We've reached the end of another month, so you know what that means, time to look back and round up the best of my recent Letterboxd writings. This August has been somewhat uneventful for me in terms of film viewing, with a lot of rewatches as well as first-time watches where I didn't find myself with much to say afterwards. Nevertheless, we've got some good bits and pieces to go through, so let's get started!
NEW: The Naked Gun (Akiva Schaffer, 2025) - reviewed 06/08/2025
"Such a great time at the cinema. This is not your average lazy and crass crime comedy that merely exploits the goodwill of the Naked Gun name, this is a faithful and truly hilarious successor to the classic trilogy. It maintains the spirit of those original films in its style of humour absolutely perfectly, and it might just be the funniest of the bunch. I was sat there laughing out loud for most of the runtime at the endless stream of top notch jokes, and it’s definitely one of those comedies that will be a pleasure to revisit as I’m sure there will be plenty that I either missed or will have forgotten given the sheer density at hand. [Liam] Neeson is an inspired choice to fill [Leslie] Nielsen’s shoes, being effortlessly funny in delivering each and every gag, both physical and spoken, and I would love to see the guy do more comedies like this. None of it feels perfunctory, none of it feels cynical, it’s clearly all come from a place of love and the end result is a concise 85 minutes of pure cinematic joy. Probably would’ve gone down even better with a packed crowd as my midday screening was far from lively." 8/10
THROWBACK: Paprika (Satoshi Kon, 2006) - reviewed 07/08/2025
"People seem to compare this to Inception a lot for obvious reasons, but I think a more apt [Christopher] Nolan comparison to draw is with Tenet, which this feels like the equivalent of in Satoshi Kon’s filmography. This is mainly to say, it’s an elaborately plotted piece with clear intellectual / philosophical aspirations about the ideas being conveyed within, but one where the more mechanical narrative elements often get in the way of such. I don’t mind a complex narrative to wrap my head around, but it is frustrating when a film leaves you trying to piece together the more practical aspects of what’s presented rather than feeling the more meaningful effects of whatever those things are intended to convey. Admittedly, I did struggle to follow along with the narrative here and consequently left the cinema with the many complications about the logistical side of what was going on at the forefront of my mind, and even after a bit of time I still don’t think I’ve quite comprehended enough to begin pondering what further meaning, if any, underscores it all. All that being said, on setting those issues aside and just rolling with the vibe of what’s on display, Paprika is still a mostly stunning experience, with more of Kon’s signature elegance in terms of drifting between worlds and different levels of reality, and an endless array of creative and unique visuals at every turn. It’s more explosive and focused on spectacle than his previous films, which for me is a bit less interesting than the more quietly profound and unconventional conflicts about such films as Millennium Actress and Tokyo Godfathers, but it at least enables the director to further his versatility in some areas. Whatever way you look at it, you can’t deny the film’s immense ambition, and considering this would go on to be Kon’s final feature film, one can only imagine how many further cinematic boundaries he would’ve dared to push in any works that followed. Even on considering my personal issues with Paprika, it nonetheless feels right at home in his stellar filmography." 7/10
THROWBACK: Luxo Jr. (John Lasseter, 1986) - reviewed 16/08/2025
"This is still such a brilliant short, showcasing an immense level of talent in both artistic and technical fields, bringing endless life to mundane objects and upholding a close attention to detail regarding the physics of how they operate. How they made these inanimate lamps so expressive from a purely visual standpoint is really astounding when one stops to think about it, the fact that so much character and personality is derived from such basic movements and behaviours carried about by the seemingly restrictive avatars is really quite remarkable, testament to just how limitless the possibilities of the animated realm really are. I’ve seen this many, many times now, and I naturally find myself fixating on the very small details at hand with each subsequent viewing, and honestly, every corner of this film is just stunning. It’s easy to dismiss as simple by today’s standards, but as the straightforward exercise in early computer animation that it is, I can’t help but be in awe of seemingly trivial aspects such as the precision about the lighting (both in terms of how it comes from and reacts to the characters) or the seamless portrayal of such practical elements as the waves that move down Jr.’s cable with each jump or the rolling of the bouncy balls. I’ve tried to do animation myself (albeit stop motion as opposed to anything on a computer), and so I take great pleasure in appreciating the little things in any animated piece I watch, because I know from experience that it’s really those that amount to a satisfying whole, and it’s in these formative works that their impact can be easiest to observe. The same obviously applies to early Pixar features like Toy Story 1&2, but there’s an extra layer of wonder about something as deceptively simple as shorts like this." 10/10
THROWBACK: The Lone Ranger (Gore Verbinski, 2013) - reviewed 17/08/2025
"I’ve always had an underlying suspicion that this film is secretly far better than its less than kind reception and legacy seems to indicate, and on recently revisiting the original Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy and realising just how much those films hold up and stand tall above present Disney slop, it felt like the time was right for me to finally see if my suspicions were correct. And oh boy, I could not have been more right. The Lone Ranger is awesome, reducible in large part to a [The] Big Country esque deconstruction of western mythos masquerading as an accessible Disney blockbuster, an apt status given the prominent symbolism about the mask worn by the titular character. Verbinski lets you know of this right away, with the framing device for the story in question being within the context of a colourful funfair attraction that dwells on the mythicised frontier spectacle yet is told from the perspective of someone who supposedly saw the real thing for themselves, the so-called ‘Noble Savage’ that is Tonto. What follows in his retelling is nothing like the theme park style ‘Wild West’ hinted to us during the opening; Verbinski’s vision of the frontier is harsh and ruthless, aesthetically defined by its washed out colours, unforgiving exposure, and stark shadows. There is no wonder about this space, rather all that is dangerous about it is emphasised, and the scope at hand is more terrifying than it is awe-inspiring. This subversive worldview extends to the characters, whose violent, greedy, and pathetic tendencies are what drive the narrative more so than anything worthy of mythology. John Reid, the Lone Ranger himself, a figure clearly idolised by the starry-eyed child we see at the beginning, falls considerably short of fulfilling any kind of legendary folkloric status for the most part. Similar to Gregory Peck in [William] Wyler’s film, he’s by all means an ordinary man in a larger than life environment, regularly rendered pathetic through his misguided insistence on upholding lawfulness in an inherently lawless society as well as his ineptitude in living up to traditional western sharpshooting iconography in practice. In contrast, Tonto is the comparatively wise voice of reason, far from the exoticised ‘savage’ Native American that is initially alluded to. Their partnership is satisfying to watch unfold, not to mention extremely entertaining too. Much like the Pirates films, Verbinski implements plenty of expertly crafted visual comedy here, which is not in the least bit ill-fitting as it so easily could’ve been in the wrong hands, instead seamlessly adding to the overarching goal of the film, whether it’s demonstrating Reid’s clumsiness so to acerbically undermine whatever heroic image is suggested by his legacy, or displaying Tonto’s effortless ability to outwit the cruel, unintelligent antagonists. I really hate how much I liked Armie Hammer here given everything surrounding him in real life, but he rather annoyingly happens to achieve the perfect balance of being both charismatic and bumbling in the central role. Also, as much as I do like Johnny Depp, I can’t deny that the casting of him is a bit insensitive and his performance does often unfavourably lean into caricature, thus running counter to the intent of the film elsewhere. Nevertheless, what can be criticised about the cast does not extend to how the film is produced elsewhere, as also just like Verbinski’s Pirates films, this is a $200+ million film that actually looks like it cost that amount of money, with so many rich environments, sets, and costumes to take in, as well as a proper cinematic texture about the image. Computer-generated / digital augmentation does become a bit more apparent as the film pans out, but it remains leagues above what we tend to see from big-scale productions on our cinema screens today, especially from Disney of all companies. Speaking of which, I am fully convinced that Disney let this film happen as it did by complete accident. It seems like they just wanted themselves a replacement for Pirates of the Caribbean after that series began running out of steam, and seemingly threw as much money as possible at the same creative team to try and replicate its success. That is obviously not what they got, instead ending up with one of the most infamous financial flops in film history, however, what they do have here is one of the most striking live action films to fall off their production line in maybe all of the 2010s, and honestly perhaps the best Western of the 21st century too (Killers of the Flower Moon is the only thing I can imagine competing with it, though for completely different reasons). It breathes new life into the somewhat dormant classical genre by carefully unpacking the implications about such in the modern age, and even when it does eventually indulge in the more predictable western spectacle, it’s not only earned but all executed absolutely magnificently, and put an enormous smile on my face for most of the hefty runtime. Someone get Verbinski out of director jail and give him another $200 million and I guarantee he will produce something that will put most other contemporary blockbusters to shame, and we all better actually show up to appreciate what he does this time." 9/10
THROWBACK: Carrie (Kimberly Peirce, 2013) - reviewed 27/08/2025
"I initially thought there was no point in readapting Carrie on film, but having read the original Stephen King novel for myself, I realise that it actually isn’t as vapid a notion as I first imagined. As much as I love Brian De Palma’s version, what was particularly fascinating about my experience of reading the source material was finding out how that film isn’t the most faithful adaptation, as instead of being primarily about demonstrating the ignorance shared among people trying to understand a troubled individual without ever really knowing who they were, it focuses more on the tragedy within the central turbulent mother / daughter relationship and is thus more directly introspective about the protagonist and who she is. This isn’t a bad thing in the least as Carrie 1976 is extremely powerful and heartbreaking in its own right, but what it does mean is that there is room for a potentially more faithful rendition of this story on the screen that is closer to how King originally articulated it. More specifically, perhaps a version in which Carrie herself isn’t necessarily the protagonist in order to create a clearer sense of the outsiders trying to understand her without letting the truth of the matter function as the main emotional core, or additionally an attempt to factor in the retrospective angle about the novel by setting things during the aftermath of the central horrific events and having issues of memory and personal reflection be raised throughout the narrative, something that the more subjective viewpoint of cinema is well equipped for. Sadly, Carrie 2013 is less interested in exercising these unique aspects of the source material in taking it to the screen and is instead more accurately understood as a direct remake of De Palma’s film. I don’t want to sit here and just go on and on about how it fails to live up to such, but I really don’t have much of a choice based on what it brings to the table. While not entirely shot-for-shot, it nonetheless goes through all the exact same beats that Carrie 1976 consists of and opts for the same thematic angles to be what defines its interpretation of this story. The crucial difference is that, expectedly, it’s not nearly as expertly helmed as that original version, and unintentionally regularly reminds the audience of that fact in multiple ways. On the one hand, there are perfunctory attempts to replicate what De Palma achieved; right from the opening POV-style tracking shots, it’s clear just how derivative and unoriginal the film’s directorial voice is, rendering it largely a weak imitation of what has come before instead of looking to foster its own unique identity. On the other hand, when there are more distinctive features about how it’s constructed elsewhere, such are almost entirely inferior creative choices. This is most apparent in how many of the confrontations and moments of terror are far more explosive this time around, adhering to more conventional dynamics of horror filmmaking and consequently falling short of the inventive tone and formalism in Carrie 1976. For example, the whole prom scene in the latter features a nerve-racking build-up of tension, glacially pacing things as Carrie and Tommy make their way to the stage while Sue slowly realises what fate awaits them from the sidelines. Then, even once the bloody catharsis is reached and the subsequent violence ensues, it remains somewhat slow so to let the shock about what is unfolding truly sink in, say for a few scarce hyperactive moments dotted throughout that keep the audience suitably on edge all the while. It’s masterful filmmaking that is equal parts suspenseful, exciting, and horrifying. In contrast, Carrie 2013 switches things up for the worst, being a lot more frantic and fast paced in the build-up to Carrie’s fateful moments on the stage and maintaining that energy afterwards, making the impact of the eventual death and destruction feel unearned and not striking in the least. This leads onto another issue, that being the film’s general misguided characterisation of Carrie as a whole. While Chloë Grace Moretz actually does really well playing the part and doesn’t feel miscast (unlike the actresses for Chris and Sue, both of whom I had trouble believing in those roles), the film sort of missteps in terms of making her as compelling as she has been in previous incarnations. She’s still sympathetic, but feels a bit overpowered in her abilities; I love the way that the other versions featured a very gradual discovery and development of her telekinetic powers, such as her first instance being the minor movement of an ash tray, followed by more small yet increasingly extreme incidents leading up to the climactic prom night, the moment that I feel is supposed to be when the ultimate might at hand is properly revealed. In this film, however, not only is that first moment the comparatively more outstanding act of smashing a water fountain, but she then gets a grasp on what she’s capable of all too briskly and achieves rather elaborate telekinetic acts before the climax arrives. Once again, it makes things come across as unearned rather than satisfyingly built up to and paid off. I suppose it’s worth also mentioning that much of Carrie’s powers are brought to life with overbearing CGI rather than the mixture of practical effects and clever editing / camerawork that De Palma utilised to create the illusion of them, but it should go without saying how the former is far less interesting to take in. The one mildly worthwhile alteration to the story is the film’s functioning of such into a more modern age, with digital screens and other technologies being key to how aspects of the narrative are conveyed. This was welcome and prevented the film from feeling completely unimaginative, but there is a certain timelessness about the original story and 1976 film that does get undermined as a result, so I can’t say for sure if this enhances things or not. I didn’t mind Carrie 2013 while it was on, in a vacuum it’s a passably snappy horror film with some committed performances and solid production values. But, when situated in the lineage to which it belongs, rather than being reflective of the inherently useless endeavour that is remaking a borderline flawless masterpiece with minimal room for improvement or reinterpretation, it’s a frustratingly wasteful and uninspired take on a story that, as it exists on the screen (and just from what I’ve seen, I still need to see the 2002 version), has rich elements that are yet to be fully explored or taken advantage of. Because of this, on looking to the upcoming Carrie miniseries involving regular Stephen King filmmaker Mike Flanagan, while I’m not especially optimistic that it will come close to exceeding what was accomplished back in 1976, I do hope that it at least tries to use the new format to find ways of more closely realising King’s original story. It’s not something I can say I’m in desperate need of, as the original novel and De Palma’s adaptation complement one another perfectly well as distinct versions of this story utilising varying aspects of their respective mediums, but if it really must exist, it would undeniably be preferable to another hollow and repetitive reimagining like this." 5/10
THROWBACK: The Magnificent Ambersons (Orson Welles, 1942) - reviewed 29/08/2025
"Meet Me in St. Louis’ evil twin, and I mean that as a compliment. Both are Hollywood films from the 1940s that use the concept of the small town American family at some point in the recent past as a vessel for articulating anxieties held by those in the present regarding change and progress. Rather than using the artifice of cinema to create a space in the past where the inevitability of time passing has no effect and thus the troubling present is completely avoidable, here we see a vision of the past where such is a persistent threat, constantly looming in every scene as death and decay feel increasingly imminent. In contrast to [Vincente] Minnelli’s warm and vibrant Technicolor worldview, Welles’ black and white world of harsh shadows and large empty spaces creates an unnerving atmosphere, properly registering the pessimism and terror that is felt within each and every confrontation and depiction of inner turmoil regarding the future. The characters are simply forced to face what comes next, to surrender to what bleak chapter awaits them next in life, one that audiences of 1942 would be all too familiar with aspects of. That said, the film also does not settle with the notion that the old days were a better time, rather it uses this mood to effectively convey the frustration that comes from remaining too comfortable in the same place despite what change it is bound to experience over time. It may be uncomfortable to witness unfold, as signified by that chilling montage towards the end, but it is ultimately the way of life. Nothing stays the same forever, people die, and the legacies they leave behind may not be built to last as desired. Sometimes embracing that step into the frightening unknown of tomorrow is a necessary part of life. Quite something how between these two texts alone we can aptly observe cinema’s ability to both realise our inner desires that cannot be made true and speak honestly to the human condition as it is lived by all of us in the real world. The obvious signs of studio interference alongside some slightly inelegant characterisation holds The Magnificent Ambersons back from being a true masterpiece, but I can imagine it becoming even more profound upon revisiting." 7/10
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