The Furious: Breathtaking martial arts ferocity

The Furious (2025) • View trailer

Four stars* (out of five); rated R, for strong, bloody violence, gore and profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

The dramatic paradigm shifts in martial arts movies can be traced to specific actors and directors.

 

Bruce Lee kick-started the franchise (pun intended) with 1973’s Enter the Dragon, and Jackie Chan moved the needle a decade later, with his signature blend of death-defying stunt work and comedic touches.

 

Having tracked the vicious Mr. Song to his ice factory, Navin (Joe Taslim, left) and
Wang (Miao Xie) prepare to battle several dozen knife-wielding thugs.

Welsh writer/director Gareth Evans and Indonesian martial arts star Iko Uwais upped the ante again, with 2012’s pulse-pounding The Raid: Redemption and its 2014 sequel.

And now we have this jaw-dropping burst of fury from Japanese director Kenji Tanigaki and star Miao Xie, which hits the ground running — literally — and never lets up. Given that it’s available via streaming services, rabid fans of such films are guaranteed to hit PAUSE and REPLAY more than once. Frankly, I challenge them to watch the entire film without having done so.

 

That said, Tanigaki’s film also gets grotesquely violent, gory and — on occasion — tastelessly macabre, making it totally unsuitable for mainstream viewers or those with delicate sensibilities. Tanigaki and his writers — Tin Shu Mak, Zhilong Lei, Kwan-Sin Shum and Frank Hu — go out of their way to be gleefully outrageous at times.

 

They revel in it. So will folks who love this stuff.

 

But Tanigaki and Xie can’t take full credit. Their efforts are tightly interwoven with the equally smashing work by cinematographer Meteor Cheung, editor Chris Tonick, and fight choreographer Kenske Sonomura, along with a supporting cast of martial arts notables from Japan, China, Hong Kong and the United States.

 

The term “copacetic” isn’t anywhere near strong enough to applaud the collaborative result.

 

The setting is “somewhere in Southeast Asia.” As established during a prologue, journalist Matia Phan (JeeJa Yanin) has been investigating the disappearance of numerous children, always from poorer neighborhoods ... much to the dismay of her husband, Navin (Joe Taslim), who regards this work as dangerous.

 

Probing an area on her own one day, the search leads to a particularly grimy hellhole, where she’s drawn to the sound of a crying child. Alas, her rescue attempt goes horribly awry, despite her heroic effort to out-fight a gaggle of baddies.

 

Cut to elsewhere, some time later, as we meet Wang Wei (Xie) and his adolescent daughter, Rainy (Enyou Yang). Wang is mute, and earns a modest living as a handyman; Rainy, who is visiting, usually lives in China with her grandmother. 

 

Brief mention is made of an unspecified “head injury” that occasionally prompts Wang to gingerly touch his scalp. (If this detail is intended to imply some sort of vulnerability, it’s apparently negligible, because it never impedes subsequent events.)

I Am Frankelda: Dazzling, but uneven

I Am Frankelda (2025) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five); rated PG, for dramatic intensity, scary images and fantasy violence

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

The imagination, craft and world-building in this fantasy — Mexico’s very first stop-motion animated feature — are off the chart.

 

I wish similar attention had been paid to the story.

 

After allowing her conscious self to be transported to Topus Terrentus (the Realm of
Terrors), Frankelda hopes that her lurid imagination will be enough to save
Prince Herneval's realm.

Even so, brothers Arturo and Roy Ambriz, who share writing and directing chores, have orchestrated a dazzling saga that plays on the (supposedly) thin line that separates reality from fantasy, truth from fiction. Neither can exist without the other.

The narrative is laden with 19th century Mexican culture, Day of the Dead folklore, creation myths and visual nods to the unsettling paintings of Leonora Carrington and Remedios Varo.

 

Art fans also will smile at the film’s opening tableau: a fantasy-hued nod to Rodin’s massive bronze sculpture, The Gates of Hell.

 

The result feels like a mash-up of Pixar’s Coco, Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth, Henry Selick’s adaptation of Coraline, and Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride, Frankenweenie and Nightmare Before Christmas. That’s no surprise, since the brothers admitted — in a recent Los Angeles Times interview — that their lives changed after seeing a VHS version of the latter.

 

A lengthy prologue — set in 1866, in Mexico’s Real del Monte — introduces Francisca Imelda (voiced by Habana Zoé), an imaginative little girl who hopes to become a published author. We meet her on the sad day that her mother — who paints lovely landscapes — falls ill with what kills her soon thereafter.

 

This initial sequence is amazingly lush, despite the limitations of stop-motion work. The girl and her mother stand in a gorgeous field of swaying grass and flowers, with small creatures — a lizard and rabbit — hovering in the background. Tears flow from the girl’s eyes, when her mother collapses.

 

To comfort herself, Francisca writes fantastical stories about Herneval, the “Prince of Terrors” in Topus Terrentus (Realm of the Terrors). The girl’s grandmother, with whom she now lives, disdains this useless waste of time. The waspish old hag makes Francisca spend her days like a wage slave: cleaning up, darning clothes and every other chore demanded of her.

 

Unbeknownst to Francisca — and all human beings — Topus Terrentus and Herneval (Jules Presley) are real: He’s the son of King Ficturo (Beto Castillo) and Queen Veritena (Gabriela Cárdenas). All three resemble a regal cross between human beings and birds of prey.

 

Their realm is home to all of humanity’s fears; when Ficturo plays the immense harpspider — which connects to our Realm of Existence — he shapes human consciousness. The denizens of Topus Terrentus, in turn, are kept alive by the power of humanity’s nightmares.

 

Unfortunately, humans have become too sophisticated for the nighttime visions created by Procustes (Luis Leonardo Suárez) the Royal Nightmare Maker. His efforts have grown tired, stale and clichéd.

She Dances: Plenty of the right moves

She Dances (2025) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for fleeting profanity and some drug references

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

This is a Wince During The First Half And Pray For A Reasonably Happy Outcome movie.

 

I don’t mean that in a bad way. Director/co-writer Rick Gomez’s feature debut is a frequently charming little character drama, which depicts the often embarrassing struggle of an estranged father and his teenage daughter trying to re-connect, after a tragedy ripped the family apart.

 

As Claire (Audrey Zahn, left) and Kat (Mackenzie Ziegler) look on with mounting
dismay, a flummoxed Jason (Steve Zahn) discovers that his intended hotel room
upgrade has misfired in a devastating way.

The film also features a noteworthy acting debut by dancer/choreographer Audrey Zahn, working here with her father Steve Zahn, playing — you guessed it — the aforementioned daughter and father.

This seems to have become something of a thing. Ethan Hawke directed his daughter Maya in 2023’s Wildcat; and Ewan McGregor and daughter Clara played a similarly estranged family unit in that same year’s Bleeding Love.

 

This new film is considerably better McGregor’s effort, and for several reasons. The situation is more relatable; Gomez’s touch is gentler, and at times quite funny; and the script — by Gomez and Steve Zahn — grants everybody plenty of persuasively awkward moments that’ll likely feel familiar to many viewers.

 

Kat (Audrey Zahn) has spent her entire life dancing, both for joy and in competition. Her bedroom is filled with ribbons and trophies, and everything has built up to the impending Southern Regional Dance Finals. Kat lives with her mother Deb (Rosemarie DeWitt); her long-unseen father Jason (Steve Zahn) parted following their divorce.

 

The plan was for Deb to take her daughter and longtime partner/BFF Kat (Mackenzie Ziegler) to the competition, but a last-minute emergency demands Deb’s presence elsewhere. With no other options — although Claire initially views this as a non-starter — Deb calls Jason and asks him to step in. Claire still is 17, and the rules require her to be accompanied by a parent or guardian.

 

“It’ll be perfect,” Deb insists.

 

“It’ll be perfectly imperfect,” Claire snaps back.

 

Due to the sort of coincidence that often lurks in stories of this nature, Jason and longtime business partner and best friend Brian (Ethan Hawke) are in the midst of negotiating the sale of their popular Two Jack Bourbon business. Immediately recognizing the importance of this opportunity, Brian insists that the astonished Jason doesn’t pass it up.

 

Zahn’s wavering expressions, over this wholly unexpected turn of events, speak volumes: Jason is surprised, pleased, worried and — most of all — terrified ... particularly because he can tell, over the phone, that Claire isn’t wild about the idea. He hasn’t spent quality time with her for years, and hasn’t the faintest idea how to relate to her.

 

Then, too, the long-ago tragedy hovers over everything.

 

The Hobby: Tales from the Tabletop — Gamers get a well-deserved spotlight

The Hobby: Tales from the Tabletop (2025) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five); not rated, but akin to PG-13, for occasionally frustrated profoanity

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang 

Full disclosure: I had more than a casual interest in Simon Ennis’ engaging documentary before seeing the first frame, because Constant Companion and I ran a game and puzzle store in our town, from 1978 to early 1997.

 

Once introduced to the ambitious world of today's board gaming culture, Candice Harris
can't get enough of it.

We reluctantly shuttered its doors because — as the 20th century drew to a close — the newly arrived electronic game industry all but killed the traditional board and table game business model.

Happily — as Ennis’ film repeatedly proves — board and table games enjoyed a major resurgence as the 21st century’s second decade began, and now the pursuit is arguably more popular and diverse than ever before. 

 

More power to them, because games have been with us for a long time.

 

Ennis opens his film at the British Museum, where Dr. Irving Finkel — Assistant Keeper of Ancient Mesopotamian script, languages and cultures in the Department of the Middle East — stands between two enormous Ancient Assyrian “Lamassus” statues. He points between the hooves of one statue, where a rudimentary board game has been scratched onto the metal base: something with which temple guards could while away the time, using pebbles or bits of dung as playing pieces.

 

Dr. Finkel is quite philosophical about this pastime, explaining that “When a game is invented, which is fair, and just, and exciting, and unpredictable, it spreads like wildfire, because there’s a hunger since the beginning of time, to play.”

 

That said — and Ennis must’ve been amused to get this quote — Dr. Finkel has no use for modern table games, all of which he considers “too ridiculously complicated.”

 

(Folks who’ve never progressed beyond Monopoly and Scrabble likely would agree with him.)

 

Following a brief title credits sequence — backed by a cover of Joe South’s “Games People Play” — the action shifts to opening day of the Indiana Convention Center’s annual Gen Con, a four-day event that draws more than 70,000 attendees (!). We meet moderator Tom Vasel, a board game reviewer and podcaster well known by the regulars.

 

Vasel is one of roughly a dozen gamers, podcasters and game designers profiled in this film, and he explains why new titles have exploded exponentially during the past decade and change: Crowd-funding allows far more creativity than ever was delivered by the likes of Parker Brothers, Hasbro and Milton Bradley. 

 

(Think of them as the original three TV networks, whose programs had to deliver high ratings in order to survive, as compared to the successful niche options now made available by the multiplicity of streaming outlets. Today’s indie gamers are like the latter.)

 

Dust Bunny: Should have been left undisturbed

Dust Bunny (2025) • View trailer

2.5 stars (out of five); rated R, for considerable violence, implied gore and child endangerment

Available via: HBO MAX

By Derrick Bang

File this one under “Be careful what you wish for ... you might get it.”

 

Writer/director Bryan Fuller developed a reputation in the early 21st century for creating adorably quirky television shows such as Dead Like Me, Wonderfalls and — most particularly — Pushing Daisies. He then got more serious last decade, putting his spin on television adaptations of established properties such as Hannibal, American Gods and Star Trek: Discovery.

 

The restaurant setting may be attractively benign, but the barely veiled conversation that
flows between Aurora (Sophie Sloan, left), 5b (Mads Mikkelsen) and Laverne
(Sigourney Weaver) is anything but.

Surprisingly — after all this time — Dust Bunny is his first theatrical feature (although almost nobody noticed its fleeting big-screen appearances last December). It’s quintessentially a work of his wildly outré imagination, but his attempt to blend the whimsy of Pushing Daisies with the brutality of American Gods fails miserably, and succeeds at neither.

Frankly, the result is a mess: a failed effort to re-invent 1994’s Leon: The Professional as an absurdist fantasy.

 

The film begins late at night, as a tiny swirling dust mote grows larger by bumping into other dust chunks, gradually assembling itself into a small, rabbit-shaped dust bunny that scuttles beneath the bed of 8-year-old Aurora (Sophie Sloan). She lives in a fifth-floor New York City apartment with her parents (Line Kruse and Caspar Phillipson).

 

The dust bunny growls at a volume far beyond its tiny size, prompting Aurora to shriek in terror, waking her parents. She insists there’s a monster under her bed; they naturally don’t believe her.

 

(“Grown-ups pretend not to be afraid,” she later comments, “but they are, all the time.”)

 

Aurora clearly is an imaginative child, sharing her bed with all manner of stuffed critters, in a bedroom that production designer Jeremy Reed clearly enjoyed filling with all manner of not-quite-right accessories: dolls with the heads of animals, clocks that don’t show the time, and other mildly disorienting touches.

 

Cinematographer Nicole Hirsch Whitaker amplifies the sense of unreality with all manner of cockeyed, vertigo-inducing camera angles, some shifting in mid-scene.

 

Still frightened, Aurora climbs out her bedroom window and onto the fire escape. A fluttering firefly calls her attention to the neighbor in 5B (Mads Mikkelsen). She follows when he leaves his apartment, and — wide-eyed — watches as he kills a dragon ... actually killing the members of an armed gang in a dragon dance parade puppet.

 

The following morning, a still-terrified Aurora warns her parents to “stay off the floor.” They ignore her, and — as Aurora listens, from her bed, to the sounds on the other side of the closed door — they’re devoured. By something huge.

 

Islands: Adrift

Islands (2025) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five); Unrated, but deserving a PG-13 for dramatic intensity, drug use and fleeting nudity

Available via: Amazon Prime and othr VOD options

By Derrick Bang

Sigh.

 

It starts so well.

 

Writer/director Jan-Ole Gerster’s brooding character piece initially radiates curiosity. 

 

Partly out of kindness, partly out of sympathyfor the clearly unhappy Anne (Stacey Martin),
Tom (Sam Riley, right) impulsively offers to spend a day touring her, her husband
Dave (Jack Farthing) and their young son around the island of Fuerteventura.

Tom (Sam Riley) wakens one morning, clothed and prone on beach sand; cinematographer Juan Sarmíento G. emphasizes the bright, blazing sunlight. Tom stumbles to his feet, slides into his nearby vehicle, and drives to his day job as a tennis instructor at a swanky resort hotel.

The disapproving receptionist, Maria (Bruna Cusí), hands him the week’s schedule, noting that he looks as rough as he feels. But Tom is popular — the schedule is fully booked — so his behavior apparently is tolerated by the Folks In Charge.

 

Tom spends the day cheerfully — but mindlessly — tossing tennis balls, lobbing and returning serves. He heads each night to Waikiki, a rowdy techno nightclub where he dances, smokes too much, drinks too much, does some drugs, and sometimes winds up in bed with a lovely lady (or two). He’s a blackout drunk, waking each morning with little (if any) memory of recent past events.

 

Lather, rinse, repeat: every day, apparently stretching back quite awhile. There isn’t much else to do, on this island setting of Fuerteventura. Tom is stuck, for reasons we don’t yet know.

 

(We rarely see him eat anything, which seems an odd oversight.)

 

Tom sees a fresh group of tourists arrive one day; one woman pauses, while stepping from the bus, and shoots him a contemplative glance. She appears later at his ramshackle office — where he keeps a concealed bottle of vodka, for occasional daytime snorts — having been directed there by Maria.

 

She introduces herself as Anne (Stacy Martin), and explains that she’d like tennis lessons for her 7-year-old son, Anton. Tom suggests his twice-weekly children’s group classes, but she insists on private lessons. Tom hesitates, then acquiesces, knowing that the French couple booked for the next day’s 9 a.m. slot rarely shows up.

 

Anne and Anton (Dylan Torrell) arrive on time, and Tom is impressed by the boy’s ability. Future bookings are made; on the next one, Tom meets Anne’s husband, Dave (Jack Farthing), quickly revealed to be a horse’s ass. Tom does the family a favor; Dave offers a cash thank-you, which Tom refuses. Instead, clearly liking Anne and Anton, Tom allows himself to be drawn into their island activities; he encourages as much, by spending a day touring them throughout Fuerteventura.

 

A Magnificent Life: An animated charmer

A Magnificent Life (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for occasional profanity, dramatic content and brief violence

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.29.26

Sylvain Chomet has made one of the most delightfully whimsical animated biopics you’re likely to see.

 

French novelist, playwright and filmmaker Marcel Pagnol — 1895 to 1974 — was an imaginative, forward-thinking Renaissance man in every sense of the term.

 

Whenever Marcel gets stuck, trying to extract a key event from long-ago memories, he's
assisted by a ghostly apparition of his adolescent self, who vividly recalls every detail.

In addition to being recognized as one of France’s greatest 20th century writers, he also was an early advocate of cinema upon seeing his first talkie, back in 1929. After coaxing Paramount Pictures to adapt his play Marius into what became one of the first French-language talkies, Pagnol founded his own film studio in 1932, where he often served as producer, financier, director, screenwriter, studio head, distributor and foreign-language script translator.

After shrewdly dismantling everything during World War II, in order to keep his work out of Nazi hands, in 1946 Pagnol became the first filmmaker elected to the prestigious Académie français.

 

And he wasn’t done yet, by any means.

 

Chomet continues to be remembered in this country for two marvelously imaginative animated films, 2003’s The Triplets of Belleville and 2010’s The Illusionist. Long an admirer of Pagnol, Chomet was delighted when asked by the man’s grandson, Nicolas Pagnol, to make a film based on Sylvain’s four-volume memoirs, published between 1957 and 1977 (the last one posthumously).

 

This film is the result: not quite full documentary, and not quite docudrama, propelled by a charming gimmick.

 

Events begin in 1956 Paris, as Pagnol (voiced by Laurent Lafitte) is approached by the editor-in-chief of a women’s magazine, who desires a literary serial that will recount the events of his childhood, his memories of early 20th century Provence, his first loves ... and everything else that captivated him, at the time.

 

Pagnol initially declines, musing “What’s the point of writing things, that people no longer wish to read?”

 

But that statement underestimates both the evocative, emotional power of his writing, and the degree to which he’s admired by the entire French population ... along with a rising fascination with the process of trying to recall all of his important moments and feelings.

Bank of Dave 2: The Loan Ranger — Another gleeful underdog saga

Bank of Dave 2: The Loan Ranger (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); Unrated, and suitable for all ages

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

Back in 2023, director Chris Foggin’s delightful Bank of Dave depicted how England’s Dave Fishwick rose from a working-class bloke who parlayed his one-man car repair shop into Britain’s largest minibus supplier, and then — enraged by what the 2008 financial crisis did to ordinary folks — set up his own lending company.

 

After Dave Fishwick (Rory Kinnear, foreground) publicizes the predatory tactics of payday
lenders, they fight back in a way that drags him into court and threatens the existence of
his bank. His colleagues — from left, David (Pearce Quigley), Oliver (Amit Shah) and
Jessica (Chrissy Metz) — offer words of encouragement.

He vowed to do what bank CEOs had forgotten or ignored: to help people and do no harm.

Scripters Piers Ashworth and Clare Keogh shaded some events — it was a film, not a documentary — but the core jaw-dropping details were accurate. (Channel 4’s actual 2012 documentary is readily available via YouTube.)

 

But Fishwick wasn’t finished.

 

Foggin and Ashworth are back, with the just-released Bank of Dave 2: The Loan Ranger, which delivers an equally entertaining and provocative account of what Fishwick did starting in 2013, after learning that some of his customers were being bled dry by the usurious interest charged by payday lending firms.

 

(We’re warned, as was the case with the first film, that this one’s narrative is “true-ish” at best.)

 

Rory Kinnear and Jo Hartley return as Dave and his wife, Nicky, who make the perfect team. Events kick off quickly, when — during a chat show — Dave hears from a caller who is being buried beneath crippling interest rates on a payday loan. 

 

He’s stunned to discover that the British government has done nothing about this predatory business model. Dave then allies himself with Oliver (Amit Shah), a Citizen’s Advice & Law Center counsellor who can lead him to numerous victims. 

 

But unlike Dave’s earlier battle, which was limited to British entities, he and Oliver learn that the two largest payday offenders — dubbed Quickdough and Snapcash Advance — are overseen by a dodgy wealthy American named Carlo Mancini (Rob Delaney). This prompts Dave to cajole Jessica (Chrissy Metz), a New York-based financial journalist, into joining them in his Lancashire home town of Burnley.

 

Their subsequent crusade runs into serious roadblocks. None of the victims is willing to testify in court, for fear of being slapped with even higher interest rates. And while interviewing such folks, Dave learns that both operations are run solely online ... meaning that there’s no physical place for borrowers to pay back in cash, even if they have the necessary amount.

 

That really annoys him ... but it also prompts the ingenious manner with which he decides to channel public outrage, social media being more of a force than it was, back in 2008.

The Choral: Makes beautiful music

The Choral (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated R, for profanity and sexual candor

Available via: Apple TV+ and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.5.26

During an impressive partnership/friendship that goes back to 1994, director Nicholas Hytner and writer Alan Bennett have collaborated on four films: The Madness of King George, The History Boys, The Lady in the Van and this new one ... along with far more stage productions.

 

Ellis (Taylor Uttley, center left), Lofty (Oliver Briscombe, center right) and Mitch (Shaun
Thomas, far right) listen soberly as Clyde (Jacob Dudman) describes his war experience.

Both are BAFTA, Olivier and Tony Award winners, and their films are beloved by viewers and critics alike. The films are quintessentially British, depicting well-crafted characters who often just try to get by, while facing some sort of challenge, amid events beyond their control.

The Choral is no different. This period charmer was essentially lost earlier this year, amid the post-holiday crush of Academy Award contenders: another lamentably unsung film scarcely granted theatrical release before being shuttled to the purgatory of streaming services.

 

Because, honestly, how is one supposed to find such a film, amid the cacophony of streaming titles ... unless somebody calls attention to it?

 

Consider this such a call.

 

The year is 1916, the setting the small (fictitious), working-class Yorkshire mill town of Ramsden. The war with Germany has raged for two years, during which time the initially patriotic fervor has been replaced by resignation, worry and sorrow. Too many lives have been lost, with — as everybody now realizes — no end in sight.

 

The story opens as telegram boy Lofty (Oliver Briscombe) delivers the worst kind of news to families desperate for their boys’ safe return. He’s accompanied by best mate Ellis (Taylor Uttley), tagging alongside on his bicycle. Lofty is solemn and kind, well aware of the grim news he bears; Ellis is more lighthearted and jokey. But both exchange a telling glance each time a door opens to a woman who crumples upon seeing what Lofty holds.

 

Both boys are 17. Although the British army was all-volunteer during the war’s initial 18 months, earlier this year an Act of Parliament mandated conscription at age 18. Both boys thus are fully aware of what soon awaits them.

 

Alderman Bernard Duxbury (Roger Allam), who owns the mill, also is chairman of the local Choral Society. The group traditionally mounts an annual performance of J.S. Bach’s The St. Matthew Passion. But the war has drastically reduced the choral’s male section — and Duxbury’s work force — which, at one point, prompts a grim warning, “No mill, no music.”

 

Duxbury lost his only son to the war; his wife, Margaret (Eunice Roberts), has retreated into wordless grief, unwilling to abandon her black clothing. But Duxbury, carrying on, recognizes that encouraging the choral’s remaining singers and musicians to produce a concert far beyond their means grants purpose and camaraderie.

Arco: Insufferably weird and unstructured

Arco (2025) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five); rated PG, and much too generously, for bleak dramatic intensity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang 

Every year, it seems obligatory that one of the Oscar-nominated animated feature films is preposterously bizarre and unsatisfying, having attracted attention solely because of the way it looks.

 

When Arco attempts to fly without benefit of his crucial time-traveling gemstone, Iris
supplies the necessary weather conditions by blending the day's bright sunlight with
water spray from sprinklers and her hose nozzle. The result ... leaves much to be desired.

If imagination and visual razzle-dazzle were all that mattered, then this one would indeed deserve some of its many accolades.

But there’s the not-inconsequential matter of story, in which department this feature from French co-directors Ugo Bienvenu and Gilles Cazaux comes up seriously short.

 

In interviews, Bienvenu has admitted constructing Arco from a series of hand-drawn sketches, rather than a script.

 

That’s blindingly obvious, because — in terms of narrative — this film often is an incomprehensible and impenetrable mess. Additionally, its tone veers wildly from serious ecological cautionary tale, to bumbling slapstick farce. Those two don’t play well together.

 

Bienvenu shares scripting credit — such as it is — with Félix de Givry.

 

In the distant future — sources differ on 2932 or 3000, but neither is mentioned during the film — people live on circular, open-air platforms that jut out, like branches, from immense towers. Those are anchored on Earth somewhere far below, beneath an all-encompassing blanket of concealing clouds. 

 

Mention is made that this is “the great fallow,” intended to “let the Earth rest.” We assume some sort of ecological disaster, never specified.

 

Each family’s adult members periodically travel back in time, returning with single examples of a fruit, vegetable or spice, which are gene-sequenced and replicated, so that everybody can have lush gardens. Individuals traveling in this manner — which can take place only during a combination of rain and sunlight — leave a rainbow in their wake.

 

Animals never are mentioned, and (apparently) nobody has pets. But birds are in abundance, and people can talk to them (!).

 

The colorful animation style at times evokes Hayao Miyazaki, but his films always contain a cheerful warmth that’s utterly lacking in this cold, clinical, brooding story.

 

People sleep suspended in mid-air, under an anti-gravity light, in uniform-style pajamas and no blankets (which, frankly looks neither comfortable nor cozy).

H Is for Hawk: Deeply moving

H Is for Hawk (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and occasional profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

In the spring of 2007, as a means of coping with her grief after the sudden death of her beloved father — with whom she shared many interests, most notably birding — 27-year-old Cambridge research fellow Helen Macdonald purchased a young Eurasian goshawk, intending to train it.

 

Having spent weeks (months?) training her goshawk to trust her, and respond to
commands, Helen (Claire Foy) prepares to let the bird loose for its first outdoor kill.

Although impulsive, this wasn’t an entirely foolish act; Macdonald had been flying falcons, alongside her father, since adolescence. But goshawks are notoriously vicious, volatile and savage: almost impossible to train.

Macdonald ultimately recounted her experience in an award-winning 2014 memoir which became a best-seller within a fortnight.

 

Her saga now has become a deeply poignant, emotionally shattering and unexpectedly exhilarating film — of the same title — under the careful direction of Philippa Lowthorpe, who shares scripting credit with Emma Donoghue. MacDonald is brought to life via a remarkably nuanced performance by Claire Foy, who runs a gamut of emotions during this saga.

 

We barely meet Helen’s father, longtime Daily Mirror photojournalist Alisdair Macdonald (Brendan Gleeson), before Claire — while at Cambridge — receives word that he died unexpectedly, while on assignment. Gathered alongside her mother (Lindsay Duncan) and brother James (Josh Dylan) in a funeral parlor, their mourning is briefly overcome by incredulous, shared laughter when the agent suggests a decorated “themed coffin.”

 

(This tacky, tone-deaf moment is Lowthorpe’s sole dose of macabre comic relief. I cringed at the notion that this actually may have occurred.)

 

Back at Cambridge, unable to focus on teaching, or finishing her fellowship — or even worrying about where she’ll live if she doesn’t finish — Claire decides that embracing an impossible challenge is the only way to endure getting through each day. Longtime friend and fellow falconer Stuart (Sam Spruell) thinks she’s crazy; goshawks are “the wildest and maddest of raptors ... the perfectly evolved psychopath.”

 

“Don’t even think about it,” he further cautions, “certainly not in your state.”