“Do you know John?”

Yeah, LinkedIn. I know John Leguizamo.

There is no way John Leguizamo knows me, but following the professional networking platform’s suggestion, I went ahead and sent an invitation to the actor/producer to connect.

I grew up in Queens; my family has a butcher shop in Spanish Harlem. If you think Latinos are so united, see what happens when you call a Puerto Rican a Mexican.

I haven’t kept up with Leguizamo’s career. The only times I see him pop up now is when he’s complaining about the lack of Latino representation in show business. In fact, when it comes to complaining about representation, John Leguizamo is overrepresented.

'Liquor Store Gunman'

I read in Variety that early on in his career, Leguizamo “felt humiliated" playing the role of "Liquor Store Gunman" in Mike Nichols’ "Regarding Henry" (1991).

“I shoot this white guy [Harrison Ford],” Leguizamo explains. “It was like, ‘Oh my God, I’m perpetuating what they want to see,’ which is negative Latino images.”

It’s interesting that Leguizamo felt humiliated playing a Latino stereotype in "Regarding Henry" but managed to put that humiliation aside a couple years later to play a Latino stereotype in "Carlito’s Way." To be fair: Latino gangster Benny Blanco from the Bronx is a far more memorable character than Liquor Store Gunman. (What kind of last name is “Gunman” anyway? It ain’t Latin.)

When not at the mercy of other screenwriters and casting agents for roles, Leguizamo, a one-man-show-making machine, made a career out of performing his own Latino characters — which are not all necessarily negative images but certainly stereotypical in many respects. I mean, this is the same artist who made "Freak," "House of Buggin’," and "John Leguizamo’s Spic-O-Rama," which is not to be confused with generic Spic-O-Rama.

In an interview with "NBC Nightly News," Leguizamo declares, “We’re almost 20% of the population, I want 20% of the executives, 20% of the stories, 20% of the principal leads, then I’ll be quiet.”

Regarding 'us'

By “we,” of course he means Latinos — which includes me (even though, again, John doesn’t know me).

I doubt a perfectly equitable distribution of roles in show business along ethnic lines will quiet Leguizamo though. Even a world where an Al Pacino can’t swoop in to capture the leading Cuban and Puerto Rican roles will shut Leguizamo up.

Notice Leguizamo isn’t making this appeal for equity when it comes to other industries. Can you picture John Leguizamo showing up to a farm or construction site, demanding fewer Latinos — legal or undocumented — because they’re overrepresented?

So in the year 2025, we’re about 20% of the population, but looking back at the "Regarding Henry" year of 1991 — can you imagine if that were the movie that defined 1991! — Latinos were only about 9% of the population.

In the year of Benny Blanco from the Bronx, 1993, it jumped to about 9.5%. The further you go back, the fewer Latinos there are in the United States. To expect to see yourself represented when there are so few of you out there is quite something. Narcissistic, you might call it. Perfect for a talent like Leguizamo — who has made a lot of work for and about himself. Albeit a lot of good, original, entertaining, and funny work, I must say.

Hate-watch interrupted

Which brings me to his new play, "The Other Americans," at the Public Theater — which I only heard about because of Leguizamo’s media appearances that come across like he’s on a grievance tour.

So from a marketing standpoint, the Colombian American’s promotional shtick worked. I bought a ticket — but to hate-watch his play.

I don’t like going into a show expecting it to suck — let alone wanting it to suck. I tried to shake those intentions as best as I could. One thing I made sure not to do before the show was to read Leguizamo’s “note from the playwright” that’s printed in the playbill. I don’t know if it really made a difference, because once I stepped into the Anspacher Theater at the Public Theater, he'd won me over.

I had a seat center-stage in the second row. The set looked like an authentic house in Forest Hills, Queens, with a fenced-in backyard and even an above-ground pool that the neighbors could see from their second-story windows. If the Jeffersons had been Latinos, this is what moving on up from Jackson Heights would look like.

The change in neighborhoods is a punch line, as is the pool. One of the first arguments in the play is whether the above-ground pool is a real pool or not, because real pools are in-ground, you know. Yes, an above-ground is kind of trashy, but it still holds water.

Bruce Glikas/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Crowd-pleaser

Leguizamo plays Nelson Castro, a Colombian American laundromat owner, and from his first entrance onto the stage, I’m all in, whether it’s watching him mix a drink or listening to him curse into his cell phone — in English and Spanish. When his wife, Patti (played by actress Luna Lauren Velez), arrives, they’re soon dancing, like a stereotypical Latin couple. The audience loves it.

It feels like I’m on the set of a mult-cam sitcom. The live audience laughs, oohs and aahs. At one point in the play, an audience member caps one of Patti’s lines with what I think was a, “You go, girl!”

I remember Leguizamo saying he was out to create “a new type of American drama” — but what we’re presented with at first is something I could see running on network TV. They’d have to clean up the language and cut back on the Spanglish, but even the plot is perfect pilot material.

Complicated portrayal

Nelson and Patti are preparing for their daughter Toni’s wedding as well as the return of their son, Nick, who’s been gone for some time. Mami’s so nervous she keeps burning the sofrito!

During one of their dance passes in the living room, I notice a run in Patti’s stocking. That image — whether the wardrobe department meant for it to be there or not — has stuck with me.

It turns out their son is coming home after being hospitalized for a nervous breakdown — which his therapist attributes to his family not addressing the trauma he experienced when he was brutally beaten by a group of white boys his last year of high school.

The attack happened at one of his family’s ’mats. The perpetrators even tried to stuff him into one of the washing machines “to wash the brown off of him.” (I guess the racist white boys succeeded? Because the actor who plays Nick, Trey Santiago-Hudson, is rather pale-skinned.)

Nick is in pain and while Nelson wants a do-over with him, the Latin father is not equipped to deal with it. Imagine asking your son who was just released from a mental institution what he has to be anxious about?

It’s in these moments where Leguizamo really shines. He plays such a great dick! Although I don’t think “shines” is the right word for a performance that has so much darkness to it. Nelson is not just a flawed man — in many respects, he’s a wicked man.

The plot to "The Other Americans" is sowell-crafted that I don’t want to risk revealing too much, but in one exchange, a family member compares Nelson to Sisyphus of Greek mythology. It’s a setup to a perfect sitcom punch line, where Nelson assumes it must be a real Greek guy from Astoria. But while Nelson shares some traits with Sisyphus, I think he’s even more like Tantalus.

Who's 'we'?

In his note from the playwright, John Leguizamo writes:

I wanted to write a play about race, and I wanted it to be complicated. I didn't want it to be a morality play, but rather I wanted to show life as we Latino people experience it. We don’t always see the microaggressions, or the systemic road blocks in effect. Even though there's a subtle tokenism at work around us, we often witness the macroaggressions: those obvious, in-your-face type moments. We Latinos experience racism through poverty, the schools in which we are allowed to enroll, and the geographical areas in which we are packed. In New York City, we are equal to the white population, yet you never see us on the cover of newspapers and magazines.

There’s more to his note, but I think this bit above is worth addressing. Firstly, this “we” stuff has got to go. Latinos are not a monolith. I grew up in Queens; my family has a butcher shop in Spanish Harlem. If you think Latinos are so united, see what happens when you call a Puerto Rican a Mexican.

Secondly, in the play Nelson is the one who blames “the system” (which is synonymous with racism) for his lot in life — for example, the failure of his laundromats. “The toxicity of the American dream” is another way I’ve seen it described. But as Nelson’s secrets are revealed, what becomes clear is that he, a tragic figure, is the one responsible for his and his family’s downfall.

The system — if there is one — has actually been very good to the Castros. Just like in real life, the system has been very good to Leguizamo.

With "The Other Americans," Leguizamo fails to make his political statement but succeeds in making a powerful piece of art. ¡Bravo, hermano! Please accept my invitation on LinkedIn.

Taylor Swift's 'Life of a Showgirl': The same sad sound and fury

If only Ophelia had ditched the flowers and gotten herself a redwood tree, maybe she could have turned things around.

Such are the latest musings of pop's most famous AP English student. Beware, all ye who listen here.

We have, in real time, watched Taylor Swift age but not grow. Her discography charts the elevation of emotional immaturity into an art form.

We weren’t surprised when a teenage girl struggled to control her emotions and thought that a boyfriend could save her. But to witness the “all grown up” version of that girl still in that same mental state is to feel a certain existential dread.

What we have in Taylor Swift's "Life of a Showgirl" — her 12th studio release in a career spanning two decades — is a cautionary tale about a middle-aged woman in a perpetual state of arrested development. (Cue Ron Howard: "Hey, that's the name of the show!")

This new album earns an “explicit” label for bad words and sexual content. But the deeper problem is not the vulgarity of the body — it’s the vacuity of the mind. "Showgirl" is less a collection of songs and more a case study in what happens when emotional adolescence becomes a permanent condition. Swift is not merely immodest; she’s foolishly immature. Let’s look at a few songs to get the point across.

Get thee to a nunnery

Every Taylor Swift song addresses the same inexhaustible mystery: How does Taylor feel? At times the feelings are so big that Swift has no choice but to enlist the help of the kind of literary heavyweights they write CliffsNotes about.

In “The Fate of Ophelia,” it's William Shakespeare's turn. Swift casts herself as Hamlet's doomed girlfriend — with a crucial revision: Instead of being undone by spiritual despair, Swift's Ophelia is saved by romantic ecstasy. Why drown yourself in the river when you can dive into the sheets? It takes a certain talent to depict sexual yearning poetically without making the reader cringe in embarrassment. Shakespeare had it in spades; Swift emphatically does not.

Never mind: This is Swift's vision, and her emotions are in the driver’s seat. But her peculiar vision of salvation through (finally) finding Mr. Right suggests serious spiritual depression rather than empowerment. Add to that her pride in thinking that referring to one of literature's most well-known characters imparts intellectual depth, and you have no reason to think she will ever mature.

It’s not so much a feminist reimagining as it is the fan fiction of a sophomore lit major. In this story, Ophelia has some prurient advice for her would-be Hamlet, but more on that soon enough.

Feminists will hate that she wants to be saved by a man. Christian parents should warn their children that no man or woman can save you and that entering a relationship with that expectation will surely doom it to failure. They needn't take Mom and Dad's word for it; this is a lesson you can see play out again and again in Swift's own songs.

Naughty 'List'

While Swift's "sex-positive" Ophelia has left her religious hang-ups behind, that's not to say that "Showgirl" discards the numinous altogether. In "Wi$h Li$t" Swift prays to God for “a best friend who is hot.”

The chorus petitions for a husband, kids, and a basketball hoop in the driveway. Lest this vision appear too wholesomely straight and suburban, Swift punctuates it with the F-word. She's also quick to acknowledge the listener's weary skepticism: Haven't we heard this all before? “I thought I had it right once, twice, but I did not,” she confesses. Yes, Taylor — we noticed.

This moment of honesty is meant to sound self-aware; instead it reads like the notes of a 20-year group therapy session that never progressed past week one. It’s a chronicle of romantic exhaustion mistaken for wisdom.

In some sense she sees her need for salvation, and she recognizes it must be personal/relational, but she looks for it in sex and not from Christ. A teenager missing this is sad but understandable. A middle-aged woman still missing it is culpable ignorance.

But wait. What if this really is the relationship that's going to save her? Swift makes her case in the next song.

Todd Owyoung/NBC | Getty Images

Stiff competition

It is called “Wood." And if that title prompts some involuntary Beavis-and-Butthead-style snickering, you are on Swift's wavelength.

The listener, having already endured the desecration of "Hamlet," must now endure the anatomical metaphor of the redwood tree. “He ah-matized me and opened my eyes,” she sings, before clarifying: “His love was the key that opened my thighs.”

Just ponder this. Swift has been wrong more than once before. But this time she's right, because this time she has proof: his "redwood." Is it too cynical to conclude that the only thing this guarantees is future musical torture — yet another song tearing down another false savior? It's too bad the title "Timber" has already been taken.

These are the kinds of lyrics that make one nostalgic for the intellectual rigor of bubblegum pop. Somewhere, Shakespeare’s ghost is filing a restraining order. Hamlet’s father bids us adieu.

But Swift needs more than an editor to fix her songwriting. Her problem isn't just bad taste — it’s a disordered worldview. In one sense, the title "Showgirl" is sadly apt: On this album Swift puts her spiritual emptiness on full display. She craves deep and lasting love, but years of seeking it in fleeting infatuations have left her soul in a deplorable condition.

Taylor's (re)version

We have, in real time, watched Taylor Swift age but not grow. From the dear-diary teenage angst of her self-titled debut to these latest middle-age manifestos of sensual self-affirmation, her discography charts the elevation of emotional immaturity into an art form. Taylor and her emotions are always in the center. There is no self-mastery, no self-discipline, no lessons learned. Just doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different result.

Even the most dazzling career is a cautionary tale in the making. Just ask Madonna, still gyrating unhappily at 67. Parents may one day scare their daughters with the warning, “You better shape up or you’ll end up like Taylor Swift.”

Some will say I’m a grumpy old man. So be it. But Swift could stand to be a little more pessimistic herself. While she revels in her freedom to use bad words and talk about sex, she can't see that it changes nothing; she's still fleeing the same profound emptiness. We all are, and the more frantically we try to escape it on our own, the closer we get to the same grim destination: spiritual death.

It's only Christ's love that can save us. That Swift has persisted for so long on the same fruitless path is a testament to the allure of the world and the stubbornness of the soul. Perhaps instead of Ophelia, Swift should have drawn inspiration from another of Shakespeare's indelible creations: the Fool in "King Lear."“Thou shouldst not have been [middle aged] till thou hadst been wise.”

In the world of this album, however, wisdom is passé and self-absorption is a virtue. Swift gives us a spectacle with endless costume changes and a plot that goes nowhere. But even as we turn away in boredom, we should hold out hope that Swift will someday find a better ending. God's love has confounded expectations many times before. Even the most jaded showgirl sometimes gets a second act.

Bill & Ted share absurdist adventure in new 'Waiting for Godot'

Bill & Ted are Waiting for Godot.

That was the pitch. I’m going to attend a matinee performance of "Waiting for Godot," Samuel Beckett’s tragicomedy in two acts, at the Hudson Theater on Broadway. After which I will review Bill S. Preston, Esquire’s and Ted "Theodore" Logan’s excellent adventure into the theatre (with a hard “re”) of the absurd.

Were I waiting for Godot, I’d pass the time pretty much the way I did during intermission: by deleting spam voicemails offering me personal loans and tax relief.

I’m sure that was also the pitch to bring together Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter to play Estragon and Vladimir, respectively. The marketing is right there. But the play itself — which has a couple of winks to the "Bill & Ted" trilogy — will keep you waiting for the Wyld Stallyns to show up.

Spoiler: They, like Godot, never do. Instead, Reeves and Winter are Estragon and Vladimir in full — waiting brilliantly.

Wither Wick?

It’s wild to watch an action-hero mainstay like Reeves pull off Estragon: weak, bootless (at times it’s one boot, other times it’s both), can’t remember yesterday or even parts of today, regularly beaten by thugs off stage …

There’s no sign of John Wick or Johnny Utah in his performance and certainly no Neo. If the play’s two acts were "The Matrix," there’s no red pill to free him or Didi (his affectionate name for Vladimir) from it. If anything, it’s as if the companions have been damned by an overdose of blue pills.

“Who am I to tell my private nightmares to if I can't tell them to you?” Estragon asks his friend, with whom he shares a waking nightmare.

Winter’s Vladimir compliments his Gogo (his nickname for Estragon). Not with kind words — there are many times when he’s quite brutal to his friend — but with warm embraces, his own coat, carrots and radishes, and ways to pass the time, as they wait for Godot, which Vladimir constantly has to remind Estragon that they’re doing.

For what purpose? Why are they waiting for Godot? No one knows.

1953: Pierre Latour and Lucien Raimbourg in the original Paris production of "Waiting for Godot." Lipnitzki/Getty Images

Tunnel vision

Director Jamie Lloyd makes some great choices, from casting to staging and sound design. Every version of the play I’d seen before had kept the setting to Beckett’s minimal specifications. Act one opens on “A country road. A tree. Evening.” And in act two, we learn that some time has passed, hence, “The tree has four or five leaves.”

Instead of planting the tree on stage, Lloyd has the cast address the tree out somewhere in the audience. So I got to imagine the following happening somewhere above my face:

VLADIMIR
… What do we do now?

ESTRAGON:
Wait.

VLADIMIR:
Yes, but while waiting.

ESTRAGON:
What about hanging ourselves?

VLADIMIR:
Hmm. It'd give us an erection.

ESTRAGON:
(highly excited). An erection!

All the action happens in or around a huge tunnel that’s been built on the stage. The tunnel looks really cool — like something you could skateboard on — and it aids the physical comedy. Picture a barefoot Reeves running up a half-pipe only to slide down and pass out into sleep. At times, the tunnel appears to open and shut like the aperture of a camera, and its design is used to manipulate the sounds of the play, both the music and spoken lines.

The supporting cast is powerful. Pozzo, played by Brandon J. Dirden, is scary, imposing, and cruel — especially to his “pig” Lucky (played by Michael Patrick Thornton), who is in a wheelchair. I thought Lloyd chose to put the actor in a wheelchair, but it turns out Thornton is actually paralyzed in real life and uses one. So not a choice per se? — but it works. A lucky break.

Down in the hole

The first time I read "Waiting for Godot" was in high school. I have Brother Jeff — who was the sole Franciscan in a school of Marists — to thank for feeding me and the rest of our AP English class a bibliography of dread. So in addition to "Godot," we read James Joyce’s “The Dead,” T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” and other works that explored the meaninglessness and senselessness of life that I was not prepared for.

I may still not be prepared for it. It’s been 25 years since I graduated from Catholic school, and "Godot" still haunts me: “Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave-digger puts on the forceps.”

Going into the Hudson Theater, I thought Lloyd might play up the "Bill & Ted" angle and set the play in a Circle K parking lot — you know, where the dudes encounter the phone-booth time machine and Rufus (George Carlin) for the first time.

But phone booths aren’t a thing any more, so I thought a more accurate contemporary version of "Waiting for Godot" would be Vladimir and Estragon texting each other their dialogue — “Nothing to be done 😢” — followed by two acts of doomscrolling.

Phelim McAleer

The weight of waiting

The official Instagram account for the play shared a post that leaned into the year 2025 with a cute group chat between Estragon, Vladimir, and Godot. Godot is typing (as depicted with an ellipses), and the phone has existentially low battery life. But alas, none of the characters in the show has an iPhone — not even a beeper.

The play is a real nostalgia trip. Beckett’s masterpiece is over 70 years old, the leads were once teen heartthrobs, they’re wearing bowler hats, and it’s a throwback to a time when boredom was possible.

When was the last time you were bored — when you felt the weight of waiting?

Thanks to my phone, boredom is almost an impossibility. Before showtime, I scrolled — until I was told it was time to put my phone away. Were I waiting for Godot, I’d pass the time pretty much the way I did during intermission: by deleting spam voicemails offering me personal loans and tax relief. I could imagine purgatory doing nothing but this. What could be worse?

Well, “in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, Ethan Hawke and John Leguizamo performed in a Zoom version of 'Godot.'" There’s your answer.

No play for young men

Ian McKellen as Estragon and Patrick Stewart as Vladimir. Robbie Jack/Getty Images

I think part of the greatness of "Godot" has to do with Beckett’s creation of characters that really take the form of the actors portraying them. Casting friends makes sense. I don’t know how close Pierre Latour and Lucien Raimbourg were when they were cast to perform the first presentation of "En Attendant Godot" in Paris in 1952. Maybe they were the Bill and Ted of their day?

On Instagram, actorEric Stolz shares his memory of the 1988 production starring Robin Williams and Steve Martin: “I’ve often thought that Beckett would have loved that Production, the absurdity they embraced brought it into the realm of the Marxs [sic] Brothers, which to me is a great compliment.”

After going down the "Godot" rabbit hole, I found that the duo that really nailed it for me was Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart. As much as I love Reeves’ and Winter’s performances, I have to admit my ageism. The boys — ages 61 and 60 — are just too young and fit for the roles.

McKellen and Stewart were in their 70s when they contemplated hanging themselves from that lone tree and argued over the salvation of the crucified thief in the Gospels. And it really works, because they’re old men. Vladimir has to piss uncontrollably, Estragon is senile, and they both stink like old men stink. Because they’re old men.

Vladimir and Estragon are excited over an erection — even if they have to hang themselves to get one — because they’re old and impotent. That joke’s been on my mind for 25 years — but now I realize that beyond the shock of the thought, the joke only really lands if we’re seeing old men deliver it. And while Keanu and Winter nail the back-and-forth — I literally loled — I don’t believe they’d need to commit suicide to get a hard-on.

I admit that I may have been influenced by a video I watched of Ian McKellen where he talks about "Waiting":

But what are they waiting for? I think the play’s been so popular over the years because Beckett was the first person to realize that an awful lot of life is about waiting. You were probably all waiting to come tonight. Probably in the odd moments in the last week when you’ve been thinking [mimes looking at his watch]: Christmas, or birthday, or holiday, or examinations; waiting to go to college, waiting to meet the right person. My age, waiting for death. We’re all waiting. What we’re doing is passing time. Getting through. … And Godot’s just a bit of hope to make life a little better.

After the curtain call, when the house lights came up, an usher was waiting to speak to a woman in my row. Apparently the woman had been recording the performance on her phone. You won’t find her footage online. She was forced to delete it. The play runs through early January 2026. Don’t wait to see it. It’ll pass the time.

Hollywood goes full antifa with 'One Battle After Another'

A specter is haunting America — the specter of left-wing radical violence. As the country balances on a knife edge and radical nutcases shoot up and burn churches and assassinate conservative icons, Hollywood figured it was time to throw a Molotov cocktail into the tinderbox.

I went and paid 17 good American dollars to see "One Battle After Another" so you don't have to. Fair warning: Better-paid critics than I have given this terrible movie — a loose adaptation of Thomas Pynchon's 1991 novel "Vineland" — rave reviews. It has also generated plenty of precious "Oscar buzz" for director Paul Thomas Anderson as well as for stars Leonardo DiCaprio, Benicio Del Toro, and Sean Penn.

Watching 'One Battle After Another' may not be entertaining, but its celebration of vitriol and murder is clarifying. This is not the usual 'anti-conservative' Hollywood bias.

Insidious propaganda

As you might suspect from the people involved, this is more than the usual Hollywood slop. It’s an insidious piece of propaganda that speaks to the depravity of the left and, I fear, wanders into wholly new territory that portends truly dark times ahead.

The movie's first offense is its running time: an interminable two hours and 50 minutes. (Am I the only one who thinks we need a new rating system for any movie over 90 minutes long? Rated NB = "Nap Before.")

The film opens with our antifa heroes violently attacking an ICE detention center to liberate the detainees. One wonders whether Juan, up here to work construction, might have some hesitation about white and black revolutionaries spraying AKs and gassing U.S. Border Patrol agents on his behalf, but the white liberal director’s myopic lens doesn't dwell on those questions.

Weed and self-pity

DiCaprio plays Bob Ferguson, a has-been revolutionary holed up in a Northern California sanctuary city, padding around in a weed haze, a bathrobe, and self-pity. His daughter Willa, played by Chase Infiniti, scolds him for misgendering her nonbinary prom date. The revolution will always eat its own.

Her mother, Perfidia Beverly Hills, was a rat who turned state's witness and slept with Penn’s comically over-the-top ICE agent, named Lockjaw. Willa may be his biological daughter. Lockjaw is evil because he wants border security and has a Nazi haircut. Hollywood eschewed subtlety a long time ago.

Lockjaw, meanwhile, wants to impress a cabal of Patagonia-vested white supremacists — a hedge-fund-meets-Gestapo ensemble who seem to have wandered in from a bad HBO pilot — so they'll let him join their club. How better to do that than by hunting down our antifa heroes?

Photo by Brooks Kraft LLC/Corbis via Getty Images

Empty artistry

Here’s the tragic part: Paul Thomas Anderson is still a genius. The camera work is exquisite. The pacing (when he wants it to be) is taut. The centerpiece car chase is one of the most technically stunning action sequences of the century.

Anderson is, after all, the man behind "There Will Be Blood" and "Boogie Nights." But artistry is empty if it doesn't serve the truth, and "One Battle After Another" is pure left-wing propaganda. The film glorifies the fantasy of bloodshed, depicting conservative America not as wrongheaded neighbors but as literal Nazis to be liquidated. The revolutionaries are cast as sexy, tragic heroes. Blowing up a senator’s office? Righteous. Knocking out half of Los Angeles’ power grid? Revolutionary chic. The collateral damage to working stiffs barely scraping by? Never mind.

Watching "One Battle After Another" may not be entertaining, but its celebration of vitriol and murder is clarifying. This is not the usual "anti-conservative" Hollywood bias. When the perpetually sweaty DiCaprio shouts “¡Viva la revolución!” while detonating bombs, you're meant to cheer. And if you're not cheering, well, those bombs are meant for you.

Increasingly, Hollywood views half the country not as fellow citizens with outdated beliefs, but as enemies who deserve punishment. Owning firearms, favoring borders, voting differently — these aren’t policy differences; they’re treated as moral crimes, grounds for extermination.

Luxury nihilism

The old trick was to sneer at conservatives as rubes or buffoons. Now the fantasy is direct violence. What was once snide mockery has hardened into veneration of the kill shot.

That's not to say that it is an altogether convincing fantasy. The usual ignorance of liberals when it comes to actual, real-world violence — their compulsive need to make revolution "cool" — is on full display. At one point, a bank robbery is staged by an antifa firebrand with a name I won’t print; this is the group's usual method of "fundraising." Anderson seems blissfully unaware that modern bank heists are idiotic — bills are marked, surveillance is everywhere. No one outside a Nicolas Cage movie thinks it’s viable.

And let's face it, none of the laptop warriors celebrating "One Battle After Another" are likely to to take to the streets to firebomb ICE. Then again, they don't have to. While they indulge their adolescent rebellion fantasies in front of an IMAX screen, their luxury nihilism trickles down to the truly unhinged and desperate, some of whom are perfectly willing to try to change minds with a bullet. Which means the fight may be coming to you, whether you sit out this "Battle" or not. Buy ammo.

'Triumph of the Heart': An unflinching depiction of what it means to follow Christ

The current landscape of Christian cinema is more desert than garden. Too many films settle for pandering and saccharine depictions of the faith, as if doing the bare minimum to attract what they assume is a captive audience. Meanwhile, moviegoers thirst for stories that challenge them with reality of the Christian life.

With the success of "Sound of Freedom," "The Shift," and "Cabrini," Angel Studios has shown that viewers will show up for more nuanced, high-quality fare, but most "faith-based" films still seem content to take as little risk as possible.

As Kolbe, Marcin Kwaśny embodies an ordinary man who makes the extraordinary decision to pick up his cross and follow Christ, whatever the consequences.

This was all in my mind as I attended the premiere of "Triumph of the Heart." I wasn't sure what to expect; word of mouth has been strong, but would it live up to the hype? I'm happy to answer that question with a resounding yes.

Greater love hath no man ...

"Triumph of the Heart" tells the incredible true story of the Polish Catholic priest and newspaper publisher who would become Saint Maximilian Kolbe (Pope John Paul II canonized him in 1982). Arrested and sent to Auschwitz in 1941, Kolbe volunteers to take the place of a prisoner condemned along with nine others to die in the camp's starvation cell.

As the men cope with despair, starvation, and ideological division, Kolbe's humanity and their shared Polish identity forge a brotherhood that allows them to face down evil and die with honor.

A humble saint

Not since Paul Roland’s "Exemplum" have I seen such a truthful and realistic depiction of Catholicism. These characters are far from perfect, and that includes Kolbe himself. He smokes, he has regrets, he makes mistakes. But he’s also relentlessly hopeful, courageous, and brave in his faith in Jesus Christ, which empowers him to be a source of light for his fellow cellmates who struggle to maintain their dignity.

This is no sanitized depiction of sainthood. As Kolbe, Marcin Kwaśny embodies an ordinary man who makes the extraordinary decision to pick up his cross and follow Christ, whatever the consequences.

Sherwood Fellows

The weight of despair

The actors playing the other prisoners are equally astounding, making you feel the weight of their despair and claustrophobia in the confinement of the hellish, one-window bunker.

Especially impressive is Rowan Polonski’s Albert, who gets the film’s central arc. As he mourns the life with his wife that he passed up to fight in the war, he struggles to accept the inevitability of death and resist the temptation of suicide. It's a dark but layered portrayal of suffering that took me aback like nothing I've ever seen in a Christian film.

Keystone-France/Getty Images

As camp commandant Karl Fritzsch, the man who condemns the prisoners to death, Christopher Sherwood makes a chilling antagonist. But the more deadly foe is Satan himself. He never shows up, except for some artistic shots of a snake peppered throughout the third act, but his presence is tangible as the heroes grapple with despair. All of which makes Kolbe's admonition to “finish the race” (as seen in the movie's trailer) ring with such emotional power as they reject Satan and embrace the hard way out.

Trusting in God

Writer/director Anthony D'Ambrosio has created a deeply Catholic film. That D'Ambrosio himself struggled with anxiety and insomnia while bringing this story to life comes as no surprise; this is a movie that exudes the painful uncertainty that comes with trusting in God's plan.

"Triumph of the Heart" is also a triumph for Christian/Catholic cinema, a profoundly moving examination of the suffering that often accompanies the pursuit of holiness. I can only hope its example inspires other filmmakers to bring the full richness of the Christian faith to the big screen; the possibilities are endless. For now, go see "Triumph of the Heart." The hype is real.

'Eddington' unmasked: Another slick, sick joke on American moviegoers

Director Ari Aster ’s "Eddington," which has inspired more heated discussion than it ticket sales, drops us unpleasantly back into an America at the peak of COVID-19 hysteria.

Our putative protagonist is Joe Cross, well-intentioned but beleaguered sheriff of the small desert outpost of Eddington, New Mexico.

Aster's previous films resolve with satanic forces claiming victory over well-meaning innocents just trying to grapple coherently with temptation and strife.

Already burdened with a psychologically fragile wife (Emma Stone) and a live-in, conspiracy-obsessed mother-in-law (Deirdre O'Connell), Cross must now keep the peace for a populace bitterly divided over masks, social distancing, and business closures, while facing down BLM riots. His downtime doomscrolling (remember the black squares on Instagram?) offers no relief.

Six-feet showdown

Cross himself is COVID-skeptical, to the say the least, which puts him at odds with Mayor Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal), the kind of slimy, fake, media-savvy politico who could give California Governor Gavin Newsom (D) a run for his money.

Watching the first half of this movie in 2025 is enjoyably cathartic. Even the audience at the screening I saw — in an art-house theater in liberal Chicago — cringed at the movie's virtue-signaling adults and their brainwashed teens. The biggest laugh came when a father, having just been subjected to a rant from his son about "white abolition," blurts out, “Are you f***ing re****ed? YOU’RE white!”

I doubt I have to remind anyone that only a few years ago, these reactions would have been very different.

Truther or dare

From our vantage point in 2025, Cross seems to be the most levelheaded man in town, a flawed but decent public servant trying to make sense of a world gone mad. Finally, we think, a belated but nonetheless welcome jab at the liberal delusions that held sway in our country for the last decade.

That's when Aster pulls the rug out from under us. Our hero makes a series of choices that progress from foolhardy to downright evil, choices he ends up paying for in the most grotesque way possible. We, in turn, are punished for daring to identify with Cross. It's as if Aster wants to leave us not merely disillusioned but utterly humiliated.

Pascal's ostensible villain also falls away to reveal a much more formidable nemesis: the powerful corporation behind the development of Eddington's much-contested "SolidGoldMagikarp Data Center." These shadowy Big Tech overlords seem to validate every paranoid imagining of the online fringes, right and left: jetting in hooded, well-trained shock troops to carry out false-flag "Antifa" attacks and thwart populist dissent, distracting a divided and confused public from the very real threat they represent.

Eric Charbonneau/A24 via Getty Images

Jabber jibber

Now … some critics may believe that this is the main message of the film. That the struggle is Them vs. Us. The real villains are the faceless "Eyes Wide Shut" cabal of world controllers who send out their minions to subvert the will of the people. “Smart viewers understand this,” the critics will say.

Well, I’m a smart viewer, and I don’t care about that. Maybe it is Them vs. Us in real life, but in Hollywood, and to Ari Aster, and to the audience in the theater on both sides of the aisle, the message of "Eddington" is clear: You can't win.

Aster's previous films, "Beau Is Afraid," "Midsommar," and "Hereditary," all resolve with satanic forces claiming victory over well-meaning innocents just trying to grapple coherently with temptation and strife. No one is held accountable for the perpetration of this violence; there is no justice or righteous retribution.

"Eddington" turns out to be just another variation of this story, this time using COVID instead of the supernatural to torture its characters. The question we should ask is who benefits from this nihilistic message?

Certainly not the audience. Joe Cross and the people of Eddington may be stuck where they are, helpless before the whims of their sadistic creator, but there's nothing keeping us in town. None of us would want to live in Aster World; maybe it's time we admitted it's not even a nice place to visit.

'The Naked Gun' remake is laugh-out-loud funny? Surely, you can't be serious

I had a lot riding on "The Naked Gun" — not just the $20.49 I shelled out for the ticket, but the fact that my friends Dan Gregor and Doug Mand co-wrote and co-produced the 2025 reboot.

I was in a tough spot: If their take on the Leslie Nielsen and ZAZ team comedy classic sucked, how was I going to ask them for my money back?

Venmo, probably.

Neeson’s action-hero physicality also delivers. Watch for the 'bodycam' scene, where he gives a performance that I can only describe as 'The Grey' but with IBS.

Post-postmortem

In my book, "That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore," I provide a postmortem on the death of comedy — but also a hopeful look forward to comedy’s rebirth. It’s been three years since "That Joke" debuted, and in that time I’ve seen the end of cancel culture, the shifting of the Overton window back to its original factory settings, and a comedy resurrection thanks to online “content creators,” podcasters, and stand-up comics.

For good and ill, the three often go together. Think of all the comic turned creator turned podcasters you follow. On the bright side, it’s never been easier for comedians to produce their work without having to answer to gatekeepers, but on the downside, there is the temptation to chase the algorithm, as Marc Maron put it recently on Howie Mandel’s podcast, to the detriment of the art.

A reboot to boot

The one genre that hasn’t seemed anywhere near a revival is the feature-length comedy. So Gregor and Doug — as well as director Akiva Schaffer and the rest of "The Naked Gun" 2025 team — were already fighting an uphill battle.

To make matters worse, they’re doing a reboot in a time when aren’t we all just tired of reboots? And, man, of all the reboots to reboot, you go ahead and reboot "The Naked Gun" to boot? That sounds impossible to pull off!

So I drove into Manhattan to witness the impossible on the big screen at the AMC theater in Times Square. Now that I think of it, if the movie sucked, I’d have to tack on tolls and the cost of parking to my refund.

Buttafuocus group

Gregor, the Long Island boy and NYU grad, had invited friends in the New York area to the watch party. Doug, the Philly kid and NYU alum, was doing his watch party in Philadelphia, where I imagine there was a higher chance of post-"Naked Gun" rioting.

The three of us met at NYU through improv. We performed on the same improv and sketch comedy team, the Wicked Wicked Hammerkatz, before graduating to the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater.

One of the reasons the Hammerkatz got a run at the UCB was because Gregor was able to pack the audience with his friends and family from Long Island. So walking into theater 17 for the 7 p.m. screening of "The Naked Gun" was a bit of a nostalgia trip for me: seeing the faces of the friends who had been supporting our comedy — throughout our various levels of success — for more than 20 years.

The hot seat

I had planned to sit alone — that’s why I picked a seat away from the crew — but Gregor had a seat for me right next to him. Son of a b***h. A great seat, sure, but do you understand what kind of pressure that put on me?

In the past, when I haven’t enjoyed a friend’s performance, I would use a line I stole from Matt Besser, one of the founding members of the UCB Theater: “It looked like you were having fun up there.”

I didn’t want to have to use that line. And I didn’t. Because for the next hour and 25 minutes (and some change, if you stay for the credits), I was laughing out loud. At points, tears in my eyes.

Jokes on jokes

There are so many jokes in "The Naked Gun" reboot that as you’re laughing, you’re missing new ones. It’s a brilliant design, really, to make sure audiences have to come back for another viewing to catch what they missed the first time around.

I want to talk about my favorite gags from the movie, but I don’t want to spoil them, and, well, there really is no way I can do them justice. "The Naked Gun" nails visual comedy, plays on words, and the straightest delivery of the stupidest (sometimes crudest) lines. It’s a hell of an homage to the originals.

I know original co-creator David Zucker had his reservations — this is his baby, after all — but he should be happy to see this one all grown up.

mastercrash.com

A very particular set of skills

No, Liam Neeson is no Leslie Nielsen. He's Liam Neeson. And he's played up his gruff, grizzled persona for laughs before.

In the early 2010s HBO series "Life’s Too Short," the "Taken" star briefly appears as himself, menacing Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant into doing some hilariously rigid "improvisational comedy" with him. It’s a brilliant performance, but it made me wonder if Neeson could ever carry a whole comedy.

I wonder no more. "The Naked Gun" performs a kind of alchemy by which it turns an incredibly intense figure like Neeson into a font of laughs.

In an interview with IndieWire, Gregor says, “The basic task was, ‘What’s the stupidest thing we can get Liam Neeson to say?’”

Neeson’s action-hero physicality also delivers. Watch for the “bodycam” scene, where he gives a performance that I can only describe as "The Grey" but with IBS. (Busta Rhymes is also great in the scene. Yes, Busta Rhymes is in the movie too.)

Chemistry lesson

Neeson’s chemistry with Pamela Anderson is so good that it’s obvious why they’re dating. Going into the theater, I stupidly didn’t even know she was in the movie. And yet there she is. Having pulled off the rare feat of aging gracefully in public, Anderson is elegant and magnetic — which makes the stupidest things Gregor and Doug get her to say and do that much funnier.

Danny Huston is brilliant as the villain, and his evil plot is the type of storyline that could be its own spinoff — it could work as another comedy spoof or a drama.

And if you’re wondering if "The Naked Gun" is “woke,” let’s just say if you think you can guess the punch lines from the setups, you’re going to be happily disappointed.

My boys did the impossible. See "The Naked Gun" once and you’ll want to see it twice. No refunds.

'28 Years Later': Brutal, bewildering, and unabashedly British

Britain has been reduced to a dysfunctional, plague-ridden landmass where hideous creatures consumed by rage roam in search of prey. Small, isolated communities are struggling to survive with scarce resources and little hope for rejuvenation, leaving them to cling to quaint remnants of a bygone era.

It's good thing we have Danny Boyle's long-awaited follow-up to 2007's "28 Weeks Later" to distract us.

Boyle’s film, whether intended or not, unapologetically embraces British culture, drawing on Shakespeare and Kipling.

Completing the trilogy that began in 2002 with "28 Days Later," "28 Years Later" picks up, unsurprisingly, 28 years after the initial rage virus outbreak.

Britain is currently in a military-imposed lockdown, shut off from the rest of the world. A group of survivors are living on a remote island not far from the mainland. In many respects they are totally isolated — not just geographically but culturally. There is no electricity. No internet. Men work with their hands, while children sing Anglican hymns at school.

The accordion provides entertainment in the evening, helping the revelers forget the terror lurking nearby. For these contemporary Pilgrims, the tidal island is linked to the mainland by a fortified causeway.

First blood

Among them is Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), who decides to take his 12-year-old son, Spike, to the mainland to kill his first infected — a coming-of-age ritual among the island’s inhabitants. During this hunting trip, we witness the full mutated horror of the virus. Decaying skeletal creatures lurch forward while fat ones writhe across the ground like Jabba the Hutt with eczema.

These early scenes feature some stunning gore — cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle beautifully captures the moment of impact with a time-freezing jolt that is reminiscent of the bullet effect from "The Matrix."

Then Boyle makes a distinct tonal shift toward sentimentality, transforming the narrative from a father-son tale to an emotional mother-son one. As Spike is inducted into the zombie-slaying hall of fame, his mother, Isla (Jodie Comer), remains bedridden due to an undiagnosed illness.

Here the movie turns into a quest. Spike takes his sickly mother away from the relative safety of the island to find the infamous Dr. Ian Kelson (Ralph Fiennes), who might be able to treat her.

A bone to pick

There are some genuinely interesting ideas here. The issue is that it seems like the movie has been divided into multiple parts, each with a different tone. Numerous scenes conclude abruptly, often resulting in confusion or a lackluster climax. Characters enter and exit the story much like a sitcom, and despite dramatic introductions, they contribute little to the storyline.

The doctor is depicted as an enigmatic and influential presence; however, Fiennes’ talents are wasted in this role. When he eventually appears on screen, he is covered in iodine, spouting pseudo-intellectual nonsense and shooting tranquilizer darts at monsters. He spends his time creating massive memento mori towers from bones and skulls — of which there is no shortage. In fact, more than one living character will end up in his art project before movie's end.

At moments, this story compels us to contemplate our own mortality. At other moments, it treats us to the spectacle of a spray-tanned Voldemort neutralizing a ripped zombie Neanderthal sporting a distractingly large Hampton Wick.

Nailed it

"28 Years Later" is strongest in its depiction of Spike's coming of age. You see how the painful lessons and mistakes turn him from an innocent boy into a responsible adult. That haunting sense of loss that comes with leaving behind what you were and the terrifying realization of what you need to be to survive. Boyle really nails that feeling. It's just a shame that it gets overshadowed by a confusing plot.

There is a lot about this film that will confuse Americans — not least the regional accents. Unfortunately, trying to understand what a Geordie is saying is like asking if a cat can grasp the concept of Sweden. Contrary to popular mythology, not all of us Brits sound like we’ve stepped off the set of a Richard Curtis movie or live in a castle.

Rule, Brittania

Boyle’s film, whether intended or not, unapologetically embraces British culture, drawing on Shakespeare and Kipling, while exploring themes of social cohesion, identity, and in-group preference — elements intrinsic to the survival horror genre. The cast is entirely white. In a world where entertainment has been ideologically captured by identity politics, it's a welcome and refreshing change.

Possibly the best thing is the music. It's similar to the score featured in "28 Days Later," which includes haunting contributions from Canadian ambient post-rock band Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Scottish trio Young Fathers. The suspense, paranoia, and carnage are heightened by a thumping, deep bass rumble.

While entertaining and at times poignant, "28 Years Later" is a movie that fascinates as much as it frustrates due to undeveloped characters and a nonlinear narrative. Let’s hope they iron out these problems in the sequel, "The Bone Temple," which is set for release next January.

At the helm is Nia DaCosta, infamous for directing "The Marvels," a movie that single-handedly ushered in Hollywood's anti-woke backlash. I’m already terrified.

Netflix sounds an alarm with painful 'Adolescence'

Let’s get this out of the way first. The new Netflix limited series “Adolescence” is utterly astonishing.

Astonishing in a good way, as you may never see a more amazingly crafted piece of television.

The four episodes explore Jamie’s initial denial of guilt and his father’s horror at seeing the CCTV footage of his son stabbing the girl over and over again.

The writing, acting, and production are top notch. However, the reason “Adolescence” stands out from other top-tier shows is that each of the four hour-or-so-long episodes is done in one take.

That means the whole one-hour episode is one very long camera shot. It also means the actors — including the young teen playing the lead role — cannot make any mistakes. All of the actors, for a whole hour, are basically performing live theater. No retakes, no catching their breath to refocus on the scene. Just one long camera shot.

And there are four episodes. They did this four times! So yeah, that’s astonishing. They deserve to win all the awards at those insufferable awards shows.

But it’s also an astonishing gut punch, particularly for parents of teens.

Telling it how it is, probably at your kids' school

I understand the story was based on real-life events, but the script seems to have veered off on its own, and this storyline is indeed all too realistic, not to mention incredibly painful to watch.

“Adolescence” tells the story of a 13-year-old boy named Jamie, who is attracted to an older girl at school who is bullied by someone sharing topless photos she apparently had taken. After Jamie tries to be kind to her, in a self-professed attempt to date her, she rejects him and then mocks him on social media as an “incel” — involuntary celibate.

The mocking escalates, and he responds, one night while he and his friends are out roaming the town, by stabbing her to death.

The four episodes explore Jamie’s initial denial of guilt and his father’s horror at seeing the CCTV footage of his son stabbing the girl over and over again. The second episode has the police interviewing kids at Jamie’s school, where it becomes obvious that these kids are living in a world that the adults are not bothering with; the disrespect shown to the teachers seems to underscore the fact that the teachers are not connecting in any meaningful way with their students.

The third episode aims to reveal what’s in Jamie’s head — it’s a long interview with a psychologist — and we get a pretty clear picture of a 13-year-old who is dealing with adult issues, over-sexualized behaviors, and social media bullying — all without the benefit of any adult intervention.

The most painful television I've ever watched

The fourth episode — quite possibly the most painful I have ever watched — concerns the parents struggling with the guilt that their neighbors and community have already assigned to them. The parents and their 18-year-old daughter endure a highly unpleasant family outing where the father is recognized as the killer’s dad. After the older sister shows love and compassion for her parents despite having just endured said outing, her father asks her mother, “How did we make her?” To which mom replies, “The same way we made him.”

The point being that they did the same things, and one child seems to be coping and well-adjusted and loving ... while the other stabbed a girl multiple times, in uncontrollable rage.

But let’s go back and talk about what is depicted.

A hardworking father running his own plumbing business, who often leaves by 6 a.m., not to return till 8 p.m.

A child trapped, spending all day in an institution where adult order and control has broken down, with rampant disrespectful behavior toward whatever authority does exist but especially among the teens toward each other. Young teens at the school engaging in adult sexualized behavior (nude photos, mocking a 13-year-old for being a virgin), and no adults caring enough to see or intervene.

A 13-year-old who regularly comes home, marches upstairs, and spends the rest of the night on his computer by himself — except when he is out with his friends, fairly late at night with no adult supervision.

We find out about the dad’s long hours and the son’s computer time during the parents’ painful self-examination in episode 4. They rightly surmise that they could have done better, but regarding the computer time, the father points out that all the kids are that way these days.

'All kids are like that' — no excuse

Yes, they are. But they don’t have to be. And “kids being that way” — as well as tired parents working long hours — cannot be an excuse for no communication. Parents have to talk to their kids. A lot. There has to be a relationship.

The unsupervised roaming around at night goes hand in hand with the complete lack of communication. Obviously, parents should know where a 13-year-old is, especially at 10 p.m. That issue is never addressed, nor is the fact that the child’s school is a cesspool of toxic, inappropriate behaviors. Schools bear far too much resemblance to prisons — architecturally and procedurally — and the inmates can be feral in both.

I know. That’s pretty much every middle school, junior high, or high school, right? But if you’re thinking that — why are your kids there, again? Because there are alternatives. The point here is that the older your child gets, they continue to need plenty of time with you. And you have to be the one who makes sure that happens, because they won’t.

Failure of authority

Other reviewers are saying this miniseries is a referendum on “toxic masculinity.”

I guess it is a male child who stabs a female child, and that’s about as toxic as it gets. But it isn't because of his masculinity. It is a lack of masculinity.

We see teachers with no authority to provide a safe and effective learning environment; a father with no time to build trust so that Jamie can bring him his problems; parents caught up in their own problems and pursuits, who have a niggling feeling that all that computer time is not great, but they are willing to tell themselves “all kids are like that” while their son is alone in his room being torn to shreds, his confidence destroyed, his moral compass irretrievably broken.

Should you watch it?

I can’t recommend it, really. It’s peppered with profanity, but that pales in comparison to the emotional pain of watching it unfold. (The acting is exemplary, particularly Owen Cooper as Jamie and "Adolescence" co-creator Stephen Graham as his dad.)

However. If you have a teen in school ... or a teen who spends a lot of time alone in his/her room or on his/her phone or computer ... or a teen who’s out at night, you know not where ... then YES. You should watch all four episodes. In fact, you should go get that teen and have them watch with you. And then you should talk about it. All of it.

What could be a more important use of your time than that?

Another perspective

Dr. Justin Coulson raises some excellent points with his thoughtful review of “Adolescence” that I think are also worth consideration.

Latest 'Captain America' installment neither 'Brave' nor 'New'

“If we can’t see the good in each other, we’ve already lost,” says Sam Wilson in the penultimate scene of “Captain America: Brave New World.”

This lukewarm call to unity might well be Marvel talking to its disappointed fans. The studio remains in a precarious position, at its lowest point critically and commercially since "Iron Man" officially launched the Marvel Cinematic Universe in 2008, revitalizing the brand with an unbroken, interconnected string of blockbusters that dominated the box office through 2019's "Avengers: Endgame."

One watches 'Captain America: Brave New World' with the suspicion that it started out as something much darker — and more compelling.

That film was the triumphant culmination of the MCU's first three "phases." Since then, the transition into what Marvel has dubbed phases four and five has been rocky.

Majors setback

Critics and audiences have found the overarching story unfocused and directionless. These tendencies were exacerbated when the studio fired actor Jonathan Majors, whose character Kang was meant to play a crucial role in the new saga, in the wake of domestic abuse allegations.

On top of all this, 2023's "The Marvels" gave the studio its first genuine bomb.

Marvel may have hoped that "Captain America: Brave New World" would recapture some of that old MCU magic. But while the $342 million it has earned since its Valentine's Day release hardly makes it a flop, that tally is a far cry from the $357 million “Avengers: Endgame” grossed in its first three days.

Moreover, audience response has been tepid, earning it a negative 48% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Mainstream critics hate it, finding it to be a hobbled mess destroyed in reshoots and delays, and negative word of mouth has contributed to one of the largest multi-week dropoffs in Marvel’s box office history.

New-job jitters

Of course, "Brave New World" is only nominally a Captain America movie. Gone is Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) as the original Cap, having retired at the end of "Endgame" and handed his shield to his partner Sam Wilson (Anthony Mackie), formerly known as Falcon.

This succession was given perfunctory treatment in Disney+’s “The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.” As a black man, Wilson is conflicted about representing a patriotism that once excluded him and rejects the title. In doing so, he unwittingly cedes it to a jingoistic soldier named John Walker.

It is only after a post-national terrorist group emerges as a major threat to the world that Wilson finally accepts his new role, donning the red, white, and blue uniform and ending the series with a now-infamous lecture on the need to “do better” toward refugees and the oppressed.

“Brave New World” picks up shortly after these events, with Wilson having settled comfortably into the role of Captain America.

When his close friend Isaiah Bradley — a black super soldier from the Korean War imprisoned by the federal government and experimented upon — is wrongly arrested for an attempted presidential assassination, Wilson realizes that newly elected President Thaddeus Ross (Harrison Ford, taking over for the late William Hurt) is being targeted by forces within the federal government trying to expose a dark secret.

Deep-state danger

The Captain America franchise has always treated the U.S. government with suspicion — it's an institution susceptible to Nazi infiltration and prone to turning on American citizens. The fact that the insane general from “The Incredible Hulk” could become president on a unity and peace platform just maximizes the irony of the dark realities of the country — and that’s before Wilson starts discovering hidden CIA black sites on American soil.

In the face of this threat from within, Wilson's ambivalence about being a black Captain America lingers; at the same time, he feels inadequate to live up to the legacy of his superpowered predecessor. That issue is largely resolved by Wilson's new Wakandan battle suit, while his ambivalence mostly comes out in dialogue.

Seeing red

The film’s most curious creative decision is to give Ross a redemption story. Despite his background attempting to hunt down the Hulk, killing civilians in the process, and committing numerous other crimes and abuses, Ross ends up the film’s most developed and sympathetic character. This is thanks especially to Ford's nuanced portrayal, which lets us see the similarities between Ross and Wilson, both of whom struggle to live up to what's expected of them.

Ross slowly reveals the man beneath the cynical, power-seeking military man we know from previous films. This Ross wants to be president because he wants to prove to his daughter that he has changed.

This adds depth to the much-publicized Red Hulk scenes. In this climactic battle, we see Ross’ secrets and anxieties slowly bubble up from within him and threaten to destroy more than his legacy.

The film’s dramatic core hangs on the question of whether Ross’ character change is sincere or not, weighing the fate of numerous characters against his willingness to tell the truth at the cost of his legacy.

And given that he’s the stand-in for American political and military power, it's clear that "Captain America: Brave New World" is asking this of the country he represents at large. Is America willing to speak the truth of its sins, or is it willing to let innocent black men take the fall for the sake of a greater legacy?

Missed opportunity

This is certainly more subtle than the heavy-handed anti-Trump (an outnumbered black man up against an orange — okay, red — president) commentary than many feared. Regardless, one watches “Captain America: Brave New World" with the suspicion that it started out as something much darker — and more compelling.

Years of rewrites and reshoots imposed on director Julius Onah (“The Cloverfield Paradox”) have sanded off the edges of the movie in awkward ways, with whole character arcs discarded and major scenes reshot on green screens.

"Brave New World" was originally called “Captain America: New World Order," a title that seems to promise a more direct confrontation with the secretive, hidden elements of the government behind our elected officials — the so-called "deep state."

What the new version gains in highbrow cred — it's both a reference to Aldous Huxley’s dystopian novel of the same name and the line from Shakespeare’s “The Tempest” that inspired its title — it loses in directness.

The resulting movie , neither politically relevant nor entertaining, strands our new Captain America in no man's land.