moritzmeyerautor

Jurassic World: Rebirth feels less like a continuation and more like a genetically spliced remix - a film that nods to its origins while mutating into something stranger, freakish and far less cohesive. But hey, people love to watch other people, but not the children, getting eaten by giant lizards. And as long that concept is making money, that is what we are going to get.

Director Gareth Edwards brings undeniable skill to the creature work; the dinosaurs remain the main attraction, and in several moments, their presence is genuinely awe-inducing. The scale is vast, the sound design overwhelming in the right ways, and there's a thrill to watching these animals stalk, charge, and roar across the screen.

But the structure around them is flimsy. The plot is bloated and overcomplicated, with subplots grafted on like unnecessary limbs. Themes of genetic ethics, environmental collapse and corporate greed are hinted at but never meaningfully explored. Instead, they serve more as thematic camouflage, suggesting depth without doing the work.

The A-list cast performs with enough charm to keep the whole thing moving, but no one gets a chance to dig in. These are movie stars, not characters, reacting to chaos with practiced expressions. You can feel the screenplay struggling to give each of them something to do, while still pushing the contrieved story from set-piece to set-piece.

Ultimately, Rebirth delivers on spectacle but not on cohesion. It wants to be thoughtful, thrilling, and emotionally resonant, but never quite commits to any of those tracks. The result is a film that entertains in bursts, especially when the dinosaurs are on screen, but leaves little behind once the dust settles.

Edward Berger's Conclave is a film that thrives on atmosphere, meticulous craftsmanship, and a deep understanding of political and spiritual power struggles. Based on Robert Harris' novel, the film plunges the viewer into the secretive world of a Vatican conclave, where cardinals gather to elect a new pope. What follows is a tense, dialogue-driven thriller that builds its suspense not through action, but through quiet glances, hushed conversations, and the weight of centuries-old tradition.

Every aspect of the filmmaking is handled with precision. The cinematography captures the cloistered spaces of the Vatican with an almost painterly quality, using light and shadow to emphasize both grandeur and claustrophobia. The set design is immersive, making the audience feel like they are truly inside the halls of power. The score subtly enhances the tension, never overpowering the dialogue but adding an undercurrent of unease.

The performances are uniformly excellent. The cast brings depth to characters who could have easily been reduced to archetypes, allowing the film to explore ambition, faith, and moral compromise with nuance. The direction is assured, keeping the pacing deliberate but engaging, with an eye for small but telling moments that reveal character and intention.

However, Conclave stumbles slightly in its final act. After carefully constructing a world where power dynamics shift with the slightest gesture, the climax introduces a twist that feels almost too sudden, too improbable. It's not that a revelation was unwarranted, but the execution feels rushed compared to the film's otherwise measured storytelling. The viewer is left with little time to absorb the implications, forced to simply accept the turn of events and move on.

Despite this, Conclave remains a compelling and beautifully made film. Its strengths far outweigh its flaws, offering an intelligent, atmospheric drama that lingers in the mind even after the credits roll. If the ending had been given just a little more room to breathe, it might have reached true greatness.

Jesse Eisenberg's A Real Pain is a quietly affecting road movie that balances humor and melancholy with remarkable ease. While it never builds toward a conventional climax, its emotional weight accumulates gradually, making for a film that lingers. At the center of it all is Kieran Culkin, delivering a performance that is both charismatic and deeply human.

Culkin plays Benji, the unpredictable, often abrasive cousin to Eisenberg's David. Their journey through Poland on a Holocaust remembrance tour is punctuated by moments of genuine connection, unresolved tensions, and an underlying grief that neither of them fully knows how to process. The film never leans into heavy-handed sentimentality; instead, it thrives on subtle moments-offhand remarks, small gestures, and unspoken pain.

The absence of a traditional climax might leave some viewers wanting more, but in the context of this particular story, it works beautifully. If there is a turning point, it comes in the quiet, sobering moments at the concentration camp. Unlike more dramatic depictions of historical trauma, A Real Pain approaches it with restraint, letting the setting and the characters' reactions do the work. That subtlety is its strength.

Culkin carries the film effortlessly, making Benji volatile yet deeply sympathetic. He never becomes a caricature of the "lovable screw-up"-there's always something real and raw beneath his impulsiveness. Eisenberg, in both his direction and his performance, plays a perfect counterbalance, giving the film an understated rhythm that keeps it engaging without ever feeling forced.

It's not an easy film to categorize. It's funny without being a comedy, sad without being a tragedy, and structured more like a collection of moments than a traditional narrative arc. But that's precisely what makes it so compelling. A Real Pain is a film that feels lived-in-messy, unresolved, and honest in a way that sticks with you long after the credits roll.