Reviews – Page 3 – Rating Frames

The Amateur is a Spy Thriller Uncomfortable in its Own Shoes

April 10, 2025Darcy Read

Helmed by British Television veteran James Hawes, The Amateur is a spy thriller unable to capture its own personality or separate itself from the recently booming subgenre. Focusing on a CIA data analyst-slash-hacker (Rami Malek, in his wheelhouse) who forces himself into the field by any means necessary after the death of his wife (Rachel Brosnahan) during a terrorist hostage crisis in London, the film’s fractured cadence and lack of narrative momentum despite this inciting incident means you don’t know where you’ll be taken next, but also uncertain about whether you’ll care.

Based on Robert Litell’s 1981 spy novel of the same name and adapted by Black Hawk Down (2001) screenwriter Ken Nolan and Gary Spinelli, The Amateur plays both sides of the Atlantic with its approach to the spy thriller. This, unfortunately, means the film never finds a singular drive or point of view but is made with a great cast and a refined crew that keeps the train on the tracks.

A surprisingly small-scale espionage thriller even as Malek makes his way through many cities, The Amateur shuffles along from moment to moment, with many cast members rarely appearing in multiple locations, restricting the narrative momentum of every sequence. Even the pivot hostage scene with Brosnahan plays out in short news clipping bursts, forcing Malek to shoulder the weight of every emotional and narrative beat, something very few actors can manage.

Rami Malek combined his experiences in the TV series Mr Robot (2015-2019) and No Time to Die (2021) to lead his own spy thriller in the vein of Jason Bourne if his amnesia expanded to include the trainee manual. With a tremendous cast of faces alongside Malek with Laurence Fishburne, Brosnahan, Jon Bernthal, Michael Stuhlbarg, Caitríona Balfe, Holt McCallany, and Julianne Nicholson, elevate rote scenes with barely a hint of drama or characterisation.

Rami Malek in *The Amateur*. Screening provided by 20th Century Studios.

Malek’s compelling anti-chemistry as a leading man works in fits and starts, primarily when he is acting alongside some of the best working actors in Bernthal, Stuhlbarg, and Fishbourne. Mr Robot thrived in its ability to work to Malek’s strength as a performer by constantly giving him unique counterweights to act against. In a surprisingly thin script, Malek and the other actors are repeatedly left out to dry, forced to fend for themselves while the ship chugs along to a near nonstop score.

The film is not assisted by Oscar-winning composer Volker Bertelmann’s austere score that opts to flatten much of the proceedings. The constant score certainly elevates the uncompelling exposition scenes but never highlights the entertaining and thrilling set pieces that are the film’s shining light.

However, almost in spite of itself, the film comes together in a worthwhile and satisfying way, even as it frays around the edges of time and drama. This is largely due to its creative action set pieces where each element, especially Malek’s performance, clicks into place into pure enjoyment. While the revenge narrative is established with a reckless abandon, it is thrilling to see where Hawes places these pivotal scenes, including a highrise pool and a final confrontation in the Russian-Finnish ocean border.

Due to this narrative style, The Amateur is not dissimilar to Tenet (2020) in how it moves quickly between setting up and executing inventive action set pieces instead of exploring the characters within its espionage world. This is surprising given The Amateur’s stellar cast, even if they are rarely given any meat on the bone.

Ultimately, there were high hopes for The Amateur due to its cast and veteran crew in a subgenre currently in a mini-boom. Still, without a unique style or handle on tone, the film moves shakily between sequences, never arriving sure of foot. Thankfully, the film’s trump card for a final sequence, a charming and compelling Michael Stuhlbarg performance, pretty successfully ties up a desperately fraying narrative yearning for a satisfying end note.

The Amateur is in theatres now.

The Alto Knights: Robert De Niro Delivers a Dual Performance in a Modern 80s Crime Film

March 20, 2025Arnel Duracak

The Alto Knights preview screening provided by Universal Pictures.

While the odd gangster film does pop up every now and then, the genre has felt like it’s been on life support for the better part of ten years. With misses like The Many Saints of Newark (2021), Capone (2020) and Gotti (2018) coming to mind, it’s no surprise why that feeling is in the air. The Alto Knights isn’t a terrible film for the genre, but it doesn’t exactly have the legs to stretch beyond being simply another story about honouring a code and betrayal between close friends.

Knowing that Barry Levinson’s film has been in development since 1970 gives a world of perspective in understanding how this subject matter and story would have been eaten up in the heyday of the genre. The fact that this has been released in 2025 to audiences that have either seen the genre be done to death or are seeking out alternative stories, hasn’t worked in its favour. That’s not to say that these stories can’t work for modern audiences, with The Irishman (2019) providing a unique look at ageing crime figures mixed with wider political commentary, while Killers of the Flower Moon (2023) is masked as a crime-thriller but uses themes from the genre and orients them around Native American plights in history (the difference being, you guessed it, Martin Scorsese).

The Alto Knights, by contrast, is slow, it’s weighty, and it doesn’t reinvent itself or its framing of events in a new and crisp way for the genre. It’s a by-the-books gangster drama that cuts to one of Robert de Niro’s two characters, Frank Costello, looking down the barrel of the camera and narrating various parts of the film. It’s a shortcoming of the film that speaks to the rest of the exposition and general hand-holding that’s overdone in its roughly two-hour runtime (modest, for this sort of film). But The Alto Knights isn’t inherently bad, rather, it’s just a bit too textbook for my taste in that it doesn’t really offer much we haven’t seen from some of those aforementioned similar films.

Caption: Robert De Niro as “Vito Genovese” in Warner Bros. Pictures “THE ALTO KNIGHTS,” a Warner Bros. Pictures release.

Taking place across different time periods, but mainly in the mid to late 50s, Levinson’s film focuses on the friendship and betrayal between Frank Costello and Vito Genovese (both played by Robert De Niro). After Costello survives an assassination attempt from one of Genovese’s henchmen, Levinson takes us back in time from the incident to show us how the duo got to that point of division. It sees familiar tropes like courtroom scenes and political unrest take place as power dynamics switch from one boss to another, in this case from Genovese to Costello.

De Niro plays both characters with a classy, but sharp edge that’s like child’s play for him at this point. The supporting cast aren’t nearly as interesting as his dual performances though, with many of the actors bordering the line of “too much wise talking” while lacking the screen presence to match De Niro (even Cosmo Jarvis is relegated to a mumbling mafioso, a ways away from his breakout performance in hit series Shogun).

The script sometimes feels contrived, in part because there’s clearly a lot going on to the point where we need De Niro speaking all of the exposition, and the jumps in time don’t exactly help, with part of me wondering whether a version exists that doesn’t become bogged down in the final third where the pace begins to falter after we’ve finally caught up to all of the backstory.

The Alto Knights is a been-there-done-it kind of crime film, one that feels like it’s come a bit too late to have its subject matter and story land, but it hits the beats we’ve come to expect from similar films. For what it’s worth, seeing De Niro saddle up for any mobster film is a blessing, no matter how many times he does them, but where The Irishman felt like a capstone of sorts to the genre and the actors who brought it to life, The Alto Knights doesn’t quite find the same level of ingenuity.

The Alto Knights opens nationally from today.

Hard Truths is a Difficult but Rewarding Watch

March 6, 2025Darcy Read

A caustic character study of depression, expressed in a near limitless capacity of anger and frustration, the legend Mike Leigh and Marianne Jean-Baptiste reunite for a potent and captivating film like no other. At times an excruciating viewing experience, Hard Truths (2024) is as rewarding a film as you’ll find this year, sneaking up on you with seasoned patience so few filmmakers deploy.

John Waters lovingly called Jean-Baptiste’s Pansy “the most unpleasant sourpuss in the history of cinema”, and it’s hard to argue with him. An open wound that reacts to every possible moment like a critically endangered animal hoping to survive another day, even if they’re unsure why they cling to life so hard.

An ornery and occasionally cruel working-class mother of an adult-at-home son, Pansy doesn’t drift across days as much as she bulldozes through every waking moment. We learn everything you need to know about Pansy by the way she wakes up. In multiple instances across Hard Truths, we grow desperately empathetic to the peacefulness she exudes while sleeping, but is constantly jolted awake, activating an instantaneous fight mode.

While Jean-Baptiste is prone to blot out the sun with her performance, Leigh leaves room for some truly remarkable supporting performances. David Webber and Tuwaine Barrett, as Pansy’s husband Curtley and reclusive and introverted son Moses, manage to withstand the ocean storm that is Pansy through a deep connection to characters given little room to breathe but require a wide berth.

Leigh is a cinematic master through his ability to create a cumulative character experience that bursts at the seams of its final ensemble sequence. Like a well-crafted play, Hard Truths walks you towards a profound moment of empathy and attachment in a naturally unexpected cadence. With little plot outside of a Mother’s Day date for Pansy and her sister Chantelle (Michele Austin), Leigh gives his ensemble enormous space to fill the frame with nuanced character portraits that will feel like mirrors into the soul of the modern-day middle-class, seen with honesty and respect.

While Pansy is increasingly vocal about an uncertain ailment that is fuelling a violent discomfort with life, she harbours a real hesitation in improving her situation. From a doctor’s appointment to a trip to the dentist (with Leigh using a real dentist!), these scenes carry a weight that sustains the film’s second half, as the audience grows increasingly desperate for the reason in all this internal suffering perpetually boiling over. She is nothing but a raw nerve, longing for a connection without the capability to find it.

A desperate need to be understood and heard hidden within a desperate need to be left alone, Jean-Baptiste, with Leigh by her side, reflects a moment of modern life not seen in the old cinematic masters. While Leigh’s best films are where he forces his fractured characters into unfamiliar places (Topsy Turvy, Naked), Hard Truths can be placed among a select few films that express the early 2020s with an honest reflection you’d more likely see in a period piece made decades after. We cannot take his movies for granted.

Hard Truths is in select theatres now.

Mickey 17: Bong Joon-ho’s Long-Awaited Follow-Up to Parasite is Amusing, Insightful and Downright Fun

March 6, 2025March 7, 2025Arnel Duracak

Mickey 17 preview screening provided by Universal Pictures.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that a film about a guy who wants to leave on an expedition and chooses to willingly die and get reprinted (literally) with his memories in-tact, only to keep dying and being reprinted, is right up Bong Joon-ho’s alley. While that doesn’t capture the multifaceted space adventure that is Mickey 17 (2025) to nearly the full extent of the word, Bong’s interests are very particular in that, human dispensability —especially with regards to people in lower socio-economic situations— is a pertinent concern throughout his oeuvre.

In Snowpiercer (2013), a train is used as a motif to portray the various carriages of the caste system, with the back of the train being the lowest class citizens and the front, the highest class, while in Mickey 17, a large spaceship serves a similar purpose. In other words, it’s no secret that capitalism and the presence of an oligarchy are concerns that he hasn’t been shy about critiquing, and they’re a thematic consistency across his work. Regarding dispensability, Mickey 17 is much more literal than any of his previous films in how it reduces the human body to something that can be done away with, something that goes beyond even that of the lowliest of workers to just a recycled carcass.

That’s at least the seed from which the rest of the film grows and revolves around as Mickey (Robert Pattinson) signs himself up to be an “expendable” or an unfortunate soul who would choose to live a quasi-immortal life by living to die and dying to live. He does this after finding himself in bad company on Earth following a debt he hasn’t paid back, before ending up on a government spaceship headed up by a pompous failed politician, Kenneth Marshall (a goofy Mark Ruffalo whose performance echoes that of his one in 2023’s Poor Things), that’s on an expedition to find a new planet to preserve mankind — if this is sounding like Passengers (2016) mixed with Edge of Tomorrow (2014), then you’d be on the right track.

The spaceship finds itself headed towards Niflheim (not to be confused with that area in 2018’s God of War game), a cold planet inhabited by woolly creatures that look like roly polie, pill bugs (dubbed “Creepers”). It’s here that Mickey’s expendable state is really tested, as he’s exposed to the planet’s toxic air over and over again until a cure can be found and applied; it’s also where we eventually get to the 17th version of Mickey that opens the film in a scene we circle back to later. While comical in its portrayal of the printing process after every Mickey death, Bong’s commentary on how human life can be reduced so willy-nilly by those in power makes for a tasty treat, especially when it comes to just how dispensable the human body is in real life, especially when it comes to matters of war.

Bong never dwells though, he keeps the film moving and he keeps the action and dialogue light-hearted and cosy, but his ability to go a step further in his critique of capitalism and the frivolousness of those in power who look down on others, shows a director who is maturing in his own ideas and isn’t afraid to mine them to the full extent. It helps that Marshall and Gwen (Toni Collette) are so effortlessly unlikable in their bougieness which helps those ideas evolve easier.

But their relationship is hardly the most shocking: after being saved by the aforementioned woolly pill bugs (following a harsh fall in an ice cave), Mickey 17 manages to find his way back to the ship where he comes across a clone of himself or a “multiple” as they’re called. It turns out Mickey 17 was presumed dead so the 18th version of him was printed, but without his pitchy accent and more akin to Pattinson’s Bruce Wayne in cadence.

Mark Ruffalo and Toni Collette in *Mickey 17*

It also turns out “multiples” aren’t permitted, so much so that Mickey 18 tries to kill Mickey 17 from the outset, but they soon find a commonality in the form of taking down their oppressors (very much in the vein of Snowpiercer). Pattinson’s dual performance is really a make-or-break factor in understanding what makes these multiples so unique from one another — that these reprints exhibit more humanity than the majority of the crew really adds weight to just how narcissistic and morally bleak humans can be at their worst.

At the end of the day, this is easily Bong’s most optimistic film, one that doesn’t present a bleak future but offers a chance for its characters to carve a brighter tomorrow on their own terms. Sure, he isn’t subtle about his growing interest in ideas he’s previously explored, but he also doesn’t pander to his audience, choosing to let the film’s amusing story take you on a rollercoaster comprised of the grotesque, heartfelt and humorous. In this way, it feels like his most accessible film as there are no hidden windows that keep you guessing.

Mickey 17 opens nationally from today.

Presence Sees the World Through a Ghost’s Eyes

February 7, 2025February 7, 2025Darcy Read

Presence preview provided by Rialto Distribution.

From the outset of Steven Soderbergh’s newest cinematic experiment, Presence (2024), it is clear this gambit will pay off. As we, through the anxious eyes of a new ghost, experience a new world, through a nimble first-person lens that never relents. This new world in question is the arrival of a young family of four in a large suburban house after the traumatic deaths of teenager Chloe’s (a wonderful Callina Liang) two friends in the city, leaving them in need of a fresh start.

Beginning with one of 2022’s best films Kimi, veteran filmmakers Steven Soderbergh and David Koepp have united to create a series of impressively contemporary small-scale American films (with another set for 2025 with Black Bag), that feels wholly unique on the movie calendar. With Presence, the pair shift from tech thriller to modern ghost tale with an equally impressive lens pointed directly at the connection in contemporary life.

Through a floating visual language, we explore this young family in moments of both intimate quiet and explosive argument. The parents, high-powered exec Rebecca (Lucy Liu) and the more emotive Chris (Chris Sullivan), have clear strong ties to individual children, creating a constant tension between the four characters. Rebecca sees herself and the potential for great success in their arrogant older son Tyler (Eddy Maday), whereas Chris’ more emotional side draws him to his daughter Chloe, an isolated teen dealing with tremendous grief at a young age that pierces through the screen.

Chris Sullivan and Lucy Liu in *Presence*.

Themes of accidental overdoses and youth deaths are complicated but important issues to place in a film, particularly at its emotional core. While Presence floats freely between potential genre trappings, it is grounded by this potent story element that is sure to resonate with many.

To achieve the sensation of a first-person camera narrative that has real expression through the lens, Soderbergh — acting as his own cinematographer as he often does — filmed Presence chronologically, with the camera beginning in a more trepidatious, larval state before coming into its own by the film’s midpoint. The camera does not glide effortlessly through the house to open the movie. Instead, we feel every step as we move around the space, like a young foal taking its awkward first steps into the world. The camera has physical tics and safe spaces inside the home that, through repetition, just like an acting performance, breathes life into the lens. This deft and crucial weight of intent allows the film to quickly transcend from a small-scale cinema experiment into a riveting family drama where the absence is just as visceral.

It’s remarkable how quickly you can slide into the position as a fly-on-the-wall observer by wielding the camera this way, and how the emotion of a scene can play out with sharp efficiency (a Soderbergh hallmark) when the personification of the camera holds so much weight.

The film operates as an interesting refraction to David Lowery’s poetic A Ghost Story (2017), which focuses on a ghostly presence with a level of banal reality that transforms slowly into a beautiful understanding of a greater spiritual moment. Much like that film, the innovative style of filmmaking on hand here works effectively because of the decision to place a young ghost at the heart of both stories.

While the structure of the film allows a flow state of dramatic experiences for the family, the final 10 minutes of Presence are as distressed as you’ll feel at the movies this year with its clear eyed understanding of modern life and pressures. This shouldn’t be a surprise as it’s a ghost film, but over the course of this innovative family drama on loss and connection, this shift has an overwhelming weight of emotion that is wonderfully unexpected. Through Koepp and Soderbergh, we have a new creative powerhouse partnership that is breathing new life into modern American storytelling.

Presence is in theatres now.

Wolf Man takes a Bite out of a Monster Classic

January 16, 2025January 16, 2025Arnel Duracak

Wolf Man preview screening provided by Universal Pictures.

It’s been nearly five years since Leigh Whannell’s Invisible Man (2020) took audiences by surprise and became an instant hit while re-imagining a classic Universal Monsters story for a modern audience. His latest film, Wolf Man (2025), written along with co-writer and partner Corbett Tuck, and based on The Wolf Man (1941), offers a fresh new spin on another classic while touching on concerns around the duality of man and beast, sickness and health.

If Invisible Man was a compact horror/thriller that cleverly utilised space, subtle pans and tilts to create brewing tension, then Wolf Man scales things back even more, focusing its events around an eerie house in a grim Oregon, foresty setting where danger lurks. It’s where Blake (Christopher Abbott), his wife Charlotte (Julia Garner), and daughter Ginger (Matilda Firth), find themselves after a short New York-set introduction reveals that his father has passed away and he’s been left with the keys to his old house.

In true horror fashion, a tight strip of road with towering trees is the first sign of the unease and helplessness that awaits, sitting in stark contrast to the bustling, comfortable concrete jungle the family is used to. And it doesn’t take long for this little getaway to go south as their moving truck tumbles off the road after veering last minute from a figure in the middle of the road. A lot happens and it happens really quickly, including Blake’s gradual transformation into his wolf-esque appearance after he contracts a disease upon realising a cut he received on his arm came not from glass but from the devious figured that sent them tumbling.

In this way, Wolf Man is paced rather abruptly, with Whannell wanting to get you into the thick of the suspense as soon as possible. It’s a less daring exercise in tension compared to his last feature and feels more routine in how it hits genre beats. There’s nothing inherently wrong in this, it just feels like a return to earlier roots in that he could seemingly tackle something like Wolf Man in his sleep.

Ginger (Matilda Firth, right) in Wolf Man, directed by Leigh Whannell.

Unlike the subtly of the camerawork, which Stefan Duscio has managed to balance out quite nicely with Whannell’s stylish direction across their three film collaboration, the writing can feel on the nose at certain points like when Ginger indulges her father’s ‘guess what I’m thinking’ game at various points or the constant “daddy” and “mommy” dialogue which sticks out like a sore thumb.

Fortunately, like with Elisabeth Moss’ brilliantly grounded performance in Invisible Man, Julia Garner speaks as much through her eyes as she does through her mouth, with her signature fluttering eyelids at once conveying motherly resoluteness as she protects Ginger, while showing empathy for her husband’s deteriorating state. Her performance goes hand in hand with Whannell’s artful flourishes and Duscio’s tight camerawork, the latter of which seems to favour a more contemplative cinematic approach this time around, with shots that linger heavily before bursting to meet the frantic-ness of a chase.

There’s a few moments where the camera circles around Blake and his family and shows how his worsening state is affecting his vision, almost heightening his senses while blurring his vision to those around him; this is one of those stylistic choices that the film needed more of as it gave an extra layer to a character who might otherwise simply fall into the antagonist category.

While less horrific and more melancholic by the end, prior to the screening, Whannell revealed that part of the direction of the film was derived from a friend who had passed away after her health deteriorated, and just having that context added more weight to Blake’s rapid decline as his family try and keep him from falling out of himself. In this way, Wolf Man has a sentimentality about it and comes full circle in ways that will creep up on you as you feel the closing sequence nearing, with a final shot that will leave a mark.

Wolf Man opens nationally from today.

All We Imagine as Light is Unforgettable

December 26, 2024December 26, 2024Darcy Read

Screener provided by Rialto Pictures.

“I’ve lived here maybe 23 years. But I feel afraid to call it home. There’s always the feeling that I’ll have to leave.” These opening words, by a nameless individual, ring out throughout Payal Kapadia’s extraordinary film All We Imagine as Light (2024), shot against the backdrop of Mumbai, focusing on the women who inhabit it.

The most soulful film in years is also perhaps the best feature of the year, documentarian turned fiction filmmaker Kapadia exploding onto the scene with an honest and poetic portrait of humanity in modern India. A powerful blend of personal womanhood inside the political sprawled across modern Mumbai, Kapadia’s gorgeous and lyrical film centres on three multigenerational nurses navigating a world unwilling to accommodate their lives.

Centring on a pair of nurses, seasoned veteran Prabha (Kani Kusruti), and the youthful and expressive Anu (Divya Prabha), navigate an economically and politically uncertain time in Mumbai, along with older nurse Parvarty (Chhaya Kadam), who is facing eviction after the death of her husband. Prabha is dealing with the extended absence of her husband. This arranged marriage almost immediately left Mumbai to work in Germany, sending gestures to her home like a European rice cooker that only highlights the void he has left. On the other hand, Anu is attempting to balance her life while forming an interfaith romance with Muslim boy Shiaz (Hridhu Haroon), an increasingly contentious issue in current-day India.

Kani Kusruti as Prabha in *All We Imagine as Light.*

We first see Anu and Prabha on public transport on their way to work, inside the lyrical six-minute opening sequence that guides you immediately into the world Kapadia is sharing with us. Anu is asleep on her side on a train seat, demonstrating her naive sense of safety in her position while also telling the audience her level of preparedness to arrive at work. In the immediate next shot, we see Prabha, gracefully shown in a medium closeup holding onto the pole of the same train for stability (seen above). By only showing Prabha from the shoulders up here, Cinematographer and frequent collaborator Ranabir Das portrays the battle-hardened nurse in grace with the world around her, yet never settled into one place.

There is a fear this remarkable film will be lost in the awards race shuffle due to India’s increasingly conservative film body and government not submitting it for the Academy Awards, even with the film winning the Grand Prix at Cannes. This is a sad but unsurprising occurrence after Kapadia emerged onto the film scene with her 2021 documentary A Night of Knowing Nothing, also critical of India’s patriarchal system.

The sweet centre of the film lies in the blossoming romance between Anu and Shiaz, a relationship that blends religion and the modern political moment in the city. In a series of push-pull romantic moments which includes a heartbreaking yet comedic booty call where Anu must purchase a hijab to visit him in the Muslim district where he lives. Kapadia avoids easy exits with this romance, concluding powerfully with an honest and poetic moment of acceptance and beauty, tied into an honest moment of private security.

In contrast to this romance, Prabha and her complicated relationship with her absent husband fills the remaining emotional bandwidth. Born of an arranged marriage that ties her to the city she does not call her own. In the opening prologue, a resident tells us, “That’s life. You better get used to the impermanence”. In a film centred on the relationship between people and the places they inhabit, this line pangs with an honest awareness.

Divya Prabha as Anu in *All We Imagine as Light*.

A film that comes to mind while watching Kapadia’s film is Steve McQueen’s Lover’s Rock (2020) from his Small Axe series, and not just because composers Dhritiman Das and Topshe’s playful piano score could’ve fallen out of one of his films. The short and sweet feature is in contention for the film of the decade, a complicated work of desire and connection inside a wealth of sumptuous visual storytelling and guile that simply overwhelms you. Both films use colour and vivid travelogue-styled cinematography to embrace the human connection of place. What separates the two films is Kapadia’s deceptively critical eye when depicting modern Mumbai, especially the three women’s place within it.

The slow, simmering drama underneath the film’s central pair is the wrongful eviction of a third nurse at the hospital, the older woman Parvaty. Her husband has died, removing her right to live in her own home. The potency of the feminist politics that simmer underneath All We Imagine as Light is in the grounded reality of the characters’ situation, one they are helpless to improve, finding solace in their own uneasy but accepting companionship.

The film operates within two acts, the first within the city that flows downstream into its latter half as the trio of women go to the beachside village that Parvaty grew up in. Kapadia, through her documentary lens, views characters as people who have been steeped in a certain place like tea, becoming more like a place the longer you inhabit it. While Mumbai is described as a place of impermanence and instability for the characters we meet, it is only in venturing out of the rapid city do they begin to view their life and their wants more clearly. In its final moments, would Anu and Shiaz ever have the courage to meet Prabha without this opportunity outside the city? And would Prabha’s spiritual exchange with her husband which opened her eyes to what she is holding onto and what she needs to give up to change have occurred in the melancholy that followed her throughout Mumbai?

Kapadia, with a refined hand through documentary work, flourishes in small moments. Whether it’s the embrace of a rice cooker given by a distant-slash-estranged husband working in Germany, or the small gesture of helping an older colleague move her things back to her old home after being wrongfully evicted, All We Imagine as Light embraces the aching emotionality of the quotidian, knowing these fleeting moments create a mosaic that reflects the light of human experience.

All We Imagine as Light is in select theatres now.

Swinton and Moore Excel in The Room Next Door

December 24, 2024December 24, 2024Darcy Read

The Room Next Door preview screening provided by Sony Pictures.

The blurred lines between long-term friends, and lovers, and the rapid progression of time once a career begins to slow have become legendary Spanish auteur, Pedro Almodóvar’s, chief fascination in recent years, percolating and expanding in unique ways that complicate his melodramatic stories. With an extensive filmography of Spanish melodramas and knotty adult dramas spanning almost 50 years, Almodóvar is exploring a new world of cinema with his new Golden Lion-winning feature The Room Next Door (2024); his first English-language feature film and only his third work of adaptation.

After learning of a recent cancer diagnosis from an old friend, novelist Ingrid (Julliane Moore) rekindles the relationship from her youthful days at a magazine with war correspondent Martha (Tilda Swinton). In light of this diagnosis, the rekindled friendship forms a compelling inseparability, tying the melodrama to some probing ideas on the connection between relationships of all kinds and the presence of death. This friendship is immediately pressurised as Martha decides she doesn’t want to continue treatment, instead acquiring illegal medication to end her life on her own terms, in a secluded house in Upstate New York, with Ingrid accompanying her in the room next door. While not always effective as a knotty dramedy, The Room Next Door is a worthy modern entry in this new phase of Almodóvar, a singular voice in cinema.

Merging a cinematic melodrama inside of an Edward Hopper-influenced (including a centrally placed painting for maximum impact) backdrop shouldn’t sing this harmoniously, but Almodóvar makes it look like breathing. In his first non-Spanish-language feature (after his uneven but charming short Strange Way of Life from last year), Almodóvar’s passion for American literature is evident. However, the chasm between his Spanish lyricism and his English translations flitters haphazardly throughout the film. Like panning for gold in a murky riverbed, The Room Next Door contains beautifully poetic moments of humanity in the face of the end, while many other lines and whole scenes fall flat.

Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore in *The Room Next Door*.

Luckily, the film is kept afloat by two of the best working actors and the best candidates to shepherd the Spanish auteur’s unique form of melodrama into the English language. Moore and Swinton are extraordinary together, quickly adapting to the certain quirks and manners that make Almodóvar’s style stand out in modern cinema. While the film relaxes into its story slower than his previous films, no doubt a complication from this being his first feature in English, its unique blend of offbeat humour and all-encompassing melodrama creates a luscious bedrock to lay in the sun with.

Even with the film adapted from the 2020 novel What Are You Going Through by Sigrid Nunez, The Room Next Door is a spiritual sequel to Almodóvar’s brilliant and tangly Pain and Glory (2019). While not as successful as the Antonio Banderas-led dramedy that operates achingly close to the auteur’s own life, The Room Next Door still excels in exploring contemporary ideas of loss and death in an increasingly uncertain world. In the second half of the film, fluttering between climate change doomsday scenarios brought on by John Turturro’s character Damian — an environmental academic and a previous lover of both Martha and Ingrid — and the criminal coverup necessary to keep Ingrid legally protected from Martha’s assisted suicide plan, is a rush of blood to the head, expanding this seemingly intimate story about two friends into a wider conversation about modern living. While unsuccessful in bridging this gap between late-stage friendship scenarios and the crushing weight of contemporary concerns, Almodóvar’s style still makes for an engaging and breezy ride through Upstate New York.

A final poetic choice involving Swinton’s daughter Michelle will be divisive, simultaneously poking holes at the film’s clear eyed look at death while also exploring notions of interpersonal legacy in moments of tragedy. Much like Pain and Glory, Almodóvar has given audiences a full meal to chew on for years to come.

The Room Next Door is in select theatres Boxing Day.

Sonic the Hedgehog 3 Takes the Franchise to New Heights

December 20, 2024Arnel Duracak

Sonic the Hedgehog 3 preview screening provided by Paramount Pictures

If Sonic the Hedgehog (2020) introduced audiences, both new and old, to Sega’s speedy blue gaming icon, and Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (2022) brought with it deeper lore surrounding the Sonic universe (like Chaos Emeralds and wider characters), then Sonic the Hedgehog 3 (2024) is the sum of those parts. At once taking the fun and action to new heights (literally) as well as introducing more new characters and doubling older ones up (even more literally), the third entry in this ever growing series —which has churned out three films in five years— continues the zoomy momentum by pulling out added franchise goodies and showing no signs of slowing down.

Returning to the director’s seat is Jeff Fowler who seems to have found his groove with these films, directing them like pop culture pinball machines, however the spiritual core of them resides with Pat Casey and Josh Miller whose script finds a unique blend between action, comedy and emotional intelligence that breathes life into this revered franchise for the big screen —meaning everyone can get in on the fun.

All that said, Sonic 3 is more interested in going bigger at every turn. Sonic (Ben Schwartz), Knuckles (Idris Elba) and Tails (voice acting veteran, Colleen O’Shaughnessey) are finally the trio the series has been building them out to be and face a new threat in the form of Shadow (an aptly cast Keanu Reeves), a darker hedgehog who harnesses chaos energy that renders him dangerous and unpredictable. He comes into the picture almost instantly after breaking out of prison following 50 years of controlled sedation (with more of his backstory slowly unraveling).

Shadow (Keanu Reeves) in Sonic the Hedgehog 3 from Paramount Pictures and Sega of America, Inc.

From there, the movie fires on all cylinders, with Fowler’s kinetic approach to direction and the haphazardness of the editing really coming together to keep from any real moments of respite. We get chases throughout Tokyo, a Mission Impossible esque climax in London and a battle outside of Earth’s atmosphere — it’s an accelerated experience, but one that never threatens to become anything less than mindless, popcorn fun.

Speaking of fun, Jim Carrey is the standout here, playing two characters this time around: Dr Ivo Robotnik and his grandfather, Gerald Robotnik. Carrey steals every scene he’s in and is at the top of his game as he brings his whole overzealous being into the performances, using every trick in his book of physical humour to give these characters their own special place in the Carrey-verse of whacky weirdos. Whether it’s the whimsical banter and affection Ivo shows Gerald, the grouchy, bad-Santa esque vibe that Gerald exudes, or simply the floor crawls and random dance breakouts — Carrey is clearly having a ball and is reason enough to see the film.

Jim Carrey as Ivo Robotnik and Gerald Robotnik in Sonic the Hedgehog 3 from Paramount Pictures and Sega of America, Inc.

There are other returning faces as well, namely in the form of Tom (James Marsden) and Maddie (Tika Sumpter), but like the humans in the latest spate of MonsterVerse films, they’ve really become more like a distraction rather than an addition to proceedings. Fowler uses Tom as an emotional bridge between Shadow and Sonic, to show they’re both fighting for the same thing (those they love, or the memory of those they love), but the film is at its boisterous best when it focuses on the fun and games.

For a trilogy of films that started off on the wrong foot with that atrocious initial Sonic design, to see just how well it’s recovered and continues to be received is a testament to the heart that Fowler and the rest of the cast and crew have poured into the franchise. Whether you take a liking to the Sonic universe or are just looking for something to see over the holiday season, Sonic 3 is the perfect family film with enough humour to not feel overbearing and enough action to keep you on the edge of your seat.

Sonic the Hedgehog 3 spins into cinemas from Boxing Day.

Mufasa: The Lion King is a Serviceable Origin Story

December 19, 2024December 18, 2024Arnel Duracak

Mufasa: The Lion King preview screening provided by Disney

When word first came that Barry Jenkins’ next project after his hit mini-series The Underground Railroad (2021) would be an origin story about Mufasa from The Lion King (1994), it’s safe to say that there were some brief head-scratch moments. After all, Jenkins hasn’t really had a miss in his filmography and there are always doubts when it comes to beloved IP taking similar or new directions. Mufasa: The Lion King (2024) is no Moonlight (2016), but it does offer a new light on one of Disney’s most celebrated animated characters, bringing his story (even if James Earl Jones’ iconic voice is no longer with us), to life on the big-screen.

From early on, it’s safe to say that Jenkins didn’t really have too much leg room to stretch out to, with the world of Mufasa being rooted in the Pride Lands of Africa. In that sense, his options were clearly limited in terms of scope and the type of origin story he could tell about a lion rising up through the ranks. In this way, Mufasa takes a bite out of The Lion King‘s notebook by focusing on a tragic event in the form of a flood (told through a flashback sequence by John Kani’s mandrill, Rafiki) that would shape cub Mufasa and inform his life thereafter.

In the same way that his son Simba (Donald Glover) would be forced to reconcile with his situation of loss, Mufasa (Braelyn Rankins, later Aaron Pierre), too, is adopted, not by a warthog or meerkat but by a new pride some distance away from his old one. Key to his success in being accepted in that pride are Taka (Theo Somolu, later Kelvin Harrison Jr.) and his mother Eshe (Thandiwe Newton), much to the disdain of their father and husband Obasi (Lennie James), respectively.

(L-R): Taka (voiced by Theo Somolu) and Mufasa (voiced by Braelyn Rankins) in Disney’s live-action MUFASA: THE LION KING.

What ultimately tests these lions’ ability to act as a cohesive pride is a competing white pride of lions, led by Kiros (Mads Mikkelsen). It doesn’t take long for Taka and Mufasa to find themselves on the run, though, as they seek out Milele — a land deemed a fantasy. This journey between the step lions is where Jenkins aims to mine the emotional core of the film, testing the strength of their relationship by throwing in a love triangle with a lioness, Sarabi (Tiffany Boone), and really looking to flesh out what it means to be a “king”, whether it’s a birth right or something to be fought for and earned.

This brotherly tussle is what really holds the film together during moments where it threatens to nosedive, especially in the late second act as it brings in twists and starts to lay the groundwork for motives in The Lion King. The biggest hurdle, however, in a film about life-like lions who talk and sing, is building that connection to these characters, a shortcoming that marred Jon Favreau’s 2019 remake. As far as the technology has come since Favreau’s film, photorealistic lions just don’t have the same expressiveness as animated ones, especially when you consider the 1994 animation has aged gracefully while the 2019 remake hasn’t, and it’s only been five years.

Lin Manuel Miranda also seemingly swapped Moana 2 (2024) for Mufasa, with songs that are identifiable to him but similarly to Moana 2, fall short in creating memorable moments that will stick in your mind.

(L-R) Mufasa (voiced by Aaron Pierre), Young Rafiki (Kagiso Lediga), Taka (voiced by Kelvin Harrison Jr.) and Sarabi (Tiffany Boone).

The added element of having Rafiki do a retelling can also feel jarring at times, especially as it pulls you out of the story he’s trying to recite which interrupts the flow and pace. Most of us know what happens to Mufasa and who Taka eventually becomes, so that’s the least surprising thing about this film, but keeping us anchored to their journey and to the vistas of the Pridelands would have saved the filler scenes from being exactly that.

The Lion King‘s idea of the circle of life is about finding balance and harmony, something Jenkins’ film takes and glosses over in a similar light by creating a state of imbalance and power struggles that have to be overcome. In fact, most of Mufasa is a gloss over, sometimes for better (the visuals are still more refined than its live-action predecessor) and sometimes for worse (the retreading of old ground amidst the new ground covered, a shortcoming Moana 2 also suffers from). As a prequel, Mufasa makes sense (even if Jenkins’ involvement is bemusing) and it gives a welcome insight into one of Disney’s most beloved characters, coming full circle in the process.

Mufasa: The Lion King opens nationally from the the 19th of December.