The Devil Wears Prada 2 slips back into our lives with confidence, charm and just enough bite to remind you why we loved this world in the first place.

Picking up years after the original, this sequel had a tricky runway to walk. The Devil Wears Prada is not just a beloved comedy; it is practically a sacred text for a certain era of film fans. The big question here is whether to lean into nostalgia or try to evolve. This follow-up finds a nice balance between the two.

There is fan service, but it never feels lazy. Instead, it builds on what worked. The characters are still sharp, the dialogue is quick and that mix of ambition and insecurity is still front and center. The fashion remains stunning and might even be better this time. The film trusts the visuals more and spends less time telling us how important fashion is, and that shift works in its favor.

Anne Hathaway once again anchors the film as Andy. She brings a familiarity that feels like slipping into something comfortable. There are moments where her flustered reactions around Miranda feel a bit heightened, especially given where her character is professionally, but she remains incredibly watchable. Hathaway has a way of making you feel safe as a viewer, and you trust her to guide the story.

Meryl Streep reminds you once again why Miranda Priestly is such an iconic character. What could have easily been a one-note performance continues to have depth. By the end, you are not just seeing a cold boss. You are seeing a person. That balance is not easy to maintain, especially in a sequel.

The supporting cast is where the movie really finds its rhythm. Emily Blunt and Hathaway have a fun and evolved dynamic that reflects their stage in life. They are older, sharper and still navigating the same demanding world. Stanley Tucci as Nigel once again brings a quiet gravitas. His presence grounds the film and adds a sense of warmth that keeps everything from feeling too glossy.

One of the more interesting elements is how the film addresses the changing media landscape. Runway is not just about influence anymore. It is trying to survive in a world shaped by digital platforms, consolidation and shifting audience habits. I appreciated the focus on the value of writing and journalism, especially as those roles continue to evolve. At the same time, there is something fascinating about watching incredibly wealthy and well-connected characters serve as the lens for that broader societal shift. The stakes are real in theory, but they are filtered through a world of privilege that makes the struggle feel a bit removed. It creates an interesting tension where you understand the message while also recognizing the irony.

The film does ask you to suspend disbelief a bit in that regard. It is hard not to notice that these impeccably dressed characters are navigating industry challenges while still living in a level of luxury most people will never experience. Even so, the film manages to make you care about the characters themselves, which ultimately keeps you invested.

The romantic subplot is the weakest part of the film. Andy’s love interest, played by Patrick Brammall (one of my personal favorite comedic actors from Colin from Accounts), feels out of place. He is charming, but here the storyline feels unnecessary. Andy’s professional journey is strong enough to stand on its own, and the added romance does not bring much to the table.

What the film does well is continue to focus on these women as individuals. Their ambitions and careers drive the story. Their identities are not tied to romantic relationships, which makes everything feel refreshing with a sense of purpose.

In the end, this sequel feels like a warm hug. It does not try to completely reinvent the original, but it does enough to justify its return. There is care behind it, and that shows in the performances and the storytelling.

I still prefer the original, but this is a worthy follow-up that understands what made the first film resonate. And if nothing else, it is always fun to spend time in a world that looks this good.

Where to watch: Now playing in theaters

The Descendants had been sitting on my watchlist for an embarrassingly long time. I honestly don’t know why I never got around to it, especially because Alexander Payne has become a filmmaker whose work really lands for me. I even owned this on a used DVD for years and somehow never popped it in.

This is very much in my sweet spot. I love adult dramas like this, especially ones that feel somewhat in the James L. Brooks wheelhouse, although Payne’s stories usually have a little more darkness and seriousness baked into them. That is definitely the case here.

I thought this was a really good movie. I wouldn’t call it Payne’s best, but it dives into heavy issues of life, death, grief and family responsibility in a way I didn’t totally expect. It makes sense that it won Best Adapted Screenplay, but it still caught me off guard knowing Jim Rash and Nat Faxon co-wrote the film with Payne, mostly because I associate them as much sillier, more heightened performers.

Payne is the perfect director for this material because he is so good with pacing and small moments. He takes his time, but his movies never feel slow. He knows how to sit with a scene, live in a setting and let people reveal themselves naturally.

George Clooney is perfectly cast here. He is obviously a movie star, but he is relatable enough that you completely buy him as this overwhelmed husband and father trying to hold everything together. Some of his best moments come when he has to smile through impossible conversations, especially as decisions have to be made about his wife while she is in a coma. You can feel him trying to keep the right face on while everything underneath is cracking.

One of the biggest joys of the film is how it presents Hawaii. Right from the beginning, it challenges the postcard version of the islands. As someone who has never been, I appreciated seeing Hawaii as a place where real people live, work, struggle and deal with messy family issues far away from the resort version we usually see.

I was also surprised by how great the supporting cast is. Matthew Lillard is perfectly cast, even in a smaller role. Judy Greer has always been a favorite of mine, and she knows exactly how to deliver a line in Payne’s world. Shailene Woodley really stands out as Clooney’s oldest daughter, and you can see why this helped launch her into bigger roles. Amara Miller is also terrific as the younger daughter, perfectly capturing the energy of a troubled, annoying younger sibling without ever feeling fake.

And Robert Forster? Perfect. He steals every scene he is in. Same with Beau Bridges, who slides right into Payne’s world without ever distracting from the bigger story. That is one of Payne’s strengths. He fills his movies with characters who feel like real people, not just plot devices.

This may be a tough watch for anyone currently dealing with a loved one’s health battle. But what the movie captures so well is the impossible task of making hard decisions while still keeping everyone else around you moving. It shows how grief, responsibility, anger and love all get tangled together, and how sometimes you don’t handle things perfectly, but you keep going.

The Descendants is a quiet, deeply human film about family, forgiveness and finding a way through the worst moments with the people you love beside you.

Where to watch: Hulu

There’s something about a movie that hits close to home and for me, Sarah’s Oil definitely falls into that category.

Whitney took the girls to see it in theaters first, and they came back absolutely loving it. So when it landed on Prime Video, it felt like the perfect family movie night. And I’ll be honest, I was pretty riveted by the story.

The film follows the true story of eleven-year-old Sarah Rector, a Black girl born in Oklahoma Indian Territory in the early 1900s, who believes there is oil beneath the barren land and fights to profit from it without being taken advantage of or forced to sell. Residing in Oklahoma, there’s an immediate connection here, but even beyond that, it’s just a fascinating, lesser-known piece of history. The movie does a solid job of simplifying a complicated system into something easy to follow without losing the stakes.

Sarah (Naya. Desir-Johnson) is portrayed as incredibly intelligent and mature beyond her years. She handles negotiations and conversations in a way that feels almost unbelievable for her age, but it’s also inspiring. My youngest, Hayden, who’s around Sarah’s age, was completely drawn to her, which speaks to how accessible and empowering this story can be for families.

The film introduces a wildcatter, Bert played by Zachary Levi, who becomes a key ally and, in many ways, a proxy for Sarah in navigating the oil business. And this is where things get a little complicated.

Levi has undeniable movie star charisma. You’re naturally drawn to him whenever he’s on screen. But he also has a tendency to go just a touch over the top, and there’s a stretch in the film where it starts to feel like the story is shifting more toward his journey than Sarah’s. That creates an interesting tension, especially since the movie is clearly aware of and even calls out the white savior narrative. It knows the line it’s walking… but it still teeters on it.

To be fair, if this is truly how events played out, then the film is just honoring the facts. And overall, I do think it handles that balance reasonably well. But as a viewer, it made me a little nervous, especially because Sarah’s story is compelling enough to fully carry the film on its own.

On the villain side, Garret Dillahunt steps in as the face of the corrupt oil interests, and he’s exactly what you want here. One of those instantly recognizable “that guy” actors who can slip into a villainous role with ease and make it feel grounded.

Tonally, the film walks a very delicate line. It’s hard not to compare it to Killers of the Flower Moon, which explores similar subject matter in a much darker and more unflinching way. And watching Sarah’s Oil, you can’t shake the feeling that the real story was probably more sinister than what we’re shown.

Part of me wanted that deeper dive and to really sit in the darker truths of the story. But at the same time, I understand the choice. This film is clearly aiming to be accessible for families, and it succeeds in that regard. It’s something you can watch with your kids, and more importantly, something they can take inspiration from.

That’s not an easy balance to strike.

You can also feel the budget limitations at times. The film does a lot with what it has, but there are moments, especially late in the movie, where the effects or execution could have been a bit sharper. It makes you wonder what this story might have looked like with a bigger studio backing it.

Still, the core of the film works.

It’s engaging. It’s informative. And it tells a story that a lot of people, myself included, probably hadn’t heard before. These are the kinds of films that remind you why movies matter—they bring overlooked history into the conversation.

And honestly, in today’s world, the story hits a nerve. The themes of corruption, power and exploitation don’t feel confined to the past. If anything, they feel like a reminder that these dynamics have always existed and still do. That powerful companies and people don’t always have the best interests of smaller communities in mind.

At the end of the day, Sarah’s Oil may stay closer to the surface than I wanted, but it’s still a solid, meaningful and family-friendly film that tells an important story.

Where to watch: Prime Video

Michael may be the purest example in recent memory of a movie existing because of cultural mythology more than cinematic necessity.

Going in, I had unusual apprehension. Not because I feared it would be painful to sit through, but because this film carries the full weight of the “can you separate art from artist?” debate on its sequined shoulders. Whatever one thinks of Michael Jackson as a person, and I’m not attempting to relitigate those controversies here, you simply can’t deny his singular imprint on music and pop culture. Even my kids know the songs. The pull is generational.

And honestly, the film’s box office success proves that pull is still alive.

But here’s the thing: this is not a good movie.

And… I kind of enjoyed myself.

That contradiction is what makes Michael fascinating.

As a biopic, it is drowning in clichés. If you took a drink every time someone silently nods at Michael’s genius or smiles approvingly as though witnessing divine revelation, paramedics would need to be called. The film repeatedly spoon-feeds its audience, spelling out emotions and significance rather than trusting viewers to infer anything. It often feels less interested in exploring Jackson’s psyche than in saying, “Remember this? Wasn’t this iconic?”

And yes, we remember.

That’s part of why I kept asking: Why does this movie exist? I do not need a dramatized recreation of the making of Thriller when the actual Thriller exists. I can watch his iconic debut of the moonwalk online. I do not need CGI recreations of things that were already more thrilling in reality.

The whole enterprise often feels like a glossy, estate-approved monument. Which, of course, it basically is.

Produced by Jackson’s family and estate, the film predictably avoids much of the grimmer or more troubling material. It gestures at eccentricities—Neverland, Peter Pan fantasies, Bubbles the chimp—but rarely digs deeper. Sometimes it unintentionally veers into outright comedy. A scene where Michael kisses a llama goodnight is meme fodder.

And yet…

There are performances here worth praising.

Jaafar Jackson has a near-impossible task and pulls it off remarkably well. He captures Michael’s physicality and aura without drifting into parody, which is harder than it looks.

And then there’s Colman Domingo, who once again arrives and somehow turns even broad material into something weighty. As Joseph Jackson, he brings real menace and gravitas. If the film has dramatic force, much of it comes from him.

I also have to mention the film’s streak of accidental absurdity, including the baffling arrival of Mike Myers, who now apparently has a side gig appearing in musical biopics after Bohemian Rhapsody. His scene here feels like it wandered in from a completely different movie.

And somehow… that fits.

What surprised me most is that I was rarely bored. Even when the final concert sequences ran a bit too long, the movie maintained a kind of trainwreck momentum. It is overstuffed, sanitized, often laughable and still oddly watchable.

Then it ends with the launch of the Bad era and all but teases a sequel, which raises a huge question: if this chapter already sidesteps so much, what happens when a second film reaches the far more troubled years?

I genuinely do not know how they pull that off.

But given the box office, I have a hard time believing they will not try.

So no, Michael is not a successful biopic. It is too reverential, too superficial, too content to reenact iconography instead of interrogating it.

But as a bizarre piece of pop mythmaking, accidental camp and oddly entertaining spectacle?

I cannot pretend I did not have a little fun.

A bad movie I kind of enjoyed is maybe the weirdest compliment I can give it. That’s Michael Jackson for you.

P.S. I was about to hit “Publish” on this review when it hit me that Miles Teller is in this movie, and I genuinely have no idea why. He is a big-name actor and somehow feels like less than an afterthought. It makes you wonder if he is embarrassed… or just appreciative of what was probably a pretty solid paycheck.

Where to watch: Now playing in theaters

Something is fitting about revisiting The Worst Person in the World a few years after its release. Even though it’s not that old, it’s the kind of film that feels tied to a very specific moment in life. And watching it again, with a bit more distance, hits differently.

This was my second time seeing the film, and while I remembered being impressed the first time (I originally landed at four stars), I was surprised by how much deeper it hit me on rewatch. What starts as a simple, familiar story gradually becomes something far more emotionally immersive by the end.

Directed by Joachim Trier, the film follows four years in the life of Julie, played by Renate Reinsve. She’s restless, searching and constantly shifting—moving between careers, relationships and identities, never quite settling on a definitive version of herself. And in that way, she becomes incredibly relatable.

At its core, this is a film about that in-between stage of life, your late 20s into your 30s, when the stakes start to feel real. The choices you make begin to carry weight. Career, relationships, the question of family—these aren’t abstract ideas anymore. They start to define what comes next, and that pressure can be overwhelming.

Julie’s relationships mirror that internal conflict. Her connection with Aksel (Anders Danielsen Lie) feels grounded and intellectually stable, while her relationship with Eivind (Herbert Nordrum) is more spontaneous and emotionally open. What works so well here is that the film doesn’t reduce this to a simple love triangle. Instead, each relationship represents a different version of the life Julie could choose, and you understand why she’s drawn to both.

Structurally, the film is divided into 12 chapters, along with a prologue and epilogue. It’s a device that gives the story a novelistic, episodic and reflective quality, mirroring the way we tend to look back on our own lives in fragments rather than a straight line.

What stood out most to me this time is just how emotionally “lived-in” the film feels. It’s not flashy. It doesn’t rely on big cinematic swings. Instead, it lives in conversations, quiet moments and small decisions that slowly build into something meaningful. By the end, I found myself far more invested in these characters than I initially expected.

There’s also a subtle but powerful idea running underneath it all: the tension between control and surrender. We like to think we can plan our lives, map everything out and move forward with intention. But sometimes life has other plans. There’s a moment near the end that almost acts like a button on the film—where those two ideas meet. Where personal agency and life’s unpredictability collide. And in that space, Julie seems to find a kind of balance. It’s not perfect, but it feels honest. And ultimately, it leaves you with a sense of resolution, even if the road to get there is difficult.

If there’s anything that holds the film back from feeling completely perfect, it’s in some of its more stylized artistic choices. For the most part, the film is grounded and straightforward in how it’s shot and edited, but occasionally, it takes more experimental turns.

Some of these absolutely work. The standout is the now-iconic sequence where Julie imagines the world stopping around her as she runs through the city. It’s beautifully executed (both technically and emotionally) and captures that feeling of being at the center of a pivotal decision, where everything else fades away. It’s one of the film’s most memorable and relatable moments.

Other choices didn’t land as strongly for me. There are moments—like a stylized scene involving Aksel later in the film—that feel visually out of step with the rest of the movie. I understand what Trier is going for, but it briefly pulled me out of the experience.

Similarly, there’s a psychedelic sequence that leans into Julie’s inner turmoil and anxieties, particularly around expectations of motherhood. It’s visually bold and thematically relevant, but it didn’t fully connect with me. That may be more of a personal disconnect than a flaw in the film, but it’s one of the few moments that didn’t completely land.

Performance-wise, the film is exceptional across the board. Renate Reinsve is phenomenal, bringing both charm and vulnerability to Julie in a way that makes her feel fully human, even when her decisions are messy or frustrating. After seeing her work here and in Trier’s later projects, it’s easy to see why she’s gaining more recognition.

Anders Danielsen Lie, in particular, stood out even more to me on rewatch. His performance as Aksel is deeply raw and affecting, and some of his scenes hit with real emotional weight. The dynamic between him and Reinsve creates some of the film’s most powerful moments.

Herbert Nordrum’s Eivind is more understated by design. He’s not explored to the same depth as Aksel, but that feels intentional within the story. While his performance is solid, he does feel somewhat overshadowed by the emotional complexity of the other two.

In the end, The Worst Person in the World is a film that absolutely deserves its place on any list of essential modern cinema. It’s a defining work for Joachim Trier. It’s the film that really put him on the map for many audiences and it’s easy to see how it paved the way for the continued momentum of his career.

It may not be flashy, but it’s deeply human. And sometimes, that’s what resonates the most.

Overall Rating: ★★★★ 1/2
Pop Culture Footprint: Strong within cinephile circles; a defining modern international film that helped elevate Joachim Trier and brought wider attention to character-driven storytelling
Rewatchability: 4.5/5 — deepens emotionally with each viewing, especially as life experience catches up to its themes
Makes You Think: About identity, timing, relationships and the balance between control and surrender in shaping your life
Conversation Starter: Yes — particularly around Julie’s choices, modern relationships and societal expectations, especially for women
Holds Up: Absolutely; its themes feel timeless and arguably hit harder with age
Where I’d Place It: Among the most essential character dramas of the 21st century; not flashy, but deeply resonant and quietly powerful

Where to watch: kanopy

A milestone episode for Reel 21 and the first one in video.

Joachim Trier’s The Worst Person in the World may begin as a deceptively simple coming-of-age story, but it unfolds into something much richer, a deeply felt meditation on identity, relationships and the uncertainty of choosing a life.

In this inaugural video episode, Nathan revisits the film for a second time and finds it even more resonant on rewatch, exploring Julie’s (Renate Reinsve) search for purpose, the emotional pull of the film’s central relationships and the tension it captures between planning your future and surrendering to life’s unpredictability. He also reflects on the film’s inventive chapter structure, its memorable visual flourishes and why this quietly powerful drama marked Joachim Trier as one of contemporary cinema’s most exciting voices.

And fittingly, a film about transitions and new chapters becomes the launch point for one of this podcast’s own.

Up next: Steven Spielberg’s Minority Report.

Read Nathan’s thoughts on The Worst Person in the World.

Mr. Scorsese isn’t just a documentary. It’s catnip for cinephiles. For anyone who reveres Martin Scorsese, this five-part Apple TV series feels like a masterclass, memoir and film school elective all rolled into one.

What I loved most is how it doesn’t simply march through a career timeline but tries to mirror Scorsese’s restless artistic evolution. Through present-day interviews, archival footage and generous excerpts from the films themselves, the documentary shows how each project seemed to emerge from a different emotional or spiritual place in his life. That was a revelation to me. We often talk about Scorsese’s recurring themes—guilt, violence, redemption, obsession—but this series helps you see how deeply personal those fixations are.

And what a lineup of voices. Hearing reflections from Steven Spielberg, Leonardo DiCaprio and Robert De Niro, alongside close collaborators and friends, gives the portrait real weight. It’s not hagiography so much as a mosaic of admiration, insight and occasional contradiction.

One of the pleasures of the series is how it rekindles, or sparks, curiosity about corners of his filmography that may have slipped under the radar. I found myself wanting to revisit everything and seek out titles I’ve somehow missed. How had I never heard of Kundun before?

I also appreciated that the series doesn’t sand down his rough edges. Its exploration of Scorsese’s personal low points, including the anger and inner turbulence colleagues reference, adds dimension to the genial public persona many of us know from interviews, documentaries and even his playful acting appearances. It makes the films’ emotional volatility feel even more connected to the man.

If I have a complaint, it’s the best kind: I wanted more. With a filmmaker this rich, every movie could warrant its own episode. The brief treatment of Killers of the Flower Moon especially left me wanting a deeper excavation.

But maybe that’s the highest compliment. Mr. Scorsese left me with the same feeling the best criticism does: an immediate urge to go watch more movies.

Where to watch: Apple TV

There’s a version of Project Hail Mary that doesn’t work at all.

A version where the science is impenetrable, the humor feels misplaced, the sentiment turns corny and the whole thing collapses under the weight of its own ambition. Frankly, it could have been boring.

Instead, it’s exhilarating.

As a family that almost missed it thanks to storms, sports practices and life, I’m especially grateful this film had enough theatrical staying power for us to catch it on the big screen. (A small plea: let movies stay in theaters longer.) Seeing it in a packed auditorium on a Tuesday night, with what seemed like half an engineering class from OU in attendance, only reinforced that this movie is connecting in a real way.

What amazes me most is how a film this unapologetically science-heavy has become such a crowd-pleaser. But that’s because it doesn’t just operate as hard sci-fi. It blends scientific curiosity, comedy, spectacle and surprisingly moving human emotion in a way that feels accessible without dumbing anything down.

And speaking as someone who has never considered himself a “sci-fi guy,” I can say that accessibility matters. This movie somehow speaks to the common moviegoer as much as it does the genre faithful. I didn’t understand every equation or astrophysics concept, and honestly, I didn’t need to.

Ryan Gosling is a huge reason why.

This film lives or dies on his performance, and he carries it beautifully. There may be very few stretches where he isn’t on screen, and he makes a deeply complicated story feel personal, funny and emotionally grounded. His charm helps, sure, but there’s real range here too. I’d even argue his performance deserves to be part of any awards conversation.

And then there’s the relationship at the center of the film — one of the most unexpectedly wonderful parts of the whole experience. The practical effects and design work used to bring that character to life are extraordinary. It’s a reminder that Phil Lord and Christopher Miller have always known how to make the improbable feel emotionally tangible, whether in The Lego Movie, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs or now here.

Visually, the movie is a feast. The neon color palette, the production design, the sound work and the sense of scale all evoke classics like 2001: A Space Odyssey while still carving out its own identity.

I also loved how the flashback structure keeps revealing new layers, keeping us invested in Grace’s (Gosling) journey while making a very talky, idea-driven story feel dynamic.

Yes, at two and a half hours, it occasionally feels long. And yes, I left with a few thematic questions and maybe a little sensory overload. But honestly? That feels less like a flaw than the residue of an ambitious film giving you a lot to chew on.

What lingered most for me was wonder.

This is the kind of original blockbuster I worry Hollywood doesn’t make enough anymore. This film is weird, smart, funny, emotional and just audacious enough to feel miraculous. A moviegoing experience through and through, and easily one of the best films I’ve seen so far in 2026.

And I can’t help but wonder if, much like Sinners did around this same time last year, this could have real awards-season legs. The visual effects and sound design seem like obvious contenders, but I wouldn’t dismiss Gosling either. Without him, this mission doesn’t launch.

Where to watch: Now playing in theaters

Sometimes you press play on a true crime documentary expecting twists, theories and late-game reveals… and instead, you get something much quieter and, in many ways, more meaningful.

That was my experience with The Truth and Tragedy of Mariah Wilson.

Going in, I knew next to nothing about the case. This was a Sunday night pick, prompted by my teenage daughter’s love of the genre, and honestly, I expected the usual structure: a mystery to unravel, suspects to dissect and a narrative built around suspense. But this documentary takes a different route, and it’s all the better for it.

Rather than centering the crime itself, the film places its focus where it should be: on Mariah Wilson.

Mariah isn’t reduced to headlines or theories. She’s presented as a fully realized person—a rising star in the cycling world, someone clearly beloved by her community and someone whose future felt incredibly bright. The film does a great job of showing why people were drawn to her, which makes the tragedy hit even harder. Because ultimately, this isn’t a story about something she did. It’s about something that happened to her, through circumstances that feel both senseless and deeply frustrating.

Now, there is some intrigue here. The circumstances surrounding her murder, and especially the details about the perpetrator, carry that “truth is stranger than fiction” weight. But the documentary never leans too hard into sensationalism. It resists the urge to exploit the story for shock value, instead handling everything with a noticeable level of care and restraint.

That approach won’t work for everyone.

If you’re coming in looking for a gripping, edge-of-your-seat true crime experience, this might feel a bit subdued. The pacing, in particular, can drag. It’s a longer watch than it probably needs to be. And one creative choice didn’t quite land for me: the narration of Mariah’s journal entries. When the film includes actual recordings of her voice, the contrast makes the performed narration feel unnecessary and a bit disconnected.

Still, there’s something admirable about what this documentary is trying to do.

It offers a window into the cycling world, but more importantly, it offers a respectful remembrance. It treats Mariah, her family and her friends with a level of dignity that isn’t always present in the genre. In a space that can sometimes feel exploitative, this film chooses empathy.

Will it stick with me long-term? Probably not in the way the very best documentaries do. But if you’re someone who prefers a more thoughtful, less sensationalized approach to true crime, one that prioritizes the person over the puzzle, this is absolutely worth a watch.

Where to watch: Netflix

There are certain movies you don’t go looking for, but when they show up, you hit play anyway. Along Came Polly is absolutely one of those for me.

This dropped in 2004, right in that post-college, Blockbuster golden era, when the “New Releases” wall actually meant something. I can’t pinpoint exactly when I first saw it, but I know it lived there. And even back then, it wasn’t a favorite… just a really solid hang.

Rewatching it now? Honestly, that still feels like the right way to describe it.

The Setup

Along Came Polly follows Reuben Feffer (Ben Stiller), a hyper-calculated risk analyst whose perfectly structured life falls apart almost instantly after his honeymoon.

Enter Polly (Jennifer Aniston), his complete opposite—impulsive, carefree and allergic to long-term planning.

It’s classic rom-com territory… just a little messier than usual.

Most Likely to Steal the Movie: Philip Seymour Hoffman

No question. Hoffman runs away with this thing.

Playing a washed-up former child actor clinging to his glory days, he feels like he’s operating on a completely different wavelength than everyone else… and it works.

The basketball scene alone is legendary.

“LET IT RAIN!”

It’s chaotic, it’s ridiculous and it somehow elevates the entire movie. Not his best performance by any means, but maybe one of his most purely fun.

Best “Everyone Is Going For It” Ensemble

This movie is a time capsule of early-2000s character actors just letting loose.

• Alec Baldwin absolutely leans into the sleazy, overconfident mentor role.

• Hank Azaria plays the oddly suave, hyper-confident best friend—and yes, it’s always a little funny when he’s framed as a sex symbol (shoutout to his Friends era as well).

• Debra Messing shows up and immediately reminds you just how big of a deal she was during the Will & Grace peak years.

It’s one of those casts where you’re constantly going, “Oh yeah, they’re in this too!”

And honestly? It feels like a lot of these performances are fueled by improv. Especially Baldwin, Hoffman and Azaria just riffing their way through scenes.

Most Identity Crisis Energy: PG-13 or R-Rated?

This movie never quite decides what it wants to be.

It flirts with gross-out comedy—very much in the spirit of There’s Something About Mary—but keeps pulling back before fully committing.

Spicy food gags. Bathroom chaos. Situations that almost go there… and then don’t.

You can’t help but wonder if there’s a slightly raunchier, funnier version of this movie sitting on a cutting room floor somewhere.

Least Convincing Romance (On Purpose?)

Ben Stiller and Jennifer Aniston are both great on their own.

Together? The chemistry is… intentionally off?

They feel more like friends than soulmates, which might actually be the point. The movie leans into a more casual, less fairy-tale version of romance, but it does create some distance as a viewer.

You’re not exactly rooting hard for the big romantic payoff.

Most Personally Attacking Metaphor: Decorative Pillows

The pillow metaphor still hits.

Reuben’s obsession with perfectly arranged pillows is played for laughs, but if you’ve ever lived in a house with an excessive number of decorative pillows… it feels very real.

A battle not worth fighting. I’ve accepted that.

Most Memorable Random Moments in an Otherwise “Fine” Movie

Here’s the thing—this movie is full of moments you remember:

• The basketball scene

• The blind ferret running into walls

• The salsa dancing

• The spicy food meltdown

And yet… the movie as a whole?

Kind of just… fine..

Final Take

This is where I ultimately land: Along Came Polly doesn’t fully work as a rom-com. The story is a little scattered, the romance never quite clicks and it doesn’t commit hard enough to its comedic instincts.

But it’s also not bad. Not even close.

It’s elevated by a ridiculously talented cast, a handful of genuinely memorable scenes and what feels like a lot of loose, improv-driven energy that keeps things entertaining.

It’s not making any “best of” rom-com lists. But it is a fascinating snapshot of early-2000s rom-coms trying to evolve—balancing traditional genre beats with edgier, more chaotic comedy.

And at the end of the day? Still a really good hang.

Where to Watch Along Came Polly: Netflix

Is This Thing On? really surprised me, and not in the way I hoped it would. On paper, this felt like it should be right in my wheelhouse: an indie relationship drama, Will Arnett getting a chance to lead a film in a more dramatic register, and Bradley Cooper directing after bringing so much passion and style to A Star Is Born and Maestro. Add in the stand-up comedy angle, and this seemed like it had all the ingredients to be something sharp, vulnerable and quietly insightful. Instead, I was kind of dumbfounded by how little of it actually works.

The biggest issue, by far, is the screenplay. When I saw in the end credits that Cooper and Arnett were among the co-writers, my heart sank a little, because this movie feels like a pure example of a script never quite coming together. The performances and overall craftsmanship are solid enough, but none of that can overcome the fact that the story just doesn’t ring true. I never believed these characters were real people. Ironically, I was already having that reaction throughout the movie, so when the film closed with one of those “inspired by true events” title cards, it only made things feel even more confounding.

This is essentially a story about a couple in separation, with Arnett and Laura Dern playing two people trying to reconnect with themselves and their passions while also figuring out what remains between them. That setup has potential, but the emotional math never adds up. We’re given pieces of their resentment and disconnection, but not enough to make their push-and-pull feel organic. The film keeps asking us to invest in emotional beats that it hasn’t fully earned, and because of that, everything starts to feel like a series of dramatic leaps rather than lived-in moments.

The stand-up comedy storyline especially never worked for me. I wasn’t expecting the movie to suddenly become some definitive look at the comedy world, but I at least needed to buy that Arnett’s character had real talent or momentum. I never did. The film wants us to believe that stand-up becomes this emotional outlet and maybe even a meaningful new path for him, but neither the material nor the reactions around him ever made that convincing. Even when the movie tries to lean into comedy, especially through Cooper’s supporting role, it just isn’t funny.

And maybe this is a small detail to get hung up on, but the movie is strangely vague about how Arnett’s character actually lives. Open mic comedy requires time, energy and a lot of late nights, and yet the movie barely grounds us in his day-to-day reality. We get glimpses of him parenting his boys on his own, but not enough of the larger practical world around him. At one point he can seemingly afford a new car, and the film just expects us not to question any of it. That lack of texture makes the whole thing feel even more artificial.

There are also stylistic choices that really started to wear on me. Cooper is absolutely fascinated with close-ups here. The camera is constantly pressed right into people’s faces, as if sheer proximity is going to force intimacy. I get the intention. It’s probably meant to create a sense of suffocation or emotional claustrophobia. But it’s so overused that it becomes distracting. I’ve been married for over 15 years, and I can safely say I have never consistently stood as close to my wife Whitney’s face as these characters do to each other in nearly every conversation.

The film also leans heavily on a framed photo that’s clearly meant to operate as this emotional symbol or recurring visual motif, and it just never lands. It feels less like an organic detail and more like a screenwriting device blinking in neon. Then there’s Peyton Manning, who completely took me out of the movie. I actually think Peyton is really charming onscreen and generally good at what he does, but his presence here feels wildly mismatched with the rest of the film.

That’s ultimately what Is This Thing On? left me with: the feeling of very talented, very successful people trying to write “ordinary” characters and missing the mark. I like Bradley Cooper. I like Will Arnett. I like Laura Dern. But this movie feels like people imagining what emotional messiness and suburban strain look like rather than actually understanding it. The world of the film should feel intimate and recognizable, yet it comes off like an imitation of authenticity instead. And when a smaller, more grounded indie drama doesn’t feel emotionally real, the distance it creates can be even worse than in some giant effects-driven spectacle.

By the time the film builds toward its big emotional crescendo at a local school talent show, it’s asking us to care deeply about the kids and the family dynamic in a way it simply hasn’t earned. It’s reaching for catharsis without doing the hard work to get there.

I love this kind of movie. I love the pace, the tone and the ambition of indie dramas that want to explore complicated adult relationships. But Is This Thing On? is a reminder that when authenticity feels fake, there’s really nowhere for a film like this to hide.

Where to watch: Hulu

Every once in a while, a movie from childhood finds its way back into your life at just the right moment.

Even though the Winter Olympics wrapped up a while ago, it sparked a mini run of winter sports movies in our house. So during spring break, Whitney and I decided it was finally time to introduce our youngest, Hayden, to The Mighty Ducks. A movie that felt like required viewing if you grew up in the ’90s.

I was almost Hayden’s age when this film came out, and I honestly can’t count how many times I watched it. It was a staple of my movie-going childhood. The epitome of the Disney sports family film. And thankfully, even with zero investment in hockey, Hayden loved it. That’s the magic of this movie: it’s built on drama, humor and heart in a way that works for all audiences.

Since this was a revisit for me, I thought it would be fun to break things down using a superlatives format — similar to what I did with Miracle — highlighting the things that stood out most this time around.

Most Wild Pop Culture Impact

Watching this again, I was reminded just how influential movies were in the ’90s.

It’s honestly still crazy to think that this film was so popular that Disney literally named an NHL expansion franchise after it. The Anaheim Mighty Ducks weren’t just inspired by the movie — they were owned by Disney and fully leaned into the branding. That kind of pop culture crossover feels almost unimaginable today.

And it wasn’t just hockey.

Not long after this, when the NBA expanded into Canada, Toronto held a fan vote to name their new franchise. The winning choice? The Raptors, a name directly inspired by the massive popularity of Jurassic Park.

So in the span of just a few years, we had two major professional sports teams whose identities were shaped by blockbuster movies. That’s a level of cultural influence that feels uniquely tied to that era.

What makes this even more ironic is that The Mighty Ducks itself leans heavily into the Gen-X underdog spirit. The Ducks are misfits battling a polished, corporate-feeling Hawks organization. Gordon Bombay walks away from his high-powered law firm life in search of something more meaningful.

Yet in the real world, the movie helped launch a very corporate professional sports brand.

Only in the ’90s.

Best Sports Movie Villain

Coach Riley might honestly belong in the pantheon of all-time sports movie villains.

His constant psychological jabs at Gordon. His smug collar-popping confidence. And yes, essentially orchestrating a mini “bounty-gate” to take out Adam Banks in the championship game… then congratulating his players afterward.

It’s cartoonish. It’s over-the-top. And it absolutely works.

Every parent who has taken their kid to youth tournaments knows exactly what I mean when I say: there is always “a Hawks team.”

The polished uniforms. The kids who look like they’ve been training since birth. The intimidating coach.

Whitney and I still use that reference today.

Most Memorable Trick Plays

One of the enduring charms of this movie is how it celebrates creativity in sports.

Gordon learns to use the unique talents of his players. Not to cheat the game, but to outsmart the competition. From the figure-skating distraction move to the iconic Flying V formation, these moments became playground legend.

This may have been the first time many of us saw the Statue of Liberty play, long before it showed up in real-life sports highlights (Sooner fans know the heartbreak I’m referencing).

Like Home Alone and its escalating booby traps, part of the fun of the sequels was simply waiting to see what new tricks the Ducks would pull next.

Darker Than I Remembered

Rewatching as an adult, I was struck by how layered Gordon Bombay’s story really is.

The film began development as a much darker redemption tale centered on alcoholism and lost potential. Disney softened the edges, but traces remain, even in the character’s name, a nod to gin brands Gordon’s and Bombay.

The movie quietly explores childhood trauma, failure and the weight of expectation. Gordon projecting his past penalty-shot failure onto Charlie Conway is… honestly a little cruel when you think about it.

There’s also something very ’90s about the idea that a deeply flawed adult could be court-ordered to coach a youth hockey team and somehow that becomes inspirational rather than terrifying.

Still, it works. Because redemption stories usually do.

Best Pure Family Sports Movie Energy

No, The Mighty Ducks isn’t a perfect film. It probably wouldn’t land on my personal “best of” sports movie list.

But when the credits rolled, I turned to Whitney and said, “That’s just a really good family movie.”

It understands sports movie tropes and plays with them just enough. It balances humor, drama and a touch of romance. Most importantly, it perfectly captures the chaos and personality of kids at that age, from the chatterbox teammate to the endlessly enthusiastic bench cheerleader.

Even if you’ve never laced up skates or set foot in Minnesota, there’s something universally relatable here.

Movies like this still exist, usually buried deep in streaming catalogs. But there was something special about that era of original Disney theatrical releases — films you knew wouldn’t necessarily change your life, but would absolutely deliver a memorable night at the movies.

And revisiting this one with Hayden made me appreciate it even more.

If you grew up loving The Mighty Ducks and you’re searching for a fun weekend family watch… this one still flies.

Where to Watch The Mighty Ducks: Disney+

Spring break gave us the perfect excuse to revisit The Cutting Edge and introduce it to our youngest, who’s recently started dipping her toes into the rom-com waters. I originally wrote this review during my 50 Best Rom-Coms series, but watching it again through fresh eyes (and with a first-time viewer on the couch) reminded me why this movie has quietly stuck around in our family’s rotation. It may not be polished or timeless in the traditional sense, but there’s something about its energy, attitude and pure comfort-movie charm that makes it incredibly easy to fall for all over again.

Originally published: April 2023

The Cutting Edge is a movie that is perfectly made for a laid-back weekend morning. Is it cheesy? Yes. Does it seem dated? Yes. Do you stop and watch it when you are flipping the channels? Most definitely yes.

Like Dirty Dancing, this movie has a cult-like feel that you can’t help but be drawn towards. Is the fact that The Cutting Edge doesn’t know it’s extremely campy, make it work so well? Thankfully, it possesses the chemistry between leads D.B. Sweeney and Moira Kelly because there are many aspects of this movie that haven’t aged well. You can tell that a lot of it is having to compensate for a small budget. There are a lot of film tricks that are implemented to make us fill in the gaps of a large audience, including a ridiculous close-up of an American flag. With a movie like this, it’s unfair to ask actors to learn how to skate like actual Olympians, but the slow-mode, shudder frame rate that is used to compensate for this gets old and grating.

Thankfully, director Paul Michael Glaser knows to lean on the banter and the entertaining montages to make this movie move. As silly as this premise is, you buy into this relationship. The screenplay always has the motives of the characters in mind, which makes for an understandable and extremely satisfying conclusion to this movie. My wife will probably kill me for not giving it five stars, but sometimes the movies that don’t make the top 100 list of all-time great films aren’t the ones you watch the most.

Where to watch: Fubo (with commercials)

Sentimental Value is the kind of film that quietly sneaks up on you and then stays with you long after the credits roll.

It also happened to be the final Best Picture nominee I needed to check off my list before the Oscars ceremony, which meant I was squeezing it in at the last possible moment. Honestly? I’m glad I stayed up past midnight to pull it off. It definitely lived up to the hype surrounding its International Feature buzz.

If you’re familiar with director Joachim Trier (especially his stellar The Worst Person in the World), you probably walk into this movie expecting something thoughtful and emotionally layered. What you might not expect is just how deeply this film explores complicated family dynamics and how confidently it does so without relying on the usual cinematic shortcuts.

This is a stark, contemplative human drama centered on a revered filmmaker Gustav Borg (played with remarkable nuance by Stellan Skarsgård) who reenters the lives of his two daughters while attempting to mount what feels like his last great artistic statement. He wants his eldest daughter, Nora — a respected stage actress portrayed by Renate Reinsve — to star in the project. But unresolved trauma and years of emotional distance make that reunion anything but simple. What unfolds is less about plot and more about emotional geography.

Trier trusts his audience. Instead of spoon-feeding us with flashbacks or heavy exposition, he lets silence, glances and physical space tell the story. You feel the history between these characters in the way they stand across a room from each other, in the way they hesitate before speaking, in the weight of words left unsaid. It’s acting at its most precise and most human.

When the daughter refuses the role, the filmmaker turns to a famous Hollywood actress, played by Elle Fanning, who brings a surprising amount of warmth and self-awareness to the part. I’ve admittedly been on the fence about Fanning’s performances in the past, but she absolutely won me over here. Her presence adds another fascinating layer — a meta commentary on celebrity, artistic ego and the emotional cost of storytelling.

Then there’s the younger sister, Agnes — a quieter but deeply affecting performance by Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas that almost steals the film. She serves as the emotional anchor of the family, attempting to hold things together not through grand gestures, but through empathy and subtle connection. It’s a beautifully restrained role that lingers in your mind.

Another standout element is the family home, which functions as a character itself. The creaking wooden floors, the aging architecture, the sense of memory embedded in every corner — it all contributes to the film’s exploration of genealogy, legacy and how our environments shape our emotional lives. Anyone who grew up in an older house will immediately recognize that feeling: history isn’t just remembered, it’s heard and felt.

At its core, Sentimental Value is about the ways artists communicate when they struggle to communicate as human beings. It’s about family trauma, inherited pain and the fragile hope that art can bridge emotional gaps that words cannot.

And yes, it’s primarily in a different language. But if you’re someone who usually hesitates to watch international films, this is absolutely worth the leap. The performances are so powerful, the emotional storytelling so precise, that the subtitles quickly fade into the background.

With this film and The Worst Person in the World, Joachim Trier continues to prove himself as one of the most compelling voices in contemporary cinema. Don’t be surprised if his name keeps showing up during awards season in the years to come.

Where to watch: VOD

Pixar is back, baby.

Okay, okay, let’s be fair. Pixar never actually went away. The studio has produced solid films over the past few years. But while some recent releases may have been a bit under-appreciated, they also didn’t quite feel like the bold, must-see animated events we’ve come to expect. Enter Hoppers, a delightfully bizarre, wildly creative swing that proves Pixar still has plenty of magic left in the tank.

And make no mistake, this one is different.

From the moment the film kicks into gear, I was completely locked in. Eyes glued to the screen. Curious, excited and honestly, a little stunned at just how weird and unpredictable the story becomes. This isn’t your traditional Pixar emotional tearjerker (though it definitely has heart). Instead, it’s a fast-moving, darkly funny, high-concept adventure that isn’t afraid to get strange — and I mean that as a huge compliment.

The story follows a passionate 19-year-old college student (Piper Curda) determined to save a forest that holds deep personal meaning for her and her family. When a power-hungry Mayor Jerry (Jon Hamm) pushes plans for a massive highway project through the land, she stumbles upon an underground university experiment that allows human consciousness to be transferred into robotic animals. Naturally, she decides the best way to fight back is to become… a beaver.

Yes. A beaver.

It’s a bonkers premise, but director Daniel Chong commits to it fully. The film doesn’t get bogged down in scientific explanations or overly tidy logic. Instead, it trusts the audience to roll with the concept and focuses on delivering a story packed with humor, visual invention and surprising thematic depth.

Tonally, Hoppers is a fascinating mix. It’s silly and playful one moment, then dips into darker sci-fi territory the next. There are even flashes of near-horror intensity in the final act that might be a little much for very young viewers. But for older kids and adults, the risk-taking pays off. The film’s offbeat humor — often relying on background gags and blink-and-you-miss-it punchlines — practically begs for repeat viewings.

What really stood out to me was how the movie builds its world. The “animal society” isn’t a slick, fully humanized ecosystem like we’ve seen in other animated films. Instead, it’s intentionally simpler and stranger — animals behaving in recognizable ways but layered with just enough personality and social structure to create comedic gold. The voice cast (a fun lineup of celebrity talent, including Meryl Streep) fully leans into the absurdity, giving the film a playful ensemble energy.

Thematically, Hoppers also has a lot on its mind. It touches on environmental responsibility, community action, political fear-mongering and even critiques of unchecked development and capitalism. Some viewers will undoubtedly see it as overtly political. But at its core, the movie is less about ideology and more about empathy — about how fear can be manipulated, how good intentions can go sideways and how collective action can create meaningful change.

Emotionally, it doesn’t quite hit the devastating highs of Pixar’s most iconic tear-jerkers. But from a creativity and innovation standpoint, this one ranks near the top of the studio’s catalog. It’s bold. It’s weird. It’s genuinely funny. And most importantly, it feels alive in a way that many animated films don’t.

As silly as the concept sounds, Hoppers ultimately delivers a heartfelt message about friendship, community and questioning the systems we take for granted. It’s the kind of animated movie that reminds you why theatrical experiences still matter because you truly don’t know where the story is going next.

With a full year of animation still ahead, it’s early to make sweeping declarations. But right now, it’s hard to imagine another animated film topping this one for sheer originality and entertainment value.

Pixar didn’t just return to form with Hoppers. They took a wild leap and stuck the landing.

Where to watch: Now playing in theaters

Hamnet is an emotional ride, especially if you’re a parent. I knew the film carried a heavy premise, but I wasn’t quite prepared for just how deeply it would hit. This is the kind of movie that quietly sneaks up on you and leaves you sitting with your feelings long after the credits roll.

The film tells the story of Will (Paul Mescal) and his wife Agnes (Jessie Buckley), exploring how a devastating family tragedy would ultimately inspire one of Shakespeare’s most famous works. Directed by Chloé Zhao, whose Nomadland I admired quite a bit, the film carries her signature style: quiet, patient and deeply observational. That approach works beautifully for much of the film, though at times it may feel a bit too quiet and deliberate.

What Zhao captures wonderfully is the texture of family life in 1500s England. The film feels lived-in and intimate, almost like we’re observing small, fragile moments in a household that history rarely slows down to examine.

Buckley is the emotional center of the film, and she is absolutely extraordinary here. I’ve seen her in several roles before, but this performance stands out. She portrays motherhood with such raw vulnerability — a woman holding together a family while navigating grief, confusion and a husband whose artistic pursuits often pull him away from home. It’s a layered performance that carries much of the film’s emotional weight.

I was also surprised by how powerful Mescal is in this role. While I was familiar with his name, I hadn’t seen much of his work before this. Watching him here, it becomes clear why many felt he was overlooked during awards season. His Shakespeare is both strong and fragile; a man trying to reconcile the demands of art with the responsibilities of family life.

At its core, Hamnet is a meditation on the relationship between grief and art. Many films celebrate art as something joyful and inspiring. This film explores the other side of that coin — how creativity can also be a way of processing pain. The final stretch of the film beautifully brings this idea full circle, showing how storytelling and performance can connect us to shared human experiences and offer a kind of emotional therapy.

But Hamnet does demand patience. The film spans several years in the lives of this family, often presenting events in fragments rather than fully spelled-out sequences. At times I found myself wishing for a bit more context or connective tissue between these moments. The film trusts the audience to fill in those gaps, which can be rewarding, but occasionally leaves you longing for more clarity.

There’s also a devastating illness sequence that is incredibly difficult to watch. It’s powerful filmmaking, but emotionally taxing. I did find myself wishing the film had spent just a little more time developing the children themselves. Much of the emotional impact relies on the audience bringing their own experiences — especially as parents — rather than fully building those relationships on screen.

Even so, Hamnet remains a beautiful, contemplative film. It’s a portrait of grief, love and the mysterious ways art can grow out of the most painful parts of life.

It’s not necessarily a film I’d rush to revisit. The emotional weight alone makes it a tough sit, but it’s one that works almost like an acting masterclass. Watching Buckley and Mescal navigate the full range of human emotion is remarkable.

Just don’t go into Hamnet expecting a traditional Shakespeare story. While the legacy of Hamlet hangs over the film, this isn’t really a movie about Shakespeare or his play. It’s about the life and grief that may have inspired it. And if you’re willing to sit with that quiet, aching story, Hamnet is a deeply moving experience.

Where to watch: Peacock

The story of Frankenstein has been embedded in pop culture for generations, but it’s never been one that I’ve fully connected with. Honestly, my earliest and strongest reference point is still Young Frankenstein, which, to be fair, probably isn’t the most accurate representation of the deeper themes Mary Shelley was exploring.

But when I heard that Guillermo del Toro was tackling the material, I immediately thought it was a perfect match.

Del Toro has always been fascinated with creatures. Not just monsters, but the humanity inside them and the complicated ways humans react when confronted with something different. His films are always visually stunning, packed with intricate production design and unforgettable creature work. And almost every time, he finds a surprising amount of heart within these strange worlds.

And yet, despite how much I admire him as a filmmaker, I often walk away from his movies appreciating them more than truly loving them. This version of Frankenstein ended up being a similar experience.

I’m not a Frankenstein scholar, so I won’t pretend to know how closely this adaptation follows Mary Shelley’s original novel. But the core philosophical question is still very much present: Who is the real monster?

Is it Dr. Victor Frankenstein, the man arrogant enough to create life without considering the consequences? Or the creature itself?

Here, Oscar Isaac makes for a compelling Victor Frankenstein. His portrayal leans into the character’s obsession and ambition without going full theatrical madness. There’s no iconic “It’s alive!” moment here, and honestly, that restraint works. Isaac plays the character as a man consumed by the pursuit of creation, only gradually realizing the weight of what he’s unleashed.

On the other side of the equation is the creature, played by Jacob Elordi. Del Toro once again crafts a sympathetic monster, and Elordi brings an unexpected vulnerability to the role. This version of the creature is even a bit… strikingly handsome compared to past iterations, which adds an interesting dynamic. But Del Toro doesn’t let us forget the danger either. The creature’s violent moments remind us that empathy and fear can coexist.

As expected with a Del Toro film, Frankenstein looks incredible. Every set, costume and creature detail is meticulously crafted. The production design alone is worth admiring.

But this is also a long film, clocking in at around two and a half hours, and it moves at a deliberate pace.

The story is structured in two halves:
• The first largely follows Victor Frankenstein’s perspective.
• The second shifts to the creature’s experience.

The payoff in the final act is satisfying, but the journey there can feel a bit drawn out. One thing that surprised me is how contained the film feels. I expected to see the creature interacting with the world more—moving among people, confronting society in different ways. Instead, many of the scenes unfold within a limited set of locations. The environments are beautifully realized, but I still found myself wanting the story to expand outward a bit more.

There’s also a complicated romantic element woven into the story involving Mia Goth, who plays her role with the eerie charisma she brought to the X trilogy. Visually, she fits perfectly into Del Toro’s gothic world. But narratively, her character left me a little puzzled. There’s a kind of romantic empathy she develops toward the creature that happens very quickly, and I never fully bought into that emotional shift. It reminded me somewhat of the relationship dynamic in The Shape of Water, but here, it didn’t quite land the same way.

For all its length and occasional narrative oddities, Frankenstein is still a film that made me think more deeply about the story than some other versions I’ve seen. And visually? It’s undeniably impressive.

But while I admired the craft, the film never quite moved me in the way I suspect Del Toro hoped it would. Still, for fans of gothic storytelling and Del Toro’s creature-driven filmmaking, this is a fascinating and beautifully made interpretation—even if it’s one that occasionally overstays its welcome.

Where to watch: Netflix

It’s been a while since I’ve seen an espionage thriller, so my interest definitely perked up when I started hearing buzz around The Secret Agent. Not only did the Brazilian film break into the Best Picture conversation, but there was also a lot of attention surrounding Wagner Moura and his portrayal of a tech expert on the run who returns to his hometown of Recife in search of peace, only to realize the place he once called home may not be as safe as he thought.

Right away, The Secret Agent stands out as a very well-made and visually striking film. The story is primarily set in 1977, and it’s fascinating to see Brazil portrayed during that era. Director Kleber Mendonça Filho captures the look and tone of the period beautifully, using deliberate camera zooms and framing choices that feel very reminiscent of 1970s political thrillers.

As someone who loves films from that decade, I really appreciated the aesthetic. The grainy texture, the slow pacing and the camera work all feel like an intentional throwback. In many ways, the film plays like an ode to classic cinema and spy thrillers of the past. There’s even a recurring nod to Jaws, which pops up in some interesting ways throughout the movie and reinforces the director’s admiration for that era of filmmaking.

What’s interesting about The Secret Agent is that while it clearly presents itself as an espionage thriller, the film constantly works to throw you off the trail. Just when you think the story is heading in one direction, it veers somewhere else entirely.

You start following characters you didn’t expect to follow. The timeline jumps around quite a bit, introducing people in different time periods and leaving you to piece together how they all fit into the larger story. It’s a very unconventional approach for a spy thriller.

In fact, the tension here doesn’t come from wondering what will happen next, but more from wondering where the story is going to go. Even the film’s conclusion plays against expectations. The ultimate resolution doesn’t revolve around the main protagonist in the way most spy thrillers typically build toward.

The film also dips into some unexpected tonal shifts. At one point there’s a bizarre sequence that feels like an homage to 1970s horror camp involving a severed leg. I could understand what the director might have been going for stylistically, but it just didn’t quite work for me.

Another aspect of the film that may divide audiences is how little information it actually explains. Important details are often left unsaid, and while that ambiguity may be intentional, I found myself feeling more puzzled than intrigued. It’s not so much that there are plot holes, but more that the film withholds context that might help the audience connect the dots.

That said, I can absolutely imagine this film landing differently for viewers who have a deeper understanding of Brazilian history and culture. Much of the story seems rooted in that country’s political past, and for someone closer to that context, the film may feel like a powerful reflection on that history. For me, though, the individual pieces of the story were often more compelling than the overall picture.

Performance-wise, Wagner Moura is excellent. His performance is quiet and simmering, and he does a great job conveying tension without needing big dramatic moments. The supporting cast around him is also very strong. Not only are the performances good, but the way the director frames these characters within different environments and set pieces makes many of them feel memorable.

Even with those strengths, though, the film never fully came together for me the way it clearly has for many others. At nearly three hours long, I kept expecting the story to deliver a moment where everything would finally snap into place. That moment never quite arrived.

Ironically, that may actually be part of the film’s message. Much of the story seems to reflect the lives of people caught up in political systems and corruption—people whose lives are disrupted or destroyed for things they didn’t do. There’s symbolism here about institutions being manipulated, scapegoats being created and public systems being exploited by those in power. In that sense, the themes feel surprisingly relevant to the current moment. None of that commentary is lost on me.

But even recognizing what the film is trying to say, I still found myself wishing for a slightly more focused narrative or a few more traditional thriller elements to hold everything together. I never thought I’d be the one asking for a couple of cleaner action set pieces or a conclusion that tied things together a little more neatly, but sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants.

The Secret Agent is clearly an ambitious film with a lot of craft behind it. I admired many of its individual elements, but as a whole, it never quite came together for me the way I hoped it would.

Where to watch: Hulu

Our family must have really been craving a trip to the theater, because normally, a lower-budget animated movie like GOAT probably wouldn’t be one we’d rush out to see. But we’re a basketball family, and attaching Stephen Curry’s name to the marketing absolutely worked on us.

So we grabbed the popcorn and gave it a shot.

I’ll be honest: it took me a while to get on board with this one.

For probably the entire first half of the movie, I was pretty disengaged. The jokes weren’t landing for me, and several of the characters just didn’t click. Even the iguana character, Modo, voiced by Nick Kroll — who I usually enjoy — felt more annoying than funny early on.

But somewhere around the midpoint, something shifted.

The tone didn’t drastically change, but the movie started to feel more focused and intentional. It began leaning harder into the sports movie formula, and honestly, those clichés exist for a reason. When the story finally embraces the underdog basketball narrative, that’s when the film starts to find its rhythm.

One thing that stood out to me, though, is just how fast everything moves. The movie is extremely flashy and kinetic, almost to a fault. It throws so much at the screen that moments and punchlines sometimes get lost in the chaos. After the movie ended, our family actually compared notes and realized we had all missed different jokes because there was simply so much happening visually.

The animation style clearly takes inspiration from the bold visual approach popularized by another Sony Studios vehicle, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. That influence is obvious. But you can also feel that GOAT is working with a smaller budget. On the big screen, the depth-of-field effects were sometimes a little distracting, and in wide crowd shots, you could spot repeated character models, one of those animation shortcuts that’s harder to hide when everything is blown up on a theater screen.

That said, the movie eventually wins you over where it matters most: the sports.

If you’re a sucker for sports movie tropes, and I absolutely am, GOAT starts to deliver once it leans into teamwork, perseverance and the love of the game. By the time the final act rolled around, I found myself enjoying it quite a bit more than I expected.

It’s clearly chasing some of the anthropomorphic-animal charm of Zootopia, but the humor isn’t quite as clever. Still, the basketball sequences do a solid job of capturing the cool factor of the sport and why people fall in love with it.

I actually started this movie thinking I might really dislike it… and ended up walking out thinking it was pretty good.

It’s not something you need to sprint to the theater to see, and it’s not reinventing the animated sports movie. But it delivers enough laughs, heart and family-friendly themes about teamwork and belonging that it works well as a family outing.

And sometimes, that’s exactly what a movie needs to do.

Where to watch: Now playing in theaters

If comedy has a Mount Rushmore, Mel Brooks absolutely deserves a chiseled-in grin at the top. And at 99 years old, the man is still sharp enough to write the punchline.

Like a lot of people, my introduction to Brooks wasn’t in a film class, it was in my living room. Young Frankenstein and Spaceballs were staples of my childhood. I probably saw Blazing Saddles way earlier than I should have, but that mix of absurdity, farce and razor-sharp social commentary shaped my teenage comedic sensibility in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. Brooks’ humor is often gleefully stupid, but it’s never dumb. That’s the magic trick.

So when this HBO documentary directed by Michael Bonfiglio and Judd Apatow popped up, I was all in. Apatow has quietly become one of the great archivists of American comedy. Through projects like his book Sick in the Head and previous deep dives into figures like Albert Brooks, he approaches his subjects with admiration but also curiosity. And that tone fits perfectly here. This isn’t a glossy, surface-level tribute. It’s a warm, deeply personal exploration of a man who helped define modern screen comedy.

What struck me most is how much I didn’t know.

Yes, I knew Brooks was a legend. But this documentary really underscores how expansive his career has been, not just as a writer-director-performer, but as a producer willing to take big swings. Learning more about his involvement with films like The Elephant Man was genuinely surprising. That kind of creative range speaks volumes.

And then there’s his love story with Anne Bancroft. I had no idea how central their relationship was to his life and work. The way the documentary frames their marriage isn’t sentimental fluff — it’s moving, grounded and full of mutual admiration. You can feel how deeply they adored each other. It adds a whole new layer to understanding Brooks not just as a comedic force, but as a person.

Another standout element is the editing. The film seamlessly weaves present-day conversations between Brooks and Apatow with archival footage, old interviews and classic film clips. The result is dynamic and surprisingly emotional. Seeing Brooks reflect on his own life, while still delivering impeccable timing, feels like watching history talk back to you.

And at 99, he still has it. The energy. The rhythm. The storytelling instinct.

That might be the biggest takeaway: Mel Brooks is, at his core, a storyteller. Watching him on panels with longtime friends, trading setups and punchlines like seasoned jazz musicians, reminded me of sitting around listening to my father-in-law and his friends spin stories — carefully honed, perfectly timed, refined over decades. There’s something old-school about it. And something that feels increasingly rare.

What I appreciated most about this documentary is that it isn’t shrouded in darkness or posthumous reverence. It’s a celebration while the legend is still here to see it. There’s joy in that. A sense of gratitude. You get the feeling Brooks himself could watch this and laugh, and maybe even add a better joke.

Even if you’re not deeply familiar with his catalog (and if you’re not, fix that immediately with The Producers, Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles or Spaceballs), there’s no denying his influence on American comedy and film history. His fingerprints are everywhere.

This documentary isn’t just a tribute to a comedy icon. It’s a reminder of the power of creative risk, trusted friendships and well-timed punchlines.

And at 99, Mel Brooks is still delivering all three.

Where to watch: HBO Max