movies – Rating Frames

The Death of Robin Hood Pierces the Heart of a Legend

June 18, 2026Darcy Read

Screening provided by Madman Entertainment.

As the title suggests, The Death of Robin Hood (2026) begins with Robin Hood seemingly at the end of his journey. Somewhat of an extended coda, he has no desire to continue; Robin Hood (an aged and grizzled Hugh Jackman) spends his days pushing through the days, weighed towards the centre of the Earth by the gravity of his past. Long gone are his famous troupe who scampered across England as outlaws, robbing the rich and giving to the poor.

Instead, the famed outlaw is alone in the English hearth, making do with simple hunting to survive with no home or companionship. It is not until his old friend Little John (Bill Skarsgård) asks Robin for help rescuing his wife and daughter from bandits that the outlaw is pushed to purpose. This scene is quickly riddled with conflict, as in the same breath we learn of how Little John came about this family; having acquired them after he killed their husband and father years prior.

Filmmaker Michael Sarnoski made a name for himself with his 2021 breakout, Pig, starring Nicolas Cage, a mature and reflective look at an older man with a lifetime of regrets forced back into society through violence — all themes that also drive The Death of Robin Hood. It is fascinating that Sarnoski, the now 31-year-old American, has a deep pull to these stories and is deftly able to probe humanist questions on regret at the beginning of his artistic career.

The metatextual element of casting Hugh Jackman as the waking ghost of Robin Hood is effective, layering on his legacy as an old-fashioned showman to this storied character worthy of reinvestigation. Similar in many respects to Logan (2017), Jackman’s greatest performance as the weathered Wolverine, Robin Hood is a man with a code that can easily morph into self-mythologisation through nothing but the immovable passage of time. The stories we tell ourselves to survive, especially ones that shield us from the stories others tell about us, drive Robin, even in his withered state. Throughout the film, Robin is both correcting the record of his folklore and forgetting the names of those he has slain, a fascinating bit of oscillation that creates an engine of revisionism that powers Sarnoski’s gritty screenplay.

From Left: Hugh Jackman and Bill Skarsgård in *The Death of Robin Hood.*

Whether Sarnoski is deeply connected to the Robin Hood folk tale or just enjoyed one of many depictions across cinema, his iteration on the character is a mere shorthand to investigate the life of an outlaw defined by mythmaking and storytelling that justifies one’s violence until violence is all that remains. This is a film with a relentless drive to revise notions of history at scale through an intimate lens.

The Death of Robin Hood is an adult film that wields its violence with a sharp knife. It cares for its impact both in the moment and in how it ripples through generations. Beginning with a stark moment of brutal violence – Robin killing a teenager who has come for revenge in the night is straight out of Robert Eggers’ grimy historical epic The Northman (2022), a lynchpin inspiration here – Sarnoski is signalling to the audience the film to come. This moment is one of a long line of sons and daughters seeking revenge on Robin’s trail of blood. Even through several wistful and lyrical sequences that weave in and out of the film, it is this graphic violence that chains the story to the damp soil.

After the rescue attempt goes as expected for a film this cold and bleak, Robin is beaten and left within inches of a death he so clearly craves, and shipped out to an island priory to heal. Surprisingly, in a shrewd piece of filmmaking, this island is where we are left for the remainder of the film. The film is split in two, with Robin Hood made to support the small community led by the prioress, sister Bridgid (Jodie Comer), as his wounds heal. A bifurcated film is difficult to pull off, but Sarnoski’s lush visual lyricism creates a flowing river of moments that land.

Jodie Comer in *The Death of Robin Hood*.

Plucked from the Sheffield folk scene, musician Jim Ghedi’s score and soundtrack both shroud and dampen the opening section of the film as much as they light the scenes in the priory. Coupled with an aspect ratio shift after the first act, cinematographer Pat Scola focuses on the warmth of sunlight seemingly hitting Robin’s cheek for the first time in decades. Sarnoski is driven to guide the famed outlaw and us towards the light.

But the past cannot be willfully ignored even at an island retreat. With new visitors steadily coming to the priory for care, Robin’s desire to fade into obscurity becomes harder and harder. Coupled with this is the punishing repetition of Robin Hood not remembering those he has killed along his journey. This is the sturdy rock Sarnoski’s film is built on. The why does not matter, as the why never matters when it comes to those that carry on the legacy of those that have been lost. There is only the loss.

For a film with a loud fight scene set in front of a burning building, it surprisingly has its most gripping moment in an infirmary, involving several intimate bloodletting scenes between Comer and Jackson, with Sarnoski carefully building up the tension of his grisly film to this point. Comer elevates these moments and the back half of the film even as her character is kept to the side, with Sarnoski clearly driven by singular character portraits and how people enter and exit a person’s life.

Whether it arrives at its emotional climax in its dying moments with legitimacy is in the eye of the beholder, but Sarnoski is serious enough about his adult drama to conclude his film with an aching sentimentality that is all too rare. With a sturdy ensemble that occasionally elevates above Sarnoski’s considered lens, The Death of Robin Hood is the dramatic adult period piece probing at the heart of heroism and violence that is rarely seen on a big screen anymore. Now all we need is Sarnoski to make his Ned Kelly film.

The Death of Robin Hood is in theatres now.

Pixar marks the (possible) end of an era with Hoppers

June 16, 2026June 11, 2026Tom Parry

A feeling of unease went through Pixar’s fanbase not so long ago when the animation studio’s Chief Creative Officer, Pete Docter expressed his plans to move away from the auteur-driven, autobiographical narratives of recent years and focus more on universal stories that “appeal to everybody”. Those words proved worrisome, for they implied that Emeryville would forgo the creative risk-taking which helped establish its box-office dominance and regress to producing safe, marketable fluff. Strange words they were too, coming from the very same man who directed tales about creatures who lurk in bedroom cupboards, an elderly widower flying his house to South America, personified emotions who inhabit our consciousness, and a jazz musician coming to terms with his mortality – and, produced this creative endeavour.

Mabel Tanaka (voice of Piper Curda) is a university student and passionate environmentalist whose love of the natural world often places her at odds with her city’s vain and development-willed leader, Mayor Jerry Generazzo (Jon Hamm) who wishes to build a freeway over her favourite forest. In fact, so strong is Mabel’s passion for the locale that she’s willing to hijack her college’s “Hopping” device – experimental technology that allows humans to transfer their psyche into a robot – and disguise herself as a lifelike, mechanical beaver just to find evidence to tarnish the Mayor’s reputation. But her actions give her far greater powers than she realises, not least the ability to understand and converse with other fauna in the forest, which is used to its full advantage. And then some!

Hoppers (2026) emanates from a returnee to the Pixar fold, Daniel Chong, a name most would associate as the creator of Cartoon Network’s We Bare Bears. Having risen through the studio’s ranks as a storyboard artist in his earlier years, one might reasonably expect this picture to mirror the sensibilities of other productions in its catalogue from stalwarts like Docter or Andrew Stanton; yet in truth, it’s closer in manner and style to Domee Shi’s Turning Red (2022) which, alongside Enrico Casarosa’s Luca (2021) and Peter Sohn’s Elemental (2023) has been labelled as one of those autobiographical films that supposedly didn’t resonate with a wider audience. That fact shouldn’t be viewed as a slight, for the idiosyncratic Turning Red is the company’s best release of the past decade on account of its unique premise, energy, and will to stray from an established formula.

More than a few attributes are shared between Chong’s feature and Shi’s – most overtly, both have as their lead protagonist a female adolescent of Asian descent who possesses the ability to transform into an animal, either through machinery or a supernatural inheritance. The parallels extend to the comedy, with no lack of silliness in either title; and the visuals, evidence of which includes the ultra-expressive faces of their characters, and the way their pupils dilate and irises contract rapidly to convey their sudden realisations, fear or excitement. Yet Hoppers is far from a measly duplicate of what Shi produced, on account of its better third-act, a distinctive art-style unlike any seen in a Pixar concoction before, and connections with a certain other property.

Mabel Tanaka (as a beaver) with King George (an actual beaver) in Pixar’s *Hoppers*

Those familiar with the aforementioned Bears will find several of the animated programme’s traits also present in this film, including a family-friendly tone, quirky sense of humour, eccentric talking mammals, ponderings on the juxtaposition of nature and modernity, and two of the series’ principal cast members: Demetri “Ice Bear” Martin, here voicing a flock of talkative birds in a cameo, and Bobby “Panda” Moynihan as George, a beaver and the Mammal King of the besieged forest Mabel seeks to protect. Moynihan’s voice is instantly recognisable, though not the manner in which he speaks; where before he played a neurotic, whiny and easily-lovestruck character, now he’s an outgoing, independent and upbeat leader who provides the ideal personality for Mabel to interact with and Hoppers with its wholesome soul.

Further setting this movie apart from these other two titles, and its Pixar companions is the gags, which find a perfect balance in appealing to both younger and older viewers. The undoubted highlight in this regard is a silly, yet joyous sequence where George leads his fellow beavers in building a dam to the tune of Loverboy’s “Working for the Weekend”, which had this reviewer wearing the dopiest grin, while another somewhat macabre scene involving the death of a character resulted in him falling into a fit of hysterical laughter. The comedy is also refreshingly self-aware, openly acknowledging the similarities its premise shares with James Cameron’s Avatar (2009) and letting the dialogue note the absurdity of what’s happening on-screen.

If audiences are to take Mr Docter at his word and soon pay witness a new era at Pixar Animation Studios, at least this latest epoch has ended on a high with the outfit’s funniest and most bonkers feature-length production yet. Hoppers may not be as original nor as revelatory as its stablemates, but it is nevertheless a charmer with plenty of heart that showcases what’s possible when you place trust in the creative forces behind a project. Daniel Chong is one such force, a director whose hitherto untapped talents are likely to be called on frequently in the years ahead.

Hoppers is streaming in Australia on Disney+ from Wednesday, June 17th.

Disclosure Day sees Steven Spielberg at his Extraterrestrial Best

June 11, 2026June 11, 2026Arnel Duracak

Disclosure Day preview screening provided by Universal Pictures

“Standby in 10” someone signals, the state of anticipation already at its most heightened. This Kansas City news station is about to cut to Margaret (Emily Blunt) as she prepares to tell the world the truth, and World War 3 can take a back seat. It’s in these moments that Steven Spielberg has you in the palm of his hands; you know what’s coming, but like the other 8 billion people of this fictional world, it doesn’t quite feel real yet. Until it is.

Aliens have been done to death throughout cinema history, yet Spielberg understands them better than anyone. If E T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982) gave a little boy a friend in a dark world, and War of the Worlds (2005) darkened the world even more and threw friends into large meat grinders, then Disclosure Day (2026) gives you the impression that aliens both unite us and divide us and that they’re closer to home than ever, waiting for the right vessel to bring them out.

Spielberg’s film asks the question: how would the pillars of a society built on divinity, a higher power, react if humanity’s entire worldview of those pillars was brought into question. If an even higher power existed. Is humanity really ready —or ever ready— to face the prospect that a belief system exists purely to keep our collective minds clear and in order in a world that is increasingly unclear and out of order.

They’re existential, larger than life questions and he uses meteorologist and weather reporter, Margaret, and runaway cyber security professional with secret government files, Daniel (Josh O’Connor), to start to ask them. The duo are united through a shared connection to the extraterrestrial, something that Margaret first becomes aware of after a cardinal flys into her home and she starts randomly speaking Russian. For Daniel, his realisation comes after he’s shown a clip that later surfaces of Margaret speaking an alien language live on air that only he understands. Through this shared bond, they work to connect with the help of Hugo (Colman Domingo) while government agent Noah (Colin Firth) hunts them down.

Emily Blunt in *Disclosure Day* directed by Steven Spielberg.

On the surface, this has all the hallmarks of a conspiracy theory fantasy flick: aliens and secret government files. But it’s anything but, especially when compared to something like Bugonia (2025). At a basic, fundamental level, this is a film about understanding that we’re more interconnected than we believe, that not everything has to be experienced in a silo, and that there’s at least one person out there who is going through the exact same thing as you. Spielberg gets this point across in spite of this being a blockbuster that throws some aliens in there to get you your popcorny fix. Spielberg has always been interested in communicating that which we struggle to wrap our heads around; he’s a problem solver at heart, if The Fabelmans (2023) was any indication — that scene where he figures out how to create explosions as a child still pops up every now and then in my mind.

In fact, this might be the most level-headed film about aliens since Arrival (2016), the only difference being it’s also the most Indiana Jones-esque an alien film has ever been. From last minute evasions on train lines to cars smashing through buildings and flying off of cliffs right through to Chekhov’s gun being employed, Spielberg embellishes the film with his signature action, reaching a flow state that seamlessly transitions from moment to moment, act to act. No word of dialogue feels misplaced, the editing is crisp, and John Williams’ score is transportative with its 80s feel. You feel like you’re in safe hands right from the outset, with the first sequence opening in media res, a classic Spielberg touch.

What would the world look like if everything we thought we knew was flipped on its head? What would the world be without Steven Spielberg there to make us ask that question in the first place. While the first question is up in the air, what is known is that Spielberg can’t escape aliens; it’s almost as if he’s the vessel through which they communicate with us, and the world is a better place because of it.

Disclosure Day opens nationally from today

Scary Movie Brings the OG’s Back for One Last Hurrah

June 4, 2026June 5, 2026Arnel Duracak

Scary Movie preview screening provided by Paramount Pictures

It’s taken 25 years but the original ‘OG’ cast of the Scary Movie franchise is back in this latest outing, promising audiences new and old a “non woke” Scary Movie that unashamedly pokes fun at anything and everything. While they deliver on that promise, it’s more of a tempered return for a franchise that hasn’t had a new entry in 13 years after the dreadful Scary Movie 5 (2013).

With the Wayan’s back and playing a bigger role following the creative fallout they had with producers after the first two films, the level of self awareness is palpable, both in terms of criticism of the drama they had and the whole “this is a movie, we know it’s a movie, we’re doing movie tropes” aspect. This starts right from the reintroduction of Ghostface who is back to deal with some unfinished slicing and dicing. His motives quickly become clear in classic Scary Movie spewed exposition style: use the new “kids of the OG stars” cast as a means to get to the OG stars and kill them for good.

From there a game of cat and mouse takes place, with Ghostface targeting characters one by one, but with the added element of multiple spin-offs on modern horrors peppered throughout. It’s the most a Scary Movie film has satirised other horror titles, with everything from Get Out (2017) to Weapons (2025) in the mix and it delivers the comedic bite sized ‘bits’ that these films have perfected over the years. While the humour feels a bit less zany and original than in the first few films —especially with the added element of a YouTube star and Gen Z humour that, while topical, feels misplaced and done to death— there are some unique bits that I won’t say much on (one involves the Get Out tea cup scene).

Marlon Wayans plays Shorty in *Scary Movie*

Most of the humour is derived from the original cast picking up where they left off with their antics. Legendary final girl Cindy (Anna Faris) brings her classic astonished facial expressions back, Shorty (Marlon Wayans) has his cracker jack stoner down pat, Ray (Shawn Wayans) continues being the most uncloseted closeted gay man in cinema, and Brenda Meeks (Regina Hall) slots back into her unapologetic role as Cindy’s friend. There are other side characters from the first two films mixed in as well, but take that game of guess who with you to the screening.

There’s a triumphant sendoff in the closing act, with a reclaiming of what was once taken from the Wayans’. It’s a subversive closing sequence that spins the idea of passing the torch on to the next generation on its head, and it feels like a big F U to the lack of creativity in Hollywood.

While much has changed in the 26 years since Scary Movie (2000) there’s a bitter-sweetness with seeing this cast reunited on-screen again, especially knowing that these sorts of films were such a staple of early 2000s teen cinema. Other titles that really should never have had a sequel like Happy Gilmore 2 (2025) have pandered to audiences and were unable to capture the glee of their unhinged, uncompromising humour when they were released. At least with the Scary Movie franchise, poking fun has always been the name of the game, and you can always count on a new Scream movie to give you a reason to riff on Ghostface one more time.

Scary Movie opens nationally from today

Masters of the Universe Banks on Nostalgia to Revive He-Man and Friends for the Big-Screen

June 2, 2026June 2, 2026Arnel Duracak

Masters of the Universe preview screening provided by Sony Pictures

The last time I felt this head-scratchy about how a big budget fantasy adventure film got such a… well… big budget, my expectations were surprisingly surpassed. That film was Dungeons & Dragons: Honour Among Thieves (2023), and while it was based on a board game that’s revered by millions around the world, I couldn’t help but wonder whether an 80s animated show like He-Man and the Masters of the Universe could resonate with audiences in the same way. While a more formulaic adaptation compared to Honour Among Thieves, Travis Knight’s Masters of the Universe (2026) is serviceable, sticking close to its source material and offering audiences both familiar and new, an alternative hero action brawler.

This isn’t the first time He-Man and friends have come to the big screen in live action form either, with a 1987 film of the same name starring Dolph Lundgren being the first foray, and there are callbacks to the original including a little cameo from Lundgren himself. But this version of He-Man (played by Nicholas Galitzine) carries less of that 80s machismo that characterised the 1987 film and many other classic titles like Running Man (1987), First Blood (1982), Conan the Barbarian (1982) and more. Unsurprisingly, all of those titles have gotten (or are getting) modern adaptations that have toned that machoistic vibe down while still retaining the stoic qualities of their ‘hero’ characters.

Knight’s Masters of the Universe builds a down-on-his-luck HR worker backstory to this version of Prince Adam of Eternia (He-Man) after he is sent crashing to Earth along with the Sword of Power following a takeover by Skeletor (Jared Leto). Having lost the sword while being teleported to Earth, Adam’s next 15 years on Earth are spent trying to locate it so that he can wield it and say some magic words that will help bring him back home. This involves him going out to dates that he makes weird by talking about how he’s from another planet and he goes to his soul sucking HR job where he spends time posting ads on internet forums to locate the sword. While he does eventually locate it and return home with the help of childhood friend Teela (Camila Mendes), his home isn’t how he remembered it, with crumbling ruins and enslaved people under the rule of Skeletor.

Jared Leto stars as ‘Skeletor’ in *Masters of the Universe*.

Everything happens rather quickly once Adam is back on Eternia including just how quickly he becomes a brute thanks to the power of the sword. I’m sure Masters of the Universe fans don’t see this as out of the ordinary as it’s clear the sword gives him god like power and strength, but the speed at which Adam comes out of his shell and morphs from his scrawny physique —which doesn’t make sense as he looks huge under his pink shirt— into a Steve Rogers type beefcake, is jarring. I can appreciate Knight wanting to just get audiences into the thick of the fun and games, but it’s almost like a Rey Star Wars moment where she harnesses the force willy-nilly. The action that follows, however, is solid, even if the CGI that supports it can look quite washed out like when Adam rides his trusty green lion into battle or when he’s flying a little ship through a green forest — large set pieces just don’t blend well with the actors.

Most of the plot revolves around this Sword of Power, something that Skeletor uses Adam’s enslaved parents as leverage to obtain. It brings much of the action together including a big battle sequence in Skeletor’s lair above a sea of lava, and ties the closing act at Castle Grayskull together. The stakes ultimately don’t feel like they ever threaten to overwhelm Adam though, even after he is captured along with his friends. But that 80s charm does still shine through in moments, especially with the signature theme song serving to amplify each punch and tussle, with these nostalgia aspects being what Knight’s film rides on to be as faithful to people’s memories of the show while carving out its own place as a modern blockbuster.

Masters of the Universe opens nationally from 4 June.

This Power Ballad is Off Key

May 28, 2026May 31, 2026Darcy Read

Power Ballad preview screening provided by Madman.

Like the familiar restaurant on the corner that knows your order as you open the door, one knows what to expect coming into a John Carney film. A focus on the healing power of music. The power music has in mending frayed relationships as well as allowing new ones to bloom.

In Power Ballad (2026), Carney shifts into a contrasting mix of styles, with a more Judd Apatow American studio-comedy style pushing up against his sharp but enchanting Irish swoon. Carney’s characters are always down on their luck but never out for the count, an element that allows for some iconic screen performances over the last 20 years.

Enter Paul Rudd as the washed-up wedding band singer, Rick. Settled into his life in Dublin with wife Rachel (Marcella Plunkett) and teenage daughter Aja (Beth Fallon), Rick tours around local weddings performing the thankless task that has been swapped out to DJs in recent years. This is somehow not a pressing issue for a film that has a strange, outside-of-time quality that is destabilising, one of many aspects that slow the film down in its desperate search for greater drive.

Nick Jonas as Danny and Paul Rudd as Rick in Power Ballad. Photo Credit: David Cleary

The drama that pushes the film forward occurs when an ex-boy band member, Danny (Nick Jonas), gets up on stage and performs with Rick and the band at the wedding, which spirals into an all-nighter between the pop star and the wedding singer. The conversations are as you expect, without a hint of passion or interiority that is needed for these scenes to serve as the spark that allows a feature film to burn.

Desperate to be taken seriously, Danny steals one of Rick’s songs he plays for him late at night, turning it into his breakthrough hit, wielding the song’s lifetime of anguish and pain for his own gain, never fully grappling with the song he’s singing. There is a powerful thread Carney weaves throughout the film about the potency of original songwriting compared to the pop machine version of being given a song to sculpt, even if it never develops into much inside the film’s narrative. Upon hearing Danny’s version and his ensuing success, Rick is driven insane, especially as none of his loved ones can remember him ever playing it for them.

Seemingly built out of a desire for metatextuality with Nick Jonas’s casting, Power Ballad doesn’t seem all that interested in developing the film into a tale of two musicians, but rather of a faded musician and singer having what he views as his life’s work taken from under him. Carney seems completely unsure of the relationship we should be cultivating with Danny, leaving him for long stretches of the film where the crux of his emotional narrative is taking shape.

Nick Jonas as Danny and Havana Rose Liu as Marcia in Power Ballad. Photo Credit: David Cleary

When we finally do return to Danny’s story, the audience spends the majority of the scene playing catch-up with the film to understand the emotional context in which we find him. This never gives Jonas a chance to prove himself here or elevate the material, which is in desperate need of a great performance. While it’s charming to see Rudd settle into a role in a small-budget film with this and the wonderful 2024 comedy Friendship, the results are mixed. Due to the hacked-up nature of the film and edit, Rudd’s relaxed improvisational style gets no air to breathe in scenes compared to the Tim Robinson film, ending up in a bizarre mixture of languid pacing and disjointed scene shifts.

Coupled with these issues is the film being fuelled by a confounding engine of anti-drama. So reticent to enjoy the fruits of the music film genre tropes that we do not enjoy much of anything throughout. So when we eventually arrive at the climactic confrontation between Rick and Danny, the film rests its shoulders on, none of the legwork has been done to appreciate anything in the scene, falling completely flat.

There is no more egregious sin the film makes than introducing a fascinating relationship with Danny and Marcia (Havanna Rose Liu), only to break up this relationship through a choppy news clipping montage straight out of 2006. Do Carney and co-writer Peter McDonald not believe audiences are interested in that personal dynamic? Was this a studio note to cut down time? These are not questions that should be asked of a light dramedy of this scale.

Power Ballad is in theatres now.

Mortal Kombat II is Rollicking Popcorn Cinema 101

May 7, 2026May 6, 2026Arnel Duracak

Mortal Kombat II preview screening provided by Universal Pictures

Delivering the batters and the blows, Mortal Kombat II is an unhinged follow-up to the 2021 hit, Mortal Kombat. There’s combat, sometimes it’s mortal, but more often than not it’s downright bloody and brutal, and it makes you wonder where the last two hours at the cinema went. That’s usually a good sign as Simon McQuoid’s film wastes no time throwing you into the action and giving you exactly what the poster spells out.

Earth’s mightiest heroes are tasked with once again defending Earth from an external threat —I know, that sounds a lot like another franchise about superpowered butt kickers— but this time around they face a new threat: Shao Kahn (Martyn Ford). It’s in Johnny Cage (a brilliantly cast Karl Urban riding his success from hit TV show The Boys), the unlikeliest of heroes, that salvation for Earth might be found. Teased at the end of Mortal Kombat, this out-of-work former action star has been chosen by the gods as one of Earth’s saviours, much to his own surprise. Encouraged by the existing heroes like Lord Raiden (Tadanobu Asano), Liu Kang (Ludi Lin), Sonya Blade (Jessica McNamee) and others, he will form a crucial part in stopping Shao Khan from taking over Earth as its ruler.

That’s really the crux of the premise. There’s a secret amulet thrown in for good measure that grants immortality to its wearer, and Josh Lawson’s Kano is resurrected to help locate it (it turns out it wasn’t that far away, in his pocket), but beyond that the film is a pure action showcase with cheesy one liners, decently choreographed action sequences, and just everything a fan of Mortal Kombat might want in a film about Mortal Kombat.

(L-R) Max Huang as “Kung Lao”, and Ludi Lin as “Liu Kang” in New Line Cinema’s “Mortal Kombat 2,”

When it comes to the standouts, Lawson brings his signature larrikin humour with quirky observations and pop culture references aplenty (from Dumbledore to Voldemort, there’s no shortage). It brings added respite to the action which, while the CGI isn’t groundbreaking (look out for Karl Urban falling down some rocks in Hell and you’ll know what I mean), delivers all the pows and whacks that you’d expect. Speaking of Urban, he is charismatic and slick as Johnny Cage and really nails the brief of a has-been-actor turned real-life-buttkicker.

The same can’t be said for the remainder of the cast. The supporting performances feel quite stale and jaded in comparison to these two, which is owed to their one-dimensional writing (it’s like if the actors from The Bold and the Beautiful suddenly stumbled onto a real movie set). At the end of the day, great storytelling isn’t what one signs up for when going into a Mortal Kombat film; the stakes are as simple as: fight to survive. But it’s ultimately a shortcoming in the script that you can’t ignore and that leaves you really just hoping the supporting characters talk less and fight more.

With superhero movies having had their heyday and running a bit out of steam for the moment, it’s telling that video game adaptations are as popular as ever. Between the Mortal Kombat and Sonic franchise of films, A24 is producing a live action Elden Ring movie helmed by Alex Garland, The Legend of Zelda is being shot in New Zealand, and Street Fighter (2026) is around the corner. While Paul W. S. Anderson’s Mortal Kombat (1995) will always hold a special place in my heart, Mortal Kombat II finds its strengths in not reinventing the wheel too much, but in letting its mayhem wash over you for a few hours while you chow down on your popcorn and coke (maybe with some Jack), and sometimes that’s all you really need.

Mortal Kombat II opens nationally from today.

The Sheep Detectives is a Breezy, Light-Hearted Murder Mystery

May 6, 2026May 6, 2026Arnel Duracak

The Sheep Detectives preview screening provided by Sony Pictures

While the film to beat for ‘most wholesome of 2026’ is still firmly Project Hail Mary, Kyle Balda’s The Sheep Detectives is a strong contender for second place. This Agatha Christie esque small-town-whodunnit is as full of charm and wit as one can expect from the man behind the equally charming and witty Minions films, delivering a clever little murder mystery that may well have Kenneth Branagh quaking in his boots.

Adapted from Leonie Swann’s bestseller Three Bags Full, screenwriter Craig Mazin (known for wordsmithing the less colourful worlds of shows like Chernobyl and The Last of Us) blends goofy humour with a solid head scratcher. He trades bleak wastelands for the lush green backdrop of a small country town in the UK, the fictional Denbrook, and captures the uniquely English aura that is commonplace for this genre of filmmaking.

Adding to the English aura are Emma Thompson and the voices of Sir Patrick Stewart and Brett Goldstein in an ensemble that is otherwise anything but English. The prime time name brought to put bums in seats is Australian icon Hugh Jackman as the swoony shepherd George Hardy draped in rugged farming attire, reminiscent of his look in Australia (2008). He tends to his flock, reads them bedtime mystery stories and gives them a self-made blue medicine to treat Orf. In other words, he’s the antithesis of some of his neighbouring Denbrook residents, like fellow rival shepherd Caleb (Tosin Cole) and local butcher Ham Gilyard (Conleth Hill). His presence is short-lived, however, as he is murdered late at night outside his trailer home leading a murder mystery to rock an otherwise quiet town.

Nicholas Braun stars as Officer Tim Derry and Molly Gordon as Rebecca Hampstead in The Sheep Detectives

Local police officer Tim Derry (a hilarious Nicholas Braun with a terrible English accent), the town’s only police officer, realises he’s got some work to do. But unbeknownst to him (and George Hardy before him), someone is already on the case: the sheep themselves. While photorealistic talking animals might not be the most embraced development in CGI in recent times due to their often expressionless designs —see Jon Favreau’s The Lion King (2019) or Barry Jenkins’ Mufasa: The Lion King (2024)— Balda has found a nice balance in how he incorporates them alongside the wider humans involved in the mystery. In other words, there is a genuine care with how much and how little to use the sheep.

Much of that care is owed to the voices behind the CGI flock. Julia Louis-Dreyfus voices the lead sheep, Lily, with an assortment of stars like the aformentioned Patrick Stewart and Brett Goldstein joined by Bryan Cranston, Chris O’Dowd, Regina Hall, Bella Ramsey and Rhys Darby. Each voice actor imbues their respective sheep with enough charisma to not leave any line or gag feeling flat. On the flipside are the humans, with Molly Gordon playing Rebecca Hampstead, upcoming He-Man Nicholas Galitzine playing Elliot Matthews, and Hong Chau playing Beth Pennock. It’s a well rounded ensemble that delivers Mazin’s script with flair and wit.

While the actual murder mystery part isn’t all that difficult to figure out before the end, Balda has done well at giving adults and children alike a modern Babe (1995). That might be as glowing a comparison as one can hope to receive for this sort of hearty comedy. The only real grievance one might find is that the deeper portions of the movie might be a tad too deep for children to grasp and a tad too obvious for adults to not eye roll at unless you’re vegan (like the reality check of ‘Meet Your Meat’). But this is a minor hiccup in an otherwise heartfelt, mellow and wholesome murder mystery that doesn’t overcomplicate its murder and mystery (meaning you may well end up feeling smarter than the sheep before the end) and does offer a breezy time at the cinema.

The Sheep Detectives opens nationally from 7 May.

The Drama Gives you Another Reason to Rethink Marriage

April 5, 2026April 7, 2026Arnel Duracak

Just how impressionable are first impressions and can they be the reason one might overlook the worst thing a person has done a few days before they’re due to marry? While one might respond with a resolute ‘yes’ if the person in question is Zendaya, Kristoffer Borgli’s The Drama (2026) dares to push that idea to its limit, milking it out until all parties involved are beat up and broken or ready to call it quits.

That first impression comes when Charlie (Robert Pattinson) lays eyes on Emma (Zendaya) in a cosy coffee shop reading a book where, after snapping a photo of the book she is reading to give himself an opening, musters up the courage to do his best cute rom-com cold approach. Funnily, she misses half of what he’s said and awkwardly catches him mid “I’m not hitting on you” after taking one earbud out and confiding she is deaf in her other ear. They just as awkwardly laugh, she encourages him to have a do-over, and just like that, Borgli has you hooked to what you think has the makings of an endearing love story.

For what it’s worth, endearing is how The Drama unfolds, as Charlie and Emma get closer and eventually begin dating, and just as quickly find themselves a week out from getting married. Of course, like with any rom-com, the central couple is expected to endure its hurdles, but during a late night of menu tasting and drinking with their two friends, Rachel (Alana Haim) and Mike (Mamoudou Athie), where they play a game of “what is the worst thing you have ever done”, Emma casts a shadow over her love struck fiance and burns some bridges with her friends. Her confession/answer is that disarming that her feelings toward revealing it are plastered all over her face as the camera lingers over her, giving you the impression that it was going to be Charlie’s confession that would speak to the film’s title, not hers.

Robert Pattinson and Zendaya in *The Drama* (2026)

The haymaker with which Emma hits her fiance sends the film into a spiral that asks whether love can truly overcome anything, and while the answer is generally “well, like, if you’ve done X or X or X, then hell no”, Borgli’s film is ready to sell you on the opposite. That’s namely because Zendaya is so damn likeable here that, along with a some flashbacks that are peppered throughout for empathy and context, it’s quite easy to believe that Charlie would overlook just about anything for her. What no doubt stumps him is the impression that others (his close friends) now have of Emma, and whether he can reconcile his feelings towards her with the weight that this revelation carries for his own life. There’s a wider commentary on how this revelation is a tendency that no doubt exists in many people, but it’s not that convincing nor does it feel like it’s supposed to be.

As amusing as it is to watch this idea be used to throw a spanner in the works for a couple that is enamored with one another, much is left to be desired when it comes to Emma’s confession, with the flashbacks doing a really janky job that simply show a troubled young teenager and not much of substance beyond. That said, where the film mines its humour (and gets you the ‘com’ in the edgy ‘rom’) is in Charlie’s increasing anxiety as he threatens to derail the wedding and his own sanity to the point where there’s a hilarious moment of him getting spooked by Emma who is holding a kitchen knife asking if he’s ok. Much of the second half of the film is really about whether Charlie will overcome Emma’s confession as he struggles to take practice wedding photos with her and even finds himself breaking down at work, with the events that ensue coming to bite him back in the film’s final act.

The Drama is a tumultuous ride, one that might have you feeling like you’re laughing at the wrong time (I love dark humour so I couldn’t care less). That said, those who were expecting the first of the year’s 3 Patt-daya (just go with it) films to be a cute film about the turmoils of first love like Materialists (2025) or recoverable problems in the lead up to a wedding like Wedding Crashers (2005), will be utterly flabbergasted, but at least you’ll be left with the only right question to ask before you put a ring on that finger.

The Drama is in theatres now.

The President’s Cake is a Vital Watch

April 3, 2026Darcy Read

In 1990, Iraq faced strict UN-backed sanctions, which led to extreme poverty and shortages of food and medicine. Despite this, Saddam Hussein required all Iraqis to celebrate his birthday. Set two days before the president’s birthday, either during or on the verge of the Gulf War, The President’s Cake (2025) follows nine-year-old schoolgirl Lamia (Baneen Ahmad Nayyef), who is anxious about being selected for the terrible honour of baking a cake for the day.

Filmmaker Hasan Hadi contracts a world from Lamia’s perspective outward through childlike framing and camera movements, grounding us in the surreal circumstance she finds herself in on the morning of the draw to decide who will have to bake the cake. The scene is an entire film in a bottle. We see Saeed (Sajad Mohamad Qasem), Lamia’s close friend, has to write his name five times to be placed in the draw as punishment for his lateness to class. A boy reminds the teacher that his father fixed his bicycle, and his name is not written down for the draw. When Lamia is called to draw the cake, an ultimate punishment, we collapse on her face, slammed with despair, but not broken. She learnt this from her grandmother Bibi (Waheed Thabet Khreibat).

Without parents and raised on the outskirts of the city by her frail but spirited grandmother Bibi, Lamia must scrape and scrounge to acquire the funds to obtain the basic ingredients needed for the cake, which, if she doesn’t present it on the day, will be punished by being dragged through the street and possibly killed.

Baneen Ahmad Nayyef as Lamia in *The President’s Cake.*

The film is littered with pensively powerful moments, like Bibi giving Lamia a shopping list for the cake while sorting through personal family items they will have to sell to acquire the ingredients. The crippling weight of political forces bears down on each individual we see. The dictatorship and UN-backed sanctions are visibly fraying the knot of community in this Iraqi village and city.

Once the film separates Bibi and Lamia on their trip to the city to collect ingredients in several heartbreaking sequences, the story blooms. Lamia is driven to acquire the ingredients and persevere, while Bibi is trying to give her granddaughter a better life as she grapples with the limitations of herself as her guardian. As the film is primarily focused on a child’s perspective of the world in a state of turmoil, this bifurcated narrative is purposely unbalanced, which can lose some audience members while engrossing others.

We see the crippling rule of dictatorship through a child’s eye and how that perspective ripples through others. As Lamia and her friend Saeed encounter various strangers on their journey for eggs, flour, and sugar, we see the callousness the regime has instilled in people, where even the sharing of small kindnesses seems impossible.

(From left) Sajad Mohamad Qasem and Baneen Ahmad Nayyef as Saeed and Lamia in *The President’s Cake.*

Baneen Ahmad Nayyef as Lamia is one of the best child performances in years. She carries with her a pathos that never derails her fierce determination to succeed despite her situation, making her a vital screen presence in a film that too easily could’ve sunk under the weight of its circumstances.

What also allows the film to float above the muck is the gorgeous work of cinematography by Tudor Vladimir Panduru. The President’s Cake maintains a propulsive energy, never luxuriating in the search for that one perfect shot that derails all too many films.

A film about the futility of a stable life under a cripplingly arrogant dictatorship, Hadi savvily avoids the potholes of despair with a gliding approach from scene to scene, focusing on the childlike goals at hand that ground the story in the familiar despite the circumstances. Too often, films of this nature root themselves too heavily in the past and its specifics, which feel bound by their circumstances, allowing the audience to separate their lives from the ones we see on screen. That is not the case here, and it is all the more powerful for it.

A vital and poignant film that collides with the madness of oppression with a child’s resilience, Hadi’s film is indebted to classic Iranian filmmakers like Jafar Panahi and Abbas Kiarostami while still matching contemporary urgency with a reflective look at the past. As the children move through the city ravaged by poverty through recent sanctions, all in a desperate search for money and supplies to get through the president’s birthday, we reflect on each passing individual and how they are forced to look out for themselves instead of these desperate children.

The President’s Cake is in select theatres now.