Many movies I’ve seen recently have dealt with, in some way, loneliness and regret. But none done with such raw emotionality, and with such grace and tenderness with it’s camera work.

Train Dreams, directed by Clint Bentley co-writer of Sing sing, stars Joel Egerton, with an austere supporting performance by Felicity Jones.

I’ve always loved Egerton, the first time I saw him was probably Warrior, and have been following him through his directoral debut with The Gift, and his role in an early A24 horror film It Comes At Night.

This movie hit me like a fucking wrecking ball. It’s camerawork is heavily reminiscent of Emmanuel Lubezki’s work on The Tree Of Life while maintaining it’s own sense of intimacy. The visual style helped immensely to deliver the emotional wallop.

I spend a lot of time alone, and so any movie or piece of media that’s about loneliness will always be something that I will respond to strongly. Here, Joel Egertons character, Robert, starts off his life alone his parents dying from an unknown cause, until he meets Felicity Jones’ character at a church function.

From here on out I’ll need to spoil the rest of the movie. Suffice to say please go see this, it’s one of the best movies I’ve seen in a long time.

Returning from a job, Robert finds his homestead and surrounding area caught in a massive wildfire. We never really find out what happens to his wife and daughter, but Robert spends the rest of the movie in a daze. Waiting and hoping to hear from them.

At one point, the narrator, Will Patton, says ‘Robert would spend waiting for a sign that his life had reached a crescendo. But it would never come.’

And that’s what broke me. I spend so much thinking ‘maybe I’ll meet someone today, maybe someone will read something I wrote, or someone will want to have dinner with me.’ But, it never happens. You just kinda go on existing until one day you don’t, and hopefully there’ll be someone around to leave a mark that you were around.

Year one of The New Fascism in the U.S. The only thing I ever think about anymore is how naturalized citizens, and some just straight up Americans, are being picked up off the street on a daily basis. The bad guys have won. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is they’re still playing the victim, a complete stranglehold on all of the branches of government isn’t enough for these childish ghouls.

They also don’t want any art made that goes at all against their straight, white, patriarchal Christian Nationalist worldview. ‘Empathy is weakness’ is their mantra, so of course empathy-generating machines are treated as an existential threat.

You can’t hate what you understand, so of course a medium that is capable of building bridges to other lived experiences must be stopped at all costs.

Some of the common threads that snaked their way throughout my picks this year were loneliness, isolation, loss, grief, and coming to terms with the fact that your life’s high water mark may be far in the past.

I force myself to believe that those in power right now do in fact feel those same feelings, think those same thoughts. But instead of internalizing those thoughts and feelings and working through them, they stuff them down and away, where they fester and boil. And force the rest of us to deal with the fallout.

Multiple films from this year grappled head on with the sad, lonely, infantile men that populate the highest offices of our hollowed out towns and cities. One of those, Eddington, quickly slipped out of my top ten list as soon as another film, which I won’t spoil here, entered the fray. Another film, Eephus, is absolutely worth your time but also fouled out of my top ten in the late innings.

A film I just recently caught up with, If I Had Legs I’d Kick You, deals much more with the after effects of an absent husband rather than the man himself. It’s a rollercoaster of a film that’s akin to, and I really wish we could have something else to keep falling back on, Uncut Gems.

It sits just outside my top ten alongside the other film from this year that is a manic, frenetic free-for-all about the pitfalls of motherhood; Lynn Ramsey’s Die My Love. In my pithy, one line Letterboxed review I said it was, “A Nightbitch Under The Influence”, which I maintain is as accurate as it is formulaic.

Superhero movies this year made for an unexpected bright spot. Superman, The Thunderbolts, and Fantastic Four all dealt with fairly heady themes; found family, depression, and sacrifice, in ways that were refreshingly mature and raw.

Superman says, “No matter where you come from, and whatever your home culture’s ideology, you always have the ability to transcend it.”

The Thunderbolts says, “You are not the worst thing you’ve done, and sharing the weight of loss, grief, and sadness is the only way forward.”

Fantastic Four says, “In spite of what many superhero movies are about, this world and our lives don’t need to be sacrificed. Everyone, and we mean everyone, has value.”

The theme of found family continued throughout other films; Rental Family, a perfectly cromulent film starring Brendan Fraser who plays a man tasked with pretending to be the father of a girl trying to get into a prestigious academic school in Japan. And Eephus, a film about a group of young and young-at-heart rec league baseball players literally raging at the dying of the light.

It doesn’t get much more found family than that.

Great genre films that also landed in my 10–20 spots were Frankenstein, Predator Badlands, and Black Bag, Steven Soderbergh’s down the middle love letter to the John le Carré George Smiley series of beloved spy fiction.

That concludes the rest, now onto the best…

10. Blue Moon —

Here, we have a shining example of the loneliness and isolation mentioned earlier, and how those feelings can continue unabated even when the characters who are experiencing those feelings are surrounded by people that deeply care for them.

Richard Linklater’s ode to mid-20th century Broadway iconoclast Lorenz Hart tells you exactly what kind of person he was in the opening 30 seconds, “He was the saddest person I ever knew.” — Mabel Mercer. Despite that sadness, or maybe because of it, Lorenz is shown throughout this film to be doing his damnedest to connect with people through the only means he knows how; unloading minutes long diatribes about how grand and emotionally retching love and art and life can be.

Who could relate? Certainly not I.

The standout moment in this film is when Lorenz and Elizabeth, a real life ingenue who Lorenz fell madly in love with, are having an intimate conversation in a jacket closet. Lorenz asks Elizabeth if she ever thinks of him in the same way she thinks about her past romantic partners. She say’s, “I feel something wiser and deeper for you…respect.” A kind and touching gesture, but received as a punch in the gut.

If you’ve been longing for a return to the Before Sunrise Linklater/Hawk type of films this is about as close as you’ll get.

9. The Mastermind —

It would have taken multiple, seismic shifts in my top ten to not include the newest film from one of my favorite working American filmmakers today, Kelly Reichardt. Reichardt has rarely been one to show much interest in the inner lives of men. Much of her work has centered on women and the ways in which modernity may have brought about some material gains for women, but that they still suffer under the same economic constraints as everyone else.

The Mastermind, similarly with 2020’s First Cow and 2013’s Night Moves, is about an inept thief played by man-of-the-moment Josh O’ Connor. Somewhat adrift in life — aren’t we all? — Josh’s character, James “JB” Mooney, spends his days lifting small pieces of art from the local art museum. Borrowing money from his mother, he plans a heist larger than anything he’s attempted before; steal four large Arthur Dove paintings from the fictional Framingham Art Museum.

Of course, being the overly confident buffoon — of which there seems to be an abundance these days — he barely pulls it off. But here is where the loneliness comes into play. One of his accomplices rats him out, forcing JB to go into hiding. From here he goes from one unwelcoming space to the next, everyone seemingly beyond tired and bone weary by his childish and selfish decisions.

Maybe I’m in the minority here but I do have a certain level of respect and sympathy for Josh’s character, in the sense that Reichardt contextualizes all of her most broken and desperate characters as having no other choice but to live their lives in this way. Does JB have to do what he does? No, of course not. But do you and I have to get up and go to work everyday? Not really, but the consequences are both the same.

8. Weapons -

​ ​ ​​​ ​ ​​​ ​ ​​​Other than loneliness, the other major theme this year was how radical, or not, certain movies were perceived to be. Weapons, Zach Cregger’s follow up to 2022’s unexpectedly incendiary Barbarian, is a modern day fairy tale, complete with the “This is a true story…” opening narration. It’s also presented in the Rashomon style, to which I’ve recently been corrected. Rashomon doesn’t just present the same story from three different perspectives, it presents three versions of the same story. The story here is the same version of the same story just told from multiple perspectives.

With that pedanticness out of the way, the radical or not nature of Weapons is evident in the way that there are no clear answers. Why is this so radical you may ask? Whether it’s in our fictional media or in the events of our real world, we crave clear and actionable explanations for why things happen the way they do. Many times there isn’t one, other times the answer is obvious but no one has the strength or ability to state it outloud. Or they do say it and are violently shouted down by dogmatic reactionaries, certain that doing nothing will surely solve the problem.

The movie starts with an empty classroom, aside from one child, and it immediately evokes the images and the idea of a school shooting. It’s something that is purely an American problem, and one for whom has actionable steps that can be taken to ensure it stops happening almost every fucking day. For people for whom it has happened to it must seem like a horrible nightmare, one in which you can never awaken from. Which is another image that, while a staple in many horror movies, is of particular interest here.

Multiple times we see Josh Brolin’s and Julia Gardner’s characters bolting upright out of a dead sleep after just experiencing a nightmare. Both see a demonic, carny clown that is Amy Madigan’s Aunt Gladys, who closely resembles Ellen Burstyn at the end of Requiem For A Dream, except Gladys seems to revel in her disheveled appearance. Here, Gladys is acting as a stand-in for all the ‘well-intentioned’ Boomers and Gen-X who got theirs and now want to suck the remaining lifeblood from the younger generations.

I can already hear the ‘not all Boomers’ chant starting. Save me your faux outrage.

The question of Weapons being received as radical for simply holding a lens up to society and quietly saying, “Hey, maybe it’s kinda fucked up that almost everyday kids are getting gunned down in places we force them to be to get a second rate ‘education’.”

If that’s considered radical, we are so immaculately fucked.

7. Bugonia —

​ ​ ​​​ ​ ​​​ ​ ​​​Yorgos Lanthimos’s Bugonia is one of the two films about contemporary America that bumped Eddington out of my top ten. Bugonia is a mean spirited takedown of some of the dumbest paragons of the Dunning-Kruger effect since Joe Rogan.

But damn if it isn’t entertaining as all hell.

Jesse Plemons gives one of if not the best performance of his still young career. He combines the simpleton but intense seriousness from Game Night, the sociopathic nature of his character from Breaking Bad, and a dash of the know it all, controlling militia member in Civil War.

We all know how incredible Emma Stone is so I’m gonna highlight Plemons’ cohort of sorts, played sublimely by first time actor Aidan Delbis. Aidan is on the autism spectrum, which is what Lanthimos was looking for with the character. Hopefully this will be the first of many examples of folks with the actual condition as their character. Aiden infuses a level of pathos in a developmental delayed character that hasn’t been seen since the days of Rain Man or, one my personal favorites, Flowers For Algernon.

You probably don’t need me to say this but Emma Stone does some incredible work here. Initially delivering a fairly rote, She-EO, girl boss, “I’m just like you” energy, but not even lasting a day as explains to her assistant, “I want everyone to feel comfortable to leave at 5…except of course if you deliverables that are time sensitive, or a client is asking for something Monday maybe stay a little over on Friday until it’s finished.” She’s not even talking out of both sides of her mouth, it’s just the same mouth at the same time.

It’s giving Elizabeth Holmes with a better personality.

6. Sorry, Baby -

“Come to us with any problems.” “We’re here to help, to listen.” “We care.” The world says these phrases over and over. Teachers, coaches, bosses, police, doctors. Maybe they’re well meaning, but all I can think is that they’re all so full of shit. I seriously don’t understand how anyone that is affected by these people on a daily basis aren’t just screaming at the top of their lungs all of the time.

In one scene in Eva Victor’s directorial debut, the character Eva is being interviewed by faculty members of her college. They’re explaining to her that the professor that she accused of raping her quit, so there’s really nothing they can do from a prosecutorial perspective. Offering the bare minimum of condolences, they say, “We understand. We’re women.”

The line is meant to played for laughs, but the feeling of “What the fuck, guys?” permeates throughout the rest of the scene. “We’re women”, meaning what, exactly? “We also exist in a world were sexual assault is possible so we can assume we know what you’re feeling”? Between this and If I Had Legs I’d Kick You I’ve come away with an even more frustrated and mean view of the world.

Frustrated, but not cynical.

To be cynical I’d have to believe that there’s no chance of anything ever getting better. I do think there’s a chance, but enough people just have to actually give a shit for that to happen.

Sorry, Baby is a phenomenal debut, not just because Eva shoulders writing, directing, and starring duties, but because the film fully justifies that ambition with supreme confidence and precise control over all areas.

5. Sentimental Value

Helen of Troy, thought to be the most beautiful woman in the world, was one of the major reasons the Trojan War was fought.

One of the major reasons Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value sits at number five is its lead actress, Renate Reinsve — who, at least in my mind, is one of the most beautiful women in the world. She inhabits the softness of Noémie Merlant with the stillness and restraint of Greta Lee. I’ll restrain myself from any further what the youths refer to as “glazing,” but rest assured; Reinsve is someone who, if she wanted to, could absolutely be the next Meryl Streep.

Take her out of the equation and this film doesn’t come close to my top 20; her presence alone fundamentally elevates this project.

Without Reinsve, the rest of the film becomes a weaker entry than Trier’s previous collaboration with her, largely because there are so many supporting players and competing storylines vying for the audience’s attention. By contrast, The Worst Person in the World maintained a laser-focused narrative, one almost entirely invested in Reinsve’s character — her evolution as a person, a woman, a girlfriend, an artist.

First and foremost among these competing elements is Nora’s father, Gustav Borg, played by Stellan Skarsgård, who functions as the film’s primary antagonist. He re-enters Nora’s life — and that of her sister, Agnes — after the death of their mother. A once-celebrated film director who hasn’t made a movie in over a decade, Gustav uses his ex-wife’s death as a pretext to lure Nora and Agnes’s son into starring in his long-dormant comeback project.

This provocation dredges up emotions Nora and Agnes have spent most of their adult lives refusing to confront. Complicating matters further, Gustav hires American actress Rachel Kemp, played capably by Elle Fanning. There’s a scene — featured prominently in the trailer — that I actually like, but which highlights the stark difference in acting styles between Fanning and Reinsve. The more I’ve thought about it since seeing the film, the more convinced I am that this contrast is entirely the point.

Rachel asks Nora, “Why didn’t you want to do the role?” As she asks it, you can see her pushing — squinting her eyes, tilting her chin, speaking slightly down her nose. Nora, by contrast, simply relaxes her face and speaks plainly, from the heart: “My father… is a difficult man to be around.”

Difficult men, can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.

4. Sinners

In Ryan Coogler’s followup to the Black Panther and Creed movies, his ‘one for them’, we have the one of the most accurate and raw representations, radical even, of 20th century race relations in the U.S. It’s still possible for someone alive in 2025 to ask an older Irish relative ‘How were you and yours treated when you came to this country?’.

As a clickbait article would ask, “The answer might surprise you.”

How quickly we forget that any immigrant coming to the U.S. has always suffered under some form of discrimination, the color of their skin being only one distinguishing factor. “Micks”, “Bogtrotters”, and even “White Negros” were slurs slung at the Irish when they landed in this country. Over time, through joining law enforcement, gaining political seats, and other positions of city and state power, the Irish pulled themselves out and away from positions of subservience.

But then pulled the ladder up behind them, especially in relation to Black Americans.

This is where the vampire allegory reveals itself, the lead vampire Remmick, played deviously by Jack O’ Connor, tries to sell the immortal life as one full of freedom, protection, and strength. But what he is actually offering is more like the Borg in Star Trek: assimilation that consumes Black culture — the blues, gospel, and other rituals born from oppression — erasing their meaning in the process.

Pushing back at just the latest face of white oppression is Micheal B. Jordan playing dual roles, Elijah “Smoke” Moore and his twin brother Elias “Stack” Moore. In any other year he’d be a shoo-in for Best Actor. The high wire act of playing off yourself, and delivering distinct and individualistic performances for each brother is nothing short of remarkable.

The supporting cast here also deserves just as much praise; Hailee Steinfeld as Mary, on reflection an interesting echo of Remmick as she also has a serpentine, devious charm to her. One of my favorite actors since I first saw her in Loki who always commands such a formidable presence, Wunmi Mosaku as Smoke’s estranged wife Annie. The always incredible Delroy Lindo as Delta Slim giving an all-timer speech into singing a gutterally beautiful blues song is reason enough to see this thing.

If nothing else I desperately want people to come away from this post and this movie thinking a little bit harder about why the world has shaken out the way it has. I know one thing, it wasn’t a fucking accident.

3. Train Dreams

If I had to reduce myself to a single film, it would be Clint Bentley’s elegiac, lyrical adaptation of a Denis Johnson novella. I’ve always felt older than I’ve been, drawn to books, music, and movies that didn’t quite line up with my peers. I used big words and talked about the world in ways few people around me seemed to share. And no matter how many times I take the same route home or pass by the same buildings, fields, or mountains, I’m consistently taken aback by the sheer transfixing beauty of it all.

That awareness of the natural world’s inherent beauty is most notable during a scene at the film’s halfway point. Arn, played with somber restraint by William H. Macy, turns to Joel Edgerton’s Robert and says, “Beautiful, ain’t it?” Robert replies, “What is?” “All of it,” Arn says. “Every bit of it.”

All of us — every single one of us — need to slow the fuck down. We’re so concerned with keeping everything moving that we either haven’t noticed, or no longer care, that it’s all collapsing around us.

I grew up an only child, which may explain why, despite my less-than-best efforts, I’ve probably spent the majority of my life alone. I could write a million words about why that is and how I feel about it, but the truth is simpler: solitude can be addicting. It’s easier to worry only about yourself and your own needs, easier not to share time or resources, easier to avoid vulnerability.

It’s also easier never to face rejection. “Right now you’re perfect,” Robin Williams’ character says in Good Will Hunting. “Maybe you don’t want to ruin that… that way you can go through your entire life without ever having to really know anybody.”

Without spoiling too much, Robert does experience love, loss, regret, loneliness, longing, and a creeping realization that the world is slowly leaving him behind. He’s haunted throughout the film by the memory of a Chinese immigrant violently killed by a group of white men right in front of him. Watching it filled me with rage — rage that only deepened when I looked at my phone and saw the same violence repeating itself today.

I also felt the regret and shame Robert carries for not having done anything to stop it. Sure — what could he have done? What could I do? What could any one person do?

Something. That’s what.

2. Hamnet

Another theme running throughout my picks this year is unadulterated sincere melodrama. So many films and filmmakers are afraid of being too on the nose with their themes and ideas that they aren’t really saying anything. Chloé Zhao is no such filmmaker, and Hamnet is no such film. Ostensibly Hamnet is about — wait for it — the writing of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Sorry for the possible spoiler.

Here, ol’ Billy Shakes is played by the other man-of-the-moment Paul Mescal, with Jessie Buckley playing his love interest Agnes. It’s likely we’ll see at least one Irish actor win an acting Oscar again this year, just two years after Cillian Murphy took home the prize for Oppenheimer. Both Mescal and Buckley have been a part of some of my favorite films of the last five years; Charlie Kaufman’s I’m Thinking of Ending Things, Charlotte Wells’ Aftersun, Andrew Haigh’s All of Us Strangers and others.

Throughout Hamnet, that transfixing aura that seems to permeate off of both these ridiculously attractive individuals is what elevated material that could have easily landed on the wrong side of soapy melodrama. For some, the primal screaming, thrashing, and agony was excessive, which, I suppose I can sympathize with. But, at a certain point isn’t that why we come to the theater? To see our lived experiences reflected back to us in a larger-than-life, exaggerated way.

1. One Battle After Another

Here is the film I’ve been hinting at when talking about what edged out Eddington out of my top ten, and also the film that is much less radical than many would have you believe. Make no mistake, a film about mostly black political activists fighting white supremacists being made by a top tier Hollywood director, being distributed by a major studio AND is the leading film to win Best Picture is undoubtedly cool as fuck. But radical? Not so much.

Opposing white supremacy and being anti-racist should be the starting point in any conversation around racial politics in America. The film is being labeled as radical for the same reasons Weapons is, they’re both simply holding up a lens to this country and saying, “This is who you are.” For film to be truly radical it must use that reflection as a starting point, not as a complete statement. “This is who you are, now, here’s what you could be. And how you might get there.” That’s a much more radical narrative to deliver, but we’re not ready for that conversation.

Even so, Paul Thomas Anderson’s tenth feature film is a staggering masterpiece, with DiCaprio delivering one of the great all time performances. Much of what stands out is his constantly shifting energy, keyed to the stakes of each scene. One moment he’s at home, smoking dope and watching The Battle of Algiers — a more radical film — and the next, he’s grabbing his bug-out bag, racing through the streets to track down his daughter.

The rest of the cast are just as lived in, clearly drawn characters as Leo’s Bob. Sean Penn — where has he been? — as a bow legged, high and tight wearing, veined out fascist military officer. Benicio Del Toro, known as “senpai”, helped craft one of the best scenes in the film, when Bob needs safe passage through his neighborhood. The community response to the brutal military attack shown here, and how it may act as a template for others to model, is the closest this movie comes to being radical.

Bob’s wife Perfidia Beverly Hills — what a name — played by Teyana Taylor, who I was familiar with from her remarkable work in 2023’s One Thousand And One, turns in a performance accented by the explosive scenes she and Sean Penn create. Regina Hall, someone I’ve been a fan of since her Scary Movie days, is Deandra, a proxy between Bob and his old world and his daughter, his new one.

Speaking of, Chase Infiniti, starring in her FIRST ACTING ROLE EVER, absolutely knocks it out of the park.

What Teyana Taylor does sexually with Sean Penn, Chase does with violence. The lust and hunger being replaced with pure, animalistic hatred and contempt. What it must have been like for a completely new actor to be thrust into the limelight and have your first encounter with Sean Penn is that he’s manhandling you like The Big Show and Stone Cold Steve Austin.

Chase’s character, Willa, is what the hippie movement wishes it was; smart, audacious, but mean and determined to make a statement.

What people need to come away from this movie, from this post, from the past 10 years is that one guy, one administration, one election isn’t going to tip us into full on anarchy or utopia. It’s a collective, shared, sustained rhythm that says we on the bottom are owed basic human dignities, and that refusal of those dignities is a hostile act and should be treated as such. And until we realize that truth, our labor, our care, and our lives will continue to be treated as expendable.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — -

It was a really good year for movies. Between Sinners, Weapons, Eddington, Bugonia, and One Battle After Another, we saw a run of mostly original films that not only held their own at the box office but are also very likely to make up a sizable chunk of the ten Best Picture nominees come March. There’s some really dark shit coming down the pike — Netflix buying Warner Brothers — but movies have been there through other, arguably darker moments in history.

The theatergoing experience is something I find deeply life-affirming — a rare mix of solace and catharsis, both restorative and quietly communal. Most people don’t, I get it. But please know that if theaters go away this time they won’t just magically come back like they did during covid. They will go away and not come back. So please, for my sake and the sake of this medium that has brought me and generations of people joy, laughter, and tears, go to a movie theater.

Because good art doesn’t just mirror life — it steadies it, gives it shape, and reminds us that feeling deeply, together, is still worth protecting.

There’s a lot to love here — a great profile of Charles Filhiol, a man on a quest to ride his bicycle from his home in Monroe to New Orleans.

It recalls some of the great documentaries — Grey Gardens, Grizzly Man, The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia — portraits of kind, strange, eccentric individuals.

Like the best of them, Invisible Girlfriend delivers a heartbreaking turn near the end. It prompts you to consider whether it’s our environment or our upbringing that truly shapes us. For much of the film, Charlie is a bright, even-keeled father of three. His interactions with strangers unfold as casually as a Sunday afternoon.

But as he draws nearer to New Orleans, his behavior grows increasingly erratic and agitated. While worsening weather and mechanical issues might explain some of it, the proximity to New Orleans — and to Joany — may be triggering deeper unrest. Nature or nurture? Or Joanny?

As in Intimidad, Ashley Sabin and David Redmon approach their subject with deep affection and genuine empathy.

Ashley Sabin and David Redmon have built a career crafting intimate, clear-eyed documentaries about people living on the edge — scraping by, improvising survival, and finding fleeting moments of joy in worlds most of us overlook, much like the barroom dreamers in Bill and Turner Ross’s Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets.

Kamp Katrina continues exploring those themes, this time in post-Katrina New Orleans in a makeshift tent community comprised of refugees from the surrounding area run by Ms. Pearl and David Cross.

Partway in we learn, just like hundreds of other communities across the U.S., the Mayor and city counsel have deemed it necessary not to make it a priority to help feed, house, and provide for its residents. Instead, they decide to CRIMINALIZE homelessness.

It beyond frustrating that the issues brought about in this film; lack of affordable housing, environmental catastrophes, municipalities arresting folks for simply existing in a deterioring country, are STILL the same shit we deal with now.

Just now it’s in 4k.

A familiar face we are introduced, or reintroduced, to the star of Invisible Girlfriend Charles Filhiol, as he and others come down to help rebuild the 9th Ward. One of the many of the hundreds of the unsung hero’s in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.

And yet, in spite of everything, the culture and lifeblood of New Orleans remains undaunted, as shown in the Day Of The Dead celebration.

We may be on our own, but hopefully that will enough to see us through.

*Disclaimer: I know the director and was given her and David’s work to review.*

A familiar story; a husband and wife struggling to makes ends, wanting a better life for themselves and their child, seek plot of land to call their very own. Just one problem, it’s going to take them years to save up just a fraction of the money needed to buy it.

So, they do what any couple would do, make sacrifices; they don’t see each for a year at a time, so one of them can be with their child and the other can save money working overtime.

A story deeply personal but also universal, it could be any couple in the world. We have so so much in common and yet we fixate on the very little we don’t. That’s what the director’s are getting at here, and others when exploring similar topics; that while this may be a story about a Mexican family, but it could have just as easily been about an American, African, European, or Asian family.

The directors do a very good job of keeping the the focus of the story on the husband, Camilo, and his wife, Cecy and their 2-year-old daughter, Loida. One could see a different director wanting to expand the scope to include the effect that the Bush administration has had on their life, and the lives of their friends and family.

Although I did find myself wishing there was a bit more expanded upon the issue of the flooding. It happened twice and I was waiting for Camilo and Cecy to be asked if they had any reservations about buying property on a land that floods often.

Overall, it’s very well constructed doc, with some brilliant obervations of the couples fidgeting hands taking center frame while discussing whether to remain together in Reynosa, or whether Cecy should stay in Santa Maria.

You can stream it right now on Kanopy.

From scene one, Jeff Nichols’ newest film grabs you by the collar, pushes you against a wall, and screams in your face, “Yeah, we’re doing Goodfellas. What about it?”

By making such a bold and unflinching reference, Mr. Nichols stakes quite a claim. That claim being that the audience, with that classic film well in mind, will consciously or unconsciously make the comparison for the rest of the two-hour runtime.

Does The Bikeriders earn the comparison to an all-time, stone-cold classic?

In my mind, *abso-fricken-lutely*.

Austin Butler, Tom Hardy, and Jodie Comer, with a stellar supporting cast, deliver performances that will be considered some of their all-time best work when it’s all said and done.

The pivotal scene of Jeff Nichols’ sixth feature film takes place around the halfway mark. Tom Hardy’s Johnny approaches Austin Butler’s Benny about taking over the Vandals, the motorcycle club Johnny started. The scene starts ordinarily enough, with Benny sitting on his motorcycle and Johnny standing about six feet away.

As the scene progresses, the distance between them gets smaller and smaller, with Johnny closing in and Benny holding his ground until Johnny is right on top of him. The scene is a masterclass in acting, with both characters giving and taking, listening and being listened to.

It’s also a scene where the main thesis of the film is presented, as Johnny’s body language suggests that at any moment, he could either kiss Benny or hit him. The line between toxic masculinity and radical vulnerability blurs more and more as the scene continues and the tension continues to build.

Both Tom and Austin are phenomenal here, but Tom especially shows how to ‘act’ tough.

If your job is to act drunk, you act as if you’re trying to hide the fact that you’re drunk. If the scene calls for you to be sad, your job is to hide the sadness just beneath the surface, fully displaying it only if necessary.

In this scene, Tom plays a character who desperately wants to be vulnerable with his compatriot without breaking the facade of being a tough, American male. You can tell the vulnerability is there, percolating just below the surface, but everything he’s been taught about what a ‘real man’ looks like and acts like prevents him from showing that side of himself.

But you know it’s there, with Tom imbuing Johnny with micro-expressions that previously did not exist; touching his face, quickly establishing and breaking eye contact, and his breathing becomes erratic and shorter. All things we know instinctually means someone is infatuated with another, but, because we live in a culture that forbids any sincerity, intimacy, or vulnerability, Johnny backs off.

Toxic masculinity, as seen here and in films like Fight Club, will be the death of us all. Men and women alike.

Speaking of women, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the incredible performance Jodie Comer delivers as Benny’s wife, Kathy Bauer. I’ve heard from many that her ‘choices’ here are too broad and are a caricature of a suburban Chicago housewife. If anyone’s seen videos of people from that region and time period, you’ll know it is, in fact, a spot-on impression.

The movie does a serviceable job of not making Kathy out to be a stereotypical nagging housewife. At a certain point, that is the role any reasonable person would play in that position. The lifestyle of the biker gang around this time period was extremely dangerous and reckless, and only more so as time went on.

The Bikeriders is a stone-cold masterpiece, if only for its performances, not to mention its gorgeous cinematography by Adam Stone. The editing by Julie Monroe gives it a dynamic and seamless flow, allowing comparisons to other masterpieces to be more than warranted. The movie will go down as one of the great American pastoral depictions of a time gone by.

“Is this what it’s like to grow up? The joy just goes away?”

The real magic on display here is the ability to present the audience with tried-and-true, trope-laden pearls of wisdom: believe in yourself, don’t listen to negative thoughts, and practice moderation and balance.

But, even 30 movies deep, Pixar still shows that it doesn’t matter how many times we’ve heard those affirmations. Given the right context and deeply relatable moments, you’ll still be sobbing like a baby.

It’s never healthy to compare your upbringing and life experiences to others.

But, I’m going to anyway.

Lots of people say they felt alone growing up, that they didn’t fit in anywhere. And they probably didn’t. But, how many people ran away from camp, caused a riot at a parochial school (and were kindly asked to leave after that), took day trips to the woods behind their school, etc.?

That’s all to say I really didn’t fit in.

There’s a moment in Inside Out 2, directed by first-time director Kelsey Mann, where Riley (newly 13) is walking behind a group of cool kids and is so obsessed with how her arms are moving and how they will be perceived that she loses track of the conversation. She laughs out of nowhere, confounding her new friends. I did the same thing.

All the time.

I mean ALL the time I was obsessed with being perceived as cool, but of course, you can’t be seen as trying to be cool, so you can’t put too much effort in. But if you put in no effort, then you think you’ll be ostracized for dressing “normal”…

It’s a never-ending battle.

In high school, of what little I attended, I wanted to fit in with the goths, the hippies, and the other cool kids who smoked clove cigarettes and went off “campus” for lunch at the Wendy’s across the street. So, I dressed the way I thought I should dress, talked the way I thought they would think was cool. And of course, listened to whatever I thought was cool at the time.

Don’t judge me; Rasputina is still awesome.

Inside Out 2 is the second movie I’ve seen in the last couple of days about not fitting in. Am I Okay?, a Tig Notaro and Stephanie Allynne directed movie, is about 32-year-old Lucy, played discreetly by Dakota Johnson. Lucy represents a type of person rarely seen in media; sad, but doesn’t feel it, sexually repressed but doesn’t know what orientation she is. It doesn’t end with her getting her shit together and making a Dracula musical, although that would have been funny.

It does, though, end with her figuring out a little bit more about herself.

As does Riley.

In the end, I guess that’s the best we can hope for

“He is. He’s also the descendant of St. Peter, our only link with Christ.”

“So you believe. And will you forfeit all you have which includes the respect of your country, for a belief?”

“Because what matters is that I believe it, or rather, no…not that I believed it, but that I believe it.”

A Man for All Seasons is a masterful exploration of integrity, faith, and the moral dilemmas that arise when personal convictions clash with political power. The film is anchored by the poignant dialogue between Sir Thomas More (played wonderfully by Paul Scofield) and his interlocutors, capturing the essence of his unwavering stance against the demands of King Henry VIII.

The film’s portrayal of More’s steadfastness in the face of immense pressure is reminds me of “Hacksaw Ridge,” where Desmond Doss stands firm in his pacifist beliefs despite the weight of state expectations and the brutal realities of war. Both characters exemplify the extraordinary courage required to hold true to one’s convictions against overwhelming opposition.

“A Man for All Seasons” also prompts reflections on historical and modern parallels, such as the Spanish Inquisition, communist interrogations, and imperialist black sites. These examples share a common thread: the imposition of authority without regard for individual ethical considerations. The film critiques this authoritarian mentality, emphasizing the importance of personal integrity and moral complexity in the face of such rigid power structures.

In conclusion, “A Man for All Seasons” is a timeless and compelling film that challenges viewers to reflect on their own beliefs and the sacrifices they are willing to make for them. It is a profound meditation on the enduring struggle between personal conviction and societal expectations, making it an essential watch for anyone interested in the interplay of faith, politics, and morality.

On Nirvana’s 3rd studio album In Utero, there’s a song called “Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Seattle”. In the song, Kurt sings melancholily, “I miss the comfort in being sad.” At the time, I was an angsty, pissy teenager, and I took it to mean “being sad feels good, but you do anything for too long and it stops feeling good.’

After a while, you grow up and realize being sad isn’t a fad or an accessory you can just put on or take off. Being sad is, for many, a debilitating emotion. And the antidote of choice can be drugs, sex, or, in this case, alcohol.

Turner and Bill Ross’s embedded documentary offers a glimpse into a time and a place many of us would really rather not visit and especially not revisit; a dive bar in Las Vegas on the eve of the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election. For a quick portion of the film, the conversations veer into the political. But, just as quick, they veer away.

The main topic of conversation that transcends the racial and political divide is regret. Many characters are captured in intimate detail confiding in each other how regretful they are for not being there for each other during their individual tragedies.

One patron in particular knows he’s squandered his life and is imploring a younger man to “get out of here and don’t turn back.” He said he was an actor (I looked him up and he had some bit parts in various movies and tv shows) and knows he fucked up, but “At least he was a failure before he was an alcoholic.”

And that right there is the saddest part of this wonderous documentary. Just like with Mark Borchardt in American Movie, many of the barfly’s circling the Roaring 20’s are soberly and deeply self-aware about their various ruts and slumps they’ve found themselves in. But, for whatever reason, each person either doesn’t know, or doesn’t care to know how or why to get themselves out of the position they’ve found themselves in.

I really need to stop watching movies that remind me of me.

85th Anniversary Theatrical Re-Release

From various standpoints, Victor Fleming’s classic still holds up remarkably well. The background compositing that makes the tornado look real, along with the wind and rain effects in the foreground, remain impressive. The various ‘biomes’ in the film each have a specific and detailed feel, especially the forest area where keen-eyed viewers have sometimes claimed to spot a hanging ‘body’ in the very back of the stage. Upon closer inspection, it turns out to be a crane-like bird, which only fully unfurls its wings at the last second.

The themes explored in the film are still highly relevant. The Cowardly Lion isn’t cowardly just because he runs away, the Tinman has a heart, albeit not a physical one, and the Scarecrow is not as dim-witted as he appears. These elements resonate strongly even today.

My mind did start to drift a little in the middle of the film. I found myself wondering if RPG video game developers took inspiration from the “quest items” in this movie when designing early quest mechanics. For instance, using an oil can to get the Tinman to move, straightening out a nail to get the Scarecrow down from the post, and perhaps even a playful slap to reveal the Lion’s true cowardly nature.

Despite some rambunctious kids in the back, it was a great theatrical experience. This movie has been one of my mom’s favorites for a long time, so it was special to experience it again with her, singing along to every song and reciting every memorable line. She teared up when Dorothy says, “And I’m not gonna leave here ever, ever again, because I love you all, and — oh, Auntie Em — there’s no place like home!”