Director: Marianna Dean
Writer: Simon X. Frederick
Stars: Zoe Cunningham, James Cosmo, Eloise Lovell Anderson

Synopsis: To join the elite ATIC Guard, Alana Toro must stop a simulated terrorist attack, but every attempt takes her further from the sanctioned solution.

Low-budget sci-fi films are hard to get just right. There’s a sense of escapism into an altered reality that needs to come across for audiences. For films that can’t rely on heavy amounts of CGI or VFX work, like Voidance, they must instead focus on its story. What starts as a charming murder mystery in the far reaches of the galaxy evolves into a time-traveling test of morals. Although it doesn’t all completely work, Marianna Dean’s newest film shows a director with a clear love of the genre.

Voidance takes place deep in space where two planets, Atopia and Cho-Hacha, are at each other’s throats. Terror is running rampant, and Atopian-born Alana Toro (Zoe Cunningham) is well on her way to becoming an ATIC agent. One final challenge stands between her and becoming a member of a prestigious group of guards. Though their popularity among civilians is murky. Alana needs to finish a simulated terrorist attack, where the reset button is limited, and the stakes are high.

What makes Voidance interesting at first is the use of a reset device that Alana wears. Showing how many chances she has left in order to pass, and allowing her to communicate with those watching her progress. While her mission first turns into finding a missing ship, it quickly evolves into Alana trying to save as many lives as possible, even when it costs her a reset. Unfortunately, it becomes overly repetitive, especially near the end of the film, the dialogue-heavy moments hold the film back more than they push along the story.

Alana does a lot of interviewing throughout the first run-throughs of her mission. Looking for truck drivers with information on the missing ship, she finds a murder that has happened on the ship. Each time she tries to stop it from happening, she fails, finding a new item of information each time. It’s a neat way to unravel a murder, and audiences get to meet numerous different characters along the way. Like Fir Jie (Mim Shaikh), a karaoke-loving nervous wreck, or Ede (Eloise Lovell Anderson), a barfly with a mysterious side. Each of these side characters doesn’t remember Alana after each reset, leading to some hilarious interactions fueled by her frustration.

From a style standpoint, Voidance is going for a look that’s stylish but not over-the-top. For the wardrobe, it works, but the set design suffers. Alana wears a black leather jacket with loose-fitting pants tucked into boots. Her hair is right above her shoulders with baby bangs. This gives her a slight officer look while still allowing her to blend in with others around her. Sets are bare minimum and show the confined spaces each room on this vast ship is. The bar is shown the most, with cool lighting and tables and chairs littering the area. Though doorways flash with light when in use, there’s not much to show that these people are in a sci-fi environment. Each area Alana finds herself in looks too similar to the last to feel fully immersed in the story.

Voidance has a villain problem; mostly because it has such a relatable theme, of not trusting the people in power. ATIC officers aren’t looked upon well in everyone’s eyes, mainly due to their being connected to those who rule over them. When the film focuses on Alana investigating that avenue, it’s at its best, but it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Choosing to spend a large amount of the time on two gunmen that caused chaos over Alana’s several attempts to beat her trial. This makes audiences sit through their moments over and over, even recapping afterwards.

Cunningham’s performance is the most memorable aspect of Voidance, even if her blaster use doesn’t come off completely believable. Arguably, her fish-out-of-water gestures make her mindset of saving as many lives as possible admirable. She comes across as a regular woman who has an interest in problem-solving, who just so happened to get recruited into essentially the CIA. She gives Alana a human aspect, using nearly all her chances to pass just to make sure she doesn’t miss an opportunity to save someone.

Dean directs Voidance well and shows a clear love for the genre she’s working in. It has a distinct style that reminded me of films like 1997’s Cube, where the entire film takes place in limited spaces. It focuses more on the reactions to danger than the danger itself, where each side eye or smirk is noted. Not all the pieces come together, but for a director early in their promising career, Dean shows a clear vision.

For all of its aspirations, Voidance falls above more average small-budget sci-fi films. The ideas may be larger than its pockets, but there’s incredible promise behind the camera. Its glaringly topical theme of questioning those in power makes it an entertaining murder mystery in space with a charming lead performance. Dean leaves her work open for a sequel, which sounds interesting on paper.

Voidance celebrated its European Premiere at Sci-Fi-London-Film-Festival on May 17th, and will be available on Digital Platforms from May 25th.

Grade: C

Director: Andre Gaines
Writer: Qasim Basir, Andre Gaines, Amiri Baraka
Stars: André Holland, Kate Mara, Stephen McKinley Henderson

Synopsis: A successful black businessman, haunted by his crumbling marriage and identity crisis, is drawn into a sexualized game of cat and mouse with a mysterious white woman on a subway that leads to a violent conclusion.

Expanding upon the provocative one-act play by Amiri Baraka, The Dutchman is a sleek, unsettling psychological thriller that weaponizes intimacy, race, and performance with unnerving precision. Directed and produced by Andre Gaines, the 88-minute feature adaptation transforms a famously claustrophobic stage work into something more cinematic without losing the suffocating tension that made the original text so enduring. Led by powerful performances from Andre Holland, Zazie Beetz, and Kate Mara, the film will feel like a slowly tightening vice.

The Dutchman is a conversation film, but one charged with such escalating hostility so it seems that every line is like a concealed threat. Holland plays Clay, a successful Black businessman whose carefully curated life begins to unravel after an encounter with a magnetic stranger played by Mara. What appears flirtatious soon mutates into something far more invasive and psychologically predatory. Gaines stretches the original framework into a broader urban nightmare, using the city itself as an extension of Clay’s growing paranoia.

Audiences might make a comparison to Jordan Peele, which is understandable, though not entirely accurate. Like Get Out, The Dutchman dissects racial performance beneath the veneer of liberal civility, but Gaines is less interested in satire than destabilization. The film thrives on discomfort, forcing audiences to sit inside manipulative and invasive exchanges. Some viewers may also find the film’s ambiguity frustrating, particularly during the final act, which prioritizes mood and implication over narrative clarity. This does feel intentional; opting for mystery rather than exposing and giving concrete conclusions.

Holland delivers one of the film’s strongest elements through a performance built on restraint. Clay is introduced as composed, intelligent, and socially fluent; a man accustomed to navigating elite spaces by maintaining control. It is a remarkably internal performance, one that allows the audience to feel the pressure mounting before the character fully acknowledges it himself. Even though there are moments where he’s hard to root for, you’ll enjoy trying to work him and his story out. 

Mara, meanwhile, is mesmerizingly unreadable. Her character shifts constantly between seductive, playful, antagonistic, and frightening, often within the same scene. Her menace emerges through unpredictability; she transforms ordinary social interaction into psychological combat. She’s seductive, wild, and someone you’d be drawn to and want to run away from at the same time. When she gives Clay a red apple, you can’t help but think of Snow White – the relevance being a scary but beautiful woman poisoning you to take advantage. 

Zazie Beetz’s supporting role adds another layer to the film’s examination of privilege and performance. Beetz plays moments with calculated coolness, reinforcing the film’s central anxiety: that social acceptance can evaporate the moment someone refuses to perform correctly. Each actor has a believable and intense chemistry which will keep viewers interested and invested. 

As the story continues, if you’re not paying attention, you may find it confusing. The film does rely on its audience being active. This isn’t a film to watch when you’re doom scrolling. Even if you feel a little lost and disjointed, this may very well be the intention, keep watching as the end has a violent conclusion you won’t see coming. 

At just 88 minutes, The Dutchman moves with sharp efficiency, though there are moments where its expanded scope feels slightly constrained by its theatrical origins. A handful of secondary characters exist more as thematic devices than fully realized people, and certain transitions between realism and surrealism can feel abrupt. They could have been further developed and given the film more depth and conflict. Ultimately, The Dutchman is an intelligent, deeply uncomfortable thriller that trusts its audience to sit with contradiction rather than seek resolution. Anchored by excellent performances, the film transforms a classic stage confrontation into a contemporary nightmare about race, power, and the dangers hidden beneath performative civility.

Grade: B

Directors: Phil Cunningham, Brent Dawes
Writer: Brent Dawes, Kyle Portbury, Sam Wilson
Stars: Brandon Engman, Brian Stivale, Shahar Tovach

Synopsis: From his mother’s songs to his clash with Goliath, David’s journey from humble shepherd to anointed king tests the limits of faith, courage, and love–culminating in a battle for the soul of a kingdom.

Animated biblical storytelling has often struggled to balance reverence with cinematic excitement, frequently leaning too heavily toward either solemn instruction or sanitized spectacle. David, directed by Phil Cunningham and Brent Dawes, attempts something more emotionally expansive. Angel Studios‘ Book of Samuel adaptation is a sweeping coming-of-age adventure about courage, faith, identity, and the burden of destiny. David frames its central figure as a deeply human young man navigating fear, loyalty, and spiritual conviction in a fractured world.

This is a great film for both adults and children; there’s no offensive language or inappropriate content, and adults can enjoy the drama and relatable themes throughout. At the center of the story is David, wide-eyed and bushy-haired, voiced with earnest vulnerability by Phil Wickham. His character is filled with younger incarnations, both warmth and innocence. He yearns for bigger and better things, and after valiantly protecting his sheep he’s summoned before the Prophet Samuel (Brian Stivale), who anoints the young lad as the future king of Israel.

David’s bravery emerges gradually through uncertainty and emotional conflict. He doubts himself, questions his purpose, and struggles beneath expectations imposed upon him by others. This layered portrayal gives the narrative emotional accessibility even for viewers less familiar with the biblical material.

Much of the film explores the emotional consequences of being chosen. The relationship between David and Saul, voiced by Adam Michael Gold, provides the story with some of its richest dramatic tension. Saul’s descent mirrors David’s rise, creating a compelling emotional symmetry between the two figures. A little more banter between the two could have given this film a humorous uplift. David’s character does become a little stale; he doesn’t develop enough. 

The supporting cast adds texture without overwhelming the central narrative. Lauren Daigle brings warmth and sincerity to Rebecca, while Asim Chaudhry offers a more eccentric energy as King Achish. Meanwhile, Jonathan and Samuel are portrayed with understated nobility, grounding the film’s larger spiritual themes in personal relationships and loyalty.

Visually, the animation occasionally fluctuates in quality. Certain crowd scenes and character movements reveal budgetary limitations, particularly when compared to larger studio productions. Facial animation can sometimes appear stiff during dialogue-heavy exchanges, and the pacing in the middle section occasionally sags beneath the weight of exposition. At one hour and forty-nine minutes, the film perhaps stretches beyond what its narrative momentum can consistently sustain. There are influences from DreamWorks, Disney, and even Blue Sky Studios, with The Prince of Egypt and Ice Age coming to mind. The Giant and his sidekick reminded me of Jafar and Iago from Aladdin – this isn’t a bad thing. They’re quite an entertaining pair. 

The film’s most memorable sequence, unsurprisingly, is the confrontation with Goliath. Yet what distinguishes the scene is not simply scale or action choreography, but the psychological framing surrounding it. The battlefield is a field of poppies (significance to fields that run red with blood). It’s a quick scene, and it’s in the middle of the film, the build up could have been stronger to give the scene more gravitas, but it’s exciting nonetheless. There is another battle scene towards the end, with a bigger build up, and the consequences feel more real. 

However, the ambition behind the project is undeniable. The directors are clearly striving for emotional and spiritual grandeur rather than quick entertainment. The musical score plays a crucial role in this, blending orchestral swells with folk-inspired melodies that reinforce the film’s themes of devotion and destiny. There are some lovely songs, but they’re not too memorable. “Tapestry” and “Shalom” are the two that stood out and have stuck with me. 

In an era where irony often dominates mainstream storytelling, David feels refreshingly earnest. It does not mock belief, nor does it aggressively sermonize. The film invites audiences into a story about courage born from conviction and compassion. David is a heartfelt animated epic that finds strength in its emotional sincerity. While some technical limitations prevent it from reaching the visual heights of major animation studios, the film compensates with atmosphere, thematic ambition, and genuine emotional resonance. By focusing on the humanity beneath the legend, Cunningham and Dawes craft a version of David’s story that’s a timeless reflection on fear, purpose, and the difficult path toward becoming who one is meant to be.

Grade: B

Directors: Heather Ballish, Mia Moore Marchant
Writer: Mia Moore Marchant
Stars: Mia Moore Marchant, Aria Taylor, Abigail Thorn

Synopsis: After reliving the same day over and over again for 10 years, Agatha awakens to realize she’s escaped and now faces the horrifying reality of a brand new day.

Time loops have almost always been associated with some sort of comedy. It’s a great gag machine because it’s the same sequence over and over again. Most time loops eventually come to a point where the protagonist can’t stand it any more and needs to get out. Yet, when they do get to “tomorrow,” the film and the protagonist don’t have time for getting used to or reintegrated back into linear time. To be suddenly thrust into the unknown, in spite of the familiar things about the world around you, would be jarring to say the least. Depending on how long the loop was, it could be an existential nightmare. This is where we find Agatha (Mia Moore Marchant) at the beginning of Again Again.

The film is so conceptually refreshing. We get the depth of time loop flashbacks mixed with the deeply tragic drama of being thrust back into linear life. Agatha’s time loop was the equivalent of ten years. She’s essentially lived a large chunk of her life stuck in one place. It feels like a prison sentence or a bad relationship that one just can’t get out of. Agatha knows so much about Tessa (Aria Taylor), her partner, that it becomes hard to forget, hard to get a sense of the Tessa in front of her. It happens with all the people Agatha’s met. She’s known them all, but they don’t know that.

So much of Mia Moore Marchant’s excellent script is about the trauma of knowing everyone else’s deepest secrets. Agatha knows that Tessa is questioning their relationship because she’s never expressed an attraction to women, let alone a trans woman before. This needling thought now that she can go somewhere else, now that she’s not stuck is itching just below her skin. In several loops Agatha strayed and cheated on Tessa to try and get away from the pain of her memories. Yet, when Agatha seeks out her most intense of these liaisons, Naomi (Abigail Thorn), in the linear world, they’re strangers. The intimacy and affection the two of them built in different loops is completely gone, but those memories are stuck in Agatha’s head and she desperately wants it like a lifeline. These interactions show Agatha how much she needs to find a way to break free.

One of the best sequences brought together by directors Marchant and Heather Ballish is like this. In the timeline of Friday, the day the loop ends, Agatha hears a familiar sound as Tessa picks up her bass guitar and tries to play a song she’s been learning. What follows is a sequence of the same mistake played in loop after loop. At first Agatha is understanding, then frustrated, and finally tortured by the same mistake. On this Friday, though, Agatha decides to do something else. She gives advice and sits behind Tessa so the two of them can play through the song together as Tessa sings. It becomes a revelatory scene, which shifts into beautiful, romantic love. In this scene it’s like Agatha can only remember the best things about Tessa and how much she loves her.

Again Again has several powerful moments. It’s not a comedy, but it embraces the comedy of Agatha finding herself suddenly in “tomorrow.” There’s a scene where Tessa and Agatha are trying to have a heart-to-heart in the park when Agatha spies a teenager she’d seen in many of her loops. When the teen lands the kick flip he was desperately trying all “yesterday,” Agatha suddenly has a proud parent moment where she cheers for him as he skates away. Then there’s her unbridled joy that she can attend the demolition derby that she saw so many posters for, but thought she’d never be able to see.

The film is deep and delightful, but also flawed in many ways. It’s a debut feature on a very tight budget, so there is bound to be amateurish bits and things that look rushed. Yet, this is a film where you have to turn off that nit picking side of your brain. There is something absolutely special here. The story and characters are so fully formed. The relationship drama is intense, focused, and existentially complicated. The messiness of queerness in both sexuality and gender is plowed into in a way that’s refreshing and earnest.

Again Again is a film that takes a heady concept and brings it into the fabulous microcosm of a troubled relationship. The revelations within about how the time loop started, who Tessa and Agatha are to each other, and what life could be like if they head into the unknown with eyes open is entrancing. This is a film that you walk into with an open heart and feel a sense of fullness, love, and light after having seen it. It’s a beautiful film, flaws and all.

Grade: A

Director: Joshua Bailey
Writers: Joshua Bailey, Matthew Serrano
Stars: Matt Sonswa, Patrick Spikes, Dave Ensign

Synopsis: Follow the history of misdeeds and debauchery at Walt Disney World Resort over 30 years, which leads to the theft of almost half a million dollars worth of stolen props.

There are those of us who do have to see how the sausage is made. We deeply care about not only the object as presented to us, but dissecting that object and finding out how it came to be what it is. There are those of us who need to go where the powers that be tell us not to so we can thumb our noses at them and their petty rules. There is freedom in both types of exploration and rebellion. These needs and ideas coalesce in the people interviewed for the documentary Stolen Kingdom.

Disney theme parks have an almost impenetrable sheen to them. The urban explorers featured in Stolen Kingdom show us how easily that sheen wears off. The frankness of their exploits is a bit uncanny. The fact that some of them were able to explore into the bowels of Walt Disney World in the 21st century feels unthinkable with the amount of secrecy and security Disney provides itself with and prides itself on. Especially fascinating is that the later explorers have a significant online presence with so much evidence of their exploits.

That is the most shocking part of the film. The fact that these people not only worked their way past layers of security, but for a significant amount of time were able to explore and discover within these places is astonishing. As is seeing the footage of no longer used attractions or attractions soon to be discontinued. The first group featured in the film who documented their exploits were leaving rides in motion and taking a look at the depth and engineering of the rides. This seems unthinkable that it could happen, but before someone does it, things almost always seem unthinkable. Their exploits mostly came out of boredom.

Many of the featured explorers, as much as they may have loved Walt Disney World at one point in their lives, the magic of the park has vanished for them. Yet, in their adventures they create a new magic for themselves. The excitement at finding something that no one thinks about anymore or a place that has felt inaccessible is a new sort of magic. Even if they feel that their original love is gone, their new interest is an attraction that can’t be denied. It’s exciting to see the excitement of people finding magic in the mundane even if that magic potentially comes at the cost of their future freedom to do so.

Director Joshua Bailey does a great job of leading us through the ins and outs of this culture of urban exploration. We get to see these explorers as a new kind of pioneer. Pioneers who are as reckless about their own safety as the original pioneers. Of course, as the story progresses and the novelty becomes something more people seek, they also begin to question if there is something else to be gained from these journeys into secret spaces.

This is where the crux of Stolen Kingdom is fleshed out. The documentary is not trying to solve the mystery of who could have stolen a large animatronic from a discontinued attraction, but to show us how greed will always take something special and warp it. Even a legitimate collector featured in the film notes that he will always struggle to identify where the items he accumulates come from. The black market is always big business and the need for some to boast that they have something authentic and unique is more precious than a few thousand dollars.

Stolen Kingdom has what all documentaries want; an undeniably engrossing hook. The film takes us on a journey through a subculture with the background of a central event to try and keep us attuned to an unsolved mystery. The talking heads are informative and opinionated about one another, which creates a unique perspective within the film. It’s less about solving the mystery than about doing as the subjects have done and uncovering the story and the motivation behind the scenes. It’s a fascinating film that won’t inspire copycats as it is very clear that crime will catch up to you, but may make us think twice about the boarded up warehouse down the street.

Grade: A

Director: Jon Favreau
Writers: Jon Favreau, Dave Filoni, Noah Kloor
Stars: Pedro Pascal, Martin Scorsese, Sigourney Weaver

Synopsis: Once a lone bounty hunter, Mandalorian Din Djarin and his apprentice Grogu embark on an exciting new Star Wars adventure.

Jon Favreau’s The Mandalorian and Grogu is supposed to carry on a long and storied tradition one of the most thrilling and lush universes in science fiction. What transpires is an occasionally action-filled, overly safe, and most uninspired piece of franchise IP you could imagine.

Star Wars in theaters used to be appointment viewing. After long gestation periods, both The Phantom Menace in 1999 and The Force Awakens in 2015 broke box office records and launched the series back into the cultural lexicon. Not only is The Mandalorian and Grogu a pointless endeavor on screen, it adds nothing to the franchise, either title character, or towards Summer big budget blockbuster filmmaking.

Even when Star Wars failed, it was trying to connect to something bigger than just a straightforward story of a guy who fights and a cute creature who gets into shenanigans. Say what you want about the prequel trilogy or even something as reviled as The Rise of Skywalker, the franchise had lofty goals. It wasn’t just a vignette of a bounty hunter going on adventures. That’s all this film is. Even the shoehorning of Easter eggs and callbacks are gone. There’s nothing there for anyone.

Even if you are an acolyte (no pun intended) of Star Wars and have dug deep on every episode of The Mandalorian, there is little connective tissue to what the series has established. There are few existing characters to build off of, nor is the Mandalore lore met with anything other than passing mentions. It’s like the film was meant for someone who wants to like Star Wars, but has no prior experience with the actual installments.

The film cycles through the same rhythm of plot beats. The Mandalorian (Pedro Pascal) does some awesome action scenes, Grogu does something cute and heroic, then they come together to solve the problem. Later, the Mandalorian goes on another adventure because he apparently has nothing better to do, he does some action, gets into trouble, Grogu helps, and they come back together. This happens three to four times in the film. Frankly, it gets boring.

The action is well-staged and captivating, but those are just bursts. Each large-scale set piece arrives out of nowhere, concludes with an expected result, and is quickly forgotten. Nothing about the film, including the action, is memorable. Even when Star Wars failed, it failed memorably. The Mandalorian and Grogu provides no other memorable characters, plot points, or thematic elements worth mentioning.

This is not a universe where nothing is worth exploring. Andor and the early seasons of The Mandalorian have proved this universe is worth expanding out. But they don’t expand, they contract. The only outreach from the normal world is going back to the well of the Hutt criminal family. The amount the film asks you to care about Rotta the Hutt (voiced by Jeremy Allen White) is shocking. The Mandalorian and Grogu are in nearly every scene, but there is no actual drama. You can safely assume they aren’t going to kill off these characters. Therefore, there are zero stakes.

While it is undeniably cool to see Sigourney Weaver flying an X-wing, those moments are rare, take too long to get there, and are surrounded by too much fluff to make an impact. It’s an immensely frustrating film that adds nothing to the franchise, the series, and has no reason to exist outside of making a bit of money for one of the biggest film studios in the world. It’s a net loss.

The film is shiny and predictable, the score is familiar, the script is meaningless, and the performances are what they are.  There is nothing to hang your hat on, besides it being a Star Wars film.  If it didn’t have that franchise attached to it, there would be zero reason to keep your interest. The Mandalorian and Grogu is a major disappointment. Never before has Star Wars felt so pointless and skippable. For a franchise with such monumental highs, this is a staggering low.

Grade: C-

Director: Ivy Meeropol
Writers: Leah Goudsmit, Ivy Meeropol, Ferne Pearlstein
Stars: Lisa Birnbach, E. Jean Carroll, Roberta Kaplan

Synopsis: E. Jean Carroll won two lawsuits against Donald Trump for defamation and battery. Beyond that, she built a career as a successful magazine writer and authored one of America’s longest-running advice columns.

The danger with documentaries about high-profile public figures that they can feel overly polished, biased, and carefully smooth out contradictions in favor of inspiration. Ask E. Jean, directed by Ivy Meeropol, embraces the unpredictability of its subject. The film is energetic, entertaining and entirely powered by the enormous personality of E. Jean Carroll herself.

At 91 minutes, the documentary moves quickly through Carroll’s extraordinary life, from her early fame as Miss Cheerleader USA to her groundbreaking work as a journalist and advice columnist, before arriving at the legal battles that transformed her into one of the most publicly scrutinized women in America. Much like Carroll herself, the documentary is witty, restless, and often unexpectedly funny.

For viewers who know Carroll through recent headlines, the film serves as a reminder that she had an enormous cultural presence way before the courtroom. The documentary does an excellent job of highlighting how influential she was in reshaping women’s voices in magazines traditionally dominated by male perspectives. Her work at publications like Esquire and Playboy is showcased as part of a cultural shift in how women can write and talk publicly about sex, relationships, identity, and independence, and being fiercely positive.

The interview with Jean isn’t stylized in a clean, neutral-toned room, but in what looks like a trailer. Bright, colorful, in her comfort zone, she speaks so naturally and with passion.

Of course, the documentary’s emotional center inevitably revolves around Carroll’s legal battles against Donald Trump. These sections are handled with seriousness, and importantly, the film doesn’t position Carroll solely as a victim. Instead, Ask E. Jean frames her courtroom victories as part of the bigger story about reclaiming agency and refusing silence. She discusses how she was assaulted by the current president, and felt she could express this when other women came forward. Honestly, watch for the questions Carroll is asked when it comes to her allegations. It will infuriate you. An example question: “Were you wearing underwear?” The whole interview is recorded and we watch as Jean relives the experience.

There are clips from Trump’s response, famously saying, “she’s not my type” and how dismissive he was of these allegations. Carroll was in her eighties when she went against Trump in court – a reminder that you’re never too old to come forward and fight for justice. In case you aren’t familiar with this case, Carroll was victorious and was awarded 5 million dollars. She was then later award 83 million dollars for defamation of character.

There’s a careful balance throughout between public history and personal portraiture. Interviews with figures like Robbie Kaplan and Lisa Birnbach add context and admiration without overwhelming Carroll’s voice. The documentary is at its strongest whenever it simply lets her speak. She remains endlessly watchable, sharp one moment, reflective the next, and occasionally veering into wonderfully eccentric tangents.

Visually, the documentary keeps things fairly conventional. Archival footage, interviews, courtroom material, and magazine imagery are stitched together efficiently, though not always stylishly. This isn’t a formally groundbreaking documentary, and there are moments where the editing feels slightly too eager to rush through significant periods of Carroll’s life. Certain aspects of her journalism career (and the effects on her life) could probably have used more breathing room.

What struck me most was how modern Carroll still feels. Even archival footage from decades ago carries the same fearless energy that defines her public appearances today. The documentary repeatedly emphasizes her refusal to fit comfortably into expectations, whether professionally, socially, or politically, and that rebellious streak gives the film much of its momentum.

The documentary occasionally feels slightly overpacked. There’s enough material here for a longer, more expansive series, and some transitions between Carroll’s past and present happen so quickly that the emotional weight doesn’t always fully settle. Another documentary that I could have easily watched as a three to five-part series. Some sections could have been extended; looked more deeply into. And opinions on the future of journalism, being a woman in America, and relationships could have been explored. After all, her career has spanned decades, and I think we got a glimpse of it.

“We’re serious women. And a serious woman is an extremely powerful entity”. By the end, Ask. E Jean has explained why Carroll is an icon: fiercely intelligent, deeply human, occasionally chaotic, and utterly unwilling to disappear quietly. In an era where public figures are often flattened into headlines, told what to do and say, and where we can’t tell a real photo from AI, this story’s complexity feels refreshing. A must-watch for documentary fans, feminists, and future documentary makers.

Grade: A

Director: Gareth Johnson

Synopsis: Follows the Mackenzie Shirilla case, a 17-year-old who intentionally crashed her car into a brick wall in Ohio, killing her boyfriend, Dominic Russo and his friend Davion Flanagan. She was convicted of 12 felonies

At this point, Netflix has practically turned true crime into one of its defining genres. From Making a Murderer to The Staircase and the endlessly discussed Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story, the platform has built an audience that seems endlessly fascinated by stories where tragedy, psychology, and media spectacle collide. Part of the appeal, I think, comes from the uncomfortable question at the center of most true-crime stories: how does something horrific happen in seemingly ordinary circumstances? Viewers aren’t just watching for shock value anymore; they’re trying to understand motive, behavior, and the fragile line between accident and intent. As active viewers, we want to think we can solve a case, and sometimes, even get away with a crime.

The Crash is a deeply unsettling new documentary from director Gareth Johnson that examines the real-life case of Mackenzie Shirilla, the Ohio teenager convicted to life in prison after a fatal car crash that killed her boyfriend, Dom, and his friend, Davion.

The documentary features the kind of imagery we’ve come to expect from modern true crime: wreckage photos, emergency recordings, devastated families. A car traveling at 100 miles per hour into a brick building is already horrifying enough. But what initially appeared to be reckless teenage driving slowly transforms into something more disturbing as investigators begin questioning whether this was truly an accident at all.

The Crash spends much of its runtime exploring the conflicting narratives surrounding Mackenzie herself. Was she a traumatized teenager in an unstable relationship? Was this an impulsive act driven by emotional volatility? Or was it, as prosecutors argued, intentional murder? Interviews with friends, family members, investigators, and legal experts slowly build a portrait of teenage relationships shaped by insecurity, obsession, and emotional instability. It’s not sensationalized in the way some Netflix true-crime entries can be. If anything, The Crash feels colder and sadder than expected.

We get first-class interviews with Mackenzie from prison to get her side of the story. This is interesting, as it’s toward the end of the documentary, where audiences will have their opinions and conclusions. It’s striking that she looks so young, but there’s still a lack of accountability and selfishness to her (maybe edited to look intentionally so), but she’s hard to sympathize with.

There’s very little stylistic excess; no dramatic recreations every five minutes or flashy editing designed purely for social media clips. Johnson keeps the tone grounded, and this choice works in the documentary’s favor because the case is already emotionally loaded enough without needing artificial embellishment. The use of police dashcam footage gives the documentary a sense of authenticity and shows real-time horrors, such as telling her parents what had happened and walking through hospital corridors. You simply can’t recreate their disbelief and shock. This type of footage is what made The Perfect Neighbor an Oscar contender, and I suspect we’ll see this use of footage in future true crime documentaries.

There is also the CCTV footage of the car speeding and crashing, and whilst we do not see the car crash, we see the build-up, and that’s just as horrifying. But the most distressing footage is definitely of both teenagers creating content in their cars, smoking weed, doing drugs, and driving. This is what makes the case more suspenseful when her drug tests came back clean after the accident.

However, the documentary occasionally struggles with balance. In trying to present multiple perspectives fairly, there are moments when it risks becoming emotionally detached from the victims themselves. Dom and Davion sometimes feel slightly overshadowed by the psychological intrigue surrounding Mackenzie and the trial. It’s a difficult line for true crime to walk, and The Crash doesn’t entirely avoid that trap.

The courtroom scene, I found very sad, and whilst I hadn’t reached my own conclusions about what I think happened (as I don’t think we’ll ever truly know), I did find myself feeling sorry for Mackenzie. But the families felt that they had gotten justice, as we must remember that two lives were lost. It’s up to you if you believe it was an accident or not.

By the end, I found myself less interested in the mechanics of the case and more unsettled by the humanity behind it. That’s where The Crash leaves its mark, not as a mystery to solve, but as a tragedy that becomes more complicated the longer you sit with it. If there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s that social media simply doesn’t have a positive influence on anyone, and we’re seeing how every single post and your online presence can and will be used against you. The Crash is an excellently produced documentary, which is a must-watch for true-crime fans. It’s an emotional rollercoaster which will keep you intrigued, invested and guessing from start to finish.

Grade: A

Director: Olivier Assayas
Writers: Guiliano Da Empoli, Olivier Assayas, Emmanuel Carrère
Stars: Paul Dano, Alicia Vikander, Jude Law

Synopsis: A young Russian filmmaker becomes an unlikely advisor to Vladimir Putin as he rises to power in post-Soviet Russia, navigating the new era’s complexities and chaos.

You have probably heard the phrase “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” Is this about art specifically? No, of course not. This was supposedly originated by Aristotle when talking about metaphysics, but I am happy to borrow it here. Sometimes, in the best of circumstances, art is greater than the sum of its parts; a group of wildly talented professionals working together manage to make something even better than expected when thinking of their combined skills. It is one of the many wondrous and unexplainable mysteries about artistic expression. We cannot simply quantify art by adding up the value of the tradespeople involved. Unfortunately, the opposite can be true, as well. And frankly, this is the perfect description of The Wizard of the Kremlin; the whole is less than the sum of its parts. Despite combining a fantastic director, a stacked cast, and what should be an interesting story, the film disappoints at nearly every turn.

The Wizard of the Kremlin opens strongly, and how could it not, with the camera panning over a snowy expanse expertly from cinematographer Yorick Le Saux. These images, combined with voiceover from Rowland (Jeffrey Wright), lead us to the titular wizard and kingmaker, Vadim Baranov (Paul Dano). Baranov is fictional, but reportedly based on Vladislav Surkov, as stylized in the novel of the same name, penned by Giuliano da Empoli. These opening scenes (mostly focused on Wright) are well-performed and may give the audience a slight bit of hope, but this will soon be dashed. And looking back, even the introduction is hampered by not only exposition dumps (welcome to the rest of the movie), but also a faulty framing device. Rowland is a man who obviously knows a lot of Russian history and culture, and yet, Baranov treats him like he would a person with zero knowledge. This is clearly necessary for the audience, but makes little to no sense from scene to scene.

There should be an easy level of interest in this story, given that it details the rise of Vladimir Putin (Jude Law). Shockingly, the direction from Olivier Assayas (Clouds of Sils Maria, Personal Shopper) feels both amateur and consistently on autopilot. This feeling also transfers to many of the performances, which pains me to say. Dano has never been less watchable, mainly due to the script from Assayas and Emmanuel Carrère, which forces him mostly to watch from the sidelines and forbids most of his considerable emotive skills. Aside from a few moments of snark shared with the always excellent Jeffrey Wright, there is simply not much to latch onto. Almost as if the film understands this boredom, it introduces a love interest, Ksenia (Alicia Vikander), whose only job seems to be to provide energy in all directions, whether it makes sense or not. 

The only actor who stands out is Law who manages to capture both the correct tone and play Putin both with realism and a wink. Every time he appears on screen, there is a palpable feeling of excitement which is lacking through the rest of the runtime. Law, as usual, understands his assignment and commands the room in each and every scene. He has a particularly difficult job, playing a nearly universally reviled man with just enough charm to catch our eye. If the film was more about the “king” and less about the “wizard,” the lengthy sit might be enjoyable.

As it is, The Wizard of the Kremlin becomes a mostly tedious and overlong watch that feels more like a history lesson than a narrative film. Yes, there are interesting moments sprinkled throughout (mostly when Law takes center stage), but all of these are bookended by movements in time that either feel like a nuisance or a distraction. These sequences are also mostly unimaginative, providing nothing more than a soft focus to make any change clear. Frankly, the film thinks that Baranov is more interesting than he is portrayed onscreen. And this is unsurprising. A shadowy figure who may be puppeteering the placement of world leaders should be inherently fascinating. 

The Wizard of the Kremlin features an accomplished director, a well thought-of cast, and a backstory that should grab the audience. However, it is much less than the sum of these prodigious parts, leading to a brutally long runtime, tedious history lessons, and wildly missed opportunities.

Grade: D+

Director: Jo-Ann Brechin
Writers: Jo-Ann Brechin, Katharine McPhee
Stars: Virginia Gardner, Mel Jarnson, Mitchell Hope

Synopsis: Follows best friends Maddie and Trish as they find themselves trapped in a remote lagoon with the dangerous killer whale named Ceto.

There is an orca fact clearly stated twice in this film. Orcas have never attacked people in the wild. They have only ever been aggressive toward humans in dire circumstances like when they are in captivity or feel their pod is being threatened. It’s been observed that orcas are social creatures who need other orcas and that they mourn the deaths of those they love. When they are left alone in captivity, they get depressed. With all these realities firmly in place, Killer Whale still attempts an elevated creature feature where an orca is the antagonist.

There is so much about this film that is a stretch. The torturous lengths the script goes to explain how this could all come about is agonizing to watch. The skeptic in all of us will be apoplectic at the sheer lunacy at play on screen. Not only about the orca’s behavior, but about the attempts to elevate this film beyond its premise.

Writers Jo-Ann Brechin and Katharine McPhee seem to have wanted to write a horror film with depth. The structure is there for this to be a film that has meaning beyond the creature feature premise. There are so many different angles set up in this film that it becomes too ambitious. The different threads are never quite fleshed out and no one of them really rises to the surface. All of them reach their conclusions with a whimper, not a bang. It’s too much, but because no story is satisfying and it’s also not nearly enough.

You keep wondering if there’s going to be a bit of humor to this. You keep wondering about one of the orca’s intended victims floating on an inflatable slice of pizza and why there is absolutely no commentary about this. There is no commentary at all, not even a groaner of a Free Willy joke. The film is so self serious that it just can’t understand the inherent goofiness of all of this.

In what could have been the funniest plot thread, or at least a bit of dark humor to offset the head scratching melodrama, is that there is a horrifically unscrupulous person in charge of a terrible, rundown tourist trap of a sea park. From the prologue, there is a scene where Josh (Mitchell Hope) sneaks Maddie (Virginia Gardner) and Trish (Mel Jarnson) into the park, and there is a tossed off line between a security guard and the person at the other end of his radio; this animal has killed at least three people already. Why aren’t we given the moustache twirling, cigar smoking fat cat in charge of this crummy knock off Sea World? Why are we denied the pleasure of an inept crew somehow transporting this animal to this strange remote lagoon? Why don’t we see the pure evil train of thought of, “this animal is killing people because it’s unhappy in captivity, let’s torture it by releasing it into a space that creates a natural form of captivity?” The fact that all these reasonable things are completely unexplained, even in a serious way is beyond baffling.

Instead of a horror-comedy we get a hodgepodge of a film that’s achingly dull and lacking in any sort of joy. The friendship of Maddie and Trish is so ill-defined. The scenes of them having fun drinking and taking drugs at a bar looks so performative. Hunky Josh is so boring. Even the attacks by the orca are so obvious and telegraphed that the only reason you know it was intended to be scary is by a cliched music cue. The 89 minutes of Killer Whale‘s runtime feel like an eternity.

Everything about Killer Whale is utterly uninteresting. The filmmakers attempted far too ambitious a plot. If there was no animal at all, if this were a film where Maddie and Trish finally have a heart-to-heart about all of their issues while trapped on a rock in the middle of the ocean it would have been a passable drama. Even Trish’s completely bonkers revelation would have been fitting. Yet, we are given something that works neither as a drama or horror or even a “so bad it’s good” unintentional comedy. We’re given a creature feature with no teeth and absolutely nothing to say.

Grade: F

Director: Lawrence Kasdan
Stars: Martin Short, Deborah Divine, Tom Hanks

Synopsis: The definitive documentary on comedian Martin Short, exploring his career across film, television, theater and comedy.

“It’s like seeing your best friend in the world who is also the weirdest person ever.” – That sums up this documentary perfectly. Some comedians become famous for a single persona, and then there’s Martin Short, whose career has been built on complete unpredictability. For decades, he’s been one of comedy’s great shape-shifters, capable of stealing scenes in broad slapstick comedies, improvising his way through talk show appearances, and delivering moments of genuine emotional sincerity when you least expect it.

His most beloved work arguably remains Three Amigos, a film that has only grown more iconic with age. At the same time, one of his least successful outings, the expensive sci-fi comedy Innerspace, struggled commercially despite later gaining cult appreciation. That strange mix of critical respect, cult fandom, and occasional box office unpredictability feels oddly fitting for Short himself. That complexity is exactly what makes the Netflix documentary Marty, Life Is Short such an engaging, compelling watch.

Directed by Lawrence Kasdan, this documentary is warm, personal, and wholesome. While the film certainly covers the expected milestones, SCTV, Saturday Night Live, Hollywood comedies, Broadway success, and his recent resurgence through Only Murders in the Building, what I loved the most was how much the documentary focuses on Martin Short the person, not just Martin Short the entertainer.

The documentary acknowledges Short’s immense talent while also exploring the insecurity, ambition, and grief that have quietly shaped his career. The film’s most affecting sections revolve around the loss of his wife, Nancy Dolman, and how performance became both an escape and a survival mechanism. Short has always projected this almost chaotic energy onscreen, but Marty, Life Is Short reveals the discipline and emotional resilience underneath it.

The archive footage is a genuine treasure trove. Home videos, backstage clips, old auditions, and candid family moments give the documentary a lived-in intimacy, which audiences will be able to identify with. Through this, the film has a balance of awkwardness, vulnerability, and even loneliness alongside the laughs. The home video includes the late Catherine O’Hara and Dan Levy, co-workers and friends from his SNL days, and you can feel the warmth and love coming through the screen. They dance, joke, and host dinner parties – implying that Short is the life of the party.

The interview lineup is exactly what you’d expect for someone as widely adored as Short. Fellow comedians, actors, collaborators, and longtime friends all appear, and while some talking-head segments occasionally drift into familiar “he’s the funniest person alive” territory, there’s enough sincerity behind the praise to stop it from becoming repetitive. Particularly enjoyable are the moments exploring his friendship with Steve Martin. Their chemistry, both onscreen and off, is presented as a comedy partnership and a deeply supportive friendship built on mutual admiration and shared loss. There are snippets from Andrea Martin, Tom Hanks, Rita Wilson, Walter Parkes, Laurie MacDonald and Steven Spielberg.

And of course, interviews with Short himself. After recently watching John Candy, I Like Me, it’s so lovely to see a documentary like this to celebrate the person whilst they’re still here to enjoy it. He’s charming, bubbly and wonderful, and you can tell he wants to make the interviewer, the camera crew and the viewer laugh. He really is one a million. Maybe even one in a billion.

What I appreciated most is that the documentary doesn’t try to force a narrative of reinvention. It’s not interested in framing Martin Short as an “underrated genius finally getting recognition.” Instead, Marty, Life Is Short celebrates endurance, how someone sustains joy, creativity, and generosity across decades in an industry that rarely rewards longevity without cynicism.

If I have any criticism, it’s that the documentary occasionally glosses over the less successful stretches of his film career a little too quickly. There’s a brief acknowledgment that not every project worked, but I would have liked a deeper exploration of how Short navigated commercial disappointments and changing tastes in comedy. As Marty, Life Is Short celebrates endurance, how someone sustains joy, creativity, and generosity across decades; some harder moments are touched on, but never fully unpacked.

I could have watched hours and hours of this documentary – for once, I wanted something to be episodic. I didn’t just feel reminded of how funny Martin Short is; I felt reminded of why audiences have stayed connected to him for so long. Beneath the eccentric characters and relentless energy is someone who genuinely loves making people laugh, and Marty, Life Is Short captures that spirit beautifully. This documentary is a must-watch for Short fans, fans of comedy, physical comedy, and documentaries in general. With a respectable runtime of 1 hour and 42 minutes, it’s a perfect watch.

Grade: A+

Director: Huo Meng
Writer: Huo Meng
Stars: Wang Shang, Zhang Chuwen, Zhang Yanrong

Synopsis: In 1991 rural China, as villagers migrate to cities for better opportunities, 10-year-old Chuang remains in his hometown. The third child of his family navigates life during a time of sweeping national changes.

Winner of the Silver Bear for Best Director at last year’s Berlin Film Festival, Huo Meng’s Living the Land is a patient and observational drama that tracks an unmoving village at the throes of socioeconomic changes occurring throughout China. Often stunning and remarkably cogent about its views on various policies that have controversially defined the country, Huo’s most critically acclaimed feature holds a tangible staying power, even if it frequently stumbles along its lethargic 132-minute runtime. 

It’s a shame, too, because the heart of the story is fairly devastating. Huo puts us in the perspective of ten-year-old Xu Chuang (Wang Shang), the third child of a family, whose familial lineage is hidden from everyone due to the country’s one-child policy. As China moves further into industrialization and invites inhabitants of more rural towns to settle in cities where industrial employment will flourish, Chuang is left by his parents once they decide to move into Shenzhen, without their son. 

Of course, one realizes that Chuang’s parents were forced to leave him behind, because China didn’t allow more than one child living per household, a controversial policy which lasted until 2016. Huo’s film is set in 1991, in the village of Bawangtai, where time has essentially stopped, and the future awaits people who willingly decide to move into it. Yet, the lives Huo tracks in his film are simple, but easily attachable. The characters feel tangibly real, and each can see how their experiences influence the way Chuang sees the world. 

Huo seems very Hou Hsiao-hsien in his treatment of atmosphere and characters, preferring to bathe the audience in the movie’s aesthetics (there is no music until the film’s jaw-dropping final image) than spelling out everything to the audience. In fact, most of Living the Land’s sociopolitical themes are inferred by the characters and we make the associations that explain why Chuang is left behind, and why he’s always ostracized by his classmates. These sequences are, in many respects, the beating heart and soul of Huo’s movie, and the main reason why Living the Land might have won the Director award at the Berlinale. 

His view of China’s most crucial inflection point in its history is as thoughtful as some of the country’s mainland filmmakers in their prime, specifically Zhang Yimou with films such as Raise the Red Lantern and Not One Less, and Chen Kaige, with Yellow Earth and Farewell My Concubine. It’s unfortunate that both auteurs are now mouthpieces for government propaganda, because their most-known films had something to say. Living the Land falls in that same category, of patient, but rewarding works that envelops the viewer into a time that once was for them to better understand China’s status in the present. 

In that regard, Guo Daming’s photography is a real stunner. Preferring symmetrical steadicam tableaux for the audience to observe the characters rather than actively peering into their psyche, the film’s images are stunningly married to the film’s purposeful absence of music. The ambient sounds surround our senses and informs us of the time the characters are set in far clearer than any other device the filmmaker employs. The natural performances from its cast certainly helps, but the visual and aural experience is even better. 

That said, Living the Land’s pace is fairly glacial, and audiences may (or may not) appreciate a movie that asks its audience to sit with its atmosphere primarily before anything else. It can often make our connection with the characters, especially as Guo’s camera visualizes the perspective of the child before any other figure, limited. This distancing effect unfortunately makes us lose our grip on the story, especially during its meandering final hour, as Huo has completely exhausted what he wants to talk about and begins to run around in interminable circles. 

Still, one can’t necessarily fault such a distancing film, because the bulk of Living the Land’s viewing experience occurs through the eyes and ears. It may not result in the emotional catharsis Huo hopes, but it’s a good enough effort to at least hold some power in our minds even once the credits have rolled and we understand what’s at the heart of the film’s push-pull between the past and the present. Because of this, one can’t entirely dismiss this effort, even if it could’ve (slightly) been a little better.

Grade: B+