CAPSULE MOVIE REVIEWS: 10-3-25
- Oct 4
- 15 min read
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My Film Critic pants are quite fetching; they are on, pressed, and ironed. I'm ready to review five new movies in this week's capsule (short) movie reviews for Friday, October 3rd, 2025.
This one has "Oscar bait" written all over it. Benny Safdie, going solo without his brother Josh, has decided to take on the life of MMA fighter Mark Kerr, and he's brought in Dwayne Johnson for the ride.
And look, this is clearly an attempt to do for Johnson what the Safdies did for Adam Sandler in Uncut Gems. Remember that? Sandler, mostly known for his dumb comedies and weird man-baby shtick, suddenly gave a performance that was Oscar-worthy; it was raw, dangerous, and desperate.
The Safdies pulled something shocking and brilliant out of him. And here, Benny Safdie is trying to do the same with Johnson.
Now, Johnson has never really gone this route before. Sure, I'll give him Southland Tales (Richard Kelly's insane, overstuffed, and brilliant mess of a masterpiece), that's still his most original and provocative performance.
But for the most part, we're talking Fast & Furious quips, Jumanji jungle antics, and family-friendly blockbuster mugging. This is supposed to be different: prosthetics, cauliflower ears, and a total physical transformation into Kerr. And yeah, he looks the part. But looking the part isn't enough when the script is this thin.
Set between 1997 and 2000, the film tracks Kerr as he rises through brutal tournaments in the U.S., Brazil, and Japan, while battling demons at home with his girlfriend Dawn (Emily Blunt) and falling into opioid addiction.
There are fights. There are training montages. There are arguments over smoothies and cats on couches. There are binges, rehab trips, relapses, and comebacks. You've seen this before, a hundred times before, and almost always done better.
This film owes a gigantic debt to Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler. You can feel its DNA all over this thing: the handheld documentary-style camerawork, the sweaty intimacy, the sad, broken man who can't function outside of the ring. Except The Wrestler was devastating.
This? It's derivative. It's shaky. It's like a pale shadow of movies that tackled the same territory with more honesty and power.
Johnson is fine. That's the nicest thing I can say. He's trying, and I'll give him credit for attempting something outside his wheelhouse. But the role is underwritten. His Kerr is inconsistent.
He is sometimes explosive, sometimes passive, sometimes a control freak, sometimes a total mess. None of it feels cohesive. It's not transformative; it's just another performance dressed up with prosthetics.
Emily Blunt is flat-out wasted in the role of Dawn, his girlfriend. She's saddled with one of the most stereotypical "boxer's girlfriend" roles I've ever seen. Overbearing, nagging, loving, supportive, destructive. It is whatever the script needs her to be in the moment; that's what she is.
The movie can't decide if she is Kerr's salvation or his downfall, so she ends up being nothing but a plot device. Watching her here, I kept flashing back to Heidi Gardner's SNL character Angel, the girlfriend of every boxer in every boxing movie. It's that broad. Only this isn't a joke.
There are a couple of moments that work: a blowout fight between Johnson and Blunt that ends with her putting a gun to her head has real tension, and Johnson actually rises to the occasion in that scene. But most of the time, it feels like two capable actors trapped in clichés.
And then there's the opioid subplot. Look, Kerr really did struggle with addiction, and this could've been a chance to dive into the darkness of that world. The dark world in which fighters kill their pain, how the industry chews them up, how pervasive the problem is.
But Safdie treats it like a box to check. Quick montage, some needles, a trip to rehab, a relapse, boom... conflict added. It's shallow. It's careless. It's lazy.
Compare it to something like North Dallas Forty, which blew the lid off drug use in the NFL back in the '70s. That movie was brutal and honest. This one skims the surface.
What's missing most here is the Safdie edge. Where's the relentless anxiety? The nerve-shredding intensity? The weird humor that makes you squirm?
There are flashes, like a couple of fight scenes, a late-night meltdown, a few chaotic edits that almost feel like Uncut Gems, but they're fleeting. Mostly, this is a pretty straightforward sports drama with occasional shaky-cam dressing.
Honestly, it feels like Safdie didn't really want to make this movie, but he saw the chance to get Johnson an Oscar nod and A24 a prestige sports drama, so here we are.
And by the way, there's already a documentary about Mark Kerr, The Smashing Machine (2002). It's the real story. It's better. It's more informative. And it actually has a reason to exist. This dramatization feels unnecessary from the jump.
I didn't hate this. It's not unwatchable. There are moments that land, the fights have some grit, a couple of domestic blowups feel real, and the final scene (which I won't spoil) is the most Safdie-esque and compelling moment in the whole film. But overall, this is derivative, inconsistent, and undercooked.
Johnson wants to be taken seriously, and I respect that. But this isn't the role that's going to get him there. And Emily Blunt deserved way better.
My advice? Skip this one. Watch the 2002 documentary instead. It'll give you the real story, without all the Oscar-bait gloss and clichés. - ⭐️⭐️
Paul Greengrass is back, folks. And when I say "back," I mean doing exactly what he was put on this earth to do: dropping us into terrifying, true-life disasters and making us feel like we're living them in real time.
The Lost Bus is his latest, based on Lizzie Johnson's book Paradise: One Town's Struggle to Survive an American Wildfire. It tells the story of Kevin McKay, a bus driver who, in the middle of the 2018 Camp Fire, rescued 22 kids and their teacher by driving them through hell on earth.
This thing is pure Greengrass, with handheld chaos, gut-punch realism, and the kind of intensity that leaves you wrung out when the credits roll.
It starts with Kevin McKay (Matthew McConaughey), a man whose life is already a mess before the fire even ignites. He's divorced, broke, stuck caring for his ailing mother (played by McConaughey's real-life mom, Kay), estranged from his teenage son (played by his real-life son, Levi), and, oh yeah, has to put his dog down in the first 20 minutes.
This guy cannot catch a break. But he's also decent, good at his core, and when the Camp Fire hits and the school calls, he climbs behind the wheel of a bus loaded with kids and a teacher (America Ferrera) and drives straight into the apocalypse.
Meanwhile, Cal Fire crews led by Ray Martinez (Yul Vazquez, excellent) are scrambling to hold back a fire that's already out of control. Communication systems are breaking down, evacuation orders are botched, and the town of Paradise is descending into chaos.
The kids are stranded, parents can't reach them, and Kevin, this exhausted, reluctant, utterly ordinary man, becomes the difference between life and death.
Greengrass has made this kind of movie before: United 93, Captain Phillips, and July 22nd. He's the master of the docu-thriller, using handheld camerawork, naturalistic performances, and editing so tense it practically shreds your nerves. And The Lost Bus fits right in with that lineage.
The opening scenes establish the drought, the high winds, and the power lines snapping in the distance. You feel the inevitability of what's about to happen. And once the fire hits, it's relentless. The smoke, the heat, the gridlocked roads, the bus scraping past cars while flames rage on both sides, it's immersive, terrifying, overwhelming.
Like United 93, he brings in non-actors to play real roles, casting actual Cal Fire members, local officials, and even dispatchers. That authenticity matters. It grounds the film, keeps it from tipping into Hollywood disaster-movie corniness.
And he doesn't ignore the politics either: the negligence of power companies, the greed, the denial of climate change, the bureaucratic failures. It's not hammered into you, but it's there, woven into the press conferences and background details, and it adds real anger to the intensity.
McConaughey is perfect here. He plays Kevin not as a swaggering hero but as a flawed, beaten-down guy who finds strength when it counts. It's some of his best work in years.
America Ferrera is terrific as Mary, the by-the-book teacher who slowly realizes survival means breaking all the rules. Their dynamic (his desperation, her caution) gives the movie some of its most human, even lightly funny, moments.
And yeah, it's a McConaughey family affair. Levi is quite good as Kevin's resentful son, and Kay adds poignancy as his frail mother. But none of it feels gimmicky. They fit. And with Vazquez anchoring the fire crew and Ashlie Atkinson scene-stealing as the dispatcher, the whole cast delivers.
This movie is intense. I mean edge-of-your-seat, palms-sweating, holy-shit intense. The bus sequences rival anything Greengrass has done, the editing of the turns, the reverses, the frantic instructions, the kids crying in the back while smoke seeps in.
Some moments reminded me of Speed, with bus-as-deathtrap, a driver and his partner improvising under insane pressure, and more. But this film is dead serious, grounded in a true story where real people lived and died.
It's not perfect. The first act heaps every possible tragedy onto Kevin (dead dog, broken marriage, sick kid), and some might find that soap opera-ish. But I didn't mind. It gives weight to the character, so when he steps up, it matters.
And sure, a few subplots (looters, side rescues) come and go abruptly. But the core with Kevin, Mary, the kids, and that fire is rock solid.
The Lost Bus is exactly the kind of movie Paul Greengrass was born to make: immersive, terrifying, emotionally raw, politically charged, and ultimately respectful of the real people who lived through it.
It's not quite the masterpiece that United 93 is, few films are, but it's gripping, authentic, and powerfully moving.
I also need to mention that Jamie Lee Curtis is one of the producers of this film. It has been one of her passion projects for years, and it's a great resume builder for her production company. Nice work, Ms. Curtis, indeed.
McConaughey is fantastic. Ferrera is fantastic. The kids are great. And Greengrass, once again, proves he's one of the best docu-action directors alive.
See it in a theater if you can, because the fire sequences on a big screen will overwhelm you. But even on Apple TV+, this is essential.
A harrowing survival story, a furious indictment of negligence and denial, and a reminder of the sheer courage of ordinary people. The Lost Bus is terrific. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2
Sometimes, a horror movie comes along with such a bizarre concept that you can't help but say, Okay… let's see if they can actually pull this off. That's exactly the case with Good Boy, a supernatural horror film told entirely from the point of view of a dog.
Yes, a dog. Indy, a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, is the star of the show. I'm not kidding when I say he gives one of the best performances of the year... and he doesn't speak a word.
Todd (Shane Jensen), suffering from an unspecified medical crisis, moves into his late grandfather's decrepit old house in the countryside, bringing along his loyal dog, Indy. From the jump, Indy knows something's not right.
He sees shadows, ghostly figures, even the specter of another dog. The house is haunted, the cemetery nearby is ominous, and the presence of Todd's dead grandfather (played by horror legend Larry Fessenden) confirms that we're in supernatural territory.
The clever twist? We only ever experience this story through Indy's eyes, which is literally at dog-eye level, with visual trickery that makes us question what's real and what's Indy's perception.
A looming tree branch turns into a figure. A noise could be wind or something much more sinister. The dog sees what Todd can't, and in true horror movie fashion, the humans ignore the warnings.
Make no mistake, this is a gimmick. A horror film told from a dog's POV is a gimmick in the same way found footage was a gimmick when The Blair Witch Project and Paranormal Activity broke out. But here's the thing, the gimmick works.
Director Ben Leonberg (who also co-wrote and used his own dog in the film) commits 100%. He spent three years making this, training Indy, and framing every scene to make us live inside this animal's world.
And unlike Wes Craven's infamous The Hills Have Eyes Part 2 (which, let's be honest, featured one of the dumbest scenes in horror history when a dog literally has a flashback), Good Boy never plays its perspective for cheap laughs.
It uses it to build suspense. To disorient. To make us feel like the one sane creature in the room when the humans refuse to see what's right in front of them.
Indy, the dog, is incredible. You feel his fear, loyalty, and devotion. If there were Oscars for canine performances, he'd get a nomination. Seriously. It's that good.
Shane Jensen does solid work as the troubled Todd, Arielle Friedman is effective as his sister, and Larry Fessenden (who should be legally required to appear in every indie horror film) brings gravitas as the creepy grandfather. But let's be honest: the heart of this movie is Indy, and he carries it.
The film is lean and mean at just 73 minutes. No fat. No bloat. In and out, fast and effective. The cinematography captures the eerie isolation of the countryside, the shadows in the house, and the little details that become terrifying when filtered through Indy's perspective.
The scares are legit, and there are jump scares, yes, but they're earned. The atmosphere builds, the suspense tightens, and the editing keeps it taut.
This is independent horror done right: a low budget stretched with creativity, style, and genuine heart.
Good Boy could've easily been a goofy, one-joke movie. Instead, it's a suspenseful, scary, and surprisingly emotional horror film that rises above its gimmick.
The dog's perspective isn't just a trick; it's the emotional center of the story, showing us how much this animal loves his human and what he'll endure to protect him.
It's also worth saying: dog lovers, be warned. While Indy is put through plenty of peril, there's no gratuitous cruelty here. Still, if you're the type who can't stand to see animals in danger, this may test your nerves. (Julie, Kathleen... I'm looking at you.)
For the rest of us, this is one of the most inventive and effective horror films of 2025. A great example of what independent filmmaking can achieve when it takes a wild idea seriously and executes it with skill.
I highly recommend Good Boy. One of the best horror films of the year, and without question the best dog performance since, well… maybe ever. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2
So here it is. The big return of Daniel Day-Lewis. After eight years of "retirement," after telling the world he was done following Phantom Thread (which, by the way, was a masterpiece and one of his greatest performances), he comes back.
Not with Paul Thomas Anderson. Not with Scorsese. Not with Spielberg. No. He comes back with Anemone, a film he co-wrote with his son, Ronan Day-Lewis, who also directed it. And let me just say it right up front: this is a massive disappointment. Painfully, shockingly, aggressively pretentious.
Day-Lewis plays Ray Stoker, a hermit who's been living like a ghost in a cabin in the woods for twenty years. Hunting, washing in rivers, running through the forest. His only touch of beauty is a patch of white flowers, the titular anemones.
One day, his estranged brother Jem (Sean Bean) shows up, dragging him back into the mess of a family he abandoned: Nessa (Samantha Morton) and her son Brian (Samuel Bottomley), whose violent streak and confusion about who his real father is set the whole family drama into motion.
On paper, this sounds like it could work. A stripped-down chamber piece about guilt, violence, family, and history. But the script, if you can even call it that, is a meandering parade of long silences, sudden shouting matches, five-page monologues, and "is this real or surreal?" imagery that tries so hard to be profound it collapses under its own weight.
Ronan Day-Lewis's direction is amateur hour dressed up in art-film clothing. Dark, muddy cinematography. Derivative compositions. Scenes that go on forever with no payoff.
At times, you don't know if what you're seeing is happening in reality, or in memory, or in some fever-dream allegory, but it's never interesting enough to make you care.
Every fifteen minutes, Daniel delivers another massive monologue (about abuse, about war, about religion, about family) and while he's still magnetic to watch, it's all noise. There's no depth behind the words. Just performance for performance's sake. And when he's not talking, he's glaring across the table at Sean Bean, while they eat stew or punch each other.
That's the movie.
And then it gets worse. Surrealism crashes in like a drunk guy at a dinner party. Out of nowhere, Daniel's character encounters a weird, long-necked alien/monster/son-like creature by a lake. Is it real? Is it phallic imagery? Is it a dream? Who knows. Who cares. It's ridiculous.
Later, we get a giant hailstorm sequence that is a blatant rip-off of the frog rain from Magnolia. Same framing, same sound design, same attempt at shocking symbolism. But whereas Anderson's sequence was haunting and transcendent, this is just loud and empty.
Sean Bean does what he can, but his role is primarily reactive. Samantha Morton, who is one of the best actresses alive, is completely wasted, reduced to little more than a plot device.
Samuel Bottomley's troubled son is underwritten and unconvincing. Everyone is trapped in the fog of a script that mistakes opacity for depth.
And Daniel Day-Lewis? Look, he's incapable of being flat-out bad. He's too good, too precise, too commanding. But he co-wrote this script. He chose this project. And watching him chew through these pretentious speeches and slog through Ronan's pseudo-intellectual set pieces is depressing.
This is easily the worst material he's been involved with since Nine, and maybe worse, because this time the blame is squarely on him.
Anemone is supposed to be about family, trauma, history, and guilt. Instead, it's a swamp of clichés, forced symbolism, and self-importance. It's desperately trying to be profound, but it's derivative and hollow.
And it's made all the more disappointing by the fact that it marks Daniel Day-Lewis's return after eight years away.
This should have been an event. Instead, it's one of the most disappointing films of the year. A slog. A mess. A pretentious, exhausting misfire.
Daniel Day-Lewis remains one of the greatest actors of all time, but Anemone is proof that even legends can come back in the wrong project.
Easily one of the worst films of 2025, and without question the biggest disappointment of Daniel Day-Lewis's career since Nine. - ⭐️1/2
Sometimes you walk into a movie expecting a standard little indie horror flick and instead you get something sharper, nastier, funnier, and smarter than it has any right to be. Bone Lake is one of those movies.
Directed by Mercedes Bryce Morgan, written by Joshua Friedlander, this thing plays like a satirical dissection of sex, relationships, and all the baggage that comes with being with another human being, and it's all wrapped inside a bloody, gory, darkly comic horror-thriller.
Sage (Maddie Hasson) and Diego (Marco Pigossi) are a couple on shaky ground. He's quitting his teaching job to write the novel he's always dreamed of, while she's going to support him as the breadwinner.
She lies about his talent because she doesn't want to crush him, he worries she doesn't really believe in him, and their sex life is a bit shaky... we're talking faked orgasms and unspoken resentment.
They head off to a gorgeous mansion by Bone Lake for a romantic weekend getaway. Except surprise: another couple is already there. Will (Alex Roe) and Cin (Andra Nechita) are hot, flirty, and way too good to be true. Instead of leaving, they all decide to share the house. Which, of course, turns into a nightmare.
Will and Cin immediately start poking at Sage and Diego's insecurities by seducing, manipulating, and sabotaging their relationship. It's less "vacation" and more "relationship demolition derby."
And hovering over all of this is the creepy, bloody history of the lake itself, which might not just be a backdrop but a character in its own right.
From the start, with an opening sequence where a naked couple runs through the woods before a guy takes an arrow straight to the crotch, you know what kind of movie you're in for. It's satirical, violent, sexual, and more than a little perverse. The title Bone Lake isn't subtle, and neither is the film.
But that's exactly what works. This is a dark comedy about sex and relationships. About lying to your partner. About jealousy, intimacy, financial insecurity, about how brutal it can be to tell the truth to the person you supposedly love. It's all here, and when the movie digs into that satire, it's razor-sharp.
The four leads are terrific. Hasson is the standout, giving Sage a mix of vulnerability, sexiness, and steel that grounds the insanity. Pigossi nails Diego's insecurity. Roe and Nechita are fantastic as the manipulative interlopers, alternately sexy, funny, and sinister.
Visually, cinematographer Nick Matthews (who also shot Saw X) does great work; the camera is playful, unsettling, and at times downright gorgeous. The score by Roque Baños and Ben Cherney keeps things tense and propulsive.
And Morgan's direction shows a real flair for both suspense and satire, balancing the sex comedy with the splatter horror.
Around the hour mark, the movie stumbles. We get a predictable "big reveal" about Will and Cin's real deal (the kind of twist you can see coming a mile away) followed by too much expository dialogue. Characters explain themselves, secrets spill out, and the movie briefly loses the sharpness and tension that made it so good.
But here's the thing: it recovers. And how.
The final 15 minutes are insane. It turns into a gleefully over-the-top explosion of gore, blood, and violent slapstick that had me laughing out loud. It's outrageous, it's cathartic, and it ends on an image that's so hilariously perfect I walked out grinning.
Bone Lake is not subtle. It's not flawless. The middle stretch drags, the twist is predictable, and the exposition is heavy-handed. But it's also funny, sexy, scary, bloody, and smart about relationships in ways that cut a little too close to home.
It's a satirical horror film that skewers the lies we tell in relationships, the jealousy and manipulation that eat away at intimacy, and the sexual politics that drive people apart.
And then it smashes all of that to pieces with a finale so bloody and absurd you can't help but cheer.
I'm recommending Bone Lake. It's uncomfortable, it's funny, it's sexy, it's gory... and it's a clever little indie horror movie that left me smiling ear to ear. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️
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