People mainly familiar with filmmaker Bong Joon Ho’s Oscar-sweeping masterpiece Parasite may not know of his remarkable skill with a SciFi creature feature. Mickey 17, then, will be an excellent primer.
Robert Pattinson is the titular Mickey. Well, he’s a bunch of Mickeys, all 17 of them. Hoping to get away from some pretty bad fellas on Earth, Mickey signs up for a flight of space pioneers, but there’s a lot of competition to make the voyage and he has no skills so he signs on as an expendable: a clone who, for the betterment of science, subjects himself daily to every conceivable new threat so science can better prepare the non-expendables.
Chief among the unexpendable on this colonizing mission are the commander, vainglorious attention whore Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo), and Lady to his Macbeth, Ylfa (Toni Collette).
Joining Mickey onboard are his best friend, con-man extraordinaire Timo (Steven Yeun, playing delightfully against type) and the love of his many, many lives, Nasha (Naomi Ackie, Blink Twice).
Pattinson’s a hilarious, self-deprecating charmer, a man who believes he somehow deserves his fate. Fates. Through him the filmmaker employs absurd, sometimes even slapstick humor to satirize our own current fate. Beautifully (and characteristically), all of this is in favor of the reminder that our humanity requires us to be humane.
There’s great tenderness in this film, though it competes with sharp satire and fun action. But what fuels every scene, however lunatic or sweet or absurd, is the heat of Bong’s rage. His more than capable ensemble—from the sycophant scientist (Cameron Britton) to the ego-stroking puppet master (Daniel Henshall) to the guy forever dressed as a mascot (Tim Key) and on and on—brings every enraged idea to vivid, remarkable, too-close-to-home life.
Weaving sensibilities and ideas present in Snowpiercer,Okja, The Host as well as any number of clone movies, Mickey 17 could feel borrowed. It doesn’t. Like the best science fiction, it feels close enough to reality to be a bit nightmarish.
In 2021, Kiwi filmmaker James Ashcroft made his feature debut with the lean and unforgiving thriller Coming Home in the Dark. While his follow up discards the taut terror of a road picture in favor of lunacy and a hand puppet, The Rule of Jenny Pen mines similar tensions. Vulnerability, institutional ignorance, helplessness, bullying—Jenny Pen comes at it from a different angle, but the damage done bears a tragic resemblance.
The great Geoffrey Rush is Judge Stefan Mortensen, a self-righteous ass who finds himself institutionalized after a stroke. But as soon as he’s better, he’ll be out of there. In the meantime, he will berate and belittle staff and patients alike—even his kind roommate, Sonny (Nathaniel Lees).
But Dave Creely (John Lithgow, never creepier) doesn’t think the judge is going anywhere. He doesn’t think he’s such a much, if you want to know the truth, and he looks forward to pressing every vulnerability the judge has, terrorizing him until he breaks him. Just as Dave has broken every other patient at the home—with the help of his bald little hand puppet, Jenny Pen.
Back in the Sixties, hagsploitation (or psycho-biddie films) featured middle aged women with likely mental health concerns that led to various kinds of horror: What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?; Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte; Strait-Jacket. The women’s age was what made them suspect, the films reveling in the grotesquerie of their images.
Lately, though, filmmakers are realizing that the more powerful horror mines our own fears by empathizing with the aged characters, forcing us to see through their eyes. Relic, Bingo Hell, The Taking of Deborah Logan, The Demon Disorder and Bubba Ho-Tep all focus on the inevitable and terrifying vulnerabilities of aging.
The Rule of Jenny Pen fits neatly into this real estate. Ashcroft’s direction situates the sadistic within the well-meaning. Hospital staff, visiting musicians, family members—all genuinely hope to make the world better for these patients. But this is a world Dave knows well, and he exploits every opportunity to wield his and Jenny’s sadistic power.
Lithgow’s a maniac, making the most of his substantial physical presence among the fragile patients and delivering the most unseemly moments with relish. And Rush is his absolute equal. The veteran broadcasts pomposity with rigid authenticity that only lends power to the judge’s most helpless moments.
It is time! And whether you think Wicked was wonderful, Emilia Pérez was overrated or Nosferatu needed more love, one thing is certain. It will be tough for this year’s Oscar broadcast to reach the wild heights of last year. (Please bring back Nicolas Cage, Kate McKinnon and Ryan Gosling!)
In the meantime, here are our predictions for this year’s big winners:
Actress in a Supporting Role
For a while, it looked like Netflix’s big bet this year was going to make a big splash at Oscar. But as the race draws to a close, we think Emilia Pérez will content itself with just one win.
Should win: Zoe Saldaña, Emilia Pérez
Will win: Zoe Saldaña, Emilia Pérez
Monica Barbaro, A Complete Unknown
Ariana Grande, Wicked
Felicity Jones, The Brutalist
Isabella Rossellini, Conclave
Zoe Saldaña, Emilia Pérez
Actor in a Supporting Role
What a great field this year. Each actor cut an unforgettable character.
Should win: Kieran Culkin, A Real Pain
Will win: Kieran Culkin, A Real Pain
Yura Borisov, Anora
Kieran Culkin, A Real Pain
Edward Norton, A Complete Unknown
Guy Pearce, The Brutalist
Jeremy Strong, The Apprentice
Writing (Adapted Screenplay)
There were two real standouts in this field in 2024. We believe one of those two will go home empty handed, but the other will take home the Oscar.
Should win: Greg Kwedar, Clint Bentley, Clarence Maclin, John “Divine G” Whitfield, Sing Sing
Will win: RaMell Ross and Joslyn Barnes, Nickel Boys
A Complete Unknown: James Mangold and Jay Cocks
Conclave: Peter Straughan
Emilia Pérez: Jacques Audiard; in collaboration with Thomas Bidegain, Lea Mysius and Nicolas Livecchi
Nickel Boys: RaMell Ross and Joslyn Barnes
Sing Sing: Greg Kwedar and Clint Bentley; story by Clint Bentley, Greg Kwedar, Clarence Maclin, John “Divine G” Whitfield
Writing (Original Screenplay)
What’s the old cliché —the film that should win best picture usually wins best screenplay instead? This year, we predict both awards go the same direction, but we’d love to see one messy piece of female rage get it instead.
Should win: Coralie Fargeat, The Substance
Will win: Sean Baker, Anora
Anora: Sean Baker
The Brutalist: Brady Corbet and Mona Fastvold
A Real Pain: Jesse Eisenberg
September 5: Moritz Binder, Tim Fehlbaum; co-written by Alex David
The Substance: Coralie Fargeat
Documentary Feature Film
As is often the case, the Academy draws attention to five brilliant nonfiction films, each shining a light on a piece of reality that we would otherwise never see. Vital, brilliant, necessary art, each one of these. Any win is justified.
Should win: No Other Land
Will win: No Other Land
Black Box Diaries
No Other Land
Porcelain War
Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat
Sugarcane
International Feature Film
Here’s another great and wildly varied category.
Should win: I’m Still Here
Will win: I’m Still Here
I’m Still Here: Brazil
The Girl with the Needle: Denmark
Emilia Pérez: France
The Seed of the Sacred Fig: Germany
Flow: Latvia
Animated Feature Film
This category is such a joy this year, with five of the year’s best features.
Should win: The Wild Robot
Will win: The Wild Robot
Flow
Inside Out 2
Memoir of a Snail
Wallace and Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl
The Wild Robot
Actor in a Leading Role
Tough call here, but we’re thinking Chalamet’s SAG win gives him the edge over Brody.
Should win: Colman Domingo, Sing Sing
Will win: Timothee Chalamet, A Complete Unknown
Adrien Brody, The Brutalist
Timothee Chalamet, A Complete Unknown
Colman Domingo, Sing Sing
Ralph Fiennes, Conclave
Sebastian Stan, The Apprentice
Actress in a Leading Role
Should win: Demi Moore, The Substance
Will win: Demi Moore, The Substance
Cynthia Erivo, Wicked
Karla Sofia Gascon, Emilia Pérez
Mikey Madison, Anora
Demi Moore, The Substance
Fernanda Torres, I’m Still Here
Best Director
Would we cry if Fargeat won this? Tears of joy, maybe. But the likelihood is low and, to be honest, the tightrope Baker walked to give his film an almost slapstick comedic tone (given that it’s a film about a group of mobsters who kidnap a sex worker) is a real testament to his mastery of the craft of direction.
Should win: Sean Baker, Anora
Will win: Sean Baker, Anora
Anora: Sean Baker
The Brutalist: Brady Corbet
A Complete Unknown: James Mangold
Emilia Pérez: Jacques Audiard
The Substance: Coralie Fargeat
Best Picture
The Substance has a real shot, with Conclave as the upset possibility.
Should win: Anora
Will win: Anora
Anora
The Brutalist
A Complete Unknown
Conclave
Dune: Part Two
Emilia Pérez
I’m Still Here
Nickel Boys
The Substance
The Academy Awards are Sunday, March 2nd, live on ABC and Hulu with Conan O’Brien hosting.
Filmmaker Kyle Hausmann-Stokes impresses with his feature debut, My Dead Friend Zoe. Based on his 2022 short Merit x Zoe, the film follows Army veteran Merit (Sonequa Martin-Green, Star Trek: Discovery) as she tries to overcome some post-Afghanistan trauma.
Merit’s best friend Zoe (Natalie Morales)—who is, as you might surmise from the title, dead—isn’t making recovery easy. A constant companion (at therapy, on dates, etc.), Zoe— as well as Merit’s noticeable interactions with the invisible friend—is a big part of Merit’s problem.
But therapy will have to hang on because Merit’s hero, Vietnam Veteran grandpa (Ed Harris), has early onset Alzheimer’s and Merit (with Zoe in tow) needs to get to the family lake house and figure things out.
While the title and premise may sound a tad flippant, My Dead Friend Zoe turns out to be a rewarding and earnest drama. Morales delivers a boldly funny and equally vulnerable turn, and love interest Alex (Utkarsh Ambudkar) injects the film with charming, self-deprecating humor. But the levity tends to enrich the film’s truly human quality rather than distract from its underlying tensions.
Hausman-Stokes’s patient direction and unsentimental script, co-written with Cherish Chen and A.J. Bermudez, slowly uncover Merit’s trauma, which gives the unfolding family drama the attention and respect it needs.
Martin-Green’s stoic performance is offset by well-timed flashbacks to the friendship during active duty. So often in other films, this structure feels cliché and formulaic, as the look back teases a dark episode that the frivolity is meant to contrast with. Instead, Hausman-Stokes and his remarkable cast clarify the joyous bond the two women shared, deepening the sense of loss that is now drowning Merit.
We’ve seen plenty of solid dramas depicting struggles facing veterans, Megan Leavey, Thank You for Your Service, American Sniper, and the masterpiece Leave No Trace among them. The commonality My Best Friend Zoe shares with these films is the profound need for the veteran services currently on the DOGE chopping block. While My Dead Friend Zoe’s delightful and moving buddy picture vibe carves a different direction than the others took, the message is even more urgent.
Lean, mean and affecting, Mickey Keating’s take on the home invasion film wastes no time. In a wordless—though not soundless—opening, the filmmaker introduces an unhinged presence.
Cut to Ana (Vero Maynez). She’s sleepy, it’s late, the bus is empty except for the driver hustling her off, his voice constant, annoyed, and on repeat: Come on. Get off the bus. Last stop. You gotta go.
It’s 4:30 am. The bus was late, the station is deserted, and Carmilla—Ana’s cousin—is not answering.
Immediately Keating sets our eyes and ears against us. His soundtrack frequently blares death metal, a tactic that emphasizes a chaotic, menacing mood the film never shakes. Using primarily handheld cameras from the unnerving opening throughout the entire film, the filmmaker maintains an anarchic energy, a sense of the characters’ frenzy and the endless possibility of violence.
Keating strings together a handful of believably tumultuous moments early in the film—particularly a couple of run-ins with a horn-blaring cabbie—to work the nerves and leave you feeling as raw and vulnerable as Ana. Rather than dip and settle, Invader delivers relentlessly on that early sense of harried terror.
Scenes possess an improvisational quality that coincides with the rawness of the overall effort. Keating is spare with exposition—if you can’t figure out what’s going on without having it explained to you, you are clearly not paying attention. The verité style accomplishes what it’s mean to, lending Invader an authenticity that amplifies the horror.
Maynez carries that authenticity. Ana never feels written, she feels alive. Her confusion, anger, fear—all of it runs together in a way that reflects what the audience is experiencing in each moment. Her limited screentime with Colin Huerta introduces enough tenderness to give the sense of terror real depth.
Joe Swanberg, with limited screentime and even more limited dialog, crafts a terrifying image of havoc. His presence is perversely menacing, an explosion of rage and horror.
Invader delivers a spare, nasty, memorable piece of horror in just over an hour. It will stick with you a while longer.
Why is it that so many kids’ toys are creepy? Not that you should call The Monkey a toy. You should not, ever. Because this windup organ grinder monkey, with its red eyes and horrifyingly realistic teeth, is more of a furry, murder happy nightmare.
The film itself is a match made in horror heaven. Osgood Perkins (Longlegs, Gretel & Hansel, The Blackcoat’s Daughter) adapts and directs the short story by Stephen King about sibling rivalry and the unpredictability of death.
The delightfully low-key Christian Convery (Cocaine Bear) carries the first half of the film as young Hal and Bill, twins who discover their dad’s old closet full of knickknacks and collectibles, one of which will indiscriminately kill a lot of people. They boys eventually believe they’ve eliminated the beast, but decades later, the adult brothers (played with deadpan precision and one impressive mullet by Theo James) must contend with bloody monkey business once more.
Perkins surrounds his deliberately low energy leads with bizarre, colorful characters—even more colorful when they catch fire, explode, are disemboweled, etcetera. The film is laced with wonderful bursts of Final Destination-like bloodletting, as the Monkey’s executions are carried out via Rube Goldberg chain reactions that quickly become fun to anticipate.
Yes, fun. And funny.
There is a different tone at work here for Perkins. It’s one that is somehow both bone dry and silly, creating a dark humor that wallows delightfully in the pulpy carnage. His usual aesthetic of dreamy Gothic beauty is replaced by a more grimy, Earth tone palette that seems purposefully at odds with the stated time stamps.
And yet, underneath all of it you’ll find a meaningful layer that speaks to absentee fathers and generational trauma. There are disjointed moments, but only a few, thanks mainly to grounded reminders about the monkey’s shoulder-shrugging mantra: “everybody dies.”
Indeed. And if sometimes they need a little help, well, you can always wind up Furious George and take your chances.
Filmmaker Jon Gunn makes inspirational movies. Some of them are overly faith based (The Case for Christ, Do You Believe?). Others are of the less overt, true story style (Ordinary Angels). The Unbreakable Boy is of the second variety.
Zachary Levi is Scott, a dad out of his depth with a young son who is on the spectrum and suffers from brittle bone disease. The ebullient Austin (Jacob Laval) is not bothered by his condition or anything else. But middle school approaches, and as Austin transitions to adolescence, other fractures within the family begin to make themselves known.
Based on a true story, the film demands that you recognize that while Austin would be exhausting, he is also an absolute joy. Laval is adorable. His indominable spirit fuels the film and when Gunn’s focus changes to another family member, Laval’s presence is missed.
What the film gets right is the heartbreaking difficulty of parenting, rarely giving into unidimensional characterizations and allowing for weakness and weariness as well as joy.
Levi’s a natural charmer and Meghann Fahy impresses, carving an honest character of the underwritten loving wife role. Likewise, young Gavin Warren makes the most of his limited screentime.
Levi is considerably less convincing when it comes to the more emotionally difficult scenes. This weakness is paired with a weird imaginary friend situation. Though Drew Powell (the friend) brings welcome levity and opportunity for insight—and, per post-film snapshots of the real family, this was an actual part of their lives—he’s used as a narrative convenience and feels like unnecessary nonsense.
Gunn’s script, co-written with Scott LeRette and Susy Flory, lacks focus and it’s never clear whose story we’re trying to tie up. Needless, often cloying voiceovers from multiple characters compound the problem, without completely sinking the film.
The Unbreakable Boy is more evenhanded than most of Gunn’s movies, although subtle it’s not. It’s tidy and predictable and suffers under the weight of sentimentality. But it’s undeniably sweet, and if an inspirational film appeals to you, you could do worse than to let Jacob Laval charm you for 90 minutes.
Aaah, the old “video nasties” — movies banned from view to protect us from the untold damage they would do, their ruinous images. The idea that watching something could be our end is a fantastic source for horror. Horror filmmakers have taken that idea and run wild with it. Watching could make you mad. Making one could make you mad. Hell, just listening could do irreversible damage!
Thanks to Greg Hansberry of The Empty Coffin podcast for filling in for George this week! Today we celebrate the nasty videos that have propelled some of our favorite flicks.
6. Red Rooms (2024)
True crime culture. Serial killer groupies. The Dark Web. Does all of it seem too grim, too of-the-moment, too cliché to make for a deeply affecting thriller these days? Au contraire, mon frère. Québécois Pascal Plante makes nimble use of these elements to craft a nailbiter of a serial killer thriller with his latest effort, Red Rooms.
Plante expertly braids vulnerability and psychopathy, flesh and glass, humanity and the cyber universe for a weirdly compelling peek at how easily one could slide from one world to the other.
His real magic trick—one that remarkably few filmmakers have pulled off—is generating edge-of-your-seat anxiety primarily with keyboard clicks, computer screens and wait times. But the tension Plante builds—thanks to Juliette Gariépy’s precise acting—is excruciating. They keep you disoriented, fascinated, a little repulsed and utterly breathless.
5. Berberian Sound Studio (2012)
Madman Peter Strickland (In Fabric) made an entire film about sound, and it gets so much right. Not just about sound—about the era, the equipment, giallo sensibilities and moviemaking.
Strickland, working with a sound department of 34, creates a psychological experience through sound almost exclusively. The amazing Toby Jones plays Gilderoy, flown in specifically to helm the sound in a horror movie.
“This isn’t a horror movie. This is a Santini movie!”
Gilderoy’s arc is profound, and sound is our only window into what is changing him. We don’t see what he sees, only his reaction to it and the sound of it that makes his psychological breakdown believable.
4. The Ring (2002)
Gore Verbinski’s film achieves one of those rare feats, ranking among the scarce Hollywood remakes that surpasses the foreign-born original, Japan’s unique paranormal nightmare Ringu. Verbinski’s film is visually arresting, quietly atmospheric and creepy as hell.
This is basically the story of bad mom/worse journalist Rachel (Naomi Watts) investigating the urban legend of a videotape that kills viewers exactly seven days after viewing.
The tape itself is the key. Had it held images less surreal, less Buñuel, the whole film would have collapsed. But the tape was freaky. And so were the blue-green grimaces on the dead! And that horse thing on the ferry!
And Samara.
From cherubic image of plump-cheeked innocence to a mess of ghastly flesh and disjointed bones climbing out of the well and into your life, the character is brilliantly created.
3. Censor (2021)
Writer/director Prano Bailey-Bond crafts such a stylish, unsettling film with her ode to Britain’s “Video Nasty” era and the theme that censoring something ugly can somehow make it disappear.
Naimh Algar astonishes as Enid, a film censor whose childhood trauma and guilt resurface when a producer (Michael Smiley) invites her to watch a movie. A mystery—and Enid’s fragile sanity—unravel as Bailey-Bond develops a murky, fantastical and wildly horrific atmosphere that leaves you guessing and disturbed.
2. Videodrome (1983)
Videodrome was the last true horror and truly Canadian film in David Conenberg’s arsenal, and it shows an evolution in his preoccupations with body horror, media, and technology as well as his progress as a filmmaker.
James Woods plays sleazy TV programmer Max Renn, who pirates a program he believes is being taped in Malaysia – a snuff show, where people are slowly tortured to death in front of viewers’ eyes. But it turns out to be more than he’d bargained for. Corporate greed, zealot conspiracy, medical manipulation all come together in this hallucinatory insanity that could only make sense with Cronenberg at the wheel.
Deborah Harry co-stars, and Woods shoulders his abundant screen time quite well. What? James Woods plays a sleaze ball? Get out! Still, he does a great job with it. But the real star is Cronenberg, who explores his own personal obsessions, dragging us willingly down the rabbit hole with him. Long live the new flesh!
1. Peeping Tom (1960)
Director Michael Powell’s film broke a lot of ground and nearly ended his film career. People tend to react badly to horror movies that unnerve them, which is really odd given that this is the entire point of the genre. Peeping Tom pissed everybody off, maybe because—like Michael Haneke’s films Funny Games—Peeping Tom implicates you in the horror.
Mark (Karlheinz Bohm) had a difficult childhood, developing a bit of a voyeuristic hobby to help him cope. He starts off with prostitutes, filming them, capturing their terror as he kills them. He’s a voyeur, but who can throw stones? Didn’t every one of us who’s ever watched this film— or any other horror movie, for that matter—sign up to do exactly what Mark was doing?
Bohm’s great success is in making Mark unsettlingly sympathetic. Powell’s is in using the audience’s instincts against us. Bohm makes us feel bad for the villain, Powell makes us relate to the villain. No wonder people were pissed.
