CAPSULE MOVIE REVIEWS: 4-11-25
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- 14 min read
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My Film Critic pants are covered in Spring-like flowers; they are on, pressed, and ironed. I'm ready to review four new movies in this week's capsule (short) movie reviews for Friday, April 11th, 2025.
James Hawes' The Amateur is a surprisingly solid entry in the spy thriller genre. It is a remake (or, more accurately, a new adaptation) that most people probably forgot already existed.
Based on the 1981 novel by Robert Littell, the film was previously made into a Canadian movie in the early '80s, starring John Savage, Christopher Plummer, and Marthe Keller.
I vaguely remember that version—it was one of those movies that was always on late-night cable or at your local VHS rental store. It was a tight little thriller that didn't make a huge mark but had its fans. I remember liking it.
Fast forward to now, and we get this new version with Rami Malek in the lead. And I'll be honest: I wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to see it. I'm not the biggest Rami Malek fan. He absolutely did not deserve the Oscar for Bohemian Rhapsody (which is, in my humble opinion, one of the worst movies ever made). But to my surprise, he's pretty good in this.
Malek plays Charles Heller, a CIA cryptographer whose wife (played mostly in flashbacks by Rachel Brosnahan) is killed in a terrorist attack in London. When he learns that the agency won't do anything about it due to conflicting priorities, he blackmails them into training him as a field agent so he can take matters into his own hands.
Yes, it's basically the nerdy guy who becomes a vigilante assassin movie, but with much more polish and intelligence than you'd expect.
The direction by James Hawes is top-notch. This guy has done some excellent work on TV, including Slow Horses, Black Mirror, and Penny Dreadful, and he brings that same level of craftsmanship here. The globe-trotting nature of the plot is matched by some truly beautiful cinematography and location work. It's sleek, stylish, and paced well—at least for most of the runtime.
The action sequences are tight, the editing is smart, and the use of tech in the story is clever. Watching Malek's character evolve from a basement-dwelling coder to someone who can actually hold his own in the field is one of the pleasures of the movie. It helps that he's not suddenly Jason Bourne—he has to use his brains and a little bit of grit to get things done.
And then there's Laurence Fishburne, who essentially plays a Morpheus-like mentor character. He's brought in to train Malek but also to keep tabs on him... and maybe eliminate him if necessary. Fishburne is having fun here, and his scenes with Malek are some of the best in the film.
There are also a few sly James Bond references—including a Heineken in a bar scene—that are both funny and fitting, considering Malek played the villain who literally killed James Bond in No Time to Die.
But the movie does stumble in a few places. The subplot involving the power struggle within the CIA—between the director, deputy director, and assorted behind-the-scenes players—feels like it belongs in a different movie.
These scenes, especially in the second half, slow the film down considerably. The internal politics are nowhere near as compelling as Malek's revenge mission, and every time we cut away from him to see bureaucrats squabbling, the movie loses momentum.
Still, when the film is focused on Malek traveling the world, infiltrating cells, outsmarting his enemies, and slowly getting the courage to kill face-to-face, it works. Caitríona Balfe shows up in a strong supporting role as a former contact with a shared grief who helps him stay one step ahead.
And Michael Stuhlbarg, one of the best actors on the planet, shows up for a late-film confrontation that gives the movie a strong and satisfying climax.
There's even a fun (if trailer-ruined) sequence involving a glass-bottomed swimming pool suspended high above the ground that ends with a spectacular explosion. Scenes like that show off the film's technical skill, but more importantly, they're exciting.
Overall, The Amateur is not a great film but a very solid one. It has a smart script, some clever direction, and a performance from Rami Malek that might change a few minds about him (even mine, a little).
It would actually pair well with Soderbergh's Black Bag, which is the better film of the two. Both are intelligent thrillers that manage to entertain and occasionally surprise.
So yeah, I'm recommending The Amateur. It has its flaws; it gets bogged down in spy agency politics, but it sticks the landing. And any movie that reminds you that Rami Malek killed James Bond while getting coached by Morpheus? Worth a look. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Every once in a while, a movie comes along that starts with such a solid, well-executed premise that you sit back and think, "Okay, this could go somewhere." But then, by the time the final third rolls around, that early promise gets lit on fire, shoved out a window, and lands face-first into a dumpster full of Chicago hockey pucks that don't have a logo on them.
That's what happens with Drop, a thriller that could've been a taut, clever pressure cooker of a movie but instead devolves into a laughably absurd, logic-defying mess that insults your intelligence and wastes your time.
Directed by Christopher Landon—yes, the son of Little House on the Prairie's Michael Landon—Drop starts off reasonably well. Landon has done good genre work in the past with Happy Death Day, Freaky, and even a few Paranormal Activity entries.
He knows how to balance suspense and humor, and early on in Drop, you can see those skills peeking through. The setup is tight, the tension builds nicely, and the technology-driven premise—tying into the Apple AirDrop feature—is clever and contemporary.
But oh man, does it go off the rails.
The movie introduces us to Violet (Meghann Fahy, from The White Lotus), a widowed single mother who's trying to get back into the dating world after escaping a horrifically abusive marriage.
The trauma of her past relationship is presented in a visceral opening sequence and through flashbacks that show just how brutal her late husband was. It's well-acted, and Fahy brings a believable emotional core to Violet that keeps you engaged.
Her date is with Henry (Brandon Sklenar), a seemingly kind, attractive guy she meets online. They go out to a swanky high-rise restaurant in downtown Chicago (more on that in a bit), and the tension is palpable for the film's first half.
Violet begins receiving cryptic, threatening messages on her phone via AirDrop. She's told that her son and sister will be killed if she doesn't follow instructions. Those instructions, of course, escalate to the point where she's told she must kill Henry.
This first half is effective. We're stuck in one setting, like a theatrical stage play with high stakes. The suspense is built slowly. The supporting characters at the restaurant, suspicious glances, and technology use—it's all nicely handled.
The idea that the killer is in the room and watching everything unfold gives the movie a decent pulse. And you're thinking, "Hey, this is a decent little thriller!"
And then…
Once the big reveals start dropping (pun intended), the movie becomes so aggressively stupid that it's honestly impressive. The tone spirals into screeching melodrama. Guns get pulled. People go flying out windows. There are shootouts, screaming matches, and plot twists so dumb you'll feel your IQ slipping.
Any commentary about trauma or recovery is tossed out the window—literally, one of the final scenes involves someone hanging out of a high-rise.
And speaking of high-rises…
As a proud Chicagoan, I feel obligated to point out that Drop is one of the most hilariously un-Chicago Chicago movies I've ever seen. It was clearly shot in Louisiana (confirmed when the Louisiana Film logo popped up at the end credits), and they do nothing to hide it.
The skyline? Generic. The buildings outside the restaurant? Not even close to anything recognizable in downtown Chicago. There's even a moment when someone gives Violet's kid a "Chicago hockey puck" as a souvenir—it doesn't have a Blackhawks logo on it, just some generic crap that looks like it came from a Spirit Halloween store.
Then there's the absurd line where someone says, "I live 10 minutes from here by car," while supposedly living in a suburban-looking house. You know what's 10 minutes from downtown Chicago by car? Traffic. That's what.
The cherry on top is the over-the-top waiter character, played by Jeffery Self, who proudly announces he's a Second City improv student. First of all, of course, he is. Second: I was a Second City performer. I took the classes. I know the archetype. I've been that archetype.
But even I wanted this character to take a long walk off Navy Pier. He's the kind of one-note comic relief that becomes painful to watch after one scene, and yet they keep dragging him back in.
Meghann Fahy is a genuinely great actress who brings as much depth as she can to Violet. Brandon Sklenar is fine as the mysterious date. Violett Beane plays the concerned sister back home, and again, she's solid. But none of it matters when the script loses its mind.
Also—on a weird but amusing note—all of the main characters in this movie appear to be left-handed. I know because I'm left-handed, and I notice these things. The two leads? Lefties. The waiter? Leftie. One of the bartenders? Leftie.
This isn't a problem—it's just an oddly specific thing I noticed while I was trying to care about the story but got too distracted by how dumb the plot had become.
The tonal whiplash in Drop is brutal. The movie opens as a serious drama about abuse, survival, and healing, then becomes a tense psychological thriller, and finally gives up and becomes a parody of itself.
You go from smartly-paced suspense to a climax that belongs in a Fast and Furious sequel. The final act is so absurd, so riddled with logic gaps and clichés, it makes Taken 3 look like Zodiac.
So here's the deal. Drop had potential. I was with it for a while. There's a good movie in there—somewhere. But the moment it abandons its initial promise and dives headfirst into over-the-top garbage territory, it becomes impossible to take seriously.
It doesn't respect its characters, its audience, or Chicago.
Christopher Landon is a talented filmmaker, and Meghann Fahy is a talented actress. But this movie goes from sharp thriller to laughable mess in record time. Great setup, terrible execution.
I can't recommend Drop—unless you want to laugh at how bad it gets. And hey, at least now we know that left-handed representation in thrillers is at an all-time high. There's that. - ⭐️⭐️
Let me just say this right up front: it's been a long time since I was in my 30s. A long time. I'm almost 60 now, and while that number isn't quite real to me yet, it does mean that when I sit down to watch another movie about thirtysomething slackers trying to figure out how to grow up, I do so with a pretty specific perspective.
Back when I was that age, an entire genre was built around that stage of life—the Gen X slacker genre. From Singles to Clerks, and even in the plays I wrote and performed at the Factory Theater here in Chicago, it was all about dudes who refused to grow up. That was me, that was my crew, that was our art.
So yeah, I've seen this before. But Sacramento, a new road movie about two flawed friends stumbling toward maturity and fatherhood, surprised the hell out of me.
It's familiar terrain, absolutely, but it's done with enough honesty, humor, and insight that I ended up really enjoying it. And considering I started this thing fully expecting to hate the protagonist—that's saying something.
Directed by and starring Michael Angarano, who also co-wrote the script with Chris Smith, Sacramento tells the story of Rickey (Angarano), an overgrown man-child with a Peter Pan complex who shows up uninvited and borderline unhinged in the life of his old friend Glenn (Michael Cera), who is trying to build a life with his very pregnant wife Rosie (played beautifully by the always fascinating Kristen Stewart).
Rickey convinces Glenn to take a road trip from L.A. to Sacramento, and off they go—unresolved trauma, unspoken tension, and looming adulthood in the backseat.
This is standard road movie stuff, for sure. Two guys in a car, multiple stops along the way, run-ins with strangers, moments of revelation, conflict, and (maybe) reconciliation. Structurally, there's nothing new here. But it's not about innovation—it's about execution. And this one is executed with real feeling, some strong performances, and a good handle on tone.
Now, Rickey—Angarano's character—is, frankly, a lot. He's selfish, emotionally stunted, and constantly pushing boundaries he shouldn't be. It's actually a gutsy move on Angarano's part to write and play a character so consistently irritating.
But—and this is important—he's also a recognizable kind of guy. We've all known a Rickey. Hell, some of us were Rickey. And watching him flail and stumble his way toward something resembling self-awareness felt pretty earned.
Michael Cera's Glenn is also a bit of a mess—less overtly annoying than Rickey but still clearly struggling with the weight of impending fatherhood, job insecurity, and the creeping fear that he's not ready for any of it.
There's a terrific symbolic moment early on when he's building a crib, and it wobbles. That's this character in a nutshell: trying to assemble something stable for a future he's not sure he's ready to meet.
As is so often the case in movies like this, the film's female characters are the anchors. Kristen Stewart brings quiet intelligence and real emotional weight to her scenes. She's the adult in the room, radiating the sense of calm competence these guys so clearly lack.
Maya Erskine (who happens to be Angarano's real-life partner) is also strong as Rickey's ex, and they both represent what these men are trying (and mostly failing) to grow up for.
In the middle of the film, there's a great stretch where the guys meet two women—played by Iman Karram and AJ Mendez—and spend a night drinking, talking, and eventually ending up at a gym. Now, here's where I have a minor gripe.
For those who don't know, AJ Mendez is one of the most talented and charismatic professional wrestlers of the past couple of decades. She plays a gym owner. There's a wrestling ring. And yet… she doesn't wrestle.
Instead, we get Angarano and Cera bouncing around in the ring, taking bumps, and mugging for the camera. Look, I get that it's a metaphor, but when you've got AJ Mendez in your movie, and you are the one wrestling while she stands on the sidelines? That's a missed opportunity and a little self-indulgent.
That said, Mendez is fantastic. She brings a grounded, natural energy to her scenes, and I'd love to see her do more work like this. She's got legit acting chops.
What the movie ultimately gets right is tone. It's funny, occasionally poignant, and unafraid to let its characters be difficult and even borderline unlikeable. That's what makes their growth—subtle though it may be—feel honest.
And as much as this is a film about thirtysomething men refusing to grow up, it's also about grief, legacy, and the looming specter of parenthood. The fact that both of these guys are about to become fathers adds a real urgency to their journey, giving the movie more depth than your average slacker comedy.
And again, I want to circle back to Kristen Stewart. She's incredible. Every scene she's in is better because of her. There's a level of authenticity and intelligence she brings to her performances that's rare, and she absolutely elevates this material.
So yeah, Sacramento doesn't reinvent the road movie, but it doesn't have to. It's a small film with a lot of heart, some smart observations, and characters who may frustrate you but ultimately feel real.
As a guy who spent a good chunk of his 30s writing about arrested development—and now watches those stories from a very different place—I found it pretty damn moving. I didn't expect to like this movie as much as I did. But I did. And I think you might, too. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2
Alex Garland and Ray Mendoza's Warfare is one of the most powerful war movies I've ever seen. It's raw, intense, terrifying, and technically astonishing. And it left me emotionally and physically wrecked in the best possible way.
This is one of the most authentic and viscerally effective depictions of modern warfare that's ever been put on film. It's a real-time punch to the gut and an absolute masterclass in immersive storytelling and cinematic craft.
Co-written and co-directed by Garland (Ex Machina, Annihilation, Men, Civil War) and Mendoza—a real-life former Navy SEAL who lived through the very battle the film depicts—Warfare doesn't waste a second. It drops you right into the chaos of Ramadi, Iraq, in 2006, at the height of one of the deadliest moments in the Iraq War.
A SEAL team, Alpha One, takes over a multi-story house in insurgent territory, and for 90 unbearably tense, blood-soaked minutes, we watch what happens when everything goes sideways.
There's no downtime, sentimentality, or speeches about honor or country. This isn't a war movie about politics or grand strategy. It's about the moment-to-moment terror of boots on the ground, trying to stay alive. You are there—in the house, under fire, patching up wounds, dragging your fellow soldier across a hallway while bullets ricochet off the walls.
The handheld cinematography is claustrophobic and kinetic, the editing is razor-sharp, and the sound design is absolutely next-level. Honestly, they should just engrave the Best Sound Oscar now. It's that impressive.
The structure of Warfare is simple: Alpha One sets up in a building. Things go very wrong. A rescue attempt unfolds. That's it. But within that framework, Garland and Mendoza build astonishing character, tension, and heartbreak. And they do it without relying on cliché or contrived backstories.
We don't get flashbacks or tearful "I've got a girl back home" monologues. We get glances, reactions, and pure behavior under pressure. And somehow, in that minimalist approach, we understand who these men are and what they're made of.
D'Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai is quietly outstanding as Ray Mendoza, the team's communications lead and Garland's co-director's real-life counterpart. Will Poulter is commanding as Erik, the officer in charge, showing again (after his hilarious turn in Death of a Unicorn) that his range is absolutely staggering.
Cosmo Jarvis, Joseph Quinn, Kit Connor, Michael Gandolfini, Charles Melton—everyone in this ensemble is excellent. And they're not "acting" in the traditional sense. These are fully lived-in, stripped-down performances captured in the pressure cooker of live-action intensity.
And yes, Charles Melton—who was phenomenal in Todd Haynes' brilliant May December—returns here with a smaller role but makes a big impression. There's a gravity to him, a calm under pressure that makes you believe he could walk into the middle of a hailstorm and take command. His presence elevates every scene he's in.
But the real stars of Warfare are Garland and Mendoza's filmmaking instincts. This is the kind of movie that reminds you how powerful cinema can be when it's stripped down to its essential tools: movement, image, sound, and time.
The camera is always exactly where it needs to be. The blocking is chaotic but never confusing. And the sound—the screaming, the gunfire, the blasts, the distant radio chatter—builds a 360-degree soundscape that rattles your bones. It's as close as you'll come to experiencing the chaos of combat without signing up for basic training.
It reminded me a lot of Kathryn Bigelow's The Hurt Locker, another masterful depiction of modern warfare (and a film I still prefer). Both films immerse you in the mental and physical toll of battle without making overt political statements. They're about survival, the brotherhood of soldiers, and the impossible choices that come with life-and-death stakes.
But Warfare is just as intense as The Hurt Locker at times. It's shorter, tighter, and more relentless. The fact that it's based on a true story—portrayed by real people with real stakes—only adds to the impact. When the end credits roll, and we see the photos of the real men and, in some cases, the families caught in the crossfire, it hits hard.
And it should. Because Warfare isn't just a technical exercise. It's a deeply human film. You feel the panic. You feel the pain. You feel the impossible decisions these men have to make—when to stay, when to run, when to let someone go.
It's the kind of movie that stays in your head for days after, not because of some twist ending or shocking reveal, but because it makes you feel the weight of something most of us will never truly understand.
This isn't a popcorn flick. This isn't "rah-rah" patriotism. This is a war film for adults, for people who can handle being shaken. It's a film that respects its audience's intelligence and emotional resilience. And it proves—without preaching—that warfare is chaos, and surviving it is a combination of training, guts, luck, and heartbreak.
Alex Garland continues to be one of the most daring, thoughtful directors working today. Ray Mendoza brings a level of authenticity to this film that you simply can't fake. Together, they've made something special—a harrowing, unforgettable experience that deserves to be seen and talked about.
Warfare is one of the year's best films and one of the best war films I've ever seen. Period. Bring a seatbelt. And maybe a sedative. This one's going to rattle you. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
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