Director: Liz W. Garcia
Writer: Liz W. Garcia
Stars: Emma Roberts, Tom Hopper, Poppy Liu

Synopsis: Rex, a Florida party girl, turns out to be the only hope for the NASA space program after a fluke puts her in training with other candidates who may have better resumés, but don’t have her smarts, heart, and moxie.

Space Cadet is so tediously artificial and insincere that the rather light-hearted film becomes excruciatingly insufferable. In fact, it’s the type of film made for a “star” like Emma Roberts, and I use those quotation marks to prove a point. Without streaming, would she be able to make movies? Roberts has made some of the worst comedies that tend to lean on the romantic side in recent memory.

Let’s review her filmography. With the jaw-droppingly wrong Madame Web, Little Italy, and Holidate, she has 43 feature films under her belt, but only 11 have a positive Rotten Tomatoes rating. (I would like to add that only 14 of them have an audience approval rating, the highest being 76% for a supporting role in We’re The Millers.). Less than a third of those would be considered Emma Roberts vehicles, and most of those would not be comedies. 

This brings me to my point: can we have an intervention so Ms. Roberts can stop starring in comedies like Space Cadet? Unfortunately, with the streaming wars still raging, studios will keep bringing her scripts like Space Cadet from the bottom of the trash heap, which would never have been made if they had been tested in a theatrical release.

Space Cadet follows Tiffany Simpson (Roberts), whom her friends and family affectionately call “Rex.” Ever since she was a little girl, watching the stars with her mom, she has dreamt of going into the great void known as space. Sadly, her mother died, forcing Rex to give up lucrative opportunities to utilize her degree in engineering so she could help out at her father’s bar.

However, even though her mother has passed, Rex still feels that mother-daughter bond that will never go away. She still dreams of working for NASA. Her best friend, Nadine (Poppy Liu), takes matters into her own hands. Nadine embellishes Rex’s application and does such a stellar job that the paper ends up on top of the pile for the government’s uber-competitive astronaut training program.

The program director, Logan (Tom Hopper), is against her, but Pam (Top Five’s Gabrielle Union) feels the legendary space program could use new blood and a fresh perspective. When Rex finds out that her best friend doctored her application, she is in over her head. Still, she relies on her intellect, ability to think on her feet, and an unusual amount of empathy to endear herself to her classmates and administrators.

Liz W. Garcia executive produced, directed, and wrote the script for this Prime Video film. You can hardly be surprised after watching the final results since the same filmmaker did Kristen Bell dirty with The Lifeguard. She is one of the few filmmakers with the talent to bring critics and audiences together when agreeing about movies they both hate.

This is the perfect example of a studio remaking a movie with a different story but generally the same premise. For instance, in this case, the film is Legally Blonde, except that it replaces Harvard’s law program with NASA’s space program. Here, everyone underestimates Roberts’s character, but she proves her worth with an unorthodox approach. Yes, you have many who oppose her, but she slowly wins others over. And yes, there is that romantic attraction to a handsome brainiac.

Yes, it’s that classic story of never judging a book by its cover. Except that this is all accomplished by having a bonehead and utterly implausible plot as if NASA wouldn’t fact-check a resume to begin with. Also, as if having strict rules and standards in a military organization like NASA wouldn’t be necessary? The entire script is a trite example of a romantic comedy that is too shallow and simplistic to be enjoyable, and for the genre, that’s saying something.

Then, to top it off, the movie isn’t funny on any level. Most of the humor is placed on Roberts’s shoulders, which needs to be commercially talented enough to carry a feature-length film without any support or comic relief from supporting characters. Besides the mildly amusing turn, albeit a complete character trope, by Kuhoo Verma (The Big Sick), who plays Violet, the film is virtually free of humor.

Yes, many will find Space Cadet inoffensive. No, I am sure many will embrace its light touch and relaxed vibe, which comes with little to no thought so that viewers can turn their brains off for 90 minutes. However, as Jeffrey DeMunn’s District Attorney in The Shawshank Redemption would admit, this could be understood if not condoned, but considering this genre has such a low standard and Garcia’s movie cannot even meet that low-hanging fruit, you shouldn’t reward a film for wasting your time so blatantly.

After all, that is our most valuable asset.

Grade: D+

Director: Chris Renaud
Writers: Mike White, Ken Daurio
Stars: Steve Carell, Kristen Wiig, Will Ferrell

Synopsis: Gru, Lucy, Margo, Edith, and Agnes welcome a new member to the family, Gru Jr., who is intent on tormenting his dad. Gru faces a new nemesis in Maxime Le Mal and his girlfriend Valentina, and the family is forced to go on the run.

I understand why some people may not like the childish antics of the Despicable Me franchise, as it has given us our most annoying animated toy sale machines in the Minions (once again brilliantly voiced by Pierre Coffin), but there’s something so joyfully exuberant about these movies that it has been impossible for me to outright hate them, even if past installments have never quite been able to reach the heights of the terrific Despicable Me 2. 

It’s clear that Despicable Me 4 only exists to capitalize off the success of the Billion-dollar franchise, with one film every few years to milk Illumination’s most popular intellectual property. But as long as they remain fun, who are we to complain? Sure, they may not be the most refined, intellectually compelling pieces of animation ever made, but they can at least tickle the imagination and blend the high-stakes environment of heists with colorful characters who are always a thrill to watch on screen. 

As such, Despicable Me 4 is no different from its previous installments, Minions: The Rise of Gru and Despicable Me 3, in terms of storytelling, but it’s a noticeably funnier and more investing entry in the franchise, as Steve Carell’s Felonious Gru goes toe-to-toe against Will Ferrell’s Maxime Le Mal. The two have frequently partnered in their respective careers, most notably in the Anchorman movies (Brick Tamland remains the best character Carell has ever portrayed), and have made quite the terrific pair on screen. It’s only natural for Ferrell to play the fourth installment’s main antagonist, whose sole goal is to enact revenge on Gru after allegedly stealing a very popular song during the Lycée Pas Bon’s talent show. 

Yes, it’s stupid, but so is every villain in the franchise. Le Mal is no different, though what director Chris Renaud (who also voices the Lycée’s principal) and writers Mike White (yes, The White Lotus’ Mike White) and Ken Daurio do to him isn’t as inspiring as one would hope. With such a name like Maxime Le Mal, one would think he would be Gru’s most formidable foe, but he, in turn, wants the world to become cockroaches. This conceit could be funny, but it’s treated in the most unimpressive possible way, especially when twists involving the character are seen coming a mile away, and the results never land. 

The same can also be said for Ferrell’s portrayal of the villain, which isn’t as strong as his other vocal roles. Sure, he can hold his own and shares fun chemistry with Sofia Vergara, who portrays his girlfriend, Valentina, but he can’t match up to some of the villains of the past. Compared to them, Le Mal is far more one-note than, say, Jason Segel’s Vector and his motivations sound very similar to some of the other foes Gru had to face up with. You can tell the franchise is running out of ideas when they recycle a character who’s basically a carbon copy of Vector but way inferior with a cockroach-laden master plan (stealing the Moon was far more inspired). 

Most of the fun in Despicable Me 4 involves Gru pretending to be an all-American dad as Silas Ramsbottom (Steve Coogan) ships him and his family to a small suburban town to hide from Le Mal. This leads directly into the film’s funniest sequences, one involving a Minion becoming a tennis umpire and the other riffing on The Terminator during a supermarket chase with Lucy (Kristen Wiig). Of course, pop culture references are par for the course with such a franchise, and they’re usually lazy or past-date (such as the floss being a recurring movement, which is so 2019). 

However, in one incredible moment of inspiration, Renaud has Poppy Prescott (Joey King) dance to Dragonforce’s Through the Fire and Flames, the deepest-cut joke this franchise has ever crafted (the ones that know, know). With a moment like that, how can I possibly hate a movie that will bring so much joy to kids who may not understand all of its humor (if they didn’t grow up playing Guitar Hero 3 like I did, too bad), but will find great joy in what they do understand, particularly every antic involving the Minions?

I’ll admit there’s not much new here with these characters, even when they become Super Minions and, instead of putting their newfound powers for good, end up destroying half of the city. However, their demeanor never feels worn-out or dull. Instead, Renaud, White, and Daurio always find ways to make them funnier, such as that umpire scene. The physical comedy is simple, but it’s so well-timed and executed that it’s hard not to laugh. Even in sequences where they get involved in the heat of the action, such as when Gru teams up with Poppy to steal Lycée Pas Bon’s Honey badger, the comedy never feels trite and is always in service of ultra-expressive characters like Gru and his new son, Gru Jr. (admittedly a Jack-Jack ripoff, but it still works). 

It also helps that the animation adds to that expressive feel and is particularly striking to watch on IMAX. The action sequences look massive and have great dexterity in how Renaud captures the stretching-and-squashing of Gru and his Minions as they defeat a half-anthropomorphized insect. The climax, while rushed, sees this strategy fully realized and is the most inspiring bout of action this franchise has seen in a very long time. It’s probably helpful that the franchise returned to its 1.78:1 roots after its last installments utilizing the 2.35:1 aspect ratio. 

The animation looks way more extravagant in that regard, especially when the ‘cartoonish’ look of its settings and characters is purposeful, which many animation studios don’t achieve anymore (looking at you, Pixar, with Inside Out 2). In turn, it makes the movies even more fun, even if the latest sequel isn’t without its shortcomings. 

But does it really matter? Sure, kids deserve better than a simple-minded piece of ‘content,’ but this is harmless. It’s full of lively characters (and impeccably crafted colorful worlds) that pop off the screen and bathe in the exuberance and joy of being a child. It also tickles the imagination when it propels its central heist in motion, adding a bit of thrill to the proceedings while never dialing down on the comedy. Perhaps the Despicable Me franchise is worn out, and perhaps it’s time for Carell to retire as Gru. Perhaps the Minions were once great, but now they’re a fad. Maybe all of it is true. But it still hits for small children, and that’s all that matters. As long as they’re continuously swept away by the antics of Gru (and, by extension, the Minions), this franchise could go on forever.

Grade: B

Director: Ti West
Writer: Ti West
Stars: Mia Goth, Elizabeth Debicki, Moses Sumney, Kevin Bacon

Synopsis: In 1980s Los Angeles, adult film star and aspiring actress Maxine Minx finally gets her big break. But as a mysterious killer stalks the starlets of Hollywood, a trail of blood threatens to reveal her sinister past.

To catch lightning in a bottle is something of a curse these days, especially in Hollywood. Once you make a hit, the expectation is that you can (and will) make another. Sometimes, the most ambitious studios – filmmakers, too – find themselves wondering, “Hey, why not another on top of the first another?”, and as a result, audiences are left with a litany of “anothers”, none of which live up to the first. As if they should have been expected to in the first place.

The problem for Ti West is that he caught lightning in a bottle twice in a single year. In March of 2022, A24 released X, West’s first feature in six years to that date, to critical adoration. Shot for a modest $1 million in New Zealand, X was a killer take on gender roles in horror films with a porno production as its backdrop. It was an early post-pandemic hit, grossing $15 million, and though it starred big-adjacent talents like Mia Goth, Jenna Ortega, Brittany Snow, Scott Mescudi, and Martin Henderson, its success was half-dependent on A24’s credo as an outfit for quality horror offerings, half-dependent on word-of-mouth advertising. 

September of 2022 brought West’s second bolt in the form of Pearl, a prequel to X that was filmed “in secret”, nevermind that the studio greenlit West’s franchise ahead of time (“Shot in secret” sounds better, anyway.). Co-written with Goth, Pearl told the origin story of the old ax-wielding woman from X, whom Goth portrayed in addition to Maxine Minx, the original film’s heroine. Pearl charts the titular farm gal’s descent into murderous madness as her dreams of becoming a movie star crumble due to her hilarious lack of stage presence. She can’t sing, nor can she really dance – even if it’s funny to watch her try – but boy, could she chop a dude up in the back of a barn. She could also bring in a hair more than 10-times her $1 million budget; all the more reason for West to make another.

Enter MaXXXine, the trilogy’s biggest and starriest entry, a tale of one woman’s desire for fame and her relative willingness to do anything in order to get it. Its opening epigraph, courtesy of Bette Davis, reads, “In this business, until you’re known as a monster, you’re not a star,” a theory Goth’s Maxine is willing to test the limits of en route to celebrity status. MaXXXine takes place in 1980s Hollywood, and its titular leading lady is itching to make a name for herself beyond the limits of the adult film industry. She may not be considered hot stuff to Tinseltown’s powers that be just yet, but if faking it until you make it were a screen test, there would be no round of callbacks; the part would be hers. 

Yet when she auditions for The Puritan II, a nun-sploitation horror sequel with the up-and-coming director Elizabeth Bender (Elizabeth Debicki) tapped as its helmer, Maxine confidently asserts that she needs no cue cards to guide her through the producer’s scene of choice and subsequently nails it, shrugging off her performative anguish as if it’s just another day at the office. Impressed, Bender and co. thank her for her time. Maxine then bids farewell to her audience of three, struts into the California sunshine and past a line of equally-desperate aspiring actresses towards her convertible, and beelines for her convertible, naturally marked with a vanity plate boasting her name. As if already in the spotlight, she hollers at her fellow wannabes, “Y’all might as well go home, ‘cause I just fuckin’ nailed that.”

To that end, the third go-round for West’s collaboration with Goth posits itself as a solid extension of X and Pearl’s thematic ideas. But given that MaXXXine is meant to serve as this de facto series’ big finale, it makes sure to cram in as many noticeable nods as possible into the fray, almost as if it’s trying to legitimize itself as it hurtles  its way through an over-extended conceit in what, to this point, had been a straightforward and successfully invariant collection of genre pictures. Since Maxine is shooting a horror movie in Los Angeles, we’re treated to a number of familiar sites as she trots around the Universal Studios backlot, with the Bates Motel receiving special treatment. These bits of horror fan-service might manage to scratch an itch if they weren’t all-but immediately followed by lines that sound like, “This is where they shot the movie Psycho, which is a movie about a psycho.”

And because MaXXXine is set in Sin City, 1985, it feels the need to infuse the real-life tale of the Night Stalker’s murderous spree as its pinpointed milieu. West incorporates authentic newsreels from the time, not to mention his characters’ constant referencing of the very-scary serial killer that is still on the loose, so as to center his audience in a time frame it easily could have deduced from the hair, the clothes, the cars, the soundtrack, the smoking indoors, and the city’s general vibe and appearance. I, for one, would have been pleased to have played a guessing game of my own after being assaulted by the massive technicolor “1985” title card that drops minutes into the movie, but beggars can’t be choosers.

The issue, though, is that West doesn’t choose, either. Not how many times he wants to remind us that this is L.A., and it is, indeed, the ‘80s, for one, but he also doesn’t seem to know what movie he wants to make. What starts as a story about a starlet setting out to make her cinematic dreams come true despite horror lurking around every corner later introduces Maxine’s deep-seated trauma from both her religious upbringing and the Texas porn star massacre her character narrowly survived in X. On top of that, while attempting to navigate her starring turn in what Debicki’s director calls “a ‘B’ movie with ‘A’ ideas”, Maxine must also deal with a private detective (Kevin Bacon) who has been hired by a shadowy figure to follow Maxine’s every move and terrorizes her on the daily, thus impacting her ability to shoot The Puritan II’s dailies; the mysterious disappearances/deaths of multiple friends that two unrelated detectives (Michelle Monaghan and Bobby Cannavale) are convinced she has something to do with or knows something about; and the lingering possibility that she may be the Night Stalker’s next victim. Quite the week for Maxine. And it’s only Wednesday.

Lost yet? Don’t be. It’s not all that confusing to follow, but it is a bit distracting and unnecessary for a film that has all of its ingredients so clearly outlined on the label. MaXXXine’s ambition, while admirable, results in the deterioration of a pitch-perfect recipe into a cluttered mess of mishegoss and movie stars all struggling for screen time in a film that goes to desperate lengths to reassure us that Goth is its star while hoping that everyone else who’s ever acted in Hollywood can steal the show, too. Beyond Goth, Debicki, and the smattering of other aforementioned actors who pop up throughout, MaXXXine’s ensemble cast includes Moses Sumney as Leon, Maxine’s best friend; Halsey as Tabby Martin, Maxine’s fellow porn star pal; Lily Collins, who plays an actress from the Puritan films; and Giancarlo Esposito as Teddy Knight, Esq., Maxine’s agent. Thankfully, both Esposito and Bacon seem to have been given free rein to chew on the scenery with aplomb; audiences have been clamoring for Esposito to break free of his recent straight-man-in-the-suit typecastings, and he does so to new heights here, while Bacon almost certainly showed up on set for two days, decided he was going to do an accent – think Foghorn Leghorn by way of Jake Gittes, bandaged nose and all – and had the time of his life. But everyone else, no matter how long they manage to stick around, feels disposable. Monaghan and Cannavale seem to have a fair bit of good-cop-bad-cop chemistry, but their collective presence is intermittent at best, never leaving them the opportunity to gel on screen for much more than a few chuckles.

Perhaps that’s a plus for Maxine (and Goth). As she puts it, she can handle herself. (“So said every dead girl in Hollywood,” Halsey’s Tabby replies in one of MaXXXine’s many snippets of stale dialogue.) And in the past, such claims have been true; after all, Maxine survived X and Goth turned Pearl’s Pearl into an icon. But as the scale has been upped and the budget, inflated – an exact number has yet to be reported, but one look at this cast and one listen to the soundtrack provides enough hints for any amateur P.I. to solve the case – the charm that fueled West’s first two X film seems to have gone by the wayside in favor of flimsy flair. There’s enough pure entertainment and filmmaking gravitas on display here to inspire yet another trip back to the Maxine Minx well, but as a narrative exercise, it feels strained, like West and his studio got high on their own supply, proceeded to chuck mounds of ideas (and stars) at the wall, and didn’t bother to wait to see what stuck before picking it all up and throwing it in the movie regardless of its adhesion. Maxine Minx may be a movie star, but she deserves a better movie than MaXXXine to serve as her big break.

Grade: D+

Director: Nikhil Nagesh Bhat
Writer: Nikhil Nagesh Bhat
Stars: Lakshya, Raghav Juyal, Ashish Vidyarthi

Synopsis: A passenger train bound for New Delhi becomes a bloody battleground of brutal close-quarters combat as a pair of commandos square off against a 40-strong army of invading bandits.

If Dev Patel did indeed break several toes and his hand over the course of Monkey Man’s production, one can only imagine how many injuries the punch-happy ensemble of Kill procured throughout filming. The 40-plus fighters on writer-director Nikhil Nagesh Bhat’s train ride from (and, perhaps, to) hell spend the majority of the action-thriller’s runtime taking hit after hit, stab upon stab, and every wound that could possibly be inflicted in between. Best of all: It’s all done in the name of our entertainment. Cinema is alive and well; sometimes, the more alive a movie is, the harder those within the film in question are trying to murder each other.

Nothing could be more true of Kill, Bhat’s Hindi-language answer to the question, “What if Die Hard, but on a train?”. Set on a choo-choo that appears to be traveling at Snowpiercer-like speed yet manages to make its regular stops a la your everyday Amtrak, Kill almost immediately introduces us to our main character, an army commando named Amrit (Lakshya, making his silver screen debut after a number of Indian television credits). While checking his phone upon returning from a recon mission, he finds dozens of distressed texts from his secret lover, Tulika (Tanya Maniktala), informing him that her father has arranged her marriage to another man. Responding as any hopeless romantic would, Amrit enlists his comrade, Viresh (Abhishek Chauhan), to join him on a cross-country train ride – the same one that Tulika and her family are also on – in order to properly crash the engagement party and prove his devotion to her parents. He even manages to find time during the early stages of the ride to pull her into the lavatory for an impromptu proposal, one that is far more romantic than whatever conversation she was roped into by her father and her predetermined in-laws.

It’s a prologue that, at first blush, feels clouded in forced exposition, but given what has yet to come, the emotional stakes this introduction provides are as important to Kill as its kills themselves. In short order, we are introduced to Fani (Raghav Juyal) and his crew of “dacoits” – a term used to describe bandits in India – a big band of big bads who are willing to terrorize the vessel’s passengers by any means necessary, as long as they get what they came for. What did they come for, exactly? Beyond some cash from wallets and noticeably expensive items that could be easily found in accessible luggage or on a passenger’s person, it’s not entirely clear. But the discovery that Tulika’s father, also a passenger, is the owner of Shanti Transport, a successful transit empire that could make this looting lot handsomely rich, adds fuel to Fani’s fire. As this skinny twerp of a villainous leader begins to wreak havoc on those inhabiting the locomotive, the more vengeful Amrit becomes, making for a rip-roaring massacre aboard a monorail that rivals, if not trumps, any action flick we’ve seen this year. 

This all sounds relatively straightforward, a hero-versus-army-of-villains tale of revenge and power littered with uber-violent kills and enough gore to whet James Wan’s appetite. And if viewed through the lens of its premise and early action setpieces, Kill is a simple film, one in which our heroic commandants can be seen handily dispatching of their enemies with simultaneous kicks to the chest and nods to one another before preparing to take out their next targets. A standout gesture like this might seem cartoonish in a John Wick installment, but feels right at home in an Indian action epic backed by a studio more accustomed to the genre sensibilities associated with typical Bollywood projects; producer Karan Johar’s two pre-Kill credits were Selfiee, an action comedy, and Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani, a romantic comedy for the whole family to enjoy.

That’s not to say that your loved ones won’t enjoy Kill, just that it certainly features far more barbaric offings than even RRR, the most popular Indian film in recent memory – as far as American audiences are concerned – and that is a movie that sees a tiger burst from its cage to rip a British soldier to shreds during a battle scene. But to reduce Kill to what it says on the label, or to what it appears to be in its earliest stages, would be to disregard its complexities and thus its brilliance. Bhat sets his ultra-violent thriller apart by providing every character with just a little extra narrative juice to give each a reason to live, no matter if their last-seen act was bludgeoning an innocent occupant of Car A1 with a cleaver. Of course, Amrit’s motivations are easy enough to root for, but even Fani’s bandits have redeemable arcs, so to speak. These hungry, hungry henchmen aren’t simply soldiers in search of bloodshed, but an extended family of sorts; though Fani is helming the operation from inside the train, his father (Ashish Vidyarthi) is its mastermind, and many of the men within his troop are brothers, cousins, fathers, and uncles to one another. 

It’s a development that complicates matters, not merely for the characters themselves, but for viewers. Sure, we want Amrit to defeat a particularly hulkish opponent with thumbs that could crush a skull like a Cheerio, but we can understand the anguish this big lug feels when he discovers that his uncle has been viciously murdered by Kill’s ostensible hero. Misdirections of this ilk keep us wary, not of cheering on Amrit, but about where we’re supposed to stand in regards to his adversaries. It’s only when the film reaches its shocking halfway point – which is marked by a belated title card that lands like an adrenaline shot straight to the aorta – that the opposition becomes truly irredeemable. 

From this point forward, Amrit’s revenge tour travels from the conductor’s car to the caboose, fueled by the promise he made Tulika and her family at the film’s start: To keep them safe, no matter what. Along the way, he delivers another promise, this one to Viresh: “They are getting off this train, for sure,” he says of the bandits, “But only for their funeral.” Lines like these give Kill necessary moments of reprieve, for the violence it depicts truly strays into borderline stomach-churning territory, though the foot never comes off the gas for very long. A masterclass in choreography, this is a movie that manages to turn the most cramped corridors into battlegrounds, fire extinguishers into deadly weapons, and t-shirts into tourniquets, just like any good action film should, if not better. That Lakshya makes a dark horse bid for being the next James Bond with his performance as Amrit is all gravy.

It might have to be a package deal with Juyal, though; these nemeses pair almost too well to ever break up. Frankly, you might as well throw Bhat in that ring, too, but what this cast and crew have cooked up feels too singular to be placed in a Bond-like box, or any box for that matter, regardless of the fact that their thriller unfolds almost entirely within the confines of a high-speed rectangle. Kill is a film about retribution, yes, but also the Indian class system, the complications that come with having one true love in a culture where love is arranged for you based on a litany of factors, and familial politics. It’s more layered than any Wick-esque title has ever been. It also features plenty of broken bones and severed heads. However you meet Kill, its terms are etched in stone. That the stone is stained with blood is a beautiful, brutal bonus.

Grade: B+

Director: Richard LaGravanese
Writer: Carrie Solomon
Stars: Nicole Kidman, Zac Efron, Joey King

Synopsis: An unexpected romance triggers comic consequences for a young woman, her mother, and her boss, grappling with the complications of love, sex, and identity.

Genre can be tricky. If you get caught up in the trappings of it, like let’s say a romantic comedy, it can be very easy to end up in cliched territory. Of course, some expected moments are fine, as they will please fans of the style. But if you tip over the edge and go too far, you end up with a Hallmark movie. Now, those have their charms, but if I’m not watching that particular brand of film, it is a tough sell. A Family Affair doesn’t quite go that far into the land of tropes, but it isn’t that far off either.

The film follows Zara Ford (Joey King), who is the assistant of major Hollywood star, Chris Cole (Zac Efron). In between being a gopher for him, she is attempting to move her career forward as a would-be producer. At home, she is still living with her mother, famed and celebrated author Brooke Harwood (Nicole Kidman). After finally losing her cool at her comic mistreatment (jobs range from bringing him coffee to making surprise gifts for his dogs) from Chris, she quits. Eventually, Chris realizes that he needs her and comes to her home to beg her to come back. There he meets Brooke, sparks fly, and relative hilarity ensues.

The first, and most glaring issue, that this film has is the romance. Believe it or not, this is necessary in a romantic comedy, and this one just doesn’t have the goods. Separately, Efron and Kidman are, at a minimum, serviceable, and both have excellent moments. The shame is that none of those moments are together. The film seems to leave us to make the assumption that they have chemistry, but there is none to be found. Chemistry is more than putting two beautiful people in sexual situations, and that seems to be the extent of the work done here. 

But here’s the good news. The rest of the relationships and performances really work, even well enough to make this mostly an enjoyable affair. Joey King gives a legitimately great performance in what could easily be a thankless role. Her back-and-forth with Efron consistently works, both when she is enraged at his infantile behavior and when she is wondering if, just maybe, he is a good match for her mother, who has seemingly been romantically alone since the death of her husband over a decade ago. Speaking of Efron, regardless of the quality of the film, he is clearly always game for making fun of his celebrity self. Despite the fact that he is still heavily bulked from The Iron Claw, he gets to have fun here, whether it is performing badly on film (on purpose) or belting out Cher after a break-up. He’s a fine enough dramatic actor, but this is where Efron really shines.

And King is not just fun to watch with Efron. Her relationship with Kidman, as well as with her grandmother, Leila Ford (Kathy Bates), actually pulls on the heartstrings more than expected.  This is not easy to do in a formulaic romantic-comedy, but it helps to have Bates, who immediately lends a sense of genuine care, sprinkled with a bit of sarcasm and overt sexuality, which pushes Kidman’s character towards a romantic relationship with the younger man.

It will surprise approximately no one that, visually A Family Affair is deeply unmemorable, flat, and washed out. Directed by Richard LaGravanese, this is, if anything, somehow a step down to the visual stylings of The Last Five Years, which was nearly a decade ago now. This is a Netflix original and all that this entails. It is disposable, filled with tropes, and an uninspired screenplay from first-timer Carrie Solomon. And yet, it fulfills its basic premise and promise. It is a pleasant enough way to pass a few hours, filled with good looking celebrities and enough laughs to pull you through the more predictable moments.  And yes, it tries to have some real tear jerker moments, but most viewers will see the strings.  

Overall, there is no world in which A Family Affair is a necessary watch. However, it is basically an easy film to sit through for just about anyone. There is a place for entertainment just like this. It is inoffensive, simple, tropey, and charming in spots. You could absolutely do worse, even if you deserve much better. 

Grade: C-

Director: Kevin Costner
Writers: Jon Baird, Kevin Costner
Stars: Kevin Costner, Sienna Miller, Jena Malone

Synopsis: Chronicles a multi-faceted, 15-year span of pre and post-Civil War expansion and settlement of the American west.

Has Kevin Costner lost his mind? The Academy Award-winning actor/filmmaker is embarking on a journey that has cost him a lot, personally and professionally, spending over $38 million (maybe more) out of his own pocket to partly finance his four-part Western epic Horizon: An American Saga. Moreover, Costner also left one of his most acclaimed roles as John Dutton in the Paramount+ series Yellowstone to focus on completing his saga and has recently confirmed that he will not be returning for Season 5B, telling audiences in a heartfelt video, “I’ll see you at the movies.”

Such a vanity project never gets made in the theatrical landscape we live in today. If Costner didn’t pay some of the budget from his own money, there’s no chance a Hollywood studio would say yes to a four-part original Western, with each installment lasting over three hours. We now require filmmakers passionate enough to cook to spend their personal finances so they can make what they want with little to no interference, exactly how Francis Ford Coppola sold his winery to finance his Megalopolis, which will be released later this year. This type of big swing needs to be celebrated and seen by the masses, but in this economy, Horizon is poised to flop and arrive with little to no fanfare, even if it would’ve received glowing reviews at Cannes. 

With the 181-minute-long Chapter 1, Costner sets out to showcase his unadulterated vision of the American West by crafting a sprawling epic that will span decades and alternate between different characters who will (likely) eventually intersect. Stuff like this is what the big screen craves, especially when Hollywood has completely forgotten the majestic art of the Western, producing very few of them in any given year (which are usually released directly on VOD, such as Paul G. Volk’s unwatchable The Night They Came Home). Many have been unfairly stating that such a project feels like episodic television, but it’s way more in line with Henry Hathaway, John Ford, and George Marshall’s decades-spanning, five-chapter How the West Was Won than any televisual approach to Western storytelling popularized by Taylor Sheridan with Yellowstone and its endless spinoffs. 

Because of this, I can’t be mad at Horizon: An American Saga – Chapter 1, even if Costner’s saga is off to a pretty dismal start, only because of its crazy ambitions. A saga like this has never been attempted in the history of movies, and Costner seems to want to go down in the history books with this. And, as he said, “You can’t make your film for the opening weekend. You have to make it for its life.”

It’s unfortunate that Chapter 1 isn’t at all fulfilling as an introductory part to a planned franchise and a self-contained movie. It forgets essential storytelling elements that all “Parts One” must aspire to, especially if it’ll be over three hours long. For instance, who are the characters Costner wants us to spend time with? Hey, with a three-hour runtime, there’s more than enough time to draw (and introduce) compelling arcs that will ultimately develop as the films continue. From my understanding, there will be three stories Costner and editor Miklos Wright alternate between. One is focused on Frances Kittredge (Sienna Miller) joining an Army General’s (Sam Worthington) group after being rescued by his men following an Apache raid, while young boy Russell (Etienne Kalicki) flees the village after the attack and joins a group of bounty hunters who are going after the Apache. 

The second story involves Hayes Ellison (Kevin Costner), a rustler who is visiting a nearby town and gets embroiled in a conflict involving prostitute Marigold (Abbey Lee) and a child, Sam after it was taken by Lucy (Jena Malone) many years ago. Years later, Sam’s grandmother (Dale Dickey) sends her children, Caleb (Jamie Campbell Bower), and Junior (Jon Beavers), to retrieve Sam and kill Lucy, who adopted the name Ellen after marrying Walter Childs (Michael Angarano). However, Hayes inadvertently gets caught in the situation after talking to Jamie and finding out his plans, causing him to flee with Marigold and Sam, so they can have a fresh start. 

The third – and final – story involves a group of travelers on the Santa Fe Trail led by Matthew Van Weyden (Luke Wilson), who is nearing Horizon, a land discovered and developed by a group of settlers. So far, this is the least fleshed-out part of the bunch, only serving as an introduction to Wilson’s character, alongside Will Patton and Isabelle Fuhrman as Owen and Diamond Kittredge, respectively. A rivalry is also established between British couple Juliette Chesney (Ella Hunt) and Hugh Proctor (Tom Payne) and two of Matthew’s men, who are peeping on them, particularly Juliette while she is bathing. 

All of these stories show some form of promise, but none of them actively take the time to sit with the characters. Instead, Costner jarringly cuts away from a specific story just as it’s about to get interesting and returns to another one without much narrative flow, which always hampers the development of protagonists, which should be primary in part ones. Any first chapter always needs to clearly state what (or who) the main threat(s) are, while also giving us enough to attach ourselves to the people treated on screen, whether they are good or bad. 

Many protagonists in Horizon seem to live in a morally grey area, but we never get to explore this aspect of Hayes, Frances, or even Marigold. Most of the “big names” appear for a brief scene and are never seen again, coming and going like a revolving door of stars who want to appear in such an extensive project but have nothing to do in the first chapter and add little value to what’s on screen. Of course, this is the first part of four, so audiences should expect lots of exposition and worldbuilding, with many unresolved plot threads to boot (such as in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune, as a recent example). However, how Costner structures his initial chapter makes very little sense. By alternating randomly with the three stories, the pace is lethargic and bloated, the exposition delivered by the characters feels unimportant, and the world Costner tries to build feels weightless because none of the characters have any compelling attributes or a reason to be on screen. Things happen, but we’re never invested in what’s happening. 

While I wasn’t crazy on the first Dune, it at least understood the basis of a “Part One,” spending time sitting with Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) and exploring Arrakis before Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgard) executed his plan. It also gave a few clues to where the sequel would go, ultimately paying off in more ways than one with Part Two. But Costner never allows us to either explore the world he’s constructing or spend meaningful time with his protagonists, despite the three-hour runtime! With such a massive length, he has the time to do it all, and save the “good stuff” for subsequent installments, which looks to be the case after viewing an ending montage acting as the trailer for Chapter 2. 

Unfortunately, it feels as if we’re watching one long trailer instead of a movie that sets the table effectively and asks us to come back to more, not by teasing what’s to come but by giving us enough leverage through the character arcs and worldbuilding naturally. Hell, there’s another 181-minute-long ‘Part One’ in theaters right now with Nag Ashwin’s Kalki 2898 AD that does exactly what I’m talking about. The first hour-and-a-half is dedicated solely to worldbuilding and character development, along with introducing the audiences to its primary antagonist, while the last hour-and-a-half goes all out on the action and further develops the protagonists within those massive set pieces. The exposition never feels like exposition, and the characters have a fully-fledged arc that will be further fleshed out in subsequent films, ending on a cliffhanger with the villain acquiring new powers. Perfect. 

Horizon: An American Saga – Chapter 1 could’ve followed that same template and been a far more satisfying picture, solidifying the foundation of Costner’s grand vision for the audience to want more as the credits rolled. But I desperately wanted to leave the cinema not even thirty minutes after it began, with action scenes captured like a single-camera television series, with no sense of grandeur and scope, alongside a bludgeoning score from John Debney that makes its more dramatic moments feel more caricatured instead of raw, human, and steeped in the tradition of the classic American Western popularized by John Ford. 

It also doesn’t help that we barely know who any of these people Costner showcases on screen are. What are their names and their relation to the main conflict at hand? Why should we care about each of their individual stories? Costner doesn’t seem to care, with the only interesting character moment being when Giovanni Ribisi’s Pickering Bailey gets teased as the main antagonist of the second installment, looking at the pamphlet his company is printing for Horizon in contemplation for the land that is to be the main attraction of the White settlers who will eventually intersect in future films. This is the only time I felt my time wasn’t wasted, and it genuinely made me excited to see what Costner has in store for us in August. However, he’ll have lots of screenwriting and character ineptitudes to overcome if he is to go down in the history books as the auteur who risked it all to give us the Western saga of a generation. It doesn’t look like it’ll be the case (for now), but it also doesn’t matter. I’ll be there for parts two and four, no matter what. It’s the least I can do for the man after doing everything he possibly can to get these films made and released. 

I’ll see you at the movies, Kevin.

Grade: D

Director: Tomás Gómez Bustillo
Writer: Tomás Gómez Bustillo
Stars: Mónica Villa, Horacio Marassi, Iair Said

Synopsis: In a tiny rural village in Argentina, a pious yet insatiably competitive woman discovers that staging a miracle could be her ticket to sainthood. But before doing so, a jarring turn of events illuminates the hidden magic of her world, forcing her to reevaluate everything she once took for granted.

For whatever reason, Rita Lopez (Mónica Villa) is an outcast in her religious community. It’s hardly for lack of trying; she spends her days on her knees, either to pray or to scrub the floors of the chapel. Her competitive tendencies make it difficult for her to accept that she has been permanently excluded from the church’s choir, and that she will never win her pompous priest’s full attention. Her devotion to this aimless cause has drained every ounce of passion from her 40-year marriage to Norberto (Horacio Marassi), a kind man who just wants his wife to watch him fiddle around with a guitar and to indulge his attempts to relive their glory days, all the way down to wearing a pair of yellow ponchos they wore on their honeymoon during dinner. It doesn’t seem to be too much to ask. 

But to Rita, anything that won’t aid her unrelenting desire for sainthood is of no use attending to. She’s pushing 70, and despite her displeasure with the lack of appreciation in her daily life, feels that the only recognition even remotely worthwhile would be from a heavenly presence. The timing couldn’t be better, then, when our Rita decloaks what she believes to a long-lost statue of Saint Rita, an artifact believed to have been lost for eternity. Desperate to determine the truth, she ferociously (and anxiously) Googles specifics not only about the statue’s characteristics – to her disappointment, “Santa Rita would never have crown of thorns” – but how one would know if something is a miracle – to which the search engine replies, “If you’re asking, then it’s definitely not a miracle.”

So goes the early comedic tone of Tomás Gómez Bustillo’s Chronicles of a Wandering Saint, a clever debut that dares audiences to ponder what it means to be saintlike, perhaps even to consider whether or not they’re carving out their own shortcuts en route to the holy gates, something Rita makes a habit of in the film’s first act, despite not seeming to be aware of the consequences of her own actions. As you can deduce from her impractically hopeful internet searches, the statue she uncovers in Wandering Saint’s beginning moments is not, in fact, the long-coveted statue of Saint Rita, but she’s willing to fake it ‘til she makes it into God’s good graces. With Norberto’s help – this poor sap will do anything just to spend some quality time with his better half – she smuggles it out of the church’s back room with the intent of ceremoniously unveiling her discovery to her congregation, thus impressing Father Eduardo (Pablo Moseinco) and winning her community’s respect at long last. 

That all doesn’t go according to plan is something any viewer could clock from another multiplex entirely, but it’s  Bustillo’s execution that sets his film apart, at least in comparison to the array of lesser films that tend to needlessly cram so-called  “twists” into their narratives without rhyme or reason as if to say, “Hey, look! We tried reinventing the wheel!” (Succeed, they did not.) Had Bustillo lingered too long on how the characters on Chronicles of a Wandering Saint’s periphery react to this shocker, his movie might have suffered a similar fate, falling into a wasteland of genre-benders that spend too much time justifying their biggest surprises only to fall to bits in the process. Thankfully, he lets things unravel methodically. It’s a welcome approach that, despite veering into over-judicious territory one too many times in its slight 84-minute frame, allows the film to find its tonal footing naturally. 

This is not to say that Bustillo – who was awarded the Adam Yauch Hörnblowér Award at last year’s SXSW Festival, given to “a filmmaker whose work strives to be wholly its own, without regard for norms or desire to conform” – doesn’t pulls his fair share of unexpected punches, but they neither distract nor take away from what Chronicles of a Wandering Saint is after. Instead, these jabs drive the film forward while also being sure to land just enough to leave a mark. Nothing is as surprising as when, with 48 minutes remaining, the end credits roll, a stylistic choice that had me both checking my watch and scratching my head one moment, and chuckling the next as the movie abruptly cuts to its next scene.

Needless to say, this is hardly your father’s “faith-based” dramedy. To call it a religion-pilled film at all would be to misdirect, as it’s far more interested in consequence, and how much influence one’s community can have on their identity. But what happens when that community is ripped away from them, or them from it? What about the more intimate relationships that are left behind, specifically those that had been left in the dust long ago due to the primary-positing of other unrelated priorities? 

Bustillo’s script mines curiosity from these ideas, some of life’s harshest realities, but the director is especially gifted at framing indelible images to accompany moments that might otherwise be considered mundane. Working with cinematographer Pablo Lozano, Bustillo manages to capture beauty and absurdity in one fell swoop; perhaps the film’s most memorable shot sees Rita praying as a pool of light pours through a church window and surrounds her. Onlookers scoff, assuming that she’s deliberately set up shop in that spot in hopes of appearing as though she’s being touched by God. But for Rita – who Villa plays, remarkably so, as a scatter-brained woman who can’t seem to keep her eyes on the proverbial road long enough to know what is set to hit her in a matter of seconds – it’s another miracle she can’t help but let pass her by in an effort to find the next one, the one that will cross the t’s and dot the i’s on her eventual ascent into heaven.

It’s a shame that Bustillo refuses to let these moments run a bit longer, to let his audience bask in their individual ironies for just a beat more. But there’s plenty of irony in staging them just long enough for the moment we’re yanked away from them to hit home, as though we’re all cartoon characters being pulled off a stage by a cane. To say something similar befalls Rita in Chronicles of a Wandering Saint is selling things short, but to reveal the truth would be ill-suited, considering how focused the film is on how present things (or people) of an unexpected nature can be in our everyday lives. If only we were all able to pause life for a time in order to take stock of what we miss when we are so hell-bent on achieving one thing and one thing only. Ferris Bueller would approve.

Grade: B

Director: Nag Ashwin
Writer: Nag Ashwin
Stars: Prabhas, Deepika Padukone, Amitabh Bachchan

Synopsis: A modern-day avatar of Vishnu, a Hindu god, who is believed to have descended to earth to protect the world from evil forces.

Describing Nag Ashwin’s Kalki 2898 AD to a layperson may prove impossible. But there’s a few things one must know before entering the movie. First, it’s the most expensive Indian production of all time, with a reported budget of over ₹600 crore (about $75 million USD). It would be futile to compare this film’s scale to one of its American contemporaries, such as Dune, Star Wars, Mad Max, Blade Runner, and even Zack Snyder’s Rebel Moon, because we’d be looking at apples and oranges in how India’s film industry operates versus Hollywood. I always roll my eyes when critics on Film Twitter play ‘gotcha!’ by comparing the budget of an international film to an American one without understanding basic currency rates and how each industry does not function like Hollywood. But I never understand why Americans must always compare a foreign country with theirs. 

The good thing is that Ashwin clearly loves these grand-scale sci-fi epics and continuously tips the hat to them throughout his 181-minute runtime. You can point out where his influences come from in a specific scene versus another one plucked out of another film. But it never feels like plagiarism, more like an innate appreciation for the artists who have pioneered science fiction and have inspired a generation of filmmakers to create their own imaginative, lived-in worlds. 

The second element one must understand before diving into this movie is that it’s the second installment of a planned cinematic universe of films and television series, following up on the events of the two-episode animated show Bujji & Bhairava, which premiered on Prime Video last May. While some may think you don’t need to watch the series to understand the events of Kalki 2898 AD, crucial information regarding robot Bujji (Keerthy Suresh) and bounty hunter Bhairava (Prabhas) is only accessible in the series. 

None of these characters are properly introduced in the film, with their chemistry already established in the show. Yes, Ashwin has decided to make his short animated show an integral part of building his cinematic universe, which is a ballsy move (it wasn’t worked with Marvel, who now have to rebrand their animation and television department to make it less ‘interconnected’) though plans for the franchise’s future seems to hinge on the success of the film. 

The other – and most important – thing anyone must understand before seeing the film is that Kalki 2898 AD is a part one. Of course, and like Denis Villeneuve’s Dune and the upcoming Wicked, this is not revealed in any of its trailers or marketing (other than the knowledge that it’s part of a cinematic universe). Meaning that a good chunk of its three-hour runtime is dedicated solely to its worldbuilding and the introduction of the central conflict, which involves Bhairava hunting down SUM-80/Sumathi (Deepika Padukone) after escaping an idyllic, pyramidal utopian city known as “The Complex,” ruled by totalitarian God king Supreme Yaskin (Kamal Haasan, bone-chilling in only two scenes). 

The reasons why Sumathi is being hunted are best left discovered on your own, but another crucial thing to know is how Ashwin deftly blends grandiose science-fiction ideas, such as the classic utopia/dystopia narrative, which is how he develops the movie’s world before the intermission, with traditional mythmaking as he reinterprets the “Mahabharata.” An opening flashback with a de-aged Amitabh Bachchan gives us a glimpse of how Ashwin will approach the story, making it an essential part of Bhairava’s development within the ‘2898’ futuristic setting. 

Perhaps these moments needed more meat around the bone, but how Ashwin operates is enticing enough to make us want more and see the story through its end (a striking hand-drawn animated sequence that chronicles the rise of totalitarianism through the times until its fictitious 2898 is also another superb example of how the filmmaker uses real-life texts and history to root his universe in). It’s also interesting in how, with so many exposition dumps in piecing not only the world of the movie together, but the characters who inhabit it, none of the dialogue actively feel as if the characters are constantly spoon feeding information to the audience. The perfect example of this occurs when Supreme Yaskin is introduced, à la Baron Harkonnen. The scenes are only there to tease what’s to come and show us who the main threat of the franchise will be while also slightly teasing his overarching plan, ‘Project K.’ Although we don’t know what it is, it’s safe to say it isn’t good news. 

Yet, none of them feel as if we’re watching a villain explain to the audience what they must understand before going into the sequel. The presence of Kamal Haasan is enough to pique our curiosity, but it’s his magisterial turn with only ten minutes of screentime that makes it so riveting to watch him chew up the exposition he has to deliver on screen. It’s great to see that his virtuosic talents won’t be wasted in subsequent installments, teasing a performance of the ages from an actor who has been at the forefront of some of the best Tamil cinema has to offer through his collaborations with S. Shankar in Indian and Lokesh Kanagaraj in Vikram. 

But the picture’s real (rebel) star is Prabhas, giving his best turn since S.S. Rajamouli’s Bahubali: The Conclusion. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen him give a damn, phoning it in with the ridiculously dreadful Adipurush and Prashanth Neel’s headache-inducing eardrum perforating-fest Salaar: Part One – Ceasefire. Prabhas’ stardom was primarily achieved after starring in Rajamouli’s Chatrapathi, to which he achieved mass stardom after leading the Bahubali films. But his post-Rajamouli career has been met with many misses (though I’ll be the only one to defend the sheer rambunctiousness of Sujeeth’s Saaho) and box office duds. 

Through the figure of Bhairava, Prabhas reclaims his stardom with an impeccably charming, camera-loving, and ass-kicking turn. The emotional impact has been subdued, but that’s only due to how Ashwin will keep most of his legitimate development (after a shocking cliffhanger reveal) for the sequel. But that doesn’t mean the character isn’t compelling. Far from it, his introduction scene is a particular highlight, with Santhosh Narayanan’s booming BGM (no, really, I think I became deaf after this film) adding the right rhythm to how Prabhas walks close to the camera and decides to prove to everyone who dares threaten him that he can’t lose. 

The first fight scene shows how spectacular the action scenes will be, but Ashwin dials it down before the interval to allow the audience to sit in the world he’s created for the film. After the interval, it’s a non-stop, wall-to-wall festival of action, with a desert chase scene that completely blows that twelve-minute set piece in George Miller’s Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga out of the water and a finale so intricate in its visual spectacle it must be seen to be believed. The visual effects feel so meticulously crafted they may very well be the best I’ve seen in any Indian film, which is saying a lot. Indian films are always more reliant on tickling the imagination and being a visual/aural medium, even if their means aren’t as expansive as, say, Hollywood (which I try not to compare it to). But it’s precisely because they don’t have the same means that they’re making their dramas feel larger in scale and scope than other parts of the world. 

With cinematographer Djordje Stojiljkovic, Ashwin crafts painterly and lush visuals to envelop us in the desertified city of Kalsi, contrasting it with the idyllic tableaux of The Complex, harkening back to the work of Roger Deakins (whom Stojiljkovic met) in Blade Runner 2049 and Grieg Fraser in Dune. Its use of center framing in its climactic action scene is, of course, plucked out of George Miller’s work, but, again, never in an egregious copy/paste fashion. They continuously wear their influences on their sleeves to elevate the action and put the visual effects on display. 

This elegant mix of large-scale science fiction with Indian mythology might have fallen flat at the hands of a less-experienced filmmaker with no vision for what he’s creating, but Ashwin seems to know exactly where he wants to take his franchise and how each scene serves as a builder for what’s to come excitingly and always puts his characters at the forefront of the conflict before tackling anything else (Padukone’s almost silent portrayal of Sumathi will move you to tears). How he interweaves Bhairava’s present-day story through thrilling, mythologically charged flashbacks is such a coup-de-grâce that our five-person audience erupted in total applause, knowing what will come next. 

There have been many adaptations and interpretations of the Mahabharata, but Ashwin’s vision could be the most cinematically enthralling yet (until Rajamouli eventually adapts it). However, since the story of Kalki is incomplete, time will tell exactly how his subsequent installments within the cinematic universe will be fleshed out. Still, the movie’s intricate visuals, jaw-dropping action, and elaborate mythmaking will forever change the landscape of Telugu cinema and perhaps Indian cinema as a whole, not only as a pan-Indian mass spectacle but as a worldwide science fiction phenomenon. Watching Kalki 2898 AD, it felt as if I was discovering something new and never-before-realized on screen. That’s enough to keep me watching anything the franchise churns out until whatever Ashwin has in mind for its grand finale, which will likely break the internet as a specific cameo from one of the world’s greatest talents in this movie will.

Grade: A

Director: Nicole Reigel
Writer: Nicole Reigel
Stars: KiKi Layne, Thomas Doherty, Melanie Nicholls-King

Synopsis: It follows a singer-songwriter in a downward spiral as she takes a last effort gig at a motorcycle rally in South Dakota where she meets Casey, a guitarist who walked away from his dream long ago.

A guitar with hands carefully stringing and checking frets. A tattoo on a neck – a dandelion. A woman sings to an uninterested crowd in a bar. Her name is Dandelion (KiKi Layne), and she is there three times a week. She might as well not be for all that anyone cares except her friend Brandy the bartender. But a check is a check, and a gig is still a gig. Dandelion is invisible in her hometown of Cincinnati. She is almost invisible in her home; a cluttered space where she lives with her mother Jean (Melanie Nicholls-King) who has emphysema. 

Dandelion is losing her will to keep fighting the continual blocks to her career. Who is going to look at a young Black woman for whom music is everything? She’s a singer songwriter – but she is not a performer. To ‘perform’ now means something more than simply getting the music into the world via one’s own hands and voice – it means being ‘performative’ – well at least that is what Dandelion is seeing. The people who are making it are white girls who slip into bikinis, or White men. Someone is the next Elliott Smith. Someone might be Tom Waits (where is the picture of Rickie Lee Jones?). Dandelion wants to be part of the American songbook but precisely how many Black women have made it? Tracy Chapman ironically only got her first number one hit when it was covered by a white man. Mama Thornton died in a pauper’s grave whereas her song ‘Hound Dog’ is almost exclusively attributed to Elvis. Etta Baker is deemed ‘inspirational’ but often forgotten. Without Sister Rosetta Tharpe would The Cotton Club have rocked?

Dandelion reaches crisis point when she has to sell her prized Gibson Les Paul and realizes that all the sacrifices she is making for her mother and her music are taking her nowhere. She is furniture. After a bitter argument with her mother where Jean spits, “There’s nothing cute about a forty-year-old Cincinnati troubadour,” Dandelion gets in her car and drives to South Dakota to a biker convention where a music competition is taking place. It’s a little bit crazy and a little bit last ditch.

The rally isn’t glamorous, and it isn’t Dandelion’s scene, but what is? Also in South Dakota is Casey (Tom Doherty), who was once in a band but walked away when he realized music wasn’t going to take him anywhere. There is some quiet bad blood between his former bandmates who he hasn’t seen for two years. His friend Grace has recorded an album, Casey says she should send it to him. She already has. 

Casey and Brother Elsey (the group formed by Brady, Jack, and Beau Stablein) play and then Dandelion takes the opportunity to get on stage. She brushes against Casey which accidentally causes her string to break. The crowd heckles her. A drunk steals her guitar case. Casey finds her and returns it. There is a spark of attraction between them. Not immediately quite enough for her to consider going back to where he is staying and ‘play some tunes,’ but enough for a smile and when Dandelion’s car battery doesn’t start, and she can’t just go home, she finds him.

Walking into the campfire jam is the closest Dandelion has had to the company of an artistic group for a long time. The easy collective creation between them is soothing. Mountain Mama, Emery, Brady, Beau, Grace and others are all blow-ins from elsewhere – everyone is passing through South Dakota. Music for some of them is not a way of making a living, it is a way of living. Not so much for Casey – but Casey has stopped breathing his passion. The way he looks at Dandelion is as if she is a beacon for his music – perhaps she will bring his passion back. Or perhaps the opposite will happen, and he will bring her music forward. 

In the still and beautiful South Dakota woods, Casey and Dandelion share their secrets. How he let go of music in exchange for security. How she missed the chance to tour when her mother got sick, and how she is stalled with nothing much left. For Casey, everything just slipped away. He didn’t write. He got married (but they’re not together now, he says). He’s just the guy who used to be in a band. 

“Chasing dreams is hard,” Dandelion says. Casey replies “It’s hard to quit, too.” They begin to write a song together – it is a romance in process. Casey is enlivened and asks Dandelion to play on Saturday with him. Soon it isn’t Dandelion’s song anymore but theirs and he is subtly deciding when she will sing it. Dandelion doesn’t notice because she’s spellbound by the handsome Scot who looks at her with such close attention. “I see you,” he tells her.

The love affair begins in earnest, and she thanks him for playing music with her. “It’s called playing music, so it should feel like play.” He thanks her for allowing him to dream again. Cinematographer Lauren Guiteras has them disappear in the landscape as if it is a part of them and they a part of it. The golden hour haze. The moments of magic. Every time, there are small cracks appearing in the whirlwind affair Casey whisks her away back to the woods. But that can’t last forever. Soon the songs are not a romance, but an argument. An argument still built in passion – Casey’s blue eyes welling up with intensity. It isn’t play any longer.

The one song that Dandelion keeps as her own is ‘Ghosts of Cincinnati’ (now ‘Over the Rhine’) – a song Casey has no share in. What could he know of an area that was gentrified to push the Black community out? Despite him wanting to know everything about her, there are certain things he can never touch. When she records the song for the first time she walks alone in the stone hills. Something belongs to her.

Nicole Rigel takes Dandelion through many emotional states. Fear, elation, frustration, intimacy, despondency, all with absolute authenticity. Few arts can make one as vulnerable as singing words that are meant. Casey too, is finding a rawness he thought he lost – a lyric he sings asks that he is held on the edge of her periphery. But it is borrowed light, and he almost destroys the source.

How many men have claimed the ‘muse’ and then forgotten that a human is not an all-giving goddess to inspire them? How many women have fought back to reclaim their voices, artistic and otherwise? When a woman demands to be heard she is “crazy” – when a man does so he is “commanding.” 

KiKi Layne’s performance reaches into the quick of herself. Dandelion must write no matter the cost, even if that cost is obscurity. Luck plays a hand in success and Dandelion has been unlucky (although entirely human in caring for her mother), but even with talent and persistence is it enough? Can she really be a musician her way? Can any woman artist truly create on her own terms? For each of these questions Layne’s performance is honest – there is no guarantee everything will be wrapped in a pretty bow, but what is guaranteed is that Layne has forged Dandelion through fire.

That the songs (with the exception of ‘Passing Through’ which is a Brother Esley song, and KiKi Layne’s co-writing of ‘Over the Rhine’) were written by Cincinnati legends Aaron and Bryce Dessner of The National in no way diminishes the quality of the film’s music (which is spellbinding) but does deliberately present a question. 

Nicole Riegel’s Holler showed the unequal access to the American Dream, for a young woman in a poor area of Ohio turning to a dangerous job is her only chance of getting to college. It was reminiscent of the excellent Winter’s Bone by Debra Granik and put Riegel’s name on a list of directors to watch. The thematic resonance remains between Holler and Dandelion. For some people, the playing field is never level. 

Dandelion is precious and rare; a piece of cinema about the creative flame where the drama has more weight the longer the audience considers it. Riegel appears to have made Theresa/Dandelion an avatar of so many creatives who are stifled by what they are expected to achieve and how. Dandelion is an exquisite journey through the soul of an artist.

Grade: B+

Director: Adrien Beau
Writer: Adrien Beau
Stars: Kacey Mottet Klein, Ariane Lebed, Grégoire Colin

Synopsis: Lost in a hostile forest, the Marquis d’Urfé, a noble emissary of the King of France, finds refuge in the home of a strange family.

“The forest seethes with danger.”

In 1839 Russian author Aleksey Tolstoy’s “The Family of the Vourdalak” pipped Bram Stoker’s 1897 Dracula to the vampire post by quite a few years. In fact, many people did, including a certain doctor for Lord Byron – John William Polidori – with “The Vampyre” published officially in 1819. Alexandre Dumas wrote three vampire fictions including “The Pale Lady” in 1849 set in the Carpathians. Sheridan Le Fanu’s “Carmilla” was in 1872. Tales of revenants and bloodsuckers, both fine and ill-mannered, have captured the imagination for many a year.

Adrien Beau’s debut film is a wonderful throwback to a magical period; 1960s and 1970s Hammer Horror. The edge of camp comedy of Le Vourdalak contributes greatly to its charm. Watching the film is stepping into a dream of folklore past but with the winking irony that perhaps was never intended by Tolstoy. Beau’s retelling of the story imagines just how a foppish courtier would behave if he was presented with something that existed beyond his Enlightenment comfort. 

Marquis Jacques Antoine Saturnin d’Urfe (Kacey Mottet Klein), an envoy from France, seeks the house of Old Gorcha as refuge after the loss of his horse and luggage. He is certainly not ready for a ludicrously powdered and wigged creature in the blood-soaked forests of Serbia during the unending war with the Turks. Nor the seductive beauty of the family who inhabit a crumbling manse, Sdenka (Ariane Labad) and Piotr (Vassili Schneider). For Jacques Antoine, Sdenka’s beauty is a treasure – exotic and wondrous. In time, the gallant will try to seduce her for surely one such as she will be dazzled by his sophistication.

Jegor (Grégoire Colin) is the eldest son of old Gorcha. A man with little imagination as he is too busy with war and protecting his wife Anja (Claire Duburcq), son Vlad (Gabriel Pavie), and his two feckless siblings. Gorcha is absent, having left to hunt down a notorious Turkish raider. He warned his family that if he were not to return within a set period of time, they were not to allow him entry to the home for he would have become an accursed and foul creature – a Vourdalak.

Jegor is a skeptic who does not believe in the mythology of the devouring Vourdalak. His family, including his wife, are more susceptible to folkloric evils. Anja is already on the edge of incipient hysteria having to deal with the shame of Sdenka’s seduction by her now murdered lover, and Piotr’s perceived effeminacy by both Jegor and Gorcha. While preparing a hearty meal which the Marquis can later barely swallow (oh, but his manners would never insult a hostess), Anja fills him in on their numerous familial woes. 

There are no horses ready for the Marquis to use immediately so he must lodge with the family for at least a day and night. During that time, he tries to take advantage of Sdenka (far too wily for he) and when he fails with the direct approach of trying to rip her clothes off, he instead turns his hand to impressing her with tales of the French court and the wider world. Fearing after the murder of Jovan her lover she will never go beyond her family’s property, Sdenka allows the Marquis to tell her more while maintaining an elusive and melancholic distance. It is not her fate to leave, she tells him. “I do not believe in fate,” he replies “Naturally, you do not have one,” is her answer.

Old Gorcha indeed arrives back at the home, and it has been too long. The trick Beau plays on the audience is to present Gorcha as clearly an undead monster (a fantastically constructed giant puppet which Beau himself voices) but who acts in death much as he did in life. A blustering bully who makes his adoring son Jegor feel inadequate. A man who rejects his youngest son for his uselessness, and who cuts down any he feels believe themselves his better, including the Marquis. Yet, on a quick turn he can be a boon companion. 

Shot on super 16mm film Adrien Beau delights in the beauty, horror, and absurdity of his tale. Sdenka and Piotr are aware that their father is now a Vourdalak and make plans to end him with Hawthorn flowers, garlic, and stakes made from a tree in the forest. The Marquis presents his small but nimble rapier. Of course, all are doomed but the manner which Beau brings you to each demise shivers with wickedness. 

The wonderful tactility of Beau’s film comes from what feels like a study of the wonders of Konstantin Yershov and Georgi Kropachyov’s 1967 Viy mixed with a reverence for Jean Rollin, Roy Ward Baker, Robert Young’s dreamy Vampire Circus, and Roger Vadim’s erotic gothics. Although deliberately cleaner than Rollin, Vadim, and Hammer – there is something specific about the way Sdenka’s modest shift seams up at Labad’s nipples. Adrien Beau is beguiling with the power of suggestion and settling into the cinematic unconscious. When he is being funny, he isn’t being flippant. When he is being playful, he expects you already know the game. And thus, when he moves into dread, he knows what unsettles.

The Vourdalak is a precise enchantment crafted by a director and a team of actors who pull you into their strange web and delight in teasing with genre treats. A cinematic reverie beyond time and a vampire classic.

Grade: A