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On paper, a grieving widow solving a mystery with the help of a giant Pacific octopus sounds like the kind of thing that should be unbearable. It isn’t. Remarkably Bright Creatures is a genuinely lovely piece of work, and most of that is Sally Field, who plays Tova, a woman cleaning floors at a Puget Sound aquarium at night because the alternative is sitting alone with the disappearance of her son thirty years ago. Marcellus the octopus knows what happened. Watching the two of them figure each other out is where the film earns its tears honestly, not cheaply.
It could have coasted on whimsy. Instead it’s really about the specific loneliness of outliving the people who knew you. A wholesome film that respects your intelligence is rarer than it should be, and this is one.
There’s a whole genre of film about men in a room deciding the fate of the world, and Pressure is a sturdy addition to it. The room is a weather station in June 1944. The decision is whether to launch the D-Day invasion, and it hinges on a Scottish meteorologist, James Stagg, telling General Eisenhower that the sky says wait. Andrew Scott plays Stagg with a clenched, sleepless intensity, and Brendan Fraser is a surprisingly good Eisenhower, all folksy calm hiding a man who knows thousands will die on his word.
It started as a stage play and it shows, in a good way: this is tension and forecasts, not battle. If you want the invasion, watch something else. If you want the argument that made it possible, this is a tight, grown-up thriller about the terror of a single call.
Quick flag before anything else: Gary isn’t really a movie. It’s a standalone episode of The Bear, the flashback that follows Richie and Mikey on a road trip to Gary, Indiana, released on its own. Judge it on those terms and it’s a small gem.
Jon Bernthal and Jeremy Allen White get a whole stretch to just be two guys in a car, before the grief and the restaurant and everything The Bear becomes, and the show has always been at its best when it slows down and lets people talk. It’s funny, it aches, and it deepens characters you already thought you knew. If you don’t watch The Bear, none of it will land. If you do, this is the series operating at the top of its game, quietly.
Tuner has a premise you can pitch in one breath: a young piano tuner with freakishly good hearing gets pulled into cracking safes for criminals. Leo Woodall plays him with a watchful quiet, and the film is smart enough to know the hook is the ears, not the heists. Dustin Hoffman turns up as an old hand and gives the thing some weight.
What’s nice is how unforced it all is. It slides between romance and crime without straining, the kind of mid-budget adult movie that studios supposedly stopped making. It doesn’t reinvent anything, and the plot goes more or less where you expect. But it’s put together with real craft and a light touch, and sometimes a well-tuned genre picture is exactly enough.
The title is what André Ricciardi calls himself for skipping the colonoscopy that would have caught his cancer while it was still catchable. By the time the film starts, it’s too late, and André, a loud advertising guy, decides to spend the time he has left pointing a camera at his own dying. That could be grim or self-indulgent. It’s neither.
André Is an Idiot is funny in the way people are funny at their own expense, and it lands its one practical point, get the screening, without ever turning into a public service announcement. What sticks is the honesty about fear. He’s scared, his family is wrecked, and nobody pretends otherwise. It’s a documentary about death that’s oddly great company, which is the highest thing you can say about it.
At least a couple of times a year, a filmmaker somewhere in the world will point a child’s camcorder at their own past and dare you not to think of Aftersun. Sophy Romvari’s Blue Heron earns the comparison more than most. It’s the late 1990s, and eight-year-old Sasha is watching her Hungarian family try to put down roots on Vancouver Island, taping the whole uneasy summer on a VHS camcorder that ends up being the film’s real narrator. The nostalgia is the best thing here. The swimsuits, the trampoline, the specific ache of being the immigrant kid who just wants to fit in, all of it lands.
The trouble is intent. Romvari can’t always decide whether she’s making an atmospheric mood piece or a coming-of-age story about a family quietly buckling under the oldest son’s behavior, and she doesn’t fully pull off either. When the film lets the summer breathe, it’s lovely. When it reaches for a plot, it loses the thread. As a debut, though, it announces a filmmaker worth watching.
Most people know Sally Ride as the answer to a trivia question: first American woman in space, 1983. What they don’t know, and what this documentary is really about, is that Ride spent 27 years with a woman named Tam O’Shaughnessy and told almost no one, because NASA and the era gave her no room to. Sally is a solid, moving telling of both stories, the public triumph and the private life she had to keep in a separate box.
It’s conventional in form, the usual archival-and-talking-heads build, but the material is strong enough that it doesn’t need tricks. Tam’s interviews are the heart of it. It’s a reminder that the barrier-breakers we put on posters were paying costs the poster never showed. Worth it for her story finally being told whole.
Silent Friend asks you to watch a tree. Specifically a ginkgo on a German university campus in Marburg, which Ildikó Enyedi follows across three eras, 1908, 1972, and 2020, as the humans around it fall in and out of love and mostly fail to notice the oldest living thing in the courtyard. Enyedi made the wonderful On Body and Soul, and she has the same patient, slightly mystical eye here. Tony Leung anchors the modern section.
This is slow cinema, and it wants you to actually slow down with it, so it won’t be for everyone and it doesn’t pretend to be. But if you meet it where it lives, it’s a quietly radical little film about time, and about how much happens while we’re not looking. The kind of thing you keep thinking about days later.
A Poet is one of the funniest, saddest films of the year, and it’s about the exact thing most movies about art are too flattering to touch: what if you love poetry, gave your life to it, and simply aren’t good enough? Simón Mesa Soto’s Colombian tragicomedy follows Oscar, a washed-up Medellín poet who latches onto a genuinely talented teenage girl and tries to make her his project, his redemption, his second chance.
It’s excruciating in the best way, a portrait of a man whose passion has curdled into something needier. Ubeimar Rios plays him without a shred of vanity. The film keeps you laughing right up until it quietly breaks your heart. It won a prize at Cannes and deserved it. Anyone who’s ever wanted something they might not be built for should see it.
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Let’s get this out of the way: Love Story isn’t an accurate retelling of the marriage between John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bassette, just ask their living relatives about it. However, historical accuracy is not really the point. Much like the other franchises under American Story, Love Story feels more like a portrait of what America used to be– this time, through the closest thing the United States had to a royal marriage. Indulging in the 90s-00s nostalgia, this whirlwind romance takes on familiar themes of celebrity and public scrutiny with all the high-fashion glamor, a semblance of curated taste, and none of today’s social media clout chasing. It helps that Sarah Pidgeon and Paul Anthony Kelly look so good together, with their classic visages and old-school vibes. Love Story doesn’t present something new or true, but the show is nonetheless very watchable.
After losing a former friend, you would think that the three women in How to Get to Heaven from Belfast would be mourning, reminiscing about the past, and maybe go on a wholesome road trip that changes their lives for the better. Except, the show takes on a completely different approach. As the crime writer protagonist, of course, Saoirse brings her genre-savvy know-how to figure out the circumstances of Greta’s death. But there’s a bit of everything here– the somewhat supernatural vibe of every flashback she has, the mystery of whatever secret the four women share, and the chaotic shenanigans that these women get into as a result of being mentally stuck in their youth. How to Get to Heaven from Belfast isn’t quite Derry Girls, but writer-director Lisa McGee delivers the signature female friendships and distinctly Irish humor she’s best known for.
When a petty theft leads to a never-ending list of favors the leads have to fulfill for a gangster, this crime comedy series is certainly aptly named. It’s a pretty big mistake that could have been avoided, if only the protagonists weren’t so easily riled up. But it makes for a funny comedy of errors, as each new task brings more complications that Nicky and Morgan have to cover up in the clumsiest of ways. We’re waiting to see how it will blow up in their faces, especially with their mother’s upcoming mayoral campaign. Big Mistakes isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty fun seeing Dan Levy and Taylor Ortega try to handle everything that comes their way.
Long Story Short follows three siblings throughout their youth and adulthood. It sounds basic enough, except the ten-episode series time-hops every now and then, so we get to drop in on them during certain periods, like the drive back home from a loved one’s funeral, a catastrophic prom night, and even just a good night where everyone gets along. We get glimpses and snippets of their life in non-chronological order, but it all builds up to a resonant and deeply moving whole. Created by Raphael Bob-Waksberg of BoJack Horseman and Tuca & Bertie fame, it’s not surprising how heart-wrenching Long Story Short can get. But as Waksberg leaves behind his animal avatars in this series and focuses instead on human characters, he also crafts something a little less devastating and a little more delightful and closer to home.
Ponies is a fun ride. Centered on two widows who lost their CIA husbands, the unexpected spy series puts their duo into some wacky hijinks as they try to figure it out at a time where one wrong move can launch a world war. That’s because it remembers the world just got out of one. It is set in the Cold War, after all. The show sets believable weight to the stakes the two women face by putting into perspective the kind of world these spies were working with. And so, with this strong sense of setting, Bea and Twila feel more like real people than the serious super spy or the adventurous James Bond-type. Combined with the surprising chemistry between Emilia Clarke and Haley Lu Richardson, breaking out of type, Ponies finds humor and fun in the uncertainty of the time.
Rooster is drier than we expected from a show starring and co-produced by Steve Carrell, but the humor reflects the broader non-committance that has a hold over the 2020s. Instead of confidently pulling out the wit, jokes take on a well-meaning, unassuming manner. Meanwhile, most characters here refuse to speak and act straightforwardly about what they really want– or at least, their efforts in doing so are always perceived in the opposite way. In any case, Rooster is not going to knock you out of your seat. But it is going to poke fun at how desperately they pretend to be nonchalant, and the chaos that ensues as a result.
Because of the format, Margo’s Got Money Troubles doesn’t quite have the same laugh-out-loud humor as the original novel– televised series, after all, can’t run entirely on the sharp internal monologue that worked on the page. However, that doesn’t mean it should be written off entirely. It’s still pretty funny, but the series mostly shifts its focus on empathizing with Margo and the choices she’s pushed to make. Like her journey, the show takes a while to set things up, though once it does, her impulsive choice easily rolls into a series of plot-worthy consequences. Some of which are financially difficult, as hinted by the title. Sometimes, as in the case with her dad, it’s easy to see how the ensemble can grow and change, maybe even into something better. It helps that the main trio– Elle Fanning, Nick Offerman, and Michelle Pfeiffer– are absolutely charming as the center family.
Reunion plays out like a typical thriller—it follows a recently released ex-con on the hunt for revenge. In most episodes, his reasons for killing remain a mystery, while his moral compass swings from hero to anti-hero. The beats and storylines are familiar, except for the fact that everything takes place in the realm of the deaf. The leading man, David Brennan (Matthew Gurney), is a deaf man who only uses sign language and the occasional angry gestures to communicate with those around him. The victim of his crime, Ray (Ace Mahbaz), was a stalwart in the deaf community, and so his widowed wife chases David in search of answers, answers David has promised Ray he’ll keep until his death. Reunion is an excellent show, if not in terms of narrative, then in terms of technical feats. Everything from the editing, cinematography, and especially the performances, which feature plenty from the deaf actors, point to how creatively and dedicately rooted the series is in the deaf community.
Honestly, it’s a bit insulting to diminish a romance fan’s love for the genre simply due to good looks of the actors, at least in the first episode of Boyfriend on Demand. It does happen, for sure. There’s no doubt that it’s also the draw of this particular show– that is, seeing Jisoo from Blackpink team up with some of the most gorgeous actors currently working in the Korean drama industry, for her character’s virtual simulations. However, a little bit of patience, and Boyfriend on Demand goes beyond the looks, and into her character. As Jisoo’s Seo Mi-rae takes a spin on each trope, the show plays with each specific fantasy and figures out why a fan might indulge in them. Episode 3, in particular, delves into why Mi-rae gets sucked into the game, and the avoidance she relies on to protect herself from pain. Boyfriend on Demand sometimes struggles to hit the right tone (see above) and it hesitates to get in-depth into wider struggles, but ultimately it knows its own heart and delivers lighthearted entertainment.
Based on the life of a real small town filmmaker, this coming-of-age film is a familiar underdog story. After their small movie theater shut down due to piracy, Nasir and his friends decide to create their own, in spite of not having the money or connections to do it. You can probably tell what happens next, given the numerous films about artists with humble beginnings. But despite the tropes, the rushed reconciliation, and not delving into some of the religious tension behind Nasir’s retirement, Superboys of Malegaon still feels refreshing, because it truly understands why the underdog is so compelling. With only their love for the craft to guide them, these boys capture the fun and wonder of making films in their own community, for their own community. Superboys of Malegaon truly listened to their story.
At first glance, DTF St. Louis seemed to be a nonchalant comedy that would poke fun at domestic dissatisfaction. David Harbour’s Floyd Smernitch meets Jason Bateman’s Clark Forrest, Floyd saves Clark from an injury, and it seemed like they would be buddies as they hang by the swings and talk about an app for affairs. That is, until Floyd turns up dead. It becomes a different story altogether. Those expecting a quick, snarky comedy might be taken aback, but the turnaround, non-linear narrative emphasizes how unsettling our expectations in sex and relationships can actually get. DTF St. Louis won’t be for everyone– you’ll see many who dropped it because of the slow burn– but it knows what we expect, and still keeps us guessing.
Young Sherlock isn’t quite accurate to the Andrew Lane book series or the original works from Arthur Conan Doyle. Here, the detective in question is college aged, rather than 14 or 60, a choice made surely to introduce a new ensemble of fresh-faced talent. And unlike its source material, there’s a larger mystery behind each episode’s case. We would say that these changes make the story better fit for television– Holmes at his unpolished youth has more freedom to mess up, so it certainly allows the cast and crew to have much more fun. And while some decisions feel distinctly out of time, Young Sherlock would be enjoyable enough for this generation.
Out of all the presidents in American history, you’ll be hard pressed to remember James A. Garfield. That’s because the man barely made it past six months before he was assassinated. Perhaps it’s because of this that there aren’t many expectations for this historical limited series, other than period sets and costumes, which is done well. But Death by Lightning goes beyond just documenting the guy’s life, as well as the life of his murderer. Instead, the series delves into the ways both men focused on their legacy, for better or worse, pushing the wheel to bring the changes they have fought for, but also prematurely ending their potential impact on the nation. Death by Lightning is fascinating work, one that turns this forgotten president into an important warning for today’s changemakers.
Inspired by The Pink Marine memoir, Boots expands on Greg Cope White’s story to widen its perspective from one recruit to a whole troop. It makes it a team effort, rather than a solo stint. With the different faces and the protagonist’s sexuality, this show updates the classic military show for this generation, but the change works mostly because of an interest in the whole ensemble, letting its relative newcomers play off each other and show off their strengths. And that’s in spite of the times this show was released in. It’s a shame that Netflix hasn’t greenlit this gem for a second season, considering that these guys prove their mettle in each of their performances. Boots has more ground to stomp on, if only certain companies had the same balls the creators here did.
Previous depictions of provincial living tend to paint the pastoral experience as idyllic, simple, and much more innocent compared to their city counterparts. Sound of Falling does the opposite. While it still beautifully captures the German countryside, this drama also acknowledges its terrible secrets– the ways the family maintains itself, and sidebrushes death, at the expense of the women in the family. Cutting across time and circumstance, the haunting narrative sees the rhyme in each story. Unbeknownst to each four women, their pain echoes in similar ways, even if their particular histories differentiate their extent. Sound of Falling captures how the past never fully fades, only passing down like a curse recalled in folklore.
John Candy: I Like Me takes a somewhat standard approach in remembering the titular comedian. The film pulls out old footage, brings together his loved ones, and they sing praises of what a good guy he was. Given his profession, there were also certain moments where the film explains some jokes, which kills some of the humor. However, it’s a testament to Candy that it doesn’t come across as totally boring, even for non-comedy buffs. Like looking through old photo albums, and rewatching an actor’s old work, John Candy: I Like Me genuinely likes the guy, celebrating the gentle soul and consummate performer that helped define his generation’s comedy.
Unlike the other documentaries depicting “Hollywood’s smartest dumb blonde”, My Mom Jayne takes on a different approach to Jayne Mansfield. Already the title tells you that it’s from the perspective of one of her children– namely, her youngest daughter Mariska Hargitay– so naturally, it takes a more respectful depiction than what’s been shown of her peers. Hargitay and her siblings present a different kind of retrospective, reassembling the remaining fragments with a more personal touch and an unexpected family mystery. My Mom Jayne is such an excellent portrait of Jayne Mansfield, one that opens surprising layers to the person behind the bombshell persona.
As financial systems update for the digital age, so do the related crimes. This crime thriller series starts out with a break-in, but after forcing office worker Zara Dunne to transfer the funds online, the robbery proves to be much more complex than a simple hit-and-run. It’s rather entertaining. The pressure put upon office workers Zara Dunne and Luke Selborn reflects the way technology has shifted risk, simultaneously presenting itself as more secure, yet can be tweaked with just a few clicks. Each new clue is presented quite masterfully, raising more questions and heightening the suspense. While some plot points might be predictable for fans of the genre, most of the twists work, thanks to the performances of Sophie Turner, Archie Madekwe, and Jacob Fortune-Lloyd.
Dying for Sex feels like two shows in one. Mainly, it follows Molly (Williams), a 40-something diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer, and Nikki (Jenny Slate), her messy but fun-loving best friend who is trying to keep up with Molly’s increasing needs. It gets into the gritty reality of Molly’s emotional and physical pain and explores how her relationship with Nikki both fractures and solidifies as her cancer advances. But the show is also largely about sex. It sheds light on the unique struggle people like Molly have to go through to satisfy sexual needs, which, if anything, only intensifies when one is ill. Instead of being desired, Molly is pitied by her husband, who is too afraid to be intimate with her. So Molly, with nothing to lose, explores sex and sexuality. She touches herself, watches videos, goes on dating apps, and starts a BDSM-esque relationship with her neighbor. The series is raunchy and mines a lot of humor from Molly’s journey, but it’s equally sobering and enlightening. It expertly blends these seemingly opposing scenarios and still comes out feeling solidly made. It will make you go through a roller coaster of emotions, which feels apt for a show about life and death.
Depicting the horrifying cycle of abuse in the state’s prison system, The Alabama Solution is tough to watch. It was already hard to reckon with the related news reports, but what makes this documentary necessary is the way filmmakers Andrew Jarecki and Charlotte Kaufman teamed up with activists inside to get a deeper look into the prisons themselves. We mean this literally. A third of the footage comes straight from smuggled phones by the inmates, compiled for more than a decade, with much higher stakes than other works that employed guerilla filmmaking. Piecing together their footage with case reviews, news releases, and the state government’s wasteful, lackluster response, The Alabama Solution reveals the need for a better approach.
From Ground Zero doesn’t have the most number of shorts within an anthology film, though it comes pretty close with 22 segments, ranging from 3-6 minutes from different directors in Gaza. That’s a lot of shorts, with not a lot of time for each story. Most anthologies tend to be a set of three, but given the media suppression, the more, the better it gets at capturing life in the area. Every short balances the other in tone, style, and in approach. It’s harder to deny the truth it portrays, not with this many shorts, and this many eyes, on the ground.
After being promoted as a project lead, Ron falls down due to his office chair breaking. At first he tries to joke it off, but the work piles on, the expectations get higher, and all he can do is call The Chair Company. It leads him to an unexpected conspiracy that could be a combination of normal corporate bureaucracy, unfortunate coincidence, and stress-induced hallucinations, but the resulting journey is hilarious, cleverly combining Tim Robinson’s cringe comedic talents with a unique brand of thrill. The Chair Company is entirely unexpected, and that is why it might be one of the most original series airing right now.
With the anonymity of the internet, it’s hard to trust that the stranger on the other side would be a good person. There’s catfishers and scammers and trolls, oh my! Once in a while, however, you do meet someone cool. Bob Trevino Likes It was inspired by a real life friendship writer-director Tracie Laymon had, and that lends to how personal the entire film feels. Bob and Lily feel real. It’s in part to how Laymon introduces their loneliness in a world that doesn’t treat them right, but the tender, pseudo-parental chemistry formed between Barbie Ferreira and John Leguizamo carries the writing in such a realistic way. The kindness that they share feels transformative, and it’s genuinely moving to see them work towards caring for themselves because of it.
From the creators of HBO’s Mare of Easttown comes Task, a gritty crime drama that follows two men —one cop and one criminal —who, despite their differences, are on a similarly rocky journey towards healing. The series is slow to start, and it doesn’t help that the premise is something you’ve seen many times. But the details of Task, from the compelling performances to the excellently choreographed action sequences, make it a thrilling watch. What it lacks in novelty it more than makes up for in the intricacy of its details.
Sure, many of the tropes in this feel-good romcom would be familiar. Naveen, a shy Indian doctor, loves Jay, a white photographer, though of course, like in many gay and interracial romances, his family is reluctant to support them. However, writers Eric Randall and Madhuri Shekar take these tropes and weave them into something new. Like the oft-referenced Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, A Nice Indian Boy sets out to resolve the conflict by emotional honesty not just expressed by its characters but also by the unabashed sincerity the filmmakers have for their story. A Nice Indian Boy remains funny and sweet all the way through, without sacrificing any respect for all of the characters.
Co-created and starring Jason Momoa, Chief of War is a historical drama depicting the events that led to the unification of Hawaii. The series is rooted in the perspective of the indigenous people, not the eventual colonizers, which is rare in shows like this. Even FX’s Shogun, which tells a similar story set in 17th-century Japan, has a foreigner as the audience’s avatar. Chief of War, on the other hand, is committed to introducing the islanders in the context of their lived experience, which is why the first few episodes are spoken in pure Hawaiian.
The series is loaded with enlightening historical details, yet it never gets bogged down by them. Instead, it strikes a fine balance between intense action, meaningful characterization, and the island’s deep lore. It helps, too, that the series looks glorious—all lush and sunlit. Controversially, much of Chief of War was shot in New Zealand, not Hawaii, but the show still looks better than 90% of the grayish sludge on TV right now.
The Girlfriend, which is Meet the Parents by way of Death Becomes Her and Parasite, is a silly thriller about two women fighting to the death over one man. Cherry, an ambitious working-class real-estate agent, is the girlfriend, while Laura, a wealthy art curator, is the overly possessive mother. Their rivalry is amusing at first–a swirl of misunderstanding, bad impressions, and prejudice has them at each other’s throats the instant they meet. But it very quickly escalates into something sinister and dangerous. Still, it never takes itself too seriously and pretends to be anything other than a highly entertaining soap drama, making it all the more entertaining to watch.
Come See Me in the Good Light takes a somewhat conventional approach in documenting poet Andrea Gibson’s battle against cancer, though that doesn’t mean it’s boring. It works because of the people this documentary follows. It won’t be surprising to hear that Gibson and their partner Megan Falley have the precise words to express this journey– They are poets, after all– but the way each conversation is arranged builds upon each other, easily capturing the context for some of Gibson’s works, as well as how their love transformed the both of them, in spite of all odds. Come See Me in the Good Light does exactly what it says in the title, transforming a familiar battle with illness into an uplifting inspiration of a life well lived.
In his last few months as president, Mariano de Santis has a few loose ends to tie up. This includes the pardon of two murderers and the signing of a euthanasia bill into law. Both are important topics, yes, but La Grazia is more interested in how reluctant this fictional president is in finishing up his term. In lingering shots and moments of silent contemplation, director Paolo Sorrentino studies this man in his despair, honing into Toni Servillo’s every expression in the wider spaces we find him in. It’s clear that part of his hesitancy stems from his personal despair. De Santis is painted as a dutiful jurist, who has diligently pursued the spirit of the law, but his unresolved agony– the infidelity of his late wife– confounds him, pushes him to cling onto that injustice while blinding him to his children, his best friend, and other personal relationships. Where other films separate the personal and political, La Grazia understands how both bleed into each other, through crafting a unique existential crisis from the most important man in the country.
Created by Peaky Blinders showrunner Steven Knight, A Thousand Blows zooms in on the London Victorian underworld and follows three outsiders trying to uplift themselves in different, often illegal ways. There’s Mary Carr (Erin Rachael Doherty), an ambitious pickpocket who heads an all-female crime syndicate; Sugar Goodson (Stephen Graham), a merchant by day and bare-knuckle boxing champion by night; and London newcomer Hezekiah Moscow (Malachi Kirby), a Jamaican lion tamer who gets roped into Mary and Sugar’s complicated world. The conflicts the show takes onshow’s conflicts are as old as time: wealth inequality, gender divide, and racial discrimination. But Knight gives them a modern refresh so, coupled with razor-sharp dialogue, impressive choreography, gorgeous 1880s details, and stellar performances (particularly from Kirby), the show is invigorating to watch. Peaky Blinders fans who are missing the show will especially appreciate its grit and dark humor.
Based on the books by Michael Connelly (Bosch and Lincoln Lawyer), Ballard is about the titular LAPD detective (Maggie Q) who is reassigned to a cold case unit after she dared to speak up about an abusive superior in her former department. The series deals with her trauma while also diving deep into police corruption and deep-seated discrimination. It does so through the overarching and episodic cases they take on. In this way, Ballard doesn’t differ from your standard police procedural. But it feels fresher than the other shows that have come out, thanks to Q and her castmates’ compelling performances, the layered approach the filmmakers take in depicting multiple cases at once, and the thrilling pace.
With the titular screening, the brain hacking, and the number of people Alexander Hale has to lie to, there’s a lot going for The Copenhagen Test. A whole lot. Some might even say too much– it takes more than an episode to introduce most of the elements at play, and on top of the being a regular spy, Hale has to reckon with the way everything he encounters are being witnessed by an unknown actor, as well as his higher ups in The Orphanage, due to nanobots accessing all of his senses. After a rough start introducing all this, however, this spy thriller series makes the most out of the premise, with the tech becoming the reason behind Simu Liu and Melissa Barrera’s excellent dynamic as well as refreshing many genre expectations along the way.
Étoile is a charming transatlantic series set in fictional ballet companies based in New York and Paris. The series alternates between the two cities and features a diverse array of players, including talented dancers, misunderstood choreographers, and the prickly businessmen who fund the entire endeavor. It sounds like a lot, but showrunner Amy Sherman-Palladino (Gilmore Girls, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) balances everything nimbly and turns in an easy watch that never feels jarring despite the constant swaps and switches.
Based on the Judy Blume novel of the same name, Forever follows two teens in Los Angeles as they navigate love, sex, and their first wade into adulthood. The eight-episode series updates the novel in major ways. Instead of the white 1970s suburban setting Blume (who executive produces the series) is known for, Forever hones in on the specific experiences of Black teens. One is Justin (Michael Cooper Jr.), a wealthy boy struggling to fit in at his predominantly white private school, and the other is Keisha (Lovie Simone), an intelligent track star who lost her scholarship because of a scandal involving her ex-boyfriend, Christian (Xavier Mills). It’s very easy for Forever to turn into a cliche, a coming-of-age series you’ve already seen a thousand times. But Forever stands out because of its specificity and sensitivity in portraying Black teen love. While many young adult shows rely on heavy drama and crazy plot twists, Forever’s characters are robust, interesting, and complicated enough to power eight episodes centered on them alone. Justin and Keisha are sometimes stupid and sometimes smart, but they remain relatable throughout. You’ll find much to like here, whether you’re a young person tuning in for something sweet and comforting, or an adult hoping to remember what it was like to feel as scared and excited to be on your own.
Left-Handed Girl is titled after I-Jing, the youngest daughter of the Ching family, whose left-handedness puts her at odds with her more traditional grandparents. That’s because left-handedness used to be associated with the devil. The idea is clearly outdated, but it hints at this family drama’s greater theme of being on the margin, of falling short of expectations placed by others. Of course, I-Jing’s left-handedness is easy to reconcile. The notion is considered outdated, and she’s portrayed by precocious newcomer Nina Ye. But what makes Left-Handed Girl so special is the way writer-director Shih-Ching Tsou deconstructs other expectations, such as Sho-Fen’s unfortunate marriage and the rebellion of her teenage daughter I-Ann. As the film unfolds, slowly revealing the fractures between them, Tsou subtly critiques how women carry the burden of saving face.
In Sorry, Baby, an unspeakable act of cruelty disrupts Agnes’ ambitious rise to the top. Despite being a literature professor, she struggles to find the words to describe what happened to her. Likewise, the audience isn’t made privy to the details of the incident and relies only on what Agnes chooses to show. It’s a far cry from the sensationalist way trauma is often depicted in films. In place of sexy or valiant acts of revenge, Sorry, Baby focuses on the slow, circular, and confusing process of healing. It hides more than it shows, which, oddly, says more about the reality of assault than most post #MeToo films. Sorry, Baby is an unassuming film, but its honest writing, poetic cinematography, and rich expressions pack a powerful punch.
What makes crime thrillers exciting isn’t necessarily the crime itself– it’s when the leads meet their match. The Beast in Me finds grieving author Aggie Wiggs and real estate developer Nile Jarvis at odds over community property, but as they get to know each other, they both realize their shared “bloodlust”, their inability to let things go. While the dynamic isn’t unheard of, ultimately the series works because of it. Separately, Claire Danes and Matthew Rhys tap into their characters’ rage effectively, but when on-screen together, the unexpected cat-and-mouse chase transforms into something else, intensely focusing on what each of them will do next.
As a spin-off of The Office, The Paper has the not-so-easy task of living up to the very high standards set by its beloved predecessor. Thankfully, The Paper succeeds by immediately finding its own voice. It’s still a workplace comedy bolstered by small-town shenanigans and heartwarming relationships, but The Paper is less cynical and more hopeful and sweet. If anything, it’s closer to Parks and Recreation than the other shows creator Greg Daniels has worked on. Watching The Paper, you’ll be hard-pressed not to root for The Truth-Teller’s ambitious editor-in-chief, glamorous managing editor, and equally kooky staff. Just as endearing (and hilarious) is the paper’s attempt to gain back relevancy in an age that’s all but forgotten the importance of journalism, especially grassroots and community journalism.
Twinless starts off something like one of those quirky indies in the 2010s about awkwardly navigating grief and sharing that with someone, unexpectedly. Roman meets Dennis in a support group like The Fault in Our Stars, though with a sibling dynamic a la The Skeleton Twins, filling the void of losing their other half. It’s wholesome, it’s cute, and Dylan O’ Brien and James Sweeney have an instant chemistry that makes their friendship easy to root for. But after the twenty minute mark, this comedy veers into an unexpected direction. For the sake of spoilers, we won’t elaborate, but Twinless cleverly twists what could have been a millennial mumblecore drama into a clever, provocative Gen Z dark comedy that isn’t afraid to go there. Twinless is truly one of its kind.
You’ll have to trust us on this: it’s best to know absolutely nothing about this show before you start watching. There’s a reason all the promos you see on it say near to nothing about it, and it’s a reason you’ll be thankful for at the end of the first episode. What we will say is that Paradise is a refreshing take on political thrillers, and the cast–mainly Sterling K. Brown and Julianne Nicholson–are compelling in their flexibility, confidence, and vulnerability. The show is genre-defying, but what drives it above all else is mystery. Creator Dan Fogelman (This Is Us) might have slightly gone haywire with the flashbacks, but he’s careful not to give anything away too quickly. Instead, we’re left with mysterious puzzle pieces, unpredictably solved by Brown’s character.
Deli Boys moves fast. It starts out as a simple succession story, then it quickly evolves into a crime caper that’s also, subtly, a commentary on being brown and Muslim in America. It’s impressive enough in those respects, but above all else, Deli Boys is a well-written comedy. The fast pace helps, but it’s the characters’ ability to effortlessly quip and riff off one another that makes it highly watchable, if not downright addictive. The only downside to the show’s easygoing humor and cool capers is that the characters, though likable, lack real depth. But that’s easy enough to mine if the show is (hopefully) given a shot at another season.
Given that this is based on a recent, real life case, and the defendant has chosen to remain behind the titular pseudonym, it makes sense why Belén doesn’t focus entirely on her. We don’t get to know much about the defendant other than the case reveals. That being said, what was given is already infuriating enough. Filmmaker Dolores Fonzi, who also stars as her lawyer Soledad Deza, gathers a compelling defense, starting everything off with the terror and confusion Belén’s hospital check-up turns into her arrest. It strengthens the somewhat standard legal proceedings that is to follow, but nonetheless effectively highlights the multiple ways Argentina’s institutions have failed Belén. But what makes Belén so compelling is the way it also celebrates the movement formed around her case. Belén strikes at the core of the injustice made, with the same determination that secured her freedom, and the rights of every woman in the nation.
It’s easy to feel like you’ll know exactly what you’ll get once you see stills from Guy Ritchie’s MobLand, which stars Tom Hardy, Pierce Brosnan, and Helen Mirren. But while it features cliches of the mafia genre, MobLand is far from boring. Plenty of things are happening all at once, and in lesser hands, these storylines would’ve been a mess. But under Ritchie’s veteran guidance, things come together elegantly. It helps that Hardy is the perfect lead. Sure, he’s tough as the London underground’s main fixer, but he’s also surprisingly polite at times and quick-wittedly humorous at others. In the show’s quieter moments, he even manages to be poignant. The changes in tone are never jarring, instead always arriving at the right time. Even if Ritchie and Hardy have directed and starred in too-many-to-mention mob stories, they still delight and surprise in this enjoyable British series.
Sirens is a psychological drama that follows Devon (Fahy) as she retrieves her sister from the grasp of her cultish, billionaire boss, Michaela (Moore). The five-part series is addictive, not just because of the juicy drama and the dagger-sharp, class-conscious dialogue, but also because of its deep understanding of the contradictions of womanhood. The women are alternately jealous and empathetic, pained and ambitious. And they’re led by a trifecta of compelling performances: it’s a thrill to watch Fahy, Moore, and Alcock go at each other’s throats.
After decades of copyright disputes, The Eternaut finally makes its way on screen, right in time to echo certain worldwide events. Who knew that a comic seventy years ago would do this? Perhaps the comic needed the time for the technology to catch up, with the usually-sunny Buenos Aires transformed with incredible SFX into this cold and fatal place. Still, we would say it’s the characters that do the story justice. As Juan Salvo and his companions try to survive the elements, this series adaptation recognizes the same mystery and confusion that the world has recently gone through, evoking that same tension by holding back information and revealing unexpected twists at key moments. Of course, there are some key differences, with the deadly snow being the cause not to go outside, but The Eternaut reintroduces this classic sci-fi story at the right time, reminding the world to survive together.
It’s always fascinating to see how the ultra-rich live, but it’s even more fun to see them ruin themselves with greed. That’s what happens in Your Friends and Neighbors when Coop (Hamm) loses his main source of income and decides to rob his wealthy friends and neighbors. He starts slow as to remain inconspicuous: luxury watches they barely wear, paintings they pass by every day. Disposable for them, but worth a living to the increasingly broke Coop. But soon, petty thievery gives way to something more dangerous and compromising, endangering not just Coop’s status but his life. It’s a smart, entertaining show, given much heft by Jon Hamm. It’s nice to see him donning a similar character to the iconic one he gave life to in Mad Men. Here, again, he injects pathos in what would otherwise seem like a typical rich sad sack. Hamm turns Coop into someone complicated, sympathetic even, as he hides his emotional implosion behind a sleek suit. Though its class commentary is not as sharp as it should be, Your Friends and Neighbors is nonetheless a worthwhile watch—if only to see Hamm back in his element.
Toxic Town tells the true story of how toxic waste in the steel-making town of Corby, England led a group of affected mothers to pursue justice. Helping them out is pro-bono lawyer Des Collins (Rory Kinnear), while on the other end of the case is Corby’s local government, who (unsurprisingly) are in cahoots with the steel mill responsible for the poisoning. The show’s beats are familiar; it’s a classic legal drama with streaks of political corruption and conspiracy, while also being an underdog story about victims rising to the powers that be. But its familiarity is easily forgiven thanks to the heartwarming performances of Jodie Whittaker and Aimee Lou Wood, who play two of the mothers with disabled children. The show, though short at just four episodes, gives them ample space to grieve, celebrate, and essentially be human–as opposed to just angry women serving as plot points to a drama. Their humanization and compassion for one another, as well as the thrilling pace and intelligent back-and-forths, are what make the show worth watching.