Fagara is at constant simmer.
Ha Leung’s death will bring three women together. They’re strangers to each other, yet closer than they know.
Each scene makes the story richer. Death is ever-present, but reminds us that life can be as spicy as we make it.
Crisp picture and colors maintain a nostalgic vibe. A number of scenes last longer than they need to, but hey, life isn’t perfect.
Made in Italy usually means quality.
Jack is in a bad way and doesn’t know what to do about it. So, he grasps at straws. One is his father; another is their house in Tuscany.
Both are distant. As time passes, we learn why.
It’s tough to connect with this movie. The lead actors are stiff and unconvincing, and the scenes don’t flow. Dramatic plot and location aren’t enough to sell us on this kind of craftsmanship.
The Old Guard is something new.
In a world filled with wrongs, they fight for what’s right. And there’s nobody better.
Why? It’s a secret few know, and one that Big Pharma will stop at nothing to learn. So begins the latest fight.
It’s not every day an action movie blends espionage, fantasy, history, and philosophy into something that goes down easy. This one does. A cast more-representative-than-usual adds to the justice theme, and the writing can be downright poetic.
Amy can’t explain why. She just knows. So, she spends her last day doing things that make her happy.
She also tells people. And that’s when the movie gets interesting. Her conviction spreads like a virus, with each new host reacting in its own way.
The slow start and choppy timeline make this movie feel a bit too intellectual (in part because it’s more thoughts and discussions than actions). But good acting feeds off a great premise. Colorful close-ups infect us with a feeling: There are powerful things going on that we cannot see.
It’s a weird, eerie one.
Guns Akimbo shoots and misses.
Skizm livestreams real deathmatches. Miles has always preferred screen life over real life, but even he knows this is wrong. He fights back by trolling Skizm’s fans; real tough guy stuff.
Bad decision. When Skizm toys with Miles, he has no choice but to fight for real—and for his life.
The movie has an interesting premise, but it’s no more than one long chase scene with gun battles. Writing aims for woke though uses violence just like the bad guys do: to glorify and entertain.
Early camerawork and editing hit the target at least. They are powerfully disorienting, forcing us to feel a sickening situation.
Shakuntala Devi was a human whirlwind.
And she knew it. It doesn’t take a math genius to figure that, if you’re going to school just to teach the teachers, your future is bright. She happily sped past hometown and family.
Her globetrotting journey is exciting and impressive. But the second half of the movie is as much about her capabilities as it is about her mistakes. Family life was never her strong suit, and raising a daughter forces her to deal with this.
The movie is based on a true story, though was clearly edited to be light, entertaining, and modern. Some points drag, but they’re soon picked up by Shakuntala’s devastating aptitude and charm.
We let it, so we should watch it.
Addicts from the streets of Sao Paolo are people, too. We stay with them for a bit in their latest “home,” a repurposed shelter.
Its air is thick with broken dreams. But the residents don’t share sob stories, they just live their lives, letting us watch.
Spending time with them, we can feel the heartbreak, violence, or bad luck. Cramped space and harsh lighting are constant reminders of the prison of their lives. Smiles and songs are too-brief reminders that life can be something better.
It is a nonjudgmental movie where people are the stars. But they live in a sky nobody cares to look at anymore.
Vivarium is life . . . if you can call this living.
Gemma and Tom are looking for a house. An eager, if strange realtor knows just the place for them: A perfect place to live forever.
Anyways, the young couple doesn’t need perfect, and this one-note neighborhood is far from it. Things turn queasy when Gemma and Tom try to leave.
This movie is just spectacular. From beginning to end, every aspect (set design, coloration, editing, cinematography, writing, acting, directing, music, and so on!) creates a plastic, unsettling world that tells a story about ours. Humans can aspire, making perfect little things to use in our perfect little homes. But we’re deluding ourselves. Nature is one, scary thing, and we all know it.
Who’s the King of Staten Island?
It can’t be Scott. He’s aimless; jobless; addicted. And this even though people love and support him. He just can’t seem to move on after his father died fighting a fire.
But his family is. Everyone else is. So something’s gotta change, for better or worse.
There are heavy themes here, but the movie is never heavy. It’s as smart, sweet, and funny as its characters. Perfect casting keeps Scott’s journey real but entertaining, and transports us to a place and mindset called Staten Island.
Father Soldier Son. Words that define.
Brian is enlisted in the U.S. Army. He’s also a single father, worried about leaving his two boys behind. We follow them as the years pass, by interviews and intimate moments.
Life has a way of changing their perspectives: on family, health, and sacrifice. But certain core values always remain.
This is a story riddled with pain, but somehow filled with love. It was important for the Eisch family to share, and important for us to listen to.
The Lovebirds have flown into something.
Leilani and Jibran were in love. Now their relationship is failing. It’s a tough conversation to have—and tougher when they come across a murder.
To avoid the police (and gather enough evidence to prove their innocence), they must do exactly what they’ve just realized they can’t: stick together. Their adventure is bumbling, heartfelt, and sometimes hilarious.
The leads have nailed both dramatic and comedic timing. Smart writing gives us realistic worries and reactions, while effortlessly poking fun at tactics used in more outlandish crime-buster movies. It’s a fun time.
Da 5 Bloods are back at it.
Well, four are. Reuniting in Vietnam to recover the remains of their friend and leader. It’s all smiles and stories. But da Bloods have another, fantastically dangerous and exciting job to do, too. And so an epic story unfolds.
This jungle of a world will require their sacrifice once again. But they’re older and wiser now. They take time to call out the black (male) trailblazers who continue to inspire their lives. In these moments, the movie turns documentary, giving us real names. Real images. This chops the flow a bit, but is informative and powerful, reflective and celebratory.
It’s a complex movie in other ways, looking at pain across years and borders. Of how people pushed up against the wall can claw at each other. Paul’s journey is expertly played, and includes one of the most enveloping soliloquies you’ll see in movies.
And that’s how Memo likes it.
As a child who tried to share his voice with the world, he found trauma. The hurt was so profound that even now, years later, he has trouble trusting people.
His secluded life seems peaceful. But every so often we glimpse conflict: Memo still yearns to perform. This conflict intensifies when somebody recognizes his promise—and listens to his pain.
The setting is beautiful, as is the movie’s study of how people manage uncomfortable emotions. Every scene is carefully sculpted to explore this theme.
The lead dazzles in portraying Memo’s mostly silent struggle. At a moment’s notice, his face and eyes become windows to deep pain; he transforms a lumbering recluse into a performer radiating energy.
Everything about Joan of Arc is different.
For starters, she’s a ten-year-old in charge of the French army. Oh, and she hears voices from heaven. Get the picture?
Some do. Others don’t care for unwavering piety. When Joan acts against the King, she’s put on trial. Its back-and-forth is engrossing: Each party tries to do right by the others, but whoever loses will lose big.
And yet, this movie is as much class clown as Sunday school. It pokes fun at the pomp and formality of the military, the church—prayer itself—in ways so strange and obvious that you’re transported out of the story, wondering if the movie itself is the ridiculous thing.
Mania aside, this is a serious story of human character. Scenes pop with rich colors and varied staging.
Tigertail takes time to unwind.
Pin-Jui has made sacrifices to build a better life. Years later, he replays them in his mind.
We’d never know it from his stone face. Even now, with his mother just having died alone in Taiwan, and with his daughter struggling to find happiness, does he set aside certain emotions to focus on the practical.
Only by piecing together closely-framed flashbacks can we understand why. Experiences of lost love and hard work show us a person who is anything but cold, who always tried to do the best by his poor mother.
Before these flashbacks, the movie is uncomfortable, even slow. Hyperrealistic editing and Pin-Jui’s stoicism create a boring melancholy, one that only hints at the feelings of a full life still being lived. But the tail does eventually unwind. In the end, we’ll know its curves, and watch as a new one forms. It is moving stuff.
In an age of conspicuous perfection, Selfie stands out as real.
An innocent teenager has been killed. What was intended to be a movie about his death turns into a movie about life, filmed by two of his friends.
It’s all because the director came across Alessandro and Pietro. With hearts on sleeves and a phone in tow, the teens record life in Naples. It’s a selfless selfie. They think hard about showing all aspects of that life, and so they capture much: their friendship, inadequacies, and boredom; how organized crime pressures different people in different ways.
Whether by editing or the talent of the boys themselves, the contrasts and earnest emotions of this movie make it a treasure. That such beauty can come from hardship—and be captured by young people with a tool that almost anyone can use—it’s hard not to be in awe.
Green Room is where you wait. The anticipation kills.
Aint Rights is on tour, and is so underground, it seems, that nobody will attend their shows. Desperate, the band accepts a gig in a remote location. The crowd is . . . a bit rawer than the usual.
The band’s lyrics are hard, but its members are soft. This becomes painfully clear after one of them witnesses a crime. Aint Rights is now too real a name.
Every element of this movie maintains a terrific tension. It’s so good, and so prolonged, that you’ll almost beg for the spark. But fair warning, it’s more lightning than static.
The Platform is a whole ’nother world.
We don’t know why it exists, who’s in charge . . . or how many people it tortures. Goreng doesn’t either, but he may be the first to explore enough to find out. As the only person to voluntarily enter this place, he’s either its savior or biggest stooge.
From the first moment, our world shrinks to the size of this vertical prison. Trapped with Goreng, his hopes and despairs become ours. Earworm music captures our unease, reminding us that truly, this very moment is all there is.
It is a thought-provoking, exciting, and twisted piece.
MFKZ be wilin!
Sooner or later, Dark Meat City will eat up Angelino. The scrawny punk commands no respect, at work or on the streets. He has more roaches in his apartment than friends in the world.
It’s confusing to everyone, then, when he begins to be chased as if he’s the world’s most wanted. Maybe there’s something to him after all.
This movie is a hood fairy tale of grand proportions. A modern David unlocks his true potential, while uncovering an evil so pervasive Goliath would drown in it. The illustration and writing are meticulous, and create a world where fantasy and cold, hard ghetto mix. Though there are some head-scratching moments, all in all it’s a different and fun movie.
Troop Zero is an embarrassment.
And Christmas is an outcast. This is partly because kids can be mean, and because Christmas pees her pants. But partly, it’s because she believes her deceased mom is up in the stars. Each night, she tunes in to the sky, waiting for a sign.
Maybe she’s found it. The winner of the local Birdie Scout competition will get to record a message for NASA to send into space. But first, Christmas needs to find herself a troop.
This movie means well—but it was written with a sledgehammer. Each scout is stranger than the next, with basically no character development in explanation. Their relationships are forced, and their rural Georgian community is whitewashed.
It tries desperately to create memorable moments, throwing out one-liners, slow-mo, and anything else that might stick. None of it does.