NEW THIS WEEK (10/3) IN THEATERS, VOD AND/OR ON HOME VIDEO
BONE LAKE--Sage (Maddie Hasson) and Diego (Marco Pigossi) arrive at a secluded lakeside mansion intending to enjoy a romantic, clothing-optional weekend. Their tranquility is abruptly shattered when another couple (Alex Roe and Andra Nechita) shows up claiming they also booked the property. What begins as awkward flirtation intensifies as hidden motives, jealousy and manipulation rise to the surface. As tensions spiral, the couples enter a lethal confrontation where loyalties shift, secrets are revealed and the struggle to survive becomes enmeshed with betrayal and desire. Director Mercedes Bryce Morgan's hybrid of thriller and psychosexual drama leans heavily into the creeping unease of social dynamics: glances held too long, flirtations with danger and subtle power shifts. The setting feels suffocating and the camera work--especially in tight interiors--reinforces the claustrophobia of shared spaces. Hasson anchors the emotional core with a vulnerability that belies an inner strength; Pigossi’s Diego is suitably conflicted, reacting to both external threats and internal doubt; and Roe and Nechita bring an alluring unpredictability that's both magnetic and subtly menacing. By the midpoint, however, plot points begin to feel overly telegraphed and certain characters’ motivations strain credulity. But once Morgan unleashes her genre bonafides in the third act, it pivots into full-scale chaos with beaucoup tension and shocking gore. The contrast between the teasing buildup and the final carnage is jarring if queasily effective. While not fully resolving all of its narrative ambitions, fans of slow-burning horror will find much to admire in terms of style and mood. (B.) https://youtu.be/mQy7BuW-R6c?si=Ad5B6mCXpqvY-qrT
DOGTOOTH-- Yorgos ("Poor Things," "The Favourite") Lanthimos' disturbing, wickedly funny and endlessly fascinating 2009 masterpiece remains one of the most original films of the 21st century. It’s a work that challenges the very boundaries of family, authority and reality itself, and Lanthimos helms with a precision that makes every moment feel both clinical and deeply unsettling. The story follows a Greek family where the father (Christos Stergioglou) and mother (Michele Valley) raise their three nearly adult children in total seclusion. The outside world is forbidden and language itself has been distorted. (The children are taught that words mean things they do not, cutting them off from any framework of truth.) Their lives are controlled through a mix of discipline, faux dangers and bizarre competitions designed to reinforce obedience. When the father introduces a young woman (Anna Kalaitzidou) intended to satisfy his son’s burgeoning sexual urges, the delicate balance of
the family's world begins to collapse. Lanthimos uses his premise not as mere provocation but as a way to explore themes of power, social-conditioning and the fragility of constructed realities. The performances are extraordinary with Stergioglou embodying authoritarian calm, Valley projecting eerie detachment and Aggeliki Papoulia and Mary Tsoni as the daughters conveying both childlike innocence and simmering rebellion. Lanthimos' static framing and matter-of-fact mise-en-scene only heighten the surreal horror of what unfolds. Yet beneath the chilly surface lies a rich vein of absurdist humor making it both shocking and strangely hilarious. "Dogtooth" resists easy categorization: it’s a family drama, a dark comedy and a dystopian nightmare all at once. For anyone willing to embrace its purposeful discomforts, it presents a daring, unforgettable exploration of control and resistance that firmly established Lanthimos as one of contemporary cinema’s boldest voices. The two-disc Kino Lorber box set includes both 4K and Blu-Ray copies of the film as well as a Criterion-worthy plethora of extras. There are two audio commentary tracks (one with Kalaitzidou and Papoulia, the other with critic Adam Nayman); a standalone Lanthimos interview; deleted scenes; a 2019 Lincoln Center conversation between Lanthimos and former FSLC major domo Kent Jones; and a booklet interview with Lanthimos originally published in Letterboxd Journal. (A.) https://youtu.be/YJe4eZ9l5KY?si=6Zfaki7mRFXgISau
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.) https://youtu.be/q4-CRkd_74g?si=0iea5qHsw5377wb7
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.)
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.)
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 PLUS.)
SUSPENDED TIME--A meditation on memory, dislocation and the elusive nature of identity, Olivier ("Personal Shopper," "Irma Vep") Assayas' latest work is a luminous, introspective triumph. Featuring a stellar ensemble cast and a masterful command of mood, it represents an impressive return to Assayas’ most poetic tendencies.
At its center is Paul (Vincent Macaigne), a melancholic film director grappling with creative paralysis and personal regret. Visiting a rural family estate for the first time in years, he’s surrounded by spectral memories and fragments of the past including his estranged brother Etienne (Micha Lescot) whose presence stirs old tensions and unresolved fraternal issues. Morgane (Nina D'Urso) and Nora (Nora Hamzawi), Paul and Etienne's partners, offer support but increasingly feel adrift in Paul’s spiraling introspection and Etienne's contrarian nature. Assayas deftly captures the rhythms of conversation, silence and shifting emotional undercurrents. The movie flows with a painterly grace as if time itself has loosened its grip. Days bleed into one another, and scenes unfold with a dreamy fluidity. Cinematographer Eric Gautier brings a delicate, sun-dappled look, heightening the themes of nostalgia and impermanence. Macaigne anchors the film with quiet vulnerability while Lescot’s restrained intensity offers a compelling contrast. Hamzawi and D'Urso bring complexity and wit to distaff roles that could have easily been sidelined, grounding the story with their own quiet truths. Assayas layers the narrative with a political
subtext--ghosts of generational shifts and ideological divides subtly haunt the characters--yet it never feels polemical. It’s more concerned with the fragile fabric of relationships and the mysteries of how people change, or remain the same. Deeply personal yet universally affecting, this stands among Assayas’ most emotionally rich and aesthetically refined achievements. It's a meditation not just on time, but on the moments that slip between the cracks. (A.) AVAILABLE TO BUY OR RENT ON MOST STREAMING PLATFORMS.
NOW AVAILABLE IN THEATERS, ON HOME VIDEO AND/OR STREAMING CHANNELS:
A BIG, BOLD, BEAUTIFUL JOURNEY--The latest work by critics' darling Kogonada ("After Yang," "Columbus") is a romantic fantasy that aims for lyrical resonance but too often succumbs to sentimentality. Margot Robbie plays Sarah, a painter questioning her life choices, and Colin Farrell's Davis is a melancholy writer adrift after personal loss. The premise is certainly intriguing: when David takes out his vintage car, its peculiar GPS begins guiding him and Sarah through surreal detours. Each stop opens a literal door into moments from their pasts--weddings, childhood scenes, missed connections--forcing them to relive memories they thought long buried. Along the way, supporting characters, including Oscar winner Kevin Kline and "Fleabag" auteur Phoebe Waller-Bridge, push the couple toward reflection and, potentially, renewal. Farrell quietly embodies David's regret without slipping into self-pity, while Robbie brings warmth to Sarah even though her character occasionally drifts into archetype rather than flesh-and-blood person. Kogonada’s direction is visually arresting, layering muted color palettes with bursts of surreal imagery, yet the rhythm falters. The episodic structure quickly grows repetitive, and the central concept of revisiting the past begins to feel more like a gimmick than a revelation. While delivering moments of beauty, the film struggles to earn its emotional catharsis. Ambitious in scope, it gestures towards profundity without quite achieving it. (C.)
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.)
DEAD OF WINTER--Unleashing her inner Marge Gunderson, Emma Thompson plays recently widowed Barb who's traveling into the Minnesota wilderness to scatter her husband’s ashes. That solitary journey shifts into something far more perilous when she discovers a captive young woman (Laurel Marsden) being held in a remote cabin by a menacing couple (Judy Greer and Marc Menchaca). Director Brian Kirk, who previously helmed episodes of "Game of Thrones" and 2019's Chadwick Boseman actioner "21 Bridges," brings a vivid sense of atmosphere to the proceedings. He makes excellent use of the frozen landscape, transforming it into both a visual metaphor for grief and an unforgiving stage for suspense. The cold itself becomes an antagonist, amplifying the danger Barb faces as she decides whether to intervene. Thompson's deeply empathetic performance balances world weariness with a growing determination to act. Greer, best known for more light-hearted fare, takes a darker turn as one half of the captor duo and Marsden adds raw vulnerability that ups the emotional stakes. While the screenplay occasionally leans into familiar genre tropes, Kirk sustains tension with deliberate pacing and a keen eye for silence and stillness. The result is a thriller that's both intimate and spellbinding, more interested in resilience and moral choice than jump scares. Besides showcasing Oscar winner Thompson’s thesping range, it confirms Kirk’s skill at blending character drama with suspense. (B.)
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.)
HIM--Jordan ("Get Out," "Nope") Peele’s Monkeypaw production shingle expands its brand of bold, socially conscious horror flicks with this sharp, unsettling hybrid of sports drama and psychological terror. Directed by Justin Tipping, the movie trades the roar of the stadium for the eerie calm of an isolated compound where dreams of athletic greatness curdle into nightmare. The story follows Cameron “Cam” Cade (Tyriq Withers), a promising young quarterback whose bright future is suddenly derailed after a violent injury at the hands of an obsessed fan. Desperate to reclaim his career trajectory, Cam accepts an invitation from Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans), an eight-time championship legend, to train under his guidance. Relocating to Isaiah’s secluded estate, Cam encounters Isaiah’s glamorous wife, Elsie (Julia Fox), and soon discovers that the true game plan is less about his rehab than bending to Isaiah’s will. Wayans, best known for his comic roles, delivers a suitably menacing performance, embodying the mythic allure of a sports hero whose mentorship borders on cult leadership. Withers captures both the vulnerability and drive of a young athlete caught between ambition and survival while Fox brings an enigmatic quality to her portrayal of Isaiah’s partner whose complicity keeps the compound’s power structure intact. Tipping balances sports realism with mounting dread, gradually shifting the tone into genre territory. While not all of its supernatural elements are fully realized, it succeeds as a chilling parable that lingers long after the final whistle. (B MINUS.)
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.)
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 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