Director: Kelsey Taylor
Writer: Kelsey Taylor
Stars: Maddison Brown, Ivan Martin, Kaitlin Doubleday

Synopsis: In a modern re-imagining of Little Red Riding Hood, a social pariah discovers a teenage runaway in the Oregon Wilderness and does his best to help her find a way home – a troubling exploration of trauma and redemption.

There’s something about the tale of Red Riding Hood and its deep-seated roots in the lore. The Brothers Grimm kingdom of dark fairytales has always had its fans and inquisitive searchers, especially in the film world. Many have tried multiple times to interpret it differently, especially concerning the darker elements connected to these cautionary childhood tales.

The latest attempt, written and directed by Kelsey Taylor, To Kill A Wolf tells the story of a mysterious woodsman (Ivan Martin), infatuated not just with music, but with sound -shown through the disparity between his modest living and his self-assembled, high-tech sound gear and systems- who relies on music to kill his infinite loneliness. He has another hobby, he likes to unhook wolf traps in the woods, he saves wolves, rather than kills them -a bold contrast to the film’s title- and during one of his elaborate wolf-saving missions, he finds an unconscious Dani (Maddison Brown). After he saves her, their journey begins.

Dani’s journey as the Red Riding Hood is one of being let down by one adult after the other. Unlike the woodsman, whose mystery in life is easily revoked by his openness about his emotional expression, Dani is a closed book. It’s not easy to decipher how she’s feeling amid the chaos. Taylor does an excellent job of shifting POVs and dismantling tropes. If there is mystery about the woodsman’s origin and past, Dani’s inner world is a vault. Her heart is locked, not to be unearthed any time soon. Their characters couldn’t be more different, but their unity stems from a single goal: running away from pain.

Dani’s harrowing silence unfolds into scenes from her scary reality, and the hints at her sexual abuse surface along with the manipulation of her “wolf,” rationalizing her into silence, putting her on mute. This leaves the viewers in a state of discomfort, relief, and catharsis. The truth is out, but what does a girl like her do about it? And is there anything to do about such prickly situations where one person is defenseless, young, and scared and the other…a wolf!

I am surprised by Taylor’s -a director unfortunately I have not been familiar with- immaculate attention to detail. Her characters don’t foolishly exist in a vacuum but have their own inner worlds, shown in glimpses from one scene to the next. She brilliantly practices world-building for her characters like a pro, handling the tonal shifts and the uncomfortable character dynamics with a mastery that paves the way for better control of her craft in upcoming movies.

Adam Lee’s cinematography highly complements her careful direction, creating a grainy, gloomy, world that manipulates the idea of a wolf. An animal born to hunt or a sexual predator, carefully manipulating all those around him to appear as villains, while he’s the one who hides his claws in plain sight. The wolf -or the Canis lupus- is innocent in this tale, hunted down by greedy humans, while the wolf (as the director dedicates one of her chapters to him) in his human form is the predator, the real one guilty of hurting Dani; the Red Riding Hood of our tale.

But what is the wolf really? And why do we have to kill it? Is it metaphorical -the wolf of our past, haunting us, running after us in the dark trail at night- or actually approaching the predator in the dark? The film doesn’t necessarily specify those symbols with clarity. A wolf is a wolf. And a grandma is a grandma, but what if a symbol is complicit in playing the role of another. Then who is to say the fairytale doesn’t play by the rules?

To Kill A Wolf makes the alluring woods, lonely, dark, and deep as they are, a place for refuge and shelter, but also an incubator for where the sleeping dogs lie. Secrets are buried alongside their perpetrators, and the woods with their giant trees are witnesses to all the traumas buried beneath the surface. Taylor’s film makes one car ride a woodsman makes to transport Red Riding Hood into a journey inside the forest of the self.

Grade: A

Directors: Jason Gerber, Sarah Blue Winslow Gerber
Stars: Chelli Look, Bridget Botchway Bradley, Jon Colon

Synopsis: Chelli Look, a leather bag artist, faces overwhelming grief after the murder of her sister. Chelli’s journey towards healing forces her to rediscover who she is as an artist, leading to a revelation that takes her in a new direction.

In telling the story of the life of Chelli Look, an artist best known for her work as a designer of handbags, directors Jason and Blue Gerber choose to center her development as an artist. This may seem like an odd choice, given the fact that her personal life could have so easily been sensationalized, but it allows for the creation of a more sensitive portrait of Look as a human being. Her struggle with the grief brought on by her sister’s murder at the hands of her brother-in-law is examined in considerable detail but the focus of the documentary is never entirely given away to this horrific tragedy. This ensures that it can function as more than simply a true crime portrait that revels in gory details and wallowing in the misery of others. It can instead function as a more fully rounded, three-dimensional study of the messiness of the mourning process when it expands its subject out to consider the professional life of one of the people directly impacted by this event. 

The documentary also derives a considerable amount of its emotional power from the fact that it refuses to conform to standard ‘inspirational’ narratives. The approach taken to depicting Chelli’s efforts to channel her grief into art is surprisingly straightforward. Her pain is captured in a sensitive manner but the audience is not asked to linger on it in an exploitative fashion. One is left with the impression of a form of grief that, rather than dissipating over time as part of a reparative process, comes to be cyclical in nature. The subtler aspects of the mourning experience are presented here in matter-of-fact terms. Nothing is over-dramatized and Chelli’s experiences are not contrived to fit into a pre-conceived vision of what this form of suffering should look like. In this regard, a case is made for the unique potential of the documentary form. It is perhaps easier for artists working in this medium to diverge from the tightly scripted narratives that often play a central role in shaping classical Hollywood cinema productions. There is more room to portray a slippery, difficult to pin down emotional journey here.

The muted emotional palette on display extends outwards to the visual style on display in scenes that focus on the design and construction of CHC leather goods. The bright, summery imagery on display offers us an optimistic vision of the act of creation. Rather than centering around the psychological strain that often results from this struggle, the film presents it as something that can be liberatory. This occurs, in part, because the subject of the documentary takes a constructive approach to her work and does not hold herself to any objective standards. For viewers who, like myself, were not aware of the ins and outs of the leather goods industry, there is also a fascination in getting a window into this highly exclusive sphere. Learning about the specifics of this very niche field is intriguing and, at times, the documentary even invites comparisons to the epic observational documentaries of Frederick Wiseman. In the same way that Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros captured the nuances of day-to-day operations at fine dining restaurants in France, this documentary picks up on minute details that can completely alter one’s perception of an entire milieu. In size and scale, it is far more intimate than one of Wiseman’s sprawling, encyclopedic works but the interest in that which could otherwise be seen as insignificant is very much present in this film. 

To a certain degree, the documentary could be said to be limited by the fact that it does fall back on certain conventions when inserting footage from interviews with associates of Look. These segments very commonly appear in documentaries of this sort but, to me, they represent a divergence from the more free-flowing, experimental passages of the film. The interviewees do provide valuable information about Look’s family history and how she first became interested in designing bags. However, I can’t help but feel that these observations could have been delivered in a more original manner. Massive innovations have been made in the past few decades when it comes to weaving firsthand accounts into documentary storytelling and it would have been interesting to see more of a deviation from well-established norms. In a work of art that is often striking for how it works to undercut convention and avoid hewing too closely to tradition, it is disappointing to see something that feels more tied to a previous era of filmmaking.

Grade: A-

Director: Matt Shakman
Writer: Josh Friedman, Eric Pearson, Jeff Kaplan, and Ian Springer
Stars: Pedro Pascal, Vanessa Kirby, Ebon Moss-Bachrach

Synopsis: Forced to balance their roles as heroes with the strength of their family bond, the Fantastic Four must defend Earth from a ravenous space god called Galactus and his enigmatic Herald, Silver Surfer.

Listen, The Fantastic Four: First Steps is fine. And that’s fine, I guess, right? Considering the franchise’s history has been tepid at best, Marvel almost had to play it safe—using this film to relaunch the brand and pinning the studio’s hopes on Phase Six of its cinematic history. Yes, the movie looks great, as if the Mad Men production design team collided with the Marvel Cinematic Universe to give this new wave a unique presentation and feel like you’re watching a superhero movie from another time and place.

However, beyond that, is The Fantastic Four: First Steps really anything special? The story is just—what’s the word—oh yeah, fine. The good guys protect a city, which, of course, has to be a major market like New York or Los Angeles. God forbid they set up in Buffalo—probably because Times Square offers a plethora of product placement opportunities to help pay for the lavish production. A villain shows up—this time doing the “honorable” thing by warning everyone that the end is near, so enjoy what time you have left.

Again, we’re not reinventing anything here. And for some reason, studios seem determined to skip the origin story setup altogether—a trend that robs these kinds of films of some of their charm. We’re given a quick run-down of how the Fantastic Four came to be and have already saved the world. They’re back, and now holed up in a Trump-like tower, eating dinner as a family after returning to Earth-828—cosmically changed forever. A cosmic ray exposure has transformed Dr. Reed Richards (Materialists’ Pedro Pascal), known as Mr. Fantastic, who can now stretch any part of his body to great lengths. 

His wife, Sue Storm—aka the Invisible Woman (Academy Award nominee Vanessa Kirby)—drops a bombshell: after years of trying, they’re finally pregnant. (No word on whether Reed’s ability to stretch, uh, any part of his body played a role in ending that dry spell.) It’s about to be a full house at 260 Baxter Building Plaza. As they sit down for dinner, Ben Grimm—aka the Thing (Emmy winner Ebon Moss-Bachrach)—a sensitive soul now covered in an external layer of orange rock, picks up on the news from Reed’s dumbfounded expression. 

Johnny Storm—aka the Human Torch (Stranger Things’ Joseph Quinn)—is thrilled at the idea of returning to space and is over the moon for his sister and brother-in-law. However, he is about to fall in love as well, as he meets the Silver Surfer (Ozark’s Julia Garner), an enforcer for a cosmic gigantic being, Galactus (Ralph Ineson). They are told Earth’s days are numbered. However, when the Fantastic Four set out to save the world, they are given a choice to surrender Sue and Reed’s unborn son—or witness the total annihilation of Earth.

The Fantastic Four: First Steps, from WandaVision’s Matt Shakman, takes a disappointingly “just fine” approach—abandoning that series’s risk-taking and creativity in favor of a script that feels more paint-by-numbers than a bold reinvention of the genre. It’s not that Shakman dusted off the Marvel playbook—it’s that he followed it step by step, which is really all Marvel seems to do these days. Skipping over the group’s formation was a misstep, though I understand the desire to introduce one of Marvel’s greatest villains, the Silver Surfer, early to help establish the new phase. 

Is that fine? No—because a production like this should take more risks and build stronger conflict. Yet almost nothing elevates the tension. For one, the script is utterly predictable. And the attempted dynamic between the Human Torch and the Silver Surfer lacks any real spark, despite the efforts of screenwriters—take a deep breath—Josh Friedman, Eric Pearson, Jeff Kaplan, and Ian Springer, who desperately try to forge a human connection between them. Pascal and Kirby have more chemistry off-screen than on. The most compelling storyline belongs to Ben Grimm and Natasha Lyonne’s Rachel Rozman, but unfortunately, The Thing never gets any clobberin’ time with his love interest.

That’s a shame, considering the film went through numerous rewrites—stripping away most of its personality in the process. Odd, given the roster of writers includes names behind fun, big-budget fare like Thunderbolts*, Thor: Ragnarok, and Black Widow (I will defend David Harbour’s comedic performance in that film until the day I die). Frankly, I would have preferred more of Paul Walter Hauser’s Mole Man over Galactus, who is a gigantic bore for much of the film. The villain lumbers around like a lethargic Transformer—is that supposed to be exciting or suspenseful? We already know Disney won’t allow a child to be abducted or a main character to be killed off, so where’s the actual tension?

The result is an improvement over the turn-of-the-century adaptations. The film aims to be a friendly, comforting family story about teamwork, and its retro-futuristic flair consistently provides visually stimulating moments. While the bond between characters is present, the audience never gets to witness how that bond was formed—missing the emotional connection and resonance that could have grounded the story.

I did enjoy Moss-Bachrach’s voice work, Kirby’s luminous star quality, and Pascal’s nerdy, family-man take on Mr. Fantastic. However, the overall experience feels humdrum, never allowing the audience to invest in the picture fully. That may be fine for some—fine for now—but The Fantastic Four: First Steps is ultimately a recycled effort with a fresh coat of paint, and hardly worth your time, especially at theater prices. 

You can watch The Fantastic Four: First Steps only in theaters July 25th!

Grade: C

Director: Laurynas Bareiša
Writer: Laurynas Bareiša
Stars: Paulius Markevicius, Karolis Kasperavicius, Greta Grineviciute

Synopsis: To celebrate Lukas’ victory at the martial arts tournament and Tomas’ birthday party, their wives Juste and Ernesta organize a weekend at the summer house with a families. It was suppose to be a quiet weekend at countryside.

It should come as no surprise that Laurynas Bareiša’s Drowning Dry manages to be darkly funny while tackling an almost unbearably bleak subject. This balance is made possible by the fact that, for a long time, the film gives off the impression of not being about a horrifying family tragedy. It begins as a razor-sharp examination of the faltering bond between two Lithuanian sisters, Ernesta and Justé, who appear to have drifted apart. They travel, along with their respective families, to a lakeside cabin for what is intended to serve as a relaxing holiday. Before long, Ernesta’s husband Lukas is engaged in a low intensity conflict with Justé’s husband Tomas. The divide between the sisters only deepens and they find themselves increasingly growing apart as the weekend drags on. When an unexpected catastrophe upends the lives of both families, they each find themselves reflecting on their past experiences through markedly different lenses. These unexpected divergences become the centerpiece of a film that slowly becomes more of a conceptual art piece than a traditional narrative feature film. 

The film is distinguished by its ability to capture the fragility of familial bonds established between members of an extended family unit. The in-fighting and backstabbing that is already commonplace within the immediate family becomes infinitely more complicated when slightly more distant relatives get involved. We watch as in-groups and out-groups quickly form, with a kind of tribalistic outlook being taken on by the sisters at the center of the narrative. The cracks in the foundation of their relationship, which are too close for comfort in some regards, are further exposed when they introduce their children into the mix. Resentments over economic inequality and social status that appear to have driven a wedge between the two women have the effect of chilling relations between members of their respective families. Bareiša is extraordinarily perceptive in his understanding of how delicate arrangements, such as this one, can rapidly spiral out of control when put under pressure. Every character in the film is seen to retreat back into a shell of sorts, or even form somewhat calculated alliances with others, in order to survive this upheaval. Being a slow-moving Lithuanian drama, the film remains light on heavy theatrics or operatic showdowns. However, it does depict familial relations as a form of emotional warfare. 

There is also something to be said for the fact that the class dynamics on display here are legitimately knotty and complex. The basic scenario would appear to set Tomas, who is comfortably middle class and capable of buying a home, off against Lukas, who pursues a highly competitive and unstable career that prevents him from making large investments. One can easily imagine a telling of this story in which the perceived ‘tackiness’ of the MMA milieu that Lukas inhabits is played up more. While his physical strength is clearly a source of envy for the comparatively buttoned up Tomas, he is never outwardly portrayed as an unsophisticated or boorish individual. This makes the divide between himself and his brother-in-law less glaring than it could have been. There is ultimately a thin line that appears to separate the two men and Tomas, who faces financial concerns of his own, is eager not to fall behind his rival. As the film goes on, it becomes clearer and clearer that he derives at least some of his sense of self-worth from the fact that he can orient himself as the more stable, reasonable counterpart to a brother-in-law whom he perceives as childish and irresponsible. Part of what we respond to is the fears and anxieties that the two men project on to one another. Their very real antagonism has its basis in a set of unfounded misapprehensions but it also fills a need for the two of them. 

The teasing out of the underlying tensions at the heart of their bond occurs in tandem with an exploration of the unreliable nature of memory. In Rashomon fashion, we bear witness to multiple different interpretations of the same events, with slight variations cluing us into the very specific insecurities that each sister suffers from. While this has become a well-worn trope in cinema, it never feels like a gimmick here. The differences in perspective are subtle enough to leave the audience guessing and the message being conveyed is not merely that the human perception of reality is inherently subjective. The brief flashbacks in this film play out as troubled attempts to reconcile half-remembered events from the past with the horrors of the present. There is a heavy sense of foreboding that hangs over these scenes and an eerie feeling of not being rooted in a specific point in time. Bareiša’s utilization of this popular storytelling technique is effective because it disorients the audience instead of seeking to turn the film’s narrative into a puzzle box of sorts. There are no grand revelations that uncover the fact that one seemingly upstanding character was, in fact, lying while another, apparently untrustworthy, figure was telling the truth. All that the viewer is left with is a few fragments of the superficially mundane events that led up to an unspeakable tragedy. Much like Ernesta and Justé, we can only engage with these discrete moments in time from a distance; all the while failing to grasp their full weight and significance.

Grade: A

Director: Dan Allen
Writers: Felix Salten, Rhys Warrington
Stars: Roxanne McKee, Samira Mighty, Nicola Wright

Synopsis: After a mother and son get in a car wreck, they soon become hunted by Bambi, a mutated grief-stricken deer on a deadly rampage seeking revenge for the death of his mother.

The Poohniverse or The Twisted Childhood Universe has become a trademark; a fingerprint of B-horror that is a hit and -in most cases- a miss for a variety of reasons. Lack of creativity is one, but the other is the failure to utilize the rich material at hand; an abundance of dark fairytales and reimagined childhood favorite animated films with darker, murderous tones. The franchise includes a bunch of titles that vary dramatically in quality and attention to detail. The feature I’m about to review though, is one of the finest that the Poohniverse has to offer.

Bambi: The Reckoning is a dark fairytale twisted into a modern narrative. Instead of Bambi, the small, gentle deer mourning his mother’s death at the hands of hunters, he is now a minotaur-like predator—a deadly, mutated creature on a bloody trail to avenge his mother’s death by humans. Family dynamics ensue as a mother (Roxanne McKee) and son (Tom Mulheron) abandoned by a father, cross paths with the bloodthirsty Bambi, whom they get in a car crash with, only for him to hunt them all over town. 

One great thing about the horror flick is how nasty and unlikeable some of the human characters are. Instead of making viewers sympathize with the victims -save for the mother and child, but even those we don’t spend enough time with them enough to root for them. Bambi doesn’t try to be sophisticated or add unnecessary depths and dimensions to its killer or its characters. It deviates a little from Peter Pan’s Neverland Nightmare which has tried to stir the wheel of guttural horror into a creepy tale about sexual abuse and trauma. This time, this is pure horror for horror, murder for murder, and mayhem for mayhem.

One of the most impressive aspects about the film is the creature CGI. Director Dan Allen holds no barrels back in showcasing the gruesome deaths, the blood sprees, and the mutilated corpses of Bambi’s victims. Bambi himself is a marvel. Caked in blood, with sharp, vampiric teeth, and zombie-like eyes, he’s like a messenger from Hell, out to cause mayhem and chaos on earth for our protagonists. The special effects and visual effects craftspeopledo an excellent job in creating one of this year’s most nightmarish villains. Allen makes use of the silent, claustrophobic nature of the deep dark woods at night, building the perfect tension and heightening the claustrophobic feeling of the hunted being chased by the not-so-hapless prey.

Does the film add to the ever-expanding universe? It does, more than many of its predecessors. For true gory, B-horror fans who find their pleasure in flying limbs and crushed skulls, this flick has it all. A few jump scares that will send chills down the spine and cause some discomfort in the dark movie theater. It doesn’t take long before we start cheering on Bambi to finish them all like a ghostly killer in an AgathaChristie novel except this time it is not a whodunnit and this killer is not secretive. It’s a British winter, and the film has a posh setting of a British mansion, but the mystery lies in the cruelty of nature, where Bambi lures his victims into his kingdom where he reigns with terror, throwing it in the hearts of the humans who wronged -and did not wrong- him. Nature aids Bambi on his murder rampage, brutally murdering the victims he cannot reach in the most violent way possible. 

Bambi: The Reckoning is Cujo for the Brothers Grimm aficionados, one of the strongest additions to the Poohniverse, if not the best so far. It’s B-horror as B-horror should be: bloody, cruel, unflinching, and not concerned with the dramatics.

Grade: B+

Director: Mahdi Fleifel
Writers: Mahdi Fleifel, Fyzal Boulifa, Jason McColgan
Stars: Mahmoud Bakri, Aram Sabbah, Angeliki Papoulia

Synopsis: A Palestinian refugee living on the fringes of society in Athens hustles and schemes his way to get out of this limbo by any means necessary.

Bureaucracy doesn’t serve the people. It serves the state. The paperwork, endless meetings, legal proceedings, more paperwork, and denials are meant to get you to give up. They, the state, don’t want you to have what you need even though they ostensibly supply it through their process. The ambiguity of the system is what keeps the system alive and the people from advancing.

This is where we find Chatila (Mahmoud Bakri) and many people in his circle. They have become people without a country because the legal means for getting from where they were to where they want to go is not fast or fair enough. These refugees get stuck in a sort of purgatory where their morality and humanity is tested.

The script for To a Land Unknown, written by Mahdi Fleifel (who also directed), Fyzal Boulifa, and Jason McColgan, depicts a constant state of waiting. The tale is Sisyphean in the constant struggles the characters face. As Chatila and his friend Reda (Aram Sabbah) feel like they have the scheme to get them ahead, the scheme that will finally get them out of Athens, something sets them back. Their schemes, no matter the nobility of the final goal, test their moral fortitude and bend their sense of human decency. These are good people in a bad situation, who have in turn become bad people by trying to better their situation.

The story, in some ways, evokes John Steinbeck’s “Of Mice and Men.” Chatila, the brains, is trying to keep Reda, the meek, from screwing up their plans. There is even a very similar scene between the two stories when Reda asks Chatila to describe the restaurant they’re going to open just as simple Lennie begs shrewd George to tell him of the farm the two of them will one day have.

Yet, it’s reductive to think of Reda as simple as Lennie. He’s more world weary than Chatila, having been through this type of purgatory before. He’s been dragged back here by Chatila’s optimism and drive. His good nature is being tainted by the things he must do to survive and the things Chatila schemes to get them closer to his goal of Germany. Reda says in so many words, time and time again that this isn’t what he wants. He asks Chatila time and again what he will even do at the restaurant to contribute in a meaningful way. Every step he takes toward Chatila’s dream is a step away from himself.

This is where Mahdi Fleifel excels as a director. He and cinematographer Thodoros Mihopoulos have set up shots where the men walk with purpose toward the camera as the camera moves backward. It’s as if the camera is their goal, just out of reach as it moves away. This is never more focused then as Reda makes a decision about a pair of shoes he promised to fellow refugee, Yasser (Mohammad Ghassan). Reda spies the store out of the corner of his eye as the camera stops with him. He tells Malik (Mohammad Alsurafa), a lone boy he and Chatila have been mentoring, to wait for him in the park. We don’t enter into the shop with Reda, but we see the interaction with the clerk from outside. As soon as he’s given the box of shoes, Reda bolts. He runs as if chasing the camera and looks as if this act has once again set him further back than having brought him ahead like he wanted. His chase is futile because his true goal of contentment and security will always be out of his reach.

These scenes of desperation, frustration, and anguish simply would not work without the great talents of Mahmoud Bakri and Aram Sabbah. The fiery passion that Bakri brings to Chatila is matched by his skill with Chatila’s more tender moments of deep thought. The anguish of Reda would not be as poignant if it weren’t for the expressive face of Sabbah. The two of them play off each other brilliantly and create a pair that is easily understood as needing to be together and in need of a separation because their codependence will bring them both down.

To a Land Unknown is almost like a bottle. The cork of legality is firmly stuck over the heads of Chatila and Reda. They can try and chip at the cork or break through the bottle, but neither option is as easy as they hope. The film is about the hustle and the humanity lost in surviving in between trying to live a better life. It’s a beautiful meditation on friendship and a stark reminder of the tremendous lengths people will go to get out of a dire situation.

Grade: A

Director: Embeth Davidtz
Writer: Embeth Davidtz
Stars: Lexi Venter, Embeth Davidtz, Zikhona Bali

Synopsis: Depicts 8-year-old Bobo’s life on her family’s Rhodesian farm during the Bush War’s final stages. It explores the family’s bond with Africa’s land and the war’s impact on the region and individuals through Bobo’s perspective.

My expectations for Embeth Davidtz’s feature directorial debut, Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight, were relatively nonexistent. Being unfamiliar with the source material and period of history Davidtz adapts the story from, the movie felt like a significant ask, especially as a transition from acting to directing. Yet, there was something utterly transfixing about how Davidtz showcased this period in history and the dark coming-of-age tale that acts as the basis of Alexandra Fuller’s memoir that I began to become completely hypnotized by it, even during some of its most difficult scenes. 

What impressed me the most about Davidtz’s approach to filmmaking, right from the top, is how strong of a formalist she is. With cinematographer Willie Nel, she creates images of real, tangible poetry, whose impact marks an indelible imprint in her memory. For starters, shooting the story through the eyes of its titular character, Alexandra “Bobo” Fuller (Lexi Vinter), gives it a much more intimate feel. We’re forced to observe a child born in the throes of an ongoing war, who has known nothing but conflict and division and whose perception of the world is warped by her parents’ beliefs, attempting to make sense out of a situation that complexifies itself further as the movie progresses. 

Davidtz plays Nicola, one of the parents, and her vision of the world is imparted within Bobo’s behavior, and how she (curiously) observes people, either under a table or by directly doing things she shouldn’t, such as smoking, and knowing how to cock a gun. It’s in those moments where the audience understands the weight of what the filmmaker wants to tell, without an ounce of handholding in its 100-minute runtime. In some cases, we perfectly understand what’s going on. Fragmented archival footage of news reports, or radio announcements, gives the audience context in different ways than we’re usually accustomed to in historical dramas. We’re forced to listen and pay attention to what the characters are watching, or listening to, for us to get a sense of what’s happening. 

At some point, though, the narrative becomes increasingly muddled, and it’s a bit hard to follow what’s most important. Yet, Davidtz’s image-making is so strong that we’re often encouraged to extract meaning from how she frames Bobo’s story. The fact that the camera is constantly on her level, and lets us see her point-of-view, either through direct shot-reverse-shot exchanges between the characters or images that literally show what Bobo is seeing. One of the most striking recurring ones occurs at the beginning of the movie, where she half-closes her eyes, and we see the sunlight reflect on her eyelashes, saying internally to the person she’s looking at, “If you love me, you have to turn around.” 

This is repeated at the end of the movie, and what emerges overwhelms the senses. It’s pure cinema, distilled at its most potent essence. Again, I didn’t know what to expect from Davidtz, and was shocked at how jaw-dropping each frame of her movie was. It envelops us and encourages the audience to come up with their own conclusion as the story gets darker, bleaker, and far more confrontational in its exploration of protagonists we shouldn’t relate to, or feel an ounce of sympathy for, with the exception of Bobo, whose innocence has been stripped out by endless trauma, either direct or indirect. 

As Bobo, Venter’s performance is revelatory. We feel for her plight at every turn, and express great compassion when we see what she sees – because a child’s eyes aren’t meant to observe what she looks at on a daily basis. It makes some of the film’s more difficult scenes even tougher to swallow, especially its gut-wrenching conclusion, which is of immense emotional power. Davidtz is equally as good in a supporting performance, but I’m more than hoping she will continue to carve a path as a singular artist within the world of filmmaking rather than acting. 

If anything, Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight proves to me that Davidtz has what it takes to be one of the best filmmakers working today if she continues in that direction. We already knew how good of an actor she is, whether in her heartwarming portrayal of Mrs. Honey in Danny DeVito’s Matilda or in her sorrowful turn as Helen Hirsch in Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List. And as she’s about to blow sixty candles next month, Davidtz has found something that has likely been boiling inside her that she desperately wanted to make, on her own terms, as a director we should all watch out for as she will (hopefully) create another film much sooner than later…

Grade: A-

Director: Chris Miller
Writer: Pam Brady
Stars: Rihanna, James Corden, Nick Offerman

Synopsis: When Papa Smurf is mysteriously taken by evil wizards, Razamel and Gargamel, Smurfette leads the Smurfs on a mission into the real world to save him. With the help of new friends, the Smurfs must discover what defines their destiny to save the universe.

One question that has seemingly always managed to rack my brain is, “What is the appeal of the Smurfs?” Sure, maybe the whole adjective to describe what one of these blue creatures does was cute while the original cartoon ran in the ‘80s, but what is so special about these characters that they now have four feature films? The two live-action animated hybrid films The Smurfs and The Smurfs 2 are among some of the most dreadful movies made in recent years, and the fully animated Smurfs: The Lost Village is about as memorable as a piece of sandpaper. Enter Smurfs, which manages to showcase almost all the laziest and most shameless aspects of modern children’s entertainment. With bottom-of-the-barrel attempts at modern lingo in dialogue, jokes that are barely formed, and a story that manages to be simultaneously generic and convoluted as hell, Smurfs is a fascinating embarrassment to witness. Some occasional nice animation and songs save it from being the worst of the Smurf films, but that isn’t saying much.

After an exposition dump of Papa Smurf (John Goodman) narrating about how the smurfs have a magical book that they must keep away from four evil witches who need the book to complete a scheme to remove all the goodness from the universe, we meet No Name (James Corden), a smurf who’s still searching for his “thing” amongst the village and Smurfette (Rihanna),  a smurf initially crafted by Gargamel to capture other smurfs. When Papa Smurf is captured by Gargamel’s brother, Razamel (both voiced by JP Karliak), it’s up to No Name and Smurfette to lead all of Smurf Village to define themselves and save their world. 

From the minute it starts, the overly broad story beats within the film’s screenplay begin rearing their heads. The movie’s main message of finding worth in oneself is something that, despite its overuse in media, can be told in creative ways in younger-skewing films such as The Lego Movie, but it’s done about as plain as they come here. No Name Smurf just suddenly can do whatever the plot needs him to do in the final act, leading to his growth of becoming Magic Smurf, being glossed over, and Smurfette’s conflict of how she comes from a different space than the other Smurfs could not be more tacked onto the film’s entirety as an afterthought. 

Matters aren’t helped because the universe that the Smurfs reside in could not be more poorly thought out. Once the Smurfs start their journey to find Papa in Paris, the live-action elements of the movie’s environment are wildly out of place. Why do real-life human beings never remotely notice the blue creatures that are near them? Why do animated humans and live-action humans occupy the same space? The film’s animated portions clash so badly with real life, an aspect of the filmmaking that even the early 2010s Smurf films did better.

These constant irks would matter less if the film were even remotely funny, but it misses the mark on nearly every punchline. The movie’s “jokes” are mostly a mix of replacing random words with Smurf, specific Smurfs limited to doing what word describes their character, obnoxious puns such as “What the shell?”, and a finishing touch of cringey modern lingo that comes across so desperate for relevance. There’s rarely any switch ups between these four joke variations, and this star-studded voice cast is rarely, if ever, able to bring any charisma to these lines that doesn’t just come across as nonsensical noise happening on screen.

The film’s one singular saving grace is the admittedly beautifully looked backgrounds and animation styles on display here. This film easily has the best-looking visuals of any Smurf film to date, as it uses a similar cell-shaded animated style to other recent films within the medium to its advantage. There’s even a full sequence in the film where our characters jump through different dimensions of animation styles like stop-motion and stick figure, and it’s where the movie is at its most inspired. However, there’s even a small caveat to this singular complement as the movements of cell-shaded character models can oftentimes be a bit janky and awkward to look at, but not enough for it to be a complete take away.

Smurfs may, at the very least, entertain the smallest of children, but it’s hard to imagine anyone else being enticed by what happens here. It’s a forgettable trash heap that offers nothing new, funny, or interesting to the average viewer, that isn’t executed infinitely better elsewhere. The absolutely preposterous world-building tops it all off, and it’s safe to say that this franchise couldn’t be more dead on arrival.

Grade: D

Director: Jennifer Kaityn Robinson
Writers: Sam Lansky, Jennifer Kaityn Robinson
Stars: Madelyn Cline, Chase Sui Wonders, Sarah Pidgeon

Synopsis: A group of friends are terrorized by a stalker who knows about a gruesome incident from their past.

I have no idea why people have reverence for Jim Gillespie’s I Know What You Did Last Summer, which is essentially Scream if you order it off Temu, but 90s horror seems to be a prime time for many fans of the genre. Plus, who doesn’t love to see Freddie Prinze Jr., Sarah Michelle Gellar, and Jennifer Love Hewitt in movies? We used to see them all the time, and now they’ve disappeared off the map. 

In a way, it does make sense for Sony to want to capitalize on the recent trends of legacy sequels, or, more aptly named, requels and attempt to expand the I Know What You Did Last Summer franchise with fresh new faces, while Freddie Prinze Jr. and Jennifer Love Hewitt return to reprise their iconic roles as Ray Bronson and Julia James. After all, the Danny Cannon-directed sequel, I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, was critically and commercially reviled (I personally thought it was fun, but in an extremely stupid kind of way), and the Sylvain White-helmed direct-to-video third outing, I’ll Always Know What You Did Last Summer, is incredibly mean-spirited. 

With Jennifer Kaityn Robinson in the director’s chair, who gave us Do Revenge in 2022 and also co-wrote the screenplay for Thor: Love and Thunder, there was hope that this new installment in the I Know What You Did Last Summer franchise would revamp this unique slasher for new generations. Unfortunately, there’s very little here that actually works. Apart from retreading the same plot beats as the original, focusing on a group of teenagers who accidentally kill someone in a car accident and decide to keep it a secret, until they are stalked by a killer wearing a fisherman’s outfit and exacting its victims with a hook, the movie then decides to “spice things up” by doing something no person who has some form of reverence for the original would. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself, and won’t dare spoil this denouement that is bound to leave the audience equally perplexed and frustrated. For a good chunk of the movie, Kaityn Robinson stays in platitudes that repeat what the first film laid out without the desire to try anything new with Kevin Williamson’s formula. Though if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right? And while the cast’s chemistry may not reach the levels of the original, each respective actor does a fine job in attempting to uncover who the serial killer could be. But it won’t take long for you to guess who it is – even if the filmmaker will attempt to insert red herrings that could exonerate them and divert your attention to someone else. 

Obviously, the one who looks suspicious isn’t the killer, and the one who is the least suspicious is. It won’t take long for you to put two and two together, especially if you’ve seen the latest iterations of Scream or, more recently, Heart Eyes, and the rest of the movie is as dull as you think. Even the kills aren’t that impressive. The usage of hooks and fishing instruments does give the franchise a bit of an edge that most slashers don’t have, but Kaityn Robinson’s sense of geography and rhythm during repetitive chase scenes and gnarly kills contains little thrills. The kills aren’t nearly as playful and elaborate as the original, and their impact is lessened by cinematography that seems restrained to shock – or surprise – viewers in its attempt to modernize a series that didn’t necessarily need a revamp. 

Because when Julie and Ray eventually show up to help Danica Richards (Madelyn Cline), Ava Brooks (Chase Sui Wonders), Milo Griffin (Jonah Hauer-King), and Stevie Ward (Sarah Pidgeon) track and hunt the killer before his hook finds them, their purpose in the movie seems limiting, other than giving exposition to the characters on events that happened in the original two movies. Hewitt is barely in the picture, spoon-feeding things that could make tracking the assailant easier, and then dropping out entirely, save for one semi-compelling exchange with Ray that showcases how the two stars still haven’t lost their spark. 

There are a few surprises that admittedly worked on me, particularly a specific dream sequence, but most of the “legacy” appearances are pedestrian at best, and baffling at worst. There’s a narrative decision that happens later on in the movie so insulting to the fans of the franchise that the potential for a cult following is pretty much evaporated once we get to this sequence and Kaityn Robinson doubles down on this giallo-inspired twist that, in any circumstance, doesn’t work. 

Only Sarah Pidgeon from the new cast comes out of this requel unscathed, especially during the climax, where she seems to enjoy each new twist and turn the story takes, knowing how baffling they are. It’s a shame no one shares the same pleasure she has in letting loose and playing with the confines of such a unique slasher that Kevin Williamson wrote as a deviation of sorts from Scream. Even a post-credits scene, which reintroduces a character that may or may not resonate with fans, reeks of desperation instead of actual fun. We’re promising audiences that the next one will be more entertaining than this one, when all we wanted was a good time at the movies, in the present moment.

Grade: D-

Director: R.T. Thorne
Writers: R.T. Thorne, Glenn Taylor, Lora Campbell
Stars: Danielle Deadwyler, Kataem O’Connor, Michael Greyeyes, Milcania Diaz-Rojas

Synopsis: Hailey Freeman and her family are the last descendants of African American farmers who settled in rural Canada after the Civil War. In a famine-decimated near future, they now struggle to safeguard their farm, as they make one last stand against a vicious militia hell-bent on taking their 40 Acres

The words “famine-decimated” and “vicious militia” are doing a fair bit of heavy lifting in the case of R.T. Thorn’es debut feature, 40 Acres, considering how, with them subtracted and a few flesh-eaters added in, the film would be imperceptible from yet another apocalyptic thriller. The last few years have already had its handful of them, hence the italicized groan in the last sentence. Said gripe has less to do with the quality of films like 28 Years Later, In the Lost Lands, or The Gorge. (Okay, maybe it has to do with the quality of The Gorge.) But, as is often the case, familiarity can end up feeling synonymous with enervation. What counts is whether or not you can transcend the exhaustion of the garden-variety apocalypse narrative, thus crafting something original and refreshing despite recognizable tropes.

40 Acres nearly crosses that threshold, though it also feels unmistakably like an extended cutscene from The Last of Us, or worse yet, AMC’s forever-running series The Walking Dead, especially as the story evolved beyond the need for zombies to be the most terrifying entity in the room. Viewers who counted themselves among the dedicated many to latch onto the journeys of Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Carol, Glenn, Maggie, and others in the early seasons of Frank Darabont’s show always feared the presence of biters, but once villains like The Governor (David Morrissey) and Negan (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) showed up, it was clear that harm’s way was down every trail these characters could possibly traverse, undead notwithstanding. 

It’s admittedly disingenuous to compare Thorne’s film to the cyclical nature of a series that lost its own way midway through its run on the small screen, but the comparisons are hard to miss: A family lives on a farm, protecting their land, and facing constant opposition from neighboring armies of misfit madmen eager to take what doesn’t belong to them. Outsiders are to be feared, not entertained. That’s how Hailey Freeman (Danielle Deadwyler) – a former soldier – and her husband, Galen (Michael Greyeyes) conduct things in their houseland and the land it sits on, a deeply personal undertaking that dates back centuries to when Hailey’s ancestors settled there (the film takes place in Canada; its director is from Calgary) after escaping Civil War-era Georgia. The movie’s exhilarating opening sequence sees Hailey, Galen, and their family – most notably their 20-something son, Emanuel (Kataem O’Connor) – fending off intruders, of which there are many more hidden on the outskirts. If only the remainder of its runtime maintained such exhilaration.

Not that every apocalypse picture needs to move a mile a minute; if that were the case, we’d grow more exhausted by the proceedings themselves than the plottiness they’re steeped in. Yet 40 Acres never manages to evolve beyond the “keep the outsiders out” mantra that its lead character preaches with the fury of an angry judge banging her gavel through the wood of her stand. That Hailey is judge, jury, and primary executioner makes matters even more complicated: It would be one thing if she was stern, but it’s another to watch her rigidity foster an environment that begs for rebellion, something Emanuel can’t help but inch toward. When he notices a beautiful stranger (Milcania Diaz-Rojas) swimming in a river near his home, his curiosity piques and his eyes bulge (along with something a little lower on his body). When questions swirl about whether or not Dawn is who she says she is, and the family’s land comes under attack (again, and repeatedly, all in relatively rapid succession), it’s not particularly difficult to clock where and when the first domino was nudged.

Thorne has a tight grasp on what makes for compelling violence in a realm such as this, and it’s easy to imagine his future in film being far brighter than that of the characters he has drawn here, to say nothing of their fates as more outsiders invade over the course of almost two hours. But so little of 40 Acres seems to care about being anything more than a one-note tale at the end of the world, as though it drove itself into a proverbial dead end and said, “Yeah, this feels like a good place to set up shop.” It’s a dark, picturesque movie that is light on its feet enough to not cause the weight of its overlong runtime to bear down on you – a credit not just to Dev Singh and Sandy Pereira’s editing, but to the images cinematographer Jeremy Benning provided them – but it’s also a film with a great deal of thematic heft (chief among them, how race remains omnipresent, even in dystopia) at its disposal that it chooses to forego for the blander path, not the more contemplative one. (Even Deadwyler, its stalwart star, seems to be trudging through plottiness in search of deeper meaning.) Movies like this one have promise in theory, but without proper care become commonplace and rote, 40 Acres being case in point. It doesn’t help that 40 Acres and the many similar films to follow in its wake feel far less apocalyptic the more frequent they become.

40 Acres is now playing in select theaters.

Grade: C-