Movies to Watch From United States of America
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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.
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.
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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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Following his sophomore feature Cha Cha Real Smooth, writer-director Cooper Raiff made his way to television with family dramedy Hal & Harper. This miniseries focuses on the two titular siblings, Raiff and Lili Reinhart respectively, who grow up in co-dependent adults as a result of their neglect from their single father (played by Mark Ruffalo). As such, both their child and adult selves are portrayed by the same actors. It’s a unique move for a unique dynamic. There are some quirks he brings from film, like the abrupt cuts and sudden needle drops, that sometimes doesn’t make sense for the show format. Nonetheless, Raiff’s naturalistic style and the ensemble’s emotionally vulnerable performances help us root for their bonds, despite all the hurt between them.
Code 3 is a comedy about a crazy night out, though the craziness doesn’t stem from drunkenness, drugs, or bad decisions– it comes from the way anything can happen in the shift of a paramedic. And we mean, anything. That means the needle stabbing and projectile vomiting occurs organically. But the crazy night that happens isn’t presented for comedy’s sake only. At the heart of the humor is the understanding of how thankless the job can get, and how much strain the healthcare system is handling even without a pandemic. Code 3 acknowledges their troubles and rightfully honors their work.
Admittedly, half the fun of Nouvelle Vague would only be understood by cinephiles, film history students, or anyone with a passion for the titular film movement. The naturalistic, black-and-white style mirrors the very style Jean-Luc Godard employs in Breathless, which is fitting for a film about the making of said movie, and considering his own oeuvre, it’s clearly a style director Richard Linklater is at home in. Still, even without the full context, there’s undeniably funny about the way Linklater depicts Godard behind the scenes. He’s presented as this baffling figure that does things simply because it’s different, which ironically echoes many artists’ biopics, but Nouvelle Vague pulls everything all together with a charm only Linklater could bring.
Based on the 2011 novella of the same name, Train Dreams depicts the life of Robert Grainier in the first half of the 20th century. It’s a pretty ordinary life. Born without parents, and not quite sociable, Grainier lives a lonely existence, a loneliness that’s interrupted occasionally by talks with his fellow co-workers and the limited time he gets with his family. However, that doesn’t mean it’s boring. Joel Edgerton delivers one of his best performances that subtly depicts his inner world, while writer-director Clint Bentley pairs Grainier’s day-to-day with surreal dreams, feverish imaginings that captures Grainier’s deepest hopes for the people he’s lost. Train Dreams depicts an ordinary life with extraordinary sensitivity.
Four Seasons, a series remake of the 1981 romcom of the same name, follows three married couples and the different joys, troubles, and changes their relationships go through. The writing is poignant, moving, and hilarious. Co-creator and head writer Tina Fey is no stranger to comedy, but here she moves away from her signature absurdity and touches on something more observational and real. Almost immediately, the series pulls you in and makes you feel like you’ve known this friend group for a long time. You’re sensitive to the dynamics, invested in their feelings, in on the many jokes, and counting the days you’ll see them next. And because they’re relatively well-off, the show is also a gorgeous watch. The beautiful trips they make across different seasons add to the excitement of each episode. This is a breezy, easily bingeable watch. But it’s also a heartbreaking one—brace yourself for the surprise ending.
If I had a nickel for 2025 church-set murder mysteries solved by priests portrayed by handsome English actors, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t much, but it’s weird that it happened twice. This show across the pond takes on a cozier, nostalgic vibe, though. Adapting the first part of the Canon Clement mystery series, this show has its priest protagonist free from suspicion, as a possible intended victim. As such, Clement doesn’t go on a crisis of faith that Wake Up Dead Man has, taking on a more affable buddy-cop situation with DS Neil Vanloo. If anything, Clement isn’t as much the focus here– it’s the community that we get to learn and grow alongside with. Nonetheless, like that later film, Murder Before Evensong contemplates the way faith has closed itself off and allowed their teachings to be the basis of prejudice.
The strength of Plainclothes is the way it captures a memory. Fitting, for a film primarily set on New Year’s Eve. Memories of loved ones often replay during the holidays, and, when for some reason or another, the relationship got cut off, they replay like a supercut highlighting all of the possible reasons why it ended. So while it does take a while to settle into, writer-director Carmen Emmi’s mishmash of VHS footage, shots from a distance, and the nineties setting strengthens Lucas’ guilt over the police work he was assigned to as an undercover officer, the kind of cruelty widely accepted by most institutions of the time. Plainclothes remembers this pain, the tension, and the isolation that many have denied existed.
Murderbot takes time finding its pace—the first three episodes are bogged down by heavy narration, which isn’t always helped by Skarsgård’s deadpan delivery. But once it settles into its groove, the show turns into a delightful smorgasbord of different genres. It’s sci-fi, sure, but it’s also a workplace comedy, a thriller, and perhaps indirectly, a heartwarming tribute to how outcasts can find comfort in communities and found families. Don’t be fooled by Murderbot’s name: this is a sweet show, one where an anti-human killer robot (who presumably stands in for the pessimists among us) is eventually endeared to a group of quirky, lovable, and frequently funny humans.
From the creators of Scavengers Reign and Veep comes Common Side Effects, a show that’s at once quirkily funny and chillingly relevant. It’s about Marshall, a fungi expert who finds a mushroom that heals all wounds and illnesses. As a result, he becomes a target of big pharma, insurance companies, and even government agencies, all of whom, according to Marshall, insist on keeping the mushroom from the public so they can continue to profit off people’s sickness. It sounds silly at first, like the kind of fearmongering, fact-less posts you roll your eyes at when they hit your timeline. And the show is silly, but in a different way. It has the absurdity and quirks that make adult cartoons so delightful, yes, but as a condemnation of capitalist exploitation and greed? It can’t be any sharper, especially now that medical costs are skyrocketing and the public are starting to fight back.
Led by Brian Tyree Henry (Atlanta, The Fire Inside, Bullet Train), Dope Thief is a thrilling if uneven crime comedy following two grifters (the other played by Wagner Moura) who get into deep trouble after a fake drug bust goes wrong. With cartel men and the feds chasing them, Henry and Moura’s characters must find a way to protect themselves and their loved ones, all while they process some unresolved grief and trauma. Moura is reliably great, but Henry juggles plenty of hats here—he is the emotional core, as well as often the funniest guy in the room. It gets uneven midway, but nothing some impressive and enjoyable performances can’t fix.
Alien has done it again. Another prequel installment, Alien: Earth gives another glimpse into the sci-fi vision that fans of the franchise would likely enjoy. This time around, it’s in show form. The extra runtime gives showrunner Noah Hawley more space to build the Alien universe, and he takes that time to flesh out fundamental story lore, like the human push to create cyborgs, synthetics (AI), and hybrids of the two. It’s an interesting decision that mirrors today’s concerns with AI, and there are moments that the show gets a bit uneven because of it. Ultimately, however, Hawley’s vision honors the original story in both style and themes.
Why worry if your place is haunted, when it’s so difficult to even get one nowadays? These uncertain times make haunted houses somewhat passé, but Haunted Hotel proves there’s still some life left to the concept. It’s pretty funny. Rather than confronting their past, or uncovering unfinished business, the living owners of the Undervale Hotel are already desensitized to their fellow ghostly visitors, so the way Katherine wearily responds to the haunted shenanigans is hilarious. That being said, the jokes go beyond frustration for the hospitality business. It’s also a family business, with the living reckoning with their distance from the dead, especially between Katherine and her ghost brother Nathan. There are bits that feel a tad derivative, but Haunted Hotel provides a fairly pleasant stay, albeit with some demon summonings and exorcisms in between.
Adults is a show that tries to capture its generation’s specific joys and woes, much like what Friends did in the 90s, How I Met Your Mother did in the 2000s, Girls did in the 2010s…you get it. Like them, Adults’ core cast is comprised of a group of friends who are funny, relatable, confused, and frustrating—sometimes, to the point of annoying obnoxiousness, but it all goes back to age: these are people in their 20s. They (we) rarely make sense. At least in the 30-minute episodes the show offers, that mayhem is wrapped in bittersweet delight. It’s not without its faults, to be sure. The characters and plots are thinly sketched, saved only by the cast’s charisma and chemistry. But the first season is promising; like any young adult, it just needs time to figure out its voice.
It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley depicts the life of a musician whose time was cut too short. It’s a tale you might have heard before. He fell in love with the guitar at a young age, busked in small cafes and downtown bars, and won over fans and record labels to create one excellent album, but died just before stardom. This documentary depicts this somewhat conventionally. That being said, while it lacks in original approach, it captures the emotions well, understanding what moved Buckley to his craft. Tackling the loss of his father, music as his refuge, and his conflicted thoughts about fame, It’s Never Over unpacks the artist in a deeply personal way.
In Pee-wee as Himself, actor Paul Reubens tells all about his notoriously private life. He sets the record straight about his sexuality. He addresses the scandals that broke out during the peak of his fame. But most importantly and interestingly, he talks about his creative process and how he created the iconic character, Pee-wee Herman. Here, too, Rubens talks about how the character consumed him to the point where he didn’t know where he started and Pee-wee ended. His insights are illuminating for any aspiring artist and actor. But the film, directed by Matt Wolf (Teenage), is also a masterclass in documentary-making. Wolf melds archival footage and photograps with Ruebens’ dreamy absurdist aesthetic, all while going head-to-head with Ruebens on the interview. Both want to control the narrative, and while their exchanges are initially playful, they turn increasingly tense and culminate in a surprising and moving ending.