CAPSULE MOVIE REVIEWS: 5-30-25

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I enjoy wearing pants, nice pants. I particularly enjoy wearing my Film Critic Pants. They fit, they are on, and I am ready to review four new movies in this week's capsule (short) movie reviews for Friday, May 30th, 2025.

1) BRING HER BACK

Let's just say it: Bring Her Back is one of the worst horror films of the year.

And that's saying something because 2025 has already been loaded with cheap, pretentious, pseudo-elevated horror flicks that think they're smarter than they are.

This movie, Danny and Michael Philippou's sophomore slump (aka the Talk to Me guys) might just take the crown for showing how fast and far talented filmmakers can fall when they consume too much of their own hype.

Now look, I gave Talk to Me credit. It had some effective moments. The theme of grief, the connection to the spirit world, young people playing with death like it's a party drug — that was original and well done for the most part. Sure, it had its issues (a clunky third act, too many lame jump scares), but it was solid. Promising.

Bring Her Back, on the other hand, is a cinematic pratfall. A total faceplant. It's as if they took everything that worked in Talk to Me, beat it with a hammer, smeared blood on it, and lit it on fire in the name of "art."

Here's the setup: Andy (Billy Barratt) and his legally blind sister Piper (Sora Wong) lose their dad. They're orphans now. Andy's almost 18 and wants to become Piper's guardian, but until then, they're placed in foster care.

Enter Laura (played by the usually wonderful but tragically misused Sally Hawkins), a quirky former social worker who lives in a creepy, secluded house in the middle of nowhere. She only really wants Piper because Piper reminds her of her dead daughter. Yikes.

Laura lives with a silent, ghostly boy named Oliver, who may or may not exist. He has a purple bruise under his eye and looks like Damien's lovechild from The Omen and the kid from Insidious. Andy gets suspicious. Red flags start flying. Midnight dance parties with whiskey. Grainy VHS tapes possibly show child sacrifice. A stuffed dog. Whispers of resurrection.

It's a bad dream without logic or tension, just clunky foreshadowing and gore. What we're supposed to get is a horror-laced meditation on grief and trauma. What we get is a mess of cheap shocks, endless blood, and story beats that feel lifted from the reject pile of M. Night Shyamalan's notebooks.

Sally Hawkins. I love Sally Hawkins. She's a phenomenal actress. But here? She gives what might be her first truly bad performance. And I don't mean "meh" or "misguided." I mean full-on cringe, overacted, unconvincing.

And it's not entirely her fault — she's saddled with a character that makes no sense, with motivations that are muddled at best, and scenes so tonally confused that she could've been acting in a completely different movie than everyone else. She's twitchy, overly perky, then sinister, then melodramatic — and none of it connects. It's painful to watch.

Let's talk about the gore. It's everywhere. Kids are beaten, slashed, mutilated. There's trauma, blood, broken glass, torn mouths, gnashing teeth, faces torn up by car wrecks — all lovingly shown in extreme close-ups. And listen, I'm not squeamish. I've seen (and loved) plenty of gore-heavy films. But there's a difference between artfully disturbing and relentlessly exploitative.

Here, the gore isn't there to build tension. It's there to provoke — to shock for the sake of shock. It's manipulation, pure and simple. It's lazy horror filmmaking 101: If you want to freak out your audience, just show a child getting brutalized. You'll get a reaction, sure — but not a meaningful one. It's cheap. It's empty. It's the horror equivalent of a jump-scare airhorn.

Ah, yes. A24. The logo that makes horror fans sit up and whisper, "Ooh, it might be weird and cool!" And sometimes, yes, it is. Hereditary, The Witch, The Lighthouse, St. Maud — these are great films. But now? The A24 brand has become a subgenre unto itself. It's become shorthand for "slow burn with trauma metaphors and floaty camera work."

And Bring Her Back is trying to be one of those movies. Hard. But this ain't Hereditary, folks. This is trauma-core cosplay. It borrows the aesthetic without the substance. It mimics the structure without the soul. It's like if you asked AI to make an A24 horror film using the themes of grief, child loss, and VHS-era ghost lore — but forgot to feed it actual character development or narrative clarity.

You're in serious trouble when your film feels like a rejected Shyamalan script passed through the A24 blender.

There's a big twist, of course. You don't hire the ghost of Shyamalan's storytelling instincts without one. But when it comes, it's not clever — it's dumb. It retroactively makes large swaths of the movie make even less sense. And the emotional impact? Zero. You don't care about these characters because they're not characters — they're grief archetypes dropped into a house of horrors.

The film's central theme — "the death of a child is traumatic" — is presented with the nuance of a Facebook post. It's painfully on the nose. It doesn't explore anything new. It doesn't challenge you. It just screams "PAIN" and "LOSS" while another kid bleeds out on the floor in slow motion.

Bring Her Back is a failure, a brutal, gory, repetitive, unoriginal, emotionally hollow slog. The Philippou brothers had a spark with Talk to Me, but this is a massive step backward—creatively, stylistically, and narratively. It's trying so hard to be meaningful horror, but it's as deep as an ashtray and as subtle as a shotgun blast.

If your idea of horror is watching kids get mangled for 90 minutes while a half-baked resurrection plot sputters in the background, this might be for you. But if you're looking for a story, tension, character, or anything remotely original — stay far, far away. - ⭐️

2) KARATE KID: LEGENDS

Karate Kid: Legends is one of the worst movies of the year. Maybe the worst of the Karate Kid franchise — which, let's be honest, only has one actually good movie to begin with.

And that's saying a lot because this comes from a franchise that gave us the magical absurdity of Karate Kid Part III, in which Thomas Ian Griffith plays a villain so cartoonishly psychotic that he practically twirls his mustache with his gi belt.

That movie was dumb, but it was entertaining. Legends, on the other hand, is just a mess—a fast-paced, hyper-edited, soulless blur of clichés, montages, freeze frames, and visual gimmicks masquerading as filmmaking.

The story—such as it is—centers on Li Fong, played by the genuinely charming Ben Wang. He moves from China to New York with his mother (Ming-Na Wen) and falls into a soup of recycled plot threads from literally every Karate Kid and sports underdog movie ever made.

He gets bullied. He falls in love. The bully is her ex. There's a corrupt dojo. There's a rooftop tournament. There's a pizza parlor. And somehow Joshua Jackson — yes, Pacey from Dawson's Creek — plays an aging ex-boxer trying to make a comeback to save his Italian pizzeria, and he's trained by this kid who just got off the plane from Beijing.

None of it makes sense. None of it flows. And all of it plays like a highlight reel of plot points someone thought sounded good in a marketing meeting.

Let me be clear: this is not a movie. This is a 90-minute montage sequence. It's like watching a trailer for a movie that never actually starts. Every single scene is cut like it's afraid you'll change the channel. We're talking:

• Comic book-style panel wipes

• Freeze frames

• Split screens

• Countdown clocks

• Whip pans every five seconds

• Scene transitions that feel like Mentos commercials from the '90s

It's exhausting. And none of it adds up to anything. You don't get to know the characters. You don't care about their conflicts. And any emotional weight is crushed under the constant need to move, flash, and cut.

Even the Five Boroughs Tournament — the supposed climax — gets the same treatment. There's a countdown: "7 Days to the Tournament!" You blink, and it's "1 Day to the Tournament!" And the tournament itself lasts maybe 10 minutes. It's all visual noise and no impact. You might as well be watching the bonus level of a video game.

Now let's talk about Jackie Chan and Ralph Macchio — who this whole Legends thing is supposed to be about. They show up, barely. Jackie's charming, of course. He always is. But he's wasted.

This man has spent decades choreographing some of the most inventive and exciting martial arts scenes ever put to film — and here, he's stuck slapping a kid around in a training montage and getting second billing in a subway turnstile gag. Yes, really.

Ralph Macchio? Looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Half-asleep, barely engaged, and only there for what looks like a three-day shoot. He's phoning it in harder than a robocall scam.

There's one almost-funny scene where Jackie and Ralph are literally using Ben Wang's character like a dummy, showing off moves from kung fu vs. Miyagi-Do in a rapid-fire technique slapfest — and that might be the only decent moment in the movie. Otherwise, they're barely present and barely matter.

Can we talk about this fake New York? The most artificial, least-authentic version of NYC I've ever seen on screen. I've been to New York dozens of times, and this isn't it. The movie says it's New York but feels like a computer-generated backlot.

The hospital where multiple characters conveniently land? The pristine, giant "Manhattan apartment" Li and his mom somehow afford on a single hospital salary? Laughable.

Also, Li is sad about leaving China — but from the look of his massive bedroom, he's living better than most actual New Yorkers. He should be thrilled.

Now, let's circle back to Joshua Jackson, who plays an ex-boxer Italian pizzeria owner named Victor. Let me say it again: Joshua Jackson, as a big Italian guy who owns a pizza place, is possibly the most hilariously miscast role of the year.

Victor gets trained — by Li, of all people — to make a comeback to pay off debts and save his shop. The boxing match happens. He loses badly. Ends up in a hospital. Li feels guilty. This is the first 45 minutes of the movie. A Karate Kid movie that is mainly about Pacey getting beat up in a boxing ring.

Somewhere in here, there's a love story with Mia (Sadie Stanley), who's fine but has zero character development. Wyatt Oleff shows up as the nerdy best friend because, of course, there's a nerdy best friend. And the villain? Barely defined, zero menace, wears black, and gets maybe 10 lines before the final rooftop fight where — you guessed it — Li wins with a tweaked flying kick.

The only remotely entertaining part of Karate Kid: Legends is the last 3 minutes when one of the Cobra Kai stars shows up in a quick cameo that actually has spark, timing, and some legit comedy. But guess what? You have to sit through an entire mess of a movie to get there.

This film feels like a cash grab, capitalizing on the popularity of Cobra Kai with none of the heart, humor, or storytelling that made that show a hit.

It's over-edited, underwritten, and directed like someone binge-watched TikToks and thought that's how movies should be cut.

There's no soul. No suspense. No style. No karate.

Stay home. Watch Karate Kid Part III again. Marvel at Thomas Ian Griffith hamming it up like he's in Mortal Kombat. Laugh with Martin Kove screaming, "No mercy!" That movie is bonkers — but it's fun.

Karate Kid: Legends isn't just bad. It's nothing. - ⭐️

3) TORNADO

Here's something you don't see every day: a jidaigeki period piece set in 1790s Britain, steeped in the spirit of samurai cinema, spaghetti Westerns, and a little Shakespearean theater for good measure.

That's Tornado, a slow-burn revenge film that plays like Three Outlaw Samurai wandered onto the moors and bumped into Dead Man, with a little Kurosawa in its blood and more than a few echoes of Slow West — which makes sense because it's directed by John Maclean, the same guy who made that brilliant debut back in 2015.

This one takes its time. It unfolds like a theatrical act in the foggy hills, but when the violence comes? Oh, it hits. And it hits hard.

The story opens in medias res — already a bold move. Tornado (played with quiet, focused fire by pop star Kōki) is sprinting through the muddy wilds of the British Isles, being hunted by a brutal gang led by Tim Roth's Sugarman — who is as creepy and compelling as anything Roth has done in years.

Why is she running? It doesn't matter—the urgency is clear, and the fear is palpable. It's a stark, effective beginning. Then, the film circles back, slowly unraveling the past through layered flashbacks.

Turns out, Tornado and her father (Takehiro Hira), a stoic puppeteer with a samurai's soul, were performing in a traveling bunraku show when they crossed paths with Sugarman's gang — fresh off a robbery and ready to get distracted.

When one of the kids from the village (clearly in over his head) tries to swipe their gold during the show, everything spirals into chaos. Murder, betrayal, and vengeance follow.

It's part classic Western—lone outlaws, lawless land, bags of stolen gold—and part traditional Japanese revenge tale. It's all played out in a stark, unforgiving landscape with characters named Little Sugar, Squid Lips, Kitten, and Psycho. It should be ridiculous—and sometimes it is—but it's all played with a deadpan tone that makes the absurdity feel weirdly real.

Let's talk about Kōki. She's phenomenal in this. Stoic, haunted, measured. Tornado isn't a typical action heroine — she's contemplative, calculating, and sometimes silent for long stretches.

But when she moves, she moves with purpose. Her performance builds and builds until the final act when she unleashes — and it's both cathartic and brutal. She earns it. The movie earns it.

And that final stretch? Outstanding. Once Tornado stops running and starts hunting, the movie clicks into gear. The kills are bloody, raw, and personal. The sound design roars. The steel hits. And every drop of blood feels like a payoff.

Tim Roth's Sugarman is another highlight. He's an awful man — not cartoonish, not twirling his mustache, but casually cruel in the way that Roth plays so well. The fact that the movie doesn't end with a traditional showdown between Tornado and Sugarman is shockingly refreshing. You expect the one-on-one sword duel.

What you get is much more layered, unexpected, and dramatically satisfying. It bucks the genre clichés in a way that feels earned, not subversive for the sake of it.

His gang of misfits — particularly Jack Lowden's Little Sugar — are colorful, nasty, and memorable. It's almost like a Clockwork Orange gang wandered onto the set of Throne of Blood.

Visually, this thing is stunning. The British highlands (or wherever exactly these unnamed "isles" are) are shot with texture and atmosphere. You feel the damp. You feel the cold. The landscape becomes a character, swallowing people in fog, mud, and rain.

There's minimal score, but when the music hits, it hits. The sound design is sharp, eerie, and explosive, especially in the final act.

Maclean also plays with time in interesting ways. That nonlinear structure works here—we're initially as disoriented as Tornado, and the puzzle pieces click into place gradually. It's a confident move, and it works.

Now look — this isn't a perfect film. Some side characters get more screen time than they need, particularly in the traveling performance troupe. A few scenes stretch a little long, and there are moments when the pacing drags. You could trim 10 minutes from the middle section and lose nothing.

There are also some tonal bumps—the film swings between theatrical, surreal, and deadly serious, and sometimes, those shifts aren't seamless. But if you're on the film's wavelength, those quirks become part of the experience.

Tornado is a genre mashup that works. It blends revenge film, samurai cinema, Western tropes, and period drama into something unique. It doesn't care about action beats every 10 minutes. It lets moments breathe. And when it does finally explode, it does so with meaning.

At the center is Kōki —a new kind of action lead: quiet, powerful, watchful, and completely magnetic.

It's not flashy. It's not fast. But it's smart, haunting, and weirdly beautiful. This is one of the most distinctive genre films of 2025 so far, and absolutely worth seeing on the biggest, loudest screen you can find. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️

4) SISTER MIDNIGHT

Every once in a while, a movie comes out of nowhere and completely knocks you sideways. That movie for me right now is Sister Midnight, a darkly funny, bloody, feminist parable out of India — and one of the most original and unclassifiable films I've seen in a long time.

It's bold, weird, socially scathing, and has vampire lore, stop-motion animals, and a soundtrack that drops The Stooges and Buddy Holly in the middle of Mumbai. I mean… what is this movie? I don't know exactly — and that's why I kinda love it.

Directed by Karan Kandhari and starring the phenomenal Radhika Apte in a performance that deserves award-season love, Sister Midnight starts as a pointed domestic drama about arranged marriage and ends up as a surreal horror-comedy with supernatural detours and an emotional sucker punch.

The story kicks off when Uma (Apte) arrives at her new husband Gopal's place—a rundown home in Mumbai that looks less like a honeymoon suite and more like a prison cell with cookware. She's been married off via arrangement, knows almost nothing about her husband, and very quickly realizes that this is not going to be a romantic fairytale.

It's awkward. He avoids her. The neighbors gossip. She can't cook. She doesn't clean. Everyone blames her for everything — even Gopal's emotional constipation.

Uma's isolation grows. She has headaches that get worse. Her skin starts changing. The doctors? Useless. One recommends Coca-Cola as a treatment. And then — in a wonderfully dark turn — she discovers that drinking animal blood cures her.

Yes, Sister Midnight becomes kind of a vampire movie. But it's also a metaphor for becoming alive for the first time. Escaping a life of servitude, judgment, and societal expectations through transformation. The undead Uma becomes more alive than ever.

This movie is packed with subtext — cultural, political, feminist, you name it — but it never forgets to be entertaining. Tonally, it's like Taxi Driver filtered through Harold and Maude with splashes of Only Lovers Left Alive, early Wes Anderson (back when he made good movies), and the deadpan surrealism of Jim Jarmusch. It's dark and funny and occasionally grotesque.

There's stop-motion! There are trans characters who help Uma find her place in the world! There are bloody bites and talking animals that scream and whistle!

And while I'm on the subject: the poster for this movie — a brilliant homage to Taxi Driver — is one of the best I've seen in years. It doesn't just reference Scorsese's classic for style; it mirrors the core of the story: a lonely outcast wandering a crowded city, looking for connection and purpose, and finding transformation in the dead of night.

Apte absolutely owns this movie. Her performance is restrained, layered, fierce, vulnerable, and deeply funny. She doesn't just play a horror heroine — she becomes a symbol of rebellion against everything society tells women they should be.

Her evolution is haunting, hilarious, and totally compelling. Whether standing silently in a crowded room of critics or draining the blood from a goat under her bed, she commands the screen with every moment. And I mean this: it's one of the best performances by an actress this year.

If you're a music lover, Sister Midnight is a treasure chest. The soundtrack features everything from The Band's "The Weight" to Buddy Holly, T. Rex, Motorhead, and even a deep pull from Ry Cooder's Paris, Texas score. It's not just a cool playlist—it's integrated into the film's soul. It creates a wild, disorienting sonic landscape that pulls you even further into this weird, wonderful world.

This isn't a perfect movie. It's messy. It veers wildly in tone. There are sequences that drag or repeat themselves a bit too often. And some of the genre-shifting is so abrupt it'll leave your head spinning. One moment, it's deadpan comedy; the next, we're in body horror territory; then, it's a heartbreaking drama; then, it's a silent movie gag that comes to life.

But that's also the beauty of it. Kandhari, making his feature debut, swings big. He takes risks. He doesn't care about traditional structure or tonal smoothness. And while that means the movie occasionally stumbles, it never bores. It never plays it safe.

And that's what we need more of in cinema: movies that take a big, messy bite out of the status quo.

Sister Midnight is not for everyone. But if you like your movies strange, bold, genre-bending, and filled with oddball characters and left-field surprises — this is for you.

It's one of the year's most unique, challenging, and genuinely original films.

It has something to say. It says it loudly, with blood, stop-motion creatures, killer music, and an absolutely brilliant lead performance. I loved the hell out of it, even when I didn't know what the hell was going on. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2

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