As horror movie writer/director, Zach Cregger is best known for depicting the underbelly of a double-booked vacation rental home, but his widening scope to the milieu of eerie suburbia makes for a next fascinating filmmaking frontier. There goes the neighborhood in the suspense thriller Weapons (A) as the multi-hyphenate auteur (he’s also a very good composer here) unveils the intriguing premise that all but one elementary school classmates exit their homes via the front door in the middle of the night, never to be seen again, and a grieving community tries to piece together what the hell happened. This mystery/horror hybrid tells its vanishing act through violent vignettes tracing the travails of intersecting characters including Julia Garner as the kids’ feisty teacher, Josh Brolin as a hostile father of the disappeared and Alden Ehrenreich as a hapless policeman. Each episode folds gracefully into the next, giving viewers more clues and insights with each omniscient perspective. It’s like a secret being passed around. Along with the dynamite performances by the aforementioned trio, child actor Cary Christopher and Amy Madigan as “Aunt Gladys” also get to shine in intriguing and pivotal roles. There are genuine scares, for sure, interlaced with a few grisly acts; but for the most part, suspense and invention loom large, captured in the twisty dreamscapes of Larkin Seiple’s stunning cinematography. This is one of those stories evoking heartbreak one moment and hilarity the next, a veritable progressive block party to be discovered and savored together in movie theatres. That sublime sound of satisfaction is Cregger making house calls.
Talk about a two-hander! And every other limb, for that matter! Together (B), the body horror comedy movie directed by Michael Shanks and subsequently buzzed about at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, centers on real-life couple Alison Brie and Dave Franco as a fictional pair finding themselves scientifically and supernaturally fusing into one being. She’s a plucky teacher, and he’s a hapless guitarist, and moving from city life to countryside seclusion proves a prescient change of scenery for taking their relationship to the next level. In a form of magnetic attraction even Plato couldn’t have contemplated, the film depicts the sometimes scary and often funny misadventures when two become one. The movie’s production values are consistently high, even when the makeup effects and particular plot devices become the most far-fetched. The central actors are effective and endearing, and they represent a variety of dimensions about the stages of co-dependency in relationships. A few final act missteps can’t take away from the effectiveness of the generally wise and witty thesis, with an especially awkward post-coital sequence and refreshing takes on how couples drift from intimacy and intensity to sometimes blatant disregard. It’s not graphic or terrifying enough to scare off casual viewers but has enough twisty content to simultaneously appeal to hardcore horror fans. Strangely, it’s an appealing date movie with lots of personality for those willing to examine just how close they’re getting.
Danny Boyle reclaims the director’s chair for the third entry of the dystopian future saga he originated with writer Alex Garland in which brave British citizens fend off hoards of “rage virus” infected humans (don’t call ‘em zombies!). Although still made with urgent, kinetic energy and exciting chases with graphic kills, 28 Years Later (B+) pulls a page out of A Quiet Place: Day One territory to culminate in a more internal and emotionally contemplative conclusion than possibly expected. This sequel centers on a very good child actor, Alfie Williams as Spike, whose stalwart loyalty to his parents played by Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Jodie Comer puts him in some precarious crosshairs. Boyle sets the action up on a British island with folksy townspeople who have successfully protected themselves from the encroaching undead. Several missions to a mainland connected by a narrow isthmus uncovered by the tide in brief spells reveal mysteries and open up Spike’s eyes to the ways of the world as he and his family face various forms of mortality. The movie is an enjoyably character-driven coming of age story with a dad intent on showing his son the power of the hunt and a mom grappling with a different set of demons. Both actors command attention and interact brilliantly with the young protagonist. Boyle blazes a sensational landscape for this journey and finds balm in the heart of darkness courtesy of a peculiar and too brief performance by Ralph Fiennes. Boyle certainly elevates the tropes of the genre in this outing, even as tone and energy mutate from time to time. His return to form in this series is welcome.
Wonders never cease when one outruns becoming deceased: Grim gamification, the stuff of snuff and the brackets of kicking the bucket collide in Zach Lipovsky and Adam Stein’s supernatural horror film Final Destination Bloodlines (B-). The jaw-dropping extended introductory sequence, set atop a high-rise restaurant tower in the ‘60s where uneasy group revelry on a glass dance floor sets the stage for suspense, is so stunningly spectacular that the rest of the movie suffers in comparison. The Rube Goldberg style machinations of this opening salvo present the ultimate premonition in a film series known for fractious fortune telling. The movie soon settles into something more routine; but even in its episodic format, it’s a hoot of a horror. The movie’s modern-day Final Girl, winningly portrayed by Kaitlyn Santa Juana, is a student suffering violent recurring nightmares, tracking down the one person capable of breaking the cycle of death and saving her family from the grisly demise that inevitably awaits them all. Most of the ensemble is not especially memorable as they face the existential watch list predicting their own expirations; the high concept eclipses the distinction or power of any individual performances. The creepy sound effects, on-the-nose needle drops and cartoonishly gruesome kills arrive like crafty and sometimes darkly comedic clockwork. The film slyly showcases a sordid and sometimes surprising scorecard. It isn’t particularly scary but is tense when it counts.
The auteur director behind Fruitvale Station deliriously detours from his Wakanda and Creed franchise universes for an original passion project: Sinners (A) is Ryan Coogler unleashed, a polished and imaginative production of a writer/director at the peak of his powers. There’s an extended sequence – and you’ll know what it is when you encounter it – of such accelerating atmosphere and transcendent beauty and surprise, you might feel like your mind just played tricks on you. Think “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” by way of Edgar Allan Poe. Coogler’s slow-burn place making of the American South in the 1930s lends both specificity and spellbinding other-worldliness to his mystery box of a genre-hopper. The filmmaker’s man-muse Michael B. Jordan is terrific in the dual role as twin brothers Smoke and Stack, former soldiers and Chicago gangland fixtures with something to prove as they return to their rural hometown origins to ostensibly stand up a juke joint and mentor their musically gifted cousin, a sharecropper and preacher’s son played by R&B prodigy Miles Caton, one of the film’s exquisite sonic discoveries. Incidentally Jordan’s two characters are two sides of an unlucky penny and splendidly rendered, high on the actor’s double star wattage. Some other ensemble members are blissfully reborn in their roles, namely Hailee Steinfeld and Wunmi Mosaku as feisty connectors between cultural worlds. Delroy Lindo is a welcome veteran portraying the town drunk trope with Shakespearean panache, and Jack O’Connor gives lulling lift to a character conjuring cinematic spirits in what feels like nothing short of a battle of the bands in its undercurrent. Coogler applies his eye for epic storytelling in a film marked by characters with preternatural abilities colliding with supernatural scope. Ludwig Göransson’s blues and bluegrass fusion music is intoxicating, as is the sound design underscoring each dramatic line of sinister and sometimes sexy dialogue. The film’s characters are wily magnets for fascinations of the flesh, with world building in pursuit of pulpy ambitions. Autumn Durand Arkapaw’s superb cinematography, shot on 65mm film using a combination of IMAX 15-perf 70mm and Ultra Panavision 70mm cameras, with alternating aspect ratios, provides the perfectly shape-shifting proscenium for a night out like no other. Suffice it to say this film is a no holds barred powder-keg of cinematic excellence with layers of sly subtext fit for decoding and an entertaining surface to simply be relished. Experience this communal discovery in as colossal a theatre as you can access.
A genre defying film that’s part romance, part satire, part horror, part fantasy, part whodunit and parts unknown, Drew Hancock’s Companion (B+) confronts the dynamics of modern relationships in fierce and twisty ways. Set in a lavish weekend getaway mountain home, the gathered ensemble is game for the occasion: Sophie Thatcher as a troubled companion to everyman Jack Quaid; Lukas Gage and Harvey Guillen as blissful gay partners; and Megan Suri as unconventional gangster moll to a mysterious and married Rupert Friend. Some secrets and blood are spilled in a story that will keep people guessing. The narrative gleefully continues to reframe itself as more layers are revealed. Viewers also discover a technology component capable of shifting the characters’ destinies. Hancock has a good deal of creativity up his sleeve as gender and power dynamics unfurl in his wily wilderness. Thatcher is a natural as a character getting a strange feeling about her vacation mates, and Quaid gives off an effortless affable quality. The film is not so terribly bloody or scary as to keep away the casually curious. It does, however, lose a little steam toward the end. Overall this unassuming and brisk movie will reward those seeking a mainstream film with some thematic travels down some surprising paths.
Here’s some spoiler-free fan art I made with the Leonardo.AI app after contemplating the movie a while:
Oh, another bite at the Dracula story! Nosferatu (B-), the remake of the 1922 German classic directed in 2024 by Robert Eggers, chronicles the obsessive 1838 story between the Transylvanian thirst trap (Bill Skarsgard) and a haunted damsel (Lily-Rose Depp) in a picturesque pageant of dread and horror across Europe. There’s lots of slow-burn mood setting and stunning Jarin Blaschke cinematography in this crafts cavalcade. Baroque production design, exquisite costuming and creative makeup effects aside, though, there’s very little added to this tale as old as time. Eggers, so incredibly innovative in most of his works, has a sixth sense for this sort of story but doesn’t fully bring his fully unhinged and twisted sensibility to this affair. What he delivers is a perfectly preserved revival and rendition but not a new definitive one. The camera loves Depp, and there are a few fun scares. It’s just a little low stakes.
Hugh Grant plays against type as a creepy arbiter of a horrific escape room where he mansplains to two female Mormon missionaries the limits of faith in Bryan Woods and Scott Beck’s Heretic (B-). It’s a strange little movie, ostensibly in the horror genre but often so talky and obtuse that it might as well be a three-hander play. Chloe East and Sophie Thatcher are superb and highly believable as their characters negotiate with the man who may be their captor. They make realistic moves and are whip smart against a crafty antagonist. As “Mr. Reed,” Grant leverages his romcom charm to diabolical effect; his character may be a bit more cultured than boogeymen in Halloween or hockey masks, but he’s just as intense. The film is an exploration of the lore and belief systems of religion, powered by a smart premise and solid acting, and makes for an intriguing watch. But those expecting wall-to-wall thrills will likely find themselves underwhelmed.
In a season of crazy conspiracies, extended delirious dancing and popular public figures melting under spotlights and scrutiny (describing not just the current political race but recent plots of Trap andThe Substance), Parker Finn’s Smile 2 (B-) mostly delivers on its gonzo premise: that life as a global music icon is akin to enduring a perpetual horror movie. All eyes are on expressive actress Naomi Scott whose central pop princess character embodies all the requisite tropes: a raving fanbase, a beloved songbook, rumors, scandal, addiction, exhaustion and the company of a questionable squad from before the fame era. Finn as writer/director poses the question: What if those crazed demonic grinning faces popularized in his surprise 2022 hit film were just par for the world tour? In the age of the trauma narrative, why can’t the final girl victim simply be tortured for most of the film’s running time? And stage moms, crazed fans, paparazzi, even product placements are all the glaring, encroaching objets de terreur. It’s all overwhelming enough to make a mere mortal feel more comfortably numb than Pink Floyd in a hotel room adorned with lots of glass coffee tables. Revisiting this franchise’s formula meant re-imagining it, and Finn’s candid camera captures an ornate and jump scare filled glam paradise. After an awesome cold open set far from the neon lights, the film’s biggest surprise is there frankly aren’t many. With full “who’s afraid of little old me” gusto, Naomi Scott magnificently chews the scenery of life on the wicked stage and conjures myriad ways to generate poses of sheer fright. Scott bears the film’s repetitive burden on her shoulders and makes it all look good in lavish costumes and with pretty authentic songs. Only some of it is actually scary. It’s all highly watchable but could have used judicious edits to be a bit more, well, swift. Still, in a world of recent auteurs adding song and dance to supercharge their fever dream sequels, Finn hits most of his marks.
It’s generally cause for distress when your enchanted pumpkin carriage or lovable Mogwai has overextended forbidden activities beyond midnight. But age-old adages about the exact time when perceived Hollywood beauty expires go into audacious overtime in the contemporary satirical body horror film The Substance (A), written, directed and co-edited with glorious gore and gusto by Coralie Fargeat. A stunning Demi Moore lunges into a memorable central performance as a driven 50-year-old TV aerobics superstar facing career decline and experimenting with a black market medical regimen billed as a fountain of youth. Margaret Qualley occupies a symbiotic doppelganger role, an object of fantasy and fury in delicate balance with the leading lady. Both actresses are incredible in their mirror-image parts on various ends of the glamor spectrum, and it’s clear from how game they are in service to Fargeat’s vision that they are pursuing their roles with zero vanity. There are jaw-dropping sequences of blood and bombast, but the film’s watershed moment involves Moore’s character at the looking-glass, hesitating in numerous bittersweet ways as she prepares for a date because she doesn’t feel pretty. Benjamin Kracun’s candy-colored cinematography and Raffertie’s explosive score complement the outstanding 29-member makeup department and Emmanuelle Youchnovski’s standout costumes. Dennis Quaid and other male characters in the film are written quite broadly, which works well as parody but generates a distancing effect to interactions. Frequent allegory paints with a thick brush over a few inconvenient plot points. The overall grotesquerie will please ardent Fangoria Magazine readers but could turn away other viewers who would savor the fresh commentary. With her singularity of vision and hypnotic, horrific stylings, Fargeat invites comparisons to Kubrick, Cronenberg and De Palma but ironically could have nipped and tucked a few impulses causing the film to wear out its welcome long after making its point. This film itself is far from a fading star!
Just two years after the disturbing Danish horror film of the same name, a twisty and much more broadly comic 2024 American remake of Speak No Evil (B-) provides a highly watchable cautionary tale about two families who become friends on vacation and discover an altogether different relationship when they reunite on one couple’s home turf. James Watkins adapts the story from the austere foreign language template and directs this new version with gusto, offering a witty waltz through modern mores in which tensions rise on the grounds of a remote farmhouse. James McAvoy is the larger than life standout of the story as a burly alpha male who looks like he wandered off the set of a Brawny commercial. The actor relishes the wily role and brings a smoldering menace to the tale, dialing up the gamesmanship until the film’s flimsy final act. Scoot McNairy is effective in a thankless part as the wimpy, reticent foil, and Mackenzie Davis is far more interesting and nuanced as his sometimes steely spouse. The film is less an exercise in terror than a mash-up of comedy of manners conventions and home invasion conceits. The child actors land some intriguing moments in their own right as the fractured families realize their escalating riffs until all are rendered mute. The plot gets far-fetched and careens deeply into high camp, devolving from competent paranoid thriller into a “throw everything including the kitchen sink” showdown. All the while, McAvoy makes his mark, including some witty role play in a restaurant and crooning ballads of ’80s pop songstresses. If you like watching awkwardness get amplified, see this flick in a packed theatre and expect a surround sound of bewildered reactions at many characters’ bad decisions. It’ll have you at “oh, hell no.”
Director Tim Burton raises an undead franchise with a story so sputtering it seems more like a merciless cash grab than a creative revisit to the ghastly scene of the crime. Despite the nostalgia factor reserved for the 1988 original film, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (C-) offers too little too late as characters return to their countryside home for more adventures in and out of the afterlife. The big surprise is Michael Keaton, three decades after originating an iconic mischievous performance as the titular demon, doesn’t miss a beat in picking up where he left off in his high jinks; he’s largely an underused comic delight and gets to partake in a gaggle of fun gags including one in a foreign language. Winona Ryder (her character now a reality show ghost hunter) and Catherine O’Hara (still a dotty artist and stepmom who is rarely home alone) reprise their roles too with flickers of gusto but are overshadowed by Jenna Ortega as a new protagonist with some far fresher takes. The first hour of the film suffers from exposition overload, with obtuse explanations – some pithy and some prolonged – as to why certain characters aren’t present in this episode. The second hour is largely unexpurgated madness and mayhem, with frivolous plot points featuring Willem Dafoe and Monica Bellucci going absolutely nowhere fast. Thankfully sight gags and sing-a-longs are stitched together in the final act for old times’ sake, equal parts fringe and cringe. The humor and gore are sometimes a bit darker than the first, but the movie’s devil-may-care spirit consistently conveys it’s not working all that hard to impress. There’s a twist or two and a bit of novelty at the very end that stand out, but mostly the movie feels like returning to one’s old haunts where nothing is functioning as effectively as it did before. Even Danny Elfman’s music only comes alive when riffing on past themes. After all these years, Burton still loses track of story in service of shiny objects, even if some are clever indeed. This sequel may appear in some ways like a dead ringer full of zingers akin to the first film; but it mainly plays like a sketch stretched out to feature movie length.
