Grade: D
With time, the reputation for Christophe Gans’ Silent Hill has transformed from an iffy-reviewed phantasmagoric horror upon its release to one of the more misunderstood and successfully executed video game adaptations of all time, where viewers like myself have defended the film’s seemingly awkward dialogue delivery and bewildering grotesque imagery as an entirely accurate, absorbing replication of what makes the game series so interesting. Then, a sequel was attempted on a shoestring budget that more directly tells another popular story in the series, that of Silent Hill 3, with the result being the far-less defendable Silent Hill: Revelation, which left fans cherry-picking for mediocre successful elements from a good-intended misfire. From that, the gears of public opinion went into motion the way they do: Revelation wouldn’t have been such a major disappointment had Christophe Gans stuck around to direct it and shape its visual language. Turns out, if Return to Silent Hill is any indication, that may not have been the case after all.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, though. Before any glimpse at trailers or even casting, the combination of Silent Hill's building cult status and the disastrous issues of the sequel in the director’s absence eventually led to one of those exciting moments where everyone might actually get their wish: the announcement came that Gans would be returning will full control over a new Silent Hill film. Hooray! His intention? To take on the most popular story from the series, that of James Sunderland and his melancholy journey into the foggy town of Silent Hill to find his beloved Mary, who has met some mysteriously tragic fate. The stories in these games can be deliberately bizarre and vague, but Silent Hill 2 in particular operates in metaphors and psychosis that can be both fascinating and frustrating, where monsters and the moving parts of the plot both often manifest as extensions of the character’s mental space. If Gans does Silent Hill 2 the way he handled his first crack atvthe world, greatness may await.
Jeremy Irvine of War Horse fame has been tapped to bring life to James, and while the choice sounds fine on paper, his emo-haired, strung-out presentation of an enigmatic “painter” in psychological recovery is uninspired, giving off overcaffeinated hangover vibes instead of those of a spooked, yet curious forlorn lover navigating the hazards of an eerie fog town hiding his wife. As opposed to Radha Mitchell’s fraught behavior amid her search for her daughter in Silent Hill, Irvine’s James seems more like he’s fighting through bad fever dreams and migraines that he doesn’t have the wherewithal to get over, divorcing himself from the setting’s dreamlike conceit. Oddly, the performances around James operate as if Christopher Gans took the notes about his first film’s trippy dialogue a little too strongly, as the dramatic voices here are more harshly overwrought and lack Silent Hill's effective off-kilter tempo. Look, I get that people have heard negative things about Silent Hill dialogue and rolled with it previously, but as someone who’s been on that side before, this is different.
At least Christophe Gans has brought back enough of his signature flair and awareness for the franchise to reconstruct the atmosphere … right? Much as it pains me to say, it’s shocking to see how much Return to Silent Hill veers in the wrong direction with this as well, despite Gans quite obviously knowing and appreciating the source material. Scenes from this movie will jump out as direct, point-‘n-whistle duplications of the game’s iconic visuals: the wide shot of James’s car in the parking lot looking out at Toluca Lake; the bathroom mirror; his initial hike through the forest, cemetery, and outer streets of the town’s outskirts. Other familiar faces, grotesque foes and iconography reveal themselves to the initiated on cue, but the script from Gans, frequent collaborator Sandra Vo-Anh and The Crow reboot scribe William Schneider finds ways to dramatize and distort those details into crude mutations of themselves; any subtext from the game has been shoved into the light for all to see.
Return to Silent Hill also lacks the beautiful stillness and unnerving buildup that hallmarked Christophe Gans’ first trip there, the artful allure of terrors in hallways and streets as they crumble upon themselves, captured by steady-handed pan and tilt shots from striking, disorienting angles by Oscar-nominated cinematographer Dan Laustsen. In its absence, Gans reaches for mundane contrivances and computer-generated monstrosities to fill the void, be it with waves of skittering nibblers, writhing fluid-spewing walkers, or aggressive flashes of headache-inducing light all in a burnt-orange glow. Jostled by bobbly camera movement from [REC] cinematographer Pablo Rosso that forces extra chaos and instability where it’s already there, overzealous production decisions and computer wizardry drain any convincing reality from the falling ash on the foggy streets, from the decaying walls and rusted metal in the Otherworld, from the pale twisted flesh of the creatures. And yes, that includes the clunky arrival of iconic villain Pyramid Head, vaguely accurate to his place in the game but more like a stop in a haunted house or theme park than a facet of anyone’s nightmares.
By the end of its turgid, never-ending drag through psychological dead ends, Return to Silent Hill accomplishes something I genuinely didn’t think possible: it ends up being a significantly weaker film, either game adaptation or just straight up genre pic, than the panned, budget-strapped Revelation from years prior. Just on the surface, it’s tough to point out any efforts to scare that actually work in its runtime -- a rolling head here, a hallway of writhing nurses zombies there -- where getting a rise out of the audience lies in rattling metal and cranking up the volume when acid sizzles and radios fizzle, feigning interest in those signature marks of the series while funneling streaks of metaphorical mystery into a consequential twist at the end. Jacob’s Ladder or In the Mouth of Madness, this isn’t; instead, the sirens are going off as it becomes clear that Christophe Gans won’t be rescuing Silent Hill from its cinematic woes.
In Bugonia, the character played by Emma Stone insists to her conspiracy theorist captor, impeccably realized by Jesse Plemons, that she isn’t an alien, attributing her youthful appearance to anti-aging regiments that are very expensive. She may not be a literal alien in Yorgos Lanthimos’ dark kidnapping thriller, but when she’s a corporate bigwig on that level of importance and freedom, perhaps she might as well be. Those are the sociopolitical ideas tumbling around as the reality of a harrowing abduction plays out, shrewdly photographed with Emma Stone’s uniquely wide, vivid eyes as a centerpiece, her masterful performance launching the character from boilerplate business troubleshooting to darker verbal manipulation and then to fraught speeches that are, frankly, out of this world. A marvel of blunt-force thematic trauma and cloaked metaphors about humanity, population control, and self-destruction, Bugonia might not be the film that gets rewatched as often as the others on this list due to its grim, guttural nature, but I be damned if it doesn’t continue to buzz in the mind long and hard after this smartly-crafted remake unmasks its truths.
Science fiction has been warning us for a long time about the dangers of artificial intelligence gaining control of our day-to-day lives, yet still we seem to have been slow-walking to a meeting point between technologies -- independent-thinking synthetic intelligence and autonomous robot and drone technology -- that looks suspiciously like all the ingredients needed for the bad stuff to happen, just unassembled. Companion operates best knowing less of the specifics about what’s really going on as possible during a couple’s retreat at a lake house, but going in with the knowledge that it’s set in a near future where we’ve bridged at least some of that gap to “the bad stuff” won’t ruin anything. With Sophie Thatcher at the core as a disarming emotional force in the vessel of an awkward yet devoted girlfriend, writer/director Drew Hancock uses technology, robotics, and the transactional nature of human interactions to create fast, cerebral cat-and-mouse horror that can’t help from urging caution in many of the same way as other pieces of sci-fi have over the years, only on a more prescient and intimate level.
There’s a scene in Eddington where Joaquin Phoenix’s small-town sheriff character lumbers through a Democratic fundraiser with a very-Texan stride, goes straight for a sound machine to turn off loud music, then turns and walks away ... only for the exact same song to flip back on with him still there. This is executed with almost laugh-out-loud comedic timing and would effortlessly spark that reaction at other times, but there’s an entire Ari Aster amount of cinematic context that happens before it, where a fictional Texas town becomes the perfect microcosm for COVID-era politics: it’s just big enough for world events to have impact and opinions to matter, but not big enough that people aren’t compelled to ignore inconvenient protocols because they believe the problem won’t reach their city. From rigid distancing policies and conspiracy theories to social-media influence and money tied up in politics, Eddington endures a little of everything in its absorbing war between Democratic mayor Ted Garcia and his power-strapped contender for the office, Sheriff Cross, realizing a comedy of errors in calculated maneuvers that get a little too close to the border of realism for their own good.
I’ll admit: the first time I heard Guillermo Del Toro say that he’s 
Paul Thomas Anderson’s films usually have a lot going on in them, both in the layers and perspectives of the story and the ideas and themes he’d like for the audience to take away, and One Battle After Another is no exception. With a particularly emotive Leonardo DiCaprio leading the charge as explosives specialist revolutionary Ghetto Pat in love with a fellow fiery independent woman for the cause, the film covers two different eras in the history of resistance fighters: when they’re young and free of restraints, and a decade-and-a-half down the line when a daughter becomes involved. While a timely social tapestry gets woven about fighting for immigrants, government and military interference in gaining control of the message, and powerful men jockeying for further power as others suffer — sometimes, with the suffering being the point — One Battle After Another never takes its sight off the human stakes involved in the fabric of a father-daughter relationship and the obsession of an unhinged supremacist military officer to locate them. Sean Penn’s swoop-haired villain Lockjaw might be the most fascinating in a line of fascinating things here: sterile yet putrid, overconfident yet uncomfortable, vascular yet cripplingly weak.
All it takes is a few minutes with Michael B. Jordan’s Smoke and Stack twin characters for Sinners to sink in its teeth and cast its spells, showing how writer/director Ryan Coogler’s desire to take a stab at creating twins onscreen transforms into an absorbing period tale set in Prohibition-era South. This isn’t a comic book, but it does have certain mythical sensibilities that capture just as much invigorating entertainment value as one, offering tastes of backstory about how the criminal brothers lived a potent, profitable, passionate life leading up to this return to their hometown. As they drum up connections and resources to open a spot for music and booze, Sinners offers brisk, beautiful storytelling with a deep musical soul long before any advertised bloodsuckers enter the picture to try and crash the party. Once the vampires do show up, Coogler goes for the throat with action-tilted bloodshed backed by fierce symbolism tied to the cultural history of America, accomplishing so much more than similar split-in-half genre pics like From Dusk Till Dawn could even imagine.
Any messages delivered by director and DC film architect James Gunn involving Superman as a resident alien are quite clear in this quasi-reboot, and this is certainly a James Gunn movie, through and through. The humor both sticks landings and overstays its welcome, there’s a lot of cool secondary character involvement without fleshing them out as much as we’d like, and it isn’t afraid to go very, very big with existential threats and action set pieces. Ultimately, those aspects become excusable because of how this Superman’s designed to feel like we’re catching the flow of a narrative that’s already been going for a minute, like you’ve grabbed a shiny new copy of a comic off the rack featuring the rebooted universe. This is also a whole new experience watching Corenswet’s Big Blue Boy Scout in bold, grin-inducing acts of heroism: neither Cavill nor Reeve, he plants his flag somewhere between the two with his borderline eyeroll-worthy idealism, a tough trait to hit. This isn’t “Superman Begins”, by design, but it confidently announces that it’s cut from a different cloth than previous versions and embraces the brighter side of messaging about sympathy, goodwill, and humanity in the face of authoritative manipulation (Hoult is a fab Lex Luthor).
Thing is, superhero movie burnout is very real, and I reached that point several stages ago before Marvel and DC both brought their developed universes to a head with Avengers Infinity War/Endgame and Justice League. For those who have felt that cynical, curmudgeonly aggravation creep in, Thunderbolts is a breath of fresh air. Adjacent to The Suicide Squad for DC and led by Black Widow heir apparent Florence Pugh as an ex-assassin searching for solace and purpose in a hero’s world, a downtrodden squad of antiheroes embark on a search for political retribution after surviving a mission designed to eliminate them all, running into overwhelming obstacles and getting their hands dirty with the characters’ flaws and doubts about their worth the closer they get to the architect, CIA director De Fontaine. Then, it becomes funny, and then somber, and then it hits a rhythm lobbying back and forth between those tones … and wouldn’t you know it, it feels meaningful. Action does get outlandish and all-powerful at a certain point, which might ring a few alarms for those tired of the rigamarole, but it’s never without purpose or justification and Thunderbolts never stops being a thinking person’s hero film with a different slate of antagonists.
An immensely talented cast curated by Rian Johnson fills Wake Up Dead Man as the flock of an isolated New York church helmed by an austere priest, played by Josh Brolin in a way that immediately sparks thoughts of the barnacled pulpit speaker from Moby Dick and his stormy sermon. Yet, it’s the impassioned energy of Josh O’Connor as a newly-arrived assistant priest that grabs the attention in the front end of yet another of the director’s Agatha Christie-like murder mysteries. Here, we have a priest suspected of murdering another, and watching O’Connor wince and squirm in the presence of those distinctly devout characters makes for fascinating build-up to the killing, nonchalantly piling up themes about organized religion while Johnson maneuvers his puzzle pieces. Then, like clockwork, it happens: the doors swing open and in walks a less-flippant yet still playfully verbose Benoit Blanc, conducted by Daniel Craig as the self-professed “proud heretic” of the lot. Once he’s in the mix, Wake Up Dead Man takes shape as an intricate, intimate whodunit with very few bells-‘n-whistles getting in the way that might stretch the credibility of its grand conclusion, sliding it on the shelf near the front of Johnson’s murder-mystery oeuvre.
Something weird has happened again: similar to The Prestige vs. The Illusionist or Saving Private Ryan vs. The Thin Red Line, there’s a striking similarity between two of the finer genre films released this year, Zack Cregger’s Weapons and the Philippou Bros.’ Bring Her Back. Two sides of the same coin, they involve the powerful abilities of witchcraft to control the minds of children for selfish purposes, producing fascinating villains with compelling motives. Here’s where the differences come in: Bring Her Back approaches the idea entirely straight and with devastating emotional drama as its intent, whereas Weapons finds a way to mold similar plot designs and themes into pitch-black comedy and brazen, wide-eyed jump scares. Choosing between them is tough, especially with how effective the gorgeous craftsmanship and the haunting performance from Sally Hawkins are in Bring Her Back; however, Weapons has the benefit of tapping into child-disappearance horror and having fun with perspectives in the unspeakable situation, from watching a young cop commit a comedy of errors and a father awkwardly sleuth across town to the bizarre arrival of Amy Madigan’s now iconic Aunt Gladys. Both outstanding, but I know which one will come off the shelf first during spooky season.
Jurassic World: Dominion may have provided shaky ground for the franchise’s ending to stick its landing, but flaws and all, it wrapped up the messy strands from both the Spielberg and Trevorrow eras in a way so this absurdly modified version of Michael Crichton’s universe could move on. Unable to let the roaring money-making machine go extinct, the newest installment, Rebirth, at least seems like it might be able to rediscover cinematic life as a spinoff. With an enthusiastic Scarlett Johansson as the tip of the spear, a covert spec-ops mission picks up a robust support crew -- Sexiest Man Alive Jonathan Bailey; equally as sexy Mahershala Ali -- and washes them up on an adjacent island away from the original franchise’s main events to gather lucrative bio samples from lesser-seen dinosaurs. No genetic freaks, no overblown stakes, no lazy character baggage. Clean slate. Unfortunately, Rebirth squanders the opportunities afforded to it with new unneeded genetic freaks, excessive displays of visual effects, a family of survivors that could be chomped out of the movie without any impact on the plot ... and an unconvincing ScarJo as that kind of mercenary leader. On top of that, things just start off on the wrong foot by once again making dinosaurs seem mundane in the modern era instead of exciting, and it bypasses intriguing suspenseful possibilities in lieu of a been-there, done-that mission flow from dino to dino that smells like one big pile of obligation.
Granted, my gaming exposure was incredibly limited this year due to the demands of life and maintaining other extracurriculars, but I was able to experience the full drama of the Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion Remastered “shadow drop”. My love for Oblivion runs in lockstep with my love for sandbox games and RPGs, where exploring the vast, ethereal beauty of Cyrodiil’s secret-riddled landscape pairs with how the game encourages interactions with the characters and pushing the limits of what you can do as a wanderer through its townships. As I’ve discovered over the years, it’s a near-ideal blend of open-world and objective-driven design, more focused than Morrowind and less of a fantasy sim than Skyrim. Odd rumors of Oblivion being remastered have existed since plans and evidence of gameplay showed up within internal documents, but interest dramatically spiked when an insider claimed it was not only ready, but being prepped for a quietly-marketed surprise drop … and wouldn’t ya know it, all the online sleuthing and hyping proved to be true. Dropped the same day as a Bethesda showcase event, Oblivion Remastered is a thing of beauty, a mesmerizing blend of upgraded Unreal graphics and modernized game fluidity -- Fun archery! Sprinting! Leveling improvements! A hell of a character creator! -- with a careful focus on making it look, sound, and feel as it did twenty years prior.
