OSCARS 2026: Blue Moon (2025)

I'm not sure I could ever call myself a fan of Richard Linklater. I liked “School of Rock” and “A Scanner Darkly” but found myself unmoved, perhaps annoyed at times, but some of his other work. The guy, however, is prolific. Since his feature length debut in 1988, he's never gone more than a year or two between pictures, sometimes releasing multiple films only months apart. Linklater's consistency means that some projects are going to fall through the cracks, inevitably being lesser works. 2022's “Apollo 10 ½” was the first of his distributed by Netflix. The streamer giant, notoriously, only puts much promotion into a handful of the countless films they produce in a year. In other words: 2025 was another double year for Linklater and I hadn't even heard of either film until last month. Why I missed that “Blue Moon” existed at all, clearly the Academy did not, giving the motion picture two nominations. 

Linklater has dabbled in behind-the-scenes stories of entertainment industry greats before, with “Me and Orson Welles” and his other 2025 release. “Blue Moon” also operates in this mode. It follows Lorenz Hart – writer of great American songbook standards like “My Funny Valentine,” “The Lady is a Tramp,” and the titular song – on a specific night seven months before the lifelong alcoholic died. His former creative partner, Richard Rodgers, has just debuted his newest Broadway musical, something called “Oklahoma!” After watching the show, the unimpressed Hart slips into Sardi's restaurant and bar. He immediately begins talking of his opinions, his experiences, and his latest romantic fixation with a young college student named Elizabeth. Throughout the night, faces and names that will be famous and obscure walk in and out of the bar. Most notable among them are Rodgers, who is both interested and reluctant in renewing his partnership with Hart, and this Elizabeth that Lorenz can't stop talking about.

From my somewhat limited exposure to Linklater's work, it does seem to me that he likes loosely plotted narratives centered on character interactions and dialogue more than anything else. “Blue Moon” takes this approach and applies it to a story set almost entirely within one location. Nearly the entire film takes place within Sardi's. Hart sets himself at the bar, starts talking with Eddie the bartender, and the other people around the location. While many different characters wander in and out of the bar throughout, much of “Blue Moon” follows this set-up. In other words, “Blue Moon” is rather like a stage play. Not just in its limited scope but also in the way it makes the viewer feel like you are randomly dropping in on a group of people's lives. That the film is about one specific night, the debut of “Oklahoma!” on Broadway, emphasizes that we are merely seeing one incident in a whole series of them. 

Another way “Blue Moon” is like a stage-play is how much the sound and rhythm of the language itself is part of the attraction. Ethan Hawke props himself up on a bar stool in an early scene and immediately begins delivering colorful, lengthy, and fast-paced dialogue about the latest girl of his dream he's met. Much of what follows in “Blue Moon” keeps this going. This is a film full of big personalities, talking in a stylized fashion that is fitting to the swinging forties setting. Later in the movie, Hart describes his dream project to his famous writing partner: A massive production about the life of Marco Polo, with countless dancers and a three ring circus on the stage. Most stage plays don't have production values like that. Most, like the film we are watching, substitute spectacle with memorable human interaction and the kind of pithy, almost musical dialogue that gets you smiling quickly. 

It has been said that the Academy recognizes not the “best” in any given category but rather the “most.” Hawke certainly underwent the kind of impressive physical transformation that impresses the Academy. The 5”10', leading man handsome Hawke is transformed into the 5”4' Hart via a shaved head, some subtle make-up on his face, and classical camera tricks. While some of Hawke's best work make use of his quiet, brooding intensity, this is surely a performance that leans more towards the Most than the Best. The script, breathlessly delivered by Hawke and the rest of the high profile cast, makes sure to illustrate Hart's flaws and virtues equally. His immense creativity and vision, his egotism and pettiness, both his evident wit and his inability to see the most obvious things in front of him. Such as how Elizabeth – played by Margaret Qualley in the kind of enchanting and fast-lipped performance she has quickly come to specialize in – clearly has no romantic feelings towards the old man that is infatuated with her. A better film would do more with these contradictions. “Blue Moon” is instead content to merely link this quality to other ways Hart was two things at once, such as his apparent bisexuality or how he could be both proud and resentful of the titular composition.

I can't deny that “Blue Moon” is a well performed film with a spirited, catchy screenplay. However, there's a reoccurring element to the writing here that bugs me. The film presents Lorenz Hart as a secret architect behind whole swaths of pop culture. Notable figures wander in and out of the story. The writer he chats with is Elwyn Brooks White, as in E.B. White. As in the future author of “Stuart Little,” a sequence where Hart presents an anecdote about a mouse in his apartment goes out of its way to remind us. This is not even the cutest example of such writing in “Blue Moon.” Hart tells a would-be filmmaker to focus less on romantic stories and more on stories between friends. A boy that hangs around Hammerstein, his next door neighbor's child, is said to be an encyclopedia of theatre knowledge. When we learn these individuals' names – George, Stephen – it feels like a punchline to corny jokes. Even a random photographer in the film must be a prominent figure. It's a bit too cute, a distracting running gag. 

There are elements to “Blue Moon” that are worth admiring. Hawke is very good, along with the rest of the cast. In an Oscar year with a less clear front runner, I think he would win Best Actor. (If such a thing comes to pass, I'll consider it a win for his superior acting in “First Reform.”) It's a pleasant film. Linklater supposedly worked on the script for twelve years before coming to a version he actually liked. Despite that, much like the theater writers and directors depicted here, it feels like one of many projects a director that seemingly likes to always be working churns out. He'll be on to the next one soon enough, I'm sure. Whether this becomes an influential fave in his career, like “Dazed and Confused” or the “Before” trilogy, or one that gets kind of forgotten, like “Last Flag Flying" or his "Bad News Bears" remake, is not for us to decide. [6/10]

 

OSCARS 2026: The Secret Agent (2025)

 

My favorite release of 2020 was “Bacurau.” That Brazilian thriller drew you in with an intriguing mystery that then headed towards a brilliantly engineered last act. It was both a clever work of social commentary and an extremely satisfying piece of pulp fiction. The film was co-directed by Kleber Mendonça Filho, a critic turned director whose work has been continuously well received in his home country. Each narrative feature he has directed has won Best Film at the Brazilian Academy Awards and his last three movies have all been nominated for the Palme d'Or. Well, now it would seem that we ignorant Americans are noticing Filho as well. His latest fictional work, “The Secret Agent,” would earn a surprise nominations for Best Picture and Best Actor at this year's Oscars. Considering this is the second year in a row that a Brazilian movie would break through into the top category, perhaps the Academy is noticing South American cinema more than before.

And like “I'm Still Here,” a movie that otherwise doesn't have much in common with this one, “The Secret Agent” is also set during the twenty year period when Brazil was ruled by a CIA-backed military dictatorship. It follows Armando. He returns to the city of Recife to spend Carnival with his son Fernando, currently living with his grandparents. He finds himself in an apartment complex run by communists and occupied by other refugees and political dissidents. Armando fled the city after making an enemy of a powerful electric company CEO. The same man has hired a pair of hit men to find and kill Armando. While attempting to reconnect with his son, Armando works at an identity card office, searches for information on his dead mother, and finds political allies based out of his father-in-law's local cinema. These story threads connect with the news of a human leg found inside a dead shark and researchers working in the present day.

From its opening scene, “The Secret Agent” establishes the tension ever-present in living under a violent regime. The first sequence involves Armando pulling into a gas station. A dead body lays on the ground out-front, the result of a shoot-out the night before. The proprietor of the business has simply covered the corpse up with some cardboard, not considering a homicide occurring right before him that outrageous. When the cops roll in, Armando has to present his documents. Before the details behind the character are even established, the audience can already tell that this guy has something to hide from the authorities. The near-by presence of death establishes a sense of pertinent danger, making us assume that the cops shooting Armando in the head would not be out of the ordinary. It turns out alright for Armando in this instance but that atmosphere of always being in danger, of the constant threat of being found out by the authorities, never leaves “The Secret Agent.” Characters must watch what they say in the privacies of their own home and assassins lurk the streets.

This is the world “The Secret Agent” inhabits and, of course, it was the real world for many people living in Brazil in 1977. While Armando's life forms the backbone of the film, the narrative often meanders over to numerous side characters. We learn details about the other inhabits in the apartment, like the elderly owner who is a former revolutionary and the refugees from the Angolan Civil War. We see the hit men go about their grisly business like it's any other job or the corrupt cops halfheartedly investigating the crimes. A lengthy digression features the cops harassing an elderly German Jew, played by Udo Kier in his final screen appearance. No matter how minor the characters turn out to be, we get this sense that they are fully formed individuals. The cat that lives in the apartment, which literally has two faces as a result of a birth defect, or the one cop always banging hookers in the records room feel as interesting and fleshed-out as the main characters. 

Yes, “The Secret Agent” does operate like a collection of snapshots of life in seventies Brazil. Filho was working on the film at the same time he was making a documentary called “Pictures of Ghosts.” I would not be surprised if many of the sequences in this movie were inspired by real anecdotes Filho collected while making that film. “Pictures of Ghosts,” however, is mostly a personal recollection of the filmmaker's childhood memories of growing up in Recife, filtered through the theme of the cinemas he frequented at the time. This too greatly informs “The Secret Agent.” The cinema setting makes clips of films a reoccurring element. We see “The Omen” attracting a crowd, especially after a publicity stunt of a priest performing an exorcism in the lobby. The trailer for Jean-Paul Belmondo action-farce “Le Magnifique” plays at one point, Filho seemingly taking the title for this movie from that one's Brazilian tagline. In particular, “Jaws” is a reoccurring motif here. After the story of the leg being dug out of the shark goes viral, Armando's son becomes obsessed with sharks and the “Jaws” poster. One can't help but assume that the boy is something of a stand-in for Kleber himself. 

It's mentioned that the boy is having nightmares about sharks too. This dovetails with an idea that many other filmmakers have observed in the past: That movies are not too dissimilar from dreams and visions. Easily my favorite sequence in the film brings a sensationalized newspaper story about that severed leg to life. It depicts the leg hopping around on its own, going on a horror movie style rampage through a park used for clandestine hook-ups by gay men. It's a burst of campy, outrageous comedy in an otherwise fairly grim movie. It also shows how the movie blends dreams, memories, and fiction with reality. This incident obviously did not actually happen, the bullshit yarn operating as a way for the paper to report on actual crimes without catching the attention of government censors. Once the movie starts to cut to the present day scenes, where recorded conversations of the past are unearthed, this theme is made all the more apparent. Movies are another way we reckon with our past, with history. Much the same way dreams and memories exist as forms to process our daily realities. 

There's a lot of interesting ideas in “The Secret Agent” and I wish the film held together as a whole better for me. There's not much of a narrative here. The focus on portraying bits and pieces from multiple lives, how the script slowly reveals the protagonist's past, the unexpected leaps ahead into the present: The result is a movie without much overall narrative coherence or forward momentum. “The Secret Agent” is on the long side, twenty minutes short of three hours, and I sometimes found myself wondering what the point of all this was. Too often, the movie feels like a collection of moments and characters in search of a plot. It comes together in its own way but I probably would have liked this more with a tighter narrative. That's obviously not the movie Fihlo was making, so it's more my problem than the movie's. 

The performances are strong, lived-in and realistic. Wagner Moura balances an undercurrent of anxiety and a struggle for normality in the lead. The cinematography is warm and concise. The editing is very well done. It's definitely a good movie and I'm glad I watched it. It does feel like an unexpected breakout success. The title suggests a more straight-forward genre operation but the film is, intentionally so, much more scattered than that. Not something you would expect the Academy voters to love a lot but, here we are. Filho certainly remains a filmmaker to watch. “The Secret Agent” is bold, interesting, insightful, meandering, shapeless, but singular. [7/10]

 

Director Report Card: Chloe Zhao (2025)

 

5. Hamnet

There was a period after Chloe Zhao's first films became indie darlings, when she first signed a deal to direct “Eternals,” that cinematic taste-makers worried they had lost their girl. “NomadLand” had not yet been declared overrated, ya see. If someone who came up doing low budget dramas shifts to making a mega-budget blockbuster, the unavoidable assumption is that this is mostly what they will be making afterwards. The flurry of projects Zhao was attached to after “Eternals” seemed to see this through. She was making a sci-fi western version of “Dracula” and maybe a “Star Wars.” The humble filmmaker of “The Rider” was no more or so it seemed. Then “Eternals” under-performed by Marvel Cinematic Universe standards, many viewers agreeing that Zhao was not suited to CGI bombast. Her next film to actually get made was “Hamnet.” As an adaptation of an acclaimed book about a very famous historical figure was not exactly on the same micro-budget level of “Songs My Brothers Taught Me” or “The Rider.” However, it was obviously a lot closer to Zhao's foundational work than her swing at superhero shenanigans. While I'm sure some will still insist that transitioning to Oscar-friendly period dramas still means Zhao has lost her way, the consensus seems to be that Zhao is back in her comfort zone. 

William Shakespeare and his wife – usually named in the historical records as Anne Hathaway but sometimes called Agnes – had three children. Only one was a son. The boy's name was Hamnet and he died at the tender age of 11. Some years afterwards, the Bard wrote a play whose title and main character share a name with his deceased child. This has resulted in much scholarly speculation about whether “The Tragedy of Hamlet” was inspired by his son's death or an expression of his grief. Little else is known about Hamnet's life or his death, what took his life remaining a mystery. This has not stopped authors from expanding on the possible connection. Maggie O'Farrel's novel and now Zhao's film adaptation invents most of their narrative around these historical events.

Agnes is centered in this story, the daughter of a rich lord and a woman rumored to be a witch. Before her death, Agnes' mother passed her knowledge of folk remedies onto her daughter. The son of a glove maker, to pay off his father's debt, takes a job teaching Agnes' step siblings Latin. The two soon catch each others' eye, their courtship beginning. William and Agnes soon wed. Shortly afterwards they are blessed with a daughter, Susanna. Not long after that, the twins Hamnet and Judith arrive. As William becomes a successful playwright, he splits time between his country home and the city. Agnes has uncanny visions of her youngest daughter's death. When the plague rips through the area, Judith becomes ill and it seems her predictions are coming true. Hamnet, who has promised his father to protect his sisters and mother, crawls into bed. The next day, Judith is alive and Hamnet is dead. William retreats into his work, returning to London to produce a new play. Agnes is left alone with her grief. When she learns the title of her husband's next play, she is uncertain how to react but goes to see the debut performance nevertheless.

William Shakespeare's body of work is, probably, the most analyzed and studied pieces of fiction in all of the English language. Over the hundreds of years his plays and sonnets have been part of the canon, they've been considered, imitated, adapted, and deconstructed from seemingly every angle imaginable. Shakespeare has always been with us, as far as anyone living is concerned. When one name has cast such a long shadow for such a long time, it becomes difficult to think of him as a human being. He is The Bard, not a man, and therefore his work stands apart from the details of his personal life. Of course, every writer puts themselves into their work and there's no reason to suspect this would have been untrue during the reign of Elizabeth I. “Hamnet” forces us to consider Shakespeare as a living person whose plays reflect what he was feeling and living through. It is a clever way to bring the words of “Hamlet,” so ingrained in our literary culture as to appear stodgy, back to life.

“Hamnet” establishes its thesis moment fairly early on. Early in William and Agnes' courtship, he meets her at her favorite spot in the surrounding woods. His attempts at starting a conversation devolve into awkward stammering. Instead, Agnes suggests he tells a story. Billy Shakespeare relates a rendition of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, charming the woman before him. The myth is one of otherworldly devotion and passion that resists godly orders. In other words, the writer is telling a story in order to express how he is feeling. It is a symptom of the creative mind, I'm afraid, that this is sometimes the best way for us to get a specific emotion across. If you know what “Hamnet” is about, and you probably do if you're watching it, you can tell how this set-up will come back around later in the film. 

The legend of Orpheus and Eurydice isn't only one of undying devotion but also of loss and the underworld. This conversation pointedly takes place near a large hole in the forest ground, a gaping black maw that might as well be the entrance to the underworld spoken of in the Greek myth. A parallel is drawn later on between this pit and the gap in the stage setting from which the ghost of Hamlet's father enters and exits. Around this same location, Agnes' pet hawk is also later found dead. It's an emotion floating all throughout “Hamnet,” that the physical reality of death is never far from us. We see it again when Agnes recalls seeing the body of her mother as a little girl or when Judith is bored unbreathing, only to take her first breathe shortly afterwards. “Hamnet” is not exactly a grim reminder of our mortality and the inevitability of death. It's a more sentimental film than that. However, it is concerned with something alive becoming an empty shell. There is a degree of earthy rot inevitably within this reflection on grief. 

Agnes is introduced next to that deep hole in the ground, curled up in the fetal position among a world of vibrant green vegetation. It is one she returns to throughout the film. Her mother was said to have emerged from the woods, like a fairy or nymph. She works with herbs and plants, whispering incantations to them as she crushes them against a stone. Her pet hawk does not seem receptive to any other trainers. William, meanwhile, is first seen in a class room. His natural environment seems to be crouched around a writing desk. His work takes him away from his family often. When Shakespeare does enter into the forested realm that seems to have birthed Agnes, his interactions are a bit awkward and stumbling. These two do love each other and find common ground but they ultimately inhabit different worlds. They are inevitably going to process grief in different ways because, no matter how much they love one another, they walk different lives. 

Zhao plays with the suggestion that Agnes Hathaway truly was attuned to some witchy energy. She claims to be able to tell people's futures from holding their hands. She has visions of uncertain origin. The twins also pull pranks, like dressing in each other's clothes to fool their dad, hinting that they have some otherworldly link as well. Both mother and son seem to have glimpses of the future, when Agnes says she can see Hamnet “up on the stage.” Whether we can take any of these suggestions literally is a matter of interpretation. Agnes herself seems to doubt the sincerity of her own beliefs at times. When Will stares at a shadow puppet show depicting the arrival of the plague in England, it feels like he too is trying to gleam something deeper from what's before him. This is, of course, true of all art. We are seeing mere projections, that we can choose to take meaning from. While “Hamnet' is unambiguous about what it thinks “Hamlet” is about, perhaps we can read this idea into the film itself. This is simply what O'Flannel and Zhao think is what happens.

I wish “Hamnet” trusted its audience a little more than it does. When the titular lad perishes, we are greeted to dreamy visions of him stepping into a door way, seemingly drawn in by a shadowy figure. The climax of the film has Agnes in the audience at a performance of “The Tragedy of Hamlet.” When her husband steps out on-stage, in the role of the prince's ghostly father, she points out that it's as if Shakespeare switched places with his boy. Was it necessary to announce that? In general, “Hamnet” has a bad habit of spelling things out too much. Key lines, like “The rest is silence” and “To be or not to be?,” are uttered before appearing in the play, in far too cute of a coincidence. Ultimately, the emotional connection Agnes feels with the material on-stage is touching but, the minute the credits roll, ring a little false. Yes, Hamnet will live forever on-stage. But I bet Agnes Hathaway would have rather watched her son grow up. 

“Hamnet” is at its best when depicting that grief as a raw, ugly thing. Jessie Buckley foregrounds Agnes' otherworldly quality, with intensely staring eyes and a puckish grin. However, when her emotions boil over, Buckley holds little back. During the birthing scene, she wails towards the heavens, face glistening with sweat, eyes wild with pain. When it appears she's lost her babies, the look of trembling panic is beautifully raw. Paul Mescal has moments like that too, when in a drunken stupor and finding himself unable to put the right words down. His tears come in their own way later on, just as ugly and real. However, the two actors notably never cry in a scene together, making the separation in how these two characters process their grief all too apparent. If that finale works at all, it's thank to the sadness and acceptance Buckley and Mescal are able to get across through their eyes and faces. 

Another way “Hamnet” grounds the legendary figures it concerns in more human matters is by reminding us that William Shakespeare was someone's son too. The Bard's relationship with his dad is shown as combative. His father belittles him for not taking up the family profession of being a glover and for pursuing an intellectual career. I think every line of dialogue the character has includes some insult towards his eldest son. Agnes' dad wasn't great either, as he married a condescending woman after his first wife's passing. It's a bit too on-the-nose but the moment, when William finally confronts his father, does prove fittingly cathartic. If nothing else, the subplot touches on something I've been thinking about a lot, now that I'm in my thirties. Few parents are ideal but, perhaps, every generation tries to be better than the one that came before it. It is indicative of “Hamnet's” maturity, that it nods towards this idea. 

“Hamnet” sees an interesting blend of Zhao's neo-realistic style from her earlier work with something more brooding and dream-like. When depicting Agnes howling in the sprawling wilderness, an apocalyptic dream, or the kids performing an impromptu enactment of the witches' spell from “MacBeth,” I get the impression that the director might have a pretty decent folk horror film in her. Łukasz Żal, the cinematographer of Pawel Pawlikowski's last two movies and “The Zone of Interest,” photographed this one. He often assumes a similar God's eye view as what he did in those films, creating a somewhat distant approach to the characters. Zhao smartly pairs these with somewhat square, almost formal looking sets. The impression it gives is of a stage play, the characters performing before a backdrop. Another decently clever way to link together the various themes apparent in the film.

“Hamnet” is more polished than Zhao's previous dramas. I would say it is not even as grounded in its imagery and ambiance as “NomadLand” was. Perhaps that is inevitable, when discussing the leap from modern-set films about homelessness to a historical biography set in the 17th century. The performances are strong, the visuals are sharp, the score is solid. The script mostly makes the right decisions, at least in the ambitious themes it presents. Ultimately, like many films of this sort, it feels the need to be too tidy and cute in the way it wraps things up or links the creation of a work to the work itself. Nevertheless, it is evident that the flaws of “Eternals” was not because Zhao was a one-trick pony but likelier out of difficulty of fitting her quirks into the Marvel house style. “Hamnet” shows that she still has plenty of skills at her disposal, being a well made and occasionally powerful film. [Grade: B]

OSCARS 2026: Marty Supreme (2025)

I hope the following admission doesn't get me kick out of the Film Bros Association of America: I've never seen a Safdie Brothers film before. “Good Time” managed to pass by my attention before it started to pick up acclaim as a modern classic. I witnessed people losing their minds over “Uncut Gems” but... I don't know, man. I just never got around to it. There's so many trashy horror movies I need to see first, you guys! And it's all a moot point now, of course, as the Safdie Brothers are no more. At least the formal duo has split up for the time being. While Benny's attempt at a solo outing barely caught the Academy's attention – review of that one coming soon enough – Josh's “Marty Supreme” is one of the big titles at this year's Oscars ceremony. This is my first stop into Safdie-ville so the question remains to be answered. Have I actually been missing out?

Loosely inspired by the life of a real table tennis pro, the film follows Marty Mauser, a Jewish young man living in fifties New York City. By day, he works in his uncle Murray's shoe shop and fucks his married girlfriend, Rachel. By night, he's a rising name in the world of table tennis, an internationally popular sport that still hasn't caught on in America. He needs 700 dollars to travel to London and compete in the British Open. When Murray won't give him the cash, Marty steals it from the store's vault. In London, he meets and seduces washed-up actress Kay Stone and draws the attention of her husband, the rich CEO of a pen corporation. Marty also loses the final match against a Japanese player, Koto Endo. Upon returning home, he's arrested for robbing the shoe store and receives a letter from the Table Tennis Association that says he can't compete again until he pays a $1500 fine. Also, Rachel is pregnant and claims the baby is Marty's. Marty does everything possible to raise enough money to pay the fine and fly to Japan for a rematch against Koto. Orange ping pong balls, a stolen dog, a gangster with an arm crushed by a falling bathtub, the Harlem Globetrotters, a shootout, an exploding gas station, and another fling with Kay follow. 

From a narrative perspective, “Marty Supreme” acts mostly as a series of chain reactions. I went in expecting the “Timothee Chalamet table tennis movie” but there's actually not much ping pong action in the film. Instead, the movie is more about the various insane schemes Marty attempts to raise the necessary funds, each one spiraling wildly out of control very quickly. A good example is a sequence that begins with the simple idea of hustling some guys in a bowling alley, challenging them to a match they can't win with funds that are already secured. In a way that seems amusingly, horrifyingly plausible, this somehow escalates to an entire gas station going up in flames. Keep in mind, this is after a bathtub smashes through the floor and into the apartment below. “Marty Supreme” is probably the only Oscar-nominated inspiration sports drama that features multiple shoot-outs. The entire film manages to capture the feeling of a machine that is always merely seconds away from spinning out of control.

Often, that sense of barely controlled chaos is darkly amusing. Such as when an argument in an apartment is repeatedly forced to occur at a lower volume, least the other tenets be awoken. Once the mysteriously rich gangster – played by, of all people, Abel Ferrara with the exact level of gravelly, mush-mouthed street smarts you'd expect – an unavoidable sense of danger is present in the story. This leads to an increasing uneasy feeling, Marty and Rachel flung into the middle of a violent situation that they have zero control over. Frantic but precise editing creates a visible momentum throughout the film, furthering the atmosphere of uncertainty. When cops interrupt Marty and Kay's park date, how sure are we that this isn't going to get much worst? Daniel Lopatin's vibrating electronic score and a production design that seems to delight in the dingy, filthy squalor of the various locations the story takes place in. This confirms “Marty Supreme” as both a darkly hilarious comedy of errors and a slow-mo car crash of piling-up mistakes that is impossible to look away from.

It's a film of undeniably bold decisions. The opening credits occur over close-up footage of Marty's sperm fertilizing Rachel's egg, which then dissolves to a ping pong ball. Despite the fifties setting, the soundtrack prominently features several eighties New Wave songs, like two separate Tears for Fears' needle drops and Public Image Ltd.'s “The Order of Death.” (Suggesting the possibility that Josh Safdie has seen “Hardware.”) This is the kind of shit that easily invites mockery unless the film around it is properly confident. Marty Mauser is certainly very sure of his own abilities. At least, this is the image of himself he presents at first. He's a nobody in a sport few people on this shore take seriously but he acts like a superstar, bragging to reporters, proclaiming his own greatness, successfully seducing movie stars. The reason Marty commits numerous crimes is because he's so certain his ultimate plan will be successful. It's the kind of character that might have come across as insufferable, if the film didn't make it so abundantly clear that this is an invented persona. Marty Mauser has nothing but his dream of being the greatest table tennis player of all time. If his dream fails, he's dead. Every thing that happens in the film is his attempt to manifest a seemingly impossible ambition into reality through sheer brute force.

It's a narrative that resembles star Timothee Chalamet's award season story, of proclaiming himself the best and willing that recognition into being. He supposedly has been training in table tennis for the last six years to assure realism in this performance. Again, this would be very annoying if Chalamet and the film around him wasn't very careful. Despite his apparent, partially put-on self-confidence, Marty screws up a lot and in huge ways. The script repeatedly sees him thrown to the ground, his possessions destroyed, his plans going awry. A key sequence has one of the film's primary antagonist, a man with all the power Marty lacks, ritualistically humiliate him in public. The question floats throughout, over whether this is the athlete being punished for his hubris or if Marty's life is merely one indignity after another. It creates an interesting push and pull, between the audience feeling like this guy is a jerk who probably needs to be humbled and ultimately rooting for him to succeed despite how cocky he was at the start. It's a balance that Chalamet, with his ability to appear both deeply vulnerable and obnoxiously self-aggrandizing, is uniquely gifted to walk. 

That brings another interesting idea to mind. Marty Mauser is very Jewish. He's so Jewish that he's got an actual Uncle Murray. He's so Jewish that Fran Drescher plays his guilting, pressuring mother. “Marty Supreme” is a film so deeply invested in the cultural archetype of the hard-boiled, Jewish youth growing up in the big city that its protagonist can't help but emerge as symbolic of the entire East Coast Jewish identity. Marty Mauser is a perpetual underdog, a frequent target of harassment from a world that hates him because of his genes. One of his few close friends is Wally, a black man who faces similar prejudice every day. At the same time, most of the bad shit that happens to Marty is his own fault. He wouldn't become the target of a gun-totting asshole farmer or a petty mobster if he hadn't tried to extort both parties earlier. A moment in “Marty Supreme” that has attracted some minor controversy is when Marty brings his mother a piece of the Great Pyramid of Gaza, saying that “we built that.” (I hope this doesn't need saying but: We did not.) This, when paired to an earlier sequence concerning another player being a Holocaust survivor, has led some to assume a Zionist undertone to the film. If we are to take Marty as something of a stand-in for the Jewish condition, at least how it exists in the United States in the 20th century, his debatable unearned sense of self-importance and being the source of much of his own misery makes “Marty Supreme” a self-reflective perception on a cultural identity that is simultaneously God's Chosen People and the whipping boy of a hundred other kingdoms. If nothing else, that suggests a point of view more complicated than blind support for Israel. 

Honestly, I wasn't sure I totally loved “Marty Supreme” throughout. The performances are great, the cinematography and sets are fantastic, the soundtrack drew me in. I wasn't sure if the piling up of misadventures that composes the story was going to come together in a satisfying manner. However, by the time the climax arrives, of Marty's rematch in Japan with the champ that bested him in the first act, I realized I was totally hooked and couldn't look away from the screen. That's a good indication that a movie is a masterful piece of filmmaking that has truly succeeded. From what I've read, it sounds like a lot of the Safdies' previous work walks a similar fine line of anxious filmmaking as this one does. Yes, I am forced to conclude, this is my type of thing and I'm annoyed I didn't check them out sooner. Far from a typical sports biopic, “Marty Supreme” is a wilder, more intense, and more interesting picture than its log line suggests. [9/10]

OSCARS 2026: F1 (2025)

Let us consider the career of screenwriter Ehren Kruger. If you ignore an obscure TV movie and a random Rutger Hauer vehicle, Kruger would first gain fame for writing well-liked thriller “Arlington Road.” Two years after that, he penned “The Ring,” which is still regarded as the best of American J-horror remake trend. Otherwise, Kruger's credits are a line-up of disheartening blockbuster schlock. He did an uncredited polish on the worst “Scream” movie. He put his name on the worst Philip K. Dick adaptation, the movie that ended John Frankenheimer's theatrical career, the Terry Gilliam joint nobody defends, an anime adaptation most famous for whitewashing its heroine, three of the Michael Bay “Transformer” sequels, and Tim Burton's “Dumbo” remake. I don't think Kruger deserves sole blame for any of these features. Maybe the original scripts were really good and got fucked-up during troubled productions or by apathetic filmmakers. Nevertheless, Kruger being associated with so many films that range from deeply mediocre to some of the most annoying big budget movies I've ever seen has not endeared him to me. 

Likewise, let us look at the career of Joseph Kosinski. He first gained attention for elaborate, special effects heavy commercials for video games. This lead to an elaborate, special effects heavy sequel about video games and the least memorable Tom Cruise sci-fi vehicle. It's not that “Tron: Legacy” or “Oblivion” are dreadful movies but they are ones that made little impression on me. Mostly, I associate Kosinski as one of those guys who, for years, gets attached to any number of uninspiring I.P.-driven reboots or sequels before inevitably moving onto something else. But powerful friends can take you places in Hollywood. Clearly Tom Cruise liked working with Kosinski and he eventually got the job to helm the long-in-development “Top Gun” sequel.  That movie become both a surprise box office and critical hit, earning six Academy Award nominations. Kruger wrote that one too and his screenplay got an Oscar nomination, which is pretty funny in light of the rest of his career. 

Now, it would seem, Kosinski and Kruger are hoping to spring off “Top Gun: Maverick's” critical acclaim to change the direction of both of their careers. The director and screenwriter would next re-team not for another forgettable CGI action fest nor a lame reboot of an old cartoon. Instead, they collabed on “F1.” (Advertised on most of the posters as “F1: The Movie,” presumably to differentiate it form “F1: The Sport” or “F1: The Commemorative Dishware.”) Since Tom Cruise had already made his race car movie, another mega-star – Brad Pitt – would be tapped to star. I don't know anybody who saw “F1” but I guess a lot of people did, as it became the ninth highest grossing movie of 2025.  While the movie honestly isn't that different from the work Kosinski and Kruger have made in the past, an aura of prestige was around “F1” all throughout its release. That the film has gone on to be nominated for four Academy Awards, including Best Picture, suggest that Kosinski and Kruger have indeed successfully reinvented themselves as critical darlings. 

Sonny Hayes self-describes not as a has-been in the world of Formula One racing so much as a never-was. His potential has never paid off and he's spent his career as a second stringer. After a successful run at the 24 Hours of Daytona competition, old friend Ruben Cervantes arrives with a proposition. The F1 team Cervantes owns is on the verge being sold unless they start to win some races. Sonny is talked into being the team's second driver. He quickly begins to butt heads with Joshua Pearce, the team's rookie driver, and Kate, the technical director. Sonny helps Kate upgrade the team's car to new heights. His on-going rivalry with Joshua – who is looking to sign with another team – and his own medical problems derail any further wins. It all comes to a head at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. 

After “Maverick” became such a hit, there was a brief conversation about Tom Cruise returning to his other Tony Scott directed drama about a cocky asshole who pilots fast-moving vehicles. I'm doubtful if “More Days of Thunder” will ever come to theaters but “F1” gives us a decent idea of what it might look like anyway. In his youth, Sonny was probably a lot like Cole Trickle. Over the last thirty years, he's acquired plenty of injuries and emotional burn-out but not much in the way of achievement. He is, in other words, an overgrown cocky kid, still with a lot to prove but quickly running out of time to prove it. It's a familiar character and “familiar” is the exact mold “F1” is operating in. The archetypal roles here are that of young rival, down-on-his-luck mentor, a sleazy corporate antagonist willing to sell everyone out, and a female technician the hero naturally shares a will-they-won't-they? romance with. It's extremely easy to guess where all of this is headed. The hero is going to learn about humility and friendship on his way to securing his legacy, the rival will learn to respect his elders, and the girl is certainly going home in Brad Pitt's arms. The protagonist being an old screw-up rather than a young screw-up does provide some degree of novelty but, otherwise, “F1” makes no effort to resist inspirational sports movie cliches. 

“F1” being so – if you'll excuse the inevitable pun – formulaic raises the question of why the Academy felt the need to acknowledge it all. There is a degree of real world subtext at work in the film. Much as there was in “Top Gun: Maverick,” a movie as much about Tom Cruise attempting to mold the next generation of mega-watt movie stars as it is about a retirement age pilot fostering a new team. Brad Pitt is Cruise's former “Interview with the Vampire” co-star and of the same generation of nineties idols. He's one of the few “true” movie stars we have left, able to open a motion picture based strictly on his charisma alone. But he's getting older and he knows it too. “F1” sees Brad Pitt do all the Brad Pitt things you'd expect. He has satisfying romantic chemistry with Kerry Condon, the two's relationship being one of the better elements of the film. He smiles cockily, chuckles, does dangerous stunts, and somehow paints the image of being kind of a washed-up mess despite obviously looking like Brad Pitt. I felt “Maverick” was a fairly half-assed attempt to pass the baton on Cruise's behalf. “F1” doesn't even pretend, as co-star Damson Idris is a wilting forgettable presence in Pitt's shadow. However, the tension the movie industry feels these days over individual talent being eclipsed by corporate I.P. does run throughout “F1.” 

Another reason “F1” scored points with Academy voters is that it's an impressive technical exercise. As Kosinski did with “Maverick,” CGI spectacle has given way to more grounded, practical effects. The film often puts the camera right into the cockpit with its racers. Sparks fly along the track and against the fences around the road. The speed of the vehicles and the spur-of-the-moment decisions the drivers have to make in these races is conveyed to the audience. Claudio Miranda's cinematography is gritty and fast-moving, while Stephen Mirrione's editing cuts quickly but coherently between multiple perspectives. Naturally, this is most apparent during the multiple crash scenes, the moments when the film most comes to life. The cars spinning through the air, the twisted metal being tossed around, the impact on the drivers, the risk to their lives: All are successfully felt by the audience. If motion pictures were judged strictly by the way they look, sound, and move, “F1” would be a masterpiece.

There's a problem here, however. It's strictly my problem alone but it's one I cannot emphasize enough: I do not care about auto-racing. I do not care about the technical specs of the cars. I do not care about the number of wins or conditions necessary to head towards one championship or another. “F1” is deeply invested in both of these things, multiple long scenes dedicated to the various changes and alterations needed to be made to the car to turn it into a proper winner. While “Days of Thunder” at least made NASCAR a coherent experience, at no point during “F1” did I understand how the hell these races actually operate. The script is full of the minutia regarding the rules, which Sonny and his enemies and friends exploit at various points. Getting a car from point-A to point-B faster than all the other cars should be a simple thing to understand. Instead, I spent much of “F1” completely baffled as to what the fuck any of this meant. What is a safety car? What do the letters APXGP mean? How are slick tires different from regular tires? How is a points finish secured? I do not know. Much more pressingly, I do not care. 

My indifference towards all sporting events is the biggest roadblock to me getting much of anything out of “F1.” As the title indicates, the film is essentially one long advertisement for the sport, featuring actual racers and extensive real world branding. I want to say something pithy like “Even if I did understand Formula 1 racing, the stock-parts script would still leave me unsatisfied.” But the over-reliance on the obscurities of race car regulations is a feature, not a bug, for this one. I can admire the professional, ambitious filmmaking on display here in terms of the shooting, editing, sound engineering, and special effects. However, there's simply no in – emotional or narrative – to the story for anyone outside its world. [5/10]

 

Director Report Card: Guillermo del Toro (2025)

13. Frankenstein

 

Like many a young monster kid, Guillermo del Toro had his life changed by James Whale's 1931 version of “Frankenstein.” He has described Boris Karloff's performance as his equavelent to witnessing a saint. Like many a monster kid who has managed to transfer into a successful film making career, del Toro also dreamed about making his own version of the often told tale. Since at least 2007, he's been talking up his epic “Miltonian tragedy” take on Mary Shelley's iconic story. (Which he has also called “his favorite novel of all time.”) Bernie Wrightson's beloved illustrated edition of the book was cited as an inspiration for what the creature might look like with del Toro's regular monster man, Doug Jones, being cast in the part. As with del Toro's adaptations of “At the Mountains of Madness” or “The Hobbit,” it also looked like his “Frankenstein” was destined to remain unfilmed.

That all changed when Guillermo got his Academy Awards for “The Shape of Water” and Netflix stepped up with the offer to fund his dreamiest dream projects. After making his equally long-discussed “Pinocchio” movie, del Toro's “Frankenstein” was on the docket next. As another life-long “Frankenstein” obsessive who also considers the Whale's film his favorite movie of all time, the idea of what del Toro might do with the material tickled my brain. What would an adaptation of the greatest monster story from our greatest modern lover of monsters look like? The director himself has talked about the pressure of adapting such a beloved, frequently filmed story. About whether he could live up to his ambition of making the greatest “Frankenstein” of all time. Well, now the film is done and available for all to see. Reactions have been divided. What do I, as simply another classic horror nerd on the internet, have to say? 

Unlike many past cinematic “Frankensteins,” del Toro's film follows the general outline of Shelley's novel relatively closely. A Danish ship captain attempts to lead his crew on a perilous journey through the frozen Northern corners of the globe. Their journey is interrupted by two figures on the ice. The first is the eccentric Victor Frankenstein, nearly consumed by the cold. The second is an inhuman creation with monstrous strength who pursues the doctor endlessly. Within the bowels of the ship, Victor relates his tale. Of his quest to conquer death by assembling a man from pieces of the dead and reanimating it. Of how he succeeded in his goals but created a monster in the process. Finally, how he and his creation devoted themselves to destroying each other. The Creature tells his version of events too, of how he was brought into this world, how he learned to read and interact, and learned about cruelty and being feared. 

Of all the many films to feature the name “Frankenstein,” only a few have earnestly attempted to adapt Shelley's words. The general concept of the novel has spread through pop culture so far and so wide that the “Frankenstein” legacy is both almost insurmountable seeming and also potentially worthless. Everybody thinks they know what “Frankenstein” is about, even if they actually don't, to the point that there's little novelty to doing it again. At the same time, every meaningful reinvention or run-through of the material must contend with those preconceived notions about the story. For whatever my opinion is worth, I believe del Toro does a decent job of synthesizing Shelley's book with his own ideas and the more iconic elements of what “Frankenstein” is that have emerged over the decades. The narrative is a rough approximation of the book while the director also incorporates lightning animating the monster, a stone tower reaching to the sky, and a Dr. Pretorius-like mentor to Victor into the story. Visuals like the creature crouching among a mill's massive turning gears or being shot very specifically in the eye seem like deliberate homages to the Universal and Hammer versions. 

Of course, the reason why “Frankenstein” has proven so endlessly adaptable for so long is that the themes of the tale are extremely mutable. Purists argue that “Frankenstein” is a reflection of Mary Shelley's specific thoughts and feelings as a young woman and mother to a dead child. At the same time, “Frankenstein's” ideas about creating and being created are as universal as they come. Every adapter zeroes in on the element that speaks the most to them. To del Toro, “Frankenstein” is a story about fathers and sons. Victor's foundational trauma is the death of his mother and being raised by a cruel, perfectionist father. Like many boys before and since, he is doomed to inherit the tendencies of his asshole dad when rearing his own offspring. Just like his dad whipped him with a switch when he was anything less than ideal, Victor smacks the creature around when it disappoints him.  Father and son grimly mirror each other in their quest for mutually assured destruction, on the path towards a resolution of sorts. 

This, to me, is as valid an interpretation of the text as any other. Not the least of which becomes these earthly themes have cosmic ramifications too. Del Toro's lapsed Catholicism often informs his work and its presence is unmissable in his “Frankenstein.” Victor prays to a grand statue of an archangel, which becomes a foreboding symbol throughout. The creature is raised into a crucifix pose as it is brought to life. Adam and Eve are mentioned and a purloined fruit is presented as a symbol of plucked innocence. As Colin Clive observed nearly a century ago, bringing a body to life makes Dr. Frankenstein a lot like God himself. As a hundred dissertations about the references to “Paradise Lost” within the novel have discussed, the Monster is rejected by his creator like Lucifer was rejected by his. He did not request his Maker to mould his clay nor solicit to be promoted from darkness. Neither did any of us. If Victor is God and we are all the Monsters, that means we are all the abandoned children of a father that brought us into this world without ever asking our opinion about it. This is how del Toro grafts his themes of Daddy Issues to Shelley's grander ideas about making and being made. It is an interesting take.
 

Classically, Victor Frankenstein is classified as a Byronic hero, a proud and brooding protagonist whose passions are so great that they inevitably seal his own fate. Frankenstein's quest to create life ensures the end of his own. Del Toro visualizes the irony of Victor and his Creation's link. As he stitched together a man from different body parts, the doctor slowly looses more and more of his own pieces throughout the narrative. This is also a rather heavy-handed visual metaphor for Frankenstein's dwindling humanity. The creature, meanwhile, is given a Wolverine-style healing factor that sees him recovering from any wound, no matter how fatal. In other words, the monster can take any and all abuse Victor dishes out but Victor is inevitably going to break. 

Adaptations of “Frankenstein” have often zeroed in on the homoerotic undercurrents of a story about man trying to remove the feminine from the procreative process. Of two males becoming obsessed with each other. Del Toro's rendition sees Victor actually attempting to rear his offspring, who acts like a giant ripped toddler in a swaddled diaper. He keeps him chained up in the bowels of the phallic castle before ejecting him from the stone womb into the cruel world via an orgasmic explosion. As the two become fixated on punishing one another and destroying each others' bodies, the rivalry takes on a sadomasochistic energy. In its earliest form, the creature is introduced in a kneeling posture. By the end, he refuses to be submissive and punishes his master instead, the power transition being fulfilled. Is “Frankenstein” not a weird incestuous gay BDSM fable? Is Victor Frankenstein not literature's first Dom Daddy? Maybe not but I don't think del Toro is ignorant of some of the images he invokes here. 

How much of that was intended by del Toro is debatable. However, other reoccurring themes of his are certainly present in his “Frankenstein.” Christoph Waltz appears as Harlander, the Dr. Pretorius-like figure that appears to fund Victor's unorthodox experiments. He is an arms manufacturer, a war profiteer, who sees Frankenstein's work as a way to heal his own ailing, syphilitic body. (Another image of flesh falling apart.) The monster is partially stitched together from bodies dug out of a war zone while other parts come from prisoners about to go to the gallows. In other words, this Frankenstein monster is rather literally an offspring of the military industrial complex. Whether than embed with free will by a God above, he is the result of the rich exploiting the poor and the senseless destruction of life on the battlefield. This ties into war as a wasteful, only destructive exercise as depicted in del Toro's “Pan's Labyrinth” and “The Devil's Backbone.” 

This idea also points to how the creature is destined to be an outsider, assembled from pieces of underclassmen who have already been discarded and destroyed. That leads to a characterization of the offspring as more victimized than victimizer. The observation that Frankenstein's creation is not born a monster but rather made one by a cruel and unaccepting world is the most surface level reading of Shelley's material as possible. Del Toro's telling is so laser-focused on this idea that it almost totally takes the monster out of Frankenstein's monster all together. The creature's bond with a blind man and his subsequent rejection by the other people in the cabin are maintained. Almost every other interaction the creature has with the outside world is excised. The creature's quest to take away everything his creator loves is almost entirely neutered, as Victor's bond with his family is very different here. Frankenstein's monster should be misunderstood. However, del Toro is so determined to make the creature an innocent that is a victim of others' cruelty – mostly his dad's – that it takes a lot of the blood out of the story. 

This represents the film's biggest weakness. Del Toro talks often of his love for the gothic romance as a literary genre. If “Crimson Peak” already bordered on a parody of the style, his “Frankenstein” is an even deeper embracing of baroque melodrama. The climax of Shelley's novel, of Victor's creation being with him on his wedding night, is greatly altered for this telling. The exact machinations of how that plays out border on the improbable and then ends with someone looking at the doctor and literally telling him he's the real monster. This proceeds an ending which is unsightly in its sappiness. To tell you the truth, I've always felt that Shelley's book had an abrupt and somewhat unsatisfying ending. Victor dies, the Creature ruminates on the nature of this relationship, and then he walks out onto the ice. Del Toro attempts to come up with a more fulfilling conclusion than this but layers on the weepy emotions instead. It takes a movie otherwise tailor-made to appeal to me out on a disappointing note. 

And what of Elizabeth, traditionally Victor's bride-to-be? Del Toro's reshuffling makes her the intended of Victor's younger brother, her relationship with the doctor more flirtatious and unrequited. In a move all too aware of its Freudian implications, Mia Goth is cast in both this role and as Victor's not-long-for-this-world mother. Much as Victor's mom is a perfect beacon of love and acceptance, whose death leads her son down a path of heartlessness, Elizabeth is a symbol of pure accepting love. She immediately sees the creation as the innocent he is. Bringing the promise of Goth's dual role to fruition, Elizabeth emerges as both a motherly figure and a romantic one to the monster. (Also robbing the movie of a purer example of a Bride of Frankenstein character, which is mildly disappointing.) A lot of very angry people have already pointed out how this treatment under-serves both Elizabeth's role in the story and the Monster's own sexism, in favor of a cuddlier reading. Accusations of sexism have been tossed around but I rather see it simply as making the story a lot flatter, less nuanced and complex than it could have been.
 

This “Frankenstein” is, undeniably, a handsome production. The costumes are gorgeous. Goth, in particular, gets to sweep through her scenes in a succession of colorful, intricately designed gowns. The production design is gorgeous. The elaborately carved caskets that Victor's parents are put to rest in are unforgettable. The sets, especially that towering lab with its vein-like tunnels and ventricular chambers, are impressive. Some have criticized the cinematography as murky or too digital. I think it looks pretty damn good, especially the use of light cutting through dark rooms. The make-up effects are subtle, the creature looking seamless in his undead assemblage but also like something that could actually exist. The performances are strong all around. Oscar Isaac is the right level of blustering ego and bruised desperation as the doctor. Jacob Elordi is extraordinary as the gentle golem of flesh and blood, the actor totally absorbed in the role of an outsider possessed of an animal rage. Christoph Waltz does exactly what you pay him for as the scheming but poetic Harlander. This is a lovingly assembled and acted film.

Ultimately, I have my qualms about this “Frankenstein.” I wish del Toro was willing to make his monster as much of a terror as he is a misunderstood victim. I was looking forward to seeing the director's take on the more alchemic origins for the creature presented in Shelley's writing, something that is reduced to a passing mention here. As grand as the ambitions are, the film ends up feeling rather cloistered instead, trapped so much within the interior worlds of its protagonists and their spurned feelings. One can't help but wonder if this would've been a stronger film if its director had made it twenty years ago, when his work was meaner. However, I also think there's a lot of good work on display here and plenty of interesting ideas. There's going to be many more “Frankenstein” movies made after this one. Another big budget studio take is scheduled to come out in a few weeks already. There's plenty of room for del Toro's interpretation of this age-old tale. For all its flaws, it is still uniquely his version. [Grade: B]

 

OSCARS 2026: Sinners (2025)

 

(In an unlikely turn of events, the bloody vampire movie I reviewed last September has become the most nominated movie in Academy Award history. Please don't held it against me if I reuse my review I wrote last fall during this Oscars season, as my opinion is unlikely to have changed much since then.) 

 

Perhaps I was the last movie nerd in the world to underestimate Ryan Coogler. Establishing himself in 2013 with ripped-from-the-headlines indie drama "Fruitvale Station," Coogler would bring that same level of grit and sincerity to franchise filmmaking with "Creed." "Black Panther" would launch him into the stratosphere but, I felt anyway, at the sacrifice of a lot of his more intimate style. This was truer still of the superhero blockbuster's inevitable sequel, which wasn't all that distinguishable from any other mid-tier Marvel movie. A lot of smaller directors have signed up for massive studio projects with the understanding that this will give them a blank check to fund their weird, personal efforts from now on, an agreement that is increasingly unfulfilled. It seemed like Coogler was going down this same path but, actually, I'm a wrong idiot who is wrong. Coogler came back with "Sinners," a personal, gritty, weird genre hybrid that became a big hit earlier this year. It's also the best new release I've seen in theaters in a while and looks unlikely to be dethroned as my favorite film of 2025. Here, let me ramble about it some more. 

In Prohibition-era Mississippi, twins Elijah and Elias – nicknamed Smoke and Stack – return to their home town. Using money and booze stolen from the Chicago mob, they purchase an old sawmill with the intention of turning it into a juke joint. They recruit several locals to run it, including their cousin and aspiring bluesman Sammie, experienced musician Delta Slim, Smoke's ex-wife and Hoodoo practitioner Annie, and a pair of Chinese immigrant shop owners. The club attracts a crowd, including Stack's white passing ex-girlfriend Mary and Pearline, a singer Sammie takes a liking to. Sammie's soulful playing also draws the attention of Remmick, a white vampire recently chased into the area. Unable to enter the joint without an invitation, he begins to transform anyone who ventures outside into undead bloodsuckers. A tense standout ensues through the night that will change the lives of everyone involved. 

“Sinners” is a movie of great texture and I mean that almost literally. Cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw shot the film on 65mm, ensuring a depth to the film's look that seems much more difficult to achieve with digital technology. Every shot of the film is filled with details, from the extremely precise period costumes to the production design that makes every setting seem like a real, lived-in location. This sense of specificity extends all throughout “Sinners.” The characters' backstories and pasts are discussed naturally through dialogue, suggesting a whole world existed before the viewer sees the events of the film. Whether its the fate of Smoke and Annie's unborn child, the brothers' history as World War I veterans or time working with the mob, or the personal recollections of Mary or Delta Slim's lives, it all adds up to create a world that feels utterly fully formed. The film embraces the shared histories of blues music, the lives of the black community in the American south, how Hoodoo grew out of African mysticism, and a vampire mythology all its own. This pairs extremely well with the Mississippi setting, where everyone is always glistening with a layer of sweat and dirt. 

Honestly, the first act of “Sinners,” devoted entirely to introducing this cast of extremely well realized characters and the world they inhabit, could have gone on longer than it did. However, “Sinners” is also a hard-hitting monster movie/action flick mash-up. A sequence in which the established cast stand in a circle and eat garlic cloves in order to determine if any of them are vampires is clearly inspired by the blood test scene in “The Thing.” It's a logical homage, as “Sinners” captures that same Carpenter-style mixture of anticipation and catharsis. Once the vampires outside become a known factor to the humans inside, “Sinners” turns into a tense stand-off. The undead taunt and interrogate the people inside, attempting to draw them out. This is broken up with some expertly crafted action sequences, of brilliantly devised gun fights, extremely physical close-quarters fights, and lots of spurting blood. When the vampires do make it inside the juke joint, it results in one of the most exciting climax in recent history. And “Sinners” isn't afraid of its status as a low-down horror flick either. These bloodsuckers flash their fangs, have eyes that glint in the darkness, leap eerily through the air, and grow increasingly more grotesque looking as the film goes on. 

By inserting its story into such a layered world, “Sinners” touches on about a dozen fascinating observations about America's racial history. Perhaps the most important idea present in the film is the power of music. Blues and black roots music is depicted as spiritually transcendent, melodies filled with so much emotion and power that they pierce spectral boundaries, time and space. This is fantastically depicted in a jaw-dropping sequence where Sammie's performance causes spectres from the past and present to appear throughout the juke joint. It's almost like a crash-course in the history of African-American music, its relevance as a spiritual and cultural force, all in one spellbinding scene. Coogler's film innately understands how music creates a ritual space and doesn't limit that power to any one culture or race. As wicked as the film's vampires are, they were once human too. Remmick is Irish, implied to be as old as the Roman invasion of the British isles. Him and his trope of vampires play bluegrass and dance jigs, equally driven into an almost religious frenzy by the sense of community created by this music. Their music is good too, the film acknowledging that all traditional folk music has the power to bring people together and create an otherworldly connection. 

Music also represents an escape from the troubles of daily life, of which people of color in the thirties south had more than their share of. The undead creatures pressing down on the juke joint feels, at times, like a metaphor for the pressures of existing as a black person in a racist, white-dominated society. The extended epilogue of “Sinners” establishes that, for a brief moment, they all had a taste of true freedom. Throughout the rest of the film, the white vampires – chased by Native American hunters in their introduction and, later, explicitly aligned with the Klu Klux Klan – attempt to force their way into this space. Remmick uses a need for money, a necessity to exist in a capitalistic culture, to try and worm in. At a key moment, a white authority figure similarly attempts to temps Smoke with an offer of money. Throughout the film, the evils of white Americans are aligned with greed and money. Some have read “Sinners” as arguing for racial essentialism when it seems much more critical of the cash-driven systems of repression than anything else. 

“Sinners” is an all-around work of infectious brilliance. The cast is excellent, lead by two extraordinary performances from Michael B. Jordan, who makes both brothers totally distinctive characters in their own right. Jack O'Connell and Miles Caton, as the villain and Sammie, should become stars based off this. Delroy Lindo, meanwhile, once again proves himself as one of Hollywood's most underappreciated character actors, turning Delta Slim into such a fully realized, funny, tragic character. After being a damn good ensemble piece and vampire thriller for most of its runtime, “Sinners” then turns into a bad-ass action film in its final act, featuring a shoot-out set piece for the ages. Nobody needs me to heap more praise on this one. Plenty of other folks have pinpointed it as the stand-out horror fusion of the year. On the big screen, it played out like a magnificent rush and proves just as thrilling, exciting, and touching upon re-watch. [9/10]