Year: 2026

November 13, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

It's hard to imagine a tale of a man being haunted by ghosts as anything less than a horror film or psychological thriller. Yet Charles Dickens' classic tale, which inspired everything from Dr. Seuss' Grinch to generations of children embracing the spirit of Christmas, has become a staple of modern pop culture. In the hands of director Ti West, whose "X" trilogy redefined contemporary slasher horror, there's nothing particularly friendly about the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future. Through the lens of beleaguered, eccentric actor Johnny Depp, there hasn't been a version of "A Christmas Carol" quite as audacious or haunting as "Ebenezer."

Nothing is exceptionally new about the narrative, which finds a curmudgeonly British penny-pincher humbugging his way through the holiday season year after year, only to be visited by three ghosts determined to set him on a better path. But "Ebenezer," through West's lens and Depp's committed performance, strips away much of the nonsensical humor of Dickens' classic and heightens the existential foreboding of its Gothic drama. The result is a cinematic experience that keeps adults on the edge of their seats while proving largely haunting, if not nightmare-inducing, for children whose first introduction to the Dickensian classic comes through a theatrical screening of "Ebenezer."

Layered under mounds of makeup and heavy costuming, Depp is at his usual level of bombast, making the classic Scrooge character just this side of mustache-twirling villainy. Yet it's only when the haunting begins that Depp is able to take the formulaic Scrooge caricature and imbue him with layers of complexity, allowing audiences to truly feel the loss that serves as the emotional catalyst for his cold, heartless nature. It's a turn that will no doubt revitalize Depp's fledgling career and practically forces audiences to rally behind his Ebenezer as he's thrust outside the comfort zone of his simple holiday hatred.

No matter how unique and bespoke the director's cinematic vision, "Ebenezer" simply wouldn't work with another lead, as Depp's distinctive cadence and physicality reinforce the bizarreness of this Tim Burton-like dramedy. It's only because both actor and director are truly going for it that the film works as a whole. A lesser version of "Ebenezer," featuring an equally bombastic Nicolas Cage and an apathetic director, wouldn't prove nearly as successful, nor would an audacious filmmaker guiding a bland, uninspired performance. This version of the Dickensian classic is the perfect amalgamation of the right actor and filmmaker meeting at the right moment in their careers to provide audiences with just the right amount of twisted Christmas bliss.

"Ebenezer's" deep and talented ensemble cast is anchored by the ever-iconic work of Sir Ian McKellen as Jacob Marley. While McKellen only factors into the film's opening 20 minutes or so, the gravitas and credibility he brings to both the role and the project as a whole give "Ebenezer" the sort of stamp of approval audiences need early to buy into the baroque eccentricities the subsequent 90 minutes have to offer.

Andrea Riseborough and "Severance" star Tramell Tillman are both exceptional in their haunting portrayals of the Ghost of Christmas Past and Ghost of Christmas Present, respectively. Riseborough twists the knife into Ebenezer's psyche much in the same way Samantha Morton's Circe does in Christopher Nolan's "The Odyssey." Tillman, for his part, feels ripped from the cloth of David Lowery's equally stylized "The Green Knight," blending nature and humanity to its core in order to provide a moral lesson. The remainder of the ensemble, including Sam Claflin as Ebenezer's nephew Fred, Daisy Ridley as Emily Cratchit and "Harry Potter" star Rupert Grint as the classic Bob Cratchit, provides just the right amount of memorable energy without taking away from the singularity of Depp's bizarrely on-point performance.

"Ebenezer" feels exceptionally in line with a Tim Burton film, thanks largely to West's adept hand behind the camera, creating a vision of Victorian London that's both regally bespoke and hauntingly off-center. West's horror roots truly showcase themselves as each ghost is introduced to Ebenezer, with sequences that are equal parts chilling and fear-inducing. Although audiences familiar with the tale know exactly what's coming at every turn, there's a lingering twinge of horror that keeps even adults on the edge of their seats.

Especially impressive is the film's commitment to practical effects, with production designer Eve Stewart and cinematographer Checco Varese bringing West and Depp's cold yet inviting cinematic landscape to life. The setting constantly feels real to the touch, yet just outside the viewer's grasp, creating an immersive world that's both beautifully realized and deeply unsettling. "Ebenezer" features some of the year's most striking individual frames, be it an extreme close-up of Depp enveloped in fear over his uncertain future or a terrifying, pupil-less Riseborough glaring through the camera lens at the audience itself.

Unequivocally the most twisted version of the classic Dickens novella in recent memory, "Ebenezer" is an ideal adaptation for audiences intimately familiar with every plot point and a largely horrifying experience for those who have no idea what's coming next. Likely to become a staple of holiday cinema for years to come, "Ebenezer" will fare far better through endless repeat viewings at home than it does as a first-time theatrical experience and is largely recommended only for families who have already experienced this classic tale.

November 6, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Malaise is a tricky thing to successfully pull off in cinema. Done poorly, it can come across as heavy-handed or pedantic and create an experience that disengages its audience, leaving viewers empty and heartbroken. While “Wild Horse Nine,” the latest dramedy from writer-director Martin McDonagh, is not quite as impactful or audacious as his Oscar-nominated films like “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri” or “The Banshees of Inisherin,” its intensely introspective, thoughtful screenplay provides fertile ground for two veteran character actors to absolutely shine.

Set shortly before the September 11, 1973, coup in Chile, “Wild Horse Nine” follows a pair of CIA henchmen who take a trip to Easter Island while confronting their own personal demons and facing inner truths. What starts as a simple buddy road comedy molds into something much more thought-provoking and somber. It’s clear that McDonagh is exploring the larger human emotions of regret and malaise.

Already one of Hollywood’s best actors, John Malkovich proves once again why his idiosyncratic tone and eccentricities play so well with a discerning screenplay. As Chris, Malkovich toes the line between delusion and exceptionally keen foresight with a performance that allows audiences into Chris’s inner thoughts, first through the specific cadence of his line readings and later through the tragic light in his eyes. Malkovich is a perfect conduit for McDonagh’s twisted dramatic storytelling, and his ability to take this bizarre tale and make it shockingly earnest and emotional is far beyond what similar actors might have pulled off.

For his part, Sam Rockwell holds up his end of the bargain, playing the relative straight man in the comedic moments as Lee. He also takes on the tricky task of serving as the audience’s stand-in opposite Malkovich while expertly guarding secrets that leave viewers unclear where his true allegiances lie.

Steve Buscemi and Parker Posey are natural fits in a McDonagh movie, especially Buscemi, whose CIA bureau chief MJ is deliberately on edge and sardonic in a way that reinforces the overall tone of the narrative. His MJ often feels like what Chris could have been in a different lifetime. As Lee’s wife, Marge, Posey has little to work with in a brief role largely confined to comic relief, making her a fitting presence without leaving much of a lasting impression.

With the heavily introspective nature of the screenplay, finding the proper environment is incredibly important to making the project work. McDonagh’s decision to shoot on Easter Island itself allows the visual palette of “Wild Horse Nine” to really take shape. From the moment Chris and Lee land, audiences are taken in by the wide, spectacular landscapes, shot in majestic panoramas by cinematographer Ben Davis. The framing carries a distinct John Ford aesthetic, placing small figures within vast, open landscapes that make the setting feel as important as the characters themselves.

McDonagh reinforces that visual style by tucking references to Westerns into the dialogue, allowing those influences to quietly inform both the look and the storytelling. Leaving Malkovich and Rockwell alone in grassy fields alongside the gigantic moai statues is a simple touch that allows McDonagh and Davis to make Chris and Lee’s plight feel infinitesimally smaller, with the stone figures becoming a silent, watchful Greek chorus.

As with most of McDonagh’s work, “Wild Horse Nine” could be a major contender for the Academy Awards, perhaps most likely as a second-tier best picture nominee alongside original screenplay and several acting nominations. Malkovich, however, may be competing for the same best actor nomination spot that John Turturro will likely vie for with his role in “The Only Living Pickpocket in New York.”

A lightly charming yet melancholic change of pace from his much more audacious work, “Wild Horse Nine” represents an evolution for McDonagh that suggests he can find just as much emotional weight in quiet reflection as in provocation. It’s a film that may have more limited mainstream appeal with its more demure tone, though ardent cinephiles and fans of the filmmaker should make the extra effort to catch “Wild Horse Nine” on the big screen.

October 30, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Cinema can often be described as a series of adult fairy tales, fictional worlds brought to life through the visual tapestry of moviemaking in ways difficult to replicate with the written word alone.

Stories and novels are frequently adapted to the silver screen to give visual form to what has largely been left to the reader’s imagination. Sometimes, those worlds become so fantastical that they evoke the fairy tales of one’s youth, told through a modern, adult lens.

“Wicker,” written and directed by Alex Huston Fischer and Eleanor Wilson and based on Ursula Wills-Jones’ short story “The Wicker Husband,” is a whimsical, thoughtful medieval fairy tale that evokes both a demure version of “Fifty Shades of Grey” and a modern twist on “The Canterbury Tales.” Its uniquely contained narrative revels in its simplicity.

The film follows a simple, lonely fisherwoman in a small coastal village who feels isolated as its oldest unmarried woman, seemingly unable or uninterested in finding a husband. To get back at the townsfolk who have made her feel so unwelcome, she commissions a basket weaver to make her a wicker husband and his arrival in her life changes the village altogether.

Similar to, but less audacious than, her Academy Award-winning turn in 2018’s “The Favourite,” Olivia Colman is introspective yet gleeful as the fisherwoman. Her ability to convey internal thoughts through her expressions drives the film forward in moments when its subtle emotions aren’t explicitly articulated in dialogue.

Colman plays beleaguered yet impassioned simultaneously, making a character who could easily veer into Ebenezer Scrooge-like proportions sympathetic and compelling. Her performance provides the emotional core of “Wicker,” grounding its increasingly implausible storyline enough for audiences to continue suspending disbelief.

Despite being hidden behind a wicker costume, Alexander Skarsgård finds a simple humanity in the wicker husband, whose behavior feels less robotic than plainly unaware of humanity’s capacity for cruelty.

Skarsgård makes the straightforward compassion he shows the fisherwoman and others he encounters feel authentic. The character could be interpreted as an amalgamation of the Scarecrow and the Tin Man, seemingly lacking both a brain and a heart. Yet “Wicker” strives to show that its unlikely husband may have the biggest heart of all.

Peter Dinklage floats easily in and out of the narrative as the basket weaver who creates the wicker husband, serving as a pseudo-narrator and providing gravitas in key moments that require a scene partner worthy of Colman’s performance. Yet the veteran character actor understands exactly when to get out of the film’s way.

It’s a thoughtful, intentional performance, and Dinklage makes the most considered use of dialogue among the cast, shaping each line with nuanced phrasing that underscores how much of a thinking person’s film “Wicker” truly is.

Elizabeth Debicki is powerful as the film’s requisite, though relatively minor, antagonist. Her tailor’s wife projects an external self-assurance that conceals the quiet malaise of a woman known primarily through her relationship to her husband.

Central to the film’s success is its masterful production design, most notably the head-to-toe, fully movable suit Skarsgård wears as the wicker husband. Encased in a sort of wicker basket, the actor still conveys emotion and nuance through his facial expressions, especially his eyes, which become even more striking for how aesthetically different they are from the rest of his body.

The sound design accentuates his movements with creaking wood, further selling the effect. The practical costuming is exceptional and worthy of awards season notice, especially given how easily the filmmakers could have relied on lesser computer-generated imagery.

The unique style of “Wicker” extends to its larger production design, with its village setting created in Hungary. Each location further immerses audiences in the world of a small seaside town, while the vintage cinematography evokes 1970s filmmaking and grounds this fantastical dramedy.

Though unlikely to become a major awards season contender, “Wicker” is the sort of smaller, independent piece of art that audiences will likely miss theatrically, only to discover it later and wonder why they never heard about it when they had the chance to see it on the big screen.

October 23, 2026 · Watch the trailer

The concepts of authenticity and truth in documentary filmmaking seem almost guaranteed by the nature of the genre. Taking facts at face value because of the way in which they are presented, and accepting them as truth, is a conceit that remains prevalent, as documentarians are often seen as cinematic journalists working with integrity to provide factually accurate information and educate audiences about a subject matter.

The lines between knowing something to be the truth and wanting it to be true are often blurred in "You Can See Everything," an immersive, three-hour-long film from co-directors Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim that twists the documentary genre to its fullest bounds as they seek to explore the world of infamous Theranos founder Elizabeth Holmes and her partner, Billy Evans, in the days and weeks leading up to her imprisonment for conspiracy to commit wire fraud and three counts of wire fraud against investors.

Shot in large segments in a cinéma vérité style, Oppenheim pushes the lens exceedingly close to his subjects as Fielder is welcomed into the San Diego-area home of Holmes and Evans, setting the stage for the most mystifying three hours of cinema ardent cinephiles might expect to see in theaters all year.

Fielder asserts himself as a pseudo-stand-in for the audience, interacting directly with Holmes and Evans throughout the film and approaching the project with a relatively open mind that leaves him questioning the reality of the events he is witnessing and just how honest and straightforward the duo, especially Holmes, is while being empathetically grilled about the fallout of Theranos.

It's a tricky tightrope to walk, as the documentarian gets far too close to his subjects, and oftentimes it feels as if Holmes is drawing Fielder in to craft the sympathetic comeback narrative she clearly desires. Audiences will find themselves taken in much the same way Theranos investors were defrauded out of hundreds of millions of dollars, and the disarming, deep monotone of her voice, combined with large, doe-like eyes captured through Oppenheim's ultra-close zoom lens, helps further accentuate the bizarre nature of the entire project.

While the film is clearly intended to be an examination of Holmes herself, her partner Evans continuously inserts himself into interviews, and later the filmmaking process as a whole, to muddy the waters and push the documentarians away from sensitive subject matter, especially when it comes to responsibility and public perception.

When the film continues after Holmes is incarcerated, Evans becomes the primary antagonist of "You Can See Everything," growing more calculating and manipulative in his interactions with Fielder, especially once conversations between Evans and A24 producers prior to the start of the project are revealed, and audiences begin to question everything they've seen over the preceding hour or so.

"You Can See Everything" takes a much deeper, metatextual, and intellectual turn when Fielder opts to show Holmes scenes from Hulu's "The Dropout" miniseries, with Amanda Seyfried portraying Holmes in a performance that the former Theranos CEO can't even watch all the way through.

Introducing Seyfried into the mix opens up the possibility of a concept introduced early in the film: that Holmes was portraying a character while serving as CEO of Theranos. It forces Fielder and audience members to further question just how aware Holmes is of the things happening around her and how manipulative she's truly being.

It's clear that both Holmes and Evans view this documentary as a means of public redemption and perform an open willingness to allow cameras into the most vulnerable moments of their lives to garner public sympathy. Though the film constantly twists and turns over the course of three hours, it leaves the question of who's playing whom open to interpretation. Introducing Seyfried's portrayal of Holmes into the narrative becomes a complex wrinkle that extends the film's exploration of authenticity and offers audiences an entirely new perspective.

Constantly in the mix, but just beyond the camera lens, Oppenheim inserts himself visually through David Bolen's radiant cinematography, which takes advantage of the film's 4:3 aspect ratio to box Holmes into a tight frame with an ultra-zoom lens. This claustrophobic feeling, to the point where individual pores can be seen on her face, is haunting in how visceral and raw the storytelling feels in the moment, further blurring the lines between truth and fiction in this complex narrative.

"You Can See Everything" is the year's most immersive cinematic experience, thanks in large part to the unique metatextual nature of its premise, its hauntingly beautiful and claustrophobic cinematography, and the trauma-inducing score from composer Ari Balouzian.

While a three-hour runtime might feel daunting for audiences, once Fielder and Oppenheim are able to propel the story forward, most engaged viewers will lock in and want the film to continue even longer. Unquestionably the frontrunner for the Best Documentary Feature Oscar next spring, it would be completely unsurprising to see Fielder and Oppenheim earn both Best Picture and Best Director nominations as well.

Documentary films are difficult to get audience buy-in in theaters, but "You Can See Everything" has the raw magnetism of a traditional narrative feature, enough to captivate audiences. This is a film that would benefit from multiple screenings, especially in premium formats that would allow viewers to become visually immersed in the confusion Fielder and Oppenheim feel whenever they engage with Holmes.

Like so many of the best documentaries, "You Can See Everything" leaves audiences with more questions than answers, and its failure to come to a clean conclusion about truth versus lies and reality versus fiction makes for an entirely compelling, thought-provoking cinematic experience that is unlikely to be replicated.

October 15, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Poor action movies are easy to spot. They have no real sense of purpose other than to give audiences a sense of exhilaration through daring stunts, high-impact, bone-crushing hits, gunfire, and explosions that thrill viewers in a relatively cheap, easy-to-please way. It's clear when a film isn't really trying to be more than its most basic version, as viewers can see all the care put into each action sequence, with very loose concepts of a story woven in afterward to stitch the whole thing together.

“Street Fighter,” based on the classic Capcom arcade fighting game, is a perfect example of a movie whose concept came from deciding which fights to place where and building a story around them. Written and directed by Kitao Sakurai, with T.J. Fixman sharing screenplay credit, it is a very simplistic, repetitive narrative that follows former friends Ken and Ryu as they seek to win a world fighting competition put together by the power-hungry Lord Bison.

The film grounds itself in the 1993 aesthetic of “Super Street Fighter II,” though flashback sequences set in 1987 are expertly animated in a visual style that probably should have made up the entire film.

“Street Fighter” opens with a hand-drawn anime sequence, providing a prologue to the story and its supernatural, mythic battle between good and evil. While this may seem jarring at first to audiences familiar with the film's theatrical trailers, there's a very dark beauty in the cinematography of the animation that belies just how bland and ineffectual the live-action sequences of “Street Fighter” are to become. It's a bold choice from Sakurai that really pays off and ties in thematically with the Japanese roots of the franchise.

Once audiences are transported to the film's present day, it becomes a sophomoric nostalgia grab that often delves just this side of caricature, trying to evoke a sense of wonder and reminiscence of the 1990s era in a similar way that the “Guardians of the Galaxy” films pull off for the 1970s and 1980s, but far less successfully because the comedic humor just isn't there.

Hiding behind a bleach-blond wig, “To All the Boys I've Loved Before” star Noah Centineo is doing his best interpretation of a surfer-stoner version of Brad Pitt, making his Ken a lazy, washed-up spokesman for soft drinks. As a fighter on the tail end of his career, he's meant to carry most of the levity in each scene. Centineo's strengths as a rom-com star don't transition over into action-adventure, as his charms read as fake and inauthentic, especially with line deliveries of jokes that the actor clearly doesn't fully get.

Conversely, Andrew Koji is evoking a Keanu Reeves-like inner stoicism and sense of peace as Ryu, but this comes across in the film as so stilted and cold that interactions between Ken and Ryu don't land in the two-sides-of-the-same-coin theme that Sakurai clearly attempts to create.

The film's supporting cast mostly remains unmemorable, with professional wrestlers Cody Rhodes and Roman Reigns acting so stiffly in their line delivery that they're clearly uncomfortable playing roles outside of themselves. David Dastmalchian is engaging in limited screen time as Lord Bison, though, typical of most action film villains, he's so comically underwritten and caricaturish that his Bison feels like a loose ripoff of Jim Carrey's Dr. Robotnik from the “Sonic the Hedgehog” movie franchise.

Plenty of screen time and narrative weight is given to manosphere podcaster Andrew Schulz as Ken's best friend, Dan Hibiki. While the comedian does seem to have more acting chops than the majority of his fellow castmates, the jokes in which he's involved border so closely on the edge between homoerotic and homophobic that moments meant for big laughs become exceptionally cringeworthy.

Aside from the superb animation, the only elements that audiences will likely remember after leaving theaters are the film's numerous fight sequences. While each is shot and staged in such a manner as to highlight specific video game references from the franchise, there's no cohesion between them. Characters are inserted into “Street Fighter” just for one or two sequences, as if audiences are simply choosing a new fighter to play with. Sakurai leans so heavily into creating opportunities for more and more visual Easter eggs that it interrupts the flow of the film, especially in the final act.

There are small moments within the fight scenes where the live-action filmmaking makes sense, especially in an early fight between Ken and Ryu, where Ken's clumsiness is expertly played off for comedic laughs. Shooting in live action also allows Sakurai to make the world of “Street Fighter” three-dimensional rather than two-dimensional on a screen, like in a traditional video game, as characters are able to interact with the world around them and pivot and rotate rather than simply moving forwards and backwards.

Ardent fans of the video game franchise may find this to be an easy, lightly comic take on the series that could become a cult classic in years to come, though there's nothing about “Street Fighter” that makes it worth casual audiences spending their time heading to the movies.

October 9, 2026 · Watch the trailer

Expertly written and brilliantly acted, "The Social Network" is one of this century's most compelling and genre-shaping cinematic achievements. Written by Aaron Sorkin and directed by David Fincher, the film aims to explain the rise of Harvard dropout Mark Zuckerberg and the creation of the world's foremost social media platform.

With everything that has transpired online over the past decade, reexamining Facebook in its emerging adulthood seems like a prudent choice for Sorkin, who had long strived to create a more direct sequel to his 2010 film, bringing back Fincher and star Jesse Eisenberg.

What audiences get, however, with the release of "The Social Reckoning" is a film almost altogether different, one that lacks the charm, charisma, and affability of "The Social Network" in lieu of a brooding, cerebral, and cold morality play about ethical responsibility, framed through the lens of a journalism movie.

Zuckerberg is far from the centerpiece of "The Social Reckoning," relegated to an almost robotic, staccato ambivalence. With an investigation by The Wall Street Journal into Facebook's internal practices, the film approaches a narrative style more akin to "Spotlight" or "The Insider."

Sorkin ping-pongs back and forth over a three-year span from 2019 to 2021 as investigative reporter Jeff Horwitz begins work on a series of articles that would later come to be known as "The Facebook Files." His arm's-length partnership with naively altruistic Facebook engineer Frances Haugen centers the world of the film in a morally superior perspective that likens it more to Sorkin's preachy Netflix film, "The Trial of the Chicago 7."

Sorkin seeks to drive his sense of urgency by framing the film around its various indictments of social media platforms and the emotional, mental, and societal consequences rendered by decisions Zuckerberg made to boost the company's profits.

"The Social Reckoning" veers wildly from its predecessor because the central figure at hand is a company, not a man. The closest thing to a protagonist the film has is its dual leads of Jeremy Allen White and Mikey Madison. While both give solid performances, neither provides the sort of narrative through line one might expect from a movie hoping to resonate with ardent fans of "The Social Network."

Though engaging, there simply isn't the same impact in watching two characters discuss the technical ways Facebook promotes user engagement versus the iconography of a man who built a social media empire, in some large part because he was spurned by a woman in college.

"The Social Reckoning" is a movie that gets far too into the weeds for casual moviegoers and may find its primary audience limited to journalists or those in the tech space with the requisite knowledge base to maintain interest. In fact, without the spiritual sequel aesthetic baked into the film's title and marketing, there's so little connective tissue between the two films that they almost feel as though they come from separate worlds entirely.

White provides a steady hand with which to anchor the narrative as the investigative journalist tasked with looking into Facebook's internal workings. He hits all the right points in being just memorable enough as an individual character, though not so impactful to the film that he overshadows Sorkin's much more urgent societal arguments.

Madison is sympathetic as the reluctant insider, and her unique ability to hide her character's light within a meek inner shell allows for a bit of nuanced character development to emerge in the film's third act. While Sorkin goes to moderate lengths to insinuate her character as a modern-day Cassandra, a woman given the power to see the future but never to be believed, the screenplay doesn't pay this off as much as both Sorkin and Madison intend.

Clearly, Jeremy Strong is veering away from Eisenberg's iconic portrayal of Zuckerberg as a young man, with his stoic, robotic performance that feels intentionally humanoid rather than human. Sorkin and Strong develop a character who is so demonstrably over the top in the spinning of the wheels inside Zuckerberg's mind that his cerebral nature has become his entire personality archetype.

There's a clear moral implication that the Facebook founder has so thoroughly lost his way that he's unable to see the human impact of the decisions he makes, largely due to the loss of his own humanity in a systemic, relentless pursuit of optimization and profitability.

Portia Doubleday's viral confrontation in the film's prologue perfectly sets the stage for the political points Sorkin seeks to make, while Bill Burr's demonstrative rantings are just barely on the edge of belonging in a different film altogether. Both are clearly representative of Sorkin's personal opinions and the conclusions he seeks his audience to draw.

Structurally, Sorkin divides his narrative into several different acts, though he constantly jumps back and forth in time, almost making "The Social Reckoning" more of a cinematic research paper than a movie itself. Placing conversations between White and Madison in bleak, rain-soaked mist or wildly underlit, dark hotel rooms reflects the deep-background investigative noir Sorkin is trying to evoke from better journalism films.

This is only compounded by the brooding, pulsating score that doubles down on the comparison. The cumulative effect creates a tonal disconnect from Fincher's approach to "The Social Network," replacing its kinetic energy with a far more oppressive atmosphere.

Sorkin pushes the envelope so close to the current political landscape that he's teetering on the edge of overt political editorializing. The film takes great care to acknowledge that it's approaching the edge of a social tipping point, but is just as clearly attempting not to alienate half of its potential viewership.

On paper, "The Social Reckoning" is a film that should be a major awards season contender, given its cinematic bona fides and arguments about the current American landscape. However, a film this imbalanced and uneven may find itself on the outside looking in for major contention, due to perceived filmmaking flaws rather than its social arguments.

A film with a great deal to say that doesn't always say it well, due in part to its screenwriter and director being too close to the project to see its shortcomings, "The Social Reckoning" likely isn't the type of film cinephiles and fans of the original might have been expecting.

Moviegoers willing to leave their preconceived notions at the door and watch "The Social Reckoning" as a fully self-contained piece of cinema, however, may find enough in this journalistic morality play to make it worth a trip to theaters.

October 1, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

When you swing for the fences, sometimes you’re going to strike out. It’s an easily understood concept that filmmakers don’t want to talk about, especially as they seek the budget for their next project or attempt to bring an even more out-there idea to life. Studios often give longer leashes to celebrated auteurs and seem more willing to indulge in the bizarre eccentricities of established performers than take similar risks playing fast and loose with upstarts.

Alejandro G. Iñárritu, the Mexican filmmaker behind such richly textured and widely celebrated films as “Birdman” and “The Revenant,” makes his first major foray back into theaters in over a decade with the Tom Cruise-led “Digger,” a highly stylized blend of “There Will Be Blood” and “Dr. Strangelove” that rambles all over the place for more than two hours and feels less coherent than even its strange title or titular protagonist.

Deeply involved with themes of capitalism and environmentalism and molded in satire, “Digger” loosely follows the tale of an aging oil tycoon seeking to work with a dying American president to prevent an ecological disaster. At times, Iñárritu lifts liberally from the overly monochromatic and dry, farcical style of Wes Anderson to push an engaged audience toward the blatantly obvious political and social commentary of “Digger.” And yet, the film lingers in the metatextual nature of its narrative to such an overwhelming degree that it often becomes a crutch that devalues any sort of real plot or character development, leaving viewers largely shaking their heads as the continuous twists and turns reveal themselves for the sake of being twists and turns rather than having any actual significance.

In what may be his best chance for an Academy Award nomination for the remainder of his career, Tom Cruise dives fully into the role of Digger, and the highly expressive actor combines his usual sense of showmanship with a layered, weathered performance that feels far more earned than a film like this deserves. The primary reason audiences stay with “Digger” and don’t get up and leave the theater is Cruise’s ability to hold sway with the audience, and there is an emerging sense of self-referential reflection within Cruise as he engages with the material that may become clearer upon subsequent viewings.

Rather than simply hide behind the weight of prosthetics and an overly comical Southern drawl, Cruise finds the righteousness of his character and plays that self-assuredness not as a character flaw, but as an instinctual necessity that defines his worldview.

John Goodman seems to be fully on board with the black comedy of “Digger,” and his work as President Compson provides the clearest parallels to “Dr. Strangelove.” Goodman seems to revel in the ridiculousness of his character’s plight, not simply attempting to make a caricature of a real-life political figure, but rather crafting something in the Peter Sellers mold.

Riz Ahmed is largely winning as Ganesh, the head of Digger’s environmental team, and often provides the much-needed straight man to offset the goofy absurdity of Cruise’s Digger, while Sandra Hüller is vastly underutilized in a secondary subplot as Digger’s sister, Emma Rockwell.

As one might expect from an Iñárritu film, “Digger” is visually engaging from start to finish, with production design that is demonstrative in its world building, seeking to envelop the film in a postmodern, almost broken color palette that blends into the background just enough to allow Cruise’s exaggerated physicality and the performances around him to become the most vibrant elements within the frame.

Iñárritu reunites with his “Birdman” and “The Revenant” cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki to craft the visual world of the narrative using 1954 VistaVision cameras and Leica lenses that elongate and stretch the format to wider depths. This gives close-ups an almost supernatural intensity, as Cruise’s in-your-face performance increases in urgency and effectiveness through the gaze of Lubezki’s lens. Enveloping a single performer within the screen in such a stilted and off-center way helps reinforce the intentionality of the dry humor, especially in a pivotal second-act sequence where Digger nearly transforms into a Gordon Gekko-style “greed is good” figure, delivering an impassioned defense of his worldview with such grandiosity that the framing itself begins to undercut the seriousness of what he is saying.

On paper, “Digger” should be a strong awards-season contender, though its more avant-garde narrative and middling reception will likely push the film out of contention in almost every category. There may be some opportunity for Cruise to receive a nomination almost as a career-achievement acknowledgment rather than specifically for his strong work here. Casual audiences will likely find Iñárritu’s overtly dry, sardonic humor too inaccessible to seek out theatrically, although some ardent cinephiles intrigued by the concept and Cruise’s strong performance may find a trip to the cinema worth the price of admission.

September 25, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Exploitation, ego, and the cost of infamy are at the center of documentarian Lance Oppenheim’s latest film, a narrative fiction that blends the world of journalistic cinema with tabloid-esque, exploitative voyeurism.

Oppenheim questions societal norms and expectations through the lens of the classic TV news magazine ‘Dateline NBC’ and its viral reporter Chris Hansen, known for taking down men seeking to have sex with underage teens. While the 2024 documentary simply titled “Predators” examines the history and legacy of ‘To Catch a Predator’ in a more clinical way, Oppenheim sensationalizes his subject matter as an audacious fever dream, pushing the camera in just a bit too close to reveal the haunting inner psyche of its protagonists.

Set during the height of ‘To Catch a Predator’ fandom, “Primetime” follows a relentless and almost manic Hansen looking to find more bad guys to take down, no matter the personal or professional cost. It’s a richly engaging psychological thriller that reveals more questions than it possibly attempts to answer, and one that casual viewers may find themselves scratching their heads at on more than one occasion over the course of almost two hours.

Robert Pattinson stars as Hansen and goes out of his way not to become the man audiences might recognize from television, heightening the drama with a frantic and evocative performance that often seems to sensationalize Hansen into the same kind of dark obsession audiences might recall from Jake Gyllenhaal in “Nightcrawler” or Joaquin Phoenix in “Joker.”

Reimagining the veteran TV broadcaster as a ratings-obsessed devotee to his own persona, Pattinson imbues his performance with a sense of charm that often comes across as being just this side of outright horror. The film certainly leans into this aesthetic heavily in its climactic third act.

There’s a singularity to the performance that radiates off screen, and while both the look and intonation feel loosely like Hansen, audiences will never mistake “Primetime” for being an authentic biopic in the traditional sense.

Merritt Wever is exceptional as the show’s primary producer, acting as a sort of pusher of the drug that is making raw, dramatic, viral content and stoking the flame of the somewhat altruistic vigilante newsman that Pattinson’s Hansen aspires to be.

Skyler Gisondo is a revelation as a young actor trying to break into the business, only to be wrapped up in the world of television sleuthing as a decoy for ‘Dateline NBC’s’ sting operations. The naïveté Gisondo provides allows audiences to see the entire production with bright, fresh eyes, in stark contrast with Phoebe Bridgers’ more stoic, matter-of-fact turn as a veteran decoy seemingly numb to the emotional exposure that filming these stings places on the actor’s psyche.

“Primetime” astounds from a technical perspective, as its wholly unique, stylized visual iconography and cinematography make use of the same DV camera format used by ‘To Catch a Predator,’ creating a world firmly planted in the film’s 2006 setting.

The 4:3 aspect ratio of “Primetime” often works as a stand-in for the show itself, pushing deeply into the characters much as Hansen requests the editors of ‘Predator’ to do in the movie. It helps Oppenheim create a haunting yet alluring worldview, highlighting the sensational nature of Hansen’s work and drawing eye-catching visual parallels on a moment-to-moment basis.

The visual language of “Primetime” stretches to its most bold and audacious when it seeks to reach inside Hansen’s fragile, narcissistic psyche, with reality-bending moments that make audiences question the believability of what is happening on screen and the reliability of Hansen as an authentic narrator for the film.

It’s unique to have the narrative debut of a documentary filmmaker feel this energetic and richly fictional, especially as some audiences may envision “Primetime” having a more traditional biopic structure. Oppenheim plays with the form and bends reality through a uniquely nihilistic screenplay from first-time screenwriter Ajon Singh, heightening the comparisons to both “Joker” and “Nightcrawler.”

An outside contender for a Best Picture nomination, “Primetime” continues a strong year for Pattinson as an actor and will likely earn him the first Academy Award nomination of his career. Wever and Gisondo, while equally worthy of acclaim, seem far less likely to be heralded come award season.

“Primetime” is a provocative thriller that seeks to question the ethics and morality of sensationalistic television journalism by mangling the biopic genre and creating a unique visual tapestry to draw audiences in. While it certainly won’t be every casual cinephile’s cup of tea, “Primetime” revels in its provocative artistry and will certainly be among the year’s most talked-about films, making it something especially worth seeking out in theaters.

September 17, 2026 · Watch the trailer

Action films are expected to have ridiculous premises at this point. The willingness of an audience to suspend disbelief from a narrative perspective helps make incredible set pieces feel more believable when heroes narrowly avoid explosions and villains seem to miss all of their shots. Building an unbelievable world helps put everything else in perspective.

The faith-based film company Angel Studios has continued to expand its genre horizons with its acquisition of “Runner,’” an outlandish, set-piece-heavy action comedy that feels as if it were clearly made for another studio and modified to fit Angel’s relatively wholesome brand of cinema. The film follows retired Navy SEAL Hank Malone, now working in Australia as a runner in a very similar style to the classic Jason Statham action franchise “The Transporter.” When a seemingly routine organ transplant delivery becomes infiltrated by a drug cartel, Hank finds himself tasked with getting the organ to its destination while avoiding an endless stream of heavily armed villains.

An exceptionally middle-of-the-road premise for the genre, “Runner” feels like it had a wet towel tossed on top of it in order to maintain a PG-13 rating despite its clear intentions toward more gruesome violence.

Endless villains are taken out over the course of its 97 minutes, shot at close range with an almost comical recoil and virtually no blood spatter. Many look more like they were yanked backward by a tight rope than shot at close range with a shotgun.

Ritchson brings his towering frame and normal stoic presence to the role of Hank, the emotionally isolated protagonist at the core of “Runner.” While Ritchson does not portray Hank much differently than he does the title character in Prime Video’s “Reacher,” there is a commanding presence to his performance that makes the character exceptionally believable within an otherwise incredulous world.

While not completely in the same movie from a tonal standpoint, Owen Wilson brings levity and a moderately fun dichotomy to the role of Ben, a medical courier trying to get the organ to the hospital on time. His chemistry and banter with Ritchson, while slightly stilted, work fine here, although a better-written script could have heightened both the comedic and emotional through lines of the film.

To be fair, a lesser actor in the same role would have made the extended scenes between Hank and Ben feel overly tedious and plodding. Wilson’s natural charm gives off just enough warmth to loosely tie together the threads surrounding the film’s numerous set pieces.

Most of the supporting cast is understandably so thinly written that its lack of character work and depth makes sense within a B-tier action thriller. Yet “Runner” tries harder than most films of this type to pull at the emotional heartstrings of its viewers and find a less contrived sense of humanity than one might find in any of Statham’s recent shoot-’em-up films.

The action set pieces in “Runner” feel choppy at times, perhaps due to post-production editing and the cutting of its most gratuitous moments of violence. The film unquestionably has the highest body count and level of brutality of any Angel Studios film, despite implicitly suggesting its gorier moments rather than explicitly showing them. The combination creates the odd sensation of watching an action movie constantly pulling its punches at the exact moment of impact.

Visually, the film feels like the brightness and contrast were artificially turned up one or two notches too high, as the color palette of “Runner” has an overly bright hue that takes it just beyond realism. Some of the car chase scenes feel as if they were pulled apart and restitched together using artificial intelligence as much as anything, further contributing to the occasionally disjointed visual construction.

While certainly not among the year’s best action films, “Runner” is a lighthearted, turn-off-your-brain action comedy that may be worth catching at home several months from now, though it is easily skippable as well.