Alex McPherson

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Alex McPherson is an unabashed pop culture nerd and a member of the St. Louis Film Critics Association.

June Squibb And Erin Kellyman Excel In Scarlett Johansson’s Shaky Feature Debut ‘Eleanor the Great’

June Squibb And Erin Kellyman Excel In Scarlett Johansson’s Shaky Feature Debut ‘Eleanor the Great’

By Alex McPherson

Even a top form June Squibb can’t quite save director Scarlett Johansson’s “Eleanor the Great,” a dramedy that can’t reconcile its disparate tones.

Johannson’s directorial debut stars the 94-year-old Squibb as Eleanor Morgenstein, a snarky Jewish widow sharing an apartment in a Florida retirement complex with her best friend, Bessie (Rita Zohar). The two are happy together, with Eleanor finding particular enjoyment in nagging the neighborhood “youths” with her bubbly-faced, acerbic wit.

In quieter moments, though, Bessie battles inner demons and trauma. Bessie, also a widow, is haunted by her experience during the Holocaust, sometimes sharing harrowing stories of death and survival with Eleanor that she has never told anyone else. This delayed “catharsis” clearly eats away at her.

When Bessie dies unexpectedly, Eleanor is, understandably, deeply shaken. She moves back in with her divorced, perpetually stressed daughter Lisa (Jessica Hecht) and grandson Max (Will Price) in their small New York apartment.

Besides mercilessly judging Lisa from the get-go, Eleanor’s loneliness rapidly creeps in, and she feels adrift without Bessie by her side. Lisa signs Eleanor up for a senior’s social group at the local Jewish community center, hoping to get her out of the apartment and help her make new connections. 

Things get wonky when Eleanor accidentally wanders into a support group for Holocaust survivors and, impulsively, decides to claim Bessie’s experiences as her own. Eleanor gets the attention of NYU journalism student Nina (Erin Kellyman), who sits in on the support group hoping to write a story for class and connect with her own Jewish roots. She quickly decides that Eleanor would be the perfect person to center for her article. 

Nina is also grieving her mother who recently passed away. She’s currently living in an apartment with her news reporter father, Roger (a typically excellent Chiwetel Ejiofor), who has grown increasingly distant since the loss. 

Despite some initial reluctance, Eleanor sparks up a friendship with Nina, and the two grow close. Eleanor’s lie gives Nina the chance to grapple with her own grief, and find solidarity with a pseudo-parental figure.

But as Eleanor continues this falsehood of being a Holocaust survivor, it’s only a matter of time until the truth is revealed. Eleanor’s connections and newfound sense of belonging are in serious jeopardy.

But not all that much jeopardy. As it turns out, Johansson’s film is content to bring up thorny topics of truth, love, aging, and trauma without fully exploring them, awkwardly positioning its “‘Dear Evan Hansen’ for the Holocaust” thread alongside a lighthearted story of intergenerational friendship.

The former almost seems too much for Johansson and screenwriter Tory Kamen to handle; they refuse to reckon with the darker implications of Eleanor’s lie and the effects it has on those who believe her. “Eleanor the Great” ultimately eschews true introspection for a schmaltzy resolution that sands down ambiguity for the sake of convenience. Still, there’s enough impactful performances and wry humor to hold mild interest.

Squibb, coming off the heels of last year’s sleeper hit “Thelma,” carries most of Johansson’s film, punchily delivering Eleanor’s barbed insults and judgy asides in another strong late-career performance. She also embodies how Eleanor’s lie gradually eats away at her and her gradual recognition of how it represents her own grief.

Squibb’s commanding, confident screen presence, “innocence” belying impulsion and cynicism, anchors even the most over-explanatory dialogue from Kamen’s screenplay — if only “Eleanor the Great” had trusted Squibb further to convey Eleanor’s inner concerns in a more subtle fashion rather than having both Eleanor and other characters bluntly spell them out for us.

Kellyman holds her own alongside Squibb, bringing fresh-faced energy and deep wells of grief, with Johansson’s unobtrusive, albeit bland direction and Kamen’s gentle screenplay believably selling the characters’ friendship.

It’s in these moments — where Eleanor imparts worldly wisdom to Nina, and the two of them explore New York City together — where “Eleanor the Great” shines as the uplifting film it could have been without the baggage of its darker elements.

It’s not that Johansson and Kamen shouldn’t be commended for attempting to explore such a weighty topic as the Holocaust, but “Eleanor the Great” too often remains stuck in an inter-genre limbo that never figures out what it wants to be.

Yes, it’s admirable that Johansson cast real-life survivors of the Holocaust for Bessie and the support group. Yes, scenes where Zohar recounts Bessie’s history (through flashback) are raw and gripping, particularly in the film’s final stretch.

But “Eleanor the Great” lets Eleanor herself off the hook too easily, particularly in its predictable generalizations about grief’s many different forms, leaving the more ambiguous consequences of Eleanor’s decisions to viewers’ imaginations.

The tonal whiplash is striking, prompting off-kilter vibes that “Eleanor the Great” can’t shake. Squibb and Kellyman make a dynamic pair, though, and the film’s rickety yet ultimately familiar shape makes it a passable enough, not “great,” time at the movies.

“Eleanor the Great” is a 2025 drama film directed by Scarlett Johansson and starring June Squibb, Erin Kellyman, Rita Zohar, and Chiwetel Ejiofor. It is 1 hour, 38 minutes, and rated PG-13 for thematic elements, some language, and suggestive references. It opens in theatres Sept. 26. Alex’s grade: B-.

Sports Horror Film ‘Him’ Is a Half-Hearted Tackle

Sports Horror Film ‘Him’ Is a Half-Hearted Tackle

By Alex McPherson

Alternately goofy and self-serious, director Justin Tipping’s “HIM” fumbles intriguing ideas and crash lands into a barren field of mediocrity.

Executive produced by Jordan Peele — but, crucially, not directed by Peele — “HIM” follows rising football quarterback star (and emotionally stunted hunk) Cameron “Cam” Caid (Tyriq Withers). Cam is entering the pro draft, hoping to be recruited by his favorite team, the San Antonio Saviors.

Cam has worshiped the Saviors since he was a child, particularly their star quarterback Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans). Isaiah suffered a gruesome injury on live television years ago yet recovered enough to play another 14 years and rack up eight championship rings. Cam’s demanding, masculine father reproached young Cam from looking away when Isaiah’s injury happened, instilling in him a twisted idea of what a “real man’s sacrifice” looks like and a drive to become the next GOAT.

In the present day, Cam is close to achieving that goal, but his father has passed away. He’s supported by a doting team including his mother, high-school-sweetheart girlfriend, and slippery manager (a somewhat out-of-place Tim Heidecker). There’s even rumors that White might be stepping down, giving Cam a prime opportunity to replace him.

One night, as Cam trains to take part in a pre-draft scouting “combine,” he’s surprise-attacked by a samurai-costumed being wielding a giant hammer, giving Cam some good ol’ CTE and apparently dashing his chances of joining the big leagues.

All is not lost (yet), as Cam suddenly receives an invitation from the all-powerful Isaiah himself to join him for a week-long training/rehab program at his off-putting New Mexico compound. Cam is thrilled and filled like childlike glee, but soon finds himself out of his depth. Suffice it to say, it’s not a particularly great sign when he’s jump-scared by freaky-looking fans en route to the compound in the middle of the desert. Cam doesn’t think too much of it, or much of anything, for that matter.

Isaiah swiftly takes Cam under his wing with persuasive philosophizing, homoerotic tension, and demanding, increasingly bloody training exercises under the guise of “becoming the best,” all while his devoted assistant Marco (Jim Jefferies) jabs Cam with syringes full of unknown substances and Cam loses touch with the outside world. The situation gets crazier by the minute. Will Cam come to his senses, or is the allure of becoming “Him” worth the sacrifice?

The notion of exploring the dehumanizing horrors of America’s favorite pastime is rich, if not particularly novel, and “HIM,” with its unbridled maximalism, runs into its themes head on. It’s a mélange of excess, though, that often resembles a prolonged, gory, “edgy” music video — abandoning earned emotion for bludgeoning and cliché-ridden horror that quickly wears thin.

Indeed, “HIM” is a mixed bag. Each instance of visual creativity and trippily impressive scene-setting is offset by wooden dialogue and emotionally-leaden performances (with the exception of an enjoyably off-his-rocker Wayans) that rapidly chip away at the worthy topics that Tipping and co-screenwriters Skip Bronkie and Zachary Akers have on their minds. It’s all style, stitched together with hyperactive editing by Taylor Joy Mason that resorts to convenient, rushed montage with a heavy background of hip hop as Cam’s bootcamp progresses. 

The film’s “experiential” qualities are still sometimes arresting; giallo-inflected freakouts and X-ray bone-breakage in a brutalist, alien-like setting that Tipping and production designer Jordan Ferrer clearly had fun with concocting. Cam never quite gets his footing, and, perhaps fittingly, neither do we, caught up in a swirl of weirdness that’s intoxicating for Cam, yet tiresome for everyone else involved.

Management of tone, or the lack thereof, is perhaps the film’s most glaring flaw, oscillating back and forth between broadly satirical and deadly serious, frequently taking pains to revel in shock imagery and inserts that grow repetitive while losing any fear-inducing impact along the way. 

Withers’ uneven performance adequately sells the gradual “loss” of who Cam used to be, even as the script resorts to exposition dumps and familiar trauma-dependent backstory as a last-ditch effort to pump some pathos into the narrative by the third act. On the other side of the spectrum, Wayans, plus Julia Fox as Isaiah’s unstable wife Elsie, fully lean into the narrative’s absurdity with intermittently amusing results; too bad the screenplay lacks any real character of its own.

There’s admittedly fun to be found in how “HIM” explores football as a suffocating, pseudo-religious experience where the gods of capitalism manipulate the vulnerable while fighter jets zoom overhead spouting red, white, and blue smoke.

No spoilers, but the final scene is quite a spectacle, bringing together the film’s heavy-handed metaphors for a glorious display of incendiary violence that’s fully self-aware. But Tipping, as of now, is no Peele, and “HIM” is most assuredly no touchdown.

“Him” is a 2025 sports horror film directed by Justin Tipping and starring Marlon Wayans, Tyriq Withers, Julia Fox, Tim Hedecker. It is 1 hour, 36 minutes, and rated R for strong bloody violence, language throughout, sexual material, nudity and some drug use. It opens in theatres Sept. 19. Alex’s grade: C-.

Darren Aronofsky Takes a Detour in Hyperviolent ‘Caught Stealing’

Darren Aronofsky Takes a Detour in Hyperviolent ‘Caught Stealing’

By Alex McPherson

As it descends further into chaos, director Darren Aronofsky’s crime thriller “Caught Stealing” becomes increasingly muddled; it’s a grimy, mean-spirited film that’s effective in spurts but remains dazed by (literal) hit-or-miss sensibilities.

Based on the book of the same name by Charlie Huston (who also wrote the screenplay), “Caught Stealing” follows 20-something Hank Thompson (Austin Butler), an aimless, alcoholic man tending bar in New York City’s Lower East Side circa 1998.

Hank grew up in a small town in California hoping to become a major league baseball player. At one point years ago, he was close to achieving that dream — but the possibility was shattered when Hank was in a drunk driving accident that resulted in a career-ending knee injury and the death of his teammate.

Cool and sociable, but remaining wracked by a past that he’s too scared to address, Hank carries on well enough in the Big Apple, finding some purpose amid the eccentric clientele of his dive bar, his friends-with-benefits relationship with EMT Yvonne (Zoë Kravitz), and his continued passion for the San Francisco Giants.

Hank’s tenuous stability is threatened by his mohawked, punk-rock neighbor Russ (Matt Smith), who entrusts Hank with caring for his feisty cat, “Bud” (Tonic the Cat), while he visits his ailing father in London. Hank confronts two unhinged Russian mobsters trying to break into Russ’s apartment, and they insist that Russ gave Hank something they want.

Hank is subsequently beaten to a pulp, losing a kidney in the process, along with any hope of peace and safety. Turns out Russ is involved in some shady business with the Russian mob and, more troublingly, the cutthroat Hasidic Drucker brothers (Liev Schreiber and Vincent D’Onofrio), who — as sympathetic but shady narcotics detective Roman (Regina King) informs him — he does not want to encounter if he wants to make it out alive.

Thus begins a blood-soaked comedy of errors with a high body count, as Hank encounters various idiosyncratic people throughout NYC who could quickly end his life.

When the stakes are tragically raised and a large sum of money comes into the picture, Hank must stand up for himself and fight for those he cares about, in a nihilistic crime thriller that also finds room to be resolutely pro-cat in between the grisly violence and frequent bursts of smugly anarchic humor.

“Caught Stealing” represents a departure from Aronofsky, who previously directed such films as “Black Swan,” “Mother!,” and, most recently, the emotionally cruel “The Whale.”

This film, on the other hand, takes a more traditionally entertaining approach, albeit not shying away from brutal beatdowns, crossfire casualties, and traumatic flashbacks.

Aronofsky maintains a tongue-in-cheek tone throughout the carnage, whisking us along to new, high-stakes scenarios as Hank fumbles his way through an increasingly convoluted story that prioritizes momentum over depth, becoming a compulsively watchable crime genre pastiche with little actual meaning.

Fortunately, the film’s ensemble and tactile stylings lift it above the story’s limitations. Butler is a near-perfect lead here, bringing a swagger belying palpable hurt that lends pathos to a character whose traumas are hammered home with obvious force.

Aronofsky and cinematographer Matthew Libatique keep the camera close to Butler, his facial expressions highlighting Hank’s “evolution” in a richer way than the screenplay affords.

Butler’s raw physicality and vulnerability suit the character well, making Hank’s repeated near-death escapes and ability to withstand gratuitous punishment easier to buy into, if only just.

Butler and Kravitz also have red-hot chemistry, particularly in the beginning when Aronofsky lets us sit with these characters for a bit before things spiral out of control. Smith gets time to shine as the perpetually disoriented, live-wire Russ, who slings a near-constant stream of obscenities and has a rather jumpy trigger finger.

Other turns from King, rapper-turned-actor Bad Bunny, and, especially Schreiber and D’Onofrio (clearly relishing their roles) help keep energy high and the film intermittently amusing through its twists and turns. 

“Caught Stealing” doesn’t have the patience to flesh out these characters organically, though; they’re fairly well-drawn but are quickly subsumed into the convoluted machinations of a plot that refuses to slow down once the first punch is thrown.

That’s not necessarily a negative — Aronofsky ensures the film always has some harsh spectacle waiting around the next corner, framed with a gnarly eye and complemented by production value that convincingly transports us back in time to the squalid city streets and dingy locales (although the setting is used more as a backdrop than a key part of the narrative). 

What the film can’t escape is a prevailing sense of pointlessness beyond in-the-moment thrills. “Caught Stealing” becomes rather generic by the end, neatly tying up its threads and rushing through a typically far-fetched climax.

For all its gruesome violence, self-satisfied humor, and sporadic moments of strange earnestness, Aronofsky’s film lacks a true “standout” element, eventually blending together and fading away once the credits roll (the credits are depicted with more eye-catching visual flair than most of the film itself).

But at least Aronofsky is trying something new, even if “Caught Stealing” is far from a clean getaway.

“Caught Stealing” is a 2025 darkly comedic action thriller directed by Darren Aronofsky and starring Austin Butler, Regina King, Zoë Kravitz, Matt Smith, Liev Schreiber, Vincent D’Onofrio, Benito Martínez Ocasio, Griffin Dunne and Carol Kane. It’s rated R for strong violent content, pervasive language, some sexuality/nudity and brief drug use, and the run time is 1 hour, 47 minutes. It opens in theatres on Aug. 29.Alex’s Grade: C+

Spike Lee and Denzel Washington Reunite in Bumpy, Vibrant Crime Thriller ‘Highest 2 Lowest’

Spike Lee and Denzel Washington Reunite in Bumpy, Vibrant Crime Thriller ‘Highest 2 Lowest’

By Alex McPherson

Although initially coasting along at a remove and not possessing the urgency of his other recent work, director Spike Lee’s  “Highest 2 Lowest” is a lively experience, featuring first-rate performances from Denzel Washington and Jeffrey Wright.

A “reimagining” of Akira Kurosawa’s masterful 1963 film “High and Low,” the film follows David King (Denzel Washington), an uber-successful music mogul living in a lavish penthouse in Brooklyn with his wife, Pam (Ilfenesh Hadera), and their teen-aged son, Trey (Aubrey Joseph).

David’s label Stackin’ Hits Records is at risk of being subsumed, via an impending corporate merger, into a compromised world of “soulless,” AI-composed music. David wants to preserve the art-focused Black identity of the company that he’s cultivated over the years and plans to buy back the majority of the label’s shares, although he quietly ignores new talent and is growing increasingly distant from his family.

He’s also drifting further away from the passion that drove him to the music business to begin with, even as music-star-hopefuls line up to show him what they’re capable of.

Denzel Washington and Ilfenesh Hadera

David’s plans to counteract the merger are foiled by a kidnapping — not of Trey, but, per a mix-up on the kidnappers’ part, the son of his chauffeur Paul (Wright), who has essentially become a member of the King family. Thus, David is at a crossroads: pay a $17.5 million dollar ransom to rescue Paul’s son from a potentially grisly fate, or save Stackin’ Hits. 

It’s a crisis of conscience that David is forced to reckon with in various capacities, re-discovering what he ultimately stands for in the process as the plot twists and turns in characteristically pointed, but somewhat mild directions.

Indeed, “Highest 2 Lowest” represents a lesser effort from Lee both stylistically and thematically, largely due to a sluggish first act that lacks dramatic urgency and almost feels like the work of a different director entirely.

The film is oddly restrained until we break out of the opulent confines of the King residence and hit the New York City streets — it’s here where “Highest 2 Lowest” sings as a tribute to the Big Apple, and as a cautionary tale about the allure of fame and wealth at the expense of morals in today’s parasocial world.

Washington, in his fifth Lee collaboration, brings the gravitas we expect from such a legendary performer, imbuing David with a sense of warmth belying vanity, the cracks in his facade of wealth and confidence being chipped away at as he breaks down and gradually rebuilds himself again, contemplating what he truly values.

Jeffrey Wright as Paul.

Wright’s Paul, even more so than David, provides the emotional core of the film. Wright (as usual) steals every scene he’s in, delivering Lee’s signature eclectic, lyrical dialogue with delicious flair while subtly illustrating the economic and power divide that separates him from David despite their years of closeness.

Supported by a strong-enough ensemble — including turns from “Mayhem” himself Dean Winters as a shady cop and, more notably, A$AP Rocky as main kidnapper “Yung Felon” — “Highest 2 Lowest” has all the ingredients for compelling, edge-of-your-seat drama, but Lee takes a more subdued approach, at least for the first 40 minutes or so. 

Washington’s performance, in particular, is hamstrung by direction, editing, and cinematography in the first act that doesn’t fully capitalize on the volatile situation David is in — creating a glossy, distancing effect. Pivotal character moments are almost drowned out by Howard Drossin’s score which, while strong on its own merits, furthers a sensation of drifting through scenes without getting fully immersed.

Lee holds back on his characteristic verve while David remains in his penthouse (decorated with Lee’s own art collection), disguising his fiery directorial instincts behind a too-pristine veneer that gradually morphs into a different, far more entertaining beast entirely as both David, and the film itself, move towards a sense of self-actualization.

Denzel delivering the ransom.

There remains no excuse for such a slow start and, even when things start to click into place at the halfway point, “Highest 2 Lowest” never fully recovers.

Still, once David and company hit the streets in an energizing chase sequence — intercut with a vibrant Puerto Rican parade — “Highest 2 Lowest” pulses with colorful Lee flair and confrontational, at times experimental, filmmaking that stands in stark contrast to the “safe” presentation of David’s life of privilege leading up to it.

David’s world is turned upside-down, and so is, eventually, “Highest 2 Lowest,” incorporating David’s eroding cynicism and paradigm shift into the storytelling itself in thrilling fashion. 

Like most of the film’s elements, though, there’s a caveat, and the themes ultimately don’t hit home with much force. Lee is less interested in interrogating the nature of wealth and wealth inequity than emphasizing the (obvious) moral and artistic responsibility of those who possess it, in this case a prominent Black family, and the ways that our interconnected world breeds hatred between strivers and those who have already “made it.”

The sons – Aubrey Joseph and Elijah Wright.

Lee misses an opportunity to dig deeper into David and, especially, Paul — veering into predictability and sanding down the more complex aspects of their characters in the service of a morality tale that impresses more in its telling than the messages contained therein.

“Highest 2 Lowest,” then, is far from Lee’s strongest effort, but there’s still nobody quite like him working today. It’s worth watching on the big screen for Washington and Wright’s performances alone, and the select moments where it becomes the savory Spike Lee Joint we need right now.

“Highest 2 Lowest” is a 2025 crime thriller directed by Spike Lee and starring Denzel Washington, Jeffrey Wright, (Ilfenesh Hadera), A$AP Rocky, Aubrey Joseph, Elijah Wright, LaChanze, Fred Weller, Dean Winters, Michael Potts, and John Douglas Thompson, It is rated: R for language throughout and brief drug use and run time is 2 hours, 9 minutes. Opened in theatres Aug. 15, streaming on Apple TV+ on Sept. 5. Alex’s Grade; B+.

A$AP Rocky as Yung Felon.

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‘Afternoons of Solitude’ Is a Fascinating, Unnerving Look at the Abyss

‘Afternoons of Solitude’ Is a Fascinating, Unnerving Look at the Abyss

By Alex McPherson

Utterly mesmerizing, acclaimed director Albert Serra’s “Afternoons of Solitude” showcases beauty and bravery walking hand-in-hand with barbarism — forging a complicated portrait of bullfighting as a tradition of spectacle and destructive consequence. 

Serra’s film, his first documentary, eschews narration, onscreen text, and talking-heads interviews to immerse us into the world of celebrity matador Andrés Roca Rey over the course of three years across Spain. Serra’s focus is selective; we don’t actually learn much about Roca outside of bullfighting, observing him solely from the context of his day-to-day, high-stakes occupation.

Trimmed down from nearly 600 hours of footage, Serra mainly presents Roca in three contained environments: the packed stadiums where he faces off against his bovine adversaries; the high-class hotels he stays in; and the van (packed with hype men who wax pseudo-poetic about the size of his testicles while giving his exploits soulful importance) that shuttles him between the two. We also sometimes concentrate on the bulls raised for slaughter in these arenas of death. The opening scene, in fact, forces us to stare directly into their eyes in a way that conveys both their raw power and ultimate powerlessness.

Serra underlines the repetition of Roca’s day-to-day life — cleaning up his injuries, meticulously donning his flamboyant clothing (occasionally being hoisted into them), saying his prayers, and risking his life for roaring crowds against a dazed and hypnotized creature stripped of agency. We also witness his later reflections on the experience as his team smooths over his sporadic self-doubt over his success and masculinity in preparation for the next go around. 

It’s hypnotic and deeply disturbing — presented at a remove that separates the “entertainment” from Roca’s performances in the arena and from behind closed doors, capturing the allure and repulsion of a controversial practice.

Indeed, the ironically titled “Afternoons of Solitude” is a participatory viewing experience, urging us to come to our own conclusions, yet always making us aware of the inherent absurdity and toll of the sport. Bringing to mind a more conventionally cinematic Frederick Wiseman, Serra’s approach draws special attention to form, specifically what is centered in the frame and what isn’t, building a gradually comprehensive picture of the dangers and perverse thrill of bullfighting.

Time and time again, we observe Roca’s stoicism and pangs of nervousness, his bravery risking his life, and the bulls’ heartbreaking final moments in which light drains from their eyes and their carcasses are unceremoniously dragged off into the shadows, soundtracked to a roaring, unseen crowd. 

Serra presents this cycle of events as routine, but the violence and the subjects’ detachment from said violence never loses its shock value, particularly in the attention Serra pays to the bulls themselves, and in the almost cartoonish conversations Roca has with his entourage afterwards. The deadly stakes at play (brought up in reference to Roca’s retired colleagues and fellow competitors) only momentarily break through in their discussions as Roca prepares to face the next challenge, and their worries are discussed in private. 

Serra effectively puts us in the arena with Roca, but from an audience perspective and heavily zoomed-in. We’re simultaneously in the thick of it while still being at a remove. This works to showcase the elaborate performance that Roca puts on — almost transforming into a different being himself — and giving Serra the ability to navigate the space and subtly guide our attention through his camera, whether it be on Roca’s athleticism and endurance, the bulls’ anger and suffering, or the weirdly banal repetition of Roca’s movements, punctuated by startling jolts when his “control” slips away and the captor becomes the attacked.

Stripped of the “fun” that the crowds are drawn to, what we’re left with is monstrousness disguised as entertainment: a thousand-year-plus practice that’s likely here to stay. Roca, too, drawn to stardom and attention but still vulnerable to fear (his hypemen have to train him mentally like an animal in some instances), is clearly devoted to the craft, and has no intention of stepping down. Serra posits that bullfighting is the essence of who Roca is, having given himself over fully, and potentially fatally, to his art.

Marc Verdaguer’s score notably weaves together dread and strange lightness, eventually resolving in a sense of melancholic acceptance as Roca bows to the audience and walks “off-stage” into the darkness.

It’s all deeply bizarre and unsettling, but above all else ridiculous: acceptance of the abominable in the service of bloody tradition. But that’s just my takeaway — “Afternoons of Solitude” leaves the door open for viewers to make their own meaning. And that’s a large part of its absorbing, horrifying brilliance.

“Afternoons of Solitude” is a 2024 documentary directed by Albert Serra about bullfighting. Its runtime is 2 hours, 5 minutes and it screens at the Webster Film Series July 25-27. In Spanish. Alex’s Grade: A+

Eva Victor’s ‘Sorry, Baby’ Is A Powerful Meditation on Pain and Healing

Eva Victor’s ‘Sorry, Baby’ Is A Powerful Meditation on Pain and Healing

By Alex McPherson

Exploring sensitive subject matter with grace and humor, director Eva Victor’s “Sorry, Baby” vividly captures the aftermath of trauma while underlining human resilience and small, unexpected joys that pave the way to hope — largely eschewing melodrama for tenderly observed truth that achieves universality despite the story’s specificity.

Victor’s film, their feature debut, is told in several chapters presented non-chronologically, each devoted to a year. The wry, warm, and precocious Agnes (Victor) is a junior English professor working at a small New England university. Agnes is well-liked by their students but feels stuck physically and emotionally as the world changes around them.

They still live in the same house they shared in grad school with their best friend Lydie (a radiant Naomi Ackie), who has since moved to New York and is now expecting a baby with her partner. 

When Lydie visits Agnes, it’s almost as if she never left. They share a deep friendship built on years of trust and camaraderie, yet there’s a reluctance to discuss the past. Melancholy seeps in among each lingering pause and soft inquiry into how Agnes is really doing. A dinner party with former classmates brings painful memories to the surface, specifically a reference to their former thesis mentor, Preston Decker (Louis Cancelmi). 

In the next chapter, set four years earlier, we learn what happened. While Victor positions the event as a surprise, it’s fairly easy to deduce from the opening scenes. Preston, lavishing praise on Agnes’s writing, later sexually assaulted her at his house, profoundly changing how Agnes engages with the world and with herself.

The rest of “Sorry, Baby,” essentially told as a series of vignettes, charts their painful, raw, but also life-affirming path to healing. 

With bursts of unexpected humor, Victor illustrates fluctuations of empathy and apathy in a world that often refuses to listen, showing Agnes’s resilience each step of the way in a manner that’s not sensationalized or manipulative for the sake of easy resolution.

Indeed, “Sorry, Baby” thrives on its naturalism, capturing both a visceral void and unexpected levity that reflect the unpredictable rhythms of reality. Victor’s film is also a call to consider the different ways each of us experiences the world, and the weight that listening — both to others and to ourselves — carries as we navigate uncertain times.

Victor is remarkable in their portrayal of Agnes, radiating warmth and awkward likability while subtly showing the sadness, anxiety, and fear bubbling beneath the image Agnes displays to the world.

This is revealed in quieter moments where they exist in surroundings both familiar and rendered foreign by the past. It’s an exceptional performance that balances droll comedy with heartbreaking vulnerability, often within the same scene. 

Agnes uses humor to cope and navigate the subtle and not-so-subtle triggers they encounter as the days pass, and Victor’s performance layers tragedy with quiet bravery; Agnes, emotionally damaged though they are, still exists, aware of the emotional minefield that lies before them every day, but persisting regardless.

They hold onto small serendipities — like finding a stray kitten on the street or bonding with a gruff yet wise sandwich shop owner after a panic attack — that bring some light, a recognition that they are capable of being understood.

For all of the sadness at the core of “Sorry, Baby,” it’s worth emphasizing that the film is often funny, as Victor acerbically points out the absurdities and hypocrisies over how society treats Agnes after her assault — from detached doctors and school administrators to the more subtle pressures placed on her by her neighbor-turned-friend-with-benefits Gavin (Lucas Hedges).

The humor is often uncomfortable and near-satirical at points, as Victor encourages us to laugh but also to recognize the deeper injustices at play. They never let these laughs, irreverent though they sometimes are, distract from the drama and themes at the film’s core.

Victor’s filmmaking, too, is remarkably accomplished, bringing us into Agnes’s world without showing us happenings we don’t need to see, and gradually building its own visual vocabulary for expressing Agnes’s trauma.

Eva Victor appears in Sorry, Baby by Eva Victor, an official selection of the 2025 Sundance Film Festival. Courtesy of Sundance Institute | photo by Mia Cioffy Henry.

Mia Cioffi’s cinematography emphasizes empty space as Agnes goes about her days, sometimes patiently, nerve-wrackingly drifting over her surroundings as if there’s some unknown presence nearby, watching and judging them.

Victor doesn’t show the assault itself either, thankfully. Rather, we wait outside Preston’s house as the time of day changes, following Agnes as they drive home and eventually explain what happened in detail to Lydie, who stays by their side as all good friends should. Victor trusts us to believe Agnes and to appreciate her struggles without talking down to us, and the film is all the more powerful for it.

“Sorry, Baby,” then, with its sobering story and tonal swerves, is quite an experience. Victor weaves conflicting emotions together in a far more lifelike way than most films in recent memory.

The few spare scenes where they go slightly off-track into exaggeration and exposition-reliant storytelling stick out, but this ranks among the most essential films of the year thus far, and a much-needed reminder of compassion and the ways we should listen to each other as we battle our own demons.

:”Sorry, Baby” is a 2025 dark comedy-drama written and directed by Eva Victor, produced by Oscar-winning filmmaker Barry Jenkins, and starring Victor, Naomi Ackie, Lucas Hedges and Louis Cancelmi. Rated R for sexual content and language, the film is 1 hour, 43 minutes, and is in theatres July 25. Alex’s Grade: A.

Ari Aster’s Latest ‘Eddington’ Is a Frenzied, Absorbing Nightmare

Ari Aster’s Latest ‘Eddington’ Is a Frenzied, Absorbing Nightmare

By Alex McPherson

Supremely uncomfortable yet ever-watchable, director Ari Aster’s “Eddington” looks back at the chaos of 2020 with a savagely enjoyable microscope.

Our story unfolds within the fictional, sleepy town of Eddington, New Mexico, during May 2020. The COVID-19 pandemic is in full swing, and Eddington residents struggle to navigate this new reality. Some succumb to conspiracy theories, others give into coronavirus paranoia, and everyone is glued to their smartphones.

The sickly allure of echo chambers is impossible to resist amid the cultural and social rifts exposed by an invisible enemy that’s infecting the world. There’s talk of a resource-hogging data center being constructed on the edge of town, the building of which Eddington’s incumbent, left-leaning mayor Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal) makes a core (positive!) feature of his campaign. 

Ted has also instituted a mask mandate for the area. This greatly frustrates the insecure, right-leaning, and asthmatic police chief Joe Cross (Joaquin Phoenix). Joe struggles at his job and endures a home life where a sense of “control” has all but slipped away.

His wife, Louise (a haunted Emma Stone), refuses intimacy because of past trauma and has been drawn into the world of influencers, specifically a cultish, self-help guru named Vernon Jefferson Peak (Austin Butler). 

Joe and Louise share their house with Louise’s mother, Dawn (Deirdre O’Connell), who has fully given into “Plandemic” lunacy and is encouraging Louise to go further down the rabbit hole of online BS. Joe is nearing the end of his rope — he believes that something needs to be done to “save the soul” of Eddington or, more importantly, give his unstable self a feeling of power and so-called masculine purpose. 

After Joe has a tense debate with Ted over mask-wearing at a grocery store — an elderly man was just kicked out for not wearing a mask — he’s inspired to run for mayor himself, on a platform that demonizes Ted in darkly humorous fashion.

It’s all about “restoring the kindness of Eddington” after all, no matter the exaggerated political signage (complete with misspellings) and inflamed rhetoric. Joe’s anger at Ted extends beyond his politics, though: Ted once dated Louise, and rumors say their relationship did not end well.

Then George Floyd is killed, and everything is thrown further off its axis. Small protests grip Eddington, and Joe can barely keep things under control. Well-meaning but half-informed youths stand up for racial justice, and their eyes are on Michael (Micheal Ward), Eddington’s only Black police officer and perhaps one of the only Black people in Eddington, period. 

The pandemic, Black Lives Matter, fear-mongering media, anarchists, predators, and the warring campaigns of two egotistical men are all a lot for the town to handle. It’s only a matter of time before things go wildly off the rails.

This is an Aster joint after all, the mad lad who concocted such trippily unsettling works as “Midsommar” and the stylistically envelope-pushing “Beau is Afraid.” 

“Eddington” aims closer to home than those films — dramatizing a time whose trauma we’re still grappling with today in heightened, sometimes inflammatory (and polarizing) fashion.

But despite structural and pacing issues resulting from Aster tackling so many hot-button topics, the film, on the whole, accurately reflects our ostensibly doomed present. 

Aster captures a society overflowing with misinformation, emphasizing the pursuit of power, direction, and attention (under the guise of being noble) at the expense of self. Extremes on all sides will collide in train-wreck-catastrophe if, Aster warns, we continue down the same connected-but-isolated path as these characters.

A jolly view of humanity, to be sure, but one that’s rooted in truth despite Aster’s absurdist proclivities and resolute lack of subtlety.

Aster might not be the most psychologically incisive filmmaker out there to tackle the horrors of 2020, retaining a preference for madness over deeper reflection. “Eddington” can be uneven in its shock-value humor and sometimes broad characterization, with Aster throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks.

The film eschews emotional attachment for blunt-force social commentary that condemns our terminally online existence and our propensity for hate — ramming home the ways in which malleable minds can become warped; personal drama rendered violently political. 

Phoenix, yet again, gives a compelling performance that’s equal parts darkly amusing and disturbing. “Eddington” centers its focus on Joe and his de-evolution to baser, reactionary instincts.

Aster takes pains to illustrate how each facet of Joe’s life is breaking down, emphasizing his pitiful attempts at reconciling with Louise and carrying out his job as sheriff and would-be mayor, each slight building upon the other as Joe takes all the wrong lessons.

He makes his personal vengeance against society become larger than himself. As he becomes increasingly monstrous, though, Joe also becomes more recognizable on an instinctive level. Aster just takes his actions, and the actions of those around him, to extremes within this doomed microcosm.

Almost everyone is put in the crosshairs of Aster’s satire. Teens loudly but in a half-assed way deal with their White guilt (some virtue signaling for the sake of getting laid). Ted’s performative politicking masks a certain darkness, and people like Louise, become swept up into the world of cults masked as self-improvement.

That “Eddington” puts these characters next to antivaxxers and other right-wing conspiracy theorists might imply conflation, but the film primarily spotlights the technologies that drive them.

Indeed, social media infects these characters’ daily lives to an extent that they’re not aware of, taking control of their impulses while innocent parties are frequently caught in the middle.

Darius Khondji’s crisp cinematography finds moments of stark beauty amid the arid surroundings, positioning smartphones as a blunt, unnatural intrusion into the frame. Bobby Krlic and Daniel Pemberton’s score furthers a sense of dread punctuated by atonal jolts, reflecting the volatile nature of the story itself.

“Eddington” is most effective in the big picture, sacrificing digging deeper into any one topic for building a swirling, chaotic mélange of everything happening at once, eventually reaching a near-fever-dream pitch of violence and cinder-black comedy.

The film’s free-flow structure can drag in places as it assembles the pieces. This is largely due to the inherent unlikability of most of the characters and a screenplay that, for all its shrewd effectiveness, is hit-or-miss with its “provocative” humor. 

Flaws aside, “Eddington is still a valiantly unhinged effort from Aster that’s willing to take real risks. Some will hate it, some will love it, and while its more haphazard elements are distracting, the experience is never less than interesting — a modern western with no savior, just a steady march towards Armageddon.

“Eddington” is a 2025 dark comedy – contemporary western directed by Ari Aster and starring Joaquin Phoenix, Pedro Pascal, Emma Stone, Austin Butler, Deirdre O’Connell, Luke Grimes, Micheal Ward, Cameron Mann and Matt Gomez Hidaka. It is rated R for strong violence, some grisly images, language, and graphic nudity. Its run time is 2 hours, 28 minutes. It opened in theatres July 18. Alex‘s Grade: Rating: B+

James Gunn Mostly Saves the Day in ‘Superman’ as Big-Hearted Comic Book Spectacle

James Gunn Mostly Saves the Day in ‘Superman’ as Big-Hearted Comic Book Spectacle

By Alex McPherson

David Corenswet makes an excellent lead in James Gunn’s colorfully zany and overstuffed “Superman,” a film that marks an amusing, if largely unremarkable, revival for the titular world-saver and the DC Cinematic Universe.

Gunn — who previously directed the “Guardians of the Galaxy” films and 2021’s “The Suicide Squad” — doesn’t opt for another origin story here. Rather, “Superman” starts three years after Superman’s aka Clark Kent’s aka Kal-El’s (Corenswet) public debut as the newest “metahuman” on the scene.

Gunn assumes that we’re already familiar with the basics of the backstory, so Superman’s transport to Earth from Krypton and his subsequent upbringing in rural Smallville, Kansas, is conveyed via text, which saves time while sacrificing some emotional heft down the road.

We’re instead launched into the action as Supes plummets down into the frozen tundra in Antarctica. He just lost a battle against “the Hammer of Boravia,” who vows retribution after Superman stopped Boravia’s attempted invasion of its neighboring country, Jarhanpur. 

It turns out the Hammer of Boravia is being controlled by Superman’s arch nemesis, the bald-headed baddie Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult). Lex has developed his own pair of metahumans and envies Superman’s worldwide popularity. He enlists his legion of followers and sycophants to control the media narrative and paint Superman as an outsider to be banished.

Lex also works with members of the US government (because of course he does), who are growing increasingly wary of Superman’s power and actions, especially since Boravia is a geopolitical ally.

Rambunctious CGI Superdog Krypto (who, thankfully, gets tons of screen time) rescues Superman from an icy fate, roughly dragging him to the nearby Fortress of Solitude, and, with the help of some self-deprecating robots, heals the Man of Steel with solar radiation. Superman is back in action and eager to take down Hammer. 

But he has to show up the next day as Clark Kent to work at the Daily Planet, where he’s often publishing one-on-one interviews with himself as Superman. He’s also been dating fellow reporter Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) for three months — she knows his secrets — and navigating some murky waters in their relationship.

Superman’s values of goodness, kindness, and “the right thing to do” butt heads with far-more-complicated reality, particularly regarding his involvement in the war between Boravia and Jorhanpur.

Lex eventually unearths something that rocks the public’s confidence in Superman, and Superman’s confidence in himself. Superman must confront and stand up for what he believes in while getting help along the way from the “corporate-sponsored” Justice Gang — the egotistical Guy Gardner aka Green Lantern (Nathan Fillion), Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced), and Mister Terrific (a scene-stealing Edi Gathegi) — and the intrepid reporters at the Daily Planet. The fate of the world is once again on the line, plus the future of comic book movies in general.

Fortunately, “Superman” delivers where it counts, for the most part. Gunn clearly has passion for the source material and injects his signature blend of wackiness and peculiarity throughout, giving his ensemble space to shine and charm as entertaining versions of characters many of us have grown up with.

What’s also here, unfortunately, is the bloat common to modern superhero cinema. There’s a tension between the film’s surprisingly pointed social commentary and its ultimate reversion to messy spectacle, making this “Superman” more a light trifle than a substantial, memorable meal.

Corenswet is an appealing Caped Kryptonian, corny and dedicated, vulnerable despite his superhuman strength. We don’t get a whole lot of Clark Kent here — his scenes are mostly shared with Lois, portrayed with verve by Brosnahan, in a role that perhaps doesn’t give her enough room to be more than a romantic plot device by the third act — but Corenswet shoulders the weight of Christopher Reeve’s legacy effectively. 

Corenswet captures the character’s sincerity, naivete, and, increasingly, self-doubt over the sort of person he is meant to be. He is most successful in the film’s more character-focused moments, like a tense argument with Lois about ethics early in the film, but watching him soar through the air and punch bad guys so hard their teeth fall out remains satisfying.

Along with that, Gunn shows Superman saving the lives of innocents, both human and animal alike, noticeably taking time to emphasize individual acts of heroism amid the urban destruction and “pocket dimension” nonsense. 

Hoult is equally threatening and pathetic, giving his Elon Musk-esque villain cartoonish mania and believable insecurity. Gathegi stands out among the rest of the ensemble with his droll comedic timing. The rest of the ensemble — including Skyler Gisondo as quick-witted Daily Planet reporter Jimmy Olsen and Sara Sampaio as Lex’s assistant, Eve Teschmacher — smoothly fit into Gunn’s “comic book come to life” philosophy without getting much opportunity to stand out amid the film’s scatterbrained subplots.

Indeed, “Superman” has several mini-stories going on at once that, while important to the overall plot, take time away from Superman’s arc, making clear that this film represents the start of a franchise, not just a standalone story.

It’s all quite visually striking — Henry Braham’s wide-lensed cinematography helps make the film’s more imaginatively bonkers and surprisingly weird sections easy to follow, if a tad bland in more “grounded” places— but “Superman” blends together in a jumble of noise and predictability (with some childish, distracting sexism thrown in for good measure) when the third act wraps up.

Gunn maintains his trademarks as a filmmaker, incorporating expected quip-filled humor, catchy needle drops (alongside a reverent score by John Murphy and David Fleming), and 360-degree shots of cartoonish violence when it strikes his fancy.

There’s merit to how unapologetic the film’s politics are. Gunn paints clear parallels from the Boravian conflict to current events and how those with vested interests at the highest levels of power continue cycles of evil. Gunn’s faithful rendition of Superman (essentially a refugee) honestly believes in “doing good,” no matter the consequences.

This choice is quietly radical, albeit hammered home with melodramatic force via the screenplay. Sure, “Superman” places these topics in a standard mold at the end of the day, but there’s still honor in spreading these messages in a summer blockbuster.

What “Superman” ends up being, then, is an above-average comic book film that subverts expectations in some ways while playing the same old tune in others. Nerds will be satiated, and bigots will be angered. A “super” film, however, this is not.

“Superman” is a 2025 fantasy-action-adventure-superhero film written and directed by James Gunn and starring David Corenswet, Rachel Brosnahan, Nicholas Hoult, Nathan Fillion, Isabel Merced, Wendell Pierce, Skyler Gisondo, Sara Sampaio, Anthony Carrigan, Edi Gathegi, Alan Tudyk, and Beck Bennett. Its run time is 2 hours, 9 minutes, and it’s rated PG-13 for violence, action and language. It opened in theatres July 11. Alex’s Grade: B

‘F1: The Movie’ Brad Pitt Blockbuster Spins Its Wheels 

‘F1: The Movie’ Brad Pitt Blockbuster Spins Its Wheels 

By Alex McPherson

Loud, exciting, and about an hour too long, director Joseph Kosinski’s “F1: The Movie” coasts on Brad Pitt’s starpower and bursts of directorial panache within a narrative framework that leaves deeper thought in the dust.

Kosinski, who previously directed 2022’s excellent “Top Gun: Maverick,” opts for a similar story yet again — an aging professional past his prime coming back into the fold to mentor the next generation and conquer deep-seated traumas, looking effortlessly cool while doing so. 

Sonny Hayes (Pitt) was once a Formula One prodigy with his teammate and buddy Rubén Cervantes (Javier Bardem). Sonny suffered severe injuries from a crash at the Spanish Grand Prix, which promptly took him out of commission. In the following years, Sonny embraced a nomadic lifestyle, going through three divorces and becoming a gambling addict living in a trailer. He travels from race to race seeking that ineffable high he gets from driving really fast and really dangerously. 

After Sonny wins the 24 Hours of Daytona, Rubén shows up and offers (practically begs) him to join his F1 team, “APXGP,” and fill a spare seat that’s been turned down by several other drivers. The team’s life and Rubén’s career are in jeopardy.

Rubén discloses that the investors will sell the team if they cannot win one of the year’s nine remaining Grand Prix — and Rubén instructs the quietly arrogant Sonny to mentor the young rookie Joshua Pearce (Damson Idris). 

Sonny, enticed by the possibility of becoming “the best in the world,” signs onto APXGP. Despite his skills behind the wheel, Sonny quickly discovers that he’s in over his head, and that his mentee-turned-rival Joshua isn’t exactly enamored with cooperation.

Joshua sees Sonny as another obstacle to overcome in his own search for glory in the sport and in the public eye. Sonny also meets the determined team technical director Kate McKenna (Kerry Condon), and, surprise!, they’re quickly drawn to each other.

But Sonny’s technique around the track is unconventional and unsuccessful from the jump, instilling doubt in Rubén and the team’s smarmy investors. Can Sonny adapt, cooperate, and achieve the victory he craves, maybe scoring a new girlfriend along the way? Can Joshua learn to look beyond himself and see the bigger picture? Should we expect any sort of substantial dramatic arc for any of these characters?

The answer to that last question, in the case of “F1: The Movie,” is a resounding “no.” And that’s perfectly fine — the film delivers the expected blockbuster goods (thrilling racing sequences, beautiful people looking cool, the cable-ready “Dad Movie” appeal).

What’s missing, though, is a tangible identity, rendering Kosinski’s film a well-oiled PR stunt for Formula One, and for Pitt himself, draped in appealing Hollywood sheen that remains undeniably easy to watch.

Pitt, like Tom Cruise, is a bonafide movie star, and “F1: The Movie” gives him plenty of opportunities to look like a badass and inject some verve into Ehren Kruger’s earnest and cornball screenplay. Pitt brings a weathered melancholy that suits Sonny’s character well. Bad Boy instincts collide with self-doubt and a spiritual emptiness that only resolves behind the wheel. 

If only Kosinski and Kruger were willing to swerve in more interesting directions with his character. “F1: The Movie” is largely content to go through the motions, brushing over some potentially compelling yet unexplored aspects of Sonny while painting some uncomfortable parallels between Sonny’s controversial history and Pitt’s own. Indeed, one wonders if the requisite victory at the film’s conclusion is actually for Sonny or for Pitt.

The rest of the ensemble brings requisite charm — especially Condon and Sarah Niles as Joshua’s mother. However, the actors can only do so much with characters more resembling cutouts than three-dimensional people.

Idris embodies Joshua’s swagger and egotism effectively, but“F1: The Movie” still paints Joshua’s story in broad strokes, often undercutting character development through music video-esque montages backed by Hans Zimmer’s (admittedly invigorating) techno score.

Fortunately, most viewers go into “F1: The Movie” looking for spectacular racing sequences, and Kosinski — partnering again with cinematographer Claudio Miranda — does not disappoint.

The film’s races (mini stories themselves within the larger narrative) were filmed during actual Formula One races, with Pitt and Idris behind the wheel, and with a new camera system pioneered by Miranda that puts viewers in the cockpit with them, aiming to capture an unmatched sense of speed and immersion. 

This succeeds, for the most part, although Stephen Mirrione’s editing cuts from shot to shot with a tempo that prevents us from fully getting into drivers’ headspaces. The near-constant racing commentary and reaction shots (outright explaining what’s happening on-track, along with some “interesting” intricacies of the sport) also break up the action to a distracting degree, falling into workmanlike tropes that pull away from the film’s experiential achievements. Still, it’s enjoyable to watch these sequences in a theater — in a handful of scattered moments, “F1: The Movie” roars like summer blockbusters should.

Yet Kosinski’s film couldn’t exactly be called “memorable,” nor particularly successful aside from its technical prowess. “F1: The Movie” ultimately lacks what “Top Gun: Maverick” has in spades: heart.

“F1: The Movie” is a 2025 sports action drama directed by Joseph Kosinski and starring Brad Pitt, Damson Idris, Javier Bardem, Kerry Condon, Shea Wigham, Tobias Menzies, Samson Kayo, and Sarah Niles. It is rated PG-13 for strong language and action and its runtime is 2 hours 35 minutes. It opened in theatres June 27. Alex‘s Grade: C+  

Boyle and Garland Deliver Outstanding Sequel ’28 Years Later’ That’s Thrillingly Alive

Boyle and Garland Deliver Outstanding Sequel ’28 Years Later’ That’s Thrillingly Alive

By Alex McPherson

Kinetic, daring, and pulsing with soulful energy, director Danny Boyle’s magnificent “28 Years Later” is a post-apocalyptic coming-of-age story staggering in its narrative and stylistic craftsmanship.

The action takes place 28 years after the second outbreak of the Rage Virus — a disease that spreads in mere seconds through bodily fluids and turns people into rabid, blood-spewing monsters. We follow Spike (Alfie Williams), a 12-year-old boy living in an uninfected colony on Holy Island off the northeast coast of England.

The Virus has been pushed back from Continental Europe, leaving the people within the quarantined British Isles to fend for themselves. Surrounded by naval patrols, they can only reach the Virus-stricken mainland by crossing a heavily-fortified tidal causeway. The colony itself, maintained with a strict set of rules, roles, and a belief system that prioritizes “killing the Infected,” lacks doctors and modern amenities. It’s  regressive in its culture and seemingly caught in a state of limbo as the inhabitants wait out the apocalypse. 

Going on a “hunting” expedition on the mainland is seen as a rite of passage for the youth of Holy Island, and now it’s Spike’s turn. His father, Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), a skilled hunter and hard-partier, plans to accompany him on the trip and wants Spike to follow in his footsteps; Spike isn’t sure if he wants to go down the same path. Jamie is desensitized to the world’s violence, taking a matter-of-fact approach to killing the Infected and serving his role in the community.

Alex Williams and Jodie Comer.

Spike’s tender-hearted mother, Isla (Jodie Comer), is bed-ridden, suffering from a mysterious illness that causes frequent bouts of disorientation and confusion, and the village has no means of diagnosing or curing her. Jamie ultimately sees Isla as a burden, so Spike takes on the role of looking after her and tries everything in his power to help her recover. Isla, alienated from her people physically and morally, is strongly against Spike going to the mainland, but there’s no real choice. It’s the expectation, so it has to be done.

Once Spike and Jamie cross the causeway, the village prepares for Spike’s Welcome Back party. All does not go exactly to plan, though. Spike and Jamie have a few hairy run-ins with the Infected, including rotund worm-eaters and an imposing, very naked “Alpha” that has increased brains and brawn.

Spike also sees a fire in the distance — signaling the whereabouts of the “crazy” Dr. Kelson (Ralph Fiennes), who Jamie almost refuses to acknowledge and seems frightened of. But Kelson might have the cure for Isla’s illness. In fact, he might be her only hope of survival.

It’s clear from the outset that Boyle, reteaming with “28 Days Later” writer Alex Garland, isn’t out to make a standard “zombie” film here. He’s more interested in upending conventions, daring viewers to get on its deranged and oddly sentimental wavelength. Boyle’s film is unabashedly singular in the bold swings it takes with nearly every element of its construction. 

Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Alfie Williams

“28 Years Later” wraps its blood-soaked yarn in social commentary on hate versus love, tradition vs. independence, isolation, and coming to terms with reality, while doing one’s part to honor the lives and memory of those we hold dear. It also encourages the act of looking beyond the stories we’re told to make our own futures. All the while “28 Years Later” remains a gory (at times shockingly so) post-apocalyptic horror film with a healthy dash of dry, British humor sprinkled throughout.

There’s a lot to chew on here, and Boyle/Garland keep the film moving at a breathless clip. On a purely visceral level, “28 Years Later” is punishing in the best way. Boyle’s signature punk rock direction maintains a propulsive momentum, and Anthony Dod Mantle’s cinematography — largely filmed with iPhones, sometimes making use of a 20-camera rig that’s perfect for pseudo-bullet-time Infected kill-cams — heightens moment-to-moment intensity through its gritty, rough-hewn quality.

It establishes an off-kilter atmosphere that underlines just how twisted the world has become, capturing the vast claustrophobia of the mainland with a sense of hard-fought promise and restless uneasiness that can turn to chaos at any moment. 

The masterful score by Young Fathers initially seems anachronistic, yet perfectly complements the film’s messy but deeply poignant core — a particular highlight during the terrifying opening sequence, which juxtaposes the Teletubbies with a rural community being torn apart and reborn by the Infected.

Ralph Fiennes as Dr. Kelson

The film’s style is eclectic and jittery, yet intentional every step of the way, as Boyle weaves in subtle and, well, not-so-subtle symbolism to establish this world of regressive norms, disease, and callous cruelty. It all effectively connects with Spike’s rushed transition into adulthood, and the frantic yet courageous steps Spike takes to become his own person.

Indeed, there’s plenty of harrowing escapes and bloody carnage in “28 Years Later”, but like “28 Days Later” before it, and unlike the Juan Carlos Fresnadillo-directed “28 Weeks Later,” Boyle and Garland remain focused on character above all else. Moments of levity and warmth are unearthed amid the desolation.

The film, at times, resembles a tug-of-war between these disparate tones, as Isla (vividly portrayed by Comer) reveals humane, even sensitive sides of Spike and the world they inhabit. 

By the time Kelson shows up — one of Fiennes’ greatest performances — Boyle and Garland prime us to embrace the unexpected, finding slivers of humanity amid his temples of skulls. Boyle and Garland encourage us to get on the film’s level; whether we can go along with the last act’s emotional trajectory is as much a test for us as it is for Spike. Luckily, with the exceptional performances across the board — especially newcomer Williams — it’s easy to become swept up in the film’s rush of emotion.

Spike and Dr. Kelson

At the end of the day this is a story of a boy and his family — Spike’s disillusionment with the traditions passed down to him, and his gradual realizations of the need to confront his fears, including the inevitable pull of Fate and the importance of love amid an environment pervaded by hatred of the Other.

Not all of the film’s big swings will land for everyone, notably its unhinged final moments that set up future sequels. But “28 Years Later” is still an unforgettable viewing experience. Boyle and Garland prove, once again, that they can find thrilling new avenues into genres we think we know inside out — crafting one of the strongest, most exhilaratingly unusual films of 2025 thus far.

“28 Years Later” is a 2025 horror movie directed by Danny Boyle and starring Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Jodie Comer, Alfie Williams, Ralph Fiennes and Jack O’Connell. The run time is 1 hour, 55 minutes and Rated R for strong bloody violence, grisly images, graphic nudity, language and brief sexuality. The movie opened in theatres June 13. Alex’s Grade: A+