Director: Kogonada
Writer: Seth Reiss
Stars: Margot Robbie, Colin Farrell, Jennifer Grant

Synopsis: Two strangers who meet at a mutual friend’s wedding have the chance to relive important moments from their pasts, illuminating the path that led them to the present and gaining the opportunity to change their futures.

A Big Bold Beautiful Journey, one of the most anticipated movies of 2025, is a reminder of the power of a good trailer. While the Margot Robbie and Colin Farrell feature itself plays like an arrogant snooze fest, its sizzling preview teems with hopeful, wondrous possibilities. A fantastical three-minute romp, the trailer feels hopelessly romantic, an immersive trip through nostalgia, brimming with emotional introspection.

Instead, we are treated to a film that is almost arrogantly self-indulgent, borrowing its structure so blatantly from better works that I call it grand theft. The intended subtext of being open to new people, experiences, and love is lost beneath the pedestal on which the script places itself. Frankly, A Big Bold Beautiful Journey provokes more yawns and eye rolls with its cloyingly emotional shmaltz than it does deep, meaningful contemplation.

The story follows David (Farrell), an ordinary man on his way to a wedding. While walking to his car, he chats with his parents on the phone, who remind him to keep himself open to love. They’ve always called him “special,” though he feels anything but. When he reaches his unremarkable sedan, he discovers a wheel clamp on one of the tires. Fortunately, he notices an advertisement for car rentals and decides to take a walk in the nice, soft rain.

Even though he has a cell phone, where he could find a rental car company to come pick him up, he wanders into what looks like an abandoned warehouse, where he meets a sales representative (Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny’s Phoebe Waller-Bridge), who has a penchant for swearing, and a stoic mechanic (Academy Award winner Kevin Kline). When he speaks, his coworker finds him to be utterly fascinating. David, as he should, finds the whole encounter strange.

For one, they have a picture of David that looks like he is auditioning for a Broadway play. How did they get his picture? He doesn’t pursue it, leaving the elephant in the room. The rental car cashier is also incredibly bossy, insisting that David use the rental car’s navigational system instead of relying on his phone’s system. Nevertheless, he carries on and makes it to the wedding, where he catches the eye of Sarah (Robbie), the quintessential manic pixie dream girl—free-spirited, eccentric, and full of spontaneous energy.

A Big Beautiful Journey is from Kogonada, who has become a critical darling with such films as Columbus and After Yang, known for his meditative and meticulously crafted visual spin he puts on minimalist cinema with deeply moving results. Yet, strangely, the third movie in the Kogonada trilogy about human connection and meaning becomes charmless, even though the script is a metaphor for opening yourself up to meaningful emotional intimacy.

The issue is the mismatch between the director and the writer. Written by The Menu’s Seth Reiss, the film, like the characters played by Farrell and Robbie, is a marriage without chemistry, the most straightforward explanation being a studio-arranged union. The redemptive framework is akin to A Christmas Carol, like so many recycled guided-journey movies that usually take place around the holidays.

Here, Reiss’s script has David and Sarah go on a journey led astray by a bossy GPS (voiced by Jodie Turner-Smith), to doorframes in the oddest of secluded places, placing them during essential times in their lives that shaped their behaviors. While the psychology of that is strong—David’s parents (Hamish Linklater, Jennifer Grant) being overindulgent and overpraising, and Sarah’s mother’s (Lily Rabe) illness. The scenes play out as overly manipulative and don’t land with the emotional punch they are intended to, which points to a script, director, and studio not on the same page.

A Big, Bold, Beautiful Journey is well-intended, and I wouldn’t dare not be open to an emotionally resonant film, despite what may come across as cinematic critic cynicism. However, Kogonada’s film is like an old cliché of a model—beautiful on the surface, but with little personality and dull, almost naïve, in substance. This is a typical romantic fantasy that will end exactly the way you think, offering little surprises, emotional payoff, and ridiculous product placement. (Yet strangely doesn’t allow any major car rental chain to make an appearance.) 

The film’s pretentiousness is fine as long as it elevates the material, but here, the style only diminishes it.

You can watch A Big Bold Beautiful Journey only in theaters September 19th!

Grade: D+

Director: Miguel Llansó
Writer: Miguel Llansó
Stars: Teele Kaljuvee-O’Brock, Johanna-Aurelia Rosin, Hannah Gross 

Synopsis: Three young women’s week at the beach turns into a transhumanist mystery romp in one Estonian summer.

Growing from high school to college is a transition that is not only jarring with the newfound independence, but it can also be a lonely journey as well. Friends who were once close now have new friends, leaving those who float through life as introverts to find new ways to get themselves out there. Writer and director Miguel Llansó’s third film, Infinite Summer, blends the ever-growing dependence on artificial apps that prey on their users and their sense of worth. It is a sci-fi thriller that unsettles the mind, body, and spirit, leaving its mark on the viewer’s psyche long after its runtime.Summer is the best time to be young—no school, and in an idle world, it’s spent relaxing and enjoying the company of loved ones. For Mia (Teele Kaljuvee-O’Brock), she’s embarking on a new journey that finds her with newfound independence. Transitioning from high school to college, Mia takes a trip with her friend Grete (Johanna-Aurelia Rosin), who brings along Sarah (Hannah Gross). From the start, it’s clear that Grete and Sarah have different ideas about how they want to spend their holiday trip in Estonia. Their lake house is stocked with everything a young person away from adults could want—alochol and drugs aplenty. Mia finds herself alone, even left out during the first bits of her trip, and feels a distance between her and Grete.

That distance leads Mia to decide to partake in a game with her cabin mates that involves virtual dating, leading to Mia’s first encounter with Dr. Mindfulness, also known as Ivo. Through a hologram of Ivo that is projected into their room via their virtual reality headset, Mia and her cohorts begin a roller coaster of mindfulness. From the outside, Dr. Mindfulness appears harmless, even if he’s meant to come across as socially unaware, promising Mia an elevated reality, which, to a stressed-out young woman, is appealing. This is done through his new meditation app, which comes with a headpiece that looks like a torture device from SAW, with pretty lights added on.

Infinite Summer is an inventive sci-fi thriller that explores our willingness to find something to distract us from our current reality. Feeling stressed? There’s an app for that. Feeling depressed? There’s an app for that. And those who created these apps see dollar signs over the well-being of those who use them, with them geared to make us addicted by any means necessary and filled with ads to make us buy other useless items to escape—giving us a small shot of dopamine to keep us going. For Mia, she is as experimental as any young person is, and while using her new friend’s invention, she becomes enthralled by the ability to escape but finds something much darker beyond its smoke and mirrors. Keeping her in a somewhat psychedelic state, she shuts out reality, but her problems only worsen the more she uses the app.

Beautifully, the film stands out with its unique use of color; hues of blue, pink, and even purple litter the screen while the trio is locked into their Mindfulness headgear, creating sights and sounds that only those tapped into their apps are able to see. The side effects are often shown in dingy colors like brown and grey smoke that pours out of the mouths of the girls after they log out. It blends in well with the environment around it, which alternates from a picturesque cabin hidden away on a lake to running through alleyways of old buildings. Israel Seoane’s cinematography captures the distinct differences in their realities compared to their mindful states, with precise framing when the headpieces are off and frantic frames making their escapism unsettling, to say the least.

From Llansó’s script, the film offers a wholly one-of-a-kind experience and explores our need for constant stimulation through our screens in such a strangely alluring way—which is to its benefit. Even as the film delves into an investigation into Dr. Mindfulness that loses some momentum, it’s a trip that is well worth taking. Saying the world is addicted to their gadgets is an understatement. Llansó reflects how inwardly these addictions can seem pleasant and even beautiful at times, inviting us to waste time and turn our brains off. Outwardly, they are gaudy and distract others from seeing our real selves. Llansó’s work as a writer and director in Infinite Summer guides the audience through the highs and lows of being lonely in a digital world. The content of the film is wild but worth experiencing.

Led by a quirky performance from Kaljuvee-O’Brock, her character Mia is easy to relate to. She starts out as a shy and reserved teenager looking for one last hangout with her best friend before they go off to college. As the film progresses, her shyness fades, leading the way for Kaljuvee-O’Brock to bring more to the table—shown best while she’s locked into her altered reality. Her youthfulness stands out as each situation becomes more bothersome than the last. Paired with Rosin and Gross, who play their roles as party girls perfectly, their characters all bounce well off each other. Gross plays a sultry and mature woman, more seasoned in all aspects of life than the others—charming and spontaneous. Rosin is the perfect blend of the two, and her performance showcases a self-conscious teenager looking for her spot to fit in, even if she has to fake it.

Masterfully, all of these elements blend together to create an unrepeatable experience. From its experimental script that questions the ethics of countless addictive apps to its fish-out-of-water relatability with its characterizations, Infinite Summer is as introspective as they get.

Grade: A

Director: Paul Thomas Anderson
Writer: Paul Thomas Anderson
Stars: Leonardo DiCaprio, Sean Penn, Benicio del Toro, Regina Hall, Teyana Taylor, Chase Infiniti

Synopsis: Bob is a washed-up revolutionary who lives in a state of stoned paranoia, surviving off-grid with his spirited and self-reliant daughter, Willa. When his evil nemesis resurfaces and Willa goes missing, the former radical scrambles to find her as both father and daughter battle the consequences of their pasts.

Back in August, Leonardo DiCaprio gave an exceptionally long interview to Esquire… sort of. The cover story’s “writer” and photographer, insofar as conducting a free-flowing conversation in which questions play a prominent role makes someone the author of a magazine feature, was Paul Thomas Anderson, DiCaprio’s director in the then-upcoming collaboration between two of Hollywood’s foremost giants. Teasing their first-ever pairing, Anderson’s One Battle After Another, cinema’s greatest living auteur and his star spoke about regrets, aging, the role of cell phones in movies, how making a “political” film can be a bit like eating your vegetables, and more, but it’s the topic of destiny that circles the entire exchange more than any others. “No one can outrun what’s inevitable,” Anderson says. He’s talking about Bob Ferguson/“Ghetto Pat,” DiCaprio’s character in the film, but one could read it as though he’s talking about himself.

Anderson further describes DiCaprio’s character as “someone who starts out wanting to change the world on the far left but gets increasingly cranky and closed off as he gets older.” And while the specifics of that broad outline relate strictly to One Battle After Another’s principal figure and the attitude that fates him, swap “in cinema” for “on the far left” and you’re getting somewhere re: PTA. Perhaps it was always inevitable for the once-plucky upstart who made Boogie Nights and Magnolia before turning 30 – and has since seen his filmography go almost entirely unrecognized by awards bodies in terms of actually winning anything –  to become a public figure who, like his Esquire discussion partner, “rarely give[s] interview[s].” When he does, it’s probably for good reason. When he does, it’s probably going to be about the script that has been sitting on his desk (and its many narrative strands, those of which have been percolating in his mind) for the better part of two decades. “In a way, none of them ever went out of style, because whatever seems to be happening politically seems to always be the same,” he told DiCaprio. “Same shit, different year.” 

If that nugget of truth lands with a serious wallop in spite of its own self-evidence, then the punch packed by the film it applies to is more bruising and ferocious than any the writer-director has thrown before. With One Battle After Another, Anderson seems to have distilled decades of pent-up rage regarding societal decay; poignant ideas about the collective necessity to revolt and how oppositional forces aim to stunt a resistance’s growth by any means necessary; and the long-gestating blueprint for his ideal action blockbuster into a wise, exhilarating, and frequently hysterical epic that meets the moment head-on with one bash to the skull after another. Bracing and concussive, it’s a film that would be the defining work of most filmmakers’ careers, a notion that only warrants debate given how many masterpieces Anderson had made before this one – eight out of his nine features, for those keeping track at home. Wholly irrefutable is its relevance, a quality that only enhances its narrative brilliance and makes its depiction of a nightmare feel far more dreamlike as it is consumed.

Maybe that’s the VistaVision talking, or the percussive nature of Jonny Greenwood’s piano-dominant, career-best score, which retools the composer’s jittery tendencies in favor of controlled chaos. Or perhaps it’s the fact that its author, whose most “divisive” projects (Inherent Vice, Licorice Pizza) still tend to be far superior to any of the other movies released in their respective calendar years thanks to Anderson’s unique knack for making the most absurd subsets of humanity seem somewhat normal, has chosen to view this tale of renegades and revolutionaries through that same lens. One Battle After Another begins with the ever-exceptional DiCaprio’s “Ghetto Pat,” the first of the two names he goes by in the film, joining the intoxicating Perfidia Beverly Hills (Teyana Taylor) and a smattering of other recognizable anarchists – Regina Hall, Wood Harris, and Alana Haim among them – in their efforts to free a horde of imprisoned migrants from a detention center near the California-Mexico border. 

“Make a show. Impress me,” Perfidia tells “Pat,” seemingly the squad’s explosives nut, not so much an expert but a fanatic with a set of reliable skills. Swarming the compound involves disarming and entrapping those guarding it, including Col. Steven J. Lockjaw (a twitchy, brilliant turn from Sean Penn), a task Perfidia claims with seductive glee, zip tying his wrists and sending him head over heels in love with her verve, white supremacist ideologies be damned. It’s on Pat to set off the fireworks that announce the so-called French 75 vigilante group’s “mothafuckin’ revolution,” and once his pyrotechnic handiwork reaches the midnight sky, One Battle After Another takes off with it. 

In short order, we watch as Pat and Perfidia fall for one another, welcome a baby girl, and drift apart as the new mother grows jealous of her partner’s unflappable affection for their daughter, something that was once reserved for Perfidia and Perfidia alone. Sixteen years down the line, with his gal not-so-suddenly in the wind and his daughter, Willa (Chase Infiniti, deserving of the “revelatory” distinctions she’s sure to be showered with in the days and weeks to come) resenting him as he drinks and smokes his way into a perpetual fog, the man now known as Bob Ferguson – after a necessary change of residence and name for anonymity, in case the law went searching for clues to Perfidia’s whereabouts – is faced with a new challenge: Rescuing/reuniting with his daughter, who is taken to safety after news of Lockjaw’s resurfacing reaches the still-active French 75ers, the few of whom made it out from under his thumb back when their erstwhile leader first disappeared. To make matters more complex, he’s a lost and lonely soul who’s not quite searching for purpose, but a better way to pass the time. (He watches and quotes The Battle of Algiers at one point, which is a start.)

That’s quite a bit to gnaw on for a small bite out of this 162-minute picture, and had Anderson chosen to formally adapt Thomas Pynchon’s “Vineland” – a distinct and intricate tome that ran fewer than 400 pages but packed in enough plot to fill a book triple the size – for his 10th film, there would be even more to digest. For one, audiences would have to get used to Leonardo DiCaprio playing a dude named Zoyd Wheeler (which would’ve been a hoot, honestly); moreover, they would have been subjected to what in all likelihood would have still been a relentlessly entertaining film, but a denser, more rambly one, too, the sort that Warner Bros. would have struggled to market even more than they did with One Battle After Another in its present, perfectly-commercial state. Instead, Anderson permissibly lifted the bits he most urgently required from Pynchon’s brilliant prose and weaved his own modern tale of rebellion from the yarn it provided. If there is a world in which Thomas Pynchon frequents his local multiplex, one can only hope that he makes it out to see the stroke of genius that his fourth novel inspired, a prescient depiction of ultramodern sociopolitical duress as confronted by those who truly believe in freedom and justice for all.

Like any review and/or summary of “Vineland,” there are certain details that this account of One Battle After Another wouldn’t dare to divulge, such as the name of the elite underground (and strictly “racially pure”) society that Penn’s Lockjaw, an insecure prick who would rather see a white world burn than a rainbowed one flourish, hopes to smarm his way into; or the answer to the coded question, “What time is it?” that Bob can’t seem to answer, as teased in the film’s teasers; or how Sensei Sergio (a hilarious Benicio del Toro) plays into it all apart from his urging that Bob jumps out of a moving car with reckless abandon, “just like Tom fucking Cruise.” Even saying this much about the performances within feels like a betrayal that would send one far outside of the French 75’s good graces, not necessarily into a world of hurt, but into one loaded with tripwires and lined with as many explosives as a trio of 70mm film canisters can carry. If one word of advice is permitted, it would be to see One Battle After Another in as large and loud an environment as possible, not only because it’s the way the filmmakers intended for it to be seen, but because it’s bound to loom in that capacity long after its note-perfect conclusion rolls around. 

That “large and loud” distinction is often limited to “blockbusters,” a label that cinephiles (and Anderson himself) have never once prescribed to his films, and rightfully so. Yet to call him an “art-house director,” as DiCaprio noted the filmmaker is often considered midway through their Esquire chat, feels like calling the Russo Brothers “indie darlings.” Except that, in the case of PTA, the cinematic language he speaks is one of his own creation, the sort that vibrates like the purr emanating off of a satisfying drumroll and can be acquired by no one else. There’s no Duolingo for this parlance, just an understanding or a lack thereof, and an acceptance that its timelessness is a functioning pillar of its excellence. Speaking to DiCaprio, Anderson noted that he’s desperate “to hold on to any shred of the Olden Times that’s left,” a deliberate act of denial and a search for nostalgia. Thankfully, he also acknowledged the irony woven into his own philosophy: “The best part of life is the constant forward momentum. It only moves in one direction, so hop on and hold tight.” In other words, it’s a hilly ride not unlike One Battle After Another, though its valleys function as peaks regardless of the sudden change in altitude. One might compare such an experience to that of riding a rollercoaster. In this case, the word “masterpiece” works just as well. 

One Battle After Another opens in theaters on Sept. 26.

Grade: A+

Director: Allan Ungar
Writers: Omer Levin Menekse, Quinn Wolfe, Allan Ungar
Stars: Josh Duhamel, Jeremy Ray Taylor, Rick Hoffman

Synopsis: After fleeing the UK from a job gone wrong, a down on his luck hitman is forced to babysit the son of his new crime boss and show him how to become a man.

The odd couple movie is a staple of the new action comedy. From 48 Hrs. to Ride Along, people have paired straight man, funny guy, and guns to great effect. It relies heavily on the chemistry of the leads, but it also has to make a certain amount of sense in whatever world it takes place in. London Calling upends this dynamic in a unique way even if it sometimes fails to make sense in the world it’s in.

Instead of two people being thrust together when they’d rather not be. In London Calling, two people are thrust together who would rather not be in a sort of dark twist on a big brother type mentorship program. Instead of learning to be a good human, Tommy (Josh Duhamel) is teaching Julian (Jeremy Ray Taylor) to kill people.

It’s a silly premise that has a lot of fun pay offs. Yet, the story takes too much time to ramp up to this dynamic. We are given a great deal of background on each of the characters. They each have a fleshed out plot thread, but this is one instance where it’s wholly unnecessary for each of them to have so much backstory. It makes this into a co-lead situation when it’s obvious one of the storylines is much weaker than the other and drags down much of the rest of the story.

It doesn’t help that director Allan Ungar, who was likely working on a strict budget, didn’t opt for many action set pieces. Much of the action is pretty well worn territory. There is one gun fight that takes a turn toward classic John Woo as Tommy and his adversary take human shields and then proceed to shoot through their human shields and the other henchmen in the room in slow motion. One good shootout does not an action movie make, though.

The writers should have tried harder to focus more on the relationship of Tommy and Julian. In his own way, Tommy is a guy who has a lot to offer someone like Julian. He can teach Julian to defend himself and that this life of the underworld is not for him. The mentorship that turns into friendship is pretty wonderful. There’s twists and turns in the relationship, but when they see each other’s value it makes the story much more fulfilling.

The reason this works for the film is the chemistry between Josh Duhamel and Jeremy Ray Taylor. The tall, ruggedly handsome guy and the short, out of shape guy who lacks confidence is a great combination. The absolute funniest moments are when these two are interacting. Taylor’s mix of intelligence and naïveté with also a general air of wallflower, blending into the background energy makes him perfect for this role. Duhamel has the comedic chops as well as the look of a guy who has done some intense work. Their combination is terrific and it’s a shame the film spends so much time elsewhere.

London Calling is a film that wants to stretch itself beyond the one note plots it crams together into one story. It feels like the filmmakers wanted to elevate a so-so script, but couldn’t think of just the right thing and so added in everything. There are many genuinely funny lines and situations. It also features Rick Hoffman, an actor who has made a career of playing the most cretinous jerk in the room, at his smarmy best and his too farfetched worst. London Calling is not a film that will polarize the audience, but it hits a sweet spot in the solidly O.K. realm. It’s a good movie to put on to forget about the Sunday scaries and have a decent time.

Grade: C

Director: Janeen Damian
Writer: Nicole Henrich
Stars: Miranda Cosgrove, Pierson Fodé, Madison Pettis

Synopsis: A woman joins a dating show thinking it’s in Paris, France for an art opportunity, but it’s actually in Paris, Texas. She tries to get eliminated until falling for the bachelor, complicating her plans.

In its heyday in the early 2000s we used to believe in reality TV competitions. The curtain has been drawn back and we’ve seen in fiction, and in actual reality, how manipulated these shows are by both contestants and producers. It’s strange to use this as a part of the premise for a traditional rom-com, but The Wrong Paris gives it a real shot.

It helps that the chemistry between Dawn (Miranda Cosgrove) and Trey (Pierson Fodé) is established before the in-movie show commences. If we were led to believe that either one of these two could fall in love during this really terrible sounding dating show it would ring false to even the most die hard of die hard rom-com fans. It really doesn’t help that Dawn has no competition.

Writer Nicole Henrich’s focus is obviously on the romance of the leads, but there are so many other characters that get time on screen that really shouldn’t. To say these characters are underdeveloped would be to say that there was anything beyond a one line description for most of them. They pop up with an unfunny line or bit of physical comedy and then disappear again into the background. Each one feels like a campfire skit character or a beginners improv class exercise.

Which is disappointing because the story takes a few good turns to get to its happily ever after. The two lead characters feel the most fleshed out, as they should. There is little Miranda Cosgrove does in most scenes, but she seems relaxed into who Dawn is when she’s opposite Pierson Fodé as Trey. Fodé, for his part, is built like Chris Hemsworth, but charming in his Matthew McConaughey swagger. The two of them are incredibly likeable together and you can imagine these two being a solid couple, if only the filmmakers could have stuck a little more closely to the two of them.

The filmmaking is likewise solid. Director Janeen Damian is a veteran of these types of simple, but effective rom-coms. She is able to blend the elements of the TV shoot with the elements of her story to good effect, creating some unique shots including one action scene where several actors are strapped to camera rigs and we get in on the action. Though, Damian’s and cinematographer Graham Robbins’ best scene, which is equal parts cheesy, sexy, and very funny, is a bit of fluff.

Dawn is attempting to evade the cameras and get a bit of exploring done on the ranch and she stops to snoop on Trey as he gets ready to give a horse a bath. In several sexy moments, Trey removed his shirt slowly, he squeezed a sponge lustily, sprayed a hose so it gets his seriously unbelievable abs to glisten, and he whips his wet hair back from his face while his incredible blue eyes bore deeply into us like we wish he would deeply bore into… other things. Dawn, as she watches, has to fan herself and then a wind that exists nowhere else on the property whips her hair to and fro with the magnitude of Trey’s sexuality. All the while there is a camera lens poking from the bushes. Dawn is caught, Trey teases her, which would be a good ending to the scene, but the cameraman pokes his head out of the bushes and praises himself on the great shots, which is the perfect note to end that staged scene on.

Rom-coms are a staple for a reason. They make love an attainable and accessible affair. We like them because of their familiarity. That’s not a detriment like with most film genres. Yet, even with the chemistry of a couple, the twists and turns in a story, and a great happily ever after, the details can sometimes ruin the fantasy. The Wrong Paris is a charming rom-com, but most of the pieces outside the couple, and especially the idea that a guy like Trey could ever think twice about a woman like Lexie (Madison Pettis), are just a step too far. If you’re looking to just sit down with a glass of something and unwind from the day, you can do a lot worse than The Wrong Paris, but if you want something with more to it than genre trappings in a new setting, pick a ’90s rom-com instead.

Grade: D

Director: Simon Curtis
Writers: Julian Fellowes
Stars: Michelle Dockery, Joanne Froggatt, Elizabeth McGovern

Synopsis: In the summer of 1930, the Crawleys grapple with the threat of social disgrace when Mary finds herself at the centre of a public scandal and the family faces financial trouble as they embrace change.

To say that the Downton Abbey films are like Avengers movies for anyone who has spent a Sunday night watching PBS’ Masterpiece Theater with their mom is the understatement to shame them all. To go even further by saying that all three feature-length Crawley Chronicles© contain more charm in their tea-appropriate extended pinky fingers than most massive blockbusters do in their entire productions isn’t really going that far at all. The conclusion of 15 years-worth of worldbuilding will lead to such justifiable if lofty claims; this melodramatic escapade that began with six magnificent seasons of television has “finally” reached its endgame with Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale, and the term “finally” is only being used because it’s astonishing how long these characters and their makers have hung around. 

With two features to its name and another now welcoming guests with open arms, there’s no relief in Downton Abbey shutting its doors and shuddering its stained-glass windows. Anyone in their right mind would be happy with more offerings, like a hungry guest at a party stocked to the brim with biscuits and jam yet only serving a miniscule amount per attendee. (As if the hosts don’t have a servant’s quarters overflowing with dedicated housekeepers and cooks capable of stuffing all of England twice over.) There’s an element of hypocrisy to the pain experienced here when the same mouthpiece has criticized the relentless nature of the Fast & Furious franchise and certainly the assembly line nature of the MCU, but hell, the Crawleys and co. have yet to travel to space. Better yet, they’ve never seen a man land on the moon. And, as a matter of fact, they don’t even have a television set.

Perhaps too much of a good thing can never actually be all that good of a thing, an aspect of good filmmaking that series creator Julian Fellowes – who wrote all three of the Downton films in addition to all 52 of the show’s episodes – and director Simon Curtis understand more than any of Downton’s clamoring fans, most of whom would give up an honor equivalent to knighthood in exchange for the chance to hang around in this world for just a little longer. It’s fitting, then, that The Grand Finale cares far more for its characters and the time spent with them than anything too closely resembling plot mechanics, a feat unto itself given how much this franchise tends to pack into its runtimes, whether an hour and change in length or a shade over two for theatricality’s sake. 

So jam packed with talented Brits (and a few Americans willing to don questionable accents or shed them altogether because they’re literally Paul Giamatti) that the opening credits refuse to leave a single member of its Avengers-like cast on the cutting room floor of its extended opening credits crawl, Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale is a bit more like Doomsday in name than in contents. One can assume the still-unfinished Marvel “that’s supposed to be nuts!” lacks a lovable butler (which is enough to reject it outright) but there’s probably some malfeasance occurring in the latter, and a dash of scandal is certainly present in the former from the onset, albeit subtly. As quickly as one character can say the words “And now, back to Downton!” at the conclusion of a theater performance enjoyed by all of the manor’s occupants — help included, because they are oh so loved — another, arguably the series’ main in Mary Crawley (Michele Dockery) is mired in disgrace following her surprise divorce from Henry Talbot (Matthew Goode; in this world, “divorce” and “death” are just other ways to say “scheduling conflicts.”) As is only fair for a divorcee, Mary is swiftly exiled from a ball being hosted by Lady Petersfield (Joely Richardson), one where the royal family is soon expected, and the rest of the Crawleys follow her home. 

Once there, Cora (Elizabeth McGovern) is met by her brother, Harold Levinson (Giamatti) and his finance guru, Gus Sambrook (Alessandro Nivola), who is hot, and so is Mary, so they get it on. All the while, Harold reveals that he burnt his and Cora’s late mother’s fortune on poor investments that Gus definitely had something to do with and proposes selling the Grantham House (this place has a lot of nicknames) to repay their newfound debts. Before a single dinner bell rings, Mary, her father Robert (Hugh Bonneville), the house’s staff (including longtime series stalwarts Jim Carter, Phyllis Logan, Joanna Froggatt, Brendan Coyle, and many, many more) are ensconced in complications so regal that they surely — surely — shan’t all be resolved by movie’s end. 

Forgive the sarcasm, but it’s this same sort of grandiosity that has fueled Downton since 2011, and it certainly isn’t going to stop in what appears, by all accounts, to be the cast and crew’s last hurrah. Unless, of course, they inevitably gross another few hundred million dollars at the box office and decide that a flash-forward to the family’s handling of Princess Diana’s tragic demise is worthy of their efforts. (I would personally kill to watch Lady Mary and Laura Carmichael’s Edith go to bat for Meghan Markle while donning old lady makeup and making Piers Morgan squirm at his newscasting desk as two progressive women set his political sentiments ablaze.) It wouldn’t be the first time the keepers of Downton intersected with the royals; nor would it be the first time the family produced a theatrical hit. 2019’s Downton Abbey grossed nearly $200 million worldwide — more than the second Lego and Angry Birds films, just a hair less than Rocketman — while the second film, A New Era, took home $92 million and change as COVID-19 continued to ravage theaters everywhere. Halloween Ends barely outgrossed that total, for crying out loud.

Whether the third time at the box office is as charming as the first two remains to be seen, but in terms of the film itself, there’s little question: The Downton Abbey machine churns primarily due to the force of its charm, with its plottiness acting as an ancillary figure that functions less as a pivotal point of understanding for an audience and more as a means for the film’s existence being justifiable. A third Downton movie is certainly not a necessity, but how else would longtime fans know how Mr. Carson (Carter) feels about his looming retirement, or how the lovely Mrs. Patmore (Lesley Nicol, receiving her flowers in the form of operatic bouquets befit for a send-off worthy of the series’ most underrated character) plan to set her protege, Daisy (Sophie McShera), up for success as she steps into the head chef role, or how the former footman’s career as a screenwriter is panning out? (Quite well, in fact.) After all, the love that this franchise’s uber-specific (and sizable) audience has maintained for its characters over the years is precisely what has warranted its subsistence. 

If Downton is indeed dying, there will never be a world in which it is fully dead, merely one where it is cherished for its simple pleasures, regardless of the many deaths, divorces, and dramatics that occurred within its hallowed halls over the course of a decade and a half. Its pomp and circumstance has always been synonymous with silliness, just the way everyone who loves Downton has always liked it; that it concludes on that sort of note is only right. And so, as the Crawleys make their final exit, fading from view into the not-so-uncertain future, fans will likely cry because it’s over, yet their because-it-happened smiles will stretch wider than ever, a lingering reminder that they’ll never really be all that far from home. Not really.

Grade: B

Director: Oliver Hermanus
Writers: Ben Shattuck
Stars: Paul Mescal, Josh O’Connor, Chris Cooper

Synopsis: Two young men during World War I set out to record the lives, voices and music of their American countrymen.

We are at the point in 2025’s cinematic calendar where the count has been lost on how many films have focused on the god-given musical genius a character possesses, and why it has the power to change the world. There’s K-Pop Demon Hunters, the animated Netflix smash that takes the meaning of that ability to strike a chord to the next level by positioning its titular pop stars as chart-toppers who moonlight as three sworn protectors of the living realm, those who not only make hits, but deal them out to supernatural entities. The forthcoming Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere promises to handle its musicality in a more straightforward manner, chronicling a specific chapter of The Boss’ life as he changed the rock genre for good with his record “Nebraska” and his unique sound. In fairness, we can’t leave out any number of the many documentaries – Becoming Led Zeppelin; Miley Cyrus’ Something Beautiful; It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley; etc. – that used the lives and fame(s) of its stars to propel a narrative about their trials and triumphs forward. Even The Weeknd’s Hurry Up Tomorrow made something of an effort to do that, though it also framed Abel Tesfaye as a sad-sack who Jenna Ortega hunts out of love and sport, so do with that what you will. (And, better yet, don’t watch it.)

The film that surpasses them all, not merely in quality but in originality, is Ryan Coogler’s Sinners, a theme-laden vampire flick that positions a primary character’s musicality as a gift “so true it can pierce the veil between life and death.” The Blues-loving Sammie Moore (Miles Caton) has something transcendent, a voice so angelic that it calls the devil, too. So it’s no shade to Paul Mescal, who plays Lionel Worthing in Oliver Hermanus’ The History of Sound, that this critic was fairly dubious to hear his voice described in a similar fashion: “A gift from God,” an older Lionel (played by Chris Cooper) narrates at the beginning of the South African dramatist’s latest, noting what Lionel’s late father once called his lyrical abilities. It’s not just that he doesn’t sound like the kind of singer who can conjure spirits, but that his demeanor lacks the verve that the dead might seek to rekindle their long-lost spark for life. 

That doesn’t matter too much at the onset of Hermanus’ drama – written by Ben Shattuck from his own book of short stories – when Mescal’s soulbearing singer draws the attention of a similarly tuneful fellow, David White (Josh O’Connor), and the two hit it off over song and sex. It’s wartime in America when these come into contact, so they’re soon sent in opposite directions, David to the battlefield and Lionel to his family’s farm. But as fate would have it, they come back together sooner rather than later, with the former offering an opportunity to help find a musical connection between life and potential death. He pitches a recording project focusing on the music that their countrymen create, specifically those categorized as American heritage songs sung by local Maine-ites and their families. Though they’ll part, reunite, part again, and so on before The History of Sound concludes, this expedition plays enough of a role in the film’s first act to warrant space not just in the film’s logline, but in its core, as it is called upon repeatedly as though the filmmakers were searching for an excuse both to have the men spend time forging an intense, complex bond, and to have an inciting connection to fondly gesture towards each time they reenter each other’s lives.

The History of Sound has already been too-frequently compared to Brokeback Mountain in what Mescal called a lazy and reductive reference that minimizes the impact of both, but it’s not too far off to cite this opening hour as Lionel and David’s own specific version of a summer atop a sheepherding field. It’s far from the only period of the film in which the two have sex – a plot detail that is remarkably restrained and far from the kind of coitus that regrettably attracts most modern audiences to material of this nature – but it’s certainly the foremost of those occasions, the one where each says the least about the true nature of their relationship, as if they ever say much of anything about it. That’s where Hermanus and Shattuck seek to reframe the expectations of this “genre,” as it were, having their film’s central attachment be one that lacks definition, even if it can be clearly read by anyone with sight sharp enough to see that its sexually-confused characters are played by two of the internet’s foremost onscreen boyfriends. 

Mescal has more to do here than O’Connor – a shame, considering the cinematic strides he’s made of late, those that have him coming for his co-star’s leading heartthrob crown – but only by virtue of his character being present in the story for a longer chunk of the runtime. Mescal excels most when he’s paired with an equally compelling (and perhaps competitive) dramatic sparring partner – as he had in Normal People with Daisy Edgar-Jones, All Of Us Strangers with Andrew Scott, and Aftersun, despite Frankie Corio being 15 years his junior – and O’Connor provides that target, a luxury if not an absolute necessity. Hermanus and Shattuck attempt to provide him with a few capable replacements, namely Emma Canning’s Clarissa, Lionel’s girlfriend for a spell, but none compare to O’Connor’s David, a sentimental lad whose melodic charisma is a natural match for Mescal’s whispery tenderness; it’s a crying shame when they’re anywhere but together.

Not unlike its directors’ previous two films, 2019’s Moffie and 2022’s Living – the former a gay romance set against a wartime backdrop, the latter an adaptation of Ikiru that tracks a lonely Bill Nighy attempting to discover the meaning of life before his ends – The History of Sound is a work willing to live and die by its emotional heft, and few filmmakers today are as capable as Hermanus when it comes to striking as many varied chords as he strums here. That the whole affair is imbalanced has more to do with its refusal to fully embrace its softer nature as a quality that moves its own needle, not one that hampers its ambitions. It would be wise to follow the leads of its main characters, two ambitious men whose dreams differ from their desires in response to societal expectations, as opposed to misreading its own emotionality as flat, sharp, or muted altogether. The History of Sound is often plain and pitch-perfect; the notes it plays just tend to be staid when they could be stimulating.

Grade: B-