CAPSULE MOVIE REVIEWS: 5-23-25

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My beloved Film Critic Pants are on—jealous??? I am ready to review four new movies in this week's capsule (short) movie reviews for Friday, May 23rd, 2025.

1) MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE - THE FINAL RECKONING

Let's call it like it is: Mission: Impossible is the best action franchise in movie history. Period. No debate. And with The Final Reckoning, the eighth (and likely final) installment in the series, we get a thrilling, heartfelt, visually stunning, and emotionally satisfying conclusion to a franchise that has been consistently excellent for nearly 30 years. That's right—consistently excellent. 

How many other franchises can say that? Exactly.

From De Palma's stylish, twist-filled original in 1996 to the kinetic insanity of Ghost Protocol, and especially since Christopher McQuarrie took the reins in Rogue Nation, this series has only gotten better—more intense, more emotionally resonant, more daring. McQuarrie and Cruise are a dream team, and Final Reckoning is outstanding.

Picking up after Dead Reckoning Part One, Final Reckoning finds Ethan Hunt again racing to stop a global catastrophe—this time from a rogue artificial intelligence known as "The Entity." His mission: recover the "Rabbit's Foot" (yes, that one—a brilliant callback to M:I III) from the sunken Russian submarine Sevastopol. The goal? Keep the Entity from seizing control of the world's nuclear arsenal.

What follows is a globe-spanning, mind-bending, physics-defying series of showdowns involving underwater wreckage, nuclear countdowns, AI manipulation, moral sacrifice, and more twists than a bag of pretzels.

You've got betrayals, reunions, surprise resurrections, and yes—a climactic, utterly bananas biplane fight in the sky. The plot is dense. Overstuffed? Maybe. But that's part of the charm of these movies. They're puzzle boxes packed with spy lore, tech jargon, and ticking time bombs—sometimes literally.

Tom Cruise is 62 years old, folks. Let that sink in. And he's still running—arms flailing, sweat flying, intensity dialed to 11. He's still hanging off airplanes, still jumping between buildings, still doing deep-sea dives with no oxygen, and still risking his life for our entertainment. Let's not kid ourselves—nobody else is doing this. Cruise isn't just a star in this series—he's its engine.

He brings a manic energy, an obsessive commitment to excellence, and a strange, undeniable sincerity to Ethan Hunt that no other actor could replicate. In Final Reckoning, we see the whole arc of Ethan—his loyalty, loss, and relentless sense of duty—come full circle. This is his swan song, and Cruise plays it beautifully.

The core team is in top form. Simon Pegg and Ving Rhames are as lovable and sharp as ever, providing comic relief and emotional heft. Hayley Atwell continues to prove she's a phenomenal addition, bringing a sly charisma and grit as Grace.

Angela Bassett gets a powerful speech that lands like a gut punch in today's political climate. Henry Czerny as Kittridge—back from the very first film—delivers a layered, morally gray performance that brings the series full circle in a deeply satisfying way.

Then you've got your new players: Nick Offerman (yes, that Nick Offerman—sans mustache, serious as hell), Shea Whigham, Janet McTeer, and Hannah Waddingham all show up and absolutely deliver. And Esai Morales as Gabriel? Cold, calculating, with just enough humanity to make you uncomfortable. A terrific villain.

And let's not forget Rolf Saxon—yes, William Donloe from the CIA vault sequence in the first movie! A callback 29 years in the making, and not just for a cameo, he has a vital role. That's the kind of payoff only a franchise with this level of care and continuity can pull off.

Here's where Final Reckoning really cements its greatness: the action is jaw-dropping. You get car chases, hand-to-hand fights, a submarine dive that will literally have you holding your breath, and a biplane dogfight that is one of the most breathtaking aerial sequences ever put on film—without a single jet. Just old-school, high-altitude insanity. It's pure cinema.

But it's not just the action. Even the exposition is riveting. Critics complaining that the movie is "too talky" are missing the point. McQuarrie cuts dialogue like action. He uses flashbacks, split POVs, voiceovers, and even montages to turn plot dumps into pulse-pounding sequences. Watching someone explain a mission in a Mission: Impossible movie is as thrilling as watching it go wrong.

And that pacing? This movie is just shy of three hours long, but it feels like 90 minutes. The editing is so tight, and the story is so absorbing that you never want it to end.

What makes Final Reckoning more than just a great action movie is how much it respects its own history. There are callbacks, character payoffs, and moments that truly hit hard emotionally. Ethan Hunt is no longer just a rogue spy—he's a man haunted by choices, driven by loyalty, and, for once, allowed to reflect on the world he's spent his life trying to save.

And if this is indeed the last Mission: Impossible movie (and it certainly feels like a finale), then what a send-off. It honors every film that came before it—from De Palma's crazy, stylized tension to McQuarrie's bombastic bombast. This is the culmination of a nearly 30-year journey. And it delivers.

Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning isn't just one of the best action movies of the year—it's one of the best films of the year. It's a testament to what a big-budget, star-driven, stunt-laden spectacle can be when handled with care, intelligence, and insane commitment.

Cruise and McQuarrie have set the gold standard. Other franchises should take notes, especially the exhausted, bloated world of superhero cinema. This is how you do it. This is how you build something iconic, then close it out with style, weight, and soul.

An absolute masterclass in blockbuster filmmaking. The best action franchise ends on a high note. Don't walk—run (like Tom Cruise!) to the biggest screen you can find to watch it on. We're closing the book on Mission: Impossible with style, suspense, and soul. If this is the last mission, then it's safe to say: they chose to accept it... and absolutely crushed it. -  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

2) LILO AND STITCH

I'll never understand Disney's obsession with making live-action remakes of their classic animated films. It's a bizarre, frustrating trend that continues to explode like a supernova of cynicism, spewing unnecessary projects into theaters at warp speed. Most of them? Absolutely terrible. Unnecessary. Lifeless. Transparent cash grabs.

Disney — a studio not exactly known for subtlety when it comes to reaching into your wallet — keeps doing it because, hey, if you're willing to pay, they're more than happy to collect.

Just take a quick glance at the body count of recent remakes: Snow White (an unwatchable disaster released just this March), The Little Mermaid, Mulan, Pinocchio, The Lion King, Dumbo, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin... the list reads like a rogues' gallery of misguided nostalgia-mining. And what's next? Live-action Moana? The Aristocats? BAMBI?!

Who's the sick genius who thought giving Bambi the hyperrealistic Lion King treatment was a good idea? Were they like, "Hey, you know what this heart-wrenching tale of maternal death and woodland survival needs? Lifelike deer eyes!"

This isn't just a trend—it's a full-blown crisis—a creative drought fueled by shameless studio greed. And sure, sometimes these soulless ventures are timed with the launch of a theme park ride or a toy line. It's cinematic synergy in its most cynical form: filmmaking as merchandise extension.

But—and this is a big, conflicted but—every now and then, against all odds, one of these remakes doesn't suck.

Enter Lilo & Stitch (2025).

This movie — a remake of the already fantastic and deeply beloved 2002 animated original — falls into that very small, almost nonexistent category of "Didn't Need to Be Remade, But Was Done Surprisingly Well." That elite club includes only two others: Pete's Dragon and The Jungle Book.

Let me explain why this new Lilo & Stitch earns its place among those rare, respectable exceptions.

The story is pretty much beat-for-beat the same as the original (until the significantly reworked final third), which was already emotionally rich, thematically satisfying, and wonderfully weird. We open on planet Turo, where mad alien scientist Jumba is punished for creating an illegal experiment—Experiment 626 — a hyper-destructive, intelligent, blue puffball of chaos who escapes to Earth and crash-lands in Hawaii.

Meanwhile, Lilo, a misunderstood, lonely young girl struggling with grief after her parents' death, is living with her overwhelmed older sister Nani. Social worker Cobra Bubbles (still great) threatens to separate them if their home life doesn't stabilize. Lilo, desperately wanting a friend, adopts what she believes is a weird dog at the shelter—none other than Experiment 626—and names him Stitch.

Cue the chaos: Stitch is pursued by aliens, Lilo teaches him about Elvis and family, Nani tries to hold everything together, and the whole thing crescendos into a sci-fi action climax - with differences from the original - involving spaceships, rescues, and — most importantly — the power of ohana: Hawaiian for family, and a reminder that nobody gets left behind.

So here's the shocking twist. Despite being part of Disney's well-oiled money-milking machine, Lilo & Stitch (2025) isn't a total disaster. In fact... It's good.

The secret weapon? Dean Fleischer Camp. The same Dean who gave us the delightful, gently profound Marcel the Shell with Shoes On brings his quirky, heartfelt sensibility to this project. That was a genius move. He gets it. He understands character. He understands tone. And he doesn't turn this into a hollow re-skinning. There's life here. There's warmth. There's some actual, dare I say, craft.

Chris Sanders is back voicing Stitch (thank God), and it makes a difference. The little guy is still hilarious — a tiny whirlwind of destruction with impeccable comedic timing. The original film's humor translates well into this live-action/CG hybrid version, and Stitch himself looks surprisingly good. Expressive. Weird. Funny. Everything he should be.

Maia Kealoha as Lilo? A wonderful find. The emotional weight of Lilo's loneliness and resilience is real, giving the movie heart.

Then there's the cast — Hannah Waddingham, Billy Magnussen, Zach Galifianakis, Courtney B. Vance — all showing up and doing solid work. There's even a little fan-servicey joy in seeing original cast members like Tia Carrere, Amy Hill, and Jason Scott Lee popping in.

This remake doesn't veer far from the original but executes well. The effects are clean. The energy is there. The family dynamic still hits. The surfing scenes? Still a blast.

Here's the thing: even though this remake is easily in the upper 10% of Disney's live-action rehashes, that doesn't mean it needed to exist. It didn't. No one was clamoring for a new Lilo & Stitch. The original is only 23 years old, and it holds up beautifully. Why redo it? The answer, as always, is money.

But this time, at least, Disney didn't completely phone it in. This one feels like it was made by people who actually cared—a shocking concept, I know. There's charm, humor, and talent both behind and in front of the camera. Stitch is still a riot, the emotional beats still land, and the central message of Ohana still warms the heart.

So, yeah. It's unnecessary. It's part of a greedy pattern. But it's also — dammit — lovely.

Lilo & Stitch (2025) didn't have to be made, and it still stands as a symptom of a troubling trend. But unlike most of its live-action siblings, this one shows heart. It's funny, well-directed, has a great cast, and—most importantly—it's not soulless.

So if we have to live in a world where Disney insists on dredging up its animated classics to repackage and resell them? Let's at least hope they do it like this. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️

3) SWAMP DOGG GETS HIS POOL PAINTED

Every once in a while, a documentary comes along that reminds you why the genre matters. Why real stories, real people, and real art — when captured with care and style — can hit you harder than any scripted drama. Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted is one of those movies. It's one of the best music documentaries I've seen in years.

Swamp Dogg wasn't exactly a household name in my world before this. I had a cursory knowledge. I knew he was a behind-the-scenes guy, a cult favorite, someone revered by music nerds and crate-diggers. But after watching this beautiful, hilarious, offbeat, deeply moving film... I get it now. I really get it.

This guy isn't just a footnote in music history. He is music history. A shapeshifting genre-hopper who's done everything — R&B, soul, rap, country — and done it all with a swagger and wit that makes you wonder how the hell he never broke into full-blown stardom.

That question lingers throughout the film, but it's never bitter. Instead, it's celebratory. The doc doesn't mourn what might have been — it celebrates everything Swamp Dogg is.

Directed with funky flair by Isaac Gale, Ryan Olson, and David McMurry, the film follows Jerry "Swamp Dogg" Williams in his San Fernando Valley home, a modest but magical space he shares with longtime collaborators and dear friends: Larry "Moogstar" Clemons and David "Guitar Shorty" Kearney. That house? It's not just a home. It's an artist's haven, a living, breathing installation filled with music, creativity, and soul.

And yes, the pool is literally being painted throughout the film. An artist crafts a stunning, swirling piece of aquatic art across its floor and walls, and Swamp Dogg just kind of holds court nearby. Guests drop in. Music happens. Conversations unfold. It's a vibe—a real one.

But this isn't just "Cribs: Cult Musician Edition." It's something much deeper. While the pool art takes shape, so does the story of Swamp Dogg's career — told through wild archival footage (including laugh-out-loud cable access appearances), bursts of animation, old performances, and visits from a weird and wonderful cast of characters.

When Guitar Shorty passes away during production, the film pivots—it becomes a meditation on grief, memory, and the bonds that artists form when they really love each other.

This thing is funky — and I don't just mean the soundtrack (though it's killer). I mean the filmmaking itself. The editing is off-kilter in all the right ways. The use of archival footage is inspired. A surreal, spiritual layer works better than it has any right to — especially during the now-legendary "Evel Knievel Owl" story told by Moogstar.

Let me pause here and say that this story alone is worth the price of admission. Moogstar, who, by the way, is an absolute trip and a musical genius in his own right, tells this late-night acid trip of a tale where he visits Evel Knievel's grave in full Evel regalia, lights candles, and — I'm not kidding — encounters the spirit of Evel Knievel in the form of an owl.

The filmmakers actually animated this sequence, and later, the owl becomes a symbolic observer of the entire film. At one point, we, the audience, become the owl.

It's weird. It's wonderful. It's art.

What really got me, though, was the heart of it all. Swamp Dogg is a giver—a guy who opens his door to other musicians—people down on their luck, people looking for a place to create—and lets them stay, jam, live, and be.

Guitar Shorty was only supposed to be there temporarily… he stayed 14 years. Moogstar's been there almost as long. And Swamp Dogg's cool with it. More than that — he loves it. He needs it.

He's a man who's been everywhere. He's released an insane number of albums — including Christmas albums, cover records, and even one of the greatest country songs you've probably never heard, covered by everyone from Conway Twitty on down.

He's had hits in multiple genres, been sampled and praised by younger artists, and collaborated with legends. The documentary lays all this out with affection and style, finally giving him the flowers he deserves.

And that relationship with his daughter? Beautiful. Strong. Loving. You don't see that a lot in the music business. She's smart, grounded, and fiercely devoted — and the film gives her time to shine as well.

Those who stop by Swamp Dogg's place are a who's-who of respect. Mike Judge shows up. So does Tom Kenny, Johnny Knoxville, Naeem Juwan, and John Prine — just dropping in to chat, hang out, and pay homage. These aren't celebrity cameos for clout. These are friends. Real ones.

And all of it—the stories, the history, the heartbreak, the music, the laughter—is woven together in a way that feels lived-in and alive. It's not polished, sanitized, or polished at all. It's messy, soulful, and real.

I cannot stress this enough: Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted is a terrific documentary. It's about music, sure. But it's also about love, friendship, grief, legacy, weirdness, generosity, funk, and the sheer joy of creating. It's a portrait of a true original, told with all the flair and funkiness he deserves.

This movie isn't just a documentary — it's an experience. It's one of the best films of 2025 and one of the most heart-swelling, toe-tapping, mind-opening docs you'll ever see. Seek it out. Bring some friends. Pour a drink. Get funky. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

4) THE LAST RODEO

If you've seen any movie produced by Angel Studios, you know exactly what you're getting into.

The content is always soaked—drenched, really—in faith-based messaging, often at the expense of character development, subtlety, or original storytelling.

The Last Rodeo is no exception. It checks all the boxes for what has become Angel Studios' cinematic blueprint: a story of hope, redemption, unwavering faith, and a heavy-handed message that makes God's Not Dead look like The Exorcist.

That said, a decent film is buried under clichés, melodrama, and on-the-nose dialogue. But like a rodeo bull under sedation, it never really kicks up any genuine momentum. And that's a fatal flaw for a film about one last glorious shot at redemption in the bull-riding world.

Neal McDonough plays Joe Wainwright, a former champion bull rider in his late 50s, who comes out of retirement for one final ride. His motivation? To earn enough money—$750,000 from a "Legends-only" rodeo event—to cover the costs of his grandson's brain surgery. The kid's uninsured (of course), and Joe sees this as the only way to make things right.

Of course, nobody wants him to do this. It's dangerous, he's out of practice, and he's got emotional baggage. But he's doing it for love, redemption, and ultimately, God.

Along the way, he reconnects with his estranged friend and former rodeo sidekick Charlie (Mykelti Williamson, trying to bring depth to a role that gives him almost nothing to work with).

There are some flashbacks to Joe's late wife (played by McDonough's real-life wife, Ruvé), a mysterious "three-finger salute" that seems loaded with symbolism but never gets explained, and a rodeo promoter played by Christopher McDonald, who honestly looks like he's wondering how he ended up here.

McDonough has had a long career playing heavies, and he's damn good at it. From Walking Tall to Justified to countless turns in genre fare (Arrow, Yellowstone, The Flash), he brings a reliable intensity to whatever role he plays. But in recent years, McDonough has shifted toward faith-based content, and he's been very open about his spirituality guiding his career choices.

I've got nothing against that. If someone wants to make meaningful content grounded in their personal faith, more power to them. But good storytelling has to come first. And here, unfortunately, it doesn't.

McDonough co-wrote The Last Rodeo, starred in it, and cast his wife in it. He clearly cares deeply about the project, and I respect his hustle. But the script is weighed down by tired tropes, stock characters, and dialogue that sounds more like a Hallmark card than actual human conversation.

If you've seen Sound of Freedom, His Only Son, or Homestead, you know the Angel Studios formula: solid production values, a few recognizable actors, and a message that's not so much embedded in the story as it is carved into every scene with a sledgehammer. These films aren't content with showing a faith journey—they preach at you. And not subtly.

The Last Rodeo follows that same pattern. There's little nuance, no ambiguity, and scant room for viewers to interpret anything for themselves. The message is loud, clear, and impossible to miss. That's not storytelling—it's propaganda in a cowboy hat.

To give credit where it's due, the actual rodeo scenes are well-shot. Jon Avnet—who once gave us Fried Green Tomatoes and even produced Risky Business—knows his way around a camera, and the bull riding sequences carry some genuine tension. There's some decent authenticity here, too. If you're a rodeo enthusiast, you might appreciate the attempt at capturing the details of the sport.

But if you're not already familiar with bull riding, the film doesn't bother to explain much. It just plops you into the arena, assumes you know the rules, and cuts from one cowboy flying off a bull to another with minimal context. It's like watching a sport you don't understand with the sound turned down and a preacher shouting over it.

Every beat of this movie is telegraphed. Estranged friends who reconcile just in time. A dying family member who appears in gauzy flashbacks. A small town full of decent folks. A grand gesture at the eleventh hour. An underdog defying the odds. If you've seen Rocky, 8 Seconds, or any faith-based film in the last decade, you've seen this story—just without bull riding.

There's also the odd omission of key details. Like, who is the father of the grandson? The film dodges that completely. Why are Joe and Charlie estranged? No idea. And don't get me started on the unexplained salute.

The Last Rodeo wants to be an inspirational story about faith, sacrifice, and redemption. And for some audiences—especially fans of Angel Studios—it will be exactly that. But for anyone looking for nuance, depth, or originality, this movie falls short in almost every way.

It's beautifully shot in places. There are a few decent performances (Williamson and McDonald do what they can), and the rodeo sequences are solid. But the story is predictable, the message is overbearing, and the characters are thinly drawn and drowning in clichés. - ⭐️1/2

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