[Get the exclusive video version of these weekly reviews each Friday by becoming a paid subscriber on Patreon!]
My Film Critic pants are on, and I plan to put on my Film Critic shorts soon. I'm ready to review five new movies in this week's capsule (short) movie reviews for Friday, March 28th, 2025.
Every once in a while, a movie comes along that is so gloriously unhinged, so unapologetically ridiculous, and so sneakily smart that you just want to stand up and applaud. Death of a Unicorn is that movie.
It's a deranged mashup of high-concept horror, pitch-black comedy, family dysfunction, and razor-sharp social satire—hands down, one of the year's most entertaining films.
The premise is absurd: Paul Rudd plays Elliot Kintner, a well-meaning widowed dad en route to a crisis management summit with his teenage daughter Ridley (played by the unstoppable Jenna Ortega) when they accidentally hit and kill a unicorn. That's right. A unicorn. That they hit. With their car.
Already, I'm in.
But here's where it gets even better. The corpse of said mythical creature is taken back to a secluded mansion belonging to Elliot's obscenely wealthy boss, Odell Leopold (played to sinister perfection by Richard E. Grant), where it's discovered that the unicorn's body possesses magical, curative properties.
Naturally, the ultra-rich smell profit, and naturally, it all goes very, very wrong when the unicorn's parents show up. And these are not the sparkly Lisa Frank unicorns you remember from your Trapper Keeper. These unicorns are out for blood. Literally.
What starts as an oddball workplace comedy about a grieving dad trying to hold onto his job quickly turns into a siege movie, where people are trapped inside a lavish estate while bloodthirsty unicorns rip them to shreds. Yes, it's as insane as it sounds—and I loved every second of it.
The tone of this thing is tough to describe. It walks that tightrope between horror and satire with the balance of a high-wire Cirque du Soleil act. It's got splattery over-the-top gore worthy of a Sam Raimi movie, but it also has heart, genuine character arcs, and an actual story about grief, legacy, and class warfare.
It's Night of the Living Dead meets Succession meets My Little Pony on acid. And it works.
Let's talk about this cast.
Jenna Ortega is once again magnetic. She's got that brooding deadpan energy that's become her signature, but here there's more nuance. Her Ridley is carrying trauma, anger, and a guarded vulnerability that makes her instantly compelling. It's the kind of role she nails, and she's terrific.
Paul Rudd, as always, is rock-solid. He brings his usual charm and comic timing, but his performance also has absolute melancholy. His scenes with Ortega are surprisingly touching and grounded, which gives the film some much-needed emotional ballast when the unicorns start going full Revenge of the Mythical Creatures.
But let's be honest: the supporting cast steals the damn show.
Richard E. Grant is absolutely electric as the billionaire boss who sees dollar signs in a dead unicorn. He's smarmy, cold, calculating, and hilarious. Will Poulter, playing his smarmy, scheming son, is both detestable and hilarious—often in the same breath. He's like a human version of every guy you've ever wanted to punch at a tech startup party.
And then there's Anthony Carrigan. You know him as NoHo Hank from Barry, and he brings that same weird, magnetic energy here as the butler who, spoiler alert, becomes the unlikely action hero of the piece. His comedic timing is flawless, and every line delivery is a gift.
But the real surprise? Téa Leoni. She hasn't done a movie in over a decade, and wow, what a return. Playing the elegant, calculating matriarch of the Leopold family, she walks the fine line between icy detachment and unhinged mania.
In a movie filled with explosions, blood geysers, and unicorn vengeance, she somehow gives the most layered and hilarious performance. It's a masterclass in playing subtle comedy within absolute madness.
And the unicorns? Utterly insane. Credit to writer/director Alex Scharfman for crafting mythical creatures that are both majestic and nightmare-inducing. These things gore people with their horns, trample them with fury, and leave trails of glittery carnage in their wake. The special effects—both practical and CGI—are surprisingly great, with just the right mix of gore, absurdity, and straight-up horror.
But here's the thing: beneath the chaos and carnage, Death of a Unicorn has a real thematic bite. It's a savage satire about how the rich will commodify anything, even a creature of pure magic and innocence.
It skewers corporate greed, exploitation, and the ever-widening class divide with a bloody grin. The metaphor isn't subtle, but it doesn't need to be. This is satire with chainsaws, and I am here for it.
The script is tight, the pacing is fast, and the jokes land. It's funny. Really funny. And not just "quirky indie" funny—this is gut-busting, gasp-laughing, full-room-roaring, especially if you catch this with a crowd. Midnight movie? Absolutely. This is the kind of film that will become a cult classic in five years, guaranteed.
Bottom line: Death of a Unicorn is a blast. It's wickedly smart, gloriously violent, and packed with standout performances. It's not just one of the best horror comedies of the year; it's one of the best movies of the year.
A24 once again proves that they'll take a weird idea and turn it into something special. Do not miss this one. And remember: if you see a unicorn in the road… swerve. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
The Penguin Lessons is one of those movies that's perfectly pleasant, occasionally funny, a little bit confused, and completely stolen by a penguin.
Adapted from Tom Michell's 2016 memoir and directed by Peter Cattaneo—yes, the same Peter Cattaneo who directed The Full Monty back in the' 90s—this new comedy-drama takes a light, somewhat whimsical tone as it tells the true(ish) story of a British teacher who, in the mid-'70s, takes a job at a ritzy boys' school in Argentina, rescues an oil-slicked penguin from a beach in Uruguay, smuggles it across the border, and ends up forming a strange but heartwarming bond with the animal... all while political unrest and a military coup unfold in the background.
Yeah, it's that kind of movie—a penguin-in-the-classroom story set against the backdrop of one of the darkest chapters in Argentina's modern history.
On paper, it's a weird mix—and on screen, it kind of is, too. But that doesn't mean it's bad. It's just a little uneven.
Steve Coogan stars as Tom Michell, and as always, Coogan is reliably funny, a master of dry wit, and one of the few actors who can carry a whole movie by basically just reacting to things—whether it's a rebellious teen, an uptight headmaster, or a waddling bird in a tub.
Coogan and screenwriter Jeff Pope are frequent collaborators, and their chemistry shows. The dialogue is sharp in spots, droll in others, and occasionally touching. When the movie sticks to that tone, it mostly works.
The strongest scenes are the low-key comic ones: Tom trying to hide the penguin from the faculty or Juan Salvador (yes, that's the name given to the penguin) becoming a minor celebrity among the students.
There's some nice fish-out-of-water humor here, with Coogan's perpetually flustered teacher trying to fit in among wealthy Argentine families, elite private school politics, and a rugby team he's wildly unqualified to coach.
There are flashes of Dead Poets Society, a hint of Mr. Holland's Opus, and a good dose of "cute animal as life metaphor" throughout.
But then there's the other half of the movie—the part that wants to be about something deeper and darker. A subplot involving a kidnapping pulls the story away from its lighter roots. The film starts referencing the political violence of 1976 Argentina—"The Dirty War," the disappearances—and while that's undeniably important historical context, the way it's integrated here feels jarring.
It's as if the filmmakers didn't quite know how to balance the whimsy of penguin adoption with the real horrors of a collapsing democracy. And when the tone shifts into that serious territory, it falters. The tension feels manufactured, not earned, and the movie never quite recovers from the tonal whiplash.
Jonathan Pryce pops up as the headmaster of the school and, unsurprisingly, steals every scene he's in. He brings the right mix of pompous authority and comic timing, giving Coogan something fun to bounce off of.
The rest of the supporting cast is solid, with the students offering enough charm and individuality to avoid being cardboard cutouts. But really, it's the penguin that everyone's going to remember. Juan Salvador is ridiculously cute and—whether via real animal, animatronic, or a little CGI enhancement—completely believable as the soul of the film.
Cattaneo's direction is workmanlike. He knows how to shoot a wide-eyed penguin waddling for maximum charm, but some of the more dramatic beats feel a bit flat. That said, the period detail is strong. Set in 1976, the film does a solid job of capturing the era—from wardrobe to music to dusty school hallways that feel lived-in and authentic.
Ultimately, The Penguin Lessons is a mixed bag. It's got a great premise, a terrific lead performance from Coogan, and a winning animal co-star. It's an amiable film. It wants to be deeper than it is, and when it leans into that deeper, political subtext, it loses its footing.
But when it sticks to the charming absurdity of a British teacher bonding with a penguin in a foreign country during a time of unrest, it's oddly touching and occasionally hilarious.
It's not a great movie—but it's a good-natured one.
Familiar, yes. Slight, definitely. But the penguin is adorable, Coogan is funny, and for 110 minutes, it goes down pretty easily. Just don't expect the next Goodbye, Mr. Chips. Or March of the Penguins, for that matter.
The Penguin Lessons is a fine movie. Nothing more. Nothing less. But hey... it's got a penguin in it. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️
When you see a movie called A Working Man, and the star is Jason Statham, you know what you're in for.
And in the case of A Working Man, directed by David Ayer and co-written by Ayer and none other than Sylvester Stallone himself, what you're in for is 110+ minutes of Statham growling, punching, and murdering dozens of people while delivering the same gritted-teeth one-liners he's been dishing out for the past two decades.
You don't expect a subplot involving meth-dealing Russians in Joliet, a blind sidekick, and a villain who looks like Dom DeLuise. And yet… here we are.
Statham plays Levon Cade, a former Royal Marines commando now working construction in Chicago—because, of course, when you've been trained to kill for your country, the only logical next step is operating a jackhammer on a half-finished foundation.
He's trying to live a quiet life, fighting for custody of his daughter after the death of his wife and living out of his car like your typical blue-collar, working-class guy.
But wouldn't you know it? His boss's teenage daughter gets kidnapped by human traffickers, and that's all it takes to pull our reluctant hero back into the world of neck-snapping, bullet-spraying, and grenade-lobbing that he was trying so desperately to leave behind.
It's a plot stitched together from every late-night Cinemax action movie you've ever dozed off to. Corrupt government officials? Check. Eastern European drug lords? Check. A protagonist with a "particular set of skills"? Triple check.
Statham, who is now pushing 60, is moving in slow motion through the fight choreography. The fights themselves—typically the highlight of any Jason Statham vehicle—are sloppily shot, poorly edited, and staggeringly dull.
You can smell Stallone's fingerprints all over the script. From the working-class hero beats to the unnecessary buddy-special ops moments to the painful sentimentality surrounding fatherhood, the screenplay reads like a patchwork of every cliché Sly has been hammering out since Over the Top. And just like Over the Top, it's all completely ridiculous.
Michael Peña plays the boss whose daughter is kidnapped, and he does the best he can with a thankless role. Then, much-less-talented-perennial-John Goodman-understudy-David Harbour shows up as Statham's ex-special-ops buddy who is now blind (yes, blind), cracking wise with sunglasses on and shooting arrows for no reason.
And if you live in Chicago—as I do—you're in for a few extra laughs. This is supposed to be a gritty Windy City-set thriller, but the geography is so hilariously wrong it makes The Blues Brothers look like a documentary.
Apparently, according to this movie, there's a Russian-owned dive bar in Joliet called Hattie's, where you can buy meth by the kilo. If you've ever set foot in Joliet, you know just how laughably off that is.
The filmmakers shot in Chicago for what feels like two days, slapping on as many L train shots as they could to scream, "HEY, THIS IS CHICAGO!" even though the rest of the movie looks like it was shot on a Canadian backlot.
There's also a villain who's supposed to be this terrifying human trafficker, but he looks exactly like Dom DeLuise, which is… distracting, to say the least. There are multiple sequences where we're supposed to fear this man while also wondering if he's about to break into song and dance about cannoli.
And let's talk about Levon Cade's actual job. In one of the film's opening scenes, he beats up a group of thugs who show up to harass his construction crew, destroying half the construction site in the process. So not only is he a terrible father (seriously, social services should've stepped in ten minutes into this movie), but he's also a terrible employee.
Look, I get it. You want to see Jason Statham kick ass. You want guns, grunts, and grit. And A Working Man certainly delivers on that front—he kills dozens of bad guys, shoots a bunch more, and walks away from more explosions than you can count. But at this point, we've seen this movie from Statham a hundred times. And frankly, most of those were better.
This is an over-the-top, undercooked sleepwalk of a movie, recycling every trope you've ever seen and presenting it with the kind of grungy, self-serious sheen that makes it almost—but not quite—so bad it's good.
There are unintentionally hilarious moments, a script that borders on parody, and just enough absurdity to keep you entertained… if only to laugh at how dumb it is.
A Working Man is definitely working overtime—to be the dumbest action movie of the year. Mission accomplished. - ⭐️1/2
You never really know why some movies get press screenings, and others don't. I've been lucky enough to be a film critic for 40 years now, and one of the perks is seeing movies early so I can review them for my podcast, this site, and the listeners who still care about good storytelling.
But every so often, the studio system makes a baffling call. In the case of The Woman in the Yard, Universal and Blumhouse didn't screen it for critics ahead of time. Yet, MGM gave that privilege to A Working Man, a completely laughable Jason Statham movie that's as brain-dead as it is bombastic. And here's the kicker: The Woman in the Yard is actually pretty good.
Directed by Jaume Collet-Serra, a filmmaker who knows how to shoot tension and suspense with style, The Woman in the Yard is a moody, slow-burn psychological horror film that's emotionally resonant, well-acted, and visually effective.
Collet-Serra has done everything from the Liam Neeson action machine (Non-Stop, The Commuter) to underrated genre fare like Orphan and The Shallows—which I still think is one of the best suspense films of the past 15 years. He's a solid craftsman, and this film continues that streak.
The story is deceptively simple. Ramona (played by the fantastic Danielle Deadwyler) is recovering from a car accident that killed her husband and left her injured, both physically and emotionally. She's now a single mom, raising two kids—a teenage son and a younger daughter—at a rural farmhouse.
One day, a mysterious woman dressed in all black appears, sitting silently in the yard. No explanation. No movement. Just sitting there. And then she says, "Today's the day."
That's it. That's all the setup you need, and the film smartly delivers that in a beautifully designed opening that sets the tone and stakes with eerie precision. From there, Collet-Serra tightens the screws.
Dream sequences blend with reality. Flashbacks reveal the guilt and sorrow eating Ramona alive. The mysterious woman might be a ghost, a hallucination, a death omen, or something even more abstract. Is she a physical threat? A psychological one? Both?
It's classic horror-as-metaphor storytelling. The Woman in the Yard is about grief, guilt, and the overwhelming weight of loss. These themes are familiar territory in modern horror, but the film handles them with care and gravity.
The performances do a lot of the heavy lifting—particularly Deadwyler, who is just stunning in this. She doesn't play the character like she's in a horror movie; she plays her like a mother fighting to stay afloat after unimaginable trauma. Her grounded, heartfelt performance elevates the entire movie.
Her two kids, played by Peyton Jackson and Estella Kahiha, are also excellent. Their relationships feel real. Small but poignant moments between them make you care about this family. So when the supernatural elements ramp up, when the woman in black starts creeping closer and starts influencing the home, there's actual emotional weight behind it.
The first hour is very solid. Genuinely creepy, well-paced, and richly atmospheric. But the last 30 minutes? That's where things wobble a bit.
The film starts throwing a lot at the wall—maybe too much. You've got dream logic, poltergeist activity, doppelgänger suggestions, mirror portals, possibly the literal personification of death, and a dozen jump scares and quick cuts that feel a little out of place for the measured tone set earlier.
It doesn't fall apart completely, but it becomes too scattered and gimmicky as if the filmmakers didn't fully trust the quiet horror they built so well.
Still, even with the stumbles, the movie circles back to a satisfying emotional conclusion. When the dust settles, you realize this is a movie about motherhood, loss, and finding the strength to move forward.
The horror may be metaphorical or literal but never loses its thematic throughline. It's scary, sure, but it's also sad and intimate in ways I didn't expect.
And can we talk about how great this thing looks? The cinematography is beautiful. The rural setting is both serene and terrifying. There's this eerie stillness to the house, the yard, the trees, the wrecked car in the distance—it all builds a world you can feel.
Universal and Blumhouse really dropped the ball by not screening this for critics. This isn't some low-effort, cheap jump-scare factory. This smart, well-crafted horror film is anchored by one of the best actresses working today and directed by a guy who knows exactly what he's doing. The Woman in the Yard may not reinvent the wheel, but it's a damn solid ride.
It's scary, emotional, and quietly powerful. It's also 89 minutes long—a rarity and a gift these days. And most importantly, it doesn't waste your time. It delivers what it promises and then some.
Do yourself a favor: skip the latest bargain-bin action movie and go see The Woman in the Yard instead. You'll get better scares, better acting, and more heart than you'd ever expect from a movie that wasn't even shown to the press.
And you'll walk away remembering why horror when done right, can hit you in the gut just as hard as it makes you jump out of your seat. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Bob Trevino Likes It is one of those amiable little indie films that, while not necessarily groundbreaking or revolutionary, sneaks up on you with its emotional core and genuine heart.
It's a movie that wears its earnestness on its sleeve—and sometimes that sleeve gets a little damp with tears. While I didn't quite reach full-blown waterworks mode like some critics have (I kept it to maybe one tissue, tops), I get it.
This is a solid, well-made story about found family and human connection, and I'm absolutely recommending it.
The film is written and directed by Tracie Laymon and is semi-autobiographical, based on her own experiences. That personal touch is felt in the film's warmth and specificity. Barbie Ferreira plays Lily Trevino, a young woman estranged from her biological father (played by an unrecognizable French Stewart in a role that does not lean into sitcom whimsy), who turns to Facebook in search of a connection.
She ends up stumbling upon a different Bob Trevino—played by the great John Leguizamo—who starts liking her posts and eventually becomes a stand-in father figure. It's a simple premise, but the emotional territory it explores is rich.
What makes this movie work so well are the performances, particularly Ferreira and Leguizamo. Their chemistry is believable and nuanced. Ferreira, best known for Euphoria, brings a quiet strength and vulnerability to the role.
She's still relatively new to the big screen, but she holds it with confidence. John Leguizamo, meanwhile, proves yet again that he is a national treasure. Seriously. This is a guy who can go from intense drama to broad comedy, stage to screen, big budget to indie, and do it all with ease. His performance here is lived-in, subtle, and deeply human.
The relationship between Lily and Bob is refreshingly platonic and pure. In a lesser movie, you'd get some romantic twist or a "secret family" reveal. But this film wisely avoids that. This is about two people who are both lonely, both hurting and who find some healing in one another. That's it. And that's enough.
Now, it's not without its flaws. Some moments feel a little too manufactured—like a trip to a dog shelter that's clearly designed to yank the heartstrings (and maybe cue the Sarah McLachlan music).
At times, it leans too hard into indie sentimentality. You can almost hear the ukulele start to play whenever an emotional beat hits. But for every moment that feels a bit forced, there's one that rings true. And again, the strength of the lead performances smooths over the rougher patches.
The film is shot beautifully on a low budget, and everything—from Lily's apartment to the diners and park benches where these characters connect—has a cozy, lived-in feel. That sense of familiarity and place elevates the movie beyond its modest premise. You believe in this world and these people.
One of the most interesting things about Bob Trevino Likes It is the timing of its release. This movie would've exploded during the '90s indie boom—the kind of film you'd find at a Miramax showcase or on a shelf at Blockbuster next to Smoke or The Station Agent.
But in 2024, in a world dominated by IP franchises and angry online discourse, a gentle, heartfelt story like this almost feels like a throwback to a more innocent cinematic time. And in that sense, it's kind of comforting.
It also speaks volumes about the current state of distribution that this film, despite winning both the Grand Jury and Audience Awards at SXSW, has had such a hard time finding a wider release. That's a shame. This is exactly the kind of small film that deserves attention, especially when it brings something so honest and hopeful to the table.
Bottom line: Bob Trevino Likes It isn't perfect, and it may not be the tearjerker of the year for everyone, but it's a charming, sincere indie with something to say about friendship, family, and connection in the digital age. It's anchored by two wonderful performances and ends on an emotional note that feels earned. And sometimes, especially these days, that's more than enough.
And seriously—give John Leguizamo more lead roles. The guy always shows up. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Thanks for reading, and please SUBSCRIBE to my weekly NEWSLETTER!
Join me on Patreon as a paid subscriber to help keep this thing going.
Thanks again!