Director: Andrew Baird
Writer: Ronan Blaney
Stars: Alex Pettyfer, Guy Pearce, Crystal Yu

Synopsis: A man, Fallon (Alex Pettyfer) roams the land as a creature of the night as he comes to terms with tragic loss of his family at the hands of a brutal demagogue, Reynolds (Guy Pearce).

After harassment from the ruthless, racist baron Joe Reynolds (Guy Pearce), Yan (Crystal Yu) takes in the mysterious and hungry for blood Fallon (Alex Pettyfer). Years before, Fallon was also terrorized by Reynolds and his mother (Olwen Fouéré) and left as an offering to The Red Coat – a cryptic figure said to roam the local wilderness. Yan’s son Edward (William Gao) intends to take revenge on Reynolds, but not before Fallon has a chance for his own bloody vengeance thanks to The Red Coat.

Director Andrew Baird (Zone 414) opens the 2024 horror drama Sunrise with warnings of First Nations demons and sacrificial appeasement to the forest evils demanding blood. I appreciate that this small production means there’s no period prologue, but dang I would have liked to have seen this history. After a disturbing hate crime and strong arming a farmer into a crooked deal and ultimately worse, Sunrise jumps to three months later and continues restarting as we meet everyone amid reports of dead animals and fears that The Red Coat has returned. Some of the rowdy men cursing and daring the meek to do something is hammy, but the rah rah speeches and big man over the top feel accurate as they readily draw guns and abuse authority. Bills pile up on the table, the bullying escalates, and chickens are killed to provide fresh blood, yet the horror and the hazing remain disjointed. Early on it’s quite apparent that Sunrise is at least two stories in one and there’s not enough time for everything. Is this about the vampire rescued by the immigrant family, The Red Coat giveth and taketh undercurrent, or the real world horror commentary that could have been a straight drama without anything supernatural?

The point of view struggles between our Asian family and the bad guys whilst also showing Red Coat flashbacks from our vampire drifter – first with the bloody feedings, then intercut with “ten years earlier” onscreen notations, which are definitely needed because everything looks the same. Unlike other independent productions that endeavor with a one and the same writer/director and no second eye, perhaps Baird and writer Ronan Blaney (Love Bite) simply needed more time to cohesively polish this framework. The individual dramas and horrors are not necessarily confusing, but the noticeable juggling makes the audience pause, clarify, and ask; why wasn’t the story just told in order? Sunrise should have opened with the supernatural Red Coat horror that allows the subsequent revenge to take place so viewers can appreciate the delirium in the woods and bloody comeuppance without deflating, contrived detours. Seemingly natural deaths force villains to remember their killer part as subtle visions of The Red Coat come back to haunt them. One’s usual drink doesn’t taste right after a bite on the neck, but why The Red Coat kills one and imbues another with his blood is not important – only the fear, anger, and just desserts.

The Loi Family is obviously struggling without their father, and Crystal Yu (Casualty) objects to the suggestion that her husband has left her. Yan has the rifle at the ready, for she isn’t afraid but knows she can’t trust the police. Teen son William Gao (Heartstopper) is bullied on the school bus, but they agree to help this drifter in their barn until he’s well. The youngest daughter brings her tea set and doctor kit to help him, adding innocence to the bittersweet conversations. Yan recounts being stigmatized since her family’s arrival in America, telling of a deceased family member written off as just another thing on the nurse’s to-do list. The Lois continue to face go back where you came from apathy, and Sunrise simply does not give them enough time when this should be their story. 

As the brooding Fallon hides in the corner as daylight slivers across the room, top billed producer Alex Pettyfer (The Infernal Machine) should have actually received the “and” credit. His past connection to The Red Coat is only given piecemeal to the audience; even when the bullied Edward tells Fallon he doesn’t know what it’s like and wants to take revenge on Reynolds and asks for Fallon’s help, the teen receives nothing but platitudes. Fallon inexplicably never tells anyone who he is and what has happened to him and his Black wife at the hands of Reynolds, unfairly withholding the reasons for his own vengeance from characters who could benefit from them. Setting Fallon’s story ten years prior compared to perhaps a more immediate ten months makes viewers wonder what he’s been doing for the past decade. Why is he helping on the farm, defending The Lois, keeping watch, and taking the sheriff’s gun now? If Sunrise is Fallon’s story, why didn’t we begin with him? He asks The Lois to trust him when he tells them to leave and pursues Reynolds at the church and ultimately to the forest but his vengeance only happens because the movie is over, not because Fallon took any proactive action. Sunrise has too many characters when our strong Chinese Woman or the harassed immigrant son could have teamed with The Red Coat themselves.

Ma Reynolds Olwen Fouéré (Zone 414) drinks her medicine in the back of their bar, admitting they aren’t peace loving, reasonable people and she’ll take action over her belief in The Red Coat. She thinks he laughs at them, lingering in the wilderness while their petty fears feed him. Her son Guy Pearce (Memento) disagrees, but he buttons up her shirt for her and kisses her a little too long on the lips – a subtle indication of how nasty and insular The Reynolds are. 

Joe says trouble is caused when people are where they aren’t supposed to be, and his good kinfolk don’t mix with “you people” and he will make “them” understand, quoting the Bible as he washes his hands. Reynolds even praises the hard working immigrants and their smartness compared to his lazy hangers-on – oozing his perceived superiority with demented slurs, vile insults, and such ingrained, deep seeded ease. He wears a seemingly suave suit but looks the hooligan, blabbing that he knows everyone’s secrets, affairs, and crimes. Joe picks and chooses chapter and verse, smiling as he threatens to cut the throat of the next person who disrespects him. He’ll look after his own, yet Sunrise under-utilizes Reynolds’ daughter, a quiet teen afraid to be touched for obviously icky reasons who’s more a plot point than a fully realized character. From the pulpit, Joe spouts his self-appointed ideology to keep people in their place because the system is broken when it benefits others freely without serving him first. Sunrise‘s best scenes are when Reynolds’ evil meets the horror as he delivers a disturbing eulogy and gory consequences. Unlike other pandemic projects where Pearce has had a smaller role but still participated in numerous virtual press interviews and podcasts, I understand why he didn’t for Sunrise, for he already said all that’s needed in this despicably effortless characterization. What’s most horrifying is you know damn well there are such backwoods people and places in America like this – probably a lot closer than we’d like to think.

The Irish production stands in well for the Pacific Northwest thanks to the misty forest and rural buildings, and it’s a pity small ninety minute films like this can’t be made unless there are fifteen a production of/in association with companies listed in the open credits. There’s thirty-two producers listed, too, which is a lot. The red imagery among the rustic greenery is a little on the nose, yet it’s also welcome amid the otherwise mellow palette thanks to blood, red trucks, the shadowed moon, neon signs, and firelight suggesting the Chinese positive red as well as our Republican negative. Radio exposition and deer heads displayed in the general store hit home the back country. 

However, the interior scenes are too dark and mood lighting should not call attention to itself. It’s noticeably jarring when we cutaway to sunny dream flashes, overhead meandering drives through the woods, and unnecessary incidental shots of animals. Transition shots are also slow, panning too long over coloring books when not every scene has to have an establishing shot. Repeated shots of smoking, lighters, and ashtrays likewise seem to be edgy cool foreshadowing, yet they come off as unnatural, and rapid horror flashes don’t look cool – they just remind us the picture is out of order. Herky jerky camerawork reflecting delirium prevents us from seeing the character’s struggle, and shaky cam, swirling haze during the one on one fighting feels low budget, cutting corners so we don’t see the action. Excess heavy breathing sounds and every single footstep creaking are a bit much, but fortunately, the low heartbeat we hear even with a toy stethoscope and tolling church bells provide gothic touches. Sunrise also shrewdly does not rely on gore, providing choice blood drops, neck bites, dead birds, and dipping hands in the bloody bowl.

Despite imminent danger, the pace in Sunrise is uneven, drawn out in some scenes before everything seems easily resolved with an ironic staking and fiery finish. Although The Red Coat is a minor supernatural element allowing the vengeance to happen, the narrative framework is frustrating with poor editing and not enough time to tell the whole story. Montages and piecemeal tellings don’t develop an emotional feeling the way a linear structure would build justice. Sunrise never decides which one of the good guys done wrong we should invest in – viewers know where our hate is because the real world horrors are more recognizable. The farmer seeking the American dream finds out that not only does it not exist, but it’s actually a nightmare, and he’s blamed for the violence because he didn’t leave when he was told. It’s interesting that a non-American production has that handle on all our flaws, but Sunrise doesn’t hone in on the straightforward drama nor can you expect all out horror – leaving viewers to notice mistakes in the narrative. This is certainly watchable several times for the performances and the social commentary, but Sunrise doesn’t quite put it all together, trying to do too much and rushing what could have been a chilling examination.

Grade: C

Director: Chris Pine
Writers: Chris Pine, Ian Gotler
Stars: Chris Pine, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Danny DeVito

Synopsis: Darren Barrenman is an unwavering optimist and native Angeleno who spends his days looking after the pool of the Tahitian Tiki apartment block and fighting to make his hometown a better place to live.

At the opening of Poolman, there is a sequence that lulls and cradles us into a process. The process is testing and maintaining a small pool. We watch Darren (Chris Pine) in this process and it shows dedication to a craft. The craft of filmmaking is on display here, as well, with Pine as director leading his craftspeople into a stellar sequence. Matthew Jensen as cinematographer builds the sequence capturing several points of view to help us understand the process. Editor Stacey Schroeder cuts the sequence into a beautiful flow that speeds up and slows down like the waves in the tide. It’s a tremendous shame the rest of the film doesn’t live up to this potential.

The tragedy about this comedy is that the script’s an absolute mess. Chris Pine and Ian Gotler obviously wear their influences on their sleeves with the overlapping dialogue of Robert Altman, the comedic ensemble tenor of the Coen brothers, and the convoluted, twisting plots of Robert Towne. The problem is that none of that works in concert with each other. That overlapping dialogue is nonsense and aggravating, Darren (Chris Pine) isn’t anywhere near The Dude’s charming slacker, and to have a complex convoluted plot you need to come up with your own instead of cribbing all the answers from Towne’s masterpiece, Chinatown.

It’s ridiculous that an L.A. noir pastiche would twist itself in so many knots referencing Chinatown so overtly. So overtly in fact that Darren himself begins to just tell everyone else how much like Chinatown this situation is. Poolman almost begs its audience to walk out of this film and watch a much better one instead. It’s likely because Poolman doesn’t know what it wants to be. It is a comedy, but it’s not funny in a laugh out loud kind of way. It’s funny in that way in which you recognize the comedy of a scene and can nod along noting the humor inherent there.

It’s likely that the film loses its way because its protagonist is so unlikeable. Not unlikeable like a Diablo Cody heroine, like most people in a Yorgos Lanthimos film, or a Paul Schrader diarist. He’s unlikeable because he’s a tremendous narcissist in the most uninteresting of ways. Darren masquerades as an activist, a person who cares about making Los Angeles better for people, but only wants to make Los Angeles better for his own nostalgia. He cares so little about the actual feelings of the people who surround him, is so lost in his head about everything around him, that the character actually sucks the charm out of any performance Chris Pine could give and that man has more charisma than two of the four currently famous handsome white guy Chrises combined. Which is why it’s sad that the only scene where Darren isn’t steamrolling over someone else and actually listening ends without him learning the true lesson underneath.

Yes, there is a pointedly good scene within Poolman. It comes as Stephen Toronkowski (Stephen Tobolowsky) finishes a performance of his secret passion project and Darren confronts him in the dressing room. Darren is thinking he has it all figured out. Toronkowski, Darren’s foil on the L.A. city council, sits the poolman down and has an intimate talk with him. They share a beautiful moment of honesty and humanity. It’s an actual conversation with give and take. It’s a breath of fresh air the way it is because of the genius of Tobolowsky’s performance style. Even in an out of character outfit, the actor can find a beautiful slice of character work. It’s cut way too short because Darren has to get back to his Chinatown shenanigans, but it gives a tiny glimmer of hope that the film could have had a point or something under its surface. When taken as a whole, it’s obvious Poolman is just window dressing.

Poolman is anachronistic, derivative, pointless style over substance. The most irksome affectation isn’t in the cars from the early 20th century or the fact that they use outdated physical media, but in that there are two tough guys with no lines dressed exactly like Crockett and Tubbs from the “Miami Vice” TV show. Is this a reference to police corruption? Is this a nod to a great detective show? Are these characters detectives of some kind? It’s never made explicit and the answer is probably inane. Poolman is full of tedium like this. It dives deeply into unfunny absurdity, wanting us to wade in with it, so it can drag us to the deep end and dunk us into a passionless film full of uninteresting noodles of ideas. It has so much potential, but, like its main character, it is too full of itself to actually want to succeed.

Grade: D

Director: Michael Showalter
Writer: Robinne Lee, Michael Showalter, Jennifer Westfeldt
Stars: Anne Hathaway, Nicholas Galitzine, Ella Rubin

Synopsis: Solène, a 40-year-old single mom, begins an unexpected romance with 24-year-old Hayes Campbell, the lead singer of August Moon, the hottest boy band on the planet.

If there’s one thing the world needs more of, it’s solid, sweet films that allow big name actors and actresses to show off great chemistry and individual charm. That’s not a facetious statement, we genuinely need more of this. So often, the middle of the road romance and rom-com lacks the kind of star power to attract a big audience. Fortunately Michael Showalter’s The Idea of You, starring Anne Hathaway and Nicholas Galitzine, delivers just that. The film sees Solène (Hathaway) as an art gallery owner in Silver Lake have to last minute chaperone her daughter and her friends at Coachella where one of the bands is August Moon, with heartthrob Hayes Campbell as the band’s centerpiece. After a chance encounter in Hayes’ trailer (featuring an all time Mr. Pibb product placement), he and Solène have several interactions throughout the festival and it’s clear that Hayes is quite smitten with her. 

Much of the film’s early tension revolves around the fact that Solène is 16 years older than Hayes, the former having just celebrated her 40th birthday. The implications of this kind of age gap, particularly an older woman with a younger man, are seen throughout the movie. The reactions from certain people as they discover the love affair are less than positive, and, at times, outright antagonistic. This not only affects the couple themselves, but many of the people they are closest to in the world. 

The best thing The Idea of You has going for it is the chemistry between its two leads. They are incredibly believable as love interests, and you can feel the tension rise from the second they meet. Anne Hathaway is great as always, and truly blows everyone else out of the water. She has no need to give as good of a performance in this as she does, but it truly is remarkable. Nicholas Galitzine’s star continues to rise as he gives a decent Harry Styles-infused popstar performance. With well received turns in the Netflix quick hit Purple Hearts and the over-the-top comedy Bottoms in recent years, Galitzine continues to show promise as both a leading man and a supporting character. While there are some side characters, this really is a two person show with not much coming from outside the leads. 

The script and direction from Jennifer Westfeldt and Michael Showalter are where the film starts to unravel. Showalter is known for his intentionally over-practical visual style, and it doesn’t quite work here. There’s a blandness that can be seen all throughout the movie, even when we are whisked away with Solène to New York and extravagant places in Europe. None of the locations pop off the screen or feel special or romantic in any way. In addition to this, the way the script approaches the driving conflict between Solène and Hayes’ age gap is not really earned or even realistic. Once people in the world find out about their relationship, all kinds of derisive social media comments are shown that feel as if they were generated by a bot. They may be mean or have a similar opinion, but these just feel made up to make the conflict bigger than it actually is. The Idea of You does pose the interesting question of whether the difference in age would matter as much if the genders were swapped, but doesn’t follow through on exploring that to the depth it deserves. 

Without Anne Hathaway’s star power and incredible performance, this movie would come across as another lazy romance from a streamer that knows it will get views from a particular demographic and not much else. She elevates a below average script and helps it to far exceed its potential had there been any lesser actress in the role. While her performance is stunning, it is not enough to save the otherwise plain and contrived storytelling that unfolds as the film inches closer to its climax. Hopefully more stars like Hathaway will come to the aid of these borderline Hallmark films and turn out similarly stellar turns to make them more widely seen by bigger audiences.

Grade: C+

Director: Mark Waters
Writer: Robin Bernheim
Stars: Brooke Shields, Miranda Cosgrove, Benjamin Bratt

Synopsis: Lana’s daughter Emma returns from London and announces that she’s getting married next month. Things become more complicated when Lana learns that the man who stole Emma’s heart is the son of the man who broke hers years ago.

Mother of the Bride is not precisely what you think it’s going to be. In fact, it’s so much worse. That’s because the film is like a copy of the classic romantic comedy genre. It’s like a copy—of a copy, of a copy—copied so many times that the film becomes so nakedly transparent that it’s lazy. This is purely recycled material, with dozens of tropes weakly stitched together that are like watching beautiful people scrape their nails across a chalkboard.

Every basic scene is cliche and always comes with a double dip of exposition. There is absolutely zero chemistry between the cast, including the leads, and a laughable attempt to pair Brooke Shields with a former WB/CW star. Any cute or comedic moments are forced, unnatural, and lazy. I would say this is the cinematic streaming equivalent of the Milgram experiment—testing the obedience of the audience, the cast, and mine.

The story starts with a young couple, Emma (Miranda Cosgrove) and RJ (Sean Teale), and the latter has just asked her to marry him. It’s a grand gesture, with an entire restaurant emptied and filled with thousands of roses. Emma says yes, and they hug. The first thing Emma does is talk about how she has to tell her mom about him. Yes, Emma has not told her mother that she is in a committed relationship. The scene is flat, and there is no celebration. Again, this is a disjointed attempt to move the story forward.

The script attempts to make the case that Emma and her mother, Lana (a stiff and lifeless Brooke Shields), are close. That is mainly because they formed a bond when Emma’s father and Lana’s husband were killed in a car accident when she was eight years old. However, from the start, I was surprised that this mother-daughter duo knew each other’s names. Lana has no idea that her daughter is in a relationship because she is so wrapped up in her work. The other issue is that Lana does not know what her daughter does for a living. Do they not have an unlimited phone plan or access to social media or WhatsApp? Do they lack the resources for postage, or is using carrier pigeons to deliver the mail illegal?

Of course, we soon find out this is all a way to create an awkward run-in of a romance that has been dormant for years. It turns out RJ’s father is Lana’s college boyfriend and her long-lost love, Will (Benjamin Bratt). At first, you are afraid that Will may be Emma’s father, but sadly, as the film goes on, you will wish the film took that turn to feel any emotion other than paint-by-numbers boredom. Yes, the rom-com playbook is pulled out, the dust is blown away, and the script follows the genre rules step-by-step.

Cosgrove is relegated to that role of annoying, anxious, and weak female stereotype who keeps asking inane questions after they have already been asked. For example, after it has been made clear that Will and Lana used to date, she asks Will, “How do you know my mom?” Teale has virtually nothing to do as if he was told to stand there and look like Oscar Isaac’s long-lost child. Likable comedic actors like Rachael Harris and MadTV’s Michael MacDonald are relegated to over-the-top sidekicks who spew out one-liners out of nowhere as if they were wooden dolls, where some inexplicably pulled the string.

However, I would like to commend whatever physical trainer (or VFX special effects) was used to carve out the beach bodies of 60-year-old Benjamin Bratt and 43-year-old Chad Michael Murray that made me think if stunt coordinators are under consideration for Oscars, then the Hollywood trainer surely should be as well. Now, excuse me while I work on my third love handle.

Mother of the Bride lacks the charm and stamina to be an effective crowd-pleaser. Vapid and tiresome, this Netflix streamer is strictly for diehard fans of the genre or anyone going through a bad breakup in the hopes of finding love again.

Grade: D-

Director: Richard Linklater
Writers: Richard Linklater, Glen Powell
Stars: Glen Powell, Adria Arjona, Austin Amelio

Synopsis: A professor moonlighting as a hitman of sorts for his city police department descends into dangerous, dubious territory when he finds himself attracted to a woman who enlists his services.

There’s an age-old debate in the modern film sphere on the question of sex in movies, on whether or not it’s socially acceptable to showcase sex scenes in modern cinema because there’s allegedly no “point” to them. Yes, the sex scenes in Tommy Wiseau’s The Room were fairly pointless and stretched the runtime of that movie to no end, but that’s one very bad example of a very bad movie. 

But when a serious movie decides to be sexy and showcase a pure liberation of the human body, either through “furious jumping” in Yorgos Lanthimos’ Poor Things or through the psychosexual relationship the protagonists have with a tennis court in Luca Guadagnino’s Challengers (two recent examples), most audiences prefer to shrug at its apparent “endless” depiction of sex instead of engaging with what it’s presenting on screen. This results in a culture that’s afraid of even talking about sex, labeling it as a taboo subject when it is indeed a natural part of life and a form of liberation for many. 

But why are we so afraid, or why do we care at all? Responsible adult viewers should be able to stomach the realities of life, including sex, in motion pictures, and yet talk about how “children will be exposed to this,” when none of the movies that talk about (or showcase) sex are marketed (or rated) for them. This creates a problem for the sexiest genre of all – romantic comedies, which have grown to become more sexless and glossy even when two hot people share the screen and create a decidedly passionate (and sexy) chemistry.

This is incredibly apparent in Red, White & Royal Blue, which stars two good-looking individuals with zero chemistry and erotic tension and is shot in the vein of a Hallmark picture. It’s particularly insulting when you find out that the cinematographer, Stephen Goldblatt, shot two of the greatest gay motion pictures of all time, Batman Forever and Batman & Robin, to which he was nominated for an Oscar for his work in the former, directed by a queer cinema legend, the late Joel Schumacher. 

People may be conditioned to hate those movies, but the sexually charged frames Goldblatt creates are enough to entice intense homoerotic energy through Val Kilmer/George Clooney’s Batman and Chris O’Donnell’s Robin (the “not just a friend, a partner” hand-clasp in Batman Forever remains one of the most powerfully erotic images in all of comic book cinema), stuff that is no longer produced in mainstream cinema, except for when Luca Guadagnino decided to make cannibalism and tennis sexy in Bones and All and Challengers. 

But a new challenger has arrived in the ring with Hit Man from Richard Linklater, perhaps one of the most sauceless and overhyped filmmakers working today (I said what I said). I rarely vibe with his movies because his style is so rudimentary that it rarely has room to breathe, and his actors don’t have much leeway in making their performances feel natural. It’s probably why I hated Boyhood so much and have only enjoyed a limited amount of his work, which includes School of Rock, A Scanner Darkly, Bad News Bears, Dazed and Confused, and its spiritual sequel, Everybody Wants Some!! 

So consider me skeptical when massive raves for Hit Man occurred when it premiered at the Venice Film Festival last year and a subsequent festival premiere at TIFF, where Netflix acquired its U.S distribution rights for $20 million, calling it one of the sexiest films of the year, and one of Linklater’s finest achievements. With such a usually flat visual aesthetic permeating most of his filmography, how could Linklater create romantic tension, even if he has two of the hottest stars leading his picture through Glen Powell and Adria Arjona?

Simply put, he lets them be hot and in charge of their tension as the story progresses. From the minute Arjona is introduced in the picture, there’s an indelible sense of a potential romance blossoming between the two, even if they may not know it yet. Madison (Arjona) shows up at a restaurant in the hopes that Gary (Powell), under the hit man alias Ron, will kill her abusive husband (Evan Holtzman), and is willing to pay a large sum for it. But she doesn’t know that “Ron” does not exist and isn’t even a hitman. Gary, a professor of philosophy, has been doing part-time undercover work for the police to set up sting jobs to arrest people who demand the services of a hitman after undercover cop Jasper (Austin Amelio) was suspended for 120 days. 

It not only turns out that Gary is very good at creating façades and disguises to lure potential clients in, but he enjoys the thrill of appearing to give people the opportunity of hitman services before they are ultimately arrested. But when Madison appears, everything changes. He begins to see her more frequently, through his Ron façade, and the two build one of the sexiest on-screen romances seen in a Linklater picture, and perhaps the most interesting romantic story of his career (yes, more intriguing than Jesse and Céline in the Before trilogy). 

It’s not hard for Linklater to slightly make the romance feel sexier through his lens, and he carefully calibrates his frames as their relationship evolves. Look at the way Madison is introduced as an example – a massive departure from the clinical style Linklater adopts when focusing on Gary (but in the case of this film, it makes sense because Gary is, himself, a clinical guy). Instead, he blurs the frame so that we only see her shadow until she shows up in the foreground and sits down. The tension is already palpable, but when she eats a piece of “Ron’s” pie, the energy cranks up a notch and never lets up. 

The rest of the film sees Linklater play with this hypersexual energy as the two take their relationship to a more serious level, without Madison knowing that “Ron” isn’t a hitman. This creates some impeccably timed comedy as Jasper gets back into the field and learns that things aren’t what they seem between Gary and Madison, setting the plot in motion full of well-paced twists and turns that are best left to be discovered on your own. 

The chemistry between Powell and Arjona is the only reason why Hit Man is so deliciously entertaining, with the two fully leaning into the characters’ façades they want to put out to one another (Linklater tries to parallel these impulses to the work of Nietzsche, but the philosophical subtext is far less interesting than the psychosexual game the two play with each other). The two expand their façades as they get to “know” more about their personality and, in turn, give the most romantic (and, at times, erotic) performances of their career. 

Powell is no stranger to romantic comedies after starring in 2023’s Anyone but You, but he takes the persona he created in this film to a completely different level here, as he’s matched with an actor of equal talent and charm with Arjona, a highly skillful actor who can perfectly modulate her emotional response to Powell’s Gary, whose multiple personalities deftly showcase his versatility. You can definitely tell Arjona’s evolution as an actor in a post Six Underground, Andor, and Irma Vep environment, capturing the sexy thrills of a blossoming romance with an incredible sense of timing and rhythm. The centerpiece scene, in which Madison has to ‘act’ for Gary, confirms her as a singular talent with a breadth of dramatic and comedic range that completely obliterates whatever Sydney Sweeney was doing in Anyone but You. 

If anything, Hit Man pushes the tension introduced in Anyone but You much further because it’s far more potent in its eroticism without ever showing it through sex. The implicit looks and exchanges Gary and Madison give to each other have enough powerful sexual energy to make the case for more sex in movies. In such a sexless era of romantic filmmaking, here’s a movie that reminds audiences exactly why sex in movies isn’t a bad thing and will actually make its romance between the two leads far more exciting than if it’s filmed at a Hallmark level with no emotional attachment between the potential couple. 

Hit Man shows exactly how modern-day romantic comedies should be: incredibly funny (with a keen eye on society’s warped priorities, through sharp jokes on cancel culture and America’s f–ed up obsession with the Second Amendment) and impeccably sexy, with two impossibly beautiful leads giving the romantic tension needed for us to keep wanting to spend time with them. Yes, it helps that Powell and Arjona know how to act and modulate emotions, which makes their characters feel far more alive in the hands of Linklater than in some of his previous (failed) efforts. As a result, Hit Man is Linklater’s best movie since School of Rock, his greatest achievement. Here’s hoping his next project (including the upcoming Paul Mescal musical he’s currently shooting for twenty years…as if twelve wasn’t enough) will be of equal measure. 

Grade: A

Directors: Bill Ross IV, Turner Ross
Writers: Davey Ramsay, Bill Ross IV, Turner Ross
Stars: Tony Aburto, Micah Bunch, Nichole Dukes

Synopsis: Follows 5 teenagers from small-town Oregon who, with high school in the rearview, decide to embark on one last adventure: to make it to a place they’ve never been -the Pacific coast, 500 miles away. Their plan, in full: “F**k it.”

A rapturous odyssey, Gasoline Rainbow boldly reaffirms Bill Ross IV and Turner Ross as American cinema’s most essential boundary-pushers. Their audacious vision flows like an impressionistic reverie, with fledgling teen actors blooming under the siblings’ liberated lens. Unvarnished moments of ennui and revelation unfurl across boundless landscapes, with disembodied vocals soaring in a hypnagogic interplay of sight and luminous sound. This latest provocation cements the Ross duo’s singularly fearless ingenuity, their intrepid artistry deepening with each successive, convention-shattering immersion.

In the quintessential coming-of-age tale woven into the fabric of Americana, Tony Aburto, Micah Bunch, Nichole Dukes, Nathaly Garcia, and Makai Garza stand as the intrepid protagonists poised at the precipice of adulthood. Their academic endeavors behind them, they stand at the crossroads of responsibility and adventure, yearning for one last hurrah before the weight of adulthood fully descends upon their shoulders.

In a nod to the timeless journey of self-discovery, they conceive a daring escapade: a cross-country voyage from the familiar confines of their hometown to the enigmatic shores of the Ocean for the End of the World party. Hidden in this seemingly whimsical quest lies a deeper resonance, reminiscent of timeless explorations of the human spirit. Much like those who traversed a labyrinth of trials and tribulations in their quest for homecoming, our modern-day adventurers embark on a journey where the destination may pale in comparison to the transformative journey itself.

Bound by the ties of camaraderie forged over years of shared experiences, they navigate the highways and byways of the American landscape with a sense of wonder and anticipation. Each roadside attraction, each chance encounter, becomes a chapter in their collective saga, enriching their lives with a rich weave of memories and lessons.

Yet, beneath the surface of their seemingly carefree adventure lies a poignant truth: perhaps the true essence of their journey lies not in reaching the fabled End of the World party, but in the bonds they strengthen and the selves they discover along the way. In the tradition of the great cinematic journeys, theirs is a tale of friendship, resilience, and the unyielding spirit of youth in search of meaning amidst the vast expanse of the open road.

Gasoline Rainbow is a rambling yet insightful road movie that finds soulful truth in the journey of five young Hispanic friends leaving home. Like the great road films, it understands the purpose is not the destination but the experiences along the way. Bill and Turner Ross have crafted a remarkably naturalistic portrait, capturing revelatory moments of honesty, humor and melancholy with an intimate, fly-on-the-wall shooting style that allows us to become immersed in the lives of the vagabond protagonists. An unrehearsed quality pervades each scene as they speak with disarming candor about worries, jokes, opinions and their immigrant backgrounds. Home is a nebulous concept, but their makeshift family bond represents the deeper exploration – an honest, unflinching and deeply soulful evocation of that bittersweet time when childhood’s end is in sight.

The Ross Brothers employ a masterful use of sound and music that imbues Gasoline Rainbow with an irresistible sense of intimacy. Their dynamic camerawork floats effortlessly between the quintet of friends, enveloping us in their temporary nomadic existence. Michael Hurley’s folk compositions and other timeless melodies provide an atmospheric backdrop, accompanying these wayward souls on their transcendent journey.

No matter where they roam – van, boat, train, or on foot – their surroundings take on a lived-in, homey quality. The film’s depiction of modern teenage life in America emerges not in navel-gazing downtime, but through candid conversations achieved in perpetual motion. Profound observations about identity, purpose, and the world around them pour forth with remarkable ease and honesty, softening each new landscape be it desert, forest or lonely stretch of highway. The Ross Brothers’ aesthetic sensitivity elevates the seemingly mundane into something profound and unforgettable.

The Ross Brothers weave a hypnotic tapestry in Gasoline Rainbow, their resplendent strands of dialogue floating across the boundless American canvas like wisps of cirrus clouds buoyed upon an amber-hued sky. Disembodied yet intimately crisp teen voices punctuate the journey, unfurling in gossamer ribbons that dance gracefully even as the characters recede into the distance. This diaphanous counterpoint of sound and image achieves a transcendent, anti-documentary quality that paradoxically envelops us in their cares and confessions.

Intermittent snippets of raw, unvarnished monologue extracted from interviews bloom like wildflowers amid the sun-dappled meadow, never disrupting the reverie. Rather, they arise organically as heartfelt testaments to the “creative treatment of actuality,” an ethos deeply ingrained in the documentary tradition. The filmmakers overlay these layered petals of youthful perspective atop the endless expanse, a masterful post-sync composition that elevates transient teen murmurings to an elegiac ode upon the nameless American landscape.

In this achingly gorgeous mosaic, the Ross Brothers extend a profound generosity of spirit and empathy to a generation bearing the weight of the world. Their delicate, kaleidoscopic reverie beckons – nay, insists – that these nascent souls enjoy the waning vistas of childhood while their journey remains unspent.

Grade: B+

Director: Ethan Hawke
Writers: Shelby Gaines, Ethan Hawke
Stars: Maya Hawke, Laura Linney, Rafael Casal

Synopsis: Follows the life of writer Flannery O’Connor while she was struggling to publish her first novel.

When you watch Ethan Hawke’s directorial effort, you see the sense of authenticity in the world and the characters he views through an unvarnished lens. His new film, Wildcat, is full of the Bible-thumping zealots, war-weary veterans, and dixie tricksters that formed American writer Flannery O’Connor’s work. Ethan Hawke uses the famous writer’s renowned ability to counter the supposed faith and morals with the evil they support.

Wildcat stars Hawke’s daughter, Maya Hawke (Stranger Things), examining where inspiration lies in the world around her by drawing from real life and then forming story or character arcs from genuine experiences. The people Flannery meets are patently absurd, and are brought to life by her willingness to see how the trauma of violence and pain can transform us all; real people and literally characters alike. Unsurprisingly, she, as anyone would, struggles to see this in herself.

Hawke co-wrote the film with Shelby Gaines and does a superb job folding in and interconnecting both Flannery’s present-day and her inspirations that involve famous scenes from her short stories that include “Good Country People,” “The Life You Save May Be Your Own,” “Revelation,” and others. Ethan Hawke, as a director, specializes in southern backwoods tales. His 2018 feature, Blaze, differs in time and place but is still a superb example of artists rebelling against the Southern era and setting. In Wildcat, O’Connor’s writing is inspired by the conflict of religious upbringing. For one, she lives in an environment of rigid orthodoxy and literal religious interpretation promoting traditional roles and moral standards.

This brings us back to how characters view the world and what is actually going on around them. Throw these values against poverty and racism, and then the cracks of a crisis of faith begin to show. A perfect example of this is Laura Linney’s character, Regina, who attempts to be a “white savior” by offering a penny to a small black child (immediately after becoming embarrassed because she’s wearing the same hat as the boy’s mother). Regina is almost sickened that she wears the same church crown as someone she views as beneath her. That scene is an example of how Hawke can underscore that type of hypocrisy. 

Flannery can be a controversial figure for most, as her Southern Gothic fiction is littered with racial stereotypes and offensive language. In addition, according to numerous reports, she was quoted as refusing to let James Baldwin visit her southern estate. This is my main complaint and issue with Hawke’s Wildcat; this subject is largely ignored.

However, the way Hawke has Flannery laughing at some of these characters may subtly show a belief the writer is a truth teller, making no apologies and leaving honest examples of despicable behavior on the page for all to see. Yet, the issue of race is far too often left out of the film altogether. You have to ask yourself; can a work of art be truly great if there is an inherent lack of honesty, especially with negative aspects of the main subject.

That’s one of the reasons I have an issue with biographical films based on a subject’s source material: they view others without a rosy filter that they use on themselves. The writer and director choose to filter out blemishes from the main subject. Despite this, Maya Hawke gives a wonderful performance. There is a scene so tender and heartbreaking where she finds love and loses it just as quickly is spectacularly devastating as she looks on with sorrowful eyes that conveys something we haven’t seen from the young actress before. Then, to master and put her own spin on the subject’s quirks and intricacies, Maya Hawke puts her stamp on a character that is the best of her career and one of standouts of the year so far. 

Yet Wildcat is about the writing process and a somewhat limited reflection of religious fervor. The structure is clever yet not original, similar to Nocturnal Animals, utilizing one world to influence and create another. So much so that, quite intentionally, it may be hard to decipher which is real and isn’t at times. Hawke’s film could have easily been wildly pretentious and gone off track, but his growth as a filmmaker over the past twenty years shows a steady hand that’s hard to ignore. 

What you’ll be struck by most is Ethan Hawke’s ability to challenge the viewer narratively and connected to artistic ideology. Whatever you think of Flannery O’Connor, you cannot argue that this is a biographical film (if you can call it that) that takes real chances. It offers beautiful moments and melancholy notes of introspection and reflection that blur the lines of the question: Is life imitating art, or art imitating life?

Grade: B

Director: Wes Ball
Writers: Josh Friedman, Rick Jaffa, Amanda Silver
Stars: Freya Allan, Kevin Durand, Dichen Lachman

Synopsis: Many years after the reign of Caesar, a young ape goes on a journey that will lead him to question everything he’s been taught about the past and make choices that will define a future for apes and humans alike.

When 20th Century Fox announced a reboot of the Planet of the Apes franchise, it was met with little fanfare. And with James Franco attached, expectations were even lower. However, Rupert Wyatt’s original was a pleasant surprise. Stylish, evocative, and thrilling, Rise of the Planet of the Apes became the unlikeliest franchise success. Then, when Matt Reeves signed onto the following sequels, the bar on what the Planet of the Apes world could be was raised. Dark and ominous, Reeves’s smart and emotionally resonant follow-ups were different from Wyatt’s because, simply, the world had changed, the way it can when you go to war with a bunch of dirty but beautiful apes.

After rewatching the trilogy before my screening of Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, I was struck by one of the great characters in film history, Caesar (Andy Serkis). His gravitas and influence could still be felt in the stand-alone sequel. That’s because the story picks up 300 years and a half later, following Noa (You Hurt My Feeling’s Owen Teague), a likely descendant of Caesar. This is not only because Noa has extraordinary empathy and wisdom beyond his years, along with hints, nods, and some Easter eggs; but, frankly, he looks just like him. I was struck by Teague’s turn, similar to Serkis, which can evoke such impassioned performance and depth considering the high bar the original motion capture master perfected.

Josh Friedman wrote the script, and Noa became a hero of the story when it was thrust upon him. After running across a human they call Nova (Gunpowder Milkshake’s Freya Allen), Noa breaks an egg he was supposed to care for from an eagle’s nest (they are known as the Eagle clan, after all) and sneaks out at night to locate another one. However, he runs across a group of coastal clans, full of bloodthirsty apes who use human technology, the ape version of a stun gun attached to spears, to attack the Eagles Clan in the name of the order of Caesar. After Noa’s family, best friends, and community are put into slavery under Proximus Caesar (Abigail’s Kevin Durand), he goes on a journey to locate them, learning about the ape’s history and beginning to question the past and where he came from.

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes is now under the direction of Wes Bell, perhaps best known for helming the Maze Runner trilogy. This is his first film outside of that franchise, but it was a solid choice because of his history with special effects-driven action films and his ability to build worlds within an established story. The theme of race is still very prevalent, with Noa and his Eagle clan representing Caesar’s almost pacifist stance in working with those trying to eradicate them. At the same time, another group uses violence to accomplish their goals. In this case, Proximus wants to harness human technology to enslave others, including any straggling humans left to fend for themselves.

That’s an interesting concept. Bell and Friedman toy with something called the allegory of oppression as humans regress to animal-like states. There is an amusing scene where humans, slimed with grime and dirt and wearing simple loin cloths, flock to the river where zebras gather. The visuals make their intentions obvious. If you’ve ever seen a nature video where a lion chases down a gazelle, and Proximus’ thugs roam the terrain, you know what will happen next. Teague’s Noa has preconceived notions about humans, whom he calls “echoes,” mirroring the racist thoughts of the ones in power over the oppressed. Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes flips that script a bit, asking the viewer to consider those with a history of influence as now on the wrong end of power dynamics.

The VFX special effects are breathtaking. I saw the film in IMAX, and I recommend seeing it on the biggest screen possible because of the size and scale of the world Bell is building upon. Motion capture technology has only improved with age. And while no one will ever be able to move you as Serkis did with that single tear before his demise in War for the Planet of the Apes, you would be hard-pressed to find a more talented young actor than Teague. He can superbly use body language and physicality to communicate his character to the audience.

While I did find Friedman’s script exciting, even poignant, and with the right amount of comic relief, the story and payoff rely on the character of Mae (Freya Allan) fostering a connection with Noa. This was never as well established and completed as I’m sure Friedman and Bell intended, and I’m sure it has been lost in its VFX-soaked and indulgent film experience. The story leads to a big payoff at the end, and while I do appreciate the outright duplicity of Mae’s character, the story acts as if they earned that face-off when they hadn’t.

If anything, Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes is the first and necessary step to a reboot of a reboot and one that is never slow and always entertaining. Bell’s film is a setup for bigger showdowns, conflicts, and impending battles that will surely set up the franchise for future success.

Grade: B+