Saturday, March 28, 2026

Apocaloptimists: PROJECT HAIL MARY and THE AI DOC

Like The Martian, screenwriter Drew Goddard’s previous adaptation of an Andy Weir sci-fi novel, Project Hail Mary is a cheerful problem-solver of a space adventure. That earlier film was a gear-headed Ridley Scott picture with astronaut Matt Damon stuck on Mars. It cut between the stranded explorer and the scientists back home on parallel tracks thinking their way through complications to get him home. This newest film is also a stranded-astronaut story problem. It finds a science teacher (Ryan Gosling) waking up years from Earth, alone in a capsule as he regains his memories and finishes his mission. He’s supposed to figure out a way to make the sun immune to a space bacteria that’s causing it to burn out. He’ll do so by scooping up samples from a distant star. The movie’s parallel tracks are past and present. In the past, Gosling’s working with a team of researchers desperate to save the planet. In the present, he’s talking to himself—mostly. The halves joined by a seriousness of purpose and a cheerful optimism, a sense that if the world were to end tomorrow, the government would ask smart people to stop it today. Isn’t it pretty to think so? 

Gosling makes a fine star for such a feat, charming and self-deprecating and flustered, but ready to lock in and put his intelligence to work of all of us. He’s hugely likable here, and has great chemistry with his scene partners, both Earthbound (Sandra Hüller) and ones who are more imaginatively deployed later to help puppet scenes to a surprisingly moving climax. The movie surrounds him with convincing special effects of the kind of pop-art realism you’d expect from a movie that’s part Interstellar. It has the hard sci-fi edge with a sentimental open heart. It comes from Lord and Miller, the filmmaking team behind the joke-a-minute Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and The LEGO Movie, and who last directed 22 Jump Street twelve years ago. They’ve returned to us with their sense of humor intact, but proportioned well here as leavening to the stakes that enhance the emotions and the spectacle instead of deflating them. It actually cares. How nice to find a huge crowd-pleaser that valorizes intelligence. It watches Gosling connecting with extraterrestrial awareness with a sense of awe at mankind’s ability to solve problems with hard work and mental energy. 

It’s a stark, and welcome, contrast to those who think we can build computers to replace us. Consider those who talk endlessly at us about Artificial Intelligence. (I cringe even to use the term, a deliberately nebulous buzzword meant to obscure all manner of tech company advertising and spin.) There are those who think an emergent super-intelligence is going to bring about mankind’s abrupt extinction any day now. There are those who think it’ll hasten a dawn of a global golden age where no one will work and all disease will be cured. Those in the middle seem to think it’ll just enslave us to super-wealthy authoritarians. (Plus ça change.) A new documentary from Daniel Roher and Charlie Tyrell wants to serve as a level-headed primer on these issues. Its feint toward definitiveness is in its direct title: The AI Doc. Its quirky subtitle Or How I Became an Apocaloptimist is a signal of its whimsy. The movie’s a standard-issue talking-head doc loaded up with little stop-motion animations, showy transitions, and squiggly hand-drawn titles. And it’s wrapped around the personal story of the impending birth of Roher’s first child. He narrates and appears as an on-screen interlocutor, driven to wonder about these issues because he’s worried about bringing a baby into this uncertain future. 

He’s suitably curious. But the movie is largely credulous. Mostly confined to researchers and speculators, with a late stop at a few CEOs who hype up their products and playact concern, the movie mostly takes for granted the huge stakes, no matter the extremes expressed. It doesn’t quite understand that the pro crowd and the cons alike are merely falling into a fictional framework (call it Terminator v. Star Trek) instead of actually addressing the reality of the situation. He briefly invites on some humanities professors to poke at the bubble—let’s think about the resources, and who benefits from setting the discourse frame at peak freak out about the future that makes it, good or ill, seem inevitably world-changing. But they get shuffled off after a few soundbites. The movie reaches one of those issue doc call-your-congressperson QR-code endings. Its ambivalence ends up making the case that AI is, like so many problems of our modern day, something most people want to regulate, but financial pressures means no one will. But, sure, call a congressman about it. See how far that gets you. 

Wednesday, March 4, 2026

Talk to the Animals: GOAT and HOPPERS

I bet if you’re an aspiring animator looking to innovate these days, it’s Sony where you’d want to work. They’ve had the edge on style and cleverness lately. Twenty years ago, it was just the dense, imaginative, emotive Pixar against the scrappier, sarcastic DreamWorks. Now Pixar is struggling to find that striking originality, and DreamWorks is content to play around with textures on simple structures. That leaves room for Sony to emerge as the new freshness, despite lagging behind them for most of this century. It helps that at they’re best they’re a mix of the two competitors, the heart with the experimentation, the fresh with the sturdy. The tangled, zippy Spider-Verse pictures are a riotous hodgepodge of exciting comic book logic and The Mitchells vs the Machines is electric high-speed family sentimentality via wild sci-fi. Even the smaller personality-driven efforts like Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Cuban kinkajou musical Vivo and Adam Sandler’s class pet comedy Leo are a more standard, cuddlier, comfortable match for the talents of their stars. And they’ve hit pop culture gold with KPop Demon Hunters’ blend of catchy songs, cultural specificity, and genre tropes. The studio’s willingness to play around with style and tone has become an increasingly reliable force in the family film market. Their latest is Goat, a movie directed by Bob’s Burgers vet Tyree Dillihay and produced with basketball star Steph Curry. It’s set in a Zootopia-ish world that’s much like our own but all anthropomorphic animals. Set in a bustling urban setting composed of painterly backdrops, smeary colors, and jangled movement, their version of basketball is called Roarball. It’s dominated by enormous animals wielding their physicality: elephants, rhinos, ostriches, panthers. (They also have voices with great personality—Gabrielle Union, Aaron Pierre, David Harbour, Nick Kroll.) Can a scrawny goat (Caleb McLaughlin) make it in the big leagues? What do you think? The movie is extremely predictable sports movie cliche, but it’s shot through with a hyperactive, hyper-modern swagger—bumping hip-hop inflected scoring and a manic social-media flurry of notifications and plot swerves. And the wild slam dunk action is a gleefully exaggerated Space Jam pyrotechnic display of creativity. It’s every basketball-obsessed youngster’s wildest cartoon dreams. 

It’s quite a contrast with Pixar’s latest. Hoppers looks like a Pixar movie, moves like a Pixar movie, but feels less than a Pixar movie. It’s technically proficient, but just fine. It is well-structured, cutely designed, sometimes-funny, and warmly-voiced. It has a nice message about getting along and taking care of the natural world. And it has a spark of creativity to its concept. A college environmentalist discovers her professor has built a machine that allows her to inhabit a robotic beaver and study their environment. It also lets her talk to the animals. (It’s hand-waved with a reference to Avatar.) Of course the kid hijacks it to talk the critters into fighting the materialistic mayor’s plans to demolish their dam. At its best it has some of the clever rules and escalating action of vintage Pixar. Think of all those movies that end with a mad dash of most of their characters through some complicated world. But there’s something a little off about this one, a kind of haphazardness and shallowness to its world building, and a sense of obligation to its complication. One gets the sense that everything—from its dollops of sentimental familial sadness to its swerves into silliness—are a bit schematic and formulaic. Sure, the folks at Pixar are still terrific at rendering environments and balancing tones. But they can be pretty airless when the edges are all so totally rounded, and the fantasy muddled, the story at once too-familiar and overly complicated, and the supporting characters only one pixel deep. To be sure, Hoppers has some warm laughs and silly action and a few genuine dips into nastiness. (A surprise squishing of a bug is maybe the meanest thing this studio’s ever attempted, especially as a punchline.) It’s all likable enough. And it’s certainly no less predictable than Goat. But it speaks to such a decline in standards. Grown-up audiences used to be able to go to Pixar movies to see something that transcended. Lately if we see a Pixar production it’s out of habit. There are certainly less pleasant ways to pass the time. But they’ve been so much more. 

Monday, February 16, 2026

Moor Drama: "WUTHERING HEIGHTS"

In Charlotte Brontë’s preface to her sister Emily’s novel Wuthering Heights, she wrote that it was “hewn in a wild workshop…” Nearly 200 years later, that wild workshop’s product continues to reveal itself as an unexpected book of lurid details and quicksilver emotional turns. It has joltingly vivid imagery—a ghostly hand reaching through a window, a child dropped from a staircase, a dog bite. These disquieting visuals lead us through the characters’ tempestuous melodramas. In twined temptations of love and revenge these drives are twisted and gnarled into generational trauma. It’s a story of abusive behavior and addiction, with ideas of race and class and gender that are both of the time and astonishingly contemporary. And it is told with prose that is both nestled with first-person narratives-within-narratives in traditional Romantic 19th century style, and swirled with propulsive, jangled punctuation and pulsing interpersonal rifts. Is it a story of damaged people eroding the quality of life for everyone around them? Is it a stormy tale of endless yearning on the windswept moors? Isn’t it all of the above? The book’s dark power resonates for its closed-loop cycle of dysfunction. 

The first half of the story gives us the younger years of Cathy and her father’s troubled ward Heathcliff. They are drawn to each other and doomed to fall apart. The story grows only more thorny and layered in the second half of Brontë’s work, which carries the conflicts to a second generation. Most screen adaptations, pursuing simplicity, clarity, and rounder edges, don’t bother with that part. It’s become, in most filmmaker’s eyes, a story of a big dark house and missed connections, ghostly desire and thwarted happiness. William Wyler’s 1939 film was glossy black and white melodrama with a stentorian mood and simmering subterranean cruelty. Andrea Arnold’s 2012 version was intimate, quivering, raw and subtextual. It takes Emerald Fennell, however, to say: what if it’s a Jane Austen story if Jane Austen was a Goth girl? Not even Kate Bush pushed it that far. Fennell’s adaptation is titled self-consciously with quotation marks included, making clear that it’s simply aWuthering Heights,” not the definitive Wuthering Heights. That sense of looseness helps set the mood. 

The movie’s shot in striking filmic theatricality, with realistic windy moors contrasted with ostentatiously designed sets for a crumbling Gothic manor and its neighboring dollhouse estate. At the former lives Cathy (Margot Robbie) who clearly has quasi-incestuous desires for Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi). He’s a scruffy low-class orphan who was brought into their house as a boy. He took the brunt of her cruel father’s beatings. That bonded them. Now they’re each well into marriageable age—and supposedly around the same age despite the actors being, and looking, seven years apart. The movie mainly revolves around their frisson of taboo chemistry, crossing class boundaries and familial ties. They’re each quick-tempered and difficult, and she loves to boss him around. He’s playmate, pet, and servant. For his part, he just wants her. That’s thwarted when rich new neighbors move in and she tosses Heathcliff aside for a potential wealthy beau. This sets off the stormy bad feelings that swallow up the rest of the movie. This is the only through line it's interested in exploring, and collapses a small, claustrophobic dynamic into its intricately designed grotesques making subtext text—enormous piles of empty bottles to denote a character’s alcoholism, say.

The film’s desire to be an edgy romantic tragedy somehow avoids letting its characters expand beyond the programmatic places for them. It’s a movie that closes down ambiguities in its main characters while opening up a sense of vagueness in its supporting players. (The likes of Hong Chau and Alison Oliver are making fascinating choices in the margins, without ever being allowed to come into focus as fully rounded figures.) Fennell adjusts the character dynamics to fit her usual feel-bad vision of the world, without even a ghostly chance for reconnection. Here people make permanent choices to chase revenge and lust and are left only worse off for it. She wants to shock and provoke with fluids and teasingly naughty sexual tensions. It’s of a piece with her clumsy filmography to date. Her nasty Promising Young Woman’s sense of righteous anger is undone by its paradoxically Pollyannaish misanthropy. Her Saltburn is a wicked thriller about how the frivolous bourgeoisie needs to watch out for scheming proletariat interlopers. That seemed a flaw, and deeply unfair, but at least it feels like an honest personal statement. She does it again here, turning the under-class into threats. Her films are increasingly competent in terms of style and design, but have remained stubbornly simplistic in their approach to humanity. 

Thus this “Wuthering Heights” loves a heightened style. It swoons with original Charlie XCX songs—a pulsating sonic highlight to pump up the montage—and gaudy fabrics, lovingly photographed garish backdrops and snow and skies so false that it feels like vibrant matte paintings and soap flakes. It wants to be a tempestuous doomed romance in elaborately appointed lush tableau. And the sheer wall-to-wall design of it all sells quite a bit of its excesses. Even so, the ending is undone by its moment-to-moment sensations failure to craft real character and not just signifying and posing. Still, I’d rather see a marvelous failure than a tepid success. What’s most astonishing is how Brontë’s shock effects still seem so elusive on screen, and even a would-be provocateur like Fennell can’t locate them. Its interest in being an aesthetic object leads it to be pretty compelling moment to moment, like discussing a complicated book with a reductive, but passionate, young reader encountering them afresh. But it also slowly drifts away from a coherent point, finally jamming its way to an ill-fitting over-the-top romantic tragedy conclusion given the mixed messages leading up to it. I was continually impressed with it as a work of craft, less impressed as a work of acting, and least impressed as a feat of writing and directing. Fennell’s wild workshop, though opulently stocked with images, continues to produce muddled results. 

Saturday, February 7, 2026

The Voracious Filmgoer's Top Ten Films of 2025










 
9. The Plague
 
Honorable Mentions: 
28 Years Later; Black Bag; Companion; Cover-Up; Eddington; Eephus; F1; Friendship; Highest 2 Lowest; KPop Demon Hunters; Lurker; Marty Supreme; M3GAN 2.0; Mickey 17; The Monkey; Ne Zha 2; On Becoming a Guinea Fowl; The Perfect Neighbor; The Phoenician SchemePredator: Killer of Killers; Predators; Roofman; The Shrouds; Stiller & Meara: Nothing is Lost; The Testament of Ann Lee; Twinless; The Voice of Hind Rajab; Wake Up Dead Man; Warfare; Zodiac Killer Project; Zootopia 2
 

Other Bests of 2025

Best Cinematography (Film):
Lurker
Marty Supreme
One Battle After Another
The Secret Agent
Sinners
 
Best Cinematography (Digital):
Eddington
F1
Presence
Train Dreams
28 Days Later
 
Best Sound:
Eddington
F1
One Battle After Another
Sinners
Warfare
 
Best Stunts:
Ballerina
Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning
One Battle After Another
Splitsville
Warfare
 
Best Costumes:
Bugonia
On Becoming a Guinea Fowl
One Battle After Another
Splitsville
The Testament of Ann Lee
 
Best Hair and Makeup:
One Battle After Another
Sinners
The Smashing Machine
Warfare
Weapons
 
Best Set/Art Direction:
Marty Supreme
One Battle After Another 
The Phoenician Scheme
The Secret Agent
Splitsville
 
Best Effects:
F1
Jurassic World Rebirth
Sinners
Thunderbolts*
Tron: Ares
 
Best Song:
"Baby" - Freakier Friday
"Golden" - KPop Demon Hunters
"I Lied to You" - Sinners
"Trunks" - Highest 2 Lowest
"Waiting on a Wish" - Snow White   
 
Best Score:
One Battle After Another
Sinners
Splitsville
Thunderbolts*
28 Years Later  
 
Best Editing:
If I Had Legs I'd Kick You
It Was Just an Accident
One Battle After Another
Sinners
Weapons
 
Best Screenplay (Original):
Blue Moon
If I Had Legs I'd Kick You
It Was Just an Accident
The Secret Agent 
Splitsville
 
Best Screenplay (Adapted):
Mickey 17
One Battle After Another
The Testament of Ann Lee
Wake Up Dead Man
Warfare
 
Best Non-English Language Film:
It Was Just an Accident
Ne Zha 2
On Becoming a Guinea Fowl
The Secret Agent
The Voice of Hind Rajab
 
Best Documentary:
Cover-Up
The Perfect Neighbor
Predators
Stiller & Meara: Nothing is Lost
Zodiac Killer Project
 
Best Animated Film:
Arco
KPop Demon Hunters
Ne Zha 2
Predator: Killer of Killers
Zootopia 2

Best Supporting Actor:
Miles Caton - Sinners
Michael Cera - The Phoenician Scheme
Benicio del Toro - One Battle After Another
Alden Ehrenreich - Weapons
Delroy Lindo - Sinners
 
Best Supporting Actress:
Naomi Ackie - Mickey 17
Adria Arjona - Splitsville
Chase Infiniti - One Battle After Another
Amy Madigan - Weapons
Wunmi Mosaku - Sinners
 
Best Actor:
Leonardo DiCaprio - One Battle After Another
Ethan Hawke - Blue Moon
Wagner Moura - The Secret Agent    
Vahid Mobasseri - It Was Just an Accident
Denzel Washington - Highest 2 Lowest
 
Best Actress: 
Rose Byrne - If I Had Legs I'd Kick You
Susan Chardy - On Becoming a Guinea Fowl
Kirsten Dunst - Roofman
Jennifer Lawrence - Die My Love
Amanda Seyfried - The Testament of Ann Lee
 
Best Director:
Paul Thomas Anderson - One Battle After Another
Mary Bronstein - If I Had Legs I'd Kick You  
Richard Linklater - Blue Moon
Kleber Mendonça Filho - The Secret Agent  
Jafar Panahi - It Was Just an Accident
  
 
 
 
  

Tuesday, February 3, 2026

Game Over and Over: IRON LUNG

Twenty or thirty years ago it was common to find critics saying a particularly deadening action movie felt like watching someone else play a video game. Little did they know that millions of people apparently wanted to do just that. I don’t get it myself, but younger audiences apparently are all about it, turning watching others play video games into a big business. YouTubers and Twitch streamers get sizable audiences and followings (and paydays) for bringing their viewers along level by level. With 38 million subscribers, YouTuber Markiplier’s gotten quite a large fanbase. Now he’s self-financed an independent video game adaptation called Iron Lung. He cast himself in the lead. He’s a late-30s gamer with long dark hair, broad shoulders, and a deep voice. Squint and you’d think he’s Keanu Reeves’ stunt double. He makes himself a reasonable leading man, especially considering he’s the only one on screen. It shouldn’t be surprising to find a guy who has built a following out of people wanting to watch him for hours on end would make decent company in a movie that’s basically all him. 

The story is set in an apocalyptic future, built out of incomprehensible word-building that’s more alluded to than explained. (Maybe it overly assumes familiarity with the source material.) The guy is a convict trapped in a tiny submarine and tasked with looking for monsters on the floor of an ocean of blood. (It’s the kind of dark Mad Libs that pass for edgy in some sci-fi circles.) This practically means we hear him listening and responding to commands crackling over a radio, then strategizing as he clicks and types, operating nobs and switches and levers while reading charts and numbers. So we’re watching him play the game. I’ll confess my heart sank a little as I realized that we’d never leave the tiny, dingy, dimly lit set, watching iterations on the same scenes over and over, level by level. It’s an adaptation of the game, but just as much an adaptation of his videos playing through it. Yet the movie finds convincing, enveloping sound design and steady canted angles and sweaty closeups to make its little space feel genuinely lost in a larger picture, buffeted by unseen threats, creaking leaks, and pressure changes. A conceit of a large screen flashing pictures from a radioactive camera as the only way to see outside adds some interesting visual interest. And even though the plodding pace grows claustrophobic, it’s also partially the point. 

I found myself wishing the whole was as interesting as the parts as the 127 minute run time gets quite repetitive. We watch the coordinates on the sub’s instrument panel tick by, hear garbled voices rumbling over the speakers, see Markiplier talking to himself. Lots of insert shots and tedious mumbling fill up time. And in all that time, it’s never really getting around to fleshing out backstories or context. We see lots of shots of condensation and vague, grainy underwater creatures, and glimpses of inscrutable flashbacks. Blood drips down pipes. Bolts creak. Lights flicker. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. The whole thing feels as lost and adrift as the submarine we are trapped in. We’ve quickly seen all the movie’s tricks. Soon its surprises aren’t surprising. Even the conclusion, which reaches for wild imagery, ends up closer to discount Event Horizon. I had the feeling that this would be quite a clever calling card feature at 70 or 80 minutes. In the world of cult classic one-location horror debuts, it’s not as clever as the geometric maze torture chamber Cube, but it’s also not too far off. A little energy, concision, and clarity would’ve gotten it there. But, perhaps because YouTubers have been trained by the algorithm to stretch for time, this movie just keeps going and going. 

Wednesday, January 28, 2026

Job Insecurity: SEND HELP

If the only thing exciting in Send Help is the filmmaking and the lead performance, well, oh boy, that’s enough. It’s an unsurprising bit of genre fluff—a little Lord of the Flies here, a little Triangle of Sadness there, a splash of Misery elsewhere—in which a plane crash leaves a frumpy office worker (Rachel McAdams) on a deserted island with her callow young boss (Dylan O’Brien). The situation leads to an expected role reversal as the boss is laid up with a sprained ankle and a total lack of survival skills. Meanwhile his employee is a survivalist with a vindictive streak. It’s all good, nasty fun as orchestrated by director Sam Raimi, who at long last gets to stretch his horror-comic talents again for a sustained exercise in tension. His glee for near-cartoonish reaction shots, swirling establishing shots, and punchy pushes and pans are a fine match for a movie which needs that kind of egging on. The performers are game, with McAdams a fine, slippery protagonist made astonishingly unglamorous at first, and steelier as the show goes on. O’Brien, for his part, transforms into a perfect weasel, weaponizing his good looks until he’s untrustworthy even when he’s playing at earnestness. The cat and mouse game is made up of traditional jungle beats, the kinds any boomer filmmaker would’ve imbibed with every local late show or weekend matinee: spears, rafts, vines, coconut cups, wild boar, cliffs off which to dangle. It has everything but the quicksand. And to each twist of the script’s knife, Raimi is willing to add gallons of fluids from arterial spray and vomit and snot. Even early office-set scenes have a zippy, mean-spirited satiric edge, and the later mind games and inevitable violence—from an off-screen slice leading to an eruption of bloody gobs, to a literally eye-gouging thumb under an eyelid—are jumps and jolts with a sick glee. It may not have the novelty of his Evil Dead or heft of Drag Me to Hell, two far superior comic horror efforts rocking and rolling with laughs and screams. But this new picture has a similar vivid, cynical spirit of a karmic comic book. Raimi knows how to pace horror and violence so satisfyingly like a comedy, literal sight gags and punch lines. It’s why his Spider-Man trilogy remains some of the only superhero movies to do justice to every bit of the phrase comic book movie. And it’s why even as slight a screenplay as Send Help comes jumping to life with invigorating style.