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
