Uneven pacing and plotting aside, The Running Man imperfectly thrives in Edgar Wright’s stylish, sardonic thrills, charting a fugitive’s desperate odyssey through a dystopian America where survival is broadcast for mass entertainment.
The pragmatic systems of our modern dating economy severely distort romantic expectations in Materialists, yet as one professional matchmaker learns through her choice between status and connection, it is only inevitable that they should crumble under the primal insistence of human nature.
Penguin Bloom’s bland adaptation of one paralysed athlete’s companionship with an injured magpie is far more a sentimental tribute than a cinematic portrait, edging towards inspiration through its overworked animal metaphor, yet never quite taking flight.
There is a radical passion to Paul Thomas Anderson’s storytelling in One Battle After Another which matches the unruly spirit of the characters themselves, hurtling revolutionary chaos and reactionary absurdity towards impact on a dizzying rollercoaster, and sending one washed-up activist on a desperate mission to save the only family he has left.
Within Early Spring’s delicately composed reflection of 1950s Japan, one office worker’s affair becomes a shattering disruption to the status quo, as Yasujirō Ozu’s melancholy meditation navigates the consequences of intimate betrayal and marital breakdown.
If all the world is a stage, then A Big Bold Beautiful Journey sensitively understands the roles we must play to uncover hidden truths, channelling Kogonada’s immense imagination through the romantic, metaphysical odyssey that two strangers undertake into each other’s memories.
What initially begins as a portrait of masculine rivalry in Eddington gradually reveals a study in reactionary control, capturing a microcosm of America’s tumultuous political landscape in one rural town, and cynically submitting to Ari Aster’s combustible, existential chaos.
When the patriarch of one affluent family is lost in Brothers and Sisters of the Toda Family, there is little left to hold its fragmented remains together, and Yasujirō Ozu exacts a cutting critique of those intimate bonds weakened by class privilege.
The Tokyo that Ryōsuke moves to in The Only Son is not the bustling city of opportunity he once dreamed of, but a desolate wasteland of factories and smokestacks, underscoring Yasujirō Ozu’s tale of parental expectations and disappointments with the social realities of Depression-era Japan.
The rule of law is little more than an arbitrary imposition of authority in Zero for Conduct, and it is up to the roguish schoolboys of one French boarding school to restore the natural order, as Jean Vigo playfully mounts a rising disenchantment towards anarchic revolution.
