Director: Gloria Mercer
Writer: Aidan West
Stars: Bethany Brown, Cody Kearsley, Tandia Mercedes

Synopsis: A woman is abandoned by her boyfriend in the forest and befriends a pair of notorious fugitives, becoming dangerously entangled in their relationship.

There’s something special about independent cinema when it really locks into its rhythm. Free from the weight of massive budgets or big-name stars, these films feel freer, more daring, and more willing to follow strange emotional currents wherever they lead. A Safe Distance thrives in that space. It’s a lean, seductive thriller that builds tension slowly, letting atmosphere and character dynamics do most of the work. The result is the kind of film that pulls you in quietly before tightening its grip.

The opening is immediately striking. Two women stand in the woods, blood splattered across their faces, silently washing themselves in a river after what appears to be a violent encounter. The moment is both eerie and calm at the same time, leaving more questions than answers. Who are they? What happened? And whose blood is it? Rather than explaining itself right away, the film pulls back in time, revealing the story piece-by-piece as the tension begins to build.

At the center of it all is Alex (Bethany Brown), who arrives in the woods expecting nothing more dramatic than a romantic camping trip with her boyfriend, Joey (Chris McNally). They’re celebrating eight years together, and the trip should be a moment of connection. Instead, it becomes something much more uncomfortable. When Joey decides the perfect moment for a proposal is during a hike, Alex’s reaction is anything but romantic. The hesitation is written all over her face, and the proposal exposes the quiet dissatisfaction that’s been lurking in their relationship. The moment spirals quickly, and before long Joey storms off, leaving Alex alone in the forest.

That’s when she encounters Kianna (Tandia Mercedes) and Matt (Cody Kearsley), a couple camping nearby who seem to exist on a completely different wavelength. They’re confident, spontaneous, and full of the kind of reckless energy that Alex’s own life seems to be missing. From the beginning, their presence feels intoxicating. There’s an ease to the way they move through the world, as though they’ve simply stepped outside the expectations that trap everyone else.

It doesn’t take long for Alex to discover that their lifestyle isn’t just unconventional. Kianna and Matt are hiding out after a string of bank robberies, waiting for the chaos they’ve left behind to cool off. Instead of recoiling from the danger, Alex finds herself drawn in even further. After the awkward collapse of her relationship and the sudden uncertainty about where her life is headed, the freedom these two represent becomes strangely appealing. Their world is unpredictable and dangerous, but it also feels alive in a way her old life never did.

As Alex spends more time with them, the emotional center of the story begins to shift. While Matt initially appears charismatic and thrilling, it’s the connection between Alex and Kianna that slowly becomes the film’s most compelling element. Their sapphic chemistry builds in subtle ways; through quiet conversations, stolen glances, and moments that linger just a little longer than expected. Bethany Brown and Tandia Mercedes share a natural spark that gives these scenes a sense of electricity without needing to push too hard.

The film leans into that tension, allowing the attraction between them to grow naturally while the dynamic within the trio becomes increasingly unstable. Matt’s presence starts to feel less charming and more volatile, especially as the bond between the two women deepens. That imbalance creates a constant undercurrent of unease, the sense that something is slowly tightening beneath the surface.

What makes A Safe Distance particularly effective is its commitment to intimacy. The film doesn’t rely on elaborate action sequences or sweeping locations. Much of the story unfolds in the quiet isolation of the forest, with only a handful of characters carrying the narrative. Instead of feeling limited, the simplicity gives the film a focused intensity. Every glance, every conversation, and every shift in tone feels amplified within that small world.

As the story moves closer to the violent moment hinted at in the opening, the sense of dread becomes impossible to ignore. Relationships begin to fracture, jealousy creeps into the spaces where excitement once lived, and the fragile balance holding the trio together starts to unravel. The film allows that tension to simmer rather than explode all at once, creating a steady climb toward the inevitable breaking point.

By the time everything circles back to the haunting image that opened the story, the emotional stakes feel fully realized. The choices these characters have made, driven by desire, curiosity, and the thrill of stepping outside the boundaries of ordinary life, carry consequences that can no longer be avoided.

Gloria Mercer’s debut shows a filmmaker with a clear sense of tone and control. The film moves with confidence, trusting its performances and its slow-burning tension to guide the audience through a story where attraction, danger, and ambition intertwine. The performances from Bethany Brown, Tandia Mercedes, and Cody Kearsley anchor the film’s shifting dynamics, giving each moment a sense of unpredictability that keeps the story moving forward.

A Safe Distance stands as a sharp example of what independent thrillers can achieve when they lean into character, atmosphere, and emotional complexity rather than spectacle. It’s stylish, intimate, and quietly unsettling, allowing desire and danger—especially the sapphic bond at its heart—to blur together until the two become impossible to separate.

Grade: A-

Director: Ian Tuason
Writer: Ian Tuason
Stars: Nina Kiri, Adam DiMarco, Michèle Duquet

Synopsis: The host of a popular paranormal podcast becomes haunted by terrifying recordings mysteriously sent her way.

Feeling goosebumps after hearing a weird noise in your house is a normal thing. It can be a small “eeeeek” from the floor or even the noise that the air conditioner makes when it turns on. If you’re hearing talking inside your house and you don’t have a tv, music, or a podcast on then I suggest that you make a few calls and go stay at a family member’s house for a little bit. The sounds in the new indie horror undertone has given audiences the willies and it damn sure will give older audience members the jitters. Focusing on the sounds in the film adds a new level of terror that a lot of horror movies don’t take advantage of. Director Ian Tuason has built a home that doesn’t have a fleshed out foundation but the amenities are worth sticking around for to enjoy. 

The story follows Evy (Nina Kiri) as a young horror/true crime podcast host. Aside from having a very successful podcast she’s the only person in her immediate family that can take care of her dying mother. This responsibility is taking a toll on her even though she won’t admit it to her co-host/friend, Justin (Adam DiMarco), and boyfriend, Darren. Evy has a routine that she follows as she takes care of her mom and it’s consistent until her and Justin start covering a cryptic story on their show. The audio that they receive via email is weird, but not weird enough to keep them from doing their job. The sounds that come from the audio are downright painstaking. As the movie continues, the duo listens to each audio tape. We’re given a bonkers look into Evy, a character that clearly sees that evil is afoot but she’s disregarding it and acting like things aren’t what they appear to be or sound like. 

One of the bright spots for me in this movie was the sound design. Filmmakers don’t usually discuss a lot about the sounds in their movies unless it’s a major part of it. Tuason and his crew went into this movie thinking that the sounds would be a thing to reel in audiences and ultimately it is. As a podcaster I can say that recording audio can be a difficult thing if your internet connection has a lag, mics can pick up stuff that alters the sound, and more. Seeing our lead actress react to the sounds in the headphones and even the sounds without headphones is something that I am all too familiar with. There’s a camera technique that they create which shows the camera angles slanted to look like it was turning in the manner of a clock. The shots of the clock in Evy’s living room are so entrancing and the sounds of it are impressive. 

There’s a religious subplot with Evy’s dying mother that manages to hold on towards the end of the movie. It involves children and nursery rhymes that we’ve all heard during childhood. There’s an added layer to this subplot that has to do with children dying and/or being sacrificed. That’s a very common thing to be featured in movies with demons and the thing that turned me off was that I’ve seen it in a lot of other things. The lack of characters in the movie is another thing that I didn’t like either. undertone’s editing, sound design and the camera work are really the crown jewel of this film. On a small budget, Tuason assembled a great crew and they all worked together to really make this something that has a lot of value. If he’s already making films like this then I think that he should be a director to really pay attention to in the coming years.

Grade: B

Director: Silvio Soldini
Writers: Doriana Leondeff, Silvio Soldini, Cristina Comencini, Giulia Calenda, Ilaria Macchia, Lucio Ricca
Stars: Elisa Schlott, Max Reimelt, Alma Hasun

Synopsis: Seven women are forced to taste Hitler’s food to check for poison. As they spend time together, their relationships evolve between loyalty and betrayal.

The breadth of World War II is such that there will always be new stories to tell. Whether fact or fiction based on fact, this time in world history affected a broad swath of humanity like no other. Every story that crops up is a very human story about survival in harsh circumstances. Not every story is about soldiers or resistance, either. Many people who were affected directly by the war just wanted to try and carve out some sort of life for themselves amid the horror and violence. The Tasters is a story of civilians and very small acts of resistance.

Paranoid rulers have had food tasters for centuries of human history. Even before the true story was told and turned into a novel, which serves as the basis for this film, it stands to reason that Hitler would have employed someone to make sure that his food was safe. This story and the women in it seem as real and complex as women in this situation may have been in life. Director Silvio Soldini and all of his co-writers give us a plausible account of what could have happened in this situation.

Where the story lacks is in the slog of it. It feels like not a lot is happening. Since the well documented attempts on Hitler’s life during his time in power never included a poisoning at this period, there isn’t a lot of true drama. The film feels like it just goes through the motions of having the worst job in the world where the worst case scenario isn’t coming to fruition. The first meal is incredibly tense. The meal in which several women get sick is also harrowing, but for the most part it is a film that marks time. As we see the different title cards that tell us of the month and year, we can feel the inevitability that this unenviable task will come to an end soon, but it feels like so much of the middle sags with inaction.

There are many subplots within the film that add some different levels of tension. There is a need for an abortion, there are secret liaisons with an officer, there’s a husband MIA on the front lines, and, of course, one of the tasters is Jewish and in hiding who arrived at that point under an assumed identity. Each of these subplots could have been its own film. The Tasters pulls us in many different directions, but it serves to show us just how complicated life could be for ordinary people trying to live through the war. It just makes you wish that the tension could have been heightened by one of these subplots superseding the main plot much faster than it does.

It’s a benefit to the film to have a focal character like Rosa (Elisa Schlott). She’s an outsider to this place and living with her in-laws after being left homeless by the bombing in Berlin. She has street smarts that come in handy and a strong will that puts her in a more confident position among her peers. Her story is one of an ordinary citizen not caught up in the politics of Nazism, but just wants the war to be over. She just wants her husband to come home. In that way she puts up a resistance that’s less about force of arms and more about force of will. She will not be broken.

The strength of Rosa’s story is bolstered by Elisa Schlott’s performance. She has to run the gamut of emotions and a strong physical performance as Rosa has to scrap a few times.  She’s able to convey complexity with a flick of her eyes or the movement of her brows. Schlott brings a great sense of believability and grounding to an extraordinary situation.
The Tasters is often tense and pulse-pounding even if those moments are few and far between. The film strives to tell a civilian story of war and how the people suffer by their own fascist government, no matter their allegiance. It’s a film that will appeal to World War II buffs and people who have a taste for historical drama, but that may be it.

Grade: C

Director: Brandon Christensen
Writers: Brandon Christensen and Ryan Christensen
Stars: Jaime M. Callica, Sean Rogerson, Catherine Lough Haggquist

Synopsis: Two police officers investigate a domestic dispute and there is an accidental shooting. Not wanting to be crucified by the public, the officers attempt to cover it up – only to uncover that the cameras aren’t the only things watching them.

Each year, Shudder releases a new V/H/S anthology series, giving emerging filmmakers a chance to showcase their talents in the found footage genre. Like most anthology projects, some segments are stronger than others. However, as a horror franchise, the V/H/S films have hardly influenced other titles in the genre. At least not in the same way as films like Hereditary or The Conjuring. The new Shudder release, Bodycam, is one of the first horror movies that feels heavily inspired by V/H/S. The tonal similarities are so strong that if it were shorter, one could easily see Bodycam as a V/H/S segment.

Directed by Brandon Christensen, the film centers on two cops called to investigate a domestic dispute. The two men, Officer Jackson (Jaime M. Callica) and Officer Bryce (Sean Rogerson), enter the home and are immediately met with an air of strangeness. The entire home is dark and eerily quiet, and a baby crib has a dying animal lying inside it. They finally encounter the home’s husband and wife. The wife is bloody and erratic. The husband holds a newborn while standing next to a hole in the basement. Above the hole is the word “Rise” written in red letters. The welfare check ends violently as one of the parents is killed by Officer Bryce. The screenplay by Brandon and Ryan Christensen then confronts police corruption. Bryce wants to cover it up because of how the situation appears optically. Jackson, on the other hand, pushes back on the idea and insists on doing the right thing. 

Once they depart, the real horror begins to unfold. Homeless individuals and locals repeat a common threat to Bryce, saying, “You take something from us, we take something from you.” For as many things as the film gets right, the aporophobia aspects feel problematic. The stigma around people experiencing poverty is already hard to overcome. Making them scary in a horror film amid a homeless crisis does not sit well. But the other details, while not entirely original, do offer an energetic horror ride beyond troublesome depictions. Officer Jackson attempts to keep a handle on things while Bryce’s reality shatters. The department is no longer responding to their radio calls, and loved ones begin acting out of character. The pacing in these scenarios is solid. The only drawback is that Christensen sometimes leans on easy horror cliches. For instance, the elongated demon/ghost face has been featured in almost every horror movie in the last decade. One cannot see an elongated mouth without thinking about the trailer for Grave Encounters. 

While Bodycam speaks about police corruption, it feels like a missed opportunity to explore the topic of police brutality thematically. The potential was ripe considering recent events. However, one can make a case that Bodycam is an allegory about the broken and oppressed fighting back. For instance, Officer Jackson’s mother, Ally Jackson (Catherine Lough Haggquist), takes in individuals from the street and continually draws a distinction between the neighborhood residents and her son. A few moments later, the locals his mother supports are seen chanting in a circle inside the home.

The greatest strength of Bodycam is its approach to filming. The hardest part to explain in a found footage movie is why the characters keep recording. It’s smart to use the body-cam setup because police are required to keep them on at all times. The approach makes the footage feel more believable. The problem comes with the horror elements. There isn’t much new here in terms of horror ideas or scares. But depending on your perspective, this can be seen as both a strength and a weakness. The scenes have been done before, but Christensen manages them skillfully. Frequent horror enthusiasts will know what to expect. The jump scares are loud; when evil is nearby, the footage glitches; strangers invoke the cliché of demonic voices; and threats emerge from the shadows, cackling. Also, like the current V/H/S style, the film’s final section shifts into absurd territory.

Bodycam plays the correct notes, even if they are familiar. The pacing is better than most low-budget offerings, and there are a few surprisingly effective moments. The film will perfectly serve the audience who loves the V/H/S franchise. It has all the chaotic energy of the V/H/S films, while retaining some of its silliness. However, the final act arguably falls victim to the campy side. It’s not perfect, and at times it feels like a short film that was overextended. Still, for a direct-to-streaming horror film, the 75-minute police ride should satisfy.

Grade: C+

Director: Stephanie Laing
Writers: Jonathan Keasey, Brant Boivin
Stars: Rose Byrne, Octavia Spencer, Simon Rex

Synopsis: The true story of Amanda Ogle (Byrne), a homeless Seattle woman who fought her way out of tow-company hell to reclaim her life and car after receiving a tow bill for $21,634.

David vs. Goliath. Ford vs. Ferrari. Rocky vs. Apollo Creed (or Clubber Lang, or Ivan Drago). Bard vs. Smaug. The story of the little guy (or girl) who stands in the face of great odds and manages to come out on top is indelible in many cultures, including our own in the world of film. There is something inherently relatable about watching this battle, as most of us feel crushed and stomped upon by the Goliath in our own lives. This is especially true when our opponent is the system we all live under, as opposed to a particular person, regardless of size and/or skill.

In Tow, based on a true story, Academy-Award nominee Rose Byrne plays Amanda Ogle, a woman who has been wronged by the system, and possibly by life itself. We are introduced to her during a job interview in which she swears that she has appropriate experience in pet grooming but has had to write it in the margins because of printer issues. The camera focuses on Byrne’s face in an uncomfortably close manner, which seems to be a pattern now, after If I Had Legs I’d Kick You. Byrne is one of the best actors currently working and is well up to the challenge of this level of focus, even when saddled with a vocal choice that a lesser actor would have folded under. 

Immediately after this, her car is stolen, dropped off elsewhere, and then towed. Amanda attempts to get her car back, but the company has saddled her with the bill (which eventually escalates into thousands of dollars). Quickly, we find out a number of things about Amanda. She is not only unemployed, but is currently living in her vehicle, a 1991 Toyota Camry. Add on to this, she is struggling with substance abuse and has a contentious relationship with her daughter, Avery (Elsie Fisher), due to her absence. 

And herein lies the problem with this, and many other movies about the plight of real people. In trying to do justice to them as complete people, movies can get easily muddled in what they are trying to get across. Is this a movie about recovery? Family? Fighting the capitalist system? The answer, of course, is all of the above. But sadly, most of these ideas never come to fruition in a cohesive or complete way. 

The only things that Tow really has going for it is a pretty standard uplifting story and Rose Byrne, herself. Byrne holds court throughout the runtime and remains likeable, while also pulling at the heartstrings, especially during difficult phone conversations with her daughter. She seems to have an innate ability to pull us in, which is sorely needed here. As expected, Amanda makes some poor choices, but there is not a moment where we feel pulled to leave her side.

As she moves through the court system, and is assisted (kind of) by a well-meaning lawyer, Kevin (a sadly underused Dominic Sessa), a mechanic (Simon Rex), and a stern homeless shelter manager, Barb (Octavia Spencer), one cannot help but wonder if a more streamlined version of her story would be more effective. That being said, Byrne manages to keep all of these strands together, aided by a narrative device using her journal, which finally comes together at the climax of the film.

Spencer, in particular, is frustrating because this is a character she can play with one arm tied behind her back. Barb is a role that could have been fleshed out even more and feels like a waste of her many talents. Tow also engages in a bit of stunt casting with its other shelter residents. Denise (Ariana DeBose) and Nova (Demi Lovato) are the two main culprits, and their sole job is to provide distraction and motivation for Amanda when she loses a bit of steam. DeBose continues a troubling trend of uninspired choices after her Academy Award win, though this is nowhere near as embarrassing as Love Hurts. Lovato, on the other hand, shows promise, but you can basically start a countdown until she sings. Is it a good performance? Yes, but like most of the film, deeply predictable.

And frankly, that is all of Tow’s issues boiled down into a succinct sentence. It offers no surprises, even if you were not aware of the real-life story behind the film. Yes, our protagonist has her share of faults, but none of them are deep enough to challenge the audience. The antagonists, especially the lawyer for the tow truck company played with relish by Corbin Bernsen, are so cartoonishly evil that even these scenes are more laughable than enraging, as they should be. So, while it is impossible not to be moved by a woman wronged by the system, especially during a scene in which Byrne reads from her journal in a perfectly halting, emotional speech, one can’t help but think they have seen this all before, and in this exact order.

Grade: C-

Director: Otilia Portillo Padua
Writer: Sheerly Anvi, Sara Dosa, Gabriela Damián Miravete
Stars: Julia Dolores Raimundo, Julieta Sarafina Amaya, Eliseete Ramirez Carbajal

Synopsis: Deep in Mexico’s forests, two Indigenous mycologists seek to reconcile the past and present while reimagining the future for themselves and the changing world they inhabit.

During a restless, chaotic time in human history, reviewing films and writing about art becomes a bit of a difficult task. It’s unfathomable to ignore global suffering but it’s also as important to connect with various documentarians, and watch documentaries which chronicle the lives of regular, hardworking people. Documentary filmmaking will always be the conscience of the world, and Daughters of the Forest is no exception.

Daughters of the Forest is an immersive sci-fi documentary about the coexisting harmony between mushrooms and indigenous tribes in Mexico. Through two scientists who are armed with both their scientific knowledge, and the culture they carry on their backs from their indigenous origins, we get to watch as they navigate the world of ancient women in the family, mushroom gatherers trying to get by in a world where basic things like farming, agriculture, and vegetable gathering is becoming less of a necessity and more of a dying art. 

Director Otilia Portillo Padua documents a world that is slowly grifted by the rise in fascist technology, wars, and climate emergencies. Defying the fear of extinction has become more of a responsibility for planetary repair. Codependent ecosystems and interspecies cooperation are terms that define the next stage of humanity, if people are serious about saving the planet from the hands of greedy, reckless billionaires. 

The documentary mixes between stunning visuals and realistic scenes of the scientists Lis and Juli as they navigate a world of deforestation and agriculture decay. Those two women spend hours in the laboratory or out there in the wild, identifying and sampling breeds of mushrooms, understanding fungal behavior, mixing that with the wisdom of their ancestors and trying to tie that into how human behavior can be enhanced. Instead of saving the world through pushing for more technology that eats off the life and hard work of farmers and gatherers, professions that sound silly nowadays in the era of digitizing everything. 

It’s bravery when someone decides to make an entire documentary about the life of mushrooms, and how fungi breathe, talk, and send messages. Padua mixes the lives of the scientists and their families, women who spend hours behind a microscope trying to refine the fine microcellular levels of a shaved mushroom stipe. She doesn’t just have those impressive, immersive beautiful shots of going inside the mycelium itself -the intricate root system of the mushroom- but she also integrates the culture of gatherers and secret keepers of the forest, the generations of mushroom collectors, the grandmas who know which one to eat, and which one to use for healing. She shows that culture and science go hand-in-hand, treating both the cottages of the guardians of the forest and the laboratories. 

What it could’ve benefited from is a bit of a focus on the immersive scientific experience. For a while, it felt like Padua didn’t really know what she wanted to focus on. Is this a fully dedicated film to the wisdom of the elders, or a mycological adventure into the heart and soul of a fungus? I know that is purposeful on her part, but it still created a bit of a narrative ambiguity. Had this been absent, the documentary would be positioned differently. Still, these are not integral flaws, just a hushed whisper in the ears of a promising documentary filmmaker who the world definitely anticipates her next move.

In Daughters of the Forest, scientists are going out of their way to discover new ways of using up the planet’s resources without destroying it. It is a race against a time that is not on their side, as the bulldozers of tree loggers clear-cut acres and acres of trees, and as Lis’s mother says in the film “Without a forest, what will become of us?” The documentary poses questions and offers solutions that may salvage the planet when people still have time. But who is listening?

Grade: B+

Director: Amy Wang
Writer: Amy Wang
Stars: Shirley Chen, Mckenna Grace, Elaine Hendrix

Synopsis: An insecure Chinese-American teenager undergoes experimental surgery to appear white, hoping to secure the prom queen title and peer acceptance.

Amy Wang’s Slanted represents an interesting crossroads between genres and inspiration that’s rather intriguing. Many will roll their eyes at the absurdity of the film’s premise, but the experience of actually watching Slanted represents a clash between a strong foundation and weak execution. The inevitable comparisons to Mean Girls and The Substance are somewhat apt, but Slanted is actually at its best within its core themes of immigration and what it actually means to be an American within a system that pressures you to question your identity. The messaging is rarely, if ever, subtle, but it clearly comes from a personal place for filmmaker Wang, and that is where the film is most thought-provoking. Unfortunately, it falters within most of the actual comedy and race commentary of its satire, basically acting as a less clever Get Out that never digs any deeper into the racial implications of its commentary besides telling the same jokes and making surface-level observations repeatedly. It all forms into a mixed bag that has its fair share of thought-provoking observations that are coated with unsubtle and blunt commentary, resulting in an appreciative but frustrating experience.

Slanted begins with the perspective of a younger Joan Huang, a Chinese-born girl who has just immigrated to a new town in America with her mother (Vivian Wu) and father (Fang Du). From the get-go at her school, we see her constantly bullied for the foods she eats, and she simply does not feel welcome in this environment, despite trying her best for her parents. From the very beginning, however, Joan saw becoming prom queen of her school as a sort of level that, if reached, would lead to everyone respecting her identity, and she’s been obsessed with it ever since. Now in the present day, Joan (Shirley Chen) is in high school, constantly seemingly embarrassed by her Chinese features and pressuring her parents to speak English instead of their native Cantonese. 

Every day at school, Joan discusses her plans to run for prom queen with her best friend Brindha (Maitreyi Ramakrishnan) and sees getting an endorsement from high school elite Olivia Hammond (Amelie Zilber) as her ticket to the tiara, but she is still made fun of and sees that her not being the pretty white blonde archetype as the problem. After being contacted by the company Ethnos for using their skin change phone filter so much, Joan is offered to undergo an experimental trans-racial surgery to appear as the pretty white blonde she sees plastered all over her school hallways. She jumps at the chance and becomes Jo Hunt (Mckenna Grace) post the surgery, hoping to gain the admiration she’s always dreamed of.

In retrospect, it’s absurd that Slanted’s marketing has leaned more towards its minuscule body horror elements rather than the clear passion it derives from the center of Amy Wang’s own personal experiences, as it’s where the film excels the most. The film has a rather fresh perspective on the Asian immigrant experience, homing in on those who self-hate or feel the need to erase their own culture in order to fit into a new one. The film is about as subtle as a sledgehammer in this regard (and it’s more of an issue in other areas), but these aspects of the film work the best because they are where Slanted is at its most authentic. The obvious personal experience is very similar to Didi in the way the performances carry the emotions of each scene, and channel the vision of the direction so well. Shirley Chen’s performance is particularly captivating, and the internal and external struggles she conveys between her parents make even the shakier parts of the screenplay more meaningful. 

It’s just a shame that Slanted ends up so weighed down by all the other elements of its satire that even its strongest elements can feel as if there was even more to delve into and there was a lot left at the table. The film leans more into its body horror and comedic elements in its back half as Grace replaces Chen, and it’s where all the commentary is either completely nonconfrontational or just completely predictable. 

The body horror never reaches any full commitment levels, the teenage melodrama is about as plainly drawn out as you’d expect, and the actual comedy rarely evolves beyond “white people listen to Michael Bublé a lot” level jokes. It’s this period that buries a decent portion of Slanted’s more noteworthy elements; there are so many genre aspects it tries to tackle as it goes on, and the writing never extends cleverly enough to punctuate anything purposeful about these, on paper, clever concepts.

Slanted presents a compelling perspective of the immigrant experience, bringing a personal touch to the meaning of finding your identity as an Asian American, which feels lost within a plethora of blunt racial themes that barely scratch beyond the surface. Amy Wang’s nuanced body horror comedy ends up as a valiant but futile attempt at a satire.

Grade: C

Director: Jan Komasa
Writers: Bartek Bartosik, Naqqash Khalid
Stars: Stephen Graham, Andrea Riseborough, Anson Boon

Synopsis: A 19-year-old criminal, Tommy, is kidnapped and forced into a rehabilitation process by a dysfunctional couple, Chris and Kathryn, who try to make him a “good boy.” Tommy must find a way to escape.

Jan Komasa has always been at the forefront of drawing cogent portraits of specific, complex individuals, whether in the religious-driven Corpus Christi or the cautionary tale of Anniversary, but he seems to have genuinely stumbled with his newest venture, Heel. Initially titled Good Boy, yet renamed to avoid confusion with the dog horror movie of the same title, Komasa, and screenwriters Bartek Bartosik and Naqqash Khalid don’t really know what they want to treat when focusing on their central character, who seems to be stuck in a fairly complicated predicament. 

The film opens in media res by introducing audiences to the delinquency of Tommy (Anson Boon, who was excellent in Guy Ritchie’s MobLand last year), who excessively consumes drugs and alcohol and purposefully gets into physical altercations with as many people as he can…until he’s suddenly abducted. We don’t know what happened to him for some time, as Komasa switches to the perspective of housekeeper Rina (Monika Frajczyk), who is being interviewed for  potential employment by Chris (Stephen Graham). She eventually gets the gig and travels to Chris’ house, where she meets his reclusive wife, Kathryn (Andrea Riseborough), their son, Jonathan (Kit Rakusen), and Tommy, who is being chained like a dog in their basement. 

Who is he? And what is he doing here? These questions will eventually be answered, but in a fairly nonchalant way, or at least treated as if none of this truly matters. Unlike Anniversary, which felt urgent, especially as a potent reflection of the politically unstable times America lives in, Heel possesses no sense of urgency or willingness to engage with the ideas haphazardly presented on screen. Komasa can still craft effective images and control his aesthetic extremely well in the edit, but they don’t have as much of a grip on us as they did in Corpus Christi, The Hater, and Anniversary. 

To be clear, pairing with cinematographer Michał Dymek – whose work in Jerzy Skolimowski’s EO and Magnus von Horn’s The Girl with the Needle is some of the decade’s very best photography – is a stroke of genius. However, his talents feel limited when the language isn’t as well-defined as Komasa’s previous works. There are still the odd image or two with lasting power, but they’re sparse compared to the Polish filmmaker’s previous works, which feature many frames that create a tangible impact. These occur near the end of the picture, where the story’s meaning is fully revealed. Despite an assured sense of style, many of these “reveals” fall pitifully flat, including its ridiculous ending, which renders most of the character development moot if Tommy regresses as a result of his time spent within a household he was forced to be in. 

It is difficult to discuss a movie whose plot shouldn’t be revealed in any form of critical writing, because most of the narrative developments occur near its conclusion, but please believe me when I say that Heel’s benevolent intentions no longer exist during the film’s baffling climax. You’d be forgiven for thinking Komasa was asleep at the wheel compared to the previous masterworks he’s helmed, because the film lacks the character-driven (and aesthetic) pulse he’s mostly known for, but it’s not entirely his fault. 

The screenplay has little to no interest in drawing compelling characters. Chris and Kathryn live in (very) morally grey areas and still seem to be riddled by the passing of one of their children, which might explain the reasoning behind Tommy’s kidnapping. However, none of these people are explored to their fullest extent, even during scenes of child abuse towards their remaining son. It should theoretically give a clue about how they’re controlling their house – and probably how their other son died – but it barely scratches the surface on who they are as trauma-ridden human beings. 

The same thing can be said for Tommy. Komasa will scratch an itch on the rise of “dare” (and, by extension, influencer) culture that has created more and more terrible people for their antics to be posted all over the internet, but there’s barely anything to hold onto in the character’s evolution. Even when he manages to break free from the shackles of his dog collar, the resulting catharsis is limited. It has a grab-bag of interesting – and thematically resonant – ideas, but Komasa refuses to go beyond the confines of the screenplay he’s been given. It’s frustrating, because we know of his talent as someone who has always put character first and wasn’t afraid to defy our preconceptions of what we believe a protagonist should accomplish in a film. 

He attempts to do it here with Heel, but none of his characters are remotely interesting enough for us to latch onto them, despite solid work from Graham, Riseborough, and Boon. The latter, in particular, gives the movie’s best performance, because he has the most varied register to play in, whilst Graham and Riseborough are stuck in their one-note archetypes from beginning to end. I did enjoy Kathryn’s voice evolving from the first time we met her, closing in on herself, to the last scene, where she has found a new purpose to live again, but it’s about the only thing we can peer into regarding the character. She is, unfortunately, as empty as everyone else.

The good news is that Heel isn’t a downright terrible movie, just a particularly unmemorable one. Komasa’s formal impulses are still intact, but they’re in service of a screenplay that has no idea what it wants to say about anything it lays in front of the audience. Unlike Anniversary, which had so much to say about the current rise in fascism that America is undertaking, Heel stops whenever it presents an idea and takes the easy way out of “leaving it open to interpretation.” The thing is, you can’t leave it open to interpretation if you don’t give the audience something to interpret with. There is nothing – and I genuinely mean nothing – to interpret this movie from. It’s complete vacuity from beginning to end. It’s also Jan Komasa’s first (and hopefully last) miss. It had to happen eventually, but I didn’t expect it to be this unremarkable…

Grade: D+