Tag: 2025

Colin Farrell and Margot Robbie standing together in A Big Bold Beautiful Journey

A Big Bold Beautiful Journey

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

A series of vignettes bound together by a metaphysical thruline. A time-travel romance that never thrills.

Big? Occasionally. Bold? No.

What works are the lead performances. Farrell and Robbie are magnetic whenever they’re onscreen together. Premier thespians — their presence alone is enough to elevate even the weakest sequences.

The problem is everything that happens around them: an uneven supporting cast, flabby surrealism and a screenplay that leans on shortcuts.

Colin & Margot

The film’s highlight. Farrell plays muted hesitation better than just about anyone, and Robbie knows how to weaponize both charm and vulnerability. When they’re sharing screen space — in memory-landscapes, in cars, in the rain — you can almost forget how patchy the film is. Their chemistry is never forced.

They’re easy to watch, easy to believe, easy to root for. Without them this thing collapses.

Phoebe Waller-Bridge

Love seeing her pop up in a supporting role, but the performance is uneven. Her scenes lean on comedic timing, yet the writing leaves her stranded. Punchlines fall flat, not because she can’t deliver them, but because the dialogue doesn’t have teeth.

A recurring GPS gag saddles her with dialogue that’s more nagging than witty. The “in case your phone craps out” bit works only because Farrell’s delivery sells it — the line itself is limp, unfunny and doesn’t improve on revisiting.

Filming on the cheap

Too many scenes rely on cinematic shortcuts — phone calls, intercom chatter, the GPS voice. These are conversation stand-ins, easy ways to script dialogue without the work of staging real interaction. They read as artificial. Cinema should bring bodies into collision, but here it keeps disembodying them.

The worst offender is the introduction of the car rental agency itself — a Sharpie flyer taped to a brick wall. That’s the prop. A film aiming for cosmic mythos and timeless romance should not be grounding its central conceit in something that looks like an undergrad theater project.

At minimum, give me enameled signage. Or a location with weight. Instead it plays thin, unconvincing, cheap.

Falling water

The rain is where the film shows glimmers of life.

The opening wedding scene — Robbie asking Farrell to marry her in a downpour — is the film at its best. Elemental, physical, alive. Hair plastered, clothes soaked, emotion surging. The question of whether this is his memory, hers or a shared dream remains unclear, but the texture is undeniable. And the rain returns intermittently, sometimes scripted with umbrellas at the ready, sometimes uncontrolled enough that it must have been shot live.

These bursts give the film atmosphere, mark transitions and hint at what could’ve been if the director trusted nature’s unpredictability more than canned surrealism.

Trekking across the subconscious

The strongest stretches are the memory revisits. Here the film abandons its gimmicks and actually dramatizes emotion. The landscapes have weight; the conversations carry charge. Every time Farrell and Robbie walk through a past moment, the romance feels epic.

The love story takes shape not in GPS chatter or surreal signage but in these collisions of memory and regret. This is what the film should’ve centered.

Talent-a-whirl

Midway through we get a full car-accident sequence, complete with the now-fashionable rollover rig. Farrell and Robbie strapped in, flipping, cameras locked close. A long piece of footage of bodies tumbling in simulated peril.

Once this kind of shot felt daring, now it feels like self-aware spectacle. In a film already laced with surreal gags, it comes across as meta-comical — less about danger, more about showing off the actors gamely spinning for real. It doesn’t advance story or deepen character. It’s just production flex.

Boredom in your ears

The film’s rhythm is torpedoed by its soundtrack. A soft, plucky, muted, melancholic score that dullifies everything. Scene after scene is sanded into sameness by that perpetual wistful indie-sound. Nothing swells. Nothing punctuates.

The pacing suffers as a result — a big bold journey becomes a slow, occasionally soporific trudge.

Ending in the present

No surprises here. Straightforward, predictable, expected. After wandering through dreamscapes and gimmicks, the finale lands with no twist, no shock, no grand revelation. It’s serviceable, but underwhelming.

My Small Pretty Slog

Does the film earn its title? Not really. It’s big only in ambition, bold only in patches and beautiful only when Farrell and Robbie are fully locked in. Still, there’s a kernel of truth — the journey is there, it just isn’t consistent.

Can’t Recommend

A Big Bold Beautiful Journey is half of a good film. The rain wedding, the memory revisits, the sheer talent of Farrell and Robbie — these moments almost redeem it. But then come the shortcuts, the dull score, the phony signage, the car rollover, the GPS chatter, the intercom jokes. All thinning out the magic.

What’s left is a disappointed middle. A romance that flirts with greatness but too often sells itself short.

★★★

Briefer takes at IMDb & Letterboxd. Check The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby for proper romance.

Contestants trudging along the road in The Long Walk (2024) with an armored truck following behind.

The Long Walk

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

Based off a pretty good book. Not a great one. Mid-SK. And strong tomes don’t always equate to strong films.

The blurb on Rotten Tomatoes promotes this as “Stephen King’s first-written novel.” Initially upsetting because that’s a new expression. Also misleading—do they mean Carrie? No. Research confirms: Carrie was his first published novel. The Long Walk was written when King was sixteen, later published under his pseudonym, Richard Bachman.

That fits with the narrative. It feels amateurish, the villains underdeveloped. Fine to digest as a book, but a dreadful experience on film.

A perfect premise for structuring one’s first foray into novel writing. One of his least metaphysical works, a rumination on conviction, oppression & friendship.

The Long Walk as a book has no overt supernatural or magical elements. It’s a straight dystopian story. But it edges into metaphysical territory through its themes: endless walking as a metaphor for life and death, the sense of an unseen authority directing fate and Garraty’s ambiguous final steps that blur physical reality with something existential. It’s not metaphysical in the literal King sense, but it flirts with allegory in ways that feel bigger than realism.

Reading vs Viewing

The main problem is that there wasn’t enough potential in the original narrative to merit a film. Much of what was good gets discarded in translation. Garraty’s romantic progression, for example: on the page we discover his past girlfriend only moments before he gropes a large-breasted stranger in the crowd – on a nationally broadcast camera feed. It builds tension and complicates his character. The film cuts this entirely, replacing it with hollow alternatives.

In fact, Garraty’s complexity is mostly stripped away. It’s clear how the filmmakers want us to feel about him, which makes for a far less compelling narrative.

Likewise, the crowd as a character is gutted. An early line of dialogue…

Only locals allowed until the finish line

…sidelines their role. Tho the onlookers add crucial dimension in the book. The result is a diminished mythos: a handful of locals watching the boys’ procession in silence. It breaks suspension of disbelief.

Better to have the wild, rollicking oddballs embodied in the novel. They gave the world depth. Instead, what’s foregrounded is scatology – defecation shown in vile, graphic realism. These should have stayed on the page, where the gross is more palatable.

The industry nowadays

There is an upsetting sterility to filmmaking now – the pretense of edge. Children get killed here, but the “edge” is already baked into the premise.

Sound errors only add to the problem. During Peter McVries’s introduction, dialogue is unintelligible. Later, Garraty delivers a final line, his mic fails, and the film shrugs by leaving in boom audio. Supremely inadequate – totally unacceptable in a big-budget release. They poured resources into replicating book beats, yet left in a production error. The result: a narrative that isn’t self-contained.

The gore is worse. A kid falls, scrapes his face and the VFX team renders it off in post. Pointless cruelty – safe, fake and disgusting. Same with the ankle-walking sequence: hard enough to read, unbearable to watch.

And then there’s the police presence. Two background actors stuffed into uniforms, saluting frozen on the sidelines. They may as well be statues – mute, inert, irrelevant. The choice reads as shade toward law enforcement, but it’s so shallow it undermines the world-building. It doesn’t belong here at all, and the film is weaker for it.

Mostly unknown walking youngsters

David Jonsson is the standout as Peter McVries. He delivers in almost every scene. There’s also Ben Wang, an Asian kid with a New York accent – deft work wasted in a trash film. But the ethnic padding is so pervasive nothing feels organic. It reads as self-conscious racial casting, the kind of box-ticking where a writer clearly asked: “Which of these characters can we make not white?”

The boys razzing each other doesn’t land either. In It, the banter felt authentic; here, it’s actors acting. Garraty himself is serviceable, but this isn’t the Garraty the book gave us: tall, handsome, charming enough to grab a stranger’s breast mid-walk and know it’s reciprocated. On screen he’s just another moody kid.

Still, Garraty and Peter nail the emotional turmoil in the uphill sequence. It’s the most poignant stretch of the film—an inspired horror beat that builds to a natural conclusion.

A history of deevolution

Francis Lawrence is the source of the problem. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire was one of the standout blockbusters of the last couple decades. But his work has devolved since. The conclusion of the Hunger Games films was adequate. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes was one of the worst big-screen releases in recent years. The Long Walk continues that trend of safe, edgeless filmmaking.

Biguous

The Dark Tower is a popular epic fantasy series by King. A recent film adaptation makes the same mistake as The Long Walk. Removing the ending’s ambiguity is not enough to uplift an unfun journey.

King’s work often lives or dies in translation based on how the ending is handled. The Mist bleaks its finale even further, and the adjustment works. Shawshank softens its ending into something more redemptive, and it also works. But The Dark Tower and now The Long Walk take the opposite approach: stripping ambiguity, neutering allegory, and mistaking closure for meaning. The result is failure.

This was not a story to adapt directly off the page. Alterations were necessary, but not the kind that gut the edgy (fun) stuff while amplifying scatology and CGI gore. What we’re left with is another Francis Lawrence production that mistakes sterility for seriousness, and cruelty for edge.

The Long Walk deserved either bold reinvention – or no adaptation at all. Instead, it limps along, a technical achievement devoid of inspiration.

★★★

Briefer takes at IMDb & Letterboxd.

Vera Farmiga looks into the sink in The Conjuring: Last Rites

The Conjuring: Last Rites

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

Most horror franchises don’t end well.

They repeat themselves into parody or collapse under the weight of spinoffs. Since the series’ 2013 premier, The Conjuring staked out a space that was gothic, grounded and anchored by two star performances that made the paranormal feel tactile. The Conjuring 2 doubled down, and the series reached the rarefied air of back-to-back classics. The third entry slipped a little, a product of its COVID-era release, but it still carried weight.

That sets the stage for The Conjuring: Last Rites. It is not the greatest of the four. But it is a perfectly suitable sendoff — a film that closes the Warrens’ story with dignity, maintains consistency of tone and resists the temptation to undo what came before.

A franchise built on restraint

These films work because Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga commit fully to Ed and Lorraine Warren — characters who, in lesser hands, might have been caricatures of piety and intuition.

Wilson plays Ed as the bulwark: sturdy, plainspoken, reliable. Farmiga makes Lorraine the peculiar surgeon: precise, mysterious, a veiled well of empathy. Watching her glide through a room in “work-mode” — scanning, listening, cutting into the supernatural with poise — is one of modern horror’s great pleasures. Together, they elevate the material to something that can stand beside the classics.

Last Rites understands that its job is not reinvention. It’s closure.

The sluggish open

The first act is slow to find its footing. It opens with a harrowing hospital delivery — young Ed and Lorraine bringing Judy into the world, demons circling the scene. A frightening sequence, though one burdened by heavy backstory.

It’s here the film reminds us of the supreme value of going in blind. Not knowing what’s at stake — even something as basic as whether that baby will survive — magnifies the tension. Spoilers or foreknowledge only blunt what works best in these films: uncertainty.

Then come the Smurls, introduced in long, single-take chaos: family members wheeling through tight spaces, bickering and expositing while the camera refuses to cut. These aren’t glamorous parts, but the “unknownsemble” rises to it. Pulling off such elaborate staging isn’t easy, and they sell the reality of a family under siege. The script even tips its hat to other entries in the so-called Conjuring Universe — Annabelle, The Nun — weaker films that distract more than enrich.

Fractured reflection

Candyman. Oculus. Mirrors.

Yes, even Kiefer’s Mirrors belongs in this lineage. Last Rites joins that conversation with its own take on reflective terror.

As always, access is restricted by a retractable attic staircase. Early on, the audience witnesses the mirror’s safe disposal — convincingly gone, its threat seemingly over. Which makes its literal return all the more unsettling as the film edges toward its climax. The exploration of its orbit becomes the true draw: attic floorboards rippling beneath the fathers’ burden, the delayed consequences of disturbing its surface, its grip on Judy’s boyfriend that culminates in a deadly tug-of-war.

Not every beat works. A girl vomiting a torrent of blood after a shard teleports into her throat is silly horror writing, made worse by overzealous foley that pipes in cartoonish stomach noises. But elsewhere the mirror grounds the film — a tactile object the story bends around, lending shape and weight to its surreality. The ensemble thrives in these demanding sequences, holding rhythm through chaotic long takes without breaking character.

The garbage disposal lurking

Midway thru, the film threatens to lose me. Too much backstory, too much padding, too much noise. And then Vera at the sink.

Soapy water fills an unstoppered basin. Looming behind is a menacing switch. She flips it. Whirrr. Tension mounts. Modern horror usually punishes its viewers here with a grotesque payoff. But not this time. She flips it back off, reaches in and retrieves…a locket. For a moment, intrigue replaces dread. Then the revelation lands with quick realism: Judy is in trouble.

This scene sat me back down. It’s a study in horror progression done right: set up a trope, invert it, twist it and resolve it without cheap cruelty. Crafted with restraint, intelligence and respect for the audience.

Sound as sabotage

The volume is cranked just a touch too high, the jump scares amplified to the point of irritation. It’s a trend in modern horror mixing — sound treated like a carnival hammer, meant to jolt you in your seat rather than let dread seep under your skin.

The Conjuring series never needed this. Its scares come from atmosphere, pacing and the presence of its leads.

Quartet anchor

What saves Last Rites are the performances. Wilson and Farmiga are as precise as ever, but the film also gives Judy (Mia Tomlinson) and her fiancé (Ben Hardy) room to shine.

Hardy is a particular surprise. His short bursts of backstory and his unquestioning trust in the Warrens make him instantly sympathetic. His dynamic with Wilson adds dimension, creating an arc of respect that pays off in the climax. Judy herself is no longer just a background child in peril — she becomes part of the Warrens’ legacy, a figure whose future matters.

The Smurls never escape their clunky introduction as characters, but the actors deserve credit. They hold their ground in elaborate blocking and difficult staging, making the household feel authentic.

An inspired finish

The climax is not the series’ most inventive, but it is steady. The mirror’s literal return, the tug-of-war for Judy’s fiancé, Farmiga in full supernatural hunt mode — all of it lands with enough weight to feel like closure.

Crucially, the film avoids grotesque overkill. It doesn’t desecrate its own mythology. It doesn’t indulge in empty spectacle.

The dreaded denouement

By the time the credits loom, the astute viewer braces for it — that final note of ambiguity. None of the earlier Conjuring films leaned into the cliché of “maybe it’s not over.” They closed their cases, restored order and sent the Warrens home. But this series has always thrived on bending horror convention, taking familiar narrative devices and twisting them into something new.

Naturally, a final chapter invites the suspicion that this time will be different.

And so Last Rites ends as the series always has: the Warrens together, the circle drawn. Whether it holds is another matter.

★★★★ ★★★★

Briefer takes at IMDb & Letterboxd.

Javier Bardem & Brad Pitt, pals walking in F1

F1

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

The F-word is spoken once. That’s right — 1F.
This isn’t ironic title play, though it’s as happy an accident as they come. The single F-bomb is more a function of the film’s intended structure, staying just within PG-13 constraints. Utter it once and you’re PG-13. Cluck twice and you earn an R.

Speaking of words, I say “movie” less these days. I was ridiculed for this recently, but it’s not pretension — it’s accuracy. A film is a crafted piece with precise direction. Movies are built for the public at large: heartwarming, Hollywoodized, loaded with stars and budget. F1 feels more like a “movie.”

A Thrilling First Half

The story is surface-level; the beats are basic and occasionally melodramatic. Characters keep critiquing Sonny Hayes’ age, but these jibes don’t land on the glorious Brad Pitt. Predictability sets in early and only worsens — the pacing slows considerably in the second half until events unfold in a 100% telegraphed manner.

At 155 minutes, it’s far too long. The later half is almost devoid of the small, unconventional turns that keep viewers engaged. Some moments break from formula in the first half, but they’re rare after that.

Adequate Production

Big budget and bloated with technical work, F1 showcases a vast range of camera angles and multilayered sound design. The play-by-play announcers narrate throughout, explaining each race as if viewers can’t follow on their own. An audience sees something happen and then immediately hears it described — too polished, distractingly so.

To the film’s credit, the announcers are eventually shown on screen toward the end, putting faces to the voices. It’s a smart touch, but it arrives during the section of the film where pacing is already sagging.

I made the mistake of skipping IMAX, despite friends insisting it was the way to see it. Turns out they were right — this is a movie that dulls exponentially as the screen size shrinks.

Topsy-Turvy Acting

Only a handful of performances work. Brad Pitt, Javier Bardem, Kerry Condon, and Joseph Balderama deliver. The rest feel amateurish or fractured.

Tobias Menzies is a glaring problem — his “evil money man” role is so flat and obvious that his every scene distracts from the main narrative. From the moment he tempts Hayes to “join the dark side,” you can see every beat coming. His arc is so painfully telegraphed it drags the movie down from potentially great to merely decent.

JP’s mom is similarly unnecessary. Most of her scenes could be cut, particularly a hospital moment where she chews out Hayes over a misunderstanding the audience already sees through. It’s not strong writing — just a device to justify her presence. The racial casting here feels blatant, and I wonder when audiences will tire of this trend.

On the positive side, Javier Bardem is as good as ever — likable, engaging, and central to the emotional pull. He doesn’t want his friend to die, and we’re right there with him. Pitt remains magnetic, always a delight to watch. Kerry Condon is terrific too, delivering a seamless performance even when saddled with difficult material (see: the porch scene).

Existentially Unchallenging

F1 isn’t a bad film — it’s a decent movie. Learning about the sport is fun enough to merit a casual watch, but the story’s predictability, bloated runtime and uneven cast keep it from greatness. If you’re going to see it, see it in IMAX. Otherwise, your life won’t change.

★★★ ★★★

Briefer thoughts at IMDb & Letterboxd.

Check out The Fantastic Four: First Steps for a more engaging blockbuster.

Vanessa Kirby as Sue Storm channels cosmic energy in Fantastic Four (2025)

The Fantastic Four: First Steps

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

Marvel returning to form.

Color me impressed.

The term blockbuster should carry more weight. All big-budget summer films fall under that umbrella, but it ought to mean more – like: worth seeing on the big screen. As if the filmmakers made something big-budget and inspired. Or better yet…

Worth seeing in IMAX.

Where the comic brands diverge.

Compare this to DC, which did not put its large-screen resources to good use. Fantastic Four feels designed for IMAX – whereas Superman feels digitally formatted to pass as IMAX. You can feel the difference. One justifies the format. The other hopes you won’t notice.

That’s why the unique release schedule makes sense. Fantastic Four gets a two-week IMAX run – double the usual.

The ticket costs $31.35, which is approaching outrageous. But it’s worth paying the premium for this one. Budget accordingly. Skip two or three forgettable films so you can afford this.

Some people hear my criticism about the excessive volume in modern blockbusters and immediately push back.

“I didn’t notice anything wrong with the volume,” they say.

…usually the same people who don’t mind CGI.

Volume Control

Fantastic Four is loud, but never too loud. Machinery crashes together, characters exchange blows, objects rocket through deep space – but none of it grates. The sound is sharp yet velvety.

Sensible, considering the ambition of the story.

The baby effects are outstanding. No uncanny weirdness. Just charm.

The opening scene is predictable, but the plot steadily improves – unfolding in unexpected directions.

Using the colossal screen.

The villain choice is bold. Possibly the most invulnerable character in comic history. Usually too difficult to bring to live action, but here Marvel succeeds completely. A near-impossible story element, adapted with precision and confidence.

The scenes involving this massive character overflow the screen with commanding visuals – absolutely made for IMAX.

Action sequences are balanced, grounded, and clear. The fantasy mechanics are acceptable. The fictional science doesn’t distract.

There’s consistent, understated humor that doesn’t try too hard. The drama may not surprise, but it compels.

Many of the usual Marvel trappings have been stripped away. There are too many shots of civilian life for my taste, but they contribute to a tone Marvel’s trying to build. Still – I’m not a fan of this trend. I don’t need to see my fellow viewers on screen.

Marvel’s new love for everyday nobodies – extras treated like heroes – just distracts. I came to watch heroes, not audience stand-ins. It shrinks the myth.

The Silver Surfer

Changing the gender is bold – not political, just creatively sharp. It opens new angles without preaching. Smart.

Like Ben, The Thing, SS is a completely CGI humanoid. Both rendered excellently – Silver surfs molten lava. Ben lifts a Volkswagen.

Mr. Fantastic stretches minimally – and that’s for the best. His superpower should be flexed the least on-screen.

The final bit with the car seat – three grown men fumbling like sitcom dads – feels like a studio-mandated chuckle. Pointless.

An excellent example of Disney doing what it does best. A well-packaged narrative, executed so proficiently, the content commands attention beyond the screen.

Here, Disney folds narrative into structure – making the title card and the rolling credits feel less like bookends, more like part of the plot.

In reviewing Snow White, I highlight an event that communicates back with the preceding title card. Fantastic Four transitions cleanly from the film’s end into an engaging form of rolling credits. Music pulls us forward. The screen holds us. Then – an early-credits sequence.

A thoughtful coda. Marvel gives us one last experience before sending us back to real life – an event that transitions us to the next.

It doesn’t end with a bang or a wink – it ends with control. Theatrical restraint. A blockbuster that earns its screen time.

And for once, you leave not just impressed – but grateful.

★★★ ★★★ ★★★

Compact versions here: IMDb & Letterboxd.

Superman looks to the side while standing on a sunlit city street

Superman

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

Zack Snyder had the right idea.

Superman always works.

But sometimes, different doesn’t mean better.

“A nice new change of pace” is NOT an apt description here.

The MCU wouldn’t even exist without Superman.

Hero #1

He’s the original cape. The figurehead of comic books. He deserves a better tribute – realism, a grounded viewer, relatability.

Superman is the everyman. The most virtuous expression of American male decency. He’s our collective spokehole.

So his dog should behave better. This isn’t some schlub.

Krypto has never appeared in a live-action film before – and for good reason.

The dog is CGI for the entire film. It looks clearly animated in every moment. Our main character has a deus ex machina at his beck and call. It never stops barking or biting at ankles. This loser can’t control his dog – isn’t that relatable?

The use of CGI is this film’s biggest problem. It assumes the audience will accept any and all animation as part of reality’s fabric: a flying villain in the beginning, Superman’s robots, both giant monsters (one standing, one flying), Green Lantern’s constructs, etc.

#3 Green Lantern of Earth

The choice to use Guy Gardner is one of the film’s few inspired decisions. Nathan Fillion is excellent, as always. The man’s a true pro – enjoyable.

Most viewers recognize Nathan Fillion. That’s the first red flag – because nobody wants to critique him. That casting choice functions as a critic shield.

The Justice Gang, in general, feels tacked on and shoddy. Makeup and wardrobe underdeliver. Hawkgirl looks like a woman who put too much effort into comic con. Lantern too.

Mister Terrific

Steals the show.

Such a difficult character to pull off in live-action – and the film mostly succeeds here.

Not a Mysterious Cameo

A new character appears just before the conclusion. High-powered and beloved – even I got excited by the momentary glimpse. However, the character serves Gunn’s ‘socially practical’ directing method more than the story.

A fleeting piece of overindulgence. Its presence doesn’t serve the plot we’ve just watched. Where were they during this most recent turmoil?

Teasing Clark, jokily cursing at him. Which is fun – but does nothing. Surface-level, unsubstantial, gimmicky.

Warner Brothers has repackaged Superman to be more likeable and mainstream. That’s much easier to do with unabashed use of cheats like CGI, green screen and avoiding location shoots. Using masked background actors (like the Earth police force) or post-production sound editing (like ADR).

Speaking of audio, the film is often too loud. Especially during pummelings. This points to a self-conscious approach to filmmaking.

Characters often talk over each other. Feels very Blue Beetle-y – the worst DC film ever produced. Another Gunnified piece. Children interact this way, not adults.

Superman packs similar material. The creators ensured that no evidence of harm came to any individual adult. Superman even wants to tranquilize the kaiju so they can study it.

But this is absurd and nonsensical. Given its size, we must assume that casualties have already occurred. Why would Superman think there’s time for tranquilization? Each wasted moment could cost hundreds of lives.

There are two moments involving CGI squirrels. Superman saves one. Isn’t that…bland?

James Gunn

Everybody’s favorite director came out hot with The Belko Experiment and Guardians of the Galaxy. Small and big. Both excellent.

But Guardians 2 was only okay. Guardians 3 was inadequate. [The holiday special’s better.]

And The Suicide Squad did not prove to be as good – or as life-changing – as people made it out to be. It certainly did not upgrade from the previous version. The film featured a starfish-shaped kaiju, rendered in computer graphics no less.

It’s nice that people are supportive, but Clark’s story deserves inspired direction. This is cookie-cutter filmmaking. Nothing edgy or compelling to the narrative.

The first film delivers the viewer a universe of endless possibility.

He should appear like a firefly in a coal mine. Here, he’s a beacon illuminating infinite tunnel potential – seemingly boundless choice.

Stick to the Universe

Not exciting compared with Snyder’s motivation. This takes things in a decidedly different direction. This isn’t so much Kal’s Earth as it is everybody’s Earth.

Rather – everybody’s socially acceptable Earth. Irritating personality quirks and all.

This is “Aw, shucks” Superman with his podunk parents. He’s just doing his best, ya know?

That instinct – to attempt something different – is good. It allows the film one of its best moments with Pa Kent.

It’s just not that interesting. Yes, it’s different. It’s NOT better.

Not trying to waste my free time on dull-edged Superman. I go to the theater for an experience – not more of the same thing everyone’s doing.

But DC and James Gunn made that choice. This should be better, people. So time to get in line.

Snyder set too high a bar. If Gunn’s Superman had come before Man of Steel, this incarnation might be more acceptable. But instead, it illustrates submission to public opinion – and a broader de-elevation of the DC brand.

★★★★

Briefer thoughts at IMDb & Letterboxd. Or check out The Fantastic Four: First Steps instead!

Scarlett Johannson in Jurassic World: Rebirth

Jurassic World: Rebirth

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

The Franchise Status

Seven Jurassic films so far, including the Park trilogy and the World quadrilogy.

  • Jurassic World is fine. Not life-changing but acceptable.
  • Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom is excellent. Never receives adequate credit.
  • The last installment, Jurassic World: Dominion, was terrible. Almost no redeeming qualities. Colossally uninspired.
  • Rebirth is also un-good.

Re-extinction Repackaged

Dinosaurs occupy a narrow equatorial band – the only place on Earth still capable of sustaining them. Re-extinction is imminent.

This info is central and uncompelling, but repeated several times. As if that’s all the story really is. As if this vague environmental pressure somehow provides a dramatic engine. It doesn’t.

The glorification of the majesty of dinosaurs? Tiresome at best.

Characters say drop-plotty clunkers like:

“It’s a flying carnivore the size of an F16!”

Redundance. Comparing a fake dinosaur to a military aircraft I’m vaguely familiar with. Too much in-moment math for this brain. That doesn’t feel like something a museum curator would say.

How about:

“It’s gonna eat your head, girl!”

Some Praise, Briefly

Rebirth is effective in creating raw tension. The material is unelevated—though slightly more so than the previous incarnation. Still, the story feels cheap. Thin. Disposable.

The Real Problem

This outlines everything wrong with Hollywood nowadays.
The deformed and unevolved IP reflects a good idea that has run its course.
The writing lacks quality and takes a firm anti-humanity stance.

It continues its misguided recent trend: still the feeble attempt to unearth a sociopolitical undercurrent. Dinosaurs are dying and whose fault is it? Humans. And their love of climate change.

Plot mechanics feel tired and predictable.

The Cold Open

Best part of the film. Despite being equally thin.

A Snickers bar wrapper (CGI) flutters free from a technician’s grasp. Animated trash which gets sucked into a door-based ventilation intake. This action triggers CGI smoke and sparks, causing the door-shutting mechanism to malfunction.

This resembles Final Destination: Bloodlines, which uses the same storytelling technique. A CGI object triggers an unclear mechanical malfunction that the audience must simply accept.

Why would an air intake system intersect with the electrical circuit of a door shut mechanism? Does the intake power the pneumatic system that drives the doors’ self-closing function? Then an electrical system shouldn’t short. If it’s actually a door-based component of the HVAC, the intake operates at an excessively high level.

This is BAD WRITING, proverbial reader. An animated bandaid.
Not clever product placement. LAZY FILMMAKING.

Releasing this candy wrapper has dire consequences. A monstrosity emerges. Due to…what exactly? The folly or unprofessionalism of this dino-scientist? This mutation testing facility conducts morally ambiguous experiments. So part of the evil zookeeping society grows too greedy to avoid candy bars in his radiation suit? Or is he so careless that he litters in a sterile laboratory, thus leading to the release of an evil dino mutant?

Thus Dr. Frankenstein is killed by his own monster. We’re not supposed to sympathize with their not-so-tragic fate.
Or are we?

This plot element will come back into play exactly when the audience expects. Unleashing havoc on the organic Earth beings.

Because they’re conducting tests, you see. The vile human race. Those lousy SOBs can’t help but mutate what is already unnatural. Could you resist such temptation? I can’t. I mutate every rabid dog and serial killer I meet.

So…what?

The problem is, there is no weight to this.
An evil zookeeper accidentally unleashes a monster. And it’s not helpful to the main characters.

Insert Diversity Here

A Spanish family joins our predicament – a dad and three kids. They jam into the story alongside the main crew. One of the kids, a teenager named Xavier, bears a Puerto Rican name that many mispronounce. This mispronunciation runs rampant throughout.

If these characters were from Puerto Rico, as the dialogue implies, they would pronounce it correctly.

This Hispanic family distracts from the development of the main plot. They serve as a weak device, like Dinostein’s Monster, meant to inject culture without any substantial knowledge of the actual culture they represent.

Some writer looked at a map of Gulf islands & a list of local names, decided this is how to resolve the glaring lack of Spanish speakers in the main cast.

Performance in Spite of It All

Scarlett delivers a seamless performance in her poorly written role. Always a proficient technician. This is a true career actress, retaining a level of professionalism even when working for the paycheck. Nonetheless it is not a believable performance.

Her character feels as artificial as the remaining cast.

But her main superpower?

Awareness of events from the film she didn’t participate in.

One particular moment: An interaction separate from her. A character’s actions suddenly come into question for no significant reason. There is no cause to suspect foul play.

And yet – when her new adversary reveals a shaky moral code, Scarlett responds with:

“I knew it!”

But the question remains: How?

I’ve been thinking about it and have come up with the answer:

Scarlett Johansson is God along the Jurassic equator.

Such a bold narrative choice! Count me in for another trilogy.

★★

For briefer thoughts: IMDb & Letterboxd.

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!

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.

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.