NEW THIS WEEK (11/14) IN THEATERS, VOD AND/OR ON HOME VIDEO
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.)
FRIGHTMARE--Director Pete ("House of Whipcord") Walker’s 1974 film stands as one of the more audacious entries in '70s British horror, a period when the genre was shifting from Gothic Hammer fantasy to contemporary social anxieties. Known for his cinematic provocations, Walker used the modest budget and claustrophobic settings to construct a disturbing tale of madness, generational decay and the uneasy line between rehabilitation and relapse. The story centers on Dorothy and Edmund Yates (Sheila Keith and Rupert Davies), an elderly couple recently released from a long stay in an asylum. While their younger relatives try to reintegrate them into ordinary life, it soon becomes clear that Dorothy’s taste for human flesh--suppressed if not quite extinguished--has resurfaced. Her stepdaughter Jackie (Deborah Fairfax) and rebellious teenage daughter Debbie (Kim Butcher) find themselves caught in the fallout, with family ties fraying under the weight of long-buried secrets. Keith’s performance as the deceptively genteel cannibal is unforgettable, alternately maternal and monstrous. She gives the movie its unsettling power by grounding the more lurid moments in genuine psychological terror. Walker directs with an eye for quiet dread rather than cheap shocks, staging much of the horror in dimly lit interiors where domestic normalcy masks unspeakable behavior. The violence, while graphic for its era, feels secondary to the bleak moral vision: that evil can flourish behind the façade of English civility. "Frightmare" works as both a grisly thriller and commentary on Britain’s institutional failures: its ineffectual mental health system, repression of deviance and denial of class and generational tensions. The final act, which erupts into chaos and despair, cements Walker’s reputation as a moral provocateur rather than a mere exploitation craftsman. Brutal, sardonic and surprisingly moving, it endures as one of the most unsettling portraits of domestic horror. The Kino Cult Blu-Ray includes two commentary tracks with, respectively, Walker, cinematographer Peter Jessop and Steve Chibnall, author of "Making Mischief: The Cult Films of Pete Walker," and "We Are Going To Eat You: Cannibal Movies" author Stephen R. Bissette; standalone interviews with editor Robert C. Dearberg and actor Paul Greenwood; two featurettes ("For the Sake of Cannibalism" and "Sheila Keith: A Nice Old Lady"); and the original theatrical trailer. (B PLUS.) https://youtu.be/R-BmmMQGJS0?si=MO1HdHw64WsODUey
KEEPER--"Longlegs"/"The Monkey" auteur Osgood Perkins returns with a taut, unsettling exploration of relationship anxiety and supernatural dread. Tatiana Maslany and Rossif Sutherland play Liz and Malcolm, a couple celebrating their anniversary at a secluded woodland cabin. The outing initially appears idyllic, but takes an abrupt turn when Malcolm is called back to the city, leaving his partner alone and vulnerable in a house with a malign legacy. As Liz's isolation grows and the cabin’s dark past begins to leak into her consciousness, Maslany's performance oscillates between weary intimacy and mounting dread. Though physically absent for much of the second half, Sutherland's Malcolm serves as the trigger point for Liz’s unraveling. His departure becomes more than a plot device, mirroring the unspoken tensions in their marriage. Rather than a conventional jump-scare thriller, it's more subtle, thoughtful and deliberate. The single-location setting and skeletal cast help intensify the sense of claustrophobia as the cabin becomes less sanctuary than trap. Nick Lepard's screenplay allows stillness to build unease while the otherworldly elements emerge almost imperceptibly. It's less about what lurks in the shadows and more about what hides in plain sight: in relationships, memory and the empty space between words.(B PLUS.) https://youtu.be/L1EeA-OihKA?si=3bFTFDdpyzUDcs7u
MUZZLE: CITY OF WOLVES--In director John Stahlberg Jr.'s follow-up to 2023's "Muzzle," Aaron Eckhart returns as Jake Rosser, a former cop trying to leave violence behind and settle into a peaceful family life with his retired K-K-9 pooch, Socks. Stalberg Jr. keeps the movie brisk and tight--clocking in at just over 90 minutes--while leaning into standard issue action-thriller territory. The strength lies in Eckhart’s weary yet determined performance: he brings credibility to a man haunted by what he’s seen and his determination to protect what matters. The dog-handler premise remains a neat hook; seeing a human-canine partnership gives the sequel a slightly different flavor than standard revenge flicks. However, "City of Wolves" doesn’t deviate far from genre norms. The plot moves predictably from the inciting attack on Jake's family to his uncovering of the drug ring responsible and their inevitable final confrontation. Secondary roles are largely functional rather than fully developed. The pacing is efficient and action sequences deliver the expected kinetic jolt, yet emotional beats land unevenly and Jake’s internal struggle could have been explored more deeply. (C.)
NOW YOU SEE ME, NOW YOU DON'T--After nearly a decade-long hiatus, director Ruben ("Zombieland") Fleischer reunites the original “Four Horsemen”--Jesse Eisenberg, Woody Harrelson, Dave Franco and Isla
Fisher--for another stylishly inventive heist flick. As the film opens, the Horsemen have all moved on and gone their separate ways. But when Atlas (Eisenberg) recruits a trio of young illusionists--Dominic Sessa, Justice Smith and Ariana Greenblatt--the old pros are pulled back into the field for one last adventure. Their target: the priceless “Heart Diamond” stolen by Veronika Vanderberg (Rosamund Pike), ruthless leader of a nefarious global crime syndicate. The Horsemen's mission becomes as much about legacy and reinvention as it is about theft. Fleischer leans into the series' signature blend of legerdemain and heist movie tropes: sleek transitions, globe-trotting setpieces and the underlying "Is this a magic trick or an actual robbery?" tension. At times the movie seems more enamored with its own cleverness, though, and the twist-heavy climax feels overly programmed with emotional resonance taking a back seat to the mechanics of misdirection. While not reaching the heights of its predecessors, it's a roguishly entertaining lark with just enough sleight of hand to keep the magic-heist franchise alive and kicking. (B.) https://youtu.be/-E3lMRx7HRQ?si=aIQrXQMI9ZtSLkcA
THE RUNNING MAN--Previously adapted as a 1987 Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle, Stephen King's dystopian classic has been reimagined by fanboy favorite Edgar ("Baby Driver," "Shaun of the Dead") with exhilarating energy and a distinctly human touch. Trading the previous film's camp for something leaner and more propulsive, Wright has crafted a kinetic, darkly funny action thriller that feels both timely and timeless. In a charismatic, refreshingly layered lead performance, Glen ("Top Gun Maverick," "Anyone but You") Powell plays Ben Richards, a famly man forced to compete in a brutal televised death game. His charm and vulnerability confidently anchor the chaos surrounding him. Josh Brolin delivers a gruff, magnetic turn as the show’s manipulative producer, balancing menace with a world-weary cynicism that feels ripped from MAGA headlines. Supporting performances from Emilia Jones, Idris Elba, Michael Cera, William H. Macy and Katy O'Brian add texture and emotional depth with each character serving as a reminder that even in this fast-moving spectacle, humanity still bleeds through the noise. The movie practically bursts with Wright's signature visual wit: crisp edits, rhythmic pacing and a neon-lit aesthetic that fuses satire with pulse-pounding tension. Yet beneath the glittery surface lies a scathing critique of Instagram culture and how entertainment consumes empathy. Every chase and confrontation feels purposeful, building toward an ending as exciting as it is haunting. The action sequences are both brutal and balletic, propelled by an electrifying score and shot with fluid confidence by cinematographer Chun-hoo Chung. Wright balances adrenaline and intelligence in equal measure, transforming what could have been a simple survival story into a potent, character-driven social fable that reminds us what's truly at stake when real life and social media collide. (A MINUS.) https://youtu.be/_iHJHYjq7XI?si=C89_IU65mwYh5uzE
TRAP HOUSE--A generic programmer utterly devoid of edge or suspense starring Dave Bautista as a battle-weary DEA agent whose teenage children turn the tables by robbing a dangerous cartel using his intel. Bautista carries the movie with his formidable physical presence, but he’s trapped in a script that piles on "Spy-Kids-Gone-Rogue" cliches while failing to provide any true emotional grounding. The teens, the cartel and the agents all remain stubbornly one-dimensional, and the familial dynamics never fully land. Uninspired action sequences fail to elevate the warmed-over genre tropes, and the theme of intergenerational betrayal is undercut by contrivances and predictable arcs. By the time the ending finally arrives, there’s precious little tension and a payoff that feels less earned than perfunctory. (D.) https://youtu.be/2RZOjNStq0Q?si=LpNXPHZR4xCNuWk0
NOW AVAILABLE IN THEATERS, ON HOME VIDEO AND/OR STREAMING CHANNELS:
BLACK PHONE 2--Returning to the eerie world he created in his 2021 sleeper, director Scott ("Doctor Strange") Derrickson's follow-up deepens the mythology of the Grabber with greater emotional stakes and a more expansive sense of the supernatural. Rather than merely recycle the original's abduction narrative, this unexpectedly thoughtful sequel examines the lingering effects of trauma and the spectral echoes that refuse to fade. Set four years later, the story finds (Mason Thames) still struggling to move on. His younger sister Gwen (Madeleine McGraw), now entering adolescence, begins to experience vivid dreams and new psychic abilities connected to a series of disappearances at a remote Colorado camp. When the siblings uncover evidence that The Grabber’s malevolent spirit has returned, their search leads them into a wintry nightmare where past and present collide and the black phone once again becomes a conduit between worlds. Working with cinematographer Pär M. Ekberg, Derrickson drapes the film in cold light and shadow and uses the snowbound setting to evoke isolation and unease. The pacing is deliberate, building dread through atmosphere rather than cheesy jump scares. "Black Phone 2" stands as an impressive, often chilling continuation that respects its origins while daring to explore the ghosts left behind. (B.)
BUGONIA--Visionary director Yorgos ("Poor Things") Lanthimos returns to the high-concept absurdism of "The Lobster" and "Dogtooth" with the same cold, clipped formalism we've come to expect from his work. Reuniting with Emma Stone (their fourth collaboration) and Jesse Plemons (who won Cannes' Best Actor award for Lanthimos' "Kinds of Kindness"), he tackles an English-language remake of Jang Joon-hwan's 2003 Korean cult film "Save the Green Planet," refashioning its paranoid fury into his own unique cinematic sensibility. Teddy (Jesse Plemons) is an addled beekeeper who becomes convinced that Michelle Fuller (Emma Stone), CEO of a global biotech company, is an alien intent on enslaving Earth. With the aid of his equally bonkers conspiracy nut buddy (Aidan Delbis), Teddy kidnaps the corporate hotshot. As Michelle oscillates between imperious poise, sheer incredulity and existential hatred, Teddy spirals deeper and deeper into his manic delusion. The game becomes one of power, truth and identity in which the question isn't whether Michelle is an alien, but who's really human. What makes this such a thrilling entry in Lanthimos’ oeuvre is how it echoes his earlier work (epecially the power-play dynamics of "The Favourite") while injecting a fresh dose of genre tropes. Stone gives perhaps her most impressive Lanthimos performance to date: she plays Michelle with immaculate composure, even as the walls close in and her confidence fractures. Plemons unleashes his own brand of controlled mania. Teddy is part zealot, part wounded child, alternately terrifying and sympathetic. Their showdown dominates the film's second half and gives it an electric jolt. Visually "Bugonia" bears Lanthimos’ signature clean, composed framing and recurring shots of clinical whiteness imbued with a creeping unease. While honoring the original’s playfulness, Lanthimos scales things up exponentially. The result is leaner, meaner and uber topical, its themes of corporate control, alienation, ecological anxiety and conspiracy-mongering feel tailor-made for the moment. (A.)
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.)
CHRISTY--Boxer Christy Martin is brought to vivid life courtesy of Sydney Sweeney's career-best turn in Australian director David ("Animal Kingdom," "The Rover") Michôd's compelling biopic. Instead of delivering a conventional boxing flick, Michod takes a deep dive into the emotional and psychological battles that shaped Martin’s path to becoming one of the first women to break through the sport's male-dominated ranks. Michôd, whose earlier work balanced grit with introspection, brings that same duality here. He frames the movie as both a bruising sports drama and survival tale, capturing the contradictions of a woman celebrated for her strength yet trapped in an abusive marriage to her trainer (played with unnerving intensity by Ben Foster). Their scenes bristle with volatility with the camera lingering just long enough to let us feel Christy's desperate yearning for freedom. Utterly convincing both in and outside the ring, Sweeney's physical transformation is impressive, but it’s her emotional precision that gives the performance its weight. She plays Martin as defiant yet wounded, her determination to win serving as both armor and therapy. Michôd’s grounded direction and the crisp cinematography by Germain McMicking give it a stark realism that makes every punch feel earned. While following some familiar tropes of the genre--setbacks, comebacks and a frequently unflattering media spotlight--Michôd’s unflinching focus on Martin’s internal battle keeps it from ever seeming formulaic. The result is an inspiring, muscular film that honors its subject’s legacy without sanctifying her. (A MINUS.)
DIE MY LOVE--Harrowing, compassionate and haunting, Lynn ("We Need to Talk About Kevin," "You Were Never Really Here") latest masterpiece channels the full force of its emotions via commanding performances and her typically uncompromising vision. Adapted from Ariana Harwicz’s acclaimed novel, it explores the dissolution of identity within a marriage, the suffocation of domestic life and the ungovernable urges that lurk beneath the surface of love. Ramsay’s direction is characteristically fearless; she plunges the viewer into a fevered psychological landscape where tenderness and terror coexist. As new mom Grace, Oscar winner Jennifer Lawrence delivers her most accomplished and devastating performance to date. Ramsay gives Lawrence the freedom to unravel on screen without artifice or restraint, and the result is a portrait of despair and desire almost too intimate to bear. Robert Pattinson brings an understated ballast to the role of Grace's well-meaning, if ultimately ineffectual husband, that slowly curdles into dread which helps ground the emotional chaos. Lakeith Stanfield’s enigmatic turn adds a vital tension, his quiet empathy contrasting with the surrounding volatility. Sissy Spacek and Nick Nolte lend weathered gravitas, their scenes infused with memory and regret, helping shape the story’s emotional architecture with quiet precision. Ramsay and cinematographer Seamus McGarvey craft images that sear themselves into memory: sunlight that feels bruised, domestic interiors trembling with unease and landscapes that radiate both freedom and entrapment. The sound design helps amplify Grace's fracturing psyche: every creak, whisper and silence vibrates with unspoken pain. Editing is sharp yet intuitive, collapsing time and memory into a fluid, almost dreamlike continuum that mirrors its protagonist’s disorientation. Yet this isn't simply a descent into madness. Ramsay locates moments of brutal poetry amidst the despair, illuminating fragile connections that keep people tethered to one another even when everything else is lost. (A.)
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.)
NUREMBERG--A provocative twist on the familiar postwar courtroom drama that centers less on the proceedings than the existential reckoning behind them. The film pairs Russell Crowe, playing a captured German general awaiting trial, with Rami Malek as the American psychiatrist assigned to evaluate his sanity. The result is an intimate two-hander wrapped in the trappings of historical drama. Crowe delivers a formidable performance, embodying arrogance, guilt and denial with chilling restraint. His Nazi officer is a study in moral corrosion and self-delusion. Malek provides measured counterpoint as the young shrink torn between professional detachment and moral outrage. Their exchanges--alternately clinical, philosophical and emotionally raw--form the movie’s uneasy heart. James Vanderbilt’s cooly precise direction evokes the claustrophobia of interrogation rooms and the moral shadows cast by the aftermath of war. The pacing, however, is erratic at times with stretches of intensity diluted by unnecessary subplots involving the tribunal and political pressures surrounding it. Veering between chamber drama and procedural thriller, it never decides which story it wants to tell. Vanderbilt
probes the pathology of evil and the limits of understanding, but doesn’t always sustain its tension. The result is a respectable, uneven work that's intellectually engaging, emotionally distant and ultimately diluted in impact. (B.)
PREDATOR: BADLANDS--Merging high-octane action with unexpectedly nuanced science fiction themes, Dan ("10 Cloverfield Lane," 2022 "Predator" prequel "Prey") Trachtenberg’s film marks a striking evolution in the 38-year-old franchise, bringing a kinetic energy while still providing room for introspection. As Thia, an android navigating the titular Badlands, Elle Fanning deftly balances the character's mechanical precision with an emergent humanity, making her both a formidable presence and capable of surprising emotional depth. Moments of vulnerability coexist seamlessly with explosive action sequences, giving the movie an inner tension that rarely lets up. Cinematographer Jeff Cutter captures the stark, unforgiving landscapes with sweeping wide shots that juxtapose nature’s forbidding vastness against Thia's intimate, deadly encounters with the Predator (an imposing Dimitrius Schuster-Kolomatangi). The practical and digital effects work create action sequences and creatures that feel tactile and immediate, honoring the series' legacy while pushing it into more sophisticated visual territory. Thanks to Trachtenberg's assured direction and Fanning’s impressive performance, "Badlands" revitalizes a familiar template by offering both adrenaline-fueled spectacle and thoughtful sci-fi storytelling. It's an engaging, visually arresting addition to the canon that stands as one of the franchise's most ambitious installments. (B PLUS.)
REGRETTING YOU--Josh ("The Fault in Our Stars") Boone’s adaptation of Collen Hoover's best-selling 2019 novel opens with a car accident that claims the lives of Chris (Scott Eastwood) and Jenny (Willa Fitzgerald) which forces Chris' widow Morgan (Allison Williams) and daughter Clara (McKenna Grace) to reconfigure the pieces of their fractured lives. From that rupture, the film charts shifting loyalties, hidden truths and attempts at reconciliation. Along the way, Clara’s burgeoning romance with classmate Miller (Mason Thames) and Morgan’s unexpected bond with Chris' best friend Jonah (Dave Franco) complicate the narrative. Boone is unafraid to tilt into melodrama, and many scenes carry genuine pathos. Williams handles Morgan’s guilt and anguish with a steady hand while Grace effortlessly captures Clara’s restlessness and ambivalence. The chemistry between Grace and Thames positively crackles, giving their arc real emotional weight. In flashbacks, Eastwood and Fitzgerald add texture to the story's layered past. Unfortunately, some plot turns feel overly schematic as conflicts arrive and resolve with minimal friction. There are stretches, particularly in the second half, where the pacing lags and multiple threads compete without providing a satisfying conclusion. The ending, while emotionally gratifying, wraps up tensions faster than they emerged. Yet Boone still manages to deliver moments of real poignancy, especially in the scenes where mother and daughter confront their deepest, darkest fears. (B MINUS.)
SARAH'S OIL--Set in early 20th-century Oklahoma, Cyrus Nowrasteh's film tells the true-life story of Sarah Rector (Naya Desir‑Johnson), a young African-American girl who inherits a seemingly worthless plot of land only to discover that it contains a gusher of oil. As the black gold flows, 11-year-old Sarah becomes one of the earliest female African-American millionaires in the U.S. Along the way she cPREDATOR: BADLANDS--Merging high-octane action with unexpectedly nuanced science fiction themes, Dan ("10 Cloverfield Lane," 2022 "Predator" prequel "Prey") Trachtenberg’s film marks a striking evolution in the 38-year-old franchise, bringing a kinetic energy while still providing room for introspection. As Thia, an android navigating the titular Badlands, Elle Fanning deftly balances the character's mechanical precision with an emergent humanity, making her both a formidable presence and capable of surprising emotional depth. Moments of vulnerability coexist seamlessly with explosive action sequences, giving the movie an inner tension that rarely lets up. Cinematographer Jeff Cutter captures the stark, unforgiving landscapes with sweeping wide shots that juxtapose nature’s forbidding vastness against Thia's intimate, deadly encounters with the Predator (an imposing Dimitrius Schuster-Kolomatangi). The practical and digital effects work create action sequences and creatures that feel tactile and immediate, honoring the series' legacy while pushing it into more sophisticated visual territory. Thanks to Trachtenberg's assured direction and Fanning’s impressive performance, "Badlands" revitalizes a familiar template by offering both adrenaline-fueled spectacle and thoughtful sci-fi storytelling. It's an engaging, visually arresting addition to the canon that stands as one of the franchise's most ambitious installments. (B PLUS.) onfronts predatory speculators, legal guardianship battles and systemic barriers grounded in race and white privilege. The historical setting is convincingly evoked with dusty oilfields, shuttered boomtowns and the turbulent clash between opportunity and exploitation. Nowrasteh leans into both the optimism and cautionary undercurrent of Sarah’s rapid rise: the sense of wonder at a child’s fortune and the darker reality of what it portends. However, the movie never holds together as cohesively as desired. The script features myriad subplots (legal battles, oil-field politics, societal prejudice) that handicap the narrative flow. While commendable for bringing a remarkable chapter in American history to light--and for the dignified way it treats its young protagonist's journey--the tension between telling a family-friendly story and a larger social drama frequently pulls the film in opposite directions. (B MINUS.)
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.)
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.)
---Milan Paurich
