Mayhem Reigns in Self-Aware, Hyperviolent Zombie Film ‘Colony’

Mayhem Reigns in Self-Aware, Hyperviolent Zombie Film ‘Colony’

By Alex McPherson

A zombie actioner that makes up for its narrative weaknesses with bone-contorting gusto and ruthless sensibilities, director Yeon Sang-ho’s “Colony” hits the sweet spot of gnarly entertainment.

Taking place in modern day Seoul, South Korea, the film opens with disgruntled biochemist Seo Young-chul (Koo Kyo-hwan) warning police that he’s preparing to launch a bioterrorist attack at the Dongwoo-ri conference building using redesigned slime molds.

He also injects himself with the supposed vaccine, making his survival essential to containing the mysterious virus he’s about to unleash on unsuspecting conference goers — and on one higher-up in particular. 

Biotech CEO Kang Woo-chul (Kim Jong-tae) is giving a presentation on bioengineered slime molds that are designed to enable cell regeneration and “hive mind” collective intelligence. Scientist Han Kyo-seong (Go Soo) is attending the talk with his prickly (and unemployed) ex-wife Kwon Se-jeong (Gianna Jun), hoping to land her a job with Woo-chul’s company, Chains Bio. 

Unfortunately, her job prospects are quickly dashed, as Young-chul injects Woo-chul with a syringe filled with the slime mold material he accuses Woo-chul of plagiarizing. This prompts Woo-chul to vomit extravagantly and transform into a goopy, fast-running creature (pretty much a zombie) hungry for human flesh and having an affinity for impressively floppy parkour

The killcount rises as Woo-chul bites and infects everyone within sight, while Kyo-seong and Se-jeong scramble for safety, trapped in the building as the whole place becomes overrun with the infected. 

These aren’t just any ordinary zombies, though. They’re all connected through a kind of swarm intelligence, able to learn and evolve on the fly as each new bug in the system is gradually accounted for, every link of the chain privy to the same knowledge. Absorbing new information causes them to stare mouth agape at the ceiling (a sound equivalent to a demonic cow mooing plays), before becoming “upgraded.”

They are constantly evolving as a unit and accounting for inconsistencies (like, for example, initially mistaking people on poster advertisements for flesh-and-blood humans). 

Kyo-seong and Se-jeong soon encounter off-duty security guard Choi Hyun-seok (Ji Chang-wook) and his wheelchair-dependent sister Hyun-hee (Kim Shin-rok), along with counterterrorism leader Lee Bong-seok (Lee Joong-ok) and some panicking teenagers. T

he group is soon on a mission to find Young-chul and escape the building, hopefully preventing the spread of this wild outbreak along the way. Time is running out, and “Colony” makes no qualms about how profoundly screwed they all are, and how quickly they will betray each other.

Chaos ensues. Sure, “Colony” isn’t high art, nor is it particularly groundbreaking from a narrative standpoint. There’s also plenty to critique when just looking at characters’ moment-to-moment logic, which, at times, seems explicitly tuned for maximum death. But “Colony” still leaps along with a propulsive sense of nihilistic glee. 

Sang-ho and Choi Gyu-seok’s screenplay sidelines thematic depth for a series of escalating set pieces and thrillingly dynamic camerawork that keeps the pacing swift, the gore flowing freely, and the fun factor extremely high from start to finish — rarely pausing for more than a few minutes before launching its unlucky group into new scenarios dealing with the ever-changing, bloodthirsty horde.

Indeed, for all its cynicism, “Colony” is pretty damn charming if one doesn’t think too hard about things. And, to the film’s credit, Sang-ho doesn’t give us enough time to think.

None of these characters are particularly compelling, but the ensemble makes do, mainly Jun, who brings a sense of resourceful badassery that’s a great avenue for the film’s increasing stakes and peril. Chang-wook and Shin-rok carry much of the film’s (limited) pathos, leaning into melodrama late in the film that doesn’t fully land.

Kyo-hwan, on the other hand, is fully on the film’s deranged wavelength — a slick-haired, mischievous Big Bad waltzing through crowds of zombies with snarky gusto. Gone are the “failures of communication” that plague the human race, according to Woo-chul: the zombies are an improvement. Sure, dude.

But when one looks past the simplicity and lack of meaningful character development, “Colony” is a blast, with cinematographer Byun Bong-sun throwing us into elaborately choreographed carnage and claustrophobic standoffs with life-or-death stakes and a devilish sense of humor. The stunt team deserves a special shoutout.

These zombies are terrifying more because of their athleticism than their appearance, and we get to see their brains develop in real-time as “Colony” digs our trapped people further and further into their own graves. 

By the time “Colony” wraps up, it’s practically an all-out action film, almost Michael Bay-esque. And I had a big dumb grin on my face the entire time. Sometimes, that’s all one can really ask for, and this film delivers — nothing more, nothing less.

“Colony” is a 2026 Korean zombie horror movie directed by Yeon Sang-ho and starring Jun Ji-hyun, Koo Kyo-hwan, Kim Shin-rock, Shin Hyeon-bin, Go Soo and Kim Jong-tae. It is rated R for bloody violent content and some language and runs 2 hours, 2 minutes. It showed at the Hi-Pointe Theatre Aug. 28 – Aug. 31. Alex’s Grade: B+  

‘Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma’ is a Gloriously Strange, Overstuffed Experience 

‘Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma’ is a Gloriously Strange, Overstuffed Experience 

By Alex McPherson

Director Jane Schoenbrun’s surrealist meta–slasher-satire-character-study “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma” is ambitious and wholly unique, even if occasionally muddled by the weight of its dense ideas.

We follow Kris Williams (Hannah Einbinder), an academic queer filmmaker hired by a big studio to direct a reboot of the “Camp Miasma” slasher-film franchise. The series has, over the years, become reduced to bargain-bin sequels and cultural irrelevance, beautifully visualized in a nostalgic, acerbic opening title sequence.

The villain, “Little Death,” wears an HVAC air vent on their head and carries a spear, skewering any poor soul who dares to stay at the titular camp.

Kris has always felt a special attachment to the series (“special attachment” is an understatement, as we later find out). She wants to make the original’s “Final Girl” Billy Presley (Gillian Anderson) the main character of this new outing. Studio reps and her agent (played by Sarah Sherman) aren’t thrilled, and are more interested in Kris sanitizing and “de-cancelling” the franchise’s transphobic core for a modern audience. 

Hannah Einbinder and Gillian Anderson.

Billy retired from acting after the original film was released, but Kris sees an opportunity to capture that initial spark. It’s all the better, and weirder, that Billy now resides at a remote lakeside cabin in the Pacific Northwest at Camp Rivoli, the abandoned campground where the first “Miasma” was filmed.

Things are strange from the get-go, with Kris barely being able to find Camp Rivoli and wandering into a local cinema. A projector flickers to life and Kris watches the scene where young Billy (Amanda Fix) loses her virginity before being stabbed by Little Death — the sequence that stuck with Kris the most, even if she can’t quite identify why it has that effect on her. 

She then meets present-day Billy, who resembles Norma Desmond from “Sunset Boulevard” with a southern twang, seductive aura, and love of weed. The two quickly bond over a basket of KFC chicken tenders and grow closer from there.

They both deconstruct their attachment to the “Miasma” franchise and find new avenues to explore — namely, further unlocking desire, pleasure, and good ‘ole cinephilia amid the blood-drenched fantasy of Little Death.

“Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma” is, like Schoenbrun’s previous “I Saw the TV Glow,” not for all tastes, so obviously personal that it threatens to leave behind viewers who aren’t willing to go along with its swerving rhythms. 

Indeed, Schoenbrun’s latest project has a ton on its mind, from critiquing the slasher genre and the injustices of studio moviemaking to, most successfully, examining the powerful influence that films can have over our sense of self. There’s too much going on at any given point, but it’s a compulsively watchable mess that ultimately couldn’t be any other way.

Much of “Camp Miasma” rests on the shoulders of Einbinder and Anderson, and they’re both fully up to the task. Einbinder is the standout — able to show Kris’s evolution from high-strung, awkward, nerdy intellectual to someone gradually breaking through their shell to embrace their true desires. 

It’s a tough tightrope to walk, and it’s to Einbinder’s credit that Kris never becomes unlikable, just restrained by societal expectations and unsure of what they truly want in life; there’s also a deep connection to Billy and Little Death that defies traditional reason.

Einbinder is able to flex her comedic chops from time to time, but Schoenbrun’s screenplay treats her character arc seriously, maintaining a mostly successful throughline that continues Schoenbrun’s interest in the complex ways that media can shape us.

Einbinder and Anderson’s chemistry sizzles, and Anderson nails the balance between campiness and sincerity. Billy supports Kris from the jump, but she believes that Kris misunderstands the core of the “Miasma” series and its carnal appeals, which are more base but no less impactful.

Schoenbrun’s direction is, yet again, outstanding, making Camp Rivoli a setting out-of-time and existing in a liminal space between reality and fantasy, complete with dazzling matte paintings and an almost fairy-tale aesthetic. 

Much of the film is spent watching the film-within-the-film (with an ensemble including Eva Victor and Zach Cherry), similar to “TV Glow,” which Schoenbrun recreates with strong attention to period detail. They lean into the cheesiness inherent in its “Friday the 13th” and “Sleepaway Camp” influences while painting Little Death as exacting a sort of justified vengeance.

One ultraviolent sequence in particular, set to a melancholic country song, is cartoonishly gruesome and, perhaps counterintuitively, meditative.

There’s a certain point in Schoenbrun’s film, though, especially when the lines between fantasy and reality are blurred, that it becomes overwhelming and overstuffed. It loses some of its charm to the exhausting throes of self-indulgence. 

At these points, along with some perhaps overly broad commentary on the state of the movie industry, it seems like Schoenbrun throws everything at the wall to see what sticks (literally, in some cases). They sacrifice coherence for pure “feeling” — not inherently a problem, but alienating as new elements keep getting introduced that clumsily fit into the unruly tapestry Schoenbrun has been building.

So, while not as poignant as “TV Glow,” “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma” is still entirely like nothing else, another example of experimental filmmaking that deserves support whether or not its wild swings fully connect.

“Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma” is a 2026 horror film directed by Jane Schoenbrun that stars Gillian Anderson, Hannah Einbinder, Eva Victor, Zach Cherry, Amanda Fix, and Sarah Sherman. It is rated R for bloody violence, gore, sexual content, graphic nudity, drug use and some language, and the run time is 1 hour, 52 minutes. It opened in local theatres Aug. 21. Alex’s Grade: B+

Anthony Bourdain Coming-of-Age Story ‘Tony’ Makes Satisfying Meal of Familiar Ingredients

Anthony Bourdain Coming-of-Age Story ‘Tony’ Makes Satisfying Meal of Familiar Ingredients

By Alex McPherson

Director Matt Johnson’s “Tony” is an excellently acted mini-biopic that goes beyond  familiar plot beats to paint a textured portrait of a fascinating, troubled soul.

Adapted from a few chapters of Bourdain’s 2000 memoir, Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly, “Tony” takes place over the summer of 1975, when 19-year-old Anthony Bourdain (Dominic Sessa), a cocky student at Vassar College, dreams of becoming the next Great American novelist.

He’s super confident he’ll receive a grant from the school’s Fellowship Committee — too confident, actually. He even works up the courage to chat up Nancy (Emilia Jones), a high school crush, and learns she’s headed to Provincetown for summer break. 

He’s rejected for the grant, but Bourdain will be damned if he admits to anyone he didn’t get it, especially his judgmental mother (Dagmara Dominczyk). He tells his family he got the fellowship and travels to Provincetown to track Nancy down. He finds her, but discovers she has a boyfriend. 

A drunken Bourdain is beaten up shortly afterwards at a local bar, The Flagship, and is thrown out on the street. He later finds himself (without his wallet) in a beachside hammock on a residence owned by The Flagship’s head “Chef” (Antonio Banderas). Chef takes pity on down-on-his-luck Bourdain and offers him a job as a dishwasher.

Through reluctantly accepting this new gig, Bourdain becomes immersed in the culinary world in all its messiness and joys, and we catch glimpses of the influential chef he’ll ultimately become. 

With a premise like this, “Tony” seems like it’ll follow a conventional trajectory, and, generally, it does. But one mustn’t underestimate the directorial verve of Johnson (director of “Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie” and “BlackBerry”), who finds humor, pathos, and surprising authenticity between the lines.

Nuance abounds in “Tony,” which examines its central subject without sanding down his idiosyncratic brilliance or the darkness and self-destructiveness lurking beneath his confident façade. It doesn’t depend on previous knowledge of Bourdain to succeed as a coming-of-age story in its own right.

The film’s lived-in charms are supported by filmmaking that builds a deep, sun-tinged sense of place. Johnson captures the trauma-bonded camaraderie and undeniable thrill of working in restaurant kitchens, and recreates 1975 Provincetown with striking attention to detail.

Numerous outdoor shots are draped in a wistful, golden hour glow beautifully filmed by cinematographer Michael Bauman and soundtracked to a collection of pitch-perfect needle drops. He also conveys Bourdain’s loneliness and alienation, by initially having him drift through bustling places like an invisible outcast.

Sessa is downright magnetic as Bourdain, capturing his charisma and bravado along with his self-pity and deep-seated feelings of inadequacy, lending even the film’s more outright comedic moments a sense of melancholy. This is especially effective if you know the struggles of Bourdain’s later years.

Bourdain, as written by Johnson, Todd Bartels, Lou Howe, and Matthew Miller, struggles to reconcile the person he wants to become (a writer who we never actually see write anything) with who he actually is.

He’s unable to admit to himself and to others (particularly Nancy) that his life is following a different trajectory than what he had initially planned. He’s adrift, searching for a sense of direction, and his experiences at The Flagship present different paths he could head down.

Bourdain strikes up a friendship with Sal (an outstandingly live-wire Leo Woodall), a hard-partying, womanizing, rebellious coworker who helps bring him out of his slump while tempting him with numerous vices.

But it’s really “Chef” who truly connects; Banderas brings a deep sense of wisdom and tough love that helps unlock Bourdain’s eventual passion for food, even if he takes too much joy in splashing a bucket of ocean water on Bourdain’s face every morning before work. 

Both Sal and Chef (created as amalgamations of various people Bourdain met throughout his career) are vividly realized with a naturalism and dry wit that feels real and decidedly un-Hollywood.

Each provides Bourdain with different paths he could follow, if he’s willing to finally grow up. The supporting cast, including Stavros Halkias, Michael Jibrin, and Monica Raymond, is fantastic; frankly, they’re just a fun group to hang out with.

Emilia Jones as Nancy is given far less to work with here, and it’s clear that “Tony” doesn’t quite know what to do with her besides make her an object of Bourdain’s obsession and eventual growth. At several points, the camera seems to linger creepily over Jones — whether or not we’re supposed to be viewing Nancy through Bourdain’s eyes, it’s off-putting and distracting.

When “Tony” nears its conclusion, though, the more generic aspects of the narrative fall away to leave us with surprising poignancy. The film reminds us to live in the moment and not confine ourselves to expectations. It becomes a more truthful tribute to the real Bourdain (and a fuller  meal) than any hagiographic biopic could ever be.

“Tony” is a 2026 biopic directed by Matt Johnson and starring Dominic Sessa, Antonio Banderas, Emilia Jones, Leo Woodall, Stavros Halkias, Dagmara Dominczyk, Michael Jibrin, Monica Raymund and Rich Sommer. It is Rated R for pervasive language, drug use, and sexual content/nudity and is 1 hour, 46 minutes. It opened in theatres Aug. 21. Alex’s Grade: A-

‘Trains’ Documentary Is A Dark Yet Captivating Ride Through History

‘Trains’ Documentary Is A Dark Yet Captivating Ride Through History

By Alex McPherson

Brilliantly charting the relationship between locomotive innovation and humanity’s darkest instincts, Polish director Maciej J. Drygas’s “Trains” weaves together hypnotically-edited archival footage that speaks, urgently and incisively, to our current moment.

Drygas’s film, a project 10 years in the making that compresses footage from 46 archives from around the world (without narration or voiceover), examines the multifaceted role of the titular machines in Europe during the first half of the 20th Century. 

We begin with a rosy quote from forever-optimist Franz Kafka, and are launched into a sequence showing locomotives being assembled in a factory: huge, hulking constructions ominously framed like they’re about to come to life on their own and enact some “Terminator”-esque vengeance. 

Drygas then takes us outside to train yards and stations packed with travelers, putting us in the passenger seat as we ride along with them. After showing some soldiers and generals lounging at a rail cafe, the film transitions into the start of World War I, where the machines begin to take on a different life altogether. 

Railcars previously filled with ordinary people become vessels for weapons and soldiers traveling to and from battlefields. Initially joyful camaraderie morphs into pain and anguish on trips back home, as soldiers return maimed, disfigured, and mentally shattered from war. 

We’re then shown a variety of services available onboard for passengers post World War I — elaborate meals, fashion shows, film screenings featuring Charlie Chaplin — before shifting gears into the rise of Adolf Hitler and the horrific machinery of World War II.

History continues to repeat itself even as technology “advances,” with Drygas zeroing in on the repetitive, seemingly inevitable ways we corrupt it for inhumane yet, also, very human, means.

Drygas’s film is full of imagery both beautiful and horrific, woven together with an astonishing soundscape and a sense of moving forward while being trapped in place, at the mercy of impulses seemingly beyond societal control. Despite Drygas’s bleak views on humanity, though, “Trains” is a completely fascinating watch.

The film lulls one into a rapt daze through its rhythmic, cyclical structure before shocking and sobering with editing that turns its subjects into symbols of humanity in general, with trains as the engine powering them.

It’s less a history lesson than a eulogy for “progress,” speaking volumes through the power of its footage alone. That’s not to say that “Trains” is quiet in the “silent film” sense. Drygas, editor Rafal Listopad, sound designer Saulius Urbanavićius, and composer Pawel Szymanski give voice to the trains themselves — clanking and grinding and droning groans (added via impressive foley work) mixing with a score that maintains a pervasive ambient dread, at times conjuring a feeling of wading through molasses as we zoom along winding tracks through bustling cities and ravaged battlegrounds. 

In one outstanding sequence early on, we observe soldiers doing drills with each of their movements synced with hisses of steam and turns of pistons, like they’re almost one and the same. “Trains” is chock-full of these juxtapositions, equally as incisive when mixing together moments of comfort and luxury with horror.

The footage itself — sourced from educational programs, private collections, and historical films — is remarkable, especially in how Drygas and Listopad select certain faces to highlight: nameless souls who, by the final minutes, carry the weight and trauma of what the wars have wrought, as “Trains” becomes further abstracted.

The film also doesn’t shy away from the grim reality of the Holocaust — train cars full of victims are filmed unflinchingly; at one point the screen visibly shakes with sadness and rage.

So, no, “Trains” doesn’t inspire much faith in the human race to harness technology for “good.” But neither does it fully condemn us. The branching, crisscrossing paths shown in its final shots show potential futures we can head down — particularly trenchant in this age of AI. Will we regress once again, or forge new paths forward?

As both a narrative and audiovisual experience, “Trains” is an essential watch, especially on the big screen.

“Trains” is a 2024 documentary by Polish director Maciej Drygas. It has a runtime. It will be shown nightly at 7:30 p.m. on July 24, 25 and 26 at the Webster University Film Series in Winifred Moore Auditorium (Webster Hall, 470 E. Lockwood Ave, Webster Groves, MO 63119. It is being co-presented by the Big Bend Railroad Club. Winner of Best Film and Best Editing at the 2024 International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam. For more information visit: https://www.webster.edu/film-series/index.php) Alex’s Grade: A+.

“Supergirl’ Milly Alcock Impresses in Standard Superhero Story

“Supergirl’ Milly Alcock Impresses in Standard Superhero Story

By Alex McPherson

Representing less a defiant step forward into a new era of the DC Cinematic Universe than a retread of the by-the-books superhero fare of the past decade, director Craig Gillespie’s “Supergirl” flies along well enough but shoots out of memory soon afterwards.

We first meet Kara Zor-El a.k.a. Supergirl (Milly Alcock) as she boozily zips from planet to wacky planet in celebration of her 23rd birthday. With the lovably destructive CGI dog Krypto in tow, Kara has a laissez-faire attitude toward life, clearly preferring to party than confront the trauma of her tragic backstory. She also avoids Earth at all costs — much to the frustration of Superman (David Corenswet), who’s increasingly worried she won’t ever “find her people.” 

Things take a turn for the explosive when Kara encounters Ruthye (Eve Ridley), a young woman seeking revenge after her family was murdered by Brigand leader Krem of the Yellow Hills (Matthias Schoenaerts). Kara saves Rutheye from a squelchy brute straight out of the “Star Wars” Mos Eisley Cantina, but refuses to help her track down the bloodthirsty trafficker.

Krem has other plans, though, when he hijacks Kara’s ship and shoots poor Krypto with a poisonous dart that gives the pup only three days to live. This motivates Kara to track him down to retrieve the antidote, and reluctantly take on Ruthye as her novice (but underestimated) sidekick. 

Kara is greeted by Superman when she comes to Earth with her puppy Krypto.

As the pair rush to track down Krem, they develop a friendship (wow!), each teaching the other about the power of community and reckoning with grief. They deal with bouts of punchtastic action and formulaic villainy along the way. Plus, an unhinged, motorcycle-riding Jason Momoa appears as the intergalactic bounty hunter Lobo!

If one expects  “Supergirl” to break the mold of what’s come before, get ready for disappointment. Gillespie’s film starts out strongly enough, decidedly wackier and more committed to showing a colorful galaxy than other recent outings, as well as establishing Alcock as a perfect fit for the role of Kara. 

Alcock’s dry comedic timing is spot-on, with Ana Nogueira’s screenplay leaning into her cynicism and dry wit in a way that never becomes tiresome, building a character far less “polished” than Corenswet’s Superman, and one that’s all the more enjoyable to watch for it. 

Sadly, before long, the film slides back into the template we’ve seen time and time again, awkwardly sandwiching humor between “sobering” backstory that’s clunkily assembled and largely bereft of earned poignancy.

Milly Alcock and Eve Ridley.

Gillespie ultimately trades the energetic personality of the opening for something far drearier and, crucially, blander, as the PG-13, green-screened violence kicks into high gear and we realize that, no, none of the heroes are truly in danger amid the swirl of crowd-pleasing clichés. 

Kara and Ruthye’s bond is believable, to an extent. Kara’s bond with Ruthye and seeing her hunger for revenge leads her to reflect on her own  past, gradually understanding herself and her deep-seated anger at the world as she eventually transforms into the “Supergirl” that she’s destined to become.

This is a passable arc — it’s just that Gillespie’s storytelling lets Kara down, awkwardly jumping into flashbacks that are rushed through without letting us sit and feel the sadness and disorientation that Kara experiences. Gillespie and Nogueira opt for a barebones outline instead of fleshing out her past in more detail, perhaps assuming that viewers already get the gist from the comics.

Jason Momoa as Lobo.

Fortunately, “Supergirl” moves along at a brisk enough clip. We’ve got the monstrous, albeit extremely one-note baddie Krem, the goofily out-there Lobo (Momoa understands the assignment), and plenty of quip-filled set-pieces complete with peppy needle drops. 

It’s just that, with such an excellent actor as Alcock in the starring role, doesn’t she deserve something more substantial to work with from a narrative standpoint? She’s even let down from an action perspective.

Matthew Schoenaerts as Krem.

Rob Hardy’s cinematography is often eye-catching and keeps the fighting coherent, but these sequences are unwilling to fully let Kara off the chain, too often kneecapping her powers just when she starts using them. They fall into a frustrating stop-start pattern that persists all the way through the final battle.

“Supergirl” is still an entertaining enough watch despite its numerous issues — the template is functional, after all, although the pointed social commentary of James Gunn’s “Superman” is definitely missed here.

There’s nothing offensively off-putting about Kara’s debut. It’s just an affirmation that, at their core, these films might never truly change.

“Supergirl” is a 2026 sci-fi action-adventure directed by Craig Gillespie and starring Milly Alcock, Matthias Schoenaerts, Eve Ridley, David Corenswet, Jason Momoa, Emily Beecham and David Krumholtz. It’s runtime is 1 hour, 47 minutes, and is rated PG-13 for sequences of strong violence, action, language, and smoking. It opens in theatres June 26. Alex’s Grade: C+

Spielberg Shoots for the Stars in Scattershot Sci-Fi Thriller ‘Disclosure Day’

Spielberg Shoots for the Stars in Scattershot Sci-Fi Thriller ‘Disclosure Day’

By Alex McPherson

Bringing together remarkable talent for an underbaked summer spectacle that trades nuance for naiveté, director Steven Spielberg’s “Disclosure Day” is neither compelling enough as popcorn entertainment nor fully invested in its existential ideas.

We’re thrown into the story in media res, as rogue cybersecurity specialist Dr. David Kellner (Josh O’Connor) is on the run with a backpack containing evidence of human-alien contact dating back to the Roswell Incident.

The Wardex Corporation, an arm of the US government led by the stiff-jawed Noah Scanlon (Colin Firth), desperately wants to keep the files hidden from the public.

David, guided by the Morpheus-esque Hugo Wakefield (Colman Domingo), is determined for the world to know the truth, regardless of the ramifications — although society already seems on the brink of World War III due to some vague geopolitical conflict involving Russia and North Korea.

Josh O’Connor as a rogue cybertech expert.

David is accompanied by his girlfriend Jane Blankenship (Eve Hewson), who used to be a nun and is grappling with the potential consequences of what this alien “disclosure” would do for the devout’s belief in God.

Meanwhile, Kansas City television meteorologist Margaret Fairchild (Emily Blunt) is preparing for work one day when a cardinal flies into the apartment she shares with her exhausted and passive-aggressive boyfriend Jackson (Wyatt Russell). After the bird leaves, Margaret seemingly has psychic abilities; she’s able to read minds and understand the emotions of anyone she comes across. 

She’s also able to speak any language, including a bizarre click-clacking extraterrestrial tongue that she deploys during the day’s broadcast. This catches the attention of Wardex, and, soon enough, Margaret is being pursued by them. She eventually crosses paths with David, who she learns she shares a world-altering connection with.

Can they get to safety and reveal the truth before Noah’s goons lock them up and forever relegate the files  to the realm of conspiracy theories?

Emily Blunt as KC weathercaster.

It’s an admittedly decent premise, especially considering the people involved. Spielberg directing, John Williams scoring, Janusz Kamiński lensing, O’Connor, Blunt, Firth, and Domingo among the cast — what’s not to like?

As it turns out, fundamental storytelling issues bring “Disclosure Day” down to size, abandoning the thorniness of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” or even the lesser emotional pull of “The Fabelmans” for something decidedly messier and devoid of much novel to say.

It’s never less than watchable, but with Spielberg at the helm, shouldn’t we expect more than a boomeristic call for unity that forgets to give its characters much depth?

Five-time Spielberg collaborator David Koepp’s screenplay is wildly uneven, oscillating between broad, crowd-pleasing humor, bursts of cynicism, and blatant sentimentality that never coheres into a truly satisfying identity of its own.

Colin Firth (center, standing) in DISCLOSURE DAY, directed by Steven Spielberg.

To its credit, “Disclosure Day” is an ambitious film, exploring religion, childhood trauma, empathy, government surveillance, journalistic integrity, and extraterrestrial life, Spielberg’s favorite, just without digging into any topic with much detail. 

Characters pay lip service to ideas in exposition-heavy sequences where debates sometimes feel like each person is arguing with themselves, stumbling into revelations without the story unfolding organically.

And we don’t actually know that much about these people to begin with, especially David, as Spielberg drops us into the fray mid-chase and expects us to forge a bond on the fly as bits of backstory are periodically spelled out for us.

Margaret fares marginally better, mostly thanks to an excellent Blunt performance that walks an entertaining tightrope between comedy and drama as her character grapples with the fear and eventual determination stemming from her newfound powers.

Blunt has great comedic timing that makes her endearing regardless of the character’s blandness, as does O’Connor, who proves himself to be a capable Spielberg everyman who can shoulder action sequences effectively. Firth, given even less to work with from a narrative depth standpoint, chews scenery as the villainous Noah.

It might sound like “Disclosure Day” is a near-total misfire, but, on a pure, in-the-moment level, there’s too much impressive craft on display to ignore. Kamiński works overtime framing elaborate (perhaps overly elaborate) long takes and action sequences that are thrilling and full of slapstick carnage.

Williams’ score provides a fitting backdrop to this paranoid thriller, sans much separating itself from the master’s previous works. And Spielberg does take some wild swings here, complete with mind control and some questionably-animated CGI animals, that are unconventional, even if their cumulative effect is more goofy than profound. 

Colman Domingo helping lead the pro-alien faction.

Spielberg has a clear message to share — of how the spontaneous and unexpected can bring us together, and how, as a species, we need to learn to gradually bridge divides and “listen” to each other. “Disclosure Day” speaks to the current moment in 2026, albeit remaining old-fashioned in the ways it delivers its pleas, but it becomes difficult to take seriously amid its loopy, fragmented plotting.

It’s still mildly diverting if one can let the 145-minute runtime wash over them and not expect to have much “disclosed” that prompts more than smirks and eyerolls.

“Disclosure Day” is a 2026 supernatural sci-fi thriller directed by Steven Spielberg and starring Josh O’Connor, Emily Blunt, Colin Firth, Colman Domingo, Eve Hewson and Wyatt Russell. It is rated PG-13 for action/violence, some bloody images and strong language and the runtime is 2 hours, 25 minutes. It opens in theatres June 12. Alex’s Grade: B-

Disorienting ‘Backrooms’ Is Brilliantly Filmed Liminal Horror Film

Disorienting ‘Backrooms’ Is Brilliantly Filmed Liminal Horror Film

By Alex McPherson

A masterpiece of experiential filmmaking that mines palm-sweating anticipation from what’s lurking around the next corner, director Kane Parsons’ “Backrooms” is an ambiguous yet utterly engrossing horror film for those willing to tune into its otherworldly frequency.

The film is based on 20-year-old Parsons’ YouTube series of the same name, which was inspired by the online liminal space “creepypasta” post on 4Chan from 2019. This newest iteration takes place in 1990 and focuses on Clark (Chiwetel Ejiofor), a failed-architect-turned-furniture-store-owner and alcoholic struggling after a recent divorce.

His ex-wife got the house, so Clark has taken up residence at the store. He’s seemingly resigned to a sad life running a defunct business and making embarrassing TV commercials where he’s dressed up like a pirate. 

He regularly has sessions with his therapist and self-help-book-author Mary (Renate Reinsve), who encourages Clark to reflect on his actions and break obsessive thought patterns. Mary is also a lonely soul who’s processing her own grief from a troubled childhood. She often zones out as haunted memories come flooding back.

Clark notices some strange electrical issues at the store, which eventually leads him to the basement where he finds a hidden entrance to the titular Backrooms — an alternate dimension residing in the uncomfortably uncanny valley. 

Claustrophobic, labyrinthine hallways and office spaces stretch on endlessly, enclosed by walls painted sickly yellow, lit with fluorescent lights, and littered with jumbled piles of furniture like some twisted contemporary art exhibit made by glitched-out AI software. A strange presence also stalks the premises that clearly doesn’t take kindly to visitors. 

Clark, and by extension us as viewers, are immediately thrown off kilter, but Clark becomes fascinated with this alternate universe and makes it his goal to unearth its mysteries.

Suffice it to say, dangers abound. Clark (and eventually Mary) find themselves way over their heads, becoming trapped in a place that can easily lead its inhabitants into spirals of insanity.

It might not have the most elegantly told story, but “Backrooms” is a relentlessly disorienting film, rich in oppressive atmosphere and dark absurdity, that prides itself on putting viewers in the shoes of its characters and letting the nightmarish world speak for itself.

Familiarity with Parsons’ web series isn’t needed to appreciate this film — above all else, “Backrooms” is a vibe, so stylistically assured that it conjures a universal, intoxicating sense of uneasiness.

Through a mixture of “found footage” camerawork and shots that keep us in lockstep with the characters, Parsons lets us feel the winding unknown and the relentless pressure of being chased through an unfamiliar environment without a clear exit. Although the camera generally adopts an omniscient viewpoint, we don’t jump ahead of the characters; we witness each new sight along with them.

And although Parsons does dole out some (rather cliché) themes, he keeps specific explanations vague, emphasizing the fact that this hidden world cannot be reasoned with. 

This approach, not unlike 2023’s horrifying “Skinamarink” (also made by a YouTuber turned feature film director), will prove alienating for viewers seeking a traditional narrative or characters that are easy to rally behind. 

The always reliable Ejiofor and Reinsve bring pathos and intensity to dialogue that rings intermittently too obvious and repetitive. Mary’s constant referencing of behavioral loops is an on-the-nose metaphor here, but the way Parsons brings in the existential weight of consumerism and the false promises of the American Dream are compelling threads left slightly underdeveloped.

The world and the filmmaking itself are the real stars of the show here, though — difficult to describe but viscerally felt: scenes patiently and deliberately build suspense before exploding in edge-of-your-seat set-pieces that cinematographer Jeremy Cox frames with frantic energy.

Parsons and Edo Van Breeman’s music is ingeniously woven into each sequence, feeling inextricably linked to the backrooms themselves in its rumbling, alien-like rhythms.

Sure, the film’s more traditional narrative elements feel undercooked, partly due to a rushed passage of time that feels at odds with the more deliberate approach Parsons takes in-the-moment. “Backrooms” shines in its unknowability and stumbles in the few moments when it panders to the masses, not committing to the bit quite as much as its forbears. 

Still, the feelings it conjures are indelible and specific — best experienced in a theater for maximum immersion. I can’t wait to dive back into “Backrooms” time and time again, and no, boomers, that’s not just because I’m Gen-Z.

“Backrooms” is a 2026 psychological horror film directed by Kane Parsons and starring Chiwetol Ejiofor and Renate Reinsve. It is rated R for language and some violent content/bloody images and runtime is 1 hour, 50 minutes. It opened in theaters May 29. Alex’s Grade: A.

Inde Navarette Joins the Horror Greats in Ruthless Chiller ‘Obsession’

Inde Navarette Joins the Horror Greats in Ruthless Chiller ‘Obsession’

By Alex McPherson
Disappointing in its simplicity yet chock-full of savage set-pieces, and featuring an awe-inspiring performance from Inde Navarette, director Curry Barker’s “Obsession” leaves a fittingly queasy impression.

We follow Bear (Michael Johnston), an insecure and socially awkward 20-something with a perpetual sense of self-loathing. He is working up the courage to ask out his best friend and music-store co-worker Nikki (Navarette), whom he has harbored a crush on for a long time but hasn’t known how or when to confess his feelings.

His buddy Ian (Cooper Tomlinson) forbids him from doing it during Trivia Night, which he, Bear, and Nikki attend with their other attractive co-worker Sarah (Megan Lawless). Sarah might have a crush on Bear, but Bear (whose cat has also just died unexpectedly) cannot wait.

After learning that Nikki lost a necklace, Bear decides to buy her a gift from a New Age store. He picks up a novelty trinket called a “One Wish Willow,” which claims to grant a wish to whoever snaps it in two. Later in the night when Bear drives Nikki home, the interaction doesn’t go as hoped.

Nikki asks him if he likes her, and, out of fear, Bear says no, leaving him feeling embarrassed and humiliated. After she’s dropped off, Bear impulsively uses the One Wish Willow himself. His wish? To make Nikki love him more than anything in the entire world. 

Almost immediately, Nikki is changed, taking a newfound romantic interest in Bear and quickly forming a relationship with him, even though she most assuredly is not the same person she was before. Everything seems fine for a while, as Bear gets to live out his fantasy, although Ian and Sarah become increasingly weirded out.

Things quickly spiral downhill, as Nikki’s fixation with Bear grows more obsessive, possessive, violent, and, frankly, batshit insane. Bear’s uneasiness causes Nikki to further devolve in an effort to make Bear love her back, no matter the bloody cost. Bear refuses to take responsibility and remains unable to do anything about the situation until nearly everything in his life is destroyed, one almost-NC-17-level head bash at a time.

“Obsession” is a deeply mean film with heavy-handed ideas about male loneliness, consent, and mental health that revels in making viewers uncomfortable. Barker, who got his start through online sketch comedy shorts with Tomlinson, seemingly designed the film to provoke strong reactions and make clippable sequences of craziness for our online age. I

t’s also relentlessly watchable despite its gruesome violence, largely thanks to a performance by Navarette that’s so full of twisted ingenuity that the film’s more facile, formulaic aspects are easier to overlook.

Indeed, although she isn’t technically the main character (although perhaps “Obsession” would have been more interesting if she had been), Nikki, and Navarette, are the real stars of the show. It’s an incredibly physical performance that Navarette portrays with unrestrained gravitas.

From the “Exorcist”-esque body gymnastics, to how conversations escalate from 0 to 100 in the blink of an eye, to the comical facial expressions, to the disturbingly poignant moments when the old, “true” Nikki breaks through the spell, crying out for help before being subsumed by the malevolent force reducing her to base instincts for Bear’s affection, Navarette has to do a lot.

She makes the film’s more nefariously twisted horror set-pieces tinged with melancholy and never lets us forget the real person trapped underneath the facade.

“Obsession” isn’t ultimately Nikki’s story, though, it’s Bear’s — a meek guy who desperately needs therapy and makes a selfish decision with wildly cascading consequences. Brought to life with maddening specificity by Johnston, Bear fails at nearly every turn to take responsibility for his actions out of both fear and a desperate sense of self-preservation as he robs Nikki of her life and agency.

Bear isn’t a monster, and arguably makes the initial wish without knowing if the trinket actually works, yet Barker’s screenplay zeroes in on his entitlement, his cowardice, and his repeated attempts to continue with life as normal even as he knows he’s actively destroying Nikki’s.

Regardless of the relevance of this thematic approach, though, it’s also limiting for “Obsession” — setting the stage for numerous memorably unhinged sequences at Nikki’s expense (and, admittedly, for our twisted enjoyment as an audience), but not developing much beyond the central conceit, and concluding in a feel-bad place that sits right at home with recent horror hits “Hereditary,” “Bring Her Back,” and “Talk to Me.”

That’s not to say Barker’s horror chops aren’t fully formed as a director; there are several sequences that won’t leave my mind any time soon, and the ways he deploys jump-scares and sterling use of darkness and claustrophobic framing are viscerally effective, along with the occasional burst of crowd-friendly, bone-dry humor.

“Obsession” still can’t quite capitalize on the sheer go-for-broke commitment of Navarette, though, falling back into tradition as she carves out her own place among the all-time greats like Mia Goth in “Pearl.” What’s here should satiate the bloodlust of horror aficionados nevertheless, and actively repel anybody with a weak stomach.

“Obsession” is a 2025 psychological horror-dark romance written and directed by Curry Barker and starring Michael Johnston, Inde Navarette, Megan Lawless, and Cooper Tomlinson. It is rated R for strong bloody violence, grisly images, sexual content, pervasive language, and brief graphic nudity, and its runtime is 1 hour, 48 minutes. It opened in theatres May 15. It began streaming on Peacock July 17. Alex’s Grade: B.

History Repeats Itself in Sergei Loznitsa’s Mordantly Engaging Drama ‘Two Prosecutors’

History Repeats Itself in Sergei Loznitsa’s Mordantly Engaging Drama ‘Two Prosecutors’

By Alex McPherson

Measured but pulsing with suspense, Ukrainian writer/director Sergei Loznitsa’s riveting new film “Two Prosecutors” underscores the all-seeing shadow of fascism in 1937 USSR while remaining scarily relevant today.

Based on a story by the Soviet dissident and physicist Gyorgy Demidov, the film takes place during Stalin’s Great Purge and revolves around Kornyev (Aleksandr Kuznetsov), a young prosecutor fresh out of law school who truly believes in the sanctity of the law. Kornyev’s idealism blinds him to the systemic conspiracies surrounding him.

One day, Kornyev receives a note scribbled in blood alleging abuse by the NKVD (Stalin’s secret police) from a “counter-revolutionary” inmate named Stepniak (Aleksandr Filippenko), who is being held in a prison in Bryansk. Stepniak’s note was miraculously smuggled out by an elderly prison laborer tasked with burning letters, and it wound up in his office.

Kornyev takes it upon himself to investigate, hoping to bring those culpable to justice, unaware of the jeopardy he’s putting himself in.

Upon arriving at the compound, which is layered with a never-ending series of locked doors, cramped hallways, and death-glare guards, Kornyev is uneasy but deadset in his mission to talk to Stepniak. He’s willing to wait alone in a room for hours and overlook not-so-subtle hints from prison officials that he’d better watch his back.

After finally getting access to Stepniak and hearing his story, Kornyev is emboldened to seek justice. He fully believes that higher-ups will want to hear the truth, ignorant of the fact that his government is, indeed, rotten to its very core.

Suffice to say, Kornyev’s mission doesn’t go according to plan. With a patient approach that ratches up tension, and fateful inevitability, by the second, “Two Prosecutors” paints a fable-like portrait of a society in the throes of totalitarian power. Our protagonist is always being watched and judged as an invading force to be put down.

Loznitsa also interrogates just how useful a legalistic approach is to counter the horror — wryly critiquing Kornyev’s stubborn insistence on following procedure when the law has been thrown to the wind. Even when Kornyev leaves the Bryansk prison, he never really leaves; walls of eyes surveille him wherever he goes.

“Two Prosecutors” takes its time, letting us sit and breathe in the harrowing situations Kornyev finds himself in. Whole conversations take place nonverbally: silent battles waged in stares and body language, dare Kornyev to back off and look the other way. Equally as frequent are trials of patience, where Kornyev is forced to wade through soul-crushing bureaucracy to an almost Kafkaesque degree. 

It’s to Loznitsa and cinematographer Oleg Mutu’s credit that the film is eminently watchable and incredibly suspenseful. We can immerse ourselves in the starkly still, desaturated tableaus, which sometimes resemble a stage-play, and experience the doomed clock ticking along with Kornyev in real-time.

The film’s ensemble is uniformly excellent, with Kuznetsov giving his admirably flawed character equal parts dignity and face-palming frustration. Kornyev ignores clues that are right in front of him while remaining steadfast in his beliefs of right and wrong, and who he assumes is on which side of the scale.

In this sense, Kornyev is a maddeningly flawed character that we desperately want to “wake up”; but his faith in government also reflects a deep-seated optimism that nobly counters the society, and film, that he’s a piece of. Many of the actors actually fled Russia following Putin’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine.

“Two Prosecutors” is a coldly engrossing watch. Its intense focus on the here-and-now and economical storytelling doesn’t bog us down in historical dumps or convoluted plotting.

Loznitsa’s film is quietly unrelenting — celebrating Kornyev’s determination while mocking his naivete (partially through some weirdly buoyant musical interludes); he’s existing within a dystopian system that cannot simply be dismantled by “doing the right thing.” 

Loznitsa paints obvious parallels to modern times, if we’re willing to look, and “Two Prosecutors” shouldn’t be missed.

“Two Prosecutors” is a 2025 legal thriller from Ukranian director Sergei Loznitsa and run time is 1 hour, 58 minutes. It plays Friday through Sunday, May 8-10, as part of the Webster University Film Series, which takes place om the Winifred Moore Auditorium, Webster Hall, 470 E. Lockwood, Webster Groves, MO 63119. Alex’s Grade: A

Breathtaking Style Dominates David Lowery’s Latest ‘Mother Mary’

Breathtaking Style Dominates David Lowery’s Latest ‘Mother Mary’

By Alex McPherson

Stunning, beguiling, and wholeheartedly its own thing, director David Lowery’s “Mother Mary” is a polarizing experience where pretentiousness is part of the charm.

This gothic-horror-romance-pop-song-chamber-drama follows the titular Mother Mary (Anne Hathaway), a world-famous, Taylor-Swift-adjacent popstar preparing a comeback tour after she experiences a harrowing onstage accident that we get a split-second glimpse of in the film’s opening moments.

Mary is exhausted and a hollowed-out shell of her former self. She has a panic attack during a costume fitting and rushes to the English countryside to make a surprise visit to her former best friend and costume designer Sam Anselm (Michaela Coel). Sam harbors palpable resentment after being ghosted (no pun intended) 10 years ago. 

Mary is desperate for Sam to make her a dress for the tour so she can “be herself” and find “clarity.” Sam — with a prickly, slyly wolfish demeanor — agrees to take on the challenge. She also sees an opportunity for Mary to address past wrongs in their professional and personal relationship.

Within a foreboding barn-turned-workshop, Sam and Mary get to work, with Sam gradually unspooling years of resentment. Social niceties give way to daggers (and scissors) as the two confront the end of their creative partnership:

Sam’s tireless work to support Mary’s celebrity persona has largely gone unrecognized; the pressures of fame and of constantly being in the spotlight have taken a massive toll on Mary’s psyche and eroded her sense of self. Still, there’s work to be done and a deadline to meet. At least, until things get trippily metaphysical.

Yep, this is definitely a film by the director of “The Green Knight” and “A Ghost Story.” It floats along on its own visually astounding wavelength that never loosens its grip on its insistence for weirdness.

“Mother Mary” is ultimately a difficult experience to pin down — unimpeachable in its craft elements and its central performances, but strangely simplistic in what the narrative boils down to: a whole lot of stylistic extravagance for a story whose emotional beats feel oddly schematic.

Still, Lowery’s latest is a bizarre experience made with such conviction that even when the story’s reach exceeds its grasp, the mesmerizing, phantasmagorical, genre-bending style never loses its impact. “Mother Mary” demands to be watched on the big screen.

It’s filled with gorgeous costumes, eardrum-busting concert numbers (featuring songs by Jack Antonoff, Charli XCX, and FKA Twigs), intensely intimate drama, gnarly horror, and spectral beauty, where the past elegantly blends with the present. 

The shadow-drenched barn becomes a portal to Mary and Sam’s history and imaginations, where their spiritual connection to each other is realized in ways both deeply earnest and unnerving. “Mother Mary” renders the force between the women literal as they each grapple with the weights of their connection and regrets; Daniel Hart’s score’s pulsing bass resembles a beating heart.

Hathaway and Coel are wholly up for Lowery’s wild swings, with Coel in particular commanding her every second onscreen. Cinematographers Rina Yang and Andrew Droz Palermo often frame her in close-up;

Coel’s face almost seems alien at times, her character’s sharp features, deep voice, and acid tongue intimidating and imposing (and sometimes darkly funny), although Sam herself is a heartbroken soul searching desperately for closure. 

Hathaway gives an equally excellent performance as the tormented celebrity. We see the years of expectations and regrets weighing her down, and her embracing a completely different persona onstage amid blinding lights and screaming fans.

One of the film’s best sequences involves Mary showing Sam her dance routine without music — monstrous and animalistic, hinting at the film’s increasingly supernatural influences.

It’s frustrating that “Mother Mary” doesn’t make the characters’ journeys quite as resonant. Indeed, while the film is – mostly – enigmatic to its benefit, Mary and Sam are too thinly-sketched as characters for their relationship to have the emotional thrust “Mother Mary” insists it does.

The main appeal is seeing just what elaborately hallucinatory set-piece Lowery has in store next, rather than investment in their (bluntly-spelled-out) inner battles. The film is so sincere, so earnest, about matters of the heart, but it opts for spectacle, which betrays the more nuanced drama that would truly let viewers into Mary and Sam’s worlds.

So, “Mother Mary” is a bit of a mixed bag, albeit one that deserves to be celebrated nevertheless — creativity and eccentricity like this should be supported, whether or not it fully lands. It’s a beautiful mess.

“Mother Mary” is a 2026 dramatic music thriller written and directed by David Lowery starring Anne Hathaway, Michaela Coel, Kaia Gerber, Hunter Schafer. and FKA twigs,, Its runtime is 1 hour, 52 minutes, and it is rated R for some violent content and language. It opened in theatres April 24. Alex’s Grade: B+.