Movie Reviews

‘Sally’ Review: A Refreshingly Clear-Eyed Documentary Weaves Together the Professional and Personal Lives of NASA Pioneer Sally Ride

Published

1 year ago

January 29, 2025

‘Sally’ Review: A Refreshingly Clear-Eyed Documentary Weaves Together the Professional and Personal Lives of NASA Pioneer Sally Ride

When Sally Ride died in 2012, she was praised as the first American woman in space, but there was much more to the story. Her obituaries let the world know a secret she had long held, that she and a woman named Tam O’Shaughnessy had been life partners for 27 years. Those same obituaries often ignored or minimized the jaw-dropping sexism Ride faced when she entered the first class of NASA astronauts to include women in 1978.

In the richly detailed Sally, Cristina Costantini reveals both personal and professional aspects of Ride’s life, showing how they were intertwined. With O’Shaughnessy as the central narrator, the documentary includes eye-opening interviews with family members and former astronauts and archival video of Ride herself, to create an engaging, socially relevant portrait of an American heroine and of the culture.

Sally

The Bottom Line

Affecting and socially relevant.

Venue: Sundance Film Festival (Premieres)
Director: Cristina Costantini
Screenwriters: Cristina Costantini, Tom Maroney

1 hour 43 minutes

It also displays a refreshing and rare quality for a documentary with such access: Without for a minute undermining Ride’s importance, this clear-eyed film doesn’t sugarcoat her sometimes prickly personality.

Although Sally has already won the Alfred P. Sloan prize for a science-themed movie, announced in advance of its Sundance Film Festival premiere, it doesn’t dwell on the details of space travel. (Costantini previously won the Festival Favorite Award in 2018 for Science Fair, co-directed with Darren Foster.) With a wealth of period video footage, the movie emphasizes the frequently condescending attention Ride and the five other women in her NASA class encountered.

Costantini’s astute choice of clips shines a light on the culture at the time in all its sexism and homophobia. As Ride says, “The only bad moments in our training involved the press.” Kathy Sullivan, who was in Ride’s training class, describes the press posing stereotypical questions about romance, makeup and family to the the groundbreaking women astronauts.

Ride had no patience for such silly questions. Sitting alongside male astronauts at a press conference, she is asked if she plans to be the first mother in space. She just shakes her head and laughs. A female reporter’s voice inquires from offscreen, “Do you think that you are as good as any male astronaut here?” On camera, when a reporter refers to her Miss Ride, she replies that he can address her as either Dr. Ride or Sally, but not “Miss.” And behind the scenes, NASA had no idea what personal hygiene items to pack for a woman in space. “NASA engineers, in their infinite wisdom, designed a makeup kit,” Ride remarks. They also asked her how many tampons she might need for a one-week flight: Would 100 be enough?

John Fabian, another classmate, remembers Ride as unemotional and hard to read, recounting, “Her personality was all business.” Part of that demeanor came naturally and part of it was because she was so closeted. Sally goes a long way toward explaining both. In 1981, while Ride was in the training program, Billie Jean King was sued by a female ex-lover for financial support. Both King, who lost endorsements and had to play huge legal fees, and Ride’s sister, Bear Ride, suggest that King’s experience was a cautionary tale for Ride: She saw that she would pay a huge professional price if she were open about her sexuality.

She was often emotionally closed off in her private life, too. O’Shaughnessy’s comments about Ride are endlessly loving, but even she states, “Some of the very characteristics that made her the woman who could break the highest glass ceiling made her tough to be in a relationship with.” Whether sitting in a chair on an otherwise empty set talking to the camera, or in her house looking at letters and gifts from Sally, O’Shaughnessy is a steady presence, warm but unsentimental as she shares that she was heart-broken that Ride refused to go public with their relationship. Her enduring love gives the film its visceral emotional impact.

Some of Costantini’s most revealing interviews are with those who knew Ride best, as when O’Shaughnessy and Bear Ride discuss the buttoned-down family dynamics Sally grew up with. Ride’s mother, interviewed here, is asked if she knew that Sally and Tam were a couple. “Yes but it wasn’t something we talked about,” she responds curtly. Bear Ride relays that Tam was part of their family, but that Sally never spoke about the partnership, even though Bear herself is gay and out.

Ride was secretive as well with her ex-husband, Steve Hawley, another astronaut in her class whom she married during their training. He affirms that they both went into the marriage “in good faith,” and that up until the time she left five years later, “I suspected but I didn’t know” she was gay. Sullivan recalls that when she heard about the wedding, “One of my first thoughts was, great PR move.”

It was only when Ride was dying of pancreatic cancer that she was able to admit publicly that O’Shaughnessy was her partner. O’Shaughnessy notes that she talked to Ride about what to say about their relationship and Ride left it up to her, so she wrote an obituary acknowledging it.

It’s too bad that that film is marred by visual reenactments throughout. When O’Shaughnessy talks about an intimate dinner, we see two women in a kitchen dining by candlelight. Near the end, there is even a Sally stand-in a hospital bed. There is no dialogue in any of these scenes so they avoid the worst cheesy excesses, but they are distracting and unnecessary.

Sally stands perfectly well without any fussy touches, as an important addition to the record of what we know about a pioneering cultural figure — in all her complexity, ambition and guardedness.

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Movie Reviews

Movie Review: ‘Scream 7’ – Catholic Review

Published

11 hours ago

March 9, 2026

Press Room

Movie Review: ‘Scream 7’ – Catholic Review

NEW YORK (OSV News) – As its title suggests, “Scream 7” (Paramount) is the latest extension of a long-lived horror franchise, one that’s currently approaching its 30th anniversary on screen. Since each chapter of this slasher saga has been a bloodsoaked mess, the series’ longevity will strike moviegoers of sense as inexplicable.

Yet the slog continues. While the previous film in the sequence shifted the action from California to New York, this second installment, following a 2022 quasi-reboot, settles on a Midwestern locale and reintroduces us to the series’ original protagonist, Sidney Evans, nee Prescott (Neve Campbell).

Having aged out of the adolescent demographic on whom the various murderers who have donned the Ghostface mask that serves as these films’ dubious trademark over the years seem to prefer to prey, Sidney comes equipped with a teen daughter, Tatum (Isabel May). Will Tatum prove as resourceful in evading the unwanted attentions of Ghostface as Mom has?

On the way to answering that question, a clutch of colorless minor characters fall victim to the killer, who sometimes gets — according to his or her lights — creative. Thus one is quite literally made to spill her guts, while another ends up skewered on a barroom’s pointy beer tap.

Through it all, director Kevin Williamson and his co-writer Guy Busick try to peddle a theme of female empowerment in the face of mortal danger. They also take a stab, as it were, at constructing a plotline about intergenerational family tensions. When not jarring viewers with grisly images, however, they’re only likely to lull them into a stupor.

The film contains excessive gory violence, including disembowelment and impaling, underage drinking, mature topics, a couple of profanities, several milder oaths, pervasive rough and considerable crude language and occasional crass expressions. The OSV News classification is O — morally offensive. The Motion Picture Association rating is R — restricted. Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian.

Movie Review: “THE BRIDE!” – Assignment X

Published

23 hours ago

March 9, 2026

Press Room

Movie Review: “THE BRIDE!” – Assignment X

By ABBIE BERNSTEIN / Staff Writer

Posted: March 8th, 2026 / 08:00 PM

Rating: R
Stars: Jessie Buckley, Christian Bale, Annette Bening, Jake Gyllenhaal, Peter Sarsgaard, Penelope Cruz, Jeannie Berlin, Zlatko Burić
Writer: Maggie Gyllenhaal, based on characters created by Mary Shelley and William Hurlbut and John Balderston
Director: Maggie Gyllenhaal
Distributor: Warner Bros.
Release Date: March 6, 2026

“THE BRIDE!” (as with the recent “WUTHERING HEIGHTS,” the quotation marks are part of the title) is awash in homages, and not just the ones we might reasonably expect in a movie that takes its most obvious inspiration from 1935’s BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN.

There’s that, of course, plus its source, Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel FRANKENSTEIN; OR THE MODERN PROMETHEUS, and its sober 1931 film adaptation FRANKENSTEIN. But there are also big nods to wilder takes on the legend, including YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN and THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW and even movies that have nothing to do with FRANKENSTEIN, like BONNIE AND CLYDE.

Writer/director Maggie Gyllenhaal casts a wide net in metaphors and ideas and looks. Sometimes “THE BRIDE!” is a comedy, sometimes it’s a crime drama, sometimes it’s a love story, occasionally, it’s even a musical.

Mary Shelley (Jessie Buckley) narrates the tale to us from beyond the grave. She is haughty and naughty, intoxicated by verbiage and her own literary genius. She is going to tell us a story, she says, that she didn’t even dare imagine while alive.

We’re in 1930s Chicago, where a young escort (also Buckley) is having a really awful evening out at a fancy restaurant with some of her peers and a bunch of crass gangsters. Shelley dubs the woman “Ida” and takes possession of her, causing her to speak and act in ways that get her escorted outside. There she stumbles and takes a fatal fall.

The two goons who were with Ida are happy to describe her tumble as the result of their intentional actions to their horrible gangster boss (Zlatko Burić). Ida was suspected of talking to the cops.

Around the same time, Frankenstein’s creation (Christian Bale) – let’s just call him “Frank,” like everybody else does – comes to Chicago to seek out the groundbreaking scientist Dr. Euphronious (Annette Bening), whose published works he has read.

Frank wants the doctor to create a companion for him. His appearance is unusual, but the most alarming injuries are covered by clothing, so he’s not as extreme-looking as, say, Boris Karloff in the role. This isn’t about sex, Frank explains when Euphronious asks why he doesn’t just hire a prostitute. After over a century of loneliness, he seeks a soulmate, and he is sure this can only be achieved by reviving a corpse.

So, Euphronious and Frank dig up the grave that turns out to belong to Ida (we never do learn how they know it belongs to a soulmate candidate as opposed to a shot-and-dumped male gangster). Euphronius revives her. Ida remembers how to walk and talk, but not who she is or what happened, so Frank and the doc tell her she’s been in an accident.

Even without Ida’s beauty, Frank is already devoted to the very notion of her. A more accommodating suitor would be hard to find. Frank has another passion, the musical films of Ronnie Reed (Jake Gyllenhaal, the filmmaker’s brother), a Fred Astaire-like star. Frank imagines himself in the midst of those dance routines, and we get some more within “THE BRIDE!”’s “real” action.

One thing leads to another, Frank and Ida go on the run, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. They are pursued all over the country. Among those seeking them are sad-eyed police detective Jake Wiles (Peter Sarsgaard) and his secretary Myrna Mallow (Penélope Cruz), who’s better at this whole crime-solving business than he is.

It’s all very kaleidoscopic and energetic, occasionally impressive and sometimes very funny. Bening as the frazzled, worldly Euphronious has some great moments. Buckley, currently and justifiably Oscar-nominated leading performance in HAMNET, juggles the very unalike personas of Mary and Ida with impact.

Oddly, Bale underplays Frank. We get that he is trying his hardest not to spook Ida (or anyone else), but it seems like he should have a bit more spark. Cruz, going for a snappy ‘30s working woman, has her own style that works.

But in addition to being entertaining and eye-catching, Gyllenhaal has a message that gets very muddled. This is less because it’s so familiar by now that it feels a little redundant, and more because a crucial part of the set-up collides head-on with the feminist slant.

Ida seeks to be her own person, but she is literally bodily controlled by Mary Shelley, who puts her creation in danger with her outbursts. This may help get Ida out of the clutches of the mob, but it is possession, the aftereffects of which the character understandably finds confusing and upsetting.

If Gyllenhaal wanted to discuss or dramatize the clash between what Mary, as a woman, is doing to this other woman, that would make sense, but it seems we’re just meant to somehow overlook this while being immersed in how men control women. The resulting cognitive dissonance adds another layer to a movie that already has more than it can comfortably service.

Additionally, when Mary has one of her outbursts while inhabiting Ida, the plot comes to a screeching halt until she’s finished. Many viewers will wish Mary would stop declaiming and just let Ida be herself.

“THE BRIDE!” succeeds in being trippy and some of it is memorable. By the end, though, it is more disjointed than even a movie about experiments and a character made up of multiple people’s body parts ought to be.

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Movie Reviews

‘Heel’ Review: Why Did Stephen Graham and Andrea Riseborough Sign on for This Contrived Debacle?

Published

1 day ago

March 8, 2026

Press Room

‘Heel’ Review: Why Did Stephen Graham and Andrea Riseborough Sign on for This Contrived Debacle?

The original title of “Heel” was “Good Boy.” The new title is probably more accurate, though an even more accurate title might be “Painfully Annoying Punk Idiot.” I jest (a bit), since the title of “Heel” is actually a verb. The film wants to tell the story of a budding hooligan who needs to be brought to heel. That said, does anyone seriously want to see a movie about a 19-year-old British sociopath who gets chained up in a basement so that the weird upper-middle-class couple who’ve kidnapped him can modify his behavior? “Heel” is like “A Clockwork Orange” remade as the year’s worst Sundance movie.

The opening sequence is actually promising. It depicts, in rapidly edited documentary-like montage, a reckless night out on the town by Tommy (Anson Boon) and his friends. They’re hopped-up club kids, and Tommy is their snarling, curly-haired, sexually coercive wastrel ringleader, living in the moment, pouring drinks down his throat, snorting coke and popping pills, dancing and carousing and puking and rutting in the bathroom, pushing himself to a higher and higher high, until he winds up collapsed on the sidewalk — a ritual, we gather, that has happened many times before. Only this time his crumpled body is gathered up by a mysterious stranger.

When Tommy wakes up, he’s in the basement of a stately stone house somewhere in the British countryside. He’s got a metal collar around his neck, and it’s chained to the ceiling. The film has barely gotten started, and already it’s cut to the second half of “A Clockwork Orange”: Can this monster delinquent be rehabilitated? Theoretically, that’s an interesting question, except that the way this happens is so garishly contrived that we can only go with the movie by putting any plea for reality on permanent hold.

Who are the people who have kidnapped Tommy? Chris (Stephen Graham) is a mild chap in a toupee who goes about his mission with a puckish vengeance disguised as gentility. His wife, Kathryn (Andrea Riseborough), is so neurasthenic she’s like a ghost. (She has suffered some trauma that isn’t colored in.) The two have a cherubic preteen son they call Sunshine (Kit Rakusen). And why, exactly, are they doing what they’re doing? We have no idea. Trying to make a bad person into a good person is not, in itself, a terrible notion, but the conceit of “Heel” — that Tommy is locked in a dungeon, being treated like a dog, because that’s what it will take to change him — is like a toxic right-wing fantasy that the film somehow reconfigures into an implausible liberal “family” allegory.

Ah, plausibility! How unhip to gripe about the absence of it. Yet watching “Heel,” I found it impossible to suspend my disbelief for two seconds. The entire movie, directed by the Polish filmmaker Jan Komasa (“Corpus Christie”) from a script by Bartek Bartosik and Naqqash Khalid, is just a grimy monotonous conceit. It’s been thought out thematically but not in terms of recognizable human behavior. It’s like a film-student short stretched out to an agonizing 110 minutes.

Anson Boon, a charismatic actor who did an okay job of playing Johnny Rotten in Danny Boyle’s TV miniseries “Pistol” (though he never conjured Rotten’s homicidal gleam), infuses Tommy with a loutish energy that in the early scenes, at least, makes him a convincing candidate for either prison or the contemporary equivalent of shock therapy. And yet the character is exhaustingly obnoxious. As a filmmaker, Komasa doesn’t dramatize — he uses one-note traits to clobber the audience. Stephen Graham’s Chris is as quiet and circumspect as Tommy is abrasive. He tries to train Tommy by showing him motivational tapes, and by subjecting him to Tommy’s own depraved TikToks. He then rigs up an elaborate system of gutters on the ceiling so that Tommy, in his metal leash, can wander around the house, a sign that he’s been housebroken.

Tommy has to grow and change, since there wouldn’t be a movie otherwise. In the process, he gets less annoying but also less interesting, because “Heel” sentimentalizes his transformation. Komasa seems to have missed the key irony of “A Clockwork Orange”: that the behavior modification of Alex is as brutalizing as his original state of punk anarchy. In “Heel,” Tommy’s evolution is singularly unconvincing — by the end, he’s practically ready to be the suitor in a Jane Austen drama. But that’s all of a piece with a movie so false it puts the audience in the doghouse.