Director: Noah Baumbach
Writer: Noah Baumbach, Emily Mortimer
Stars: George Clooney, Adam Sandler, Laura Dern

Synopsis: Famous movie actor Jay Kelly embarks on a journey of self-discovery, confronting his past and present with his devoted manager Ron. Poignant and humor-filled, pitched at the intersection of regrets and glories.

There have been many cinematic portraits of artists who have sacrificed a great deal to achieve the successful life they’ve attained through their work. These lives come with a significant amount of burdens that can drown the soul of the artist as they age. Yes, riches and fame are all there, but at what cost? A legacy for a heart. In Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard, we witness the tragic fate of silent film star Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson), whose career has faded due to the introduction of sound into motion pictures. She tries to exploit a young writer for a role that can revive her career–have the opportunity to shine in the medium’s evolution–but the Hollywood ruthless machine, obsessed with young faces, which serves as commodities until they are worthless, drives her to self-destruction and severe obsession.

Another example is All That Jazz, the semi-autobiographical musical by Bob Fosse, which utilizes the director’s own experiences to tell a story about the addictive nature of show business, mortality, and the struggle to cling to what’s slipping away – love, family, health, fame, and career. Through surrealist musical numbers and personal elements, Fosse uncovers his fears, motivations, and worries, culminating with a damning tune that’s memorable (and catchy) as it is haunting. What these films, and other noteworthy examples like Stardust Memories and Pain and Glory, have in common is the sincerity and honesty that lies beneath the fiction, taken from real emotions and experiences. You can’t have a story that chronicles a person’s late-stage grievances without that candor which arises from the sacrifices done for, or by, art in any sense. That key facet is missing from the latest legacy portrait, Noah Baumbach’s Jay Kelly (screening at the 2025 New York Film Festival in the Main Slate). 

In the aforementioned film, Noah Baumbach attempts a similar approach. He uses George Clooney’s public image as an A-list movie star and storied career as a gateway for a reflection on the costs of stardom and the shadows cast by a life lived in front of the camera. At the same time, it wants to honor Clooney and all of his on-screen achievements, most evident in a tribute scene that features clips from Clooney’s films and cuts to the audience wiping away tears. This dishonest and manipulative move greatly irritates in its attempt to elicit an emotional response. However, unlike Fosse’s raw confrontation of his own demons or Wilder’s dissection of the delusions of grandeur and sharp critique of the Hollywood system, Baumbach’s film struggles to locate that same emotional truth beneath the surface of fiction. The established legacy of a class act and concept is there, but the heartbeat that makes such portraits resonate remains elusive, leaving an experience that often feels egotistical. 

George Clooney is Jay Kelly, a renowned movie star who has graced the screen with numerous classics that audiences worldwide love and adore. He is, in the film’s universe, in the heights of James Stewart, Steve McQueen, and Marlon Brando–the stature of the greats, an actor who defines a generation. Kelly is about to film his next motion picture when he gets the notice that the director who gave him his first break has passed. Melancholy and nostalgia begin to consume the man as he looks back to a life long gone, or what could have been. At the funeral, Kelly comes across the thought that he must give more of his time to the people he loves before it’s too late. So, he packs his bags and rounds up his rag-tag team of associates–manager Ron (Adam Sandler), publicist Liz (Laura Dern), hairstylists, make-up artists, and other crew members–to find his estranged daughter, Daisy (Grace Edwards), who has been backpacking through Europe. He uses his career award ceremony at a film festival in Tuscany as an excuse for the encounter. 

There are more than a handful of moments in Jay Kelly where we see the titular character trying to confront his reality, feeling burdened by the grievances of missed time and opportunities. Of course, he has everything he’s ever wished for; the thousand-dollar suits and watches provide a glimpse into the many riches he’s attained that none of us could ever afford. Yet, what has been taken from him comes from within. His soul is tainted and his heart broken. This multi-million-dollar life is just a facade, every gift matched by an equal loss. As Kelly tries to reach out for his daughter’s connection, Baumbach and co-writer Emily Mortimer avoid any real self-realization and reflection. When you think the film will finally give us a way into the broken man, it shies away from the darker and more confrontational, personal territories in exchange for overly dramatic and comedic dialogue, and no actual repercussions. 

During the film’s runtime, I had one question in mind: Why should I care about Jay Kelly, the famed actor? I spent the entire duration of the film trying to come up with an answer, yet never could. After a few days, I finally have an answer: I shouldn’t–because it is a disingenuous and romanticized portrait of false grievances from the privileged one percent. The film insists on sympathy for a man cushioned by wealth and adoration. Baumbach and Mortimer never present Kelly with any deeply existential or reflective scenario that prompts him to reflect on his life decisions; it is all contemplative window shopping. Kelly isn’t painted as troubled or a bad guy. He is just confronted with a few tame foibles, which have already been explored in other (and better) pictures. The reunion with his estranged daughter. The hope that his father will finally see the worth of his acting career, which he was against him pursuing. A discussion with the man in which Kelly stole his breakout role keeps perturbing him. 

These are troubling issues that, if properly dissected, could yield some interesting insights into the actor-father double role and Clooney’s own thoughts on the Hollywood non-stop treadmill. However, in Jay Kelly, they are seen through a glossy, advantaged lens that distances me from the story being told. On a few occasions, Baumbach makes a point of this detachment, as most of Kelly’s crew are somewhat annoyed by him and his uberrich demeanor. He creates debacles within the close circle through the characters of Adam Sandler and Laura Dern, the only two grounded characters in the bunch. The former is saddened that Kelly views him as a commodity, rather than a friend, even though they’ve spent decades together working to elevate the actor’s career to the top. This angle is the key to clawing into the griminess and arrogance of a person who has it all, except proper connection. Nevertheless, like the rest of the interesting ideas in the film, they are dismissed to honor Clooney’s career or ease up the tension by having moments of levity. 

A few years ago, Alejandro González Iñárritu released Bardo, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths, to a very hostile reception, to the point where the Mexican filmmaker had to re-edit the picture before its theatrical release. Personally, I’m not fond of Iñárritu. In fact, I despise most of his pictures, except his excellent feature debut, Amores Perros. But I adored Bardo, which caught me by surprise. The film is a self-portrait of the artist and documentary director Silverio Gama (Daniel Giménez Cacho), exploring his struggles with the balance between life and art. It explores his Mexican identity, with which he struggles the most to find his place in the world after many years away from his native country and living in America, where he has never dealt with the issues that have arisen during his absence, all of which are the subject of his work. 

I felt that, for the first time, in a lengthy career filled with pretentious and disingenuous works, Iñárritu was being truthful. Iñárritu was speaking his mind, body, and soul out rather than preaching to the choir. It still had some pretentiousness as garnish, and it was narcissistic in some parts. Yet it was bracingly honest, even brutal. The issues tackled in Bardo are rooted in real-life grievances and things that truly hinder Iñárritu’s daily living. Many Spanish-speaking viewers connected with that film deeply. The opposite has happened to Baumbach. After many years of delivering sincere and emotional works, not all of which have been successful yet forthright, such as Marriage Story and Frances Ha, he responds to a career overview and dissection with a faux response. 

Baumbach wants to celebrate Clooney while exploring the wounds of Jay Kelly. In attempting to do both simultaneously and sporadically, when it is convenient, Baumbach creates a contradiction–half-tribute, half-confession–that collapses into shallow self-adoration. The goal with Jay Kelly was to be empathetic with character and understand how isolated, even through wealth, the life of a movie star can be. Jay Kelly fails miserably because Baumbach wants to graft the struggles of genuinely tormented artists onto someone like Kelly, who’s insulated by privilege. This undermines the authenticity of the portrait in every way possible, and no empathy is shown towards the subject at the center.

Grade: D-

Director: Luca Guadagnino
Writer: Nora Garrett
Stars: Julia Roberts, Ayo Edibiri, Andrew Garfield, Michael Stuhlbarg, Chloë Sevigny

Synopsis: A college professor finds herself at a personal and professional crossroad when a star student levels an accusation against one of her colleagues, threatening to expose a dark secret from her own past.

Post-screening press conferences tend to be a mixed bag – a mishigas, if you will, to steal a term that Andrew Garfield used to describe the many conversational aspects about the films of Luca Guadagnino, particularly the one he co-stars in and is speaking about on this particular afternoon on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Gathered in Film at Lincoln Center’s Walter Reade Theater, the home for Friday’s press and industry screening of the 63rd New York Film Festival’s Opening Night selection, After the Hunt, are Guadagnino, his screenwriter, Nora Garrett, and the principal players in his new film’s cast. Garfield is just one of the few; to Guadagnino’s left is Julia Roberts, and to Garfield’s sits Ayo Edibiri, and to hers, Michael Stuhlbarg. Somehow or some way, this press conference keeps coming back to the idea of provocation. Theoretically, it’s a fitting topic when it comes to After the Hunt, a glossy drama that centers on the fallout over a campus scandal involving a high-profile PhD candidate (Edibiri’s Maggie Resnick) and one of the philosophy department’s most beloved professors, Garfield’s Hank Gibson. “it happened at Yale,” lowercase “it” and all, reads the film’s opening text, though the “happened” isn’t solely referring to the sexual assault that Maggie has accused Hank of committing. As the audience came to learn as the film unfolded, what “happened” also points at the effects these allegations have had on Maggie’s relationship with her mentor, Alma Imhoff (Roberts), a revered member of the philosophy faculty who is up for tenure; the impact the incident has had on Alma’s marriage to Frederik (Stuhlbarg) and her friendship with Dr. Kim Sayers (Chloë Sevigny), the university’s psychiatrist; and Alma’s status at the school overall. 

Everything here, it stands to reason, is cause for provocation, and the cast and crew are willing to talk. “He’s a provocateur in a lot of ways, and I think he’s very conscious of what he’s doing a lot of the time, and deeply unconscious of what he’s doing a lot of the time as well,” Garfield shared. “[Guadagnino] wants all of your nuance, all of your humanity, no matter how dignified or undignified it is.” A bit later in the discussion, after this idea has been raised again, the filmmaker felt the need, albeit jokingly, to defend himself: “I think I’m a kind guy,” he mumbled, receiving a healthy supply of laughs that only a beloved filmmaker could receive, and are a part of the typical standard operating procedure at festival Q&As. “I don’t like to scandalize for the sake of it,” he noted. “I think that’s a little bit childish and I hope I’m not… Before I’m anything else, I am a spectator. Film, for me, is obviously an experience that transformed me, that changed me. That made me want to become something else, that maybe changed my mind on things that could have also provoked me in a way that made me uncomfortable, and then I’d ask myself, ‘Why was I uncomfortable?’”

After the Hunt’s inherent discomfort isn’t much of a “needle in a haystack” situation; this heap is all needles, and there’s no way to avoid being pricked, no matter how careful you are as you reach for the quill of your choosing. It’s a film about sexual assault that is wearing #MeToo-colored glasses, those with a prescription to fit viewers of all qualities of vision – no matter how hard the picture’s preeminent voices try to tell us it’s not. (It would be cheap to shove the film under a “Cancel Culture Cinema” umbrella, but to insist that that isn’t one of its few hats would be a wardrobe violation.) It’s a film about campus politics, the sociopolitical gamut of race and gender and sexuality and privilege, the kind of movie in which the starring faculty hold lavish parties at their ridiculous and garish private residence, a movie in which “TART!” is yelled at to the entire soiree in an attempt to distract from the debate at hand, as if the presence of a strudel the size of a Scrabble board is a regularity at these post-work convocations. Maggie is a queer Black girl who comes from money; her partner (Lío Mehiel) is a nonbinary transgender person studying to become a lawyer, and offers “professional” counsel whenever possible. Hank is a celebrated educator who came from nothing; Alma and Frederik are intellectuals who have everything. This isn’t a melting pot as much as it is a meticulous and obvious gumbo of personified tropes who have been created explicitly with the aim of making a point. 

But is the point in the room with us now? And, better yet, is it worth searching for a point when the characters lobbing it back and forth like a hot potato are, for the most part, unlikable ingredients in a modern serving of duck soup? The answer to the latter question is simple: Yes, and when Stuhlbarg was asked about these rather detestable additives, he put it plainly: “They are all so focused, and so busy, so preoccupied, and so brilliant individually that I don’t think they have time for likability and, frankly, I don’t think they think about it either,” he said. “And I think how they’re judged says as much about the people judging as it does about the individuals being judged.” The crux here, though, is a thinner, mishandled, uninvasive probe that postures as though it is provoking but barely manages to poke. If the needle does, in fact, make contact with the skin, it sure as hell doesn’t produce any blood.

Perhaps that’s the cause of a script that is attractive on its surface but not promotable, and though the two tend to be mutually exclusive, Guadagnino seems intensely interested in doing both at once. The director brings his singular panache here, much of which is a credit to his trust in his collaborators, specifically those below the line, including He Got Game cinematographer Malik Hassan Sayeed and his now-regular composers, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. Sayeed’s photography, when paired with a fine-toothed edit from Marco Costa, who has now cut five Guadagnino projects, including Challengers, Queer, and Bones and All), doesn’t so much resemble Sayombhu Mukdeeprom’s work on Challengers and Queer in 2024 – what could? – as it finds the director adhering to an individual visual sensibility, one that has been remarkably refined from 2017’s Call Me By Your Name on. Thus it seems to be the pages he’s been handed by first-time screenwriter Nora Garrett that lack in real verve, instead opting to revel in the idea of mimicking it. This material is punching the air, believing it’s knocked out a heavyweight, and strutting about the ring in triumph, knowing not that its opponent has yet to exit the tunnel. 

Everything about After the Hunt feels like cosplay, to the point where it’s even difficult to believe that Roberts, Edibiri, and co. would ever dress the way they do throughout the proceedings. One recurring nugget that works is Maggie’s evident reverence for Alma, to the point where she dons similar blazers, pants, and even lengthy necklaces with a single ornament on the end to those her object of professional (?) adoration sports like a second layer of skin. The rest of the theatrics feel as dull as the lamp-lit yet still greyed-out surroundings of the film’s Ivy League setting, a location that feels utilized for the sake of emphasizing its populace’s privilege, or at least the sense of the quality that they posit like a badge of honor. In reality, it’s barely armor. Roberts (predictably terrific) and her castmates have been saddled with nothing but a baseline prompt that watching them squirm to create something real and radical is akin to watching a baby deer take its first steps. Only this calf has no footing to find. It’s been doled out under the assumption that it should be easy to locate and master, but the necessary guidance is nowhere to be found. 

Is that Garrett’s doing? A blasé direction of performances by Guadagnino, who routinely pulls revelatory turns out of his stars, no matter their preexisting reputations? Perhaps it’s both, as aside from Roberts, only Stuhlbarg and Sevigny have anything particularly captivating to conjure, and they’re sixth men here. Stuhlbarg’s clever schtick as an unofficially-cuckolded husband (thanks to Roberts and Garfield’s chemistry, and the unsubtle hinting at an unspoken amorous connection between their characters) between  persists throughout the film and provides a necessary humor that is otherwise dry – not in style, but to the touch and taste – but this critic’s opinion will not be a universal one. His spell, like that of the film’s dramatics, cannot possibly have the same impact on every single audience member. In fact, there’s bound to be an interpretation of his performance as an obvious curveball in a movie that aspires to a fastball-like fervor, but carries the ferocity of a meatball. Just watch Hank deny the claims levied against him only to swiftly rip off his knit sweater (you’ll never guess what color… it’s grey) in agitation and attempt to wrangle with another viewer over its subtext. You’ll end up muddy, exhausted, and wondering why you ever bothered.

Therein lies the true tragedy of After the Hunt, such a rare misfire from the otherwise-steady Guadagnino that its lone cause for optimism is, in fact, its failure: That it warrants little to no discussion regarding its substance, its goals, even its slightly recommendable qualities, of which there are precious few. “Every time I’ve left the cinema [after one of Guadagnino’s films], I need somebody to talk to,” Edibiri told a packed theater on Friday, likely full of patrons aplenty whose opinions coincide with hers. “I can’t see one of your movies alone. If I do, I feel crazy. I need somebody to talk to about this thing that I’ve seen, or this image that I’ve somehow never seen but feels so familiar. Or if I am upset or frustrated, I need somebody to talk to about it.” After the Hunt inspires no such feelings, to the point where it’s not two-plus hours wasted, but time spent thinking about what went wrong. For all of its on-paper promise and its talk of a pursuit, there’s a giant, red X marking not just one spot, but hundreds of them, each hiding not red herrings, but no buried treasure either. It makes you wonder what the hunt was ever for. To a blunter point: Is the “hunt” in the room with us now?

After the Hunt opened the 63rd edition of the New York Film Festival. Amazon MGM Studios will release it in theaters on October 10.

Grade: C-

Director: Park Chan-wook
Writer: Park Chan-wook, Lee Kyoung-mi, Jahye Lee
Stars: Lee Byung-hun, Son Ye-jin, Park Hee-soon

Synopsis: After being unemployed for several years, a man devises a unique plan to secure a new job: eliminate his competition.

From Oldboy to Decision to Leave, Park Chan-wook is no stranger to telling stories that are, at once, incredibly engrossing and stylistically directed, as well as impactful in twisted, demented, or emotionally powerful ways. His works, even expanding to television in 2024 with HBO’s The Sympathizer, have often left a lasting impression on audiences, addressing real world, socio-political themes and commenting on aspects that continue to affect those around him, and bringing those into his projects. His latest effort, No Other Choice, is no exception.

Man-soo (Lee Byung-hun), as shown by the movie’s opening minutes, has a literal picture perfect life: a well paying job in the paper industry, a beautiful house, his lovely wife Mi-ri (Son Ye-jin), two wonderful children, and their two dogs. Everyone is living blissfully and with a smile on their faces. Things change quickly, however, when he loses his job and the family’s main source of income dries up, effective immediately, leaving Man-soo wondering what happens next and his family having to potentially sacrifice everything to make ends meet going forward. When a position that would be perfect for Man-soo opens up, he devises a plan to knock out the people who are just as qualified from the competition and make sure he gets the job, which may mean he will have no other choice but to do something harsh if worst comes to worst.

No Other Choice has serious themes on its mind, as most Park Chan-wook features usually do, but it isn’t afraid to be funny and comically over-the-top when it wants to. As Man-soo begins to look into his potential competition and learn more about their lives, like with the borderline dysfunctional couple Gu Bummo (Lee Sung-min) and his wife Ah-ra (Yeom Hye-ran), the sequences that unfold are brilliantly directed and sharply written, practically to perfection, and extremely funny, particularly in a standout moment involving a blaring soundtrack playing while an argument takes place. But what makes No Other Choice ultimately stay with the audience is how its title becomes more and more ominous, starting at first as a darkly funny line when the loss of a job is concerned, and then turning into a line built on an inevitability, that something must happen because Man-soo has no other choice. This stellar balancing of tone and characterization is what lands the movie in the end.

Lee Byung-hun is extraordinary in the movie, channeling the fragility and desperation of Man-soo in every frame, and his want to grasp onto everything that made him so happy once more. He worries about not having enough work, he worries his wife might see him as lesser, he worries his kids will lose respect for him, but most importantly, he worries he’ll lose himself. When the going gets tough, it’s easy to understand why Man-soo is doing everything that he does and the extreme actions he may wish to take, while also lamenting the places he’s being pushed into because of a world that’s pushing against him. Lee’s performance, as well as Park’s storytelling, come together wonderfully, and the movie’s sledgehammer-like commentary (almost to a fault, particularly towards the final act) on jobs being replaced by machines and the advent of capitalism lands home.

Much like many of Park’s previous efforts, No Other Choice is a visually spectacular and uniquely framed feature, with Kim Woo-hyung’s cinematography yielding some of the most striking shots of the year. For a movie that is as bleak as it eventually gets, it remains incredibly vibrant and colorful until the final frame, and is backed by an energetic, even sometimes whimsical score from Jo Yeong-wook that elevates the darkly comic setting, along with Kim Sang-bum’s sharp editing that at 2 hours and 19 minutes, keeps the movie on its toes throughout, hardly missing a step. The production design, ranging from showcasing Man-soo’s love for plants and gardening to the framing of his family’s home, is immaculate, packed with little details that will make for interesting observations on repeat viewings.

Not much is being said about the back half of No Other Choice in this review, and for good reason. Much like Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite in 2019, it’s best to go into this movie knowing very little past its initial premise. Rest assured, the sequence of events that unfold once Man-soo really begins to look into his competition make for some of the best filmmaking of 2025, and one of the year’s best movies overall. No Other Choice once again proves that Park Chan-wook is a master storyteller who can subvert any expectations effortlessly, and one can only wonder how his next project will surprise audiences.

Grade: A

Director: Chloé Zhao
Writer: Chloé Zhao, Maggie O’Farrell
Stars: Jessie Buckley, Paul Mescal, Zac Wishart

Synopsis: A powerful story of love and loss that inspired the creation of Shakespeare’s timeless masterpiece, Hamlet.

Since it was published in the 1600s, “Hamlet” has been universally regarded as one of the greatest works of literature ever written. The story of a young prince wanting revenge for injustices done against his family by his uncle, William Shakespeare’s tragic play has been performed, adapted and reimagined hundreds of times over the centuries, and will likely remain a timeless work for generations to come. In Hamnet, director Chloé Zhao adapts Maggie O’Farrell’s 2020 novel of the same name in order to explore the story that led to the inspiration behind “Hamlet,” a story that, for historians, may still be speculation at best.

Agnes (Jessie Buckley) is a woman in Warwickshire who often keeps to herself and hones her gifts in a manner that confounds some around her. It is here that she meets her husband (Paul Mescal), a man who is trying to make enough of a living to do bigger things in his life and for his family, and he is immediately infatuated by Agnes. The two fall in love and have three children: Susanna, Judith, and Hamnet. When tragedy strikes and Hamnet dies at age 11, the family is shattered and emotionally distraught. It is this tragedy that leads Hamnet’s father, William, to retreat within himself and years later, write a play named Hamlet that will be performed in London.

There are several schools of thought involved when it comes to the inspiration behind “Hamlet.” While it cannot be definitively said that the death of Hamnet inspired Shakespeare to write the play, the story told in Hamnet does offer many parallels to suggest that much of the imagery and symbolism present in “Hamlet” may be directly referencing the life the Shakespeares have known. What follows in Zhao’s movie is nothing short of extraordinary. By tapping into the emotional and gut-wrenching aspects of its story and building the romance between Agnes and William in a powerful manner. The result is a masterwork from Zhao that ranks among the finest movies of 2025 and a devastating family tragedy that will likely have many shedding a tear by the end.

Much of Hamnet’s emotional punch comes from its two lead performances. As Agnes, Buckley delivers what may be her best performance to date, channeling the love and grief of a mother and a wife as the movie progresses in soul crushing ways, and conveying those feelings in a raw and unfiltered manner. The pain of Agnes is felt in every frame, and as she looks for ways to process that pain, trials, and tribulations that continue to plague her, Buckley lets those emotions come through very effectively. As Shakespeare, Mescal is very reserved with his emotions, letting them peek through the curtain every now and then, just so the audience can have a glimpse of what he feels underneath. There is love and warmth abundant within him, even if sometimes his colder exterior (unless he is with Agnes, particularly early on) sometimes signals otherwise. When the moments of emotional catharsis do arrive for them, they make them count.

Zhao’s direction and visual flair are complemented by Łukasz Żal’s (Ida, Cold War, The Zone of Interest) gorgeous cinematography, bringing to life the lush and even industrial settings of Warwickshire and London vividly with his use of shadows and colors, given even more life by Max Richter’s wonderful score that adds its own emotional punch to the proceedings. That score is so effective that even when a very familiar piece by Richter is used at one point, it doesn’t take away from the power of the scene. That is a testament to Zhao’s work and the terrific dialogue-less work from Buckley and Mescal in the moment, and makes for one of the year’s best scenes.

By the time Hamnet reaches its climax, the final movie is nothing short of a masterpiece from Zhao. Every single aspect of its production exudes a level of talent and love that makes it hard not to be emotionally swept away. A loud collective sob was heard at the end of the screening attended by this critic, and that wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Hamnet is absolutely one of the year’s best and worth every bit of praise it receives.

Grade: A+