Francis Ford Coppola’s conceptual fusion of Ancient Rome and modern America into an epic Shakespearean fable is promising in Megalopolis, though the precision and focus that once defined his storytelling is completely absent here, tangled up in its inability to carry a single line of thought through to completion.
The psychological horror of I Saw the TV Glow turns a discerning eye towards the false identities and duplicitous illusions thrust upon queer communities, as Jane Schoenbrun casts a surreal, Lynchian filter over the journey of two nostalgic outcasts searching for truth in their favourite childhood show.
The question of what exactly constitutes a fraud is meticulously woven throughout Steven Zaillian’s monochrome study of a New York con artist in Ripley, witnessing his unscrupulous attempts to ascend the social ladder by way of identity theft and murder, even as his own amoral corruption threatens to sink him into a dark, suffocating abyss.
Trap’s premise of a pop concert being one enormous setup to catch a serial killer is inherently absurd, but M. Night Shyamalan is nothing if not bold with his high-concept thriller, drawing an intriguing divide down the middle of one man’s dual identities as an affable father and a sadistic murderer.
The greatest development that Deadpool and Wolverine has to offer is a surprisingly sincere examination of Logan’s legacy, and yet it is far too caught up in Marvel’s IP to escape its own fourth wall breaking cynicism, jumping between half-baked ideas with all the awkwardness of its disjointed multiverse.
Ti West adeptly puts his own spin on the pulp, glamour, and splatter of 80s slasher movies in MaXXXine, satirically examining the cutthroat violence that underlies America’s celebrity culture, and ending his trilogic interrogation of the horror genre’s history with intoxicating, gaudy sensationalism.
Evil may take the form of a Satanic serial killer in Longlegs, but as Osgood Perkins leads us down an investigation of occult symbols, ciphers, and ritualistic murders, we must also confront the threat it poses to the sacred boundaries we draw around our own homes.
Whatever affection Kinds of Kindness promises to explore can only be considered ‘kindness’ on its most depraved level, yet it nevertheless becomes a common goal across its three surreal fables, as Yorgos Lanthimos’ characters wander an absurdist purgatory where dignity is commonly traded for the abusive love of employers, spouses, and religious leaders.
Those 1960s greasers who live fast and die young may be immortalised in The Bikeriders, yet theirs is also a subculture visibly seeping away, as Jeff Nichols examines the inner workings of one Chicago motorcycle club with equal parts sensitivity, scepticism, and swagger.
Dweeby college professor Gary relishes the challenge of posing as fake assassins for police sting operations in Hit Man, though beneath the darkly comic romance he strikes up with a client, Richard Linklater applies a macabre, psychoanalytic lens to false constructs of self-image and identity.
