Director: Quentin Dupieux
Writer: Quentin Dupieux
Stars: Léa Seydoux, Vincent Lindon, Louis Garrel

Synopsis: Florence wants to introduce David, the man she’s madly in love with, to her father. But David isn’t attracted to her and wants to throw her into the arms of his friend Willy. The characters meet in a restaurant in the middle of nowhere.

Quentin Dupieux is not a serious filmmaker. His films should not be taken seriously. They should instead be approached ironically, knowing that he doesn’t really want to say anything beyond flipping off the audience for wasting their precious time with him at every turn. Yet, many film critics unfamiliar with his work insist that there’s a deeper meaning behind his provocation or surface-level humor, partly explaining why The Second Act is one of his worst-reviewed movies. They think Dupieux is trying to say something about cinema’s (doomed) future in an era where streaming services (ergo, the Netflix logo appearing at the top of this) and artificial intelligence attempt to kill art as we know it. 

But he doesn’t have anything to say, and he knows it. In fact, he has repeated on multiple occasions that his films “don’t have any messages except to relax you and make you feel good. It’s like a calming bath, with a little bit of acid in it, to distract you from this distressing world we live in.” Once you know this inextricable fact from Dupieux’s body of work, one begins to approach The Second Act as a meaningless distracting affair that will culminate in nothing and is designed to make the audience pissed off at the lengths Dupieux takes to upset people. It’s all paradoxical, and if you’re trying to extract some form of sense into this work, you’re not only missing the point entirely but going to have a terrible time with it. I saw many reviews where the throughline was, “He’s trying to say something but isn’t saying anything.” Exactly. He’s not saying anything. You’re just the butt of the joke! 

But I can see why people may think Dupieux is saying something. In the first degree, the movie is absolutely designed to make you vehemently angry, with glib jokes that poke fun at everything and everyone, which include reactionary boomers who have a narrow-minded viewpoint of the world (in this case, homosexuality) and far-left activists who have to be careful in using the right words to not offend anyone. In fact, this is how the movie starts: with an almost unbroken 20-minute-long dolly shot of David (Louis Garrel) and Willy (Raphaël Quenard, always incredible with Dupieux) walking towards a café named The Second Act to meet Florence (Léa Seydoux) and her father, Guillaume (Vincent Lindon). 

In this very long scene where the two walk (and walk ad infinitum, a classic joke from Dupieux), one is more attuned to the times, while the other isn’t afraid of making deeply transphobic remarks if Florence ends up being so. But he corrects himself once he realizes people are (literally and figuratively) watching by looking at us and apologizing. It’s probably the only time that Dupieux has ever apologized to us, and it immediately jolts our attention that he has broken (once again) the fourth wall. It seems he wants to ensure no one gets offended until we realize the two are shooting a film and playing fictitious characters. 

Just like his last project, Daaaaaali!, was one long dream within a dream (within a dream within a dream), The Second Act is one massive metatextual film that’s never fully clear when it is the fake movie (apart from a Georges Delerue-esque score that punctuates moments of intense drama whenever the characters are in the fake movie’s diegesis), and when the movie on the making of the movie kicks into gear, only to reveal that it’s also part of the movie, and so on and so forth. He has no set rules in his movies, and one has to suspend their disbelief at every turn to know that he will break any convention he possibly can to make this experience feel somewhat discombobulating for the viewer. 

But that’s part of the fun of watching a movie like this. You eventually surrender to its unconventional narrative trappings because each actor goes from one ironic undertone to another. The most impressive of the bunch is Lindon, who breaks the fake movie’s diegesis just as the plot is starting to be set in motion and prompts another 20-minute-long dolly walk, this time with Florence (we eventually see how Dupieux pulled both sequences off with a bravura final shot that should give Jean-Luc Godard’s voiceover opening credits of Le Mépris a run for its money). It’s there that most should realize this film isn’t going anywhere, but they eventually make their way to the café, where a nervous waiter, Stéphane (Manuel Guillot), can’t pour wine without violently shaking his hands. The movie is now in total shambles because he has to practice doing it right before they can shoot again, which culminates with Dupieux’s sickest punchline in years (that he eventually repeats at the end, further hammering home that his films always swerve around in circles with no exceptions). 

Of course, Dupieux is an acquired taste. If you don’t vibe with any of his previous films, chances are The Second Act won’t do much for you. But the thrill of watching his movies is seeing respectable actors, such as Benoît Poelvoorde, Alain Chabat, Jean Dujardin, Adèle Exarchopoulos, Anaïs Demoustier, and Gilles Lellouche, among others, perform in ways you’ve never seen them on screen before. And it seems unreal that he would ever work with Léa Seydoux, Vincent Lindon, and Louis Garrel, three of France’s biggest stars, with legitimate global reach (Dujardin won an Oscar for The Artist but hasn’t a presence in other markets than France as strongly as Garrel and Seydoux). 

That’s why it feels miraculous to see them in this movie and deliver some of the best work of their careers. Garrel, in particular, an actor who is usually restrained in his emotional composure and intonations (see, for example, Martin Bourboulon’s The Three Musketeers diptych), now goes all in on Dupieux’s proposition and delivers a farcical turn that’s both unflinchingly hilarious and deeply sincere. Lindon has already tapped deep into his vulnerabilities throughout his career, most recently in Julia Ducournau’s Titane. Now, he just wants to let loose (a little bit) and have fun. He’s in perfect synchronicity with Quenard’s always ironic tone, leading into some of the film’s funniest  – and most surprising – laughs. 

Of course, with any Dupieux film, the highs of its gonzo comedy can often be brought down by scenes that go on for far too long, which he tends to do, even if his movies have never exceeded 95 minutes. You could feel this exhaustion near its conclusion, which seems par for the course for such a cyclical movie. But he smartly understands that it’s getting a bit long, leading him to wrap the movie in an experimental fashion that boldly asks filmmakers to leap more primal techniques as cinema becomes more expensive and is now (as in the case of the fake movie Dupieux showcases) led by artificial intelligence. It’s the only image in The Second Act from which you can extract meaning because Dupieux urges all of us to think about how a human can move a camera so it can be employed to its fullest potential. 

Artificial intelligence does not have the power to do what Dupieux does here, nor does it have the knowledge to create a human movie with characters steeped in reality and, above all else, emotion. The soul of The Second Act’s final shot is staggering. It’s an almost rallying cry against the trappings of A.I. that will never create something as meaningful as the mile-long track to pull off four impressive dollies that are always in different variations (medium shots, close-ups, extreme close-ups, long shots, you name it). 

A.I. may take away many things in cinema and kill the artform in ways that the doomers might have predicted long ago, especially if studio executives put their anti-art plans in motion. However, it will never remove a human’s desire for creativity, especially if they have ideas they want to see realized on screen. Human beings have an innate desire to create to survive, whether in the arts or in life. Without human-born creativity, we’re as good as dead. As a result, the final shot of The Second Act is a potent reminder of this fact, and it’s up to us to resist this affront to imagination and emotion by supporting human-made creativity, such as, among others, the trolls of Quentin Dupieux. 

Of course, this film isn’t much of a jab at the audience as Daaaaaali!, only because he eventually reveals a vulnerable side of himself and tells us that the thing he loves doing the most may not be worth it anymore if it goes in the direction it’s heading. Like the Titanic hitting an iceberg (an apt metaphor used countless times in this film), the movie industry is close to hitting it straight ahead and killing itself for the worse, potentially damaging in ways that should’ve never been teased in the first place (for example, the use of digital necromancy or generative A.I. used to create opening credits sequences). 

It may not happen as quickly as some have stated, but it will occur if they do not reverse course now. As such, a change is in order, and Dupieux may be among the few filmmakers to instill it. Ironically, sure, but flipping off the audience in every movie could prove more effective than the audience thinks it is because they automatically attempt to reject it. However, by resisting, they, too, are conditioned to look away at robot-made garbage and call it out as the anti-art piece of hubris it is. 

I was wrong when I initially said that you could not extract meaning from Quentin Dupieux’s films. I should have said most of his films because The Second Act’s final image represents, in a simple gesture, why human-made cinema is worth saving by people who care so deeply about an art form that’s sadly in shambles. By doing this, Dupieux instills a warning to everyone: never accept machine-driven work. Always support human-made art. One path will ensure the perennity of cinema, while the other will destroy it. Which one will you take?

Grade: A

Director: Caroline Lindy
Writer: Caroline Lindy
Stars: Melissa Barrera, Meghann Fahy, Tommy Dewey

Synopsis: After her life falls apart, soft-spoken actress Laura Franco finds her voice again when she meets a terrifying, yet weirdly charming Monster living in her closet. A romantic-comedy-horror film about falling in love with your inner rage.

Your Monster is, hands-down, the most fun I’ve had with a rom-com in recent memory. It’s like a Beauty and the Beast story, but instead of a fancy castle, it’s set in your mom’s house, and the Beast is a total grump with a serious case of “get out of my closet” syndrome. Add in some delicious rom-com vibes, a dash of horror, and Melissa Barrera delivering a performance so fabulous that you can’t take your eyes off her, and you’ve got a film that’s an absolute blast!

Barrera plays Laura Franco, and let’s just say, her life is a total mess at the start. She’s just gone through surgery, her terrible playwright boyfriend Jacob (Edmund Donovan, who you’ll definitely want to boo off the screen) has dumped her, and now she’s recovering in her mom’s empty house. Yep, her mom is MIA—no texts, no notes, nothing. But don’t worry, her bestie Mazie (played by Kayla Foster, who’s bubbly in all the best ways) is by her side, doing her best to keep Laura from totally falling apart.

Now, this is where things take a turn way off the rom-com map. One night, during a super creepy thunderstorm, Laura meets the monster in her closet. And when I say “monster,” I mean full-on monster—sharp teeth, growly voice, and absolutely no chill. He’s been living there for years, and he’s not happy about Laura moving back in. In fact, he gives her two weeks to pack up and get out. Yep, two weeks! Imagine having an eviction notice from a creature living behind your shoes—wild, right? But as you probably guessed, things don’t go as planned.

So here’s where Your Monster really shines. The movie is technically a romantic comedy, but it’s got all these little quirky twists that make it feel like a breath of fresh air. It’s not just about the will-they-or-won’t-they, it’s about how Laura starts piecing her life back together with a little help from, well, her childhood closet monster (Tommy Dewey). The chemistry between Barrera and Dewey is so much fun to watch—it’s awkward, sweet, and downright swoon-worthy in parts (seriously, there’s a scene with Szechuan chicken that had me melting). It’s giving major “weird but wonderful” vibes, and I am here for it.

But don’t let the cutesy parts fool you—this movie has some depth. Laura’s not just some damsel waiting to be saved. She’s struggling to figure out who she is after a breakup and a major health scare, and Monster (yes, that’s his name—love the simplicity) isn’t just your average growly guy. He’s got his own baggage too, and their relationship becomes this fun, messy, heartwarming journey of self-discovery for both of them. By the time Laura is ready to go after a part in Jacob’s Broadway play (one he literally wrote for her while they were together), you’re fully rooting for her. The way the film balances light, funny moments with real emotional beats is what makes it so special.

The visuals in Your Monster are stunning. Will Stone’s cinematography turns even the smallest sets into whimsical playgrounds, and there’s a Halloween party that is absolutely to die for. The lights, the costumes (thank you, Matthew Simonelli!), the vibes—it’s a rom-com dream come true. And let’s not forget the soundtrack. It’s a mix of classic love songs and original music that just wraps you up in the feels.

As the movie heads toward its grand finale, things get surprisingly intense—think Black Swan, but with more monster claws and romantic swooning. It’s one of those films that doesn’t shy away from its horror roots, but still manages to keep everything feeling light and fun. The final act is a bold mix of heart and humor, with just enough blood to keep it exciting.

At its core, Your Monster is a love letter to anyone who’s felt lost, brokenhearted, or like their life is falling apart. It’s about finding the strength to move forward, even if you need a little push from the monster living in your closet. And honestly? That’s what makes this movie so special. It’s not just cute—it’s got layers, and it knows how to tug on your heartstrings while making you laugh and squeal in delight.

Bottom line: If you’re looking for a rom-com that’s equal parts charming, hilarious, and a little spooky, Your Monster is your new obsession. Get ready to fall in love with monsters, messy lives, and the magical, chaotic beauty of it all.

Grade: A

Director: Jeffrey Leiser
Writer: Jeffrey Leiser
Stars: Micaëla Oeste, Kirsten Chambers, Bray Wilkins

Synopsis: A group of merchants and vikings navigate dramatic events both within and without in this epic musical based on the Icelandic Vinland sagas. As secrets are exposed, two women have a reckoning.

My relationship with opera, like many Egyptians, started with Aïda, Giuseppe Verdi’s tragic masterpiece set in the Old Kingdom of Egypt, which premiered in my homeland in December 1871. This hasn’t necessarily made me an opera expert, but despite the language barrier, this seductive, complicated art form has stayed with me as a companion and turned me into a different kind of person who appreciates musicals and musical theater.

Film, on the other hand, is a creative medium that can be stretched to its extremities to create a difference—something similar to operatic cinema. Beautiful Icelandic landscapes intertwine with theatrical singing, actors lining up and facing the camera. It all feels like fourth wall-breaking but alienating from an average film viewing experience.

In his Norse operatic film adaptation, Freydís and Gudrid, director Jeffrey Leiser defies the macho Viking lore, by giving the voice and the presence to his two female protagonists; Freydís mourns the death of her brother and takes on a journey with the pregnant Gudrid and her husband Karlsefni to retrieve the brother’s corpse and bring it back to Greenland and avenge his death. On the voyage, Freydís and Gudrid have a reckoning. Their relationship starts antagonistic, with rivalry over past wounds. But the shared hardships and the burden of war weigh down on both of them, so they find a moment of peace after years of unnecessary grudges.

Sam Kreuger’s cinematography works well within constraints and budgetary limitations. Despite most of the scenes taking place in front of a green screen, he manages to perfectly capture the essence of ancient Icelandic folklore through a careful black-and-white backdrop of the events.

A film like this commands a niche audience. Freydís and Gudrid is not the average movie-watching experience, for it defies what comprises a traditional musical film setting, with hits and misses throughout, making it difficult to fully connect with it. It demands attention and a profound love for opera, albeit too much for its own good. The curiosity for the Vikings’ lore is interwoven with Lesier’s talent in composing and orchestrating the film’s songs and music. His passion for writing music and big-scale musicals shows in the careful crafting of the film as a long opera from start to finish. Not once does he slip or lose command of his tools.

One of the most interesting elements of this film is how different Freydís and Gudrid are from one another. The two titular film characters are played beautifully by professional opera singers (Micaëla Oeste) and (Kirsten Chambers), respectively. Leiser showcases the differences between their characters, while Freydís is bloodthirsty and hell-bent on revenge, always seeking the next fight, Gudrid is motherly, nurturing, and kind.

This feature may not be what many would call “their cup of tea,” but in a world where modern audiences are tired of seeking the mundane, one remake, sequel, and prequel after the other; originality must be praised and admired for choosing the courageous act of showing a brand new cinematic language. It may have benefited from a bigger budget and been more fitting for the big screen, but it serves its purpose, which is not to distract from the characters singing the story.

Admittedly, this film may have worked as an opera on stage with more satisfaction, but Leiser’s decision to bring it to a wider audience to watch it on the big screen is the perfect way of demystifying art. It’s not the History Channel series, nor Robert Eggers’ epic, The Northman. It has nothing to do with how Marvel explores the Norse lore, but it works for the uniqueness factor, the dazzling songs, and two great female singing performances. Freydís and Gudrid is an exploration of the soul, an enchanting parting of the traditional into the unknown.

Grade: B+

Director: Parker Finn
Writer: Parker Finn
Stars: Naomi Scott, Kyle Gallner, Drew Barrymore

Synopsis: About to embark on a world tour, global pop sensation Skye Riley begins experiencing increasingly terrifying and inexplicable events. Overwhelmed by the escalating horrors and the pressures of fame, Skye is forced to face her past.

Six days have passed since Rose Cotter self-immolated in front of her policeman ex-boyfriend Joel (Kyle Gallner) passing the parasitic monstrosity to him. Joel has made the decision to save himself by murdering someone else in front of a witness. A couple of syndicate connected drug dealers who killed an innocent mother and child are his targets. Desperate and sleep deprived, Joel’s planning skills aren’t finely honed. He manages to kill one of the dealers, but a shoot-out ensues, and his planned witness dies leaving an accidental witness. Although free of the parasite he still meets a grisly end as he flees other members of the syndicate. Crushed by a passing truck, Joel’s body and blood leave a ghastly bloody slick on the New Jersey road shaped like a pulpy red smile.

Parker Finn’s sequel to his 2022 debut horror feature Smile begins with a remorselessly bleak tone. The muted colors of a New Jersey drug den are replaced by a gothic-pop film clip showing the dark tressed superstar Skye Riley (Naomi Scott) singing her hit single ‘Grieved You.’ Skye, now with short blonde hair, is on the Drew Barrymore show discussing her comeback ‘Too Much for One Heart’ tour. Skye has been out of the public eye after being hospitalized due to a car crash that claimed the life of her actor boyfriend Paul Horton (Ray Nicholson). Both were intoxicated and Skye is promising her fans she is now sober, her days of cocaine and alcohol bingeing behind her. “I’m a different person.”

Media scrutiny hasn’t gone away, nor has her massive fandom. Skye’s ushered out of the studio by her ‘stage-mother’ Elizabeth (Rosemarie DeWitt) and Elizabeth/Skye’s personal assistant, Joshua (Miles Gutierrez-Riley). Elizabeth is checking Skye’s approval on social media and Joshua is doing what he can to keep both women happy. Skye puts in her earbuds to block them both out and the scene transitions to her rehearsing choreography with backup dancers for the tour. She’s the center of attention and a ragdoll. The routine is intensely physical, and Skye is still suffering from the multiple physical injuries (back surgery, internal surgery, and a knee surgery with a scar that mimics a grin) and the mental trauma from the accident. With her history of addiction, she isn’t allowed any painkillers. She texts Lewis Fregoli (Lukas Gage) a high school friend and drug dealer for some Vicodin.

Lewis was the accidental witness in New Jersey. When Skye arrives at his apartment, he is paranoid, confused, and places a sword at her throat. In Skye’s eyes he’s in the middle of a psychotic episode. He’s also snorting massive amounts of cocaine. He tries to tell her about the weird spooky shit that has been going on – the thing that follows him around smiling. He takes a weight and smashes his own face in after smiling at her. Skye is the new host.

Parker Finn’s choice of a much larger canvas for his ‘viral possession’ horror pays off. In placing the parasite inside someone who is constantly followed by fans, the media, potential stalkers, and who must remain secretive about her issues because of the millions of dollars being invested in her tour; Finn points at media virality itself. Skye’s very public substance abuse issues before the accident mean that she’s already considered someone who can relapse at any moment. Elizabeth ‘handles’ her daughter rather than listening to her. 

Skye’s expensive New York apartment in a suitably faux-gothic building is a prison. Her bedroom is dark with Edvard Munch’s ‘The Vampire’ on the wall next to tasteful bondage photography and Maria van Oosterwijk’s dark Dutch floral still life hangs over her bed as oversized wallpaper. Skye’s reputation as a tortured pop poet comes from a ‘darkness’ inside her. She has unattended mental health issues, including trichotillomania as an anxiety response. Her brand is ‘damaged, but sexy’ – a trope used often in pop culture for women.

The only person Skye feels she can turn to is her childhood best friend, Gemma (Dylan Gelula) who she alienated during her addiction phase. Gemma’s immediate acceptance of her honest apology seems like a positive step, especially as Gemma listens to Skye’s story about Lewis and the strange things she’s been experiencing. Gemma offers some comfort including staying with her overnight. But Skye’s reality is warping, infected by the parasite and the sense that she is indeed the narcissistic diva and toxic human that she suspects she has been since the ‘fame monster’ took over her life.

Smile 2 is an incredibly slick production. Parker Finn and cinematographer Charlie Sarroff up the ante from the first film by using extended takes and dizzying angles, and Cristobal Tapia de Veer’s score is a sophisticated sonic nightmare. Unlike M. Night Shyamalan’s recent ‘concert’ film conceit in Trap, the production feels like it’s a full scale multi-million-dollar tour being staged. Naomi Scott, who is in every scene after the opening, is a genuinely talented singer/dancer and actor. Lady Raven (Saleka Night Shyamalan) wasn’t convincing as a pop star who would have legions of devoted fans, whereas Naomi Scott’s Skye Riley is the real deal as an edgy pop princess fans could, and would, become parasocial with.

A tattoo behind Skye’s ear is of an angel/devil whispering into it. Parker Finn set the rules in the first film that the monstrosity liked wearing the skin of people whose minds were already compromised. People fighting internal demons such as guilt, childhood trauma, and grief. Skye has been fighting for control of her life since she became famous. Whether Elizabeth is a caring mother or a woman looking for payment on the investment of her time and work acting as her daughter’s manager is up for interpretation. Unlike Smile where Sosie Bacon’s Rose had some form of support network that gave the audience a sense of how the parasite was playing with her mind, Smile 2 launches into the effect on Skye being almost immediate. Skye can’t admit to the authorities that she was at Lewis’ drug strewn apartment. She can’t tell Elizabeth. She can’t tell the harmless and hapless Joshua. Music gave her everything she thought she wanted, and it ruined her life.

Parker Finn uses an excellent combination of practical and digital effects. Although some of the scenes come from the body horror 101 playbook – there is a lot of viscera- he combines them well with the glitter and glamour of the ‘perfect package’ that famous people are supposed to project. Skye already feels monstrous because of her scars and the entire tour is about her emerging from a cocoon as a beautiful butterfly (there are some inevitable Cronenberg homages – the cocoon is a chamber reminiscent of The Fly).

One of the more disturbing scenes features Skye hallucinating an obsessed fan getting into her apartment and stripping naked with his stained underwear on the polished black tiles leading to her bathroom. Another is when her backup dancers attack her waiting for her to move before they get closer. 

Smile 2 is a pitiless experience. Expect the requisite jump scares and being uncertain which parts of the movie are inside Skye’s infected mind and which are real. Skye already exists in a state of ‘unreality’ before she becomes a host: whether that be her depression, addiction issues, the pressures to deliver for the tour, or her inability to go anywhere without being recognized and asked to ‘perform’ humility, gratitude, and grace. 

Smile 2 easily outpaces its predecessor. It isn’t only the increased budget and scope that makes the film more enthralling, it’s the idea that ‘Skye Riley’ is already a skin Skye is wearing and she’s hemmed in by parasitic attention. The old Skye, the new Skye, the infected Skye – none of them have control. Smile 2 is a cruel beast waiting to go viral.

Grade: B

Director: J.C. Lee
Writers: JC. Lee, Julius Onah
Stars: Benedict Wong, Callina Liang, Jabari Banks

Synopsis: A group of seniors of an entrepreneurial high school team up to take down a rigged college admissions system.

“What makes a good girl go bad?” is a question that’s now a cliché. J. C. Lee’s remake of the 2017 Thai film by Nattawut Poonpiriya gives a somewhat different answer to the one found in his teen cheating scandal turned heist movie. No matter how good Lynn Kang (Callina Liang) is, there is no such thing as a free ride even for full scholarship students at the elite Exton Pacific Academy. Lynn knows this as she’s done the math (in her head) and presented it to school principal Irene Walsh (Sarah-Jane Redmond). Lynn is okay with staying in public school especially if it means her dad Meng (Benedict Wong) doesn’t have to go further into debt on their already failing laundry business across town. Ms. Walsh makes Meng and Lynn an offer that’s hard to refuse – the scholarship and some financial relief. After all, Lynn represents what Exton is about – excellence.

What Ms. Walsh means is ‘quid pro quo’ – Lynn gets the scholarship and Exton can prove that it welcomes diversity. Ms. Walsh isn’t the first person who wants to take advantage of Lynn’s genius as she too quickly learns, but by the time she does she’s already a player in a game she’s rigged to lose.

Lynn is being brought up by her kindly single dad after the death of her mom due to factory related illness. All the hopes and dreams of a better life for Lynn are embodied by Meng. Lynn is the ‘first generation immigrant’ kid who doesn’t have time for anything beyond studying and hopefully helping Meng when he will allow her. Her best friend was her mom, and the only time she felt like she was doing something she loved and was for herself was when she was playing piano with her. Meng insists that Lynn will go on to be an MIT graduate. Secretly, Lynn wants to go to Julliard and study music. Either way it will cost more money than either of them have ever seen.

Money is no issue for most of the students at Exton. Lynn is quickly befriended by Grace (Taylor Hickson) who is barely keeping her grade average up enough to stay in her extra-curricular drama course. Grace seems sincere and self-aware enough to know that “pretty” is all she has going for her (and modest wealth compared to other Exton students). She ‘friend bombs’ Lynn, and before Lynn is even aware, she’s helping Grace cheat on her math tests. From there, it’s an introduction to Grace’s very wealthy boyfriend, Pat Stone (Samuel Braun) who lays out the land for her. If she helps him and some of his friends keep their grades up there is good money in it for her. At first, Grace demurs but after a function for students which is a barely disguised fundraiser and Meng is baited into buying $1000 worth of facial cream by Walsh and meeting Bank (Jabari Banks) who tells her that they’re just mascots. Bank is struggling financially too. His mother owns a small Nigerian diner in a less salubrious part of Seattle. She’s learned never to turn up to these ‘celebrations.’

Lynn is furious. She is smarter than her rich and, let’s face it, White classmates. Bank is the only person who comes close to rivalling her intelligence and it isn’t long before Walsh pits them against each other for a college scholarship. Meng is working two jobs, and all she sees around her are people who are at Exton because their parents are Seattle ‘royalty.’ If Exton is going to use her, then she will return the favor. Her tutoring group expands, and Lynn comes up with an ingenious way to signal the answers to mid-terms. It’s all going very well until one of the tests is given with two papers because the marks of some of the students have been unreasonably high considering their academic records. Lynn gets caught and her scholarship is rescinded, and her dad takes out a loan he can’t possibly repay.

The next part of the film revolves around an audacious plan to ‘steal’ the SAT scores. Cue the Ocean’s Eleven for teens as Lynn comes up with an ingenious way to get the test answers to her so-called friends in Seattle by going to Philadelphia. Bank, who had wanted nothing to do with the whole thing is pulled in as he was beaten by some ‘gang’ members outside his mom’s diner the night he was supposed to interview for the Cartwright scholarship.

Bad Genius is a fun mixture between low-stakes/high-stakes heists and a commentary on how easily privileged people use those they believe are desperate. Every promise made to Lynn is one which can be easily taken back by her flippant faux friends. It isn’t only her friends who make promises, but their parents too – they need to keep up their family reputation by having the scion end up at the alma mater regardless of talent or intelligence.

By using a non-linear narrative and quick edits, J.C. Lee’s film is rarely dull. It doesn’t come together as well as it should by the end of the film, stretching out a section where the nail biting “Will they get the questions to the undeserving” becomes a little more important than what will happen if Lynn and Bank get caught; two people without safety nets, and one who we find out later is a lot less safe than the audience presumed. However, Lynn is a genius after all, and she has done the math already.

Callina Liang is terrific as Mei-lin Kang – a young woman exhausted by the myriad of pressures on her. She adores her dad, and he adores her – but his focus on her success has meant he hasn’t stopped to see if she is actually happy. Benedict Wong is wonderful as Meng who finally sees how lost Lynn has become to herself and affirms what she has needed to hear – she only has to be his daughter and nothing else matters.

Bad Genius isn’t digging too deeply into the issues around how standardized testing puts many people at a disadvantage, especially people of color. Its audience is primarily teenagers who get just enough of an idea of how rigged the system is. Bad Genius has a protagonist to cheer on as the “good girl gone bad” being smart enough to become wise.

Grade: B-

Director: Ali Abbasi
Writer: Gabriel Sherman
Stars: Sebastian Stan, Jeremy Strong, Maria Bakalova

Synopsis: The story of how a young Donald Trump started his real-estate business in 1970s and ’80s New York with the helping hand of infamous lawyer Roy Cohn.

Many films, such as Rocky, The Pursuit of Happyness, and Minari, are about the American Dream—a concept that involves equal opportunity, peace, and success, which every American strives for. Usually, these narratives focus on an individual or individuals who have been dealt a bad hand and have to work hard for a better life, not only for themselves but also for their families. However, what if there was a telling of the American Dream in which an individual wasn’t dealt a bad hand; therefore, they didn’t have to work harder, but rather dirtier as a way to achieve something that, to most, is unfathomable? This is what Ali Abbasi attempts to do in his follow-up to his Cannes hit, Holy Spider, with The Apprentice, a story about the creation of Donald J. Trump.

The Apprentice begins with a speech from Richard Nixon regarding his involvement with Watergate, stating, “People have got to know whether or not their President is a crook. Well, I’m not a crook. I’ve earned everything I’ve got.” Shortly after, we are shown a very young Donald Trump (Sebastian Stan) in a private and exclusive club in which he is the youngest member in history. This catches the eye of Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong), who invites the young Trump over to sit at his table. Once Trump tells Cohn he is in real estate, he realizes that he is the son of Fred Trump, a businessman who is currently being sued by the Government and the NAACP for segregation in his apartment homes, “Trump Village.” Trump listens to Cohn’s advice and eventually approached him to become his new lawyer.

From the first interaction between Trump and Cohn, it’s evident that both Sebastian Stan and Jeremy Strong anchor the film. At this point, Trump is young, hungry, motivated, and insanely impressionable, and a sense of wonder shines through Stan’s performance taking in every small detail and locking it away to use for later. When Cohn begins to find dirty ways to get ahead, Trump, who is hesitant at first, takes notice, and it’s clear how Cohn unlocks the side of Trump willing to do whatever it takes to get even further ahead. The first half of this film engages with Stan and Strong in a way that displays a rise to power. The more Cohn takes, the more Trump grows into the monstrous figure he is known to be. There is that sense of wonder in a young Trump, but there is also a slimy and conniving side of Cohn that Strong can tap into with vile ferocity. For the first half of this film, there isn’t much that hasn’t been done before, crossing off many of the traditional procedural biopic tropes that must be hit in every version of telling this story. It can feel thin narratively, giving off more of a quick lesson into how Trump built his empire and the back alley deals and blackmail that helped him along the way. However, once this film transitions into its second half, and Donald Trump has fully become a power-hungry shell of his old self, The Apprentice truly begins to take off.

Ali Abbasi, who brings a ‘70s-era, almost documentary-like flair to the film, never holds back from displaying Trump in a frightening light. Donald Trump attempted to file a lawsuit against this film, with people on his legal team claiming it “should never see the light of day,” the latter half is exactly why he wouldn’t want anyone to see it. The erection of the Trump Tower and the people that Trump has in his pocket gives him a sense of invulnerability, allowing him to believe that he can say and do what he wants. Nothing matters to him, not his wife, who he calls unattractive before sexually assaulting her, not his brother, who was sent off by Trump right before his death, and not even Roy Cohn, the man who got him to the position he is in, and the man who also notices the monster he is becoming. One of the quotes from this movie, “In life there are killers, and there are losers,” personifies Trump as he is killing off anything vital to him in the quest for power. However, he doesn’t care what happens to these people because the more he grows (literally and figuratively), the less human he becomes. Abbasi’s film becomes almost Frankensteinian in that the monster has now been set loose, which is everyone else’s problem to handle.

During these moments is when both Stan and Strong shine brighter than ever. Roy Cohn falls ill, and even though this figure doesn’t deserve sympathy, Strong portrays him so that, as a viewer, you are reminded that he is still a human. There’s an emotional center in Strong’s transition between monster and human that causes you to feel hurt for a character who caused so much pain. However, the opposite could be said about Trump, as there is a volatility in him that Stan embraces in a haunting way. Donald Trump might be one of the most impersonated people on the planet with his distinct voice and gestures, but what Stan pulls off is nothing short of remarkable. He doesn’t just have the look, the gestures, and even, at times, the voice down that every other impersonator can do; he completely captures the person that Donald Trump is. Sebastian Stan delivers the performance of the year, embracing one of the most terrorizing and petrifying villains of the year all the way to the final shot.

The Apprentice isn’t a film that will tell you anything you don’t, or shouldn’t, already know. It’s stylized well by Ali Abbasi, with some of the performances of the year from Jeremy Strong and Sebastian Stan, but where The Apprentice excels is as a reminder for the people who may have forgotten just how evil Donald Trump can be. It is a biopic with no remorse for its subject in a way that should serve as a warning sign to all who see it. 

Grade: B+