CAPSULE MOVIE REVIEWS: 6-13-25
- Jun 14
- 14 min read
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It's summertime, and my Film Critic Shorts are here. They fit, they are on, and I am ready to review four new movies in this week's capsule (short) movie reviews for Friday, June 13th, 2025.
Let me be absolutely clear from the start: I love the original How to Train Your Dragon. The 2010 animated film is not just one of the best DreamWorks has ever produced—it's a modern animated classic.
A gorgeous, funny, emotional, and profound tale about understanding, compassion, and friendship. It's got spectacular action, heartfelt character arcs, a knockout score by John Powell, and some of the best voice acting in animation history.
Jay Baruchel, America Ferrera, Craig Ferguson, and Gerard Butler gave us living, breathing characters with real stakes and soul. That movie flew.
So why on earth are we here?
Why did we need a live-action remake of a movie that is still perfectly fine — even spectacular — in its original form? The answer is simple: money. Disney has been raiding its animated vaults for years, and DreamWorks wants in on that sweet remake cash.
So here it is: the first-ever live-action movie from DreamWorks Animation, How to Train Your Dragon (2025). And just like its inspiration, it's fantasy — but for all the wrong reasons.
The story follows Hiccup, a nerdy, inventive Viking teen from the dragon-ravaged island of Berk, who's constantly disappointing his hulking, warrior father Stoick the Vast.
Instead of killing a downed dragon during a raid, Hiccup secretly befriends it — a feared and rare Night Fury he names Toothless. Hiccup discovers that dragons aren't bloodthirsty monsters but misunderstood creatures through this friendship. This knowledge challenges the entire war-hardened worldview of his people.
It's a great story—full of heart, bravery, and nuance. But here, it's rendered almost entirely lifeless. Why? Because this is a near shot-for-shot remake of the 2010 film. And worse, it loses all the warmth, personality, and emotional impact that made the original special.
Let's talk casting. Mason Thames as Hiccup? I guess he was fine in The Black Phone, but here? He's a charisma vacuum. There's zero weight to his performance. No charm. No presence. No chemistry with anyone, especially Nico Parker's Astrid, who also sleepwalks through her scenes like she's reading cue cards inside a CGI wind tunnel.
Gerard Butler returns as Stoick, and while it's neat to have continuity with the animated series, Butler's live-action presence only emphasizes how much better he worked as a voice actor. His usual overacting tendencies are dialed up to 11, making his performance feel cartoonish — and not in a fun way.
Nick Frost takes over for Craig Ferguson as Gobber the Belch, and I love Frost, I really do. But he's completely misused here - oddly, looking exactly like Timothy Spall -stuck with dialogue that was charming in the original but falls flat in this copy-paste job.
And the rest of the supporting cast? Unmemorable at best, annoying at worst. No one pops. No one surprises. It's like watching cosplayers perform a table read.
Here's the kicker: despite being "live-action," this remake feels more like a cartoon than the 2010 film. Why? Because everything is dialed up — the performances, the blocking, the expressions — as if the director, Dean DeBlois (yes, the same guy behind the original trilogy), forgot he wasn't animating anymore.
The actors emote like they're in a Pixar parody, and every single frame is slathered with CGI so thick you can practically hear the rendering fans whirring.
Flying scenes? Visually competent but joyless. Emotional beats? Robotic. There's no breath between moments, no quiet reflection like the original had.
Remember the first time Hiccup reaches out to Toothless, and the dragon slowly presses his head against his hand? That silent, gentle, goosebump-inducing moment? It's recreated here with about as subtlety as a car alarm.
And that's really the problem. There's no reason this exists beyond wringing dollars out of nostalgia. It's a soulless carbon copy, and it feels like it.
Let's not pretend this wasn't calculated. After years of Disney churning out increasingly forgettable live-action remakes (The Lion King, Aladdin, Snow White, Lilo & Stitch just two weeks ago), DreamWorks wanted in.
The formula is simple: take a beloved animated classic, "upgrade" it with live actors and VFX, slap on the same script, and rake in the cash. It's as cynical as it gets.
And the worst part? It's working. People are showing up. And DreamWorks is already developing two more sequels to continue this unnecessary live-action trilogy. You can practically hear the studio execs counting ticket stubs and patting themselves on the back.
Listen—if you've never seen How to Train Your Dragon, please do yourself a favor and watch the 2010 original. It's stunning, heartfelt, and everything that this new version is not.
There's emotion, comedy, style, and humanity. And it's animated in a way that elevates the story rather than suffocates it with effects and bad acting.
This 2025 remake is the definition of a cash grab. Despite some impressive technical achievements and competent CGI, it's hollow and lifeless—a corporate product disguised as a heartfelt movie.
And until audiences stop showing up for these remakes, they will keep coming.
So, my advice? Don't reward lazy storytelling and soulless marketing. Watch the real thing.
And let Toothless fly the way he was meant to — in the beautiful, breathtaking, emotional world of animation. - ⭐️1/2
Celine Song's follow-up to Past Lives is Materialists, a sleek, New York-set romantic comedy that wants to say something sharp about modern love, late capitalism, and shallow dating culture—but it's a movie that ultimately coasts on its cast rather than carving any new ground.
As someone who didn't fully buy into Past Lives—a film that, despite some emotional resonance, I found manipulative and not nearly as profound as it thought it was—I went into Materialists hoping for growth or at least a different kind of storytelling.
Instead, I got more of the same: a few glimmers of truth smothered by self-important writing and stylistic choices that think they're way cleverer than they are.
Dakota Johnson plays Lucy, a successful matchmaker in New York working for a high-end firm called Adore. She's responsible for helping the city's wealthy and neurotic find "the one"—though "the one" here often means someone who is hot, rich, tall, and has zero body fat.
Lucy is a professional so good at her job that she's racked up nine client marriages, which makes her the company's MVP. But her own love life? Let's just say it's complicated.
Enter Pedro Pascal as Harry, a unicorn in the dating world: wealthy, well-dressed, sensitive, and charming. And just as things begin to click between them, her ex-boyfriend John (played by Chris Evans), a broke actor still living with roommates, pops back into the picture.
Lucy now finds herself in the middle of a rom-com triangle—the hunky working-class ex and the dreamy millionaire new guy. Which one will she choose? Cue flashbacks, long glances, and overcooked metaphors.
The only reason Materialists works at all is because of the three leads, particularly Dakota Johnson. She's the best thing in the movie. Again. I've been championing her for years—from Ben and Kate to The Lost Daughter to last year's Daddio (a performance that should've gotten more awards attention).
She's quietly funny, completely unpretentious, and one of today's most natural screen presences. Even when surrounded by clunky dialogue or weighed down by a director trying too hard, she brings honesty and charisma that's impossible to fake.
Pedro Pascal is reliably great—suave but grounded—and Chris Evans surprises here. He's relaxed, funny, and brings just enough sweetness to make you believe he and Lucy once had genuine affection. The film's best scenes are the ones that let these actors talk and breathe, away from the overwrought setups and visual flourishes.
But let's talk about the actual movie. The bones of Materialists are made of clichés: the broke actor ex, the rich unicorn boyfriend, the cynical single woman whose heart just might soften, the therapy-lite scenes of dating app trauma.
We've seen this movie before—done better, done worse—but what frustrates us is Song's attempt to disguise it as something radical.
The film opens with a caveman proposal—yes, really. Neanderthals, handmade rings, a slow pan across prehistoric love, a metaphor for marriage being a transactional institution since the dawn of time.
It's also unnecessary, heavy-handed, and not nearly as clever as Song thinks it is. She uses similar symbolic bookends to try to elevate the story into something mythic, but instead, it just distracts from the real human interactions between the characters.
Then, there are the flashbacks between Lucy and John in their earlier struggling days, which show us how far she's come and how torn she is. But we get it: " Remember how poor he was?" and "Remember how unhappy you were?" Redundancy is not insight.
To be fair, Materialists does have moments that hit. The scene where Lucy talks a bride with cold feet off a ledge is smart and surprisingly moving. A visit to John's off-off-Broadway play that parodies bad New York theater is hilarious and sharply observed.
There's even a fun little Easter egg: some of Celine Song's real-life theater posters appear in the background of that scene, which is set in a venue where her own plays were once performed. That kind of insider wink works well.
But tonal inconsistency plagues the film. The sleek, high-gloss Manhattan scenes don't mesh with the grungy chaos of John's apartment or the sudden pivot into darker territory when one of Lucy's matchmaking efforts goes horribly wrong.
That subplot, involving a traumatic experience for a client, is handled so clumsily and vaguely that it feels out of place like it wandered in from another movie entirely.
Even Pedro Pascal's character—who we're supposed to see as layered and complex—gets saddled with a plot point involving elective leg-lengthening surgery. Seriously. The guy had his legs broken to be taller, and it's treated like a passing quirk rather than an exploration of self-image or insecurity. It's just there to say, "Hey, look, even unicorns have flaws." It doesn't land.
Materialists wants to be an incisive satire of modern dating culture and a heartfelt love triangle all at once. And while it occasionally succeeds in either lane, it rarely does both at the same time.
The writing is self-consciously clever, but the metaphors are clunky, and the flashbacks and bookends are unnecessary. The whole thing feels like an indie film trying to prove it's smarter than it really is.
But again, the cast—especially Dakota Johnson—elevates the material. If there's any reason to see Materialists, it's to watch great actors do their best with an overwritten script.
Johnson, Evans, and Pascal inject charm, vulnerability, and even some magic into a film that otherwise feels like a half-baked therapy session about status and dating.
Celine Song may have her fans, and she clearly has a voice that some people are connecting with, but I'm still not sold.
Materialists is slightly better than Past Lives, but that's not saying much. This is a mostly forgettable rom-com with occasional sparks that flicker out as quickly as they arrive. - ⭐️⭐️
Every once in a while, a movie sneaks up on you — no fanfare, media blitz, or early buzz — and ends up being a real gem. The Unholy Trinity is exactly that kind of film.
A modestly budgeted Western that arrived quietly and hit me like a welcome gust of fresh Montana air. I knew nothing about it going in — I hadn't seen a trailer, hadn't even really heard much chatter — and it came out and reminded me why I love Westerns so damn much.
Set in 1880s Montana (a picturesque, dusty, and beautifully photographed version of it), The Unholy Trinity kicks off with the hanging of Isaac Broadway (played by the always reliable Tim Daly in a brief but pivotal appearance).
His estranged son Henry (Brandon Lessard, delivering a breakout performance) shows up not to stop the hanging but to watch it, indicating how complicated their relationship was. Before dying, Isaac charges Henry with a task: track down and kill the man who framed him.
Henry's search takes him to the remote, corruption-soaked town of Trinity, where things spiral into a tangled web of buried gold, secrets, and grudges. There, he meets Gabriel Dove (Pierce Brosnan), the newly minted, morally ambiguous sheriff, and a mysterious stranger named St. Christopher (Samuel L. Jackson), a man with a past that intersects with Henry's family in surprising and poignant ways.
We get gunfights, saloons, corrupt officials, prostitutes with hearts (and secrets) of gold, buried treasure, betrayal, redemption, and plenty of bloodshed. If that sounds like a checklist of Western tropes — it is. But damn if they aren't done with care, intelligence, and style.
This is not a reinvention of the Western—it's a love letter to it. Director Richard Gray and screenwriter Lee Zachariah aren't trying to subvert or redefine the genre. Instead, they embrace it and respect it.
Everything feels handcrafted with a reverence for classic Western storytelling, from the sweeping cinematography to the terrific score to the dusty production design. And that makes all the difference.
Yes, the material treads familiar ground, but the execution is sharp. There's real tension here, a surprisingly emotional core, and some genuinely shocking narrative turns that hit with impact—particularly a violent moment involving a prostitute, a shootout, and a major misunderstanding that flips the narrative on its head and sends Henry running for his life with Jackson's enigmatic character by his side.
That dynamic — the older, wiser (but secretly manipulative) mentor and the young man on a mission — crackles with tension and unresolved trauma. It's great stuff.
The cast is across-the-board solid. David Arquette hams it up with glee. Gianni Capaldi and Ethan Peck chew the scenery as some of the nastier villains. Q'orianka Kilcher is a standout — and it's just great to see her again in a major role similar to her powerful debut in Malick's The New World. She brings gravitas and quiet strength to her role that lingers.
Tim Daly, in limited screen time, reminds us why he's such a dependable presence. And Brandon Lessard brings a grounded intensity to Henry that makes you care about his arc — his grief, his guilt, his search for justice.
But let's not kid ourselves: this movie belongs to Pierce Brosnan.
Look — Brosnan has always been a class act. He's played Bond. He's done thrillers. He's done musicals. He's been slick, charming, dangerous, and funny. But this? This might be one of the richest, most quietly commanding performances he's ever given.
His Sheriff Dove is layered, mysterious, and decent but flawed. For a while, we don't know what side he's really on—and Brosnan plays that ambiguity perfectly. He's calm and calculating, but he always gives you the sense that he's one wrong glance away from exploding.
He's the moral anchor of a morally corrupt town, and he wears that weight with real depth. The accent work is spot-on. The physicality — weary but alert — is fantastic. He's just terrific here. If this were a higher-profile film, I'd say awards chatter should be in the mix.
The final stretch of The Unholy Trinity delivers something most modern Westerns forget to provide: an emotional payoff. Throughout the film, Henry carries around his father's ashes — both literally and metaphorically.
And where that subplot goes is quietly powerful and beautifully shot. The last scene, featuring those ashes and a literal ride into the sunset, may sound cliché. But when done right? A cliché can feel classic. And this ending feels classic.
Is the film perfect? No. It doesn't break new ground. It plays familiar chords. But it plays them well — like a band that knows exactly how to hit the emotional notes in a way that resonates.
The Unholy Trinity is a smart, gorgeously shot, well-acted Western with real heart and weight. It treats its audience—and its genre—with respect. In a time when Westerns are rare, it's a welcome throwback that still manages to feel vital.
So saddle up and check this one out. You'll get buried gold, unburied secrets, righteous revenge, and one of the best Pierce Brosnan performances in years. For fans of the genre (and anyone who wants a good, solid movie), The Unholy Trinity is absolutely worth your time.
And hey — pair it with Walter Hill's Dead for a Dollar for one hell of a double feature. You can thank me later. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2
There are a lot of political documentaries out there. Some are dry and academic, others are glorified puff pieces meant to bolster a public image. But occasionally, one comes along that actually matters — that digs deeper than just policy bullet points and partisan victories and paints a deeply human portrait of what it really means to lead in the modern world.
Prime Minister, the new documentary about Jacinda Ardern, New Zealand's former head of government, is one of those rare films.
Running just over 100 minutes, Prime Minister is an intimate, often shockingly personal account of Ardern's time in office from 2017 to her unexpected resignation in 2023.
It's co-directed by Lindsay Utz (who edited the fantastic American Factory) and Michelle Walshe. It features unprecedented access to both the public and private moments of Ardern's life — thanks mainly to her husband, Clarke Gayford, a former TV host who co-produced the film and shot tons of home video footage during their years together.
That combination—the archive access, the contemporaneous diary recordings, and the intimate, raw family footage—gives the film a unique emotional gravity. It's not just a highlight reel of policy wins and photo ops. It's a real, unfiltered look at a woman juggling extraordinary global crises, motherhood, and political pressure, all while being scrutinized in ways that male leaders never are.
The film opens not with political bombast or a sweeping speech but with Ardern quietly walking her daughter to school in Massachusetts. This simple image instantly sets the tone: this is a story about a person, not just a politician.
We see her in crisis — dealing with the horrific Christchurch mosque shooting, the Whakaari/White Island volcanic eruption, and, of course, the COVID-19 pandemic. But we also see her being — being a mom, being exhausted, being furious behind closed doors, being joyful, being unsure.
And it's that blend that makes Prime Minister so compelling. Yes, we get the big moments — the post-Christchurch address, the decisive (and controversial) COVID lockdowns, the landmark gun control laws. But we also get to see the toll it takes. The pressure. The loneliness. The second-guessing. This is the real behind-the-scenes access that most political docs promise but rarely deliver.
Now, let's be honest: this documentary isn't perfect. There are a few places where it plays things too safe. Ardern's falling approval ratings and some of the more contentious decisions she made toward the end of her tenure are a bit glossed over.
Her resignation, while addressed, doesn't dive as deeply into the political climate and challenges surrounding it as one might hope. So yeah, if you're looking for a balanced, hard-hitting exposé, this isn't quite that.
But does it still work? Absolutely.
Some critics may argue this leans toward puff piece territory—and sure, Ardern's team had control over much of the material. But dismissing the film entirely as propaganda is to miss the bigger picture.
Even if some of the tougher angles are avoided, what's here is still emotionally resonant and incredibly revealing. There's real value in showing a politician — particularly a female politician — as human, empathetic, flawed, and deeply committed to doing the right thing.
Prime Minister is not your typical "talking head" political doc. There are no endless panels of analysts, no dry recitations of policy numbers. It's constructed with emotion and momentum. The editing is sharp, the use of home video is natural and unforced, and the structure — bouncing between her time in office and her reflections after stepping down — works beautifully.
Most importantly, it's not about building a myth. It's about showing a human being under pressure, trying to lead a country through tragedy and turbulence without losing her soul. And yeah, that might not be revolutionary, but it's damn refreshing.
I really liked this film. I liked it a lot. It's smart, it's moving, it's educational, and — maybe most importantly — it's real. And in a time when politics feels more cynical and performative than ever, a movie like Prime Minister reminds us what actual leadership, compassion, and decency can look like. Even if it's not the whole story, it's a necessary one.
Go see this movie. Especially if you're interested in politics, global leadership, how women navigate power, or just in good documentary filmmaking. This is one of the better docs of the year and a much-needed reminder of what kindness in power can actually achieve. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2
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