Top 10 Films of 2025

Following my recent final Review Roundup of 2025, we find ourselves at the end of another year for film. All things considered, I'd say 2025 has been rather solid when it comes to new releases, perhaps not up to the high standards of some recent years such as 2022 or 2023, but a fair improvement on last year for sure. If you remember my Top 10 Films of 2024 list from this time last January, you may remember I really struggled to gather ten films I considered worthy of being featured in my annual best of the year selection, but, this time around, I've seen more than enough films on that level of quality, which is a great relief, especially for the purposes of this tradition!

As such, before getting to the main selection, we have a few honourable mentions:

The Bad Guys 2 - far from the greatest film out there, but, by process of elimination, this would appear to be my favourite animated film of year, so I had to acknowledge it. It's not been the strongest year in this sector, but I found this sequel a delightful, suitably bonkers time.

The Smashing Machine - a massively rewarding watch as a longtime fan of Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson, who finally ventures out of his familiar territory with an engaging dramatic performance under the thoughtful and tactile direction of Benny Safdie.

It Was Just an Accident - another rewarding experience having recently got into the filmography of Jafar Panahi, the director delivering another profound story through his signature realist lens and in turn further demonstrating his exceptional dedication to the medium.

As with any year, there are plenty of 2025 films I have not seen at this point in time; some due to not having released in the UK just yet, others because I simply missed them and have not yet caught up. These include Marty Supreme, Sentimental Value, Hamnet, Bugonia, No Other Choice, and Weapons, among many others. As a result, if it appears as though something big is missing here, it may likely be because I just haven't seen it. Be sure to check out my monthly Review Roundups from throughout the year, or head over to Letterboxd for my full 2025 ranking, if you want to try and find my thoughts on something not mentioned here. Right then, without further ado, let's get started!

Just as a quick disclaimer, this might not be as detailed as my previous yearly Top 10 lists and may also directly repeat many things from my Review Roundups throughout 2025, and that's because I've been ill for first two weeks of January and thus haven't been in the right headspace for writing much of the time, hence why this is also arriving somewhat late in the month, so apologies in advance for any of that.

10. F1

By most metrics, I would almost definitely say that films such as It Was Just an Accident and The Smashing Machine are better than F1, but in spite of that, I just couldn't resist giving the latter a place in the Top 10. This was such a pleasure to see back in the summer, a simple, old-fashioned blockbuster that admittedly doesn't have the highest artistic aspirations but nonetheless succeeds in all that it sets out to do in spectacular fashion. I don't know anything about F1 in real life, but that didn't stop me from having a great time with this; the narrative is basic and derivative, but still extremely engaging, and all throughout, director Joseph Kosinski extracts all the potential for widely accessible big screen thrills that come with the concept, much like he did with Top Gun: Maverick a few years ago. I could easily dissect all that is flimsy and contrived about F1, but when I'm sat in the cinema and hear the sound of those race car engines firing up, I can't help but enjoy the ride.

9. One Battle After Another

One of the most acclaimed films of the year, and easy to see why, even if I don't feel quite as enthusiastic as everyone else may be. I'm not the biggest fan of Paul Thomas Anderson, he certainly has a few films I enjoy such as Boogie Nights and There Will Be Blood, but also some I'm rather mixed on, such as Phantom Thread and Inherent Vice. This definitely falls on the more positive end of the spectrum, being equal parts bizarrely funny, carefully crafted, and thematically resonant. I've seen a lot of people talk about how the film pertains to the current political moment, and I think the ways in which it does so are some of its greatest strengths. On the one hand, it does plenty to ridicule and criticise far right groups and individuals at a time when their influence is more dangerous than ever, as exemplified by Sean Penn's antagonistic Colonel Lockjaw, a pathetic yet also genuinely threatening figure. On the other, it also does well to demonstrate the weaknesses among those on the left in terms of combating such threats to this day, signifying their good intentions but also their ineptitude in organisation and unity, best represented by Leonardo DiCaprio's character, a passionate but bumbling revolutionary. This deft balancing act in addressing the contemporary political scene is key to what makes One Battle After Another quite an important text in today's world, not to mention naturally enabling much of its offbeat humour. Consequently, it easily belongs among the best of the year.

8. Rental Family

I love a nice, wholesome film, and 2025 delivered plenty in that regard, some of which you'll see here on this list. Rental Family was not one I had on my radar, but it ended up being an endlessly charming and touching watch. I was lucky enough to see this early at an advanced screening in London accompanied by a Q&A with both Hikari, the film's director, and the one and only Brendan Fraser, who leads the film. The enthusiasm and amiability they showed in answering the many questions there was clearly visible on the screen. Fraser is an extremely likeable protagonist and shows his skill as both a comedic and dramatic performer here, definitely the heart and soul of the film. Hikari also does really well as director and co-writer, namely in integrating the particular cultural context of Japan in a memorable way, whether it's extracting the implications surrounding the titular service in the country and how it affects people in various ways, or overarchingly presenting the culture in a way that goes deeper than the typical aestheticising us Western viewers are used to seeing it through. At first glance, the film reminded me of Lost in Translation, but it didn't take long for it to establish a distinct tonal and thematic approach to Japan, which I admired. I don't think the film is quite as impactful to me as it has been to others, as the friends I saw it with in particular displayed a much more personal connection to Fraser as an actor that seemed to enhance what meaning they got out of the film, which I can only respect enough. For me, as someone who likes Fraser but wouldn't consider him a significant figure in my film-viewing life, I thought this was a very solid and welcome time.

7. The Naked Gun

Yep, you read that correctly. I never in a million years would've imagined this film being as good as it was, let alone earning a spot in my Top 10 of the year! I hadn't seen any of the original Naked Gun films prior to this 2025, but ahead of this new entry, I checked them all out and had a great time with each. They're not perfect, but they're all rather hilarious and thoroughly enjoyable watches with a sense of humour that is right up my alley. Going into this reboot / legacy sequel, I was fully prepared for a perfunctory, soulless product that merely slapped the Naked Gun brand onto what is otherwise a completely generic and unfunny modern comedy, but I was instead absolutely delighted to discover what a truly faithful successor and completely hysterical time at the movies it turned out to be. The same style of comedy from those original films is retained rather perfectly here, with all the usual clever wordplay and absurd visual gags, and all the better for it. This is almost certainly the most I've laughed at the cinema all year, I was practically crying with laughter at some points! Best of all, while there are many jokes I can clearly recall and chuckle to myself about every now and then, the film is so dense in that regard that I have no doubt there will be plenty I can't remember off the top of my head that will be a joy to rediscover on revisiting the film. I'd love to see Liam Neeson do more comedy films after this, he does surprisingly well in filling Leslie Nielsen's shoes. Just terrific stuff overall, a load of cinematic joy devoid of any cynicism and packed into a concise 85 minutes. Really the only complaint I have is that I didn't get to see it with a packed audience of others also laughing away, as seeing at midday meant there wasn't so lively a crowd.

6. The Ballad of Wallis Island

Another film I didn't have the highest expectations for, but managed to exceed such in very interesting ways. I thought The Ballad of Wallis Island was just going to be a standard, witty British comedy film, nothing special but probably something that would pass the time nicely. To begin with, it was precisely that, as I sufficiently chuckled away at the various jokes and enjoyed the likeable performances, but was ultimately rolling my eyes as it laid out the groundwork for what seemed to be a very conventional narrative with a seemingly predictable order of events. This was particularly apparent in the central romance, with the set-up involving the unlikely reunion of two people who were once in love and the initial trajectory suggesting that they would against all odds get back together again as you would expect from a cosy comedy like this. I wouldn't necessarily be against that as I do love a simple film like that, it just would've struck me as nothing out of the ordinary is all. But, around halfway through the film, it becomes apparent that it actually isn't going to settle for the expected resolutions, and it becomes clear what it's actually about. Rather than a generic story about rediscovering past passions and reconnecting with long-lost lovers or something of the sort, the film questions what it means to be successful as an artist. For the protagonist, he is initially of the mindset that making as much money or having as ubiquitous a presence as possible is what he desires, yet it is made clear how such doesn't truly fulfill him. It is also shown how art once meant a strong connection with his former romantic partner, yet equally made clear how times have changed and that she has moved on from him and what they once were, as people tend to do in real life. While he may not have those things, what he does encounter is one person for whom his art has had an enormous impact, specifically by providing a space to remember his dead wife. By the end of the film, he realises how meaningful the sincere adoration of a single person can be, and finishes more fulfilled than ever by witnessing for himself what impact he has been able to have even if it isn't of the scope he initially sought. I thought this sentiment was really touching, and a completely unexpected turn considering how I perceived the film from the outside. Even with its more nuanced outcome, it still prompts all the usual smiles and laughs you'd expect from a film like this, and it has a really lovely folk music inspired soundtrack too. One of the most pleasant surprises of the year for sure.

5. Sinners

Definitely up there with One Battle After Another as far as the most acclaimed and popular films of the year go, Sinners is another strong outing from Ryan Coogler, following his time spent in the restrictive Marvel machine with perhaps the best film I've seen from him. I saw this the way it was meant to be seen, projected on 70mm IMAX film at the BFI IMAX here in London; I wasn't planning on going big at first, but on learning how a very select number of venues around the entire world were presenting the film in this optimal format, and that one of them happened to only be only thirty minutes away from where I live, I just knew I had to take the opportunity, especially after having a great experience with Oppenheimer in the same format at the venue two years ago. Admittedly there was something a bit jarring about the full-blown IMAX experience, as while the scenes featuring the 1.43:1 aspect ratio were stunning, they were expectedly the exception compared to the majority of scenes elsewhere. This is obviously nothing new for films I've seen in IMAX, but it was made especially distracting here considering that the non-IMAX scenes were presented in 2.76:1, a considerably narrower ratio than the standard 2.39:1 for most modern films, only made more outstanding by how little of the giant screen they occupied. Nevertheless, that's just me being pedantic, as overall the film looked absolutely gorgeous and I had a terrific time seeing it as I did and am glad I went the extra mile to do so. I'm looking forward to hopefully returning to the BFI IMAX for Christopher Nolan's The Odyssey this summer, especially since that will entirely unfold at the 1.43 size, which is very exciting. Regarding Sinners itself, it's all rather brilliant. The ensemble is really strong, and I like all the ideas at play, being a story about oppression in relation to religion, how society deems certain human desires to be sinful behaviour, and how when provided with a place to give into such, it becomes a site for all that is evil to manifest, harshly reaffirming that which is forced upon discriminated communities. On top of that, it weaves music rather expertly into the narrative, and thus serves as a rather unorthodox film musical, with both an excellent and diverse soundtrack and score. Definitely a highlight of 2025 in film, and it solidifies Coogler as a modern auteur with a thoroughly distinct and versatile voice.

4. Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy

Much like The Naked Gun, this might seem like an unlikely film to have made the Top 10, but similar to the latter, it manages to go above and beyond what many would expect from it. The only difference is that Bridget Jones is a franchise that means a lot more to me, having got into the series long before this belated fourth entry and thus being a lot more struck by the level of quality on display here. After the previous entry, Bridget Jones' Baby, another long-delayed addition to the franchise that, despite being rather wholesome and funny in part, seemed all too content with rehashing what worked in the previous films to get by, I was anticipating something on a similar wavelength here. I wouldn't have minded that as Bridget Jones always effortlessly connotes the infectious charm of a bygone era of British romantic comedies that I love, but what I got instead was a sequel that actively concerned itself with incisively moving things forward. Bridget is noticeably older here, certain familiar faces in her life are no longer around, and the everyday struggles we see her navigating are considerably far removed from that of the first three films. Furthermore, even though it's just as funny as its predecessors and had me laughing and grinning the whole way through, it also takes itself a lot more seriously in places. It's a story about changing times and how hard it can be to adapt, and you feel the melancholy come across on seeing how such impacts Bridget, and, as a result, this was one of the most emotional watches of the year for me. All things considered, it's certainly not a masterpiece, still having a lot of the typical cringeworthy moments that let down films like this, and, unlike The Ballad of Wallis Island, being somewhat conventional in its overarching narrative trajectory, but those weren't able to diminish just how unexpectedly powerful it was able to be elsewhere. One of the first films from 2025 that I saw, and still one of the very best at the end of it all. I'm also so glad I got to see it at the cinema, unlike those in the USA for whom this was thoughtlessly dumped onto streaming, a real shame considering just how great it is.

3. I Swear

Yet another unexpected delight in 2025, what a pleasure it is to have so many things of that sort to list off! As was the case with One Battle After Another, I Swear does really well addressing and depicting a serious subject matter, that being the real-life story of its protagonist navigating life with Tourette's syndrome, and in turn respecting that seriousness and letting the implications be registered while at the same time using it as an unconventional form of comedy. It's a feel-good watch with plenty of moments where the central condition leads to some comedic scenarios, but never at the cost of reaffirming how deeply affecting it is as well. I regretfully knew very little about Tourette's and absolutely nothing about the real-life John Davidson prior to watching this, so it ended up being a particularly insightful and valuable watch on top of how elegantly it was put together.

2. Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning

When it comes to big franchise films in 2025, the quality has rarely gone beyond anything just decent for me. Superman saw a solid revival for the world of DC, Thunderbolts* and The Fantastic Four: First Steps showed some signs of Marvel potentially getting back on their feet, Jurassic World: Rebirth was yet another sluggish entry in that tired series, Wicked: For Good didn't greatly improve on or worsen what its predecessor brought to the table, and Avatar: Fire and Ash just got by with repeating what had been done before. But, if there was one major franchise turn that I just knew wouldn't remotely let the side down on returning this year, it would have to be Mission: Impossible. The Final Reckoning seems to have proven divisive among audiences, but I loved it as much as most of the previous outings in the series. I can understand why some aren't so keen, as many have criticised the extensive exposition and reiterating of past plot details in the first act, thus resulting in a bloated and messy finale, but as I see it, the film successfully retains what have always been the series' strongest attributes. There's a consistent self-contained quality about each Mission: Impossible film, each one ensuring it can stand on its own on top of being an addition to the existing narrative, something that has become increasingly rare in the modern franchise landscape. I appreciate this choice and thus don't mind the time spent here to recapping what happened in the past films, and even so, as the grand finale of the series, I think it has deserved the right to be a bit self-indulgent at this point regarding the legacy it has amassed. Additionally, the action set pieces we know and love are on absolutely top form here, with the usual exhilarating thrills such as with the climactic biplane chase, or more slower and novel forms of tension such as that extensive submarine sequence around the middle. All of it had me on the edge of my seat, and even on briefly revisiting parts of the film when watching it on TV over Christmas, I was just as enthralled as ever. Overall, this just gave me everything I could have wanted from another Mission: Impossible film. It's not the best of the bunch, with Fallout and Dead Reckoning remaining my favourites, but it was an extremely satisfying conclusion and is easily one of my favourite films of 2025.

1. The Long Walk

If you're a regular reader of my yearly Top 10 lists, you may know that I'm always excited when my favourite film of the year ends up not being something I've seen many others cite. It's not always the case, such as in 2022 with Everything Everywhere All at Once or 2024 with Dune: Part Two, but when it is, such as in 2023 with Rye Lane, it's always a lovely little bonus. Well, I'm glad to report that 2025 is another case of the latter, and would you look as that, it happens to also be another instance of a film with David Jonsson too! What a wonderful actor he is, so charming and funny in Rye Lane back then, and now just as brilliant a presence in this year's very best, a very different kind of film. 2025 seems to have been a big year for Stephen King adaptations, and I've seen a fair few of them myself, such as The Life of Chuck and The Running Man. However, there's no competition for which is my favourite, as The Long Walk easily takes that title. I wasn't sure what to expect from this, but it ended up being by far the most moving watch of 2025. It's a simple story, one of friendship and just how powerful such a thing is able to be in even the darkest of times, and it gets that across by constructing a really endearing and diverse ensemble of characters that each bring something unique to the piece. Because of how the story is laid out, however, you know that most of them aren't going to make it, and all the time spent becoming invested in them soon develops into grounds for some absolutely devastating moments. In addition, it's such a well made film, taking a very basic and rigid concept and injecting as much life into it as possible. It feels suitably gritty and tactile, and there's a lot of variety in the settings and the way things are captured, so I was consistently engaged and found there was always something to be attached to. It was undeniably quite a tough watch, definitely making me cry more than anything I've seen in ages, but there's also something kind of beautifully life-affirming about it all. As I reflected on the film in the days after seeing it, I just thought about how grateful I am to have so many close friendships of my own, and such was clearly a key reason as to why the film and its tragic elements were so impactful. Ultimately, this is what I think boosts this film to the status of my favourite of the year, not for necessarily being the most groundbreaking, but for effortlessly touching a nerve in so many resonant areas and leaving me all the better for it. So, all things considered, I'll be thinking about The Long Walk for, indeed, quite a long time.

Well, that was the best of 2025 according to me. Once again, not the greatest year in recent memory, but it will do. Now, on shifting gears and looking ahead to 2026, it seems like we've got a lot to look forward to. As ever, I'll put most of my faith in the unexpected gems that pop up out of nowhere, but in terms of what's currently on my radar, the next twelve months are looking rather stacked with exciting upcoming titles. So, as is tradition, here are my most anticipated films of 2026:

How to Make a Killing - the more Glen Powell, the better

The Super Mario Galaxy Movie - probably nothing special, but hopefully a bit of fun

Disclosure Day - always a pleasure when Mr Spielberg comes back

Toy Story 5 - not the worst sounding premise, but my goodwill is rapidly running out

The Odyssey - need I say more? In Nolan we trust

Spider-Man: Brand New Day - lots of exciting behind-the-scenes, will it show on-screen?

Coyote vs. Acme - they tried to bury it, but I'll be there to show it some love

Digger - Cruise going back to his weird non-action movie star side? Count me in!

Narnia - can always count on Greta, hopefully also while under Netflix and a familiar IP

Avengers: Doomsday - I want to be excited, by my hopes aren't the highest

Dune: Part Three - I sense the missing piece of a stunning sci-fi trilogy incoming

Werwulf - Eggers is yet to let the side down, no doubt he'll keep it up

Review Roundup: December 2025

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

Review Roundup: November 2025

It's time once again for another round of Review Roundup, showcasing my best bits of writing regarding the things I've watched in the last month. This November has been quite interesting, namely with a lot of notable new releases I've seen that have all raised many fascinating ideas. As a result, some of the reviews in this roundup are very long and in-depth, at least compared to the usual standard, so I hope you're sitting comfortably! With that in mind, let's waste no more time and have a look at them!

 

NEW: The Choral (Nicholas Hytner, 2025) - reviewed 09/11/2025

    "A sweet little story about the importance of the arts during the most difficult times and the way new meaning can and ought to be found in certain pieces based on the new contexts in which they are interpreted. The individual characterisation is slightly weak with many members of the ensemble blurring into one another for me, but the sense of community that defines much of the film is nonetheless very solidly conveyed. Some may dismiss this as nothing more than standard Sunday afternoon fare, but to me there’s always a time and a place for these sorts of films. While they may not seek to redefine cinema or boldly challenge their audience, their consistent earnestness in approaching their given topics never fails to charm me. This may not be as effective as something like The Ballad of Wallis Island from earlier this year, but it more than did its job and went down very well with the large audience I saw it with this Remembrance Sunday." 7/10

 

THROWBACK: Last Night in Soho (Edgar Wright, 2021) - reviewed 11/11/2025

Click here to read my original review on this blog from 31/10/2021  

    "With a new Edgar Wright film on the near horizon, I thought the time was right to revisit something from him, and I ended up going with his previous (and most divisive?) film. I’ve never been completely keen on Last Night in Soho, I can vividly remember my first viewing of it at the cinema, which was very exciting since I considered Wright my favourite director at the time and this was the first film of his that I was there to see during its initial release since I became a fan in my mid-teens, and I while I enjoyed the film a lot, I couldn’t help but feel an absence of what I’d come to love about the director. I’ve watched it on only one subsequent occasion since then, and my thoughts generally stayed the same, considering it a suitably enjoyable watch overall but rather disappointing coming from Edgar Wright. It’s been nearly four years since that last viewing and since then a lot has changed in terms of my knowledge of cinema, so the film was inevitably going to sit somewhat differently with me on revisiting it now (after all, I regard Last Night in Soho quite significantly for being released during my first semester of studying film at university, and I have since graduated). Most notably, I have a newfound admiration for what Wright was going for here in terms of his inspiration, specifically in drawing upon the Italian Giallo. This was an area of film I was only introduced to about a year ago, and on being familiarised with it I can vaguely recall Last Night in Soho being mentioned as a text that takes after Giallo in a modern context, which made sense given how I understood the style / aesthetic combined with my broad memory of the film. Revisiting it, however, it’s blatantly obvious where the inspiration lies, with Wright implementing all the typical outlandish narrative twists and turns and greatly indulging in film artifice amid constructing the film’s visual identity. There’s definitely a lot of Suspiria (which I only watched for the first time recently) in here, having a narrative involving a young woman travelling to study in a daunting new environment where a sinister mystery is slowly unravelled, even down to featuring a similar establishing scene with the protagonist, Eloise, uneasily sat in the back of a taxi. These qualities are things I enjoyed on a basic level beforehand (simply because bold colours are pretty and mystery narratives are engaging) but today I found myself greatly appreciating them as clear points of influence from what is now sadly a generally bygone style. Moreover, what I think is particularly strong about Last Night in Soho on these grounds is how it specifically utilises the implications of the Giallo style in conveying its ideas, rendering it something of a uniquely Neo-Giallo piece. With the film crucially involving a disjunct between present and past that is increasingly blurred, Wright uses the greatly heightened and nightmarish Giallo worldview to define his vision of 1960s London, strikingly so as such is able to function as both a twisted portrait of the given era heavily removed from the present as well as a clear subversion of the idealised, nostalgic understanding that is initially upheld by Eloise. As temporal boundaries begin to blur, the Giallo-infused imagery of the past making its way into the present space helps to articulate the suggestions of everlasting trauma felt by women who have suffered abuse and exploitation alongside the notion that little has changed on that front in London over the years. Essentially, Wright has taken the Giallo and found a way of implementing it so to benefit his overarching thesis, leading to a perhaps richer use of the style than what it was once known for. As much as I love something like Suspiria, its Giallo qualities don’t carry a great deal of nuance, expertly amounting to an eerie dreamlike atmosphere but suggesting little further. This isn’t a problem because, especially in that case, the style is all the necessary substance, but it nonetheless renders Last Night in Soho a clear evolution, a film arising at a time when what made the Giallo so radical and was able to carry its loose narratives is no longer considered groundbreaking and thus it is integrated for a greater purpose. This isn’t to say that the film is perfect in drawing upon Giallo, as there are some missteps that weaken its use of the style. The first and most frustrating would be the heavy reliance on CG artifice instead of more practical alternatives. The relentless swarms of ghostly figures would be the most outstanding example, very clearly digital creations and lacking the degree of grit and heft that can be seen in the artifice of classic Giallo. Going back to Suspiria, there are scenes in that film where characters are attacked by creatures such as dogs and bats, very overtly involving puppets of the respective animals though not to a fault as their particular tangibility delightfully fits the overarching artificial nature of the film. Sure, you can say similar things about these creations, but not only do I find CG artifice far less appealing, it also more often than not doesn’t feel as though it’s done with the intention of seeming artificial, instead usually being merely a byproduct of poor visual effects work, which may have been the case here. It’s a distracting sort of fakery, not a charming one. The same goes elsewhere at times, with some instances of blood splatter or sweeping shots of 1960s London seeming fake in an undesirable, weightless way. You could argue that this is more aligned with the modern cinematic context to which the film belongs, but considering how faithfully it evokes Giallo elsewhere, also being shot on film and featuring plenty of manual / practical effects elsewhere, this does stand out as a weakness. The other issue I would raise is that it does generally feel as though Wright is holding back in ways that filmmakers like Dario Argento never seemed to. There are no throwaway shots in films like Suspiria, almost every frame has the most potential for heightened visual expression completely extracted and put on display, and that relentlessness is a large part of why those films are so entrancing. Here, for every memorable shot there are also several more workmanlike ones that relax the extreme Giallo tendencies, reserving such for particular moments that go all out. I understand that the scenes of the present are supposed to seem less striking than that of the past (at least to begin with), but even within the latter there’s a consistent unevenness regarding making the most of the image as the Giallo is known to do. That said, these can be taken as nitpicks in the long run as I think the film is overall successful as a modern approximation of the Giallo, not necessarily being a product of the aesthetic but undoubtedly using it well to enhance its own meaning. On that basis, it would seem I enjoy Last Night in Soho more as a Giallo text than as an Edgar Wright film. However, this only seems true if what defines Wright is heavily reduced; as an eighteen-year-old, I liked his films primarily for such basic factors as their strong sense of humour combined with his distinctly hyperactive and energetic formalism. He was one of the first filmmakers I understood for having a certain style, which makes sense since that style as I once understood it was very memorable and easy to register. This is why the film had previously never sat completely right with me, as at a glance it seems to be a departure from the Wright I knew and loved. That said, looking to what the director accomplishes on a grander scale reveals that much of what he is highly regarded for remains somewhat intact here. Sure, you don’t get many of Wright’s signature infectious quick cuts and zooms here, but what those techniques can be taken as at large are instances of his films calling attention to themselves and their constructed-ness, and given that Last Night in Soho draws upon Giallo, a style crucially defined by its emphasis on artifice, what we can observe here is Wright finding different means of doing the same thing compared to what we usually expect from him. The colours of the 1960s being considerably more heightened and saturated than the decidedly muted present is an obvious factor, but there’s also the occasional unnaturally long take that signals the subjective perspective about the film, and many stark cuts between the different points in time as the boundaries at hand become less defined. You can even observe this on a more myopic level, such as one instance of a sneaky split diopter (something that definitely would’ve gone over eighteen-year-old me’s head), thus proving how this characteristic of Wright can still be noted even if it’s more downplayed than usual. Although, what I will say as another minor critique here is that this downplaying does in part feel like a missed opportunity; returning to my point about Wright seemingly holding back as director, plenty of classic Giallo films feature frantic cuts and zooms much like the aforementioned ones seen throughout his films, so the relative lack of them and other specific Wright-isms here does seem a little questionable as I don’t think they’d have come across as ill-fitting in this landscape, and they certainly would’ve been fun to see in a non-comedic piece. [...] On a similar note, something else I’ve always loved about Wright is his overtly British approach to certain material, mainly when done for comedic effect. The best examples of this are obviously to be found in the Cornetto Trilogy, which are easily his best films for me, all applying a satirical and distinctly British twist to genres typically associated with mainstream Hollywood, in the process crafting some extremely effective and witty humour. While this film is absolutely not a comedy, you can still observe that same sense of taking something from one national context and applying it to the United Kingdom, in this case the Giallo, which both originated and was popularised in Italy. That doesn’t mean that what the film is getting at isn’t applicable elsewhere, but it clearly makes an attempt to specifically be about what London as a location means for certain groups of women and how this may contradict the way younger generations of British women understand the city and its heritage, and by extension exploring how the past is perceived at large. Once again, this wider trait about Wright’s style can still be observed. To summarise, Last Night in Soho is a far more interesting object than I ever gave it credit for. I’ve always enjoyed its playful horror attributes but I now see what significance they hold beyond being superficially fun, and it has increased my admiration for the film. More importantly, as someone who was once underwhelmed by the seeming lack of the traditional Edgar Wright style here, the new light in which I understand the film has in turn revealed that his place in the director’s seat is more evident and crucial than I previously thought. Wright remains one of my favourite filmmakers to this day, and while this may not showcase what I consider his greatest strengths, its general divergence from his usual output has helped to demonstrate what is to be enjoyed about him and his approach from a broader perspective. Sometimes a viewing like this can change your perception of a figure you once admired for the worse, but I’m glad to say that such was not the case here and that one of the most formative filmmaking figures for me remains someone worth paying attention to." 8/10

 

NEW: Frankenstein (Guillermo del Toro, 2025) - reviewed 14/11/2025

    "I had minimal anticipation for this, not being particularly amazed by the trailers and even slightly ticked off by the way things looked, but I’m glad to say that despite being a bit uneven it ultimately won me over by the end. As the tale commences with Victor Frankenstein at the centre, many of my initial reservations were realised, namely the pretty poor visuals. Despite the obviously talented Guillermo at the helm, this began as one of the ugliest loads of digital slop I’ve seen all year, every environment feeling weightless and failing to immerse, and the image being so overly smooth and polished, lacking any kind of grit despite the generally gruesome and gritty content. While I’m always glad to hear people rightfully criticising Netflix for their refusal to give their films traditional theatrical releases, I absolutely did not feel like what I was watching here would’ve been any better on the big screen, in fact it felt designed for home viewing in spite of the prestige about its presence. The main thing holding it together was Oscar Isaac, whose committed and boisterous performance was extremely engaging and simultaneously captured the Frankenstein character rather well all the while feeling unique to him (incidentally reminiscent of the character he played in Ex Machina, funnily enough). I was hooked on what the film offered concerning him but just could not get behind how unpleasant the visual presentation was. When the narration shifts to that of the Creature, however, things get a lot better in very curious ways. Not only are we treated to an equally strong and unique performance from Jacob Elordi, but it becomes evident exactly what the film is about, humanising this character and in turn drawing a compelling contrast between him and his creator in ways that previous cinematic renditions seldom have (for context, I’ve never read the original novel, so I can’t comment on how this compares to that nor how it functions as an adaptation). Rather than the lifeless and plodding machines that come to mind from the likes of Boris Karloff and Christopher Lee, Elordi’s Creature is a frightened soul overwhelmed by the world it has been carelessly brought into, who tries to see it for its beauty but is constantly beset by the violent and destructive tendencies of mankind, much like that which gave way to his creation. While Frankenstein’s end of the story has a frantic pace as his maniacal ideas relentlessly buzz around and are then desperately and spectacularly realised regardless of their horrifying implications, the Creature’s is more glacial as the world is constructed so that it can be appreciated for what it is and have its natural ways respected, which makes it all the more painful when those with similar attitudes to Frankenstein hold this worldview back with their aforementioned behaviours. As this shift occurs, the overall look and feel of the film also changes for the better. Everything seems less artificial, it feels like watching real actors interacting with real spaces rather than against green screens where they’re merely plopped into whatever the VFX artists can conjure up. I suddenly felt like I was in fact watching something made by the same guy that did 2022’s Pinocchio, one of the most wonderfully tactile films in recent memory. Consequently, the themes of this portion (as well as the central divide about the film at large) were much more effectively articulated, and this was successfully sustained for the remainder of the runtime. In hindsight, part of me is then left wondering if this was intentional, that Guillermo specifically sought to portray the world according to Victor as hollow and superficial by way of extensive CG elements, and to reserve a greater level of authenticity for what is seen from the Creature’s perspective through an increased emphasis on more practical alternatives, as both means of constructions are generally sound with their respective characters and worldviews and enhance their contrasting natures in execution. I love films that negotiate with the inherent artifice of the medium in some way, so this seemed like a thoughtful approach to this material. That said, this is a Netflix film, and bland digital imagery is their trademark style at this point, so I would not be surprised if this is instead simply another product of that undesirable form with the occasional bit of soulfulness from its auteur director slipped through the cracks wherever necessary and possible. Regardless of what the intent was, the film suitably left an impression and I found myself increasingly intrigued and impressed as it panned out. I can’t say with complete certainty whether or not I think it succeeds in its project, but it’s nice to at least be left considering how that could easily be the case rather than altogether doubtful as I initially feared I would be." 7/10

 

NEW: The Running Man (Edgar Wright, 2025) - reviewed 18/11/2025

    "I was interested in this film on the basis that it was a collaboration between Edgar Wright, one of my favourite filmmakers growing up, and Glen Powell, one of my favourite actors at the moment. I didn’t have the highest hopes for it to be anything remarkable, I was just looking forward to an outing with efforts from these two in one place, and while it suitably delivered on that front, there is a fair bit going on beneath the surface with varying degrees of success that has got me thinking. About a week ago, I revisited Wright’s Last Night in Soho, a film I was previously underwhelmed by for not having enough of what I enjoyed about his earlier works. On rewatching, however, it became apparent that there was actually plenty of what the director typically achieves in there if one were to look beyond basic features of his style, such as his quick cuts and zooms as well as his witty sense of humour, both things that I and many others seem to have a tendency to reduce him and his filmmaking to [SEE ABOVE]. This has been more or less confirmed to me by some reactions I’ve seen to The Running Man, with many noting a lack of the usual Edgar Wright-isms and thus passing it off as a blandly made piece. Having seen the film for myself, though, I would have to disagree with this assertion, as I feel there is once again plenty of Wright in here and even in some unexpected ways. First of all, even if we are to reduce Wright’s style to the aforementioned basic attributes, there are a sufficient number of instances where those can be observed. Many of the action scenes are frantically yet satisfyingly edited together and feature a suitably fast pace with oddly elegant choreography about how all the moving parts interact, similar to what can be seen in Hot Fuzz, and there are plenty of clever transitions courtesy of dynamic cinematography, reminiscent of such films as The World’s End and Shaun of the Dead. It’s also pretty funny too, not a comedy by any means but still successful in slipping a few clever quips and gags in there every so often. Sure, these aspects aren’t as prominent here as they may be elsewhere, but to deny the place of them altogether is a bit ignorant. Secondly, as I mentioned in my reevaluation of Last Night in Soho, a more overarching quality of these basic Wright features is a sense of his films calling attention to themselves in their construction, often to enhance the thesis at hand. In that film’s case, the Giallo-inspired visuals amount to a significant indulgence in artifice that greatly benefits the depiction of blurring boundaries between different points in time about the narrative and its thematic implications. In the Cornetto Trilogy, the hyperactive editing and camerawork greatly juxtaposes the mundanity of the essentially British contexts and thus reaffirms the absurdity of the situations by complementing the integration of heightened narrative elements into such. In The Running Man, we have perhaps one of the most intriguing instances of this, with a narrative set in a dystopian totalitarian state that addresses manipulation in the media and the highly constructed nature of entertainment and newsfeeds as a result of government intervention, and Wright aptly emphasises the pieces that contribute to these deceptive practices in his formalism. The main element would be how screens are used, with in-universe screens being regularly seen within the frames and occasionally becoming our sole window into the action. There is a clear contrast between how the events are presented to diegetic viewers of The Running Man television show and us real-life viewers of The Running Man film, with some moments where what we see is completely different as the ability for the villainous network to alter video footage as they see fit becomes a plot point, incidentally an uncomfortably resonant aspect in the current age of manipulative AI-generated content. This form of emphasis on elements of cinematic construction as Wright is known to do therefore aligns with this one of the film’s key projects. However, this does lead onto my main issue with the film, as I think it sort of fumbles in being completely cohesive with that project. As my description may have suggested, Wright seemingly uses the non-diegetic camera as a vessel for the truth, where despite the narration generally being restricted to central character of Ben Richards, it is largely an omniscient lens that shows what actually happens so to make the contrast between the network’s alterations more striking and thus convey the message more effectively. This works to an extent, but it could have gone a bit further by recognising the inherent subjectivity about the camera behind the film as a whole. Instead of drawing a contrast between truthful images and false ones, the film could’ve been underpinned by a broad sense of ambiguity regarding whether any of what we’re seeing is faithful to what happens in-universe or not. After all, The Running Man as a film is just as much a piece of constructed entertainment as the in-universe The Running Man television show (though obviously not due to any kind of government interference), so I think it would’ve been extremely effective if Wright instead sought to emphasise the construction of what his real-life audience is seeing and indicate how this may resemble certain diegetic elements. For example, a recurring plot element involves Richards recording video tapes that are sent to the network and shown on television. On some occasions, we see Richards in the process of producing these recordings and later how they’re presented on television, sometimes with a clear difference between the two as it is indicated that we initially saw what was actually said and later what was altered, which is then solidified by Richards’ reactions. As mentioned, this works well enough, but imagine if we perhaps only saw what the network showed alongside how Richards reacts, the uncertainty about whether what the film has shown is the truth would demonstrate the inability to trust such deliberately constructed pieces of media, a fact that would be enhanced by some of Wright’s deft, self-aware filmmaking. This issue becomes a bit more prevalent towards the ending which, no spoilers, initially seemed to be going in the direction of deliberate ambiguity but instead settles for a more conventional resolution where everything is more or less clarified, and despite the satisfactory pay off there, it feels like a missed opportunity. Nevertheless, what the film lacks in having a coherent thesis it more than makes up for in being wildly entertaining. Glen Powell continues to prove that he is one of the most likeable and enjoyable screen presences at the moment, and in the role of Richards is given more to work with than previous vehicles such as Top Gun: Maverick or Twisters. He holds his own in the action scenes expectedly well, and even has some solid emotional moments too. I can’t wait to see more of this guy, he’s got all the qualities of a traditional movie star / leading man that the industry currently doesn’t have enough of, and I just can’t get enough of him. Seeing a trailer for one of his upcoming films beforehand only made the experience better. Additionally, similar to the other dystopian Stephen King adaptation from this year, The Long Walk, the seemingly monotonous premise here never becomes tiring; after a point it is reducible to merely Richards quite literally running from one action set piece to another and meeting various characters at each stage, but there’s plenty of variety in terms of how things unfold to keep matters engaging, and the setting feels well realised and diverse too. While the film may not be wholly successful in executing some of its theses, it doesn’t fail in terms of approximating the intensity and relentlessness about the in-universe game show and iterating what is shocking about it, which is essential to the themes of the story. Overall I had a great time with this. While I can envision a better and richer film in here somewhere, that doesn’t devalue what fun there is to be had with what’s already here. Whether it’s the curious facets of an auteur going into more new territory or just the Glen Powell-shaped eye candy, you can certainly do a lot worse than with a film like The Running Man, so it’s an easy recommendation from me. Oh, and it’s way better than the ‘87 version." 8/10

 

NEW: Wicked: For Good (Jon M. Chu, 2025) - reviewed 20/11/2025

    "Wicked… For… Good… where does one even begin here? Seeing this back-to-back with the first film was an experience to say the least, not the most insane or overwhelming time I’ve had at a cinema, but it would probably be up there. As I left the screening room after all five hours of Wickedness, I knew I would have to give it at least a day before even attempting to get any of the thoughts buzzing around my head into words. Now that the dust has sort of began to settle, allow me to try and wrap my head around what I experienculated [...] First of all, a necessary update regarding where I stand on Wicked (2024) - it’s good. I’m not super familiar with the stage version but I think the film does a solid job of feeling like a uniquely cinematic take on the material, sufficiently using the distinct apparatus for expression well despite some drawbacks here and there. It’s a great crowd pleaser with some endlessly entertaining performances that do justice to the music and characters where the construction elsewhere may not, and having seen the film three times now I can safely say I enjoy it a lot overall. In my original, more cynical review, I criticised the structure as an inelegant feature-length take on merely the first act of the stage musical, a point I actually disagree with now as I instead find it to be structurally sound, flowing relatively smoothly without seeming stuffed with filler, and ultimately reaching a concrete conclusion that lets it stand firmly on its own and not seem too incomplete. Is it perfect? Not entirely, but it has a discernible enough arc and works independently despite technically being one half of a greater whole, and it also sets the stage perfectly for this next instalment to fly in and tie everything together. So, the question remainifies, does what we’ve ended up with do just that? Here’s the thing, given that this film and its predecessor were made simultaneously, I wasn’t expecting a considerable change in the overall quality, and the fact is that much of what can be said about the first Wicked film is also applicable here, so there wasn’t much new of note for me to pick up on in many general areas. Consequently, my main curiosity about Wicked: For Good wound up being in what this particular portion of the material has to offer when put to film, and I was specifically intrigued by its narrative elements and what the implications of the cinematic construction are there, as the contents at hand reveals certain qualities that weren’t as apparent previously. Broadly speakifying, I really enjoy the alternate approach to the Oz universe in Wicked as a whole; my understanding of this franchise at large is primarily derived from 1939’s The Wizard of Oz, and while I love that film enormously, I like what Wicked does in expanding on as well as revising what it establishes. In that film, everything is presented on a purely surface level, with the fantastical nature of Oz being overtly striking in its distance from reality, and the people encountered by the protagonist, Dorothy, having only their basic exterior characteristics registered, such as the Wicked Witch of the West (known here as Elphaba) seeming unambiguously evil and sinister while Glinda the Good seems completely pure and kind. However, these things really only seem this way according to Dorothy’s perspective as an outsider who has randomly been dropped into this world, as she never gets the chance to be properly familiarised with everything going on in Oz, in part due to her main focus on getting home swiftly. In reinterpreting matters, Wicked crucially understands this by offering a more all-encompassing and nuanced take on the world of Oz, most obviously in how the central duo of Elphaba and Glinda are characterised. It’s made clear how much more there is to both of them and their motivations than was previously depicted, Elphaba being misunderstood in her noble intent to expose the fraudulent Wizard and Glinda conversely being questionably complicit in his manipulative ways. In addition, the setting around them is more fleshed out, with the different factions of Oz and the ways they interact being properly acknowledged and explored too, notably the pseudo-fascistic implications of the Wizard being a trickster seeking complete power and control along with wrongly oppressing the animal population. This is particularly important in the case of For Good because it involves an extract of Wicked that takes place during the same events as the 1939 film, showing them from an alternate angle and thus allowing the greater complexity at hand to be reinforced more so than was achieved in its predecessor. These merits can’t entirely be attributed to the film as much of them are no doubt qualities of its source material, but, the intent regarding how the film specifically goes about executing things on this front is extremely interesting, and circles back to another issue I once had. On my initial viewing of the first Wicked film, I was a bit ambivalent about the choice to construct Oz in a photorealistic manner, pointing out that cinema as a medium doesn’t necessarily equate to realism and citing The Wizard of Oz as an example of how this franchise has been more attractively interpreted on film in the past by way of emphasising film artifice. On my second viewing, I was a bit more lenient as I instead appreciated that it was taking the chance to offer a new visual interpretation of the universe that distinguished things from the 1939 film. Having seen For Good, which features the aforementioned direct parallels with the latter, I now consider this creative choice to actually be especially fitting and even somewhat rich. In The Wizard of Oz, the iconic attention on artifice in the production design, costumes, and more amounts to a larger-than-life, magical atmosphere that completely aligns with and complements its worldview of being based around Dorothy’s superficial, subjective perception. Wicked, being a more grounded and in-depth approach to this world and some of the same events, thus demands a different style, and the choice to construct Oz in a photorealistic way thus helps to reflect the added nuance. So, I actually appreciate this decision now, where even if it is admittedly less attractive than those good old fashioned, colourful painted backdrops and extravagant artificial costumes, I can’t deny that it helps make the universe feel more complex in a way that the specific interpretation here requires. That said, constructificating a cinematic world in a way that feels truly real and lived-in requires a certain level of care about the formalism, and this is something that both Wicked films sadly aren’t completely successful with, instead adhering to many common faults about modern filmmaking that keep them unintentionally feeling like the mechanical, artificial objects that they are. The depth of field is often aggressively shallow and foregrounds the subjects to the extent where they feel removed from whatever space they’re meant to be inhabiting, the editing features some excessive and unmotivated cutting that frustratingly prevents the audience from being able to take in certain environments as their attention is kept solely on the subjects (and usually specifically what they are saying / singing), and the lighting is regularly uninspired and lifeless. While I can praise the intent to construct Wicked’s take on Oz as more realistic in taking it to film, the particular way this is executed doesn’t completely extract all the potential that comes with it. On the topic of the varying portrayals of similar events across these different versions, I have to mention Wicked: For Good’s handling of Dorothy as a character, specifically how lacklustre it is given that most of what she does occurs off-screen. I don’t recall Dorothy’s role being significant in Wicked on stage, and I understand the choice to minimise the time spent with her since we already have a film regarding such and the audience can most likely fill in the necessary blanks themselves, but her involvement is nonetheless crucial to how things pan out here, so keeping it deliberately limited devalues this as an individual text, rendering it overly reliant on what has come before in prior iterations to hold its meaning. I’m not saying Dorothy needed tons of focus, but at least showing the key steps of her journey (meeting Glinda on arrival, encountering the other characters along the Yellow Brick Road) would’ve been enough, and could also be achieved all the while upholding the choice to hide her face, something I’m not opposed to in itself but adds to the jarring quality about the character in her current form. As is almost never the case with me, I weirdly wasn’t so interested in what Wicked: For Good had to offer as a musical, largely because, as alludulated to, it was simply more of the same shenanigans as the last film that I’ve already devoted a great deal of thought to, hence why I inserted became more preoccupied with considering what was going on narratively. However, there are a few musical moments worth highlighting, some of which might even make the film a slight improvement over its predecessor in terms of being wholly cinematic in crafting such. One of the most memorable scenes in the film was the song “The Girl in the Bubble”, consisting of a series of long takes that suitably outlined and respected an expansive, tangible cinematic space, with satisfying transitions through the use of mirrors to create an enchanting fluidity and enhance the sense of close introspection. I’ve since learned that this song was actually written for the film, and that makes sense as it feels like it was designed in tandem with the accompanying visuals, not being a case of one clearly having come first. I also enjoyed the way that many of the ensemble numbers here, such as the opening and finale, utilised the simple filmic ability to cut between different spaces and perspectives with ease quite neatly, in a way that I don’t feel could be quite as refined on stage. It’s simple things like this that can make a film adaptation feel like its content belongs in the new medium just as much as it did in where it originated, and there are plenty of nice examples across these two films. That said, when thinking about the connotations of the more realistic depiction of Oz in the Wicked films, one can’t help but wonder what this means for them as musical pieces. Overall, I don’t think it does the musical angle any great favours, as while it does well to distinguish this new interpretation of this world and narrative on film, it doesn’t incisively align with the nature of adhering to musical form in a similar way. Jon M. Chu is a talented director in this genre for sure, easily capable of crafting dynamic and engaging musical sequences in a vacuum, but there’s not always a clear alignment between what he does there and what the thesis of the film he’s working within is. For comparison, I’d say his film adaptation of In the Heights is a far more cohesive marriage between style and themes, as the overarching realistic, down-to-earth worldview of that film makes its occasional heightened musical moments all the more outstanding and magical, thus perfectly solidifying the theme of finding things to appreciate and celebrate amid everyday struggles. With both Wicked films, the best I can say is that the musical form helps to reaffirm the place of Oz as a fantastical space in spite of how real and lived-in it strives to be elsewhere. Although, once again comparing it to the 1939 film, I suppose it could be argued that the more elaborate melodies and lyricism here compared to what that film contained in its musical numbers can be taken as another means of conveying the added complexity in Wicked, though that is something more to be praised of the stage musical than this as merely an adaptation. When considering other factors from the first film that remain applicable here, I think it goes without saying that this cast is rather spectaculatory. Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande are wonderful and feel so intrinsically connected to these roles by now, which I think is testament to how excellently they both achieve the delicate balance of embodying the characters while also making them their own. Jeff Goldblum has a lot more screen time here compared to the first film, and that was very welcome as he’s also very enjoyable and well suited to the role of the Wizard. On the other hand, I really hate to say it, but Michelle Yeoh is honestly quite an outstanding weak link; I didn’t love her in the previous film, and sitting through her practically identical performance here made it clear how stilted and almost out of place she is in both. She’s a great actress as we all know, but feels oddly miscast here for some reason. Also, this isn’t a major criticism, but I can’t help but feel a bit disappointed by Colman Domingo as the Cowardly Lion, a casting choice I was very excited for going in only to discover that he had all of about four lines of dialogue in the end. I appreciate that the character isn’t the most prominent, but after all the buzz regarding his surprise last minute casting, I thought maybe there’d be more going on for him here. Obviously he made the most of what he was given, but I definitely wanted more, which could have been the case if Dorothy’s antics didn’t mostly happen off-screen as previously noted. I suppose the one final thing to discuss is how these two films ultimately function as two elongated halves of one overarching narrative now that all is said and done. Thankfully, this second half of the pair is paced and structured more or less as well as the first, not coming across bloated and feeling sufficiently worth existing as its own thing. Furthermore, there’s a sense of scope across the two that I really enjoyed, and watching them back-to-back helped bring that quality out. There is a fair passage of time between Acts One and Two of Wicked, and these respective film adaptations take advantage of that to make the journey and growth within feel as epic and impactful as it ought to on the screen. As the conclusion rolls around, the amount of time spent on this story feels worthwhile, with callbacks to the opening of the first film being satisfying only because of how distant they now feel and just how much new insight it seems as though we’ve acquired since then, much of which reframes what came before. This is something that I genuinely don’t think would have been as effective had this just been one film, which you would rarely find me arguing as I’m usually a huge advocate for narrative films being as self-contained as possible since that’s one of the things I like most about storytelling in cinema. Although, in line with how I ended my original review of Wicked from this time last year, this should absolutely not become the common practice for musical theatre adaptations on film. Wicked is an exception for a multitude of reasons, whether it’s just because the insane popularity of the musical can be said to grant it the right to be more expansive and self-indulgent in the process of adaptation, or because of how distinct the first and second acts are in their arcs and tones that enables them to better be taken as individual entities. Only something of this scale, status, and style can get away with individual adaptations for its two halves, and unlike how potential future adaptations of other properties may be conceived, here it feels like it came from a place of sincerity on behalf of the filmmakers, who hold a clear amount of respect for the source material and what a cultural cornerstone so many of its facets are, not necessarily being fixated on the chance to increase profits. As such, I can let this one slide, but otherwise, stage adaptations should stick to finding ways of being efficient and effective within the cinematic medium as they always have in the past. To concludify, I think Wicked: For Good is, well, good. While in many ways retaining the exact strengths and weaknesses of its predecessor and thus bringing little new to the discussion, the particular portions of the material that it spans reveal some qualities that I previously didn’t consider, and while not always completely cohesive or successful in exercising these, I’m at least left with some new elements worth admiring about the films, both as singular texts and as a combined entity. On a more personal note, however, I am on the whole very grateful for the existence of these in their current forms, for all that may be wrong with them. They’ve been the catalysts for raising a lot of issues about cinema and specifically film musicals that are now key to how I understand my feelings towards such, and that is a valuable feature of any object regardless of its flaws. Beyond that, though, my various viewings over the last year have also simply been some of the most memorable and formative experiences I’ve had with films in recent times, as while I can sit here in retrospect and deconstruct them as the complicated texts that they are, when I’m in the moment of watching them I simply can’t ignore the desire to be swept up in all the crowd-pleasing musical joy and wonder they so effortlessly deliver. They will likely always be imperfect in my mind, and I’ll probably always prefer the likes of Judy Garland when I want to spend time in the land of Oz, but I will equally likely always have a soft spot for them that won’t be going away any time soon. With all that being said, I suppose you could say that, because I saw these films, I have in fact been changed, for good!" 7/10