Before stepping into the theater to see James Cameron’s Avatar: Fire and Ash, I joked that the movie would be “just like the last one but with fire instead of water,” and that the next installment would simply rotate in another element. And, truth be told, I wasn’t that far off. How much you love the previous Avatar movies will probably determine how much you enjoy this one. So, full disclosure: I’m a fan of James Cameron, and I trust his vision, but the Avatar films have always been my least favorite of his works. That said, Fire and Ash possessed the potential to be my favorite entry so far.

I know the Sisyphean metaphor at the heart of It Ends is an obvious one that will resonate with the vast majority of people, but this movie hit especially hard for me at this juncture. Lately, I’ve been incessantly thinking to myself, “What’s the point?” and fantasizing about just disappearing into the middle of nowhere and screaming as loud as humanly possible. It feels like I’m trapped on a carousel, going around in circles over and over again, and I just desperately want to get off the ride.

As anyone who’s ever been the victim of adolescent bullying will tell you, kids can be ruthless and relentless. For decades, the male “bully” in film and television was a stereotype: the burly jock who’d toss the scrawny nerd into a locker, give them a wedgie, or inflict some other form of physical abuse. But as most of us who’ve been bullied know, real bullies often wield a different kind of power. They don’t need to harm you physically when they can turn everyone against you, destroying you mentally and emotionally instead. Their cruelty knows no bounds. And if your friends are bullying someone, it feels as though you have to join in. Otherwise, they’ll kick you out of the group and target you as well. It’s malicious, sickening, and Charlie Polinger’s film The Plague captures it all too well.

Josh Safdie’s Marty Supreme fuses the relentless intensity of Uncut Gems with the Kafkaesque absurdity of After Hours, transforming the sports film into something fresh, audacious, and unapologetically original. It’s a funny, stressful, and wildly unpredictable odyssey. The runtime flies by in a frenzy of ambition, ego, and escalating disaster, chronicling one man’s quest to become the world’s greatest table tennis player, which spirals into a series of startling misadventures.
Long-time collaborators Josh Safdie and Ronald Bronstein have once again proven that they’ve mastered the art of constructing protagonists who are deeply reprehensible yet impossible to look away from, characters so volatile that watching them is like witnessing a train wreck in real time. Their latest antihero, Marty Mauser (Timothée Chalamet), is very loosely based on professional table tennis player Marty Reisman. He’s a man in pursuit of greatness and a whirlwind of charm and arrogance, driven by unchecked ambition and bravado. Safdie and Bronstein wrote the role specifically for Chalamet, and it shows. No one else could have made such an egotistical character so enticing to watch. Chalamet brings the character to life with gusto and magnetism, making his every scheme and self-inflicted catastrophe both horrifying and hilarious. He oozes charm, but he’s also a tornado destroying everything in its path. Marty Supreme boasts some of the most hysterical line deliveries of Chalamet’s career thus far.
Right from the start, Safdie expertly establishes the film’s tone. We’re first introduced to Marty as he’s working in a shoe store. His married neighbor Rachel (Odessa A’zion) stops in, and the pair have sex in the back, but not before Marty’s boss discusses promoting him to manager. Marty scoffs at the idea, believing he has a purpose and is destined for something bigger. The delightfully off-kilter title sequence begins when the film transitions from the sex scene to footage of sperm swimming toward an egg. The egg transforms into a ping pong ball, presenting us with the film’s title and then landing us smack dab in the middle of a table tennis tournament. The title sequence perfectly captures the film’s sense of humor and liveliness, signaling to the audience that they’re in for an offbeat and uninhibited thrill ride.
Marty Supreme features an eclectic ensemble cast and a foray of fascinating characters. Odessa A’zion proves she has all the makings of a star, perfectly matching Chalamet’s energy. Tyler Okonma shines in his first true big-screen performance as Marty’s best friend, Wally, who accompanies Marty on many of his hijinks but also brings a sense of level-headedness and rationality. In addition to Rachel, another potential love interest for Marty emerges in the form of retired movie star Kay (Gwyneth Paltrow), who’s stuck in a loveless marriage to wealthy entrepreneur Milton Rockwell (Kevin O’Leary). Paltrow plays Kay with a mix of wry detachment and curiosity. Abel Ferrara is a scene-stealer in his small role as Ezra, a dog owner who happens to cross paths with Marty in the most unfortunate manner. These are just a few of the interesting characters who end up entangled in Marty’s messes or bear witness to his shenanigans.
However, the true stars of the film are the screenplay, editing, and score. Safdie and Bronstein’s script masterfully ratchets up the tension, keeping us on the edge of our seats. It’s impossible to predict where the plot is headed from one minute to the next. Yet, somehow, the ridiculous situations Marty finds himself in never feel totally out of touch with reality. What sets Marty Supreme apart from other sports films is Safdie and Bronstein’s deliberate rejection of the formula. This isn’t a conventional underdog story or a stereotypical tale of redemption. Instead, it traces a ping pong prodigy’s fall from grace as he digs himself deeper and deeper into a hole he’s desperately trying to claw his way out of. Safdie subverts expectations and injects the sports genre with some much-needed life and personality.
The editing is exceptional, amplifying the film’s frenetic energy and maintaining a taut pace from start to finish. Each scene surges with turbulent momentum and rarely lets up off the gas. For a film that’s two and a half hours long, it feels shockingly succinct and never overstays its welcome. Daniel Lopatin’s pulsing score is his best work to date. It almost feels akin to the music he composed for Benny and Josh Safdie’s Good Time, permeating the film with an unshakeable feeling of anxiety and an endless rush of adrenaline. The music adds a heart-pounding rhythm, infusing each scene with a raw, electrifying intensity that propels the story forward. Darius Khondji’s cinematography is breathtaking. The project was shot on 35mm, giving it a grainy, raw texture reminiscent of a gritty, lost New York drama from a bygone era. The combination of the meticulous shot composition, galvanizing score, and kinetic editing makes the tournament sequences thrilling; ping pong has never felt so riveting.
Despite being a Josh Safdie film, Marty Supreme feels like it would fit right in alongside Martin Scorsese’s filmography. Marty’s haughtiness and drive for success evoke The Wolf of Wall Street, as our protagonist is charming yet detestable. The film has echoes of The Aviator because it’s a period piece inspired by a real person who becomes involved with a Hollywood actress and whose life spirals out of control. But above all, it feels like After Hours for the way things go wrong for our protagonist in the most outrageously hilarious and unexpected ways. Yet, at its core, Marty Supreme is unmistakably a Safdie film, with its heart-pumping, panic-attack-inducing narrative that’s simultaneously a love letter to New York City.
Marty Supreme is a triumph of controlled chaos, an adrenaline rush disguised as a sports movie. Safdie channels the anxiety and absurdity of ambition into something exhilarating, unnerving, and hilarious. If Uncut Gems is a panic attack, Marty Supreme is a manic joyride. It overwhelms the senses with its breathless pacing, razor-sharp storytelling, and electrifying score. It’s a wildly unforgettable journey that not only made my heart race and my jaw drop, but it also made me hold my breath, burst out laughing, cringe, wince, gasp, and everything in between. By the time the credits roll, you’re left unsure whether to laugh, exhale, or pop a Xanax. Yet, one thing is certain: Marty Supreme is a sports film unlike any other.

Between No Other Choice, Roofman, The Long Walk, Rent Free, Good Fortune, and now The Running Man, one of the prevalent themes in 2025’s new releases seems to be stories about ordinary people who are desperate to make ends meet financially, whether it’s based on a true story, grounded in present-day reality, set in a sci-fi dystopia, or a full-blown fantasy. Coincidentally, both Francis Lawrence’s The Long Walk and Edgar Wright’s The Running Man are based on Stephen King novels about people who enter deadly competitions for a chance at financial salvation, where the only way to survive is to keep moving. Despite their similarities, these two films could not be more different in terms of tone or style. The Long Walk is bleak, slow-burning, and introspective, while The Running Man is lighter, kinetic, and action-packed. Although King’s The Running Man was first adapted for the screen in 1987 by Paul Michael Glaser, Wright’s version proves the story is more than worthy of a revisit. His adaptation is both a more faithful retelling of King’s novel and a spirited homage to the campy, over-the-top energy audiences loved in the 1987 film.

David Freyne’s Eternity is one of the most creative and thought-provoking romance films in recent memory. It boasts an inventive premise involving the afterlife that feels evocative of films such as Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s A Matter of Life and Death (1946), Albert Brooks’ Defending Your Life (1991), and Hirokazu Kore-eda’s After Life (1998), yet Freyne and co-writer Pat Cunnane’s screenplay still feels refreshingly original.

Every year, it feels as though we’re bombarded with a never-ending onslaught of formulaic musical biopics, ones that hit every beat that Jake Kasdan’s Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story brilliantly skewered years ago. The formula has grown stale, and audience enjoyment of those films largely hinges on how much they care about the artist they depict, but it’s not as simple as someone being a Bruce Springsteen fan and automatically adoring Scott Cooper’s Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere. It works both ways. For example, my love of Queen’s music intensified my hatred for Bohemian Rhapsody, while my appreciation for Bob Dylan’s work made A Complete Unknown feel more gratifying than it probably should have been. With that said, I walked into Craig Brewer’s Song Sung Blue with a completely open mind because I’m indifferent toward Neil Diamond’s music. All I could hope for was that this wouldn’t be another dull, by-the-numbers musical biopic. What I got instead was an oddly charming, riveting, and refreshingly unpredictable film.

Brando Crawford’s The Room Returns! is a fascinating cinematic exercise. It’s a remake of Tommy Wiseau’s 2003 film The Room, but it was shot in one day, entirely in front of a green screen, with almost no budget and no rehearsals. The cast, which includes big-name actors such as Bob Odenkirk (Better Call Saul, Nobody), Bella Heathcote (The Neon Demon, Professor Marston and the Wonder Women), and Kate Siegel (Hush, The Life of Chuck), worked on the film for free, with all proceeds going to charity. I gained even more respect for the talent involved, knowing they were willing to take on a project like this, not just because it’s for charity, but because it demonstrates their passion for their craft.

Mona Fastvold’s The Testament of Ann Lee is a fearless, one-of-a-kind experience. Ann Lee, the leader of the Shaker Movement, a restorationist Christian sect founded in the 18th century, was a fascinating and controversial religious figure. Fastvold’s decision to tell her story through a musical lens adds another layer of intrigue and creative risk. The Testament of Ann Lee is a bold swing from Fastvold; it’s an ambitious, unconventional biopic bursting with ideas that don’t quite cohere into a fully satisfying whole.

In October 2025, renowned filmmaker Richard Linklater presented us with two films about unconventional artists, both of which explore how style can intersect with substance. Nouvelle Vague, his film about the making of Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless, is shot in the style of the French New Wave. Blue Moon, which tells the story of lyricist Lorenz Hart, is a chamber piece that unfolds with the intimacy of live theater. However, despite being released in the same month, the two works could not be more different. Nouvelle Vague embodies the energy and spirit of the French New Wave, paying tribute to the filmmakers who defined the movement. In contrast, Blue Moon is more restrained and introspective, a poignant character study that examines themes of art, success, fame, sexuality, legacy, and loneliness.

William Shakespeare’s Hamlet has graced the silver screen in many forms for decades, whether it was Laurence Olivier’s 1948 classic or Michael Almereyda’s 2000 adaptation that moved the story to contemporary New York City. But never before has a film recontextualized and transformed the way audiences perceive the story of Hamlet quite like Chloé Zhao’s adaptation of Maggie O'Farrell’s award-winning novel Hamnet.

With Hedda, Nia DaCosta is at the top of her game. This reimagining of Henrik Ibsen's renowned 1891 play Hedda Gabler puts a sapphic spin on the story. It’s a provocative, tempestuous power play about a lavish gathering gone awry.

At one point during Clint Bentley’s film Train Dreams, a character ponders, “Beautiful, ain’t it? All of it. Every bit of it.” That line perfectly sums up not only the film, but also life itself. Train Dreams isn’t just beautiful, it’s one of the most visually breathtaking films of the year. All of it. Every bit of it. From the warm, joyous moments to the devastating disasters and even the insubstantial bits in between.

The Perfect Neighbor almost feels like the antithesis of Errol Morris’ The Thin Blue Line, but it’s equally groundbreaking. Where The Thin Blue Line pushed the boundaries of documentary filmmaking through its stylized re-enactments and interview structure, adding dramatization to the documentary format, Geeta Gandbhir strips that away and experiments with the genre by constructing her film almost entirely out of police body cam footage. This decision is both bold and effective, grounding the viewer directly in the moment. It destabilizes the comfortable distance that audiences are often afforded in true crime narratives, forcing us to feel as if we’re witnessing the events in real time.

Remaking a cult classic is always a gamble, but Yorgos Lanthimos’ Bugonia proves it can be done with reverence and creativity. Instead of making a carbon copy of Jang Joon-hwan’s 2003 film Save the Green Planet!, screenwriter Will Tracy delivers a thoughtful and imaginative reinterpretation. The film honors the spirit of the original while carving out its own identity. Bugonia will likely satisfy both fans of the original film and moviegoers encountering this wild story for the very first time.

Noah Baumbach’s Jay Kelly is a mixed bag, oscillating between entertainment industry satire and dramatic character study. Sometimes the film feels self-indulgent, other times accessible and crowd-pleasing. It’s fitting that the film begins with the Sylvia Plath quote, “It's a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It's much easier to be somebody else, or nobody at all.” It’s a sentiment that’s echoed throughout the film when movie star Jay Kelly (George Clooney) responds to a question about how he always plays himself in movies with, “Do you know how difficult it is to be yourself? You try it." It’s fitting because Baumbach’s film feels like it’s having an identity crisis, unsure of what type of movie it wants to be or which direction to go in.

If you’ve ever watched Rick and Morty, Futurama, or pretty much anything on Adult Swim and found yourself thinking, “Wow, this is so zany and fun! But you know what would make it even better? If most of the characters were lesbians!” Emma Hough Hobbs and Leela Varghese have arrived to turn the queer, quirky animated film of your dreams into a reality with their directorial debut, Lesbian Space Princess.

There is a quote often attributed to the Greek philosopher Heraclitus that reads, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.” With her directorial debut, Kristen Stewart channels that concept into cinema in more ways than one. The protagonist in The Chronology of Water, Lidia (Imogen Poots), is a swimmer who constantly finds herself submerged under water in both the literal and metaphorical sense. The water serves as both her refuge and a mirror, reflecting her memories, trauma, and continual transformation with every dive and stroke. At one moment, she observes, “I was a different person then,” a quiet acknowledgment that, like the river Heraclitus described, she is never the same woman from one moment to the next. The film itself mirrors this fluidity: every viewer will take away something different, and each viewing will reveal new currents and depths, subtle textures that may have gone unnoticed the first time, making the experience as mutable and alive as Lidia herself.

No one is making movies quite like Bi Gan. His latest outing, Resurrection, is an enchanting, experimental cinematic voyager through time, space, and genre. It’s an exploration that takes us through the past, present, future, and back again. It’s a loving ode to a century of cinema history and a spectacular visual feast, with astonishing production design, immaculate sound work, and mesmerizing cinematography.

Bradley Cooper’s third feature film, Is This Thing On?, exhibits the same intrigue with romantic complexities and a passion for the arts that were on display in his previous films, A Star Is Born and Maestro. This time, however, the art form is stand-up comedy rather than music. The film follows Alex Novak (Will Arnett), who reaches an amicable decision with his wife Tess (Laura Dern) to separate. One night, Alex wants a drink, but the bar has a $15 cover charge. The bouncer informs him that people who sign up for the open mic night are exempt from the cover, so he signs up. This awakens something in him, and he rapidly develops a passion for performing stand-up. On the surface, Is This Thing On? seems like it would be a simple movie about a man coping with his impending divorce by pursuing stand-up comedy, but in reality, it’s so much more than that.