Movie review by Greg Carlson

Anchored by the dependable Florence Pugh, “Thunderbolts*” easily tops “Captain America: Brave New World” to make it the most satisfying MCU movie of 2025 – so far. The asterisk alludes to an alternative title that appears onscreen as one of several end-credits revelations, but an equally welcome surprise is the realization that Kevin Feige could revitalize widespread interest in Marvel on the big screen as we look ahead to renditions of the Fantastic Four and the X-Men. Wrapping up Phase Five of what is arguably the most successful sustained brand of interconnected feature films in the history of Hollywood, director Jake Schreier’s bounce into the superhero game greatly benefits from the filmmaker’s interest in character-driven storytelling.

Devoted superhero fans don’t need any convincing to check out what’s on offer. And on the flipside, those who align with Martin Scorsese and don’t want the homework of keeping track of all the characters, callbacks, and references across so many “amusement park ride” titles aren’t going to rush out to the box office, especially for a movie with minor league headliners. The challenge for Feige is simultaneously keeping all the crossovers and tie-ins unified while allowing the hired filmmakers enough room to put their personal stamps on features that should be allowed to stand on their own as self-contained pieces of entertainment. In that regard, “Thunderbolts*” pretty much gets to have its cake and eat it.

For the past several years, Schreier has been steadily racking up multiple music video and episodic television credits, including the AMC-distributed concert film “Chance the Rapper’s Magnificent Coloring World.” But his only two traditional narrative features prior to “Thunderbolts*” are 2012 debut “Robot & Frank” and the 2015 adaptation of John Green’s coming-of-age novel “Paper Towns.” Those two titles don’t necessarily anticipate a transition to the massive scale of apocalyptic set pieces and computer-generated visual effects for a full team of super agents, but Schreier handles explosions as comfortably as he mines the tortured and melodramatic psychological darkness plaguing Lewis Pullman’s godlike Sentry, an amnesiac more powerful than all the Avengers combined.

Two press narratives have routinely accompanied the film’s release. The first is that the Thunderbolts are Marvel’s answer to DC’s Suicide Squad, which, I suppose, works as a bit of shorthand to explain the group’s ragtag misfit status as a gang of expendable “punch and shoot” B-listers assigned to carry out thankless dirty work. The slippery and untrustworthy antagonist Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, played by Julia Louis-Dreyfus, might be in a few more scenes than necessary in this one; the movie rinses and repeats often enough. But Pugh rhymes with glue, and she holds together three worse-for-wear super soldiers (Sebastian Stan’s Bucky Barnes, Wyatt Russell’s John Walker and David Harbour’s Alexei Shostakov) and the less impactful Ava Starr (Hannah John-Kamen).

The second narrative, buoyed by Pugh’s now seized-upon and oft-repeated suggestion in an “Empire” interview that “Thunderbolts*” “ … ended up becoming this quite badass indie, A24-feeling assassin movie with Marvel superheroes” is more of a stretch given the budget and saturation, but the sentiment activates conversation around the tone and the vibe, which drills deep into all kinds of somber mental health issues. The climactic outcome of the seemingly hopeless mission to stop Sentry/Void from snuffing out lives like an updated version of super-robot Gort blasting perceived threats in “The Day the Earth Stood Still” relies not on brute force but on intellect and empathy.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Toronto-based filmmaker Alison Duke shines a light on a pioneering Jamaican recording artist and her most famous and durable song in the documentary feature “Bam Bam: The Sister Nancy Story.” Duke’s movie, which premiered at the 2024 Tribeca Film Festival, is a must-see for music fans, but the big personality of its principal subject is appealing enough to attract any curious viewer who might cross paths with the colorful and engrossing tale. Sister Nancy, the performing handle of Ophlin Russell, broke industry barriers with the LP “One, Two.” Released in 1982 when Russell was 20 years old, the record’s ten tracks included “Bam Bam,” which would go on to become the most-sampled reggae/dancehall song in hip-hop.

Duke serves up a good primer on the incredible sounds that came from Kingston and also spends plenty of time conveying what it’s like to just hang out with Sister Nancy, whose unglamorous day job as a fraud investigator at a bank is humorously depicted as a kind of alter-ego or secret identity to the on-stage star who jets off to live performances during weekends and vacation days. Russell’s husband does not appear, but Duke introduces viewers to daughter Shandy. The two women share a warm and close relationship. The director balances the intimacy of these down-to-earth, personal experiences with the awe and regard expressed by current stars like Janelle Monae, who invited Sister Nancy to join her on “The French 75” for “The Age of Pleasure” album.

Members of Main Source, hip-hop legends who were the first of dozens to sample “Bam Bam” when they used it in “Just Hangin’ Out,” speak to the bona fides of Sister Nancy’s anthem. Some of the most legendary production ears in the business, including Pete Rock, DJ Red Alert, DJ Kool Herc, and Young Guru, also speak on camera with deep reverence. It would have been nice to explore a few other key Sister Nancy highlights, but “Bam Bam” is ubiquitous. From the movie “Belly” to Beyonce to a Reebok spot, the supply of examples is so deep, there is no room to include dozens of other high-profile variants.

It isn’t easy to make a feature-length film about a single song. Nate Harrison’s like-minded 2004 video essay on the so-called Amen break is the kind of companion piece that hints at a largely unexplored avenue of pop culture history. Harrison’s work, lasting less than 20 minutes, succinctly walks listeners through many of the same issues excavated by Duke. The Amen break, taken from the 1969 song “Amen, Brother” by the Winstons (the B-side of hit “Color Him Father”), would go on to become the most reinterpreted six seconds in modern music history, turning up in one form or another on thousands of derivative recordings made by artists across many genres and used in a multitude of radio and television commercials.

Both Duke and Harrison examine the complexities of sampling from the symbolic North Pole of artistic homage to the South Pole of uncompensated and/or plagiarized appropriation. The latter section of Duke’s film is mainly focused on a kind of magnetic-tape archaeological dig that begins with decades of lost revenue and royalties owed to Sister Nancy and arrives at a contentious date reuniting several studio musicians who played on “Stalag 17,” the 1974 recording that lays down the “riddim,” or rhythm section, of “Bam Bam.” Superfans might desire a bit more detail and nuance in the film’s look at the tradition of the Jamaican sampling culture that routinely repurposed material – even the use of the phrase “bam bam” goes back to Toots and the Maytals in 1966 – but Duke keeps the beat.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Ryan Coogler goes big and bold with “Sinners,” a sweaty, bloody vampire movie set in 1932. The filmmaker stuffs this universe with enough ideas to serve a limited-series season of episodic television, but the feature format ultimately suits something that brings together Coogler’s large canvas experiences at the helm of massive Marvel hits and the more intimate contours of debut “Fruitvale Station.” Close collaborator Michael B. Jordan has appeared in all five of Coogler’s movies, and here plays entrepreneurial, color-coded twins Elijah “Smoke” Moore and Elias “Stack” Moore, World War I vets who return to the Mississippi Delta following some Capone-related post-military service time in Chicago.

Coogler delights in showcasing Autumn Durald Arkapaw’s beautifully-shot imagery (photographed on IMAX 65mm cameras and 65mm large-format film), taking time to introduce Jordan’s Moore siblings and other key figures in the cast. Chief among them is newcomer Miles Caton’s Sammie “Preacher Boy” Moore, a cousin whose natural gift for blues guitar places him at odds with his religious father (Saul Williams). Hailee Steinfeld’s Mary, whose late mother links her to the Moores, has a tempestuous relationship with Stack. Wunmi Mosaku’s Annie rekindles her connection to Smoke, with whom she shares the heartbreak of a child who died. Smoke and Stack purchase a building and property that they plan to turn into a rollicking juke joint.

The action of the first half of “Sinners” primarily tracks a series of errands and preparations undertaken by the Moore family ahead of their grand opening. Coogler seamlessly blends these tasks with character-building exposition, introducing general store owners Grace and Bo Chow (Li Jun Li and Yao), Sammie’s love interest Pearline (Jayme Lawson), and alcoholic musician Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo). The director briefly makes a hard shift to a separate storyline in which Jack O’Connell’s desperate Remmick tries to stay one step ahead of a posse of Choctaw vampire hunters. In one of Coogler’s few missteps, the Indigenous pursuers vanish from the movie as abruptly as they enter.

Even before “Sinners” builds to a battle royale that will be followed by another showdown (and then a coda and then one last performance), Coogler makes sure viewers get their money’s worth in the climax department. “Sinners” has already drawn some attention for its sensuality and sexuality. The filmmaker explores desire in multiple guises and multiple moments, with both verbal and visual investment in cunnilingus frequently foregrounded as a motif. No less potent is one of the most exhilarating scenes of the year, in which past, present and future griots writhe, stomp, and shred in a stunning, show-stopping set piece attesting to the awesome power of Black music.

For those who gravitate toward any and all depictions of the onscreen vampire, Coogler’s placement of the culturally durable bloodsuckers within a larger framework that considers race, community and belonging calls to mind a variety of precedents, from classics like “Blacula” and “Ganja & Hess” to more recent titles such as “Black as Night.” There are also echoes of “Near Dark,” “The Lost Boys,” “From Dusk Till Dawn,” and “True Blood.” But “Sinners” really comes into its own with enough juice/mojo/electricity to seriously contemplate the greater evil: vampires or Ku Klux Klansmen. Needless to say, if this movie ever gets added to the collection of the U.S. Naval Academy library, the Trump administration would certainly ban it.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Given the volume of existing media material on the topic, longtime admirers of legendary documentarian Errol Morris might wonder why he would elect to become the umpteenth person to cover the horrific crimes of the Manson Family. Whether or not the fee paid to Morris by Netflix factored into the decision I cannot say, but “Chaos: The Manson Murders,” while typical in many ways of the established Morris style, never rises to the top-tier level of quality that marks the filmmaker’s very best work. Based on Tom O’Neill’s 2019 book “CHAOS: Charles Manson, the CIA, and the Secret History of the Sixties,” the standalone documentary races through familiar and unfamiliar aspects of the ghoulish but perpetually fascinating chapter of American history.

O’Neill’s all-caps CHAOS, despite its equally acceptable use as a descriptor, refers to the CIA’s domestic espionage project that the author links to several theories related to Charles Manson and his ability to operate for as long as he did without consequences. Along with the FBI’s COINTELPRO (an abbreviation of Counter Intelligence Program), the covert and mostly illegal government operations attempted to surveil, infiltrate, and disrupt all kinds of mainly leftist political organizations, including the Black Panthers and the American Indian Movement. Was Manson swept up, trained, and supported by the feds? It sounds preposterous.

Initially, one might question these outrageous claims contained within the tapestry of connect-the-dots conspiracies offered by O’Neill, but thankfully, the traditionally wary and skeptical Morris gives equal time to the more mundane – and more likely – scenario that former Manson Family member Bobby Beausoleil states from his prison cell: Manson coerced and pressured his followers and they went along with it. Morris entertains enough “new” ideas as a provocative counterpoint to the deeply ingrained and widely accepted account written by Manson prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi (collaborating with Curt Gentry) in what remains to this day the best-selling true crime book in history: “Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders.”

As a publishing phenomenon, “Helter Skelter” is responsible for a great deal of the ongoing public fascination with the Manson Family and could sustain a documentary of its own. In recent treatments like Karina Longworth’s “You Must Remember This” podcast, which devoted an entire season to Charles Manson’s Hollywood in 2015, and the six-episode 2020 miniseries “Helter Skelter: An American Myth,” the cottage industry fueled by the Manson machine is so widespread that one can’t help but think that Morris should have come up with something far more radical and coherent than “Chaos.”

For decades, clips of Manson’s post-conviction prison interviews have radiated with an inexplicable magnetic pull. I remember watching footage in my public high school library during a social studies unit; it was essentially a rite of passage for older students to pass along the details of the 1969 Tate-LaBianca slayings as part of a larger discussion on the ethics of the death penalty. Whether Manson was out of his mind or merely putting on a convincing performance sparked lengthy conversations. One thing is for sure: none of us would ever want to be in the same room with Charlie under any circumstances. Morris confirms that.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Tracie Laymon draws from her own unbelievable-but-true life experience to shape feature directorial debut “Bob Trevino Likes It,” a well-meaning if slight comedy-drama featuring Barbie Ferreira as a young woman whose fractured relationship with her father leads to an unexpected bond with a stranger she befriends through social media. Unfolding as a slow but steady story of two friends who depend on each other to light twin pathways toward emotional healing, Laymon’s screenplay sticks close to a one-thing-at-a-time formula that often feels akin to a stage play. Very little of the movie is communicated in terms of pure cinema. Conversation fuels this movie’s engine.

Ferreira’s Lily has been mistreated, used and disrespected by biological father Robert Trevino (French Stewart) since her birth. Or probably before she was born, since Mr. Trevino never wanted a child in the first place – as he regularly likes to remind his daughter. Laymon sketches a dynamic so unpleasant, viewers will wonder why an otherwise kind and patient woman like Lily would put up with such a manipulative, self-pitying sponge. The answer, as the filmmaker takes pains to remind us, lies with Lily’s desire to be loved by the one person incapable of expressing that emotion. Even Lily’s new therapist is reduced to tears while listening to the account of troubles.

Following the umpteenth ugly exchange with her deadbeat pop, Lily reaches out to another man also named Bob Trevino (John Leguizamo) while searching for her father online. Turns out, this Bob is absolutely everything her real dad is not. A married construction company worker, the other Bob Trevino quickly becomes the kind of caring and compassionate father figure Lily never had but has always needed. Despite the somewhat strange circumstances of their developing friendship, Lily and Bob forge a formidable bond that Bob’s wife Jeanie (Rachel Bay Jones) and Lily’s employer/friend Daphne (Lauren “Lola” Spencer) question. One would expect this new Bob is too good to be true, but Leguizamo brings him to life.

Despite years of experience directing episodic series and short films, Laymon struggles to find a consistent tone, particularly when it comes to the polar imbalance of Stewart’s cruelty versus Leguizamo’s saintliness. There are numerous examples of character-driven features that explore grief and frustration through a framework dependent on dark comedy. “Bob Trevino Likes It,” anchored by Ferreira’s earnest investment in Lily, will surely find receptive supporters who can relate to complicated parent/child relationships. Other viewers, however, will question why the new Bob’s instant attachment to Lily is without much in the way of growing pains or setbacks.

Laymon sets too many scenes across the tables of diners and opts for sweet and easy (a visit to a dog shelter to cuddle puppies is a textbook move) when tart and messy is sorely needed. The extent to which one will embrace the novelty of a platonic intergenerational friendship depends entirely on a tolerance for tears. Ferreira gets to shed the largest number of them, from quiet sniffles to ugly sobs to happy outbursts, and the actor handles everything being asked with a radiant glow that should open the door to higher profile roles.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Making her feature directorial debut, Rachael Abigail Holder guides “Love, Brooklyn” to a satisfying conclusion, even if some viewers might have hoped for a different outcome for the central trio. A carefully observed romance that attempts to frame its title borough with the same kind of affection that Woody Allen applied to mythologize his favorite parts of NYC in 1979, the movie places a charismatic Andre Holland at the center of a love triangle involving Nicole Beharie and DeWanda Wise. But Brooklyn itself becomes an equally vital character courtesy of Paul Zimmerman’s solid script. A breathing, evolving, and mercurial presence that excites and infuriates its inhabitants, the diverse community is centralized by Holder’s direction, Zimmerman’s writing, and the beautiful photography of Martim Vian.

Holland’s writer Roger has been assigned to complete an in-depth essay on the gentrification of his beloved Brooklyn, a topic confronting Beharie’s Casey on a daily basis. As the owner of an art gallery, Casey fends off attractive and tempting offers to sell her space to deep-pocketed developers. Roger and Casey remain close, despite having split up. Their easy rapport and unwillingness to close off the possibility of rekindling their partnership complicates Roger’s initially casual courtship of Wise’s widow (and now single mother) Nicole. Holder smoothly keeps all the balls in the air, refusing to break a sweat by honoring Roger’s choices – even when he makes questionable ones.

As Nicole’s daughter Ally (Cadence Reese) gets close to Roger, alarm bells ring over the impact of a father figure who may not be completely committed to a long term relationship. “Love, Brooklyn” often turns to conversation as the means to work through conflict, and the actors all behave with recognizable concern for themselves and those in their lives. Following the movie’s world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival, where “Love, Brooklyn” screened in the U.S. Dramatic Competition, a few critics questioned whether there was too much fantasy in the mix: beautiful people with glamorous jobs, handsome dwellings, and no stress over income, etc.

That kind of criticism, frequently leveled at studio films dating all the way back at least to the birth of the romantic comedy tradition established by architects like Ernst Lubitsch, is misplaced. “Love, Brooklyn” doesn’t have (or require) the Lubitsch Touch, nor is it what I would describe as a romantic comedy, despite the presence of warmth and humor. Sure, the triangle is as tried and true a device as ever propelled a story, but this movie is serious without taking itself too seriously. Holder so clearly values the vibes of these characters over the gears of any plot, her Brooklyn at times appears eerily deserted, or at least not as congested as one might imagine real-life New York.

Those choices will not suit everyone (Esther Zuckerman’s withering “Indiewire” takedown was particularly harsh). And every moment the movie spends away from the core threesome struggles to add value. The minor hijinks of Roy Wood Jr’s married pal Alan are out of place enough to feel like they exist in an entirely different movie. He’s certainly no Edward Everett Horton or Charles Coburn. Fortunately, the majority of the scenes keep our eyes on Holland, Beharie, and Wise, who make the job look easy.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Some of the conversations surrounding the theatrical release of “The Day the Earth Blew Up” (tagged offscreen in promotional material with the subtitle “A Looney Tunes Movie”) address the hard-to-believe fact that director Peter Browngardt’s film is the first entirely original animated feature using the legendary Warner Bros. cartoon characters. The designation disqualifies Joe Pytka’s 1996 “Space Jam,” Joe Dante’s 2003 “Looney Tunes: Back in Action,” and Malcolm D. Lee’s 2021 “Space Jam: A New Legacy,” all of which incorporated live action. Nerds will also recall several anthologies, including the Orson Welles-narrated documentary curiosity “Bugs Bunny: Superstar,” which arrived in 1975 to plenty of controversy over the dominant presence of Bob Clampett, who exaggerated the extent of his original Looney Tunes contributions to the dismay of many, including Chuck Jones.

Starring the stable’s second and third most durable players – Porky Pig (who debuted in “I Haven’t Got a Hat,” the 100th short in the series, released in 1935!) and Daffy Duck (who arrived in 1937’s “Porky’s Duck Hunt”) – “The Day the Earth Blew Up” strikes the tricky balance of edgy, oddball irreverence and family friendliness necessary for a contemporary outing. The screenplay, credited to a large group of writers led by Darrick Bachman, sets up a 1950s-style science fiction threat in the shape of an alien creature called the Invader (nicely voiced by Peter MacNicol). Porky and Daffy will eventually be assisted by Petunia Pig (Candi Milo), a flavor scientist working at the Goodie Gum factory where the boys take jobs that will allow them to repair their home following a failed inspection.

The rest of the plot centers on what at first appears to be an “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”-esque threat that sees unassuming citizens turned to mindless zombies as a result of space goo-infused chewing gum. Browngardt’s direction is consistently engaging and the pace finds a good rhythm pitched between the calmer, more personal business (including the terrific expository origin story featuring the towering, paternal weirdo Farmer Jim) and the frenzied mania that follows Daffy wherever he goes. The blossoming romance between Porky and Petunia works fine, although she occasionally gets short shrift in the bromantic shadow of her more popular companions.

Longtime WB animation fans have debated the decision to eschew cameo appearances from Bugs Bunny and other popular characters, but minus the absence of a desperately desired Marvin the Martian, I admire and appreciate the way that Browngardt stays true to the Looney Tunes ethos without bowing to any pressure that would load up the cast and dilute the film’s focus on the Porky/Daffy relationship. Eric Bauza voices both leads and he is as good as it gets in a world without Mel Blanc. It is also great fun to see our intrepid barnyard buddies interact with more humans than typical in the classic shorts. The design of the people exudes a very distinct Spümcø influence that triggers plenty of laughs. The godlike otherworldliness of Farmer Jim and the officious mean-spiritedness of municipal housing authority Mrs. Grecht are especially satisfying.

“The Day the Earth Blew Up” is not perfect but it is very good. Alongside fresh brand expansions like Max Winston’s stop-motion sensation “Daffy in Wackyland” (another Looney Tunes first), the dedication of the current creative class serving the legacy and tradition of what Winston accurately calls “ … some of the best American art ever made, in any genre” points toward a very bright future. Even as recent reports announced the utterly baffling possibility that Warner might sell the Looney Tunes brand,  the potential Ketchup Entertainment reprieve from David Zaslav’s disastrous mishandling of “Coyote vs. Acme” offers hope that our Looney Tunes dreams will continue.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

The opening night showcase of the 2025 Fargo Film Festival is Jennifer Tiexiera and Guy Mossman’s excellent documentary feature “Speak.” The movie premiered during the Sundance Film Festival as part of the U.S. Documentary Competition section and now seeks wider distribution while it screens in select festivals. Many locals already know of the film’s special community connection. One of the five central subjects is current Moorhead High School senior Sam Schaefer, who is joined by four other teenagers competing in the National Speech and Debate Association tournament that will potentially see one of them crowned the victor in the Original Oratory category.

Tiexiera and Mossman alternate between the preparation that goes into the high-pressure and high-stakes preliminary speech meets and biographical profiles introducing personal details for each of the five students. Along with Schaefer, who addresses issues of sexuality and experiences of being othered, we meet Noah Chao-Detiveaux, Noor Garoui, Mfaz Mohamed Ali, and Esther Oyetunji. All are, to one degree or another, gregarious and comfortable in the spotlight (which, one supposes, makes sense for elite forensics participants). The filmmakers connect viewers to the larger support systems of friends, family, and the dedicated teachers, mentors and coaches who help develop polished and poised performances.

“Speak.” will remind cinephiles of movies like Jeffrey Blitz’s 2002 documentary “Spellbound,” which tracked eight kids through the 1999 Scripps National Spelling Bee. Blitz described the influence of “And Then There Were None” on his film, and the same thought could be applied to the way that Tiexiera and Mossman naturally build suspense as we get closer and closer to the final rounds. The filmmakers excel at aligning the viewer with the highs/lows and the energy and adrenaline experienced by the subjects. Better yet, “Speak.” is an emotionally stirring testament to love, empathy, and genuine care for one another. It is also an important antidote and reasoned response to the current climate of fear, anger, and cruelty perpetuated by our so-called leaders.

As the official NSDA site explains, “Oratory is not simply an essay about the topic—it is a well researched and organized presentation with evidence, logic, emotional appeals, and sometimes humor to convey a message.” As expressed in the documentary, frequently selected topics in the current incarnation of Original Oratory, and the depth with which those topics are explored, will astonish many viewers who may have at one time participated in high school or undergraduate speech. Some, like Noah’s complex deconstruction of death-with-dignity and right-to-die philosophy as viewed through the personal lens of his mother’s suicide, are bold and unapologetic in their embrace of controversy.

Others, like Sam’s insightful examination of the harmful falsehoods perpetuated by nostalgic fantasies of the “good old days,” launch toward a sophisticated critique of the bullies who seek to erase and dismantle the histories of those who aren’t conservative, white, and straight. Esther, who could make history as the first three-time consecutive category champion in the modern NSDA tournament (which dates to 1931), also chooses a politically-oriented path, exposing the hypocrisy of representatives who claim to protect children but do nothing to enact real change. The superior quality of these speeches and the humanity and compassion of their authors offer us a sense of hope that these kids are making a real difference.

“Speak.” screens on Tuesday, March 18 at 7 p.m. at the Fargo Theatre. Sam Schaefer and Rebecca Meyer-Larson will join Fargo Film Festival host Kendra O’Brien for a Q & A following the movie. Tickets are on sale at www.fargotheatre.org and the Fargo Theatre box office. 

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Joon-ho Bong’s highly anticipated follow-up to the game-changing Oscar-winner “Parasite” was set to arrive in theaters last year, but the 2023 SAG-AFTRA strike pushed the date. Was the wait worth it? Longtime Bong fans and admirers – the sort who groove on “The Host,” “Snowpiercer” and “Okja,” in particular – will find much to love in the imaginative filmmaker’s adaptation of Edward Ashton’s 2022 novel “Mickey7,” upgraded onscreen to “Mickey 17.” Those looking for another “Parasite,” however, will need to temper expectations, despite the presence of several Bong hallmarks, including some searing class commentary and plenty of pitch-black comedy.

Robert Pattinson is fantastic as the title character and his subsequent incarnation. In a science fiction future, Mickey Barnes signs up to be an “Expendable” (with a capital E) following a series of bad choices and worse luck involving partner and pal Timo (Steven Yeun). Foolishly failing to read his employment contract’s fine print (comic voiceover narration allows us to hear Mickey’s thoughts throughout the movie), our protagonist is placed in grave situations during the colonization of an ice planet called Niflheim. Each time he dies, the company “reprints” a new iteration, uploading Mickey’s consciousness into a fresh body.

The dopey Mickey is not, shall we say, the sharpest laser in the holster, and Pattinson plays him with a winning blend of gullibility, industriousness, and fatalism. The character gets a real boost from the presence of the wonderful Naomie Ackie, whose security agent Nasha Barridge is so much more than merely a Manic Pixie Dream Girl-style love interest. Before she makes decisions pivotal to the mechanics of the entire plot, Nasha indulges in one of recent cinema’s most entertaining threesomes when she realizes Mickeys 17 and 18 exist simultaneously as illegal “Multiples” (with a capital M). Leave it to Bong to make some time for some space horniness.

Bong, unworried and unhurried when it comes to propelling the plot forward in the most  conventional or expected manner, introduces Mickey’s magic when a bunch of Niflheim aliens called creepers spare his life. The creepers, which come in multiple sizes according to their age, look like tardigrades crossed with bison, or at least the senior-most one does. Mickey eventually communicates with the creeper leader through a translation gadget, allowing Bong to emphasize that the real enemy is very often not the skittering, unearthly monster but the rapacious capitalist hellbent on expanding his power.

If that description sounds familiar, you might laugh and cry at Mark Ruffalo’s unhinged politician Kenneth Marshall, whose phony piety and quick outbursts feel like a cross between a charlatan televangelist and a certain world leader (Marshall’s slavish followers even don red hats). Sharing DNA with Ruffalo’s rakish attorney Duncan Wedderburn from “Poor Things,” Marshall is abetted/controlled by his calculating wife Ylfa (Toni Collette, holding her own in the maelstrom). Some of the action involving the Marshalls threatens to leave the rails. And Bong always chooses the more-is-more path when a number of quiet character moments for several members of the supporting cast were sorely needed. Even so, “Mickey 17” deserves a look.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Writer/director/performer Katarina Zhu’s feature debut “Bunnylovr” premiered to mixed reviews in the U.S. Dramatic Competition section of the 2025 Sundance Film Festival. Despite the lack of critical consensus, the movie succeeds as a portrait of loneliness and isolation intensified by our reliance on the technology that is supposed to facilitate connection but only alienates us from the warmth and intimacy we desire and need. Several of the responses immediately following the initial screenings took Zhu’s narrative to task, with more than one critic applying the questionable claim that “Bunnylovr” is dull and aimless. For the record, I was never bored by Zhu’s frequently languid storytelling approach.

“Bunnylovr” explores key relationships in the day-to-day life of Zhu’s camgirl Rebecca, who depends on computer-mediated sex work to make ends meet in New York City. The recent spotlight on “Anora” has elevated discourse around cinematic depictions of the category (in the broadest sense), but several movies, including Daniel Goldhaber’s “Cam,” Ben Hozie’s “PVT Chat,” and Jacques Audiard’s “Paris, 13th District” are just a few recent features that have incorporated camming. What distinguishes “Bunnylovr” from those films is Zhu’s interest in character over plot.

Rebecca, or Becca, as she is just as likely to be called, reconnects with her estranged dad William (an excellent Perry Yung) following a seemingly chance encounter on the street. William, now grappling with a terminal medical diagnosis, used to join forces with his daughter to cheat at card games. This clever bit of personal history links the two to some classic onscreen parent/child con artists, including Charles Coburn/Barbara Stanwyck in “The Lady Eve” and Ryan/Tatum O’Neal in “Paper Moon.” Zhu, however, chooses not to develop that particular dimension beyond their most basic hints at the generational source of Becca’s ability to grind and hustle.

Zhu also introduces a few of Becca’s other friends, acquaintances, and lovers. The director’s fellow NYU classmate Rachel Sennott, who is also one of the film’s co-producers, plays Becca’s pal Bella, a painter with enough wealth and privilege (as compared to Becca) to complicate and frustrate the friendship. Jack Kilmer appears as Becca’s ex. He and Zhu play some fine moments as people figuring out how to move on even though they might not be ready to stop having sex with each other. But the most dominant figure in Becca’s world is John (Austin Amelio), a client whose unpredictable overtures and increasingly unsettling obsession with our protagonist push into darker territory.

The way that John insinuates himself into Becca’s personal life crosses boundaries that will cause some viewers to scream at the checklist of bad choices and red flags. Some of the latter require a significant suspension of disbelief; John sends a live pet rabbit to Becca as a gift, a gesture which will factor in some of the movie’s most uncomfortable scenes. The “A for effort” risks don’t pay off in every respect, but on the journey of self-discovery undertaken by Becca, Zhu’s interest in contemplating consent, autonomy, and slippery power and gender dynamics in the transactional space of online sex work and IRL contact make “Bunnylovr” worth seeking out.