Director: Yeon Sang-ho
Writers: Kyu-Seok Choi, Yeon Sang-ho
Stars: Ryu Jun-yeol, Shin Hyeon-bin, Shin Min-jae

Synopsis: A pastor and a detective, driven by their beliefs, pursue a missing person case, with the pastor seeking retribution after a divine revelation identifies the culprit who abducted his son.

Two years after the disappointing JUNG_E, South Korean director Yeon Sang-ho is back with yet another Netflix original title, Revelations, which tackles the subject of religion or, more aptly, divine interventions. Sang-ho became a household name in modern South Korean cinema when his 2016 Zombie flick, Train to Busan, was a massive crossover success, so much so that Hollywood was almost instantly bullish on greenlighting an English-language remake, with Timo Tjahjanto in the director’s chair.

Whether or not it will see the light of day remains to be seen, as we haven’t heard many updates on the status of that remake. However, the best thing to have come out of this international acclaim was for audiences to continue following Sang-ho’s work beyond his Zombie franchise. From the hyper-stimulating Psychokinesis to his terrific television series Hellbound and Parasyte: The Grey, his voice is one of the most exciting in South Korea and in genre cinema as a whole. While his last movie failed to instill the same form of excitement as many had watching Train to Busan, Revelations may well be his best ever.

It could seem like hyperbole for someone to say this, but this critic has been more let down by Sang-ho’s work than enthralled, especially his recent feature film output (Peninsula? Good lord). In Revelations, he takes a relatively simple premise, the disappearance of a young churchgoer, and turns it into a riveting police procedural with some of the most dynamic and spiritually-charged camerawork I’ve seen since John Woo’s 2024 reinterpretation of The Killer. 

Of course, Sang-ho isn’t painting a positive portrait of the South Korean Megachurch empire, nor does he want us to sympathize with both protagonists who we’re going to spend 122 minutes with, pastor Sung Min-chan (played by Alienoid’s Ryu Jun-yeol) and detective Lee Yeon-hui (Shin Hyun-been). Both of them have inner demons they wrestle with for the bulk of the runtime, with one of the characters eventually letting them take hold of himself as the story takes multiple dark avenues. 

Still, it’s interesting to see that the filmmaker has much more to say about how religion, or more aptly, devotion to a messianic figure, corrupts the human soul than the entirety of Edward Berger’s Conclave, which was lauded for examining the roots of corruption within the Catholic Church. That Oscar-winning film did shed light on its dubious practices with a relatively incurious lens and only used the backdrop of the Vatican as a prop for its “papal gossip” drama. It never bothered to engage with any of its religious imagery: what the mantle of the Cardinal means in the eyes of the Church, how many people do not see the Pope as a figure of responsibility and hope, but power, and how several members of the Church will use their “connection” with God for their own gains.

In the first thirty minutes of Revelations, Sang-ho immediately tells us that its main protagonist has a twisted view of what religion should strive to achieve and fills each ounce of his frames with as many strong images as possible, such as a thunderstorm reflecting on a rock that – strangely – looks exactly like the face of Jesus. That’s enough to make anyone who thinks they have a close connection with the Lord believe that He is speaking directly to them. It may be as unsubtle as a Zack Snyder religious subtext, but when it reflects upon the pastor’s eyes (through a staggering close-up), one has the idea that this movie will not take a happy turn and consistently pull its audience further and further inside Sung’s descent into sin.

Revealing anything about the plot would rob you, dear reader, of the multiple surprises Sang-ho has in store for you as the movie progresses. That is why this review has only mentioned the bare bones of the story to keep everything under wraps. Its opening scene may seem unimportant in how Sang-ho introduces each moving piece and has the characters intersect in the same mile radius when none of them know each other, but it quickly becomes the most important section of the movie when the filmmaker reveals more information on the plot. It’s so intelligently constructed, and meticulously cut together, that we become immediately attracted by its hypnotizing, evocative imagery and how each close-up of a character discovering something crucial to the case communicates with each other.

Sang-ho is in complete control of his visual storytelling, knowing precisely what to show (and what to keep under wraps) to keep the audience guessing at all times and ultimately deceive them. These deceptions – or, more aptly, revelations (see what I did there?) – end up being the film’s funniest sequences, with a sick sense of perverse humor that few filmmakers would even dare attempt to do and execute so well. One scene, in particular, the apotheosis of a confrontation between two opposing characters, ends with a twist that is so darkly funny that one may think Revelations is the year’s most hilarious film. The cathartic release of morbid laughter we get out of watching these sequences play out is exactly where the director wants us to be. As much as we want to be two steps ahead of the script (at some point, we know more than most characters do), we fall right into Sang-ho’s trap and are instantly blown away when we realize they’ve been tricked all along.

Such impeccable precision in its structure wouldn’t have been possible if the acting wasn’t on point, and, luckily, Sang-ho has two impeccable turns from two highly talented figures of South Korean genre cinema leading the fray. Jun-yeol retains a form of catholic innocence that compels us to his character until he becomes sinful and has no desire to repent. This shift continuously makes him riveting, even if it ultimately becomes complicated for the audience to latch onto him when he descends further into impiety. On the flip side, Hyun-been’s turn as the detective is a bit more dramatically layered than the pastor due to a past trauma continuously haunting her, giving some dramatic heft to the proceedings and tangible stakes when the film’s denouement becomes a race against time.

It’s at that point where Revelations becomes a run-of-the-mill, conventional thriller, even if its final shot is an early contender for the most potent symbolism of the year. While I was a bit disappointed in how the movie wrapped up, what comes before is nothing short of exceptional. It’s unfortunate that all of us are forced to experience such an incredible motion picture at home. Sang-ho’s visual precision is worthy of the big screen treatment, and his sense of visual poetry remains unmatched. Here’s hoping his next directorial effort doesn’t get dumped on Netflix and gets the IMAX treatment it so deserves.  

Grade: A

Director: Edward Burns
Writer: Edward Burns
Stars: Gretchen Mol, Julianna Margulies, Minnie Driver

Synopsis: Three middle-aged couples come to grips with universal questions about marriage and fidelity, professional success and failure, and the challenge of finding a second act.

While it’s certainly not impossible for movie studios to make and/or release proper dramas for adults these days, it seems far more difficult for them to ensure that their hired guns are able to execute the mission at hand. If Millers in Marriage is the litmus test, the latter doesn’t merely “seem” to be the case: It’s a fact. The latest effort from multihyphenate Edward Burns – who has written, directed, produced, and acted in all 14 of his features – only works if you’re willing to accept the signature wine-soaked mélange of sex, affluence, and well-furnished homes with open concept floor plans that Burns has made the principal pillar of his artistic career at face value. Dig any deeper and you’ll start to twitch, one soap opera-worthy line of dialogue at a time.

Perhaps there’s a sliver of charm to one man’s insistence on writing entire scripts that sound like matured variations of the classic “You’re giving up on your dream, son!” refrain, but there would certainly be more to appreciate if this slice of life story wasn’t so lifeless. Millers in Marriage, like most of Burns’ features, is a drama focused on relationships, with those at this tale’s center being that between three siblings (the Millers) and their individual partners. All involved are artists of some sort, which naturally make them the foremost authorities on love and the very concept of intellectualism, though… gee, how do I put this… none of them should ever be allowed to talk about either topic, nor many others. Burns plays Andy, a painter who recently separated from his wife, Tina (Morena Baccarin), and entered a relationship with the same ex’s former colleague, Renee (Minnie Driver, the best part of the film). The trouble, wouldn’t you know it, is that Tina still captures part of Andy’s attention, causing a deceit-laden rift in his burgeoning romance with the new woman in his life, the one who knows what she wants. 

Elsewhere, the second Miller, Maggie (Julianna Margulies), is enjoying the life of a successful novelist, one who has just finished her latest manuscript, and it’s all but guaranteed to be next summer’s hottest beach read. Her husband, a fellow writer named Nick (Campbell Scott), can’t get out of his own head, thus spinning his wheels in a writer’s block rut that proves difficult to escape. “Nick not writing is like Nick’s heart not beating,” Maggie notes – with a straight face, mind you – early on in the film, but she also doesn’t seem to mind being the more prolific half of their relationship. She doesn’t mind the praise that comes her way, specifically from Dennis (Brian d’Arcy James), a friend with whom she once slept once, especially when things with Nick are on shaky ground. The latter’s snarky attitude towards Maggie’s writing never goes unnoticed; Nick’s work “takes precision and focus,” he says, while Maggie can just spin mindless tales about horny Manhattan moms with “trainers they wanna fuck.” In other words, they’re the poster children for supportive partnerships.

Finally, we have Eve, passionately portrayed by Gretchen Mol in the heftiest role of the three Millers. Once a promising singer-songwriter, Eve left the indie musician life behind when she got pregnant and married Scott (Patrick Stewart), her then-manager and now-tumor of a hubby whose rampant alcoholism is used more as a deliberate way to push the two apart than a potential reason for them to come together. That would never work, though, as there’s zero doubt that he is a more effective bully than he ever was a husband or manager. The counter offensive to Scott’s poisonous presence is Johnny (a charming Benjamin Bratt), a music journalist who takes every opportunity to remind Eve that he had a crush on her back in the day, yet given that not-so-subtle approach to igniting a flame, it doesn’t appear that this infatuation ever dissipated, at least not fully. 

Occasionally, these folks all come together for a dinner, but it’s more likely that they’ll be seen in twos, either sharing a bottle of vino or enduring over-the-phone chit chats that extend well into the night. All of their relationships, like clockwork, tend to be on the verge of changing, being threatened, or being questioned, sometimes all at once. Yet while decisions are certainly made by the Millers and their significant others through this interwoven triptych, the film itself exists in a stagnant, “on the verge” state. The characters in Millers in Marriage don’t develop so much as they exist on paper, and just the first page, the one in which they are cleanly described and, if we’re lucky, given a hair color so we can conjure up some image in our mind. The single blessing that viewers are afforded in this case is that they are viewers, not readers. Otherwise, they’d be up a creek without a paddle, if they even elected to get in the boat in the first place. 

To be fair, things do happen over the course of Millers in Marriage’s two-hour runtime, but things of consequence? Let’s not kid ourselves. This is a film by the talented, pleased-to-be-aimless Edward Burns, a meandering stroll on Central Park West where we aren’t even afforded the excitement of getting mugged. In his Irish Catholic cinematic worlds, responsibilities are optional, dreams are a must (as long as they aren’t too detailed), and romantic crises are mandatory. But the thing Burns fails to understand about including said plights in his films is that in order to be interesting, it’s imperative to be invasive. One would assume that he can’t continue to probe without ever going so far as to puncture, yet Millers in Marriage exists. (“He can’t keep getting away with this!” etc.) As far as this particular viewer goes, the umpteenth crack at this Wile E. Coyote-esque viewing journey simply has to be the last, for sanity’s sake. Hey, at least it’s not my dream I’m giving up on.

Grade: D

Director: Duke Johnson
Writer: Duke Johnson and Stephen Cooney
Stars: André Holland, Gemma Chan, Toby Jones

Synopsis: Paul Cole finds himself stranded in a mysterious small town with no memory of who he is or how he got here. As bits and pieces of his past slowly emerge, he attempts to find his way home, but time is slippery, appearances can’t be trusted, and it’s unclear which of his identities is real.

First, imagine that Charlie Kaufman (or a trusted Kaufman disciple, in this case) directed a feature-length adaptation of It’s a Wonderful Life’s emotional climax, where George Bailey wishes he was never born and an angel turns that impulsive, despondent desire into a reality. Yet, as with any adaptation, imagine the filmmaker utilized their dramatic license to turn their George Bailey into the only man in town who can’t remember a thing about his own existence. You can open your eyes now to the tune of Duke Johnson’s The Actor, a fantastic and beguiling number from Kaufman’s directing partner on 2015’s Anomalisa that brings the crisis of forgetting one’s lines to the forefront. Only in the case of this actor – Paul Cole (the ever-reliable André Holland), one of New York’s many rising stage presences to believe that they are Broadway’s Chosen One™ – he’s not merely misplaced his script. It’s his memories, his name, and his sense of self that require recollection, should he dare.

Adapted (perhaps ironically) from Donald E. Westlake’s posthumously-published 2010 novel “Memory” by Johnson and Stephen Cooney, the former’s solo feature debut is a film not so much about memory as it is about what it means to remember, specifically the significance of what we do remember versus what the things we forget represent. Paul can’t even remember that what landed him in the hospital was a chagrined husband taking a wooden chair to his head after discovering that Paul had brought the latter’s wife to his hotel room for a post-performance rendezvous, which seems to be his roadshow routine. This instance happened to occur in Jeffords, Ohio, “somewhere everyone knows their lines,” the film’s narrator tells the audience, “but the only thing real is ‘home.’” Thus begins Paul’s spiraling effort to get home to New York, a nugget of pivotal information he discovers by way of the ID nestled in his otherwise near-empty wallet, which forces him to stay in Jeffords just long enough to make an impression on the locals. 

In order to make his way back to the Big Apple, Paul realizes that he will have to work and to assimilate, which would prove far less difficult if he could only remember anything other than his occupation, something his hiring manager at the local tannery notes as a sort of “unskilled labor.” Even more complicating is the fact that Paul’s participation in adultery is illegal in Jeffords, landing the clueless sap in hot water with local law enforcement, led by a vaguely racist police lieutenant (Toby Jones, in one of his many roles in the film). In fact, every supporting actor in The Actor is part of “The Troupe,” which Johnson cleverly introduces in the film’s classically-styled opening credits,  narrative tactic that lends itself nicely to The Actor’s theatrical nature. Paulina Rzeszowska’s production design, enhanced by meticulous work from The Brutalist set decorator Mercédesz Nagyváradi, make Johnson’s film look and feel like a stage production, its background actors and objects carefully placed as though they are all parts of a living, breathing tableau. Joe Passarelli’s cinematography, similar to his work on Anomalisa, is never too insistent on suffocating Paul, which allows us to take in Janka Erdely’s stunning art direction. The film’s cityscapes, miniatures that look like oil paintings, would certainly feel out of place in a dentist’s office. 

That the aforementioned troupe – all members of Paul’s traveling company – is made up of great performers like Jones, Tracey Ullman, May Calamawy, Simon McBurney, Joe Cole, and Tanya Reynolds is gravy atop the meal, which has a taste that isn’t easily sussed out. Gemma Chan is the only name to be singled out alongside Holland’s; she plays Edna, the most alluring woman in Jeffords, who Paul first notices sitting a few rows behind him in a movie theater. As the two fall in love, we are never unaware of Paul’s desire to return to New York, thus rendering their moments together a fleeting distraction until he has enough coin to purchase a ticket back to the promised land. 

But can a standout moment in a man’s life be considered fleeting if every single moment’s lifespan is not guaranteed? Better yet, can any moment be considered a standout if there are only so many to begin with? As everything in The Actor, the idea that Paul and Edna’s budding romance is destined to fall apart might be a misdirection, but their fate certainly isn’t helped by the emergence of memories of from Paul’s past life, which begin to return in flashes as if someone is operating a film reel in his head at 100x speed. As Paul descends further into disassociation – the glimpses of these frames growing more and more prevalent, with Richard Reed Parry’s noir-ish score responding accordingly – Holland’s performance turns from that of a floundering amnesiac attempting to remain afloat in rocky, unfamiliar waters to that of a man desperate to tighten his grip on the things he’s already struggled so much to accept. 

It being Holland’s most surreal performance to date isn’t saying much given the emotional onslaught of roles he had been cast in prior, with 2024’s underseen Exhibiting Forgiveness serving as a self-set benchmark for heartbreaking brilliance. Yet, there’s something similar happening here – the strenuous process of a man piecing his life back together after it comes undone in a startling manner. Perhaps that will continue to be Holland’s bread and butter moving forward; to see it done in Johnson’s preferred fashion is nothing short of exhilarating, though, and would be welcome if it were to return in a future performance. Edna’s arc, meanwhile, sees the character shift from bubbly and lovestruck to devastated on a similar dime to Paul’s internal change. It’s a major credit to the excellent Chan, who evolves as a screen presence seemingly every time she appears in a film, playing the oft-undesirable part of the potential partner who gets burned by the lost artist. ever mind the fact that Paul’s disorientation is more evolved than what might be considered typical for a fictional artist. You know the (selfish, egotistical) type. 

While no one in The Actor is exactly playing against type, that’s specifically because its titular character struggles to know what his “type” is meant to be. When he eventually returns to Manhattan, it becomes apparent that Paul is a complicated, somewhat unlikable fellow, one whose inner circle is tight but venomous. Is this the man he was… or still is? Early on in The Actor, someone notes, “Why does [Paul] have to get home? If he doesn’t remember who he was, why not just start over?” Considering Johnson’s interest in mortality and existential dread, it would be too close to the easy route, simply letting Paul start anew with new memories or handcrafted old ones. Letting his main man sit in the confusion, while teetering on torturous, is half the fun. Maybe it’s as close to preparing for a new part as Paul will ever get. Given everything he’s learned by The Actor’s conclusion, though, that might not be such a bad thing.

Grade: B

Director: Steven Soderbergh
Writer: David Koepp
Stars: Michael Fassbender, Cate Blanchett, Marisa Abela

Synopsis: When intelligence agent Kathryn Woodhouse is suspected of betraying the nation, her husband – also a legendary agent – faces the ultimate test of whether to be loyal to his marriage, or his country.

It’s safe to say that the year’s first undeniable hit has graced our screens thanks to sleekly versatile Steven Soderbergh. With Presence released earlier this year, a haunted house story told from the POV of a ghost, Soderbergh’s latest film Black Bag shows just how distinct his cinematic style is, and its ability to transcend genres with remarkable fluidity. Black Bag is oozing with its glamorously chic design, old school espionage feel, and cheeky humor. Soderbergh is at his best here delivering a romantic crowd-pleaser with his third team-up with writer David Koepp (Presence, Kimi).

Black Bag places audiences into the world of George Woodhouse (Michael Fassbender), a highly efficient spy with thick-rimmed glasses who has a special disliking for liars. His mission is to find the source of a security leak and stop the death of thousands. Given only a week to finish the task and a short list of suspects that just so happens to include his alluring wife Kathryn St. Jean (Cate Blanchett), George must get creative to find the spy who said too much. Joining Kathryn on the list are familiar faces to George, Freddie Smalls (Tom Burke), who was just passed up for a sought-after promotion, and his young tech intelligence agent girlfriend Clarissa Dubose (Marisa Abela). Yet another couple rounding out the list of potential leakers is Colonel James Stokes (Regé-Jean Page), who nabbed the promotion from Smalls, and his psychiatrist date Dr. Zoe Vaughn (Naomie Harris), who knows a little too much about each member involved.

George decides to throw an impromptu dinner at his and Kathryn’s impressive home, giving less than 24 hours’ notice. As guests arrive, George implements his first of many trials to get to answers. A game of resolutions shows the weak points of each couple’s relationships, giving George a way in to get the answers he needs. The initial dinner sequence in Black Bag gives audiences a peek into the tumultuous personalities of those surrounding the table, how fragile the egos of these spies are, and how, at the end of the day, they are looking to cover for their own. As Black Bag goes on, and the days dwindle for George to figure out the leak of sensitive information of operation Severus, audiences are in the dark on who is topping his list of suspicions.

Black Bag brings together an all-star cast, thanks to the casting by Carmen Cuba; Fassbender and Blanchett are one of the main selling points of the film with their chemistry. Their ability to play married spies and make it look easy is highly impressive, keeping secrets from one another while maintaining a healthy relationship is a point of envy to their peers. Blanchett’s sophisticated and sly Kathryn pairs brilliantly with Fassbender’s often silent yet cool demeanor. They know each other like the backs of their hands; she can sense when he’s watching her, and he knows when she’s not being totally truthful. She’s more upfront with conflict, looking it in the face with a raised brow and sly smirk, while he’s reserved, watching those under the heat squirm. The film’s supporting cast, such as Abela and Burke, pair nicely with the apparently perfect married couple; their troubled romance sticks out sharply, giving the film many of its best comedic moments.

There’s not a candle, leather briefcase, or trash can that is out of place in Black Bag, as each item on screen is important to the film’s plot. If there’s an item out of place, George will find it, putting his attention to detail front and center, similar to production designer Phillip Messina. Mainly shown in George and Kathryn’s home, their sense of style is luxurious, from their plentiful lighting fixtures illuminating each room to their spacious kitchen used often by George; this couple has an established life together. Paired with Soderbergh’s cinematography, the stylistic choices of the film pop most with his careful framing, showing just how large their home is. Kathryn descending a staircase, getting ready for a secret trip, while George is tidying up in the kitchen is kept all in the same frame, showing separate lives lived under the same roof. The film’s use of natural lighting, especially candles during shared dinner scenes, gives a warmth where characters are being cold to one another.

In their third outing together, Soderbergh and Koepp have really nailed a witty, tense, and tight script. Black Bag has a runtime of 94 minutes, not leaving a lot of wiggle room for a genre film to have its slow-paced moments, and their script makes the film’s runtime fly by. Many of the best moments of the film are two characters in a room talking with one another; their snappy dialogue has you dissecting each word, looking for double meanings or importance later on in the film. Explored best through one-on-one sessions with Dr. Zoe Vaughn and Kathryn, their conversations teeter on an almost flirtatious hostility, both reading each other delicately, searching for answers within answers. Black Bag is Soderbergh and Koepp’s best work together to date, with the solid foundation of its script filled with twists and suspense.

Overall, Soderbergh has crafted a mature spy thriller that is equally funny and sexy. Packed with impressive lead performances from Fassbender and Blanchett, along with a supporting cast that amplifies their perfect marriage, Black Bag keeps audiences on their toes with each clue and twist revealed.

Grade: A

Director: Fleur Fortune
Writer: Mrs. Thomas, Mr. Thomas, John Donnelly
Stars: Alicia Vikander, Elizabeth Olsen, Himesh Patel

Synopsis: In the near future where parenthood is strictly controlled, a couple’s seven-day assessment for the right to have a child unravels into a psychological nightmare.

Deciding to become a parent is a life-changing revelation in a couple’s life. The financial, personal, and even social alterations that come with bringing a child into the world aren’t to be taken lightly. Now imagine a future where resources are scarce, and couples looking to start a family must go through a grueling 7-day government assessment. Fleur Fortune’s debut strips away the human aspects of conceiving a child in a world reeling from environmental damage. The Assessment is a dystopian exploration of anxieties new parents have, while examining their lives in torturous methods.

Under a protective dome live Mia (Elizabeth Olsen) and Aaryan (Himesh Patel), both researchers in their own respective fields. Mia mostly works with cultivation in her greenhouse, caring for plants in a world where natural resources are scarce. Aaryan works more in the realm of the inorganic, creating comforts lost from the old world, like pets through technology. They both have crafted advancements in their lines of work and are regarded with respect in the bureaucracy of their government. In the agreement that they’d both make great parents, Mia and Aaryan jointly decide to embark on the assessment, a 7-day test that, at the end, results in a child if passed and no child if failed, with the assessor’s verdict being final. In The Assessment, this is the only way a couple can have a child; all other forms of child-rearing are banned.

Once their assessor Virginia (Alicia Vikander) enters their home, their lives will never be the same. Mia and Aaryan have prepared as well as they could for their visit, as the details of the assessment are veiled in secrecy. As Virginia questions both hopeful parents separately, their motivations for becoming a parent become clear. Mia wants a child to heal her younger self who felt abandoned; Aaryan wants to prove that he can be a good father. Their well-polished demeanor quickly starts to unravel as the assessment begins, and Virginia goes from a stone-faced assessor to the couple’s pseudo-child, challenging their patience as the one person deciding their parental fate. As the lines between her adult self, and her child self fade into one another, the film takes a dark turn. The Assessment is at its best when Vikander is on screen, plotting ways to break down her subject’s confidence.

The Assessment captures those near-future sci-fi aesthetics so well, mainly in the costume design by Sarah Blenkinsop and the production design by Jan Houllevigue. The film mostly takes place inside the home of the hopeful parents, and from the get-go, it’s known these two are successful. Their home is well-manicured and filled with perfectly placed furniture that looks like it’s out of a trendy home decor magazine. Their clothing is chic, consisting of basics that fit them just right; no flashy logos or branding—it’s basic, but it exudes a level of effortless style. There’s love to be shared with Magnus Jønck’s cinematography that captures their home in unique framing, mostly in wide shots from the outside displaying the minimalist design in a dust covered landscape with the dome looming over them.

What makes The Assessment tick is the performance from Vikander, who commands the screen with an equally infuriating and comedic presence. Her ability to shift from an emotionless assessor peeping into intimate moments between her subjects, and into a food-flinging stubborn child is genius. Her best moments come during a dinner scene in the later days of the assessment, a crucial task pass. Surrounded by their most hostile guests of past lovers, collaborators, and even relatives, Vikander’s performance nails just how much pressure Mia and Aaryan have on them to pass. Olsen and Patel are often overshadowed by a powerhouse performance by Vikander as she taps into her inner Dennis the Menace.

Director Fleur Fortune shows a world removed from common pleasures, where the food often looks unappetizing, and starting a family is out of the question unless you fit the perfect mold. The Assessment flirts with different genres as there are many aspects of the film that are darkly comedic, with Virginia testing her would-be parents, and even psychologically thrilling as she places wedges in the marriage of Mia and Aaryan. Fortune balances these mostly well as she leans on Vikander to push the film through the script’s weaker moments.

There’s a larger story within The Assessment that gets lost within the main plot of the 7-day assessment, and while watching the film, moments where characters bring up the old world, and its border problem, along with a drug they take to prolong their lives feels more compelling. Mia and Aaryan’s story is rather repetitive, never letting audiences truly get to know them enough to care about what happens to them after the assessment is over. Writers Mrs Thomas, Mr Thomas, and John Donnelly craft such an interesting backstory for the society that they live in, but no character, other than Virginia has a fleshed out enough character arc to be impactful. Its commentary on parenthood gets lost in a more interesting side story about a world losing its resources, and how it got there.

Overall, The Assessment is an impressive debut from Fortune who brings a career best performance out of Vikander, and although the film’s script loses momentum, it’s sure to spark conversations surrounding a future with limited resources.

Grade: B

Director: Peter Browngardt
Writer: Kevin Costello, Alex Kirwan, Peter Browngardt
Stars: Eric Bausa, Candi Milo, Peter MacNicol

Synopsis: Porky Pig and Daffy Duck are Earth’s only hope when facing the threat of alien invasion.

It’s safe to say that the Looney Tunes brand has seen better days. It’s not as though there is anything wrong with the Looney Tunes, but it seemed that after Coyote vs. Acme was shelved, even though the film was completed, they were at an all-time low. The newer generations hardly know about the Looney Tunes – I mean, the Space Jam sequel barely came within $100 million of the original, and it starred one of the most well-known athletes in the world – and the older generations that grew up with them aren’t exactly clamoring for a return either. Then comes along The Day the Earth Blew Up: A Looney Tunes Movie, the first-ever feature-length Looney Tunes movie created for a theater audience. 

The Day the Earth Blew Up follows Daffy Duck and Porky Pig (Eric Bauza masterfully voices both Daffy and Porky) as orphaned farm animals taken under the care of Farmer Jim (Fred Tatasciore). After Farmer Jim seemingly passes away, it is up to Daffy and Porky to look over the home they grew up in. Unfortunately, a massive hole in the roof causes them to fail their inspection. Then comes one of the more fun and traditional Looney Tunes sequences: the pair look for jobs, constantly failing as nothing fits their skillset. This scene, which looks like a classic Looney Tunes episode (down to the aspect ratio and intro), highlights one of the film’s most endearing qualities: love for the Looney Tunes brand. 

Other films involving beloved TV characters from an older generation (Tom and Jerry, for example) feel a need to do something too different from what the characters are known for. They stretch too far outside the realm of comfort and instead make something that isn’t just uncomfortable; it’s lazy. Daffy is reckless, constantly wanting to smash things with his massively oversized mallet that he can pull from just about anything and anywhere. At the same time, Porky is clumsy but much more reserved and thorough about the tasks at hand. This is who these characters are, and director Peter Browngardt doesn’t force them to be anything other than their usual selves. Much of the heart in this film came from Daffy and Porky coming to terms with who they are in a meaningful way to both the characters and the fans. In a reasonably strong feature debut, Browngardt appeals to the characters and the audience, providing sequences that bring forth nostalgia in humorous back-and-forth banter.

Their failure to search for a job brings them to a diner where Porky lays eyes on Petunia (Candy Milo), an equally clumsy pig whose awkwardness Porky overlooks, only seeing her beauty. He is instantly in love, which makes the stuttering pig even more nervous. However, when she tells the two about her job at a gum factory, they realize this might be the perfect opportunity for them. For a while, this job works out, and it seems as though Porky and Daffy will be able to save their home, but when something weird begins happening to the gum, turning all the people who chew it into mindless zombies, it is up to Porky, Daffy, and Petunia to save the Earth.

The Day the Earth Blew Up: A Looney Tunes Movie is about as perfect as a Looney Tunes movie could be today. It’s a straightforward film that feels like a well-thought-out expansion of the show that became popular in the 1940s. The massive slew of writers (11 writing credits and 4 story credits) never get in the way of each other and bring out the best qualities of these characters. All the while, they are still managing to create something relevant for today. Some of the writing didn’t always work (a boba tea joke fell flat), but others, such as Petunia’s search for a “new flavor,” brought some self-reflection and potential advancement for this series. One of the best aspects of this film is that while it does remain a traditional Looney Tunes narrative, there is an understanding that change is needed, but change is required from the people who care; it can’t come from the corporations that run these brands – which the film being released at all after being dropped from Warner Bros. MAX streaming schedule and shipped off for other distribution gives this plot even more heft – and needs to happen from the people who want to make a good product the best they can.

Making the best product they can might be the best thing this film does. From the fun direction to the amusing writing and committed voice performances, everyone displayed a level of respect for these characters that had all but been forgotten. The Day the Earth Blew Up isn’t going to change animation, and it won’t be a paradigm shift for the Looney Tunes brand; instead, this well-made and fun film will serve as a reminder to fans old and new that these characters are still here, and they’re still as looney as ever.

Grade: B

Director: Dan Berk & Robert Olsen
Writer: Lars Jacobson
Stars: Jack Quaid, Amber Midthunder, Jacob Batalon

Synopsis: When the girl of his dreams is kidnapped, a man incapable of feeling physical pain turns his rare condition into an unexpected advantage in the fight to rescue her.

Have you ever gone into a movie with an admittedly fun and inventive concept and were immediately disappointed as soon as the lights in the cinema went down and the projector turned on? This was my reaction to Dan Berk and Robert Olsen’s Novocaine, a movie that tries desperately hard to be the next Crank but possesses none of the verve, kineticism, and energy required for this action-comedy hybrid to work well, or at least be on the same level as what Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor brought to the table in 2006. Shot with the lethargic energy of a television pilot, writer Lars Jacobson fills Novocaine’s screenplay with enough Ryan Reynolds-esque cynicism that one wonders if its lead star, Jack Quaid, can do so much more than the quip-heavy characters he has sadly been typecast in ever since starring in The Boys. 

Our lead star plays Nathan Caine, an introverted banker who suffers from Congenital Insensitivity to Pain (CIP). This rare condition makes him entirely numb to any form of physical pain. As a result, he lives a somewhat secluded life, with his only friend being someone he speaks to through a video game interface (voiced by Jacob Batalon). However, Nathan’s life will change when he meets Sherry (Amber Midthunder), the bank’s new employee, with whom he falls madly in love. The two quickly connect, and a romance blossoms, but their idyll is short-lived as, the next day, armed bank robbers clear its vault and kidnap Sherry as a hostage, leading Nathan to figure out a way to rescue her, even if it means using his unique condition to his advantage against a horde of antagonists. 

What are the robbers’ demands? Who knows! This is never explored, and neither does the B-storylines with the detectives (played by Matt Walsh and Betty Gabriel) attempting to uncover the people behind the robbery feel in any way meaningful. Still, this is a minor issue in the grand scheme of the picture since we’re not here to see the police investigate, but Jack Quaid kick major ass while portraying someone who feels zero amount of pain. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, Berk and Olsen never take advantage of this semi-high concept to the fullest, always preferring to stick Quaid in situations where quips are more important than fists instead of staging elaborately kinetic and playful action sequences where the comedy is found in how Nathan accidentally inflicts massive pain upon his enemies, while he feels nothing. 

Many will compare Novocaine’s self-aware, grating humor to the likes of Deadpool, but even the first two films (not so much Deadpool & Wolverine, because it looks so ugly) understood that the thrill of seeing such a character to life isn’t necessarily in the meta-humor (though it is part of the enjoyment) but through its no-holds-barred, hard-R action. While imperfect, David Leitch’s Deadpool 2 remains the best example, as the funniest scenes involve heads being severed or an invisible Brad Pitt being electrocuted, with a great sense of play and comedic timing. The action was playful and always in service of the comedy that made the character such a staple in comic book entertainment. The reason why Deadpool & Wolverine didn’t work was simply because of its overreliance on cynical jokes and a complete ineptitude in crafting cathartic and playful hard-R action, in faithful service of the character’s comedic traits, which Novocaine also falls victim to. 

Cinematographer Jacques Jouffret never gives Novocaine’s action its own language or propulsive energy – all of them are flatly shot and haphazardly edited, with even the “gnarliest” moments of its respective sequences (such as Nathan putting an arrow in an assailant’s ear, as one example out of many) cutting away from the violence. Why have such a concept that allows its directors to play with form and give a unique visual touch to the action if they’re not going to do anything with a camera that barely moves or acts as our eye to Nathan’s inadvertent superhero origin story? He doesn’t want to use his condition as an unfair advantage to (accidentally) dispose of one-note antagonists, but it’s the only way that will lead him to Sherry. That alone creates moments of comedic tension worth visualizing, and as undercooked as Jacobson’s script may be, there’s still enough material to make this movie an exciting one, especially if it’s visually exciting. 

But why does it look so murky and unengaging, as if it’s afraid to find its own identity in an era where cinema is more and more corrupted by television? (Not my words, Denis Villeneuve’s, who’s 100% right). There isn’t a single image you can extract from Novocaine that feels like a movie or at least gives a form of emotional catharsis so we can latch onto the action (and, by extension, the protagonist). If it wants to be an action/comedy in the grand tradition of Neveldine/Taylor’s Crank, it has to convey its energy primarily through its visuals, which Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor brilliantly did in that film and their subsequent collaborations. Their staggering pop art throughout their work (not so much their solo careers) is what made them household names in “vulgar auteurism,” whether this is a valuable movement or not. 

Yet, Berk and Olsen seem afraid of giving Novocaine flavor and personality through its photography and action and would prefer to have this movie feel indistinguishable from the barrage of “content” that gets released to expand an infinite algorithm for a streaming service. And since the movie will come out on VOD two weeks after its theatrical release, as studios no longer support what makes a movie stand the test of time, what’s the point? It’s flimsily shot, unfunny, has no energy to support its action or comedy, and Jack Quaid has sadly tarnished the promising talent he had by playing the same character over and over again with zero nuance or emotional texture that will make us care for him and the burgeoning romance he has with Sherry. On the other hand, Midthunder is underused, and her arc is sadly telegraphed from the start. She fares much better in Mark Anthony Green’s Opus, which also comes out on the same weekend. 

Quaid desperately needs to find compelling work that will allow him to expand his range instead of being cast as a variant of Ryan Reynolds, who has grown in wanting to develop movies as commodities to sell Aviation Gin instead of art that will have real perennity ten or even twenty years from now. I’d hate to see that happen to Quaid because he was terrific in Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer despite his limited screen time. Nolan knew how to utilize his talents effectively and show the world that he was much more than what the Hollywood machine had sadly typecast him as. I’d like to see more of that from him and less of the unfortunate trajectory he is currently undertaking with Companion and Novocaine, vacuous products with no personal style and memorable value. 

Grade: D

Director: Bong Joon Ho
Writer: Bong Joon Ho, Edward Ashton
Stars: Robert Pattinson, Naomi Ackie, Steven Yeun

Synopsis: Mickey 17, known as an “expendable,” goes on a dangerous journey to colonize an ice planet.

After gaining true critical acclaim and acceptance (like winning four Academy Awards), a director may face a double-edged sword. On one side is the supposed blank check. When you win an Oscar, a studio may support you in making whatever you wish. On the other side are the ridiculous expectations. Post-Oscar, those expectations get raised to near impossible levels. And this is where Bong Joon Ho sits with the release of Mickey 17. And for better or worse, Director Bong made exactly the movie that he wants, expectations be damned. 

In the not-so-distant future, Mickey Barnes (Robert Pattinson) and his friend Timo ( a delightfully grimy Steven Yeun) sign up to board a spaceship after fleeing from a loan shark. Unfortunately for Mickey, the only way he can join is to become an “expendable,” meaning he is a disposable worker who is cloned so he can be reproduced after being worked to literal death. This technology has been banned on Earth, due to a horrific crime, but is being used in outer space by a twice-failed politician Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo) and his wife Ylfa (Toni Collette). The film picks up four years after the beginning of the voyage as they arrive at the planet Niflheim. Mickey 17 (the 17th version of our protagonist) is thought dead at the hands of the native creatures of the planet, eventually known as Creepers. Of course, at this point, Mickey 18 (also Pattinson) is created and when 17 returns, the problems begin as two expendables are not allowed to live at the same time.

Although much of this plot setup is science fiction in nature, Mickey 17 is, at its heart, a romance. Mickey’s partner, Nasha (Naomi Ackie), who is a security agent on board, has been with him since the beginning of the journey in all of his numerical iterations. The movie depends on their connection and thankfully, the chemistry between Ackie and Pattinson is palpable. Through a montage of their relationship, we find moments to enjoy between the two of them, so when both Mickey 17 and 18 are in scenes with her, we run through a gamut of emotions: excitement, wonder, fear, concern. Despite the outlandish nature of much of the film, some of the quiet moments, like Mickey adjusting Nasha’s uniform, are among its best. Nasha is the only one who seeks to understand Mickey, instead of simply seeing him as a tool to be used for the mission. Bong Joon Ho, as a director and writer, must find a way to balance the comedy and drama and luckily, this is what he has done for his entire career. He, along with his wonderful cast, manage to create a world in which we can laugh while also rooting for these characters to ascend to a better situation.

This is also, of course, a movie that focuses on the evils of capitalism and the horrors of what we, as humans, do to our environments. The violence enacted on the Creepers is both disturbing and unsurprising and lets us know exactly who to root for. This has been covered in his previous films, and some viewers may see his messages as “too on the nose” or repetitive, but that is purposeful. Director Bong is not trying to be subtle, as shown especially through Ruffalo and Collette’s over-the-top performances. It would be easy to see these characters as direct corollaries to our current leaders in America, but I think that would be missing the point. Instead, they are symbolic of humanity’s worst instincts and how easily we (regardless of nationality) can be corralled by bad actors, in general. 

Mickey is all of us, and not in the sense of his journey being our own. But Mickey is seen as corporations see us. We are to be used, discarded, and replaced. All the better if our old memories and skills can be implanted so they don’t have to waste money and time retraining a new employee. The companies know that we have no choice but to work if we want to survive, so they push us to the brink. You’ll work an 8 hour shift? How about 12 instead? And for less money. What are you going to do, quit? They know that we cannot survive if we do. Mickey’s story is a heightened one, but not an unfamiliar one. 

Pattinson’s portrayal of both 17 and 18 prove that he is one of the very best actors working today. Everything from the accent choice to his willingness to be both foolish and aggressive make these characters full. None of the scenes featuring both Mickeys feels out of place or false. Even if the film did not delineate who is who in a physical way, we are aware of their differences; how they walk, how they talk, their attitudes. This is because of a combination of Pattinson’s abilities and Bong Joon Ho’s direction (along with Director of Photography Darius Khondji). Visually, the film is on par with Bong Joon Ho’s best work. It combines the creature effects of Okja and the setting of Snowpiercer, all while creating something that feels new and fresh.

As the story moves forward, it moves away from comedy without truly leaving it behind. The balance is everything. There is a clear message being taught here and Bong Joon Ho does not shy away from being didactic. Humanity has proved repeatedly that we need lessons, that we miss the obvious. In some types of film, subtle symbolic work has an impact. Mickey 17 is not that kind of movie. We need to be told what is wrong with our world before we destroy it and others like it. More importantly, we need to remember the importance of the self. We cannot let personal guilt, corporate greed, and insecurity rule us. We are better than that. Director Bong gives us a gift; forgiveness of the self, the ability to push back against a horrific system, and most of all, the importance of love.

With Mickey 17, Bong Joon Ho shows us that he is disinterested in giving a film that is thought of as “the next step” in what we want after Parasite. Instead, he takes the opportunity to return to ideas that he deeply cares about like the treatment of humans and the world around us. He mocks those in power while still remembering that many of them are to be feared. But he never forgets that, to move past our fear, we must have something worth fighting for. As long as we have each other, we cannot be defeated by the elite. There is a way out and forward.

Grade: A-

Director: Atom Egoyan
Writers: Atom Egoyan
Stars: Amanda Seyfried, Douglas Smith, Rebecca Liddiard

Synopsis: An earnest theater director has the task of remounting her former mentor’s most famous work, the opera Salome. Some disturbing memories from her past will allow her repressed trauma to color the present.

At first, Seven Veils is impenetrable. Seven Veils is a complicated film. There is a wall between audience and narrative. That wall is intentional as the narrative needs it to be there to chip away slowly and methodically at the answers to many of the questions posed. The wall falls as Jeanine’s (Amanda Seyfried) memories about her previous experience with this production of the opera “Salome” and the trauma of her childhood is revealed.

As it plays on the screen, the script is near inaccessible. The script, written by director Atom Egoyan, would work better if more concrete details had been made clear. The characters, the dialogue, and the images always skirt around the truth. It’s like a whirlpool that never actually sucks us in. We circle closer and closer, but we never go completely down. It makes the revelations that do come more satisfying that we weren’t spoonfed any answers, but with that satisfaction comes more confusion as other questions are raised.

The layers of Egoyan’s script are sometimes played all at once and out of linear order. There are shifts to the voice over narration that are sometimes meant to be apt quotes from the original play, “Salome” by Oscar Wilde, sometimes meant to be Jeanine’s essay that was meant to accompany the program, sometimes meant to be a part of the video journal she’s making for the show’s website, and sometimes are meant to be direct addresses to Charles, her former mentor who died and stipulated to his loved ones that Jeanine remount his most famous production. The ebb and flow of these is strange, and cacophonous at times, bits of narration add to the confusion about what the film is trying to say. It’s similar to  the dissonance of when the diegetic music from the “Salome” opera is mixed with Mychael Danna’s non-diegetic score.

The muddiness of the script never interferes with the heavy feelings of dread we can sense in each scene. Egoyan’s long time collaborator, cinematographer Paul Sarossy, uses digital photography to achieve a sharpness to the picture that evokes danger and heightens our sense of fight or flight. There is one scene in particular very early on that means nothing to us then, but everything to us at the end. 

Jeanine is making her way through various aspects of the production until she comes to a team working on the projection of a visual element that shows a young girl, highlighted in a golden yellow, walking through a black and white forest. Jeanine steps forward to watch the clip as it’s put together and as she turns, her body casts a shadow on the screen and the overlay image of the forest plays on her face while her shadow contains the little girl. It’s a spectacular use of visual imagery to convey the inner mind of a character.

As the film progresses, we see the trauma Jeanine has endured, first at the hands of her abusive father (Ryan McDonald) and then as her deepest horrors are used by the man she loved, Charles, to imbue his vision with more of an edge. The beauty of Amanda Seyfried’s performance is that she understands Jeanine’s pain so well that with a flick of her incredibly expressive eyes, she can call the deepest emotions needed for a scene. Seyfried has built a performance that exceeds the parameters in the script and speaks more volumes than the words ever could. It’s Seyfried’s performance that keeps the film watchable.

The complicated nature of the main plot, not to mention the subplot, eventually lead to a pretty good idea of what the film means. Or, really, what we hope it means. Atom Egoyan has little interest in giving us more than the barest of details to figure out everything Seven Veils is trying to say. It’s a film you’ll continue to think about and puzzle over. It’s a film that has a visual style that sticks in your mind and rattles about as you attempt to solve it. In many ways, Seven Veils is stunning, but the inaccessibility of the script leaves much to be desired and too much to be irritatingly pondered to be truly enjoyable.

Grade: C