Reviews

The Irish rap group Kneecap stars in their own biopic. In this new era, they trade guns for hip-hop, using Gaelic to fight for Irish independence. Their stance against England is unwavering, and the director is clearly a die-hard Trainspotting fan. Their live performances were so loud, they gave me a headache!

It’s not great, but definitely a hidden gem. Interestingly, it’s a documentary filmed in the style of a British comedy-drama.

Take motion sickness medication before watching—trust me!

The shaky camera work adds a raw, realistic touch. In the face of death, friendship and love become truly priceless. I can’t help but wonder—is it really worth losing so many friends for one person? If I were the male lead, I would never let my friends take such risks, even if it meant facing death alone.

Absolutely love it! Now in its seventh installment, it has evolved from a niche cult flick into a lasting horror franchise. This mockumentary series might just be one of the longest-running and most consistently solid out there.

This is horror at elementary-school level, paired with a rambling storyline—how is this even a movie? It’s just a series of short clips stitched together, with people yelling, shaking, and running around from a first-person perspective the whole time. It’s pointless—neither scary nor satisfying. The mockumentary style feels sloppy and poorly executed, making it impossible to get immersed.

If you want to know someone’s soul, all you need to do is ask about their dreams.

I realized this has nothing to do with Yugoslavia or Arizona—it’s entirely within Kusturica’s dreamscape. From the moment the film begins, you’re immersed in his world: a father figure, stunning women, raves, nonstop music, and sudden deaths. When you can’t dream yourself, watching an Emir Kusturica movie is the next best thing.

It is not very impressive! Hard to believe Mel Gibson is taking on junk like this. This is a fairy tale-style story about a boy fighting a witch, but it’s neither scary nor thrilling.

The first half drags a bit, but it livens up in the second half. Overall, it doesn’t hold a candle to the star’s other movie, The Black Phone.

I’ve never seen Jonás Trueba this sad before—a sharp contrast to the usual lightheartedness of his films. The movie-within-a-movie concept cleverly mirrors reality, handled with great subtlety. The only downside is that, since the ending feels predetermined, the story doesn’t really grow beyond it. A real missed opportunity.

This is exactly the kind of European film I love—charming in its rambling simplicity, telling an ordinary story that leaves you with a warm, heartfelt "That was lovely" by the end.

The bond between father and daughter feels authentic, and even the dad’s friend’s tears are genuinely moving. However, the verbal harassment in the film is unsettling, and the paternalistic lectures can be grating. The daughter holds her own but also makes compromises along the way. The rare moments when the old dad gets a taste of his own medicine are particularly satisfying.

Camping serves as a rite of passage for the girl and marks the start of her rebellion against patriarchy. This weighty theme is treated with the director’s gentle touch, and the film beautifully captures the serene atmosphere of hiking through the woods.

The cliché that a woman has to be both a mother and an “all-round superwoman” adds nothing new. The ending, which glorifies a never-ending cycle of motherhood, only makes the overall impression worse.

The root cause of women’s long-term oppression lies in their reproductive capacity. If women remain trapped by reproductive worship, every feminist movement risks losing its significance. Unfortunately, the film’s comedic timing feels forced, and it gradually runs out of steam.

This is a ruthlessly honest film. Mike Leigh never strives to celebrate humanity’s redemption in his movies. Instead, he unflinchingly depicts a group destined to fall apart, exposing universal truths in the process. He gives his characters full agency, but at the cost of unbearable, inescapable pain—a mutual destruction steeped in darkness that offers one of the rawest portrayals of life’s hardships.

My first impression was that this film feels like a pastiche of Mike Leigh’s work. It masterfully conveys the claustrophobia of indoor spaces but leaves several pressing questions unanswered: Can we genuinely connect with Pansy? Should we pursue relationships with people incapable of love? How do we keep from sliding into absurd farce when emotions are absent? By the third instance of the camera lingering on Pansy waking up, is there anything left to feel besides the predictable irritation?

The director carefully crafted the structure and form of this biopic, pairing different opera pieces with key stages of Maria Callas’s life. For those familiar with these pieces and their lyrics, it adds a deeper layer of appreciation. The filming style evokes opera-esque elegance, keeping an intentional distance from the characters. Initially, Angelina Jolie’s performance might come across as a pretentious imitation, but as the story unfolds, you begin to connect with the character’s inner world. By the end, whether Jolie physically resembles Callas no longer matters—this is ultimately a story about a woman reclaiming her agency in the final chapter of her life. When Callas’s real footage appears in the closing scene, it’s clear Jolie doesn’t look much like her, but she has created a vivid, compelling character brimming with star charisma.

This movie fits my stereotypical view of biopics about elderly women: childhood traumas, turbulent relationships with men, and the inevitable madness and downfall that fame brings. Angelina Jolie gives an Oscar-worthy performance, but I still can’t connect with musical biopics.