Director: Scott Derrickson
Writer: Zach Dean
Stars: Miles Teller, Anya Taylor-Joy, Sigourney Weaver

Synopsis: Two highly-trained operatives become close after being sent to protect opposite sides of a mysterious gorge. When an evil emerges, they must work together to survive what lies within.

The Gorge is undeniably entertaining but feels like a collection of incomplete ideas hastily stitched together. The leads are charming and share genuine chemistry, while the opening sequence delivers action and occasional thrills. Yet, just as a scene transitions into an exciting development, it is often undercut by a lazy explanation.

To make matters worse, the film seems unsure of its own identity, veering wildly from an ’80s coming-of-age indie comedy to a flimsy monster movie that rigidly follows the genre playbook—step by step, as Sgt. Al Powell would say. The Gorge is frustrating, and the filmmakers missed the mark on their potential.

This is a 10-part miniseries crammed into a 120-minute film.

The Gorge follows former United States Marine Levi (Whiplash’s Miles Teller), one of the three greatest long-range snipers the world has ever known. Now a mercenary who occasionally works for the government, Levi is haunted by his dreams, relying on three and a half ounces of whiskey each night to manage his nightmares. And no, he can’t take prescribed medication—its side effects would compromise his professional abilities.

Levi is approached by Bartholomew (Sigourney Weaver), a government “spook” who loves his Army record and the fact that if he dies on this mission, no one will care. Levi accepts, flown to an undisclosed location to live in a lookout tower to relieve J.D. (Sope Dirisu), who has been manning his post for over a year, and to keep an eye on a narrow valley encased by fog.

According to J.D., Levi is taking over and securing the gates of hell. 

Across from the edge of a deep, impenetrable gorge with slippery rock walls stands Drasa (Furiosa’s Anya Taylor-Joy), a Russian mercenary and Levi’s Eastern counterpart. She has just said goodbye to her father, who is dying of cancer. Drasa and Levi begin communicating through pen and paper—a detail that, I’ll admit, is rather adorable—until they witness what emerges from the gorge. Then, all hell breaks loose.

The Gorge was directed by Scott Derrickson and written by The Tomorrow War’s Zach Dean. Both of those films were well-received, featuring tighter, more coherent storytelling and a clear sense of identity. Dean’s script borrows tropes from various genres, attempting to graft them onto a horror backdrop that never quite fits. Meanwhile, Derrickson, who captivated audiences with The Black Phone, fails to create the sense of unease that should be a staple of any monster film.

Instead, both seem more preoccupied with a romance that never earns its keep.

Yes, Teller and Taylor-Joy’s chemistry is simply that of two good-looking people finding each other attractive. The film’s most entertaining scene has them flirting across the gorge while firing guns at monsters creeping up the walls—a spectacle that serves as the most blatant metaphor for sex since Mr. & Mrs. Smith, with both of them spraying bullets all over the gorge. Yet, the script bypasses any meaningful overtures to establish real love, instead relying on a single night in bed as justification for them risking their lives for each other.

We learn nothing about these characters that would help us understand their motivations or actions. Instead, the film uses this lack of depth as an excuse to propel them into increasingly absurd action sequences, all in pursuit of uncovering the “truth” behind why they’re there—the most cornball example of action-plot maneuvering since Independence Day. 

They even manage to turn on modern computer systems despite supposedly being shut down since World War II. 

Oh, and somehow, they have an endless supply of bullets without reloading, show zero signs of trauma, and keep going strong after 72 hours of nonstop fighting against creatures, bad guys, and the impending end of the world? The Gorge leaves no room to breathe, explore character motivations, or develop into something truly thrilling, meaningful, or honest.

Instead, it strings together loosely connected plot holes with clichés that feel more like cinematic CliffsNotes than a story you can fully immerse yourself in—for better or worse.

You can stream The Gorge on Apple TV+ on February 14th!

Grade: C-

Director: Dougal Wilson
Writers: Mark Burton, Jon Foster, James Lamont
Stars: Hugh Bonneville, Ben Whishaw, Antonio Banderas

Synopsis: Paddington returns to Peru to visit his beloved Aunt Lucy, who now resides at the Home for Retired Bears. With the Brown family in tow, a thrilling adventure ensues when a mystery plunges them into an unexpected journey.

It’s futile to think that Paddington in Peru could ever be as good, if not better, than Paddington 2. Yet many moviegoers were ready to throw in the towel and prematurely qualify the latest installment in Heyday Films’ adaptation of Michael Bond’s children’s stories as a disappointment because director Paul King went on to make Wonka, and Sally Hawkins did not return to portray Mrs. Brown. Why would you ever doubt one of the most lovable characters in all of children’s media, one who has stood the test of time and became a staple of British culture long before King brought him to life on the screen in 2015 is beyond me, but such is the Film Twitter bubble, I guess. 

Of course, you can’t top Paddington 2. That film will likely be considered one of the greatest sequels in cinema history a few decades from now (many already strongly think it is). But does Paddington in Peru truly need to? Absolutely not, especially when what’s on-screen retains the same charm and imagination that King laid forward in the first two movies, even if Sally Hawkin’s absence does linger on the family dynamic. With respect to Emily Mortimer, who gives a fine portrayal of Mary Brown, the relationship she has with Hugh Bonneville’s Henry Brown, alongside her children Judy (Madeleine Harris) and Jonathan (Samuel Joslin), doesn’t connect as strongly as it did when Hawkins played the character. 

But that’s about the only glaring “flaw” Dougal Wilson’s endearing third entry in the Paddington saga has. It retains the same levels of charm and wonder as the first two movies, notably in the wondrous visual language returning cinematographer Erik Wilson gives to Windsor Gardens as the titular character (voiced again by Ben Whishaw) has since he became a British citizen from the last time we left him in the arms of Aunt Lucy (Imelda Staunton). How a marmalade-loving bear can receive citizenship in the United Kingdom, I have no idea, but it’s part of what makes these movies so ineffably fun. Paddington is a British icon, after all, so why can’t he become a citizen? There’s your answer. 

However, the celebration in the Brown household is short-lived when Paddington receives a letter from The Reverend Mother (Olivia Colman) of the Home of Retired Bears that tells him his Aunt Lucy has gone missing. With Mrs. Bird (Julie Walters) tagging along, the family travels to Peru, hoping to reunite Paddington with his beloved aunt. Upon their arrival, they are quickly thrust into a treasure hunt after the discovery that Lucy ran away from her home in search of the mythical El Dorado, which gold-obsessed boat captain Hunter Cabot (Antonio Banderas) is also looking for with his daughter Gina (Carla Tous). 

This classic treasure-hunting story doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but neither did the first two installments. I don’t recall Paddington and Paddington 2 being movies that took drastic risks with their storytelling. How they were executed made these films impact young and old audiences alike. King took what looked like a simple story on the surface and elevated it with note-perfect humor and eye-widening aesthetics that profoundly touched generations of children and might even make some of them believe in the magic of moviemaking. There hasn’t been a great live-action family franchise in forever. Studios have grown out of touch with what truly resonates with children and gives them genuine emotional power, especially in the live-action world. They’d rather spend money on Harold and the Purple Crayon or Lyle, Lyle Crocodile, equally horrific pictures that set the now stale world of children’s cinema back to potentially irredeemable depths.

That’s why it feels so special to have Paddington go, this time around, on a larger-than-life adventure with set pieces inspired by Indiana Jones, Werner Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo, and perhaps splashes of James Gray’s The Lost City of Z. There are obvious visual cues sprinkled throughout, but even for the children who are uninitiated to adventure cinema, Paddington in Peru has enough highly-imaginative sequences of pure whimsical energy that it becomes hard to resist what Wilson ultimately offers in front of us, especially when the titular character hasn’t lost his comedic touch from the second film, despite a change in the director’s chair. 

A shipwreck sequence with Paddington attempting to drive the boat but further endangering it to be destroyed by the moving rapids? This is Paddington’s homage to Herzog’s film, and anyone who isn’t grinning ear-to-ear during this sequence may not like cinema. I don’t make the rules. Or how about an entire climax set in front of the entrance to El Dorado featuring a boulder, marmalade-loving llamas, and a rare, venomous spider? Absolute peak, if I do say so myself. What makes both of these scenes work so well isn’t so much the well-timed humor of Whishaw’s vocal turn as Paddington but how Wilson always communicates with Erik Wilson’s camera to continuously be in service of the protagonist’s actions.

Notice how he stages the climax. We always follow Paddington despite often showcasing Cabot running after the bear. How the camera moves during a specific moment where he attempts to hide (without much success) from the antagonist side-scrolls to his angle and never breaks it until editor Úna Ní Dhonghaíle cross-cuts to the Brown family’s antics on a moving plane dubbed as “The Miracle.” Rarely have we seen, in modern family cinema, such impeccable precision in its cutting, where every single editorial choice creates a level of tension and excitement as Paddington’s journey reaches its death-defying conclusion. It’s always in service of the story, first and foremost, and nothing else. 

It, of course, stays well within the confines of family entertainment, but one can’t deny the formal edge it has over literally every other live-action children’s offering made in this decade. The exterior shot of the plane traveling to Peru visualizes the aircraft through papier mâché, while the finale is all about celebrating the legacy of adventure films, putting Paddington in a series of mild thrills that Wilson elevates through surprisingly kinetic visual style and dynamic editing. There’s always a sense of play in how the camera moves within the scene or in how Dhonghaíle cuts from one frame to the next. It always focuses on the protagonist, and that’s primarily why these movies have always worked like a charm.

Yes, the family dynamic between Paddington and the Browns remains rock-solid. And the additions of Olivia Colman, Antonio Banderas, and Carla Tous all bring newfound vigor to the proceedings. Banderas revels in a Phoenix Buchanan-type performance (though Hunter’s ‘other selves’ are descendants haunting his mind as ghosts, not disguises to foil Paddington et al.) and has tons of fun attempting to overcome his family’s curse, while Tous impresses in a genuine breakout turn. I wonder how different it would’ve been had Rachel Zegler stayed on the project (she was sadly forced to exit, as the film was shot during the SAG-AFTRA strike), but I doubt the relationship between father and daughter would’ve been as genuine as it feels here.

Above all else, though, there’s Paddington, and Whishaw brings the same soft-heartedness as he did in the first two movies and gets even more emotional than the second film’s ending upon finding out what El Dorado holds in store for him. What it is, I will not tell you. But when you discover it on your own, it will be very difficult to hold back tears. There wasn’t a dry eye in the cinema during a sold-out promotional screening, myself included. Sometimes, it feels right to cry, especially when you have Paddington at your side, reminding us that there is always good to be found in a world that feels drearier by the minute. In that sense, Paddington in Peru arrives at the perfect time and is primed to capture our hearts yet again for some much-needed escapism from the dark clouds of reality.

Navel-gazing cynics may nitpick at elements they really shouldn’t care about because when such joyful exuberance reminds you of life’s pleasures, perhaps it’s best just to sit back and have fun. Some movies demand it. Paddington in Peru is undoubtedly one of those. 

Grade: A

Director: Bernard MacMahon
Writers: Bernard MacMahon, Allison McGourty
Stars: John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page, Robert Plant

Synopsis: The film traces the journeys of the four members of the Stairway To Heaven rockers through the music scene of the 1960s and their meeting in the summer of 1968, culminating in 1970.

As far as estate-approved (or, in more politically correct terms, “authorized”) documentaries go, Becoming Led Zeppelin is likely the least offensive of the bunch. Do we learn anything new about the band’s formation? For those unfamiliar with Led Zeppelin, you’ll probably think the documentary is insightful. On the flip side, hardcore fans may not find anything of note, yet will probably give it five stars anyway. Does it go deep enough to warrant a two-hour runtime and an IMAX exclusive run? Not really. Is it still somewhat interesting enough? I certainly found value in Bernard MacMahon’s exploration of how John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, and John Bonham became a powerhouse in rock music, even when the odds were stacked against them. 

It’s a tale as old as time. Newfound friends with talent in various instruments form a band that wants to be at the forefront of a revolution in music. The press scolds them, and the mainstream audience doesn’t get what they’re doing, leading to a particularly hilarious moment that sees the band play live in front of a crowd that covers their ears and looks at the stage utterly perplexed. Yet, in the underground sphere, they experienced a success never-before-seen that eventually touched the mainstream consciousness with the arrival of their second studio album, Led Zeppelin II. For those looking for a complete picture of the band’s history, MacMahon doesn’t offer much in that regard. He stops after the release of II because the rest, as the kids say, is history. Instead, Becoming Led Zeppelin is all about their origin story, examining how they carved a place in rock music history. 

Well, I wouldn’t necessarily say “examines” in a purely academic sense since most of it is told through anecdotes from the talking head testimonies of Plant, Page, and Jones. MacMahon also gives a decent amount of space to the late Bonham by way of an archival interview that has never been heard previously. The band’s drummer lived a relatively secluded life and gave few interviews throughout his sadly short time on this Earth. That’s why it feels so important to include his own words in the documentary, as a testament to his lasting legacy and a recognition of the energy and talent he brought to Led Zeppelin that otherwise wouldn’t have given them the distinct sound they had. 

Even if MacMahon’s documentary doesn’t cover their most influential album, Led Zeppelin IV, one who watches Becoming Led Zeppelin with a personal connection with the band will always contrast what the figures say with their lived-in experiences of discovering their music. For me, as for many people, their first experience was IV, and specifically “Rock and Roll.” When Bonham’s intro widened my ears, it forced me to explore corners of music I never expected to discover and hear what true “rock” really is. That’s why hearing Bonham and letting him discuss his upbringing in the documentary is far more respectful than having Page or Plant speak on his behalf. Instead, MacMahon has them react to his interview and show them footage they’ve never seen. 

The camera lightly pans as they see and hear things the estate had in possession but have personally not listened to or observed until they sat in front of the filmmaker and began work on the documentary. It feels honest when Page discusses their first festival in London, having never seen the raw material and remembering their earlier days as young adults quickly thrust into a voracious world primed to eat him alive. It did, but the movie never explores this, let alone talks about the band in a broader context beyond their musical creations. There’s a brief mention of drug use with the throwaway line, “We did a lot of drugs.” Duh. Still, it completely sanitizes Bonham’s personal struggles, which sadly led to his demise, and is deathly afraid of criticizing any aspect of their frequently debaucherous behavior. 

That’s where the “estate-approved” part of the whole package comes in. It’s all about painting them as saints and less about excavating a knife to genuinely explore the band beyond their successes and showcase them as the flawed, tormented geniuses they all are. Of course, this sanitization doesn’t feel as egregious as making Mike Love the hero of Frank Marshall and Thom Zimny’s horrendous The Beach Boys hagiography. However, the PG rating of MacMahon’s IMAX documentary ensures that the movie never discusses elements the surviving band members don’t want to recall. That’s fine, in isolation, if these stories weren’t publicized. But they were, which makes this film feel particularly gutless, especially in our current era of incuriosity where challenging beliefs and preconceptions seems unwelcomed. 

I won’t deny their musical prowess and how they paved the way for avant-garde innovation to be accepted within what is considered “popular music.” The movie certainly discusses this through Jimmy Page explaining how it was important to break all expectations on their single for Led Zeppelin II, “Whole Lotta Love.” This section is the best technical exercise MacMahon gives to the movie: a sequence of visual and sonic euphoria where the song is played in full after Page talks about how it was structured differently from the usual verse/chorus patterns. It’s a richly layered and well-executed moment, and well worth the price of admission to experience this explosion of color and sound on IMAX. Still, it’s the only moment of note that justifies wanting to see this documentary in a large format. 

The rest of it is hit or miss. The anecdotes are fun, and it’s great to see the band members discuss their meteoric, almost overnight, rise in their own words. However, these only go so far when the director isn’t allowed to actively question the figures and talk about Led Zeppelin beyond the façade they want to paint in. Any “authorized” movie or documentary will not be a complete portrait of the people they depict since they don’t want any negativity, which will critically flesh out the story to be discussed. It’s why Ezra Edelman’s nine-hour-long “estate-approved” documentary on Prince will never see the light of day because the filmmaker unearthed stories of abuse from the singer that the estate does not want the public to know, thus leading Netflix to cancel the release of the documentary altogether. 

What good is documentary filmmaking for if we’re not allowed to properly document and question the people we’re talking to for our films? Sure, it can discuss the highs, but it should undoubtedly do more than the bare minimum. Of course, that may mean fans won’t eat it up because the “saints” they’ve envisioned them as will be immediately broken as soon as MacMahon does more than us, the remaining members as fodder so they can pat themselves on the back. And all we want is to please the fans, right?? Right???

After Peter Clifton and Joe Massot gave us the ultimate Zeppelin experience and put us inside their ever-shifting headspace with the experimental concert film The Song Remains the Same, one hoped MacMahon would give the band a full-fledged portrait that’s more complicated than the central figures talking about how great they are. We knew that already, but what about everything else? The estate has spoken. These stories won’t be released anytime soon, and probably never. 

Grade: C+

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+