Director: Jessica Palud
Writer: Jessica Palud, Laurette Polmanss
Stars: Anamaria Vartolomei, Matt Dillon, Giuseppe Maggio

Synopsis: Maria Schneider, a young, struggling actress, lands her dream role in a film by an emerging Italian director, starring alongside an American superstar. What begins as her big breakthrough quickly turns into a living hell.

“Let the scene lead you,” Bernardo Bertolucci (Giuseppe Maggio) tells Maria Schneider (Anamaria Vartolomei), the ingénue starring alongside the larger-than-life force that is Marlon Brando (Matt Dillon) in the Italian director’s new film, Last Tango in Paris. He doesn’t want to rehearse the scene in question – one in which Brando’s character rapes Schneider’s – not in spite of its intensity, but because of it. Bertolucci wants raw intimacy; “On my films, there are no actors,” he later tells Schneider, noting that he “didn’t want [her] to act,” only to exhibit her true feelings as the scene unfolded. In the decades since production concluded, the film’s leads, the filmmaker himself, and others on the outskirts of the production have had differing accounts as to whether or not the rape was actually in the script. In 2007, Schneider told the Daily Mail that the scene was abruptly added after Brando came up with the idea, while at a 2013 Cinémathèque Française retrospective, Bertolucci claimed that it was performed as it was written. One thing is for sure: the use of butter as a sexual lubricant was nowhere to be found in the script. In addition, though the rape itself was simulated, Brando’s application of the butter and his forcible actions during the take felt authentic to the unsuspecting Schneider, which left her feeling “a little raped, both by Marlon and by Bertolucci.”

There’s more to Jessica Palud’s Being Maria – which premiered at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival and screened at Film at Lincoln Center’s 2025 edition of Rendez-Vous with French Cinema – but Maria Schneider’s days on the Tango set play a more pivotal role in the film than any other, much like its consideration in Schneider’s life and career. The French star, who was 19 when she filmed Tango and 58 when she died of cancer in 2011, suffered abuse and used drugs in response to the instant fame she obtained following her breakout, and Being Maria goes to reasonable lengths in its efforts to paint the full picture of a life in the limelight. But it’s admittedly difficult to latch onto everything else Palud’s biopic attempts to mine from the aftermath of the aforementioned trauma, not least because of how vivid and harrowing the director’s depiction of that on-set assault is. Both what precedes and follows one extended moment in this movie is an uninvolved glance at the booklet of biopic tropes, disappointingly so. Much like what Brando tells Schneider right before action is called on the now-infamous incident, “It’s only a film.”

The one person who understands that sentiment to greater heights than anyone else in Being Maria is Vartolomei, whose own burgeoning star and seemingly endless range are put to great use in the titular role. The French actor, who recently stole a few scenes in Bong Joon-ho’s Mickey 17 but should be better remembered for turning in one of 2021’s best performances in Audrey Diwan’s Happening, likely called upon that breakout to inform this part given its psychologically unrelenting similarities, though it feels as though she’s evolving in real time here. Expressive and entrancing, Vartolomei is never once overshadowed by Dillon’s Brando, perhaps because the actor’s hair and smirk are about as close as he gets to the complex, venerated legend of stage and screen, but in actuality, it’s because she’s a presence unto herself. You can feel Vartolomei actively embodying Schneider’s conflicted gamut of emotions while filming Tango, the nature of acting while feeling truly broken as she inhabits a “part.” That she and Dillon have a real chemistry is indicative of how Schneider said she felt in his orbit prior to the scene that altered their professional relationship: “There was no attraction between us. For me, he was more like a father figure and I a daughter.”

Aside from what occurred on Bertolucci’s film, the relationship between Schneider and her family is much of what Palud and co-writer Laurette Polmanss lend their focus to. Working from Vanessa Schneider’s 2018 memoir, “My Cousin Maria Schneider” – great SEO, to be fair – Being Maria attempts to create dramatic tension from estrangement, though those links aren’t nearly as fleshed out as what the film is clearly most interested in. It doesn’t help that the first time we see Maria, she’s watching her father, the French actor and director Daniel Gélin (Yvan Attal), as he directs a film of his own; this seems to be the beginning and end of their bond, one that is more professional than it is personal. Of course, that was partially due to the fact that Maria was the result of an affair and thus could not be recognized as his daughter, and partially because Maria’s mother (Marie Gillain) wanted Maria to have no contact with him. But it’s one thing to interrogate the turmoil that such discord could cause and another thing entirely to accept it on its terms, finding alternate ways to examine why this ultra-green actress just might have some daddy issues. Brando and Bertolucci, as much blame as they deserve for the torment Schneider endured for the remainder of her life given their actions towards her, are positioned as fuel to Maria’s fatherless fire. It’s no wonder that Gélin appears in so few scenes yet is mentioned in so many, as a tale of a young woman’s tribulation can never be about her suffering alone, but about who caused it and why.

There’s some merit to that: Men should be held accountable for the pain they inflict on women, no matter the circumstances nor their claims that calls for accountability should fall anywhere but on their shoulders. And Palud understands that, but only to a point. Being Maria spends a lot of time portraying Schneider in pain and enduring ridicule and criticism from the press, audiences, and friends alike, yet in doing so, it remains intent on repeating one refrain: “You wanted this.” It’s a common idea to include in a film about young artists who struggle, either at the onset of their careers or in the heart of their fame, but it’s a frustrating one to cling to as a narrative buoy. Not coincidentally, the only time Maria seems to be far from drowning is when she’s in the company of her eventual partner, Noor (Céleste Brunnquell), though that is a part that is as thankless as Maria’s joy is treated. Another film could have lent just a touch more focus to the fleeting instances of euphoria shared between lovers, a sometimes necessary reprieve from perpetual agony. Then again, if my grandmother had wheels, she would be a bike.

Being Maria was released in theaters by Kino Lorber on March 21.

Grade: C

Director: Tracie Laymon
Writer: Tracie Laymon
Stars: Barbie Ferreira, John Leguizamo, French Stewart

Synopsis: When lonely 20-something Lily Trevino accidentally befriends a stranger online who shares the same name as her own self-centered father, encouragement and support from this new Bob Trevino could change her life.

The simple kindness of another human being is something we could all use. An acknowledgement of our existence or a bit of encouragement is fulfilling. It can be hard to be lonely and to not know how to tone down the excitement you, as a lonely person, feel because of a simple interaction. It can be hard when you’re desperate for that modicum of human kindness because the people who are supposed to do it unconditionally and don’t are the cruelest of all.

Bob Trevino Likes It isn’t reinventing the idea of found family, but reinforcing why it is the most important thing we can do for one another. To choose to love someone is to show them that they are known. While most of us haven’t experienced the utterly reprehensible self-centeredness of Lily’s (Barbie Ferreira) father Bob Trevino (French Stewart), we still feel that a biological link isn’t the strongest link there is even with the worst of our biological family shouting at us how important that link is.

Writer and director Tracie Laymon has brought a story to life that will open up a lot of wounds, but only to allow the idea that they can heal properly. The story is based on Laymon’s own experiences and she brings a depth to it that really opens Bob Trevino Likes It to a wholly new take on a strained parent/child relationship. She writes each character with such a loving eye. All of them are broken, but with each other can be rebuilt.

There aren’t any easy answers, either. There are difficult conversations, things left unsaid, and misinterpretations of actions. There’s a scene with Lily and her new friend Bob Trevino (John Leguizamo) that really emphasizes this shift in perception. The two of them are having a nice, if a little stiff, conversation when Lily takes a call from the woman she works for, Daphne (Lauren “Lolo” Spencer), who accidentally mentions Lily’s lie that this Bob is her father. Bob is notably upset and, as a defense mechanism, Lily tries to do everything she did to appease her father when he got upset, but none of it works. She then tries to walk away. Bob stops her and says that they need to talk about it. He’s telling her in a way he wants to try and work out why Lily lied and get past it.

This is where Laymon’s great work as a director matches her phenomenal script. Instead of shooting Bob as he calms Lily down, Laymon and cinematographer John Rosario focus on Lily’s face. We watch as Lily realizes Bob is making an effort. Her face gets softer and her mouth opens a little. It’s a perfect turning point in this character’s life. It’s like a light bulb has been illuminated. Laymon and Rosario then continue this movement as we watch from outside as Lily and Bob talk, really talk. The shot of the two of them through the diner window, the silence of the dialogue, and the musical cue is just beautifully composed.

Bob Trevino Likes It is not only blessed with behind-the-scenes talent, but the actors are superb as well. While French Stewart gives a villainous performance for the ages, the two leads are utterly magnetic together. Barbie Ferreira is an actress who is incredibly adept at character work. Her physicality and presence make her a chameleon. As Lily, she breaks your heart and then mends it so that you laugh through your copious tears. John Leguizamo proves once again he’s an incredibly talented actor, if given the right material. He plays mundane in a way that’s incredibly compelling to watch. The two of them together are the perfect combination. Their chemistry is dynamite even as they have those awkward first steps that all new friendships go through.

Bob Trevino Likes It is a film that reminds us of the capabilities we all have to be better humans to each other. You don’t have to go as far as Bob, but meeting someone where they’re at is a good first step. A hello, a small conversation, or an acknowledgement of their being is sometimes enough. It’s enough to give that person the strength and knowledge that they are seen. That’s a beautiful thing and Bob Trevino Likes It is an absolutely beautiful film.

Grade: A

Director: Anthony Russo, Joe Russo
Writer: Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely, Simon Stålenhag
Stars: Chris Pratt, Millie Bobby Brown, Woody Harrelson

Synopsis: An orphaned teen hits the road with a mysterious robot to find her long-lost brother, teaming up with a smuggler and his wisecracking sidekick.

I used to think the gold standard of product placement in films was any Michael Bay Transformers movie or that moment when Brad Pitt took a satisfying swig from a can of Pepsi in World War Z, proving he was smarter than a world full of zombies who ran past him (and somehow not into him). But no—the Russo brothers told the entire world to hold their beers.

Not only do they discuss Panda Express at exceedingly ridiculous lengths (yes, I agree, everything they make is delicious—please send all Panda Express inquiries to the InSession Film email), but the Russos also create an entire character out of a mascot for a fine American company, Planters. Again, I love the Dry-Roasted variety—send all proposed business collaborations below.

Speaking of product placement, I am writing this review on a brand-new HP Envy laptop. With premium features, top-tier performance, and a high-resolution display, it’s one of the most versatile laptops on the market.

Now, do you see how distracting product placement can be—especially when it’s thrown right into the middle of this review? Yes, Anthony and Joe, we can agree that popular movies can (and should) be held in higher esteem. Here’s looking at you, Top Gun: Maverick, but not at the expense of ruining the story. 

Based on the popular graphic novel of the same name by Simon Stålenhag, the story follows a teenager, Michelle (Stranger Things star Millie Bobby Brown), who lives with her abusive father, Ted (Jason Alexander). Michelle resides in a world under authoritarian rule after a war broke out between humans and robots in the early ’90s.

Fortunately for the human race, Sentre CEO Ethan Skate (Stanley Tucci) developed Neurocaster technology, allowing humans to upload their brains to drone robots, ultimately winning the war. As a result, all robots were banished to the “exclusion zone.” However, as a metaphor for the overuse and dependence on modern technology, humans escape their mundane lives through an established virtual reality, remaining in near-comatose states while robots handle all the work.

That is until an adorable robot named Cosmo—who communicates in a way reminiscent of Wall-E—runs into Michelle. She takes them in and soon realizes that this bot contains the uploaded mind of her deceased younger brother, Christopher. After a violent encounter with her abusive father, Ted, Michelle and Cosmo escape. As they venture into the dystopian landscape, they cross paths with Keats (Chris Pratt), a smuggler, and his towering robot companion, Herman (Martin Klebba). Together, they set out for the exclusion zone, hoping to prove that Christopher may still be alive.

The Russo Brothers didn’t just create the year’s biggest dumpster fire; they made a large metal trash receptacle on wheels filled with boxes of fireworks going off. It looks flashy, colorful, and expensive, as the filmmakers hope to use a barrage of bad CGI to cover up a story with little depth, unfunny humor, and—most importantly—such a lack of emotional connection that the big moment the film builds toward feels practically sterile. 

This marks yet another Netflix film where Millie Bobby Brown encounters characters with little nuance as the studio attempts to cash in on expensive streaming entertainment that hardly works. I’m worried she will be typecast in these roles when she should focus on mainstream scripts like Enola Holmes, highlighting her strengths, like verbal and physical comic timing. Meanwhile, Chris Pratt does his usual routine. He looks like a disheveled, unkempt surfer living out of his van, going off on tangents that combine comedic relief with product placement word vomit that never seems to end.

To summarize, The Electric State’s story and performances are paper-thin. The movie is a recycled effort, which is also an issue that should be pointed out with the source material. The approach is heavy-handed when the film tries to focus on its core themes. Essentially, this is an expensive story about collective synergy and the idea that “family is what you make it.” Yet, it lacks cohesion and, even worse, fun—pure cotton candy cinema at its worst.

You can now stream The Electric State only on Netflix!

Grade: D-

Director: Ami Canaan Mann
Writer: Julia Fisher Farbman
Stars: Natalie Dormer, Clancy Brown, Jimmi Simpson

Synopsis: 1969. Dr. Audrey Evans joins world-renowned children’s hospital and battles sexism, medical conventions, and the subterfuge of her peers to develop revolutionary treatments and purchase the first Ronald McDonald House, impacting millions.

There is perhaps no other genre quite as maligned as the ever-present biopic. I have been one of its many detractors as every year we are inundated with “important stories” or tales of untold greatness; from Lee to A Complete Unknown. It is no longer enough to tell these stories in a straightforward way. Because we are all aware of the tropes and signals of biopics, only the greats, like Oppenheimer or The Social Network, will stand the test of time. The rest, well meaning as they may be, are likely to be watched and forgotten. One of the reasons that the above examples are lasting is due to their decisions to focus on specific sections of their subject’s life. But the exact section matters. 

Audrey’s Children is the latest on the biopic train, focusing on Dr. Audrey Evans. Evans pioneered treatment for Neuroblastoma, an incredibly deadly form of cancer which, before her advancements, killed 90% of patients, many of which were young children. She was also the Chief of Pediatric Oncology at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Further, she was one of the founders of the Ronald McDonald House, helping to provide housing for millions worldwide. And herein lies the problem. Choices must be made in what to cover, and for how long in a standard two-hour film. Entire movies could be made about the founding of the house, about her struggles bucking up against a misogynist system, or about her new treatment strategies. 

The film, instead, covers all of these areas. Director Ami Canaan Mann does an admirable job of balancing all of these ideas, from a script penned by Julia Fisher Farbman. The film begins with Audrey (Natalie Dormer) immediately making waves on the staff in Philadelphia, including Dr. C. Everett Coop (Clancy Brown) and Dr. Dan D’Angio (Jimmi Simpson). Dormer expertly performs the role with equal parts good humor, hardened focus, and kindness. This is a difficult performance that feels effortless, as all of these many plots hinge on Dr. Evans being both aspirational and charismatic.

The movie mostly gives lip service to the assumed sexism she must have faced before reaching the heights of her profession. This is understandable given the incredible life and accomplishment of Dr. Evans. Audrey’s Children has to make room for her research, her connection with her patients (the titular children), her incredible passion and intelligence, battles with hospital administrators, and even a burgeoning romance with Dan. None of these plotlines are problematic, in and of themselves, but the story seems a bit out of balance. 

All of that being said, it is nearly impossible to not be moved by this incredible story. After all, the focus is children literally dying from cancer. Really, the moments where the film loses its motivation is when it is forced to set the time and place. One can almost feel the effort being made, despite little payoff. Although the production design (Amber Unkle) and costume design (Sarah Maiorino) do an admirable job, the film ends up looking just slightly muted. Audrey’s Children is at its best when focusing on the intensity of Dr. Evans and her relationships. Her back-and-forth conversations with Coop ring true, if a bit too focused on capturing the look of future Surgeon General. On the other hand, Simpson and Dormer together, though chaste, have an immediate spark and connection that is impossible to ignore. Despite the romance being a B plot, every time they are together, we simply want more. His gentleness, paired with her passionate desire for both life and the children afflicted by Neuroblastoma, makes for a relationship that pulls the movie forward despite its crowded screenplay.  

As the film moves through her many accomplishments in the second half, it moves with a speed that is staggering in comparison to the rest of the plot. It plays as a bit of a greatest hits montage, and there is where the frustration can creep in again. The sheer amount of good that Dr. Evans has done, in many different arenas, ends up being what holds Audrey’s Children back from greatness.

This is a good, honorable story to tell. Despite many wonderful performances, a story worth telling, and emotional connection, Audrey’s Children will not be seen as one of the greats of this particularly difficult genre. However, it nowhere near the bad side of the biopic. Dormer, Simpson, and Brown all make this a worthy, if eventually forgettable watch.

Grade: B-

Director: Marc Webb
Writer: Erin Cressida Wilson
Stars: Rachel Zegler, Gal Gadot, Andrew Burnap

Synopsis: A princess joins forces with seven dwarfs to liberate her kingdom from her cruel stepmother the Evil Queen.

As easy as it is to attack the Disney live-action remake machine, there is certainly a variety when it comes to quality. Cinderella (2015) is the gold standard, taking advantage of visual flourishes and an astounding villain performance. On the other side of the spectrum lies The Jungle Book (2016), a film so tedious that one struggles to remember anything about it besides Bill Murray half-heartedly voicing Baloo the Bear. As adults, it is important for us to remember two things. First, these movies are not primarily for us as an audience. They exist to pass the torch from father and mother to son and daughter. These stories, for better or worse, are the closest that we have to an oral tradition. Secondly, despite the perceived lack of originality, these movies can be done well.

Snow White does not manage this in nearly any way. This is the story you know, mostly only in name, and that is not inherently a problem. This version of Snow White (Rachel Zegler) is much more active, as opposed to her namesake who essentially had a snack and a nap. This Snow was raised by a King and Queen and taught that the right way to live was through sharing resources among all of the subjects. Of course, very quickly, Snow White’s mother takes ill and dies. After, the woman who would become The Evil Queen (Gal Gadot) enters, marries Snow White’s father, and eventually sends him off to war, never to be seen again. Snow White essentially becomes a servant to the Queen and is struggling to find a way to help her people. After helping a dashing thief, Jonathan (Andrew Burnap), escape she eventually meets the dwarves and a group of bandits pushing Snow along her journey. The film, oddly, is a bit of a greatest hits of Disney, featuring introductory art that looks like Sleeping Beauty, a servant subplot that feels like Cinderella, and the costume of the original Snow White.

Rachel Zegler is the only person who manages to come out of this troubled film unscathed (the internet’s monsters, notwithstanding). That poor woman’s arms must be exhausted from carrying this movie toward being almost watchable. It is no secret that she is a talented singer (watch West Side Story (2021) for proof). Here, she manages to make the uninspired new songs from Pasek and Paul worth listening to for her tremendous performance, and is able to breathe new life into the classic songs from the original Disney version. She even managed to uplift most of her scene partners, both human and hideous CGI creations. Most, but not all. 

Much has been said about Gal Gadot’s poor performance as the Queen and, somehow, the negativity goes nowhere to describing the pain she puts the audience through. Her line readings are terrible, as expected, but sadly, it does not stop there. Director Marc Webb, along with screenwriter Erin Cressida Wilson, decide to give her a musical number explaining that she is essentially a mean girl and there are almost no words to describe the experience. This extremely extended sequence, choreographed by Mandy Moore (La La Land), is full of exaggerated hand motions, missed notes, and leaves you begging for the end. It seems almost like a Mel Brooks musical moment, but played painfully straight. We talk (too much) about nepotism and its effect on the film industry, but here we have pretty privilege running amok. There is no possible way that she was the best person they could find for this role and every time she is on screen, fashion moments aside, Snow White comes to a screeching halt. Her acting makes us pine for the days of Angelina Jolie as Maleficent, an actual performer who owned the screen instead of making us turn away from it. When she becomes a hag, the continued poor effects work matches her acting prowess.

One of the biggest problems that this film has is the lack of true laughs or enjoyment. Is this because the dwarves all look horrifying? Only partially. The “jokes” aren’t funny, unless you consider the fact that a possible regent is supporting a share and share alike political system. Of course, with a large corporate identity like Disney, one cannot expect anything truly radical. This is the best we can hope for and a good message for children. It is just a shame that the movie surrounding it, both visually and narratively, is so excessively sloppy. 

As much as we hope for a remake that takes chances and shows us something we could not see in our old clamshell VHS days, it still has to be done well! Once your eyes adjust to the uncanny valley of dwarves that are supposed to be both comic relief and have character journeys, it becomes ultimately clear that Snow White had nothing but a few good ideas, along with a perfect lead. Sadly, this, and all movies have so many moving parts, so many variables that can affect the end output. This simply has too much working against it. Middling direction, poor writing, horrifying animated characters, and the blackest hole one can imagine in its antagonist. Snow White might keep children mildly entertained for its runtime, but it will not be destined for repeat watches, even in the most pro-Disney home.

Grade: C-

Director: David Yarovesky
Writer: Mariano Cohn, Gastón Duprat, Michael Arlen Ross
Stars: Bill Skarsgård, Anthony Hopkins, Ashley Cartwright

Synopsis: A thief breaking into a luxury SUV realizes that he has slipped into a sophisticated game of psychological horror.

This summer will likely be the summer of the gritty thriller genre. Novocaine has been out already exceeding box office expectations. Black Bag brings a twist on the spy thriller genre game with two hot leads and a hotter director. Now, David Yarovesky’s Locked releases in cinemas with much anticipation, and for good reason. It is one “Highway to Hell,” a rollercoaster ride of a movie that delivers everything it sets out to achieve.

Last year, I watched Bill Skarsgård in Boy Kills World and I wasn’t impressed. I felt that he needed a better film to place him as one of the upcoming movie stars of a turbulent, unpredictable period in the film industry, where nothing makes sense anymore, and the ebb and tide can crush a promising young actor in a minute. Then they released Nosferatu, but it was more of a Lily-Rose Depp star vehicle than Skarsgård’s, and even as he received praise, he still needed something worthy of putting his face on the screen.

This is where Locked comes into play. Some of the most enjoyable 95 minutes of my life, a film purely made for the big screen and one, that if someone is a thrill seeker or a midnight moviegoer like me, then this is the film to buy a ticket for. The claustrophobic survival thriller is an ongoing horror ride, one where the moment our protagonist enters the demon car -yes, that’s what I call it- nothing slows down. The action-packed flick goes on from there to draw in lovers of Skarsgård but also those on the hunt for the action movie that would keep them pressed to their seats, unaware of the passing time.

Formalities first: Eddie is a down-on-his-luck petty thief, a former delinquent with a baby face and family baggage. To pay a debt, Eddie breaks into a luxury SUV, thinking it’s his lucky day, but his labyrinth of pain starts when he hears the car owner’s chilling voice enthusiastically explaining Eddie’s dire situation as a hostage of the Death Proof-like automobile. The fun begins, and it feels like a sophisticated Jigsaw trap between Eddie and William (Anthony Hopkins), and with Skarsgård’s star power and Hopkins’s chilling performance, it can’t get any better. It’s “Eat the Poor” as if the rich are given the chance to strike back after a series of now predictable films about the working class rising to flip down the social order and consume the rich. Now the rich get their payback time and it’s so fun to watch.

Events unfold quickly without losing Eddie’s sense of humanity, whom audiences slowly warm up to as the harsh cases of his imprisonment become more and more emblematic of the sinister nature of William’s faux moral system. William exacts his punishments like a scary Biblical figure, his utter dismissal of Eddie’s vulnerability seems baffling, but as the film progresses it becomes clearer where his disturbing moral code stems from, and it’s a fun cat-and-mouse game between two wonderful actors.

Locked would have never worked out without the stellar performance from both leads, Skarsgård and the veteran Hopkins who mostly appears as a cold, detached, psychopathic voice. But the credit goes more to Skarsgård, who is at his best here, flipping from anxiety, bitterness, and rage, all the way to despair. Playing a character out of his comfort zone -which is primarily nonexistent at that point- he bares his beautiful face, but uses the physicality of a down-on-his-luck man, creating an illusion of fractured beauty, a man beaten down by life and its cruelty left its marks on him. He basically acts with himself, a one-man show for the masses, and Bill’s girlies are in for a treat because even with blood pouring down his face and some mild gore (and gross out) moments, he looks hotter than ever.

Locked doesn’t weigh itself down by asking questions or giving answers. It doesn’t set a firm line between victim and perpetrator and in that lies its magic. The magic of that obscure action thriller that one discovers randomly on a trip to the movie theater, oblivious to the buzz of film tweeters and movie recommendation channels. Go watch it on a big screen where it belongs.

Grade: A

Director: Jon Gunn
Writer: Jon Gunn
Stars: Zachary Levi, Jacob Laval, Meghann Fahy,

Synopsis: When Scott and Teresa LeRette learn that their son Austin is both autistic and has brittle bone disease, they initially worry for their son’s future. But with Scott’s growing faith and Austin’s incredible spirit, they become ‘unbreakable’, finding joy, gratitude, and courage even in the most trying times.

As distressing as it is that quote-unquote inspirational, faith-based dramas continue to get made on a churn-happy assembly line that is somehow only slightly less bankrupt than the films it produces, it’s relatively easy to understand why once you’ve suffered through one. So long as an audience member is unwilling to ask any questions of the substance being violently jammed down their esophageal tubes over two hours and change, these movies have the Power™ to make people feel better about themselves. Most of the time, those behind the one-way mirror supplying this force believe that they are doing so in a manner that their God would approve of, hence the “no questions asked” policy that many viewers believe should be the de facto rule when it comes to their adulation for such works. You might have noticed that most Sound of Freedom truthers were happy to take umbrage with any minor theatrical inconvenience that disrupted their screening of 2023’s most problematic (and, domestically, 10th-highest grossing) feature presentation, but questions about whether or not the film stokes the QAnon movement’s favorite conspiracy theories should not be levied so long as they reside in one of the 50 glorious United States of America. (Or are we at 51… have we commandeered Greenland yet?)

For these reasons – among other, similarly pitiful ones – the folks at Angel Studios and their brethren alike continue to creep in their petty, cinematic pace from day to day, with Kingdom Story Company being but one of the growing many. The Lionsgate offshoot behind Ordinary Angels (shockingly solid), the KJ Apa vehicle I Still Believe (uhhhhhh…), and Jesus Revolution (UHHHHHH…) were built on the ideology (and reliable profits) of films by the Erwin Brothers and, since 2019, have had their clasped hands in nine different projects, all of which manage to sound and look like the same sunny glint from the heavens that repeatedly takes on the most basic, rudimentary approach to personal growth.  If ChatGPT has yet to develop a Biblical arm, it’s probably being programmed by someone in their ranks. Thoughts and prayers, as they say. 

Case in point: Jon Gunn’s The Unbreakable Boy, though with this film, the top believers somehow stumbled even further into the depths of Hell by doubling down on their Zachary Levi stock. Just four short years after RFK Jr.’s could’ve-been running mate starred as Kurt Warner in Kingdom’s production of American Underdog, the odyssey of a grocery store shelf stocker who became a Hall of Fame quarterback, all thanks to the man above, Levi returns here as Scott, the man in need of a spiritual awakening. Will it come in the form of a relationship with Teresa (Meghann Fahy; innocent, methinks) that is rushed along by a surprise pregnancy after date number three? As a cause of that eventual birth, one that brings Austin – their autistic son who also has the same Osteogenesis imperfecta (“brittle bone” disease) as his mom, though hers is a mild case – into the world? The revelation that his heavy, midday-to-midnight drinking might represent a real problem? 

It should come as no surprise that the answer to all of the above is “yes,” both because The Unbreakable Boy is based on the true story of the LeRette family, one to which it is ostensibly faithful, and because there’s no other direction for the film to go. Once Austin (Jacob Laval) is introduced, the film’s title is given a physical and supposedly emotional representation, but even his most compelling moments in this anecdote-based sketch of a character’s life feel like offramps deliberately implemented to provide Scott with a way through what the film believes to be an infinitely more complicated journey. To make matters worse, Gunn’s most concerted efforts to make what could have been the heartwarming tale of a theoretically-different kid’s discovery that it was never his job to fit in, but for others to accept him for who he is, seem designed to bolster audience satisfaction scores. Remember, as long as we end a movie feeling validated re: how we’re all good people, it doesn’t matter what the movie actually has to say, how it says it, or if it bothers going beyond the surface at all.

Every introduction of a new character aims to serve this same goal. Scott’s parents (Patricia Heaton and Todd Terry) only pop up to give Austin a less enthusiastic hug than they gave their other grandchild, Logan (Gavin Warren), or to reassure their son that his bad choices don’t define him. Teresa’s sister (Amy Acker) essentially does the same, reminding the former that Scott is nothing like their Dad; his drinking went on for years, she says, while Scott’s has only been a real problem for… well, about a decade, but still! The two men Scott can regularly confide in come in the forms of his lifelong imaginary friend-slash-conscience, Joe (Drew Powell) and their local church’s preacher (Peter Facinelli), whose bond with Scott grows as they discover they have much more in common than just the Higher Power they theoretically share. 

Above all of its many detracting elements, The Unbreakable Boy can’t even be bothered to mine the right lessons from its painfully obvious set pieces. That is, if there are “right” takeaways to be had, given how thinly they’re all drawn. Attending, let alone speaking at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting should be categorized as a step in the right direction for any human being who struggles with such a cunning, baffling, and powerful disease, but Gunn’s film treats each of Scott’s revelations in those settings like the aforementioned Warner probably felt each time he won his way to a Super Bowl. When Scott and Teresa fight for their son’s right to stay at the school that opted to direct the family to a care center more capable of aiding Austin’s special needs, it’s the teachers and students who are afforded an assembly to celebrate their hand in bringing him back, not his family nor the unbreakable boy himself. Even as the narrative crawls its way toward its inevitable, cloying conclusion that Austin was always going to be the one to fix his dad, not the other way around, it’s hard to buy any of it given the common knowledge that its star supports an administration that believes vaccines cause neurodivergence. One can only hope that Levi’s insistence on how it was less important to save his career than to vote the way he did actually has some real ramifications. 

That prayer might make its way from moviegoer’s mouths to God’s ears, but if Kingdom-esque companies have anything to say about – and they are literally the ones who have something to say about it – it will only be a matter of time before his beliefs and those of others like him (looking at you, Caviezel) will be plastered across yet another poster and/or trailer urging us to open our hearts to love and acceptance. (At the moment, Kingdom Story has four films in various stages of production.) What’s ironic is that the studio has yet to open their own hearts to anything that isn’t already festering within the dingy cavern pumping blood, oxygen, and blindness to the brain. The Unbreakable Boy is no different, a shortsighted, ill-conceived document that proclaims to have seen the light while it only actually cares about banging the drum its makers have been recycling since they opened their doors. The shell is hollow; if only the noise it unfortunately continues to create wasn’t so loud. 

The Unbreakable Boy will be available to rent on PVOD on April 4.

Grade: D

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