Director: Aki Kaurismäki
Writer: Aki Kaurismäki
Stars: Alma Pöystim, Jussi Vatanen, Alina Tomnikov

Synopsis: In modern-day Helsinki, two lonely souls in search of love meet by chance in a karaoke bar. However, their path to happiness is beset by obstacles – from lost phone numbers to mistaken addresses, alcoholism, and a charming stray dog.

With a runtime barely going over 80 minutes, Aki Kaurismäki’s Fallen Leaves packs such an unbelievable amount of emotion into every sequence. It’s a deeply impressive display of economic filmmaking, but by no means does it seem to be a symptom of lack of care. On the contrary, Kaurismäki’s film goes for the most straight-forward approach possible, with maximum impact left in the aftermath. Knowing that his audience will likely relate to the larger themes of the film, Fallen Leaves uses none of its sparse runtime to really provide the audience with the ins and outs of his two lead characters. They’re practically the only characters in the film, and they feel so lived in in any given scene. Instead, through imagery and subtle performance alone, we come to painfully understand the plight of Ansa (Alma Pöysti) and Holappa (Jussi Vatanen). If you’re wondering just how that is, the answer is simple: many of us continue to live some version of it every day.

The film opens up drily capturing Ansa at work. With a melancholic expression, she scans various cheeses and dairy items on the shelf. We then follow her home, where she transfers from the couch, to the kitchen table, to the bathroom, and finally, to bed. Nothing is said vocally, but it’s in her subtle body language that all we need to know can be understood. As Ansa meanders through the cyclical nature of her daily life, it’s clear that this routine is one that has been set in stone for some time now. The only uprooting of that constancy is distinctly shown by what she hears on the radio. Practically whenever a radio is turned on in Fallen Leaves, we hear of nothing but breaking news from the war in Ukraine. With this bleak opening sequence, Kaurismäki’s film reminds us of how often we are surrounded by pain and sadness, both internally and externally. To be grateful for the lives we have been given is an honorable and necessary notion, but if they are full of such mundanity and tragedy, it becomes increasingly difficult with each passing day.

Fallen Leaves finds itself deeply interested in the idea of cyclical behavior, both in the form of routine-building, but also in reasoning. This all stems from a conversation Holappa has with his friend at a karaoke bar. He professes that he’s depressed because he drinks too much, but he also finds himself drinking to fight the depression he faces. Living on a job site with non-existent privacy, it’s clear that he too has no respite from the routine of life, except for the bit of solitude he has while his roommates go to bars. Luckily, it’s on a chance encounter that both Ansa and Holappa happen to notice one another in the few waking moments they have to exist beyond the scope of working to stay afloat. But like so many interactions we have in life, our characters find themselves more comfortable sipping their drinks than speaking to one another. It isn’t until Ansa finds herself unjustly fired from her job that the two meet again, on proper terms. Hoping to find comfort in the company of one another, they go to a local movie theater that, for cinephiles, looks like a true delight for a first date location. This is a rare scene of the film wherein the dead air is not filled with that of immense tragedy and war reports. Instead, it’s full of levity seemingly inspired from a Jim Jarmusch film. Even still, we barely see the two characters react. It’s in their deeply muted performances that provide the emotions which will shatter our hearts in the latter half of the film.

As the two grapple with the personal hardships they face, Kaurismäki begins utilizing the bare essentials of what is necessary. With two solitary images juxtaposed by a great match cut, the central theme propelling Fallen Leaves practically screams at the audience. This film has a really great layer of bone dry comedy on its surface, but in many ways, it almost feels like a put-on. That’s not written as a critique, but rather a likening to the notion that we oftentimes rely on humor to cover up a deeper sense of sadness within. So mentioning the comedic side of this film is solely to point out that while the film is humorous for most of the runtime, there are sequences throughout that will leave the audience gutted. With a simple shopping trip involving four or five items, Kaurismäki is able to paint such a vivid image of Ansa’s deepest beliefs that it’s truly remarkable. Loneliness, in its all-consuming nature, is deeply powerful. It often may feel impossible to rid ourselves of the notion. Yet every morning, as we wake up and find ourselves overwhelmed with a new barrage of tragedies, it may become more and more difficult to find reason to go on.

In a particularly stunning sequence during the final moments of the film, Kaurismäki brings his audience back to the karaoke bar. As the group onstage sings particularly bleak, although incredibly catchy, lyrics, the filmmaker cuts to individual listeners in the crowd. They all solemnly look to the stage, with drink in hand, and the film reveals perhaps its greatest trick. Each stranger we see is hopelessly alone, and at one point or another, many viewers may picture themselves within that same crowd. All the characters in the film are not Hollywood personas. It’s a film full of everyday people, each dealing with real problems and raw feelings that are deeply relatable. In a way, we are just as much characters of this film as anybody we see on screen. It’s only in the final moments of Fallen Leaves that Kaurismäki provides us with a semblance of hope. Even if it takes some time trekking through darkness, we will hopefully find a hand to take hold of and make it through to the other side. At the very least, even if the light seems miles, or decades, away, having somebody to walk alongside will make it a bit easier. 

Grade: A-

Director: David Fincher
Writers: Andrew Kevin Walker, Alexis Nolent, and Luc Jacamon
Stars: Michael Fassbender, Tilda Swinton, Charles Parnell

Synopsis: After a fateful near-miss, an assassin battles his employers, and himself, on an international manhunt he insists isn’t personal.

The Killer represents a return to form for Michael Fassbender, whose cold gaze will make the hair stand on your forearms and, at times, send shivers down your spine. To go along with a darkly comic narration that is pitch-perfect for David Fincher’s meticulous crime thriller, the prolonged opening sequence sets the tone for the entire film. It is a remarkable character study displaying great patience, and the film excels when watching how the main character reacts when sequences unravel and are not under his control.

For instance, the opening is so stoic, cool, calm, and collected that Fincher and screenwriter Andrew Kenneth Walker immerse the viewer in the mindset of a man with unmatched paranoid vigilance. You begin to feel his obsessive sense of control, extreme orderliness, and methodical nature of his highly planned professionalism, and perhaps most importantly, psychological rationalization is used as a defense to excel in a world where very few last a long time.

That means our Killer has to stick to his process, quietly rocking out to The Smiths and performing yoga while always making sure not to leave any DNA—oh yes, that pesky DNA. That’s where Fincher and company grab the viewer and refuse to let go. The Killer is not about a successful hitman but about how a true professional handles himself when things don’t go as planned. 

You’ll notice Fincher’s famed use of movement, soaking within each frame. Fincher always uses the camera lens to mirror and connect his audience with the character – you can feel that overwhelmingly here. As the film progresses, you’ll notice the painstaking, even arduous, discipline in each step taken to accomplish the job. 

The Killer is an adaptation of the French comic book of the same name by Alexis Nolent and Luc Jacamon. The immersive character study starts with Fassbender’s unnamed assassin as he stalks a rich yuppie about to enjoy a quiet night of BDSM from, by the looks of it, a highly paid dominatrix. Our hitman needs to find out what the old man did or why someone has put a contract on his head. Frankly, he does not care. All he wants is to do his job professionally and get back to his girlfriend, Magdala (Sophie Charlotte).

We will avoid any more details to prevent spoilers, but we shouldn’t mistake The Killer for a documentary like The Iceman Confesses: Secrets of a Mafia Hitman. This is based on a comic, and you can highly question its authenticity. And, of course, the source materials were written pre-Ring doorbell and HD closed-caption television.

Fassbender’s character, for some reason, doesn’t have to worry about security footage from the most basic public places to the most secure living quarters in the country. I mean, all it takes is a DoorDash delivery driver and the world’s most unsecured back door you’ll ever see—think Fort Knox with a revolving door in the back without a security guard. Then there’s the matter of leaving a couple of characters alive, which doesn’t make sense in the grand scheme of the film.

However, that’s beside the point. What you have here is a cold and calculated study not of a profession but of the practice of discipline. Of course, Fincher scratches that itch for something different and ultra-cool, unlike most hitman genre films. Fassbender’s dry inner monologue, the affectionless way he adapts his plan to meet one of his victim’s needs or the icy smolder of surveilling your target.

The Killer is a return to the genre film for Fincher. If you compare it to the master’s almost biblical filmography of Zodiac, Seven, or Fight Club, you’ll undoubtedly walk away disappointed. But that’s because we are incorrectly holding Fincher to an incredibly high standard he himself has set. The thing is, he has applied his high standard to a source material that has its limitations. 

That may say more about Fincher as a filmmaker than anything. The Killer is a Fincher slow burn, whose heat dissipates throughout the picture.

Grade: B+

Director: David Yates
Writers: Wells Tower and Evan Hughes
Stars: Emily Blunt, Chris Evans, Catherine O’Hara

Synopsis: Liza dreams of a better life for herself and her daughter. Hired to work for a bankrupt pharmaceutical company, Liza skyrockets with sales and into the high life, putting her in the middle of a federal criminal conspiracy.

Everything about Pain Hustlers is too cute, simple, and straightforward for such a complex story. Based on actual events, director David Yates brings a peacock-colored comic strip depth to a film that should punch you in the mouth, take no prisoners, and ask forgiveness later. Instead, the script is hackneyed, the characters are cookie-cutter, and the empathy built into the final act is saccharine. The result is a The Wolf of Wall Street wannabe without the conviction.

Emily Blunt plays Liza Drake, a single mom making ends meet as a stripper because her ex-husband is a deadbeat. To make matters worse, her daughter Phoebe (Chloe Coleman) suffers seizures, and Liza cannot afford the treatment. So, a couple of pole and lap dances later, she meets Pete Brenner (Chris Evans), who drunkenly offers her a job in his marketing department.

Brenner is a hustler and sees a little bit of himself in Liza. They are both at rock bottom, as Peter’s drug company is about to close its doors. They both have nothing to lose. However, he knows doctors don’t want a PhD telling them how medications work. They want some eye candy, attention, and a little flirtation to stroke their egos. So he falsified her resume. Since Dr. Neel (Andy Garcia) won’t be able to look past her legs, she’s hired immediately.

Written by Wells Towe and Evan Hughes, this is their first produced script, and it shows. Almost every character lacks a three-dimensional quality. Meanwhile, any depth only runs skin deep. Case in point: the writers use Spotlight’s Brian d’Arcy James, a fine character actor, to show the arc of greed. However, the arc is only cosmetic, as if the role of Dr. Lydell’s upgrade to nicer clothes and hair plugs is a substitute for watching the deterioration of someone’s soul.

The fact of the matter is that this is a very small supporting role. If anything, Blunt’s Drake should be that representation. However, as soon as Garcia’s Neel begins to unravel—something the movie doesn’t explain and seems to be a way to be solely quirky—she wants out. The film covers the fact that the script pretends Liza is oblivious to the issues the drug causes. It’s a simple phenomenon that drug peddlers don’t want to know what’s happening with the product they’re selling as long as it’s in demand.

Also, the Chris Klein (who is in need of a career overhaul) character is poorly drawn and underwritten. The role is inflated to support a big name. If anything, the filmmakers should have drawn more of a connection between the characters. And no, I am not saying it romantically. I admire the fact that there is no romance between them. However, they underplay the friendship angle. This would have benefited a third act when loyal friends must protect themselves. Instead, the moment rings false.

What Pain Hustlers does well, albeit incredibly briefly, so you’ll need to pay attention, is a breakdown of how pharmaceutical companies manipulate the system. And after Hulu’s Dopesick and a year where Netflix featured a limited series, Pain Killer (and a documentary on the same subject), the film gets it right.

You monitor doctors in small towns and pay them to make your drug the painkiller of choice. The physician writes the script based on the company and FDA recommendations. The company reports a protocol that economically enhances its bottom line but puts patients at risk. Finally, the company leaves everything to the physician and then claims ignorance.

Yet, the lack of details and depth is covered up by an attempt at homage to an excessive and hedonistic approach to sales. The team hires down-on-their-luck reps with flexible morals—there’s even a scene where I thought Klein and Blunt might begin to thump their chests in a tribal scene of gluttony. 

That makes Pain Hustlers a trope and unoriginal. It is not so much an homage but a knockoff of better films and series that have come before it. It’s all flash with false promises, little substance, and harmful for you.

Like the product the film is based on.

Grade: D+

Director: Andrew Haigh
Writer: Andrew Haigh
Stars: Andrew Scott, Paul Mescal, Claire Foy

Synopsis: A screenwriter drawn back to his childhood home enters into a fledgling relationship with a mysterious neighbor as he then discovers his parents appear to be living just as they were on the day they died, 30 years before.

While it may come as a surprise that a film boasting a top-tier cast and an acclaimed director initially remained under the radar as the fall film festival season approached, such hidden gems often prove to be the true treasures of these events. All of Us Strangers boasts an ensemble of talented actors, including Andrew Scott of Fleabag fame, Claire Foy known for The Crown, and Paul Mescal, a recently Oscar-nominated actor. The film is skillfully directed and written by Andrew Haigh, recognized for his poignant portrayals of gay culture and relationships in works like Looking, Weekend, and the critically acclaimed 45 Years. Following its premiere at the Telluride Film Festival, All of Us Strangers quickly gained recognition, with its reputation continuing to grow after its showing at the New York Film Festival. The film has generated substantial buzz and even sparked discussions about potential Oscar recognition. This acclaim is well-deserved as the film delivers an intimate, emotionally charged experience, making it one of the most heart-wrenching films of the year. The ensemble cast delivers compelling performances throughout, and the film adeptly balances the dichotomy of themes it explores.

The film’s central focus is on Adam (Andrew Scott) as he embarks on a profound journey to explore his relationship with his parents, portrayed by Claire Foy and Jamie Bell. Simultaneously, he navigates the complexities of a budding connection with his neighbor, played by Paul Mescal. These two storylines run in parallel, often shifting between visits to his childhood home to see his parents and interactions with his neighbor in his apartment complex.

As he engages in conversations with his parents, Adam grapples with feelings of nostalgia and longing, often yearning for conversations he was unable to have or subjects he couldn’t broach during his youth. These discussions transport him back to the core of his adolescence, forcing him to confront the void left behind and how he has coped with it. The nuanced dynamics between parent and child are portrayed realistically. While Adam wishes for these reunions to be filled with joy and memories, he is confronted with challenging emotions as he shares his life with his mother and father. These encounters serve as a reminder that relationships aren’t always about ease, bliss, or happy memories.

As Adam departs from his parents and returns to his apartment, he frequently engages with his mysterious neighbor, Harry (Mescal), allowing himself to explore sensuality and genuine connection. It becomes evident that Adam’s upbringing has emotionally walled him off from most people, leaving him detached. As he addresses the root of these emotional barriers in his conversations with his parents, he begins to apply the growth he experiences to his adult life with Harry. This transformation is akin to a coming-of-age or self-actualization journey.

The themes explored in these two storylines may appear inherently juxtaposed in terms of their subject matter, which might initially leave viewers perplexed. However, director Andrew Haigh brilliantly interweaves these themes in a way that not only makes perfect sense but also complements each other seamlessly. The transitions between Adam’s childlike innocence and his burgeoning adult sexuality are skillfully handled, never causing any jarring moments. Instead, they appear intentionally crafted to create a subtextual narrative that gracefully envelops the entire story.

At the heart of the film, Andrew Scott delivers one of his most compelling performances. While more understated than his comedic role in Fleabag, he effortlessly embodies every emotional nuance his character demands. His moments of happiness are deliberately restrained, lending his character a fitting, shy demeanor that aligns seamlessly with Haigh’s vision. Conversely, his moments of despair are equally powerful, immersing the audience in his emotional turmoil.

Scott’s chemistry with Mescal is electrifying, delving into both passionate sensuality and the more tender, intimate moments they share. Claire Foy also delivers a stellar performance, portraying Scott’s perpetually youthful mother with unwavering believability. Her kind yet apprehensive nature beautifully complements Scott’s character, allowing her to shine brilliantly without overshadowing the ensemble but rather sharing the spotlight effortlessly.

As for potential drawbacks, it’s challenging for me to find any significant faults with this film. Viewer engagement with the story may depend on personal preferences regarding pacing, style, and tone. While some scenes could have been slightly trimmed, and others might have benefited from a bit more breathing room, the film worked almost flawlessly for me. Some writing choices may have held it back from achieving a perfect score in my view. However, it’s evident that Andrew Haigh is a skilled, stylized film director who adeptly realizes the stories he envisions and crafts them to fit his unique vision.

Grade: A-

Director: Luke Korem
Stars: Sabrina Solerno, Diane Warren, Downtown Julie Brown

Synopsis: The bizarre untold truth behind the greatest con in music history – Milli Vanilli.

White North American and European music executives love nothing more than using Black artists for financial gain and leaving them with the burden. From the 1950s, pop covers were stolen by white artists to bring in more money for studios, to country music theft of Hillbilly music. There’s no creative genius that wasn’t stolen and called their own. 

And then there’s the case of documentary titled Milli Vanilli, a German-French duo that took the music world by storm with “Girl You Know It’s True.” Like Albert Freedman and Dan Enright in Quiz Show, European music producers found their guys. They needed a brand, a story, and two struggling artists who oozed sex appeal to sell albums and make everyone rich. 

In the grand scheme of things, it hardly seemed to matter that Milli Vanilli couldn’t hold a note. German record producer Frank Farian saw stars, and, no doubt, blamed it on the money signs that undoubtedly caught his eyes falling down like rain. 

This is the crux of one of the greatest cons in music history, as laid bare in Luke Korem’s thought-provoking film. This is an examination of the motivations of the betrayal of public trust, a concept that carries a certain irony, considering how MTV began reshaping the music industry in the 1980s, prioritizing the visual spectacle over vocal prowess. We can blame it on Madonna, who had both, and everybody wanted their version of her.

Yes, it is a fraud, with the German-French duo being the victims of being made human capital with the relentless drive for profits. Internet companies today need constant content. Executives needed to strike while the iron was hot with the birth of music television. The duo had an astonishing rise, selling a staggering 50 million records. The Milli Vanilli album “All or Nothing” had five number-one singles, unheard of at the time. They even won a Grammy and had multiple platinum and gold records. 

Then, during a concert at Lake Compounce in Bristol, Connecticut, Rob Pilatus, and Fab Morvan were exposed during a technical malfunction, becoming a national punchline for late-night and radio drive-time hosts. The film then shows footage of televised American interviews where the duo had several communication breakdowns with the English language that was painfully evident. In one eye-opening scene, Milli Vanilli began an attempt to start a song with their voice and get the crowd involved. Only then did they start their visual dance number, and a noticeable improvement in vocal quality began. 

Almost everyone was complicit, including the pop idols. However, Milli Vanilli demonstrates the story through the poignant lens of Rob and Fab. You can empathize with their plight of being used to make everyone millions but judge them for falling victim to the alluring power of money and fame themselves. What Korem does so well is embrace the three-dimensional human story when it comes to the creation of fame, the strenuous journey, and fight to keep your place there. 

By all accounts, this is entertainment, and one could argue no one was hurt. By the time the jig was up, Arista Records had too much money invested to turn around. Personally, I have no idea how the executives wouldn’t know, with Fab Morvan claiming they did. Either way, no one stopped that gravy train, and that brings us full circle to how Rob and Fab were left to explain it all, feeling like dancing pawns, lip-syncing for their supper. 

You certainly cannot absolve Rob and Fab for their role – they are grown adults, after all, and know right from wrong. However, the film Milli Vanilli exposes a seminal moment in music history that had layers of complexity that went past the fraud. This was an exploitation of Blackartists and the deception of public trust that comes with marketing during the dawn of music television. 

At the same time, revealing the human cost of making a choice and not caring about the consequences until it’s too late.

Grade: B

Director: Maryam Keshavarz
Writer: Maryam Keshavarz
Stars: Layla Mohammadi, Niousha Noor, Arty Froushan

Synopsis: When a large Iranian-American family gathers, a family secret is uncovered that catapults the estranged mother and daughter into an exploration of the past, and to discover they are more alike than they know.

This piece was published during the 2023 SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of the actors currently on strike, the movie being covered here wouldn’t exist.

As soon as The Persian Version opens, its energy never dials down. The movie consistently jumps from one scene to the next, with a frenetic pace that is oftentimes engaging but can, in certain moments, feel extremely overwhelming. Writer/director Maryam Keshavarz helms the movie with confidence, immediately setting the tone for the wild ride audiences will embark on, going back and forth from the past and present, whilst also having Leila (Layla Mohammadi) and Shireen (Niousha Noor) consistently break the fourth wall.

At its core, The Persian Version is about Leila’s relationship with her mother, who has always appeared stern and difficult towards her daughter, but there is a reason for these actions Leila will eventually discover why that is, which will become The Persian Version’s emotional core. The film was marketed, through its trailers, as a coming-of-age comedy in which Leila surprisingly gets pregnant and deals with this newfound event in her tumultuous life while her father (Bijan Daneshmand) is ill in the hospital. But that’s not what the movie is about. It mainly focuses on Leila’s connections with Shireen and how their past lives will eventually coalesce together so they can reconcile and hope for a brighter and happier future.

It does take a while to get into the movie’s groove, but once it finds its footing, The Persian Version is a highly enjoyable dramedy bolstered by two incredible performances from Mohammadi and Noor. The unfortunate (and fundamental) problem with The Persian Version lies in its editing, where the consistent back and forth between the past and present feels jarring and discombobulating. There are times in which Keshavarz directly tells us which time period this event is set, but there are also many sequences in which it’s hard to discern whether or not it’s set in the past or present.

It makes the movie’s overall presentation feel daunting, with the audience frequently picking up the puzzle pieces and figuring out exactly who it’s following and in which period it’s set. 

Sometimes, it’s easy, as we see younger versions of Leila and Shireen. But there are many times in which it overcomplicates itself instead of dialing down on its flashier aesthetics. Boldly affirming yourself as an artist through pure maximalism is always welcomed, though even the best wall-to-wall pieces know when to stop a bit for the emotions to weave in naturally and when to go all in. Keshavarz, unfortunately, has a hard time figuring out these pieces, and, as a result, the film never really finds its flow until the second act, where it starts to calm down just a smidge.

But then the story is flipped, and Shireen starts breaking the fourth wall. It becomes even more confusing as the movie now attempts to create two narrative threads with the same exhausting rhythm. It never really knows when to stop, which is a shame. However, when some more emotional sequences arrive, Keshavarz understands their power and restrains on being too showy, fully knowing that these scenes must be handled with care and that the acting performances should showcase massive empathy and heart.

Thankfully, the performances are phenomenal. Mohammadi gives one of the best breakout roles of any movie this year, deftly balancing relatable slices of comedy with a more human and vulnerable side. Some of the film’s biggest laughs involve Leila’s relationship with Maximillian (Tom Byrne), the man who surprisingly got her pregnant, even if she is queer. The two aren’t a perfect match, but they seem to make it work, even if her family isn’t impressed with him.

But The Persian Version is Noor’s movie through and through, imbuing Shireen with a remarkable array of raw emotion and unadulterated love. She never explicitly shows that she loves Leila (we eventually get to find out why, and it’s devastating), but we see, deep down, how much she cares about her just through her eyes and how she looks at Leila. It’s a mostly quiet and reserved turn that fills the movie with as much emotional resonance as possible and makes its final scene all the more poignant. Noor should be at the top of everyone’s list for Best Supporting Actress this year, in her most powerful work as an actor so far.

She and Mohammadi are the main reasons The Persian Version is worth watching. The supporting actors are equally as excellent but do not get enough screen time to make an impact as much as they do. And even if some of its visual style can be distracting and remove some of its character development, The Persian Version remains an impassioned piece of work that sets Kezhavarz, Mohammadi, and Noor as ones to watch if you weren’t paying attention to their work before.

Grade: B

Director: Gabe Polsky
Writers: Gabe Polsky, Liam Satre-Meloy, and John Williams
Stars: Nicolas Cage, Rachel Keller, Xander Berkeley

Synopsis: An Ivy League drop-out travels to the Colorado wilderness, where he joins a team of buffalo hunters on a journey that puts his life and sanity at risk. Based on the highly acclaimed novel by John Williams.

There’s much to admire when it comes to Butcher’s Crossing. The breathtaking landscape was shot exclusively on the Blackfeet Reservation in Colorado. There’s a majestic shot of a buffalo hunt scene that doesn’t quite rival anything with Dances with Wolves, but it is good. Even a sense of isolation and danger comes with the American West. However, what Gabe Polsky’s film falls short of is depicting a group descending into madness, which is what the script aims for.

Based on the novel of the same name by John Edward Williams, one of the fundamental issues of Butcher’s Crossing is how it loses its protagonist along the way. That character is Will Andrews (played by Fred Hechinger), who leaves in the middle of his Harvard education for an adventure in a Buffalo hide trading post called Butcher’s Crossing. While there, he locates an old family friend (played by Academy Award nominee Paul Raci), hoping to allow him to accompany his men on a buffalo hunt.

Raci’s character is obnoxious (frankly, his performance seems incredibly over the top) and scoffs at the idea. Young Will then runs into a brazen buffalo hunter who goes by the name of Miller (Nicolas Cage). We cannot tell if Miller sees the youngster as a mark or wants to take him on what he promises: a hunt. You can only read about it in books. The idea is too irresistible for Will to pass up, using all his savings to finance the quest. (Will has $500, or about $14,811.79 in today’s money.) Frankly, I cannot believe they didn’t shoot and toss him in a creek.

From there, we see what makes Polsky’s adaptation tick. Along with his trusty hunting companion, Charley (an unrecognizable Xander Berkeley), and Fred (Jeremy Bobb), often the voice of dissent, they go past the thinning bison herds of the Kansas Plains to a mountain valley in Colorado, where Miller claims to have the biggest herd he’s ever seen and hides as thick as their heads. In one of the film’s best scenes, during the journey to get there, they encounter a mother with her children who have become lost from their party (unsure if their last name was “Donner”) and need water. Miller denies them, holding a gun on them until they leave.

The rest of the film can be interesting, but the adaptation takes a turn, beefing up Cage’s role and tracking his obsession with murdering the entire herd. This consequence causes Will to be reduced to what amounts to sleepwalking throughout the rest of the picture. Here is where the film’s tension should be wrapped up considerably. Instead, Hechinger’s Will attempts to get lost in hysteria but is sullener than anything.

Cage’s Miller takes center stage, including keeping his California accent in the middle of a perilous frontier film. Miller is obsessive but greedy and never succumbs to a psychosis of madness. In fact, the character is never as driven as you’d like, even when attempting to locate the bison herd. Miller is no Colonel Walter Kurtz, and the only psychological break comes from supporting characters in a scene that lacks any raw power. Cage’s character is a narcissist who should be using manipulation and a type of abuse to get the group to do his bidding. Instead, he has a forgiving side that rings false.

In the original work, Will’s reverence for nature and the teachings of Ralph Waldo Emerson led him to find peace where humans and nature meet. Just like Saul Rubinek’s W.W. Beauchamp found more than he was bargaining for with the nature of violence in Unforgiven, Will should begin to find out how society is protecting him back home from the cruel reality nature has to offer. Instead, we are given a heavy-handed history lesson about the pillaging of American buffalo.

Butcher’s Crossing never fully completes the psychological factor it desperately needs to connect and meet the film’s weighty themes. The attempt can be respected since the final product as a whole is not as interesting as a handful of parts. However, the film sacrifices storytelling for heavy-handed preachiness that wasn’t needed.

Grade: C-

Director: Sam Wrench
Stars: Taylor Swift, Amanda Balen, Taylor Banks

Synopsis: Experience the breathtaking Eras Tour concert, performed by the one and only Taylor Swift.

Universally intimate. Those are the words I use to describe Taylor’s music. I am reminded of her best lyrics – lyrics which share specific moments of life that paint a vivid picture of lives lived. Taylor Swift writes songs that are a mosaic of moments we all can relate to – but each moment is uniquely specific as if it were being shared by a best friend. It’s universal, and it’s intimate.

What Era’s tour concert Film manages to do is celebrate the impact each of these songs has had on the lives of the listener. Taylor Swift has been a pop culture icon for 15 years, and for most, at least one of her songs has left a lasting impression on our memories. Whether it’s “Love Story” or “Teardrops on my Guitar” or “Clean” or “Exile,” or “All Too Well.” Every era has connected with someone, and Eras tour manages to create an environment where every audience member is transported to a world where they can share in that universally intimate moment. There are performance pieces that infuse new meaning into older songs (such as the elegantly bittersweet performance of “Tolerate It”), and other songs are hype songs begging the audience to move from passive observation into active dance. Red and 1989 are the best examples of that active call into dance, and the energy that fills a theater is unlike anything else this side of Avengers Endgame. It’s an electric experience, being a part of an audience that gets transported away from a multiplex in a small town with no hope of ever seeing Taylor Swift in concert to front row seats at SoFi Stadium. 

The transportive effect of The Eras Concert Film is due in large part to the impeccable recording quality of the show. I made an effort to look for the cameras, and throughout the nearly three hour film, I only saw cameras 3 times. It’s magical, the almost perfection achieved by a crew that is purposefully invisible. Watching Eras doesn’t feel like watching a movie or a live recording; it feels like being there at SoFi stadium, surrounded by the noise of a crowd of over 100,000 people. So much of this can only come from the theater experience; with crystal clear sound reverberating off the walls, and a massive screen that floods your vision completely. Taylor goes from pop-star queen to goddess in the theater. The audio tracks are mastered to place the audience in the back of the theater, so cheering and getting into the music doesn’t feel out of place, while letting the music production and Taylor’s beautiful vocal work be front and center, using every speaker to its maximum effect.  

And Taylor is the main attraction of Eras. Her performance is controlled and powerful, and her stage presence demands the attention of the audience. This is a three-hour performance, and Taylor’s vocal (and physical) endurance is on full display. Empowering Taylor are the changing costumes and production design that shifts with each era.

The production design changes with each era, and where these transitions may have taken minutes in real time, through the medium of film, it’s instantaneous. One set ends as the next begins, and the anticipation for each set is palpable. 

All of these components mark Eras as a competent, and potentially great, concert film. But that isn’t the true magic of Eras – the true magic is found in the recontextualization of her music. I’ve already mentioned the jaw-dropping “Tolerate It” set piece, but it isn’t the only piece that utilizes the set to its fullest potential. “The Man”, “Betty,” “Look What You Made Me Do,” and “Vigilante Shit” are just a few songs that became truly transcendent on film. These songs have varying energies, but on a massive stage with a moving set and pitch perfect camera-work, these songs become all encompassing, begging the audience to look on in awe and burn this moment into their memories. Like many others on Twitter, I didn’t love “Vigilante Shit” on Midnight’s release day. It’s a fun throwback to the sonic palette of Reputation, but it doesn’t fit into the vibe of the rest of the album. Only through seeing it performed live, does one truly understand the vision that Taylor Swift has for the song. 

And yet, the most impactful moment in the concert for me isn’t in those songs with bombastic choreography and impressive sets. For me, the most impactful moment was when Taylor Swift asked the audience if they had ten minutes to spare. “All Too Well” may very well be my favorite Taylor Swift song. It may be composed of a simple four chord progression in the key of C major. It may not have the excellent production of Jack Antinoff. In its simplicity, “All Too Well” allows for one thing – the only thing that matters –  to shine through: Taylor Swift’s universally intimate storytelling. 

I’ve loved the song since it first came out. Every part of the song is burned into my mind, Taylor’s vocal timbre, the distorted swell of the electric guitar, and the snare drum that lingers every time it’s hit. That original CD, released by Big Machine Records, was played hundreds of times, just so I could skip to “All Too Well.” 

“All Too Well (10 Minute Version) (Taylor’s Version)” didn’t connect with me when I listened to it last year. At first, I thought it was a headphone issue – I wasn’t using my beautiful Sony WH1000-XM3’s. But when I listened to it again, I just couldn’t connect with it the same way as I always had. It wasn’t the expansion I had hoped for. Its guitar wasn’t as clear as in the original recording, and Taylor’s voice has changed throughout the years, making a record that was all about the naivety of love and innocence lost feel different. And of course, the snare didn’t linger anymore. I appreciated the ambition of Taylor re-releasing her music far more than I appreciated the actual re-recordings. They didn’t have the same emotional impact on me. Despite the more layered production, the additional verses, and that all new production, I found myself disengaged with the work. 

When I watched The Eras Tour movie, I was transported into a whole new world. I’ve made the joke that it was a religious experience with my siblings and friends… but the more I reflect on it, the more true that statement is. “All Too Well (10 Minute Version)” as featured in the film doesn’t feel less intimate than that original recording from 11 years ago, because despite the larger audience and the bigger production, every single eye is glued to Taylor’s impassioned singing and her powerful guitar playing. Through the medium of recorded live performance, when sitting in a room with 200 people, watching a performance played in front of 100,000, “All Too Well (10 Minute Version)” felt far more intimate than it ever had in my headphones playing in the dark of night. 
Era’s Tour is a massive achievement for Taylor Swift, and is a film that every swiftie – nay, every individual who considers themselves even slightly intrigued by her music – should be watching in cinemas. The three hours fly by in an atmosphere buzzing with excitement. It’s an extremely high quality production accessible to far more people than the concert was, at a fraction of the cost. And while some songs were cut from the live performances for the film, it flows together perfectly and makes for the biggest movie event of the year. 

Grade: A+