Jackson Films

Material Affection, Emotional Debt Materialists was one of my most anticipated films of the year—not just for its ensemble cast, but because of the name behind the camera. Celine Song, who directed one of my favorite films of 2023 - Past Lives, returns with her sophomore feature. With Past Lives earning Oscar nominations for Best Picture and Original Screenplay, expectations were sky-high. So, does Materialists live up to the hype? Well… yes—but with a caveat. Given the Oscar buzz, I didn’t expect Song to pivot in this direction. Materialists plays it considerably safer than Past Lives. From its casting alone, it’s clear the film aims for mass appeal while still keeping one foot in the festival circuit. Walking that tightrope leads to moments of brilliance—but occasionally weighs the film down. The narrative juggles several sociological themes. Some land well; others feel undercooked. At times it feels like the film is biting off more than it can chew, yet Song maintains just enough balance to keep it from unraveling. What Materialists retains from Past Lives is Song’s deep sense of maturity. The film leaves you with questions, ideas, and quiet discomfort that lingers long after the credits roll. The dialogue is sharp and quietly profound, offering an intimate study of human behavior. Song has a gift for capturing the subtleties of everyday interaction, making the audience feel like silent observers to private, vulnerable moments. The intimacy can be so raw, it feels almost intrusive—in the best way. Performance-wise, Dakota Johnson does what the script demands, but Pedro Pascal is the true standout. With limited screen time, he delivers one of his most layered performances—a big statement considering his body of work. Chris Evans’ performance feels more constrained; his energy doesn’t always match his co-stars, though it’s never distracting enough to hurt the story. Where Past Lives ended with an emotionally devastating, reality-rooted finale, Materialists opts for something more crowd-pleasing—a tidy, “happy” ending. It’s a choice that aligns with the film’s message, but one that feels a bit conventional and predictable. I only wish the execution had retained some of the raw honesty that made Song’s debut so powerful. Despite these shortcomings, the film doesn’t suffer in any major way. Song succeeds in crafting something satisfying, even if it doesn’t quite reach the emotional heights of her previous work. She remains a filmmaker to watch closely, and Materialists will no doubt spark conversations.

I was deeply skeptical about Ballerina. The John Wick franchise peaked with the all-time action classic John Wick : Chapter 4, only to tumble into mediocrity with the soulless Peacock spinoff The Continental. The marketing for Ballerina didn’t help either—Keanu Reeves appearing in what looked like a shoehorned cameo felt like a potential insult to Chapter 4’s poetic ending. But to my pleasant surprise, Ballerina proved every doubt wrong. It’s not only a good film—it’s a worthy, even essential, addition to the John Wick legacy. What makes Ballerina shine is its efficiency. The plot is consciously contained, never pretending to offer the biggest set pieces or most bombastic action. Its grandeur lies in restraint. Some may argue the story is barely more than a one-liner—but that’s fine when it’s painted on such an elegant canvas. Instead of chasing “bigger,” the film chooses “better,” making full use of its limited arsenal with precision and purpose. The film also plays cleverly with audience expectations. One standout moment is a long, intense oner where the protagonist escapes a brutal fight, gets into her car, and drives into the horizon. The drone camera pulls back into a gorgeous wide shot—we expect a cut, a breather. But then, it swerves right back down as another car slams into hers, launching a second fight that loops us back to the scene’s origin. It’s one of many instances where Ballerina expertly subverts traditional action film rhythms. Another triumph is its use of Chekhov’s gun—every object, every corner of every set, every weapon, is used to full effect. Nothing is wasted. Even props become weapons. Every plausible combination of action with a flamethrower, for instance, is executed with flair. The stunt work is masterful, living up to the franchise’s lofty standards. When the Academy finally creates a “Best Stunts” category, this series deserves an honorary award for its legacy. Equally impressive is the visual—or rather, physical—storytelling. The John Wick films have never relied on verbose exposition, and Ballerina continues that tradition. Characters are built and broken through movement. Entire arcs unfold through aggression. There's even room for well-executed situational comedy, something Chapter 4 also balanced with finesse. Performance-wise, everyone delivers. Ana de Armas is phenomenal, as expected. Keanu’s role is far from mere nostalgia bait—his presence is vital to the narrative and thankfully well-integrated. I would’ve loved to see more of Norman Reedus, but in his limited screen time, he makes every moment count. Overall, Ballerina is a surprising and satisfying entry into the franchise. It doesn’t diminish what came before—it elevates it. It justifies its existence so well that I’d rather live in a world where this story is told than one where it isn’t. You can never have too much John Wick in your life. 8/10

Mission Impossible: The Final Reckoning serves as the grandest and boldest farewell to arguably the greatest action franchise of all time. Yet, it lacks a true sense of finality. The film shoulders a colossal burden, attempting to deliver a worthy goodbye to Ethan Hunt and the iconic franchise. It aims to provide satisfying conclusions to a bloated roster of side characters while also setting up inevitable cash-grab sequels. Additionally, it strives to outdo every previous installment by going bigger and bolder than ever. While it excels in some areas, it falters in others. One of the film’s biggest challenges is managing its vast ensemble of characters. The script occasionally struggles to balance them all, resulting in scenes where some characters randomly appear and disappear, seemingly out of convenience rather than logic. This inconsistency can be jarring, pulling the audience out of the experience. In typical Mission Impossible fashion, the film promises the most spectacular set pieces yet—and it delivers. These grand, meticulously crafted action sequences are thrilling to watch. However, their constant back-to-back presence somewhat dampens their impact. Once the audience becomes accustomed to the relentless spectacle, the element of surprise and tension starts to wane. The stunts, while still impressive, carry a bittersweet note. Unlike previous installments where Tom Cruise’s daring feats were fully captured on camera, this time around, roughly half of the action scenes rely on noticeable green screen effects. Though understandable, given Cruise’s age and safety precautions, it slightly detracts from the visceral thrill of witnessing genuine stunts, making the danger feel less real. Performance-wise, this installment shines, particularly with Angela Bassett delivering one of the most emotionally charged portrayals in the franchise. The script’s emphasis on deeper emotions allows for some of the finest acting moments in the series. However, the editing feels somewhat sloppy, giving the impression that substantial material was left on the cutting room floor. While the brisk pacing keeps the film engaging, it sometimes feels as if we’re only witnessing the start and end of scenes without the journey in between, leaving a sense of incompleteness. The cutting is fast, but not in an exhilarating manner—instead, it’s disorienting. If this truly is the final goodbye to the Mission Impossible series, it’s been an unforgettable ride. Despite its flaws, the franchise remains the pinnacle of action cinema in my book, and its legacy will undoubtedly endure for generations. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: we are witnessing a master at craft. Cherish it while you can. This message will self-destruct in five seconds.

They finally got it right — and it feels genuinely refreshing to say that about a Marvel film after a looooong time. Thunderbolts immediately piqued interest with its oddball crossover of characters on screen, but what truly caught my attention was the creative team behind it. With several A24 alumni helming key roles in direction, writing, and cinematography, this film promised something different. On paper, it shouldn’t work — these characters all come from projects that weren’t exactly beloved, and the film looked like Marvel’s attempt to tie up loose ends. But against all odds, it works beautifully, and that’s largely thanks to the sharp, layered screenplay. The writing brings back the essence of early Marvel : scenes that aren’t just expositional filler, but ones that drive character arcs forward with real emotional weight. Every character gets their moment, and even if you walked in not caring about them, chances are you’ll leave feeling otherwise. Most impressively, the screenplay doesn’t undercut its emotional beats with out-of-place jokes—something recent Marvel entries have stumbled over. Thunderbolts knows how to balance its levity with respect for its darker themes. Another thing I truly appreciated was that the superheroes actually did superhero things. Not just the usual city-levelling battles against world-ending villains, but something more grounded and human. There’s a soulful five-minute sequence where the team focuses solely on saving civilians. Yes, actual people — not just punching through chaos, but actively helping. That moment reminded me why we admire superheroes in the first place. It was touching, impactful, and a sorely missed element in recent MCU outings. One of the standout examples of the film’s depth is Sentry. For the first time in ages, we get a character who isn’t just a villain, but a conflicted human being wrestling with deep emotional turmoil. His duality with The Void is haunting, and the visual storytelling used to explore that relationship is mesmerizing, especially on the big screen. If you have access to IMAX, don’t think twice; the expanded aspect ratio is used masterfully to enhance the drama. The action sequences deserve a spotlight of their own. You’d think compelling action would be a given in a superhero film, but we know that’s not always the case. Here, the choreography is fluid, inventive, and refreshingly easy to follow. Instead of chaotic cuts, the film leans into wide, drawn-out shots, and there’s a single-take sequence, a proper oner that’s nothing short of iconic. In the end, Thunderbolts is more than just a fun, popcorn-fueled superhero flick. It offers a rich, emotionally grounded story that explores themes like depression and childhood trauma without losing its sense of entertainment. It’s a film that lingers in your mind and signals a promising shift for the MCU. If this is the direction they’re headed, then Fantastic Four might just have a solid foundation to build on.

I was kinda worried about this season after the last one, which honestly felt really lackluster in my opinion. But I was glad to see this was a strong return to form. This season ditches all the gimmicks the last one relied on and returns to the essence of what made You so gripping in the first place—character-driven storytelling and the classic suspense-building the series is infamous for. It's darker, more focused, and far more introspective. We’ve never gotten into the mind of Joe Goldberg quite like this before. This time, it’s not just about his actions—it’s about his inner unraveling. We see him doing his best (or worst?) work when it comes to manipulation, gaslighting, and power play. It’s haunting how natural it all seems to him. The writing gives him so many moments to shine and terrify. It felt like watching a masterclass in sociopathy, wrapped in charm. The performances across the board are stellar, but Bronte is a standout. Even though she was only introduced in the final season, she managed to leave a lasting impact and cemented herself as one of the most unforgettable characters of the entire series. Her presence gave the narrative emotional depth and a strong moral center, something Joe desperately needed to be challenged by. The cameos from earlier characters were such a nostalgic treat, tying everything together beautifully. And man, the dialogues this season? Razor-sharp. So poetic. The entire arc felt like watching a Shakespearean tragedy unfold—with Joe’s mask finally slipping beyond repair. It gave me Breaking Bad finale vibes. The way you finally see through the protagonist’s excuses and self-justifications and realize, yeah, he needs to go down. Joe had crossed so many lines that redemption wasn’t even on the table anymore. This show has a special place in my heart. It was one of the first series I ever watched, and it opened the door for me to the world of episodic, long-form storytelling. Watching it come to an end felt like saying goodbye to an old friend—one who was deeply flawed, often infuriating, but impossible to forget. A fitting end to a twisted journey. Thank you to the entire team for the memories, the chills, and the ride. Goodbye, You.

I prefer to stay away from online discourse before watching a film to form my own opinions. But the negativity surrounding this one was so overwhelming that I’d be lying if I said I didn’t lower my expectations before stepping into the theater. Surprisingly, the first half caught me off guard—in a good way. Brave New World takes a methodical, almost episodic approach to storytelling, allowing time to establish characters, their relationships, and how they shape the world around them. It feels like a sequence of unfolding events rather than a string of action set pieces—a flaw that has plagued recent Marvel projects. Yes, it's exposition-heavy, and the dialogue often feels unnatural, but I found myself thinking, this isn’t nearly as bad as the internet made it out to be. Then comes the second half, where the film nosedives. Everything in the first half is setup, yet instead of a satisfying payoff, the film get this sudden urgency to scramble to reach the finish line. Characters and subplots are abandoned. The entire narritive structure collapses. The villains are brimming with potential—engaging, menacing, and clearly capable of leaving a lasting impact. But there’s simply not enough time to flesh them out, leaving their presence as little more than a fleeting "what could have been." And I hate—no, I hate hate hate—what they did with Red Hulk. He’s in the film for barely five minutes, yet those are the best five minutes. The action finally feels inventive, the stakes real. For the first time, it actually resembles a Captain America movie. I wanted more of that. Then there’s the CGI—laughable in the final fight. The greenscreen spill on Captain America’s helmet is embarrassingly noticeable. The editing is choppy, failing to tell a story through physicality. The climax is underwhelming, and the post-credit scene? Absolutely not worth the wait. Looking back, I realize nothing of substance actually happens in this film. It feels like a glorified filler episode. Few films manage to collapse so thoroughly in their second half, undoing everything they set up in the first. The legacy of the shield is a heavy burden, and this time, the weight was simply too much to carry.

Robert Eggers' Nosferatu stands as a pinnacle of cinematic artistry, achieving a level of technical brilliance that filmmakers can only aspire to. The film opens with an extended dialogue sequence set against an all-encompassing darkness. Eggers challenges viewers not merely to adjust their eyes to the absence of light but to embrace it, prompting introspection as the narrative serves as a mirror to society. The tale of Count Orlok has long been interpreted as a symbol of plague and societal fears. Eggers' rendition transforms this familiar narrative into a unique collage, blending the known with his distinctive vision. This film epitomizes the culmination of Eggers' work since his 2015 debut, The Witch. Every filmmaking technique in his arsenal is not only reused but elevated to its fullest potential. While some may deem this his magnum opus, it feels like a precursor to even greater achievements. Nosferatu is destined to be studied by fans, critics, and students for generations. Each scene is meticulously crafted, leaving audiences in awe. Lily-Rose Depp delivers a performance that merits strong Oscar consideration. This is a theatrical experience that demands to be seen on the big screen. In an era where genuine risk and artistry in filmmaking are increasingly rare, supporting such endeavors is essential.

Coming-of-age films often face the challenge of portraying the teenage perspective authentically while balancing the unfiltered wisdom of older generations. This film walks that tightrope with near-perfection, capturing the complexities of generational divides and emotional truths. As a love letter to womanhood and its subtle nuances, unfortunately I can only sympatise with its message. But its emotional depth still resonated. Moments of quiet power gave me chills, and I found myself tearing up toward the end—a testament to its maturity and impact. Unlike most coming-of-age films that lean on soaring scores to heighten emotions, this one finds beauty in silence. The lack of music, coupled with sharp, subtext-rich dialogue, potrayed with long wide static camera shots speaks volumes without saying much at all. Watching it on the big screen was a delight, made even more memorable by meeting the lead actress who is a true force of nature in this. Highly recommended.

Payal Kapadia's Cannes Grand Prix winner is a meditative slice of life; a deeply intimate celebration of humanity. The most soul I have seen in a film in a long, long time. Payal's unflinching, naked portrayal of Mumbai, "The City of Illusions," evoked a sense of nostalgia for a place I’ve never lived in. Her meticulous crafting of characters, down to their subtlest nuances, made me want to relive memories I don't have. There’s a tenderness in this film that makes you want to linger on every frame. It’s poetic how some characters exist only within that rectangular box of the screen, yet their world feels more alive and inviting than anywhere you’ve been. You want to surrender to the illusion and stay with them long after the credits roll.

Firstly, I must say, the sheer privilege of being able to pay for a ticket, sit in a cinema, and see "Directed by Ridley Scott" appear on screen is a profound honor. We are witnessing the twilight works of one of the architects and pioneers of modern cinema—a moment that deserves celebration in itself. The man is 86 years old and still churning out films of this caliber annually. I pray I have the core strength to get out of bed at that age, let alone make movies. In my Dune: Part Two review, I described that film with one word. I find myself reaching for the same word here again: epic. A trend in Ridley Scott's filmography as of late—Alien: Covenant, House of Gucci, The Last Duel, and Napoleon—is films feeling chopped up in the editing room, with critical scenes left on the cutting floor. Confounding my fears, Gladiator 2 bucks this trend, justifying its runtime and never overstaying its welcome. The action sequences are among the most brutal, inventive, and pulse-pounding of the year, set against immersive and awe-inspiring backdrops. The VFX is seamless, and the practical effects shine. Unfortunately, the Indian censor board has cut some of the more visceral kills, but that frustration is aimed at them, not at the filmmakers. These are heavy shoes to fill. A sequel to one of the most iconic, genre-defining movies? Ballsy. The question always looms for a legacy sequel: does it justify its existence, or is it just a cash grab? Well, Gladiator 2 not only justifies its existence but elevates the original—it makes the first film feel incomplete without it. All the actors deliver, but Denzel Washington—my god. That man is a brute force of nature. An Oscar nomination is surely due. I’ll bring my comparisons with Dune: Part Two back one last time. Much like that film, this again felt like an audacious event and a celebration of cinema—a story of colossal proportions painted across the grandest of canvases. A worthy sequel to one of the most iconic films.