No Other Choice follows Yoo Man-su (Lee Byung-hun, of recent Squid Game fame), a long time paper industry professional. After 25 years of loyalty, his company abruptly lays him off and casts him off into the world to fend for himself. As his homemaker wife Mi-ri (Son Ye-jin), teenage step son Si-one (Woo Seung Kim), and young neurodivergent cello prodigy daughter Ri-one (So Yul Choi) start to notice their carefully cultivated lives fray at the edges, Man-su realizes he’ll have to take his job hunt (*wink wink*) to the next level. With his Pulp Man of the Year award not doing the heavy lifting he had hoped it would, Man-su shifts from trying to out-class his competition, to trying to out-last them instead. Of course, what kind of man would he be if he didn’t try and hurry them along?

One of the first things you’ll notice on a craft level with No Other Choice is that Park Chan-wook considers every frame. Shots are grand and filled with vibrant color, and the camera has tremendous confidence in letting the perfectly choreographed scenes unfold. No Other Choice is consistently and beautifully shot.

Its leading man, Lee Byung-hun, also turns in a commendable performance as Yoo Man-su. He brilliantly captures the psyche of a man teetering on the edge, with just the right amount of darkly comedic flair sprinkled in. Tagging along with Man-su as he glimpses into the personal lives of his soon to be victims is a delightfully voyeuristic adventure and is immediately gripping.

Those peeks into lives beyond Man-su’s are where No Other Choice really finds its footing and begins to shine brightest. Those are the moments when the film first starts to peel back the curtain on its world, and offer a fresh perspective on what you’ve been watching. It’s the first time you truly get to see the full extent of the cognitive dissonance on display, as everyone – everyone, does what they “need to do” to survive. Whether that’s laying off their friends, stealing phones, seducing the neighbor, assassinating the competition, having an affair, drinking away their sorrows, or any other vice under the sun. And while it might be cleaner and more satisfying to simply blame this all on capitalism or any single economic system, the overwhelming variety of vice points to something much larger – that this is a fundamentally human experience. It’s a coping mechanism for survival that can lead even the best down a dark and winding path that just doesn’t make a whole lot of sense by the end. And it can do that because, people at least believe they have no other choice.

While No Other Choice is enamoring on both technical and thematic levels, it does lack some of the moment-to-moment bite that makes Park Chan-wook’s most well known films stand out. Make no mistake, this is no Oldboy (2003), The Handmaiden, or Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance. The buildup to No Other Choice’s crescendo is much more drawn out, and while all of the pieces fall into place by the end, there are several noticeable points in the second act where it starts to drag. It never approaches “unenjoyable”, but it doesn’t emotionally escalate like Park Chan-wook’s best works.

While No Other Choice might not have as much bite as the Vengeance Trilogy, it’s not fair to make a man do the same trick for the rest of his life… even if it’s a really good trick. That goes for directors as well as paper professionals. No Other Choice still delivers in spades when it comes to its characters, cinematography, and overarching themes, and is definitely worthy of inclusion in Park Chan-wook’s stellar filmography. So when you have a moment of peace in your life as you look out from the mountaintop, remember to take a deep breath and maybe give this one a watch, as you never know how long you’ll be up there or what you’ll have to do to make it back.

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Bugonia follows our two protagonists, Teddy (Jesse Plemons) and Don (Aidan Delbis), as they kidnap and torture Michelle Fuller (Emma Stone), a high-powered female CEO. They operate under the belief that Michelle is not just a cold and calculating corporate elite, but that she is actually an alien from Andromeda intent on destroying the Earth. Her and her brethren supposedly brainwash the masses, manipulate individuals through their baser instincts, and wage ecological warfare through honey bee colony collapse disorder (CCD). In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, Bugonia takes aim at the seemingly ever growing and prominent class divide in modern society. The twist, of course, is that those “elites” might really be from another world.

As you might imagine, two conspiracy obsessed recluses attempting to torture a “confession” from a corporate executive inevitably results in a tug-of-war, where each side attempts to present their case. This back and forth is where Bugonia predictably has the most to say. On one hand you have the elites, overworking and exploiting their historically obedient and dutiful worker bees, and on the other hand you have the abused working class, who realize something is wrong, but resort to the most farcical of conspiracies to explain their suffering. Regardless of who you sympathize with, when these two groups sit down at the proverbial and quite literal kitchen table, conversation grinds to a halt. One side sees the other as predestined losers and the other quite literally fails to see the humanity in their opposition. Instead of finding common ground, corporate jargon and hallucinatory ramblings fly back and forth. Progress stalls, the queen languishes, and the worker bees fall further into disillusionment. The colony teeters on collapse.

While the opening act does a commendable job of introducing us to our outlandish cast of characters, and the last third truly goes off the rails in the most delightful ways (including a gratifyingly poignant conclusion), the core of the film does wear on. Emma Stone and Jesse Plemons deliver the performances required for such a dialogue heavy film, but Lanthimos leans too much on repetition. Seemingly in an effort to retain some of the pure zaniness of the original South Korean outing, the film repeats jokes (usually with Don, to poor effect) to fill space while the second act takes its time to dryly move the narrative along. While a certain level of deadpan is expected in a Lanthimos production (and by certain level, I mean a tremendous amount), he fails to find the right cadence in Bugonia.

With Bugonia, Yorgos Lanthimos sets out to remake one of South Korea’s true dark comedy cult classics, Save the Green Planet!. On nearly every technical level, Lanthimos succeeds. And even beyond the craft, Bugonia delivers its message in a much more impactful and timely manner. It thoroughly explores the unending conflict between queens and worker bees, and doesn’t stop at simply noting that the social contract between the two has deteriorated. It casts aside the notion that the colony is failing for mysterious, unexplainable reasons, but instead asserts that no one has any realistic interest in saving the hive. While some second act pacing issues hold it back, and Don could probably use another re-write, Bugonia is another strong entry in Lanthimos’ rapidly growing catalogue.

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The following essay contains spoilers for The Wolf of Wall Street (2013), American Psycho (2000), and Fight Club (1999).

Martin Scorsese’s ​The Wolf of Wall Street​ showcases the story of real life stockbroker Jordan Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio). It illustrates his acquisition of wealth and the subsequent destruction of his empire, quickly followed by him dodging any substantial punishment. Released in 2013, ​The Wolf of Wall Street​ can be read as a direct response to the Great Recession beginning in 2007. With the help of a number of Scorsese’s filmmaking techniques, the film’s visuals directly appeal to the crowd hit hardest by the failing financial systems. Instead of responding to the destruction of Belfort’s life, audiences latch onto Belfort himself due to the spectacle inadvertently replacing the message.

As the film opens and Belfort describes how he,

“…gambles like a degenerate…”, “…drinks like a fish…”, and has “…three different federal agencies looking to indict [him]”,

Scorsese, The Wolf of Wall Street

the audience gets to watch a medium close-up of him doing cocaine off of an attractive woman’s butt. So while the film’s dialogue details a life teetering on the edge, the visual is much more engaging and desirable to a stereotypical male audience. Much like American prescription drug commercials, the potential horrors are audibly listed off while accompanied by eye candy.

Not only are the undesirable portions of Belfort’s life overshadowed, but the desirable pieces are paraded across the screen. When celebrating a week’s earnings, the office transforms into a dazzling house of debauchery. Marching band music plays, the band members march through the halls in their underwear, and then the servers and strippers follow close behind. Quick cuts between medium shots of two groups of strippers charging at each other fill the frame, with a strobe effect turning the whole scene into a dream. A close up of Belfort’s face appears near the end, as he pridefully watches over what he has created. Numerous scenes of this scale appear throughout The Wolf of Wall Street​ and they all end up distracting a sizable segment of viewers from the morally reprehensible nature of Belfort’s business and his looming demise.

The film presents all of this as easily accessible to the audience as well. According to the film Belfort’s only qualification is that he decides to move to Wall Street because of his love for money. He quickly finds himself working up the ladder as a stock broker and when that fails due to circumstances out of his control, he immediately pivots to penny stocks and experiences almost immediate success.

Finally, the film ends with Belfort proclaiming that for a,

“…brief fleeting moment, [he’d] forgotten [he] was rich”.

Scorsese, The Wolf of Wall Street

At this point the film notes that despite all of his crimes, all of those he hurt along the way, and even the destruction of his own personal life, he would not be paying a hefty legal price. It gives audience members the illusion they could experience the three hours worth of hedonistic depravity as well, at little cost. Further driving this point home, the real Jordan Belfort appears in a cameo in the final scene to introduce Leonardo DiCaprio’s character version of himself at a get-rich-quick seminar. Not only did Jordan Belfort dodge consequences for his actions, he now gets to appear in a Hollywood film directed by legendary director Martin Scorsese. In the final seconds of the film, the camera pans over the audience in a medium close-up at eye level, a metaphor for the real audiences’ aspirations to achieve Belfort’s supposed success.

Thomas Salek notes,

“…the film’s cultural reception demonstrates a public ambiguously mesmerized by a wealthy individual and his ‘get rich quick’ philosophy.” Following the Great Recession, “In a 2013 political poll, more than half of U.S. adults said they did not think the government and financial industry had done enough to prevent future financial crises”. Yet, “…they are hesitant to impose any form of regulation on financial markets”. ​

Thomas Salek

The Wolf of Wall Street​ released at a time when many Americans were economically struggling, but also refusing to punish the individuals who put them in that position, possibly out of the hope that one day it may be them on top. ​The Wolf of Wall Street​ showed the disillusioned audiences how that may be possible for them. In the United States where money is so tightly intertwined with power, the men who felt emasculated by the recession now had an outlet of escapism. ​The Wolf of Wall Street ​said by fighting their way out of poverty to reap the rewards of capitalism, men could regain their masculine identity and the rewards that accompany that (mainly women and power). Society will not simply hand out this identity, but instead it will only award it to those willing to struggle against their current socioeconomic condition.

Much like ​The Wolf of Wall Street​, Mary Harron’s ​American Psycho ​found itself released during tumultuous economic times. It reached theaters in the year 2000, with the dot-com bubble having recently burst. ​American Psycho​ follows investment banker Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale) as he strives to maintain an impeccable image for his yuppie colleagues, acquaintances, and fiancee. As the film progresses we watch as Bateman lures in and brutally murders numerous women. It concludes with Bateman being denied the condemnation he seeks by his peers, and the other characters merely continuing to focus on their own lives.

Similar to how ​The Wolf of Wall Street​ parodies the excessive lifestyle of Jordan Belfort yet the pure spectacle of it all still carries the audience away, ​American Psycho​ shows the monstrous side of Patrick Bateman but offers no in-universe condemnation of his character. Bateman’s closing monologue over an extreme close-up of his eyes states,

“My punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself”.

Mary Harron, American Psycho

This lack of a clear condemnation from other characters allows the excesses of his life to outshine the horrors for those already looking to ignore them.

As Peter Deakin points out,

“Bateman becomes so fragmented and de-individualized (in addition to being defined) by his insane consumerism and his hyper-yuppie vision that, composed entirely of ‘inauthentic’ commodity-related desires… he ​cannot​… exist as a person.”

Peter Deakin

This explains how the film itself, but not the characters within the film, does condemn Bateman. However, it also describes how his masculinity and monetary goals are interconnected. He sees every financial conquest as a means of increasing his desirability in a world he perceives to be constantly attempting to rip it away. ​American Psycho ​may mock this notion by showing how all of the yuppies mix up each other’s names due to a loss of individuality, but it is this same rampant materialism that allows Bateman to live in a fantastic apartment, make more money than he knows what to do with, sleep with beautiful women, and ultimately face no consequences for his actions. To the men directly hurt by the economic downturn of 2000, Bateman may come with a lot of baggage (the brutal killing of innocent women is no small thing), but he also represents a lost lifestyle that is waiting for reclamation. A lifestyle only available by fighting against the economic forces of the time.

So once again a film presents a conventionally despicable character and depicts his failings, yet the character’s lifestyle causes audiences to use his material possessions as a goal to guide their lives in troubled times (even though the film itself condemns this). For a country that sees,

“Achieving financial prosperity [as] tied to the American dream”,

Thomas Salek

characters that provide a blueprint for that are highly valuable since,

“…most Americans [now] contend that it is harder to become wealthy and there is little chance they will achieve financial prosperity”.

Thomas Salek

Counter to both ​The Wolf of Wall Street and American Psycho​, David Fincher’s ​Fight Club​ released just prior to the dot-com burst, during an economic peak. It depicts its disillusioned narrator (Edward Norton) and Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) as they form the titular Fight Club, a place for aimless men to let loose their growing aggression. Increasingly fed up with a materialistic world, the members set out on a number of vandalism related plots, ultimately culminating in the destruction of numerous buildings housing countless debt records.

Fight Club​ parodies brands and corporations, and men’s increasing tendency to use them to define their lives. Mark Ramey states,

“The film is a powerful critique of a superficial consumer culture and the moral vacuum created by consumers who buy into that superficiality.”

Mark Ramey

Fight Club claims a generation without a war or depression to fight has it too easy and becomes effeminate as a result. It goes on to say men on some level crave violence and to fight and feel pain, feel themselves, and feel masculine. These men must fight to form their individuality and in death they will have a name. Their struggle gives them identity.

Of course much like the preceding two films which either depict their characters’ fall from grace and/or condemn them for their actions, ​Fight Club​ denounces the outright anarchy it depicts for much of its runtime when it has the narrator shoot out the part of his brain responsible for projecting the image of Tyler Durden, thus killing his aimless cravings for anarchy. But by depicting a lifestyle free of needless consumerism prior to this point, ​Fight Club​ offers an explanation to the men who feel like their lives lack purpose when their economic conditions are just too good. ​Fight Club​ tells these men to reject their financial bounties and instead embrace the primal nature of their identities. Toss out the comforts of modern life to get in touch with who you really are and what you truly desire. Those who stand in the way of this progress fail as men and (in the film, quite literally) find themselves castrated. Although this time Hollywood is not telling men to fight to climb the socioeconomic ladder, it is still telling them to fight, just this time to tear it all down.

These films expect men to pursue materialistic goods, but once they have acquired them they have either lost their individuality or have been so thoroughly consumed by their drive they have lost true autonomy. Films then encourage these same men to rebel against the broken system to tear it all down. And then films once again encourage them to strive for greatness because, without anything you are nothing, not desirable nor a real man. Throughout the years this cycle of societal and Hollywood based expectations has endured. A man must always be fighting in one direction or another to maintain his virility. To give in to the system, no matter which end of the spectrum the system is currently leaning, is a loss of decision making, agency, and therefore masculinity as often portrayed by American cinema.

Works Cited

• Deakin, Peter. “‘I Simply Am Not There’: American Psycho, the Turn of the Millennium and the Yuppie as a Killer of the Real.” ​Film International,​ vol. 14, no. 3–4 [77–78], 2016, pp. 85–101. ​EBSCOhost​, doi:10.1386/fiin.14.3-4.85_1.
• Harron, Mary, director. ​American Psycho​. Lions Gate Films, 2000.
• Fincher, David, director. ​Fight Club​. 20th Century Fox, 1999.
• Ramey, Mark. ​Studying Fight Club​. Auteur, 2014. ​EBSCOhost​, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=e000tna&AN=828933&site=eds-live&scope=site.
• Salek, Thomas A. “Money Doesn’t Talk, It Swears: The Wolf of Wall Street as a Homology for America’s Ambivalent Attitude on Financial Excess.” ​Communication Quarterly​, vol. 66, no. 1, Jan. 2018, pp. 1–19. ​EBSCOhost​, doi:10.1080/01463373.2017.1323767.
• Scorsese, Martin, director. ​The Wolf of Wall Street.​ Paramount Pictures, 2013.

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The Hunt essentially opens with 12 strangers awakening in a field, all from different origins. They do not know why they are there or who may have captured them, but they quickly realize their captors do not plan to keep them alive for long.

As the next 1hr 55mins plays out, The Hunt attempts to satirize the growing political divide in America. Emphasis on “attempts.” It takes shots at both sides, but they so routinely come across as ham-fisted and clunky they elicit more moans than laughter. And in making so many surface level jokes about everyone, the film fails to make a statement. It essentially points a finger at the worst qualities of the worst people on either end of the spectrum, screams, “haha isn’t that stupid,” and then cuts to black.

Sure, it depicts far-right conservatives as prone to fantastical conspiracy theories and paints their liberal counterparts as those who are just as likely to ignore truths in order to construct their holier-than-thou positions, but it peters out after that. The Hunt simply does not say enough to justify itself. In fact, The Hunt falls victim to the same trap its characters do, it constantly thinks its smarter than it is.

About halfway through the film, there is a “twist” (I use that word lightly) that reveals The Hunt as a smidge smarter than I originally gave it credit for. However, it uses its twist to launch another surface level critique instead of saying something more profound. Every time it has the opportunity, The Hunt stops just short of producing something meaningful.

The Hunt unfortunately does not live up to the potential of its premise. If a studio decides to delay a film due to controversy, I would prefer the film to at least be controversial. Betty Gilpin’s terrific performance as Crystal fails to be truly memorable due to the films constant stumbling. A chuckle here or there cannot make up for the persistent eye-rolling The Hunt induces. Ultimately, The Hunt closer resembles a middle schooler’s idea of political satire rather than anything of value.

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Usually, studios provide theaters with roughly 90 days of exclusivity before releasing films through other means. With Universal Pictures now defying that norm, this could potentially lead to long term issues for theaters. Will moviegoers want to give up the convenience of their own home? After all, home theater set-ups have improved substantially and it seems harder and harder to find a venue with patrons not on their phones or talking to one another.

After a few months of social distancing, new habits will form. Once loyal theatergoers may begin to shun going out for the latest films and embrace a simpler and more personal experience. Home set-ups may never truly match the screen and sound quality of a decent theater, but how good is good enough? Is the pure spectacle of it all still a strong draw? Or are Universal’s actions another nail in the traditional theater system’s coffin?

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Jojo Rabbit follows one of Adolf Hitler’s biggest fans, Jojo. Jojo’s social awkwardness and general isolation (save for his second-best friend, Yorki, played by Archie Yates) lead to him adopting Hitler himself as his imaginary friend. However, Jojo’s blind nationalism finds itself challenged when he discovers a Jewish girl (Thomasin McKenzie) hiding away in his attic, who his mother Rosie (Scarlett Johansson) invited.

For such a bleak and dire setup, Waititi manages to make the comedy work. Often times political satire can get a little too on the nose to work, but all of the jokes hit the mark in Jojo Rabbit and none stand out as significant duds. Stephen Merchant shines as Captain Deertz, a member of the Gestapo. His pivotal scene was one of the funniest in the movie and included a hysterical deconstruction of formal Nazi introductions (à la “Heil Hitler”).

Scarlett Johansson received less screen time than one may expect based upon her Oscar nomination for the role, but she gave a heartwarming and endearing performance nonetheless. Archie Yates as Yorki was the obvious scene-stealer and got some of the biggest laughs out of the theater. His failing-upwards style and charming naivety played excellently alongside Jojo’s much more serious and focused innocence. At the emotional turning point of Jojo Rabbit, Roman Griffin Davis delivers the knockout punch of the film. Juxtaposed against the jauntiness of the preceding scenes, watching Jojo come to terms with the revelation about his core identity and worldview is incredibly powerful.

Jojo’s revelation leads to the core message of Jojo Rabbit: that the young and emotionally vulnerable are easily susceptible to indoctrination when looking for a place of belonging. Extremists can lead these groups down morally reprehensible paths without them questioning or realizing it. They do not see the bars of their own cage. Although, this can all change when forced to confront the object of their manufactured hatred. When Jojo meets Elsa, the years of propaganda slowly but surely lose their hold on him until the human connection prevails. Jojo Rabbit also acknowledges this approach may not work for the most ardent Nazi supporters and promptly showcases an alternative method.

Jojo Rabbit has heart and delivers a powerful message wrapped in a witty and humorous coating. Taika Waititi fuses an abhorrent tragedy with political satire (that has an admittedly modern bent), to great success. Jojo Rabbit may not make the most unique or crushing observations, but it makes them in a wholly unique way. Plus, with the growing polarization of contemporary politics, these messages bear repeating.

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Parasite follows the Kim family and their steady infestation of the Park household. One by one, each family member finds their niche in the mansion and begins to experience the lifestyle of the other half. Naturally, class-based tension begins to arise and ultimately comes to a head.

Even with subtitles (Korean dialogue), which sometimes take away from actors’ vocal performances for the foreign crowd (they absolutely do not here), the facial expressions and nuance on display alone make the incredible acting clear to see. Kang-ho Song as Kim Ki-taek and So-dam Park as Kim Ki-jung particularly stand out in this regard. All cast members bring their characters to life so flawlessly and naturally that they immediately immerse you in their world. This total immersion allows Bong Joon-ho to introduce narrative elements later on that would not have the same striking imagery or effect otherwise.

Bong Joon-ho beautifully frames the shots of Parasite throughout. One flash frame in particular proves to be truly mesmerizing, but to go into more detail would risk spoilers. An easy example of the aforementioned terrific cinematography comes in a scene depicting the Kim family descending back down below to their humble dwelling. Each shot sinking lower into the abyss adds to the scene’s sense of purpose and strengthens the already gripping narrative. Bong Joon-ho enchants the entirety of Parasite with this level of filmmaking, which makes every scene a pleasure to watch.

Perhaps most impressively, some of the largest emotional notes come from objects in frame that never get directly addressed. These little details flesh out Parasite’s world and make the Kim family’s situation even more lamentable.

Beyond its performances and technical beauty, Parasite offers commentary on the innate class divides found in society. As the Park family patriarch, Park Dong-ik, often says, the lesser know not to cross the line. However, with the destitute Kims now inhabiting the same space, they have shattered that barrier. The Parks recognize the value the Kims bring them and the Kims recognize the Parks have done nothing wrong. Yet, the Kims grow envious of the Parks’ possessions while the Parks look down upon the Kims’ sewage-esque stench. These tensions grow and bubble beneath the surface and illustrate even with two families existing in a symbiotic relationship, the very nature of their two worlds will drive them apart.

As the film goes on, even the title becomes less defined. Of course it refers to the Kims at the beginning, who infest the home like cockroaches, but by the end you cannot help but look at the Parks in a different light. After all, they have taken advantage of the Kims’ labor all this time while viewing the family as beneath themselves. The Park matriarch, Park Yeon-kyo, uses her husband for his money and connections while he in turn uses her for sex. The dynamics at play between and within the families have you questioning who the real parasite is, and who simply exists in a peaceful symbiotic state.

The conclusion of Parasite initially seems poised to be incredibly cliche, but again Bong Joon-ho impresses and delivers a final striking message on plans of upward mobility and the role of posing in society.

Director Bong Joon-ho delivers the must-see movie of 2019 with Parasite, a film that both startles and delights. Impeccable performances and cinematography, coupled with messages on class divides and their place in society hook you into the world of Parasite from the very beginning. By the end the scenery may be shockingly unrecognizable, but the film has made its point.

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The slow buildup of Daniel Lopatin’s score sets the scene for a film that refuses to slow down. Adam Sandler plays Howard Ratner, a jeweler always in search of the next great bet. Time after time, Howard goes in search of the hit only to fall flat on his face. His constant failures rip apart the remnants of his once cohesive family. Despite all of this, you cannot help but root for him; a testament to Sandler’s tremendous work.

Throughout the 2hr 14min runtime, Howard continuously falls down the pit of despair. You keep waiting for him to hit the bottom, only it never comes. Every time the film appears to be reaching its low point, ready to set up his triumphant return, the hole grows deeper. The Safdie Brothers expertly craft a sense of expanding anxiety, developing at an exponential rate. By the end of Howard’s journey you are angry, scared, excited, and ready to go one more time.

The sheer amount of chaos on screen in any instance might be Uncut Gem’s crowning achievement. NBA star Kevin Garnett screaming, a doctor on speakerphone delivering cancer screening results, a livid girlfriend, and the looting of a safe all live in the same moments. And only one of those threads may matter at a time. And some of them “do not matter” at all.

Again, the Safdie Brothers never let the audience rest. The film revels in its own mayhem. What does and does not matter never troubles Uncut Gems. It only aims to depict the true disorder of Howard’s life, and by extension the true entropy of the world. After all, as Howard points out, you can see the whole goddamn crazy universe in the stone.

As more and more time passes since first viewing Uncut Gems, the more the film shines. The Safdie Brothers give Adam Sandler the platform to deliver a career defining performance, and one of the best of 2019. By the end of Uncut Gems your first instinct is to finally breathe a sigh of relief, but after a few seconds pass… you cannot help but crave just one more bet.

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Perhaps most important to note, Daniel Craig gives one of his most lighthearted performances to date. From the moment he opens his mouth a deep southern accent and a hammed up performance strikes you in the best of ways. Craig visually has a blast as the leading man, and the same goes for most of his cast mates. Ana de Armas gives a strong performance as the female lead. At times the nature of her character holds back the range of her performance, but she delivers every beat the story requires. Other names include Chris Evans, Jamie Lee Curtis, and Christopher Plummer; who all do a wonderful job of turning the audience against them and their family throughout the 2h 10min runtime. The only two characters to level complaints against are the children of the family, Meg Thrombey (played by Katherine Langford) and Jacob Thrombey (played by Jaeden Martell). They (and especially Jacob) are a bit one-note throughout the film, mainly used as mouthpieces for a low hanging joke or two.

Anyone worried the whodunit genre ran out of ideas years ago fear not, Johnson still has some tricks up his sleeve for Knives Out. And thankfully only one of these flourishes will have your eyes rolling (you will know it when you hear it). Of course, it follows the standard setup: a crime is committed, the suspects gathered, and then the detective goes to work. However, Johnson alters the standard flow of information, forcing a change in mindset for all of the mystery solvers in the audience. While the finale will not blow any minds, with most people re-calibrating and coming to the correct conclusion, the shakeup provides a large enough change to the formula.

Most of the humor in Knives Out lands quite well. While confined in the house, the characters play off of each other like any bickering family, making their squabbles quite relatable. Perhaps too relatable are the more ham-fisted political jabs. Some of them definitely work, but of course some of them also stick out as preachy. What makes the less worthy material more bearable is the fact that none of these confrontations are entirely one sided. With jabs coming from either end of the spectrum, bad jokes fall aside as simply failed attempts, rather than coming across as purely political grandstanding.

Technically, Knives Out is competently shot. Nothing stands out as too amazing or detrimental. Johnson frames scenes well and the soundtrack works for it. Again, there is not too much to be said here but for the type of film Knives Out is, there does not necessarily need to be.

Overall, Knives Out delivers on all it sets out to do. It brings the whodunit back to theaters with a smart, entertaining, and funny tale (with just a dash of political commentary to boot). The cast clearly loved bringing their characters to life, and anyone watching Knives Out will see why. Find a good group and go see Knives Out to enjoy one of the best theater experiences of 2019.

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Following David from the moment he checks into the hotel, we watch him struggle to find a companion. Under normal circumstances this would elicit minor sympathy, but here if he cannot find a suitable partner in time the hotel will turn him into the titular lobster. All loners in this dystopian future face transformation if caught by the guests of the hotel.

Unfortunately, this intriguing world-building does not go anywhere. Besides showing a few animals who supposedly had prior lives, The Lobster shoos away its own backdrop to instead focus on the social commentary presented throughout the film.

The Lobster’s hotel serves as a stand-in for society’s pressure to find a romantic partner no matter the cost or compromise. The Limping Man must self-harm in order to date the Nosebleed Woman, and David becomes someone he’s not to involve himself with the Heartless Woman. With everyone so indebted to their “defining traits”, at least one person in every relationship is sacrificing due to them feeling as if their time to find another is running out. Societal pressures do not truly care if two people are compatible, and if you succumb to the coercion you sacrifice your own identity.

These themes coupled with Lanthimos’ excellent shot composition and framing seem poised to create a compelling final product, one to rival The Favourite (a favorite), but they get lost somewhere in the middle. The Lobster repeats the same idea of forced compromise over and over without any alterations. When Lanthimos goes for his trademarked abrupt and ambiguous ending, it comes across as oddly subdued. In place of an, “Oh my gosh I can’t believe he ended it there…brilliant!” was a, “Yeah okay…I guess he can end it there…seems kind of obvious though.” While thought provoking and open to different interpretations (perhaps revealing something about you and your own partner), it fails to make a new statement. If you chop off the final scene, The Lobster does not lose any of its messages, and regrettably not because it had an abundance to begin with.

The Lobster’s appeal after the first half hour or so quickly dissipates once Lanthimos refuses to expand on his world or theme. An engrossing dystopian backdrop and camera skill can only take a film so far, and this attempt feels underdeveloped and incomplete. After the first act The Lobster has said all it wants to say, and then just hangs around for a while. As the credits roll you can’t help but feel like a guest at the hotel, weary and uninterested.

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