Underrated Summer 2024 Movies You Need to See

Well, summer 2024 has come to a close. Another season of moviegoing has closed out, this time defined by the return of emotions, a foul-mouthed merc, and Nicolas Cage singing in the snow. With this season firmly in the rearview, it's clear what the biggest movies of the summer were. But what about the underrated titles of summer 2024? This is, after all, not just a season dominated by a handful of features making $1+ billion with ease. There are also smaller arthouse titles or even blockbusters worthy of your time and attention. Before the award season landscape swallows us all up whole, let's take a look back at the most underrated summer 2024 movies that you still need to see, along with information on where you can watch them now (either in streaming, premium-video-on-demand retailers, or theaters).

Here's to the rest of the year and watching movies on the big screen!

Furiosa: A Mad Max Story

George Miller returned to the Wasteland for Furiosa: A Mad Max Story and this genius filmmaker didn't just do a standard Hollywood origin story for Fury Road's big breakout character. Instead, he made a grand epic about what it takes to survive the unspeakable. Often heartbreakingly intimate, Furiosa had grand imagery to spare and a dazzling dedication to subverting expectations. This was no Fury Road retread, which is the greatest thing you could say about a prequel.

Available on Max

Ghostlight

Tears will be shed when you sit down to watch Ghostlight, which starts on an undeniably wobbly note with too ambiguous character motivations and potentially overly arch performances. As the film finds its groove, though, it becomes a deeply moving exploration of using art to cope with pain. 

Now streaming on AMC+

Kill

Some of the very best action sequences of 2024 thus far were confined to a train in this excellent feature. Kill had executed slaughters with aplomb while its filmmaking demonstrated real craftiness in wringing visual versatility out of limited spacing (everything in this movie takes place on a handful of train cars). 

Available on PVOD

Dandelion

KiKi Layne is a movie star and deserves more lead roles. The quietly touching country music yarn Dandelion nicely reflects her many gifts as a performer and reveals she's also got a great voice. Combine all that with soothing autumn-tinged backdrops and Dandelion's a deeply enjoyable watch.

Available on PVOD

Kneecap

The music biopic has a new gold standard in quality. Kneecap chronicles the exploits of an Irish rap group (all three members play themselves here) in a movie bursting with anarchy and rebellion. There's so much energy wafting off the screen, it's impossible not to get caught up in the chaos. Also, there are lots of great toe-tapping tunes in this one you won't get out of your head.

Now playing in theaters

Strange Darling

Rarely have I felt so disconnected from Letterboxd users than seeing folks mocking Strange Darling's opening text declaring that it was shot entirely on 35mm. For me, that's a fantastic way to kick off a motion picture rendered with such gorgeous photography and delightfully transfixing non-linear storytelling. Come for the 35mm camerawork, stay for Willa Fitzgerald's mesmerizing leading lady turn.

Now playing in theaters

Sing Sing

One of the best movies of the year (not just summer 2024), Sing Sing is all about restoring humanity to people often denied basic decency. Anchored by an outstanding Colman Domingo performance and turns from real-life former Sing Sing inmates, Sing Sing is an emotionally mesmerizing work. In a season of expansive explosions and massive fight scenes, the most captivating sequences in summer 2024 cinema were Sing Sing's quiet depictions of human beings just talking and trying to connect with one another.

Now playing in theaters

Alien: Romulus starts strong but loses its guts along the way

Oh, what a crushing experience it is to watch a movie lose itself. When features start with so much potential before concluding on such a middling note, it's heartbreaking. So many cinematic promises left unfulfilled! "We were on the verge of greatness, we were this close!" as one Orson Krennic once declared. Alien: Romulus is an unfortunately egregious case of this phenomenon in gooey action. An enthralling and thematically compelling first act gives way to a standard modern sequel chock full of fan service. Good news for us Alien fans though: much like Rick Blaine will always have Paris, we'll always have those impressive early Romulus sequences.

Romulus begins on a Weyland-Yutani mining planet where the sun never shines. Ash fills the air, despair is everywhere, and protagonist Rain Carradine (Cailee Spaeny) is desperate to leave. Just as she thinks she's secured enough work hours to leave this place, she gets a devastating shock. The Weyland-Yutani corporation has increased the workload she needs to reach before she can exit the planet. "Weyland-Yutani thanks you for your hard work," a dry bureaucrat informs her while delivering this horrific news. She and her android/surrogate brother Andy (David Jonsson) need another way off the planet. The script by Fede Alvarez and Rodo Sayagues (the former of whom also directs) gives them a ticket out through a scheme hatched by their friend Tyler (Archie Renaux). He and some other young denizens of the planet are going to sneak aboard a ship that's just hovering in the planet's atmosphere. Once they get onboard, they can go wherever they like.

The most inspired touch in Romulus is how it extends the franchise's contempt for corporations. After all, all the mayhem of the first Alien occured thanks to the Weyland-Yutani corporation ordering android Ash (Ian Holm) to retrieve the Xenomorph without caring what happened to the human employees. Corporate greed and a disdain for working-class lives have always informed this franchise's horrors. Here in Romulus, inaccessibility to upward economic mobility inspires a risky mission to an abandoned ship. Desperation is the underlying motivator of every on-screen action.

Meanwhile, the disdain most human characters wield for android Andy intriguingly reflects how the working class often creates proletariat hierarchies rather than unite as one. In the face of capitalism's horrors, too often everyday workers seek out other ordinary souls they can feel superior to. If one can't take down the big bosses actually making their lives miserable, they can create another social hierarchy that puts them "on top". This informs toxic perceptions that "immigrants" or "trans people" are really at fault for woes rooted in matters like unequal wealth distribution. That's a fascinating idea to translate into a sci-fi setting and especially into an Alien movie. These humans can't stop using Andy as a tool to give themselves brief bursts of "power" in a world they have no hope of controlling. Moments of humans othering Andy instead of embracing him echo the Alien saga's ethos while also delivering something discernibly new to its thematic tapestry. 

Alien: Romulus also looks incredible under Alvarez's direction and cinematography from Galo Olivares. Though the proceedings sometimes lean too heavily on darkness (even for a movie set on a planet with no sunshine!), there's a tactility to their images that's incredibly welcome. That element is undoubtedly aided by solid production design work ensuring Romulus occupies a world of grimy tangibility, not green-screen artifice. What light does enter the screen emerges in such an interestingly precise way while an emphasis on wide shots allows moviegoers plenty of opportunities to soak in grand images. Alien: Romulus looks incredibly crisp...which makes it such a shame when the script starts going off the rails.

Without delving into spoilery specifics, a mid-movie plot turn connected to the original Alien suddenly thrusts Alien: Romulus into the dreaded territory of a modern blockbuster sequel too overly concerned with franchise mythos. From there, distinctive character personalities vanish in favor of action beats, expository dialogue, and entire lines of dialogue either echoing or outright repeating earlier Alien installments. Alien: Romulus starts off with a bang because of a willingness to differentiate itself from its predecessors. Elements like younger protaganists or emphasizing capitalistic hierarchies suggest this Alvarez feature will be more than just Aliens redux. Alas, that potential slowly deflates away as Romulus becomes most interested in reminding viewers of the past.

It doesn't help matters that the bigger frightening set pieces are hit-or-miss, though there are some undeniably creative high points. A terrific sequence chronicling our leads trying to walk through a room crawling with Facehuggers is dreadfully suspenseful. Alvarez channels lots of energy from his 2016 feature Don't Breathe for this scene and that influence works quite nicely. Emphasizing excellent practical effects work for the Xenomorphs also lends these creatures a discernible ominous presence. There's such believable weight and texture to these beasties, they're truly an impressive feat from the visual effects crew. Other times, though, not even cool practical effects can compensate for the script's generic jump-scares. Too many of the scares in Romulus are serviceable, but nowhere near nightmare-inducing.

Alien: Romulus is an endlessly frustrating movie. Nowhere is this better exemplified than in its overall clumsy social commentary. Conceptually, this feature is all about the dangers of putting corporations first. Key Romulus aspects like that suffocating mining colony planet or an antagonistic character justifying their actions by saying "it's for the good of the company" exemplify this. Yet the distracting fan service in Romulus, not to mention its dedication to not subverting too many Alien franchise norms, reeks of modern corporate blockbusters. Alien: Romulus is very much a Disney Alien movie, though not in the sense that it has princesses singing to birds or toxic right-wing interpretations of what "Disney" means this month. Instead, Romulus adheres to the modern Disney blockbuster mold (see: Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, the 2022 Hellraiser remake, any of the live-action animated movie remakes) of merely gesturing at loftier progressive ideas, lots of fan service, removing any traces of sex (no naked push-ups here or men kissing here), and building on the bold creativity of other artists. 

The jagged "I'll do the fingering" edges of earlier messy installments like Alien: Romulus are gone. In their place are hollow reminders of the past, including regurgitating one of the most iconic Alien franchise lines. These inescapable symbols of the larger Mouse House empire leave the Romulus political commentary hollow. It's hard to chastize corporations while also reeking of a corporate monopoly. Without that element in play, audiences are left with a rudimentary entry sci-fi horror film. Great cinematography and committed performances from actors like David Jonsson (between this and Rye Lane, Jonsson's becoming a star to always watch out for) can't erase the emptiness ultimately permeating this project. Oh well, at least the first act of Alien: Romulus is strong, even if that dynamite opening just reinforces how weak the rest of the production is.

Trap Is Shyamalan Operating In Agreeable Dark Comedy Mode

M. Night Shyamalan's first two 2020s movies were unquestionably made as direct responses to a world rattled by COVID-19. Both Old and Knock at the Cabin were grim projects following characters isolated from the rest of the world coping with the inescapable specter of death haunting families. Old especially evoked the days of COVID lockdowns with its younger characters wistfully talking about how they'll never get to experience events like prom or graduation. Meanwhile, Knock at the Cabin had its leads watching as the world unraveled through their television set, much like all of us frantically checking and rechecking COVID-19 statistics on our phones in August 2020. These were brutal thrillers channeling the apocalyptic vibes and inescapable mortality informing the earliest years of this decade.

By contrast, Shyamalan's latest feature Trap is a respite from those earlier titles. After his immersion into darker projects ruminating on how death comes for us all, Shyamalan wants to do something more enamored with dark comedy. This isn't a title about family units gradually succumbing to mortality. Instead, Trap is meant to make audiences go "ooooooh!" at big plot developments and revel in its silliness. Shyamalan's post-2022 excitement even extends to Trap's central locale of a concert. With COVID filming restrictions eased or outright eliminated, this filmmaker can finally shoot interior crowd scenes again! He doesn't have to confine his actors to a beach or cabin anymore! These qualities offer something new for 2020s Shyamalan. They also inform a movie that's entertaining more often than not.

Cooper Adams (Josh Hartnett) on the surface looks like a normal dad, especially with how excited he is to take his daughter Riley (Ariel Donoghue) to see pop star sensation Lady Raven (Saleka Shyamalan). While at the concert, though, Cooper notices a lot of police and extra security systems in place. Cooper quickly realizes that the FBI knew that local serial killer The Butcher was going to be at this concert and they've set up a trap here to catch this monster. Little does anyone realize that Cooper is actually The Butcher and he's not going down without a fight. As he tries to ensure Riley has the best day ever at Lady Raven's show, this psychopath also does everything in his power to throw the authorities off his trail. The Butcher is cornered, but he's not down and out, not by a long shot.

Shortly after Cooper discovers this movie's titular "trap", he returns to his seat with his daughter. Suddenly, right in the aisle next to them, a trap door opens and a "surprise" fictional singer appears. This entrance remains open for an inordinate amount of time, which inspires Cooper to suggest to Riley that they should head down there and explore the stadium's underground area. During every second of this exchange, I could only think to myself "there's no way they'd place that trap door there." Just creating a sudden giant void in a crowd of screaming fans with no guardrails in sight, that's a lawsuit waiting to happen! It's a totally preposterous element of Trap's universe. It's also one of those distinctively ridiculous elements only the writer/director behind "you know what gets a bad rap? Hot dogs" and the character name Mid-Sized Sedan would conjure up.

Trap's greatest ridiculous moments contain enough of those idiosyncracies to register as charming rather than lazy or irritating. Making the innate silliness of the proceedings go down easily is the darkly humorous atmosphere. Some of Shyamalan's worst movies are total dreary slogs like Lady in the Water or After Earth. Here, dashes of grim zest pop up throughout the runtime playing on Cooper being Hannibal Lecter in disguise as Ned Flanders. A sight gag involving a side character unassumingly handing this man a pair of box cutters, for instance, is quite amusing. A later set piece involving Cooper watching over a crowd of police getting a brief on The Butcher is similarly humorous.

These jokes and all of Trap work especially well thanks to Shyamalan's precise visual sensibilities. Working with cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, Trap's camerawork isn't afraid to linger on a shot or engage in deeply precise blocking. After a summer of so many stagnantly framed blockbusters, it felt good to see a split-diopter on the big screen again! Especially interesting in the camerawork is how Shyamalan often just plops viewers into the POV of Cooper without any foreshadowing. It's a great abrupt trait that immediately sets you at unease. Are we being put into his eyeballs because some carnage is about to unfurl? It's a terrific subtle detail. There's also a third-act gag involving the camera swerving to the right to emphasize a piano that's so perfectly timed (shout-out also to editor Noëmi Preiswerk on that front). The 35mm images of Trap go a long way to making this such a fun cheeky outing.

Even with all these virtues and an impressively bravura Josh Hartnett lead performance at its back, Trap is still, ultimately, a messy movie in some key respects. This is a feature thriving on recurring Shyamalan traits like detailed camerawork or well-structured suspense sequences. It also, unfortunately, succumbs to recurring problems scattered throughout his filmography. Trap's final 30 minutes, for instance, ehco Old in lathering on too much exposition that answers questions the audience likely doesn't care about. Meanwhile, Shyamalan's former go-to composer James Newton Howard (the duo last worked together on After Earth) is still deeply missed. Herdís Stefánsdóttir's, reuniting with Shyamalan after Knock at the Cabin, compositions aren't bad, they just lack an extra dose of oomph. Her tracks tragically can't evade the lasting sonic legacy of Shyamalan and Howard's greatest collaborations on films like Signs and Unbreakable. 

Most frustratingly, this is yet another Shyamalan movie with a disabled villain. This time, Cooper is defined heavily by his OCD. Following Unbreakable, The Visit, Split, Old, and other films, Shyamalan's employment of "disabled=villain" is so predictable and that's the one thing a thriller can never afford to be. Trap is clearly imperfect, but it's also a hoot to watch unfold. Even as an Old defender, it's fun to witness Shyamalan in a better and lighter mood with his latest feature. Trap isn't exactly a chart-topper, but it's still a cinematic melody with some incredibly fun flourishes. 

Twisters Nails The Storm Chasing But Its Human Drama Leaves Something To Be Desired

As a budding film geek, I loved 90s disaster movies. VHS tapes of Independence Day, Mars Attacks!, and Armageddon captured my imagination with their mixture of epic destruction and patently (and, admittedly, more than a little naive) 90s optimism. The new film Twisters harkens back to that era, an appropriate frame of reference given that its predecessor Twister was a key part of the 90s disaster movie boom. Given that this Lee Isaac Chung directorial also features a soundtrack chock full of country music (a music genre I was obsessed with as a youngster) and many actors I adore (Katy O'Brian, what a legend!), Twisters should've left me blown away. 

Yet, no matter how many trucks revved up in the dirt or storms blew off the roofs of houses, Twisters often left me cold. Sometimes, coming back home isn't a flawless stroll down memory lane.

Mark L. Smith's Twisters script begins with a prologue following Oklahoma storm chaser Kate Cooper (Daisy Edgar-Jones) tracking down a big storm to test proposed technology that could stop a tornado. This mission goes awry and the massive tornado gulps up her dear friends and lover. Five years later, she works as a meteorologist in bustling New York City. She's left that old life behind until best friend Javi (Anthony Ramos) reaches out to her with a proposition. Cooper's wits are needed back home in the service of technology that, in theory, could help map out tornadoes and save future lives. No more dear friends or relatives would have to die. Cooper relents and comes back to the place she left behind, which is now dominated by cocky YouTube storm chasers like Tyler Owens (Glen Powell) and his motley crew of redneck thrill-seekers.

With historically bad tornados bearing down on Oklahoma, the science project that spurred Cooper's fateful traumatic day is about to become more important than ever. Owens and Cooper couldn't hate each other more if they tried. However, the time has come to put aside differences, evade those storms, and confront long-simmering fears.

Typically, when an indie movie veteran transitions to blockbuster filmmaking, their fingerprints are most evident on the movie's intimate sequences. Comedy movie veteran Elizabeth Banks, for example, showed solid chops executing visual gags in Charlie's Angels. However, she seemed lost handling generic action sequences. Jon Watts, meanwhile, channeled his 2015 directorial effort Cop Car in a deeply suspenseful automobile ride in Spider-Man: Homecoming, while the big action set-pieces didn't resonate with his personality. Chung's work on Twisters is a rare exception to that rule. Though the tornado-heavy sequences don't echo the man's Minari filmmaking, they display plenty of confidence and visual precision. There's a specificity to the execution of massive stormy chaos that's commendable for an artist relatively new to feature-length tentpoles (though Chung did cut his teeth on two different Star Wars shows).

Just look at an early scene where Owens takes two companions (including an out-of-his-depth British reporter) into a tornado in his heavily modified pickup truck. This set piece's exciting nature comes from how well-paced it is. There's a thrilling sense of theatricality in Chung's filmmaking and Terilyn A. Shropshire's editing, both providing perfect timing in unveiling each neat trick this automobile can pull off. It all provides a very finely-tuned build-up culminating in a fun reveal of drills that keep the truck latched to the ground no matter how windy it gets is a delightful finisher to this sequence. Later on, Chung captures Cooper, Owens, and some poor civilians trying to evade a tornado in an emptied hotel pool largely in a lengthy single-take. This visual decision makes the scenario's tension suffocatingly palpable while the backdrop for the entire situation is deeply creative. When handling VFX-heavy disaster movie mayhem, Chung shows a welcome flair for both bombast and imagination. Needless to say, this Minari veteran is no Josh Trank or Stephen Gaghan in registering as out-of-his-depth with blockbuster filmmaking.

Also, bonus points to Smith's screenplay for eschewing the legacy sequel mold for Twisters. A handful of references (like naming storm-chasing devices "Dorothy") exist, but the proceedings don't grind to a halt to contort the plot into a "surprise" Twister sequel. Nobody here is a secret descendent of the original film's characters, nor are random Twister props suddenly turned into sacred MacGuffin's. Twisters is just another tornado-centric blockbuster taking place in Oklahoma. Even its big set pieces creatively lean into backdrops that wouldn't have been possible back in 1996, like a tornado descending on a wind turbine field. Sink or swim, Twisters is out to establish its own identity that doesn't require viewership of that original 1990s blockbuster. What a deeply admirable trait in a time when superhero movies pause their stories to pay tribute to 90s superhero films that never even got made.

Unfortunately, in between those tornado-heavy scenes are a lot of dreary dialogue-heavy sequences that are borderline insufferable. Classic disaster movies weren't known for housing lines that would make Truman Capote or Billy Wilder proud. However, they also tended to have expansive ensemble casts that didn't leave one thinly sketched character on-screen for long. Twisters, meanwhile, focuses almost exclusively on the flirtatious dynamic between Cooper and Owens. Smith's script aims to make their rapport the His Girl Friday of disaster movie romances. He doesn't come close to those cinematic aspirations. Their dialogue is too full of predictable sarcastic banter and, later, verbose discussions about the inner machinations of tornados. Twisters best assets are its grand visual swings, not pretty people chattering like network TV scientists.

This central character dynamic would also work better if Owens wasn't so often insufferable. Constantly chanting "city girl" to Owens and hootin' & hollerin' at everything in sight, Smith and Chung go way overboard on making the character an aggressive Southern "bro". He resonates as a caricature immediately and, when it's time for him to show depth, Owens is flattened out into a generically-rendered figure shouting at CG storms. He's either got too much personality or none at all! Meanwhile, all the tech in his car (not to mention his status as a semi-famous YouTuber) gives Owens an extra irritating edge. Smith's script never grapples with this, but this guy's wealthy to afford all this tech. He's a rich guy passing himself off as "a good o'l country boy", like he's the target of Bo Burnham's modern country music parody. 

That level of financial security compounds the already insufferable nature of his character. It's also a quality especially hindering the eventual bitterness Owens feels towards Cooper and Javi's land-owner employers. Owens is meant to be a champion for "the little guy", but thanks to how financially well-off he is, it just feels like two kinds of rich folks hashing it out ("whoever wins, we lose!"). The vagueness over the machinations and intent of those land-owner employers (presumably so the script doesn't involve corrupt actions Twisters financier Comcast is doing in real life) only further hampers this plot detail. Powell's leading man charms from Set It Up and Hit Man can't salvage a character this poorly written. Nor can he resuscitate a fictional figure that goes directly against how often past disaster movies explicitly chronicled working-class figures. 

The rest of the cast delivers decent work, even if Daisy Edgar-Jones has no real dimensions to play with as Kate Cooper. Lively bursts of energy from Brandon Perea, Sasha Lane, and Katy O'Brian make them the film's MVPs by default! In another shocking twist on my pre-viewing expectations, composer Benjamin Wallfish also rounds up some fine compositions for the proceedings. Wallfish slept-walked through The Flash last year, but he's got some rousing banjos and stirring guitars ready to go for the Twisters score. His orchestral accompaniments complement the on-screen action and feel distinctly evocative of the Oklahoma setting. As for the assorted country tunes on the soundtrack, they're mostly an embarrassing waste of good singers. Tanner Adell, for instance, has an extremely lovely voice, but her ditty "Too Easy" is way too evocative of misguided 2010s "girlboss" tunes "God Made Girls". She and the other singers here deserved better than these disposably-written tracks. 

When Twisters revs up the spectacle, it's a perfectly cromulent time at the movies. I'm sure those checking it out in IMAX will get their money's worth and if these characters register as enjoyable to you, you'll be happier than a pig in a slop. However, Twisters desperately needed less expository dialogue and a little more melodrama and fun. Who comes to a 90s disaster movie pastiche for so much conversation? If nothing else, it couldn't have hurt to improve the country rock soundtrack (maybe Gary Allan should've drummed up an original ditty?) At least Lee Isaac Chung and company can hold their head high that, in the pantheon of disaster movies, Twisters doesn't have a scene as embarrassing as Armageddon's erotic animal crackers sequence.

In Laman's Terms: Longlegs Exemplifies Why Theatrical Releases Matter

If I told you about an odd moment or image in a Netflix Original Movie, you'd have no trouble verifying what I was talking about. After all, if a feature film premieres on digital home media platforms (whether it's on Netflix or premium video-on-demand), it can immediately be spliced up into gifs or memes. Screenshots and clips can be taken out of context instantaneously for the world to see. Just Google "A Family Affair weird grocery store scene" or any viral moment from 365 Days, it's there for you. This phenomenon was especially apparent back in 2021, when major legacy movie studios dropped several significant theatrical movies simultaneously on streaming. Two or three-minute snippets from Black Widow or The Matrix Resurrections spread like wildfire across Twitter as punchlines for tweets.

Now, let's compare this to if I told you about something strange in a theatrical movie, like, say, the recent surprise smash hit Longlegs. That movie has concealed in its marketing what Nicolas Cage as the serial killer Longlegs looks like. The Neon promotional team has kept a slew of additional key plot points and disturbing imagery hidden away from the ambiguous but striking marketing campaign for this Osgood Perkins motion picture. If I told you about something especially strange Cage did in Longlegs or a particularly eerie image from the movie, you couldn't just find it on Google. You'd have to take the time to buy a ticket, head out to the movie theater, and watch the entire motion picture. With that experience, you'd finally understand what I was talking about..but you'd also have to watch the whole movie.

Meanwhile, removing immediately available visual aids adds something extra fun and specific to the experience of Longlegs viewers trying to tell their friends about key images or acting flourishes from the feature. There is no officially released still of Cage as Longlegs I could point to in explaining to my friends "this is what he looks like." I'll have to describe it myself, which undoubtedly will be a vastly different description than how another viewer would describe this malicious figure's appearance. This makes talking about Longlegs extra idiosyncratic from person to person. It also adds a fun campfire story quality to discussing the production. You're reporting to another soul who's maybe never even heard of Longlegs all kinds of freaky materials and physical appearances contained within this one film. It's like some teenager regaling their friends around a fire about a beast they SWEAR they saw in the local forest. All you have to go on is the words of the narrator and the ominous reality that we truly never know what lies in wait in the darkness.

Eventually (probably by mid-August), Longlegs will come to PVOD. Then images from the feature, including 4K screengrabs of Cage as Longlegs, will populate social media. I can immediately think of at least two 10-second clips from Longlegs guaranteed to become go-to reaction memes. Ted Sarandos and other Netflix higher-ups may scoff at this reality in between licking the boots of transphobes and podcast hosts spreading misinformation about AIDS. "Why even put these things in theaters if they'll one day be available in your home?" they'll scorn after engaging in financial practices making it impossible for directors to make a living.

However, the specialness and experiences of theatrical exhibition live on long after a movie's big-screen run has concluded. Long after The Gray Man and The Tomorrow War have been forgotten, people still talk about The Blair Witch Project and its crafty marketing. The Barbenheimer phenomenon of last year will live on eternal as a testament to the joys of theatrical moviegoing and bonding with friends over cinema. Those lines of people that went for blocks and blocks for The Exorcist, that's still legendary. The countless stories attached to prime theatrical experiences help solidify as movies in the popular consciousness. They're not just another tile on your streaming platform's home screen. They're something you bonded with other people at or a motion picture that you had so much fun talking about with another person.

Longlegs would've vanished quickly into the streaming algorithm ether if it had debuted on streaming. High-quality yet obscure horror films like His House can attest to that reality. Not every movie that goes to the big screen becomes a smash hit. But if you want a movie that takes off like a surprising rocket like Longlegs...it has to go to theaters. Believe it or not, there are a few reasons why this mold for experiencing cinema has endured for over a century. 

Longlegs Is A Cinematic Nightmare Well Worth Experiencing

Longlegs begins with bright white snow. It's a winter morning and a young girl has gone out to play in the frigid weather. This incredibly unnerving Osgood Perkins directorial effort is an extremely bleak exercise. However, unlike other horror movie attempts at "darkness", Perkins doesn't suffocate every image in minimal light and shaky-cam. Instead, Longlegs ingratiates viewers to its uniquely ominous vibes all that snow on the ground and reasonably bright lighting. Even here, evil emerges. That young girl's time outside is upended by the arrival of a mysterious adult man. The on-screen color palette and lighting suggest it's just a normal winter day. It's not. 

Unspeakable creepiness lurks in every corner of Longlegs. Clean-cut suburban neighborhoods are backdrops to slaughter. A hardware store can house a deeply unnerving customer/cashier interaction. Even the inside of one's car, a place other bleak horror films like The Texas Chain Saw Massacre depicted as a safe haven from serial killers, is here often a place for disturbing proclamations of mental anguish.

After that snowy prologue, the script by Perkins moves forward to the 1990s. Here, FBI agent Lee Harker (Maika Monroe) is assigned a case in Oregon that's confounded this agency. A man known as the Longlegs killer (Nicolas Cage) has been responsible for several slayings over the last few decades. Problem is, save for cryptic letters he's sent after the killings, there's no evidence to tie him to these gruesome events. Where is the evidence for forced entry or accomplices? It's all so confounding. Harker, with her unusual gift for uncovering killers, could be the key to solving this crime spree. As she dives deeper into the case, more bizarre elements pile up. Is there a method to this madness? More pressingly, is there is, can that method be halted before more die at the hands of Longlegs?

Speaking of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (my pick for one of the scariest movies ever made), Longlegs reminded me of that Tobe Hooper feature (as well as David Lynch's Lost Highway) in being a rare horror movie that truly captured what it feels like to experience a nightmare. Other ultra-dark horror movies, like your typical Saw installment, are too "grounded" to truly emulate the inexplicable nature of a nightmare. Perkins, meanwhile, unabashedly embraces the absurd in this feature. Cage's Longlegs is prone to singing when intimidating people, while folks Harker is interrogating will just say the most grisly things without any prompting. The world of Longlegs isn't just grim. It's also quietly chaotic. There's no sense of control. It truly feels like your worst nightmares, where you're just strapped in for a ride your brain has concocted.

Delving deeper into specific plot points or third-act images that really accentuate that sensation would spoil the twists that make Longlegs such an evocative feature. What can be said is that the masterful visual scheme of the production works wonders in selling up that suffocatingly ominous atmosphere. Perkins and cinematographer Andrés Arochi tell the story of Harkins and Longlegs emphasizing sustained wide shots with ornate framing. There's impressive preciseness to the blocking that eerily contrasts with the unsettling storytelling material. Even just a simple conversation between Harker and the traumatized Carrie Anne Camera (Kiernan Shipka) demonstrates impressive detail in how it's composed. These two women are never shown on-screen together, they each occupy separate wide shots for this dialogue. Camera is seen from the front while Harker is viewed from a side-profile angle. It's a tiny touch, but one signifying how much distance there is between the characters. They're not just occupying different shots. The way they position themselves for the camera is incredibly different. 

Looking back on the film, it's also interesting how much Perkins emphasizes the aftermath of grisly chaos rather than explicitly showing it on-screen. This isn't uniformly true for the entire film, of course. We see rotting bodies, decapitated cow heads, one guy getting his head blown off, and one truly vicious set piece revolving around graphic bodily harm. However, viewers often learn about the aftermath of grisly slayings and suicides, hear brutal actions happening off-screen, or see everything leading up to a killing but the killing itself. It's a fascinating detail that's easy to lose track of (I certainly did until I sat down to write this review!), but one that initially puts you right in the headspace of Harker. Primarily, we are hearing second-hand information about unspeakable violence rather than witnessing it. This echoes how Harker is learning information about Longlegs killings from decades earlier. We're often on the same level as her when it comes to the carnage.

Plus, leaving things to the imagination really is so much more effective. Take an eerie sequence where the image of a slayed family is played against audio of that family's father making a 911 call just before he kills his loved ones. We never see blood splatter on the walls, but we hear their misery as the audience's eyes gaze on a photo of the family in happier times. Utilizing ambiguity and juxtaposition in this manner gives Longlegs truly distinctive scary sequences all of its own. This scene also epitomizes the feature's terrific and welcome emphasis on the imperfections of technology. The crackling of vintage phone calls is emphasized in the sound design, a small detail reinforcing the limitations of mid-1990s communications devices. However, there's something just innately unnerving about having that noise blaring through movie theater speakers. Similarly, washed-out colors in vintage Polaroid photographs accentuate the grisliness those images captured. 

Longlegs is a visual tour de force and the latest Osgood Perkins also flourishes as a showcase for deeply talented actors. Modern horror icon Maika Monroe makes for a terrific anchor as Harker, while Alicia Witt's supporting performance as Harker's mother just gets more and more captivating as the movie goes on. As for Nicolas Cage as Longlegs, I was mesmerized at how distinctly Cage-ian this performance is while also being utterly terrifying. Cage indulges in the big line deliveries (including extended singing!) he's so refined into an artform after decades of performing. Yet the sparse sound design & score, not to mention the idiosyncratic cinematography, reinforce the unsettling qualities of his acting. Cage's star persona is a launchpad into something totally original rather than a trait that overwhelms the figure's intimidating nature. 

Granted, his big swings, much like Longlegs as an entire movie, won't be for everyone. As for me, I couldn't get enough. I was clenching my fists in anxiety the entire time! Right from that snowy start, Longlegs weaves a captivating tale of inescapable darkness.

MaXXXine Never Emerges From Shadows of the Past

Writer/Director Ti West’s MaXXXine is the end of a horror movie trilogy established by X and Pearl. However, what immediately stands out about this production is how it starts. MaXXXine’s first 25-ish minutes consist of seemingly standalone sequences that each would work fine as a cold open prologue. Protagonist Maxine Minx (Mia Goth) going out to an audition. A sequence where the camera glides through a peep show Minx is working in. An adolescent Minx getting her performances coached by her off-screen father in monochromatic home video footage. Individually, each of these scenes would work fine as a “special shoot” teaser trailer. Strung together, there’s no rhythm between these scenes. MaXXXine keeps starting, stopping, and then starting again without enough juicy campy entertainment to compensate for the wonky structure.

This strangely disjointed kick-off leads into a story following Minx, after the grisly events of X, trying to make it big as an actress in Hollywood. It seems like she’s finally got a big horror movie role that could launch her to stardom beyond the porno world, especially since director Elizabeth Bender (Elizabeth Debicki) has taken a shine to her. However, Minx’s work associates and friends keep getting brutally murdered. A slasher villain is targeting Minx…and could it all be connected to how she slayed her way to survival in X? The glitz of Hollywood is about to collide with the harsh realities Minx has tried to escape her entire life.

Once the endless series of prologues are finished, the greatest takeaway MaXXXine instills is an unfortunate sense of “playing the hits”. With Pearl turning into the source of several famous memes, MaXXXine is now all too happy to deliver elements evoking that film and X. Minx’s biggest freak out sequences are an attempt to make the next “I’m a star!” happen. Characters keep delivering lengthy monologues in the vein of Pearl’s big single-take speech from Pearl. Those elements registered as entertainingly surprising in Pearl. Trying to recreate that magic in the bottle just deprives MaXXXine of its own unique energy. Opting to function as a 1980s horror pastiche further dilutes the idiosyncrasies of West’s latest creation. This era’s spooky material has been mined so much in the last decade. MaXXXine doesn’t score lots of exciting thrills with its approach to that epoch of horror cinema.

Despite these grave shortcomings, MaXXXine largely registers as a pleasantly entertaining diversion, especially whenever West gets his freak on. A big gnarly set piece where Maxine gets revenge on a would-be mugger is delightfully extreme. Practical effects work on the vicious kills are well-executed. A late dark gag involving a supporting character wandering around with a weapon lodged into one of her eyes makes for a memorable visual. Similarly, Kevin Bacon’s wildly stylized performance as a Southern-fried Private Eye is a hoot. His flowery line deliveries and cavalier attitude towards the carnage around him are qualities just bursting with personality.

Unfortunately, MaXXXine doesn’t quite provide enough slasher or giallo fun to evade the sense that something is missing. This motion picture is ultimately too straightforward an exercise to be chaotically frightening or great camp cinema. Most disappointingly, I wish MaXXXine had anything to say about sex work or even just West’s own relationship to pornography. Despite being the rare American film anchored by a sex worker protagonist, MaXXXine still uses, like so many movies, folks in this field largely as fodder for corpses. Cops get more screentime and backstory than other sex workers Maxine hangs out with. On-screen depictions of sexuality, meanwhile, don’t register with specificity. Why is a movie with XXX in its title so aloof from sexuality?

MaXXXine isn’t a terrible movie. It is, however, a prime example of a film where nothing on-screen is ever quite good enough to distract from the potential left on the table. Plus, Ti West insists on reminding viewers of superior productions like Pearl and countless 80s horror classics. The past isn’t done with Maxine Minx. Unfortunately, a too cozy relationship with the past hurts MaXXXine as a whole movie!

A Quiet Place: Day One Surprises With a Solid Story and Good Lead Performances

One of the most ominous things in the trailer for A Quiet Place: Day One was the promise that the movie would reveal "how our world went quiet." If there's anything this franchise doesn't need, it's belabored explanations for why those sound-sensitive aliens came to Earth. That kind of lore is good for Wikis, not movies. Thankfully, Day One as an actual motion picture is not interested in such explanations. Instead, writer/director Michael Sarnoski has delivered a new Quiet Place saga that keeps the frights of the previous two films intact. Meanwhile, the more intimate parts of the piece are shockingly reminiscent of Sarnoski's 2021 indie classic Pig. Unlike Michel Gondry dojng The Green Hornet or Ben Wheatley on Meg 2: The Trench, Sarnoski kept his creative spirit intact through the franchise filmmaking meat-grinder.

Day One begins in New York City, with protagonist Sam (Lupita Nyong'o) living in hospice care. With a severe form of cancer running through her veins, Sam doesn't have long to live. This fate has led her to become understandably surly with others save for her cat Frodo. While traveling into the city with other hospice patients, a seemingly routine day turns into a nightmare as those Quiet Place aliens descend from the heavens. Immediately turning New York City into a shell of itself, most people in the city begin to head towards evacuation boats. Sam, however, is determined to get a slice of pizza at Patsy's in Harlem. On her journey across the city, Sam encounters Eric (Joseph Quinn), a law student overwhelmed with everything happening around them.

The first two Quiet Places were about survival at all costs. These were horror films about the classical nuclear family attempting to endure the apocalypse. A Quiet Place: Day One nicely differentiates itself from its predecessor by opting for a story recognizing how life is finite. What do you want to do with your limited existence? What do you want to consider important in your life? "We don't get a lot of things to care about," as a previous Sarnoski protagonist once proclaimed. What you do care about, then, should matter. Filtering the story through that lens works on multiple layers. It gives Day One a distinct identity and lends Sarnoski familiar thematic terrain he can deftly handle.

That intimate gaze is something Lupite Nyong'o and Joseph Quinn handle quite nicely. Neither performer delivers work suggesting they're phoning this material in because this is summertime franchise fare. The dramatic material clicks into place partially because of their commitment and believability. Nyong'o especially is such a fascinating presence on screen. There's always been something so instantly meaningful and layered about her facial expressions. Like the great silent movie performers, Nyong'o has consistently demonstrated a gift for communicating so much with just a look or a tilt of the head. What better place to use that skill than in a Quiet Place installment?

Thanks to competent writing from Sarnoski and two solid leads, A Quite Place: Day One is perfectly fine summertime entertainment. It's the kind of movie that registers as perfectly pleasant Friday night fare, with the biggest thing holding it back from greater heights being the more generic scare sequences. Sarnoski leans heavily on jump-scares when it's time for frights in lengthy set pieces that don't add new visual or conceptual flourishes to what's been previously established in the Quiet Place saga. To be sure, some fun chase scenes abound, especially one involving the main duo trying to get past an alien in the sewer. However, the frights don't receive nearly as much personality as the character beats.

Still, Day One functioning as a reasonable extension of the Quiet Place universe is quite surprising (pleasantly so!) considering how the very idea of sequels in this franchise initially sounded like a doomed prospect. Sometimes, it's the simple things that keep your prequel afloat, like emphasizing a cute kitty or taking cues from a movie as good as Pig. Eschewing simple origin stories for the aliens also helps! 

Ultraman: Rising and Brats Capsule Reviews

Credit where credit is due, Ultraman: Rising looks terrific in terms of its animation. The new take on the Japanese superhero Ultraman comes to life under the watch of directors Shannon Tindle and John Aoshima through animation building on the heightened visuals popularized by titles like Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. The Industrial Light & Magic crew (doing their only third fully-animated film following Rango and Strange Magic) deliver fantastic work providing stylized touches to Ultraman's various skirmishes with big monsters and other adversaries. Fire and smoke are realized in a style evoking hand-drawn animation. Brightly-colored impressionistic backgrounds surround the lead characters to accentuate powerful emotions. Even just the movements of Ultraman are enjoyably dynamic and angular. Just this massive superhero's body language is a lot of fun to watch!

Unfortunately, Ultraman: Rising's glorious animation touches are undercut by the screenplay by Tindle and Marc Haimes. Rather than function as a streamlined action-oriented tale propelled by visuals, Rising is a way too crowded narrative that crumbles under the weight of too many subplots. The story of Kenj Sato/Ultraman (Christopher Sean) caring for the newborn offspring of a kaiju foe is enough to sustain a motion picture. The proceedings eventually dovetail into Sato reconciling his complicated daddy issues. Then there's Sato's exploits as a baseball player. Eventually, even the Ultraman persona becomes an afterthought in the movie!

The busy plot especially becomes a blur in the second half where key character beats (like Sato learning to be more of a team player in baseball) breeze past in the blink of an eye. Tindle and Haimes also take an unfortunate page from modern animated movies like The LEGO Ninjago Movie in thinking endless dramatic monologues will make your kid's feature as emotionally resonant as Up. Given its striking images, one would hope Ultraman: Rising would have more confidence in visual storytelling. Alas, Ultraman: Rising is far too much in love with characters like reporter Ami Wakita (Julia Harriman) flat-out explaining obvious character defects in Sato. A little more simplicity and a lot less sweaty screenwriting would've served the gorgeous-looking Ultraman: Rising well.

Death Comes in the Form of a Memorable Parrot in the Audacious Tuesday

Death takes many forms, both in real life and cinema. In the latter case, the most famous versions of death come in an ominous man in a cloak, popularized by titles like The Seventh Seal and various adaptations of A Christmas Carol. That's not the only way death can show up in movies, of course. Puss in Boots: The Last Wish delivered a great family film villain with a genuinely eerie wolf version of Death. How could anyone forget about Helen Mirren's possible portrayal of the actual personification of death in Collateral Beauty? Tuesday, the feature film directorial debut of writer/director Daina O. Pusić, makes history with its depiction of death, though. By manifesting this concept through a gigantic talking parrot, this is the first personification of death I wanted pet on the head.

Death (voiced by Arinzé Kene) deals with endless misery in his work. His job of ending people's life brings him face-to-face with all kinds of humans and animals, many of them not ready to die. But he's never met anyone quite like Tuesday (Lola Petticrew). This teenager, living with a terminal medical condition restricting her movement and breathing, greets Death not with fear but a joke. She then proceeds to offer this critter kindness by washing off some glue stuck to his feet. While Tuesday is helping Death, her mother, Zora (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) is struggling to cope with her daughter's condition. Zora would rather not talk about what's plaguing her only child, the person her entire world revolves around. That personal anguish will need to be confronted, though, Death has literally come for Tuesday, as it comes for all of us. Nothing can stop this parrot from doing his job...not even a mother's love.

If the premise of Tuesday already sounds like an odd creation, just wait until you see the strange corners the plot travels to in its second act. Those familiar with a certain Treehouse of Horror XIV segment will instantly get slight deja vu with where the plot goes! Pusić at once makes Tuesday a fairy tale, farce, tragedy, and even some occasional trappings of a horror film. Spanning so much territory at once results in an inevitably disjointed movie. However, that jagged narrative approach feels somewhat appropriate given the subject matter. Coping with death is never a linear process devoid of messiness. Why should movies concerning the topic be cohesive? Even the grim Seventh Seal made room for Death to whip out a cartoonishly large saw straight out of a Looney Tunes cartoon to secure one of his victims!

It doesn't hurt that Tuesday frequently wrings moments of effective pathos out of bizarre detours. This lends an emotional consistency to the piece even when the tone or unexpectedly offbeat plot turns upend the movie. Pusić and performer Petticrew prove especially skilled at crafting moving moments of intimate bonding between Tuesday and Death. Back in the 1980s, Bob Hoskins nearly lost his mind working against an invisible co-star on the set of Who Framed Roger Rabbit. That infamous yarns, not to mention countless modern anecdotes of actors working off tennis balls on green-screen sets, are cautionary tales about performing off co-stars who won't exist until post-production. Hoskins delivered an excellent performance even under those conditions. So does Petticrew in Tuesday.

The key to Petticrew's believable rapport against this CG parrot and Pusić's direction of their scenes is commitment. There are no sly self-referential lines to wink at the audience about how "weird" this scenario is. Instead, Petticrew instantly commits themselves to portraying a teenage girl exuding kindness to a wounded stranger. It's often easy to forget that Tuesday is interacting with a fully digital co-star. Meanwhile, Pusić's approach to realizing Death plays a big factor in making these sequences work. Death is not a deeply anthropomorphized creation. He's a parrot that can shift his size at will, but he doesn't have fingers, clothes, or even a radically cartoony face to allow for more human expressions. Juxtaposing that realistic approach with the increasingly warm dynamic between Tuesday and Death proves mighty affecting. Little bursts of humanity from Death like his line "I love sarcasm" are shockingly moving because of these character design choices. 

As the plot of Tuesday gets more complicated once Zora discovers the existence of Death, Pusić's script gets a little lost in the woods while her filmmaking sensibilities are challenged by the confines of her budget. It's especially disappointing that there's a 20-ish minute stretch of Tuesday where the titular lead character is largely a disposable character. Tuesday was such an engaging protagonist that it's a shame when she's not at the center of the narrative. This stretch of the story also reinforces the unfortunately disappointing creative tendencies of composer Anna Meredith's score. Meredith is a deeply talented musician, but here, her compositions often hammer home the underlying emotions of key images or plot turns too heavily. Tuesday's more unusual developments and visuals need breathing room and ambiguity. The more ham-fisted musical choices in Meredith's score often deprive those elements of such vital qualities.

Despite being a movie involving a fully CG co-star, Tuesday works best when things get sparse. When the movie is just Tuesday and Death talking, the script really sings. That's an aesthetic Julia Louis-Dreyfus also thrives in. When portraying Zora lying on the couch with Tuesday, this performer is downright masterful in depicting the simultaneous affection and avoidance at play. There's genuine bonding here, Louis-Dreyfus never leaves the audience doubting her love for Tuesday. Even so, Zora quietly ignores her daughter's inquiries while they sit on this faulty couch. The nuances of that mother/daughter dynamic, where love and more complicated emotions can co-exist, are hard to realize. Louis-Dreyfus executes those intricacies with aplomb. Best of all, unlike other comic performers going dramatic like Steve Carell in Beautiful Boy, Louis-Dreyfus understands the importance of subtlety in selling a darker performance. The most emotionally devastating details of her work as Zora are worlds away from her gifted comedic turns in other projects.

Tuesday is a bumpy ride of a movie, mostly held by more rudimentary filming choices from Pusić and cinematography Alexis Zabé. The confines of shooting a VFX-heavy film like this one on a tight budget, not to mention the restrictions of filming around a digital parrot co-star, mean the shot choices in Tuesday are often not quite as imaginative as the script. However, it's also a deeply original production rich with inspired narrative risks and moving contemplations of coping with death. A cross between A Monster Calls, the third act of Terms of Endearment, and a Treehouse of Horror XIV segment, Tuesday is an audacious directorial debut worth commending. Plus, it's got the cuddliest depiction of Death I've ever seen in a movie. That counts for a lot!