Happy New Year, all! We've reached the end of 2025, which means we have one last month of the year with reviews in need of rounding up. It's not been the most active month of film viewing for me, but the few things I have watched have prompted some very interesting pieces of writing, with a considerable portion of it concerning a certain blue-related franchise in more ways than one. So, with all that, let's round up the last bunch of reviews from 2025!
THROWBACK: Dances with Wolves (Kevin Costner, 1990) - reviewed 02/12/2025
"With Avatar: Fire and Ash releasing soon, I will inevitably be
revisiting the first two films in preparation this December. Since we
sadly live in a world where many people online love nothing more than to
complain about how seemingly derivative my beloved franchise is, I
thought now would also be a good time to finally check out some of the
frequently cited sources of inspiration for myself, and as Dances with
Wolves has always had a presence within this conversation (as well as
being a film I’ve generally been interested in watching for a while), it
was the one I opted for first. Unable to find it readily available on a
streaming site, I ended up buying a lovely DVD with the film spread
across two discs, resulting in a very unique home viewing experience! I
believe that what I saw was the Extended Edition, 226 minutes according
to the back of the DVD cover, definitely not the 181 minutes listed here
on Letterboxd. It can be difficult to squeeze in a behemoth like this
amid day-to-day life, but hey, the more cinema to enjoy, the merrier! While
watching this, I was admittedly primarily fixated on how it operates as
a precursor to James Cameron’s films, and this is what most of this
review will concern. When taking the film on that front, there are
undeniably many similarities to be found, however, unlike what Avatar
detractors would likely take away from such, I find this to actually be a
very rewarding aspect that may have increased my enjoyment of the texts
in question overall. Of all the films that the 2009 original has been
often unfavourably compared to over the years, Dances with Wolves would
easily be the most apt and fair comparison in my eyes. On a purely
narrative level, there is a lot of resemblance between the two, both
following a protagonist initially belonging to a colonial system who
begins to question his values on being familiarised with the world and
community that is slowly being marginalised, ultimately siding with the
oppressed and standing against the people he was once a part of after
finding a fulfilling sense of purpose among the former. Beyond that,
both are quintessentially American texts in terms of how they execute
this concept, and there’s a similar sense of scope and tactility that
defines how the cinematic spaces are constructed in each case. Upon
closer inspection, though, there are plenty of differences at hand that
enable the two to complement one another. Dances with Wolves
follows John Dunbar, a Lieutenant in the Union army, who begins the film
firmly intent on personally experiencing the frontier space in all its
glory before the effects of colonisation have become to drastic, or as
he puts it, “While it’s still there”. His faith in the system seems
relatively modest from the beginning, and swiftly diminishes further
after he is seemingly abandoned at his new post, before he has had any
encounter with the native people. On finally being acquainted with such
in the form of the Sioux tribe, the gradual connection he goes on to
form with them feels organic, as their sense of community and compassion
is stronger than any relationship he is established to have had with
his own people, and his openness to the natural beauty of the frontier
equally aligns with their values and ways of life. Costner adds a
slightly pathetic quality to the character, emphasising his naivety in
approaching both the expansive frontier and the Sioux despite his good
intentions, demonstrating an inherent weakness about men in his position
when framed against the native inhabitants. On the other hand, Avatar’s
Jake Sully begins his film blinded by system at hand, following orders
without question and having no sense of self beyond his place as a loyal
soldier. When deployed into Pandora out of pure obligation, it is
crucially only on being familiarised with the Na’vi and understanding
the space as they do that things begin to change for him, finally
finding a sense of purpose and self in something other than where he
originated and in turn choosing to betray the system that once had
complete control over him. While pathetic at times too, he’s more
defined by his outright ignorance and lack of character at first, vices
that are gradually overcome as his values are both reassessed and
discovered. The central conflicts for both films’ protagonists
have varying urgencies; Dunbar is occasionally reminded of his place as a
white settler among native people yet is increasingly unaffected by
such as he integrates further, with tension there only properly arising
towards the third act as he is unwillingly reunited with his original
superiors and seems significantly removed from the man he once was, then
facing the consequences of what appears to be a betrayal. Conversely,
Sully is constantly shown to be aware of his mission to infiltrate the
Na’vi and how this clashes with his newfound values from living among
them, namely due to quite literally switching between different states
of being that represent his contrasting sides throughout the film up
until the very end. Sure, there’s more that these characters have in
common than they don’t, with one common part of the execution being them
serving as narrators throughout the respective pictures via a diegetic
journal, written for Dunbar and through video for Sully, but the things
that make them unique are not to be missed, and play a significant role
in making Dances with Wolves and Avatar the distinct texts that they
are. As mentioned, both films are decidedly American in their
approaches to their similar concepts, but with crucially varying tones
given where their interpretations land in time. Dances with Wolves is
melancholy in a reflective manner as a depiction of the frontier and its
natural wonder during what is eventually revealed to be some of its
final years before succumbing to colonial rule. It is intrinsically tied
to this national context and largely derives its meaning from that
connection, arriving at its bittersweet tone by being celebratory of the
people and nature that once defined the frontier while also accepting
the sad reality of such having been ultimately undermined and exploited.
As a critique of Western colonialism, it’s rather implicit by
preoccupying itself with showcasing the beauty of what once was instead
of indulging in the tragedy of what it became, letting the evils of the
system speak for themselves in the process. On the contrary, Avatar is
far more cynical and overtly critical of both colonialism and in turn
the cycles of humanity refusing to learn from history. Taking place in
an imagined and heightened future context, it examines the destructive
tendencies of our species at large, showing us taking control of and
exploiting the natural resources of a whole new space and marginalising
another native community, with upfront depictions of these elements. It
essentially asserts that evils from our history, much like that which
Dances with Wolves involves, will not be learned from and will instead
persist into the future as long as we continue to exist in some form,
the pessimistic suggestion being that this may simply be an innate part
of human nature. It crucially uses American iconography to represent
humanity’s most vicious attributes, namely with the antagonistic
Quaritch and destructive machinery all having a distinctly American
military quality about them, thus implying that colonialism as it has
existed within the USA best exemplifies this. Consequently, there’s
added profundity to Avatar, with its act of directly drawing upon Dances
with Wolves, a text so rigorously involved with a specific context,
revealing much nuance about its depiction of humanity in the future with
essentially American elements. What only enhances how both films
get their respective ideas across and are able to complement each other
is the masterfully immersive and epic filmmaking in both cases. Costner
lets the enormous natural phenomenon that is the American frontier in
its prime have all the necessary breathing room, with an abundance of
gorgeously composed wide shots that signify its great expanses of pure
beauty, juxtaposed with an equal amount of more intimate moments where
characters closely interact with the numerous facets of which it is
composed. You truly feel all the natural elements at hand, be it the
grass, the dirt, the water, or the fur on the animals, making the space
feel real and alive alongside seeming larger than life amid being
reconstructed on film. I’d previously only seen last year’s Horizon: An
American Saga - Chapter 1 when it came to Costner’s directorial outings,
and seeing this only makes me less a fan of that film, as while it also
features plenty of lovely on-location sets to construct its version of
the frontier, its sense of scope is so insular and doesn’t come close to
the deft balancing act in this film. I had numerous occasions here
where I simply thought to myself, “THIS… IS A FILM”, because that’s
really all you can say when faced with something so expertly crafted.
Cameron does the same with Avatar, arguably more impressively in dealing
with a fully digital space that nonetheless retains much of the
necessary heft, and its use of more advanced technologies distinguishes
it further from Costner’s film and fits the overarching theme of
exploring a similar concept in an imagined futuristic context as opposed
to one that is based in truth and history. To summarise, my
experience with Dances with Wolves was rather terrific. I went in
knowing it pertains to a film I love and eager to understand where the
similarities lie, and not only did I sufficiently register those, but
they have changed the way I perceive that film for the better. Between
these two objects concerning similar topics, one seeks to realise a once
real place in time and showcase its majesty for all its worth before it
was lost to an evil system of rule, while the other imagines a
potential future in which the same system does the same damage in a
similar light despite being so far removed temporally. In short, one
celebrates what once was, and the other criticises what is and may
continue to be, thus making them a very rewarding pair on this matter." 8/10
NEW: Train Dreams (Clint Bentley, 2025) - reviewed 03/12/2025
"There’s something terribly off about this film. Some really solid
cinematography here, great composition and elegant editing, but it’s
also quite jarring at the same time. What’s with the frame rate? An
attempt to seem hyper realistic? Perhaps to signify a removal from
reality? There’s an elusive quality about the presentation as a whole
that is constantly negotiating with the grounded and gritty settings and
situations, but why capture everything this way to get that across?
Whatever the intent, it massively took me out of the film and hindered
any proper emotional investment. Similarly, I love the detailed texture
and grit about the image, but why so much shallow focus? There seems to
be a lot of emphasis on environments, notably how they change with time,
so why are so many of the shots heavily foregrounding the subjects
instead of positing them within a well defined cinematic space? These
are just a few small creative choices that, despite being insular in the
grand scheme of things, gradually piled up and contributed to a rather
distracting and dull experience. Shame really, I love a lot of the ideas
at play and the focus on Americana is something I always find makes for
rich narratives, but some questionable decisions here and there about
the look and feel prevented it from having any meaningful impact. Don’t
even get me started on that [REDACTED] awful narration either, dialogue
really is a curse on cinema we’ve become all too accepting of." 6/10
THROWBACK: Pocahontas (Mike Gabriel / Eric Goldberg, 1995) - reviewed 04/12/2025
"In my book, an easy way to tell if someone’s opinion is not worth my
time is if they refer to Avatar as ‘Pocahontas in Space’ or ‘Blue
Pocahontas’ or something else of the sort. I mean, of course if you have
two films that concern vaguely similar subject matter, then surely
whichever came second is automatically derivative of the first, right? I
know this film is mostly compared to the latter as a joke, but I am so
tired of hearing it brought up in an attempt to diminish its value
because it’s so painfully reductive if you actually pay attention to
what’s going on in both texts. Pocahontas is primarily a love story, a
forbidden romance where two individuals from opposing sides fall for one
another and struggle to be together as desired due to their
circumstances. Moreover, in dealing with the conflict of Native
Americans and British Colonists, it makes the questionable decision to
draw parallels between the two sides and indicate how each are in the
wrong to some extent, supposedly due to both being blindly driven by
hatred and refusing to cooperate with one another. Not only is this a
misguided and insensitive creative choice given the context at hand, but
it’s nothing like how this sort of conflict is presented in Avatar;
that film is very firmly critical of colonialism and how it represents
the worst of humanity, and even though Pocahontas does treat that side
as broadly antagonistic, such is mainly only reserved for the figurehead
of the group, who is treated as anomalously cruel and ignorant compared
to his colleagues. It is true that Avatar also has a romance within its
narrative, but to me at least, it is absolutely not the main through
line as it is in this film, as that instead lies in the introspection
about the protagonist as he finds himself increasingly at odds with both
the person he began as and the system he belongs to. Sure, I won’t act
as though there’s no resemblance whatsoever between these two films in a
general sense, but claiming Avatar is a rip-off of this is simply
inaccurate and lazy, as it is wholly distinct in its approach to similar
themes and topics on very basic levels and can even be said to make up
for certain wrongdoings. If you’re an Avatar hater and want to insist on
a seemingly derogatory comparison, you’re honestly better off citing
FernGully than this." 6/10
THROWBACK: The Secret of NIMH (Don Bluth, 1982) - reviewed 09/12/2025
"Oh this is it. This. Is. It. This is everything I’ve wanted to see from a
Don Bluth film based on all that I’ve gathered about him and his legacy
over the years. After only seeing some of his later works, which come
across as poor attempts to replicate Disney at their most successful,
this feels like something made by someone who is frustrated with that
system and its creative restrictions during the most stagnant years,
breaking away and crafting the most perfect radical alternative in just
about every sense. I love how seriously this takes itself, with so many
dark and gruesome elements and refreshingly quite a light amount of
comedic relief to balance things out. It avoids the tonal whiplash that
Disney often succumbs to, where despite them not being afraid to touch
on darker, more mature areas, there’s almost always seemingly an
obligation to flippantly throw in some comedy or light-hearted qualities
so nothing registers too heavy for the likely young audience members,
resulting in some very frustratingly confused pieces. This is absolutely
not the case in The Secret of NIMH, and it’s not just that it’s dark in
that it respects the weight of its themes such as death and animal
cruelty, it goes all out in reaffirming its heaviness so to distinguish
itself from the frankly cowardly squishiness of Disney. We’ve seen
plenty of rodent-centric films from the latter company, and though the
characters here may resemble the usual cutesy designs from such films as
Cinderella or The Rescuers, the film prides itself on subverting what
is traditionally associated with such through their implementation, with
the usual cartoony squash-and-stretch mannerisms being strikingly
downplayed and the environments they’re situated within being
outstanding due to how intimidating and frightening they consistently
are, with an emphasis on darkness and shadows mixed with a bold colour
palette of foreboding reds, alluring greens, and mysterious blues, among
various others. Bluth does not reserve these visual qualities for the
odd moment where all is intended to seem hopeless and terrifying, rather
they are the rule, and the more expected cosy and comfortable visuals
are the clear exception. On top of that, it leaves little to the
imagination when exploring its subject matter, substituting the
conventional implicit approach to dark concepts in family entertainment
for far more upfront and graphic detail. Characters are killed, and we
see it happen; a haunting flashback depicting the tragic fate of mice
failing to escape a research lab shows them helplessly being sucked into
the dark void of an air vent, and the villain meeting his inevitable
demise involves a stabbing where the impact of a blade is shown and the
subsequent pain is strongly felt. All throughout, the heroes are also
regularly shown to bleed and deal with the realistic consequences of
what antics they partake in, denying them the pseudo-invincibility that
defines much of animated violence in classic works such as Tom &
Jerry. I was reminded a lot of Martin Rosen’s Watership Down here, which
similarly does not shy away from the grittier elements of its source
material in the execution of its animated depiction. In fact, the
narrative here contains quite a few similarities to that story,
following more small creatures as they struggle against somewhat menial
acts of mankind that, for them, have a devastating impact. However, what
I think NIMH might do even better than Watership Down is how clever and
inventive the construction of its world is, initially seeming to unfold
in a sweeping fantastical space but ultimately revealed to be within
the confines of a completely ordinary, and rather contained, space in
the real present world. I love this because it offers a wildly alternate
perception of otherwise mundane locations, highlighting how differently
they can appear to creatures far smaller than us. Just a farm
consisting of a house, a few fields, a rundown mill, and a rose bush, is
equivalent to a fantasy world such as Tolkien’s Middle-Earth for the
critters navigating it. The 2D animated space is key to bringing this
out, heightening the seemingly ordinary mis-en-scene with a fairy tale
esque storybook aesthetic filled with plenty of unique flair such as the
aforementioned colours and shadows as well as an array of exciting and
diverse lighting effects. I am simply in awe of almost everything going
on here, and it’s night and day compared to much of what Disney
accomplished in the 1970s and 80s. Don’t get me wrong, I do really like
some of their films from that time, such as Robin Hood or The Many
Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, but to say they advanced the company or
the animation scene into new territory would be inaccurate, and it just
happens that something of that sort was desperately needed at the time.
The Secret of NIMH absolutely does this when considered it in terms of
the landscape in which it emerged, and I think its significance on those
grounds in turn helps to indicate why Bluth’s output gradually became
less appealing with time. Once the Mouse got back on its feet in the
1990s, there was clearly less of a desire for the alternative he once
succeeded as, thus all that was left to do was try his hand at what the
other half was doing so well, resulting in tedious and hollow pieces
like the absolutely awful Thumbelina and the rather bland Anastasia,
both of which strike me as half-hearted tries at the Disney Renaissance
formula from an outsider. While those failed to convince me of Bluth’s
brilliance and importance, this single-handedly says it all. Easily my
favourite of his films, truly the only ‘great’ one I’ve seen so far, and
maybe one of the best animated pictures of all time too." 9/10
NEW: Rental Family (Hikari, 2025) - reviewed 11/12/2025
"Got to see this early and alongside a Q&A with both director
Hikari and Brendan Fraser himself, and what an experience it was! I
don’t have much personal attachment to Fraser as I know others do, but
I’m always thrilled to see famous individuals in person, especially when
they’re as delightful a presence as he was. Genuinely humbled by the
adoration of everybody in the audience, thoughtfully answering each and
every question he received no matter how simple or complex, and also
just really funny and charming wherever possible. You could easily tell
how well he got on with Hikari, who was also extremely insightful to
listen to with how elegantly she spoke about the various aspects of her
film. Definitely a filmmaking talent to keep an eye on in years to come. As
for Rental Family itself, it’s precisely the film you think it will be,
and I mean that in the best possible sense. A sweet and wholesome story
about loneliness and making unlikely connections with those around us,
in turn prompting all the laughs, smiles, and tears you’d imagine. It
does well with integrating the unique cultural context regarding the
titular service in Japan, which carries a lot of unique implications
about how people interact with the world to make a living and was
particularly of note to me from an outsider perspective. I didn’t know
too much about the film beforehand and initially got Lost in Translation
vibes from it, but it quickly fostered a distinct identity and became
wholly its own thing by the end. You need a film like this every so
often, it will leave you feeling nice and cheerful, and maybe also
wanting to give Brendan Fraser a hug!" 8/10
NEW: Avatar: Fire and Ash (James Cameron, 2025) - reviewed 19/12/2025
"Alongside Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning, this was
probably my most anticipated film of 2025. I love the Avatar franchise,
always enjoying the spectacular action and immersive worldbuilding on
display in them, and on my most recent viewings coming to appreciate
much that is thematically rich about them. When it comes to this third
entry, though, while much of the strengths from before continue to
flourish, I fear we’re reaching a point where the series finds itself
perhaps a bit too comfortable with repeating the formulas to be found in
the previous entries despite the prospect of advancing things into a
more distinct place. When looking to the first two films, the
original is a largely intellectual piece, constructing an imagined,
futuristic space in which the evils of colonialism from human history
persist as our species continues to persevere beyond Earth, in turn
forming a firmly pessimistic stance towards human nature and its
cyclical qualities, and drawing upon older texts such as Dances with
Wolves to make this outlook more refined. Its protagonist, Jake Sully,
is torn between his loyalty to humanity and the ways of the natural
world he is introduced to, eventually breaking away from the colonial
system and taking a stand for himself, the film suggesting that the only
way patterns of human history repeating themselves can be broken is if
individuals seemingly blinded by controlling systems are willing to
think for themselves and stand against them, which I find fascinating.
The sequel, The Way of Water, substitutes this tone for a less nuanced
and more emotionally driven story, with Jake seeking to protect his
newfound family and the villain pursuing them, Colonel Miles Quaritch,
now having a decidedly personal conflict with him instead of being
reducible to a figurehead for the colonial system. Despite having a less
cohesive thesis, it works well on that emotional level while also being
interesting as a late career object for James Cameron, neatly
incorporating bits and pieces from across his filmography in its visuals
and narrative. At a glance, Fire and Ash seems in a position to
be the best of both worlds in continuing the Avatar saga, with both
intellectual and emotional aspirations by way of a seemingly refreshing
narrative. With the introduction of Varang as a new antagonist, the film
sets up a false prophet theme surrounding Eywa, questioning her place
as an all-powerful, all-loving goddess in Pandora and potentially
affecting the ways in which the protagonists perceive the world around
them. This coincides with the Sully family in a key moment of grief
following the events of The Way of Water, at times doubtful of Eywa’s
abilities as hatred consumes them in various forms. There’s much
potential here for advancing things in a new yet equally compelling way,
however, the film doesn’t capitalise on these elements as effectively
as it could have. Much of it comes down to how Varang is handled
as a character, as she honestly feels wasted here. Her design is
striking and Oona Chaplin is excellent in the role, particularly with
her line delivery and the physicality she provides beneath the motion
capture, but the character isn’t as much of a key player in the
narrative as I expected. Quaritch and the rest of the RDA remain the
primary antagonists, and instead of having Varang’s motivation act as
something that affects the protagonists in a new way, it’s instead just
used as an excuse for her to join forces with the former and further
that familiar conflict. The suggestion of Eywa as a false prophet
suitably comes across through her, but never in a way that is able to
greatly affect the protagonists nor get the better of them at their most
vulnerable, as their belief is hardly challenged and there’s no real
reckoning with the possibility of it being fallible, which is
disappointing as that would’ve been a profound development. Instead
of Varang serving to actively challenge the existing worldview of
Pandora and potentially alter such, the film concludes that she is
merely misguided in her denial of Eywa while the protagonists are noble
and in the right for continuing to insist in her ways no matter what.
This resolution is sound, as the heroes overcoming their hatred is
clearly a virtue that Varang is unable to acquire, and I like the
symbolism of fire reflecting such in a similar manner to how water was
used in the last film, but I think it would’ve been more powerful if it
was perhaps concluded that Eywa actually isn’t what she was previously
thought to be. After all, it’s proven in each of the films that the
enduring willingness of the Na’vi to stand their ground against humanity
is what will ultimately save them and Pandora at large, and having them
realise that their own will is more reliable than their insistence on
an omnipotent being to come and save them would’ve been both refreshing
and apt, expanding on and reaffirming the emotional through line of the
previous film. Conversely, the story is one of continuing to have faith
that the ways of the almighty will continue to provide even in the most
hopeless of times, which is comparatively quite safe, not to mention
overly reminiscent of how the first two Avatar films resolved their
conflicts. Because of this, Fire and Ash is plagued with too great
a sense of repetition. Its conflict unfolds in a very similar manner to
the previous films, and its resolution merely reiterates what was
established before instead of seeking to reach a new place. The Way of
Water also had a sense of repeating things from its predecessor, but not
only did its emotional tone come across adequately unique, but the fact
that it arrived over a decade later sort of justified a sense of
familiarity on bringing audiences back to Pandora after so long. Here,
it’s only been three years since that last outing, and nothing has
dramatically changed since then, so opting for a more distinct narrative
would’ve been welcome to keep things engaging, and it’s frustrating
that it doesn’t really do so given that all the pieces are here but just
aren’t taken advantage of. That said, there is enough different
about Fire and Ash to make it feel like its own thing in the landscape
of the Avatar series, even if it doesn’t really do anything too
novel. This can mainly be observed in the additions to the
worldbuilding, which is one of the greatest strengths of the franchise
in general, not just being visually stunning but feeling thorough in how
its numerous facets are outlined and operate. While Varang doesn’t get
the chance to serve as a truly compelling villain, seeing an
antagonistic Na’vi clan was memorable, with their introductory showdown
in particular being very thrilling. We also get to see a new side of the
human settlement in this film with a fair bit of action unfolding
there, and I found the set pieces designed around that mechanical,
industrial environment to be a neat change of pace from the natural
spaces of the forests and oceans elsewhere. I also enjoyed seeing how
Jake has become known as an infamous traitor among the people living
there, a neat inclusion on the human side of the story. Additionally,
while it may not satisfyingly amount to anything new thematically, the
film does feel like a worthy amalgamation of the Avatar universe up to
now in other ways, especially in the third act, which successfully
integrates the many different sides of Pandora established across the
films, such as Toruk Makto returning, the Tulkun elders joining the
fight, and the swarms of both forest and ocean Na’vi clans going up
against the various human ships and submarines as well as the fire
clan’s creatures. While the first two films limited themselves to the
elements of their primary environments in their respective climaxes,
this one feels like a culmination of all that has been introduced up to
now, which I appreciated. What’s also worth highlighting is that the
threat underpinning humanity’s exploitation of Pandora gets a new angle
here, where despite featuring further deforestation and Tulkun hunting,
there’s a crucial development as the character Spider becomes capable of
breathing the air and connecting with the wildlife, something the other
humans instantly seeks to replicate. Speaking of Spider, the film
attempts to make him the emotional core of the story in some ways,
creating a moral dilemma by having Jake and Neytiri disagree over
whether to continue protecting him as one of their own or to potentially
make a sacrifice for the good of Pandora as a result of the new
development. Personally, I wasn’t completely invested in this, as while I
don’t mind Spider, he’s more good as a plot device than a character of
his own. In contrast, I found Lo’ak’s journey here to be far more
interesting, struggling to live up to his father’s legacy and to find a
sense of belonging as Jake once did, all the while struck with guilt
from Neteyam’s death. Given that he narrates the picture, it seems like
positing him at the emotional centre would’ve been more warranted and
meaningful, as with Spider it feels more forced than anything. As for
some other characters, I found Quaritch to maybe be at his best here, as
while The Way of Water nicely alluded to parallels between him and Jake
on placing him in his own Na’vi avatar, this film furthers that thread
by showing how he is unable to embrace his new state of being as Jake
did due to being blinded by his duty for humanity, where even on
engaging more with the Na’vi through Varang, he ultimately continues to
exploit them for the good of his mission. Kiri also gets a lot to do in
the film, but she would’ve been a lot more compelling if the
aforementioned false prophet theme was developed more given her integral
spirituality and close connection to Eywa. As is to be expected,
Fire and Ash doesn’t drop the ball as a piece of filmmaking. I won’t go
on about this since it goes without saying by now, but suffice to say,
Cameron continues to construct Pandora as a truly epic and thoroughly
intricate space, vast in its scope yet also having practically every
small detail refined. It’s endlessly beautiful, with so much depth to
the image and plenty going on in each frame, this franchise really is a
peak of digital cinema, and in spite of whatever shortcomings the films
may have, no part of me is unsatisfied by taking it all in on an
aesthetic level. While formally mostly solid, I do find the editing
quite jarring; this is a recurring issue among all three of the Avatar
films, where despite the hefty runtimes, they’re generally quite
excessively efficient in ensuring that no scene goes on for too long, to
a fault in my eyes. I don’t find any of them to drag, rather they
bizarrely fall on the other end of the spectrum by being a bit too
flippant in moving from one scene to the next. The best example across
all three would be their denouements, which progress from the explosive
and extensive final battles to the end credits in what feels like a
matter of minutes, rushing to the finish line despite the fact that a
glacial progression towards such would be justified and welcome given
all that happens. Here it was the most detrimental of the bunch, as
since this sees the largest conflict thus far (and could also be the
final entry in the series), it doesn’t feel like an adequate amount of
time is dedicated to letting everything be properly registered and sink
in. Regarding the future of Avatar, I’m a bit conflicted. On the
one hand, we now have ourselves a very solid trilogy, and that is often a
nice, round number to cap a franchise off at. Given what seems like a
refusal to switch things up drastically in the narrative, it might be
sensible to call it a day now because another entry that continues to
retread familiar ground as this does might begin to test my patience. On
the other hand, this isn’t the most satisfactory as a conclusion, and I
feel like we need at least one more entry, specifically one designed
with the intention of providing closure instead of being another
stepping stone, in order to get that. I’d be very happy for more if it’s
done with good reason, but if that doesn’t prove to be the case, I’d
also be willing to stick with what we’ve currently got, so it’s a tricky
situation. Perhaps we’ll just have to let Cameron make the call, he
ought to know what’s best. If you’re a fellow Avatar enjoyer,
you’ll undoubtedly have a good time with Fire and Ash. For all my
complaints, sitting and experiencing it all in IMAX 3D was an absolute
pleasure as I love this world and any time spent in it is going to go
down well at the very least. I wish it moved matters in a more unique
direction than before given that the stage was perfectly set for such to
be the case and that it seems to be what’s needed most at this point in
the series, as doing so would’ve made the experience completely
satisfying. As it stands though, Avatar remains a key cornerstone of
21st century cinema in my mind, and we now have a trilogy of
intermittent brilliance to show for it, so I can definitely walk away
from this feeling somewhat fulfilled." 7/10
NEW: It Was Just an Accident (Jafar Panahi, 2025) - reviewed 21/12/2025
"I spent the last few months getting into Jafar Panahi in preparation for
this film, and I’m so glad I did. Following the density and
self-reflexivity of No Bears, the director returns to his narrative
roots yet still makes clear how far his career has progressed all the
while. What we have is another story of people looking to achieve
nothing more than a particular goal, and the journey they subsequently
undergo revealing much about who they are and the world they live in.
The White Balloon concerned a little girl seeking nothing more than to
buy a goldfish with what money she had, being faced with the question of
whether what she desires is of any real significance given how everyone
around her doesn’t respect what it means to her due to seemingly more
important matters of their own. In It Was Just an Accident, a similar
narrative unfolds, but with much higher stakes and resulting in a much
more striking statement. A man seeks to enact vengeance on a person who
hurt him, and realises how much the acts of that person go beyond what
happened to him, be it because they did the same to many others, or
because their actions merely reflect a larger system. It makes clear how
a goal of this sort isn’t quite as simple as it may seem in the movies,
as there are obstacles of all sorts along the way, ranging from the
mundane such as one’s car running out of petrol, to the extreme where an
innocent family is without a father during a desperate and pivotal
time. Panahi does this the way he knows best, with his signature
realist, on-the-ground lens that gives the illusion of watching real
people in real situations. He expertly extracts all the expression he
can from the seemingly incidental mis-en-scene, whether it’s making our
protagonists and their struggles seem minuscule compared to towering
hills and vast deserts they find themselves in, or bathing them in the
red light of a car during key moments of anger. His reliance on dialogue
to get points across is perhaps a bit too great, but his elegant
composition and rich style generally account for that excess. I will
always be in awe of how this man tells his stories, and learning what
lengths he goes to for them to be told only increases that admiration." 8/10
THROWBACK: The Polar Express (Robert Zemeckis, 2004) - reviewed 25/12/2025
"This year, for what feels like the first time ever, the Christmas season
really hasn’t meant much to me. It makes complete sense when thinking
about it; as a child, Christmas meant time away from school and
receiving things on an endless wishlist, and the last few years, while
at uni, it meant coming back home and being around my family again after
time away from both. But this year, there’s no greater meaning to it
all. I’ve just been getting on with things as usual these last few
weeks, right up until Christmas Eve, which I partially spent working. As
such, the season has flown by, and I barely feel like I’ve had any time
to get into the spirit, let alone soak up all the festive joy that
comes with it. It’s sad really, Christmas used to be my definite
favourite time of the year, but now it feels like an obligation,
something that just happens and provides a little joy here and there. I
say this here because Alan Silvestri’s score for this film is perhaps
the first thing that comes to mind whenever I consider Christmas in a
slightly negative light, namely the opening of the track ‘Seeing Is
Believing’, which perfectly encapsulates the melancholy of Christmas as
it once existed in my mind being a thing of the past as a new state of
cynicism has taken its place. In fact, this whole film does well in
capturing that mood. I was previously always entranced by it, the
mysteriousness and ambiguity, the excitement and thrills, the real but
not-quite-real nature of the visuals. It has an aptly dreamlike quality
that I am always in awe of, perhaps a byproduct of dated animation, but
nonetheless effective to the film’s overarching thesis. While I still
enjoy all those things, what that might stand out the most as an adult
is how it depicts the journey of overcoming that cynicism and
rediscovering what it means to feel joy at Christmas. Questioning
whether Father Christmas exists is simply a reflection of not quite
feeling the festive spirit, and the notion of all that unfolds here
being a dream in the protagonist’s mind on Christmas Eve allows the
physical journey undertaken to serve as a reflection of his
psychological rediscovery of all that is magical about Christmas. The
idea of ‘hearing the bell’ is bigger than just whether one believes in
Father Christmas, as it rather indicates whether they are at one with
the essence of Christmas at large. I like to think that I’d still just
about be able to hear it ringing, but I’m almost certain I wouldn’t at
this point. But, I suppose that’s what’s valuable about this film as an
object. It transports me right back to the time when the exact opposite
would be true, all the while reminding me that those days as I knew them
may be over. It’s bittersweet in that sense, which is what many of the
best Christmas films tend to be. It’s a Wonderful Life, Meet Me in St.
Louis, The Holdovers, and Tokyo Godathers to name a few never let the
fact of Christmas disguise the truths of the season we may want to
otherwise ignore. Christmas isn’t the easy source of joy it may have
once been and is all too often made out to be, and it’s better to
recognise that if one wishes to replicate such through art. I will keep
trying my best to feel the magic of Christmas as my childhood years
drift further away, and I’m glad I’ll always have things like The Polar
Express to recapture the feelings I once had all the while signifying
that they don’t exist as they once did." 8/10
NEW: Wake Up Dead Man (Rian Johnson, 2025) - reviewed 26/12/2025
"A very funny and entertaining time with a strong ensemble, as is the
case with the previous Knives Out films, but still feels wholly its own
thing in its vibe and subject matter. It’s also nice that this looks and
feels like an actual film and has some inventive formalism, Rian
Johnson really is too good for Netflix. Something bizarrely Wes Anderson
about parts of this at times, mainly in the opening movement, and I
also love a good Carrie homage whenever I see one. I do think it would
be cool to see Johnson make something outside of this series for his
next project, as between the three films so far he’s done plenty with
the whodunnit genre and I want to see him try his hand at something
different given what an excellent and versatile filmmaker he is. Not to
say that there’s nothing more to be done nor that this feels like it’s
stretching a point, quite the opposite as it actually finds more new
ways of reinventing familiar tropes as its predecessors did, here
specifically by using the theme of religion as a means of depicting such
things as revelations and confessions in a different light. But, that
being said, I’m perfectly fulfilled by the series thus far and, much
like how I felt about the latest Avatar film, rounding it off at a nice
round trilogy for the time being would be neat. Either way, I’m there
for whatever comes next from him." 8/10
