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The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025)

Matt Shakman | 1hr 55min

Leading up to its release, The Fantastic Four: First Steps seemed to have all the right ingredients for a standout instalment in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, poised to defy the iconic superhero team’s history of poor movie adaptations. WandaVision and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia have previously benefited from Matt Shakman’s direction, and even the marketing heralded a rare Marvel film with its own unique aesthetic, blending retro-futurism with mid-century modern production design. For the first act too, we’re given exactly what we were promised – a cosy family dynamic à la The Jetsons, set in an eternally optimistic, never-ending Space Age held together by these noble astronauts.

It is once the threat of the planet-devouring Galactus emerges that The Fantastic Four falters, shedding its kitschy 60s fashion and Kubrickian interiors for overblown digital effects rendered with far less imagination. Either Shakman suddenly forgot how to use colour at this point, or he was too distracted by the apocalyptic scale to carry through his commendable style, but either way there’s little which gives these climactic stakes any visual character. For what is effectively one of the most powerful beings in the Marvel multiverse, Galactus is disappointingly dull, only vaguely becoming a figure of interest when he carelessly treads through New York City like some cosmic kaiju. Even when Shakman does return to his inspired production design, it feels wasted, relegated to the background of conversations and denied any thoughtful framing.

This is a film which works best when its central cast is simply allowed to relax in each other’s company, letting Mr. Fantastic and Sue Storm work through their new roles as parents, while Johnny Storm and the Thing fill in as uncles to the newborn Franklin. Besides the insufferably forced running gag around one character’s cheesy catchphrase, their collective chemistry is organic, especially capturing the joys and concerns of raising a child in Pedro Pascal and Vanessa Kirby’s performances. With each core member of the team representing the four classical elements, they are firmly rooted in archetypes that shape and balance their relationships, yet are also given room to evolve beyond them.

Family is about having something bigger than yourself, we are told, though it’s hard not to wish their story engaged more closely with the moral dilemma which forces them to choose between their baby and the world at large. That it takes little agonising to decide which direction to take is fine, though even the social consequences are relatively muted in this utopia which elevates them to an almost unquestionable, godlike status. Their ability to unite every single nation against an alien threat is effortless, and as such, the story never truly tests our heroes beyond the superficial strength of their willpower. Shakman’s vision of the The Fantastic Four may gesture towards greatness, but it ultimately retreats into hollow grandeur, leaving behind a world rich in style and depth for a simulation that never dares to challenge its own ideals.

The Fantastic Four: First Steps is currently playing in theatres.

Emilia Pérez (2024)

Jacques Audiard | 2hr 10min

In some bizarre, self-aware manner, there is an internal logic to the campy sensationalism of Emilia Pérez. Jacques Audiard is unabashedly committed to his ludicrous premise – a ruthless cartel kingpin hires a lawyer to help procure gender-affirming surgery, fake their death, and establish a new life as a woman. It’s the kind of pulpy melodrama one might find in a telenovela, or a Pedro Almodóvar film that revels in its flamboyant queerness. Perhaps the Spanish auteur might have even had the tact to smooth over its wild swings between romance and crime thriller genres, or to polish its tackier elements. Jacques Audiard is certainly no hack, and there is some merit in his outlandish ambition, yet in his hands the tonal misfires present keep this film from ever settling on a coherent direction.

Among Emilia Pérez’s greatest inconsistencies are its musical numbers, vibrantly fusing Latin, pop, and hip-hop styles. At their best, Audiard’s choreography intensifies Rita’s moral conflicts working in law, turning strangers on the street into backup dancers and singers who accompany her internal monologue in ‘El alegato’. There is a music video-like quality to these sequences, featuring high-contrast lighting and dynamic camerawork which match the characters’ heightened emotional realities, while acknowledging darker social issues at play. Mexico’s epidemic of disappearances in particular drives the tension behind the ensemble number ‘Para’, and in the show-stopping ‘El Mal’, Rita’s attack upon wealthy charity benefactors who secretly collude with cartels delivers a sharp, uncomfortable edge.

The foul taste left behind by the outright abysmal musical numbers is harder to reckon with. Pitchy ensemble singers aren’t helped by the jarring placement of songs right in the middle of regular conversations, and awkward lyrics give us clunky gems like “If he’s a wolf, she’ll be a wolf / If he’s the wolf, you’ll be his sheep.” That the low point arrives with the song ‘La Vaginoplastia’ should be no surprise to those who witnessed its ascension to viral scorn, and rightly so. Where most musical numbers serve some sort of emotional expression, it is tough to identify what exactly this is trying to communicate besides the details of gender-affirming surgery. Even this attempt is so inane though that the lyrics might as well be written by school students, skimming through a textbook and listing off whatever terms might suggest they have any idea of what they are talking about.

At the very least, Audiard’s writing of Emilia herself does not flatten her entirely into a one-dimensional transgender cliché, but neither is she a terribly consistent character. The regret she carries from her past as a gangster continues to haunt her, motivating her to start a non-profit which identifies and returns bodies of cartel victims to their families. It is a strange attempt at absolving her of guilt, and one that fizzles out after she begins a relationship with a client. The narrative thread that goes down the path of kidnapping, ransom, and a shootout takes her story in a far more tantalising direction, playing each beat with both total sincerity and thrilling sensationalism. If nothing else, Emilia Pérez swings hard for its camp, gaudy melodrama, and there is something worth admiring in that audaciousness – even if it never quite escapes the awkward inelegance of Audiard’s constant formal blunders.

Emilia Pérez is coming soon to Netflix.

Megalopolis (2024)

Francis Ford Coppola | 2hr 18min

On the rare occasion that a film is accurately described as one-of-a-kind, the world is usually gifted with a 2001: A Space Odyssey, Eraserhead, or Persona, pushing the boundaries of cinema pushed to new frontiers. Now in 2024, Francis Ford Coppola also accomplishes something quite unique in Megalopolis, though only to the extent that a chef who throws one hundred arbitrary ingredients into a dish might claim it to be truly original. There are drafts of compelling ideas floating around here, but when it comes to developing any into a coherent storyline or motif, this bewildering, regal mess is hindered by its own fanciful digressions.

On Megalopolis’ most conceptual level, its fusion of Ancient Rome and modern America into the setting of an epic Shakespearean fable is promising, and it is no wonder that Coppola held onto it for so many decades as a passion project. This anachronistic dystopia is so chaotically debauched, one might almost believe that Federico Fellini’s spirit has possessed him with demented visions of Roman fashion shows, chariot races, and spectacular circuses, paving the way for another Satyricon. The cityscape glows a golden luminescence that delivers some astoundingly surreal sequences atop towering clockface platforms, and abstractly considers the state of urban decay through living, monolithic statues physically bearing its brunt.

Even the notion that architect Cesar Catilina possesses the ability to freeze time is set up as a fascinating metaphor for all-encompassing power, though like every other conceit that passes through Megalopolis, Coppola is quick to discard it for whatever comes next. From a sex scandal, to a cataclysmic disaster, to an assassination attempt, there is barely a set piece here that carries weight beyond the moment it unfolds, often disappearing as quickly as it emerged. The visual style is also brimming with inconsistent flourishes of split screen montages, canted angles, and spinning camerawork, but these too give the impression of rambling experimentations more than a specific, coherent vision. As for the much-promoted ‘live fourth wall break’, Coppola delivers little more than an empty gimmick, facing a movie theatre employee towards the screen for half a minute while pre-recorded dialogue gives the unconvincing illusion that they are speaking to Cesar himself.

The deeper into Megalopolis one gets, the more it becomes apparent that Coppola simply can’t figure out the right rhetoric to express the ideas he has harboured for so long. “Only two things are difficult to stare at for long: the sun and your own soul,” his characters ponder, reaching for philosophical insight via awkward soundbites that lose meaning the more one thinks about them.

It doesn’t help either that the impressive gravitas Coppola occasionally manages to summon up is drastically offset by his campy attempts at humour. Given the talent present in this cast, it is hard to believe that Adam Driver, Giancarlo Esposito, and Jon Voight all happen to be botching line deliveries of their own accord, and so we must look to the director here as the guilty party. The death of a key player in the final act is especially diminished by this tonal jumble, robbing them of the send-off they have earned in its power struggle.

For the first time in Coppola’s career, we can’t fully blame his failures on not having the resources on hand or studio compromise. Megalopolis is inimitably the work of a filmmaker whose interests have always lied in the mad ego of man, though the precision and focus that he once poured into The Godfather and Apocalypse Now is completely absent here. In its place, we get a dazzling glimpse into the mind of an artist freed from commercial constraints and cinematic convention, yet tangled in his inability to carry a single line of thought through to completion.

Megalopolis is currently playing in cinemas.

Deadpool & Wolverine (2024)

Shawn Levy | 2hr 7min

It was only a matter of time before Deadpool’s gimmick of irreverent, self-referential superhero gags would grow thin. For his greatest critics, it happened back in 2016, though at least that first movie injected a fresh burst of cynicism into the genre. The 2018 sequel shook up the stakes with a mission to save a young boy from a villainous future, and hilariously satirised superhero team ups. The greatest development that Deadpool & Wolverine has to offer is a surprisingly sincere examination of Logan’s legacy after Hugh Jackman’s ‘retirement’ of the character, but as a matter of coherent storytelling, this movie jumps between half-baked ideas with all the awkwardness of Marvel’s disjointed multiverse.

In fact, it is this attempt to tread the line between paying homage to Fox-owned Marvel properties and bringing Deadpool into the Marvel Cinematic Universe which keeps Deadpool & Wolverine from focusing its narrative. Its countless cameos may service the franchise’s most loyal fans, but most bear such little impact that they could easily be swapped out for any other retired Marvel character, with only a single exception bearing sizeable weight on Wolverine’s arc. This interaction produces one of the film’s most touching scenes, honouring the character that Jackman has spent over two decades exploring. Even in his repartee with Ryan Reynolds, the two actors hit on a buddy comedy dynamic that carries us through an array of contrived plot beats.

Still, their star-fuelled charisma can only take Deadpool & Wolverine so far. By the time we get to a second hand-to-hand fight between our titular antiheroes, we are left to wonder where the stakes are in a duel where neither superpowered combatant can be properly wounded. Of course, the easy answer to this is that the film cares more about cheap wisecracks and shocking audiences that ‘they went there’ than building a solid story – not that this possesses the subversive edge of The Boys, The Suicide Squad, or even previous Deadpool movies.

In the grand scheme of superhero movies, Deadpool & Wolverine is far too caught up in its throwaway nods to Marvel’s history to escape its own fourth-wall breaking criticisms of the genre, whether those be needless paragraphs of exposition or stale clichés. We only need to look at its development of Wolverine’s legacy to see how digging up old IP does not need to be a mindless, gratuitous exercise in moneymaking, and can enrichen long-established archetypes with fresh perspectives. Within the Marvel Cinematic Universe, this alternate Wolverine may be one of the most singularly effective uses of the multiverse conceit. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the rest of Deadpool & Wolverine’s overstuffed narrative.

Deadpool & Wolverine is now playing in cinemas.