CAPSULE MOVIE REVIEWS: 11-6-26
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My Film Critic pants are quite fetching; they are on, pressed, and ironed. I'm ready to review six new movies in this week's capsule (short) movie reviews for Friday, November 6th, 2026.
Martin McDonagh is one of my favorite writers and filmmakers working today. I absolutely adore the guy.
His plays and movies combine some of the funniest, darkest, most outrageous dialogue imaginable with genuinely profound observations about friendship, grief, guilt, death, and the absurdity of human behavior.
His characters are frequently awful people who say terrible things to each other, but somehow, through all the profanity, violence, insults, and pitch-black humor, McDonagh finds an extraordinary amount of humanity.
His movies can make you laugh so hard that you're practically falling out of your chair, and then, without warning, they can absolutely break your heart. His latest film, Wild Horse Nine, does exactly that. It's a brilliantly written, beautifully performed, frequently hilarious, and ultimately devastating movie that ranks among the very best films of 2026.
I've been a huge McDonagh fan since his early days as a playwright. The British-born Irish writer created some of my favorite plays of the past 30 years, including The Beauty Queen of Leenane, The Cripple of Inishmaan, The Pillowman, and Hangmen.
I actually had the pleasure of directing a production of The Lonesome West, and it remains one of the most rewarding theatrical experiences I've ever had. His dialogue has a distinctive, rapid-fire rhythm, combining insults, absurdities, and sudden emotional revelations that nobody else can quite duplicate.
When he moved into feature filmmaking, he knocked it out of the park with In Bruges, a magnificent black comedy starring Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson as two Irish hitmen hiding out in Belgium.
He followed that with the wonderfully twisted ensemble crime comedy Seven Psychopaths, before taking his writing to an even deeper emotional level with Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, one of my favorite films of that decade.
Frances McDormand and Sam Rockwell won Oscars for their extraordinary performances in a movie about grief, rage, racism, small-town cruelty, terminal illness, and the desperate need for forgiveness. It was also incredibly funny.
And then came The Banshees of Inisherin, which I absolutely love. Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson, Kerry Condon, and Barry Keoghan delivered remarkable performances in a film that might be the most Irish movie ever made.
It's a story about the disintegration of a friendship, loneliness, artistic ambition, sibling relationships, and the devastating consequences of stubbornness, all set against the backdrop of the Irish Civil War.
Once again, the dialogue was hilariously profane and absurd, but the emotional impact was overwhelming. McDonagh had perfected his ability to make an audience laugh hysterically while quietly preparing to rip its heart out.
So, needless to say, Wild Horse Nine was one of my most anticipated movies of 2026. And it absolutely delivered.
Set in Chile in 1973, shortly before the military coup that overthrew President Salvador Allende, Wild Horse Nine stars John Malkovich and Sam Rockwell as Chris Carlisle and Lee Chesterfield, two veteran CIA operatives who have spent decades carrying out some extremely unpleasant assignments for the United States government.
Chris is a legendary Cold War assassin who has reportedly killed 68 people and knows enough government secrets to make him a serious threat to the agency. He's also dying of cancer, addicted to morphine, and increasingly haunted by his past.
Lee, his younger partner and protégé, is a cynical, foul-mouthed agent whose complicated friendship with Chris is built on years of shared violence, loyalty, and gloriously insulting banter.
Their boss, a sinister CIA bureau chief named MJ (Steve Buscemi), sends them from Santiago to Easter Island, supposedly to keep them away from the political turmoil on the mainland.
But Chris has been threatening to publish his memoirs, which could expose classified operations and explosive information about the Kennedy assassination. Lee begins to suspect that his real assignment may be to eliminate his own mentor, while Chris, whose Catholic faith prevents him from committing suicide, is considering asking Lee to end his suffering.
Meanwhile, two young leftist students, Monica (Mariana di Girolamo) and Alicia (Ailín Salas), complicate matters further. Against the spectacular backdrop of Easter Island's ancient stone statues and wandering wild horses, the two agents confront their violent histories, uncertain loyalties, and the possibility that their friendship may not survive the assignment.
McDonagh weaves the CIA's involvement in Chile, Vietnam, and the Bay of Pigs into this wonderfully unpredictable combination of political thriller, existential comedy, and deeply moving meditation on mortality.
And my God, is it funny.
The conversations between Malkovich and Rockwell are absolutely priceless. They insult each other, argue about history, question their own intelligence, discuss the ridiculousness of their profession, and casually refer to some of the most horrifying events of the twentieth century as though they're reminiscing about particularly annoying business trips.
There's a wonderful running joke involving a dwarf and a basketball that somehow connects to the IRA and eventually becomes an important part of the story.
Chris is also dictating his memoirs into a tape recorder, and his rambling observations about his life, his career, and the possibility of somehow incorporating dinosaurs into his book are hilarious. Only Martin McDonagh could find a way to make a dying CIA assassin's literary ambitions this ridiculously entertaining.
The setting is also used beautifully. Easter Island, or Rapa Nui, with its enormous moai statues, extraordinary landscapes, and strange sense of isolation, becomes an essential part of the film's atmosphere.
There's something wonderfully absurd about two American intelligence operatives arguing over their own petty grievances in a place that has existed for centuries and will presumably continue long after they're gone. The island's wild horses eventually become a surprisingly powerful symbol of freedom, mortality, and the possibility of finding some kind of peace.
One particular horse develops a strange connection with Chris, and their encounters are simultaneously funny, mysterious, and incredibly touching. It's one of those distinctly McDonagh touches that might seem ridiculous in another filmmaker's hands but becomes genuinely poetic here.
The supporting cast is terrific. Steve Buscemi is wonderfully sinister and funny as MJ, a character who occasionally reminded me of Ralph Fiennes' gloriously foul-mouthed gangster in In Bruges. He's a bureaucratic monster who can make the most appalling suggestions sound like perfectly reasonable business decisions.
Parker Posey has three fantastic scenes as Marge, Lee's wife, whose telephone conversations with her husband reveal a marriage filled with infidelity, resentment, suspicion, and the possibility that the CIA might be targeting her as well.
Posey's timing is impeccable, and Tom Waits turns up for one spectacular scene as Chris's brother, Jim, adding another layer of sadness and dark humor to the story.
Mariana di Girolamo and Ailín Salas are also excellent as the two young women whose political perspectives challenge the older men's justifications for decades of violence and interference in other countries.
But the movie ultimately belongs to Sam Rockwell and John Malkovich, and both actors are absolutely extraordinary.
I've said this before, but Sam Rockwell is one of the most consistently brilliant actors working today. Whenever I see his name in the credits of a movie, I know there's going to be at least one magnetic, unpredictable, beautifully realized performance worth watching.
He has a natural understanding of McDonagh's writing, having worked with him on Seven Psychopaths and Three Billboards, and his comic timing is simply astonishing. Rockwell knows exactly how to deliver the insults, the profanity, the absurd observations, and those wonderful little pauses that make McDonagh's dialogue sing.
But he's equally effective when the comedy disappears and the emotional reality of the situation takes over. His performance as Lee is funny, dangerous, complicated, and ultimately heartbreaking. It's among the best work he's ever done.
And then there's John Malkovich, who gives what may be the defining performance of his remarkable career.
I've been watching Malkovich for decades, going all the way back to his extraordinary work on the Chicago stage with Steppenwolf Theatre Company. I was lucky enough to see him perform here, and he's always been one of the most fascinating, unusual, and unpredictable actors around.
He's received multiple Academy Award nominations, created some of the most memorable characters in modern cinema, and developed such a distinctive personality that Spike Jonze actually made an entire movie called Being John Malkovich. There really isn't anybody else quite like him.
In Wild Horse Nine, Malkovich brings all of those wonderfully eccentric qualities to a character who is simultaneously monstrous, hilarious, pathetic, intelligent, frightened, and deeply human. Chris Carlisle is a man who has spent his entire adult life killing people, lying, manipulating governments, and convincing himself that he's doing the right thing.
Now he's dying, and all of those decisions are coming back to haunt him. Malkovich never sentimentalizes the character or asks us to forgive him for the terrible things he's done. Instead, he allows us to see a deeply flawed human being confronting the end of his life with a mixture of terror, regret, bitterness, humor, and an almost childlike desire for forgiveness.
His chemistry with Rockwell is magnificent. These two actors understand each other, and their scenes together are an absolute pleasure to watch. The insults fly, the jokes land, and the conversations have that marvelous rapid-fire rhythm that makes McDonagh's writing so distinctive.
But underneath all the verbal fireworks is a genuinely moving relationship between two men who have shared decades of violence, loyalty, and emotional dependence. When the story begins to reveal what they really mean to each other, the effect is devastating.
And that's where Wild Horse Nine becomes something truly special. The first half of the movie is filled with some of the funniest dialogue I've heard in a film all year. I was laughing out loud repeatedly. But as the story progresses, the humor begins to coexist with an overwhelming sadness.
Chris's declining health, his Catholic guilt, his desperate attempts to make sense of his life, and his increasingly complicated relationship with Lee gradually transform the movie into a beautiful examination of friendship and death.
There were several moments when I felt myself getting choked up, and by the time the final stretch arrived, I was genuinely crying. What's remarkable is that McDonagh never abandons the comedy.
Even during the most emotional scenes, there are ridiculous observations, unexpected insults, and absurd little details that make you laugh through the tears. He understands that human beings don't suddenly stop being funny when they're frightened, grieving, or dying.
Sometimes the jokes become even more important because they're the only way people can express emotions they're otherwise incapable of confronting.
Now, I can certainly understand why some viewers might find Wild Horse Nine familiar. Structurally, it has a great deal in common with In Bruges, particularly the relationship between two professional killers, the isolated setting, the moral complications, and the possibility that one man may have to kill his friend.
The themes of mortality, guilt, loneliness, and fractured friendship also recall The Banshees of Inisherin and Three Billboards. And yes, the dialogue is unmistakably Martin McDonagh, filled with the same outrageous insults, bizarre digressions, and pitch-black humor that have defined his work for years.
But I don't consider that a weakness. Great artists frequently return to the same subjects throughout their careers, finding new ways to explore the things that fascinate them. McDonagh isn't simply repeating himself.
He's refining his style, deepening his characters, and discovering increasingly powerful emotional possibilities within the themes that have always interested him.
The final twenty minutes are extraordinary. McDonagh brings together the political intrigue, the personal betrayals, the running jokes, the religious questions, and the film's beautiful visual symbolism in a conclusion that is simultaneously bloody, funny, tragic, and deeply affecting.
The revelations surrounding Chris's involvement in decades of covert operations become essential to the emotional payoff, and the past isn't merely something these men discuss.
It's something they carry around with them, something they can never escape. I was laughing and crying, sometimes practically at the same time, and I walked out of the theater thinking about the characters, the dialogue, and those magnificent wild horses.
Wild Horse Nine is another remarkable achievement from Martin McDonagh, a filmmaker whose distinctive voice has only grown more sophisticated and emotionally powerful over the years. It's a dark, profane, politically charged comedy about two deeply damaged men facing the consequences of their lives, anchored by an extraordinary ensemble cast and two absolutely magnificent lead performances.
Sam Rockwell is brilliant, and John Malkovich delivers the kind of career-defining work that deserves serious Academy Award consideration. I wouldn't be surprised at all to see him nominated for Best Actor, and I think he has a legitimate shot at winning.
I adored this movie. I loved the dialogue, the performances, the setting, the historical references, the outrageous humor, and the heartbreak. It's everything I want from a Martin McDonagh film, and then some.
If you're already a fan of his work, you know exactly the kind of wickedly funny, morally complicated, emotionally devastating experience you're in for.
And if you think he's simply revisiting familiar territory, I'd argue that he's doing what the best artists do: returning to the subjects that matter most to him and finding something new, richer, and more meaningful every time.
Wild Horse Nine is one of the best films of 2026. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
I've been a Godzilla fan my entire life. I grew up watching those wonderful Japanese monster movies on a little portable television, and I have incredibly fond memories of watching Godzilla stomp through cities, destroy buildings, and beat the crap out of other giant creatures. I love the entire kaiju genre, and I'll happily watch just about anything involving enormous monsters wreaking havoc.
There are legitimately great Godzilla movies, including the original 1954 Godzilla and the terrific Shin Godzilla, and there are spectacularly ridiculous ones, like Son of Godzilla, featuring guys in rubber suits wrestling on miniature sets that look like they were assembled in somebody's basement. I love those, too.
But in 2023, director Takashi Yamazaki surprised everybody with Godzilla Minus One, an absolutely magnificent movie that combined spectacular monster action with a genuinely moving, beautifully acted human drama.
It was one of the best Godzilla movies ever made, an international sensation that became the first film in the franchise to win an Academy Award.
Now Yamazaki and much of the same creative team are back with Godzilla Minus Zero, and while the monsters are bigger, the destruction is more spectacular, and the special effects are even better, the movie itself is a considerable disappointment.
What made Godzilla Minus One so extraordinary was its return to the emotional and political foundation of the original film, which used Godzilla as an allegory for the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Set in postwar Japan, it followed Kōichi Shikishima (Ryunosuke Kamiki), a former kamikaze pilot consumed by guilt after failing to carry out his military duty, and his relationship with Noriko (Minami Hamabe), a young woman struggling to survive in a devastated country.
Their story was so beautifully developed that you genuinely cared about what happened to them, making the incredible Godzilla sequences even more powerful. Plus, Godzilla looked fantastic, the effects were extraordinary, and hearing that iconic theme while the monster's dorsal fins began glowing blue was enough to make any lifelong fan practically jump out of his seat.
Unfortunately, Godzilla Minus Zero seems to think that repeating those emotional ingredients will automatically produce the same results.
The sequel takes place in 1949, two years after Godzilla's apparent destruction. Kōichi and Noriko are now married and raising their adopted daughter Akiko, while Noriko is experiencing some disturbing physical changes connected to her exposure to Godzilla's radioactive tissue.
Meanwhile, Kenji Noda (Hidetaka Yoshioka), the former naval engineer who helped defeat Godzilla, now heads a government disaster-response organization. Their efforts become considerably more urgent when another enormous creature appears and begins destroying Japanese cities. It's Ghidorah, the legendary dragon-like monster known to longtime fans as Monster Zero.
And if you know your Godzilla history, the title Godzilla Minus Zero was a pretty big giveaway that this particular three-headed nightmare was going to show up.
Initially, Ghidorah appears in a smaller, single-headed form before transforming into the familiar three-headed King Ghidorah, unleashing devastating electrical attacks and causing enormous destruction. When Godzilla regenerates and emerges from the ocean, the scientists devise a desperate plan to lure the two monsters into battle, hoping they'll destroy each other before they destroy what's left of Japan.
And let me tell you, the monster sequences are absolutely spectacular. The opening attack involving Ghidorah is genuinely frightening, with buildings collapsing, people being lifted into the air, and enormous bursts of lightning tearing through the city.
Yamazaki stages the destruction with extraordinary skill, combining sweeping camera movements, terrific editing, and some of the most impressive visual effects I've seen in a Godzilla movie. Godzilla's eventual return is everything a fan could want. Those enormous dorsal fins begin glowing blue, the familiar roar shakes the theater, and that magnificent Godzilla music kicks in. Come on! This is why we go to these movies!
And when the two monsters finally confront each other, the results are gloriously brutal. They bite, claw, slam, and tear into each other, causing massive destruction while delivering the kind of enormous, bloody monster battle that fans have been waiting to see. On the level of pure kaiju spectacle, Godzilla Minus Zero delivers the goods.
Unfortunately, whenever the movie cuts away from the monsters and returns to the human characters, things become considerably less interesting. In Godzilla Minus One, Kōichi's survivor's guilt shaped every decision he made, affected his relationship with Noriko, and gave his confrontation with Godzilla a deeply personal meaning.
Here, he's once again struggling with guilt, fear, and responsibility, but the screenplay never finds anything particularly new to say about those conflicts. Noriko's strange condition provides an intriguing connection to Godzilla, but functions more as a plot device than an opportunity to develop her character.
There's also Professor Murakami (Min Tanaka), a Hiroshima survivor haunted by the loss of his family and consumed by resentment toward America. That's potentially fascinating material, but the movie reduces his psychological trauma to nightmares and increasingly questionable decisions.
One of those nightmares involves Godzilla attacking New York City, including a spectacular sequence near the Statue of Liberty that's featured prominently in the advertising. If you've seen those images and assumed Godzilla actually makes his way to Manhattan, forget it.
The entire sequence is a brief fantasy. It's visually impressive, but feels like an elaborate promotional tease rather than an essential part of the story. Godzilla destroying New York is a terrific idea. Godzilla destroying New York in somebody's dream is considerably less exciting.
And then there's the movie's increasingly desperate attempt to manufacture the emotional impact of its predecessor. Godzilla Minus One was genuinely heartbreaking because the emotion grew naturally out of characters we cared about.
Here, particularly during the final stretch, Yamazaki substitutes obvious manipulation for that careful development. Without giving anything away, several scenes rely heavily on a young child crying repeatedly while the music swells and the filmmakers practically beg us to become overwhelmed with emotion.
Instead of being moved, I became irritated. Kamiki and Hamabe remain appealing actors, and the supporting cast is perfectly capable, but they're working with a screenplay that keeps telling us how heartbreaking everything is without doing the necessary work to make us feel it. The first movie earned its tears. This one seems determined to extract them whether we've been given a reason to cry or not.
Now, I don't want to suggest that Godzilla Minus Zero is a bad movie, because it isn't. In fact, I'm recommending it, particularly to anybody who loves watching giant monsters destroy things and beat the living hell out of each other.
The visual effects are magnificent, King Ghidorah is a terrific addition to this particular Godzilla universe, and the final confrontation between the two monsters is a glorious display of kaiju brutality.
But there's no denying that the human story is a major step backward, and because Godzilla Minus One set such an extraordinarily high standard, the disappointment is difficult to ignore. So adjust your expectations. If you're hoping for another masterpiece on the level of Godzilla Minus One, you're probably going to be disappointed.
But if you want to see Godzilla and King Ghidorah engage in some of the most spectacular, beautifully executed, and gloriously violent monster battles in the history of the franchise, you're going to have a terrific time.
I've loved Godzilla since I was a little kid, and there's still something magical about seeing that enormous radioactive lizard rise out of the ocean, unleash that unmistakable roar, and proceed to kick some serious monster ass.
Godzilla Minus Zero doesn't come close to matching the emotional power of its predecessor, but when Godzilla and Ghidorah start ripping each other apart, it's hard not to sit back, grin like an idiot, and enjoy the show. I certainly did. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️
I've always appreciated Dr. Seuss more as an adult than I did as a kid. Sure, I read some of his books growing up, and I absolutely loved watching the original animated How the Grinch Stole Christmas! special, narrated by the great Boris Karloff, every holiday season. But I never developed the deep nostalgic attachment to his work that so many people have.
As I got older, I came to appreciate his wonderfully bizarre illustrations, goofy rhyming schemes, memorable characters, and messages about individuality, accepting differences, and finding your place in a world that doesn't always appreciate people who are a little unusual.
So while I understand the appeal of Dr. Seuss, I wasn't exactly jumping up and down when I heard that another version of The Cat in the Hat was coming to theaters. Do we really need another one? Apparently, Warner Bros. thinks we do, and after more than a decade of development and delays, here it is.
This new animated adaptation of the classic 1957 book is directed by Alessandro Carloni and Erica Rivinoja, with Carloni bringing considerable experience from his years working on DreamWorks films, including the Kung Fu Panda and How to Train Your Dragon franchises.
And visually, the movie is quite impressive. It's colorful, energetic, beautifully animated, and filled with the kind of strange, surreal imagery that makes Dr. Seuss's work so distinctive.
The story follows two siblings, Gabby (voiced by Xochitl Gomez) and Sebastian (Tiago Martinez), who are miserable after moving to a new town with their mother, Carmen (America Ferrera). Enter the Cat in the Hat (Bill Hader), who, in this version, is an employee of the Institute for the Institution of Imagination and Inspiration, LLC, a bizarre organization dedicated to spreading happiness and creativity.
Unfortunately, the Cat is spectacularly bad at his job, and his exasperated boss, Mr. Hoogeboom (Giancarlo Esposito), gives him one final assignment before firing him: cheer up these two miserable kids.
Naturally, things go completely haywire. The Cat introduces the children to their suddenly talking and walking pet fish, Waffles (Matt Berry), along with magical creatures, bizarre inventions, and a device that allows them to rewind time and undo their mistakes. Before long, they're traveling through strange imaginary worlds, trying to prevent their increasingly chaotic adventures from becoming a complete catastrophe.
Along the way, the movie delivers the expected messages about accepting change, overcoming anxiety, working together, and realizing that life is messy and unpredictable. Worthwhile ideas, certainly, but the story itself is pretty generic, recycling familiar lessons and situations we've seen in countless other animated family films.
What makes the movie worth watching, more than anything else, is the extraordinary voice cast, particularly Bill Hader as the Cat. Hader is one of the most gifted comedic performers working today, one of the greatest cast members in the history of Saturday Night Live, and a remarkable writer, actor, and director, as he demonstrated with his brilliant HBO series Barry.
He's also an astonishing mimic and vocal performer, capable of changing his voice, pitch, rhythm, and accent with incredible precision. And he's absolutely perfect casting for this character. He throws himself into the role with tremendous energy, delivering the Cat's rapid-fire dialogue and manic personality with a wonderfully playful sense of humor.
The supporting cast is equally impressive, with Quinta Brunson, Bowen Yang, Paula Pell, and Giancarlo Esposito providing some very funny moments. And then there's the great Matt Berry, one of the funniest human beings on the planet, who voices Waffles the fish. Honestly, you could give Matt Berry a grocery list to read and he'd probably make it hilarious.
The voice work throughout the film is outstanding, and the animators do a terrific job matching the performances with some wonderfully exaggerated character designs and physical comedy.
Of course, this isn't the first time The Cat in the Hat has been adapted. I particularly remember the delightful 1971 animated musical television special featuring Allan Sherman as the Cat, and the character returned in other animated specials over the years.
And then, unfortunately, there was the absolutely horrific 2003 live-action version directed by Bo Welch and starring Mike Myers. Good Lord, what a disaster that was. It's one of the worst children's movies I've ever seen, featuring one of the most irritating performances of Myers' career, and that's saying something.
If I tried to compile a list of all the annoying performances Mike Myers has delivered over the years, I wouldn't have enough room on this website to finish it. But his performance as the Cat would certainly be near the top. It was a nonstop barrage of obnoxious improvisation, smug wisecracks, and that familiar Mike Myers attitude of constantly reminding the audience how incredibly funny he thinks he is.
Welch, a talented production designer who worked on films like Beetlejuice, unfortunately made a directorial debut that was a complete catastrophe. Compared to that monstrosity, this new animated version is practically a masterpiece.
At least it understands the visual appeal of Dr. Seuss, allows its characters to be charming, and doesn't feature Mike Myers desperately trying to steal every scene with another painfully unfunny joke.
Still, being infinitely better than the 2003 version isn't exactly a tremendous accomplishment. The new Cat in the Hat is pleasant, colorful, occasionally funny, and beautifully animated, but it's also rather interchangeable with dozens of other contemporary animated family movies.
There's some imaginative visual comedy, a few genuinely inspired surreal sequences, and enough energy to keep younger children entertained for approximately 90 minutes. I suspect devoted Dr. Seuss fans will find considerably more to enjoy here than I did, particularly in the character designs and the playful attempts to recreate the author's wonderfully strange universe.
And apparently, we're just getting started. Warner Bros. is using The Cat in the Hat to launch something called the "Seussiverse," an interconnected collection of animated movies based on Dr. Seuss characters and stories. Because, naturally, if Marvel can have a cinematic universe, why shouldn't Dr. Seuss?
There are already plans for additional movies, including Thing One and Thing Two and Oh, the Places You'll Go!, so fans have plenty to look forward to. As for the rest of us, if this first installment is any indication, we can probably expect several more colorful, mildly amusing, and almost instantly forgettable family movies.
I'm giving The Cat in the Hat a slight recommendation, primarily for younger audiences, devoted Dr. Seuss fans, and anybody who appreciates the extraordinary vocal talents of Bill Hader.
It's certainly not a great animated movie, but it's entertaining enough, and compared to the Mike Myers version, it's a gigantic improvement.
Although, come to think of it, that's a pretty low bar to clear. - ⭐️⭐️1/2
James Stewart was one of the greatest actors in the history of American cinema, a beloved Hollywood icon whose extraordinary career included everything from Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and The Philadelphia Story to Rear Window, Vertigo, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, and, of course, It's a Wonderful Life.
He was also a decorated World War II veteran who flew dangerous combat missions over Europe and returned home deeply affected by his experiences. It's an extraordinary life, filled with fascinating stories, remarkable accomplishments, and enough material for several terrific movies.
So it's surprising that Jimmy, directed by Aaron Burns and written by Justin Strawhand, is apparently the first major fictionalized biographical feature devoted to Stewart's life.
Unfortunately, it's terrible.
Despite the involvement and approval of Stewart's daughter, Kelly Stewart Harcourt, this movie plays like a hopelessly clichéd television miniseries from 1977, the kind of cheap knockoff of Rich Man, Poor Man that might have aired on ABC immediately after an episode of Soap.
It's old-fashioned filmmaking, all right, but not in any of the ways that make old-fashioned movies worth watching.
The story begins in the early 1940s, with Stewart (KJ Apa) enjoying enormous success in Hollywood after winning an Academy Award for The Philadelphia Story. Studio boss Louis B. Mayer (Jason Alexander) has big plans for him, but Stewart is increasingly troubled by the war in Europe and eventually decides to enlist in the Army Air Corps.
Despite his celebrity status, he becomes a respected bomber pilot, flies 20 combat missions, and witnesses the deaths of fellow servicemen, experiences that leave him emotionally devastated.
Returning to Hollywood after the war, Stewart struggles with what we now recognize as post-traumatic stress disorder until director Frank Capra (Max Casella) approaches him about starring in It's a Wonderful Life.
The film follows Stewart through his military service, his complicated relationship with his father (Neal McDonough), and his difficult return to acting, culminating in the making of one of the most beloved movies ever produced. It's a terrific premise for a biographical drama.
Unfortunately, almost everything about its execution is embarrassingly simplistic.
The movie comes from Burns & Co., a production company associated with faith-based entertainment, and its religious messaging is about as subtle as somebody hitting you over the head with a Bible.
Now, Jimmy Stewart was a devout Presbyterian, and his faith was unquestionably important to him. His father really did give him a copy of Psalm 91 before he went overseas, and that's a meaningful detail worth including. But the filmmakers seem considerably more interested in delivering inspirational religious messages than exploring Stewart as a complicated human being.
It's a problem I've had with many faith-based productions, particularly those associated with Angel Studios, where the message frequently takes precedence over believable characters and compelling storytelling. Here, practically every important conversation becomes an opportunity for somebody to deliver a sermon disguised as dialogue.
There's nothing wrong with making a movie about faith, but there is something wrong with reducing an extraordinary man's life to a collection of religious platitudes and greeting-card sentiments. The result feels less like a biography and more like a Sunday school pageant with a Hollywood budget.
KJ Apa, best known for playing Archie Andrews on Riverdale, does a reasonably recognizable Jimmy Stewart impersonation, but that's about all he does. Stewart had one of the most distinctive voices, rhythms, and physical mannerisms in movie history, and impressionists have been imitating him for decades. Some of those impressions are terrific.
Unfortunately, an impression isn't a performance, and Apa never gets beyond the familiar stammering, vocal inflections, and awkward gestures. It becomes distracting and occasionally irritating, particularly when he's surrounded by actors delivering dialogue that sounds like it was written by somebody whose entire understanding of the 1940s came from watching old movie trailers.
Max Casella is especially annoying as Frank Capra, playing the legendary director like some frantic cartoon character, while Jason Alexander's Louis B. Mayer and Rob Riggle's military officer are equally broad.
Neal McDonough, an actor who appears frequently in faith-based productions, gets saddled with the usual stern-father material, including a scene where young Jimmy lies in his childhood bed staring at a mobile of toy airplanes while contemplating his future.
I mean, come on. It's the kind of symbolism that would be rejected from a particularly bad after-school special.
The military sequences aren't any better. Stewart's fellow airmen are a collection of one-dimensional stereotypes with names like Tex, Red, Sparky, and Butch, while a character named Martinez (Julian Works) is essentially reduced to an immigrant backstory.
There's a ridiculous sequence in which Stewart entertains the troops by showing off a handkerchief covered with lipstick marks from famous Hollywood actresses, and the aerial combat scenes feature some pretty unconvincing special effects.
The movie also invents a romance between Stewart and a British woman named Lady Julia (Kara Killmer), a composite character apparently intended to represent his relationships with people in England during the war.
Look, I understand that biographical movies take liberties with history. Characters get combined, timelines are condensed, and dramatic situations are invented. That's perfectly acceptable when those changes make a story more compelling.
But this fictional romance is nothing more than an excuse for additional melodrama, including an overwrought rooftop confrontation involving Stewart's psychological trauma that plays like a particularly embarrassing soap opera scene.
The film's depiction of PTSD is consistently heavy-handed, reducing a serious and complicated condition to a series of obvious emotional breakdowns and inspirational speeches.
And speaking of speeches, the dialogue in this movie is absolutely atrocious. At one point, somebody actually says, "Stars burn out eventually, and there are gods no one remembers." What the hell does that even mean?
Frank Capra gets some of the worst lines, including, "Jimmy, I ain't been to Mass since my Uncle Louie ate that oyster in Reno, so I'm not gonna preach you a sermon." There's also the immortal declaration, "I'm no Nostradamus, but I can see a future without Jimmy Stewart, and that's a world I don't want to live in." These are actual lines of dialogue spoken by actual actors in an actual motion picture.
The whole thing reminded me of the deliberately exaggerated, fast-talking Hollywood dialogue in the Coen brothers' The Hudsucker Proxy, except that movie was a satire and knew exactly what it was doing. Jimmy apparently expects us to take all of this seriously.
Christopher McDonald, an actor I usually enjoy, shows up as Lionel Barrymore and delivers another painfully contrived speech while wheeling Stewart around the studio in Mr. Potter's wheelchair.
There are also clumsy visual references to other Stewart classics, including a moment involving a cliff that's clearly supposed to remind us of Vertigo. It's as though the filmmakers are constantly nudging us in the ribs, desperately hoping we'll recognize something.
The final section focuses on the making of It's a Wonderful Life, and this should have been the strongest material in the movie. Stewart really did struggle emotionally after returning from the war, and his experiences undoubtedly informed the vulnerability and desperation he brought to George Bailey.
But the recreations of familiar scenes from Capra's masterpiece are painfully awkward, and the behind-the-scenes material feels just as artificial as everything that came before it.
What makes this especially frustrating is that another 2026 movie, Peter Farrelly's I Play Rocky, demonstrates exactly how this kind of thing can be done successfully. That film recreates the production of Rocky, including several iconic moments from the finished movie, and manages to make the process entertaining, convincing, and emotionally satisfying.
Jimmy does the opposite. It turns the making of a genuinely great film into a series of forced dramatic confrontations and sentimental clichés.
Even Stewart's eventual meeting with his future wife, Gloria (Jen Lilley), is fictionalized into a romantic beach encounter rather than the party at Gary Cooper's house where they actually met. Again, if you're going to invent something, at least make it interesting.
But the most revealing part of Jimmy comes during the end credits, when the filmmakers present a montage of actual footage of James Stewart. We see clips from his movies, military newsreels, interviews, appearances on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson and The Dean Martin Show, home movies featuring Gloria and their children, and his moving acceptance speech when he received his honorary Academy Award in 1985.
And you know what? Those few minutes are infinitely more entertaining, informative, and emotionally affecting than the entire fictionalized movie that preceded them. Suddenly, there's the real Jimmy Stewart, funny, charming, intelligent, humble, and endlessly fascinating.
I found myself wishing the filmmakers had simply made a documentary using this wonderful archival material instead of wasting everybody's time with a clumsy dramatic recreation. It's a spectacularly unfortunate decision to end a bad biographical movie by reminding the audience how much more interesting the actual subject was than the character they've just spent two hours watching.
There's no question that the people responsible for Jimmy admire James Stewart, and I don't doubt their sincerity or the Stewart family's affection for the project. The attempt to make an earnest, old-fashioned Hollywood biography is admirable in theory.
But sincerity doesn't excuse bad writing, cartoonish performances, cheap production values, and a relentlessly simplistic approach to complicated historical events. Stewart's faith, military service, psychological struggles, and extraordinary acting career deserve thoughtful exploration, not a collection of inspirational speeches and television-movie clichés.
And the involvement of Fathom Entertainment, a company best known for special theatrical events and anniversary screenings that's now expanding into film distribution, doesn't make this misguided production any more convincing.
I love Jimmy Stewart. I love his movies, and I find his life endlessly fascinating. But I didn't believe a minute of this film, and I certainly can't recommend it. James Stewart deserved a much better biographical movie than Jimmy.
Based on those terrific final five minutes, maybe somebody should just make a documentary. - ⭐️1/2
Wow. Where the hell do I begin with Drummer Boy?
I suppose I should start by saying that this is, without question, one of the worst movies of 2026. Actually, it's one of the worst musicals I've seen in years, a spectacularly inept, embarrassingly performed, horribly written collection of historical nonsense, terrible songs, and laughably heavy-handed religious messages.
We're talking Mystery Science Theater 3000 territory here, folks. This is the kind of movie where you spend half the running time staring at the screen in disbelief and the other half laughing at things that were clearly intended to be deeply moving.
And before I get into the staggering incompetence on display, we need to talk about Angel Studios, the faith-based production and distribution company responsible for releasing this disaster.
Because Drummer Boy represents practically everything I dislike about the company's approach to filmmaking, only this time they've added 13 musical numbers to make the experience even more unbearable.
I've been critical of Angel Studios for years, not because they make movies about Christianity or religious faith, but because their films frequently seem more interested in delivering a message than telling a compelling story.
There's absolutely nothing wrong with making a great movie about faith. Some of the finest films ever made have explored religion, spirituality, and the complicated relationship between human beings and God.
But Angel Studios has increasingly adopted an approach that feels less like filmmaking and more like enforcing a set of rules about what audiences should be allowed to see.
The company recently announced its so-called Angel Promise, establishing strict content standards involving nudity, sexuality, profanity, and religious language, with projects also subject to approval by its audience-based Angel Guild.
The movie actually opens with a declaration that it has been approved by this guild, a community the studio says includes more than three million members. I find the whole thing increasingly creepy, particularly the idea of filmmakers having to satisfy a predetermined set of moral restrictions before their work can be distributed.
And then there's the familiar Angel Studios end-credit appeal asking audiences to contribute money through its ticket-sharing program. I'm not interested in supporting a company whose approach to artistic expression I find so restrictive, and I'm getting very close to deciding that I simply won't review its movies anymore.
If Drummer Boy turns out to be the last one, it would certainly be an appropriate farewell.
The movie is set during the American Revolutionary War and follows Jeremiah Clem (Joel David Smallbone) and his younger brother Benjamin (Lucas Leach), whose family becomes caught up in the conflict between the British and the American colonies.
There's a romantic subplot involving an enslaved young woman named Emmaline (India Brown), assorted villains, family tragedies, battlefield heroics, and enough speeches about faith, freedom, and forgiveness to fill an entire season of inspirational television programming.
The movie is directed by Ben Smallbone and Joel David Smallbone, members of the Australian-born musical family associated with the contemporary Christian pop duo For King & Country. Joel, who plays Jeremiah, is also one of the group's lead singers.
They've enjoyed considerable commercial success, won Grammy Awards, and developed a devoted following, but after listening to some of their music, I can safely say that their brand of bland, derivative Christian pop does absolutely nothing for me. Imagine the most generic Coldplay imitation imaginable, strip away anything resembling musical personality, and load the lyrics with inspirational platitudes.
Now imagine turning that into a two-hour historical musical about the American Revolution. Congratulations. You've got Drummer Boy.
And what a musical it is. Thirteen songs, every one seemingly determined to be more forgettable, more irritating, and more ridiculously overproduced than the last. The influence of Hamilton is painfully obvious, and considering that I've never been a fan of Lin-Manuel Miranda's enormously successful musical in the first place, you can imagine how thrilled I was to sit through this bargain-basement imitation.
The musical numbers are terribly staged, the choreography is awkward, and the songs are so generic that they practically evaporate from your memory while you're listening to them.
Joel David Smallbone delivers one of the most obnoxiously self-satisfied leading performances I've seen in a long time, constantly posing, emoting, and staring dramatically into the camera as though he's performing the greatest music ever written. He's not. He's also a lousy actor, and his singing doesn't come close to compensating for it.
The entire production has the look and feel of an overfunded church pageant, complete with terrible wigs, clumsy staging, and actors delivering their lines with the subtlety of people auditioning for a community theater production of Les Misérables.
The story itself is an absolute mess, filled with historical absurdities, one-dimensional characters, and situations that become unintentionally hilarious. Benjamin, the young drummer boy of the title, has an injured leg and keeps his drumsticks tucked into his leg brace, because apparently we need constant reminders that this is a movie about a drummer boy.
There's an endless amount of activity involving people carrying sacks of flour, or possibly grain, or whatever the hell is supposed to be inside those sacks, from one location to another. Seriously, I started wondering whether this was actually a musical about eighteenth-century warehouse management.
There are also several musical sequences staged in fields filled with conveniently placed flowers, while characters sing passionately about things that have very little connection to what's happening around them.
The battle scenes are unconvincing, the depiction of British and American soldiers is cartoonishly simplistic, and the supposed comic relief involving a couple of bumbling soldiers, played by Scott Folan and Harry Simkins, is painfully unfunny. Every time the movie attempts to inject some humor, it somehow becomes even more embarrassing.
The treatment of slavery and race is particularly troubling, with the film relying on an uncomfortable collection of stereotypes and an unmistakable white-savior mentality. India Brown plays Emmaline, while Beverley Knight appears in another supporting role, and both actresses are saddled with material that reduces complicated historical realities to simplistic inspirational messages.
There are musical numbers in which Black characters dramatically fold laundry and perform household chores in rhythm with the music, sequences that are supposed to be stirring but come across as astonishingly tone-deaf.
And then there's an extended montage involving Jeremiah and Emmaline exchanging letters while another dreadful song plays on the soundtrack. Apparently, the postal service during the Revolutionary War was operating with the efficiency of modern overnight delivery, because these two manage to exchange an extraordinary number of letters in what seems like record time. I kept wondering whether Benjamin Franklin had secretly invented FedEx.
The correspondence itself is filled with the same patronizing speeches and moral lessons that infect practically every other scene, with Jeremiah repeatedly positioned as the enlightened figure helping Emmaline understand her own circumstances. It's not merely bad historical drama. At times, it's genuinely offensive.
The supporting performances are just as dreadful. Beth Easdown plays one of the principal villains with such exaggerated expressions and cartoonish menace that I half expected her to start tying people to railroad tracks.
Charles Esten, Melora Hardin, Ioan Gruffudd, and Iain Glen are among the recognizable actors scattered throughout the cast, but nobody can overcome the screenplay's endless collection of clichés. Every character is either noble and inspirational, wicked and sneering, or conveniently positioned to deliver another lesson about faith and forgiveness.
There are no recognizable human beings here, just walking plot devices waiting for their next musical cue. And the direction is astonishingly clumsy, with characters frequently staring directly into the camera, even when they aren't singing, as though they're recording promotional videos rather than participating in a dramatic story.
At various points, the filmmakers also throw in versions of "Silent Night" and "The Little Drummer Boy," the latter becoming a particularly ridiculous musical centerpiece. By that point, I was laughing so hard at the sheer awfulness of the production that I almost began to appreciate it as accidental comedy.
Here's the thing: I actually laughed a lot during Drummer Boy. A whole lot. Unfortunately, I don't think I laughed at a single thing the filmmakers intended to be funny. The songs are so monumentally bland, the performances so embarrassingly theatrical, and the dramatic confrontations so absurdly overwrought that the whole experience begins to resemble an elaborate parody of faith-based filmmaking.
Only nobody involved seems to realize they're making a comedy. It's the kind of movie that would have provided Mike Nelson and the robots on Mystery Science Theater 3000 with enough material for three episodes.
And while I suppose there's something perversely entertaining about watching a production collapse under the weight of its own self-importance, that doesn't make it a good movie. It just makes it a spectacularly bad one.
There's an enormous difference between a filmmaker sincerely exploring religious belief and a filmmaker using every available moment to lecture an audience, and Drummer Boy falls squarely into the second category.
I have no objection to religious movies, historical musicals, or old-fashioned stories about courage, sacrifice, and forgiveness. Make them intelligent, make them entertaining, give me characters worth caring about, and I'll happily watch them. But Drummer Boy fails on practically every conceivable level.
The music is awful, the acting is embarrassing, the direction is incompetent, the historical material is hopelessly simplistic, and the religious messaging is so relentlessly heavy-handed that it practically smothers the entire production.
Joel David Smallbone's performance is particularly irritating, an astonishing display of theatrical vanity that makes an already unbearable movie even worse.
So yes, if you're looking for a movie that's so terrible you can laugh yourself silly at its incompetence, this might be worth seeing someday under the proper circumstances. But I certainly wouldn't recommend spending money on a ticket, especially given my growing concerns about Angel Studios and its approach to filmmaking.
Drummer Boy is one of the worst movies of 2026, one of the worst musicals I've seen in ages, and an absolute embarrassment from beginning to end.
And the truly frightening thing is that everybody involved apparently thought they were making something wonderful. - Zero Stars
Being the proud Chicagoan that I am, and having spent years acting, writing, directing, and producing plays in Chicago storefront theaters, I'm always thrilled when veterans of our incredible theater community make the transition into filmmaking and do something special.
That's certainly the case with Chicago filmmaking couple Kelly O'Sullivan and Alex Thompson, whose latest film, Mouse, is a beautiful, funny, occasionally heartbreaking coming-of-age drama featuring a remarkable collection of actors with deep Chicago theater connections.
This is the second feature they've directed together, following 2024's Ghostlight, which starred Keith Kupferer as a working-class construction worker who unexpectedly becomes involved in a community theater production of Romeo and Juliet while dealing with the devastating loss of his son.
I admired Ghostlight more than I loved it, but I appreciated its exploration of how theater can help people deal with grief and change their lives. Mouse explores some similar themes, but this time through the eyes of a teenage girl trying to figure out who she is after a devastating loss.
Now, the coming-of-age movie is a tricky genre, particularly when it involves teenage girls trying to figure out who they are. When I was growing up and attending high school between 1979 and 1983, most of the teenage movies playing in theaters were idiotic, sex-obsessed Animal House knockoffs like Porky's and Private School, where adolescence apparently consisted entirely of drinking beer, chasing naked girls, and behaving like complete morons.
Not exactly insightful examinations of the human condition. And when filmmakers attempted something more serious, they often ended up making something resembling a particularly earnest ABC Afterschool Special.
Thankfully, we've had some terrific examples of the genre over the years, including Now and Then, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Bo Burnham's Eighth Grade, Pixar's wonderful and underrated Turning Red, and Greta Gerwig's magnificent Lady Bird, featuring an extraordinary performance by Saoirse Ronan.
But for me, the gold standard remains 2023's Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret., one of the best movies of that year and one of the finest films ever made about a young girl navigating adolescence.
I'm happy to report that Mouse, while not quite reaching those heights, belongs in the company of these genuinely thoughtful, emotionally honest films.
Set in North Little Rock, Arkansas, during the summer of 2002, Mouse follows Minnie Dunn (Katherine Mallen Kupferer), a painfully shy, introverted teenager preparing for her senior year of high school. Her best friend, Callie (Chloe Coleman), is practically her opposite: outgoing, charismatic, theatrical, and determined to attend Juilliard and eventually become a Broadway star.
Minnie has spent much of her life living in Callie's shadow, quietly observing the world while her best friend commands everybody's attention. Then, following a sleepover, Callie is killed in a car accident, leaving Minnie devastated and completely uncertain about who she is without her closest friend.
As she struggles with her grief, Minnie develops an unexpected relationship with Callie's mother, Helen (Sophie Okonedo), who is also trying to survive an unimaginable loss. Their growing friendship becomes the emotional center of the movie, as these two very different people find comfort in each other's company while attempting to figure out how to continue living without someone they both loved.
Complicating matters is Minnie's relationship with her own mother, Barbara, played by the wonderful Chicago actress Tara Mallen, who happens to be Katherine Mallen Kupferer's real-life mother.
Barbara is a veterinarian who cares for stray animals and lives in a wonderfully chaotic, animal-filled house where everything seems to be falling apart. Money is tight, meals are haphazard, and Barbara's blunt, scatterbrained personality frequently embarrasses her daughter.
Minnie finds herself increasingly drawn to Helen's more comfortable, orderly home, where she begins spending more and more time, almost treating Helen as a substitute mother.
The scenes between Kupferer and Okonedo are beautifully handled, filled with natural conversations, uncomfortable silences, genuine affection, and the complicated emotions that accompany grief.
Meanwhile, Minnie begins exploring her own sexuality after meeting Kat (Iman Vellani) at a local record store, developing a sweet, tentative romantic relationship while navigating the casual cruelty and social pressures of growing up in a small town where everybody seems to know everybody else's business.
O'Sullivan's screenplay handles these relationships with tremendous sensitivity, allowing the characters to be confused, selfish, funny, vulnerable, and occasionally unlikable without ever turning them into convenient symbols or sentimental clichés.
And I have to say, Katherine Mallen Kupferer gives one of the best performances I've seen this year. She's absolutely extraordinary. A veteran of Chicago theater who also appeared in Ghostlight alongside her real-life father, Keith Kupferer, she has an astonishing ability to communicate complicated emotions without saying a word.
There are numerous sequences where the camera simply lingers on her face as Minnie observes the people around her, studies their relationships, and tries to understand her own place in the world. It's a remarkably expressive face, and Kupferer can convey embarrassment, longing, sadness, curiosity, and quiet amusement with the slightest change in expression.
The opening portions of the film are particularly effective in establishing Minnie as an observer, someone who has spent so much time watching other people live their lives that she hasn't quite figured out how to live her own. O'Sullivan and Thompson wisely give their young star room to breathe, allowing her silences to become as important as her dialogue.
It's a beautifully controlled, deeply affecting performance that anchors the entire movie, and I genuinely hope people pay attention to the remarkable work she's doing here.
The supporting cast is equally impressive. Sophie Okonedo, the accomplished British actress whose extensive film, television, and stage work includes an Oscar-nominated performance in Hotel Rwanda, brings tremendous emotional weight to Helen without ever making her grief feel theatrical or exaggerated.
Her scenes with Kupferer are among the movie's finest, capturing the unusual intimacy that develops between two people connected by the same devastating loss.
Tara Mallen is terrific as Barbara, creating a wonderfully messy, funny, and ultimately sympathetic mother who loves her daughter but doesn't always know how to communicate with her. There's something particularly special about watching Mallen and her actual daughter work together, and their natural chemistry adds another layer of authenticity to the film.
Iman Vellani brings warmth and charm to Kat, while David Hyde Pierce makes a welcome appearance as Mr. Murdaugh, the school's theater teacher, who helps guide the students through a theatrical production while dealing with the emotional aftermath of Callie's death.
Pierce, himself an accomplished stage performer, has a particularly lovely monologue about grief, friendship, and the importance of theater that speaks directly to the movie's central themes.
And Chloe Coleman makes a strong impression as Callie, establishing a character whose presence continues to be felt long after she's gone.
What I particularly admire about Mouse is the naturalism of the performances and the genuine affection the filmmakers have for these characters. There's an almost improvisational quality to some of the dialogue, and the actors interact with a relaxed authenticity that you don't often find in movies about teenagers.
Much of that comes from the Chicago theater backgrounds of the people involved, including performers associated with Steppenwolf and the city's extraordinary storefront theater community. These actors understand how to listen, react, and create believable relationships without constantly announcing what their characters are feeling.
The cinematography is lovely, and the low-budget production captures the atmosphere of small-town Arkansas with a convincing sense of place. Thompson, who grew up in Lexington, Kentucky, clearly understands something about Southern communities, and the filmmakers avoid turning the setting into a collection of regional stereotypes. The movie feels lived-in, and the people inhabiting it feel like actual human beings rather than characters constructed to deliver important messages.
My only real complaint is that Mouse runs a little too long. At just over two hours, there are stretches where certain scenes linger beyond their natural conclusion, and a few of the movie's themes involving grief, loneliness, and Minnie's complicated relationships get repeated when they've already been established beautifully.
A slightly tighter edit would have made an already strong film even better. But these are relatively minor complaints about a movie that genuinely moved me, made me laugh, and reminded me why I love intimate, character-driven filmmaking.
O'Sullivan and Thompson have created a gentle, emotionally intelligent film about finding your own identity while learning to live with loss, and they've assembled a terrific ensemble of performers who bring tremendous honesty to the material.
Most importantly, they've given Katherine Mallen Kupferer a remarkable showcase for her considerable talent.
Mouse is a lovely, heartfelt, beautifully acted movie that deserves to be mentioned alongside the better coming-of-age films of recent years. It's funny, sad, tender, and refreshingly free of the artificial melodrama that so often sinks movies about teenagers.
And as someone who spent years working in Chicago theater, there's an added pleasure in watching these gifted performers and filmmakers bring their considerable talents to the screen.
Katherine Mallen Kupferer is outstanding, the supporting cast is wonderful, and the film's exploration of grief, friendship, sexuality, and the transformative power of art is handled with intelligence and compassion.
It's not perfect, but it's a deeply satisfying emotional experience, and another impressive achievement from two talented Chicago filmmakers. I can't wait to see what Kelly O'Sullivan and Alex Thompson do next. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️
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