CAPSULE MOVIE REVIEWS: 7-11-25

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I enjoy wearing nice pants, but it's staying warm out there, so how about some shorts? Some Film Critic Shorts? They fit. They are on, and I am ready to review four new movies in this week's capsule (short) movie reviews for Friday, July 11th, 2025.

1) SUPERMAN

If you've listened to me over the years or read anything I've written here, you know this: I am not a comic book guy.

I didn't grow up reading them, I don't get excited when a new superhero movie drops, and I absolutely do not care about multiverses, extended universes, or post-credit scene breadcrumbs.

In fact, these factory-assembled comic book movies usually make me angry. They're built not to tell stories but to get you to fork over another $15 for the next one. Characters die just to be brought back via multiverse loopholes or "alternate timelines." It's cynical IP recycling at its finest.

That said, every now and then, a film sneaks through that actually works. Logan did. Matt Reeves' The Batman did.

But Superman (2025), the latest bloated reboot from James Gunn, isn't just another entry in a tired genre—it might be one of the worst superhero movies I've ever seen. Yes, even worse than Quest for Peace.

From the first frame, Superman screams, "TOO MUCH." Gunn clearly threw everything he had—and then some—at the wall, hoping it'd stick. Spoiler: none of it does. The movie is stuffed with tonal whiplash, political posturing, sitcom-level slapstick, and more CGI than a Pixar film on bath salts.

It wants to be fifteen things at once: a gritty reboot, a heartfelt immigrant allegory, a zany satire, a nostalgic homage to Richard Donner's original, a political thriller, and a bombastic superhero epic. The result is a complete mess.

There's an attempt at a serious arc. Clark Kent (David Corenswet) is navigating his identity as a Kryptonian raised in Kansas while falling for his Daily Planet colleague Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan). But whatever emotional stakes might've existed are immediately drowned in an avalanche of absurdity.

One minute, Superman is delivering speeches about truth and justice, and the next, he's trading quips with a sarcastic CGI dog named Krypto, who's easily one of the most obnoxious computer-generated characters I've seen in years.

There are so many subplots that I lost count. There's something about Lex Luthor (a bored-looking Nicholas Hoult) controlling a tech-driven Justice Gang, a fictional Eastern European war, a shady government organization, and interdimensional rifts that open up the multiverse.

Every five minutes, a new hero or villain drops in—Hawkgirl, Green Lantern (Nathan Fillion with a bowl cut), Mr. Terrific, Metamorpho, Supergirl, The Engineer?!—and yet none of them matter. They're walking action figures thrown into a narrative blender.

Gunn's usual snarky, irreverent tone worked well in Guardians of the Galaxy. It doesn't work here. In Superman, he tries to juggle goofball comedy with geopolitical war commentary and heartfelt family drama with giant CGI kaiju fights. He throws in a few nods to All-Star Superman while he's at it.

It's chaos. There's no cohesion, no rhythm, just noise—literal and figurative. It's like watching a filmmaker burn a $200 million budget just to see what it looks like on fire.

He even throws in John Williams' classic Superman theme, hoping to coast on nostalgia. But instead of stirring up warm feelings, it just reminds you how much better previous versions were—yes, even the ones from the '80s that featured nuclear arms plots and bad wigs.

David Corenswet's Superman is… fine, I guess? He does what he can with what he's given, but the dialogue is so stiff and flat you can see him struggling to make it sound human. His emotional conflict—was I sent to Earth to save it or to rule it? It feels like a half-baked idea from an abandoned Man of Steel 2 draft.

Rachel Brosnahan tries her best as Lois Lane, but she's stuck doing a half-Maisel cadence with nothing clever to say. Nicholas Hoult's Lex Luthor? All bark, no menace. He yells out tactics like a bored Twitch streamer.

And as for the Justice Gang? Paper-thin sketches of characters who exist solely to tease future movies I hope never get made.

Superman (2025) is loud, bloated, soulless, and exhausting. It's an example of what happens when a studio gives a filmmaker total creative control with no brakes and too much budget.

Gunn may love comic books, but love isn't enough. This isn't a movie. It's a brand activation. It's a content dump. It's a 2-hour and 9-minute sugar rush of bad ideas, shallow spectacle, and hollow emotion.

Side note: James Gunn has never even come close to making a better film than his debut, the terrific 2006 horror/comedy Slither, and he probably never will.

The worst part? People will still see it. It'll make money. And we'll get more. Because these movies aren't about storytelling anymore. They're about churning out IP with just enough nostalgia and manufactured sentiment to keep the assembly line moving.

I didn't laugh. I didn't care. I didn't buy any of it. This is the Superman movie no one asked for—and it shows. - ⭐️

2) SOVEREIGN

Every so often, a film comes along that crawls under your skin—not just because of how skillfully it's made, but because of how frighteningly real it feels. Sovereign, the debut feature from writer-director Christian Swegal, is one of those movies.

It's timely, potent, incredibly well-acted, and—most disturbingly—terrifying in how closely it mirrors our current world. And yes, I'm calling it now: Nick Offerman delivers the best performance of his career. Period.

Based on the actual events surrounding the 2010 West Memphis police shootings, Sovereign focuses on Jerry Kane (Offerman) and his son Joe (Jacob Tremblay), two self-declared Sovereign Citizens traveling across the country, preaching anti-government ideology and living entirely off the grid.

Kane is a deeply committed believer in the warped, pseudo-legal gospel of sovereign ideology—using terms like "conveyances" instead of cars and clinging to ideas like the "strawman theory" with religious zeal. His son, Joe, is caught in the middle—torn between loyalty to his father and his desire for a more normal life.

Their journey takes a tragic turn when a run-in with law enforcement spirals out of control, putting them at odds with former police chief John Bouchart (Dennis Quaid) and his son Adam (Thomas Mann). As ideologies collide and a manhunt unfolds, the film becomes a harrowing examination of extremist belief, fractured masculinity, and the generational rot that can take root in the name of "freedom."

Nick Offerman's been great for years. You know him as Ron Swanson from Parks and Rec, and you've seen him stretch those dramatic muscles more recently in The Last of Us (in an episode that frankly should've won him every award).

But nothing he's done before touches what he does here. His Jerry Kane is an unnerving mix of homespun charisma and deep-seated psychosis. It's terrifying because you believe him. He's not some cackling villain twirling a mustache—he's a man who sincerely thinks he's doing right, even as he's circling the drain of madness.

There's a monologue he gives in a VFW hall that sent chills down my spine—not just because of the words, but because of the absolute conviction with which Offerman delivers them. This is a performance that deserves serious awards consideration.

Sadly, because Sovereign is a smaller film and won't be playing on 4,000 screens, I'm afraid Offerman might not get the recognition he deserves. But trust me, this is Oscar-worthy work.

Tremblay, who blew everyone away back in Room, delivers one of his most mature and nuanced performances to date. He plays Joe as a kid trying desperately to stay loyal to a father he knows is slipping away, and his silent, wide-eyed expressions say more than pages of dialogue ever could. It's a heartbreaking turn that's going to usher him into a whole new level of roles.

And while this is mostly Offerman and Tremblay's show, the supporting cast is loaded with heavy hitters. Dennis Quaid—reliably tough and steely—gives a grounded performance as a father struggling to push his son into the mold of hyper-masculinity.

Martha Plimpton is quietly devastating in her limited screen time. And Nancy Travis, who's been mostly MIA from the big screen for years, turns in a lovely and welcome performance that reminds us why she was such a strong presence in films back in the '90s. (Remember Internal Affairs? She was great in that.)

Sovereign doesn't spoon-feed you anything. It's an intense, serious, sometimes uncomfortable film that doesn't flinch away from the ugliness of its subject. It touches on extremism, conspiracy, trauma, disillusionment, and the dangerous allure of fringe ideologies.

Yes, it flirts with the idea of being propaganda in places, but Swegal mostly avoids painting in absolutes. There's a strong through-line of patriarchal collapse here—a bleak portrait of fathers failing sons and sons being left to pick up the pieces of broken ideologies and lives.

Sure, it's not perfect.

You could argue the movie oversimplifies how people fall into this kind of madness. And it doesn't quite dig deep enough into the systemic reasons people buy into conspiratorial garbage.

But honestly? That's not the story this movie is trying to tell. At its core, this is a chamber piece about two families spiraling toward disaster—each shaped by their own misguided notions of manhood, freedom, and loyalty.

Sovereign isn't for everyone. It's a dark, difficult, and solemn piece of work. But if you're willing to go there, it's also one of the most rewarding and powerful dramas of the year. It might not be loud enough to break through the noise of bigger summer releases, but that doesn't make it any less essential.

Christian Swegal shows incredible promise as a filmmaker, Jacob Tremblay grows up before our eyes, and Nick Offerman—holy hell—proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's one of the best actors working today. Seek this one out. You won't regret it. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2

3) SKILLHOUSE

Skillhouse is not a good movie. It's barely a movie. It's essentially Saw with ring lights and Instagram bios. This uninspired knockoff tries to be socially relevant by stapling "commentary" about influencer culture to a cheap, gory horror chassis.

And yet, in some strange, twisted, late-capitalist, screen-fatigued way…I kind of had a little fun with it.

In the grand tradition of torture porn horror, Skillhouse throws ten obnoxious influencers into a "content house" (because, of course) where their survival depends on likes, shares, and follower counts.

Every social media failure gets you a one-way ticket to being violently executed by a masked maniac called the Triller Killer. That's right. You post, or you die.

The audience? They're betting on your demise and getting off on every drop of clout-blood spilled. Death is monetized. Fame is literal currency. Welcome to hell.

The premise, at least in theory, is ripe for the kind of vicious satire we could use right now. But in execution? It's mostly dumb. Not "fun dumb." Just dumb dumb. Still, there are moments.

First up: 50 Cent. He's in this. Doing what exactly? Not sure. Standing around and cashing a check, I assume. Neal McDonough shows up, too, doing his usual serious villain thing with that icy stare he perfected years ago. He's always reliable, even in dreck like this.

And then you've got Bryce Hall and Hannah Stocking—actual influencers playing influencers. Let's just say Daniel Day-Lewis has nothing to worry about.

This is a film where "being famous on the Internet" is apparently a skill set. Spoiler: It's not.

Watching these people try to act their way through scenes of agony and terror is unintentionally hilarious. They're about as convincing as a LinkedIn motivational speaker at a hostage negotiation.

So basically, this is a Saw movie in TikTok drag. The characters are dropped into elaborate, over-the-top death traps, and the kills come with Rube Goldberg levels of sadism. Some of it is graphic. Some of it is funny. Most of it is predictable.

The violence is the same kind of gimmicky, moralistic brutality we've seen eleven times before in the Saw franchise—except this time, the victims are people who think "content creation" is a personality.

And I'll admit: There was a dark, satisfying edge to seeing influencers get ripped apart. If you're sick of "I quit sugar for 24 hours" videos or TikTokers pretending to review movies, then watching these morons scream in terror as their follower counts drop is its own weirdly therapeutic experience.

The film tries to position itself as a satire of influencer culture, but its critique barely rises above the level of a YouTube comment section. Yes, we get it: social media is toxic. Influencers are shallow. People are addicted to fame.

We've seen Black Mirror, we've read The Onion, and we've lived through the last decade of online idiocy. This movie doesn't say anything new—or say it well.

The script by Josh Stolberg (Spiral, Saw X) has a few flashes of cleverness but mostly recycles the same themes horror has already bled dry: vanity, narcissism, and desperation for relevance. And while it wants to be smart, it ends up feeling like a bad parody written by someone who's just a little too enamored with the world he's trying to critique.

Now, here's where I go off the rails a bit: I've been reviewing movies for 40 years. And it kills me—kills me—that in 2025, we're living in a world where the opinions of influencers are considered just as valid as actual critics.

People who have never studied film and never written an essay longer than a tweet are suddenly being handed press passes and interviews. What the hell happened?

The rise of influencer culture has not only dumbed down entertainment—it's turned film discourse into a digital circus. So yeah, watching these frauds get diced and filleted in Skillhouse might not be high art, but at least it scratches a very particular itch.

Skillhouse is bad. Flat-out bad. It's a recycled knockoff of better (though still not great) horror films. The satire is shallow. The characters are cardboard. The acting is barely acting. And yet… there's a bizarre, perverse glee in seeing its obnoxious subjects get exactly what they deserve.

Would I recommend it? Not really. But if you've got a dark streak and a healthy hatred of influencer culture, there are worse ways to spend 90 minutes. Just don't expect anything smart, scary, or truly original.

Because, in the end, Skillhouse is just another post in the endless scroll of social media nonsense. One that'll be forgotten in 24 hours…just like your average TikTok trend. - ⭐️⭐️

4) ABRAHAM'S BOYS: A DRACULA STORY

Every once in a while, a horror film creeps up on you—not with sharp fangs or sudden jump scares, but with an unexpected, moody atmosphere that sinks in slowly. Abraham's Boys: A Dracula Story is that kind of film.

It's not your typical Dracula spin-off, and it's sure as hell not the fang-flashing, gore-drenched vampire flick a lot of audiences might expect. But you know what? That's exactly what makes it kind of fascinating.

Set in 1915 California, this quiet little horror tale follows a post-Dracula Abraham Van Helsing (Titus Welliver, grizzled and solid), now living in rural seclusion with his wife Mina (Jocelin Donahue and we'll get to her brilliance in a minute) and their two sons, Max and Rudy.

Abraham is a cold, emotionally distant man, haunted by his past and wary of outsiders. Mina is falling apart—plagued by visions, paranoia, and illness. Max, the elder son, senses something is deeply wrong and begins digging into his father's mysterious past.

It's not long before suspicions grow, strangers show up on the property, the past creeps back into view, and Van Helsing's quiet new life begins to unravel. But don't expect a horde of vampires or a big final boss Dracula fight. This movie is playing a different game entirely.

The film is based on a very short story by Joe Hill (yes, that Joe Hill—The Black Phone, Heart-Shaped Box, and oh yeah, Stephen King's kid). But the story is really just the skeleton here.

Director Natasha Kermani (who also wrote the script) fleshes it out into a slow-burn mood piece that's less about Dracula and more about legacy, repression, fear, and the quiet psychological decay that passes through generations like a curse.

You can feel the influence of classic horror literature, but this isn't a Victorian tale. It's California Gothic. It's sunlit horror. It's Western meets melancholy family drama with blood in its bones.

And it's got a real unique look—shot in a tight 4:3 aspect ratio that makes every frame feel a little more claustrophobic, even when we're outdoors. Kermani uses the square frame like a haunted picture window, framing a family falling apart in quiet, eerie ways.

As far as the performances are concerned, Jocelin Donahue absolutely crushes it. A veteran of many horror films in the past, her work here as Mina is the standout. She's terrifying, but not in a possessed-demon-screaming-into-the-camera kind of way.

It's all in the eyes. The weariness. The subtle twitchiness. She plays haunted like it's a full-body experience but never overplays it. This is horror acting with real gravity. Donahue gives one of the best horror performances of the year, no question. She elevates the entire movie.

Titus Welliver brings a gravel-throated weariness to Van Helsing. He's convincing as a man who's seen too much, done too much, and now carries the weight of all of it in silence.

The two kids—Brady Hepner and Judah Mackey—do what they can, but their storyline is where the movie sometimes stumbles. The writing between the brothers feels a little undercooked, and their scenes lack the spark that Donahue brings so naturally.

If you go into Abraham's Boys expecting blood-soaked vampire mayhem, you're going to be disappointed. This isn't Renfield. It's not Last Voyage of the Demeter. It's not Nosferatu. Hell, it barely even qualifies as a vampire movie in the traditional sense.

It's really a film about dread, guilt, and generational trauma disguised as a supernatural thriller. It's about sins passed from father to son and the psychological toll of carrying a past that you can't explain, let alone shake.

It's slow. Sometimes too slow. And yes, the script has weak spots—especially the final horror/action sequence that's meant to be the climax. Honestly, it kind of fizzles. It's clunky and lacks the punch it should have.

But everything before that? Moody, thoughtful, unsettling. The house becomes a character. The surrounding landscape feels isolating and shrinking like the world is slowly caving in on this family. And Kermani's choice to keep so much of the horror off-screen? That's a gamble. But I think it mostly works.

The cinematography by Julia Swain is stunning. It's rich, golden, dust-covered, and drenched in melancholy. It feels like Terrence Malick made a vampire-adjacent film, and honestly, that's awesome. It's all about tone. The homestead is rustic and remote, the lighting naturalistic, and the composition precise.

There's a dream sequence or two that dips into more overt horror territory, but they're fleeting. The film lives and breathes in its restraint. This is a horror movie about quiet things: rustling leaves, closed doors, long stares, whispered conversations, secrets never told. That's the horror here. Not fangs. Not jump scares. Silence.

This isn't a great movie. But it is a good movie. An interesting one. A film that goes out of its way to be original, to take a well-worn mythos and do something totally unexpected with it. That gets points in my book.

Yes, the pacing is a little wonky. Yes, the sons' performances and story arcs don't quite hold up. Yes, the final horror action beat is clumsy and underwhelming. But the craftsmanship is real. The performances (especially Donahue's) are powerful. And the mood? Thick as fog rolling in from the graveyard.

This is a film made for a very specific kind of horror fan. The ones who like their scares slow and psychological. The ones who understand that sometimes the quietest horror cuts the deepest. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️

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