According to Screencraft, there are six essential elements to a Christmas film: nostalgia, magic, family, atmosphere, hope, and redemption. These can all be easily applied to festive classics we know and love, such as the iconic It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), the joyous Elf (2003), and the British household staple Nativity! (2009).

Even so, there has been debate upon debate about whether certain films can be entered into the yuletide Hall of Fame, the most prominent of these being Die Hard (1988). One film that should be considered but seems to fly under the radar is Steven Spielberg’s 2002 crime caper and comedy-drama Catch Me If You Can.

Released on Christmas Day, the film is based on the true story of how teenager Frank Abagnale Jr. (Leonardo DiCaprio) successfully pulled off confidence schemes worth millions of dollars by impersonating a pilot, a doctor and a lawyer, all whilst evading the clutches of FBI agent Carl Hanratty (Tom Hanks).

Doesn’t sound very Christmassy, right? Wrong!

Spielberg’s caper immediately establishes the film’s sense of nostalgia through its period setting of the 1960s. We are transported back in time to when banks didn’t have high-tech security, Pan Am was the kingpin of American air travel, and Frank’s ugly orange knitted vest was considered fashionable. These are all nostalgic for the people who grew up in and around the 1960s, and that group would have been the target audience for this film back in 2002.

The film’s sense of nostalgia still holds up today. There is a scene in which Frank, in the midst of his pilot con, goes to the cinema to watch the iconic James Bond film of the era Dr. No (1962), then it cuts to him having a suit measured. What name does he give the tailor? Ian Fleming, the author of James Bond.

In a way, it’s magic. Which is, of course, a key ingredient of a Christmas film.

Whilst the magic isn’t depicted in the stereotypical manner of wizards and fairy dust, Frank is represented as an immoral magician, right from the moment he steps into his classroom in a new school and hoodwinks his class into thinking he is the substitute teacher. We buy into the grand scale of Frank’s ongoing mastery of disguise and sleight of hand, and it makes for entertaining viewing even if certain elements of the true story have been widely disputed.

As with most Spielberg films, one of the central themes is a broken home and the effects it has on the children involved. If anything screams “Christmas film” it’s the idea of family and themes of reconciliation and repairing broken relationships.

We are introduced to the tight-knit Abagnale family, with Frank Sr. (Christopher Walken) receiving an award as his wife Paula (Nathalie Baye) and son Frank watch on in admiration. We then cut to a scene in which Frank watches his parents dancing by the family Christmas tree, as Frank Sr. recounts the story of how he and Paula met. From here, the idyllic family life takes a turn when Frank Sr.’s tax problems and Paula’s affair ultimately lead to their divorce. Upon being forced to choose which parent to live with, Frank rebels by running away from upstate New York to the City, thus kickstarting his career as a high-stakes con artist.

Throughout the film, we see Frank meeting up with his father, hoping that the money he has made will convince his parents to reconcile and make their living situation go back to the way it was. Frank Sr. resists this idea, having moved on and accepted what happened. This upsets Frank, who plunges deeper and deeper into his scams.

The film’s heartbreaking climactic moment comes years later, as Carl tells Frank that his father has died whilst they are flying back to the US. Distraught, Frank escapes the plane and finds the house of his mother, who has a new family. This prompts Frank to finally stop running and to surrender to Carl and the FBI.

In the climax, Frank sees his mother’s new family on Christmas Day, where there are fairy lights and a tree just like the one in the start of film. He looks on through the window, excluded from the life he used to have and desperately longed to have back. The beautiful tones of Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song” underpin the emotional weight of the scene, with the warmth of the classic song heavily contrasting Frank being left out in the cold.

Christmas Eve itself is a recurring motif throughout the film. Frank calls Carl to provoke him to send a team to chase him and apologise for their last encounter. Carl sees through this, realising that Frank has nobody to talk to. A few years later, Frank calls Carl on that day to tell him that he wants a truce, as he is getting married. Carl declines, saying that he will be caught and put in prison. Their final interaction on this day comes when Carl tracks Frank down to Montrichard, where his father met his mother on Christmas Eve. Frank is subsequently arrested by French police.

Hope is another seasonally relevant key theme throughout Catch Me If You Can, as Frank’s schemes are based upon his hope that the rewards will prompt his parents to get back together. The naivety of this notion makes the film’s climax all that more heartbreaking. Leonardo DiCaprio’s performance in this regard is phenomenal, as he is able to shape-shift from a cocky kid playing the part of an adult into an anxious young boy going through a traumatic change in his life when he is on the brink of adulthood. It is certainly a gamble to cast a 32 year-old as a 16 year-old, but it paid off. Spielberg is able to utilise the actor’s talents to convey this loss of childlike hope over time, presenting a type of coming-of-age we often see in Christmas films like Elf and Meet Me In St. Louis.

At the end of the film, after Frank is sentenced to 12 years in prison, Carl offers him an opportunity for redemption, as he realises that Frank’s conning skills can be utilised to help the FBI detect fraud. Frank accepts serving the rest of his sentence by working at the FBI, but finds that an office job is incredibly tedious. Frank prepares to impersonate a pilot one last time, but Carl finds him in the airport, saying nobody is chasing him. He tries to question Carl about his family, as Carl reveals that he is the father in a broken home, with a daughter not much younger than Frank himself. At that moment, we think Frank is going to go through with the con, but he appears back at the FBI and the film ends with him and Carl discussing one of the cons in great depth. This is a bright, feel-good ending reminiscent of any number of great Christmas films, and one that arguably ties their father-son-like relationship together, revealing to us a found family staple of a deeply unconventional nature but a wholly Christmas one nonetheless.

Written by Grace Laidler

Follow Grace Laidler on Twitter: @gracewillhuntin

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse swung into theaters in December of 2018 and immediately captivated audiences with its revolutionary take on the beloved superhero genre and breathtaking animation style. Directed by the talented trio of Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman, and Bob Persichetti, this animated masterpiece defied conventions and soared to unprecedented heights.

The film successfully introduces the concept of the multiverse and seamlessly weaves together the stories of various Spider-People from different dimensions. At its core, the film follows the journey of Miles Morales (Shameik Moore), a teenager grappling with newfound powers in the wake of the death of his universe’s Spider-Man. His world is spun even more out of control as he meets alternate universe heroes that make him question if he is ready for his new responsibilities.

Accolades poured in for the film, with the crowning achievement being the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature. This recognition affirmed not only the technical brilliance of the animation but also the emotional depth and storytelling prowess that elevated Into the Spider-Verse beyond the status of a mere superhero film.

As first time viewers delve into the intricate web of dimensions and the extraordinary journey of Miles, it becomes clear that Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is more than a cinematic experience – it’s a groundbreaking achievement that redefined expectations for animated storytelling in the West and left an indelible mark on the superhero genre.

In this Movie List from The Film Magazine, we are highlighting the 10 best moments from the film that define why Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse continues to enthral audiences, and we will explore its legacy as one of the best comic book movies of all time.

Follow @thefilmagazine on X (Twitter).

10. Welcome to the Spider-Verse

This is how you start a movie.

The rising intensity of the opening music. The glitching of the studio logos. The flashes of graffiti. Then blam: the intro fully kicks in and we are treated to the visual feast that is this movie. An explosion of colours and funky graphics inform us that Into the Spider-Verse is unlike any other comic book movie in that it is unashamed of its genre.

Following this is the opening monologue from Peter Parker (don’t get too attached), beginning the recurring “Alright, let’s do this one last time” gag. Peter, voiced by Chris Pine, gives a brief rundown of things most audiences will already know, narrating his life and the responsibilities that come with being Spider-Man. Yes, we’re technically seeing another screen Spider-Man origin story, but the writers make this one concise and fresh. This self-awareness lends itself nicely to some humorous moments, such as detailing the smaller Spider-Man duties, like having his own cereal or recording a Christmas album. 

Furthermore, there are plenty of references to Spider-Man in pop culture for fans to feast on. Did anyone expect them to reference the abominable Spider-Man popsicle? The animators even draw comparison to other Spidey iterations on screen, like the upside down kiss, the train scene in Spider-Man 2, and the legendary dance scene from Spider-Man 3.

It is the film’s thesis statement: funny, fast-paced and visually spectacular. The perfect introduction to one of the most unique comic book movies. Simultaneously, these opening 2 minutes are a celebration of all things Spider-Man, and a reminder why the iconic hero has endured for so long on page, on screen, and in wider popular culture.

Recommended for you: 10 Best Moments from Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man Trilogy

9. Meet Miles

A film is arguably only as good as its characters, and a film filled with fantastical Spider-people could have a hard time making its protagonist stand out. Within seconds of meeting Miles Morales, its clear audiences have a beloved hero to root for.

The first time we see Miles, he is caught up in his passions: artwork and music. His singing is gradually drowned out by his parents calling his name. He is pulled out of his daydream and into an all too relatable scenario – a teenager late for school. 

This quickly transitions to a high-energy montage showcasing Miles’ daily life, complete with the vibrant backdrop of Brooklyn. We are immersed in the sights and sounds of Miles’ world as they see a new side to him. As he walks through his neighbourhood, he is cool and approachable. His effortless charm makes him instantly likable. The dynamic animation, coupled with a hip-hop soundtrack, creates a sense of kinetic energy that mirrors the pulse of Miles’ urban environment. As Miles parades through the streets, leaving stickers of his artwork, he trips and is caught by his dad, a police officer. We are reminded that, despite his coolness, he’s still an awkward kid. These relatable struggles form the necessary strong connections between Miles and each of us.

These first moments with Miles do more for the film’s central character than a lot of comic book movies manage to do in their entire runtime. Miles’ humour and occasional awkwardness make him endearing. He embodies the youthful enthusiasm and idealism associated with adolescence, making him a perfect vessel for audiences diving into this larger than life story.

May December (2023)
Director: Todd Haynes
Screenwriters: Samy Burch, Alex Mechanik
Starring: Natalie Portman, Julianne Moore, Charles Melton, Gabriel Chung, Elizabeth Yu

Todd Haynes’ films are hard to pin down. Ever the subversive, the renegade of the new queer cinema movement has a proven track record of destabilizing conventional wisdoms surrounding everything from sex to gender to celebrity to domesticity and the American nuclear family. Unafraid to wear his influences on his sleeve, and to subject them to satire and scrutiny, Haynes wields homage, melodrama, and allegory in his deconstruction of the social, political, and aesthetic contexts in which his characters dwell. His is a cinema of transgression that gets its teeth from a sort of reflexive formalism, for his films frequently call attention to their own artifice. 

Take 2002’s Far From Heaven, for example. In many ways, the film, which centers on a 1950s suburban housewife whose secret affair threatens the sanguine domestic lifestyle she is expected to uphold, is a straight-up remake of Douglas Sirk’s 1955 melodrama All That Heaven Allows, complete with all the soap and glitziness that defined Hays Code-era Hollywood. The catch is that Haynes’ film is, nonetheless, thoroughly modern in its details—by peppering in subject matter that would have been considered too taboo back in the 50s (even for Sirk, who was considered a rebel in his time), namely interracial and homosexual relationships, Haynes turns the entire genre on its head. Films such as Far From Heaven demonstrate Haynes’ unique ability to firmly situate his work relative to established cinematic traditions—and to then boldly defy them. In this way, Todd Haynes is a filmmaker who always seems to have his finger on the pulse, his films conversing with the past to illuminate the present. 

The present unto which May December, Haynes’ latest, arrives feels particularly elusive—and, fittingly, so does the film. Written by Samy Burch and loosely inspired by the public scandal surrounding Mary Kay Letourneau, the screenplay orbits three central characters: Gracie Atherton-Yoo (Julianne Moore), a suburban pariah who was once the subject of a tabloid frenzy surrounding her predatory sexual involvement with a 13-year-old boy; Joe Atherton-Yoo (Charles Melton), the boy, now in his 30s and married with children to Gracie; and Elizabeth Berry (Natalie Portman), a B-list actress who comes to study Gracie and her family in preparation to play her in a movie about the scandal. 

On first glance, such a premise seems tailor-made for the Netflix-patented true-crime-content-machine; and yet May December cleverly co-opts these vapid true-crime precepts, and our twisted attendance to them. Where Far From Heaven leverages melodrama to challenge the genre’s largely sanitized depiction of domestic life in the 1950s, May December weaponizes viewers’ learned appetite for sensationalism to unravel the tabloid mythologies that form around deviant crimes and their perpetrators—and which often exploit the victims. 

Portman’s Elizabeth is the doorway through which Haynes instantly implicates the viewer. Her morbid curiosity to get to the bottom of Gracie and Joe’s strange dynamic largely matches our own. However, as she ingratiates herself among the family, it quickly becomes clear that Elizabeth’s intentions are far more perverse. As Gracie’s mask begins to slip, so too does Elizabeth’s, revealing her obsessive, megalomaniacal fantasy of coveting, or perhaps recreating, Gracie’s and Joe’s lived experience. The ensuing dissonance, heightened by the melodramatic register in which the film operates, not only makes for an unnaturalness that is often quite funny (Marcelo Zarvos’s ostentatious score is a big part of this), but it also makes space for thorny ethical questions surrounding spectatorship, representation, autonomy, and consent—none of which feel overly didactic. 

Instead, in true Haynes fashion, ambiguities stay ambiguous, and the viewer is left to dwell in the gray areas. Neither patronizing nor flattering these characters, Haynes complicates prevailing assumptions surrounding Gracie and Joe by lending them both a degree of agency, and in doing so undermines whatever vague suggestion is made toward a simple sociological explanation for their relationship (e.g. personality disorders, abuse begetting abuse). Actors and outcasts alike, these are characters whose identities are defined by performance, whether of normalcy, security, sincerity, or innocence. Like the many mirrors Haynes frames them in, Portman, Moore, and, perhaps most impressively, Melton reflect and belie their characters’ superficial personas. 

May December comes at a strange moment in time when the popularity of true-crime content feels at odds with flattened conceptions of moral goodness and badness in popular media. What makes the film feel particularly incisive and contemporary—infinitely more so than the titles it is destined to be algorithmically paired with on the Netflix home screen—are the ways in which it converses with this moment and indeed the viewer. Haynes’ latest is, once again, hard to pin down; but it is even harder to forget. 

Score: 22/24

May December is nominated for 4 Golden Globes.

Written by Connell Oberman

You can support Connell Oberman in the following places:

Twitter: @ObermanConnell
Instagram: @connello_22
Substack: ConnellOberman

It seems Joel never had any other plans than film. As a youngster, he saved up for a Super 8 so that he and Ethan could remake the films they enjoyed on the television. Joel went on to study film at university, while Ethan’s path was slightly less direct, choosing a Philosophy degree instead. This combination goes some way to explaining the philosophical ponderings that pepper the brother’s films.

The stories the Coens concoct are convoluted, with a whole host of unusual and memorable characters. Like many famous directors, they have a regular cohort of actors – Frances McDormand, George Clooney, Tim Blake Nelson, and Josh Brolin all have more than one Coen Brothers film under their belt.

The brothers’ body of work is so varied it’s hard to offer suggestions for similar directors. Their comedies could be likened to Wes Anderson or Martin McDonagh, their historical sagas could be by Paul Thomas Anderson, and their deft handling of the crime genre could see them listed among the greats. The fact that they are able to jump so effectively from genre to genre has increased their chances of being both commercially and critically successful. Having broken down the Coen’s vast and varied filmography, here is The Film Magazine’s guide on Where to Start With The Coen Brothers.

1. Fargo (1996)

Fargo Review

Fargo is frequently listed as the best Coen Brothers film, so it is an extremely good place to start.

The film’s focus is on Jerry Lundegaard (William H Macy), a car salesman whose bad decisions drive the plot. It’s easy to think because Jerry is the protagonist, he is the good guy, but Jerry should go down in history as one of cinema’s greatest villains.

Fargo concentrates on greed and want as Jerry’s deep dissatisfaction with his lot is punished. Crime and punishment is a theme that the Coen Brothers will return to in their subsequent films, continuing their years’ long love affair with the crime genre.

Part of the Coen’s strength is their ability to make their characters’ stupidity believable. Gallows humour takes hold as desperation drives Jerry, but there is nothing cartoonish here. While it may be ridiculous, Jerry’s actions are nothing but sinister.

Frances McDormand’s incredible Oscar-winning portrayal of Marge Gunderson, the chipper police chief investigating the kidnap of Jerry’s wife, allows for the themes of power and order to be explored.

2. No Country for Old Men (2007)

No Country for Old Men is an adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s novel of the same name. It is one of those rare films with the accolade of being better than the book it’s based on.

Set in Texas, the Coen brothers – back working with Fargo’s cinematographer Roger Deakins – return to a similarly bleak and expansive landscape. Here, they replace the ice and snow of Fargo with wide open skies, shifting sand and disorientating heat shimmers.

Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) is a working class man who discovers a large amount of money in the desert. Javier Bardem earned an Oscar as the deranged Anton Chigurh, a hitman in pursuit of the money. Tommy Lee Jones is outstanding as Sheriff Bell trying to untangle the webs the other two men are creating.

All those themes commonly associated with a Coen Brothers movie come into play; power, borders, transience, duality, chaos, inevitability and greed. Unlike in Fargo, the protagonist Llewelyn is not a villain, even if some of his decisions are terrible. Llewelyn doesn’t need to be a villain, with Anton doing such a good job.

No Country for Old Men steps away from the Coen Brothers’ darkly humorous style and is a much more serious endeavour. It still blurs genres though. Is it a Western? A Crime-noir? A literary look into the plight of working-class men in landscapes not built for them? Or all of the above?

3. Hail, Caesar! (2016)

Hail, Caesar! was not so critically revered as Fargo and No Country for Old Men, and it did not smash the box office in quite the same way. However, it was far from a flop and arguably underrated. Hail, Caesar! is an accessible, less challengingly funny gateway into what the Coens have to offer. It still utilises their trademark ability to take a million seemingly unrelated tangents and weave them expertly together, but lacks some of the darker themes that may have put some viewers off delving into their more serious work.

Like Fargo, Hail, Caesar! began with a kernel of truth. It is a fictional tale about the real Hollywood fixer, Eddie Mannix (Josh Brolin). A fixer was someone hired by movie studios to cover up scandals their actors could not help but embroil themselves in. Like when unmarried actresses get pregnant (this is the 50s remember).

When the studio’s star, Baird Whitlock (George Clooney) is drugged and kidnapped during the filming of the eponymous Roman epic, ‘Hail Caesar’, it is up to Eddie to fix it. While many of the Coen’s films are bleak or bittersweet, there is always a seed of hope planted. Hail, Caesar! is the opposite, a hopeful comedy with a seed of something more ominous lurking just off the screen.

Recommended for you: Where to Start with David Lynch

The interesting thing about the Coen Brothers’ work is that it is not confined by genre. Their projects include book adaptations, historical sagas, crime noirs, romantic comedies, and westerns. From The Big Lebowski (1998) to Intolerable Cruelty (2003), there is something for everyone.

As eclectic as their stories seem to be, there are recurrent themes woven throughout their work. One common theme that spans their films is Americanness, often looked at through a filter of quirk and marginalisation. The portrayal of working-class men also plays a huge role (much more than women), as does power and morality. Their ability to find dark humour in the gloomiest of settings also sets them apart from their peers.

Wish (2023)
Directors: Chris Buck, Fawn Veerasunthorn
Screenwriters: Jennifer Lee, Allison Moore
Starring: Ariana DeBose, Chris Pine, Alan Tudyk, Angelique Cabral, Victor Garber, Natasha Rothwell, Jennifer Kumiyama, Harvey Guillén, Evan Peters, Ramy Youssef, Jon Rudnitsky

One hundred years of Disney. How does one possibly celebrate such an occasion? The little studio that begun with animated movies about a cartoon mouse (and rabbit) almost one hundred years ago now exists as a behemoth of the entertainment industry, owning half of Hollywood as well as the famed Disneyland and Disneyworld theme parks. With so much power, so much history and so many controversies, what could the company plan for their 100th birthday party release Wish that could possibly pay homage to such a legacy?

After undergoing a five year hiatus from releasing original animated movies between 2016’s Moana and 2021’s Raya and the Last Dragon, Disney have gone back to what they do best, what they are most known for, animation. They have returned to their roots in the past few years and released animated pictures like Raya, Encanto, and Strange World, to varying degrees of success. 

Wish finds itself set in the wonderful kingdom of Rosas, which is ruled by its king Magnifico (Chris Pine). King Magnifico performs a yearly ritual in which once someone turns 18, they can pass their greatest wish onto him and he will protect it and potentially allow it to come true one day. However, once Asha (Ariana DeBose) discovers that Magnifico’s intentions may not be as pure as they seem, she realises that she must do whatever she can to stop him. Even wishing upon a star. 

As is probably obvious from the story of a young girl wishing upon a star, the film finds itself heavily inspired by the famed Disney tune “When You Wish Upon a Star”, which originally featured in Pinocchio but has since become Disney’s signature song. Much like this little reference to the past of the company, the film is also filled to the brim with references that show the journey of Disney from then to now. 

It’s a good idea in scope; a nice way to celebrate the history of the studio whilst pushing forward with the new. This is, however, the only facet of the movie that feels at all genuine.

Whilst Disney were patting themselves on the back for how great their company used to be, they forgot to put heart into any other aspects of Wish. Similar to the hand-drawn animation style that the film attempts to replicate, much of Wish is flat and one dimensional.

This disingenuity is most evident in the film’s characters. The main character Asha (voiced by DeBose in perhaps the only memorable vocal performance of the entire film) is given a bit more depth and personality, but the side characters make it clear what was most important to Disney in the making of this film. The supporting cast of Asha’s family, friends and sidekicks is upwards of ten people, all of whom are of varying races, genders and sizes, placing equality, diversity and inclusivity at the forefront of the film to showcase the company’s core values. At least, what the company would like you to think are their core values. This becomes painstakingly obvious through the number “Knowing What I Know Now”, in which the film makes a point to show the differences in the characters through their blocking.

The issue is, these characters are given so little to do and have such little depth that we simply do not care about a single one of them. Though the filmmakers would like us to believe that these are beliefs, values and causes that the studio care about, they do almost nothing to convince us of that fallacy. Instead, the little bit of character that Asha’s friends are afforded is that each of them are inspired by the dwarfs in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. This once again proves that what Disney cares about the most is patting themselves on the back.

Wish essentially only exists as a form of corporate self-fellatio that is as insufferable to watch as it is to write about.

Coming in at only ninety-five minutes, the centenary celebration of Walt Disney Studios moves along at a breakneck pace, showing us that even the execs up at Disney HQ wanted this one to be over just as quickly as we did. This simultaneously illustrates just how little care was put into the story aspects of the film and how Wish is really just one big advertisement for the company that made it. Come the end of the film, a character asks how they could possibly keep the magic of the Kingdom of Rosas alive, to which another responds “easy, just keep wishing.” What Disney are really saying is “keep buying tickets.”

Just as one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, it must be said that among the garbage there are some nuggets of gold in Wish. The story has a really good idea underpinning it, and the film offers a nice opportunity to create a full-circle moment for the “wish upon a star” fable that Disney is essentially built upon. Going back to the hand-drawn aesthetic is also a nice touch, as is making the film a musical. Given more time, care and passion, Wish could have been something special. All it needed was some heart. The lack thereof in the final product tells us more about the company that made it than anything in Wish ever could. 

Wish is a hollow and lazy picture that feeds its audiences the propaganda of Disney, only this time they aren’t even hiding it with the usual magic that pervades throughout their output. Though the kids seeing this film will undoubtedly enjoy it, they deserve better. 

Score: 7/24

Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987)
Director: John Hughes
Screenwriter: John Hughes
Starring: Steve Martin, John Candy

You’d be hard-pressed to name a more beloved Thanksgiving movie than the late John Hughes’ Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987). For many, the film has a virtual monopoly on the holiday’s cinematic canon (sorry, Charlie Brown) and endures as quintessential post-feast viewing. And, while Hughes’ other holiday flicks such as National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (1989) and Home Alone (1990) would go on to become living room mainstays in their own right, the king of crowd-pleasers’ first foray into holiday fare remains his most timeless. 

The film stars Steve Martin and the late John Candy as an oddball pair of unlucky travelers determined to make it home for Thanksgiving—in spite of the gamut of transportation delays thrown their way. The two are total opposites: Martin plays Neal Page, a prickly, Scroogean advertising executive who wants nothing more than to be left alone, while Candy plays Del Griffith, a chatterbox shower-ring salesman who Neal can’t seem to shake. Needless to say, Neal and Del’s perceived incompatibility makes for some delightful screwball comedy as they continually find themselves stranded. 

Anyone even marginally familiar with Steve Martin or John Candy’s work can see how inspired their casting was for a film with such a premise. These guys are their characters, and their characters are them. Their chemistry is palpable even as Neal’s standoffishness increasingly and hilariously chafes up against Del’s inability to take a hint. Hence the litany of endlessly-quoted one liners—some scripted, some improvised—which have cemented themselves in the American pop-culture lexicon (“Those aren’t pillows!”). 

And yet such iconic moments were ultimately conjured by Hughes’ brisk and gratifying script, as well as his willingness to let the performers make it their own. As Kevin Bacon—who has a brief cameo at the beginning of the film as the guy Neal races to hail a cab during rush hour—once recalled, “He wasn’t precious about his own dialogue. He was precious about his characters.”

One might recall the motel scene—in which Neal ruthlessly explodes on Del, only for Del to soberly reaffirm his security with himself, with all his idiosyncrasies and eccentric tendencies—as one of many in the film that cracks you up while tugging at your heartstrings. This is where the film hits a sweet spot: one where farcical comedy is balanced seamlessly with sincere emotional drama. Martin and Candy elevate the latent sentimentality in Hughes’ script to surprisingly moving ends, and Hughes relishes in it. Perhaps more so than National Lampoon’s and Home Alone—both of which Hughes wrote, but did not direct—Planes, Trains and Automobiles’ direction seems to be in perfect harmony with its performers, mining Martin and Candy’s brilliance for all it’s worth.

Above it all, Neal and Del’s ultimate connection—one between two lonely men who, under different circumstances, would likely remain total strangers—is what maintains the film’s continued resonance. We care about these characters because, in a way, they are us. Perhaps even more so today than in 1987, the tedium of our routines so often alienates us from our neighbors. It would not be difficult to imagine a contemporaneous version of this film sending up the impersonality of ridesharing and the gig economy. (When was the last time you made meaningful conversation with your Uber driver? What if you were now stuck with them?) 

Underneath all the film’s warm-and-fuzziness is a sort of universal truth, an exercise in empathy that has maintained its potency. As Hughes once said about the film: “I like taking dissimilar people, putting them together, and finding what’s common to us all.” These themes are not new, but they are universal—and when delivered skillfully and sincerely, comedy can become quite affecting. Planes, Trains, and Automobiles is one of those films that feels like a rarity in big studios’ output today and yet timeless nonetheless, which is perhaps why it is remembered so fondly. This is a comedy that set a standard for the genre—even if, at the end of the day, it was all in the holiday spirit.

Score: 19/24

Written by Connell Oberman

You can support Connell Oberman in the following places:

Twitter: @ObermanConnell
Instagram: @connello_22
Substack: ConnellOberman

Thanksgiving (2023)
Director: Eli Roth
Screenwriters: Jeff Rendel
Starring: Patrick Dempsey, Nell Verlaque, Addison Rae, Rick Hoffman, Milo Manheim, Jalen Thomas Brooks, Gina Gershon

There were quite a few issues with the Quentin Tarantino/Robert Rodriguez exploitation double feature ‘Grindhouse’ from 2007, with Rodriguez’s film Planet Terror admittedly being the superior film to Tarantino’s Death Proof, which whilst not awful, is certainly his worst film so far. What was possibly the best part of both films were the opening few minutes, which contained mock trailers for exploitation horror films before the main feature. Out of these came Rodriguez’s Machete in 2010, which somehow has become Danny Trejo’s modern day calling card, and Hobo with a Shotgun starring Rutger Hauer in 2011. Now, twelve years after the last feature-length version, and sixteen years after the fake trailer short film first aired in the double bill, Eli Roth brings us Thanksgiving, a pure exploitation slasher flick of the greatest kind.

Following a massacre at a Black Friday sale at RightMart, the next year’s thanksgiving is rightly looked to with apprehension. Demonstrations to close down the store, comments towards the store owner’s daughter, Jessica (played by Nell Verlaque), and the return to town of her old boyfriend, Bobby (played by Thomas Brooks) are just small parts of it. The more pressing issue is that someone has stolen an axe from a mock-up of John Carver’s ancestral home, and there are a load of masks of his face being handed around for the upcoming parade. Someone is back for revenge, and this time there will be no leftovers. So says the tagline.

The poster designs for Thanksgiving have shown clearly where the film’s interests lie, as four are variations of old slasher posters, from The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) to Halloween (1978). The original Grindhouse short was very much a love letter to these films of the seventies and eighties. However, it would be remiss to say that Thanksgiving is simply an 80s tribute, because whilst there are moments (even referencing slightly lesser known entries like Prom Night and even Happy Birthday To Me), there’s as much praise given to the neo-slashers of the modern era. The slick stylings of Kevin Williamson-penned slashers like Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer are front and centre, and Roth’s swift direction and Rendel’s dialogue make it clear that this is a modern film which isn’t interested in replicating the crackly quality of the 80s, as the film Abrakadabra (2018) did to stylistically replicate the 70s giallo. There’s as much tribute paid to old schlock like My Bloody Valentine and New Year’s Evil (80s slashers, after Halloween, took any national holiday they could to make a film around) as there is to Happy Death Day. Thanksgiving is traditional in sentiment and tropes, but modern in its slick execution.

It is precisely this balance that makes Thanksgiving so fun to watch. Yes, it’s violent to the extreme, with gnarly gore and twisted deaths, and if that’s not your cup of tea then the film won’t be for you, but this amount of red meat is to be expected of Roth, who has never shied away from ripping off body parts for the past twenty years. Yes, the formula is baked into the film’s very existence, and Roth never tries for a single second to step away from it. It is cliched to the hilt, shining its axe blade to a finely honed edge of horror formula. Yes, it never for a second tries to do a single thing which might be considered new or innovative or interesting from a standpoint of pushing things forward.

Yet that is the exact point of the film. This is a love letter to all of the teen slasher’s history, from Blood and Black Lace’s giallo beginnings to the most recent Scream films. The characters are stock but well acted, music by Brandon Roberts in the now-traditional orchestral stylings that Marco Beltrami used to great effect in Scream doing its job, and everything slots together nicely in the final product.

There’s a strong anti-capitalist message which comes and goes in varying strength depending on when the plot calls for it, and the clunkiness of its execution in this department isn’t going to score it any points, but there is, at least, something in there. It doesn’t simply use teen technology as a joke, although it also doesn’t put its full weight behind using it to give the message of the viral nature of crime and the desensitisation to violence as it seems to think it is doing. Perhaps this would be explored in a sequel, as the film certainly leaves enough scope and enough lingering doubts as to warrant it. There are no loose ends, but there’s a feeling that things aren’t all said and done.

For the most part, however, Thanksgiving does exactly what it says it’s going to. It gives a good, bloody slasher flick with confident writing and directing, and whilst it never achieves anything distinctly new, it is as monolithic a tribute to the slasher film as there ever has been, without going postmodern and meta to name-and-shame every film it stole a shot from. It feels very much like a film which heralds the end of an era for the slasher film, as the reboots of Halloween and Scream have seemed to begin to usher in a new wave of the formula. The film holds its axe high to the world and confidently, without shame, declares, ‘I am a slasher film, and I love it.’

Score: 18/24

Frozen (2013)
Directors: Chris Buck, Jennifer Lee
Screenwriter: Jennifer Lee
Starring: Kristen Bell, Idina Menzel, Jonathan Groff, Josh Gad, Santino Fontana, Alan Tudyk

A frozen tundra reveals itself under a dramatic score inspired by Sámi-style singing. A world of jagged ice and frost sparkles under the Aurora Borealis. This is a world of magic, made apparent immediately by the children playing. A young princess, Elsa (Eva Bella) can wield snow from her fingertips. Her non-magical sister only sees the joy in this – gone are the themes of female jealousy that were once a Disney mainstay.

But the joy turns sour as Elsa strikes Anna (Livvy Stubenrauch) with an errant ice surge. Once the kingdom’s magical trolls are consulted and Anna is saved, it is decided that the only thing to do is wipe Anna’s memory and hide Elsa’s gift. Elsa is forced into a life of isolation, concealing her true power. After her parent’s death Anna also becomes subjected to this lonely way of living.

Now Spring, Anna (Kristen Bell) and Elsa (Idina Menzel) are grown. They wake equally giddy and nervous that it is coronation day, and their secretive castle has to open its gates to present its new ruler, Queen Elsa (Idina Menzel), to the surrounding kingdoms. Two young women without a King around should be easy to take advantage of. Many dignitaries seem to think so anyway.

The stress of the evening affects the sisters in quite different ways. Princess Anna (Kristen Bell) falls head over heels in love with Prince Hans (Santino Fontana), and Elsa (Idina Menzel) goes on an ice spewing rampage, buries Arundel in a thick blanket of snow, and runs into the forest without a coat. Though, rumour is, the cold doesn’t bother her anyway.

Anna (Kristen Bell) entrusts the kingdom to Hans (Santino Fontana) as she strides out into the snow drifts to search for her sister. A chance meeting with ice merchant, Kristoff (Jonathan Groff) changes the course of her journey and of her life.

Remarkably, Frozen (2013) was the first Disney film to be directed by a woman. Jennifer Lee wrote the screenplay and joint-directed (alongside Chris Buck) both Frozen and Frozen II. These films made her the first woman to direct a film that made over $1billion. And Frozen attracted awards like moss on a rock troll’s behind.

Wreck-It Ralph (2012) was Lee’s first screenplay, and was a very clear indicator of Lee’s ability to write Disney princesses with a difference. Vanelope is more like Elsa than most other Disney princesses before her. Both have a potentially dangerous trait that threatens those they love, both need to accept themselves and embrace their power. Both choose to live alone in a castle of their own design.

There is no doubt that Frozen has been an unmitigated success. In fact, the only animated Disney film to beat it at the box office is its own sequel. The franchise has spawned short films, a mini LEGO series, more merchandise than anyone thought possible, a West End Show, and a critically acclaimed sequel (which is arguably better). Frozen became a Disney classic overnight, and it remains as popular as it ever was.

There are many reasons why Frozen appeals to audiences so much. Obviously, beautiful animation, humorous animal (or non-human) sidekicks, adult jokes flying over kids’ heads, and belting tunes are all to be expected of a Disney endeavour. But there is something about Frozen that gives it an edge over its Disney counterparts and has given it this remarkable staying power.

Perhaps it was the decision to have two female protagonists? The traditional fairy tales of yesteryear with damsels in distress are out of vogue. Yes there is distress in Frozen, but these damsels are going to sort it out by themselves. The non-prince charming, Kristoff (Jonathan Groff) is a hugely likeable love interest, but he is not there to fix Anna’s (Kristen Bell) problems, and no one but Anna can save Elsa (Idina Menzel).

By having two female protagonists, Disney have allowed the more traditionally klutzy, hopeful romantic Anna to tick the boxes for fans nostalgic of the golden era. While Elsa is aromantic, empowered, a warrior. She just has to learn to love and trust. By splintering the facets of a traditional Disney princess, the creative team managed to create something with a wider appeal.

Disney has always been divided into two distinct categories: princess stories marketed at girls, and non-human (cars, toys, animals, elements) stories marketed at both girls and boys. Even with the more modern attitudes of audiences today this hasn’t really changed. If you look at it cynically, girls can be expected to enjoy stories with boys in while boys are not expected to enjoy the stories of girls. While the leads are women in Frozen, there is a strong supporting cast of male characters. Roguish Kristoff, reindeer Sven and magical snowman Olaf (Josh Gad – a man whose expressive and distinctive voice was made for animation) add humour and allow the film to be marketed at both boys and girls. There are monsters, wolves and bogey jokes aplenty for those who are less interested in love and all that mushy stuff.

Another strength of the film is the moving part of the villain. Up to the high note of “Let it Go”, we would be forgiven for thinking perhaps Elsa is the baddie. She doesn’t let Anna live her life, curses a kingdom to freeze to death, and sculpts ice weapons with a glint in her eye. The twist in Frozen, as the audience realises where the real threat lies, is up there with The Sixth Sense or The Usual Suspects. Nearly.

The past decade has seen Disney (and Disney Pixar) films shift to reflect the more progressive tastes of its audiences. Big Hero Six (2014), Inside Out (2015), Moana (2016), Luca (2021), Encanto (2021), and Turning Red (2022) are all coming-of-age stories that explore complex themes of grief, self-worth, difference, and acceptance, with barely a whisper of a love interest among them. While huge successes, none of them have managed the dizzying heights of Elsa’s success. But it is a fair suggestion that Elsa paved the way for these films of empowerment and learning to love yourself.

Frozen is a universal film with themes that are far reaching and enduring. Elsa shot to the top spot, and no matter what she says, she’s showing no signs of letting it go.

Score: 20/24

And yet it was not without its burdens. The considerable side-effects of growing up in the spotlight reached a disturbing crescendo by the time Foster started undergrad at Yale in 1980, where she was obsessively stalked by John Hinckley Jr., the Travis Bickle wannabe who would go on to shoot Ronald Reagan. Amazingly, Foster continued to act in films between semesters until she graduated in 1985—although few of them managed to garner critical or commercial success. That trend continued in the years following as Foster struggled to redefine herself as an actress. She had displayed such strength and graceful resilience on-screen and in her life: it was about time her adult roles reflected that. 

That much-needed spark came with 1988’s The Accused, in which Foster plays a rape survivor fighting to bring her assailants to justice, and 1991’s The Silence of the Lambs, which saw her embody the now-iconic FBI trainee Clarice Starling alongside Anthony Hopkins’ legendary Hannibal Lecter. Foster won an Academy Award for each film, and she carried on the momentum through the 90s with celebrated performances in films such as Nell (1994) and Contact (1997), and even made her directorial debut with Little Man Tate (1991). Foster’s pedigree amongst her peers and audiences was undoubtedly cemented by the time she was invited to head the jury at the 2001 Cannes Film Festival, a position from which she ultimately stepped down to star in David Fincher’s suspenseful cat-and-mouse thriller Panic Room (2002). 

Through the 2000s, Foster’s turn as the villainous Madeleine White in Spike Lee’s Inside Man (2006) and her well-documented but ultimately ill-fated effort to direct and star in a biopic about the notorious, if technically brilliant, Nazi propagandist Leni Riefenstahl made convincing counterpoints to dissenting criticisms accusing Foster of “sanctifying herself as an old-fashioned heroine [rather than] taking on dramatically risky roles.” Such criticisms arguably neglected to acknowledge the fact that Foster has been taking risks since she was a child, but they also failed to appreciate the deeply affecting vulnerability Foster brings to even the most competent and resolute of characters. 

And, while Foster has been famously—and understandably—reticent about her personal life aside from her devastating 1982 Esquire essay “Why Me?,” which recounted her experience as a public figure up to the John Hinckley incident, and her 2011 Golden Globes speech which vaguely alluded to speculation surrounding her sexuality, this vulnerability has come to define her career. Jodie Foster is not only simply good at her job, much like many of the women she has played, but she also clearly brings a piece of herself to every role. Now, after a long stint working primarily as a director, she seems to be turning a new chapter—one that sees the celebrated actress return to form with projects such as the upcoming ‘True Detective: Night Country’ (2024), and get personal in films like 2023’s Nyad. 

In 2021, Foster told the New York Times: “I am a solitary, internal person in an extroverted, external job. I don’t think I will ever not feel lonely. It’s a theme in my life. It’s not such a bad thing. I don’t need to be known by everyone.” Perhaps the reluctant movie star would rather her work speak for itself, as it does in these 3 Career-Defining Performances. 

1. Taxi Driver (1976)

Taxi Driver Review

Any evaluation of Jodie Foster’s career would be incomplete without mention of her revelatory turn as Iris Steensma in Martin Scorsese’s early-career masterpiece. Hers is widely considered to be one of the best child performances of all time and earned her the first Oscar nomination of her career at the age of 13. Already an acclaimed child star for her work in films such as Disney’s Napoleon and Samantha (1972) and the 1973 adaptation Tom Sawyer, Foster seemed destined to become a defining performer of her generation. If Taxi Driver taught us anything, it’s that she already was. 

Martin Scorsese must have sensed it, too. Foster had previously appeared in the auteur’s 1974 film Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, so by the time she was cast in Taxi Driver, she and Scorsese had already established a working relationship. Still, then-12-year-old Foster’s casting as a child prostitute opposite Robert De Niro’s antisocial weirdo Travis Bickle raised more than a few eyebrows. Abundant cautionary measures were taken to ensure Foster’s—and her mother’s—comfort while performing, including regular psychiatric check-ups, constant accompaniment by a social worker on set, and the substitution of Foster with her older sister Connie for a few particularly suggestive scenes. 

Foster herself, though, seemed unfazed by her role’s apparent ethical grayness: “To me it was another role, and I understood the difference between making movies and actually being a person. So it wasn’t really impactful for me. I don’t think I was confused by the sexuality in the film,” she recalled. It might be an overstatement to assume that Foster had a complete and clear-eyed understanding of the film’s thematic material at the time, but she embodied this character with such fearlessness and emotional candor that she elucidates it all the same. 

Her character does not get significant screen time until the film’s third act, when the increasingly unstable Bickle takes it upon himself to facilitate her liberation—and yet Iris is not merely the object of Bickle’s crusade but also the film’s beating heart. Upon their first meeting, or in the iconic diner scene, the sociopathic Bickle is baffled by Iris’s naive buoyancy. She’s a victim of a perverse society, undoubtedly more so than Bickle, and yet her sense of indignation seems far less than that which he feels on her—and his—behalf. By the time Bickle goes on his rampage, the textually rich interactions between he and Iris have called into question any notion that his actions are driven by anything other than a need to placate his violent urges in the name of righteous justice. Still, Iris represents the sort of injured humanity that no doubt wrestles for control inside Bickle. The kids aren’t alright, and neither is he. This layered diagnosis of the many diseases plaguing American society after the Vietnam war (and which are just as prescient today) would have been simply incomplete without Foster’s acutely intelligent and affecting performance. 

While Foster would go on to bolster her early-career resume with starring roles in tentpole films like Freaky Friday (1976) and Bugsy Malone (1976), it was undoubtedly Taxi Driver that would come to define this stage of her career; not only for its revered status, but also for what was undoubtedly her coronation as a performer well ahead of her time—and meant for much more than Disney originals. Robert De Niro famously took Foster under his wing while filming, which, it could be reasonably assumed, only refined her enormous talent. “He really helped me understand improvisation and building a character in a way that was almost nonverbal,” Foster said of the experience. With one of the most prolific actor-filmmaker tandems of all time attesting to her skills, Jodie Foster was clearly bound to play with the big kids. 

2. The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

The Silence of the Lambs Review

Foster won her second Oscar for her role as Clarice Starling, the industrious young FBI investigator opposite Anthony Hopkins’ cerebral and chillingly polite Hannibal Lecter, an incarcerated cannibal Starling is tasked with gleaning psychological insight from to help catch a serial killer. Fresh off her first win for her role in 1998’s The Accused, Foster was in a new prime—and while her performance in that film could just as well represent this stage of her career, it is her turn as Starling that has since been immortalized. 

Despite her newfound acclaim in adult roles, Foster had to wait behind industry fixtures such as Michelle Pfeiffer, Meg Ryan, and Laura Dern for the role—all three declined the part due to film’s disturbing themes and Foster, having expressed enthusiasm for the part since she read the 1988 novel, got her shot. 

The film has since reached classic-status—despite controversy surrounding its polarizing treatment of themes related to transgenderism and sexuality—thanks in no small part to Foster’s performance. Foster’s Starling, small in stature, nonetheless consumes every scene she’s in, transcending even Sir Anthony Hopkins, who is also at the top of his game. Director Jonathan Demme frequently frames Clarice in close-ups, which feels like a deliberate rendering of the inescapable male gaze that follows her everywhere, and Foster, with her aptitude for the subdued and unspoken, shines. She convincingly embodies a woman who is simultaneously unwavering and deeply vulnerable in the face of Lecter’s psychological ambushes. It’s the type of thing that separates run-of-the-mill crime thrillers from timeless innovations of the genre—and Foster’s performance is timeless in its own right. 

Would it be going too far to say her role in Silence was one of Foster’s most personal? Perhaps not, since Foster reportedly tried to option the novel even before Demme was attached, and since the film offers compelling reflections on gender politics and the experience of being watched. Foster was, unfortunately, no stranger to such themes in her real life, so it makes sense that she approached the role with profound honesty and vulnerability. Clarice is tough; she’s “the woman that saves the women.” And yet she exists in a discomfiting reality that most women know all too well. 

The tension between these elements illuminates a theme that would come to define the roles Foster took on. If not lambs, then Foster’s unusual life experiences nonetheless scream through her work. From “Why Me?”: “There were things to be done, secrets to keep. I was supposed to be ‘tough,’ like cowboys, like diplomats, like ‘unaffected actresses’—not because anyone asked me to but because I wanted to show them (God knows who) that I was strong. I wanted to show them all that Jodie was so uniquely ‘normal’ and ‘well-adjusted’ that nothing could make her fall. I think I believed all this, my subconscious propaganda.”

3. Contact (1997)

By 1997, Jodie Foster was a bonafide movie star. Suddenly, she found herself being sought after for bigger and bigger projects—which would result in a string of genre star vehicles around the turn of the millennium. The actress would go on to work with the likes of David Fincher and Spike Lee, but it was perhaps her collaboration with Robert Zemeckis in his sci-fi melodrama Contact (1997) that bore the most memorable performance from this period in her career. 

The film, an adaptation of Carl Sagan’s 1988 novel, was a box office success and has largely held up over time despite mixed reviews upon its release. Foster’s performance is far and away the best part of the film, as her character Dr. Ellie Arroway becomes more than a generic sci-fi protagonist in her quest to establish contact with extraterrestrial beings. Foster, with her trademark rugged sensitivity, largely embodies the tension between faith and science and the messy convergence of the two. Like the film’s screenplay, Foster’s performance is interesting because it cleverly subverts easy clichés in favor of a more grounded, humanistic exploration of its otherwise schmaltzy premise. She’s no Ellen Ripley, but she’s just as heroic. 

A film of cosmic ambition, Contact works precisely because of Foster’s ability to bring depth and sincerity to her character. As Dr. Arroway gets swept up in the frenzied worldwide response to her discovery of an otherworldly radio transmission—a flagrant confirmation of the existence of extraterrestrial life—her character nonetheless feels honest and believable, which makes her ultimate journey into space all the more compelling. Zemeckis understands this and rarely separates the audience from Foster even as the film’s scale expands dramatically. 

In Foster’s own words: “I think, more than any character that I’ve ever played, Ellie Arroway is the most like me or at least the most like how I think I should be seen — how I see myself or something.” The lonely astronomer might not be the first of Foster’s characters to feel like a de facto analogue for Foster herself, but her sci-fi milieu only confirms that Foster has the chops to tackle any kind of material. 

Whether she’s surrounded by blue screens or rubbing elbows with other iconic performers, Jodie Foster consistently delivers performances capable of moving even the most cynical viewer. Her filmography boasts a pantheon of strong-willed heroines, precocious youngsters, and complicated women—and her prolific directorial career is nothing to thumb your nose at. With more to come from the legendary actress as she enters her 60s, now is as good a time as ever to appreciate her storied career. 

Written by Connell Oberman

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Dream Scenario (2023)
Director: Kristoffer Borgli
Screenwriter: Kristoffer Borgli
Starring: Nicolas Cage, Julianne Nicholson, Michael Cera, Dylan Baker, Tim Meadows, Lily Bird, Jessica Clement, Paula Boudreau, Marie McPhail

Nicolas Cage has become an internet darling in recent times, to the point that he’s the first actor since John Malkovich who has been able to comfortably play himself in a film without it seeming self-indulgent. Matt Damon and Ben Affleck turning up for a small cameo in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back might qualify for a special dispensation, however. The thing with Nicolas Cage that makes him unique, though, is that he is one of very few actors who pops up in anything and everything. He can just as easily carry a huge budget blockbuster as he’s likely to be the face of a straight-to-streaming B-Movie. What we can always guarantee is that he’ll always give it his absolute best. Whether that means creating a new meme or garnering widespread critical acclaim doesn’t really matter, because either way we’re in for something special.

To that end, Dream Scenario seems like, well, a dream scenario for a Nicolas Cage film. At its base, it’s about an unremarkable professor, played by Cage, who wants more from his life, and suddenly finds notoriety when he starts popping up in people’s dreams. As a premise, it’s weird and compelling, but it also comes with the backing of A24 – a studio who have built a certain level of trust among audiences with films like Everything Everywhere All at Once and Past Lives in recent memory. It sounds like a B-Movie fit to garner the internet’s next favourite meme, but it’s backed by a studio that could give us Cage’s next Academy Award for Best Actor.

Paul (Nicholas Cage) is instantly quite relatable as a character – he lives a normal life with a normal job and a normal family. It’s comfortable, but it isn’t anything exciting. We get a glimpse into the kind of person he is when he sets up a meeting with a former colleague, Sheila (Paula Boudreau). Sheila is about to have a piece of research published that Paul believes he should be credited for. Whether he actually should or not is never confirmed, but Sheila certainly doesn’t agree with him.

As we get to know Paul more, it’s quite easy to believe it might well have been a reach on his behalf in an attempt to gain any kind of recognition in the field he has been working in for his entire life. Paul’s wife, Janet (Julianne Nicholson), encourages Paul to record the meeting so she can hear her husband demand what he’s owed, but he deletes the recording before she’s able to hear the truth of what actually happened.

Paul and Janet go to the theatre together where an ex-girlfriend, Claire (Marnie McPhail), recognises Paul. She’s excited to see him because he has been on her mind lately, albeit unwillingly. He has been appearing in her dreams. He then learns that he has been appearing in his students’ dreams too, and then also the dreams of a bunch of random people who are asking who he is and why it’s happening on Facebook.

Initially, he’s besotted by the limelight, and he actively takes his space in it. People are excited to meet him for what appears to be the first time in his life and he can’t get enough of it. He even derails whole lectures to engage in a Q&A sessions with students who are seeing him in their dreams. What he isn’t so happy about is that, like in real life, he always seems to play a passive part in the dreams. As he starts to play a much more active role in his own life, the version of him that appears in people’s dreams follows suit, but it isn’t to a desirable end.

Dream Scenario is far less weird than it seems. Much like Being John Malkovich, it uses its surrealist nucleus as a driver to explore much more usual themes. Through this odd phenomenon where Nicolas Cage’s Paul is appearing in everyone’s dreams, we’re asked to consider cultural phenomena that are relevant to modern life. The newly instantaneous and unfiltered nature of how a person can rise to fame, the loss of nuance that comes with the sudden mass awareness of a flawed individual, and the frivolity of cancel culture are all brought into question.

There isn’t really anything in Dream Scenario that absolutely has to be driven by the idea that this random person has started showing up in people’s dreams, though, nor is there any attempt to explore how or why it might be happening. If Paul had just gone viral as the result of pulling a strange face in the background of a news report, for example, most of Dream Scenario would be exactly the same film.

The story of Paul’s rise and fall could still be the same for the large majority of it, and in a way, it might have even been more satisfying as a complete narrative. There wouldn’t have been any abstract concept to dive further into when there was clearly no interest in doing so. The interest of the film is plainly in deconstructing and commenting on modern viral celebrity culture and the pitfalls that come with it.

Dream Scenario is a showcase of what Nicholas Cage does very well, or at least one of the things he does very well. It’s a character study of a man who’s frustrated with a life that most people would be satisfied with because he wants more from it. It’s as if Charlie Kaufman’s Adaptation was rewritten to replace the references to orchids with an allegory about a mild-mannered Freddy Krueger, and who else could play such a role? It’s effortlessly watchable and compelling in a number of ways, but it wouldn’t have hurt to further explore the absurd concept that it all comes from.

Score: 19/24

Written by Rob Jones

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