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Melania Is the Nightmare End Point of Celebrity Docs

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Melania Is the Nightmare End Point of Celebrity Docs

This is what we get for putting up with all those subject-approved portraits of famous people.
Photo: Amazon

We did this to ourselves. Not the second Trump presidency, though our representative democracy, however flawed, would hold that that’s on us as well. It’s Melania I’m talking about, the film about Slovenian-American fashion model turned First Lady Melania Trump, which arrived in theaters yesterday on a wave of infamy. Melania — made by Brett Ratner, a Hollywood hack who hasn’t directed since 2014 due to multiple allegations of sexual assault that emerged at the height of the MeToo movement — attracted a lot of attention for the $40 million that distributor Amazon paid for it, an unprecedented amount for a documentary even before you take into account that the company spent almost as much again on marketing. That eye-popping price looked less like an investment and more like a hefty tribute offered up to a corrupt strongman. Melania doesn’t stand a chance of making that amount back at the box office, but it doesn’t need to. It could play to thousands of empty houses all weekend and still be a success by the perverse metrics that led to its production.

The theater at my Union Square multiplex last night was maybe 40 percent full, and judging from the bursts of applause and occasional jeers, the crowd was made up with as many Donald Trump fans as hate watchers. This shouldn’t have come as any sort of surprise. Melania, which tracks its subject over the 20 days leading up to the 2025 inauguration, isn’t a MAGA screed arriving with raised middle fingers aimed at everyone who isn’t ready to get on board with its gilt-rimmed regime — though it can’t resist a few digs at the outgoing Biden administration by way of shots of a dazed-looking Joe and an exasperated Kamala Harris. Its aims are quieter and more insidious. Instead of leaning into the political, it insistently takes the form of a glossy celebrity documentary, a genre that’s become omnipresent and that we’ve been increasingly primed to accept even though it often consists of brand building exercises masquerading as movies. (The Beckham family docs, Lady Gaga or Selena Gomez’s projects, Arnold.) It attempts to enshrine Melania as the kind of figure everyone is so desperate to get more of that they’d endure this extravagantly boring experience made up of endless treks from black car to private plane to meeting to black car.

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“Everyone wants to know, so here it is,” Melania says at the start of Melania, kicking off a wooden narration full of awkward platitudes. This is a fascinatingly bold claim from a woman who showed no discernible signs of public personality throughout her husband’s first term in office, and whose legacy from that period consists mainly of goth Christmas decor and a confoundingly named public interest campaign with aims no one she meets with on screen appears to understand. And what, precisely, does everyone want to know? That Melania has very exacting taste in blouse necklines? That she loves white and gold as a color combination? That she’s a fan of Michael Jackson? This is the sort of previously forbidden knowledge that Melania deigns to let us in on. There’s a formula here, one that’s been ingrained into us by countless hours of accepting hagiographic movies and series offering subject-approved glimpses into the private selves of various famous people. These properties make promises about unprecedented access, but of course, everything we see is highly controlled and mediated, and in exchange for overlooking that fact, we’re treated to a few carefully doled out instances of real vulnerability.

That’s the bargain Melania nominally tries to strike as well, though it’s unable to offer convincing proof that there is anything going on beneath Melania’s impeccably manicured surface. Her voiceover is a numbing litany of meaningless observations and claims like “For me, it’s important that timeless elegance shines through every element of the inauguration’s decor, style, and design.” She is never seen in anything less than full hair and makeup, and she appears to only be capable of two facial expressions — a professional smile and a neutral face. At one point, Ratner shoots her watching news of the Los Angeles fires, and zooms in on her eyes as though he could create visible emotion there through sheer force of will.

Ratner, who never appears on screen, does sometimes speak up behind the camera, and during one especially surreal moment, goads Melania into singing along to “Billie Jean” with him during a car ride with desperation that speaks to how little workable material he realizes that he’s getting. An attempt to humanize the First Lady by showcasing her grief over the loss of her mother the year before instead ends up feeling mystifyingly unconvincing, maybe because the scene in which Melania visits St. Patrick’s Cathedral to light a candle is so slickly filmed that it looks like a commercial. When one of the priests offers Melania a blessing, she accepts with the exact tone someone would use when offered a warm towel on an airplane.

The gap between Melania’s insistently anodyne tone and what’s happened in the year since it was filmed can become downright vertiginous, especially when Melania intones observations about her immigrant journey and how “everyone should do what they can to protect our individual rights.” But the people who’ll seek out Melania aren’t going to care about how distant it is from or contradictory it is to our brutal realities, or care about how little it delivers in terms of manufactured intimacy. Because the sort of celebrity documentary that Melania has been made in the image of aren’t made for general audiences — they’re made for fans who treat the experience of viewing them as another act of devotion to their idols.

Melania can’t, despite its efforts, make its subject look like the movie star it tries to pretend she is, but she’s not the reason people will buy tickets. They’ve come to see her husband, who saunters in occasionally and, I hate to admit it, considerably livens up the proceedings because he knows how to play to a camera. There’s small consolation to the fact that Trump, who’s posted about having seen the movie twice, surely finds it as tedious an experience as I did. Melania has been described as having an audience of one, but that intended viewer’s taste runs more toward Ratner’s earlier work, and Rush Hour 4 is going to be a lot harder to manifest than this vanity project.

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Stephen King shares his two-line review of 2026’s breakout horror movie

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Stephen King shares his two-line review of 2026’s breakout horror movie

The King of Horror has given his stamp of approval to Obsession, this year’s breakout hit horror movie.

Stephen King, the prolific author of best-selling horror novels including It, Carrie and The Shining, applauded the May release Tuesday in a two-line review on Threads.

“I gave OBSESSION a B+ in my movie book, but I keep thinking about it,” King, 78, wrote of YouTuber Curry Barker’s directorial feature film debut. “That weird mixture of humor and horror.”

Obsession — which follows the dangerous consequences of a hopeless romantic’s (Michael Johnston) naive wish for his crush (Inde Navarrette) to love him back — has been a massive box-office success, grossing over $297 milion worldwide off a micro-budget of approximately $750,000 to $1 million.

It has earned major plaudits from critics and a 94 percent score on the popular review aggregator Rotten Tomatoes.

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'Obsession,' from 26-year-old YouTuber Curry Barker, has quickly become an unexpected critical and box office success
‘Obsession,’ from 26-year-old YouTuber Curry Barker, has quickly become an unexpected critical and box office success (Focus Features)

In her four-star review, The Independent’s Clarrisse Loughrey labeled Obsession “one of the creepiest horror movies of 2026.”

The new sensation marks 26-year-old Barker’s first feature film. He previously directed the 2024 found-footage, prank-themed horror Milk & Serial, which he shot for $800 and uploaded directly to YouTube.

Obsession’s theatrical release coincided with that of fellow YouTuber Cane Parson’s directorial debut, Backrooms, a horror film adapted from his popular YouTube series about liminal spaces. The movie has similarly taken the box office by storm.

The success of both projects signals a fresh direction for the genre, leading Loughrey to declare that “the future of horror is on YouTube.”

Stephen King hailed the film's 'weird mixture of humor and horror'
Stephen King hailed the film’s ‘weird mixture of humor and horror’ (Getty)

“Gone is any feeling of Gothic tenderness, of the misunderstood going bump in the night. Here, the generation exposed to what feels like only the very worst of the world has responded in kind, with horror in which punishment is swift, nasty, and arguably well deserved,” she added. “Obsession is delicately handled work, unafraid to find pockets of humor.”

Meanwhile, King, who often shares his opinion about TV and film online, recently directed his followers’ attention to Apple TV+’s new dark comedy, Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed.

Starring Tatiana Maslany as Paula, a newly divorced mom who becomes convinced she witnessed a crime, the show centers on her spiral into a rabbit hole of blackmail, murder and youth soccer.

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Comparing it to the streamer’s Matthew Rhys-led comedy horror series Widow’s Bay, King argued that it was “even better.”

“It’s like Hitchcock came back to do it one more time,” The Long Walk author said on X. “And Tatiana Maslany is so good. The play of emotions on her face is pretty incredible. She goes from comic to terror in an instant.”

Last September, he also revealed his list of 10 favorite films of all time, which consisted of Sorcerer (1977), Godfather 2 (1974), The Getaway (1972), Groundhog Day (1993), Casablanca (1942), The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948), Jaws (1975), Mean Streets (1973), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) and Double Indemnity (1944).

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Film reviews: ‘Toy Story 5’ and ‘The Death of Robin Hood’

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Film reviews: ‘Toy Story 5’ and ‘The Death of Robin Hood’

‘Toy Story 5’

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‘Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu’ Tribeca 2026 Review: A Travelogue of Old Friends, Older Knees, and Same Absurd Timing

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‘Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu’ Tribeca 2026 Review: A Travelogue of Old Friends, Older Knees, and Same Absurd Timing

The first thing we see in “Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu” is Bob Odenkirk and David Cross facing each other inside a tent, freezing, exhausted, and quiet in the way only old friends can be quiet. They don’t need to say the obvious. Even without a single word spoken, we can see their faces already asking it: what on earth did we get ourselves into?

That’s a good way into this tender documentary, because Michael LaHaie‘s film isn’t just about two famous comedians going on a difficult hike. The hike actually is the excuse, and a pretty good one at that. What we’re really watching is the kind of friendship that survives time, distance, professional detours, old irritations, and the body’s increasingly rude reminders that “getting older” isn’t just a phrase people say on birthdays.

David Cross reads a letter in a scene from “Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu” (Photo: Tribeca Festival, 2026).

Focus on the Journey, Not the Punchline

The premise is simple. Cross wants to climb Machu Picchu. Odenkirk says yes, partly because he’s game and partly because a recent heart attack has made the bucket list feel less hypothetical. So off they go to Peru, where the Andean scenery is gorgeous, the trail is punishing, and the two men remain funny enough to make shortness of breath sound like a sketch premise.

There’s a long tradition of famous people traveling somewhere beautiful, physically exerting themselves, and landing on gentle reflections about life. Some versions have done it better, slicker, or with more formal ambition. Michael Winterbottom‘s “Trip” films (starring Rob Brydon and Steve Coogan) turned meals and impressions into a running autopsy of male ego and middle age. Meanwhile, the Ewan McGregorCharley Boorman series “Long Way Round” found camaraderie and self-discovery on the road. Even the lesser celebrity travelogues tend to lean on the same basic appeal: put recognizable people somewhere unfamiliar, wait for the guards to drop, and hope that scenery plus discomfort produces something honest.

“Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu” doesn’t pretend to reinvent that setup. It’s too ragged for that, and sometimes too casual. But that looseness is also part of its charm. LaHaie doesn’t over-direct the trip into importance. He lets Odenkirk and Cross walk, complain, riff, reminisce, eat, sweat, and occasionally look around long enough to remember they’re doing something ridiculous and beautiful at the same time.

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The comedy isn’t always polished, which is probably for the best. Some bits land because they’re sharply timed; others work because they’re stupid in the way a joke between friends is allowed to be stupid. A scene in which they sit at a small table in a Peruvian town square and wait to be recognized is funny not only because of the awkwardness, but because it gently punctures their celebrity. When recognition comes, it mostly belongs to Odenkirk’s “Breaking Bad” and “Better Call Saul” fame, which Cross absorbs with the wounded dignity of a man who’s spent decades being very funny and still has to watch his friend get all the Saul Goodman heat.

Bob and David successfully complete their hike.
Bob and David complete the hike, in a scene from “Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu” (Photo: Tribeca Festival, 2026).

Old Friends and Older Knees

I have a tightly knit group of male friends who, for reasons both sentimental and mildly embarrassing, call ourselves The Roadtrippers. Every so often, we get together for dinner, a short drive, or—just recently—a trip over a thousand miles away from home to feel like a small act of devotion. Nobody says it that way, of course. Men rarely do. We just show up every time, eat too much, talk nonsense, geek about random things, and pretend the friendship maintains itself. Watching Bob and David wheeze their way through a bucket-list hike, I kept thinking about that unspoken vow.

Keep going. Keep checking in. And keep making memories before the body starts filing formal complaints.

That’s why the film becomes more affecting than its goofy surface suggests. Odenkirk and Cross aren’t selling us a grand thesis about male friendship; they’re simply showing one. Their bond has the friction of people who know each other too well and the ease of people who don’t have to explain the rhythm anymore. They can insult each other, admire each other, poke at old career disappointments, then pivot into absurdity before anything gets too damp with feeling.

That tenderness hit home with me because I know, in my own way, what it means to keep choosing the same friends across time.

More Tribeca Coverage: ‘That Friend’ is a Chaotic Buddy Comedy About the Friend You Can’t Quite Outgrow

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Photo of Bob and David upon completing the hike to the Machu Picchu.
Photo of Bob and David upon completing the hike, in a scene from “Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu” (Photo: Tribeca Festival, 2026).

‘Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu’, and the Joke Between the Breaths

The film works best when comedy opens into reflection without announcing the shift. Odenkirk’s heart attack isn’t treated as the dramatic centerpiece, but it’s always somewhere nearby, especially when the climb starts to feel less like a lark and more like a dare issued to mortality. Cross comes across as both instigator and witness: the friend who proposed the insane thing and now has to keep walking beside the man who agreed to it.

LaHaie keeps the film moving at an amiable pace, and the editing understands that the best travel moments aren’t always the scenic payoffs. They’re the half-formed jokes, the bad meals, the language gaps, the tired silences, and the private laughter that would sound idiotic if explained to anyone else. Yo La Tengo’s music adds to that easygoing mood without trying to turn the hike into a spiritual awakening with better footwear. That both Odenkirk and Cross starred in the band’s music video for the 1997 song “Sugarcube” is extra nostalgic. 

Michael LaHaie’s funny, ragged, unexpectedly tender documentary follows Bob Odenkirk and David Cross up a mountain and into a reflection on friendship, mortality, and staying in sync.

The documentary, of course, has limits. It’s slim, and some of the career material plays more like an affectionate scrapbook than a deeper reckoning. Fans of “Mr. Show” may want more, while newcomers may only get a partial sense of why this partnership mattered so much to a particular corner of American comedy. A few stretches also have the relaxed shapelessness of a vacation video, though admittedly one starring two extremely funny men with better cameras and worse altitude tolerance.

But I didn’t mind the looseness much, because the pleasure is in the company. Odenkirk and Cross are still magnificently in sync, even when they’re wheezing, bickering, or making the kind of joke that exists mainly because the other person is there to receive it. “Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu” is simple, funny, occasionally moving, and blessedly unpretentious. It understands that some friendships don’t need a dramatic breakthrough. Sometimes they just need a trail, a tent, a stupid bit that runs too long, and enough breath left to laugh before the next climb.

'Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu' has a rating of B+ from The Movie Buff staff

Michael LaHaie’s “Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu” had its world premiere at this year’s Tribeca Festival in the Spotlight Documentary category. The festival took place on June 3-14, 2026. Follow us for more coverage.

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