CAPSULE MOVIE REVIEWS: 4-18-25
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- 13 min read
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Not only am I wearing my stylish Film Critic pants, but I am also sporting a lovely Easter Bonnet, so I am ready to review four new movies in this week's capsule (short) movie reviews for Friday, April 18th, 2025.
Look, I love a big swing, especially in genre filmmaking. I respect when a filmmaker goes for broke, throws it all on the screen, and isn't afraid to get weird. And there's no question that Ryan Coogler—yes, the guy who made Fruitvale Station, Creed, and Black Panther—has swung for the fences with Sinners.
This movie is packed with big themes, performances, and intentions. It's trying to be a supernatural horror movie, a historical drama, a gangster flick, a musical, a socio-political allegory, a vampire story, and a love letter to the origins of blues music. All at once.
But while I admire the ambition, this is one of those cases where the swing misses. Wildly.
Sinners is a fascinating mess—loaded with talent, dripping in style, occasionally thrilling, but ultimately undone by its overstuffed, overcooked, over-symbolized script.
The premise is simple enough: twin brothers Smoke and Stack (both played by Michael B. Jordan) return to their rural Mississippi hometown in 1932 after a stint in the Chicago underworld. They bring with them a stash of cash and a dream: to open a jukejoint for the local Black farming community.
On opening night, the whole town shows up—along with ghosts of the past, ex-lovers (Hailee Steinfeld, Wunmi Mosaku), family baggage, a soulful cousin with serious guitar chops (Miles Caton), and, oh yeah, some very pale, very sinister Irish vampires.
You heard me.
These vampires offer a deal that sounds a lot like freedom: a seductive promise of immortality and escape from oppression. The metaphor isn't subtle, and subtlety is not on this movie's menu.
Let's get this out of the way: Michael B. Jordan is great. He plays both twins with distinctly different energy and presence, and his performance gives the film some emotional grounding.
Delroy Lindo absolutely steals scenes as an old bluesman, slurring wisdom with Irish beer on his breath. And newcomer Miles Caton is fantastic as the young guitarist who just might be the Robert Johnson stand-in in this fable.
The film is also a stunner to look at. Shot partially in IMAX (though inconsistently), it features gorgeous period detail and lush, moody cinematography that captures the sweltering, haunted atmosphere of 1930s Mississippi.
The blood-soaked horror set pieces are graphic and gory—throats are ripped, limbs fly, and the makeup is top-notch. When this movie leans into the grotesque, it's genuinely effective.
And the music? Outstanding. A long, single-take musical sequence combines centuries of Black musical expression, from African drum circles to hip-hop ciphers, all in one surreal jam session.
It's bold and beautiful on its own. But in the context of the larger film, it's also the perfect example of Sinners' core problem: it's doing way too much.
Let's start with the obvious: this movie is 137 minutes long and feels it—easily a half-hour too long. The pacing drags in the middle, weighed down by repetitive dialogue, unnecessary side characters, and way too much on-the-nose symbolism. Every other line of dialogue is a thesis statement. Every dramatic beat is loaded with "Meaning," and it gets exhausting.
Coogler throws every genre he can think of into the blender. We've got gangster movie tropes, juke joint musical numbers, allegories about Black American trauma, supernatural horror, vampire mythology, sermons, blues history, and even erotic thriller elements. Some of it works in isolated scenes, but as a cohesive story, it's just too scattered.
And don't even get me started on the derivative horror movie references. If you've seen Near Dark, 30 Days of Night, The Lost Boys, The Shining, or Phantasm, you'll recognize a lot.
Too much, actually. At one point, the characters do a garlic test to sniff out vampires, and it's a beat-for-beat remake of the blood test scene from John Carpenter's The Thing. It would be fine if it felt like homage—but it doesn't. It feels like a Xerox of a better movie.
The same goes for the big vampire showdown in the bar—it's From Dusk Till Dawn all over again, only with more earnest speeches about racial inequality. And let's be honest: From Dusk Till Dawn isn't exactly the gold standard of horror cinema - far from it. If that's your template, we've got a problem.
This movie is not shy about what it's trying to say. Vampirism is a metaphor for systemic oppression. Or maybe it's about assimilation. Or perhaps it's temptation, capitalism, racism, the music industry, or original sin. Honestly, all of the above. And none of it is subtle.
There's even the whole Robert Johnson crossroads myth in here, complete with a possibly cursed guitar. It's been done before—and done better. In fact, while watching Sinners, I kept thinking about Walter Hill's Crossroads—a far superior film that tackled the same ideas with a lot more focus and style.
I was really looking forward to Sinners. Ryan Coogler is a wildly talented filmmaker, and this cast is stacked. The concept has promise, and I appreciate a movie that aims high, even if it stumbles. But this one? It stumbles—hard.
It's gorgeously shot, well-acted, and full of individual moments that shine. But as a whole, Sinners is an overlong, overly earnest, genre-hopping fever dream that collapses under the weight of its own ambition. There's just too much going on, too many borrowed ideas, and too little cohesion.
I admire the swing (and a great cameo at the end of the film from a true Chicago blues legend). But I can't recommend the movie. And honestly, the whole time, all I could think was: "I really need to rewatch Crossroads." Now, that's a film that understands myth, music, and the devil's bargain. - ⭐️⭐️
When I first read the synopsis for Sneaks, I kind of knew what I was getting into. Animated film. Talking shoes. Sneakers with personality. A "lost and found" quest with friendship, identity, and purpose stuffed into the laces. We've been down this road before, many, many times. And yet, there was some hope.
The voice cast is stacked—Anthony Mackie, Martin Lawrence, Keith David, Laurence Fishburne, and even Macy Gray show up. The soundtrack looked promising, full of hip-hop, pop, and R&B. And the animation team had some Pixar DNA. Could it be the next Toy Story for the sneakerhead generation?
Well…no. Not really.
Sneaks is one of those movies that feels like it had a lot of energy and joy put into it behind the scenes, but somewhere along the way, it got lost in a tangled knot of recycled ideas and missed opportunities.
You can feel the enthusiasm, see the color palette pop, and tell that the people involved really want to make something cool. But ultimately, it lands with a thud—or maybe a soft, padded sneaker squeak.
The plot is familiar: Ty (voiced by Anthony Mackie) is a spoiled, pampered designer sneaker who's never left the comfort of his luxurious shoe box. When his sister Maxine is stolen by a shady collector (Laurence Fishburne), Ty has to leave his cozy life behind and go on a rescue mission across the streets of New York. Along the way, he meets a misfit crew of footwear—each with their own quirks and "sole"—and learns to find his footing in a big, scary world.
If that sounds a little too close to Toy Story, that's because it is. Only instead of Buzz and Woody, you get a lot of shoe puns, a couple of uninspired action beats, and an animation style that feels more "mid-tier streaming" than big-screen spectacle.
It's not that Sneaks is awful—it isn't. There are a few funny moments and a couple of charming scenes. And again, the voice work is solid. Martin Lawrence brings a little old-school edge to JB, and Keith David does what Keith David always does—he gives gravitas to anything, even if he's playing a pair of kicks. Chloe Bailey, Macy Gray, and Quavo add flair and fun.
Even NBA star Chris Paul pops in as himself. And I'll admit, there's a clever moment or two that pokes fun at sneakerhead culture, which I'm admittedly not immersed in. I wear Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars. That's it. That's my lane. And yes, they're represented in the movie—kind of amusingly, I'll give them that.
But despite the cool cast and the hip-hop-heavy soundtrack (which is legitimately strong), the movie just doesn't have enough going for it. The animation is bright, sure, but nothing special. This doesn't look or feel like a Pixar-level production. It doesn't even quite hit DreamWorks level.
It's more like one of those mid-range animated movies that pop up on streaming and disappear a week later. Which is ironic because it was released on Sky Cinema in the UK before getting a U.S. theatrical release. So…maybe they knew?
The biggest issue is the script. It's derivative. Predictable. You've seen this story before—Toy gets lost, finds new friends, learns about life outside the toy box, etc. Only this time, it's sneakers. And not particularly original ones.
The characters are one-dimensional, the emotional beats don't really land, and the humor leans too heavily into "look, we're cool and hip" rather than actually being clever or heartfelt.
It also borrows a little too shamelessly from better-animated films.
There's a whiff of Spider-Verse in the visual transitions. There's Cars in the "underdog finding purpose" theme. But Sneaks never really figures out what it wants to be besides Frankenstein's monster of other, better-animated ideas.
Rob Edwards, who co-directed and wrote the film (and has some solid credentials—he wrote The Princess and the Frog), seems to be trying to juggle too many tones at once. There's a noble attempt to tap into something culturally specific about sneaker obsession and urban style, but it doesn't have the depth or nuance to really say anything. It's not nearly weird enough to be bold and unique and not grounded enough to be emotional or satisfying.
In the end, Sneaks is like an overpriced pair of trendy kicks that look good in the box but fall apart the minute you wear them out. It's got flash, it's got names, it's got beats—but it's got no soul. Or "sole," if you prefer the pun. It's a mediocre animated movie with good intentions and a few decent gags, but nothing to write home about.
It might entertain some kids, and it might even find a small audience among sneaker collectors. But for anyone looking for a smart, funny, emotionally resonant animated movie, keep walking. This one's not worth the hype.
Verdict: Not terrible, but totally skippable. And remember—Toy Story did it better. By miles. - ⭐️⭐️
When I first heard that Ang Lee's The Wedding Banquet—his delightful, groundbreaking 1993 romantic comedy—was being remade, I had two immediate reactions: suspicion and depression. The original is one of those perfect little films that captures a very specific cultural and social moment with honesty, humor, and heart. Why tamper with that?
Remakes are a tricky game. Sometimes, they're entirely unnecessary. Other times, they're bold reinterpretations that bring something new to the table (The Thing, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Little Shop of Horrors).
The key is doing something different, not just regurgitating what already worked. Fortunately, Andrew Ahn's 2025 version of The Wedding Banquet is not a carbon copy—it's a reimagining. And while it doesn't always soar, it does enough to justify its existence.
Let's start with the setup. In this version, we've got Angela (Kelly Marie Tran) and Lee (Lily Gladstone), a Seattle lesbian couple trying—and failing—to have a baby through IVF. The emotional and financial toll has taken a serious hit on their relationship.
Meanwhile, their roommates and best friends, Chris (Bowen Yang) and Min (Han Gi-chan), are navigating their own crossroads. Min, heir to a Korean business empire, is looking to marry Chris—partly out of love, partly to secure a green card. But if his family in Korea finds out he's gay, the inheritance goes bye-bye.
So, in perfect farcical fashion, they hatch a plan: Min will marry Angela so he can stay in the U.S. and fund another round of IVF for Angela and Lee. In other words, shenanigans ensue.
It's a clever update. The original 1993 film centered around a gay man faking a marriage to satisfy his traditional Taiwanese parents at a time when gay marriage wasn't legal and being out could be life-ruining.
That social pressure still exists today, but the cultural landscape has evolved. So Ahn and co-writer James Schamus (who also co-wrote the original, which is a nice full-circle moment) shift the focus. This version is less about stigma and more about complicated logistics—green cards, fertility, and found families. These are modern issues, and they're smartly woven into the script.
That said, the film isn't without its problems. Tonally, it's all over the place. Some scenes land with genuine emotional heft, while others play like rejected episodes of Three's Company. There are moments of sitcom-style misunderstandings that are so broad I half-expected a laugh track.
It's hard to invest in a relationship dilemma when the characters are hiding under tables and whisper-screaming in bathrooms. That tonal whiplash undermines some of the stronger material.
Still, what keeps The Wedding Banquet watchable—and often very enjoyable—are the performances. Kelly Marie Tran is wonderful as Angela, bringing a grounded emotional honesty to the role. She's funny when she needs to be and heartbreaking when the story calls for it.
And Lily Gladstone, fresh off her much heavier turn in Killers of the Flower Moon, gets to show her range here with some light comedic work—though, frustratingly, she disappears for a long stretch of the movie. If you bring Lily Gladstone to the party, keep her at the party.
Bowen Yang is more of a mixed bag. He's a phenomenal comic talent—SNL fans know what he's capable of—but the dramatic scenes here sometimes exceed his range. When the film leans into farce, he's terrific. But when it asks him to dig deep, the performance doesn't quite land. You can almost feel him trying to find the gravity in scenes that need it, but he never quite gets there.
And let's talk about Joan Chen and Youn Yuh-jung. Legends. Chen, in particular, is fantastic as the mother figure—subverting the usual stereotypes and delivering a warm, layered, and quietly powerful performance. She walks a delicate line between tradition and change and does it gracefully. Honestly, she gives the best performance in the movie.
And can we just acknowledge how great it is to see Joan Chen getting meaty roles again? Between this and last year's under-the-radar gem DiDi, she's reminding everyone why she's been one of the most compelling presences on screen for decades.
As for the direction, Andrew Ahn does a solid job. He brings a warm, inviting aesthetic to the film, and while the movie sometimes veers into sitcom territory, it never feels lazy or cynical. The updates are thoughtful, the story still resonates, and the core message—about love, family, and identity—is still powerful. It's also worth mentioning that the ending doesn't go for the big, over-the-top resolution you might expect. It feels small, intimate, and honest—like the best parts of the movie.
So no, this Wedding Banquet doesn't top Ang Lee's original. It's not as groundbreaking or as elegant. But it doesn't need to be. It's a sweet, sincere, timely reimagining that updates the themes for 2025 without losing the heart of what made the original so special.
It's not perfect. It gets a little silly. But it's a well-acted, well-meaning film that manages to entertain and resonate in equal measure. And in an era where remakes often miss the point entirely, this one mostly gets it right. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Every once in a while, a movie comes along that reminds you why you love cinema — why you love horror, why you love satire, why you love bold, dangerous storytelling that doesn't pull a single punch. The Ugly Stepsister, the remarkable directorial debut from Emilie Blichfeldt, is that movie.
It's not only one of the best horror films of the year, it's one of the best films of the year, period — a blood-soaked, darkly hilarious, deeply personal, deeply uncomfortable, jaw-droppingly original blast of cinematic brilliance.
Retelling the Cinderella story through a twisted, body-horror lens, The Ugly Stepsister completely rips apart the sanitized Disney version we've all grown up with and digs deep into the grotesque origins of the Grimm fairy tales.
If you're thinking this is going to be a slight "dark twist" kind of reimagining, forget it — this movie goes all in, hammering home its themes about body image, societal beauty standards, and the brutal expectations placed on women with some of the most visceral, effective, and downright painful body horror I've seen in years.
The story centers around Elvira (played by the outstanding, fearless Lea Myren), the so-called "ugly" stepsister, who is pressured by her grotesquely ambitious mother Rebekka (an equally terrific Ane Dahl Torp) into brutal, primitive "surgeries" and self-mutilations to transform herself into a woman worthy of catching the eye of the fairy tale prince. We're talking horrific nose-breaking, eyelashes literally sewn into her eyelids, eating tapeworm eggs to lose weight — all done in grotesque, unflinching detail.
These scenes aren't just meant to gross you out (though they absolutely will); they're a savage, powerful commentary on what women have been forced to endure for centuries in the name of beauty.
It's brutal, and it's meant to be. And it's brilliant.
What sets The Ugly Stepsister apart from other body horror films — and certainly from weak attempts like last year's insanely overrated The Substance — is how razor-sharp the satire is. It's a howl of anger, sadness, and dark humor aimed squarely at societal expectations, at what women are forced to believe about themselves and their bodies.
Where The Substance felt simplistic, repetitive, and ultimately surface-level despite its gooey horror scenes, The Ugly Stepsister is layered, smart, and incredibly personal. Blichfeldt's own struggles with body image fuel every horrifying, hilarious, heartbreaking frame.
And make no mistake: this movie is often absolutely hilarious. The men — including the vapid, moronic Prince Julian (played to perfection by Isac Calmroth) — are portrayed as complete idiots, pathetic and grotesque in their own right.
There's a brutally funny scene where the male characters ogle Elvira at the ball, not because they recognize her inner beauty but because they're shallow, horny fools. It's vicious, it's biting, and it's totally earned.
The final act of this movie — and no spoilers here — contains some of the most jaw-dropping, gasp-inducing moments I've seen in years. What Elvira is willing to do to fit into that damn slipper… it's horrifying, hilarious, tragic, and brilliant all at once. It's also where the movie fully earns its place alongside the greatest works of feminist horror and satire.
The craftsmanship on display is outstanding. Marcel Zyskind's cinematography gives the whole film a lush, grimy fairy tale look — you can practically smell the rot underneath the beauty. The practical effects are revoltingly fantastic. The production design is beautiful and twisted. The techno/synth score — sounding like a weird marriage between '80s electro and a fever dream — only heightens the surreal nightmare tone of the film.
Performance-wise, it's across-the-board fantastic. Lea Myren delivers one of the year's best performances — funny, heartbreaking, raw. Flo Fagerli as the little sister Alma is wonderful, and Thea Sofie Loch Næss is fantastic as Agnes, the "beautiful" stepsister whose own darkness festers underneath. And Ane Dahl Torp brings horrifying steel to the monstrous mother role — one of the great villains of recent cinema.
What makes The Ugly Stepsister so potent is that it challenges you. It makes you laugh, wince, think, and squirm, and it forces you to confront the uncomfortable truths about beauty standards and how deeply, grotesquely damaging they are. This is not an easy watch — but it's an essential one.
And yes, it's incredibly gratifying that this movie, a vicious takedown of sanitized fairy tales and beauty myths, is being released the same year that some cloying, sanitized versions of fairy tales (cough Snow White cough) are limping into theaters and onto my Worst of the Year list. This — this — is how you deal with the true darkness of fairy tales.
In a just world, The Ugly Stepsister would be a major contender for international awards. It won't be — because it's too bloody, too weird, too transgressive — but it should be. It's that good.
The Ugly Stepsister is horrifying, hilarious, uncomfortable, and brilliant. It's a masterpiece of feminist horror, body horror, fairy tale deconstruction, and pure filmmaking audacity. It's one of the best movies of the year. See it. And then have a long conversation afterward. You're going to need it. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
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