Director: Josh Feldman
Writer: Josh Feldman
Stars: Shawn Baker, Eric Berg, Ken Berry

Synopsis: A provocative look at modern dietary misconceptions and their impact on health, exploring the disconnect between ancestral eating patterns and today’s corporate-influenced food landscape.

Food documentaries have become one of the most influential genres in modern filmmaking. From films promoting plant-based diets to exposés on processed food and industrial farming, audiences have spent years being told what they should and shouldn’t put on their plates. What makes Animal different is that it doesn’t merely question conventional nutritional wisdom; it charges directly at it with a sharpened knife and a very large steak. Available to stream free on Tubi, this ambitious documentary argues that much of what we’ve been taught about meat, fat, and healthy eating may be fundamentally wrong.

Directed by Josh Feldman, Animal positions itself as an investigation into humanity’s relationship with meat and the cultural, economic, and political forces that have shaped modern dietary guidelines. Through interviews with doctors, nutrition advocates, researchers, and prominent figures in the carnivore movement, the film argues that fear of animal-based foods has contributed to many of today’s chronic health problems.

This documentary was especially interesting to me as a viewer, being a lifelong vegetarian (which doesn’t come without its health issues) and knowing people who have been told by medical professionals to be vegan to help their health problems – from high cholesterol to eczema. There are many reasons to be meat-free, and there are also many reasons to eat meat, and this documentary does well in explaining the latter. Animal knows the argument it wants to make and pursues it relentlessly. That conviction makes for engaging viewing, even for audiences who may disagree with many of its conclusions.

The documentary’s central message is clear from the outset: humans evolved eating animal products, and the move away from those foods may have come at a high cost. To quote one of the doctors featured in the documentary, not eating meat is making us “shorter, sicker and fatter.” The film aims at decades of nutritional advice surrounding low-fat diets, food pyramids, and grain-heavy eating plans, questioning whether these recommendations have delivered the health outcomes they promised. We hear from credible doctors and physicians who have experimented with diet and exercise (including being a vegetarian), and have worked on the balance of nutrition, exercise and rest, to make them firmly believe a meat diet is better for everyone. We also hear from influencers like Eddie Abbew, and we even go shopping with him and make some ‘Eddie burgers’. As he says, just learn how to cook it! 

Visually, the film is polished and slickly produced. Interviews are well shot, the pacing remains brisk throughout its 89-minute runtime, and the documentary does an effective job of translating complex nutritional discussions into something accessible for a general audience by the use of images and animations. Scientific terminology and metabolic health concepts are presented in a digestible way without feeling overly simplistic.

The most compelling moments come from the personal stories. Individuals discuss health transformations, lifestyle changes, and their experiences moving away from conventional dietary advice. Whether viewers find these stories convincing or anecdotal, they add a human element that prevents the documentary from becoming an endless stream of statistics and studies.

However, Animal is likely to divide audiences for one very simple reason: balance. The film openly aligns itself with carnivore and animal-based dietary philosophies, featuring numerous advocates of those approaches. While it references research and encourages viewers to examine the evidence for themselves, it spends considerably more time building its case than challenging it. Viewers should understand that Animal is less a neutral investigation and more a passionate counter-argument to mainstream nutritional thinking. 

What makes the film worth watching is not whether you agree with it. It’s the fact that it encourages audiences to question assumptions. The documentary asks difficult questions about food industry influence, public health messaging, and why rates of obesity, diabetes, and metabolic disease continue to rise despite decades of dietary guidance. Even skeptical viewers may find themselves reconsidering long-held beliefs. It will make you think about what you’ve been taught, what you believe, and question what is really going into your food.

Animal doesn’t settle the debate around nutrition; it presents a provocative perspective that challenges the status quo and invites viewers to make up their own minds. If you want my personal view after watching? I’m still going to be a vegetarian, but I have spent years working on a diet that works for me and my beliefs. If the meat industry can be clean (not pumped with hormones and pesticides) and ethical (no fish or meat farms), then I’m all for it. 

Whether you walk away craving a steak or simply questioning what’s in your fridge, Animal is exactly what a good documentary should be: thought-provoking, engaging, and impossible to ignore.

Grade: B+

Directors: Katie Camosy
Stars: Jane Fonda, Connie Britton, Maggie Rogers

Synopsis: Jane Fonda travels across the oil fields of West Texas’ Permian Basin and through the Gulf Coast of Louisiana visiting the communities impacted by oil and gas production.

“Let’s put an end to the gaslighting” – a powerful quote from lifelong activist Jane Fonda in this hard-hitting, eye-opening, truth-telling documentary. 

Environmental documentaries have become increasingly common over the past two decades. From An Inconvenient Truth to more recent climate-focused films and series, audiences have been presented with countless warnings about rising temperatures, extreme weather, and the future of the planet. The challenge for filmmakers today isn’t convincing viewers that climate change exists; it’s finding a fresh way to tell a story that many feel they’ve heard before, and to make them take action. Gaslit focuses on the real people and the real consequences of living on the front lines of America’s fossil fuel boom.

Leading the journey is Academy Award-winning actor Jane Fonda, who proves to be the documentary’s greatest asset. At 88 years old, Fonda remains a compelling and energetic guide, bringing curiosity, empathy, and a healthy dose of righteous anger to the film. Fonda has always been an advocate; she even spent her 82nd birthday in a jail cell protesting the American government’s attitude and policies regarding climate change. Rather than positioning herself as the central figure, she does step back and allows the communities she visits to tell their stories.

The documentary follows Fonda on a road trip through Texas oil fields and Gulf Coast communities, where she meets shrimpers, ranchers, former oil workers, faith leaders, environmental advocates, and ordinary residents grappling with the consequences of rapid fossil fuel expansion. The film argues that while the United States has become the world’s leading exporter of liquefied natural gas (LNG), many of the communities closest to the industry are paying, and will continue to pay, a heavy price. 

Similar documentaries like to throw statistics, charts, and scientific studies at their viewers, and quite frankly, many won’t pay attention or care; so what Gaslit does is hit at the emotion through individual lived experience. Audiences can relate to the people whose livelihoods are tied to the land and water around them, people who feel caught between economic opportunity and environmental risk. The people featured come from different political, religious, and cultural backgrounds, yet many share concerns about the impact of industrial expansion on their communities. The documentary is at its most effective when it highlights these shared interests rather than falling into predictable partisan talking points.

Visually, the film is impressive throughout. The sprawling oil fields, industrial facilities, coastal landscapes, and small communities create a striking contrast between natural beauty and industrial development. The cinematography captures the scale of the energy industry and the human lives existing in its shadow. There are small animations and images, when needed, to help explain the science. There’s archived footage of Fonda discussing her concerns and compassion from an early age, giving this documentary more credibility. There are some heartfelt moments where Fonda gets emotional over what she is seeing. The interviews are polished, with some inside, some outside, taking us on ‘toxic tours’ around their cities, and there are some of Fonda’s celebrity friends such as Maggie Rogers. 

As the documentary continues, it does become heavy. We see poverty in places with vast investment, the cancer-causing chemicals in the air, and where beaches used to be, big fracking farms; it’s all very jarring and shameful. There’s even a section between New Orleans and Baton Rouge called Cancer Alley, where everyone has cancer. You do begin to think and realize that our futures are pretty bleak. 

So, where the documentary occasionally struggles is in presenting solutions. It excels at illustrating problems and highlighting community concerns, but it spends less time exploring the practical complexities of transitioning away from fossil fuels in an economy that remains heavily dependent on them. And while the film does include voices connected to the industry, its primary focus is on those challenging or questioning its growth. Viewers hoping for a balanced policy debate may find the documentary somewhat one-sided.

Climate change, energy policy, and environmental regulation can often feel distant and overwhelming. By focusing on communities facing these issues every day, the film makes a vast global challenge feel immediate and personal. Whether audiences agree with every argument presented or not, Gaslit is an engaging, thought-provoking documentary that benefits enormously from Jane Fonda’s presence and the powerful voices of the people she encounters. 

Gaslit will make you think about who bears the cost of the energy choices society makes. And in a crowded field of environmental documentaries, that’s no small achievement. This documentary is not just a must-watch; it’s a call to action. Get informed, get angry, and be part of the change.

Grade: A

Directors: Thomas F. Mazziotti

Synopsis: After 30 years, locked away footage from the 1990s is revealed featuring raw, emotional confessions from a group of disillusioned New Yorkers. As the world faces new challenges, their voices feel more relevant than ever. People are people. Even then.

New York City has always had a gravitational pull that’s hard to explain and even harder to resist. It’s a place that reinvents itself constantly, yet somehow never loses its edge. In recent years, that magnetism feels even more amplified. With global attention turning toward the United States ahead of the upcoming World Cup, and the renewed excitement around the Knicks after a long-awaited surge in success, New York once again finds itself in that familiar spotlight. It’s the kind of city where stories collide, overlap, and echo for decades. That sense of layered human experience is exactly what makes The Passengers feel so timely, even though its footage belongs to another era entirely.

There’s a certain magic to stumbling upon a moment preserved in amber, or in this case, 16mm grain and VHS fuzz. The Passengers, a strikingly intimate documentary from director Thomas F. Mazziotti, opens a window into 1990s New York City not through headlines or stock footage, but through the eyes, voices, and vulnerabilities of the people who lived it. Unearthed after more than three decades in hibernation, this 71-minute film is less a nostalgia trip and more a raw, resonant meditation on identity, chaos, and connection in the city that never sleeps. 

This documentary grapples with the turbulence of the era: crime, gentrification, AIDS, art, ambition, and the quiet, daily search for meaning in a metropolis that never stops to ask questions. Through personal, candid footage, we see subway singers, street poets, wanderers, and everything that makes New York one of the most famous cities in the world.

The interviews are immediate, visceral, and unfiltered, often feeling more like confessions than structured conversations. That’s the quiet brilliance of Mazziotti’s approach. By allowing the footage to remain untouched for decades, he preserves not just what people said, but how they said it. And yet, what’s most striking is how contemporary it still feels. The anxieties, aspirations, and contradictions voiced by strangers in the 1990s could easily belong to New Yorkers today.

We hear from a young woman who recalls her first time stealing, and how much she enjoys it, but how it ruined her life. A young woman talking about the abuse her brother put her through, a man learning how to tell the truth but how he enjoys pushing people’s buttons, and many more intimate, vulnerable, and relatable stories. The documentary doesn’t shy away from looking at people’s dark sides and how they view the world.

The whole piece is shot in black and white, with some sections having very dim lighting across faces, which will really make you lean into what is being said. There is piano music used across people’s interviews, which helps reflect the speaker’s mood. In some sections, there are random bursts of piano music, which give a dramatic, chaotic, and uncomfortable feel. And in others, it is soft, gentle, to make the viewer feel at ease.

The Passengers had its premier at the New York City Independent Film Festival 2025, and received an honorable mention at the LA Underground Film Forum. Its lo-fi aesthetic and street-level perspective align perfectly with the current resurgence of analogue storytelling in the digital age.

Structurally, the film is deceptively simple: a series of interviews stitched together without traditional exposition or narration. You might wonder how it will come together and tie up with a level of poignancy. The final sequence, set against the backdrop of a dark subway rolling through the city, brings a surprising emotional resonance. A final monologue drifts over the movement of the train, grounding the entire film in a single, human voice. It’s a simple choice, but an effective one, offering a sense of closure without resolution.

At just over an hour long, The Passengers is a compact yet contemplative piece that invites viewers not only to look back, but to listen closely. It’s a reminder that even amidst the chaos of a bygone era, people were, and still are, just people, trying to be seen, heard, and understood. Whether you’re a documentary enthusiast, a fan of New York history, or simply in search of something soul-stirringly real, The Passengers is worth the ride.

Grade: B

Directors: Arturo Ambriz, Roy Ambriz
Writers: Arturo Ambriz, Roy Ambriz
Stars: Mireya Mendoza, Arturo Mercado Jr, Luis Leonardo Suárez

Synopsis: Frankelda, a determined 19th-century Mexican writer, journeys into her subconscious to face the monsters she’s written about. Guided by a tormented prince, she must restore the balance between fiction and reality before it’s too late.

Mexico is having a watershed moment with the release of I Am Frankelda, the country’s first-ever stop-motion animated feature, acting as a prequel to the series Frankelda’s Book of Spooks (which is sadly unavailable to view in this critic’s neck of the woods). After a buzzing festival run, which included the Fantasia International Film Festival last July, the Ambriz brothers had their animated film acquired by Netflix, a significant get not only for Fantasia’s validity as a major film festival, but for the brothers, who have been trying to bring Mexico’s first stop-motion work to life for a very long time.

People who haven’t (or can’t, due to HBO Max not being available in this critic’s country) seen the series won’t be lost, as this tracks the origins of Frankelda’s (Mireya Mendoza) relationship with Prince Herneval (Arturo Mercado Jr.). Before she became Frankelda, she was known as Francisca Imelda, an aspiring horror author who caught the eye of Prince Herneval, as her fictional writings on an imaginary realm called the Torpus Terrentus actually exist.

Inside this realm, inhabitants create nightmares that are translated within the human subconscious to survive. At the time when Francisca writes about it, Herneval does not know that humans live beyond this world or the mechanics of the Torpus Terrentus. However, upon discovering that humans are real through Francisca, he begins to fall for her, despite their parents’ warnings from ever traveling to the human world.

As humans become less fearful, Torpus Terrentus begins to crumble, and their nightmare-teller, Procustes (Luis Leonardo Suárez), is unable to write stories that inflict lasting trauma. In the real world, Francisca has been trying, to no avail, to get her writings published, and it’s there that she meets Herneval, who, after reading her stories, convinces her to start anew in Torpus Terrentus and save their realm. This is how she becomes the pseudonym “Frankelda” and embarks on a journey beyond her wildest imagination.

The experience of viewing I Am Frankelda is exactly that: beyond our wildest imagination. The film abounds with impeccable artistry from top to bottom, so much so that you can’t even believe half the stuff the Ambriz brothers have pulled off, even when they pull back the curtain and reveal how several key setpieces were made during the film’s end credits. There is an illusion of heightened fantasy that many animated movies know how to express, but even when the trickery is laid bare, your mouth is still agape, going “oh my god??”

There are several sequences in I Am Frankelda that are unlike anything the medium has ever put out, even deftly blending live-action fragments to the point where you have no idea what was fully “animated” or captured in-camera. The use of hand-drawn animation, especially in a key setpiece, opens the film’s aesthetic to surprisingly moving textures and pushes a medium that has sadly been relegated to “kids cinema” in popular culture away from this notion. Animation is one of the most powerful modes of artistic expression there is, and the sheer magnitude of I Am Frankelda’s ambition shows exactly that.

It’s a shame, then, that the movie’s predictable and unimpressive story severely bogs down what’s in front of our eyes. What I Am Frankelda tracks is essentially a by-the-numbers journey for the characters to reach the places they are in the television show, with no real ingenuity to freshen its tired structure. The movie attempts to blend a fantastical, almost gothic horror story with musical numbers worthy of Henry Selick’s The Nightmare Before Christmas, yet none of the songs have a lasting impact and severely undermine the characters’ emotional progression.

The narrative trajectories for both Francisca/Frankelda and Herneval are so familiar that one immediately knows where they will be by the time the film ends, even for those who haven’t seen the show. There’s nothing original or inventive in the emotional progression of both characters, and the multiple dramatic turns the story takes to create tension between them fall painfully flat. The same can be said for its villain, Procustes, whose presence immediately signals him as a “BAD GUY.” He sadly can’t overcome the clichés associated with his character.

Still, the voice cast provide impassioned enough performances that we’re keen to overlook I Am Frankelda’s perceived flaws, especially when the animation is so emotive and jaw-droppingly gorgeous. I wish I would have been able to experience such artistry on the big screen at Fantasia last year, but personal events prevented me from attending the festival in-person as much as I would’ve. That said, the fact that Netflix is backing up such a leap forward in animation promises that great things are to come for the Ambriz brothers, and for Mexico’s animated scene as a whole, which will definitely please one of I Am Frankelda’s biggest supporters and champions of the medium, Guillermo del Toro. Yes, it’s flawed, but also, if it allows Mexico to create more imaginative, human-driven works like this, who are we to nitpick?

Grade: B-

Director: Leah McKendrick
Writer: Leah McKendrick
Stars: Zoey Deutch, Nick Robinson, Harry Shum Jr.

Synopsis: Jill leaves voice messages to her deceased sister telling her about her chaotic life in San Francisco. Unwittingly, a mysterious Austin real estate agent begins to receive their confessions..

Zoey Deutch has found a niche helping revitalize the streaming romantic comedy. An actress gifted with comic chops, she can carry a film (Buffaloed), steal any scene she’s in (Zombieland: Double Tap), or disappear into the most immersive and elegant of roles (Nouvelle Vague). However, with Voicemails for Isabelle, Deutsch hits differently.

The talented actress strikes the right balance between comedy and emotional weight in Voicemails for Isabelle, delivering a turn that evokes the performances that once earned stars the moniker “America’s Sweetheart.” Deutch’s performance is gleefully adorable and, at times, poignant, with the end of the first act warming even the coldest of cynical hearts. 

This is a Netflix film that doesn’t try to jazz up the rom-com recipe, but knows just the right ingredients to make this notch in the date-movie genre such an enjoyable experience. A good genre film knows that too much sweetness can overwhelm, too much bitterness can water down the charm, and too much heat could undercurrent tenderness. 

Unlike others that borrow from far greater films, Voicemails for Isabelle does so knowingly; that cannot be denied. However, the creative team pairs those familiar ingredients with a near-perfect balance of timing and restraint. The final product is absurdly funny, remarkably sweet, and honors the great ’90s rom-coms that made the genre so beloved in the first place.

The story follows Jill (Deutch), who has just graduated from culinary school and moves to San Francisco to work in the kitchen of the renowned Chef Bastien (Nick Offerman), a man who loves a good boys’ club. Jill is stuck at the kumquat station, a fruit they seem to use far too much at this establishment, living out her dreams but starting at the very bottom.

Jill left her family behind for this, including her father (The Shawshank Redemption’s Gil Bellows), her mother (Tanis Dolman), and her baby sister, Isabelle (Ciara Bravo), her best friend, who has been living with cystic fibrosis for as long as Jill can remember. They are cute as buttons together, singing Swedish pop music, while Jill frequently skips special occasions, like the prom, to be with her kid sister.

That is, until Isabelle dies in the film’s most emotional scene. When Jill is told, she cannot comprehend what the words “she didn’t make it” mean. To grieve, Jill calls Isabelle’s cell phone and leaves messages as a way to process the profound loss. However, she doesn’t realize Isabelle’s number has been reassigned to a local real estate agent, Wes (Love, Simon’s Nick Robinson), who finds joy in Jill’s messages, sparking an unexpected connection.

From writer-director Leah McKendrick (Scrambled), the film is sincere in its intentions but cannot help finding absurdly funny moments in Jill’s dating life. One wonders why such a beautiful woman has trouble finding someone, especially when her options include a Big Conjunctivitis skeptic, a Shemar Moore-looking podcaster with an English accent that feels like your standard cliché, and a coworker who cries during sex almost as quickly as he finishes.

That becomes a running theme, going back to her prom date, so I guess she could take it as a compliment. More importantly, though, the comedy takes a look at the guys in a rom-com who are obvious non-contenders, taking swings at the insecure just as much as the “typical” player. However, McKendrick uses these moments in two ways: to underline the bond between sisters and to build a well-earned sight-unseen romance.

The chemistry between Deutsch and Robinson is magical at times and always palpable. Of course, when you have two good-looking people whose connection is underlined by the shared grief of losing loved ones at such a young age, the resulting vulnerability rings true onscreen, even if, in real life, that kind of intimacy may not always translate into lasting compatibility. 

Yet this is a movie, and certainly not Blue Valentine; this is a young love at its most optimistic. This is a mainstream movie meant to be enjoyable and breezy, one that will make you laugh, cry, and swoon, albeit in a manipulative way, with the most earnest intentions that are winsome and quirky. If there was ever a rom-com that could be described as “winning,” this would be it.

That’s why Voicemails for Isabelle is worth watching, celebrating what made the genre so celebrated, a throwback to the likes of Pretty Woman, Sleepless in Seattle, While You Were Sleeping, and You’ve Got Mail. Deutsch and Robinson bring old-school Hollywood charm, along with sharp writing, openheartedness, and old-fashioned romantic hope, making this familiar formula feel effortless, personal, and new again. 

You can stream Voicemails for Isabelle exclusively on Netflix starting June 19th!

Grade: B

Director: Michael Sarnoski
Writer: Michael Sarnoski
Stars: Hugh Jackman, Jodie Comer, Bill Skarsgård

Synopsis: Grappling with his past after a life of crime and murder, Robin Hood finds himself gravely injured after a battle he thought would be his last. In the hands of a mysterious woman, he is offered a chance at salvation.

We’ve all heard our fair share of myths or legends, but the tales of Robin Hood exist as a strange piece of history in both the English tales of old and as a piece of Hollywood IP, ranging from the 1973 Disney animated classic to famed directors like Ridley Scott taking a swing with the character in 2010. Regardless of how some may have first learned of Robin Hood in our media driven landscape we mostly view the tales of Robin Hood as those of heroism and hope. Michael Sarnoski’s The Death of Robin Hood acts as an antithesis to the myth, revealing the story in pure bleakness and dissecting the character coming to terms with his own fabricated mythos while acting as a reflective reckoning towards the character’s mortality. Sarnoski excels at finding the human core within the bleak and grizzly nature of his previous features, Pig and A Quiet Place: Day One, always maintaining a great stride within their slow-burning pace and deep poignancy in their drama. The Death of Robin Hood is definitely his weakest in that regard and often reaches lulls within its middle portion that grow a repetitive nature the film can’t quite shake, but while the patience of each viewer will greatly vary, The Death of Robin Hood rewards with bleak but moving introspection. It is a film that never quite gets to the full emotional heights of its ambitions, but you’ll appreciate its grim meditations on redemption even if it falters more than normal for Sarnoski.

The setting is 1247 A.D. in the high mountains of Ireland, where Robin Hood (Hugh Jackman) is by his grizzled lonesome by the fire. He soon comes across a young girl attempting to kill him for vengeance, but Robin gets the jump on her, stabbing her right in the neck and setting up no limits when it comes to the many Robin has actually killed and the slow but sure trickle of bleakness that is soon to follow. We then meet Robin’s right-hand man, Little John (Bill Skarsgård), and as the two prepare to go into the fight of their lives in an attempt to save John’s family, their past deeds of death and pillaging finally come back to haunt them. 

After an utterly brutal battle in which Little John’s wife, Margret, dies, Robin is left gravely injured and is essentially seconds away from his deathbed. Little John takes him to an island to heal, where the nun Sister Brigid (Jodie Comer) cares for him despite Robin begging for his deserved death. As Robin becomes acquainted with the residents of the island, he befriends a leper (Murray Bartlett), and starts to form a bond with John’s daughter, Little Margaret (Faith Delaney), the legend of so many deaths begins to reconcile with his own complicated legacy. 

It’d be best to describe The Death of Robin Hood as a slow transformation within its entirety. Sarnoski begins the film’s first 30 minutes with a relentless barrage of pure muddy grit and unrelenting violence, followed by a more meditative look at the turmoil of both its violence and Robin Hood’s own life within its second and third acts, specifically. The results are a bit more scattershot than the more refined elements of Sarnoski’s previous delves into the human palpability, even within his most IP-held restraints with the Quiet Place movie. 

After hitting an utterly tantalizing high in its first third, the film’s deep, meditative state of sadness is never a complete bore, but the narrative struggles to pull itself out of meandering lulls. Large swaths of the runtime tend to plod through the same ideas of exploring the cold, bitter nature of this version of the character, taking a bit too long to reach the inevitable end of Robin finding a true morality in himself for some kind of redemption.

This constant trudging pace will likely be enough for many to be turned off by the film’s slow crawl within the stretches of its mythos. The Death of Robin Hood still works because of the same palpability that Sarnoski finds within a person and film covered with such unrelenting darkness. The pure brutality of the occasional action and the ever-present feeling of the ghost of Robin’s past coming back to haunt him, figuratively and literally, is where the film finds meaning within the extent of its sorrow. Robin must come to terms with both the never-ending cycle of pain he’s caused for the many he has left dead, but also the large hole it’s left within himself as a person living out a lie of so-called heroism that will always eat away at him. By the time we reach the film’s conclusion, all the pieces of what seemed like vast arrays of luscious cinematography and endless introspection come together in the end to reward patience in a deeply lyrical manner, all held together by the gruff and cold but deeply somber ambiance stirring within Jackman’s lead performance. 

The Death of Robin Hood isn’t able to fully hold onto its long, slow burn, which makes it the least engaging of Sarnoski’s introspections of pure bleakness, but it also feels like the type of film that will gain in its appreciation amongst people over time. A full delve into uncompromising bleakness, also serving as a dissection of what we define as myths and lies. Another meditative character journey of pure sorrow from a director who has consistently succeeded at them, and considering the range of quality from previous Robin Hood adaptations in the Hollywood machine, it’s safe to say this is one of the most captivating ones we’ve seen in recent memory.

Grade: B-

Director: Alice Winocour
Writer: Alice Winocour
Stars: Angelina Jolie, Anyeir Anei, Ella Rumpf

Synopsis: An American filmmaker arrives in Paris for Fashion Week on a life-and-death journey, facing challenges and self-discovery.

We are constantly told that the movie star, as a concept, is dead. And there is a lot of proof to back this up. Minus the old guard, like Tom Cruise, there are few performers that you can depend on to open a film to big dollars. The cinema world is now focused on streaming dollars and, to a lesser extent, the connected universe of it all. But what does still exist is the movie star performance. Some of the greats are able to drag a mediocre movie into watchability simply by their star wattage, presence, and ability. It is easy to forget, likely because of Hollywood gossip, family issues, and health troubles, but Angelina Jolie is absolutely a movie star. But, in this new landscape, many do not even realize that she has a movie out this year. 

Couture, directed by Alice Winocour, as you might expect, takes an analytical look at the fashion industry. Its script, also penned by the director, attempts a three-pronged attack on this odd and difficult world. Maxine (Jolie) is a horror director who, for basically unexamined reasons, has been hired to direct a short film to open a prestigious fashion event. Quickly, we are also introduced to Ada (Anyier Anei) who is a young model, plucked out of obscurity to lead this show (and film). Finally, we have Angèle (Ella Rumpf) who is a makeup artist, but has goals of turning her life experiences in the fashion world into a novelization. One can see how these stories might easily intersect; unfortunately, Winocour only finds one thread that is worth telling, and two performances that are palatable.

As Maxine enters the frame and travels up a winding staircase, framed by mirrored walls, it feels, just for a moment, that we are being shown both greatness and traveling back in time. Gone is the Angelina Jolie walking red carpets, now donning a leather jacket, harkening back to the days of Foxfire. But aside from the look, there are few performers that hold the camera like Jolie. Even simply sitting still, giving a brief filmed interview about this new job, she is inherently watchable and buzzing with an energy that forces us to wonder more about her character’s interior life. And oddly, this is a problem for the movie. Every time the camera is off of her, we begin to get antsy, and for good reason. 

The storyline surrounding Ada is both uninteresting and needlessly opaque. Her background in Sudan is touched upon through phone calls with family members, but Winocour is much more focused on her interactions with the other models that she is living with in Paris. This is all extremely standard and becomes a bland affair. Anei is a model and, while there is something to gain in terms of her casting, she struggles throughout. She seems overwhelmed, not as a character, but as an actor. However, when her paths finally cross with both Angèle and Maxine, the more seasoned actresses step up and carry these scenes. 

Angèle, on the final hand, feels desperately incomplete. This is especially a shame given that Rumph has proven herself a more than capable actress, in films such as Raw. Sadly, the limitations of the script leave her twiddling her thumbs from time-to-time, or being forced to engage in scenes that are nothing more than a phone call to move the plot forward. However, her moments with Anei, helping her move through the world of high fashion are emotionally impactful, just enough that we wish there was more for her to do. 

Visually, Couture has moments that will make you gasp. The cinematography from André Chemetoff especially shines during both the filming of the short film (aided by tremendous costuming from Pascaline Chavanne), which shows off the artifice of the fashion world, in direct comparison to a health scare suffered by Maxine. The film may not be breaking any barriers here, but it is effective enough in that regard. 

But really, this film should have been a showcase for Jolie. There is a scene, late in the film, between her and a doctor, Laurent Hansen (Vincent Lindon), that is among the best performances of her storied career. Her ability to feel, hold back, and then express emotions that most of us would not want to imagine is nearly singular. This scene will make your breath catch in your throat and have you shaking your head in disbelief. If Couture had been primarily about her diagnosis, and the fashion world swirling around her, it is likely that awards could be in her future. Unfortunately, Couture is nowhere near focused enough, and the script struggles to connect all of these stories in a satisfactory way. There is a great film to be made about high fashion, women, and the way this world can chew them up and spit them out. Couture misses that particular mark, but it will leave you aching for yet another movie star performance from Angelina Jolie.

Grade: C

Director: Avalon Fast
Writer: Avalon Fast
Stars: Zola Grimmer, Alice Wordsworth, Cherry Moore

Synopsis: A story of impossible redemption, modern witchcraft, and duels that repeat themselves like cursed cycles.

A sleepaway camp movie is often, even when dealing with heavy issues, a typically fun film. It’s filled with romance, rivalry, and young people growing up. Though, there are a significant amount of sleepaway camp movies that also feature a psychotic killer on a rampage. If there was a way to mash up the life lessons of traditional camp films and the mayhem of slasher camp films, but make it subtle and far more introspective, then writer and director Avalon Fast has found it with her film, Camp.

Much of Camp is based around the deep traumas of point of view character Emily (Zola Grimmer). Within the first act we hear that Emily has committed vehicular manslaughter and we watch as her best friend dies from a drug overdose right in front of her. It’s a startling beginning, but while we see the death of Emily’s friend, we only hear the story of the car fatality from Emily while she’s at a party. This dichotomy of despair and detachment sets the stage for the film to follow.

Camp is like a gauzy haze. Emily is immediately integrated into a group of women counselors who seem like they are doing more than administering swim tests and teaching basket weaving. Once this relationship is established a sudden choppiness to the film follows. Co-editors Fast and Taylor Nodrick create a story that constantly shoves us off solid ground and into slowly sinking sand. It can work for some scenes or story beats, but ultimately this style and the story, that takes large narrative leaps without explanation, really alienates the audience.

Fast wants us to understand the vision, but won’t guide us. She just runs as fast as she can ahead and expects us to catch up. Too much of watching Camp is spent trying to catch up and really understand. We get that there is a pull for Emily to join this coven. We get that they’re young women finding their power through witchcraft. Yet, the neglect of the campers and the lack of any real supervision and the disappearance of all sense of reason with little preamble is far too illogical to fully comprehend. The film often looks like the wrong scenes were left on the cutting room floor because we get more pay off than setup, which makes it weaker overall. 

What makes the film palatable are two very strong aspects. It’s the lush and otherworldly cinematography created by Eily Sprungman and director Fast and the lead performance of Zola Grimmer. Grimmer takes the difficult nature of the script and sells us on a three dimensional character. Through her interpretation of Emily we can see a clear arc of character even if the end is quite muddled in theme, story, and plot. Grimmer’s performance is fierce and alive. She has the power to grab your attention with her emotive face and keep us enticed as Emily finds herself in a confusing daze. It’s the kind of performance that lets you forget many of the film’s flaws.

Camp will not be for everyone. It will barely be for more than a handful of people. What it will be is transformative for the people who are able to put themselves inside of it. For those people that can bring their pains and needs to the theater, this film may very well be utterly transformative. For the rest of us, we should listen politely as that person expounds on how the film made them feel because the sad truth is most of us just won’t get it and hearing an impassioned interpretation is better than trying to understand it ourselves.

Grade: D

Director: John Early
Writer: John Early
Stars: John Early, Kate Berlant, Kristen Johnson

Synopsis: A food influencer secretly struggles with bulimia as she navigates online fame, close friendships, and a painful past.

Melodrama is a time honored genre because the heightened emotions and slightly farfetched storylines make for a compelling reality. We’re drawn into a world where people have the perfect speech or the most effective way to end an argument. It’s as intoxicating, but less cringe inducing as people on reality TV. You just can’t look away. It’s a genre that’s ripe for parody because it is so over the top. What writer and director John Early does with Maddie’s Secret, is not strictly parody or strictly camp, but is such a grand pastiche of the melodrama that it heightens and surpasses the form.

There are two ways a film with its lead character in drag can go. It can be broad in making every other character notice, comment, and essentially make fun of the character with us. It can also be subtle, which is what John Early does as writer, director, and lead actor of Maddie’s Secret. He’s so easily able to make us forget the truth behind his performance by finding the deepest parts of this story. While it is ostensibly a comedy and it does have very funny moments as well as some over the top types of camp, the film is played straight. Every character, story beat, and emotional crescendo is meant to have a melodramatic realness to them that rings absolutely true.

It may be because this film isn’t about talking down to us. It’s about showing us a real person going through something very dramatic. That is the singular talent of Early. As a writer he has developed dialogue and action that could come out of any melodrama. As a director, his interpretations of the words are to simultaneously create a moody, obviously tongue in cheek style that never shies away from the darkness of the reality underneath. As a performer, he makes us understand Maddie on a much deeper level and a much more human level than what this material calls for on paper. To mix all of this together is nothing short of awe-inspiring.

There’s a scene as Maddie’s mind is taken over by her neurosis and she feels the urge to binge. As she opens the fridge door, she’s bathed in the glow. There are sudden jump cuts to close ups of Maddie’s mouth, her eyes, her face, and then a scurry away as she hears her husband Jake (Eric Rahill) moving around the apartment. As she stands in a static shot with her back to the wall, not seeing that Jake has headphones on and can’t hear her stomach digesting loudly, we experience a moment of heartbreak as we know what she’s about to do next. It’s at the same time funny, heartbreaking and very dramatic. 

Early in concert with cinematographer Max Lakner and editor Danny Scharar have created a beautiful look to the film. It doesn’t have that sheen that a classic melodrama would, but it has the harsh crispness of digital photography. This lends itself to the idea that while the story and the characters are melodramatic and the lighting will shift for the particular mood, this is a story that has a grittiness to it. It’s a story that’s grounded in spite of its lofty genre trappings. It’s so grounded that at the most humanistic parts, you may just shed a few tears for the emotions feel more real than the heightened ones that get you to respond to a Douglas Sirk film.

All of this wouldn’t work however if the cast didn’t fully commit to the material as it is presented. Early is fabulous and his terrific collaborator Kate Berlant is great as Deena. Yet, in one of the best performances of one of the worst moms, Kristen Johnson really nails it. As Beverlee, Johnson has about ten minutes of screen time, but after that first phone conversation between Maddie and Beverlee, you feel her looming and judging in every scene of the film. Johnson’s big scene in the joint therapy session is tremendous. She cuts such an imposing figure and commands our attention with a smug and funny vileness that digs deeply under your skin. She’s always been good, but given great material, she can be utter dynamite.

Maddie’s Secret never lets us laugh at Maddie. We laugh at a situation she finds herself in, the wacky characters she interacts with, but never her and never what she’s going through. It just works on every level even though our logical brains may want it to be one or the other, we are somehow able to see these genres in harmonious synchronicity. Maddie’s Secret is a wonder of a film that is wholly unique in its execution.

Grade: A