NEW THIS WEEK (11/7) IN THEATERS, VOD AND/OR ON HOME VIDEO
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.)
GRAND PRIX OF EUROPE--A high-speed animated adventure that races towards fun without ever crossing over into distinction. Set in a bright, anthropomorphic world, it follows a young mouse named Edda (Gemma Arterton) whose father Erwin (Lenny Henry) runs a struggling fairground business. When legendary racer Ed (Thomas Brodie‑Sangster) is sidelined by an injury, Edda seizes the opportunity to impersonate him and enter the titular Grand Prix to save her father’s business and prove her mettle on the track. Enchanting character design and vivid European locales are appealing, but the formulaic plot quickly skids into predictability and the anticipated emotional payoff never materializes. (C.) https://youtu.be/CGzB2kzHbIY?si=XILYicPNcEAdp0Zz
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.) https://youtu.be/43R9l7EkJwE?si=Kuv_ClCIlhVCPUkQ
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 confronts 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.)
UNEXPECTED CHRISTMAS--Momma Scott (Anna Maria Horsford) orchestrates a holiday family reunion, but her plans quickly dissolve into predictable squabbles and awkward reveals. Richard (Lil Rel Howery) arrives at his ex-girlfriend Marissa’s home with her stepsister Kerry (Reagan Gomez‑Preston), triggering the expected meltdown, but Catherine Mann's script fails to deliver genuine twists or true emotional stakes. Marissa (DomiNque Perry) and Kerry’s rivalry touches on interesting territory yet remains surface-level, and Horsford’s matriarch remains more plot device than three-dimensional character. First-time helmer Michael Vaughn Hernandez's direction lacks momentum with meandering scenes, comedic beats falling flat and the inevitable resolutions arriving much too neatly. (C MINUS.) https://youtu.be/c82d9rSx1dI?si=jbUd2E6VeXucPwNS
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.)
CHAINSAW MAN THE MOVIE: REZE ARC--Despite the feverish anticipation surrounding this long-awaited cinematic continuation of MAPPA’s hit anime adaptation, the results are disappointingly hollow. Expanding the “Bomb Girl” storyline from Tatsuki Fujimoto’s manga, it reprises Denji and his devil-hunting shenanigans while introducing the mysterious Reze, a café worker with hidden motives. What should have been a tense, tragic love story instead plays like an overextended episode padded with uneven pacing and numbing spectacle. Denji’s internal conflict and Reze’s melancholy edge, so vividly realized on the page, are diluted by clumsy tonal shifts and rushed character beats. The attempt to balance intimacy with carnage also falters; the quieter moments feel perfunctory, and the climactic battles lack the raw immediacy that made the series stand out. While hardcore fans will likely appreciate its faithfulness to the source material, "Reze Arc" doesn’t justify its cinematic canvas. The emotional payoff is thin and the narrative momentum stalls under its own weight. What should have been a devastating, character-driven tragedy becomes a strangely lifeless spectacle, proof that not every arc needs a movie treatment. (C MINUS.)
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.)
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.)
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.)
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.)
SPRINGSTEEN: DELIVER ME FROM NOWHERE--Based on Warren Zanes' 2023 book, Scott ("Hostiles," Crazy Heart") Cooper’s movie is a soulful, stripped-down chronicle of Bruce Springsteen’s creative reckoning during the making of his seminal 1982 album, "Nebraska." Eschewing the usual biopic flash, Cooper hones in on a few transformative months in 1981 and '82 when Springsteen, fresh from the success of "The River," turned inward to record what sounded like a ghostly dispatch from America’s heartland. "The Bear" Emmy winner Jeremy Allen White inhabits Springsteen with remarkable focus, avoiding impersonation in favor of a quiet, lived-in intensity. His performance conveys both the swagger and self-doubt of an artist reckoning with his fame and his past. Jeremy Strong, as Springsteen's manager and producer Jon Landau, provides an intellectual counterweight--pragmatic but deeply empathetic--while Stephen Graham and Gabby Hoffmann, playing Springsteen's parents, bring gravity and emotional ballast to their roles. Cooper, a director long attuned to masculine melancholy and landscapes that mirror inner turmoil, finds the proper tone here: muted, wintry and reflective. The cinematography captures the chill of small-town New Jersey and the analog intimacy of Springsteen’s home recordings where hiss and silence become as expressive as the music itself. The best scenes unfold in near darkness with the singer hunched over his tape deck exorcising stories of lost souls and backroad drifters that would define the album. Less a traditional rock biography than a study in creative isolation, it's a film about a man who has everything and chooses to strip it all away. With its subdued pacing and emotional candor, it stands as Cooper’s most focused work in years and a moving tribute to Springsteen’s belief that salvation, if it comes at all, must come from within. (A MINUS.)
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.)
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