We have come to a crossing in the road which we can’t, nor should, ignore.

I started The Burrow Reviews as somewhat of a passion project. The site was born in the holiday season of 2017, a year in which I had spent several months prior reeling with grief. My relationship with loss has never been a primary focus of the content I’ve provided through the publication—or blog, whichever you’d prefer. But it did provide me an outlet to express my creativity and love of cinema; something my mother and I shared before she passed.

What started as a means of healing became a fixation. Days and nights, months and years passed. After launching the site, I decided I needed to tackle an even larger learning curve: YouTube. I learned to code, navigated non-linear editing software, flexed my knowledge of audio and video equipment. Skills that I hadn’t quite grasped before became critical functions in the work I did. We launched a podcast, Into the Burrow (now known as Cine-ish) to discuss the television landscape of the late 2010s and provide our audience a more intimate picture of our lives.

Somewhere along the lines, the goal shifted from utilizing my education of film to discuss and critique major studio pictures to supporting grassroots filmmakers across the entire world. Our platform on the web became a staple of true independent productions and uplifting the whispered voices that hadn’t yet been found. The success we found from our coverage of mainstream entertainment culture set new eyes on these smaller projects, and for that I couldn’t be more thankful. After all, we’d been working with other creators and artists in the foreground on work you may have not ever heard of and it was wholly fulfilling.

We altered our entire branding strategy from 2022-2024 and decided to go in a different direction. No longer were we just providing only reviews and news coverage—we transformed to TBR Media. Video essays became the most popular staple on our YouTube channel and we leaned heavily into that. In addition, we carefully produced several specialty-content pieces that we hoped would bring more of our personalities to central focus. Drunk Trivia, Close-up, and Boiling Points. All passion projects—and still, each one of them failed to capture positive traction. Maybe it was the production quality or just a handful of bad ideas, but we remain proud of the work we accomplished.

For 2025, the focus has shifted yet again. After a nearly eight month hiatus we are returning to our path of content creation. Only, we’re adapting to a simplified approach: podcasting, streaming, and occasional videos. Sadly, this means that we leave behind some important work in the past: namely, independent film coverage. We deeply appreciate all the artists and filmmakers that helped create a vibrant independent media circuit who help shape the trajectory of local art in all corners of the planet. Thank you, again, for many wonderful years of heartfelt indie spirit. This may mean that you are no longer on board for the ride moving forward, and we completely understand and owe you are deepest gratitude.

Behind the scenes, we’ve been slowly upgrading equipment, planning our flagship content, and working towards developing new strategies of engagement. We’ll be sure to share more on this in the upcoming weeks, but rest assured that not everything is changing. Video essays, reviews, and Cine-ish will remain a key part of TBR Media. If you’ve come to us for industry news over the years on YouTube or via the podcast, we want to ensure you that while coverage may look different—it will ultimately be a secondary area of focus. Discussion of entertainment related news will be filtered into videos, podcasts, and streams; and we encourage comments, questions, or super chats pertaining to various topics.

With all that being said, we thank you for your continued support throughout this journey over the years. Expect a more unfiltered, raw version of our hosts present in streams, videos, and podcasts going into the new year. There will be more articles, more comedy, and less seriousness (where applicable). Let’s make it fun. Let’s celebrate creativity, passion, and entertainment—especially in these next few years as chaos ensues in our politics and online discourse. Now more than ever, TBR Media is…

Your Movie Refuge.

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Nothing quite changes your perception more than time, itself.

A classmate introduces teenage Owen to a mysterious late-night TV show -- a vision of a supernatural world beneath their own. In the pale glow of the television, Owen's view of reality begins to crack.

— Official Synopsis

Writer-director Jane Schoenbrun (We’re All Going to the World’s Fair) is back for another film centered firmly in a coming-of-age sandbox. This time, the focus is on two teenagers’ obsession with an older, supernatural TV show called The Pink Opaque. Owen (Justice Smith) and Maddy (Brigette Lundy-Paine) develop a deep, interpersonal relationship over their love for the property slowly. Maddy, in many ways, acts as Owen’s personal guide to the central lore of The Pink Opaque. He goes as far as pretending to stay with another friend so he can sneak away to Maddy’s house and catch a 10pm screening of the live program. Of course, any admission that he enjoys watching The Pink Opaque is met with scrutiny from his father who claims the program is “for girls.” Still, his mother—trapped in a tempered state of reservation—remains a quieting comfort for young Owen. As he grows older, his relationship with Maddy is strained before she mysteriously disappears, and the static of life becomes overwhelming.

I Saw The TV Glow explores the youth’s relationship to technology. It does so, not only by navigating the modern-day challenges of building relationships with other people, but in showing how reality is at risk of fracturing. Often, stories feel more real than even our own life; like we’re tertiary characters to someone ele’s narrative. For Owen, this couldn’t feel more accurate. Of course, connection to other people produces a certain level of satisfaction in life; but beyond the two most important woman in his life (his mother and Maddy), he can’t quite seem to bridge the gap. Human connection is pinnacle to sharing experiences, developing morals, and learning to overcome challenging social situations. For all the benefits of technology, it has become somewhat of a cultural barrier for younger generations in grappling with their most basic conditioning. Shoenbrun emphasizes the filmic medium, in particular, as a way to usher the audience into the devastating surrealism of isolation.

Eric Yue’s cinematography couples well with the grunge-like production design from Brandon Tonner-Connolly. There’s an airiness—perhaps, ethereal—quality to the visual landscape of I Saw The TV Glow. The visual radiance can be overwhelming in certain sequences, but the contrast and chiaroscuro in each frame is eerily stunning; the soundscapes and musical compositions are just as impactful. Similarly, The Pink Opaque’s strong tonal aesthetic makes it wholly individualistic and certainly not entirely kid-friendly; no wonder it was scheduled for late nights. Even more intriguing is the parallel between the horrors of The Pink Opaque and the world our two leads exist in. Mr. Melancholy is the series’ antagonist and is unequivocally frightening. Owen and Maddy are haunted, metaphorically, by his presence in real life because, well, he materializes in their life’s daily. Both characters are severely lacking friendship, and their homes are spaces of hostility. Trapped in an endless abyss of dejection, the only solace they find is in observing a slice of reality through the television. Beyond the rich, subtextual queerness of The Pink Opaque, they both see an honesty in its representation of life.

Thus, the brilliance of I Saw The TV Glow: existentialism through the prism of the content we consume on a regular basis. For Owen and Maddy, the more obscure nature of The Pink Opaque resembles their abstract view on life. The show’s nightmarish skew, shaves a more general audience from the pool of regular viewers; and they find comfort in the absurdity of the subject matter. Horror has historically given a sizeable space to explore “otherness” in media. Often presenting a dream-like construct to push the boundaries of reality itself, the genre’s thematic resonance can be taken to an extreme through shock, mystery, and violence. However, the brilliance in the construction of The Pink Opaque is much more subdued. It’s a type of terror that can most thoroughly be expressed through a feeling we get from some of the more chilling visuals (Mr. Melancholy and the other monsters) rather than an outright frightening occurrence with the use of gore.

As we grow up with Owen and Maddy over the years, it becomes evident that time is more than just a narrative tool—it’s a character, itself. As Owen begins to reconcile with his upbringing, he rewatches The Pink Opaque. To his surprise, it’s entirely different from how he remembers it [a Mandela Effect of sorts]. His perception of the past is profoundly jaded. Owen was uncertain whether he liked girls or boys, but he was sure that he liked TV shows—and he loved The Pink Opaque, more than anything. So why did that change? It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what might have caused this, other than the realization that the life he’s had isn’t exactly fulfilling. He had several opportunities to accept his true reality but kept ignoring the signs. Adversely, Maddy recognizes a dire need for change—a hunger to escape her predestined fate—and seizes on the opportunity to do so. Meanwhile, Owen relives the past over-and-over again; never fully accepting himself or the life he chose.

Schoenbrun’s latest piece ultimately calls on the viewer to “wake up.” I Saw The TV Glow serves as a warning that we need to find ourselves outside of the media we consume while being unapologetic in our own identity. Finding comfort in the stories we watch unfold on screen is okay—and can even act as safe places for exploring emotional vulnerability during difficult times—but we can’t get trapped in the static of being a passive actor. By the end of the film, Owen at least understands the decisions that led him to this point in the story but, ultimately, it’s too late to take action and make a dramatic change. Through its erratic surrealism, and Shoenbrun’s calculated direction, the perceptive horror of I Saw The TV Glow makes for a rather crushing experience. An experience that you will certainly ponder for a long time after finishing the film. Yet, there’s an underlying optimism that supersedes the tonal despair the viewer may feel. You just have to flip through a few more layers of subtext to find it: and avoid Mr. Melancholy at all costs.

While I enjoyed the experience overall, the film does have several imperfections. I Saw The TV Glow’s focus on thematic intent is admirable, but Owen and Maddy’s very literal story is brushed to side as the metaphorical nature of the film prevents the viewer from a clear resolution. Muddled together, the narrative baseline becomes riddled with heady questions of existentialism throughout the third act. The impact is, perhaps, most prevalent on Maddy’s character—essentially vanishing much like her character early on in the film. Lundy-Paine and Smith’s entertainingly absurd performances are ultimately in service of the subtextual elements and bear no weight on the actual story. We’re left with a lingering incompleteness fueled by the scripting and a few key choices in the edit. I quite often enjoy more metaphorical and allegoric interpretations of art, but I was curious to see a final resolution for this film that never came. Still, Schoenbrun’s I Saw The TV Glow manages to capture my imagination and demands conversation. I am eagerly waiting to see what they’ll have in store for us next.

★★★★

NR - Horror (11 minutes)

dir. Richard Russell

Starring: Heather Bayles and James L. Edwards

“It's not easy being a franchise Horror icon. Everyone can use a little help and that includes deformed serial killer Jacob Vorski. Lucky for him, that help comes in the form of Adrienne Palmer. In this exclusive interview, get a behind-the-scenes look at the inner workings of mass slaughter.”

— Official Synopsis

Jacob’s Little Helper serves as the perfect fan-film turned spoof for horror aficionados. With witty callbacks to several retro-slasher icons of the past, this Friday the 13th rebrand is a love letter to the genre and has a lot of fun in turning the classic “serial killer” narrative on its head. Adrienne Palmer (Heather Bayles) sits down for an exclusive with Roy Weiand (James L. Edwards) to discuss life as a mass murderer’s accomplice; a delicate twist on the subject—opting to follow a glorified assistant rather than the killer or victims. After all, Jacob Vorski (the heralded legend) isn’t exactly the talkative kind.

The film boasts some gnarly special effects and uses intercuts wisely to keep the a cap on the limited production budget. Shot compositions are tactfully selected to make both the interview and kills feel consistently kinetic and fresh. Oozing with meta-commentary, the plot does take a few liberties to ensure that the filmmakers’ creativity can be satisfied. Not to mention, it’s quite difficult to pinpoint exactly where the story will go. If it’s overly self-aware, should we expect to be surprised? And, in closing: yes.

It’s a project that doesn’t take itself too seriously and, in turn, the cast and crew are able to let loose with some fun antics. Jacob hates copycat killers, but even worse: he has a deep disdain for fan films. Jacob’s Little Helper may just be a celebration of the popular genre franchises of the past, but it’s also a repudiation of terrible fan films that often lack originality. However, we can safely say that the film avoids being too serious or creatively bankrupt. Stay tuned after the credits for a little fun with the cast and crew!

Jacob’s Little Helper was submitted to the 21 Days of Horror Festival where it won two awards, including second place for the best woman-led film.

[Everyone Liked That]

In a future, post-apocalyptic Los Angeles brought about by nuclear decimation, citizens must live in underground bunkers to protect themselves from radiation, mutants and bandits.

— Official Synopsis

Fallout has captivated audiences for decades with its immersive world-building and thought-provoking narratives set in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The recent transition from video game to a TV show adaptation marked a significant milestone for the franchise, promising to bring the rich tapestry of the universe to life on the small screen. Let’s explore the evolution of Fallout from its origins as a game series to its adaptation as a character-driven TV show—and what Prime Video managed to get right [with near perfect accuracy].

The concept of Fallout emerged from the creative minds at Interplay Entertainment in 1997, introducing players to a world devastated by nuclear war. The original game set the stage for a series known for its dark humor, moral choices, and retro-futuristic aesthetics. As the franchise evolved, so too did its roster of characters, each with their own stories, motivations, and conflicts. The focus on bringing more even more choice and power to the player became a cornerstone exercise in this devastated sandbox from publisher Bethesda Game Studios. The evolution from the very first Fallout to the likes of Fallout 4, and even the controversial release of Fallout 76, has been fascinating to experience from a fan’s perspective. Yet, the series remains popular for gaming enthusiasts and newcomers alike. I would consider myself a casual fan, yet I can confidently say that some of the most special gaming moments for me have happened in the world of Fallout.

The franchise has always placed a strong emphasis on character development, allowing players to shape the fate of their protagonist and interact with a diverse cast of NPCs (non-playable characters). From companions to adversaries, these characters play a crucial role in shaping the player's journey through the wasteland. However, the true magic of the game series lies in the perspective of the player. How does the gamer respond to their surroundings and changing environmental threats? Well, the choice is [mostly] up to them. And so, Prime Video and series showrunners Geneva Robertson-Dworet and Graham Wagner needed to successfully convey the franchise’s unique tone all while crafting a narrative resonance for viewers new to the property.

Transitioning to television presented an opportunity to delve even deeper into the lives and motivations of these characters; and by extension, an opportunity to flirt with the different iterations of play-styles from the games, themselves. The Fallout TV show introduces new protagonists while also reimagining fan-favorite characters or moments from the games. From the enigmatic lone survivor to the morally ambiguous faction leaders, each character is given the opportunity to shine and undergo meaningful arcs of growth and development. The showrunners crafted three protagonists that embody elements familiar to long-time players, each of whom navigate the radioactive desert in a different capacity—much like how players would make wholly different decisions in-game.

From a naive vault dweller, to a hardened outlaw, and a lowly squire, there’s no shortage of interesting plot. Ella Purnell plays Lucy MacLean, a happy-go-lucky citizen of Vault 33; born and raised in the vault, her attitude is one of rainbows and butterflies [especially comparative to the surface dwellers]. Purnell’s performance gushes with objective morality—which can be both sheepish and unapologetically cute. Lucy’s story existing in a pseudo-normalized environment clashes with the reality of the world outside of her bubble. On the other side of the coin there’s The Ghoul. Walton Goggins is especially fascinating to watch as his path is laid before the audience as a warning that Lucy could end up being corrupted the just the same. Once a Hollywood star, Cooper Howard (Goggins) has perhaps the most thematic resonance: a true family man whose morality leads to a devastating point of no return. Or, simply just a carbon-copy of a player who unleashes a bullish mania into the barren lands.

Then, there’s Maximus played by Aaron Moten—who singlehandedly has my favorite line of the entire show. I quite literally spit out my drink during this interaction. As a member of the Brotherhood, his environment is just as harsh as everybody else’s on the surface. Being a pawn in a larger political game, Maximus must gain the courage to overcome his adversaries and demand a level of ownership for this destiny; he is written in such a way that resembles a player who has been thrust into this hell-scape and is learning that he has more autonomy that he previously thought possible. In many ways, though, he is the tritagonist, secondary to both Lucy and The Ghoul. Whether it seems as such, there is a tangible RPG element to these characters and the way in which they represent different styles of role-playing.

At the heart of the show are the intricate dynamics and relationships between these characters and where their paths may cross. Whether forging alliances, facing off against enemies, or navigating the complexities of the wasteland, these interactions drive the narrative forward and provide insight into the human condition in extreme circumstances. And the best part? The showrunners found a way to engage the audience with even more heart than anticipated; radiating a unwavering love for the franchise. Finding Moldaver (Sarita Choudhury), the series big-bad, serves as the main quest for Lucy, but there’s so much fun to be had along the way that the show perfectly encapsulates what it’s like to get sidetracked in the game. Often times, the side quests are much more enjoyable anyways—and it certainly is in the show. From ruthless warlords to charismatic cult leaders, the world is populated by a colorful cast of characters with their own agendas and ambitions.

For example, I could have cared less about the politics of the vault dwellers. However, I was quickly convinced that there’s a interesting story to be told through the perspective of Norm (Moises Arias). How can Betty (Leslie Uggams) be so sweet and menacing?

If you would have told me that Prime Video’s Fallout would be able to trap the spirit of the games while delivering a tender exploration of character and morality, I would have laughed. However, breaking through the performances and tonal wittiness there is an abundance of immersive drama. But its greatness shouldn’t be measured only by the quality of writing and acting, the actual story structure and layering technique to slowly unravel Vault-Tec’s sinister product was satisfying for someone with a handful of knowledge about the lore itself. Flashbacks are [often] a tired way to perfectly center exposition for audience’s digesting new or revealing information; yet, I was consistently engaged with both the past and present.

Fallout doesn’t tick every box on this fanboy’s wishlist, though. Sure, the show handles the Pip-Boys, health packs, and other in-game elements with ease but where are the super mutants? Los Angeles is the center of the narrative, after all, and The Enclave exists here [ignore the lore timeline]. Let’s also talk about the Shady Sands problem. If New Vegas takes place after the show’s current timeline and Shady Sands was very much alive and well under the New California Republic (NCR), why has the town been decimated by another hydrogen bomb? These are questions that either will be revealed in Season 2 or have been entirely ignored for the series. Still, it’s a largely faithful adaptation and most fans would agree. But what’s up with the binge release strategy? The series could have benefitted greatly from a weekly release strategy. I nearly avoided watching any of it as I was roughly a week behind everyone else who had finished already.

Seeing as my social media feeds were nothing but Fallout memes for a straight week, I was persuaded to check it out and was even tempted to re-download a few of the games. Speaking of: since its debut, the Steam numbers for Fallout 76 have reached an all-time high. Fallout 4 was even able to reach an eight-year peak shortly after the release of the show. It’s no surprise then, Fallout has been renewed for a second season with Prime Video. The series has left a lasting impact on audiences, thanks in large part to its richly drawn characters and compelling performances, especially from Purnell and Goggins. Viewers have become emotionally invested in the fates of their new favorite characters, and the momentum has been harnessed for a successful, long-running adaptation—unlike another popular game adaptation we know that rhymes with Master Beef...

Prime Video’s adaptation stands as a testament to the enduring appeal of character-driven drama in the post-apocalyptic genre. With its richly drawn cast, intricate relationships, and thought-provoking themes, the show offers a compelling exploration of humanity in extreme circumstances. It serves as the perfect extension of an RPG-style narrative with its positioning of the three leads and playful journey. As Fallout continues to evolve for the silver screen, one thing remains clear: in the wasteland, it is the characters who truly define the story, their actions shaping the fate of the world around them. And unlike playing in the giant, radioactive sandbox ourselves, we have no control.

Check out the full first season on Prime Video.

★★★★

Drama, Fantasy, International (104 minutes)

dir. Federico J. Arioni

Starring: José Manuel Gutierrez, Federico J. Arioni, Lara Ammi Wheeler

When a teenager with psychological problems meets an eccentric masked guy who claims to be a time traveler, he decides to spend the afternoons with him trying to learn how to be normal so that his overwhelming mother doesn't put him in a military high school.

— Official Synopsis

As someone who has always struggled with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), I’ve wanted nothing more than to escape reality for most of my life. Perhaps, the very diagnosis that hinders my daily existence is half the reason I find solace in the cinema. To enter a fictionalized reality and completely erase my everyday anxiety—even for just a few minutes—allows me a sea of comfort. Believe me, it sounds extreme but you should see how staged my home looks; my particular OCD reveals itself in physical space. Others have…well, a different experience.

For instance, Rafa’s (José Manuel Gutierrez) infatuation with the screen prevents him from living a normal life. We first are introduced to our main character in Nobody is Crazy through voiceover—we learn that his adopted family doesn’t understand him and, in turn, he doesn’t quite understand the surrounding world. As he speaks to his mother at the kitchen table one morning, his eyes wander to the static screen across the room. Rafa certainly has a disdain for his atypical behavior, yet he refuses to conform to the expectations of others. Even the criteria set by his own family.

But when a mysterious, masked figure named Nadie (Federico J. Arioni) claims to be a time traveler, he’s forced to confront reality and reconcile his own psychological baggage. Nobody is Crazy presents an enticing narrative about our own fate and how much control we have over it. The manifestation of this otherworldly presence in Rafa’s life presents a challenge of faith. It’s analogous to his own compulsion of living through fiction. Is Nadie telling the truth about his adventures? Is the man really just an escaped asylum patient? Does it even matter?

Writer-director Arioni reinforces these parallels through a playfully, clever script and heightened by Germán Salvador’s swelling soundscapes. As a persistent narrator can often be overwhelming to a general audience, Arioni tactfully employs the narration as more of a guiding head-voice to enlighten the viewer with touching meta commentary. Commentary that challenges the audience to embrace heady, internal dialogue within themselves about life’s purpose. Arioni states, “If everything is predestined, then do our decisions matter?” The film refuses to accept that our past—our trauma—should be ignored. No matter how big or small.

Additionally, the filmmakers took extra care in the production to make the best version of this film possible. Jonatan Robledo’s sharp cinematography allows the performances from Arioni, Gutierrez, and Lara Ammi Wheeler (Daria) to center the action on themselves. I was especially impressed with the use of deep-focus and wide frames to isolate the characters for moments of reflection. Pay even closer attention to how effective the use of intercuts are in the third act, as I was floored with the tonal shift and care given to the story, itself.

Indeed, the film is meant to be somewhat of a mind-bending exercise, yet it avoids accentuating the tired tropes familiar to the genre. Nobody is Crazy offers a tender coming-of-age tale, bubbling with authenticity and pure intention. No other indie film I’ve seen this year is as objectively clear in its moral authority. Regardless of his true reality, Rafa will learn that time isn’t just a barrier to shatter but, perhaps, the greatest tool we have to chart our own destiny.

Nobody is Crazy premiered at Cine Teatro Español of Neuquén on August 5th, 2019. It had another screening in the same place on November 14th of the same year. On February 5th, 2020, it was screened at Ciclo de Cine Patagonico, in Plottier. Between 2019 and 2021 was screened at festivals in USA, India and Mexico.

Released on Blu-Ray on November 22, 2022 in the United States distributed by Bayview Entertainment. And on digital platforms such as Amazon Prime, Tubi, Apple TV+ and Vimeo On Demand in December of the same year.

A woman plotting her course to freedom. How delightful.

Brought back to life by an unorthodox scientist, a young woman runs off with a lawyer on a whirlwind adventure across the continents. Free from the prejudices of her times, she grows steadfast in her purpose to stand for equality and liberation.

— Official Synopsis

Yorgos Lanthimos and Emma Stone are a cinematic duo that I’ll never tire from. The Favourite (2018) landed firmly in my Top 10 list for that year, in part because Lanthimos has a particular filmic craft that lends itself to the actor’s greatest strengths; his stories are often doused in an oddity with a playful tinge, and more recently elevated by Stone’s wit and tactful deliveries. While there’s typically a central lead in his projects, they do often resemble a complete ensemble piece—this especially true in the latest from the director, Poor Things: the cast solidly rounded by Mark Ruffalo, Ramy Youssef, and Willem Dafoe. Writing credits on this one go to Tony McNamara, who penned the script for The Favourite and consistently demonstrates that intentionality matters. The film does placate to a mainstream audience (certainly more-so than previous works), but Lanthimos’ aesthetic remains unbreakable. In Poor Things, we see the return of the fish-eyed lens and intriguing low-angle compositions from cinematographer Robbie Ryan. But there’s even more chewable subtext to ponder than previous works like The Favourite and The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017), as Lanthimos opts to flip the script on his nihilistic tendency to explore the wonders of youthful naivety.

Bella Baxter (Emma Stone) is profoundly naive. It’s not her fault though, as Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe) employs unorthodox methods to revive the woman, who tragically passed, in pure Frankensteinian fashion. Bella’s figure is of a fully developed woman but there’s a small caveat: all of her language and motor development must be re-constructed, too. Godwin may be “God” after all, but no surgical fix exists for cultural development beyond frequent exposure to the larger society. Of course, Godwin being a man of science doesn’t give him permission to alter the evolutionary nature of a human life. Through his process, though, he gives Bella a second chance at a [hopefully] more fulfilling life. What happens next, is purely her decision and dependent on how she responds to the “real world” so-to-speak. Poor Things revels in a feminist coming-of-age sandbox with a deeply jaded, but accurate, worldview. On this very premise, an inherent conflict exists between the naivety of a young woman (in internal thought only) and a cruel—and trying—existence. For the audience, the film offers a rather profound opportunity of inward reflection. Even though Bella Baxter is our central protagonist in this stylized, and lavish, Victorian-adjacent setting, she’s not all that relatable to begin with [to the point of secondhand embarrassment].

The point at which the audience tethers themselves to this fascinating character is the precise moment they may begin to question their own jaundiced worldview. Even more lovely, they will be able to muster an unyielding empathy and sense of compassion for her as she stumbles along towards a final, self-actualized destination. Whether it’s the point at which Bella’s yearning to explore and leave home takes hold, in discovering the power of her body, or grasping the truth of wealth disparity, the audience has several means of connecting to the film’s primary source of wonder. Stone’s energy is infectious—and we (as an audience) not only come to view civilized society with a sense of enchantment, but Bella herself, too. Lanthimos’ direct approach to the material aims to subvert the nihilistic tropes of his past filmography; the script informing the characters to directly speak the words that would upend the immersion of any ol’ film. “Do you want to see what the world is really like,” utters Harry Astley (Jerrod Carmichael) to Bella. She responds simply: “Yes.” Astley challenges Bella’s worldview as a self-proclaimed nihilist to the point of [almost] complete mental corruption. Their friendly companionship encompasses the direct opposition of thematic intent from the filmmaker: nihilism versus naivety. Is one more significant than the other? Which is the better philosophy to follow for a pleasant life?

It’s true, though, that Astley’s intentions are clear in that he wishes to completely ravage her childlike curiosity—obliterating her desire for blissful comfort. Despite this malicious intent, Bella urgently needed to recognize the gruffness of human behavior. His success in teaching her the laws of nature (over nurture) give her the upper hand in dealing with the fallout from the pathetic, yet very charismatic, Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo) situation. Not only does Bella now know that she is likely to be used for the benefit of others, she’s more prepared to defend her ideals when called upon to do so. Lanthimos’ divergence from his traditions of whimsical nihilism in Poor Things welcomes a fresh perspective on cultural dialogue. The separation signals a departure from unfiltered hostility for a more philosophically-centered feat. But let’s remember that the film didn’t begin that way: Bella famously asks “why” with a undying repetition for a significant portion of the first and second act. The widespread admiration for the character can largely be attributed to her incessant reluctance to societal norms. Furthermore, the hesitation on display from Bella reaffirms that we are just for injecting a healthy dose of skepticism into our daily doctrine but that, ultimately, it leaves us vulnerable to harm both physically and physiologically.

Ignorance is bliss, or so they say. Without the interactions between Bella and Harry, the foundational work laid by the filmmakers would fall flat. Of course unfettered negativity leads to a toxic perspective, but let us not forget that naivety is just as bad. I know everyone hates a “both sides” argument, but here it is important for illuminating the nuances of existence. Poor Things reinforces the ideation that even with all of life’s tragedies, hope exists for those who want it. By contrasting the two extremes that are nihilism and naivety, the film bestows a better representation of a balanced reality for the viewer through hyper-stylization and poignant comedy. In part, this is what separates Lanthimos from other filmmakers who skew a little more heavy-handed into the miserable semi-permanence of life. No better line captures the unadulterated brilliance in Poor Things quite like a line from Madam Swiney (Kathryn Hunter), Bella’s temporary employer while in Paris:

We must work. We must make money. But more than that Bella, we must experience everything. Not just the good, but degradation, horror, sadness. This makes us whole Bella, makes us people of substance. Not flighty, untouched children. Then we can know the world. And when we know the world, the world is ours.

The film is based on a 1992 novel of the same name from Alasdair Gray—and perhaps the source material provided a sense of grounding for the filmmakers to work from, but its concept is one that seems impossible to adapt for a wider theatrical market. Nonetheless, Poor Things serves as the perfect vehicle for filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos and star Emma Stone, whose performative physicality remains unparalleled; it’s handedly one of 2023’s most precious gems, and again another decisive entry for my Top 10 list. If you’re curious enough about the film, or if you are itching for a rewatch, Poor Things will be available to buy or rent on Apple TV, Prime Video, and other VOD platforms beginning on February 27th.

★★★★

Horror (20 minutes)

dir. Thomas Angeletti

Starring: Ashlee Lawhorn, Colleen O'Morrow, Mark Murtha, and Paige Hoover

“On a fall day in October 1987, a group of college friends find an abandoned house and throw a party they'll never forget.”

— Official Synopsis

We have somewhat of a track record for publishing indie horror pieces at the beginning of each new year. I don’t think that I could pinpoint exactly why January is among the most desirable times for these pictures, outside of the potential end-of-summer or early fall shooting schedule, but I am certainly not complaining. Thomas Angeletti’s Friends Forever lands among the best of the bunch, handedly. Angeletti and his crew manage to capture the essence of what makes genre films special.

There’s always something tangible, certainly frightening, about rotten crops or creepy farmsteads in the middle of nowhere. Maybe that’s because we happen to reside in the midwest (for now). Pair that with a potential generational haunting and terror’s purest recipe flourishes. Opening in 1957 with soft, black and white cinematography from Angeletti and Tyler Ronk, the film exudes a foreboding darkness that lies between the four walls of the soon-abandoned house left to be discovered.

During the transition into 1987, the frame is flooded with color—casting brightness to the darkest crevices of the set. Not only does this entice the characters within Friends Forever to wander off the beaten path towards death’s door, but it encourages the audience to follow along inside. The journey to the inevitable tragedy is layered with an 80s aesthetic that promises plenty of alcohol and fun to be had; did we mention lots of blood, too? Let’s hope these college pals can deliver a killer party.

SPOILERS AHEAD

SPOILERS AHEAD SPOILERS AHEAD

Distraught by his classmate Oliver's unfortunate living situation, Felix, a rich student, invites him over to his estate. Soon, a series of horrifying events engulf Felix's family.

— Official Synopsis

There are very few films from 2023 that may shock you in the way Emerald Fennell’s Saltburn does. And while arguments have been made from several critics and pundits that the film operates under rudimentary concepts, I haven’t seen a narrative tackle the toxicity of lust and envy quite the same before. It’s true, though, that elements of the film are rather predictable: opting for a quirky, and subtly unnerving, journey of a character’s rise to prominence in a family that’s not their own. Quite a few film pundits and critics have denounced the originality of the screenplay and the more heavy thematic elements of despair and suicide. Yet, this rendition pleads for a different interpretation—not because of the story structure, but in that the dynamics of the characters are entirely fractured and inverted from the normative direction.

Moreover, Saltburn allows a platform for rising stars to highlight more uniquely performative roles. Barry Keoghan, Archie Madekwe, and Jacob Elordi are on an uphill climb to prominence in the business. In the last few years, Keoghan’s led an impressive filmography. From films like Banshees of Inisherin (2022), The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017), and Marvel’s Eternals (2021), he has consistently proved deserving of a spot at the table. Archie Madekwe and Jacob Elordi had a remarkable 2023, with Gran Turismo and Priscilla, respectively. Meanwhile, Alison Oliver was a pleasant surprise and a welcome addition to the cast of Saltburn. Together, their chemistry melted through the screen—complimented by the cunning presence of veteran actors in Rosamund Pike (Gone Girl) and Richard E. Grant (Can You Ever Forgive Me?).

It’s 2006 and Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan) attends Oxford University. Oliver is noticeably having difficulty finding a clique to associate with. He has a minor altercation with another student on campus, Farleigh Start (Archie Madekwe), whom, unbeknownst to Oliver, will become a key part in shaping his future. Michael Gavey (Ewan Mitchell) appears to be the only peer who accepts Oliver’s timid nature, though he, himself, doesn’t really fit in among the others. Gavey declares that the two of them will just have to stick together and abandon everyone else. But, the audience knows that Oliver has eyes elsewhere—and it won’t take long before Michael is pushed aside.

We learn very early on (via an ominous voiceover) that Oliver’s true fascination lies with one Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi), who just happens to be close friends with Farleigh. Oliver isn’t quite in love with Felix, but he did love him. Could it have been lust? Envy? Admiration? Catton had a way of being the center of attention in every situation; at parties, in the classroom, and even while home, Felix seemingly had everything one could ask for. His family came from wealth, and other students perceived Oliver rather impecuniously. After all, he was a scholarship recipient (equal to a poor people’s award for a vile some). Saltburn, then, seems like another attempt at an exploration of class through a generational lens. Only there’s something much more sinister at play in the narrative.

The two become undeniably close, as Felix yearns for kindness and authenticity in his personal connections. Nothing solidifies the toxic dependency of the pair more than the passing of Oliver’s father. You see, shortly before Oliver drunkenly stumbles into Felix’s dorm pronouncing the death of a loved one, he started to become wildly obsessed with the man. Oliver’s strange nature began to erode their relationship and ultimately turn Felix off to the idea of being close friends. It’ll take more that a sad story of wealth inequality to convince him that Oliver is different than the others by his side. But Oliver masterfully fuels Felix’s inherent desire for what he perceives to be a normal life.

Any potential falling out they might have had in their studies that year are whisked away as Felix enraptures himself, once again, with a “commoner’s” problem; only this time it isn’t poverty that catches his attention, it’s grief. During their year together, it’s evident that the two are simply using each other for their own lack of identity—and, perhaps, moral authority. With his father’s untimely passing and an insistence that his mother is nothing more than a drug addict, Oliver has nowhere to go for the summer. A generous Felix invites his new toy—er, I mean friend—to his parent’s estate: the one, the only, Saltburn. We are introduced to the Catton’s, first his parent’s, James (Hugh Grant) and Elspeth (Rosamund Pike), and then to his sister, Venetia (Alison Oliver). This is where Fennell’s film offers a unique spin on a deeply sadistic tale of envy.

From the beginning, Fennell establishes that Oliver will be our guide through this story. And, as avid fans of cinema, it’s not entirely atypical for a narrator to be somewhat, well, untrustworthy. I’m here to tell you that you’re right: Oliver happens to be completely unreliable. The sad tales of despair were simply a hat trick he used to gain Felix’s attention. It seems that a large portion of the criticism around the film begins with this one aspect of the story. Whether it’s the predicability or a perception of inauthenticity, I find the discourse over when to use this narration style most tiring. Especially because there’s so much more to Saltburn in how exactly the dynamics shift—and the devilishly entertaining inversion of character’s relationships.

Let’s start here: the only character who correctly diagnoses that Oliver isn’t entirely what he seems is Farleigh. Arguably, that comes down to the fact that Farleigh was once a stray welcomed into the sprawling estate of Saltburn, too. But before Oliver successfully rids the estate of his presence, he must first build a bridge of sympathy with the people who are blinded by his fake persona. Farleigh merely lingers in the background—watching Oliver’s every move (including that rather shocking oral sex encounter); Oliver even goes as far to shower Elspeth with biting compliments. Nothing will convince Farleigh that Oliver’s intentions are pure. Then again, Farleigh recognizes that he, too, is just using the Catton’s for a comfortable life. While he may be Oliver’s biggest barrier in wedging his way into the family, he is also the easiest to break [and seduce] as Felix has grown tiresome of Farleigh in some regards.

Venetia, however, initially appears to be a little bit more resilient to how Oliver preys on the family. Their relationship is more lustful, and it seems that she has become captivated by Felix’s new “toy.” Through her, we firmly understand that Oliver isn’t special by having been invited to stay with the family. After their initial spicy encounter, the sexual tension begins to tamper off completely. Farleigh informs Felix of the night he saw Oliver perform oral sex on his sister and the news absolutely crushes him. Now Oliver must repair the reputational damage caused from Farleigh’s distaste in him and Venetia’s clumsy sneaky link. At this point, Felix has wavered on his fondness of Oliver one too many times—only, Oliver has been able to spin the situations to his advantage every time through his own pseudo-helplessness.

What we’ve come to understand of Saltburn up to this point is that pity, and certainly lust, have been the primary devices used to plot the narrative course. From the now infamous bath drain controversy, to Felix’s voyeuristic tendencies and the family’s pitiful attempt to empathize with less fortunate people, the Catton’s find themselves in a dire situation they couldn’t have anticipated. While the audience, and Farleigh, may have concluded that Oliver wasn’t who he claimed to be, it came as a shock to Felix—as he sweetly tries to surprise Oliver by visiting his mother on his birthday before throwing a party at the estate. Only, things aren’t looking quite as accurate to the depiction Oliver established as the two drive into middle suburbia. The pair are greeted by Oliver’s parents who are very alive and well, and Felix learns that his new summer toy has a brother, too.

A moment of good faith from Felix, who has otherwise been cold and brooding, sours to a blistering hatred; the same kind of hatred that Farleigh correctly assumed the entire time. Now we have the confirmation of what we may have suspected all along: Oliver cannot be trusted. The filmic translation of the classic literary technique [in unreliability] isn’t entirely fresh, no, rather the focus lays on the capsizing of sympathy from the primary protagonist to Felix, himself. Saltburn has a way of draining the characters of any warmth (which is used as a placeholder to display humanity). Felix discusses his lack of warmth a handful of times, which is why he remains desperate in inviting strangers back to his estate to ground him in his spirituality. Unlike Oliver, he’s actively trying to change the way he lives his life for the betterment of self. All of a sudden, there’s a morality to this character that wasn’t illuminated beforehand. Both primary characters are using each other and there are little arguments to be made against that fact. But much like Felix, our warmth in Oliver evaporates and instead rests firmly with this dysfunctional family as they are each puppeteered and erased by a madman.

From a storytelling perspective, Saltburn upends the discussion of class division—which has been a pivotal subtext for recent films such as Parasite (2019) and The Menu (2022)—to a less cynical study of wealthy elites. Granted, while we may have some sympathy for Felix and Venetia, we truly feel pity for Elspeth and James; most evident in the interaction with Oliver over breakfast as Felix’s lifeless body is wheeled from the garden. Trying fiercely to ignore the fact that their son would be so lowly to stoop to potential self harm while being assisted by Oliver’s disconnected aura. James even, during the discovery of Felix’s fate in the garden, claims that his son is just too cold while trying to shift the body upright. We can’t truly empathize with them, but we can with Felix—and later Venetia.

For all of its flaws, Saltburn’s transposition of the typical narrative track should be commended. Felix and Oliver are symbiotic: from poverty, to grief, and despair, they feed on one another in an envious manner. Oliver’s intentions are never really clear outside of clawing to the top of the Saltburn food chain, but Felix’s are a little more nuanced and, frankly, fascinating. We didn’t need an third act exposition dump as to why Oliver’s deceit was justifiable. It appears we were called upon to think more carefully about our humanity and how to postulate authenticity with other people in our lives. The film’s more shocking moments remain in casual conversation online but these jaw droppers clearly weren’t the intentional purpose behind the piece. To answer the propositional nature of Saltburn laid very early on in this feature: it is, indeed, quite predictable and startling. But there’s an abundance of material to ponder. With a unique twist of perspective and notable themes such as class and self ruination, the film undoubtedly latches its claws in our thoughts well beyond the final credits.

You can watch Saltburn on Prime Video now.

★★★½

Drama (15 minutes)

dir. Maya Ahmed

Starring: Paige Hoover, Joy Kapp, Ira Cross, and Timothy J. Cox

“Peter Gibney is a long time agent who is known in the modeling industry for being kind, generous and supportive of the people he represents. Model Hope Harmon has been with Peter the longest of all his clients, close to 15 years. They have a very close, familial relationship and as a result, have made each other very successful. There is a major clothing client, Braden-Willoughby, that Peter has been trying to book Hope with, but the client has confided to Peter that they are not remotely interested in Hope, unless she were willing to undergo, in their words "dramatic changes". While visiting Hope on the set of her latest photo shoot, Peter tries to carefully discuss some hard truths about her future as a model.”

— Official Synopsis

What makes Maya Ahmed’s latest film impressive is the naturalization of on-screen language. Hard Truths has an unconventional approach to filmmaking in that improvisation was the primary technique used for scripting. What’s even more amazing: you can hardly tell. Paige Hoover and Timothy J. Cox cut through the screen with jagged intentionality—as if cutting through butter. Long-time talent agent Peter (Cox) is tasked to deliver some devastating news to his client Hope (Hoover), about her potential future in the modeling industry. Unbeknownst to Hope, the words are a sour reminder of the double standards held by the entertainment industry. The two must navigate the turbulent situation together and find resolve.

Thomas Angeletti’s lighting and framing of the emotional climax evokes an even clearer picture of the two’s long history together. At once delicate and soft, almost as if the audience is there to nurture these two individuals who have been jaded by distant memories. Both Cox and Hoover exude control over the heightened intensity of frustration—and command the silence, as well. I don’t think there could have been a better pairing for this particular project. Improvision can sometimes render a film null because the potential for failure seems to be inevitable; anyone who has previously shot a film understands this.

Ahmed, though, balances the improv with a calculated ease through modest direction. However, what would this have looked like with a touch more cohesion? While the film certainly does feel deliberate, a more scripted form would have allowed for a transparent attachment to the characters and narrative within. Just an extra ounce of sentiment that could have elevated an already great exploration of character. Nonetheless, Hard Truths proves that once a foundation has been laid and the camera is rolling, the filmic possibilities are [nearly] endless.

Power in Blockbuster IP

Franchise films have become an unprecedented force in the film industry, captivating moviegoers across the globe. These films, characterized by their interconnected storylines and recurring characters, have managed to create a loyal fan base eagerly awaiting each new installment. Whether it's the superhero universe or a long-running saga set in a fantasy realm, franchise films offer an immersive experience that keeps fans engaged and, supposedly, hungry for more. Beyond their entertainment value, franchise films also generate substantial revenue—making them a lucrative business venture for studios. Marvel Studios and Star Wars alone account for $16.8 billion dollars in profits, domestically [not accounting for global markets]. Disney sure isn’t complaining about those numbers. Elsewhere, nine of the top ten highest grossing films of all time are high-demand franchise IP.

In addition to staggering profits for studios, franchises have given audiences riveting, escapist stories from this universe and beyond. People not only invest in the material reality of these fictitious worlds, but are parasocially enraptured by the characters within. Ask yourself: could you imagine a world without the likes of Dr. Alan Grant, Princess Leia, or even Marty McFly? For some, that answer will always be an unequivocal “yes.” Yet, the vast majority of people consume media—including films—at a much higher volume than ever before. This made possible due to the evolution of the digital age and an ever-growing list of streaming apps designed to make watching your favorite TV show or movie from the comfort of your own home. This means more people have even more choice of what kinds of stories they seek to watch. Netflix has been the perfect case study for why populous IP is so precious to production companies, and even streamers: successful movies like Extraction and Bird Box are given additional treatments as they have been crucial in obtaining—and retaining—a thriving subscriber base.

Theatrical-funded projects are not too dissimilar. Ideally, a franchised property would be able to secure an unwavering base of support. From there, the box office returns compound with each new installment. But it’s not just about releasing a product people desire. Facebook, Threads, Reddit, and X—R.I.P. Twitter—have become a place where fans and critics engage with each other and form a coalition of positive [and often negative] public opinion. To truly maximize the profitability of a franchise product, you need both a pre-inclined audience and a ground swell of new eyes. Marketing is a critical tool for studios to dial up the hype surrounding their respective properties—and social media marketing has become somewhat of an art form to attract new viewers. Fans are paying attention to these strategies now more than ever. Prior to theaters shuttering their doors in 2020, Hollywood was generating an absurd amount of money with nine films breaking into the Billion Dollar Club in 2019 alone, up four from the previous year.

Post-Pandemic Landscape

However, a post-COVID landscape has added new dimensions on how general audiences respond to these box office juggernauts and spend their hard-earned money. Moviegoing habits have been greatly impacted, with a notable shift towards home entertainment. As theaters temporarily shuttered their doors and implemented strict safety measures, movie lovers turned to streaming platforms and video-on-demand services to satisfy their cinematic cravings. The convenience and safety factor of watching movies from the comfort of our own homes became more appealing, as did the option to pause, rewind, and watch at our own pace. Additionally, the pandemic forced movie studios to reconsider their release strategies, leading to more simultaneous theatrical and digital premieres. As a result, the traditional experience of going to the movies was temporarily replaced by intimate home screenings, influencing a remarkable transformation in moviegoing habits that may continue to shape the industry in the post-pandemic era.

We haven’t really seen day-and-date streaming in recent months, with the exception of the Five Nights at Freddy’s. The Josh Hutcherson and Matthew Lillard-starring game adaptation released with an impressive $80 million domestic debut, and a total international haul of $132.6 million; a rather impressive open for a film with on a reported $20 million dollar budget. But that success didn’t carry into the second weekend, where audiences likely turned to Peacock to watch the horrifying animatronics—resulting in a 76% decline at the box office from week one. Nevertheless, it’s almost a given that a sequel is on the way and the same mistake (day-and-date) won’t be repeated. Five Nights at Freddy’s may have had extraordinary numbers, but the production costs were reasonable. Horror is generally able to stave off high production costs, leading to a better bottom line. Studios’ expanded focus on strengthening their streaming figures in the last few years have lead to an increase in overall production costs as the theatrical market returns to pre-COVID normalcy. But there’s a problem: the landscape has shifted entirely.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny had a budget reportedly around $300 million dollars. Before the film’s release, box office analysts cautioned that the domestic opening weekend numbers would fall between $60-65 million—raising many industry eyebrows. The typical break-even point for any theatrical release is roughly 2.5x the budget, accounting for production and the actual cost to market the product. Similarly, the most recent Fast and Furious film, Fast X, landed in the early summer window and only garnered $67 million in the states. The franchise had two films that passed the billion dollar threshold [before COVID, of course], so Universal Studios deemed it acceptable to give the tenth installment a reported cushion of $340 million dollars. A devastating end result. Even the superhero genre, littered with various Marvel and DC properties that saw prior success, have suffered from diminishing returns of late; The Flash, Black Adam, and more recently, The Marvels, flatlined upon release. The once guaranteed cash-cows have reached a tipping point for big studios, and more importantly, the audience. Even Tom Cruise’s death-defying stunts weren’t enough to convince people to rush out and see Dead Reckoning Part 1, the seventh entry in the Mission Impossible franchise. The movie ended its domestic run with only $172 million in the bank on a budget in the neighborhood of $300 million.

The market has shifted—and the mistake studios consistently make is solely relying on franchises to carry the vast majority of the financial success.

A Crisis of Purpose

There's no denying the enduring popularity and impact that franchise films have had in shaping the landscape of modern cinema. Many pundits attribute the weakening box office results to a growing sense of franchise fatigue, especially for the superhero genre. In addition to souring attitudes with the broad proliferation of these films, they argue that originality and daring storytelling have ultimately taken a backseat. A point that I can agree has had some significant ramifications for certain franchises. For Dead Reckoning Part 1 and The Dial of Destiny, however, both critics and fans seem to welcome the beloved characters and films into their growing catalogues. With audience scores of 94 and 88 on Rotten Tomatoes, respectively, and positive critical consensus, it’s clear that not all major franchises are suffering from diluted narratives or fatigue. So what’s really going on here? It’s not the price of tickets, even as they continue to rise. Moviegoing is generally very cost-effective even in today’s economy. Looking at the data, two factors are attributing to the major shift in moviegoing: ballooning studio budgets that have not adjusted accordingly to emerging cultural trends and, even more simply, a crisis of purpose.

In October, the National Endowment for the Arts found that “significantly fewer American adults are attending cultural activities such as classical music concerts, theater productions and movies than they did before the coronavirus pandemic.” The Washington Post reported earlier in the year that “25 to 30 percent of theater audiences have not returned since the shutdown…” The exhibition industry has been raising a giant red flag—indicating that traditional audiences have changed their practices when it comes to physical attendance. Instead, the National Endowment for the Arts found that Americans were increasing their attendance at concerts, comedy shows, and circus acts. People demand an experience. Theaters have started to shift towards event programming in recent years; UFC and NFL fans have been treated to a true, theatrical event at some of the biggest exhibition chains. E-Sporting events have found their way to the silver screen, illuminating a new revenue stream for movie theaters who host tournaments and their own auditorium-turned-arcades.

Taylor Swift’s The Eras Tour carved out $172.9 million dollars domestically, with the superstar’s concert film being shot over three nights in August at SoFi Stadium in Inglewood, California, on an estimated budget between just $10-20 million. To no one’s surprise, the concert film was welcomed in theaters via premium large formats (PLF) and even IMAX. PLFs have more than doubled over the past few years and general audiences are increasingly eager to enhance their experience in D-Box, Dolby Cinemas, and Ultra Screens across the globe. The benefit of premium large formats is that they are branded and defined by an “experience” over a more traditional presentation—especially true for special programming such as sporting events or concerts and for blockbuster franchises in general. Gone are the days of catching the latest art-house film at your local cinema on a Wednesday [for the vast majority of moviegoing audiences]. These films remain important for theaters, though, in that more diversity among the theatrical calendar means stability.

The Perfect Marriage

Essentially, a marriage must exist between between a heightened sense of narrative (and cultural) purpose and unforgettable presentation. The prime example of this marriage being the event of the summer, Barbenheimer; all at once a cultural phenomenon and marketing sensation that will be studied in the years to come. Both films had a run in IMAX and various PLFs, with a modest production budget between $100-150 million dollars. Originality in presentation and purpose in thematical intention, led to a combined global haul of nearly $2 billion dollars. Unprecedented financial and critical success for the filmmakers and respective studios should be a glowing sign for Hollywood to focus on quality control and proper budgeting. This doesn’t mean that the major franchises that have dominated the box office for the better part of a decade won’t succeed, or even that incredible movies like Dead Reckoning Part 1 and Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny won’t fail yet again.

I’m simply suggesting that mitigating the potential financial risks by slashing budgets, diversifying the types of stories told, and being wholly original with a sense of purpose, is in the best interest for studios—and for the fans.

Final Verdict: ★★★★☆

Still reeling from Nolan’s betrayal in Season One, Mark struggles to rebuild his life as he faces a host of new threats, all while battling his greatest fear - that he might become his father without even knowing it.  

— Official Synopsis

Auteur filmmakers have long criticized the dullness of “mass-market,” superhero fare for trading authenticity in storytelling for a cheap laugh. Certainly, the recent exhibition trends for DC and Marvel Studios have given an inch or two of credibility to their arguments. Though, that interpretation seems to be widely overblown for the genre as a whole; namely, because of the wide embrace of comic properties among the television medium. While not a recent trend, television has increasingly become a more palatable—and frankly, entertaining—central hub for comic book fans. Prime Video consistently reminds audiences us why these shows, and the heroes within, are uniquely enchanting.

Between all the multiverses, ruthless [to say the least] villains, and a fair share of lovable anti-heroes, they’ve enriched their comic benchmarks with thematic integrity in a growing library of soulless adaptations. With an impressive catalogue of super-shows like The Boys, Invincible, and now Gen V, Amazon has selectively carved out a piece of the puzzle that other studios haven’t quite mastered: the art of long-form, meaningful storytelling in an authentically genre-focused playground. But the best part? Showrunners and creative teams behind these episodic narratives know how to take damning risks and have a blast doing it.

Based on the groundbreaking comic book by Robert Kirkman, Cory Walker, and Ryan Ottley, Season 1 of Invincible was nothing short of exceptional. The question at the front of everyone’s minds was, “How exactly do they follow THAT?” The heights of the finale, being at once emotionally devastating and physically exuberate, were shockingly exceptional. The entire season culminated with a dazzling shock and awe realization that you may never truly know anybody—not even your parents. For the main character, Mark Grayson (Steven Yeun), this leads to a sea of vast insecurities surrounding his own naivety and place in the world. And like most young adults when tragedy strikes, the core identity of Mark’s character is left in ruin—in this instance, bubbling with an ever-present rageful haze that his girlfriend, Amber (Zazie Beetz), can only keep shuttered for so long.

Meanwhile, his mother, Debbie (Sandra Oh), grieves for her former life constructed from everything but a foundation of truth. Omni-Man (J.K. Simmons) has vanished from Earth, leaving an extensive trail of bodies—and a splintered family—in his absence. The dynamics between Mark and Debbie’s journey highlight the thematic richness of the world Invincible fabricates. The other subsidiary stories assist in manufacturing the larger conflict, but the humanity of the central characters enter center stage. Part 1 of Season 2 posses several interesting questions. How do you rebuild an entire community when the basis of trust is fractured? Who should be held accountable to mend the world-wide devastation? Is forgiveness required? Perhaps, the most important question for this season: when does ferocity become admissible? These are the principle themes guiding the series.

Atom Eve (Gillian Jacobs), meanwhile, has dedicated herself to aiding in recovery efforts individually and the Guardians are dealing with the same old villains and criminal patterns that make life as a superhero rather repetitive. The Mauler Twins (Kevin Michael Richardson) return from a stint in prison with the help of multi-dimensional traveler Angstrom Levy (Sterling K. Brown). Levy’s presence confirms very early on that Mark and the rest of the heroes face a potential for even graver danger than Omni-Man. Comic-book audiences are all-too familiar with the concept of the multiverse at this point, yet Levy’s calculated determination makes him especially menacing and practically untouchable. Mark is a pivotal target for Levy, but the unfolding motivations of the character are unexpected—a refreshing application of the tired trope.

He and the fellow Guardians of the Globe must recover what little decency remains among the planet and prepare for the presumed return of Omni-Man and the Viltrumites who wish to seize the planet for their empire. After all the death and destruction in Chicago, the public trust in supes has gravely diminished. Civilians recognize their need for protection, and are rightfully hesitant with the fear that they will become victims to those who proport to defend them. Fortunately, between Mark, Eve, the Guardians, and, of course, Allen the Alien (Seth Rogen), all hope isn’t lost. Still, under that thinly veiled surface of protection, Levy and Omni-Man’s shadow linger over Earth.

And it’s only going to get worse by the look of things…

If you were a fan of Season 1, the latest addition in the Mark’s story is sure to quench your thirst for more. While not entirely distinct, Season 2 is a more refined version of the show; both in the animation and thematic content. Still, Invincible remains a great palate cleanser for those who are weary of the latest string of superhero films that have graced the big screen. Between the rebuilding of the Guardians’ team, Debbie’s journey through great sorrow and mourning, and Mark’s tightrope walk between unmitigated anger and compassion, there’s no shortage of captivating stories. Don’t worry, though: the blue-tinged comedy pierces through the chaos, yet.

The first half of Invincible Season 2 releases on Prime Video starting on November 3rd, with new episodes airing weekly. The second half of Invincible Season 2 will release in 2024.

Final Verdict: ★★★★☆

★★½

Thriller, Crime (15 minutes)

dir. Richard Russell

Starring: James L. Edwards, Kyle Shaw, Keith Migra, Heather Bayles, and Allison Marie Rogers

“After kidnapping and brutally attacking a young woman, former Mafia enforcer Colter and his two sons have to decide on the fate of the young woman. The biggest question is what got her in that situation in the first place?”

— Official Synopsis

A Family Matter showcases some of Richard Russell’s (It’ll Be Okay) best directorial inclinations; bolstering fantastic performances (particularly from James L. Edwards and Heather Bayles), edgy soundtracks, and ruinous, unnerving undertones. Yet, the brutality of the latest short feels muted by a lack of purpose in its more disturbing moments. Incessant violence can be undoubtedly effective in storytelling—but the absence of counter-balanced tone can lead to the degradation of its thematic integrity.

The short film captures a harrowing look at how a person’s fleeting actions can sour a relationship. A wrong-place, wrong-time kind of situation. Here, Melissa (Heather Bayles) is dating the son of a Mafia enforcer. It’s clear that the family’s past casts dark shadows on Melissa’s future, especially since it seems that she has no clue who these people truly are. Colter (James L. Edwards) and his two sons, Josh (Kyle Shaw) and Timmy (Keith Migra), are kind enough, it seems, but eventually reveal themselves to be ruthless killers.

Melissa’s minor (and not entirely understood) mistake costs her not only a relationship, but potentially her life. Perhaps, if A Family Matter had justified the actions of the family by using even more flashbacks—or threading the narrative needle from past-to-present via the script—the intention of its violence wouldn’t have been lost in translation. As an audience, we must know a central character enough to the point where their actions can be justified under different contexts. Just a sliver of additional material would have taken the thriller aspect of the project to the next level.

Still, though, the intensity of the drama and particular genre are felt heavily throughout. A Family Matter does deliver on the promise of being bold in its presence; not remotely bowing to a more timid presentation. Despite some lagging audio issues, the soundtrack is mixed delicately to amplify a more uneasy atmosphere. As previously mentioned, the performances are largely exciting and devilishly calculated. Without the questionable brutalization of women, this could have been an even more chilling, and affective, viewing experience.

Check out the teaser trailer below!

★★★★

Horror (15 minutes)

dir. Allison Marie Rogers

Starring: Kaza Jobalia, Ava Inman, John Bibby, Patrick M. Johnston

“Brien is a hard-working man who struggles with nightmares and insomnia. When things start to go awry, his daughter swears it's the "red man" and not her dad.”

— Official Synopsis

Don’t Wake Daddy is a charming, short indie horror.

As many horror films do, Don’t Wake Daddy evokes a tale as old as time. We’re focused on the traditional family archetype, with our storyline following an ominous Red Man whose guised as Brien (Patrick M. Johnston), a loving husband and father. With the limited budget, writer-director Allison Marie Rogers had to find a unique way to captivate viewers. Rogers uses a variety of different techniques to tell this story—one of my favorites being the special effects. The different effects used throughout this film was truly a joy to see, though sometimes being a little overzealous; that could be a result of the editing style used for a handful of transitions.

I’d venture to say that horror fans generally enjoy the additional eeriness to the narrative when a child is at the center of the terror—which is done here to great affect. Elise, Ava Inman (Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile), is our main protagonist as the story is told from her point of view. Inman certainly had a lot on her plate to progress the story forward. The different color grading throughout the 15 minutes helped accentuate the overall tone of the cinematic language. Though, rather than the over-stylized transitions, I would have loved to see more simplistic, linear cuts. Cinematographer Anderson Rush found unique ways to captivate the audience and add a lingering dread with the usage of varying angles. Ultimately, the use of the camera was perfected to show the monotonous everyday tasks of the characters. Additionally, the choice of musical composition enhanced both the overall quality of the final product and infused flavorful camp into its DNA.

You can tell the cast had a wonderful time making this short and it’s infectious to watch. Come for the intriguing premise of the plot and stay for the brilliant filmmaking. As every good scary flick does, Don’t Wake Daddy leaves you looking over your shoulder and wondering if you, too, have your own Red Man. Only time will tell.

The year is 2009 and a weird little sci-fi thriller releases wide about aliens on our planet being brutalized from a relatively unknown director. That film sparked so much controversy and discourse in the way we treat each other as human beings. It brought with it themes surrounding discrimination and human rights— and in the midst of that, was nominated for four academy awards including Best Picture, Best Visual Effects, Best Adapted Screenplay, and Best Film Editing. That little movie was District 9 from director Neill Blomkamp. With the massive critical and audience reception, Blomkamp became the hottest director in the sci-fi lane at that time. And, of course, we were all anticipating his next few films. You know, looking back on it now, it seems relatively unknown at that time that they wouldn't be as critically successful or even as well received by audiences.

His next two films were perceived to be a little misguided, and of course I'm talking about Elysium (2013) and Chappie (2015). But I think after District 9, audiences and critics were excited to have a new perspective in the science fiction genre. And even with the two “failures,” if you would even call them that, everyone was eagerly anticipating what was to come next. There were talks about Blomkamp directing Alien 5, the Ridley Scott property, which at that point was under a lot of scrutiny for not properly evolving in a direction that felt authentic to the original DNA. There was a lot of excitement for some new blood in the storytelling lane of the Alien franchise, especially with the original 1979 film Alien being one of the most iconic horror sci fi movies of that time; I would argue even of today.

The franchise was stagnant. There was no movement forward to evolve the IP into its full potential, especially as James Cameron greatly expanded the possibilities of the fictional world with the sequel to Ridley Scott's original, Aliens. It was going to take someone who could tell human stories in the vast sea of high-level science fiction concepts. If District 9 was any indication, that meant that Blomkamp was almost certainly the right pick for Alien 5 to move the story forward. And then...Chappie came along. Ridley Scott and the production team over at 20th Century Studios basically scurried away from offering Blomkamp any sort of deal to direct Alien 5 and unfortunately, that led to a lot of disappointment for people who absolutely adore that franchise, myself included.

We've gone several years since without any big feature film from director Neill Blomkamp—Demonic (2021) notwithstanding. Unfortunately, that has led to Blomkamp largely flying under the radar over the past several years, mainly creating short films and not even touching big feature tentpoles. And then we come to Gran Turismo, his latest feature film based on a true story, in theaters right now. Gran Turismo has been given a lot of grace and a lot of love from fans and critics, branding it a nice breath of fresh air, especially among the director's filmography. To understand why Blomkamp, even after flubs such as Chappie and Elysium, is getting a lot of attention with the latest release, we have to understand where the filmmaker originated.

Having been a professional animator and visual effects artist since he was 16, Director Neill Blomkamp survived the indignity of having his first studio film taken away from him by turning the independently financed sci-fi opus District 9 into a major box office and critical hit. Blomkamp was born on September 17th, 1979, in South Africa. He grew up amidst the social divisiveness and government approved minority white rule of apartheid, which had a profound and life changing influence on his later creative vision, even that for District 9. But his parents bought him a computer at a young age of 14, and that led him to experimenting with 3D animation, as well as practical effects and prosthetics. When he was just 16 years old, Blomkamp was hired by television producer Sharlto Copley to be an animator for the production company Deadtime. Two years later, his family relocated to Vancouver, British Columbia, where he studied film at Vancouver Film School. He earned some practical experience as a visual effects artist for the Embassy Visual Effects, as well as Rainmaker Digital Effects, serving as a lead animator on Kevin Costner and Kurt Russell's vehicle, 3,000 Miles to Graceland in 2001.

Having given Blomkamp his first job in the industry, Copley has been in several of Blomkamp's projects including Chappie, Elysium, and the lead in District 9. Blomkamp is an avid short film director. He spends a lot of his time, even in between feature filmmaking, working on short films—developing cool concepts and creative ways to tell stories; evident with his work through Oats Studios. One of the most lucrative shorts he put together was actually Halo Landfall, in which Microsoft and Bungie brought Peter Jackson and Blomkamp together to make a viral marketing campaign for Halo 3 that was a testbed of sorts for a full-blown Halo feature film. Of course, we have the TV show now, but at first it was garnered to be a feature length film. What makes Blomkamp unique is his visual presentation and ability to tell a tight-knit story through cinéma vérité, a much more intimate style of filmmaking than direct cinema. Both use live and synchronous sound, handheld cameras, lightweight equipment, and ultimately seek truth in the stories that they capture.

But, there's a difference between these two format that keeps them in separate categories, and that's that direct cinema often keeps the filmmaker absent from the knowledge of the actual viewer or audience. It's more of an invisible style of filmmaking where you don't really notice the technique at work a lot of the time. However, the cinéma vérité style inserts the filmmakers into the story itself. You can see it in shows like The Office or What We Do in the Shadows, which are made to look unscripted. Cinéma vérité embraces the shaky cam, and when you apply it to the genre of science fiction, everything feels a bit more tangible; a bit more real and in-your-face. That is why District 9 and the story of apartheid worked so well in capturing the humanity of the aliens in the film.

District 9 follows a massive starship in 1982 following an alien population nicknamed “the Prawns” who appear over Johannesburg, South Africa. 28 years later, the initial welcome by the human population has faded. Essentially they set up a refugee camp where the aliens are forced to live—much like a militarized ghetto, of sorts, called District 9, where they are confined and exploited in the squalor. Then in 2010, the munitions corporation, Multi National United, is contracted to forcibly evict the population with the help of an operative, played by Copley. In this operation, Wickus (Copley) is exposed to strange alien chemicals and must rely only on the help of his new Prawn friends. Notably, the tagline for the film is: “You are not welcome here,” and it speaks to the broader ideology and underlying themes in District 9 of embracing humanity.

Blomkamp's follow up feature film, Elysium, took place just four years later, starring Matt Damon, Jodie Foster, and again, Sharlto Copley. This time, the year is 2154 and the wealthy live on a man made space station while the rest of the population—the poor, more or less—reside on a desecrated Earth. Elysium dives into discussions on class and again on humanity as how we separate ourselves as a nation. Chappie came out two years following Elysium, which had a mixed critical and audience reception. Chappie, in addition to Copley, had Deb Patel and Hugh Jackman star, and it's set basically in a near future where the police force is patrolled by a mechanized unit. One police droid, Chappie, is stolen and given new programming in which he's able to finally think and feel for himself. Tonally, Chappie feels a bit more playful and a bit more childlike. Though its R rating still stands very, very strong, it's given a lighter touch. And while it attempts to explore the themes of humanity and separation, Chappie did not land with audiences in the way that District 9, or even Elysium did.

All of the subtle meta commentary that was found in District 9 was erased from the story, with SlashFilm writing [of Chappie], “The larger story is positively riddled with plot holes and any sense of subtlety seems to have fallen right through them.” And it was at that moment, with the quality of Blomkamp's films deteriorating right before our eyes, that people started to question whether he truly was the best science fiction up-and-comer working during that time. The film ultimately was the final nail in the coffin for Blomkamp's potential work on Alien 5. As recently as a year ago, producer Walter Hill offered up an update on the prospect of an Alien 5 ever being made speaking with The Hollywood Reporter. He said, “We took a shot at that a couple of years back with Sigourney, but that was back when Aliens was still at Fox. The people at Disney, who now control [the property], have expressed no interest in going down that road. I had an idea for a good story with the Ripley character, and Sigourney. But I do hope to see her in Venice.” Speaking with Joe Rogan recently, Blomkamp expressed discontent with how the reception to Chappie ultimately led to the dissolution of Alien 5.

He noted that Sigourney Weaver, who plays the lead character in the Alien franchise, Ripley, expressed so much interest in the script that was given to her, and that fans were undoubtedly excited. When the key concept art was dropped by Blomkamp and his team, showing a very Blomkamp-style Aliens film with popular characters of Hicks and Newt returning, everyone was on the edge of their seat in anticipation. And when you think of the cinéma vérité style being injected into the franchise, you can't help but get excited. It would have been a new look for the IP, and one that would have felt unequivocally fresh. But everyone inside and outside of the industry know, at this point, that the Blomkamp’s singular vision for Aliens has passed.

So where does Blomkamp step out of the darkness that he's been surrounded by for the past few years with Hollywood and audiences shunning him? Believe it or not, this is where Gran Turismo shifts in. Perhaps it's because it's based on a true story, but the the documentary-style that Blomkamp is known for in the science fiction genre translates beautifully across to a biopic, of sorts. One could argue that Gran Turismo is a lot more dramatized than a typical biopic would be, however that documentary style filmmaking lends itself to telling the most authentic story for the characters in the film, especially for Jann Mardenborough. The movie has been relatively successful in the review circuits for its brisk action and feel-good, underdog drama inclinations.

Starring the likes of Archie Madekwe, David Harbour, Orlando Bloom, and Darren Barnett, with Djimon Hounsou playing Jann’s father in the story. Lucas Trevor of the Washington Post writes that, “Gran Turismo is flawed, but ultimately impressive in size and sound. It is, when all is said and done, a pretty good time at the movies, especially if you're going for a racing story.” It's predictable, yet infectious. Charming, if a little cheesy at times. With Zack Snyder's Rebel Moon getting so much attention in the last few days, I can't help but feel there are several big science fiction franchises that Blomkamp could tackle and revive that cinéma vérité flavor in the genre of science fiction. And being just a little over 40, Blomkamp has so much time. to get back to work in the genre that he loves most.

Gran Turismo may not be the best underdog racing movie. Though, you can't deny that Blomkamp has a unflinching visual language that is impressive, both in terms of the genre films and short-form content, but for making something like a biopic—as evident by Gran Turismo. Much like the underlying themes in Gran Turismo, there's somewhat of an underdog story here; someone who burst onto the scene with such an important and critically acclaimed film, perhaps one of the greatest films of the 21st century thus far. After taking sizable swings creatively and nabbing four Oscar nominations, it’s impossible to ignore the growing potential that the filmmaker wields to deliver a revitalization of the sci-fi genre in the coming years.

Everyone loves a good comeback story, and Gran Turismo might just be what Blomkamp needs to take another step forward into greatness.

A young chef, Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto, leaves behind his world of fine dining and Michelin star restaurant and comes home to Chicago to run his family's Italian beef sandwich shop, after the suicide of his older brother. Not only must he grapple with his own pain and family trauma, he is left to deal with his brother's unresolved debts, a rundown kitchen, and an unruly staff.

— Official Synopsis

SPOILERS AHEAD

SPOILERS AHEAD SPOILERS AHEAD

Even as the Emmys were officially canceled and slated for January of 2024 due to the ongoing SAG-AFTRA and WGA strikes, no one can stop talking about a handful of shows. Ted Lasso had an incredible first two seasons—with somewhat mixed reception of the third (and maybe final) season—and Abbot Elementary continues to charm network audiences with wit, hilarity, and narrative dissecting the generational divide in the public education system. The most decorated drama from the television academy, Succession, delivered a somewhat feel-bad ending (maintaining the gold standard for TV entertainment) and retained the show’s DNA. HBO’s Barry, however, which had been heralded as groundbreaking television for its particular mix of intensity and comedic charm, left fans feeling a little chilly after a bleak and bitter end. The latter show blurred the lines between the two major nomination categories: offering a comedy-drama hybrid of sorts. 

Succession, Abbot Elementary, and Ted Lasso remained in their respective lanes, while Barry attempted a radical departure. Barry’s themes may have remained consistent from its initial premiere in 2018, but the tone deviated dramatically. Many of the reviews published after the finale criticized the creators for uprooting several of the characters for somewhat of a “shock factor.” For this reason, it is hard to imagine a world in which any of the show’s Emmy nominations lead to a win. Yet, viewers (and voters, I’d argue) are hungrier than ever for innovative storytelling. Whether or not the final episodes of Barry sparked a deeper love for the property, the bold swing from the creators may encourage other showrunners to cut a little deeper and deliver a show unlike anything we’ve seen before. Enter: FX’s The Bear.

Showrunner and creator Christopher Storer serves television audiences with, perhaps, the most accurate depiction of life in a blazing kitchen. Restaurant experts and chefs alike praise the illustration of the characters, the cruelty in serving the public, and the state of the food and beverage post-pandemic. Storer, who grew up in a suburb of Chicago, was adamant to make a show that closely resembled the reality of working at a real restaurant. “It’s all about the details. It has to show how hard it is. Not only from a skill level. But—it’s a hard business…” Storer told Esquire last year. Based off the real Chicago establishment, Mr. Beef, The Bear follows an ensemble cast led by Carmy (Jeremy Allen White). Carmy returns to his hometown following the tragic suicide of his brother, Michael (Jon Bernthal), to salvage the family’s Italian beef shop, which by all accounts is failing. Ayo Edebiri, Lionel Boyce, Ebon Moss Bachrach, Liza Colón-Zayas, and real-life chef Matty Matheson round the cast spectacularly. 

The Bear’s ensemble nature favors a heavily family-centric narrative. While not entirely parallel, the crew acts as an extension of the family–something that feels so authentic to restaurant dynamics. If you’ve spent time working in a kitchen, I promise the show will feel meticulously devised. After 18 episodes of riveting television, The Bear’s most poignant moments are those involving the supporting characters. And, I mean, after watching Season 2 it’s questionable to even call some of them supporting characters. Two episodes come to mind, both products of The Bear’s second season: “Honeydew” and “Forks,” episodes four and seven, respectively. In “Honeydew,” Marcus (Lionel Boyce) travels to Denmark to learn the art of pastry from a chef named Luca as The Original Beef prepares renovations for their grand re-open.

We know that Marcus’ mother has been sick for some time and that he has been incessant to stay by her side. The experience of traveling to Denmark to learn from one of Carmy’s colleagues, then, is somewhat a relief for him (even if he might not view it that way). Inadvertently, the audience can deeply exhale in comfort with him as he waters a non-existent cat. Similarly, Syd (Edebiri) sends Tina (Colón-Zayas) and Ebra (Edwin Lee Gibson) to culinary school to sharpen their skills this particular season. Tina, who initially was reluctant to change after Michael, warms to the idea of learning the clinical nature of being a chef and adopting the new structure set forth by Syd and Carmy. Ebra can’t quite crack the process due to some tragic extenuating circumstances, but eventually accepts their attempt to help.

“Forks” might just be my favorite episode of the season (even including “Fishes”). Perhaps, it comes from the gutting performance of Ebon Moss Bachrach as Richie. After all, he was Michael’s best friend and had the most to lose from his passing outside of the Berzatto family. We learn of Richie’s marriage troubles and the “Bad News” he exudes. His reluctance towards change is even more prevalent than Tina or anyone else in the restaurant. A quick explanation could be that he knows better than anyone what The Original Beef signifies for the Berzatto family. His rageful blunder is a direct consequence of his proximity to Michael. Though, it appears that Carmy is breaking through on some level, especially with Nat’s (Abby Elliot) help. “[Richie] is grieving by screaming at Carmy—he is able to scream at Michael through this kid. And it is unpleasant, and he is saying awful shit. But he is also in real pain,” Storer says about the character.

His horrifying intensity in the first few episodes almost made the show unbearable at times. Everyone dialed to 10, truthfully, but especially Richie. Yet, in context feels like the only right way to present the character. Cut to his time staging at Chef Terry’s restaurant (another favor called by Carmy). Richie hesitates to recognize that polishing forks is meaningful to perception. Slowly but surely, he understands what it means to “present.” By learning the meticulous nature of polishing forks and the time management of running expo, he is able to comprehend the meaning of Every Second Counts. Richie was always an anchor for The Original Beef because he knows the area and the people in this neighborhood. By seeing how Chef Terry executes an impeccable dining service–giving patrons an unforgettable, and deeply personal, experience–he sees the bigger picture. 

And on the topic of how fundamental the ensemble is to the quality of The Bear, Season 2, Episode 6: “Fishes,” dishes-out one of the best episodes in modern television–illuminating the aureate palette of show’s core, familial principles. Laced with anxiety and a swift jab of adrenaline, “Fishes” reminds us of the madness in the first episode of the series in that life in the Berzatto family will never be dull; the staunch parallel of chronic fatigue amplified only by the sound of multiple ticking timers and roaring exchanges. This dissolution originates from the dinner table and is what ultimately binds the characters together. Yet, Storer’s ability to reduce the heat in more intimate moments between Michael and Carmy, or Cicero (Oliver Platt) and Richie’s then wife Tiff (Gillian Jacobs), for instance, set the stage beautifully for clever call-backs and affecting beats. 

At the flashback dinner, Tiff, whose pregnancy is inflicting intense nausea reflexively, can only handle eating light foods and mentions a banana as an example of what she would be able to eat. Cicero reveals to Tiff that his father used to take him to a local stand to get the best chocolate-covered bananas. Apparently, he had passed the stand on the way to Christmas dinner and the memories flooded back. Flashforward to  The Bear’s opening friends and family night, Richie rips a page out of Chef Terry’s book to bring Cicero a bite from his past. It’s a sweet moment, quite literally, and reinforces how air-tight the writing of FX’s show truly is. The chocolate-covered banana is analogous to a similar beat from the first season, where Carmy in the earlier episodes questioned why Michael wasn’t ordering #10 tomato cans (again with authenticity of working in the restaurant industry–why get anything but #10 cans?). Turns out, via an intimate letter from Michael to Carmy, “they taste better.” 

We didn’t know then that Michael had actually saved the entirety of the $300,000 loan from Cicero to bankroll Carmy’s vision for their restaurant. Through all the yelling and sour comments to one another, the family remains committed to each other’s success. Carmy screams, “Fuck you,” at Richie, to which he responds, “I love you, man.” The dichotomic relationship of the ensemble encourages growth and compassion among them through sharp writing. Storer’s honesty on the page translates to a more tangible setting–one that allows for the fusion of drama and comedy for a more satisfying viewer experience. I am reminded of the feeling I got at the beginning of Better Call Saul. The basis of visual storytelling couldn’t be more dissimilar, but the dance between intimacy and mayhem are just as compelling.

This is all to say: don’t sleep on this show any longer than you have to. Subsequently, don’t underestimate the chances it has to nab some Emmys come January of next year. Innovative stories are more than just those from auteur filmmakers–as it has never been more clear that honesty is the best policy; sticking to what you know and love. Tossing in some surprising faces and eliciting wholly captivating performances from that same talent won’t hurt either. The Bear rejects the unmoving pessimism of aforementioned shows like Succession and Barry by finely plating a more human depiction of the 21st century family, albeit in a toxic stew of love and abhorrence. The reduction of the ingredients–together–are noticeably more flavorful.

★★★★

Drama (18 minutes)

dir. Thomas Angeletti

Starring: Beth Metcalf and Timothy J. Cox

“After the murder of his police officer son in the line of duty, a father, himself a veteran police detective, must choose between following the law and seeking vengeance.”

— Official Synopsis

★★★

Drama (70 minutes)

dir. Dwight Wilkins

Starring: Brian Anthony Wilson, Darold Lingo, Anthony Wilcox, Charles W Harris III, Wendi Smith

“One man. Two women. And a dark past that keeps chasing after him. Roman, 30s, is caught between the two women in his life and the father he resents. The movie takes us on a journey of a man trying to come to term with his situation while being chased by the demons of his past. Will he be able to conquer the demons that are out to destroy him? Or will be end up becoming like the father whom he hates? The movie takes us into Roman's mind as he navigates his present circumstances and avoid repeating the mistakes of his father.”

— Official Synopsis

Roman is based on the short story, “Son of a Covet,” co-authored by [the late] George Ward Beacham III and Cyndie Beacham. In the story, the main character grapples with relationship mishaps that force him to re-examine some critical choices made in his complicated life.

Similarly, the filmic interpretation follows the eponymous character played, delicately, by Darold Lingo. Roman is troubled—haunted by a dark past, struggling with self-destructive tendencies. Much of the plot centers around the wavering psyche of Roman and how he approaches the challenges of faith, regret, and feeling of repentance. While the character’s life appears in turmoil, the film gradually reveals the traumatic events that shaped him into the person he is; the script split vertically into two compartmentalized sections of his past (and present) life.

Set against a bleak and temperamental backdrop, Roman depicts a vivid realization of the character’s internal torment. Joshua Mallory’s cinematography enhances the intensity of the film’s more ghastly sequences, inducing a sense of dread and confusion. Roman can’t quite comprehend his surroundings—if what he is seeing, and feeling, could even be based in reality. Mallory captures the dual reality with muted colors and a relatively moody atmosphere that creates some striking imagery. However, not all of the compositions are visually cohesive and it’s mainly due to the scene structure and occasional blocking.

Some of the stiffness embedded in script causes additional friction for the visual language. Nonetheless, the material evokes an emotional vulnerability: finely underlining the affect generational trauma has on mental health. Its complexity highlighting the dichotomic relationship of love amidst a painful history. Roman’s flawed nature ensures the audience is kept at a distance while maintaining a thread of empathy towards him. Lingo’s performance can be attributed to the success of this balance, traversing a delicate tight rope. Roman’s supporting cast aids in keeping the written word grounded in realism.

While some may find the pace of the film to be challenging, it builds upon being a contemplative and immersive journey into the life, and mind, of one individual. Albeit, Roman seeks to clarify some of the more intangible twists of the story that are better left for viewer dissection and introspection. The ending is woefully misplaced, pivoting to a weaker subplot which dampens the main focus of its original storytelling avenue; opting for an external act of redemption in lieu of pursuing the subtlety of performance acting. Ultimately, this muddles the intensity of the technical imagination which Roman previously championed.

While there are certainly a few complications that prevent Roman from achieving exceptional heights, the thematic essence of forgiveness and acceptance of life’s cruelty remains forever relevant. We must learn to live in the present— recognizing the importance of the past—to heal old wounds. Whether we choose to begin the journey of healing through faith or spirituality, the choice is our own in attaining a brighter future. Cultivating haunting imagery, remarkable performances, and sparking questions about our own individuality, Roman’s moral relevance cannot be understated. Coming in around 70 minutes, we are reminded of life’s greatest fact: we hold the key to our own salvation.

Nora and Hae Sung, two deeply connected childhood friends, are wrest apart after Nora's family emigrates from South Korea. Decades later, they are reunited for one fateful week as they confront destiny, love and the choices that make a life.

— Official Synopsis

Fear Not, for We’ll Meet Again

“In-Yun” describes a predestined connection, bound by limitless encounters in our lives–both past and present. In Korean, it means that any place in time you meet someone, you’ll almost certainly meet again by pure circumstance. The concept of “In-Yun” reverberates throughout life regardless of barriers, borders, and languages. The phrase itself does not have a definitive definition, instead simultaneously illustrating a joyful and hopeless feeling of longing and fate; its meaning signals infinite possibilities in the past and future, but an uncomfortability in that we may have exhausted every opportunity in the present. Whether a deep friendship or romantic inkling, those we think of long after they have left the prominence of our lives are etched in eternity. “Fear not, for we’ll meet again.”

“In-Yun” in Film

This concept forms the basis of Celine Song’s semi-autobiographical, and directorial debut, Past Lives. The film follows Nora Moon (Greta Lee), an American emigrant from South Korea, and her childhood sweetheart, Hae Sung (Teo Yoo), who are reunited after 20 years for one fateful week in which they confront the truths of life and destiny. While Past Lives cements itself as the artistic embodiment of this intrinsic connection, there are an abundance of examples in cinema noting the subtextual affect of “In-Yun.” Richard Linklater’s Before trilogy (1995-2013), Fatih Akin’s In July (2000), Park Chan Wook’s Decision to Leave (2022), and, perhaps more obscurely, Jaco Van Dormael’s Mr. Nobody (2009), all lead to varying conclusions about the decisions we make and people we meet. While nuggets of “In-Yun” can certainly be found in classical Hollywood cinema, it’s antithetical to the very basis of the cinematic language–negating an idealistic ending. 

Derek Cianfrance’s Blue Valentine (2010), starring Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling, may be the most notable American film that vehemently challenges the perfection of modern romance, shocking viewers with a toxic, ill-fated relationship. Albeit, the film strays towards a more heavily nihilistic tone that is undoubtedly disturbing for a mass market audience. Damien Chazelle’s La La Land, (coincidentally starring Ryan Gosling), however, becomes the Hollywood equivalent of Song’s Past Lives: a recognition of the beauty in blossoming love and unattainable dreams. The mechanisms that inform the story structure differ, but the concept of “Someone in the Crowd,” for instance, are prevalent in both films. Sebastian and Mia’s relationship crumbles under the glitz and glamor of Los Angeles in this lifetime, but the final shot-reverse shot illuminates the lasting warmth they share. Postromance themes found in both La La Land and Blue Valentine depart largely from their cinematic counterparts which feed into unrealistic depictions of a “happy ending.”

Distant Memories 

Past Lives recontextualizes what a postromance film can assume by adopting a narrative structure that closely resembles a love story through cultural scrutiny. The mere separation between Nora Moon and Hae Sung–both in physical distance and emotional vulnerability–ensures an avoidance of romanticizing the tired “forbidden affair” trope. The outcome? Just as heart wrenching for the audience. Perhaps, even more devastating for the characters who understand that, with every choice made in this life, they will never be together. Hae Sung attempts to find his childhood sweetheart, Na Young, only to discover that she has changed her name to Nora and lives in America. It’s now 2012, and they reconnect over Skype and pursue a distant friendship. The cinematic language in this second act beautifully captures a fever dream, of sorts. Night and day bleed into one another as the time zones disrupt their individual routines. It’s a vulnerable and meditative balance from cinematographer Shabier Kirchner.  

Their words to one another are visually muffled through tactful pans of the New York and Seoul cityscapes as they converse. The use of these intercuts have a profound effect on the experiences of the characters. We might not remember the conversation, but the feeling of longing and of the environment lasts indefinitely. Note how the film opens, as well, this time in the present day. Via an optical zoom from the perspective of random people, we watch as Nora, her husband, Arthur (John Magaro), and Hae Sung sit together awkwardly bantering at a bar in New York. Not only does the position of the camera reflect a distal sentiment between the audience and the “action” of the scene, but the characters themselves seem intentionally removed from the situation. The passage of time and use of deep framing mold the narrative journey into that of a distant memory.  

Opportunity Costs

After the opening scene, Past Lives travels to the start of our character’s story in Seoul as Nora’s family prepares to emigrate to Canada in the early 2000s. Nora’s mother recognizes the need to impress positive memories of her home country so that she may retain a sense of cultural identity. To do so, she plans a date between 12-year old Nora and her innocent crush, Hae Sung, whom she describes as “manly.” Their mothers watch as the two explore and climb a statue at a local park–to them, the world remains small and largely undiscovered. In contrast, when Nora and Hae Sung visit the Statue of Liberty in present day New York, it’s not the same; the statue symbolically reflects a sense of unattainability. He maintains his Korean culture while she has largely embraced her American identity (only speaking Korean to her mother and Hae Sung). This is not a statue they can climb together in this life.

Song opposes invalidating her character’s wishes and whether they made the right decision. This refusal to endorse any ideological philosophy permits a nuanced understanding of the complexities of life. It yields a more sincere admiration between the protagonists themselves and from the audience. For Hae Sung, who decides to stay in South Korea, the internal struggle he faces is one of cultural expectations: being a respectable man with a stable career that can support a family. Nora tirelessly grinds in her studies as a writer, dreaming of a future Nobel Prize or maybe even a Pulitzer. In all our time with Nora, she has yet to achieve any of those lofty goals. But there’s still time. Remembering the conversation between their mothers in Seoul, a single phrase protrudes the entire film and long thereafter. When asked why she would want to leave their life in South Korea behind, Nora’s mom explains that by leaving something behind, you gain another. 

A Forgiving Cinema 

I knew little about the concept of “In-Yun” prior to Past Lives. There are moments from my life that echo like a distant memory. People that I haven’t spoken to in years that cross my mind randomly. Beautifully terrifying imagery forever seared into my psyche. Yet, I’ve always remained internally connected to those people and places. Part of the intent of Past Lives is to offer a name to those feelings. Song’s delicate approach to the material reminds us to forgive ourselves for the path we choose in life. Omitting judgment and carelessness from both the characters and, ultimately, ourselves. The film’s somber end does not encroach on hope; instead, bestowing a sense of optimism in the viewer. Whether in this life or the past, we were able to attain the unattainable. If untrue, we can leave this life, content, knowing that our exit also signifies our ability to gain something we don’t possess. 

Past Lives conveys a forgiving cinema.

★★★

Thriller (99 minutes)

dir. Michael Matteo Rossi

Starring: Timothy Haug, Vernon Wells, Jessica Morris, Steven Martini, Diane Robin

“When the matriarch of a family of assassins falls ill, her three children and younger boyfriend fight among themselves to take over her empire.”

— Official Synopsis

Let me start by saying that I love familial-crime dramas. One of my favorite guilty pleasures over the last few years has been TNT’s Animal Kingdom (2016-2022). In the same vein, writer-director Michael Matteo Rossi unearths a fragile empire on the verge of collapse. When Isa (Diane Robin) becomes ill, her family questions who has the capability to lead them and continue their riches in the world of crime. It will take trust, loyalty, and effective communication for the team to recover their crumbling infrastructure. Jonah (Timothy Haug) grapples with being the voice of reason but Zane (Steven Martini) remains devilishly convincing in his devotion to disrupt the hierarchy of power. Robin, Martini, and Haug all provide exceptional performances in their respective scenes. If one thing is true, it’s that Murder Syndicate doesn’t waste an opportunity to illustrate the talent of the cast.

Even the supporting characters fill the noticeably thin plotline with something a little more colorful—albeit, while having the least to do with ultimate conclusion of the film; yet, the dynamics between the family are nonetheless fascinating. Without a strong foundation of performative work, the minor emotional underpinnings wouldn’t quite stick as well for the viewer. These characters aren’t inherently likeable (if the opening scene was any indication), but that doesn’t exclude them from some resonance. In most instances, the actors are truly the ones elevating the material from the page instead of the other way around. Murder Syndicate leans into the dramatics of dialogue-driven narrative even in moments where the omission of spoken word be more effective. Still, the film manages to entertain the viewer beyond the minuscule hiccups.

Behind the camera, Jason Weary’s sharp cinematography accentuates the thrills of a crime drama, while maintaining the perfect balance in the action of it all. Being that Murder Syndicate classifies as low-budget fare, the set-pieces are creatively scattered throughout. Without an abundance of these sequences, the team had to get creative to keep audiences on the edge. Weary previously shot Rossi’s Shadows (2022) and it’s clear now the duo work exceptionally well together. The filmic language between the lens and the page are bridged, satisfyingly, for a cohesive atmosphere. Few filmmaking teams can pin a consistent tone from film-to-film like they can; and this symbiotic relationship extends to both the density of the heart-pounding action and the brooding presence of the characters they bring to life.

Murder Syndicate doesn’t reach for the unattainable—as its DNA is familiar and, largely, tired on a macro-scale. Yet, the intricacies of the technique are surprisingly refreshing for the indie scene. Despite the limited faults in the script, the film under-promises and over-delivers. If you plan to stay in for a night this summer, I have just the treat for you to throw on the screen and have some fun with. Whether you’re in search of the spiritual successor to Animal Kingdom or want a taste of the latest indie thriller, Rossi and his crew ensure an enjoyable experience for fans of this genre flavor.

Check out Murder Syndicate streaming on Vudu now! You can also buy the film on Apple TV, Amazon Video, Google Play Movies, YouTube, and the Microsoft Store.

Barry stars Bill Hader as a depressed, low-rent hitman from the Midwest. Lonely and dissatisfied in his life, he reluctantly travels to Los Angeles to execute a hit on an aspiring actor. Barry follows his “mark” into an acting class and ends up finding an accepting community in a group of eager hopefuls within the LA theater scene. He wants to start a new life as an actor, but his criminal past won’t let him walk away —can he find a way to balance both worlds?

— Official Synopsis

LIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD

LIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD LIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD

HBO’s Barry recently concluded its final season. I must say, that over the course of these few short years, from 2018 until now, I have really come to love and appreciate the whole entire filmmaking team for what they've been able to accomplish on the small screen. It's one of the small handful of shows that knew how to balance comedy and action perfectly. Though the show's name comes from its title character, I've never seen a series with similar inclinations function quite as well as an ensemble piece. It's no surprise, then, that Barry is an Emmy nominated show, which rightfully earned all of its accolades—and perhaps, even still remains woefully underrated.

Co-created by Bill Hader and Alec Berg, Barry follows a low-level hitman (played by Bill Hader) on his journey to become an actor. When Barry attends Gene Cousineau’s (Henry Winkler) acting class, he discovers a [supposedly] normal way to cope with his murderous reality. Along the way, he meets the eventual love of his life, Sally Reed (Sarah Goldberg), and fights numerous foes like NoHo Hank (Anthony Carrigan) and his lover Cristobal Sifuentes (Michael Irby). From the sweeping fields of the Midwest to the concrete jungle, Monroe Fuches (Stephen Root) has followed him in somewhat of a paternal capacity and yet is largely responsible for Barry’s cruel existence as a hitman. 

Certainly, the show’s quaint summary doesn’t quite capture the emotional heights it achieves. When you think about the progression of the story from the first season to the very last, you really begin to recognize the utter devolution of each character. In 2023, they are a mere shell of their former selves. Between the dynamics of each character, there’s enough mental torment for an entire world. One of the more fascinating themes the show explores is how people react to situations outside of their natural space and routines; and how these circumstances mold who we become. It’s why the ensemble format works so well within the confines of the show. Without showing how one hitman can chart the course for everyone’s life around him, there’s no thematic basis for a show like this with radically different characters.

Think of how Barry’s life unfolds after his tour in Afghanistan. In our political discourse we often put a lot of emphasis on how the military affects individuals after their service, particularly when it comes to mental health. Militaristic PTSD was something that the show spent a lot of time with in its first two seasons. Barry must relearn how to be a functioning member in society if he wishes to leave the death and destruction in his past. But the consequences of his former life corrupt a potentially bright acting career and future family in later seasons. The show uses the horrors of war as a means to sympathize with the main character and prove his reluctance towards violence. After all, his actions in Afghanistan lead to the murder of an innocent man. 

As he tries to reconcile with the little time he has left, the fourth season shows the character [successfully] escaping prison and attempting to parent his son, John, via a radical time jump. In an attempt to shelter his family from the skeletons in the closet, religion becomes prevalent in Barry’s life (paving way for a few laughs in an otherwise melancholic blur). A deep evolution has occurred in our main character, or so we think, until the entire fictionalized shield he’s created is threatened. Still, between the third and the fourth season the metaphorical curtain has fallen so low to reveal how truly lost he is (both in his psyche and in physical demeanor). The constant deadpan expression from Hader seals his fate in a lonely existence. 

Soon, Barry pivots its attention towards how Gene lives with the loss of a loved one and a former life. In the final season, Gene faces mortality. No longer can he pretend to be the most eccentric Hollywood star under the crushing weight of failure and incessant anxiety (though it doesn’t stop him from trying) but he might be able to retain his humanity towards the end of his life. Winkler’s performance over the years in this role is notable and you can almost certainly gauge how Barry has affected his physicality from a snobbish acting coach to a shriveled shell of a person. Not everyone seems to love the progression of his story in the final season, but it’s undeniable that Winkler’s screen presence is never lost on the viewer–even when he isn’t present in each scene.

Elsewhere, Hank battles with an internal identity crisis that stems from his relationship with Cristobal and the ties to their former lives. If you were looking for a happy ending and a sanctuary from the jumbled lives of the other characters, you won’t find it even with them. Hank, who was once the driving force behind Barry’s laughable relief, doesn’t seem to be himself at all anymore. Then again, is anyone? Hank may not be the most trustworthy if you’re outside of his close circle but he has a deep connection with Cristobol, and at points in the series, even Barry. For this reason, Hank is one of the more fascinating characters on Barry and certainly a fan favorite.

Turning our attention towards Sally, we begin to understand just how Barry’s existence destroys the lives of everyone he comes into contact with. Beginning as one of the most unlikable characters in the show, she becomes somewhat of a symbol for collateral damage. She’s not involved with Detective Janice Moss’ investigation and is oblivious to nearly everything around her. Sally grieves her fleeting 15 minutes of fame [and the brutal reality of PTSD in her own life] in Season 4. Not only did she suffer a blow to her self esteem when Joplin was branded a failure from the Gods of the streaming algorithm, but also a horrific assault. The trauma manifests in one of Season 4’s most nail-biting sequences which had my jaw on the floor. Think of 2008’s The Strangers level of tension, but with a surrealistic touch on the cinematic landscape. The show frequents the bizarre expression of surrealism in its storytelling–especially prevalent in one of the series’ best episodes: Season 2’s chaotically charming “ronny/lily.”

Fuches, who has never been able to accomplish anything by himself, learns to correct his mistakes long after it’s too late at the show’s close. We get several snippets of Barry in his youth and how their relationship formed from such an early age. Yet, all that is lost when Fuches and Barry go to prison. He has never had to deal with the consequences of his actions under the law because he has spent most of his life in the Shadows (and for a brief period of time in Chechnya). Don’t forget that Fuches for a large part of the series is a central antagonist in Barry’s story. Their arrest doesn’t change their love-hate dynamic and perhaps even pushes Fuches further away from his love and little affection for Barry. What kind of person does he become when his surrogate son leaves him stranded in prison? The Raven, of course. This new identity gives Root a chance to portray a new side of the character that is absolutely terrifying and somehow…even sexy?

Narritively, these plots are told at different points throughout the series—strung along at a beautiful pace that crescendos in the final moments of the series. It can’t be overstated how perfectly cohesive Barry feels as a viewer. Sally’s realization of the real world around her, Fuches’ lasting impression on Barry’s legacy as a father, and Gene’s complex emotional turmoil, solidify an unflinching, human narrative at its core. With snappy 30-minute episodes and 8 episodes per season, Barry’s rewatchability is endless. HBO really does know how to end a show, unless it’s Game of Thrones, apparently. Barry ultimately reminds us that people can change, despite their natural tendencies as individuals.

So clearly, the show doesn’t feel too comedic now after that explanation, does it? Of course, I’d be remiss not to mention the action set pieces. Whether it be the monastery massacre from Season 2, the minimalist dirt bike oner in Season 3, or the Chechyan police raid, Barry prioritizes intensity with purpose. You might have been expecting them to scale the scope of the action for the grand finale, but instead they chose to remain consistent by not oversaturating the episodes with needless set-pieces. Instead, these explosive instances are scattered throughout– at random–to maximize the shocking nature of the moment. It’ll leave you saying, “Oh, wow…” at the impressively practical technique behind the camera. 

Succession is getting all of the media’s attention due to wrapping its final season, but if you haven’t finished, or even started, Barry, you should know that it’s truly must-watch television programming at its finest. I promise, you won’t regret it.