There’s a particular voltage that runs through Timothée Chalamet’s best performances, a crackling mixture of boyish charm and near-messianic intensity that suggests a person convinced the world will bend to meet his momentum. Marty Supreme  is the rare film that doesn’t just harness that electricity, it interrogates the wiring. Josh Safdie’s latest, a deliriously overclocked tale of ambition and self-invention, hands Chalamet a character so steeped in his own mythos that you

Phoenix Critics Circle members proudly announce their winners of the best films of 2025. The winners were announced at the annual Awards Party with “One Battle After Another” having a big night with six award wins including Best Picture.   The nominees and winners…     Best Picture One Battle After Another - Winner Hamnet It Was Just an Accident Sentimental Value Sinners   Best Comedy Feature The Naked Gun - Winner The Ballad of Wallis Island Bugonia Friendship Rental Family

In the opening moments of Hamnet , director Chloé Zhao seems to reach for transcendence. The wind moves through wheat fields, sunlight burns gently over the horizon, and two lovers watch in silence, their connection forming before our eyes. It’s the kind of delicate, tactile imagery that Zhao excels at, the kind that feels alive with breath and dust and human ache. Yet as the film continues, it becomes clear that Hamnet , her adaptation of Maggie O’Farrell’s beloved novel, is

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