by Cris Mora-Villa, Contributing Writer

I find myself peering over this years’ Academy Awards nominees with my eyes fixed on one film: I’m Still Here from director Walter Salles. It was nominated for Best Picture, Best Actress, and Best International Feature Film. While I was hardly surprised by its latter two nominations, the nomination for Best Picture certainly caught my eye. Both Salles and his film hail from Brazil, too far removed from the American studio system to hold much political sway. So where did this nomination come from? To put it simply, its contents must speak for itself. 

Now for me, awards discourse is an exercise in subjectivity. To ask what is the best film of any year is to know an answer could never be arrived at by a general populous. Awards are not the be-all and end-all when assessing the qualitative merits of a movie, but what the inclusion of a movie like I’m Still Here in the Best Picture race symbolizes to me is belief in meritocracy. To know that an underseen movie of such quality can receive its recognition just feels right.

I’m Still Here follows an anarchic period in 1970s Rio de Janeiro, as the Paiva family, namely its matriarch Eunice (Fernanda Torres), is forced to reckon with Brazil’s military dictatorship at the height of its power. In the time that’s elapsed since I first exited the theater, my memory of the film’s tenderhearted yet candid approach in observing the lives of its characters has only further solidified itself past where I’d previously held it. To say the quiet part out loud, I’m Still Here is a poignantly stirring monument of humanity that wields every ounce of passion emitting off its actors with great care. At the forefront of this miraculously assembled cast is for my money the performance of the year.

Torres is an actor for whom I had no precursive awareness prior to seeing I’m Still Here. That speaks to my own lack of familiarity with Central American cinema as a cultural blindspot, leaving many works from various directors or actors of that region to fall outside of my filmic purview. With that framework, I’m Still Here is much appreciated as an introductory point to a whole new caliber of actor. It’s a remarkable picture in many regards, but Torres’ performance is worth the price of admission alone. We witness firsthand the emotional toll that is had on Eunice in the wake of a sudden brush with Brazil’s then fascistic state, but how Torres is able to respond in conjuring Eunice’s unwavering strength to the screen is unlike anything I’ve seen in the past quarter century. The end result is a conversion of subtle, precise, and restrained choices that evolve as time progresses to the indispensable effect of capturing our investment. These instantaneous mannerisms don’t just emanate from Torres’ raw spirit — they amalgamate with a stoicism that upholds Eunice’s dignity. Every facet of her performance is conscious of the gravity weighing on her own shoulders. For as complete as her performance may be, I hesitate to fully identify her labor as acting, as that impression is never imposed on the viewer. You’ll find no shortage of great performances across 2024 releases, but many are unable to shed the actorly persona that is knowing the person on screen is doing the thing they’re known for. This is not the case with Torres, as what she’s doing goes beyond just giving a performance. She’s living a life that isn’t her own. This is the story of Maria Lucrécia Eunice Facciolla Paiva, and it’s one Salles treats with immense respect.

Torres’s nomination marks only the second time in Academy Awards history that a Brazilian actor be nominated for Best Actress. The first instance took place in 1999 for the film Central Station. Its relevance cannot go understated, as not only was it also directed by Salles, but it stars Torres’ mother Fernanda Montenegro. An equally prolific actor whose career began in the 1950’s, Montenegro made history with her nomination. Without discounting how rich and substantive her performance is, it’s the story and themes of Central Station as spiritual predecessor to I’m Still Here which are too momentous to ignore. 

Central Station follows Dora, a jaded swindler who accompanies a nine year-old Josué (Vinícius de Oliveira) on a trek to search for the father he’s never met. Differences between the movies are present, as Central Station is not as politically motivated as I’m Still Here, nor does the latter share the former’s spiritual skew towards religious symbolism. What ties the two works together at a foundational level, though, are the evocative journeys of their leads, as well as the undeniable legacy of what Montenegro was able to do with Salles 26 years before Torres was afforded the chance to do the same.

Three parallels come to mind in relation to the characters of Dora and Eunice, which best crystalize the connective tissue between I’m Still Here and Central Station, those being each woman’s relation to motherhood, a masking of one’s feelings, and a sentimental value placed on personal items. While the lead performances leave a lasting impression on the viewer, it’s doubtful one could walk away from these viewings without recognizing their ideas as essential pillars of Salles’ movies. Each idea is handled with a deft touch that fits within the context of the respective narratives. Beyond that insular context, both films are simpatico in their portrayal of women who find themselves in situations rife with complexity where answers are difficult to locate. Despite this, Salles affords his protagonists moments of cognizance to reflect and find the answers for themselves. Said conclusions offer varying results for Dora and Eunice, emotionally speaking, but the path in getting there is so told so truthfully that it can only elevate this duology.

What has come to define Dora’s life when we first meet her is the conception of absence. We take her at her word when she says she’s never had a family of her own, and so it is that status quo which gets challenged with the arrival of Josué. The exploration of their relationship is the centerpiece of Central Station, itself equally invested in Josué’s catharsis as it is in Dora’s. The difference is that his known desire is preemptively literalized and readily identifiable by way of story. Josué clings to the hope of finding his father, and so accepts help from Dora to realize that despite their reciprocally hostile behavior. What Dora is searching for exactly is in some manner absent to Dora herself, as she’s only able to pinpoint its existence through time spent with Josué. When we first meet her, she appears to favor a curt and blunt demeanor towards most people in her everyday life. The key word there being “appears,” as that is eventually proven to be a false appraisal of her internal nature. Behind the facade that Dora wears in attempts to shield her emotions is a desire for connection. It’s the reason why Josué’s designation as a surrogate son has such staying power with Dora and vice versa. Dora is not a traditional mother, but she understands what it means to care for someone who is family. This is the level at which she can connect to the maternal instinct innate to Eunice. Arriving and then contending with this dormant instinct is the culmination of Dora’s arc. For Eunice, however, we see that instinct pushed to its limits when met with a foundationally consequential plight on an even grander scale.

Contrary to Dora’s life is Eunice, a mother to five children and a spouse to Rubens (Selton Mello) for nearly 20 years. If solitude and regularly running morally ill-advised scams on unsuspecting passersby is the general makeup of Dora’s day-to-day life, the label of homemaker is valid for Eunice’s, at least at the start of the film. While Dora makes reference to her past as a teacher, we aren’t told or shown any indication that Eunice’s contributions to the family are of a financial matter, as that distinction is left solely to Rubens. Such a divide in home economics wouldn’t be as relevant were it not a critical point of thought for both the audience and Eunice herself once Rubens can no longer bear the role of provider. Eunice never is put in the position to have to measure the love she has for her children, or ponder how she’s chosen to raise them, but to assume Rubens’ place in the context of how that’s come to pass brings up questions that did not exist beforehand. As a civil engineer and former congressman, Rubens could give his family a comfortable life. The first five minutes of the picture quickly contextualize this by inviting us into the Paiva home to witness all its cacophony, but also a tranquility becoming of middle class suburbia. In that time, we see a family bound together through joy and a connection to the space housing it all. I’m Still Here deals with a sentimental value intrinsic to the home, presenting its slow decay before unveiling a subsequent reclamation of what’s been lost.

Salles invites us to inhabit the environments captured on screen. Be it the lively energy which fills the Paiva household, or the bustling claustrophobia of the titular Central Station in Rio de Janeiro where Dora and Josué first meet, these settings bleed off the screen with great character. The Paiva home’s production design is especially notable, as its painstaking detail is well on display for all to see. Every ounce of space refracts familial remnants and vestiges for a culture that once brought about life to their house. It’s here where Salles makes his most personal contribution to the film. He’s spoken in interviews as having personally known the Paiva family as a youth after befriending the Paiva siblings. That connection offers a point of retrospection in providing a level of sense memory to scenes set in the Paivas’ house. Such a personal tie to the lived history of what occurred back in 1971 only strengthens the reality behind the narrative. The film is also not without some influence from the Paiva’s themselves, namely Eunice and Rubens’ only son Marcelo (Antonio Saboia and Guilherme Silveira). His 2015 memoir was published under the name Ainda Estou Aqui, a Portuguese translation of I’m Still Here. In some manner, it’s here where the central text of the film originates. Without having read said memoir, recounting this story from Marcelo’s perspective is indicative of two things. The first being that the need to perpetuate this story in a novelized setting as a means of not allowing these events to be lost to history. The second is to rather unintentionally deepen the importance behind both films’ use of media or items as a tool to bind people together.

Salles places a significant presence in the idea of belongings which hold a personal attachment. Dora doesn’t have much to really hold dear at the start of her journey with Josué. So when certain possessions find a richer meaning throughout their excursion, they gain a value wholly defined by the days the two shared together. They are left with a pair of photos, a dress, and a letter to remember a time spent. Media in I’m Still Here carries an arguably stronger designation, as the notion of memory ceases to leave our own perspective when reaching the end of the picture. Footage of the family’s Super 8 camera, all the various music from their collection of vinyl records, and photo albums containing a lifetime of images recur frequently with an expressed purpose. To look back and recall all of the collective moments that happened in this family’s lives. To remember what else was happening just beyond the frames, and see just how much has been forgotten as the years go by. We hold onto these things because they are the memories of our lifetime, and we have to preserve them for if not ourselves, then for posterity. Eunice and her family recognize this, and do so with Rubens in mind.

The final and most prescient element of this film deals with the economic and societal structures surrounding us. To draw a personal assessment of the political landscape as it exists today, there are many people around the globe (myself included) who go about their lives while bearing witness to life altering events to which they are utterly powerless to stop. That feeling is more apparent than ever before, given our current age of media, and yet this was every bit the case back in 1971. The structural makeup of Brazil as it’s presented in I’m Still Here, and as it had become by the early 1970s, shares lots of similarities to what is permeating today. Groups and parties forged in values antithetical to mankind, in turn contaminating the land in which they rule with unfiltered oppression. Rubens was aware of this during his years as a politician and activist, and in the aftermath of the military’s coup in 1964, took the steps to separate himself from the potential danger he feared may come his way. It came anyway, because that’s what unbalanced power does once someone on the other side simply decides to. For the Paivas, that would arrive in the form of a generational attack on the family home. Attaching a reason as to why Eunice and Rubens endured what they did could never be a lost cause. Because when systemic fascism acts with persecution, accountability is the minimum of what should be owed to its victims. The thing is, I don’t know if Eunice herself would consider herself a victim of what happened to her family. 

Such a stance would be understandable, but there remains room to contest through an undercurrent signifying she is too strong to submit to that label. A recurring motif noticeable throughout is that of Eunice’s smile. At a certain point, we see what Eunice ultimately chooses to do with her pain. That is to persist, as it’s what is required. When the oppositional force is so overwhelming in scale, like in an entire government, the only real tool at Eunice’s disposal is time. No amount of legal protestation was going to assist Eunice in raising her family. With years of parenting still ahead of her, the idea of defining that time with despondency was not an ideal resignation. And so begets the smile seen in many of the photographs from that time. Torres noticed this in seeing such images when studying for the role, understanding that choice as an act of free will. Eunice did not choose to flee from her troubles, but to instead play the long game and allow history to run its course and wait for the day where her suffering could no longer be denied. 

Over the course of its two-hour-and-15-minute runtime, we come to discover how timeless the story of I’m Still Here really is. Both through the empathy-laden connection that is formed with experiencing a journey so unique to Brazil’s history, yet also universal to us as human beings. And in another respect, it’s a repetition of history for Salles to be celebrated for his contributions to cinema alongside Torres, as she herself stands on the shoulders of her mother. Regardless of the outcome at the Academy Awards ceremony, I know I can look fondly at the spotlight being placed on this movie, as there is no other film this year more deserving of it.

Rating: High Side of Loved It

I’m Still Here is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Cris Mora-Villa, and follow him on Letterboxd

by Jack Grimme, Contributing Writer

Old Guy opens with a slick animated title sequence that perfectly sets the tone for an amusing action-comedy flick starring beloved talents Christoph Waltz and Lucy Liu, alongside the up-and-coming Cooper Hoffman. The intro transitions to a scene of Waltz, as the titular Old Guy, mindlessly dancing in a raving nightclub. The initial atmosphere of the piece is promising. Unfortunately, the film starts at its peak and rides a steady decline of energy throughout the remainder of its runtime.

The plot is a tale as old as the main character: A grizzled veteran is tasked with stoking the career of a promising talent. In this case, the career in question is the art of assassination and fixing. Warring ideologies clash, and bonds are strained, broken, and carefully rebuilt. The fact that this is a slightly unoriginal story could’ve been offset by the actual dynamic on screen. It is interesting to see Waltz as the hardened professional — who is a bit more careful and protective of the innocent — attempt to guide the younger counterpart, who is already callous and cool with casualties. Unfortunately, this nuance of the relationship crumbles under the flimsy dialogue and mediocre chemistry between the onscreen leads.

The script tries to play on the age of the characters, but the dialogue is often nonsensical if met with any critical thought. For example, it is one thing for Hoffman to not know Nancy Reagan, but Waltz missing a Star Wars reference frustrated me. The actor would have been in his early 20 during the original film’s run, so using this to age him just doesn’t make sense. This kind of narrative lives or dies on the banter, but when done unnaturally, it becomes near impossible to recognize the growth of their dynamic as real or rational.

Old Guy also suffers from an all-too-common failure of many mediocre films in this vein. Several times, the audience is explicitly told that the two protagonists are savants in their field — expert killers who defy expectations and conquer insurmountable odds. Aside from one or two moments near the climax, the scenes lack any proof of their competency. This is partially due to the fact that the action sequences are so plain and brief. The sheer idiocy of the opposition also makes it hard to ascribe any victory to the excellence of the leads. The conflict at the heart of the film is never developed enough for Waltz and Hoffman to demonstrate their intellect. Not only does this leave the project feeling dry and uninteresting, but it makes any compliments toward the heroes feel unearned.

This film likely remains unheard of by most audiences. If any research is done, it may serve as a reminder that Lucy Liu is flaunted as the tertiary lead. But her character is so completely squandered that it would be better to forget she exists. She shows up, somberly ponders her relationship with men as an unnecessary C plot, and then inevitably gives in to the advances of Waltz’s Dolinski. Her presence amounts to an Uber driver during the climax to make sure an elderly woman is out of harm’s way. Almost every piece of dialogue directed toward her comments on her “beauty despite her age,” truly reducing her to eye candy in every conceivable way. This was enough to move my reception of the story from bland to borderline offensive.

Unfortunately, Old Guy misses more shots than Danny Dolinski fresh off a hand surgery that exacerbated his arthritis. That reference will go over just about everybody’s heads, because this movie is a challenge to find, even if someone was inclined. Avoiding it would be wise, but based on the marketing, the movie seems to be doing its best to avoid an audience.

Rating: Didn’t Like It

Old Guy is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Jack Grimme, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Mike Hilty, Contributing Writer

Spider-Man has been in the pop culture lexicon for as long as I can remember. I read the comic as a kid, watched multiple television shows, and saw every movie the first chance I could get. Sony’s stewardship of Spider-Man has yielded mixed results, but thankfully, Marvel and Disney are swooping in to bring continuity, a clear vision, and people who care about the property. If Marvel Animation could succeed with X-Men ‘97, I hoped that Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man could follow suit.

The series follows (surprise, surprise) Peter Parker (voiced by Hudson Thames) as he adjusts to becoming Spider-Man. Along the way, Peter begins to see the toll that being Spider-Man has on his family, school, and friends, all while under Norman Osbourne’s (Colman Domingo) tutelage. 

If that seems vague, you’ve seen this story done to death for the last 25 years. Making the story feel fresh with that in mind was probably the show’s biggest challenge. I was concerned during the first episode, because it would have annoyed me if this were another situation like Batman, where we see Uncle Ben die the same way we’ve seen it for decades. At some point, studios will have to realize that Spider-Man’s origin story is so ubiquitous that everyone should know it by now. Instead, this series subverts expectations in ways I was on board with. 

I must give Marvel Animation credit for how Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man looks. The series is stunning, reminding me of a moving comic book. If the goal was to capture the spirit of the older Amazing Spider-Man run of comics, or even the cartoon of Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends from the 1980s, mission accomplished. Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man balances the traditional Spider-Man comic with some new modern sensibilities. I don’t always agree with, or like, how much of the MCU’s influence is over the series, but it does its best to be a Spider-Man-centric story.

The series still captures the themes and messages that have made Spider-Man one of today’s most endearing characters. With Peter still young and starting as the Web-Slinger, the story revolves around Spider-Man’s struggle to balance personal life and heroism. School is hardly ever a problem since Peter is brilliant, but with his internship at Oscorp, he runs into issues balancing the needs of his boss versus his personal life.

The key differences from what we’ve seen before are Spider-Man’s origin story and how the timeless “with great power comes great responsibility” line gets integrated. Depending on how much you value these words of wisdom, the message behind them in Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man could be too drastic of a change. For me, it’s a welcome inclusion, incorporating a new version and getting to the point in a vastly different way. Spider-Man in this series is still discovering how powerful of a superhero he is, and how much mercy he should give people who have harmed him. Peter is young; not everyone who’s a hero has this stuff figured out yet. The way he’s nurtured matters here, and it was a great choice to keep the story fresh for people who have seen this origin story countless times.

In reality, this series feels a little more like an extended series run of What If…? I’m not mad at this decision, and would have enjoyed What If…? It would be better if Spider-Man were more of a serialized story, instead of one-off episodes that may or may not impact an overarching narrative. Decisions cascading in different directions and how the consequences are dealt with are essential for the show. If this is a direction they plan to go, where this is not your traditional Spider-Man story, bring it on!

But I’m torn on how certain characters’ inclusions are handled. Spider-Man has a deep bench of villains and side characters that have not yet had time to shine. Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man leans into this by including a few characters we haven’t seen either very often, or at all,. Characters like Lonnie Lincoln (Eugene Byrd), Amadeus Cho (Aleks Le), and Pearl Pangan (Cathy Ang) are used in fun ways. I’m particularly looking forward to seeing what happens with Lonnie in the coming seasons. Several characters have their race or gender swapped, which is a nice shakeup the typical cast. The only real issue is when MCU characters show up, but I also had a similar problem with X-Men ‘97.

Marvel Animation is producing outstanding (and consistent) television, and Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man is an excellent addition to the group. Thematically and tonally, the series continues to showcase why Spider-Man is such an endearing character. Marvel Studios’ fingerprints hamper the story a little, but enough changes are made to keep the series from getting stale. I’m excited for this version of Spider-Man for years to come.

Rating: Liked It

Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man is currently streaming on Disney+

You can read more from Mike Hilty and follow him on Instagram, Letterboxd, and Serializd

The Oscars are coming up in just a couple of days. This year’s crop of nominated performances is stellar, so with that in mind, we decided to discuss some of our favorite Oscar-winning performances of the 21st century! Let us know your favorite @SiftPop!

Black Swan is one of the best thrillers of the 2010s. The atmosphere that Darren Aronofsky builds with this production of Swan Lake is creepy and unsettling. You question reality at every turn, which he’s proven time and time again he is an expert at. But the movie doesn’t work unless the two leads, Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis, commit. Portman is remarkable in this role because she nails the slow decent into darkness in the name of glory. The work she put in to get the build and movement of a ballerina down shows her dedication to the role. Without this, Black Swan would merely be a cheap imitation of a ballet recital. With every move and every dance, Portman showcases an artistic commitment that made her the natural choice for the Academy Award in 2011. This is my favorite of her performances, because it represents all the attributes that I admire with her as a performer: poise, commitment, and range. (Mike Hilty)

The Joker might be one of the most challenging characters to effectively portray in fiction, because his personality isn’t fully understood by anyone, not even the Joker himself. He isn’t logical in what he wants, but he has a goal. He doesn’t just cause a bunch of mayhem randomly; there’s a clear plan for everything he does, and a definite reason for how it is done. When Batman asks him where the two hostages are, he doesn’t tell him at a random time for no reason; he times it so he only has time to save one, and he tells him the locations in reverse, so whoever Batman chooses to save will instead be the one to die. Later, when Batman comes at him on the Batpod, the Joker wants Batman to hit him to show the effect he’s had on Batman’s psyche. Heath Ledger immersed himself in the role — in preparation for filming, he isolated himself to enter the mindset of the chaotic and disturbed character. He said that during filming, he found throwing off the character at the end of the day difficult. His family rejected the idea that Ledger died as a result of this role, but I can see why some might suspect it had something to do with it, given how much he dedicated to it. It breaks my heart that he wasn’t there to savor one of the most deserving Oscar wins ever. (John Tillyard)

There are actors on list who give better performances than Russell Crowe in Gladiator. I am not an idiot. It’s not that Crowe is an incapable actor. He’s actually quite deft at comedy and his fair share of drama (while I do regret his attempt at musical acting, he’s actually not the worst you’ve ever heard sing). However, there is no one on this list with Crowe’s swagger and gravitas. He brings an odd combination of humility, wrath, and inspiration to role that could have just been a bitter man seeking revenge. It is such unique and incredible work that is nigh irreplicable. Director Ridley Scott tried to get it back with Paul Mescal in the 24-years-later sequel, and the movie lacked Crowe’s magnetism. His performance in Gladiator is peak acting. (Samuel Nichols)

Let’s be honest: Any actor playing a Nazi has a bit of a head start when it comes to portraying a great villain. However, to take that base level of evil and build it into a truly memorable sadist does take a considerable amount of skill, and few actors have done that better than Cristoph Waltz in his role as Hans Landa. Landa isn’t just menacing all the time; he’s also intelligent, charming, meticulously polite, and at times even strangely sympathetic to those he hunts. This incredible performance is on full display from the opening scene of the film — one of the best single scenes ever put to film — and Waltz keeps providing memorable moments throughout the runtime. It takes a masterful performance to make such a diabolical villain so delightful to watch, and in Inglourious Basterds, you can truly see a master at work. (Jake Hjort)

My general Oscars hot take is that I don’t know of an Oscar win more deserving than Emma Stone’s performance in La La Land. Except for maybe Emma Stone’s performance in Poor Things. I think we can all agree that Stone will go down as an all-time great, right? In La La Land, she plays opposite frequent screen partner Ryan Gosling, as Mia to his Sebastian. A romance for the ages brews between two hapless dreamers, setting a course for a destiny they cannot share. Filled with dazzling imagery and a stunning colour palette, La La Land evokes a chord within your soul that leaves you nostalgic for the dreams you laid aside because life got in the way. Then it strikes that chord like a thunder bolt, as if you awaken you from the stupor Damien Chazelle has so successfully pinned you under. It is a film from the golden age of Hollywood, for a new golden age. Of course, this film works in most part because of Stone’s nuanced and electric performance opposite what I think is Gosling’s most impressive role to date. You may be aware that Stone was not the first choice for for Mia; Chazelle wanted another Emma, as in Watson. I do often ponder if La La Land would have been as effective with Watson as Mia, but I never have once pondered whether Stone was right for the role, as it is a very resounding yes. And the Academy agreed. (Adam Ritchie)

I remember growing up on Halle Berry, especially in The Flintstones. So when I learned she won an Oscar, I was happy, and needed to watch Monster’s Ball. I went in blind, and I still remember being blown away by her rawness. In a movie with young Heath Ledger and Billy Bob Thornton, you will remember her performance the most, not because she bears it all physically, but emotionally. Her vulnerability, and the complex character she portrays, as a woman of color who is involved with a racist prison guard, who just happens to work in the same prison as her husband, who is awaiting his death sentence, stays with you. I have only watched this once, a long time ago, so I can’t remember all the details, but to this day, I remember how Berry’s performance made me feel. And as much as she stayed in the spotlight with the X-Men franchise and some other action movies, I wish someone would give her a bit meatier role again, because it has been too long since this amazing performance. (Luke Burian)

As a whole, Moonlight is obviously an incredible movie. But it’s probably at its best when Mahershala Ali is in it. He portrays one of the most nuanced, complex characters on this list, and in concert with Barry Jenkins’ writing and directing, Ali’s Juan is deeply human. He has a hardened persona as a Miami drug dealer, but that facade comes crashing down as soon as Little (Alex R. Hibbert) begins asking difficult questions. It’s a delicate tightrope which Ali walks, but he does it with such brutal honesty and conviction that I can rarely get it out of my head. (Robert Bouffard)

Sometimes, nothing’s more terrifying than someone being absolutely calm. Case in point: Anton Chigurh, played brilliantly by Javier Bardem in No Country for Old Men. The hitman on the trail of Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin), a hunter in Chigurh’s crosshairs after absconding with more than $2 million after stumbling onto a drug deal gone bad. Chigurh pursues Moss with a Terminator-esque determination, all while displaying the emotional intensity of someone on a casual stroll through a grocery store aisle. The pure lack of emotion in Bardem’s performance makes it all the more effective. Add to that a unique weapon for the ages and a tense standoff posing the question, “What’s the most you ever lost on a coin toss?” and you’ve got an absolutely unforgettable performance. (Jake Bourgeois)

I’ve been vocal about how I don’t typically care for performances where an actor plays a real person, especially when they win an award for it, but Cillian Murphy in Oppenheimer is particularly special. Murphy doesn’t simply do an impression of someone whose personality and mannerisms have been in the public eye for decades; instead, he completely transforms into J. Robert Oppenheimer, portraying different complex emotional and psychological states throughout the three-hour movie. In the beginning, Oppenheimer is blinded by progress and discovery, yet by the end, he’s performing a mysterious yet perhaps warranted, metaphorical self-flagellation. Murphy brings tons of nuance to the performance, and I’m in awe of him every time I watch the film. (Robert Bouffard)

Daniel Day-Lewis has become synonymous with the idea of method acting, as well as being the benchmark for acting as a craft. He has won three Best Actor Academy Awards, and one of those is for There Will Be Blood. In what is, for my money, the greatest performance of all time, from the greatest actor of all time, Day-Lewis fully embodies Daniel Plainview, the true manifestation of greed and self-serving behavior. Even taking in the baby of a dead drill worker is an act of self-service. This Oscar was entirely earned, because the mixture of physicality, facial acting, dialect, line delivery, and emotion is profound. Plainview is fully realized with Day-Lewis’ physical stance, his intensity, and towering presence. You would expect the character to be almost seven feet tall — that is just how committed and intimating he can be. The big acting choices make Day-Lewis’ performance so iconic and memorable. His “Milkshake” scene is unnerving, aggressive, and intelligent. Day-Lewis brings that all and more to a role which has become a measure of acting excellence. (Shane Conto)

The Oscars were never my thing to follow — that was until 2023, when Brendan Fraser was nominated for Best Actor for his role in The Whale. Fraser was an actor I grew up with, from loving him as the lovable George of the Jungle or as Rick O’Connell in The Mummy. If he was in a movie, I was seeing it. When Hollywood dropped him after speaking out about a sexual assault that happened to him, it seemed his leading man days were done. Then I heard about him playing Charlie — a gay, morbidly obese English teacher who tries reconnecting with his estranged daughter. Fraser lost himself in this role, and his performance had me bawling through the whole film. When he was nominated for Best Actor I hoped he would win, and I was glad when he did. He is a talent and a genuinely good person who deserved that award and the praise from it. Most people may never have thought Fraser would receive the golden statue, yet we were all happy for him when he did. (Austen Terry)

While J. Jonah Jameson may be a boss you definitely wouldn’t want to work for, he doesn’t hold a candle to Whiplash’s Fletcher when it comes to being an absolute… jerk… in J.K. Simmons’s filmography. In a true test of, “Do the ends justify the means?” there’s no doubt that the jazz band instructor certainly has a world-class band, while utilizing tactics that could make Bobby Knight blush. Simmons is absolutely terrifying as the dictatorial band director that pushes his musicians to their limits with abusive tendencies that create undeniably great performances. He can go from charming to over the top intense at the blink of an eye. It’s a career-best, career-defining performance that ran roughshod over the rest of the Best Actor In a Supporting Role field in 2015. While he’s played plenty of kindhearted people, and is probably a lovely person out in the wild, the strength of this performance alone would probably make you flinch if you ever come across the man himself in person, just out of reflex. (Jake Bourgeois)

by Shane Conto, Staff Writer

There are many films that claim to be about family (looking at you, The Fast and the Furious), but there is something substantial and foundational in Riff Raff. This crime thriller tells a parallel tale of a pair of hitmen seeking out a mixed family assembled in a remote cabin in the woods. One past, fateful action by a son against another puts two fathers on a crash course. This film is pregnant with ideas, passed trauma, and characters that make for quite an interesting cinematic experience. 

This is not a film that has a lot of action or dynamic direction. Director Tito Montiel brings a texture to it, though, creating a darkened and rugged atmosphere. This film is not a clean, slick type of thriller; it is grizzled and dirty instead. But importantly, Montiel balances the tone. Riff Raff is not laugh-out-loud funny, but it does have a snappy, sarcastic, dark sense of humor, and the film’s comedic performers’ energy and talents shine through. It’s the type of movie which needs weight and consequences, and it commits to having them… at least until the very end. But honestly, it’s the writing that fumbles that feeling in the climax.

Screenwriter John Pollono created a mosaic of character actions and dynamics that weave together to create a dangerous tale of consequences. He needed to make sure that each of the characters feel important and worthy of a space in the narrative. And overall, Riff Raff finds space and significance for each of its players. The film is mostly about people talking in space, occasionally cutting back to important memories. This structure is quite similar to so many crime flicks (especially since the ‘90s) which offer up nonlinear stories. While Pollono’s script weaves things together well, some of the beats and reveals are a bit derivative at this point. There are some shocking elements of the story in terms of how these characters are connected, but then the film loses a bit of bite with some of its final narrative choices. 

The relationships between fathers and sons is the film’s narrative thrust, as well as the key motivations for many of the characters. Bill Murray’s Lefty is driven by what happens to his own son, which is a touchy subject (seen in how people mistake Pete Davidson’s Lonnie for Lefty’s son which has some dangerous consequences). There is a powerful reveal of Lefty’s last interaction with his son, recontextualizing his motivations and the significance of fatherhood in the film. 

Meanwhile, Ed Harris’ Vincent is trying hard to mentor and parent his stepson DJ (Miles J. Harvey) after failing his blood son, Rocco (Lewis Pullman), whose own actions are motivated by his pregnant partner Marina (Emanuela Postacchini). But relationships are significant, as Vincent is stuck under the same roof with his current wife, Sandy (Gabrielle Union), and the mess of an ex-wife, Ruth (Jennifer Coolidge). It’s a refreshing experience to see a whole film flow into one defined thematic direction, about the value of family. 

In fact, this film’s strength is its ensemble. The unexpected focus on DJ is refreshing, as Harvey elicits a lot of empathy as a young man trying to navigate his own relationships, while being surrounded by so many talented performers. The duo of Murray and Davidson is quite entertaining — Murray delivers a dry and sardonic aging criminal, while Davidson reins in his energy, but still has his comedic bite. A film just following the two of them would be quite engrossing and engaging for sure. Harris is an important anchor, and he brings his steely and tough presence in an effective way. Coolidge is the most out-and-out funny performance in the film (she just has such a great sense of humor), and she even delivers in the few emotional beats she has. Pullman has a fiery nature in this film, which is unexpected but believable. Union doesn’t get much to stand out with, but when she does, she delivers. But it is Postacchini who steals a lot of the show with her natural charisma and screen presence. 

Riff Raff never quite reaches the heights of great; thanks to a fairly stale narrative in its genre, it’s a bit of an overstuffed experience. But the film’s ensemble delivers what is expected of them, and the thematic elements give the film the depth, even if the final moment plays it a tad safe. But overall, it’s a fun time with some sharp humor and a twisting tale that will keep you guessing. 

Rating: Liked It

Riff Raff is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Shane Conto, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Jake Hjort, Contributing Writer

Welcome back, fellow time travelers, to another edition of 20th Century Flicks! This month, in a continued effort to check classic cinema off of my list of shame, I’m diving back to the year 1989 to watch Rob Reiner’s When Harry Met Sally... As I carry on with my journey to cover some of Hollywood’s greatest directors of the 20^th century, I figured my quest would not be complete without a look-in on Reiner, whose run of films in the ‘80s and ‘90s is among the best of all time. Having long heard that When Harry Met Sally… is one of the best romantic comedies of all time, it seemed a perfect film to put on this month for Valentine’s day and a heartwarming trip to the past. 

Set over the course of 12 years, the film tells the story of Harry Burns (Billy Crystal) and Sally Albright (Meg Ryan), two young adults who meet carpooling from Chicago to New York City. After a contentious car ride with conversations highlighting their differing views on relationships, and whether or not men and women can be “just friends,” the two part ways, never intending to see one another again. However, over the years Harry and Sally continue running into each other around the city, developing a friendship and eventually a mutual romantic attraction. Though there is some continued conflict along the way, the two finally are able to confess their feelings and get married. 

Like any romcom, When Harry Met Sally… can only be as good as the chemistry between its two leads. With this particular pairing, however, there is a unique challenge: There isn’t supposed to be any chemistry at the beginning of the film. Harry and Sally don’t exactly have a typical meet-cute; instead, they don’t particularly like each other at all when they are first introduced. To run the full gamut of connective emotions from disdain to love is no simple task, but Crystal and Ryan do a remarkable job selling every part of the relationship (with some assistance from Reiner’s direction and Nora Ephron’s script). I truly believe that they hate each other at the beginning of the film, that they’re having a lot of trouble processing their feelings in the middle, and that they are in love at the end. 

Of course, the most well-known bit of their relationship — and without a doubt the film’s biggest cultural footprint — is the lunch that Harry and Sally share at Katz’s Delicatessen. In an attempt to prove a point to Harry about his skills of observation, Sally imitates intense feelings of pleasure in the middle of the deli, prompting another patron to famously tell her server, “I’ll have what she’s having.” This scene has been parodied so many times, including as recently as a few weeks ago in a Super Bowl commercial for Hellmann’s Mayonnaise, that I knew it was going to be coming, but I have to say that I was still really surprised by how well it works, not only as a standalone scene, but in the context of the film. It isn’t just a bit that’s played for shock or laughs (although it certainly earns both) — it actually fits well into the progression of both Harry and Sally’s characters.

My favorite bits of the film, however, have almost nothing to do with Harry or Sally. They’re the little vignettes interspersed throughout, which featured short interviews with other couples telling the story of how they met and fell in love. These fragments are heartwarming and funny, and really help to keep the romance alive during the first half of the film when we aren’t getting much of it during the actual plot. The relationship between Harry and Sally ends up being one that you want to root for, but I do think that these little scenes that keep the heart engaged help to prime you to be charmed by Harry and entranced by Sally. 

Of course, this calls into question the film’s main dilemma: Can men and women ever just be friends? Well, if you take the ending of the film as the answer, then I suppose they cannot, as Harry and Sally are not able to remain friends without feelings of attraction complicating things and falling in love. This is all well and good for a movie — heck, it probably would have been pretty disappointing if they decided to stay friends at the end of the film after you got invested in their relationship — but I don’t think that this is necessarily congruent with reality, and I’m a little disappointed that the film is so clear in it’s answer. Men and women certainly can be friends, and though I don’t want to judge the morals of a 35-year-old movie too harshly, this notion that they can’t promotes a culture of gender segregation, and men who refuse to be alone with women. 

I’d be remiss not to point out that this isn’t the first pairing of Ryan and Ephron that I’ve covered on 20^th Century Flicks, as I wrote about Sleepless in Seattle last year. Of course, this begs the question: How do the two compare? I have to say, on a structural and story level, I definitely prefer When Harry Met Sally… The relationship between the leads is much better developed (they meet during the first scene, rather than the last) and the romance is much more genuine as a result. However, I do have to say that I was not quite as charmed by Crystal as I was by Tom Hanks. I think that Crystal is still doing a great job, and Harry needs to be a bit rougher around the edges, but I’m just in love with Hanks in a way that I never quite have before with a romcom protagonist, and Harry isn’t able to replicate that. 

When Harry Met Sally… is a great film with two incredibly charismatic lead performances, and it certainly deserves its legacy as one of the greatest romantic comedies ever made. Crystal and Ryan are a great on-screen couple, and Reiner and Ephron make for an amazing creative team; I really think it’s a shame that the two haven’t collaborated again since then. 

You can read more from Jake Hjort, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Cris Mora-Villa, Contributing Writer

When you see as many movies as I was able to see at this most recent Chicago International Film Festival, there is no one type of film that can embody the scope for all the different kinds of stories being told. There can be drama, and there can be comedy, but the primary descriptor for the films at the center of this piece can just be categorized as plain odd. In their own calculated way, each film is ingrained with an unmistakable feeling that is meant to highlight its own eccentricity and distinctive style of filmmaking that for better or worse (mostly better), achieves what it sets out to do, and that’s exist as a truly pure form of cinema

Vulcanizadora — Liked It

From the perspective of someone who was not at all aware of the work of filmmaker Joel Potrykus prior to watching Vulcanizadora, I can’t stress how rewarding it feels to discover yet another new corner of the current moviemaking landscape with this kind of propensity for independent cinema. And yet, it was clear to anyone who got to hear from Potrykus after the screening that he and his tight-knit crew of collaborators are not the type to adhere to the overly sincere or austere side of filmmaking. Their tempo falls much more in line with the taboo and the vivacious end of the spectrum. As far as the film in question is concerned, on the surface, it does seem like a movie of disparate halves. Though that isn’t an inaccurate assessment, the two halves congeal in service of fulfilling a greater vision of how one deals (or struggles in attempts to do so) with the consequences of their actions brought on by their own beliefs or uncertainties over place in the world. The film follows longtime friends Derek (Joel Potrykus) and Martin (Joshua Burge) as they make the trip through the forests of rural Michigan with the intent on following through on a dangerous plan, until one must contend with conflicted emotions at home when their pact goes awry. The film beams with personality and humor in its first half, primarily due to the gleeful simpatico duo of Derek and Martin. While this section may seem to stretch on for a bit longer than is expected, the followthrough is thoroughly enriching because of it. The initially dry comedic appetizer is not wholly wiped away, but injected with the solemn intensity found in the city of Grand Rapids. From there, the picture is left in a sort of stasis as it follows its remaining main characters’ own tumultuous headspace up to the movie’s lasting conclusion. Said conclusion, might I add, was sure to be one of the best of the entire festival.

Peacock — High Side of Liked It

Some of my favorite comedies over the last few years have notably come from foreign countries which operate outside of the American studio system. There are a few factors which come to mind as to why that’s become a recurring trend, but the dominant one largely can be boiled down to the stark changes that come with the culture. Countries like Denmark or South Korea just have a way of approaching their material in a more freewheeling and eccentric manner than in the States. In the case of a movie like Peacock and its home country of Austria, the evidence is clear for all to see, in more ways than one. After Matthias (Albrecht Schuch) goes through a sudden breakup with his longtime girlfriend, in part due to his job at a rent-a-friend agency, his life begins to take a turn for the worse, as he struggles to make sense of how his life has been affected by his work. While decidedly a notch or two below a comedic masterpiece from 2024 in Hundreds of Beavers, the number of visual gags which transfer over from one scene to the next is at its absolute maximum. The opening and final scenes of the picture do well in capturing tone and solidifying theme respectively, but it is the bulk of its middle that fills one with the highest degree of laughter. Schuch is especially deserving of praise, as it’s in his expressive physicality and puppy-like sensitivity that he’s able to hold firm as the glue keep these vignette-adjacent scenes together to form a proper narrative. Conversely, the story itself doesn’t just exist to justify its comedic ambition. The narrative does actually stand up in its own right as an honestly told journey of Matthias’ psyche. On top of a broader observation of the nature of performance art, the questions that Matthias must ask himself is, what does it mean to form human connections, and at what point did he begin to lose what made him… him?

The Other Way Around — Liked It

In terms of sheer form-bending works that utilize the medium of film itself as a device to drive the story in ways unforeseen, The Other Way Around takes the cake in much the same way Víctor Iriarte’s Foremost by Night did at last year’s festival. That film had an authorial approach that felt completely detached from what I’d personally been accustomed to in the space of contemporary filmmaking, thanks to its uninhibited construction and execution of an ambitious attempt at genre shifting. The Other Way Around accomplishes a redolent end, albeit with a vastly different technique of in-universe scene recreation through the added layer of a film production. The story follows the end of a years-long relationship between Ale (Itsaso Arana) and Álex (Vito Sanz), who, in an attempt to forgo a traditional splitting-up process, decide to throw a party to commemorate their breakup. On one level, that synopsis is rife for providing the viewer with many discomfortingly awkward moments emanating directly from the oddity of such an idea. Given this movie is roughly equal halves romantic and cringe comedy, it’s able to balance the two subgenres quite seamlessly, as it establishes a firm sense of tone that oozes self-assurance. Those qualities alone would make for a perfectly enjoyable movie, as well as a worthy counterpart to fellow festival offering, The Room Next Door, as both are heightened comedies from Spanish filmmakers. Add on top of that the creative finesse at the helm of its artisanal conception, and you have something very interesting yet also unfocused at times. Ale and Álex are not lost for a reason why they have decided to mutually part, but the film sort of leaves that beat unexplored, as it’s only so interested in dissecting a faltered partnership. We move past what could be a very traditional form of story conflict in favor of an exploration of the relationship between the events that take place in our lives, and the media we choose to create and/or surround ourselves with. This is the thematic sandbox director Jonás Trueba and co-writers Sanz and Arana are interested in playing in, and it shows. Perhaps they don’t fully explore this concept to the fullest extent, as there isn’t much space for answers in terms of giving the audience a decisive takeaway in relation to the questions it asks. Despite this, The Other Way Around is still an off-the-wall testament for what art can provide to our lives, and, in turn, how media is influenced by our struggles.

The Sparrow in the Chimney — High Side of Didn’t Like It

As an introduction to the work of Swiss filmmaker Ramon Zürcher, it was admittedly not the most optimal of circumstances to start with the third film in a self-described trilogy of thematically linked films. Having some solid footing with Zürcher’s previous efforts would likely have been a means of circumventing the unpalatable elements that don’t equate to the most conducive of screenings. Said picture, The Sparrow in the Chimney, is about a poisonous reunion of family members who settle into old habits as the stress of being surrounded by one another creates a hostile and unkempt environment that expresses itself with increasing unclarity. Perhaps one of the more impenetrable films to come from the festival, The Sparrow in the Chimney goes all in on embracing the discomfort that comes with a family when it is as tinged with toxicity as this one is. The most fervent of which comes to be Karen (Maren Eggert), matriarch of her family and sister to Julie (Britta Hammelstein). We see the incendiary relationship between the two boil over in ways that seem all but inevitable, affecting every other person who enters the home housing their reunion. Reasoning and backstory are never made out to be points of focus for the viewer. Instead, it is the ambiance of pure sensory overload which takes command. With increasingly radiant seeking visualizations of excess light and blaring music that are meant to be built towards as an experience forward first viewing, the mileage for such an approach may vary from person to person. I could never really arrive at the point where the characters or their relations to one another could mix with the film’s avant-garde ambitions, but an ambitious a picture it most certainly is.

Misericordia — Liked It

A movie like Misericordia could perhaps fit the designation of being the most accessible movie out of this list. On paper, writer/director Alain Guiraudie presents a moody character study riddled with mystery. That descriptor is accurate to what the picture is at the end of the day. A few layers beyond that, however, the movie mutates in ways that I struggle to really delve into. The main reason for that stems from some very specific moments when the plot will all but swerve directly into tonal dissonance, albeit without any confounding side effects. The label of the thriller genre remains an all-encompassing umbrella which Misericordia does sit under, but trust me when I say the film crosses that line in the execution of its story to where tension will exit as comedy will enter and become the center. The particulars need not be discussed for the sake of an introductory viewing experience — just know that humor sings just as loud as any other comedy from the festival. To expand on the actual narrative, the film tells the story of Jérémie Pastor (Félix Kysyl), who returns to his hometown of Saint-Martial in the south of France to attend the funeral of an old colleague. As his visit extends into a tenured stay, old acquaintances begin to question his true motivations for doing so, eventually leading to an act of violence. This immediately intrigued me, not only for all its implied danger, but the potential for what to expect from this story knowing it will touch on inherently queer themes. Guiraudie doesn’t go out of his way to make the picture feel like a titular example of queer cinema, such is the case with a work like 2023’s Femme, which is an intrinsically queer story. Misericordia isn’t disinterested in that prospect; it just has its focus aimed on following Jérémie on his journey. The longer we sit with him as he lies and schemes his way through his excursion, the more we come to grasp a hold of the ideas at play, namely the desire for reclamation and the risk that comes with holding onto those desires.

Mistress Dispeller — Liked It

There have been exceedingly few documentaries which have had me questioning how much of what is shown is completely unscripted. Mistress Dispeller unabashedly slides into that exclusive category. The film follows the various perspectives of a singular case that is being handled by professional mistress dispeller, Wang Zhenxi, as she is tasked with breaking up marital affairs in China. When it comes to other fiction-based films that emanate from countries outside the U.S., the culture of said country is a factor that often greatly affects the outcome of the plot or character motivation. The setting shapes every aspect of this movie enormously in ways I couldn’t have possibly anticipated. The profession of mistress dispelling is a relatively new one with little regulation. The film itself can further attest to the strangeness of its own premise, but it’s not just a bizarre case of cultural barriers differing from our own. There is such an unforeseen intimacy and almost romantic overture to how director Elizabeth Lo films her subjects. Each of the roles that are inhabited by the film’s main trio of scorned wife, adulterous husband, and longing mistress are treated with genuine honesty and a lack of judgment. Under those circumstances, the potential for eliciting empathy from the viewer is rather substantial. In her own dissection of the years-long production behind Mistress Dispeller, I grew even more appreciative of the commitment needed to tell this story about the shame, pride, and loneliness that is so prevalent in modern day relationships native to China. This film will not receive a rollout of any kind in China directly because of the level of sensitivity tied to the discussion of inter-marital norms in eastern society, which tells so much about the value placed on these subjects, not only as human beings, but the emotions so powerful that broaching them at home would mean forever donning a mask of interminable ire.

You can read more from Cris Mora-Villa, and follow him on Letterboxd

by Shane Conto, Staff Writer

What if you were constantly haunted by one of your dead loved ones? While it sounds like the plot of a horror movie, this concept can be leveraged in other ways to explore loss and grief. Death is one of the most complex elements of life, as it can both be a good thing and a bad thing. It could be a loss of life and potential, or the ending of suffering. In particular, death is always on the mind of a soldier. Your life is always on the line, and you find deep bonds with those who hold your life in their hands. That is the core of the new dark comedy/war drama My Dead Friend Zoe.

Co-writer and director Kyle Hausmann-Stokes channels his own experiences in the military and injects it into a story that was inspired by a real connection. A veteran, Merit (Sonequa Martin-Green), is haunted by the visage of her best friend Zoe (Natalie Morales). Merit struggles to overcome what happened to Zoe while trying to open up in a support group, and to support her war veteran grandfather (Ed Harris), who is struggling with Alzheimer’s. The mystery of what happened to Zoe is impressively built, and subverts some expectations. This thread is one of the most important elements of the story, and the key to Merit’s suffering — it delivers big payoffs and emotion. A lot of humor stems from Morales’ banter, and helps this film deliver in so many ways. The challenging journey that Merit goes on challenges is moving and impactful. There is a romantic subplot that feels more distracting, but that is really the only thread that doesn’t feel important to the film. 

Working two jobs, Hausmann-Stokes delivers a nice balance of humor and pathos. The banter between Martin-Green and Morales is perfect, making for many funny moments, but it more importantly delivers plenty of big moments as the film reaches its climax. The script’s structure is fantastic, as it bounces back and forth between Merit’s journey now and the war time connection she had with Zoe. The reveal of the truth is impactful, driving home the film’s themes and sensitive issues. There might be some inconsistencies in the logic of Zoe’s presence in the film, but it ultimately works so well. The film builds to Merit finally opening about her past, and it’s a satisfying payoff. The dynamic between Merit and her grandfather allows the film to explore the stigma of PTSD and generational divides. 

But it’s the cast that brings the whole film together. Martin-Green is charismatic, pulling the audience into her challenging journey with a rich performance. Her chemistry with Morales is off the charts — it delivers in each scene they share, whether it is showing off their wonderful friendship, the tension due to what happened to Zoe, or the struggle that Merit is feeling. Morales is one of the most under-appreciated actors out there today, especially with how much empathy and laughter she brings to this film. Harris delivers a rugged but warm performance that explores some of the challenges of aging, as well as the legacy of the military. Then there is Morgan Freeman. His dialogue is mostly expositional, but his legendary presence delivers as a nice emotional anchor in the film. 

In the end, Hausmann-Stokes’ military experience certainly shines through. My Dead Friend Zoe strikes a great tonal balance, exploring its themes with honesty and tact. This film might feel gimmicky, and it has some loose threads, but by the time the credits roll, you know you have experienced something worthwhile. 

Rating: Liked It

My Dead Friend Zoe is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Shane Conto, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Chantal Ashford, Contributing Writer

Who would have guessed that a toy monkey playing a drum could be turned into a scary movie? I certainly didn’t, and I had never heard of the Stephen King short story The Monkey is based on until the film was announced. It definitely caught my attention, and I was eager to watch it. Directed by Osgood Perkins, who also made the hit film Longlegs, The Monkey is an interesting addition to his work. 

Our story begins in 1999 with twin brothers, timid Hal and tough Bill, both played by Christian Convery. They find a strange monkey toy in their father’s closet and are clueless about the trouble it brings when they twist its key. After a series of mysterious deaths happen around them, the young twins decide to get rid of the monkey by tossing it down a well. Fast forward 25 years, and the brothers, now played by Theo James in a very funny performance, must team up with Hal’s son, Petey (Colin O’Brien), to deal with the monkey again when it mysteriously returns.

The movie explores the relationship between Hal and Bill as kids and how it deteriorates over time. Their single mother, Lois (Tatiana Maslany) is a bright spot in their lives, offering them quirky yet insightful lessons about life and death. The Monkey dives deep into themes of obsession, revenge, and guilt, which all stem from their traumatic childhood experiences. We see how this affects the older Hal and Bill. Additionally, Hal’s relationship with Petey is strained at first, but they gradually connect because of the eerie monkey.

It’s a mix of humor and horror, with some surprising and darkly funny deaths. Adult Bill’s look, including his mullet, is notably well done. However, the film does start to drag a bit in the last act, feeling like the deaths lose their creativity, and when the brothers finally unite, things wrap up too quickly. There are moments where the pacing slows down, but it thankfully picks up again.

While I wouldn’t say the film is fantastic, it is certainly enjoyable and entertaining. Sometimes, it’s nice to find humor, even in dark situations.

Rating: Liked It

The Monkey is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Chantal Ashford, and follow her on Letterboxd

by Robert Bouffard, Editor

Along with his writing partner Mona Fastvold, Brady Corbet is interested in putting big ideas on the big screen. I don’t mean big ideas in the sense that Christopher Nolan deals with time inversion or dream heists, but in the sense that each aspect of our world is the result of a perfect collision of forces from many different angles: The Childhood of a Leader explores how the small son of a politician can himself grow into a fascist leader; Vox Lux is about the intersection of a country’s political identity and its cultural identity; and The Brutalist follows a poor, Hungarian Holocaust survivor who immigrates to the United States and finds himself at the mercy of a seemingly generous yet ultimately callously wealthy benefactor. An interesting pairing with its awards season rival Anora, The Brutalist shows that the American Dream has long been a scam, and despite any well-intentioned, honest hard work, the people at the bottom are likely to stay at the bottom.

It’s easy to dismiss the early claims that The Brutalist is one of the Great American Films about America itself, seeing as movies like The Godfather and There Will be Blood are nearly impossible standards to live up to. But it’s really not that outlandish of a claim. Corbet gives us a three-and-a-half-hour character study of László Tóth (Adrien Brody), the titular architect who makes his way to America after the end of World War II. But right from the start, Corbet warns that the land of opportunity might not be all it’s been made out to be — as László pushes and shoves his way out of the cramped boat he arrived on, one of the first images we see is an inverted Statue of Liberty. This was never going to be a happy, inspirational tale, as by the end, yet another nominally holy symbol is turned on its head.

Corbet’s boldness is announced from the film’s opening seconds, even before he upends the longstanding ideas of what America is supposed to be. Not only does the movie declare it was shot with VistaVision — a format that has been largely obsolete for over 60 years — it also begins with an overture. This feeling of a return to classical Hollywood filmmaking is carried all the way to the end, as there’s a 15-minute intermission (though I didn’t feel a minute of either side of it), and the movie, rather than focusing on sensationalism or grandiosity, remembers its lead character. That’s not to say the film doesn’t have scope, because again, it feels like an epic in the classical sense. And that’s what tends to draw me to Corbet: He uses grand and seemingly antiquated filmmaking techniques to be personal.

Once László arrives in America, he goes to live with his cousin (Alessandro Nivola), who owns his own furniture store and has been in the States for some time. They are given the opportunity to renovate the study of a wealthy industrialist, Harrison Van Buren (Guy Pearce). They do a good job, and we get our first glimpses of László’s creative ability and passion for architecture, but Harrison’s son Harry (Joe Alwyn), because of a misunderstanding, fires the cousins and refuses to pay them. László ends up shoveling coal because of his already small reputation being ruined, until Harrison gives him another chance, taking him in and commissioning him to build a large community center on the Van Burens’ Pennsylvania property. At the same time, Harrison connects László with people who can help bring his wife and niece to America, after years of separation.

This is all in the first half of the film, and we head into the intermission perhaps misguidedly feeling optimistic on László’s behalf. Corbet puts us in his shoes long enough, and lets the scenes breathe enough, that we’re invested in the Tóths’ reunion and ascendancy from poverty. Yet it’s of course not that simple — The Brutalist has a cynicism to it, with its second half acting as a sobering downer. His wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) arrives in a wheelchair, and his niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy) is mute due to wartime trauma. And to avoid spoilers, I’ll just say that László’s community center project does not go as well as he would like. So the film’s cynicism isn’t misplaced or edgy — instead, it’s a brutal(ist), honest portrayal of what it’s like for someone of László’s stature to try to be successful in America. And the film’s 20-years-later coda that shows how this idea is perpetuated over time.

The Brutalist posits people like László, who came to America with hope in their hearts, thinking they’d be able to make a difference and truly feel fulfilled, can and will be co-opted not only by their spuriously well-meaning benefactors, but by those who should be close to them and looking out for their interests. Usually, a rich man saying he wants to give you money for your passion does have strings attached. But when you’re in László’s position, accepting the money being the only chance you’ll have to achieve your dreams blinds you to the very obvious strings. And The Brutalist’s trick is that it blinds the viewer to the strings as well, at least for a time. This is not, and never has been, the world László thought he was escaping to when leaving war-torn Budapest.

László asks Harrison, “Is there a better description of a cube than that of its construction?” He wants his creations to speak for themselves, but by the end, even though he’s created many beautiful buildings, someone else is speaking for the meaning of his work when he’s unable to. So is it worth it to even attempt to live a meaningful life in a world that’s set up to kick you down? Corbet seems to think that the answer is still yes. For as deeply imperfect a person as László is (that’s kind of why I love him and the way Corbet is able to portray him), he spends so much of his life trying, until he feels like he just can’t anymore. He fights for the meaning, relevance, and lastingness of his art. His creations. His work. But the reality is you can only do that for so long.

Rating: Loved It

The Brutalist is currently available to rent on VOD

You can read more from Robert Bouffard, and follow him on Letterboxd and Bluesky

by Mike Hilty, Contributing Writer

Welcome to Cross-Platform Partners! In honor of a new movie release, I have selected a TV show to watch to pair with the movie. Think of it as a way to get hyped for the new movie, a preview of things to come, a means to tide you over if the movie won’t be released where you live for a little while, or a change of pace if you’ve run out of related movies or sequels.

For February, I picked Castle Rock to pair with The Monkey!

Stephen King adaptations have a checkered history. For every hit out there, like It, The Shawshank Redemption, and Under the Dome, there are misses, like Thinner, The Dark Tower, and The Tommyknockers. King still has a lot of pull around Hollywood, with The Monkey being released this month, and Welcome to Derry coming out later this year. All you can ask is for filmmakers to bring care and a vision to his stories. Of all the movies and TV shows, Castle Rock pays homage to everything King wrote about.

Castle Rock takes place in the titular town, which is in Maine, where many of King’s stories are set. It’s an anthology series (although I don’t think that was the original plan) that carries several of King’s novels and themes into one semi-cohesive story. Season One is a mystery about a lawyer named Henry (André Holland) and his inmate client at Shawshank Prison. In the next season, we follow a story centered around Annie Wilkes (Lizzy Caplan), on the run and hiding out in Castle Rock.

For any King fan, Castle Rock is filled with Easter eggs and callbacks to several of his books. As someone who isn’t a huge fan, it was fun to see how many references they could pack into an entire season. I like how much the show incorporates, from subtle names and scenes, to characters with connections to the books, like Annie and the niece of Jack Torrance.

Castle Rock does something that King does incredibly well: setting an eerie, tense mood. It’s clear the writers and showrunners understood how to set a tone that feels uniquely King’s. Season One’s tone is more mysterious, with hints of the supernatural. Shawshank Prison is vastly different from the one in the 1994 classic, because the town depends on it to stay afloat. On the flip side, Season Two is a thriller. Annie provides a lot of dread, because it seems like she could go off the rails at any moment.

Thematically, Castle Rock dabbles in many elements that King consistently showcases in his novels. In particular, fear plays a massive role, as numerous characters fear something that consumes them. Addiction is heavily featured as well, which King has said he likes to write about. Castle Rock’s most prevalent theme, though, is the struggle between good and evil in the face of institutions of control, like hospitals or prisons. Unlike all the other adaptions, it doesn’t always work from a thematic standpoint, as these are stories that are trying to forge their path.

Along with the themes, the characters in each season are indeed interesting. Season One’s most interesting character is Alan (Scott Glenn), a retired police officer who lives with Henry’s estranged mother. As a former cop, Alan knows what it means to put his life on the line for the greater good. Although you sometimes question what he does, Alan repeatedly shows that he’s doing his best to care for the people he cares about. Henry’s mother Ruth (Sissy Spacek) has dementia, and it’s a race to see how she will be cared for now that the disease has started to take over.

Season Two’s include’s Annie’s daughter Joy (Elsie Fisher), and Pop (Tim Robbins), the head of a local crime family. Joy is fascinating, as she has a front-row seat to Annie’s self-destructive tendencies while adjusting to life in a new town. She’s often answering for, and caught in the middle of, Annie’s transgressions while struggling as a teenager who only wants to fit in. Pop is a man who thinks he’s having a positive impact on his town, but, in reality, doesn’t see (or care) about the harm he’s doing, mainly to the local Somali population that has taken hold of the town.

Structurally, an anthology series makes sense for Castle Rock, since King’s written many stories spanning different genres. It’s too bad the series only got two seasons, because it feels like it could have gone on forever, considering how many stories haven’t been touched. It also showcases King’s range as a writer.

Castle Rock is a compelling look at a thought experiment about a connected King universe. I enjoyed Season One more than Two, but the appeal is there. It has outstanding character work and a tone of dread which lasts all the way through. I wonder how much more story could have been told, since this only dabbles in a small fraction of King’s works, but in the end, Castle Rock has to be a dream come true for all King fans.

You can read more from Mike Hilty, and follow him on Instagram, Letterboxd, and Serializd

by Shane Conto, Staff Writer

There have certainly been plenty of uncomfortable portrayals of autism since the beginning of cinema. Rain Man is one that does not age well, with its stereotyping delivered by Dustin Hoffman’s performance. 2021’s Music delivered one of the most offensive portrayals of all, with the ridiculous central performance from a neurotypical individual. But you would hope that by 2025, filmmakers could be more respectful and nuanced with their portrayals of autism. Unfortunately, The Unbreakable Boy did not quite get that memo. 

How does writer/director Jon Gunn navigate such an issue? Clunkily and with little tact. Jacob Laval’s Austin is a string of so many stereotypes. There are some unexpected elements, including Austin’s penchant for mischief, but it is overall just a tired retread of other “authentic” portrayals of autism. Counting, perseverating, yelling, endless talking, big imagination, and many more traits are so often thrown into films about autism like they are trying to meet a quota. Austin is an earnest kid and with plenty of layers, but there are so many rushed plot points with his character. Some moments are completely out of left field, resolving in minutes of screen time. 

But film tries to tackle many more issues than just autism. Austin also has a rare brittle bone disease, which his mother also has. The film navigates those complexities in their lives, but the issues are never given enough time. It also explores bullying, alcoholism, unplanned pregnancies, suicidal thoughts, religion, and a marriage grown out of circumstances and not love. This film is almost two hours, but it never has enough time to really explore them in meaningful ways. 

To bring personality to the storytelling, Gunn depicts Austin’s imagination with some vibrant and fun animated sequences which capture a fantastical feeling. It’s an outside-the-box choice, but at least it brings some personality. An even bolder choice is to give the father, Zachary Levi’s Scott, an imaginary friend. This is quite strange, yet it is taken so seriously, being in conflict with the various serious issues that the film is tackling. There is a lack of logic with this friend as well, distracting us from more emotional moments. One scene does succeed, as it leans on this creative choice instead of the weight of the scene. The tone of this film swings wildly, and it is hard to get your bearing straight. 

Does the cast at least deliver? Laval is doing his best to be authentic in the role of Austin, and he generally succeeds. The dialogue doesn’t always do him favors, but at least Laval is able to build empathy for Austin. His performance hits a lot of expected beats in terms of behavior, but Laval’s energy brings something sweet and charming. 

Meanwhile, Levi is a challenging case. He works in fun moments, and delivers some of his specific charm, but when the film leans into its intensity, he’s just unconvincing. His facial expression aren’t authentic, and are honestly a bit silly. Meghann Fahy, who portrays Levi’s wife, gives a fine performance, with one scene really shining bright with the emotional weight she can deliver. Drew Powell is fun as Scott’s imagery friend, at least makes his character engaging, even if it’s distracting. Gavin Warren fills out the main cast as the family’s second son, but he is written too much like an adult — it is hard to make him convincing at times. Throw in a small Patricia Heaton role, and a pleasant turn from Todd Terry as Levi’s parents, and you have a good bit of support.

The Unbreakable Boy is certainly bubbly and charming in some ways, but it doesn’t deliver enough depth to a serious topic. Then you look at the laundry list of other themes and topics it introduces but doesn’t delivers on, and see there is just too much happening. Some creative choices are just too distracting, leaving the film to be mildly entertaining, but not enough to write home about. 

Rating: Didn’t Like It

The Unbreakable Boy is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Shane Conto, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd