My Cultural Diet

Darren Aronofsky is best-known for dark, nightmarish, and highly stylized films like Pi, Requiem For a Dream, and Black Swan. But Caught Stealing represents something of a shift for the acclaimed director: a comedy crime caper, albeit a really dark one replete with Russian gangsters and Hasidic drug dealers. Hank Thompson (Austin Butler) was an aspiring major league baseball player who now just tends bar in New York circa 1998. But when his punk rock neighbor (Matt Smith) asks him to cat sit for awhile, Hank gets caught up in a whirlwind of drug deals, stolen money, and the aforementioned villains. It’s all twist-y and turn-y, and Aronofsky is not shy with the bodily fluids as people get beat up, tortured, and shot. But to be honest, it’s surprisingly tepid. Based on the trailer, I was expecting something in the vein of a classic Guy Ritchie caper like Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels or Snatch, but Caught Stealing never quite achieves that level of riotous energy. Butler is never anything less than watchable and the film’s evocation of the late ’90s is fun (flip phones everywhere!), but in the end, Caught Stealing is mostly forgettable — which is something you’d never think you’d say about a Darren Aronofsky film.

When they released Songs of a Lost World last year, The Cure marked the occasion by playing a three-hour-long set at London’s Troxy theater and streaming it on YouTube. I watched the concert when it was on their YouTube channel for a short time afterwards, and it was an even bigger treat to see it in a theater this week. Over the course of three hours, Robert Smith et al. actually deliver four mini-concerts. The first is Songs of a Lost World performed in its entirety (and I daresay I much prefer the live versions to the album) followed a collection of Cure classics (e.g., “Pictures of You,” “Fascination Street,” “Just Like Heaven”). Then comes a selection of songs from Seventeen Seconds, which turned 45 this year, and then another collection of Cure classics that includes “Friday I’m in Love” (which Smith hilariously flubs) and “Boys Don’t Cry.” It’s all excellent, must-see material for Cure fans, and ample proof that The Cure truly excel as a live band. Sure, Robert Smith gets a bit winded at times and he can’t quite hit some of those higher notes, but he still sounds great for a goth icon in his 60s, and the rest of the band create one evocative soundscape after another. As was the case when I saw them live in 2023, I was particularly struck by Reeves Gabrels’ fiery playing, which adds a muscular intensity to The Cure’s iconic gloom.

Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) has never met a murder he couldn’t solve, but that might change when he’s tasked with solving the death of a powerful priest in a rural New York community. Not surprisingly, religion plays a heavy role in Wake Up Dead Man, with writer/director Rian Johnson exploring Christianity at both its most toxic and most redemptive. Unfortunately, the film’s critique of toxic Christianity feels a bit too on the nose with Josh Brolin’s wild-eyed performance as the charismatic Monsignor Wicks, who spouts hate and division to the cult-ish flock that hangs on his every word. You can practically feel Johnson trying to beat you over the head with his talking points, and Brolin’s performance verges on parody. (Given that Wicks’s hateful sermons aren’t all that dissimilar to the extreme rhetoric emerging from MAGA and Christian nationalist circles, a subtler approach to the character might’ve worked better than Brolin’s exaggerated performance.) Thankfully, the film’s depiction of redemptive Christianity is wonderful, thanks to Josh O’Connor’s performance as the young Father Jud. In a lesser film by a lesser filmmaker, Jud would be too good, too wide-eyed, too naïve. However, Wake Up Dead Man never shies away from Jud’s flaws and checkered past, which makes his earnest desire to serve Christ and his flock all the more winsome for both the audience and a dyed-in-the-wool atheist like Blanc. Every time I thought that Wake Up Dead Man was going off the rails, Jud’s gentle, sacrificial faith won me back over.

Bob Ferguson isn’t his real name. In a previous life, he was Pat Calhoun of the French 75, a far-left group intent on overthrowing the system. These days, however, he’s just a washed up stoner living off the grid with his 16-year-old daughter and trying to fly under the radar of Colonel Lockjaw, the fascist officer who ruined their family. Given that it’s a Paul Thomas Anderson film, One Battle After Another is a sprawling bit of everything: action, dark comedy, and pointed melodrama with a healthy dose of absurdism sprinkled on top. (Case in point, Sean Penn’s Lockjaw is so uptight, it looks like his spine is giving him a wedgie whenever he walks, and he’s desperate to ingratiate himself to a white supremacist group called — wait for it — the Christmas Adventurers Club.) But frankly, it’s too sprawling for its own good. It’s never not entertaining, especially when Leonardo DiCaprio gets manic as the ultra-paranoid ex-revolutionary desperate to protect his daughter, but the film gets lost amidst its own excess and tonal shifts. That said, the scenes of Lockjaw’s masked troops rounding up immigrants under dubious pretenses hit awfully close to home in light of ICE’s ongoing campaign of terror. And though some on the right claim that One Battle After Another is too sympathetic towards Antifa types, Anderson spends just as much time critiquing those who make ridiculous speeches and claim devotion to “the cause” but abandon and sell out their friends and families, not to mention their common sense and decency, to keep play-acting as revolutionaries sticking it to the Man.

I’ve always thought that 2010’s Tron: Legacy was an unnecessary sequel, but it’s practically a vital piece of genre filmmaking compared to Tron: Ares, a pretty-looking but ultimately vapid film in which Jared Leto plays a cyber-warrior spawned from the depths of the Grid who begins to question his programming. The original Tron worked as well as it did, and still feels far-reaching and futuristic, because it was ultimately a fantasy film in which the computer is a magical realm. (To be fair, computers probably did seem quite a bit more magical 40 years ago than they do today.) But with its AI-centric plot and tatted up “tech bro” villain, Tron: Ares feels instantly dated, and while I never look to Hollywood for accurate depictions of computer technology and usage — see “2 Idiots 1 Keyboard” — Tron: Ares feels particularly egregious in that regard. Given its $200 million budget, some of the film’s visuals are pretty slick, like the climactic scene of a Recognizer drifting through the real world, but even they have diminishing returns. As for the Nine Inch Nails soundtrack, well, it deserved a better film than it got.

Clint Eastwood gets a wee bit Biblical in this ’80s western about a small community of prospectors who are locked in a struggle with a powerful land baron trying to acquire their claims by any means necessary. All hope seems lost for them until a mysterious preacher rides into town one day and quickly starts putting things a-right. Of course, the operative word here is “mysterious” given the preacher’s uncanny ability to fight back against the baron’s goons. Some parts of Pale Rider haven’t aged very well in the last four decades. For example, Eastwood might’ve intended the scene where a teenage girl offers herself to the preacher she’s just met as a chance for the parson to prove his virtue. Or maybe a way to contrast the girl’s innocence and naïveté with the preacher’s obviously violent past. These days, however, it just comes off as little creepy. That said, Pale Rider looks amazing thanks to Bruce Surtees’ cinematography and the beautifully barren Idaho countryside, while Eastwood’s economical direction ensures that there’s no dross to be found in the film’s 116 minutes.

Clearly inspired by his work with Sergio Leone in films like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Clint Eastwood set out to make his own spaghetti-style western for his sophomore directorial effort. High Plains Drifter has all of the expected trappings for such a film, including a bleak frontier setting, bloody violence, and amoral characters. (Just how amoral, you might ask? Eastwood’s nameless character rapes a woman in the first 15 minutes, and he’s the protagonist.) But though it does feature some striking visuals, particularly in its final act, High Plains Drifter never quite shakes the feeling that it’s just a lesser copy of Leone’s work. The film clearly aims for a mythical, even supernatural atmosphere concerning Eastwood’s protagonist and his quest for retribution, but that all proves to be less interesting than it probably seemed on paper.

If you want evidence of the influence that spaghetti westerns had on samurai films — an influence that, for the record, went both ways — look no further than Hideo Gosha’s Samurai Wolf. Indeed, it’s hard to imagine this film even existing without Sergio Leono’s films. Isao Natsuyagi stars as a rough-looking samurai whose braggadocio and scruffy appearance bely a surprisingly noble spirit. But that spirit gets tested when he arrives in a remote village beset with danger and corruption. Samurai Wolf feels pretty by-the-numbers as far as samurai films go, with deadly foes arriving every other minute and a doomed romance or two, plus some routinely over-the-top melodrama. But it does have some interesting twists and Gosha spices up his film with surreal slow-motion, Dutch angles, and some well-placed arterial sprays.

A Samurai’s Sorrow — also known as A Samurai in Torment — certainly lives up to its title, thanks to its overwrought storyline. In 18th century Japan, the life of Shogun Tokugawa Yoshimune has been threatened by rivals trying to poison him. It’s up to Yoshimune’s official food taster, an enigmatic samurai named Kainage Mondo, to unravel the conspiracy. However, doing so will unearth tragic secrets from Mondo’s past that could also doom the Shogun’s rule. Based on a story by Lone Wolf and Cub creator Kazuo Koike, which subsequently spawned multiple film, TV, and stage adaptations, A Samurai’s Sorrow strives to be a stately period piece. But it’s too caught up in the melodrama, what with all of the pregnant pauses, tortured looks, and swelling music (which sounds awfully similar to Joe Hisaishi’s score for Castle in the Sky). Granted, samurai titles aren’t typically known for their subtlety, but A Samurai’s Sorrow ultimately feels like a jidaigeki telenovela.

Keira Knightley stars in this Netflix original as an investigative journalist who’s invited to travel on a yacht alongside some of the world’s richest folks in order to cover a fledgling charity. But when she witnesses the woman in the neighboring cabin fall overboard — an accident that all of the evidence seems to disprove — she begins to suspect foul play. But is there really a murderer onboard, or is she just imagining a deadly conspiracy? To its credit, The Woman in Cabin 10 is absolutely gorgeous to look at, from the luxury yacht itself to the Norwegian scenery. (Indeed, Norway’s travel board could probably use stills from this movie in their promotional materials.) But that’s about all this so-called thriller has going for it. The Woman in Cabin 10 is certainly watchable. However, it’s nowhere near as smart or thrilling as it seems to think it is, and whatever tension it might possess can be cut with a dull butter knife.

I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this was my first time watching Ridley Scott’s sci-fi horror classic in its entirety. Up until now, I’d only seen bits and pieces, but a screening at The Ross’s 2025 Fright Fest seemed like the perfect time to address this particular gap in my movie-watching history. Not surprisingly, it did not disappoint. Everything in Alien, from Jerry Goldsmith’s score to the incredible sets and production design to Scott’s camerawork, is designed to ratchet up the tension and sense of claustrophobic dread — and quite successfully so. As for the alien itself, it’s suitably, well, alien. Which is to say, horrific and terrifying. (H. R. Giger drew inspiration from his own nightmares for the creature’s design.) Much like Scott’s Blade Runner, Alien’s visuals still hold up and run circles around many of today’s CGI-laden special effects. The elaborate Nostromo sets feel “lived in” and authentic, a sense enhanced by the cast’s performances, which make it easy to believe that we’re really watching a crew of blue collar space workers just trying to get back home. On a related note, the film’s underlying critique of hyper-capitalism that prioritizes profit over people still hits hard in 2025, and perhaps even more so.

When you watch a “classic” IFD ninja film from the ’80s, you know to go in with low expectations, but even then, Cobra Against Ninja is particularly underwhelming. Though directed by Joseph Lai, it uses the same cut-and-paste approach to filmmaking as (in)famously employed by his colleague and collaborator, Godfrey Ho, just not as well. This time around, a group of recent graduates from boot camp find themselves mixed up with gangsters and a ninja gambling tournament. When it comes to IFD films, the connections between their original ninja footage (which is sorely lacking here) and whatever source film they’re hacking to pieces are tenuous at best, but that’s doubly so with Cobra Against Ninja. It doesn’t help that the source film — 1978’s Kaa maa jaak meuang na-kon, apparently — is boring as all get out, with bland characters and interminable plotting, even with the dubbing. I did appreciate, though, that one of the gang’s female members was given a broad New York accent à la Fran Fine. Also, in keeping with IFD tradition, the soundtrack features almost certainly unlicensed songs from Glass Tiger, INXS, Joy Division, and Tangerine Dream. I picked Cobra Against Ninja because it stars IFD stalwart Richard Harrison as the champion ninja — lest there be any doubt about that, he wears a bright yellow headband with the word “Ninja” emblazoned on it — but not even Harrison can save what turns out to be the worst IFD film I’ve seen to date.

Sure I chuckled a few times, like when Frank Drebin (Liam Neeson) takes a bite out of bad guy’s pistol, and I was pleasantly surprised by Pamela Anderson’s all-in performance as the damsel in distress who might also be a femme fatale (and writes true crime novels based on fictional stories that she makes up). But part of me wishes I’d seen The Naked Gun in a theater with others — some movies are just better when seen with a like-minded crowd — while another part of me couldn’t stop wondering why we even needed a new Naked Gun movie in the first place.

I’ve written about a lot of martial arts films over the years, but it recently occurred to me that I’d never reviewed anything starring Don “The Dragon” Wilson. I know he was in a bunch of direct-to-video movies in the ’80s and ’90s, the sort of stuff that played on HBO and Cinemax late at night. But not knowing where to start, and being a sucker for ’90s-era cyberpunk, I kicked off (pun intended) my Wilson viewing with Future Kick — and I’m pretty sure I could’ve made a much better choice. In the distant future of 2025, the rich have abandoned Earth to live virtual reality-enhanced lives on the Moon, leaving the rest of humanity to fend for themselves amongst the ruins. Wilson plays the last remaining android soldier who takes on an evil corporation with the help of a widow seeking to avenge her VR developer husband. Or something like that. Future Kick is a mess from start to finish, from its muddled plot and cheap sets (imagine Blade Runner’s Los Angeles recreated with cardboard and papier-mâché) to the yawn-inducing fights (you’d never guess Wilson was a world champion kickboxer) and gratuitous content (though the film does score a point or two for some creative gore). Confession: I actually fell asleep during my first viewing of Future Kick, so I rewatched it to see if I’d missed anything after dozing off. Reader, believe me when I tell you that I did not.

Much like Once Upon a Time in the West, which was released two years after this film, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly is best described as “sprawling.” Clocking in at nearly three hours, Sergio Leone’s tale of three bounty hunters — Blondie (Clint Eastwood), Angel Eyes (Lee Van Cleef), and Tuco (Eli Wallach) — who are searching for a stash of stolen Confederate gold takes it own sweet time from beginning to end. And yet, I just don’t know what you could possibly cut from the film to “speed it up.” Perhaps the Civil War battle sequence where Blondie and Tuco join the Union Army, but even that has some important character moments. Best just to settle in, ride along with the film for its entire length, and enjoy the sort of ambitious, cinematic filmmaking that just doesn’t exist any more, not to mention the steely eyed performances, grim humor, and of course, Ennio Morricone’s iconic score.

Riz Ahmed shines in this slow-burning thriller about a fixer who might be getting a bit too close to his latest client, a woman (Lily James) who’s facing threats and harassment from a large biotech firm for her potential whistleblowing. In order to keep his identity secret, Ahmed’s fixer employs a relay service for the deaf — arguably the film’s most clever and intriguing detail — but as the threats mount, he might have to compromise his ideals and emerge from the shadows. As expected with this sort of film, Relay is full of twists and turns, though it perhaps has one twist too many that strains disbelief. Still, Ahmed’s quiet, understated performance is captivating and pulls you into his lonely-by-design world. As a result, Relay is engaging right to the end.

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey aren’t just Huntr/x, the world’s greatest K-pop group. They’re also the latest in a long line of supernatural warriors tasked with protecting humanity from the predations of the demon king Gwi-Ma and defending the Honmoon, a magical barrier that separates humanity from the demon world. Unbeknownst to her bandmates, though, Rumi is half-demon herself, a fact that threatens their efforts to establish the Honmoon once and for all. Further complicating matters is the arrival of the Saja Boys, a boy band that challenges Huntr/x’s chart dominance — and happen to be demons themselves. Can Rumi come to terms with her demonic heritage? Will Huntr/x defeat the Saja Boys at the upcoming Idol Awards? Can the three friends overcome their deepest fears to defeat Gwi-Ma once and for all? With its vivid artwork, striking animation (by the same studio behind the Spider-Verse films), and of course, a totally banging K-pop soundtrack, it’s no surprise that KPop Demon Hunters is Netflix’s biggest title ever, with 325 million views to date. (2021’s Red Notice comes in second with a measly 231 million views.) Even as it pokes fun at K-drama clichés, the film’s melodrama does get a bit much, and I wish it did more with its demon mythology. Nevertheless, I was totally caught up in the girls’ final showdown with Gwi-Ma, which is set to the sounds of the inspirational “What It Sounds Like.”

Don’t worry, I still love watching the debonair 007 gallivant around the world to foil dastardly conspiracies with wit, charisma, and an arsenal of fancy gadgets. But I also love spy films that forgo the globe-hopping glamor and instead, dive headfirst into the moral quagmire, films in which secret agents find their souls hollowed out by secrets and conspiracies until they’re so weary and cynical, it’s not entirely sure if they’re still one of the good guys. And when it comes to that sort of spy story, nobody’s better than John le Carré. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is one of his best-known novels, and Tomas Alfredson ably sets up its chilly Cold War-set story. Told in a fractured manner, it’s easy to get lost at times, to find yourself constantly wondering if you’ve somehow missed a key piece to the puzzle. Fortunately, even when you’re confused — and you probably will be — you can still relish in the film’s powerhouse cast, which includes Colin Firth, Tom Hardy, Mark Strong, Ciarán Hinds, Benedict Cumberbatch, Toby Jones, John Hurt, and Gary Oldman as spymaster George Smiley. (Who, by the way, is a complete one-eighty from his other great spy role as Slow Horses’ Jackson Lamb.)

Although Clint Eastwood is officially the star of Sergio Leone’s “Dollars” trilogy, Lee Van Cleef steals the show here, his erudite and strategizing Colonel Mortimer a nice foil to Eastwood’s rougher Manco. (A bit of movie trivia: Prior to this film, Van Cleef’s career had stalled due to his alcoholism, and he thought Leone had hired him for just a few scenes. He was shocked to learn he was actually a co-star, and the film led to a career resurgence.) This time around, The Man with No Name is on the trail of his biggest bounty yet, the infamous bank robber El Indio, who plans to hit the bank at El Paso. He crosses paths with Mortimer, and the two bounty hunters agree to join forces — but can they trust each other? And can they outsmart the ruthless Indio, who has his own machinations? Although For a Few Dollars More has everything you’d expect from Leone (e.g., a blasted desert setting, Ennio Morricone’s haunting score, amoral characters and antiheroes), it tends to drown in its own excesses, and I think A Fistful of Dollars is the better film.

The Coopers Chase retirement village has all sorts of activities for its aging residents, from painting and archery to a llama petting zoo. But three residents have their own special activity: solving cold cases. When murders start happening in the midst of their community, though, they could be in way over their heads. Hollywood is notoriously youth-obsessed, hence it’s a real treat to see folks like Helen Mirren, Ben Kingsley, and Pierce Brosnan get a chance to strut their stuff, and they clearly relish their work here (especially Brosnan as a retired union leader who’s lost none of his revolutionary spirit). Unfortunately, this adaptation of Richard Osman’s novel doesn’t give them very much to work with. The Thursday Murder Club is an enjoyable enough distraction, but its slight storyline stays squarely in the middle of the road, and ends up feeling mostly like a lost opportunity.