Category Archives: New In Theaters

Reviews of what’s out now

New In Theaters

A Good Enough Cry

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Reminders of Him

by Hope Madden

A couple of years back, director Vanessa Caswill leaned affectionately into cliché, cast well, and elevated Love at First Sight above its tired romcom streamer roots. Can she do the same with the Nicholas Sparks style tearjerker Reminders of Him?

She can. But here’s the more important part. Caswill isn’t trying to exit the sobby romance genre. She is trying to make a movie that will please the same people who loved A Walk to Remember, The Longest Ride, and of course, novelist Colleen Hoover’s last feature adaptation, It Ends with Us. She’s just also trying not to make utter crap.

Caswill succeeds to a degree on both counts, again by casting well and embracing cliché.

The effortlessly woebegone Maika Monroe is Kenna, who’s just returned to her small hometown after a 6-year stint in prison for involuntary manslaughter. All Kenna wants to do is rebuild her life and meet the daughter she gave birth to in prison.  Too bad that daughter lives with the parents of the Kenna’s boyfriend, who died in that crash that sent her to prison.

So, the stage is set for a work-ethic driven story of redemption. Which is, of course, just an excuse for the romance. Kenna falls for Ledger (Tyriq Withers), her late boyfriend Scotty’s childhood bestie who returned to the neighborhood five years ago to help raise Scotty’s daughter.

Monroe’s performances tend to be internal, so she wears Kenna’s misery more than performs it. There’s a naturalness to it that helps the often unrealistic dialog and plot choices feel more believable.

Caswill also does not pretend that poverty—which is what Kenna lives in as a felon who’s lucky to get a job bagging groceries—looks at all glamorous. And though she may make poverty look a lot safer than it is, she surrounds Kenna with some fun ensemble players and a bit of needed joy.

Withers is primarily there to be inarguably handsome, but he and Monroe do share enough chemistry to make the romance somewhat compelling. And though Lauren Graham and Bradley Whitford suffer with woefully underwritten characters, both veterans have talent enough to enrich what the script lacked.

Does Reminders of Him do exactly what you expect it to do, scene after scene? It does. But it’s supposed to. It just does it a little better than it really had to.

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Who Has Ears to Hear, Let Him Hear

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Undertone

by Hope Madden

Ian Tuason’s paranormal podcast feature Undertone offers a lot of reasons to be impressed. It’s a single location shoot, and almost a one-hander. Aside from a catatonic mother (Michéle Duquet) and a variety of voices, Nina Kiri is on her own.

Kiri plays Evy, who is recording her paranormal podcast Undertone from her dying mother’s house. Evy’s been staying at Mom’s for a while now, and if she’s honest about it, she’d like it to just be over with. Evy’s waiting for the death rattle.

She loves Mama, but the relationship is thorny with Catholic guilt and shame. We sense this more than see it as Tuason crowds his set design with Catholic iconography. It’s a busy if impressive set, and Tuason makes great use of it with fascinating camera work. He uses mainly stationary cameras, often set off-angle so they feel more like a voyeur’s or ghost’s point of view, or even a security camera. The movement reinforces that sense. On the rare occasion that the camera does move, it does so in an obviously mechanical way that even more closely resembles security footage.

This gives the film a Paranormal Activity vibe—fitting, as Tuason is slated to write and direct the next installment in the found footage franchise.

But Undertone is less about what you see and more about what you hear. The somewhat oppressive sound design is intentional, of course, and frequently effective.

Kiri delivers a heroic performance. Not only has she no conscious actor to react to, but the vast majority of her performance is simply Evy, in headphones, listening to something.

The film falls apart at the story level. Evy and her podcast co-host Justin (voiced by Adam DiMarco) decide to listen to a set of 10 audio files emailed to them anonymously. The files conjure up something supernatural that, combined with Evy’s isolated, spooky, guilt-laden environment, starts affecting her headspace.

But the sound files and podcast are silly. The mythology within the house—Evy’s relationship with Catholicism and her mother, the demonic yarn being revealed by the audio files—none of it comes together into a coherent horror story. And worst of all, nothing happens.

Undertone is an impressive technical achievement but the story’s just not there.

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The Rain in Spain

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Heel

by Hope Madden

Few people who watched the Netflix series Adolescence would describe it as darkly comical.

And yet, Adolescence co-creator and co-star Stephen Graham lends his considerable talent to another look at the troubling behavior of young white men in Jan Komasa’s Heel.

Graham plays Chris, a well-intentioned family man. Anson Boon is Tommy. One morning, after a night of hard debauchery, Tommy wakes up in chains in Chris’s basement.

From there, Komasa’s film, written by Bartek Bartosik and Naqqash Khalid, could become something truly horrifying. Instead, it reimagines The Clockwork Orange by way of My Fair Lady.

There’s obviously something terribly wrong with Chris, his wife Kathryn (Andrea Riseborough), and probably their young son Jonathan (Kit Rakusen). But they don’t think so. Indeed, they’re so convinced of their benign purposes that the family hires a part time maid (Monika Frajczyk), even though there’s a human being chained up just off the laundry room.

Of course, during the interview, Chris does ask if Katrina has any distinguishing marks. That could be a red flag.

The performances across the board are marvelous. Certainly, we’ve come to expect nuanced, even surprising turns from both Grahan and Riseborough. But it’s Boon who really impresses. His Eliza Doolittle arc is fantastic and frustratingly believable.

Komasa plays with your expectations and manipulates your emotions. It’s really hard to root for the kid in the cellar, and it’s often a little tough to dislike this broken family, although there is clearly something very cracked and likely dangerous about them.

The sharp script never overplays its themes. Heel keeps you guessing, keeps you fascinated, and sometimes has you almost breathless. It’s also quite funny and touching.

The longer you watch, the more provocative Heel becomes. Even if you’re furious by film’s end, it’s hard to deny its power.

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Violent Femme

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The Bride!

by Hope Madden

One part Metropolis, one part Bonnie & Clyde, just a touch of Bride of Frankenstein and yet somehow entirely writer/director Maggie Gyllenhaal’s own, The Bride! deserves that exclamation point.

Jessie Buckley is a force of nature in a dual role—sort of a triple role, really: an unhappy Chicago gangster’s moll; Mary Shelley, silenced far too soon; and a monster, chaotic, unruly, unburdened by memory and guided by peculiar fury.

The likeliest lock for Oscar in the 2026 race for her breathtaking turn in Hamnet, Buckley is perfectly paired with Christian Bale (that hack!), a unique image of Frankenstein’s monster. He is tender, lonesome, adoring, and very anxious. Frank has a serious anxiety issue, which is mainly calmed by watching his favorite movie star, the song and dance man Ronnie Reed (Jake Gyllenhaal).

To watch Buckley and Bale, two masters of their craft, work off each other is a treat, each of them tearing through Gyllenhaal’s inspired and intelligent script with dark joy.

The leads are surrounded with memorable, noir-esque characters: Annette Bening as our mad scientist, Peter Sarsgaard as the gumshoe with some secrets, Penélope Cruz as the brains behind the investigation, John Magaro as the spineless gangster.

Great as they are, and they all are, the star here is Maggie Gyllenhaal. Her tale is hyperliterate with surreal flourishes, dazzlingly filmed, constantly surprising and yet charmingly inevitable, and fueled by a glorious, contagious rage.

There are dance sequences (an absolute blast) and shoot outs, a deep vein of dark humor, opportunities for redemption, and delightful easter eggs. (Ida’s nemesis is a gangster named Lupino; silver screen star Ida Lupino turned to directing, and one of her most cynical and impressive efforts was a 1963 episode of the TV show Thriller called “The Bride Who Died Twice.”)

The Bride! delights with an anarchic energy, but its underlying plot is tight, its characters clearly drawn and beautifully performed, and its aesthetic wondrous. In just her second feature, after 2021’s sublime The Lost Daughter, Gyllenhaal’s cemented her spot as one of the most exciting filmmakers working.

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Idol Hands

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Billy Idol Should Be Dead

by George Wolf

As great as Robert Patrick was in Terminator 2, Billy Idol would have made a pretty rad T-1000.

Billy was indeed up for the part, and a glimpse of his screen test with James Cameron is just one of the archival delights in Billy Idol Should Be Dead, a new doc that traces his life of curled lips, spiked hair and legendary rock god excess.

Adding plenty of never-before-seen footage to many of the sentiments from Billy’s 2014 memoir, director Jonas Åkerlund does a great job taking us inside young William Broad’s English upbringing and the Seventies punk scene that launched the Billy Idol persona and his early bands, Chelsea and Generation X.

Billy is refreshingly honest and self-reflective in the new interview footage, as Åkerlund often layers it with classic clips from the Eighties that accentuate how committed Idol was to the “sex, drugs and rock-n-roll” lifestyle.

But once the two-hour doc hits the halfway point, the career overview starts to suffer from a drifting focus. Billy’s longtime personal relationship with girlfriend Perri Lister gets plenty of scrutiny, while musical partner Steve Stevens is barely mentioned. Åkerlund (Lords of Chaos, Metallica Saved My Life) juggles a shifting timeline, animated segments, a black and white aesthetic and celebrity commentary (Miley Cyrus, Pete Townshend, etc.) with an approach that seems random. The film’s vision never feels fully formed, especially up against the heels of Morgan Neville’s expertly crafted Paul McCartney doc, Man on the Run.

And strangely, despite Åkerlund’s extensive experience in music videos, Idol’s catalog isn’t mined as deeply as it could be, and several chances to anchor some passages with more Idol hits are left unexplored.

The film might not reach the raw emotional honesty of docs such as Steve! (Martin) or Pee Wee as Himself, but for Billy Idol fans, there is plenty here to satisfy. From early clubs to MTV glory, from the gnarly scars of a motorcycle wreck to embracing family and moments as a doting grandfather, Billy Idol Should Be Dead does make you feel like you know a rock legend just a little bit better.

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Leave It to Beaver

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Hoppers

by Hope Madden

Funny, relevant, overstuffed and a little too busy, Pixar’s latest, Hoppers, throws a lot at you.

Mabel (Piper Curda) has always been a handful. In the film’s opening act, after she gets caught trying to break every elementary school classroom animal out of captivity, her frustrated mother drops her off with her grandmother. Grandma Tanaka (Karen Huie) introduces Mabel to the calming effect of nature. As they age together, the two sit on a rock by the glade behind Granny’s, learning to be silent and feel a part of something bigger.

Then the mayor, Jerry (Jon Hamm), decides to bulldoze the glade to extend the city’s beltway, shortening commutes by 4 minutes! Through a series of events both clever and complicated, Mabel hijacks a research experiment, avatars her way into the robotic body of a beaver, infiltrates the local wildlife community, learns more than any human has ever learned about their hierarchy, and just about gets Jerry squished.

Hamm is perfect as Mabel’s foil, but the entire cast is excellent. From smaller supporting turns (Meryl Streep, Vanessa Bayer, and Isiah Whitlock, Jr. in one of his final roles) to larger roles (Bobby Moynihan, Dave Franco, Kathy Najimy), each voice brings life and wit to Pixar’s characteristically enthralling animation.

Co-writer/director Daniel Chong’s script, co-written with Jesse Andrews (Elio, Luca, Me and Earl and the Dying Girl), is warm, forgiving and quite funny. Pixar has a knack with movies about a world unknown, even forbidden, to humans. Hoppers plays with that idea, and the thrill of being part of the animal world offers contagious joy.

It’s also an honestly emotional film, and Curda makes an excellent anchor for that emotion.

The film’s one big drawback is that it simply tries to do too much. At an hour and 45 minutes, it feels slightly longer than necessary, but more than anything, it is very complicated. Had Chong pruned some of the human world complexities, favoring instead the merry time spent in the surprising world of the animals, his film might find broader appeal. As is, it will delight older children and adults, although the littlest viewers may struggle to keep up.

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Knife Finds a Way

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Scream 7

by Hope Madden and George Wolf

There’s a lot to be said for the Scream franchise. Sure, Wes Craven’s 1996 iconic original delivered the shot of adrenaline needed to reimagine and reinvigorate the horror genre. But the fact is that, seven episodes in, the series doesn’t have a lot to be embarrassed by.

In case any unexpected callers ask, there are 12 Friday the 13th films, 8 Nightmare on Elm Street films (yes, we are counting the 2010 abomination), 9 Texas Chainsaw Massacre films, 12 Hellraisers, and 13 Halloweens in all. Hell, there are 8 Leprechaun films. And, in every case, most of the individual sequels are terrible. Some of them unwatchable. But not Scream.

Sure, Scream 3 was a step backward. Scream 4 was less beloved than it should have been. Scream 5 was a nice comeback, then 6 was a bit of a letdown. Still, seven episodes and we have no real stinkers. Including Scream 7, co-written and directed by the franchise’s original scribe, Kevin Williamson.

The storyline has veered back, after Melissa Barrera was fired, which prompted Jenna Ortega to quit. So, naturally, the property finally found the money to pay Neve Campbell to come back, and good thing they did. When Ghostface tracks Sidney Prescott down to the smalltown where she’s raising her three kids with husband/police chief Mark Evans (Joel McHale), she needs to keep her own history from echoing through her teenage daughter Tatum’s (Isabel May) life.  

Episode Seven is all about nostalgia, and a reminder of the years we all have invested. You’ll see plenty of familiar faces, including everyone’s favorite from the original film. There is a nicely organic reason for this, but the film’s core is about Sidney’s strained relationship with her daughter. That’s a weaker thread.

Williamson sells the new setting well enough, and with some understatement that feels refreshing. What isn’t subtle is the frayed nature of the mother/daughter dynamic, fueled by dialog and drama that’s forced and unearned.

The younger cast (including McKenna Grace, Michelle Randolph, Asa German, Celeste O’Connor and Sam Rechner), while perfectly talented, are slighted in terms of plot and character development. They only get a passing chance to school us on some new rules of the game, and benefit from the satisfying staging of just one standout kill.

The grownup side of the story is solid. It’s still a kick to see Campbell’s Sid and Courteney Cox’s Gale Weathers doing their thing. There is still some teenage dumbassery involved, but this Scream is leaning into its age more than ever.

It’s less risky, and certainly after all this time, less groundbreaking. But Scream 7 is also less silly. Like a proud parent reminding the kids they can always come home, Williamson’s return gives the franchise some bloody comfort food to chew on.

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Rude Awakening

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Dreams

by Hope Madden

Early in Dreams, Michel Franco’s latest, a wealthy white guy at a board meeting says, “Why Mexicans? Isn’t there anybody here we can help?”

It’s a pristine boardroom, just the questioning Jake McCarthy (Rupert Friend), speaking to his benevolent father (Marshall Bell), and his philanthropic sister, Jennifer (Jessica Chastain). She gives him a playfully annoyed shake of the head, hands him a dossier to sign, and promises her “little projects” are all tax write offs. She and her father share a “what are we going to do with this guy?” smile and roll of the eyes.

Franco’s film is not subtle.

Chastain cuts an elegant figure, Franco’s cinematographer Yves Cape lingering over every meticulous ensemble, fetishizing each pair of impossible heels. She never smiles. There’s a hand ready to help her out of every vehicle as its door opens for her. She has never a hair out of place.

Except when she’s having energetic sex with Fernando (Isaac Hernández), the talented ballet dancer who’s just crossed the border and most of the US on his own to be with her.

The erotic thriller’s psychosexual politics are eye-catchingly surface level, with a heavy-handed examination of the American Dream driving the action. The role reversal—that the wealthy philanthropist is a woman and the beautiful ballet dancer in distress is a man—allows Franco provocative opportunities.

One of the most interesting things about Franco’s films, including Memory, also starring Chastaine, and 2022’s Sundown, is that, at just past the halfway mark, each becomes an entirely different film.

Dreams follows that path as well, although with less satisfying results.

Like Memory, Dreams considers power and consent in sexual relationships, and again, the latter film comes up shorter. Dreams seems more obviously built to provoke, more relentlessly opposed to choosing a side.

That feels less provocative and more irresponsible here. Whether, in the final image on the screen, we are expected to see the evil of privilege or the righteous glare of vengeance, what’s important to note is that no white men were harmed in the making of this film.

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Let Him Eat It

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The President’s Cake

by George Wolf

After winning two awards last year at Cannes, The President’s Cake missed out on an Oscar nomination for Best International Feature. That says much about how stacked the category is this time, because writer/director Hasan Hadi’s feature debut is an absolutely wondrous mix of empathy and gut-punch heartbreak.

In 1990s Iraq, nine year old Lamia (Baneen Ahmad Nayyef, in a remarkable debut of her own) lives with her feisty grandmother Bibi (Waheed Thabet Khreibet) in the poverty-stricken marshes. As “draw day” approaches at Lamia’s school, Bibi teaches her little tricks to avoid getting chosen for the compulsory “honors” of providing various items at the local celebration of President Saddam Hussein’s birthday.

But Lamia’s stern teacher sees through the scams, and the girl is picked for the most scrutinized task of all: baking the birthday cake.

Needless to day, failure would bring about some harsh consequences.

Though Bibi thinks she knows the best way forward for her granddaughter, Lamia strikes out on her own. Clutching her favorite rooster and conferring often with her friend Saeed (Sajad Mohamad Qasem), Lamia desperately seeks ways to acquire the precious baking ingredients that she cannot afford.

Buoyed by the two remarkably assured young performers, Hadi crafts the film with a delicate balance between childlike journey and harsh reality. Though Lamia’s travels through her homeland’s corruption, casual cruelty and degradation may recall The Painted Bird or Come and See, Hadi protects the innocence as fiercely as Lamia protects her rooster. His film’s heart aches for the plight of these people, even as it’s providing sly reminders that aspiring dictators share similar playbooks.

There is a tender, poetic beauty to be found here as well. The President’s Cake signals Hadi as a filmmaker full of insight and compassion, with the storytelling instincts to mine universal resonance from a uniquely intimate struggle.

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Play Thing

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Dolly

by Hope Madden

Fans of Savage Seventies Cinema, rejoice. Filmmaker Rod Blackhurst channels The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Tourist Trap, and even a little bit of Ted Post’s 1973 freak show The Baby for his wooded horror, Dolly.

Macy (Fabianne Therese) and Chase (Seann William Scott) hike through the woods to a breathtaking overlook where Chase will pop the question. But they probably should have turned back at the first sign of those baby dolls nailed to the trees.

Soon enough, they meet Dolly (Max the Impaler, that’s quite a name), an enormous person whose whole noggin is hidden inside a cracked ceramic doll’s head. Dolly has a shovel, puts it to unusual use, and soon enough it’s just Dolly and her new baby, Macy, back at Dolly’s house.

Blackhurst nails the look and vibe of a 70s grindhouse horror show. And it’s not just tone, it’s also the content. Dolly gets nasty. Blackhurst intends to horrify you far more than frighten you. Whether it’s blood or body fluids or rancid food stuffs or broken bones that trip your gag reflex, he’s aiming to find it.

Ethan Suplee—you remember, the happy singing football player from Remember the Titans–cuts a far more intimidating presence as Daddy, and you can’t help but wonder about the backstory here at Dolly’s place. Kudos to Blackhurst, who co-writes with Brandon Weavil, for keeping it ambiguous.

Yes, if it’s an indie Seventies horror aesthetic you’re after, and logic and common sense are of less importance, then Dolly is for you. But if you crave one single scene of realistic behavior, the movie comes up short.

Therese can’t be blamed. She does what she can, her attempts at carving a heroic character are in and of themselves heroic. But Macy’s every action is made exclusively to further the plot and never, ever to create a believable character. If you have a tough time watching a person constantly abandoning weapons along with common sense, this film will frustrate you.

The excellent grindhouse violence and style are only equaled by the utter and distressing ridiculousness of the plot. So, even Steven, I guess.