I didn’t know anything about this movie before coming in. The most I knew were the chief actors, a red and blue palette, and the ad on top of cabs in the city. I thought it was maybe about a modern girl who uncovered the truth about a murder of a sixties-era girl South of Houston Street and #fuckyeahfeminism would right a wrong.¹

Not quite. But, like a good Halloween suspense movie, by the time I realized what I was doing, it was too late, and I had wrestle with my dawning understanding of the film amid the chaotic events of the film’s climax.

My favor for Wes Anderson movies has waxed and waned over the years: high points at Rushmore, Moonrise Kingdom, and The Grand Budapest Hotel; ebbs at The Royal Tannenbaums and The Darjeeling Limited (reviewed here as “The Darjeeling Mumbledy”). I’m glad to say that The French Dispatch joins the former set. In fact, it may well be my favorite of his films.

While still featuring his trademark flat, rectangular, composition and his mildly obsessive celebration of twee objects (“It must be a Royal brand McBee model portable typewriter…in putty!”), Anderson shows ever-more confidence in his schtick style with this effort and, as a result, his actors' performances shine and shimmer with their capabilities. He stops inserting himself with a sledgehammer etched with the motto “DO YOU GET HOW CLEVER I AM.” It’s a welcome mark of maturity and transition.

With the breathing room his trust has gained him, he demonstrates nimbleness and variety. The film, composed of three primary vignettes, sees Anderson working with:

• explosive color
• editorial-grade black and white
• a gorgeous and protracted segment of nude work
• slapstick à la the Marx Brothers
• slapstick à la the Keystone Kops
• and even animation (cel-based versus stop-motion as he has dabbled in before)

Two of the most brooding, academic, philosophical, and beautiful sci-fi productions in recent memory were Arrival and Blade Runner: 2049 — both helmed by Denis Villeneuve. When I read that he was going to attempt to film the unfilmable Dune, I thought: “You know, he might have a shot at it.” I’m glad to say that he succeeded in the impossible: he has made / is making a Dune film worthy of the source material.

This film is a fictionalization of the documentary of the same name: “The Eyes of Tammy Faye.” I remember seeing the documentary on the IFC channel when I first came to the Bay Area and realizing that there was a lot more to Tammy Faye (then-)Messner (formerly Bakker; née LaValley) than the scandals might have predicted. The documentary portrayed Messner sympathetically, regarding her as someone who wanted to share the gospel’s and her love of Christ while ambitious men were plotting to use television and their ministries to chase money, power, sex, or political influence. The film is a fictionalization of that interpretation of events.

It’s a tale as old as time: if we could build or buy better partners / lovers for ourselves, would we? And, if so, should we? And should we decide to do so, could we handle being perfectly matched in perfect, uncomplicated bliss? Or do we need that roughness of disagreement to be comfortable and “happy” in a way that we don’t quite understand?

The best Marvel movie in a long time and probably the most best action movie of the summer, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings proves that the genre “Marvel Movie” can contain multitudes. Closer to Black Panther than Endgame, we’re given intense, urban, closer-quarters Hong Kong fights, historical Chinese romance period/magical realism/wire-work fights, and a truly funny dynamic between Katy (“Awkwafina”, a.k.a. Nora Lum) and Shang-Chi (Simu Liu).

Perhaps most importantly, Shang-Chi provides a surprisingly deep narrative that demonstrates how and why a men should grow beyond dominance-based masculinity to become a happier and better human.

I went in with low expectations, but this was a decided hoot. I also completely love this Wild Bunch- and Apocalypse Now-inspired poster.

After becoming invested in AppleTV’s musical homage/send-up, “Schmigadoon!,” we decided to watch one of the most iconic musicals ever: “Oklahoma!.” To see and hear iconic songs of the Great American Songbook be performed in context was a joy, but the politics, message, and characterization feel horribly out of date. If not for the iconic songs, this movie would be largely forgettable if not outright embarrassing.

While slow to get going, and largely copping from “The Little Mermaid” in the first act, “Luca” finds its footing about twenty minutes in and becomes a wholly-independent story about the friendship of boys, the beauty of Northern Italy, and the warmth of family.

A beautifully-shot tale that uses visual metaphors to slowly — very slowly — show a man coming to understand that the only measure of goodness is himself: neither king nor God can give it. Having realized this, he considers whether to be noble or not. And then he chooses. I suspect this movie will move to be revered by cinephiles and mescaline fans (and movies on mescaline fans) in years to come.

Like Thor: Ragnarok, this is a movie that pushes the genre-limiting boundaries of “the superhero movie” in a fun and, often, funny way. Scarlett Johanssen finally gets a sole spotlight, but with newcomer Florence Pugh turning in such a strong character in Yelena, we have to wonder whether a Yelena movie or Disney+ show is in the works.

Affecting suspense; but with something lost for widening the world