donald Glover hoping maybe they would save it with charm, humor, or chemistry, but Beyoncé oversings/overacts and Glover's few moments just aren't enough. John Oliver does steal his scenes as Zazu and I'm a fan of Scar's character design. Visual effects are extremely well done, but for a production that looks so true-to-life, most of the film is lifeless.

Very disappointed.

"I have always felt held. By a family... a real family. Do you feel held?"

One of the most universal and innately human desires is a sense of belonging. The human brain is not meant to be alone; we are evolved to be a part of something. Belonging fundamentally allows us to form our own sense of identity, establish social connections through community, and provides us with love, attention, security, and purpose. Perhaps more importantly, a lack of belonging is when we begin to lose sense of ourselves and who we are. This loss of touch with who we are when the world around us suddenly disappears... this slight loss of footing, dip in reality, always feeling somewhat displaced and perpetually unsettled... this encapsulates the mood of Ari Aster's Midsommar.

Aster has delivered a psychedelic genre-defying horror fable that wins its audience by creeping into our darkest corners of angst, longing, and loneliness. At its core, the film is about a young woman who copes with crippling anxiety rooted in a desperate and fearful need for love as she comes to terms with the end of a relationship. It's about anxiety, fear of abandonment, and moving on. It is a meditation on human belonging; an operatic catharsis played on the strings of emotional dependency; a journey both inward and outward, to finally let go of something that was never meant to be.

Midsommar is not a mystery or suspense movie. It unveils itself unapologetically, as if the filmmaker has no intention of hiding anything from us in the first place (the entire movie is visually depicted almost constantly in the background on walls or tapestries). Yet the film establishes its own rhythm and pacing. As the characters embark on a mushroom trip and grow weightless and spacey, so do we get entranced by the beautiful Swedish settings and sounds--at times indistinguishable from flutes being played by characters on-screen, and at other times, woven with a spell-binding aural hypnosis (listen to "Attestupan" without falling into a meditative trip).

Like Hereditary before it, the casting is exceptional. Florence Pugh portrays and embodies isolation and anxiety so effectively that the ideas feel nearly concrete. Her part as Dani demands an incredible range and her commitment to the role is apparent. Her character has an air of desperation to her. A perfect casting for a lonely soul. Jack Reynor, a critical piece to this opera as the unlikeable and detached boyfriend, also delivers in a solid performance that leaves us conflicted, or at the very least, challenged.

If Satan and Cannibal Corpse got together to shoot Blue Valentine in Sweden, I'd imagine it would be something like Midsommar. Aster taps into a dark and vulnerable place--he opens the door to chests you may have locked away and have had no intention of coming back to. If you've gone through a break-up recently, it may resonate even stronger. It's uncomfortable, unpleasant, but ultimately, cathartic.

The director goes on to describe the film as almost a perverse wish-fulfillment fantasy. You see what you want to see. The inclusion of this overarching idea bears a universal relevance to how we can behave in the midst of the most toxic relationships. Entering the ethereal fog of Hårga perhaps a metaphor for willfully indulging in our clouded judgment to escape our fears.

If Hereditary was a thematic exploration of inescapable fate, Midsommar is a tighter, more centered thematic reflection on emotional dependence. The thought given to the characters and script and the details within the various shots, symbols, and sounds will all surely leave many viewers coming back for more.

Plan to watch it twice, if for nothing else, to drink the tea again.