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Watched on Tuesday May 13, 2025.

Gave it a second try today. Still undeniably GORGEOUS but frustratingly empty. The swimming scene is perfect tho.

A very empty metaphor or a game-changing masterpiece? I will decide when I wake up tomorrow.

Things get RIDICULOUS but it is extremely well acted, gripping, and entertaining. I was hooked and loved the ending.

This review may contain spoilers.

This is what a movie about a movie should be.
Spoiler

First time I cried in a film within a film.

Watched on Thursday May 22, 2025.

Watched on Wednesday May 21, 2025.

Watched on Tuesday May 20, 2025.

Jodie Foster is such a magnetic force, she makes even the most bland and needlessly complicated material somewhat engaging.

Watched on Tuesday May 20, 2025.

The ending really got me.

Spike Lee has a knack for butchering the legacy of brilliant Asian films.

Both Harry Melling and Alexander Skarsgård deserve real praise for throwing themselves into a film as bold and unflinching as Pillion. It’s easily one of the most sexually explicit titles I saw at Cannes this year—so much so that several people walked out of my screening. Director Harry Lighton, making his feature debut, approaches this queer BDSM relationship with honesty, curiosity, and a refusal to sanitize. There’s no soft lighting or euphemism here—just a clear-eyed attempt to explore what might lead a man to sleep on a carpet or wear a lock and chain with something close to pride.

Adapted from Adam Mars-Jones’s Box Hill, the film plays like a deeper, queerer version of Fifty Shades of Grey, but with a surprising sense of humor—the highlight being a strange fight scene that had the room laughing. It’s not just about kink; it’s about power, vulnerability, and the emotional charge of giving yourself over to someone completely. And both leads are excellent. Melling plays Colin with raw vulnerability, while Skarsgård brings an oddly magnetic intensity to the stoic, commanding Ray. Their chemistry is offbeat but convincing—no small feat, given how mismatched they might seem at first glance.

There’s also a lived-in quality to the film’s world, and you get the sense that both Lighton and the actors were committed to treating the subject with care and respect. But the story itself doesn’t always rise to the level of that commitment. Beneath the bold imagery lies a fairly conventional romantic arc—predictable, even. Whenever the film edges toward deeper or more uncomfortable territory, it often pulls back, hinting at emotional complexity but rarely delivering it. Lighton’s direction shows restraint and sensitivity, but also a certain hesitancy—content to observe rather than interpret, and too cautious to take a clear stance on the questions it raises.

Still, for tackling its subject alone, Pillion is brave, often funny, and occasionally tender. But just when it seems ready to say something profound, it lets the moment . I ired its nerve—and its performances—but I was left wishing it had pushed a little further beneath the skin.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

Cannes Review

At this point—his 12th feature film—a lot has been said about Wes Anderson’s style becoming predictable, maybe even tired. The most common reaction to the trailer for The Phoenician Scheme was basically, “Cool, yet another Wes Anderson film.” And sure, his signature aesthetic is instantly recognizable: symmetrical compositions, pastel color palettes, deadpan delivery. But I’ve never really found his work repetitive. Even if some techniques stay the same, each of his films (and even his shorts) taps into a different emotional frequency, a different facet of his cinematic universe. For me, they never feel like “more of the same.” They’ve always had something new to offer—until now.

Which is why I want to be clear: the problem with The Phoenician Scheme isn’t the “Wes-isms.” Quite the opposite. From the opening plane explosion, to a wildly imaginative basketball scene, to a quicksand set piece, it’s proof that Anderson still has plenty of visual flair and creative energy to keep pumping these out every two years or so. The issue here is that—for the first time in his filmography—it feels like his heart just isn’t fully in it, especially when it comes to the film’s themes.

And that’s ironic, since this is one of his most straightforward dramatic films to date. It touches on big ideas—life purpose, regret, legacy—but it never feels personal. It’s like Anderson is observing from a distance, never fully engaging with the material. Zsa-zsa Korda (Benicio Del Toro) has all the ingredients of a classic Anderson lead—he’s haunted, remorseful, reflective. But his arc unfolds too quickly. Within the first 20 minutes, he’s already itted his failures and ed on the legacy to his daughter. The rest of the film doesn’t know what to do with him. There’s no tension, no slow unraveling—just a character whose emotional journey ends before the story really begins. I know it sounds clichéd, but a more traditional arc—of a man slowly reconnecting with his daughter—might have brought the film’s themes into sharper focus.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

After the back-to-back success of Hereditary and Midsommar, Ari Aster was quickly crowned the next big voice in horror. But like Nicolas Winding Refn (Drive) and David Robert Mitchell (It Follows), the praise might’ve come a little too soon—and gone straight to his head. No matter how you felt about Beau Is Afraid, Eddington is where the cracks become undeniable. Aster’s reach now clearly exceeds his grasp, letting ambition steer the ship straight into incoherence. The film is packed with ideas, but without the clarity or control to make any of them land—resulting in self-indulgence and, ultimately, something deeply unappealing.

If Beau at least offered a strong first act before spiraling out, Eddington stumbles right from the start. It never settles into a rhythm. The tone constantly shifts, and storylines come and go without leaving a mark. By the time the film reaches its epilogue, it’s scrambling to tie together a mess that never had structure to begin with.

Set during the early days of the pandemic, Eddington wants to satirize how people responded. But despite its prestige packaging—145 minutes, a stacked cast—it doesn’t say much more than The Bubble, Judd Apatow’s much-criticized pandemic comedy, also starring Pedro Pascal. The difference is that Aster truly believes he’s being deep.

Read my full review at reviewsonreels.ca/2025/05/18/eddington/

My Favorite Scene: A climatic shoot-out.

In a year where many Cannes films are easier to respect than to feel, I didn’t expect one of my favorites to come from a shark movie playing in a school auditorium—but here we are. After three buzzed-about Competition titles on Sunday, including one of my most anticipated, the Brazilian O Agente Secreto, I made my way to the more modest Alexandre III theatre for a Directors’ Fortnight screening of Dangerous Animals. Strangely enough, that’s when Cannes started to feel exciting again.

It’s the kind of survival thriller that seems out of place at the festival: a woman kidnapped by a shark-obsessed killer, trapped on a boat, trying to escape. But Sean Byrne directs with such control and ease—effortlessly guiding the audience through fear, suspense, and tension—that after a string of distant, emotionally opaque films that practically demand multiple viewings, Dangerous Animals felt like a jolt. Whether it’s the shark attacks or the claustrophobic boat sequences, the film never loosens its grip.

The tension rests squarely on the dynamic between captive and captor. Hassie Harrison brings grit and physicality to Zephyr, portraying her as both vulnerable and sharp—always thinking, always adapting. It’s especially satisfying to watch her not just survive, but rediscover the will to fight. Jai Courtney, in what might be the role of his career, is both absurd and terrifying. He opens by singing “Baby Shark” and ends as a full-blown lunatic whose twisted logic unnervingly tracks.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

My Favorite Scene: The escape attempt involving a bucket handle, and how it culminates.

Kleber is clearly making a film for himself—and longtime fans will likely appreciate its ambition, callbacks to past work, and cultural specificity. But when the goal is to portray such a defining chapter of national history—especially with international eyes watching—there’s a responsibility to make the story more emotionally accessible and cinematically engaging.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

It all starts quietly—a couple moving into a house they’ve inherited after a relative’s suicide, brushing off dust and dancing like they’ve got all the time in the world. And for a moment, it feels like they do. But since this is a Lynne Ramsay film, that comfort doesn’t last. The event that shifts everything: the protagonist becomes a mother.

From then on, the abundance of time turns cruel. Days stretch endlessly, silence becomes unbearable. Unlike last year’s Nightbitch, which treated motherhood as a disruption of peace, Die, My Love sees it as too much peace—until it curdles into boredom. The protagonist detaches—from her baby, her ions, and her husband, who seems to have lost all desire for her. It’s no longer a relationship, just proximity—she’s raising a child next to a man who’s become little more than background noise.

Ramsay does strong work placing us inside her head. She makes excellent use of sound design, turning the domestic space into something almost hostile—mosquito buzzes, car engines, and the baby’s cries become almost unbearable. We also feel the weight of repetition, the dull ache of waiting for something—anything—to shake her awake. Even a visit to her cruel mother-in-law feels like a break in the monotony. We’re completely on her side when it comes to her husband and his circle of quietly judgmental friends. We’re drawn so close to her unraveling that it’s hard not to root for it.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

My Favorite Scene: a party scene that ends with a swim.

One of the things that stood out in this year’s Cannes lineup was the number of actor-directed films—a trend more common at TIFF and other star-driven festivals than at Cannes. Between Scarlett Johansson’s Sundance-style drama, Harry Dickerson’s debut, and Kristen Stewart’s long-anticipated first feature, it felt like a wave of performers stepping behind the camera. Stewart was the one I was most curious about—not just because of the directors she’s worked with, but because her personality always comes across as sharp, opinionated, and unafraid to speak her mind. All signs of a potentially strong filmmaker. Still, I had doubts. I worried the film might lean too indulgent—and at times, it does. The sheer amount of style and ideas can get in the way of the story she’s trying to tell.

Stewart spent years reshaping her public image after Twilight, building trust by working with directors like Olivier Assayas and Pablo Larraín. Through interviews, she’s always seemed thoughtful, intense, and completely unfiltered. At Cannes, her intro speech made it clear she wasn’t there to play it safe. She seemed focused and ionate—even if that control sometimes clashes with the material. After touching words for her crew and sharp commentary about the festival, she ended with: “Let’s rip the f*cking Band-Aid off and watch the f*cking movie.” Raw, awkward, and genuine—just like the film that followed.

That same energy runs through The Chronology of Water. It’s complex, abstract, and clearly very personal. Stewart and Poots don’t ask us to root for the main character—or even like her. Instead, we watch someone unravel and slowly try to rebuild. Lidia isn’t a “heroine” in the usual sense. She spirals, self-destructs, pushes people away, and makes hard-to-watch choices. But there’s honesty in how it’s shown—especially in how early trauma shaped not just her behavior, but her identity.

Read my full review at: reviewsonreels.ca/2025/05/18/the-chronology-of-water/

As I mentioned in my review of The Chronology of Water, when comparing the three directorial debuts by Hollywood actors in this year’s Cannes lineup, I initially felt Kristen Stewart’s film seemed the most fitting for the festival. I haven’t seen Scarlett Johansson’s Eleanor the Great yet, but with Urchin, I stand corrected. Harris Dickinson’s debut feels far more like something that would premiere at TIFF: a compelling but ultimately familiar portrait of a homeless man caught in a cycle of self-destruction and self-sabotage. It’s full of good intentions, but often feels a bit out of its depth and occasionally artificial. A predictable exploration of how society shuts its doors on those who’ve fallen too far—without offering them a real way back.

The film works best when introducing its main character, Mike, played with real vulnerability and a kind of childlike longing by Frank Dillane. I especially liked how the film holds back on revealing the character’s deeper impulses, letting them unfold gradually and culminating in a brief flashback that reframes an earlier scene, offering a different perspective on everything we’ve seen so far. As Mike is released from prison, you can sense his effort—he wants to do better—but lacks the tools. And even when systems appear (a hostel, a job, the beginnings of new relationships), they always feel temporary, conditional. You can almost hear the ticking clock. From there, the story hits all the expected beats. Dickinson does what he can to elevate the material, but there’s only so much to be done with a script that feels so mapped out.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

My Favorite Scene: when a flashback extends a previous scene and gives the film a new persoective.

As far as movies about the making of a movie go, Linklater’s Nouvelle Vague is one of the better ones. It thankfully avoids the genre’s usual traps, never taking itself too seriously—as if the film being made (Breathless, from 1960) were some sacred monument in human history that must be treated with utmost reverence (cough Mank cough), nor painting its director as an ultra-complex, godsent artist destined for worship. Instead, Linklater approaches it like a small, self-aware project designed to entertain its core audience: cinephiles. The tone is light, the jokes are niche, and the structure feels closer to an MCU-style, cameo-driven, fan-pleasing romp—only this time, with Truffaut, Chabrol, Varda, and Rohmer as the superheroes.

Directed by Linklater as yet another one of his stylistic detours (he always keeps things interesting, branching out into new styles every few years—but always reliably so), the film plays more like an extended SNL sketch. It’s the kind of comedy that only really lands if you already know who these French New Wave icons are. If not, some of the punchlines will likely you by.

That said, the film doesn’t completely limit itself to hardcore film nerds. The behind-the-scenes story is told with such a breezy tone and enough solid jokes that it stays accessible, and the built-in ticking clock—the 20 days they have to complete the shoot—adds just enough narrative momentum to engage even those unfamiliar with Breathless or the New Wave.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

My Favorite Scene: The first day of shooting and its abrupt interruption.

The Little Sister, the third feature by French-Algerian filmmaker Hafsia Herzi—and her first competing in Cannes’ main competition—feels like a second-rate version of Blue Is the Warmest Colour. It plays like ’s obligatory entry, swapping that film’s urgency, depth, and fire for something far more timid. Adapted from Fatima Daas’s autobiographical novel, it follows a 17-year-old Muslim girl as she begins to make sense of her desire, her faith, and the quiet weight of expectations placed on her shoulders. It promises a collision of identities—religion, queerness, family—but never finds the courage to let them crash.

Instead, the film drifts through familiar territory: the half-hearted relationship with a boy, the first stolen glance, the quiet panic of discovery, and a slow-burn romance that barely catches a spark. Scenes unfold in silences and glances, as if emotion can be whispered rather than felt. There’s beauty in restraint, but here it feels more like fear. The film holds everything at a distance, as though afraid of breaking the stillness. What could have been intimate feels instead like detachment—too careful, too mannered, too unwilling to speak plainly.

That fear shows itself early. A boy mocks Fatima at school for being a lesbian, then disappears from the film. A romance and its eventual fallout happen far too abruptly, unconvincing in both chemistry and emotional impact. Later, the film sets up a conversation with an imam as if something meaningful is about to be unearthed, but it quickly deflates—too cautious to take a side, too hesitant to say anything at all. A similar moment with her mother cuts away just when it might finally land somewhere real. One by one, the film lays out relationships that seem ready for conflict or connection—boyfriend, friends, family—but none are allowed to unfold. It keeps preparing us for something deeper, but never lets us in.

Read my full review at reviewsonreels.ca/2025/05/17/the-little-sister/

My Favorite Scene: A conversation in a car where Fatima gets a 50-euro crash course in grown-up advice.

A van cutting through the endless Moroccan desert. A father and son on a desperate quest. A group of nomads dancing through the night, chasing something just beyond the horizon. It sounds like the setup for a sweeping adventure film. Sirât is that—and more. What Laxe offers is an emotional journey where the impossible destination is a sense of wholeness that may no longer exist. Beneath the surface, it’s a quiet, aching search for meaning—for a daughter, for faith, for connection in a fractured world. An odyssey of grief and spiritual reckoning, where every mile feels like an attempt to stitch something broken back together.

The film often veers into the bizarre—at times even surreal—constantly evoking Mad Max through its imagery of battered vehicles tearing across sand dunes, a pulsing techno soundtrack, and the worn, almost otherworldly look of its characters. But where that franchise dives into chaos, Sirât moves toward something much more tender. Beneath the dust and beats, there’s a striking sense of empathy—an unexpected emotional current that slowly builds between strangers. These people are all running from something, or maybe toward something, and what binds them isn’t ideology or history, but suffering. That shared pain becomes the foundation for something that resembles family. A bond born not out of circumstance, but understanding.

We don’t get much background on the group. In fact, we barely get any. But it’s clear they’ve lost a lot. There are no tidy monologues explaining what happened or who they used to be. And that works. Because in Sirât, it’s not the past that matters—it’s the act of moving forward. Even questions like how the father can afford to drive off in search of his daughter feel irrelevant.

Read my full review at reviewsonreels.ca/2025/05/16/sirat/

My Favorite Scene: A devastating handbrake accident—sudden, tragic, and a turning point for everything that follows.

In my pre-teen years, I caught the plague—and judging by how painfully authentic his debut feature The Plague feels, so did first-time director Charlie Polinger. Not a literal illness, but something quieter and more insidious. It spreads through whispers, side glances, and silence. It feels like being marked, excluded, made untouchable. Polinger captures that experience with striking clarity, stripping away the usual nostalgia and warmth that often define coming-of-age stories and replacing them with something far more honest: terror. The terror of being left out. Of being mocked. Ridiculed in public. That awful, sinking feeling when the few people you’ve trusted suddenly turn their backs on you.

That’s eventually what happens to 12-year-old Ben (Everett Blunck), a new kid sent to a summer water polo camp in 2003. He’s not an outcast at first—smart, socially aware, trying to fit in—but also not quite popular. He can’t pronounce the final “t” in “Boston,” which makes him an easy target. Still, it’s nothing compared to Eli (Kenny Rasmussen), a quiet, isolated boy with a skin condition the others cruelly nickname “the plague.” When Ben begins to show empathy toward Eli, he starts slipping down the social ladder—forced to choose between going along with the cruelty or becoming its next victim.

Polinger directs it all with surreal intensity and a sharp eye for mood and detail. The camera lingers just long enough on moments of casual cruelty, letting us feel the complicity of those who stand by. Some underwater scenes are stunning and otherworldly. There are flashes of horror, too—brief, jarring sights of blood or injury that hit like panic attacks. It’s all heightened by Johan Lenox’s haunting, glitchy score, which scrapes at the nerves and mirrors the confusion and dread building inside Ben. The tone may feel strange at first, but it perfectly matches that time in life when everything starts to matter and nothing feels safe.

Read my full review at reviewsonreels.ca/2025/05/17/the-plague/

My Favorite Scene: Jake’s surprisingly genuine apology to Ben.

Cannes #04 Case 137 (Dossier 137)

Powerfully relevant, but too straightforward.

Case 137 follows Stéphanie, a member of the French Internal Affairs division—what she calls “the police’s police.” Formerly in a more active policing role, she now investigates misconduct within the force. Her latest case involves a young man who was shot in the head with a flash-ball projectile—something officers are explicitly forbidden from doing. As she digs deeper, she uncovers disturbing evidence pointing to a clear abuse of power.

The film aims to expose the systemic rot within law enforcement, where officers protect each other and misconduct is quietly buried. It positions itself as an enraging commentary on institutional cover-ups and lack of ability. But while the themes are undeniably relevant, the execution isn’t as impactful or searing as 2019’s Les Misérables. The film leans heavily on a clear-cut narrative: some officers committed wrongdoing, and the system closed ranks to protect them. There’s little ambiguity, no moral complexity, and not much to reflect on beyond the surface.

Read my full review at reviewsonreels.ca/2025/05/16/case-137/

After taking over Mission: Impossible in its fifth entry—and arguably delivering the best installment—Christopher McQuarrie decided to stick around and break the franchise’s tradition of rotating directors. Despite bigger budgets and scope, every film felt like a smaller version of what came before—though this one is a small improvement over the previous film, which was easily the franchise’s lowest point.

Giving the keys to a single director, in my eyes, stripped the series of what made it unique in the first place. Even in its weaker entries (MI:2 is still the punching bag), there was something exciting about seeing directors like Brad Bird bring cartoon energy, or Abrams come in with his mystery-box storytelling. More importantly, it made the franchise feel bigger than just one person’s vision.

There’s a reason Ethan Hunt never became a James Bond or Jason Bourne. He’s not exactly a deep character. He’s a do-gooder—kind of bland—and the only real personality came from Tom Cruise’s commitment. Even when they gave him a wife, it never mattered—she was gone by the next film and barely mentioned again.

When McQuarrie came on for Rogue Nation, he was still being pulled in different directions. Cruise reportedly approached the composer directly to lighten up the score, adjusting it to something more in line with the older films. But as McQuarrie kept returning, he gained more control. He fired the composer, leaned harder into self-serious storytelling, and slowly turned the series into something closer to a Marvel finale—epic score, dense lore, and every thread needing to tie back to some past event. (Spectre and Rise of Skywalker PTSD) Heists took a back seat. The team dynamic shrank. And stunts became the main event—big, loud, “look what we captured for real” moments meant more to impress than involve.

PS: i would rank this above 2 and 7 in the franchise.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

My Favorite Scene: Gabriel escaping with his parachute.

In Two Prosecutors, director Sergei Loznitsa—returning to narrative filmmaking after years in documentaries—wants us to feel the weight of Soviet bureaucracy and the slow erosion of faith from within the system. Set almost entirely in sparse rooms and endless corridors, it’s a deliberately rigid film meant to mirror the cold, suffocating environment it portrays. But while the intention is clear, the result feels more like a test of patience than a descent into moral crisis.

Set in 1937 during Stalin’s Great Purge, the story follows Alexander Kornev, a young and ambitious prosecutor who still believes the system is just—that Stalin is a force for good. It’s a fascinating starting point, especially with how closely it echoes present-day Russia. There are moments of sharp dialogue, chilling absurdity, and silence used with purpose. But the film’s pacing—glacial and repetitive—keeps everything at arm’s length. It has all the pieces of a harrowing experience, but it rarely builds urgency or emotional momentum.

I’ve never been a fan of films that use silence and prolonged walking as shorthand for inner turmoil. And here, that technique dominates. Characters enter rooms, sit, stare, take their time writing notes, and repeat conversations we’ve just seen. The film feels like thirty minutes of substance stretched across two hours of stillness. Even a potentially powerful conversation with a prisoner in the first act loses its weight by dragging well past its point.

And that’s what makes the experience so frustrating—because Loznitsa clearly knows how to communicate through images. The opening and closing shots of the prison gates are powerful. Characters are introduced in ways that tell us a lot within seconds (I especially liked the warden’s introduction). The scene of Kornev waiting in a lobby, watching others disappear one by one, is a blunt but effective metaphor—even if it feels familiar. The production design is excellent, the muted color palette fits the oppressive tone, and the sparse use of music lands exactly when it should. There’s even some dry, well-placed humor buried in the absurdity of Soviet procedure.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

Cannes #01

The idea for Sound of Falling began with a photograph—three women from the 1920s, their lives left to the imagination. That image stayed with director Mascha Schilinski and eventually became the seed for her second feature. Over the course of nearly three years, she and co-writer Louise Peter developed a story that spans a century, following four girls who lived on the same German farm during different eras. Their lives are gently woven together in a structure that brings to mind the shifting timelines and themes of The Hours, Picnic at Hanging Rock, and The Virgin Suicides.

Like those last two films, Schilinski is interested in the inner lives of girls and women—how they carry longing, navigate silence, and try to make sense of a world shaped by others. Even though these characters are separated by decades, they all share a quiet ache. From the very beginning, we see it through Alma, the youngest of the four, whose perspective is often framed by keyholes and narrow glimpses—always watching, always just outside. The other women may be older, but that same sense of distance and restlessness lingers in all of them.

Visually, the film is often breathtaking (as shown in the beautiful still being used to promote the film). Shot in a 4:3 aspect ratio, the cinematography constantly presses in on its characters, placing them in tight frames and corners as if the world around them is closing in. The use of light and shadow, windows and reflections, makes nearly every frame feel carefully composed—and the number of shots that could be frozen and hung in a gallery is immense. It was only my first film at Cannes, but I find it hard to believe I’ll see anything more beautiful this year.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

My Favorite Scene: A swim between two girls, underscored by Anna von Hausswolff’s “Stranger.”

Embargo

Martin is about a young man so isolated, he’s no longer sure if he’s even human. George A. Romero paints him as both victim and predator—adrift, disconnected, and dangerously lost. He drifts through life without connection, identity, or purpose, trapped in a fog of meaninglessness.

Romero, known for reinventing horror with Night of the Living Dead, takes on vampirism with a similarly subversive approach. But his vampire isn’t a seductive immortal; he’s a confused young man who thinks he needs to drink blood to survive. It might be real—or it might just be mental illness, repression, and inherited trauma. With characteristic boldness, Romero never confirms one or the other, giving us both: Martin has disturbing, terrifying murder scenes—especially on the opening attack in a train car—but at its heart, it’s a tragic character study about alienation and the fear of not belonging.

Romero cast John Amplas, a stage actor in his first film role, and he’s fantastic. Amplas plays Martin with quiet intensity, capturing his inner chaos and making us believe that his delusions might actually be true. He doesn’t come across as a monster, but as someone lost, uncertain, and trying to make sense of what he’s been told he is.

The film’s central metaphor might not be as sharply drawn as Romero’s work with zombies, but Martin still offers a powerful exploration of loneliness, religious repression, and family alienation. It’s deeply empathetic, pulling us into Martin’s internal struggle. Though often introspective and slow-burning, sudden bursts of violence snap us back to attention, and Amplas’s haunted performance holds everything together.

Watching it today, it’s hard not to think of our post-pandemic world, where so many people emerged from isolation more emotionally adrift than ever. Maybe the pandemic turned a few of us into vampires.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

In Stroszek, German director Werner Herzog gives us one of the grimmest takes on the “American dream” I’ve seen. There’s this constant feeling that no matter what the characters do, they’re doomed to fail. Our main protagonists are Bruno, a mentally ill and recently released ex-con; Eva, a sex worker trying to escape abuse; and Scheitz, their eccentric elderly neighbor. The film plays out in two rough halves—first in , where their lives are shaped by poverty and mistreatment, and then in a small American town, where the reality of their new life turns out to be just as bleak. It all feels real, thanks to Herzog’s documentary-like approach and the use of non-professional actors—it’s not too far off from the rough realism you’d get in something like Borat, just without the comedy. But that realism also comes with a very slow, distanced tone that made it harder for me to fully connect.

The early Berlin scenes especially felt aimless and repetitive. I get that it’s by design—Herzog leans into improvisation and raw moments—but it doesn’t always translate into something compelling or insightful. We get the point early on, and then we keep circling it. Things become more focused once they reach the U.S., though there are still plenty of drawn-out moments. Instead of really showing how the characters struggle to make ends meet despite having jobs, Herzog drifts into monologues and diversions. Some of these work and help sell the “real life” feel, but since most of them come in the second half, they can also wear thin. Still, Herzog is quietly tracking the way their hopes unravel.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

Watched on Thursday May 8, 2025.

Fight or Flight earns plenty of frequent flyer miles for blond Josh Hartnett going full lunatic once again. The actor, who had a bit of a comeback in 2023’s Oppenheimer—and an even bigger one anchoring M. Night Shyamalan’s Trap—brings that same commitment to director James Madigan’s modestly budgeted debut. He plays Lucas Reyes, an exiled American mercenary offered a shot at redemption if he can identify a criminal known only as “The Ghost” during a flight from Bangkok to San Francisco. The catch? He’s not the only one on board hunting for the same target.

In a nutshell, the film is a leaner Bullet Train—stripped of the bloated runtime, A-list budget, and overly convoluted plotting (and I say that as someone who liked Bullet Train, even if it was a bit much). Fight or Flight delivers some inventive action, and at 46, Hartnett reportedly did most of his own stunts. You can feel the budget being stretched thin—some of the effects are a bit clunky, which is surprising given that Madigan comes from a visual effects background. He clearly swings big, staging five or six major action set pieces, maybe more than the film can comfortably afford.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh is the kind of charming and lovable film that melts the heart of even the grumpiest person. Originally released in 1977, it’s a compilation of three earlier Disney shorts—Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree (1966), The Blustery Day (1968), and Winnie the Pooh and Tigger Too (1974)—with some new material added to stitch them together. All are based on A. A. Milne’s classic stories and carry that unmistakable warmth, complete with a narrator who flips through the pages and chats with the characters as the tales unfold.

Walt Disney had acquired the rights to Milne’s work in the early ‘60s and, instead of diving into a full feature, chose to introduce Pooh to American audiences gradually through these shorts. That approach worked beautifully—by the time they were bundled into this theatrical release, Pooh and his friends already felt like part of the Disney family.

Watching it now, it’s remarkable how effortlessly it all flows. Each segment presents a light, whimsical conflict—Pooh getting stuck after eating too much honey, a windy day blowing everyone around, or Tigger jumping a little too high, landing on a tall tree, and getting scared to come down—but the real joy comes from simply spending time in the Hundred Acre Wood. The characters feel fully formed and endlessly endearing. Whether it’s Rabbit’s exasperation, Piglet’s nervousness, Tigger’s joyful chaos, or my childhood favorite, Eeyore, with his low voice and lower self-esteem, they all leave a lasting impression. Credit goes to the wonderful voice cast, who created the definitive versions of these characters, and to the gentle storybook tone that never talks down to kids or overwhelms adults.

Read my full review at ReviewsOnReels.ca

My Favorite Scene: The solution found to get Tigger to come down from a tall tree.

Adding to the pile of disappointing video game adaptations, Until Dawn reimagines the familiar “group of friends in a cabin” setup with a time loop gimmick—meant to mimic the game’s branching outcome system, where player choices shape the story. In theory, this should be a clever way to translate interactivity into film. In practice, it mostly feels like narrative stalling.

The group of six friends fits the usual horror movie mold, but to the film’s credit, the first loop does a good job establishing their relationships. They come across as people who genuinely care for each other, which makes those early scenes more engaging than expected. That opening loop is also the film at its most compelling—there’s a clever idea involving how the area’s weather behaves, and the discovery of photos of missing people adds just the right amount of eerie mystery.

As a fan of time loop stories, I was on board for a while—until the film started unraveling its larger mythology. The explanation behind the loop is both confusing and disappointingly unoriginal, framing everything as some kind of experiment on fear. Once that layer is revealed, the movie starts to lose steam. There’s a complete lack of urgency, and the actual stakes are only clarified far too late.

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In the wake of the monumental success of 1975’s Jaws, producers sought to replicate the formula by adapting another Peter Benchley novel. This time, the plot centers on a couple who, during a dive, stumble upon a sunken World War II shipwreck containing morphine ampoules. Their discovery draws the attention of both a grizzled treasure hunter (played by Robert Shaw) and a group of Caribbean villains. The film was marketed heavily around its underwater sequences (including shark fights) and Jacqueline Bisset’s infamous see-through diving shirt—two elements that helped it gross $100 million worldwide. Not quite Jaws’ $470 million, but still enough to make it the sixth highest-grossing film of 1977.

Technically, The Deep is impressive. It earned an Academy Award nomination for Best Sound and a BAFTA nomination for Best Cinematography. The underwater sequences—by far the film’s main attraction—were considered groundbreaking at the time, with the production reportedly requiring over 9,000 dives and nearly 11,000 man-hours underwater. These scenes often involve sea creatures like eels or sharks, and they manage to be genuinely frightening. Director Peter Yates deserves credit for how well these moments are staged, keeping them dynamic and tense—even by today’s standards. Unlike something like Thunderball, where the underwater scenes drag and feel murky, The Deep keeps the action clear and relatively fast-paced for 1970s underwater filmmaking.

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My Favorite Scene: An eerie underwater encounter with the eel.

Joel Souza’s indie Western Rust will forever be overshadowed by real-life tragedy. During a rehearsal scene in 2021, Alec Baldwin accidentally and fatally shot cinematographer Halyna Hutchins and injured Souza himself. The incident made international headlines and forced the film industry to take a harder look at on-set safety, prompting stricter regulations. At the time, the film was only halfway finished, and production was shut down indefinitely.

Nearly two years later, filming quietly resumed with the of Hutchins’ family, who also received the rights to any future profits. After a limited festival run in 2024, Rust finally arrived in U.S. cinemas and on streaming platforms in May 2025, drawing mild curiosity from filmgoers eager to see the end result of a production so marked by tragedy. Some argue the film should never have resumed, but given that Hutchins’ family approved it—and her final work is genuinely impressive—I personally believe it’s the best possible outcome in an impossible situation.

What makes it even harder to separate the movie from the tragedy is that the story itself also centers on an accidental killing. It follows Lucas, a 13-year-old caring for his younger brother after the deaths of their parents, who accidentally kills a man and is sentenced to hang. His grandfather Harland Rust (Alec Baldwin), a wanted outlaw, comes to his rescue, and the two flee across New Mexico with a bounty on their heads.

The premise isn’t particularly original and unfolds at a pace that can feel drawn out, spending too much time with a secondary cast of bounty hunters. Still, the film’s arresting visuals and the central bond—especially thanks to Patrick Scott McDermott’s remarkably mature performance—hold it together.

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I Never Promised You a Rose Garden is an adaptation of Joanne Greenberg’s 1964 autobiographical novel about Deborah Blau, a 16-year-old girl institutionalized for schizophrenia who retreats into visions of an imagined, indigenous-inspired world as a coping mechanism. Greenlit after the overwhelming success of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975), this film offers a more intimate, insider perspective on mental illness, focusing on what a comionate and constructive form of treatment might look like.

We never get a clear sense of how much time has ed during Deborah’s stay in the institution, but the film effectively conveys that she has endured a long and difficult journey. Early on, through restrained and economic dialogue from her parents, we immediately grasp the emotional toll that her condition has taken on the family. The director frequently returns to ritualistic chants and symbolic visions to immerse us in Deborah’s fragmented perspective. Whether or not the depiction feels authentic—reactions over the years have been mixed, including from Greenberg herself—it undeniably fostered a deep sense of comion in me, not just for Deborah but for the other patients in the facility as well.

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The Best Foreign Language Film winner of the 1978 Oscars marked a real step up from the previous year. Black and White in Color, which also dealt with the clash of different cultures, leaned heavily into satire and largely forgot the human element. Madame Rosa, by contrast, succeeds thanks to the depth of its two central characters and the way their relationship is slowly and movingly built. It gets its point across far more effectively, and with much greater emotional resonance.

Based on the award-winning novel La Vie devant soi (The Life Before Us), Madame Rosa centers on the bond between an elderly Holocaust survivor and former prostitute, and Momo (short for Mohammad), a young orphan boy she raises. Through their relationship, the film explores themes of found family, solidarity, aging, and dignity in the final stages of life. It’s not the most polished film—some transitions feel rough, and a few side performances are uneven—but that hardly matters when the heart of the story is this strong. Simone Signoret brings immense strength and complexity to Rosa, and her dynamic with Momo is what truly makes the film shine.

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With general interest in the MCU clearly on the decline, Thunderbolts* tries to bring things back to basics—focusing on grounded character interactions and the kind of banter that defined earlier entries. More than that, it might be Marvel’s most thematically ambitious film to date, touching on depression, loneliness, and mental health. For some, the mere presence of these themes is enough to elevate it above the studio’s recent output, with a few even calling it the best MCU film since Endgame. But once you move past the novelty of “look, a serious topic in a Marvel movie” and focus on how the film handles those ideas—not just that it includes them—you’ll find there’s not much that truly sets Thunderbolts* apart.

That’s not to say the film doesn’t have bright spots. In fact, it has one very bright spot: Florence Pugh. One of the most consistent actors of her generation, Pugh has a way of elevating even the most mediocre material—sometimes to the point of convincing you the movie around her is better than it actually is (Don’t Worry Darling, We Live In Time). And she does it again here. Her character’s arc may be thinly written, but Pugh brings it to life with a kind of hollow-eyed sadness that feels lived-in. She’s funny when needed and makes the ensemble click more than the script ever allows. And she does it all without seeming like she’s trying. She was already the highlight of Black Widow and Hawkeye, but honestly, her performance here might be one of the best the MCU has seen.

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This Favor’s Not So Simple.

Despite unfounded rumors of a behind-the-scenes feud between Anna Kendrick and Blake Lively, on screen the two reunite to ask you for a favor: to enjoy Another Simple Favor — even if its messy, twist-heavy script makes that a tall order. They ask with so much energy that, honestly, I almost felt bad saying no.

A sequel to 2018’s A Simple Favor — a film that was stylish and fun, if basically a more glamorous but shallower Gone Girl — Another Simple Favor brings back most of the original cast, only to quickly sideline them so it can throw Stephanie (Kendrick) into another chaotic game orchestrated by Lively’s Emily, this time against the postcard-perfect backdrop of Capri, Italy.

The script, written by Jessica Sharzer (returning from the first film) and Laeta Kalogridis, wisely knows the original worked best when its two leads were riffing off each other. So it wastes no time getting them back together. And for a while, it works. The first half offers beautiful Italian scenery, Lively once again strutting around like a walking couture mannequin, and Kendrick getting laughs from her uptight, paranoid energy. There’s a breezy, White Lotus-style vibe that makes it easy to just enjoy the ride.

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After three soulful road movies — culminating in the fantastic Kings of the Road — Wim Wenders was ready for a change. Craving a tighter narrative structure, he turned to Patricia Highsmith’s world of deception and violence. The idea of a filmmaker known for life-affirming, loosely plotted works like Kings of the Road and Perfect Days tackling a tense thriller was exciting—and while The American Friend doesn’t quite rank among Wenders’ very best, it’s a fascinating and stylish foray outside his usual comfort zone.

Wenders shows great command of cinematic language here, crafting tense sequences—especially the two major murder setpieces, both masterclasses in building suspense. Combined with Robby Müller’s stunning cinematography, Jürgen Knieper’s atmospheric score used with precision, and restrained yet incredibly sharp performances, the result is a film that looks and feels like gold.

Similarly to how he captures landscapes in his road movies, Wenders’ vision of —particularly Hamburg—is striking: rain-slicked streets, sterile corridors, graffiti-tagged subways. Cityscapes are rendered as quietly decaying, empty spaces where life feels adrift. isn’t shown as vibrant or bustling, but as a place of disappointment and unfulfilled promises, mirroring the emotional state of its characters.

Yet for all the strength in its visuals and moment-to-moment tension, the story itself doesn’t fully rise to the same level.

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My Favorite Scene: The first murder sequence, unfolding slowly and patiently across the subway stations.

After years of appearing in one terrible movie after another, largely due to his need to pay off debts,  Nicolas Cage started finding his groove again around 2013, when he began starring in and delivering some truly great performances in a sub-genre I like to call “Nicolas Cage has been done wrong and now needs to do something about it.” Whether it’s going on a violent spree (Mandy), meditating on grief (Pig), or becoming a decent father figure to a teenage boy with an abusive, alcoholic father (the underappreciated Joe), these one-word-titled films have used Cage better than anything in years. Cage, who is always committed — no matter how bad the material he’s working with — somehow gives even more of himself (as if that were possible) and brings unexpected depth to these roles.

The Surfer barely makes it into that category. It tells the story of a man (referred to only as “the Surfer”) who returns to his childhood beach with his son, intending to buy back his old family home, only to be turned away by a hostile group of locals who have unofficially taken over the area. As he insists on staying, his life and mental state begin to spiral. Unlike the previous films, where one major event sets things off, here it’s death by a thousand humiliations — refusing him the right to surf, stealing his board, messing with his car, and so on.

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My Favorite Scene: Nicolas Cage stuffs a dead rat into a gang member’s mouth and yells “Eat the rat!” Top 3 Cage moment right there.

The song New York, New York has become so iconic that it almost feels like a sprawling Martin Scorsese epic was the only fitting way to introduce it to the world. Yet few people today associate the song with the film where it originated—a movie that, ironically, spends little time celebrating the city itself, despite being originally intended by Scorsese as a vibrant tribute to New York after the bleakness of Taxi Driver.

Instead, the film veers in the opposite direction, centering on a turbulent love story between an abusive musician and a gifted singer, where resentment and insecurity gradually tear them apart. Even on its own , the lack of emotional foundation and repetitive structure make it one of the more significant missteps of Scorsese’s career.

Scorsese’s artistry remains evident throughout the film. As always, he demonstrates his command of cinematic language through dynamic camera movements, meticulous scene construction, and his ability to capture the dazzling production design, costumes, and Liza Minnelli’s powerhouse musical performances. But all of it is ultimately wasted on a messy, unfocused plot, anchored by arguably Scorsese’s most unlikable protagonist—which is remarkable for a director who created figures like Travis Bickle and Jake LaMotta.

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My Favorite Scene: The performance of “But the World Goes ‘Round”. So powerful that the film could have ended there—and it would have been better for it.

Peppermint Soda is a slice-of-life film made during the French New Wave, written and directed by first-time filmmaker Diane Kurys. Frustrated by how women were being portrayed at the time (most French New Wave films were led by male auteurs), she wanted to offer something more authentic. Drawing from her own experiences, she created a film that feels deeply personal, and that honesty is felt throughout—especially in the relationship between the two sisters, which stands as one of the most authentic and affecting portrayals of sisterhood not just in the French New Wave, but in films in general.

The story follows one school year in the lives of 13-year-old Anne and 15-year-old Frédérique, from the day that marks the end of their vacation to when school is finally over. We accompany them through classes with strict teachers, gym routines, first crushes, and small daily battles. The two couldn’t be more different—one shy and sensitive, the other socially conscious and independent. At times, it feels like they don’t even like each other (especially the older toward the younger), but you never doubt that they love each other. With both parents absorbed in their own post-divorce problems, the girls slowly realize that their strongest bond is with each other.

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There remains hope that Joe Carnahan will someday recapture the artistic clarity and emotional depth of 2011’s The Grey, a film that stood as a striking genre piece—existential, visceral, and carried by a career-high Liam Neeson performance. Unfortunately, Shadow Force is yet another reminder that Carnahan’s recent projects, while occasionally fueled by interesting premises or fleeting moments of energy, fall short of that earlier standard.

The story shares some DNA with this year’s Back to Action, though here only one half of the couple has retired while the other remains active. Once the retired partner’s cover is blown, the pair reunite to protect their son and confront their former team. What follows is an uneven blend of family drama and action thriller, with diminishing returns as the film progresses.

The film benefits greatly from its committed cast. Omar Sy and especially Kerry Washington do more than the script asks of them, bringing real emotion and nuance to a setup that could’ve easily felt routine. Their chemistry—and their warm, charming scenes with their child, including a sweet family rendition of a Lionel Richie tune—provides the humanity the film otherwise struggles to sustain. Da’Vine Joy Randolph, fresh off her Oscar win for The Holdovers, is characteristically engaging, though the material mostly keeps her in her comfort zone. Mark Strong, meanwhile, delivers a few memorable moments as the antagonist—particularly during an early monologue opposite two henchmen—but is ultimately undercut by a screenplay that treats his menace with an inconsistent tone, veering into self-parody.

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Nine years after director Gavin O’Connor gave us an action thriller version of A Beautiful Mind, he and the original cast return for another blend of action, investigation, and character-driven drama. The difference this time is that, while the first film built toward the “surprise” that forensic ant Christian Wolff (Ben Affleck) and hitman Braxton (Jon Bernthal) were estranged brothers, the sequel gets to fully lean into their dynamic—giving them more time together and letting their contrasting personalities bounce off one another.

The plot kicks off with Christian investigating the murder of Raymond King (J.K. Simmons), his former government , who’s been killed by unknown assassins. Needing help, Christian turns to Braxton, though the two haven’t spoken in years. Their uneasy reunion leads them into a deeper conspiracy involving a string of murders tied to human trafficking. As always, Christian’s autistic mind gives him a tactical edge, while Braxton brings brute force and charisma.

Much like the first film, The ant 2 continues to portray autism in questionable ways—treating it as both a punchline and a set of “superpowers.” The sequel spends even less time exploring Christian’s condition, seemingly toning it down for the sake of the plot. It still leans heavily on mining laughs from his inability to grasp things like sarcasm. And it crosses into more problematic territory once we discover who—or what—is behind his robotic voice assistant (and makes you hope those workers are being paid extremely well and not exploited).

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My Favorite Scene: When Christian Wolff uses his autism “superpowers” to learn how to… line dance.

Based on the posthumously published bestseller by Ernest Hemingway, Islands in the Stream arrived two decades too late. It was released with the unintentionally hilarious tagline: “How long has it been since you’ve seen a really good movie? If it’s been too long then see Islands in the Stream.” Aiming for the kind of literary prestige that had long faded from popularity, the film landed in 1977—by then, Hollywood had already moved on from the star-driven dramas of the late ’50s and early ’60s—films like The Old Man and the Sea (1958) or The Sand Pebbles (1966)—to bolder, grittier storytelling. So even with a respected director like Franklin J. Schaffner (Patton, Papillon) at the helm, and a serious actor slow-burning his way through grief, war scars, and artistic torment in the lovely beaches of the Caribbean, this quiet, melancholic adaptation failed to spark much interest from audiences at the time, and remains largely forgotten today, with only one Oscar nomination—for Best Cinematography—as its lasting legacy.

Told in four chapters, the film is extremely faithful to the book—arguably to a fault. Instead of leaning into the grit that ’70s cinema embraced, even heavy themes like family abandonment and alcoholism are treated with extreme restraint. The episodic structure doesn’t help either. Arcs begin and end mid-film, and the narrative is so subdued that Thomas Hudson’s emotional pain never builds toward a natural crescendo, unfolding more like isolated fragments.

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My Favorite Scene: The fishing trek to catch a Marlin.

Before Ron Howard became the Oscar-winning director of films like A Beautiful Mind, Apollo 13, and Frost/Nixon, he was best known as a clean-cut TV star—the lovable Opie on The Andy Griffith Show and Richie Cunningham on Happy Days. But by the mid-’70s, Howard had his sights set on stepping behind the camera. His shot came thanks to producer Roger Corman, who agreed to let him direct a movie on one condition: he had to first star in one of Corman’s low-budget projects (Eat My Dust!). That deal—and Howard’s work ethic and charisma—earned him the chance to co-write and direct Grand Theft Auto in a matter of weeks. The film marked not only Howard's directorial debut but also the end of his career as a leading man. From that point on, he left the acting to others and focused on a path that would eventually lead him to the A-list of Hollywood directors.

The movie itself is a light, cross-country chase where a young couple races to Las Vegas to get married. Paula, the bride-to-be, comes from a wealthy family that promised her to a rich, politically ambitious suitor. When she runs off with her boyfriend Sam instead, her would-be fiancé offers a hefty reward to anyone who captures them. That turns their getaway into a public spectacle, drawing in media coverage, frantic parents, bounty hunters, priests, and fame-hungry civilians.

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My Favorite Scene: When the car confronts the hovering helicopter, nearly touching it mid-chase.

Leave it to studios to force sequels where there’s nothing left to tell—and then rush the production with a pre-set timeline. Considered by many the worst sequel ever made (though it’s found a few irers, including Martin Scorsese, thanks to how bonkers it all is), Exorcist II is the antithesis of the Oscar-winning original. Its biggest goal seems to be doing the opposite of what The Exorcist did: replacing realism with mysticism, horror with metaphysics, and dread with locust POV shots. The hype was real back in 1977—until the first screening, where people booed and walked out. It’s a legendary flop, one only Joker 2: Folie à Deux would come to rival, almost 50 years later.

Director William Friedkin, screenwriter William Peter Blatty, and Ellen Burstyn all saw that an Exorcist sequel was a misguided idea from the start and refused to return. (Their final impression was that it was one of the worst things they’d ever seen.) Even those who did return came back with limitations that further derailed the project: Linda Blair refused to wear the demon makeup, Max von Sydow agreed only to a minor role (and escaped the film mostly unscathed), and director John Boorman—who had rejected the original as “repulsive”—only signed on because he believed this one could be “redemptive” and “spiritual.”

The result is, predictably, a mess. A sequel that stretches itself into wild narrative gymnastics just to justify its own existence—many of which, in hindsight, actively cheapen the original. It doesn’t make sense as a continuation, nor as a standalone story.

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My Favorite Scene: The First Hypnosis Synchronization Session.

1. Sentimental Value
2. The Plague
3. Sirât
4. A Simple Accident
5. Woman and Child
6. Dangerous Animals
7. Alpha
8. Die, My Love
9. Nouvelle Vague
10. Case 137

...plus 15 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Resurrection
2. The Mastermind
3. Honey Don't!
4. The Young Mother's Home
5. Arco

1. Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation
2. Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol
3. Mission: Impossible
4. Mission: Impossible III
5. Mission: Impossible – Fallout
6. Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning
7. Mission: Impossible II
8. Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning

1. Sinners
2. Shepherds
3. The Ballad of Wallis Island
4. Kiss of the Spider Woman
5. One of Them Days
6. The Wedding Banquet
7. The Assessment
8. Together
9. Eephus
10. Revelations

...plus 70 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. The American Friend
2. The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh
3. Martin
4. Madame Rosa
5. Peppermint Soda
6. Stroszek
7. I Never Promised You a Rose Garden
8. High Anxiety
9. Capricorn One
10. Grand Theft Auto

...plus 4 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. That Obscure Object of Desire
2. Black Sunday
3. One Sings, the Other Doesn't
4. The Spy Who Loved Me
5. Oh, God!
6. Airport '77
7. 3 Women
8. The Last Wave
9. The Rescuers
10. The Late Show

...plus 23 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Rocky
2. Taxi Driver
3. Assault on Precinct 13
4. Kings of the Road
5. All the President's Men
6. Network
7. Small Change
8. Cria!
9. Bound for Glory
10. Carrie

...plus 44 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves
2. Godzilla Minus One
3. Air
4. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3
5. Anatomy of a Fall
6. Fair Play
7. Poor Things
8. The Holdovers
9. The Killer
10. Oppenheimer

...plus 165 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• A Haunting in Venice
• Air
• All of Us Strangers
• American Fiction
• Anatomy of a Fall
• Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania
• Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom
• Barbie
• Creed III
• Elemental

...plus 40 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Conclave
2. Better Man
3. Shepherds
4. The Substance
5. The Room Next Door
6. Queer
7. The Brutalist
8. The Seed of the Sacred Fig
9. To a Land Unknown
10. The Assessment

...plus 59 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Riff Raff
2. Went Up the Hill
3. Souleymane's Story
4. U Are the Universe
5. They Will Be Dust
6. Hell of a Summer
7. Gonzo Girl

• Queer
• The Room Next Door
• The Brutalist
• The Seed of the Sacred Fig
• I'm Still Here
• Eephus
• Anora
• Emilia Pérez
• A Real Pain
• On Becoming a Guinea Fowl

...plus 11 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. The Ballad of Wallis Island
2. Kiss of the Spider Woman
3. The Wedding Banquet
4. Together
5. Twinless
6. Oh, Hi!
7. Ricky
8. Lurker
9. Love, Brooklyn
10. Omaha

...plus 17 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

2024

1. Dune: Part Two
2. Conclave
3. Better Man
4. Love Lies Bleeding
5. Challengers
6. The Substance
7. The Count of Monte Cristo
8. Inside Out 2
9. Hit Man
10. A Complete Unknown

...plus 154 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
2. Dersu Uzala
3. Jaws
4. Nashville
5. Manila in the Claws of Light
6. Barry Lyndon
7. Three Days of the Condor
8. Dog Day Afternoon
9. Tommy
10. The Stepford Wives

...plus 44 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• A Beautiful Mind
• The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
• Moulin Rouge!
• In the Bedroom
• Gosford Park
• Mulholland Drive
• Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
• Spirited Away
• Band of Brothers
• Atlantis: The Lost Empire

...plus 50 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• Anatomy of a Fall
• Fair Play
• The Holdovers
• American Fiction
• Hit Man
• Unicorns
• Smugglers
• Rustin
• When Evil Lurks
• One Life

...plus 58 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. The Wolf of Wall Street
2. Before Midnight
3. Star Trek Into Darkness
4. The World's End
5. Prisoners
6. Philomena
7. Captain Phillips
8. Rush
9. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire
10. Blue Jasmine

...plus 113 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• All of Us Strangers
• Animalia
• I.S.S.
• The Taste of Things
• Argylle
• Dune: Part Two
• Stopmotion
• Kung Fu Panda 4
• Immaculate
• Problemista

...plus 44 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. The Social Network
2. Toy Story 3
3. Inception
4. Shutter Island
5. Black Swan
6. The Ghost Writer
7. True Grit
8. Blue Valentine
9. How to Train Your Dragon
10. Rabbit Hole

...plus 45 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Les Misérables
2. Zero Dark Thirty
3. Skyfall
4. Lincoln
5. Arbitrage
6. Flight
7. Frankenweenie
8. Looper
9. Wreck-It Ralph
10. Rise of the Guardians

...plus 120 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• The Incredibles
• Ratatouille
• WALL·E
• Finding Nemo
• Toy Story 2
• Toy Story 3
• Monsters, Inc.
• Up
• Toy Story
• Coco

...plus 17 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Ex Machina
2. Mad Max: Fury Road
3. Star Wars: The Force Awakens
4. Sicario
5. Youth
6. Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation
7. Bridge of Spies
8. The Martian
9. Inside Out
10. Spotlight

...plus 117 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Selma
2. Gone Girl
3. The Lego Movie
4. The Grand Budapest Hotel
5. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
6. X-Men: Days of Future Past
7. A Most Violent Year
8. Guardians of the Galaxy
9. Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
10. Boyhood

...plus 104 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• West Side Story
• In the Heights
• Malignant
• Judas and the Black Messiah
• Saint Maud
• The Humans
• The Last Duel
• The Harder They Fall
• Free Guy
• Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

...plus 135 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. The Favourite
2. Avengers: Infinity War
3. Incredibles 2
4. The Death of Stalin
5. Vice
6. American Animals
7. Crazy Rich Asians
8. Upgrade
9. Searching
10. Blindspotting

...plus 127 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. First Cow
2. Mangrove
3. The Gentlemen
4. Emma.
5. Da 5 Bloods
6. The Father
7. Sound of Metal
8. The High Note
9. The Willoughbys
10. Love and Monsters

...plus 109 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• The Quiet Girl
• RRR
• Everything Everywhere All at Once
• Glass Onion
• TÁR
• Official Competition
• Marcel the Shell with Shoes On
• Triangle of Sadness
• The Swimmers
• The Black Phone

...plus 161 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Glass Onion
2. Triangle of Sadness
3. The Swimmers
4. The Banshees of Inisherin
5. The Fabelmans
6. All Quiet on the Western Front
7. Catherine Called Birdy
8. Riceboy Sleeps
9. Sisu
10. Decision to Leave

...plus 46 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. The Adventures of Tintin
2. Drive
3. Melancholia
4. The Tree of Life
5. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
6. 50/50
7. The Ides of March
8. Rango
9. The Artist
10. Super 8

...plus 117 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Get Out
2. Mudbound
3. Call Me by Your Name
4. The Post
5. Coco
6. Wonder Woman
7. Okja
8. Star Wars: The Last Jedi
9. The Shape of Water
10. mother!

...plus 124 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

1. Arrival
2. Green Room
3. Eye in the Sky
4. Silence
5. Born to Be Blue
6. The Jungle Book
7. Nocturnal Animals
8. Moonlight
9. Rogue One: A Star Wars Story
10. Patriots Day

...plus 130 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• Parasite
• 1917
• Uncut Gems
• How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World
• The Irishman
• Portrait of a Lady on Fire
• Pain and Glory
• Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark
• Queen & Slim
• Booksmart

...plus 130 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.