Long ago, Japan was home to several navies. The Murakami Navy, said to be the strongest of them all, once defeated even Nobunaga, and refused to join Hideyoshi, choosing to pursue their love of freedom and the sea. The man who led these samurai of the sea was the great pirate lord Takeyoshi Murakami. And now Kaede Murakami, a descendant of Takeyoshi, is an elementary schooler living on an island. On her 12th birthday, Kaede discovers a flute in her family's storehouse that has been passed down through the Murakami family for generations. The flute holds the key to finding the Murakami Navy's buried treasure. This adventure story tells the tale of an ancient pirate and his descendant forming a connection that transcends time, uniting the island.
In a film where a Black couple is framed to be the lead characters, they still managed to get shuffled off to the sidelines. The enthusiastic cast delivers well on goofy bits- but can only go so far before they begin to fall flat.
Stand and Deliver is an inspirational classic from 1988 starring Edward James Olmos as Jaime Escalante, and his class of rag tag students in East Los Angeles. It’s the story of how a new teacher shows a motley group of students in the inner city with backgrounds as gang members, dishwashers, and mechanics — the power of self-determination. He teaches the teenagers to believe in themselves through algebra and calculus.
The Sandman features a plethora of LGBTQ+ characters and is openly expressive about it!
A young woman finds herself trapped in a crossfire of awkwardness during a nightmarish dinner party with her boyfriend's dysfunctional family.
Documented human suffering is never easy to view or read about and is understandably triggering for many people, but it can be educational, and education is a key to change. An overwhelming amount queer people worldwide (and in my own country) have it far worse than I could imagine, and documentaries such as Welcome to Chechnya bring issues to light that certain groups of people would never see.
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.
