The Get Out, 2026.

Directed by Derek Borte.
Starring Russell Crowe, Luke Evans, Aaron Paul, Teresa Palmer, Nina Dobrev, Daniel Zovatto, Kartiah Vergara, Josh McConville, Yasmin Kassim, Benedict Hardie, Christian Perez, Cameron Leonard, Cory Beeston, and Ever Love Hope.

SYNOPSIS:

A nightclub owner is on the verge of leaving his dangerous past behind for retirement. After masked gunmen rob him and he finds himself squeezed by ruthless cartels, a mysterious newcomer arrives with an interest in buying the business.

Before even getting into what co-writer/director Derek Borte’s The Get Out is about, it must be said that if Russell Crowe is in a movie, he is putting on a European accent. Simply put, this is what he does now, and how his fascination with playing Albanians and other nationalities would be more interesting than almost anything in this mostly generic, certainly overcrowded Los Angeles crime tale of fighting one’s way out of that dangerous life to live peacefully alongside a loved one.

To be fair, The Get Out is based on a novel called Strip by Thomas Perry (with screenwriters Derek Borte and Daniel Forte adapting), so it’s possible that the character in that book just happened to be Albanian and that this is actually inspired casting; go get the kooky guy who can’t help himself from playing quirky, offbeat, and violent Europeans (this is essentially the Russell Crowe from Kraven the Hunter). The reality is that, whatever the reasoning behind the decision, it mostly amounts to an otherwise legendary actor (at least he knows Gladiator II sucked and isn’t afraid to voice it) delivering another campy performance that unsurprisingly works even less once the film bizarrely shifts from crime comedy to more grounded action with mostly meaningless stakes (since whatever makes this novel a complex and breathtaking piece of crime fiction isn’t to be found here).

Manco Kapak (Russell Crowe) is a nightclub owner (it was once a strip club but changed to reflect politically correct times, which mostly sounds like a change from the novel and an acknowledgment of that) connected to the cartel (Daniel Zavatto) with a rigid system in place to keep operations functional. It turns out that the only threat to that falling apart is his own physical health, as he suffers a cardiac incident while sexually intimate with his much younger girlfriend, Sunny (Teresa Palmer). This is also what prompts him and her to consider selling the nightclub to an interested buyer, Joe Carver (Luke Evans), leaving that life behind, fleeing the country, and living out the rest of their days in solitude, with no one hunting them down.

Not only do Manco and Joe struggle to come to a financial agreement that feels respectful to the former, but a crooked police detective (Josh McConville) discreetly tasks miserable adjunct professor Jeff (Aaron Paul), who already breaks the law in what he believes to be victimless crimes in writing academic papers to help undeserving youngsters receive a free ticket into prestigious colleges. to mug the nightclub owner and steal the cash that he is carrying to bring to the cartel. The gist is that Jeff failed to get the detective’s son into the college of his choosing, and that, for some reason, the answer is to keep stealing the money necessary from Manco.

Since Manco never takes his gun out of his car’s glove compartment (even after his girlfriend and confidants suggest he start holstering it), getting the jump on him is simple time and again (Jeff is forced to do this on more than one occasion). However, a wrinkle is thrown into all of this when Point Break-obsessed bank teller Carrie (Nina Dobrev) astutely catches on that something is up with his deposits, pushing her way into the con. It also turns out that Carrie is a risk-taker, excited and turned on by crime, which mostly causes Jeff to freak out as he just wants his part in all of this to be over, but is, of course, more than happy to pull over to a motel at Carrie’s request when robbing Manco has made her horny.

The adventures of this mismatched, dopey Bonnie and Clyde are the most fun there is to be had here, with the clashing personalities of Aaron Paul and Nina Dobrev playing off each other well. Their journey takes them in a direction that has less and less to do with Manco and more to do with Carrie getting it over her head, which is amusing and makes for a far more engaging movie than everything else here. She even gets her own blooper reel that might have more laughs in it than the previous 90 minutes.

It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who has seen a movie before that all of these characters are on a collision course to face a reckoning with one another and the reckless and questionable choices they have made to hopefully enrich their lives. However, there is far too much happening in The Get Out, coupled with poor characterization and a gradual shift in tone from a comedic playfulness that already doesn’t work, to violence that also doesn’t work because there isn’t much to care about. Again, there is a much more interesting movie in the oddball-comedic Bonnie and Clyde duo. Put Aaron Paul and Nina Dobrev in a Point Break remake, and you have a better movie than that actual remake and The Get Out.

Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★

Robert Kojder

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=embed/playlist

Liam Payne’s 9-year-old son has inherited the late singer’s fortune.

Bear Grey Payne, the only child of Payne and British singer and former “X-Factor” judge Cheryl Cole, has been named the sole beneficiary of the former One Direction star’s estate, according to court documents reviewed by People.

Bear now has more than $29 million to his name. According to the filing, a portion of the inheritance can be accessed now, but the majority will be held in a trust for another nine years, until Bear turns 18.

During a 2019 appearance on “The Jonathan Ross Show,” Payne opened up about fatherhood and spending time with Bear after the singer and Cole had called it quits.

“He comes over to my house every so often, and we just hang out and do whatever,” Payne said of his then-2-year-old son. “I think you put pressure on yourself as a dad sometimes. It’s hard to connect with it with a 2-year-old … but they literally will laugh at anything. We put this Batman costume on him in the house, and it was a little bit slidey on the floor, and he kept falling off the sofa. And if I said ‘Whoopsie-daisy!’ and it was like the best thing ever.”

Payne, who was one-fifth of the global boy-band sensation One Direction, died Oct. 16, 2024, after falling from a balcony at the CasaSur Palermo Hotel. Officials determined the 31-year-old singer died from multiple traumas caused by the fall. He had traces of alcohol, several narcotics and a prescription antidepressant in his system when died, according to officials.

The boy-band star turned solo artist had been open about his battle with addiction and mental health and shared updates on his sobriety journey on social media.

After Payne’s death, the National Criminal and Correctional Prosecutor’s Office of Argentina charged five people for alleged involvement in the pop singer’s death, including a representative for Payne and the manager and the head of reception of the Buenos Aires hotel where the British singer fell to his death.

Another hotel employee and a waiter whom Payne met in a restaurant were charged with supplying the singer with narcotics.

Times staff writers Alexandra Del Rosario and Karen Garcia contributed to this report.

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Warning: Full spoilers for the film follow.

I think it’s safe to say that horror is having a bit of a moment. Of course, horror is one of those genres that can always be counted on to be financially profitable, both because it often requires less money and because it’s so effective at tapping into the anxieties, fears, and desires of a particular cultural moment. I’ve loved almost every horror movie I’ve seen this year but, even in a year known for its strong offerings, Adrian Chiarella’s Leviticus is something special. I knew going in that it was going to be one of those films that got into my mind and under my skin. I’ve been on a long and winding journey back to Christianity over the past year or so, and so the issue of faith and queerness has been much on my mind. This film crawled into my mind and my soul, latched its hooks in me, and hasn’t let me go since.

The film begins with an amorous encounter between teens Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), and at first it seems the two of them have found a connection they both clearly need. However, when Naim discovers Ryan kissing their pastor’s son, Hunter (Jeremy Blewitt) and tells the pastor what’s happened, things take a sinister turn. Ryan and Hunter undergo a terrifying encounter with a healer, who curses them to be haunted, tormented and, in Hunter’s case, killed by the thing they desire most. Unfortunately for Naim, his mother Arlena (Mia Wasikowska), soon hands him over to the healer, and it’s not long before he’s set on a terrifying course with his beloved Ryan.

Both Joe Bird and Stacy Clausen are phenomenal in this film, with each bringing something unique to the table. Bird perfectly captures Naim’s adolescent angst, as well as his sense of alienation and yearning for something more, some human connection that neither his mother nor their devout religious community can provide. He finds it unexpectedly in Clausen’s Ryan, and the two actors have palpable chemistry. And yet, all the while, Naim is also haunted by his resentment of Ryan and the fact that his own actions were what brought about their harrowing.

For his part, Clausen captures the nuances of a very complicated figure. Ryan is a rougher type than Naim, or at least it seems at first, but as the film goes on he shows a deep well of sensitivity and kindness. Like Naim, he yearns for queer connection. Clausen also superbly captures the menace and danger of Ryan’s doppelganger, even his silent movements conveying a sense of murderous menace. It’s not every actor who could play both characters with equal depth, but Clausen is more than up to the task, his wounded angelic beauty lending even his more terrifying moments an erotic charge.

Though there are moments of gore–including a disturbing moment in which we see Hunter’s head in a field–for the most part Leviticus relies on slowly spreading dread and suspense as the spectral Ryan torments and pursues Naim relentlessly any time he’s alone. Jed Kurzel’s score is also haunting and potent, with an ever-present thrumming that settles into your bones. Combined with the frequent shots of the heavily industrialized area in which these boys live–as well as the eerily intense church scenes–this score keeps us on the edge of our seats, waiting to see what new horror is going to unfold.

Indeed, there’s something particularly deeply unsettling about the premise of being tormented and, in Hunter’s case, literally killed by a demon that takes the form of your innermost desire. From a certain perverse Christian point of view this is exactly what queer desire itself is, so it makes sense that a “healer” like the one we see in this film–or, for that matter, Hunter’s family–would resort to such a desperate attempt to “save” these boys from themselves. The whole ordeal is made all the more upsetting because the being isn’t content to just torment you: as both Hunter’s death and that of the young woman who dies at the beginning of the film reveal, it wants you to suffer. Naim’s own encounter with the demon late in the film is especially disturbing, particularly once the creature tries to literally tear his throat out from the inside.

While the portions with the demon are obviously harrowing and heartbreaking, for me the most traumatic and insidious moment is the one in which Arlene admits she knew from the get-go that the “exorcism” would have terrible and lasting consequences, that Naim would have to live the rest of his life in fear. It’s a moment that’s stunning–devastating, really–for both Naim and those of us in the audience–because it reveals the extent to which Arlene’s own terror of the unknown has poisoned her relationship with her son. It’s also one of those moments that cuts to the bone precisely because it matches so neatly with so many lived experience; there are a distressing number of “Christian” parents who would rather see their children destroyed, both emotionally and physically, rather than have them be their true, God-given selves.

And yet, despite the terror and the horror and the betrayals, there are moments of genuine beauty and affection and erotic connection. The scene in which Ryan admits he wouldn’t want to be haunted by anyone other than Naim is genuinely affecting, and their shared erotic encounter on a bus is also beautifully staged. Somehow, these two young men manage to find an island of calm and love amid all the fear and dread and violence. To be sure, though, these moments are always tinged with terror. While I was watching the scene on the bus I still felt nervous, terrified lest they be discovered and unsettled by the fact that it was precisely this desire that was poised to seal both of their dooms. The film thus powerfully evokes the sinister effects of internalized homophobia, the way that a noxious religious ideology can crawl into your brain and make you fear yourself, your desires, your love, and the person who you feel the greatest connection to. In some terrible ways, the film suggests that the most damaging aspect of this haunting isn’t the violence itself; it’s the sundering of the self.

It would’ve been easy–and, for some no doubt, very satisfying–for the film to conclude with Naim and Ryan defeating their demonic tormentor and riding off into the sunset to have a happy gay life in the big city. However, Leviticus is a far cannier and subtler film than that, and it is smart enough to realize that such an ending would feel cheap and unearned and, more to the point, that it would rob the film of its essential power. By leaving the ending tinged with melancholy and ambiguity, the film suggests that our heroes will be haunted by their ordeal and that there is no easy happy ending in a world in which such homophobia is still very real and very present. (As a brief side note, it’s very satisfying to see Arlene frantically searching for Naim after he abandons her. One can but hope that the rest of her life is spent in misery as she reckons with her loneliness and her complicity in her son’s torment).

However, there is still hope in the conclusion, and it’s fitting that the last we see of Naim and Ryan is the two of them with their heads together, sharing a set of headphones. Queer life is difficult, sometimes, and there is always another hill to climb, another battle to be won. We’re led to hope, though, that these two troubled young men will manage to find their own form of peace and love and happiness, both with one another and with the queer community they’ll one day find.