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Interview with Sven Bresser about his first feature Reedland. An intriguing debut that premiered in Semaine de la Critique at Cannes. #Cannes2025 #FilmTwitter
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A review of Miroirs No. 3. The latest film by Christian Petzold, which was uninteresting even by his standards #Cannes2025
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There are many criticisms that could be rightfully levelled at James Gunn: that his humour is puerile; that his aesthetic is chaotic; and that he was a disaster on Twitter. But watching his new era of Superman come to the screen, it’s clear the man does know how to have fun.
Rather than a dour, trauma-based origin story, his Superman kicks off with the Man of Steel (played by David Corenswet) already an established figure, known and loved across the globe as one of many “meta-humans” who populate this reality. His alter ego, Clark Kent, is scoring front pages at The Daily Planet, and he’s three months into a steamy romance with Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan).
But all is not well in the Kryptonian household, as Superman has just suffered his first defeat, thanks to the Lex Luthor (an almost-impressively awful Nicholas Hoult) led clan. He’s also in geopolitical hot water, having prevented Boravia from invading its neighbouring country, Jarhanpur, despite Boravia technically being a US ally. Corenswet is a more charismatic on-screen presence than predecessors Henry Cavill and Brandon Routh, and as such does better with the quippier dialogue than when being asked to deliver bilge about what it means to be human.
Because just as this poptastic, colour-saturated, zinger- and needle drop-filled movie seeks to distinguish itself from the sepia-toned sociopathy of Zack Snyder’s reign, this Superman also distinguishes itself by fucking hating America.
While Lois remarks that Superman sees the best in every person he meets, the film itself is spilling over with misanthropy. Gunn, evidently not having fully worked through his brief social media cancellation and subsequent firing and rehiring by Disney, fills the screen with corrupt politicians and journalists, internet trolls, his fellow superheroes are corporate sell outs and even the comic’s sweet Jimmy Olsen (Skyler Gisondo) is kind of a douche.
Aside from Lois and Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced), women are selfie-obsessed bimbos, idly gossiping or cast into hellish incarceration for the sin of being mean about men online. But most uncomfortable of all is the conflict between Boravia and Jarhanpur, where sweet brown children beg Superman to save them as soldiers prepare to gun them down. The official line is that this was all conceived of long ago, but needless to say, given the ongoing genocide in Palestine, it feels in woefully poor taste.
While looking for nuance in Gunn’s insights into the state of the world at large is like asking a horse for directions, and unsurprisingly the silliest aspects of the film are its best. Robots having existential crises; a mischievous super-powered puppy; Nathan Fillion with a blonde bowl cut; and the film’s MVP, Edi Gathegi, as the perma non-plussed Mr Terrific.
A spiralling massacre taking place while Noah and the Whale’s Five Years Time drops feels like a retread to the Rocket Raccoon and Groot fight in Guardians, but to Gunn’s credit, sticking to what he’s good at is far more amusing than the inevitable CGI smash-fest these films are contractually obliged to descend into.
There’s promise here. A broader cinematic universe that feels cohesive, filled with amusing cameos and, for the first time in years, a DCU that feels like it has a faint pulse are all very welcome. But whenever the film strains to address Big Ideas, it’s painful. Gunn may be keen to move out of Snyder’s shadow and the fascistic embodiment of American exceptionalism behind, but if this is the alternative, it might be time to look for salvation elsewhere.
An interview with Dominik Moll about his latest film Dossier 137. The film premiered at this year’s Cannes competition. #Cannes2025 #FilmTwitter
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A review of Eagles of the Republic by Tarik Saleh. The last part of the Cairo trilogy. It’s, expectedly, not cinematically intriguing
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A review of Alpha, Julia Ducornau’s misguided follow-up to the Palme d’Or winner Titane 2021. Not even her fans liked this one.
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A review of Die My Love by Lynne Ramsay, which premiered in the Cannes Film Festival competition. Sadly, the film was a major disappointment. #Cannes2025
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This split follows the Academy Awards norm that only the most serious-presenting dramas are worthy of the highest prizes, regardless of source material or presentation. Airport novels seem to more consistently receive this prestige treatment resulting in box office wins, Oscar nominations, and more widespread respect for the work as opposed to their beach read counterparts. We can even make a prediction and check back on it in several years: Taylor Jenkins Reid’s historical romance The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo grew in popularity on BookTok in 2021 and is set to receive an eagerly-awaited Netflix adaptation, announced in March 2022. By all accounts, the book falls firmly into the beach read category, and although it remains to be seen how the transformation from page to screen will take place, if we take the beach read/airport novel split at face value, it will be hard to expect a full prestige treatment for the film.
Existing IP seems to be a contributing factor to this false dichotomy, where works that have not been pre-assigned to a particular archetype are granted with more wiggle room. If there ever were to be a “prestige beach read” this summer that defies these categories, it would be a hypothetical Materialists book – if it were to have been adapted from a novel in the first place. Here, romantic love triangles meet a star-studded cast, all with an Oscar-nominated writer-director backed by A24. But Celine Song’s story is an original one and not crafted from the dredges of a New York Times bestseller, placing it outside of this distorted Venn diagram.
Perhaps the divide is a festering symptom of a larger call to endlessly categorise, label, and over-digest, also built on a trend of using developing extant IP into marketable new works rather than original ideas. The expectation seems to be that, in order to capture the book’s audience, an adaptation must be made to replicate everything that came before, artificially forcing books into two camps and two distinct visual and narrative styles. Netflix executives reportedly asked screenwriters to “have this character announce what they’re doing so that viewers who have this program on in the background can follow along”, and other turns to remove nuance and subtext in favour of telling viewers just how to watch their media.
Branding and advertising for the small screen, in turn, becomes easier when the “suggested” section is just a repetition of the same film in different fonts; this is the case for both stereotypical beach reads and airport novels. While beach read adaptations become the sprightly background noise for doing laundry, airport novels are instead metamorphosised into the newest high-brow must-watch, cast in deep hues of moody blue and grey. Take Alfonso Cuarón’s Cate Blanchett-led Disclaimer adaptation, for example, from Renée Knight’s 2015 psychological thriller of the same name, filled with the genre’s finest plot twists. The series even enjoyed a première at the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival before its official Apple TV+ release, cementing it as the series of the season brought directly to you by an auteur himself. And yet, like Conclave, many critics and viewers were sceptical of the prestige exterior it claimed to portray. Maybe pulp really can’t be hidden, after all.
Justice for beach reads, which, regretfully, do not get to hide behind this façade of faux sparkle, even at the start. They sit out in all their glory, waiting for another unsuspecting performative Tolstoy reader (or maybe Tarkovsky obsessive) to taser them into submission, bound solely for the BookTok girlies and maybe even beset by celebrity scandal. There’s nothing like a good beach read film consumed with a wine spritz in hand, and they’d gleam further if we gave them the time to be taken as seriously as their airport novel counterparts. It’s time for this oeuvre to shine, where we can proudly claim to love the soapy wonders that it has to offer, on the page and in the cinema.