Director: Josh Ruben
Writers: Phillip Murphy, Christopher Landon, Michael Kennedy
Stars: Olivia Holt, Mason Gooding, Jordana Brewster

Synopsis: For the past several years, the “Heart Eyes Killer” has wreaked havoc on Valentine’s Day by stalking and murdering romantic couples. This Valentine’s Day, no couple is safe.

In the tradition of Scream, Josh Ruben’s Heart Eyes opens with the introduction of its masked killer exacting a killing spree on three innocent victims at a winery after a man (awkwardly) proposes to his fiancée. While unimpressively shot, Ruben compensates with nifty practical effects, from the very first moment the Heart Eyes Killer murders a helpless individual to the blood-splattering conclusion of its opening scene that profoundly grossed out the packed audience at a promotional screening.

Also in the tradition of Scream, the rest of the movie attempts to insert several meta-commentaries. It doesn’t discuss the state of horror cinema as Wes Craven (and, more recently, Radio Silence) did, but on chintzy romantic comedies that capitalize on a commercial holiday while also tackling the concept of “love at first sight” through protagonists Ally (Olivia Holt) and Jay (Mason Gooding, a casting that further hammers home the “Scream ripoff” allegations). After ordering the same weirdly specific modification to their drink, the two have a meet-cute at a coffee shop. They quickly experience a burgeoning feeling that they’d like to convey to each other. However, Ally has just gone through a break-up and isn’t ready to commit to anyone just yet, while Jay is rushing into things way too fast.

Even worse, the two are forced to work together after Ally’s boss, Crystal (Michaela Watkins), hires Jay in the wake of a scandal following an advertising campaign led by Ally that focused on murder and death. Let’s just say the audience reception for this ad, as the Heart Eyes Killer runs loose in Seattle and targets specific couples on Valentine’s Day, did not go over well. Because of this, Jay invites Ally to dinner to discuss ideas for a new publicity strategy.

The entire context of the dinner seems romantic, but Ally refuses Jay’s game of seduction until she sees her ex-boyfriend. They kiss in a public space to make him jealous and, as a result, accidentally make them the target of the killer, who is stalking couples at a popular restaurant on Valentine’s Day. That’s an admittedly fun conceit – the killer thinks they’re a couple and attempts to murder them, but, in reality, they are not. Or is this the beginning of a lifelong romance that will ultimately end in pure happiness? That could be, but there’s little fun in a movie where the audience is always twenty steps ahead of the script, no matter how devilishly enjoyable (and sometimes perverse) the kills may get.

This is a movie that desperately wants to be a cross between the Wes Craven days of Scream and George Mihalka’s My Bloody Valentine. Yet, it’s neither because the audience always knows what’s coming, despite how writers Phillip Murphy, Christopher Landon, and Michael Kennedy attempt to subvert classic slasher tropes throughout its runtime. Once all the characters are introduced and the moving pieces laid out in front of the audience, an astute moviegoer who has seen Craven’s Scream films can quickly figure out the killer’s identity and how the story will (more or less) wrap up. When some action set pieces reach levels of implausibility on how the killer operates from one place to the next, one could guess that more than one assailant is perpetrating the crimes. It’s not hard to put two and two together, especially if it is a film steeped in the tradition of Craven’s Scream. 

Part of the thrill of watching a slasher with a masked murderer is attempting to figure out who it is and always thinking we’re two steps ahead of the screenwriters. Instead, we fall straight into their trap and have our jaws dropped on the floor when the person committing the murders is ultimately revealed. Craven frequently pulled smart red herrings in Scream, which were always surprising whenever the killer’s real identity manifested itself. In Heart Eyes, the plot contains very few active thrills and zero surprises. Everything is telegraphed as soon as Ruben establishes Jay and Ally’s relationship and gives us slight pieces of information on the people assigned to uncover the identity of the Heart Eyes Killer, Detectives Hobbs (Devon Sawa) and Shaw (Jordana Brewster).

Yes, Hobbs & Shaw. Like the Fast & Furious characters. Get it? It’s hilarious because they make a meta-joke in front of Jordana Brewster, who has played a critical role in the Fast & Furious franchise over the years. How funny. This is the type of quip-heavy humor that permeates the entire runtime – jokes that think they’re amusing because they consistently wink at the audience, allowing them a slight pause in figuring out the reference before continuing or stopping the action in the middle of a scene of gratuitous violence and high-spirited thrills to lighten the mood.

Here’s an example. As Jay and Ally are violently chased by the Heart Eyes Killer, whose vicious nature is showcased as it patiently waits for Ally to return home to slay her when she opens her closet, the two demand a time-out to explain that they’re not a couple! Ha! But the killer doesn’t care, and neither does the audience. This overtly cynical humor could’ve worked in spades if the chemistry between Holt and Gooding felt palpable. However, since they lack any form of symbiosis and the filmmaker instead focuses on filling their screen time with as much pathos as possible, the overall result falls flat on its face.

Holt is a decent actor whose career-best turn in Marvel’s Cloak & Dagger has unfortunately fallen to the wayside because no one saw it. However, she’s profoundly miscast and can’t match Gooding’s effervescent, natural charm, who knows how to operate in front of the camera. It results in a listless pairing that’s only half-decent when it focuses on Jay, even if both characters are thinly developed beyond the romantic comedy attributes they’re given at the top of the movie. Gooding, as charming as he may be, can’t transcend the “typical hot guy who the protagonist will eventually fall in love with since our script is amazingly telegraphed” trope Ruben boxes him in from the start. On the other hand, Holt checks every box in the “female lead who hates love will learn to love again by meeting the perfect guy with zero flaws whatsoever, despite a mass murderer haunting their ass” category. 

Sure, some of the kills are creative. One set in a Westfalia is the film’s major highlight because it teeters with dark humor, which is what the movie should’ve bathed in the first place instead of being self-referential and quippy. It’s the only moment that genuinely made me laugh, as shockingly violent and explicitly specific as the kill may be, and it got a kick out of the audience, too. However, Ruben shrouds other kills in darkness through its flat cinematography or strobe lighting to make a violent scene less shocking. It especially feels cowardly not to go all in when, a few scenes later, we get that aforementioned Westfalia kill. 

Ruben then will juggle between scenes of extreme violence, such as its church-set climax, where Ally uses an unlikely weapon that has been teased to no end from the very minute it gets shown, or scenes that appear to be violent, but cut away from the kill, or hide it with some technical wizardry. It should come as no surprise that the most efficient scenes are the ones where we can see what’s going on, but even then, the pleasures of Ruben’s picture are only sparse since we know exactly who the murderers are and how Ally and Josh’s quasi-romantic story will end. This makes for a forgettable moviegoing experience that can never overcome its screenwriting platitudes despite occasional moments of inspiration that feel fun and cathartic but lacking in legitimate tension since everything can be easily guessed. 

The characters are so poorly written that one begs for Ruben to at least give us a form of connection or emotional heft to the stakes. Sadly, it never happens, resulting in a movie that’s best left to be ditched rather than giving it a chance. We’ve all heard that story too many times. That’s why it’s high time to break up with shoddy horror cinema and demand better movies in return. 

Grade: D+

Director:  Cristobal Abugaber
Writers: Cristobal Abugaber
Stars: Eligio Meléndez, María Meléndez, María Fernanda Ayala

Synopsis: An aging farmer refuses to leave his long standing way of life behind at the risk of losing what truly matters to him.

One of my most vivid childhood memories involves a car ride with my mom. She’s driving me to my weekly trombone lesson, a short trip that takes us past my old elementary school, just five minutes down the road from our house. Its sight leads me to tell her that I think I might like to become a teacher when I grow up; “I’ll teach English and coach the basketball team,” I say. She nearly slams on the brakes before asking why in the world I’d ever want to do that in the future, given how much I’ve always talked about wanting to go into sports broadcasting. (We see how that turned out, don’t we?) I think my main reasons for this fleeting dream were rather trite: Multiple breaks during the school year, summers off, and a built-in connection with fellow teachers and students, the likes of which I’d seen forming around me while attending school for the better part of my young life. That’s the key, though: At the time that I expressed this desire, school – and playing for my school basketball team, by extension – was all I knew, and at a glance, it seemed like an easy future. Plus, my mom was a teacher, which explains her alarm at the future career her child pondered for approximately three minutes before leaving it behind with the exhaust fumes that spurted out of our 2003 Chrysler Town & Country. 

Had I elected to pursue that fleeting path, one that I now understand to be relatively thankless and exhausting, I’m sure I would have found a semblance of happiness, but would I have been fulfilled? Of course, that’s an impossible question to answer, but I feel reasonably fulfilled as I continue to walk along the path I chose to take. I like that this idea is precisely what drives Cristobal Abugaber’s deeply moving short The Perfect Tomato, the internal conflict between two roads, the questions one asks oneself as one walks further down it, and what happens when external factors play a part in what direction you take next. 

Nacho (Eligio Meléndez), an aging and dedicated farmer who has spent decades working in fields and gardens alike, has lived a simple life that some might even go so far as to call “safe.” He hasn’t stopped working since he was a young man so as not to break from routine, and so that his work never remains in doubt, something he has long required in order to provide for his family. Abugaber’s opening scene sees Nacho and his granddaughter Maria (María Fernanda Ayala) working together in a greenhouse, the former describing growing patterns to the curious latter, who enjoys accompanying him perhaps just to stay occupied, though she’s a wise kid, one who seems aware of and drawn to his passion. As they travel home, sitting in a truck bed being driven by one of the farm’s many workers, we learn that her father is not in the picture, a presence that Nacho somewhat fills yet Maria still longs for; “Do you think he’ll ever try one of our tomatoes?” she asks, with Nacho telling her, “The United States is very big,” a way to let her down easy. 

Not long after they’ve returned home and sat down for dinner, Nacho’s daughter Elena (María Meléndez) informs him that she has an opportunity in front of her: the opening of a pottery store in the city. Nacho expresses disbelief at the notion that his daughter would be commuting from the countryside to the city each day, though she soon informs him that they would have to move. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Dad,” she tells him only after cinematography James Sweeney has cut away from a slow-zooming wide shot that captures the trio in a moment of change, a visual representation of Nacho’s walls closing in as his daughter’s horizons extend. It’s a moment of loss for him and a massive personal win for her, leading to a crossroads that is familiar in context yet singular within this family dynamic. Nacho believes that “the land has given [them] everything,” and that the money he could earn if promoted to working at the ranch’s urban distribution center would add nothing to their life. “More money? What else do you need?”

It’s an obvious conflict— “You’re giving up on your dream!”/“No, Dad. I’m giving up on yours—yet, it’s unique how Abugaber depicts it from Nacho’s perspective. Typically, we’d instinctively root on the child (grown or otherwise) whose ambitions are set to lead them to their promised land while booing the parent doing what they can to hold them back. Yet it’s difficult not to sympathize with a man who, in this situation, would be leaving behind everything he knows in order to fulfill someone else’s desires, even if that someone else is his own flesh and blood. Abugaber constructs this tension with great care, understanding the concerns of both parties and while the film’s resolution might feel clear to anyone who has ever seen a family-focused movie before, The Perfect Tomato’s conclusion ultimately resonates as one about the sacrifices we make for those we love, not what we lose when we concede to them. It’s clear that Abugaber understands that making choices for the betterment of our loved ones’ lives isn’t much of a loss at all but merely a different kind of gain. Even if it means that we must say goodbye to one form of comfort, as long as we are able to lean on those closest to us, we can discover it anew elsewhere. 

So, no, I never became a teacher. I also didn’t become a world-famous trombone player or a basketball coach that the staff at other schools feared when I walked into a gym. (I never had that presence anyway.) But life shifted for me in ways that I wouldn’t have dreamt of all those years ago while driving to Vince Ercolamento’s music school, and I’m endlessly grateful for every sacrifice I made, and for those that the people in my life have made for me, too. I intend on repaying them, and I intend on yielding in many more worthwhile ways when I have a family of my own. You can find comfort again; family, though, is a once-in-a-lifetime gift.

Grade: B

Director: Jonathan Eusebio
Writers: Matthew Murray, Josh Stoddard, Luke Passmore
Stars: Ke Huy Quan, Ariana DeBose, Mustafa Shakir, Marshawn Lynch

Synopsis: A hitman-turned-realtor is forced to confront his past.

I was excited for Love Hurts. I was ready to sit back and bask in the glow of the Ke Huy Quan Renaissance. The Academy Award winner from Everything Everywhere All at Once, best known to many as Short Round from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, has experienced a career resurgence in recent years. He’s charismatic, possesses talent far beyond his legendary childhood roles, and, in an industry where it’s increasingly rare, is known as one of the genuinely good guys in Hollywood.

Combined with the fact that Love Hurts comes from the producers of Nobody, the team that turned Bob Odenkirk into an action star, my excitement was through the roof. Then, add in one of the greatest reunions since Robert De Niro and Al Pacino shared coffee in Heat: Goonies alum Sean Astin embracing Ke Huy Quan in a heartfelt hug, delivering a dose of ’80s nostalgia we didn’t even know we needed. Oh yes, Love Hurts is poised to give any ’80s or ’90s kid the feels they’ve been missing.

However, as the film progresses, it becomes apparent that Love Hurts may be an obedience experiment comparable to Milgram. The action feels labored, the acting is stiff, and the characters are thinner than one of those Fatheads your kid slaps on their bedroom wall. The humor barely registers, and the dialogue is cringe-worthy at best. And let’s not forget—Love Hurts boasts the oddest romantic pairing since Lyle Lovett and Julia Roberts (or Pete Davidson and [insert name here]).

Yet, the screening I attended had people howling at the oddest moments, making me wonder if the crowd was being held against their will and laughing out of sheer desperation. I even made a note to Google it later—this might be the first documented case of boredom-induced hysteria. Apparently, I’m immune. 

The story follows Marvin Gable (Quan), who has just been named Real Estate Agent of the Year by his best friend, Cliff (Astin). Marvin loves his job, taking pride in finding the perfect home for every person, couple, or family. He bakes cookies for his coworkers, and everyone adores him—including his morbidly eccentric assistant (Crazy Love’s Lio Tipton), who remains loyally by his side. However, things take a sudden turn when a trained assassin known as the Raven (Mustafa Shakir) shows up at his office.

Why would such a beloved figure have such a violent enemy? Because Marvin is an ex-assassin himself—hiding in plain sight (with his face plastered all over town on real estate ads, no less) from his mobster brother, Knuckles (played by Quan’s American Born Chinese co-star Daniel Wu). Knuckles has just discovered that Marvin never completed his final assignment: murdering a coworker, Rose (Kraven’s Ariana DeBose—who, frankly, requires a serious career intervention), after she stole millions from Knuckles years ago.

Thankfully, director Jonathan Eusebio’s film clocks in at a merciful 83 minutes, which explains why it’s missing a second act. The movie is filled with repetitive nonsense and poorly staged action sequences that look more like slow, choreographed practice sessions that want to be Nobody or something from Chad Stahelski. The movie has weird ambitions, wanting to show action inside a microwave or a refrigerator, where you can hear punches being thrownbehind closed doors. The sequences are disengaging tired, and are nothing but filler. 

Then, there’s the elephant in the room: we’re supposed to believe in the romance between Quan and DeBose. I’m all for poking fun at past decades of pairing a weathered star with a 20-something woman (Entrapment, Six Days, Seven Nights, etc.), but the film takes the pairing seriously, and they have little to no chemistry. The film only works when Tipton and Shakir’s characters take a liking to each other, highlighting the film’s underlying problem. 

I can practically guarantee that the film started as a very dark comedy, but to sell the script, Love Hurts went through dozens of rewrites (the script is credited to three writers: Matthew Murray, Josh Stoddard, and Luke Passmore). Instead, we get scenes where Marshawn Lynch and André Eriksen unload machine gun fire into a couch, which somehow manages to stop all the bullets from hitting Quan. Then, for no apparent reason, they shoot above the couch for several minutes into a wall, even though the target is only five feet away and still lying on the ground, behind the feather-filled sofa.

I’m not sure who Love Hurts was made for: fans of diabetes-inducing boba tea, people who want to see the Property Brothers end their reign of terror on HGTV, or see DeBose’s career go up in flames, but after watching it, I can only assume love is an illusion and created by the good people at Hallmark and the corporation are the ones testing our resolve. 

Grade: D-

You can watch Love Hurts only in theaters on February 7th!

Director: Anders Lindwall
Writers: Missy Mareau Garcia, Michael Graf, Anders Lindwall
Stars: Craig T. Nelson, Brandon Sklenar, M. Emmet Walsh

Synopsis: A struggling family farmer wagers everything on a high-stakes Championship bet, while his granddaughter’s musical ambitions could be their ticket to a new beginning.

I have never been a big Star Trek fan and have always preferred Star Wars when given the choice. You can love both, but J.J. Abrams’ fresh take on the franchise—one that has been a television and cinematic staple for nearly six decades—changed my perspective. However, the latest entry, Star Trek: Section 31, seems to abandon what made the series unique to its core fan base.

For one, this installment leans heavily into horror, creating an unsettling tone that strays from audience expectations, even jettisoning core values and themes of the franchise. Additionally, it prioritizes shock value over meaningful character development. The franchise’s main characters always had well-rounded depth, making them compelling. Here, both heroes and villains have the same shallow presence as a redshirt.

In short, the plot of Star Trek: Section 31, the new characters, and the story all feel expendable.

In a flashback of Michelle Yeoh’s Philippa Georgiou origin story in her teenage years (played by Miku Martineau), as she returns to her home, she sits with her family—her mother, father, and sibling—recounting horrific stories of survival and the brutal acts she was forced to commit alongside her friend, San (James Huang), as they fought against other teenagers they were pitted against.

However, it soon becomes clear why she has returned: a contest to determine the next Emperor of the ruthless Terran Empire. Philippa and San are given a choice—whoever kills their immediate family will ascend to become the most powerful leader in the universe. San , guided by his morality, fails to carry out his duty. Georgiou, however, has no such hesitation. She poisons her entire family and enslaves her best friend.

Flash forward to the last time we saw Philippa. After leaving Star Trek: Discovery, she was sent to live out her days in the Prime Universe, running a club in the shadows under the alias Madame du Franc. She is tracked down by a Section 31 agent, Alok (Omari Hardwick), who needs her help recovering an ancient artifact—her ticket back to action and fame.

However, as is often the case, the past haunts Georgiou. She must now help her new team track down a weapon from her old universe—one that could bring about catastrophic consequences. Cue Jack Nicholson’s Colonel Nathan R. Jessup from A Few Good Men, as he says, “Is there another kind?”

You would hope that Academy Award winner Michelle Yeoh could elevate the material of Star Trek: Section 31, but she cannot. Yes, it is fun to watch Yeoh revel in the role—probably part of what attracted her to the project was the chance to let loose a bit, given that she often plays restrained, stoic, morally centered characters.

Yet, the final product feels like nothing more than a weak, unaired, and unproduced two- or three-episode Star Trek television arc that strays as far from the franchise’s origins as possible. (Rumor has it that this script was originally conceived as a spinoff pilot for a series based on Yeoh’s Star Trek: Discovery character.) Yes, I was never a big fan of the franchise, but I know who these entertainments are made for.

That’s because Star Trek: Station 31 steals from other (and far better) science fiction films instead of creating something original that aligns with the franchise’s core values. This is a rebranding of recycled material that simply doesn’t work. The film raises questions of morality without offering redemption and examines violence without legitimate consequences.

I’m all for shaking things up with a fresh perspective, but this entry doesn’t align with the original characters or series. Instead, it becomes so uneven that it’s practically stifling, unpleasant, and far from entertaining. 

Star Trek: Station 31 is not worth watching for new or hardcore fans. Whether you like Star Trek or not, Olatunde Osunsanmi’s film and Craig Sweeny’s script have the franchise in the middle of an existential crisis.

You can stream Star Trek: Section 31 exclusively on Paramount+!

Grade: D+

Director: Anders Lindwall
Writers: Missy Mareau Garcia, Michael Graf, Anders Lindwall
Stars: Craig T. Nelson, Brandon Sklenar, M. Emmet Walsh

Synopsis: A struggling family farmer wagers everything on a high-stakes Championship bet, while his granddaughter’s musical ambitions could be their ticket to a new beginning.

Green and Gold might initially be mistaken for a faith-based story. However, it is far from what the Kendrick or Erwin Brothers have produced over the past two decades. Instead, Green and Gold take a holistic approach to its subtext; emphasizing humility, providence, and harmony with nature. No, the film Green and Gold is not quite The Good Earth. However, Anders Lindwall respects one of America’s oldest and most revered industries: farming. 

The film particularly highlights the real struggles faced when land becomes too valuable to be used for growing food. Lindwall’s script maintains an even tone and pace, weaving themes while seamlessly tying together universal subplots of family, faith, and personal passion.

One might wish they had left out the football subplot entirely, as it sometimes feels unnecessary and distracting, but still works.

The story follows Buck (The Incredibles’s Craig T. Nelson), a man struggling to maintain a family farm that has endured for four generations. Buck has taken on a mountain of debt to keep the land in his name, while a local banker (Tim Frank) has been handing out distressed loans across the county—only to foreclose on them as quickly as possible. Why? So he can flip the land into commercial properties.

There is a real sense of community in Green and Gold. Local farmers—one played by the great character actor M. Emmet Walsh—band together, finding joy in small moments but also enduring immense hardship. In the worst of times, some of these proud men, broken by inevitable foreclosures, find themselves with shotguns in their mouths, teetering on the edge of despair. Buck’s granddaughter, Jenny (Juniper’s Madison Lawlor), often sings at his side, her voice a desperate plea, trying to bring them back from that brink. 

Jenny is talented, performing her original songs at local Wisconsin dive bars at night. On Sundays, she and Buck sneak away from church to watch their beloved Green Bay Packers play. But everything changes when Buck’s wife, Margaret (The Amityville Horror’s Annabel Armour), crosses paths with a country star (It Ends with Us’s Brandon Sklenar), who offers Jenny the chance of a lifetime. She must then choose between her family and her dreams. 

One of the most effective subplots is the sense of community. The film doubles down on this concept, weaving together the bond between a community of farmers and their shared love for the Green Bay Packers. While the latter reinforces the film’s themes, it sometimes feels like a contrived plot device that wasn’t entirely necessary to drive the story forward.

That said, as someone from the land of snowflakes and chicken wings, I can attest that football obsession is very real. Where I’m from, you don’t say goodbye—you say, “Go Bills!” In Green and Gold, you’ll notice that every leaf seems to whisper, “Go Pack!” That’s where the film feels a bit forced—Buck bets the banker that if the Packers win the Super Bowl, he’ll get another year to save his farm from foreclosure. The subplot is a cliché, but it adds some authentic color and character if nothing else.

Or maybe I’m annoyed that no one has written a movie like this for my beloved Buffalo Bills. It’s hard to say.

The movie works because Lindwall’s script weaves everything together through Jenny’s eyes and faith. She was raised by her grandparents—farmers who are the salt of the earth. Her songs reflect her experiences and values; things she holds dear. It’s refreshing how the characters feel believable in their predictability—just as real people’s behaviors often are. The writing never wavers or leads them off course. Lindwall has the discipline to keep truth always within reach of the characters he writes for.

I did enjoy the performances. Sklenar is believable as a musician trying to use someone else’s ideals to market his own. Nelson is grizzled and weathered but always finds a way to land his performance straight on your funny bone. Armour shares a poignant scene with Nelson, filled with melancholy over their shared trauma. Finally, Lawlor is the glue that holds the film together, delivering some of the film’s most charming lines—like when she warns never to trust a man who searches for a fishing spot without a pole.

Green and Gold is far from perfect. Many may find the Field of Dreams-like ending a bit much, but it’s worth watching because it’s well-made, self-assured, and clearly understands its target audience. Lindwall’s film is an engrossing working-class story about faith, farming, and football—a love letter to those who pride themselves on being salt-of-the-earth.

Grade: B-

Directors: Andrew Zuchero, Sam Zuchero
Writers: Sam Zuchero, Andrew Zuchero
Stars: Kristen Stewart, Steven Yeun

Synopsis: A postapocalyptic romance in which a buoy and a satellite meet online and fall in love after the end of human civilization.

If nothing else, credit must be given where it’s due regarding Sam and Andy Zuchero’s debut feature film, Love Me. The Zucheros have crafted a film that feels startlingly alive, refreshingly unpretentious, and creatively demonstrates that life is full of endless possibilities. Perhaps most importantly, it reminds us that our short time on Earth has no ceiling on what we can make of it.

And if not, fake it until you make it. 

The story follows the most extraordinary love story the world has ever known—well, at least because there’s no humanity left on Earth after an unknown event wiped out all humankind across the globe. So, naturally, the romance unfolds between a weather buoy and a satellite. Yes, you read that correctly. Kristen Stewart plays a floating navigational marker named “Me” and has the ability to feel and perceive human emotions. Steven Yeun portrays a celestial piece of rickety tin orbiting Earth, who “Me” refers to as “Iam,” carrying vital information about humankind.

The plot is hard to pin down because, both visually and narratively, the experience is designed to be genre-bending and resistant to categorization. Love Me blends live-action, animation, and screenlife sequences to tell an eclectic story of love and yearning. While at times heavy-handed, the film explores how these two tangible objects—using not the tools of God but those created by humans—embark on an anthropic journey toward personhood. Along the way, they discover connection, adventure, beauty, meaning, joy, purpose, and love, ultimately completing each other.

The Zuchero’s story follows a familiar structure seen in many films that use a unique backdrop to explore what it means to be human. For instance, in the HBO show Barry, the titular character—a sociopath—turns to an acting class as a means of searching for his humanity. Similarly, Love Me uses the filmmakers’ script as a lens to examine the difference between what is real and what is artificial, starting with the vanity of online social media profiles and leading to a more profound journey of self-discovery.

The concept is especially compelling in today’s society, where artificial intelligence is often viewed as a potential threat to human autonomy. For example, Stewart’s “Me” relies on Yeun’s “Iam” and his vast knowledge of the Internet, engaging in subtle conformity and social mimicry to determine personal likes and dislikes. As their search deepens, both characters evolve—reflected in the transformation of the animation and their avatars—creating the illusion of growth and, in turn, adding substance to the story.

However, the approach feels somewhat vain. If “Me” has access to the vast resources of humanity’s beauty, we can assume everything was uploaded to “Iam’s” database. So why couldn’t Earth’s new favorite couple, “Miamie” or “Sataloy,” explore the worlds of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince, Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, or Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables to underscore the point? Why stop there? They could experience the wonder of music with Claude Debussy’s “Clair de Lune,” Beethoven’s “Symphony No. 9 (Ode to Joy),” or— for God’s sake—Mike McCready’s guitar solo from Pearl Jam’s “Alive.” Or better yet, how about the chicken dance in Arrested Development? But I digress. 

Yet, we understand that this visual medium is designed to examine what is artificial and explore whether it can be used to find beauty in the world. While the filmmakers make amends by going beyond the artificial, they miss an opportunity to underscore the theme and subtext more profoundly.

I can admit that Love Me can be overly sentimental at times, but that’s because emotions run high when experiencing life’s milestones for the first time. While the story may be stretched too thin, and its ambition outpaces its execution, we shouldn’t punish a film for attempting a unique angle to bridge the gap between what often feels like the vast, impossible search for human connection and the endless void of space. 

The Zucheros take real chances with Love Me, which makes the film a journey worth taking. Just like, yada yada yada, love itself. 

You can watch Love Me now only in theaters.

Grade: B

Director: Mohammad Rasoulof
Writers: Mohammad Rasoulof
Stars: Soheila Golestani, Missagh Zareh, Setareh Maleki

Synopsis: Investigating judge Iman grapples with paranoia amid political unrest in Tehran. When his gun vanishes, he suspects his wife and daughters, imposing draconian measures that strain family ties as societal rules crumble.

The Seed of the Sacred Fig begins with a man reading verses from the Quran, the central religious text of Islam. When I read the initial Cannes reactions on Twitter, some international critics mentioned that people laughed whenever scenes with people reciting the Quran were on screen. I rolled my eyes—typical, I thought—but I had to see what Mohammad Rasoulof brought to the table with his rebellious gem.

From the first minute, Rasoulof shows that it is not a happy world. The atmosphere is gloomy and oppressive, scenes are almost completely drenched in darkness and opaque color tones. All the women have head covers and some of them, especially the young girls, have been forced to wear them. In a seemingly innocent family celebration in a restaurant, because the father got promoted to an investigator to a judge of the Revolutionary Court, the mother recites a list of forbidden things and precautions to her two daughters, one right after the other is taken away from them as reality hits them; this promotion comes with a price, and it seems that the women have to pay it.

The film takes place during the Mahsa Amini protests, a tumultuous time in Iran’s already troubled history. The environment is not good for anyone, but especially so for women. What the movie lacks is a three-dimensional depiction of the three main female protagonists, Najmeh (Soheila Golestani), Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) and Sana (Setareh Maleki). The mother-daughters trio is what makes this feature more compelling but also what could’ve taken it to another dimension of greatness, had their polarizing personalities been explored further. As strict and tradition-bound as Najmeh is, Rezvan and Sana are rebellious and religion-antagonistic. But the lack of depth that other films about religious, non-Muslim characters (the latest example that comes to mind is Heretic) pride themselves on is what makes this film another Western festival crowd-pleaser. Muslims are either fanatics or abandoning the ship en totale. There’s never an actual crisis of faith or someone questioning their religion in a Muslim-centric plot. Even if there is one of those rare gems -the Hulu series Ramy comes to mind as an honest, unflinching depiction of Muslims wrestling with their religious identity and navigating what that means- Rasoulof’s film is not one of them.

Returning to the visual aesthetic of the film, Pooyan Aghababaei’s cinematography is perfect. His light and shadow work is out of this world. And yet, sadly, unlike other cinematographers of films that have received immense coverage in 2024, no one can find an interview with Aghababaei to listen to his methodology or his artistic vision. The cast and crew of the film -except Rasoulof- have not been giving interviews due to legality and fear of punishment. After all, the director has been sentenced to eight years in prison, flogging, among other accusations by the Iranian authorities. So those artists are strictly prohibited from promoting their film or explaining their artistry. The whole situation is sad; a great film but the cast and crew can rarely be traced to revel in their rightful celebration. What makes the movie more impactful are the turbulent consequences of its release.

As a film critic, it’s difficult sometimes to bring my views and beliefs to the table. The Seed of the Sacred Fig paints a disturbing image of a totalitarian religious society. I struggle to discover why some Muslim critics found the movie catering to the Western world when it paints a realistic -if a bit glum- image of what happens when religion has the upper hand in controlling a nation, which as of now, looking at the world at large is no longer a reality too far away. But I also understand their frustration with the lack of complexity that Islam receives in contrast to other more popular religions. Whenever you have a great film about someone struggling with doubt or having a crisis of faith, a Muslim character doesn’t seem to have the intellectual capacity to undergo that sophisticated character arc. 

On the other hand, Rasoulof doesn’t necessarily raise the alarm for what would happen if religion rules the world with an iron grip, but stretches a genuine story from his society making it as vivid as possible, to draw eerie comparisons to other parts of the world. I found this movie important and scary, not as flirting with the Western award heads as I thought it would be. The fetishized version of Islamist societies will always be controversial, due to the lack of proper Muslim representation in global works of art, but the dark side of totalitarian, religious governments is something we can’t ignore at the same time. 

Grade: A-

Director: Wuershan
Writers: Ran Ping, Ran Jianan, Wuershan
Stars: Yu Shi, Kris Phillips, Nashi

Synopsis: Taishi Wen Zhong led the army of the Shang Dynasty, including Deng Chenyu and four generals of the Mo Family to Xiqi. With the help of Kunlun immortals such as Jiang Ziya, Ji Fa leads the army and civilians of Xiqi to defend their homeland.

An adaptation of Xu Zhonglin’s Investiture of the Gods has been on Wuershan’s mind since 2014, after he gained considerable experience in blockbuster filmmaking, helming such differing works as The Butcher, the Chef and the Swordsman, The Resurrection: Painted Skin, and Mojin: The Lost Legend. In 2018, cameras began to roll for one of the most ambitious productions in Chinese cinema history: three parts, shot back-to-back, spanning several decades in chronicling the overthrow of the Shang Dynasty through mythologically charged images and parallel narratives. In some ways, one can compare what Wuershan is doing to Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy, which was once touted as unfilmable and far too ambitious, and went on to become a commercial success and received multiple accolades, including the Academy Award for Best Picture for the final part of the trilogy The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.

The jury is still out on whether or not Wuershan will deliver a towering conclusion with the final part of the Creation of the Gods trilogy, but as it stands, the first two installments are some of the most inspiring mainland Chinese films made in a very long time. The first part, Kingdom of Storms, contained one visually expressive action scene after another and created a singular cinematic language that, no matter how far-fetched or galaxy-brained some of the images may look, you ultimately bought into its proposition, even if nothing (and I genuinely mean nothing) is explained to the audience. It just is. 

For people who like to have their hands held, entering the Investiture of the Gods may feel daunting. Wuershan directly thwarts you in the story, with little to no contextualization, and demands of you to put the pieces together in its constant shifting from one narrative arc to the next, with no meaningful denouement until, of course, the final part. However, for the audiences who fully accept its endless imagination at capturing vivifying action and potent moments of drama through the immersive lens of IMAX, the viewing experience on a gargantuan screen will be incredibly rewarding.

In that regard, the second installment, Demon Force, acts like Wuershan’s The Two Towers. Not only does it follow the same broken storylines of Jackson’s second installment, alternating between several characters on their own mini-adventure before most of them eventually intersect, but it also culminates in a battle scene where all forces must stand together to protect one village (their version of Rohan/Helm’s Deep). Of course, it’s far more out-there in its presentation of dazzling visual effects and sequences no person who isn’t blazed out of their damn mind could come up with, but the similarities in its pace and structure are staggering. 

The Fengshen Bang plays a significant role in the battle of Xiqi, between lord Ji Fa (Yu Shi) and King Yin Shou (Kris Phillips), who vie for control of the Investiture of the Gods. A good chunk of the narrative is dedicated to scattershot exposition, either in depicting the King’s plan of taking over the Fengshen Bang under the influence of her concubine, Daji (Narana Erdyneeva), who, in the last film, was possessed by a Demon Fox, or in setting up a romance between Ji Fa and Deng Chanyu (Nashi), a general in the Shang dynasty who eventually grows fond of Xiqi’s lord. Her loyalty to the Shang dynasty will be tested when the Grand Perceptor Wen Zhong (Wu Hsing-kuo) tasks her to kidnap Jiang Ziya (Huang Bo), a former Kunlun immortal carrying the Fengshen Bang.

But can she accomplish the task when Xiqi is set to be destroyed through Wen absorbing the moon’s powers with his third eye and creating “eye portals” that paralyze its inhabitants to death, including someone for whom she has developed strong affection? This moral question is at the front and center of Demon Force’s storytelling, even if the narrative this time around is way more fragmented than the first. At its best, Demon Force contains bravura action sequences of great technical and kinetic mastery, with one occurring early on in the picture that is a cathartic fistfight between Deng Chenyu and Ji Fa worthy of Chang Cheh that made my jaw drop in pure awe.

These scenes, while occurring on sparser occasions than the first, look as astonishing as they did in Kingdom of Storms and are perhaps even more ambitious when one views the climax. That entire battle looks and feels impossible to visualize, especially when one takes into consideration Ne Zha’s (Wu Yafan) and Yang Jian’s (Ci Sha) place in the battle, flying around the environment as they attempt to avoid the paralyzing powers of Wen’s eye moon portals. Wuershan also does justice to Ne Zha in ways that no Chinese film has ever depicted, and draws the best interpretation of the character seen in any movie. Describing how they engage in the action through words is futile. It’s something you have to experience – and feel – for yourself because when such a set piece is over, you may think that cinema has evolved in a completely new direction than before. 

Narratively, though, Demon Force doesn’t have the same emotional potency as the first installment. That may be because none of the storylines Wuershan expands in his middle chapter are resolved in any way, except for Deng Chenyu and Ji Fa’s relationship, which is arguably the best part of the movie. Representing a burgeoning love that grows far stronger as Xiqi becomes the target of a cataclysmic attack, Nashi portrays Chenyu with a stark emotional complexity that makes us feel for her plight as soon as the two characters lock arms up until its sobering conclusion. 

When the climax is set in motion, our investment in other character arcs isn’t as substantial as when the focus is directly on Ji Fa and Deng Chenyu. However, their presence elevates some of the larger-than-life stakes developed through its IMAX photography and always ensures we’re on our toes as the story continues to over-complexify itself to set the stage for a truly memorable ending with its planned third installment. 

What Wuershan has so far depicted on screen is so creative and of sincerity in its image and mythmaking that it becomes hard to resist its audaciousness, something that feels rare in the stale moviegoing era we currently live in.  Demon Force gets even crazier when a caption tells us to remain seated during the end credits (thank you very much, honestly, I wish every movie would do this) for not one but THREE five-minute-long stingers to prepare us for the third installment. After what was shown, I will be there for Creation Under Heaven on day one – and that’s a guarantee.

Grade: A-