When the project was announced, consensus purported that Agatha seemed an odd character to spin off. And, well, upon completion it still feels that way, even to this Maximoff fan who will gobble up all the Wanda breadcrumbs I can get. The first episode opens strong with a "Mare of Easttown" send-up toeing the line between earnest and jokey, and Kathryn Hahn is excellent there in particular. As things progress, the show questionably abandons important reliance on Hahn's capable shoulders and begins to feature some of the most egregious expository dialogue and contrarily hapless characters ever seen. Witchy elements are portrayed reverently enough to likely please viewers of that persuasion, but these reverent witches will be explaining a magickal concept one moment then be utterly dumbfounded by that very concept the next. Seemingly designed to only really be appreciated upon revisitation, the series might have improved quite a bit had the "teen" character not been a barely sufferable Gen Z stereotype. Still, the viewing ultimately goes down easy for completion purposes even if it leaves me at 'meh.'
Alien (Ridley Scott)
A perfectly designed whole through the ways its simple title and singular aesthetic have us dwelling in pregnant backdrops, constantly anticipating the next invasive threat, until every sweat droplet of that focus pays off both symbolically and cathartically in a practically poetic epilogue. The philosophical tangents further explored in following entries are here just the gravy on top of an elegant concept - space truckers diverted by a distress beacon that unfurls bizarre biological horror upon them. Openly bearing its influences to forge its own new identity, “Alien” is not only one of the most influential films in existence but also perhaps the very best monster movie. Also, neither here nor there, but I never noticed before how everyone else on the ship seems to passive-aggressively resent Ripley’s presence. Letterboxd.
Three strikes and Alvarez is out, seemingly doomed to keep remaking the same movie about annoying young idiots sneaking into weird places and getting what's coming to them before a perverse talking point of a climax. But hey, perverse climax? Sounds like Alvarez' formula could actually be a fit for the compellingly perverse "Alien" franchise, right? Indeed, one can ultimately appreciate that "Romulus" takes weird risks all too rare in Hollywood anymore, and that it is perhaps the only non-Ridley in its lineup with reverence for its potential as something greater than simply being the sophisticated Stallone to the lunkheaded Schwarzenegger alternative. Those risks and that reverence pair with an incredible retro-future design sense evoking the unmatched original, but they also conjoin with the aforementioned idiots as well as the current legacy sequel plague of nonsensical callbacks and horridly faked likenesses. This recipe for Alvarez' latest monotone haunted house makes for a batch not unworthy of consideration, but one whose savory notes are mired in a sour stew. Letterboxd.
Aliens (James Cameron)
Rightly remembered for James Cameron’s cinematic language and Stan Winston’s unrivaled creature work combining to bring forth the visually infamous final reveal. Sadly all else around that brilliant moment is a cheaper-feeling “more and bigger” approach to the exact same framework of the ‘79 original. The now flimsily excused and glaringly convenient progression of action proceeds in lockstep, but the individual monster is instead an army and the humans are instead heavily armed and the sassy cat is instead a cute kid. Ridley Scott’s film capitalizes on atmosphere and features almost entirely natural dialogue while playing at grander existential quandaries; Cameron’s is obnoxiously dopey and weighed down by a high volume of testosterone-fueled military bros. Worst of all, the only reason our perfect organism is feared this time is because it’s supposed to be. In going “more and bigger” the formerly apex threat has become the fodder, never showing up a single time without getting immediately shot to pieces. “Jason X” did it better. Letterboxd.
American Fiction (Cord Jefferson)
The real point seems to be telling a story with black characters that can't be defined by those characters being black, but in doing so it limply whiffs on its more direct social message.
Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (Adam McKay)
Twenty years ago I thought cinema had reached a new low. Irreverence has a limit, and it had been forgotten to volume. Will Ferrell was funnier in his SNL days anyway, right? And who even is that random fourth guy they cast alongside Steve Carrell and David Koechner? “Anchorman” is horribly dumb, and I was angry about it. Christina Applegate - and this glorious soundtrack - should be nowhere near such an insult to culture! Now, spontaneously revisiting what has become an icon of modern comedy, after years of increasingly reviling McKay’s machine gun sensibilities… I can see the blend of sketch and improv that manages feature length through parody of things I didn’t yet appreciate in 2004. A broad “Broadcast News” send-up. A non sequitur Jethro Tull reference that may be the best joke in the whole damn thing. Actual tongue-in-cheek cinematography humor. Vince Vaughn being the secret weapon he is. Chris Parnell simply existing. And yes, Paul freakin’ Rudd. Never did I guess maturation - as opposed to, well, the opposite - would be the key to understanding what worked about this lark on a mass level, yet here we are. “Anchorman” is still terribly, horribly dumb… but at least I’m not angry about it anymore. Letterboxd.
Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom (James Wan)
Astonishingly poor after its predecessor was astonishingly fun despite appearances. That it’s been spackled together from multiple reshoots glares through as it struggles to force Amber Heard’s floating head to be taken as seriously as Dolph Lundgren’s expository stratagem deliveries. How no one punched up the relentlessly juvenile script to begin with is a wonder. Wan can’t be blamed; he was clearly too busy surpassing his usual quota of sudden explosion interrupts. Perhaps it was all too much sweeping aside the heart of what worked the first time to cull sense from this one-dimensional promotion of… diplomatic clean energy solutions, I think? Thank goodness for the panacea of Patrick Wilson getting plenty brightly lit close-ups. Letterboxd.
Asteroid City (Wes Anderson)
Not the worst Wes has been to this point, but he's still so far up his own ass that almost nothing he's been putting out in recent years yields any value. 'Almost' because at least one of his four Roald Dahl shorts was pretty good ("The Swan").
Babygirl (Halina Reijn)
As the trailer forewarned, the casting is indeed an issue. Inconsistent characterization, half-hearted symbolism, and scattered plot intensification also glare - and I’ll hear out the modern feminist angle from someone actually able to unpack the muddled way it’s delivered here - but kinks be damned if you’ve got a loving Antonio Banderas at home you’re going to have to do better to convince me the skinny Elon Musk at work is that tempting. It’s far from the worst, but honestly it’s just kind of icky. Letterboxd.
Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (Tim Burton)
All I've ever wanted from a "Beetlejuice" sequel is to see Michael Keaton's hilarious mannerisms embody the title role once more, so I was never going to walk out of this dissatisfied. What a treat, then, that the reality of "Beetlejuice Beetlejuice" is a pretty darn decent movie. Too many subplots, but one must appreciate the originality at work especially when considering the majority of legacy sequels with more obligatory nostalgic bits. It's probably about on par with "Dark Shadows" - not a great film, but certainly several notches better than it needed to be.
Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F (Mark Molloy)
After "Coming 2 America" I had little faith in a subsequent Eddie Murphy legacy sequel, but the fun opening sequence flashed back to the video rental days of the "Beverly Hills Cop" predecessors. Admittedly I'm helped by not revering those priors so dearly to be at risk of finding this franchise's cheaper nostalgia bait too cloying, so there's plenty benefit to this doubt. After the heat is proverbially on, the flick does become rather hit and miss from scene to scene. Highlights include Nasim Pedrad as a very Nasim Pedrad-like realtor and John Ashton as the most cliche police chief possible complete with marital and digestive issues.
The Big Heat (Fritz Lang)
I suppose it’s unpopular to find “The Big Heat” unremarkable, but Lang’s career shift from Germany to America does confound me. The progenitor went from artform-forwarding works such as “Metropolis” and “M” to trifles like this. Maybe ol’ Fritz should have stuck to titles beginning with a certain letter? I’m sure I’d give the picture more leeway had it arrived sooner in the history of popular noir, but alas. There's nothing wrong here, really, just a basic story trying to get by on the hard-nosed detective and femme fatale stereotypes. Thankfully this would not be a consistent trend for Lang, as he followed with the far more intriguing "Human Desire".
Borderlands (Eli Roth)
At this point I may never grow out of the desire to see glammed-up actress babes kicking ass, but hey “Borderlands” is here to help. Very observably a post-production rescue project missing essential coverage, this cynical boardroom emission lacking any identifiable stamp from Eli Roth is like particle board furniture glued together from broken pieces. The cracks are showing. Letterboxd.
Brats (Andrew McCarthy)
I love “The Breakfast Club”, uneven as it can feel. “St. Elmo’s Fire” holds a deeply sentimental place for me, as well, and I relate most to Andrew McCarthy’s character for whatever that may be worth (a lot to McCarthy, apparently). “Pretty in Pink” is fairly awful, but made me care just enough to observe that everyone on ‘Team Duckie’ clearly missed the point. So yeah, I’m among those who discovered and latched on to Brat Pack films in young adulthood. I’m also someone who grew up the child of boarding school staff members, thus being known as a ‘faculty brat’ throughout my youth. Even as a kid I recognized that was just a handy label to refer to a group of people. Perhaps “military brats” can relate. And those aren’t even clever labels. Using a term referring to upstart youths to rhyme with “Rat Pack”? Qualified as at least slightly clever, and certainly ended there as far as intended meaning. It was catchy, anyway, enough so to certainly signal that anyone under it had made it in some way on the difficult Hollywood scene. Perhaps “The Bad Boys of Comedy” or any of the many other journalist-labeled celebrity associates can relate. I do know and try to practice the knowledge that it is nigh impossible to understand the psyche of celebrity unless you are also a celebrity, but all of this typing has basically been preface to the fact that this visually dry documentary is just McCarthy whining from mansion to mansion to people he swears never “hung out” but most of whom seem to recall having done so all while essentially vilifying a journalist who lives in a cruddy apartment and whose catalytic article is never detailed. These visits contain a spare few dull jewels of insight (which seemingly McCarthy himself is solely in need of) but are also rife with takes completely untethered from the contemporary monoculture. “Brats” is a frustrating trip through stunted and selfish misinterpretation that will hopefully leave the mind before any rewatch of the aforementioned darlings. Letterboxd.
A Countess from Hong Kong (Charlie Chaplin)
Two decades before Jason took Manhattan by spending most of the movie on a cruise ship with Jerseyites, Marlon Brando did the same for Hong Kong with Russians. This final Chaplin film closes as a mere curiosity from a troubled time in the screen legend’s life. Brando, suffering his pre-“Godfather” slump, feels lifelessly miscast in a role conceived for and by Chaplin’s own sensibilities. Loren fares better with the material but can’t alone fill the absence of intended romance. A spare few slapstick bits do briefly appear as faded shadows of brighter days when they intrude upon the otherwise charm-starved proceedings, delighting momentarily before melting from memory unlike the roll dance in “The Gold Rush” or the globe dance in “The Great Dictator”. It’s sad to say considering the creator, but the opening credits scene actually taking place in the title region - which has precious little to do with the remainder of the film - is far more evocative than anything else on offer. Letterboxd.
The Crimson Kimono (Samuel Fuller)
Michael Mann, who made the city of Los Angeles a character in "Collateral" and climaxed "Blackhat" with a confused chase through an eastern parade to name just two echoing touchstones, must love "The Crimson Kimono". A unique reverence for Japanese culture and what it meant to be a Japanese immigrant in 1950s America runs through an unexpected progression from an intriguing murder to a complicated love triangle to the poignant collision of it all. Fuller simply knows what's important to put on screen and how to move the camera to drive across the most essential meanings of a scene. There's a certain rawness and realism to his work, even though it's still undeniably a major studio release.
Dream Scenario (Kristoffer Borgli)
Several higher moments but validates concern that its trailer, despite greatness in itself, didn’t actually foretell a great film. Once you grasp what's being thinly symbolized the rest feels obligatory. Even if you’re still on board after that, it’s still overstayed its welcome by the end.
Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (George Miller)
Anya Taylor-Joy’s Charlize voice is so good it sounds like Charlize herself did the looping, but what the effing eff was that, George? Embarrassing pseudo-slop overloaded with elementary shock dialogue along the lines of "Oy, my name is Pissfart." I’m no "Fury Road" fan but I can appreciate it more now by comparison. None of the prior "Mad Mad" movies are especially great - this coming from the wierdo who likes the original best - but this is the first outright poor one. As with the "Star Wars" prequels it's clear a ton of creativity went in to what ended up on screen, but as with the "Star Wars" prequels the craftsmanship goes the way of the predestined narrative and takes a big hit when held up to what came before.
The Garfield Movie (Mark Dindal)
Those cows fucked. Letterboxd.
Godzilla × Kong: The New Empire (Adam Wingard)
A significant improvement upon the sludge that was its immediate predecessor. Still the same stuff, but with enough remixed to make for a much more enjoyable time.
A Good Person (Zach Braff)
An only relatively more mature outing from the self-involved Braff, who bears his influences like a face tattoo that reads “Steal from the best.” In writing the screenplay to help process his own loss, the former John Dorian has looked past giving his audience a reason to feel for the protagonist as anything more than a representation and leapt directly to challenge mode. And while he may have artful notions for what he wants taken from this story’s well-meaning but clumsy juggling of ‘A’ and ‘B’ plots, his method is to put those notions right in the mouths of his characters rather than convey them in even a slightly more subtle fashion. Regardless of how the film it’s promoting turns out, the “We Live in Time” trailer is already a better Florence Pugh-gets-in-a-car-accident-and-cuts-her-hair movie than “A Good Person”. Letterboxd.
Heathers (Michael Lehmann)
Upon second viewing, "Heathers" does not reveal itself to in fact be the good movie its continued popularity (and Diablo Cody's career) insist it to be, but I do now appreciate how immediately Lehmann establishes a tone of pastiche so the later ridiculousness can play without question. Is it irony that a satire about high school suicide self-perpetuating as they hit the news cycle prominently focuses on a school shooter type in a pre-Columbine era, when just 11 years later the Columbine shooting would similarly self-perpetuate through the news cycle?
Hell Drivers (Cy Endfield)
"Hell Drivers" rules.
Hit Man (Richard Linklater)
Would have fit nicely in the Golden Age.
The Holdovers (Alexander Payne)
Payne can be relied upon to lob the same pitch every time, and his familiar proud-yet-privately-troubled protagonist type hits with yet another definitively pleasant sojourn - this time through Hal Ashby territory - in 2023's easiest recommendation.
Human Desire (Fritz Lang)
Good, intriguing watch with one ball-kicker of a "The End" card.
The Iron Claw (Sean Durkin)
Shy of greatness as it fails to convey why it's telling the punishing story it's telling, though it's nice to see the old territory system represented on film. Apart from one obvious exception that would have been better achieved through archival footage, every wrestler is perfectly cast.
Jaws (Steven Spielberg)
Nearly fifty years later the film that drew from schlock hallmarks to define the modern blockbuster is still about as narratively ideal as you could ask for, willed to fruition through ragtag miracle and yanked across the finish line by you ladies of Spain— I mean… endearing focus on the bonds of fraternity. Same same. Letterboxd.
The Killer (David Fincher)
In the footsteps of "Thief" and "Drive", Fincher's streamer dalliance in '70s-esque revenge fare may just be the director's most worthy film since the '90s due in part to how fun it appears to have been to make compared to his usual joylessness.
Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes (Wes Ball)
The new “Planet of the Apes” films have remained fascinating as their focus on natural simian behaviors evolves along its advancing timeline. Of course it’s the series’ Moses figure in Andy Serkis’ Caesar that really imprinted on us, revitalizing a comfortably dead brand and bringing defiant heart to what could have more or less amounted to an “Avatar”-like spectacle. With Serkis now consulting behind the scenes, a widely clean slate for the franchise could be as concerning as returning to it at all ever has been. Thankfully “Kingdom” braves Caesar’s on-screen absence with a cast of worthy successors grappling with comprehension of their history and led by another biblically themed protagonist, the phonemes of whose name also come to cleverly echo at a key moment. The spirit of the preceding trilogy is truly alive and well with another deepening of its thoroughly realized ape society centered on primal necessity and explored through yet more morally complex conflicts heightened by meaningful action (with obligatory nods to the originals still being worked in with unparalleled tact). The next installment can’t arrive soon enough. Letterboxd.
Lisa Frankenstein (Zelda Williams)
Diablo Cody’s John Hughes-flavored “Edward Scissorhands” fan fiction may feel like it needs a few parts stitched back on, but it’s so winning it has me wondering if I owe “Scissorhands” itself a second chance. Williams & co. hold the right note throughout, even with Cody leaning more unnaturally quip-heavy than she has since "Juno". Letterboxd.
Madame Web (S.J. Clarkson)
I'm the guy who liked "Catwoman", so when the Internet pre-judged "Madame Web" I got ready to find the qualities that would make it a hidden gem. The Internet was right. That this constantly laughable thing even got greenlit should be an inspiration to all aspiring writers. I could leave it there as an attempt to emphasize just how astonishingly poor the script is, but maybe it's even worse than that as it completely whiffs on its lone interesting element. See, the villain's entire goal is to prevent his own death, but in attempting to prevent it he gives the heroes a reason to band together in opposition of him... but this is a movie that underlines every development with several lines of clunky exposition, so I honestly think the writers didn't notice this particular irony simply because they did not underline it.
Maestro (Bradley Cooper)
Off to quite the rocky start with an actor's first act focused on elevating performance while throwing entirely too much at the wall, Cooper's "Maestro" - a passion project about passion itself - discovers a sure foot when it becomes less than idyllic in its switch to what we'll call Technicolor. The principles melt into their snapshots of people who only love, and the sophomore eye we glimpse leaves the hearts it's just ripped from our chests at least curious what it may next deliver.
Megalopolis (Francis Ford Coppola)
Coppola either elegantly indulges in his vineyards while introspectively considering the masterworks of Plato and Bosch and Méliès, et al… or he boozes on a Barcalounger binging The History Channel. Either way, many wish to create something this grand and this grandly realized for better or for worse (which may, in fact, be the question), and Frankie went and did it so kudos to ‘im. This likely capstone may be more interesting than it is independently good, but it sure is good enough to be interesting. And hey, what other movie is going to scratch our itches for both “The Tempest” and “Midnight Cowboy”? I do wonder whether it was taste, restraint, or apathy that kept Trump out of the montage. Letterboxd.
Mythica: Stormbound (Jake Stormoen)
While each subsequent entry has been an arguable improvement over the last, the generic fantasy setting of "Mythica" has always been easy to take as read. Whether recruiting heroes in a quaint village, magically dueling atop a sinister tower, or even "Mad Max"-ing through baddie-infested forests, these D&D-like budget retreats have always wisely remained character driven with only essential lore thrown in as if a carry-on of travel-sized toiletries. Who knew it would take the stripped-down strangers-stranded-at-an-inn mystery construct to finally do some intriguing world building through dialogue? With perennial con hunk Jake Stormoen (Dagen of the five preceding films) now behind the camera and his "Outpost" pal Justin Partridge once again holding the pen, this fan-funded franchise remains in the hands of those who love it most and that critical element continues to shine. Melanie Stone's Marek is missed - admittedly from a series where departures have hardly felt permanent - but her legacy has affectingly seeded in our new principles who leave us aching for whatever's next. Letterboxd.
Napoleon (Ridley Scott)
Little is more fascinating than the stories of those who translated their ambitions into world-shaping achievements for better and for worse. While Napoleon Bonaparte’s Freudian purpose is excellently portrayed here through Vanessa Kirby’s Josephine, the germs of the Eurasian goliath's geopolitical importance and battlefield prowess remain glaring omissions from what results as an unintentionally partial portrait. Late-career Ridley is regal as ever but falls short of this critical connection between the whys and the hows, leaving us helpless in otherwise surmounting Joaquin Phoenix’ choice to play English-speaking-Frenchman by evoking his infamous Letterman interview. Letterboxd.
Nutcrackers (David Gordon Green)
At this point I’m not sure Green will ever make a great movie, but he sure has cranked out an enviable number of good ones. “Nutcrackers” feels a bit more from the director of “Halloween Ends” than of, say, “Prince Avalanche”, and for having such a simple plot it sure begs a number of logic leaps, but the nearly Linkerlater-esque approach to capturing children being children wins in the end. The cynically holly jolly marketing foretells the whimsical tone, and both bely the constantly sad concept of it all that makes the stronger moments sing. At what must have been an hour and 37 minutes in my nine-year-old said, “Wait, is that Kevin Bacon?” And, you know what? Bacon and Stiller have in fact started to resemble one another. Letterboxd.
On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray)
For a film about redemption on rural reassignment, Ray spends too long establishing the antihero's urban motives before booting him to the boonies. The whole does work swell, in part due to the deeper familiarity with that lead character, though one is left waiting for more city-side resolution for the same reason.
Oppenheimer (Christopher Nolan)
Famous people talk at you for three hours, and Nolan doesn't even want to let you in on the full conversation until well over halfway through. And, nit-picky, but the movie about the H-bomb guy used a gas explosion special effect. Nolan's second-worst after "Following".
Planet of the Apes (Franklin J. Schaffner)
When I first took the "Apes" for a spin around 20 years ago, I found the pre-apes section boring and the more interesting apes stuff cheesy due to the costumes that have never worked for me despite my general adoration of the era's effects. Giving it another shot now that I'm smitten with the new Millennium "Apes" in hopes it might propel me to finally check out the '70s sequels (which hasn't yet happened, for better or for worse), I found myself impressed with the just barely post-"Star Trek" and still pre-"2001" depiction of cryogenic technology and planetary desolation. But then those damn cheesy costumes showed up, and the very camera-conscious Charlton Heston started growling catchphrases through his teeth, and I lost interest very quickly. I will say that the build to the infamous twist is nicely accomplished. So... I've found some respect for the film, but these original apes are still not my bag.
Priscilla (Sofia Coppola)
Unmistakable semi-surreal teen tone effectively portraying an alternate side to the story now that we've all seen the Luhrmann film. Odd Elvis casting, though it all does enough to get over that hump.
Rebel Moon - Part Two: The Scargiver (Zack Snyder)
Well that's unfortunate.
Road House (Doug Liman)
We all wish to be as effortlessly badass as a Jake Gyllenhaal to whom peril doesn’t register. In another case of a remake original enough it could have just been named something else, that we recognize our hero to be untouchable matters not. Though we can also guess the setup and payoff beats as they come, the simply delightful satisfaction is in witnessing resolutions in the form of those untouchable fists going to work on threat after stacking threat. In gator country, our guy’s an invasive crocodile. Why a whole singularly gorgeous county of goons with guns is so blindly terrorizing this bouncer croc may make about as much sense as some of the most exploitative ‘70s flicks it shares spirit with, but that meat’s enough for the aim. Liman, ever ready to be a fresh breeze through stale action genre air, presents riveting and critically comprehensible fight scenes proud to be the main attraction without sacrificing levity - these island toughs are as amusing to laugh with as they are despicably punchable. Clever photography leads head-whipping perspective through established geography, and we always know which brute is which and what the consequences of their wallops could mean. Certain editing tricks used to make impacts hit harder may be a bit much, and it’s not clear what the introduction of a backup bouncer character brings to the pot luck other than a few extraneous cutaways, but given all else so be it. What a blast. Letterboxd.
Saturday Night (Jason Reitman)
Reitman delivers exactly what he set out to exactly as well as he set out to deliver it. While many elements are too exaggerated to feel true to the timeframe, the detailed work of the art departments and especially the array of studied performances create an astoundingly 1:1 vision of iconic '70s "Saturday Night Live" figures on the precipice of becoming television rock stars.
The sea lions' home (James H. White)
There is something so beautifully haunting about this rocky glimpse at the semi-exotic, perhaps the most unique of our preserved Edison reels… or at least my personal favorite as it stands out distinctly from the rest of its surviving collection as well as importantly in my own memory. Letterboxd.
Slingshot (Mikael Håfström)
Got some leftover spaceship sets from your last picture, and a stack of unused sci-fi scripts? Why not make "Slingshot"! The plot develops precisely as any semi-practiced moviegoer should expect it to, but leaves things just ambiguous enough that you'll have something to mull over on your ride home. Nothing special, but hey - mix in a couple appealing actors and it's a perfectly fine way to be entertained for a spell.
So Long at the Fair (Antony Darnborough, Terence Fisher)
The pre-Hammer Fisher's tone swept me off right away. The mystery's ultimate solution is... dubious to say the least, but not ruinously so.
Sonic the Hedgehog 3 (Jeff Fowler)
Easily becomes the best of these, actually functioning as an enjoyably uncorked comedy weighed not down by technical series staples such as journeyman effects work and the various human characters feeling awkwardly isolated from one another. It’s still very much the same two-rungs-above-Tubi Original budgetary logistics consumer item the first two were, yet now enough of a proven success to let loose a little and shake out the intrusive product placement. Like, the cool and powerful new character may only be cool and powerful because he’s supposed to be, but at least he’s given something of a “Rambo” angle to make him semi-interesting, you know? And hey, while I might have personally preferred “Garbage Pail Kids”-style costumes over CG, and I do anticipate Corridor Crew poking fun at James Marsden’s JPEG hand, I’ve got to JPEG hand it to the artists who made it really look like Jim Carrey was acting off himself as grandfather and son. Carrey may only be doing these because he “bought a lot of stuff,” but he’s this third installment’s secret main character and actually seeming to have the kind of fun with it that translates directly to the audience experience. Ben Schwartz jokes that he wants to make 15 “Sonic” movies; I say bring it on. That’s definitely the Genesis-kid-who’s-now-a-dad in me speaking there, as well as the part of me that went easy on “The Twilight Saga: Eclipse” since it actually somewhat resembled a real movie after a lesser precedent had been set, but the family and I did genuinely have a much-needed good time with this thing. Besides, who doesn’t want Donut Lord Marsden to keep living on easy street? Oh, and finally… I earnestly believe Bob Dylan himself would agree the Traveling Wilburys and Q-Tip indeed belong on the same soundtrack. Letterboxd.
Tetsuo: The Iron Man (Shinya Tsukamoto)
Fucked as fuck. Pair it with "Begotten" and get the perfect double feature for psychos.
Tugboat Annie (Mervyn LeRoy)
The pacing does taper despite the short running time, but Marie Dressler's biggest - yet now widely forgotten - sound film is a wonderful blend of broad comedy and touching familial drama.
Twisters (Lee Isaac Chung)
As simplistic as the ‘90s-entrenched original is dopey and at least one third as charismatic or less, “Twisters” delivers what it needs to and little more. It’s a popcorn-muncher passable for intense and just-grounded-enough-to-be-believed storm sequences, and for Glen Powell’s pretty face. And for being a rare legacy sequel that doesn’t push the nostalgia factor to sickening degrees. By the end one may actually wonder why several foreshadowed call-backs have not in fact arrived, as if they’d been planned before plans changed. The key archetypal subversion does work well enough, though. Where it all falters most is when its tornadoes repeatedly explode out of nowhere with zero buildup. We’ll accept it because, hey, we paid to see tornadoes… and Glen Powell’s pretty face. Letterboxd.
Unfrosted (Jerry Seinfeld)
Has its absurdly humorous moments - many thanks to Bobby Moynihan - but widely plays as something that was surely much funnier in theory than in practice.
Vacation Friends 2 (Clay Tarver)
A double-down on the ephemeral lightning that was “Vacation Friends” could have been and probably should have been an essential remake with new punchlines a la the disappointing “Wayne’s World 2” & “Zoolander 2”, etcetera. What embarks so typically at first - with efficient as-read setup and the introduction of several zany new characters - swiftly diverges, maintaining in comic sensibility but mining the previously established to forge an ostensibly higher stakes adventure despite inevitably lesser returns. But as we desperately scour 2023’s offerings to rediscover our annual justifications to endure this cinephile obsession, let’s also just appreciate sheer utilitarianism when it hits. When what could have been titled “Vacation Friends: Ghost Recon” decides to cut every economic corner while gouging its heels where humor lives (the medium shot, of course), isn’t the important thing simply that it makes us laugh? I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed— wait, what movie am I talking about? Oh, they made a sequel to that? I should check it out; the first one was funny. Letterboxd.
The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer)
It feels inappropriate to say "this could have been an e-mail." The shoes at the end got me, but they get everyone who goes to that museum, so... a bit of a cheat there.
