Ian Thomas Malone

Thursday

12

March 2026

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COMMENTS

The 2026 Oscar Nominees for Best Picture, Ranked

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2025 was a peculiar year for filmmaking. This is probably the weakest field of contenders in the post-pandemic years. The top half of the list features some exceptional movies, but it’s definitely not a year where practically any film could win.

I went back and forth on my prediction for Best Picture several times over the past few weeks, but I always returned to the conventional pick. Sinners is an outstanding film and would be a worthy winner. This year is a rare year where my favorite is also favored to win.

For a while, I thought this was a three-picture race between Sinners, One Battle After Another, and Hamnet, the latter serving as a more conventional pick opposite a genre film and one based on a Thomas Pynchon novel.

But I think this field shares a lot in common with the 2023 nominees. Everything Everywhere All at Once was heavily favored while also being a genre film and a box office hit, without a clear contender at the front of the pack. I don’t think OBAA made enough of a mark to steal Sinners’ thunder.

Here is my list, ranked by my own personal preference, not by likelihood of victory.

1. Sinners A horror film has not won Best Picture since The Silence of the Lambs, the year I was born. Ryan Coogler’s work is exceptional, an inviting sense of world-building that feels genuinely lived-in. Michael B. Jordan has never been better, and longtime underrated actor Delroy Lindo is finally earning recognition for his delightful performance. Horror is a well-trodden genre. Many have drawn comparisons between Sinners and From Dusk Till Dawn, which perhaps makes it even more impressive that Coogler managed to bring such an impressive perspective to the table.

2. The Secret Agent – Wagner Moura would probably be my pick for Best Actor if I had a vote. The Secret Agent is a delightful period piece about the political turmoil of the military dictatorship in Brazil. Director Kleber Mendonça Filho plays around with the nature of memory a lot, constantly defying audience expectations throughout the narrative. The film takes some big swings that don’t all land, but it’s a highly ambitious work that shouldn’t be missed.

Ian’s full review of The Secret Agent.

3. Marty Supreme Putting aside Chalamet’s obnoxious comments on ballet and opera (that went viral after Oscar voting closed, mitigating the damage), Marty Supreme is really, really good. Director Josh Safdie did a wonderful job in his first solo effort without his brother Benny since 2008. Chalamet is mesmerizing as a complete sleaze, which may not have taken that much acting. The tension in the pacing never lets up, an exhausting ride that still flies through a hearty runtime. The biggest knock against the film is that it did not surpass the highs of Safdie’s last film, Uncut Gems, while revisiting many of the same devices.

Ian’s full review of Marty Supreme.

4. One Battle After Another As a huge fan of Paul Thomas Anderson and Thomas Pynchon, OBAA felt kind of like a fever dream of everything I wanted in a movie. Its imposing 162-minute runtime absolutely flies by. It’s pretty laughable that Teyana Taylor wasn’t nominated for Best Actress, the heart and soul of a movie starring juggernauts like Leonardo DiCaprio and Sean Penn. DiCaprio puts forth his most interesting effort in years in what’s largely a supporting role. I really liked OBAA, and wouldn’t be upset if it won Best Picture. Like Marty Supreme, it loses a few points for not coming close to PTA’s best work, particularly There Will Be Blood, Magnolia, and The Master.

Ian’s full review of One Battle After Another.

5. Sentimental ValueRenate Reinsve first blew me away with 2022’s The World Person in the World. She puts forth excellent work here opposite Stellan Skarsgård, in one of the best performances of his career, in an intimate narrative about the remnants of a family long splintered. While mostly in Norwegian, Elle Fanning has a superb supporting role as an actress hoping to play Reinsve’s character in a film directed by her father. Director Joachim Trier makes a pretty outstanding case for why artists often make shitty parents. As an avid fan of foreign film, I was delighted to see Sentimental Value nominated, something I wish the Academy would do more of instead of giving nominations to lackluster releases by perennial contenders. Sentimental Value also gets bonus points for featuring the song “Same Old Scene” by Roxy Music, off a lackluster album I’d been playing heavily before watching the film, which was quite a bizarre coincidence.

6. Hamnet I was pretty shocked not to see Hamnet in the Best Cinematography category, especially over Frankenstein. Director Chloé Zhao’s meditation on grief is less about William Shakespeare, than Anne Hathaway, with a fantastic lead performance by Jessie Buckley. Hamnet delivers some truly compelling perspectives on the creative process that you don’t see much in the countless Hollywood narratives centered on writers. There’s a lot to admire in the way Zhao moves through her work, but much of the pieces of Hamnet work better than the collective final product.

7. Train Dreams Director Cliff Bentley heavily channels Terence Malick in the BP race’s other major commentary on grief. Joel Edgerton is exquisite as a laborer frequently away from his family in the late 1800s, a narrative that spans 80 years. It’s a tragic film that doesn’t wallow in its grief, but finds a lot of beauty in the quiet moments of life. Bentley’s gentle pacing that constantly evokes Malick is severely undercut by its heavy-handed narration. Another pass at the script might have made Train Dreams a serious contender amidst a fairly open year.

8. Bugonia Yorgos Lanthimos is a polarizing director who has created a lot of thought-provoking original work. The Favourite and The Lobster are two of my favorites of the twenty-first century, but I was not a big fan of his last BP nominee, Poor Things, which I thought meandered a bit too much. Bugonia had a leaner runtime, and wonderful performances from Emma Stone and Jesse Plemons, but the narrative doesn’t have a lot of meat on its bone. Bugonia peters out long before its third act, which itself has some glaring issues.

9. Frankenstein – Guillermo del Toro’s long-awaited passion project just didn’t do it for me. The special effects were lackluster. Del Toro captured Shelley’s aesthetic, but I didn’t feel her voice, particularly when the narrative shifted toward The Creature. Oscar Isaac, Jacob Elordi, and Mia Goth all put forth solid work here, but this was a rare miss from del Toro, an adaptation of a well-known book that doesn’t do much to justify its existence or its bloated 150-minute runtime.

10. F1 –  The Oscars have generally tried to have at least one blockbuster in the mix for Best Picture. This year has two legitimate box office hits, which bookend this list. F1 is a very entertaining remake of Top Gun: Maverick, which was once itself the token crowd-pleaser in the BP category. Brad Pitt delivered a compelling performance, even if you put aside the absurdity of a sixty-year-old professional race car driver. It was a lot of fun to see on the big screen, but I don’t think it has any business being in this race.

 

Sunday

22

February 2026

3

COMMENTS

‘Wuthering Heights’ review: Brontë’s depth is thrown out the window in this substance-free adaptation

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There is no set formula for what makes a successful film adaptation of a literary classic. The closest thing we might get to a rubric lies in the essence of the source material. Wuthering Heights is one of the most imposing novels in the English canon, a brutally miserable text with practically no one to root for.

At its core, Emily Brontë’s only book is about the ramifications of generational trauma. Heathcliff arrives to the titular Wuthering Heights as an orphan boy, quickly becoming the favorite of his adoptive father, Mr Earnshaw. Earnshaw’s two biological children have polar opposite reactions to Heathcliff. Hindley Earnshaw is jealous of his new brother, while Catherine “Cathy” sees a new pet, and later, the love of her life.

The generational trauma in the text is set in motion after the death of Mr Earnshaw. Hindley and his new wife Frances hate Heathcliff, beating him and reducing his status to that of a servant. With Heathcliff’s prospects limited, particularly by the restrictions and cruelty of his adoptive brother, now the master of Wuthering Heights, Catherine turns to their neighbor, Edgar Linton, as a potential match.

Heathcliff never gets over his poor treatment by Hindley, or his rejection by Cathy. Cathy dies during childbirth about halfway through the novel. Its second half is entirely consumed with Heathcliff’s desire for vengeance upon the descendants of Hindley and Edgar, plus his own hated son, born of his perplexing and cruel marriage to Isabella Linton, Edgar’s sister.

Heathcliff knew only cruelty as a child. Whatever sympathies the reader might feel for him are gradually washed away through the course of the text, as Heathcliff doles out brutality in more than equal measure. Mostly through the novel’s narrator, Nelly Dean, Brontë makes clear that Heathcliff is not a figure to root for.

For her third feature, Emerald Fennell largely truncates the sprawling nature of Brontë’s work. There is no Hindley Earnshaw, or subsequent generation. The second half of the book is gone. The quotation marks placed around the title Wuthering Heights make clear that this is a very different adaptation of the seminal book.

Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi, with Owen Cooper portraying young Heathcliff) comes to Wuthering Heights in much the same way as the book. Only now, Mr Earnshaw (Martin Clunes) is the degenerate gambler who beats him. Cathy (Margot Robbie, with Charlotte Mellington portraying young Cathy) is now an only child, who gives Heathcliff his name as a mark of possession, her pet to endure the boredom of her unstimulating environment.

From a stylistic standpoint, Fennell marvelously captures the essence of the book. Wuthering Heights is an imposing, dreary structure out in the middle of nowhere. By comparison, the Linton’s Thrushcross Grange is a beacon of hope, brimming with life. The cinematography beautifully captures all of the characters’ natural feelings of isolation, alongside the foreboding sense of dread that lingers of every page of Brontë’s prose.

Robbie and Elordi are both cartoonishly miscast. Heathcliff is unambiguously dark-skinned in the book, contributing to his sense of othering. Elordi does his best to capture Heathcliff’s brutishness, but it’s not particularly convincing.

In the book, Cathy was eighteen when she died during childbirth. Robbie is quite a bit older. The film makes modest allowances for this discrepancy, once referring to Catherine as being as old as a spinster, but Fennell misses a key opportunity to explore how these age dynamics might play into her new version of why Catherine abandoned her true love.

Cathy and Heathcliff’s unresolved sexual tension is a vital throughline in the book. Cathy basically edges Heathcliff into oblivion. He never stops loving Cathy, yet treats her daughter, who has many of her features, with inexplicable cruelty.

Fennell has no interest in keeping Elordi and Robbie’s hands off each other. In doing so, she relents on the undercurrent powering much of the novel. What takes its place is largely the downfall of her film.

Brontë wrote Wuthering Heights with such intensity and fervor that it’s hard not to admire her work, even if you never want to read it again. Fennell reduces all of that to a mere matter of vibes. This film is all about the vibes.

To be clear, there’s a lot to like about Fennell’s sense of atmosphere. Every frame is full of meticulously structured imagery. It’s a beautiful film to look at. The music, with a score provided by Fennell regular Anthony Willis, and original songs by Charli XCX, is delightfully on point.

But there’s an emptiness of substance that Fennell struggles to shake. Edgar Linton (Shazad Latif) is reduced to nothing more than a patsy. Nelly (Hong Chau) is barely around at all, lacking the delectable nuance she wields throughout the text.

The biggest crime is Isabella Linton (Alison Oliver), whom Fennell treats as a complete joke. Isabella’s loveless marriage to Heathcliff is not the confusing tragedy of the text, but an outlet for BDSM humor. Heathcliff is let off the hook for his cruelty, a recurring theme for Fennell throughout her narrative.

Brontë does supply reasons to feel bad for Heathcliff in the text, but she never tries to carry water for her character. Heathcliff is a bad man who unquestionably becomes the primary antagonist of the book for its second half. Fennell isn’t really interested in exploring the nature of his descent into a monster so much as she wants to make excuses for him. Nothing in Fennell’s Wuthering Heights is ever Heathcliff’s fault.

The absence of characters like Nelly or Mr Lockwood to process the ramifications of Heathcliff and Cathy’s romance isn’t really satiated by anything else in the narrative to give meaning to all this constant heartache and turmoil. Fennell isn’t interested in generational trauma, that much is clear. What exactly is she interested in, besides horny people in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to obsess about but each other?

Wuthering Heights is a brutal read. Brontë’s work largely endures on the strength of her prose, and the gravity of her ideas. There’s so much depth to this book. It’s the kind of narrative that sticks with you, even if you didn’t like a single character.

Fennell’s work is a lewd, empty fever dream. There are a lot of attractive people being horrible to each other. Her technical skills as a filmmaker are on full display, a narrative as gorgeous as it is vacuous. Shallow should never be a word that comes to mind regarding the work of Emily Brontë.

Tuesday

17

February 2026

0

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‘The Secret Agent’ review: a powerful commentary on time and memory

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One of the great powers of film as a medium lies in its ability to capture mood. Film offers a narrow prism into its subjects’ lives, two hours against a whole existence. The saying that the journey is more important than the destination has become a bit of a cliché. Some subjects, particularly fascism, carry more weight from the perspective of the atmosphere.

The film The Secret Agent (Original Portuguese title: O Agente Secreto) beautifully captures the all-encompassing nature of a brutal dictatorship. The narrative follows Armando (Wagner Moura), a former professor on the run. Armando travels to Recife during the Carnival, where his son Fernando (Enzo Nunes) lives with his dead wife’s parents. Armando syncs up with a dissident network run by the elderly Dona Sebastiana (Tânia Maria), who connects him with a job at an identity card office, which gives him a chance to search for information on his dead mother.

Director Kleber Mendonça Filho crafts an exquisite portrait of 1970s Brazil and its all-encompassing paranoia. An open sequence centers on Armando filling up for gas outside the city. A dead body sits fifty feet from the gas station, barely covered with a piece of cardboard. The police soon arrive, not to investigate the corpse, but to shake Armando down for a “donation,” making their priorities clear.

Mendonça Filho presents his narrative with the trappings of a political thriller. Armando encounters a corrupt politician, Ghirotti (Luciano Chirolli), who hires cheap hitmen to kill him. While his son is desperate to see Jaws, Armando’s only consistent communication with family comes from meetings with his father-in-law at the movie theater where he works as a projectionist.

Moura puts forth a spectacular performance in the lead role. Armando has all the trappings of a classic 70s thriller protagonist, a calm demeanor with an understated sense of suavity. You feel Armando’s paranoia through every frame, an exhausted man with no choice but to keep going, impeccably easy to root for.

Mendonça Filho has a constant bag of tricks for his audience through the film’s imposing 161-minute runtime. There’s a subplot involving a severed leg that transforms into a surrealist sequence. Set against the backdrop of Carnival, Mendonça Filho throws constant atmospheric whiplash at his audience, forced to reckon with the reality that authoritarianism never takes a breather, even in moments of celebration.

The film further upends expectations with a time-jump to the present, where a student (Laura Lufési) is researching the underground movement that Armando was a part of. Just as Armando was trying to uncover information about his mother, researchers in the present day were trying to learn about his history. The cycle continued.

Thrillers often spend their whole runtime building tension for a dramatic payoff. Mendonça Filho is a master at tension, but his work looks beyond the kind of payoffs that film typically offers. You don’t need to see a man like Armando topple over a fascist regime to see the power in his story. History is rarely as neat as film often tries to make it out to be. The power of resistance is not always measured in success, but through the human heart’s refusal to bow down to tyranny.

The Secret Agent is often a challenging watch. Mendonça Filho’s sense of pacing occasionally edges his audience to the point of frustration, all in service to his powerful broader themes. History rarely leaves us with all the pieces. Some people want answers to the broader politics of the era, others just want to remember the summer blockbuster they enjoyed amidst the carnage.

Tuesday

3

February 2026

0

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‘The Muppet Show’ Review: The Perfect Antidote to 2026 America

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In a world seemingly stuffed to the brim with remakes and reboots, the absence of The Muppets from the broader popular culture landscape has been one of the great travesties of the past fifteen years. Practically nothing has gone right for everyone’s favorite puppet ensemble since their 2011 comeback film, The Muppets. The removal of Muppet*Vision 3D from Disney’s Hollywood Studios serves as perhaps the best embodiment of Disney’s broader mismanagement of the franchise.

There is a joke that circulates around social media suggesting that The Muppets should lead a Pride & Prejudice adaptation, a concept that Brett Goldstein endorsed, a throwback to their 90s output such as The Muppet Christmas Carol and Muppet Treasure Island. The Muppets have deserved better than their recent treatment, including 2021’s meager Muppets Haunted Mansion special that robbed the troupe of their signature wit. In honor of the 50th anniversary of their most iconic program, Disney brought The Muppets back to basics with a special event, titled The Muppet Show.

The special quickly demonstrates the vitality of The Muppets after all these years. The gang hasn’t missed a beat. The skits are tight, and many of the jokes are a throwback to the more risqué humor that The Muppets leaned into, especially in the pre-Disney years.

Special guest star Sabrina Carpenter shows up ready to play. Carpenter’s banter with Miss Piggy is one of the highlights of the show. A former Disney Channel star, Carpenter shows off her acting chops, completely at ease within the gonzo world of The Muppets. Carpenter and Seth Rogen, who also executive-produced the special, get their moments to shine without taking the spotlight away from the real stars of the show, The Muppets themselves.

Longtime fans of The Muppet Show will find plenty to enjoy in the backstage chaos, a night of laughs that genuinely feels like the gang never left the theater. This special is a well-oiled machine that doesn’t rest on the laurels of nostalgia or celebrity. There’s so much obvious love that went into this show that it leaves you wanting a more permanent return.

Variety shows were all the rage on television back when The Muppet Show first aired in the 1970s. The format has struggled in the modern era, for many obvious reasons. A direct descendant of vaudeville, the blend of music and comedy that defines the variety show format doesn’t necessarily always produce the most memorable television. Like the decline of vaudeville, variety shows fell out of popularity when audiences received greater access to broader entertainment options.

As sacrosanct as it is to admit, the original Muppet Show was not exactly immune to criticisms that could be levied at the broader variety show format. If you watch a handful of episodes, especially those without the more iconic special guest stars, you’re bound to run into a few musical numbers that haven’t exactly stood the test of time. The revival of The Muppet Show manages to produce a few strong musical numbers, especially one performed by a criminally underutilized member of the troupe that comes completely out of left field, and probably shouldn’t work as well as it did.

The only sore spot throughout the 30-minute special is regrettably an important one. Matt Vogel took over as the performer for Kermit in 2017, replacing Steve Whitmire. Turnover is expected after fifty years, even before you consider the physical demands of puppeteering. Dave Goelz is the only performer in the special who worked on the original series.

Vogel’s voice just doesn’t have the right pitch for Kermit. It’s far too deep, unable to hit the necessary high spots for Kermit’s exasperation. Hearing Vogel speak reminds the audience of why he’s perfect for Big Bird, another top-tierrole that he inherited in 2018, but it doesn’t work here. Kermit is the anchor of The Muppets. For all the ways that this rendition of The Muppet Show is a perfect tribute to the original series, Vogel’s Kermit takes you out of the moment, reminding everyone that time does pass, even for The Muppets.

Kermit hardly ruins the experience, but it is an issue that should be addressed if The Muppet Show aims to be more than a one-off special, aspirations that the show not so subtly hints at, for good reason. The Muppet Show is more than a fantastic tribute. It’s proof of concept that this is where The Muppets belong. The world needs The Muppets. This special is a perfect testament to the vitality of these beloved pieces of felt. It’s so good to have them back.

Tuesday

27

January 2026

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Classic Film: Picnic at Hanging Rock

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Narratives typically include that pesky thing called resolution. It’s part of why procedurals like Law & Order have remained so popular across the history of television. Human beings like to watch stories that resolve themselves before the credits roll. Life doesn’t always present us with the easiest narratives.

The 1975 film Picnic at Hanging Rock tells the story of several girls at an Australian boarding school who went missing on Valentine’s Day in 1900, along with one of their teachers. The all-girls school is run by the overbearing Mrs. Appleyard (Rachel Roberts), who takes a special dislike of Sara (Margaret Nelson), an introverted orphan. Sara is close to Miranda (Anne-Louise Lambert), the leader of the girls who decide to climb the Hanging Rock.

Buckling under the weight of the oppressive school, Miranda and her friends seek liberation at Hanging Rock. After seemingly falling into a trance, Miranda, Marion (Jane Vallis), and Irma (Karen Robson) ascend further up the rock. Their friend Edith (Christine Schuler) watches their disappearance, though it’s unclear exactly what she witnessed. The students return to their school at night, without Miranda, Marion, Irma, or Miss McCraw (Vivean Gray), one of their teachers.

Much of the narrative takes place in the aftermath of the girls’ disappearance. Edith and Irma, who was found the next day with no memory of what happened, are frequently interrogated by their teachers and the authorities, while their fellow students treat them with apprehension. Further isolated, Sara mourns the loss of her friends without the comforts of clarity regarding their disappearance.

Director Peter Weir’s great triumph comes from his firm grasp of the atmosphere, a harrowingly powerful experience. Few films capture the agony of an unsolved mystery with such grace and beauty. Narratives are supposed to provide a sense of closure. Weir instead explores the vacuum that’s left when such answers cannot be provided.

The girls disappear about thirty minutes into the nearly 115-minute feature. The audience spends much more time with people like Sara, as well as Michael (Dominic Guard) and Albert (John Jarratt), two boys who saw the girls shortly before the disappearance. Without a lot of time to bond with Miranda or Marion, the audience is forced to care about them through the lens of those they left behind.

Music plays a vital role in crafting the atmosphere of the film. Gheorge Zamfir delivers an eerily powerful performance on the panpipes, while composer Bruce Smeaton provides a score that illustrates the sense of longing that the characters feel for their missing companions. The music often works in tandem with the cinematography to give nature an outstretched importance in the narrative, the untamed wilderness a character in its own right.

In some ways, it feels wrong to refer to Picnic at Hanging Rock as a slow burn. This is not a film in any rush toward a particular destination. Weir lets his audience know right from the beginning that nobody knows what happened, giving this fictional narrative the weight of a true crime cold case. The audience is only there to observe the absence of closure. There’s not much burn to be found.

There are points where the film hits some pacing snags. Michael is a compelling secondary character, but the story leaves a lot on the table with regard to his friend Albert, Sara’s brother. Like the audience, Michael is approaching his sense of loss from a distance, but at times it feels like Weir is focusing on him in the absence of a more compelling narrative strand.

As Sara, Margaret Nelson is forced to carry much of the film’s weight, a lonely, isolated girl, who found companionship, only to lose it for reasons beyond human comprehension. That’s the thing about loss. Even in everyday life, loss doesn’t always come with an explanation.

Weir makes a powerful case for the irrelevance of narrative closure. Life rarely works itself into a neat three-act structure. Sense and structure help us stay sane through the chaos of everyday life. Nobody at Hanging Rock had that luxury. You don’t always get closure. Fifty years later, it’s still quite moving to spend time in Weir’s world, receiving a necessary lesson on how to live with uncertainty, lest we allow it to take over our very existence. Sometimes, you just have to learn to let the mystery be.

Tuesday

13

January 2026

0

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Classic Film: Loving Annabelle

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The past few years have been quite the mixed bag for LGBTQ representation. Queer visibility is greater than ever, but there has been quite the push and pull to see that reflected on screen. In many ways, the early aughts feel like a lifetime ago, especially through the prism of 2006’s Loving Annabelle.

Simone (Diane Gaidry) is a poetry teacher at an all-girls Catholic boarding school, which she also attended. Simone is a reserved teacher, clearly struggling a bit under the repressive confines of her religion, a dynamic not exactly lost on the school priest (Kevin McCarthy). There’s a certain natural sense of claustrophobia at a place like Saint Theresa’s, full of nuns ready to punish any deviation from the norm.

Simone’s life is upended when a new student, Annabelle (Erin Kelly) arrives at the school. Annabelle is a free spirit, quickly earning the ire of Mother Immaculata (Ilene Graff), the school principal, when she refuses to take off her Buddhist beads. Assigned to Simone’s dorm and her classroom, Annabelle quickly takes an interest in the new authority figure in her life.

Initially resistant to Annabelle’s many charms, Simone starts to crack. While watching Annabelle over spring break, Simone takes her student up to her beach house. As Simone’s hard exterior starts to give way, Annabelle learns the source of her teacher and crush’s intense reservations, eventually prompting a relationship between the two.

Director Katerine Brooks’ narrative is quite the problematic story. The dynamic between teacher and underage student creates plenty of power dynamic issues that the film is reluctant to explore. With a runtime of just 76 minutes, there is little space to address any of the themes, an almost nonexistent third act.

Gaidry and Kelly are quite the awkward fit. Annabelle exudes a level of spunk that dances around the idea of maturity, a manic pixie dream type that’s just barely believable within the panopticon of a place like Saint Theresa’s. Kelly does an admirable job with what she was given, but Annabelle is not exactly a three-dimensional character.

Gaidry, on the other hand, brings a tragic lived-in quality to the tortured Simone. Brooks’ messy feature shines brightest when highlighting the cost of Simone’s decades of repression, capturing the zeitgeist of being gay in George Bush’s America. The curtain is never quite pulled back on Simone’s character, but it’s also easy to see how much she gave up of herself just to maintain a semblance of composure in her stuffy world.

The aughts were not a nuanced time for gay people. Plenty of teachers lost their jobs just for being gay, let alone sleeping with a student. Twenty years later, we can understand the twisted thought process that might lead a grown adult to throw out common sense, even if we don’t agree with her abuse of power.

Loving Annabelle is not a great movie. There’s too much left on the table for the pieces to make for a particularly satisfying experience, but Brooks constantly shows her audience how much she understands about these complicated dynamics. We don’t always need to watch upstanding citizens.

Sometimes, the world is better off with messier protagonists like Simone. You don’t need to give her a pass for sleeping with her student to see the tragedy of a life wasted, in service to repression. Simone gave her whole life to a school that would turn its back on her the second she life an authentic life.

The canon of LGBTQ films is similarly messy, full of talented directors forced to adapt their works to the hysteria that’s plagued our nation for longer than anyone could care to admit. How many gay people could really be themselves in 2006, with no consequences to their well-being or their livelihoods? Simone was a woman of faith, with absolutely nothing to show for it.

Plenty in our country want to return to the times of Loving Annabelle. Far too many parts of America never stopped being that oppressive wasteland. Brooks’ work feels like a relic of a bygone era, but for many, it’s still their present. It’s a sad indictment on our reality that this film, and all its imperfections, are still so potent twenty years down the road. We should have moved on by now, but this film still has plenty to teach us all.

Friday

9

January 2026

0

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‘Marty Supreme’ review: Chalamet’s powerful treatise on ego is not to be misssed

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Part of the beauty of art is its ability to circumvent the normal rules of society. Who would want to spend an evening with some of the most unpleasant people on the planet? In real life, the thought of such an expenditure would be preposterous. Marty Supreme certainly offers a compelling case for the contrary.

The narrative follows Marty Mauser (Timothée Chalamet), a talented but arrogant table tennis player, trying to make a name for himself in 1952, long before the sport achieved even a semblance of mainstream popularity (Table tennis wasn’t added to the Olympics until 1988). Unfilled with his job as a shoe salesman at his uncle’s store, he robs the safe to fund his travel to London for the British Open.

While in London, Marty lets his ego do most of the talking. He angers the head of the International Table Tennis Association (Pico Iyer) by complaining about the shabby player accommodations, choosing instead to stay in an extravagant suite at the Ritz Hotel. Rather than prepare for the tournament, Marty chases after Kay Stone (Gweneth Paltrow), a retired actress and wife of Milton Rockwell (Kevin O’Leary), a pen tycoon. Rockwell takes an interest in the sport after Marty loses the British Open to a Japanese phenom.

Marty Supreme is director Josh Safdie’s first film without his brother since 2008’s highly underrated The Pleasure of Being Robbed. Safdie’s command of pacing is quite exceptional, building up dramatic tension with the pizazz and precision of a high-octane ping pong match, aided greatly by a synth-heavy score from Daniel Lopatin. Few films that carry a hefty 150-minute runtime flow with such ease.

Safdie strikes gold again with his trademark casting of non-actors. Kevin O’Leary, best known for his appearances on Shark Tank and Fox News, puts forth a compelling effort as Rockwell. O’Leary doesn’t quite disappear his role in the same way as Kevin Garnett in Uncut Gems, but Mr. Wonderful exudes sleaze on just the right level, holding his own against Chalamet and Paltrow.

Chalamet delivers what could very end up being a career-defining performance. Marty is so transparently full of himself, but Chalamet’s charm offensive is quite contagious. The character is most sympathetic when looking out for Rachel (Odessa A’zion), his married childhood friend who became pregnant as a result of their affair, but Safdie never tries to get his audience to feel for Marty. There is nothing admirable about his antics, no reason to root for him beyond the pleasant aroma from the vapors of his charisma.

What’s so delightful about Safdie’s storytelling is the way he presents a man, so consumed by his own greatness, without expecting anyone to buy into his crap. No one took ping pong seriously in 1952. Even today, it’s hardly the kind of sport whose top stars sleep in presidential suites and sit down to dinner with Hollywood A-Listers.

Our world is full of billionaire men who think they can change the world with a snap of a finger. Last year, Elon Musk walked into the federal government with nothing more than a chainsaw. The world’s richest man came with no plan, and left Washington having accomplished nothing besides a colossal headache that will take years to correct.

Marty Mauser has a lot of raw talent. He is quite clever. Somewhere along the way, he became convinced that the Meidas Touch was all that mattered. Talent only takes you so far.

Safdie manages to craft a narrative that provides plenty of thrills, even if you’re not terribly invested in Marty’s fate. He doesn’t quite stick the landing, a bit of an unsatisfying come down after a two and a half hour high. Fans of Uncut Gems may be disappointed by the sheer amount of familiar notes within Marty Supreme’s rhythm.

Egomaniacs rarely contemplate the limits of their own genius. Men like Musk are not solely driven by their bank accounts, but also through the adulation of their admirers. Marty would be a lot better off if he’d spent more time honing his own talent instead of incessantly trying to convince the rest of the world that he’s “Hitler’s worst nightmare.”

He is a nightmare, yes. Safdie’s frantic film plays out a lot like an elite game of ping pong, impressive to those who otherwise couldn’t care less about the sport. That’s the thing about ego. When you’re completely high on yourself, you think you’re all that matters, even while the rest of the world laughs at you and your silly sport.

Monday

5

January 2026

2

COMMENTS

‘Avatar: Fire and Ash’ review: Cameron finally proves his critics right with this dull slop

Written by , Posted in Blog, Movie Reviews, Pop Culture

The Avatar franchise is often referred to as the most culturally irrelevant billion-dollar franchise. James Cameron directed three of the four highest-grossing movies of all time. Does it really matter if you don’t see tons of kids trick-or-treating as forgettable scantily clad blue aliens?

Cinema-obsessed philosophers can pontificate what it means for society that billion billion-dollar film contains a bunch of characters with forgettable names, a plot that resembles the love child of Ferngully and Dances With Wolves, and draws out little emotion from its audience when the credits roll besides relief that they can finally use the bathroom. None of that really has to matter. All we should really care about concerning Avatar: Fire and Ash, the third film in the franchise, is one simple question. Is this film any good?

Fire and Ash picks up right where The Way of Water left off. Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) and Neytiri (Zoë Saldana) are still mourning their son’s death. Jake grows worried that Spider (Jake Campion), the human son of Quadritch (Stephen Lang), who was human in the first film before being resurrected as a Na’vi Recombinant, can’t survive in their environment without his breathing mask. An effort to bring Spider to other humans is disrupted by the Mangkwan, a clan of exiled volcano-dwelling Na’Vi. The Mangkwan leader Varang (Oona Chaplin) allies with Lang and his human handlers, still after whale brain juice and colonizing the planet, to terrorize Sully and his family once again.

The Way of Water premiered thirteen years after its predecessor. Cameron’s second film on Pandora had a lot of natural goodwill going for it, the lengthy gap between installments serving as a natural palate cleanser. The Way of Water was chock-full of technological breakthroughs. Whatever shortcomings existed in its narrative were easily washed over by the breathtaking nature of the cinematography, underwater special effects that had never been done before.

Fire and Ash comes just three years after The Way of Water. Pandora is still a beautiful place, with some of the best special effects in the industry, but it’s not a new place. We’ve been here before.

Complicating matters even worse is the fact that we’ve seen this story before. Fire and Ash is essentially a mash-up of the first two movies. Viewers are once again treated to a giant battle over colonization.

Fire and Ash struggles to overcome the clunky child custody case at the core of its narrative, a story otherwise content with playing a medley of Pandora’s greatest hits. Spider’s arc follows a lot of the same beats as Sully’s journey in the original Avatar. He’s a human who wants to be Na’Vi, caught between a biological father who is now a Na’Vi, and an adoptive Na’Vi father who was once human. To complicate matters worse, Cameron throws in a parallel to the Binding of Issac that seriously undercuts Sully as a character.

The Way of Water spent a lot of time building out Sully’s family, and the water-based Metkayina people. Putting aside the cliches, their family and their world felt alive, something worth the three-hour-plus investment that these films ask of their audiences. Fire and Ash doesn’t really care much about any of that development. The ball isn’t moved forward so much as it’s punted into the ocean.

Instead, we get a lot of repetitive scenes and clunky exposition. The idea of the Mangkwan is mildly interesting, but Cameron does nothing with them. Varang is a one-dimensional secondary villain in a film content to reuse the same big bad for the third movie in a row.

Aside from the heavy emphasis on Spider, the kids play second fiddle this time around. Lo’ak (Britain Dalton), Jake’s surviving son, gets barely any arc. Kiri (Sigourney Weaver) is still weird, a dynamic that isn’t exactly helped by having a 76-year-old woman play a teenager. Avatar has a lot of characters with confusing names, but Fire and Ash doesn’t give many reasons to care about a single one of them.

James Cameron has made at least two of the greatest sequels of all time, in Aliens and Terminator 2. The Way of Water defied all the naysayers who looked to the whole franchise with a collective shrug. Sadly, that appears to be the very same energy Cameron brought with him into Fire and Ash.

197 minutes is quite a long time for most audiences to stay engaged. Fire and Ash’s similarly long predecessor managed to circumvent this dilemma quite well with its strong pacing that still found time to embrace the quiet moments of its narrative. Here, Cameron hasn’t done enough legwork to keep things running smoothly. It’s too easy for the mind to wander amidst a film that’s largely running on autopilot.

Fire and Ash isn’t a terrible film, though easily Cameron’s worst since Piranha 2, his directorial debut that he mostly disavows. In some ways, it’s something worse, a validation of everything that’s been said about the Avatar franchise. Not every movie needs to be a cultural behemoth. Our society is essentially moving on from any strand of a collective consciousness as it is.

But a movie does need to give its viewers some semblance of satisfaction for having made the investment. A lot of time and money went into making this complete bore. For decades, Cameron’s films have wowed audiences around the globe. Sadly, there’s nothing new here.

 

Wednesday

10

December 2025

0

COMMENTS

Frosty’s Winter Wonderland

Written by , Posted in Podcast

We are back in the Rankin/Bass cinematic universe for the first Frosty sequel, Frosty’s Winter Wonderland. Essentially just a riff on Bride of Frankenstein, the special has next to no plot. Jack Frost makes his first Rankin/Bass appearance, decidedly at odds with his next two appearances in Rudolph and Frosty’s Christmas in July and Jack Frost, but when has Rankin/Bass ever cared about continuity? Ian tries to make sense of the chaos.

This will be our final holiday episode for 2025! Be sure to check out all our other holiday episodes. Happy Holidays everyone!

Tuesday

9

December 2025

0

COMMENTS

Cricket on the Hearth

Written by , Posted in Podcast

We are back in the Rankin/Bass cinematic universe with the Cricket on the Hearth. One of the earliest specials in their canon, Cricket is a bit of a mess. The animation is somewhat solid, but the characters are a bunch of morons and the music is awful. What else is new?

This special is pretty awful and should be avoided by everyone other than Rankin/Bass completionists. No wonder it’s taken us this long to cover it! Watch at your own risk.