Author: Jeremy Werner

Starring: Will Forte, Lana Condor and John Cena
Directed by: Dave Green
Rated: PG
Running Time: 103 minutes
Ketchup Entertainment

Our Score: 3.5 out of 5 Stars

It’s kind of wild that there have been fewer than half a dozen original Looney Tunes feature films. Even stranger is that one of them almost became a movie nobody was allowed to see. Warner Bros. famously shelved “Coyote vs. Acme” (and other films I want to see) as part of a tax write-off before backlash eventually helped the film find a new home with Ketchup Entertainment. That’s an especially ironic fate for a movie about a beloved cartoon character taking on the giant corporation that has spent decades selling him defective products. So, after everything it took to get here, should “Coyote vs. Acme” have been given life?

“Coyote vs. Acme” is simple enough. After decades of failed attempts to catch the Road Runner with equally failed Acme products, Wile E. Coyote hatches his first live-action plan to catch his edible nemesis: hire a lawyer. Coyote heads to Albuquerque (I guess the Road Runner/Coyote hijinks have been happening in New Mexico all this time?) to hire TV and billboard lawyer Kevin Avery (Will Forte), known for securing chump-change settlements for cartoons harmed or maimed by Acme products. Coyote is dreaming bigger. As possibly the single greatest victim of Acme’s questionable quality control, he wants a high-profile lawsuit against the company responsible for decades of rockets, dynamite, giant magnets, spring-loaded contraptions and countless other catastrophes. It’s the Looney Tunes equivalent of David vs. Goliath.

We quickly learn that Acme is like any contemporary conglomerate. It produces smartphones, energy, toiletries, makeup, food and, of course, rocket skates. Everyone, from Coyote to Avery to the average person walking around this “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?”-esque world, seems to know the company is terrible. It’s obviously involved in illegal activities, has politicians in its pocket and doesn’t appear to have anyone’s best interests at heart. That’s why, despite all the cartoon hijinks, the ideas behind “Coyote vs. Acme” feel surprisingly pertinent. A massive corporation can screw over the little guy repeatedly, and eventually that little guy may wonder if getting flattened by an anvil was actually his fault.

Avery understands that frustration. He aspires to be a great lawyer, but believes the system has never given him much of a chance to prove it. Coyote has spent his life believing the Acme system is similarly rigged against him. Their mutual frustration gradually turns them from attorney and client into two lovable losers who recognize something of themselves in each other. It’s also why Forte is such perfect casting. He can play off absurdity like a classically trained clown while somehow eliciting genuine sympathy for a loser. That’s an essential skill when your primary scene partner is an animated coyote who doesn’t talk.

John Cena similarly understands the assignment as Acme’s attorney. He has terrific comedic timing and plays the increasingly ridiculous proceedings with almost complete sincerity. At times, it feels like Forte, Cena and the other human actors were handed a serious courtroom drama script and nobody bothered to tell them their clients were Saturday morning cartoons. Lana Condor is unfortunately given less to work with as Avery’s legal assistant, functioning too often as the character responsible for pushing everyone toward whatever the plot needs to do next.

Thankfully, not everything is serious. God no. Coyote continues finding increasingly terrible ways to use Acme products. The writers pepper the movie with clever one-liners, wordplay and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sight gags. Anyone who grew up watching Looney Tunes is also rewarded with appearances and twists involving Tweety Bird, Sylvester, Taz, Foghorn Leghorn and others.

That nostalgia generally works because “Coyote vs. Acme” understands the characters rather than simply parading them across the screen for recognition. The cartoon physics remain intact even when the characters enter the human world. Coyote can still endure physical trauma that would reduce Will Forte to a fine red mist, shake it off and move on to his next terrible idea. But that creates one of the film’s biggest problems.

Looney Tunes cartoons never really needed consequences. Wile E. Coyote can fall off a cliff because his failure is the punchline. A 103-minute feature needs character arcs, escalating stakes, emotional investment and some reason to care about what happens when the credits roll. “Coyote vs. Acme” mostly succeeds at stretching that formula to feature length, but you can occasionally feel it stretching. The movie runs a little too long, sometimes treats its central conflict more seriously than necessary and struggles to convince us there are genuinely dire consequences awaiting characters who have spent generations surviving explosions, falls and industrial accidents.

Some of its humor also assumes familiarity with characters whose cultural ubiquity isn’t what it was 33 years ago when I was plopped in front of a TV. Younger viewers can certainly enjoy the cartoon mayhem, but longtime Looney Tunes fans are going to get substantially more out of the references, cameos and twists on familiar characters.

Still, the nostalgia and social satire make “Coyote vs. Acme” refreshing. It doesn’t merely ask us to remember loving these characters as children. It takes the ridiculous logic we accepted as kids and filters it through adult frustrations involving corporations, lawyers, bureaucracy and the uncomfortable realization that maybe the company selling you defective rocket skates bears some responsibility for the resulting crater. And then reality made the joke even better.

Wile E. Coyote spends “Coyote vs. Acme” fighting a giant corporation that decided he was disposable. Then “Coyote vs. Acme” had to survive a giant corporation that decided it was disposable. After everything Warner Bros., Acme and the laws of physics have thrown at him over the past 75 years, somehow the Coyote survived again.

Starring: Hannah Einbinder, Gillian Anderson and Jack Haven
Directed by: Jane Schoenbrun
Rated: R
Running Time: 112 minutes
Mubi

Our Score: 4.5 out of 5 Stars

What can you say about a meta film that mocks its own meta nature, points out when it’s being meta, and then features a film within the film that’s also being meta? I might as well get all the metas out of the way because it’s the perfect word to describe “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma.” It’s also a winking love letter to the slasher genre, an intentionally campy comedy, a self-reflective dunk on the clashes between studios and artists, and it’s all wrapped up in a coming-of-age sex story. It’s a lot to unpack. Even if it doesn’t scare you or make you wince, it’ll stick like blood-red gum in your brain.

Up-and-coming filmmaker Kris (Hannah Einbinder) is tasked with rebooting, remaking, reimagining, or whatever we’re calling it these days, the in-film slasher franchise “Camp Miasma,” featuring the aptly named serial killer Little Death. That’s not the first on-the-nose nod to the sexually charged nature of the film, and it certainly isn’t the last.

Kris loves the much-maligned franchise, including the sequels everyone else seems perfectly comfortable dismissing as garbage. That obsession leads her to Billy (Gillian Anderson), the original final girl of “Camp Miasma.” Billy left the franchise behind professionally, but never quite escaped it personally, now living at the resort camp where the original film was shot. Kris traverses mountains and enough snow to wander into “The Shining” just to meet the mysterious recluse.

Obvious sparks fly, but something more interesting is happening beneath their witchy flirting and academic debates over sex, LGBTQ+ themes, misogyny, murder and horror. Kris and Billy are almost the Mulder and Scully of slasher analysis. They can stare at the same thing from completely different perspectives while still loving what they’re looking at. Kris intellectualizes the hell out of “Camp Miasma,” but never seems to get closer to understanding why it speaks to her. Billy is more mature and comfortable with those ideas, but she’s also spent years isolated from the genre, the industry and much of society itself. Billy helps Kris understand something about herself beyond all the analysis, while Kris reminds Billy why something inherently silly can still be incredibly important.

Maybe that’s what loving movies is. Kris doesn’t pretend every “Camp Miasma” sequel is some misunderstood masterpiece. She sees the bad CGI, ridiculous violence, terrible music and all the other reasons someone might dismiss a crappy sequel. She just sees something beyond those things that still connects her to what she loved in the first place.

I get it. There was a time when I thought “Seed of Chucky” was awful. Now that I’m older, have watched thousands more movies and am hopefully at least marginally wiser, I appreciate it far more than I did then. “Seed of Chucky” didn’t change. I did.

Much like director Jane Schoenbrun’s prior films, “I Saw the TV Glow” and “We’re All Going to the World’s Fair,” what’s beneath the surface is what “Camp Miasma” is really about. Schoenbrun leaves enough interpretive space that people will walk away with wildly different readings, and the movie almost seems to welcome the disagreement like a stand-up comedian waiting for someone in the audience to heckle them.

My biggest takeaway is the thin line between sex and horror, something the genre has been exploring forever. Horror has long turned desire, bodies, penetration, shame, pleasure, pain and vulnerability into sources of terror. “Hellraiser” practically built a mythology out of kink. Slashers spent decades turning virginity and sex into matters of life and death. “Teeth” made sexual anxiety horrifyingly physical. “Camp Miasma” knows that history and gleefully screws around with it.

Einbinder lives and breathes Kris, making a character who could easily become exhausting feel vulnerable, funny and increasingly unhinged. When we meet her, she’s neurotic and desperate to explain what these movies mean. Once she encounters Billy, that shell begins to crack. She becomes wilder, more vulnerable and even more verbose, sometimes pointing out the very tropes the movie she’s currently occupying is using.

Anderson initially plays Billy like another mystery Kris needs to solve. She speaks with the confidence of a Southern Socrates, seemingly possessing an answer for everything while revealing almost nothing about herself. Only after Kris gets through does Anderson allow the vulnerabilities, fears and passions underneath to emerge. The more they open themselves to one another, the more we understand what “Camp Miasma” itself is doing.

I don’t really view Schoenbrun’s films as horror as much as theses on life written using the language of horror. “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma” may be the filmmaker’s most playful version of that idea yet, accessible enough for a regular audience to enjoy the sex, blood, comedy and absurdity while allowing crazier fanatics to dig endlessly through everything underneath. And boy, does this film have a nostalgic, fresh style to dig into. Painted backgrounds give way to establishing shots that could make Wes Anderson scribble a few notes, while moments of fantastical sexuality spill across the screen through CGI and practical effects. Even the fountains of blood look like Rorschach splatter art.

There’s a certain mix of Edgar Wright and Quentin Tarantino in the film’s pure cinephile energy. “Camp Miasma” borders on parody at times, but its constant genre-mixing keeps its head above water. At 112 minutes, it does begin to drag in spots, and I’ll maintain that any horror movie crossing the 100-minute mark better have a damn good reason for doing so. “Camp Miasma” mostly does. Mostly. Shave five or 10 minutes off and I might not have noticed at all. The soundtrack certainly helps, creating moments of unexpected joy even when Little Death finally starts killing. There’s something bizarrely beautiful about watching a speaker-boxed killer go on a rampage while melancholy alternative rock muffles the screams and sounds of blades hitting flesh. It’s possibly one of my favorite scenes of the year, right alongside Ralph Fiennes dancing like a madman to Iron Maiden in “28 Years Later: The Bone Temple.”

At a certain point, I wondered whether “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma” was a great horror movie or simply a great movie. By the end, I’m not sure the distinction matters. The film plays out like a self-fulfilling prophecy about how good and bad movies alike can occupy special places in our lives. They shape us, mold us and sometimes wait years for us to become the person capable of seeing something in them we couldn’t see before.

Maybe “Camp Miasma” is trash. Maybe it’s art. Maybe it’s both. Kris can spend her entire life trying to figure out what those movies are saying to her. Billy can spend hers trying to understand why they still matter. And idiots like me can write thousands of words trying to explain why a movie about people talking about another movie made us feel something.

But sometimes what a movie says matters less than why we needed to hear it. The movie doesn’t necessarily change. We do.

Starring: Dominic Sessa, Antonio Banderas and Emilia Jones
Directed by: Matt Johnson
Rated: R
Running Time: 106 minutes
A24

Our Score: 4 out of 5 Stars

It felt like only a matter of time before Hollywood churned out a biopic about the bad boy of the culinary world, Anthony Bourdain. Although, even that description feels inadequate. Chef. Writer. TV host. Traveler. Bourdain became one of those people who was difficult to define by a single job title because his greatest talent may have simply been his curiosity about other people.

He treated street food and Michelin-star restaurants with the same reverence, respecting the passion of whoever put the plate in front of him. Bourdain could be larger than life without making anyone around him feel smaller. So, a biographical film would certainly be able to encapsulate the magic of that persona, right? Well, “Tony” isn’t particularly interested in doing that.  

Set during the summer of 1979, “Tony” introduces us to a young Anthony Bourdain, or Tony (Dominic Sessa), as he tells everyone to call him. He aspires to be a writer. The only problem is, he really isn’t. We never see him write, he fails to secure a much-needed writing fellowship, and he seems more preoccupied with what’s going on in Nancy’s (Emilia Jones) pants than putting pen to paper.

Lost in life and seemingly without focus, a series of mistakes leads Tony to the Flagship, a lobster roll joint run by a mysterious head chef played by Antonio Banderas. The Flagship is made up of other lost souls and former criminals who take Tony in like a stray. It’s there that a young man who seems destined for greatness begins to realize he isn’t particularly great at anything.

If you’re expecting an eye-opening look at young Anthony Bourdain that fully reveals the man he would eventually become, this ain’t it. But that isn’t necessarily a knock on the movie. While Bourdain eventually became larger than life, he never seemed particularly interested in filling the enormous shoes people handed him. In that regard, he’d probably appreciate the toned-down nature of “Tony.” Strip away the Bourdain name and what remains is a solid, funny and surprisingly universal coming-of-age story about a young man trying on different versions of himself to see which one fits.

Sessa is terrific at portraying that uncertainty. His dialogue frequently represents the false persona Tony wants everyone else to see, while his eyes tell us something completely different. He talks like he’s destined to become the next Ernest Hemingway, but after a while, those declarations begin to sound less like ambition and more like something he’s decided an interesting person should say. Around Nancy, he projects confidence while looking completely out of his depth. In the kitchen, where he claims to have experience, his curiosity slowly betrays just how little he actually knows. Banderas’ chef recognizes all of this almost immediately.

Instead of humiliating Tony for his bullshit, he gives him somewhere safe to fail. Tony says he’s a writer, so the chef asks why he never sees him write. Tony claims to know his way around a kitchen, and the chef clearly knows he doesn’t. He teaches Tony the tools necessary to survive the Flagship, allows him to screw up, corrects him, and waits for him to stop making the same mistakes. More importantly, he recognizes the curiosity building in Tony’s eyes before Tony does. That’s where “Tony” begins to find the Bourdain we recognize.

He’s still not much of a writer. He’s not particularly good at cooking. His attempts at flirting with Nancy are painful enough to occupy half the movie. But Tony watches. He listens. He asks questions. He engages with people without immediately placing himself above them. Gradually, the film reveals that his greatest talent may not be creating something himself, but recognizing passion in someone else.

The relationship with Banderas’ chef beautifully reflects that idea. While the chef helps Tony discover a potential purpose, Tony begins to reignite something the older man has lost in himself. Tony does this with others throughout the film as well. He recognizes passion and elevates it, even when it isn’t his own. That’s the Anthony Bourdain people eventually tuned in to watch on “No Reservations” and read in “Kitchen Confidential.” Bourdain certainly developed a distinct voice as a writer, television host and lover of all things food, but his real gift was frequently knowing when to shut up and let someone else share theirs.

“Tony” doesn’t treat every meal like a prophetic moment leading toward “Kitchen Confidential,” nor does it pretend its young protagonist already possesses the wisdom of the man he’ll eventually become. Sometimes he’s full of shit. Sometimes he’s selfish. Sometimes he’s lost. Most of the time, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s 20-something. Who does?

That’s ultimately both the limitation and charm of “Tony.” I’m not convinced it taught me much about Anthony Bourdain, but I’m convinced it understood something about him. Food found Tony when he needed somewhere to go. Then Tony found food when he finally started paying attention. Neither immediately transformed him into Anthony Bourdain. They simply gave him somewhere to put the person he was already becoming.

Starring: Dakota Gorman, Todd Terry and James Austin Johnson
Directed by: Brock Bodell
Rated: R
Running Time: 91 minutes
Shudder

Our Score: 1.5 out of 5 Stars

Lena (Dakota Gorman) awakens to a trailer park nightmare. She’s alone in the back of a speeding trailer, able to make out little more than the shadows of the surrounding woods as they race down the highway. Various intercoms scattered throughout the trailer project the voice of Clive (Todd Terry), who tells Lena she’s infected after a night of camping and that he’s taking her to a hospital for treatment. That’s basically all we know. 

For a while, that’s thrilling.The claustrophobic setting, Lena’s complete disorientation and an obviously untrustworthy Clive immediately hook you because “Hellcat” could go almost anywhere. Unfortunately, the more we learn, the smaller those possibilities become until the mystery feels about as confined as the trailer itself.

We get moments of exposition revealing that Lena is grieving, Clive is a conspiracy theorist and something supernatural may be happening. The problem is that “Hellcat” telegraphs its eventual reveal so aggressively that figuring it out feels less like solving a mystery and more like waiting for the movie to catch up. Once I understood what kind of story I was watching, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never really does.

The film should hinge on Terry and Gorman’s chemistry, and thankfully, they have it. Gorman does an admirable job making Lena interesting even when “Hellcat” struggles to give her an interesting arc. Terry brings an appropriately unsettling ambiguity to Clive, but the dialogue repeatedly works against both performers. Every other line from Clive seems to reiterate that he’s a good man, while Lena is frequently tasked with delivering exposition between potential escapes that inevitably fail.

That’s especially disappointing because “Hellcat” eventually slides into a supernatural genre with decades of mythology to play with. I don’t need the film to follow established rules or regurgitate what countless movies have done before it. Quite the opposite. I wanted the movie it promised during those opening minutes: something as strange, unpredictable and unique as waking up inside a speeding trailer with absolutely no idea what’s happening.

Instead, the melancholy feels unearned, the mythology underdeveloped and the tension slowly evaporates. A single-location thriller should make every inch of its confinement matter. Every noise outside should create another possibility. Every conversation should change our understanding of who’s in danger and who can be trusted. “Hellcat” gradually does the opposite.

The right pieces are here for a taut, tense and claustrophobic 91 minutes, but “Hellcat” rarely capitalizes on them. The trailer stops feeling like a place filled with terrifying possibilities and simply starts feeling small. Unfortunately, so does the movie.

Starring: Matt Damon, Anne Hathaway and Tom Holland
Directed by: Christopher Nolan
Rated: R
Running Time: 173 minutes
Universal Pictures

Our Score: 4.5 out of 5 Stars

For nearly 3,000 years, humanity has been telling “The Odyssey.” Around campfires. Through song and poetry. On stages. In paintings. In classrooms. Every generation has found its own way to tell Homer’s story. Christopher Nolan may have finally found ours.

Adapting “The Odyssey” isn’t simply a matter of condensing one of civilization’s greatest stories. It’s the cinematic equivalent of squeezing two seasons of “Game of Thrones” into three hours while somehow preserving the politics, mythology, family drama, warfare, philosophy, and humanity that made the original endure in the first place. Against all odds, Nolan largely succeeds.

Beginning with the Trojan Horse and stretching across Odysseus’ decade-plus journey home, Nolan’s adaptation isn’t interested in treating Greek mythology like a collection of disconnected adventures. Every island, every monster, every god, and every temptation becomes another examination of leadership, faith, governance, family, and the unavoidable consequences of human choice. This isn’t merely a story about getting home. It’s about what war costs the people fighting it, as well as the people waiting for them.

Matt Damon delivers one of the finest performances of his career. His Odysseus possesses the physical presence mythology demands, effortlessly commanding armies one moment and confronting impossible odds the next. Yet Damon wisely avoids playing him as an untouchable superhero. His Odysseus grows increasingly weathered by grief, regret, responsibility, and the weight of decisions that ripple far beyond the battlefield. Nolan doesn’t ask us to admire perfection. He asks us to consider whether greatness can exist alongside profound imperfection.

That burden isn’t Odysseus’ alone. Anne Hathaway’s Penelope quietly becomes the film’s emotional equal, fighting her own battle while trapped in Ithaca. Tom Holland’s Telemachus provides the coming-of-age perspective as a son forced to grow up beneath the shadow of a father who has become more legend than man. Even Zendaya’s Athena feels less like a mythical guide than a reminder that every generation searches for wisdom somewhere outside itself. Rather than existing solely to support Odysseus, each character reflects a different consequence of his absence.

Visually, “The Odyssey” is exactly the kind of spectacle audiences hoped Nolan would deliver. IMAX transforms vast oceans, towering landscapes, and ancient cities into something appropriately mythic while never losing sight of the intimacy between characters. The practical effects blend seamlessly with CGI, creating a world that feels tangible despite its gods and monsters. Nolan also slips in moments of unsettling body horror and genuine suspense that rival some of modern cinema’s most memorable sequences, though wisely never allowing spectacle to overshadow the story’s emotional core.

Perhaps Nolan’s greatest achievement is resisting the temptation to modernize Homer’s ideas while still making them feel modern. His narrative still plays with shifting perspectives and fractured chronology in familiar Nolan fashion, but those techniques serve the material instead of calling attention to themselves. You don’t need an encyclopedic knowledge of Greek mythology to follow the film because Nolan understands that mythology has always been less about monsters than people. The gods may shape events, but it is human pride, love, grief, loyalty, and ambition that determine their outcome.

If “Oppenheimer” examined the consequences of changing the world, “The Odyssey” explores the consequences of simply surviving it. Every victory leaves a scar. Every decision carries a cost. Every homecoming demands reconciliation with the person who left. That’s ultimately why this adaptation works. Christopher Nolan hasn’t simply made the biggest version of “The Odyssey.” He’s made one that understands why we’ve been telling it for nearly 3,000 years.

Starring: Seth Rogen, Olivia Wilde, Penelope Cruz and Edward Norton
Directed by: Olivia Wilde
Rated: R
Running Time: 107 minutes
A24

Our Score: 4 out of 5 Stars

Maybe Olivia Wilde should stick to comedy.

She absolutely crushed it with 2019’s “Booksmart,” so much so that audiences couldn’t wait to see what she did next. Unfortunately, “Don’t Worry, Darling” was such a misfire that many people seemed to lose interest in what a third film might look like. Fortunately, Wilde reminds us with “The Invite” that she may have quietly become one of the sharpest comedy directors working today. Like “Booksmart,” “The Invite” is hilarious on the surface, but underneath the laughs is a story built on emotional dissatisfaction, insecurity, and the slow erosion of adult relationships.

It’s just another evening of squabbling for middle-aged married couple Joe (Seth Rogen) and Angela (Olivia Wilde). Their arguments range from Joe’s foldable bike to Angela’s penchant for buying furniture they don’t need. But the real source of tension is the animalistic sounds their upstairs neighbors make whenever they’re having sex. Why obsess over an anonymous couple’s love life? Because Angela has invited those neighbors, Pina (Penelope Cruz) and Hawk (Edward Norton), over for dinner. What unfolds is one of the raunchiest and funniest comedies of the 2020s.

What makes “The Invite” work is that nobody is trying to out-funny anyone else. Rogen brings his effortless naturalism while Wilde weaponizes uncomfortable facial expressions, simmering resentment, and the frustrations of unemployment and loneliness. Norton delivers deadpan line after deadpan line as a retired firefighter searching for purpose through new hobbies, while Cruz effortlessly bounces between the other three, often turning their own jokes and insecurities back on them with fearless confidence. While Rogen is no stranger to comedy, he also reminds us how effective he can be as a dramatic actor when the story asks for something more beneath the laughs.

Much of “The Invite” succeeds because of its screenplay, which not only generates laugh after laugh but also draws us into the characters’ sexual insecurities and emotional baggage. Both couples carry scars they can only hide for so long. Beneath every joke, passive-aggressive remark, and uncomfortable silence, you can feel the tension quietly building. Conversations shift. Moods change. Characters splinter off into smaller interactions. Saying much more would spoil the carefully constructed surprises and emotional turns that make the film so rewarding.

The best comedies don’t simply make us laugh. They make us recognize ourselves somewhere between the punchlines. That’s where “The Invite” succeeds most.

At first, it feels content simply making the audience laugh, almost effortlessly. But once the jokes begin to fade and reality settles in, Olivia Wilde reveals she’s after something much more uncomfortable. This isn’t really a movie about sex, arguments, or awkward dinner parties. It’s about the quiet dissatisfaction that can settle into long-term relationships and the different ways people try to convince themselves they’re still happy.

The real trick isn’t making an audience laugh. It’s asking whether they still feel something after the laughter stops.

Starring: Kansas Bowling, Jessa Jupiter Flux and Julie Kashmanian
Directed by: Jason Zink
Rated: NR
Running Time: 80 minutes

Our Score: 3.5 out of 5 Stars

The found footage serial killer subgenre is surprisingly crowded with films like “Man Bites Dog,” “Maniac,” and the “Creep” franchise. So while it can be difficult to stand out, 2025’s “Looky-loo” and now “looky-loo: PART II” carve out their own identity by trapping us with very little dialogue and a killer who sees the camera as a creative tool rather than a simple recording device.

For the uninitiated (like I was a month ago), “Looky-loo” follows an aspiring filmmaker whose obsession with cameras evolves into voyeurism, stalking, and eventually murder. Not just one murder, either. He begins staging his victims like actors preparing for a scene, finding as much satisfaction in the production as the killing itself. That’s important because “PART II” picks up almost immediately afterward, with the killer seemingly releasing “Looky-loo” to the public like a drive-in snuff film. He even scrawls “PART II” in blood across a refrigerator, as if he’s proudly unveiling the title card for his next masterpiece.

My perspective may be slightly skewed because I watched both films within a 36-hour span. I never really had time to sit with the first film before diving into the sequel. While I think the original is a solid exercise in restraint, “PART II” noticeably improves on many of its quieter shortcomings. The first film feels a bit like “In a Violent Nature.” Instead of marinating in dense forests and ambient sound, “Looky-loo” lingers in sweaty breathing, uncomfortable silence, and victims blissfully unaware that a killer is standing in the closet. I think it works, but I can also understand why some viewers find it painfully slow.

“PART II” replaces much of that restraint with confidence. The killer stomps upstairs without hesitation, casually raids victims’ refrigerators, drinks their beverages, and only occasionally bothers wearing gloves, as if DNA evidence simply stopped existing. None of these moments feel like plot holes. They’re deliberate choices that suggest someone who either no longer fears getting caught or genuinely believes he’s untouchable. It’s difficult to know which because the film still reveals remarkably little about who he actually is.

What we do learn is perhaps the most interesting development of the sequel. I think our killer is creating incel art. The first film hints at it, but “PART II” pushes the idea much further. While he expands his victims to include men, the murders aren’t treated equally. The men often become victims of blunt rage. The women become productions. They’re staged, framed, and lingered upon with a disturbing artistic obsession. Even more revealing is his growing fixation on female artists. It’s almost as if he can’t tolerate the idea that women might be more creative, more fulfilled, or more talented than he is. The murders begin feeling less like random acts of violence and more like warped attempts to prove he’s the only true artist in the room.

That’s ultimately what elevates the “Looky-loo” series. Like “The Poughkeepsie Tapes,” it invites you to revisit it because so much of the story exists between the scenes rather than inside them. Every repeated viewing uncovers another clue about the psychology hiding behind the camera. Unlike charismatic fictional killers like Hannibal Lecter or Dexter Morgan, this murderer isn’t interested in charming us. He wants us to appreciate the process: the stalking, the waiting, the intrusion, and finally the kill. In his mind, we’re his audience. He believes we should admire his work just as much as he does. And if we don’t, we might as well become part of his next production.

“looky loo: PART II” will have its Midwest premiere at Hysteria Fest in St. Louis on Thursday July 9th.

Starring: Emily Blunt, Josh O’Connor and Colin Firth
Directed by: Steven Spielberg
Rated: PG-13
Running Time: 145 minutes
Universal Pictures

Our Score: 1.5 out of 5 Stars

It’s a grand return to the sci-fi genre for Steven Spielberg, the director that helped redefine the genre with “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” and “E.T.” However, “Disclosure Day” feels strangely disconnected from the sense of wonder that has made his work so compelling. Spielberg’s alien stories used to be fueled by curiosity. Here, curiosity is replaced by certainty. The film begins with the assumption that extraterrestrial life exists and that powerful interests have hidden that truth from the public. Fair enough. But then what?

That question kept following me throughout the film. If the government and corporations have been hiding the truth, why? What exactly are they protecting? What do the aliens want? Are they benevolent? Dangerous? Indifferent? What happens to religion, society, and everyday life when the greatest discovery in human history becomes public knowledge?

“Disclosure Day” raises all of these questions but rarely engages with them in a meaningful way. Instead, characters often react with awe and revelation while I found myself wondering what they were seeing that I wasn’t. I understood every plot beat, but I rarely felt them. The film somehow feels over-explained and underdeveloped at the same time, as if 40 minutes of crucial emotional and philosophical context were removed while all the unnecessary exposition remained.

To Spielberg’s credit, there are a few moments that work. Discussions about faith, humanity’s place in the universe, and our collective search for meaning hint at a more interesting movie buried beneath the surface. But the film never digs deep enough. “Close Encounters” told us to open our minds. We did. “Disclosure Day” tells us…nothing. It wants to explore truth, belief, and disclosure, yet it rarely moves beyond simply declaring that those things matter.

That’s ultimately where “Disclosure Day” lost me. The film spends more than two hours building toward a revelation, but it never fully explores why that revelation changes anything. A resistance movement forms because truth should be revealed. A conspiracy exists because truth should be hidden. Yet the film never convincingly explains the tension between those ideas. The “why” behind everything remains frustratingly out of reach even though it’s allegedly “Disclosure Day.”

Starring: Marshall Williams, Richard Harmon and Alex Essoe
Directed by: James Kondelik
Rated: NR
Running Time: 108 minutes

Our Score: 1.5 out of 5 Stars

Survival horror is the ultimate guilty pleasure because you can amplify any life-or-death situation into the paranormal, horrific, thrilling, or cruelly dramatic extremes it finds itself in. So why doesn’t “Pitfall” come close to tickling “The Ritual,” “The Blair Witch Project,” or “Wolf Creek” vibes?

Woods and grief feel like a ritualistic trope at this point as “Pitfall” opens on Scott (Marshall Williams) and Ashley (Alex Essoe) mourning the death of their parents. For reasons that may or may not be revealed later, they join three friends on an ominous trip that quickly introduces the titular pitfall, a massive trap designed to kill prey.

The movie constantly battles convention with unpredictability. The problem is that at more than 100 minutes long, there’s plenty of time to sit around and wonder where the story is heading. If “Pitfall” moved with the frantic pace of a Tuesday afternoon soap opera on meth, maybe I’d be swept up in the chaos. Instead, I found myself waiting for reveals that felt more eye-rolling than shocking.

I really wanted to like “Pitfall” because of how invested it is in physical violence, emotional trauma, and psychological brutality. Unfortunately, the movie never convinced me it knew what to do with those ideas. By the time it arrives at its revelations and ultimate purpose, “Pitfall” feels less like a title and more like a review.

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.