Alex McPherson

Total Post: 156

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

‘The Life of Chuck’ Is a Glossy and Frustrating Exercise in Style Over Substance

‘The Life of Chuck’ Is a Glossy and Frustrating Exercise in Style Over Substance

By Alex McPherson

Overflowing with self-importance that threatens to drown out its several competent elements, director Mike Flanagan’s “The Life of Chuck” is neither as profound nor as poignant as it thinks it is — a film so carefully-composed that genuine, earned emotion is ultimately left as an afterthought.

Based on the Steven King novella of the same name, Flanagan’s latest begins with the horror-inflected Act 3: the end of the universe as we know it. Chunks of California are breaking off into the ocean, Florida is underwater, fires engulf the Midwest, and the Internet is out. Posters and advertisements are plastered everywhere thanking a sharply-dressed Chuck Krantz (Tom Hiddleston) for “39 great years!” Nobody has a clue who Chuck is. 

We follow Marty Anderson (a typically soulful Chiwetel Ejiofor), a devoted but increasingly exhausted middle school social studies teacher and fan of Carl Sagan. Marty is a cool-headed, empathetic person unwilling to accept that it’s the actual “end of the world.”

At parent-teacher conferences — as attendance continues to decline in school — he helps console anxious parents who aren’t sure what to do amid it all; one of them (David Dastmalchian) bemoans the loss of PornHub. Humanity, more generally, seems to be on a slow walk towards Armageddon, with the majority resigned to their fate.

Marty reconnects with his ex-wife, Felicia Gordon (Karen Gillan), an overworked ER nurse whose department has become known as “The Suicide Squad.” Marty and Felicia see a last chance to bond before the universe is snuffed out; not even Marty’s hopeful view of Sagan’s cosmic calendar can dissuade him from preparing for The End.

Mia Sara, Mark Hamill and Cody Flanagan.

Jump to Act 2. Adult Chuck is a jaded accountant on a business trip in downtown Boston. While walking down a bustling street, Chuck sees a talented but underappreciated busker (real-life drummer Taylor Gordon a.k.a. The Pocket Queen) and gets to dancing — Chuck has quite the moves. 

A crowd gathers to watch and gawk at Chuck/Hiddleston, including Janice (Annalise Basso), a woman whose boyfriend broke up with her moments earlier through text. She starts dancing with Chuck, and, for a brief time, they’re both able to escape their demons and live in the moment.

Afterwards, Chuck looks wistfully off into the distance, reminiscing about his life and, as narration from Nick Offerman reminds us, his fleeting remaining time alive.

Act 1 takes us back to Chuck’s childhood — he’s portrayed by Cody Flanagan, Benjamin Pajak, and Jacob Tremblay. Chuck experiences family tragedy and life’s ups-and-downs with his grandparents Albie and Sarah (Mia Sara and Mark Hamill).

Benjamin Pajak as schoolboy Chuck.

He also discovers his love of dance while grappling with a rushed transition into adulthood, becoming fascinated with the strange “ghost” in the locked room upstairs that deeply frightens Albie.

Needless to say, there’s a lot going on in these three chapters, but, at the same, there’s not much to chew on. Individual scenes and performances break through the prevailing schmaltz, but for a story ostensibly about the importance of spontaneity and of living in the moment, “The Life of Chuck” paints a canvas both messy and overwrought, remaining thoroughly full of itself from start to finish. Several characters like to spout a phrase coined by Walt Whitman: “I contain multitudes” — the same, it must be noted, does not apply to this film.

It starts off strongly enough, though. Flanagan’s roots as a horror director shine through in Act 3 — establishing an eerie tone from the get-go with darkly comedic dialogue and an atmosphere of existential malaise and hopelessness. It’s a bit hokey, sure, but intriguing, with its end-of-the-world happenings not seeming all that implausible.

The conclusion is surprisingly dark, too, especially given distributor Neon’s saccharine marketing campaign. Flanagan’s directing is precise, carefully-composed, and efficient, knowing how to play us for sudden jolts of fear and bursts of unexpected (R-rated) humor.

There’s also real truth to how “The Life of Chuck” depicts humanity’s fatigue and fatalism given today’s horrors off-screen. If only the film committed more to the mystery: Acts 1 and 2 excise most of the story’s compellingly dark and off-kilter threads to embrace sentimentality and ponderous storytelling.

Jacob Tremblay as older teenage Chuck.

Indeed, much like Chuck and Janice’s exuberant dancing — which Flanagan and cinematographer Eben Bolter present with toe-tapping, quick-cut pizazz — the rest of “The Life of Chuck” feels too precious, too precisely-tailored to tug at the heart strings, and oddly-structured, content to explain rather than let viewers put the pieces together themselves.

And, in the end, “The Life of Chuck” is far from revelatory in its views on “the universe contained within us all,” leaning into directorial showmanship to conventional ends.  

Hallmark-card-worthy sentiments are rendered in faux-Spielbergian fashion, with hints of supernatural suspense, supported by a warmly inspirational score from The Newton Brothers and an ensemble that breathes warmth, if not necessarily depth, to characters slotting into Flanagan’s film like cogs in a well-oiled machine. 

Narration from Nick Offerman — presumably reading direct passages of King’s text — interrupts scenes to explain characters’ thoughts and navigate the story’s various time jumps. While this choice helps create a storybook feel, it’s limiting, given the story’s segmented structure (focusing on “big moments” in Chuck’s life).

Nuance is swapped for clarity and brevity — cutting out seemingly crucial connective tissue between Acts 1 and 2 — plus a near-worshipping of King’s source material: a short story expanded to feature length.

Hiddleston is great as usual, albeit not given all that much screen time, adding a sense of mournful reflection to Chuck’s later years as he’s made aware of the small joys in life once again. The younger actors portraying Chuck in Act 1 effectively convey both Chuck’s youthful naivete and gradual coming-of-age.

Sara and Hamill give the film’s most convincing, lived-in performances, with Hamill in particular getting the chance to engage in some Oscar-friendly speechifying, as the alcoholic, superstitious Albie counters young Chuck’s idealism around dance/the arts with a more pragmatic view on what lies ahead.

This excellent ensemble — including other notable turns from Matthew Lillard, Carl Lumbly, and Samantha Sloyan — coupled with Flanagan’s meticulous style of framing and sharp (but not organic) dialogue boosts the film above mediocrity. So long as one doesn’t think too hard about its existential musings, “The Life of Chuck” goes down easy enough.

But despite a compellingly unusual beginning and a handful of well-crafted sequences scattered throughout, it never fully takes flight. At the end of the day, it’s all trying too hard: irritatingly manufactured and only fitfully involving.

“The Life of Chuck” is a 2024 science fiction-fantasy-drama directed by Mike Flanagan and starring Tom Hiddleston, Mark Hamill, Mia Sara, Benjamin Pasak, Jacob Tremblay, Cody Flanagan, Karen Gillan, Chiwetel Ejiofor, and Matthew Lillard. Its run time is 1 hour, 51 minutes, and it is rated R for language. It opened in theatres June 6. Alex’s Grade: C+.

Mid-Tier Wes Anderson ‘The Phoenician Scheme’ Is Enjoyably Chaotic

Mid-Tier Wes Anderson ‘The Phoenician Scheme’ Is Enjoyably Chaotic

By Alex McPherson

As ornately-stylized and star-studded as ever but emotionally out of reach, director Wes Anderson’s “The Phoenician Scheme” provides a rich visual tapestry of idiosyncratic characters and sincere, albeit unwieldy, meditations on greed, goodness, and the personal search for life’s meaning.

Set during the 1950s, Anatole “Zsa-Zsa” Korda (a pitch-perfect Benicio del Toro) is a sharply-dressed, casually vain international financier and industrialist who has amassed boatloads of wealth, shady business dealings, and people who wish him dead.

The opening sequence sees Korda barely surviving an assassination attempt – one of six – aboard his personal plane adorned with his name. The explosion makes short work of his newest administrative assistant, and Korda sends the plane’s pilot (just fired post-blast) soaring skyward via a handy-dandy ejector seat. 

Everyone besides the assistant winds up in one piece, but this latest brush with death has prompted Korda to contemplate his mortality. While he’s unconscious, we shift to a black-and-white tribunal at the gates of Heaven, which we return to periodically throughout the film, sometimes featuring Bill Murray as bushy-bearded God, where Korda is being judged for his sins. He starts looking, however tepidly, inwards, and thus begins considering the legacy he wants to leave behind once he shuffles from this mortal coil.

Korda reaches out to his estranged daughter, Liesl (Mia Threapleton), a devoted novitiate nun whom he hasn’t seen or spoken to in six years. He plans to name her heir to his fortune and business investments (“on a trial basis”), and he wants to finalize his elaborate development within the fictional Middle-Eastern-inspired country of Phoenicia: the titular Phoenician Scheme.

Liesl is resolutely against Korda’s exploitative and destructive practices — Korda almost  beams when discussing plans to use slave labor — and she makes clear her refusal to accept his vast sums of wealth. 

Liesl does, however, believe that she can help Korda see the error in his ways within the Scheme, and possibly help to mend the rift between him and Korda’s nine neglected sons, who live across the street from his lavishly hollow estate. She also wants to know the cause of her mother’s death — rumors have it that Korda killed her, or that it was his brother, Nubar (a menacing, impressively-mustached Benedict Cumberbatch). The stage is set for conflict and inevitable reconciliation between Liesl and Korda.

Thanks to the efforts of an American consortium to thwart his power and influence, however, Korda must now attempt to cover the Scheme’s funding deficit (“The Gap”). Thus begins an episodic journey to various investors across Greater New Phoenicia to wrangle the necessary money out of various quirky investors, deploying his characteristic blend of haughtiness and sincerity.

Korda and Liesl are accompanied by Bjørn (Michael Cera, with a wild accent), an entomologist-turned-Korda’s-newest-administrative assistant, who takes a liking to Liesl and who might be more than meets the eye. Oh, and people are still periodically trying to kill Korda.

“The Phoenician Scheme” maintains all the hallmarks of an Anderson film — gorgeously detailed sets, precisely-composed framing, deadpan dialogue, and a smorgasbord of returning faces in roles both big and small. It’s also exhausting, multilayered, and not as streamlined as his best work.

It sacrifices thematic heft for a satirical plot that never quite coalesces into something truly special. But that doesn’t mean “The Phoenician Scheme” doesn’t have its charms, even if the story’s hurried, unconventional structure muddles the profundity of its most heartfelt moments.

Del Toro, making his second appearance in an Anderson production (the first was in “The French Dispatch”), slots in perfectly to Anderson’s particular style, imbuing a character that should be detestable into someone who, despite his haughtiness, is genuinely reckoning with his immoral past and the kind of person he wants to become.

It’s amusing to see Korda’s ostensibly sentimental arc unfold side-by-side with him offering colorful hand grenades, for example, to every investor he meets with. Del Toro delivers Anderson’s signature dryly comedic dialogue with pitch-perfect calibration, while more subtly showing the magnate’s thawing identity brought on by the re-introduction of Liesl into his life. 

This tug-of-war seemingly exists within Anderson’s filmmaking itself, continuing his streak of self-reflection as an artist. The film’s environments are rich with detail but lack warmth, and, particularly in its final third, “The Phoenician Scheme” breaks some of Anderson’s “rules” to reflect Korda’s changing values. It becomes less artificial and more organic in its formal elements, stripping away the unnecessary to get to what really matters.

Threapleton — the MVP — embodies her character’s tension between Liesl’s pious life as a nun with her undeniable draw to material wealth, and to Korda,: a person who seems antithetical to her values. It’s an excellent performance both consistently funny and always operating on a deeper level, marking Threapleton as an actor with a bright future and hopefully becoming a recurring player in Anderson’s troupe of actors.

The remaining characters in “The Phoenician Scheme,” with varying degrees of importance to the plot, are mostly Anderson stalwarts who display expected quirkiness and wry wit. Cera gets most of the film’s laugh-out-loud moments as Bjørn — how is this Cera’s first appearance in an Anderson movie?.

Korda’s cadre of investors — including rail barons Leland (Tom Hanks) and Reagan (Bryan Cranston), the Phoenician prince Farouk (Riz Ahmed), nightclub owner Marseille Bob (Mathieu Almaric), ship-building businessman Marty (Jeffrey Wright), and ,hydroelectric engineer and Korda’s second cousin Hilda (an underused Scarlett Johansson)— are agreeable to watch, but the film’s episodic structure renders them more as amusing asides than memorable, fleshed-out characters. The star power behind them does most of the heavy lifting.

Indeed, amid all the labyrinthine happenings of The Scheme and Anderson’s continued love of nonstop exposition, “The Phoenician Scheme” quickly becomes overwhelming, as the far more engaging story of Korda and Liesl’s connection is nearly swallowed by the mess of everything surrounding it.

It’s not that viewers shouldn’t expect this from late-game Anderson, but when compared to the more-focused successes of “Fantastic Mr. Fox,” “Moonrise Kingdom,” and “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” this latest project doesn’t approach its themes with the attention they merit. It’s all too willing to whisk us away to a new locale or character introduction without allowing much time for reflection.

If viewers go into “The Phoenician Scheme” without expecting anything close to the heights of those aforementioned films, it remains an easy recommendation. Anderson is still crafting experiences more experimental and defiantly strange than most mainstream directors working today, and that’s always to be celebrated.

The Phoenician Scheme” is a 2025 comedy directed by Wes Anderson and starring Benecio Del Toro, Mia Threapleton, Michael Cera, and Benedict Cumberbatch. It is rated PG-13 for violent content, bloody images, some sexual material, nude images, and smoking throughout and the runtime is 1 hour, 41 minutes. It opened in theaters June 6. Alex’s Grade: B.

‘April’ Is A Difficult Yet Profound Look At Injustice And Resistance

‘April’ Is A Difficult Yet Profound Look At Injustice And Resistance

By Alex McPherson

Bleak, unflinching, and deeply sensory, director Dea Kulumbegashvili’s “April” captures nightmarish realities flecked with vividly-rendered beauty and perseverance of the human spirit.

Set in a rural community within the country of present-day Georgia, we follow Nina (Ia Sukhitashvili), an OB/GYN who has devoted her life to the profession to the point of refusing to have personal ties outside of work in order to focus on providing for her patients. Her hardened empathy has clearly taken its toll on her psychologically, but Nina fully embraces her calling within a patriarchal environment that is seemingly always watching her.

We first meet Nina at the local hospital where she’s helping deliver a baby. Arseni Khachaturan’s camera films a (real-life) birth scene as the struggling mother and hospital staff do all they can to safely extract the child, but to no avail — the newborn dies soon afterwards. 

Nina is blamed for the death by the mother’s resentful husband (Sandro Kalandadze), and Nina’s supervisor (Merab Ninidze) launches an investigation into what transpired. Nina convinces her fellow doctor and ex-lover, David (Kakha Kintsurashvili), to lead it. But despite supporting her, David is concerned by Nina’s actions outside of the hospital, where hushed threats against her are spreading among rageful, conservative men and the population at large.

The risks of the investigation go beyond Nina losing her job at the hospital. They extend to the home abortions she provides for impoverished residents of a nearby village, and her helping married women (some extremely young) access contraceptives, which are both taboo and hard to obtain.

While termination of pregnancies in Georgia is technically allowed up to 12 weeks, prevailing Orthodox Christian views bring intense shame to the procedure.Without transportation to larger cities like Tbilisi where the services are more readily available, Nina is the women’s only hope. Regardless of how the community depends on her, though, Nina’s safety and livelihood remain at the mercy of those wanting to punish her for “sinning” in the name of free will.

Going about her day-to-day life, with the weight of the investigation hanging over her, Nina is slowly being consumed by existential dread — partly visualized through frequent sightings of an alien-like, dried-out humanoid embodying the ultimate futility and depleted sense of self she’s developed over time in her profession. The combined weight of her responsibilities and the empathy she holds onto eats away at her mentally. 

“April” forces us to confront injustice in a manner both agonizing and transfixing, marrying the horror of its narrative with lush lyricism that casts a stunning, albeit elliptical, spell. Kulumbeshgavili’s film is an experience that’s relentless in its brutality yet punctuated by moments of stark beauty and quiet bravery, immersing us in Nina’s point-of-view on both grounded and spiritual levels.

Indeed, “April” is a demanding watch. It can be excruciating in its unblinking depiction of birth and abortion, featuring taut sequences — captured in tense, volatile long-takes — that shiver with the potential for physical and emotional violence. Kulumbesgavili paints the film’s remote setting as an alternately gloomy and vivid landscape reflecting a symbolic tug-of-war between futility and hope.

Brilliant, sunkissed poppy fields one moment become rapidly battered by the elements the next, never being able to escape the forces beyond their control. Neither can Nina’s patients protect themselves from the paralyzing stigma and eye of government. Neither can Nina protect herself from her own self-destructive pull to provide for those who could otherwise perish within futures not written by them.

Kulumbegashvili offers little comfort or reprieve from the film’s relentless sadness and uneasiness. Khachaturan’s cinematography manipulates perspective to a fascinating degree. It often puts us directly in Nina’s POV, whether during clinical operations in the hospital, nighttime drives looking for random, empty sex, or confrontational scenes in which we focus entirely on Nina’s face (hauntedly portrayed by Sukhitashvili) staring directly at the camera. In these scenes, it’s almost as if Nina looks into an abyss that, time and again, reverts to archaic, dangerous expectations of the kind of woman she should be. 

Other shots flip the camera around with Nina offscreen — putting us in her shoes as we evaluate the judgments and barely-concealed threats levied against her by people, mostly men, who fail to understand her and what she believes in. At other times we seem to levitate above the ground, floating through nature. The film’s 4:3 aspect ratio furthers a sense of confinement and claustrophobia, as does the film’s incredible sound design — otherwise quiet scenes are often accompanied by Nina’s deep, heavy breaths that help fill out a memorably unsettling soundscape intimately connected with her mental state.

The film’s bravura sequence — an abortion filmed in one, extremely long take — takes a different approach. The camera positioned at the side, we see the patient’s midsection in the middle of the frame, her sister’s hand holding hers on the left side, and Nina’s hands working on the right. The scene is silent barring the occasional whimper from the patient, and Kulumbegashvili doesn’t sensationalize the ordeal. Rather, the eye is drawn to the left: one person comforting the other in a time of intense uncertainty and fear. A small but important gesture that means the world and, even though the situation down the road cannot end well, shows the necessity of compassion.

Some might fault “April” for its pacing and ambiguity, especially surrounding Nina’s backstory (implying vague trauma), and supernatural interludes that, daring though they are, momentarily break the film’s mesmerizing rhythms. So many elements combine so seamlessly here that we get a comprehensive picture without needing the creature to fill in thematic gaps. But it remains impactful as a distillation of Nina’s sense of self, of also enduring, as new days dawn after darkness, and as the seasons change.

“April” is a beautiful, uncompromising film singular in vision and firmly among the best-directed I’ve seen in recent memory.

“April” is a 2024 drama directed by Dea Kulumbegashvili and starring Ia Sukhitashvili, Merab Ninidze, Kakha Kintsurashvili, and Ana Nikolava. Its runtime is 2 hours, 14 minutes, and it’s currently unrated. In Georgian with English subtitles. It screens at the Webster University Film Series May 30 – June 1. Alex’s Grade: A

Cruise Goes All-Out in Nostalgic, High-Octane Blockbuster ‘Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning’

Cruise Goes All-Out in Nostalgic, High-Octane Blockbuster ‘Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning’

By Alex McPherson

Tense, nostalgia-heavy, and featuring mind-boggling set pieces with Tom Cruise yet again putting his life on the line for our entertainment, director Christopher McQuarrie’s “Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning” is a rip-roaring summer thrill ride that trades plot finesse for pure spectacle and a heavy dose of earnestness.

“The Final Reckoning” continues the story of sentimental daredevil Ethan Hunt (Cruise) and his trusty group of Impossible Mission Force (IMF) cohorts as they face off against the self-aware, rogue AI “the Entity” introduced in 2024’s “Dead Reckoning.”

The Entity has grown to be an all-knowing threat that’s destabilized governments across the globe, inspired a cult of brainwashed followers, and, in four days time, will have control of the world’s nuclear arsenals, setting the stage for catastrophic destruction. The United States government, led by President Sloane (Angela Bassett), who is surrounded by a posse of officials with itchy trigger fingers, is weighing pre-emptive strikes on the other nuclear capitals before the US loses control. 

After the motorcycle-base-jumping, train-dangling antics of “Dead Reckoning,” Ethan gained possession of a cruciform key from the Entity’s primary henchman, Gabriel (Esai Morales), that is critical to ending its reign of terror once and for all. Getting the key was just the start, though, as Ethan and his team must locate the Sevastopol, a sunken vessel at the bottom of the Bering Sea containing the Entity’s source code.

Luther (Ving Rhames) and Benji (Simon Pegg) developed a “poison pill” that, once slotted in, should neutralize the dastardly system. A particularly vengeful Gabriel, having been sidelined by his AI overlord, wants to control it for himself. 

With the help of Luther, Benji, thief-turned-love-interest Grace (Hayley Atwell), reformed villain Paris (Pom Klementieff), and other returning and new faces, hope remains, no matter how far-fetched it seems. Ethan takes every opportunity to (literally) run towards danger if it means saving the world and, most importantly, his friends.

The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the whole endeavor gets rapidly convoluted as more parties get involved and over-the-top plans are set in motion (inevitably winding up improvised with near-”Looney Tunes”-level chaos).

The talky first hour renders “The Final Reckoning” narratively clunky initially. It doesn’t fully find its groove until the main plan is set and the explosive, expertly choreographed set pieces ramp up. Even during its most haphazard moments, though, a soulful energy remains. Faults and all, “The Final Reckoning” achieves the mission of delivering pure, nail-biting, popcorn entertainment.

This potentially last “Mission: Impossible” is a more somber and self-reverential affair than most, with McQuarrie and Erik Jendresen’s screenplay taking ample time to establish the stakes of the Entity’s goals and to tie into previous entries. It also continues unabashed hero worship of both Ethan and Cruise as one of cinema’s last remaining “movie stars.” 

Indeed, it’s a messy, jam-packed opening stretch, chock full of indulgent montages and exposition dumps delivered with straight-faced goofiness by an ensemble fully on McQuarrie’s wavelength. This is complemented by fast-paced editing and cinematography that captures an anxious, sweat-drenched energy as the world teeters on the brink of annihilation. 

Emotions and Big Moments are rushed, particularly regarding one key character, and if one wanted a more contemplative pace than “Dead Reckoning,” that certainly won’t be found here; nor will much elaboration on the themes of fate vs. free will established in that film.

Much of the ambiguity surrounding the Entity in “Dead Reckoning” is gone here, too, with the evil system given a literal voice and opportunities to bluntly lay out its villainous designs. But most everything works to build tension, setting the stage for second and third acts that achieve real cinematic bliss.

Given that most of the cloak-and-dagger spycraft is sidelined from “Final Reckoning,” we expect some spectacular action filmmaking, and McQuarrie wholeheartedly delivers on that front. There are always multiple high-stakes scenarios happening at once, and McQuarrie zips between them with ease, making strong use of cross-cutting to underline the interconnectedness of each character’s role and to emphasize the ever-present countdown towards potential Armageddon.

Two sequences in particular stand out. The first is a visually striking, wordless swim sequence from a submarine to and aboard the precariously-perched Sevastopol, complete with intensely detailed sound design and a rotating set that stands toe-to-toe with Christopher Nolan’s work in “Inception.” It’s both patient and nerve-rattling, with each new growl of the lurching ship signalling fresh chaos for Ethan.

The second features the most impressive big-screen stunt work in recent memory: a frantic fight atop multiple planes doing barrel rolls in South Africa, with Ethan/Cruise hanging onto the wings for dear life as horns on Lorne Balfe’s score blare with each stomach-churning twist.

Both capture an infectious adrenaline that makes “The Final Reckoning” an absolutely essential watch in IMAX, as Hunt makes armrest-clenching, on-the-fly decisions to complete his objectives and survive, often using slapstick violence that pushes the PG-13 rating.

Nothing else in “The Final Reckoning” quite lives up to the crazy heights of these two sequences. Still, it’s great fun watching this film put its foot on the gas pedal and never let up, thanks in large part to Cruise (ripped as ever and committed to the plot’s cheesiness and heightened drama) and a reliable cast that, for the most part, understands the assignment.

Yes, the overstuffed narrative limits how much time each character gets in the spotlight — functioning more as quippy cogs in the machine of the plot than fully fleshed-out beings  — but everyone gets their moments to shine (especially Rhames and Klementieff).

“The Final Reckoning” is really Cruise’s show at the end of the day. McQuarrie’s film is at its most compelling when focusing on Cruise’s death-defying, no-holds-barred commitment to the bit. There’s plenty to critique from a storytelling standpoint, especially regarding the reliance on past films, but there’s no denying the raw power of seeing these shenanigans on the big screen — leaning into the fantasy at a time when humanity desperately needs a victory.

“Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning” is a 2025 action adventure directed and co-written by Christopher McQuarrie. It stars Tom Cruise, Hayley Atwell, Simon Pegg, Ving Rhames, Pom Klementieff, Nick Offerman, Holt McCalleny, Angela Bassett, Shea Wigham, Greg Tarzan Davis, Hannah Waddingham, Rolf Saxon, Tramell Tillman. Janet McAteer and Lucy Tulugarjuk. It is rated PG-13 for sequences of strong violence and action, bloody images, and brief language and the run time is 2 hours, 49 minutes. It opens in theatres May 23. Alex’s Grade: A-

Ensemble Shines in Ambitious, Full-Hearted Directorial Debut ‘We Were Dangerous’

Ensemble Shines in Ambitious, Full-Hearted Directorial Debut ‘We Were Dangerous’

By Alex McPherson

A sincere and impressively well-acted reminder of the power of community to persevere through adversity, director Josephine Stewart-Te Whiu’s debut feature, “We Were Dangerous,” shines a warm, hopeful light through the darkness.

The film is set in 1954 and begins at New Zealand’s School for Incorrigible and Delinquent Girls, where the free-spirited and courageous Nellie (Erana James) plots an escape from the institution with her best friend, the younger but no less resilient Daisy (Manaia Hall), and her other Māori classmates.

Their class instructor, The Matron (an alternately satiric and terrifying Rima Te Wiata), aims to “correct” these girls through her three education principles: “Christianize, civilize, and assimilate.” The program attempts to restrict the girls’ free will and independence each step of the way. 

When Nellie’s escape attempt fails, just a few inches from clearing the gate, The Matron is instructed by her superiors to relocate her class to a small island previously used as a leper colony. This renders their chance of escape and risk of pregnancy moot, given that the only man there is the island’s bumbling caretaker, Barry (Stephen Tamarapa).

Nellie and Daisy’s group are accompanied by some new arrivals to the program, including the mysterious and confident Lou (Nathalie Morris), who Nellie and Daisy strike up a fast friendship with. The three of them room together in a ramshackle hut with a leaky ceiling. As the girls spend their days doing manual labor and enduring mind-numbing lessons about religion and female etiquette under The Matron’s eye, their vibrant spirits endure, and their bond strengthens, despite their bleak circumstances. 

But when the institution begins running sterilization experiments on the girls, Nellie, Daisy, and Lou must fight back against The Matron and her superiors before it’s too late.

“We Were Dangerous,” executive produced by Taika Waititi, isn’t a downbeat film,  despite the tough subject matter. Stewart-Te Whiu positions the lead characters as heroes resisting the systems trying to shape their identities, complete with a surprisingly light touch that works as its own sort of defiance against their grim reality and the morose nature of many period dramas. 

It’s definitely a choice that risks sugarcoating the timely issues on display if used in the wrong hands. Luckily, the performances and rich visuals give “We Were Dangerous” a soulful weight that elevates the sometimes archetypal nature of a screenplay that, for all its wry and rousing sensibilities, can’t quite do justice to the characters at its center.

Stewart-Te Whiu doesn’t wallow in the sadness and horror, but doesn’t underplay it either, striking a seriocomic tone that brings to mind Waititi’s work in its balancing of the harrowing and humorous. “We Were Dangerous” almost plays like a comedy at certain points, with the girls’ wit and playfulness contrasting with The Matron’s ghastly actions and the antiquated ideas of womanhood being forced upon them.  

Cam Ballantyne’s score, too, is lively and energetic, reflecting the continued hope and moments of happiness found scattered amid the abuse and drudgery they endure under The Matron’s watch. María Inés Manchego’s cinematography captures a vivid beauty alongside chilling isolation in the island’s untouched landscapes.

James brings rousing confidence and heartbreaking vulnerability to Nellie, who was forced to attend the school after being caught shoplifting in Christchurch. She had  been sent there by her family to live with a relative, but ultimately left to survive on her own.

Nellie is a surrogate big sister for Daisy, brought to life by Hall with a playful innocence belying Daisy’s trauma and determination to not have her “wild” spirit be tamed. Morris brings a mischievous energy to her performance as Lou, rejected by her well-off family and sent away to the school due to her sexuality.

James, Hall, and Morris have terrific chemistry, and their dynamic is tangible and grounded. It’s easy to buy them as a surrogate family unit, even though Stewart-Te Whiu and Maddie Dai’s screenplay rushes through their initial bonding without giving enough space for it to develop organically. 

Their connection feels a bit schematic as a result, especially during late-game plot beats that half-heartedly explore the risks and benefits of rebellion with the foot firmly on the gas pedal, building towards a near-fantastical conclusion. Indeed, the film’s 82-minute runtime is both efficient and limiting.

Stewart-Te Whiu is clearly intentional with what she focuses on — foregrounding the defiant joy and strong, distinct personalities of the girls above all else — but the film’s insistence on being inspirational also robs more traditionally dramatic character moments of the weight and consideration they deserve.

Narration by The Matron is woven throughout the plot — she explains Nellie, Daisy, and Lou’s backstories through her own point of view, flashbacks included — and while this decision successfully illustrates the contrast between The Matron’s warped worldview and reality, it also condenses these women’s stories to a semi-frustrating degree.

Still, the performances truly elevate the proceedings, revealing complexity not always afforded by the screenplay. 

Te Wiata, for example, chews scenery to a nasty, memorable pulp as The Matron, but we can see for ourselves, through subtle mannerisms, the self-hatred that percolates as a result of embodying the misogyny she was herself indoctrinated into as a young Māori teenager once searching for purpose — perhaps recognizing that it’s easier to conform than to embrace her own individuality.

Suffice to say, “We Were Dangerous” is an imperfect film, but one that features shades of greatness and that tells a worthy story while (in some respects) bucking convention. It’s disappointing that Stewart-Te Whiu opts for speed rather than necessary patience, but this remains both a serious-minded and life-affirming film that, especially in today’s troubled times, we can all take something from right now.

“We Were Dangerous” is a 2024 drama directed by Josephine Stewart-Te Whiu and starring Erana James, Manaia Hall, Rima Te Wiata, Nathalie Morris, and Stephen Tamarapa. Its runtime is 1 hour, 22 minutes, and it’s currently unrated. It opens at the Hi-Pointe Theatre May 9. Alex’s Grade: B

‘Misericordia’ Is An Entertaining, If Bizarre, Drama of Desire

‘Misericordia’ Is An Entertaining, If Bizarre, Drama of Desire

By Alex McPherson

Infused with wry humor and gradually mounting dread, director Alain Guiraudie’s “Misericordia” is a fascinating drama in which repressed urges and human fallibility come bubbling to the surface in quietly bonkers fashion. 

We follow Jérémie (Félix Kysyl), an attractive, mild-mannered, yet unpredictable man traveling from Toulouse to the picturesque countryside village of Saint-Martial for the funeral of his late boss Jean-Pierre, who ran the village bakery. The baker’s widow, Martine (Catherine Frot), invites Jérémie to spend the night in the room previously occupied by her hot-headed son, Vincent (Jean-Baptiste Durand). Vincent is disoriented by Jérémie’s reappearance, and he’s weirded out that his former “pal” doesn’t seem to want to leave Martine’s house. 

It’s clear that Jérémie and Vincent shared (or share) some connection beyond the platonic. Their roughhousing session in the nearby forest, for example, carries a homoerotic charge that’s difficult to deny. But Jérémie apparently isn’t interested in rekindling their nascent bond, and Vincent grows increasingly paranoid that Jérémie actually has his eyes set on Martine — who recognizes that Jérémie had and continues to have feelings for her late husband. Both Jérémie and Martine lovingly admire pictures of him in a Speedo, and Martine even lets Jérémie wear Jean-Pierre’s clothes.

Jérémie continues to stay in Saint-Martial, wandering through the village hunting for mushrooms and slowly inciting confusion wherever he goes. Jérémie hits on Walter (David Ayala), an unkempt older man who’s also Vincent’s best friend, despite the fact that Walter claims he treated him poorly in the past.

Film/ Misericordia

Vincent’s anxiety continues to grow and, soon enough, a web of desire, violence, and forgiveness manifests, especially when the idiosyncratic local abbot, Philippe (Jacques Develay), floats onto the scene, drawn to Jérémie’s mysterious and strangely threatening energy.

What follows is a sensory, deliberately paced slice of absurdism whose weirdness builds scene by scene as Jérémie, returning to his roots, causes turmoil in the bucolic Saint-Martial — chipping away at the boundaries between spoken and unspoken urges to decidedly strange results. “Misericordia” (Latin for mercy or compassion) explores the power and perils of desire held back by societal/cultural expectations. The film walks a tightrope between the comic and downright sinister, operating by its own twisted logic.

Guirardie avoids spoon-feeding us what these characters, especially Jérémie, are ultimately after. Rather, “Misericordia” renders literal their internal feelings in its own understated, but nonetheless mischievous fashion. The film teases out characters’ true feelings in pointed glances, deadpan dialogue, and perverse symbolism (particularly regarding mushrooms), within a fairytale-esque environment in the midst of transition not unlike the characters themselves.

From the opening moments, in which Claire Mathon’s richly textured cinematography takes us into Saint-Martial from the POV of Jérémie’s car — driving in pitch-blackness through winding streets, setting an ominous tone from the outset as we’re not sure what awaits beyond each turn — “Misericordia” establishes Jérémie as a foreign presence disrupting the equilibrium of the village. 

He seems unassuming enough, at least initially; Kysyl brings an oddly calming, yet inscrutable energy to the character, rendering Jérémie immediately likeable but difficult to read. But every action is deliberate. Despite the film’s languid pacing, Guiraudie doesn’t waste our time, encouraging us to read between the lines to identify the messiness beneath seemingly banal interactions that, when revealed, are both shocking and darkly hilarious.

Without spoiling too much, Jérémie gets in some serious hot water. Much of “Misericordia” consists of him trying to weasel his way out of trouble via lies and misdirection in various “low-stakes” (but high-stakes) conversations that teeter dangerously close to chaos and which are enjoyably uncomfortable.

The ensemble is perfectly calibrated to Guiraudie’s rhythms — Frot is especially effective as the welcoming but knowing Martine, and Develay as the quirky abbot unable to embrace his true passions. 

Guiraudie’s tactile filmmaking and the precisely tuned performances keep suspense high and the dark humor higher, as “Misericordia” zeroes in on the lengths to which we’re willing to overlook treachery for what we truly believe in, as well the unknowability of people when societal constructs of “normalcy” are stripped away, sometimes literally.

This is a dark story, but Guiraudie mines plentiful humor even in the film’s most unsettling moments. It’s amusing just to see what shenanigans these unassuming characters stumble into, subverting expectations to a ballsy, likely polarizing degree.

“Misericordia,” at some points, feels more like a dream than a traditional narrative, guided and framed through the psychologies of its characters rather than by traditional conventions. The film is patiently edited and easy to become lost in without the freneticism that impacts much of what graces the multiplex. Guiraudie ensures we’re in good hands, and, if we’re willing to embrace the eccentricity, there’s much to appreciate about his film, one whose mysteries enthrall long after the last mushrooms are plucked from the forest floor.

“Misericordia” is a 2024 dark comedy and psychological drama written and directed by Alan Guiraudie, starring Felix Kysyl, Catherine Frot, David Ayala, Jacques Develay, and Jean-Baptiste Durand. It is unrated and the runtime is 1 hour, 44 minutes. The film is French, with English subtitles. It opened at the Hi-Pointe Theatre in St. Louis on April 18. Alex’s Grade: A.

‘Death of a Unicorn’ Is A Horror Satire That’s Not Quite Sharp Enough

‘Death of a Unicorn’ Is A Horror Satire That’s Not Quite Sharp Enough

By Alex McPherson

Coasting slightly above mediocrity thanks to delightfully unhinged performances from Will Poulter and Richard E. Grant, director Alex Scharfman’s “Death of a Unicorn” is neither sharp nor poignant enough to leave a lasting mark amid its “Eat the Rich” contemporaries.

Scharfman’s film centers around recently widowed lawyer Elliot (Paul Rudd) and his college-aged daughter Ridley (Jenna Ortega). At the beginning of the film, they are en route to an estate owned by the Leopolds, owners of a pharmaceutical empire, in the Canadian Rockies. The family’s ailing patriarch, Odell (Grant), might make Elliot a board member of the company if Elliot plays his cards right. 

The relationship between Ridley and Elliot has been strained since the death of Ridley’s mother, with Elliot throwing himself into work at the expense of dealing with his grief. Elliot brings Ridley along as a half-hearted way to reconnect, but he’s really out for financial security. Although the Odells are a vain, nasty bunch, they have boatloads of money.

Elliot and Ridley’s winding, somewhat awkward road trip through the mountains is interrupted, however, when Elliot hits a strange creature with the rental car. Surprise surprise, it turns out to be a unicorn, with purple blood oozing from its flank and a glowing horn.

When they get out of the car to investigate, Ridley touches the horn, which induces a psychedelic, seemingly higher state of being. Ridley’s experience with this dying creature is rudely interrupted by Elliot bludgeoning it with a tire iron, resulting in them both being splattered with its innards. He then loads the corpse into the backseat.

Upon arriving at the Leopolds’ lavish estate, Elliot and Ridley meet up with the frail Odell, his extravagantly dressed wife, Belinda (Téa Leoni), and his son, Shepard (Poulter), a well-sculpted fool covering his inherent cowardice with a veneer of condescending, not-so-slickly deployed bullshit.

They also meet Griff (Anthony Carrigan of “Barry” fame), the Leopolds’ put-upon butler, and their trigger-happy bodyguard Shaw (Jessica Hayes). Ridley, shaken from the encounter with the unicorn, doesn’t greet the Leopolds too warmly. Elliot flat-out ignores Ridley’s concerns to get what he came there for: Odell signing him on as a company partner. His allergies, which were bothering him on the drive up, are mysteriously gone, as is Ridley’s acne, possibly due to the unicorn’s blood.

The previously dead unicorn re-awakens and is promptly put out of its misery again. Once the Leopolds learn of the unicorn’s magical healing abilities, they experiment with the horn to create a serum able to cure any disease — specifically Odell’s cancer, creating another opportunity to become the most powerful company in the world. Ridley argues against messing with the unicorn further and, sure enough, chaos reigns chéz Leopold, with plenty of horny (pun intended) kills to go around.

“Death of a Unicorn” has a lot on its mind – from navigating grief, to environmental exploitation, to the allure of wealth at the expense of personal morality, to the ever-timely idea of not screwing around with things one doesn’t understand. This, plus being a creature feature referencing such cinematic touchstones as “Jurassic Park” and “Alien.”

The issue is that Scharfman’s feature debut doesn’t effectively weave these themes together, resulting in an experience that’s more milquetoast than exciting when viewed in light of recent skewerings of the rich like “The Menu” and even, for better or worse, “Saltburn,” which seasoned its satire with attention-grabbing panache that’s sorely missing here.

The issues mostly stem from Scharfman’s screenplay, which largely fails to make these characters distinctive against what has come before. Elliot – portrayed with an uncharacteristically dull performance from Rudd – is a frustrating figure from the get-go without motivation or agency to “do the right thing” until the story predictably calls for it.

Ridley, too, is disappointingly plain – all the more frustrating since she’s supposed to be the voice of reason and compassion speaking truth to power. Ortega is firmly in her wheelhouse here, but her familiar bag of tricks (recently seen in “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice,” for example) are bleeding together, with “Death of a Unicorn” not giving her much of any new tools to work with.

The supporting players fare better, though, playing more over-the-top characters to match the outlandish premise. Grant is amusingly unhinged as the vain, pompous Odell, and it’s entertaining to watch his evolution (or de-evolution) from being wheelchair-bound to running around like a crazed madman hungry to capitalize on Elliot and Ridley’s discovery.

Poulter is the real cast highlight in “Death of a Unicorn,” though, absolutely nailing the polo-shirt-wearing, rich boy shtick to a T, particularly in the film’s latter half where he becomes a more active, drug-addled participant in the story. 

Carrigan delivers much of the film’s comedic highlights through his aggravated facial expressions alone, though Scharfman’s script gives Griff more dialogue than he needs to get the character’s feelings across. Sunita Mani as Dr. Batia, one of the people the Leopolds enlist to experiment on the unicorn, provides pathos as she’s forced to risk her life for her employers.

Unfortunately, the supporting cast cannot save the plain nature of Scharfman’s script, which neglects both the shock factor and depth of characterization to stand out amongst its inspirations. While surely relevant to current times, and bringing to mind obvious comparisons with the Sacklers, “Death of a Unicorn” doesn’t lend much depth to anyone beyond the surface level. This isn’t necessarily an issue in itself, but when the rest of the film relies so heavily on tropes (obviously set-up jump scares, clunkily earnest revelations, a drawn-out climax), the characters’ simplicity is distracting.

The unicorns themselves, aside from a heavy reliance on CGI, are creative and disturbing, at least. The film’s cat-and-mouse chase sequences are helmed well enough, and the gore – when Scharfman is confident enough to linger on it – shows glimmers of what “Death of a Unicorn” could have been if it had cut loose from the confines of conventionality.

Indeed, this isn’t a bad film by any means, but there’s little here that lingers once the end credits roll. It does provide fitful moments of catharsis, however, and that’s especially appreciated in today’s crazy times.

“Death of a Unicorn” is a 2025 horror-fantasy-comedy directed by Alex Scharfman and starring Paul Rudd, Jenna Ortega, Tea Leoni, Richard E. Grant, and Will Poulter. It is rated R for strong violent content, gore, language and some drug use, and the run time is 1 hour, 47 minutes. It opened in theaters on March 28. Alex’s Grade: C..

Soderbergh Delivers a First-Rate Spy Drama in ‘Black Bag’

Soderbergh Delivers a First-Rate Spy Drama in ‘Black Bag’

By Alex McPherson

Efficient, well-acted, and sleek as hell, director Steven Soderbergh’s “Black Bag” is pure escapist fun, weaving a tale of messy interpersonal drama into a spy yarn whose dense plotting yields ample rewards.

British intelligence officer George Woodhouse (Michael Fassbender) is a cold, calculating, and loyal specialist who can’t stand liars but takes a certain amount of pleasure in rooting them out. He’s told by his superior, Philip Meacham (Gustaf Skarsgard), that a top-secret software program called Severus has been leaked, and  he’s got to “find the rat” in a week’s time or millions of people will die.

Seems like an easy enough task for George who, when he was 37 years old, investigated his own father (once working at the same institution himself) for having an affair.

The only catch is that Meacham reveals that George’s beautiful and enigmatic wife who also works at the agency, Kathryn St. Jean (Cate Blanchett), is one of the five suspects. This troubles George; he and Kathryn share a deep, intimate bond, based on unwavering trust and loyalty to each other.  Why would she betray him and his country?

George invites the other four individuals — who also happen to be couples — over for dinner and drinks (which include truth serum) hoping to shake loose who leaked Severus. There’s the satellite imagery specialist Clarissa Dubose (Marisa Abela) and her trouble-making boyfriend and managing agent Freddie Smalls (Tom Burke); and wry agency shrink Dr. Zoe Vaughan (Naomie Harris) and her vain partner, the recently-promoted Col. James Stokes (Regé-Jean Page).

This group of horny, mentally troubled spies becomes quickly undone thanks to George’s truth serum: a betrayal is revealed, and a hand is promptly stabbed with a knife. But George’s mission isn’t accomplished, and as the plot thickens — especially when the agency’s haughty and slick-haired boss Arthur Stieglitz (Pierce Brosnan, chewing copious scenery) comes onto the scene — a story of double-crosses, insecurities, and life-or-death stakes reveals itself. Most importantly, though, can George and Kathryn’s marriage survive in a job where the code-word “black bag” conceals all secrets?

Indeed, “Black Bag” uses familiar trappings of the spy genre to tell a story about human connections, both frayed and resilient, delivered with smooth style and an ensemble flaunting their star power in entertainingly self-aware fashion. Soderbergh’s film (his second this year after the thrillingly experimental “Presence”)  is a no-frills endeavor, moving at a fast clip as the twists stack up and remain so damn fun to watch. 

Fassbender shines particularly brightly within the star-studded cast, adding another notch to his “malfunctioning robot” characters, which was most recently personified in David Fincher’s “The Killer.” George is charismatic yet socially stunted, moving with a smooth, often darkly funny determination toward conclusions that might terrify him. His stone-cold façade erodes as he evaluates how much Kathryn ultimately means to him, and the lengths he’s willing to go to protect her.

Blanchett exudes effortless coolness as Kathryn, remaining mysterious yet right at home with George. David Koepp’s script portrays their connection with just enough mystery and ambiguity to keep us on our toes as to Kathryn’s ultimate intentions, testing whether we believe in their enduring bond as surrounding characters’ personal and professional lives fall apart, sometimes spectacularly.

The entire ensemble is excellent, with Abela and Brosnan the clear standouts. Abela makes a meal of Koepp’s crackly, quip-filled script; her Clarissa, unsure how to navigate romance within the spy world along with her own insecurities, is feisty and impulsive. She remains compelled to act for what she considers the greater good. Brosnan, in a seemingly anti-James-Bond role, makes a strong impression despite limited screen time, oscillating between confident and increasingly uncomfortable as the plot spirals further out of control.

The ensemble’s talent carries “Black Bag” a long way, but, even with a lesser cast, there’s still much to appreciate from a stylistic perspective. David Holmes’s electronic score pulses in sync with each new revelation; percussive beats amid jazzy themes symbolically tie into the characters’ eroding disguises.

Scenes are lit with a warm, hazy glow, and Soderbergh — who also handled cinematography and editing — opts for finely-tuned precision, not wasting any time as the labyrinthine plot progresses. The aforementioned dinner scene and a polygraph test later in the film are particular standouts, with Koepp’s script and Soderbergh’s editing working in perfect, tension-filled harmony.

It’s refreshing to see a film like “Black Bag” that trusts viewers to follow along with the characters’ lingo and technology without talking down. The (disquietingly current) geopolitics take a backseat to the characters’ interpersonal happenings.

In its own heightened, somewhat soapy way, “Black Bag” has much to say about romantic relationships and the trust necessary to keep them afloat, even in the treacherous terrain of spy craft. Admittedly, “poignancy” is somewhat sidelined in service of keeping the film’s infectiously enjoyable momentum.    

Clocking in at 93 minutes, “Black Bag” flies by and remains prime for future rewatches — a confident, intelligent, sexy spy story that signals one of the year’s first great films.

“Black Bag” is a spy thriller directed by Steven Soderbergh and starring Michael Fassbender, Cate Blanchett, Rege-Jean Page, Pierce Brosnan, Naomie Harris, Tom Burke, Marisa Abela and Gustaf Skarsgard. It is rated R for language including some sexual references, and some violence, and the runtime is 1 hour, 33 minutes. It opened in theaters March 14. Alex’s Grade: A

‘Love Hurts’ An Entertaining Slapstick and Scattershot Action Film

‘Love Hurts’ An Entertaining Slapstick and Scattershot Action Film

By Alex McPherson

Packed with impressively choreographed action sequences and featuring another lovable performance from Ke Huy Quan, director Jonathan Eusebio’s “Love Hurts” delivers schmaltzy Valentine’s Day beats with a side of cartoonishly excessive violence.

Marvin (Quan) is a successful realtor who goes about his days with a smile on his face and a sense of true contentment. His depressed and jaded assistant, Ashley (Lio Tipton), on the other hand, threatens to leave her job, but can’t bring herself to actually quit. Marvin’s boss and BFF, Cliff (Sean Astin), awards Marvin a coveted Employee of the Month certificate.

Everything seems dandy for Marvin for the time being (Marvin’s inner monologue frequently reminds us that he loves his life), but, as it happens, Marvin’s history as an assassin just ain’t done with him yet.

After being ambushed in his workplace office by The Raven (Mustafa Shakir), a killer with a taste for bad poetry, Marvin makes use of his dormant skill set.. Marvin KOs The Raven with the help of, among other things, a freshly-sharpened #2 pencil — reassuring Ashley that he’s doing “high intensity yoga” when she hears the ruckus from the lobby and knocks on the door. 

The Raven was sent by Marvin’s crime lord brother, Alvin a.k.a. Knuckles (Daniel Wu), to find the whereabouts of Rose (Ariana DeBose), Alvin’s former right-hand who stole money from him and, along with that, stole Marvin’s heart. Long ago, when working as an assassin for his brother, Marvin was ordered to eliminate Rose, but he spared her life.

André Eriksen, Ke Huy Quan) and Marshawn “Beastmode” Lynch, star in a scene from the movie “Love Hurts.” The OSV News classification, A-III — adults. Motion Picture Association rating, R — restricted. Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian. (OSV News photo/Universal Pictures)

The badass Rose, previously in hiding, has returned to take down Knuckles once and for all, while also luring Marvin into his old ways — not-so-subtly nudging him to embrace the love he still has for her. 

She soon gets in touch with Marvin directly (by tasing him, as one does), and Marvin reluctantly joins forces with her to end Alvin’s criminal reign. They’re also pursued by goons King (Marshawn “Beastmode” Lynch) and Otis (André Eriksen), who are working for Renny (Cam Gigandet), the current second-in-command at Knuckles’ criminal enterprise.

They all have absolutely no idea who they’re dealing with. Over-the-top violence, double-crosses, and copious exposition dumps ensue, as the innocent-looking Marvin confronts his violent past and maybe embraces his true love along the way.

Suffice to say, viewers going into “Love Hurts” expecting a masterfully crafted action extravaganza à la “Monkey Man,” “Nobody,” or the “John Wick” franchise won’t be blown away. Longtime stunt coordinator Eusebio’s film, his feature directorial debut, is neither slick nor particularly clever, ultimately doing little with its now-familiar premise.

But what “Love Hurts” does have, in spades, is charm, thanks in large part to Quan, who more than holds his own as an action star even when the script lets him down. 

Indeed, as demonstrated recently in his Oscar-nominated turn in “Everything Everywhere All At Once,” Quan has an inherent likability that’s easy to become attached to. Here, in “Love Hurts,” that persona is initially dialed up to 11, with Marvin embracing his job as a realtor seemingly caring only about helping his customers find their perfect homes. 

It’s a natural fit for Quan, and Luke Passmore’s screenplay finds humorously nutty contrasts between the normal-ish appearance Quan puts on at the beginning and the cutthroat carnage he’s willing to dish out if provoked.

Less successful are the film’s  inner monologues (not just applicable to Marvin), which outright tell us what Marvin feels at any given moment, undermining Quan’s obvious skills as an actor to show rather than tell.

Quan shines over the rest of the ensemble, which, like him, aren’t supported by strong characterizations. DeBose slides into the role of the “cool,” seductive Rose a bit too easily, not given much to work with on her own thanks to the screenplay’s rushed exposition; Rose functions more as a vessel for Marvin’s arc than anything else. 

Gigandet and Wu don’t bring much to the table, besides some dangerously-sharp boba tea straws, but Eriksen and, especially, Lynch (who showed his comedic chops in 2023’s “Bottoms”) are hilarious and well-cast as two henchmen in a bromance.

Shakir is also entertainingly deadpan as The Raven, who strikes up an unexpected romance with Tipton’s Ashley. Astin (a long way from “The Lord of the Rings”) seemingly has more romantic chemistry with Quan than DeBose does. Rhys Darby, sans most of his teeth, also pops in for a brief but memorable appearance as a back-stabbing bad guy.

From a storytelling perspective, “Love Hurts” is clumsy, packing in a surprisingly dense amount of exposition during its 83-minute (wow!) runtime that Eusebio doesn’t weave into the proceedings with any sort of elegance.

But that’s okay when the action is so relentless, creative, and, above all else, fun — creating an entertainingly unhinged juxtaposition between the film’s cheesy, lovey-dovey character arcs and R-rated beatdowns.

Bridger Nielson’s cinematography puts viewers right in the thick of it, in which characters use anything and everything at their disposal to dish out maximum pain. Like the best of Jackie Chan, “Love Hurts” excels when showing violent set-ups and payoffs amid its fisticuffs and gun-fu-adjacent set-pieces; they’re perfect to watch with a crowd, where the carnage on display provides more comedy than anything in the film’s script.

And that’s what “Love Hurts” delivers — excellent action with a likable lead let down by a decidedly less-than-excellent narrative that, despite its ample flaws, remains agreeably pure at the end of the day. Quan and DeBose, especially, deserve meatier roles than this, but “Love Hurts” is a perfectly enjoyable, blood-spattered action film that doesn’t overstay its welcome.

“Love Hurts” is a 2025 action-comedy directed by Jonathan Eusebio and starring Ke Huy Quan, Ariana DeBose, Sean Astin, Cam Gigandet, Mustafa Shakir, Marshawn Lynch, Lio Tipton, Daniel Wu, and Andre Eriksen. It is rated R for strong/bloody violence and language throughout. and the runtime is 1 hour, 23 minutes. It opened in theaters Feb. 7. Alex’s Grade: B.  

Valentine Rom-Com-Slasher ‘Heart Eyes’ is Fun But Has Commitment Issues

Valentine Rom-Com-Slasher ‘Heart Eyes’ is Fun But Has Commitment Issues

By Alex McPherson

Neither scary nor swoonworthy, director Josh Ruben’s “Heart Eyes” is a horror-rom-com hybrid that is amusing but never truly carves out its own spot among its influences.

We follow Ally (Olivia Holt), an advertising exec at a Seattle jewelry company who has given up on romantic love. In fact, her “ingenious” new ad campaign proposal revolves around doomed cinematic romances. This idea doesn’t go over well with her boss (Michaela Watkins, with a cartoonish southern drawl) and on social media, given that there’s a killer on the loose — a masked murderer with heart-shaped eyes, who has employed copious tools for impaling, slicing, and dicing unsuspecting couples on Valentine’s Day for the past two years.

The Heart Eyes Killer has arrived in Seattle, and, as evidenced by a suitably gnarly cold open involving a staged proposal, literal “camera cut,” and novel use of an industrial grape press, they’re as bloodthirsty as ever.

But, for the time being, Ally isn’t all that concerned, given that she’s written off true love as a myth. In typical rom-com fashion, she bumps into the extroverted and charismatic Jay (Mason Gooding) at a coffee shop, and sparks fly. Their first interaction is awkward, cute, and, given the film’s propensity for slapstick violence, quite bloody, ending with Ally and her best friend (Gigi Zumbado) awkwardly rushing out of the building.

It turns out, however, that Jay was just hired at Ally’s company to help clean up her PR mess with the ad campaign, and he’s eager to take her out for dinner to discuss a new marketing plan — after his yoga session in a nearby spa.

Ally agrees to meet Jay at a swanky restaurant (complete with a cheesy dress-shopping montage beforehand), but she remains emotionally guarded, unwilling to welcome this (overeager) Mr. Right into her life. Their meet-up is decidedly awkward and uncomfortable, exacerbated by a run-in with Ally’s ex and his girlfriend. Ally kisses Jay to make her ex jealous, which catches the attention of the Heart Eyes Killer lurking nearby. 

Thus, Ally and Jay are on the run from the sadistic slayer, eventually encountering a pair of detectives, Zeke Hobbs (Devon Sawa) and Jeanine Shaw (Jordana Brewster) — yes, it’s a joke about the “Fast & Furious” spinoff film “Hobbs and Shaw” — who are determined to catch the killer once and for all. Plus, love is in the air, or whatever.

“Heart Eyes” has a solid premise — parodying two conflicting genres for a Valentine’s Day film with as much cheesy romance as ultraviolent mayhem. But to what end, exactly? Ruben’s film is enjoyable, but lacks the cleverness and wit to truly stand out. It tries to have the best of both worlds while remaining firmly in bland territory, no matter how cheekily self-aware it thinks it is.

That’s not to say “Heart Eyes” is a bad film, just an insubstantial one. It is too obvious in its humor and structure to leave much of an impression beyond mild enjoyment. Holt and Gooding make a solid pairing, with nice chemistry that makes their gradual attraction believable, if not easy to become invested in.

Neither actor is given much to work with from a “dramatic” perspective, and the screenplay by Christopher Landon, Michael Kennedy, and Phillip Murphy relies on broad, reference-heavy humor that’s both trying too hard and not hard enough to earn its laughs and scares.

“Heart Eyes” ultimately embraces the clichés of both rom-coms and slashers without meaningfully subverting them. The Heart Eyes Killer itself, for example, is seemingly a combination of Jason Vorhees, Batman, and V from “V For Vendetta,” stalking around in the shadows with a full toolbelt of weapons underneath their jacket. Except this time, their mask has two glowing red hearts where eyes should be.

Indeed, “Heart Eyes” is content to coast on tropes without presenting much of anything surprising within the genres it parodies and, clearly, has affection for., Instead, it insists that its competent mediocrity on both the horror and romance fronts is enough to excuse an ultimate lack of ideas.

Jump scares are aplenty, laws of space and time are thrown out the window, and the ultimate “reveal” is eye rolling, to say the least. But Holt and Gooding are charming, the kills are gnarly, and the film’s seemingly perpetual scenes of cat-and-mouse pursuits are engagingly helmed and keep the film moving at a fast clip.

Through all the bloodshed, Ruben’s film maintains an innocence and belief in the power of love that’s endearing, and, for Valentine’s Day fare at the movies, what more could you ask for? “Heart Eyes” doesn’t aim for “classic” status; it’s a fun, harmless little trifle that won’t break anyone’s heart.

“Heart Eyes” is a 2025 horror-romance directed by Josh Ruben and starring Olivia Holt, Michael Watkins, Mason Gooding, Gigi Zumbado, Jordana Brewster, and Devon Sawa. It is rated R for strong violence and gore, language and some sexual content., and the run time is 1 hour, 37 minutes. It opened in St. Louis Feb. 7. Alex’s Grade: B-.