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Twisters movie review: no winds of change blowing here – FlickFilosopher.com

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Twisters movie review: no winds of change blowing here – FlickFilosopher.com

I haven’t been this excited about a movie star in a long time. Partly because we haven’t had anyone new in ages who exudes that delicious ineffable movie-star It. It’s not just about looks, though of course a pretty face doesn’t hurt. No, it’s about the effortless charisma. The paradoxical insouciance, like they’ve just accidentally stumbled into being the sexiest damn thing you’ve ever seen onscreen, and aren’t even aware of the effect they’re having.

I’m talking about Glen Powell, of course. (Even his name is right outta the Golden Age of Hollywood.“Glen Powell and Rita Hayworth star in the most thrilling movie of 1942: City of Secrets!”) He first made me sit up and take notice as astronaut John Glenn in 2016’s Hidden Figures. He’s not in that film much, and I didn’t even mention him in my review (though I did sneak him into the image illustrating my writeup; I just had to), because that movie ain’t about his character. But when I say he made me sit up and take notice, I literally mean I went bolt upright in my seat the moment he appeared onscreen and gasped (quietly, in my head), “Who is THAT?”

Maybe that’s the definition of a movie star: When they’re onscreen, you can’t take your eyes off them.

Well, hello there…

Anyway, Powell is rightfully finally breaking through this year with well-deserved leading roles, in the rom-com Anyone But You (which I have not seen yet but hope to soon), in crime comedy Hit Man (which is brilliant; review asap), and now the disaster drama Twisters. I’m happy for him! I’m happy for us all — we deserve a new movie star to remind us why we fell in love with movies. But it’s a real mixed bag for me when I say that he’s the best thing about Twisters. Because at this point, I will take whatever Glen Powell is on offer, and he does not disappoint here: he’s charming, funny, and has an improbably delightful shit-eating grin to rival Harrison Ford’s (my previous movie-star high-water mark for improbably delightful shit-eating grins).

I just wish Twisters were worthy of what Glen Powell is bringing.

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I get why They — the big Hollywood They — saw easy cash in revisiting 1996’s Twister. It was a huge hit that has since become iconic for many good (and some not-so-good) reasons. It shaped the industry’s previous generational paradigm shift: its spring release date followed by instant box-office success helped move the supposed “summer” movie season for blockbusters back to early May. (Difficult as it may be for today’s youngsters to imagine now that big loud brash movies come year-round, there really did used to be a discrete season for big FX-laden crowd-pleasing genre flicks, and that season was [Northern Hemisphere] summer.) Twister represented a visual-effects breakthrough, with its heavy usage of nascent CGI: all those stormy goin’-green skies and all those tornadoes had to be created digitally, and those FX mostly still hold up almost 30 years later. The movie even inspired a boost in people studying meteorology at the university level! It was later the first feature film to be released on DVD, which surely helped cement the popularity of the format and ensured that the movie would become, in more recent years, something of a (misnamed) cult classic, not least because of its early appearances by actors who went on to become cinephile favorites, including Philip Seymour Hoffman and Jeremy Davies, as well as enduring beloveds Helen Hunt, Bill Paxton, and Cary Elwes.

Twisters Daisy Edgar-Jones
Anyone else getting Linda Hamilton–in–Terminator 2 vibes off this image?

Twister was, dare I say it, a perfect storm of a blockbuster. But it could have simply been rereleased in summer 2024. Sure, revamp it for IMAX or whatever, if an excuse is required for a rerelease. People would have paid for that. I would have paid for that, even though I’ve seen Twister easily a dozen times, mostly on a small screen at home. (Though I did see it that summer of 1996, and loved it instantly. I have no specific memories along these lines, but I’m pretty sure it was one of the movies that I was having Big Thoughts about at that time, to the point where I was, like, Yeah, I should probably do some film criticism. Which I started doing a year later, and I reviewed the film in 2000.)

Instead we got Twisters, and look: no one was asking for a sequel, but a sequel would have been very much welcome if Twisters was able to make a case for itself. Like, why have you gathered us here for another go at this story at this particular point in time? The one reason — the best one, the big one — might be because, a quarter of a century later, we could now admit to the cyclonic elephant in the room in Twister: it was an early climate-change movie, with its “record outbreak of tornadoes” and insanely dangerous, even grading on the tornado curve, weather-that-is-trying-to-kill-you. (For another undeclared early human-impact-on-the-planetary-environment drama, see also 2000’s The Perfect Storm, about unprecedented extreme weather and fished-out oceans.) Maybe nobody realized it at the time — though I would be astonished if the first screenwriter on the project, Michael “Fuck with Nature at Your Own Peril” Crichton, did not — but looking back now, the 1996 film is quite obviously an attempt to 1) reckon with increasingly dangerous and unpredictable weather, and 2) try to learn how to live with it.

Twisters
“If I said you were an untamed force of nature, would you hold it against me?”

So it’s genuinely astonishing, deeply baffling, and almost embarrassing to sit through Twisters and not see a single solitary acknowledgment of global warming onscreen. Director Lee Isaac Chung (Minari) has stated that this is deliberate: “I just don’t feel like films are meant to be message-oriented,” he told CNN. I’m not sure he appreciates that releasing a movie like Twisters in 2024 and not mentioning climate change is absolutely sending a message: of denial of reality, of an ostrich-like desire to bury one’s head in the sand rather than face literal existential danger.

Goddammit.

Anyway, that means that Twisters is a hugely cowardly missed opportunity for us, as a culture, to finally grow the hell up about the damage we have done and continue to do to our pleasant Earth.

This is not the only way in which Twisters is absurdly coy. The movie cannot even decide if it’s a genuine followup or merely a furtive remake. Screenwriters Mark L. Smith (Overlord, The Revenant) and Joseph Kosinski drop in numerous sly callbacks to Twister but not a single overt one.

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Twisters Daisy Edgar-Jones Glen Powell
Storm chasing is all fun and games until Nature drops an F5 on your head.

When meteorologist Kate (Daisy Edgar-Jones) flies out from New York City to Oklahoma at the behest of her former storm-chaser colleague Javi (Anthony Ramos: The Bad Guys, In the Heights), to help him deploy a (genuinely cool-seeming) 3D-radar technology that will hopefully get much-needed detailed scans of active tornadoes, she has to keep telling his team, some of whom are also her former colleagues, that she’s “not back!”… just as Bill Paxton’s storm-chaser–turned–meteorologist Bill does multiple times in Twister. Oh, Smith and Kosinski shuffle the rebranding around a bit: Kate isn’t just Bill but also Helen Hunt’s Jo, in that she lost someone important to a twister; Javi is also Cary Elwes’s Twister “corporate suckup” Jonas. But Twisters frequently indulges in for shot-for-shot and beat-for-beat xeroxing of the 1996 flick. It also sneaks in Dorothy, the tech for lobbing little sensors into a tornado for recording just what the heck is going on inside the funnel, with no mention of where it came from. The technology seems to be settled and considered reliable here, while it was solidly experimental in the ’96 film; proving it could work was the geeky backbone of the previous movie.

And that’s where there was a tiny opportunity to insert just a hint of awareness of the fact that, ahem, the 1996 movie, like, exists. I’m not asking for a lot here! Maybe a single line of dialogue that mentions, say, that Kate and Javi are former students of Jo’s, and that’s how they have access to Dorothy. And re global warming? When Javi is trying to convince Kate to come back and help with his 3D-imaging project, he mentions that these massive tornadoes are “getting worse every year.” Okay, yes, but WHY? We don’t need a thesis on climate change, but maybe just drop in something about how atmospheric CO2 is up dramatically since 1996, why not? (C’mon, this shit was easy.) The unwillingness of this movie to confront the real world, when it also desperately wants to be set in the real world, is frankly bizarre, and indicative of nothing so much as pandering to anti-science bullshit.

Twisters Katy O'Brian
Been there, got sucked up in the funnel, bought the T-shirt.

Oh, and speaking of anti-science… there is a real and not-very-subtle anti-academic vibe going on here. Powell’s Tyler and his wacky team — who are, let’s be honest, much more of a feather with the university goofballs who were unquestionably the heroes 30 years ago — are most definitely not people with degrees or credentials. Instead, they are “hillbillies with a YouTube channel,” self-styled “tornado wranglers” who sell T-shirts and mugs with slapped-on logos at their storm-chaser stops. Yes, they are redeemed, somewhat, eventually, but so is corporate-suckup Javi… and yes, it’s good that the characters are less black-and-white than in the 1996 movie. But it’s impossible to imagine that Tyler’s gang — which includes the awesome Sasha Lane’s (How to Blow Up a Pipeline, Hellboy) Lily and the also awesome Katy O’Brian’s (Love Lies Bleeding) Dani — will have anywhere near the staying power in the pop-cultural mindset as Jo’s band of misfits. That’s not on the cast — they’re splendid and it’s clear that they are doing their best to bring the same gung-ho cheese and the cheerful eccentricity (which isn’t even all that eccentric!) — but the movie muffles them. They are a sideshow, not the heroes. They are also emblematic of an attempt to capture lightning in a bottle twice, which happened organically the first time and isn’t something that can be done deliberately on repeat.

That said, Kate’s work-in-progress science project to tame a tornado by throwing a bunch of superabsorbent baby-diaper chemicals up into the funnel is at least a fresh idea here, and as clever and inventive as Dorothy was in 1996. (Tyler has his own intriguing notion about how to tame a twister.) The tornado action is intense, in a theme-park sort of way. But it’s almost irresponsible for a movie about extreme weather to be nothing more than a bit of fun fluff anymore. With only the smallest of tweaks, perhaps Twisters wouldn’t feel reckless in all the wrong ways.


more films like this:
• Twister [Prime US | Prime UK | Apple TV | Max US]
• The Perfect Storm [Prime US | Prime UK | Apple TV | Paramount+ US]

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Movie Review: ‘Agon’ is a Somber Meditation on the Athletic Grind

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Movie Review: ‘Agon’ is a Somber Meditation on the Athletic Grind
Director: Giulio BertelliWriters: Giulio Bertelli, Pietro Caracciolo, Pietro CaraccioloStars: Yile Vianello, Alice Bellandi, Michela Cescon Synopsis: As the fictional Olympic Games of Ludoj 2024 approaches, Agon shows the stories of three athletes as they prepare and then compete in rifle shooting, fencing and judo. In his contemplative and visually rigorous film Agon, director Giulio Bertelli
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FILM REVIEW: ROSE OF NEVADA – Joyzine

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FILM REVIEW: ROSE OF NEVADA – Joyzine

‘4’, the opening track on Richard D James’ (Aphex Twin) self titled 1996 album is a piece of music that beautifully balances the chaotic with the serene, the oppressive and the freeing. It’s a trick that James has pulled off multiple times throughout his career and it is a huge part of what makes him such an iconic and influential artist. Many people have laid the “next Aphex Twin” label on musicians who do things slightly different and when you actually hear their music you realise that, once again, the label is flawed and applied with a lazy attitude. Why mention this? Well, it turns out we’ve been looking for James’ heir apparent in the wrong artform. We’ve so zoned in on music that we’ve not noticed that another Celtic son of Cornwall is rewriting an art form with that highwire balancing act between chaos and beauty. That artist is writer, director and composer Mark Jenkin who over his last two feature films has announced himself as an idiosyncratic voice who is creating his very own language within the world of cinema. Jenkin’s films are often centred around coastal towns or islands and whilst they are experimental or even unsettling, there is always a big heart at the centre of the narrative. A heart that cares about family, tradition, culture, and the pull of ‘home’. Even during the horror of 2022’s brilliant Enys Men you were anchored by the vulnerability and determination of its main protagonist. 

This month sees the release of Jenkin’s latest feature film, Rose of Nevada, which is set in a fractured and diminished Cornish coastal town. One day the fishing boat of the film’s title arrives back in harbour after being missing for thirty years. The boat is unoccupied. And frankly that is all the information you are going to get because to discuss any more plot would be unfair on you and disrespectful to Jenkin and the team behind the film.  You the viewer should be the one who decides what it is about because thematically there are so many wonderful threads to pull on. This writer’s opinions on what it is about have ranged from a theme of sacrifice for the good of a community to the conflict within when part of you wants to run away from your roots whilst the other half longs to stay and be a lifelong part of its tapestry. Is it about Brexit? Could be. Is it about our own relationships with time and our curation of memory? Could be. Is it about both the positives and negatives of nostalgia? Could be. As a side note, anyone in their mid-40s, like me, who came of age in the 1990s will certainly find moments of warm recognition. Is the film about ghosts and how they haunt families? Could be…I think you get the point. 

The elements that make the film so well balanced between chaos and calm are many. It is there in the differing performances between the brilliant two lead actors George MacKay and Callum Turner. It is there in the sound design which fluctuates from being unbearably harsh and metallic, to lulling and warm. It is there in the editing where short, sharp close ups on seemingly unimportant factors are counterbalanced with shots that are held for just that little bit too long. For a film set around the sea, it is apt that it can make you feel like you’re rolling on a stomach churning storm one minute, or a calming low tide the next. Dialogue can be front and centre or blurred and buried under static. One shot is bathed in harsh sunlight whilst the next can be drowned in interior shadows. 

Rose of Nevada is Mark Jenkin’s most ambitious film to date yet he has not lost a single iota of innovation, singularity of vision or his gift for telling the most human of stories. It is a film that will tell you different things each time you see it and whilst there are moments that can confuse or beguile, there is so much empathy and love that it can leave you crying tears of emotional understanding. It is chaotic. It is beautiful. It is life……

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Rose of Nevada is released on the 24th April. 

Mark Jenkin Instagram | Threads 

Released through the BFI – Instagram | Facebook

Review by Simon Tucker

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‘Hen’ movie review: György Pálfi pecks at Europe’s migrant crisis through the eyes of a chicken

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‘Hen’ movie review: György Pálfi pecks at Europe’s migrant crisis through the eyes of a chicken

A rogue chicken observes the world around it—and particularly the plight of immigrants in Greece—in Hen, which premiered at last year’s Toronto International Film Festival and is now playing in Prague cinemas (and with English subtitles at Kino Světozor and Edison Filmhub). This story of man through the eyes of an animal immediately recalls Robert Bresson’s Au Hasard Balthazar (and Jerzy Skolimowski’s more recent EO), but director and co-writer György Pálfi (Taxidermia) maintains a bitter, unsentimental approach that lands with unexpected force.

Hen opens with striking scenes inside an industrial poultry facility, where eggs are laid, processed, and shuttled along assembly lines of machinery and human hands in an almost mechanized rhythm of production. From this system emerges our protagonist: a black chick that immediately stands apart from the others, its entry into the world defined not by nature, but by an uncaring food industry.

The titular hen matures quickly within this environment before being loaded onto a truck with the others, presumably destined for slaughter. Because of her black plumage, she is singled out by the driver and rejected from the shipment, only to be told she will instead end up as soup in his wife’s kitchen. During a stop at a gas station, however, she escapes.

What follows is a journey through rural Greece by the sea, including an encounter with a fox, before she eventually finds refuge at a decaying roadside restaurant run by an older man (Yannis Kokiasmenos), his daughter (Maria Diakopanayotou), and her child. Discovered by the family’s dog Titan, she is placed in a coop alongside other chickens.

After finding a mate in the local rooster, she lays eggs that are regularly collected by the man; in one quietly unsettling scene, she watches him crack them open and cook them into an omelet. The hen repeatedly attempts to escape, as we slowly observe the true function of the property: it is being used as a transit point for migrants arriving in Greece by boat, facilitated by local criminal figures.

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Like Au Hasard Balthazar and EO, Hen largely resists anthropomorphizing its animal protagonist. The hen behaves as a hen, and the humans treat her accordingly, creating a work that feels unusually grounded and almost documentary in texture. At the same time, Pálfi allows space for the audience to project meaning onto her journey, never fully closing the gap between instinct and interpretation.

There are moments, however, where the film deliberately leans into stylization. A playful montage set to Ravel’s Boléro captures her repeated escape attempts from the coop, while a romantic musical cue underscores her brief pairing with the rooster. These sequences do not break the realism so much as refract it, gently encouraging us to read emotion into behavior that remains, on the surface, purely animal.

One of the film’s central narrative threads is the hen’s search for a safe space to lay her eggs without them being taken away by the restaurant owner. This deceptively simple instinct becomes a powerful thematic mirror for the film’s human subplot involving migrant trafficking. Pálfi draws a stark, often uncomfortable parallel between the treatment of animals as commodities and the treatment of displaced people as disposable bodies moving through a similar system of exploitation.

The film takes an increasingly bleak turn toward its climax as the migrant storyline comes fully into focus, sharpening its allegorical intent. The juxtaposition of animal and human vulnerability becomes more explicit, reinforcing the film’s central critique of systemic indifference and violence. While effective, this escalation feels unusually dark, and our protagonist’s unknowing role feels particularly cruel.

The use of animal actors in Hen is remarkable throughout. The hen—played by eight trained chickens—is seamlessly integrated into the film’s world, with seamless editing (by Réka Lemhényi) and staging so precise that at times it feels almost impossible without digital augmentation. While subtle effects work must assist at certain moments, the result is convincing throughout, including standout sequences involving a fox and a dog.

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Zoltán Dévényi and Giorgos Karvelas’ cinematography is also impressive, capturing both the intimacy of the hen’s low vantage point and the broader Greek landscape with striking clarity. The camera’s proximity to the animal world gives the film a distinct visual grammar, grounding its allegory in tactile observation rather than abstraction.

Hen is a challenging but often deeply affecting allegory that extends the tradition of animal-centered cinema while pushing it into harsher political territory. Pálfi’s approach—unsentimental, patient, and often confrontational—ensures the film lingers long after its final images. It is not an easy watch, nor a comfortable one, but it is a strikingly original piece of filmmaking that uses its unusual perspective to cast familiar human horrors in a stark, unsettling new light.

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