WLR #2

Problemista

Directed by Julio Torres

There’s a fine line between quirky and insufferable, and when a film fails to navigate said line, the result can be something of a mortal cinematic sin. (Big) Problemista—a movie that, for all its potential and its A24 and Emma Stone cosign, is so bad it’s hard to know where to start. Inexplicably written, directed, and starring Julio Torres, I think debuting in all of these mediums at once, Wendy Lee was asking: why does this exist?

I don’t mean that question in a bitter, cynical sense, I know, I’m a writer so I always think I can do better. I’m genuinely wondering this time. How did Torres, a man so out of his depth you feel bad for him get A24 to greenlight this project? It’s a company I’ve defended in modern circles, despite some recent duds. Duds are bound to happen when you gamble on new voices. That’s part of the charm of A24’s approach. But this? This is a step, two steps, three steps, too far in the wrong direction.

Every character is not just unlikable but outright miserable…there’s a parade of them. It makes watching Problemista feel like an endurance test. And while I’ve always appreciated Tilda Swinton as an actress her role here is unbearable. It’s difficult to watch her try to wring something compelling from this.

Then there’s the film’s attempt to address the American immigration experience, which lands with the grace of a lead balloon. Torres tries to frame these struggles through a surrealist, comedic lens, but the result is something… not that. The clichés are relentless: the immigrant who overdrafts his bank account, baffled by the arcane mechanics of American banking, the broad, lazy jokes about checks taking longer to clear than cash. It’s sooooo lazy.

It tries dressing itself up in a surrealist B-movie type aesthetic to disguise that laziness. It’s intended as quirky or whimsical or avant-garde or kooky or whatever, but in practice it’s just unfunny nonsense. And to be clear, this wasn’t the reaction of someone predisposed to dislike the movie. It was Easter Sunday. The sun was out. I wanted this movie to be good. I wanted it to feel like BIG, to channel that sense of whimsy and charm, but it was just so, sooo little…

 One star

Wicked Little Letters

Directed by Thea Sharrock

Every now and then, a film comes along that doesn’t take itself too seriously and still manages to surprise you. Wicked Little Letters is one of those films. It’s not high art, but thanks to Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley—two of the best actresses working today—it turns into an unexpectedly enjoyable lil romp at the cinema.

At first, the tone felt off—like the film was juggling black comedy and drama without quite merging the two. But once the story settled into a "whydunnit," Colman and Buckley’s performances took over. Their chemistry alone carries the film, making up for its uneven moments and elevating it far beyond the material.

It’s not perfect, but with more than a few laughs and two stellar performances, it’s well worth the price of admission.

Three stars, two babes

Civil War

Directed by Alex Garland

In Civil War, Kristen Dunst’s character, a war photographer, delivers a line that strikes at the heart of the film: “Whenever I was photographing war, in Iraq, Yemen, the Ukraine, I always felt my job had purpose... But now that I’m taking war photographs at home, what does it even mean anymore?” It’s a haunting question, especially in a film that, without overtly preaching, asks every American to reckon with the fragile state of democracy.

What makes Civil War work so well is its refusal to tell you why the war happens. It’s not about policy differences or cultural divides—it’s about the quiet terror of a third-term president, airstrikes on American citizens, and a nation turned in on itself. The setup is economical, delivered in the first three minutes, and it’s all you need to understand the stakes. Garland shows great restraint in not bogging the film down with politics or moralizing; instead, he lets the situation speak for itself. It’s a film where the weight of politics hangs over everything, but never dominates the narrative.

The action sequences, particularly the battle scenes, are meticulously shot—precise, brutal, but with a focus on humanity. The decision to cut to still photographs during the climactic battle sequence is a familiar technique, but it works beautifully here, heightening the realism. Sound design plays a crucial role, too—like Oppenheimer, it knows when to let silence ring out. The film’s atmosphere is as much about what isn’t said as what is.

Dunst is predictably excellent. Her portrayal of a woman hardened by the horrors she’s seen, yet still deeply vulnerable, anchors the film. Her relationship with her younger protégé may feel a bit forced at times, a tad contrived, but Dunst’s performance keeps it from being an issue. Jesse Plemons, in a brief but memorable role, steals a scene with his typical intensity.

For a film released in an election year, unsubtly titled, it’s surprisingly subtle. There’s no sermonizing, no finger-wagging, just a photographic look at the horrors of civil conflict. But whether it’s truly an anti-war film is debatable. Garland’s refusal to let the film become preachy means that, for some viewers, it might even be mistaken as an invitation to indulge their darkest fantasies of factional violence.

Three-and-a-half stars.