Director: Kyle Balda
Writers: Craig Mazin, Leonie Swann
Stars: Hugh Jackman, Brett Goldstein, Patrick Stewart

Synopsis: Every night a shepherd reads aloud a murder mystery, pretending his sheep can understand. When he is found dead, the sheep realize at once that it was a murder and think they know everything about how to go about solving it.

The Sheep Detectives is the kind of high-concept family entertainment critics and audiences have been clamoring for, though it remains surprisingly difficult to find. The movie has undeniable charm, natural heart, and a deep bench of live-action stars and voice actors who elevate the wonderfully bizarre premise. Yet, when you strip all of that away, you are left with a film that is predictable, harmless, risk-averse, and too formulaic for its own good. 

The story follows a curmudgeonly shepherd, George Hardy (Hugh Jackman), who reads a mystery novel to his flock of sheep every night. Beloved by his herd, the real leader of the group is Lily (11-time Emmy winner Julia Louis-Dreyfus), who manages to solve every mystery George reads to them, as he has a penchant for leaving the final chapter until the next morning.

This leaves Hardy’s flock often “baa-fuddled,” which includes sheep, rams, and adorable baby lambs, including one of the winter “variety” many turn their backs on. Lily’s friends include Moppie (Chris O’Dowd), a Merino sheep with the ability to never forget, and Sir Ritchfield (Patrick Stewart), the regal Boreray and elder statesman of the group.

However, Hardy ends up dead, leaving Lily and the gang in a “ewe-nique” state of confusion. That’s because no one dies, they simply turn into clouds. However, instead of making themselves forget the bad things, which is one of the film’s central themes, including George’s death, they skip the “lamb-nesia” and press on, intent on solving the case.

There are many suspects in town, including a Reverend (Kobna Holdbrook-Smith) who is hiding a secret. There’s also local innkeeper, Beth (Hong Chau), who was in love with George. You have a wicked butcher, aptly named Ham (Conleth Hill), who wants to buy Hardy’s meaty flock. Finally, there is a rival shepherd, Caleb (Tosin Cole), who wants to assimilate the herd into his own.

Directed by Kyle Balda, this is his first live-action film after decades of working with Pixar and Illumination. Working from a script by Craig Mazin and adapted from the novel “Three Bags Full” by Leonie Swann, the movie is adorable and heartwarming, if occasionally manipulative. 

The real sticking point is that the film is not nearly as funny as it could have been, nor as smart as some have proclaimed. Yes, this is Babe meets Knives Out, but the movie plays things far too safely as a family-friendly whodunit. As a result, the mystery and comedy feel heavily sanitized, with love interests and conflicts simplified, and resolutions often come with a single speech.

The thing is, family film storytelling doesn’t have to feel unearned, which describes most of The Sheep Detectives. The film seems fine with grazing in the meadow of lazy narratives. Which is a shame, because the duo of Nicholas Braun’s endearing doofusness as a local cop and the arrogance of Nicholas Galitzine’s ambitious reporter, investigating the murder, was entertaining.

That should have been the live-action focus. Unfortunately, much of the film steps into the clichéd convention of a forced romance involving Molly Gordon’s Rebecca. Whether you want to argue it exists to distract audiences from the real villain, the reveal is thinly veiled, weak, and not at all believable. Ultimately, the storyline feels like unnecessary narrative wool-gathering.

The supporting cast nearly saves the film. Bryan Cranston voices the stoic Sebastian, a ram living a life of quiet solitude, bringing gravitas, if not a predictable story arc. However, most of the comic relief comes from Brett Goldstein, voicing Reggie and Ronnie, who play ram versions of the Hanson brothers. I will mention that Emma Thompson is criminally underused here.

In the end, The Sheep Detectives is safe family entertainment, with a script that features layered themes of grief, acceptance, and identity subtly woven throughout the film. However, at the screening I attended, most of the children seemed bored silly, and parents rarely laughed except at Brett Goldstein’s voice work.

For a movie with aspirations of being a feel-good family crowd-pleaser, the film is remarkably steadfast in rarely rising above the flock and seldom straying from the pasture of safe family entertainment.

You can watch The Sheep Detectives exclusively in theaters starting May 8th!

Grade: C

Director: Simon McQuoid
Writer: Jeremy Slater
Stars: Karl Urban, Adeline Rudolph, Jessica McNamee

Synopsis: The fan favorite champions — now joined by Johnny Cage himself — are pitted against one another in the ultimate battle to defeat the dark rule of Shao Kahn that threatens the very existence of the Earthrealm and its defenders.

Video game movies are slowly but surely becoming a new certified staple within the Hollywood zeitgeist. Although the industry once couldn’t seem to figure out for decades, it has finally cracked the code, as franchises like Minecraft and Mario break box office records. What’s more fascinating than the new rise of these films, however, is the circumstances of how they occurred and how the movies changed quality-wise. You could realistically argue the quality of video game movies on average isn’t better at all, but rather the corporate management behind fan satisfaction is within a post-comic book movie peak era. Enter the Mortal Kombat film franchise which has swung and missed on 3 attempts at adapting the material to a cinematic landscape. While the 2021 film wasn’t a very good movie, it had enough setting up and exposition dumps of memorabilia to reinvigorate the film franchise and while Mortal Kombat II is the most successful in the franchise yet as an adaptation that still isn’t saying much in the grand scheme of things. For every step forward the sequel takes as an improvement within more creative fights, and taking itself a bit less seriously, it takes a few back with even worse dialogue and exposition dumps, weird miscastings, and rough CGI that tends to take away from the weight of some fatalities. Mortal Kombat II isn’t a complete failure of a sequel, but it’s certainly a deeply flawed attempt at victory. 

The sequel picks up not long after the events of the first film, with champions Sonya Blade (Jessica McNamee), Cole Young (Lewis Tan), Liu Kang (Judi Lin), and Jax (Mehcad Brooks) preparing to defend Earthrealm within the tournament alongside their leader, Lord Raiden (Tadanobu Asano). We open, however, with a new character, Kitana (Adeline Rudolph), a princess whose realm fell to evil emperor Shao Kahn (Martyn Ford) and Outworld after Shao killed her father in combat. As Kitana works behind the scenes with the Earthrealm to stop her new father’s reign, the champions officially find and recruit Johnny Cage (Karl Urban), a washed-up ’90s action star who believes his best days are behind him until it seems that getting transported to a new realm to fight for the world might give him some new purpose. With Shao Kahn about to retrieve an amulet that grants him immortality, and using sorcery to revive old foes and allies of our heroes, the stakes and fights are higher than ever to save Earth from Outworld’s dominance.

It’s a shame that Mortal Kombat II isn’t able to completely save itself from many of the pitfalls of its predecessor, since there’s actually a fair amount of aspects that are actually upgrades. For one, there’s *gasp* a tournament in a Mortal Kombat? You don’t say? Silly quips aside, while many of the film’s fights still retain the same core issues, Simon McQuoid’s direction is certainly more innovative in both choreography and creative deaths. The constant succession of fights throughout the film is also when it tends to best balance its campy sensibilities and stakes between battles. Johnny Cage’s fights have a particularly delightful, silly energy to them, despite the deeper problems with the character’s presence in the narrative. 

Unfortunately, the positives to Mortal Kombat II tend to always have consistent caveats that always end up hampering the material. It will not be utterly confounding that despite the fact that the ‘95 film is rated PG-13, it manages to have more kinetic fight sequences than almost anything that happens in these new R-rated films. Even when you witness the brutal nature of fatalities unfold within the fights, there is absolutely no weight to them because of the poor CGI and incoherent editing that surrounds them. Once the fight scenes start to pack zero punch behind them, it only makes all the other problems with the sequel even more egregious.

Jeremy Slater’s screenplay is all around abysmal. Both old and new characters have virtually no substance to them besides acting as placeholders for what people know from the video games. The dialogue is particularly bad, ranging from a bit clunky at best to spouting exposition like a robot at worst. 

Many will likely argue that “It’s Mortal Kombat! The character writing isn’t supposed to be that great,” or that the nonsensical campiness of its narrative is an added value to its enjoyability. One of the film’s biggest issues, however, is that while yes, it tends to have more fun with itself, it wants to have its cake and eat it too, never fully committing to either ridiculously silly one-liners or strong developments between its characters, particularly well. The clearest examples of this lie within both the characters of Kitana and Johnny Cage, who both get the most depth here. 

Both characters have the same issue of having the beginning of a character thread that is never fully followed up on by the time the film reaches its conclusion. The idea of Johnny Cage being a past his prime actor finding new meaning through fighting to save his world isn’t a bad concept, but there are large gaps within the writing missing. For instance, his reason behind why he ultimately decides to go through with competing in the tournament after choosing to refuse the first time, and being brought back against his will the second are never explained. There are threads of it that exist that are never followed up upon. 

We also never know why exactly Cage would be useful to Earthrealm’s fight besides the fact that he’s a big part of the games, so he has to be here. It doesn’t help that Karl Urban feels bizarrely miscast even as an aged version of the video game character. Sometimes he’s able to make the cheesiness work, but whether it’s because of the screenplay or him not quite fitting the archetype, many of his line deliveries tend to be off.

Most fans will be pleased with the many game references and sound bites to recognize within all of Mortal Kombat II’s constant battles, but its lack of virtually anything else of substance ends up still holding it back in the end. Sure, it’s a technical improvement upon most aspects of its predecessor, but the sequel often ends up a one step forward two steps back scenario where its haphazard dialogue, lackluster visuals, and inability to commit to full tilt camp or narrative structure make it the latest in the line of recent videogame films to place fan appeasement first, and being a good movie 20th.

Grade: C-

Director: Renny Harlin
Writers: Pete Bridges, Shayne Armstrong, S.P. Krause
Stars: Aaron Eckhart, Ben Kingsley, Angus Sampson

Synopsis: A group of international passengers en route from Los Angeles to Shanghai are forced to make an emergency landing in shark-infested waters. Now they must work together in hopes to overcome the frenzy of sharks drawn to the wreckage.

Shark films have an almost primal pull. Maybe it’s the simplicity of the threat, something ancient, unseen, and circling beneath us, or the way they tap into a fear we can’t outrun once we’re in the water. From Jaws setting the gold standard, to leaner survival thrillers like The Shallows and recent streaming entries like Thrash, the genre thrives on tension, isolation and the unpredictability of nature. It also thrives on being… trash. These films seem to accept and push on the fact they can be thrill-less, cheap, and cringy. So when I sat down to watch Deep Water, I was hoping to get a tight, nerve-shredding descent into aquatic terror. What I got instead was something far more subdued, and at times, oddly adrift.

Directed by Renny Harlin, this film drifts between stretches of quiet unease and sudden bursts of danger, often prioritizing atmosphere over momentum. The story follows a small group navigating open water after a traumatic incident leaves them stranded, their vulnerability heightened by the growing sense that they are no longer alone beneath the surface. They now must work together to survive the group of sharks coming for them. Deep Water is thoughtful in places, visually striking in others, and anchored by performances that keep you invested even when the narrative drifts.

The performances do a lot of heavy lifting in this film. Ben Kingsley is confident and charming as ever, with Aaron Eckhart being more suave and intense. Both actors do bring some gravitas to the film and the rest of the cast does well in keeping up to their standard. We have an array of characters, and for me, the characters Matt and Becky bring the best comic relief – their characters are honest and not cheesy and not typical, like a separated family or couple. It is quite a large cast, and I did expect more deaths, more savageness from the sharks and the sea. 

Tonally, the film sits somewhere between psychological drama and survival thriller, but never fully commits to either. It hints at deeper themes; guilt, trauma, the fragility of control, but these ideas are only lightly explored. I found myself wanting the film to push further, to either embrace the raw terror of its premise or dig more deeply into the emotional fallout.

The plane crash scenes are to a very decent standard – maybe don’t watch before flying or if you’re worried at all about crashing over the ocean. It’s just a shame that the sea didn’t look like the sea. It looked like a giant pool and it was far too green and still. It missed a vastness which could have represented how alone the passengers are. And the sea was so calm, the water itself could have been a tool to build tension and been a stronger threat. But a lot of the film does take place inside the plane craft. I also enjoyed the extravagance of half the plane being in the ocean with some people still alive in it. Unbelievable, but that’s what we want from dramatic, disaster films like this.

The sharks, arguably the main attraction, feel underutilized. When they do appear, the film briefly snaps into focus, delivering flashes of intensity that remind you what’s at stake. But those moments are fleeting. There’s a fine line between suspense and absence, and Deep Water doesn’t always stay on the right side of it. 

As the story continues you do wonder where it is going. One plot is trying to reunite a little girl with her family, and the others are trying to get out of the aircraft. It feels like a lot is going on in the middle of the ocean. Everyone is going on their own emotional journey whilst waiting to be saved. Which, they eventually are, but not before a dramatic, maverick moment for our lead. The last 20 minutes are very exciting, and even if the end is predictable, you’ll still enjoy the building momentum. 

In the end, Deep Water feels less like a full plunge into the genre and more like a cautious dip. It has moments that ripple with tension, but they’re spaced too far apart to fully satisfy. For a film about what lurks beneath, it spends a surprising amount of time staying on the surface, and that is where it leaves you. Deep Water is a thrilling disaster film, but if you’re looking for a shark-themed thriller, this one lacks bite. It’s a film for those who love their disaster dramas, and for those wanting something mindless on a Sunday when they’re scrolling on their phones.

Grade: B

Director: RZA
Writer: RZA
Stars: Shameik Moore, RJ Cyler, Paris Jackson

Synopsis: An ex-military convict seeks a fresh start in a small town, but his past catches up as he finds love amid danger and chaos.

In the Q&A following the screening of One Spoon of Chocolate, filmmaker and legendary NYC-based rapper RZA stated he had the idea for this film all the way back in 2011 and had only the first 40 pages of the screenplay for a while and couldn’t find the way forward. After seeing the film you could certainly tell that this has been on and off the burner for the better half of 15 years. One Spoon of Chocolate is an uneven ‘stranger in a new town’ film that lacks the charisma and charm of RZA’s other projects. There are a multitude of issues with this film with little pros to show for it, but most disappointingly One Spoon of Chocolate feels hollow for a film trying to say so much.

One Spoon of Chocolate follows former Army man and ex-con Unique (Shameik Moore) – possibly an homage to the Shaw Brothers first film studio – following his release from prison. Unique is placed in Karensville, Ohio, a town in which he has family, to try and live out his days as peacefully as he can. But the town is top-to-bottom corrupt, the townsfolk are incredibly racist and brutally violent. Acts displayed in the film include lynching, organ harvesting, and group beatings – all of which are shown as brutally as possible, not allowing the audience member to shy away from the horrors within.

One Spoon of Chocolate is wholly uneven as a film. When the film starts, we get something that feels a little more sensationalized, a little more exploitative, a platform that could’ve been built off of to be great. Then, after the first hour or so, the film seems to lose itself. It falls into something more self serious, losing the visual and thematic drive that preceded it. If you were to cut the film in segments, the first fifty minutes or so feels exploitative and purposeful, the following forty minutes that reads like one of Spike Lee’s socially aware films (something like BlacKkKlansman), then the remainder is just a big action blowout. There is a world where this could all blend together, but this did not.

In terms of the role white supremacy plays in the film, it seems to lean heavily on the economics side. While the angle is interesting, it is never explored further than a surface level glance. Obviously, RZA set out to speak on white supremacy and its existence, but when we’re at the stage we’re at in 2026 with how horrible it has gotten it feels sort of short of reality. In a way, it feels like someone trying to lampoon the National Enquirer, you can’t extend it much further without leaning into irony. Which, irony seemed to be the flavor at the beginning of the film, but quickly dissipated as the film progressed.

When I first started writing film criticism I touched on superfluous items that may not add to the total enjoyment of the film. For example, I was critical of acting at such a weirdly granular level that it seemed to add air into a room that isn’t asking for it. However, in One Spoon of Chocolate, Shameik Moore is extraordinarily bad. The other actors in the film do their role at the level they need to be (hell, Paris Jackson was a highlight, someone I was anticipating to just be visual furniture), but Shameik Moore cannot rise to the occasion. The film, at times, had some really excellent shots and lighting and the complete image could look excellent at times – then Shameik Moore would start speaking and it would melt all of the illusion and world that was built beforehand.

What One Spoon of Chocolate gets right is the final action sequence. RZA was aware of the lessons and ethos of Kung Fu and samurai films and it worked in this final segment. While the lead up to this point was less than ideal, the actual action was well worth it. There is an excellent restraint on the use of firearms and there is an emphasis on hand to hand combat and different items as weapons. If not for the rest of the movie being a drag, the build up to the final form of Unique’s prowess could have been something that is immortalized into film canon. Regardless, the final segment was well worth the journey to get there, warts and all.

It’s no secret that RZA is a massive film fan, and his enthusiasm is infectious. However, when it comes to his insertion of other film ideas into One Spoon of Chocolate, it feels lost. Sure, I recognize the references to Schindler’s List, Pulp Fiction, A Fistful of Dollars, all incredible films, but their homages are simply visual and nothing substantial. While I mentioned that RZA respected the style of Kung Fu films, that seemed to be the only philosophy he drew from. Everything else was just clunkily inserted in and didn’t feel as aware as the final action segment.

One Spoon of Chocolate is a film that had its heart in the right place but the execution was not there. RZA is an excellent artist, Enter the Wu-Tang is a top 10 album for me. I could listen to RZA talk about films for hours, but this film was certainly not one of his best. If you had told me this was his first feature film, I would believe you (and going into it, I did think it was his first feature film). If you were looking to find a great action film you can go watch John Wick, The Raid, or any Bruce Lee picture instead. There are redeeming qualities to One Spoon of Chocolate, but with the 112 minute runtime and bore of a middle section you could just see something else instead.

Grade: D

Director: David Frankel
Writer: Aline Brosh McKenna, Lauren Weisberger
Stars: Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt

Synopsis: Andy Sachs reunites with Miranda Priestly as they navigate their careers amid the decline of traditional magazine publishing

It’s 2006, and The Devil Wears Prada glides into theaters—polished, biting, and deceptively powerful. What could have been just another film about fashion becomes something far more lasting: a cultural landmark that reshaped how we saw the 2000s fashion industry, revealing its hierarchies, its quiet ruthlessness, and its impossible glamour, while making that world feel both untouchable and just within reach.

For me, though, its impact was never only cultural—it was deeply personal, even before I understood why. The film didn’t just spark a love for fashion; it stirred something quieter, something unnamed. It wasn’t a “trans story” in any obvious sense, but it didn’t need to be. The most defining realizations rarely arrive with clarity—they unfold slowly, reflecting parts of you you don’t yet have the words to claim.

That opening title sequence—women dressing with care, slipping into heels, brushing on mascara—felt like a revelation. Not just about beauty, but about becoming. Somewhere in those quiet rituals, I caught a glimpse of myself—not as I was, but as I felt. It planted something lasting: the idea that identity could be shaped, chosen, stepped into piece by piece, until it finally feels like truth.

So coming back to this world twenty years later feels emotional in a way I can’t separate from who I am now, because The Devil Wears Prada 2 isn’t just a sequel but a return to something that once felt sacred, something that helped me understand myself long before I had the words to say it out loud, and what makes it remarkable is that it earns that return by refusing to stay frozen in nostalgia and instead evolving into something more complicated, more fragile, and more human.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 does something sequels almost never manage, which is justifying its existence by evolving rather than repeating itself, since it doesn’t cling too tightly to what worked before nor abandon it, instead stepping into a harsher and more uncertain world where these characters exist with all their flaws intact, where the glamour and wit and bite are still there but layered over something more unstable, as the fantasy hasn’t disappeared but has been complicated by time.

This time around, the world feels unsteady from the very beginning, because journalism is no longer just struggling but quietly eroding, and even someone as accomplished as Andy Sachs, once again played by Anne Hathaway, finds herself pulled into that instability, where her return to “Runway,” now entangled in scandal, feels less like destiny and more like necessity, a calculated step back into a place she once thought she had fully outgrown.

And yet “Runway” still belongs to Miranda Priestly, once again embodied with razor-sharp control by Meryl Streep, who remains a force of nature even as the landscape around her shifts in ways she can no longer fully command, because the power she once wielded without question now requires negotiation and restraint, and somehow that evolution makes her even more compelling, as she hasn’t lost authority but has been forced to redefine it.

Beside her stands Nigel, played with quiet depth by Stanley Tucci, still observant and composed but now carrying a subtle weight of disillusionment, as if time has moved differently for him and he is only now realizing how quickly the system he understood so well has shifted beneath him, leaving him to question what was gained and what was quietly left behind.

Then there is Emily, with Emily Blunt returning not softened but sharpened, because if she once fought to survive within the system she now helps shape it, and her rise into influence—entangled with the advertising world and the shifting machinery of media power—reconfigures everything in a way that feels both satisfying and slightly unsettling, since she doesn’t replace Miranda but instead challenges her, forcing a new kind of negotiation where influence is no longer inherited but constantly earned.

The film also expands Andy’s world outward in meaningful ways, including her friendship with Lily, played by Tracie Thoms, which remains one of her few grounding constants, alongside new characters who reflect the instability of a collapsing industry filled with laid-off colleagues, opportunists, and people trying to turn uncertainty into survival, while also introducing the quiet temptation of reshaping one’s own past into something consumable and marketable, where lived experience itself becomes currency.

And yet, through all of this, the film never loses its sense of spectacle, because the fashion remains exquisite and the cities of New York and Milan still feel like fantasy spaces carved from glass and steel, even if that beauty now feels less like escape and more like defense, as though everyone is dressing themselves in control because everything else feels unstable.

There is also a sharper awareness of the world outside the frame, where economic pressure and creative decline and the erosion of prestige institutions seep into the edges of the story without overwhelming it, and even “Runway” itself is no longer the untouchable empire it once was, because it still dictates taste but now also answers to it, reflecting a world where authority is no longer absolute.

One of the most intriguing modern threads comes through Emily’s connection to a tech-driven power structure shaped by figures like Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos, which becomes a subtle but effective way of showing how cultural influence has shifted away from legacy media into colder algorithmic systems where taste is no longer curated but calculated, reshaping what power even looks like.

And yet the film never loses its playfulness or its understanding of what fans came for, because callbacks are woven throughout as quiet echoes rather than loud nostalgia, while new additions feel intentional rather than decorative, with Lady Gaga appearing as herself and bringing electrifying theatricality alongside original music that feels perfectly at home in this heightened world, while Simone Ashley steps in as Miranda’s new assistant with a sharp, self-aware energy that signals a generational shift in power, and Lucy Liu adds elegance and ambiguity that deepens the film’s ongoing fascination with visibility and control.

But what ultimately holds everything together is still the original quartet—Andy, Miranda, Emily, and Nigel—because the film understands that their chemistry is the backbone of everything, and rather than replacing or diluting it, it deepens it by allowing their relationships to fracture and reform in ways that feel honest, as none of them are who they once were, and that transformation is exactly the point.

Because at its core The Devil Wears Prada 2 isn’t really about fashion or journalism or even ambition, but about survival, about what remains of you when the systems that shaped your identity begin to dissolve, and about whether you can evolve without losing yourself entirely in the process, and by the end it refuses easy answers or neat closure while still suggesting something quieter and more human, which is that there is still meaning in persistence and still value in taste and voice and resistance even when the world no longer seems built to reward them.

It’s glamorous, yes, but it’s also more complicated now, more bruised, more lived-in, and more honest, and somehow that makes it feel even more powerful.

Grade: A

Director: Addison Heimann
Writer: Addison Heimann
Stars: Olivia Taylor Dudley, Lou Taylor Pucci, Jordan Gavaris

Synopsis: Two codependent best friends become addicted to the heroin-like touch of an alien narcissist who may or may not be trying to take over the world.

When a film starts with a nearly ten minute monologue, you know whether or not you’re going to like it. In that time, the character delivering the monologue will give you different facets of their personality, the actor performing it will show you the character’s tics, mannerisms, and sense of self, and the writer will tell you everything you need to know about the set up of the film. Starting a film like this is a bold choice because you’re beginning with static. If the actor, the dialogue, and the camera work is up to the challenge, this could be a very effective opening. Touch Me shows us that trying to set up a psychosexual horror comedy in this way is terrifically ineffective. This film is an attempt at traumedy that fails to get off the ground.

There is nothing bad about attempting a comedy that builds its humor out of a character’s traumatic experiences. It can even be very well done such as Eva Victor’s Sorry, Baby and Ally Pankiw’s I Used to be Funny. Though, where those films are grounded and multidimensional, Touch Me is just not. The problem is that it is firmly tongue-in-cheek without any sense of the character’s humanity beyond the walls they put up with ruthless self-deprecation. Their trauma becomes one dimensional and even when they achieve a form of catharsis, it rings so false because there is nothing beyond this “personality” they’ve developed. Joey (Olivia Taylor Dudley) and Craig (Jordan Gavaris) seem more like the personification of emotions than actual characters.

It doesn’t help that the story revolves around an alien being who has a “heroin touch” that makes you feel instantly better. This gives Joey and Craig an instant excuse for any poor behavior they might exhibit. That alien conceit is part of the package, but it would work just as well with a human cult leader drugging them. 

So much of the alien aspect of the film is completely unexplained despite how important it all seems to be. It’s especially important to Joey as Brian (Lou Taylor Pucci), the alien, tells her he’s here to save the world through correcting climate change. As the film goes on, though, and the true nature of Brian is revealed, the plot holes just get bigger and bigger. In a mirror of the opening monologue, Joey is back in therapy telling the whole tale to her therapist, who breaks in with valid questions about the presence and purpose of the alien. The fact that writer Addison Heimann uses this device to ask all of our questions for us isn’t a clever way of getting on our side, but a way to show how lazy the mechanics of this alien plot were and how that laziness is inherent in the entire structure of the film and its characters.

The one bright spot of the film is Lou Taylor Pucci’s performance as Brian. He plays otherworldly himbo like he was born to it. One plot point that is pretty funny is that Brian often processes his thoughts and emotions through hip hop dancing. In these scenes, Pucci shows a physicality and commitment that is top notch. His dancing is lively and seductive as it should be, but it also is wonderfully funny in its precision. Pucci is the only part of Touch Me worth watching.

It’s obvious that Touch Me was written to encompass some big ideas. This film takes major swings and tries very hard to mine comedy from some traumatic stories. Yet, the attempt this film makes at a grand narrative of truth about how we’re all screwed up and need to find a way to move forward ends up being the maudlin drunk who stops the party flat. The film can’t get over how much it hates itself to give us a reason to love it.

Grade: D

Director: Nathan Greno
Writer: John Whittington, Christian Magalhaes, Robert Snow
Stars: Michael B. Jordan, Juno Temple, Justina Machado

Synopsis: A tiny woodland creature and a majestic bird suddenly swap bodies, forcing them to team up to survive the wildest adventure of their lives.

The last thirty years or so have been a golden age of animation since Pixar introduced audiences to Toy Story. So, when a studio like Skydance Animation drops an animated film on Netflix, like Swapped, it can be held to an almost unattainable standard. The other issue is that there’s little distinction between a massive streamer’s film that feels made-for-television and one that aspires to be true, magical cinema.

Well, it can be, in terms of story and visual artistry. Swapped has plenty of the latter but flirts with a familiar, recycled narrative. Still, it has heart and, at times, is smart enough to highlight the unintended consequences of our actions on surrounding communities. That’s something we need from animated films, whose core demographic is children, teachable moments like these, which are empathy, community, identity, and acceptance. 

Sure, the premise borrows from audience favorites like Freaky Friday, Big, and the new Jumanji franchise. However, not everything has to be startlingly original, as long as it’s done well and tailored to resonate with the audience the experience is meant to serve. This amounts to playing something for the kids while you get some alone time, delivering a family-friendly, albeit safe, experience even for adults watching alongside them. 

The story follows Ollie (Michael B. Jordan), an adolescent Pookoo, a brown sea otter–like creature, whose mischievous nature begins to endanger his community. Ollie refuses to live by his father’s code, “Hide today, live tomorrow.” To keep him scared, his father tells him the story of the Firewolf, who destroyed the Dzo, tree-like creatures that carry magical pods with the ability to transform one creature into another to foster understanding between rival groups.

So, during the Piplets Harvest Festival, the main food source of the Pookoo, Ollie wanders off and runs into a newly hatched Javan, a glorious shade of light green, who begins to follow him. The small Pookoo shows the baby Javan how to open a pod filled with Piplets. They enjoy the snack, but Ollie’s kindness has unintended consequences, as a swarm of Javan flies in. Which reminds the audience of the old adage: “If you teach someone to fish…”

Well, now that the Javan know how to open the Piplet pods, they can eat for a lifetime. The bird species takes over, consuming most of the Pookoo’s food source. Years later, now fully grown, Ollie, his family, and the community worry about how to survive the season with little to no food left. Ollie goes for a walk and comes up with a way to force the Javan off the Piplet fields, to save his family and his species. 

The crux of the story, with a script by The Lego Batman Movie scribe John Whittington, has Javan tackle Ollie, sending them both down a hole and into a magical plant that swaps their bodies. We’ve seen this setup countless times before, but the film finds its teaching moments in the idea that the only way to switch back is to work together and save all the woodland animals, making Swapped an antagonist-driven buddy comedy with a strong emotional arc.

Directed by Nathan Greno (Tangled), the film is vibrant, featuring beautiful, creative animation. It’s a real achievement for Skydance Animation, which has struggled with visual quality in its animated, effects-driven filmography. Tracy Morgan, who voices a purple groupie, provides solid comic relief, while Ted Lasso’s Juno Temple plays the Javan who switches bodies with Jordan’s Ollie, bringing comfort and warmth to the role that children will respond to.

Where Swapped struggles is in its lack of originality, even as it tries to make familiar ideas feel new. That is especially true of the “villain,” the Firewolf, whose “surprise” reveal exposes the limitations of the performance. It’s the kind of turn that makes you appreciate voice actors, as the lack of nuance turns what should be menacing into something unintentionally comical. When the reveal lands, you’ll understand exactly why.

Still, if nothing else, Netflix’s Swapped is enjoyable and breezy enough, delivering colorful animation, light humor, and a handful of meaningful lessons for its core audience. Sure, the film falls short of true originality in its storytelling, but it has enough heart and accessibility to earn a very mild recommendation, safe, simple, and sincere in its intentions.

You can stream Swapped exclusively on Netflix starting May 1st!

Grade: C+

Director: Nicole Bazuin
Writers: Nicole Bazuin, Andrea Werhun
Stars: Andrea Werhun, Patrick Groe, Paul Thomas Forrest

Synopsis: Andrea Werhun as she portrays her past roles as escort Mary Ann, stripper Sophia, and her OnlyFans presence – all part of her Toronto sex work journey.

Sex work is one of the world’s oldest professions. Yet even talking about it is taboo, and partaking in it is even more so. The topic brings stereotypes about the kind of person who chooses to get into this work. Modern Whore takes control of the narrative around sex for pay, highlighting real stories. It’s an eye-opening documentary that celebrates art while advocating for the artist behind it.

In the 2010s, Andrea Werhun was a college student looking for ways to make more money. Working as a barista at a coffee shop, tips only found their way into her jar when she discovered that men would tip if some skin was being shown. Deciding to pursue it, she becomes an escort, with no training in the ways of this new venture. She makes $700 her first night and is hooked, but not just by the promise of money. What she finds throughout her career is that although society chooses to partake in her services, all the shame is unfairly projected onto one person: her.

Experiences from Werhun’s book, which also goes by “Modern Whore,” are put on display in a vibrant showcase of campy reenactments. Spanning from her first client to where she is today, Werhun refreshingly embraces sex work. It’s her form of art, and regardless of whether someone understands it or not, she’s more concerned with educating and uplifting her fellow escorts. Her journey, from contracting nearly every STI imaginable to being an emotional dumping ground for men, rings the alarm on how the world views people like Werhun.

Modern Whore challenges our preconceived notions of sex work and leaves a lasting impression with its use of firsthand encounters. Recreations of Werhun’s time with her clients raise questions that audiences have likely thought about or joked about with friends. Commonly, strippers and sex workers are asked why they got into this line of work. Rarely is it asked with genuine intentions and assumes there’s something wrong with them, instantly victimizing sex workers, which is more harmful than it would appear.

Writer and director Nicole Bazuin, along with Werhun, delicately place humor throughout, making it entertaining while informative. It presents information about the treatment of sex workers that demands serious change. Over-the-top recreations of nights with her standout clients show men from all walks of life who buy her services. Werhun finds that some of these men write sex worker reviews, where their story and the truth rarely align. While Werhun and Bazuin recognize these reviews can dehumanize sex workers, they choose to act out both versions to see which is more likely. The outcome is a good laugh that allows Werhun to poke fun in her own way.

While Werhun is the main focus of Modern Whore, there are others who get a chance to speak about their experiences. Black women discuss how colorism impacts their work, how they are told to wear their hair, and which clients they are offered. Others explain how the male gaze pressures sex workers to present more conventionally feminine, even when they do not identify as women. Together, they want to encourage acceptance of sex work and make it a safer experience, advocating for safe sex, labor rights, and drug-free environments to support sound choices.

But the change does not just stop with the people doing the work. Escort agencies, strip club managers, and customers hold the most power in these situations. Modern Whore shows that power through weaponized naivety, taking in new faces and not warning them of risks, or failing to report sexual crimes that happen to their employees, much like environments that occur in strip clubs, where money is often more important than the dancer’s safety. I was not unaware of the harm that sometimes comes with being a sex worker, but Bazuin and Werhun place the shame where it should be held: with the perpetrators.

There is plenty to enjoy from this eye-opening documentary. At the top is how it pops off the screen. It undoubtedly is one of the most visually unique films of the year. It is highly stylized, from the font used throughout to the highly saturated coloring and the fashion that is to die for. Werhun can be seen adorned in styles like a femme fatale or dressed as the human form of shame. Even her performing name, “Mary Anne,” evokes a type of heightened style. It helps the themes of the film stick with audiences, and it’s easy to recall where Werhun is in her life based on her surroundings.

What Modern Whore does best of all is humanize sex workers by showing them as real people. Werhun begins her journey in this documentary as a highly intelligent college student, loving literature and able to reference it at the drop of a hat. But that is just the surface of the talents shown by those in the documentary. It makes audiences see them as daughters with loving and supportive families, as partners in stable relationships, and most of all, as flawed just like us. All in all, Modern Whore is a feat of filmmaking and opens a conversation that is rarely heard. It shows that people are more than their occupation and that even if it is not for us, sex workers deserve basic human respect and safety. Werhun and her fellow sex workers were brave enough to tell their story. Still, it is up to us to listen and uplift them.

Grade: A