Author: Jeremy Werner

Starring: Kevin Singh, Claire Theobald and Donovan Workun
Directed by: Simon Glassman
Rated: Unrated
Running Time: 99 minutes
Yellow Veil Pictures

Our Score: 3.5 out of 5 Stars

Having worked in local news, I’ve always appreciated the “can-do” spirit of local advertisers. Whether it’s pure DIY ingenuity by a tiny agency doing its best, or the awkward business owner subbing in for a slick national spot, there’s a charm to it. Enter “Buffet Infinity,” a VHS-style collage of local news, ads, and a story that feels easy to explain, yet strangely hard to fully convey.

As the film begins, we’re introduced to this unnamed town through a string of commercials. A pawn shop where the owners seem to enjoy filming more than selling, an insurance company with one of the dimmest spokespersons imaginable, a sandwich shop hyping its homemade sauce, and then there’s Buffet Infinity. At first glance, it’s just a buffet with a few items and low prices. Nothing suspicious…except for a monotone voiceover that feels more like bored improvisation than bored script reading.

But things begin to spiral as local news teasers and segments weave into the mix. It becomes clear that Buffet Infinity is more than a flashy new business. It’s an all-consuming presence that may be tied to strange disappearances, biblical shifts in nature, and possibly even a cult.

“Buffet Infinity” feels reminiscent of Panic Fest’s “VHYes,” but where that film leaned into a straightforward ghost story within the VHS chaos, this one uses sketch comedy to build something more layered. Absurdity reigns supreme as Buffet Infinity evolves from mundane burgers and salads to offering global cuisine and a sandwich that rivals the Tower of Babel. But underneath the jokes is a sharp critique of corporate expansion.

What makes the film work is how it forces you to piece together its story through seemingly trivial segments. Even the dull lawyer’s commercial plays a role. Slowly, the horror reveals itself: a force that enters a community, consumes it, overwhelms local competition, and then pretends it’s always belonged. Growing up, that force might have been Walmart. Today, it could be data centers, taxpayer-funded entertainment districts, or the endless spread of Amazon warehouses.

“Buffet Infinity” is an indie, anti-consumerist comedy that feels as old as Reaganomics but as current as Silicon Valley branding. It uses retro aesthetics for laughs while delivering a story about very real, very modern anxieties. Not every segment lands, and it can take a bit to find its rhythm, but its originality carries it. And when it hits, especially with the Buffet Infinity ads themselves, it’s an absolute riot.

Starring: Mercedes Mason, Rob Huebel and Barbara Crampton
Directed by: Ed Dougherty, Brea Grant and Chelsea Stardust
Rated: NR
Running Time: 104 minutes

Our Score: 4 out of 5 Stars

“Parasite,” “The Big Short,” “Sorry to Bother You,” “The Menu,” and “Glass Onion” all take aim at late-stage capitalism. Enter “Grind,” the first horror anthology built around the gig economy, one of the many aftershocks of that same system. As a former and current gig worker, I can say “Grind” is not only sharp in its critiques, but so inventive in its structure that it stands as one of the better original anthologies of this century.

Like some of the “V/H/S” entries and films such as “Scare Package,” there is clear connective tissue throughout. Every story links to the next or feeds the larger world, rather than settling for the lazy anthology formula of stitching together vaguely similar shorts. “Grind” creates a living, breathing universe for its stories to inhabit, allowing even the weaker entries to feel like added flavor rather than dead space.

Without walking through every segment beat by beat, “Grind” opens in an Amazon-style warehouse run by the sinister DRGN Corp. Workers whisper about an ominous punishment for anyone who falls behind schedule, setting up the film’s larger framing device. One employee lags while searching for a lamp for influencers, which segues into a story about social media influencing as the newest frontier of multi-level marketing, pyramid schemes, and general nonsense.

That eventually morphs into a DoorDash-style segment about a driver who simply cannot resist a rising payout. From there, the film shifts into one of its strongest chapters: a man desperate to break into DRGN’s corporate ranks, only to learn that a $175,000 salary means spending endless hours, days, and maybe years moderating grotesque social media content. It says a lot about what modern labor asks people to stomach. The movie then moves into a story about coffee shop workers unionizing under the DRGN umbrella before circling back to the warehouse and its mysterious punishment system.

At no point does “Grind” run out of steam. Each segment has its own spin on horror and comedy. Some lean darker, like the content moderation story, while others embrace absurdity, such as the delivery driver whose tip keeps rising as the requests become more deranged. Barbara Crampton shines in the MLM chapter, Rob Huebel is a blast as a DRGN liaison, and the supporting cast is stacked with memorable turns from Jessika Van, Vinny Thomas, and Christopher Marquette.

What makes “Grind” work is that it targets a labor system becoming deeply embedded in modern life. Instead of forcing horror onto these jobs, it uncovers the horror already inside them. With a game cast, sharp writing, and a rare talent for making an anthology feel cohesive, “Grind” has the potential to become a franchise in the spirit of “Creepshow.”

Starring: Brendan Kelly and Kaitlyn Boye
Directed by: Brendan Kelly and Kaitlyn Boye
Rated: NR
Running Time: 89 minutes

Our Score: 4 out of 5 Stars

Meta narratives are fertile ground in horror, from “Scream” to “Cabin in the Woods” to “One Cut of the Dead.” While “Break a Leg” is in strong company, it does something I haven’t really seen since “Birdman.” Its meta commentary is focused less on genre itself and more on acting, ambition, and the people chasing both.

Aspiring actor Patrick (Brendan Kelly) is thrilled to land an audition for a play directed by a legendary and infamous stage auteur. But when he arrives, the director is nowhere to be found. Instead, he’s greeted by Molly (Kaitlyn Boye), a disgraced former child star who is also auditioning for the same role. Their early awkward friendliness soon turns into distrust when they realize the director may not be coming at all. Even worse, they appear to be trapped inside the theater.

The film rests almost entirely on its two leads, which works because Kelly and Boye also wrote and directed the movie. Wearing multiple hats clearly benefits the project, allowing them to fully explore their ideas about performance, ego, insecurity, and the strange emotional warfare that can come with creative ambition. They dissect the craft through their characters’ clashing perspectives, while the structure of the story, the gradual revelations about the unseen director, and the escalating chaos all feel like a polished statement about their relationship with acting itself.

There are several scenes that feel drawn from real-world experience, whether it’s one character delivering a monologue, the two verbally sparring at high speed, or one pushing the other’s creative and mental limits. By placing all of this inside a horror framework, the film gets to play with reality in clever ways. Are they actually trapped in a theater? Is the director really there? Is some unseen force manipulating them? Is anyone ever truly in control? That final question becomes the film’s sharpest trick, especially as the last act pushes you to reflect on your own life, whether you’re an artist or not.

“Break a Leg” could have used a bit of trimming, but it makes strong use of its simple setting and premise, crafting a bloody, eerie, and imaginative bottle thriller. Kelly and Boye are not only the selling point, they’re the glue holding everything together. Their chemistry is immediate and infectious. You won’t mind being trapped in the room with them, though you may not like the skeletons they uncover.

Starring: Michael Johnston, Inde Havarette and Cooper Tomlinson
Directed by: Curry Barker
Rated: R
Running Time: 108 minutes
Focus Features

Our Score. 4.5 out of 5 Stars

Butterflies. It’s that feeling you get when you’re smitten. Maybe you find purpose, meaning, and reason. Maybe you find your partner in crime. Maybe you find your little food critic. Or maybe you find yourself trapped in a psycho-excessive, sleep paralysis nightmare of a toxic relationship that feels more like a 21st-century cautionary tale than hyper-realistic reality.

Well, that’s “Obsession,” a film that’s been stuck in my head like a fresh…well…obsession. Bear (Michael Johnston) is doing a pathetic man’s version of Nathan Fielder’s “The Rehearsal.” He’s practicing pickup lines with a waitress who is clearly hoping the tips outweigh the effort. Bear’s goal is winning over Nikki (Inde Havarrette), whom he believes is his soulmate, even though they’ve only bonded as co-workers and at half-hearted trivia nights with two other co-workers. He apparently thinks he’s collected enough platonic points to cash in for a real relationship.

He’s rehearsing because Nikki decides she needs a change, which means a new job that puts her platonically out of Bear’s range. So he tries to flirt…and it fails spectacularly. Like starting a diet on edibles at Golden Corral. But Bear happens to possess a magic willow wish that is every bit as hokey as it sounds. He picked it up while buying Nikki a small gift at a hippie shop. In a moment of desperation, he snaps it in half and wishes that she loves him more than anything else in the universe. Bear may not realize how big the universe is, or how horrific Nikki’s devotion is about to become.

“Obsession” isn’t breaking much new ground. At its core, it’s an old-fashioned monkey paw story built around the warning to be careful what you wish for. What elevates it are Johnston and Havarrette. Johnston is as pathetic as Bear sounds, writhing in every inch of uncomfortable sweat his character creates. Havarrette, meanwhile, makes Nikki almost supernaturally haunting. She lingers in dark corners watching Bear sleep, her silhouette slithering through rooms like something both wounded and predatory. She is absolutely iconic. As the film builds toward its climax, it keeps teasing that it’s about to go for the jugular, and eventually it does.

The other thing “Obsession” nails is how toxic relationships begin subtly before spinning into emotional violence. Through evolving set pieces, Nikki becomes more manipulative and controlling, while Bear refuses to take responsibility for the chaos he created, choosing emotional regression over growth. The film balances comedy and tension flawlessly, capturing the manic swings of a relationship on fire. One moment Bear seems willing to endure Nikki forever. The next, Nikki seems willing to stay with Bear only if he’s dead and festering.

There’s a reason Curry Barker is already being linked to a remake of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” and it’s “Obsession.” This film is wild, vicious, and gripping. It puts you in the front row for the yin and yang of abuse and power. Heavy subject matter aside, it’s a roller coaster of emotions that absolutely kills with a midnight crowd.

Starring: Midori Francis, Madeleine Madden and Danielle Macdonald
Directed by: Natalie Erika James
Rated: R
Running Time: 112 minutes
IFC Films

Our Score: 3 out of 5 Stars

Medical student Hana (Midori Francis) is determined to get to 60 kilograms, or 132 pounds for us Americans. She basically starves herself, pushes through a grueling multi-week fitness program, and generally seems miserable on her weight-loss journey. We’re not quite sure what is driving her to these extremes when she runs into an old high school acquaintance. That former classmate used to be morbidly obese, but is now almost unrecognizable to Hana. Her former classmate’s secret? She basically claims it’s a magic pill.

And just like Jack and the Beanstalk, it works. Hana, now deeply curious, analyzes the pill and discovers it contains phosphates, chemicals … and human ashes. She knows what everything else is and its impact, but it’s the human ashes that have her questioning, not only if it’s the key ingredient, the consequences. But she also really, really wants to lose weight. If human ashes are the key, surely Hana won’t mind continuing this new weight-loss regimen as a med student. Especially when a whale-sized cadaver arrives and no one notices a few ribs missing.

As a mix of “The Substance” and “Thinner,” “Saccharine” swings from comical body horror to unnerving possession tropes. There’s a lot going on here, and the film never quite finds a delicate balance between its many ideas. As mentioned earlier, we never fully understand what drives Hana to such horrific extremes. Is it love? Social media? Parenting? Bullying? Societal pressure? It’s all piled onto the movie’s plate, but it never takes the time to savor the bites. That being said, Francis does a fantastic job of savoring every scene she’s in.

Francis fully commits to Hana’s shocking transformation alongside the increasingly spiritual and supernatural developments bubbling beneath the surface. The obese corpse haunts her from afar even; its presence ranges from uncomfortable chuckles to genuine winces. The overweight specter hangs over nearly every scene, though I wish I had a stronger grasp of the Eastern influences at play. There are clear Buddhist and other religious images throughout, but they often feel buried beneath the film’s many competing ideas.

In the age of GLP-1s, and with my own struggles with weight over the years, “Saccharine” feels timely even when it’s a bit of a mess. For a film inherently about excess, it could use some trimming. Still, Francis helps smooth over many of the rough spots, and when Hana is alone in her apartment after dark, the movie usually delivers a freaky good time.

Starring: Ryan Gosling, Sandra Huller and James Ortiz
Directed by: Phil Lord and Chris Miller
Rated: PG-13
Running Time: 156 minutes
Amazon MGM

Our Score: 4 out of 5 Stars

Sometimes you need a pick-me-up. My 2026 has begun with several funerals and a smattering of other bad news. I won’t bog you down with the details, but as I walked into “Project Hail Mary,” I expected something entertaining from Phil Lord and Chris Miller. What I didn’t expect was a film that would not only let me forget my personal hurdles, as well as the chaotic world outside the theater, but also give me something I haven’t felt in a while: genuine hope.

“Project Hail Mary,” based on the novel by Andy Weir (who also wrote “The Martian), follows science teacher turned humanity’s last hope Ryland Grace (Ryan Gosling). When we first meet Ryland, he wakes up aboard a spaceship called the Hail Mary with no memory of how he got there or why he’s millions of lightyears from Earth. Worse yet, his crew hasn’t survived the journey, leaving him alone to slowly piece together both his mission and whether he’s even capable of completing it. Through flashbacks we learn the stakes: a mysterious microbe is consuming stars across the galaxy and our sun is next on the menu.

Dystopia and science fiction usually go together like spaghetti and meatballs or Tommy Wiseau and cinematic disaster. That’s what makes “Project Hail Mary” feel refreshing. Even when it leans into familiar tropes, including the introduction of an alien that channels shades of Spielberg and “WALL-E,” or an AI system that’s sometimes more annoying than helpful, the film focuses on themes that feel surprisingly sincere.

At its core, the story explores chosen family and unlikely connection. On Earth, Ryland is portrayed as an introverted loner. In space, he becomes the only human for tens of millions of miles. When he encounters an alien trying to solve the same cosmic mystery, the film pivots toward something warmer: a partnership built on curiosity, communication and survival. Their friendship becomes the emotional engine of the story and a reminder (one that feels especially relevant right now) that collaboration with those we don’t understand often beats going it alone.

Those ideas fit neatly into the wheelhouse of Lord and Miller, whose past projects like “The LEGO Movie,” “21 Jump Street” and “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs” balance comedy with surprising emotional depth. Here they bring that same lightness to what is technically an end-of-the-world scenario. The humor eases the tension while quietly setting up the emotional stakes that pay off in a third act full of action, twists and genuine heart.

“Project Hail Mary” has the scale of a big, bombastic sci-fi film, but its true strength is how intimate it feels. Like Ryland, we’re awed by the vastness of space, but the real spectacle isn’t the universe. It’s watching an unlikely hero overcome isolation, fear and self-doubt through curiosity and connection.

In the end, “Project Hail Mary” offers more than visual wonder. It delivers a surprisingly personal science-fiction story about cooperation, empathy and resilience. Ryland Grace may be flawed, but his curiosity and willingness to reach out lead to peaceful cosmic dialogue, a deeper understanding of existence and (as these things tend to go in movies like this) saving the world.

Starring: Sam Rockwell, Haley Lu Richardson and Michael Pena
Directed by: Gore Verbinski
Rated: R
Running Time: 133 minutes
Briarcliff Entertainment

Our Score: 3.5 out of 5 Stars

Imagine you’re sitting in a diner when a crazed man (unwashed for years but recently trimmed beard), wrapped in plastic with tubes dangling from his pants, storms in screaming, “I am from the future.” Thumb over a glowing button, ready to obliterate himself and everyone else, he announces that AI is about to rat-fuck the world and he needs a handful of strangers to help fix the future. You wouldn’t go. Right? “Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die” asks what happens when half a dozen people in that LA diner go, “Sure.”

Since it’s Gore Verbinski directing and Sam Rockwell playing the lunatic, of course the man is from the future. What starts as a bleakly funny “Black Mirror” sketch slowly expands into a string of “Black Mirror” episodes, both past and present, explaining why these people join him and just how unhinged their mission becomes. The absurdist comedy is strong, and while the film is technically anti-AI, it’s not in the usual “technology run amok” way. Instead, it holds up a mirror to the ways we’ve voluntarily outsourced societal functions to technology because dealing with real issues would require effort, empathy, and other things we’ve collectively misplaced.

Without spoiling the future-gone-sideways gags, Verbinski’s thesis is blunt: for every problem, there’s a technological solution. But instead of ocean-cleaning robots or cancer-curing models, the solution here is to further normalize school shootings. It comes complete with tiered pricing and the ad-supported version for those who can’t afford dignity. It’s bleak, but it’s also very funny in that “we deserve this future” way.

Rockwell’s manic energy works in short bursts, so Juno Temple, Michael Peña, Haley Lu Richardson and others carry the emotional stakes as the volunteers on this bizarro adventure that may (or may not) involve killing a child who may (or may not) be one keyboard stroke removed from becoming an “Akira” creature. Describing it without sounding like a monster is hard; the dystopia is constantly undercut by zany dry wit.

A film like this keeps escalating, so sticking the landing matters. The finale half-sticks it as both a bit of a cop-out and an earned payoff. Social satire + time travel rarely behaves in the third act, but even when it wobbles, the ride is worth it. It’s the rare AI comedy that feels original in both messaging and execution, and while the flaws are visible, the ideas linger. I suspect a second viewing will reveal more.

“Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die” is profound and silly at the same time. It’s an AI film arriving before a wave of bad “AI-gone-wrong” movies (looking at you “Mercy”) floods theaters. It’s unique, funny, and uncomfortably close to the world we’re already building, if not already living and breathing in.

Starring the Voices of: Roma Fay, Juliano Krue Valdi and Natalie Portman/Mark Ruffalo
Directed by: Ugo Bienvenu
Rated: PG
Running Time: 89 minutes
Neon

Our Score: 4 out of 5 Stars

There are a few things that make me suspicious of people: hating animals ranks high, and as a critic, hating kid-driven adventure stories is a red flag. It’s OK not to like some, but to not like all of them? Serial killer stuff. That’s because there’s an innate wanderlust baked into films like “The Goonies,” “E.T.” and “How to Train Your Dragon.” “Arco” doesn’t just stir that longing to explore the world, it reminds us of the world we’re actually living in.

Arco (Juliano Krue Valdi) is a 10-year-old boy living in 2932, an era where nature appears to have harmoniously reclaimed humanity in the clouds. It’s basically the Garden of Eden via sustainable urban planning. Instead of exploring the lush environment, Arco impatiently waits for his family to return from their time-travel expeditions. In this universe, people travel through time for holistic purposes. Arco’s father brings back plants from the dinosaur era to cultivate, not sports almanacs to gamble with. And nobody needs a DeLorean; they suit up and ride rainbows, as if a first-grade class designed time travel after parachute play. Arco steals his sister’s suit and rides the rainbow anyway.

In 2075, Iris (Romy Fay) lives in a household run entirely by a nanny-bot. Her parents are too busy to cook, clean, or tuck her in. When Iris discovers Arco unconscious in the woods, she drags him home and learns he’s from the future. They both learn…he might be stuck here. It’s the kind of child-like adventure you’d sketch on a notebook margin during a boring school day.

“Arco” gives us two dystopias. 2075 feels painfully plausible: suburban bubbles shield families from climate disasters, while robots and AI substitute for human connection. 2932 is gorgeous, but humanity lives on pillars above a flooded Earth. Adults in the audience will see the ecological alarm bells; the kids just see the magic. Yet both Arco and Iris seem to intuit the peril their worlds are in. Children often understand environmental stakes faster than adults. It echoes “C’mon C’mon,” where kids articulate climate fears more blatantly than the grown-ups interviewing them.

And still, “Arco” refuses to be bleak. It’s silly, adventurous, and sweet, with detours involving conspiracy-minded weirdos who know Arco is from the future and absolutely do not want to help him get back. All of it builds toward a third act that ups the peril, lands the themes, and might put a lump in your throat. Visually, the hand-drawn animation blends 1970s American aesthetics with Miyazaki. The artistry reinforces the film’s core belief that love, family, compassion, and simply talking to one another could fix more than we assume. It may even repair the damage we’ve already done.

Starring: Lee Byung-hun, Son Ye-jin and Park Hee-son
Directed by: Park Chan-wook
Rated: R
Running Time: 139 minutes
Neon

Our Score: 4 out of 5 Stars

Yoo Man-su (Lee Byung-hun) is living the good life, or at least the upper-middle-class representation of it. He has a roof over his head, his childhood home no less, a homemaker wife (Son Ye-jin), and two kids who have the freedom to explore their hobbies. His steady job at a paper company keeps everything humming. That’s why it stings when Man-su informs his family that the company has been bought out by Americans and he’s officially on the chopping block. But he’s determined. Determined to get another paper job. Determined to provide. Determined because, in his head, he’s the best at papermaking, almost like a South Korean Dwight Schrute.

A year later, that determination dissolves into humiliation. The family is pinching pennies. Hobbies are no longer affordable. And during an interview, Man-su is told bluntly and cruelly that he’s too old and too inferior to get back into the game. It’s here that Man-su decides to change tactics. The adaptation he chooses, however, involves murder.

What’s compelling is who Man-su decides needs to die for him to return to his former life. His choices reflect a broader working-class crisis: instead of blaming the systemic forces that push us down, we’re encouraged to blame each other, an eerie representation of our current climate where we second guess and distrust our neighbor, immigrant, or that slightly more valued coworker. “No Other Choice” is full of these digs at capitalism, and they land harder because they’re not delivered as sermons, but as survival logic.

Tonally, the film balances the bleakness with a surprising layer of absurd comedy. There’s a Looney Tunes quality to the murder attempts and the prior plotting. It’s inept, overcomplicated, and occasionally slapstick in a way that even Wile E. Coyote would diagnose as poor engineering. The misunderstandings and bursts of rage sometimes flirt with soap opera parody, but Park Chan-wook never lets the humor overwhelm the dread. It’s just enough to keep us breathing while Man-su makes things increasingly worse for himself.

Man-su lives by capitalism’s favorite rule: survival of the fittest. But in his mind, being “fit” means returning to the comfort he once reached. He craves the house, the status, the security, and the feeling that life finally makes sense. It’s not greed, exactly. He’s not looking to kill his way up the corporate ladder to become CEO. It’s the horror of losing something you were told you deserved, whether through indirect pressure, upbringing, societal standards, etc.

On the surface, “No Other Choice” feels predictable: the arc is clear, the anti-capitalist critique is worn openly, and the runtime lets you marinate in it a touch too long. But that roughness becomes sharper because of the comedy. Without the absurdity, the film’s obviousness would dull its knives. With it, the absurdity becomes the point. We’re looking in the mirror and wondering why we’ve allowed ourselves to reach this point.

Comparisons to “Parasite” are inevitable for American audiences, and while “No Other Choice” doesn’t reach those same highs, it distinguishes itself in what it finds tragic. “Parasite” is about clawing and scrounging upwards into the comfort zone, even if it’s fleeting and brief. “No Other Choice” is about what happens when you live and adapt to that comfort zone, only for a single economic decision to kick you back out. Where “Parasite” wastes no seconds, “No Other Choice” occasionally feels like it needs the runtime of a comedy. “No Other Choice” might have weasled its way into my favorite films of the year if it was shorter, punchier, meaner.

Even so, the film lingers. It’s funny, but it’s the kind of funny that gives the working-class viewer a pit in their stomach. It’s a pit that whispers, in a very real way, that absurd solutions begin with realistic scenarios. And that’s a feeling Americans, and apparently South Koreans, know all too well right now.

Starring: Ralph Fiennes, Jack O’Connell and Ralfie Williams
Directed by: Nia DaCosta
Rated: R
Running Time: 109 minutes
Sony Pictures Releasing

Our Score: 4 out of 5 Stars

In my review of “28 Years Later,” I noted that the film needed “Bone Temple” to really understand what Alex Garland was aiming for. I still don’t fully know, but this film offers a lot more to chew on. Picking up right where the prior film ended, we learn that the soccer-hooligan-looking “Warriors” gang is actually a Satanist cult (I wasn’t expecting that either). Led by Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal (Jack O’Connell), they force Spike (Alfie Williams), the lead of the prior film, into a ritual built around the simple principle of kill or be killed. Meanwhile, Dr. Ian Kelson (Ralph Fiennes), creator of the titular bone temple, begins to bond with the infected Alpha from the previous film, whom he names Samson (Chi Lewis-Parry). Again, I wasn’t expecting that either. These two threads converge in what I can only describe, without spoilers, as the greatest use of an Iron Maiden song on film.

What fascinates me about these new “28 Years Later” entries is the way Garland keeps trying to deconstruct the zombie genre the same way “28 Days Later” detonated it two decades ago. This time, Nia DaCosta is the one corralling his ideas, and the tonal shift is noticeable. The editing isn’t a gore-splattered machine gun over London backwoods; DaCosta brings more humanity without imitating Danny Boyle, making the film more watchable without defanging it.

What’s most surprising is that “Bone Temple” behaves like a counter-middle chapter. Yes, it’s technically the fourth film, but “28 Years Later” is being shaped as a trilogy. And instead of going darker, “Bone Temple” goes more hopeful. Spike’s path pulls him deeper into Jimmy Crystal’s orbit, where apocalypse becomes an opportunity for domination. On the other end, Dr. Kelson humanizes the infected, believing empathy might be the only way out of hell. Fiennes has a blast playing a loner who decides to befriend the most lethal cannibal alive. Together, these arcs reduce the apocalypse to two pathways: brutal control or stubborn compassion.

If that sounds simplistic, it’s deliberately so. Garland has always flirted with the big themes, militarism, pandemics, survivalism, etc., but here the real axis is science vs. religion. Kelson embodies the scientific impulse, acknowledging science’s role in creating the nightmare while believing it is also the way out. Crystal embodies faith. He believes faith is why the world has crumbled like tissue paper and he has adorned himself as a messiah figure to lead the way. Even at the end of the world, the two remain in conflict, and religion happily weaponizes science when it serves its power.

All of this leaves a single question: where do we go in the final film? After “28 Weeks Later” jammed conflicting themes and styles together, “Bone Temple” gives the series a breather. It’s still bloody and bizarre, but it’s also personal and weirdly optimistic. For the first time in the franchise, perception becomes the enemy. That makes Garland’s landing in the final film that much harder.

Starring: Sam Worthington, Zoe Saldana and Stephen Lang
Directed by: James Cameron
Rated: PG-13
Running Time: 197 minutes
20th Century Studios

Our Score: 1.5 out of 5 Stars

As I walked out of the three-hour-and-seventeen-minute “Avatar: Fire and Ash,” I felt something I didn’t feel during “Avatar” or “The Way of Water”: pure exhaustion. And it wasn’t the runtime, or wearing 3D glasses over my regular glasses, or the fact that I spent an entire morning sitting in a dark theater. It’s because I simply do not care about anything that happens in these movies.

“Fire and Ash” picks up sometime after “Way of Water,” with the human-turned-Na’vi Jake (Sam Worthington) still living among the water Na’vi. He’s there with his wife, Neytiri (Zoe Saldana), their kids, and Spider (Jack Champion);  the human boy in the oxygen mask who’s the son of Jake’s archnemesis, Colonel Quaritch (Stephen Lang), who is also still alive inside a blue cat body. And honestly? I don’t remember how Quaritch became a 10-foot tall blue feline or why Spider lives with Jake and Neytiri. I also don’t remember if their kids are actually their kids, why their teenage daughter Kiri is played by 76-year-old Sigourney Weaver or why they’re living with the water tribe in the first place. I don’t remember half the characters I’m not mentioning. And the truth is: I don’t care.

That’s the fundamental issue with the “Avatar” franchise. These characters exist, but we never truly connect with them. Colonel Quaritch has died multiple times and keeps returning. It makes you wonder if death even means anything in this universe. Jake and Neytiri’s kids are new, but they don’t have personalities outside of disobeying orders, getting scolded, and then saving the day anyway. Jake and Neytiri seem like a couple on the rocks. Jake talks to everyone like they’re in the Marine Corps. Apparently Kate Winslet is in this movie, but if you asked me who she played, I’d stare at you like you asked me to explain quantum physics. Oona Chaplin plays Varang, a new Na’vi who loves fire (hence the title), but even she is just another power-hungry villain; indistinguishable from the humans trying to colonize Pandora. It’s just a lot of plot that I don’t care about.

The themes are all still here, like the prior films:  imperialism, environmentalism, spirituality, family, the broad allegory about Indigenous peoples and the military-industrial complex. But this third trip to Pandora doesn’t say anything new about any of it, nor does it change the story structure. It simply repackages old ideas with new chase scenes and polished fight sequences, which are the only reasons I didn’t fall asleep. It all looks gorgeous, great and visually stimulating when things are blowing up. Special effects and groundbreaking technology are still the big positive takeaways.

However, the exposition is endless. It revolves around characters and lore we’re never given a reason to care about. And the things that “might” be interesting, like the God-like thing in the water or the human colony, are barely explored. I’ve never rewatched any of the “Avatar” films, and now I understand why. It’s bizarre because I’ve rewatched every other James Cameron movie multiple times. Cameron usually balances spectacle, popcorn thrills, and human themes to deliver truly compelling blockbusters. But “Avatar” remains…alien. No pun intended. It didn’t click until the credits rolled that I haven’t rewatched “Avatar” because I feel like I have rewatched it twice under different names. No amount of budget money or visual spectacle can fix that.

Starring: Timothee Chalamet, Gwyneth Paltrow and Odessa A’Zion
Directed by: Josh Safdie
Rated: R
Running Time: 149 minutes
A24

Our Score: 4.5 out of 5 Stars

I think it’s safe to say the Safdie brothers (Josh and Benny) love flawed, if not outright hateable, characters. 2025 only underlines that as they go solo. Earlier this year, Benny Safdie put out “The Smashing Machine,” a gritty sports biopic that mostly glazes over the troubled home life of its subject. Josh Safdie counters with “Marty Supreme,” a fictional sports biopic that dives headfirst into the multiple lows, and rare highs, of its title character.

Like me, you might hear that Marty Mauser (Timothee Chalamet) is loosely based on real-life table tennis player Marty Reisman. Just throw that knowledge out. Marty Mauser’s life and personality are the definition of piss and vinegar. The aspiring ping pong champion from New York City impregnates his lifelong best friend, who’s married, basically steals money from the shoe shop he works at to enter a competition in Britain, hits on a married, retired actress, and drops A-bomb and Holocaust jokes at swanky dinner parties. That’s all in the first 20 minutes. The movie never lets you take a breath.

“Marty Supreme” is defined by its chaotic flow, jumping from one crisis to the next like you’re fast-forwarding through ten sitcom plots at once. Riding this unregulated roller coaster is Chalamet, who owns every scene regardless of cameos from Penn Jillette, Kevin Leary, Tyler, the Creator, Abel Ferrara, and others. Chalamet plays Marty like Adam Sandler meets Jordan Belfort. His inability to handle a crisis like an adult is perfectly balanced with a snake-oil salesman’s confidence that he’ll always land on his feet.

A lot of the fun in “Marty Supreme” comes from not knowing where any of this is going. Whenever you’re sure Marty is about to drown in the mess he’s made, he finds some ridiculous silver lining that pulls him back to the surface. That madcap energy keeps the film from feeling like a slog as it pushes the two-and-a-half-hour mark. Oddly enough, the movie takes its breaths by watching Marty excel at the one thing he’s deservedly cocky about: table tennis.

Safdie shoots the film like a kaleidoscope of clashing styles, music, and tone. At different moments, it feels like a comedy, a crime thriller, an underdog story, a late-in-life coming-of-age tale, a narcissism study, and a sports movie that refuses to use sports movie tropes. There’s no big rousing speech, no training montage, no cartoonishly evil rival, and definitely no lovable, squeaky-clean hero. For all intents and purposes, Marty is kind of a prick. 

But only Chalamet could turn this clown into someone mildly worth rooting for, if not relatable. For every bit of schadenfreude and self-inflicted disaster, we find ourselves admiring his gusto. He’s not the kind of guy you’d normally want to see win, but watching this madcap journey unfold makes you respect his fearlessness. That fighting spirit gives his offensive jokes just enough charm to land with a smirk instead of a wince. It makes you want to see him become a better person, even if whether he actually does is entirely up to how you read the ending.

Maybe that’s why I kept thinking about “Marty Supreme” for days afterward: it hovers so close to reality that its absurdity feels weirdly genuine. Underneath Marty’s bluster and buried beneath his juvenile crimes is a layer of universal humanity. That stubborn belief that our existence is somehow unique, despite all the evidence and billions of other lives that have been lived and will be lived. We see Marty lash out and use people in self-serving ways, but we also see where he comes from: poverty, constant struggle, and a handful of fragile, flawed connections. Marty can’t stand the idea of being a footnote, and that’s the most relatable thing about him. That kind of desperate, blazing passion is what rockets “Marty Supreme” into the upper echelon of 2025 as one of the best films of the year.