Monthly Archives: July 2025
Master of Puppets
Shari & Lamb Chop
by Brandon Thomas
Documentaries based on beloved children’s entertainers have become quite the trend in the last 10 or so years. Both Mr. Rogers and Jim Henson were the subject of wonderful films that chronicled their lives and the impact they both had on children’s entertainment, education, and culture. With Shari & Lamb Chop, renowned ventriloquist and magician Shari Lewis gets her own time to shine.
No stranger to crafting a documentary on an entertainment icon, director Lisa D’Apolito (Love, Gilda) dives into Lewis’s personal and professional history through enlightening interviews with living family members, those who worked for and with her, and industry professionals. While the bulk of the film is spent showering Lewis with praise, it also doesn’t completely shy away from her darker periods: a failed first marriage, a years-long career slump, and an affair that nearly derailed her second marriage. D’Apolito strikes a balance between transparency and understanding that her primary audience is likely Lamb Chop die-hards.
It would’ve been easy for Shari & Lamb Chop to completely focus on the Lamb Chop character and how it essentially propelled Lewis’s overall career. While Lamb Chop plays a major role in the doc (the name is in the title, right?), D’Apolito instead puts the spotlight on Lewis and the professional drive that made her a beloved figure in children’s entertainment. The film comes alive when it touches on Lewis’s talent at magic acts, or her experience as a dancer, and how she put that to great use on a variety show.
Shari & Lamb Chop comes to a close with a poignant look at Lewis’s final days and how her terminal illness allowed her to make one more professional statement while simultaneously acting as a goodbye to her loved ones. D’Apolito’s use of behind-the-scenes footage from this final show brings us all into that emotional moment. It’s a beautiful period on a life and career that brought so much joy and love to people around the world.
Despite taking the same “Greatest Hits” approach that many similar docs have done with famous subjects, Shari & Lamb Chop still soars thanks to a steady filmmaking hand and the engrossing life of the film’s titular focus.
Prey for Her
Saint Clare
by Adam Barney
Clare (Bella Thorne, The Babysitter) is a college student who believes she is on a mission from God. Blessed with visions, she hunts down the men who prey on the women in her small town. Detective Timmons (Ryan Phillippe, Cruel Intentions, MacGruber) grows suspicious of her extra-curricular activities as she keeps turning up in the wrong places.
Guided by the ghost of Mailman Bob (Frank Whaley, Pulp Fiction), the first man she inadvertently killed, Clare begins to connect the dots on who’s behind the growing number of local women who have gone missing. Bob is a messenger from the beyond and he seeks to keep Clare centered on her righteous path of vengeance.
Saint Clare is based on the YA novel Clare at Sixteen by Don Ruff. A quick search yields book reviews that frequently compare the Clare Bleecker series to Dexter, the popular show that is still churning out sequel and spin-off seasons. It’s easy to see why – Clare is a serial killer who only pursues other killers and she has conversations with a dead person from her past who acts as her conscious.
Thorne delivers a solid performance as the melancholy Clare, but the rest of the film around her is tonal mess. It really feels like a pilot episode with the season finale tacked on as the final fifteen minutes. There are a lot of story threads and elements, like a goofy school play, that are introduced but dumped quickly in favor of rushing toward the ending. The film is uninterested in exploring its own central mystery of the missing women, Clare is simply propelled to the wrong doers by convenience.
Co-writer and director Mitzi Peirone (Braid) provides a few moments that visually pop as the world around Clare becomes more colorful and otherworldly, but they are too few and far in between.
Saint Clare never quite picks a lane. It’s a revenge tale without a strong motive, it’s a mystery that isn’t remotely interested in the investigation, and it’s a supernatural fable that is too grounded and serious for its own good.
Not-So-Way-Back Machine
Eddington
by Hope Madden
There are very few contemporary filmmakers better able to pick scabs, to generate discomfort for an entire running time, than Ari Aster.
Eddington, his latest, is an inverted Western set in late May of 2020—you remember spring of 2020, don’t you? The lunacy. The terror. The relentless need to move from one day to the next as if we were not actively sniffing the apocalypse. Well, Aster sure remembers it.
In a lot of ways, Eddington, New Mexico resembles just about any place in the spring of 2020. An awful lot of people wanted to ignore the pandemic because it hadn’t touched their town (yet, that they knew of). Others wanted to follow the rules as closely as was convenient, hoping that business as usual would find a way. Others spiraled, whether from terror or boredom or lack of structure, often turning to the internet, many to finally realize that police brutality was a real thing.
Aster captures it all, depicting the way the façade of normalcy had protected us from ourselves and each other, and reminds us that nothing healthy grows on stolen land.
Sheriff Joe Cross (Joaquin Phoenix) just wants things to go back to the way they were. He sees the disdain, fear, maybe even hate people like him—white, unmasked men—are facing. It is disconcerting—Aster’s hint that the underlying cause of all the harm, hatred, violence, and mayhem that came from the pandemic might have less to do with Covid 19 and more with white men feeling their true vulnerability.
Phoenix is characteristically flawless—flummoxed and human in a way that engenders more empathy than Joe likely deserves. Joe’s counterpoint, the smooth, opportunistic mayor, Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal), doesn’t get off any easier, and Pascal’s slightly brittle performance is enlightening.
Aster populates Eddington with a collection of the exact types of people forged by the pandemic, though many are boiled down to defining lines of dialogue (“I am a privileged white male, and I’m here to listen! And I’ll do that as soon as I’m done with this speech.”) Still, with supporting performers as strong as Emma Stone, Austin Butler, Michael Ward, and Dierdre O’Connell, even the most faintly drawn character is fascinating.
Aster’s film blames humanity, not right or left, for the cultural rot we’re left with. That may be the most honest and aggravating choice he makes, but Eddington offers very little in the way of fabrication. The town may be fictional, but I think we all remember the place.
A Not So Simple Plan
To a Land Unknown
by George Wolf
One of my favorite classic album deep cuts is Springsteen’s “Meeting Across the River” from Born to Run. In the song, two longtime losers are planning for the night they’ve been waiting for, when they’ll finally get a chance at the big score that will change their lives.
Bruce leaves the ending up to us, because the point is more about the past of these characters than their future.
To a Land Unknown works on similar levels, as director/co-writer Mahdi Fleifel uses an intimate story to invite us into larger conversations.
Chatila (Mahmoud Bakri) and Reda (Aram Sabbah) are Palestinian cousins living in Greece. Chantila has a wife and child in Lebanon, while Reda is trying to make it past thirty days off drugs. Together, the two snatch purses and scheme for any way to get enough money for fake passports.
Unexpected friendships with a 13 year-old from Gaza (Mohammed Asurafa) and a local cougar (The Lobster‘s Angeliki Papoulia) give Chatila an idea for a big con. Pull it off, and they’ll have enough for the passports and tickets to a new life in Germany.
Once there, they will open a cafe, reunite the family and finally breathe easier.
After many years of short films and documentaries, Fleifel’s first narrative feature leans on many recognizable influences and familiar moments in movie history. The solid performances and assured plotting keep you engaged throughout, but as the film progresses, Fleifel brings weight to an undercurrent of exile that breathes in humanity, empathy and undeniable relevance.
Like so many other lost souls in songs and stories, Chatila and Reda are desperate for a place to belong, and for the chance to build their own lives. To a Land Unknown brings a cold and urgent realism to that familiar journey.
Fright Club: That’s Not Your Baby!
The idea of a changeling—a baby that’s not really yours, and who knows where your dear sweet little one really is?!—is so primal a fear that it’s existed in folktales for centuries. Ireland really picks this scab well in their horror movies, but they are not alone. It’s an idea that can’t help but unsettle. Here are our five favorite “that’s not your baby!” horror movies.
5. The Baby (1973)
Lord above, here’s a weird one.
Director Ted Post (Hang ’em High, Magnum Force) gets a little unseemly with this story of welfare fraud, Greek tragedy, fear of emasculation, and more. Freud would have a time with The Baby!
Mrs. Wadsworth (Ruth Roman) does not want nosey new social services wench Ann Gentry (Anjanette Comer) sniffing around. Why does she and her two perfectly normal, not at all criminal, grown daughters have to prove that their fully grown son/brother still thinks he’s a baby? The grown man in the crib and onesie upstairs.
If that’s not upsetting enough, Ann Gentry’s not all she’s cracked up to be, either. What was the deal with the Seventies?
4. The Hallow (2015)
Visual showman Corin Hardy has a bit of trickery up his sleeve. His directorial debut The Hallow, for all its superficiality and its recycled horror tropes, offers a tightly wound bit of terror in the ancient Irish wood.
Adam (Joseph Mawle) and Clare Hitchens (Bojana Novakovic) move, infant Finn in tow, from London to the isolated woods of Ireland so Adam can study a tract of forest the government hopes to sell off to privatization. But the woods don’t take kindly to the encroachment and the interloper Hitchens will pay dearly.
Hardy has a real knack for visual storytelling. His inky forests are both suffocating and isolating, with a darkness that seeps into every space. He’s created an atmosphere of malevolence, but the film does not rely on atmosphere alone.
Though all the cliché elements are there – a young couple relocates to an isolated wood to be warned off by angry locals with tales of boogeymen – the curve balls Hardy throws will keep you unnerved and guessing.
3. Hole in the Ground (2019)
Sara (Seána Kerslake), along with her bib overalls and young son Chris (James Quinn Markey), are finding it a little tough to settle into their new home in a very rural town. Chris misses his dad. Sara is having some life-at-the-crossroads anxiety.
Then a creepy neighbor, a massive sink hole (looks a bit like the sarlacc pit) and Ireland’s incredibly creepy folk music get inside her head and things really fall apart.
Writer/director Lee Cronin’s subtext never threatens his story, but instead informs the dread and guilt that pervade every scene. You look at your child one day and don’t recognize him or her. It’s a natural internal tension and a scab horror movies like to pick. Kids go through phases, your anxiety is reflected in their behavior, and suddenly you don’t really like what you see. You miss the cuter, littler version. Or in this case, you fear that inside your beautiful, sweet son lurks the same abusive monster as his father.
2. Border (2018)
Sometimes knowing yourself means embracing the beast within. Sometimes it means making peace with the beast without. For Tina—well, let’s just say Tina’s got a lot going on right now.
Border director/co-writer Ali Abbasi has more in mind than your typical Ugly Duckling tale, though. He mines John Ajvide Lindqvist’s (Let the Right One In) short story of outsider love and Nordic folklore for ideas of radicalization, empowerment, gender fluidity and feminine rage.
It would hardly feel like a horror movie at all were it not for that whole, horrifying baby thing.
The result is a film quite unlike anything else, one offering layer upon provocative, messy layer and Abbasi feels no compulsion to tidy up. Instead, he leaves you with a lot to think through thanks to one unyieldingly original film.
1. Lamb (2021)
Among the many remarkable elements buoying the horror fable Lamb is filmmaker Valdimar Jóhannsson’s ability to tell a complete and riveting tale without a single word of exposition.
Not one. So, pay attention.
Rather than devoting dialog to explaining to us what it is we are seeing, Jóhannsson relies on impressive visual storytelling instincts, answering questions as they come up with a gravesite, a crib coming out of storage, a glance, a bleat.
His cast of three – well, four, I guess — sells the fairy tale. A childless couple working a sheep farm in Iceland find an unusual newborn lamb and take her in as their own child. As is always the way in old school fables, though, there is much magical happiness but a dire recompense soon to come.
Screening Room: Superman, Jaws @ 50, Sovereign, Daniela Forever & More
You’ll Never Go in the Onsen Again
Hotspring Sharkattack
by Matt Weiner
Japan’s beloved onsen (natural hot springs) are the site of grisly shark attacks in the town of Atsumi. A weary police chief butts heads with the town mayor hellbent on welcoming as many tourists as possible, even as the body count rises and outside shark experts and influencers alike converge on the town to solve the mystery (or profit from it on social media).
Sound familiar? While writer and director Morihito Inoue localizes the story to his home country, the main beats are so load-bearing that Hotspring Sharkattack is less a Jaws homage and more of an extended parody.
Chief Denbei Tsuka (Kiyobumi Kaneko) daydreams about his impending retirement from the Atsumi police. Billed as “the Monaco of the East,” the scenic town is a tourist draw for their many onsen. And the number of sightseers is about to grow exponentially with the opening of a towering new spa resort, a project that feckless town mayor Kanichi Mangan (Takuya Fujimura) deems too big to fail no matter how many bodies start to pile up.
The police suspect these aren’t typical shark attacks, but it’s not until marine biologist Mayumi Kose (Yuu Nakanishi) arrives to help investigate that they figure out what these special sharks are up to. It involves cartilage, pipes and some scientific handwaving… but it’s also not important. It’s all exactly as silly as you want from a movie called Hotspring Sharkattack.
The actors treat these ridiculous monologues with just the right level of dignity to sell the lines. The bigger issue is that, between the film’s brisk runtime and over-reliance on early PlayStation special effects, Hotspring Sharkattack comes dangerously close to looking like a late-night Syfy throwaway. And not one of the better ones.
Thankfully, by the time Mangan and Kose team up—with a little help from a silent, mostly shirtless guardian with godlike powers nicknamed Macho, because why not?—Inoue has reached deeper into his bag of low-budget tricks. The CGI sharks are still there, but so too are whimsical practical effects and miniatures. These moments of delight are a much better fit with the film’s tone, and it’s unfortunate that just about the only element not borrowed from Jaws is the understanding that you don’t need to show all your special effects if they aren’t working well.
Inoue’s earnest love of the source material and infectious humor go a long way toward pulling the film back from the direct-to-cable edge. But there’s a fine line between a B-movie that earns its status and a movie that is simply bad. And much like a cartilaginous predator that has learned to strike from any puddle of water (spoiler, if that’s the sort of thing you’re concerned about when it comes to a mutant shark attack movie), the movie never fully escapes that threat.
Vampire Blues
Abraham’s Boys
by Hope Madden
The problem with crafting a feature length film from a short story is that, often, the story’s too short. Filmmakers need to pad, and that can be tough because if the story needed more, likely the writer—certainly a writer as strong as Joe Hill—would have realized that.
But it can be done. Hill’s The Black Phone—an incredibly creepy short—benefitted from a number of changes as it leapt from page to screen. Director Scott Dickerson, who co-wrote the screenplay with regular collaborator C. Robert Cargill, added complexity and a strong B-story to enrich Hill’s original tale.
In adapting Hill’s short Abraham’s Boys, filmmaker Natasha Kermani (Lucky) keeps the core ideas intact but alters everything in the orbit of our three main characters: Dr. Abraham Van Helsing (Titus Welliver, solid), his oldest son Max (Brady Hepner), and young Rudy (Judah Mackey). The family lives, along with delicate mother Mina (Jocelin Donahue, Last Stop in Yuma County), in the as-yet isolated California desert.
Mina is but a distant memory in Hill’s writing, so her presence allows the film to round out the family dynamic. Kermani also adds railroad builders, which deepens the pool of potential victims, but also hints at Van Helsing’s paranoia when he and his family are not isolated from the rest of the world.
Why so paranoid? Like the short story, the film raises suspicions concerning Abraham’s reasoning and behavior.
Kermani’s film delivers on horror, bloody and emotional, in a way the short does not. Dreamy sequences bring depth to the inner conflict haunting Max, the film’s main focus. And none of Kermani’s additions subtract from the prickly family dynamic that was the soul of Hill’s tale.
Hepner, who had a small part in The Black Phone, struggles to carry Abraham’s Boys. It’s his arc that defines the story, but the performance is little more than a stiff spine and a pout.
The balance of the cast fares better, but bringing Mina into the story complicates what, in Hill’s tale, was a very simple premise. Her talk of having seen Dracula, of having his voice in her head, muddies the plot in ways Kermani never clarifies. The mixed message weakens the climax a bit, but thanks to the slow-boil atmosphere and Welliver’s brooding turn, all is not lost.
Killer Neighborhood
Push
by Hope Madden
From the moment Push holds on the “for sale” sign in front of an isolated Michigan mansion, co-writers/co-directors David Charbonier and Justin Douglas Powell proclaim their inspirations. The Craven Road property, for sale by Hitch & Wan Real Estate, is probably not the house you want.
Will the mansion be haunted outright, a la James Wan’s The Conjuring? Or will its ghosts be all in realtor Natalie’s (Alicia Sanz) mind, like Hitchcock’s Rebecca? Or is there something more corporeal to fear, a la Wes Craven’s Last House on the Left?
The filmmakers have set a high bar, and though their film doesn’t entirely clear it, Push does deliver an often effective little thriller.
The year is 1993 and Natalie, a very pregnant, recently widowed Mexican transplant peddling real estate in Michigan, finds herself trapped in the mansion she’s trying to sell. The sprawling, remote property is on the market because of the murder of its previous owners. Maybe that’s why only one guy (Raúl Castillo) shows up for the open house.
Cinematographer Daniel Katz’s floating camera is like a ghost warning you to pay attention. Both filmmakers and both leads amplify the atmospheric tension. One character is the picture of vulnerability, the other, a silent and brutal menace.
Push offers next to nothing in terms of motivation or location backstory. We know enough about Natalie to understand her arc, but the situation and how it came to be is forever a mystery. That can work—people step into unexplained horrors every day. That moment when you realize you’ve willingly put yourself in a perilous situation can deliver revelatory thrills.
Both Sanz and Castillo are up to that challenge, but the script sometimes is not. The conveniences and cliches pile up, and suspension of disbelief is strained to breaking.
It’s interesting to circle back to that for sale sign because in choosing not to clearly commit to a path—psychological, supernatural, or brutal—Push limits its impact.
