Director: David F. Sandberg
Writers: Gary Dauberman, Blair Butler
Stars: Ella Rubin, Odessa A’zion, Michael Cimino

Synopsis: A group of friends trapped in a time loop, where mysterious foes are chasing and killing them in gruesome ways, must survive until dawn to escape it.

David F. Sandberg’s adaptation of Supermassive Games’ Until Dawn is an adaptation in name only. Instead of directly transposing the 2015 interactive movie of the same name to the screen, and its “butterfly effects” to fit cinematic conventions, Sandberg and writers Gary Dauberman and Blair Butler create an original story set within the world of the game. That would’ve been fine if the story actively expanded upon the mythology that Larry Fessenden and Graham Reznick (unlike Sony, who did not credit the writers of the game during the end credits, I am giving them their proper recognition) built upon in the video game. However, it chooses to ignore all of that completely and instead make a conventional time loop movie that fundamentally misunderstands the core mechanics of terror at the heart of Until Dawn. 

The only tangible connection we have to the video game is the appearance of Peter Stormare, who reprises his role as Dr. Alan J. Hill, and traps a group of teenagers inside an endless time loop that forces them to relive their deaths over and over again, unless they survive the evening until dawn and break the loop. That’s about as far as I’ll go in describing what happens, because, to Sandberg’s credit, the movie does have some neat connections to the game within that specific story itself, and how each death brings them closer to something they do not want to become. 

That said, transforming the “butterfly effect,” which meant that players could make critical choices at pivotal turns in the game that would affect the story, with a time loop, may be the single most significant mistake that entirely sinks this supernatural horror movie. Of course, making an interactive live-action film is complicated, as illustrated by David Slade’s Black Mirror: Bandersnatch, which makes it understandable for Sandberg to want to stay away from doing something like this on a large scale. Yet, in not wanting to stage sequences that showcase how each choice the protagonists make affects their survival of the time loop, the movie becomes nothing more than a repetitive series of over-the-top deaths with very little thrills, and little to no tangible connections to genuinely titillate fans of the game. 

Sure, the use of nifty practical effects to visualize the most agonizing end for our protagonists is certainly fun, notably a sequence that sees them violently react to the water they’ve drunk in the most explosive fashion. It certainly has the most creative use of blood I’ve seen since Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance, but even the funniest – and most unexpected – sections of the movie become increasingly tiresome when they’re frequently repeated, diminishing the intended effect they had when first employed. What remains is a series of haphazard connections to the video game, which seem to have been added at the last minute instead of being integral to its plot development. 

Without giving much away, the integration of these elements is only there for the audience to artificially point and clap at the screen when they recognize something they’ve heard from the video game. There’s no tangible desire for Sandberg to genuinely expand upon the mythos of its creatures, or in the repercussions of a “butterfly effect.” It’s a time loop movie that has Until Dawn connections in it. If you removed those altogether, it wouldn’t make a difference in the plot, and in how the story eventually wraps up, fundamentally misunderstanding the core concept of Fessenden and Reznick’s approach to horror, not only in the cinematic aesthetic it appropriates, but also through its ludonarrative. 

Throwing all of that out of the window in making an Until Dawn movie seems as pointless as the idea of making a film based on what is essentially a movie, where the subtle choices you make affects the overall story. It also doesn’t help that its ensemble cast, comprised of burgeoning stars, can’t hold weight to the shoddy material they’re given, often producing unintentional bouts of hilarity rather than imbuing them with the same emotional textures the protagonists in the video game had. Even sequences with significant dramatic power fall flat, as they contain more than one jumpscares to keep the viewer on edge instead of letting the drama speak for itself. 

The end result is sadly insulting for gamers who have spent their time examining the lore beneath the actual game, and doesn’t feel like it holds as much reverence to the source material as Jared Hess did while making A Minecraft Movie. That’s something I never expected to say, since Sandberg does hold a formal edge over his contemporaries, and he does possess great skill in crafting neat transitions, particularly one at the top of his movie. But Hess understood something that Sanderg sadly doesn’t. When making a video game adaptation, of course you want to appeal to a broad audience, but your primary targets are the people who have played it and hold great appreciation for the game. That’s why Minecraft did so well – it understood that it specifically needed to target the gamers first before anyone else. If you fail the fans at the top of your Until Dawn film, who is this offshoot for?

Grade: D

Director: Paul Feig
Writers: Darcey Bell, Jessica Sharzer, Laeta Kalogridis
Stars: Blake Lively, Anna Kendrick, Allison. Janney

Synopsis: Stephanie Smothers and Emily Nelson reunite on the island of Capri, Italy, for Emily’s extravagant wedding to a rich Italian businessman, which is interrupted by murder and betrayal.

A Simple Favor introduced audiences to mommy vlogger Stephanie Smothers (Anna Kendrick) and her increasingly twisted friendship with the urbane and impeccably stylish Emily Nelson (Blake Lively). Paul Feig’s movie managed to balance satirical camp with a relatively satisfying thriller, proving that the Venn diagram between zucchini and chocolate muffin recipes for mommies and true crime obsession was, in fact, a circle. Warfield, Connecticut, a sweetly suburban town was hooked on the mystery surrounding Emily, her former novelist husband, Sean (Henry Golding), and Stephanie’s “problem solving” mind being put to use not only in providing handy hints for mommies and caring for Sean and Emily’s son Nicky (Ian Ho), but also “Nancy Drew-ing” Emily’s disappearance. 

By necessity to engage with Another Simple Favor, spoilers for the original movie follow. Emily Nelson turned out to be Hope McLanden who, with her twin sister Faith, killed their abusive father by burning him alive in the west wing of their sprawling home. On the run since the age of sixteen, Hope took on many aliases and formed close relationships with people who could give her money and security. Her sister, Faith, was less successful in shaking off her demons and re-emerged, only for Emily to have to put her down. Faith’s death provided an opportunity for Emily to collect on a large insurance policy Sean had taken out. It all would have been perfect if Emily hadn’t chosen to befriend Stephanie who turned out to be darker, cleverer, and more cynical than her cutesy “super-mommy” exterior belied. Long story short: Stephanie solved the mystery, Emily and Stephanie developed a grudging respect for each other (with the exception of Emily being happy to kill Stephanie), and Emily/Claudia/Hope ended up in prison.

Cut to years later where Stephanie’s son, Miles (Joshua Santino), is now on the edge of puberty and Stephanie is about to launch her book “The Faceless Blonde” about her experiences with Emily, when the woman herself enters the event – out of prison and about to be married in Capri. An event she rather forcibly invites Stephanie to attend by threatening a large lawsuit. “I’m the best thing to ever happen to you,” Emily tells Stephanie, along with a strange promise that she is going to spend the rest of her life trying to find ways to “thank” Stephanie for blowing up her life. The first act of “gratitude” is picking Stephanie to be her matron of honor — making it clear that this time Stephanie won’t be able to sleep with her husband.

The film opens with Stephanie under house arrest speaking to her mommies on her vlog. How did Stephanie end up arrested in Italy? Funny you should ask. Even funnier if you try to care. Feig and the screenwriters, including Darcey Bell, who wrote the novel the first film was based on, have decided that extreme camp trumps any form of actual plot. Someone decided the movie contains Blake Lively wearing impossibly glamorous outfits trading coded quips with Anna Kendrick there’s little else required to keep audiences entertained. Throw in Capri looking gorgeous, some hunky mafiosi, a sassy literary agent Vicky (Alex Newell), and a couple of gruesome murders that was enough. “Someone” was wrong.

Gathered at the wedding are Sean (Henry Goulding overacting), Nicky, Emily’s resentful mother-in-law to be Portia Versano (Elena Sofia Ricci) and Emily’s new beloved, crime family scion, Dante Versano (Michele Morrone) and rival Matteo Bartolo (Lorenzo de Moor). As a barbed “treat” for Emily, Portia also invited Emily’s mother Margaret (recast with Elizabeth Perkins taking up Jean Smart’s mantle) and Emily’s Aunt Linda (Allison Janney). Stephanie is clearly concerned Emily might be using the wedding as an excuse to exact her revenge, and Emily hints that could be the case if her mood goes that way. Once again the two “besties” feel each other out (verbally, no kissing this time) and the absurd behavior of almost everyone around them seems to be par for the course. 

Sean has taken to day-drinking and bitterly complaining about being present at the wedding of his ex who shot him; apparently forced to attend due to the “magic lawyers” who were able to get a self-confessed double murderer out of prison and able to travel internationally (don’t question how the magic lawyers work). Nicky is now a pre-teen with dyed hair who missed his mom and slightly resents his dad. Grandma Margaret is more gin soaked than the first film. Only Aunt Linda seems to be functioning on Emily’s side of the wedding aisle. Perhaps, considering the McLanden family, a little too functional.

If people found the first film to be a little too twist heavy they’re in for even more in Another Simple Favor but this time the twists are so ludicrous that the movie feels almost like a comedy sketch sending up the original. There’s an extremely green FBI agent (Taylor Ortega) on Capri whose original presence back in Warfield makes little sense. Stephanie has become very friendly with Detective Summerville (Bashir Salahuddin) presumably because of her amateur sleuthing adventures, but he, like Andrew Rannell’s fellow mommy, Darren, is back in America while all the action is in Italy. The action being Emily’s outfits, insane people, veiled and real threats, Stephanie’s “not that nice” side being brought out by Emily, and corrupt police serving the various Napolitano crime families whose fantastic wealth is the higher stakes game.

Trying to describe the plot is akin to welcoming an aneurism with every sloppy and ludicrous detail putting further pressure on a previously functional brain. Stephanie, who is supposed to act as the audience’s stand-in witnessing the shenanigans, doesn’t have enough quips to illustrate how overwhelmingly stupid the entire proceedings are. When she tells Emily she might be overdoing it on the outfits (there’s a hat that basically requires tent struts to keep it up), she’s underplaying how surface the film is. Jokes are dry and dusty, characters are profoundly stupid, and a sense of actual danger is missing because it’s impossible to care what happens to anyone in the movie.

A Simple Favor wrapped itself up quite nicely in the post movie “what happened to” epilogue. Forget everything they stated for Another Simple Favor. Forget subtlety, mystery, black comedy, social commentary on the suburbs and secrets… in fact forget almost every positive aspect of the first movie and be prepared for bonkers and badly done. The simplest favor you can do for yourself is to ensure you’re six martinis deep before you hit play on Another Simple Favor – you’re going to need them.

Grade: F

Director: Gavin O’Connor
Writer: Bill Dubuque
Stars: Ben Affleck, Jon Bernthal, Cynthia Addai-Robinson

Synopsis: Christian Wolff applies his brilliant mind and illegal methods to reconstruct the unsolved puzzle of a Treasury chief’s murder.

The Accountant 2, the sequel to the modest 2016 hit, is less structured, more fun, and big on action. It’s not nearly as exciting or well-crafted as the first, which featured a fascinating exploration of backstories and a mythology reminiscent of a graphic novel. The sequel is more interested in watching its neurodivergent protagonist step out of his comfort zone, engage in social situations, reunite with family, and follow wherever the wind may blow.

You could argue that The Accountant 2 is more fun—maybe even unpredictable—with a decent twist involving the film’s main villain. But throughout, I kept wondering: what was the point of the experience? The result is a film that feels more like one of those ’80s action sequels made just to cash in. The thing is, those movies were usually rushed to meet a deadline. Yet this Gavin O’Connor film took nine years to make, making it all the more puzzling that they couldn’t develop a stronger script that further explored the characters’ histories and how they got to where they are now.

The new chapter continues to follow Christian Wolff (Ben Affleck), our favorite accountant who is also a hitman with autism. It’s quite the gig—a killer for hire who can also launder money for some of the world’s wealthiest criminals. After moving on from a dinky strip mall and flying under the radar, he relocates his silver Airstream to a lot full of them. We can only assume he bought an Airstream dealership, living the dream under the cover of shiny silver anonymity.

However, Wolff is pulled back in when an old friend, Raymond King (Academy Award winner J.K. Simmons), the former Director of the Treasury Department, becomes the target of unknown assassins. King’s replacement, Treasury Agent Marybeth Medina (The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power’s Cynthia Addai-Robinson), contacts the Harbor Neuroscience Institute—a kind of Bat-Signal for Wolff. He reconnects with Justine (Allison Robertson, replacing The American’s Alison Wright, who is on the autism spectrum, bringing authentic representation to the role), his childhood friend with nonverbal autism, and communicates using a supercomputer-assisted system.

Where The Accountant 2 finds its groove is in turning the film into, essentially, a buddy comedy. That’s where the magnetic Jon Bernthal comes in, reprising his role as Braxton, revealed at the end of the first film to be Christian’s long-lost brother. Bernthal is electric here, effortlessly shifting between action star and comic relief—you just can’t get enough of him. His character is the foil to Affleck’s straight man, who still delivers his signature deadpan, dry humor through a neurodivergent lens. Braxton tags along with Christian, working alongside Medina as they hunt for an assassin tied to King’s case.

The script, written by Bill Dubuque, who also penned the original and several standout episodes of the Netflix series Ozark, leans more heavily into comedy this time. Affleck continues to display his dry wit, while Bernthal proves to be a natural comedic presence. The fact is, Braxton is the more compelling character here, often overshadowing Affleck’s Christian, and easily merits his own spinoff. However, the film’s central plot feels like a contradiction. It hinges on a convoluted setup meant to elicit emotional investment through a murder in the first act. Still, the reveal is well-executed, delivering a satisfying twist reminiscent of the best moments from the first film.

However, the film is incredibly uneven, becoming frenetic and shifting to a melodrama while wavering in tone and substance. One third plays as a buddy comedy, another as an ultra-violent action thriller, and the final portion aims for something heartwarming—bordering on manipulative—as it tries to showcase a team of students at Harbor working together to help Christian advance his mission. Unfortunately, the subplot involving the mysterious henchman is so underdeveloped and inconsequential that you’re left wondering why it was included at all.

You will undoubtedly be entertained by The Accountant 2—Lord knows there are worse ways to spend your cinematic escapism. Yet the film is so uneven, so lacking in a clear point of view, that it feels like an action-packed version of Whose Line Is It Anyway?—a story unfolding without a clear destination. You begin to wonder: if not for the likability of the actors, would the film hold up at all? Strip away the charm, and what’s left is a movie riddled with plot holes, coasting more on charisma than on meaningful, escapist substance.

You can watch The Accountant 2 only in theaters starting April 25th!

Grade: C

Director: Hwang Byeng-gug
Writers: Kim Hyo-seok, Hwang Byeng-gug, Yoon Soon-yong
Stars: Kang Ha-neul, Yoo Hai-jin, Park Hae-jun

Synopsis: In drug crime circles, ‘Ya-Dang’ informants sell criminals’ info. Criminals use this to reduce sentences, while law enforcement uses it for arrests. Ya-Dang, police and prosecutors form a key triangle.

Yadang: The Snitch begins in media res, introducing us to its protagonist, Kang-su (Kim Hyo-seok), in the middle of an interrogation as he attempts to extract critical information on a drug deal being made. Kang-su is now an expert informant, or “snitch,” in extracting the most important details before intervening with prosecutor Koo Kwan-hee (Yoo Hai-jin). After being framed for a crime he didn’t commit and getting a second chance at life with the prosecutor, Kang-su seems to be at the height of his “career” of swindling people and looking immaculate while doing it. 

All of this changes, though, as Kang-su becomes embroiled in a political scandal, which reveals that Cho Hoon (Ryu Kyung-soo), the son of South Korea’s top Presidential candidate, is a massive drug addict, and a video showcasing this is on the verge of getting out. With Kwan-hee being the candidate’s right-hand man, he silences Kang-su. The people surrounding him who also knew of Cho Hoon’s drug addiction, including police detective Oh Sang-jee (Park Hae-jun), and Uhm Su-jin (Chae Won-been), an actress caught in a similar drug scandal, after taking an unknown substance she thought were “vitamins” and testing positive for drugs, are also in trouble. 

A few months pass, and Kang-su finally regains the strength he needs to take all of the people responsible for his downfall out, leading to a classic revenge thriller that, while not reinventing the wheel, still ends up being admirable enough for a Saturday evening watch. What sets its apart from other revenge thrillers of the sort is its incredibly precise use of swift, invisible transitions that pull us further into its world than a line of dialogue would, especially when being tasked to visualize how the character feels inside a spiderweb of corruption that keeps expanding, making it impossible for Kang-su to fully eliminate it. 

This verve gives Yadang: The Snitch some formal edge that compels us to watch the film until the very end. Even if the beats are familiar and one knows that, once Kang-su teams up with Oh and Su-jin, they have more than one trick up their sleeves to bring the prosecutor’s entire corrupt operation down. In fact, the dramatic crux of the movie is its biggest weakness, despite Squid Game’s Kang Ha-neul modulating tangible comedic and dramatic registers. Sadly, the material he has to work with is fairly nonexistent, even when representing how difficult it is for an addict to quit drugs altogether. 

It gets even worse when a tragic event drastically changes their mission, a telegraphed moment that would give some emotional heft to the rest of Kang-su’s desires to see the prosecutor behind bars. Yet, that shockingly violent moment is quickly brushed aside in favor of an Ocean’s Eleven-like climax that, while perfectly executed, still leaves us with a sour taste in the mouth. It also doesn’t help that the narrative is frequently jumbled, between flash-forwards and flashbacks in time in rapid succession, one can easily lose sight of what exactly director Hwang Byeng-gug wants to discuss in his 122-minute thriller. 

It’s only when it reaches that aforementioned climax that one knows what Byeng-gug wanted to talk about all along, and he provides a potent anti-corruption message that hits much truer in this era. It also helps that this entire finale is slickly shot and edited, deceiving the audience to the very end until its denouement gives us the biggest smiles on our faces. No matter how corrupt the powerful may be, the people always have the last word and have the power to stand up, even if the ones on top may seem unstoppable. Spoiler alert: no one is, and if there’s anyone who will demonstrate this inextricable fact, it’s Kang-su, who will give power back to the hands of the people deciding the country’s ultimate fate, before being forced to make the wrong choice.

Grade: B

Director: Lorcan Finnegan
Writer: Thomas Martin
Stars: Nicolas Cage, Finn Little, Julian McMahon

Synopsis: A man returns to the idyllic beach of his childhood to surf with his son. When he is humiliated by a group of locals, the man is drawn into a conflict that keeps rising and pushes him to his breaking point.

Despite what our culture, especially when involving men, teaches, singular focused obsession is dangerous. Although there is a disturbing focus on “the grind” and getting what we are supposed to crave, that can be just as dangerous as consistent laziness. The car, the job, the perfect family image. All of these things are both worth striving for and a poisonous addiction. As we try to undo our mistakes and mistakes that we are saddled with, we must consider that sometimes it may be better to just walk away, or in the case of this movie, surf away.

The Surfer follows our eponymous protagonist (Nicolas Cage) as he has returned to a scene seemingly out of a perfect postcard. The film opens with him giving an obviously prepared monologue to his son (Finn Little) tying the idea of surfing to life. It is revealed soon after that he has traveled here to live, to buy a massive house on the hill overlooking the beach. Further, it was the house that his own father had owned before everything went south for the family.

Seems like a nice father-son moment, but it doesn’t quite work out that way. At this beach during this time, only locals can surf. As is repeated constantly in a threat, “Don’t live here, don’t surf here.” And no, no one cares that he used to live here and is in the process of trying to live here. This creates immediate tension which provides an enjoyable contrast from the idyllic setting. The visuals, shot by Radek Ladczuk, gives us an immediate understanding of why The Surfer wanted to return.

Due to this awkward situation, his son eventually leaves and the film quickly spirals into a trippy, strange, confusing journey into our protagonist’s mind and into the world of toxic masculinity. This toxicity is mostly shown through “The Bay Boys,” locals who run the beach, led by Scally (Julian McMahon). The film tries to thread two very difficult needles, and is only moderately successful with both.

The idea of these toxic men, many of them quite young, only works in moments. The violence and anger is so over-the-top that it borders on too comical. McMahon is the best of the bunch, as he offers at least a manipulative presence that has minor shades of grey, as opposed to literal screaming closeups of angry, young, white men. His sense of intimidation, aided by his striking voice and facial features, sells this much better than any amount of yelling possibly could. Additionally, there is so much room to explore this toxicity and have something to say, but The Surfer consistently falls short of this lofty goal. 

This is likely because the film also chooses to have Cage slowly lose his sense of reality. He stays in this horrific situation because of his desire to reclaim his place in this paradise as we are slowly shown some of the history he and his family have endured. This could have been an interesting character piece, but the decision to focus on a Cage spiral robs us of any real deeply felt emotion. That is not necessarily a net negative. There is no one better than Nicolas Cage to play an unraveling man. His performance, along with some clever use of fish eye lenses and unmooring camera angles certainly makes us feel as uncertain of the truth as The Surfer, himself. 

The Surfer is a strange movie, caught somewhere between being in love with the B-movies it idolizes and wanting to say something about family, home, and masculinity. It becomes an enjoyable watch as the performers go for broke, regardless of whether the audience is on the same page. There is certainly a joy in the absolute extra that director Lorcan Finnegan is able to pull from even these picturesque surroundings and actors. There are interesting questions initially posed (What does home mean? Can we fix our parent’s mistakes?) that deserve more focus than a starving, confused man, but through sheer force of nature, The Surfer, is still worth the experience.

Grade: C+

Director: Matt Winn
Writers: James Handel, Matt Winn
Stars: Alan Tudyk, Shirley Henderson, Rufus Sewell

Synopsis: Sarah and Tom are in deep financial trouble. Their situation takes a terrifying nosedive with the shocking behavior of their uninvited dinner guest, Jessica.

The title of Matt Winn’s black comedy of manners, The Trouble with Jessica,  immediately brings to mind Alfred Hitchcock’s classic comedy The Trouble with Harry but other than a somewhat inconvenient dead body compelling the plot, there is no comparing the skill of good old Hitch with Winn’s underdeveloped and predominantly under-acted farce. The audience might find themselves wishing to be in Jessica’s (Indira Varma) position – oblivious to what is happening around her.

Sarah (Shirley Henderson) and Tom (a muted Alan Tudyk) are having a special dinner party with their closest friends, Beth (Olivia Williams) and Richard (Rufus Sewell). Tom gets a call that Beth and Richard will be bringing Jessica. They all knew each other at university and Sarah is particularly bitter that Jessica has invited herself along. Jessica has just published a successful book and Sarah fears, or rather, knows that somehow, in true Jessica fashion, she will ensure the evening is all about her. 

Sarah and Tom’s beautiful North London home is due to be sold to cover debts incurred by Tom trying to finance his dream architecture project. Sarah hoped that the last dinner in their house will be a celebration. Instead, it becomes a night that will strip away all the middle-class politeness that existed between the group of friends: as Jessica says, “Stop the bullshit.”

Jessica has some acidic things to say about her friends. She calls Sarah an “adult fuck up,” criminal defense lawyer Richard a “charming amoralist,” his wife Beth who works in domestic violence support is “a po-faced do-gooder,” and Tom a “pathological dreamer.” Dinner heats up as Sarah and Jessica face off. Sarah resents Jessica’s narcissism and constant flirtations with Tom. Sarah reveals that Tom’s dream project has bankrupt them and the only way they can survive is to sell the house immediately. With two teen children to support, she snipes that Jessica has no idea what it’s like to have real problems that can’t be exorcised by a memoir of travel adventures and illicit love affairs. 

Whatever Sarah may think, Jessica has enough problems that she takes herself out to their garden and hangs herself. An act that leaves the group astonished and confused. It’s also an act that puts the essential sale of Tom and Sarah’s house in jeopardy. Sarah convinces Tom that calling 999 will lead to their ruin. They now need to convince Beth and Richard pretend Jessica’s suicide didn’t occur in their home, but rather at her own, and Sarah isn’t above blackmail to do so. A visit from the police due to the disconnected 999 call places everyone as an accessory to failure to report a death. From there, the cracks in the relationships between them all come to the surface in a pseudo-comedic “move the body” gambit.

Matt Winn and James Handel’s script had the potential to be a wicked farce, especially when it appears that night is when everyone wants to knock on Sarah and Tom’s door. From their elderly neighbor, Miranda, who wants to meet and congratulate Jessica (now deceased) on her book, to the buyer of the house; a German oil lobbyist named Klaus (Sylvester Groth). The problem is that only Rufus Sewell seem to have understood the tone of the work, meaning he stands out as apparently overacting because everyone else is underplaying their characters. There’s no great statement being made by The Trouble with Jessica – the fact that middle-aged couples grow tired of each other, and long-term friendships collect grievances over the years is hardly a revelation. Thus, the satire is almost non-existent, and the farcical elements get tiring quite quickly. A late attempt to add honest emotional weight to the film fails.

Of unfortunate note is the music composed by Matt Winn and Matt Cooper. It tries desperately to tell the audience that a scene is funny, chaotic, or serious in such an overbearing manner that the rest of the film is competing with it. Not that there is much competition offered with the all too obvious twists and the one running joke being a clafoutis made by Richard. When a cherry pudding is the gag the film keeps returning to, bland fare is the menu.

Other than Sewell trying to keep the energy and engine of the movie running, there’s very little else to recommend it. Shirley Henderson and Alan Tudyk are both accomplished comic actors, but they do extremely little to make anyone invested in their fate. Tudyk is particularly floundering as Tom whose main personality trait is “no personality.” Olivia Williams comes out of the film with her dignity intact, but Beth isn’t her finest characterization. Indira Varma manages to play movable corpse just fine – but as a living character, Jessica’s main trait seems to be “a bit of a bitch.”

The Trouble with Jessica not only misses its farcical marks, but it is also irritating when it’s trying to be funny and uninteresting when it’s not. Middle class hypocrisy is rote in British cinema and Winn’s work doesn’t manage to mine anything of consequence. I’d like to write something witty about The Trouble with Jessica but I don’t want to rub further salt in Matt Winn’s wounds by proving critics can be funnier than he is. The Trouble with Jessica isn’t pithy, it isn’t surprising, and it isn’t worth coming to the table for.

Grade: F

Director: Shinji Higuchi
Writers: Kazuhiro Nakagawa, Norichika Ōba
Stars: Tsuyoshi Kusanagi, Kanata Hosoda, Jun Kaname

Synopsis: Tension mounts aboard the Tohoku Shinkansen Hayabusa No. 60, bound for Tokyo, where a bomb is rigged to instantly detonate if the train’s speed drops below 100 km/h. As panic grips the passengers following the announcement of conductor Takaichi, the crew, passengers, and the Shinkansen General Operation Control Center race against time to avert disaster.

If you’ve seen Jan de Bont’s Speed, chances are you didn’t know that Junya Satō’s 1975 classic The Bullet Train was the precursor to such a movie, where a simple premise (in this case, a bomb planted in a high-speed bullet train that is set to explode automatically if it slows down below a certain pace) delivered high-stakes, non-stop thrills. Its revolutionary use of miniatures to visualize moments of pure, agonizing terror, as the train continues to encounter bumps while unable to slow down, still holds up to this day as a significant example of creativity that we seldom see in the filmmaking sphere anymore.

The funny thing about the film is that the miniatures are incredibly obvious, so much so that it breaks our suspension of disbelief. Yet, we become so riveted by Satō’s precise employment of crash-zooms and whip-pans to establish palpable, textured suspense in its sequences of walking-and-talking as a revolving door of characters attempt to defuse the bomb that we completely buy into the artifice of it all. That’s because Satō spends a good amount of his runtime giving personality and a tragic, urgent backstory to the antagonist, Tetsuo Okita, played by Ken Takakura, one of the great actors of Japanese genre cinema.

The final shot, while logical in its development and building up to its natural conclusion, acts like a true shock to the system. The frame turns pink and immediately slows down, giving the police the victory they wanted in apprehending the criminal responsible for such an ordeal. However, to the audience, such a denouement could’ve been prevented, and likely would’ve prevented unnecessary suffering. It’s an image that’s stuck with me ever since I saw the original, which is used as the foundation for Shin Godzilla co-director Shinji Higuchi’s Bullet Train Explosion, releasing on Netflix this week.

Part remake and reboot, this repurposed story for contemporary sensibilities stays excitingly tense and kinetic from the moment characters learn a bomb has been planted on the Tohoku Shinkansen Hayabusa No. 60. A key scene from the original film is modernized, as the bullet train must avoid clashing with another locomotive without slowing down, and its impact is much more visceral and intense than in Satō’s picture. Gone are the miniatures, we now have expensive CGI visualizing massive, larger-than-life explosions and crashes that are so death-defying it looks like a thrill ride plucked straight from the depths of Hell. Whereas the 1975 film had more realistic action based entirely on mounting tension, Higuchi’s reimagining is more explosive, and cartoonishly over-the-top. 

It simultaneously acts as a feature, especially when adrenaline-fueled scenes inside the train exaggerate the sense of tension at play to ridiculously silly heights, and a bug, when explosions are unrealistically large and defy all laws of physics. However, I’d be lying if I said none of it is terrifically entertaining, even if the reliance on CGI to craft the exterior sequences lacks the artistry of miniatures, where the limitless imagination of the director made us forget we were watching entirely plastic creations, as chintzy as it may look to viewers who have no sense of creating strong images with their mind.

That said, Higuchi is a smart enough filmmaker to at least prime us that this film is more digital than its analog predecessor, with its stacked cast of characters consistently “plugged in” on their devices and eventually utilizing them to document what’s happening in the train, while the political establishment attempts a diplomatic solution to end the bomb instead of acquiescing to the perpetrator’s demands. The social commentary doesn’t break any new ground, but it’s executed well enough that we do ultimately become invested in the large number of people who populate both the internal (on the train) and external (outside the train) conflict of the story.

However, Bullet Train Explosion eventually loses steam (pun absolutely intended) when it reveals the identity of the bomber. I will not spoil it in this review, but let’s just say that the differences are night and day between this version and the original, which spent more than half of its hefty 152-minute runtime to develop our connection with the antagonist, making the final shot all the more heartbreaking, despite the array of bad decisions he makes. Bullet Train Explosion is slightly leaner than The Bullet Train and doesn’t spend a good amount of the runtime on flashbacks, which could be a good thing if focused solely on the meat-and-potatoes of its primary story. Yet, it also barely develops the villain, despite a shocking moment introducing us to the character that could’ve worked in its favor, but isn’t at all fleshed out to its fullest potential.

From there, my interest in the film shockingly dwindled, because Higuchi doesn’t give us the same attention that Satō gave when creating a layered and complex villain that wasn’t simply a mindless terrorist who wanted to blow up a train. He had his reasons, and we completely understood his side of the story by the time we’re caught up to speed (this review contains many train puns for a reason) on his perspective. In Bullet Train Explosion, we have the motivations, but they’re so paper-thin that it won’t take long for you to unplug as it reaches a generic, paint-by-numbers climax with little to no emotional stakes for us to hold onto, despite well-mounted action scenes that are always a shot in the arm with adrenaline.

And then, the movie suddenly ends, without a final shot that’ll live in your retina forever, despite Higuchi’s gift at image-making, as illustrated in Shin Ultraman and his incredible short film Giant God Warrior Appears in Tokyo. It’s a rather unceremonious way to conclude a pretty agreeable time at the movies, despite its obvious inconsistencies dampening the enjoyment significantly. Truth be told, I never expected the movie to be as good as Satō’s original. However, I didn’t expect to feel completely indifferent by the time the credits rolled, despite having a good time in its opening sections with the bevy of thrills and mordant humor Higuchi offered, until it was completely nonexistent by the time it reached its climax. I won’t remember it by the time I’ve finished writing this review, while I may think about the final shot of The Bullet Train for the rest of my life…

Grade: B-

Director: Amalia Ulman
Writer: Amalia Ulman
Stars: Joe Apollonio, Camila del Campo, Guillermo Jacubowicz

Synopsis: A media crew mistakenly ends up in the wrong country while trying to profile a musician. As they collaborate with locals to create a viral trend, relationships form amid an unfolding health crisis.

Argentine-Spanish filmmaker Amalia Ulman made a name for herself in the independent film scene and film festival circuit with her feature-length debut, El Planeta. Drawing from the aesthetic of ’80s indie flicks and Noah Baumbach’s writing—especially Frances Ha—Ulman explores Spain’s economic crisis through two women navigating a faux high-end lifestyle. Their experiences are conveyed through absurdist and darkly comedic dialogue set pieces. Ulman has used that tone as her trademark or calling card for her directorial and writing voice. And she ups the ante in her sophomore feature, Magic Farm, to the point where Ulman unfortunately loses the personal element and smartly witty quips that her debut contained. 

Magic Farm follows a film crew that works for a Vice or MTV News-like, edgy, teen-oriented media company called Creative Lab Network, in search of a musician named Super Carlitos, an internet sensation who performs with bunny ears, with a fascinating background worthy of a profile. The crew consists of a ragtag team of scandalous, narcissistic characters that are heightened portrayals of dysfunctional journalists during travel expeditions. There’s the tired, annoyed boss Edna (Chloë Sevigny), her boyfriend and manager Dave (Simon Rex), lover boy Jeff (Alex Wolff), blank canvas Justin (Joe Apollonio), and the camera operator who has secrets of her own, Elena (Ulman). 

As a team, they don’t function properly; individually, they are even worse. They are so unfit for their roles and duties that it is hard to believe they have a functioning media company. In their latest assignment, during the search for Super Carlitos and his fascinating grooves, the team heads to San Cristobal, Argentina, for a chance to interview him and the locals who have championed the local musician. However, as expected from their inability to make anything work out, they manage to book a flight to the wrong San Cristobal. Edna bears a headache from the strenuous, constant mistakes, especially when it matters most. Since they are already there, Edna and company decide to talk to the townsfolk in search of another worthy story for a piece. 

They seek outrageous stories, focusing on the town’s “weirdness” rather than its authenticity. Most interviews reveal the governmental injustices affecting San Cristobal, as well as the effects of agrochemicals that corporate businesses pollute the city with. As expected, none of them is the least bit interested. Elena is the only one who pays attention to the locals’ worries, being the only morally bound character in the film. Ulman provides a path for her characters to grow and become more empathetic towards the locals later in the narrative, as the conversations become more personal and the crew reaches a level of understanding. However, for the most part, these characters are absent-minded and out of touch with reality. 

Their scopes are limited to the experiences they undergo in their supposed high-class lifestyle back home—a theme that Ulman utilizes once again for her sophomore feature. And that thin layered satirization of the characters causes the film to feel weightless in most of its runtime. Ulman places them in unfamiliar territories, where they must interact with their surroundings and the townsfolk to uncover a story worthy of telling. Their ignorance gets the best of them, causing them to dismiss everything except their well-being. There are many stories ready to be told to the world, and yet these opportunistic “journalists” ignore them for ones that deliver more traction. 

In the case of those on Magic Farm, they are there to exploit the people they deem “weird” for clicks and likes, to be the first to hop on the trend train. While the film nods to decades of exploitative journalism, it often sacrifices realism for exaggerated, comedic beats. However, only one sequence reflects that theme in a more nuanced manner. Elena points out that the crew is taking advantage of the people they cover on their profiles and pieces. She is then told that, if she feels that way, she has picked the wrong profession and company to be in. The rest of the film is more heightened and comedy-dependent, lacking the subtlety that not only that key scene has, but also Ulman’s debut contained. 

In El Planeta, Ulman focused on making her characters feel grounded, relatable, and multilayered as they went through the ups and downs of their economic struggles, seen via comedic, sometimes too fictional scenarios, inspired by the New Wave and Noah Baumbach, whose early work served as the voice for the lost, mid-20s adults that have trouble speaking their minds and spilling their emotional guts. (Much like Ulman, who takes that aspect and transcribes it for a contemporary audience, brilliantly so.) Meanwhile, Magic Farm has characters who are difficult to sympathize with due to their constant frivolity. You don’t want to be near them or hear them; they become annoyances for the film rather than characters that elevate the story and its satirical viewpoint of faux journalism and modern-day content creator culture. 

The only character that you want to hear more from is Elena; Ulman herself explores the thematic thread without the help of her cast of unmerry journalists. Elena is the vessel of morality and integrity, from which the crew slowly and gradually learns. However, her character is sidelined, with the key focus shifting to Edna, Jeff, and Justin, who are less interesting and become tiresome. There is a fascinating thematic thread within the care of Magic Farm regarding the blinded media and their ignorant actions when covering struggling communities. Unfortunately, it all gets lost in the work’s comedic pandering and the disparity between the various plot lines. Magic Farm aims for sharp satire but falls short, settling instead for caricature. Ulman’s gift lies in empathy and intimacy—when those are lost, so is her voice.

Grade: C-

Director: Ryan Coogler
Writer: Ryan Coogler
Stars: Michael B. Jordan, Hailee Steinfeld, Jack O’Connell

Synopsis: Trying to leave their troubled lives behind, twin brothers return to their hometown to start again, only to discover that an even greater evil is waiting to welcome them back.

Ryan Coogler’s syncretic masterwork Sinners combines elements of the Southern Gothic, the diaspora of Black identity, Delta blues, hoodoo and rootwork conjure, Juke joints, sharecropping, prohibition bootlegging, the KKK, and… vampires. Set in a Mississippi town called Clarksdale, which is built on cotton picking for exploitative white landowners in 1932, Sinners explodes genre expectations by embracing multiple folkloric mythologies and tales of the American South. 

Author Flannery O’Connor wrote in 1960, “I have found that anything that comes out of the South is going to be called grotesque by the Northern reader, unless it is grotesque, in which case it is going to be called realistic.” Although she was writing of the tendency for audiences of a certain class and comfort level to be attracted to a literature and history, they could maintain a distance from; while still marveling at the margins they experience vicariously through the tales of “The South,” O’Connor’s observation is prescient in its description of Coogler’s authorial mode in Sinners. In the same essay she continues, “The Southern writer is forced from all sides to make his gaze extend beyond the surface, beyond mere problems, until it touches that realm which is the concern of prophets and poets.” Coogler merges the real social conditions of Mississippi sharecroppers and broken Black communities – traditionally and continually othered in American history with a gaze that opens itself to ecstatic possibilities through rebellion and a sustained belief in self-determination. Although Ryan Coogler himself is Californian, his modality in Sinners embraces the South as a core aspect of the Black experience in creating the historical, contemporary, and future identities of Black Americans.

Twin sons of Clarksdale, Smoke and Stack Moore (Michael B. Jordan) have been absent for years. They fought in the trenches of World War One and then tried their luck as gangsters in Chicago working for Al Capone. In one day and night the ambitions of the brothers to create a Juke joint (Juke itself originally stemming from the Gullah word juk) for the local Black community to gather, turns into an epic fight for survival. It isn’t only a battle for the safety of the people against racist abusers, but one for the survival of the soul conducted outside the confines of Christian dominance. Smoke and Stack are sinners who have given up the idea of redemption through the church run by their Uncle Jedidiah (Saul Williams) and imagine a more earthly garden of delights to uplift the all but in name cottonfield “slaves” still working under white landowners who lynch and burn crosses. The brothers are charming and dangerous tricksters whose braggadocio belies two wounded and intertwined hearts that beat for their Delta home.

Coogler sets the scene with precision and patience. His opening gambit places a bloodied and scarred Sammie “Preacher Boy” Moore (newcomer Miles Caton) stumbling into his father’s church clutching the fretboard of a resonator guitar. Jedidiah exhorts his son to finally give up the “Devil’s instrument” and devote his prodigious musical talents to worshipping the lord. As Sammie wordlessly stands shocked and shaken the film goes back a day to fill the audience in on the world of the Devil and sin that Sammie has potentially witnessed.

The arrival of the Smokestack twins back in their hometown sparks several conflagrations. The prodigal sons of Clarksdale have a plan to use their particularly ill-gotten gains from Chicago to make money for and from the town. They buy a disused sawmill from the sneering Hogwood (David Maldonado) and warn him that they will shoot any White man that comes on to the property. Hogwood smiles and assures the brothers that they don’t need to worry about the KKK as that’s “all done with.” Smoke especially understands that the past is never done with and wears the burden slightly more heavily than his younger and more chaotic twin, Stack. They pick up Sammie and go their separate ways preparing for the opening of “Club Juke” which will be the premier barrelhouse offering music, dancing, gambling, food, and drinking. 

While Smoke takes care of the money side of the business, bargaining and bartering with Bo (Yao) and Grace (Li Jun Li) Chow, two Chinese Americans who have successfully set up the fresh and dry good groceries in town; Sammie and Stack find the talent who will light up the club. Sammie’s skill as a bluesman is untested for a large audience, but whispers of his skills reverberate around his rural home. Stack introduces him to the old-school jaw harp and piano player Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo) who is convinced to tickle the ivories with the offer of unlimited Irish Beer. A chance meeting on the train platform where Slim is busking with Stack’s former girlfriend, Mary (Hailee Steinfeld) is hilarious, foulmouthed, and lust-filled, but also speaks to the Jim Crow segregation and anti-miscegenation laws where a woman perceived as White cannot be seen engaging in a sexual relationship with a Black man. Mary isn’t the type to give up, forgive, or forget and with the swagger of a woman who refuses to be denied ensures she will be at Club Juke come hell or highwater. Another beautiful young woman is standing on the platform, the married songbird, Pearline (Jayme Lawson) who has captured Sammie’s young eye and heart.

Slim and Stack educate the eager Sammie on the ways of the wider world, from the joys of cunnilingus to the pains of the chain gang (in an incredible audio sequence which turns Slim’s telling of a lynching into the soundscape of it). Sammie is at a crossroad (a deliberate allusion to the Robert Johnson story) wanting to escape his hardscrabble life and become a dedicated bluesman, which in itself is a hardscrabble life in 1932 but carries with it the dream of becoming legendary. In Coogler’s South (as in the real post-emancipation South) there are few routes of escape and self-determination for Black folk and music is one that promises a self-made and collective legacy.

The other two legacies are money and family. It is these legacies that Smoke struggles to reconcile. He meets with his ex-lover and mother of his deceased child, Annie (Wunmi Mosaku) a Hoodoo conjurer and rootworker who fears that Smoke is once again hurtling into danger that her mojo bag and prayers cannot save him from. Their pent-up desire for each other is as palpable as the pain that has separated them. Annie agrees to be the cook at Club Juke if only to keep her on her beloved. Smoke convinces a soon-to-be father, Cornbread (Omar Miller) to act as the bouncer for the club and the night of their collective lives is coming together. What none of them expect is that night they will be fighting for their lives against a centuries-old Irish vampire named Remmick (Jack O’Connell) who hungers to create his own mind-controlled flock of the undead.

Ryan Coogler throws so many references and subplots within Sinners it can be dizzying just to keep up. The vampires, which at first would appear to be the core story, become almost a set-piece subplot to illustrate the voracious appetites of those who crave ownership over individual cultures through violent means. Coogler has Remmick waiting in the background seeking to feast on Club Juke after a failed attempt to “convert” Mississippi Choctaws. He quite easily finds his way into the home of Klan members Bert (Peter Dreimanis) and Ruth (Lola Kirke) who later turn up at the door of Club Juke asking for entry and playing Irish folksongs. Coogler adheres to vampire lore that the revenants must be invited in. The friendly and “brotherly” demeanor of Remmick soon turns sour as he speaks of another “Brotherhood” who will arrive to erase the revelers in the club.

Although bloody and action filled, the vampire attack is nothing compared to what precedes it. A musical sequence which is so ecstatic it reaches through time connecting Sammie’s pure bluesman’s voice with the rhythms and songs of shamans, tribal priests, rappers, DJs, futuristic guitar players, and Chinese Kunqu performers. The spectacle shot by Autumn Durald Arkapaw, edited by Michael P. Shawver, scored by Ludwig Göransson and choreographed by Aakomon Jones represents not only the finest set piece of Coogler’s film, but also the essence of the erotic, wild, and unburdened freedom of expression that creates a resonant guiding rhythm that pulsates beyond all worldly limits.

It would be hard to find a film quite like Sinners in contemporary blockbuster fare because few creators would be brave enough to attempt such a wild and potentially unwieldy cinematic behemoth. It is particularly difficult to make a genre-busting horror/action/musical/historical fiction piece and sustain characters that people care about. Improbably and impressively, Ryan Coogler has done it. Collaborating with his longtime leading man, Michael B. Jordan, and entrusting him with two distinct roles as the Smokestack twins more than pays off as Jordan creates believably different and inextricably connected men each striving for a “home” to protect. Hailee Steinfeld and Wunmi Mosaku each inhabit their characters as women who are not adjuncts to the men they love but are filled with their own desire and reasons for needing connection. Delroy Lindo and Omar Miller add levity (and tragedy) to their characters. Jack O’Donnell’s vampire certainly kissed the Blarney Stone when it comes to offering a “life without pain” in eternal night – it will only cost your “self”.

Sinners is a lot to take in and it keeps pushing boundaries until Coogler has the audience in their own timeless revelry. Could the film have been tighter and more focused? Absolutely. Should it have been? Probably. But the massive scale of the movie is what makes it touch “that realm which is the concern of prophets and poets.” Sweaty, sultry, and seductively Southern – Sinners is an ambitious masterpiece that raises roofs and burns brightly as it thrums with its infectious rhythm.

Grade: A