The Best of 2025: It's Not Me, It's You

 

Generation X is in a millennial slump. 

There is no need for a grand essay this year, or a diatribe. As usual, you may jump down to the lists and you'll find dozens of movies to stream right now. But I do want to address Gen X's midlife malaise. So this year we are going to offer a sort-of anti-list upfront. 

As a Gen X elder (let's not debate this), I'm saddened to see so many filmmakers lose their mojo as they trail me into middle age. Some of my all-time favorite directors have lost me with their releases in recent years.  

I believe in chapters, and I learned early on that it's not easy to sync with an artist throughout their career. The three-album rule was invented for a reason, and feel free to apply it to filmmaking. I had my quarter-life crisis after college, realizing that some of my favorite bands just didn't thrill me anymore. Now, at the three-quarter mark, I find that it is a parade of filmmakers who leave me disappointed. (By the way, I have long since forgiven Joe Jackson.)

So let's elevate the annual "It's Not You, It's Me" category from below and highlight a list of 2025's offenders, who either outright offended or just fell short in some way:

• Noah Baumbach, age 56. ... His 2025: Back in the day he made a handful of brilliant movies; this time he excreted the maudlin "Jay Kelly" with his new pal George Clooney. Baumbach has made one good film in the past decade. ... His Heyday: "The Squid and the Whale" (2005) and "Frances Ha" (2013)
• Paul Thomas Anderson, 55. ... 2025: He once made a handful of brilliant movies, but he has grown as bloated as his budgets. The latest is his fetishism of fascism, "One Battle After Another," which follows the fun but lightweight "Licorice Pizza" (2021). ... Heyday: "Magnolia" (1999)
• Kelly Reichardt, 61. ... 2025: She was onto something with "The Mastermind," but a bland star (and a blaring soundtrack) under- and overwhelmed her thin plot. ... Heyday: "Certain Women" (2016)
• Wes Anderson, 56. ... 2025: We walked out of 2023's "Asteroid City." We made it through "The Phoenician Scheme," but barely. ... Heyday: "The Royal Tenenbaums" (2001)
• Chloe Zhao, 43 (cuspy). ... 2025: She somehow managed a decent final half hour of "Hamnet," but the first hour was nearly unwatchable. For some reason, I did not walk out. ... Heyday: "The Rider" (2018)
• Lynne Ramsay, 56. ... 2025: She produced something powerful and compelling at times with "Die My Love," but she tripped over some tropes and didn't earn the ending. ... Heyday: "Morvern Callar" (2002)
• Rian Johnson, 52. ... 2025: He ran the well dry with a weak third installment of his "Knives Out" series, "Wake Up Dead Man." ... Heyday: "Looper" (2013)
• (We pause, briefly, in honor of our onetime service to the country as a copy editor, for a discussion of commas. Is there an argument for leaving out the comma in "Wake Up Dead Man" and "Die My Love"? Doubt it. "Sorry, Baby.") 
• Yorgos Lanthimos, 52. ... 2025: He continues to botch scripts, this time muffing the last 20 minutes of "Bugonia." ... Heyday: "Alps" and "Dogtooth" (2010-12)
• Francois Ozon, 58. ... 2025: The man is in his own league, but even he is working in a minor key, with 2025's "When Fall Is Coming." ... Heyday: "Time to Leave" (2006) and too many others to list
• Jia Zhang-ke, 55. ... 2025: Even an all-time great could barely hold our interest in his career pastiche "Caught by the Tides." ... Heyday: "The World" (2006)

This doesn't take into account:

• The occasional Boomer -- Rob Reiner's soggy "Spinal Tap" sequel, or Nuri Bilge Ceylan's so-so "About Dry Grasses."
• Or the clouds forming on the horizon for a couple of Millennials: We've struggled twice so far to make a dent in 37-year-old Celine Song's "Materialists" (her "Past Lives" was No. 1 in 2023), and we gave up on "Pavements" from Alex Ross Perry, 41. (We preferred the Pavement doc "Louder Than You Think," about their crazy drummer/producer.) 
• Meantime, Walter Salles, 69, got back on his game with "I'm Still Here," and 73-year-old Boomer Jim Jarmusch is still steady-as-he-goes, maintaining his niche as the zen master, with his latest, "Father Mother Sister Brother."

OK. So I'm in a funk. The good news is that there are fresh voices out there; look below for movies from the likes of Eva Victor, Nina Conti, Isabella Roland, Rungano Nyoni, Michael Strassner, and more. The future remains promising, as the generations churn.

***

Below you'll find a ton of movies to sample, most from 2025, but some that hurtle you back decades (see "The Leftovers" below). Where possible I point out where you can stream them. My main go-to services are HBO, Mubi, Criterion, Netflix, and the library's free Hoopla (or Kanopy in your jurisdiction) or DVDs. Each film citation has a link to my original review.

THE TOP 15 of '25

(For the first five movies, I watched them more than once, confirming them as top picks.) 

  1. Blue Moon. Richard Linklater (a late Boomer with an X sensibility) directs a pitch-perfect Ethan Hawke in "this endlessly clever and charming tale of the bittersweet final days" of songwriter Lorenz Hart. Including Best Screenplay, in fact one of the best of all time. (In theaters; Netflix 2/14) 

  2. The Ballad of Wallis Island. "It is funny and full of heart; it's an earnest labor of love that tells a somber story without wallowing in any emotional muck." (Amazon Prime)

  3. Eephus. The best feature film about baseball ever made, with a tiny budget and a cast full of mostly non-actor ringers. (Mubi)

  4. Sorry, Baby. One of the many quiet indie gems on the list, often starring the writer-director (here Eva Victor), that stuck with us a long time. (HBO)

  5. One to One: John & Yoko. A meticulous, fascinating deep dive into the culture of New York City at the time an ex-Beatle showed up. (HBO)

  6. Sunlight. A buddy-movie road trip across New Mexico full of wit, heart and charm, led by stars Shenoah Allen and Nina Conti, who directed. (Rental on demand)

  7. Sentimental Value. Another mature, thoughtful character study from Joachim Trier (age 51). (In theaters)

  8. Diane Warren: Relentless. A documentary buoyed by the sheer force of the personality of its subject, a prolific MOR songwriter. (Hoopla/Kanopy)

  9. I'm Still Here. A tale of bravery and endurance from Walter Salles, whose exploration of Brazil's secret police will feel hauntingly relevant. (Netflix)

10. The Alabama Solution. A searing indictment of a state prison system, from the prolific Jarecki family. (HBO)

11. D(e)ad. Isabella Roland's family, working with a tiny budget, helped produce this clever comedy, one of the funniest movies of the year. (Rental on demand)

12. Song Sung Blue. When was the last time -- if ever -- you danced in the aisles in joy after a movie? The most fun at the theater in 2025. (Coming to Peacock)

13. Pee-wee as Himself. A filmmaker does a personal exploration of one of the most fascinating artists of the past 40 years. (HBO)

14. Listers. Microbudget DIY filmmaking at its finest; this documentary about birdwatching is the best movie most people never saw. (Free on YouTube)

15. Is This Thing On? Bradley Cooper wrings pathos and humor out of a disintegrating marriage, thanks to his star, Will Arnett. Including Best Director. (In theaters)

JUST MISSED THE LIST

(Honorables mentioned)

• The Baltimorons (AMC+)
• It Was Just an Accident
• Die My Love (Mubi)
• Friendship (HBO)
• Drowning Dry (Mubi)
• Father Mother Sister Brother (Theaters, then MUBI)
• Matt and Mara (Mubi) 

 

MORE TOP DOCS 

This was a particularly strong year for documentaries. Buckle up for a long list of releases, mostly in the B+ range. Many, too, Just Missed the List: 

 

• The music profiles: "Devo" explored in detail the origins of an art collective (Netflix); "Janis Ian: Breaking Silence" was intimate and revealing (PBS); "Becoming Led Zeppelin" gave the old boys their due (including drummer Jon Bonham through archival recordings) (Netflix); "Sunday Best" explored Ed Sullivan's commitment to civil rights on his variety show (Netflix); "Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted" was a total hoot (rental on demand).
• Ben Stiller excavated his family history in "Stiller & Meara: Nothing Is Lost" (Apple TV)
• Raoul Peck powerloaded "George Orwell: 2 + 2 = 5" (rental on demand)
• A fascinating profile of Andy Kaufman, "Thank You Very Much" (rental on demand) 
• "Breakdown 1975" examined not just movies but our fraying culture during a pivotal year (Netflix) 
• "Secret Mall Apartment" had a great little-known story to unpack (Netflix)
• "The Perfect Neighbor" told a tragedy mainly through police body-cam footage (Netflix)
• I enjoyed getting to know comedian/podcaster Marc Maron in the gloomy documentary "Are We Good?" (rental on demand)
• Laura Poitras showed why she is one of the best, with her complicated profile of Seymour Hersh in "Cover-Up" (Netflix)  

 

TOP PERFORMANCES

• Songwriter Lorenz Hart in "Blue Moon" was the role Ethan Hawke was born to play, and no other performance came close this year. 
• Fernanda Torres was riveting throughout "I'm Still Here." 
• Susan Chardy was a well of guarded emotion in the disappointing culture study "On Becoming a Guinea Fowl" from Rungano Nyoni. 
• Jennifer Lawrence, fierce and feral in "Die My Love." Robert Pattinson and Sissy Spacek managed somehow to keep up with her.
• Tim Key walked a tightrope between comedy and drama in "The Ballad of Wallis Island," with an assist from Tom Basden and Carey Mulligan.
• No one can quite do what Renate Reinsve does every time, including this past year in "Sentimental Value."
• Hugh Jackman melted into his character, a Neil Diamond impersonator, in "Song Sung Blue."

 

GUILTY PLEASURES

• The Lost Weekend: A Love Story. The sweet story told by John Lennon's girlfriend in 1974, May Pang. (Amazon Prime)
• Splitsville. Another fun romp from filmmaking team Michael Angelo Covino and Kyle Marvin. ("The Climb") (Rental on demand)
• Dig (XX). An updated music doc that revisits the aughts "rivalry" between the Dandy Warhols and the Brian Jonestown Massacre. (Leaving Criterion) 
• The Merchants of Joy. A cheesy but effective profile of sellers of Christmas trees in New York City. (Amazon Prime)

 

THE LEFTOVERS

Some 2024 films we caught up with:  The powerful PBS documentary about workers organizing, "Union." ... The fascinating four-hour mystery saga, "Trenque Lauquen." ... We walked out of the Dylan biopic "A Complete Unknown," and instead went back in time to two classic documentaries about the man. ... The offbeat study of asexual adults, "Slow." ... Anne Hathaway was charming in the rom-com from Michael Showalter, "The Idea of You."

Wayback Machine: There were three of the all-time classics from the American New Wave: "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," "Rosemary's Baby" and "Shampoo." ... We went back to the '80s to hang out with Spike Lee ("Do the Right Thing") and John Hughes and Molly Ringwald. ... We enjoyed Goldie Hawn in Steven Spielberg's "Sugarland Express." ... There were two Rolling Stones-related nuggets, "Performance" and "Gimme Shelter." ... We paid respects to Gene Hackman (R.I.P.) in "The Conversation" and Peter Sellers in "Being There." ... We dove deeper into the oeuvre of Joan Micklin Silver ("Between the Lines"), with "Crossing Delancy" and "Hester Street." ... Then there were the '70s hippie spectacles "Hair" and "Jesus Christ Superstar." ... Along with a documentary about Tura Satana, we screened the Russ Meyer B-movie classic "Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!" ... And, of course, we sampled liberally from Guild Cinema's annual summer film noir series (here and here).

R.I.P: We paid tribute to David Lynch and Robert Redford. We still have one more Lynch entry to go. ... We owe a tribute to Diane Keaton. ... We sampled "Spinal Tap," then and now, in memory of Rob Reiner, and we have a follow-up to that due in a few weeks. 

 

IT'S NOT YOU, IT'S ME

(Well, maybe this time it is you. 

Some of our favorites let us down.)

 

• (See above)

COMING ATTRACTIONS

Here are a bunch we wanted to see but didn't get the chance:

• The Secret Agent
• The Ice Tower
• Bob Trevino
• Sirat
• Miroirs 3

Join us in 2026 as we track down those titles and more of the finest movies you wouldn't otherwise think of watching.

Marriage Counseling, Part 2: Guy Walks Into a Bar

 

IS THIS THING ON? (B+) - There were times while watching Bradley Cooper's bracing portrait of a failing marriage when I thought, "This is as brilliant as a movie gets." But every so often a plot glitch took me out of the zone, and by the time the credits rolled, it was clear that his ending was undeserved.

But Cooper and his star, Will Arnett, lay it all out there as Arnett's Alex spills his guts, initially onstage as an accidental open-mic standup comic and later in his battles with wife Tess (Laura Dern) and others, in a well-packed ensemble comic drama. The secret weapon is actually Cooper himself, who steals the show as Balls, Alex's space-cadet actor buddy; the screen gets a jolt every time Cooper (almost unrecognizable at first in beard and glasses) bursts into a scene. 

 

Balls and his wife, Christine (R&B singer Andra Day, very strong), join a gay couple as a Greek-chorus counterpart to the dysfunction of Alex and Tess, a former volleyball standout who is feeling rudderless as a soccer mom and who is being called back to the sports world as a potential Olympics coach. It is not easy to waste the talents of Laura Dern, but here she is unconvincing in an underwritten role. She just doesn't scan as a star athlete, and her ex-jock angst comes out of left field. (Pushing 60, she seems miscast as a mom of 10-year-olds, and she is way past her prime to be bemoaning her glory days on the court.)

Cooper does create an authentic world, one teeming with genuine relationships, whether it's the three couples who gather at a vacation retreat at the beginning of the film and again a year later at the end, or Alex and Tess with their sons, or Alex falling into bed with a fellow comedian during his break from Tess. Cooper, in fact, shows a keen appreciation for the open-mic standup scene. He casts real comics, including Amy Sedaris as the mother hen of the group and Jordan Jensen as the love interest. But his choice of former quarterback Peyton Manning as a potential distraction for Tess comes off as gimmicky. There also is one of those huge movie coincidences late in the film that provides a shaky fulcrum for the final reel and eventual resolution.

Cooper so far has had mixed results in helming Big Projects; compare "A Star Is Born" with "Maestro." It helps here that he cedes the lead role to Arnett, who exudes a raw authenticity and proves that he has the chops beyond clowning on smart TV shows like "Arrested Development" and "Bojack Horseman." The close-ups are intense throughout; Arnett's face often fills the entire screen, such that you can start to count his whiskers. 

Cooper is probably revered as an "actor's director," and the cast here brings a boatload of talent to the workshopped scenes. He makes good use of Christine Ebersole and Ciaran Hinds as Alex's parents, and he has an understated Sean Hayes on hand, as part of the third friend couple, to provide a bit of a conscience for Alex. Everyone gets an A for group effort.

As noted above, this had the potential to be the best movie of the year. Maybe with a younger filmmaker I'd be more forgiving and grade on a curve. But a more indie filmmaker also might have had the courage to really take the gloves off and present a disintegrating marriage as a true shit-show, rather than this mainstream feel-bad romance. Perhaps a woman might have dug deeper with Dern into Tess' angst. All told, I have a hunch that, despite the flaws on display here, a second viewing might deepen my appreciation for what this team pulls off, in the end.

Marriage Counseling, Part 1: We Need to Talk About J-Law

 

DIE MY LOVE (B+) - The feral director Lynne Ramsay recruits a star to match her ferocity, as she unleashes Jennifer Lawrence onto the screen as a writer and unfulfilled wife who gradually descends into an apparent psychosis.

 

Lawrence dives deep into the role of Grace, who is dragged to rural Montana by her layabout husband, Jackson (Robert Pattinson), to inhabit an old house willed by Jackson's uncle, just down the road from her mother-in-law. Soon they are joined by an adorable baby, which can't quash Grace's carnal cravings, which Jackson mostly ignores. Grace is also nagged by Jackson and others who wonder why she has not returned to writing. The husband disappears on work trips, leaving her feeling abandoned (but apparently not trapped with the baby) and bored (and perhaps imagining infidelities), and when he is around, he does stupid things like adopt a loud, annoying dog for Grace to have to clean up after.

Ramsay, working with two writers to adapt a book by Ariana Harwicz, presents this as more than a case of post-partum depression. Grace's woes are nuanced and complicated, and perhaps they cannot be explained at all. Several scenes show her on hands and knees, slinking like a panther. More than once she hinges at the hips and flops over in half, like a rag doll (or a fentanyl addict). She claws at the wallpaper in the claustrophobic shack. Lawrence's blank face speaks volumes in a simple shot of Grace letting her forehead fall against a glass door. At times Grace wields weapons -- a butcher's knife, a shotgun -- but she is not a danger to those around her; she's a conundrum.

We see flashbacks of Grace trying to communicate with Jackson's senile father (Nick Nolte) and back in the present day failing to click with Jackson's mother, Pam (a compelling Sissy Spacek, reminding us that she invented this genre). There is just no one on her wavelength -- not even her readers -- unless you count a mystery motorcyclist (Lakeith Stanfield) who could just be a figment of her imagination, out there in nowheresville.

Ramsay is known for her gritty character studies, like Tilda Swinton coming to grips with a psychopathic son in "We Need to Talk About Kevin," or her masterpiece about a young woman (Samantha Morton) who thinks nothing of stealing her dead partner's novel in "Morvern Callar." But she also be off-key, like with the intense "You Were Never Really Here" from 2017. With "Die My Love" (only her fifth feature), she brings out amazing interplay between Lawrence and Pattison, some of it certainly improvised. They are the kind of performances that haunt actors for months or years afterward. But Ramsay also trips a few Stephen King tropes by wallowing in the psychosis of an anti-hero with writer's block or just a plain old crazy chick in a stylized horror movie.

The film struggles to pin down a raison d'etre, even if it is compelling visually and propelled by an eclectic soundtrack. (The couple has a turntable and a fun album collection.) Maybe it worked better as a novel, but across two hours on screen it can feel jumbled. (The flashbacks can be confusing.) The film begins and ends with an inferno, and in between Lawrence burns like an out-of-control wildfire. Yet there were plenty of times when Grace came across as the rational one surrounded by soulless zombies. Few can match the passion and intensity of the filmmaker and star, but were Ramsay and Lawrence even on the same page about the story they were trying to tell and the point they were trying to make? 

BONUS TRACKS

The soundtrack is wide-ranging and worth the price of admission itself. Ramsay wrote some songs with George Vjestica and Raife Burchell, and sings here on "Fire," which opens the movie:

 

The film is also bookended by renditions of "In Spite of Ourselves" by John Prine and Iris Dement:

 

There's David Bowie's "Hunky Dory" deep cut "Kooks":

 

And finally, some groovy '60s hip-swinging, "Paladium (The Hip)" by Liz Brady:

The Ballad of John & Yoko ... and May

 

ONE TO ONE: JOHN & YOKO (A) - I ordered the new Yoko Ono biography from the library, and it was available for pickup on December 8th, the 45th anniversary of the death of John Lennon. The anniversary fell on a Monday, just like the date in 1980, when late at night my sister poked her head into my bedroom to tell me that Howard Cosell had announced the shocking news on "Monday Night Football." 

Forty-five years later, I spent the week reliving that surreal experience of my senior year (which also involved the election of Ronald Reagan). I skipped ahead in David Sheff's book to the run-up to and aftermath of the assassination by Mark David Chapman. And I also dove back to the New York of Lennon's era thanks for the truly mesmerizing deep-dive documentary "One to One" from Kevin Macdonald ("The Last King of Scotland") and editor Sam Rice-Edward, with writer Clare Keogh. It is a fascinating immersion into the early '70s -- not just an examination of Lennon and Ono during their militant period but a granular sampling of American culture during a turbulent time. It all leads up to Lennon's only true post-Beatles solo concert, the One to One benefit for special-needs children, performed in Madison Square Garden in August 1972.

 

The filmmakers masterfully curate both familiar and obscure cultural moments from 1972 and 1973, mostly in New York. They brilliantly edit rarely seen footage -- including from Lennon's home life in a Greenwich Village apartment -- into an intoxicating montage. Even the most devoted Lennon fan will find something new here. The exhilarating filmmaking makes the music -- drop-ins from the couple's One to One concert, including "Cold Turkey" and "Come Together" -- again feel fresh and urgent. 

We listen in on the phone calls that Lennon obsessively recorded -- whether it is planning an anti-war national tour with rabble-rouser Jerry Rubin, or Yoko explaining to their manager how to dispatch underlings to gather up flies for her latest art project. We see archival footage of the couple soaking up the vibe of New York City at its grungiest. The filmmakers re-create the Lennons' small Village apartment, with a droning TV prominently featured (Lennon was addicted to the tube). 

The seemingly random archival footage -- gleaned from new reports, TV commercials and truly obscure sources -- replicate the maelstrom of the era. The events fly by chronicling Vietnam, hijackings, the Yippies, an election year, Watergate, street crime, FBI surveillance, political assassination attempts, Geraldo Rivera's expose of a mental institute for children. That last story inspired Lennon and Ono to stage the One to One concert as a benefit. Macdonald pairs the live performance of "Imagine" with clips of mentally handicapped children frolicking in a park at a huge picnic. During "Instant Karma" ("We all shine on") we see clips from Vietnam (bombs falling, dead bodies, Hanoi Jane) interspersed with footage of Nixon dancing with his daughter at her wedding.

The spiral into the minutiae of 1972 and '73 is dizzying. We meet the infamous man, A.J. Weberman, who went through Bob Dylan's garbage. (Dylan is generally portrayed as a capitalist sellout by this point, though still the godfather of the antiwar movement.) We see Lennon and Ono attending the first International Feminist Planning Conference in Salem, Mass., blurry super-8 images of the gamboling couple and local haunts whizzing by. There is Allen Ginsberg reading his poem about bathroom hygiene. Later, he is om'ing with Walter Cronkite from the floor the Democratic National Convention. It is all edited to mimic Lennon channel surfing between news reports (the bank heist that inspired "Dog Day Afternoon" for example) or ads or show clips. 

Lennon and Ono make their peace pitch to middle America, hanging out on the talk-show circuit with Mike Douglas and Irv Kupcinet. On a recorded phone call, Lennon starts distancing himself from the anti-war radicals; he was always a bit of a coward when things got dicey. Wherever they went, he and Ono were baring their souls in their pursuit of an elusive utopia. This collage of sights and sounds captures a very specific time and place, an era that is now so long ago. It was the first unraveling I would witness as a kid, during a decade that ended with gunshots. 

THE LOST WEEKEND: A LOVE STORY (B-minus) - May Pang, who famously kept John Lennon company in Los Angeles in 1974 after Yoko Ono kicked him out of the Dakota Building, oversees this insider peek into the ex-Beatle who was spiraling out of control. It suffers from cheap production values but it's full of heart and filled with exclusive photos, drawings and videos from that time.

Pang was barely 20 when she started working for Allen Klein's ABKCO, the Beatles' publisher at the time, and in 1973 she moved on to work full-time for Lennon and Ono, who had just moved to the Dakota Building from Greenwich Village. (She did a lot of production work on Ono's avant-garde films.) Lennon was drinking and philandering, and the generally accepted story was that Yoko kicked him out and ordered Pang to accompany him, apparently not caring if they slept together. (Ono had her own fling during this time.)

Pang's narration comes across as naive but earnest, and her story feels like more truth than myth. This was both Lennon's drunken "lost weekend" but also a fertile time for him -- making the "Rock 'n' Roll" album with Phil Specter and writing and recording "Walls and Bridges," one of his best. He wrote "Fame" with David Bowie and scored his first solo No. 1 single with Elton John's help -- "Whatever Gets You Thru the Night" was inspired by a late-night TV preacher's sermon.

As Pang notes, it was Lennon's first real opportunity to explore America, and we see him bopping around the Southwest as well as relaxing by the Pacific Ocean. Pang narrates (and provides video evidence of) Lennon's reunions with son Julian and ex-wife Cynthia and a "Rock 'n' Roll" jam session with Paul McCartney. She witnesses the debauchery with the Hollywood Vampires -- Harry Nilsson, Alice Cooper, Keith Moon, Bernie Taupin, Micky Dolenz and Ringo Starr. We see clips of his "Mind Games" TV advertisement and his first L.A. interview with Elliot Mintz for local Channel 7. We learn that Lennon adored his cats, one black and one white, named Major and Minor, after the piano keys. She was on the rooftop in New York for the famous rooftop photo session of Lennon in his sleeveless New York City T-shirt.

The production level throughout the documentary is on a par with a VH-1 special. She cannot afford the rights to Lennon's songs, so we get Eddie Money and the Raspberries instead. Julian Lennon is a key contributor, and his stories are quite touching when twinned with Pang's determination to fashion this as an old-fashioned love story. Despite the obstacles in her path, she succeeds.

BONUS TRACKS

A grinding live version of "Come Together," with Lennon replacing "over me" with "Stop the war!":

 

A snippet of Lennon, discussing performing live as a Beatle, from an interview on "Kup's Show" on WGN in 1972:

 

A gorgeous, haunting piano ballad from Ono, released in January 1973 -- shown in "One to One" along with grainy black-and-white footage from Salem, Mass., and a car trip back to New York City -- "Looking Over From My Hotel Window":

 

This one rolls over the closing credits of "One to One," "Bring on the Lucie (Freda Peeple)": 

 

Lennon wrote "Surprise, Surprise" for May Pang in 1974:

 

And Julian Lennon contributed to "The Lost Weekend" soundtrack with the shimmery "Saltwater":

Doc Watch: Birdbrain

 

LISTERS (A-minus) - A hat tip to SlashFilm for alerting us to this DIY documentary by a couple of stoners who decided to go birdwatching for a year and compete for the honor of spotting the most birds in 2024. It is a no-budget gem and a hoot from start to finish.

 

Owen Reiser (above right) is the man behind the camera, handling a lot of narration. Quentin Reiser, rockin' a porn 'stache and bed-head mullet, is the engaging star of the show. They set out in a 2010 Kia Sedona minivan, tricked out with a bunk-bed so they don't need hotel rooms, and will cover most of the country over 12 months. They have a special affinity for Cracker Barrel, which allows them to park overnight in their lots without having to buy a meal, even while, on one occasion, they observe a body being removed from the restaurant ("From the grits to the gallows," the boys solemnly observe).

The Reisers are pretty sharp guys (they are quick studies when it comes to identifying birds by sight and sound), but they like to play goofy for the camera. They respect the birding world for the most part, though they do have a little fun at the expense of those who might take it a little too seriously. They sit at the feet of the GOATS among the Big birders, David and Tammy McQuade, whose armchair reminiscences are entertaining. But make no mistake: the brothers are here to amuse us. Call it "The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 3."

Everything that could pass through the mind of a 12-year-old boy is fair game here. The brothers' Beavis and Butt-head banter shows an appreciation for the classics, like "Thrasher? I barely know 'er." They observe that calling a bird a dickcissel sounds like a putdown (especially when you pronounce it "dicksissy"). A fellow traveler pens an ode to "tits, cocks, suckers and boobies." The brothers refer to a trogon as a "trojan." When they spot a sandpiper they note, "That thing was pipin' sand all day!" At times, the comments approach the sublime; one bird is described as "holding its wings like theater kids hold their arms." 

The visuals are striking throughout. It's not clear whether all the wonderful bird visuals were taken by them (the credits list a host of "contributers" and five camcorder operators), but the cinematography is stunning at times, on a par with the best nature documentaries. Along the way, the brothers roll out crude but effective graphics. They have jaunty descriptive identifiers for the people they run across, like "looks kinda Amish"; when they incorporate their hockey buddies into a scene, one of them is ID'd by his goals-against stats. They have a serious side, too, though. They conduct investigative journalism into birders who have cheated and padded their counts. (There is an honor system among the bird-counting "listers" of the title.) They distort voices and blur out faces; at one point, they playfully blur out the face of a dog. The mix of absurdism and earnestness is deeply charming. 

The Reisers develop an appreciation for the avian heroes of nature. They discuss how the sound of the common nighthawk reminds them of soccer practice as kids. Clocking a particular striking bird in the wild, one of them notes:  "I'd run through a brick wall for that bird." They explore the idea that the use of phone apps and the intense competition might kill the true spirit of birding. One talking head, Hannah Toutonghi, serves as a sort of zen conscience of the film through discussions about the ethical nature of birding.

It is all entertaining and informative, silly and thought-provoking. It very likely is the best film of 2025 that you've never heard of.

Here is the YouTube link. 

BONUS TRACK

Our title track, courtesy of Buffalo Tom:

On the Edge

 

PEACHES GOES BANANAS (C+) - The passionate dance-punk artist Peaches gets the documentary treatment here as she approaches 60, still sexually daring and provocative. The musician who named an album Fatherfucker and whose big hit was titled "Fuck the Pain Away" has barely lost a step, but this film does only glancing justice to her music and career.

 

The cameras mostly follow her along a tour of Europe in recent years. But we get little live audio, as if the filmmakers did not have the budget or technology to produce decent concert footage. Much of the dialogue consists of voice-overs, disembodied words that occasionally sync with the images but too often distract. It's a shame, because her body-positive message and the enthusiasm of her fans seem to make for fun concerts.

French director Marie Losier follows her back home, too, as we meet the parents of the artist born Merrill Nisker in Toronto, and we join visits with her sister, Suri, who suffered from multiple sclerosis. The film, thus, is more of a pastiche, an avant-garde project in its own right. It helps to be a fan (I'm a casual one, mostly from 20 years ago), and if you're not aware of Peaches' music, this one might be tough to get traction on.  

ZEF: THE STORY OF DIE ANTWOORD (B-minus) - This is really nothing more than a glorified expansions of art videos by the South African rap-rave band Die Antwoord, supplemented with interviews with the couple, allowing them to whitewash their history.

Music-video producer Jon Day and animator Jack Shih curate this collection of videos and talking-head interviews with Ninja and his wife, Yolandi Visser, who give off bizarre avant-garde vibes more than a decade after breaking big with viral YouTube videos featuring their eccentric music and video styles. He is tall and angular, tattooed and intense; she is cute and mouse-voiced, with a winnowing glare. Their child, Sixteen, a young adult, has been a prop in their videos and her doe-eyed demeanor captivates in interviews separate from her parents.

We don't hear any of the negative assertions that have dogged the band -- though there is a mild reference to accusations of homophobia, but their default response is to just point to their DJ, Hi-Tek, who is gay, and shrug it off. Photographer Roger Ballen, a longtime collaborator, shows up to support two of his favorite visual artists. 

You just know there is much more to the stories here -- I mean, what was up with their adoption of a troubled 9-year-old, who would later allege trauma from being exposed to sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll? How authentic is their cultural affinity for zef culture among lower-class Afrikaners? Their songs can be catchy, but is this mostly style over substance, the provocations of a failed rapper who found his mousy muse?

Regardless, the images can be quite compelling at times, and their hysterical rave-ups can be quite catchy. There's just something lurid about participating in a deep dive into the couple's lifestyle. 

BONUS TRACKS

We previously linked to "Bag It" from Peaches. Here is her signature song, "Fuck the Pain Away":

 

"Tombstone, Baby" live in Los Angeles:

 

The most representative Die Antwoord song and video, "Fatty Boom Boom" (starts at 1:45): 

In just a snippet, the Die Antwoord doc takes a break from the hectic and slips in this trippy interlude from Rodriguez, "I Wonder":

 

From the closing credits of "Zef," the hallucinatory "Age of Illusion" (featuring their daughter, Sixteen):

Doc Watch: Fight the Power

 

COVER-UP (B+) - Laura Poitras makes a pilgrimage to the knee of the granddaddy of investigative journalists, Seymour Hersh, and he curmudgeonly sits for her camera and shares stories, from his breakthrough reporting on the atrocities in Vietnam to his late-career missteps.

 

The first third of the documentary is devoted to the defining story of Hersh's career: his unmasking of the My Lai massacre in Vietnam, orchestrated by Lt. William Calley. It is bookended with what is essentially the capstone to his career, his exposing of the torture at Abu Ghraib in Iraq two decades ago for the New Yorker. In between, Poitras seeks to dig beneath the stoic exterior of a man who guards his privacy as well as he protects his sources. (He also gets his due for his efforts, competing against Woodward and Bernstein, to break his share of Watergate stories for the New York Times.)

Poitras ("Citizenfour," "All the Beauty and the Bloodshed"), working with co-director Mark Obenhaus, borrows Errol Morris' tactics and plants her camera firmly in front of Hersh, and she places another one above him, sneaking glimpses at his archived notes. At one point she gets him to break down and threaten to halt the proceedings over her invasive questioning. She mixes in old clips of Hersh interviews and pieces it all together neatly. 

Hersh comes off as a diehard soldier devoted to policing abuses of power. His personality is a bit of a tough nut to crack (his take on his gruff parents speaks volumes), but Poitras does an admirable job of picking at an old warhorse's brain and heart.  

THE ALABAMA SOLUTION (A-minus) - Andrew Jarecki ("Capturing the Friedmans," "The Jinx") curates footage from smuggled cell phones to show the horrific conditions in Alabama's state penal system, in an echo of brother Eugene Jarecki's 2013 prison expose "The House I Live In." If you're not numb by now, you'll be shocked and appalled at the treatment of human beings in the deep south.

The scenes in the detention facilities -- blood, standing water, rats, drugged and mentally ill inmates -- might remind you of Geraldo Rivera's harrowing reports from mental institutions in the 1970s or the POW scenes in "The Deer Hunter." Jarecki focuses on a few inmates who communicate through video chats via smuggled smart phones. Robert Earl (aka Kinetik Justice) has done 20 years, five in solitary confinement, and he is an articulate spokesman for the rights of inmates. Melvin Ray is a jailhouse lawyer desperately trying to get the federal government to intervene. As he notes, it has always taken the feds to fix Alabama's ills, ever since Reconstruction; this time, the state is better equipped to fight off the U.S. Justice Department. 

Key events ratchet up the drama. A mother pushes for answers after her son is brutally beaten to death, almost certainly under false pretenses. We see clips of the smug guard who did the killing, as he smirks through his deposition. We watch the mother, who is on oxygen, struggle to catch her breath and report the latest update after returning from a meeting with impotent prosecutors. The family's lawyer takes on the Sisyphean task of seeking justice; a key witness to the killing fears for his life.

Prisoners go on strike, withholding their free labor; that provokes a brutal crackdown meant to starve the men into submission.  Earl is beaten and placed in solitary confinement; he takes video of rats swimming in his toilet. This is the belly of the beast. And Jarecki's camera refuses to blink or make these medieval conditions appear more palatable than they are.

A SAVAGE ART (B-minus) - One of the most celebrated political cartoonists of the modern era gets his due with this documentary subtitled "The Life & Cartoons of Pat Oliphant." It's mostly a hagiography -- Oliphant's daughter is an executive producer, and his son is essentially the narrator -- but the artist's powerful work pierces the platitudes.

A trio of filmmakers cobble together archival footage and clips of old interviews over the years with Oliphant, an Australian native who came to the United States in 1964, in his late 20s, to take over as political cartoonist at the Denver Post, where he won a Pulitzer Prize within three years. (He would later denounce the honor.) In the '70s he moved to the Washington Star, where his profile was heightened considerably in the nation's capital. 

 

The documentary can be a little hard to follow at times, as it jumps back and forth in time and grabs snippets of interviews of Oliphant from a variety of sources. It would help, too, if the filmmakers gave the cartoons more time on screen and room to breathe. As it is, the film stands as a reminder of how potent and raw Oliphant's work could be. One scathing attack on the Catholic church is captured in an image of salivating priests chasing a gaggle of frightened children, withe caption, "The running of the altar boys." The origin of Oliphant's mascot, a penguin named Punk who offered pithy comments from the corner of the panel, is explained, and we get a pretty good sense of the artist's irascibility through the years.

The final third confronts both the decline of newspapers and political cartoons and the physical decline of Oliphant, now 90 and nearly blind, who was a respected painter and sculptor, as well, in his later years (in Santa Fe, N.M.). This all could have been just as insightful as an hour-long PBS special, though the in-depth history of cartooning was appreciated, and it certainly did not need his children papering over their father's personal shortcomings (including two divorces). And it could have let more of the work tell the story. Credit is due for the footage of New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd, a Washington Star colleague back in the day, paying tribute to Oliphant with saucy memories delivered at a dinner in his honor.

New to the Queue

 But then ...

Laura Poitras ("Citizenfour," "All the Beauty and the Bloodshed") examines the career of investigative journalist Seymour Hersh, "Cover-Up."

A debut feature from Slovenia, about teens' sexual and spiritual awakenings, "Little Trouble Girls."

Rebecca Zlotowski ("Other People's Children") lines up Jodie Foster as a psychiatrist investigating the death of a patient, "A Private Life."

A look at four generations of German women exploring family secrets under the yoke of patriarchy, "Sound of Falling."

Other People's Children

A pair of French films streaming on Amazon: 

WHEN FALL IS COMING (B) - I can't think of anyone who could pull off this slight, odd narrative -- about a grandmother's unhealthy compulsion to be with her grandson -- anywhere near as well as master storyteller Francois Ozon. 

Helene Vincent is endlessly charming as Michelle, a stylish grandmother who may or may not be having cognition issues. She picks mushrooms with her dear friend Marie-Claude (Josiane Balasko) and ends up poisoning her own daughter, Valerie (Ludivine Sagnier), who thinks it might have been an intentional act so that Michelle could get more time with Valerie's adolescent son, Lucas (a sharp Garlan Erlos). Eventually something does happen to Valerie (and Michelle might have something to do with that), and Lucas comes to live with Michelle.

Meantime, Michelle extends kindness -- perhaps an unhealthy amount -- to Marie-Claude's ex-con adult son Vincent (a menacing but amusing Pierre Lottin). Helene Vincent shoulders the production like the old pro she is. Michelle's friendship with Marie-Claude (who is unhappy and unhealthy) is sweet, and her generosity -- if that's truly what it is -- is admirable. A couple of narrative zags keep the viewer guessing until the end.

This probably tracks most with Ozon's "In the House," another shaggy-dog story that meanders with some real and perceived twists. It also feels compatible with a recent Ozon film, "Everything Went Fine," which also dealt with death and family relations. Here he crafts a satisfying low-key thriller. 

OTHER PEOPLE'S CHILDREN (2023) (C) - Tripping over the line between legitimate drama and Hallmark shmaltz, Rebecca Zlotowski turns in an earnest examination of a woman with a loudly ticking biological clock who seeks true love with a hunk who has a 4-year-old daughter. Will they make it? Will they make their own baby?

Virginie Efira (who played a woman with two families in "Madeleine Collins") stars as Rachel, a high school teacher who finds her dream guy in ruggedly handsome Ali (Roschdy Zem), who is separated from his wife and shares custody of little Leila. Zlotowski mixes dewy eyed romance and gauzy cinematography (the Eiffel Tower is photographed reverently) with generous "Red Shoes Diary" nudity and R-rated lovemaking.

Rachel falls hard not just for Ali but also for Leila. At school Rachel fends off a randy co-worker and nurtures a troubled student who could be the son she never had. Elsewhere, she bonds with her sister over the continued mourning for their mother, who died when they were little. Meantime, Rachel still must compete with Leila's mopey mother (a miscast 50-year-old Chiara Mastroianni). There is also a dying mother of one of Leila's classmates to ratchet up the melodrama.

The second half descends into soap-opera territory, and the drawn-out theatrics expose Efira's limitations as a leading actress beyond looking good in a shortie nightshirt. (We previously described her as bland, in a Kim Cattrall way.) A heartfelt epilogue helps, but many won't make it to that ending unless they can find a way to care about where all these folks end up. 

BONUS TRACK

The trailer for "When Fall Is Coming":

 

In "Other People's Children," Rachel and Ali cement their affair to Dave von Ronk's "Cocaine Blues" ("... all around my brain"):

That '70s Drift: Cops and Robbers

 A couple of recent releases give a shout out to the 1970s:

THE MASTERMIND (B) - Master storyteller Kelly Reichardt turns in a serviceable but disappointing drama as she winds the clock back to 1970 for another laconic character study. She is saddled here with Josh O'Connor, who doesn't bring much to the role of a slacker who helms a motley crew of petty criminals to knock off a local art museum.

 

It has been about a decade since Reichardt's masterpiece, "Certain Women," and about 15 years since her pristine period piece, a pioneer-era western, "Meek's Cutoff." Her last outing, 2023's "Showing Up," was "as slow and uneventful as a movie can be," and "The Mastermind" might deepen the ruts forming under her wagon wheels. She has always been a patient filmmaker who composes in a minor key, but she needs a tad more inspiration to keep her latest one pumping.

O'Connor's James Blaine Mooney has parents with money, and his mother (Hope Davis) thinks she is writing checks to further his architectural career, which has actually stalled. Instead, he uses the money to promise payoffs to his bungling gang, and they pull off a half-assed heist. The robbery isn't the hard part though; it's the stashing and fencing of the loot that becomes the sticky wicket.

It is not like Reichardt to have so much trouble pulling together and maintaining a compelling narrative. She wastes Alana Haim ("Licorice Pizza") in the role of James' doting wife. The movie lights up in the final reel when James visits old friends who are part of the Vietnam War resisters' underground, and a pair of heavyweights jolt the movie back to life, briefly. Gaby Hoffman and John Magaro mold complicated characters in a matter of about 10 minutes, serving only to remind us that the rest of the cast cannot do the same across the 110-minute running time. 

Most egregiously, though, Reichardt scores the buildup to the caper and the heist itself to loud, skronking, jittery jazz music. It is relentless, sometimes drowning out dialogue. As a dramatic device, it is too derivative to be effective. "Rififi" this ain't. (Composer Rob Mazurek, in his first film, must share the blame.) This one is an interesting exercise but not an entirely successful one.

INSPECTOR IKE (2020) (B) - Sometimes a cheesy idea and a script full of silly bits is all you need. Here a talented cast of well-trained comedians send up the "NBC Sunday Mystery Movie," which once blessed us with the likes of "Columbo," "McCloud" and "McMillan & Wife."

Ikechukwu Ufomadu co-wrote the script with director Graham Mason and stars in the title role, an unflappable old-school detective who also likes to share a food recipe during each episode of this faux show. (He also has a hacky signature move at the climax of each case -- presenting a set of handcuffs to the ultimate perpetrator in creative ways.) In this "episode," we know who the killer is from the start; it's just a matter of the watching the bumbling culprit -- an understudy knocking off the lead in a male version of "Annie" called "Mannie" -- tighten his own noose. 

The humor owes a debt to "Police Squad," which spoofed the genre in 1982 (and led to the "Naked Gun" movies). The sight gags are easier to pull off if you are pretending it's the low-fi early '70s and your only competition in the satire field are the skits on "The Sonny & Cher Comedy Hour." The decade and its shlocky shows are easy targets, and the crew is given a wide berth to commit broad slapstick.

This borrows funny folks (and a sense of humor) from the worlds of the TV shows "Search Party," "Los Espookys" and "Fantasmas," including Ana Fabrega as a doltish police officer; John Early as the victim; Aparna Nancherla as a leader of the troupe; and Matt Barats as Harry, the goofball murderer. They all revolve around Ufomadu's deadpan zen master, and their loose-limbed sketch-comedy skills make for low-key fun.

BONUS TRACK

Let's do a ranking of Kelly Reichardt's films from most to least favorite:

  1. Certain Women (2016)
  2. Old Joy (2006)
  3. Meek's Cutoff (2011) 
  4. Wendy & Lucy (2008)
  5. First Cow (2020)
  6. River of Grass (1995)
  7. Night Moves (2014)
  8. The Mastermind (2025)
  9. Showing Up (2023)

 

Doc Watch: Only in New York

 

THE NEW YORKER AT 100 (B) - There is something mildly disappointing about a perfectly fine but ordinary documentary about the legendary New Yorker magazine as it turns 100. It's like taking a picture of the Grand Canyon; you just can't replicate it in two dimensions.

 

Director Marshall Curry's film is not exactly fawning, but it is certainly deferential. It stands in awe of everything the highbrow magazine has ever done. But it hits a lot of the high notes as it plays out like a greatest-hits album from a classic-rock band. There are the legends: John Hersey's Hiroshima piece; Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring," James Baldwin's "Letter From a Region in My Mind."  

Staffers espouse gratitude for the steady guidance from the editor's office over the years. Kalefeh Sanneh says he is appreciative that the open-minded readership is "willing to go wherever you take them." We watch pen-and-notebook journalists in action -- John Lee Anderson abroad; Nick Paumgarten on the streets of the city; and Rachel Syme in a restaurant interviewing Carol Burnett. We spend time with the "vaunted" fact-checkers; they even fact-check the cartoons. We watch staffers pick through the cartoon submissions for the week. The visual style is represented by art editor Francoise Mouly (above).

One staffer relishes the irony of a magazine, widely viewed as elitist, strictly enforcing house style that demands an accent aigu over the e in "elite" in print. Thoughtfully, author Chimamanda Ngozi-Adichie cautions about falling into the trap of liberal/academic guilt; she reasons that a dose of elitism is necessary during a time when anti-elitism is swamping the nation.

The talking heads are legion. Actors Molly Ringwald and Jesse Eisenberg swoon when recalling the thrill of getting published by the New Yorker. We glimpse eccentric legends like cartoonist Roz Chast and film critic Richard Brody, who, like many others, discuss their process and craft. Hilton Als is the wise veteran; the dogged Ronan Farrow is the relative newcomer. Tina Brown is on hand to analyze her stewardship in the 1990s, widely seen as modernizing the paper just in time to save it from the dustbind of fussy history.

The central character is current editor David Remnick, and there is a little too much of him, at times delving into some of his family life that just isn't interesting. But overall -- as it churns through the publication's 10 decades methodically -- this is a surprisingly comprehensive snapshot of a very good magazine that still cares week in and week out. As its jam-packed weekly issues have proven in the past year, the New Yorker at 100 still has impressive game.  

THE MERCHANTS OF JOY (B+) - This bright documentary is both joyous and insightful, as it delves into the hustle and bustle of small-business operators who sell Christmas trees on the streets of New York City.

Director Celia Aniskovich (riffing on a magazine article by Owen Long) frames the narrative as a tale of "five families" -- and her nod to organized crime is not inapt; the cutthroat practices can be mob-like at times, and there are several references to actual mafia infiltration of the sourcing of trees from places as disparate as Vermont and Oregon. It's a business where 11 months of prep inform five weeks of street-smart retailing. The entrepreneurs jockey for key locations and then supervise an army of seasonal workers, some of whom sleep in wooden sheds tucked behind the tree stands.

The business owners are all engaging. There is George, a big lug who could have played Bobby Baccalieri on "The Sopranos." He is looking for love as well as December profit. Heather (the NYC Tree Lady), a decade into recovery, likes to hire alcoholics and addicts as a way to help them get straight. Her soft touch with a homeless man discovered sleeping in her shed exemplifies her relentlessly upbeat attitude. Unseen but heard in telephone recordings is Kevin Hammer, a proverbial and mythological bigfoot on the block who talks New Yawk tough and shows little patience for playing kumbaya with the others.

 

Two families are passing the torch between generations. George and Jane, after 50 years, are ready to fully hand off to daughter Ciree, who has been running the operation for a while now. And then there is Greg (above), whose son, dubbed "Little" Greg (despite towering over his dad), dropped out of college and is taking over for his aging dad. The 60-something father is stout and has a white beard (and a jolly demeanor) and thus plays the role of Santa Claus at events. It's all a little too ho-ho-ho for my tastes, and the production values smack of a reality TV show competition. 

However, Aniskovich is blessed with made-for-TV characters. Part of the fun is learning the process, from tree farming to setting up the stands to making the sales, rain or shine, snow or no. She even has a little twist at the end when drama enters the life of one of the families. All the characters are a joy to hang out with.

BONUS TRACK

"Merchants of Joy" reaches off the grid for its Christmas songs. That includes "Christmas Wrapping" by the Waitresses:

Bulk Fiction

 I took on the 24-hour challenge of seeing the latest epic films by two celebrated directors (starring two generational acting talents) and filing this review -- and nearly made it ...

ONE BATTLE AFTER ANOTHER (B-minus) - Paul Thomas Anderson caught lightning more than a decade ago adapting Thomas Pynchon's "Inherent Vice." He tries to duplicate his luck here, but rather than stick with the original story, this movie is merely "inspired by" Pynchon's novel Vineland.

Anderson takes what was an interesting idea of Pynchon's from the 1980s -- the life of '60s revolutionaries who have gone underground -- and transports it to more modern days (albeit an era that still has pay phones), and he injects a repulsive storyline involving militant immigration jackboots and white supremacists, which are not mutually exclusive clubs. The gang of cretins is led by a character actually named Lockjaw and played hideously to the rafters by Sean Penn in what is destined to be immortalized as a classic crossword-puzzle definition of a "ham."

This is the umpteenth movie in which the old racist scum has the hots for black women, and Anderson serves up Teyana Taylor as the prize sex object. She plays Perfidia Beverly Hills, who gets a weird sexual charge out of freeing detained immigrants and robbing banks. Taylor (compelling in "A Thousand and One") gets to fire an automatic weapon while exposing her overripe pregnant belly. What she does not get to do is develop this character, who abandons her child and rats out her co-conspirators when caught by Lockjaw.

 

Perfidia goes into witness protection and leaves the child with the baby daddy, played by Leonardo DiCaprio. Father and daughter get new identities and a relocation to California, and 16 years later he's Bob, a stoner who can't remember the code words for the radical group that still exists underground. His 16-year-old daughter, Willa (Chase Infiniti, above), will turn out to have movie-super-hero skills like escaping from murderers and excelling behind the wheel as if she stole it from a car commercial. (It's the kind of movie where the climactic scene involves three vehicles on a highway where no other car will ever come along, miraculously. Did the $150 million-plus budget run out of gas or extras?) 

DiCaprio flashes moments of brilliance, but the mayhem keeps interrupting and forcing him to run around a lot, not unlike the characters in 2021's "Licorice Pizza." (It's also the kind of movie where Bob can literally fall off of a roof, get up and escape his pursuers, miraculously.) The white supremacists are rendered as cartoon villains, who gather in a wood-paneled mansion and worship "St. Nick." 

This collage of chaos sprawls across 2 hours and 42 minutes. By the second half, it is nothing more than a glorified episode of "The Rockford Files" (by way of Quentin Tarantino). Penn, ridiculously swole here, infuses his character with physical tics (complete with a distinctive gait) that might immediately take you out of the movie, far too aware that the masterful actor is performing. (He, too, comes off as super-human, walking away from an attack that would obliterate mere mortals. Miraculously.) 

Only Benicio del Toro acquits himself here, in a minor role as an immigrant-protecting sensei; his subtle mannerisms during a DUI traffic stop run rings around the hysterical mugging of DiCaprio and Penn. Just as we recently realized that we were over Josh Brolin ("Wake Up Dead Man"), it is apparent that Sean Penn is well past his sell-by date. Meantime, the talents of Keke Palmer and Alana Haim are just wasted.

"One Battle After Another" is presumably intended to mock and satirize the military-industrial complex and its white nationalist agenda. But Anderson merely fetishizes that evil mind-set while also glorifying the violence of the radicals. (Willa will also gets to show off her skills with an automatic weapon.) I have very little bandwidth left for depictions -- positive or negative -- of Stephen Miller's goon squads, or enlightened Hollywood's useful idiots who purport to skewer the powers that be. 

Anderson's film is at times clever, occasionally enlightening, but mostly annoying, stuck in a timeless limbo. The man who gave us pulpy but thoughtful fare like "Boogie Nights," "Magnolia" and "Punch-Drunk Love" (all in a row) is turning into another big-budget hack. The organized chaos that somehow jelled in "Inherent Vice" never coheres in this follow-up run at Pynchon's world.

MARTY SUPREME (Incomplete) - I've not been a fan of the Safdie brothers -- "Uncut Gems" was "messy, overlong," and "Good Time" was "macho bunk" -- but they went their separate ways this year, and Josh Safdie's "Marty Supreme," starring a manic Timothee Chalamet, looked like a fun ride. I made it through 85 of its 150 minutes, exasperated and exhausted from the $7 New Year's Day matinee.

As we noted during "Uncut Gems," Safdie simply tries to cram too much into this movie, in which Chalamet plays a ping-pong wunderkind in 1950s New York but mostly spends his time as a broke grifter scamming his employer/uncle, his married girlfriend (whom he apparently impregnated), and a businessman's wife, a faded 1930s starlet played by Gwyneth Paltrow, who is the only cast member who adds a human dimension to a character.

Chalamet is a whirlwind as the smarmy, fast-talking bullshit artist Marty Mauser. He is often sweaty and frantic, and not just in his ping-pong scenes. He is scrawny, with a wispy mustache, and it is difficult to believe throughout that he can swindle the Ritz in London for a royal suite or that his Lord Fauntleroy banter would work on Paltrow's classy dame. The whole thing, despite Chalamet's considerable talents, is a tough sell. 

"Marty Supreme" is also dizzyingly violent, with hectic, in-your-face camera work that comes off like the work of Scorsese or Tarantino on even more cocaine. The middle hour goes down multiple rabbit holes, and each time Marty somehow, improbably never gets his ass seriously kicked. The ping-pong virtually disappears for a good chunk of the film. (Marty loses a world championship at the beginning of the film and prepares to avenge that loss the following year in Tokyo, but he does absolutely no training or practice in advance of taking on the world champ. "Rocky" this is not.)

Safdie simply forgot to tell a cohesive story with a sympathetic lead character. At the 85-minute mark, my senses were fully assaulted ('80s new-wave music blares, out of context, on the soundtrack), and I had little interest in finding out what happens to this asshole. I'll end by handing it off to a few reviewers who did gut it out until the end:

William Bibbiani, The Wrap: "'Marty Supreme' ... has no idea how to conclude while saying something — anything — about Marty, his journey or anything else. ... There’s no dramatic throughline that tracks, just desperation and an incongruous conclusion that doesn’t organically follow that despair. ... It observes the destruction in Marty’s wake and shrugs, not because it’s actually sympathetic, but because we’re supposed to be won over by his all-American gumption in spite of his carnage."

Stephanie Zacharek, Time: "It’s about as brash and peripatetic as Safdie’s last feature, 2019’s Uncut Gems, ... but its undertones are nastier, and it’s somehow even more exhausting. ... He’s supposed to be a complex character, but maybe he’s just an unbearable one. ... For Safdie, a movie seems to be just an excuse for a million and one digressions and distractions; he’ll throw anything at the wall to see if it sticks. ... Amorality can be fun, but Marty Supreme has no emotional core -- though it does try to grab us in its final minutes, when Marty is unrealistically redeemed in a moment of mawkish sentimentality."

Roger Moore, Movie Nation: "Safdie strains to keep 'Marty Supreme' moving at an exhausting sprint for its excessive, indulgent two and a half hours. He can’t. Even Chalamet needs a breather. ... But in Safdie’s film, all this expended on-screen energy and effort isn’t edifying or rewarding. It’s just exhausting." 

BONUS TRACKS 

A clever little nugget in "One Battle" reveals that the hold music for the revolutionaries' secret phone network is Gil Scott-Heron's "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised," the lyrics of which also furnish some of the secret counter-signs memorized by the members:

 

A rather obvious choice for "Battle's" closing credits is Tom Petty's "American Girl":

The Depressed of 2025

 

In our neck of the woods, we don't get all of the year's releases made available to us by December 31st. We will finalize our best-of in a month or so. Watch this space. For now, here is a list of 2025 releases so far that have scored a B+ or higher and will compete for the top spot.

• Sorry, Baby
• Sunlight
• Pee-wee as Himself  
• I'm Still Here
• Friendship
• Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted 
• The Ballad of Wallis Island
• Diane Warren: Relentless 
• George Orwell: 2 + 2 = 5
• Eephus
• Are We Good?
• D(e)ad
• It Was Just an Accident    
• Thank You Very Much 
• Janis Ian: Breaking Silence
• Matt and Mara 
• The Perfect Neighbor
• Blue Moon
• Stiller and Meara: Nothing Is Lost 
• The Baltimorons
• Devo  
• Song Sung Blue
• Drowning Dry 
• Sentimental Value 
• One to One: John & Yoko
• Becoming Led Zeppelin 
• Secret Mall Apartment
• Louder Than You Think

It's a Wonderful Life

 

SONG SUNG BLUE (A-minus) - For the number of tragedies that occur in this film -- about a husband and wife performing in a Neil Diamond tribute band -- it is tough to call it the feel-good movie of the holiday season. But what a joyful experience it was at the cineplex to behold the fervor that Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson brought to the story of a Wisconsin couple chasing their dreams in the 1990s.

 

Riffing on a real-life tale (and a 2008 documentary of the same name), Jackman plays Mike "Lightning" Sardina, a natural performer who jams in tribute bands but longs to front his own act. He is 20 years into recovery for alcohol addiction, and writer-director Craig Brewer provides a memorable introduction to the character via the AA meeting process (with a bookend to close the movie). Mike stumbles on the idea of being a Neil Diamond "interpreter," and he meets and falls for Patsy Cline interpreter Claire. He dubs them Lighting and Thunder, and they start to gain a following around the Milwaukee area.

Nothing is easy for them. They are divorced parents. (In fact, the kids are one of the best parts of the movie, especially Ella Anderson as Claire's daughter, Rachel.) Money is always tight. Mike, a Vietnam veteran, has a congenital heart condition; Claire suffers an accident that sends her into a spiral of depression and threatens their career. 

With Jackman and Hudson all in, you might not care that the proceedings have a whiff of Hallmark to them at times. The actors sing Diamond's songs, and the movie resounds with Diamond's earnest ballads and jangly rockers. At times I sang along. I laughed, I cried. (I can't remember the last time I heard so many sniffles from a crowd -- and it wasn't just the old ladies.) It helps to have an appreciation for "Cherry Cherry," "Cracklin' Rosie," and "I'm a Believer," and tolerance for "I Am I Said" and, yes, "Sweet Caroline." There is a wonderful running gag about Mike's insistence on opening each set with the obscure Arabic-accented deep cut "Soolaimon." Eddie Vedder was a fan and had them open for Pearl Jam. 

Jackman and Hudson are backed by a fine cast of character actors, including Michael Imperioli (as a Buddy Holly impersonator), Fisher Stevens, and an absolutely over-the-top Jim Belushi. Brewer has a tangible appreciation for quirky denizens of karaoke clubs and the public's yen for the classic radio hits of their youth. He captures the working-class grit of the characters -- down to the dirt under the fingernails of Mike, who is a mechanic by trade, and Claire's very Wisconsin accent (a tad overdone at times by Hudson). 

Brewer wrote the script with Greg Kohs, who helmed the documentary 17 years ago. Whether you like his movies or not, you have to admit that Brewer knows how to put a film together. He broke through 20 years ago with "Hustle & Flow" and "Black Snake Moan," and he recently acquitted himself well with "Dolemite Is My Name." Here he whips his two stars toward passionate performances -- both as actors themselves and the energy of the characters they play. 

I don't really need to know anything about the real Mike and Claire in order to appreciate "Song Sung Blue." I'm sure much is made up and twisted around to make it palatable to the masses. That's the point. It's a movie, fiction. It's 133 minutes of old-fashioned entertainment, and it couldn't have arrived at a better time. 

JAY KELLY (C) - The decline and fall of Noah Baumbach continues. At this point, he is at the hobnobbing-with-George-Clooney stage of his flirtation with the Hollywood in-crowd. This profile of a movie star who wakes up at 60 and realizes that he is isolated from friends and family is trite, cloying and painfully twee.

Maybe it's the curse of his ex, Jennifer Jason Leigh, but ever since Baumbach took up with Mumblecore's ur-gal Greta Gerwig, he has succeeded with "Frances Ha" and not much else. He was revived in 2019 by "Marriage Story," but since then he has whiffed on a Don DeLillo interpretation; flopped magnificently by co-writing "Barbie" with Gerwig; and now he masturbates for 2 hours 12 minutes with "Jay Kelly," a movie that isn't even good enough to be criticized as derivative. 

Clooney plays a thinly veiled version of himself -- suave, charming, talented, faux self-effacing -- as he hopscotches the world battling a late-in-life crisis involving his grown daughters, his loyal manager and his fawning entourage. He seems blind to the true extent of his luck-of-the-draw, and though on the brink of a valedictory tribute from the Italian film industry, he considers pulling the plug on the whole celebrity circus. Even so, he swans in crisp couture suit jackets, slums with his fans, and gets all puppy-eyed as he seeks belated approval from his daughters. (Riley Keough is thoroughly wasted as one of them.) All the while, he is adored and fussed over by rich Italian eccentrics. (Alba Rohrwacher is forced to demean herself as a fawning fan. She edges out a criminally mistreated Laura Dern in that regard.)

 

Jay actually wanders back to his past, George Bailey-like, wistfully observing his most memorable moments, tearing up at these mundane, sepia-toned dalliances. Yes, we've seen this all before, ad nauseam. This is Fellini for Dummies. It is Bargain-Basement Bogdanovich. (The end credits refer to the film, preciously, as a "Noah Baumbach picture.") Running gags and wisecracks get beaten into the ground. (There must be a dozen references to Jay insisting on a slice of cheesecake in his regular rider, even though he claims he never liked cheesecake. It was unfunny the first time.) And speaking of hang-dogs, Adam Sandler (from Baumbach's "The Meyerowitz Stories") hams it up as Jay's mensch of a manager, going around affectionately calling people "puppy" and ironically wearing a neckerchief simply as a glaring plot invention that fails to pay off in the end. 

The film is full of cutesy touches by Baumbach that threaten to rot your teeth they are so treacly. Gerwig's steep decline continues in the role of Sandler's hectoring, scatter-brained wife, featured exclusively through phone calls involving their kids, which is as interesting as it is in real life when parents think their children are fascinating subjects of discussion. In my "Barbie" review, I predicted that Baumbach and Gerwig might "become the beloved it-couple in front-row seats at awards shows, head-nodding toward Wes Anderson in the back." We're getting closer.

It has been 20 years since "The Squid and the Whale" and 15 since "Greenberg." Like Jay Kelly, Baumbach had a great run. Maybe, like Jay, Baumbach is surrounded by sycophants who don't want to rock the boat and tell him to snap out of his fantasy world. 

BONUS TRACKS

I'm pretty sure this was the first time I danced in the aisles to a song over the closing credits of a movie. The hymn "Holly Holy":  

Mike and Claire initially rehearse to a rollicking version of "Cherry Cherry," celebrating that giddy piano riff. Here is Diamond in the mid-'90s working it out on David Letterman's show:

 

The very first episode of MTV's "Unplugged," when it was hosted by Jules Shear, put together a hootenanny circle to perform Diamond's composition "I'm a Believer," which had been a hit for the Monkees:

 

"Song Sung Blue" was our annual Christmas Day outing.  For the record, here is our full list from previous years, in order of preference, updated:

  1. Up in the Air (2009)

  2. Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou (2004)

  3. Dreamgirls (2006)

  4. Charlie Wilson's War (2007)

  5. Ma Rainey's Black Bottom (2020)

  6. Little Women (2019)

  7. Song Sung Blue (2025)

  8. Babygirl (2024)

  9. The Fighter (2010)

10. Licorice Pizza (2021)

11. American Hustle (2013)

12. The Shape of Water (2017)

13. La La Land (2016)

14. The Wrestler (2008)

15. Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)

16. Young Adult (2011)

17. This Is 40 (2012)

18. Anyone But You (2023)

19. Holmes & Watson (2018)

20. Into the Woods (2014)