The Apprentice

The Apprentice envisions the rise of billionaire tycoon and megalomaniac Donald Trump as a teacher-student relationship between Trump and his cutthroat attorney Roy Cohn, the acolyte of many evildoers in American history such as Nixon and McCarthy. It takes a serious approach with only a dash of irreverence in its script and style, showing the true scope of the values America represents and the ones it claims to but fails. Sebastian Stan isn’t doing a comedic impersonation of the man like many we’ve seen on Saturday Night Live, rather he transcends that and embodies Trump’s skin, becoming more and more like the Trump we’re used to seeing and hearing as the runtime progresses. Donald in the film is chronicled in his journey from a spoiled brat living off his dad’s achievements, to the narcissistic bully obsessed with greed and demonizing others. Much of what he seems to learn is attributed to his mentor, attorney Roy Cohn. Jeremy Strong is incredible in the role, giving a massive performance as a man who dominates every room yet evidently has a small sense of self. Cohn is played by Strong with immense physicality and a fragile fearfulness to his appearance. Even when the film’s pacing occasionally slows down or falters, the film is entirely worth it for those two principal performances.

Director Ali Abassi is fascinated with the American ambitions and values that surfaced in the 1980s, including Cohn’s “kill or be killed” mentality that many big American wealth giants lived by, or splitting the world into “winners and losers”. The use of various vintage cameras to immerse the audience in its 80s period can come off as indulgent and even distracting when too rushed, but the production value looks uncanny to how the Trumps at that time and their “achievements” really looked. Most importantly, it shows the normalization of bigotry and corruption in the American system, and how it’s rigged to enable the wealthy to get richer, and continuously toss the needs of the people aside. Trump comes of age in the film, but perhaps for the worst. His wishes are all granted, but at what cost? The spread of his ambitions to conquer the world and rub it in everyone else’s faces seem never-ending, but we see his infamous persona here originating from a desire to always be strong and win no matter the cost. The Apprentice isn’t just an origin story of modern evil, but a tale of the delusional men who roam at the top of society, capturing the essence of how a force of destruction and its hunger for power was activated and enabled by forces not so unlike him.

Anora

Anora, a young exotic dancer and call girl, meets the son of a wealthy Russian oligarch, and they soon spark up a fairytale romance. But that soon is threatened once his family gets word and sets out to break them up.

Sean Baker’s latest film is his biggest, utilizing more settings than his other films yet still addressing issues related to the working class. However, this one isn’t as grounded as his other films about America’s divisions — and flourishes because of it. The movie effortlessly balances fairy tale romance, screwball comedy, and tense drama, even becoming a hostage thriller of sorts at one point. Mikey Madison delivers a star-making performance as the titular character of Ani. She may be looking for love, control, validation, security, glamour, or respect — it varies every moment and that’s what makes Ani so unpredictable. She owns the screen with her every move and line. We meet her at her job as an escort, a role that doesn’t normally constitute a movie protagonist, but Mikey is immediately lovable despite her being from a world new to us. All the supporting characters are also expertly utilized, and the look and soundtrack make Anora feel like a lovely adventure… until things soon spiral out of control into a very different mood, yet equally fascinating and out there. 

There may be parts later on that are drawn out, but it never lets go of your attention for a moment as the stakes rise. The ending changed my entire outlook on what the film was really about all along. There’s so much depth to uncover and your expectations are completely flipped in a ruthless, heartbreaking, and unforgettable final act. But Baker’s love for his characters, even the smallest parts, breathes a human life through them and winds up making Anora a beautiful, resonant, and truly one-of-a-kind experience that juggles so much without ever compromising its nature or grasp on the audience.

We Live in Time

Oscar nominees Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh star in a film about more than just romance, but about making the best of our time and deciding what we want to leave behind for ourselves. As a couple faced with difficult decisions, the two leads shine, although it takes some time to buy them as a grounded couple rather than two A-list stars in a major pairing. Pugh in particular is the film’s heart: she’s a woman faced with a sadly universal and terrifying circumstance, working to preserve herself, her future, and her image for her loved ones and finding out that she doesn’t have to choose between them. Garfield is also vulnerable and works well when his character is lovingly caring for Pugh yet standing up in their relationship. 

Though the score and the pace are meditative, the unfolding of the story suffers from the unnecessary decision to present the events in a non-linear fashion, which accounts for more confusion than revelation. The film doesn’t quite live up to the high bar set by its talented leads and John Crowley’s incredible romance Brooklyn (2015), but also ends up finding its footing in a final act that follows through on the empowering promise it sets up for Pugh’s character. It also doesn’t overstay its welcome and allows things to be open to the audience’s interpretation, as is the passage of time and the future as we view it from the present. It’s a solid and human film that takes time to end up resonating, but is lifted by impressive performances and an inconsistent but ultimately heartfelt and meditative runtime.

Sing Sing

Sing Sing takes place in the titular New York prison and focuses on inmates involved in the Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA) program, as they work through their traumas to find redemption through acting.

Colman Domingo beautifully leads this film as one of the only actors not starring as themselves, opening us to a completely different side of him from his turn in Rustin, but equally moving and majestic. His charisma and soul commands the screen like not many actors can, balancing authority in his efforts to strengthen camaraderie throughout the RTA’s production at Sing Sing, and a longing to leave his imprisonment and prove his innocence from a crime he’s doing time for that he didn’t commit. He makes us deeply care for Divine G’s struggle but his “performance within a performance” scenes are also impossible to look away from. Paul Raci is also lovely as the RTA director encouraging the inmates to open up and unlock their deepest feelings through the process of acting and imagination. Besides those two Oscar nominees, almost everyone else is a veteran of the RTA program playing themselves, unlocking a naturalistic sincerity in not just the characters but the experience (similar to watching Frances McDormand interact with real-life nomads in Nomadland).

As these inmates find the hidden parts of themselves and get in touch with their most vulnerable sides, the experience of watching Sing Sing becomes just that for the audience. We’re left reflecting on our own livelihoods we’ve taken for granted, and the times we may have felt trapped and longed to escape from realities of our own. Acting is not just redemption for these characters we grow to feel deeply for — it reinvigorates their love for being alive, and reminds them of something to fight for, including their brothers on the stage with them. The film frames this rehabilitative process as a reclamation of the self, even behind bars where people are often treated as, well, less than people. It’s a rare experience that breaks down barriers and makes us feel close to characters that would often frighten us from the outside in any other film. Beyond those discussions about empathy it may stir within us, the film is kind-hearted and funny even amidst the most difficult of settings. In this mix of Oscar-nominated actors alongside a number of men playing themselves, the real often blends with the scripted, both for the characters and the art, that invites audiences for a complex but loving and extraordinary drama of raw and beautiful storytelling.

Fly Me to the Moon

Marketing specialist Kelly Jones and launch director Cole Davis cross paths at the Kennedy Space Center and sell America the race to put a man on the moon. But things get truly complicated when NASA orders Jones to come up with a contingency plan to mankind’s greatest achievement.

Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum shine in this romantic star vehicle set in the backdrop of the space race, but the film flourishes most when focused on its playful interactions with history and period mood. Tatum is particularly strong as a character whose authority is thrown into messy situations, and Jim Rash is a hilarious standout as a director friend of Johansson’s character. Ray Romano also gives potentially his most delightful performance since The Big Sick as a NASA scientist who gets some of the film’s most touching dialogue. The $100 million budget also pays off as you feel the grand scale of NASA’s sites and activity, as well as the gravity (no pun intended) of this place and its happenings for the world and human possibility. Some scenes may fall into the shadow of First Man due to some of the same events being covered, but it’s not really fair to compare any film to that one technically. The film work’s best when embracing this ambition alongside it’s bright, comedic tone, and this energy creates an engaging watch, even when the film is low on substance — or the substance to the lead characters just isn’t that memorable. Still, Johansson and Tatum’s performances are enough to entice the audience and though the editing is a bit aggressive at times, and the film doesn’t leave you with as much food for that as it does toying around with history, it brings its 60s time period — and the wonder that came with NASA at the time — to life with enough flare to induce smiles, laughs, and a nice trip to the movies for all.

The Bikeriders

After a chance encounter, headstrong Kathy is drawn to Benny, member of Midwestern motorcycle club the Vandals. As the club transforms into a dangerous underworld of violence, Benny must choose between Kathy and his loyalty to the club.

The Bikeriders may be trying to capture that star-powered crime film that Scorsese’s Mean Streets and Goodfellas may have popularized, but it’s also got director Jeff Nichols doing what he does best — intimate, mid-budget character dramas with a rougher edge. The movie’s also very much focused on its stars, with Austin Butler attempting to induce as much swoon as usual, but also delivering a soft shame underneath his stoicism. Though Jodie Comer’s accent takes a scene or two to get used to, she’s an excellent lead here, continuing to prove her range and likability across genres. Tom Hardy is in particular brilliant — even without the appealing 60s aesthetic and dynamics between said “macho men”, the film would still work as a showcase for his talent. Though his character is a bad man and often uses violence and intimidation to get what he wants, he’s not a full-on antagonist to the audience like you’d say about his character in The Revenant. Hardy gives the character of Johnny an outcast side, a man who’s built everything he knows to run from the dejection that used to surround him, and deep down longs for brotherhood beneath all the motorbike gang dynamics. It’s so inviting to see Hardy completely throw himself into the most subtle, sympathetic, and gruesome parts of the character.

Though the style and cast often elevate this film into a great one, the story may prove predictable for some. However, Nichols’ approach to its characters and setting feels attractive and gritty, and what it lacks in emotional punch, it certainly makes up for with performance, as well as the production value, sound editing, and development of the gang culture that surrounds the film.

Challengers

Tashi, a former tennis prodigy turned coach, turned her husband Art into a champion. But to overcome a losing streak, he needs to face his ex-best friend, Patrick, who’s also Tashi’s ex-boyfriend.

One thing that’s thrilling about Challengers is that it never gives you easy answers. Is it about devotion? Manipulation? Triumph? Doom? All of them? One thing’s for sure: it’s a film about passion. Raw physical and emotional passion between humans for one another, and for the kick they get doing the one thing they can’t live without — in this case, playing tennis. And for all the right reasons, Luca Guadagnino is at his most maximalist stylistically to convey this raw passion these characters feel and bring us into the world, from exciting editing and some experimental cinematography to the synth, almost Run Lola Run-esque score from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. It’s the polar opposite to his more naturalistic, minimalist approach to the intimacy of Call Me By Your Name, and an upping of the ante of the wilder style of Bones and All. Zendaya gives one of her heaviest performance, portraying Tashi perfectly over a long span of time, through fascination, ambition, longing, control, and deceit. Josh O’Connor and Mike Faist are also great, particularly Faist, whose charm entrances the screen. The West Side Story star announces himself as a powerhouse whose apparent harmlessness you can’t help but feel for. Their friendship established in the opening minutes of the film sets the stage for everything to come, and makes you care for how the rest may unfold or fall apart.

Challengers is the rare film that transports you into its world in a case where there are only 3 characters who really bear any significance. There’s a scene between the three main characters that happens early on chronologically that enchants you and sucks you into the close, complicated intimacy they inhabit in this space, and the film never lets you go once this scene happens until the credits roll. It’s an experience that’s dynamic, unpredictable, and darkly human, with three riveting leading performances at its center, and sets the bar the rest of what’s to come in Guadagnino’s directorial career.

Back to Black

Back to Black chronicles the life and music of Amy Winehouse, through the journey of adolescence to adulthood and the creation of one of the best-selling albums of our time.

It may feel like a step up from recent music biopics like Elvis and I Wanna Dance with Somebody, and may be on par with something like Respect and not quite at the glory of Rocketman. Marisa Abela is great as Winehouse, bringing the young music-loving girl to the screen in the start and the mess of an unstable addict she becomes later in life. But what’s most unbelievable is Abela’s singing which completely captures the one-of-a-kind grandeur of Amy’s voice. There are times when Abela completely disappears and you simply feel the singer alive in front of you. Eddie Marsan gives one of his most memorable performances to date as Amy’s father, while Lesley Manville also brings a lot to the movie as her grandmother. When Jack O’Connell comes in, however, as Amy’s love interest and eventual husband, the film falls into messy melodrama that sinks the runtime and falls into the same traps that many of these biopics suffer from when channeling the artist’s pain and troubles. Winehouse’s journey through love and addiction is filled with cliches, but is empathetic enough for us to forgive her shortcomings. The film also does a great job of incorporating her songs into the film, and best of all, it manages to have its audience actually interact with the subject as a tangible person, rather than just a larger-than-life legend. The more minimalistic approach to the musical biopic gives Back to Black a strong start, but you’ll also have a few too many instances of deja vu, though we’ve certainly seen it done worse. It’s watchable enough for non-fans of the late singer, but for some, it might not stand out among similar films with similar beats that have come out far too recently.

Ferrari

Ferrari is legendary director Michael Mann’s latest outing, telling the titular racing driver and entrepreneur’s family life and his entering of his racing team into the 1957 Mille Miglia cup in an attempt to solidify Ferrari as the greatest auto name in Italy — and maybe even the world.

Adam Driver gives a great performance as a figure whose determination for glory and pushing the limits as to what’s possible are front and center — but not necessarily depicted in the most interesting way. His character’s decisions don’t have a lot to say, neither does the story of his relationship with his wife, played by Penelope Cruz; rather it’s the performances that elevate the material. Shailene Woodley is also strong in the film, as is Patrick Dempsey, but again, their characters are more fun to see due to the actors’ work than what they give the film. Like with Ali, Michael Mann seems to be in control of the era he’s depicting through the racing scenes and the production of the scenery. The shots of the cars zooming through the Italian countryside are nice, and everything around Ferrari’s preparation for the race is engaging. However, Ferrari doesn’t have anything as momentous to say as its titular brand and its portrayal of the thrill of the sport of racing by the end of its runtime, which occasionally slows down. The third act is especially noteworthy and there’s a devastating event that hits hard at the end of the film. It’s always a pleasure to see Driver commit himself to a great role, but there’s certainly more resonant racing true stories such as Ford v Ferrari and Rush.

The Color Purple (2023)

The Color Purple is the second film adaptation of Alice Walker’s beloved novel, this one based on the Broadway musical adaptation as well, about a young woman named Celie who faces many hardships living in the South in the 1900s, but ultimately finds extraordinary strength and hope in the unbreakable bonds of sisterhood.

Though everyone in this new cinematic rendition The Color Purple is one of the best at what they do, the idea of making this a musical doesn’t always fit with the tone of all the rough things going on in the characters’ world, and the very clean cinematography removes the grit that Steven Spielberg’s version had that showed you the weight of the hardships and abuse Celie endured. Here, the most earned moments for Celie’s character aren’t necessarily her musical numbers but rather moments where Fantasia Barrino gets to shine just based on her interactions with other actors or set pieces that inform Celie’s character. Barrino is very strong in the role, but Taraji P. Henson runs away with the movie every time she shares a scene with her, or anyone for that matter. Henson portrays blues singer and “loose woman” Shug Avery with a power to her that commands every other character in both a loving and wise way, not to mention her show-stopping musical number in a tavern. Danielle Brooks is the other highlight as Sofia, whose characters shamelessness and courage shine through in both her songs and her incredible physical acting. Colman Domingo is simply incredible as Mister, inhabiting the character in not an inch less of meanness and disgust as Danny Glover did so brilliantly in the 1985 film, but also giving the abusive man a quietly human edge to him that Domingo finds even when the audience doesn’t want to see it. Corey Hawkins, Halle Bailey, and H.E.R. also give strong turns due to their potent screen presences and musical talents, and even Louis Gossett Jr. shows up for an excellent short appearance.

There’s no denying how amazing their singing and dancing is. However, it’s the songs themselves that don’t blend in with the material this story is telling. Save for a song or two, the lyrics aren’t quite memorable, either. This imagination of the story clearly works much better as a stage musical, where the audience can interact with the actors in real space as they sing and dance. For a film that gets cruelly serious at times, though the more uplifting song breaks don’t compliment the more hard-hitting scenes as much as the film would like to think, even though the actresses are always killing it. And although the costume design is award-worthy, the digital cinematography may have given it more of a music video edge that director Blitz Bazawule is used to, that could’ve benefitted from longer shots and a more period-like look. In short, come for the spectacular cast and a timeless story, but there’s no promising audiences won’t prefer the rougher and more dramatically coherent film that Spielberg led back in 1985 with Whoopi Goldberg and Oprah Winfrey.