This week on Women InSession, we discuss the great author Agatha Christie and the film adaptations of her work over the decades! Murder on the Orient Express has certainly been a Hollywood favorite, and it’s easy to see why that’s so compelling on the big screen, Billy Wilder’s Witness for the Prosecution and And Then There Were None are also really good. We talk about these and even a few we don’t care as much in this conversation.
Panel: Kristin Battestella, Jaylan Salah, Julia Sirmons
On that note, check out this week’s show and let us know what you think in the comment section. Thanks for listening and for supporting the InSession Film Podcast!
Director:Kent Jones Writer: Samy Burch Stars: Willem Dafoe, Greta Lee, Edmund Donovan
Synopsis:A long time ago, Ed Saxberger wrote a book of poetry that no one ever cared about. When a group of young artists rediscover his work, he must reassess his genius. The wild card in the group is Gloria, a talented and mercurial theatre actress who toys with affections and who is all set to be admired by Saxberger.
Filmmakers like Hong Sang-soo and Jean-luc Godard have enjoyed a long-running embarrassment of riches at the hands of the New York Film Festival selection committee, to the point where it could feasibly be called those international filmmakers’ home away from home. Kent Jones, on the other hand, is experiencing a singular triumph, that of premiering (in North America, at least) a film at the festival he once ran. From 2013 to 2019, the former critic/Martin Scorsese video archivist/actively-working documentarian had a hand in selecting its prestigious titles; his second narrative feature, Late Fame, is now among the selected.
Greta Lee and Willem Dafoe in Late Fame courtesy of Late Fame LLC
It could feasibly be considered a wild conflict of interest if Jones’ film wasn’t such a scintillating commentary on the haughtiest side of New York City’s art scene, a portion of which tends to wander about the Lincoln Center-adjacent area on the Upper West Side with paperbacks tucked in their back pockets and Mubi and/or New Yorker tote bags thrown over their shoulders. They don’t have jobs as much as they have interests that they’d sooner dub “callings” than “hobbies;” they say they read and write all day, eager to create something profound, but you never see them doing anything aside from talking amongst themselves and consuming copious amounts of green tea. (If the day is really dragging, they might opt for an espresso, or a martini, but never the trendy combination of the two.) They obsess about 45-year old writings because the new stuff doesn’t speak to them the same way the words of people who “really lived” do. They posture; rarely do they publish.
This sketch was admittedly painted with a broad brush, but in Jones and May December screenwriter Samy Burch’s view, this is the exact sort of group that is worth exploring. In Late Fame, they’re known as the “Enthusiasm Society,” and when we say “known,” we mean “they call themselves that.” Their self-appointed leader, Meyers (Edmund Donovan), wears turtlenecks as though another kind of shirt has yet to be invented. The rest of the group ranges in mood, from plucky and eager to learn (Luca Padovan’s Winn) to knowing everything there has ever been to know (Clay Singer’s Brussard). Gloria (a hammy, delightful Greta Lee, stealing the show from the entire ensemble) is an actress and the crew’s lone female companion, though it’s safe to assume that this is because her own circle grew tired of her theatrics before they even started rehearsals.
The odd man out is Eduard Saxberger (Willem Dafoe), because of course it is, and of course it’s spelled with a “u,” not a “w.” Now a postal worker, he was a poet who once published a book called “Way Past Go,” but it was quickly forgotten, and so, too, was his faith in the craft. In many ways, he represents the ideal discovery for Meyers and company, a man who keeps old copies of The Village Voice in a cardboard box like childhood sports trophies, a collection that any other mortal would have tucked away in a storage unit decades ago, but he pulls it out every now and again to reminisce. He’s so much the ideal that, in an instant that disrupts Ed’s menial existence – one involving frequent visits to a dive bar that has his order ready at the same time every day and houses patrons who know him by name – they rope him into their circle with the promise of belated regard, adoration, and a dash of hope for the reignition of his more creative past life. Call it engagement, call it love, or call it late fame. Just don’t call it a sure thing.
Jones’ film tends to be exactly that, though, principally due to the world Burch builds for the filmmaker to bring about on-screen. Late Fame’s Manhattan is familiar enough while also maintaining a specificity that will attract the attention of those who possess a cursory familiarity with its makeup, and perhaps especially to those who are quick to roll their eyes at it. It’s populated by people who are more likely to celebrate those who dropped out of college to pursue the life of a struggling artist more than they merely acknowledge those who procured a Master’s degree and went on to major success. The former is the more romantic route, after all, and the tribulations that clutter its path are ones who make the man a more established champion, the lack of an expansive body of work be damned.
Said appreciation for mystique – a desire for questions more than answers – does inhibit the “Enthusiastics” from ever really evolving beyond caricaturistic vessels carrying a stereotypical view of literature and the craft of creation through what is otherwise a clever, thoughtful dramedy. But the groundedness with which Dafoe portrays Saxberger more than makes up for it. Like his character, this is an actor that simultaneously belongs in everything yet sticks out like a sore thumb whenever he appears. And this is precisely what makes him so brilliant.
That’s a far-too-simplistic way to describe one of film’s most prominent, beloved, and uber-gifted performers, one who has been pumping out his signature chameleonic mastery for so long that he’s been able to play both Jesus Christ and Vincent van Gogh, and make them feel like inventions pulled directly from his diaries. To say that Dafoe is “great” in a film, Late Fame included, is to say that he appears in it, and one almost wishes he was starring in one that wasn’t so eager to make his journey back into a world that idolizes him so obvious, its beats appearing in high definition from a mile away. His character is as “real,” simply put, as Mary Kay Place’s titular character from Jones’ 2019 narrative debut, Diane, a gutting indie about family in which a woman’s life becomes unrecognizable as she attempts to piece together wreckage her addicted son has left for her to piece together.
Ed Saxberger might be more comfortable operating as a secondary character in that film, one where he can be the version of himself he’s dedicated the back half of his years to playing. But what works most in Late Fame’s favor is its commitment to that discomfort, and the fact that, when read at face value, it’s a film about what we come to realize about ourselves when we’re asked to peer into a past that’s less safe than the present. It could be read as a film about the cost of our dreams, the roads less traveled, or even the act of making films after once critiquing them and selecting them for participation in a major fall festival. Or, maybe, it’s just about art: What it gives us when we’re making it, takes away when we stop, and continues to provide as we consume it from afar, no matter how ardently we subconsciously long to return to the beautiful chaos that it produced.
Late Fame screened in the Main Slateat the 63rd New York Film Festival. It is currently seeking U.S. distribution.
Director:Richard Linklater Writer: Robert Kaplow Stars: Ethan Hawke, Margaret Qualley, Bobby Cannavale
Synopsis: Tells the story of Lorenz Hart’s struggles with alcoholism and mental health as he tries to save face during the opening of “Oklahoma!”.
How lucky are we as audiences that we get two Richard Linklater films releasing in 2025? This output is quite fitting considering the first of the two films, Blue Moon, is all about duality and the multitudes contained within us as people. It’s evident in the freewheeling nature of Nouvelle Vague versus the chamber-piece format of Blue Moon. And the thematic ideas about duality are made quite clear via the pair of opposing quotes used to open Blue Moon, celebrating its New York premiere at the 63rd New York Film Festival. Of Lorenz Hart (a transcendent Ethan Hawke), Oscar Hammerstein II (Simon Delaney) described the songwriter as “alert and dynamic and fun to be around.” On the other side, Mabel Mercer considered him “the saddest person to be around.” It’s a stark duality to create the entire baseline of the film around. This conflict is felt even more by the fact that Linklater opens his film with abject tragedy: that of the legendary Hart’s lonely death, shot in a cold, dark alleyway full of trash. With its depiction comes a sad irony to wash over everything that follows. It creates tragic undertones which permeate through a film occurring entirely during a celebratory event. For Blue Moon then jumps back seven months in time, to March 31, 1943: the opening night of “Oklahoma!” on Broadway.
The arrival of this landmark musical signifies a joyous time for countless individuals involved with the show. It’s also a moment in history of which the reverberations from its impact are still being felt. But for Hart, the night couldn’t be going any worse, and the musical certainly isn’t helping his spirits. So off he goes before curtain call to the bar where the afterparty is being held. It’s in this setting that the chamber-piece film truly begins. In many ways, it’s a perfect fit within Linklater’s classic hangout film tempo. After all, Blue Moon primarily sees Hart fraternizing amongst the familiar faces of the bar he very clearly frequents. Yet the warm embrace of living in a specific moment commonly found in Linklater’s hangouts like Dazed and Confused or Everybody Wants Some!! isn’t as present as it typically is. Mind you, the warmth stemming from an attention to period details are both visible on the screen and baked into Robert Kaplow’s script. But this is a hangout film spurned on by a tragic driving force: Hart is simply seeking solace from the emotions which currently haunt him. There’s a veil of pain thrown over this extended “hangout.”
Lucky for audiences, Hawke is delivering a fully committed performance which allows him a ton of space to play within. Yes, Hart is a tragic figure in Blue Moon. But he’s also a bit of an entertaining scoundrel. 90% of the film’s runtime must be devoted to Hart’s blathering about his thoughts on theater, the state of the music business, sexual conquests, random anecdotes, and more. One might think a character like him haunting the local bartender would become frustratingly overbearing at a point. And while he may be a bit much, that’s deliberate. The charm within his behavior is part of what unlocks this character. There’s a poetic elegance to Hawke’s character that, even when he’s fully deriding something, you can’t help but be equally shocked and impressed at the way he goes about conveying his opinions. The script, delivered by Hawke, becomes something that’s both beautiful and crass. Before Richard Rodgers (Andrew Scott) ever even arrives at his own party, the clashing dualities of Hart and Blue Moon feel like such fun magic on the big screen. It’s only upon Scott and Hawke finally coming face-to-face that Linklater’s film takes on an entirely new emotional weight.
Rodgers enters the bar to thunderous acclaim and celebratory remarks. Everybody wants to get a word in, and for a moment, Hart remains alarmingly silent for the first time thus far; make no mistake, it’s merely a brief pause for what’s to come. After all his remarks bashing “Oklahoma!,” Hart steps in with such lovely praise for both Rodgers and Hammerstein. The bitterness read across his face stings. Despite his intentions of hiding it, Hart isn’t as great an actor as Hawke is. It makes for many comedic interactions, of which this film has several, despite the deeply sad context the jokes are stemming from. We never find ourselves laughing at Hart, but the more time spent with him, the more our laughs become somewhat pitiful. The central conflict of Blue Moon is one never directly stated between the two opposing forces. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t painfully obvious, causing an intentional rift in what should be a hangout among old friends. For Hart, he never reveals his true feelings to Rodgers. But the man has no issue tossing veiled insults in the direction of his now more successful (and younger) creative partner. In Rodgers, his frustrations with Hart come from a place of worry and care. Scott’s performance is so touching in this regard. As he captures the excitement of a man about to be on top of the world, there’s a sad desperation in his eye as he is looking back and offering a hand desperately needed to lift up a friend and a mentor.
Nearly everybody in Blue Moon sees the spiral Hart is experiencing. Most, like Eddie the bartender (Bobby Cannavale) or E.B. White (Patrick Kennedy), merely lend an ear or company alongside the chance for a free drink. Rodgers is the only one who, initially through nudges and later through shoves, makes any verbal attempt to get through to Hart. He takes action where all else believe they don’t have a place in this story. It’s what makes Scott’s place in this film all the more heartwarming amongst all its tragedy. Rodgers holds back his true feelings, and these attempts can be seen plain as day, as he understands that Hart needs somebody to catch him rather than explain all the reasons why he’s flailing towards rock bottom. Despite the fracture between the two artists, the friendship depicted is one of simple beauty. “Art waits for you,” says a character at one point in the film; unfortunately, life doesn’t. It flies beyond our control with no care for our pain and sorrow. But it does provide us with people to share those experiences alongside in order to ease that pain. Hart is a deeply frustrating individual, but Rodgers’ pleading to provide help and displays of generous encouragement to a friend in need is as touching and beautiful a depiction of friendship as anything is. In the end, Blue Moon depicts both a heartwarming friendship and a tragic breakup. It’s a hangout that seems doomed from the very start. Hart is a man torturing himself with everything he doesn’t, or simply can never, have. Hawke holds so much pain in his face, yet he’s such an endearing and charming performer that you’re left smiling throughout. Blue Moon is both celebratory and funereal, and how Linklater balances the two clashing tones so effortlessly reaffirms why he’s one of the all-time great filmmakers.
Blue Moon celebrated its New York premiere at the 63rd New York Film Festival as part of the Spotlight section.
Director:Raoul Peck Writer: Raoul Peck Stars: Damian Lewis
Synopsis:The ultimate and comprehensive documentary film about the exceptional writer George Orwell.
On the surface, Raoul Peck’s Orwell 2+2 = 5 seems like a denser prospect from the documentary filmmaker who gave us the incredibly complex, Oscar-nominated I Am Not Your Negro in 2016. A documentary on one of the most prophetic figures in the history of literature seems like a daunting task, especially when there’s so much material in his archives to choose from. His most well-known work, “1984,” was adapted into a litany of movies and has been analyzed in various ways, with some even using its language to describe what is happening now, in an era where totalitarianism is making a comeback and mass manipulation, through oligarchic control of the media space and on social media itself, has fractured a society to the point of no return.
Of course, Peck will undoubtedly discuss the rise of current-day fascism, from Donald Trump to Giorgia Meloni, and even alt-right discourse within media itself, from Tucker Carlson to Éric Zemmour and Mathieu Bock-Côté. In the movie’s most powerful montage, Peck parallels Hitler’s rise before the Second World War with the current increase in fascist rhetoric and gestures – from Elon Musk’s Nazi salute to the enthusiastic support of a brainwashed crowd as Javier Milei says, “We grab the bull by the horns!” All of it is interlinked through Orwell’s own writing, mostly in his personal journals, narrated by actor Damian Lewis.
We “meet” Orwell as he knows full well tuberculosis will consume him, and he tries to write as much as possible on his observations before he disappears. As Peck plays clips from the multiple adaptations of 1984, mainly from Michael Anderson and Michael Radford, while also not forgetting the impact Animal Farm had in popular culture, the filmmaker starts to get really ambitious and begins to discuss how his view of the world, in 1948, rings even truer today than when he wrote his literary masterpiece. It’s a lot to take in – and some of it doesn’t work – but the message in how we are doomed to repeat our own mistakes in electing war-hungry despots who sell a message of peace, but only want to destroy the very fabric of society for their own monetary gains, is heard loud and clear.
No Orwell portrait is complete without an analysis of “newspeak,” a term he invented in 1984 to describe controlled language and grammar that would limit a person’s ability to think. There are multiple modern-day examples of such a term that he illustrates. Yet, the most glaring one of them all is linked to how several gubernatorial bodies use precise language to appease the population that what they are doing to another nation – or country – is morally correct, when they are, in reality, committing war crimes. The movie doesn’t shy away from breaking the propaganda that multiple governments have fed the media – and the public – to justify their atrocities in Ukraine and Gaza, going so far as to deconstruct Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, and Benjamin Netanyahu’s “newspeak.”
While public opinion is slowly shifting on what is currently occurring in Gaza, the terms used by despotic leaders to carefully tell the public that they need their support to decimate an entire population are frightening. Orwell undoubtedly played a large part in “waking up” society to what their leaders don’t want to know. It’s hard to turn a blind eye to what is happening in Ukraine and Gaza. However, dissonance between the total condemnation of Russia’s actions towards Ukraine, while the United States government blindly supported everything Israel was doing, made society even more divided, because, as Peck describes, Netanyahu was able to successfully weaponize the term “antisemitism” to “silence critics of Israeli military action,” while many journalists – and citizens – had justifiable criticisms on their handling of the October 7th attack that was not at all antisemitic.
“Newspeak” thus becomes the primary word Peck will employ to discuss Orwell’s view of the world, and how it relates to the enshittification of modern-day society, through the prism of social media apps turning us into bitter, cynical individuals, and the rise of generative AI slop that prevents any ounce of human emotion and creativity. Students now openly brag about using ChatGPT to complete their school assignments instead of thinkingforthemselves, and the popularity of AI-generated “art” has diminished a society that once took pride in having creativity as its only weapon against all forms of control. Our minds are ours to keep, and no machine can take away our desire to create.
Yet, as the film shows, the rise of AI poses a threat to the very notions of “creativity” and “individual thought.” To illustrate his point, however, Peck will employ many generative AI images created for the movie, which gives many sections of Orwell 2+2 = 5 a somewhat hypocritical posture. “AI-generated” songs are also used during a section where, to transition from one segment to the next, Peck will fill the runtime with a succession of AI-generated content, as the images become further distorted. Using AI to make a point against AI seems counterproductive, though Radu Jude is also doing this in his version of Dracula (that I have not seen, but will soon), which probably means that more and more auteurs will do the same.
Will this “wake up” AI-obsessed idiots that this “technology” (if we can call it that) serves no purpose, when it comes to art and critical thought? There are purposeful uses, such as in science, to develop vaccines and other potential medical treatments at a faster pace, but most of the CEOs who are investing heavily in artificial intelligence aren’t interested in that. Not because they don’t want to cure cancer, but because they want to fill their pockets as quickly as possible. Curing disease takes time, even with AI. Creating “art” does not. What’s more profitable in the short term? And what does this kill?
When you answer these questions, you’re likely going to come up with the same conclusion as everyone else. I won’t dare reveal it, but the prospects of this world getting any better, through its social and political lens, are relatively low. You probably knew that society is screwed before you saw Orwell 2+2 = 5. Yet, after viewing Peck’s documentary, which contains an extraordinary lucidity in its line of thinking, through the words of a real prophet, you’re definitely never going to think otherwise again.
Director:Charlie McDowell Writer: Robert Jones Stars: Emily Matthews, Glenn Close, Anders Danielsen Lie
Synopsis:Follows the inspirational tale of a young girl and her grandmother spending a summer on a small, uninhabited island in the Gulf of Finland.
There are certain filmmakers whose works have a reputation. They make certain kinds of films and rarely diverge. It’s not about genre, but about the overall style. Think of M. Night Shyamalan and you can only think of “the twist.” Think of Yorgos Lanthimos and you immediately get a shiver down your spine about his nihilistic fables. The same can be said of director Charlie McDowell’s first films and their sense of unease within a seemingly common type of story. The Summer Book is very much a departure from that mold.
McDowell is taking the straightforward approach with this film. Though, writer Robert Jones’ script is anything but straightforward. We are handed nothing. The story, the characters, and the little plot are drawn out in long sequences. The script feels like summer, like endless time to work, rest, and be bored. It’s concerned far less with us keeping up or understanding than establishing a vibe.
There are movies that need a lot of dialogue and a lot of plot with momentum, but there are others that just need you to exist with them. The Summer Book is a film like that. You let it wash over you like a gentle lapping of the tide. You begin to intuit many things and others slip by without notice and it doesn’t matter. The way that McDowell and cinematographer Sturla Brandth Grøvlen interpret the script visually is often breathtaking. Not only for this incredible uninhabited island, but for the faces and objects that linger in the frame. It’s all helped by a magnificent score by Hania Rani, which is never manipulative, but languid and flowing like the story itself.
One of the most striking sequences that brings the photography, music, and the excellent skills of editor Jussi Rautaniemi, is wordless, like much of the film, but focuses on a sole character. Sophia (Emily Matthews) and her Father (Anders Danielsen Lie) leave the island and, subsequently, Grandmother (Glenn Close) alone. Grandmother takes it upon herself to do as she pleases. She goes for a swim in the ocean. She smokes the cigarettes she’s been sneaking. She walks naked through the forest. She lies on the ground, with a smile on her face that expresses her utter contentment of the moment and her connection to this island.
Much of the film’s emotional heft and the scene described above are made superior by Glenn Close’s performance. Close is an actress who is fearless when it comes to her roles. She often dives in and chews scenery with the best of them. In The Summer Book, though, Close is far more introspective. She builds her character with actions. She adds a small touch to a prop or a wry smile at the end of a thought. Her character is the glue of the film and she makes herself mesmerizing in every scene she’s in.
As much as The Summer Book is beautiful to look at and a moody piece to sit with, it also needs to give us a bit more. Films like this tend to feel frustrating after a while. Even if the film is short it can feel as if it’s taking too long. It can feel as if we’re adrift waiting for the story to pick up and rescue us from the sea of unknowing.
The Summer Book is a movie that is beautifully crafted. It’s definitely a film that you have to sit with patiently as if it’s a shy pet you want to come to you. The performances are good and the visuals are striking. It’s definitely a film to see when you’re ready to accept it rather than taking it in on a whim. Carve out more than the 94 minute runtime as you’ll want to sit and think about the waves lapping against the shore long after the film is finished.
On this episode of Chasing the Gold, Shadan is joined by Jacob Throneberry to discuss the craft categories below the line and offer up their first predictions of the season! Next week we’ll focus on the categories that get the headlines, but we can’t overlook the great below the line categories either. And there are going to be some great races this year. Best Original Song could be really fun given the immense success of Kpop Demon Hunters and Wicked coming soon. Make-up and Production looks really enticing as well. Lots to be excited about and we cover the gamut on this episode with the craft categories.
Check out this week’s show and let us know what you think in the comment section. Thanks for listening and for supporting the InSession Film Podcast!
Director:Max Minghella Writer: Jack Stanley Stars: Elisabeth Moss, Kate Hudson, Kaia Gerber
Synopsis: Desperate to reclaim her career, once-beloved actress Samantha Lake is drawn into the glamorous world of wellness mogul Zoe Shannon -only to uncover a monstrous truth beneath its flawless surface.
Shell is a cluster of frustration; not only does the film from Mike Minghella have an interesting and timeless premise, but its retro-futuristic aesthetic and score are relegated to a film that barely goes below the surface. It feels like a made-for-TV film with its underwhelming script and messy tone. Barely tapping into the talents that the film’s lead performance possesses, it fails to balance its ambitious swings and campy attempts at relevance. It approaches beauty standards in clever ways that fall short of its potential.
Samantha (Elisabeth Moss) is an aging actress who is losing out on roles to women who are younger than her simply because of their age and looks. A once-established actress who worked on a television show when she was younger, she finds that her age is a topic that is coming up more and more. There was a time when she was getting invitations to meet with directors for parts instead of having to read for them. But that time is over, and Shell shows the pressures that aging actresses are under to stay looking young, even for parts that are written for older women. The painful part of it all is that Samantha is not even old, but her natural, untouched-by-doctors appearance stands out in a sea of perfectly polished, youthful faces.
When Samantha is introduced to Zoe Shannon (Kate Hudson) at the company Shell, she’s apprehensive at first; it’s a new procedure that improves not only the body’s health but also stops the aging process. And with a frontwoman like Zoe, its allure is heightened. She’s a woman who claims to be in her late 60s but has the appearance of someone decades younger. There’s no doubt that the intended results of this treatment are possible, but, as with everything in life, there is a cost. As Samantha and Zoe form a newfound friendship shared over their mutual interest in one another and their profession, it becomes clear that this miracle procedure has more side effects than benefits.
At first, Samantha stands against these types of procedures, and it’s honestly refreshing that she doesn’t bend immediately to the newest end-all-be-all of beauty enhancements. After she loses a part to Chloe Benson (Kaia Gerber), who she used to babysit, their reconnection sparks a new sense of self-consciousness within Samantha. Writer Jack Stanley’s best work is handling a conflicted Samantha—trying to convince herself these procedures aren’t needed but tired of losing roles and only being known for a nostalgic show. She battles against beauty standards that she at first doesn’t adhere to, being her natural self, but quickly becomes radicalized by the thought of fading into irrelevancy before she’s able to reach her career potential.
The premise of Shell is the most interesting part of the film, especially when the background of the treatment and its potential side effects are revealed. There’s no doubt this film will get compared to others with similar plots like The Substance and even Skincare—both films releasing around the same time that this one premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2024. What makes Minghella’s different is that this has much more humor, leading to an inconsistent tone from the get-go. Scenes where Samantha is having a fragile moment after losing a part get interrupted or circumvented with jokes that don’t land. For being labeled as a dark comedy horror, much of the laughs are at the expense of the very women it’s trying to uplift with its anti–plastic surgery themes and messaging.
Outside of a handful of blemish removals, the horror is severely lacking. With the film written by a man and directed by one as well, there’s a feminine touch that is sorely missed. Even with the film’s opening scene, there’s a glimmer of hope that it will live up to its body horror potential, but it’s not revisited in a memorable way until the film’s final moments— which is a little too late for any kind of effectiveness. Samantha is a character that isn’t really explored beyond her career that is fading; her motivations aren’t compelling enough to empathize with her decision to undergo an experimental treatment of this level. More focus goes to twists that take away from many of the film’s topical themes.
What does work in Shell is the performances from Moss and Hudson; both are acting circles around the film’s dull script. Moss brings a realness to her approach to Samantha; being an actress herself, she knows more than anyone the pressures women in the industry face. Playing Samantha with reluctance but also curiosity, she often pretends to think these procedures are worthless but ends up in an office consultation regardless. Paired with Hudson as an ambitious pioneer in the beauty world—much like Moss—she brings a level of experience in this industry that makes the character of Zoe that much more intriguing to watch. Both bounce off each other well and never let themselves get too comfortable with their friendship.
Shell has production design that is wasted on a film that often is shot resembling a made-for-streaming series that gets canceled after a season or two. Scenes are framed in ways that don’t show the true beauty of the sets used. Susie Mancini’s design work brings together a retro-futuristic look that does a lot of heavy lifting in the film’s visual department, with Samantha’s apartment being the piece that sticks out the most. Cell phones double as watches that also double as spy devices, coming in handy to record conversations. There’s a soft color palette used that brings a sense of relaxation and evokes glamorous luxury, especially with how clean everything is. This is in stark contrast to the chaotic energy that the film finds itself in as it progresses. Matched with an equally impressive, poppy score from Eldad Guetta, Shell excels in its craftier aspects.
What Shell lacks in its strong message and uneven tone is slightly made bearable by effortless performances from Moss and Hudson, who take a script devoid of a feminine touch and inject their own experiences to make it worth checking out. With films out there touching on the subject of altering one’s appearance for society’s acceptance in more compelling ways, Shell falls short of standing out.
Director: Chris Reading Writers: Chris Reading, Anna-Elizabeth Shakespeare, Hillary Shakespeare Stars: Ruth Syratt, Megan Stevenson, Brian Bovell
Synopsis:Best friends Ruth and Megan run a vintage shop in Muswell Hill. Stumbling across a time machine, they embark on trips to the past to stock their shop with no idea of the irreparable damage they’re causing to the fabric of the universe.
Time travel is a concept that has an indelible imprint on pop culture. Since H.G. Wells’ 1895 novel, “The Time Machine,” we have thought and speculated about what would happen if someone could travel to the past or the future, faster than just aging forward in real time. Time travel has become a well explored trope and an excellent source of comedy plots. There is no way that going to the past or future from this present wouldn’t be inherently funny to an outside observer.
Time Travel is Dangerous taps this comedy vein and finds some precious metals. The idea of two antique shop owners using a time machine to get antiques before their time is funny. Ruth (Ruth Syratt) and Megan’s (Megan Stevenson) forays into the past are full of good sight gags. The two of them being an ugly tourist archetype and interrupting the goings on around them for their own shallow thoughts is also amusing. Though it’s mostly the concept that’s amusing because there’s a major stumbling block in the actual structure of the film.
The problem with the film is that in addition to time travel shenanigans, it also employs the mockumentary format. In and of itself, the mockumentary can be fun and funny, but director and co-writer Chris Reading, along with his co-writers Anna-Elizabeth and Hillary Shakespeare, never seem to grasp the logic of it. Even though mock is in the portmanteau name of the genre, the other side of it, documentary, has rules. There are sequences that the camera crew are seemingly a part of that they physically couldn’t be, one because the time machine is an old bumper car that seats two and two because there are fantasy sequences within the film. This is a bit of a nitpick, but it’s sloppy filmmaking to employ the genre trappings if you aren’t going to fully commit.
It also doesn’t help that the focus of the story is on the wrong couple of characters. Ruth and Megan are fine. They have their moments, but their stupidity is grating and their friendship is toxic. It would have been much more interesting to be more focused on the members of T.E.S.T.I.S., a group of science enthusiasts and inventors. The story of Ralph (Brian Bovell) and Robert (Johnny Vegas) who had a science education show in the ’90s is also much more fascinating than Ruth and Megan. The members of the science group, the interpersonal politics, and the goofiness of self-elected chairman Martin (Guy Henry) is where the real comedy comes from.
There’s also the fascinating sojourn into The Unreason, a dimension beyond time and space where lost things end up, and it is there that picks the plot up. The production design of The Unreason is eerie and haunting. The people trapped there, playing a nonsensical game that they’ve been making up rules for for eons, are a very fun addition as is Gavin the Octopus (Brian Blessed) who terrified Ralph and Robert, but is quite pleasant when you get to know him. It’s the type of place we’ve all imagined when something disappears from our lives with no reason or logic.
Time Travel is Dangerous is far more amusing than funny. For some of us it will be a laugh out loud kind of comedy. It has the DNA, but for most of us it will be an amused smirk sort of experience. It’s not poorly made, but it does take narrative and genre swings that make for a tepid experience at times. The strange, wonderful clips of Ralph and Robert’s show save some of it and the folks in T.E.S.T.I.S. save some more, but all in all it’s a bit of a shrug. It’s the kind of movie you put on when you’re in the mood for something light and aren’t put out by the experience on the other side.
In 2015, Ridley Scott’s The Martian earned seven Oscar nominations, critical acclaim, and made $630 million dollars worldwide box office. Even when reaching those highs, time (and cable-television repeated viewings) has only enhanced its reputation and impact.
Matt Damon stars as Dr. Mark Watney, a botanist astronaut studying Mars alongside Commander Lewis (Jessica Chastain), pilot Martinez (Michael Pena), systems operator Johansson (Kate Mara), flight surgeon Beck (Sebastian Stan), and navigator Vogel (Askel Hennie). When a solar storm threatens their work, Lewis orders an evacuation. Watney is hit by a piece of debris during the evacuation and believed to be dead. The rest of the crew head back towards Earth.
Watney wakes up alone and alive on the planet, and makes his way back to the habitat. Following some self-surgery, Watney begins to settle in long-term and contacts NASA. Back on Earth, missions commander Vincent Kapoor (Chiwetel Ejiofor) and NASA Administrator Teddy Sanders (Jeff Daniels) discover Mark is alive, and round up all available resources in order to bring him back home.
Tonally, this film expertly balances the realities of a constant life-or-death situation, while still having intelligent fun. For a film that deals with astrophysics, space travel, and botanical characteristics, the script never manages to talk down to the audience. At the same time, the characters equally never dumb down the message to layman’s terms. It’s a testament to how much trust Scott has in the audience.
Scott himself is not exactly known for his gentle touch and light energy. Outside of 2003’s Matchstick Men, Scott has no track record of directing anything you could consider fun. While not the ideal directorial candidate on paper, he fits this material like a glove. A guy like Scott knows how to let the story and atmosphere breathe and enrich the story, with Alien, Blade Runner, and Gladiator as some of his prime examples. Few other directors know how to utilize the cinematography and let the art direction do much of the legwork. Not only has the film aged well, it’s a cable television staple. Rarely can you make it a week without seeing The Martian on FXX or TBS. The immense rewatchability is another Scott staple, though this is easily the most fun of his films.
More than anything, this film is an idealized version of humanity and technology. There is a celebration of technology, education, engineering, and collaboration necessary to achieve new astrological heights. There is no political slant, as the only recognition of politics involves congressional approval of missions and a brief one-sided conversation with an invisible president. In fact, the entire climax of the film is only possible because of inter-country collaboration between China and the United States. It’s about harmony and academic understanding in order to achieve a shared goal of good. It’s wildly refreshing.
With all these things going for it, Damon’s career-best performance brings it all together. While this is by no means a stretch of a character from Damon’s own persona, that is why he is so well-cast. Few other actors can bring the charm, likeability, intellect, motor-mouthed delivery, and energy, matching everything Watney needs to be. You may be able to point to the physicality of the Bourne films, or the dramatic moments of The Departed and The Talented Mr. Ripley as the signature Damon roles, but few match the highs of what he is able to achieve here.
For a film where a single character is the main focus of every conversation and occupies much of the screentime alone and talking to a camera, the film focuses quite a bit on the talented ensemble. The space crew each do a nice job, especially Chastain, who leans into her inherent leadership qualities. The NASA group on the ground gets much more of a narrative focus. Ejiofor and Benedict Wong share a fun chemistry, while Daniels fits his most Jeff-Danielsian modern role. Mackenzie Davis and Donald Glover both have some standout scenes as some of the lower-level NASA employees who both play a big role.
The years later, The Martian has only grown in popularity and achievement. When the time comes for subsequent anniversaries, I would expect its reputation to grow even more so.
Director: Colin Minihan Writers: Tad Daggerhart, Daniel Meersand, Nick Simon Stars: Mila Harris, Brittany Allen, Kate Bosworth
Synopsis: Trapped in their Hollywood Hills home, a family fights for survival when caught between a raging wildfire and a pack of savage coyotes.
The cold opening of Colin Minihan’s horror/comedy Coyotes promises some delectably deserved deaths for the insufferable. Kat (Katherine McNamara) is an influencer walking her tiny dog, Gigi, in the Hollywood Hills. She’s on the phone to a “friend” boasting of her ahead of the crowd charms and vibe when her dog interrupts her by running into a bush. Her tone which is literally the worst plus her desperate selfie taking barely hides the desperation to be relevant. Desperation of another kind stalks her in the form of a pack of coyotes who, due to wildfires, have begun encroaching more into the environment of the “elites.” The influencer finds herself torn apart (and roadkill) by the wild animals and ending up with probably her biggest news story the next day as a corpse.
As much as there could be quite biting (pun intended) satire in the script penned by Tad Daggerhart, Daniel Meersand and Nick Simon, Coyotes only occasionally brushes against it. Instead, the film favors an assortment of oddball characters to complement and contrast with the main family of the piece headed by Scott (Justin Long), a comic book artist whose success has come with the price tag of maintaining his creative output to keep an aspirationally large roof over the heads of his wife Liv (Kate Bosworth) and his young teen daughter Chloe (Mila Harris).
On the day before a major storm, Scott employs Devon (Kier O’Donnell), an exterminator, to rid his house of rats. Devon, who is a tad too invested in his job, explains that the house is much cheaper than Scott realizes in terms of construction. It is, and looks, expensive, but as for its value as a sturdy property? An illusion. Scott should be paying attention to that information but like many things in his life he chooses to gloss over it. With the storm incoming Liv suggests that he might want to trim a tree that could cause a problem if blown over. Scott’s reaction is that he’s been told there are all kinds of things he was meant to panic over in the past, like swarms of killer bees, that never amounted to anything. In the case of the tree, he’s wrong as it knocks out power to the house and to the house of his coked-up neighbor, Trip (Norbert Leo Butz) who is entertaining Julie (Brittany Allen) a “woman of the night” and conspiracy believer.
The storm means that the coyotes have come even further into civilization, and they aren’t as cowered as they are usually when dealing with humans. In fact, they are mercilessly on the attack and more sinisterly attacking without necessarily finishing off their human prey, making for some particularly nasty gore. Unfortunately, the impact of some of the deaths is significantly lessened by the strangely AI-like coyote design. Whenever the pack faces one of its potential victims it appears to be grounded in a different reality where they each have a separate relationship to gravity. The AI-like (I can’t be definite if the coyotes are AI generated as much as I can’t be definite they are not AI generated) coyotes are difficult to overcome in terms of threat value as they pull the viewer out of the film with their artificiality and make the practical puppets used in sections appear ludicrously cheap also.
If one is able to move beyond the coyote design (which I must admit I wasn’t) and suspend disbelief, Coyotes has some funny moments that mostly come from the complete inability of the characters to come to terms with their new reality. Terrible things can’t happen to people whose main issues are late food deliveries or a bad hair day. It’s funny when a demanding diva ends up engulfed in a fire from her own poolside grill, or when an ultra-rich manchild ends up as meat in his jungle-outfitted mansion.
Inability to “man-up” is the core issue with Scott and his family drama. Scott’s lack of prowess with a saw or anything handyman related is given equal weight to his hemophobia. How is he going to man up and protect the family who are already disappointed in his lack of involvement in their lives? Although both Justin Long and his real-life wife Kate Bosworth are both quite affable screen presences, the manufactured family drama is relatively weak, and they have trouble selling it as a subplot. Even in the tight 92-minute runtime it is extraneous and causes a drag with the only payoff being that a heartfelt apology delivered to Liv by Scott isn’t heard.
Coyotes is a movie that struggles to be what it promised and without the true throughline of satire to give the film teeth the comedy is primarily goofy, the drama tedious, and the horror… unfortunately too artificial. It wastes its own potential and the generally good performances of Long, Bosworth, Butz, and especially Allen who also provides the soundtrack. Coyotes is a bit of a dog’s dinner.
This week on the InSession Film Podcast, in anticipation of The Smashing Maching, we have a sports movie draft! Specifically talking about sports movies that are based on true stories. We also discuss the box office for One Battle After Another, AI actresses and the new trailer for Avatar: Fire and Ash.
Check out this week’s show and let us know what you think in the comment section. Thanks for listening and for supporting the InSession Film Podcast!
– Opening Banter / OBAA Box Office (0:31) We begin this week by diving back into the world of the box office as One Battle After Another became Paul Thomas Anderson’s biggest opening to date. It’s still likely never going to make its money back, but between its initial release, its inevitable re-release once it gets Oscar-nominated and premium VOD sales, it may eventually cut those losses in half. Either way, kudos to Warner Bros. for putting up the money knowing they would likely lose something financially on the film.
– AI Actress / Fire and Ash Trailer (25:41) With all the talk surrounding AI “actress” Tilly Norwood this last week, we had to talk about how nonsensical it all is and the fight against this new movement. Thankfully, many agencies were vocal about how they were not pursuing the AI, but at what point does it begin to change? If at all? Sadly, this probably won’t be the last time this happens. To make things better, though, we followed that up by discussing the new trailer for Avatar: Fire and Ash and boy does it look epic.
– Sports Movie Draft (43:40) For our draft this week, inspired by The Smashing Machine, we wanted to discuss sports movies. Specifically those that are inspired by true stories. Many sports movies are, but obviously some of the great ones (Rocky, Mystery Alaska, Bull Durham) are complete fiction. Funneling the criteria that way certainly made for some fun conversation, especially when we got to the back half of the draft where a lot of the films were about the same in quality. We also did not include documentaries here, which complicated matters further. Who do you think won the draft?
If you want to help support us, there are several ways you can help us and we’d absolutely appreciate it. Every penny goes directly back into supporting the show and we are truly honored and grateful. Thanks for your support and for listening to the InSession Film Podcast!
Director:Ben Leonberg Writers: Alex Cannon, Ben Leonberg Stars: Indy (The Dog), Shane Jensen, Larry Fessenden
Synopsis:A loyal dog moves to a rural family home with his owner Todd, only to discover supernatural forces lurking in the shadows. As dark entities threaten his human companion, the brave pup must fight to protect the one he loves most.
After taking the internet by storm with its first trailer, Ben Leonberg’s Good Boy presents an intriguing concept: a haunted house horror film from the point of view of a dog. It’s funny with such a creative idea that it still, to a certain extent, isn’t completely new, whether it’s the escapades of a cartoon like Courage the Cowardly Dog or even another unique spooky pov film from this year with Stephen Soderbergh’s Presence, but Leonberg brings something unique to this change of pace. Good Boy is a short and moving genre picture that has just as much well-crafted horror as it does messages about the loving connection that many of us have with our animal companions. The Dog’s perspective never ends up as a gimmick throughout the film’s runtime, and it helps when you have a pup as lovable and captivating to root for as Indy at the movie’s center. Sometimes the film can be a bit messy within the screenplay department, leading to a confusing plot beat or two, but Leonberg largely succeeds at giving us a fresh 4-legged experience that’s exceedingly rare for the genre.
Good Boy’s setup revolves around Todd (Shane Jensen), who is suffering from cancer and really only spends time with his best bud, Indy the dog, whenever his sister, Vera (Arielle Friedman), isn’t calling to check up on him. After a recent flare-up in his symptoms, Todd decides to move into his late grandfather’s house, which Vera strongly disapproves of, fearing for his safety. After spending a long while there, Indy immediately senses an evil presence within the home that’s not only worsening Todd’s sickness, but threatening to take over his body completely. With his owner’s life at stake, it’s up to this faithful pup to save his friend from danger. Good Boy isn’t just simple in concept; it also just flies by with only a 73-minute runtime, but Leonberg is able to make the most out of the concept’s limitations. There are occasional instances where the movie is stretched thin or repetitive within its set pieces, but the Dog’s point-of-view is never a cheap shtick thanks to the creative avenues the horror itself takes.
The film often takes us to areas that are only places a pet would stay laser-focused on, or through nooks and crannies only adds to the immersion of this perspective. The film’s clear, limited resources honestly also work in its favor, as some of the most well-executed jump scares of the year can be found here. I love how sparingly loud shocks and bangs are used specifically in the film’s first half, where the camera often just sits with Indy as he stares at walls or explores more creepy corners of the house that only a dog would feel the need to be high alert on. Often, there’s often only a soft shadow or a foreboding presence of thinking you saw something that wasn’t really there and it only makes the film’s full lean into more peril in the back half all the more thrilling; whether its through tacking shots at Indy’s level or the simple quirks of doggie habits the film always is at one with its perspective.
All of these elements, however, would not mesh nearly as well if it weren’t for the amazing performance from Indy the dog himself. Never has it felt so easy to root for an animal in a film as the ingenuity of the way his actions are filmed adds to the emotion of Indy. There are often many close-ups of Indy’s eyes, specifically showcasing real terror and cuteness that will only make the average viewer fully invested in the dog’s perilous journey to be the best boy.
The only area that keeps Good Boy from being a Great Boy is small touches of its story and the reveals it offers down the line. The film has a firm enough core between this owner and pet, but at a certain point in the narrative, when a key story point of the past is revealed, the mystery behind these spirits and what’s really going on with Todd becomes a lot murkier. The ties between Todd and his grandpa are never given as much time to marinate as the film thinks they are. This is the point in the movie where its concept starts to wear a bit thin, but never enough to detract from the overall innovative experience.
Even with small qualms holding it back from something greater, Good Boy remains a solid venture into a fresh horror concept that has a strong message of our bond with pets at its center. With a fantastic lead mammal performance and delightful eerie atmosphere to boot, Good Boy is worthy of your doggie treat for this Halloween season.
Synopsis: When a single, unattributed missile is launched at the United States, a race begins to determine who is responsible and how to respond.
There is no way to describe the immense disappointment of watching Kathryn Bigelow’sA House of Dynamite. The film is loaded with talent, making it feel like yet another Netflix streaming Ponzi scheme—where a legendary filmmaker like Bigelow signs on and the rest follow, mindlessly assuming the project must be on the verge of something spectacular. I mean, why wouldn’t a global political thriller on the brink of domestic collapse from the director of The Hurt Locker andZero Dark Thirtypossibly go wrong?
Image Courtesy of Netflix
And for the first act of A House of Dynamite, the film is a suspenseful thriller with rare white-knuckle tension. A real armrest grabber, featuring Rebecca Ferguson, who plays Olivia Walker, leading a group of duty workers and National Security Council (NSC) staffers trying to prevent the destruction of a major city in the United States. She runs point for the military brass, including her boss, Mark Miller (Jason Clarke). It appears to be a typical day when Major Danile Gonzalez (Twisters’ Anthony Ramos) and his team at a military base detect an incoming warhead.
They oversee the ground-based interceptor (GBI) missiles designed to neutralize nuclear threats—an idea that sounds great on paper but, in reality, is like trying to hit a bullet with a bullet. Olivia’s job is to connect communications with prominent political figureheads: the president (Heads of State’s Idris Elba), the secretary of defense (Mad Men’s Jared Harris), a general with a colossal ego and a penchant for hubris (Saturday Night’s Tracy Letts), and the deputy national security adviser (The Night Agent’s Gabriel Basso).
Image Courtesy of Netflix
One criticism making its way around A House of Dynamite is that it serves as propaganda for humanizing government officials. However, once you watch, that feels misguided, like any thriller where lives hang in the balance, such as any episode of 24. The film utilizes public figures with high-profile families and personal stakes to heighten the drama. The film was written by Noah Oppenheim (Netflix’sZero Day), former president of NBC News and executive producer of The Today Show. Oppenheim is a proven talent, with a strong résumé that includes an Academy Award nomination for his screenplay for Jackie.
The issue is the downward spiral of Oppenheim’s career since hitting awards paydirt, riding on the coattails of Natalie Portman and Pablo Larraín’s decadence. Here, Oppenheim has written a film told through the perspectives of three or four characters involved in a dangerous incident that morning. The movie, in fact, employs the Rashomon effect, replaying a twenty- to thirty-minute sequence from multiple viewpoints. This should be an intriguing storytelling device, elevating a gripping thriller into genuine human drama. Ideally, the structure would highlight perceptions, competing truths, and biases—revealing the hidden shades of gray, like the heart of an artichoke, with each layer peeled back to uncover the complexities of deception and morally ambiguous choices.
Image Courtesy of Netflix
However, as compelling as the film’s first section is, the rest fizzles out like a faulty fuse. Each subsequent segment rehashes the same events without revelation — mostly watching protagonists break protocol to call loved ones and warn of an impending attack. Even the most intriguing third-act moment, Kaitlyn Dever’s arrival as the secretary of defense’s daughter, carries no weight. The finale is so lackluster that it feels like a scrapped streaming series hastily repackaged as a movie, reminiscent of the long-running rumor that David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive began life as an unpicked ABC TV pilot.
A House of Dynamite is a remarkable disappointment and one of the most overrated films in recent memory. While the opening ignites the hairs on your arms, the rest of the film wallows in self-plagiarism, as if Oppenheim simply cuts and pastes each act into an endless political Groundhog Day that no viewer can escape. Frankly, I found myself wishing the bomb would bring the whole experience to an early, merciful end.
Image Courtesy of Netflix
Bigelow and Oppenheim’s film is pure political fluff that leads to and ends with absolutely no payoff, being predictable and contrived because it chooses to be.
You can watch A House of Dynamite in select theaters on October 10th before streaming exclusively on Netflix on October 24th!
Director:Scott Cooper Writer: Scott Cooper Stars: Jeremy Allen White, Jeremy Strong, Paul Walter Hauser, Stephen Graham, Odessa Young
Synopsis:Bruce Springsteen, a young musician on the cusp of global superstardom, struggles to reconcile the pressures of success with the ghosts of his past.
For a rock star with ideas, morals, and politics as relatively straightforward as those beholden by Bruce Springsteen, his songs and lyrics never fail to be misrepresented by hordes of fans, especially young white men, always eager to pretend that the star is something he’s not. The New Jersey native – breaking news – has written dozens of songs related to and/or about his home state, and though most of them are socio-politically charged poems about disillusioned soldiers, nuclear power plant disasters, and organized crime, millions of pork roll/Taylor Ham-loving folk might as well be listening to different tracks as they don the red, white, and blue and wax poetic about how their homegrown boy is one hell of a Patriot. Just last week, hundreds of golf enthusiasts stormed Bethpage Black Golf Course to cheer on America’s top golfers as they battled Europe in the biennial Ryder Cup, doing so to the tune of “Born in the U.S.A.” blasting from someone’s speaker. Most people know that The Boss’ rock anthem is really about a Vietnam veteran whose economic hardships upon returning home find him questioning a country he no longer recognizes; many others, however, still believe it to be a celebration of nationalism, and apparently a proper rallying cry for Scottie Scheffler and Bryson DeChambeau.
An understanding of that rudimentary fact would require Springsteen-ites to listen to the artist’s lyrics as opposed to just hearing the grunts and guitar strums that overshadow the depth “hidden” in many of his most profound tunes, many of which are found on his 1982 album “Nebraska.” It’s celebrated now – time heals all wounds, or “some,” if they were garnered in the line of duty – but the rocker’s sixth studio offering had its critics, including those involved in its making. Columbia Records executives may have been focused on sales and radio-ready hits, and they also feared a rejection of their next Great White Hope, a singer on the verge of superstardom who they believed would be throwing away the goodwill he’d accumulated on the heels of his three previous records, 1975’s Born to Run, 1978’s Darkness on the Edge of Town, and 1980’s four-sided The River. At the time, Musician magazine called it “murderously monotonous;” The Washington Post said it “may be the most undynamic album of 1982.”
Springsteen Deliver Me from Nowhere. Courtesy of 20th Century Studios.
But the songs on Nebraska weren’t meant to replicate those that preceded it. Rather, they fueled a personal exorcism for Springsteen, a process that helped him reckon with his troubled childhood in Freehold, NJ and solemnly belt through a debilitating depression that rendered his love life moot and his already-distant connection to the world outside of his lakefront rental home. At least, that’s the story Scott Cooper (Crazy Heart) chose to tell in Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere – the 63rd New York Film Festival’s Spotlight Gala selection – which stars an ever-committed Jeremy Allen White as its titular man and details the “Nebraska” process in full, from its song’s modest recordings on a four-track cassette tape to its rickety rollout. “They didn’t understand it,” says the now-memed, devastating scene from Lady Bird, a sentiment that Bruce couldn’t get across enough during the production process of his most personal, intimate album, a cry for help disguised as a collection of memories ranging from an upbringing in the middle of nowhere New Jersey to a night where his channel surfing led to a revelatory viewing of Terrence Malick’s Badlands. If only the white-collared professionals with the most decision-making power in the room had taken the time to listen to the words rather than the music.
Even if they had, though, it stands to reason that the 10 tracks on Nebraska would have baffled anyone to have ever been within earshot of Springsteen’s hitmaking abilities, especially on the heels of The River’s hit single, “Hungry Heart.” From what we see in Deliver Me From Nowhere, Bruce’s longtime friend and manager Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong) is the lone confidant who’s willing to hear him out. Al Teller (David Krumholtz) wants a follow-up to The River, and quickly, one that strikes the iron while it’s still hot and rakes in more dough than the previous albums and accompanying tours combined. In other words, he wants more of the same, and Springsteen isn’t willing to compromise despite the increasingly-compromised position he finds himself in. His psychological state is corroding; memories of his abusive father and tormented mother (Stephen Graham and Gaby Hoffman, initially introduced in flashback sequences shot in black and white, as only a biopic could) come flooding back as if the Jersey Shore has been engulfed by a tsunami, one that Bruce only imagines a few ditties can quell. And so he locks himself in his bedroom – with Paul Walter Hauser’s Mike Batlan, The Boss’ old assistant, at his side through the experiment in the interest of comic relief – to sing his feelings into oblivion, writing and recording songs about (and sometimes called) Atlantic City, a mansion out of a dream that his father used to take him to look at when he was little, and two brothers on different sides of the law.
Whether he’s running from the past, rejecting the present, or attempting to ease the pain he imagines lies in his future, the exercise is trying and at least rooted in truth, a lot like the film it anchors. Written and directed by Cooper, and thus colored by the filmmaker’s stable inclination to go melodramatic when he should have stayed grounded, Deliver Me From Nowhere isn’t a mangled (nor is it a Mangold) biopic, per se, but one that feels stuck in place as it trudges forward through the bad times its subject endures over the course the vital album’s process. Perhaps that’s due to its attempt to reduce its inspiration, a 352-page biography by Warren Zanes that was inspired by the brevity of the Nebraska chapter in Springsteen’s 2017 memoir, to a two-hour cinematic experience. (It quickly becomes clear why Bruce rejected proposals of films about his life for the better part of 30 years, and why he’s been so reluctant to talk about the Nebraska of it all.) Perhaps it’s more due to its awkward structural decisions, like jumping from a defining moment in Bruce’s youth (where his father stomps toward his bedroom with the force of Godzilla) to the triumphant closing night of his River tour, and the inclusion of a composite girlfriend (Odessa Young) in the film’s defining effort to have its genre cake and eat it, too.
Better yet, maybe it’s the fact that Young’s Faye summarizes the whole project in a matter of seconds: “This is about you running away from what scares you.” Over the course of Deliver Me From Nowhere, its protagonist rubbernecks his way through a lot, and bolts to conquer plenty more. Mending his relationship with the estranged dad who beat him and his mother is on the menu; so, too, are a shit ton of diner breakfasts, which Bruce enjoys from Colts Neck to Los Angeles, likely to varying levels of bowel discomfort. Insofar as Cooper’s picture is about self-discovery and the ongoing battle with demons, it mainly captures its hero as a man who was, indeed, born to run. From the terrifying prospect of global fame; from love; from discomfort. As he tells a car salesman who admits that he knows who his latest client is, Bruce cheesily (if authentically) replies, “That makes one of us.”
The only thing White’s Springsteen doesn’t run in the clear opposite direction of is his depression, and The Bear beau manages to inject the same fervor into his mental breakdowns as he does many of his musical performances. (His E-Street Band-accompanied runthrough of “Born in the U.S.A” will steal your breath.) It’s Cooper’s script, based in fact as it is, that seems determined to trip up the excellent performance it had a hand in inspiring with the movie-making of it all. To his credit, as he noted in a post-screening Q&A at the film’s second festival screening, the writer-director had no interest in making a conventional biopic about Bruce Springsteen; he wanted to make a film abouta particularly weighty period in a legendary life chock-full of special moments, and in making his point, noted that were he to make a film about Elvis Presley, he’d want it to take place on the last day of The King’s life.
Springsteen Deliver Me from Nowhere. Courtesy of 20th Century Studios.
Elvis fans would probably be as furious about that approach as they were when Austin Butler wouldn’t stop talking like the guy well after filming had concluded, just as Springsteen fans who enter Deliver Me From Nowhere with the blind assumption that it will be the cinematic equivalent to one of the artist’s notoriously-lengthy concerts will leave wondering, “Wait, why didn’t he play ‘Dancing in the Dark’?” A cursory amount of research will help assuage those grievances, and the very fact that Bruce is finally receiving an on-screen memorialization (no matter its scope) will scratch whatever itch still plagues those fans, regardless of what their Spotify histories tell you about their listening habits. Whether or not Deliver Me From Nowhere addresses any other needs is a more curious gambit, akin to delving into Flannery O’Connor’s religious fascinations. The writer comes up twice in the film. In the first act, Springsteen fusses with an externally-weathered copy of her tome of short stories, but save for a single dog ear, the pages within are in pristine condition. Later on, Strong’s Landau quotes the author: “Where you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to never was there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it.”
Cooper theoretically tangles with those ideas, but the explicit nature of Landau’s wisdom drop is more befitting of Deliver Me From Nowhere than the film realizes. We started with Bruce’s humble, tortured beginnings as a young boy, and in a flash, those greyed-out images are ancillary; his megastar future was all but certain, but he mapped the journey on his own terms, not in the fashion that Columbia’s button-pushers expected; and where we are – watching Springsteen fiddle with his next steps – is a perfectly fine place to be, as long as what follows is a more pleasant existence than the current one. To a point, Deliver Me From Nowhere understands those ideas, but it’s more prone to sit with them than to explore them with the depth they deserve. Like the film, and the many people who confusedly stare at Bruce as he silently processes his emotions throughout, the answers to the questions asked are known if not vocalized. Perhaps the masses will have more courage to say them out loud in its place.
Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere screened as the Spotlight Gala selection at the 63rd New York Film Festival. 20th Century Studios will release it in theaters on Oct. 24.
Director:Brian Kirk Writers: Nicholas Jacobson-Larsen, Dalton Leeb Stars: Emma Thompson, Judy Greer, Marc Menchaca
Synopsis: A woman, travelling alone through snowbound northern Minnesota, interrupts the kidnapping of a teenage girl. Hours from the nearest town and with no phone service, she realizes that she is the young girl’s only hope.
For those who have ever wanted to see Emma Thompson get her shot at playing a wintry, frost-bitten Rambo, Dead of Winter is just that. A widowed fisherwoman roaming the frozen tundra falls into the wrong crosshairs, all set in northern Minnesota. Director Brian Kirk blends unrelenting action with a love story that tugs at the coldest of hearts. While the film captures chilly isolation well, its story goes overboard, losing its most tender moments to an over-the-top kidnapping plot that ends too abruptly—making Dead of Winter an enthralling story that doesn’t live up to its potential.
Barb (Thompson) lives in a remote trailer home that she once shared with her husband Karl (Cúán Hosty-Blaney). As she is packing up her aged pickup truck with all the essentials for ice fishing, there’s an overwhelming sense of gloom. She speaks to herself as she loads up, often looking at a photo of Karl, even making sure to tell the picture that she will be safe. Instantly, their connection is felt, even when Karl isn’t there, and their shared love of wilderness is captured in the beauty of their home. As Barb embarks on her journey, the roads are covered with ice and snow, but even the treacherous roads aren’t the worst that she will encounter.
Dead of Winter gives Judy Greer a rare opportunity to be completely unhinged with her character, Purple Lady. When Barb ends up in the front lawn of Purple Lady and her husband Camo Jacket (Marc Menchaca), little did she know she wouldn’t make it out unscathed. What starts out as a friendly interaction with Camo Jacket ends with Barb discovering fresh blood in the snow. After getting directions for her husband’s favorite lake, Barb sets up her ice shanty, and after seeing a young woman fleeing on the ice, her inner hero kicks in, and she knows that she must make some tough decisions: help save a stranger or flee with her life intact.
Dead of Winter works best when showing the love story that shaped Barb into the woman she is. Kirk and writers Nicholas Jacobson-Larson and Dalton Leeb explore this in flashbacks that show a young Barb (Gaia Wise) and Karl as young lovers before they decide to get hitched—featuring their first date, Barb’s pregnancy, and how their home was their sanctuary. Learning about Barb in this way, juxtaposed with her current life, answers many questions that pop up, especially with how Barb is able to evade danger for so long—stitching up her own wounds, creating icy booby traps, and her ability to use anything as a weapon. Glimpses of her life indicate a life full of love, making her choices in the present that much more compelling.
The film’s main villain is Purple Lady, who is holding a young woman, Leah (Laurel Marsden), hostage in hopes that Leah can help cure health ailments that are debilitating her. While the premise seems intriguing, and where the film’s best action scenes come from, the plot itself is hard to connect to—especially when mixed with Barb’s journey. Purple Lady and Camo Jacket only ever have interactions where she’s berating him, even when situations are out of his control. With her being severely ill, she often takes the lead, guns blazing. Their relationship and motivations aren’t fleshed out enough to connect with, especially when Barb’s story is done as well as it is—making the moments with them, outside of the action, feel like filler instead of pushing the story forward.
Each performance in Dead of Winter elevates the film beyond a run-of-the-mill action thriller, especially with Thompson leading the cast. She gives Barb a touching duality: on one hand, she’s a grieving wife who has lost the only person in her life, while also a woman with incredible survival instincts. Greer is intense, and unlike her previous roles, she’s weapon-toting and not afraid to pull the trigger. She taps into Purple Lady’s desperation well, especially through crazed looks and declarations of her plans. Both women play off each other well, and their encounters are fierce, giving audiences the best action pieces of the film.
What really shines in Dead of Winter are the stunning visuals that capture the beauty of winter, with frozen lakes under a blanket of snow and the clothing that keeps its residents warm. Christopher Ross’s cinematography uses the bright whiteness of the snow to showcase the blinding conditions these characters face. Filmed in Koli, Finland, the vast and almost never-ending landscape shows just how desolate and isolated Barb is. Frozen lakes with ice beginning to crack with each step remind viewers of the unforgiving nature of these conditions. The costuming in Dead of Winter is any Midwesterner’s dream: oversized jackets that can hold any tool needed, and when characters are put in compromising positions, their clothing is often what saves their lives.
Overall, Dead of Winter is worth a watch for Thompson’s performance—a rare role that older women are offered—and she excels. Her love story and, ultimately, her heroic deeds are admirable and give her character unique motivations. But its main conflict is rushed and out of place.
Synopsis: A widowed British businessman takes the job as a butler of a manor house in France to keep memories of his late French wife. His life takes a turn as he navigates the eccentric behavior of the lady of the manor and the household staff.
There are films that feel like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer day or a cozy blanket around one’s shoulders in winter. Mr. Blake at Your Service is that kind of movie, the one that audiences long for during dark times. It’s a simple film about daily routines. Simple people, even if they live in grand estates.
The film takes us on a journey with Mr. Andrew Blake (John Malkovich), a widowed English businessman who can’t process his wife’s passing. To make peace with his grief and his sudden loneliness without the partner of a lifetime, he decides to take a nostalgic trip down a French manor where he first met his wife. He accidentally gets hired as a butler by a tight-lipped, warm-hearted cook (Émilie Dequenne) who enjoys bossing him around and getting him to do exactly what she says. He makes friends with the eccentric characters on the estate, including the cook’s cat Mephisto, the crazy neighbor/handyman Philippe (Philippe Bas), and the stunning Nathalie Beauvillier (Fanny Ardant), the owner of the place whose vulnerability and regal energy create a halo of the tragic princess trope. She’s both beautiful and proud, too distant to merge with regular people but also too shaken and broken to belong to her world.
Another highlight of this feature is how uncliché -in a movie that is filled with a ton of them- it treats the growing relationship between Mr. Blake and Madame Beauvillier. Ardant and Malkovich play it cool, while endearingly growing into their respective characters. Despite all the French vs. British wars, the grumpy sensitive guy, and the zip-tight cook who hides a world of warmth and passion underneath, the Mr. Blake and Madame Beauvillier relationship is treated like camaraderie rather than a potential romance. It helps that two spectacular actors are at the helm of it, with not just talent but aura that makes what could’ve been a modest attempt at a feel-good movie feel vibrant, fresh and colorful.
Dequenne’s last role as Odile is bittersweet, as her vibrant energy brings back to mind her iconic role as the eponymous Rosetta in the Dardenne brothers’ masterpiece. Her scenes with Malkovich are hilarious and charming, showing her knack for comedy. Malkovich himself is a celebration. It’s exciting and refreshing to see him in a lead role. His career spans a multitude of roles and eccentricities that place him in the same league as Sam Rockwell, Gary Oldman, Christian Bale, Joaquin Phoenix, and Willem Dafoe. A bunch of weirdos who are chameleonic and cool, Malkovich here embodies their collective energy of excelling at playing both the psycho and the simple man. He exudes charisma and humility, and he portrays Mr.. Blake from a reserved place that often puts him at odds with the other characters, all while remaining composed.
The world is complicated enough, riddled with uncertainty, fear, and discouragement. Sometimes, the best a person can do is watch a lighthearted comedy where nothing bad happens. Mr. Blake at Your Service is about the lost moments in life, the warmth of company, and losing oneself in a foreign land without footing. It’s a heartwarmer, maybe it targets a senior citizen audience more than the average moviegoer, but it’s still a unique slice of life indie film about healing.
P.S. I couldn’t be more grateful for the new trend of movie cats on the rise. Whether Tonic playing Bud in Caught Stealing or Novehka playing Mephisto, there’s something refreshing about seeing more feline heroes on the big screen, stealing cameras from veteran actors and movie stars alike.
Director:Henry Jaglom Writer: Henry Jaglom Stars: Michael Emil, Karen Black, Michael Margotta
Synopsis: Zee (Karen Black) is walking up and down Manhattan streets, talking to herself and to the husband who just left her. At a sidewalk café she runs into Eli (Michael Emil). A very unlikely, funny, and touching relationship develops between two lost souls in the big city, which is the third major character in this film.
Henry Jaglom’s Can She Bake A Cherry Pie? is a wonderful jaunt through the Upper West Side of New York City in the early ‘80s. Equally delightful is this film’s new 4K restoration, celebrating its world premiere at the 63rd New York Film Festival; it could be argued that there is literally no better place in the world for such an event. Taylor Purdee of Hope Runs High Films made note while introducing the film that it was filmed primarily within a 20-block radius of the festival. It’s indicative of an experience that’s quite surreal: to step into a theater in a neighborhood so familiar, only to see a completely different version of those same surroundings on screen. And upon finishing the film, one can’t help but feel a strange sort of double exposure while passing the varied buildings and landmarks. Yet in a strange way, there’s something comforting in recognizing that stories such as the one in Jaglom’s film are still occurring among these same streets, being endlessly walked by individuals living their lives and figuring it out as they go along. Because despite Can She Bake A Cherry Pie? very much feeling like a time capsule, it’s an equally timeless story about people coming to terms with life not often going the way they’d initially planned.
It’s the humorous ways Jaglom’s central characters cope with this fact of life that makes up the majority of this brisk film. Can She Bake A Cherry Pie? opens with a playful credits sequence introducing the random delights New York City has always had to offer its residents. It then pivots to two unfortunately relatable situations. It would appear both instances will remain relatable for the rest of time. The first focuses on Zee (Karen Black) being broken up with by her husband rather unexpectedly. She wakes up to him packing his bags, and how their interaction plays out is both silly and heartbreaking. Meanwhile, somewhere else in the city, Mort (Martin Harvey Friedberg) is getting chewed out by an uptight boss. It’s a sequence which instantly endears the viewer to Mort. But in a fun subversion of expectation, we come to learn that Mort isn’t even our central character! It’s in fact the uptight boss himself, Eli (Michael Emil). Jaglom capturing these realities of life, and rather stylishly to boot, is something that remains omni-present throughout the film. And it’s the structure of Jaglom’s film going about capturing these realities which works quite well.
Can She Bake A Cherry Pie? operates as a quasi-romcom, but it could be argued that it’s far more interested in simply hanging out with the characters that inhabit the Upper West Side. If the quick pivot from Mort to Eli as the central male character wasn’t indicative enough, one needn’t look further than the elliptical nature of the film. One of the central ideas of Jaglom’s script is the idea that many of our plans in life will inevitably shift in some way. And that shift is captured through Jaglom’s wandering camera. He can introduce a slew of characters which may or may not ever come back into the picture. Despite that possibility, each character feels lived-in, and we’d have no problem following them on a quick journey to the corner store or for a drink at a nearby cafe. This loose focus present in Can She Bake A Cherry Pie? is a great strength of the film, especially considering many of the characters in it feel as if they’re falling apart at the seams in some way. Just look at how Jaglom’s camera casually follows Zee on her (comically despised) walk through the neighborhood. And despite it being a quite funny sequence, it’s all rooted in the pain she is going through. Black plays this breakdown with a vulnerable honesty, and it makes for a delightful lead performance. Immediately after her husband up and leaves, Zee feels completely lost in these streets she likely knows quite well. She’s constantly shifting in place, often muttering to herself or letting her gaze bounce all across the block. It’s as if the floor has fallen out from under her, and in the loud, unbothered streets of Manhattan, there’s unfortunately little sympathy to be found amongst passers-by. It’s not until she just so happens to sit at the table next to Eli and Mort that the plot of Can She Bake A Cherry Pie? kicks off. It’s out of this casual interaction which kicks off Eli and Zee’s strange pairing that makes up the bulk of the comedy present.
To be blunt, Eli is borderline insufferable; but it’s what makes him such a deeply human (and very amusing) character. He is full of eccentricities and absurd fun-facts that, were this to take place in 2025, are the sorts of statements made by men often beginning with “I heard this on a podcast.” His quirks and behavior are never overbearing, but Emil plays him so naturally that it makes for a fun push-and-pull, especially in the third act or whenever he’s the butt of a joke. In the end, there is a hope that he’ll ultimately remain quiet enough to actually listen to Zee and allow them to find a lovely middle-ground as a couple to flourish within. The romantic angle of the film works because they view the world on such fundamentally different levels. Can She Bake A Cherry Pie? is a film in love with the idea that stranger things than this pairing can and will happen in the city, if not the world. And the two examples which show off such a belief are deeply touching.
Around halfway through Can She Bake A Cherry Pie?, Eli and Zee are watching the New York Philharmonic perform in a park. As Zee insists they close their eyes and feel the beauty of the music, Eli simply cannot pause his mind for a single moment. And so Jaglom chooses to pull away from this specific date. The camera pans up into the sky, looking at the beauty of the stars. But this is New York City! So instead of seeking out constellations, a cut brings us to a panning shot of the street before moving up and across various windows. It feels like Jaglom may feel so inclined as to take us into any one of these random apartments, fully acknowledging the fact that within any of them, the potential for a completely different, or even eerily identical story, is playing out. Jaglom’s free-wheeling camera and search to find a story audiences can engage with is quite touching. The larger, unquantifiable forces of life may have different plans than the ones we form in our minds. So when things inevitably don’t go our way, we can either remain distraught, or simply laugh it off and adapt. Can She Bake A Cherry Pie? ultimately examines how Eli and Zee operate within those two manners of going about their lives, and in doing so, it makes for a sweet and enjoyable film. And as a bonus, Larry David has a scene where he reveals what he believes to be the key to happiness. With that bonus, Jaglom, Hope Runs High Films, and Cinématographe gives audiences two truths of life for the sweet price of one lovely restoration.
The new 4K restoration of Can She Bake A Cherry Pie? is celebrating its world premiere at the 63rd New York Film Festival as part of the Revivals section.
Synopsis: In a decaying city, a little girl takes care of a large egg which she believes was laid by an angel, and crosses paths with a gun-toting young man searching for a bird he saw in a dream.
Angel’s Egg is quite simply one of the most mesmerizing films you could ever hope to see. To fully engage with Mamoru Oshii’s 1985 film is to completely lose oneself in the expansive world he and co-creator Yoshitaka Amano conjured up for their 73-minute film. Yet there is a contradictory element that arises when calling this film expansive and focusing on its short runtime. And as far as the authorial intent of Angel’s Egg goes, that’s sort of the point. To elaborate on this is to dive into some of the many possible feelings this film evokes. And while this film can be interpreted in a variety of ways and operates within a fairly loose plot structure, this review will be addressing certain story developments. To view this film with fresh eyes is a true treat, so beware of possible spoilers to follow.
The world depicted in Angel’s Egg initially overwhelms with its sense of scale. Everything feels frighteningly massive. And there’s very little to look at to properly allow for a baseline understanding of what the rules of this world are. With no context or scale provided, everything seen seems as if it stretches on for miles and miles. But the more time spent in this vast world, the more we realize how frighteningly empty it is. There’s so much nothingness, yet among the empty streets and seemingly abandoned spaces are items and spaces which provoke curiosity and dread. Oshii effortlessly drops his audience into a world ready to be discovered. The hope is that we will walk away with our own understanding of it however best we can. It’s perhaps the greatest strength of this film. Angel’s Egg is a film that’s deeply evocative, making great use of every second of its 73 minute runtime.
The contemplative nature of the introductory sequence to Angel’s Egg is a perfect distillation of the rest of the film’s tone and pacing. It never provides an easy answer, but that’s why we showed up to a film like this in the first place. Oshii is begging his audience to seek out these answers amongst the ruins of his seemingly broken world. And we as viewers should have no issue obliging him. This is an absolutely gorgeous-looking restoration in every sense of the word. With so much of its visual imagery focusing on the interplay between shadows and the movements of objects or characters within and around them, the new life breathed into this 40-year-old film encourages a wandering gaze. We constantly scan the frame as the nameless Girl wanders around the world in search of who knows what.
As the Girl traverses this world with her egg preciously hidden away, there’s an unnerving loneliness about her. More accurately, there’s a tragedy to this character. Nothing is ever explicitly revealed nor directly addressed, but how she’s drawn and animated speaks volumes within the confines of this borderline dialogue-free film. One look at her eyes as she curiously explores the world and you can see a tired sadness within them. Whatever is driving her motivations, even if it’s nothing but a wandering curiosity, has left her worn down yet remaining ever guarded. The only thing she seems to value more than her own peace of mind and innate curiosity is the safety of her precious egg. So when she comes across the nameless Boy, seemingly the only other living being within miles, she’s understandably cautious.
Despite having the same lost and tired look behind his eyes, this Boy is a bit more open with the thoughts floating around in his mind. He’s more forthcoming, even going so far as to warn the Girl of the necessity of keeping her greatest treasure held close at all times. In telling the Girl to essentially trust nobody with what matters most to her while returning the egg to her protection, he gains somewhat of a sympathetic view in the eyes of both the Girl and the audience. It only makes the third act of this film that much more of a tragic and shocking betrayal.
The world of filmmaking is often referred to as the Dream Factory. It seems fairly obvious as to why. Through the medium of cinema, we see countless examples of artists taking dreams of all sorts and bringing them to life before our very eyes. And it’s also quite common to see films, especially ones in the vein of Angel’s Egg, be referred to as dream-like. To watch any random minute of this film is to understand exactly why. But I’d argue Oshii’s film takes this descriptor a step further, in a way so few films actually pull off. One hypnotizing sequence in particular causes Angel’s Egg to feel like a genuine dream. This comes in the form of an extended sequence where the Girl sleeps with her egg as the Boy guards her ever so vigilantly. The camera remains still as the campfire slowly loses its glow and the darkness of this world begins to creep in ever so menacingly. And there comes a point during this sequence where the camera seems to be fading to black around the edges of the frame before being reawoken to continue our watch. The Boy may be a competent guardian, but the thought of leaving the Girl alone rattles us to attention. Despite Angel’s Egg beckoning for your unfazed attention, it’s also attempting to lull you into a sense of calm serenity. It’s all in service of Oshii’s upcoming attack designed to be gut-wrenching. It makes for perhaps one of the most horrifying and purely cruel moments in cinema.
In just over an hour, Angel’s Egg provides its viewer so much by doing so little. This isn’t a dig at the film in any way. It’s actually one of the most successful examples of the “less is more” mentality. The sad loneliness which permeates throughout Angel’s Egg is immensely potent. Aside from the Girl and the Boy, what little proof we see of possible “life” inhabiting this film is cold and unmoving. It’s only upon the possibility of destroying something beautiful that life seems to take shape in its own perplexing and compelling way. Amidst so much nothingness, we only hope for some form of company. But Oshii’s film seems intent on cautioning its viewer with regards to opening ourselves up to others. Perhaps it will always lead to a vicious conclusion stemming from emotional betrayal. There might be a shred of hope present at the heartbreaking finale of Angel’s Egg, but it’s undeniably a film which will leave its audience shaken upon the arrival of the credits. Despite being just one of many possible readings into Angel’s Egg, that any possible signifier can remain so potent and impactful speaks to the immaculate ideas presented within this film. That this new 4K restoration will be widely available for waves of filmgoers to be both haunted and enamored by is one of the most exciting cinematic prospects of the year.
The new 4K restoration of Angel’s Egg is celebrating its New York premiere at the 63rd New York Film Festival as part of the Revivals section.
On this episode, JD and Brendan discuss this year’s Sundance Audience Award winner Twinless! This is a film that is somewhat flying under the radar despite its big win earlier in the year, and as a result it’s a major contender for Best Overlooked Movie of the year. Not only that, Dylan O’Brien’s performance needs to be taken more seriously. Damn the awards campaign, it’s one of the best lead actor performances of 2025 to this point.
Review: Twinless(4:00) Director: James Sweeney Writers: James Sweeney Stars: James Sweeney, Dylan O’Brien, Aisling Franciosi
Director:Justin Tipping Writer: Justin Tipping, Skip Bronkie, Zak Akers Stars: Marlon Wayans, Tyriq Withers, Julia Fox
Synopsis: A young athlete descends into a world of terror when he’s invited to train with a legendary champion whose charisma curdles into something darker.
Marlon Wayans is good in Him—very good. Known for his hyper-animated style in films like the Scary Movie franchise, White Chicks, Little Man, and Don’t Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood, his quick banter and outrageous antics have earned him a devoted fan base. Yet Wayans is also a performer who can excel in drama, choosing roles in films like Requiem for a Dream and Respect that reveal a range from heartbreaking to menacing.
Him is a horror film from executive producer Jordan Peele that seamlessly incorporates Wayans’ manic style into something magnetic and gripping, underscoring the thin line between comedy and horror. His superb comic timing shapes a decisive supporting turn, heightened by the uncertainty and surprise his characters bring, as well as the visceral reactions both genres provoke. Yet it’s a shame, because the film itself is strikingly bad, a hollow mess of style over substance that even the best intentions cannot save.
At least the comedies we listed above from Wayans know they are big, dumb movies. With Him, however, director Justin Tipping seems unaware of just how profoundly empty his third feature actually is. A scattershot fever dream about toxic masculinity and community trauma that fails to make an impact beyond a visually provocative lens.
The story follows Cameron Cade (I Know What You Did Last Summer’s Tyriq Withers), a rising star on the verge of an exciting professional football career: the money, the women, the fame. Cade has been built for this moment. Unfortunately, the night before the scouting combine, he is attacked by a crazed, obsessed fan and left with potential brain trauma that puts his career in doubt. Thankfully, Cade has an admirer who is willing to take him under his wing to give him the second chance he so rightfully deserves.
That would be Isaiah White (Wayans), a Tom Brady-like legendary figure of professional football. White has eight rings and a culture touchstone that changed the game forever. So, in other words, he’s “Him.” Isaiah flies Cameron out to his home, more like a stronghold of isolation, where he lives with his social media darling wife, Elsie (Uncut Gems’ Julia Fox). As his training progresses, Cade’s transformation extends far beyond his body; he is plunged into madness, proving that the game is just as much psychological as it is physical.
Him was written by Tipping, Skip Bronkie, and Zak Akers, and the movie is free of subtext—or at the very least does such a poor job of communicating its ambitious themes, so the screenplay carries as much weight as a balloon filled with hot air. That’s because the first two acts are filled with overt exposition, trying to cover it with an overwrought cinematic style that is almost morbidly self-indulgent. The film is edited in a way that makes the audience disoriented, with an almost appallingly disjointed narrative, and an obnoxious sound design that seems to lack a point beyond highlighting style.
Yes, film is a visual medium. But the visual structure and supporting audio must lead to something more substantial. Imagine a film that truly explored a professional athlete’s drive, desire, and obsession with winning—yet at what cost? Instead, Tipping and company have written a film that plays like an Instagram reel, devoid of substance, reducing the game of professional football to little more than a film staged for the algorithm, turning the brutality of the gridiron into mere social media vanity.
Even the film’s imagery is pretentious and over-the-top. From an attacker dressed in a “goat” costume to a football team named the ‘Saviors,’ you feel as if you’re being hand-held against your will through the story so you won’t get lost in its muddled sensory mess. Then, when Him finally gets to the third act that has so little payoff, the script begins to wallow in over-explaining the final twist of toxic masculinity that is the cinematic equivalent of mansplaining.
Justin Tipping’s Him had potential, and if you’ll allow me to throw out a handful of puns, almost every critic has surely done with this film, fumbles, throws away, and steps out of bounds long before the filmmakers can score.
