A resourceful and high-spirited woman deals with financial distress and her asthmatic thirteen-year-old son when his life is gravely complicated by a new friendship with the son of her former drunken and abusive husband.
Season 1 of Love, Victor ended on a major cliffhanger: Victor came out to his parents. He said the words “I’m gay” for the first time. Now what? Season 2 answers the question: “What happens after coming out?”
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.
The story is a moving sentiment of letting go of the past and putting trust and faith into others. Though you come into this world alone, surrounding yourself with others that support you and want to help is the greatest gift life could ever give.
Treated like a granter of wishes for those earning out of retelling the same tragedy, Marilyn looks like she's caged in different stages of trauma for us to stare at, instead of someone we’ve finally allowed to rest in peace.
In a world where we hear ringers and beepers at every corner, technology feels inescapable. This is why technology is often an enemy in Digital J-horrors, like One Missed Call.
"Hustlers" returns power to groups that are traditionally deprived of it: women, the working class, and sex workers.
