NEW THIS WEEK (10/10) IN THEATERS, VOD AND/OR ON HOME VIDEO
ILSA, SHE WOLF OF THE S.S.--Released in 1975, this remains one of the most notorious entries in the exploitation canon. Directed by Don Edmonds and starring Dyanne Thorne in the infamous titular role, the film blends sadistic imagery, lurid spectacle and taboo subject matter into a work that has long divided audiences while carving out a lasting underground reputation. The story follows Ilsa, a commandant at a Nazi medical camp who oversees grotesque medical experiments on female prisoners with the aim of proving women’s resilience under torture. At the same time, she maintains a personal rule that no man may satisfy her sexually without being executed afterward. The plot is simple and episodic, primarily functioning as a framework for the grisly exploitation elements. What makes the movie endure, despite its often stomach-turning content, is Thorne’s commanding presence. As Ilsa, she dominates every frame, equal parts authoritarian, monstrous and bizarrely charismatic. Her performance elevates what would otherwise be pure sensationalism into something that lingers queasily in the subconscious. The production values are actually superior to most of its B-movie contemporaries with surprisingly polished cinematography and production design that lend a disturbing realism to the fantasy. That said, it's definitely not for the faint of heart. The violence, nudity and shock tactics are relentless, making it both transgressive and disturbing. Yet for those interested in the history of exploitation cinema, "She Wolf of the SS" stands as a defining artifact: an extreme work that pushes boundaries while reflecting the era’s fascination with mixing sex and horror in confrontational ways. (Visconti's "The Damned" and Cavani's "The Night Porter" paved the way with their Nazi kinkiness.) Fifty years later, it remains an unsettling but undeniably influential cult curio, securely cementing its place in grindhouse history. (B.)
KISS OF THE SPIDER WOMAN--Director Bill ("Dreamgirls," "Gods and Monsters") Condon’s adaptation of the stage musical based on Manuel Puig's celebrated 1976 novel and Hector Babenco's Oscar-winning 1985 film finds new vitality in Puig's template of fantasy, repression and survival. Unlike Babenco’s version which was intimate and politically severe, Condon opts for expressionism: neon-drenched prison corridors, feverish dream ballets and a swelling orchestral score that fuses Latin rhythms with Broadway sweep. Set in a South American prison during a military dictatorship, the story follows Molina (Tonatiuh), a queer window dresser imprisoned for “corrupting minors,” who soothes himself by recounting scenes from his favorite old movies, particularly florid melodramas starring the glamorous Spider Woman (Jennifer Lopez). His cellmate, Valentin (Diego Luna), a Marxist revolutionary, regards Molina’s escapism with suspicion until necessity and affection bind them together. Condon stages the musical numbers as fever dreams erupting from confinement. Lopez’s Spider Woman--equal parts femme fatale and angel of death--dominates these sequences, her presence both alluring and threatening. Lopez delivers her best screen work in years, channeling the spectral glamour of Chita Rivera’s Broadway incarnation while adding a melancholy knowingness that deepens the movie’s emotional register. Tonatiuh resists caricature by finding dignity in Molina’s delusions and Luna grounds the emotional arc with weary compassion. Though the tonal shifts between grim realism and lush fantasy occasionally clash, Condon’s control of the material remains assured. If Babenco’s "Spider Woman" was a chamber piece, Condon’s is an opera: tragic, sensual and unapologetically theatrical. It reimagines Puig’s fable of resistance through art and desire, proving that even in darkness performance can still be an act of liberation. (B PLUS.)
ROOFMAN--Based on the true-life story of former Army Reserve officer Jeffrey Manchester who evaded capture after pulling a string of robberies by living in a Toys "R" Us store, director Derek Cianfrance expertly blends elements of crime, romance and dark comedy. In a departure from his typically somber previous films like "Blue Valentine" and "The Place Beyond the Pines," Cianfrance embraces a lighter, more whimsical tone while still retaining his signature emotional depth. As Manchester, a wildly charismatic Channing Tatum infuses his role with a roguish mix of charm and vulnerability, effortlessly capturing the complexities of a man seeking redemption while grappling with the consequences of his past actions. Kirsten Dunst beautifully complements Tatum as Leigh Wainscott, a single mother and store employee who becomes involved with the titular "roofman," Their off-the-charts screen chemistry helps intensify Cianfrance's exploration of love and trust in the most unconventional of circumstances. By melding "Raising Arizona"-era Coen Brothers' comic absurdism with the blue-collar humanism of early Jonathan Demme ("Citizen's Band," "Melvin and Howard"), it's both rambunctiously entertaining and achingly poignant. (A MINUS.) https://youtu.be/IHikM7vFXsA?si=pzEdPyoBgpAJhMms
SHOSHANA--This richly textured period drama follows socialist‑Zionist journalist Shoshana Borochov (Irina Starshenbaum) and her romantic entanglement with British police officer Tom Wilkin (Douglas Booth) in late 1930's-early 1940's Palestine. "24 Hour Party People"/"The Trip" director Michael Winterbottom achieves a compelling balance between political tension and romance, elegantly melding fact with fiction and allowing the wider history of Zionist movements and British colonialism to emerge naturally from the characters' lives. The film gains its emotional impact not through overwrought melodrama but in quiet, everyday moments (a dance at a Tel Aviv café, a tense police raid, stolen conversations by the docks) suffused with political urgency. Giles Nuttgens’s cinematography paints Tel Aviv as a stylish yet fragile city, illuminated in warm tones that contrast sharply with the grim undertones of violence and upheaval. The period details--from gleaming '30s costumes to jazz‑tinged nightlife--transports you into a world poised on the brink of transformation. Starshenbaum brings laudable emotional layering to her role, portraying Shoshana's evolution from idealistic journalist to a woman confronted by convulsive historical forces. Booth’s calm, sympathetic presence anchors the moral center while Harry Melling offers a chilling counterpoint as a hard‑line British officer. Intellectually engaging, visually lush and emotionally resonant, it's both a search for love under impossible conditions and a thoughtful meditation on how personal relationships are shaped (and ultimately strained) by the tides of history. No extras on the Greenwich/Kino Lorber DVD. (A MINUS.) https://youtu.be/XyJcX0TdcIU?si=n30n0bqCuX5OWmNy
TRON: ARES--Fifteen years after "Tron: Legacy," director Joachim ("Maleficent, Mistress of Evil," "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales") Ronning attempts to reboot the Grid for a new generation of fanboys with a bold collision between the digital and physical worlds. But despite its gleaming surface and grand ambitions, it winds up feeling more like an empty system upgrade than a true evolution. Ares (Oscar-winner Jared Leto), a next-generation Program, is sent into the real world as part of an experimental bridge between artificial and human intelligence. His mission is to test whether digital life can coexist with humanity, a goal quickly complicated by human fear and corporate greed. Greta ("Past Lives") Lee plays Dr. Eve Kim, the scientist overseeing the experiment who begins to question her own ethics as Ares becomes increasingly self-aware. Ryan Murphy stablemate Evan Peters essays Julian Dillinger, a powerful executive intent on exploiting Ares for profit, and Gillian Anderson lends her "X-Files" bonafides as Julian’s calculating mother and ENCOM's matriarch. Visually, it's every bit as sleek as expected; neon circuitry, stylized combat and immersive digital landscapes return in full force. Yet beneath that glittery surface, "Ares" falters. The story’s emotional core never really connects, and the pacing oscillates between bursts of noisy spectacle and long stretches of long-winded philosophical exposition. Leto’s performance feels distant, and the human characters lack depth or truly meaningful arcs. Technically polished but curiously lifeless, it looks extraordinary but feels inert. A dazzling construct that never finds the human spark within its circuitry, this long-awaited sequel crashes short of transcendence. (C.)
WHEN FALL IS COMING-The strongest work in years by former enfant terrible Francois ("Under the Sand," "Swimming Pool") Ozon is a melancholy drama exploring themes of aging, family dynamics and the complexities of personal history. Set in the serene Burgundy countryside, it follows widowed grandmother Michelle (Hélène Vincent) whose tranquil life is upended when her estranged daughter Valérie (Ludivine Sagnier) nearly dies after consuming poisonous mushrooms that she prepared. The incident strains their already tenuous relationship, leading Valérie to distance herself and her young son from Michelle. In the midst of this familial chaos, Michelle forms an unexpected bond with Vincent (Pierre Lottin), the recently paroled son of her best friend Marie-Claude (Josiane Balasko). As Vincent assists Michelle with household tasks, their relationship swiftly evolves, revealing layers of secrecy and mutual past traumas. Ozon’s subtle, elegant direction allows the narrative to unfold through layered performances and atmospheric visuals. Cinematographer Jérôme Alméras captures the fall setting with a palette of earthy tones, mirroring Michelle's personal journey through her own 'autumn.' The ensemble cast all deliver stellar performances with Vincent movingly capturing Michelle’s vulnerability and resilience and Lottin adding multple layers to the outwardly brutish and brooding Vincent. The Music Box Blu-Ray includes interviews with Ozon, Vincent, Balasko and Savignier; deleted scenes; costume and lighting tests; and a poster featurette.
NOW AVAILABLE IN THEATERS, ON HOME VIDEO AND/OR STREAMING CHANNELS:
THE BURMESE HARP--One of the most luminous achievements in postwar Japanese cinema, Ken Ichikawa's 1956 masterwork is a work of such grace, moral clarity and emotional resonance that it transcends the confines of its wartime setting. Adapted from Michio Takeyama’s novel, the film unfolds in the waning days of World War II as a Japanese unit in Burma, led by the gentle Captain Inouye (Rentarō Mikuni), faces imminent surrender. Among the soldiers is Private Mizushima (Shoji Yasui), a skilled harp player whose delicate melodies serve as a balm for his weary comrades and a bridge between cultures, even in the midst of war’s devastation. After the official surrender, Mizushima is sent to persuade a group of holdout soldiers to lay down their arms. The mission fails, ending in bloodshed and Mizushima—presumed dead—undergoes a profound transformation. Rescued and nursed back to health by Burmese monks, he dons their saffron robes and embarks on a solitary pilgrimage, dedicating himself to burying the countless unclaimed dead strewn across the battle-scarred countryside. His decision creates a haunting absence for Inouye and the others who long to reunite with their friend before returning to Japan. Ichikawa’s direction is quietly impactful, blending the spare lyricism of Kenji Mizoguchi with the humanist tenderness of Yasujiro Ozu. Minoru Yokoyama’s cinematography captures both the lush, rain-soaked beauty of Burma and the spectral stillness of war’s aftermath while Akira Ifukube’s score--interwoven with the recurring folk song “Home! Sweet Home!”--becomes an aching refrain for a homeland lost and perhaps forever changed.What elevates the movie to the realm of the sublime is its refusal to sensationalize conflict. Instead it dwells on compassion, moral duty and the possibility of reconciliation: both with others and within oneself. Mizushima’s journey from soldier to monk is not framed as an escape from responsibility, but as a deepened embrace of it, his devotion to the war dead a quiet act of resistance against the erasure of human lives. By its final, devastating scene when the departing soldiers glimpse Mizushima in his monk’s robes separated by a river they cannot cross, Ichikawa delivers a meditation on loss, memory and spiritual awakening that lingers like a half-remembered prayer. Nearly seven decades later, "The Burmese Harp" still sings, its notes clear and timeless, offering not just a requiem for the dead, but a prayer for the living.The Criterion Collection's 4K digitally restored Blu-Ray includes archival interviews with Ichikawa and Mikuni and an essay by critic/Asian cinema specialist Tony Rayns. (A.)
CARNAL KNOWLEDGE--Mike Nichols' searing, stylish and unflinching examination of masculinity, sexual politics and emotional alienation is crafted with razor-sharp precision and anchored by bravura performances. Written by legendary Village Voice cartoonist Jules Feiffer, this wildly provocative 1971 masterwork strips the romantic veneer from sex and relationships, laying bare the toxic entanglements
and emotional paralysis that often lie beneath. Unfolding over two decades, it traces the lives of two college roommates—Jonathan (Jack Nicholson) and Sandy (Art Garfunkel)—as they navigate their romantic and sexual entanglements from youth into middle age. Jonathan, all smirking bravado and cynical detachment, emerges as the movie's bruised and brutal heart. Nicholson is electrifying, charting Jonathan’s arc from glib womanizer to emotionally hollow predator with chilling nuance. Garfunkel plays Sandy as a more passive and idealistic counterpart, one who cloaks his desires in sensitivity but ultimately proves just as self-serving and deluded. Candice Bergen is stunning in an early role as the woman both men pursue in college. Bergen's Susan hints at the emotional dislocation experienced by women who find themselves trapped in male fantasies and contradictions. Yet it’s Ann-Margret who delivers the most devastating turn as Bobbie, Jonathan’s later lover and live-in girlfriend. She infuses the role with a potent mix of vulnerability and volatility, capturing the deep emotional toll of being tethered to a man incapable of genuine intimacy. Her scenes with Nicholson simmer with tension and heartbreak, and her unraveling gives the film its most wrenching moments. Nichols’ direction is spare but incisive with long takes, tight framing and stark compositions heightening the emotional claustrophobia. Every shot feels purposeful, emphasizing both the erotic charge and the emptiness that define the characters’ relationships. The temporal jumps are handled with remarkable fluidity, conveying how little these men truly change even as the world around them evolves. Visual motifs (mirrors, empty beds, dim apartments) recur throughout, reinforcing the theme of loneliness and spiritual isolation. Unlike traditional romantic dramas of the era (its antithesis, "Love Story," opened a mere six months earlier), "Carnal Knowledge" refuses sentimentality or redemption. Its brilliance lies in its honesty: harsh, at times bitter, but never less than riveting. Nichols and Feiffer dissect male insecurity and entitlement with unflinching clarity, and its commentary on how men use sex as a weapon or shield remains startlingly relevant, retaining its power both as a fearless character study and cultural artifact of shifting gender dynamics. Through its unrelenting gaze and unforgettable performances, it continues to provoke, disturb and resonate. This is one of Nichols’ boldest, most enduring works. The Criterion Collection Blu-Ray includes an audio commentary with director Neil ("In the Company of Men," "Your Friends and Neighbors") LaBute; a conversation between Nichols biographer Mark Harris and critic Dana Stevens; an interview with film-editing historian Bobbie O'Steen (daughter of frequent Nichols editor Sam O'Steen); a 2011 chat between Nichols and director Jason ("Up in the Air," "Juno") Reitman; a Q&A with screenwriter Jules Feiffer; an essay by Harvard literature professor Moira Weigel; and a 1971 "American Cinematographer" article about the look of the film.
(A PLUS.)
THE CONJURING: LAST RITES--In what's purportedly the final chapter of the horror series launched in 2013, retired paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren (Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga reprising their signature roles) are pulled back into the fray to investigate the haunting of Pennsylvania's Smurl family.
Director Michael ("The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It," "The Nun 2") Chaves attempts a more grounded approach this time, but fails to elevate the material beyond mere window-dressing for gore. A committee-written screenplay meanders for 135 interminable minutes offering predictability instead of depth or surprises.
Deprived of any meaningful character arcs, Farmiga and Wilson are merely deployed as haunted house tropes minus any true emotional stakes. The tech credits are polished, but slick visuals and jump scares are unable to compensate for a hollow narrative. While it may satisfy fans craving superficial shocks and/or franchise closure, this underwhelming farewell to the Warrens ultimately rings hollow and fails to live up to its legacy. (C MINUS.)
DEMON SLAYER: KIMETSU NO TAIBA--INFINITY CASTLE--The long-awaited final chapter of the anime franchise arrives with the weight of enormous expectations. As the climactic installment, it carries the responsibility of resolving arcs that have built steadily over previous seasons and films. The result is a visually dazzling movie that struggles under the weight of its own ambition. The story plunges Tanjiro Kamado and his allies into the sprawling, shifting labyrinth of the Infinity Castle to face Muzan Kibutsuji in the final battle between Demon Slayers and demons. Nezuko, Inosuke and Zenitsu are all given major moments as are the surviving Hashira, each confronting both external foes and internal conflicts. Director Haruo Sotozaki keeps the pace relentless, ensuring few dull stretches despite a near three-hour runtime. The animation once again sets a high bar for spectacle with gravity-defying swordplay, fluid transformations and kaleidoscopic lighting effects that feel tailor-made for the big screen. Yet weaknesses emerge in the structure. With so many characters demanding screen time, arcs that should land with devastating impact sometimes feel rushed. The emotional resonance of Tanjiro’s journey is diluted by frenetic pacing and an overreliance on spectacle. Some narrative threads resolve neatly, but others feel underdeveloped making it less cohesive than earlier entries. While delivering enough spectacle and catharsis to satisfy fans, as a piece of storytelling it feels uneven, caught between serving as a finale and as a nonstop showcase of animation bravura. (C PLUS.)
DOWNTON ABBEY: THE GRAND FINALE--There’s a gentle, bittersweet quality to "The Grand Finale" that resonates like a fond farewell whispered through polished silverware and twilight corridors. Set in the early 1930's, this concluding chapter of the long-running BBC/PBS series navigates the Crawley household through shifting social tides with grace, humor and an elegant awareness of the passage of time. At its heart is Lady Mary Crawley (Michelle Dockery) whose recent divorce ignites both public scandal and personal evolution. She must step into the role of estate matriarch; not just managing Downton, but redefining it for a changing world. Her parents, Lord Robert Grantham (Hugh Bonneville) and Cora, Countess of Grantham (Elizabeth McGovern), face financial strain while confronting their own personal transitions. Meanwhile, the downstairs staff--Carson (Jim Carter), Anna (Joanne Froggatt), Bates (Brendan Coyle), Mrs. Hughes (Phyllis Logan), Mrs. Patmore (Lesley Nicol), Daisy (Sophie McShera) and Isobel (Penelope Wilton)--bring warmth and wit, tending to Downton’s spirit even as traditions shift. Writer Julian Fellowes and director Simon Curtis have once again collaborated to frame the movie not as a grand spectacle, but a poignant, intimate denouement. Their stewardship ensures that every family dinner, whispered secret and lingering glance honors the past even while bowing to the future. The absence of Dowager Countess Violet (Dame Maggie Smith) is deeply felt throughout without being overstated: her portrait looms over Downton with a spectral smile, and a roll-of-credits tribute cements her presence in spirit. Closing the door on a beloved saga with genuine affection, it offers one last swoon of elegance, familial resilience and the poignant joy of an era saying goodbye. (A MINUS.)
GABBY'S DOLLHOUSE: THE MOVIE--The leap from streaming series to the big screen can be tricky, but director Ryan Crego manages the transition with charm and infectious energy. Returning to the role that made her a household name with preschoolers, Laila Lockhart Kraner plays Gabby who embarks on a road trip with her grandmother Gigi (Grammy winner Gloria Estefan). Their destination is the whimsical city of Cat Francisco, a fantastical expansion of the world hinted at in the Netflix mainstay. Troubles arise when Gabby’s beloved dollhouse falls into the hands of an eccentric, would-be collector ("Bridesmaids" star Kristen Wiig bringing just the right amount of mischief without ever becoming truly menacing). Determined not to lose her magical playhouse, Gabby shrinks herself to toy size and enlists the aid of her trusty Gabby Cats. The blend of live action and CGI animation is seamless with the dollhouse sequences bursting to life in bright, tactile detail. Although the pacing occasionally lags, the film mostly succeeds as a colorful, heart-centered adventure about the power of imagination. (B MINUS.)
GOOD BOY--A lean, inventive supernatural horror flick that finds fresh footing by shifting perspective to a most unlikely protagonist: a dog. Ben Leonberg's film follows Indy, a loyal pup who relocates with his owner Todd (Shane Jensen) to an abandoned family property once belonging to Todd’s grandfather (Larry Fessenden). Almost immediately, Indy detects a sinister presence in the creaking farmhouse: shadows flit across doorways, sounds echo from empty rooms and something unseen begins to prey on Todd’s well-being. As Todd grows increasingly
withdrawn, Indy takes on the role of protector, sensing the threat of a malevolent force that seems intent on dragging his human into the afterlife. The emotional weight lies in the bond between dog and master which is rendered with surprising poignancy. What distinguishes the movie is not its haunted-house tropes--spectral apparitions and ominous creaks--but the dog’s-eye framing. Leonberg keeps the camera low, the soundscape heightened and the narrative tautly tethered to Indy’s perspective. Heartfelt as well as chilling, it succeeds as both an intimate character study and a horror tale that reminds us how loyalty can be terrifyingly tested.
(B 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.)
THE LONG WALK---Set in a near-future authoritarian America, director Francis ("I Am Legend," multiple "Hunger Games" entries) Lawrence's stark, gripping adaptation of Stephen King's early dystopian tale centers on an annual contest in which fifty boys must keep walking without pause. Falling behind earns warnings; three mistakes mean instant execution. The last survivor wins freedom and material wealth, but at the cost of witnessing his comrades fall one by one. At the film’s heart is Cooper Hoffman as Ray Garraty, a Maine teenager whose mixture of determination and fragility makes him a sympathetic anchor. Hoffman conveys the weariness of body and soul as the walk drags on while David Jonsson’s Peter McVries emerges as his closest ally, lending warmth and moral conscience to the bleak journey. Garrett Wareing plays Stebbins, the enigmatic loner with a hidden agenda, and Tut Nyuot gives Arthur Baker a quiet dignity. Ben Wang as Hank Olson captures the desperation of a boy pushed beyond his limits while Charlie Plummer, Roman Griffin Davis, Jordan Gonzalez and Joshua Odjick all leave vivid impressions in smaller but affecting turns. The adult cast also leaves indelible impressions. As Ray's parents, Judy Greer and Josh Hamilton ground the movie in personal stakes while Mark Hamill is positively chilling as the ruthless Major, the public face of state power who presides over the competition with unwavering detachment. Lawrence brings a sure hand to the material, balancing the relentless tension of the march with moments of aching humanity. The result is a harrowing, deeply affecting survival drama that ranks among his most impressive achievements. (B 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.)
ONE BATTLE AFTER ANOTHER--A ferocious, sprawling, profoundly moving epic that blends political satire, action spectacle and emotional intimacy into one of the most audacious films of director Paul Thomas Anderson's brilliant ("There Will Be Blood," "Boogie Nights," "Phantom Thread," et al) career. Ex-radical revolutionary Bob Ferguson (Leonardo DiCaprio) now lives off the grid with his teenage daughter, Willa (Chase Infiniti). Their placid existence shatters when Bob’s past finally catches up with him. Colonel Steven J. Lockjaw (Sean Penn), a former white supremacist cult leader turned militia commander, resurfaces with a vendetta that places Willa in grave danger. To protect his daughter, Bob is forced to reconnect with the remnants of his old activist circle including Willa’s mother Perfidia, (Teyana Taylor), and Deandra (Regina Hall), a former comrade who's become a moral anchor in the fractured movement. Adding to the mix is Benicio del Toro’s Sensei Sergio, a shadowy operator with ambiguous loyalties who helps guide Bob and Willa through perilous underground channels. Anderson orchestrates the (Robert) Altman-esque narrative canvas as a series of escalating chases and confrontations, but the movie never loses sight of its humanity. The action is visceral--car chases and explosive skirmishes are staged with breathtaking precision--yet it's the quieter exchanges between father and daughter that elevate the story. Willa’s growing awareness of her parents’ past misdeeds and sacrifices gives the film its aching heart. Anderson explores how ideals curdle into paranoia, how the weight of youthful conviction lingers into middle age and how love, whether romantic, political or familial, endures despite betrayal and violence. With its stunningly assured melding of spectacle, soul-piercing drama and impeccable performances, Anderson's masterpiece ranks among the decade's premier cinematic achievements. (A PLUS.)
SHOESHINE--One of the earliest and most luminous achievements of Italian neorealism, Vittorio De Sica's classic radiates compassion while never flinching from the stark realities of postwar life. Shot in the rubble-strewn streets and cramped interiors of Rome, it tells the story of two inseparable boys--Giuseppe (Rinaldo Smordoni) and Pasquale (Franco Interlenghi)--whose modest dream of buying a horse is derailed by a chain of petty crimes, bad luck and the grinding machinery of institutional neglect. From its opening moments, "Shoeshine" pulses with an almost documentary immediacy. De Sica’s camera finds poetry in the smallest gestures: the boys’ exuberant rides on their horse, the glint of sun on cobblestones, the fragile laughter that survives amid ignominy. Yet this warmth is always in tension with the encroaching coldness of a society more interested in punishment than compassion. When Giuseppe and Pasquale are sent to a juvenile detention center, the movie shifts into a heartbreaking study of friendship under siege: how mistrust, manipulation and desperation can corrode even the strongest bond.The performances drawn from nonprofessional actors are nothing short of miraculous. Smordoni’s mischievous energy and Interlenghi’s quiet dignity create a dynamic so authentic it feels lived rather than acted. De Sica and screenwriter Cesare Zavattini infuse the narrative with a profound humanism. There are no villains here, only people caught in the grip of poverty, bureaucracy and moral compromise. Technically the film is remarkable for its understated beauty. Anchored by Anchise Brizzi’s fluid cinematography, the visuals balance gritty realism with moments of lyrical grace. De Sica avoids sentimentality, allowing the tragedy to emerge organically from circumstance rather than contrivance. Even the smallest supporting roles feel vivid, their individuality painstakingly etched. When "Shoeshine" premiered, it resonated far beyond Italy, earning a special Academy Award for its “high spiritual quality” and helped introduce neorealism to the world. Nearly eight decades later, its emotional power remains undiminished. The final scenes, devastating in their simplicity, remind us that the cost of injustice is not measured only in lost lives, but in broken trust, squandered youth and dreams that dissolve into dust. Tender,unblinking and unforgettable, this is cinema as moral witness, a timeless work of empathy that speaks as urgently today as it did in the ashes of postwar 1946. Extras on the Criterion Collection's digitally restored 4K Blu-Ray include "Sciuscia," Mimmo Verdesca's 2016 documentary celebrating the film's 70th anniversary; a featurette on "Shoeshine" and Italian neorealism with scholars Catherine O'Rawe and Paola Bonifazio; a 1946 radio broadcast with De Sica; an essay by N.Y.U. Contemporary Italian Studies professor David Forgacs; and De Sica's 1945 photo-documentary, "Shoeshine, Joe?" (A PLUS.)
THE SMASHING MACHINE--Director Benny ("Uncut Gems," "Good Time") Safdie's bruising yet surprisingly intimate portrait of mixed martial arts fighter Mark Kerr is as much about fragility and self-destruction as the physical endurance of combat. As Kerr, Dwayne Johnson delivers his most vulnerable and impressive performance to date. Gone is The Rock's invincible action persona: in its place is a man struggling to balance professional success with dependency and inner turmoil. Johnson captures the paradox of a fighter both feared in the cage and haunted outside of it. Oscar nominee Emily Blunt plays Kerr's life partner whose attempts to steady his descent add emotional resonance to the narrative. Their emotionally fraught relationship supplies the movie with its tenderest, most devastating moments. The immersive fight sequences are staged with handheld urgency, emphasizing physical exhaustion and bodily risk over mere spectacle. Outside the ring, the camera lingers on quiet, often uncomfortable details: recovery rooms, fractured conversations and the solitude that shadows celebrity. This duality highlights the cost of living a life defined by physical dominance. At times the
pacing falters as Safdie dwells on Kerr’s repetitive cycles of relapse and regret, but the accumulation of such moments ultimately underscores the tragic nature of the story. Thanks to Safdie's uncompromising vision and Johnson's career-defining turn, it's a haunting character study that lingers long after the final bell. (B.)
THE STRANGERS: CHAPTER 2--Director Renny ("The Long Kiss Goodnight," "Die Hard 2") Harlin resumes his horror trilogy reboot with a bleak and harrowing follow-up that doubles down on the merciless terror of its 2024 predecessor. Picking up immediately where "Chapter 1" ended, it finds Maya (Madelaine Petsch) barely surviving a vicious home invasion. Traumatized but still alive, she soon discover that her relentless masked tormentors are still lurking in the shadows. Petsch's raw-nerved performance convincingly charts Maya’s unraveling psyche as paranoia and desperation take hold. Froy Gutierrez returns briefly as Maya’s ill-fated boyfriend whose absence haunts her journey. The killers, once again portrayed with chilling anonymity, remain silent embodiments of unstoppable evil, their motives left unexplained which only heightens the existential dread underpinning the film. Harlin crafts setpieces with ruthless precision, staging the violence with unsettling realism. Abandoned motels, shadowy woods and dimly lit small-town spaces provide the Strangers with plenty of hiding places, amplifying the sense that Maya is never beyond their reach. Unlike many sequels that lean into backstory, the bleak, brutal and relentless "Chapter 2" thrives on its refusal to explain, focusing instead on terror at its most primal. (B.)
YOU CAN COUNT ON ME--A masterclass in character-driven storytelling, playwright Kenneth Lonergan's 2000 filmmaking debut is a quietly devastating, richly human portrait of familial bonds, emotional fragility and the complexities of adulthood that ranks among the most affecting American dramas of the early aughts. Anchored by two extraordinary performances from Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo, it's a small film that continues to resonate with amazing emotional depth. Set in a sleepy Catskills town, the story revolves around Sammy Prescott (Linney), a single mother and bank employee trying to maintain stability for her young son Rudy (Rory Culkin). Sammy's controlled life is disrupted by the return of her estranged brother, Terry (Ruffalo), a drifter with a penchant for self-destruction and a heart that’s too gentle for this world. Their reunion sparks both tenderness and turmoil as they wrestle with shared childhood trauma, diverging life paths and the struggle to truly understand one another. What makes "You Can Count on Me" so remarkable is Lonergan’s refusal to indulge in melodrama. His screenplay is layered with nuance, humor and a deep sense of empathy. The dialogue feels unforced and the emotional beats land with a natural, uncontrived power. As a director, Lonergan favors simplicity, letting his actors’ expressions and silences speak volumes. Linney’s Oscar-nominated performance is revelatory, capturing Sammy’s strength and vulnerability with clarity and grace. Her portrayal of a woman trying to do the right thing—even when she’s unsure what that is—remains one of the finest of her career. In a breakout role, Ruffalo brings a wounded charisma to Terry, creating a character who is infuriating and lovable in equal measure. Their chemistry is undeniable, imbuing their sibling dynamic with history, affection and deep emotional conflict. The supporting cast brings additonalrichness without detracting from the core brother/sister relationship. Matthew Broderick is hilarious as Sammy’s neurotic boss and Culkin gives a tender, unaffected performance that deepens the emotional stakes. With wit, honesty and compassion, Lonergan captures the messiness of real life, how love coexists with frustration and how connection, albeit imperfect, remains a lifeline. It’s that rare drama that feels both specific and universal. Included on the Criterion Collection's Blu-Ray are Lonergan's audio commentary; new interviews with Lonergan, Linney, Ruffalo and Broderick; an essay by playwright Rebecca (Pulitzer finalist "The Glory of Living") Gilman; and the script of the original one-act play the film was based on. (A.)
---Milan Paurich