Director: Nathaniel Lezra

Synopsis: The lives of a human smuggler transporting refugees to the Darién Gap, an asylum seeker in New York City, and frontline humanitarian volunteers interweave in a harrowing examination of the global migration crisis.

With Roads of Fire, director Nathaniel Lezra steps firmly into the ranks of contemporary documentarians who blend cinematic beauty with journalistic urgency. After acclaimed festival runs in Mill Valley, Santa Barbara, and Brooklyn, the film lives up to its reputation. This is not a dry policy lecture or a voyeuristic travelogue about global migration. Instead, Roads of Fire is a searing, intimate portrait of movement; forced, hopeful, and profoundly human.

Lezra, whose previous work, Don’t Leave Me Behind: Stories of Young Ukrainian Survival, demonstrated his sensitivity to people caught in geopolitical upheaval, brings that same empathy and craft to this project. Here, he tells interwoven stories that span continents but share a single emotional current: the relentless search for safety and dignity. The film is an ambitious and often deeply affecting two-hour journey that connects three strands of the migration experience: a human smuggler navigating the treacherous Darién Gap, an asylum seeker attempting to rebuild her life in New York City, and the humanitarian workers and volunteers trying to provide support amid an increasingly overwhelmed system. Moving between these worlds, the film makes a persuasive case that migration is not simply a political issue to be debated from a distance, but a human reality experienced through fear, hope, exhaustion and resilience.

From the start, we’re thrown into the struggle and reality. There’s no gloss, no AI, no propaganda, just raw realism. We see migrant camps, border checkpoints, overcrowded shelters, moments of exhaustion, along with laughter, music, and small flashes of normalcy that feel almost radical. The film, gently and in-depth, explains the immigration process in America, and just how difficult and traumatizing it can be. Lezra’s off-camera presence is minimal, with his interviews spare and unobtrusive, really allowing the time and space for these stories to unfold.

At the emotional center is Maria, an asylum seeker rebuilding her life in New York with her two sons. Her story brings the crisis down to a deeply personal level, illustrating the disorientating reality of arriving somewhere that is supposed to offer safety only to encounter another set of obstacles. The contrast between the vast dangers of the Darién Gap and the quieter struggles of life in a major American city is particularly effective. The landscapes change, but the uncertainty remains.

Lezra’s connection to the subject gives Roads of Fire a personal dimension. In his director’s statement, he describes discovering the story of his grandfather, a Spanish Arab refugee who escaped one of Franco’s concentration camps in North Africa and rebuilt his life in Tangier. That family history clearly informs the film’s interest in displacement and belonging, while his previous documentary work on young Ukrainian survivors of war appears to have further shaped his approach to conflict and humanitarian storytelling.

Visually, the documentary is stunning; from the orange glow of sunsets, the metallic blues of a refugee boat at dawn, to the flicker of a campfire that gives the film its title. The “roads” here are both literal and metaphorical, pathways of fire that consume and illuminate. There are small sections that include voice-over and written statistics and explanations of meanings, to help educate its viewers and enhance the sections. For example, how the current President, Donald Trump, speaks about immigrants.

Roads of Fire is political, yes, but only because it’s profoundly personal. The film never tells viewers what to think; instead, it invites them to feel and build their own opinions and views. If there’s a flaw, the film’s structure occasionally feels too even-handed, which gives it a long runtime of almost two hours. Each story is given roughly equal screen time, which lends balance but sometimes mutes the emotional crescendo. Still, that restraint fits Lezra’s journalistic ethos: this isn’t about spectacle, it’s about truth.

Roads of Fire has done what great documentaries should: it opens our eyes and refuses to let us look away. We know the immigration system is broken, and at a time when frustrations are high and people are blaming one another, this documentary film helps audiences find their humanity and empathy. You might finish the documentary feeling helpless and powerless, with no end to these many struggles. Roads of Fire is harrowing, humane, and unexpectedly hopeful. This documentary film is for audiences interested in the lived human experience, politics, and policies.

Grade: B+

Director: Will Gluck
Writer: Travis Braun
Stars: Callum Turner, Monica Barbaro, Ben Marshall

Synopsis: Two New Yorkers search for love on the one night of the year when sex is legal.

We all know the saying, “they don’t make ‘ em like they used to,” but in the case of films like One Night Only, the problem is less that this type of film isn’t made and more that this type of film has devolved into a new form of consumption. The token popcorn fluff romcom used to be the bedrock of every studio system as a key cog in the most plain of entertainment, but it has mostly been relegated to the doldrums of streaming in today’s cinematic climate. For every You, Me and Tuscany that gets a wide theatrical release, there’s a Voicemails from Isabelle or People We Meet On Vacation increasing its shelf life for Netflix. Amongst the romcom spectrum, One Night Only sits within rather unsurprising mechanics despite the wild stir its “sex purge” premise has caused amongst online spaces. You’ll get as many surprising chuckles as you do hard eye rolls, an adequate amount of chemistry from two very attractive leads making the best of what’s on the page, but the film falters more than not since it can’t quite provide consistent laughs or chemistry throughout, much less provide much thought to its needlessly insane synopsis. One Night Only is far from the absolute worst a romcom can be, but it lacks the proper punch to make escalating comedic scenarios funny and runs its few charms quite thin as it plods along.

The film starts with text over New York City stating that three years ago, premarital sex was officially outlawed by the United States. The reasons for this law are mainly kept unexplained by the film itself, but the most important thing to know is that one night per year, single people are legally allowed to have sex again for 12 hours, and for most singles it’s all about getting a dopamine rush of lovemaking before they have to repress for yet another year. Throughout the film, we follow the characters on seemingly parallel paths. Owen (Callum Turner), a pizzeria owner who is having relationship struggles with his girlfriend Malika (Maya Hawke) hours before the mandate breaks, and Allie (Monica Barbaro), who works as a singer singing renditions of “A Thousand Miles” for medicine commercials, searching for a true connection on the fateful night. The two get into constant predicaments, rushing against the clock to find who they can have sex with before the night is done, but despite their insistence on not being for each other, Owen and Allie can’t stop crossing paths on their escapades to finally get laid, leading to the two of them slowly wondering if a spark does truly lie between them. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that the ramifications of One Night Only’s central concept are never fully explored, but it only makes the few times where the film delves into the “rules” quite bizarre. There’s the occasional gag making fun of the political reasoning of why the mandate exists via a news broadcast on TV and a whole convoluted enforcement process via bio-censor symbols on your wrist that are supposed to track who is and isn’t married by them being either red or green. It’s funny how much the film ever so slightly builds out its The Purge with sex world since it leads to more ridiculous questions than answers. This, however, wouldn’t matter much as long as the film was funny enough and its romance was sexy enough since the intentions of the premise revolve around silly gags and oneself freeing themselves from the ever-mounting pressures of life sexually. Unfortunately, the film gets about halfway there in both the rom and com. 

Granted, there is a decent amount of actual mileage to be gotten from the comedic set pieces in this concept, and director Will Gluck, for better and worse, knows the right strings to pull to provide the most basic amusement in one of them. There’s a stretch on both Owen and Allie’s paths where they’re in search to find a condom (since the mandate requires protection) where the situational comedy is at its sharpest and slapstick and the “will they won’t they” pull is at its funniest. 

It’s inherently funny to see situations like having to dig through sewers and pay $200 for seemingly the last condom in the city and testing the situational confines of this concept is where the film is at its funniest, but for every clever visual gag there’s plenty of other groan worthy ones, like Wakanda forever jokes that are years too late and swaths of celebrity cameo moments where the cameo itself is the joke and absolutely nothing else. As the film goes on, it becomes clear that instances of our characters finding themselves naked out in the open after a potential hookup gone wrong or mistaking making things even sillier as an escalation of comedy are about the only ideas for jokes that the film has. It always feels like every other joke needs a bit more raunchiness to it, which the movie is seemingly incapable of providing. 

As for the romance, at least unlike a clear weak link in chemistry in Gluck’s Anyone But You, both Turner and Barbaro are charming enough here, and both roll with the constant absurdity on display and having to sell lines implying that their physical features are anything but ethereal. The issue here is that the two actors are having to deliver what is a pretty thoughtless screenplay in nearly every aspect. In all fairness, they do a fairly good job of elevating the film to watchable enough plights within their chemistry but once we reach the common beats of the romcom formula, the film’s energy is already completely spent.

One Night Only is ultimately average enough to be inoffensive even within the ridiculousness of its concept, but it never rises above fairly plain romcom fare since it can’t quite decide whether to dip its toes fully into the numerous implications of its premise or go fully wacky into step pieces of two single people trying to get laid, leading to it growing thin in its exploration of both. There is a place for the forgettable but enjoyable enough romcom in film, and I’d much rather have more movies like One Night Only in theaters than not, but the best way to describe the film’s fate is as an inevitable staple of your airplane cinema to watch on a long flight, which isn’t entirely a bad thing, but it’s not particularly compelling either.

Grade: C

Director: Eli Roth
Writer: Eli Roth, Noah Belson
Stars: Ari Millen, Charlie Zeltzer, Shiloh O’Reilly

Synopsis: An idyllic summer town descends into madness when an ice cream man serves kids sweet delights with horrifying results.

When Thanksgiving released, I foolishly thought we finally saw an evolution in Eli Roth’s filmmaking. Known for mostly controversial and explicitly violent pictures, the American director finally made something of substance, where its horrors were vividly expressed and cogently transformed our mindless “don’t ask questions just consume product and get excited for next product” population into Romerian zombies. The Black Friday scene remains the best thing he’s ever done, and it genuinely made me excited to see what he would do next in the world of genre cinema, words I never uttered when describing the corpus of films Roth brought to life. 

Then came Borderlands. Seeing it in a theater gave me COVID. The less said about that one, the better. 

While Thanksgiving 2 has been announced, development on the picture has seemingly stalled and, in the meantime, Roth has gone full steam ahead in creating The Horror Section, a media company focused solely on distributing horror content across multiple formats. His first directorial effort from this creation, Ice Cream Man, finally arrives in theatres this weekend. It is not a remake of Norman Apstein’s 1995 direct-to-video slasher picture, although one can’t really fault anyone for thinking this way, as Roth’s “inspirations” are mostly just carbon copies of other, better, horror movies, in the hopes that the audience doesn’t notice. 

There’s one scene in the film that’s a direct ripoff of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds, where crows slowly make their way to the school’s playground while Melanie Daniels (Tippi Hedren) is smoking a cigarette. Instead of crows, we have a horde of possessed kids who, after eating ice cream from the titular Ice Cream Man (Ari Millen), become mind-controlled killers who wreak havoc on a seemingly innocuous town. Some filmmakers will wear the influences that have clearly inspired them on their sleeves, but Roth has no discernible style of his own. He thus reverts to the “horror classics,” because that’s all he can do. 

The conceit itself is not “bad” – who doesn’t find Ice Cream Men who stalk around suburban neighborhoods creepy? However, the execution more than lacks any form of wit or energy. Roth’s images are flatly composed and lazily edited. The film’s senseless violence of children decapitating their parents, shoving a dental tool in their ears, or chopping their fingers in a vegetable grinder is always played for “shock” and thus has little to no emotional or cathartic impact. Compared to the violence in Thanksgiving, which was also senseless, yet had something to say about the mindless generation we’re in, Ice Cream Man is a complete nothingburger.

Ice Cream Man seems to draw a parallel between consumerist society’s obsession with screens and junk food, but never in a way that feels genuinely meaningful. We’re instead stuck in a cyclical rut of explicit violence that quickly numbs us, as we soon realize the movie is heading nowhere interesting, despite a twist that aims to take this story into darker territory than it already is. Without spoiling anything, that “twist” is possibly the most audience-insulting thing I’ve seen all year, something you can see coming a mile away but still pisses you off when it is laid bare on screen. 

The bulk of the movie essentially follows three child characters, lactose-intolerant Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), bulimic Mia (Kiori Mirza Waldman), and rebel Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly), who don’t conform to the masses that are immediately tantalized by the prospect of ice cream. Wait, scratch that – Mia ate the ice cream, but threw it up, with one of the most offensive lines I’ve ever heard in a horror movie that justifies portraying a harrowing eating disorder like bulimia this way. When asked if she ate the ice cream that turns you into a mind-controlled zombie, Mia responds: “I’m a twelve-year-old girl, I know how to make myself throw up!” Do I even need to explain why this line is highly problematic, let alone terribly insensitive? God!

As the film progresses, Roth attempts to expand upon the mythology of the Ice Cream Man through a Catholic figure, played by Benjamin Byron Davis. He explains the character’s origins through a flashback that almost definitely features AI-generated imagery. I do not want to fully state one way or the other, as a recent interview with Roth explained that AI was not used for the animated jingle sequences for the Ice Cream Man, but none discussed the flashback scenes, where visual effects look as chintzy as the AI slop featured in Radu Jude’s Dracula. With the AI-driven VFX company Dark Half mentioned in the end credits, one can sense that generative artificial intelligence was undoubtedly used to create images featured in the flashback – and it looks terrible. 

If AI was indeed used, anyone who has been dubbing Roth a “talentless hack” for years will be the most vindicated people in the universe. If no AI was used at all, it doesn’t matter. The movie is still a cheaply made, dull, and inept slasher that wants to provoke but has no thought of its own, just the same boring kills for 86 interminable minutes. The jokes are unfunny (Roth’s idea of humor involves name-dropping “Tony Robbins” and “Mitt Romney”), the performances are unconvincing, and the gore doesn’t possess the same genuine thrills as Sébastien Vaniček’s Evil Dead Burn. 

Only composer Brandon Roberts’ jingles provide Ice Cream Man with its signs of life, but when the music is the only (slightly) redeeming thing about your movie, there’s a massive problem. While Eli Roth has always championed outsider art and underground movies, with The Horror Section sounding like a good idea to expose audiences to filmmakers they might not have heard of, this experiment has so far proven itself futile. However, it might be a good idea for Roth to keep making such listless junk like this, so anyone who might have been interested in his filmography, like me, will no longer pay attention to what he’s doing. I was fooled that Thanksgiving would mark an evolution in his filmography, but I am fooled no longer.

Grade: F

Director: Izabel Pakzad
Writer: Izabel Pakzad
Stars: Helena Howard, Bella Thorne, Zión Moreno

Synopsis: Amber and her friends visit Joshua Tree for a fun girls’ trip but face hostility from locals. As tensions escalate and Amber’s dark past surfaces, their rebellion ignites – turning their desert getaway into a jaw-dropping game of revenge.

There is no shortage of thrillers about young people making bad decisions in isolated places, but Find Your Friends tries to carve out its own identity by filtering familiar genre beats through a more personal, female perspective. Marking the feature debut of writer-director Izabel Pakzad, the film has an impressive festival pedigree, including TIFF Industry Selects, Fantasia, Sitges, Fantastic Fest and Torino, and it’s easy to see why it generated attention. Even when it stumbles, it is never lacking in ambition.

The story follows Amber (Helena Howard) and a group of friends heading to Joshua Tree for what is meant to be a carefree weekend of parties, drugs, and escapism. That sense of freedom quickly disappears as they encounter increasingly aggressive locals and buried tensions within the friendship group surface. As Amber’s traumatic past comes forward, the film gradually shifts away from its party-movie aesthetic and into something much darker than expected. Pakzad has spoken about the film being inspired by her own frightening experience of being harassed while visiting Joshua Tree with friends, and that personal connection gives Find Your Friends an authenticity that elevates much of its early tension.

Howard delivers a committed central performance, grounding Amber’s emotional journey even when the narrative becomes deliberately disorientating. Around her, the ensemble cast, including Bella Thorne, Chloe Cherry, Zion Moreno, and Sophia Ali, captures the messy, often exhausting dynamics of a friendship group built as much on distraction as genuine connection. But there were times I did question if this group of friends were actually friends. As the story develops, they don’t have each other’s back, are very selfish, and lack basic empathy. Therefore it’s hard to build any rapport or character allegiance. Also, all their accents sound exactly the same, which felt one-dimensional and quite annoying. They sound like the girls in the song #SELFIE. And several supporting characters remain underdeveloped, leaving you wanting more from them to fully invest in the story and the girl’s survival.

Visually, Joshua Tree becomes far more than just an attractive backdrop, with its vast open spaces creating an uneasy contrast between freedom and vulnerability. The cinematography embraces both the beauty and isolation of the desert, while the increasingly chaotic party scenes blur into something almost dreamlike before descending into outright nightmare. There are moments where the film recalls the neon-soaked recklessness of Spring Breakers, one of the influences Pakzad has openly acknowledged, and Find Your Friends tries very hard to find its own path. I did enjoy the rich colors used in the party scenes, from deep blues to dark reds, this bold use did feel fresh.

You can tell the themes of consent and misogyny (at young women) are being explored, but never fully investigated. The trio of local men are predators, but we don’t learn why. As the narrative continues, the script could have been done with more depth, giving the characters some real, gritty personalities. The young women come across as simple party-girls, and the dialogue is a lot of unanswered, repetitive questions, and swearing, and feels very surface level. Other than Amber, I cannot tell you what makes the other girls tick.

The final act is undoubtedly memorable, delivering the kind of provocative escalation Pakzad clearly set out to achieve. Whether audiences find it cathartic or excessive will likely depend on their tolerance for uncompromising genre cinema. Drawing inspiration from the confrontational spirit of New French Extremity, this is where the film is at its strongest. I wish the whole of it had this pace and purpose. Pakzad has said she wanted to challenge the traditional “final girl” archetype rather than simply invert it, creating women who reclaim power through anger, violence, and chaos instead of moral purity. It’s an intriguing idea, and one that gives the film an edge beyond standard survival horror.

Find Your Friends is an imperfect but undeniably distinctive debut. It tackles trauma, female rage, and toxic escapism with confidence, even if its execution doesn’t always match the strength of its ideas. There is enough style, ambition and nerve here to make it worth seeking out. It may not be the best feminist film out there, but it announces Izabel Pakzad as a filmmaker with a bold voice and a willingness to take risks – qualities that make her future work worth watching.

Grade: C+

Director: Brett Sullivan
Writer: Anais Mitchell
Stars: Reeve Carney, André De Shields, Eva Noblezada

Synopsis: A musical juxtaposition of the Orpheus/Eurydice and Hades/Persephone myths that examines the way real life can impact our quest for a perfect world.

Few modern musicals have enjoyed the remarkable trajectory of Hadestown. What began as a folk-inspired concept album by singer-songwriter Anaïs Mitchell evolved into one of the defining theatrical successes of the last decade, winning multiple Tony Awards following its Broadway debut and earning widespread acclaim in London’s West End. It is a rare production that has managed to satisfy critics and audiences, blending ancient mythology with contemporary social commentary, unforgettable music, and breathtaking stagecraft. Now, Hadestown: The Musical has landed on cinema screens, giving audiences who may never have stepped inside a Broadway or West End theatre the opportunity to experience one of the most celebrated musicals of the 21st century. While nothing can completely replace the electricity of live performance, this cinematic presentation comes remarkably close to capturing the show’s hypnotic magic.

Based on the Greek myths of Orpheus and Eurydice alongside the story of Hades and Persephone, Hadestown transforms familiar legends into a soulful, jazz-infused meditation on love, hope, power, and sacrifice. Rather than presenting mythology as something distant and dusty, the musical relocates these timeless characters into a world that simultaneously feels industrial, Depression-era Americana, and completely timeless. Smoky bars, rumbling factories, and haunting railways create an atmosphere unlike anything else currently on the musical theatre scene. Even viewers unfamiliar with Greek mythology will find themselves swept into its richly textured world, while theatre enthusiasts will appreciate the meticulous craftsmanship evident in every aspect of the production.

The story follows Orpheus, an idealistic young musician whose songs are said to have the power to change the world. He falls deeply in love with Eurydice, but poverty and desperation eventually drive her into the underworld ruled by Hades. Determined to rescue her, Orpheus undertakes a perilous journey below ground, where love is tested against fear, doubt and impossible choices. Running parallel is the fractured marriage between Hades and Persephone, offering a mature counterpoint to the youthful romance at the story’s centre. The result is a narrative that balances fairy tale with political allegory, asking enduring questions about trust, labor, freedom and whether hope alone can overcome oppression.

One of the musical’s greatest strengths remains its score. Mitchell’s music effortlessly blends American folk, blues, New Orleans jazz, and gospel influences into something wholly original – unlike many contemporary musicals that rely on pop anthems designed for instant streaming success. Visually, the costumes are rich and impressive. Rachel Hauck’s celebrated stage design translates beautifully to the cinema screen, with warm lighting around the carefully crafted bar, with room for the performers to dance around effortlessly. The revolving stage is very impressive, especially in the final scenes/closing songs.

Every voice is beautiful, filled with passion and purpose. You have to listen and concentrate as an audience, as the lyrics drive and tell the story. It’s a musical through and through, with very little talking in between songs. There are also many comedic moments to break up the drama, as we all know mythology isn’t the easiest to follow and can be very heavy content. 

Filming in theatre is always an exercise in compromise. Certain moments that generate enormous excitement inside a live auditorium inevitably lose a degree of immediacy when filtered through a camera lens. The camera’s editing choices dictate where viewers should focus, removing some of the freedom that comes with watching the stage live, where countless small details unfold simultaneously across the performance space.

Yet, close-ups reveal emotional nuances that would often be missed from the back rows of a theatre, particularly during quieter exchanges between Orpheus and Eurydice. At the same time, wide shots preserve the choreography and architectural beauty of the staging. I also very much enjoyed seeing the cast get ready backstage before heading out into the spotlight – this is something a live audience doesn’t see. 

The arrival of productions like Hadestown in cinemas also raises an increasingly important conversation about accessibility. For many people, attending a West End or Broadway performance simply isn’t possible. Ticket prices, travel costs and geographical distance place live theatre beyond the reach of countless audiences. Cinema presentations dramatically reduce those barriers, allowing people across the country, and the world, to experience acclaimed productions for a fraction of the cost. Students, aspiring performers, and theatre lovers who may never have secured tickets to the original production can finally see what has made these shows cultural landmarks. But the show only being on screens for five days does feel like a marketing ploy rather than for accessibility. I guess it has to test the waters, but ultimately we want audiences in theatre seats for theatre shows. 

On the other hand, cinema screenings preserve extraordinary productions that might otherwise disappear with time. They introduce new audiences to live performance, inspire future theatre-goers, and allow remarkable artistic achievements to reach communities far beyond London or New York.

Ultimately, Hadestown: The Musical may not replace the thrill of sitting inside a packed theatre as the lights dim and the first notes begin to play, but it captures enough of the show’s artistry, emotion and imagination to make the experience genuinely rewarding. For devoted musical fans, curious newcomers and anyone who believes great storytelling should be accessible to as many people as possible, this cinematic presentation offers a compelling reminder that while the stage may be its natural home, a masterpiece like Hadestown still sings beautifully on the silver screen.

Grade: A

Director: Andrew Patterson
Writer: Andrew Patterson
Stars: Matthew McConaughey, Angelina LookingGlass, Jake Horowitz

Synopsis: Amziah King, beekeeper, musician, and anchor of his community, reunites with former foster daughter Kateri after many years apart, and fends off threats to his honey business.

We put a lot on directors early in their career. This is especially true if their debut feature catches the zeitgeist, or at least cinephile zeitgeist. This was absolutely true of Andrew Patterson. His first film (even though he was oddly uncredited), The Vast of Night, was impeccably directed and took a simple story, using few effects, and made it immediately memorable. Unfortunately for us, that was almost 7 years ago, in 2019. Those of us who watched that film have been aching for more from Patterson. For years, there was nothing. But fortunately, Patterson has returned with one of the best movies of 2026, The Rivals of Amziah King.

The Rivals of Amziah King is a difficult film to quantify. In a lesser director’s hands, it would be aimless, cruel, and a complete misfire. Patterson introduces Amziah (Matthew McConaughey) in a calm moment, playing an instrument with his friends outside of a fast food joint. This sets the stage importantly. Music, food, and especially community will be repeated themes that Patterson returns to with increasing effect. After this, the actual story begins. Set in Oklahoma, there has been a theft and the police turn to him because the theft is a great deal of honey. Yes, you read that correctly. Amziah is brought in because he has his own company, which bottles and sells honey from his bees. The Oklahoma setting is also desperately important. Patterson resides there and has a clear connection with these people and surrounding communities. He provides an authenticity which avoids pitfalls that others might find themselves falling into.

McConaughey, throughout the film, is a presence that the film desperately holds onto. This is his best performance in many years, second in my mind only to Mud. It feels like a role built for him, that only he could play correctly. He brings down home charm, slightly manic energy, and a comfortability with the surroundings that brings us in like we are family. But the music, that is where the heart of The Rivals of Amziah King resides. In an extended scene, a small community of players perform for one another in a kitchen and, normal as it is for them, this will be an indelible image of both McConaughey and 2026 film for this reviewer.

Importantly, he is just as impressive in the quiet moments, something that has been a challenge for him at certain points of his career. Early in the film, we are introduced to Kateri (Angelina LookingGlass), who was, for a brief period before the death of his wife, Amziah’s foster child. The look on his face when she returns is nearly beatific, all occurring before we are allowed to see her. The camera is trained on him and his eyes tell us of his love before he can ever vocalize it. This fosters our connection to her, because we already love him. That is not to remove any praise from LookingGlass however who, in her debut role, holds her own with one of the most charming actors in recent history. But more than that, as the film moves forward, she becomes a dual lead with McConaughey and portrays an effervescent energy that propels the film forward. She is able to embrace the silence in between words just as she devours dialogue effortlessly. This is hopefully just the beginning of a long, fruitful career for LookingGlass who should be on your list to watch from now on. The screenplay from Patterson asks quite a lot of LookingGlass and she delivers in spades.

However, maybe the most impressive thing in the film is Patterson’s patience and understanding. This easily could have been a much more streamlined crime thriller that reaches its solution in 90 minutes. Instead, like the populace he is representing, Patterson chooses to linger. He understands that, to Southern people, who face constant media mockery; community, music, and food are the connective tissue that tie us all together. In one particular moment, Amziah imparts the history of each dish at a potluck that provides not only comedy (without mockery), but stories that are not often told outside of their small town. This is Amziah bringing Kateri back home, while inviting us in, as well.

The Rivals of Amziah King is not a film to be quantified or measured. It is a film about family. It is a film about our preconceived notions. It is the untold story of small towns with big personalities. It is all of these things, but it is also a film in which we would want to live, warts and all. Yes, there are small leaps in logic in the second half of the film, but the performances are so excellent that all of these are easily forgiven and forgotten. Patterson’s pen is impressive, yes, but so is his eye. He, along with cinematographer M.I. Littin-Menz, craft imagery that is lasting and almost ethereal. Watching a makeshift raft float down a river in low light could easily have been lost in the dark hues. Yet, the glow that the film creates makes us, just for a moment, hope and believe. We believe in the small people standing up against large corporate boots threatening to squash them like a troublesome insect. 

The Rivals of Amziah King is a film that outstretches its arms and welcomes us all in. It doesn’t matter how educated we are, how checkered our pasts are, how well we can sing or play an instrument. We are all part of its fabric and we are all welcome.

Grade: A-