You’ve seen this before. A young, unassuming person suddenly gets thrust into the Hollywood limelight as they realize the vanity and hollowness of all the glitter. Saverio Costanzo, who you may know from HBO’s beloved Italian drama “My Brilliant Friend,” is no stranger to the 1950s. “Finalmente l’alba (Finally Dawn)”, which is set in the same period and features an ensemble Hollywood cast, evokes a singular time in Italian movie history when Cinecitta (one of the prominent studios of the time) was known for hosting lavish, sword-and-sandals epics like Ben-Hur. 

The young person in question here is Mimosa (Rebecca Antonaci), a doe-eyed movie lover whose love for the medium is quickly established as she, her mother, and a more conventionally attractive older sister Iris (Sofia Panizzi) come out of the latest War movie playing in their local theatre in Rome. As they exit the theatre, discussing the obsession of new-age directors with the futility of the war that they have just suffered, a crew member from Cinecitta spots Iris and invites her to audition for the latest epic about a female pharoah (a sort of Cleopatra parody on first look) played by Josephine (is played by Lily James in the movie). Now, Mimosa just tags along with her sister, but is quickly spotted by Josephine in a corridor and is offered one of the bigger roles in the film. 

Now, “Finally Dawn” thereby turns into an endless loop of excess that the American actors and their consequent Italian hosts go on. Much like “La Dolce Vita,” the excess uncovers the hidden hollowness of the world of movie stars that Mimosa so dearly adores from a distance. We quietly follow her footsteps once the shot of the day is captured. However, the film’s more surreal edges keep pushing it further away from making a point. 

James’ diva-like rendition of Josphine feels melodramatic to a point where you either feel nothing towards her, or you simply follow along. Her reasons for inviting Mimosa to tag along with them stem from some deep-seated insecurities and personal demons, but the film is never able to establish any of that. Making Josphie feel like a centre-piece that is given more attention than it rightfully needs, even in the movie-within-the-movie scenario. 

I mean, it is quite right to establish Mimosa’s moral standpoint, who doesn’t accept being naked for her shot, but then the film also opens up the tragic death of Wilma Montesi — a real-life incident where an extra on a movie set was found dead on the beach; but never does anything about it except using it symbolically. Director Costanzo has said that he wanted to make the movie because of Wilma’s story, and while he is able to draw parallels through Mimosa’s coming-of-age, using Wilma’s story like that felt a bit exploitative to me. 

The film also features an ensemble cast, including Joe Keery, Rachel Sennott, Alba Rohrwacher, and Willem Dafoe, but none of them feel like characters who bring something substantial to the table. It also doesn’t help that newcomer Rebecca Antonaci, who has a remarkable screen time, doesn’t evoke the kind of emotional connection the director is going for. Her character, although essential to the film’s proceedings, feels nudged down by the script’s many meandering tendencies. 

Eventually, beyond the great production design that quietly brings back the 1950s and some smashing costume work, “Finally Dawn” is unable to elicit anything particularly interesting for the audience to pay heed to. The lion, for instance, is used as a broad metaphor, but much like its existence within the context of the film itself, the metaphor falls flat, and Mimosa’s story; instantly forgettable. 

Read More: 20 Best Films from Italian Neorealism

Finally Dawn (2025) Movie Links: IMDb, Rotten Tomatoes, Letterboxd
Finally Dawn (2025) Movie Cast: Lily James, Rebecca Antonaci, Joe Keery, Rachel Sennott, Alba Rohrwacher, Willem Dafoe, Sofia Panizzi

We won! Or, at least those of us who were rooting for Amaya Espinal and Bryan Arenales to take home the prize on Season 7 of “Love Island USA.”

After a blockbuster season with its fair share of controversy, the 25-year-old nurse from New York City and the 28-year-old accountant, bartender and real estate agent from Boston, respectively, walked out of the villa $100,000 richer and became the first Latino couple to win “Love Island.” In a time when many Latinos in the U.S. are being inundated with threats to our safety and freedom, this example of a mutual, fun and respectful Latino love is an indulgent little triumph for us all.

The dating show became appointment viewing for millions of fans, including myself, with new episodes dropping almost nightly as the show airs in near real time. “Love Island” — which launched in the U.K. in 2015 and has since spawned several international versions — confines single hotties in a Fijian villa, where they must explore romantic connections and couple up with each other to remain on the show. Viewers and cast members known as “islanders” vote regularly to decide which contestants or couples must pack up their swimsuits and go home. As with most reality TV, there’s messiness, drama, silliness and sexiness that keeps viewers glued to their screens, and we clock in for our shift at the island mines with dedication.

Espinal, a self-described “Dominican Cinderella,” entered the villa as a “bombshell,” a cast addition meant to stir things up for the original couples. Meanwhile, her Prince Charming, Arenales, who is Puerto Rican and Guatemalan, came in during the Casa Amor segment of the show, when islanders are separated by gender and introduced to hot new cast members vying for their attention.

The two coupled up several episodes after meeting in Casa Amor, igniting a romance in large part over a shared understanding of their cultures. Being super hot probably didn’t hurt either, but it was seeing Arenales stand up for our sweet Amaya Papaya against a pile-on from his fellow male islanders that sealed the deal — not just for Espinal, but for the viewers, in particular Latinx ones.

Espinal’s rough start on the series reflected the cultural valleys that exist between Latinos and their non-Latino counterparts in the United States, which can generally make for a tricky dating experience. Three of the male contestants she coupled up with expressed discomfort with her personality and bold manner of expressing herself. It started with a blowup with contestant Ace Greene after he vocalized his discomfort with Espinal touching him and using terms of endearment, in particular the word “babe.”

The same issue came up when she coupled up with Austin Shepard and Zak Srakaew, who took issue with Espinal “moving too fast” by acting overly romantic (on a show called “Love Island,” mind you). This was despite her explaining that in Dominican culture terms like “mi vida,” “mi amor” and “babe” are common terms of endearment, and asking if it was OK that she use them. (Both agreed it was fine.)

Espinal certainly lost her cool — in most cases, I would argue, rightfully so — and regularly became emotional, struggling with feeling misunderstood and attacked. Still, she defended herself with confidence and strength from those who seemed intent on painting her as erratic, intense, pushy and aggressive. During a game in which islanders wrote letters to air out any grievances, she offered them a simple option: “I’m just not your cup of tea to be drinkin’, so don’t f—ing drink it.”

It was during that game in which Greene, Shepard and Srakaew went in on Espinal that Arenales stepped in to defend her, explaining what Espinal had long been saying: Those terms of endearment are common in Latino households. “You’re telling her to meet you halfway,” he said. “You gotta meet her halfway too.”

Arenales gallantly stepping up to support Espinal against a social firing squad sparked a flame between the two. Fan votes showed this moment to be a turning point for Espinal, who became a favorite. It doesn’t hurt that her nurturing personality and adorable zaniness make her very easy to root for.

Seeing Arenales voice his appreciation for who she is and understanding her background — and Espinal herself refusing to change parts of her personality that she views as the strengths of an “emotional gangsta” — made their coupling a powerful display of Latino love. Those two crazy kids just get each other!

“This is just a message to everyone out there who’s misunderstood: Nobody should be tamed and there’s always someone out there for you who’s going to love you for you and appreciate all your craziness,” Espinal told host Ariana Madix after their win was announced. “Don’t ever settle for nobody.”

This was an especially lovely and important win after this season was marred by a racism scandal in which two Latina islanders were found to have used racial slurs online and in a podcast.

As much as Espinal may have felt misunderstood, Espinal is not a difficult person. There’s no need to decipher her because it’s not that complicated, regardless of her cultural identity. From everything I saw on the show, she showed a tremendous amount of character and kindness. She just didn’t put up with B.S. from guys who were trying to diminish her, call her irrational and insinuate she was clingy. Amaya Papaya always stood on business.

I love that Espinal found someone who sees and appreciates her in Arenales. And judging by their win, she found that in innumerable people who voted for them as well. But there’s nothing anyone should struggle to understand about her.

Yes, parts of her behavior are informed by her culture — but yelling at a man who is trying to make you seem crazy is a universal experience we should all partake in.

On paper, Sofia (Mimi Davila), the protagonist of Paula Andrea González-Nasser’s mellow debut The Scout, has an enviable job. She spends her days driving through New York, taking photos of building exteriors, cozy apartments and eclectic shops in service of her director’s vision. Sofia is a location scout, an occupation that conjures romantic images of one’s relationship to space. 

The truth is that Sofia’s job can be taxing, and in The Scout, which premiered in June at the Tribeca Film Festival, González-Nasser, who was herself a location scout for six years, crafts a modest portrait of its complicated reality. The director reveals how location scouting involves an emotional deftness, a stultifying deference to a director’s vision and lots of patience. Sofia deploys these tools to broker deals between her team and the people from whom they want things. She must act with the urgency demanded by her bosses and be sensitive to the fact that these locations are homes to real people whose memories live in the furniture and on the walls. Often subsumed by other people’s needs and narratives, Sofia struggles to not become a background character in her own story.

Working from a screenplay she wrote, Gonzàlez-Nasser structures The Scout around discrete interactions Sofia has throughout the day. The film confidently highlights the delicate relationship between people and their spaces, while also acknowledging the understated harshness of a job that requires you to assess, with a certain degree of remove, one of the more intimate elements of another person’s life. Parts of The Scout, in its contemplative tone and observational style, reminded me of Perfect Days. Like Wim Wenders’ poignant study of a middle-aged janitor’s routines in Tokyo, The Scout could find success in arthouse theaters and on the festival circuit. 

When we meet Sofia, she is asleep in her own space — a compact, well-lit apartment somewhere in New York. The room resembles the dwellings of so many young people living in the expensive and bustling city. There’s the starkness of the walls, painted an impersonal white, and the minor touches — a standing fan, a gold framed mirror, a small drawing affixed to the wall — that suggest signs of a real life. Following this moment, the young location scout will almost exclusively occupy the shops and homes of other people. 

Each space offers an opportunity for Sofia to remake herself. The transformations are subtle; the location scout tweaks her personality just enough to connect with the person living in the space so that they might be more amenable to letting a random crew of people take it over. Sometimes, as with an older woman (Rutanya Alda) who tells Sofia about her son who moved to London and rarely visits, the interactions are sweet and revelatory. It’s clear that Sofia’s presence — her kind eyes and encouraging responses — doubles as an invitation for lonelier people to share parts of their life with her. Other times, as with the pet shop owner (Matt Barats) who asks her to dinner or a father (Max Rosen) who follows her around the house with an air of menace, the encounters are fraught and a touch scary. Yet rarely does Sofia lose her cool. 

The young woman, played with a quiet conviction by Davila (Problemista), navigates each situation with an understanding that her role in these people’s lives is merely temporary. Her approach differs from that of her colleagues, who barge into these homes with no consideration and much fanfare. They appraise each space with a callous indifference toward who lives there, commenting on ugly doors and unimpressive heirlooms. 

Other elements of The Scout reinforce our sense of this transient atmosphere. Cinematographer Nicola Newton shoots each location — whether its Sofia’s room or a brownstone in Brooklyn — with the kind of attention reserved for places you know you’ll never return to. A spare score (composed by Dan Arnés) and the familiar melodies of a cityscape (birds chirping, engines running) soundtrack Sofia’s experiences. 

Despite their meditative loveliness, low-key projects like The Scout can leave something to be desired in terms of narrative. The lure of a story built on vignettes can shortchange its principal characters and the constellation of supporting ones. As Sofia floats from one home to the next, I wondered about the texture of her life. Gonzàlez-Nasser offers some clues through an interaction between Sofia and her old friend Becca (Otmara Morrero), whose gorgeous apartment has been unexpectedly included on the list of the scout’s locations. Their reunion is brief but laden with the weight of history. Conversations about mutual friends and retired dreams are revealing of Sofia’s aspirations; Becca remarks on how Sofia always wanted to be behind the camera and how she, in a way, is a photographer now. The scout doesn’t completely agree and the ensuing silence suggests a history of compromise.

It also exposes a pattern in Sofia’s earlier interactions, underscoring how much the scout almost disappears into each story. When she finally has a moment of self-assertion, in a quiet moment on the beach, it’s a triumph I wish had come sooner.