New in the screening room this week: Bugonia, Stitch Head, Ballad of a Small Player, It Was Just an Accident, Anniversary, and Indera.
What Price Vengeance
It Was Just an Accident
by George Wolf
Driving home one night with his wife and daughter, a man strikes and kills a stray dog that runs into the road. It is simply an accident, an innocent mishap.
But accidents and innocence are seldom part of Iranian filmmaker Jafar Panahi’s intricate parables, and 2025 Palme d’Or winner It Was Just an Accident quickly becomes the latest searing indictment of injustice and corruption in his homeland.
After hitting the dog, Eghbal (Ebrahim Azizi) takes his car in for service. At the shop, Vahid (Vahid Mobasseri) instantly thinks he recognizes Eghbal as the intelligence officer who brutalized Vahid and his fellow political prisoners years before.
Vahid kidnaps Eghbal and is on the verge of killing him, when doubt creeps into his mind. Loading the unconscious Eghbal in the back of his van, Vahid heads out to find his fellow ex-inmates and some help in an airtight identification. The compatriots (including a bride, a groom, and a wedding photographer) react with a mixture and rage and uncertainty, and their travel over the course of one day allows Panahi to organically detail the abuse they once suffered and the casual corruption they still navigate daily.
This is the first film for Panahi (No Bears, Taxi, Closed Curtain) since Iran lifted his decade-long filmmaking and travel ban, and while he’s no longer filming himself in secret, Panahi’s storytelling still bursts with intimacy and courage.
The first rate ensemble makes the anger palpable, and Panahi masterfully weaves it into the mystery surrounding Eghbal’s guilt to create a thriller of simmering tension, comic sidebars and complex moralities.
If Eghbal is indeed their tormentor, is vengeance justified? And even if it is, would mercy actually bring them more peace?
True to form, Panahi closes with a shot that seems to close one chapter and open another, and the fade to black may require a few minutes to decompress.
But that’s the kind of effect Panahi’s films can have. It Was Just an Accident is more proof that he is one of the true modern-day masters, with a clear and distinctive voice that demands attention.
The Bees Knees
Bugonia
by Hope Madden
Humanity can be, individually and collectively, disappointing. No one picks that scab quite like Yorgos Lanthimos.
The filmmaker followed up his 2023 Oscar winner Poor Things, arguably his most hopeful and certainly his most mainstream film, with the blistering 3 hour anthology skewering the human condition, Kinds of Kindness.
Bugonia, his latest, reins in some of the excesses of Kindness, but the filmmaker’s observational insights on wasted, wounded humanity are as sharp as ever.
Emma Stone is Michelle Fuller, a pharmaceutical company CEO hailed on Forbes and Time and dozens of other framed magazine covers for her leadership and innovation. Jesse Plemmons is Teddy, the broken, broke, bumbling conspiracy theorist convinced she’s an alien. Teddy kidnaps the CEO/alien and drags Michelle back to the lonesome home where he grew up. The goal is not ransom, but to convince her to take him to the mother ship where he’ll persuade the aliens—responsible, as they are, for the obvious crumbling of human society—to leave earth in peace.
The script from Will Tracy and Jang Joon-hwan offers Lanthimos and his small but savvy cast fertile ground for the bleak absurdism the filmmaker does so well. Bugonia treads tonal shifts magnificently, slipping from comedy to thriller to horror and back with precision. Lanthimos’s control over audience emotion has never been tighter.
The same can be said for both Stone and Plemmons, who manage the absolutely impossible with these two characters. Their chemistry is without peer, each wrestling the audience’s sympathies from the other, both always horrifying and vulnerable.
Stone is the picture of leadership qualities. Even shorn and chained in a filthy basement, Michelle acts from a reserve of superiority and calm. Stone is utterly convincing as a survivor and fearless negotiator.
Plemmons’s range is breathtaking and Lanthimos takes advantage. Sad sack Teddy contains multitudes. He’s pathetic, terrifying, cruel, tender, manipulative, loving—all of it seamlessly integrated into a single character. Plemmons should be remembered come awards season.
The film’s final act is brazenly bizarre, but also startlingly emotional. It’s an about face that wouldn’t have worked in most films. But most films are not Yorgos Lanthimos films.
You Bet Your Life
Ballad of a Small Player
by George Wolf
Many fans of Lawrence Osborne’s 2014 book Ballad of a Small Player won’t be surprised to learn how long the film adaptation was stuck in development. The tale presents a tricky narrative tone, mixing metaphor, dark comedy and psychological mind games for a ride of desperate obsession.
Director Edward Berger and star Colin Farrell are all in for the Netflix version, but they leave the final table a little short of the jackpot.
Farrell is Lord Doyle, on the run in the Chinese region of Macau. Doyle needs to settle a $350,000 casino tab in three days or he’ll be arrested. But there are plenty of other glitzy casinos to visit, and Doyle works whatever angle he can to get credit at the baccarat tables, always promising that big score that never comes.
He seems to meet a kindred spirit in Dao Ming (Fala Chen), a casino manager who takes pity on Doyle’s lonesome loser nature. It is the Festival of the Hungry Ghosts in Macau, and Dao Ming may have some surprising burnt offerings in mind.
While the two begin to form a fragile bond, private investigator Cynthia Blithe (Tilda Swinton) is on Doyle’s tail, and may finally force him to confront the secret life he has been hiding.
Farrell brings sympathy to Doyle’s downward spiral in writer Rowan Joffe’s adaptation, making it easier to accept a third act that surprises no one. Swinton carves her usual glory out of limited screen time, and Chen gives Dao Ming the mysterious grace of possible salvation. Kudos as well to Deanie Ip as Grandma, an ultra-rich gambler who has no trouble sizing Doyle up in hilarious fashion.
Berger (All Quiet on the Western Front, Conclave) brings his own air of desperation, filling each frame with a forced showiness that wears out its welcome pretty quickly. There’s no doubt many set pieces are bursting with color and beauty, but the attempts to blur the real and surreal are so forced it begins to detract from the pleasure of watching these actors claw closer to that final reveal.
Ballad of a Small Player has no problem reminding you that the source is probably a great read. Watching it unfold – in select theaters, or on Netflix – is just too frustrating to rise above pretty good.
For Better, for Worse
Anniversary
by Hope Madden
Jan Komasa’s political thriller Anniversary certainly boasts an impressive cast. Diane Lane leads the film as Ellen Taylor, a Georgetown professor celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary to renowned DC chef, Paul (Kyle Chandler).
Their four children will be there: high schooler Birdie (Mckenna Grace), famous comic Anna (Madeline Brewer), environmental lawyer Cynthia (Zoey Deutch) and her husband (Daryl McCormack), and beloved son who never made much of himself, Josh (Dylan O’Brien). Plus, Josh brought new girlfriend, Liz (Phoebe Dynevor). That one can’t be trusted.
Komasa crafts a “they have it all” opening to prepare us for the inevitable downfall. Ellen and Paul truly love each other, and their bickering kids love them and each other as well. But there’s an invasive species at their garden party, and no matter how strong Ellen believes her family to be, bad stuff is coming.
To the film’s credit, Lori Rosene-Gambino’s script is no pulpy thriller about a vixen corrupting a family. True to the filmmaker’s previous output (Corpus Cristi, Suicide Room), Anniversary dives into the large scale and intimate damage one persuasive but errant prophet can do.
Liz has a belief system encapsulated in her new book, “The Change.” It advocates that the people, passionate and unified, step beyond this broken democracy and create a single party that will redefine the country’s future. What transpires between Ellen and Paul’s 25th and 30th anniversary parties is a debilitatingly likely image of America’s near future.
The ensemble works wonders with slightly written characters. Komasa and Rosene-Gambino outline the insidious evolution with clarity, but the tale is too superficial to mean much. It’s a very talky script, yet very few questions are answered. Anniversary is entirely vague on the actual philosophy of “The Change”, making it tough know what people cling to and what the Taylors reject.
Worse, character arcs exist exclusively to further the plot. Deutch bears the worst of this, but everything in the film—especially the character development—is tell, don’t show. Aside from O’Brien’s, no arc is character driven. Each is plot driven and some are absurd.
Dynevor fares best, carving out a memorable, broken antagonist, a delicate survivor not to be trusted. She and Lane are formidable as antagonist and protagonist, but Anniversary doesn’t know exactly what to do with them.
If I Cannot Inspire Love, I Will Cause Fear
Stitch Head
by Hope Madden
Is there anything more delightful than an animated tale suitable for Halloween? A Nightmare Before Christmas, ParaNorman, Frankenweenie, The Corpse Bride, Wendell & Wild, Coraline, Mad Monster Party—each one is a fun way to get spooky, with the kids or without.
Steve Hudson extends that list with Stitch Head, a delightful, animated story about embracing your inner and outer monster.
Stitch Head (Asa Butterfield) was the first of the Mad Scientist’s creations. But the creator’s ADHD gets the better of him pretty quickly, and Castle Grotteskew is soon full to brimming with monsters. These include today’s beast, Creature (Joel Fry). Stitch Head’s taken on the eldest child duties around the castle, which includes helping each new beastie adjust their monstrous natures to avoid upsetting the townsfolk below. Don’t draw attention to yourself and you can avoid the angry mob.
“Welcome to almost life,” Stitch Head tells each new monster. “Patent pending.”
The film, especially Nick Urata’s music, certainly conjures Tim Burton. The songs Are You Ready for Monsters and Make ‘em Scream are both dancy fun, but neither are Elfman level memorable. Stitch Head lacks that macabre flavor of a Burton. Castle Grotteskew’s residents feel more akin to the working stiffs of Monsters, Inc. They’re nothing to be afraid of, they’re just different. Which is the point.
There’s also a bit of Pinocchio as Stitch Head, seeking the love he’s not receiving from his negligent parent, leaves the castle in favor of the circus, and finds—as we all must—that capitalism blows.
Butterfield’s delivery and Hudson’s animation create a tender central figure you root for. Fry’s big-hearted performance—plus Creature’s zany design—balance the delicate, tightly wound Stitch Head to create a sweetly peculiar odd couple.
Based on Pete Williamson and Guy Bass’s series of kids’ books, written for the screen by Hudson, Stitch Head delivers fun, eccentric characters, a warm adventure, and genuine lessons about the joys—even the necessity—of nonconformity.
“Just be whoever you’d be if you weren’t afraid.”
Screening Room: Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, Frankenstein, Shelby Oaks & More
Hope and George cover this week’s new releases: Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, Frankenstein, Blue Moon, Shelby Oaks, The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, Stiller & Meara: Nothing Is Lost, and Last Stop: Rockafort St..
Nowhere Man
Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere
by George Wolf
My sister-in-law Ellen still tells the story of when she bought Bruce Springsteen’s new album Nebraska in 1982. She was a college student, and was ready to rock out in her dorm room with the guy who was coming off the top ten singalong smash “Hungry Heart.”
What she got was a collection of stark, acoustic songs about murder, desperation and dead dogs. Not much to dance to.
Why would a rock star on the verge of global superstardom make such an unexpected move?
Writer/director Scott Cooper explores that question with Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, a heartfelt and emotional story of a man caught between the echoes of his past and the promise of his future.
Jeremy Allan White is sensational as Bruce. The look is right, and White’s playing and singing often get eerily close to the real thing. But even more than that, White captures the tortured soul of a rising phenom seemingly terrified of the success he knew was suddenly within his grasp.
Adapting Warren Zanes’s 2023 book, Cooper revisits some themes from his Oscar-winning Crazy Heart and makes the film a collection of small moments that capture a pivotal snapshot in the life of a living legend.
And none of it pushes too hard. Glimpses of a Flannery O’Connor book, the movies Badlands and Night of the Hunter, and the Suicide song “Frankie Teardrop” quietly tell us much about Bruce’s inspirations for the album. Black and white flashbacks to Bruce’s childhood with a troubled father (Stephen Graham) and a protective mother (Gaby Hoffmann) take a similarly understated approach, effectively layered as the lingering memories they were.
Bruce’s relationship with fictional girlfriend Faye (Odessa Young) begins as an awkward choice amid all this attention to detail, but the device ultimately gives us some insight into his fear of any happiness he felt was undeserved.
Lighter moments do come, almost always with the reactions to Bruce’s new direction. Manager Jon Landau (yet another terrific supporting turn from Jeremy Strong) gently tries to steer him toward the songs that would become Born in the U.S.A., while a record exec (David Krumholtz) throws up his hands in exasperation. And through it all, everyone (including Marc Maron as longtime engineer Chuck Plotkin) keeps wondering where the case is for Bruce’s cassette of homemade demos.
Bruce fans know well that those demos became the album, one now regarded as a seminal statement of untold influence. Those longtime followers will appreciate Cooper’s respectful approach that doesn’t feel the need to explain who people like Jon Landau are and where they fit in.
Because even for people who haven’t listened since 1982, Deliver Me From Nowhere presents a richly satisfying story of inspiration, artistic passion, and finding an inner peace that has long eluded you.
And yes, there’s a bit of “Born to Run” in here, too.
Sister’s Keeper
Shelby Oaks
by Hope Madden
Chris Stuckmann—film critic, podcaster, YouTube phenom, DIY filmmaker and Ohio native—delivers his directorial feature debut with Shelby Oaks, one woman’s odyssey to find her missing sister.
Stuckmann’s approach combines found footage style with something more cinematic, balancing the jarring authenticity of one with the macabre beauty of the other.
Mia (Camille Sullivan) is talking with a documentarian about her sister Riley’s cold case. Twelve years ago, Riley’s (Sarah Durn) popular ghost hunting show Paranormal Paranoids stumbled into an Ohio ghost town and disappeared. Viewers cried hoax until Riley’s producers and directors were found dead. Riley was not found at all.
Mia hopes the documentary will reignite interest in her sister’s case, maybe generate some leads. In a way, it does, and Mia takes it upon herself to follow the breadcrumb trail back to Darke County, OH and the scene of the crime.
The found footage of the early film gives way to something more eerily beautiful as Mia explores an abandoned theme park, disused reformatory, and a little town long vacated. When Mia meets Norma (an intensely unnerving Robin Bartlett), the film takes a sinister turn.
Sullivan carries the film easily, utterly convincing as a protective older sister unintimidated by obstacles, however horrific, and unwilling to abandon her beloved little sister. Creature design is equally impressive, and Stuckmann’s choices to keep the image on the periphery of the film amplifies its unsettling effect.
Shelby Oaks delivers a spooky tale brimming with love of genre. It creates place well and develops an atmosphere of tunnel vision optimism that allows the audience to see what Mia cannot. But it doesn’t break any new ground. Pieces fit together well, the mystery and its solution possess integrity often lacking in genre fare, especially in found footage films. But there aren’t a lot of surprises here.
There are fun jumps, eerie images, creepy images and a solid mystery though. More than reason enough to look forward to whatever Stuckmann does next.
Fearless and Powerful
Frankenstein
by Hope Madden
Guillermo del Toro is a big ol’ softy. In many ways, that’s what makes Frankenstein a perfect property for him. His heart has always been with the monster, so why not tell the most heartbreaking and terrifying monster story?
The filmmaker shares writing credit with Mary Shelley, and it’s a good partnership. From the opening moments on frozen tundra, GDT announces that he will cover more of the novel’s ground than any other adaptor. We meet Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) lying helpless on that ice. An explosion draws the crew of an icebound ship to his aid. But Victor is not alone, and soon he begins his yarn of the beast that circles the vessel.
The icy desolation looks fantastic, but the North Pole has nothing on the macabre Victorian splendor the maestro has in store. Lush and gorgeous, even when it is running with blood, the world del Toro creates for his gods and monsters is breathtaking. The way he punctuates images with red—a billowing veil, the doctor’s gloves, a tie, a kerchief—beguiles and alarms in equal measure.
His idea of a mad scientist’s lab is a gloriously goth work of art, as is the film’s costuming—particularly the wardrobe for dear Elizabeth (Mia Goth). The wild mix of colors and textures, metallics and gauzes, conjure ideas of nature and machine in gorgeous disharmony.
It is with the b-story, focusing on Elizabeth and her uncle (Christoph Waltz), where GDT veers most widely from Shelley’s text. The choices are fresh and odd, allowing for a rich image of creator and creation, the natural versus the magnificent.
Isaac is a marvel of angry arrogance made humble. As his creature, the long and limby Jacob Elordi offers a monster who’s more sensitive son than wounded manchild.
Goth delivers the same uncanny grace that sets so many of her characters apart, and del Toro’s script allows Elizabeth an arc unlike any previous adaptation.
Frankenstein is over long. Del Toro spends more time than necessary with young Victor, and the b-story could have used trimming. You feel the film’s length. It’s also as sentimental a movie as del Toro’s ever made, sometimes to its detriment.
But you don’t wander into a Guillermo del Toro film expecting less anything than glorious excess—another reason why Frankenstein and he were meant for one another.
