Director: Amanda Kramer
Writer: Amanda Kramer
Stars: Juliette Lewis, Mamoudou Athie, Melanie Griffith

Synopsis: A woman swaps bodies with a chair, and everyone likes her better as a chair.

“You wouldn’t know to look at her,” an off-screen voice says at the beginning of Amanda Kramer’s By Design, “but Camille is a secure and satisfied person.” Ah, the one thing every person wants to hear. (Hey, you know that guy over there? He might look cripplingly self-conscious and depressed, but he’s not! Huh! Whaddayaknow?) But when you give Camille (Juliette Lewis) a long, probing look, this regrettable observation couldn’t be more spot on. The “you wouldn’t know to look at her” part, that is. Her brow is perpetually furrowed; she’s constantly opening her mouth, itching for the opportunity to speak, but too passive to fill the brief void of silence when it appears for fear of saying something unagreeable; her napkin sits idly by, waiting for tears to fall so that it can catch them. Call her a desperate empath or call her the worst possible brunch companion imaginable, but you’d be right to notice that she sure doesn’t look like a secure nor satisfied individual.

Perhaps that’s because Camille is not speaking for herself (the film’s inner voice belongs to Melanie Griffith’s narrator) at least not in the monologue that opens Kramer’s batshit performance art-coded dramedy, the sort of film that the Sundance Film Festival loves to screen and its viewers love to discuss, their varying opinions running wild. In other words, it’s a film written and directed by Amanda Kramer, an eccentric mind whose movies tend to be attention-worthy messes rather than the scintillating social dissections that they set out to be. And you know what? That’s far better than the many more aimless films released each year that believe their scope to be the universal purview. If you’re going to go big by going small and deranged, do it with reckless abandon. 

Kramer might be the best filmmaker on the planet in that regard, but that doesn’t inherently mean that the films in question are successful. Watchable, discussable, and endlessly fascinating, yes, but not necessarily of the same quality as something by David Lynch or Bertrand Bonello – i.e., the sort of works so baffling yet rewarding that watching them again and again only reassures what feels like adoration and awe yet manifests itself in confusion and initial ire. By Design, like many of the great efforts of other singular minds, commits so hard to its premise that it falters in the execution that follows, that aforementioned commitment veering into territory that realizes far less than it believes it has in terms of commentary on/the examination of the human condition. But again, wouldn’t you rather be subject to that as opposed to the relentless peddling of an artist who believes their self-prescribed brilliance remains untouched? 

Needless to say, your mileage will vary when it comes to how willing you are to give even a somewhat similar approach the time of day. Even more conflicting will be the premise itself: “A woman swaps bodies with a chair, and everyone likes her better as a chair.” Metaphorical? Of course not, for when Camille and her friends Irene (Robin Tunney) and Lisa (Samantha Mathis) move on from their parfait-laden lunch to a furniture store with a cluttered showroom that would send László Toth into a paralyzing panic attack, Kramer’s protagonist experiences a moment that we all long for, the one where we lock eyes with something that abruptly alters our brain chemistry and unlocks a part of ourselves that we weren’t aware existed, or at least weren’t willing to put on display. Normally, this “something” is a someone, perhaps an object of admiration or a potential romantic partner, with the universal behavior being that we take up a vested interest with them because they have or represent something we want. For Camille, it’s not a human being, but an expensive wooden chair that looks like it belongs in a university library. The only remarkable thing about it is how transfixed Camille’s companions are with it, a response that initially makes her desperate to own it, and later, once it’s sold to a different customer (Alisa Torres) hoping to soothe the ex-boyfriend she recently dumped (Mamadou Athie), to become it. (Cue the innumerable and insufferable references to The Substance; “Have you ever dreamt of a better version of yourself?”)

To its credit, By Design only gets weirder from there. It’s a body-swap movie, but not one that is as interested in what it means to inhabit something new as it is with what happens when you leave your old vessel behind. Lewis’ commitment to the bit is a delight, but it’s Athie who gets the real showcase as his character, a part-time piano player named Olivier, becomes just as infatuated with the chair as Camille was originally, if not more so. It might sound odd to note that the sensual intimacy between this chair and its newfound occupant is among the more clever gambits we’ve seen in recent memory, and perhaps that has more to do with how Athie moves his body and speaks to himself once he’s in the chair. “We’re just two seats, aren’t we?” he whispers into its… ear? The details don’t matter nearly as much as the connection itself. The same goes for why Camille’s mother (Betty Buckley) is so insistent upon forcing flamboyant pairs of shoes onto her lifeless daughter’s feet despite the lack of response, as well as for why Camille’s stalker, played with unwavering dedication by Clifton Collins Jr., elects to tap dance in front of her moments before disaster strikes.

It would be cheesy to say that Kramer crafted such a peculiar tale with intentions to offset an audience’s expectations by design, but there’s something to be said for drawing viewers in with a premise they simply have to see put in action. Who are we kidding: If you were attending a festival, or better yet, scrolling the web in an effort to find a movie to watch this evening, how could you not be the least bit curious by a logline that promises a woman growing so obsessed with a piece of furniture that she simply must become the seat itself? In fact, that By Design never really spreads its wings beyond the symbolic conclusions one is bound to draw from its description, and its tireless tone will cause wear and tear to one’s patience more than the chair every houseguest clamors to plop down in over the years. But as Griffith’s narrator notes early on, referencing a quote that hangs on Camille’s wall at home, “Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” To respond negatively to Kramer’s ingenuity as a filmmaker, especially here, is to endure self-inflicted harm. Instead, why not try having a seat, watching By Design with mental abandon, and being thankful that you’re not viewed as the inanimate object with which everyone wants to plant their ass?

Grade: B-

Director: Hailey Gates
Writer: Hailey Gates
Stars: Alia Shawkat, Chloe East, Channing Tatum

Synopsis: Follows an aspiring actress working on a U.S. military base that simulates an Iraqi war zone.

If one were to write a book titled “How to Win the Sundance Dramatic Grand Jury Prize For Dummies,” chapter one would have to be called “The Easy Route.” It’s the path Robert Frost may not advise the ambitious to traverse, but its success rate speaks for itself. One could go for the emotional jugular, a la 2016’s Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, 2020’s Minari, or 2021’s eventual Best Picture-winning CODA; those willing to take a bigger leap could do the most, as they say, like Damien Chazelle with 2014’s Whiplash; or, you might prefer the controversial route, in the spirit of Nate Parker’s The Birth of a Nation, which placed a brutal rape scene at its core, an element that went on to spark debate after the director himself was accused of raping a college classmate in 1999. Of course, that news was reported long after the film premiered and was subsequently heralded out of Sundance, but it wasn’t just Parker’s crime that flooded it with detractors and, to use a more colloquial term, “haters” once it temporarily garnered awards buzz before petering out of the race entirely. That credit goes to the film itself for feeling like a desperate attempt for a young filmmaker to make a superhero film about the United States’ history of slavery, as well as a self-important work made by a man with a broad scope yet a limited grasp of the material itself. 

Hailey Gates’ debut feature Atropia – the latest movie to take home the festival’s top prize – has about as little in common with The Birth of a Nation as Minari does with Blood Simple, the Coen Brothers’ film that took home Grand Jury honors in 1985. Yet it feels like the sort of film that paved its own path to early-year festival glory by way of its wit, its ideas, and its many, many cameos, too. The key word there, though, is “ideas,” as that’s what most of Atropia amounts to, a collection that fuels the under-developed nature of Gates’ satire without serving it at full capacity. Occasionally, that’s a fine state for a debut to operate in, but given the access that Gates – most recently seen in Challengers playing the only one of Patrick Zweig’s many Tinder dates that we get to see in person – has to a number of A-and-B-listers, the material needs to be stronger. Otherwise, we’re stuck staring at 102 minutes of window dressing; a handsome, hollow one at that.

Then again, that’s a fitting idea for a movie that is trying to be a cutting satire of our nation’s ridiculous military spending habits when it’s far more effective at being about the pains one will go to in order to break free of the obscurity that background players in Hollywood are often saddled with. In this case, the central extra is Fayruz (Alia Shawkat), a struggling actress whose willingness to take a job as a simulation participant at the titular military training base in post-9/11 Southern California. When she isn’t toggling back and forth between playing a street vendor and a mustard gas scientist – the latter being a more pivotal role in the Army’s production of “Kidnap the Person Who May or May Not Be Making the Bomb II” – she’s coaching her fellow end-credit dwellers to go the extra mile, despite the fact that most of them are perfectly content with garnering a quick pay day on the outskirts of Hollywood, regardless of these simulations running 24/7 in order to properly mimic war. The same sort of zany extroversion that made her too-brief role in Zoë Kravitz’s Blink Twice last year a disappointing loss in a bumbling thriller is front and center here, particularly when [redacted] shows up to join the action in preparation for their next real Hollywood production.

Fayruz knew that [redacted] was bound to show up on set eventually, as she’d heard rumblings of their appearance and prepared accordingly, asking for a bigger part of bringing a bit of unwelcome improvisation to her takes in the hopes of standing out. What she didn’t expect was the arrival of Abu Dice (Callum Turner), a handsome soldier tasked with playing an Atropian insurgent, though his presence feels blatantly designed to destabilize Fayruz’s otherwise eager beaver attitude to do anything for a better part. Their inevitable romantic liaison becomes the film’s primary focus, dragging down … That it was added to the story at Shawkat’s request is even more frustrating, given how excellent she is before, during, and after its introduction. It makes you wish that the film had committed harder to its satirical ambitions, affording her the opportunity to continue reveling in an individual showcase as opposed to being the vessel through which this toothless satire is delivered. 

Simply put, Atropia is just a bit too obvious for its own good, naming its fake news channels “Box News” and “Al Jazzer,” done to provide the base with an authentic feel despite being narrative moves that feel lateral, if not throwaway, much like most of Gates’ script’s should’ve-been-funny lines. That aforementioned wit comes in fits and starts, primarily when Tim Heidecker and Chloë Sevigny show up for a combined 90 seconds of screen time to tell an amputee that they can’t cast her in this production due to the risk that she will be re-traumatized, the burden she’s carried since losing half of her right arm in Iraq representing a hurdle for their project that is best walked around as opposed to lept over. The same goes for its most satirical material, cutting observations like “Think of it as like a really expensive game of laser tag” and the very real fact that these military bases were built on the promise they represented to Hollywood, another attempted (and frequently successful) cash grab on the part of the Department of Defense. 

But it bears reiterating that we knew that already, and it doesn’t seem that Gates necessarily cares to delve further beyond what is already understood as opposed to continuing to tread on sandy ground, not so much following in the footsteps of more pioneering works but taking the exact same steps that they paved before. It’s a crying shame that Gates never got to shoot the documentary she originally intended Atropia to be, due to the government’s restriction on access to the materials that film would have required, not just because it almost certainly would’ve been a better movie than this one, but because of how little interest in mining its own fictional revelations the one she did make actually is. Shawkat’s natural charisma and Turner’s blinding beauty aside, there’s nothing to gnaw on here that hasn’t already been sampled, chewed up, and spit back out for the dogs to snack on later. On paper, it might have looked like a howler. In practice, it’s a joke with a punchline that could have been delivered with brevity, and is instead drawn out over close to two hours. By the end, all we’re left to do is nod, acknowledge that we got the picture, and wish the film had realized it as soon as we did.

Grade: C-

Director: James Sweeney
Writer: James Sweeney
Stars: Dylan O’Brien, James Sweeney, Alexa

Synopsis: Two grieving men bond in support group and form unlikely friendship.

Therapy isn’t exactly a one-stop shop for every demon in an individual’s arsenal – “Take it from someone who knows,” he says, as if anyone who has ever gone to therapy hasn’t walked away feeling like the foremost authority on the matter – but in one way or another, it tends to serve as a jumping off point for people, no matter what they happen to be going through. And, for that matter, whether or not they respond to the therapy itself, or just happen to identify with another soul in the grieving circle. In James Sweeney’s triumphant sophomore feature Twinless, Roman (Dylan O’Brien) finds identification with Dennis (Sweeney), both of whom begin attending group therapy specifically for people whose twins have died. The odd thing about it – their connection, not the therapy session, whose leader (Tasha Smith) seems to be more interested in using the group to try out the stand-up routine she and her boyfriend-stealing sister Claire never got to debut together – is that Roman and Dennis have absolutely nothing in common. Their first conversation, unfolding in a diner where Roman inhales a panini while Dennis sits food-less, proves as much. The latter doesn’t seem to know that there’s a city called Moscow anywhere but Idaho; when he complains that his mother has started charging him rent to live in her basement, and Dennis asks how she’s taking it, Roman replies, “Cash.” Because obviously, that’s what Dennis was curious about.

Nevertheless, a friendship blossoms, one based far more on their personal differences and their seemingly similar losses. They bond frequently on trips to the grocery store, attempting to stock Roman’s barren pantry with more than a single pop tart and a jar of olives. The unlikely duo browse bookstores together, with Dennis picking out worthwhile titles based on their cover art, a practice Roman has to warm to given how he was taught not to judge something in such a manner. (One of the many common adages he takes literally over the course of 100 tender minutes.) But there’s far more to Sweeney’s dramedy than what initially meets the eye, that being a film far less about found connection than it is about the root of undisclosed infatuation. It’s a film that starts out feeling like one thing, only to repeatedly rip the rug out from beneath your feet every time you feel even the slightest semblance of comfort.

In less capable hands, Twinless might feel manipulative and overly-calculated for the purpose of deliberately testing its audience’s patience as it takes another twist, and then another turn for good measure. But Sweeney manages to keep things unexpected in a way that doesn’t shy away from the film’s queasy developments, rather embracing them in an effort that highlights a rare grasp of the human condition. When it comes to grief, it’s almost natural to cope by doing things we aren’t proud of; it’s likely that we know we’re doing something wrong, yet aren’t willing to give up the bad habits just yet due to their resuscitative powers. 

As a matter of fact, it’s deliciously ironic that Roman and Dennis encounter one another at a therapy session, given how everything that follows their initially-friendly meet-cute would be a licensed psychologist’s nightmare. It’s difficult to even talk about what unfolds after Twinless’s title card drops a little more than 15 minutes into the picture – never a bad sign – aside from praising its creatives, from the director-writer-star in Sweeney on down to Marcie, the receptionist at Dennis’ office who initially seems a bit too empty-headed to be a character of any consequence yet ultimately allows Twinless to broaden its reach beyond that of a showcase for the never-better O’Brien, exceptional as the evolving Roman in the present and the already-evolved Rocky in occasional flashbacks. Perhaps it only feels that way because Marcie is played by a note-perfect Aisling Franciosi, who revels in the bliss of a role that affords her the opportunity to have a bit of fun on screen, something the Irish actress had yet to experience in her career. (Spoiler: Jennifer Kent’s The Nightingale and Twinless have nothing in common.) Or, perhaps the charm she brings to the procession is thanks not only to her chameleonic gifts as a performer, but to Sweeney’s whip-smart script, one that lets its characters breathe rather than forcing those inhabiting them to create something out of nothing. 

Therein lies the true charm to Twinless, a film not without faults but one with more than enough heart to make you willing to look past the elements that make it occasionally feel as though its working too hard to fill the space between the “shockers,” for lack of a better word, of its early, middle, and late-stage revelations. (In case you have yet to catch on, Sweeney is itching to keep you guessing, and is willing to have his work ask for forgiveness later rather than begging, “Hey, would you mind if I wrongfoot you just once more?”) If much of its runtime makes its audience feel a bit too much like Charlie Brown believing that Lucy couldn’t possibly yank the football away at the last second again, there’s plenty of technical prowess to make up for that, too. In Straight Up, Sweeney’s debut, the problem wasn’t entirely with its writing, just that it never went far enough beyond the trappings of its premise, one that seemed to care less about developing its characters than forcing you to accept being fussy as a personality trait. With Twinless, the director in Sweeney seems to have caught up with the scribe; even if he tends to go back to the well one too many times with some editing tricks that will make viewers moan with intrigue one second before inducing an eye-roll the next. He plays with mirrors an awful lot, an obvious metaphor for a movie about twins to settle on as its key visual maneuver, but each one of these shots succeeds in making one question whether or not the film’s key players are willing to accept what’s staring back at them. 

Sweeney’s other go-to – split screens that initially separate the two parties on either side – always resolve themselves by fading away, leaving us with a conjoined image of Roman moving forward and Dennis hurdling backwards into his ever-familiar state of obscurity. If they initially feel like an unnecessary gimmick, much like the film’s multiple surprises, these moments tend to uncover the deepest truths of all: No matter how often we try to identify with the people around us, no matter what they represent, and certainly no matter who we may or may not have shared a womb with, the only person we’re left with in the end is ourselves. Twinless is endlessly curious about whether or not we are willing to accept that, but it’s also wise enough to know that there isn’t a universal answer to that quandary, and certainly no universal way to cope with the dilemma, either. 

Grade: B

Director: Michael Shanks
Writer: Michael Shanks
Stars: Alison Brie, Dave Franco, Damon Herriman

Synopsis: A couple’s move to the countryside triggers a supernatural incident that drastically alters their relationship, existence, and physical form.

Michael Shanks’ Together will likely be the best horror-comedy of the year. Is that a surprise though? It’s got a solid body horror premise. There’s the winning combination of Alison Brie and Dave Franco. It’s a film about love and how baffling it can sometimes be! Wrap that all together, and Shanks’ feature film debut will have won you over from its intriguing opening. Although it plays out in standard horror fashion, it makes a bold promise that brings to mind films like The Thing and From Beyond. As soon as it’s clear that Shanks won’t be afraid to break the rules of horror, genre fans will feel as if they’re in capable hands. And based on the riotous events that occur in Together, that assurance is proven correct.

We meet Millie (Brie) and Tim (Franco) at their going-away party. After years milling around the city, the ever-focused Millie has taken a teaching job in the country and lost puppy dog Tim is tagging along for the move. He’s an aspiring musician who is planning on dropping a self-released EP. The key word is planning, as one gets the sense that Tim, despite being a charmer, doesn’t have the most drive. While Tim catches up with Millie’s brother, he unkindly points out that rather than Tim making Millie more fun, Milllie just made him less cool. Shanks’ film works because the film makes clear that that’s completely false. Franco obviously brings a charm to this character so he’s not too unlikable, but he most definitely is grating. All it takes for that realization is to hear Millie update her friend on some of the recent troubles they have been having as a couple. Even before that, Millie adorably points out that all the guests love how the two of them are wearing similarly-styled outfits. Tim’s reaction is more than enough to elicit a groan. So upon hearing the genuine issues they’re facing, Shanks’ script shines even further in how he depicts the two of them in this first act.

Despite the frustrations both sides of the relationship feel regarding one another, there’s palpable love. They’re adorable together. Of course, it helps to have a real-life couple at the center of this two-hander. The chemistry is clear and it carries this film a long way. It’s not a shock to see that these two remain together in the hopes of reclaiming what once was. It’s in their baked-in chemistry as performers that allow the sharper elements of the script to really shine. They do their best to put on the show of a perfect couple in front of guests, but the not-so-subtle jabs at one another sting. It reveals the underlying problem Together is so interested in, but also makes for awkward comedic beats that work great. Beyond that past love that they’re holding onto for dear life, there’s a lot of built-up resentment, anxieties, fears, and even selfishness that’s being internalized. Before the film even really settles into its full horror premise, there’s nightmarish sequences that, while again occasionally familiar, work quite well. They operate wonderfully as jump scares, but like any great horror, they put a literal face on whatever internal dilemma our characters may be facing.

Starting her new job knowing absolutely nobody, she meets Jamie (Damon Herriman), a fellow teacher who holds out a kind, and perhaps flirtatious, olive branch. While discussing what brought her to the new school, he exclaims how exciting her reply was in reminding him that passion is still possible. While it’s in reference to teachers who genuinely want to bring positive change to the lives of children, it can also be taken as a nod to the lost passion Millie feels in her relationship. There’s another clear-cut metaphor Shanks makes use of to depict how this relationship has made the two feel. 

Tim details a story from his childhood where a rotting rat carcass was stuck in his ceiling. Due to it occurring so gradually, he simply became accustomed to the rotting smell. The deeper Shanks brings us into the relationship of these two, the link is clear. The frustrations Tim and Millie have amongst one another are now being wrapped into being seen as pillars of their relationship. They have intertwined these negative aspects with the love they shared from one another, forcing themselves to put up with it rather than ever face the issue. It’s an upsetting notion to see anybody fall into but will certainly be relatable to some. As is made literal in the film, being together can feel like carrying dead weight if both parties aren’t committed. At one point in the film, a character details what the ultimate intimacy in a relationship is. It’s a warped way of thinking about relationships. But Together explores both sides of its own argument, in turn making for a compelling and thought-provoking film.

In the end, Together doesn’t shame either solution it presents to its audience. On one hand, there’s nothing wrong with wanting a bit more space. Understandable amounts of separation provide more room for love to exist. On the other hand, completely turning oneself over to another person is exciting! It can also be completely freeing, providing you the ability to be your complete self with another person. To quote the great body horror of 2024, you must respect the balance. Together is a twisted, f**ked up romance that’s all about taking the plunge and seeing what works out best in the end!

Together is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the Midnight category.

Grade: B+

Director: Andrew Ahn
Writers: Andrew Ahn, James Schamus
Stars: Joan Chen, Bowen Yang, Lily Gladstone

Synopsis: A gay man makes a deal with his lesbian friend: a green-card marriage for him, in exchange for in vitro fertilization treatments for her. Plans evolve as Min’s grandmother surprises them with a Korean wedding banquet.

It can often be worrisome news when it’s announced that an exciting indie director takes on a big blockbuster or remake as their sophomore project. To lose fresh and vital voices of cinema to the machines of cinematic universes is rarely something to cheer on. There are success stories of course. Lee Isaac Chung’s Twisters is one of the more recent examples. Now, another Sundance alum can be added to that list. With The Wedding Banquet, Andrew Ahn provides a much-needed update and delightfully modern spin to the 1993 Ang Lee film of the same name. It’s a faithful remake but isn’t afraid to take liberties as far as shifting the narrative or tone goes. The original film is one that’s both very well-made and quite enjoyable. Ahn’s version takes a solid foundation and improves upon it in a very beautiful way. With his second film, Ahn is showing himself to be a filmmaker who isn’t interested in showing his audience somebody who’s perfect. He’s far more intrigued in depicting people that feel inadequate. And this makes for films that are far more compelling.

Practically every character in The Wedding Banquet grapples with a sense of failure in some way. For some, it takes the form of inadequacy. Chris (Bowen Yang) is afraid to marry his long time boyfriend, Min (Han Gi-chan), as he’s worried Min will be throwing away his career and large inheritance for a mistake. For Angela (Kelly Marie Tran), she’s frightened at the thought of being a mother and messing up the life of her child. Min grapples with the idea that he isn’t allowed to be his true self in front of his grandparents out of worry they’ll be disappointed in him. These are all fairly standard dramatic plot points, but Ahn captures them so tenderly that The Wedding Banquet will capture your heart and not let go until you start to cry. But the film isn’t all drama and reckoning with sadness and familial trauma! In fact, Ahn’s film is often quite lively and full of fun.

The film begins with a lively gala full of dancing, celebration, and live music. Somebody describes Joan Chen dancing on stage as giving mother (Twin Peaks fans are eating incredibly well). For Angela and her partner, Lee (Lily Gladstone), it’s a comically awkward event amongst family members bragging and intruding on personal news. It’s all quite relatable, and that’s even before we meet Chris who is suffering from social anxiety at a party where he knows one other person. Very quickly, Ahn makes each of the central characters so deeply relatable that his viewers will gladly latch onto all of them. We learn that Lee has received a second round of IVF, and this tight-knit group are celebrating the prospect of being one big, happy extended family. It’s a breezy introduction that’s fueled by the clear love these individuals share for one another. They all radiate such joy not only amongst their significant others, but as the true friends they all appear to be. But with enjoying their joys also comes enduring their struggles.

Ahn’s film has pivoted quite a bit from the original in that it appears far more interested in the in-between moments of his character’s lives. So much of the narrative and the humor of the original is in service of building to the wonderful sequence from which the film derives its name. But in this update, we’re given so much opportunity to spend time with these partners and these friends in the quiet moments of their lives. Ahn delves into their worries, their insecurities, their delights, their love. And if anything stands out most, it’s just how beautifully Ahn captures the feeling of love. He has such a warm eye for imagery that reveals itself all throughout The Wedding Banquet. It can be felt in the way Marie Tran looks out the window at Gladstone tending to her garden. It can be felt in the way Yang and Gi-chan playfully come together during their morning routine. It’s just so full of warmth. What makes him equally impressive as a filmmaker is his ability to capture the reverse of this.

Ahn captures pain in ways that sneak up on the viewer. After seeing so much love on screen, it’s heartbreaking when he reveals the antithesis of his previous compositions. In the most conflict-ridden moments of the film, Ahn focuses on the items that once represented such peace and joy in this home. One sequence in particular doesn’t even have any of the characters present, but we can feel the sadness and lack of joy in our core. It’s poetic composition that’s showing and trusting the viewers to intuit using their own emotional intelligence. It’s instances like these which show Ahn is far more interested in the emotional dynamics of this premise, knowing that they are likely relatable across audiences anywhere. But again, that’s not to say The Wedding Banquet isn’t full of fun moments too.

In this film, the curveballs life throws our way are best solved with screwball antics. And so, Ahn delivers several set pieces that just have joke after joke land. The titular banquet itself is an absolute blast and makes for a wonderful crescendo. But even here, Ahn cleverly sneaks the entire crux of his film into a joke. The Wedding Banquet is ultimately about the massive burden familial expectations place on us. In our journeys to become individual people, that burden rears its head in frustrating ways. The irony is, as depicted in one joke during the wedding, we can strive to follow certain traditions and remain rigid to them, all while forgetting their meanings entirely. In the end, perhaps it’s sometimes best to leave traditions and expectations in the past. It’s only after that that we can allow ourselves to live life the way we both desire and deserve to. Whether it’s with actual family coming to terms of who we are or the family we find along the way, all of us are made stronger by the love shared with others. Ahn’s The Wedding Banquet is many things. But perhaps above all else, it’s a heartwarming reminder that we all deserve lives full of complete love.

The Wedding Banquet is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the Premieres category.

Grade: B

Director: Mary Bronstein
Writer: Mary Bronstein
Stars: Rose Byrne, Danielle Macdonald, Conan O’Brien

Synopsis: With her life literally crashing down around her, Linda attempts to navigate her child’s mysterious illness, her absent husband, a missing person, and an increasingly hostile relationship with her therapist.

“Time is a series of things to get through.” 

This is a thought that comes into Linda’s (an exceptional Rose Byrne) head when asked what she perceives time to be. It speaks to her worldview so perfectly. How disheartening is that? That life isn’t something that should be experienced, but rather dealt with, until we eventually no longer have things to go through. This is the central conceit around which Mary Bronstein’s If I Had Legs I’d Kick You revolves. How to accurately describe this film proves quite the challenge, but it’s a challenge that Bronstein clearly reveled in creating. This film is a madhouse of sensory overload. It feels designed to make you laugh, wince, squirm, or perform some combination of all three in your seat. It’s also a devastatingly bleak film full of one of the most grim outlooks on life we’re bound to see in a film all year. And yet, If I Had Legs I’d Kick You is also a raucous and exciting film any way you try to look at it. Bronstein has crafted a bold film about how easy it is for the hardships in life to swallow us completely. One thing is for certain; Linda doesn’t have it easy.

The film opens with an intense close-up on Linda’s face. She’s in a group therapy session where her unseen daughter refers to her as “stretchable… like putty.” Linda snaps for feeling as if she’s unable to speak, and delivers a borderline manic monologue about how all this talking, observations included, doesn’t seem to be addressing the issues at hand. Byrne’s performance comes out the gate incredibly strong. It’s easy to buy into an entire film watching her slowly break down psychologically and emotionally when this is her introduction to audiences. Much of If I Had Legs I’d Kick You is played for laughs. At the very least, Bronstein is injecting this film with a sense of cosmic irony that the humor is able to arrive from. So, while audiences will be laughing quite often, there’s a lot more going on here than just empty comedic ideas. In fact, part of what makes If I Had Legs I’d Kick You so impressive is just how quickly Bronstein can shed the laughs of her film for a reaction that’s far more upsetting.

At one point in the film, Linda receives some rather frustrating news in her office. Her reaction is one that will surely be very relatable to most viewers. She grabs a pillow and violently screams into it. We then hard cut to the hallway outside her office. The door opens, Byrne pops her head out, and very calmly tells her next patient to come in. It’s one of the most classic bits in the comedy handbook. And make no mistake, it is just as funny here. But the longer Bronstein’s script torments Linda, the more difficult it is to look at these reactions without some sadness. As her Gen-Z patient drones on and on about an issue she had while shopping on the RealReal, Byrne’s face is weighed down with exhaustion. After screaming into the void for solace, Linda appears numb in the face of issues she deems to be irrelevant. Considering she’s a therapist, this poses a rather concerning issue. But it’s an issue that Bronstein clearly wants to pick apart and go all the way down to the bone with in If I Had Legs I’d Kick You. This feels exceptionally true when thinking about a scene that’s bound to be remembered as one of the best comedy sequences of 2025.

After constant begging from her daughter, Linda acquiesces to her request and the two get into the car with a new pet hamster. From here, things go terribly awry with genuinely gut-busting laughs to likely be the reaction. It’s in this sequence that Bronstein points out the sheer ridiculousness of life. A chain of events can just completely spiral out of control to the point we can no longer process each individual piece at a time. Instead, we can either lash out and completely lose our cool, or take on a completely peaceful aura with the help of some substances and believe everything’s fine. Linda often alternates between both. Can anybody blame her? Life often dumps problems into our lap with little respite. And in most cases, it can overwhelm us to the point where we feel completely helpless and utterly alone. The painful irony of If I Had Legs I’d Kick You can be found right here.

Despite Linda feeling alone (and in many ways, she is), Bronstein surrounds her central character with an unreal ensemble of bit performances. The two that are most integral? Her therapist (Conan O’Brien) and her next-door neighbor (A$AP Rocky). In Linda’s eyes, they’re mostly there to torment and/or anger her. But they are shown to be quite helpful and kind on more than one occasion. Eventually though, it’s far too easy to hit a point where it still feels like we’re stranded on an island of our own making. Linda’s not to be blamed here, but as we watch her fall further and further into the frightening depths of her own mind, we can only hope she reaches out for somebody to catch her. She begins to outright refuse facing any problems head on. O’Brien delivers a perfectly exasperated yet deeply sympathetic tone to ask Linda how she expects anything to get better if inaction is the path she’s choosing. Linda merely replies that it won’t get better. By this point, it’s as if she has conceded to life’s overwhelming sense of defeat.

So the title of Bronstein’s film really says it all: if I had legs I’d kick you. In other words, if we didn’t feel so utterly helpless by life, maybe we could solve some of the problems put in front of us. But if we can’t, then what? What if all our attempts to make things better are met with even more absurd predicaments? One of the inciting incidents of If I Had Legs I’d Kick You sees a massive hole in Linda’s ceiling. As the film goes on, and the hole grows both literally and metaphorically, Bronstein’s film becomes more nightmarish. Visually, sonically, and thematically, Bronstein drags Linda and her audience down into the abyss. It’s here when the climax becomes an emotionally wrought and devastating prospect. Both the film and Linda feel like they have completely given up. The surreal nature of Bronstein’s script begins folding in upon itself. No matter how badly we want to patch the metaphorical holes in our lives, perhaps it’s easier to just succumb to the strength of the waves. At one point in the film, The Book of Matthew is quoted. It’s a passage that questions if it’s perhaps better to give in completely to the void of it all rather than condemn another to that same fate. But a committed Byrne and Bronstein’s perfect method of capturing desperation and facing struggle supply her audience with so much to chew on in the finale. It’s a film that’s both bonkers and panic-inducing. It also happens to be one of the best films of the year.

If I Had Legs I’d Kick You is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the Premieres category.

Grade: B+