Director: Robert Zemeckis
Writers: Eric Roth, Robert Zemeckis
Stars: Tom Hanks, Robin Wright, Paul Bettany

Synopsis: A generational story about families and the special place they inhabit, sharing in love, loss, laughter, and life.

Imagine the living room of the house you grew up in. It’s warm and cozy, and the television hums at a reasonable volume. A friend you really connect with slouches with you on the couch, your hands and their hands clasped and resting on your bellies and your legs draped across the coffee table, theirs, respectfully, stretched out beneath the coffee table because they aren’t, “Like, trying to get your mom mad at them or anything. I mean, she’s, like, the best.” 

Then imagine that friend turns to you. You turn to them, the two of you really looking into each other’s acne spotted faces. Your friend then says, “Who do you think lived here before?” You scrunch up your face and reply, “I think my mom and dad bought it from—” Your friend shakes their head, “No, I mean, like, ever.” You stare at your friend confused, “Ever? Like for all time?” Your friend smiles and turns back to the TV nodding, “Like dinosaur times and Native Americans, and like, 1920s people and stuff.” 

You turn your head back to the TV, too, your brain barely connecting with what you’re seeing. You’re thinking about the existence of past people in or around your house. Now imagine someone made a graphic novel of that idea and someone else decided to adapt that graphic novel into a film. That film is Here and that film isn’t as good as that idea sounds.

The script that was born from that idea is the most flawed piece of the film. Writers Eric Roth and Robert Zemeckis, in adapting RIchard McGuire’s graphic novel, attempted to go very broad in scope, which disconnected many of the storylines from each other, even the ones that shared a common thread. There were several storylines that took far too long to pay off after we figured out the end point dozens of too quick scenes before. None of the scenes ever gets a chance to actually land. There’s something dramatic and it’s almost like a cut to commercial every time. It’s chopped and stitched to try and connect every storyline, but there is no reason for every story to connect. 

It doesn’t help that each storyline is also so obvious that every plot point is telegraphed to the point of audience aggravation. It’s one thing to know what’s coming, it’s another to know what’s coming and have a character turn and wink and then say their line again slower and wink again, then say their line again. The most cringe worthy example is the 1930s/1940s inventor (David Fynn) who tinkers with a new reclining chair and comes up with a stupid name for it and you just start screaming in your head, “It’s Laz-E-Boy! Just say Laz-E-Boy! We all know it! Stop trying to be clever! It’s not clever! Just say it!”

Many of the actors felt as if they were playing these obvious lines in a heightened way. It was so unnatural and, in some cases, laughable. These actors had to get a lot into the very short amount of time allotted to them with the short scenes that play out. To the actors, doing a lot meant doing a great deal of overwrought, unearned, and shallow emotions. Every person that we’re supposed to care about gets so little screen time that to care about them is to acknowledge they have any personality beyond the rote archetypes of the characters they play. It’s not even worth singling any actor out as each performance is so deeply uninteresting. Though, it doesn’t help a character to become three dimensional when the space they inhabit is so one dimensional.

For some reason Robert Zemeckis has become a gimmick filmmaker. Here in Here, his central gimmick is that the camera doesn’t move. Every scene takes place from the same angle. The big problem with this is that film is a visual medium. While there are things happening within the frame, that frame is stagnant. It becomes the least interesting play you’ve ever watched. At least with plays that take place in one room, there’s character development. The attempt to make this style of storytelling dynamic by having a sort of comics panel pop up to reach across the timelines is often less exciting than it is nonsensical. Sometimes these panels are only slightly forward or back in time and it’s confusing why that had to have its own panel at all.

That’s really what Here boils down to; it is nonsense. It attempts to be a film that has a grand message about humanity, Earth, place, and home, but it never lands, ever. What Here is, is Boomer dopamine. It validates and embraces nostalgia. It lets Boomers let out contented sighs, chuckles, grunts of approval, and, yes, tears at its absolutely shallow schmaltz. Here is not a movie for everyone. It’s not even close to a movie for now, even with its bizarrely shoe-horned conversation between Black parents and their teenage son about what to do when he is pulled over by a police officer. Here is a movie for people who want something that looks different, but has the exact same notes and DNA as every domestic drama they’ve ever seen. Here is a movie for them and only for them. The rest of us can and should just watch something, anything, else.

Grade: F

Director: Hans Petter Moland
Writer: Tony Gayton
Stars: Liam Neeson, Ron Perlman, Frankie Shaw

Synopsis: An aging gangster attempts to reconnect with his children and rectify the mistakes in his past, but the criminal underworld won’t loosen their grip willingly.

For better or worse, Liam Neeson has stayed in the public’s mind because he churns out about two horrendous movies a year. Frankly, the actor, so brilliant in films like Schindler’s List, Rob Roy, and Gangs of New York, has fallen into a rut of “lonely white guy seeking revenge” films since Taken hit theaters in 2008. On the surface, his latest film, Absolution, seems like yet another movie in which Liam Neeson takes the screen and does Liam Neeson action things.

For every The Grey, you have a dozen films that would never find a home without streaming: Non-Stop, A Walk Among the Tombstones, Run All Night, The Commuter, Cold Pursuit, Honest Thief, The Marksman, The Ice Road, Memory, Retribution, and the wildly overrated In the Land of Saints and Sinners. Sure, a couple in there have their loyal fans, but why does such a talented leading man keep leaning into the same film and character, year after year, as if he lost a bet or is part of some elaborate fraternity pledge-week prank?

However, Absolution is different because it has some real grit and isn’t afraid to stretch its experimental wings a bit. The result is a slow-burning crime thriller that takes more chances than most in the genre, scratching the itch for a revenge-filled cinematic fantasy while stepping into a few Neeson tropes along the way. If only the film had the same conviction in its third act as Tony Gayton’s (Hell on Wheels) script does throughout.

Neeson stars as a nameless muscleman who works for a local gangster known as “Thug.” He’s breaking in a new kid (Daniel Diemer), making the rounds, collecting weekly payments, and taking occasional side jobs for Mr. Connor (Hellboy’s Ron Perlman), a typical Southie crime boss walking around Boston. Thug hints at memory issues but plays it off as a lack of sleep after forgetting his boss’s name. In the real world, you may retire early. In Thugs’ world, the gold watch may come with a finely stained coffin. 

After punching a guy in the face for making a scene at his local dive bar (and taking his woman, Yolonda Ross, home, no less), he visits a neurologist who breaks the bad news: he has CTE from years of busting heads and knuckles with his forehead. With little time left, he tries to make amends with his estranged daughter (Frankie Shaw) and the grandson he has never met. Of course, Thug sees wrongs, and he feels he must set right, and the lines between what is real and what is not begin to blur.

The story’s theme feels like it may have been inspired by James Cromwell’s Dudley Smith asking Kevin Spacey’s Jack Vincennes, “Have you a valediction, boyo?,” in L.A. Confidential. Directed by Hans Moland, who worked with Neeson on Cold Pursuit, the film has no trouble focusing on Neeson and utilizing his greatest strengths in Absolution. The actor is an undeniably stoic presence and often broods, bringing out an inner conflict that makes this character compelling—a key element in a story filled with revenge, grief, and personal redemption.

As the film moves along, Absolution successfully combines personal elements, crime thriller tropes, and experimental techniques to immerse the viewer in Thug’s dementia, which somehow works. The story is predictable, yes, and engaging, and Neeson is very good in the role, giving the character a well-roundedness that has not been part of his repertoire in recent years. This crime thriller may have a few too many ideas in its head, but it’s the type of genre film that tries hard to give everyone a bit of what they want, so you can’t help but root for the character.

And yes, as I go into another film comparison reference, Neeson’s later filmography is like when in Get Shorty Delroy Lindo tells Harry Zimm he has seen a better film about teeth and Absolution certainly has its faults. It’s not exactly original, predictable, and even intentionally convoluted at times, but this is a well-made thriller for fans of the genre, crime, or Neeson’s post-2010 filmography, which is somber and reflective enough to be worth a mild recommendation on top of it’s genre trappings.

You can watch Liam Neeson in Absolution on November 1st only in theaters

Grade: C+

Director: Edward Berger
Writer: Peter Straughan
Stars: Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow

Synopsis: After the unexpected death of the Pope, Cardinal Lawrence is tasked with managing the covert and ancient ritual of electing a new one. Sequestered in the Vatican with the Catholic Church’s most powerful leaders until the process is complete, Lawrence finds himself at the center of a conspiracy that could lead to its downfall.

If critics and audiences were meant to judge a film by the number of harsh, booming cello strums that made up its score, then it would be safe to call Edward Berger’s Conclave the most propulsive thriller of the year, if not the decade. Volker Bertelmann’s composition, much like his Oscar-winning work for Berger’s 2022 film All Quiet on the Western Front, maintains a dominant, almost overwhelming grip on Conclave from its beginning moments, those centering on an anxious, biretta-clutching Thomas Lawrence (a restrained, excellent Ralph Fiennes) as he hastily trudges in the direction of responsibility. Each time the dean of the College of Cardinals tightens his grip on said cap, cue the orchestra. When he learns of a new nugget of deception and/or papal malfeasance, prepare for an onslaught of da na nums. It’s not exactly subtle, but then again, Conclave doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in keeping things enigmatic. It’s too busy taking itself far too seriously; we should do the opposite.

Adapted by Peter Straughan (Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy) from Robert Harris’ 2016 novel of the same name, it’s not that Conclave suffers under the weight of its dramatic ambitions. In fact, that it is unaware of its ridiculousness might make it a stronger effort. It begins with the death of the current pope, an incident that is almost immediately followed by the necessary election of a new one. The task is to be met with deliberate haste, seeing that the longer the citizens of Vatican City go without seeing red smoke billow from the Sistine Chapel’s chimney, the more restless they become. Given this prologue, it appears as though Conclave is tipping its tonal hand from the top, telling its audience that the ensuing events are bound to make up a grave, dire affair. After all, Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci) is modestly devastated, wishing he and the Holy Father had been able to finish their final game of chess before his passing; Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow), the last person to meet with the Holy Father, is noticeably anxious; Cardinal Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati) is a bit too calm given what’s just occurred; and Cardinal Wozniak (Jacek Koman) is inconsolable, his drinking having increased in recent days due to some unspoken grievance, yet reaching its tipping point after his leader’s death.

But then the remaining members of the College of Cardinals descend upon the Vatican, and the film’s ideas come into focus. The conclave, which Lawrence is tasked with overseeing as the college’s dean, is nothing more than a cliquey mish-mash of rivaling personalities and power-hungry socialites, the likes of which you’d see inside a high school cafeteria (a setting Berger and production designer Suzie Davies (Saltburn) clearly understand, given how often the films dramatics unfold within the Cardinals own dining hall). One of the more outspoken members of the college, the vape-ripping Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto, feasting on a relatively minor role), is one of the few to make his intentions clear: He wants to win the election, a notion that concerns Lawrence and Bellini, the latter of which many fellow Cardinals wish would long for the throne a bit more. Yet as he says early on in the film, “No sane man would want the papacy.” If only he were aware how few sane men would end up in the room where it happens, something only Sister Agnes (an underused Isabella Rossellini) seems to grasp, despite her relative silence.

Cue Berger’s blatant directorial flair, the same quality that infused All Quiet on the Western Front with a quality of dull inevitability yet makes Conclave that much more intentional and entertaining in equal measure. When we eventually arrive at the first vote, cinematographer Stéphane Fontaine’s camera trains its focus on the four candidates Berger wishes to place an emphasis on prior to the start of the election. You need not wonder why, as to single out Adeyemi, Bellini, Tedesco, and Tremblay is to make the film’s motivations that much clearer than they have already become: Should nothing untoward occur, one of these men will be the next pope, receiving the necessary majority of 72 votes from their peers and/or competitors. Of course, plenty of untowardness must be afoot for this to be anything more than a pulpy Eastern European rendition of a C-SPAN broadcast, which leads to Lawrence’s role as political intrigue traffic cop. He excels with the duty despite enduring his own crisis of faith in the church as an institution; perhaps he’d rather play Gossip God than the man Himself.

Somehow, the biggest curveball Lawrence stares down comes in the form of Cardinal Benitez (Carlos Diehz), the self-proclaimed representative from the ministry of Kabul who arrives for the election out of nowhere. The present Cardinals plead legitimate ignorance to his existence, let alone his involvement in the proceedings itself, as he was appointed without their knowledge by the late Holy Father through a process known as “creation in pectore.” The true nature of Benitez’s presence (and, better yet, his past) is too mind-boggling to spoil, but it’s in this borderline-ham-handed execution that Conclave is at its most successful. Berger’s popcorny papal “thriller,” if it can be reduced to such genre conventions, may decidedly view itself as an urgent drama of cinematic note, but wouldn’t audiences rather see the tale of pretentious, ambitious popes participating in an election play out in this grand fashion as opposed to viewing a film that fails to understand its shallowness? 

Farcical and twisty – not to mention necessarily-confined to a single location so as to mute any noise from the outside, a quality that gives Conclave the vibes of Big Brother by way of Dan Brown – Berger has a silly, self-important hit on his hands. The only word in that sentence that anyone should care about, including the director and his producers, is “hit.” Leave the rest for the popes who feel the need to convince themselves of their own import. 

Grade: B

Director: Pierre Morel
Writer: Matthew Kennedy
Stars: Kate Beckinsale, Rupert Friend, Ray Stevenson

Synopsis: It follows Avery Graves as she is blackmailed by terrorists into betraying her own country to save her kidnapped husband.

It’s that time again for the annual awful Kate Beckinsale action film that keeps popping up like the by-product of a sexually transmitted disease—seemingly trashy fun at first, but leaving you unprepared for the consequences. Beckinsale has turned the overrated Underworld franchise into a cottage industry of underwhelming genre films like Jolt and now, Canary Black. This predictable spy slogfest barely gets off the ground.

Movies like Canary Black are predicated on your willingness to let go of plausibility, sit back, and enjoy the ride. However, with spy action films being released daily on almost every platform imaginable, you must do something to stand out. Canary Black stumbles on the fatal flaw of doing nothing exceptional, hovering aimlessly between average and below average. Prime Video sends this Canary down the coal mine in the search of endless cliches. 

Beckinsale struts around slowly in high-heeled boots, playing Avery Graves, a secret agent working for the United States government. Avery comes from a good lineage, being a second-generation spy. Her boss is the CIA Chief who goes by the name, Jarvis (the late Ray Stevenson), who worked with her father for years. Avery has been groomed to be a covert operative since she turned eighteen. Jarvis has taught her everything she knows and is also a close family friend. 

Avery’s parents have passed on, leaving Jarvis and her husband, David (Rupert Friend), as the only family she has. She has been traveling a lot lately, and David is worried about her stress and wants her to settle down, even pushing her to adopt some adorable puppies upon her return. However, after going into the office to brief Jarvis on her latest mission, she returns to find David missing, the house showing signs of a struggle, and a ransom demand that requires her to betray her country.

Canary Black is directed by Pierre Morel, the filmmaker who thrilled us with the original Liam Neeson hit Taken but has since delivered lackluster efforts like the John Cena vehicle Freelance and the problematic Jennifer Garner film Peppermint. (There’s even a scene in Peppermint where the main character attacks a cartel using a piñata warehouse as a front.) Canary Black feels like an unofficial sequel to that misstep. 

The script, written by Matthew Kennedy, offers nothing that couldn’t be produced by someone after watching a couple dozen competent spy films from the past twenty years. Everything in Canary Black sets a low bar, from the gadgets (and their laughable use—especially a drone delivering Iris when she could have simply ordered a rideshare or, you know, walked). 

The movie feels like a ’90s retread, full of technology but completely ignoring the reality of constant digital surveillance and the risk of getting caught. Canary Black isn’t worth watching because it demonstrates how cinema is shifting from an art form to a content-streaming mill. The plot is a recycled cliché, with Beckinsale’s character stealing a secret file that will expose military secrets and agents—yada yada yada yada.

We can, however, give credit to Kate Beckinsale, who, at 51, continues to land action heroine roles in an industry that turns its back on women over a certain age faster than Leonardo DiCaprio on a girlfriend’s 25th birthday. However, spy films are such an oversaturated genre that audiences expect something smarter. The action needs to be extraordinary, and the plot points need to be, well, on point. Canary Black offers none, and we should demand more for our time.

You can stream Canary Black exclusively on Prime Video.

Grade: D+

Directors: Brian Netto, Adam Schindler
Writers: T.J. Cimfel, David White
Stars: Kelsey Asbille, Finn Wittrock, Daniel Francis

Synopsis: It follows a seasoned killer as he injects a grieving woman with a paralytic agent. She must run, fight and hide before her body shuts down.

The new horror thriller Don’t Move may not have the gravitas or sheer dread of others in the genre, but it’s undeniably effective. To be fair, 2024 has been a standout year for horror thrillers. Just look at the embarrassment of riches we’ve had over the past nine or so months, with instant classics like Strange Darling, Red Doors, Longlegs, Trap, Cuckoo, and Smile 2 invigorating a typically tired genre that often goes for cheap thrills.

However, that doesn’t mean a good popcorn flick like Don’t Move should be ignored or scoffed at. There’s nothing groundbreaking or new here, but it’s almost an homage to classic bottleneck cast thrillers, with a hard edge and a classic misdirection setup, preying on a younger audience’s prideful empathy. Much of the credit goes to the leads, with committed performances from Yellowstone’s Kelsey Asbille and Origin’s Finn Wittrock.

If you want to go into the Netflix film fresh, I suggest skipping the following two paragraphs. However, if you’ve already seen the trailer, the excellent setup is spoiled anyway. The movie opens with a solemn woman, Iris (Asbille), who looks like she’s about to embark on her own Reese Witherspoon Wild-inspired adventure. Dressed in typical mom-athletic gear, she climbs over rocks and follows a trail to a cliff with a magnificent view overlooking breathtaking scenery.

Yet, there is something overwhelmingly sad as she takes in the setting, standing on the dangerous edge of the mountain. That’s when we hear a man approach, seemingly coming out of nowhere. His name is Richard (Wittrock), and he feels like her guardian angel, meeting by chance. He talks her down from a potential suicide attempt by connecting through shared trauma— with Iris revealing that her child died on this bluff and Richard surviving a car crash.

Don’t Move is produced by legendary horror-thriller filmmaker Sam Raimi, with directors Adam Schindler and Brian Netto (Delivery: The Beast Within) delivering a film with a visceral edge. Working from a script by T.J. Cimfel and David White (Intruders), the experience includes a few original elements. Still, it is mostly wrapped in a handful of frightening tropes that, while standard, are done competently—and at its best, quite well.

The real draw here is the script. Iris is injected with a paralytic, adding a unique element to the standard chase-and-release horror tropes, and it ratchets up the tension in what is otherwise a familiar story. The added subtext of grief and the primal urge to survive deepens the experience. (Studies, as well as the documentary The Bridge, explore the immediate regret that often follows a suicide attempt, highlighting the desire to undo what feels like an irreversible action.) 

Don’t Move is worth watching because its concept allows the filmmakers to take the audience on an emotional rollercoaster, effectively engaging streaming viewers. However, it offers a fairly mainstream approach. For instance, the cinematography by Zach Kuperstein pales in comparison to more distinctive thriller styles, such as Giovanni Ribisi’s recent work or the work of Pawel Pogorzelski (Hereditary) and Dario Argento (Suspiria). The film lacks cinematic grit and stylization, with fewer tracking shots, wide-angle frames, or classic Steadicam work.

It’s those safe choices that can be frustrating, especially in contrast to the wonderfully visceral and entertaining films of 2024, which delivered blood, sweat, and anxious tears across the silver screen. The ending, in particular, could have been much stronger had it taken a riskier approach. Still, Don’t Move offers enough suspense, thrills, and memorable chills to warrant above-average engagement, holding your attention for a mild recommendation.

Just do not expect to think about the move long after it ends. 

You can now watch Don’t Move, which only streams on Netflix.

Grade: B-

Director: Julien Hayet-Kerknawi
Writer: Julien Hayet-Kerknawi
Stars: Iain Glen, Sasha Luss, Joe Anderson

Synopsis: Amidst World War I’s chaos, a grieving father turns hero, leading villagers to safety while evading a relentless enemy driven by vengeance.

World War I was an unprecedented event when it happened. It changed the way people thought and the way they looked at the world. It is a war that, unlike World War II, has not been examined, picked apart and retread hundreds of times in movies. If it is depicted, the war is often shown from the lens of its greatest impact, which was the brutal and dehumanizing trench warfare. Rarely do we see the civilian toll that the war took or even what warfare was like outside of those trenches.

The Last Front seeks to tell one of these stories. The problem is that there isn’t enough exposition about the state of the war. We get a short title card about German advances into Belgium at the time the story takes place, but some of the set pieces become more confusing because of this. There are Belgian regular soldiers as well as resistance fighters who attack the Germans. The Germans seem to be trying to regroup, but they are pushed to take a different route, the direction of which is not made entirely clear. At one point, there is a pitched battle within a small trench in the middle of a forest and artillery going off, but no large guns in sight. It’s a needlessly confusing piece of an otherwise uncomplicated survival story.

The rest of the film would be fine without the complete perspective of commander and father, Maximilian (Philippe Brenninkmeyer) and his subordinate and son, Laurentz (Joe Anderson). It pulls us away from the idyll and class conflict that propels the beginning of the film. But those military pieces add color to the story and remind us that the distant booms in the night scenes aren’t put there by mistake. This story takes place during uncertainty and war. The war rears its ugliest head between the push and pull between the father’s 19th century gentlemanly warfare mindset and his son’s 20th century total war mindset. It’s this conflict that’s at the heart of why Leonard (Iain Glen) gets involved at all.

It also highlights a superb, if a little too arch, villainous performance by Joe Anderson. He plays Laurentz with the mix of a man who hates his military legacy and loves the chaos and power of war. His cold and calculating gaze sends shivers up your spine as his aim always seems terrifyingly true. It’s a great antecedent to Iain Glen’s stoic, reluctant, and brave Leonard. Leonard hates Laurentz because of what he did to Leonard’s family, yes, but he hates him even more because if he doesn’t stop him, he will do it to many more families.

The two concurrent narratives have their moments of slowness, but the film moves at a very good clip. Writer and director Julien Hayet-Kerknawi is the rare filmmaker who can make a war film under two hours long. It helps that there are no grand battle scenes to stage or hundreds of background characters to manage. It also helps that he keeps the story focused. Even though it would be helpful for more historical context, it is better that Hayet-Kerkwani sticks to the story at hand, which is the survival of the civilians caught in a war they wanted no part in. He’s able to find his emotional arc not only in a father avenging his slain children, but in a man grappling with the loss of his wife before the war.

There is a fantastical element within The Last Front that really works well. Leonard feels he’s not doing his best raising his children and he sometimes sees, but more often just speaks with the spirit of his wife, Elise (Trine Thielen). In one particular scene, Leonard has a position in a building overlooking where the German troops find cover from the sniper on the other side of the street. Leonard raises his weapon, but hesitates. Elise appears as if to give him strength. Her hand slides along his and presses so he will pull the trigger. It makes the spirit of Elise into a sort of vengeful presence, but it also serves to remind Leonard that killing one person who means you and everyone like you harm could save the lives of dozens of others.

The Last Front is a solid film. It has its moments of high drama, terror, and anguish with a beating, if staid, heart as well. It isn’t trying to create a new kind of genre, but to tell a simple story within a complex historical period. It has a good story, but it won’t try and teach you something grander about the larger conflict at play, which, in some ways, is to its detriment. The Last Front is worth your while if you want something that will hold your attention and leave you satisfied after it’s over.

Grade: C