There’s a serious battle going on for worst movie of 2024 right now. Downright unwatchable slop!
Borderlands (Eli Roth, 2024): 0.5/5
TAR ends with the comedic gut punch that Cate Blanchett is stuck doing incredible things, for horrible art, for annoying fanbases and I think Cate Blanchett took it a little too far by continuing the joke with her next film.
The Deliverance (Lee Daniels, 2024): 0.5/5
The only thing worse than an exorcism movie is a Netflix original exorcism movie.
Afraid (Chris Weitz, 2024): 0.5/5
TECHNOLOGY BAAAAAADDD!?! 
Maybe next time just get a dog.
The Crow (Rupert Sanders, 2024): 1/5
More like The CROCK!
The guy who made this is the same guy that directed the live action Ghost in the Shell movie. Obviously there’s no one better than him to ruin a cult 90’s film.
The Front Room (Max Eggers, Sam Eggers, 2024): 0.5/5
The Front Room is a film attempting to dissect issues of race, interracial family conflict, and the struggle of motherhood…written by two white men, and it shows. It really went nowhere. It gave us nothing and answered no questions. Was it supernatural? Was it Satan? Who tf knows! Who tf cares!
Uglies (McG, 2024): 0.5/5
An expulsion of putrid gas from the bloated corpse of the YA dystopian genre.
Also, how much longer are we going to let joey king play a 16 year old?!?
It Ends With Us (Justin Baldoni, 2024): 0.5/5
There are issues:
Romanticizes DV
The name "Ryle"
The name "Lily Blossom Bloom" (and she's a florist)
The fact she found her way back to her old boyfriend, whose name is "Atlas"
Very literal music that was too on-the-nose
Everything was terribly literal
And lastly, Blake Lively during promotion of a movie about domestic violence: y'alllll floralsss 
don't forget to get my hair product 
look at my dress 
deadpool sold out 
don't forget to get my hair product look at my dress deadpool sold out Megalopolis (Francis Ford Coppola, 2024): 1.5/5
Nebulous. Ill-defined. Incomprehensible eccentricity. Maximalist sludge. Will almost certainly die a quick death at the box office and attract its share of scathing pans. It's basically a series of aspirational adjectives and the sunny nature-dappled walks with families you see in still form on any speculative real estate investment, with some space age quirks of questionable utility, unless "travelators" and "involuntary umbrellas" are what you think is lacking in our current dystopia. It's almost a dead cert that we'll get an alternate cut of this at some point: because it's FFC, because it's clearly shorn of connective tissue at points, because there's a few bits of voice that scream of editing fixes.
I suppose FFC has earned the right to blow $120 million of his own money combining Roman history, Shakespeare, dozens of other cultural references that probably whizzed past me (though not Marcus Aurelius, quoted and attributed thrice in rapid succession), The Fountainhead, anti-MAGA and anti-cancel culture leanings, and the smoke of ten thousand joints into a defiantly idiosyncratic film. Most $120 million dollar movies are spectacular soulless leveragings of IP designed to please shareholders that may even successfully entertain in the moment but merge into a grey goo in the brain in the course of mere days. This ... this THING, in both positive and negative ways, defies easy digestion. (Indigestible even, I would say. And given the choice of a landscape of free artists vs stockholder-pleasers, I'll take the former every time, outcome be damned.) I tried to get a sense of how people felt outside the cinema, but it turned out to be impossible: the clamor of the clusters of people in the cramped IMAX exit lobby was intense, and I honestly couldn't tell what they were sharing, excitement or mockery or something else. But I've been to enough of these screenings to know you don't see that after a Marvel movie.
Strange Darling (JT Mollner, 2024): 2/5
“Oh I get it. It's very clever.”
“Thank you.”
“What?”
“Being clever.”
I can't believe nobody read the script to Strange Darling and told JT Mollner, "You've built your screenplay around a gimmicky reveal, but you don't hide it very well and you do nothing with it. And in expending all this effort to hide what's really going on, you neglected to make this about anything else."
Blink Twice (Zoe Kravitz, 2024): 3/5
Kyle McLachlan, Christian Slater, and Geena Davis - my kind of casting! It took way too long to get to the point, but once it did, there are some thrills and chills that work.
Million Dollar Baby (Clint Eastwood, 2004): 3/5
Not a huge fan of Clint's directorial oeuvre, nor am I an avid Swank adherent, so believe me when I tell you that not only have I managed to avoid seeing Million Dollar Baby for twenty years, but somehow I've eluded any major spoilers, too, which…well, thank god for that. Actively deplorable for about an hour; seemingly nothing more than a formulaic "dark horse sports flick" -- an overly-specific sub genre that's inherently flawed, typically producing the same tired blueprint of : underdog with a heart of gold starts off shaky, but perseveres and becomes great with the help of someone who at first begrudgingly rebuffs; gets beat, fights back, becomes champ, etc. Well, well, well, how wrong I was. Thought I knew for sure where this was headed, only to be blindsided completely by the [horrific incident] and further relieved when it didn't segue into a tacky, miraculous recovery story, but rather finishes in the vein of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest -- tragic and bittersweet but ultimately for the best. Although the more this film lingers in postscript, the more its flaws continue to nettle me and undermine that bold maneuver. Swank's mother and sister e.g. are so accelerated and overwrought in their self-centered narcissism that their finger-pointing feels by and large mechanical, as does their decision to show up a week late to the hospital fully decked out in Disney World garb. Narratively well-conceived, but the dialogue falters quite often: stagey and direct, especially coming from Eastwood who, despite the praise, remains very wooden and stuffy (and not in a "that's the point" kind of way). The comic relief rarely works, too : I wouldn't mind seeing everything involving Spider or Father Horvak surgically removed. Not sure if the amazing rug-pull completely justifies (or exonerates) the paint-by-numbers first-half, but even among the bevy of whiffs, this is solid.
Missing (Costa-Gavras, 1982): 3/5
Sadly relevant. Imperialism is an away game; but sooner or later, those same tactics get deployed against the homeland that was supposedly being protected.
Saint Jack (Peter Bogdanovich, 1979): 3/5
A Bogdanovich film without a blonde leading lady is a sure sign the director was taking a risk. And it mostly pays off. After a trilogy of period flops, Bogdanovich returns to the modern day with this film that is equal parts New Hollywood and Neo-Hawksian. Having the main character be an unrepentant pimp is going to be a non-starter for many these days, especially since the women in the story take a back seat to the men. However, the women are a presence and have a point of view, they just aren't as prominent as in contemporary filmmaking (again, Bogdanovich shows just enough interest in his female characters that you can see why Polly Platt valued him as a collaborator, and more to the point why he had the good sense to value her). Gazzara serves up middle-middle age sangfroid and believably suggests a depth the script only teases.
A Different Man (Aaron Schimberg, 2024): 3.5/5
I was worried this was gonna be The Elephant Man all over again or your typical "poor deformed person" kinda thing. Luckily this was A Different Movie. The only thing more frightening than who we are is who we become; a hole in the ceiling can be easily fixed, but these holes in our hearts, not so much.
The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024): 4/5
Or, Why can't I all just get along?
Remember “New French Extremity” from 20 years ago? Now it’s time for the New French Unsubtlety. Gross and brutal. I dug it! I do find it weird though that it won Best Screenplay at Cannes, as that's at best the third award I'd suggest it for - maybe Best Direction (certainly *Most* Direction) and definitely Best Actress. I hope Demi Moore rides this film to the Oscars; really enjoyed her essentially making a Robert Aldrich psychobiddy. And I'm not sure what to make of all the ogling of Margaret Qualley, who is a milquetoast nepo baby. Kinda enjoyed the way it’s set in Los Angeles but clearly not shot here. Gave it a strange oneiric quality.
Also, when I went to the bathroom to wash my hands after the movie, I made a conscious decision not to look in the mirror.
Will & Harper (Josh Greenbaum, 2024): 3/5
Very sweet doc. This film will probably save lives.
Also: "Do you know any trans people?" "I have some friends who are bisexual” might be one of the funniest lines in anything ever.
Rebel Ridge (Jeremy Saulnier, 2024): 3.5/5
ACAB actioner that's lucky Boyega walked out and let a legitimately excellent star-is-born Aaron Pierre in, who is a delight to watch as he's got the screen presence to shoulder this. This is a solid recovery after the intensely mediocre Hold the Dark. Here Jeremy Saulnier cashes in on his lean Green Room potential and comes up with a premise that he gets to have a lot more fun with. Saulnier smartly and effectively gets right down to business, quickly opening with a series of tense racially-charged altercations between Aaron Pierre as the mixed martial arts marine trying very hard to keep his cool and de-escalate the corrupt asshole cops who run him off the road, steal the cash on him, and then put up a series of bullshit, abusive shouldn't-be-legal procedural roadblocks he needs navigate his way around (or through). And it ends quite strong too, with an excitingly unique focus on non-lethal combat that requires logistical choreography and blocking that Saulnier relishes in, consistently finding clever weaponization of geographical space and disarming takedowns.
War Game (Jesse Moss, Tony Gerber, 2024): 3/5
A real-life political thriller set on January 6, 2025, War Game imagines a nation-wide insurrection in which members of the US military defect to support the losing Presidential candidate, while the winning candidate and his advisors—played by an all-star roster of senior officials from the last five administrations—war games the crisis in the White House situation room. They have 6 hours to save democracy as the country teeters on the brink of civil war.
It forces us to confront the uncomfortable truth that democracy is fragile, and that though time has passed, the specter of January 6th, 2021 still looms large over our nation. If anything, that awful day may have been the beginning of something even more terrifying, and if we're not careful, History may repeat itself in the future on a grander scale.
Sorcerer (William Friedkin, 1977): 3.5/5
He followed a film about the Devil in a little girl with a film about a man in Hell. Blends all of Friedkin's greatest hits: a prologue shot documentary style, an examination of masculinity, and a shift from naturalism into expressionist horror. The delicious ambiguity of the ending lingers like the aftertaste of a good meal. Re: masculinity, Friedkin really stood alone in his examination of men in that he began the 70s and 80s with transgressive gay stories long before that was a thing. You'd have to look for Almodovar to find another director pre-90s as at home with the idea that homosexuality was simply one expression of hyper-masculinity and not its antithesis. RIP Billy. Your iconoclasm and inability to bullshit is still terribly missed in a film industry starved for both.
rewatched Logan Lucky (Steven Soderbergh, 2017): 4/5
Or, Magic Mike, James Bond and Kylo Ren walk into a bar.
Second viewing. Continues to be a huge delight. Such a clever, warm and brilliantly executed caper comedy featuring an A-list cast that nails every single second on screen. There's a version of "Logan Lucky" where this exact script is given to a director like, say, Adam McKay and the same material turns into a boorish parody of Southern culture. It's Steven Soderbergh's cool neutrality, combined with a genuine affection for these sometimes slow-witted characters, that really makes the film. This is a heist movie that's so breezy, so charming, the heist hardly feels like work.
Wanda (Barbara Loden, 1970): 3.5/5
Plays like Red State Nouvelle Vague with the major exception that the woman who would normally be a disposable accessory of the protagonist *is* the protagonist. Loden asks us to confront how being a (white) woman (young and attractive enough to have some value in a patriarchal underworld) in this kind of road picture empowers her and how it limits her possibilities as well. Yes this is a feminist film but Wanda herself is no paragon of womanist self-actualization. She’s a deeply flawed character who makes questionable choices but that makes her story all the more compelling. Wanda is slow and rough, and its brutality is only outmatched by its beauty (or is it the other way around?) — because that’s life.
Also, it’s heartbreaking that Barbara Loden was taken so young, and before she could share so much more of her art. This would have certainly been the first of many triumphs.
Hotel (Jessica Hausner, 2004): 2/5
One of those films with a bunch of vague imagery that allows viewers to imprint whatever meaning they want on the movie. And nothing ever actually happens, so they can never be proven wrong.
His Three Daughters (Azazel Jacobs, 2023): 3/5
Coming to terms with the loss of a loved one can be traumatic enough in itself; coming to terms with the loss of a loved one while they’re still around is another matter entirely. This isn’t to say, even remotely, that dealing with a sudden death is somehow worthy of less sympathy than those forced to view a family member in gradual decline, but the processes of dealing with these situations are undeniably distinct from one another, the latter bringing out its own set of complex questions. When you know someone is at the end, do you pray for recovery, or for a quick, painless departure? Do you spend every moment they have left by their side, or do you distance yourself in preparation for the permanent separation just around the corner? There’s no one correct way to grieve, and His Three Daughters provides yet another case study for when these differing processes find themselves under one roof.
rewatched Stagecoach (John Ford, 1939): 4/5
A black-and-white rip off of The Hateful Eight. Kidding, of course, but it’s clear to me now this was the origin of Tarantino’s inspiration for the first 45-minutes of his film. Really, Stagecoach kind of outlined the general blueprint for the “group of multifarious people with various ideals and morals forced to get along and eventually work together in close quarters” schema. John Ford’s direction is simply exquisite here and his insistence on John Wayne as Ringo Kid paid off in dividends—despite him being in the ballpark of 80 films before this one (yes, eighty, but that includes lots of small, uncredited bit-parts), John Wayne wasn’t a household name until this.
There are some pretty amazing shots in the film, especially when you consider its 1939 timestamp. The desert chase between the Native Americans and the stagecoach remains thrilling after all these years, including bold shots of a Native getting trampled under the cart and a daring crawl amongst the moving horses. I do think the film stutters a little bit in terms of characterization—it’s assuredly a western, but at its core, it’s most certainly a character driven film. That being the case, a few of the characters and their interactions with each other felt ever-so-slightly undernourished. I want to know more about the gambler’s dodgy habits, or the banker’s shady past, or what drives the doctor to drink like a sailor, or the acclaimed notoriety of Ringo Kid, etc. Maybe I’m just being greedy, but I was hungry for a deep dive into what made these characters act the way they do towards each other.
Still a good amount to marvel at, though. I love how Ringo Kid is always looking out for the harlot, Dallas (although his marriage proposal seems a bit rushed in the context of the movie); perhaps because they’ve both chosen wayward paths? “But you don’t know me. You don’t know who I am,” Dallas tells Ringo, to which he replies, “I know all I wanna know.” Thanks to the collected confidence in John Wayne’s voice, we know he really means it. I’m also glad Ringo gets his revenge on Luke Plummer and even more gracious that the Marshal turns a blind-eye after growing close to Ringo during their stagecoach travels. I don’t know why, but I’m a sucker for moments when a law enforcer sides with ‘the technically unlawful but not actually bad-intentioned’ guy (see also: the end of Casablanca).
Bug (William Friedkin, 2006): 3/5
Key plot ingredients: Claustrophobia, isolation, delusional schizophrenia, self-debasement, murder, and bugs. William Friedkin’s Bug has powerful visual suggestion within its suffocating fleabag motel. You feel the stench through Friedkin’s feverish hot colors, and you may tip into feelings of nausea too by its squalid, sweltering aura. As apropos, Tracy Letts’ ripe dialogue has a scintillating paranoia. The actors – Ashley Judd (devastating) as a depressed mother of a dead child, Harry Connick Jr. as sociopath ex-husband, Michael Shannon as Gulf War vet whose obsession is bug classification, Lynn Collins as the buffer of reason—all reach delirious highs in their performances that skirt over-the-top yet are strictly relegated within a story that earns its finale of tripped-out freakiness. Tripped out, as well as, explosive.
Shutter Island (Martin Scorsese, 2010): 3.5/5
Between this and Inception, 2010 was not a great year for Leo to be a father.
rewatched Inland Empire (David Lynch, 2006): 2/5
Last saw opening night - no change. I'm all for cinematic oddities and uncompromised vision, but Lynch gives us quite literally nothing to champion here; not so much as a ledge from which to dangle. (Furthermore, I do not enjoy nor understand the desire to capture this with crappy digital video; it is not eerie or obfuscating, just annoying.) Even Lynch's most abstract works have the meat necessary to build an interpretative thesis buried somewhere under the glossy surface texture, but I don't see it here. The “story”—and I use that word loosely—draws uncanny similarities to Mulholland Drive but mingles with so many ancillary and seemingly irrelevant sequences that surmising everything's legitimate purpose quickly becomes a full-time job. I found a handful of fifteen or twenty-second blips thrilling and appropriately nightmarish, but they're scattered too thinly among the three hours. Strange conversations with a mysterious fat guy, hookers dancing to 80s music, sitcoms with rabbit masks, and Laura Dern doing her worst possible southern rube impression into the camera for long periods of time—I'm failing to make the connection, and still don’t feel compelled enough to keep trying. One bright spot: the sound design is mostly excellent and, several times, physically made me jump. But there were far, far more times where I found myself checking the clock or getting distracted piecing this inane jigsaw puzzle together.
rewatched Lost Highway (David Lynch, 1997): 3/5
This one was widely dismissed when it was released from what I understand and not without reason. I’m sure part of it was due to the fact this was Lynch’s first L.A. film (though the trained eye will notice L.A.’s Arts District at the end of Wild At Heart standing in for the American South). The fall of Twin Peaks prompted a Lynch backlash that held until Mulholland Drive. Barry Gifford has long been scapegoated for this critical nadir. But these films are now clearly part of Lynch’s journey and while they may not have worked as well as his earlier or later work he clearly used these films as a bridge from one creatively rich period to another. All of the films between Twin Peaks’ debut and Mulholland Drive have developed a following and enjoyed a degree of critical rehabilitation. Lost Highway, in the larger scheme of things, took Lynch somewhere interesting and for that the film’s shortcomings have to be forgiven.
Welcome to Collinwood (Joe Russo, Anthony Russo, 2002): 1/5
Just terrible. Inept. Annoying. Unbelievable these guys got anyone to trust them again. What did Soderbergh see in them
The Remains of the Day (James Ivory, 1993): 4.5/5
I’m gagged. I’m floored. I’m shooketh!
This film has dignity. It has restraint. It has nuance. And that’s all I ask of a period drama—characters unable to express themselves, a dash of unrequited longing, and an emphasis on the importance of hands occasionally touching.
The Two Jakes (Jack Nicholson, 1990) 2.5/5
Strips Chinatown of its nihilistic mystique for a barely serviceable sequel, Jack Nicholson’s reinstatement as Jake Gittes stringing it all along. Attempting to follow up Polanski’s genre-defining classic was always an ill-advised move, but with the help of convicted performances, a cameo from Tom Waits, and the great Vilmos Zsigmond’s cinematographic prowess, this cheap outing down memory lane is almost worth it. It’s sad Nicholson gave up the director’s chair after this due to bad reviews, he shows a lot of promise both visually and narratively, even if the outcome is largely pointless. Robert Towne’s poetry is all but lost here, mostly for the fact that the film is missing its other key off-screen components: Roman Polanski and Jerry Goldsmith. If Gittes was a man out of time before, here he’s ancient history. Forget it, Jake. It’s not Chinatown, and it was never going to be.
