Category: Film

REVIEW: Babygirl

Abigail Goodman 1 Comment

O Nicole Kidman, what can’t thou do? What heights canst thou not reach?

In Babygirl, Dutch director Halina Reijn is intent on liberating us unenlightened Americans from the shackles of shame and fear. Her modus operandi is to throw us headfirst into a world of dominance and submission, of power-plays and betrayal. Without pitch-perfect performances from Kidman and her costar, the sizzling Harris Dickinson, Babygirl would flatten into cheap comedy. Yet against all odds, this movie works, turning us on and teaching us a lesson all at once. 

It takes a special type of plot to have several people in the audience walk out halfway through the movie, one of them muttering “disgusting…” under her breath. Babygirl is sure to be repulsive, even offensive, to some people. The movie follows Romy Mathis – girlboss CEO of a robotics automation company, mother to two well-adjusted teenagers, and wife to an adoring husband (Antonio Banderas). Yet something is off in this charmed life. In the very first scene, Romy, after faking an orgasm with her husband Jacob, tragically and hilariously runs to another room and masturbates to cheap Internet porn. Romy has love and riches, but is hiding a shameful secret that is ruining her life: she craves submission in the bedroom. Samuel (Harris Dickinson), an enigmatic intern at her company, quickly sniffs this out. He draws her into an affair that she can’t resist, and the film snowballs from there. 

Although Babygirl received generally positive reviews, the negative feedback tends to point out that actually, Romy and Samuel are villains. “In a real-life scenario, Samuel would have been instantly fired,” says the Standard. The Guardian notes that as Romy conducts her affair, “Her poor husband…is left wrangling the kids and trying to direct his latest off-Broadway show.” NPR laments that the film “…feels out of touch with our post-MeToo era.” This criticism misses the point. Babygirl is a work of fiction, not a documentary. Its purpose is to lead us out of the noose of shame and into the open air of pleasure. 

For this reason, the scenes featuring only Romy and Samuel are the lifeblood of the film. In their first rendezvous, Samuel is unsure of himself but organically comfortable with giving orders. Go stand in the corner. Get down on all fours. Eat this strawberry-flavored candy out of my hand. “You’re mine,” he says without words. The scene is a potent mix of awkwardness and passion. It works because Samuel is neither a sadist nor a douchebag. Unlike the infamous Christian Grey, who “likes to whip little brown-haired girls like you because you all look like the crack whore—my birth mother,” Samuel wears his power well. Samuel knows what he’s doing. 

In another scene, a nervous Romy invites her lover to a fancy hotel room. She follows his directions, taking off her dress and getting on her knees in front of him. The scene changes, and suddenly it is Samuel performing for her, swaying to George Michael’s “Father Figure” as Romy’s eyes follow his body. This is the female gaze at its best, and Samuel is its perfect recipient. Here is someone comfortable in his own skin. Here is someone who knows that what he puts out will be well-received. Reijn’s talent is channeling just the right combination of danger and allure. Beauty, power, dominance – it doesn’t take much to convince the audience that these are virtues to be admired.

There are certain aspects of this movie that I think are superfluous. Reijn alludes to Romy’s childhood, which was apparently full of cults and gurus, in engineered EMDR therapy sessions. Romy’s assistant ends up discovering the affair and extorting Romy for a promotion. There is a girl-boss final moment that feels contrived. None of these B-plots are necessarily bad, but they’re a distraction from the central theme: what Romy wants and what Samuel can give. 

When the pair are inevitably caught, culminating in a violent altercation between Jacob and Samuel, Jacob is distraught that his wife would be enraptured by such cheap thrills like submission. “Female masochism is nothing but a male fantasy,” he mutters through tears. “No, you’re wrong. That’s a dated idea,” says Samuel, to the man he has just cuckolded. The people agree, Harris Dickinson. Give the people what they want. 

REVIEW: Blue Velvet

Abigail Goodman Leave a comment

When I was 15 years old, my life changed forever when my dad took me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye, and said “Watch Blue Velvet. Trust me.”

At the moment, I wasn’t quite aware that he was prompting me to watch a two-hour psychosexual meditation on the dark underbelly lurking beneath society’s surface, featuring sado-masochism, drug-addled perverts, and erotic blackmail. But watch it I did. Then I closed my laptop and stared up at the ceiling for an hour contemplating my newly-lost innocence. 

David Lynch, the celebrated director of Blue Velvet who recently passed away at the age of 78, was a giant of filmmaking. In movies like Blue Velvet, Mulholland Drive, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, and Eraserhead, Lynch introduced audiences to revolutionary ways of seeing the world. I always suspected that Lynch was some kind of hologram placed on Earth by an advanced alien species, hovering somewhere between genius and madness, meant to transport us mortals into a higher plane of existence. His filmmaking talent even added a word to our lexicon – “Lynchian” – meant to connote surrealism that uses a dreamlike aesthetic to expose malice, absurdity, or hypocrisy in society. This “uncanny valley” quality that Lynch’s films embodied earned him a cult following as well as mainstream appeal. 

Nowhere are these Lynchian elements more at play than in Blue Velvet, released in 1986. The film features Dorothy (Isabella Rossellini), a battered woman blackmailed into sexual slavery by the sadistic Frank (Dennis Hopper). In an ironic twist, Frank’s games reveal masochistic urges repressed deep in Dorothy’s psyche. She is simultaneously repelled and titillated, expressing these conflicting emotions by initiating a sadomasochistic relationship with the clean-cut Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan), who is ashamed of his urges but drawn to the alluring older woman. The three characters – Frank, Dorothy, and Jeffrey – exit society’s confines and enter a lusty place of debauchery and degeneracy. 

Through colorful metaphors, a haunting score, and cast members that are clearly willing to bare all for the sake of art, Blue Velvet earned its place in film history. The marriage of surrealism and erotica, tragedy and eros, death and love – these are philosophical concepts that artistic leaders have wrestled with for millennia. More recent films featuring BDSM dynamics, like Secretary, Fifty Shades of Grey, and Babygirl, can only aspire to the emotional power that Blue Velvet oozes. Each scene is perfectly calibrated to press the audience’s buttons. So enduring is the film’s appeal that the Michigan Theater specifically chose to play it to honor Lynch’s legacy. This type of masterpiece earns either one star or five stars, but nobody leaves the theater without an opinion. 

There is only one filmmaker who can somehow master horror, erotica, surrealism, and mystery all at once. That man is David Lynch. In my opinion, to even write a traditional film review of his work is to diminish his genius. So I will leave it at that – anyone who hasn’t watched Blue Velvet is missing out. 

REVIEW: Disfluency

Madi Hammond Leave a comment

What are disfluencies?

My first question about the film “Disfluency” was answered within the first ten minutes: they are “natural interruptions in the smooth flow of speech”—the “uhs,” the “ums,” the “sorries” that fill the gaps in our conversations. It’s a fitting title for a film centered on Jane (Libe Barer), a linguistics student who unexpectedly fails her final class during her senior year of college.

Embarrassed and adrift, Jane retreats to her Michigan hometown for the summer, living with her parents and older sister, Lacey (Ariela Barer), while completing an independent study to earn her final credits. But Jane isn’t the same person her family remembers. Haunted by PTSD after a sexual assault at the start of the semester, her focus unraveled, and failure followed. Her sadness and withdrawal are apparent to her family, but Jane struggles to share her experience. Instead, she eventually opens up to her neighbor, Amber (Chelsea Alden), whom she’s teaching sign language. Through this unexpected connection, the pieces of her trauma slowly surface.

Few movies have moved me to tears quite like “Disfluency.” Maybe it was the achingly familiar depiction of a Michigan summer—its bittersweet nostalgia and quiet moments of reflection. Maybe it was the intimate setting of the Michigan Theater, where the small audience heightened the film’s vulnerability. Or maybe it was Libe Barer’s raw and nuanced performance as Jane—a character so painfully real in her silence, resilience, and search for understanding.

The film’s use of linguistics adds layers to Jane’s story. After a childhood accident left her temporarily unable to speak, she learned sign language, and now offers to teach Amber, whose son is deaf. Language becomes a means of connection but also a symbol of Jane’s struggle to reclaim her voice. In moments of panic or flashbacks, Jane repeatedly says “sorry” or “um”—the very disfluencies referenced in the film’s title. The movie skillfully parallels this linguistic thread with the experience of survivors grappling with whether and how to share their stories. Though the motif at times feels a bit overt, its exploration of the fragility and power of communication is profoundly moving.

Visually, the film portrays PTSD with a raw and creative intensity. Through sudden flashes of string lights, cuts to a theater stage, and fragmented jumps in time, director Anna Baumgarten captures how trauma unpredictably intrudes into Jane’s reality. These moments, disorienting yet poignant, mirror the mental landscape of someone navigating PTSD. In her Director’s Statement, Baumgarten shares that “[i]t was born out of my own experience struggling with imposter syndrome and PTSD in the aftermath of sexual assault during my senior year of college.” This personal connection resonates throughout the film, grounding it in authenticity and empathy.

The heart of the movie lies in its depiction of relationships, particularly the dynamic between Jane and Lacey. Played by real-life siblings Libe and Ariela Barer, their bond feels natural and layered, moving effortlessly between playful banter and profound conversations. The film takes its time to find its footing, but once it does—about twenty minutes in—it becomes an emotional force, drawing the viewer deeper into Jane’s story.

I do wonder how the film resonates with viewers who don’t share my personal connection to Michigan summers. For me, the setting’s familiar warmth heightened the emotional impact, amplifying the quiet moments of reflection and nostalgia. But even without that shared backdrop, the film’s raw portrayal of PTSD and resilience is bound to leave an impression.

Disfluency had only a brief screening at the Michigan Theater but is now available for digital viewing on various platforms. If you’re craving the warmth of summer amid the chill of winter—or simply want to experience a devastatingly honest and beautiful story—I can’t recommend it enough.

REVIEW: Gladiator II

Abigail Goodman Leave a comment

Gladiator II is not my Roman Empire. The much-anticipated sequel to Ridley Scott’s Gladiator, released in 2000 to an enraptured audience, is deficient in almost every respect. From meandering plotlines to undeveloped characters, Gladiator II will have audiences on the edge of their seat – ready to get up and leave. 

While Gladiator saw Maximus Decimus Meridius – an exiled Roman general – reduced to slavery, forced to serve a corrupt emperor, and on a noble quest to avenge his murdered family, Gladiator II sees Lucius Verus Aurelius – the exiled Prince of Rome – reduced to slavery, forced to serve corrupt twin emperors, and on a noble quest to avenge his murdered family. Yet where the first Gladiator lived up to its promise of grandeur personalities fighting a larger-than-life battle, Gladiator II falls short. Paul Mescal (a grieving Lucius), Pedro Pascal (the Roman General Acacius), Connie Nielsen (Maximus’s former lover Lucilla), and Denzel Washington (the delightfully conniving Macrinus) are all phenomenal actors. But they cannot make up for a script that has no idea where it’s going. 

Director Ridley Scott seems determined to recreate the magic of the first movie, yet turns his all-star cast into Atlas, holding up a failing plot on their backs. Dialogue veers off into the melodramatic, especially when it comes to Lucilla, who apparently has no role in this movie except to stand around looking beautiful and sad. Twin emperors Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger) giggle about like two spoiled, all-powerful drag queens, but do little in the way of meaningful development or emotional depth. The most tragic of all is Mescal, who spends much of the film glowering into the distance and changing deeply-held beliefs on a whim, depending on what a stagnating plot needs him to do. 

Nor can extravagant fight scenes and wild plot twists make up for the lack of any emotional core. Scott leans heavily on CGI in his Colosseum – great white sharks, rings of fire, and whatnot – but I heard more suppressed laughter in the theater than oohs and ahhs. Scenes that were meant to spark tears were forced into the plot too quickly without the necessary suspense, attempting to break tension that just wasn’t there. I’ll withhold the two major plot twists for the sake of spoilers, but even Washington, playing a former-gladiator-turned-master with big ambitions, is not given the proper tools to make his character work. Crucial scenes were either introduced too quickly, giving me whiplash, or drawn-out excruciatingly slowly, making me yawn. 

I’m not saying that Gladiator II doesn’t have entertaining moments, but you would be better served re-watching the original. Because without a strong sense of direction, Gladiator II’s Rome is pure clownishness. 

REVIEW: Mufasa: The Lion King

Sappy Leave a comment

Despite the many negative reviews surrounding the musical drama film Mufasa: The Lion King, I actually really enjoyed it. The storyline acts as both a prequel and a sequel to the original animated The Lion King. While it’s not life-changing or particularly essential, it’s a fun film that adds to the world-building of the original in an endearing way. Perhaps it’s because I had low expectations and didn’t know exactly what to expect, but I found the online reviews overly harsh for a movie primarily directed toward children.

The plot begins with the lion cub Kiara, Simba’s daughter, who is frightened by a large thunderstorm. She doubts her capabilities and expresses that she could never be brave like her grandfather, Mufasa. In response, Rafiki, an elderly and wise mandrill, tells her a story to encourage her. He recounts how Mufasa was at her age and how he grew up to become the great king we saw in The Lion King. Mufasa, who we originally see as proud, confident, and courageous, is depicted as more vulnerable and dispirited in his youth. He struggles to believe in himself or accept praise, which seems hard to believe given his personality in his adult form. Through the animals Mufasa encounters on his journey, the film explores themes of family, belonging, and love. His journey proves his worthiness as king and highlights the qualities that make him a true leader. The plot is a coming-of-age story, fitting for its intended audience. This aspect resonated with me, and I believe many children would connect with it too.

The narration is engaging, with the story progressing at a good pace. However, while Mufasa’s character development is well-paced, the development of other characters either lacks depth or, particularly toward the end, feels rushed. As the movie reaches its climax, the character arcs become hurried, especially in the conclusion, which makes their actions seem almost out of character. One factor that held the character development back was the CGI animation. While the visuals were strikingly realistic and beautiful, the realism made it harder for characters to express themselves facially or display more creative body language. It also became difficult to differentiate the lions, as they generally shared the same appearance aside from slight changes and their voices. While these details may stick out more to adults, younger children may not notice them as much, meaning a cartoon version might have appealed to a wider audience.

This placed a greater emphasis on the voice acting and music, which I think the film did well. The instrumental soundtrack was a great homage to the original, with many elements inspired by or directly recreated from it. I also appreciated that there was often music playing in the background. In addition to the bright sunshine and natural scenery, this contributed to the triumphant and joyful emotions in the film. However, one disappointing aspect was the singing, which I felt could have been of higher quality, as it could have been another opportunity to express the character’s personality. 

I think the film’s weaknesses largely stem from the characters not feeling as relatable. However, most of the movie’s strengths lie in its overarching messages and foreshadowing of events that occur in the original. I think it would be a great film for young children to understand self-growth, confidence, and friendship. Though it may be an unpopular opinion, I don’t think it is a waste of time or detracts from the original The Lion King in any way, unlike other prequels and sequels I’ve seen. I would still recommend it to people of all ages, but it’s important to approach it with an open mind. 

REVIEW: Wicked

Sappy Leave a comment

After several disappointing movie-musical adaptations in recent years, I was skeptical that Wicked would be any different. As the first musical I had ever seen, and on Broadway in New York no less, I had especially high expectations. However, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the hype surrounding the movie was justified. Under the guidance of director Jon M. Chu, with a talented main cast including Ariana Grande (Glinda), Cynthia Erivo (Elphaba), and Jonathan Bailey (Fiyero), Wicked offered a refreshing take with a charm that still retained the essence of the Broadway play that sparked my love for musical theatre.

Based on Gregory Maguire’s novel Wicked, the story is a prequel to The Wizard of Oz. The main character, Elphaba, grows up experiencing hardships due to her unusual green skin. Ostracized by even her own family, she is nonetheless loved by her nanny. Because of this, she grows up with a pure heart. When she sends her younger sister to Shiz University, Elphaba catches the eye of Madame Morrible, played by Michelle Yeoh. Morrible is a famous magical history professor and the object of admiration for Glinda, a beautiful and popular girl who has lived a life essentially the opposite of Elphaba’s. As the story progresses, it explores the complex relationship between the two women. Their character development is one of the highlights of the story, touching on themes of friendship, values, purpose, and societal expectations. Grande and Erivo’s chemistry, both on and off screen, brought this relationship to life brilliantly. 

Despite both the musical and the movie running for roughly three hours, the movie only covers half of the original story. I did feel that the pacing dragged at times, with the plot progressing slowly—almost frustratingly so. However, this slower pace gave more creative freedom to the director and actors. Compared to the stage production, Elphaba and Glinda felt more alive in this version. Their characters were more developed and complex, which created a deeper connection with the audience. I particularly enjoyed Glinda’s nuanced portrayal, whereas in the play, she seemed more ditzy and one-dimensional.

Though I find live singing and dancing more impactful, the movie was still incredibly immersive. The film’s close-up shots of the characters, their costumes, and facial expressions added a level of intimacy that the stage production can’t match. The lighting and camera angles also contributed to a richer atmosphere. The movie was visually striking and the vivid colors truly brought the fantasy world of Oz to life. These added details allowed for more foreshadowing, extensive world-building, and deeper character development. It never felt like a simple recording of the play. 

A friend of mine, who is more versed in musical theatre techniques, also offered some insightful commentary on how film is a unique medium. On stage, only those sitting in the front row get to see the actors’ faces clearly, and even then, it’s impossible to catch all the small details. It’s difficult to compare movies and theatre because they offer different experiences and strengths. Perhaps that’s why I remain skeptical about many movie-musical adaptations retaining a high quality—they’re often unfairly compared to the original. Nevertheless, Wicked is proof that a great musical-movie adaptation is possible.