The current cinematic season appears to be defined by a fascinaton with identity, the encroachment of technology, and the messy, often violent business of being human. From the smoky folk clubs of the sixties to the far reaches of deep space, the latest slate of releases suggests that directors are moving away from stale formulas in favour of something altogether more volatile and profound.
Dylan’s Ghost and the Art of the Folk Performance
While the world might remember Timothée Chalamet as a parody of a talentless rapper from his stint on Saturday Night Live, James Mangold’s Like A Complete Unknown proves he is remarkably adept at playing a brilliant, if equally prickly, folk singer. This is not merely a biographical retread; it is a study of the “lying songs full of truth” that defined Bob Dylan’s early career.
The film captures pivotal moments from the 1960s with a certain raw energy. One particularly striking sequence features Chalamet alongside Monica Barbaro, who portrays Joan Baez with a crystalline, brittle elegance. The pair perform a duet that ostensibly depicts a lovers’ quarrel, yet the performance itself radiates an intimacy that suggests something far more complex than a simple dispute. It is a testament to Chalamet’s willingness to gamble his “young star” charisma on a role that demands both vocal and emotional vulnerability.
Humanity Against the Machine
The anxiety surrounding Artificial Intelligence has moved from the boardroom to the silver screen in Christopher McQuarrie’s Mission: Impossible – Final Reckoning. Ethan Hunt, played with the customary intensity of Tom Cruise, finds himself in a global struggle against a digital adversary. While many of us worry about sharing our desks with AI, Hunt’s workspace is the entire planet, and the stakes are predictably astronomical.
The plot hinges on the hunt for a specific source code, treated here as the only way to seize control of a power that has become self-aware and detached from its human origins. It is a quintessential action finale that attempts to tackle the “hypostatisation” of technical labour—essentially asking if we can ever truly pull the plug on a force that has already outgrown its creators.
Existential Clones and Lunar Absurdity
If Tom Cruise is fighting to save the world, Robert Pattinson is busy dying for it—repeatedly. In Bong Joon-ho’s Mickey 17, the South Korean auteur explores the grim reality of a “disposable clone” on a colonisation mission. It is a film that refuses to settle into a single tone, oscillating wildly between pitch-black comedy, brutal violence, and moments of surprising tenderness.
What prevents the narrative from fracturing under the weight of its own eccentricity is the depth afforded to its supporting cast. Whether it is Naomi Ackie’s combat pilot or Steven Yeun’s duplicitous friend, every character is granted the space to exist as a complex individual. Even the more bizarre elements, such as a giant, shaggy “isopod buffalo,” feel integrated into this strange, harsh world. It might not be a better world than our own, but as the director suggests, it is certainly more interesting.
The Intellectual Deficit of the Super-Villain
The superhero genre, which many critics declared dead by the end of 2023, has received an unexpected jolt of life via James Gunn’s Superman. While the Man of Steel is as impressive as ever, the real intrigue lies in the reimagining of his nemesis, Lex Luthor. Gunn avoids the cliché of the “evil genius” whose malice is a byproduct of his intellect. Instead, the film presents Luthor’s villainy as a fundamental flaw in his understanding of what intelligence actually is.
Luthor views the intellect as a tool for subjugation, a way to impose his will on the masses, drawing a pointed parallel to the modern philosophies of tech titans like Sam Altman or Bill Gates. He treats thought like a prompt fed into an AI. The film contrasts this with a more “living” intelligence—one that communicates and responds to human desires and instincts, rather than merely seeking to overwrite them.
Unspoken Traumas and Mature Resurgence
In a shift toward psychological realism, Luca Guadagnino’s After the Hunt brings together the formidable talents of Ayo Edebiri, Andrew Garfield, and Julia Roberts. The film centres on an allegation of sexual misconduct that remains shrouded in ambiguity. The narrative focus is not so much on the “whodunnit” aspect, but rather on the internal collapse of the characters as they fail to process the fallout.
Julia Roberts delivers a performance that feels like a career milestone, shedding the “Mona Lisa smile” of her earlier years to embrace the neuroses of a woman in her late fifties. It is her most substantial role in years, channelling a traumatic romantic energy that seems to nod toward the power dynamics of her own cinematic history. The film thrives on what is left unsaid, leaving the audience to navigate the murky waters of memory and betrayal alongside the protagonists.
Viking Grotesqueries and the Redemption of the Broken
The season takes a turn for the surreal with Giorgos Lanthimos’s Bugonia, featuring a characteristically off-kilter Emma Stone. However, the theme of finding therapy in the bizarre is perhaps best exemplified by Anders Thomas Jensen’s Therapy for Vikings. Jensen, known for the dark humour of Adam’s Apples, returns with a tale of two brothers, Anker and Manfred, caught in a cycle of crime and identity loss.
The plot involves a hidden bag of loot and a younger brother, Manfred, who has developed a dissociative identity disorder, insisting his name is John and claiming to be one of the Beatles. The search for the missing treasure leads them to their mother’s remote forest home, which has been converted into an Airbnb for “broken souls.”
The film relies heavily on the shorthand between Mads Mikkelsen and Nikolaj Lie Kaas, who are collaborating with Jensen for the sixth time. While the second half of the film indulges in significant violence, Jensen defends the choice as a vital dramatic tool—a mirror to life itself. Ultimately, the film emerges as a tender fable about tolerance. It posits that when everyone is “broken,” no one truly is, offering a surprisingly warm, if blood-spattered, message for the holiday season.
