A young woman who is getting back on her feet after a mental breakdown, Carol Rivers discovers that her late uncle has left her a rundown nightclub. Carol decides to renovate the venue, but, in the process, uncovers dark secrets about the club and her dead relative. After a series of disturbing events, Carol becomes increasingly unstable, but she finds some measure of comfort in Sharpe, an enigmatic older detective.
The gentle, emotional nuances of Evan’s coming-of-age story would have been so beneficial to have incorporated into the life of a POC character. Showing a Black, Asian or Latino young man that is afforded the space to be vulnerable, flawed and sensitive while driving a compelling and widely-loved narrative would have been a game changer.
Juneteenth is a day to commemorate the emancipation of enslaved people in the United States on June 19th, 1865. We did it! Everyone is free! Everyone is equal! End of story, right?
Although Christmas is a time of year for love and cheer for all, holiday cinema has not always represented diverse communities. Being a holiday with Christian origins, much of its media consists of straight white families or straight white romances. Luckily, modern years have been bringing with them plenty of POC and LGBTQ+ representation that the holidays so desperately need.
The Roses is a wickedly sharp marital warfare comedy that transforms domestic dysfunction into high art. Olivia Colman and Benedict Cumberbatch deliver powerhouse performances as a couple whose fairy-tale romance implodes when his architectural career collapses just as her culinary empire takes off. What makes Jay Roach's remake so devastatingly effective is its refusal to pick sides—both spouses are equally sympathetic and monstrous, wielding Tony McNamara's razor-sharp dialogue like weapons forged from shared intimacies. It's a film that dares you to laugh at relationship wreckage while forcing you to confront the uncomfortable truth that the line between passionate love and mutual destruction is terrifyingly thin.
Written and directed by Eva Victor, who also plays Agnes, the main character, Sorry, Baby is slow and artsy, but extremely effective. It shows how the trauma developed after a sexual assault has a ripple effect and loudly echoes in the victim and her life for years after.
The film is a documentary focusing on heavy metal in the late 80s and tackles topics like drug addiction, alcoholism, sex, masculinity, and of course, rock and roll. However, this didn’t feel like any documentary I’ve ever seen before.
