In the seacoast town of Boulogne, antique furniture saleswoman Hélène lives with her stepson, Bernard, who's back from military duty in Algiers. An old lover of Hélène's comes to visit, Alphonse, with his niece Françoise; he too is back from Algiers, where he ran a café. Bernard speaks of his fiancée, Muriel, whom Hélène has not met. The past is obscured by guilt, misperceptions, and missed possibilities. Appearances deceive, things change. As Hélène and Alphonse try to sort out a renewal, everyone seems off-kilter just enough to hint that all cannot end well.
Alain Resnais
Director
Delphine Seyrig
Hélène Aughain
Jean-Pierre Kérien
Alphonse Noyard
Jean-Baptiste Thiérrée
Bernard Aughain
Nita Klein
Françoise
Claude Sainval
Roland de Smoke
Laurence Badie
Claudie
Martine Vatel
Marie-Dominique, aka Marie-Do
Philippe Laudenbach
Robert
Jean Champion
Ernest
Jean Dasté
L'homme à la chèvre / The Goat Man
Julien Verdier
Le loueur de chevaux / The Stableman
I can say without question, that this is the first movie I’ve ever seen where art imitates life so much that I could 100% identify with it on a personal level. The predominately Black cast of characters are people with hopes, dreams, fears, and ambitions.
With This is Us now on its fifth season and A Million Little Things on its third, we have a lot of material to entertain the hypothetical: if these two shows got in the ring together, who would come out victorious? Despite the endless recognition for the former’s success, I dare say I’d put my money on A Million Little Things once all is said and done.
Disney's live-action remake is vibrant and beautiful, with updated music and classic enthusiasm, but it fails to push the envelope and provide nuance for Ursula.
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.
If you enjoy the bizarre, silly and entertaining world of the horror B-movies and want a break from the nuanced and poignant big budget horror releases, I have a list of gore-fests from the last ten years to enjoy this October.