Director: Rupert Wyatt
Writers: Erica Beeney, Gary Ross, David Self, Rupert Wyatt
Stars: Anthony Mackie, Aiysha Hart, Sami Bouajila

Synopsis: An honorable and mysterious rogue makes himself an enemy of the Emperor Kisra after he helps a fugitive king and princess in the desert.

Studios used to supply multiplexes with several mid-budget medieval and sword and sandal spectacles every year. Much like the studio family drama and rom-com, these films have been pushed to streamers in favor of the next swing at an already vetted IP. Though, much like the family drama and the rom-com, epics of the dark ages are slowly trickling back into theaters from a few of the more intrepid mid-sized distributors. Even though they command fewer screens than they used to, they can at least get a portion of their budget back before VOD and streamer negotiations. Some have even had modest successes at the box office. Desert Warrior harkens back to a time when we had middle-of -the-road spectacles to keep us company between the awards bait of the fall and winter and the all-out blockbusters of the summer.

The film’s story is very simple. It’s got kings, concubines, a mad emperor, disparate tribes coming together, and a lone warrior who reluctantly joins the fight to stand against evil. It’s a very standard genre film. Most of the performances are competent and unflashy. The dramatic turns are well foreshadowed and the villains are appropriately savage. It’s not attempting to reinvent the wheel or do anything more than entertain. 

What sets this film apart are its technical aspects and post production additions. These artisans keep the story from feeling stale and moving in the right direction when it could become bogged down with characters and story elements that are unnecessary. So much of the film feels more watchable because of these craftspeople.

Cinematographer Guillermo Garza is able to make endless miles of rock and sand utterly captivating. From his awe inspiring overhead shots to the hero making and villain creating closeups, Garza’s camera is dynamic without ever feeling uncontrolled. It’s old hat to praise a tracking shot, but Desert Warrior only has one and it’s much more complex than a standard straight line. The camera follows different characters as they ready themselves and their warriors for battle. It dips between trees, over water, and into trenches. It’s a superb shot in a film of very lush, yet unflashy, camera work.

The shots, when cut together by editors Kelley Dixon and Richard Mettler, take on an entirely new shape. These editors are adept at knowing when to jump cut a potentially boring journey as well as when to heighten tension that’s already playing on a blade’s edge. In one particular scene, the juxtaposition between Hind’s (Aiysha Hart) finding peace in the village that is protecting her by making juice from pomegranates and her father’s (Ghassan Massoud) execution is a quick cut masterstroke.

Then there’s Dan Levy’s epic score. He makes the music sound ancient and modern all at once. Even the most mundane scenes, when given his score, become pulse pounding. It’s an operatic ode to the desert that surprises and keeps us on the edge of our seats. The final battle is made all the better for his musical accompaniment. 

Desert Warrior, in spite of some wizardry from the crew, is mostly a by-the-numbers epic. Though, it could be an interesting concept to take Anthony Mackie’s nameless bandit on more adventures. He has the DNA of Clint Eastwood’s Man with No Name and Toshiro Mifune’s Sanjuro. In some ways Desert Warrior functions like a spaghetti western, but unlike those films it doesn’t strive to make a unique stamp on its genre, just make a fine film that’s enjoyable. Really that’s more than we could want and it’s nice to see something like it back on the big screen.

Grade: C

Director: Kyra Bartley
Stars: Hope Day, Jeremy Irons, Liv Tyler

Synopsis: Before you read anything from searching the internet, discover the extraordinary potential of your dyslexic mind.

There’s a fine line between informative and overwhelming when it comes to documentaries tackling complex subjects, but What Is Dyslexia? manages to strike a thoughtful balance. This is a short animation film that aims to educate without lecturing, and for the most part, it succeeds, offering a clear, engaging look at a condition that is often misunderstood, oversimplified, or quietly ignored.

Led by Jeremy Irons and Liv Tyler, the animation uses a mix of personal stories, expert insight, and accessible explanations to unpack what dyslexia actually is, and, just as importantly, what it isn’t. From the outset, there’s a conscious effort to move away from outdated stereotypes. Dyslexia is not framed as a limitation in intelligence, but as a different way of processing information, one that can present challenges in traditional learning environments while also fostering unique strengths.

Jeremy Irons brings a measured, authoritative presence to the film, guiding viewers through the more technical aspects without making them feel dense or inaccessible. Meanwhile, Liv Tyler adds a warmth that helps keep the tone inviting. Together, they strike a balance between seriousness and approachability, which feels essential for a subject like this. There’s a young girl’s voice from Hope Day, which brings the animation back to the reality that if we help people when they’re young, their lives will be changed for the better.

The animation used is incredibly sweet – by that I mean it’s playful, easy to understand and evokes an emotional response. We watch a young girl move through a dreamlike sequence into space. Accompanied by an original song by Ted Griggs, the lyrics are very poignant.

What I found particularly effective is how the film centers on lived experience. It gives space to individuals, young people, adults, and educators who speak candidly about navigating a world that isn’t always designed with them in mind. A lot of people involved in this short film are dyslexic thinkers, which adds to the authenticity of this piece.

Structurally, there’s a clear intention to make the information digestible, particularly for audiences encountering the topic for the first time. In that sense, it works well as an entry point. That said, this type of short animation occasionally plays it a little safe. A short film can only do so much in the time it has, and this doesn’t dig as deeply as it could into the broader issues, such as gaps in educational support or the long-term impact of late diagnosis. There’s a sense that it prioritizes accessibility over complexity, which is understandable, but it does leave some areas feeling slightly underexplored. But maybe that’s the job for a feature-length documentary.

What is most effective in What Is Dyslexia? is its tone. It’s not a film trying to alarm or overwhelm, but one that encourages understanding. There’s an emphasis on empathy, on recognizing the frustration, yes, but also the resilience and adaptability that often come with navigating dyslexia. Importantly, this short gently highlights the idea that support and awareness can make a significant difference. Small changes in teaching methods, in workplace expectations, in general attitudes, can have a lasting impact. It’s a message that feels both hopeful and practical.

What Is Dyslexia? may not be the most in-depth exploration of the subject, but it is an effective and thoughtful one. It opens the door to a conversation that still feels overdue in many spaces, and it does so with clarity, care, and a genuine desire to inform.

Grade: B

Director: David Lowery
Writer: David Lowery
Stars: Anne Hathaway, Michaela Coel, Hunter Schafer

Synopsis: Long-buried wounds rise to the surface when iconic pop star Mother Mary reunites with her estranged best friend and former costume designer, Sam Anselm, on the eve of her comeback performance.

Mother Mary couldn’t release at a better time, with Coachella just reminding us of the power that pop stars hold. Sabrina Carpenter’s Hollywood inspired set had social media mesmerized and featured duets with the “Queen of Pop” Madonna. Fans tend to put these artists up on a pedestal, completely unaware of what goes into making them who they are and what their lifestyle takes. Enter Director and writer David Lowery who dissects a pop star and shows us the impact of fame and art on the woman that has so many cheering for her. 

This narrative isn’t quite a ghost story or love story, but Lowery uses elements of both throughout to dig into a fictional pop star and her estranged costume designer friend. Mother Mary (Anne Hathaway) and Sam Anselm (Michaela Coel) have been burdened by tons of trauma in the name of fame. You can see it written all over their faces and bodies. It cost them the purest thing they had, their friendship, as Sam eventually found herself on the outside looking in while Mother Mary’s star rose. 

What makes so many artists fascinating is their obvious singing talent and supposed authenticity. In Mother Mary, David Lowery builds a story around the titular character as she begins to wonder if her authentic self is nothing but a sham constructed by those around her. It’s such an intriguing idea that will make you think as you watch the illusion of Mother Mary be ripped apart by Sam, who finally managed to build a stable life just for her old friend to storm back in. All that’s left is the traumatized woman she knows better than anyone and that’s who this new dress is for. 

You’ve never seen trauma and fame unpacked through such an intimate, captivating, chilling story that will remain in your mind long after you’ve left the theater. Mother Mary largely spends its time with Mother Mary and Sam as they take on everything haunting them which includes their fractured bond. It can be horrifying to confront your past and Lowery has found a way of making that even worse by leaning into the horror elements to convey Mother Mary and Sam’s trauma. From a viewer perspective, this just makes these moments even worse because you’ll understand where these women are coming from and see how much they’ve sacrificed and suffered in the name of art. 

The only real potential drawback to this film is how much like a play it is. We spend so much time with Hathaway and Coel and there’s not always going to be a big moment. If you can look past that and really wrap yourself up in these performances, which shouldn’t be hard, you’ll really enjoy this. 

This is part of why Lowery’s decision to intercut Mother Mary and Sam’s one-on-one moments with concerts at the height of the singer’s fame is great. It lets us see why she’s such a big deal and be swept up in her music as if we’re fans while also making Mother Mary’s reality that much more of a gut punch. What audiences see on stage isn’t real, it’s a performance, but the greatest artists, like Mother Mary, have a way of projecting an image to their fans whether they want to or not. These concert sequences are incredible in every way, with stunning visuals and Hathaway owning the stage as she sings hypnotizing original songs written by Jack Antonoff, Charli xcx, and FKA Twigs. 

When you think about musicians and their concerts, the thing that comes to mind outside of the music and choreography is their outfits. Mother Mary puts our lead in some breathtaking looks that you won’t be able to get enough of. They could only ever be worn by this character and fit the vibe of her music perfectly. Mother Mary’s halo-shaped headpieces are iconic, regardless of how she feels about them. These outfits help tell the story, because they’re more about the image that those around her want fans to see rather than a true projection of who she is, and that’s why she visits Sam, to get something that represents her. 

With such a complex tale, you need someone with extraordinary talent to bring the title character to life. Thankfully for David Lowery, Anne Hathaway said yes because no one could’ve played this role like her. She puts so much into it, balancing between the disconnected stage persona and the human being underneath who only emerges when she’s with Sam. It’s heartbreaking to watch this person who seems to be living her dream but in reality is struggling to go on. At first, it’s spellbinding to watch Hathaway on stage, but as the film keeps going, it turns into such a tragedy. You’re just waiting for Mother Mary to succumb to the weight of everything and once she does, it feels like your heart is being ripped out. This character is among the greatest that Hathaway has ever brought to life and it feels like it will require several watches in order to fully understand her. 

A lot of the same things can be said about Michaela Coel’s Sam Anselm. Her relationship with Mother Mary is juicy and Coel has top notch chemistry with Hathaway. Sam keeps her guard up around Mother Mary, but there’s a hint of joy that she’s back hidden on Coel’s face. After all, she’s an artist, and Mother Mary was the creation that no one really gave her credit for. Why not jump at the chance to fix what you made and get some answers along the way? It’s a treat watching Coel deliver meaty monologues with ease and create this enthralling character with a complicated relationship to fame and her ex friend Mother Mary. 

There are two supporting cast members who stand out and help make this story stronger. I can’t say too much without spoiling, but FKA Twigs crushes it as the mysterious Imogen. I was so engrossed by her that I didn’t even realize who she was at first. Then there’s Hunter Schafer as Sam’s assistant Hilda, who may not have a ton of screen time but still manages to leave her mark on the film. Doing memorable work and then leaving is a trademark of Schafer’s filmography at this point, save for 2024’s Cuckoo where she was given the chance to be the lead and excelled. 

You won’t be able to get enough of Anne Hathaway and Michaela Coel’s performances in Mother Mary, David Lowery’s beautiful, devastating examination of a pop star. This film has so much depth to its story and characters that there are tons of ways that you could interpret it. I look forward to not only hearing other’s opinions, but seeing if my thoughts change after multiple rewatches.

Grade: A-

Director: Baltasar Kormákur
Writer: Jeremy Robbins
Stars: Charlize Theron, Taron Egerton, Eric Bana

Synopsis: When an adrenaline junkie sets out to conquer a menacing river, she discovers that nature isn’t the only thing out for blood.

The new thriller Apex has the gravitas and star power that are uncommon in the genre, with Oscar-winner Charlize Theron and the oh-so-close Academy Award nominee Taron Egerton (Rocketman) leading the cast. However, like so many others, this new Netflix film also has clichés, recycled horror storylines, and thrills so cheap they feel plucked straight from a trope bargain bin.

Frankly, the ultra-cheap, no-frills Don’t Move, which came out on the streaming giant last year, is more effective. And in a decade of great horror thrillers, such as Strange Darling, Red Rooms, Longlegs, Trap, and The Babadook, Apex does what only the worst films in the genre can do. Instead of invigorating, it exhausts a class of movies that had finally begun to find a foothold in the American zeitgeist again.

There are so many words that all essentially mean the same thing, but let’s go through them so we can all learn a lesson here. Apex is dull, boring, tedious, monotonous, repetitive, tiresome, wearisome, drab, lifeless, inert, flat, stale, uninspired, listless, lackluster, stultifying, enervating, soporific, mind-numbing, plodding, predictable, formulaic, pedestrian, by-the-book, insipid, vacuous, hollow, barren, and even anemic, all of which appropriately describe this vapid thriller.

Either way, you have been forewarned: hit play (or keep reading this review) and proceed at your own risk. 

The story follows an adventurous rock-climbing couple, Sasha (Theron) and Tommy (Munich’s Eric Bana), as they wake up on the side of a mountain in their cozy portaledge. No, this is not a Folgers or Coors Light commercial; it’s just a pair of beautiful people who spend their days almost dying for fun. (This is what happens when you don’t have enough movie theaters in your hometown.) Tommy is cautious, but Sasha loves to push their limits. 

They make camp for the night, and by “camp,” I mean hanging off the side of a mountain in a human birdcage, where Tommy expresses his concerns, which Sasha takes to heart and somewhat agrees with. Then, the following day, in a scene practically lifted from the Vertical Limit dud starring Chris O’Donnell, something goes terribly wrong, and Sasha has to make a choice that no one should ever have to face

The opening ten minutes are meant to do a couple of things: first, set you up for an experience where anything can happen, which is lazy storytelling. Second, give Theron’s character some emotional weight so you have something to hang your hat on. Yes, after this, she is being hunted by an “Apex” predator, Ben, played by Taron Egerton, and this turn won’t get him the Oscar he so badly campaigned for years ago. 

The best part of the film is the opening, which is the only reason Apex doesn’t receive a full-blown F in my review. However, after enduring an endless 90 minutes of nothingness, there’s no reason for that scene even to exist, as it adds nothing to the character, nor does the villain use it in any meaningful psychological way. The script from Jeremy Robbins tips its hand too soon. 

At the very least, it should have revealed what happened through flashbacks during the “hunt” to give Theron’s Sasha some semblance of a character arc. Icelandic director Baltasar Kormákur, whose filmography includes a string of jaw-dropping misfires, takes minimalism to a new level in character development, offering characters with zero complexity and little sense of pace or atmospheric tension, resulting in almost no slow burn.

Apex is simply not worth watching because there is so much streaming content that’s worth your time, and this isn’t one of them. The film wastes its star power on a vapid formula that mistakes eclectic behavior and recycled plot points for tension. Despite a promising opening, it collapses into a lifeless, predictable slog devoid of character or psychological stakes. By the end, Theron and Egerton’s film doesn’t just fail to engage, excite, and even entertain the viewer. 

Apex, simply put, gives streaming a bad name. 

You can stream Apex now exclusively on Netflix starting April 24th!

Grade: D-

Director: Antoine Fuqua
Writer: John Logan
Stars: Jaafar Jackson, Colman Domingo, Miles Teller

Synopsis: The story of the famous musician Michael Jackson, known as the King of Pop.

The Optimum Productions logo at the beginning of Antoine Fuqua’s Michael already reveals to the audience that this estate-approved “biopic” has nothing of value to offer to the audience, both as a piece of popcorn entertainment and as a work that examines the life of Michael Jackson, arguably the biggest artist in popular music, even seventeen years after his passing. More sanitized than The Jacksons: An American Dream, Fuqua’s transposition of the King of Pop’s early days as an artist, to his burgeoning successes with the Jackson 5, up until the release of “Bad” in 1989 is pure commercial junk that serves as fodder for the Jackson Estate to make as much money as possible off the sale of the film, and, by extension, his records. 

If you lived under a rock, had no idea who Michael Jackson (Jaafar Jackson) was, and hoped this biopic would give you some clarity on his impact on popular music, you will leave Michael with the same feeling. The Estate has given Fuqua and screenwriter John Logan permission not to interrogate the man behind the myth in any way, not even merely examining what drives Jackson’s creative process, and, more importantly, how he paved the way for multiple generations of Black artists to have a place on the musical scene following the skyrocketing hit of “Thriller,” which is still the biggest selling album of all time. Rather, they’ve instead allowed the Training Day filmmaker to bask in the glory days of Michael’s greatest hits, structured like a compilation video that speedruns through his biggest hype moments.

It’s a film that’s specifically engineered to make the audience point and clap in recognition at things they know, which, in turn, acts as a celebration of Jackson’s talents, as if the creative music videos that have been foundational for many artists growing up today and the albums that still sell massively didn’t speak for themselves. 

If you’re looking for having keys jingling at your face for two hours and seven minutes, Michael is the perfect movie for you. If you want your biopic to have some form of feeling behind it and say something (literally anything!) about the person it’s depicting, this won’t be the movie for you. It is especially baffling to see a film that’s so incurious about the titular protagonist that it gives more depth to Jackson’s abusive father, Joe Jackson (Colman Domingo), than to Michael himself. We even spend more time with Jackson’s personal lawyer, John Branca (horrendously portrayed by Miles Teller with a god-awful wig), than any of the Jackson siblings combined! While Domingo’s portrayal of Joe errs more on the caricatural side, especially during a garish backroom conversation with promoter Don King (Deon Cole), you get a sense of who he is behind his controlling façade in front of his children and wife, Katherine (Nia Long, pitifully underused). 

Domingo doesn’t even need to do much to convey such internal anguish and inform the audience of the sheer terror he inflicted upon all of his kids, while that same profundity isn’t given to Michael. We get fleeting glimpses of a tormented artist in his early days (where he’s brilliantly played by Juliano Krue Valdi), as he forms a closer relationship with Motown president Berry Gordy (Larenz Tate) than his father, but they’re never deepened in meaningful ways. In fact, every secondary figure, with the exception of Joe, can be relegated to background characters. You wouldn’t know that Laura Harrier appears in the movie (for five minutes) as Gordy’s creative assistant, Suzanne de Passe, or that Jackson, in his later years, formed a close creative partnership with Quincy Jones (Kendrick Sampson) if these people weren’t named, because they have no impact on the narrative and on Jackson’s artistic journey. 

It’s all “Look! It’s Quincy Jones! Look! It’s John Landis! Look! It’s Gladys Knight!” There’s no interiority to anything being depicted. They’re props to support Jackson’s journey to success, or blips in the movie’s structure. We never sit with any of them to form meaningful connections, nor do we understand the influence they had on Michael’s life. It’s exactly what you think an estate-approved biopic will be. Fuqua depicts Michael Jackson as a saint with no flaws, a God-given musical talent, who must escape the clutches of his evil father (metaphorized by the figure of Captain Hook) to become the artist he was born to be. How many times does he repeat the words “I’m not a kid anymore!” to hammer home the fact that, yes, he’s a grown adult who can make his own decisions. 

There’s no desire in parsing who Jackson is beyond the figure he’s obtained within pop culture. You’ll never understand why “Thriller” was such a watershed moment for music as a whole if you stick to this film, because it’s only a dent in a screenplay that attempts to recount as many events as possible from Jackson’s early life with the weight of a surface-level Wikipedia summary. You’ll never understand how he got so big other than “Wow, that guy can sing!” Even when Fuqua attempts to give texture by depicting Jackson’s obsession with perfection, not just on stage, but in the way he looks, through his multiple facial surgeries and progressing vitiligo, it never goes deeper than “He had surgeries on his face and attempts to hide his autoimmune disorder.” 

The entire film can be summed up in these surface-level sentences. We never know any of the people that populate the world beyond the momentary dopamine rush you’ll get when you hear the name “Quincy Jones.” It’s “Things Happen: The Movie,” without any desire to formally (and thematically) reinvent the tired structure of the biopic in the same vein as Dexter Fletcher and Baz Luhrmann did when depicting the respective lives of Elton John and Elvis Presley. Were these films not as formally daring, they’d probably not be as good as they were, because the stories they follow are as conventional as the one treated in Michael. 

Fuqua, on the other hand, has managed to make something as exhilarating as the moonwalk boring and captures Jackson’s larger-than-life talent with the lethargic energy of a television film. Garish CGI apes (the movie is much funnier if you pretend Bubbles the Chimp is actually Robbie Williams from Better Man), llamas, and giraffes aside, Fuqua has no idea what to capture in any given scenes that would heighten the musical numbers and physical derring-do of Jaafar’s breakout role. You can tell the film was reshot to hell, chopped, and screwed in ways that productions of this scale rarely are. Even the concert performances lack the intensity and pulse you will find in literally any of Jackson’s real-life shows. 

The only scene that works is a top-to-bottom recreation of John Landis’ “Thriller,” only because that clip still stands the test of time as the greatest music video ever crafted. Fuqua and cinematographer Dion Beebe attempt to capitalize on that nostalgia by replicating shots (and choreographies) down to a tee. However, once you’ve removed these scenes from the equation, which basically equates the entire product, you’re left with nothing but a commercial for MJ without any soul or artistic intent. 

Of course, an estate-approved biopic would never allow Fuqua to even talk about the allegations of child sexual abuse that surrounded Michael Jackson in the 1990s (allegedly, those were shot, but ultimately scrapped, with Derek Luke reportedly cast as attorney Johnnie Cochran). However, even if you deliberately choose not to talk about this and end with the release of “Bad”(a problem in and of itself), there’s still enough material to make a pretty decent movie about Jackson’s path as an artist. 

I mean, he was the face of the world when “Thriller” came out. That album is a generational masterpiece, a pop milestone that will never be replicated in our – or anyone else’s – lifetime. Strip away all of the controversies surrounding him, and you have one of the most culturally significant artists who has completely changed the landscape in ways that no one else can. This is a fact. No one can dispute this. Reducing such a music genius to a one-note character with zero interiority or tangible agency is genuinely baffling. Distilling a complex and multifaceted “HIStory” into montages of hype moments and aura, without letting the audience think about MJ’s past, present, and future, adds insult to injury. 

Michael isn’t a movie. It’s a state-approved piece of agitprop by way of the Estate of Michael Jackson and the Pepsi Company. It solely exists to continue selling Michael Jackson products ad vitam aeternam. It also makes his legendary feats so hollow and trite that one even wonders how he got so big in the first place. We know, but the movie makes it look so easy that we never really get a sense of who he is or what drives him to push music into territories previously unexplored and to break all racial boundaries in the hopes of healing the world.

Michael Jackson in his prime, continually surprised audiences. He always found new ways (and dance moves) to entertain and blow our minds. “Thriller” and “Bad” are two of the greatest pop albums of all time. Antoine Fuqua’s Michael reduces this lasting cultural impact to just another pop artist who fell on hard times growing up, successfully confronted his terrible father, hit big with two massive albums, and was never seen or heard from ever again following “Bad.” It’s a good thing he decided to quit while he was ahead, and he was not involved in any controversies whatsoever, right? Right!?!?

Grade: D-

Director: Simon Glassman
Writer: Simon Glassman
Stars: Kevin Singh, Ahmed Ahmed, Brandon Vanderwall

Synopsis: Echoing the Canadian comedy classic SCTV, crosscutting between original, low-budget TV ads to tell the sinister tale of two restaurants battling it out in the fictional town of Westridge County.

There’s a gaudy, artistic scrappiness to a great local business commercial. Most of us who have cut the cable cord, only to be sucked into the far more expensive streaming web, don’t get to marvel at these unique nuggets of regional advertisements anymore. They pop up every once in a while in places you don’t expect, but their ubiquity is no longer a part of our lives. Building a narrative around these strange and wonderful pieces of culture is something that could be a tough sell now as their relevance has passed, but what comes out of Buffet Infinity is nothing short of astonishing.

The plot for Buffet Infinity is something you catch in between what’s playing in front of our eyes. Written by Simon Glassman with story credits going to Allison Bench and Elisia Snyder, the plot worms its way into your consciousness through snippets of a combination of advertisements, news reports, and PSAs. You barely realize how layered the characters and the action happening outside the world of these snippets is before the depth of the piece pulls you under and cracks open your ideas of perception. Buffet Infinity could have easily been as funny and enjoyable as just a pair of rival restaurants competing for the hearts and minds of a small Canadian town, but the film becomes so much more than that.

This film will be open to interpretation. For those of us who won’t stop thinking about it after we see it, Buffet Infinity will become something of a gauge for the mood of the masses. Just beyond the surface is the idea of how a corporation, or in the case of Buffet Infinity, an entity, can manifest a novelty around itself to belie its true nature. Both with businesses and otherworldly entities to take all it can from us and then toss us away for the next consumer. The restaurant Buffet Infinity’s resources seem infinite and its ability to undercut the small, local businesses it competes with is relentless. There are dozens of parallels within our world. Add to this the ideas of religion, conformity, culture wars, nature vs. nurture, and the burden of capitalism wrapped too tightly around humanity’s neck and this strange, beautiful, horrifying conglomeration of a film moves beyond jokes and oddity into something that may reveal a truth to the viewer.

Truth is important to a film like this and the actors are central to that idea of bringing a truth to this strange story and these strange characters. Kevin Singh is absolutely perfect and deadpan as lawyer Mosley Rosin. Though, Ahmed Ahmed as Ahmed is something else entirely. His earnestness throughout the strangeness, tailoring ads for his pawn shop to the weirdest happenings, is enchanting. It isn’t until the end that the veil falls from Ahmed’s eyes, but even then he’s still attempting to sell his wares, promote his business and ignore the apocalypse. Ahmed Ahmed imbues Ahmed with the spirit of a scrappy and savvy business owner.

It will be hard for some to get to some sort of truth if they see footage or just read a synopsis of Buffet Infinity. It’s likely to be dismissed as a mere “stoner” film. There will be those who sit through the funniest bits, which morph into nightmare fuel and be turned off by what they have experienced. Yet, it’s clear that the filmmakers were thoughtful and contemplative in their dissection of culture. Buffet Infinity is not for those who can’t give it their full attention, but it is for those who are open to a mind altering phantasmagoria with a sheen of what it was once like to consume television and to think you saw something that just wasn’t quite right in those ads.

Grade: A

Director: Chloé Robichaud
Writer: Catherine Léger
Stars: Karine Gonthier-Hyndman, Laurence Leboeuf, Mani Soleymanlou

Synopsis: Two struggling mothers grapple with unfulfilled expectations and societal pressures. As they navigate their roles as wives and professionals, one woman’s unexpected affair sparks a reevaluation of their lives and priorities.

Years of misogynistic and puritanical filmmaking has beaten the idea of female marital subservience into our heads. Men can regularly engage in terrible behavior, but the wife is expected to be the long-suffering woman who deals with it. Chloé Robichaud’s Two Women dares the viewer to let women sow their oats and watch them get away with it.

But there have to be consequences, right? Women can’t be going around sleeping with other men while their partners obliviously live their lives. Well, why not? Why can’t women engage in this kind of behavior that has been depicted on-screen for decades by male characters? The question you should be asking yourself: why have we been conditioned to expect the best out of female characters and not accept them for making decisions in moments of passion?

There is a deeper discussion about patriarchal filmmaking stereotypes, but that’s a different conversation. Robichaud is working under the expectation of those stereotypes being in place, but actively attempts to subvert those expectations without calling them out directly. That’s a bold stance to take for a relatively lighthearted dramedy. That stance flies in the face of years of established relationship tropes, but it makes for a refreshing take on modern romance.

Based on the 1970 comedy of the same name, Karine Gonthier-Hyndman stars as Florence, a middle-aged woman numbed by antidepressants, living in Montreal. Her partner David (Mani Soleymanlou) doesn’t have much to do with her since her medications completely suppress her sex drive. Florence’s neighbor Violette (Laurence Leboeuf) is on maternity leave and breastfeeding her child, which also limits her sex drive. Violette’s husband is often away on business, and is having an affair with a younger woman, Eli (Juliette Gariépy).

Florence decides to get off her pills, and Violette decides to stop breastfeeding. With the renewed vigor in their life, and their partners unable or unwilling to help, Florence begins sleeping with various handymen. Soon, Violette begins doing the same. As the chaos of their lives begin to coincide, the actions of the ladies’ partners begin to have more drastic consequences.

The film’s tone maintains a level of playfulness while also dealing with real-world scenarios. Despite all the sexual shenanigans, there are no real downsides for the women’s adventures. Any darker elements or playing-with-fire attitudes are bypassed for the sake of these women expanding their own lives. It would be easy for the film to have something dire happen in order to proselytize monogamy, but the film doesn’t even attempt to touch on those elements. Instead, sex becomes a joyous piece of liberation in a world where life’s responsibilities bring you down.

The relationship between the women is one of quiet comfort instead of the usual gossip sessions and dramatic reveals. Each woman knows what the other is up to (they share bedroom walls), but no judgement is ever placed and no friend blowup ever occurs. Their relationship is based on mutual understanding and empathy instead of obvious connection. In fact, these two barely have anything in common, just a shared experience.

Gonthier-Hyndman is nothing short of brilliant in her role. Shifting ever so slightly from a numb husk of her beginnings to the sexually open and adventurous woman she grows into. Her true feelings are never fully revealed, but you can tell her complexity through her micro expressions. Leboeuf gets to be more expressive, but hides her immense sadness underneath a cheery exterior. The pair suit each other well and never upstage the other.

Soleymanlou gets to play off Gonthier-Hyndman as two ships pass in the night, but also gets the film’s largest emotional scene with a late-film monologue. Moati might seem like the least redeemable character, but the film’s recognition of his own ridiculousness gives him some unearned redemption. Nelisse has some biting comic timing at some vital points in the film, as well.

I’m sure people will be turned off by Two Women and its blase approach to sex and infidelity. But if you can shut down the part of your brain that may be outraged, you may be rewarded with an unorthodox tale of modern love.

Grade: B

Director: Bart Schrijver
Writers: Bart Schrijver
Stars: Bart Harder, Carles Pulido, Olly Bassi

Synopsis: Two old friends are walking 600 kilometers through the Scottish highlands to reconnect with each other, nature, and parts of themselves they lost

As someone who has hiked the length and breadth of the United Kingdom, I was hoping this film would showcase the beautiful landscapes and peacefulness that it offers – especially in the north. Of course, you need decent dialogue, but the scenery is what can make a film like this magical. Luckily, I was not disappointed. The North is reflective, maybe a little slow, but visually rewarding. Directed by Bart Schrijver, this is a film that takes its time, asks for your patience, and then, almost without you noticing, settles in somewhere deeper.

The premise is simple enough. Two former best friends, Chris (Bart Harder) and Lluis (Carles Pulido), reunite after ten years to hike Scotland’s West Highland Way and Cape Wrath Trail, a journey they once completed together in their youth. Now older and clearly carrying more emotional baggage, they set out to reconnect over 30 days and 350 miles of rugged terrain.

I love the opening of saying “the trail is best enjoyed without your phone” – in a world where films and TV series are written to be watched whilst someone is doom scrolling or shopping on their phone, this simple opening line is effective in reminding audiences to put their phones away.

There are no big, melodramatic confrontations right out of the gate. Instead, The North leans into the awkwardness of reunion. These are two people who used to know each other intimately, now navigating the quiet gaps that time has created. Their conversations feel halting at times, even mundane, but that’s exactly the point.

Visually, The North is stunning! Shot entirely on location in the Scottish Highlands, and crucially and impressively in chronological order, the film has an authenticity that’s hard to fake. You can feel the exhaustion in the performances, the shifting weather, and the gradual physical and emotional wear of the journey. There’s a rawness to it that makes the landscape a participant in the story. And what a landscape it is. The Highlands are captured in all their unpredictability, beautiful, harsh, and isolating. If you’ve ever hiked, you will know that the longer you walk, the harder it becomes to avoid the things you’ve been carrying for years. Conversations happen fast, all at once, and then not for hours. It’s a reflective and intense time – which is why people love it.

What I appreciated most is how the film handles pacing. At 131 minutes, it’s not short, and I’ll admit there were moments where I felt its length. Some stretches lean heavily into silence and repetition, and that won’t work for everyone. But for me, those moments eventually became part of the rhythm. Walking, after all, is repetitive. Reflection takes time. The film trusts you to settle into that pace rather than rushing to keep you entertained. But some audiences might feel frustrated by this slow pace and disengage – this isn’t a film made for fans of drama and intensity, but those seeking a space to soak up the soggy moors and reflect.

Performance-wise, both leads are excellent in a very understated way. Bart Harder plays Chris with a kind of restless distraction; he’s physically present but mentally elsewhere, tethered to a life back home he can’t quite let go of. Carles Pulido, on the other hand, brings a quiet determination to Lluis. He’s the one pushing forward, both literally and emotionally, as if finishing the trail will prove something. There’s tension and a lingering affection that makes their friendship have a historical weight. Watching them navigate the space between friendship, resentment, and nostalgia is what kept me engaged, even in the film’s quieter moments.

If I had one criticism, it’s that the film occasionally feels a little too restrained. There are emotional beats that could have landed harder with just a bit more clarity or confrontation. At times, it skirts around its biggest revelations and opts for the quiet.

By the end, I didn’t feel like I’d watched a traditional narrative so much as experienced something alongside the characters. Almost as if I’d been watching a documentary or livestream. Distributed by Tull Stories, The North is a film that invites you to slow down, something that feels increasingly rare. It’s thoughtful, challenging, and quietly moving. It’s a film that will make you reflect and push you out of your door, away from your screens, and ready for an adventure.

Grade: B+

Director: Markian Tarasiuk
Writers: Sean Harris Oliver, Markian Tarasiuk
Stars: Miranda MacDougall, Markian Tarasiuk, Ryan Alexander McDonald

Synopsis: Two decades after her brother mysteriously disappeared on Vancouver Island, a documentary filmmaker sets out to solve his missing person’s case. When a disturbing piece of evidence is revealed, she comes to believe he might still be alive.

Stories of cold cases have made for some of the most fascinating films in history. Zodiac, Memories of Murder, and Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri are just some examples from this century. There’s something about a case being solved and loved ones getting that long-deserved closure that feels so satisfying to watch. Narrative features like the ones mentioned above, combined with the rise of true crime documentaries and television shows, have certainly informed Hunting Matthew Nichols, the new horror film from Markian Tarasiuk. 

The film follows a documentarian (Tarasiuk as himself) helping a grieving sister, Tara (Miranda MacDougall), reopen the case of her brother Matthew, who went missing in 2001. Taking a page (or several chapters) from The Blair Witch Project, Hunting Matthew Nichols blends documentary style with found footage horror, causing the audience to forget if this is real or not when the movie is at its peak. 

The narrative structure offers some compelling opportunities, but ultimately follows too many conventions to stand out. Too much time is spent on catching the audience up on the case’s background rather than on new breaks and leads that propel stories like this forward. The initial mystery surrounding Matthew’s disappearance just isn’t interesting enough for us to spend half the runtime hashing out. Once the first domino falls in the case, though, the story picks up a lot of steam. 

MacDougall is really solid as Tara Nichols and plays into the faux documentary style well. Since she’s the main subject, the movie rests squarely on her shoulders as the driving force. At no point does it feel like she’s acting as someone in a documentary, but rather feels like a real person being documented. You can feel the anguish and grief she’s going through as she digs deeper into Matthew’s disappearance, and how it’s shaped her for the majority of her life. Without her steadiness at the center of the film, the whole thing would fall apart. 

Director Tarasiuk plays a very interesting version of himself as well, leaning into the documentary filmmaker who inserts himself too much into the film. There are many scenes where he can be seen interacting with the subjects rather than staying behind the camera. As things escalate, it makes sense to see more of him as he urges Tara not to continue with the investigation. 

Like most found footage films, this one hides the ball for a lot of the runtime to preserve budget and heighten suspense and curiosity for when all is revealed at the end. The found footage aspect not only includes the documentary, but also tapes recovered from Matthew’s camera after he went missing. Tara and the documentary team pore over these tapes, looking for clues as to what might have happened. The tapes are used cleverly, using great sound design to bring the audience in close to discover what’s going on alongside the documentary crew. 

If you’re even a lightly seasoned fan of horror, you can pretty easily guess where Hunting Matthew Nichols is headed from the jump. For some, that may be a knock on a movie that rests a lot on the shoulders of mystery. For others, the journey may still be enjoyable enough even if you have a good idea of where it ends up. I found it incredibly frustrating and quickly became impatient with the first half of the film. It’s very possible I just have a case of “I’ve seen too many movies,” but I couldn’t get past this when thinking about the film. 

Overall, Hunting Matthew Nichols is pretty uneven, with an uneventful first half and a final fifteen minutes that are good, but don’t quite justify the rest of the film. While this outing is unsuccessful, Tarsiuk has some interesting ideas at play here that could prove fruitful in future endeavors.

Grade: D

Director: Lee Cronin
Writers: Lee Cronin
Stars: Jack Reynor, Laia Casta, Mary Calamawy

Synopsis: The young daughter of a journalist disappears into the desert without a trace. Eight years later, the broken family is shocked when she is returned to them, as what should be a joyful reunion turns into a living nightmare.

If anything, Lee Cronin’s The Mummy is one of the gnarliest films I’ve seen this year when it comes to gore, with moments involving toenails that, as I type this, are sending a shiver down my spine. While the refreshing inclusion of Egyptian history into the story and the dedicated performances are admirable, much of this film is more cruel than creative.

There’s nothing more frustrating than a film like Lee Cronin’s The Mummy, which is competently made, thanks to Cronin’s confidence with horror, but falls short of its immense potential, with inklings of greatness sprinkled throughout its over two-hour runtime. Primarily, when exploring the depths of Egyptian culture, but those elements are sadly squandered by a screenplay that would rather focus on shock value above anything else. This leads to plenty of disturbing scenes, evoking imagery that is hard to stomach, yet it all comes across as hollow as an empty sarcophagus.

What begins as a mysterious woman and her family driving through a desert toward their home quickly turns deadly. Their residence houses a sarcophagus that is a couple of thousand years old, just below the floorboards. For the time being, it is unknown who this family is or what the origin of the mummy inside is, which is far from resting. All we are let in on is that whoever is being held within is upset by the disturbance and takes it out on those around them, which is enough to keep audiences engaged for the time being.

The film cuts to Charlie Cannon (Jack Reynor), a journalist awaiting the airtime of his broadcast. He helps his young daughter, Katie (Emily Mitchell), learn Morse code while her brother, Sebastián (Dean Allen Williams), sits nearby. It’s pretty clear from the start that Charlie is preoccupied with his career rather than his family, cutting lessons short in order to fixate on his hand movements during his aired segment. He’s not a completely absent father—physically he’s there, but he mentally checks out to focus on his job.

He has brought his family to Cairo, Egypt, for his work, but with both parents working, it’s hard for them to keep an eye on their children at all times. Katie is an independent and inquisitive young girl who is part of a Girl Scouts group. She would rather learn helpful survival skills than indulge in her father’s newest on-screen appearance. And, like any young girl, Katie is naive to the dangers of the world, making it incredibly easy for someone with ulterior motives to take advantage of her kindness.

Naturally, when Charlie finally hears the news of a promotion, he’s ecstatic, calling his pregnant wife, Larissa (Laia Costa), to share the news while she’s busy working in healthcare. For Cronin, this is where any semblance of a tone other than dread and gloom disappears. As he notices wrappers from candy that his daughter has been hiding, he tries to find her in her usual spot, out in their overgrown garden. She’s nowhere to be found, having been swept away by The Magician (Hayat Kamille), who tricks her into coming with her.

Cronin utilizes a multi-year time jump, placing audiences back into Charlie’s and his family’s lives eight years later. Their surroundings have changed, and they are now living with Larissa’s mother in Albuquerque. The hope that Katie is still out there hasn’t left. Larissa is the one who keeps hope alive most for her eldest daughter, setting up her old childhood room for her to eventually stay in. When they receive a call that Katie has been found in a sarcophagus, they have many questions but choose to take the advice of doctors and care for her at home, where their lives will never truly be the same.

This version of the classic Mummy story is far more violent than previous iterations, but it only partially works. There are plenty of bloody moments that focus on molting skin, a twist on the traditional mummy linen wraps. Teeth are ripped out at the dinner table, and wolves consume a woman who has just fallen out of a two-story window. Lee Cronin’s The Mummy undoubtedly has some of the most stomach-turning horror this year has to offer.

Cronin uses the Egyptian language and history spanning centuries upon centuries. It’s the film’s most interesting aspect, but so much of the runtime revolves around Charlie and his family that this culture gets brushed over. The film uses the imagery of Cairo with its vast ancient surroundings, yet outside of a few moments of deciphering three-thousand-year-old language and learning about rituals passed down for several generations, there’s not much to chew on. Rather, a large amount of the film takes place in Larissa’s childhood home, making the film become repetitively dull. Even as the film comes to a close, multiple moments feel like the conclusion, yet it keeps going.

For those not interested in seeing a young girl—and later a teenage version of Katie (Natalie Grace) being put through disturbing moments, then Lee Cronin’s The Mummy won’t be for you. Both Grace and Mitchell are put in distressing situations, with the older version dealing with more of the gory moments, while the younger Katie is bound and held against her will, loudly screaming and pleading on tape. Frankly, the tape being teased earlier in the film was enough to convey her suffering; it being played in full later on is unnecessary.

Thankfully, the film is well cast, and Katie is played by two young actresses who capture the terror and tenacity her character needs. It can’t be easy to play an essentially possessed vessel, especially with the amount of makeup required at certain points. Reynor is just as unlikable here as his previous character in Midsommar; he is convincingly hot-headed, especially in his scenes with Detective Dalia Zaki (May Calaway). Cronin earns a few extra kudos for his use of Calaway; her final scene is one for the history books.

For better or worse, Lee Cronin’s The Mummy isn’t interested in being easily digested; it works until it doesn’t. With one stunning split diopter after another, it’s a well-made and acted take on a classic that flirts with greatness.

Grade: C-

Director: Chandler Levack
Writers: Jimmy Fowlie, Ceara O’Sullivan
Stars: Sadie Sandler, Chloe East, Aidan Langford

Synopsis: When a hopeful, naive college freshman, Devon, asks the cool and confident Celeste to be her roommate, a blossoming friendship spirals into a war of passive aggression.

If you want to say one thing about Adam Sandler, it’s that when he finds projects for his talented daughters, he produces films that are warm, touching, and always funny—yet also honest and refreshing. The new Netflix film Roommates captures youthful exuberance alongside quirky adult characters who selflessly try to guide the next generation toward making mature, positive decisions.

However, amid all those playfully immature antics, goofy, off-the-wall bits, and oddly charming juvenile humor, a film like Roommates always circles back to what matters most in life—family, connection, and finding your place in the world. Except, inexplicably by the end of the third act, the film takes a turn for the irreverent, sophomoric, and suddenly has a cold heart. 

The story follows Devon (You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah’s Sadie Sandler, wonderful here), a girl so unpopular in high school that she has never had a best friend. That prospect is so sad you immediately feel for her, especially when her little brother, Alex (1985’s Aidan Langford), tells her she does have a best friend in him. Yes, cue the Charlie Brown melancholic piano music, and you literally feel your heartstrings being pulled. 

Devon is sweet, though, a contrast to a girl she meets during her pre-freshman college orientation, Celeste (A Big Bold Beautiful Journey’s Chloe East). She is a free spirit who lives life on her own terms but is also looking for her own ride-or-die. Devon immediately asks her to be her roommate, a yin to her yang. Devon is so worried about her budding friendship that she won’t let her parents (Nick Kroll and Natasha Lyonne) drop her off at school.

Devon and Celeste form a squad with two girls across the hall (Bella Murphy and Jaya Harper, very funny here). Celeste brings Devon out of her comfort zone, pushing her to a party where she meets a fellow architecture major, Michael (Billy Bryk), who is, for some reason, cooking a bunch of papaya in the middle of a raging kegger (a very 90s “house party,” for you Gen Zers). However, for all the good Celeste does for Devon, she violates boundaries like an Olympian.

That’s where the script from Jimmy Fowlie (English Teacher) and Ceara O’Sullivan (Saturday Night Live) begins to shine. The comedic tension builds while also revealing an incredible amount of heart. That’s a tricky high-wire act to accomplish. Director Chandler Levack (Mile End Kicks) brings out the best in the young performers, balancing comic timing and vulnerability in a way that gives you all the feels before you know it’s coming.

Roommates follows a Gen Z take on a classic comedy structure we have seen in hundreds of films before, from The Odd Couple, What About Bob?, and Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Of course, the Netflix film does not come close to those classics, but staying power is always up to the audience. Roommates puts a modern, youthful spin on the “opposites collide” formula, blending it with an irreverent coming-of-age comedy that mostly works.

Other moments, however, seem to falter or come across as filler. The use of a narrator feels unnecessary, even though it comes from the uber-funny and talented Sarah Sherman, who plays Dr. Schilling. The return of Janeane Garofalo is a welcome addition; she plays a mentor to Devon. Funny, sharp, and biting; she brings more mature laughs, a welcome juxtaposition to Happy Madison’s sophomoric brand of humor.

Yet, it all comes falling apart in the film’s last ten minutes. Roommates  was never a kitchen sink comedy, throwing too much at your streaming screen to be taken seriously, until the very end, going from well-controlled, structured, and brimming with a healthy dose of resonant heart to unapologetic, ill-advised, and then falls flat into a comedy deadspot where the moment was screaming for a familial scene about kindness that ties it all together.

While Sadie Sandler is funny and pitch-perfect as a young, awkward woman trying to find herself. She stands out beneath all that raucous, unapologetic humor lies in a film that, for most of the film, strikes a sweet spot between chaos and sincerity. Unfortunately, a lack of awareness from the creative team behind Roommates lost their way.

You can stream Roommates exclusively on Netflix starting April 16th!

Grade: C-