Reviews

 “Sinners”, directed by Ryan Coogler, begins in a church and, as its title suggests, deals with sin. Here, two forces—good and evil, one being faith and religion, the other demonic entities turned vampires—are set to face off: the classic horror formula tied to churches and religion. But this time, not everything goes by the book.

What makes Sinners compelling is its deviation from the norm—both in theme and form. It refuses to fully submit to the usual good-vs-evil, religion-vs-devil dichotomy, and it doesn’t closely resemble its genre peers either. While it borrows elements from the worlds of George Romero and Sam Raimi, it owes more—much more—to the sensibilities of Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez.

Set in 1932 Mississippi, the film follows two Black twin brothers, both World War I veterans (both played by Michael B. Jordan), who dream of creating a safe haven for Black joy and leisure amid deeply entrenched racism. They’re joined by their cousin Sammie, a guitar player, who, early in the film, is warned by a priest about the demonic power of the guitar.

The first hour serves as a somewhat drawn-out setup that could’ve been trimmed. But once everyone gathers at this makeshift venue, the film catches fire and doesn’t let the audience breathe. Beneath the chaos and bursts of violence, a searing story about racism unfolds—one that resists preachiness while offering gripping insight into America’s untold histories. Everything starts with skin colour: people are divided into Black and white, set starkly against each other. Then enters an Irish-born vampire (a nod to many Americans’ Irish ancestry), who becomes enchanted by Sammie’s music and follows him with an offer—to turn him into a vampire. In a striking scene where he urges Sammie to accept the transformation, he claims that in the world of vampires, skin colour no longer matters. And this is where the film smartly distances itself from the usual clichés of good and evil, challenging the viewer to think: how can a world built on religion be so soaked in prejudice, while the world of “evil” vampires appears free of it?

In the middle of all this, music becomes a core, driving force. The film is about music—it begins and ends with it. Music pulses through every moment of the film, intertwined with its soul, and deeply embedded in the life of the protagonist. In the opening scene, Sammie walks into the church carrying a broken guitar. The priest asks him to lay down his bloody guitar. By the end of the film, we return to that moment, only now we see that the very guitar the priest deemed demonic becomes Sammie’s salvation—he defeats the vampire with it. In the end, Sammie refuses the priest’s request and does not lay down his guitar.

After the credits begin to roll, the film continues for a few more minutes. Sixty years have passed. Sammie is now a celebrated musician, yet the vampire story lingers, as if to say the battle between good and evil is eternal. And in that eternal struggle, the film chooses not religion, but music—art—as the true path to redemption.

© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.

About Maya is that rare micro-budget thriller whose very limitations sharpen its claws. Co-directors Nasim Naghavi and Amir Ganjavie strip the genre to its essentials—fear, secrecy, judgment—then push each element until it hums with unease. Their focal point is Maya herself, embodied by Avan Jamal with coiled vigilance and brittle grace. Born into privilege as the daughter of a deposed Middle-Eastern dictator, Maya has spent a decade in Toronto practicing the art of self-erasure: no accent, no photographs, no online footprint that might connect her to the old regime. Yet the past finds her when her Canadian husband is discovered dead in their condo. The police seize on motive; exiled activists sniff a chance to settle historic scores; journalists scent a scandal poised to go viral. From the first frame Maya is cornered, and the camera seems to breathe down her neck, making the audience feel every inch of that confinement.

At first the script teases a familiar mystery—who killed the husband?—only to tug that thread until it unravels an entire tapestry of generational guilt. Each revelation is not a solution but an aggravation, the narrative equivalent of peeling varnish to find older, darker layers beneath. These details don’t merely thicken the plot; they compound her moral debt, forcing her to confront the possibility that even her happiest memories were financed by corruption. The directors vowed to “start with a detective thriller and end with a tragedy,” and they succeed: by the final act, the whodunit is almost beside the point. What matters is whether Maya can live with the answer, whatever it is.

Jamal’s performance anchors that collapse. She wears her father’s sins like a weighted vest—every step measured, shoulders tightened, eyes always flicking toward exits. Her scene drafting and deleting an apology lasts barely a minute, yet crystallises the film’s essential dilemma: How do you apologise for blood that is in your veins rather than on your hands?

While the film never lapses into polemic, its political charge is unmistakable. The story interrogates the global appetite for easy justice. By making Maya both victim and emblem, the filmmakers pull the audience into a moral hall of mirrors. Is she scapegoated for crimes far above her station, or is she simply learning that privilege is a debt that eventually comes due? The genius of About Maya is that it refuses to pick a side, leaving viewers wrestling with the same impossible calculus that haunts its heroine: what, exactly, is enough to satisfy the ghosts of history?

Indie festivals thrive on discoveries like this—movies that arrive with no marketing muscle yet leave audiences buzzing about their moral audacity. About Maya’s power lies in reminding us that some stories don’t end so much as fester.

Rating: 4 / 5.

About Maya is scheduled to screen in Toronto on 3 May 2025 at Innis Town Hall and The Global Link.

Screening Details
📅 Date: May 03, 2025
📍Venue addresses:
– The Global Link (88 Doncaster Ave.Thornhill , L3T 1L3 ON)
– The Deluxe Room (Innis Town Hall, 2 Sussex Ave, Toronto, ON M5S 1J5, ON)
🎟 Tickets: Available at the venue and Phoenix website

© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.

When you’re committing an act of vengeance, you really hope that final triumph will be the cherry on top to set everything right. But if movies and TV are to be believed, vengeance often leaves you feeling empty or just cycles endlessly. Released in theatres February 7th, and now available on the Mubi streaming platform, Bring Them Down tells the story of two neighbouring Irish sheep farmer families and the bitter violence they bring down upon themselves. All colours of vengeance show up in the film: the satisfying, the immediate, the rudimentary, the self-inflicted, the laboured, and so on.

In his debut feature, director Christopher Andrews captures lush scenery that moves from the expansive to the claustrophobic. People with tons of space get uncomfortably close to each other. Close enough to give a jar of piss or a slap to a loved one. He shoots scenes of convincing violence cleanly and crisply. One sequence with a shotgun is particularly memorable.

Barry Keoghan brings his trademark boyish menace as the son of one of the feuding families. In his first scene, he uses the mannerisms of a fidgety child for some beautiful subtle hostility. This same energy returns later to soften an altercation with his own father, almost like Harpo Marx looking at you silly after cutting off your necktie with large scissors.

Keoghan’s slightly comedic choices and the aforementioned jar of piss bring some levity to a fairly dour hour and a half. The drum and bassy score works wonderfully to transform the emotion throughout, creating lively tension in a land one of the families has worked for 500 years. At one point, Keoghan’s father refers to Colm Meaney’s character as a “turnip faced cunt” and gets a cheerful “nice one, uncle” for his efforts. A nice reminder that revenge can be a little fun sometimes too.

Christopher Abbott plays the son in the other feuding family, although he’s a generation older than Keoghan’s character. He performs his role with focused sadness, all his expressions observed through the prism of a traumatic opening scene flashback.

Abbott is great in this and the following is obviously no fault of his. 10 years ago, a woman cheated on me in devastating fashion. Christopher Abbott looks like the guy she did it with. He also looks like, even moreso, her brother. Have you ever been distracted watching a movie because one of the actors looks like someone who wronged you? Comment down below which actor and which person who wronged you.

The acts of violence and retribution pile up until a perspective shift halfway through resets the story to the beginning. It felt like either the movie or the viewer’s own personal desire to see revenge enacted lost steam here. But this works in a way to support the film’s more overt examination of vengeance. The flame goes out and reignites.

The perspective shift gives us the chance for an ultimately futile empathy. And shows us that Abbott and Keoghan share the pain of losing someone and maybe the jealousy of their escape. There’s a self-desentization process going on throughout. Everything builds to some truly gruesome stuff midway through, to the point that the gruesome crescendo doesn’t feel all that bad. It also builds to the point where everybody is slapping everybody around in an all out slapfest.

As a commentary on the zig zagging emotional peaks and troughs of vengeance it works well and the movie is entertaining and gripping throughout. The finale is not very satisfying though, feeling a bit dragged out.  But if that’s the true reflection of how revenge makes you feel in the end, what’s there to complain about?

© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.

Disney’s Snow White, the latest live-action adaptation from Walt Disney Pictures, represents an ambitious yet contentious retelling of a cherished fairy tale. Directed by Marc Webb and with a script by Erin Cressida Wilson, the film grapples with the enduring legacy of the iconic 1937 animated classic while attempting to modernise its narrative. However, instead of infusing the story with vitality, the film descends into a superficial interpretation that fails to surpass its established foundations, diluting its message with unimpressive performances.

Featuring a star-studded cast, including Rachel Zegler as Snow White, Gal Gadot as the Evil Queen, and Andrew Burnap as Jonathan, a new bandit character, the film aims to introduce fresh dynamics. With a hefty budget estimated between $240 and $270 million, Disney’s Snow White seeks to be a visually striking and narratively complex masterpiece. However, the investment in glamour does not guarantee rich storytelling; it’s clear that merely dressing an old tale in new clothes cannot mask the inherent risk of monotony.

The film opens with a meticulously crafted fantastical kingdom, designed to evoke both wonder and dread. However, while the contrasts between lush woods and cold castles suggest the classic struggle between virtue and evil, they ultimately serve as a backdrop for a narrative that struggles to engage, leaning too heavily on style without substance. The largely London-filmed venture, with additional shoots scheduled for 2024, fails to deliver a profound visual or thematic experience.

At its core, Snow White’s journey—the quest for survival and justice—remains intact, but the film’s attempts to add layers introduce surfaces rather than depth. Jonathan’s character, while intended to create a compelling narrative arc, often feels like an unnecessary addition rather than a meaningful counterpart. His evolution from friend to ally and romantic partner detracts from the gravity of Snow White’s fight against her tyrannical stepmother. Regarding all the attempts, the relationship never goes further than a teenage engagement.

Zegler’s portrayal of Snow White is a complex one; while she exhibits moments of spirit and tenacity, her overall performance fails to elevate the character beyond a stereotype of innocence. The film’s songs, crafted by Pasek and Paul, may aim to enhance her journey, yet they often feel more like obligatory musical interludes than integral components of the storyline. On the contrasting end, Gadot’s performance as the Evil Queen is disappointing, reduced to superficial expressions and gestures that lack emotional depth. The comparison to Angelina Jolie’s compelling performance as Maleficent only highlights Gadot’s shortcomings, as her portrayal seeks validation without delivering anything substantial.

The film’s emotionally charged dramatic confrontations lack resolution, resulting in scenes that feel unearned. Focusing on wit over physical confrontation leaves pivotal storylines unresolved, leaving viewers disoriented. Snow White’s supposedly moral choice to spare her stepmother appears impractical, reducing the narrative tension to a shallow call for forgiveness that fails to resonate on a deeper level.

Disney’s Snow White has faced numerous controversies, particularly regarding the casting of Zegler, a Latina actress, which sparked debates on representation and authenticity, especially in light of her criticisms of the original film. These issues, amplified on social media, reflect wider discussions on diversity and inclusion. Additionally, the reimagining of beloved characters, including the dwarfs, has received mixed reactions from audiences across the spectrum.

Financially, Disney’s Snow White has struggled to meet expectations, grossing only $144.1 million by its second weekend against its exorbitant budget. Projected losses of $115 million expose the challenges of reinterpreting classic stories in a complex media landscape, struggling to attract both traditionalists and newcomers. Nevertheless, the narrative of the film may continue beyond its box office performance. A possible streaming release on Disney+ could broaden its audience and allow for a fresh re-evaluation of its themes. The film’s visual allure and attempts to address contemporary issues suggest that its cultural relevance might shift, potentially garnering more appreciation in the future.

Disney’s Snow White aspires to weave together themes of kindness and courage with modern reflections on identity and power. Despite its artistic ambitions and unresolved controversies, Disney’s Snow White struggles to establish its footing, reminding us that the core of storytelling lies in its ability to adapt and resonate meaningfully with both old and new audiences.

Berlin’s historic Delphi Palast cinema is famous for one of the most iconic scenes in Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds (2009). Its monumental colonnaded façade, retro neon signs and red velvet tapestry take visitors on a journey through time and space. For the Berlin preview of Steven Soderbergh’s Black Bag last week, the cinema was once again transformed into a film set, or at least it felt that way to the guests. Thoroughly searched at the entrance and asked to leave their phones in brown numbered bags, it felt like a strange extravagance, a bit over the top for a film that had already been released in most of the world. But as soon as the lights went down in the theatre and the film began, it became clear: it was all part of the choreography. The preparation made the audience slip right into a spy story, even before the projections began. At the heart of the thriller is a mysterious control dynamic among the characters, based on the non, or just partial, disclosure of confidential information, all of which can be relegated to what the film’s characters call the “black bag”.

George Woodhouse (Michael Fassbender) is preparing dinner for his wife Kathryn (Cate Blanchett) and two other pairs of friends: Clarissa (Marisa Abela) and Freddie (Tom Burke), Zoe (Naomie Harris) and James (Regè-Jean Page). The night of “fun and games”, announced by the hosts, translates into hallucinogenic chana masala, which spices up an “all against all” verbal slaughter that culminates in an actual stabbing in hand. This incipit of blood, tears and screams is only the first step in George’s strategy to find out which of his colleagues is responsible for the leak of Severus, a software capable of nuclear destruction. The dinner guests are indeed “an unusual group: a data-scraper, two agents, and the in-house shrink”. They are all agents of the Secret Intelligence Service. As such, in one way or another, they are all caught in a dense net of double-edged lies. Because, as Clarissa put it, you either date someone in the industry who lies to protect you, or you date someone outside the industry and then lie to protect them. Lies, said and non, are the engine of this fast and gripping, yet forgettable thriller.

The bar was set high for Black Bag, perhaps too high. The expectation of seeing such an exceptional cast with Michael Fassbender, Cate Blanchett and Pierce Brosnan, directed by Steven Soderbergh, was simply too good to be true. And indeed, it does not live up to the hype. The steaming opening of Black Bag is the highlight of a rather lukewarm film. The pacing slows down at times, the plot twists are predictable, the photography by Soderbergh himself is rather scholastic and the set design by Anna-Lynch Robinson is so researched that it looks artificial, much like the exaggerated make-up. And by the way, George and Kathryn’s kitchen looks so much like the one in the set of Alfonso Cuaron’s incredible miniseries Disclaimer, also starring Cate Blanchett, that the comparison between the two productions is inevitable. And makes the spectators wonder if there shouldn’t be a reversal: Black Bag might be better adapted into a miniseries, while Disclaimer into a film?

In all this, the exceptions are the female co-stars, who make their male counterparts fade into embarrassing caricatures of themselves and the classic secret agent stereotypes. Naomie Harris, who has already collected a fair amount of experience in James Bond movies, such as Skyfall (2012), Spectre (2015), and No Time to Die (2021), rocks as a devoted Christian ready to break every rule to save people’s lives. But the real star is the relative newcomer Marisa Abela, only apparently a naive and fragile nerd who reveals herself as a brilliant, humorous player. After a breakthrough with the Amy Winehouse biopic Back to Black (2024), Abela shines in each scene, defying the stars, who more than ever seem to have been trapped into their customary roles. Blanchett is once again the sexy, manipulative power woman, Fassbender the disturbed good boy, and Brosnan the efficient 007 agent. All good, nothing new. Where is the good old witty Soderbergh of Erin Brockovich (2000) and Ocean’s Eleven (2001)?

I grew up loving Jurassic Park; it was my favourite movie as a kid, and I’m still instantly transported to Isla Nublar when I hear that John Williams score. The inciting incident of the film is a velociraptor killing its handler, so before the park can open, experts are brought to certify its safety. John Hammond (played by Richard Attenborough) created the park and is responsible for the project that cloned the dinosaurs. Still, Attenborough’s Hammond is a warm character not too dissimilar from another role he was known as to 90s kids, Kris Kringle, in Miracle on 34th Street. While we are still given a sense that he was a shrewd businessman through his interactions with Dennis Nedry, his interest in the creation of the park is not depicted as purely monetary and, once it becomes dinosaurs are dangerous to humans and cannot be contained by man, he no longer wanted to open a park but to preserve them separately on their own island away from humanity. This was a very altruistic take on the wealthy industrialist, who was excited by the science and dinosaurs but valued life over profit.

Death of a Unicorn (written and directed by Alex Scharfman) feels like a contemporary version of a ‘Jurassic Park’ story. It begins with an incident, the supposed titular ‘death of a unicorn,’ but Ridley (played by Jenna Ortega) and Elliot (played by Paul Rudd) are already on route to their isolated location in Elliot’s attempt to secure favour/a better contract with his wealthy employers. When the rich family realizes the unicorn healing properties, they immediately think of how it can benefit them. They rope Elliot in, ignoring Ridley’s warnings about the dangers of caging unicorns. As it is a contemporary version, they don’t get the third-act redemption Hammond does; they double down in their beliefs that their wealth and power give them the right to reap the benefits and profit from all the unicorn(s) have to offer.

When everything starts to go bad, the Jurassic Park similarities become stronger. The initial unicorn attack has moments very reminiscent of Jurassic Park, particularly the sequence with Grant, the kids, the T-Rex, and the Jeeps just after the power went out. It’s also worth noting Jurassic Park III survivor Amanda Kirby was played by Téa Leoni, who plays Belinda, the matriarch of the wealthy family. But, Jurassic Park is not the only Steven Spielberg film that gets loving homage in this film (intentional or not). I could not help but notice, at the start of the scene, when the scientists take away the baby unicorn in the white tunnel, it was very reminiscent of E.T.

Now because it is a film about unicorns, you have to talk about the unicorns themselves. I found the depictions of the unicorns to be inconsistent, with them sometimes looking a great cross between beautiful and terrifying but at other times very underwhelming and almost like they weren’t fully rendered (not sure if that was an effect they were going for that I didn’t understand). Overall, I found the unicorns worked the best when you were not seeing all of them. When you only saw the legs/shadows, when Ridley was under the car, or when a horn busted through a chest. It takes me back to Jurassic Park, despite having amazing dinosaurs, the moments of fear in the movie are often brought on when you don’t see them. The moments before an attack. The ripples in the water. Of course, these moments of tension were added by the score, as are the ones in Death of a Unicorn, where Dan Romer & Giosiè Greco wove an inspired score that stitches the sounds of the tapestries of unicorns Ridley pores over with those club beats.

Death of a Unicorn is currently in theatres.