Lynne Ramsay doesn’t make movies so much as she detonates them. Her films arrive fully formed, unruly, and emotionally ruinous, like an exposed nerve pulsing to the rhythm of grief and rage. Die My Love , her first film since 2017’s You Were Never Really Here , extends that legacy of discomfort, and in pairing Ramsay’s feral sensibilities with Jennifer Lawrence’s volcanic volatility, the result feels almost inevitable. There’s a sense, as the credits roll that these two artis

Dan Trachtenberg’s Predator: Badlands  opens with a shimmer of heat and the familiar rasp of alien breathing, an unmistakable callback to 1987’s Predator , when the creature was less a character than a specter. But this time, that shimmer doesn’t precede an ambush. It’s a rite of passage. The once-unseen hunter is now our hero, and what follows is the strangest mutation yet in a franchise built on violence, fear, and feral masculinity. Where Prey  found power in restraint, ns

David Michôd’s Christy  is a film that knows how to take a punch but not always how to throw one. It’s bruising, heartfelt, and at times formulaic, a story of triumph and trauma that can’t quite balance its fighter’s grit with the genre’s glossier instincts. What saves it, over and over again, is Sydney Sweeney. Her performance as Christy Martin, the first female boxer to become a household name in America, is commanding and raw, that she almost wills the film into transcende

It takes a certain kind of filmmaker to look at the crumbling state of humanity and think, “We could be doing this faster.” Yorgos Lanthimos, patron saint of cinematic misanthropy, would like to help. His new film Bugonia , a deranged black comedy about conspiracy, corporate rot, and the human urge to dominate, feels at once like his most accessible work and his most venomous. It’s the kind of movie that smiles sweetly while the world burns down in the background. Adapted (lo

In an era when nearly every popular anime is being refashioned for the big screen, Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc  could have easily felt like a victory lap, a chance to cash in on the roaring success of the 2022 TV series and give fans another fix of bloody catharsis. Instead, director Tatsuya Yoshihara and writer Hiroshi Seko deliver something far more confident and surprisingly tender: a bruised, romantic fever dream disguised as a gore-soaked blockbuster. It’s both a

At some point in If I Had Legs I’d Kick You , Rose Byrne’s Linda looks her therapist square in the eye and mutters, “I need to be alone.” It’s not a request, it’s a mantra. The line echoes through Mary Bronstein’s nerve-shredding, darkly comic descent into maternal madness, a film so claustrophobic and relentless it makes Uncut Gems  feel like a mindfulness retreat. To be a mother here is to be devoured by responsibility, abandoned by those who swore to help, and left to scre