Movie Recommendations by Genre
After years of depicting the sport in film, Jet Li wanted one last shot to cap off his long career in wushu. Fearless is that last attempt. Commemorating real life martial artist Huo Yuanjia, this biopic had everything his fans would expect. The action, of course, was excellent. Each fight sequence has the signature sleek choreography that Li popularized. But what makes Fearless work is how it mirrors the classic hero’s journey with the fate of Huo’s country. Before seeing Huo’s victories, we witness his defeats, his struggles, and his return to the simple country life that gave him the foundation to rise again. While it doesn’t rise to the heights of Li’s other historical epics, Fearless is a worthy swan song to Li’s wushu depictions.
When their daimyo dies from an infected wound, it’s the worst possible time for the Takeda clan as they battle against the rest of the country for control. Luckily for Shingen, he meets a thief that looks exactly like him. The order to his generals is clear: Keep the pretense that he’s alive for just three years. The execution of that order? Not so straightforward. Kagemusha takes this real wartime practice to explore how powerful yet fragile a movement can be, especially when propped up by only appearances. This movement has grown to be greater than Shingen, but it cannot function without him, with only the nameless thief’s visage holding everything together. We don’t even know anything about him, other than his want to live up to the real deal. And as the film goes through his journey, Akira Kurosawa reclaims his full reputation back, taking down the challenge of color filmmaking through returning to his familiar epics and his signature, striking frames. Kagemusha beautifully captures how hard it is to match up the ideal, and thoughtfully considers how it can all be washed away.
In the fallout of his conflict with producer Tsui Hark, filmmaker John Woo was alone, virtually blacklisted, and unable to find funding for what could have been the prequel to A Better Tomorrow. Because of these circumstances, he self-funded this action thriller Bullet in the Head. Of course, it’s possible that the themes of brotherhood, loyalty, and betrayal are entirely coincidental, but nonetheless, Woo crafts a compelling narrative, helped by its haunting score and the tear-tracked performances of the three leads. Setting the film in the Hong Kong riots and Vietnam War, Bullet in the Head reveals how war never leaves any relationship unscathed, not even between those who proclaim to be brothers.
This remake brought back the iconic blind swordsman a decade after disappearing from film, and like his previous stints, it’s entertaining and action-packed. It’s cool to see bad guys taken unaware by Zatoichi’s unassuming demeanor. It’s exciting to see Takeshi Kitano take on the mantle from the late Shintaro Katsu, and fight for the oppressed town he’s visiting. This time, however, the 2003 remake takes on a lot more fun. Adding to the Western-esque drama and Japanese chanbara, the 2003 remake brings in more energy, more CGI experimentation, and more humor– emphasizing the mostly serious character’s more playful deceptions and lighthearted interactions with the people he’s protecting. Beat Takeshi only had this one stab at the franchise, but The Blind Swordsman: Zatoichi is certainly fun, and certainly well-made.
Ah Jong is The Killer referred to in the title, but he’s more than just a professional assassin. In fact, the film doesn’t introduce him in the middle of a kill, shots fired, guns a-blazing. Instead, the film first finds him in church, contemplating the collateral damage. But it’s not easy for him to leave, since needs one last kill for the funds to restore his girlfriend Jennie’s sight. And when this contrast gets the attention of detective Li Ying, he might actually find a way to make up for what he has done. Filmmaker John Woo takes this melodrama to trigger a series of masterfully conducted shoot-outs, with each new danger pulling Ah Jong in further, and with each well-meaning intention never fully free from dire consequences.
If you’re looking for a straightforward, reasonable plot for children, you’re not going to find it in this eccentric stop-motion animated comedy. That’s because from the reasonable panic over forgetting a friend’s birthday, A Town Called Panic spirals into a series of fantastical consequences, including an order of 50 million bricks, a journey to the center of the earth, and their unexpected detour to the northern tundra. But to be fair, logic is not really what children look for. If anything, the weirdness of Cowboy, Indian, and Horse’s adventures feels reminiscent of a child playing with mishmashed toy sets. Like the stop-motion medium, anything can happen, with enough imagination, and A Town Called Panic has quite the amount of frenzy to spare.
This remake brought back the iconic blind swordsman a decade after disappearing from film, and like his previous stints, it’s entertaining and action-packed. It’s cool to see bad guys taken unaware by Zatoichi’s unassuming demeanor. It’s exciting to see Takeshi Kitano take on the mantle from the late Shintaro Katsu, and fight for the oppressed town he’s visiting. This time, however, the 2003 remake takes on a lot more fun. Adding to the Western-esque drama and Japanese chanbara, the 2003 remake brings in more energy, more CGI experimentation, and more humor– emphasizing the mostly serious character’s more playful deceptions and lighthearted interactions with the people he’s protecting. Beat Takeshi only had this one stab at the franchise, but The Blind Swordsman: Zatoichi is certainly fun, and certainly well-made.
While dismissed by earlier critics for its morally dubious protagonists, their primarily financial motives, and its similarities to Casablanca released two years before, this wartime romance is now considered a Hollywood classic. Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising. After all, To Have and Have Not is the only film written by two Nobel Prize winners, as of writing. And while Ernest Hemingway based it on a novel he considered his worst, the moral of doing good in spite of poverty and rationing was pretty compelling. Regardless of what caused the change in reception, it was clear that the biggest factor in making this story work for the screen is the outstanding chemistry between Humphrey Bogart and then-newcomer Lauren Bacall. It certainly was the beginning of one of Hollywood’s best known relationships.
What makes people attempt to climb the tallest mountain in the world? Many might be motivated simply for the title, but in this animated adaptation, it’s the obsession that gets them going. The Summit of the Gods starts its journey with the real life mystery of George Mallory’s 1924 Everest climb, which, if answered, could reshape the history of mountaineering as we know it. So, of course, a reporter like Makoto Fukamachi has to follow the story. As we witness his investigation, and get to know the climber that might have all the answers, Habu Joji, it’s easy to get sucked into their story with the breathtaking visuals, the atmospheric soundscape, and the characters that we get to know on a personal level. The Summit of the Gods understands why they do what they do, despite each step pulling them further away from safety.
This post-apocalyptic sci-fi adventure might have escaped the radar of most Ghibli fans, but that’s mostly because it isn’t a Studio Ghibli film. Shocker, I know. But that’s the reason why Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind deserves more love. In its manga form, Nausicaä proved that Hayao Miyazaki was capable of the nuanced, yet epic storytelling that is rare to see in action comics. In its movie form, Nausicaä also proved that that storytelling can jump straight to the silver screen, and that Miyazaki works best with his own original work. In other words, Nausicaä was a Ghibli film before the studio was created, and its resulting success proved that audiences were hungry for more.
If you’re looking for a straightforward, reasonable plot for children, you’re not going to find it in this eccentric stop-motion animated comedy. That’s because from the reasonable panic over forgetting a friend’s birthday, A Town Called Panic spirals into a series of fantastical consequences, including an order of 50 million bricks, a journey to the center of the earth, and their unexpected detour to the northern tundra. But to be fair, logic is not really what children look for. If anything, the weirdness of Cowboy, Indian, and Horse’s adventures feels reminiscent of a child playing with mishmashed toy sets. Like the stop-motion medium, anything can happen, with enough imagination, and A Town Called Panic has quite the amount of frenzy to spare.
Usually, time travel in fiction are nifty plot devices that allow its protagonist to turn back time and undo mistakes, so the character usually has lived a long life, marked by that one thing that has gone wrong. The Girl Who Leapt Through Time is different. As an awkward, clumsy teenager, Makoto Konno thinks everything she does is a mistake. Being late, bumping into that old lady, causing a fire in her home economics class– All these things have to be corrected the moment she gets the power of time travel. This makes this time travel film more comedic than tragic, but as the plot unfolds, and Makoto experiences every way her day could end, this film thoughtfully depicts these small mistakes as lessons before bigger consequences could take place. It’s a smart way to tie in the original novel’s plot for a newer generation.
What makes people attempt to climb the tallest mountain in the world? Many might be motivated simply for the title, but in this animated adaptation, it’s the obsession that gets them going. The Summit of the Gods starts its journey with the real life mystery of George Mallory’s 1924 Everest climb, which, if answered, could reshape the history of mountaineering as we know it. So, of course, a reporter like Makoto Fukamachi has to follow the story. As we witness his investigation, and get to know the climber that might have all the answers, Habu Joji, it’s easy to get sucked into their story with the breathtaking visuals, the atmospheric soundscape, and the characters that we get to know on a personal level. The Summit of the Gods understands why they do what they do, despite each step pulling them further away from safety.
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.
This post-apocalyptic sci-fi adventure might have escaped the radar of most Ghibli fans, but that’s mostly because it isn’t a Studio Ghibli film. Shocker, I know. But that’s the reason why Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind deserves more love. In its manga form, Nausicaä proved that Hayao Miyazaki was capable of the nuanced, yet epic storytelling that is rare to see in action comics. In its movie form, Nausicaä also proved that that storytelling can jump straight to the silver screen, and that Miyazaki works best with his own original work. In other words, Nausicaä was a Ghibli film before the studio was created, and its resulting success proved that audiences were hungry for more.
Biopics about people ‘overcoming’ a condition are usually where good intentions go to die. I Swear mostly dodges that trap, and Robert Aramayo is the reason. He plays John Davidson, a real Scottish man whose Tourette syndrome was severe enough that his hometown treated him as a problem to manage rather than a person. The film doesn’t sand down how hard that is, and it doesn’t turn him into a saint either.
What you get instead is funny, prickly, and genuinely moving, the story of a man who became an advocate not because he was noble but because he was tired of being misunderstood. It’s the rare feel-good film that earns the feeling instead of manufacturing it, and Aramayo’s performance is the kind that stays with you long after the credits.
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.
When the love triangle is set between the most popular guy in school, his tomboyish best friend, and the beautiful principal’s daughter, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai unsurprisingly goes through the inevitable who-would-he-choose romantic storyline. We’ll say it outright: It should be cliché. And yet, we’re surprised to tell you that it works. Part of it is because of how it’s framed– before we get into the youthful shenanigans that plague schools all over the globe, we learn about them from the future outcome, namely from Rahul’s child, reading a letter from the mother that passed away. But even when we get into the overly glowy memories of the time, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai still feels different because of the way it cares about its characters. Neither Anjali or Tina are made into villains for no reason– they’re all friends that have fun together, have incredible chemistry, and care about each other. Maybe in another universe, they would have been polyamorous. Kuch Kuch Hota Hai somehow does the impossible in such a refreshing way.
If you’re looking for a straightforward, reasonable plot for children, you’re not going to find it in this eccentric stop-motion animated comedy. That’s because from the reasonable panic over forgetting a friend’s birthday, A Town Called Panic spirals into a series of fantastical consequences, including an order of 50 million bricks, a journey to the center of the earth, and their unexpected detour to the northern tundra. But to be fair, logic is not really what children look for. If anything, the weirdness of Cowboy, Indian, and Horse’s adventures feels reminiscent of a child playing with mishmashed toy sets. Like the stop-motion medium, anything can happen, with enough imagination, and A Town Called Panic has quite the amount of frenzy to spare.
Given the other depictions of BDSM on film, we weren’t sure how Pillion would turn out. Much more so with a first-time feature director and two actors taking on their first leading gay roles. Thankfully, the way they portray this unconventional relationship is undeniably stellar. It’s non-judgemental, yes, but it’s not cloying; Sweet, while still fully recognizant of their incompatible desires; Humorous, though not at the community’s expense. Like Colin, Pillion takes on a wide-eyed curiosity towards a world whose few portrayals only focus on the salacious, and brings us to feel his yearning for more than what Ray is willing to give. Ray shouldn’t be your personal example of what a good dom should be and Colin was definitely unprepared for their dynamic, but Pillion ultimately works because of how freely it lets them explore their wants and change as a result.
Of all the movies made about movies, no one’s ever made one quite like this. Make no mistake: Blow Out does reference some of the greats– the most obvious is the first scene mirroring the shower scream in Psycho– but unlike other films about films, Blow Out focuses on the use of sound. After all, it’s only through sound technician Jack Terry’s craft that he gets pulled into the conspiracy himself, with a recording of a gunshot revealing an assassination under the guise of a simple car accident. Echoing the post-Watergate America’s concerns over surveillance, the investigation he undertakes, as well as the justifiable paranoia over his work, leads him to use his new medium as his one weapon. As he does so, Blow Out cleverly demonstrates how movies have both found the naked truth and dressed it up for its own purposes.
You can probably predict from the title that an accident starts this thriller but what happens after is totally unexpected. Of course, a car accident requires a visit to the auto mechanic, but in this film, this car check-up ends up becoming an unintended encounter with unexpected consequences. That’s because the mechanic recognizes the customer’s peg leg, the very same leg that he’s heard while being tortured in prison. Everything that happens, then, is a result of that past. Part of it is actually funny, with the tragicomedy poking fun at how totally unprepared Vahid is to enact his revenge, to the point he’s not even 100% sure he got the correct man. Still, however messy it gets, It Was Just An Accident never forgets the wrong that’s been done, and highlights the reparations Vahid and his fellow inmates should’ve gotten.
In the fallout of his conflict with producer Tsui Hark, filmmaker John Woo was alone, virtually blacklisted, and unable to find funding for what could have been the prequel to A Better Tomorrow. Because of these circumstances, he self-funded this action thriller Bullet in the Head. Of course, it’s possible that the themes of brotherhood, loyalty, and betrayal are entirely coincidental, but nonetheless, Woo crafts a compelling narrative, helped by its haunting score and the tear-tracked performances of the three leads. Setting the film in the Hong Kong riots and Vietnam War, Bullet in the Head reveals how war never leaves any relationship unscathed, not even between those who proclaim to be brothers.
From 1964-1985, Brazil was under a military dictatorship. If you’re looking for films about this period of time, you can check out 2024 Oscar winner I’m Still Here, which poignantly depicted the memoir in a straightforward manner. But if you’re looking for another approach, you should check out this political thriller. The Secret Agent takes on a more exhilarating spin, with the main character Armando right in the action. Narcos’ Wagner Moura delivers an excellent performance of a former professor who isn’t actually an agent, but is somewhat forced to act like one, with his role to forge his passport and to find information on his missing mom. And as he tries to flee the country, his story echoes the genres of the time, with slow, intense zoom-ins that remind us of Cold War spy paranoia albeit more sunny, and a series of tiger shark attacks that reminds us of thrillers like Jaws (1975). It’s this approach that makes The Secret Agent an exciting and original take on this tense time period.
Ah Jong is The Killer referred to in the title, but he’s more than just a professional assassin. In fact, the film doesn’t introduce him in the middle of a kill, shots fired, guns a-blazing. Instead, the film first finds him in church, contemplating the collateral damage. But it’s not easy for him to leave, since needs one last kill for the funds to restore his girlfriend Jennie’s sight. And when this contrast gets the attention of detective Li Ying, he might actually find a way to make up for what he has done. Filmmaker John Woo takes this melodrama to trigger a series of masterfully conducted shoot-outs, with each new danger pulling Ah Jong in further, and with each well-meaning intention never fully free from dire consequences.
The Beatles is the greatest musical band ever created, or at least the one with the most success, most influence, and most impact in the industry. So, what do they do when that same band breaks up? Fans that have followed their careers since are likely to know what has happened, but the perspective Man on the Run presents is fascinating. Focusing entirely on Paul McCartney, this documentary clears up some of the mystery and confusion that surrounded him, the weight of the expectations and the disappointment of the fans over the break-up. Of course, the archive alone would already please fans. Filmmaker Morgan Neville simply takes that footage to celebrate McCartney’s reinvention.
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.
Given the number of exposés Sy Hersh has written in his lifetime, the way Cover-Up jumps from story to story can be a bit jarring for casual viewers. It’s a lot. From the My Lai massacre in the 1970s to some of today’s hot-button issues, there’s so much violence he’s uncovered being done in the name of the nation. Certain segments, such as his childhood and marriage, help provide context to how he’s able to continue despite all the trouble. And surprisingly, the film also gets into what he got wrong. Ultimately, however, the documentary works because of focusing on his ethos. Cover-Up is as relentless as the man himself.
In the hands of another director, Sans Soleil would simply be a travelogue. A set of beautiful shots from Japan, Iceland, Guinea-Bissau, and San Francisco, arranged chronologically. Maybe accompanied with some rambling words about how beautiful the place is. However, filmmaker Chris Marker does differently. The way he puts them all together creates such an unusual documentary that experiments with the form, pairing clips with wandering narrations mixing questions, recollections, and loosely connected stories about time, space, and memory. Given that there’s four different versions shaped by the language it’s in, we can’t say that Sans Soleil is sans any intention. But what we can say is that it’s one of its kind.
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.
Biopics about people ‘overcoming’ a condition are usually where good intentions go to die. I Swear mostly dodges that trap, and Robert Aramayo is the reason. He plays John Davidson, a real Scottish man whose Tourette syndrome was severe enough that his hometown treated him as a problem to manage rather than a person. The film doesn’t sand down how hard that is, and it doesn’t turn him into a saint either.
What you get instead is funny, prickly, and genuinely moving, the story of a man who became an advocate not because he was noble but because he was tired of being misunderstood. It’s the rare feel-good film that earns the feeling instead of manufacturing it, and Aramayo’s performance is the kind that stays with you long after the credits.
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.
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.
Of all the movies made about movies, no one’s ever made one quite like this. Make no mistake: Blow Out does reference some of the greats– the most obvious is the first scene mirroring the shower scream in Psycho– but unlike other films about films, Blow Out focuses on the use of sound. After all, it’s only through sound technician Jack Terry’s craft that he gets pulled into the conspiracy himself, with a recording of a gunshot revealing an assassination under the guise of a simple car accident. Echoing the post-Watergate America’s concerns over surveillance, the investigation he undertakes, as well as the justifiable paranoia over his work, leads him to use his new medium as his one weapon. As he does so, Blow Out cleverly demonstrates how movies have both found the naked truth and dressed it up for its own purposes.
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.
If you’re looking for a straightforward, reasonable plot for children, you’re not going to find it in this eccentric stop-motion animated comedy. That’s because from the reasonable panic over forgetting a friend’s birthday, A Town Called Panic spirals into a series of fantastical consequences, including an order of 50 million bricks, a journey to the center of the earth, and their unexpected detour to the northern tundra. But to be fair, logic is not really what children look for. If anything, the weirdness of Cowboy, Indian, and Horse’s adventures feels reminiscent of a child playing with mishmashed toy sets. Like the stop-motion medium, anything can happen, with enough imagination, and A Town Called Panic has quite the amount of frenzy to spare.
Seven year old Sangwoo is such a horrible kid. He’s rude, snobbish, and is more interested in playing his video games than helping his mute grandmother out in the countryside. Understandably, it’s what makes the first few minutes of The Way Home a tad irritating. However, somehow writer-director Lee Jeong-hyang crafts a strong relationship between them. The film eventually makes it clear how out of depth they both feel, with the son homesick and unused to living without the conveniences of Seoul, and his grandma unable to figure out what he wants. It’s so heartwarming when they finally reach an understanding, even if the journey to get there would require the same grandma’s saintly patience.
Who doesn’t love a good wedding? It’s a lovely celebration anywhere in the world, but Hum Aapke Hain Koun depicted the Hindu wedding as one of a kind. The film depicts a traditional engagement and wedding ceremony in its most spectacular form, with catchy songs, elaborate sets, and colorful attire that set the standard for many South Asian weddings today. It’s so captivating that it’s easy to forgive the film’s long runtime and slow pace. That being said, certain aspects, such as the roles women take on, might not have aged well for modern viewers. Still, Hum Aapke Hain Koun remains a Bollywood classic for its undeniable impact.
There’s something so delightful about watching Good Morning, the second of Yasujirō Ozu’s films in color. It’s easy to see why– the conflict is relatable, Ozu’s shots are immaculately framed in warm colors, and of course, the pouting children hoping to get a television of their own are just pinch-worthy adorable. But through the neighborhood conversations, the different generational concerns of each Hayashi, and a surprising amount of fart jokes, Good Morning subtly ponders on social niceties, the consideration we learn to give to others in silence, as well as the freely given affection that becomes harder to share as adults. Good Morning may not be Ozu’s most famous feature, but it’s nonetheless one of his most delightful to watch.
While not containing the most famous cartoon mouse, The Secret of NIMH nonetheless is a childhood classic about mice for kids from the 80s, launching the animation studio Don Bluth Productions to rival Disney. As such, the film takes a departure from the usual kid’s cartoon standards, taking less time in musical spectacle, and more time in stylistic art to express emotion, as well as take on a more complex plot about a mice family with more personal stakes. It’s what makes The Secret of NIMH an underrated classic that deserves a rewatch for those who have watched it in their childhood.
If you’re looking for a straightforward, reasonable plot for children, you’re not going to find it in this eccentric stop-motion animated comedy. That’s because from the reasonable panic over forgetting a friend’s birthday, A Town Called Panic spirals into a series of fantastical consequences, including an order of 50 million bricks, a journey to the center of the earth, and their unexpected detour to the northern tundra. But to be fair, logic is not really what children look for. If anything, the weirdness of Cowboy, Indian, and Horse’s adventures feels reminiscent of a child playing with mishmashed toy sets. Like the stop-motion medium, anything can happen, with enough imagination, and A Town Called Panic has quite the amount of frenzy to spare.
Plenty of folklore warns against greed, but not usually through the uniquely disgusting way Tumbbad embodies it. To the ordinary person, the nearly rotting, ever-hungry crone that no one else would dare to touch, let alone feed, should be something to run away from. We certainly felt that with every raspy warning, all the grime encrusted on her skin, and of course, the multiple threats of cannibalism. Yet, because of the promise of gold, Vinayak Rao can’t resist returning to the manor that’s the source of their family curse. And as we follow his journey, it cleverly mirrors the family’s unrelenting greed with the very same avarice behind the country’s colonization. Tumbbad reinvents familiar folklore into a distinctive supernatural horror gem.
Given the way this sprawling three-hour theatrical edit echoes the director’s real childhood, it’s easy to say that Fanny and Alexander is an autobiography. In some ways, it is. The dynamic with their stepfather was directly inspired by the director’s own father. In the hands of another director, it would have been easy to demonize the guy. But this is Ingmar Bergman directing his final film, so it should be no surprise that he meditates over the storytelling both father and son use in carving out their realities. At the same time, Fanny and Alexander encapsulated many of Bergman’s thematic concerns, clearly at his most personal.
Usually, time travel in fiction are nifty plot devices that allow its protagonist to turn back time and undo mistakes, so the character usually has lived a long life, marked by that one thing that has gone wrong. The Girl Who Leapt Through Time is different. As an awkward, clumsy teenager, Makoto Konno thinks everything she does is a mistake. Being late, bumping into that old lady, causing a fire in her home economics class– All these things have to be corrected the moment she gets the power of time travel. This makes this time travel film more comedic than tragic, but as the plot unfolds, and Makoto experiences every way her day could end, this film thoughtfully depicts these small mistakes as lessons before bigger consequences could take place. It’s a smart way to tie in the original novel’s plot for a newer generation.
After more than 400 separate film adaptations, is there anything new to say about the monster that birthed the sci-fi genre? Turns out, yes, there is. Writer-director Guillermo del Toro has long dreamed about adapting his favorite movie monster, and it shows, with the few changes he makes to the story. Some book purists may find these changes off-putting, but the way del Toro structures the film actually lines his version closer to the original novel, remixing its epistolary form through a POV shift halfway the film. The shift does erase some of the ambiguity, as film adaptations often do, but overall, it’s a move that makes sense for del Toro. It’s a change that highlights his fascination for the human in the monster, and it’s a change that the cast gamely takes on with their excellent performances.