Week Ending 7/4/25

1. "In Your Arms" by St. Lucia from Fata Morgana: Dawn
2. "People Watching" by Sam Fender from People Watching
3. "Happy People" by Nao from Jupiter
4. "Pulse Drips Quiet" by Sleigh Bells from Bunky Becky Birthday Boy
5. "Lie 95 [ft. Kacy Hill]" by Bartees Strange from Horror
6. "Mount Analogue [ft. Toro y Moi]" by SPELLLING from Portrait of My Heart
7. "Traffic (7am)" by Cautious Clay from The Hours: Morning
8. "Born in the Body" by Obongjayar from Paradise Now
9. "I'll Be Gone" by SASAMI from Blood on the Silver Screen
10. "Link" by Djo from The Crux

1. Sinners, d. Ryan Coogler
2. Sunlight, d. Nina Conti
3. The Ballad of Wallis Island, d. James Griffiths
4. Warfare, d. Ray Mendoza & Alex Garland
5. April, d. Dea Kulumbegashvili
6. Tatami, d. Zar Amir Ebrahimi & Guy Nattiv
7. Black Bag, d. Steven Soderbergh
8. The Encampments, d. Kei Pritsker & Michael T Workman
9. The Surfer, d. Lorcan Finnegan
10. The Teacher, d. Farah Nabulsi

(streaming on Netflix)

It's an inspired move to give your horror film Dante "I'm not even supposed to be here" Hicks energy. It's even more so to let your characters actually vocalize it. Because that's what happens when the "Heart Eyes Killer" (HEK) first attacks Ally (Olivia Holt) and Jay (Mason Gooding). Sure, they scream and run and try to incapacitate their serial killer pursuer, but they also pause, turn in his direction, and incredulously exclaim, "We're not even a couple!" It doesn't matter that the opening prologue shows us that HEK will kill anyone regardless of their romantic status as long as they're close enough to him or in his way. These two really just hope he'll apologize and search for a different, on-brand target.

That sort of irreverent tone runs throughout Heart Eyes thanks to the comedy-horror minds behind its making (including Josh Ruben as director and Christopher Landon and Michael Kennedy as screenwriters alongside the more comedy-action leaning Phillip Murphy). One of the most dramatic moments in the entire film takes place while two people are audibly having sex behind Ally and Jay's dialogue, so know that every instance of earnest sincerity will eventually be waylaid by a punch line. This isn't a bug. It's a feature. Because this isn't a slasher built for body count. It's a high-adrenaline situation meant to prevent Ally from ignoring the fact that her "romance is a lie" ethos might be flawed.

Not that she won't still default to overthinking and self-sabotage anyway. It only takes one lull in a conversation or the bloody action for her to pull her defenses back up and shut down the possibility of love yet again. Ally does this so many times that being pursued by a murderer becomes the sole reason she even gets a second, third, and fourth chance at falling for Jay. She might as well put on pilot wings and fly him out of state herself considering the lengths she goes to kill his buzz, call him a sap, and kick him to the curb. In many ways, HEK becomes their unwitting Cupid by doing everything but hitting his mark. Rather than get impaled, their narrow escapes bring them closer.

It's a smart script as a result—always subverting expectations and genre tropes. Whether it's reversing the usual slasher modus operandi by having the killer go after the two people not having sex in the film or a great anti-"Scooby Doo" reveal culminating in a "Who the hell is that guy?", the joke is always about progressing the plot, creating more uncertainty, or revealing exactly why Ally and Jay are single. She comes on too strong with her jaded vibes while he comes on even stronger with his Hallmark schmaltz. When he pulls away, she becomes apologetic and full of regret. When she pushes him away, he becomes sarcastic and adopts a martyr complex. Their back and forth is "married couple" coded in the funniest, pettiest ways.

Every love topic you can think about is included too. There are the detectives on HEK's trail: Jeanine (Jordana Brewster) swiping on the apps to find a nice guy while her partner Zeke (Devon Sawa) exudes alpha male toxicity. Ally's BFF Monica (Gigi Zumbado) is in a relationship with an older, rich man she calls her "sponsor." There's a wedding proposal gone wrong. Instagram stalking of an ex. Kink play. And the illest-timed date proposition possible courtesy of a friendly IT guy shooting his shot (Yoson An). Add a sold out Valentine's Day drive-in, some date night fine dining, a coffee shop meet-cute, and an upscale wardrobe montage and you could play rom-com Bingo a few times over before the credits roll.

You could do the same with the number of horror earmarks too, but that part of Heart Eyes is definitely the filter through which the romantic comedy is playing. HEK is the distraction trying to keep the love birds apart who only ends up giving them the opportunity to realize they're exactly who the other needs. His is a fun costume with its glowing red night vision eyes (which, despite the publicity materials, is only briefly used once) and Cupid crossbow (although a machete does most of the damage) to make this baddie different from the other lumbering mask-wearers like Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers, but the similarity to those icons is also intentional to ensure we don't turn our focus exclusively onto him.

We're meant to care about Ally and Jay surviving—not to be the film's "final girls," but to be a heartwarming, unlikely happy ending to the love-won't-be-denied narrative. HEK is merely the personification of their opposing trauma responses to love. The obstacle they must overcome to finally see their fairy tale dreams come true. Both Holt and Gooding understand the assignment in that regard as well as the awkward and abrasive attitudes that make their characters so entertainingly dumb when it comes to their penchant to self-destruct along the way. If HEK's goal is truly to stop love in its tracks, he should have just left these two alone because their precision at killing the mood is unparalleled.

7/10

(streaming on Tubi)

The most unhinged part of this high school/society/status satire is everyone just saying “Heather” and everyone else knowing exactly which Heather is being talked about as though the members of that trio each have completely different names.

It’s so very.

7/10

(streaming on HBO Max)

Bong Joon-ho's latest Mickey 17, adapted from Edward Ashton's novel Mickey 7, must be labeled science fiction because, as we discovered post 2024 election, not voting for the fascist, purity evangelist, buffoon doesn't happen in reality. No, we give the Donald Trump charlatans of the world a second chance to destroy the country. So, the rest of us can only aspire towards the Americans who rejected their obvious Trump caricature in Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo) so hard that he was forced to lead an expedition into space to finally realize his dream of autocracy. We can only vicariously revel in the assumption that this veneered cretin will inevitably meet a gruesome demise.

Before that day arrives, however, we must first meet Mickey Barnes (Robert Pattinson). Or, better stated, the former Mickey Barnes. Because the original Mickey is long since dead. So is the second. The third. The fourth. The ... you get it. Why? Because he's an "Expendable" now. A pristine copy of the body Mickey had when he signed away his life on the dotted line and the most recent back-up of the memories of his previous iteration. Thanks to a controversial scientific procedure banned on Earth, he is Marshall's expedition's designated guinea pig. He's died so they know how long the human body can withstand space radiation. He's died to help them create a vaccine for a mystery virus found upon landing. He's died simply because it was easier to leave him behind and print another.

Mickey is an object now. The lab coats (led by Cameron Britton's sycophant Arkady and Patsy Ferran's innovator Dorothy) trick him into testing their latest products. His opportunistic best friend (Steven Yeun's Timo) treats him like a dog. Marshall and his wife Ylfa (Toni Collette) don't even bother calling him "Mickey" when "Expendable" is more deliciously dehumanizing. If not for his devoted girlfriend Nasha (Naomi Ackie), even he would forget he still has a soul. Because it's difficult to care about survival when you know you're going to be reprinted tomorrow. Why suffer to stay alive when dying sooner means less pain? It's why Mickey begs for the giant "Creeper" (tardigrade-looking alien inhabitants of his new home) to eat him whole so he can avoid freezing to death.

The first thirty minutes of Mickey 17 serves as an entertaining recap of everything we missed before watching him wake-up in a desolate icy cave after somehow surviving a bad fall. We learn what happened to make him become an "Expendable." How he fell in love with Nasha. Why he was in the snow in the first place. We get the lay of the land of Bong and Ashton's mythology: meeting the Marshalls, learning about the oppressive hierarchy within their spacecraft, and receiving a crash course on human printing. Narrated by Mickey himself with a healthy dose of sardonic indifference to his unavoidable circumstances, we eventually find our feet firmly planted and ready for the main plot to begin.

Well, that central narrative isn't quite as engaging as the exposition dump. Not because it isn't effectively presented or executed, but because it's pretty familiar territory thematically speaking. If you forgot Bong directed Okja because you're still riding the Oscar high of Parasite, this will definitely remind you. The over-the-top cartoon that is Kenneth Marshall. The animals in need of saving from mankind's hubristic bloodlust. It's anti-colonial, anti-rich, and pro-morality. It's about how the person at the very bottom of the totem pole can ultimately become a hero because, through his steady cycle of death and reincarnation, he's the one person who truly understands the value of life.

It's a fun ride despite running into an hour-long lull once the excitement of two Mickeys being alive at the same time wears off. That's when all the stuff we learned during the recap comes back to complicate matters and we discover a few other key details left out for dramatic purposes. The "good vs. evil" battle between death cult Brownshirts and empathetic civil servants commences and Ruffalo is let off-leash to bring everything his consigliere (Daniel Henshall's Preston) advises to fruition in the loudest and most idiotic ways possible. And with everything starts to go full bananas, we can devote our focus to the Mickeys and Pattinson's dual performances showing how different the same person can be when forced to consider the violence committed upon them by outside forces and themselves.

He's by far the best part of the film. Embodying both 17's sheepish compliance and 18's justifiable yearning for homicidal vengeance. The latter doesn't exist without the former, but the former isn't beholden to the latter. So, 18 can be angry about everything 17 experienced and 17 can finally remember what mortality feels like knowing that a forthcoming 19 will be printed from 18's memories rather than his. Everything after they meet each other is therefore made precious. Every decision holds consequences from which they haven't felt the weight in years. It leads to some great philosophical ruminating and even better comedy when their conundrum gets exploited by others. I almost wish Marshall and the "Creepers" didn't exist so the whole could simply be about 17 and 18 contemplating their coexistence.

But that's not what wins big budgets. Frankly, I'm amazed something this weird was given its budget at all—even with its action-based colonial overtones. Because it's Okja goofy. Not Snowpiercer cool. Not that I'll ever understand Hollywood economics considering Snowpiercer doubled its forty-million-dollar budget, Okja didn't get a theatrical release on a fifty-million-dollar budget, and Mickey 17 (presumably on the back of Bong's recent Oscar win) had Warner Bros. forking over a whopping one hundred and eighteen million. It made it back, so good for them and good for the future of non-IP driven scripts, but it just goes to show that studios don't care about content as much as brand. Bong and Pattinson sell tickets. WB probably wrote that check without reading a word.

7/10

(streaming on Criterion Channel)

Jérémie (Félix Kysyl) has returned to his former village after ten years away to attend the funeral of his old boss. Martine (Catherine Frot) is happy to see him. Both she and her late husband adored him, and she knows his being there would have meant a lot him. Her son Vincent's (Jean-Baptiste Durand) reaction is colder, though. They shake hands and kiss on the cheeks, but there remains an awkwardness that can't be ignored. The ceremony completes. They gather at Martine's with family (Vincent's wife and son) and friends (David Ayala's Walter and Jacques Develay's Father Philippe). The night ends with an offer for Jérémie to stay over rather than drive home. And morning comes with the thought that he might never leave again.

It's here that Alain Guiraudie's Misericordia begins to ratchet up tensions by introducing secret/unknown relationships via the drama Jérémie's presence creates. Martine offers him the family's bakery knowing it could still be viable in the right hands. Vincent worries he's trying to move in on his mother sexually because he doesn't know what she already does. Jérémie suddenly takes an interest in Walter despite it always seeming as though he didn't like him in the past. And Father Philippe pops up around every corner whether at Martine's table, in the forest picking mushrooms, or just standing outside the abbey with a knowing look. Vincent wants Jérémie gone and the latter's desire to stay almost becomes solely about not giving the former the satisfaction of leaving.

The title is a Latin word that translates as "mercy." Our assumption is therefore mercy for the bereaved. To not leave Martine alone. To offer friendship to Vincent. To remember the deceased. As things progress, however, Guiraudie provides examples of the characters giving Jérémie mercy. Forgiveness for leaving. Compassion for returning. Desire for him to stay. Well, everyone but Vincent. Maybe something happened to sow such distrust or maybe he's just always been a hothead in need of a target, but their guest's extended stay has him itching for a fight. And while it may initially appear to be born from a silly notion considering what we soon learn about Jérémie, he doesn't help his own cause when igniting chaos by insinuating himself into Vincent's relationships.

Is Jérémie trying to replace Vincent? Not with his wife, but definitely as son, friend, and parishioner. He's been positioned as the "better man." Showing kindness and love—perhaps too much of both—when everyone knows the village would hardly lose sleep if Vincent's violent temper ever disappeared. That doesn't mean they won't still worry when he does vanish, though. It's one thing to consider the quiet that might result, but it's another to wish for it to happen. Even so, you can't help feeling a sense of Stockholm syndrome washing in. Jérémie is hardly their captor, but they empathize with him in ways that don't necessarily benefit themselves. As though securing his stay to fill Vincent's absence is worth ignoring whatever he did to create it.

They fall over themselves to be Jérémie's alibi or talk the police into believing whatever alibi he uses. Even the authorities are quick to take his word despite suspicions—going far enough to cross lines for interrogation but never to dig the spot they know must harbor a clue (some mushrooms shouldn't be growing this early in the season). But Jérémie is protected by a layer of Teflon and luck that even he isn't certain he can accept once guilt and the stress of lying sets in. It isn't of his own making, though. He's not trying to convince or trick anyone. They're doing it all on their own. Not because they didn't love Vincent, but because murder has become commonplace. Society has turned a blind eye to atrocities so readily these days that it's easier to pretend nothing happened.

That's quite the message. Not quite anti-restitution as far as murdering murderers not actually bringing victims back to life, but an apathy towards the reality that we can't care too much about loved ones dying if we also refuse to care about strangers dying at all. Guiraudie is shoving our hypocrisies in our faces at a time where they've never been clearer considering how long Russia has been allowed to kill Ukrainians since their invasion and how far this current chapter of Israel's ongoing genocide of the Palestinian people has escalated. Why worry about Vincent being gone when you Jérémie is arguably an improvement over him? We choose to go about our lives because we don't want to think about how we might be next. Blissful ignorance and morality simply don't mix.

It's why Misericordia is so entertaining. I wouldn't have called it a comedy until reading its billed genres (dark or not), but you can't deny that it unfolds with a perpetual smirk. That's what happens when you make you most likable character into the villain. Guiraudie is able to play with our preconceptions and stretch our capacity to forgive someone for the permanence of a solitary act of aggression upon someone who permanently acts with aggression and to vilify the latter despite the former. The characters don't laud Jérémie as heroic, but his freedom and support arise through the mechanisms of heroism. Because they all selfishly want him in their lives. They might not condone what they know he did, but their lives are better with him in them. We've been conditioned to live in that gray.

7/10

(Digital HD/VOD)

Former U.S. Navy SEAL Ray Mendoza has been in and around Hollywood since the active-duty-starring gimmick that was Act of Valor in 2012. While credited as "stunts" and "additional crew" back then, his position as a subject and inspiration for Warfare sees him pulling duties as co-writer and co-director with industry veteran Alex Garland to bring to life his experience surviving an ambush on November 19, 2006, shortly after the Battle of Ramadi. Crafted from his platoon's first-hand accounts to create as authentic a portrayal of what happened as possible, the film unfolds in faux real-time as everything spirals out of control.

There's no backstory needed as the reasons for them commandeering a civilian home and the mission they sought to complete are irrelevant once their situation turns dire. As soon as the first grenade is thrown through the makeshift window Elliott (Cosmo Jarvis) is using to spy on enemy activity across the street, they are thrown into survival mode. An IED explosion later demands additional support, some creative lies, and a lot of morphine to stay in one piece as exfiltration plans evolve. Men are bleeding out. Others are shell-shocked to the point of no longer being able to think clearly or maintain focus. It devolves into continual gunfire and guttural screams.

Mendoza and company do a wonderful job humanizing these SEALs so they don't become just a group of indoctrinated automatons with the sole goal of killing. Whether the opening scene of them all huddled in front of a television to watch the aerobics-set music video for Erik Prydz's "Call on Me" or their genuine desire to keep the inhabitants of their new Iraqi base of operation safe (regardless of caring little for their future or possessions upon leaving), they're allowed personalities, courage, and, mostly importantly, fear. That's what makes this film more than either a jingoistic battle cry or agenda-driven anti-war propaganda. It's instead a captivating look into the experience of war stripped of politics to focus on its physical, emotional, and psychological cost.

It's Ray (D'Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai playing Mendoza) moving from ultra serious to desperate to overwhelmed. It's Erik's (Will Poulter) always calm and collected objectivity to know where all his men should go in any given scenario and when the chaos of following those plans proves he can no longer trust himself to do the job. It's Elliott and Sam (Joseph Quinn) falling apart as their stoic strength evaporates into anguish. Macdonald (Michael Gandolfini) going all butterfingers, Tommy (Kit Connor) losing his "new guy" energy by necessity, and Jake (Charles Melton) entering the fray to take over and see that no one gets left behind. And so many bullets firing just to stay sane despite hardly any of them hitting flesh.

Mendoza and Garland are putting us into the action. They're portraying its immediacy and danger—the impossibility of what our military is asked to do. There are no winners or losers here. There are merely survivors and the dead. Nothing is gained by what occurs as neither side experiences anything but loss. Take whatever message you want from that stark truth because the concept of world peace has never been further out of reach. The goal isn't therefore to position the military as bad or laud these specific men as heroes. It's simply to remind us that our veterans, like those they murder, aren't statistics to be forgotten. They aren't killing machines to be disposed of upon returning home forever changed. They're human beings who've walked through Hell and, at the very least, demand our respect.

That's the difference between a Warfare and a Saving Private Ryan. Both are effective. Both feel real. But only one positions the soldiers at the forefront. Steven Spielberg's masterpiece uses its characters to tell a story and bring emotional resonance to an historical event. Mendoza and Garland's dramatic reenactment gives life to the men who felt those emotions. Theirs is twenty-plus stories overlapping and converging to ensure there will still be another chapter to tell for as many of them as possible. It's not about securing land or victory or an assassination. It's about remembering that the lives of our enlisted men and women remain important despite our government's desire to use them as expendable cogs in a machine. Martyrdom isn't a prerequisite to prove one's purpose.

So, don't expect any gloss on-screen. This is all smoke, fire, dirt, and blood. It's deafening silence, ringing ears, and nightmare-inducing wails. It's bodies turned to meat and toxic masculinity dissolved into empathy and terror. Hard calls are made, regret becomes unavoidable, and true bravery arrives in the form of protecting the guy next to you rather than charging towards certain death alone. Mendoza has the logistics and pyrotechnics giving cinema's war canon an invigorating shot in the arm, the cast imbues its characters with souls worth saving, and the heart shown to willfully circumvent chain of command reveals what we hope remains true today in a time of rampant kowtowing to unlawful, autocratic demands: that some soldiers and law enforcement still understand the difference between wrong and right.

9/10