Director: Richard LaGravanese
Writer: Carrie Solomon
Stars: Nicole Kidman, Zac Efron, Joey King

Synopsis: An unexpected romance triggers comic consequences for a young woman, her mother, and her boss, grappling with the complications of love, sex, and identity.

Genre can be tricky. If you get caught up in the trappings of it, like let’s say a romantic comedy, it can be very easy to end up in cliched territory. Of course, some expected moments are fine, as they will please fans of the style. But if you tip over the edge and go too far, you end up with a Hallmark movie. Now, those have their charms, but if I’m not watching that particular brand of film, it is a tough sell. A Family Affair doesn’t quite go that far into the land of tropes, but it isn’t that far off either.

The film follows Zara Ford (Joey King), who is the assistant of major Hollywood star, Chris Cole (Zac Efron). In between being a gopher for him, she is attempting to move her career forward as a would-be producer. At home, she is still living with her mother, famed and celebrated author Brooke Harwood (Nicole Kidman). After finally losing her cool at her comic mistreatment (jobs range from bringing him coffee to making surprise gifts for his dogs) from Chris, she quits. Eventually, Chris realizes that he needs her and comes to her home to beg her to come back. There he meets Brooke, sparks fly, and relative hilarity ensues.

The first, and most glaring issue, that this film has is the romance. Believe it or not, this is necessary in a romantic comedy, and this one just doesn’t have the goods. Separately, Efron and Kidman are, at a minimum, serviceable, and both have excellent moments. The shame is that none of those moments are together. The film seems to leave us to make the assumption that they have chemistry, but there is none to be found. Chemistry is more than putting two beautiful people in sexual situations, and that seems to be the extent of the work done here. 

But here’s the good news. The rest of the relationships and performances really work, even well enough to make this mostly an enjoyable affair. Joey King gives a legitimately great performance in what could easily be a thankless role. Her back-and-forth with Efron consistently works, both when she is enraged at his infantile behavior and when she is wondering if, just maybe, he is a good match for her mother, who has seemingly been romantically alone since the death of her husband over a decade ago. Speaking of Efron, regardless of the quality of the film, he is clearly always game for making fun of his celebrity self. Despite the fact that he is still heavily bulked from The Iron Claw, he gets to have fun here, whether it is performing badly on film (on purpose) or belting out Cher after a break-up. He’s a fine enough dramatic actor, but this is where Efron really shines.

And King is not just fun to watch with Efron. Her relationship with Kidman, as well as with her grandmother, Leila Ford (Kathy Bates), actually pulls on the heartstrings more than expected.  This is not easy to do in a formulaic romantic-comedy, but it helps to have Bates, who immediately lends a sense of genuine care, sprinkled with a bit of sarcasm and overt sexuality, which pushes Kidman’s character towards a romantic relationship with the younger man.

It will surprise approximately no one that, visually A Family Affair is deeply unmemorable, flat, and washed out. Directed by Richard LaGravanese, this is, if anything, somehow a step down to the visual stylings of The Last Five Years, which was nearly a decade ago now. This is a Netflix original and all that this entails. It is disposable, filled with tropes, and an uninspired screenplay from first-timer Carrie Solomon. And yet, it fulfills its basic premise and promise. It is a pleasant enough way to pass a few hours, filled with good looking celebrities and enough laughs to pull you through the more predictable moments.  And yes, it tries to have some real tear jerker moments, but most viewers will see the strings.  

Overall, there is no world in which A Family Affair is a necessary watch. However, it is basically an easy film to sit through for just about anyone. There is a place for entertainment just like this. It is inoffensive, simple, tropey, and charming in spots. You could absolutely do worse, even if you deserve much better. 

Grade: C-

Director: Kevin Costner
Writers: Jon Baird, Kevin Costner
Stars: Kevin Costner, Sienna Miller, Jena Malone

Synopsis: Chronicles a multi-faceted, 15-year span of pre and post-Civil War expansion and settlement of the American west.

Has Kevin Costner lost his mind? The Academy Award-winning actor/filmmaker is embarking on a journey that has cost him a lot, personally and professionally, spending over $38 million (maybe more) out of his own pocket to partly finance his four-part Western epic Horizon: An American Saga. Moreover, Costner also left one of his most acclaimed roles as John Dutton in the Paramount+ series Yellowstone to focus on completing his saga and has recently confirmed that he will not be returning for Season 5B, telling audiences in a heartfelt video, “I’ll see you at the movies.”

Such a vanity project never gets made in the theatrical landscape we live in today. If Costner didn’t pay some of the budget from his own money, there’s no chance a Hollywood studio would say yes to a four-part original Western, with each installment lasting over three hours. We now require filmmakers passionate enough to cook to spend their personal finances so they can make what they want with little to no interference, exactly how Francis Ford Coppola sold his winery to finance his Megalopolis, which will be released later this year. This type of big swing needs to be celebrated and seen by the masses, but in this economy, Horizon is poised to flop and arrive with little to no fanfare, even if it would’ve received glowing reviews at Cannes. 

With the 181-minute-long Chapter 1, Costner sets out to showcase his unadulterated vision of the American West by crafting a sprawling epic that will span decades and alternate between different characters who will (likely) eventually intersect. Stuff like this is what the big screen craves, especially when Hollywood has completely forgotten the majestic art of the Western, producing very few of them in any given year (which are usually released directly on VOD, such as Paul G. Volk’s unwatchable The Night They Came Home). Many have been unfairly stating that such a project feels like episodic television, but it’s way more in line with Henry Hathaway, John Ford, and George Marshall’s decades-spanning, five-chapter How the West Was Won than any televisual approach to Western storytelling popularized by Taylor Sheridan with Yellowstone and its endless spinoffs. 

Because of this, I can’t be mad at Horizon: An American Saga – Chapter 1, even if Costner’s saga is off to a pretty dismal start, only because of its crazy ambitions. A saga like this has never been attempted in the history of movies, and Costner seems to want to go down in the history books with this. And, as he said, “You can’t make your film for the opening weekend. You have to make it for its life.”

It’s unfortunate that Chapter 1 isn’t at all fulfilling as an introductory part to a planned franchise and a self-contained movie. It forgets essential storytelling elements that all “Parts One” must aspire to, especially if it’ll be over three hours long. For instance, who are the characters Costner wants us to spend time with? Hey, with a three-hour runtime, there’s more than enough time to draw (and introduce) compelling arcs that will ultimately develop as the films continue. From my understanding, there will be three stories Costner and editor Miklos Wright alternate between. One is focused on Frances Kittredge (Sienna Miller) joining an Army General’s (Sam Worthington) group after being rescued by his men following an Apache raid, while young boy Russell (Etienne Kalicki) flees the village after the attack and joins a group of bounty hunters who are going after the Apache. 

The second story involves Hayes Ellison (Kevin Costner), a rustler who is visiting a nearby town and gets embroiled in a conflict involving prostitute Marigold (Abbey Lee) and a child, Sam after it was taken by Lucy (Jena Malone) many years ago. Years later, Sam’s grandmother (Dale Dickey) sends her children, Caleb (Jamie Campbell Bower), and Junior (Jon Beavers), to retrieve Sam and kill Lucy, who adopted the name Ellen after marrying Walter Childs (Michael Angarano). However, Hayes inadvertently gets caught in the situation after talking to Jamie and finding out his plans, causing him to flee with Marigold and Sam, so they can have a fresh start. 

The third – and final – story involves a group of travelers on the Santa Fe Trail led by Matthew Van Weyden (Luke Wilson), who is nearing Horizon, a land discovered and developed by a group of settlers. So far, this is the least fleshed-out part of the bunch, only serving as an introduction to Wilson’s character, alongside Will Patton and Isabelle Fuhrman as Owen and Diamond Kittredge, respectively. A rivalry is also established between British couple Juliette Chesney (Ella Hunt) and Hugh Proctor (Tom Payne) and two of Matthew’s men, who are peeping on them, particularly Juliette while she is bathing. 

All of these stories show some form of promise, but none of them actively take the time to sit with the characters. Instead, Costner jarringly cuts away from a specific story just as it’s about to get interesting and returns to another one without much narrative flow, which always hampers the development of protagonists, which should be primary in part ones. Any first chapter always needs to clearly state what (or who) the main threat(s) are, while also giving us enough to attach ourselves to the people treated on screen, whether they are good or bad. 

Many protagonists in Horizon seem to live in a morally grey area, but we never get to explore this aspect of Hayes, Frances, or even Marigold. Most of the “big names” appear for a brief scene and are never seen again, coming and going like a revolving door of stars who want to appear in such an extensive project but have nothing to do in the first chapter and add little value to what’s on screen. Of course, this is the first part of four, so audiences should expect lots of exposition and worldbuilding, with many unresolved plot threads to boot (such as in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune, as a recent example). However, how Costner structures his initial chapter makes very little sense. By alternating randomly with the three stories, the pace is lethargic and bloated, the exposition delivered by the characters feels unimportant, and the world Costner tries to build feels weightless because none of the characters have any compelling attributes or a reason to be on screen. Things happen, but we’re never invested in what’s happening. 

While I wasn’t crazy on the first Dune, it at least understood the basis of a “Part One,” spending time sitting with Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) and exploring Arrakis before Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgard) executed his plan. It also gave a few clues to where the sequel would go, ultimately paying off in more ways than one with Part Two. But Costner never allows us to either explore the world he’s constructing or spend meaningful time with his protagonists, despite the three-hour runtime! With such a massive length, he has the time to do it all, and save the “good stuff” for subsequent installments, which looks to be the case after viewing an ending montage acting as the trailer for Chapter 2. 

Unfortunately, it feels as if we’re watching one long trailer instead of a movie that sets the table effectively and asks us to come back to more, not by teasing what’s to come but by giving us enough leverage through the character arcs and worldbuilding naturally. Hell, there’s another 181-minute-long ‘Part One’ in theaters right now with Nag Ashwin’s Kalki 2898 AD that does exactly what I’m talking about. The first hour-and-a-half is dedicated solely to worldbuilding and character development, along with introducing the audiences to its primary antagonist, while the last hour-and-a-half goes all out on the action and further develops the protagonists within those massive set pieces. The exposition never feels like exposition, and the characters have a fully-fledged arc that will be further fleshed out in subsequent films, ending on a cliffhanger with the villain acquiring new powers. Perfect. 

Horizon: An American Saga – Chapter 1 could’ve followed that same template and been a far more satisfying picture, solidifying the foundation of Costner’s grand vision for the audience to want more as the credits rolled. But I desperately wanted to leave the cinema not even thirty minutes after it began, with action scenes captured like a single-camera television series, with no sense of grandeur and scope, alongside a bludgeoning score from John Debney that makes its more dramatic moments feel more caricatured instead of raw, human, and steeped in the tradition of the classic American Western popularized by John Ford. 

It also doesn’t help that we barely know who any of these people Costner showcases on screen are. What are their names and their relation to the main conflict at hand? Why should we care about each of their individual stories? Costner doesn’t seem to care, with the only interesting character moment being when Giovanni Ribisi’s Pickering Bailey gets teased as the main antagonist of the second installment, looking at the pamphlet his company is printing for Horizon in contemplation for the land that is to be the main attraction of the White settlers who will eventually intersect in future films. This is the only time I felt my time wasn’t wasted, and it genuinely made me excited to see what Costner has in store for us in August. However, he’ll have lots of screenwriting and character ineptitudes to overcome if he is to go down in the history books as the auteur who risked it all to give us the Western saga of a generation. It doesn’t look like it’ll be the case (for now), but it also doesn’t matter. I’ll be there for parts two and four, no matter what. It’s the least I can do for the man after doing everything he possibly can to get these films made and released. 

I’ll see you at the movies, Kevin.

Grade: D

Director: Tomás Gómez Bustillo
Writer: Tomás Gómez Bustillo
Stars: Mónica Villa, Horacio Marassi, Iair Said

Synopsis: In a tiny rural village in Argentina, a pious yet insatiably competitive woman discovers that staging a miracle could be her ticket to sainthood. But before doing so, a jarring turn of events illuminates the hidden magic of her world, forcing her to reevaluate everything she once took for granted.

For whatever reason, Rita Lopez (Mónica Villa) is an outcast in her religious community. It’s hardly for lack of trying; she spends her days on her knees, either to pray or to scrub the floors of the chapel. Her competitive tendencies make it difficult for her to accept that she has been permanently excluded from the church’s choir, and that she will never win her pompous priest’s full attention. Her devotion to this aimless cause has drained every ounce of passion from her 40-year marriage to Norberto (Horacio Marassi), a kind man who just wants his wife to watch him fiddle around with a guitar and to indulge his attempts to relive their glory days, all the way down to wearing a pair of yellow ponchos they wore on their honeymoon during dinner. It doesn’t seem to be too much to ask. 

But to Rita, anything that won’t aid her unrelenting desire for sainthood is of no use attending to. She’s pushing 70, and despite her displeasure with the lack of appreciation in her daily life, feels that the only recognition even remotely worthwhile would be from a heavenly presence. The timing couldn’t be better, then, when our Rita decloaks what she believes to a long-lost statue of Saint Rita, an artifact believed to have been lost for eternity. Desperate to determine the truth, she ferociously (and anxiously) Googles specifics not only about the statue’s characteristics – to her disappointment, “Santa Rita would never have crown of thorns” – but how one would know if something is a miracle – to which the search engine replies, “If you’re asking, then it’s definitely not a miracle.”

So goes the early comedic tone of Tomás Gómez Bustillo’s Chronicles of a Wandering Saint, a clever debut that dares audiences to ponder what it means to be saintlike, perhaps even to consider whether or not they’re carving out their own shortcuts en route to the holy gates, something Rita makes a habit of in the film’s first act, despite not seeming to be aware of the consequences of her own actions. As you can deduce from her impractically hopeful internet searches, the statue she uncovers in Wandering Saint’s beginning moments is not, in fact, the long-coveted statue of Saint Rita, but she’s willing to fake it ‘til she makes it into God’s good graces. With Norberto’s help – this poor sap will do anything just to spend some quality time with his better half – she smuggles it out of the church’s back room with the intent of ceremoniously unveiling her discovery to her congregation, thus impressing Father Eduardo (Pablo Moseinco) and winning her community’s respect at long last. 

That all doesn’t go according to plan is something any viewer could clock from another multiplex entirely, but it’s  Bustillo’s execution that sets his film apart, at least in comparison to the array of lesser films that tend to needlessly cram so-called  “twists” into their narratives without rhyme or reason as if to say, “Hey, look! We tried reinventing the wheel!” (Succeed, they did not.) Had Bustillo lingered too long on how the characters on Chronicles of a Wandering Saint’s periphery react to this shocker, his movie might have suffered a similar fate, falling into a wasteland of genre-benders that spend too much time justifying their biggest surprises only to fall to bits in the process. Thankfully, he lets things unravel methodically. It’s a welcome approach that, despite veering into over-judicious territory one too many times in its slight 84-minute frame, allows the film to find its tonal footing naturally. 

This is not to say that Bustillo – who was awarded the Adam Yauch Hörnblowér Award at last year’s SXSW Festival, given to “a filmmaker whose work strives to be wholly its own, without regard for norms or desire to conform” – doesn’t pulls his fair share of unexpected punches, but they neither distract nor take away from what Chronicles of a Wandering Saint is after. Instead, these jabs drive the film forward while also being sure to land just enough to leave a mark. Nothing is as surprising as when, with 48 minutes remaining, the end credits roll, a stylistic choice that had me both checking my watch and scratching my head one moment, and chuckling the next as the movie abruptly cuts to its next scene.

Needless to say, this is hardly your father’s “faith-based” dramedy. To call it a religion-pilled film at all would be to misdirect, as it’s far more interested in consequence, and how much influence one’s community can have on their identity. But what happens when that community is ripped away from them, or them from it? What about the more intimate relationships that are left behind, specifically those that had been left in the dust long ago due to the primary-positing of other unrelated priorities? 

Bustillo’s script mines curiosity from these ideas, some of life’s harshest realities, but the director is especially gifted at framing indelible images to accompany moments that might otherwise be considered mundane. Working with cinematographer Pablo Lozano, Bustillo manages to capture beauty and absurdity in one fell swoop; perhaps the film’s most memorable shot sees Rita praying as a pool of light pours through a church window and surrounds her. Onlookers scoff, assuming that she’s deliberately set up shop in that spot in hopes of appearing as though she’s being touched by God. But for Rita – who Villa plays, remarkably so, as a scatter-brained woman who can’t seem to keep her eyes on the proverbial road long enough to know what is set to hit her in a matter of seconds – it’s another miracle she can’t help but let pass her by in an effort to find the next one, the one that will cross the t’s and dot the i’s on her eventual ascent into heaven.

It’s a shame that Bustillo refuses to let these moments run a bit longer, to let his audience bask in their individual ironies for just a beat more. But there’s plenty of irony in staging them just long enough for the moment we’re yanked away from them to hit home, as though we’re all cartoon characters being pulled off a stage by a cane. To say something similar befalls Rita in Chronicles of a Wandering Saint is selling things short, but to reveal the truth would be ill-suited, considering how focused the film is on how present things (or people) of an unexpected nature can be in our everyday lives. If only we were all able to pause life for a time in order to take stock of what we miss when we are so hell-bent on achieving one thing and one thing only. Ferris Bueller would approve.

Grade: B

Director: Nag Ashwin
Writer: Nag Ashwin
Stars: Prabhas, Deepika Padukone, Amitabh Bachchan

Synopsis: A modern-day avatar of Vishnu, a Hindu god, who is believed to have descended to earth to protect the world from evil forces.

Describing Nag Ashwin’s Kalki 2898 AD to a layperson may prove impossible. But there’s a few things one must know before entering the movie. First, it’s the most expensive Indian production of all time, with a reported budget of over ₹600 crore (about $75 million USD). It would be futile to compare this film’s scale to one of its American contemporaries, such as Dune, Star Wars, Mad Max, Blade Runner, and even Zack Snyder’s Rebel Moon, because we’d be looking at apples and oranges in how India’s film industry operates versus Hollywood. I always roll my eyes when critics on Film Twitter play ‘gotcha!’ by comparing the budget of an international film to an American one without understanding basic currency rates and how each industry does not function like Hollywood. But I never understand why Americans must always compare a foreign country with theirs. 

The good thing is that Ashwin clearly loves these grand-scale sci-fi epics and continuously tips the hat to them throughout his 181-minute runtime. You can point out where his influences come from in a specific scene versus another one plucked out of another film. But it never feels like plagiarism, more like an innate appreciation for the artists who have pioneered science fiction and have inspired a generation of filmmakers to create their own imaginative, lived-in worlds. 

The second element one must understand before diving into this movie is that it’s the second installment of a planned cinematic universe of films and television series, following up on the events of the two-episode animated show Bujji & Bhairava, which premiered on Prime Video last May. While some may think you don’t need to watch the series to understand the events of Kalki 2898 AD, crucial information regarding robot Bujji (Keerthy Suresh) and bounty hunter Bhairava (Prabhas) is only accessible in the series. 

None of these characters are properly introduced in the film, with their chemistry already established in the show. Yes, Ashwin has decided to make his short animated show an integral part of building his cinematic universe, which is a ballsy move (it wasn’t worked with Marvel, who now have to rebrand their animation and television department to make it less ‘interconnected’) though plans for the franchise’s future seems to hinge on the success of the film. 

The other – and most important – thing anyone must understand before seeing the film is that Kalki 2898 AD is a part one. Of course, and like Denis Villeneuve’s Dune and the upcoming Wicked, this is not revealed in any of its trailers or marketing (other than the knowledge that it’s part of a cinematic universe). Meaning that a good chunk of its three-hour runtime is dedicated solely to its worldbuilding and the introduction of the central conflict, which involves Bhairava hunting down SUM-80/Sumathi (Deepika Padukone) after escaping an idyllic, pyramidal utopian city known as “The Complex,” ruled by totalitarian God king Supreme Yaskin (Kamal Haasan, bone-chilling in only two scenes). 

The reasons why Sumathi is being hunted are best left discovered on your own, but another crucial thing to know is how Ashwin deftly blends grandiose science-fiction ideas, such as the classic utopia/dystopia narrative, which is how he develops the movie’s world before the intermission, with traditional mythmaking as he reinterprets the “Mahabharata.” An opening flashback with a de-aged Amitabh Bachchan gives us a glimpse of how Ashwin will approach the story, making it an essential part of Bhairava’s development within the ‘2898’ futuristic setting. 

Perhaps these moments needed more meat around the bone, but how Ashwin operates is enticing enough to make us want more and see the story through its end (a striking hand-drawn animated sequence that chronicles the rise of totalitarianism through the times until its fictitious 2898 is also another superb example of how the filmmaker uses real-life texts and history to root his universe in). It’s also interesting in how, with so many exposition dumps in piecing not only the world of the movie together, but the characters who inhabit it, none of the dialogue actively feel as if the characters are constantly spoon feeding information to the audience. The perfect example of this occurs when Supreme Yaskin is introduced, à la Baron Harkonnen. The scenes are only there to tease what’s to come and show us who the main threat of the franchise will be while also slightly teasing his overarching plan, ‘Project K.’ Although we don’t know what it is, it’s safe to say it isn’t good news. 

Yet, none of them feel as if we’re watching a villain explain to the audience what they must understand before going into the sequel. The presence of Kamal Haasan is enough to pique our curiosity, but it’s his magisterial turn with only ten minutes of screentime that makes it so riveting to watch him chew up the exposition he has to deliver on screen. It’s great to see that his virtuosic talents won’t be wasted in subsequent installments, teasing a performance of the ages from an actor who has been at the forefront of some of the best Tamil cinema has to offer through his collaborations with S. Shankar in Indian and Lokesh Kanagaraj in Vikram. 

But the picture’s real (rebel) star is Prabhas, giving his best turn since S.S. Rajamouli’s Bahubali: The Conclusion. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen him give a damn, phoning it in with the ridiculously dreadful Adipurush and Prashanth Neel’s headache-inducing eardrum perforating-fest Salaar: Part One – Ceasefire. Prabhas’ stardom was primarily achieved after starring in Rajamouli’s Chatrapathi, to which he achieved mass stardom after leading the Bahubali films. But his post-Rajamouli career has been met with many misses (though I’ll be the only one to defend the sheer rambunctiousness of Sujeeth’s Saaho) and box office duds. 

Through the figure of Bhairava, Prabhas reclaims his stardom with an impeccably charming, camera-loving, and ass-kicking turn. The emotional impact has been subdued, but that’s only due to how Ashwin will keep most of his legitimate development (after a shocking cliffhanger reveal) for the sequel. But that doesn’t mean the character isn’t compelling. Far from it, his introduction scene is a particular highlight, with Santhosh Narayanan’s booming BGM (no, really, I think I became deaf after this film) adding the right rhythm to how Prabhas walks close to the camera and decides to prove to everyone who dares threaten him that he can’t lose. 

The first fight scene shows how spectacular the action scenes will be, but Ashwin dials it down before the interval to allow the audience to sit in the world he’s created for the film. After the interval, it’s a non-stop, wall-to-wall festival of action, with a desert chase scene that completely blows that twelve-minute set piece in George Miller’s Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga out of the water and a finale so intricate in its visual spectacle it must be seen to be believed. The visual effects feel so meticulously crafted they may very well be the best I’ve seen in any Indian film, which is saying a lot. Indian films are always more reliant on tickling the imagination and being a visual/aural medium, even if their means aren’t as expansive as, say, Hollywood (which I try not to compare it to). But it’s precisely because they don’t have the same means that they’re making their dramas feel larger in scale and scope than other parts of the world. 

With cinematographer Djordje Stojiljkovic, Ashwin crafts painterly and lush visuals to envelop us in the desertified city of Kalsi, contrasting it with the idyllic tableaux of The Complex, harkening back to the work of Roger Deakins (whom Stojiljkovic met) in Blade Runner 2049 and Grieg Fraser in Dune. Its use of center framing in its climactic action scene is, of course, plucked out of George Miller’s work, but, again, never in an egregious copy/paste fashion. They continuously wear their influences on their sleeves to elevate the action and put the visual effects on display. 

This elegant mix of large-scale science fiction with Indian mythology might have fallen flat at the hands of a less-experienced filmmaker with no vision for what he’s creating, but Ashwin seems to know exactly where he wants to take his franchise and how each scene serves as a builder for what’s to come excitingly and always puts his characters at the forefront of the conflict before tackling anything else (Padukone’s almost silent portrayal of Sumathi will move you to tears). How he interweaves Bhairava’s present-day story through thrilling, mythologically charged flashbacks is such a coup-de-grâce that our five-person audience erupted in total applause, knowing what will come next. 

There have been many adaptations and interpretations of the Mahabharata, but Ashwin’s vision could be the most cinematically enthralling yet (until Rajamouli eventually adapts it). However, since the story of Kalki is incomplete, time will tell exactly how his subsequent installments within the cinematic universe will be fleshed out. Still, the movie’s intricate visuals, jaw-dropping action, and elaborate mythmaking will forever change the landscape of Telugu cinema and perhaps Indian cinema as a whole, not only as a pan-Indian mass spectacle but as a worldwide science fiction phenomenon. Watching Kalki 2898 AD, it felt as if I was discovering something new and never-before-realized on screen. That’s enough to keep me watching anything the franchise churns out until whatever Ashwin has in mind for its grand finale, which will likely break the internet as a specific cameo from one of the world’s greatest talents in this movie will.

Grade: A

Director: Nicole Reigel
Writer: Nicole Reigel
Stars: KiKi Layne, Thomas Doherty, Melanie Nicholls-King

Synopsis: It follows a singer-songwriter in a downward spiral as she takes a last effort gig at a motorcycle rally in South Dakota where she meets Casey, a guitarist who walked away from his dream long ago.

A guitar with hands carefully stringing and checking frets. A tattoo on a neck – a dandelion. A woman sings to an uninterested crowd in a bar. Her name is Dandelion (KiKi Layne), and she is there three times a week. She might as well not be for all that anyone cares except her friend Brandy the bartender. But a check is a check, and a gig is still a gig. Dandelion is invisible in her hometown of Cincinnati. She is almost invisible in her home; a cluttered space where she lives with her mother Jean (Melanie Nicholls-King) who has emphysema. 

Dandelion is losing her will to keep fighting the continual blocks to her career. Who is going to look at a young Black woman for whom music is everything? She’s a singer songwriter – but she is not a performer. To ‘perform’ now means something more than simply getting the music into the world via one’s own hands and voice – it means being ‘performative’ – well at least that is what Dandelion is seeing. The people who are making it are white girls who slip into bikinis, or White men. Someone is the next Elliott Smith. Someone might be Tom Waits (where is the picture of Rickie Lee Jones?). Dandelion wants to be part of the American songbook but precisely how many Black women have made it? Tracy Chapman ironically only got her first number one hit when it was covered by a white man. Mama Thornton died in a pauper’s grave whereas her song ‘Hound Dog’ is almost exclusively attributed to Elvis. Etta Baker is deemed ‘inspirational’ but often forgotten. Without Sister Rosetta Tharpe would The Cotton Club have rocked?

Dandelion reaches crisis point when she has to sell her prized Gibson Les Paul and realizes that all the sacrifices she is making for her mother and her music are taking her nowhere. She is furniture. After a bitter argument with her mother where Jean spits, “There’s nothing cute about a forty-year-old Cincinnati troubadour,” Dandelion gets in her car and drives to South Dakota to a biker convention where a music competition is taking place. It’s a little bit crazy and a little bit last ditch.

The rally isn’t glamorous, and it isn’t Dandelion’s scene, but what is? Also in South Dakota is Casey (Tom Doherty), who was once in a band but walked away when he realized music wasn’t going to take him anywhere. There is some quiet bad blood between his former bandmates who he hasn’t seen for two years. His friend Grace has recorded an album, Casey says she should send it to him. She already has. 

Casey and Brother Elsey (the group formed by Brady, Jack, and Beau Stablein) play and then Dandelion takes the opportunity to get on stage. She brushes against Casey which accidentally causes her string to break. The crowd heckles her. A drunk steals her guitar case. Casey finds her and returns it. There is a spark of attraction between them. Not immediately quite enough for her to consider going back to where he is staying and ‘play some tunes,’ but enough for a smile and when Dandelion’s car battery doesn’t start, and she can’t just go home, she finds him.

Walking into the campfire jam is the closest Dandelion has had to the company of an artistic group for a long time. The easy collective creation between them is soothing. Mountain Mama, Emery, Brady, Beau, Grace and others are all blow-ins from elsewhere – everyone is passing through South Dakota. Music for some of them is not a way of making a living, it is a way of living. Not so much for Casey – but Casey has stopped breathing his passion. The way he looks at Dandelion is as if she is a beacon for his music – perhaps she will bring his passion back. Or perhaps the opposite will happen, and he will bring her music forward. 

In the still and beautiful South Dakota woods, Casey and Dandelion share their secrets. How he let go of music in exchange for security. How she missed the chance to tour when her mother got sick, and how she is stalled with nothing much left. For Casey, everything just slipped away. He didn’t write. He got married (but they’re not together now, he says). He’s just the guy who used to be in a band. 

“Chasing dreams is hard,” Dandelion says. Casey replies “It’s hard to quit, too.” They begin to write a song together – it is a romance in process. Casey is enlivened and asks Dandelion to play on Saturday with him. Soon it isn’t Dandelion’s song anymore but theirs and he is subtly deciding when she will sing it. Dandelion doesn’t notice because she’s spellbound by the handsome Scot who looks at her with such close attention. “I see you,” he tells her.

The love affair begins in earnest, and she thanks him for playing music with her. “It’s called playing music, so it should feel like play.” He thanks her for allowing him to dream again. Cinematographer Lauren Guiteras has them disappear in the landscape as if it is a part of them and they a part of it. The golden hour haze. The moments of magic. Every time, there are small cracks appearing in the whirlwind affair Casey whisks her away back to the woods. But that can’t last forever. Soon the songs are not a romance, but an argument. An argument still built in passion – Casey’s blue eyes welling up with intensity. It isn’t play any longer.

The one song that Dandelion keeps as her own is ‘Ghosts of Cincinnati’ (now ‘Over the Rhine’) – a song Casey has no share in. What could he know of an area that was gentrified to push the Black community out? Despite him wanting to know everything about her, there are certain things he can never touch. When she records the song for the first time she walks alone in the stone hills. Something belongs to her.

Nicole Rigel takes Dandelion through many emotional states. Fear, elation, frustration, intimacy, despondency, all with absolute authenticity. Few arts can make one as vulnerable as singing words that are meant. Casey too, is finding a rawness he thought he lost – a lyric he sings asks that he is held on the edge of her periphery. But it is borrowed light, and he almost destroys the source.

How many men have claimed the ‘muse’ and then forgotten that a human is not an all-giving goddess to inspire them? How many women have fought back to reclaim their voices, artistic and otherwise? When a woman demands to be heard she is “crazy” – when a man does so he is “commanding.” 

KiKi Layne’s performance reaches into the quick of herself. Dandelion must write no matter the cost, even if that cost is obscurity. Luck plays a hand in success and Dandelion has been unlucky (although entirely human in caring for her mother), but even with talent and persistence is it enough? Can she really be a musician her way? Can any woman artist truly create on her own terms? For each of these questions Layne’s performance is honest – there is no guarantee everything will be wrapped in a pretty bow, but what is guaranteed is that Layne has forged Dandelion through fire.

That the songs (with the exception of ‘Passing Through’ which is a Brother Esley song, and KiKi Layne’s co-writing of ‘Over the Rhine’) were written by Cincinnati legends Aaron and Bryce Dessner of The National in no way diminishes the quality of the film’s music (which is spellbinding) but does deliberately present a question. 

Nicole Riegel’s Holler showed the unequal access to the American Dream, for a young woman in a poor area of Ohio turning to a dangerous job is her only chance of getting to college. It was reminiscent of the excellent Winter’s Bone by Debra Granik and put Riegel’s name on a list of directors to watch. The thematic resonance remains between Holler and Dandelion. For some people, the playing field is never level. 

Dandelion is precious and rare; a piece of cinema about the creative flame where the drama has more weight the longer the audience considers it. Riegel appears to have made Theresa/Dandelion an avatar of so many creatives who are stifled by what they are expected to achieve and how. Dandelion is an exquisite journey through the soul of an artist.

Grade: B+

Director: Adrien Beau
Writer: Adrien Beau
Stars: Kacey Mottet Klein, Ariane Lebed, Grégoire Colin

Synopsis: Lost in a hostile forest, the Marquis d’Urfé, a noble emissary of the King of France, finds refuge in the home of a strange family.

“The forest seethes with danger.”

In 1839 Russian author Aleksey Tolstoy’s “The Family of the Vourdalak” pipped Bram Stoker’s 1897 Dracula to the vampire post by quite a few years. In fact, many people did, including a certain doctor for Lord Byron – John William Polidori – with “The Vampyre” published officially in 1819. Alexandre Dumas wrote three vampire fictions including “The Pale Lady” in 1849 set in the Carpathians. Sheridan Le Fanu’s “Carmilla” was in 1872. Tales of revenants and bloodsuckers, both fine and ill-mannered, have captured the imagination for many a year.

Adrien Beau’s debut film is a wonderful throwback to a magical period; 1960s and 1970s Hammer Horror. The edge of camp comedy of Le Vourdalak contributes greatly to its charm. Watching the film is stepping into a dream of folklore past but with the winking irony that perhaps was never intended by Tolstoy. Beau’s retelling of the story imagines just how a foppish courtier would behave if he was presented with something that existed beyond his Enlightenment comfort. 

Marquis Jacques Antoine Saturnin d’Urfe (Kacey Mottet Klein), an envoy from France, seeks the house of Old Gorcha as refuge after the loss of his horse and luggage. He is certainly not ready for a ludicrously powdered and wigged creature in the blood-soaked forests of Serbia during the unending war with the Turks. Nor the seductive beauty of the family who inhabit a crumbling manse, Sdenka (Ariane Labad) and Piotr (Vassili Schneider). For Jacques Antoine, Sdenka’s beauty is a treasure – exotic and wondrous. In time, the gallant will try to seduce her for surely one such as she will be dazzled by his sophistication.

Jegor (Grégoire Colin) is the eldest son of old Gorcha. A man with little imagination as he is too busy with war and protecting his wife Anja (Claire Duburcq), son Vlad (Gabriel Pavie), and his two feckless siblings. Gorcha is absent, having left to hunt down a notorious Turkish raider. He warned his family that if he were not to return within a set period of time, they were not to allow him entry to the home for he would have become an accursed and foul creature – a Vourdalak.

Jegor is a skeptic who does not believe in the mythology of the devouring Vourdalak. His family, including his wife, are more susceptible to folkloric evils. Anja is already on the edge of incipient hysteria having to deal with the shame of Sdenka’s seduction by her now murdered lover, and Piotr’s perceived effeminacy by both Jegor and Gorcha. While preparing a hearty meal which the Marquis can later barely swallow (oh, but his manners would never insult a hostess), Anja fills him in on their numerous familial woes. 

There are no horses ready for the Marquis to use immediately so he must lodge with the family for at least a day and night. During that time, he tries to take advantage of Sdenka (far too wily for he) and when he fails with the direct approach of trying to rip her clothes off, he instead turns his hand to impressing her with tales of the French court and the wider world. Fearing after the murder of Jovan her lover she will never go beyond her family’s property, Sdenka allows the Marquis to tell her more while maintaining an elusive and melancholic distance. It is not her fate to leave, she tells him. “I do not believe in fate,” he replies “Naturally, you do not have one,” is her answer.

Old Gorcha indeed arrives back at the home, and it has been too long. The trick Beau plays on the audience is to present Gorcha as clearly an undead monster (a fantastically constructed giant puppet which Beau himself voices) but who acts in death much as he did in life. A blustering bully who makes his adoring son Jegor feel inadequate. A man who rejects his youngest son for his uselessness, and who cuts down any he feels believe themselves his better, including the Marquis. Yet, on a quick turn he can be a boon companion. 

Shot on super 16mm film Adrien Beau delights in the beauty, horror, and absurdity of his tale. Sdenka and Piotr are aware that their father is now a Vourdalak and make plans to end him with Hawthorn flowers, garlic, and stakes made from a tree in the forest. The Marquis presents his small but nimble rapier. Of course, all are doomed but the manner which Beau brings you to each demise shivers with wickedness. 

The wonderful tactility of Beau’s film comes from what feels like a study of the wonders of Konstantin Yershov and Georgi Kropachyov’s 1967 Viy mixed with a reverence for Jean Rollin, Roy Ward Baker, Robert Young’s dreamy Vampire Circus, and Roger Vadim’s erotic gothics. Although deliberately cleaner than Rollin, Vadim, and Hammer – there is something specific about the way Sdenka’s modest shift seams up at Labad’s nipples. Adrien Beau is beguiling with the power of suggestion and settling into the cinematic unconscious. When he is being funny, he isn’t being flippant. When he is being playful, he expects you already know the game. And thus, when he moves into dread, he knows what unsettles.

The Vourdalak is a precise enchantment crafted by a director and a team of actors who pull you into their strange web and delight in teasing with genre treats. A cinematic reverie beyond time and a vampire classic.

Grade: A

Director: Christy Hall
Writer: Christy Hall
Stars: Dakota Johnson, Sean Penn, Marcos A. Gonzalez

Synopsis: A woman taking a cab ride from JFK engages in a conversation with the taxi driver about the important relationships in their lives.

A film like Daddio shouldn’t work, but it does. After all, how can you enjoy (or even support) a film seen through a feminist lens that has a weathered Sean Penn saying the word “panties” a half dozen times without some kickback from the media and the audience? That’s a bit of a high-wire act. Imagine being brave enough to fill a script with revelations with a limited cast of characters that run the risk of being unrelatable to its audience. 

Yet, the script from the up-and-coming filmmaker Christy Hall is clever in the way it draws the audience in and fosters forgiveness for its characters. Even a chance meeting between two strangers in a New York City cab, usually ending with little to no communication and a two-star review, is transformed into something compelling.

Hall’s script is a bottleneck story that follows only two characters. The film starts with a young woman, simply known as “Girlie” (Dakota Johnson), looking for a cab ride back to her New York City apartment after flying into John F. Kennedy International Airport. She has had a long flight from her small Oklahoma hometown in Girlie, described as the “armpit” of the state’s panhandle.

Girlie is young, beautiful, independent, and confident. Her steely blue eyes stand out among her bleach-blonde hair when the highway lights catch them through the car window just right. Girlie’s driver, Clark (Sean Penn), is a different story. He has a bad haircut and a vintage Tom Selleck mustache, a face like a catcher’s mitt, a rough texture, and deep wrinkles showing signs of age.

Clark has been a cabbie for a lifetime. As a young man, he met his wife while driving her from a club. He manipulates Girlie into talking, weaving a story about how many don’t tip well since most cabs have gone cashless. However, an unexpected connection starts between them—nothing sexual, just two people who develop an alliance over shared struggles and grief.

Writer and director Christy Hall’s Daddio is engaging and entertaining, thanks to the magnetic performances of Johnson and Penn. Their expressive eyes convey stories from both perspectives, speaking volumes in a single look. Through non-verbal communication, they offer enough emotional depth that most actors can only dream of.

Hall’s script focuses on the presence and internal conflict within the characters when the conversation reaches a standstill. This technique works because both characters start at opposite ends of the spectrum. Johnson is young, modern, and likable, while Penn is gruff, set in his ways, and lacks sensibility and boundaries. 

In any other script, Penn’s behavior would drag the film down. In another movie, it wouldn’t be believable how open she would be to talking about her life with a man like that, where one may be guarded. However, when we read the text messages from Girlie’s boyfriend, they make Penn’s Clark look like a gentleman by comparison, drawing the audience in.

This is a terrific first-time feature by Hall, who writes a script with addictive, snappy dialogue that’s empathetic as you can see the boundaries slowly wash away. While the ending lacks an emotional punch, it somehow finds a mutual grey area where both characters share uncertainties or ambiguities of their lives that become profoundly human and how the briefest connections can leave a lasting mark. 

That alone makes Daddio worth watching because of the spiritual intimacy lost since the pandemic but now is making a comeback because we no longer can hide behind our phones to prevent us from looking over complexities of what it means to be human. 

That’s what Christy Hall’s film is about. We need to go above and beyond by truly trying to seek and understand someone instead of tearing down because you never know what someone is truly going through at the moment.

Grade: B+

Director: Michael Sarnoski
Writers: Michael Sarnoski, John Krasinski, Bryan Woods
Stars: Joseph Quinn, Lupita Nyong’o, Alex Wolff

Synopsis: A woman named Sam finds herself trapped in New York City during the early stages of an invasion by alien creatures with ultrasonic hearing

There is something fundamentally wrong with the script of A Quiet Place: Day One from the moment the first waves of acute audiophile aliens touch down in New York City. However, that doesn’t mean the prequel to A Quiet Place doesn’t offer an exciting, suspenseful, and armrest-grabbing experience. In fact, it’s a killer monster picture.

A Quiet Place: Day One may not offer the same original thrills, but the prequel gets the job done, predominantly because of another gripping performance from its star, Lupita Nyong’o.

The film begins with residents of a hospice group home sitting in a circle, each reading their own poetry. Reuben (Alex Wolff), the behavioral nurse, encourages a young resident named Samira (Nyong’o) to read hers aloud for the group. However, her recitation offends those around her. She is acting out because she’s dying from a terminal disease.

Reuben convinces Samira to join him in the city for a show. She agrees only that they can get pizza from the urban center, home to America’s finest pizza (none of that small-town cardboard crust). Samira gathers her cat, Frodo (played by Hollywood felines Nico and Schnitzel), to watch a man perform with a few marionettes on stage.

That’s when chaos erupts. Army trucks race through crowded borough streets, and tension mounts as a few F-35A Lightning II jets streak through the sky. Camouflaged soldiers fill the streets. Most significantly, the New York City skyline explodes as unidentified flying objects plummet from the heavens, bringing Death Angels into our backyard.

John Krasinski steps away from the camera and hands over the reins to director Michael Sarnoski (Pig), who has the impossible task of maintaining the same quality as the original two science fiction horror modern classics. For one, the novelty has worn off. We know what the creatures look and act like. 

Also, the canon of the film being quiet is naturally not part of the story until later, taking away that ominous tone and feel. Additionally, I would like to talk about the fundamental flaw of Sarnoski’s A Quiet Place: Day One’s script. After the initial invasion, everyone flees, scared, screaming, and running for their lives. 

From the very moment around the start of the second act, every character knows to be quiet. Sarnoski had a chance to build some dramatic irony immediately, which would have led to greater audience engagement with the story. Instead, the audience is aware, but the characters should not be at this point. This takes away a lot of suspense and originality from the experience. 

That being said, A Quiet Place: Day One is worth watching as an extension of the first two films. Accepting the film on those terms is good fun, with some genuine moments of spine-tingling suspense. Djimon Hounsou, who reprises his role as Henri, and Wolff have the best two scenes in the film. 

The addition of Stranger Things’s Joseph Quinn, from Stranger Things, reverses the damsel-in-distress trope, as Nyong’o’s character looks after the damoiseau. While Quinn’s performance is acceptable, his character arc sputters and remains one-note. Nyong’o’s portrayal, however, deserves praise. The Academy Award-winning actress puts a cap on the histrionic acting here, giving the role a three-dimensional quality that can be haunting at times.

I’m not sure A Quiet Place: Day One would be as effective without Nyong’o’s fully realized turn. She plays Samira with subdued urgency, suffering quietly with great fear. Alongside high-octane action invasion sequences, expertly plotted setups, a scene-stealing Frodo, and a few well-timed jump scares, Sarnoski’s film may be a flawed gem. 

Nonetheless, it offers escapist entertainment tailor-made for the big-screen experience, which will get your palms sweaty and your heart pumping.

Grade: B

Director: Kit Zauhar
Writer: Kit Zauhar
Stars: Kit Zauhar, Zane Pais, Ian Edlund, Jessie Pinnick

Synopsis: Tensions rise when a couple stays at the home of a reclusive host, with the three entering an intimate battle to gain and reclaim territory.

Despite its basic premise – girl falls for boy and hurts those closest to her in the process – Kit Zauhar’s first feature, Actual People, is a tough sit. Not because it’s by any means a bad film, but because it’s a shockingly recognizable story. It follows Riley (played by Zauhar), a recent NYU graduate who desperately pines for the attention and affections of a boy from Philadelphia, her hometown, and proceeds to take advantage of all in her orbit in order to win him over. Of course, she learns a great deal about herself as she attempts to find her place in the world, but it’s not the sort of film that concludes with a metaphor-laden monologue about independence nor identity. Instead, it’s a film that places a mirror in front of its viewer and asks, “Do you think you’re a good person?”

Zauhar might believe that such people exist, but she’s certainly not interested in featuring them in her films. “I just don’t think nice people are interesting on camera,” she told Filmmaker Magazine in 2022. “I think art is meant to reflect the worst parts of yourself back to you. Unlikable characters can make you a better, and I think more empathetic, person in real life. The function of a lot of really great art is to make you confront brutality and cruelty, so that you can walk out into the world and be a little bit more conscious of horrible things that are happening, maybe even inside of you.” 

It’s an interesting idea, one that Zauhar has made good on twice now, both in her 2021 debut and in her sophomore effort, This Closeness. A work of psychoanalysis disguised as a one-location dramedy, it’s the sort of work that makes you feel more like a fly on the wall than a distant viewer; yet even as a fly, you are aware enough to feel the discomfort that comes with being somewhere you weren’t invited to. That’s not exactly the case for Tessa (Zauhar), an ASMR YouTuber, and her boyfriend, Ben (Zane Pais), who take a weekend trip to Pennsylvania for Ben’s high school reunion, only to find that their Airbnb host is still in the apartment when they arrive. (And he doesn’t intend to leave.) Adam (Ian Edlund) isn’t exactly a Grade-A welcome wagon, at first only exiting his room long enough to force awkward conversations upon his guests, or to reiterate the fact that it was his former roommate who posted the listing, not him. “You know when being socially awkward becomes a physical feature? That’s what happened to this guy,” Ben jokes. 

That descriptor may be true, but Adam also fits the socially awkward bill characteristically, making each ensuing interaction between This Closeness’ de facto trio more cringeworthy than the last. Early on in their stay, Tessa wishes to put some beer in the fridge, prompting Adam to show her that he has split each shelf directly down the middle with a piece of painter’s tape and two index cards – “Guest” on the left, “Host” on the right – dictating who can put what food where. His side is packed solid, while Tessa’s freshly-opened six pack is the sole occupant on her shelf. “Now it kinda just looks like I’m an alcoholic,” she says with a chuckle. “My parents are alcoholics,” Adam responds, deadpan. “Their fridge doesn’t look like that.”

Over the course of the film’s brisk, yet unsettling, 88 minutes, Adam grows to be less reclusive, and Tessa responds in kind, while Ben starts to show signs of toxicity from the moment he first leaves the apartment for a pre-reunion dinner, returning later with a flirty high school pal named Lizzie (Jessie Pinnick). Their interaction is the sort you’ve seen before, if not been a part of: A bond between two old friends that has an undeniable air of sexual tension, a considerable amount of teasing banter, and far too much touching for two people who claim to have never slept together. The morning after their late-night catch-up session, Tessa expresses her discomfort, to which Ben responds by telling her she’s wrong, with his primary grievance being that she’s not being nice to him – real words said by a real person in this film. The grand finale of this argument sees Ben slamming Tessa’s iced coffee on the ground; later, he “apologizes”, but qualifies his laments with, “Please be nice to me again.”

As much as This Closeness is a portrait of power in a shared environment, it’s also an incredibly sharp dissection of a toxic relationship, one in which the male assumes perpetual dominance over the female, who succumbs to his whiny requests no matter how irredeemable his actions are. It’s in these settings that Zauhar’s script is at its strongest, especially in a scene where Tessa calls her therapist in tears to discuss her relationship and describes her love for Ben as something that “feels really lonely.” 

She continues: “As much as I complain about him, or I know things aren’t working, or they could be and I just don’t know how to get us there – maybe that’s the same thing – I feel so much for him, and see so much in him that no one else does. I mean, you can’t explain what compels you to someone else, you just feel it in your whole body. And that’s why I think it’s so lonely, because you can love someone so much and not be able to share that with anyone.” In layman’s terms, Tessa is someone who is trying to justify the existence of a dying relationship, if it’s not already dead. When she notes that she wants to belong to Ben, her therapist asks, “Why?”, to which Tessa responds, “Because it means I won.”

Of course, “winning” is not a reason to stay with someone, an internal conflict that This Closeness puts to the test as it rolls toward its pitch-perfect final shot. The more in touch with these emotions Tessa gets, the more argumentative Ben grows, and the more approachable Adam becomes. It’s worth questioning, though: Are we seeing these men through Tessa’s point of view, even with her in the frame? Is Ben truly this over-critical, unnecessarily-cruel menace? Is the more congenial Adam an ideal version of him in Tessa’s eyes, this stranger representing a reprieve from the torturous partnership she’s locked herself in for years despite her silent urge to escape? 

Then again, perhaps these characters are exactly as they seem, fitting the same mold as all of Zauhar’s inventions. After all, she doesn’t think “nice people are interesting on camera”; had the four characters in This Closeness been “better” people, they wouldn’t have conjured such questions nor made for any sort of stimulating conversation. They would have been avatars operating in a setting with a conscious awareness of others, having inauthentic conversations about their peers, and enduring no conflict. Instead of beginning to form her own thematically-rich unofficial trilogy, a la Paul Schrader’s “Man in a Room” films (First Reformed, The Card Counter, and Master Gardener), Zauhar would have a series of stories that fall under the “People in a Room Doing Nothing Much at All” umbrella.

In a way, that distinction is fitting for the stories she wishes to tell, but she’s sure to litter her films with complications, ones that make these rooms battlegrounds and these people terrified soldiers. It’s an aesthetic that might grow tiring at 120 minutes, but at 88, it sings as a slice-of-life drama that will feel almost too familiar to every viewer, in some way or another. In all likelihood, they’ll walk away panicked, thinking, “I’m not like them… Right?”. I imagine that’s precisely the response Zauhar wants. As long as you keep returning to the mirror, looking a little bit deeper with every gaze until the truth finally comes out.

Grade: B

Director: Ally Pankiw
Writer: Ally Pankiw
Stars: Rachel Sennott, Olga Petsa, Jason Jones

Synopsis: Sam is a young stand-up comedian and au pair struggling with PTSD, who is weighing whether or not to join the search for Brooke, a missing girl she used to nanny.

If I could offer one recommendation pertaining to Ally Pankiw’s I Used to Be Funny – that is, without that recommendation being the movie itself – it would be to go in completely blind. Judging a book by its cover can lead to interesting returns in most cases, but doing so with a film of this nature makes for an even more curious exercise. I mean, it’s a dramedy starring Rachel Sennott as a stand-up comedian with the word “Funny” in the title. You’d be forgiven if your first instinct is to assume you’re in for a bundle of laughs. 

The reality of Pankiw’s debut feature is considerably darker: Indeed, Sennott portrays a stand-up comedian, and the now-trademark glibness that her characters tend to live by does peek through in one-liners aplenty, but I Used to Be Funny offers her an opportunity to utilize the dramatic chops her well-documented Tisch education afforded her back in the early days of her career. Sennott plays Sam, a comedian who supplements her income by working as an au pair for a wealthy family with a troubled daughter, Brooke (Olga Petsa). As the film unfolds on two separate, tonally-dissimilar timelines, we see Sam forming a unique bond with Brooke in one, while in the other, their bond has fractured due to something Sam did. (At least, according to Brooke.) 

This relationship-altering event, which involved Brooke’s father (Jason Jones) and is only vaguely referenced until we see it unfold in the film’s final act, has left Sam riddled with PTSD, and has sent Brooke running into the arms of older troublemakers in an effort to avoid her problems. Sam, in the interim, has quit comedy, broken up with her boyfriend (Ennis Esmer), and asked to crash with her comedian pals, Paige and Phillip (Sabrina Jalees and Caleb Hearon, respectively). These living conditions provide a natural comedic undertone to the proceedings, but Sennott’s zingers fly few and far between in comparison to what we’ve come to expect from the Bottoms star. Needless to say, Bottoms this is not; it’s not even Shiva Baby, the indie that launched Sennott to relevance and carried with it a droll, cringey humor, the likes of which I Used to Be Funny doesn’t waste time attempting to replicate.

Of course, that’s because it has different things on its mind. It’s a film that is far more concerned with comedy’s role in grief, how connections can be formed and broken through trauma, and the lengths we will go to to hide from the world that seems to kick us while we’re down. But the more I Used to Be Funny jostles back and forth from one timeline to the next, it becomes scattered, both narratively and tonally. It’s a worn out stylistic approach already, non-linear storytelling, but when a film becomes so reliant on its perks, things go one of two ways. Either the train falls off the tracks entirely, leaving narrative threads strewn about the wilderness waiting for someone to pick them up and piece them back together, or the story’s principle twist – if we must call this film’s primary trauma a “twist” – is depended upon so heavily that we spend over an hour teasing this inevitable-yet-elusive reveal, and said reveal thus lands with an unremarkable thud. 

Now, it doesn’t help that I Used to Be Funny telegraphs its most emotional moments through a slew of Phoebe Bridgers needle drops, a cheap (albeit catchy) strategy that causes the film’s opportunities for natural melodrama to go up in smoke. (Not to mention the fact that “I Know the End” – a song with the lyrics “yeah, I guess the end is here” – plays as the credits roll. As if things couldn’t get more on the nose.) Ultimately, this is just a showcase for Sennott, a chance for a well-known comedic actress to dabble in drama. If only the dramatic moments she’s given weren’t so ham-handed, and the comedic ones so brisk.

Then again, at least Pankiw is upfront about why: This might be a movie about a comedian, but it’s about one who used to be funny. And while it wasn’t that long ago when Sam had camera crews in house to film her own special, horrible things can happen fast, thus zapping even the wittiest comic of the ability to laugh at her own pain. What’s a shame is that Sam’s trauma feels dismissed in the moment, not intentionally, but due to the film’s lack of overall focus. As it lobs misdirection at you from every which way, pulling you from one timeline to another, it stunts its own momentum, causing us to have more questions than answers by the time it reaches its abrupt, saccharine conclusion. 

Was the film we just watched about a young female comedian attempting to rediscover her voice after it was yanked from her grasp due to the emotional ramifications of a traumatic event? Was it about rebuilding relationships with loved ones while repairing an even more significant relationship, the one with ourselves? Or was it about the complicated dynamic between a cool au pair and the teenage nightmare she looked after before she went missing? Well, yes, to all of the above. All three work as premises, but become too much for one debut to cover. And there’s only so much an audience can do when the movie they’re watching has no idea what story it wants to tell the most.

Grade: C-