YNOT at the Movies

Following his breakout hit "Barbarian" (2022), writer-director Zach Cregger returns with "Weapons" (USA 2025 | 128 min.), a gripping and ingeniously crafted thriller that surpasses its predecessor in both ambition and execution. Suspenseful, eerie, unexpectedly hilarious, and wildly entertaining, "Weapons" firmly establishes Zach Cregger as one of the most compelling filmmakers in horror today.

The story begins with a chilling mystery: Justine (Julia Garner), an elementary school teacher, arrives at school to discover her entire class missing except for one boy, Alex (Cary Christopher). Archer (Josh Brolin), a distraught and furious father, sets out to find his child when the authorities fail to provide answers. Paul (Alden Ehrenreich), a recently sobered police officer, finds himself pulled into the case. Marcus (Benedict Wong), the school principal, tries to keep order as the situation spirals.

The film is structured as a series of character-titled chapters, with each section told from that character's point of view. Rather than isolating its characters into standalone episodes, the film uses this shifting perspective to expand and intensify the central mystery. As each chapter unfolds, new questions emerge, and what once seemed clear becomes unsettling. The narrative keeps evolving without losing momentum, pulling the audience deeper into a story that becomes stranger, scarier, and more compelling the further it goes. The ensemble cast brings conviction and complexity to every scene, adding tension and weight to the unraveling story.

Much of the film's creepiness comes from what isn't shown. Cregger and cinematographer Larkin Seiple often allow the camera to sit still, letting the frame breathe while building unease. A window, a doorway, or an empty street becomes a source of dread simply by how long the shot holds. This deliberate camera work invites the audience to imagine what might be just out of sight, and that uncertainty becomes part of the fear.

Cregger also infuses the film with sharp, unexpected humor and bursts of gore, making it as entertaining as it is disturbing. The absurdity never dilutes the horror—it enhances it, catching the audience off guard and keeping the tone unpredictable. The film manages to be playful without ever losing its bite.

Rich in atmosphere and full of surprises, "Weapons" is a bold and exhilarating ride from beginning to end. With this film, Zach Cregger proves he's a filmmaker with vision and nerve, unafraid to take horror in wild new directions.

"Weapons" opens in theaters on Friday, August 8, 2025.

Seen individually, each film in writer-director Dag Johan Haugerud's Oslo trilogy—"Sex" (2024), "Love" (2024), and "Dreams" (2025)—stands on its own as a thoughtful portrait of people navigating love, intimacy, and self-understanding. But experienced together—as audiences in San Francisco will be able to do this August and September at the Roxie Theater—they form a quietly remarkable whole: not a traditional narrative trilogy, but a thematic one, bound by conversation, curiosity, and emotional honesty.

The films aren't connected by plot or character, but by a shared interest in how people try (and often fail) to articulate what they want. In "Sex," two men reconsider the meaning of fidelity, desire, and masculinity after unexpected experiences shake their assumptions. In "Love," a pragmatic doctor and a warm-hearted nurse challenge ideas of emotional and physical intimacy. And in "Dreams," a teenage girl's infatuation with her teacher sets off a ripple effect across three generations of women, each reflecting on their own past and present desires.

All three films are built around dialogue, and Dag Johan Haugerud's writing captures the rhythms of real conversation—hesitations, contradictions, people talking their way into and out of understanding. The films unfold through careful listening, not dramatic conflict, with emotional shifts that feel earned and deeply human.

The Oslo Trilogy screens at the Roxie Theater as part of a limited series:

• "Love" on Tuesday, August 12, 2025 at 6pm
• "Sex" on Tuesday, September 2, 2025 at 6pm
• "Dreams" on Friday, September 19, 2025 at 6pm, followed by a Q&A with writer-director Dag Johan Haugerud in person

It's a rare opportunity to see these three intimate, idea-rich films together, on the big screen, with the filmmaker present to discuss his process. Taken as a whole, the trilogy offers no moral judgments, no easy resolutions, just the suggestion that listening, questioning, and remaining open to change might be more powerful than any fixed idea of love, sex, or identity.

Here are my reviews of the three films.

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Reboots are tricky business, especially when the original is a cult classic built on a razor-sharp blend of parody, slapstick, and deadpan perfection. That's the tightrope "The Naked Gun" (USA 2025 | 85 min.) walks as it attempts to revive one of the most beloved spoof franchises of all time.

Director Akiva Schaffer's reboot walks a fine line between affectionate homage and overstuffed misfire. While the film makes some thoughtful nods to the original—including casting the sons of the iconic characters in the same roles—it struggles to match the sharp wit and rapid-fire brilliance that made the 1988 film a classic.

Frank Drebin Jr. (Liam Neeson), the son of the legendary Police Squad officer, is now a detective himself, tasked with saving the world from a tech billionaire's diabolical plan. His mission: stop Richard Cane (Danny Huston), a cigar-smoking throwback villain with a scheme involving a "P.L.O.T. Device" meant to incite chaos and usher in his version of a better society. As Frank stumbles through increasingly ludicrous situations such as high-stakes interrogations, chaotic investigations, and awkward dates, he is joined by love interest Beth Davenport (Pamela Anderson) and loyal partner Ed Hocken Jr. (Paul Walter Hauser).

Liam Neeson brings a heavyweight presence, but he plays Frank with such sincerity and seriousness that it undercuts the silliness around him. He's game for the absurdity, but he approaches each moment as if he's still in a gritty thriller, which saps the comedic tension instead of enhancing it. It's a bold casting choice that doesn't quite pay off.

Paul Walter Hauser, an actor with proven comic range, isn't given enough to do playing as Frank's loyal partner. His chemistry with Liam Neeson is promising, and he delivers when called upon, but he's too often sidelined. A missed opportunity.

Pamela Anderson, on the other hand, strikes a careful balance between sultry and silly, channeling old-school noir glamour with a touch of modern sincerity. She never pushes too hard for laughs, and that restraint gives her scenes an unexpected charm.

The film has its moments. A few visual gags and silly one-liners hit their marks, and there's some joy in watching practical effects and in-camera stunts executed with care. But the physical comedy never reaches the inspired mayhem of the original, and several set pieces feel like sketches in search of a punchline.

The plot tries to spoof modern tech paranoia, but it quickly veers into nonsense. Even though the movie leans into the ridiculous, the story lacks the internal logic that made earlier spoof comedies work. That said, a handful of sharp lines and clever sight gags provide momentary laughs.

There's plenty of love for the franchise in this film, and the decision to pass the torch from father to son, both in story and casting, is a nice touch. But homage can only carry a film so far. "The Naked Gun" has flashes of fun, but overall, the movie comes up short.

"The Naked Gun" opens in theaters on Friday, August 1, 2025.

Marvel's "The Fantastic Four: First Steps" (USA 2025 | 115 min.) arrives with bold design and cosmic stakes, but beneath its impressive surface, it feels strangely hollow. For all the vintage sci-fi flair and world-ending peril, the film rarely connects on an emotional level—even when Reed and Sue are forced to consider the unthinkable: sacrificing their newborn child to save the planet.

Set in a vibrant 1960s-inspired, retro-futuristic world, the film introduces Marvel's First Family—Reed Richards/Mister Fantastic (Pedro Pascal), Sue Storm/Invisible Woman (Vanessa Kirby), Johnny Storm/Human Torch (Joseph Quinn), and Ben Grimm/The Thing (Ebon Moss-Bachrach)—as they face off against Galactus (Ralph Ineson), a cosmic god intent on consuming Earth, and his mysterious messenger, Shalla-Bal /Silver Surfer (Julia Garner). The stakes become heartbreakingly personal when Galactus offers to spare Earth, only if Reed and Sue surrender their newborn child.

As expected in a superhero movie, the visual design is often impressive. Chrome-heavy laboratories, neon-lit spacecraft, and space-age-inspired interiors give the film a distinctive look that feels pulled from vintage comic book pages. But the highly stylized aesthetic lacks texture, making the world feel artificial rather than immersive. The environments may be vivid, but they rarely feel real.

That same flatness affects the characters. While the cast is strong on paper, their performances are undercut by thin writing and shallow dynamics. Reed and Sue share little chemistry, and their scenes lack dramatic weight, even given the gravity of the dilemma they face.

The film hints at themes of sacrifice, duty, and the strain of balancing heroism with family, but rarely allows these ideas to land. Even the central moral crisis is rushed through, treated more as a plot device than a character-defining moment. What should be deeply unsettling ends up feeling oddly procedural.

"The Fantastic Four: First Steps" reboots Marvel's First Family with confidence in its style but a lack of storytelling depth. The characters may be familiar, but this version struggles to make them matter. It's bold in appearance, but emotionally under powered.

"The Fantastic Four: First Steps" opens in theaters on Friday, July 25, 2025.

Strap in: "Eddington" (USA 2025 | 148 min.) is a wild, unhinged ride that skewers societal absurdities with fearless, razor-sharp wit. Writer-director Ari Aster's latest is a sprawling, darkly funny, and deeply unsettling state-of-the-nation epic that reimagines the Western as a cracked mirror held up to American dysfunction.

Set in the fictional town of Eddington, New Mexico, during the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic, the story centers on small-town sheriff Joe Cross (Joaquin Phoenix), who finds himself in open conflict with the town's progressive mayor, Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal), over plans to build a massive data center. But what begins as a local power struggle soon ignites wider tensions. With lockdowns in effect, tempers flaring, and national protests simmering across screens and streets, the town is swept into a wave of unrest. As social divisions harden and conspiracies bloom, the citizens of Eddington fall into factions, feuds, and free fall, until the chaos erupts in an absurd, shocking climax that feels both inevitable and utterly deranged.

Director Ari Aster populates the town with a volatile mix of characters: restless teenagers trying on activism like a new identity, deputies entangled in personal and political rivalries, a tribal sheriff watching warily from the margins, and a raving outcast who becomes an accidental oracle. The result is not just a narrative of collapse, but a chaotic mosaic of fear, self-righteousness, and the desperate need to be heard.

Filmed on location in southern New Mexico, the film is visually arresting. Darius Khondji's cinematography captures the stark beauty of the Southwest while transforming the town into a surreal stage for American unraveling. The physical spaces—overstuffed homes, decaying storefronts, impromptu protest sites—feel both intimately real and eerily symbolic.

Though there are moments of absurdity and sharp comedy, Aster never loses sight of what's at stake. The film refuses to flatten its characters into simple stereotypes; instead, it digs into how isolation, economic anxiety, and online feedback loops turn ordinary people into extremists, or casualties. As protests swell and misinformation seeps into family living rooms, "Eddington" lays bare the fragmentation of shared reality in a country more connected and more divided than ever.

This is Ari Aster's most expansive and most urgent film to date. "Eddington" doesn't tie things up neatly, it lets the chaos speak.

"Eddington" opens in theaters on Friday, July 18, 2025.

What happens when a child tries to make sense of a world unraveling around her? In "Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight" (South Africa 2024 | 98 min.), director Embeth Davidtz turns that question into a piercing and unforgettable debut. Adapted from Alexandra Fuller's acclaimed memoir, the film captures a young girl's experience of war, grief, and inherited prejudice with clarity and emotional precision. Told entirely from a child's point of view, it feels both intimate and unshakably true.

Set in Zimbabwe in 1980, as the country emerges from the violent aftermath of its war for independence, the film follows seven-year-old Bobo Fuller (Lexi Venter) on her family's crumbling Rhodesian farm. Her mother Nicola (Embeth Davidtz) is brittle and unwell, her father Tim (Rob van Vuuren) clings to a fading colonial order, and her older sister Vanessa (Anina Hope Reed) watches it all with guarded detachment. Caught in the whispered racism, untreated grief, and political upheaval, Bobo can't make sense of the world around her. But the family's Black housekeeper Sarah (Zikhona Bali) offers her stories, myths, and a different kind of truth. Through Bobo's confused but observant eyes, the film reveals a portrait of a country, a family, and a child shaped by a violence that is deeply felt but barely understood.

What makes the film remarkable is its commitment to Bobo's point of view. Her misunderstandings—some comic, some heartbreaking—become the vehicle through which colonial trauma, family dysfunction, and cultural transformation are revealed. Without ever spelling out its themes, the film allows Bobo's innocence to expose the harsh truths the adults around her refuse to face.

Lexi Venter, in her mesmerizing debut, is a revelation. With no trace of artifice or affectation, she delivers a performance of remarkable naturalism, infused with quiet humor, emotional depth, and an instinctive sense of truth. It's one of the most astonishing child performances in years. As Nicola, Embeth Davidtz is raw and complex—a mother who's both protective and dangerously unstable. Zikhona Bali illuminates the film with her gentle, soulful portrayal of Sarah, whose presence becomes increasingly central as Bobo begins to see beyond her inherited worldview.

Embeth Davidtz's direction is precise and deeply personal. Drawing from her own South African childhood experience, she handles the material with emotional clarity and historical honesty, refusing to simplify either the characters or their contradictions.

Cinematographer Willie Nel impressively captures the sharp light and dry dust of Zimbabwe with unforced beauty, balancing sweeping shots of the land's vastness with intimate, tightly framed glimpses of Bobo's inner world. The contrast mirrors the tension between a country in flux and a child's private reckoning within it.

Through the eyes of a child raised in a broken system, the film shows how the personal and political become inseparable, and how understanding begins when inherited narratives start to crack. "Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight" is not a coming-of-age tale in the traditional sense, it's a confrontation with legacy. Through the narrow lens of a child, it paints a vast canvas of colonialism, displacement, and identity.

"Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight" opens in theaters on Friday, July 18, 2025.

The Lithuanian writer-director Laurynas Bareiša's "Drowning Dry" (Seses | Lithuania/Latvia 2024 | in Lithuanian | 88 min.) is a precise, unsettling tale on trauma and memory, unfolding within the modest, familiar setting of a family weekend retreat. But beneath the surface of casual conversations lies a slowly fracturing emotional terrain, one shaped by the quiet horror of a near-tragedy and the dissonant aftershocks that follow.

What begins as a bucolic gathering—two sisters, Juste (Agne Kaktaite) and Ernesta (Gelmine Glemzaite), with their children and partners, celebrating a birthday and a sports victory—gently slips into something far more elusive. After a child nearly drowns, the narrative diverges, looping back on itself in formally inventive ways. This moment, though brief and without physical consequence, becomes a psychological fissure from which the film blooms.

Drawing from the medical concept of "dry drowning," where the body appears unharmed but later succumbs to internal distress, Bareiša crafts a structure built on delayed reaction and mirrored repetition. Scenes recur, subtly altered. A conversation revisits itself. A song plays again, but it's not quite the same. These repeated moments aren't used for dramatic effect, but to show how trauma can replay in your mind. It doesn't try to scare you with sudden moments, but instead makes you feel uneasy by repeating things in a way that feels strangely familiar, like you've seen them before even if you haven't.

The film's ensemble maintains a naturalistic tone, allowing emotion to flicker beneath the surface without theatrical display. The minimalism is purposeful, channeling the characters' inner fragmentation through quiet gestures and pauses rather than overt expression.

"Drowning Dry" withholds clarity, not out of coyness, but because trauma rarely follows a neat narrative arc. The story ends not with catharsis but with a tableau: a rotten feast and a smashed car, a pair of garbage heaps mirroring each other. One is cleaned. The other is not. Closure, Bareiša suggests, is unevenly distributed.

This is a film that demands patience and close attention. Its fragmented chronology and repetition-based structure may prove disorienting or even frustrating to viewers expecting conventional storytelling. Yet for those attuned to its quiet rhythms, this film offers a devastatingly nuanced reflection on how trauma embeds itself in the everyday.

A formally rigorous and emotionally resonant work, this film confirms Laurynas Bareiša as one of the most interesting European directors exploring the unseen contours of grief and healing. Like the condition that lends the film its name, the devastation here is delayed, internal, and chilling in its quiet persistence.

"Drowning Dry" opens in theaters on Friday, July 18, 2025.

In a superhero landscape crowded with cynics, antiheroes, and multiverse chaos, "Superman" (USA 2025 | 129 min.) brings back the original icon with a straight face and a full heart. Director James Gunn's reboot poses a timely question: can sincerity still matter? It answers with a resounding, visually dazzling yes, even if the story doesn't venture far from familiar territory.

The film begins with Superman (David Corenswet), bloodied and alone in a frozen wilderness, only to be rescued by his unruly superdog, Krypto. That early moment sets the tone for a movie that mixes earnestness with mischief. Superman is already an established hero on the global stage, but when his interventions in international conflicts draw criticism, old fears resurface. Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult) seizes the moment to question Superman's role in the world and orchestrate his downfall. Meanwhile, the Daily Planet's top reporter Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) isn't afraid to call out the contradictions between Superman's ideals and his choices, even as their relationship deepens.

As the story unfolds, the film hits all the expected beats: hero in crisis, villain with a grand plan, clashes with other metahumans, and a finale that saves the day while preserving the status quo. The inclusion of the Justice Gang—Mr. Terrific (Edi Gathegi), Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced), and Guy Gardner (Nathan Fillion)—adds fun, although their impact on the story feels cosmetic.

While the plot may feel predictable, the casting is a major win. David Corenswet is thoroughly likable as Superman, bringing a quiet confidence and emotional sincerity to the role. His Clark Kent is endearing, his Superman noble without being stiff. He doesn't reinvent the character, but he embodies him in a way that feels fresh and natural. Nicholas Hoult plays Luthor with a chilling calm and intensity, portraying the villain not with theatrical malice but with a logic so persuasive it flirts with credibility, until it doesn't.

"Superman" is a visual feast. From the crystalline Fortress of Solitude to the dynamic flight sequences inspired by fighter jets, the film is filled with cinematic spectacle. James Gunn's team brings a comic-book world to life without losing a sense of grounded emotion. Krypto, modeled after Gunn's own out-of-control rescue dog, adds a few chaotic laughs along the way and ends up stealing more than one scene.

Even though the film plays it safe in its story, "Superman" is a confident and enjoyable reintroduction to one of pop culture's most enduring heroes. Familiar in structure but rich in spirit, it soars on dazzling visuals, a sharp supporting cast, and David Corenswet's warm, winning debut as the Man of Steel—a satisfying summer blockbuster that reminds us why we still believe in heroes.

"Superman" opens in theaters on Friday, July 11, 2025.

While many films reduce trauma to tidy arcs or emotional spectacle, the writer-director Eva Victor's "Sorry, Baby" (USA 2025 | 120 min.) chooses something far more honest, and far more human. It blends gallows humor, emotional nuance, and genuine warmth to explore what healing actually looks like when it's messy, slow, and deeply human. It's a sharp, disarmingly funny debut that reshapes the language of trauma and recovery through the lens of friendship, grief, and self-discovery. Eva Victor, who writes, directs, and stars, focuses not on the traumatic event itself, but on the long, nonlinear aftermath—how time distorts, how people drift, and how, sometimes, humor becomes a tool for survival.

Agnes (Eva Victor) is a young literature professor in a sleepy New England college town, who seems frozen in place while the rest of the world keeps moving. Once the top of her class, Agnes now spends her days teaching, isolating, and struggling with the lingering shock of an experience she can't yet name aloud. When her best friend Lydie (Naomi Ackie) returns for a visit—pregnant, married, and firmly launched into her next chapter—the contrast is stark. Agnes realizes how stuck she is, and from that moment, the film begins charting her halting journey toward something like wholeness.

What makes the film stand out is its comedic tone. Victor's background in viral comedy lends "Sorry, Baby" a buoyancy that cuts through the darkness without ever trivializing it. The humor isn't at Agnes's expense. Instead, it targets the institutions and people who fail her, and the absurdity of navigating a world where everything continues as normal even when you're falling apart.

At its core, this is a film about a sustaining and uneven friendship that functions like a lifeline. Lydie is both grounding and galvanizing—a powerhouse of energy, empathy, and patience who knows how to sit with her friend in silence without trying to fix her. Their bond is deep, complicated, and patient—a kind of love story without romance, but with just as much weight.

Victor avoids easy catharsis or victimhood. Instead, the film finds meaning in the small shifts: Agnes's tentative openness to Gavin (Lucas Hedges), a shy and earnest neighbor who offers a quiet refuge; the slow erosion of her trust in her former mentor Preston Decker (Louis Cancelmi); and her bruising encounters with Natasha (Kelly McCormack), a rival whose broad comedy masks her own pain. Even a roadside panic attack becomes an unexpected moment of grace, when a stranger, Pete (John Carroll Lynch), offers comfort with disarming humanity.

The film doesn't center the traumatic incident itself. In fact, the camera deliberately pulls back when Agnes first references it. Instead, the film traces how the memory lingers in the body and how self-worth, identity, and trust must be painstakingly rebuilt. The filmmaking mirrors Agnes's internal state: restrained, tender, often funny, and attuned to how time both bends and repeats during recovery.

The title "Sorry, Baby" may suggest regret, but the film is not about apologies. It offers something more generous—a hand extended in solidarity. With fierce humor, emotional precision, and a deep belief in the power of connection, this movie tells anyone who's ever been stuck: you are not alone.

"Sorry, Baby" opens in theaters on Friday, July 4, 2025.

"Jurassic World: Rebirth" (USA 2025 | 133 min.) promises a bold new direction for the franchise, yet it delivers a film that feels assembled from the same old bones. The visuals are undeniably impressive; the director Gareth Edwards crafts lush, tactile environments and stages spectacular sequences across land, sea, and air. But the story sticks to a predictable formula: bad characters get picked off, good ones survive against all odds, and no twist lands with real surprise.

The plot follows Zora Bennett (Scarlett Johansson), a hardened extraction expert hired to lead a covert mission to Ile Saint-Hubert, a dinosaur-infested island where three colossal prehistoric species may hold DNA capable of curing heart disease. Alongside her is Duncan Kincaid (Mahershala Ali), a weary ex-soldier turned boat captain, and Dr. Henry Loomis (Jonathan Bailey), a paleontologist eager to witness dinosaurs in their natural habitat. Their mission collides with a stranded civilian family--Reuben Delgado (Manuel Garcia-Rulfo) and his two daughters—who become unwilling players in a survival game amid the ruins of a forgotten InGen facility.

It all unfolds with professional polish. The action is slick, the dinosaurs look terrifying, and the atmosphere carries the dense humidity and danger of a proper lost world. The production team clearly put in the work: filming on 35mm lends the film a visual texture that recalls the original "Jurassic Park" (1993), and the practical sets in Thailand and Malta are deeply immersive. From a technical standpoint, this is one of the most impressive entries in the series.

But once the monsters roar and the chase begins, the patterns become all too familiar. The plot beats feel engineered: a sudden attack, a noble sacrifice, a revelation that changes little, and a finale that checks the necessary boxes. Even the scares, though well timed, arrive on cue. There's no real sense of danger when the outcome feels preordained.

The characters, while capably performed, remain confined to familiar types. Zora is the tough-but-wounded leader with a buried past. Duncan, though quietly compelling, mostly provides calm presence and steady navigation. Loomis brings a sense of wonder and conscience, but is often there to explain the science. Reuben and his daughters supply the emotional thread, though their arc feels rushed, wedged between the film's many narrow escapes.

There are glimmers of personality and creativity. The visuals often dazzle, and some set pieces—especially involving the Mosasaurus and Titanosaurus—offer genuine spectacle. Still, the film never shakes the feeling of being more procedural than adventurous. The script hints at deeper themes like exploitation, extinction, and legacy, but these threads are quickly dropped in favor of action.

In the end, "Jurassic World: Rebirth" is a handsomely crafted echo. It brings a few new faces, several impressive sequences, and enough dinosaur chaos to satisfy casual viewers. But for a film that aims to mark a new era, it never truly breaks new ground.

"Jurassic World: Rebirth" opens in theaters on Wednesday, July 2, 2025.