Tag Archives: Film

HEART OF THE BEAST motion picture review

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Exquisite, edge-of-your-seat survival thriller with genuine heart

Brad Pitt and a remarkable canine co-star take audiences deep into the Alaskan wilderness in Heart of the Beast, a survival picture that understands the most dangerous terrain is not always physical. The film immediately establishes a dual struggle: surviving a landscape that is as beautiful as it is deadly while confronting the psychological wreckage left by war. That distinction is what elevates Heart of the Beast beyond the familiar survival-thriller formula. Rather than relying solely on escalating encounters with the elements, the film makes physical and emotional survival inseparable. Every external threat places additional pressure on characters already carrying wounds that cannot be bandaged, and every setback forces them to confront whether endurance alone is enough.

Pitt plays James Belmont, a retired Green Beret traveling with Odin, his former combat dog. After a devastating plane crash leaves them stranded in the mountains, the two must rely upon their training—and each other—to survive.

Director David Ayer reunites with Pitt after Fury, but this is not the survival movie I expected. Having not been particularly fond of Fury, I approached this collaboration with cautious optimism. Needless to say, Heart of the Beast completely won me over. By the time the story reached its conclusion, I was moved to tears—not because of one isolated moment, but because the film gradually draws audiences into the emotional experience of its characters until we are no longer merely observing their struggle. We are participating in it.

The external objective is clear: escape the mountains and reach safety. Beneath that action, however, is a character-driven story about James and Odin living with the lingering effects of trauma. Unlike many films that treat post-traumatic stress as a dramatic gimmick or allow it to consume a character’s identity, Heart of the Beast lets trauma emerge organically through behavior, memory, instinct, and the bond these two share.

That restraint gives the film unusual emotional authenticity. James and Odin are affected by what happened to them, but they are not defined solely by it. The story quietly argues that trauma may influence memory, fear, and behavior, but it does not erase agency. We may not control what has happened to us or how certain memories return, but we can still control how we respond.

The result is a riveting, character-driven survival picture in which the question is never simply whether its leads will make it out of the wilderness alive. The deeper question is whether they can survive what they brought into the wilderness with them.

Explaining exactly how the story develops would venture too far into spoiler territory. Suffice it to say, Heart of the Beast delivers one surprise after another. It vividly embodies the expression “two steps forward, one step back”—although for James and Odin, it frequently becomes two steps forward and three, four, or five steps back.

Pitt and his canine co-star, Uber, deliver compelling performances. When James and Odin hurt, we hurt. When they become frightened, we share their fear. Although James is a retired Green Beret, the screenplay never transforms him into an invincible action hero. He is highly trained, resourceful, resilient, and strong, but he is also vulnerable, fallible, and recognizably human. Odin is equally well developed. Anyone who has loved a dog—or another animal companion—will recognize something of their own relationship in the trust between these two characters. Uber communicates fear, loyalty, pain, and determination with extraordinary clarity, often without the film needing to underline what we are meant to feel.

The cinematography does not attempt anything particularly novel, but it captures the beauty and hostility of the Alaskan wilderness exceptionally well. The landscapes are breathtaking yet inhospitable, beautiful enough to inspire awe and cold enough to send a chill down your spine.

In lesser survival films, landscape photography can become a substitute for dramatic substance, allowing striking imagery to compensate for thin characters or a mediocre story. Not so here. The compositions and camera movements emphasize both the grandeur and hostility of the wilderness without allowing the environment to overshadow James and Odin. The mountains remain formidable, but they never become more important than the people trying to survive them.

The musical score operates with similar restraint. Beautifully composed and emotionally expressive, it provides an additional current beneath the drama without demanding attention for itself. Like the cinematography, the music serves the characters and story rather than competing with them. It feels less like accompaniment than an extension of the emotional life already present on screen.

Cameron Alexander’s tightly constructed screenplay deserves particular praise. Survival films frequently protract their ordeals, but Heart of the Beast runs under an hour and forty-five minutes, and very little of that time feels wasted. The pacing is excellent: the story never drags, yet it never feels as though it is sprinting toward its conclusion. Alexander appears to understand one of the most valuable principles of economical screenwriting: enter a scene as late as possible and leave it as soon as its dramatic purpose has been fulfilled. Nearly every scene advances character, conflict, or consequence, and each sequence points naturally toward the third act and resolution.

It is also a compelling example of the benefits of separating the writer and director roles. Ayer can concentrate on performance, atmosphere, visual storytelling, and execution, while Alexander provides the dramatic architecture beneath those choices. Their collaboration demonstrates what can happen when distinct creative disciplines complement rather than compete with one another.

As we approach the final quarter of the year and begin considering the best films of 2026, Heart of the Beast is firmly on track to make my list. It is a reminder that some of the most affecting motion pictures are those that reveal the best people can be—to one another, to the animals who depend upon us, and to ourselves—even when the world seems to be collapsing around us.

At a time when so much contemporary storytelling gravitates toward cynicism, there is something refreshing about a film that treats resilience, loyalty, compassion, and perseverance without embarrassment. More motion pictures should aspire to leave audiences feeling that the human experience, difficult as it may be, is still worth fighting for.

Heart of the Beast is equal parts exhilarating and heartwarming, delivering an emotional payoff that may send you rushing home to embrace the furry companion waiting for you. I certainly hugged my dog, Fizzgig, as soon as I returned from the cinema.

Although I am not entirely convinced a Shih Tzu would fare especially well in the Alaskan wilderness. Then again, he is a “lion dog.”

Ryan is the morning host on WLRH Public Radio in Huntsville, AL and host of the show ReelTalk “where you can enjoy the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” He also teaches film studies at the University of Alabama in Huntsville. Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. Prior to public broadcasting, he taught film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

INSIDIOUS: OUT OF THE FURTHER horror movie review

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Should’ve Left the Red Door Locked

The newest installment in the Insidious franchise is a reminder that atmosphere, mythology, and strong individual ideas are only the ingredients of a motion picture—not the motion picture itself. Jacob Chase clearly has several intriguing concepts at work: a story rooted in grief, characters shaped by trauma, supernatural elements designed to expand the mythology of the franchise, and the return of horror icon Lin Shaye. Yet those ideas rarely connect into a cohesive dramatic experience. Instead, the film often feels like a collection of scenes and sequences searching for the narrative that will bind them together.

Insidious: Out of the Further introduces Gemma, a young mother who discovers she possesses the ability to enter the Further—the purgatorial realm of lost souls established throughout the franchise. However, Gemma’s ability comes with a dangerous consequence: she can bring the entities she encounters back into our world.

The simplest description of the film may be Insidious meets Poltergeist, with a little A Nightmare on Elm Street mixed in for good measure. Chase clearly understands the lineage of these films and the horror traditions from which they emerged. There is an appreciation for the genre’s history and an attempt to build upon familiar ideas. Unfortunately, the film’s vision would have benefited from a stronger screenplay—one capable of shaping those influences into a more dramatically compelling narrative.

Horror has always been a genre where atmosphere can compensate for many shortcomings. A haunting location, unsettling sound design, frightening imagery, or a memorable performance can carry an audience through imperfect storytelling. But atmosphere cannot replace character development, and franchise recognition cannot substitute for emotional stakes. Even the presence of Lin Shaye—whose portrayal of Elise Rainier has become one of the defining elements of the Insidious universe—cannot overcome material that struggles to transform its concepts into meaningful drama.

The result is a film containing many of the elements audiences expect from an Insidious installment, but without the dramatic foundation necessary to make those elements resonate. There is simultaneously too much happening and not enough meaningful material to sustain the film’s 105-minute runtime. The story introduces several promising concepts but rarely develops them beyond their initial premise.

At the center of the problem is the screenplay. Allowing the Further’s entities to cross into the physical world is an intriguing expansion of the franchise mythology, but the film never fully explores the possibilities created by that idea. Instead, it becomes another extended attempt to escape the supernatural dangers lurking beyond the red door.

That weakness extends to the characters as well. Outside of Gemma, her daughter Maya, and returning paranormal investigator Elise Rainier, several principal characters function almost like non-player characters in a video game. They appear when the protagonist needs assistance completing a specific task, but they possess little independent dramatic identity or purpose.

What ultimately saves the movie—and makes it watchable—is Lin Shaye.

Shaye remains the heart of this franchise, bringing warmth, credibility, and humanity to its supernatural mythology. Unfortunately, she is given surprisingly little to do. Her presence occasionally feels less like an essential component of the story and more like an acknowledgment that longtime fans expect Elise Rainier to be present.

Atmospherically, however, the film succeeds. The Further remains an effective nightmare landscape, populated by disturbing entities that longtime fans will immediately recognize. In fact, the world created here feels almost perfectly suited for a Halloween Horror Nights attraction—perhaps even a stronger haunted house than a feature film.

The scares themselves are competently staged, although many of the strongest moments appear to have been revealed in the marketing. I generally avoid trailers, but even the limited footage I encountered made several major scare sequences feel familiar before they arrived.

Insidious: Out of the Further contains numerous individually effective ideas, memorable imagery, and another welcome appearance by Lin Shaye. What it lacks is the dramatic structure necessary to connect those elements into a satisfying whole.

It is another example of a fundamental truth about filmmaking: a director’s vision requires a screenplay capable of refining, organizing, and transforming that vision into a complete story. Without that collaboration, even promising concepts risk becoming little more than a stream of ideas.

Fans of the franchise may enjoy another atmospheric journey into the Further. Everyone else can wait until this door opens on streaming.

Ryan is the morning host on WLRH Public Radio in Huntsville, AL and host of the show  ReelTalk  “where you can enjoy the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

THE END OF OAK STREET dino-horror movie review

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Dinosaurs are scary again.

The End of Oak Street is a solid piece of summertime entertainment—a fun, action-packed journey through the hidden dangers of suburbia that plays like a throwback to a 1960s B-movie. Most importantly, it makes dinosaurs scary again.

About: A mysterious cosmic event rips Oak Street from suburbia and transports a neighborhood to someplace unknown. The Platt family soon discovers that their very survival depends on sticking together as they navigate their now unrecognizable surroundings.

Shot on 35mm film, the picture has a warm, soft texture that somehow makes the terror feel even more immediate. Its old-school look and brisk pacing give the movie a tactile personality often missing from contemporary creature features. The external action plot works well, and the film understands the primal appeal of watching prehistoric predators invade an ordinary neighborhood.

In that respect, The End of Oak Street feels like the manifestation of a childhood fear many of us carried after seeing Jurassic Park. I certainly wondered what would happen if dinosaurs suddenly appeared in my own neighborhood after watching that film in theaters in 1993. Mitchell taps into that anxiety effectively, transforming familiar suburban streets and houses into places of danger.

The film also struggles to settle on a consistent tone. Mitchell seems caught between making a dinosaur horror movie and a dark comedy, and the picture repeatedly oscillates between the two without fully committing to either. Both approaches could have worked, but the uncertainty occasionally makes it difficult to determine how certain scenes are meant to land. The tonal inconsistency never overwhelms the film’s entertainment value, though it remains noticeable throughout.

Where the film falls short is in its unwillingness to fully explore the more reflective themes it introduces. The ideas are there, but they remain largely beneath the surface. The film introduces the question of God’s existence without meaningfully exploring it. One character explicitly rejects belief, another appears similarly skeptical, one is Catholic, and two others at least express curiosity. That range of perspectives could have supported a genuinely compelling thematic thread. Instead, the subject feels shoehorned into the screenplay in a way that subtly privileges a faithless worldview—particularly because the two characters coded as the most intelligent are also the least believing. Given that several others believe or remain open to belief, the film had an opportunity for balance and nuance that it ultimately leaves unexplored.

Mitchell also does not give the characters enough to do beyond reacting to the immediate crisis. The cast performs capably with the material provided, but the performative dimension is ultimately just that: capable. The characters are sufficiently compelling to carry the action, though few develop enough to linger afterward. But Anne Hathaway being chased by and fighting off dinosaurs…yes please! She did great.

The dinosaurs generally look good, and the visual effects are more convincing than the computer-generated creatures in many recent movies. They do not approach the groundbreaking naturalism of Jurassic Park, but they are considerably stronger than much of the CGI produced in its wake.

I could have done without the feathers. While there are scientific theories supporting feathered dinosaurs—and we cannot know with absolute certainty how every species appeared—the designs are initially distracting. Filmmakers should often strive for naturalism rather than strict realism. A creature must first look as though it belongs within the visual world of the movie, regardless of whether every detail reflects the latest scientific interpretation.

As a recent creature-feature comparison, The End of Oak Street shares some DNA with Crawl, although Crawl remains the stronger and more dramatically developed film. Still, Mitchell’s movie has heart, momentum, and enough old-fashioned monster-movie energy to make it an enjoyable capstone to the summer season.

This is also one to see on the big screen rather than postponing until streaming. The story may be simple, but its scale, sound, and creature action benefit considerably from a theatrical presentation. The End of Oak Street may not fully capitalize on all its ideas, but it delivers an entertaining ride—and reminds us that sometimes the most frightening monsters are the ones waiting just beyond the front lawn.

Ryan is the morning host on WLRH Public Radio in Huntsville, AL and host of the show  ReelTalk  “where you can enjoy the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

SPIDER-MAN: BRAND NEW DAY movie review

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A Compelling Hero in Search of a Consistent, Equally Compelling Villain

Spider-Man: Brand New Day may be the darkest live-action Spider-Man film since The Amazing Spider-Man 2. More significantly, it may be the most human. Peter Parker no longer emerges from every battle protected by the reassuring elasticity of comic-book storytelling. He bleeds, bruises, and brushes against death with an immediacy rarely felt in earlier installments. The physical injuries linger, as do the psychological ones.

That vulnerability gives Tom Holland some of the strongest material he has received as Peter Parker. It may, in fact, be his finest performance in the role. Holland appears older, wearier, and more fully aware of the cost attached to his extraordinary life. This is not merely a hero confronting another threat; it is a young man discovering that courage does not make him invulnerable.

The entire ensemble performs well. From beginning to end, the performative dimension is considerably stronger than the screenplay supporting it. Unfortunately, the actors are too often asked to sustain scenes that linger without sufficiently advancing character, conflict, or consequence. They give the film emotional credibility, but the writing rarely provides enough dramatic momentum to match their efforts.

Listen to the ReelTalk episode by clicking HERE. You can also find it on Apple, Spotify, and other pod-catchers.

The central problem is the absence of a sustained character of opposition. Brand New Day contains adversaries and dangerous circumstances, but it never establishes a traditional central villain capable of defining the conflict and forcing Peter through a complete heroic journey. What initially appears to be the enemy does not remain the enemy. Simply stated, this is a superhero movie with a hero but no true villain.

Breaking with convention is not inherently more intelligent, sophisticated, or artful than following it. Conventions often endure because they perform essential dramatic functions. A formidable antagonist does more than provide someone for the hero to defeat. The antagonist applies pressure, clarifies the stakes, exposes the hero’s weaknesses, and forces decisions that transform the character. Internal conflict can certainly drive a story, but cinema must still dramatize that struggle through meaningful external opposition.

Without that sustained force, Peter’s journey lacks a clear dramatic destination. The movie contains considerable emotional weight but surprisingly little propulsion.

This contributes to the film’s pacing problems. Although Brand New Day is shorter than several entries in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, it frequently feels longer. Runtime and pacing are not synonymous. A lengthy film can pass quickly when every scene builds naturally upon the one preceding it; a shorter film can drag when its scenes repeat emotional information or fail to change the dramatic equation. Too much of Brand New Day remains at the same level of solemn intensity.

Darkness itself is not the problem. Tim Burton’s Batman and Batman Returns demonstrated that comic-book films could be brooding, psychologically complicated, and visually macabre while still providing considerable entertainment. Brand New Day, by contrast, delivers a heavy helping of melodrama without enough tonal contrast, exhilaration, or playfulness. Its seriousness is often admirable, but seriousness alone does not create depth.

There is nevertheless much to appreciate. The decision to emphasize Peter’s physical and emotional fragility restores something essential to the character. Spider-Man has always endured because his powers do not liberate him from ordinary human suffering. He still experiences fear, exhaustion, disappointment, and loss. His victories cost him something, and Holland communicates that burden with remarkable conviction.

Spider-Man: Brand New Day ultimately works better as a Peter Parker character study than as satisfying superhero entertainment. Its interest in consequence is thoughtful, its performances are strong, and its humanity is genuine. Yet the absence of a clearly defined villain and the resulting lack of dramatic momentum leave the film feeling incomplete.

Tom Holland gives the movie a compelling hero. The screenplay simply forgets that even the most human hero still needs something—or someone—substantial to oppose him. However, it’s an enjoyable movie that sticks to one universe–and that’s a relief.

Ryan is the morning host on WLRH Public Radio in Huntsville, AL and host of the show  ReelTalk  “where you can enjoy the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

PINOCCHIO UNSTRUNG horror movie review

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Gloriously unhinged.

There is a profound difference between watching visual effects and watching craftsmanship, and the latest twisted fairy tale from the filmmakers behind Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey may not possess the screenplay necessary to become a horror classic, but it does possess something increasingly rare in contemporary filmmaking: artistry you can literally see with your own eyes. Every puppet, animatronic, prosthetic, and practical effect reminds audiences that movie magic isn’t created by algorithms or render farms. It’s created by artists with paintbrushes, carving tools, strings, latex, wood, and imagination.

About: A wooden doll named Pinocchio embarks on a violent crusade to carve itself into a real boy, one piece at a time.

Within minutes of the opening credits, it becomes obvious this is a film made by people who genuinely love the craft of filmmaking. The opening title sequence immediately establishes that philosophy, using light, shadow, carved wood, and puppetry before transitioning into a remarkable prologue staged with two-dimensional articulated wooden figures reminiscent of Lotte Reiniger’s The Adventures of Prince Achmed. It’s an inspired artistic decision that immediately distinguishes the film from countless independent horror productions that simply chase gore.

And yes…there’s plenty of gore.

When the violence embraces the exaggerated, cartoonish sensibilities of 1980s splatter films, it’s gleefully entertaining. Occasionally, however, the filmmakers push the violence toward a level of realism that becomes less fun than uncomfortable. Those moments feel at odds with the otherwise playful tone established throughout the picture.

The screenplay itself is considerably less inspired. Character development is minimal, dialogue rarely rises above functional, and the narrative exists primarily as a framework upon which to hang increasingly inventive practical effects. Yet unlike Pooh: Blood and Honey, Pinocchio Unstrung rarely feels cynical or mean-spirited. It delights in twisting familiar fairy tale iconography without ever suggesting contempt for the source material.

Robert Englund’s vocal performance as the Cricket is a delightful bonus for horror fans, and the filmmakers sprinkle affectionate nods to A Nightmare on Elm Street throughout the production. They’re playful rather than distracting, another reminder that this is a movie made by lifelong horror enthusiasts.

But the real stars are the effects artists.

Not since the golden age of Jim Henson productions like The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth has puppetry been employed with such confidence in a genre film. Likewise, the animatronic work recalls an era when creatures occupied physical space alongside actors rather than existing exclusively inside computers. Watching these creations come alive inevitably brings Jurassic Park to mind—not because the scale is comparable, but because the same tangible sense of craftsmanship is present.

That appreciation only deepens during the film’s unusually generous post-credit sequence, which abandons the traditional Marvel-style tease in favor of something far more rewarding: an extended behind-the-scenes look at how the effects were achieved. It plays less like a sequel setup than a Blu-ray special feature celebrating the dozens of artists responsible for bringing this bizarre vision to life. Ironically, those few minutes may be the movie’s greatest triumph.

While Pinocchio Unstrung never develops into a compelling dramatic experience, it succeeds magnificently as a celebration of practical filmmaking. In an era increasingly dominated by digital imagery, this film proudly wears the fingerprints of its creators. You can feel the hands of the artists in every frame. And for that alone, it’s worth seeing.

Listen to the full conversation with fellow critic Sean Boelman HERE. You can also find it on Apple Podcasts and Spotify.

Ryan is the morning host on WLRH Public Radio in Huntsville, AL and host of the show  ReelTalk  “where you can enjoy the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry