'The Resort': Five Perfect Minutes and Countless Missed Opportunities
The Resort has an excellent climax surrounded by disappointments. Somehow, at a mere 75 minutes, this movie still manages to be 70 minutes too long.

A boy met a girl. They spent some time together, they went to the movies often, they gave away things, they traveled. The girl leaves the boy. The boy believed that she was the woman of his life. She gives him a notebook with drawings (the best he knows how to do) and with all the tickets of all the movies that he went to see. The boy takes a camera. A 22-year-old boy who exposes himself in such a way in a film, which expresses himself in the first person offering us some pages of a newspaper, his, which no other person could write in his place, talking to us without concessions of his first history of love and the pain of a break, is not frequent. A boy who shares his pain, the need to film what he loves and what he is losing, his learning of life and the world through cinema -the cinema alone- is also infrequent. A gesture of a filmmaker.
The Resort has an excellent climax surrounded by disappointments. Somehow, at a mere 75 minutes, this movie still manages to be 70 minutes too long.
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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.
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