Review by Sean Boelman

Hot off the most critically-acclaimed film of his career in Drive My Car, Ryusuke Hamaguchi surprised the world with the announcement that his latest film, Evil Does Not Exist, would come out this year. While it’s not quite to the level of his best work, Evil Does Not Exist features many of the intriguing trademarks of the director’s style.

The film follows the inhabitants of a small village in Japan as their idyllic community is threatened by development when plans for a nearby glamping site are revealed. Hamaguchi tells the story from different perspectives — both the residents and the developers — telling this story in a way that is layered, if somewhat over-ambitious.

The pacing is very much a slow burn, building up to a final third that goes a little too out there for the rest of the film that preceded it. There’s a strange sense of humor to the entire affair — often at the expense of the absurd concept of glamping — keeping the film from being overly didactic in its approach.

On its surface, Evil Does Not Exist is a message movie, exploring environmentalist themes in a way that is much less subtle than Hamaguchi’s past work. However, when the film switches perspectives in the second half, it turns into a more nuanced look at conscience and complicity that challenges the viewers — just as the characters — to re-evaluate their role in standing by.

Like so many ensemble-driven movies this year, Evil Does Not Exist struggles with balancing its many characters in an effectively compelling way. Hamaguchi’s anthology film, Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy, arguably worked better thanks to its disconnected nature. In his attempt to tie together the narrative threads this time around, Hamaguchi leaves things feeling somewhat underdeveloped.

Interestingly, Hamaguchi primarily works with non-actors for his latest film — or at least performers with few screen credits (a handful also appeared in the director’s Happy Hour). This does lend the film a sense of naturalism that was clearly Hamaguchi’s intention. Hitoshi Omika, the film’s de facto lead who worked with Hamguchi in a behind-the-scenes capacity before, is arguably the stand-out, but the rest of the cast is also strong in their relative anonymity.

Of course, the film is excellent from a technical level, with great cinematography by Yoshio Kitagawa and a fantastic score by Eiko Ishibashi. Hamaguchi is essentially taking tropes that are known for being somewhat overwrought and turning them into something more restrained and elegant, and these wonderful technical aspects deserve a lot of the credit for that.

Evil Does Not Exist aims high with its ambitious approach to its themes, but its attempt to weave the narrative together intricately does not always work. Although it’s easy to admire what Hamaguchi was trying to do, it’s unable to quite reach the heights the filmmaker has achieved in the past.

Evil Does Not Exist screened at the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival, which ran September 7-17 in Toronto, Canada.

​Rating: 3.5/5

Review by Sean Boelman

At nearly two hours in length, Moritz Mohr’s Boy Kills World is a deluge of non-stop action, gore, and wise-cracking humor. Yet despite all that energy, it’s hard to get invested in the film because of its painfully unoriginal script that has plenty of good ideas, but just seems to be spinning in circles endlessly.

The film follows a mute warrior who has been trained to be an instrument of death after the murder of his family, as he sets out on a journey to topple the regime that was responsible for his torment. Boy Kills World is the type of movie that wears its influences on its sleeve — perhaps a bit too earnestly — but will be catnip to the audience it is designed for as a result.

Mohr attempts to realize the film’s world in a way that feels graphic novel-esque, but Arend Remmers and Tyler Burton Smith’s script is so nondescript that it ends up feeling like just another dystopia. Although there are a few inspired moments — such as the introduction in the jungle — the more urban stuff starts to blend together with the film’s many influences.

The fight sequences in the film are great, but unfortunately, there’s just not enough of them. There are plenty of moments that are certain to get a visceral reaction out of the audience, including one with a cheese grater that manages to one-up the now-infamous scene from this year’s Evil Dead Rise.

Ultimately, the film wants us to get invested in the story because of the underlying family drama. However, Remmers and Smith do not seem to understand just how conventional their writing is. A young boy’s parents are viciously murdered in front of him, inspiring him to take up intense combat training in an effort to avenge them. Sound familiar? Of course, there are some twists on this formula, but not enough to make it feel fresh whatsoever.

The most frustrating thing about the film, though, is that the protagonist played by Bill Skarsgård is completely mute, and voiced by a narration track that is simply annoying. The wise-cracking nature of the character against the backdrop of the brutal violence has earned Deadpool comparisons, but the film is sadly never funny enough to work on that level.

That being said, apart from Skarsgård — whose talents feel sadly underused — the film has some inspired casting. Michelle Dockery, Brett Gelman, and Sharlto Copley chew the scenery to shreds as the film’s antagonists, with Copley in particular being a ton of fun to watch. Jessica Rothe gets a few moments in which she really gets to shine. And Andrew Koji steals his scene despite how brief it is.

There’s one thing you absolutely cannot fault Boy Kills World for — it does not lack in manic energy. However, in all that enthusiasm, the film still manages to underwhelm. Somehow, it’s consistently over-the-top, yet still never feels like enough. It’s passable as a B-movie, but you certainly expect it to go somewhere more.

Boy Kills World screened at the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival, which ran September 7-17 in Toronto, Canada.

Rating: 2.5/5

Review by Erin M. Brady

The King James Bible translates Matthew 22:39 as “And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” This verse essentially means that whatever you do to your neighbor, whether it’s through words or actions, needs to be something you want to have happen to you. This is especially true in times of unexplainable hardship, and while it is never outright stated, it is arguably the core idea of Um Tae-hwa’s disaster epic Concrete Utopia. If you do not know and love your neighbor as an equal, damnation will eventually come for you.

The film centers around the various residents of the Hwang Gung Apartments in the aftermath of a devastating earthquake. The apartment building was somehow completely undamaged, making it a safe haven for survivors, much to the dismay of its residents. One such resident, Yeong-tak (Lee Byung-hun), is voted to take charge due to his past advocacy against unwanted development on the apartment grounds. Unfortunately, his leadership successes come at a devastating cost, especially after nurse Myeong-hwa (Park Bo-young) fails to convince her husband, Min-seong (Park Seo-joon), that something is wrong.

It would be remiss to ignore the stunning visual work that brought its destroyed Seoul landscape to life. One scene, in particular, will likely go down as one of the best ever made in the subgenre. Cinematographer Cho Hyung-rae crafted stunning shots in this grey, desolate, and horrifying environment, even in parts where the integration of CGI green screen and physical sets isn’t perfect. 

However, these sequences aren’t the main draw of the film, and much is still left to the imagination as to what actually happened. Choosing to center the movie around the aftermath of the earthquake is not a particularly unique direction – often, disaster movies highlight the degradation of the human condition as proof that we’re all capable of horrific violence under the right circumstances. How these characters degrade certainly is. They never become cartoonishly evil or desperate, as is usually the case with similar stories. They simply act like people wanting to maintain the order they previously had in their lives, no matter what they do to regain it. 

Herein lies the film’s biggest strength: nuance. There is, for lack of a better term, a concrete reason behind every decision made by its ensemble. Lee Byung-hun’s performance is arguably the best example of this, as Yeong-tak’s rise to power within the complex coincides with a much darker secret he’s hiding. When this secret is revealed, it is juxtaposed with scenes of what is supposed to be a joyous celebration of survival. This is the perfect example of who Yeong-tak is as a character: someone who knows of his sins but will continue to reap the benefits they have given him. Audiences can judge him and the rest of these characters, but not without wondering if they themselves are capable of acting the exact same way. 

Um’s direction, along with the script he co-wrote alongside Lee Sin-ji, exemplifies this overarching idea in every scene. In this regard, it is likely the most realistic depiction of what would happen if a disaster movie came to life, right down to the minute details of how its characters exist in this new world. If the world they existed in valued property and materialism above all else (a detail outlined to us in the opening credits), it’s only reasonable that these attitudes would carry over into times of crisis. 

Concrete Utopia is both pessimistic and optimistic about the state of humanity in extreme events. There is never any reason for why the apartment complex was spared, nor do we ever get any answers as to why larger help hasn’t come. However, these aren’t questions you are supposed to ask about this film. Instead, you’re supposed to ask yourself if you are as morally righteous as you think you are, the film challenging the audience at every revelation and development. By fully immersing viewers into the lives of its ensemble, it forces you to think about how you treat your neighbors, both figuratively and literally. Will you be the one helping outsiders survive in difficult conditions, or will you be the one throwing objects at them to get them to leave? Can you be sure of your answer?

Concrete Utopia is screening at the 2023 Fantastic Fest, which runs September 21-28 in Austin, Texas.

Rating: 4/5

Review by Daniel Lima

​There is little more disheartening than the dawning realization that the feature film you’re watching must be adapted from a short. That creeping feeling arrives early on in Your Lucky Day, the feature debut of writer-director Dan Brown that, yes, is adapted from his own 2010 short film of the same name. In spite of a clear directorial voice and a solid ensemble, the laborious and contrived script creates a ceiling for how effective the film can be.
 
On an inauspicious night in a corner store, a businessman wins a $156 million lottery ticket. He is immediately held at gunpoint by a down-on-his-luck drug dealer, which turns into a standoff with a beat cop. After a shootout that leaves both businessman and officer dead, the dealer attempts to convince the store owner and a young couple who happened to be there to assist him in covering things up. All parties are forced to adapt to a rapidly deteriorating situation that tests how far they’ll go for a chance at a better life.
 
This film seemingly has a lot on its mind. Much of what drives these characters is the harshness of their current economic reality, and the unfair hand they have been dealt simply by not being born rich. That the film is set in the first year of the Trump presidency is a deliberate attempt to invoke the ambient anger towards the hoarding of society’s wealth and resources, and it goes a long way in setting the tone of every scene.
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​To that end, the film adopts a naturalistic look and feel. Tight close-ups and subtle handhelds abound, giving the audience the same claustrophobic perspective as the characters as the night wears on. Cold, harsh florescent lights and extensive shadows stave off any comfort. When the tension ramps up, there is a clear understanding of how to maintain momentum and propulsive energy. For all the narrative failings, it’s clear that Brown has a handle of how to tell a story visually.

Chamber pieces can live and die on their cast, and this boasts plenty of solid performances. Every actor lends their character personality that goes far beyond what is written, from Mousa Hussein’s weary, weathered store owner to Elliot Knight’s sensitive and doting musician. The only person who seems ill-at-ease is Angus Cloud, unable to sell any of the emotional beats or weighty dialogue he’s tasked with. The clear standout, however, is Jessica Garza, turning in an intense and commanding performance that if there is any justice in the world, will be her breakout.
 
Yet as much as Your Lucky Day has going for it, it is all horribly undercut by the script. That this is a story of economic inequality, that these characters are fighting between their sense of morality and the immortality of the capitalist world, is glaringly obvious. The film opens with the title card “Based on the American Dream” — yet the dialogue constantly reiterates these themes and ideas. What should feel like a natural outgrowth of these characters’ lived experiences ends up feeling like a screenwriter on a crusade to speak to the issues, so the illusion of grounded realism is broken. 

Even the dialogue that doesn’t directly comment on what the movie is about has a clumsiness that clashes with the film’s aesthetic. When they aren’t laying bare the core themes, characters give monologues neatly establishing backstory, calmly decide on their next course of action, even engage in lightly-comic banter. None of this is inherently bad, but it feels wildly incongruous with the naturalistic style, compounded further by how circular and repetitive the conversations are. It creates the impression that these people are just saying anything they can to fill time.
 
The need to pad things out is evident in how the story develops. About halfway through, there is a narrative turn that introduces new complications into the characters' plans, to decidedly mixed results. On the one hand, it allows for more tension-driven sequences that lean on the film’s strengths. On the other hand, it also introduces a new batch of ideas to grapple with that muddle the clarity of directorial vision. By the time the credits roll, it’s unclear what the film is actually trying to say, not because of a cultivated air of ambiguity, but because the narrative has gone into so many directions that it lost its sense of focus.
 
Ultimately, while Your Lucky Day serves as a decent calling card for a first-time director, it is an unremarkable showing for a first-time screenwriter. Consistently shooting itself in the foot with didactic messaging, clunky dialogue, and unrefined storytelling, it is all the more frustrating because of how strong all the other elements are. 

Your Lucky Day is screening at the 2023 Fantastic Fest, which runs Septemeber 21-28 in Austin, Texas.

Rating: 3/5​

Review by Daniel Lima

​It seems that the longer a film franchise goes on, the more likely it will renege on its mantra — the core idea that gave the original its heart. The Rambo series devolved from sobering psychological drama about the cost of war to right-wing fantasy. Jurassic Park asked whether having the technology to do something justifies doing it, to which the CG slop of the long-gap sequels said, “Yes.” Pet Sematary is a cautionary tale about clinging to something after its time has come and gone, so it’s only natural that Pet Sematary: Bloodlines attempts to revive an IP which should have been laid to rest.
 
In the 2019 reboot of Pet Sematary, John Lithgow plays Jud Crandall, a kindly old man who tries to help his new neighbors adjust to life in the town of Ludlow. Bloodlines winds back the clock fifty years, as the young Crandall prepares to leave home for the Peace Corps, only to be drawn back into town by the sudden return of an estranged friend. His return brings with it an ancient evil that forces Crandall to confront not only his friend, but also the history of his town and his own family.
 
That this is a prequel to the remake, and not the original film, is important because Fred Gwynne’s Crandall in the latter has a scene where he explains exactly what happened in the town decades ago when someone began meddling with the curtain between life and death. On the one hand, this means this story has never even been hinted at within the narrative of this particular interpretation of the Pet Sematary cosmos. On the other hand, this series is powered by residual goodwill towards that first film, so it can be assumed the audience will be familiar with this film’s point of origin. Add that these monkey’s paw tales — character’s dreams coming true only for them to regret it — only have one place to go, and the film ends up feeling wholly inessential.

​Horror films have long used a boilerplate narrative as the foundation for an exercise in style, but this fails to cultivate any atmosphere or mood. Where a Sam Raimi film possesses a manic energy reflected in the dynamic camerawork, or a Lucio Fulci film creates a surreal dreamscape through hazy, lurid imagery, Bloodlines looks like any number of straight-to-streaming cast-offs. The film adopts a muted color palette that makes the days seem dreary and the nights impregnably dark, and the compositions never rise above workmanlike.

There is a world where the characters elevate the material, and the ensemble fleshes the world out in a way that makes the audience invested in their plight. For some unfathomable reason, however, the film spends more time on the mystery of the town — a mystery anyone watching will already know — than establishing who these people are.

The moments where the film gestures towards emotional bonds between the characters are laughable, as there is no work done to establish the nature of who they are and the relationships they have outside of quick flashbacks. That every single performance feels phoned in does nothing to help, though it's always nice to see Pam Grier and Henry Thomas getting work. As for star Jackson White... he's no John Lithgow.
 
The lack of purpose, aesthetic, or engaging characters means that when the film actually does take a stab at horror set pieces, it falls flat. These moments are horribly telegraphed, there’s never any tension as the scene develops, what actually happens is wildly unimaginative, and there’s no reason to care about anyone in the movie anyways. The best that can be said about the horror is that there’s some solid makeup and practical effects, and even those are obscured from view in the darkness of some of these scenes.
 
In the face of this obvious lack of creative ambition and inspiration, it’s hard not to ask, “Why does this movie exist?” The answer is simple: the reboot made over five times its budget. The only thing animating this is the desire to keep the brand alive and within the popular consciousness, and keeping something alive beyond its natural end, in defiance of the laws of God and nature, carries with it a terrible price. For the small town of Ludlow, it was a miasma of malevolent energy that spoke to a rot at the core of the community. As someone who just watched Pet Sematary: Bloodlines, I’d say they were lucky. 

Pet Sematary: Bloodlines is screening at the 2023 Fantastic Fest, which runs September 21-28 in Austin, Texas.

Rating: 1.5/5

Review by Daniel Lima

​Something I used to do before the age of streaming and theater subscription plans was read the plot summaries of movies I thought I’d never get the chance to see on Wikipedia. It’s a peculiar way to experience a story meant to be told through the language of cinema — reducing an art form that relies on imagery and sound to build characters, generate mood, and emotionally move its audience, to just a series of events that happens. I never imagined I’d watch an actual film that reminded me of sitting in front of the family computer, scrolling through a synopsis and wondering what it must be like to see this actually play out. Now, I don’t have to imagine, because I have Dark Asset.
 
The film opens with action veteran Byron Mann under guard in an interrogation room, with a team of scientists in an observation room, separated by only a one-way mirror. The lab-coated technicians run a battery of tests on him, helpfully explaining that he now has a microchip in his brain that will make him the perfect soldier. Suddenly, he breaks free of his restraints, escapes the room, and goes on a tear through the barren facility holding him.
 
The exposition is clunky and trite, but playful, with the actors speaking with an utter conviction that only makes their technobabble more ridiculous. The borderline camp feel turns the cheap-looking sets and humdrum visual aesthetic into boons, lending the film a texture reminiscent of classic law budget science fiction B-movies. The action isn’t anything to write home about, mostly boiling down to Mann walking down a white hallway shooting people who randomly pop out. That being said, it’s arguably better choreographed and edited than most full-scale blockbusters. Even Mann himself, silent though he is, exudes the intense screen presence that always makes him a welcome addition to any cast.
 
For those first twenty minutes, Dark Asset is a surprisingly decent DTV action-thriller. That is not indicative of the rest of the film.

Instead, the entire rest of the runtime is spent with Mann narrating the story of how he got to that lab to a woman in a bar, played by Helena Mattsson. Wanting to give her a comprehensive perspective, he tells her every solitary detail of the conspiracy: the previous test subjects, how they got into the program, what their life was like beforehand, the missions they went on, how they met their end, and only then does he talk about himself, flirting with the woman between these entire disconnected vignettes. And so the film lurches forward, unfocused and scattershot, to its inevitably weak conclusion.
 
It shouldn’t need to be said that a character, telling the story of other characters, that neither the character’s audience nor the audience experiencing the retelling have any emotional connection with, is completely impenetrable. There is no through line for the audience to become invested in. The story involves people who are introduced with a couple lines, often get only a handful themselves, and most crucially, are established as already being out of the picture. Even in a world where this vague, confusing conspiracy narrative was compelling (it isn’t), it is made clear they aren’t going to have anything to do with it going forward.
 
Being forced to sit in one space as it slowly becomes clear that yes, this is what the entire rest of the movie will be like, whittles away the charms the film has going for it. Mann and Mattsson actually have good screen chemistry, and their dialogue has genuine heat. Unfortunately, their conversation is undercut by the fact that this is clearly a device to pad out the runtime, and it’s clear from the moment they start talking to one another where the conversation is going. By the end, it’s hard not to resent every second spent with the two of them in this lifeless, plastic facsimile of a bar.
 
It’s impossible to say for certain that the filmmakers behind Dark Asset had an idea for a script, realized they could get Mann for only a couple of days, then recalibrated the story to facilitate that. The finished product certainly gives that impression. To their credit, those opening minutes where he is actually driving a bona fide narrative forward is pretty good, and had the film carried that momentum forward it could have been an entertaining ride. Sadly, this was one of the most baffling, tedious films of the year. 

Dark Asset releases in theaters and VOD September 22.

Rating: 2/5

Review by Joseph Fayed

The ultra wealthy tend to be portrayed out-of-touch individuals who don't understand life outside their own circle of the elite. The Origin of Evil has the same type of family, with the addition of an outsider in the form of an estranged family member. Tensions flare as the French drama directed by Sébastien Marnier leaves you questioning the motives of everyone during this abrupt family reunion. 

Stéphane (Laure Calamy) is financially struggling. She is working a dead-end factory job and her lover is incarcerated. She reaches out to her estranged father to get to know the family she never had. No one is quick to embrace her into their mold as the family and Stéphane begin to wonder if she is truly one of them. 

Deplorable behavior is what draws the family together. The cast proved that with their performances to various degrees. Many of our characters are either enablers or abusive themselves so we are spared from having any sort of forced empathy try to overshadow their lifestyle. Our helpless protagonist Stéphane is the one hiding in plain sight, Calamy has a reserved approach to her character. Later scenes utilize her talent to expose the anxiety she has brought upon herself. But the script manages to do all of this without drawing too much pity for Stéphane, a smart choice as she tries to become what she never had.   

The film intertwines elements of Knives Out and The Talented Mr. Ripley for the characterizations of its ensemble. Lavish wealth and having a safety net so secure they don't think twice about their actions remind you of the former. Meanwhile, Stéphane feels as if she is living in a facade and must lie her way out of like Tom Ripley always did. These films also deal with wealth management and what power over it does to individuals, as no one has a change of heart until their lifestyle has changed. That message is rooted in money, which consistently is the driving factor behind every decision made on screen in this film. The consequences seem far-fetched, and every character is guilty of embracing that mentality. 

The Origin of Evil is more than just a blanket statement about generational wealth. Greed is embraced within this film as insecurity is an unknown concept to our characters. The flashy lifestyle on screen isn't what makes a family dysfunctional. Rather, it's the betrayal of each other every chance they have. Nothing is over the top ridiculous outside of a few set pieces and the score ripping off more classic mystery thrillers. Cinematography choices by Romain Carcanade were wise in certain scenes that framed a split screen to showcase everyone's own desires to fulfill their life. Ultimately, Marnier's thriller is a great example of wealth that does not cover how an empire was built, but how fragile it truly can be. 

The Origin of Evil arrives in theaters on September 22.

Rating: 4/5

Review by Dan Skip Allen

Review by Adam Donato

Review by Cole Groth

Growing up on the cheesy insanity that were the Robert Rodriguez-directed sci-fi/family Spy Kids films, it’s no surprise that Spy Kids: Armageddon didn’t do much for me. I’m not old enough to love the family element, nor young enough to easily ignore the generally weak filmmaking. Still, through a bad script and confusing performances, there’s much fun to have in the latest entry of the series — especially for children.

Spy Kids: Armageddon follows the children of two spies, who are forced to work independently to save the day after a mission goes rogue. The conflict here is similar to Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over: a villainous game developer, Rey Kingston (Billy Magnussen), has unleashed a computer virus in a video game, leading our new pair of spy children to go on a CGI-heavy adventure. This time around, the titular spy kids are Tony (Connor Esterson) and Patty (Everly Carganilla), the children of Terrence (Zachary Levi) and Nora (Gina Rodriguez).

This will undoubtedly elude older audiences like many of Robert Rodriguez’s movies. It’s a loud movie that moves at a nonsensically fast pace. The script is one of the most notable factors holding this back from being a better movie. Each line of dialogue is clunky and inhuman, bringing this to land in occasionally parody-esque territory. It’s infrequently funny but will land much better for children, who will appreciate the simplicity of the script. It was an excellent decision to replicate much of the third film because both that and this installment do a good job of incorporating video games while avoiding a lot of the annoyances of generic video games in film.

Robert Rodriguez’s filmography is famous for how ugly it is. An overreliance on CGI that frankly looks awful makes one of his films instantly recognizable. This film lacks a lot of that. It’s odd that an improvement in CGI could be almost perceived as a negative, but it does feel like something is missing in a Spy Kids movie that doesn’t look like garbage. It’s still not very good, and there are plenty of sequences that have too much CGI for their own good, but that doesn’t stop it from being a notable improvement in cinematic quality.

At the end of the day, it’s hard to dislike this movie. It’s satisfying in many cliché ways and is a respectable trip down memory lane. Tony and Patty are rootable leads, and Billy Magnussen is excellent as a goofy villain. It takes the vital route of not taking itself seriously and brought a smile to my face throughout much of the runtime. If you find yourself a fan of this series and want to see what a sequel looks like two decades after the original films, this will be a surprisingly decent watch.

Unlike Rodriguez’s horrific sequel to The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl, We Can Be Heroes, Spy Kids: Armageddon manages to recapture much of the magic that made the original series so great. While the grit makes this feel a little too sterile at times, families and children will undoubtedly find a new movie to rewatch. If Netflix continues to develop more films in this series, they’ll have a solid franchise to add to their filmography.

Spy Kids: Armageddon releases on Netflix on September 22.

Rating: 3/5