Movies

Let Me Make You a Martyr is one of those films that arrives with so much sulfurous promise it almost dares you not to be excited. An indie southern-gothic revenge tale with Marilyn Manson putatively playing an assassination angel named Pope? That’s the kind of casting stroke that wakes up even the most jaded cinephile. On paper, it's a ready-made baroque: broken family loyalties, incestuous chemistry, violence steeped in religious delirium, Sons of Anarchy but with the lights turned down and the metaphysics dialed up.

The first jolt of The Founder isn’t the sizzle of a burger hitting the griddle; it’s the smack of Michael Keaton walking into the frame like capitalism’s answer to a grinning shark. Keaton, who’s been on a late-career tear ever since Birdman, doesn’t merely play Ray Kroc; he seems to inhale him, then exhale an all-American fog of hustle, charm, and predation. If Daniel Day-Lewis gave us petroleum-slick ambition in There Will Be Blood and Jesse Eisenberg did the hoodie-clad math in The Social Network, Keaton supplies the ketchup-red swagger: a salesman’s smile that curdles, scene by scene, into something closer to manifest destiny with a milkshake machine.

There are movies which, with all their gloss and calculated ambition, remain pieces of machinery, oiled and in motion, but never quite alive. The Accountant is not one of those. It rumbles, clicks, and suddenly roars as if its protagonist’s sharp edges were etched with lightning, each narrative gear turning inevitably toward violence and revelation. That familiar yet unexpected pleasure, the sensation of a genre movie actually delivering on its promises, finds a rare showcase here. For once, the machine’s hum is exhilarating.

If you’re in the mood for a fun buddy cop movie, “The Nice Guys” is definitely a solid pick! I found this film to be an enjoyable romp, brimming with lighthearted humor and a nostalgic vibe. The chemistry between the characters, paired with the charm of 1970s Los Angeles, left me thoroughly entertained and in good spirits by the end of the experience.

One comes to a marathon of the “Terrifier” films much as you might approach a rickety rollercoaster at a fading state fair, skeptical, but secretly hoping to stumble out a little changed. It all begins with a shriek and a snicker: Damien Leone’s creation, Art the Clown, born of a 2011 short that was less a calling card than a threat. Yet by the third film, set amid Christmas glitter and moral queasiness, the series has grown into a twisted, almost baroque pageant of splatter and dark wit. The “Terrifier” films, watched in quick succession, form their own fevered treatise on what horror can still provoke, where it dare not go, and just how long you can keep laughing in the dark before you start to worry about yourself.

There’s a peculiar, illicit pleasure in witnessing a horror film that doesn’t bother appeasing the grown-up urge for context, or even moral justification, a film that simply wants to stalk you, amuse itself, and then gut you, all while wearing a fixed rictus grin. "Terrifier" announces itself with the blank-eyed mirth of Art the Clown: a creation not born so much from the tradition of slasher villains as from the very tactics of a mean-spirited magician. There is no myth, no tragic back-story, the movie barely bothers with plot at all, but dances with the sharp, ecstatic purity of a bad dream that keeps plunging into new depths.

Despite the mixed reviews circulating online, I couldn't ignore the allure of “Criminal.” Critics have noted a disjointed plot and uneven character development, with some expressing disappointment in how the film utilizes its talented cast.

"Ben-Hur," directed by Timur Bekmambetov, is a vibrant reimagining of the classic story that has captivated audiences for generations. While it may not quite reach the legendary heights of some of its predecessors, this 2016 adaptation offers a compelling experience filled with stunning visuals and thrilling moments.