Last Lover (2019)

Movies also have the ability to make the audience think deeper about an issue that plagues society. "Blindspotting" does that without shying away from the intense reality of police brutality and racial discrimination.

You can’t talk to my grandpa about The Sopranos. You can’t talk to him about The Godfather either. Merely by bringing up the subject, you’d be treated to a lecture on how movies and TV want you to believe that all Italians are criminals and mobsters. He won’t watch any of it, in protest.

Despite the film’s efforts to reframe its heroine with modern complexity, a certain emotional distance lingers.

“Candyman ain't a 'he.’ Candyman is the whole damn hive." Candyman represents all Black victims of white supremacy, and this art form narratively conveys it in a succinct, adulatory way, the history of which is rare to find.

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.

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.