Rankings and Lists - Page 2 of 16 - Reel Opinion by Eric Zimmerman

“Nosferatu” Review – Exciting but Low Tier Robert Eggers

Nosferatu poster Robert Eggers movie film

“Nosferatu” was written and directed by gothic mastermind Robert Eggers and is a remake of the 1922 silent horror film. It follows the classic tale of Nosferatu/Count Orlok — AKA Count Dracula, as the character was originally a German rip-off of Bram Stoker’s classic horror villain — and the Hutter couple: real estate agent Thomas (Nicholas Hoult) and his wife Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp), a young woman with a dark sensual bond to Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård). This is a massive passion project for Eggers, who has repeatedly cited the original film as the central influence on his incredible career.

I am an enormous Robert Eggers fan. In fact, he’s my second-favorite director working today after Denis Villeneuve. I admire “The Witch,” adore “The Lighthouse” (which has become an all-time favorite of mine), and love “The Northman.” His one-of-a-kind, fearless, and demented directorial vision is astounding and unparalleled. He’s a true master of the craft, so needless to say I had sky-high expectations for his fourth film in “Nosferatu,” a movie he’s been dreaming of making for decades. And it’s really, really good… but not great.

I’ll begin with the positives, of which there are plenty. Of course, as with every Eggers film, “Nosferatu” is an impeccable audio-visual production, generating a wonderfully skin-crawling atmosphere. Director of photography Jarin Blaschke provides us with gorgeous imagery amidst a grotesque setting. The candles and fireplaces emit beautifully luminous orange-yellow light, and the night scenes are filmed so desaturated to the point of appearing almost black-and-white. The camerawork is equally flawless, especially in the creepy centering of the characters within the frame or the acutely choreographed pans. Louise Ford’s editing is also stellar, providing a trippy fluidity between the shots and somehow making jump scares feel earned. I can go all day praising the technical prowess: production design, sound design, score, etc. Eggers once again proves himself to be one of, if not the single most, ingenious technical directors of his generation.

Due to Eggers’ brilliant direction, there’s always a visual flourish or sound cue to keep you engrossed from the first frame to the last. “Nosferatu” is relentlessly entertaining. I didn’t feel the over-two-hour runtime at all. It is impossible not to enjoy the craziness and carnage which only Eggers can provide.

Eggers is a fantastic actors’ director too… at least for the most part. Lily-Rose Depp gives one of the best lead performances of the year as Ellen. Depp is given so many challenges to take on and succeeds at all of them: she cries, screams, yearns, dreads, and often convulses every bone of her body. Nicholas Hoult is also fantastic as Thomas, playing terrified better than any other horror protagonist I’ve seen in the past few years. Willem Dafoe as vampire expert Von Franz is just as zany and manic as you’d hope for, and he lights up all of his scenes. Simon McBurney and Ralph Ineson are also scene stealers, especially McBurney who plays Nosferatu’s slimy servant.

Then we have a performance I’m mixed on and one I flat out despised. The former: Bill Skarsgård as Count Orlok. Under all that makeup he’s still incredibly foreboding and menacing with his imposing body language, and at his most terrifying whenever he inhales these gargantuan breaths as if he’s swallowing the atmosphere. However, there are two key flaws to his portrayal, the first being his voice. I love his deep register, but he goes for this 1930s Bela Lugosi intonation that’s a little too goofy for this stark film. Then there’s potentially my biggest issue with the film: Orlok’s stupid, confounding, hilarious, embarrassing, WTF-is-that mustache. This is, of course, more Eggers’ fault than it is Skarsgård’s, but nonetheless, why the hell does he have a mustache? This thing is so goofy and makes it impossible to take Orlok seriously. I’m starting to think the reason why the studio didn’t show Orlok in any of the trailers was not to keep the monster design a surprise for the theaters, but actually to hide the dumbass mustache until audiences bought their tickets. Plus, it’s a comically enormous and protruding mustache that covers a fifth of his face, as if he’s Dr. Robotnik from the Sonic video games. I know this sounds like a nitpick, but ultimately the film is called Nosferatu, and if your Nosferatu isn’t scary because you made the confounding decision to stamp a cartoonish mustache on him, your film is a lot less scary than it should be.

The other performance I took huge issue with is Aaron Taylor-Johnson. I’m sorry, but this man cannot act. I do not want him as the next James Bond. He lacks the chops. Whereas everyone else in this movie commits 110% and truly feel like they belong in the 19th century, he comes off as an SNL parody of a posh British elitist. Some of his inflated delivery is laughably bad. Between this and his much worse performance in “Kraven the Hunter,” the man has demonstrated a lack of actual thespian skill.

I am quite mixed on the script as well. It facilitates Eggers’ astounding visuals and riveting narrative, but to get to those he had to cheat. The passing of time is often unclear, as is the distance between the locations over which the characters travel. There are also a few lapses in logic, namely (this is not a spoiler because it’s in the first act) why Orlok would keep Thomas Hutter lying around in his castle for days on end rather than killing him.

Ultimately, “Nosferatu” is a damn good movie (in fact it’s one of 2024’s best), but not the great movie I hoped for. The film remains a strong recommendation from me though, as it’s a gorgeous, creepy, and compelling experience that’s sure to entertain, yet the inconsistent performances, silly creature design, and sloppy story mechanics hinder it from being up there with “The Lighthouse” and “The Northman.”

B+

“The Brutalist” Review – Breathtaking and Gigantic Cinema

“The Brutalist” is a three-and-a-half hour epic co-written and directed by Brady Corbet. It stars Adrien Brody as László Tóth, a Hungarian-Jewish architect who emigrates to America in 1947 after surviving the Holocaust. As he attempts to rebuild his life and career in another nation, his wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) and their niece Zsófia remain in Hungary until they can meet him in America (which they finally do by the second half). After a few impoverished years as a coal miner, László is hired by the wealthy and charismatic industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce) to construct a lavish community center — a project that will cost László blood, sweat, tears, and decades of his life. The film takes place over several decades following László’s many ups and downs, deconstructing and debunking the American Dream in dark, compelling, and unpredictable ways.

While the gargantuan runtime may seem imposing, don’t be scared off by it. “The Brutalist” earns that runtime. For one, it includes a gracious fifteen minute intermission, but more importantly it’s impeccably paced. This movie zips by. Corbet’s terrific screenplay, written alongside his wife Mona Fastvold, is a significant reason for the film’s strong pace. Each scene deepens the narrative, themes, and characters; not a minute is wasted. The film has a ton of ground to cover, not just in regards to the timespan but also the ideas/issues it explores, including capitalism, xenophobia, antisemitism, addiction, and the artist’s struggle to balance life and work.

The Brutalist Adiren Brody László Tóth and Guy Pierce Harrison Lee Van Buren

Interestingly, while the themes and scale are so massive, the amount of characters is quite small in comparison to other epics. The film is very much a character study, with László in nearly every scene, and the few scenes without him exclusively focusing on either Erzsébet or Van Buren. Most of the film consists of extended dialogue scenes, but it’s all the better for it because the dialogue is absolutely exquisite. Multiple times throughout the film Van Buren tells László, “I find our conversations intellectually stimulating,” and one can’t help but agree with him. Corbet and Fastvold reach that fine line between high-brow and lofty pretension, making for consistently intriguing conversations that make the many dialogue scenes far more riveting than they otherwise would be.

“The Brutalist” is conclusively intimate in its focus, always emphasizing character development over grandiose visuals (of which it still has plenty, as I’ll discuss later). Thus, the film lives and dies on its protagonist being compelling enough to carry such a lengthy story, and László Tóth delivers. This is a deeply broken man, beaten down from his past in ways both the character and the script hide from us outside of a few hints. While he’s incredibly sympathetic in his underdog appeal and inspiring passion for architecture, he remains deeply flawed. László pursues sexual escapades outside of Erzsébet without a second thought, has severe substance addiction, and frequently puts himself and his work before his friends and family. Yet one can’t help but root for him to reach the American Dream, making the film’s ultimate message that the American Dream was really a myth even more devastating.

Adrien Brody’s powerhouse performance as László is easily one of the year’s best. He often underplays certain parts of the character, trusting the audience to pick up on the weight of the Holocaust behind László’s exhausted eyes, yet Brody also goes for the enormous flashy Oscar-reel moments of screaming and crying that one would expect from an awards contender. Brody is truly magnetic; even in the very few scenes he’s offscreen, you feel his presence. All of the other performances are likewise stellar, which proves Corbet’s talent as an actor’s director. Felicity Jones is devastating as Erzsébet, who’s stricken with osteoporosis after her experiences in the concentration camps, only to find a tortured and detached husband after their many years apart. Guy Pearce brings further complexity to the picture as Van Buren, who initially comes off as self-absorbed yet charismatic and funny enough to be likable (Pearce’s lines had my audience howling with laughter). Yet as we dive deeper into his character over the course of the story, we learn just how sinister and two-faced he truly is.

“The Brutalist” cost a mere $10 million, which is absolutely shocking given the scope and arresting visuals. With this being only his third film, Corbet has established himself as one of the great new auteurs in American independent cinema. Not only is he brilliant at concealing the tiny budget, but also at enrapturing the audience in a world that feels larger than life. Corbet clearly loves his long takes, as much of “The Brutalist” is filmed in lengthy unbroken shots that allow the audience to breathe in Lol Crawley’s gorgeous cinematography and provide the actors plenty of space to explore the characters. This is most noticeable in the claustrophobic opening boat sequence and in the ~10-minute oner of Erzsébet confronting Van Buren, with the camera moving across levels of his mansion as the confrontation becomes more and more hostile between both parties.

The Brutalist cinematography Lol Crawley

In addition to Corbet’s direction, the film’s technical prowess is inseparable from Daniel Blumberg’s extraordinary score and Lol Crawley’s filmic cinematography. Reminiscent of the great ’70s/’80s horns-driven compositions by John Williams, Blumberg’s masterwork is one of the very few scores released in the past decade that’s a real earworm. The recurring bombastic set of notes DUN-DUN-DUN, DUNNNNNNNN is a bolt of lightning that brings a sense of both wonderment and danger. The grandness of “The Brutalist” is likewise amplified by Crawley’s VistaVision cinematography, brimming with glorious ’70s film grain. Given that the film hinges on the beauty and appeal of László’s brutalist architecture, Crawley understands the need to heighten the angles and sharp edges across the screen.

I cannot exclusively laud “The Brutalist” with praise, however, as the second half struggles with an unwieldy narrative and a rushed (although ultimately satisfying) ending. There is a bold storytelling decision in the final hour between László and Van Buren that comes out of nowhere, and while I found it to be an exciting twist, I can understand how others would throw up their hands in frustration. I do believe this was a good move for the narrative, but it lacked the necessary buildup to earn the twist. Additionally, the film concludes far too rapidly. Once again, I enjoyed the individual story choices made, but they were sped through so quickly that you can’t wrap your head around them until you leave the theater and actually have the time to reflect on the events. Corbet had a serious issue with buildup and breathing room in the second half that was absent in the first half, and I assume this was because he didn’t want to make the film any longer.

Narrative rushing aside, “The Brutalist” is a great movie, one of the year’s best. As both an ode to Classic Hollywood and a demonstration of the dark, even demented risks modern independent cinema can take, the film succeeds with flying colors.

A-

“Anora” Review – Film of the Year?

Anora Poster Sean Baker movie Palme d'Or Cannes Film Festival

“Anora” is the latest film from indie darling Sean Baker, who won the highly coveted Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival for his work here, having edited, written, produced, and directed all at the same time. The movie stars an explosive Mikey Madison as the title character, a charismatic Russian American sex worker in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. One night at the club Anora works at, Vanya (Mark Eydelshteyn), the party-crazed son of a dangerous and immensely wealthy Russian oligarch, asks for a dancer who speaks Russian, uniting him with Anora. After receiving a lap dance from her, Vanya can’t get enough, and subsequently pays her $15,000 to be his girlfriend for a week. They fall in love, and while in Vegas they marry in the spur of the moment, bringing Anora into a life of wealth and opportunity she had never known. However, Anora’s Cinderella story is soon disrupted when Vanya’s parents find out that their son married a sex worker, and they send three of their goons residing in America to Vanya’s mansion to force the newlyweds to annul the marriage. Vanya flees and leaves Anora there with the minions Toros (Karren Karagulian), Garnick (Vache Tovmasyan), and Igor (Yura Borisov), ensuing a screwball comedy mission to find Vanya.

That was a far lengthier plot synopsis than I usually write in my reviews, but for such a gloriously chaotic film, it required the extra text. Since Cannes, the film has become one of the most rapturously applauded films in recent memory, and I’m elated to say that it deserves all its praise. I wanted to watch “Anora” twice before writing my review to fully absorb my thoughts on the film, and I now believe it may be a masterpiece, or at least close to one. This is a roller coaster ride of a film, an adrenaline rush that grips you from the very first stunning shot to the final devastating frame. Alongside our wonderfully lovable protagonist, the film speeds through so many ups and downs, laughs and tears, triumphs and tragedies, yet never feels convoluted or overwhelming. Through Baker’s steady direction, the film is relentlessly enthralling and always keeps you on the edge of your seat, with frenetic editing and an unpredictable story that’s always satisfying.

Anora Mikey Madison Mark Eydelshteyn Sean Baker movie

This may be the greatest screenplay we’ve gotten since Celine Song’s magnificent “Past Lives,” but unlike that film, which was snubbed for the Academy Award, at this point in awards season “Anora” seems guaranteed the Original Screenplay Oscar. All the characters are so fully realized, not just Anora herself (who we’ll delve more into), but also Vanya and the three goons. Vanya at first seems like an immature but lovable 21-year-old man-child and you can’t blame Anora for falling for him given his charisma, but as the film progresses you realize his destructive immaturity. Eydelshteyn is magnificent in the role, going from gut-bustingly hilarious and almost gleefully awkward to ultimately pathetic. Karagulian’s Toros and Tovmasyan’s Garnick are wonderful comic relief, especially the grumpy, neurotic, anxious Toros who has a “these kids today” attitude. Karagulian has been in all of Sean Baker’s works, and he’s never been better.

The real standouts here, however, are Yura Borisov and, of course, Mikey Madison. Let’s start with Borisov, who delivers the greatest subtle, underplayed performance I’ve seen since Mahershala Ali in “Moonlight.” Not to say Borisov is as good as Ali, but he’s brilliant nonetheless. Throughout the second and third acts’ chaos, Baker brilliantly cuts to Borisov’s Igor for his reactions to any given situation. Borisov has these wonderfully expressive eyes and a body language that’s simultaneously creepy and threatening, yet sympathetic and brutally shy. Igor almost never speaks, but he doesn’t need to because we’re able to learn everything about him just by Borisov’s posture and stare. Igor seems dangerous on the surface, but over the course of the film we realize he’s actually a deeply socially awkward person who, in his genuine attempts at kindness, comes off as threatening. Borisov is undoubtedly the heart of the film, which is quite astounding given his minimal lines and being largely relegated to lurking around.

Yet, as everyone knows, the single best performance of not only this film, but of the year thus far, is Mikey Madison. This is one of those roles that stay with an actor for a lifetime, where she’ll be referred to as Anora rather than her real name by audiences for years to come. She completely embodies a character who is entirely different from her in real life. In interviews, Madison comes off as shy, polite, and innocent, whereas Anora is incredibly confident, outgoing, and crass. Madison absolutely transformed herself for the role. She learned Russian, various types of erotic dancing (even choreographing a dance in the film), and a (pitch-perfect) Brooklyn accent. Her dedication is astounding and apparent in every frame, giving us a character for the ages in Anora, someone so immediately likable, amplifying the audience’s grief when she faces tragedy.

Baker has repeatedly stated that with this film and his four previous films, he has been dedicated to destigmatizing sex work, and never has he been more successful than with “Anora.” At the core of the film are themes of power and class dynamics, of people being chewed up and spit out as entertainment for those more privileged. Baker’s film is profoundly compassionate and gets the audience to sympathize with these commonly derided individuals without ever preaching, but rather displaying themes and a riveting narrative to extract our sympathy.

“Anora” is filmmaking at its very finest across the board: relentless pacing, stellar performances, riveting storytelling, fully realized characters, confident and empathetic direction, and perfectly relayed themes. The film is entertaining through every second of its nearly two-and-a-half hour runtime, which easily flies by. This is undoubtedly Sean Baker’s greatest achievement, and certainly his most accessible work. Needless to say, I adored “Anora,” and urge you to seek out the film immediately when it reaches your area. This may be the best film of 2024.

A+

“Megalopolis” is One of the Worst Movies Ever Made – Review

“Megalopolis” is one of the worst movies I have ever seen. That is not hyperbole, that is fact. Here we go.

Wildly acclaimed filmmaker Francis Ford Coppola’s 40-years-in-the-making passion project “Megalopolis” follows a few rich families in the fictional city of New Rome. Adam Driver is our lead, Cesar Catilina, a genius architect with the never explained ability to control time and the inventor of Megalon, a substance that can accomplish… basically anything, I guess. It’s never really explained. Cesar’s main conquest, however, is to convince the people of New Rome and its stubborn mayor Franklyn Cicero (Giancarlo Esposito) to ditch the flailing current model of the city and embrace an idealized model designed but not yet created by Cesar called Megalopolis. The city rumbles between Cesar and Cicero’s battling ideologies. Meanwhile, Cicero’s daughter Julia (Nathalie Emmanuel) and Cesar enter a love affair, Cesar’s haywire cousin Clodio Pulcher (Shia LaBeouf) is scheming to take control over the city, and the reporter Wow Platinum (Aubrey Plaza) — yes, that’s her actual name — is climbing the ranks of power by sleeping with and marrying influential figures, namely the wealthy Hamilton Crassus (Jon Voight). Oh, and the story is narrated by Laurence Fishburne, who plays Cesar’s chauffeur and enjoys monologuing empty platitudes to the bewildered audience. There are a plethora of subplots colliding simultaneously throughout this film, none of which make any sense.

Adam Driver Megalopolis Francis Ford Coppola

Coppola is potentially the most confusing filmmaker in history. He made my all-time favorite movie and what I’d argue to be the greatest film ever in “The Godfather,” yet now he dumps “Megalopolis” on us, a film which he has repeatedly claimed to be his true style, whereas films like “The Godfather” and “Apocalypse Now” were just learned styles that he doesn’t seem all that passionate about. What he is passionate about, however, is inflating his own massive, massive, massive, ego. The man has an absolutely gargantuan holier-than-thou view of himself. Never before has a movie been more self-aggrandizing of its creator. There is literally a scene when someone mentions that if her baby is a boy, she’ll name him FRANCIS, and that he’s representative of some great future. What a pretentious, self-obsessed, out of touch, loathsome, egregious, and utterly irritating man Coppola is.

Coppola is also one of the worst writers in recent memory, apparently, as “Megalopolis” contains some of the most unintentionally hilarious dialogue you will ever hear. The lines range from cringe-inducing empty word salad about time and love and Coppola’s faux philosophies, and just the oddest and most juvenile slop. For instance, early on in the film Wow Platinum is getting all intimate with Cesar and spurts out the greatest line in cinema history: “You’re anal as hell, Cesar. I, on the other hand, am oral as hell.” Those are actual sentences from a film written and directed by the same man who made “The Godfather.” Allow me to cite a few more bangers. Crassus lies in bed with a crossbow underneath the covers by his pelvis, and asks Wow Platinum “How do you like my boner?” Julia spies on Cesar mourning his deceased wife and explains to herself and the audience, “He still loves her.” In another scene, Platinum explains her evil scheme to herself and says, “One, two, three, yippie-yee,” and minutes later shoves Clodio’s face between her legs and has him repeatedly shout “Yes, Auntie Wow!” This film is at its most enjoyable when the actors are forced to deliver these bonkers lines that only a deranged lunatic could scribe.

Megalopolis Adam Driver Nathalie Emmanuel New Rome

The dialogue brings an honestly enjoyable “so bad it’s good” factor to “Megalopolis,” as do its unbelievably clunky visual effects that gives Neil Breen’s “Cade: The Tortured Crossing” a run for its very little money. There are also a plethora of confounding wait, WHAT?! moments that come fresh out of thin air to amplify the unintended laugh factor, namely when a satellite randomly crashes down onto New Rome and it’s almost never brought up again in any of the scenes afterward.

Then we have the atrocious performances from some fresh hell that surely must serve as career massacres. Adam Driver delivers the worst work of his entire career, appearing almost as pretentious as Coppola and providing a schizophrenic performance gyrating between subdued and insane. Shia LaBeouf is all insane with his performance, although to be fair he was doing the best he could with the feces-ridden writing he was given. Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman (the latter being in this movie for all of four seconds) show up to make the audience wish they were watching “Midnight Cowboy,” both actors appearing dead in their scenes. The normally phenomenal Aubrey Plaza somehow goes too Aubrey Plaza, something I never thought I’d say. Laurence Fishburne is given an insultingly pathetic role that he can’t help but flail in. Yet potentially the worst performance comes to us from Nathalie Emmanuel, who embarrasses herself throughout every scene with her over-the-top 1930s/40s screwball comedy acting combined with soap opera trashiness.

The one and only good performance (and the only redeeming factor in the whole film) is Giancarlo Esposito, who somehow rises out of this movie’s repugnant stench-ridden ashes unscathed. He grounds his character in reality as much as is humanly possible, and drives the only semi-decent scene in the film, when his character pleads to his daughter to bring their relationship back to where it was before she met Cesar.

Unfortunately, despite the unintentionally funny dialogue, VFX, and plot turns, most of the film is just a pretentious bore, a meditation on everything and nothing at the same time. None of the characters are even remotely relatable or compelling, all of whom are either one-dimensional or zero-dimensional. The plot is so nonsensical that you just stop caring after the ten-minute mark. You only ever get emotionally invested when you recoil from Coppola’s disgusting pretentiousness where he pretends to be a true artist when in reality he is a pitiful shell of a former storyteller.

“Megalopolis” also features staggeringly ignorant, juvenile, uneducated, on-the-nose, and misguided at best political commentary that feels straight out of an upper class spoiled college student handbook. Coppola has a simultaneously idealized and toxic view of humanity, glorifying his favored side of the political spectrum and demonizing the other. The most significant politicking this film does, however, is raising the concerns of the audience as to how sexist Coppola is, because all his female characters merely exist to be drooled over, with sequences of them fondling each others’ bodies for the director’s satisfaction, and without them having actual depth. Not that the male characters are well-written, but at least they have more to their characterization than their physical appearance. The women of “Megalopolis” are treated as architecture, not as human beings.

“Megalopolis” will serve as the ultimate litmus test for critics. Any self-proclaimed film critic who calls this cinematic war crime a legitimately good film just because it’s “ambitious” can never be taken seriously again. Ambition is not a synonym for quality. Just because a film makes gutsy choices doesn’t mean those choices are clever. In the case of Coppola’s condescending and pretentious cesspool of a movie, his choices are staggeringly abysmal across the board.

Ultimately, and I know I’m not the first one to say this, “Megalopolis” is essentially a $120 million Neil Breen film. It shares that same WTF factor and formula of long periods of awkward boredom followed by the most boisterously funny scenes you’ll ever experience. It is the modern-day “Caligula.” Except less interesting and more embarrassing for everyone involved.

“Deadpool & Wolverine” Review – More Nostalgia Bait

“Deadpool & Wolverine” was directed by Shawn Levy and stars Ryan Reynolds as the merc with a mouth Deadpool/Wade Wilson. In this film, Deadpool enters the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) and its irritating multiverse, soon teaming up with a Wolverine variant (Hugh Jackman) to save his universe from two big baddies: Mr. Paradox (Matthew Macfadyen) and Cassandra Nova (Emma Corrin).

Let’s start with the positives: if you’re looking for a fun time at the movies, this is certainly the flick for you. It has a frenetic pace, A+ jokes throughout, unique visuals (even including body horror), exciting action, clever music use, and another phenomenal performance by Ryan Reynolds in the role he was born to play. In three films he hasn’t missed a beat in regard to his acting; no one else can play Deadpool this well. He is so effortlessly likable and charming despite being an incredibly violent and vulgar character. His humor is edgy, sure, but it’s still really smart and the referential jokes hit hard and don’t pull any punches. Reynolds pokes fun at not only the Disney-Fox merger, but also the diminishing quality of the MCU, which was an incredibly welcome surprise. I could watch him play the character for hours on end and never get tired.

Matthew Macfadyen is another standout here, although no one reaches the heights of Ryan Reynolds in any of the three “Deadpool” films. He channels his comedic chops from his time as Tom Wambsgans on HBO’s brilliant “Succession” and is consistently enthralling to watch. He takes an otherwise generic British villain and adds so much flavor to the role. Emma Corrin, on the other hand, was given a bland villain on the page and delivered a bland performance on the screen.

Unfortunately, despite its many strengths, the more I think about “Deadpool & Wolverine” the more I want to erase it from existence.

As soon as Marvel announced that Hugh Jackman would be returning to the role after retiring with “Logan,” which saw the moving death of his character, I was skeptical. “Logan” is my all-time favorite comic book film and one of my favorite movies in general. I think it’s legitimately brilliant and one of the best films of the past 15 years. What makes it so perfect is that definitive ending to the character and Hugh Jackman’s tenure. Once you bring him back, you demolish that impact. I went into “Deadpool & Wolverine” hoping they’d find a way to avoid damaging the film I cherish, but of course, they erected, defiled, and ripped apart its corpse… literally. You see, the film starts with Deadpool actually digging up Logan’s corpse from the end of that film and breaking off pieces of his skeleton to battle some goons. This was an intentional visual pun to tell the audience that the film knew it was digging up Logan’s grave and defiling it, but the meta acknowledgement doesn’t automatically make it okay. Just because you recognize a problem doesn’t mean you solve it.

But despite my urging the universe to prevent this from happening, Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine has returned from the grave, albeit as a variant Wolverine from another universe, as if that’s a sufficient excuse. So, is Jackman as magnificent as he once was? Nope, not at all. Something was off with him the entire movie. The performance itself was great on a pure skill level; he gets emotional, he gets comical, he gets quiet, etc. Yet he doesn’t have that indescribable spark he had in the other films that made him so irreplaceable. Not only is Jackman out of practice, but he’s just past his prime for playing the character. There was a reason he killed off his own character and retired: it was time for him to say goodbye to the character he had played so immaculately, culminating in his best turn as Logan in, well, “Logan.” That may well be the greatest and most definitive performance of his career, both inside and outside of the X-Men/Wolverine franchise. But again, he’s so off here.

Hugh Jackman Wolverine Deadpool & Wolverine

I also don’t feel that the Wolverine/Deadpool dynamic is strong enough to justify bringing back Jackman. They’re fun together, sure, but there’s nothing earth-shattering about seeing these two onscreen together, much to even my surprise. I believe the ultimate reason why their relationship felt empty is that the pair are surrounded by so many other characters and chaotic subplots in that repulsive, fowl multiverse that they don’t have sufficient one-on-one time together. There isn’t the needed slowed-down character-focused scene between the two until halfway into the film, and while they interact and banter throughout the entire movie, outside of maybe three scenes there isn’t enough breathing room for the characters to just… be.

This leads me to my other massive issue with the film, which is the mind-numbing endless multiverse cameos. “Deadpool & Wolverine” absolutely waterboards you with cameos and references. If you’re into that lazy, vile form of entertainment than by all means enjoy, but if you want something more out of your comic book movies, good luck.

Make no mistake: “Deadpool & Wolverine” is a soulless cash-cow disguised underneath a veneer of self-referential fourth wall breaking that manipulates its audience to pay for nostalgia nuggets, and then pretends to not be so soulless through its meta humor. Every 20 minutes there’s some “hey look, it’s that guy,” as if we’re all so stupid that we can’t be entertained by simply watching Deadpool and Wolverine… which is what the film is called! What’s the point of even calling it that? Call it “Deadpool Joins the Multiverse,” don’t pretend like this is some two-hander. Of course, the most oh, come on! cameo for me was Dafne Keen’s Laura/X-23 from “Logan” (this is not a spoiler because she’s in the trailers). The whole point of that film was Logan sacrificed himself for her, and his legacy would live on in her memory. Reuniting them undoes the significance of his sacrifice because now Laura just has a replacement.

“Deadpool & Wolverine” is the final nail in the multiverse coffin for me. I loved “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse” and really enjoyed “Spider-Man: No Way Home,” but all other multiverse films besides those have crawled under my skin and gnawed on my insides. Whether it’s the abominable “Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness” or the wildly overrated “Everything Everywhere All at Once,” the multiverse trend has become so damn annoying and lazy. So, so, so lazy.

I know that most of the audience will adore “Deadpool & Wolverine” and impulsively shout to the heavens that “The MCU is back!” no matter what review I or any other detractors give this film. This film is bound to make at least a billion dollars and I’m sure Marvel will keep Hugh Jackman going as Wolverine for thirty more years. The consumerist, unthinking, attention-lacking Marvel fanbase will eat up the cameo-fest and uninspired fan service, further driving the film industry down this McDonalds path devoid of ingenuity. On its own, “Deadpool & Wolverine” is actually one of the better Marvel films post-“Infinity War” (goes to show how disastrous Marvel has become), but in the grand scheme of things it’s also one of the worst examples of the no-one’s-ever-really-gone garbage catapulted by the war crime “Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker.” I pray the multiverse fad ends as soon as possible.

“RIPLEY” Review – A Visually Stunning Exploration of Murder

“RIPLEY” is a semi-recently released Netflix series based on the Patricia Highsmith novel The Talented Mr. Ripley, which was previously adapted in the acclaimed 1999 Matt Damon film. Andrew Scott takes over as conman turned murderer Tom Ripley in this television version from writer/director of all 8 episodes Steven Zaillian, the acclaimed screenwriter behind “Schindler’s List,” “The Irishman,” and other extraordinary titles. With all the talent in front of and behind the camera, “RIPLEY” is a relentlessly engrossing and thought-provoking series, one of the best I’ve seen in the past few years.

The series follows mysterious conman Tom Ripley, who is introduced to us as a struggling scam artist in New York City. When the wealthy industrialist Herbert Greenleaf mistakes Ripley as a college friend of his spoiled son Dickie, who’s residing in Italy using his trust fund to relax and get away from home, he pays Ripley to travel to Italy to bring Dickie back home. Ripley subsequently accepts and upon meeting Dickie in Italy, he decides to manipulate and eventually take on the identity of the man, leading to lies, murders, and a cat-and-mouse chase.

Right off the bat, the most noticeable trait of the series is Robert Elswit’s breathtaking black & white cinematography. The noir vibe of the story is perfectly emulated through the deep contrasts and intricate lighting that create a sinister yet somehow elegant undertone to the series. The stunning visuals never get distracting, however, as the camera is almost always still and Elswit knows just where to place it in relation to the characters so that you’re always sucked into the story.

Steven Zaillian’s brilliant direction enhances the wonderful photography, bringing a quiet and eerie style to the entire project. He uses minimal music and intricate sound design to bring out the necessary tension in a non-flashy manner. Speaking of the tension, “RIPLEY” has some of the most nail-biting sequences in the history of television. Zaillian purposefully lets the two central murder scenes play out in real time with ultra-realism. He really wants to explore every mechanic of murder, not just the act of killing itself but the aftermath. How do you dispose the body without a hint of evidence? How do you avoid raising suspicion with nosy neighbors? Ripley is always making mistakes here, ones that are incredibly believable, heightening the tension and amplifying the fly-on-the-wall feel.

The first murder scene is 25 minutes and the second is 32 minutes, taking up half of or the majority of their respective episodes. Zaillian allows for so much breathing room to get you inside the headspace of an inexperienced killer who’s figuring it out as he goes along, often through trial and error. More than any other piece of fiction I’ve seen or read, “RIPLEY” encapsulates and drills into the viewer just how nerve-racking and challenging murder is. In most films and shows we take deaths for granted. Someone is shot and we move on, not considering the fallout or the steps needed to dispose of the evidence. Some media like “Breaking Bad” does emphasize this to be fair, but not in real time or in such a stylistically minimalist fashion. Without any dialogue in the first murder and only a couple lines in the second murder, we depend on visuals and facial gestures to see Ripley’s thought process, which is brilliantly evident through the meticulous writing and direction, as well as the methodical pace of the entire series and Scott’s pitch-perfect performance.

In regards to the pacing, “RIPLEY” is a proud slow burn. Every move taken by Ripley is given enough screen time for us to see the build-up, the decision-making, the complicated execution, and the (messy) results. Zaillian sticks to this without compromise, dedicating extensive screen time just to Ripley walking up a massive flight of stairs. The show really takes its time, and some may struggle with that. However, that’s one of the greatest strengths of the series in my opinion, as it allows for you to thoroughly get inside the lead’s head to an extent you simply wouldn’t have with more conventional pacing. I also found my brain adjusting to the pace and becoming completely accustomed to it to the point where I no longer noticed the meditative progression. The immaculate visuals and genius screenwriting/directing from Zaillian are absolutely hypnotic.

We haven’t talked about the man himself yet, Andrew Scott as Tom Ripley. What a masterclass. He’s able to make this ultimately psychotic person relentlessly likable. You can’t help but root for him despite his inexcusable and selfish actions which ruin or end the lives of others, often humiliating his victims after their demise. There’s something about his smooth voice and gravitas that make him oddly soothing. He’s just so easy to watch. Yet make no mistake, his performance holds nothing back in regards to the creep factor. Scott’s elegant movements and cold, lifeless eyes make for a slimy psychopath. Throughout the whole series you can just tell the man is instinctively manipulative and devoid of empathy. There are always gears turning and never any true emotions emulating. Scott, in all his brilliance, accomplishes this with the utmost subtlety. He doesn’t do anything bombastic; no crying, no screaming, no hyperventilating, no laughing. It’s all in the eyes, body language, and vocal register.

“RIPLEY” certainly isn’t the most accessible interpretation of Patricia Highsmith’s classic novel. The pacing is extremely methodical, just like the central character (or at least how he tries to be), and it relies on the audience to be patient and intelligent. Plus its black & white cinematography is sure to put off potential viewers. But if you give it a chance, the series will absolutely envelop you and absorb you into the gloriously cruel noir. I adored it.

“The Last Temptation of Christ” – Classic Film Reviews #33

“The Last Temptation of Christ,” directed by Martin Scorsese, was released in 1988 to much controversy surrounding its portrayal of Jesus Christ (Willem Dafoe). The film follows Jesus along his journey into becoming the messiah and his sacrifice on the cross, presenting a fictional version of his story by showing a deeply flawed, scared, and conflicted figure. Since its release, many have hailed it as one of Scorsese’s masterpieces, a profound film about faith from a filmmaker struggling with his own. After viewing the film, I must disagree.

As a point of reference, I am not a Christian, so I have very limited knowledge on Jesus. Thus, my issues with the film don’t stem from being offended in any way, although I completely understand any Christians who reject this film as blasphemy. Given my disconnect, I will not be analyzing the movie based on its bending of the New Testament, and will instead strictly critique it as a film in its own right.

It is blatantly apparent throughout this nearly 3-hour film that this is a personal story for Scorsese, who’s spoken at length in the past about his Catholic faith. The film certainly has a soul and artistic drive to it, which I must give it credit for. I understand the intentions, but was left disappointed nonetheless.

The key issue here is that Scorsese has never been good at telling slow burn stories like this one. His best films have always been moderately paced (e.g. “Taxi Driver,” “Raging Bull”) or rapidly paced (e.g. “Goodfellas,” “The Wolf of Wall Street”). Whenever he attempts to employ methodical, meditative storytelling, I just don’t feel he succeeds. “Killers of the Flower Moon” was a dull slog that exploited its long runtime to its detriment, “Silence” was good but forgettable outside select sequences, and “The Last Temptation of Christ” continues this pattern in his filmography. Slow pacing is tricky but worth it when done well. Some of the greatest films are gradually paced, with my personal favorite “The Godfather” being a perfect example. Slow pacing must serve a purpose in the overall experience. Mastermind Denis Villeneuve’s films take their time to tell their stories, but do so to construct a harsh world, intrigue, and/or tension. He knows how to use slow pacing to the betterment of his films. In movies like “Prisoners,” the gradual pacing makes for a more immersive and engrossing experience.

The Last Temptation of Christ Jesus Willem Dafoe

The slow pacing of “The Last Temptation of Christ” serves absolutely no purpose, or at least fails to serve one. It doesn’t successfully build intrigue but rather slogs from scene to scene, each of which lasts too long. There are so many scenes of pointless meandering dialogue exchanges without much character development. The film, at least during the first two acts, is relentlessly and brutally boring.

It doesn’t help that this fictional Jesus is a poorly written character. I find the concept of a messiah struggling to come to terms with the demands of that purpose utterly fascinating, but Jesus is written to be so lifeless and lacking in the charisma which he surely must have had to attract so many followers in the first place. He has zero traits in this film other than melancholy, which simply isn’t enough to build a compelling film on. It’s difficult to become invested in his struggle with faith when we don’t care about him. As previously mentioned, I have surface level knowledge of Jesus, but from what I do know, I understand the weightiness of his compassion in the Bible and how that became immensely inspiring to people across the globe. I don’t see how anyone could follow Scorsese’s Christ, as he feels more like a goth teen than anything else. I understand and appreciate the intention of a struggling messiah, but when the character lacks any messianic traits and doesn’t show enough emotion to actually illustrate his inner conflict, the film fails.

The Last Temptation of Christ Harvey Keitel Judas

The other major problem here is Scorsese’s generally disastrous worldbuilding. This just doesn’t feel like it took place 2,000 years ago. The characters talk like they’re from 1980s New York, not only through the modern dialect but also the actors’ accents. For whatever reason, Scorsese cast people like Harvey Keitel as Judas, whose strong New York City accent disrupts all of his scenes. The set design likewise contributes to the faulty worldbuilding. External sets meant to evoke entire cities feel so small and unremarkable. Maybe it’s just how Scorsese framed the shots, but the settings don’t feel real. In fact, most of the film (when it wasn’t metaphysical, which we’ll get into soon) felt like a bunch of New York actors playing dress up in the desert.

The film also has this horrendously inappropriate score by Peter Gabriel, who combines the expected religion-y humming music with 1980s upbeat rock. This decision is absolutely baffling to me. Whenever the score kicked in I would instantly get jolted out of the film.

Now, the film does have some bright spots, namely Thelma Schoonmaker’s pitch-perfect editing and the supernatural moments she heightens. Whenever Scorsese delves into the metaphysical imagery like Jesus facing the snake in the desert or basically the entire final 50 minutes when the film suddenly jolts to life and picks up tremendous speed, the movie suddenly becomes transportive. The third act is absolutely phenomenal. The New York dialogue ceases and Scorsese transitions into gorgeous yet haunting Biblical imagery that stays in your brain. The final act portraying the titular “last temptation” proves those scenes are the film at its best, most confident, and most unique. I wish the whole film felt the same as the finale.

The Last Temptation of Christ Jesus Crown of Thorns Willem Dafoe

Going into “The Last Temptation of Christ,” I was incredibly excited. It crushes me to have left it so disappointed, and I just cannot recommend this film to those interested by the premise. It is not nearly as profound as it believes it is, and the majority of the movie is too bland to merit the controversial discourse in the first place. I believe that if the poster did not say “A Martin Scorsese Picture,” this would not receive the level of praise it’s gotten in recent years, but because Scorsese is heralded as the movie messiah, we’re all expected to worship the ground he walks on. As much as I love some of his work, I’m more than willing to criticize his weaker movies. He is not above criticism, not at all, and I simply cannot abide by this idea that he’s “the greatest living filmmaker.” No, he’s not. Sure, he is one of them, but certainly not at the top (I’d passionately contend that’s Steven Spielberg). “The Last Temptation of Christ” is by no means a complete and total misfire, but it is a significant disappointment that fails to reach its potential.

“Civil War” is Painful – Review

“Civil War,” the latest (and supposedly final) film from writer/director Alex Garland has been the subject of much controversy, none of which is deserved. With the premise of a modern-day Civil War after an extremely divided America finally splits apart, one would think the film explores divisiveness, but it doesn’t. In fact, the film never explains what caused the nation to split apart, nor does it care to spend any of its runtime on the subject matter it was marketed as being inspired by. All the film is is… a movie about photographers.

Garland’s dystopian road trip movie was excruciatingly boring, to the point where my eyes were about to sink into my skull while watching. Nothing of consequence happens for the first hour and thirty minutes. Four war photographers embark on a trek across America, never talking about the divisiveness and rather discussing the philosophies behind their profession. Whenever a suspenseful scene actually happens (and it almost never does), it’s utterly forgettable and unremarkable.

Speaking of the characters, I despised nearly every one of them. I don’t remember their names nor do I care to look them up, so I will refer to each of them by the actors’ names. Kirsten Dunst is the lead, a seasoned photographer who’s learned to be extremely cold in order to take the most visceral pictures possible. Cailee Spaeny is a young photographer who deeply admires Dunst and over the course of the film learns to be emotionally distant like her. Stephen McKinley Henderson is an old man who rides along with them as they consistently berate him for being old and feeble and slow and pathetic. And Wagner Moura is there also.

The single interesting character was one who’s only in the film for five minutes: Jesse Plemons as an unstable soldier who has the photographers at gunpoint. He was compelling for two reasons: one, because Plemons is a master thespian, and two, because I was praying he would execute the photographers to end the brutal misery that is this alleged motion picture.

The character writing is staggeringly awful. Firstly, there’s almost no character development outside of a pathetic attempt at the hardened master-naive pupil dynamic between Dunst and Spaeny, which has been done to death and done better almost every time. Secondly, the characters are so unbelievably stupid and impulsive with all their decisions. They consistently enter scenarios that they should know are dangerous but they proceed through anyway. One could argue that’s because they’re so devoted to their jobs, but at several points all they’re doing is driving through a dangerous place exclusively to get from point A to point B without the need to take photos.

The worst instance of this occurs midway through the film in what is the single most head-bangingly irritating scene I’ve been subjected to in recent memory. At one point, a vehicle drives up to the truck containing our four leads, and as generic banter ensues (we’ll delve deeper into the horrendous dialogue in a moment), a passenger from each one of the trucks randomly decide to crawl into the other respective truck through the car windows. They’re all laughing and smiling and having a jolly ol’ time… in execution this was painfully wishy-washy and happy-go-lucky, demolishing any remnant of logic.

After seeing “Civil War,” I’m not sure if Alex Garland has ever listened to real human conversations before, because the dialogue in this film is bafflingly repugnant. Sometimes the characters go on lengthy pretentious monologues that no human would ever go on, other times they speak in lines so juvenile that they feel like placeholders for a 1980s Schwarzenegger action flick, and other times they spew some of the most melodramatic lines I have ever heard. Seriously, the melodrama is so palpable that it feels like it leaps off the screen, latches onto your head like the facehugger from “Alien,” and shoots acid down your throat.

Also, in regards to the script, I have a sneaking suspicion it was at most fifty pages. For context, the film is about 110 minutes, and since screenplays are normally one page per one minute of screentime, I would initially expect this film’s script to be around 110 pages, but that can’t be. The film is overstuffed to the brim with B-roll. Literal dozens of minutes of shots just lingering on the environment, as if this is the world of “Blade Runner” rather than parts of a random forest outside Atlanta, where this was actually filmed. There is almost no story to this movie, so little that it could barely even fit into a short film, so Garland clearly said, “okay, we’ll make this into a feature by making every scene at least three minutes too long and intercut them with shots of trees.”

After reading and watching several other reviews of “Civil War,” I recognized how, without fail, each critic praised Rob Hardy’s cinematography. Well, you’re not going to read that here. I’ll be the proud outlier. This film is visually repulsive. It looks like Zack Snyder’s abominable “Army of the Dead,” as almost every shot has the most narrow field of view possible. At least 80% of the frame in each shot is out of focus, making for an eternally distracting and irritating visual style that often made the film hard to watch. To make the visuals even stranger, there is consistently a strange rainbow-like outlining around all the figures.

Beyond Jesse Plemons, the only other compliment I can bestow upon “Civil War” is that there are some rare occasions of a so-bad-it’s-good factor, where I couldn’t help but gleefully chuckle at some of the absurdity. In fact, people in my theater were laughing at points in the film that were supposed to be serious, so I know I’m not the only one. The last five minutes when Kirsten Dunst’s character makes a (no spoilers) selfless decision was particularly hysterical.

With “Civil War,” Alex Garland proves he’s been a hack all along. I never found “Ex Machina” to be all that interesting, unlike most people, but like most people I disliked “Annihilation” and thoroughly despised “Men.” Yet he hasn’t made anything as putrefying as “Civil War.” You know a filmmaker’s bad when they somehow get worse with each project. After colossal, unholy, wretched train-wrecks like “Madame Web,” “Drive-Away Dolls,” and now this abomination, the first third of 2024 has proven to be… tough for movies. Really, really tough. One great movie (“Dune: Part Two,” of course) is not enough to satisfy moviegoers when it’s surrounded by a sea of borderline unwatchable motion pictures.

“Drive-Away Dolls” Review – The Worst Movie of the Year?

“Drive-Away Dolls” was co-written and directed by Ethan Coen, and it is his first feature made without his longtime filmmaking partner and brother Joel Coen. After having suffered through this absolute abomination against all things good in this world, it could not be clearer that Joel was carrying Ethan’s weight all those years.

And yes, the film was worse than “Madam Web.” This review’s title is accurate. “Madam Web” is hilariously terrible and actually a fun time. “Drive-Away Dolls” is just miserable.

The film follows two lesbian friends, the sex-obsessed Jamie (Margaret Qualley) and the timid Marian (Geraldine Viswanathan), on a road trip, where they stumble across a briefcase linked to a larger conspiracy. Along their travels they’re pursued by a pair of mobsters hired by a corrupt politician to retrieve the briefcase, as it contains a devastating personal artifact that could destroy his reputation. What’s that secret artifact? A dildo constructed from a mold of his genitalia. Does that sound funny to you? If so, you’ll be one of the two people in the world who could ever possibly enjoy this boring, disastrous slog.

Drive-Away Dolls Margaret Qualley Geraldine Viswanathan

There is plenty of discussion around the concept of formulaic, factory filmmaking in Hollywood right now, namely with the Marvel films. While I strongly believe such criticisms toward the MCU are warranted, I find them even more warranted toward “Drive-Away Dolls,” which should be taught in film schools as a textbook case of uninspired and generic storytelling. We’ve seen the exact same story with the exact same beats, plot points, “twists,” and jokes from the Coens before. This film is essentially just an 84-minute reel of their previous filmography, except what Ethan Coen has created is far more grotesque and soulless than anything they made in the past.

This film has nothing to latch onto and feels entirely hollow. It is so damn boring and repetitive and uninspired and spirit-draining. I would say that there wasn’t a single engaging frame of this film if it weren’t for the hallucinatory transition scenes that awoke me from my open-eyed slumber only because of their what-the-hell-was-that?!-ness. For no apparent reason, scenes will be interrupted by acid trip visuals with a cameo from Miley Cyrus of all people. They serve absolutely no point in the film, as they are unrelated to the narrative, characters, themes, or setting. It is some of the most attention deprived, unwieldy directing and editing I have ever seen.

Coen’s woeful screenplay is an absolute dumpster fire full of plot holes. For instance, Bill Camp plays a character named Curlie, who gets clubbed in the head and is left lying on the floor of his office for literal days on end. He has no food, water, assistance… anything. Yet somehow he’s perfectly fine, except for some minor wooziness. How? Then there’s the plot hole in which Pedro Pascal plays a man who gets his eyes pushed into the back of his skull before getting decapitated at the beginning of the film, and later when we see his decapitated head his eyes are perfectly intact. Worst of all, there’s a trope moment where our heroes are captured and tied up rather than just killed by the villains, for no reason other than plot convenience.

Then we have the magisterial talent of Beanie Feldstein, whose irritating and deafening loudness ruins every scene she’s in. Feldstein was funny in “Lady Bird,” but ever since then I’ve only found her to be utterly annoying in subsequent performances. In this film she plays a cop and Jamie’s hate-filled ex-girlfriend, and the script is engineered in a way to provoke that boisterous, screeching performance fron Feldstein. It is a truly, deeply, unbearably painful piece of acting that derailed this already derailed car crash of a film.

So, is there anything good about the movie? Viswanathan was decent, simply because she was the only actor who didn’t annoy me. There was also a joke involving a political ad on a billboard that got a laugh out of me. That’s all.

“Drive-Away Dolls” is joyless and lifeless vermin. It is grueling to watch this motion picture version of crawling in mud beneath barbed wire for 27 hours. There is not a unique bone in this beast’s body. It is excruciatingly dull for 95% of its runtime, the other 5% being moments of repugnant insanity. How this has a positive Rotten Tomatoes score is beyond me. I loathed every millisecond of it, and it is easily the worst film I’ve seen since last year’s “Expend4bles.” At least that movie was so bad it was entertaining. Ethan Coen’s trash is far more bland.

D-

“Dune: Part Two” is a Beautiful, Subversive Sequel – Review

“Dune: Part Two” was co-written and directed by mastermind filmmaker Denis Villeneuve, and is the continuation of the epic sci-fi story based on Frank Herbert’s groundbreaking novel. This film takes place almost immediately after the first, and it follows Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) as he becomes Muad’Dib, the leader of the Fremen, and seeks vengeance against the Harkonnens and the Emperor for murdering his father. Despite his best and noble intentions, Paul is destined to ignite a holy war from this path as the Fremen’s messiah, and he must find a way to prevent a blood-soaked future while still enacting justice for himself and the people of Arrakis.

2021’s “Dune” was my favorite film of that year and one of my favorite films of the past decade. It was visually mesmerizing and innovative, with complex yet easily understandable worldbuilding, an epic scope, and compelling characters. Best of all, it was science fiction for adults that trusted the audience’s intelligence. Plus, Denis Villeneuve is, in my opinion, the best director working today with the most significant filmography of the 2010s and now the 2020s. Thus, “Dune: Part Two” has been my most anticipated film for several years now… and it lived up to the hype. Thank God.

Like the first film, “Dune: Part Two” is a delicious visual feast. Cinematographer Greig Fraser returns with even more gorgeous imagery, especially in some glorious wide shots where he displays so much content on the screen simultaneously and seamlessly. Arrakis feels so tangible due to his wonderful photography. I can feel the sand beneath my feet and the dust blowing into my eyes along with the characters. Fraser is the next Roger Deakins. He’s that talented.

Unlike the first film, which was sparse in its action sequences, “Dune: Part Two” is packed full of them. While it isn’t fight scene after fight scene like many big-budget blockbusters today, the level of spectacle is just as grand as anything we’ve ever seen before. The battles are visceral and brutal. The key to a great battle sequence is the smaller moments among the grand chaotic backdrop. For instance, in “The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King,” the most memorable part of the first Gondor battle is when the Orc leader calmly takes one step back to avoid a giant boulder smashing him. It’s utterly badass, and “Dune: Part Two” has several such moments in each battle sequence that will surely be remembered throughout film history. None of this is to say “Dune: Part Two” just does more of the same things we’ve seen before; there are plenty of groundbreaking unprecedented visuals in the film, especially with a certain flying piece of weaponry (no spoilers) that’s simultaneously awesome and horrifying.

Whereas 2021’s “Dune” was about an adolescent forced to quickly become a matured adult after his family is torn apart, “Dune: Part Two” is a far less archetypal story. Instead, the heart of this film is its deconstruction of the messiah figure. Paul is consistently faced with the dangers of his role and how the universe seems to be forcing him into great power that leads to great calamity. The entire film we, alongside his love interest Chani (Zendaya, who we’ll talk more about later), are rooting for him to balance the demands of leadership without becoming a source of bloodshed, and his roller coaster of a path is absolutely invigorating and surprisingly frightening. Paul is less of a Luke Skywalker hero and far more of an Anakin Skywalker antihero, and this film is all the more emotional, fascinating, and thought-provoking for that. It is a wonderful commentary on faith, politics, propaganda, and how we subjectively decide who is fit to rule us. This is not your typical science-fiction sequel, and while this subverts expectations (especially in its ending), I promise it is not at all in a Rian Johnson The Last Jedi manner.

The performances across the board are absolutely fantastic. This is Timothée Chalamet’s strongest work yet, as he subtly balances the heroism with the terrifying would-be-tyrannical nature of his character. Zendaya’s Chani acts as the audience’s point of view character, through whom we watch Paul’s journey. The shift in emphasis from the mother-son relationship in the first film to the romance in this film not only alters the narrative thrust, but how we interpret the increasingly complicated and flawed Paul. Speaking of the mother-son dynamic at the heart of the first film, Rebecca Fergusson’s performance as Lady Jessica is shockingly different this time around. Whereas Jessica was previously the loving protective mother who lamented the burden of power she put on her son, in this film she is forced to become a colder figure who loses her maternal nature and instead is a far more intimidating character, much like the Reverend Mother. Fergusson’s range is astounding.

Dune: Part Two Austin Butler Feyd-Rautha

Of course, the standout performance everyone is raving about is Austin Butler as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, a new character introduced as Paul’s rival for rule over Arrakis. The praise is well-deserved, as Butler is unrecognizable in this role. Feyd is essentially the polar opposite of Elvis. This is a sadistic, cunning, Joker-like character who revels in the violence and chaos Paul desperately tries to avoid, making for a brilliant contrast between the two foes. Feyd is consistently unpredictable; whenever he walks into a room you never know what will happen. Sometimes he’ll kill people for sport and other times over apathetic reasons like testing out a new blade. Sometimes he won’t kill but rather intimidates those around him. The best part about Feyd, however, is that he isn’t an overly boisterous character. Not that Butler is at all quiet in his performance (he has a satanic war-cry), but he is still relatively understated for most of his scenes, savoring his sparse lines with an (I’m using this word again and for good reason) unrecognizable voice that sounds like he’s gargling knives. The man is a true chameleon and easily one of the best actors of his generation. It is almost a shame just how good he is because he outacts most of his scene partners, occasionally to the detriment of the film.

To answer the question on everyone’s mind: is “Dune: Part Two” better than the first? Honestly, no. Although the sequel is even more gorgeous, exciting, and grandiose than the first, it is a little rushed, and that’s where it stumbles in comparison to its predecessor. The first film has a cleaner, streamlined narrative and a more well-suited runtime. In order to attain the fast pacing he wanted for “Dune: Part Two,” Villeneuve went too far and the film feels like it has scenes missing. To me, “Dune: Part Two” is a 3-hour movie with 15 minutes of the third act mysteriously absent. The movie races to get to the final battle, and as a result, certain details leading up to the climax are extremely underdeveloped or feel contrived and convenient. I know Villeneuve is passionate about never releasing deleted scenes, but I strongly feel that “Dune: Part Two” needed some of that extra breathing room. I’m sure plenty of viewers will feel differently from me, namely those who didn’t appreciate the methodical pacing of the first and prefer the more conventional pacing of this film. I just think that with a story as complex as this, there needs to be sufficient time dedicated to each element of the plot. It is extraordinarily rare for me to actually want a film to be even longer, however, so in a way this is all a backhanded compliment.

After watching “Dune: Part Two,” I finally got to release that deep breath I had been holding for years. Like Matt Reeves’ two “Planet of the Apes” films, Villeneuve’s sci-fi epics are truly special blockbuster films that breakout from the corporate conveyor belt genre. Villeneuve trusts the audience to be dedicated viewers looking for more than mere spectacle, and he utilizes the best of modern technology to elicit thought and emotion from us just as well as any arthouse film does. Needless to say, I cannot wait for the third “Dune” film. If it’s as phenomenal as the first two, Villeneuve’s “Dune” trilogy will go down in cinema history as not just one of the greatest trilogies, but one of the greatest filmmaking achievements.