Synopsis:In 1997, when the Asian financial crisis hit Korea, Gukbo, the number one Soju company, is on the brink of bankruptcy. In the high-stakes market of M&A, In-beom, a young, ambitious associate at global investment firm Solquin, heads back home to take Gukbo as his first target. Hiding his greediness, In-beom approaches Jong-rok, an executive loyal to Gukbo, as an innocent consultant aiming to rehabilitate Gukbo.
Some interesting ideas are at play in Choi Yun-Jin’s Big Deal, which tracks the fall of the number one Soju company in South Korea, but few actively lead anywhere. The movie, which sets itself up as a corporate drama about an up-and-coming associate gaming the system to his advantage, seems like it will be a cautionary tale on the dangers of unfettered power, as the ones who are on top will always be invincible, while the people who are trying to climb to reach those heights will be the first ones out of the equation.
That alone makes for a riveting first half, as the audience is introduced to In-beom (Lee Je-hoon), as he explains to his boss, Gordon (Byron Mann), why Gukbo, the Soju brand, is ripe for the taking. We know something that Jong-rok (Yoo Hae-jin, who also recently starred in Yadang: The Snitch) doesn’t know when he eventually meets In-beom and posits himself as a consultant looking to help the company avoid bankruptcy, when he actively wants to cause it. When Gukbo eventually goes bankrupt, this is where the movie should theoretically spice itself up as it reaches toward a heavy courtroom drama that’s full of twists and turns.
Yet, writer/director Choi Yun-Jin never gives us a compelling reason to care about anyone on screen, or the plot that keeps overcomplexifying itself as alliances are made, broken, and made again. Who should we trust, or latch onto, when one joins a specific side, and joins another, to then rejoin their initial side as the movie progresses? It’s clear everyone is in this for themselves, but Yun-Jin never clearly defines the narrative paths that either In-beom or Jong-rok take, no matter how hilariously over-the-top or stultifyingly dramatic it gets.
Near the film’s midsection, a pivotal dramatic turn occurs that sours In-beom’s actions to the point where he feels deep remorse for what he’s doing. It’s a fairly dark scene that, in all respects, is treated with as much care as possible, yet is quickly brushed over when, a few sequences later, a hilarious development arises at a trial where Gukbo attempts to keep hold of their assets. That massive turn never gets mentioned again, and the characters don’t necessarily evolve in response to that narrative development.
I’d love to go into details, but it’s one scene closely linked to a character’s arc that’s best left for you to discover. Some will sit with it and think it further develops In-beom’s change of heart, but Yun-Jin muddles the waters further by confoundingly making him switch alliances every couple of scenes. As impassioned as Je-hoon and Hae-jin may be in their respective roles, their sense of alchemy isn’t well-defined, and, as a result, makes the audience uninterested in the matter-of-fact proceedings that occur, even if Yun-Jin has an arresting sense of style.
The movie also features plenty of scenes in the English language, which would add some texture if the characters didn’t say the F-word every 0.5 seconds. It’s a nitpick, sure, but The Wolf of Wall Street (a movie Yun-Jin desperately wants to cite), this is not. It doesn’t contain the free-flowing dialogue that allow characters to frequently swear, as in Martin Scorsese’s film. In fact, they seem to hamper the walking-and-talking nature of Yun-Jin’s movie, and don’t at all sound as integral to the conversations as they were in The Wolf of Wall Street, ultimately creating a frequently jumbled experience that’s far more interesting when it focuses on the character relationships than attempting to recreate an aesthetic that does not, in any way, serve this production.
When Big Deal ultimately ends with the most abrupt and unearned coda, essentially relegating its final scene to a mid-credits tag, one gets the sense that this story, which sounded tantalizing on paper, is not that significant of a…big deal. If it were, I’d absolutely tell you this is a deal none of you can refuse. However, this isn’t the case, and, as visually impressive as the film may be, this deal has little to no value for anyone who decides to acquire part of their time in front of a screen…
Synopsis: The lives of two strangers are changed forever when they cross paths on the surfing adventure of a lifetime, discovering love, downshifting and four charismatic horses.
Like a László Kovács-shot from the New American Wave, The Road to Patagonia is a documentary that feels like a Wim Wenders fever dream, but also retains its unique identity as one man’s quest toward identity, exploration, and self-reflection.
The documentary is directed by Matty Hannon, who is also its central subject as he travels from Alaska to Patagonia. However, instead of focusing on the final destination, the film truly embodies the saying, “the journey is the treasure,” by allowing us to enjoy Hannon’s travels—like Gulliver’s before him—rather than eagerly anticipating his ultimate conquest at his last stop.
Like a modern-day Bodhi (Patrick Swayze in the stunning Point Break), Hannon follows his own philosophy. He harmonizes with the wind and the ocean. He captures moments as he finds himself stuck in his tent surrounded by a pack of wolves, or during his encounters with bears and moose. The documentary has no dull moments; it’s one adventure after another, showcasing 16 years of Hannon’s vibrant, adventurous life and captivating viewers with the honesty and sincerity of his narration and the up-close and personal videos he has been recording of himself throughout the years.
The documentary takes a profound turn when Hannon is joined by his girlfriend Heather Hillier, and, as viewers, we witness their blossoming love story. Hillier’s presence as Hannon’s companion shifts the mood of the film from a lone traveler’s conquest to a loving couple on the road, traversing mountains, oceans, and deserts, discovering lost civilizations and rare animal breeds. As they cut the roads together on their motorcycles, taken by the beauty of the landscape, they decide to slow down.
The film paints a somewhat naive, nostalgic view of the world. Admittedly, no one asked Hannon to write a thesis in anthropology, but the weakest point of a rather well-structured and constructed narrative is when Hannon veers into identifying the dichotomies of the world as black and white, east and west, etc. But when it’s all about the surf, the mountains, the dusty bumpy road, and a nomad lifestyle of two people who fell in love together in the most unlikely of circumstances, that’s where the documentary finds its strength.
One of the highlights of the documentary is the stunning cinematography by Hannon and Hillier. All the footage is shot by both of them, highlighting their artistry as well as their deep personal connection to the subject. It’s impressive, though, how poetic and ethereal their imagery is, shooting through a dreamlike, angelic filter that gives a fairytale aspect to Hannon’s journey. It takes many elements from Robby Müller’s style, as well as the visual simplicity of footage documentary filmmaking.
Some people are not born to settle in one place. They have restless souls that take them like tumbleweeds in the wind across continents, vales, and mountains. Hannon is one of those wanderers across the rugged earth. But instead of glorifying his White man conquest where his freedom to roam around countries and continents hassle-free and smoothly is of course, unproblematic and fun, he lays out his life as it is. He doesn’t sugarcoat or sand the rough surface. He doesn’t make a hero of himself, but stretches it as far as possible, with all the little idiosyncrasies involved. Even as the documentary staggers a little too long, in this case, the runtime is fully forgivable, for this stunning exploration of man, love, and nature is worth the wait.
The Road to Patagonia is on the Icon film channel, and will be in UK cinemas from 27 June.
Directors:David Joseph Craig, Brian Crano Writers:David Joseph Craig, Brian Crano Stars: Nick Kroll, Andrew Rannells, Amanda Seyfried
Synopsis:Stranded in rural Italy without transportation or language skills, an American couple on the verge of adopting tries to reconnect during a disastrous vacation, as their fears and relationship problems threaten to boil over.
It’s very hard to communicate with a person who doesn’t share a common language. As much as Americans believe English is ubiquitous, there are many people out there that don’t understand a single syllable of it. Most English speakers also have more trouble with language than they admit even if it’s a language they recognize. A spoken language is never an academic exercise and a person who has spoken that language their entire life wouldn’t be likely to speak as basically as what you would learn in a classroom. A lot can be misinterpreted. That is one of the central conceits of I Don’t Understand You.
When Dom (Nick Kroll) and Cole (Andrew Rannells) get to Italy to celebrate their anniversary and try to avoid the anxiety that comes with their hopes about adopting a child, they run afoul of many of these sticky situations including within the horror piece of the film. The script, written by David Joseph Craig and Brian Crano, is very funny in this situation of increasing misunderstanding when it comes to a simple accident. The escalation is anxiety inducing and the body count becomes funnier as Dom and Cole assume it has to be the last death every time.
Though, when coupled with the other plot, the one where Dom and Cole are about to become parents, there is a dissonance. It’s tough to say what’s exactly wrong, but there is a pervasive feeling that there is something off. The script is funny throughout, but the sincere story of adoption and the couple’s anxieties around parenthood is a little too much of a swing in the other direction for the zaniness of accidental murder to land.
It also takes far too long to get to the gory bits. The lead up being this utterly charming gay couple and their struggles with adoption makes you want to just watch their relationship and maybe have more heart to hearts about parenting. The completely funny and valid section where the two of them accidentally kill some people feels too separate. It almost feels as if that section of the film is some kind of anxiety dream. Like the two of them somehow share a subconscious for several hours and then snap out of it during the drive back to their hotel. It’s a tough transition to unpack and it feels very obtuse.
What never feels false, though, is the chemistry between Nick Kroll and Andrew Rannells. These two feel so very comfortable with each other and their banter is hysterical. Kroll brings his “guy who thinks he knows everything” persona and Rannells brings his lightning delivery and wit. They have an effervescent style and you almost want just a road trip movie with the two of them as a couple because their car scenes are so enjoyable.
It’s hard not to like I Don’t Understand You. It’s just also hard to be clutching your heart at something sweet and touching, then covering your mouth with the shock of arterial spray. There’s no clear demarcation or strong tonal shift. It just sort of happens in the moment. It may be that the time anticipating the murder and the blood is more anxiety producing than the actual murder and blood, but it’s hard to say. You really just have to give the film a shot and know that you might choke up due to a sweet couple adopting a baby and choke down bile at some gruesome makeup a few minutes later.
This week on the InSession Film Podcast, we discuss the best performances of the decade so far! We also talk some box office and the trailers for Frankenstein, Superman and Happy Gilmore 2.
– Box Office (4:24) We begin the show this week by diving back into the box office as Thunderbolts* is set to lose about $100 million, which is unfortunate given that it’s Marvel’s best is quite some time. But it’s also concerning given Bob Iger’s comments a few weeks about about quality over quantity. One has to wonder if this changes things for Disney.
– Trailer Talk (19:07) As noted above, we wanted to give our thoughts on the new trailers for Frankenstein, Superman, Happy Gilmore 2 and Wake Up Dead Man. We especially had a lot to say about Frankenstein and how Guillermo del Toro seems to be making a classic del Toro movie. Superman and Happy Gilmore 2 also look promising, but we have some reservations that keep us from fully embracing those movies at this point.
– Performances of the Decade So Far (53:24) In a few weeks we will be discussing the best movies of the decade so far, but first up we talk about the great performances we’ve seen in the 2020s to this point. There has been no shortage of phenomenal performances in the last few years. Narrowing this down to just five (or even ten, as you’ll hear in honorable mentions) was extremely challenging, but that’s also part of the fun. Deciphering the five performances for our lists makes them resonate even more loudly. With that said, what would be your Top 5 performances of the decade so far?
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!
It’s a cold January day when the Oscar nominations are released and, as I sit there taking it all in, I am very much thinking of Oscars past and present. Thinking back to personal favorites over the years like Karen Black in Five Easy Pieces, Jennifer Tilly in Bullets Over Broadway, or Richard Jaeckel in Sometimes A Great Notion to name a few, I begin to realize that something the Academy is lacking in the last decade plus are child actors being nominated, a tradition that has been around in the industry practically since the beginning of the Academy Awards themselves with Jackie Cooper being nominated for Best Actor in 1931 for Skippy (A record for the youngest actor ever nominated in Lead Actor, as he was 9 years old at the time).
The last time a child actor was nominated was the record holder for youngest ever Lead Actress nominee Quvenzhane Wallis for 2012’s Beasts of the Southern Wild (a performance that Justin and I agree upon and absolutely love). If we’re being 100% honest, Quvenzhane should not have been the most recent with Jacob Tremblay being in 2015’s Room, not only should he have been in Lead Actor he should’ve easily won, but I digress. While I was thinking of all of this I remembered another favorite performance of mine, one that would’ve easily gotten my vote for Best Supporting Actor of 1979, Justin Henry. Nominated for Kramer vs. Kramer, Justin, to this day still holds the record of being the youngest actor of all time in any category to be nominated for a competitive Oscar at the tender age of 8. As I thought about Justin, I realized I had a one degree separation from him as we share a mutual friend, the producer Emily the Criminal, The Land, Take Shelter & Compliance – Tyler Davidson. An idea hit me and I texted Tyler- “Hey man, you’re friends with Justin Henry still, right? Any way you can send him my e-mail address? I’d love to write a piece on him and interview him for the website!” Tyler connected us and the next thing I knew, Justin sent me his phone number and we set a date to sit down to talk, talk about all things life, record breaking/holding Oscar stats, his current feelings on the state of the Academy, his films and so much more.
My name is Joey Gentile and this is my conversation with Academy Award Nominee Justin Henry.
JG: I’m so happy we were able to make this work, first and foremost thank you to Tyler (Davidson).
JH: Yes! Thank you, Tyler!
JG: Anytime I start an interview I like to throw out a fun ice breaker with this question. If you were to look at your resume, is there a character from stage or screen that if a producer came up to you and said “we have an unlimited budget, pick a character you want to revisit with a sequel project” who would it be and why?
JH: WOW! That is a great question! (Beat and a chuckle) Ya know, I would have to say Mike from Sixteen Candles. I’ve always wanted to see where Mike’s life went and what we could do differently and do next with that character. Actually too, a lot of the folks in that movie would be interesting to see sort of what happens to them as they go through life now, but definitely Mike.
JG: Tyler, did you get that? Mike! Let’s make it happen. I’ll write.
(Both laugh)
JG: Diving right in, you’re plucked from obscurity as a child and you’re in a movie like Kramer vs. Kramer and then all of a sudden you’re an Academy Award nominated actor at the age of 8. At that age do you even really understand what that means or the impact of what your life would be after?
JH: I didn’t understand and I don’t really think anyone in our circle did either, not my family for sure. By the time the Oscars happened ya know, Kramer was a juggernaut. We traveled literally all around the world promoting it, it was doing incredibly well at the box office, so everything at that point was kind of out the window. Then at the ceremony it won all these awards, I was nominated and it just sort of added on to what was already a pretty surreal, crazy time in our lives. But yeah, looking at it now as an adult I think the Academy Award nomination and the movie is pretty special.
JG: Absolutely, and you know there’s such a distinct and historic moment that you possibly very much will have as long as the Academy Awards last as the youngest person ever nominated for a competitive Oscar. The record was challenged back in 2012 when Quvenzhane Wallis was up for Best Actress for Beast’s of the Southern Wild, but she had turned 9 by the time that happened.
JH: Oh, she’s so good.
JG: She’s my personal pick to win that year.
JH: She’s so good in that movie, incredible performance, incredible movie, it’s just incredible all around.
JG: Couldn’t agree more, but you also have a distinct milestone with a retired Golden Globe category as you were one of the last actors nominated in it called “New Actor of the Year”. So since Globes come first in an awards season let’s go there. Now I’m gonna cut right to the chase here, there’s a book called Inside Oscar that claims two things about you from that night, the first one being- when you lost that award you had a complete meltdown. Do you recall that?
JH: I’ve heard the story but I don’t remember it and I heard it from Ricky Schroeder of all people but yeah I don’t remember.
JG: I mean just being honest, I’m 33 and if I lost any category I’d have a meltdown so valid if you did.
(Both laugh)
JG: The Globes throw a tie in Supporting Actor to Melvyn Douglas for Being There and Robert DuVall for Apocalypse Now, now the second thing according to Inside Oscar was that there seems to have been some tension from Melvyn Douglas to you with the idea of him having to compete against a child, hence why he didn’t show up to the Academy Awards ceremony. Apparently he found it to be “insulting”. When you hear stuff like that, even now, what’s your reaction?
JH: I don’t think that’s true at all because I saw Melvyn Douglas multiple times around when the Oscars were coming out and he was very, very nice to me. He literally sat me down at a point (and if I recall he was in a wheelchair by then) and he literally said to me “look, I think this award will go to me because I’m old and I’m getting on in age and I’ve been doing this a long time” and as a kid I remember going “yeah, awesome. I get it”. So as a person he was really great and those accounts, hearing that, definitely not 100% accurate. He was always very nice to me and yeah, not true.
JG: There ya go, folks! From a first hand account, Inside Oscar got it wrong!
(Both laugh)
JG: So being so young, being taken all over the world on the promotional tour for the film, even though you realize that it’s all make believe I’m sure I can just see the likes of Meryl Streep and Jane Alexander protecting you during this time in an art meets life styled scenario, no?
JH: Oh, absolutely. We had a great sense of community and family throughout the whole movie and that transcended right into the PR for awards season. A lot of the family protection too came from Stanley Jaffe and Dustin, and of course Stanley Jaffe just recently passed so I would like to thank him because without him you and I wouldn’t be able to have this conversation today.
JG: Absolutely, rest in peace good sir.
JH: But yes; between Meryl, Jane, Dustin, Stanley, really everyone involved in the process, they all made sure to protect me during that time. My own family even did their best and we didn’t know a single thing about the industry as we were from suburbia New England and we all just sort of looked out for each other.
JG: It actually feels really nice to hear that considering when it comes to child stars you usually see/hear the more tragic stories of those who don’t actually look out for you.
JH: Oh, absolutely and I am very fortunate and thankful that never happened with me.
JG: Yes, however something did happen to you and I’d like to get your feelings on it.
JH: Oh?
JG: So many people have said that “you know you have made it when you are parodied on Saturday Night Live.” But are you aware that you were parodied on Family Guy with the mint chocolate chip ice cream scene? And how do you feel about that?
JH: Oh I have friends who write on that show, so it’s a huge surreal moment to see your work from when you were eight years old be a part of the pop culture zeitgeist all these years later. I was even a question on Jeopardy once and I really embrace all of it and I’m not really sure how to state it as a whole but I am grateful that in ways with these nods on shows that the impact of my work still resonates. So in the end my belief is to really just love it, it’s an honor.
JG: So, transitioning from the promo to the pop culture zeitgeist moments to then the big night- the 52nd Academy Awards, the 1979 Oscars on February 25th, 1980. What do you remember of that night?
JH: Hate to say it, but I don’t really remember much of it, you know? And I’ve always wondered if my mind blocked it out, but I do remember sitting down, I remember the little speech I prepared and had written down, I had folded it into my little tuxedo pocket. My whole family was there, my mom, my sister, my grandmother up in the stands, my dad. Meryl’s family was there; it had almost sort of like a wedding feel to it. I do remember feeling very nervous when they started calling the awards. I do remember feeling very relieved when I didn’t get called to win, I was a kid and not having to speak on a stage with glaring lights in front of thousands of people, I mean I definitely remember feeling relief. At that time I had never spoken in front of that many people and honestly thinking back to it I still have not spoken in front of that many people. So for me, it was really more about being there to experience it rather than gaining the accolade of winning. Now what I do remember is that after the ceremony we had to get right back to New York very quickly so I remember running through LAX to catch a flight back to NYC the same night.
JG: So I have a theory regarding films that do really well, whether it’s this past year with Anora literally winning every single nomination except Supporting Actor or even your film, in fact yeah, your film as the example. It wins 5 of the 9 awards it’s up for, winning all the above the line awards it’s up for- Picture, Director, Actor, Supporting Actress, Writing. There is no doubt in my mind when a movie does that well and then loses one of the above the line awards that the person(s) who lost was second, so Justin I gotta say- there is no doubt in my mind you were easily the runner-up here in your category. (But also as a fan, I wish the Academy would release the tallies after a certain amount of time has passed, but we all know that is never going to happen.)
JH: I hope I wasn’t that close to winning because the talent that year in the category was exceptional. I mean Fred Forrest, wow. (I did a movie with Freddy called Andersonville for TNT. It was a 2 part mini-series on the civil war) But I think there were so many great performances that year that I really don’t care how I did in the voting. Looking back on it now, what a gift and an experience. So whether Freddy, Melvyn, Mickey I mean these guys were legends and I’m literally the new kid on the block. I think it would’ve meant more had I backed it up pretty soon after but I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to do a follow up right away, I wanted to go ride mini bikes and dirt bikes and be an eight year old kid.
JG: Perfect segway into my next question there, sir. Taraji P. Henson famously said in 2016 that after her 2008 Supporting Actress nomination for The Curious Case of Benjamin Button that she received zero offers and struggled still to get work despite having achieved such a career moment. Then I’ve heard other actors like my late dear friend Karen Black (rest in peace) who said that after her nomination in 1970 for Five Easy Pieces she got flooded with offers-
JH: Karen was absolutely awesome, I did a movie called Martin’s Day with her in 1985. She was so much fun.
JG: I miss her so much, I always tell people about the amazing voice mails she would leave, but anyway-
JH: I didn’t mean to sidetrack.
JG: For Karen Black, I’ve got all the time.
JH: There truly was no one like her.
JG: Absolutely not a single person like her, when I first moved to LA she took me under her wing. She became my LA mother and I learned so much about the industry from her. She deserved so much better. (Beat) But anyway, you mentioned that you wanted to kick around a ball instead of work after your nomination, but were you on the Karen Black spectrum of the offers or the Taraji P. side of the offers?
JH: I had so many offers, the Karen Black side of the spectrum, so many to be honest that it was absurd if I had said yes that I could even find room in a schedule to do them. Some of them too were so unbelievably bad. So we (Justin and his parents) put it out to the managers and agents quickly that I wanted to have a break and we were not going to pursue anything for quite some time and for some reason it took the industry a while to realize we were serious and it pissed many people off when it came to the higher ups.
JG: I find that fascinating to be honest and know that I mean this next question with zero disrespect but you essentially found yourself in a position that many would kill for, that type of success and job offer after job offer, looking back now- do you feel you squandered what could have been?
JH: Wow! That is a great question, shit! Looking back on it all I feel like I made the right choices at the right time. I didn’t become a child star tragic tale, I got to have a childhood and experience the highest of highs and lowest of lows and I wouldn’t go back to change it at all, so no I don’t feel that I squandered anything.
JG: No regrets.
JH: Absolutely, none.
JG: How about anything you really wanted over the years that you didn’t get?
JH: First thing that comes to mind that I wanted really bad and read for too was Good Will Hunting and then a film called School Ties. Both of those I do look back on and go “goddamn”.
JG: Is it true you were offered the role of Billy Loomis in Scream? I did some really deep digging on you and found your name in a casting binder for possible actors for that film.
JH: No not that part, I was up for the role that went to Jamie Kennedy, Randy. And being 100% honest with you I did not understand that movie when I read it at all, I remember thinking “this might be one of the dumbest movies I’ve ever read” and I passed on it.
JG: Wow! The way you truly live with no regrets, I love it.
JH: It really is the only way to stay true in the business. We love the show, hate the business.
JG: Absolutely. – You’re coming up on the 50th anniversary of Kramer vs. Kramer in the next few years and (how do I put this?). Okay, when I interviewed Janet Suzman for the 50th anniversary of Nicholas & Alexandra she goes “50 years have gone by in such a flash, but now the only difference is I feel ancient”. She was in her 30’s when she made that but you were a mere child when you made Kramer, so are you in the boat of you feeling “ancient” knowing the film is going to be 50 or do you look back and realize the film history you were apart of still goes strong till this day and you can only appreciate it even more now in your 50’s yourself?
JH: I think it’s fucking awesome. I’m 53 ( I think, wait, how old am I?) LAUGHS* I was born in 71, so yeah I’m 54- but it’s awesome. To be a part of such a pop cultural zeitgeisty moment at such a young age that is still impacting people, it’s amazing. I’ve never been a big age person, I’m a healthy guy, I’ve got 3 wonderful kids and when I think more of this question in real time what comes to mind is knowing when my kids were the same age as I was when it all happened, as a parent I cannot fully fathom putting them through all that and I wouldn’t put them through that, for the record. Even though it worked out well for me, I was definitely you know, 1 of 100. It could’ve gone 100 different ways and I’m lucky, I’m extremely fortunate. You know, I look at the films I’ve done and I wonder why something like Tiger Town didn’t resonate with people like Kramer did. Roy Scheider? The dude was AMAZING and I bring that up because while people tell me how much they love one film they also tell me how much they didn’t like the other as mentioned above.
JG: Your film resume isn’t huge by any stretch, but you are the prime example of quality over quantity on your co-stars- Roy (Scheider), Karen (Black), Molly (Ringwald) I mean it goes on and on.
JH: It’s been an amazing career and I hope that, you know, at some point there’s a great project that comes along that I can be a part of and make an impactful contribution to again. I look at what Tyler (Davidson) is doing and I love what he’s doing with them. They’re edgy, they’re genuinely good, I love that. We need more of what he’s doing.
JG: (Like I’m speaking directly to Tyler) TYLER MARIE DAVIDSON (note: not his actual middle name)- you heard the man. I’ll write, you’ll produce, Justin will star. GET THIS SH*T TOGETHER!
(Both laugh)
JH: The movie industry is in a really tough spot right now, TV is making some good stuff but that’s extremely disposable. We need to have films that are going to make an impact, films that truly will stand the test of time and as of late we haven’t really had that. We’ve had films that are “the moment” but nothing that is long lasting. I’m hoping it comes from somewhere because I’m not seeing it right now, it’s a problem that we’ve had for awhile. It’s the problem I’ve had with the projects that have come my way too, ya know? They’re just not something I want to be a part of and then I’m correct in my assumption when I read the scripts, they just become a moment in time and not a long lasting thing. Do I want to make a blockbuster movie? I’m not sure. Do I want to be able to walk down the street and have people point at me? No, been there done that and I’ll tell ya what, Joey- it’s not fun, especially when one is 8 or 10 or 15. So I find myself doing other things. (Beat) – I love the process of making movies, I love the movie zeitgeist, I just cannot stand the business of studio operations and I find myself in this interesting conundrum.
JG: I truly appreciate you being as frank as possible with this interview, it’s a very refreshing take.
JH: Of course. And it’s not even just my enduring love of filmmaking but even the Academy as a whole.
JG: Great segway there. As you know you get many benefits of being a nominee and or winner, including the chance to go multiple times. When I asked Janet Suzman the last time she went she said the year she was nominated in 1971. What about you? When’s the last time you went?
JH: I believe I was there the year The King’s Speech won, so 2010 was when I went last. I have been extremely active within the Academy, voting, screenings, events, all that stuff. But I have stepped away from a lot of that too. I just feel the Academy has kind of lost its way. It’s trying to be all things to all people and in doing that it’s really sort of, I think, making a mockery of itself. And you can directly quote me on that too.
JG: Heard that. – So the voting part was a part of my next question because I don’t know if you’re aware but from the information I was able to find, it was your nomination that caused the Academy to change its rules when it came to a guarantee to be invited in as a voting member. Apparently there was some outrage with the idea that an 8 year old child could vote for “the best”, so a few years after your nomination it was changed that you could get a nomination and be eligible but you weren’t guaranteed a spot like “the old days”.
JH: They don’t do automatic membership anymore?
JG: Nope. An example of this was Quvenzhane Wallis. Her nomination in 2012 happened but she didn’t become a voting member until 2020 I believe.
JH: Wow. I had no clue, that’s nuts.
JG: I’m shocked but also not because if you look at the Academy the entire decade of the 70’s you had yourself, Quinn Cummings, Linda Blair, Marielle Hemingway, Tatumn O’Neill- I mean so many child actors nominated, then it wasn’t until Anna Paquin in 1993 when she won Supporting Actress that another child was nominated after you and Marielle. It’s like the Academy did a complete 180 with children.
JH: That’s actually fascinating and I never really noticed that. Wild.- You know as voting member I always had to remember that making a movie is hard and then making a good movie is even more difficult and as a member of the acting branch you vote for actors in the nominations process but you still have to pay attention to the movie as a whole and when I would vote I would look to see how did the actors serve the scene, how did the editing, how did the music, directing etc. If it stood out to me, that’s what I would vote on. It was always about the craft, never about the buzz, never about what I was “being told” to vote for from the studios, precursors, none of that. All of that are just shiny gold objects that lead to “the” ultimate shiny gold object. It’s about the craft first and foremost and that’s also why I was such a huge fan of the docs, shorts, live action and animation. Those are where I loved to give my time and most effort to, getting those out there to the world.
JG: I love that and couldn’t agree more. It’s always performance and never politics for me. I would be a “terrible” Academy member though. (Laughs)- the example I always give is that if I’m rooting for you to win, you won’t. Let’s take the Best Actress category- from 1960 onward I’ve only agreed with the Academy 6 times on who they’ve given it to, most recent being Olivia Colman in 2018.
JH: Wow.
JG: Yup, the ultimate curse. My buddy Ryan McQuade who is a film critic and I laugh every year cause he’s like “oh you want Pamela Anderson to win everything this year?. Yup, crossing her off”. Trust me when I say I’m self aware of my curse on actors.
JH: It’s what touches you the most and that’s what’s so special about the way you and I and people like us watch movies. It’s what is the most significant and that’s what’s important. And therein lies a big issue I’ve had with the Academy and them losing their way. It’s now more than ever a popularity contest, when they need to be a leader. It never should be about what’s popular but I also know where to give them credit and that credit came from this year with Anora just stunning folks. It felt like people are finally taking part in finding out great movies that aren’t super popular and that’s where the decline in the Academy started was kneeling to popularity. When they expanded Best Picture to 10 nominees that really bothered me, I have to say, because it dilutes the base. Yes, these movies are great and they deserve recognition for being great but it’s an exclusive party and if you invite everybody then what’s the point in going? So that was a part of my issues with the Academy. I am rooting for them though to get it back together, it’s about the craft, making movies and the love of the movies. There needs to be less digital influence, less people from all these websites having access and essentially lobbying voters, I mean I have witnessed this in person. I saw what it was like when it was an industry only to let in bloggers who feel important, craft and nothing more.
JG: Again, your honesty is refreshing in a world and industry where everyone needs to be “politically correct” in the sense of not calling it where it needs to be called. I have said forever that it’s the art and only the art that counts, nothing else.
JH: Exactly. In the digital age too I feel that the Academy has done a good job navigating the rise of digital media and digital movie making. That directly is something I take a big part in and am deeply involved with. I had the first ever digital film festival (more on that in my writer’s notes below). I worked for a company that was the precursor to YouTube and I specialize in digital video distribution and now work with a company that makes most of the systems that make broadcast possible. So it’ll be great to see how the Academy embraces that and pulls it into the craft of storytelling.
JG: Amazing. Kudos to you, sir. So two more questions and we will wrap up here. When I found out I would be interviewing you I hit my socials and asked if anyone had any questions for you that they were dying to know, so this comes from Andrew Carden of Boston. “Do you still stay in contact with Dustin or Meryl?”
JH: I can get in touch with them pretty easily, but we’re not like buddies by any means. Last time I spoke to Meryl was about 8 or 9 years ago and probably about the same with Dustin.
JG: Final question. What is one thing no one knows about you, Justin Henry? Something you’ve never said about yourself in an interview before.
JH: Dustin Hoffman gave me my very first drum set, much to my parents dismay, but I credit Dustin for the love of music I carry now into my adult life because of those drums.
JG: I absolutely love that. Justin, I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to sit with me today. To our mutual friend, Tyler Davidson for bringing us together.
JH: Oh man, I love Tyler. We’re both big Phish heads.
JG: Ha! Yeah, he told me that. It was a big connecting point for you too. You know, with your love of music I’m surprised you haven’t been to Cleveland? Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, ya know?
JH: Dude! I know! I’ve never been but I need to get there.
JG: If you come out here (I’m sure we’ll stay in touch and obviously because of Tyler) the first round is on me after the Rock Hall.
JH: And next time you’re in LA, let me know. First one on me.
JG: Deal.
WRITERS NOTES:
My time with Justin was absolutely wonderful. Sitting down with someone so self aware of the history making record he still holds in movie history while still being so humble and just a guy you truly wanna have a beer and shoot the shit is so cool to me. Yes, obviously I’m a fan of his work, of movies, of the art of filmmaking but if there is anyone I could recommend just sitting down and talking too, it’s Justin.
I was very fortunate to continue talking with him for almost a half an hour past the end of the interview to get to know him more as a person. We talked about mutual friends, he was genuinely curious about my career as a writer, my upcoming film, what I was doing when I worked for The Viper Room in my early 20’s in Los Angeles and just as me in general as a person.
Some things I want to mention that didn’t make the final edit here of the interview.
-The festival he was speaking about was the Slamdunk Film Festival that ran from 1998-2003. Was founded after a film he was a part of The Junior Defenders didn’t make the initial cut into Sundance.
– This is a man who truly LOVES the art of filmmaking and I sat with his comments for awhile post interview on his thoughts on the state of the Academy and I find it to be so valid, his love of the art and what he champions in the Academy does seem to be fading away to please a popularity contest and I think if you as a reader ever have the chance to sit down with him and talk more you would hear the passion he holds for movies.
– I would like to acknowledge that right before this interview took place that Stanley Jaffe had died and then during the editing process Robert Benton had passed as well. I found myself in the position of texting my well wishes to Justin regarding Benton and turns out I was the one who broke the news to him. Rest in peace to both of these masters of their crafts.
– All the photos (except for the final photo at the Oscars) you see here were given directly from Justin himself.
Justin, I cannot thank you enough again. Looking forward to that drink in not only LA but Cleveland!
Director: Bi Gan Writers: Bi Gan Stars: Jackson Yee, Shu Qi, Mark Chao
Synopsis: A woman’s consciousness falls into an eternal time zone during a surgical procedure. Trapped in many dreams, she finds the corpse of an android and tries to wake him up by telling endless stories.
With only two feature-length projects to his name, Bi Gan has become one of the most followed and anticipated filmmakers among cinephiles working today. He has a distinctive approach to storytelling. Ambition is at the forefront of his work, with each narrative and stylistic choice diverging boldly from convention. Poetry and magical realism intertwine, as his focus on atmosphere and sensory details adds an unpredictable nature to his projects. You never know what you are going to get from Bi Gan, and his latest work, Resurrection (screened in competition at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival, where it won the Special Jury Prize), has him heading toward a completely different direction–one that is unexpected yet ultimately magical in every aspect of the film.
Both an ode to cinema and a plea to continue dreaming, Bi Gan presents his most audacious and crafty story to date, featuring sci-fi elements and fantasy quandaries set against five distinct canvases that evoke various styles and techniques from cinematic history. It is a thing of beauty, and also a confusing foray into the unknown. But through the bewilderment, there is a poignancy and wonder, something that few filmmakers can handle properly, which makes Bi Gan a special kind of director. The first fifteen to twenty minutes or so are dedicated to explaining the Blade Runner-like premise to the audience, set in a dystopian future. This is a time when people have found a way to live longer if they don’t dream.
It is illegal now to do so, but some still dream and venture into their imagination, called “fantasmers”–living shorter yet more vibrant, joyous lives by dreaming. They enter these dream states, each resembling an era of cinematic history. However, there are some repercussions to these entries into the plains. It alters reality, causing time jumps and changes, which is why the “big others”, having the ability to tell reality from dreams, are sent to hunt down the fantasmers. Hence, the Blade Runner similarities; instead of replicants and blade runners, you have fantasmers and the big others. One of these fantasmers is played by Jackson Yee, running amongst the supernatural, and he’s being chased by Miss Shu (Shu Qi), the chosen big other for his case.
The sequence is shot, and references many classics from the silent era and its masters–F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu and Robert Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari are amongst the few easily recognizable ones. You immediately sense the cinematic fervor and passion of Bi Gan, which he will throughout Resurrection provide a film class’ worth of nods and honors, ranging from the beginning of the medium with the Lumière brothers to the present day with Wong Kar-Wai and other acclaimed contemporary Asian filmmakers. After this segment, the fantasmer is caught by the significant other; he is bound to die because of his crimes. But before he dies, Miss Shu grants him one last journey through the dream states, where he has a chance to mend old wounds and undo some of his biggest regrets.
These last moments of mercy are presented in thirty-minute segments, almost like independent shorts, where he plays a different person in a period distant from his own. Vampires, knocked-out teeth, war interrogators, mirror shops, and street scammers drift across the screen. These surreal images fragment into memories and imagined realities—creations born from the mind of a dreamer, much like Bi Gan himself. That’s the film’s crux overall: the existentialism and philosophical elements contained in dreams and during our respective creative processes. Dreams tantalize us; nightmares invoke dread. Both conjure something difficult to explain, or even recall in its entirety. They live on the edge of perception, fleeting and fragile, yet capable of altering our emotions and thoughts in ways that linger before vanishing.
A study demonstrated that the isolation and loneliness caused by the pandemic led to people having more bizarre and vivid dreams. Since the original film that Bi Gan was going to write was completely different, this phenomenon inspired the Chinese filmmaker to craft his latest, which feels like lucid, vivid retellings from REM-sleep hallucinations, in the best way possible. Bi Gan traverses this liminal terrain, where memory, dreams, nightmares, and existence dissolve into one another, causing Resurrection to feel like a man trying to recount his own life through cinema — the medium’s history seen through the eyes of a slowly fading vision. And every single move, whether coherent or disorganized, is done with that in mind, departing from his past forms and structures to paint an ambitious canvas where, in each chapter, there is a new technique applied.
In an era when a great majority of directors with the gift of making films lack originality, Bi Gan inspires us to venture into the unknown. He wants us to be creative and distinct, contemplative and artistic, in everything we do. There are more philosophical elements in Resurrection that I might explore in more detail with further viewings. But what Bi Gan provides is what contemporary cinema lacks: originality, boldness, and the panache to be equally audacious and awe-inspiring. And it is not just him, but a great majority of the films playing at this year’s Cannes Film Festival also invoked that for me–Masha Schilinski’s Sound of Falling, Oliver Laxe’s Sirat, Julia Ducournau’s Alpha, Kleber Mendonça Filho’s The Secret Agent, amongst others. This is a plunge into memory and myth, where we are invited to surrender to the dream logic and venture into imaginative worlds crafted with admiration for the seventh art.
Synopsis: An intimate exploration of family, memories, and the reconciliatory power of art.
Joachim Trier and longtime collaborator Eskil Vogt have consistently made films that connect with audiences in a very tangible way. Everyone has seemed to resonate with the stories they have made so far, particularly his previous piece of work, the 2021 Cannes Film Festival standout: The Worst Person in the World, which had everyone who has felt lost and misguided, whether in love or their career, drying out their eyes by the time the end credits roll. It was a simple project on paper, utilizing concepts and molds regularly seen in cinema, like rom-coms and coming-of-age stories, but with a clear understanding of the “why” of the emotions we feel during the time of our lives, where we don’t know where we are headed.
You felt seen, no matter the age, sex, or ethnicity–it was capturing a draining sensation that most, if not all, have felt, even more so after the pandemic, where lost souls become even more astray. The other Trier films also contained this sensibility, striking a chord deeply. And even though I still prefer Oslo, August 31st to the aforementioned fim, a part of me is still attached to The Worst Person in the World and its open arms. The film catapulted Trier, Vogt, and its lead, the fascinating Renate Reinsve, to the top of the crop in the international market. This is why his follow-up is highly anticipated; everyone wants to see how this trio will break our hearts again.
Initially, after having seen his latest, Sentimental Value (screened in competition at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival, where it won the Grand Prix), I didn’t feel that same level of connection. The rest of my colleagues connected with it far more strongly. Everybody talked about it and was blown away by how much Trier, Vogt, and Renate had challenged themselves to complicate the scenarios and raise the emotional stakes while still maintaining a humanistic, beating heart. However, a few days after resting on it, and while writing this review, I have found a path to its heart and was quite moved, even if I still have a couple of restraints in the narrative that feel too cinematic and dramatic, which depart from Trier and Vogt’s more grounded storytelling.
Sentimental Value begins with a narrator telling us the story of the Borg family home, located in the heart of Oslo, Norway. The voice describes some events that have occurred there, both joyful and sad, but mostly the latter, in the form of two tragedies that have tainted the house, haunting those who step inside it. The house might be beautiful and fancy in design, yet it has a ghostly feeling within its rooms and walls. And after the death of their mother, sisters Nora (Renate Reinsve) and Agnes (Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas) must go back to face the ghosts of the past that caused them pain. Nora is a stage actress who is rapidly climbing the ladder of success and acclaim due to her recent performances. (Her situation is much like Reinsve’s, whose roles in The Worst Person in the World and A Different Man have placed her as one of the top European actresses to watch.)
Nora is introduced to us during a time of sheer anxiety, right before going on stage and after the passing of her mother, which means that an unwanted family reunion is about to take place. On the stage, her worries go away; the play suppresses her anguish because she hides behind the mask of her character. But those are just a few mere hours. Once the curtains close, it all comes back again. The sisters both have some strains from their childhood that they would like to surpass. The former still has plenty of resentment, but the latter is more forgiving, even if some of the painful reverberations are still felt to this day.
Nevertheless, Nora and Agnes are reunited with their father, acclaimed veteran director Gustav (Stellan Skarsgård), who has not been a part of their lives since he divorced their mother when they were little. Although Nora does not want anything to do with him, he arrives with a proposition. Gustav wants Nora to play the lead role in his first film in fifteen years, which he believes is his best one to date. He wrote the role specifically for Nora, but even so, she is baffled by the offer and refuses to work with him. Gustav does not want to drop the project, as it serves as a form of reconciliation and lucidity from his past. This is why he casts the American star Rachel Kemp (Elle Fanning) instead. That isn’t the only detail that stresses Nora.
Gustav insists on filming in the family’s grief-soaked home. He even asks Rachel to dye her hair the same color as Nora’s and do the role in a Norwegian accent, even if she can’t pull it off. These demands lead Nora to believe that the film is about their family, or her in particular, with Rachel playing a younger version of herself. Reality and fiction begin to intertwine; art and life muddle with each other to concoct a volatile yet necessary potion for the fractured family. Is Gustav using art to heal his and his daughters’ wounds from their childhood? Sentimental Value looks back at the history of the Borg family–way back to when Gustav was a child, to now, where his daughters are all grown up–and their respective senses of abandonment and lack of nurture. And it is all primarily developed inside the house that is being cleared out.
The house has trinkets and objects that might not be of value to those who inhabit it next. Still, for Nora and Agnes, these items have, as the film’s title entails, sentimental value–the worth being made by how impactful the memory attached to it is. They hold onto these items, maintaining their grievances and nostalgia at the forefront. And by doing so, never letting them go, they cannot grow. They remain the same wounded people with emotional baggage. Trier and Vogt explore the true meaning behind the term sentimental value in a more complex and specific scenario that those of his other features, with a deeper venture into a meta commentary that connects their work, as if they were parallel universes–different version of the characters yet all tethered in sadness and potential healing.
Julie, Nora, Anders, Aksel, Philip, and even the Reeds in Louder Than Bombs are all connected spiritually and emotionally in this web that Trier and Vogt have concocted throughout their delicate collaborations. These are characters that have connected with us plenty, and each time, there is a feeling that Trier and Vogt are tapping into more personal places in their minds, hearts, and souls for their pictures. They have grown together, known each other since they were bachelors, and now they are husbands, and Trier even became a father. And in each film, you see these parts of their lives being portrayed on screen–the worries, doubts, joys, and pain that come with each role in life. The characters they pour these emotions of theirs into are lost souls meant to be healed and saved by love.
In the case of Sentimental Value, Nora and Gustav have been bottling everything until there is no room for more, which gives way to tears, anxiety attacks, and constant pondering of their decisions, past and present. But the two don’t seem to realize how alike they are. The two have experienced similar things that have shaped them into who they are. That does not excuse Gustav’s actions, leaving behind a family to follow his dreams and live a life full of acclaim and lavishness. However, he has changed. Skarsgård easily lends Gustav the look of a man who has been previously troubled and is now searching for forgiveness, as it might be his last chance to resonate with those he left behind. And Gustav tries to do that with cinema, the only way he knows how to express himself.
Words don’t come out easily for Gustav (and even Skarsgård as an actor does his best work when he’s kept restrained, without many lines of dialogue, because his facial expressions reveal more). But when Gustav writes these thoughts down, he finds a way into his heart previously untapped and unchecked, yet now evidently bleeding. This reminds me of a video I saw from an interview of Orson Welles, where he’s asked if he has any regrets. Welles replies: “Well, I suppose that I fell in love with movies… I have done less in my life than I would have if I hadn’t.” Bold words from a man whose films shaped cinema itself (CitizenKane, The Third Man, The Magnificent Ambersons), which is quite shocking.
Although Gustav’s reasons for abandoning his family, can’t be, and it will be irresponsible to say so, simplified as “for the sake of art” and “the love of cinema”, the aspect of looking back, now old and many films in, just consumes Welles and Gustav, and adds a rather contemplative look at a age of directors, who spent their lives sacrificing everything to be behind the directors chair. Welles also mentions that he can’t change the condition of that love with cinema, but that he’d be better off without it. And somehow, that is how Gustav feels deep inside. That element of the film is very inspiring and relatable, as I have found myself to be more expressive when writing about something I am fond of rather than talking about it. But it is the part of the film that didn’t convince me entirely at the beginning.
There is something about the film-within-a-film aspect from Trier and Vogt that, for me, feels too easy an emotional connection, when previously the two had found ways to move the viewer through trickier, more humanistic dramatic underpinnings. Unfortunately, the character of Rachel Kemp is a misstep. The character disrupts the film’s otherwise grounded emotional tone. It derails it further from it, nearly to a degree where it becomes unreachable, the distance becoming lengthy. Then again, using cinema as a healing tool is not only a recurring theme that directors, mostly veteran ones, have utilized – more so to reflect on a career, a life, and a legacy of wonders – but also what we cinephiles and theatergoers utilize the medium for.
We see films to escape, to heal our wounds, to express our emotions, to feel a connection, to wander off into another place, time, and memory. It is catharsis, reaching the unreachable. Sentimental Value is about this and much more, and days after seeing the film, I have found myself thinking about this part of the film and my relationship with cinema. Trier and Vogt may continue to earn accolades. Still, the real “sentimental value” of their work lies in its ability to mirror our interior lives—our regrets, our reconciliations, and our longing to be understood. It reflects our unspoken thoughts and feelings, reminders that healing, like cinema, is rarely perfect, but always human. That is the enduring power of Trier and Vogt’s work—storytelling not just as expression, but as transformation.
Director:Jonathan Entwistle Writers:Rob Lieber, Robert Mark Kamen Stars: Jackie Chan, Ben Wang, Joshua Jackson
Synopsis: After kung fu prodigy Li Fong relocates to New York City, he attracts unwanted attention from a local karate champion and embarks on a journey to enter the ultimate karate competition with the help of Mr. Han and Daniel LaRusso.
While watching the gluttonous nostalgia fest that is Karate Kid: Legends, I kept waiting for Rob Garrison’s Tommy to appear in the end credits, cackling maniacally as he declared it was finally time to get this franchise into a body bag.
The latest entry is heavy on exposition, light on creativity, and too worried about imitating the original story—focusing so much on legacy characters that it forgets to establish any meaningful emotional connection. Karate Kid: Legends plays like the CliffNotes version of how to write a sixth installment in a franchise—hoping that shiny packaging and familiar faces will be a convincing enough disguise to take your money and run.
The story follows Li Fong (American Born Chinese’s Ben Wang), who is being mentored “not” to fight at a dojo by Mr. Han (Jackie Chan). The setting should look familiar to fans of the franchise, as the film includes a cleanup clip from The Karate Kid: Part II. For some reason, we now have to know the backstory of a once-forgotten shack on a dirty lake—one that has since been upgraded into a pristine, money-making operation.
Han now trains hundreds of students as the shifu of a wuguan, but Fong’s mother (The Joy Luck Club’s Ming-Na Wen) won’t allow him to participate. (It makes you wonder why she even lets him hang out there in the first place—but I digress.) Her resistance is rooted in shared trauma: both she and Li are haunted by the memory of losing a loved one to violence, a theme the film touches on only vaguely and without much finesse. Li’s mother is a doctor, and she accepts a position in New York City, prompting a move that leaves Mr. Han behind. Once in the city, Li meets the two inevitable characters of any mainstream coming-of-age story: a girl and her possessive, angry ex-boyfriend.
Li is smitten with Mia (Somewhere in Queens’s Sadie Stanley), who works at her father Victor’s (Doctor Odyssey‘s Joshua Jackson) pizza shop. Naturally, her ex, Conor (Ms. Marvel‘s Aramis Knight), is a well-known kung fu champion trained at a dojo run by O’Shea (Tim Rozon)—a loan shark Victor borrowed money from to open his restaurant, who also happens to be Connor’s sensei.
The script was written by Rob Lieber, a writer for television’s The Goldbergs and a handful of forgettable family comedies that you’ve hopefully blocked from memory. The narrative leaps the script takes to connect all these coincidences are so forced and yawn-inducing, they ought to come with a warning for neck strain from excessive eye-rolling.
I have no doubt that Lieber and director Jonathan Entwistle had their hearts in the right place. However, the final product feels like a handful of flimsy Disney Channel episodes lazily strung together. Having Li train Jackson’s Victor cleverly flips the script a bit, but soon the studio can’t help itself—rushing to bridge the franchise’s worlds, from Chan’s 2010 installment to the return of Ralph Macchio.
The result is a glorified Cobra Kai cameo that feels like two completely different films mashed together—lacking depth, honesty, and any semblance of normal human interaction. When Victor hears Li tell him the story about the loss of a loved one, and in the matter it happens, he replies with a canned response that is so robotic, I wondered if the character needed to be recharged. There is and attempt to explore the trauma Li has suffered, which should have been the soul of the story, using Karate to overcome the scars and survivors grief.
Instead, we get Li competing in some bizarre Five Boroughs tournament that feels like it was yanked from a defunct Mortal Kombat knockoff. Nothing appears sanctioned, yet somehow it’s acceptable for a bunch of underage kids to beat the hell out of each other on a skyscraper—for $50,000? And Li’s elders are just fine with this? He gets smashed in the head, knocked out cold, and his physician mother just wants him to compete instead of being checked by trained medical personnel?
Sure, it’s a movie, but Karate Kid: Legends feels like a watered-down, generic retread of a franchise running on fumes. The concept is simple, yet the execution stumbles, bogged down by clunky exposition, lame humor, and over-explained action beats. (Do we really need a slow-motion replay and graphics for every single point?) At this point, I’ll spring for the body bag—can Hilary Swank make a cameo to pull up the zipper and put this franchise out of its misery?
You can watch Karate Kid: Legends (2025) only in theaters May 30th!
Clint Eastwood turns 95 this week. An almost unfathomable milestone for a career that feels as elemental as the Hollywood sign itself, and as raw and unforgiving as a high-noon standoff. To attempt to chart Eastwood’s seven decades in cinema is to review a landscape of shifting American identity, and a relentless, career-long wrestling match with American masculinity.
Such a panoramic career, one that encompasses not only genre-defining Westerns and iconic crime thrillers but also unexpected diversions like the musical, Paint Your Wagon (1969), sensitive dramas such as The Bridges of Madison County (1995), and acclaimed directorial achievements in which his on-screen persona is either absent or secondary, like Mystic River (2003) or the paired historical statements of Flags of Our Fathers (2006) and Letters from Iwo Jima (2006). A lengthy and diverse career like his defies exhaustive analysis in a single essay. To do justice to its sweep would require an entire book (or more!).
Our approach, therefore, is necessarily selective, focusing on a curated collection of landmark films. These are not merely personal favorites; they stand as crucial signposts, embodying distinct eras in Eastwood’s evolution while offering the most potent lens through which to examine his profound and enduring engagement with that central theme of American manhood. Other pictures, like the revisionist Western. The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976), certainly echo these concerns and mark important career junctures, but the films we will explore serve as the clearest crucibles for our specific thematic fire.
Through these carefully chosen examples, we see how Eastwood – star, auteur, enigma – hasn’t just mirrored ideals of manhood, but actively forged, interrogated, and sometimes shattered them. From sun-baked mesas to rain-slicked city streets, his silhouette casts a long, often troubling, shadow over what it meant, and means, to be a man in a transformative American century.
Era 1: Forging the Frontier Myth – The Stoic Individualist (c. 1964-1971)
(Focus Film: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly)
The squint. The poncho. The cheroot. The name on everyone’s lips, though rarely spoken by the man himself: Blondie. When Sergio Leone’s The Good, the Bad and the Ugly exploded onto screens in 1966, it wasn’t just a film, it was a cultural detonation. Ennio Morricone’s unforgettable score became the anthem for a new kind of Western, and Clint Eastwood, with his minimalist cool, became its face. This was where the Eastwood persona – laconic, lethal, morally ambiguous – was seared into the global cinematic consciousness, launching a new, potent vision of American masculinity onto the world stage.
Leone’s Spaghetti Westerns weren’t just horse operas; they were audacious, operatic revisions of a fading Hollywood dream. As American-made Westerns lost their footing, these Italian born epics, shot through with a cynical verve, offered a radical alternative. Critics and scholars would later fill volumes dissecting Leone’s revolutionary style and Eastwood’s symbiotic role within it, but the immediate impact was visceral: the Western landscape suddenly became alien, dangerous, and thrillingly unpredictable.
At the heart of this new frontier was the anti-hero. American cinema had certainly flirted with morally grey protagonists before – Bogart’s world-weary PIs or Brando’s brooding rebels come to mind. Even in Westerns, complex figures were emerging to challenge the polished hero stereotype: think of those in Anthony Mann’s psychological dramas, John Ford’s The Searchers, and not least, Paul Newman as the memorably cynical Hud Bannon.
Eastwood’s ‘Man with No Name’ was a different creature altogether. His compass, if he had one, spun wildly, usually settling on self-interest. Eastwood’s genius was his stillness, his ability to command the frame with an almost Zen-like economy of expression. This wasn’t the garrulous hero of yore; this was a man who understood that in a brutal world, silence, punctuated by sudden, decisive violence, was the ultimate currency. This, then, was the new masculine cool.
The Dollars Trilogy made Eastwood a global phenomenon. He became, as some would say, the inheritor of John Wayne’s crown, but this new king of American masculinity ruled a starkly different kind of kingdom: cynical, solitary, and forged in an international crucible. The stoic, self-reliant figure he etched here would become the granite foundation of a career spent exploring, and often subverting, that very image.
Era 2: Urban Justice & Assertive Masculinity: The Actor Takes Control (c. 1971-1980s)
(Focus Films: Dirty Harry; Play Misty for Me)
“Do I feel lucky?” The question, delivered with a .44 Magnum’s cold authority, echoed far beyond the crime-ridden streets of Don Siegel’s 1971 San Francisco. Dirty Harry was more than a hit; it was a cultural flashpoint. Inspector Harry Callahan, Eastwood’s new avatar, strode into a landscape of societal anxiety, a figure worlds away from the taciturn Blondie, yet forged from the same steel. Callahan’s violence wasn’t for gold; it was a political statement, a brutal answer to what the film presented as a city unraveling under the perceived excesses of counter culture.
Siegel’s San Francisco is a battleground where liberal pieties have failed, crying out for Callahan’s brand of “common sense” justice. It’s a vision whose confrontational politics would resonate with a Nixonian “silent majority” and, startlingly, prefigure the culture war talking points of decades to come. But the film’s power, and its enduring controversy, lies in its uncomfortable embrace of its flawed hero. Callahan is bigoted, insubordinate, and his methods are a civil libertarian’s nightmare. Yet the film dares you to root for him, a provocative stance that forces a confrontation with the audience’s own hunger for order, however ruthlessly imposed. This was masculinity as a blunt instrument, contemptuous of bureaucracy, unleashed to cleanse the streets.
This raw, confrontational cinema was pure New Hollywood in its audacity, even as its politics leaned right. And at its nucleus was Eastwood, now a bona fide superstar. Dirty Harry didn’t just cement another iconic persona; it was produced by his own Malpaso Company, a clear signal of his intent to sculpt his own destiny. He was no longer just the Man with No Name; he was rapidly becoming the Man in Charge, a pivotal move towards the actor-auteur status that would define his later career.
And 1971 wasn’t just the year of Harry Callahan’s furious street justice; it was the year Clint Eastwood, with audacious quiet, first stepped behind the camera. Play Misty for Me, his directorial debut, is far more than a curious footnote; it’s a surprisingly taut and unsettling psychological thriller that immediately telegraphed ambitions beyond the confines of action stardom. Here, Eastwood the actor immerses himself in the cool jazz hues of Carmel, playing Dave Garver, a charismatic late-night DJ whose smooth baritone and freewheeling lifestyle are a world away from the violent frontiers he usually patrolled. Yet, even in this seemingly more relaxed milieu, Eastwood the director begins to probe a certain kind of contemporary male identity, one whose casual confidence perhaps masks a deeper unpreparedness for the darker currents of human connection.
What remains striking about Play Misty for Me is its unnerving prescience, an early tremor of the ‘stalker thriller’ subgenre that would become a cinematic staple decades later. Jessica Walter’s Evelyn Draper, the devoted fan whose initial phone-in request spirals into a terrifying fixation, is not merely a spurned lover but a figure of escalating, unpindownable menace. The film charts this descent with a chilling patience, suggesting Eastwood, even as a freshman director, possessed an instinct for the primal fear that arises when intimacy sours into obsession, and control is wrested away. For an Eastwood protagonist, it’s a novel form of vulnerability; not the threat of a bullet, but the insidious creep of psychological warfare, where the domestic space becomes a battleground.
As a director, Eastwood already sketches the outlines of the efficient, atmospheric style that would become his signature. The breezy Carmel coastline, a sun-dappled idyll, is artfully juxtaposed with the claustrophobia of Evelyn’s obsession, the scenic beauty offering a stark counterpoint to the film’s increasingly dark heart. While bearing some hallmarks of its era’s studio thrillers, there’s a raw, discomfiting edge to the central conflict, particularly in Walter’s ferociously committed performance, that still has the power to disturb. It’s a deliberately uncomfortable journey, suggesting an early authorial interest in pushing audience boundaries, albeit through the shadowy corridors of desire rather than the explicit politics of Callahan’s San Francisco.
Thematically, Play Misty for Me offers a fascinating counter-narrative to the assertive, often righteous masculinity Eastwood was simultaneously embodying elsewhere. Dave Garver, for all his laid-back charm and professional cool, is a man whose lifestyle renders him unexpectedly vulnerable. There’s a subtle, almost cautionary exploration here of the consequences that can follow when casual connections ignite something far more volatile, a theme of male misjudgment meeting female pathology that the film navigates with a tense focus. It’s also a compelling early glimpse into Eastwood’s career-long fascination with obsession, the fragility of sanity, and the often-perilous dance of human relationships, themes that would echo in more complex, varied forms in his later directorial work.
While it may not possess the overt genre revisionism of Unforgiven or the stark iconic power of his gun-wielding figures, Play Misty for Me stands as a crucial, surprisingly assured debut. It’s Eastwood taking the directorial reins with confidence, proving his mettle in a new arena, and demonstrating an immediate grasp of suspense mechanics. More than that, it reveals an artist already keen to explore the psychological landscapes beneath the action, adding a vital, more introspective layer to that pivotal year of 1971 and signaling the multifaceted career that was to come. The one-two punch of Dirty Harry and this accomplished first film as director truly announced Eastwood as a defining force, shaping his narratives on both sides of the camera.
Era 3: Deconstructing the Hero, Interrogating American Manhood (c. Late 1980s-Mid 2000s)
(Focus Films: Unforgiven; Million Dollar Baby)
Then came Unforgiven. If Dirty Harry codified the Eastwood persona, this 1992 masterwork saw him hold that very image up to the harshest light, then shatter it. Here was Eastwood, the Western icon, returning to the genre not to polish the myth, but to bury it with full, brutal honors. This wasn’t just a great film; it was a reckoning. The moment Eastwood, the accomplished director, fully merged with Eastwood, the screen legend, to create something profound. The Oscars for Best Picture and Director weren’t just accolades; they were an industry acknowledging an artist who had transcended his origins.
William Munny, the retired pig farmer and former killer, is the ghost of Blondie, stripped of all romance. The weight of regret hangs heavier than any gun belt. His quietness isn’t cool detachment; it’s the weariness of a soul that knows the true cost of violence. When Munny is drawn back into that world, the violence is clumsy, ugly, and devoid of glory. Unforgiven is an elegy for the Western, a meditation on the brutal reality underpinning the frontier legend, and perhaps a reflection of a post-Cold War America forced to confront the consequences of its own violent mythologies. Gene Hackman’s Little Bill Daggett, a man who perverts justice with sadistic glee, provides the perfect corrupt counterpoint to Munny’s tortured path.
The critical acclaim for Unforgiven opened a new chapter. Eastwood was now a revered American auteur. He followed it with films that continued to explore the complexities of character and morality, none more devastatingly than Million Dollar Baby (2004).
Here, as grizzled trainer Frankie Dunn, Eastwood again inhabited an aging figure confronting his own limitations. The film’s boxing narrative echoes Rocky but veers into far darker, quintessentially Eastwoodian territory in its final act. Frankie’s initial reluctance to train Maggie Fitzgerald, his gruff exterior, sets the stage for a relationship that slowly thaws his hardened masculinity, revealing a profound, paternal vulnerability. His understated performance, where a flicker of tenderness speaks volumes, is a testament to his mastery. And again, the film’s tragic core, its refusal of easy sentiment, resonated in an America grappling with its own sense of identity, earning Eastwood another pair of Oscars and cementing his status as a filmmaker unafraid of life’s hardest questions.
Era 4: The Anachronistic Man – American Chronicles and Enduring Legacies (c. Mid 2000s-Present)
(Focus Film: Gran Torino)
By 2008, Clint Eastwood was an institution, yet Gran Torino proved he could still ignite a cultural firestorm. As Walt Kowalski, a widowed Korean War vet rattling around his changing Detroit neighborhood, Eastwood presented one of his most potent late-career characters: the American man as an anachronism. Walt is a walking monument to a bygone era, his beloved Ford Gran Torino a gleaming relic of a time when America made things, and men, it seemed to Walt, were made differently. His casual bigotry, his growling contempt for the perceived decay of his world – from his “pampered” grandchildren to the Hmong family who move in next door – is Eastwood holding up a mirror to a raw, uncomfortable part of the American psyche.
The film’s narrative charts Walt’s grudging path to redemption, as he forms an unlikely bond with Thao, the Hmong teenager he initially despises. This mentorship echoes themes from Unforgiven and Million Dollar Baby, yet for all its effectiveness, Gran Torino treads somewhat familiar ground, perhaps sidestepping a deeper dive into the socio-economic despair that shaped Walt’s bitterness. But what remains undeniable is the sheer force of Eastwood on screen. At 78, he is utterly compelling as Walt, physically imposing, a man whose self-reliance is etched into every line on his face. He is the silent strength, the ingrained competence that defined his characters for decades. Walt Kowalski became another indelible Eastwood figure, a man wrestling with his own obsolescence and finding one last, defiant act of meaning, connecting powerfully with audiences worldwide.
Clint Eastwood at 95: the career itself feels like a sprawling American epic. More than just an actor who endured or a director who achieved acclaim, Eastwood has been a constant, often challenging, presence in our collective imagination, his silhouette synonymous with a certain kind of American man. Yet, as we’ve seen, that “certain kind” has never been static. From the mythic frontiersman to the urban vigilante, from the haunted killer confronting his past to the aging lion roaring against the dying of the light, his films have provided a running commentary on American masculinity, its power, its pathologies, its pain, and its potential for unexpected grace.
The journey through these eras, marked by films like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Dirty Harry, Unforgiven, Million Dollar Baby, and Gran Torino, reveals an artist unafraid to engage with, and ultimately deconstruct, the very archetypes that made him a star. Through Malpaso, his singular vision found its way to the screen. His directorial style, lean and direct, mirrored the men he often portrayed: no fuss, all impact.
It must also be noted that Eastwood’s own distinct, often conservative and libertarian inflected worldview has undeniably shaped his cinematic output and public persona. This perspective, sometimes lauded, occasionally divisive, can be felt in the rugged individualism and uncompromising outlook of many of his characters.
His legacy, then, isn’t just in the iconography or the awards. It’s in the conversations his films demand, the uncomfortable truths they often tell about violence, justice, and the often-fraught quest for individual integrity. Clint Eastwood hasn’t just made movies; he’s held an unflinching gaze on the American soul, and in doing so, has crafted a body of work as vital and volatile as the nation itself.
This week on Women InSession, we discuss the legendary costume designer William Travilla and his iconic work with the great Marilyn Monroe! In fact, in terms of American iconography, is there a more famous image than that of Monroe over the grate with her dress flying up in the air as she tries to keep it down? If not, it’s obviously very much in the conversation. So we wanted to talk about this pairing and what it means for the legacy of cinema.
Panel: Kristin Battestella, Zita Short, Amy Thomasson, Jaylan Salah
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!
Fully in the summertime, Criterion follows up one full month of releases with another month of them. While two films from the same year come out with re-editions, five more are new entrants. A nearly forgotten screwball comedy, an underrated ‘70s thriller, a watershed musical film, a documentary on a jazz legend, and one of Canada’s finest films ever made all come out this month. Most are from the most recognizable names in Hollywood, while others are getting their special showcase for the first time.
Midnight (1939)
Claudette Colbert plays an American showgirl who comes to Paris with nothing but an evening gown she wears and crashes the party by playing a wealthy Hungarian baroness. Her new scheme as a homewrecker is quickly caught by a nobleman (John Barrymore) and a cab driver (Don Ameche) who have both fallen for her. Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett wrote this witty comedy that cuts through the couture and observes the social hierarchy in their own rules being rigged by an outsider.
Sorcerer (1977)
William Friedkin’s remake of The Wages of Feardoesn’t stray too far from the original story but has its originality, making it stand out. In an isolated Latin American village, four people from different backgrounds (Roy Scheider, Bruno Cremer, Francisco Rabal, and Amidou) drive two trucks of highly explosive nitroglycerin through the jungle to extinguish a fire. It’s as intense as the original film, and Friedkin cuts away from the sociopolitical themes in Henri-Georges Clouzot’s version for a straightforward thriller. At the time, production problems, rising costs, and release during the Star Wars phenomenon were seen as negatives against the film, but Sorcerer has been reappraised as a gem of the era.
The Wiz (1978)
Before Wicked, this film was the first to give another perspective on the classic story The Wizard of Oz. Diana Ross, Michael Jackson, Richard Pryor, and Lena Horne star in the complete retelling set in Harlem and a teacher who is transported to a NYC-like version of Emerald City. It’s the same story put to an R&B soundtrack produced by Quincy Jones, scripted by Joel Schumacher, and directed by Sidney Lumet. Like Sorcerer, The Wiz was not well received upon release, but has also since been looked at again as a cult classic and a cultural moment for African Americans.
Brazil (1985)
The first of two re-editions is Terry Gilliam’s dystopian, autocratic world through the eyes of a bureaucrat (Jonathan Pryce) who dreams of something better than this broken-down world. However, it is only just a dream as the world, a satire of Margaret Thatcher’s consumerist ideology, that makes things so bleak and so phony that people can see it yet cannot escape the Orwellian world taking place. Robert De Niro, Michael Palin, Ian Holm, Bob Hoskins, and Kim Greist also star in Gilliam’s masterpiece, which remains one of the most visually striking films ever made forty years after its release.
Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters (1985)
The second re-edition is Paul Schrader’s biographical story about Japanese author Yukio Mishima and the events leading up to his shocking death. Following Mishima’s life while cutting with excerpts from some of his most famous works, we see him grow from a sickly boy to an adult whose obsession with masculinity and Japanese traditionalism leads Mishima to try a far-fetched idea he brazenly believed could happen. It is both beautiful and horrifying to see the ideas of a man whose words would turn into a crazed ideology for an era that had been nuked out of existence.
Thelonious Monk Straight, No Chaser (1988)
This documentary on a jazz legend recreates the live performances and closeness to Monk’s unique playing style that made him a force in music. Director Charlotte Zwerin, who had collaborated with David and Albert Maysles on Salesman and Gimme Shelter two decades earlier, worked on her own in unspooling the improvisational Monk as he put together some of the most unique pieces of music ever played. It also shines a light on Monk’s demons that plagued him and how they affected the pianist for the remainder of his life.
Thirty-Two Short Films About Glenn Gould (1993)
Instead of a single traditional narrative, director Francois Girard constructs vignettes around the life of the renowned Canadian pianist. Scenes of Gould’s life, interviews with friends, and archive footage that deconstruct Gould’s genius as an artist and his eccentricities that made him one of a kind and a legend. Colm Feore stars as Gould, who would leave live performance behind for a recording studio he would play from for the rest of his life, but is an illumination of a 20th-century virtuoso.
On this episode of Chasing the Gold, JD (filling in for Shadan) is joined by ISF writing Hector A. Gonzalez to discuss all the films he saw at this year’s Cannes Film Festival, including It Was Just An Accident, Sentimental Value, Sound of Falling, Die, My Life, Eddington and more!
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!
Synopsis: A visionary architect flees post-war Europe in 1947 for a brighter future in the United States and finds his life forever changed by a wealthy client.
“America. The land of the free, the home of the brave.” A statement that is often said by anyone looking to come to the country and make a name for themselves, a statement filled with promise and potential that has transcended generations of immigrants. Everyone in pursuit of some variation of “the American Dream,” and all its limitlessness. It is with this thinking that many looked for a way to flee to America during/after the events of World War II, and make a better life for themselves and their families.
The Brutalist, directed by Brady Corbet, explores these themes through the eyes of László Tóth (Adrien Brody), an architect of Jewish descent from Hungary and Holocaust survivor who, after World War II, arrives in America separated from his wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) and niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy), but with hopes of bringing them to the country as well. Over the course of several years, the movie chronicles Tóth’s journey from initially working with his cousin Attila (Alessandro Nivola) to eventually working for Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce), who finds out about Tóth’s work as an architect and commissions him to build a community center in memory of Harrison’s late mother. Throughout the movie, Tóth is tested, as the pressure to build the center and bring his family to a prosperous future in America continues to grow and potentially break him entirely, challenging the very notion of the American Dream and how attainable it really is.
Throughout its gargantuan runtime of 3 hours and 35 minutes (with a 15-minute intermission), The Brutalist builds the concept of the American Dream up to extraordinary heights, only to bring them crashing down upon its characters and expose the dark reality behind those aspirations, and how devastatingly the lives of immigrants are given little credence even as the world potentially opens its arms to them. At every turn, as it looks like Tóth may have found his big break, it is marred with caveats upon caveats, as even those people who claim to do nothing but respect his vision look down upon him as a second-rate human. Yet, he keeps on, knowing what he is capable of through his work, so that he can make enough to send for Erzsébet and Zsófia and see them once again. Brody is phenomenal in the role, providing an emotional backbone to László and providing a glimpse into his potential for the audience. Early on, when he is commissioned to build a library for Van Buren, the gears that begin shifting in his head as he comes up with ideas and unique concepts to make it stand out make for an engrossing watch, mirrored later as the community center begins to take some shape.
Every performance in The Brutalist is firing on all cylinders, from Brody’s terrific portrayal to Felicity Jones as Erzsébet adding an emotional center to the story. Her, at times, devastating presence impacts the second half considerably, as well as Guy Pearce as Harrison Van Buren, whose more charismatic public personality masks his more monstrous nature (to a point), and leads to career best work from him. A solid supporting cast comprised of Cassidy, Joe Alwyn, Nivola, Emma Laird, and Stacy Martin back the proceedings, with particularly exceptional work from Cassidy, who spends a major chunk of the movie without dialogue and conveys entire storylines through just her eyes.
From its incredible opening sequence to its final scene, Corbet directs the movie to perfection, accompanied by magnificent cinematography from Lol Crawley–shot in VistaVision–and a booming score from Daniel Blumberg engulfing its bigger and quieter moments. The production is massive in scale, and when taken into consideration that the movie was made for just under $10 million, the work done in The Brutalist is made even more impressive. The script from Corbet and co-writer (and real life partner) Mona Fastvold keeps the movie moving at a brisk pace, and realizes its characters as perfectly as it can, given the world that they inhabit, even in its bolder second half where choices are made that potentially could polarize viewers. The answers we receive are not always satisfying, the payoffs are not always worth it, but these moments are what define our legacy.
Through thick and thin, László Tóth continues to keep going, wanting to cut through the limitations and discrimination in his path for himself and his family, and leads him to a finale that asks if the journey to the destination may be for nought or worth it all, and understanding and holding on to what really matters in the end. All things said and done, however, one thing is clear: The Brutalist is a new American epic that deserves all the recognition it gets and hopefully will receive as the years go by.
Directors:Danny Philippou, Michael Philippou Writers:Danny Philippou, Bill Hinzman Stars: Sally Hawkins, Billy Barratt, Sora Wong
Synopsis: A brother and sister uncover a terrifying ritual at the secluded home of their new foster mother.
Are Danny and Michael Philippou OK? I’m asking because, in interviews, they’re the biggest goofballs around, having the time of their lives promoting their latest movie, Bring Her Back, with their fellow cast members. Then, you sit down in the cinema and watch as they inflict massive amounts of psychological damage, simply by crafting some of the most harrowing, traumatizing scenes of violence you will ever find in a mainstream movie. Though some will argue that Bring Her Back is as independently produced as their first film, Talk to Me, A24’s status as an Oscar-winning distributor puts it in the mainstream conversation.
I can count on one hand the horror films I’ve seen in a cinema, in the past two years, that did some active damage to me, where I couldn’t do anything but sit and feel deeply unwell after having seen them: Pascal Plante’s Red Rooms, David Cronenberg’s The Shrouds, and now RackaRacka’s Bring Her Back. It’s a deeply unpleasant experience that, in many cases, will likely alienate audiences more than their crowd-pleasing, but terrifying, 2023 directorial debut. The audience is forced to watch characters do some of the most irredeemable things, all in the name of love.
And while it may not be as narratively and aesthetically strong as Talk to Me, (which I loved even more after having the chance of seeing it in IMAX earlier this year), it’s definitely far more disturbing, and you won’t be able to shake off some of the images you’ve seen long after you’ve driven back from the movie theater and are forced to ruminate on what you’ve seen. How in the hell do you expect me to drive back home after being a witness to the imagery the Philippou brothers make a reality in this film? If that doesn’t sell you on the tantalizing prospect of a feel-bad time at the movies, I don’t know what will. Yet, the intended effect has definitely worked on me, and it’ll be hard to even think about anything else for some time.
Here’s an even more important question: How does one even approach writing on a movie like this, where each screenwriting decision is meant to disturb the audience so violently that they may be unable to sleep at night? Let’s start with this: this is an entirely different beast than Talk to Me, which makes it interesting, right from the get-go. Formally, it’s far more confrontational than RackaRacka’s previous film, especially when it comes to crafting some of the most harrowing sequences of violence you may see all year. The taller aspect ratio leans us closer to the characters, as they get to experience profound, destabilizing terror, which the Philippou brothers, alongside cinematographer Aaron McLisky, linger on for as long as they possibly can and force the audience to watch, as they gasp in pure shock at what they’re looking at.
One scene in particular made a usually quiet audience at a press screening yell and gasp in absolute bewilderment, as McLisky’s camera showcases one of the most agonizing examples of gore you may see all year, and he rarely cuts away from the violence to get a reaction shot out of the protagonist, which most Hollywood films do. All of these scenes work incredibly well because the practical effects are nail-bitingly lifelike, and the close-ups of each severed body part are as detailed as you can get. Closing your eyes won’t do you any good, especially if you’re squeamish, as the note-perfect sound design ensures you’ll be able to see what you’re shielding away from.
There’s another sequence that juxtaposes The Veronicas’ “Untouched” with brutal, demented imagery. I won’t describe it for the squeamish people reading this article, but let’s just say you’ll never be able to hear this popular song the same way again, because you’ll now always associate it with this scene from Bring Her Back. It’s an unforgivingly traumatic cinema experience that no one, and I mean no one, is ready for.
The problem, though, lies in the fact that RackaRacka seems to be staging these insane (and they are insane) sequences of gore to mask the lack of substance in its story, which follows siblings Andy (Billy Barratt) and Piper (Sora Wong), who, after the death of their father, are sent to a foster home, run by Laura (Sally Hawkins). Things seem innocuous enough at first, but the directing duo plants clues that inform us that perhaps Laura isn’t the nice foster parent she makes herself out to be, as she has recently lost her daughter and will do anything to…bring her back. That’s about as far as I’ll go in describing the plot for you, because the best part of seeing a film like this is to know as little as possible and hope that it will enthrall – or traumatize – you.
I’ll say that, as shocked as I was at some of the violence shown on screen, and as attuned I am to RackaRacka’s sense of mordant humor in earlier sequences of the film (or even during its climax), as a fan of their work on YouTube, I found that, when removing all of the shocking moments Bring Her Back has, the story itself can often be lacking in purpose, beyond the sickening gore, which Talk to Me had, in capturing a profoundly human relationship between Mia and her friends.
Thematically, Bring Her Back shares similarities with their 2023 film, notably when discussing grief, but it does so in a far more distressing way than the duo’s previous effort. This will undoubtedly divide some audience members, particularly when the film reaches its denouement and makes decisions that are simultaneously disturbing and nonsensical, clearly done for shock value, and with little to no thought put into the why of it all. Again, it’s difficult to talk about the movie without spoiling a thing, but some key moments as the plot develops are bound to rub you the wrong way and leave you with a bad taste in your mouth.
Initially, we do attach ourselves to Andy and Piper’s relationship. Amidst their flaws and the horrifying experiences they share, the two love each other deeply. However, Danny and Michael do not want us to attach ourselves to their plight, because what Laura has in store for them will test them in ways they’ve never once imagined as soon as they step foot in her home. It results in an ending that seems telegraphed, but doesn’t fall prey to the pitfalls that most movies in this sub-genre of films do, where the foster parent holds a dark secret, and no one around the people who are victimized believes them. In fact, the Philippou brothers don’t do what most filmmakers sadly perpetuate during the climax, which gives them an edge over most horror directors who present their characters constantly making stupid decisions and being victims of their own ignorance.
Adam wants to break free from Laura’s shackles, but can’t do it without hard evidence that something is wrong. He doesn’t make a single shortsighted decision and does the right thing every time, regardless of how unfortunate the story turns. I appreciated this from a genre that usually talks down at the characters they write, as if they’re incapable of acting intelligently and resourcefully, regardless if they are facing events their minds can’t process. It proves to me that the Philippou brothers will go a long way in making horror cinema that’s not only playful and inventive, but will contain intelligently-written human characters who will always showcase the most vulnerable parts of themselves, even if the situation they are stuck in becomes extremely supernatural.
It’s in those vulnerable moments where Barratt and Wong’s acting shines the most, but the real star of the picture is Sally Hawkins, who gives one of the best performances of her career as the mysterious Laura. Her love for her late daughter knows no bounds, to the point that she’ll do anything (literally) to “bring her back.” What that entails, I’ll let you figure that out as the film progresses, but there’s an air of melancholy in her portrayal of the character that’s fascinating to dissect, even when she takes irreparable actions. It makes the film’s coda all the more heartbreaking, even if no one can condone what she does. We fully understand the lengths she will go to bring her daughter back, because the love she has for her is unconditional and will never end.
That alone made the movie compelling, even if I’m a bit miffed at some of the decisions Danny and Michael make along the way. You’re better off experiencing this profoundly deranged, evil movie on your own and coming up with your own opinion of this complete nightmare. Perhaps a distanced rewatch, like Talk to Me, will reward attentive viewers in catching details they likely missed, and could make their viewing experience different if they know the narrative twists and turns RackaRacka has in store for them. However, I have no desire to watch Bring Her Back ever again, and I mean this as the highest possible compliment, even if I believe Danny and Michael Philippou aren’t OK…
Director: Trey Edward Shults Writer:Reza Fahim, Trey Edward Shults, The Weeknd Stars: The Weeknd, Jenna Ortega, Barry Keoghan
Synopsis: An insomniac musician encounters a mysterious stranger, leading to a journey that challenges everything he knows about himself.
At some point in every major musician’s career, they tried their hand at acting. From Michael Jackson, Prince and Cher, to Selena Gomez, Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift, the list goes on and on of singers who have appeared on screen to expand their reach as artists. It only makes sense then that Abel Tesfaye, more famously known as The Weeknd, would want to try his hand at the craft as well. After a brief appearance in 2019’s Uncut Gems, Abel went on to be in 2023’s The Idol, an HBO series from Sam Levinson, the creator of Euphoria, and was reportedly set in the same universe as that show. Unfortunately, The Idol was poorly received by both critics and audiences, and is considered by many to be one of the worst HBO shows to be included in the network’s prestigious 9PM Sunday night slot. However, one misstep doesn’t mean the journey is over, and that leads us to 2025’s Hurry Up Tomorrow.
Yes, for those who might be wondering, the movie is in fact named after The Weeknd’s most recent album, and acts as a companion piece to it. Directed by Trey Edward Shults (It Comes at Night, Waves), the movie stars Tesfaye as a fictionalized version of himself, as he is currently on tour and performing songs from the new album to hordes of fans who have gathered to hear his music. Accompanied by his manager, Lee (Barry Keoghan), and the rest of his team, the tour is a great success and selling well. However, Abel feels emotionally distraught, having recently been through a breakup and is now addicted to drugs and alcohol to a potential point of no return. This begins to affect his performances as he loses his voice on stage. It is at this moment that he meets Anima (Jenna Ortega), a young woman who seems to be escaping her own past life, and finds a connection in Abel.
Being a companion piece to the album, Hurry Up Tomorrow may benefit some from a listen to the source material, as some of the lyrics do, in fact, tell a story that mirrors the plot described in the above paragraph, and it makes some of the choices the movie makes have a bit more backing to them. Conceptually, as a result, it wants to be an adaptation of the album, while also acting as a retrospective look at The Weeknd’s career and his shattered inner psyche that forms more cracks as the movie progresses. It’s a dichotomy of an artist that’s definitely interesting to explore, and there are glimmers in Hurry Up Tomorrow where it does exactly that. When Abel meets Anima, the two go out and have fun at an amusement park, leaving the rest of the world behind. It’s a moment that looks at an escape from the misery and addictions that plague Abel.
Unfortunately for Hurry Up Tomorrow, it also does a lot of this in a very maligned manner that is more concerned with how it looks than what it is actually saying, leading to a scatterbrained movie that ends up being a huge mess by the end. While there is undeniably a lot of talent on display, from its actors to Shults’s direction and use of flashy visuals and aspect ratios to differentiate sections–a few visual tricks of his going back to It Comes at Night and Waves–to an often thunderous sound design courtesy of Johnnie Burn (coming off an Oscar win for The Zone of Interest), it squanders much of it on a sense of self-indulgence and unsubtle hammering of its messages, both visually and narratively, that only render much of Abel’s dilemma as hollow and empty, and even, at times, unintentionally funny.
For his part, Tesfaye as a singer is effective enough, similar to the real-life artist; but, as an actor, he often comes up short emotionally, particularly in the movie’s more dramatic moments. This is especially noticeable when he’s alongside Ortega, who practically chomps the scenery in the movie’s latter half and delivers one of her more heightened performances to date, and Keoghan, who isn’t given much to do beyond constantly reminding Abel that he has fans who love him and that he needs to keep going for them no matter what, but still maintains a level of charisma over the proceedings. This is further affected by a thinly written script that doesn’t give their characters much more context beyond just the few moments we get early on. Anima is shown to be someone on the run after burning her house down, avoiding her mother and a superfan of The Weeknd who is about to attend his concert, but the allusions made to who she represents in the movie and what she means to Abel are less effective as they are given little to no backing besides anything you heard in the actual album.
Perhaps there is a possibility that superfans of The Weeknd will appreciate Hurry Up Tomorrow a lot more than others. This reviewer is in fact a fan of a lot of his music as well. However, the potential here does not match the final movie’s execution of said elements, with the third act being a bizarre look into Abel’s career to this point and practically spelling out what it wants to say after two acts of very surface level glimpses into its more poignant themes, and then ending on an extremely abrupt note that leaves more questions than it answers. What could have been a very scathing look into an egotistical lifestyle and its repercussions ends up overall shortchanged and lacking. Will it eventually develop a cult following with The Weeknd’s fanbase and listeners of Hurry Up Tomorrow the album? Time will tell, but as of right now, people will probably want the movie to hurry up and end instead.
Synopsis: When a titan music mogul is targeted with a ransom plot, he is jammed up in a life-or-death moral dilemma
Few filmmakers depict Brooklyn, New York like Spike Lee, from his underseen debut feature Joe’s Bed-Stuy Barbershop: We Cut Heads to Do the Right Thing, his magnum opus, and, in my opinion, one of the best films ever made. He may not be originally from the area, born in Atlanta, Georgia, but Spike grew up there, lives and breathes the area, and knows it by heart, expelling his love for it in all of his New York-set pictures, no matter the narrative or genre. Spike captures the city and its always-moving people with pure authenticity; the specificity of his lens–the way the characters speak and interact, the look and feel, the locations, and the music utilized–makes his works so vivid, making everything come alive instantly.
For his latest work, Highest 2 Lowest (screening out of competition at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival), Spike Lee wants to honor the city of New York, and specifically Brooklyn and Bed Stuy, once again with a reimagined canvas, originally painted by Japanese maestro Akira Kurosawa in his 1963 feature High and Low. The last time he attempted to remake an Asian cinema staple was in 2013 with the Josh Brolin-led Oldboy, and it was (expectedly) terrible. If you ask him today, he might tell you the same thing. But the difference between that film and Highest 2 Lowest is that Spike does not want to remake a Kurosawa picture; he has learned from his mistakes. Instead, he uses it as inspiration to create something new and akin to his style and sensibilities–celebrating New York, exploring today’s music industry, and honoring his bond with Denzel Washington, who has reunited for the first time in nearly twenty years.
Ray Charles’ version of ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin,’ from the musical ‘Oklahoma!,’ is the first track on Spike’s latest jukebox, accompanied by drone shots of the New York skyline. In those first shots, the director encapsulates the beauty behind the non-stop craze of the city. Soon after, we meet David King (Washington), known for once having the “best ears in the business” and the founder of a Rock-a-Fella Records-type label called Stackin’ Hits. On top of his penthouse, King looks at the city from above, like royalty observing their kingdom from their castle. But he isn’t on top of the world as he once was, and the events that transpire will have him fight a bout of morality that will either plunge him deeper into a worse spot or cement his legacy once again.
With utmost success comes some sacrifices, and King’s comes in the loss of connection with his wife, Pam (Ilfenesh Hadera), and son, Trey (Aubrey Joseph), as well as losing control of the label he built from the ground up. After decades of blood, sweat, and tears being spilled to create hit records and launch successful artists, King is being asked to sell his past with the label, effectively removing him entirely from the music scene he helped forge. If you look back at the ‘80s and ‘90s, those were times when many labels were created. You’d see plenty of them have their array of eclectic artists and have great moments of success. Of course, the industry was way different from what it is now.
Once a dominant force, record labels are currently struggling to stay afloat, adapting to the digital age of streaming. Music might be at an even closer reach than before, with Spotify and Apple Music having a vast catalogue available by downloading an app and a monthly subscription. However, that does not necessarily translate to increased sales. Instead, there is a rapid decline in the relevance of labels and physical media. Spike Lee, who has been a part of the industry as a music-video director and soundtrack curator, saw these changes first-hand. He knows how bad things have become, both in cinema and elsewhere. And so he dedicates a part of Highest 2 Lowest to converse about the current landscape through the erasure of record labels and the dissipating relevancy of art in general. It is one of the many aspects that give the film personality and separate it from the Kurosawa picture.
One day, King gets an unexpected call from a mysterious man, later revealed to be an aspiring rapper named Yung Felon (A$AP Rocky), saying that he kidnapped his son and wants 17.5 million dollars in return for him. However, the rapper does not realize that he has taken the wrong child; instead, he grabs the son of King’s driver and old friend, Paul (Jeffrey Wright). But the kidnapper still wants the money, in cash. This forms the High and Low-style narrative framework, a pressure-cooker setup that tests the characters’ values. Will David King pay the amount he is being asked? Will he help his friend and leave behind his family’s well-being in exchange? King has much to think about as he searches New York, while Paul is worried and urges him to help.
Kurosawa delved into the class divide, using his imagery to create striking metaphors of capitalist societies and governments in the post-war era of economic upheaval. Spike Lee’s vision is slightly different; he leads more toward entrepreneurship and perseverance, emphasizing the importance of grinding until you succeed, with some modern conceptualizations of moral quandaries, such as cancel culture and the constant scrutiny of every move in the public eye. The latter is more referred to than examined, as King’s backstory is up to the viewer to interpret via Washington and Wright’s solid, convincing performances. Lee doesn’t offer remarkably fresh insights on the topics he raises, nor does he present his comedic sensibilities with the flair or subtlety seen in his earlier work–the inclusion of mockish memes (many anti-Boston sports team tabloids) placed during the film takes some of the seriousness away from the project.
The Do the Right Thing director is also less experimental than Kurosawa with his imagery, with many sequences during the first half of Highest 2 Lowest, the weakest part of the film overall, feeling flat. They contain Spike Lee’s touch and energy without the verve that made his early work so fascinating, like his double dolly shots and 360 degree-rotating shots. Things tend to pick up right when we switch from King’s apartment room in the skies to the streets of New York–hitting the local spots and riding the subway for some of the film’s most kinetic (and best) moments. He basks in the vibrancy and constant alert of the city to drive the film into its thrills.
Highest 2 Lowest is uneven and occasionally frustrating, giving you the best of both worlds–the highest in the latter half set-pieces and the lowest in the bland, annoying score and cheap comedy and camp. But when it finds its rhythm, the film becomes a gripping showcase of what Spike Lee does best: telling New York stories with a pulse and point of view. It is one of the many projects that veteran filmmakers have produced lately where legacy, both cinematic and cultural, is at the forefront. However, in this case, this isn’t about him entirely; it is more about New York, the music that shaped the city, and the collaboration with his good friend Denzel Washington, who was honored with an honorary Palme d’Or before the world premiere. Highest 2 Lowest may stumble, but its love for the city—and the enduring power of collaboration—rings true.
Director: Mascha Shilinski Writers:Louise Peter, Mascha Shilinski Stars: Hanna Heckt, Lena Urzendowsky, Susanne Wuest
Synopsis: A remote German farm harbors generations of secrets. Four women, separated by decades but united by trauma, uncover the truth behind its weathered walls
Every story is a ghost story in one way or another, with stories being hauntings of the past and characters being the ghosts of real people. They let us feel the presence of what isn’t there, no matter if it was thirty years or two months ago. Things cannot be changed, so we tend to tell tales to uncover the uncovered, live what hasn’t been lived, or remember what has been lost. In the case of Mascha Schilinski’s sophomore feature, Sound of Falling (screened in competition at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival, where it tied for the Jury Prize), we venture through four generations of young women and their traumas living on the same German farm. In this highly experimental and melancholic exploration of guilt, shame, yearning, and repression, Schilinski offers us a poetic ghost story that unfolds through time and memory, evoking all its ominous sensations.
Guided by mood and emotion, the film is carefully pieced together. Schilinski invites the audience to fully immerse themselves in the sensory experience to marinate in its motifs. Through inspired filmmaking, Schilinski leaves her mark on the Cannes competition with adept tact, a distinctive visual language, and a resounding voice. In Sound of Falling, there are numerous characters, each represented in a separate chapter, following one of the central women in their respective eras. At the same time, they struggle on the family farm. They are all young, with Schilinski commenting that the patriarchal abuse begins right from the start, deconstructing the person without the chance of building their own identity. The film begins in the early 20th century, with Alma (Hanna Heckt) at its center.
Alma has seen many troubling things in her young life, all of which she describes with great detail during her narration, starting with her uncle losing a leg through amputation and her aunt’s intrigue with him and his injury. Her descriptions are delivered as if Heckt was reciting poetry, with each memory told in prose, but dark and brooding. Many existentialist and contemplative comments are shared by Alma, as well as the other narrators that you hear. These voices, and the images that accompany them, gave me goosebumps, making me quite anxious and dreading an escape. But there isn’t one; you must let it take over you until Schilinski decides to open the door. Alma worries about her mortality, questioning what happens when we die, and she’s answered: “Nothing.”
A sense of despondency consumed me from this response; cinematographer Fabian Gamper lingers in the shadows surrounding the farm. What Schilinski wants to do with these existentialist parables is not create a crisis in the same vein as Lars von Trier’s Melancholia; she wants to say that even with death, there is no finality. The pain and suffering continue to linger for generations, sometimes being transferred from one vessel to another–the burden of life is imprinted on the ones who haven’t even begun to live yet. There is a lucidity to these retellings; even at a young age, Alma understands the rigor of what she has seen or heard. That despondency and suffering plagues the farmhouse, and it goes through Alma and is passed down to her daughter, Angelika (Lena Urzendowsky), who experiences some horrid things.
Each generation inherits the pain of the last, their suffering accumulating like dust in the farmhouse walls. Their lives are intertwined through cruelty, with things never seeming to change as time passes. The setting changes due to modernization, but the delicate lining of the farmhouse remains static, its walls built on the sadness and fear these women face daily. This feeding shapes the ghost story–consuming the women’s once-lucky spirits and turning them into specters that haunt the farm day by day, year by year. Time is fractured, so is the structure of Sound of Falling, as it jumps between different periods to present a variety of perspectives and hear the accounts of a broken soul navigating the seas of melancholy, which makes the experience very disorienting. You feel astray, disconnected from your world, and voyaging through the sadness. You never know where you are or what time it is.
It is not the guided travels in the form of Gaspar Noé’s Enter the Void, where we follow the spirit of a recently deceased man as he searches for the afterlife, inspired by the scriptures in The Tibetan Book of the Dead. But we enter the women’s encapsulation of the void, which is equally (and even more so) hauntingly entrancing. At first, you don’t know what Schilinski wants to do with Sound of Falling. The first array of images evokes an eerie feeling from a scene of liveliness: the image of a young girl with a shadowy presence, as everything goes quiet, is preceded by that of her sisters laughing as their maid chases them after they prank her. The audience is presented with two tones in a matter of seconds, and one is curious about the cause of this shift.
Later on, you get a grasp on the reason “why” of this change during the introduction. Innocence is taken away for tragic clarity. Laughter drowns in the woes of others–a thing of nightmares becomes reality through subtle reverberations of surrealism. A sound, a voice in the background, or a photograph invokes dread in simple, imaginative ways. Schilinski never opts to over-style her film because it might rid her film of its grounded yet ghostly atmosphere. Her focus is more on building an ominous atmosphere and creating a sense of being in a constant loop, without sensationalizing the characters’ suffering to the point of exploitation. Schilinski trusts the viewer to sit with discomfort and recognize the echoes of trauma not just in dialogue or expression but in the air, silence, and repetition. The film does not offer answers or catharsis. We are left unsettled and wandering through this emotional fog during and after the movie, where Schilinski turns pain into poetry and memory into myth.
Director: Guy Ritchie Writer:James Vanderbilt Stars: John Krasinski, Natalie Portman, Eiza González
Synopsis: Two estranged siblings join forces to seek the legendary Fountain of Youth. Using historical clues, they embark on an epic quest filled with adventure. If successful, the mythical fountain could grant them immortality.
Usually, I enjoy nothing more than an old-fashioned, swashbuckling family adventure film—one where people search for fabled lost treasure and the goal is simply to immerse yourself in B-movie bliss. That’s exactly what I was hoping for with Apple TV+’s Fountain of Youth, anyway. This is where I risk sounding a bit pretentious with a mini film history lesson—specifically, about how Steven Spielberg and Harrison Ford got it right over forty years ago with Raiders of the Lost Ark.
The team behind the Indiana Jones franchise understood the assignment: a proper, pulpy homage to the serial films of the 1930s and 1940s. Those stories reveled in characters throwing themselves into what felt like tangible adventure, rather than being drowned in CGI effects that yank you out of the experience. Ironically, the two most recent films featuring the iconic fedora-wearing archaeologist have nearly become parodies of themselves, hampered by an overreliance on modern filmmaking technology that stunts the character’s charm and growth.
Like the later entries in a once-great franchise, Fountain of Youth is the unintended consequence of incalculable success. The filmmakers aren’t crafting a film—they’re producing streaming content, banking on a tried-and-true concept and a cast of likable (and recognizable) actors to distract from the fact that everything about the movie is so vain, shallow, and meaningless, you’re left with no reason to care about the outcome.
The story follows Luke Purdeu (A Quiet Place’s John Krasinski), a disgraced former archaeologist known for his, let’s say, unorthodox methods of searching for lost treasures. We first meet Luke in Thailand, where the tall, gawky-looking American is riding a moped while carrying a painting he has clearly obtained illegally. His suspicions are confirmed when he is ambushed by henchmen from a crime syndicate.
Though he manages to escape, he is soon confronted on a train by a mysterious and striking woman named Esme (Eiza González). It’s unclear who Esme works for or what organization she represents, but she’s after the stolen painting, and her reasons go beyond its monetary value. Meanwhile, we meet Charlotte (Academy Award winner Natalie Portman, taking a paycheck here), who lives abroad in London and is going through a contentious divorce from her husband.
Together, they co-parent their eleven-year-old son, a musical prodigy named Thomas (Benjamin Chivers). Charlotte is currently working a dull 9-to-5 museum curating job—a far cry from the adventurous life Thomas’s father once led as an Indiana Jones–like figure traveling the world searching for evidence of the Sun God. Later, Luke shows up uninvited at Charlotte’s workplace, using his sister to help steal a painting containing clues pointing to the adventure of a lifetime.
Fountain of Youth was directed by Guy Ritchie (Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels), a man known for highly distinctive action films with a flair for, depending on your mood, ear-pleasing dialogue and unusual characters. In the past decade, he has focused on bloated, big-budget films that are too obsessed with style over substance. The same concept applies here, but now relies on cookie-cutter cutout characters that borrow from better adventure fare and classic themes of mythical locations.
That is also the fault of the script from James Vanderbilt, who wowed us with the script for Zodiac, but then made us question our love for movies in the first place with Independence Day: Resurgence. Vanderbilt goes back to the old trope of a rich man, Owen (Ex Machina’s Domhnall Gleeson), who is funding Luke’s team, which consists of the tech muscle Patrick (The Boys’ Laz Alonso) and security brains (The Penguin’s Carmen Ejogo), on the search for the Fountain of Youth. This spring reportedly will give anyone everlasting life if they drink it.
There is a heaping amount of exposition in the film, in all three acts, including an atrociously bad one that was nothing more than to add a recognized name and face, Stanly Tucci, setting up a franchise for the streamer. When Ritchie is obsessed with style, plot points go out the window and care for the story, like law enforcement being killed in the background during what was supposed to be a fun sequence, that does away with the concept of family fare.
Then there’s the additional old trope of breaking a child out of their shell. Now, I know it’s a film, but it always baffles me when an adult brings a child on a life-or-death adventure—bullets flying past their heads, people literally dying around them—and somehow thinks, “Yes, this will help the child grow into a well-adjusted, fully functioning adult.” And then there’s the matter of the real villain, which is so painfully obvious as Vanderbilt’s script keeps hammering the point home from the second act onward, leaving no room for surprise or suspense.
Don’t get me wrong—Fountain of Youth is pleasant enough as a mindless distraction to pass the time. The characters are likable, with Krasinski delivering a buffed-up, charming version of his Jim Halpert persona. I couldn’t tell if Portman’s character was meant to be the stereotypically annoyed female caricature, or if it was just an unconscious passive-aggressiveness, churning out the same “voice of reason” dialogue every five minutes. Frankly, the film would have been much more enjoyable if it had focused on the friction between González’s Esme and Luke. Still, that dynamic is undercut by the film’s insistence on maintaining a family-friendly storyline.
Ultimately, this is just another Indiana Jones wannabe that merely passes the time. Honestly, watching it made me wonder why anyone wouldn’t just turn it off and put on a real Indy adventure—watching him globe-trot with his famous friends like the big-hearted Sallah, the lovably befuddled Marcus, the fiery Marion, or the ever-adorable Short Round. And you should—right now—even if you’ve seen it before. Because this? This is just a Ritchie-Krasinski-Portman knockoff of Spielberg-Ford-Allen, anyway.
You can stream Fountain of Youth only on Apple TV+ May 23rd!
On this episode, JD and Brendan are joined by a very special guest (JD’s son Sam!) as we review Disney’s latest live-action remake Lilo & Stitch! We are biased, but this is one of our favorite episodes to date. Sam was so excited and we had a great time getting his perspective on Lilo, Stitch and all the fun they have in the movie. It might not be a masterwork, but it’s also not nearly as egregious as others make it out to be.
Review: Lilo & Stitch (4:00) Director: Dean Fleischer Camp Writer: Chris Kekaniokalani Bright, Mike Van Waes Stars: Maia Kealoha, Sydney Elizebeth Agudong, Chris Sanders
Synopsis: After losing his beloved mother, a man risks everything to honor her by opening an Italian restaurant with actual grandmothers as the chefs.
It’s their attention to detail. Very rarely does a film that uses food as a canvas for storytelling suffer from losing the audience’s attention. Think about it—the unveiling of the great timpano in Big Night, the way Jon Favreau’s Carl Casper carefully crafts a beautiful meal before confronting Oliver Platt’s food critic in Chef, or even in animation, how Anton Ego takes his first bite of Remy’s titular dish in Ratatouille. Even the smallest scenes, like the meticulous way Paul Sorvino thinly slices garlic with a razor blade in Goodfellas, show how food can ground a story in texture, memory, and meaning.
I felt the same warmth in Netflix’s new film Nonnas when they invited Joey to the counter to watch his Nonna make the gravy. You can almost smell the basil and taste the sweetness of the tomatoes, and watching piles of food being devoured by happy family members is a delight to behold. (I especially relate to the guy who took four slices of lasagna with a single spatula.) Nonnas bring the feeling of nostalgia, and how good it is to tell a story, and have the power to bring back overwhelming memories, good or bad, all that matters is that you relive them without regrets.
The story of Nonnas follows Joe (Vince Vaughn), who is grieving the recent loss of his mother. To make matters worse, he misses his grandmother, his beloved “Nonna,” as well. In an effort to reconnect with his roots, Joe turns to generations-old recipes for solace, comfort, and, frankly, the kind of direction only the elder women in a strong family can provide. He’s not alone—he has a support system, including his best friend Bruno (Magic Mike’s Joe Manganiello) and his wife Stella (Drea de Matteo), who bring him food and invite him over for dinner.
Joe also visits his mom’s best friend, Roberta (The Sopranos’ Lorraine Bracco), at her care facility. She gives him a letter, telling him to read it “when the time is right.” As the nights grow longer and his sense of purpose drifts, Joe finds closure by using his mother’s insurance money to open a restaurant. With the help of her lifelong friends, he launches Enoteca Maria—a kitchen staffed by four “nonnas,” each representing a different region of Italy and bringing their own culinary traditions and nostalgia to every plate.
Nonnas was directed by Stephen Chbosky, best known for helming one of the greatest coming-of-age films of the 21st century, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, as well as the unfairly maligned Dear Evan Hansen. Working from a script by his wife, Liz Maccie (Siren), the film is based on the true story of American chef Joe Scaravella—a restaurateur best known for establishing the real-life restaurant featured in the film in 2007, where rotating “nonnas” regularly prepare traditional home-cooked meals.
Before you start questioning if this is a way for Mr. Scaravella to get around child labor laws by “hiring” older adults to chain them to a kitchen island to keep them working for free, Nonnas is delightful, filled with heartfelt messaging, and makes for a good family film about honoring those we’ve lost and celebrating the wisdom of our elders. The film is poignant, while yes, being a little bit manipulative, but never crossing that line fully. In fact, it’s warm, bubbly, and affirming in a way that most streaming films lose the concept of quickly in order to fit an algorithm narrative.
Nonnas is rich in meaning, wanting to honor the way one was raised and shaped, which happens through not just one, but multiple generations. It’s the equivalent of a warm family dinner that has trouble closing the distance when it comes to themes of grief, loss, and mindfulness. The script is a highly fictionalized take on the true story, but that is most films, clearly slanted for crowd-pleasing viewing with comedic takes, like when Bracco refers to Craigslist as “The List of Craig.” Of course, it could be all true, how would I know? I hope two old nonnas started a food fight, using tomatoes and garlic as grenades in the name of team building.
The cast is the ticket here, including Bracco, Susan Sarandon (Thelma & Louise), Talia Shire (The Godfather), Brenda Vaccaro (Once Upon a Time in Hollywood), and Linda Cardellini (Green Book). They hit the right notes, along with classic feel-good tropes, that make this a nostalgia machine for any age, group, or family. Everything about those dinner scenes, the banter, laughs, arguments, and camaraderie on screen, is mouth-watering entertainment, even though the film is not as authentically meaningful in themes as the dishes they present.
:max_bytes(150000):strip_icc():focal(749x0:751x2)/Nonnas3_06212023-0c9f943a6a4b41688a25187cebda2c12.jpg)
