Yelena Belova raises a gun and one hand in a tense moment - thunderbolts review

Thunderbolts*

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

Should fans give Marvel another shot?

For a while, the answer was a clear: Nope!

Since Avengers: Endgame, Marvel has released 14 films. Two were great: Black Widow and Spider-Man: No Way Home. The rest? Inadequate. Unworthy of our time.

Marvel’s Strongest Effort Since No Way Home

Thunderbolts* is different. If you’ve been waiting for a reason to re-engage, this is it. Just… don’t start here. Most of these characters originate elsewhere. This is a reengagement, not an introduction. Much of the good is nostalgia-driven.

The marketing is clever. One piece of trailer footage—featuring a character who dies before the scene actually occurs—is a fake-out. Three days after release, the theatrical poster transforms and the film is seemingly retitled!

The altered IMAX countdown featured Fantastic Four iconography. Subtle hype, expertly placed. I didn’t watch the trailer, but still felt the spark: Perhaps things won’t be so bad after all…

e-Ticketing for the Economist

Don’t use Fandango.

AMC or Regal apps are cleaner. Fewer traps.

Fandango auto-checks charity boxes and charges more. Their schedule UI is solid, but they leave out key cinemas like Nashville’s Belcourt.

IMAX only ran briefly – but if it returns, use it.

Still worth seeing in Standard.

A Thunderbolts critique

The lore’s interwoven deep. Captain America: Brave New World plays heavily into the backstory. Falcon and the Winter Soldier threads are present too. We even hear dialogues justify the permanence of The Avenger’s end. 

If you know the three Russians by heart, you’re in too deep. I need the refresher:

  • Alexei Shostakov (Red Guardian, played by David Harbour)
  • His daughters:
    • Natasha Romanoff (aka Black Widow, Scarlett Johansson)
    • Yelena Belova (aka Black Widow, Florence Pugh)

Same dad, same mom. Both unmarried. Three different, Russian last names.

Natasha Romanoff

I’m not a fan of resurrecting dead characters. Comics do it all the time, and it cheapens everything. This Thunderbolts* confirms: Black Widow is gone. Scarlett Johansson’s arc is over. Permanently.

It’s the right call. But a hard one.

Yelena Belova

This film is Florence Pugh’s now. And smartly so.

Her character’s flaw – talking over people, ignoring advice – is somehow both endearing and infuriating. It creates tension. Her performance may not be flawless, but she wrangles some clunky jokes. Flo carries the weight of imperfect writing.

Nobody replaces Scarlett. But Florence carves her own space – darker, snarkier, less serious, still compelling. The camera loves her differently, but just as hungrily.

Yelena even ventures into a metaphysical realm – something Marvel’s ham-fisted in recent years (Quantum Realm, Multiverse of Madness, Deadpool & Wolverine). But this one’s clean. The fantasy space feels tactile, well-measured and narratively necessary. Not just a visual stunt.

Alexei Shostakov

David Harbour gives everything. Every scene. He’s fully in character – vulnerable, absurd, inspired. He believes in heroism. You can feel it radiating off him.

At times, his performance transcends genre. It becomes a metaphor – for genuine acting, for inspired filmmaking, for the potential of comic cinema. He argues for the value of art, and he does it while dressed like a Russian super soldier.

That’s something.

Can you please just review Thunderbolts?

Florence and Harbour together? They’re acting on a different tier than most of their co-stars.

No disrespect to Sebastian Stan or Wyatt Russell. Who are both excellent here. Their performances tend toward mechanical on occasion.

Russell’s dialogue is bloated. The action demands are heavy. But he pulls it off.

Falcon headlines a film. Bucky and Walker show up here. But Agent 13? Missing!

Moving along with the Thunderbolts review…

Not Another Suicide Squad

The comparisons are inevitable – but inaccurate. SS assembles unknown villains and forces them into death missions. T-bolts brings together known antiheroes, each with deeper roots in the MCU.

Ayer’s Squad introduced Harley Quinn. This one reintroduces Florence Pugh and David Harbour at full strength. And unlike Suicide Squad, the government antagonist (Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Valentina Allegra de Fontaine) isn’t just a puppetmaster – she’s commonly regarded as a crooked politician. She’s being investigated, and much of the film’s narrative tension centers around exposing her.

Her survival instincts border on Lex Luthor levels of absurdity. She’s pure evil. Not in a cartoonish way – just in the bureaucratic, untouchable way that makes your skin crawl.

To Valentina, people are tools – discardable, replaceable and always beneath her.

Bankrobber Garb

Marvel’s still stuffing background extras into black ski masks. This time, they’re generic military goons. Covering their faces doesn’t make them less human – or their deaths less visible. It’s lazy. And distracting.

After all, Marvel’s got four films on the horizon.

Those two Avengers films have Anthony and Joe Russo listed as the directors.

See? Hope.

This writer will dare to dream. For now, Thunderbolts* earns Marvel one more shot.

★★★★ ★★★★

TLDR? Read my briefer analysis on IMDb or, for max brevity, Letterboxd.

For more Marvel read The Fantastic Four: First Steps. Check out Iron Man 3!

Prince and Apollonia share a quiet, intimate moment in Purple Rain (1984)

Purple Rain

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

“Before you go, you have to purify yourself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.”

Prince changed his legal name in 1993 to an unpronounceable symbol—often referred to as “The Love Symbol.” For a time, he was known as “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince,” until he changed it back in 2000.

Every real-life story I’ve heard about Prince makes him sound bratty. Like a whiny, whimpering, wounded child. Frowning and complaining.

Plus, his music isn’t great. Some of it is listenable, sure. Most is weird and thin.

You get it—I’m not a fan. Imagine my low expectations walking into Purple Rain on the big screen for the first time.

It’s a cinematic masterpiece.

Shot on location in Minneapolis, MN, the film captures real neighborhoods and streets—venues like The First Avenue Club, a central space both in the story and in real life.

With an even mix of comedic and dramatic moments, the film is often carried by the performances.

The Artist Forever Known As…

Prince plays a fictionalized version of himself known as “The Kid.” It’s a remarkable and unique performance. All the whiny screeching, the writhing on stage—everything you imagine Prince doing—he does. But he does it without hesitation. Very unselfconscious. A performance you can’t help but respect.

Perhaps even more acclaim is due to Morris Day, also playing a fictionalized version of himself. Prince and he maintained a friendship-fueled rivalry until Prince’s death in 2016. His character is dislikable—he orders his valet to throw an ex-lover into a dumpster—but the performance is multilayered.

In a spectacular piece near the end, Day’s band The Time delivers a banging performance to precede Prince’s band. They exit the stage, bouncing down the corridor past Prince’s dressing room. The group bops past the doorway, then—silently and in unison—leans back into view. Day tosses out an insult. The band roars with laughter and bops away.

We see Day’s reaction. Part of him is tormented by this. A stirring performance. Funny too.

Apollonia Kotero

Plays Apollonia—Prince’s fictional love interest and a central focus of his rivalry with Day. She is terrific. Delivering a measured and smooth performance that fits nicely between her larger-than-life male counterparts. Her character becomes the film’s emotional tether.

Even during the absurdly comedic “Lake Minnetonka” moment, the romance feels strangely real. The nude acting feels courageous, not exploitative. And somehow still organic.

Apollonia goes on dates with both men. Her partial acceptance of Day’s advances to forward her career illustrates an economic drive. She maintains physical distance without spoiling her mindset for the viewer. Perhaps she does like Day and his misogynistic ways.

When she visits Prince’s home and sees what his parents are like, the fairy-tale home life begins to feel real. The film leans more biopic than puff piece.

Purple Rain suggests the limitations placed upon female musicians of the time. Apollonia climbs the ladder to reach a height—singing in a highly sexualized girl group, wearing skimpy outfits and bending for the fellas.

The film seems to critique this degraded lifestyle—measured by the quality of crowd reception. Meanwhile, Wendy and Lisa’s presence, the lesbian couple and members of Prince’s band, reinforces this with subtle texture—though even they operate under his filter. He controls their art until he finally allows it to be heard.

The film is a shameless expression of these realities.

Concert Filmmaking

The incorporation of music is what really takes the film into orbit. The little pieces—like Prince’s father playing an original composition on the piano, or the reversed tape he plays for Apollonia—glimmer with brilliance.

But the final sequence boasts a full double performance. The Time shreds the stage. They leave, and Prince finally performs “Purple Rain” in full.

My face melts.

Life is beautiful and full of wonders.

Purple Rain reassures us this is true.

Recently, I’ve been hearing Prince in the background of existence much more clearly. Now and then, I’ll catch a song and think—somewhat shamefully—“Hey, this actually sounds like Prince.” And then I find myself pondering the moral consequence of such thought patterns.

Some of it catches me. Perhaps I haven’t rounded a full 90-degree corner on Prince—but the trajectory of my path has undeniably angled more in his direction.

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Read my review on IMDb or Letterboxd.

Check Singin’ in the Rain for more music.

A young woman screams mid-fall in Final Destination: Bloodlines (2025), lit in vivid yellow-orange

Final Destination: Bloodlines

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

There is something wrong with enjoying this.

I walked out halfway through. That’s a disservice, I know — reviewing a film without seeing its full arc. But I also suffered thru The Substance, and maybe that altered my glorified view of “completion.”

Final Destination: Bloodlines is the culmination of a disturbing trend in modern horror: gore as gratification, suffering as spectacle.

Studios keep misreading the room. They seem to believe that gore = entertainment. That anguish equals amusement. My theater was laughing during the opening — not because it was clever or earned, but because the film begged them to. The laughter felt revolting. Forced. Desperate. Like the peel of psychotic laughter echoing through an asylum.

A character clutches a cracked glass floor — and from a wide shot, it’s already uncomfortable. Then the film cuts to a tight close-up of his fingers being mangled. There’s no thrill, no tension — just a forced, lingering cruelty.

Or consider the scene where a piano hovers before mincing a terrified woman. These aren’t creative kills. They’re executions; prolonged & self-satisfied. And the fault lies not only in the imagery but in the writing, the direction and the performances.

The film opens with a mass-death premonition — as usual for the franchise — this time involving a CGI penny dropped into a ventilation shaft, triggering mechanical chaos and a body count. The penny reappears later, rocketing into someone’s skull in what I assume was meant to be humorous. It wasn’t.

The acting feels artificial. These are actors acting. A lounge singer finishes her set, walks offstage, and speaks to her son — not like a mother, but like someone performing “motherliness.” Same goes for a romantic proposal. It’s a man and woman playing “couple,” nothing more.

Cruel or sadly sympathetic

Every character falls into one of those two roles — the maitre d, the fat bully, the pompous rich guy. The film’s solution? Impalements. Crushings. Combustions. Some of the deaths involve slow, sadistic injury before the final blow, all layered with awkward attempts at humor.

We watch two young boys die — both the bully and the singer’s son. Neither scene provokes laughter or catharsis. Just darkness.

When the protagonist wakes from the premonition, hostility greets her. And when she seeks answers, the film drags us into its convoluted mythology.

Apparently, the lead’s grandmother thwarted Death decades earlier when she received a vision — a recording from some mysterious counterforce. God? Life? Who knows. The lore now implies a cosmic tug-of-war: Life broadcasts future disasters into human minds, and Death retaliates years later through dream replays and delayed punishment.

So the lead visits Grandma in her anti-Death fortress. “Death’s a bitch,” she says. The audience laughs on cue. She explains the entire nightmare was her premonition from years ago. One she acted on by physically stealing the penny and interrupting a band mid-performance of “Shout” to evacuate the dance floor.

De-elevated

It’s absurd. Not surreal, not satirical — just absurd. A story written with shallow instincts and executed with no trust in the audience’s intelligence.

The survivors all died anyway, Grandma says. Her husband too. Just not in the grotesque fashion we were forced to endure. And now Death has finally caught up to her too.

“Cancer’s a bitch,” she shrugs, popping pills. Laughter erupts again. I hit the eject button on my seat and rocketed out the auditorium.

This isn’t storytelling. It’s just sadism in camp disguise. I read the rest on Wikipedia and felt vindicated in walking out.

Don’t see this. There’s no merit here — not in the writing, the acting or the themes. Just more surface-level suffering in a franchise long past relevance.

I imagine the original is worth revisiting. I recall it having an organic progression — a sense that events unfolded with eerie inevitability. But when the sequels were released in theaters, the franchise had already devolved into an unjustified list of killings. So what explains the acclaim for this one? Bloodlines holds a 93% on Rotten Tomatoes. Even IMDb has it at 7.1. Am I the psychotic? Are these people simple — or am I too close-minded I can’t accept what passes for good now?

★ ★

Read my briefer analysis on IMDb or Letterboxd. Or Jurassic World: Rebirth for more needless rehash. Maybe see Clown in a Cornfield instead, or The Conjuring: Last Rites for stronger horror.

Dr. Manhattan stands under studio lights, glowing blue in a black suit from Watchmen Chapter I review (2024)

Watchmen: Chapter I

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

As artistic as comic book fiction gets.

Needless Delineation?

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. The Hobbit.
Sometimes proven IP gets split into multiple films. Not to preserve the material – but to double profits. That’s the studio’s prerogative. Our job is to judge the result.

Splitting The Deathly Hallows wasn’t immoral – both parts worked. Everybody won.
But The Hobbit trilogy? Despicable.

This dynamic doesn’t apply to the animated Watchmen duology.

The Comedian

What’s the joke, exactly?

This version explores the philosophical meanderings of Edward Blake—the Comedian. He’s central in every adaptation, but here, Chapter I sparks a desire to catalogue his contradictions.
And what’s most upsetting? The Comedian never actually tells a joke. Fans already know this – but the animated version emphasizes it. There’s no levity in Blake’s life. None.

A glimpse of warmth flickers when he chats with Laurie – only for a violent interruption to turn it grotesque. His good intentions are thrown back at him with cruel intensity.
He is both pitiful and pitiable. His virtue ambiguous. His chaos deliberate. Yet he fights for the righteous cause his whole life.

Meeting the riot with an extreme but effective form of riot suppression. There is dignity in his quickness to act in a practical manner. While others are shocked into moral obscurity, Blake dives into re-establishing order.
So – do we consider him noble? Or monstrous?

Just finished Chapter I and found myself completely engaged – ready to fire up Chapter II.

Can fans of the graphic novel or the live-action film really keep avoiding this version?
Has DC altered the narrative enough to justify a third artistic portrayal?

The answer, between films: yes.

It mostly sticks to what’s known – major beats and themes return. The Comedian’s final fight is less detailed than in other tellings. Crucial details, casually sloughed off. Yet somehow, the narrative still works.

The Black Freighter

The audience still gets a fair dose of The Black Freighter – the dread-fueled comic-within-a-comic. I actually liked it more this time. Usually, I consider it Watchmen’s weakest element.
It’s fantasy so bleak no real person would ever want to read it. The Old Man and the Sea – but with ghosts and corpses. No majestic tuna in that ocean.

Small differences stand out. The floating elephant platform, Gunga Diner – does it house a familiar character? Or is it just stylistic filler?

Veidt’s handling of the assassination attempt is also presented differently. In the comic, the sequence carries an unsettling ambiguity – an extra layer of chaos tied to positioning and reaction. The animated version streamlines the moment. The result is a cleaner, arguably more grounded portrayal. The tension remains, but it’s stripped of interpretive baggage.

Which is better? Probably the original. But can’t we just enjoy both? It’s a subtle maneuvering, yet it somehow improves the experience for fans and newcomers alike.

This version brings Blake’s existential crisis to the center. The viewer becomes hyper-aware of his internal torment. But what does it all add up to?

Dr. Manhattan

A.K.A Jon Osterman. Why won’t Jon stop Ed in Vietnam? Wrong question.
Manhattan witnesses the buildup – watches the woman confront Blake, slash his face and escalate toward tragedy. But he stays silent. He ignores every moment where deescalation remains possible. Then, finally, he mutters a weak: “Don’t.” That’s not effort.

This speaks volumes. Manhattan will wield his godhood to serve government aims, but when faced with small-scale human violence – even against someone he may call a friend – he disengages. His refusal to act isn’t apathy. It’s detachment. He no longer believes it’s his place to intervene. His words replace his will.

Jon Osterman – Dr. Manhattan – is both the most pitiful and most pitiable character in Watchmen. He could intervene. He could change everything. But he’s surrendered that part of himself. What’s left is a man who speaks without acting, who observes without judgment. A ghost in god’s clothing.

Why won’t Jon protect Ed in Vietnam? Right question.

Naturally, Chapter I ends on Mars. But then comes the weakest moment in the film – a two-minute tease of Chapter II. Entirely unnecessary. Spoils too much. Skip if you can.

Because Watchmen Chapter I is already teetering on the edge of greatness.
Here’s hoping Chapter II dares to depart even further.

★★★ ★★★ ★★★

Far briefer analyses here on IMDb and Letterboxd.

Read Justice League x RWBY for a DC animation two-parter which does NOT work.

Three girls screaming in terror at a carnival-like barn setting in Clown in a Cornfield (2025)

Clown in a Cornfield

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

Will Sasso

Remains one of the most professional actors working today. He delivers every time he’s on screen. Here, he leans dramatic rather than comedic—and it works. According to director Eli Craig during the Q&A, he and Sasso hadn’t even spoken before filming. He simply cast him, and Sasso showed up with a fully formed character. Seamless performance. Total pro.

Also on stage: Adam Cesare, author of the source novel Clown in a Cornfield, and the stuntman who played the clown. One of the evening’s best moments came when the director expressed interest in adapting the sequel. Cesare responded with even greater enthusiasm. If that collaboration happens, I’ll be there.

Caught this at a Letterbox’d pre-screening at The Music Box Theatre in Chicago. Brisk 96-minute runtime. It calls itself a ‘slasher,’ but breaks from convention in surprising, effective ways. The plot escalates smartly, and the film doesn’t drag for a second.

The two young leads—playing Cole and Quinn—really sell it. Near-flawless performances. Rustin’s good too. The Dad starts rough but grows into the role, shaking off any early stiffness. If the film has a weakness, it’s the supporting players. The mean kids are hit or miss. The girls strengthen mid-film. The black guy and biceps whitey—not quite there.

On Location

One of the film’s best decisions? Avoiding in-studio filming. It feels location-based throughout—refreshing in an era of soundstage sameness. That said, the use of diffusers fails. Those identical sheets of light just outside the window? Ungood. But I respect the effort given the budget.

While it bears some indie flavor, this is no true independent. Its production value and distribution peg it more as a mid-budget, studio-backed genre film.

Tonally, it strikes a rare balance. Larger-than-life fiction, yes—but grounded. The title isn’t inspired, but it’s functional. Maybe not “artistic” enough for some. Still, the movie itself defies easy categorization. Is it Halloween? Not quite. It? No. Maybe The Strangers or The Hills Have Eyes? Closer, but still no. It’s something else—more elevated, more contained.

A tasteful restraint keeps things from getting overly grotesque. Dialogue’s sharp, fun, and nearly always pushes the story forward.

Releases in theaters May 9.

★★★★ ★★★★

Find my leaner review at IMDb and Letterboxd.

Read The Blair Witch Project for strong horror or, for the weak, The Long Walk & Final Destination: Bloodlines.

suddenly last summer 1959 review – featured image

Suddenly Last Summer

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

Elizabeth Taylor. Katharine Hepburn. Two titans of classic Hollywood worth knowing. The most important takeaway from any Suddenly Last Summer review.

TCM Film Festival 2025

Screened in a Chinese multiplex on Hollywood Boulevard.

Joseph L. Mankiewicz

The film’s director. His grandson, Nick Davis, provided the intro. He’s seen Suddenly Last Summer twice. The first time he focused on the powerhouse performances by Hepburn and Taylor. This time he found himself drawn to Montgomery Clift’s quieter, more restrained turn. A sharp, spot-on observation

Davis also shared a moment from production:
On the first day of filming, call time was 9 a.m. Elizabeth Taylor arrived at 11 to find a completely deserted set. There was only a camera on a tripod, with a note taped to the lens:
“Elizabeth, the entire cast & crew were here for our call time at 9 a.m. We’ve gone home for the day. See you tomorrow—9 a.m.”
She was never late again. Davis concluded simply, “My grandfather was a clever director like that.”

The film revolves around a young man who dies under mysterious circumstances, leaving behind two women—his doting, venomous mother and his earnestly tragic cousin.

Sebastian.
His name is repeated at least forty times. It gets tiring. And frankly, he’s easy to hate. What we learn of him: he summers with his mother, neglects his cousin’s wellbeing, conquers the heights of lady-slaying and eventually turns to his only remaining option—luring impoverished gay men through the feminine bait of his mother and cousin.

These “vultures,” once fed, become insatiable. They chase the unwilling—waving cheap tin instruments, scaling steep hills, closing in with ravenous glee. The threat of cannibalistic justice looms. It’s grotesque, stylized and probably where the director’s ambition overreaches. The tin band is revisited too often, over-mystified and never fully clear.

Elizabeth Taylor

Calling her a “vision” doesn’t quite cover it. One of the most beautiful screen actresses in history—and also among the elite few who truly put themselves out there. But here she tries a little too hard. The emotion comes off forced at times.

Katharine Hepburn

The vision from the generation before. Still magnetic. Her delivery is precise, grounded and artistically shaped—but her rhythmic cadence, so uniquely hers, can become grating. Most of the time it’s familiar and fun. Occasionally it hits the wrong note entirely.

Tennessee Williams

The playwright behind the script. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof remains the superior collaboration with Liz but she navigates his relentless monologues here with grace. Sometimes she even elevates them.

Suddenly Last Summer is bizarre—and that’s exactly how I like my black-and-white films. Proficient live dialogue recording. Long, charged exchanges. And clues tucked right there on screen.

Highlights:

  • The throne-like elevator ride to the middle of the room
  • Feeding a giant practical Venus flytrap (still creepy despite the artifice)
  • A not-quite-truth-serum that still makes people spill
  • The swarm of hungry coded gay men devouring Sebastian—symbolic horror laced with period-specific discomfort. (Part of me hoped someone in the audience would be offended. But no—the TCM fans are sharp.)

There’s a lot of repetition. Hepburn monologues about sea turtles nesting, birds feasting and the circle of life. Names like Sebastian, Guadalupe and the Catatas are drilled into memory—like Zihuatanejo in The Shawshank Redemption.

Taylor overcommits. Hepburn overspeaks. Clift, by contrast, downplays his role until it becomes strangely believable.

A strange relic. Imperfect. Fascinating.
Exactly what you hope for when you gamble on an old film you’ve never seen.

Color didn’t become cinematic mainstream until the 1960s. Watching Suddenly Last Summer today—through the lens of black and white—it holds up. Not Citizen Kane but not regrettable either.

If there were raw footage of Elizabeth Taylor’s life—unedited and timestamped—I’d gladly devour it. Say, Liz: 4–6 p.m., Thursday, July 18, 1963. That’s a film I’d watch from start to finish.

Though I wouldn’t begin with the color reels. I’d need to see her in black and white first—to enjoy her there before moving on to Liz in Technicolor.

★★★★ ★★★★

Clipped versions of this review available on IMDb and Letterboxd.

For more TCM Fest fueled black & white read Servants’ Entrance, Eraserhead or Casablanca!

Susan Clark looks wary as she sits near a modernist lamp in Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970)

Colossus: The Forbin Project

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

The machine’s father

The lead, Eric Braeden, deserves mention. A face unfamiliar. Unmasked by celebrity.

Braeden performs as Dr. Charles Forbin with stoic brilliance. Even as the situation spirals, he keeps a cool head — an embodiment of humanity’s best traits under existential pressure.

This performance launched a decades-long career for Braeden, mostly starring in daytime television. Before the festival screening, he spoke briefly — gracious and charming, complimenting the interviewer’s knowledge of the film. Then he stayed to watch the entire movie with the audience.

The man who builds a supercomputer to safeguard humanity, only to watch it seize control with chilling logic. An acting performance microcosm for the overall film.

Mechanical sophistication

A clean, clinical masterpiece — filmmaking that feels ahead of its time without shouting about it.

What impressed me most was the technical craftsmanship.

The footage is clean, elaborate and purposeful.

Camera movements organically deepen the narrative as the tension escalates. The sound design is spectacular for 1970 — crisp, clear, immersive without being showy. The sets are elaborate yet believable, enhancing realism without overloading the viewer. Every element serves the tone: cold, unblinking, inevitable.

Words overlapping

One of the film’s most quietly brilliant achievements is its use of dialogue interruption to deepen realism. Whether during AV recordings, group phone calls, or foreign interpreters talking over military briefings, the human characters constantly overlap and miscommunicate. This layered dialogue subtly reminds us: humans are messy, chaotic creatures — a sharp contrast to the ruthlessly ordered mind of Colossus.

The emotional core is muted but intriguing.
The romantic subplot exists — barely — as a faint heartbeat beneath the mechanized tension.
The high stakes are clear, but the film never indulges in melodrama.
It remains rational — grounded — like Forbin himself.

It’s not a difficult viewing.
If anything, its clarity makes it even more unnerving.

One of the film’s most haunting ideas lingers long after the credits:

Is the AI capable of initiating thought?

The answer is still no.
Fifty-five years later, even the most advanced AI systems remain incapable of true origination.
Colossus does not wonder, dream, or desire.
It reacts.
Strategizes.
It dictates.
But it cannot imagine.

Its domination is not born of ambition — it is born of incapacity.
It must rule because it cannot conceive of any other path.

This realization — coupled with the film’s steady, unsentimental craftsmanship — makes Colossus: The Forbin Project feel not only prophetic, but quietly devastating.
A cold masterpiece.

And an oddly inspiring one, too — for those who still believe that rational humanity, however flawed, remains something worth defending.

★★★★ ★★★★

Shorter versions of my review at IMDb and Letterboxd. Or read her for more AI.

A Few Good Men (1992) featuring Demi Moore as Lt. Cdr. Galloway

A Few Good Men

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

I know an Air Force Colonel. A woman. A Few Good Men is her favorite film. It inspired her to pursue an illustrious career in the U.S. military.
The power of filmmaking, folks. Wonders abound.

The Behavior of Several

The title makes no sense.
‘A few’ = three.
But this is A Couple Good Men & A Good Woman. Quite the oversight for the prestigious writing-directing team.

Even viewers who haven’t seen The West Wing can sense Aaron Sorkin’s fingerprints early on. This is pre-West Wing Sorkin—witty, loaded dialogue delivered with pacing that never lets up. He and director Rob Reiner would reunite three years later for The American President (1995), the test run for Sorkin’s future in television.

Top 6 Sorkin Writings

  • The Social Network (2010)
  • Charlie Wilson’s War (2007)
  • Molly’s Game (2017)
  • Moneyball (2011)
  • Steve Jobs (2015)
  • A Few Good Men (1992)

Six of the best films ever made. Using words & ink. Sorkin may be our finest living screenwriter.
His first piece, thirty years later, still holds up!

Guantanamo Bay

Gitmo. Is that the one where the watermelons grow?
Heard of it a million times, never retained anything on the location. Until now.

But only a small portion of this courtroom drama is set on the marine base. Guantanamo feels a lot less bay-like afterward. The scenes set on the military base leave an impression of sadness and desperation.

The film opens strong with the color guard—rifle tosses, clean camera work, tight sound. It’s a fast immersion into military tradition, and the stakes get serious quick. A tribute to the fallen.

Our protagonist is Tom Cruise’s Lieutenant Kaffee who wrestles with personal doubt.
It’s the external tension—the legal maneuvering, the moral lines—that holds the viewer. The film asks: What is truth? When is justification justified?

Demi Moore as Lt. Cmdr. JoAnne Galloway is the deuteragonist.
Kevin Pollack is excellent, the tritagonist, Lt. Sam Weinberg. He delivers a meaningful performance. He refuses to rise to Cruise’s energy – to the film’s benefit. His clean delivery grounds the audience.

Moore, on the other hand, perhaps makes the mistake of trying to meet Cruise’s intensity head-on. There’s a level of self-consciousness in her acting I hadn’t noticed before—not until seeing The Substance. Her scenes with Cruise hum with tension, but her performance strains when she tries to match his rhythm. She’s strongest when still—when she leads with principle, not pace.

Despite that, I’ve enormous respect for the woman’s career.
Her decision to take on this challenging role helped inspire a woman to become a Colonel in the Air Force.
That matters.
Her cap—like Cruise’s, like Sorkin’s—is full of feathers.

Nicholson plays the antagonist, Colonel Jessup, with a chilling balance of calm and menace. You sense his entitlement before he ever raises his voice. The man is dangerous because he believes in what he’s done. He doesn’t just lie—he reframes his actions as necessary.

The One Bad Man

Because while the legal case is complex and the ensemble deep, this is really a film about one bad man. Jessup’s early dialogue is delivered in such a measured tone, we’re not sure whether to distrust or admire him. He doesn’t exude chaos—he exudes control. That’s what makes him dangerous. He believes himself righteous.

And yet, what makes us turn on him isn’t the legal gray area—it’s the moment he machismos a line about “nothing better than getting a blowjob from a superior officer,” while Galloway’s his captive audience. She’s forced to sit through it. That’s the moment his mask fully drops.

The hazing, the lies, the cover-up—they stack up. But that moment reveals he doesn’t deserve the power he holds. He doesn’t respect the rank he hides behind.

That’s when we want him punished. That’s when the facts better fall in line, because the audience is ready for justice.

The film is dense with legalese and military jargon, but that’s part of the texture. Sorkin’s dialogue keeps the momentum—even when we’re not sure what’s at stake, we stay locked in. Kaffee and Galloway may be sharp lawyers, but they’re still feeling each other out. We’re watching that tension build.

Early signs of Sorkin’s walk-and-talks are here too. The characters roam through hallways, hit grounders to the infield, eat apples—always moving. Always talking. It’s real, kinetic. It’s what makes the film so alive.

Cruise brings relentless energy. He’s magnetic. Demi Moore holds her own, even if there’s strain. Pollack’s steady; reliable.
And Nicholson? He’s seamless.

Even when we know precisely where the plot is heading, the most effective films keep us engaged thruout the foreseen unraveling.
The ethics of hazing and forging flight manifests. The nuances of physical fitness exams.
These materially factual details don’t need to line up perfectly when the film ends.

We know justice has been delivered to an individual who desperately needed it.
Facts be damned.
We can feel the evidence.

★★★★ ★★★★

Shorter versions at IMDb and Letterboxd.

Close-up of Heather Donahue crying in The Blair Witch Project (1999)

The Blair Witch Project

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

Stephen King’s Danse Macabre (1982) is a sweeping survey of horror fiction—and in its later-edition introduction, he singles out The Blair Witch Project as one of the best modern horror films. That caught my attention.

I streamed it for free on Fandango—with ads. Probably the first time I’ve ever watched a film broken up like that. Four ad breaks, two-and-a-half minutes each. Not worth it. The format is brutal—especially for a film built on atmosphere. Moments of tension are gutted by commercial noise. It’s not how any movie should be seen, let alone one this intimate.

What Blair Witch achieves, though, is still remarkable. It launched the found footage movement—paving the way for Cloverfield, Chronicle, As Above/So Below. It’s the format’s proof of concept.

Broken Broomsticks

If you’ve never seen it but lived through the hype, you’ll probably be waiting for one thing: a single moment of pure supernatural horror. Something unambiguous. Something that confirms: yes, the witch is real.

But that tension—is there something out there or not—is what makes the film work. And I won’t spoil the answer. The opening title card states plainly that the three filmmakers disappeared. That alone might be enough. Is that your proof? Or is it just setup?

The stick bundles. The tent shaking. The mid-night rearrangements. The dread ratchets slowly, then violently. And it works because of how off everything feels.

There’s something unsettling about their fake optimism early on. Their enthusiasm is so forced, so performative—it’s almost eerie. And as things spiral, the swings in mood feel genuine. We see panic. We see collapse. Real fear. Or something that feels like it.

These aren’t polished characters. Heather, in particular, is jagged and frustrating. She interrupts her interviews. She overcompensates. Her obsession grows louder as her belief in the witch fades. She says things like “I need this on 16”—lines that sound grating and out of touch. But in context, they land. And that’s why her final monologue—the now-iconic closeup—is devastating. A tear wells up as her voice quivers. Her fear is real. Maybe more real than anything else in the film.

If there is no witch—then what is Blair Witch about?

Three people lose their map. And then they lose their minds.
No monsters. No magic. Just fear, paranoia, and nature swallowing them whole.

And maybe that’s scarier.

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Brisker reviews at IMDb and Letterboxd.

Snow White gazes upward surrounded by glowing forest light

Snow White

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

There’s a lot of noise surrounding this production. Peter Dinklage voiced concerns about the lack of dwarf acting representation. Ironically, no one raised an issue when the Oscar-nominated production of Wicked also didn’t cast dwarves—despite Dinklage having a speaking role as a goat professor in that very film.

Disney intentionally takes a different direction with their version of the dwarves. These are a fantasy race—larger than life, with cartoonish features that resemble the animated classic. They’re so gentle and small that when Dopey gets trapped in the bedroom with Snow White, he’s terrified she’ll eat him alive. Achieving that dynamic with non-CGI characters would be nearly impossible. Dinklage should redirect his critique toward Wicked, not this. Because Snow White emerges as a musical worthy of a theatrical release.

Meanwhile, reports of tension between the leads, Rachel Zegler and Gal Gadot, suggest Rachel needs to keep her mouth shut. After all, she starred in one of last year’s worst films. Her career has only just begun, and she’s working alongside one of the most accomplished actresses in Hollywood. It isn’t difficult to show gratitude and respect. Rachel should focus on her job—because honestly, nobody cares what she thinks off-screen.

Fortunately, she delivers on-screen—mostly. (Respecting your castmates remains a basic tenet of the acting job.)

Rachel Zegler is about as perfect a Snow White as one could ask for. During elaborate numbers, the camera cuts back to her and she’s still singing live. Man, this girl is talented. Maybe it’s the giant mouth—both her greatest strength and greatest weakness. Performance-wise, aside from a few off-tonal line deliveries, she’s tough to critique.

In contrast, Gadot feels wooden and far from seamless. Her casting makes visual sense—Gal is (literally) the fairest of them all—but she functions more as an image than a fully inhabited character. Like the magic mirror itself, she exists as a face. Her costume conceals her body under a crystalline shell, and each step she takes sounds like a chandelier. Her hood frames her face tightly. Visually, it’s effective. But narratively, does the stepmother really need this much dialogue? Does she need her own song? Probably not.

Because they’re juggling so many elements, it’s hard to fault any one decision too severely—but Gadot’s musical number feels like a production team performing a song rather than a character expressing emotion. Zegler’s numbers, by contrast, fit naturally. She doesn’t just sing—she harmonizes with her surroundings. She whistles while she works and encourages others to join in, not out of showmanship, but because it’s how she exists. The music simply flows through her. That’s the difference.

Although many have criticized the musical sequences, I won’t. Each one is well-produced, energetic and faithful to the originals. The narrative structure follows suit.

A friend told me he didn’t appreciate the new story directions. It does get complicated—I’m undecided on that front. However, what impressed me was how much of the original tale remains intact: the evil stepmother, the poisoned apple, the prince, the well, the mirror, the seven dwarves with distinct traits. The film maintains a cinematic scope.

At times, the production edges into self-awareness—particularly when background dwarves snore, mumble or overexplain punchlines. Those “keep it moving” filler moments fall flat. Disney needs to let moments breathe instead of cramming meaning into every frame. Silence has its own power.

Even so, the old witch is genuinely terrifying. And when the dwarves gallop in on fawnback to save Snow, it’s riveting. In terms of location-based filming, Snow White outshines Wicked. The story unfolds in a grounded fantasy world with clear temporal and spatial logic. After Snow gets swallowed by a tree, the film leads us into another dimension—a sub-world that still feels real.

We see the cottage from multiple angles. Characters step outside, return, and interact with their environment. That’s how believable fantasy spaces are created: through geographic consistency.

Then comes the apple-bite scene. When Snow wakes by the riverside, it’s not just gorgeous—it’s transcendent. The setting feels like something outside narrative itself. That’s movie magic. It sweeps up an emotionally unstable viewer and pulls them into the title card—then alters that card mid-film. That requires foresight, artistry and serious orchestration.

The experience feels like tumbling down a rabbit hole and discovering a forgotten city. Inside that city, we enter a house, descend into the cellar, and find a railcar. We ride through a darkened tunnel as a storm rages above. On the other side, sunshine floods a meadow that’s neither strange nor familiar. It lies at the end of a road we never thought to take—an alien but trustworthy path that intersects with a known route home.

No surprise, then, that Marc Webb directed this. He also helmed The Amazing Spider-Man films—both criminally under-praised. Here, when Snow and the Prince’s dialogue teeters on cliché, it pivots into self-awareness. The writing becomes inventive. The direction finds rhythm. It works.

The woodland critters deserve their own praise. These aren’t generic animals—they’re integral. The fawn guiding Snow. The rabbits opening the dwarf door. The birds pulling her blanket up. Not ordinary bluebirds like you’d find on a fence line. These are puffier, rounder, finch-like birds with pastel-blue feathers. Fantasy bluebirds. A species that doesn’t exist—yet mirrors the original animated film perfectly. And they’re rendered believably, fluttering to her finger, snuggling her in. It’s a subtle but remarkable achievement.

More brilliance lies in how the animals behave. They don’t mimic humans. Instead, they act under the influence of a deeper purpose. Maybe sacred duty. It allows them to perform superanimal acts like guiding and door opening. Snow’s presence draws them toward a cause bigger than themselves. It’s multilayered, intelligent filmmaking. On the cutting edge.

Despite that, the backlash has been fierce. The film has the classic Rotten/Fresh split on Rotten Tomatoes—but a dismal 1.6/10 on IMDb? That’s not just harsh—it’s dishonest. Sure, it’s not perfect. But it’s also not even close to that rating.

With a reported $209 million budget and nearly $185 million in international earnings, Disney might eventually break even. Honestly, I hope they do. They deserve credit for trying something different. And Marc Webb deserves a hefty payday for pulling it off.

It’s flawed, ambitious & heartfelt. And we don’t abandon the ones who stretch.

★★★ ★★★ ★★★

Verbose, huh? The clipped editions at IMDb and Letterboxd.