Reviews

Don't underestimate the value of ultra-low-budget, homegrown cinema. I've watched amateur horror that far outpaced major studio offerings; for all the bare-faced artifice of John Waters' early X-rated films, the likes of 'Pink flamingos' and 'Desperate living' remain more original and entertaining all these years later than some new releases are upon premiere. In keeping with the spirit of such fare, it sure seems to me as if filmmaker Scott Apostolou was working with resources even astonishingly thinner than these points of comparison when he made 'Mutants in paradise. Production values are all but nonexistent as the sound and image quality leave much to be desired, and things like "filming locations," "sets," "costume design," or "props" seem to be what the man was able to coordinate on weekends through the generosity of friends and acquaintances. If anyone involved represents a recognizable name or face, like Edith Massey, that says more about an individual viewer's watching habits than it does about the fame of the participants. And this is to say nothing of amateur acting ("non-derogatory," as the youths say), and first-time direction that unmistakably demonstrates Apostolou's lack of developed skill.

Despite all this, however, I can see the earnest hard work, care, and intelligence that went into the production. It's achingly low-grade, and those who contributed in every regard possessed limited capabilities, but the endeavor is honest, and it's not sloppy. The picture may lack the necessary vitality that would have allowed the humor to fully flourish, but there was real wit poured into these seventy-seven minutes. A smidgen of surrealist ideation, loose bounds of reality, and a lot of cartoonish absurdism are smashed together with deliberately plain, ham-handed contrivance - the outward exposure of the falsehood - that irregularly goes so far as to break the fourth wall. Further factor in farcical, exaggerated characterizations and scene writing, and some clever dialogue and gags, and between the energy that the cast bring with them and the pointedly dry tone that follows as much from Apostolou's inexperience as from his intention, this is actually a fair bit of fun as the minutes tick by. Only occasionally does the feature truly earn laughs, but I have to appreciate something that begins with a reasonable premise fit for sci-fi spy movies, then just kind of leaves the premise by the wayside; the plot develops somewhat indifferently as the nonsense swiftly takes center stage.

Granted, Apostolou was so focused on that nonsense that the writing sometimes becomes altogether scattershot; at some points this flick is barely holding itself together, almost feeling more like sketch comedy. 'Mutants in paradise' may be a flippant romp, but it still would have benefited from a through-line more hardy and concrete than "here's a main character" to keep the proceedings grounded and centered. The limitations of the participants and of the production are all too evident, putting considerable caps on just how enjoyable the end result could be. Yet this really is quite bright every now and again; some tidbits are kind of brilliant. Would that the title were more consistent, certainly, but all told it'8s not bad, and there are far, far worse ways to spend your time. Only those who are receptive to the most unabashedly low-budget and humble of films could possibly like this in the first place, and even then it will meet with mixed reception and isn't something one needs to go out of their way to see. Nevertheless, I had a good time here, and seeing as how that was all that 'Mutants in paradise' was meant for, in my opinion it's enough to earn a casual recommendation if you happen to come across it.

It's impossible not to take notice of the foremost casting of Divine and Tab Hunter, two actors who a few years earlier starred in John Waters' 'Polyester.' One could be forgiven for making certain assumptions about the nature of this western comedy on that basis, and those assumptions are only bolstered by the fact that Waters was accordingly approached to direct. Then we begin watching, and between Philip John Taylor's screenplay and Paul Bartel's direction, it surely seems as if this production were doing its utmost to directly port Waters' modern Baltimore-based obscenity, filth, and satire to the Wild West. Suffice to say that one might appreciate 'Lust in the dust' only in proportion to how much one admires Waters, with the further caveat that we must reckon with the question of whether this represents earnest transliteration or empty mimicry.

In fairness, however, maybe the latter question is beside the point. Taylor and Bartel make no bones about their influences, and one readily discerns in equal part their love for Waters, and their love for westerns. The amalgamation is a curiosity and a grab bag, and if I'm being honest I think it lacks the same sharp wit and vitality as Waters' works - and maybe even the same tightness and focus that we saw even in the man's most low-grade, low-budget fare like 'Mondo Trasho' or 'Multiple maniacs.' Nevertheless, we're treated to crass, crude sexuality and low-brow humor, paired with cheeky melodramatic sensibilities demonstrated in most every regard; gorgeous filming locations, and gratifying detail and loving consideration for sets, costume design, and hair and makeup, occasionally twisted to deliberately gawky, ham-fisted ends; a stable of actors including Waters collaborators Divine and Hunter, Nedra Volz obviously standing in for Edith Massey in a role the late starlet was made for, and figures common to kindred genre fare including Henry Silva, Cesar Romero, and Woody Strode; and still more. Depending on one's perspective, the picture is either the best of both worlds, or maybe the worst.

For all the purposefully trashy and imitative yet varied flavors this offers - nevermind some esteemed, trusted names and faces - I'm inclined to think it somewhat lacks the same attentive care and unity of vision we might get from any point of comparison. Then again, this also falls under the banner of Roger Corman's distribution company New World Pictures, and that says something in and of itself. And no matter how much we may him and haw about the particulars, the one thing I don't think anyone can say about the movie is that it's bad. It maybe doesn't elicit the big reactions that are intended, but it is enjoyable. We get a fair mix of ridiculous comedy and the western adventure, complete with gunfights, fist fights, and the accompanying stunts and effects; all the familiar elements are in place. This is duly well made, further including the cinematography, and the music is a deft complement at any given time. The story isn't anything special per se, but it's duly compelling as the details warp it to more preposterous ends, and the same goes for the scenes and characters.

The would-be vibrancy is further dampened by somewhat gentle pacing. Still, we get what we came for, and our expectations are fulfilled. For all the criticism we could lay at its feet, 'Lust in the dust' is a good time, and at the end of the day, that's all it needs to be. Even if you're a big fan of someone involved or the anticipated styles there's no need to go out of your way for this, but if you do have the opportunity to watch, the sum total is good enough to earn a warm recommendation.

This makes huge impressions right away, doesn't it? The first thing to catch our attention is the stop-motion animation, and I can only extend my highest commendations to filmmaker Adam Elliot and all the artists who contributed. The painstaking labor of the method, moving handcrafted elements piecemeal for one shot after another, connotes a love for the medium that cannot be overstated, and wherever stop-motion is exercised for an effects sequence in cinema - let alone an entire feature, like this - it's hard not to readily fall in love. This is to say nothing of the art style that greets us just as immediately: filled with tremendous, gratifying detail and texture in every aspect no matter how small, amidst character designs that are darkly cartoonish and exaggerated much like the art of no few children's books, and environments that are at once drag, dreary, and gloomy, but flush with a vibrant life all its own. Further bolstered with terrifically shrewd lighting and smart cinematography, the visual experience alone is stupendously evocative and absorbing, not to mention full of fabulous personality, to the point that Elliot could have arguably fashioned a script without any dialogue or narration and 'Memoir of a snail' would have been just as excellent, and just as compelling and capable in its storytelling. If that's not a compliment, then what is?

But Elliot did also write dialogue and narration, and almost from the very start the narrative that subsequently begins to form is heartily engrossing in its rich emotional tableau. To be sure, this picture is not something that will appeal to all comers, and it's absolutely not intended for all comers, either; there is violence, blood, nudity, and sex, and the storytelling is truly just as dour as the art - or, really, more so. This is very much an example of animation geared toward adults, with grim realism and incredibly difficult themes thinly veiled beneath the outward fancifulness, including death, loss, grief, regret, abuse, homophobia, depression and mental illness, cult fanaticism, and still much more. While we would appropriately categorize the sum total as a drama, "tragedy" is a more accurate descriptor. Yet there is cheeky, clever comedy amidst the melancholy, too, and even at its most harsh, the movie is intensely captivating, and downright fascinating. For as depressing as this mostly is, it overflows with marvelous, earnest heart and vitality that touches something deep within us. As Elliot lays out the life story of protagonist Grace and the people she meets - a more insular and downbeat inversion of the likes of 'Forrest Gump' - he treats us to attentive, careful dialogue, lovingly shaped characters, and inescapably vivid scene writing. At the same that 'Memoir of a snail' is sad and heartbreaking, it is so beautiful in its sincerity, its humanity, and its ultimate message that it comes full circle and is, in its own way, uplifting.

And that's still not all, because Elliot assembled a great cast of actors whose voice work here breathes momentous life into their characters; not to discount anyone else, but among others, Sarah Snook, Kodi Smit-McPhee, and Jacki Weaver are a real pleasure. With Elena Kats-Chernin's tasteful, tantalizing score deftly complementing every mood and idea, at length the film is wonderfully rewarding, and I'm hard-pressed to think of any criticism. It's as well made as we could ever suppose of modern cinema, and just happens to have artistic aesthetics and storytelling sensibilities that are a smidgen off the beaten path. It's no wonder that the flick has garnered so much attention and praise; as far as I'm concerned it's absolutely deserved. It bears repeating that this won't appeal to everyone, but I sat with no foreknowledge or particular expectations and am so deeply pleased with how good it turned out to be. So long as one is receptive to fare that explores darker spaces, I can only give 'Memoir of a snail' my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

It's an unfortunate truth that before I ever sat to watch this, the most I knew about it was word of mouth that ranged from middling at best, to even a little negative. How could Disney, a powerhouse of animated storytelling, turn out something seemingly so uninspired as to provoke such reactions? Mind you, I'd not read any reviews beforehand, and I don't even remember any specifics of what other folks told me in direct conversation, so even with weak expectations, I entered with as clear a head as I probably could. I'm sorry to say that in my opinion, it doesn't take long before that so-so reception begins to be validated. I don't think 'Wish' is outright bad, but it's not really very good, either. And maybe even that's being too kind.

By the time only about one-third of the length has elapsed the film has made several distinct impressions, none of which are exactly encouraging, and these will hold true and consolidate as the minutes tick by. The very first song, "Welcome to Rosas," typifies the musical sensibilities here, with structure and chords that are very pop-oriented; other later instances will show influence straight off of Broadway, but not so much from the treasured vaults of Disney's legacy. To that same end, we're also greeted with verbose lyrics that routinely, necessarily, and playfully toy with that structure and meter. I think the incidence would be fun - just as the songs would be unfailingly beautiful and/or catchy, with no caveat appended - if it weren't so forced. And actually, that one word, "forced," turns out to be the key to pretty much all of what follows.

What else is forced? There's the mild humor we get along the way, observed primarily through talking animals but also through the star. There's the reveal of the villain and their motivations by the time only the second song has ended, the initial attempt to paint the villain in sympathetic colors ("okay, they're a fascist, but maybe this is one who earnestly thinks it's all for the best, instead of merely exercising cruelty for its own sake"), and the villain's stark turn through confusion and madness to pure evil. (Notably, there will be no effort to redeem them.) There is the effort to impose awe and wonder ("At all costs," "This wish," and even "I'm a star," among other sequences) instead of providing the conditions that would allow these to manifest naturally and meaningfully; weirdly enough, awe and wonder can't be forced. Nor can other feelings, like inspiring a determined call to arms ("Knowing what I know now"), thrills, uncertainty, or tragedy. Even some of the singing feels forced, and no performer is immune, not even Ariana DeBose. I rather wonder if even some small moments in the animation aren't trying too hard, down to tidbits as small as a character exerting themselves. And have I mentioned references to other famous works in Disney's library?

From the earliest minutes, through all plot development, to the climax, and all the way down to the ending, it's like we're being force-fed almost every inclusion. I'm talking about the pacing, yes, for I think this moves at too steady a pace to allow its thoughts to resonate, and there is too much squeezed into ninety-five minutes in the first place. But in a broader sense I'm deeply unimpressed with the joint direction of Chris Buck and Fawn Veerasunthorn, for the course of events progresses with unnatural brusqueness, and forthrightness, and at times even with a seeming lack of care for how contrived, artificial, or gauchely conventional a moment may be. I think there is terrific potential in the root story, even if ultimately it's a little light. I think there are terrific themes here, exemplified in the reprise at the climax of "This wish," which frankly dovetails all too well into this moment in our real world to the point of being the most genuinely moving part of the entire picture. I think the animation in and of itself is fantastic, and the voice acting, and Dave Metzger's score. But I think most all the best possibilities of what 'Wish' could, should, and would have been struggle with the reality of the direction, and to some extent, with the style of songs that Julia Michaels wrote.

Humans find stories, images, or songs beautiful because they resonate with us on a profound, intimate level, not because a person confidently states, "This is beautiful." We find something funny, and laugh, because our expectations are amusingly upended, or because a scenario or words are cleverly twisted, not because we're told "This is funny." We find fiction inspiring because we recognize notions that compare to something in our own lives, and discover a spark that impels us to a particular action or which revitalizes our emotional energy, stamina, or fortitude - not because we're literally shown a sign that says "This is inspiring." This flick would outwardly aspire to stir our feelings with its own power, but it's so overly charged and assertive in how most every facet is approached that it sadly comes across more as a series of cue cards delivered unseen to the audience, telling us what we should find beautiful, what we should find funny, and what we should find inspiring. But that's not how humans work, and unless you're doing something especially surreal, abstruse, or experimental, that's not how storytelling works, either.

I don't wholly dislike 'Wish.' I want to like it more than I do. By the same token, maybe I'm being too generous as it is. I'm glad for those who get more out of this than I do. For all that there is to like in this, though, I believe the criticisms are at least as notable if not more so, and there is nothing here so special or noteworthy in a positive way so as to help the title to stand apart. The narrative is appreciable but not really remarkable; we won't remember the songs after we finish watching. Watch, by all means, and may you enjoy it at least as much as I did, if not more so. Just don't go out of your way for 'Wish,' and keep your expectations in check, and maybe that's the best way to get the most from it.

There just isn't all that much to say about this movie, when you get down to it, except this: it's an absolute delight! We can try to wax poetic about all those qualities which deserve praise, and some folks may find more success than others in speaking effusively to that end. What it comes down to, though, is that this is very sharply made, and so much fun that surely everyone can enjoy it. Nick Park's signature creation has been consistently great over time, and happily, 'Vengeance most fowl' is the latest in a long line of treasures!

It's hard to place a value on the extensive labor involved in claymation. With all minutiae of every model and miniature being lovingly handcrafted and repositioned time and again to create a fluid sequence of visuals over eighty-two minutes, one can only extend the heartiest of congratulations to Aardman Animations for their hard work. The visual experience in this picture really is tremendous, with incredible detail and texture and soft and pleasing colors, let alone tasteful lighting, and keen cinematography and editing. In the fundamental appearance of every odd and end, in basic movement, and not least in more action-oriented scenes, the artists did a stupendous job across the board, and the sheer ardor makes it all the more impressive. The sparing effects that enhance the experience are just icing on the proverbial cake.

That's to say nothing of all the tiny bits and bobs added as set dressing which help Wallace and Gromit's world to pop to life, like photographs on a wall. And these only further speak to the wit of Park with co-writer Mark Burton and co-director Merlin Crossingham, giving us a clever, merry little venture that sparks joy from the first to the last. Drawing upon familiar elements of the world, we see faithful, quick-thinking canine companion Gromit work with his loving but addle-minded human, eccentric inventor Wallace, to turn those creations to useful ends while confounding a no-good criminal who just won't go away. That story is solid and engaging as it develops, but it's really the thought and imagination that round it out that makes this feature the pleasure that it is. Stirring together action-adventure, crime caper shenanigans, and light science fiction with the buddy movie, and anchored by dependable characterizations, each scene in turn offers plentiful variety - and much the same goes for the humor along the way. From cartoonish silliness, to smart dialogue, and from bright gleeful sight gags to glimmers of wry cheek, there's something in here for just about everyone.

The voice cast is reliably excellent in bringing their characters to life, and the original music of Lorne Balfe and Julian Nott adds splendid flavor to complement the proceedings. Truly, there's no going wrong here. I wouldn't go so far as to say that this film is a must-see, or a revelation, but it's so well-rounded and entertaining that it would be a sorry mistake to pass up the chance to watch. No matter who you are, 'Vengeance most fowl' is a really fantastic time, and I'm glad to give it my hearty recommendation!

Never underestimate the value of an unusual, eye-catching name; who would have ever batted an eye at this if it were called, I don't know, "Snake Horror," or "Snake Man?" From the outside looking in, I would also suggest that Bernard L. Kowalski's involvement is a point in the film's favor, specifically because I absolutely loved his 1971 horror western 'Black noon.' These two factors also represent the sum total of my foreknowledge here, however, and neither speaks to the quality of the movie itself. Could 'Sssssss' be worthwhile on its own merits? I didn't exactly enter with high expectations, and it's worth observing that we can begin to discern very rapidly - within even only the first ten minutes - where the plot will go, for this is surprisingly upfront. Happily, though, the care and intelligence that went into this flick quite outweighs any possible outward criticisms as far as I'm concerned, and I had a great time watching. I'm certainly not saying it's a must-see, but 'Sssssss' holds up gratifyingly well, and much better than too many other titles I could name.

Contrary to the forthrightness of the narrative, Kowalski broadly maintains a decidedly low-key tone as the minutes tick by, a gentleness that perhaps helps to mitigate any distaste that may come with the straightforward tack. And there's also this: between the smart writing of Hal Dresner and producer Daniel C. Striepeke, and Kowalski's shrewd direction, the picture boasts a tantalizing, softly sinister, and almost wryly playful atmosphere as college student David becomes an assistant to herpetologist Dr. Stoner, unaware of the real intentions of the scientist (plain to the viewer though they may be). In its own way this bears kinship with genre fare customarily centering vampires, werewolves, or Satanism, in which an innocent is drawn into darkness and realizes all too late what is happening. It's just that in this instance, instead of toying with mythology and folklore, the script latches onto earnest admiration for reptiles, then twists it together with sly, nefarious ideations of science fiction. In fact, though the plot itself generally isn't so subtle, in how 'Sssssss' was crafted otherwise I recognize the same keen nuance that so firmly endeared me to 'Black noon,' and I think that's a very high compliment. And to the extent that this does hold some secrets to its chest, they delight where they crop up in the screenplay, even if they could have been developed more.

Truthfully, the feature sounds like a passing novelty, both in name and by its premise. I will admit that the strength is maybe a tad variable; I believe this is at its best at its most understated, and underhanded, and scenes that are more overt, and conventional, are in my opinion therefore a tad less interesting. While admittedly difficult to conceptualize in the first place, the visuals of a key sequence in the last minutes are also a little less sure-footed. Yet the details of the story and no few scenes are altogether brilliant, even the characterizations are a treasure, and I see how much thought went into the dialogue (including some touches of humor). I'm very serious about how much respect this shows toward our scaled cousins, and the ends to which that respect is guided are really fun. Kowalski necessarily maintains a difficult balancing act as director to evenly manage all these ideas and flavors while facilitating the overarching ambience, and his work here pleases me just as much as the writing. That's to say nothing of how well this is made overall, meeting the standards of 70s productions: excellent filming locations, production design, and art direction; nice consideration for costume design, hair, and makeup, not least of the more far-out variety; fine stunts, and effects, and so on.

Among all else, I dare say the cast is a prime highlight. Dirk Benedict ably manages the role of naïve David, and Heather Menzies is given even more opportunity to demonstrate her acting chops as Kristina, the sweet and unknowing daughter. Above all, Strother Martin kind of steals the show as Dr. Stoner, bearing a calm, friendly demeanor that belies the scientist's eccentricity, his unethical determination, and the anger he suppresses. As the film further benefits from Patrick Williams' score, deftly complementing each scene and mood, the whole really is an entertaining, worthy horror piece. There's nothing so special about it as to demand viewership, it's not perfect, and it won't appeal to all comers, but I sat to watch with both hope and wariness, and I'm very happy with how good it turned out to be. For what this does especially well, I rather wish that more filmmakers of subsequent years would take some notes of how to improve their own projects. Don't go out of your way for 'Sssssss,' but if you have the chance to watch then I'm glad to give it my warm recommendation.

Corrupt law enforcement in the United States, freely abusing their power until they are held accountable by ordinary people? Who would have thought! Flavorful music cues that Quentin Tarantino would lovingly lift for use in his own movies many years later? Perish the thought! Select cliché music themes and instrumentation that pointedly accentuate, in case the viewer wasn't aware, that the film is set in The South? You bet! Of course, putting these aside, unless one is distinctly familiar with a particular time and a particular place, one is in for some culture shock; as star Burt Reynolds is remarked to have said, this was "made in the South, about the South and for the South." With that in mind some broader cultural stereotypes are certainly recognized, and some details haven't aged well, but at least 'White lightning' isn't the sort of flick to capitalize on the more sordid and racist facets of the region and its history. This is an action-comedy about moonshine, corrupt law enforcement, and one man's quest for revenge - with writing, direction, and action so well worn the tires are already bald - and all the rest is just dressing. If none of this has turned you off so far, then maybe this is a feature for you.

Mind you, when we say "comedy," it's not as if this is "laugh out loud" funny; rather, it's more that despite the violence, this tends to maintain a relatively light mirthful tone. Much of the intended humor is generally borne of the juvenile sexuality tailor-made for so-called "adult men" and is just tiresome and boorish - this surely aired on Spike TV time and again, back to back with 'Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man' - though some little moments are a tad more clever and do elicit a small reaction. The action, it should be mentioned, is defined primarily by car chases, and merely rounded out with sparing instances of other varieties; fans of 'Smokey and the bandit,' 'The Blues Brothers,' and a certain class of picture will feel right at home. On a side note, while the movie mostly avoids the racism commonly associated with the setting, there is otherwise a great deal of prejudice and ignorance on display in the characters and dialogue; be aware of tinges of classism, sexism, anti-intellectualism, even some passing homophobia, and straw man fear-mongering about the contemporary boogeyman of communism, among still more. Make no mistake, 'White lightning' is kith and kin with no few other works that played in a similar space, primarily in the 70s and 80s.

Still, while the sum total doesn't specifically inspire a lot of enthusiasm, it's suitably enjoyable. It's not original or groundbreaking, and in due course it would be all but indistinguishable from other titles, but it provides a good time. William W. Norton's screenplay offers a story that's duly engaging, if broadly unremarkable, and it's fleshed out with a fair bit of personality; some scenes are altogether delightful, and there's no doubting that this finds more strength in the back end. When the violence does pick up more in the last third or so the greater vitality in the proceedings is most welcome, and it helps to bolster the whole as the tone grows a little darker. To the same end, the more earnestly dramatic themes in Charles Bernstein's score are fantastic. Joseph Sargent's direction is capable, and so is the acting; the stunts and effects in these 100-odd minutes are unquestionably a key highlight. It's well made in most every regard, for that matter, including filming locations, sets, cinematography and editing, and so on. I actually do rather like this film, and I guess I just wish it were a bit sharper and more mindful in how it was written, and subsequently in how it was executed, so as to be something more special and lastingly noteworthy.

Unless you have a special impetus to watch there's no need to go out of your way for this, and one should perhaps be aware of the more tawdry aspects that dot the length. Yet for something comparatively light, and which provides entertainment on a slightly more passive level, overall it's a solid flick that stands on its own legs. Sometimes that's all we need, and on that basis 'White lightning' earns a fair recommendation.

Look, I'll be frank: my expectations were all but rock bottom. The very idea of creating a sequel to the 2000 film sounds outwardly preposterous, a reflection of the utmost desperation of a filmmaker to ride the coattails of a prior success while straining to do anything meaningful by continuing to play in the same universe. To read of the production history here, and specifically the long process of developing a script, my first reaction is to be aghast that anyone would in their right mind have greenlit the project; nearly every notion put forth for a sequel was astoundingly awful, at best promising the empty spectacle of a hollow blockbuster. That's to say nothing of thoughts left out of 'Gladiator' which were nevertheless deemed suitable for a follow-up, which further diminishes one's confidence, and Ridley Scott's last movie, 2023's 'Napoleon,' was decidedly middling and irksome. All told, what chances could there possibly be for this flick to have been any good in the first place? From the moment it was announced I had no intention whatsoever of watching - but, well, I'm that cinephile who will, after all, watch just about anything, whether great or terrible, and I couldn't deny my curiosity. So here I sit for 'Gladiator II,' hoping for Not The Worst but definitely prepared for The Worst. How is it, actually?

Let me state my first impression for the record: the opening sequence, with its stunts, effects, epic battle, and dour conclusion, should have been the back end of a different movie that centered Numidia, with Hanno as a supporting character to protagonist Arishat. Like we saw in 'Napoleon,' the violence feels extra forceful and gauche, and the whole otherwise tawdrily forthright, as if Scott had forgotten over time how to employ a delicate, measured hand as a director. It's not a good first impression, indeed raising concerns for the probable emptiness of a hollow mega-production, one soaked in the bad taste of testosterone instead of bearing the meaningful substance of storytelling.

Oh, make no mistake, the picture is very pretty. I've seen no accounting of how many shots were "enhanced" with digital wizardry, but even those that would obviously be computer-generated imagery admittedly look good. Well, some of them do, anyway; we'll see how well any of them age even five years from now, and others, chiefly any depicting animals, immediately raise a skeptical eyebrow and almost remind of the low-budget, TV monster romps of SyFy. The costume design is indeed lovely, and the hair and makeup no less so. The filming locations are gorgeous, and the sets a feast for the eyes, not to mention props. Stunts and practical effects are always most welcome. The image is crisp and clear - likewise the sound - and I admire John Mathieson's cinematography; even the lighting is marked with fine consideration. While I generally place trust in composer Harry Gregson-Williams I don't think his score here is anything special or noteworthy, but overall it's a swell complement to the proceedings at any given point.

But here's a second major impression that this feature made, well within the first half hour: the scene in which General Acacius first meets the dual emperors is peculiarly dull and lifeless. Acacius is exhausted and hides his contempt, while the brothers are so mad with hunger for power that they delight in the very notion of bloodshed, yet nevertheless are bored with the boundless wealth and power they already possess. Rather than truly bring these emotions and subtleties to bear, however, the direction and acting alike are flat and bereft of vitality; the scene could just as easily have been replaced with white text on a black screen that dispassionately stated exactly what I have. And the sad fact of the matter is that this impression, and my first, dovetail into each other, and swiftly come to define the title at large.

In fairness, the story that Peter Craig and David Scarpa ultimately conjured bears ideas that make a terrific foundation. The narrative connections to the predecessor are relatively small - the narrative does not specifically require that principal characters should have been directly related to those in 'Gladiator,' or in a couple instances, that the same characters should be revisited several years later - but to the extent that this is a sequel in the truest sense of the word, I appreciate the thought that put it together. More important in this case is that 'Gladiator II' again speaks broadly to the power, violence, politics, corruption, and sickness of Rome, qualities which can easily and all too realistically be read as a thinly-veiled rumination on modern civilization: as the empire wages its wars and expands its borders, ostensibly to build its prosperity, its people suffer and grow weary of the self-serving decadence and cruelty of their leaders. From this foundation is built a saga of familiar concepts as a man comes from humble and distant origins to find glory as a slave turned gladiator, and to become a leader in his own right, while others work to save Rome and its people from the true maladies (maladies with names and known residences) with which it is afflicted.

Yet the real trouble comes with the details of Scarpa's screenplay and quite culminates in Scott's direction. The harder this film tries to connect itself with its antecedent, the more tiresome the effort tends to become. We see this in dialogue and scene writing, in visual cues, and in gathering story beats that zero in on the ties between Lucius/Hanno and Lucilla. In wider strokes and in finer points the strength of the dialogue and scene writing is variable; a scene right round the halfway mark, for example, feels forced as the heretofore distinct threads of Lucilla and Lucius are unconvincingly drawn together, and later scenes fail to concretely, sensibly progress that convergence. (On a side note, the editing doesn't help matters, such as when Claire Simpson and Sam Restivo make it look as if Lucilla exits one building to greet Acacius outside, when in fact they meet somewhere else entirely.) This is to say nothing of how much of the story of Hanno/Lucius (and other characters) is copied and pasted from that of Maximus, or how the script plainly borrows notions from other works about Ancient Rome. And again we come to Scott, for too often, scenes of violence are excessive and overcharged, and scenes of intended dramatic weight or emotional output are limp and unimpressive - and much the same verbiage can be extended to the acting in turn.

I am glad to have at least in part been wrong about this picture. It's not all bad. There is value here: in the contributions of those operating underappreciated behind the scenes, in the core substance underlying Craig and Scarpa's story, and in bits and pieces of the final product. Some scenes and moments are kind of fantastic. On the other hand, other scenes and moments pretty much inspired revulsion for how direly, poorly considered they were, whether being grossly heavy-handed or exasperatingly limp; among the last nails in the coffin were a death scene in the last stretch that made me laugh out loud, and an intended rousing, heroic speech that's simply tired and ham-handed. The result, to my beleaguered amazement, is a movie of commendable craftsmanship and some great storytelling potential that, in the ways in which it fails (and in some very particular inclusions), recalls the infamous Penthouse epic of 1979, 'Caligula.' Where I found the latter boring, however, I find this actively aggravating, not least because Scott really should know better. "Aggravating" is better than "boring" in my book, but unfortunately that isn't saying much. By all means, there are far, far worse ways to spend one's time. The issue is that there are far better ways, too, so unless one is overcome by curiosity, I just don't see any reason why 'Gladiator II' deserves any real recommendation.

It's only reasonable to be skeptical about sequels, for there are countless questions to ponder, such as how a story could be continued, how it will compare to a predecessor, how it will relate to a predecessor while growing and improving upon it, and so on. For these reasons, I harbored doubts about this movie despite the excellence of its antecedent from nine years before, and despite the substantial praise that it immediately received. Now that I'm sitting to watch, though, I can safely say that I've rarely if ever been happier to be so wrong. There's no questioning that 'Inside out' is an incredibly smart, imaginative, and thoughtful film, to say nothing of all the other tremendous qualities that it boasts. Yet with that in mind, I can't help but wonder if it isn't the case that, as a matter of comparison, Pete Docter's progenitor walked so that Kelsey Mann's successor could run. In keeping with the very premise of young Riley growing up and entering puberty, 'Inside out 2' boasts a greater level of complexity, and all the splendor and vitality of what came before is given renewed vigor. This is outstanding!

It speaks so very well to the writing team - Mann and Meg LeFauve with their story, and LeFauve and Dave Holstein with their screenplay - that they did so much research, and consulted experts, and closely examined their own family in an effort to truly capture the essence of growing up and puberty. The picture brings child psychology and social dynamics to vivid life with astonishing vibrancy and intelligence, capitalizing on the intricate, fluid relationship between human emotions, and the place that each and every emotions, even the less pleasant ones, have in building us and protecting us. With more feelings in play as the core character is now a few years older, the tapestry being woven is necessarily all the more complicated; case in point, one can easily see how the scenario could have been developed with a concrete antagonist in mind, but here it's emphatically the case instead that a key destructive figure simply fails to understand the vast convolution of the system of which they are a part. In turn, the possibilities for where this flick could have gone grow all the more expansive, but I cannot overstate how wonderfully shrewd the writers were in concocting this treasure. There are times when the feature is marvelously earnest, and times when it is gleefully silly; there are tidbits of subtle, wry humor that pointedly draw from real life in a way that adults and older viewers will keenly discern, and there are clever references that tug on our nostalgia; it is funny, dramatic, sometimes thrilling in its family-friendly way, and elsewhere, heartbreaking, and inspiring. Moreover, every scene and every little moment is an opportunity for the writers to let their creativity soar in drawing together the experience of growing up and hitting puberty, and I found myself delighted again and again by the sheer wit and ingenuity on display.

And that's just the writing! 'Inside out 2' is superbly well made in every other way, to the point that it's surely one of the best titles Pixar has put out in years. The 3D animation is swirled together with select, cheeky 2D sensibilities at times, and always bursts with fabulous color, unexpected texture, and boundless detail. The voice cast is an utmost pleasure as they bring their characters to life, including returning stars Amy Poehler, Liza Lapira, Tony Hale, Phyllis Smith, and Lewis Black (nevermind Kyle MacLachlan and Diane Lane), but terrific newcomers like Maya Hawke, Ayo Edebiri, Adèle Exarchopoulos, and many more. Andrea Datzman's music is an essential component of the viewing experience, deftly complementing every scene and mood and bolstering them. From the cinematography and sound to the editing and everything in between, there's can never be any doubting that this meets all the high standards of modern 3D animation - and with the storytelling being so magnificent, I'm firmly of the opinion that it easily deserves to stand alongside some of the most celebrated films of recent years in general. Maintain that healthy skepticism about sequels, but this is an instance where the filmmakers really did knock one out of the proverbial park.

Not all genres and styles appeal to all comers, yet I have a hard time believing that this could find disfavor with anyone except the most hard-nosed of purists, or those who willfully suppress their humanity and empathy. I am overjoyed with how carefully 'Inside out 2' was crafted in every single way, and it's far better than I could have ever hoped. As far as I'm concerned this is a must-see, and I can only give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation! Bravo!

Let's not beat around the bush: this is a mixed bag. There are elements that are done well, other elements that are not, and sometimes the same facets are approached with more or less care at different times, or in different ways. The sum total is enjoyable - 'Godzilla raids again' isn't bad - but it's a considerable step down from its predecessor of one year before. In fact, for how the quality varies, it is arguably closer to the so-so, generic 50s genre fare vibes of 'Godzilla, king of the monsters,' the 1956 dub and reedit of 1954's 'Godzilla.'

I am glad that an early scene does provide the single line necessary to give a baseline explanation for why we're seeing the colossus again after the events of the progenitor; as Strong Bad would say, "there's TWO of them!" ("And ONE of me...") On the other hand, this same scene allows characters to make shaky assumptions about Anguirus, an ankylosaurus, as if humans coexisted with them millions of years ago and provided first-hand accounts; the dialogue kind of comes off as the simplistic extrapolations of an 8-year old dinosaur enthusiast. This same scene, it should be said, quite early in the length, serves us a clip show revisiting the previous picture, presented in a manner I find rather curious. The real-life answer is that viewers shouldn't get bogged down in little details and just enjoy the show, but I can't help but be bothered by the in-universe implication that, say, all trains in Tokyo had cameras following the tracks in the 1950s.

More substantively, for the most part the effects overseen by industry icon Tsuburaya Eiji are fantastic. We would expect no less as we get fire, explosions, avalanches, models, miniatures, and general destruction, and it should also be said that Godzilla and Anguirus both look great. Godzilla, in particular, boasts a more nightmarish, monstrous appearance here than he has in other franchise installments, and I love it. Then again, some of the visuals are decidedly lesser; any composite shots plainly show their age, and while I understand that the production had trouble with the sequence at an Osaka landmark, the messy manner in which it appears on film - also a mark against editor Taira Kazuji - is nonetheless a sore spot. Meanwhile, though I greatly admire what composer Sato Masaru has contributed elsewhere, not least to the oeuvre of Kurosawa Akira, his music here is rather unremarkable, and the dramatic themes of Ifukube Akira (including Godzilla's primary theme) are very much missed.

Mind you, in general this is duly well made. The writing is suitable to provide foundation for the return of the titular entity, and for his face-off against an ancient foe, with another Japanese city being reduced to rubble in the process. Oda Motoyoshi's direction is fine, the cast are capable actors, the production design and art direction are fetching, and so on. And still the feature is troubled, for apart from that early scene that rankles me, later sequences are somewhat confounding. There's the sudden swerve to a group of criminals, over several long minutes, with no importance save for how this precipitates the landfall of the titans. Worse yet, I regret to say, is the central fight between those titans. Too many other entries have struggled with slothful pacing, killing the intended excitement or drama, and that has sometimes applied to the foremost kaiju fights. Here we have the opposite problem, weirdly, for footage of Godzilla and Anguirus fighting has been sped up considerably, to the point that it just looks cartoonish. All that would be necessary to complete the effect would be some sound effects drawn from 'Looney Tunes,' or maybe "Yakety Sax." And still the title's issues aren't done, for the finale in which our human heroes try to deal with Godzilla drags on interminably - with its tension further undercut by a few moments that needlessly cut away from the scene of the action. One could sit out a full ten minutes of the last stretch and miss nothing.

I maintain that this is decent; amidst all its brethren, it falls somewhere in the middle of the pack. There is a fair bit to like here. The problem is that the faults are just as easily recognized, if not more so, and they are significant enough to weigh heavily on the whole. 'Godzilla raids again' is worth checking out for relatively passive entertainment, for monster movie aficionados, and for Godzilla completionists; it boasts value on its own merits. Just temper your expectations, and don't go out of your way for it, and maybe that's the best way to get the most out of this.

Sometimes film festival and awards ceremony voters are exactly right, and sometimes that are astonishingly wrongheaded. Noting all the praise and accolades that have greeted 'Anora' since its premiere, thankfully, this is an instance where the self-styled arbiters of cinematic value are right on point. The pacing is fairly steady, and the tone overall rather severe if not also a little forceful; the mood swings hard between earnestly dramatic, wildly funny, and uncomfortably dark and ugly. That's to say nothing of the substantial sex, nudity, drug use, violence, harsh language, and wry sense of humor that makes light of grim or generally inappropriate subject matter or verbiage, all of which on paper marks the sum total as being closer to one of John Waters' X-rated whirlwinds than the average R-rated feature. Yet "whirlwind" is just what 'Anora' is, too, for over more than two and one-half hours it keeps us so raptly, actively engaged, absorbed, and entertained as to perish the thought of dividing our attention. And just as much to the point, this is so outstanding a movie that in my opinion there's no questioning it's one of the very best of the past year, and beyond.

There's so much going on here that it's difficult to concisely dissect. Filmmaker Sean Baker treats stripper and sex worker Anora with gratifying respect and honesty in writing her as a sympathetic, hard-working woman living simply and just trying to get by, granting her agency and humanity that stands in contrast to other fiction that is rote tragedy about the "fallen woman," or which treats such figures, their profession, and their lives as a set piece. It may be hard for the average viewer to relate to the lifestyles seen here, especially in the earliest scenes after Anora meets Ivan - I couldn't relate to folks in their 20s, even when I was that age, too - but that crystallizes in time and quite becomes the point as the excess, frivolousness, callousness, and indeed the inhumanity and emotional immaturity of the ultra-wealthy is stood in plain opposition to the earnestness of our protagonist, and even that of supporting characters who initially come off as antagonists in their own right. In no small part this flick is a social drama, and though that tack is deftly woven in among others and is a secondary priority to the storytelling at large, Baker navigates it with unyielding intelligence.

As the narrative develops we see the characters' real selves be revealed, for better and for worse, and along the way there is violence so grabbing as to be fit for an outright thriller, replete with excellent stunts and effects. Along the way many scenes are so drily funny that I laughed heartily as the ridiculousness of particular scenes or beats are welcome counterbalance to the more tawdry or somber flavors that the title has to offer. Along the way there are anchoring scenes of earnestness in which the underlying drama shines through, pointing to an earnest emotional center that gets overshadowed by the darker bits and masked in the lighter airs. And all along the way, the skill and care poured into 'Anora' by everyone who participated are stupendously satisfying and rewarding, to the point that it almost seems unfair at a fundamental level to try to draw comparison to other productions. The writing is sharp, biting, potent, and thoughtful, giving us well-rounded and meaningful characters, real and dynamic dialogue, and wonderfully robust, carefully considered scenes while fleshing out a plot that already does so much. Baker's direction is equal to the task: impeccable, tight, and focused in helping these characters to become more than they outwardly seem as Ani's life gets upended in a flash, and the presentation flows so intently but smoothly through it all that words like "mellifluous" and "melodious" comes to mind.

Yet even more than in no few other films that I could name, it must be emphasized that the cast is an utter delight here. Despite whatever impressions we may have ahead of time based on the premise and marketing, this is a piece with sincere depth, complexity, and heart, and despite the suggested forcefulness, pacing, or mood swings, the actors are given space to bring these to bear with poignant, striking performances of nuance, range, and physicality. Even those in the smallest supporting parts like Aleksei Serebryakov and Darya Ekamasova, shine with what time they are given, let alone more prominent personages like Karren Karagulian, Vache Tovmasyan, or Mark Eydelshteyn. Yura Borisov distinctly impresses in his unexpectedly significant role as Igor, showing with great subtlety and hidden vulnerability how a man who at first comes off so brusque and stoic is much more under the surface, and more than his circumstances allow. This isn't to discount anyone else, of course, but above all, Mikey Madison is simply a treasure as the titular character. This is a role that demands much from her - physically, emotionally, and maybe even spiritually - and she handles the part with such natural vitality, grace, and ease that one risks slipping into the place of forgetting Madison is only an actor, and Anora only a fictional person. I can't overstate what a pleasure it is to watch Madison act here, and I very much look forward to seeing her career progress.

Frankly, what here is less than perfect? If you ask me, the answer is "nothing." Matthew Hearon-Smith's music tends to take a backseat for much of the length but it fills in the corners nicely; just as importantly, there are select moments when the pointed absence of music helps a beat to land with all the more impact, and I admire the composer's sagacity. Drew Daniels' cinematography is crisp and vivid, and bears a certain heat about it that neatly matches the vibrancy in the direction. The sound is flawless, the editing is keen, the production design and art direction are fantastic, the hair and makeup are lovely; on and on the list goes. I sat to watch with high expectations based on all the positive word of mouth, but I still wasn't necessarily, specifically looking forward to it. I regret that misapprehension, for I am resolutely of the mind that 'Anora' is one of the best films of 2024, and one of the best of recent years when you get down to it. I can understand how it won't appeal to all comers, nor meet with equal favor, but I am all so pleased with how marvelous this is; its glowing reception is no jest. As far as I'm concerned anyone who enjoys cinema as an art form owes it to themselves to watch this, and I'm happy to give 'Anora' my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

It's safe to say that I had very mixed expectations for this. None of the prior films are bad (unless you count 'Alien vs. Predator: Requiem'), but quality in the franchise swung wide after 'Aliens.' Word of mouth following its release was all over the place, and less than glowing, with special consternation regarding the treatment of one particular figure realized through ethically and artistically dubious means. Learning the production history doesn't necessarily qualm such trepidation, as filmmaker Fede Álvarez's apparent intent to specifically weave in elements from elsewhere in the series draws concern for abandoning creativity in favor of nostalgia, and in favor of the sort of grandiose but empty world-building that has bogged down still larger franchises. Then again, the least that can be said is that the apparent effort to work with practical effects, models, and miniatures is quite gratifying, for with rare exception, computer-generated imagery ages quickly and looks worse the more it's relied upon. With all these considerations in mind, the question remains: how is 'Alien: Romulus?' How well does it stand on its own merits, and how does it compare to its predecessors?

One thing that the series has fairly consistently done well has been to spotlight characters who are relatable and sympathetic, generally being very ordinary people, as they meet with terrible fates: colonists, prisoners, grunts, scavengers trying to get by, and above all workers oppressed by an imperious, super-powerful corporation that is indifferent to any needs but its own. Álvarez and co-writer Rodo Sayagues haven't forgotten this, and in fact they accentuate it early on and throughout as we meet young characters who are downtrodden and exploited, whose relationships as close friends or family are paramount (even with disagreements), and who hope only to escape the vortex of endless, lightless drudgery in which they're trapped through no fault of their own. I think this foundation is so strong, in fact, that it helps to counterbalance other tidbits that nearly from the start feel a bit too self-indulgent, think themselves more clever than they are, and/or come off as unnecessary, like the short opening sequence ("Hey, look! It's an 'Alien' movie!"), the early reveal of who is a synth, or intermittent favor of shots that are too heavy-handed to inspire the intended wonder and awe.

There are some aspects, drawing upon earlier installments (chiefly the progenitor), that indeed feel too on the nose, and they do arguably ride that line of shirking creativity and originality for the nostalgic connectivity of world-building. Chiefly: maybe the extra off-putting appearance was intentional, but the representation of a 1979 cast member, dead four years before this was released, is on the surface a glaring weak point, let alone this flick's hasty interpretation of one of the most iconic moments in horror. Furthermore, anyone familiar in passing with the 2014 videogame 'Alien: Isolation' will recognize its influence on this feature in various ways, and while the writing and execution is, thankfully, definitely smart enough to make effective use of such facets, a part of me can't help but feel that the story of 'Isolation' was so excellent in and of itself that I'd have rather seen a straight cinematic adaptation of it. However, for all the earnest, meaningful criticism that this may deserve - and okay, for the nitpicking we may also lay upon it - to my great pleasure, I am pleasantly surprised by just how good this turns out to be as the plot develops. I had major doubts, and harbor lingering frustrations, but more than not I think this really is a worthy entry, and maybe even the best picture among its brethren since 1986's first sequel.

Though it's not true across the board, broadly this does a terrific job of building atmosphere, and priming the audience for the crisis of survival horror that our characters face. Instances of violence, attacks of the organisms, and even just the dread anticipation is plainly gnawing and unsettling; the fear and terror is palpable, recalling the brilliance of the original 'Alien,' and of John Carpenter's mastery. Benjamin Wallfisch's shrewd, varied, dynamic, pulse-pounding score goes a long way towards facilitating all this, at precise psychological moments not least, but it's an immense credit to Álvarez as director, certainly, and to the writing, and honestly to everyone who worked on this. From the exquisite, detailed production design and art direction, to flavorful lighting, environmental effects, and sound; from the hard-hitting stunts and tangible creature creations (including stop motion animation!), to certainly not least the harrowed, haunted, intense performances of the cast, 'Romulus' brings the nightmare of the scenario to bear with a strength that too much of genre cinema has tended to lack in recent years. David Jonsson, Archie Renaux, Isabela Merced, Spike Fearn, Aileen Wu, and above all Cailee Spaeny are outstanding, as far as I'm concerned. Even Galo Olivares' cinematography deserves notable high marks in this regard, in my opinion, and while it's still true that the CGI becomes more troubled the more we see of it, it's utilized sparingly enough and smartly enough that it never becomes an overbearing issue.

I maintain that some of the inspiration Álvarez and Sayagues drew from elsewhere in the series can be a bit much - as another example, the reliance on synths and their duplicitous nature as a staple plot device sometimes becomes a burden - let alone some of the flourishes and intended moments of shock. On the other hand, I dare say this title does a better job of elucidating the deep machinations of Peter Weyland than 'Prometheus' did, and that movie partly focused on him directly. And still, again, for however much we may him and haw about different odds and ends, overall I am very pleased with how good this is. Not since the first movie have we gotten characters so capably written, that we could care about so much, and the horrific circumstances, trauma, and emotional rollercoaster that these persons endure in their fight for survival is essential to the success of 'Romulus.' That the scene writing is so robust, and the narrative so compelling and absorbing, only ever speaks very well to the filmmaker and his team; while the dialogue doesn't distinctly stand out, it is firm and commendable, and smidgens of humor actually serve to bolster the storytelling and our experience. I found myself more completely engaged here than I have with too many other films. Seeing as how I had mixed expectations form the start, that's saying a lot.

It has its weak spots, and portions that are less sure-footed, and it's possible that the whole may have even benefited from being trimmed down some. On the other hand, some sequences are utterly ingenious. Personal preferences will vary, and I'm not exactly interested in arguing with anyone who gives this a sincere try and judges it more harshly. I'll even allow that I'm possibly being too generous in my assessment. For all my reservations, though, I believe that far, far more than not, the lasting value here enormously outweighs any faults. For a horror sci-fi series that's forty-five years old, and which has had its ups and downs, I am very glad that a new installment could have any significant level of success, let alone as much as this enjoys. It's no revelation or must-see, but for my money 'Alien: Romulus' is a superb, thrilling, unnerving new vision that stands solidly on its own legs, and I'm happy to give it my high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation.

In a celebrated career most recognized for film and television productions, David Lynch nevertheless explored other mediums over time, including music, art, and even comics. With his propensity for oddball surrealism and offbeat humor there was hardly any telling in general what we'd get from one project to another - so what about an endeavor which combined visual art, film, live stage performance, dance, and music in front of a live audience? Even as this, recorded for posterity, features contributions from Nicolas Cage ('Wild at heart'), and notable ongoing collaborators including Angelo Badalamenti, Laura Dern, Julee Cruise, and Michael J. Anderson, 'Industrial symphony No. 1' has in subsequent years gone rather unremarked among Lynch's more famous productions. I can understand why insofar as the amalgamation is primed for a more niche audience even on paper. And once one begins watching, well, it definitely fits in quite well alongside the man's other pieces, which depending on one's perspective either makes it a treasure or a pestilence.

For my part, I plainly think it's a treasure, and an underappreciated one. Given Lynch's vision, the familiar names and faces involved, and the ardor and imagination of the production, this absolutely feels kith and kin with the most far-out, head-scratching portions of 'Twin Peaks' (pick your iteration), 'Mulholland Drive,' 'Lost highway,' or 'Inland Empire'; especially given Cruise's role, maybe reference to 'Eraserhead' and the Lady in the Radiator is just as appropriate. The opening sequence, seemingly inspired by Lula and Sailor from 'Wild at heart,' is the most ordinary that this performance gets as the presentation subsequently melts into an enigmatic, nightmarish dreamscape of music, sounds, and imagery. Clamorous sound effects, flicking atmospheric lighting, industrial set dressing (metal girders; a burned-out car), actors on ropes, and dancers among it all mix together with a slurry of music ranging from ethereal pop, and jazz-like musings to haunting synth-driven soundscapes, harsh industrial noise, and various other instrumentation both conventional and atypical.

Oh yes, it's very strange. This is Art of the variety that, more than anything else, invites the audience to feel what they will, and read into and take away from it what they will, and perhaps above all to simply relish in the wonder of it all. There IS a very broad sense of cohesion and an even looser sense of "story" as the odyssey is conceived as the dreams of a woman whose lover just left her - hence the alternate name, 'Dream of the broken hearted' - and to some extent also in the familiar comfort of those songs for which Cruise sings. That smattering of unity is handily outpaced, however, by the sheer whimsy of what greets us. Exactly how much one appreciates 'Industrial symphony No. 1' will depend on how well one can get on board performance art of such an avant-garde, experimental nature. And still, be all that as it may, even as I personally love it, I don't think there's any arguing that it's very well done in and of itself. The stage direction is terrific as all the many disparate parts are woven together very well, including the acting, dance choreography, stunts, effects, choice lighting, and more. I certainly admire John Schwartzman's cinematography that adeptly, tastefully captures everything on film for us, and to the same point, Mary Sweeney and Bob Jenkis' editing is as bright and flavorful as everything else. And that's to say nothing of the sound effects, or the music, which even at their most cacophonous are a rich, integral component of the viewing experience.

Existing as this does on the outer fringes of creativity and its respective art forms, it's difficult to entirely grasp the whole, let alone to try to compare it to anything else. Those who are receptive to the weirder side of theater are most likely to find this to their appeal, right alongside those who are already enamored of Lynch and his one of a kind brilliance. For as curious as it is, though, the sum total is deeply entrancing, to the point that it really does feel like we've stumbled into a dream - and maybe that is the surest sign of success. One should know that this is well removed from any easy frame of reference, but for those open to all that film, television, theater, music, and art have to offer, 'Industrial symphony No. 1' is a delight that pleases from beginning to end, and I'm happy to give it my hearty recommendation.

I harbor a deep love of every film Yorgos Lanthimos has made to date. 'Poor things' and 'The favourite' may have garnered the fame and popularity of awards, but ''Dogtooth,' 'Alps,' 'The killing of a sacred deer,' and all his other works are just as brilliant. It's safe to say that I've been looking forward to 'Kinds of kindness' from the time it was announced, with only its considerable length keeping me from seeing it any sooner. Somehow, despite all that, Lanthimos is the sort of filmmaker who surprises us again and again as he and common collaborator Efthimis Filippou keep up their consistent approach of incredibly wry, dry humor; characters with abnormal and very forthright mannerisms, behavior, and conversational patterns; and a decidedly peculiar, fanciful surrealism that verges on the bizarrerie of David Lynch. Each picture bears these similarities, yet every time the method is a wonder. And to my great pleasure, this 2024 anthology falls right in line with its predecessors. Nothing here will change the minds of those who have a hard time getting on board with Lanthimos' style, yet for those open to all the wide, weird possibilities of cinematic storytelling, 'Kinds of kindness' is simply terrific!

I have a hard time not seeing Emma Stone as the young newcomer who appeared in teen comedies and big audience pleasers early in her career, just as Jesse Plemons will, to me, always first bring to mind Todd in 'Breaking bad.' Yet as they appear here alongside the inimitable Willem Dafoe and rising stars Hong Chau, Margaret Qualley, Mamoudou Athie, and still other very recognizable actors, there can be no mistaking that Stone and Plemons are high-caliber performers who are very serious about their craft, and creation in the medium. Heeding Lanthimos' beck and call and fully embracing the striking, unforgettable strangeness of the man's body of work, everyone turns in solid, firmly engaging, impeccable performances that are at once carefully honed and calculated, and perfectly natural and smooth. Much the same goes for the man's direction, mind you, being tight and focused but allowing every moment to be explored in its entirety - all while sustaining the same odd idiosyncrasies, regardless of sex, violence, or anything else happening in a scene. Why, even the original music of Jerskin Fendrix is noteworthy and arresting in a like manner; as discordant piano and choral selections judiciously, selectively punctuate the proceedings, the score stops just short of suggesting horror, only ever adding to the offbeat, charged whimsy of the feature. Once again, 'Kinds of kindness' is both kith and kin with its brethren, and wholly unique as only Lanthimos can conjure.

Of course all this is to say nothing of how stupendously the movie is made, meeting all the high standards of modern productions. The editing and cinematography, the sets and costume design, the hair and makeup, the fundamental sound and image, and not least the stunts and effects are all superb, and a total blast. And as to the very loosely connected narratives that Lanthimos and Filippou whipped up, well, we can draw points of comparison, and we can also reasonably say there's nothing else like it. Thrills, chills, laughs, and also plentiful cringes of revulsion populate these nearly three hours alongside other real emotions and varying moods, all while serving up a host of marvelously distinctive, outlandish storytelling that dances across drama, dark comedy, horror, science fiction, and the indescribably far-flung - and all with a certain psychological edge and arthouse inflections. I don't even rightly know how to put these three plots into words; I know only that the narrative and scene writing, the characters, and the dialogue are all fantastically strong and flavorful, an assemblage equally smart and kooky that's wonderfully engrossing, compelling, and satisfying. Well and truly, I dare say Lanthimos is one of the most original and creative, and underappreciated, filmmakers working today.

Any title that operates in a more experimental, abstruse, or avant-garde space will surely appeal only to a fairly niche audience, and the same is definitely true of filmmakers who regularly play in such spaces. 'Kinds of kindness,' and Lanthimos, are nothing if not that, so I can understand that this won't be for everyone. Be that as it may, whether one is a particular fan of someone involved or just looking for something good, so long as you're receptive to the more far-out and unconventional corners of fiction, as far as I'm concerned this is all but a masterpiece. From start to finish in each segment it's a flick that takes us on a fabulous, clever, entertaining, intoxicating journey, and I'm kind of aghast that it's not more highly celebrated. For my money 'Kinds of kindness' is surely one of the best films of the past year, and I'm all too happy to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

Setting aside all the awards and nominations (never a guaranteed indicator of quality), I've gathered only positive word of mouth about this film, and I've been intent to watch just on that basis once I had the opportunity. That anticipation as a cinephile must be weighed, in some measure, against personal skepticism; though I was raised Roman Catholic, I left belief behind a long time ago, and broadly I do not look favorably on the history, culture, or politics of the church. Wherever the story goes, could a title all about the Catholic Church hold interest for a godless heathen? Is 'Conclave' really all that it's chalked up to be according to that positive word of mouth and critical acclaim? Thankfully, the former point is not specifically a concern, for this is not a work that tries to weave in apologetics, or emphatically impart a particular message or philosophy; the picture is a political drama about halls of power, the deliberations over how to fill a vacuum, and the various stark personalities and stunning secrets that come out in the process, and it just happens to boast a setting that ostensibly, traditionally, cloaks itself in opaque shrouds of holy virtue. And as to the latter point, there is indeed much to appreciate in these two hours; though I might stop short of saying it's a revelation, this is unquestionably a superb movie.

It's worth observing that the first aspect to catch my attention and my favor, and the most reliable and consistent aspect, is the aesthetics. Oh yes, of course I refer the filming locations, and the production design and art direction, and the costume design; all this looks lovely, and I'm given to understand that the project took some slight liberties with representation of real life elements only as befit the considerations of what would appear on-screen. Of course I also refer to Volker Bertelmann's original music; though it is understated and generally keeps to the background, it is a lovely complement that deftly meets the tension and mood of any given scene, and at select moments the score is simply outstanding. As it happens, however, I'm most actively interested in the fundamental presentation of the audio, and of the image. Admire their acting as we may, I've never taken especial note of Ralph Fiennes' voice, nor Stanley Tucci's, nor John Lithgow's, let alone those of their co-stars. It is a great credit to those operating in the sound department behind the scenes on this feature that every voice to greet our ears is immensely pleasant, soothing, and mellifluous, the aural equivalent of a warm blanket. In a piece that is built on dialogue more than anything else, that attentive focus was quite shrewd, and while I accentuate the voices, the same most certainly applies to the rest of the audio. Much the same verbiage should be applied to Stéphane Fontaine's cinematography, the smart use of lighting, and Edward Berger's smart direction and orchestration of shots and scenes. Scenes tend to present in dim, low light, and processing in post-production pointedly dampens the colors we see - yet the visions to greet us couldn't be more crisp and clear even in that diminished illumination, and there is a tender touch even in the basic visuals that is tremendously gratifying as a viewer.

With all this said, however, as the story develops, make no mistake that the plot is stupendously engrossing, and only ever more so. It is right to congratulate those operating behind the scenes for their hard work and its incredible results, and by all means, I do not for one moment discount the excellent, measured, nuanced performances of Fiennes, Tucci, Lithgow, Sergio Castellitto, Isabella Rossellini, Lucian Msamati, Carlos Diehz, Brían F. O'Byrne, nor anyone else starring herein. I find Berger's direction utterly impeccable. Furthermore, to note, I am not familiar with Robert Harris' novel, though I trust this adaptation is faithful, and I would now be curious to read that source material. Yet in all sincerity, Peter Straughan's screenplay is brilliant. With several languages being intermittently represented, in some small instances the usage is ingenious as it adds to the storytelling; the exact manner in which a scene unfolds sometimes feels both very natural and calculated to a point of flawless precision. The narrative and scene writing touches upon hot-button issues that, in less careful hands, may be seized upon with careless treatment of a certain group or idea, or for strident proclamation of a certain set of values, but Straughan guides the tale in a gentle manner that brightly plays with such matters without letting them take center stage and obscure the primary thrust. In fact, though there is no actual connection, I'm reminded of a non-fiction book I read some years ago by Thomas P. Doyle, A. W. R. Sipe, and Patrick J. Wall, called 'Sex, priests, and secret codes: The Catholic Church's 2,000-year paper trail of sexual abuse,' in this way: while laying out the terrible, sordid history of only a cross-section of the crimes and cover-ups in the church, Doyle, Sipe, and Wall speak thoughtfully to how the institution can meaningfully move forward in the modern world, despite being inescapably entrenched in traditions and self-protection, while safeguarding and still playing shepherd to the faithful; similarly, despite the touchy space that this flick delves into, the nearest it gets to some definitive thesis or statement is a proposal, softly suggested through dialogue and the narrative's treatment of characters, that the church should look forward and not backward. All this, in a story exploring a very exclusionary organization, a very exclusive event, with a tenor familiar to various political dramas over the years. I cannot overstate how magnificent the writing is, and ultimately the screenplay and its execution impresses just as much as the work put in by the crew behind the scenes.

I sat to watch with no major foreknowledge and expectations that were mixed to high. While some facets were pleasing right from the start, by the time all is said and done there is no doubting that 'Conclave' as a whole is one of the very, very best films of the last year - of all recent years, really - and is fully deserving of all the esteem and accolades it has garnered. I don't think it's singular or life-changing as some other corners of cinema are, but it IS so uniformly terrific that I do not hesitate to call it a must-see. In serving up a discrete story with all-too relevant themes and notions mindfully woven in, and in its stellar craftsmanship that is beyond all reproach, this movie climbs to an echelon that relatively few can claim, and I've been relieved of whatever reservations I may have held toward it. As far as I'm concerned I can only give 'Conclave' my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

I didn't think too much of this when I first watched it a few years ago. It felt only fair to give it another go, however, especially after just revisiting the actual original Japanese film of 1954. Yes, heavier and more substantive thematic material was left out for broader international audiences owing to the shadow of World War II that still loomed over the globe, and to apprehension of the violent onset of the nuclear age; yes, new material and audio was shot, recorded, and inserted featuring Raymond Burr to fill in some blanks and help the picture appeal to international audiences; yes, there's every reason to assume 'Godzilla, king of the monsters' would inherently be a lesser creation. I thought so with my first viewing, and that broad opinion has been affirmed in its own way with any subsequent instance in which I watched both the original Japanese version of a franchise title and its English dub and re-edit (see also: 'Ebirah, horror of the deep' and 'Godzilla vs. The sea monster'). Still, to reexamine this 1956 project with fresh eyes, how might it hold up?

It's gratifying that if nothing else, the editors did a swell job of inserting the new footage in amidst the old; there are no proverbial seams from a technical standpoint. Of course the re-edit substantially rearranges shots and scenes in addition to omitting many others, with the inevitable result that a new story has been created in some measure, and in effect, a new final product; one cannot possibly say that 'Godzilla' and 'Godzilla, king of the monsters' are the same movie, even though they both utilize much of the same footage. In renewed retrospect, I don't think this feature is specifically bad. The trouble is that where the progenitor is unexpectedly strong and dark, bringing to bear an earnest, meaningful, and impactful story of sci-fi horror even through the limitations of 50s techniques and technology, by the nature of what Trans World Releasing excised, and the tenor that's infused through Burr's narration and new director Terry O. Morse's vision, the revised international release is sadly, pointedly bereft of the potency of its forebear.

Replete with questionable if not downright tiresome dubbing and a commonly flat, almost detached and disinterested tone, the power of 'Godzilla' with its themes and ideas is transformed into an ordinary 50s monster flick that's rather unexceptional, and nearly stale. The weight of the drama, of the action, and of the deeper thoughts is gone, with hardly more than a somewhat superficial vestige remaining. The difficult emotions and dynamics of the key Japanese characters is rendered as something conventional and mild explained from the distant perspective of Burr's American reporter, who in one of his unsatisfactory voiceovers of narration even describes the charged human drama in reductionist terms of "the usual triangle." Meanwhile, the utmost gravity of Dr. Serizawa, and the careful scientific mind of Dr. Yamane, are all but entirely left on the cutting room floor along with other scenes that gave the original version its greatest vibrancy, or are at least reconfigured in a manner that is, again, decidedly less effective. The uncertainty, dread, and terror represented in the colossal beast are diminished until little more than dry observations are left. All told, the whole is very much 'Godzilla' as reworked through the filter of stereotypical 50s genre fare - which for good reason does not generally have a good reputation, even as there are plentiful exceptions.

I maintain that none of this means 'King of the monsters' is specifically bad. Indeed, it remains enjoyable in some measure. Nevertheless, in successfully fashioning a new interpretation of 'Godzilla' to introduce the titular titan to the wider world, in large part this endeavor warped or erased those parts of the prior film that made it such a lasting treasure, and what we get in turn just doesn't do all that much to impress. It's still duly worthwhile on its own merits, and also as a learning exercise in how movies are sometimes altered by prevailing authorities to suit what they perceive as the interests of the prospective audience. It's just that when stood next to "the real McCoy" of 1954, this is without question relatively unremarkable and blandly sterilized of its poignancy, with notably less complexity, gravity, or authenticity in its modified sequencing, its modified treatment of events and characters, and its modified story. Check it out, sure, and have a good time with it, but be well aware that 'King of the monsters' is only a shade of what it's derived from.

There are some aspects of movies that one is unlikely to take particular notice of unless there is something abnormal about them, or especially good or bad. Pacing is one such aspect, for in the course of ordinary cinematic storytelling, filmmakers tend to know quite naturally when the presentation of The Next Thing will be most effective. On the other hand, even the most casual of viewers will readily notice if a title blazes forward, blowing past scenes and story ideas, or if a title saunters, plodding forward so meagerly as to deaden dramatic tension or action thrills. The 'Godzilla' franchise, unfortunately, is all too familiar with the latter issue, for many entries have struggled with direction and plot development so slow as to all but stop features in their tracks. It is regrettable, but not terribly surprising, that even this 1954 progenitor is not immune from these troubles. Curiously, early scenes arguably suffer from a somewhat opposite matter as brusque editing speeds ahead while inelegantly cutting from one shot to another - but make no mistake that as the length advances, while there are no few scenes which should boast considerable weight and import, the proceedings sometimes crawl along like a depressed snail until the intended impact just putters out. The incidence may not be entirely as severe here as elsewhere, but it's noteworthy nonetheless.

That fault is all the more irksome because of how excellent the original 'Godzilla,' the Japanese version, actually is. Throughout seven decades of ridiculous but fun kaiju romps, the series has claimed some welcome exemplars - not least Anno Hideaki and Higuchi Shinji's 'Shin Godzilla' of 2016, or Yamazaki Takashi's acclaimed 'Godzilla -1.0' of 2023 - that are so superb as to be outliers. With a very real sense of horror and harrowing, tragic drama amidst science fiction and more action-oriented sequences, those two pictures above all give us an interpretation of the colossus that is genuinely distressing, earnestly meaningful, and ultimately unforgettable. To my great pleasure, despite the relative limitations of what director Honda Ishiro, effects maestro Tsuburaya Eiji, and other production staff had to work with seven decades ago, this flick is very much forged with the same intelligence, and the same sensibilities of leaving viewers with something of real gravity. From early sightings off the creature that leaves destruction in its wake, to more grandiose and prolonged scenes of death and devastation, to efforts to combat the titan, this endeavors mightily to say and do something that matters. And far more than not, it handily succeeds.

Honda and co-writers Murata Takeo and Kayama Shigeru shaped a story and screenplay of true substance. They speak unequivocally to the terrors and madness of the Atomic Age, the fruits of which emphatically created the titular entity, while sincerely touching upon the dread uncertainty, panic, disruption to daily life, and tormented loss of life that comes with the comings and goings of Godzilla; the scientific considerations of what Godzilla is, of how he might be dealt with, and at length of grieving the intended termination of such a singular lifeform; the logistics of trying to safeguard the populace, and implement defenses; the things both impressive and awful that can be achieved with scientific experimentation and discovery, and what the knowledge of these can do to the psyche even of the person responsible for them; and more. Furthermore, this movie succeeds in still another way similar to 'Shin Godzilla' and 'Godzilla -1.0' where many of their brethren have failed, for the franchise has long faced difficulties in honestly, capably, and convincingly weaving together kaiju action with human stories. Yet like those recent gems, 1954's 'Godzilla' feeds us drama between a select connected group of characters that dovetails neatly into the broader tableau of the emergence of the monster, and that drama itself is so strong that it could be the basis of a film without any monster at all. If that's not a high compliment, then I don't know what is.

And the story of this piece's success isn't just about the writing, or the broad strokes of the execution. Godzilla's roar is famous around the world, but one shouldn't discount the effectiveness of well-placed thunderous footfalls that portend the coming of something immense and horrific. That's to say nothing of the essential, stupendous original music of Ifukube Akira, here greeting our ears for the first time, that has been exercised to stellar results. The themes that accompany Godzilla and his trail of destruction are as rich, flavorful, and psychologically effective as one could ask, even here where the dispensation is comparatively straightforward, and there can never be any questioning why Ifukube was so highly sought after as a composer. The stunts and practical effects masterminded by industry legend Tsuburaya - models, miniatures, fire, explosions, and more, even including some stop-motion animation - hold up well even today, and Godzilla himself looks more gnarly and unnerving than he has in many successive works. Select, sparing usage of post-production visuals (e.g. Composite shots, or Godzilla's atomic breath) somewhat shows their age, but even these are quite good for an era not generally known for high-quality genre fare. And even the acting is something to take note of here, for though icon Shimura Takashi easily stands out most with his esteemed skill, co-stars like Takarada Akira, Kochi Momoko, and Hirata Akihiko also have their moments to shine, and they certainly do.

I'll even go so far as to say that maybe I'm being a little too harsh in speaking of the pacing here, and I want to hold the feature in still higher regard. That doesn't mean it isn't still a flaw, or that the flick is otherwise perfect. Again, I see some rough spots in Taira Taichi's editing; moreover, not all elements are treated with equal care throughout these ninety-six minutes, whether we're looking at the effects, Tamai Masao's cinematography, Honda's shot composition, instances of acting, or something else. One way or another, it's still true that some moments which should ideally hit us like a load of bricks lose some potency for how they are handled.

Be that as it may, however - regardless of the extent to which we may find problems to criticize - I am all so pleased with just how good 'Godzilla' is. This would be all but completely sterilized for international release one year later as 'King of the monsters' when the accentuation on weapons of mass destruction were written out by the U. S. occupation and its censors, but seen in its original form, with all the ponderous themes and ideas that it has and is meant to play with, the sum total continues to stand tall and leave an indelible lasting mark. To whatever extent it's robbed of the full impact it could have had, all told it remains smart, thoughtful, and frankly stunning, not because of its craft but because of how wonderfully sober the whole affair is. 'Godzilla' birthed a franchise, but the progenitor itself is no kaiju romp, for this is horror sci-fi that aims to make itself be felt, and far, far more than not, it does. I can appreciate that it won't necessarily appeal to all comers, but whether one is a fan of monster films, Godzilla specifically, or just looking for something good to watch, I cannot overstate how sturdily this stands on its own legs. Warts and all it's an enduring fine credit to all involved, a classic that puts countless more recent titles to shame, and I'm very happy to give 1954's 'Godzilla' my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation.

I don't know what it is - something about the way he carries himself, I think, or his mannerisms, or subconsciously, maybe even an association with some of the characters he's portrayed - but in the past I often found myself put off by Jesse Eisenberg. It's not that I specifically avoided his movies, but nor were they ever on my shortlist to watch. Somehow I completely missed his directorial debut, for example. With co-star Kieran Culkin receiving major recognition for his performance in this, Eisenberg's second outing as writer and director, I felt I would be terribly remiss not to give it a look. Now that I have, it's mightily affirmed to me that I should be paying far more attention to a fellow who, being relatively young, has been achieving so much. For all that 'A real pain' does well my overall opinion of it is still perhaps a little mixed, but where it succeeds, it does so with flying colors, and I can appreciate why it's been received so well. And all told, I can't argue with that reception.

Eisenberg's direction is focused and mindful, giving himself, Culkin, and their fellow cast members plentiful opportunity to explore each moment and let it breathe and resonate - even while the picture often maintains a rather steady pace. To much the same point, it's plainly evident that Eisenberg and cinematographer Michal Dymak aimed to exhibit the beauty, honor, and complexity of a country that, broadly, tends to be cloaked in our perception in the shrouds of the war, oppression, and gloom in its living history; even as the sights to greet us are indeed very easy on the eyes, every passing shot feels very purposeful, not least as the characters' tour takes them to places of especial profundity. And I'm kind of stunned by the sobriety and introspection of what Eisenberg wrote, for I never in a million years would have expected this screenplay from the same guy who starred in 'Zombieland' and 'American ultra,' and who played Lex Luthor in Zack Snyder's DCEU. We have, at once, two cousins struggling with their personal issues and anxieties, and also trying to work through the difficulties of their relationship; a journey taken in respect of their late grandmother, their heritage, and the innate generational trauma; and an exploration and demystification of Poland, and of the horrors that were perpetrated there only short decades ago. And while there is plenty of humor throughout these pages to provide levity and balance, and to keep the proceedings relatively light, my heart aches with how earnest the picture is at its core.

With that said, I think the broad scope of the writing, and Eisenberg's stringently faithful execution, is what troubles 'A real pain' to some degree. There are, at times, major clashes between the manic energy and blunt, outspoken nature of Benji; David's deeply reserved and bottled up composure, a reflection of how he tries to manage his own apprehensions and mental health; and the sincere intentions of the trek to Europe, and the places it goes. These clashes are more severe than what I believe was suitably intended as a key source of mirth in this comedy-drama, and in fact the issue is significant enough that the first impression the feature makes is kind of rough. Early scenes are intended to be awkward, but I altogether flinched for how uncomfortable the hopping tone was, and I harbored doubts even as I admired various elements. However much praise the sum total earns, it isn't perfect.

But, oh, it does earn substantial praise. Somewhere around the halfway mark those tonal matters begin to fold into each other, ultimately gelling into a cohesive and meaningful whole. As the narrative progresses Eisenberg ably weaves all the varied flavors and ideas together; not coincidentally, though humor remains, the more heartfelt drama rises to the fore and takes precedence. So even as Eisenberg as an actor, and supporting co-stars like Jennifer Grey (!), Will Sharpe, and Kurt Egyiawan, provide firm, reliable anchors from the outset, and even as Culkin all but roars to vivid life from the get-go with a vibrant performance inhabiting mercurial, somewhat volatile Benji - there's no questioning that he has earned what award nominations he has garnered - there comes a distinct point around which the flick finds its center. An understated but tense, emotionally dense dinner scene potently brings into clarity the heart of what ails David, and Benji, and their relationship, and makes Benji's prior outbursts and zest snap into focus if they hadn't before. In that same scene, Eisenberg gives a performance so soulful that he nearly outshines Culkin, and also everything else he's done. From that scene onward the overarching temperament changes, leading into a sequence visiting a historical site so stark, truthful, and solemn that Eisenberg arguably outdoes one of the most revered films of the 90s, and later into a small, quiet scene which, outwardly presenting with wry sensibilities, belies a subtle grim comment on how some peoples meet with barriers even in how they try to grieve for their dead. Yes, 'A real pain' is a comedy-drama, but at precise, carefully calculated junctures, it's astonishingly heavy.

Across all moods, the music dominated by the works of Chopin is a surprisingly adept complement: at times perfectly meshing, and at times bearing its own wry implementation, while always shrewdly evoking class, legacy, history, and memory. By Jove, the score is such an intelligently devised component of this title that it nearly matches Eisenberg's script in its sagacity, and wherever the credit lies for that stroke of genius, I can only extend my compliments. All this is to say nothing of how well made the piece is in general, claiming all the best of modern production values. The strengths here are undeniable, however, and for however much love we may give to Culkin for his impressive performance, or to others involved, at length I am above all struck, again, by how it is the star of 'Adventureland' who has conjured such a complicated, thoughtful, impactful picture. Clearly I've been mistaken in ever discounting Jesse Eisenberg, and if works of this caliber is what the man is capable of, then I absolutely look forward to seeing more from him in the future. Between the sometimes emotionally distressing places this feature goes, and the uncomfortable tonal issues, I can understand how this won't readily appeal to everyone. For my part, though, I sat to watch with no foreknowledge and mixed expectations, and leave exceptionally pleased with how very good the result is. 'A real pain' is a real treasure, and I can only give it my very high and hearty recommendation.

It's been a long time since I last watched this, and having explored or revisited all the rest of David Lynch's works in the past year or so, it only seems right after his recent unfortunate death to rewatch it now. Even among all else that fills these two hours - sex, violence, Dennis Hopper, and many memorable scenes - what I've remembered most in the past many years has been (a) the curious product placement, as several different brands of beer are emphatically, awkwardly referenced in dialogue or seen on-camera, and (b) the fact that, stood next to the man's other projects, 'Blue velvet' is relatively ordinary and straightforward. Now? Those foremost perceptions definitely still hold true, though the alcohol is perhaps slightly less prominent than I've recalled. And while this classic does indeed bear more in common with other neo-noir crime thrillers than with Lynch's utmost surrealist bizarrerie, there's no mistaking the stranger flavors that the icon infused throughout as both writer and director. And that, it should be said, makes this 1986 film one of a kind, and it's even better than I remembered. In retrospect, it's hard to believe that this didn't receive more robust, widespread recognition upon release.

One severed ear and sheer curiosity drive innocent Jeffrey and even sweet Sandy to discover that the world is crueler, darker, and more peculiar than they knew, crossing paths with troubled Dorothy Vallens, unhinged Frank Booth, and still more danger. At that, the story outwardly sounds fairly simple, but the details in Lynch's screenplay and in the subsequent realization lend flourishes that do, after all - to one degree or another - remind of the more dreamlike qualities of 'Twin Peaks,' 'Wild at heart,' or 'Lost highway.' The gentle purity of Jeffrey and Sandy, and the poetic and more esoteric tendencies in the dialogue and scene writing; the artistry and occasional flair in some shots, and strong colors in the production design, art direction, costume design, and even hair and makeup; Angelo Badalamenti's score, a dynamic and able complement that nevertheless leans toward airy synth chords, and ingenious use of select popular songs; the abrupt jolts of aggression and harsh violence, speaking not only to the criminal underworld but to domestic violence and the warped psychology of the characters: all this and more has the effect of taking a straight premise and fleshing it out with a twisted fancy into a mesmerizing trip down the rabbit hole.

Yes, there is absolutely undeniable kinship between this picture and Lynch's other endeavors, seen even in Frederick Elmes cinematography, Duwayne Dunham's editing, and how sound is used here. It's also true that 'Blue velvet' is so astonishingly vibrant that as we watch, it seems to boast a severe edge and clarity that makes it stand tall and apart. Gosh, what a wild, intoxicating ride this is! And not one trace of the whole ever seems out of place. The writing is sharp and biting, being far-out and imaginative even as it stays rooted in a recognizable genre space; the more the story develops, the more it seems that every scene in turn is its own veritable thunderclap of shock and awe. This is to say nothing of the deeply entrancing characters, for even those we meet only in passing (Ben) or who overall occupy less time on-screen (Sandy) are fascinating - and between Jeffrey's harrowing journey, Dorothy's grave difficulties, and Frank's psychopathy alone, the viewing experience keeps us firmly locked in. Add to this the exceptional acting, the performing equivalent of hands and gloves, and it's hard not to completely fall in love with this flick. Hopper threatens to entirely steal the show with the emotional ferocity and fiery physicality he carries as Frank, but Kyle MacLachlan's range and nuance as Jeffrey is all so admirable, Isabella Rossellini's emotional depth is gripping as she portrays Dorothy, and even young Laura Dern melts hearts with what the script allows her as Sandy. And so on, and so on.

With impeccable contributions from all those behind the scenes, further including stunts and effects, and smart, tight, focused direction from Lynch, is there actually any criticism to lay at this movie's feet? Honestly, I don't think that there is. It's been a very long time since I last watched it, and I certainly liked it way back when; coming back after so much time, I treasure 'Blue velvet' all the more. In a career full of incredible, inimitable brilliance, the stark ugliness and disturbing odyssey in this title surely marks it as one of the filmmaker's greater successes, a well-populated echelon that's already difficult to match. It doesn't even seem fair to try to directly compare this to its brethren, but suffice to say that it remains a must-see for anyone who appreciates Lynch. And for those who do struggle more with the style of film-making and storytelling he often exercised, perhaps the less idiosyncratic tenor in this instance will make for an easier point of entry for general audiences. Through and through this feature is a compelling, enthralling, immensely satisfying experience with no immediate comparison. For any number of reasons it won't appeal to all comers, but I cannot overstate what a blast 'Blue velvet' is, and I'm happy to give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation!

Between boasting celebrated King Vidor as a producer, prolific Frances Marion as a screenwriter, and esteemed Marion Davies as a star, this feature has a lot to catch our attention even before we consider the according labor behind the scenes - or the fact that it marks an attempt by Fatty Arbuckle, directing under a pseudonym, to discretely continue working after his infamous trials, acquittal, and effective blacklisting. With additional familiar names and faces involved like Snitz Edwards, coming at right about the point when talkies were about to shift the paradigm, based on a musical with a story set in another country, and with a controversial figure behind it all, how well would 'The red mill' stand on its own merits? How does it hold up in retrospect?

It's sometimes been said that the silent era represents "simpler entertainment for a simpler time." That's absolutely not true across the board, but particularly (and not exclusively) with comedies there was a tendency toward happy-go-lucky pluckiness, ensuring happy endings, and a concrete effort to forget the troubles of the day. Even in its earliest scenes it's not as if this flick doesn't touch upon meaningful themes as we see the lonely drudgery protagonist Tina is forced into by her employer, but entertainment is definitely the first order of the day. And you know what, that's perfectly fine by me, because the result is way better than I ever could have hoped. It is perhaps true that there's nothing about this 1927 release apt to change the minds of those who already have a hard time engaging with these early years of cinema, but Marion's adapted screenplay is filled with wit and zest, and Arbuckle demonstrates his experience with comedy in maintaining a lively vitality about even the smallest of scenes and gags as the story develops. With the cast, further including Owen Moore, Louise Fazenda, and George Siegmann, also giving spirited performances along the way, rest assured that this picture is firmly enjoyable right from the get-go.

Even the most passing of Joseph Farnham's intertitles are terrifically sharp, matching Marion's scene writing toe to toe with a narrative that's broadly familiar but charming and engaging nonetheless: beleaguered Tina meets well-to-do traveler Dennis, and following various obstacles, tribulations, and hijinks, all will end well for both laborer and suitor. Actually, even within only the first fraction of the runtime, the writing, direction, and acting all swiftly prove to be so bright and amusing that I wonder if the flick doesn't make a more ready impression than even some more famous works by contemporary icons. As the minutes tick by, moreover, this only ever gets better and better, and the telling is arguably more varied and original than it at first seems. I was ever so pleased again and again by the slightest of moments and imparted dialogue. To this add the undeniable excellence of the expansive, detailed sets, the lovingly crafted costume design, and the lovely hair and makeup, and splendid props, and the fortunes of 'The Red Mill' just keep improving. Even cinematographer Hendrik Sartov and editor Daniel J. Gray turn in notably keen contributions, let alone some fine writing, and this is to say nothing of the added bonus of all the animals that play roles of varying size throughout the proceedings (long live Ignatz!), recalling some of the joy we got from Harold Lloyd or Buster Keaton.

True, we might say that whether as a matter of the source material or of Marion's adaptation, the film relies on somewhat oversimplified depictions of Holland, and there is intermittently some treatment of women that reflects outdated values and norms. It's possible that the writing could have been tightened a little, too. These considerations seem very minor, however, and are much more a reflection of the sensibilities and human foibles that storytellers struggle with rather than indication of any distinct fault on the part of this title. Furthermore, it's not so much that this specifically plays with Holland as a setting, but more that the country happens to be the setting for the shenanigans to come. Well and truly, far, far more than not I'm delighted by how clever and mirthful this is from the very top to the very bottom, and as a side note, it's worth observing that surviving prints have been perfectly preserved, with impeccable image quality and no deterioration. Is there actually any resolute criticism to lay at the movie's feet? I'm not inclined to think so, and I say that as someone that - as a tangent, but an important one - has trouble reckoning with the confluence of Arbuckle's initial popularity and stardom, his notorious scandal, his seeming vindication, and his struggle to find work thereafter.

Plentiful odds and ends are all but brilliant, even a tiny instance of breaking the fourth wall, and some would seem to have subtly found their way past censors of the day. I can't overstate what a pleasure this release of nearly a century ago is. 'The Red Mill' really accentuates to me how important it is to preserve our cultural heritage, for while there are some silent pieces that fail to leave a mark, or which haven't aged well, many plainly innovated in the new medium, and countless others like this really do hold up marvelously. In every capacity these seventy-three minutes are filled with gratifying, shrewdly considered minutiae that enrich the viewing experience and make it fun, and as far as I'm concerned this is a massively underappreciated classic that deserves much more recognition. I'd stop just short of saying it's an absolute must-see, but make no mistake, 'The Red Mill' is a superb classic, and a fantastic time all around, and I'm happy to give it my high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

It remains true that some of the greatest films ever made hail from the silent era; proliferate icon that she was, many of Mary Pickford's many films remain esteemed classics. Not all works of the time are equal, though, be it a matter of emphasis on outdated social values, different sensibilities of film-making or storytelling, or possibly just weak writing or direction generally, so even where Pickford is concerned one must sit to watch with high expectations while being prepared for a lesser experience. With all this in mind, I do think that 1919's 'The hoodlum' may be a title that doesn't perfectly hold up: in early scenes alone, some of the humor suggests cruelty to animals, and I earnestly question how some animals on set were treated; even for a flick in which a mean, haughty person will have a change of heart, there is initially a level of wickedness on display, that of the wealthy and powerful selfishly operating at will without care for anyone else, that is extra off-putting. Additional smidgens of those outdated social values, such as passing sexist remarks about women, don't specifically help to curry favor, and more substantively, there are points where the writing seems to take shortcuts that we can only take at face value, such as that early beat when protagonist Amy abruptly decides to change her plans, upsetting her grandfather.

Still, though there are odds and ends that don't come off so well in retrospect, there is much to appreciate in these eighty minutes. Even if the treatment and the scene writing can be rough, there is a sincere narrative with meaningful themes at the core as a pointedly unsympathetic person learns what's important in life and changes their ways. (And some scenes actually are very well done, moreover a credit to editor Edward McDermott.) The humor is often mild, and some scenes are all but cartoonish, with some tidbits that may even raise a skeptical eyebrow, but there is definitely fun to be had along the way, and this is a piece with heart that also happens to be reasonably entertaining. The acting and Sidney Franklin's direction may fall on the more forthright side of the spectrum - reflecting not the more subtle, natural performances that modern audiences are used to, and which would develop over time in the silent era, but the more exaggerated facial expressions and body language that were ported from the stage to compensate for lack of sound and verbal dialogue - but even at that the cast give spirited, capable performances, and Franklin ably keeps the proceedings fresh with just the right measure of pep and vitality. There are sure highlights throughout, such as a sequence in which Amy is caught in a rainstorm.

And when it comes to the nuts and bolts of the feature this is as well made as most any of its contemporaries. The costume design, hair, makeup, and especially the sets give us big eyefuls to take in, and they all look fantastic; where stunts, effects, and otherwise action come into play they are excellent. I admire the intertitles both for their writing - in particular, the lingo of one hundred years ago is itself a blast - and for the little artistic flourishes that often characterize them. The tinting that is exercised to help flavor scenes is as welcomingly sharp as McDermott's editing that shapes the picture. Nitpick some minutiae as we may, 'The hoodlum' is rather well-rounded overall, offering both amusement and rewarding thoughtfulness; though the sum total is no revelation, it's certainly far better than not. It's unlikely that this will do anything to change the minds of anyone who isn't already enamored of the silent era, but for those who enjoy what the early years of cinema have to offer, there's not truly any going wrong here. I might even say that while the pacing is a tad lethargic, the title picks up strength as it goes along, and the impression we're left with is stronger than the one we're first given; one can see, after all, the kinship that this shares with comedies from the likes of Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton, and that's high praise indeed. If early scenes left a bit to be desired, it was perhaps only in an effort to move more quickly to the best parts to come, and when all is said and done I can't really fault anyone for that.

So yes, the movie may have its issues. Yet ultimately it provides a good time while serving lessons about learning compassion and empathy - desperately needed one hundred years later - and discovering real community despite superficial differences, a notion which these days feels like a relic of the past, while imparting a complete, duly compelling story. Even at its best I wouldn't say that this demands to be seen, but warts and all, I'm very pleased with just how good 'The hoodlum' is, and I'm happy to give it my warm recommendation.

Despite practically universal acclaim from critics and viewers alike, I admit that I was in no rush to check this out, and in the first minutes the flick didn't make any major impression. It doesn't take long, however, before 'The wild robot' begins to prove itself, and I am delighted by how thoroughly enjoyable it is. Once additional characters are meaningfully introduced to complement Roz, the humor and storytelling take on new dimensions, and the result is fun, satisfying, and rewarding in exactly the fashion we want out of movies, and modern animation not least. I might stop a little short of saying that this totally demands viewership, but in every regard the film is so immensely pleasing, and outright fulfilling, and I could scarcely recommend it any more highly.

What here is not to love? Powered by DreamWorks, the visual experience is as tremendously beautiful and dazzling as we could hope. Character designs are built from familiar conceptions, between robot Roz and the wildlife that surrounds her, but given forms that are reliably new and creative in at least some small way - including not least the body language, facial expressions, and other cues corresponding to emotional beats. From lighting, water, weather, and other effects to the utterly gorgeous environment (somewhat recalling the magnificence we see in recent 'Legend of Zelda' games 'Breath of the wild' or 'Tears of the kingdom'), the fundamental appearance of every sight to greet us is plainly terrific. And this is only only more so for how this takes some influence from other recent animation, namely DreamWork's own 'Puss in Boots: The last wish,' which infuses some shrewd 2D flavoring, and smart texture and detail, into the predominant 3D style. That the animals in this are so goshdarn cute, well, that's just a bonus.

There are some very noteworthy names attached to this picture to help bring it to life, and I don't even mean filmmaker Chris Sanders, he behind 'Lilo & Stitch' and 'How to train your dragon.' Lupita Nyong'o is a joy in the unexpectedly dynamic performance she gives as Roz, and hardly any less so co-stars like Pedro Pascal, Ving Rhames, Bill Nighy, Mark Hamill, Stephanie Hsu, and many others as they lend their voices. Kris Bowers' original score tends to stick to the background, but is nonetheless superb accompaniment to the proceedings at all times; more than that, at precise psychological moments, Bowers latches onto the emotional heft of the tale with just the right chords, and the outcome is deeply gratifying, including in the last act as the course of events bounds toward its climax. The same, it should be said, goes for the original songs performed by Maren Morris, namely "Kiss the sky." As the feature further benefits from impeccable sound, keen editing and cinematography, and mindful, attentive direction, all the pieces are in place for the flick to take flight and soar on its on power.

Of course, none of this necessarily matters if the writing isn't up to snuff. Yet while I confess I'm unfamiliar with Peter Brown's books, there is no question in my mind that Sanders' adaptation stands firmly on its own legs, and is ultimately even better than I expected. Throughout its 100-odd minutes the title touches upon a lot more concretely dramatic beats amidst the adventure blended with science fiction, but there is plentiful humor all along the way of varying natures - some of it very family-friendly, some downright silly, and some more subtly wry or dark, yet pretty much all of it decidedly sharp and witty. Through it all, 'The wild robot' can claim such incredible heart and earnestness that it plays on our emotions again and again, above all with the mindful, thoughtful themes that the narrative embraces. Strong characterizations, robust scene writing, and wonderfully bright dialogue help to cement notions of parenthood generally, and motherhood specifically; community, found family, and coming together to survive emergencies and grave threats; growing up both physically and emotionally, and discovering one's own potential; and still more. This movie runs the gamut as ROZZUM 7134 awakens on an island uninhabited by humans and encounters local fauna, but Sanders' screenplay weaves it all together so smoothly that the sum total amounts to a viewing experience that's all but stunning for how it touches us.

In the strictest of terms I'm not sure that this is entirely perfect. In very broad strokes - the passage of time, and the narrative flow from beginning to end - it sometimes feels as if the pacing is a tad too swift, in turn failing to fully capitalize on the weight of some beats. Furthermore, even for as great as Sanders' writing is, there are some ideas herein that may be a tad too out of character with the remainder, chiefly with sequences that notably expand the sci-fi horizons of the story, which lean heavily into action ideations, or which even border on sci-fi horror. I wonder if it's not the case that the script could have been trimmed a little, with some material left for the sequel that Sanders is reportedly developing. The film is complete, cohesive, and stupendously compelling, but also maybe ever so slightly a bit much.

Then again, for as fantastic as this is in truly every capacity, and for as much as it successfully and meaningfully tugs on the heartstrings - and for as impactful and relevant as its themes are - any imperfections don't really count for all that much when all is said and done. I maintain that 'The wild robot' isn't necessarily an essential must-see, yet for the stellar level on which it operates in regards to its animation, the voice acting, the music, its technical craft, and perhaps above all its writing, it would be a sore mistake to pass up any opportunity to watch. Take it from someone who for reasons I can't explain was marginally indifferent or even hesitant to watch: this picture is a real pleasure, something that everyone could appreciate and from which anyone can take away honest substance, and all the high praise it has garnered since its release is right on point. 'The wild robot' is exceptional, and I'm thrilled to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

When approaching David Lynch's diverse body of work, especially his full-length features and 'Twin Peaks,' it may be advisable to subsequently revisit each. One pass is enough to discern that each title is curious and offbeat, yes, but subsequent viewings will reinforce just how far-out and abstruse the man's films were, not to mention smart and imaginative, and will affirm how unexpectedly and closely aligned most all of them were in that vision. Such an occasion is certainly bittersweet in light of Lynch's recent death, but this also makes it the perfect time to check out the icon's short-lived, hard to find TV show of 1992, 'On the air.' Beyond the peculiar and abnormal, what could we expect of this project? With only seven episodes filmed, and a mere three ever aired in the United States, how might it hold up?

To judge from the pilot alone, one is flabbergasted at how this wasn't an immediate rave success to last for years to come. The outrageous exaggerated characterizations, the flippant absurdism and cartoonishness, the wild stunts and effects (including audio fit for 'Looney Tunes'), the endless gags, the grand enthusiasm and spirited, preposterous performances of all involved, and the sheer wondrous vitality of the series' first twenty-four minutes are so stupendous that I wonder if it's not one of the best and most undervalued episodes in all of television in the whole world. The writing is as exceptionally ridiculous as it is brilliant, and the direction is tight and focused in bringing the chaos to bear. Would that more producers, filmmakers, and network executives dared to be anywhere near as joyously creative and original as Lynch, Mark Frost, and their cast and crew were in introducing this madness into the world, and this is to say nothing of touches of surrealism and bizarrerie that do, indeed, fit right in with the flavors we're accustomed to from Lynch's other works.

It's true, perhaps, that the remaining six episodes don't quite match the same level as the pilot, and the strength is a tad variable. Even with the sensibilities here already being what they are, there are points in the later episodes where I found myself thinking, "wait, WHAT is going on?" I don't think this is owing to any specific fault of subsequent writing and direction, but more a reflection of the inherent difficulties in producing the show. Nevermind catching lightning in a bottle twice; after one has caught it once, how does one sustain it? How does one maintain the same fervent zest moving forward while playing with the same set of tools? Even more to the point, from the second episode onward, there is a clear effort to infuse some slight sense of structure to the proceedings, and order, as small measures of plot are exercised as tentpoles; in so doing, the madcap electricity of the pilot is necessarily reined in to some degree. For my part I'm not inclined to believe that the writing or direction are any less ingenious at any time, but between plot and maintenance the underlying intent shifted, however marginally, and the result is impacted somewhat in turn.

Yet to whatever extent 'On the air' falters, or is uneven, in my opinion the distinction is minimal, and all but meaningless. I needed a pick-me-up and hoped that this would supply it, and my expectations were handily exceeded. From regular cast members like Ian Buchanan, Miguel Ferrer, Kim McGuire, Tracey Walter, and Mel Johnson Jr., to guest stars like Richard Riehle or Freddie Jones, a surprising bounty of recognizable names and faces greet us from one episode to the next, collectively kind of serving as an anchor as the show otherwise gleefully bounces off the walls. Beyond the reliable writing and direction, everything from those stunts and effects, to the sets and costume design, to the sound effects and Angelo Badalamenti's music are a real pleasure, to say nothing of the keen editing and cinematography. It's as well made as we would suppose of any TV show, really. And truthfully, when you get down to it, I can't help but think that this series was ahead of its time; for as marvelously silly and far-flung as the humor is - arguably making even the likes of Monty Python seem grounded by comparison - this very much reminds of something that might have been picked up for Cartoon Network's Adult Swim programming block, had it been created only a few years later.

I can't overstate how fantastically entertaining this is. I sat to watch with mixed expectations but high hopes, and I'm thrilled with how fun 'On the air' actually is. I might go so far as to say that it counts among Lynch's sturdier successes - and for as superb as his career mostly was, that's already saying a lot. Considering how pointedly goofy and bewildering the show is from top to bottom, I can understand how it won't appeal to all comers, not least with the last episode being all but totally mystifying. Yet whether one is a fan of Lynch and Frost or just looking for something enjoyable, provided one is open to all the wide, weirdest possibilities of comedy, I cannot possibly recommend this highly enough. As far as I'm concerned 'On the air' is an absolute blast, and this is one TV program that's well worth seeking out in whatever way one must.

I didn't have high expectations in the first place. While I'd previously seen the name in passing I knew nothing otherwise of the picture, and my first meaningful knowledge came after the 2025 Oscar nominations, with an article title that described 'Emilia Pérez' as both the most-nominated feature at the Academy Awards and the worst film of the year. From there one reads of the harsh criticism this has received from people who are in an apt position to judge it - for its use of the Spanish language, for its depiction of Mexico, and certainly not least for how it treats trans people. Be all that as it may, there comes a point where reading about a movie, good or especially bad, isn't enough, and we have to see it for ourselves. And so I have. And, friends, I rather think it's even worse than I had imagined. Within even the first couple scenes this makes a horrible impression, and I don't know how in the world this muck ever got approved for production unless it was as a deliberate jab at the communities that have rightly taken offense. It's not perfectly rotten, and there are some facets to appreciate, but as far as I'm concerned it's a regrettable mess with too little lasting worth to deserve anything except the sort of passing praise that is given to politely balance out more proliferate negative remarks.

There are earnest notions herein that, handled with appropriate care, could have been ripe for compelling drama and impactful storytelling to resonate with audiences from all corners and cultures. There is the person, in this case a high-profile criminal, who has lived a life of violence and wishes to leave it behind, with some reckoning of conscience to invariably come. There is the person, in this case a trans individual, who wishes to live life authentically, coming from a time and place where they feel they cannot, and who recognizes that to do so must mean cutting much out of their life and hitting the proverbial reset button. There are the other people surrounding this central figure who are drawn into the drama one way or another, having their lives changed, too, with their own parts to play, not least as our central figure finds it difficult to entirely leave their past behind. There is the reflection on the terrible history of cartel violence in Mexico, fueled by drug prohibition around the world and especially in the United States, which has destroyed countless innocent lives. There was indeed fine potential in the underlying ideas, to say nothing of the promise of swell modern production values, and surely splendid aesthetic considerations. Given the musical inclinations, we will of course also hope for flavorful music and enticing choreography.

Unfortunately, all such hopes are at best only partly and lightly satisfied. The flick inspires criticism pretty much as soon as it begins, in too many ways to concisely expound upon, and what value it can claim is all too little and inconsequential in comparison. I'm given to understand that French filmmaker Jacques Audiard has admitted to not particularly researching the country and culture of Mexico in which the tale is predominantly set, and that alone is a grievous foible that should have hamstrung 'Emilia Pérez' the moment he expressed that truth. As if that weren't enough, his direction tends to come off as forceful and false, at too many points impacting the acting even from respected stars, and similarly informing Paul Guilhaume's cinematography in turn; plenty of shots and scenes present quite well, but too many are painfully gauche and unconvincing. Then there are the apparent comments by casting director Carla Hool that they found talent in Mexico to be lacking, comments that are shameful and preposterous as the long and celebrated history of Mexican cinema easily proves Hool wrong. Obliquely emphasizing the point: even putting aside their nationality, or how Audiard's direction impacts them, or according disparagement of their diction in Spanish, I can't help but feel at many times that Zoe Saldaña and Selena Gomez were miscast; in my opinion they find only partial success in these roles and performances.

Granted, more than not the cast is just fine, at least if they can get past the troubles of Audiard's direction. Saldaña and Gomez both have moments where they shine; there's no question in my mind that Karla Sofía Gascón gives a good performance, and even those in smaller supporting roles, like Adriana Paz, are a minor joy. Yet for all the criticism 'Emilia Pérez' deserves, the storytelling in this title - both the active narrative and its treatment of specific groups, cultures, or ideas - is the sorest spot of all. While I can't necessarily speak to others on hand I know to a certainty that Saldaña and Gomez aren't hurting for work in their respective careers; did no one read Audiard's script before signing on? Were the contracts for the actors' participation predicated only on the broad thoughts underpinning it all?

There actually is some commendable substance in these 130 minutes, but the sad truth is that the film is scattered, conflicted, confused, and quite at odds with itself. Audiard tries to do too much here in the first place, weaving together the spectacle of the musical, the seediness of the crime flick, and the tangled weave of personal drama; the complications of professional association with criminal elements, and the parallel stories of an individual both trying to reform themselves and live life as their true self; the dire, all too real tableau of cartel violence, and the destruction that falls on innocent lives, and attempts to heal, with some action-thriller ideations to go along with it in the back end; a trans story, and queer representation; and still more. Then there's the fact of how this French production treats Mexico, for even one who is not specifically familiar or well versed in the country or its culture can plainly recognize how Audiard's representation seems to be built off of a lot of stereotypes and ill-informed, heavy-handed conceptions, with little to no nuance. It's no wonder that this was so poorly received in Mexico.

And while there might have been honest intent in terms of telling a trans story, and in casting a trans actor in the titular role, it's readily evident that neither Gascón nor any other trans folks had any input on the material written by cisgender Audiard and approved by cisgender studio executives. From the first scene when we meet Manitas, to dubious musical numbers "La vaginaplastia" and "Lady," to the subsequent treatment of the title character, this feature - like the vast preponderance that would claim to tell a trans story - cares more about sensationalism, about the parts of being transgender that are most alien or off-putting to cisgender people, and about otherwise using trans identity as a set piece, than it does about sincerely and truthfully speaking to the reality that trans and gender non-conforming people live on a daily basis. Like the vast preponderance of features that would claim to tell a trans story, 'Emilia Pérez' carelessly toys with the real and former lives of trans individuals, telling us that Manita is Pérez and Pérez is Manita when and only as it suits them. In so doing the screenplay depicts its one trans character as manipulative and duplicitous, as much because of their gender identity as because of their former life. In so doing, even with a trans actor in the chief role, 'Emilia Pérez' becomes ignorantly, appallingly transphobic as it paints the trans community with notes of freakishness and deception.

Some musical numbers are quite good, and some (not least those I already named), are downright awful. Even the better examples suffer from insipid, poorly written lyrics ("Papá" is absolutely not alone in that regard), and the style of singing we're commonly treated to raises a quizzical eyebrow. I do like the music and the choreography in general, though I believe even these tend to suffer from the forcefulness if not also the falseness of Audiard's direction, and like forcefulness in Camille's songwriting and in the choreography. Perhaps other aspects like production design and art direction, stunts and effects, hair and makeup, costume design, and sound are commendable in and of themselves - but the ends to which they were guided may be another matter, and considering all the other issues that this faces, I have a hard time caring about the work turned in by those operating behind the scenes. Sorry, crew. Truly.

I recall very well when Peter Farrelly's 'Green book' was released, and met with various accolades, how it was met with criticism of not treating the concept with meaning and authenticity; I saw it described, instead, as a movie about racial turmoil written in such a way that it could let white people feel good about themselves. Frankly, I think the same is true of this 2024 release, except as applied to Mexico, cartel violence, and above all the trans community, sugarcoating the experience in flavors that would appeal to non-Mexicans, those ignorant of social issues and geopolitics, and cisgender viewers and award ceremony voters. I did not enter with high expectations, and when all is said and done I believe the result is even worse than I could have conceived of. I maintain that 'Emilia Pérez' isn't all bad, and there was potential here, but among others, Audiard really fouled it all up with his direction and most of all with his writing. I've seen worse pictures, but glaringly few that were so high profile, or which received so many award nominations that they did not deserve. Whatever lasting worth this might boast is all too vanishingly little, and whatever it is you're hoping to get out of 'Emilia Pérez,' I urgently suggest you look elsewhere. For its overall failures it should be cast aside; for its worst faults, particularly with regards to Mexico and the trans community, it should be panned, castigated, and all but condemned.

The original film of 1991 sounds from the outside like a fun, ridiculous B-movie, but as soon as it begins it shows itself to be sloppy, lazy, and inconsistent in every way except maybe the music. A low budget partly explains why it was made so poorly, but mostly we can just chalk it up to low quality contributions from all involved, including chiefly writer, director, and co-editor Amir Shervan. It is entertaining, but not in a way that is a credit to any participants. In retrospect some folks have attempted to claim - not unlike 'The disaster artist,' dramatizing the production of Tommy Wiseau's 'The room' - that the rubbish was intentional, and one big joke, and therefore brilliant, yet any discerning viewer knows better, even without context. Fast forward more than twenty years and the fact that some people have returned to help create a sequel does not inspire confidence: If 'Samurai cop' was backwardly enjoyable as a tawdry misfire, one would assume that in the recent tradition of filmmaking in the age of the Internet, when anyone can make anything and have it distributed, the abject intent with 'Deadly vengeance' would be to purposefully fashion a heap of similar pablum. Consciously making awful features is A Choice, and CAN meet with success, but only in very capable hands. I had the lowest of expectations for this, and I watched only with great hesitation.

Unfortunately but not surprisingly, our skepticism is rapidly validated even with the opening scene, and only more so as the minutes tick by. Filmmaker Gregory Hatanaka is competent in a way that Shervan was not, but he tries so very hard to pretend to be just as pathetic with his direction, whether that means guiding the cast or the bare essence of orchestrating shots and scenes. This has a budget where its predecessor did not, so everyone involved has to lay it on extra thick to put up a front of lacking resources, including with questionable costume design, hair and makeup, filming locations, sets, lighting, and effects both practical and special. I also trust, for example, that cinematographer Chris Faulisi and editor B. N. Lindstrom possess more capability than their latter-day counterparts, so they must deliberately forsake it to achieve the desired effect here. The fundamental image and audio are pointedly high quality in a way so stringent as to betray the artificiality. Last time the writing - dialogue, characters, scenes, and story - were trash because everyone involved thought they were making the coolest thing ever, and boy howdy, were they wrong. Now Hatanaka and co-writers Rich Mallery and T. L. Young are striving mightily to mimic Shervan's mess. I'll grant that they successfully do so, but just as with Hatanaka's subsequent realization, I fail to understand how such intentional garbage can conceivably be entertaining.

To put it all another way, the first picture was a good time because it was astonishingly lousy, but the earnestness of the ineptitude was backwardly endearing. In contrast, 'Samurai cop 2' is fully aware of how awful it is and wants to be, and it is uninhibited in its self-indulgence to that end. And therefore it's all but unbearable for a viewer with any intelligence. Actors winking at the camera; shots, scenes, and ideas that mean nothing to the narrative, and which are included Just Because; sex scenes, nudity, and gratuitous focus on women's bodies that are lovingly crafted but pointless, poorly considered, and overlong; outrageous oneupmanship that for its own sake aims to make the whole as preposterous as possible, in every way possible; abjectly rotten cutting and sequencing, on top of the writing that's already hopelessly scattered and all but senseless; the most overacting you will ever see, like 'The room' scaled up exponentially; and so on, and so on: this is a viewing experience designed from the ground up to be an absurd, low-grade wreck. Yet not even the attempted humor of it all is sincere. The contributors approached the project as a throwaway joke, and it shows, as the result is something that is watchable only if one's attention is divided.

To be crystal clear, we're talking about writing that is almost completely incogent and incohesive (never more so than in the last act), and nearly incoherent. We're talking about film-making that, by design, makes The Asylum looks good. We're talking about film-making that, by design, makes The Asylum's Internet-born second-rate imitators, like Uncork'd Entertainment, look good. It can be made, and it has been. We can watch, and I have. "Can" and "should" are two different things, however. I anticipated that this flick would be putrescent, and still I'm taken aback by how thoroughly unlikable it is. Even when something is genuinely done well, like stunts and fight choreography, or the music, it is exercised in a manner that's just as appalling as everything else. With all this firmly in mind, there is frankly just no justification for watching. It was curiosity that brought me here, and I leave with nothing but regrets. Whatever it is that has brought 'Deadly vengeance' into your purview, I urge you with all desperation to learn from my mistakes, look away, and just never consider turning it on. This is a stain on the medium that is never going to be entirely cleaned away.