NEW THIS WEEK (1/16) IN THEATERS, VOD AND/OR ON HOME VIDEO
BABE; BABE: PIG IN THE CITY--Few films have ever achieved the magical blend of emotional clarity, imaginative world-building and moral resonance found in "Babe" (1995) and its bold, eccentric sequel "Pig in the City" (1998). Viewed together, they form an unexpectedly rich diptych: one a pastoral fable about kindness and self-definition; the other an urban fantasia that pushes the boundaries of what live-action family films can be. Both remain astonishing achievements of craft and heart, and reaffirm the power of stories told with sincerity, ambition and a sprinkling of barnyard magic. Directed by Chris ("Miss Potter") Noonan and produced by George Miller, "Babe" feels utterly timeless from its opening scenes. The gentle pacing and warm visual palette conjure a live action storybook, but its appeal goes deeper than mere nostalgia. Babe, voiced with earnest innocence by Christine Cavanaugh, is more than a talking pig, he's a vessel for the central theme that one’s worth is measured by empathy and openness rather than predestined roles. The mix of animatronics, real animals and CGI remains disarmingly persuasive decades later. What stands out most is its emotional clarity: the bond between Babe and Farmer Hoggett (James Cromwell) builds with a quiet authenticity that elevates the film beyond mere "charming." The narrative’s escalating complications and barnyard politics are handled with gentle humor, culminating in a finale that feels genuinely cathartic. It's a perfect movie because it treats its audience--children and adults alike--with intelligence and respect. And then there's "Pig in the City," George Miller’s daring, visually kinetic follow-up. Where the original is pastoral, the sequel is operatic; where the first finds enchantment in simplicity, the second finds it in chaos. Miller transforms Babe’s world into a dazzling, vertiginous collision of architectural styles, species, cultures and emotional tones. The premise--Babe and Mrs. Hoggett (Magda Szubanski) are stranded in a surreal metropolis--opens the door to sequences of breathtaking invention. Both menacing and wondrous, the city is a dreamlike space where slapstick comedy brushes against moments of startling tenderness. What makes the sequel remarkable is not only the visual extravagance but its moral boldness. The film confronts the fragility of marginalized creatures (abandoned animals, broken systems and the yearning for belonging) without ever losing its sense of playfulness. Babe remains the same gentle soul, and his compassion becomes a stabilizing force amid the controlled pandemonium. Miller’s tonal balancing act is audacious, yet ultimately serves the same thematic grounding as the original: the belief that kindness can transform even the most overwhelming environments. "Babe" offers a deeply comforting vision--sunlit fields, community and the quiet triumph of goodness--while "Pig in the City" expands the universe into grander, stranger and more challenging arenas. Celebrating empathy not as a sentimental construct but as an active, world-changing force, they remain not only delightful but genuinely moving works of art three decades later. Released separately or in a specially priced combo set by KL Studio Classics, both contain 4K and Blu-Ray copies of the films as well as audio commentaries with historian Julie Kirgo and writer Peter Hankoff. "Babe" also includes a bonus commentary track with Miller; standalone interviews with Cromwell and Miller; and a making-of featurette. The only supplementary feature on "Pig in the City" is a Miller interview. (Both films, "A PLUS.")
DEAD MAN'S WIRE--An earnest attempt by venerable indie icon Gus Van Sant ("My Own Private Idaho," "Drugstore Cowboy") to tell a gritty, true-life crime story through the lens of 1970's American cinema ultimately collapses under the weight of misjudged performances and a striking lack of dramatic tension. While Van Sant succeeds in recreating the New Hollywood era’s retro look and texture--a grainy, subdued palette replete with unflashy compositions and an observational camera style evoking newsreel immediacy--misjudged performances derail whatever authenticity Van Sant's aesthetic establishes. Bill Skarsgård’s turn in the central role is particularly disappointing. Rather than conveying volatility or inner conflict, he offers a muddled collection of mannerisms that never crystallize into a coherent character. The emotional stakes remain abstract because Skarsgård never makes them feel personal or urgent. Even worse is Al Pacino whose participation invites inevitable comparisons to his iconic role in "Dog Day Afternoon." Where that earlier performance balanced manic energy with raw humanity, Pacino here falls back on bloated theatrics and overly familiar rhythms. Instead of channeling the lived-in realism of that earlier triumph, he seems to be doing a bad "Al Pacino" imitation. Van Sant’s direction, typically marked by patience and restraint, proves ill-suited to material that demands escalation and claustrophobic intensity. Scenes linger without building tension, and the movie never achieves the nerve-fraying urgency suggested by its premise. The result is a frustrating misfire and a strangely detached viewing experience.
KOLN 75--A delicately crafted tribute to one of the most storied events in modern music history, Keith Jarrett’s improvised 1975 concert at Germany's Cologne Opera House. Rather than drifting into hagiography or retracing the well-worn mythos surrounding the performance, director Ido Fluk roots the film in the very human confluence of luck, determination and youthful audacity that made the night possible. Central to that story is teenage concert promoter Vera Brandes played with lively intelligence and luminous conviction by Mala Emde. Her presence reframes the familiar legend, revealing how a singular musical event was also the creation of an unlikely partnership. John ("Past Lives," "First Cow") Magaro’s Jarrett is a marvel of restraint, embodying both the pianist’s physical exhaustion and his fierce commitment to improvisational purity. Magaro channels Jarrett’s introspective temperament without mimicry, expressing the tension between artistic rigor and the near-comic logistical misfires that threaten to derail the concert. Fluk tracks the growing bond between Jarrett and Brandes as the crisis over an unsuitable piano escalates. Their dynamic, equal parts frustration, mutual respect and a surprising tenderness, is where the movie finds its emotional center. Fluk’s direction is sensitive and closely observed, capturing the wintry Cologne streets, the opera house’s cavernous backstage corridors and the anxious hush of an impending performance. The sound design is especially evocative, underscoring how silence, preparation and unease coalesce into creative ignition. When the concert finally unfolds, Fluk shoots it with a painterly attention to posture, breath and touch, allowing us to experience the performance as both athletic endurance and spiritual
release. "Köln 75" celebrates not just Jarrett’s brilliance but the improbable constellation of circumstances and the steadfastness of a determined teenager that brought it to life. It’s a warm, admiring tribute to artistic perseverance and the quiet heroes who help make transcendence possible. Bonus features on the Kino Lorber/Zeitgeist Blu Ray include interviews with Fluk, Magara, Emde and Brandes. (A MINUS.)
THE PINK PANTHER; A SHOT IN THE DARK--Blake Edwards’ "The Pink Panther" (1963) and its immediate sequel, "A Shot in the Dark" (1964), rank among the most delightful comedies ever made. Though the franchise would continue for decades with varying degrees of invention, the first two entries remain the purest distillation of Edwards’ gifts as a director of sophisticated slapstick and Peter Sellers’ singular brilliance as Inspector Jacques Clouseau. They chart an evolution from elegant heist farce to full-throttle comic showcase, revealing how a supporting character accidentally became a screen icon. "Panther" introduces Clouseau not as the lead, but as an absurd counterweight to a suave caper plot involving the titular diamond and debonair thief Sir Charles Lytton (played with effortless charm by David Niven). Edwards balances glamorous settings, romantic intrigue and slow-burn comic escalation, allowing Sellers to slip in and steal scenes with a gentle, idiosyncratic clumsiness that feels improvised. His Clouseau is not yet the force of chaos he would become, but rather an obliviously earnest figure whose attempts at authority dissolve into farce. The film’s elegance--a lush score, alpine locales, stylish parties--makes Clouseau’s blunders even funnier. Edwards’ wide-frame compositions around doors, sofas, fireplaces and impeccable mise-en-scene set up a world begging to be disturbed, and Clouseau obliges with unerring, well-timed incompetence. "A Shot in the Dark" boldly removes nearly all the structural elements of the first movie—no jewel thieves, exotic locales or elaborate caper--and centers on Clouseau himself. In doing so, Edwards and Sellers crafted a nearly perfect farce. The script moves with clockwork precision through misunderstandings, spiraling complications and wild digressions orbiting a murder case that Clouseau is comically ill-equipped to solve. Sellers expands Clouseau into a fully formed comic persona: a man whose supreme confidence is inversely proportional to his skill set. The introduction of Herbert Lom as Chief Inspector Dreyfus and Burt Kwouk as Cato provides an ideal comic ecosystem of frustration, ambush and escalating absurdity. Edwards’ mastery of visual comedy reached its peak here. Whether staging elaborate setpieces in a country estate, orchestrating running gags involving Clouseau’s disguises or letting a simple door become an instrument of comic torture, it blends elegance and anarchy in a way few comedies have ever achieved. Sellers moves through it all with balletic clumsiness, savoring every stumble, pause and mispronunciation. The result is a character so committed to his own self-image that the universe has no choice but to punish him at every turn. The two films represent a rare alchemy of a director with an impeccable sense of timing, a star capable of turning incompetence into high art and a tonal world where sophistication and silliness effortlessly coexist. "The Pink Panther" provides the template--a stylish jewel-box comedy--while "Shot in the Dark" turns that foundation into a daring, joyful crescendo of pure, unmitigated farce. Decades later, they remain not only the best of the Clouseau series, but two of the most enduring comedies of all time. Released separately by Kino Lorber Classics, both sets contain 4K and Bl-Ray copies of the films as well as beaucoup extras. "The Pink Panther" includes Edwards' audio commentary; interviews with costars Robert Wagner and Claudia Cardinale; a documentary ("'The Pink Panther' Story"); and three bonus featurettes. Jason Simos of the Peter Sellers Appreciation Society provides the commentary track for "A Shot in the Dark." Also included is a mini-doc ("Back to the Start: Origin of 'The Pink Panther'" with legendary producer Walter Mirisch); and an appearance by Edwards and wife Julie Andrews on the Dick Cavett Show. (Both films, "A.") https://youtu.be/y6elEZvYS7w?si=NkyrrnXQzbMJoQ7t
PUT YOUR SOUL ON YOUR HAND AND WALK--This deeply felt, finely wrought portrait of the late Syrian Kurdish activist Fatma Hassona ranks among the most intimate nonfiction works in recent memory. Rather than mapping Hassona’s life through a conventional timeline, director Sepideh Farsi frames her documentary as an evolving encounter between filmmaker and subject, between a woman who has endured war and displacement and a camera seeking to understand the quiet architecture of her resilience/resistance. Farsi follows Hassona across several geographic and emotional milestones: the borderlands she once patrolled as a community organizer; the temporary housing blocks where she devoted herself to refugee support; and the private rooms where Hassona reflects on family, loss and political purpose. Farsi’s lens is observant but companionable, letting Hassona guide the film’s energy. The director’s rapport with her subject is perhaps its greatest strength, allowing for moments of unguarded presence (hands working, voice steadying, eyes drifting to memories the camera cannot see). The structure is deceptively simple, moving through Hassona’s daily routines while slowly accumulating emotional density. Farsi allows long takes and ambient sound to assume narrative weight, rooting Hassona’s activism in the lived textures of her environment. Even when the movie focuses on the trauma of displacement and the continuing precariousness of Kurdish communities, it avoids sentimentality. Its admiration is grounded in Hassona’s practicality and her unwavering commitment to collective well-being. By the time the film reaches its final passages, "Put Your Soul in Your Hand and Walk" has become a testament not only to Hassona’s extraordinary stamina but also to Farsi’s patient, humane methodology. The result is an engrossing, compassionate documentary that honors a life shaped by struggle, service and a defiant belief in possibility. Kino Lorber's Blu-Ray includes Farsi's 2023 bio-doc short, "How I Decided to Make Films," and a Q&A with Farsi at the 2025 New York Film Festival. (A MINUS.) https://youtu.be/96Eco0kWHK8?si=kF0mldntLjliD4J7
28 YEARS LATER: THE BONE TEMPLE--A gripping, imaginative continuation of the "28" universe that showcases a bold new vision while still honoring the post-apocalyptic groundwork laid by its predecessors. Directed by Nia DaCosta whose eclectic résumé includes last year's superb "Hedda," an impressive "Candyman" reboot and 2023's disastrous "The Marvels," this latest installment proves her ability to balance visceral horror with thematic depth. From the opening sequence, DaCosta confidently establishes a world where terror isn’t confined to the infected but yoked to the shattered remnants of humanity itself. Alex Garland's screenplay helps propel the narrative into uncharted territory, exploring how survivors redefine morality after civilization itself has irrevocably crumbled. Central to the film's success is a stellar ensemble. Ralph Fiennes returns as Dr. Ian Kelson, delivering a layered performance that anchors the proceedings with an aching vulnerability and quiet resolve; Jack O’Connell reprises his chilling Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal introduced in last summer's "28 Years Later," insuring that every scene is rife with tension; and young Alfie Williams continues to impress as the determined Spike, navigating a landscape where hope and terror intermingle. Erin Kellyman and Chi Lewis-Parry round out the principal cast with a compelling urgency that heighten the emotional stakes. By juxtaposing desolate expanses with claustrophobic setpieces, it creates an immersive environment that never surrunders its grip. DaCosta's assured direction draws out psychological dread and kinetic action setpieces without overwhelming the human core. Although rooted in franchise lore, "The Bone Temple" stands on its own by pushing the boundaries of what a genre sequel can achieve. (B PLUS.) https://youtu.be/QlF68NIz8dg?si=HMpF-Fgy4q3vcolW
YI YI--Edward Yang’s "Yi Yi" (2000) is not only as the crowning achievement of the director’s tragically curtailed career, but also as one of the clearest articulations of his worldview--an approach to cinema in which the textures of ordinary life are allowed to accumulate into profound insight. Its recent appearance near the very top of the New York Times survey of the best movies of the first quarter-century of the 2000's simply formalizes what cinephiles have long recognized: "Yi Yi" is a masterwork of modern humanist filmmaking. Yang had already established himself as a central architect of the Taiwanese New Wave before "Yi Yi," and it synthesizes many of the thematic concerns that run through his previous works. From "Taipei Story"’s anxiety about a rapidly globalizing urban landscape to "The Terrorizers"’ intricate, multi-perspective narrative design, Yang consistently probed the friction between private aspiration and social constraint. Yet it was with A Brighter Summer Day "(1991) that he demonstrated the full breadth of his ambition. That expansive, nearly four-hour portrait of 1960s youth steeped in political unrest, cultural hybridity and generational conflict revealed Yang’s fascination with the forces that sculpt identity across time and space. "Yi Yi" distills that scope into a more focused, intimate register: the life of a single Taipei family across a year marked by births, deaths and ethical reckonings. What makes the film so extraordinary is its balance of narrative precision and philosophical openness. Yang structures it around the perspectives of three family members (NJ, the middle-aged father reconnecting with a lost love; Ting-Ting, the teenage daughter navigating first heartbreak; and Yang-Yang, the young son whose photographs of the backs of people’s heads become emblematic of Yang's epistemological curiosity). Each character’s storyline could function independently, yet Yang interlaces them with such emotional coherence that the mosaic structure feels inevitable. The result is a cinematic world that radiates empathy, acknowledging that every life contains its own rhythms, secrets and disappointments. In this sense, the movie converses deeply with Yang’s oeuvre: the emphasis on personal responsibility, the difficulty of communication and the subtle but persistent encroachments of modernity are all motifs carried forward from his earlier work. But "Yi Yi" tempers the often-adversarial social environments of those films with a gentler, more contemplative sensibility. Even moments of pain are handled with an unhurried delicacy, inviting viewers not to judge but to observe. Its enduring legacy can be attributed to this profound generosity. Yang’s refusal to sensationalize struggle or simplify emotion produces a rare cinematic experience: a work that grows over time, offering new insights with each return. Not merely a summation of Yang’s career, it's a testament to what cinema can achieve when it treats human experience with patience, clarity and profound respect. The Criterion Collection release includes both 4K UHD and Blu-Ray copies of the film; Yang and critic Tony Rayns' audio commentary; a featurette with Rayns discussing Yang's career and his pivotal role in the New Taiwan Cinema movement; critic/director Kent Jones' essay, "Time and Space;" and Yang's posthumous notes about his filmmaking process. (A PLUS.) https://youtu.be/PxgrzNFwyqY?si=Jx4w4USAXBcOk--b
NOW AVAILABLE IN THEATERS, ON HOME VIDEO AND/OR STREAMING CHANNELS:
ANACONDA--Less a reboot than deconstruction of the campy 1997 Ice Cube/Jennifer Lopez cult flick, this meta iteration leans heavily into laughs and mostly delivers. As a potential cure for their midlife crisis, longtime pals Doug and Griff (Jack Black and Paul Rudd) decide to remake their all‑time favorite killer snake movie (guess which one?) in the Amazon. Naturally things quickly go south when a real giant anaconda shows up, turning the DIY passion‑project into a battle for survival. Black brings his patented chaotic energy to wedding videographer/ aspiring filmmaker Doug while Rudd provides ballast as Griff, the disillusioned "background actor" still chasing elusive stardom. Director Tom ("The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent") Gormican plays with genre tropes while fully embracing the absurdity of the “movie‑within‑a‑movie” premise. An affectionate, tongue in cheek homage to over the top creature features, it deftly melds nostalgia, horror and broad comedy into an amusing divertissement. (B.)
AVATAR: FIRE AND ASH--In a saga that has grown increasingly ambitious, visually extravagant and thematically dense, "Fire and Ash" pivots from physiological explorations of ecosystems to a more mythic framing of its conflicts. Where "Avatar" (2009) introduced the lush alien wonder of Pandora and 2022's "The Way of Water" immersed viewers in its maritime cultures, this iteration pushes the narrative toward darker, more volatile terrain. The result is a mixed but fitfully engaging continuation: grand in intention, occasionally overwrought in execution and undeniably shaped by the legacy of the previous entries. Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) and Neytiri (Zoe Saldana) remain central, but the story increasingly focuses on their children whose competing instincts of loyalty, rebellion and self-discovery mirror Pandora’s own shifting tensions. This generational expansion succeeds in theory, yet the film sometimes struggles to distribute its weight emotionally. Some character arcs resonate, especially those tied to grief and responsibility, while others feel truncated amid the sprawling structure. Visually, director James Cameron continues to set technical benchmarks. The volcanic regions introduced are stunningly realized, contrasting sharply with the aquatic serenity of the previous installment. Action sequences are suitably massive, intricately choreographed and frequently overwhelming although the sensory overload sometimes overshadows character arcs that needed more room to breathe. One of the movie’s strengths is how it reframes the trilogy’s ongoing conflict between the Na’vi and human invaders. Rather than repeating earlier dynamics, "Fire and Ash" complicates them by emphasizing the fractures within both societies. However, some thematic threads--particularly those relating to spiritual communion and ecological trauma--repeat ideas the first two chapters handled with greater clarity. The cumulative effect is a sense of narrative transition that feels less like a standalone chapter and more like connective tissue toward the franchise’s endgame. Still, there's a compelling through-line anchored by the cast’s motion-captured performances and Cameron’s unwavering sincerity. Without matching the elegant simplicity of "Avatar" or the immersive novelty of "The Way of Water," it pushes the series into new emotional and visual terrain. (B.)
THE BREAKFAST CLUB--With 1985's "The Breakfast Club," John Hughes wasn’t merely chronicling the woes of high school detention; he was defining the emotional terrain of adolescence for an entire generation. Nearly four decades later, the film endures not just as an artifact of Reagan-era teen culture, but as a strikingly perceptive human study: funny, tender and unflinchingly honest about the fragile boundaries between identity and stereotype. Set almost entirely within the sterile walls of a suburban high school library, the story follows five students sentenced to spend a Saturday in detention. Each represents a familiar high school archetype: the brain (Anthony Michael Hall’s Brian), the athlete (Emilio Estevez’s Andrew), the princess (Molly Ringwald’s Claire), the criminal (Judd Nelson’s Bender), and the basket case (Ally Sheedy’s Allison). Under the watchful but indifferent eye of assistant principal Richard Vernon (Paul Gleason), these kids are expected to sit silently and “think about what they’ve done.” Instead, they slowly dismantle the labels that confine them and, in doing so, discover unexpected truths about themselves and one another. The movie’s genius lies in its simplicity. Hughes confines his characters to a single location, allowing the drama to unfold through talk rather than action. The setup, deceptively straightforward, becomes a pressure cooker in which defenses erode and emotions rise. The dialogue feels spontaneous and raw, yet it is meticulously crafted to reveal layers of fear, insecurity and longing beneath the surface bravado. Hughes captures the rhythms of adolescent speech without resorting to caricature, and his actors respond with performances that feel lived-in. Nelson, with Bender's swaggering defiance and glimpses of wounded pride, anchors the emotional center while Ringwald’s Claire brings poise and vulnerability to a role that could have been one-note. Hall delivers a quietly devastating portrait of intellectual anxiety and Sheedy’s Allison, initially mute and inscrutable, blossoms into the film’s biggest surprise. Estevez gives token jock Andrew an earnestness that makes his own reckoning with expectation and masculinity particularly affecting. Their chemistry feels organic as a group of disparate souls learn how listen to each other over the course of one long afternoon. Hughes’s direction is invisible in the best sense. He lets the camera linger, observes his characters in moments of awkward silence and trusts the audience to engage with their vulnerabilities. The soundtrack, anchored by Simple Minds’ now-iconic “Don’t You (Forget About Me),” captures the movie’s spirit of yearning and defiance. The music isn’t just background, it’s a statement of connection between viewer and character; a plea not to let adolescence, in all its confusion and hope, fade into irrelevance. A master class in empathy, its power comes from Hughes' refusal to trivialize teenage pain or to offer neat resolutions. When the characters leave the library, they do so changed, though perhaps only slightly, and that modest transformation feels utterly real. Hughes reminds us that the struggle to be understood, to escape the boxes others build around us, never truly ends. The film’s enduring resonance lies in that recognition: that every adult, however far removed from high school, carries within them the echo of that long Saturday spent trying to figure out who they are. The new Criterion Collection release includes both 4K and Blu-Ray copies of the movie as well as myriad bonus features. There's an audio commentary track with Nelson and Hall; standalone interviews featuring cast/crew members including Ringwald and Sheedy; a video essay featuring Hughes' production notes read by Nelson; fifty minutes of deleted and extended scenes; promotional/archival interviews; excerpts from a 1985 American Film Institute seminar with Hughes; Ringwald's audio interview from an episode of "This American Life;" a Hughes radio interview; and author/critic David Kamp's essay, "Smells Like Teen Realness." (A.)
GREENLAND 2: MIGRATION--This follow-up to the surprisingly effective 2020 disaster flick opts for spectacle over substance. While largely delivering on the former, it misses the mojo of what made the original work. Once again directed by Ric Roman Waugh, the sequel places familiar faces into an expanded post-apocalyptic world, but the expansion feels more generic than organic. Accompanied by former cast mates Morena Baccarin and Roman Griffin Davis, the indefatigable Gerard Butler returns as John Garrity to save what's left of the world. Their journey takes them out of the relative safety of the Greenland bunker and into the shattered remains of Europe where a mass-migration unfolds under endless bleak skies and nondescript action setpieces. While the cast does what they can with a malnourished screenplay, the characters feel more like sketches than people and their emotional beats are either rushed or overshadowed by larger environmental threats. Waugh leans heavily on familiar disaster movie tropes, favoring bleak panoramas over narrative coherence or character development. The expanded budget shows in sweeping vistas and sequences of mass destruction, but devoid of tension or emotional stakes they're essentially meaningless. "Greenland 2" feels less like a necessary sequel than an obligatory retread content to recycle familiar faces and perils without any meaningful innovation. (C MINUS.)
THE HOUSEMAID--This glossy adaptation of Freida McFadden's best-selling novel marks an assured segue into psychological thrillers for director Paul Feig. Known primarily for raucous comedies (including "Bridesmaids" and "Spy"), Feig shows an assured grasp of mood, favoring restraint and atmosphere over easy shocks while letting the story's simmering tensions and sense of dread percolate. Sydney Sweeney plays Millie, a young woman who accepts a live-in housekeeping position at an upscale home that quickly proves too good to be true. Sweeney confidently balances vulnerability and watchfulness, making Millie’s cautious optimism feel earned rather than naïve. Amanda Seyfried delivers another knockout turn as Nina, her wealthy employer whose brittle charm and erratic behavior keep both Millie and the audience constantly off balance. Their dynamic is the movie's engine, a carefully calibrated push-and-pull of power, class and unspoken resentment. Rounding out the central trio is Nina's husband Andrew (Brandon Sklenar from "It Ends With Us" and "1923") whose genial exterior masks an unsettling ambiguity. Sklenar brings just enough warmth to remain plausible while subtle shifts in tone hint at deeper, er, complications. Sweeney, Seyfried and Sklenar expertly create a triangle of suspicion that neatly mirrors the novel’s slow-burn construction. The pacing allows unease to accumulate scene by scene, smartly preserving McFadden’s key plot reversals without tipping its hand too early. While it may not be reinventing the domestic thriller, Feig and his superb cast execute its familiar elements with laudable flair and conviction. (A MINUS.)
I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING--Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s 1945 masterpiece occupies a singular position within their extraordinary oeuvre, a film seemingly modest in scale yet profound in emotional resonance. Nestled chronologically between the wartime grandeur of "A Canterbury Tale" and the operatic intensity of "Black Narcissus," it stands as a transitional work that shows the filmmaking duo at their most playful, humane and deceptively daring. What begins as a romantic fable becomes a meditation on fate, desire and the subtle magic of place. The Archers were always fascinated by the interplay between inner longing and external environment, and "I Know" distills that theme with exquisite clarity. Rather than the stylization they'd later embrace, Powell and Pressburger craft a narrative built on wind, sea, mist and the rugged rhythms of the Hebrides. Yet their stylistic signatures--unexpected moments of fantasy, symbolic visual motifs and wry humor--appear in fully formed miniature. Both grounded and enchanted, it confirms that their artistry derived from the acute sensitivity with which they observed human nature. At the center of this enchantment stands Wendy Hiller whose performance is essential to the magic of the film. Playing Joan Webster, a fiercely determined young woman convinced she knows exactly what she wants, Hiller brings not only fierce intelligence but an emotional transparency that allows us to see Joan’s inner shift long before she consciously senses it herself. Hiller’s radiant presence anchors the movie’s spiritual and romantic journey. Her Joan is not merely an archetype of modern ambition, she's a woman discovering that certainty can be a trap and that deeper forms of happiness require vulnerability, humility and an openness to forces beyond one’s control. Hiller’s chemistry with Roger Livesey helps enrich this transformation, but it's her gradual surrender to the allure of landscape and community that gives the film its beating heart. Powell’s camera regards Hiller with admiration, never objectifying her but instead capturing the quick flashes of doubt and wonder that mark Joan’s awakening. In the broader context of Powell and Pressburger’s collaborations, this is a crucial work precisely because of its hushed intimacy. It demonstrates their ability to craft movies as emotionally expansive as their more visually lavish efforts while encapsulating the thematic concerns (romantic destiny, cultural collision, the mystical property of locations) that would echo throughout their latter pairings. Effortlessly charming yet deeply affecting, this remains one of The Archers’ most enduring achievements, a testament to their storytelling brilliance and to Wendy Hiller’s unforgettable luminosity. The Criterion Collection set features both 4K UHD and Blu-Ray copies as well as myriad extras including a demonstration of the painstaking restoration process by Powell enthusiast Martin Scorsese; an audio commentary featuring historian Ian Christie; Mark ("The History of Film") Cousins' 1994 documentary, "'I Know Where I'm Going' Revisited;" behind the scenes stills narrated by Powell's widow, editor Thelma Schoonmaker; Nancy Franklin's photo essay exploring locations used in the film; home movies from one of Powell's Scottish expeditions; and an essay by author/critic Imogen Sara Smith. (A PLUS.)
ISLE OF DOGS--Both a culmination and playful reinvention within his singular body of work, Wes Anderson's stop-motion animated marvel takes the auteur’s long-standing fascination with meticulous design, ensemble storytelling and bittersweet humor into new cultural and narrative terrain. What emerges is a movie that feels quintessentially Anderson yet freshly expansive, a fable with political bite wrapped
in a tender tale of survival. The film is set in a near-future Japan where an outbreak of canine flu prompts the authoritarian Mayor Kobayashi (voiced by Kunichi Nomura) to banish all dogs to Trash Island. At the heart of the tale is Atari (Koyu Rankin), a boy determined to rescue his beloved guard dog Spots (Liev Schreiber). On the island, Atari is aided by a ragged band of exiled pups: Rex (Edward Norton), King (Bob Balaban), Boss (Bill Murray), Duke (Jeff Goldblum) and cynical stray Chief (Bryan Cranston). Their odyssey across mountains of garbage and decaying industry provides the adventure framework where Anderson gently explores the theme of the deep bond between humans and animals. Visually, this is one of Anderson’s most extraordinary achievements. The animation allows him to exert his trademark precision and every tuft of fur, speck of dust and even symmetrical frame bursts with detail. Yet there’s also a tactile grit absent from the gleaming dollhouses of 'The Grand Budapest Hotel" or The Fantastic Mr. Fox." Trash Island is a place of ruin and the textures underscore both the bleakness of exile and the resilience of companionship. Anderson’s oeuvre often circles around outsiders yearning for belonging (the precocious children of "Moonrise Kingdom;" Max Fischer in "Rushmore;" the eccentric family of "The Royal Tenenbaums"). Here that theme is literalized: dogs cast out of society form their own fragile community, their survival tied to trust and cooperation. The movie is also among his most overtly political works raising topical questions about scapegoating, propaganda and the ease with which fear can be weaponized. (Sound familiar?) Yet for all of its darker shadings, it still manages to retain Anderson’s warmth. The voice cast delivers a perfect balance of wit and melancholy with Cranston’s Chief providing the emotional ballast as a creature who has never known devotion until Atari’s quiet persistence breaks through his defenses. The final act, in which friendship and courage triumph over corruption, feels both satisfyingly Andersonian and unexpectedly moving. "Isle of Dogs" affirms Anderson as a director who can evolve while remaining true to his sensibility, melding deadpan humor, heartbreak and visual invention into a masterpiece that's both personal and universal. It may be the Anderson film that most fully marries form and feeling, crafting an ode to loyalty and love from the scraps of exile. The Criterion Collection release includes both 4K UHD and Blu-Ray copies with numerous bonus features. Among them are an audio commentary with Anderson and Goldblum; storyboard animatic; a making-of featurette with animators, puppet makers, modelers, sculptors, set dressers, illustrators and production designers; "Jupiter in the Studio" featuring costar F. Murray Abraham touring the magical set; a video essay by Tony Zhou and Taylor Ramos; animation tests, visual-effects breakdowns and behind-the-scenes and time-lapse footage; an essay by critic Moeko Fujii; and a framable poster by cover artist Katsuhiro Otomo. (A PLUS.)
IS THIS THING ON?--Bradley Cooper's third outing as director--two Best Picture Oscar nominees ("A Star is Born" and "Maestro") preceded it--is a trenchant, unexpectedly tender dramedy that finds humor in the small humiliations and fragile hopes that follow the end of a marriage. Eschewing flashy theatrics, Cooper directs with a light, confident touch, crafting a movie that feels lived-in, emotionally precise and deeply humane. Will ("Arrested Development") Arnett delivers a career-best turn as an aspiring stand-up comedian whose career takes off just as his personal life implodes. Arnett’s natural comic rhythm is put to smart use, but the film is most interested in what happens after the punchline lands (or doesn’t). Arnett captures the awkwardness of middle-aged reinvention with grace, letting insecurity seep through his seeming bravado. Laura Dern is quietly devastating as his wife, grounding their interactions with emotional clarity and intelligence. Her performance resists easy sentimentality, portraying a woman moving forward while still battling unresolved wounds. Cooper’s direction emphasizes restraint with scenes unfolding in unadorned spaces--clubs, apartments, offices--where the focus remains squarely on behavior and conversation. The pacing mirrors the rhythms of stand-up building through pauses, repetitions and subtle variations rather than obvious dramatic beats. This allows the comedy and drama to coexist seamlessly, never undercutting each other. What's most impressive is the generosity accorded all of the characters. Divorce is depicted not as a battlefield with winners and losers, but as a painful realignment of two lives that once fit together. Cooper and Arnett’s screenplay treats failure with empathy, finding meaning in persistence rather than redemption. Funny, observant and emotionally resonant, "Is This Thing On?" stands as Bradley Cooper’s most assured directorial effort to date, a mature, compassionate work that understands how laughter often arrives hand-in-hand with loss. (A.)
MARTY SUPREME--A dizzying, electrifying joy ride throbbing with ambition, madness and unexpected poignancy, Josh ("Uncut Gems," "Good Time") Safdie's staggering achievement is nothing short of a full-throttle masterpiece. From its very first frame, Safdie throws you into a world out of time: a 1950's New York City that feels mythic, vaguely surreal and charged with possibility and desperation. The film’s stylistically heightened aesthetic is blazingly original, gritty and immersive, making the period setting seem both familiar and vaguely haunted. Playing Marty Mauser, a down‑on‑his‑luck shoe store clerk turned obsessive ping‑pong hustler, Timothee Chalamet delivers what may be the defining performance of his career: raw, unfiltered ambition and desperation wrapped in nervous energy and hubristic bravado. Marty is magnetic precisely because he’s so damn infuriating. He believes he’s destined for greatness even while sabotaging relationships, dreams and maybe even himself in the process. His journey is simultaneously wrenching, hilarious, tragic and absurd. As retired movie star Kay Stone whose elegance and fading glamour make her as fascinating as she is touchingly vulnerable, Gwyneth Paltrow radiates longing and a messy tenderness. The wonderful Odessa A'zion brings heart and a touching vulnerability to the unhappily married housewife Marty unwittingly impregnates. Her fealty to Marty is rooted not just in attraction, but in memory (they were childhood sweethearts), disillusionment and fragile loyalty. Indelible supporting turns from, among others, "Shark Tank"'s Kevin O'Leary, Tyler the Creator, indie auteur Abel Ferrara, and Fran Drescher bring added textures to the madcap, unpredictable world that Marty inhabits. Darius Khondji's cinematography practically vibrates with nervous energy; the editing jangles with urgency; and the deliberately anachronistic musical choices--at times dissonant, at times elegiac--
root you in Marty’s inner turbulence. As the narrative hurtles towards its climax--a ping‑pong match, yes, but also a moral reckoning--you understand that Marty’s real opponent is himself. More than just a sports dramedy, it’s a blistering portrait of ambition, self‑destruction and the warped, destructive allure of "The American Dream." Marty Mauser is an unforgettable protagonist, and so is the world Safdie has crafted around him. A marvel of controlled chaos crackling with danger, defiance, desire and despair, it shows what it's like to desperately want to win--even when the cost is, well, pretty much everything. (A PLUS.)
MISERICORDIA--Set in the sun-dappled countryside of southern France, this unsettling, oddly tender examination of guilt and the uneasy bonds within small communities unfolds with cult director Alain ("Stranger by the Lake") Guiraudie’s signature blend of mystery, dark comedy and sensual unease. The story follows Jérémie (Félix Kysyl), a young man who returns to his hometown for the funeral of his former employer. Planning only a brief stay, Jérémie impulsively accepts the hospitality of the widow Martine (Catherine Frot) whose quiet warmth both comforts and unsettles him. Her son Vincent (Jean-Baptiste Durand), bristling with suspicion, resents Jérémie’s presence. Their fraught dynamic escalates to a shocking confrontation in the woods where Vincent is killed. In the aftermath, Jérémie finds an unlikely protector in Father Pierre (Jacques Develay), the parish priest, who offers him an alibi in exchange for sexual favors. This morally ambiguous bargain entangles Jérémie further in the town’s web of secrets where desire and suspicion uneasily coexist. The performances help ground the strangeness in emotional truth. Kysyl brings a restless, opaque quality to Jérémie; Frot conveys Martine’s grief and resilience with understated power; Durand makes Vincent’s jealousy both pitiable and threatening; and Develay invests the priest wit anh unsettling gentleness. Cinematographer Claire Mathon frames the village and its surrounding woods with a lyrical menace, turning the pastoral into something charged with hidden danger. Guiraudie uses silence, sudden bursts of violence and sly humor to keep viewers off balance. A richly atmospheric, thought-provoking film, it thrives on ambiguity, asking what mercy means in a world where love, violence and survival are inextricably bound. The Criterion Premieres Blu-Ray features an interview with Guiraudie, the theatrical trailer and notes by critic Imogen Sara Smith. (A.)
PRIMATE--Directed by genre veteran Johannes ("Strangers: Prey at Night," the "47 Meters" franchise) Roberts, this marks a lively if uneven start to 2026's horror movie sweepstakes. Known for his white knuckle survival thrillers, Roberts' taut pacing and practical effects help ground the scares in visceral tension rather than superfluous exposition. The premise is refreshingly straightforward. A tropical vacation devolves into chaos when the family’s pet chimpanzee becomes infected with rabies and turns homicidal. Within its brisk 89-minute runtime, Roberts leans heavily into claustrophobic setpieces, often confining the action to a pool area that becomes both refuge and trap. As Lucy, whose emotional arc helps anchor the mayhem, Johnny Sequoyah provides a relatable emotional center even when the focus shifts largely towards simian mayhem. In his first horror outing, Oscar-winner Troy ("CODA") Kotsur brings welcome gravitas to scenes that might otherwise feel disposable and generic. Even though the story treads familiar ground and tips into tonal inconsistency, fans of old-school creature features will dig the lean, mean thrills. (B MINUS.)
SONG SUNG BLUE--Skillfully balancing nostalgia with genuine heart, Craig ("Hustle and Flow") Brewer's warm, emotionally resonant biopic tells the true-life story of Mike and Claire Sardina, a working-class Milwaukee couple who channelled their hopes, heartbreaks and resilience into a Neil Diamond cover band. Hugh Jackman brings vulnerability and charisma to Mike, a middle-aged mechanic with a complicated past and an undying passion for performing. Hudson’s Claire balances joy, heartache and perseverance in a way that makes her character seem fully dimensional. Watching them grow together personally and professionally is the emotional core of the movie. Brewer’s unfussy direction allows the story to breathe, giving space for quieter, introspective moments without sacrificing the energy of the musical setpieces. Even when shifting into darker territory--addiction, loss and setbacks--it never feels hokey or manipulative. The soundtrack is predictably
layered with iconic Diamond songs, but the musical performances are more respectful than reverent. Grounded and warm, the cinematography evokes the small-town venues, smoky bars and road-weary life of traveling musicians in a way that feels lived-in. More than just a Diamond tribute, it's a film about perseverance, love and the power of music to both heal and connect. (B PLUS.)
THE SPONGEBOB MOVIE: SEARCH FOR SQUAREPANTS--The fourth big screen outing for the inhabitants of Bikini Bottom sends SpongeBob (Tom Kenny reprising his trademark role) on a deep-sea quest to prove his bravery by trailing a legendary ghost pirate (Mark Hamill's Flying Dutchman) into uncharted ocean depths. By leaning into a boilerplate "Prove you're brave!" narrative, the emotional stakes feel thin. Compared to the original 2004 theatrical film which balanced adventure and satire with unexpected emotional depth, "Search for SquarePants" rarely surprises. For longtime fans used to the more creative and absurd edges of the series and earlier features, this feels more like treading water. "Sponge Bob" has always thrived on weirdness, absurd humor and bizarre turns, but this iteration seems content to merely coast on safe laughs and lazy nostalgia. (C.)
TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME--When "Fire Walk With Me" hit theaters in 1992, audiences expecting a return to the quirky rhythms of the cult television series were instead met with a descent into anguish and darkness. David Lynch’s prequel to the short-lived ABC show defied all conventional expectations of narrative closure or nostalgia. More than three decades later, it stands as one of Lynch’s most audacious and emotionally harrowing achievements. A cryptic prologue follows FBI agents investigating the death of Teresa Banks in the small town of Deer Meadow (a grim mirror image of Twin Peaks itself). These scenes, surreal and jagged, prepare us for the central narrative: the final seven days in the life of Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee), the homecoming queen whose death haunted the town that idolized her. Lynch strips away the folksy eccentricities that characterized the series, leaving only dread, sorrow and flickering hope. In Laura’s world, high school dances and cozy diners are overshadowed by demonic visitations and domestic horror. Sheryl Lee delivers an extraordinary performance, one that feels both raw and transcendent. Her portrayal of Laura as victim, survivor and self-destructive martyr remains one of the greatest thesping turns in Lynch’s canon. Ray Wise, as Laura's father, matches her with a performance of unbearable tension, shifting between manic affection and terrifying violence. Cinematographer Ron Garcia bathes the movie in saturated reds and bruised shadows while Angelo Badalamenti’s score alternates between dreamy jazz and dirge-like lamentations. Together they summon an atmosphere that feels simultaneously supernatural and achingly human. Every frame seems alive with unease: the flicker of a ceiling fan, the hum of electricity, the whisper of wind in the trees. Lynch’s fascination with the boundary between dream and nightmare has rarely felt so intimate or devastating. What distinguishes the film from other horror-inflected dramas is its empathy. Beneath the shrieking surrealism lies a profound compassion for Laura, a recognition of her suffering, her isolation and her desperate attempts to reclaim control of her body and soul. The final moments, widely misunderstood at the time of its release, now read as an act of transcendence, the transformation of tragedy into something luminous and deeply spiritual. Viewed today, it feels less like a franchise extension than a cinematic exorcism. It's Lynch’s most personal and painful work, a masterpiece of emotional exposure disguised as a genre flick. By bringing Laura Palmer to life in all her torment and resilience, Lynch restores dignity to a figure once defined by her death. The result is not merely a prequel, but a requiem: blazing, haunted and unforgettable. The Criterion Collection release includes both a 4K UHD disc as well as a Blu-Ray copy of the film. Extras include "The Missing Pieces," ninety minutes of deleted scenes and alternate takes personally supervised by Lynch; interviews with Lee and composer Angelo Badalamenti; Lynch interviewing Lee, Wise and Grace Zabriskie (Laura Palmer's excitable mom); and excerpts from "Lynch on Lynch," a 1997 book edited by filmmaker/writer Chris Rodley. (A PLUS.)
ZOOTOPIA 2--Nearly a decade after the original Disney blockbuster, "Zootopia 2" arrives with ambition, heart and a brand new mystery that lives up to its predecessor's legacy. Directors Jared Bush and Byron Howard--who also helmed the first movie--reunite the iconic duo of Judy Hopps (Ginnifer Goodwin) and Nick Wilde (Jason Bateman) for a layered, emotionally resonant sequel that delivers both laughs and substance. The story revolves around a new character (sly, enigmatic snake Gary voiced by Ke Huy Quan) whose arrival in Zootopia disrupts the status quo, sending Judy and Nick in uncharted parts of the city. This set-up allows Bush and Howard to explore new terrain, literally and thematically, introducing reptilian districts that expand the world-building of the 2016 incarnation. Along the way, the movie challenges its protagonists’ relationship and forces them to confront not only external danger but internal doubts. The humor is playful and fast-paced, leaning into clever wordplay and animal puns while never undercutting the gravity of its deeper themes. Yet Bush and Howard don’t shy away from social commentary either, offering reflections on inclusion, prejudice and community in a way that feels organic without being preachy. Vibrant, richly detailed animation helps immerse us in the sprawling metropolis of Zootopia as well as some exotic new settings. The emotional payoff satisfies by tying together character growth and thematic arcs in a way that reaffirms the values of partnership, trust and acceptance. Entertaining, thoughtful and bold in its expansion of a beloved franchise, it stands as a worthy sequel that should have no trouble appealing to fans and novitiates alike. (B PLUS.)
---Milan Paurich