The original How to Train Your Dragon has one of the best scores in cinematic history. So with the release of the live action remake, we’re talking about some of our other favorite movie scores! Let us know your favorite @SiftPop!

The biggest Oscars snub in recent memory is easily Babylon losing Best Original Score in 2023. Justin Hurwitz and Damien Chazelle are on the kind of director/composer wavelength that is maybe only rivaled by Steven Spielberg and John Williams. The normal process of filmmaking often leads to scores being secondary or even tertiary at times, but given the relationship between Hurwitz and Chazelle, the music shapes the films from initial concept, and as of now, Babylon is the standout. The score sets the tone of the grandiosity and debauchery that Chazelle is trying to display, while also supplying delicate themes of love and romance using the same chord progression. Perfect film scores highlight the films they are featured in, but also hold up for standalone listening. Babylon manages to do both, while also keeping me engaged for its entire 189-minute runtime. (Aaron Schweitzer)

I (like many SiftPop contributors) have a playlist of instrumental scores from film, television, games, and everywhere else music exists, and it’s well over two days long. Very rarely will I come upon a soundtrack where I feel compelled to save every single track. It happened recently with Ryan Coogler’s Sinners, and then it happened again, even more recently, with Terrence Malick’s second feature Days of Heaven. The film is incredible, but the score is otherworldly – and it better be, seeing as it was composed by the legendary Ennio Morricone, who imbues Malick’s gorgeous and heavily storied visual language with a floaty, operatic orchestra of pure beauty. I’ve had it on repeat nonstop since I watched the film. “The Farmer and the Girl” (of which the soundtrack includes three different renditions), “Happiness,” and “Harvest” are the standout tracks, but they are all incredible, and all contribute to an incomparable melodic aural experience. Unfortunately, the full score is not streaming anywhere, but with some handy file sharing programs and a few USB-C cables, I can now listen to it any time I want. If you’re into movie scores, and especially if you have a similar playlist of your own, I urge you to give this one a try. (Rowan Wood)

While it may be the third movie in the one of the longest and largest movie franchises in history, John Barry’s Goldfinger score defined the sound and style of Bond for the next 60 years. I love the jazzy swing style of the orchestral brass, as it contrasts with the stringed instruments during the “Into Miami” and “Alpine Drive” peppered in with the title track melody. It feels very ‘60s, but equally timeless in the action adventure setting. It’s a score that is at times thrilling, others mysterious, a little sexy, and minimally menacing during “Oddjob’s Pressing Engagement.” I love the excitement of the score, and think it was easily a factor in cultivating my adoration for England’s most daring double O. (Patrice Downing)

There’s a reason why this is the tie-in topic for the live-action reboot and why every trailer and TV spot highlights John Powell’s incredible original score. Sure, the Bourne Trilogy score is also iconic, but How to Train Your Dragon is Powell’s legacy. It’s absolutely mesmerizing. “Test Drive” legitimately has an argument for being one of the best single scored tracks ever in a film. The way it captures the magic of Hiccup and Toothless’s first flight, and even elevates that feeling as you’re watching it, is a magic trick all of its own. Even outside of the most famous track, the whole soundtrack is extremely listenable. The utilization of bagpipes makes it stand out from its peers as one of the most recognizable scores in film history. (Jake Bourgeois)

Few scores can make people quiver with fear the same way that Jaws does. Scored to perfection by the legendary John Williams, Jaws does an amazing job of amping the tension and letting you sit in the dread of impending doom. Every time you hear it, your first instinct is to look around and make sure you’re safe. This score taught an entire generation of people to be afraid of the water. The most terrifying things are those you can’t see, and Jaws embodies that to a tee. Jaws’ score was the final piece that Spielberg needed in order to make the filmthe masterpiece that it is. It brings a suspense which highlights how vital it is to the success of the film. It is arguably the most important score in film history because if the score doesn’t work, Jaws wouldn’t be the same. (Mike Hilty)

John Williams has composed so many of the most recognizable movie scores of the past 50 years that it’s a shame to single out just one. His career includes some of the most iconic themes in cinematic history, from Indians Jones and Superman to Harry Potter and Star Wars —yet one stands out as far and away my favorite. Jurassic Park was the first movie I saw in theaters using the new state of the art Digital Surround Sound of the era, cementing the audio experience of one of my favorite movies as one of the most memorable. It would be hard for me not to picture the chiseled stone archway and thick wooden doors opening whenever I hear “Jurassic Park Gate,” or keep from getting a slight chill during “The Raptor Attack” or “T-Rex Rescue & Finale.” But unlike most musical compositions from films, the music of Jurassic Park can be heard out in the wild when exploring Universal’s Islands of Adventure. While roaming throughout the Jurassic Park Isla Nublar themed area of the theme park, hearing the score throughout the land adds to the immersive experience of feeling as if I really am about to ride the movie securing its place as my favorite film score. (Patrice Downing)

Before he became a bigger name in the composing game, “Junkie XL” Tom Holkenborg captured many people’s attention with his dynamite, dynamic, and dominating score for George Miller’s apocalyptic action symphony from The Wasteland, Mad Max: Fury Road. There are moments where Holkenborg leans heavily on the expected instruments of film composition, proceeding to deliver plenty of emotion and feeling through strings. The heavy metal elements of the Fury Road score are the ones that truly stand out. Its mixture of electric guitar, tribal drums, and electronic musing creates a unique and unrelenting soundscape that is second to none. The in-world Doof Warrior leading his metal band of insanity is just the cherry on top to make the score diegetic as well. “Brothers in Arms” is one of the truly great pieces of music created for a film in the past 25 years. Pulsating. Bombastic. Perfection. (Shane Conto)

I’m the kind of person who loves music, so film scores are definitely up my alley. Lately, I’ve been listening to Sinners, but before that, one “small” film with one of the best scores of the decade truly captured me: Oppenheimer. Ludwig Göransson has been building his filmography since 2011, and he shows no signs of slowing down. In recent years, he’s proven why he’s becoming one of the greatest composers of our time. Hearing the Oppenheimer score for the first time in theaters was a game-changer. The track “Can You Hear the Music” has completely taken over my life — every time I hear that melody, I can vividly see the montage of paintings, Oppenheimer, atoms, and glass shattering. And the last minute and a half of “Atmospheric Ignition,” where Oppenheimer and Einstein speak briefly, builds into this intense, euphoric high as the bass grows louder and more powerful. The score enhances every scene, weaving itself into the film’s emotional and thematic core, and it’s hard to imagine the film without it. I wasn’t surprised when it won Best Original Score in 2024 — nothing else came close that year. I even bought the soundtrack on vinyl, and it’s one of my favorite possessions. There’s something special about pulling it out and letting the music wash over you all over again. (Chantal Ashford)

Let me make this clear: Klaus Badelt’s work on Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl is utterly incredible. If I’m honest, it feels a little odd highlighting an entry here that technically has another credit on it, because a lot of what Hans Zimmer is doing in the sequel, Dead Man’s Chest, builds off Badelt’s original work. However, he also does something that elevates this above its predecessor, and that’s the addition of the theme for Davy Jones. To call it haunting doesn’t feel like it does it justice. It’s little additions like that that does what a sequel should and elevates this score above the original to make what already was a modern classic even better. (Jake Bourgeois)

My hot take for the week is that Rogue One: A Star Wars Story features the greatest score in a Star Wars project to date. Much of what makes it great is the framework set up by John Williams in the previous entries to that point, but handing the rains to Michael Giacchino was a daring move that paid off in spades for me. Giacchino perfectly taps into the themes of both the original and prequel trilogies and carves out space in the middle, similar to the film’s timeline. What makes this score stand out as my favorite, however, is the focus on hope as a theme of the movie. The score allows itself to go into the dark corners of the galaxy, but always remember the film is centered around hope, leaving every track with either a smile on my face or tears streaming down it. (Aaron Schweitzer)

by Nick Ferro, Contributing Writer

Dan Trachtenberg’s Prey was one of my favorite movies of 2022. It was an entry in a franchise that I, honestly, was not as well versed in at the time, so to say that it surprised me would be an understatement. I have since gone back and watched all of the other Predator movies that I hadn’t seen, and am happy to report that Prey is still my favorite of the bunch. But I have a ton of love for what this franchise does, despite it having been a bit stagnant for the decade leading up to Prey. One of the big hopes that I had for the franchise as a whole was for more movies like Prey, in that a Predator comes to earth during different time periods so that we can see how warriors from other cultures and eras would handle the situation. My only concern with that formula was, how would they differentiate these other stories and cultures from what Prey did in order to keep the franchise fresh? Well, I am happy to report that Trachtenberg and I were on the same wavelength, because Predator: Killer of Killers not only fulfilled my hope of the franchise, but also answered that very question!

Killer of Killers is an animated feature film split into four, roughly 20-minute, parts. The first three parts are given chapter headers: “Part One: The Shield,” “Part Two: The Sword,” and “Part Three: The Bullet.” I personally have been calling the unofficial fourth chapter “The Arena,” because it bugged me that they didn’t bother to name it, but also, without going into spoilers for the final act, it sums up nicely what you can expect. “The Shield” introduces Ursa (voiced by Lindsay LaVanchy), a Viking warrior from 841 AD who is leading her clan and son on a vengeful mission to find and kill the man who murdered her father. “The Sword” introduces Kenji and Kyoshi (both voiced by Louis Ozawa), two brothers who share a bond in 1600s Japan, being raised by a cruel father to fight each other to be his heir. “The Bullet” introduces us to John Torres (Rick Gonzalez), a man drafted in 1941 to fly planes in World War II. Each of these stories focus on the characters and their lives, shows their bond with their families or friends, and gives them a goal or a purpose. However, as you probably already guessed, they get interrupted when a Predator shows up to try and kill them or those around them. What I love about this movie is that each part is a character-driven short story first, and a Predator story second, yet neither element suffers. 

Part of what makes this movie so much fun is the visceral and brutal Predator action, and the several different types of Predators. Ursa must fight a behemoth predator more than twice her size, with some kind of punching tech drilled into his right hand. Kenji and Kyoshi, however, face off against a smaller, leaner, more hunter-like Predator who has an array of weapons from grappling hooks to grenades. Torres, being a pilot, goes up against a Predator with a spaceship, and we get some excellent dogfights in the sky, something we’ve never really seen before from this franchise. Each story’s Predator brings something new and unique to the table. 

As far as the individual stories go, I was incredibly invested in Kenji/Kyoshi’s. There is next to no dialogue throughout, and I have always been enamored by ancient samurai stories. This is storytelling at it’s finest as two brothers clash with each other and then have to work together when a greater threat emerges. The Predator represents their abusive father who drove them apart, and the way this is weaved into the story without dialogue is what I crave in movies nowadays. 

I really enjoyed Ursa’s story as well because of the brutality of the Viking combat. There is a oner where Ursa just obliterates every enemy in her path as she makes her way toward her target. My head was rolling watching this scene, much like those of her enemies. 

Torres’ part I enjoyed as well, but it was the one I enjoyed the least, for a few reasons. I don’t think it had much meat on its bones, as it was mostly action-based. His struggles were more in the moment and less existential, and while I like that he needed to use his brain more than his brawn, I was ultimately less impressed with him as a character, simply because he felt underdeveloped. 

The final act of the film has a clash of warriors on what I assume is the Predator home world, in a giant arena, fighting to the death for the chance to face off against the Predator Emperor (I think — his title wasn’t exactly clear). These characters put aside their difference to survive, and I really enjoyed how it played out, for two reasons: It does a really good job of both setting up future entries into this franchise and giving this movie a satisfying ending. I couldn’t help but be reminded of Star Wars, and how Han, Luke, and Leia formed a bond during their first adventure together which would lead to them having many more in the future. Thinking about that potential as the credits rolled gave me a level of excitement that I so rarely feel these days. 

If I had to knock the movie at all, though, as much fun as this final act is, I could imagine the last 20 minutes being expanded to a full 90-minute movie. In fact, I could see all three of the previous parts as movies of their own. Naturally, doing four full-length movies, live action or animated, would require an investment of time and money that no studio is willing to do these days, so I suppose I should be grateful for what we were given. But in a perfect world, each one of these stories would be awesome if given the Prey treatment. 

As for the animation, I have been seeing some mixed things regarding the style and frame rate, and I unfortunately have nothing to report on this other than, I personally thought that the animation style is very nice to look at, and I found it a cross between a video game and cell shaded animation. A few months ago, I wrote about how The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim had a wholly forgettable visual pallet — I liked how it looked after getting used to it, but it wasn’t anything special. That is not the case with Predator: Killer of Killers. I really enjoyed how the visuals popped, especially during “The Sword.” Each part has a slightly different color grading due to their time and place, and each time, save for the final act, the animation really comes to life. 

With Trachtenberg being the showrunner for everything Predator right now, I have a ton of faith that he is crafting a universe that has nowhere to go but up, and it makes me even more excited for the live action Predator: Badlands coming to theaters in the fall. I can’t wait to see where this story goes, but based on the Killer of Killers’ post-credit tease, I hope that Trachtenberg gets to deliver!

Rating: Loved It

Predator: Killer of Killers is currently streaming on Hulu

You can read more from Nick Ferro, and follow him on Letterboxd

by Shane Conto, Staff Writer

What do you get when you combine a shark creature feature with a serial killer narrative? Well… a film with lots of horror potential. That is exactly the type of story being told by director Sean Byrne and writer Nick Lepard in Dangerous Animals, a fascinating concept with a wealth of blood, guts, and horror. This Australian film focuses on a shark tours captain who has an eerie penchant for kidnapping women, taking them out to the ocean, dangling them for sharks, and videotaping all the messed up and demented details of the plan. It is not a film for the faint of heart, and it just might change your perception of Australian export Jai Courtney. 

Dangerous Animals is going for a big vibe, with plenty of things to process. First off, it looks good, as the sharks are mostly real. Honestly, they’re some of the best-looking movie sharks in a long time. Cinematographer Shelley Farthing-Dawe does a great job of giving this film an engaging look, maximizing the darkness at night and the unrelenting Australian sun during the day. Sharp blocking and camera work, this is a dynamic feeling film. Kasra Rassoulzadegan’s editing is precise as well, delivering dark humor and horror. Michael Yezerski’s score can be really overbearing at times, but the music itself is still effective. Overall, the slasher elements shine — the film moves well and keeps you hooked from start to finish. There are times later in the film where you might have to suspend your disbelief based on illogical decisions that allow the film to keep going, and there are a few slasher and shark movie clichés, but overall the film is quite clever.

The story starts off with a great cold open that nicely sets up the danger and the antagonist. Then it pivots into setting up a solid romance between our protagonist Zephyr (Hassie Harrison) and her new flame Moses (Josh Heuston). For a newfound connection, they are provided with a solid foundation. Zephyr is an interesting character — she has tenacity, drive, fearlessness, and resourcefulness, which is great, as we watch go through so much. She struggles to build connections as well, which opens the door for her distance with Moses. But our protagonist certainly has a great antagonist to go toe-to-toe with. Bruce (Courtney) is a twisted man who loves to watch people become victims of shark violence and death. His ocean life metaphors and perspective about being a fighter or victim makes him an intimidating and intense presence.

In fact, this is probably the best performance of Courtney’s career. He cuts loose and goes full-blown insane which is fun to watch. Then, his moments of intensity, with his physicality and deep voice, will leave you shaken. Courtney’s performance is darkly funny, and he charismatically delivers. 

Meanwhile, Harrison is an amazing lead. Her strength and presence are electric and pull you in. She makes our protagonist tough as nails, and she is believable in every moment. Heuston is rock-solid as Zephyr’s romantic partner. He won’t be part of most conversations about Dangerous Animals, but he works well with Harrison.

Dangerous Animals is one of the best shark movies in a long time. The genre mixing with the serial killer beats just works so well, with shocking and unexpected moments that make it stand out. Byrne injects a confidence and big personality into the film, leaving you thoroughly satisfied with the whole experience. 

Rating: Liked It

Dangerous Animals is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Shane Conto, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Cris Mora-Villa, Contributing Writer

“The sacred fig tree, which is considered sacred in ancient Iranian culture, has an unusual cycle of life. The seeds of this tree fall on other trees, hidden in droppings of birds that feed on its fruit. These seeds then sprout on the branches of those trees. The sprouts send their roots down towards the ground and gradually, the branches cover the trunk of the host and suffocate it. Thereafter, the sacred fig tree stands on its own feet.”

Mohammad Rasoulof’s The Seed of the Sacred Fig opens with a summarization of the life cycle for a species of fig known as ficus religiosa. As a prologue to the film, the opaque delineation of its contents leave much to unpack, both as it appears on screen and during the end credits. Even if I could not recall the exact verbiage, its presence stayed with me all the same. What became clear upon revisiting the film and seeing these words in their proper context was how spiritually envisaged the prologue is, akin to philosophical text. Symbolic of a regime that’s come to feel everlasting, the interpretive vernacular of an ecological entity cyclically spreading via a violent act of nature is telling of where Rasoulof is coming from in naming this movie after such an idea. Rasoulof places the focus on his home country of Iran to give the prologue its purpose. For reasons evident in the picture, Rasoulof doesn’t shy away from shining a light on Iran’s ethical and political misdeeds. When examining Rasoulof’s personal history with Iran’s theocratic practices, the inevitability of where the two would part is itself a reflection of this film’s ending. The separation of oneself from a system that seeps into every corner of your existence, all in the attempt for that system to maintain its own power by any means necessary.

In my personal estimation, The Seed of the Sacred Fig falls in equal standing with I’m Still Here, as no other two films in 2024 left as significant an impact on me as those two. Viewing both works in such close proximity brought forth the notion of them as companion pieces. This is in large part due to their similarly defined subject matter concerning politically fraught settings that leave an irrevocable impact on a single family. For that reason, certain sentiments behind what I had previously written in my I’m Still Here review resonate rather closely to Sacred Fig in ways that extend beyond my own canon. While I’m Still Here may have won the Oscar for Best International Film at this year’s Academy Awards, Sacred Fig stood right alongside it as a fellow nominee. On another night, perhaps the latter walks away with the trophy in hand. As it stands, however, the film is nothing short of a masterclass in filmmaking that wholeheartedly commits to its condemnation of authoritarianism, while showcasing an empathy inherent in humanity in dignified fashion.

The Seed of the Sacred Fig follows the conflicts in a lower middle class family when Iman (Missagh Zareh) is promoted to a new position as an investigative judge, leading to distrust within his home life amidst growing political unrest in the city of Tehran. The foundation for Rasoulof’s tenth feature film was laid years before production ever began. With 20 years of directing in his back pocket, Rasoulof has had plenty of personal experiences to arrive at a clear understanding of the place from which he came. For the better part of a decade, the Islamic Revolutionary Court has made its presence known on multiple occasions regarding Rasoulof’s projects. Reasons cited for their intrusions range from the spreading of propaganda to participation in political activity. The consequences of these charges would come in the form of several punishments aimed at Rasoulof directly. He was punished for the mere existence of his art, which he saw as an honest examination of his home country as it currently existed. The court deemed otherwise, and were all too keen to throw fines his way, confiscate his passport, and issue a ban preventing him from leaving the country. Throughout this time, Rasoulof would also receive years-long sentences to serve out in prison. This is the extent to which the Iranian government has gone in attempts to silence Rasoulof, but it was the release of The Seed of the Sacred Fig that proved to be their final straw for both sides.

Rasoulof would be released from his most recent sentencing in early 2023, with an added ban prohibiting him from making any movies for two years. This is where production for Sacred Fig takes root, as at the same time, nationwide civil unrest of near unprecedented scale would collide with the Iranian government. To the best of my recollection, no specifics are provided on the cause of origin for the many protests that occur in the background of the picture. Mahsa Amini, a university student who was arrested for not wearing a hijab, and would later succumb to injuries sustained by the police while in their custody, is not named for having further escalated the events that take place in the film’s backdrop, but her life force is present throughout the entirety of the film in an act of endurance. As is the essence of the hundreds of others whose lives were lost in the two-year span during which the conflict between government and populous took place. Such an act of remembrance is achieved through Rasoulof’s self-assured direction, and the keen eye of Sacred Fig‘s editor, Andrew Bird. Together, the overwhelming weight of events happening on the other side of the globe make their way onto the screen without the barrier of protection that is fiction. The narrative is an extension of Rasoulof’s own imagination, but interspersed throughout are cracks of reality that blend the lived experience of the movie’s characters with that of our own. 

The role of “media” likely goes unrivaled when discussing a pillar of industry whose breadth of influence on the genetic makeup of today’s society extends to nearly every corner of the Earth. As technology has continued to evolve, immense shifts have followed in the culture for how one absorbs information. Where one comes from, and how news of the world makes its way to each person’s periphery, is key to forming their perspective. Sacred Fig keys in on this to establish character and formulate their trajectory. Iman is somewhat exempt from this, as he’s positioned as a fixture for what allows cracks to form in the home via his promotion. He doesn’t need to hear what the news is saying to draw conclusions when he finds himself dealing with the consequences of his work. It is his family who occupy the observational stance as the effects of Iran’s ongoing conflicts are unavoidable for its home base to ignore. Iman’s wife Najmeh (Soheila Golestani) is of a different generation who is less privy to the worldview her daughters see. What she sees through the curated portrait that is television of an unscrupulous rebellion from citizens unwilling to obey order, her daughter’s view as a subjugation of people’s rights through violence. Najmeh is more trusting of the narratives that traditional Iranian news outlets choose to broadcast. Her daughters Sana (Setareh Maleki) and Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) look past the set upon system of narrative on TV and instead stare at a differing truth found on their phones.

Scenes of Sana and Rezvan on their devices, and seeing what was happening in real time to their own people, were where I could most relate to the film. I’ve spent a great deal of time doing just this. This is how I engage with the general landscape of today’s society, politics, and culture, both at home and abroad. I take in what the world has to offer at present and make of it what I will, but in the midst of that process are often conflicted feelings of disorientation, contempt, and apathy. Such emotions are not unique to myself, as I know many experience a similar degree of screen dependency. What differs are the thoughts and opinions people have not just to individual articles or videos, but reactions from the rest of the world to said news. No one with a foot in the ocean that is social media is excluded from its side effects, for its stranglehold is too all-encompassing to not perpetuate these cyclical dynamics. Rezvan and Sana fall closely within my age range, and so are old enough to where they can recognize what is happening in their own home. By staring at their screens to gauge the severity of the protests, they are seeing a concrete account of somebody else’s perspective as videos begin to crop up on their feeds depicting violence. Their reactions mirror my own, as well as the audience from my initial viewing, in that any pretense of safety completely dissipates. The sisters grow anxious and fearful of what they are witnessing directly because of how personal the on screen footage feels. Najmeh never has this experience, and so she approaches the entire situation with tilted eyes.

Najmeh offers a different perspective than that of her daughters. Where Rezvan and Sana are prone to questioning the methods by which authoritarian powers are using to shut down protestors, Najmeh embraces a position of safety. This stance isn’t explicitly arrived at through the sporting of nationalistic values, as her political beliefs are almost nonexistent from the picture. She has no stance to adhere to that contrasts her daughters’ opinions, as what motivates her thinking above all else is a commitment to Iman in his efforts to succeed at a higher position and a growing fear of what could happen to her family should Sana and Rezvan act carelessly. Najmeh has her own understanding of what goes on in times of such chaos, and is unrelenting in upholding her worldview if she believes it’s what is best for her family. In short, what’s driving that impulse is her sworn fealty to her role as a mother and wife. There is a layer of judgement towards the unruly youth, who are in turn punished by authority, but any lack of empathy stemming from that hardly threatens to overtake Najmeh’s own concerns for her daughters were they to get caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. No risk is too small to let slide considering the volatility at play, especially when the potential for a grander reward is within the family’s reach. It’s not meaningless that Najmeh also seeks the class ascendancy that comes with being an investigative judge. The position gives the possibility for security and comfort in return for its weighty implications. Najmeh and Iman don’t live in poverty, but that doesn’t negate the desire to get the most out of life, even if the cost is the corruption of the soul. To this, Najmeh, Sana, and Rezvan are to an extent kept in the dark as the bearer for that torch is Iman.

The most clearly defined character is Iman. We spend time with him as he tackles his newly found duties which are far removed from what he’d done previously, and is quick to question the merit of as arrests escalate. Part of how he obtained the position to begin with was through the spotless reputation he had amassed from his time as a lawyer in the Revolutionary Courts. Iman’s sense of honesty and commitment to doing his job to the best of his ability does merit an apt reward, but the circumstances of his promotion only contaminate his efforts by forcing him to abandon his morality. Retroactive reports surrounding the protests note that the number of arrests during this time approached 20,000, with deaths confirmed totaling over 500. For all of those instances, the need for the conceptual spokes on a wheel within the hierarchy of Iran’s government become necessary to fulfill the roles that keeps the wheel turning. Rasoulof makes it clear that being in the position of a judge means doing what the powers at be insist get done, for the alternative equals termination. With that in mind, Iman could just be doing his job. At the same time, however, that position deflects the responsibility of his actions by chalking it up to the wills of a higher power. He may not be the one giving orders, nor does he embrace an obedient ideology in the same way his peers do, but he still walks down the path that they did, despite where it ultimately leads him.

Rasoulof does not forgo clarification of the most important thing Iman is tasked with doing as part of his job. That is serving as the antiquated, which allows for the prison sentences and executions to be carried out. That weight falls square on his shoulders, and with it seeds of paranoia which eventually enter the family home. On par with the pacing of the movie itself, said paranoia slowly builds to the climax of Iman’s atrophy in the back half. The film’s structure is intentionally split into two halves, resembling acts of a play. The establishing of character, their separate motivations, and setting in its first half are all indispensable when arriving at the film’s final moments when tensions shown throughout leave an irrevocable impact on this family. It is at that point where the theme of spirituality which has loomed large over the runtime meets a sort of predestination which cannot be separated from the opening passage. The concoction of paranoia, need for religious salvation, and duty-bound fealty to protect his family only accelerate his arc from an ordinary father to a man who loses himself to darkness. Try though he might to offset this end with his piety, the presence of inevitability brewing over him perfectly speaks to the language of the film’s parable of a decaying host infected by a foundational force. For as damning as this element is in regards to character, the epilogue acts as an emotional counterpoint to the parable from which we began. In this, Rasoulof revisits the tool of media to make way in the audience’s mind the possibility that brighter outcomes can exist. You need only look a bit further ahead. 

We as a collective spectator aren’t lost for examples which highlight the existence of some very real, and at times ghastly, events that have been recorded by cameras both built into our environment and accessible by way of phones. When kept under the scope of the film’s narrative, we see these videos as acts of other peoples lived experiences during the months of the protests. Sana and Rezvan’s reactions inform character and reinforce their belief systems in ways that are not afforded to their parents. The audience is given respite from the confined in-movie experience to a whole other side of the internet. One that doesn’t solely focus on melancholy, but a celebration of the enduring spirit that gives birth to and sprouts from revolution. The reason officials cited for Mahsa Amini’s arrest after she was pronounced dead was her improper donning of a hijab in public. The response to her death was a seismic indication of the willingness to not cower in the face of the oppressive customs. At the root of Iran’s response to the protests are a set of practices which embrace a wanton need to stomp out anything that crosses the line of their societal and religious customs. They are the boot and any detractors of the status quo are bugs. The fact that the last images Rasoulof leaves the viewer with is of open aired expression, specifically from the perspective of the female populous, doesn’t just speaks to the film’s pro-feminist messaging, but serves as the ultimate act of posterity that plants a flag announcing, “This is what was, time will unveil what will be.” And if I could use my imagination for a moment, I’d like to think time will leave this cycle a thing of the past.

Rating: High Side of Loved It

You can read more from Shane Conto, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Jake Hjort, Contributing Writer

Welcome back, fellow time travelers, to another edition of 20th Century Flicks! This month, in a continued effort to check classic cinema off of my list of shame, I’m diving back to the year 1957 to watch Ingmar Bergman’s Wild Strawberries. As I carry on with my journey to cover some of Hollywood’s greatest directors, I figured my quest would not be complete without a look-in on Bergman, who not only shaped the Swedish film industry, but continues to influence filmmakers around the globe today. 

Wild Strawberries, like much of Bergman’s work, is set in Sweden, and follows aging professor of medicine Isak Borg (Victor Sjöström) as he drives from Stockholm to Lund to accept an academic award. Joining Isak on his journey is his daughter-in-law Marianne (Ingrid Thulin), who struggles with the bitter nature of both Isak and his son. Along their way, the two encounter several other travelers who force Isak to reckon with his past, including free-spirited Sara (Bibi Andersson) and her two admirers, Viktor (Björn Bjelfvenstam) and Anders (Folke Sundquist), and bickering married couple Sten (Gunnar Sjöberg) and Berit Alman (Gunnel Broström). 

Coming into this, I really had no idea what to expect in terms of the story, tone, or artistry. I am, of course, broadly aware of Bergman as a director and his contribution to cinema history, but I’d never actually seen one of his films before this one. Call me ignorant for not having high expectations for one of the most acclaimed directors of all time, but I was really blown away by how much I enjoyed Wild Strawberries. The story is simple, following just one man as he travels, quite literally, down memory lane, but Bergman distills a great depth of the human experience into this 91-minute package. We hardly know Isak, seeing just one day of his life, plus a few flashbacks, but the time that we do get is so well-crafted that we really get the chance to understand him. Isak is aloof, cantankerous, and stubborn, traits that the film certainly does not forgive him for, but as he relives his past through memories and the hitchhikers he picks up and, as he confronts love and legacy through nightmares and daydreams, both the audience and he himself are able to unearth why he is this way and what he may need to do to find peace. 

With so much of the film’s weight on Isak’s shoulders, it would fall flat without a great leading performance, and thankfully Sjöström is able to deliver one. Himself a titan of the Swedish film industry, Sjöström made a name for himself as a prolific director and actor of silent films, his illustrious career ending here with his final role as Dr. Isak Borg. You can certainly feel the weight of his age and career in this performance, as he crafts a character that feels incredibly fleshed out, dynamic, and inspired by real life experiences. Alongside Sjöström, the cast is filled with many of Bergman’s regular collaborators giving great supporting performances, with Andersson, Thulin, and Björnstrand being particular standouts.

Aside from the emotional gut punches and great characters, what impressed me most about Wild Strawberries is how beautiful it is. Cinematographer Gunnar Fischer is an absolute master of the monochrome, drawing out more contrast and depth in the various shades of gray than I’ve ever seen before. Never before have I watched a black-and-white film and felt as though I could see the full range of color that the camera was once pointed at. There’s no sweeping vistas or dynamic action sequences that often get all the cinematography praise, but there’s so much beauty in the simple moments in the car and in the Swedish countryside that I would put this high in my estimation of the best shot films I’ve seen. 

Wild Strawberries is a simple film, but in that simplicity Bergman is able to draw out many of the complex truths of life. Despite the lack of flash, this is an incredibly memorable watching experience that I think will stick with me for quite some time and continue to gain more favor the more I think about it. This is a movie which, frankly, would never have been on my radar if not for writing this column, but I am so glad to have found it and to now be inspired to watch more of Bergman and Sjöstrom’s work.  

You can read more from Jake Hjort, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Shane Conto, Staff Writer

One of the most exciting aspects of the rich and dynamic John Wick universe is that there are so many different factions, tribes, and organizations, with plenty of history, conflicts, and characters to explore. Wick himself is such a haunting and intimidating presence that sparks fear in everyone who crosses his path, and his tale of revenge, retribution, and revolution was expertly told over the course of a four film. But there are many more characters with their own stories, backgrounds, and missions to explore. The franchise’s first cinematic spinoff (after Peacock’s series The Continental) does not shy too far away from Wick’s realm of the Ruska Roma. Trained in the same tradition as Wick, we have Ana de Armas’ Eve. A ballerina and assassin, her father was murdered by a dangerous tribe, and she seeks vengeance. Buckle up… here we go again. 

After the first four films were directed by Chad Stahelski, Len Wiseman is the credited director on From the World of John Wick: Ballerina, and that is one of the more challenging things to reckon with here. Because from reports, it seems like Ballerina really is Stahelski’s film in the end. Almost the whole film was reportedly reshot by Stahelski, which led to its one-year delay. The scenes shot by Wiseman and his crew are fairly apparent — they have more of his Underworld aesthetic, versus the distinct look of Stahelski’s John Wick works. Ballerina might be a Wiseman film in name, but it really isn’t, and doesn’t feel that way. There is serious clunkiness in the first act, which highlights the clashing of Wiseman and Stahelski’s work. 

But when the film moves into its second act, it doesn’t look back, becoming the full-blown action thrill ride that you would expect from this franchise. Romain Lacourbas’ cinematography is filled with detail and flair. He crafts dynamic shots, with the action being brought to life in fully in-camera. And the action itself is impressive as always. Its cool atmosphere with rich, colorful lighting gives the film an engrossing feeling. Plus, its good sense of humor leads to moments with legitimately hilarious laughs. 

You expect the action to deliver in these films, but does Ballerina offer up an engaging new story? Eve certainly makes for a cool and empathetic new hero. Her father was murdered by a mysterious tribe of warriors, so she is taken in by The Director (Anjelica Huston) to become a Ruksa Roma, where a career of being an assassin becomes her new focus. But one fateful mission uncovers an X on an enemy’s wrist, opening the door for Eve’s newly invigorated journey to get vengeance for her father. Revenge stories are quite familiar for this franchise, but Ballerina manages to stay fresh, featuring interesting twists and turns. The world building is well done here, even if some of the narrative groundwork in the first act is delivered in a clunky fashion. 

Namely, though there are plenty of returning characters, most of them don’t get a ton to do. While the Director and John Wick (Keanu Reeves) make the biggest impacts on the story, Wick’s presence comes across as if it was a later addition, along with Stahelski’s reshoots. But at least his connections to Eve make sense in the context of their backgrounds and her vengeful mission. Late revelations flesh out Eve’s background and how it fits into the greater underworld of the franchise. When it comes down to it, Ballerina has enough story and connection to build up Eve, and to give her lots of opportunities to take out goons in the most creative ways. 

de Armas is of course the star of this film. She delivers all the physicality with zeal and energy. You can feel her struggle, as she portrays a newer assassin who is still learning her craft. de Armas is naturally charming and charismatic, and she goes against type to be cold and distant, which she does a fine job with. Reeves is John Wick for sure, and he sells every minimal line of dialogue and all his physicality. Huston is tough, with some bites as The Director. Her legendary presence is definitely welcome. Ian McShane and the late Lance Reddick do their thing well, and are glad additions to the film. Veteran actor Gabriel Byrne brings presence and arrogance to the ruthless and refined The Chancellor, the leader of the antagonistic, brutal tribe of killers. Norman Reedus is a bigger name added to the mix, and he is solid in his limited screen time. But the real shoutout needs to go to all the stunt performers who fill out so many of the other characters, and sell every bit of the action and mayhem. They are the real MVPs of this top tier action franchise. 

The wrinkles from the clashing directors are obvious, but Ballerina is still a wild, exciting, and entertaining thrill ride. The action is creative, with flamethrowers, kitchen instruments, and grenades… so many grenades, and Eve is a skilled, intense, and crafty protagonist with plenty of missions in her future. The film shows the promise of expanding the Wick universe — here’s to hoping the road is a little smoother for the next go-around. 

Rating: Liked It

Ballerina is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Shane Conto, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Shane Conto, Staff Writer

There is nothing like the connection between a parent and child, and nothing is more painful than the loss of a child. Writer/director Evan Ari Kelman explores such a situation in his thriller, Barron’s Cove. This film is not your standard film about loss as a parent, because it has a protagonist, Caleb (Garrett Hedlund), who will do just about anything to find out the truth behind his son’s brutal death, including kidnapping a mysterious and unnerving child who might know the truth. This kidnapping turned conspiracy has plenty of twisted elements up its sleeve. 

Kelman crafts a consistent atmosphere that is pregnant with gloom, doom, and pain. The tension can be cut with a knife, and the visuals and tone are as darkened and brutal as the nature of the story. There are big emotional moments as well, including those where Caleb sees the scene, or when his son’s mother Jackie (Brittany Snow) first identifies the body. This is not a film with much subtlety. It is big, impactful, and chilling. So many scenes are hard to watch because of how devastating they are. The tone and vibe can be overbearing at times, but when you are dealing with such sensitive topics, you expect the emotions to be as high as they can be — Kelman deftly explores all of this. 

But his writing doesn’t quite reach the heights of his direction. Barron’s Cove works because its atmosphere and tone elevate above glaring shortcomings in the script. But there are effective and impactful elements in Kelman’s script as well. What makes this film so fascinating is the complexity of its characters and scenarios. Caleb is not a good man. He is willing to brutalize, threaten, and kidnap a child. Ironically, the love he has for his son anchors his character. The child he kidnaps is at first glance quite evil and diabolical. What is the most impressive in this story is the unexpected connection that Kelman crafts between Caleb and his kidnapping victim, Ethan (Christian Convery). Their similar trauma bonds them in a situation that is complicated and perverse. Certain subplots and red herrings make the film a bit too convoluted and clunky. And the film’s bluntness at times takes things too far in regards to how complex and flawed this cast of characters is. Some loose logic and unrefined narrative beats make the film a compelling yet flawed experience. There could have been a few moments, scenes, and characters completely cut without changing anything substantially.

The cast has to be excellent to really sell what Kelman is doing, and luckily he found performers to rise to that occasion. Hedlund is a raw, throbbing nerve in human form, and his big acting choices hit. There is a thin line between melodramatic overacting and what Hedlund does, yet he fits nicely into the positive side. Snow has a few big moments herself, and she really sells them. Convery crafts an unnerving turn as the kidnapped boy, and he gives off lots of suspicious vibes. Without his and Hedlund’s performances, this film would struggle mightily to deliver on such a complicated narrative. 

Meanwhile, Hamish Linklater’s character Lyle doesn’t have tons of layers, but Linklater makes him so believably slimy and awful. Stephen Lang is the biggest supporting character actor who makes a big impact, not to discount that of Marc Menchaca, Raúl Castillo, and Tramell Tillman, each of whom have limited roles. 

Barron’s Cove is certainly flawed, but enough of it clicks. Its rich and dark themes (those of trauma, loss, forgiveness, and consequences) make this a dour yet emotional experience. Kelman does not deliver a smooth path to the film’s resolution, but there is enough rawness and tension to make it at least worthwhile.

Rating: It Was Just Okay

Barron’s Cove is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Shane Conto, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Shane Conto, Staff Writer

Are you ready for yet another exorcism movie? After the release of The Exorcist, Hollywood’s unhealthy love affair with the exorcism subgenre began. There is only so much that you can do with this specific setup. A child or woman (it’s always one of the two) is possessed by the devil, a demon, or some other malevolent entity, and a priest who probably has some baggage must step up and go toe-to-toe in a spiritual battle with said entity. No matter how many of these films come out, we always get more. But the world of film is finally bringing the most famous, well-documented, and early exorcisms to the big screen. 

Writer/director of The Ritual,David Midell, tackles this classic structure with a fresh take, filming it with a documentary style. Cinematographer Adam Biddle leverages this handheld approach to get the audience up close and personal with the events going on, which captures the subtlety in some of the performances. With the documentary style camera work, the visual experience is quite muted and somber. There are so many shades of muted gray colors, giving this film such an unremarkable feel. 

Though it does feature some quality reaction shots as well, which build some tension and suspense, unfortunately, there just aren’t enough of those in The Ritual to make it stand out. So many other exorcism films capture the horror of the situation, but this one lacks bite. It is a weighty and dark film that goes for dread, but is still lacking. 

The screenplay from Midell and Enrico Natale doesn’t offer anything new either. Even though this is a true story that has influenced most of the famous exorcism films out there, it just does not feel fresh or interesting in 2025. It’s filled with plenty of tropes. Dan Stevens’ Father Steiger is the protagonist who has trauma from his brother’s death, and a bit of a flirty dynamic with Ashley Greene’s Sister Rose. Outside of that, he does not have much characterization at all. Al Pacino’s Father Theophilus Riesinger is just that old school type of priest who is all faith and no brakes. Not much to him either. Even when it comes to the manifestations of the possession, most of what happens has played out on screen before. There are a few gnarly moments set up in the film, and they do deliver at least, but no characters really stand out at all. A few fleeting ideas, like a dark cloaked entity taunting Father Riesinger, pop up, but they are not memorable enough to make this film noteworthy. 

As for the cast which brings the unremarkable characters to life, Stevens is such a great actor, and he deserves more interesting roles than this. He only has fleeting moments of charm and a few big emotional moments, which he obviously nails. The performance is solid at least. Meanwhile, Pacino is much more subdued than most of his performances in the last 30 years. His accent just sounds like the same generic one he has done recently when playing foreign characters. When he starts yelling at the possessive entity, that is the only real glimpse of the Pacino we know. 

Greene is a fine member of the cast, and Abigail Cowen dives headlong into that “I’m possessed” performance. Patrick Fabian and Patricia Heaton are in supporting roles that give them little to work with, but they are at least welcomed additions to the cast. 

The Ritual is definitely not the exorcism film that will finally break the mold. Even with the weight of being directly based on the most famous American exorcism of all time, this film manages to be much too familiar and uninspired. It is just more of the same.

 Rating: Didn’t Like It

The Ritual is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Shane Conto, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Mike Hilty, Contributing Writer

Hacks has been on a roll lately. It swiped the Best Comedy Series awards at both the Emmys and the Golden Globes, Jean Smart continues her in the lead acting category, and it is still HBO’s most consistent and best comedy series. Three seasons in, and it’sis still in a strong position to continue its upward trajectory. So with Season Four, Hacks was starting to get into some uncharted territory.

Or so I thought.

Season Four picks up right where Season Three ends. Deborah (Jean Smart) gets her dream job, and Ava (Hannah Einbinder) jockeys her way to a high-end job. The tension between the two is still there, as Ava didn’t precisely get the job in the most ethical way. She took a page right out of Deborah’s playbook, being cutthroat to get her way.

As always, Hacks’ most consistent trait is its humor. The jokes come in two different ways this season. First, from Deborah’s new show, where they sometimes feel manufactured. It’s part of the point, though. Deborah’s latest project has to appeal to a general audience, not just her typical fan base. She still manages to find ways to inject her personality into her new venture. Second, the jokes come from the lives of Deborah and Ava’s chaotic relationship. Whether it’s at Ava, Deborah, or their two managers’ expense, the best moments of the show come from the real-life situations outside of Deborah’s new job.

The first part of the season focuses on the fallout from Ava’s decision at the end of Season Three. We are used to Deborah and Ava being at odds, but this feels different. Ava isn’t exactly known for her backbone, and this is the first time in three years that she stands up to Deborah in a way that causes friction. Deborah has always been a little ruthless towards Ava, but this is getting to uncomfortable levels of toxicity. When an H.R. team had to be brought in to make sure they don’t kill each other, Hacks truly goes into uncharted territory.

What made Ava and Deborah’s relationship different is that Deborah finally understood that Ava isn’t an employee; she’s a partner. This is the core part of this season that makes the series work. Smart dials up the acting this season by being more vulnerable than she’s ever been.  She’s realizing her dream, and she’s finally starting to come to terms with the fact that she didn’t get to where she is by herself. It’s a staggering lesson for Deborah to learn, and Smart delivers on all accounts. She’s a shoo-in for another Emmy.

Einbinder is in new territory as well with Ava’s. She’s not used to having the upper hand, even though she’s the lynchpin to what has made Deborah as successful as she’s been throughout the show. Ava has never been one to push so forcibly towards Deborah that she might get into a potential conflict. They fight and bicker, like any team does, but this season shows Ava’s truly growing as a character. Ava has always been a bit awkward, but she feels more comfortable in her skin, and more confident in her abilities.

This season finally sees Deborah pushing back on show business. Deborah has been a comedian for a long time, and Season Four sees her subvert expectations. You expect Deborah to relish in her moment in the spotlight as long as possible. However, what she soon realizes is that selling her soul isn’t worth the cost of a dream coming true. Season Four excels with this lesson, making it the most impactful of the entire series. 

The season should have ended with Episode Eight or Nine, because the final episode leaves a lot to be desired, taking the series in a direction that feels a little cheap. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it ruined the season for me, but it had me wondering how much longer Hacks’ runway is.

It turns out Season Four is a crossroads for Hacks. We get some excellent character development, as well as some funny and heartfelt moments, and it gives Hollywood some much-needed grief for how it treats people. Yet while I’m still fully invested, I can’t imagine that the show goes on for much longer after this season. The ride was still very much worth my time, though.

Rating: Liked It

Hacks is currently streaming on Max

You can read more from Mike Hilty, and follow him on Instagram, Letterboxd, and Serializd

by Shane Conto, Staff Writer

What do you get when you mix a gay couple, rural Italy, a comedy of errors, and a mounting body count? I Don’t Understand You, the horror/comedy from the writer/director duo of David Joseph Craig and Brian Crano. Andrew Rannells and Nick Kroll play the gay couple on their honeymoon in Italy who gets a pregnant mother, Candice (Amanda Seyfried), to let them adopt her child. A night of authentic Italian cuisine turns into a twisted nightmare where accidents happen, and their resolve is tested. This film is full of laughs, blood, and unexpected outcomes.

First off, this is quite a funny film. The leads maximize the comedic scenarios that keep getting lined up, with plenty of snarky lines from Rannells and Kroll. But the comedy is not just limited to there. The physical comedy with slapstick deaths make for some crazy elements, with unexpected setups rooted in confusion and mixed communication. The domino effect of accidents flows well together, creating entertaining scenarios for our central couple to be challenged by. 

Though, some moments are frustrating, since the comedy is low-hanging fruit, or because simple logic could solve so much of what happens. Plus, all the gay jokes are uninspired and clunky.

But while I Don’t Understand You is an effective comedy, to call it horror is a stretch. The film certainly has some bloody outcomes for many of its characters, but that does not make it horror. Don’t go in expecting actual scares… just lots of death through a comedy of errors. The film is mostly funny, but it does have some good emotional beats (though with some inconsistent emotional resonance from the cast). 

As a whole, the film’s biggest challenge is its lack of thematic bite. The film minds its business, writing so much off as accidental, and just letting the consequences go. Our main couple will do anything for their future family… that is all I’ll say for now. There are a plethora of ways this film could have added some depth, but it skirts them at almost every chance. It’s saved by Candice being the emotional core. 

While most of the cast fills their roles well, there is one strange outlier: Kroll. While he is hilarious, and has moments that work, there is something unserious about his little quirks that make the other parts of his performance not click. His dynamic with Rannells is not the most convincing. The emotional beats are much more effective from Rannells. Kroll is still a fun presence, but there is just something missing from his work in the film. 

Rannells, on the other hand, is authentic and believable. Seyfried turns out to be a wonderful addition, as she manages to convey so much emotion, even when most of her performance is done through FaceTime. Meanwhile, Nunzia Schiano delivers charm that goes off the charts — she brings strong emotion to each scene as she sells her character’s trauma, while Morgan Spector is good as Nunzia’s son. 

While I Don’t Understand You is a fun and entertaining flick, there’s no more to it than a wild concept that leans into the mishaps of its protagonists. Craig and Crano are comfortable just having some fun at the expense of a more complex moral exploration. So sit back, relax, and enjoy all the wild twists and turns.

Rating: It Was Just Okay

I Don’t Understand You is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Shane Conto, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Jeff Alan, Contributing Writer

Imagine losing everything, and out of pure desperation you must resort to something you never thought you were capable of doing just to support your family. That is the moral quandary Your Friends & Neighbors.

Andrew Cooper, affectionately known as “Coop” (Jon Hamm), is a wealthy hedge fund manager who is abruptly fired because of a complaint of sexual harassment over a consensual sexual encounter he had with a junior employee months before. He is immediately let go without having claim to any of the private money in his personal portfolio. Left out in the cold with nothing isn’t even the only issue he has going on in his life, however, because only about a year earlier, Coop’s wife Mel (Amanda Peet) was caught cheating with his friend Nick (Mark Tallman). Mel has since kept ownership of their large home, of which Nick is now a frequent overnight guest. Coop’s children Tori and Hunter (Isabel Gravitt and Donovan Colan) have a strained relationship with both parents after the divorce.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Coop is also tasked with looking after his younger sister Ali (Lena Hall), who suffers from mental illness from her own divorce years prior. They both now live in Coop’s rental house, navigating life in this new place. Running out of options, and seeing the amount of money he is going to need to shell out for his children and ex-wife (as well as himself), Coop decides to do the only thing he can think of to get by: robbing his fellow wealthy neighbors of the high ticket possessions he is sure will go without notice, so that he can make ends meet.

This show was a big surprise for me. Not so much in the sense that I thought it would be bad and turned out to be good — I knew it was going to be good, but I wasn’t prepared for how much it would suck me in. Maybe it’s hitting me in a personal spot because I fully understand the struggle of trying to make ends meet (which I’m sure most of us can relate to), but there’s so much about this story that I just love seeing unfold. I love Coop’s narration about the class he is a part of, and his viewpoint on his classy, rich neighbors. I also appreciate him describing why he chooses to steal which pieces.

Speaking of Coop, I believe this is the best I’ve seen Hamm since Mad Men. He’s always been likable as a leading man, even when he’s doing morally questionable things, and his performance her is top notch — you almost believe every word he is saying, even when you know he’s downright lying to the other person’s face. 

As far as performances are concerned, there really isn’t a role played out of tune here. Some surprises — for lack of a better word — I saw were from Peet, Colan, and Olivia Munn. As I didn’t really know much of her previous work before this, Peet surprised me, because she brings more layers to her character than just Coop’s ex-wife, making her scenes quite watchable. Out of Coop’s children, Colan is given the most substantial storyline, and while the season doesn’t spend a large chunk of time on his story, it’s still fun to watch. And with Munn coming off of the news of her breast cancer diagnosis and treatment, I believe she gives one of the best performances of the show. Not since The Newsroom have I seen her in such a prominent role. She has moments of fun and moments of real emotion, and I wonder if she used emotions from her personal life to channel into certain moments of the season.

Every time I want to cancel my Apple TV+ subscription, they give me another reason to keep it, and Your Friends & Neighbors has been that reason in recent months. There are no bad performances, the cat-and-mouse game Coop plays throughout the season is intense and keeps me hanging on, and it keeps me fully invested in what is going to happen next. And with the news of a second season and veteran actor James Marsden attached to star, I will most definitely be paying attention to the future of this series.

Rating: Loved It

Your Friends & Neighbors is currently streaming on Apple TV+

You can read more from Jeff Alan, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd

by Shane Conto, Staff Writer

We have all probably had a family member who has required at-home aid. This can be a tense situation to begin with. There is plenty of emotion in such a situation. But throw in a disappearance, some suspicious neighbors, and lots of looming secrets, and you have yourself a film that is ripe for Lifetime… but somehow made it to the big screen.

This is the case with The Ruse, a film with quite a specific tone. Writer/director Stevan Mean presents the film with a strange approach. Multiple aspects are awkwardly turned up a few too many notches. First off, melodrama is drenched all over the film in a way that is funnier than building suspense or tension, and the music is overbearing in every way possible. The smallest beat is overblown by the huge musical choices. Additionally, the camerawork is aggressive and big. This small, quaint, and claustrophobic locale needs some subtlety, yet there is none in The Ruse. Every twist and turn is overly telegraphed by the directorial choices. The film is quite the slog as well… until it turns up to 11 with a wild climax that comes crashing down immediately.

The Ruse is at times completely uninteresting. Its climax is probably the best part, since at least it is entertaining and ridiculous. But the way the mystery comes together is unsurprising, because the script telegraphs every single twist. The heavy-handed approach to everything is obnoxious and ridiculous, taking the fun away from what is revealed. It lays down red herrings that are so out of left field — they’re forced. The dialogue is clunky and awkward, making every scene uncomfortable, and the movie is full of logical leaps and clichés. 

Despite its ridiculousness, the climax brings everything to a screeching halt for the exposition dump of all exposition dumps. Then the film spirals into an action sequence that is wholly out of place. There are too many characters who are just complete caricatures, including the protagonist’s unbearable boyfriend and the awkward grocery delivery guy who is a straight-up creep.

The strongest element of the whole film, though, is screen legend Veronica Cartwright. Alien and Invasion of the Body Snatchers alumna, Cartwright delivers a believable and effective turn as a famous composer who needs an at-home aid. Unfortunately, Madelyn Dundon is not believable or engaging as Dale, the film’s protagonist. There are some solid, emotion-filled moments, but much of her performance is flat. Michael Steger delivers a passable turn as a suspicious neighbor, but he lacks the charisma to really stand out. The rest of the cast is filled with awkward and unconvincing performances that do the weak script zero favors.

There are so many clunky and awkward elements in The Ruse that it is hard to really appreciate it or what it is going for. It never delivers on its many leaps in logic and heavy-handed setups. The film has a made-for-television feel that just might entertain you… in the wrong way.

Rating: Hated It

The Ruse is currently playing in theaters

You can read more from Shane Conto, and follow him on Instagram and Letterboxd