Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget (2023) 
Director: Sam Fell
Screenwriters: Karey Kirkpatrick, John O’Farrell, Rachel Tunnard
Starring: Bella Ramsey, Thandiwe Newton, Zachary Levi, Imelda Staunton, Lynn Ferguson, David Bradley, Jane Horrocks, Romesh Ranganathan, Daniel Mays, Josie Sedgwick-Jones, Peter Serafinowicz, Nick Mohammed, Miranda Richardson

On the surface, the original Chicken Run (2000) was a fantastic children’s movie and a feat for animated films. It was 90 minutes of pure feathery fun and righteous chicken anger. The movie had impeccable comedic timing akin to Aardman Studio’s other works like Wallace and Gromit and Shaun the Sheep. These movies have a beating heart and soul that has stuck with children and adults alike because of their ability to wrap us in the warm hug of their respective worlds. And still, beneath it all lies something even deeper, something profound. For many millennials and cuspers, Chicken Run was an introduction to Marxism and revolution itself. 

As rebel chicken, Ginger (played by Julia Sawalha in 2000) rallies the hens against tyrannical farmers, she dares them to imagine a world governed only by their own will. “Don’t you get it?” she clucks, “There’s no morning headcount, no dogs, no farmers, no coops and keys, and no fences.” It’s a powerful cry for revolution – a call to rise up against injustice, no matter the cost. Though the film is filled with slapstick humor, its demand to rage against oppression transcends the children’s animation genre, cementing it as a powerful allegory for World War II and universal demands for human (and chicken) rights. 

Needless to say, the sequel, Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget, was highly anticipated by audiences and critics. Nearly 20 years after the original, the follow-up had big shoes to fill. What lessons would the new Chicken Run teach us? Perhaps something about the rise of fascism? Environmentalism? Maybe it would lead us to the answers we’ve all been searching for in these tumultuous times? Unfortunately, Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget takes more of a formulaic follow-up approach than broaching anything remotely groundbreaking. 

In this rendition, Ginger (Thandiwe Newton) and Rocky (Zachary Levi, replacing Mel Gibson) return, now living in an idyllic, poultry utopia. Though they are happy in their new homes, they are closed off from the rest of society. Their daughter, Molly (Bella Ramsey), takes after her mother and dreams of life bigger than their confined existence on the island. Soon, Molly escapes to the mainland and finds herself trapped in a chicken factory called Fun-Land Farm. Now, it’s up to the other chickens to break into the factory, a subversion from the previous film’s breakout. 

Dawn of the Nugget isn’t completely without charm. The animation is beautiful and bright, stepping away from the original film’s muted color palate to favor a more vibrant chicken paradise. Fun-Land Farm is garishly bright, showcasing the false promises of the deceptively named poultry plant. Even the heist-like stunts feel higher stakes and more elaborate. There are more hijinks, slipping, falling, and scrambling than ever. 

Though the scale feels dialled up to 11, the film is missing its original creativity and simplistic but resilient spirit that made it an instant classic. Dawn of the Nugget is much more concerned with simple tropes like breaking away from tradition and marching to the beat of your own drum than anything revolutionary. Its simple premise and resistance to taking risks – both thematically and comedically – make the 101-minute run feel like a bit of a slog. 

It’s a lot to ask of a film – to be both a succinct manifesto about the state of modern politics and revolutionary movements and a hokey comedy about chickens falling on their heads – but it has been done before. Perhaps the reason Dawn of the Nugget felt so flat is the enormous shadow its predecessor casts upon the film. And, in the 20 years in between the first and second editions of Ginger and Rocky’s story, we’ve had plenty of time to fill in the gaps on our own. Dawn of the Nugget is a fine movie to turn on for the kids on a Saturday afternoon, but turn on Chicken Run (2000) and you might just have a revolution on your hands. 

Score: 12/24

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In her debut feature film, would-be Cannes Palme d’Or-winner Julia Ducournau marches us through the swampy terrains of adolescence and female desire. Helmed by the talented Garance Marillier, we watch a young girl’s descent into madness and cannibalism after eating raw meat for the first time. 

This film is absolutely not for the faint of heart, but it is a careful and articulate look into the deepest depths of human depravity and desire. 

In this Movie List from The Film Magazine, we are counting down the most impactful and memorable moments from Julia Ducournau’s monumental debut, for this: the 10 Best Raw Moments.

Follow @thefilmagazine on X (Twitter).

10. The Beginning of Hazing

Within moments of arriving at her prestigious veterinarian school, it becomes clear that Justine (Garance Marillier) isn’t going to have an easy time fitting in. The older students, known as “the elders”, dedicate the first week of school to brutally hazing the “rookies.”

Ducournau perfectly sets the stage for this out-of-control school – the elders arrive in cloaks and ski masks, dragging the younger students out of their beds in the middle of the night. We see the younger students crawling like animals across an otherwise deserted campus as the mist envelops the quad.

Though this moment isn’t particularly brutal, it communicates the rules of this stilted society. You follow orders, you subject yourself to whatever torture in order to fit in. It’s a moment of dialed-up, tense drama in an otherwise familiar setting.

College hazing doesn’t feel so brutal if not done under Ducournau’s watchful eye. Ducournau expertly uses the unsettling and understated score to let us fully sink in to this bizarre world. 

9. The Rabbit Kidney

Here we see Justine’s first moment of corruption.

She arrives a strict vegetarian at the orders of her mother, though she doesn’t completely know why. As part of the hazing ritual, all of the incoming students are forced to eat a rabbit kidney. Justine looks to her sister, Alexia (Ella Rumpf), for help, but Alexia insists that she eat the raw meat. It turns out Alexia has been disobeying their mother’s orders from the second she arrived on campus. 

The rabbit kidney is a brilliant shift in Justine’s character. Through Garance Marillier’s restrained control of her emotions, we see a flicker of something in Justine. It isn’t monstrous yet, just the spark of an idea coming to light. 

Recommended for you: Titane (2021) Review

The Wolf of Wall Street (2013)
Director: Martin Scorsese
Screenwriter: Terence Winter
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Jonah Hill, Margot Robbie, Matthew McConaughey, Kyle Chandler, Rob Reiner, Jon Bernthal, Jon Favreau, Jean Dujardin, Joanna Lumley, Cristin Milioti

What is there to say about Martin Scorsese’s three-hour, instant classic The Wolf of Wall Street that hasn’t been said before? If you were young in 2013, you would understand this film as culture itself. From putting Margot Robbie on the map to introducing the song “Jordan Belfort” to every high school basement party in America, Wolf of Wall Street defined a generation of simultaneously wealth-obsessed and wealth-repulsed youth.  

Scorsese succeeds at a have your cake and eat it too approach to satire. His sprawling biopic of financial criminal and multimillionaire stockbroker Jordan Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio) is both braggadocious and reflective. On the heels of the 2008 financial collapse and the subsequent Occupy Wall Street movement in 2011, the film examines America’s obsession with wealth – the good, the bad, and the drug-fueled. Belfort’s lifestyle enthrals us – the mega yachts, three-day parties, even the crime. The film approaches everything with a larger-than-life approach. The score is boisterous, we hear a foul-mouthed Belfort narrating his trials and tribulations with the feds, and everything is dialed up to the nines. 

We do see the eventual fall of Belfort, but it’s as stylized as ever. In perhaps one of the most iconic scenes in modern film history, Belfort is confronted with the gravity of his financial crimes and the eventual ruin of his criminal empire. Just as this realization kicks in, so do the quaaludes that Belfort popped 90-minutes ago. Earlier in the film, Belfort brags about the many benefits of the retro drug but now he has entered a new phase of intoxication: the “cerebral palsy phase.” Belfort drags himself like an infant toward his white Ferrari. We see him crumble to the ground; gone is the the fast lifestyle of a degenerate and in his place lays a helpless man at the mercy of his own hubris. 

The scene is both funny and ironically sobering. We finally watch Belfort answer for his crimes in the most physical sense. Scorsese plays perfectly with tension and humor. We hold our breathe, wondering if Belfort will make it to his Ferrari or drive off into the sunset. We don’t root for him, but we have no choice but to be at the mercy of his storytelling. 

The script functions as a mere skeleton for this ambitious film, making it an absolute treat for any viewer. Leonardo DiCaprio delivers one of his career-best performances. He skilfully adlibs his way through Belfort’s life, adding many a “fuck” or New York slang to make the character feel that much more real. On his first day at a brokerage firm on Wall Street, Belfort goes to lunch with his magnanimous boss, Mark Hanna (Matthew McConaughey). Like everything they do, the scene is filled with popping pills and downing champagne in the middle of the day. At one point, the two even break into full song in the middle of the restaurant. The best part of the scene? It’s almost all improvised. McConaughey and DiCaprio have an undeniable chemistry that makes the scene impossible to look away from. They play up on each other’s ludicrous energy and take turns trying to outdo the other’s performance, all for the benefit of the viewer. 

More than ten years after its release, The Wolf of Wall Street holds up as an incredibly fun watch and a decisive voice on class in the United States. It underscores how the people at the top will exploit the system until the bitter end and those at the bottom will be forced to pay the price. Scorsese is a master of humor and pacing, making the three-hour run feel like nothing. 

Score: 23/24

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Of course, for any movie critic, there are films that rise above the rest. I have chosen ten films that have shaped me as a person and made this world a creepier, scarier, funnier, and more interesting place to live. These are my 10 Best Films of All Time.

Follow me on X (Twitter) – @emii_grant

10. Coraline (2009)

Are you a child looking to dip your foot into the wonderful world of horror? Coraline is a great place to start.

The film is as magical as it is scary – an impressive boast for a film with a PG rating.

Coraline Jones marches us through worlds we could have never imagined and somehow even makes rats feel ethereal and otherworldly. 

9. Gone Girl (2014)

“Cool girl is hot. Cool girl is game.” While “cool girl” status isn’t attainable, watching Gone Girl and memorizing the infamous monologue gets you part of the way there.

Perfectly cast with Rosamund Pike as a psychotic and whip-smart writer, Amy, and Ben Affleck as her sloppy, loser husband, the two are a match made in hell.

As feminist as it is deranged, Gone Girl will keep you enthralled whether it’s the first time or the hundredth time you’ve watched the film. 

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You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah (2023)
Director: Sammi Cohen
Screenwriters: Alison Peck
Starring: Adam Sandler, Idina Menzel, Sadie Sandler, Sunny Sandler, Samantha Lorraine, Dylan Hoffman, Sarah Sherman

The last time Idina Menzel and Adam Sandler tried to raise a good, Jewish family together, Sandler ended up in the trunk of a loan shark’s car and Idina’s father found himself hundreds of dollars in debt. The film was Uncut Gems (2019). This time around, Stacy Friedman (Sunny Sandler) is planning her Bat Mitzvah and the stakes are just as high. 

Sure, the cerebral A24 cult classic and the family flick boasting an Olivia Rodrigo needle drop might not have a lot in common, but this does speak to the versatility of the Sandler family. We can’t help but to compare the two sides of fatherhood––from gambling addiction to embarrassing your daughter at the movies on a Saturday night, Adam Sandler has done it all. 

You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah is a family comedy about the woes of 7th grade Stacy Friedman who is desperate to have the coolest Bat Mitzvah in the school. This is no simple task given her best friend, Lydia (Samantha Lorraine), is already totally rich with a huge mansion and neither girl is exactly in with the popular crowd. To make matters more complicated, a good Bat Mitzvah needs a killer DJ, a crazy venue, and a dance with the cutest boy in school, Andy Goldfarb (Dylan Hoffman). Of course, the latter causes some major tensions between the two best friends. As Stacy and Lydia careen into womanhood, they must overcome their feud to throw the ultimate party. 

The Sandler children, who play sisters Stacy and Ronnie (Sadie Sandler), are undeniably charming and turn up that sibling rivalry the way only true sisters can. Even Jackie Sandler has her moment in a cameo as Lydia’s mother Bree. The story, which is already a sweet tale of growing up, is made that much more genuine with the family connection. It is clear that the cast is a tight knit group of Sandler’s friends and family. In the case of this film, if the cast is having fun, we are too.

The film also works as a heartfelt crash course in coming of age in a Jewish community. The world is carefully crafted with sentimental details that explore a vibrant New York community. One of the highlights is the over the top Hebrew School teacher Rabbi Rebecca (Sarah Sherman) who provides tough love, guidance, and of course a themed song when the students come to class. Throughout the film, we get a sense of the closeness of this community but also the pressure to perform for their peers. Here it is proven that the universal lies in the specifics. 

Additionally, You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah is an ode to girlhood. Soundtracked by hits from the likes of Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, Remi Wolf, and Selena Gomez, the film feels informed by real teenage girls. Unlike other Netflix Originals that are fraught with disjointed Gen Z slang and cringy references to outdated trends, You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah manages to feel current and in the know (which is a soaring feat for a culture that moves as fast as ours does). The flick is angsty, melodramatic, and flamboyant enough to be ripped from the pages of a teenage girl’s diary––where a boy ignoring you in the hallway feels like the biggest tragedy in human history. 

You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah is a quick and enjoyable watch that is good for reminiscing on the plights of early teendom. Sandler’s comedy seems to mature with his growing family. While it maintains his usual goofy antics, he steps aside to make room for his daughters––who prove that they are worthy comedy leads and then some. The family comes together to make a heartwarming and silly comedy that is great for a pick me up. 

Score: 18/24

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Theater Camp (2023)
Directors: Molly Gordon, Nick Lieberman
Screenwriters: Noah Galvin, Molly Gordon, Nick Lieberman, Ben Platt
Starring: Molly Gordon, Ben Platt, Noah Galvin, Jimmy Tatro, Ayo Edebiri

The New York premiere of the much-anticipated comedy, Theater Camp, was an understated yet surprisingly lively event. Less than 24 hours after the SAG strike went into effect, the film debuted to the public at the Lincoln AMC, sans cast who was set to introduce their work. Nevertheless, audience members were in high spirits and there was popcorn to be had as people filed into the theater. 

Theater Camp follows a rich Hollywood tradition of examining the dialed-up drama found at any American summer camp. From The Parent Trap to Friday the 13th, summer camp has made moviegoers laugh, cry, and scream for as long as movies have been around. The idyllic backdrop of string bracelets, lakes with canoes, and bunks shared with friends from other cities is as familiar as it is deliciously specific. The enclosed space pushes the story forward and prompts the characters to reach a boiling point as they are forced to confront their issues with one another within the walls of the crumbling venue.

Most directly, Theater Camp is the descendent of the 00s cult classic, Wet Hot American Summer. Serving as the launching pad for many a career (Bradley Cooper, Amy Poehler, and Paul Rudd all have starring roles), Wet Hot American Summer is a raunchy take on the summer camp flick. Satirizing the sexed-up counsellors and their inappropriate leadership styles, the film put fresh eyes on the world of summer sleep-away camps. Contrasting the virginal, “All-American” reputation set by films of the past, Wet Hot American Summer was initially poorly reserved by the public but has since become essential comedy viewing. Perhaps because of the groundwork laid by the previous film, Theater Camp was allowed to soar in its unapologetic exploration of theater nerds and their interpersonal relationships. 

Like the 2001 film before it, Theater Camp draws on a wealth of talent from their child stars and a fundamental understanding of the institution they set to satirize. With counselors Rebecca-Diane (Molly Gordon) and Amos (Ben Platt) leading the charge, anybody who has set foot in a drama classroom in their youth will see themselves in this film. Both Gordon and Platt have a deep connection to the material as both have backgrounds in theater and this is evident in their characters. The neurotic and borderline abusive camp counselors will stop at nothing to produce the best original musical upstate New York has ever seen. They aren’t afraid to berate their child stars (dubbed the most talented kids at camp) to get their final product. 

Janet (Ayo Edebiri) is another highlight. Due to a severe lack of funding, the camp director Troy (Jimmy Tatro) is forced to open positions up to just about anyone who will take them. Introduced simply as “lied on her résumé”, Janet muddles her way through the camp the best she can with the made-up skill set she came with. Though it’s a small role, Edebiri once again proves that she can steal any scene she has a line in. From facial expressions to line delivery, she is a star in the making. 

The best part of theater camp is its ability to combine effortless humor with a sincere love for the experience. More than anything else, it’s evident that every member of the cast has some connection to their character – no matter how exaggerated they might be. There’s a heartfelt (and hilarious) number at the end of the film that expresses this sentiment – theater camp is home for the kids who don’t fit in. No matter how cutthroat or strange it might seem to the outside world, the theater provides refuge and community for so many kids struggling to find their identity. Whether they are part of the LGBTQ+ community, face bigotry in their home life, or are just searching for a place to belong, the theater gives that to so many people. 

The release of this film felt particularly powerful at a time when the future of actors and writers is up in the air. Theater Camp acutely embodies the emotional journey of wondering if you’re ever going to make it in the industry. With empathetic and succinct writing, and a cast and crew that put every fiber of their being into crafting a comedy that feels emotionally true to the real world, it is essential to assert the power of writers and actors in the arts. Theater Camp is a reminder that comedies like this are special and are only possible with the tireless (and often thankless) dedication of the people who make them. 

Score: 23/24

Frances Ha (2012)
Director: Noah Baumbach
Screenwriters: Greta Gerwig, Noah Baumbach
Starring: Greta Gerwig, Mickey Sumner, Adam Driver, Michael Zegen, Michael Esper, Charlotte d’Amboise, Grace Gummer

Frances Ha will strike differently in different seasons of life. A teenager might find the titular Frances (Greta Gerwig) insufferable. She does, to be fair, lament about being “poor” as she rockets around the streets of Manhattan, and she has a way of turning any situation into a story in which she is the main character. But, if you’ve suffered through your twenties, Frances Ha is gratingly relatable. 

Directed by Noah Baumbach (Marriage Story, White Noise), Frances Ha follows a group of 27-year-olds who fight to make meaning of their dead-end jobs, toxic friendships, and meandering relationships. Frances is an aspiring dancer who struggles to rise through the ranks of her company. What she lacks in talent, she makes up for in spirit. Throughout the film, we see Frances bounce between elated romps through New York City to depression days burrowed on the coach, worried about rent. 

Though released several years earlier, Frances Ha functions as the prelude and epilogue to Greta Gerwig’s solo debut as director, Lady Bird (2017). In Lady Bird, a spunky high schooler named Christine (dubbed Lady Bird by herself), wishes for nothing more than to make it to the mythical East Coast––“where writers live”, she explains to her mother. In Frances Ha, we are on the East Coast following a struggling Frances. While the city never loses its whimsy, there is a distinct shift in how the character (whom, like Lady Bird, we have come to understand represents Gerwig) sees her sense of place.

Frances does feel a sense of freedom in the city. One of the best moments of the film comes when Frances sprints through the streets of Chinatown, twirling, dancing, and screaming with glee while “Modern Love” by David Bowie blasts in the background. It is the kind of loaded, complicated joy that comes with your twenties. It is balancing the small victories with the friendship dramas, money problems, career failures, and moving troubles. Unlike Lady Bird, Frances is unable to leave her problems in Sacramento in favor of the clean, gleaming, fresh-start city.

If Lady Bird is a movie about strained maternal relationships and coming to terms with your hometown, Frances Ha is about leaving and learning to live independently. We watch Frances cling to her best friend Sophie (Mickey Sumner) who is “just like [her] with different hair” despite their many growing pains. Though the two clearly love each other and might be soulmates, their vastly different goals and ambitions complicate their relationship. They fight, make up, move out, scream, and leave voicemails all in the span of eighty-five tight minutes. Sophie is a tether to the adult world for Frances. She is grounded and reasonable, and the two can always share a laugh and a beer at the end of the night.

One of the best things about Greta Gerwig’s (and, in this case, Baumbach’s) writing is the willingness to delve into the complexities of female relationships. The film explores the undercurrents of competitiveness and jealousy in Sophie and Frances’ friendship without ever compromising on the idea that the two are loving friends trying their best. We don’t hate Sophie even when Frances does, and we can’t help but to love Frances even when she makes yet another social faux pas.

The film holds up to modern standards in every way sparing one major drawback: its complete lack of racial diversity. Though entirely set in New York City, the world of Frances Ha revolves around a cast of white characters. While it might be interesting to dissect this social dynamic, the film fails to even mention the fact that every speaking character is white. In a community upturned by gentrification and displacement of its mostly black and brown residents, it feels tone-deaf to completely omit this major detail. 

Frances Ha does an excellent job of understanding the inner workings of its central character. It uses stunning cinematography to capture Manhattan in all of its edges, creases, and curves. Though it falls short in painting the social dynamics at play in the city, it is a poignant watch for anyone undergoing major construction in their personal or professional life. 

Score: 20/24

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The Pope’s Exorcist (2023)
Director: Julius Avery
Screenwriters: Michael Petroni, Evan Spiliotopoulos, R. Dean McCreary
Starring: Russell Crowe, Daniel Zovatto, Alex Essoe 

There is a rich history of films that prey on good old-fashioned Catholic guilt. From The Exorcist to Rosemary’s Baby to First Reformed, one of the best ways to scare the public is through our fragmented relationship with God. Something about a child swivelling their neck at an impossible angle or screaming vulgarities at a priest has always delighted and terrified audiences. Unfortunately, The Pope’s Exorcist fails to tug at the moral panic-stricken heartstrings. Maybe it’s because it has been done so many times, or maybe we’ve finally worked through our deep-seated shame, but Catholic guilt just doesn’t hit like it used to.

All of the classic exorcism tropes exist in The Pope’s Exorcist. There is the high-ranking yet unorthodox priest, a family torn apart by the tragic death of the father, and even an abandoned abbey that the family is forced to live in. The story is fairly cookie-cutter. Chief Exorcist Gabriele Amorth (Russell Crowe) is an Italian priest who presides over demon extraction affairs from the early 80s until well into the 21st century. He challenges the authority of the church while advocating for the eradication of evil.  Meanwhile, an American family moves to Spain to fix up an old abbey that was passed down by the deceased father. Almost immediately, the mute, grief-addled son Henry (Peter DeSouza-Feighoney) falls victim to the highest king of hell who wreaks predictable havoc on the family. Naturally, Father Amorth is called to the scene to vanquish this evil. 

The opening scene is by far The Pope’s Exorcist’s most captivating. Amorth is called to the house of a young man who has been apparently seized by the devil. In this sequence, Crowe is able to showcase his over-the-top and sometimes even comedic portrayal of Father Amorth. The priest is sharp-tongued and quick-witted, able to taunt Satan with the cutting words of a high school bully. Upon arrival, Amorth is informed that the young man is speaking in English, a language he does not know. Without missing a beat, the priest asks if the family has a TV. When the answer is yes, Amorth is immediately suspicious. After “Satan” is unable to correctly identify Amorth, the priest brings a pig into the room and instructs the demon to possess it. After a moment, the priest whips out a gun, shoots the creature, and tells the man to go to sleep as he has been rid of his demons. Later it is revealed that Amorth didn’t perform an exorcism at all and instead used “theater” to cure the man of a bout of psychosis. 

At this point in the film, it seemed like there could be an interesting foray into the fate of the Catholic church. There is a brief mention of modernization and a need to keep up with the times (including abandoning exorcism altogether). Given the saturation of the possession film category, this felt like a relevant, meta, and darkly funny approach to the subject matter. Instead, it became clear that Amorth’s belief in eradicating evil through a plain old exorcism was the winning way, and the film segued back into standard exorcism territory. 

This is the crux of the problem with The Pope’s Exorcist. In 1973, when The Exorcist was first released, we lived in an entirely different society. Though some religious fears of course remain the same, the audience watching was completely in awe of the vulgarity and directness with which the film approached religious fear. Now, we’ve had 50 years and nearly three generations grappling with God, innocence, and possession. Attitudes have changed and our films should mirror that. 

One of the best examples of a modern take on the supernatural is Ari Aster’s Hereditary. The film captures complicated family dynamics and unpacks the overwhelming nature of grief and guilt while also understanding that people are not the devout worshippers of organized religion that they once were. Aster presents a skeptical, “ordinary” family who is so devastated by trauma that their real-life feels just as hellish as the supernatural one. We are able to take the plunge with him into the depths of the underworld because the alternative is facing these very human subjects who are so tormented by the facts of their real life. 

The Pope’s Exorcist, on the other hand, clings so hard to old-fashioned cliches that it becomes more of a buddy comedy or an action flick than a proper horror movie. It would be almost funny if the conflict between the demon and priest weren’t so dreadfully dull. At times, the film leans so hard into old tropes that it seems to make fun of itself without meaning to. Though Crowe delivers a standout performance that is somehow layered and unique, it is not enough to save this flat script and uninteresting religious dilemma.

Score: 10/24

Triangle of Sadness (2022) 
Director: Ruben Östlund
Screenwriter: Ruben Östlund
Starring: Harris Dickinson, Charlbi Dean, Woody Harrelson, Dolly de Leon, Zlatko Buric, Iris Berben, Vicki Berlin, Henrik Dorsin

Without a doubt, 2022 was the year of the capitalist satire. In a period defined by sardonic, tongue-in-cheek critiques of society (such as The Menu), Triangle of Sadness fit right in. It’s natural that in a world still wrestling with the repercussions of the pandemic and universal demands for improved labor conditions we would see this struggle pan out on screen. Still, though, it seems that these star-studded anti-capitalist flicks are down to a formula: we are introduced to a charming yet out-of-touch rich couple, the world is fleshed out with cartoonishly evil old money types, the power shifts, and the millionaires are forced to reckon with their bad behavior. Despite the predictable plot arc, Triangle of Sadness does manage to break away from the pack with its absurdist comedy and the impressive performances from its main cast. 

The film stars Charlbi Dean as Yaya, a model and influencer, and Harris Dickinson as Carl, a model, who are coaxed into a faux relationship for increased engagement and career opportunities. The two relative newbies are largely responsible for a near-perfect first act. The jokes are punchy and the pair are perfectly out of sync. We watch them maneuver the shallow world of modeling and struggle to be kind to one another despite the circumstances. Both Dean and Dickinson embody the entitled yet strangely endearing personalities of Gen Z celebrities. Not only do the two function as stellar comedic forces, they also serve the fierceness necessary for the high fashion world. 

The legacy of Triangle of Sadness is undoubtedly the bright light of Charlbi Dean. The 30-year-old South African actress tragically passed away shortly following the release of the film. Though Triangle of Sadness has its shortcomings, Charlbi Dean is a force to be reckoned with and seemed destined for stardom before her untimely death. If nothing else, the film is a tribute to her abilities as a comedic actress and certified scene-stealer. 

Harrison Dickinson (Matthias & Maxime; The Souvenir: Part II) is also ready to take Hollywood by storm. He seamlessly evolves from nice-guy model to a scrappy, manipulative survivor and back again in the span of just over two hours. Dickinson proves his comedic prowess and his sheer stardom in this performance. 

As the first act comes to a close, the film takes us on a seaward voyage. Though it maintains its witty humor, the second part is distinctly choppier than the first. Introducing the cast of spoiled, bizarre passengers, we luxuriate on a super yacht while roughing the tides of mounting class tension. What it lacks in tight writing, the film makes up with stunning cinematography. More than anything, the spectacular visuals establish an interesting tone that keeps us engaged in the story. 

On our traverse across international waters, we are also introduced to the Marxist, luxury cruise captain Thomas, played by Woody Harrelson. While Harrelson delivers a predictably strong performance, his presence in the film can be distracting. Thomas’ communist rantings are meant to highlight the hypocrisy of the ultra-rich, but it produces an unwanted meta-paradox. As an enormous star with several decades of high-profile celebrity under his belt, Harrelson is equally as contradictory as his on-screen counterpart. It’s ironic to have an A-lister millionaire satirize a wealthy captain with morals he fails to meet. 

This problem is at the heart of the film. While every big-budget satire struggles with this issue, good filmmaking and a strong script can make an audience forgive almost anything. If the writing felt tighter across all three acts, perhaps we could overlook the irony. After all, both Knives Out and Glass Onion tackle this problem with a self-aware, light-hearted tone and a willingness to turn the mirror to celebrity culture – they’re willing to make digs at their cast while understanding their limitations as films produced by Hollywood high rollers. Unfortunately, Triangle of Sadness never quite breaches this level of storytelling. Though it is effective in its comedy, the film struggles to make a coherent point beyond “rich people are bad”. 

By the third act, the story begins to drag. We enter the “face the music” portion inherent to every anti-capitalist film, and beyond one major crowd-pleasing shocker it’s all pretty standard stuff. The tides have turned, the models are disheveled and unshaven, the wealthy have lost control. It would perhaps ring more cathartic if the side characters didn’t feel like buzzy internet fodder, but they do. 

If you’re looking for a challenging satire that speaks truth to power, Triangle of Sadness might be a skip. However, if absurdist comedy is your jam, the film is worth the watch. While it certainly won’t make the history books as a hard-hitting piece on the state of the union, it’s a great watch as long as you’re fine with a little seasickness. 

Score: 18/24

Women Talking (2022)
Director: Sarah Polley
Screenwriters: Sarah Polley, Miriam Toews
Starring: Rooney Mara, Claire Foy, Jessie Buckley, Judith Ivey, Kate Hallett, Sheila McCarthy, Liv McNeil, Michelle McLeod, August Winter, Frances McDormand

It has been a little over five years since the #MeToo movement uncovered a devastating network of abuse within the film industry and beyond, and Hollywood is still reckoning with the fallout on screen. Some films, like Maria Schrader’s She Said chronicle the real-life devastation of coming forward with sexual assault allegations while others like Luckiest Girl Alive process the trauma in a fictional realm. Either way, it has become necessary and essential to unpack the harm of sexual assault and the social ramifications of confronting it. 

Sarah Polley’s Women Talking is an entanglement of all these complexities. Though the film is an “act of female imagination”, according to its title card, it is partially based on a true horror story. According to an article by Marie-Claire Chappet in Harper’s Bazaar, the film models after the 2005 Manitoba Colony incident known informally as “the ghost rapes” in which Mennonite women and girls were drugged and assaulted by colony elders in their sleep. Even though the victims would wake up with bruises and other injuries, they were convinced that demonic presences haunted them. There were several hundred victims and eight perpetrators were convicted years later. 

Women Talking is a quiet, Socratic journey into the physical, mental, and spiritual pain that sexual assault reaks on a community. Our central cast is a fictional elected body of women tasked with deciding the fate of their small Mennonite village after discovering the truth about the attacks. They offer the women of their community three options: they can leave the community, stay and fight, or forgive the men. 

We come to the slow realization that no matter what the women choose, they will forever be haunted by their choices. If they forgive, they risk the safety of future generations and communicate weak boundaries. If they leave, they will enter a world they are completely unfamiliar with. If they stay and fight, they break the sacred oath of pacificism that dictates their lives. It’s an impossible choice that the victims must make while the men remain complacent. 

Though we don’t see much violence on screen, we can feel it permeating the conversation as the women mourn their community. Some are angry, some are eager to return to life as it was, and some worry about their spiritual well-being – but all of them are scared. It’s a devastating dilemma. Through no fault of their own, the women realize that they will have to destroy the lives they once knew in order to make peace with themselves. All of their relationships – not only with the men – have been broken down by the lapse in trust caused by the attacks. The women are desperate but sometimes unable to empathize with each other as they struggle to cope with the stress, trauma and horror of their situation.

Salome (Claire Foy) is perhaps the most dynamic character. She is deeply vengeful and ready to take the community by force after the assault of her four-year-old daughter. Her reaction is the most extreme out of all the women, but the compassionate storytelling and Foy’s compelling portrayal make us deeply empathetic towards her. On the other end of the spectrum, Agata (Judith Ivey), is an older woman who reminds the counsel that withholding forgiveness is a sin and will be punished in the afterlife. 

Polley’s sensitive directing and limited filming locations make the claustrophobia of the situation feel viscerally real. The Mennonite community is incredibly isolated and straying from its strict guidelines is a monstrous endeavor. Over the course of three tense, dialogue-filled days, the conversation is a matter of life or death for these women. They discuss everything from educating future generations of boys about consent to the logistics of surviving outside of the world they’ve always known. 

As we continue to understand how the #MeToo movement has impacted our culture, we continue the conversation in film. Sarah Polley’s Oscar-nominated Women Talking empathetically unravels the social dynamics after assault and deals with the introspective and communal aspects of consent. Its philosophical and victim-forward mentality offers a reprieve from a male-dominated space and allows women to heal, process, mourn, and move toward an equal community. 

Score: 20/24