City Island (2009)

Hustlers was meant to be a film about female empowerment. And it was, to a certain extent. I expected and wanted this to be a kickass and complex film of sexy women who use their confidence, skills, and wits towards a brilliant plan to get revenge on the Wall Street guys who wronged them.

Why did Māhū, a term once respected in Hawaiian culture, become so controversial?

For viewers who love eating burgers, shakes and fries on the go along with a tasty side of nostalgia.

In the film adaptation, director Jon M. Chu turns each musical number into a massive show stopper, with grand set pieces and a wealth of diverse dancers. Yet, in this attempt to show reverence for the people of the Washington Heights barrio, Chu, or maybe more specifically those in charge of casting, left out a crucial part of the community, Afro-Latinos.

It's not love. It's Obsession. The hook of this movie is the tension between wanting to be loved and the fear of being all-encompassed by that love.  It plays on men’s typical (though certainly not universal) inner-conflict

Him is visually stunning—all concrete cathedrals and bone-rattling impact shots that look like a nightmare highlight reel. Marlon Wayans is magnetic as this legendary quarterback who's basically selling salvation with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. But the story keeps running in circles: more tests, more cryptic pep talks, more ritualistic drills. The sports-as-religion metaphor beats you over the head when subtlety would've been more effective. The middle drags, and that finale chooses spectacle over substance. It's undeniably stylish, but left me cold. Also worth noting: despite the Monkeypaw connection, this isn't actually a Jordan Peele film—he didn't write or direct.